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El Paso - Ronnie Wachuka

By: Ronnie Wachuka



Several authors are coming out with stories based on three songs by Marty Robbins: El Paso, Feleena and El Paso City.  The story titles will be: "El Paso - author's name" e.g. "El Paso - JakeRivers"

This is a follow on to our first "invitational" in the fall of 2006 with entries based on the Statler Brother's song, "This Bed of Rose's."  If there is continuing support we might make this a regularly semi-annual event.  For "This Bed of Rose's" there were six stories with an average score of 4.83!

Regards, Jake Rivers (Dynamite Jack)

My thanks to my new soul-mate, warmhoney1, who made suggestions when I needed them, found some of my more stupid errors, and listened to me as I outlined the story, without once laughing or shaking her head in disbelief.

									- Ronnie W.

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1. Happy Birthday To Me

It was a struggle to try to get my front door open. Naturally, the Labs started barking to warn off any evil-doers or to greet me, I wasn't sure which.

"Quiet, Gunner, Quiet Bosun. Sit!" I hollered, and naturally they obeyed by jumping up and down and barking even louder. 

I was finally successful in opening it just enough to allow me to slide sideways through the opening. Mindlessly, I scratched the dogs behind their ears as they sat at my feet wagging their tails, smiling, and panting, while their tongues gave me a 90 knot greeting. Looking at the floor behind the door I found my problem.

"Damn it all to hell!" I roared, as I beheld the sight before me.

The floor was littered with what appeared to be dozens of letters and cards laying in a multi-colored hill below the letter slot, blocking the door so that it could be only partially opened before it jammed up tight against the pile of paper.

I wondered how on earth Bosun and Gunner had managed to miss this golden opportunity for mischief, as the mail had been left alone. Seven year old Black Labs are still all puppy in thought word, and deed. They never grow up like other dogs. Ordinarily, I'd have seen two inches of shredded paper littering the hallway floor like a blanket of snow after a winter blizzard. 

"Thank you Lord for mercy received," I muttered.

As I bent to pick up the pile of debris, I muttered aloud the thought which flashed through my mind: 

"Damn that mailman. I bet he was busting a gut laughing as he pushed all this garbage through the letter slot. I hope he don't try to wipe his butt with my Christmas present this year 'cause he's going to have brown smelly fingers if he does."

Picking up the final piece of my distress and anger, I strode into the living room, and tossed the pile on the coffee table, figuring I'd take care of it after supper.

Supper and the dishes having been taken care of and the dogs fed and watered, I picked up my wine goblet, and walked into my entertainment/computer room to pick up a trash can.

As always, my attention was drawn to one of the pictures on my desk; a blushing young lady of great beauty and a clearly uncomfortable sailor posing for their wedding photo.

The picture was taken in 1961 when I wed my lovely lady, Jean. We'd been married for over thirty four years when she was taken from me when cancer stilled her beating heart. That was over three years ago. I still missed her and daily mourned her loss.

Shaking my head to snap myself back to reality, I picked up the trash can to take care of the largely unwelcome pile on my coffee table.

With the dogs comfortably ensconced next to my legs in blissful slumber, I tossed post cards and letters into the trash can. It was soon made plain that I'd been set up by an evil-minded friend or friends. The trash can gained weight with invitations to join this dating service or that, or to become a member of this x-rated video club or that. Someone was going to get it in spades when I figured out who or whom were going to receive some serious paybacks.

The remainder of the letters and cards were from friends and relations wishing me well on my sixtieth birthday, with the exception of a large heavy white envelope.

The envelope was addressed to me, Mr. Paul Stone, but the sender was unknown to me. Hefting it, I decided if it wasn't another joke, I had some serious reading on my hands, so I'd better prepare myself.

Having made a head call (bathroom to normal citizens) and relieved myself, I filled my wine goblet, and sat back down on the sofa to investigate the mysterious envelope.

I couldn't read the postmark, other then to make out Tx on the cancelation stamp. Coupled with the name in the upper left hand corner, Mrs. Cecilia Gutierrez, I had few clues as to who sent it or where it came from.

2. The Past Revealed?

As I sliced the envelope open, another, smaller, envelope fell out and landed on my lap. Over the flap, in what in my youthful day was called an elegant hand, was this: Please don't open this envelope until you've read my letter.

Obeying her request I set it aside and removed the massive letter from it's white constraint.

- Dear reader, I won't try to bore you by reading the letter in its entirety; rather I'll try to give you the high points, the better to enable you to understand all that followed. -

From Mrs. Gutierrez (Cecelia from here on):

In her letter, Cecilia informed me that she was a resident of El Paso, Texas and had been for her whole life. She was married to her late husband, Robert, in St. Patrick Cathedral and the two of them had raised their five children in St. Patrick until they'd left the nest and he'd passed away.

After his death she'd began volunteer work in the city library system. It was during this volunteer work that she'd developed an interest in her family genealogy.

With the help of the family Bible, which was jealously guarded by her Mother, Christina, she'd been able to trace her family roots back to her Great Great Grandfather, Emilio Mendez, and his Wife, Liliana.

Emilio was a dirt poor farmer in New Mexico Territory in the late 1850's thru the 1880's, barely able to feed himself, his wife, and three kids.

After their marriage in 1858, they'd quickly started their family with Feleena, Alicia, and Jesus being born almost exactly a year apart. The children grew up without the benefit of any schooling as there was no school in that desolate part of the world, and their parents could neither read nor write. None of that would have made any difference, as the kids were expected to pull their fair share of the load to help the family survive.

When Feleena turned seventeen she rebelled and took off to God knows where. Alicia also ran away just after she turned seventeen.

Alicia caught the brass ring. She ended up in El Paso and was taken in by a kindly lady as a maid in training. The lady in question was part of the nouveau riche, her husband having made a fortune in cattle and the newly built railroads.

She taught Alicia to read, write, and correctly speak drawing room Spanish and English, along with a large portion of the social graces. The lady even ensured that Alicia adhered to her faith, which culminated in her being baptized in the Catholic Church. Her education enabled her to "marry above her station." 

One further blessing occurred; when Alicia was baptized, her mistress gave her a Bible. The Bible had pages to enter the names of family members, their dates of birth, marriage dates, children, etc. She spent many hours neatly entering all the information about her family that she knew. 

The Bible was now in the capable hands of Cecelia's Mother. This proved to be of great value in Cecilia's future searches for her roots.

Among the progeny of Alicia's marriage was Gabriela, who also married well and gave birth to several children including Cecilia's Mother, Christina.

By now the family, while not rich, was rather comfortable, so Christina also married well, and her brood of children included Cecilia.

As a young inquisitive girl, Cecilia used to ask her grandmother about her parents and great grandparents. Gabriela had no information to give about Cecilia's great great grandparents as contact with them had been lost when her Mother, Alicia, left home. When Feleena's name was brought up her face got red and her angry tone quickly let Cecilia know that that subject was beyond the pale.

It was at this point that Cecilia dropped the bomb: 

One of her tasks at the library was to organize the library archives, especially the various newspapers the library kept for historical purposes. While making sure they were properly cataloged and stored she noticed the headlines on one paper. It was the El Paso Times and dated Tuesday June 20, 1882:

The headline read, "Marshal and posse catch up with killer."

The article went on to explain that the posse had trailed one, Paul Stone, a local unemployed cowhand, in his early twenties, into New Mexico Territory. He'd fled there after shooting another local cow hand,  James V. Blaine, to death during an altercation at Rosa's Cantina on Saturday 17 June, 1882. 

Following Paul Stone's death, a young woman, Feleena Mendez, a twenty three year old woman of ill-repute, and a dancer and bar girl, at Rosa's Cantina took the slain cowboy's gun, pressed it to her breast, and took her life. Mr. James Metzger, Justice of the Peace and Town Coroner, ruled the deaths as justified in the case of Paul Stone, and suicide in the case of Feleena Mendez.

Cecilia concluded her missive with these cheery thoughts: 

"From the similarities of names and other facts, and because of the rarity of her first name, her age, the fact of her maiden name, and the dates, I believe she could well be my great aunt.

For similar reasons I also  believe you may well be related to the Paul Stone in the article. The theories remain just theories that are yet to be proven. Do you have any information to prove or disprove either of these theories?"

Either way you may contact me at . . . and she gave me her email address. 

Her last words were to ask me to open the enclosed envelope and read its contents, if I wished to do so.

By this time my head was reeling and my thoughts totally jumbled.

Was I being set up to be the butt of someone's joke? If so who, how, and why?

My next thoughts were even more gloomy; was this an elaborate hoax? If it was, once again; who, how, and why? Could this be a plan to separate me from some of my well earned shekels? 

But what if it were true? 

I slowly lifted the smaller envelope, opened it and removed its contents.

Inside were two copies of newspaper articles from the El Paso Times and dated Monday 19 June, 1882 and Tuesday 20 June respectively. The first one dealt with the fracas at Rosa's Cantina on the previous Saturday and told of the argument between Paul Stone and James V. Blaine, and Mr. Blaine's death at the hands of Paul Stone as a result of bullet wounds inflicted by that scurrilous villain.

The second article dealt with Paul Stone's well deserved death at the hands of a posse headed by the brave Marshal and local hero, James B. Gillette. It also told of the death by her own hand of that round heeled lady of the night, Feleena Mendez, who worked at Rosa's as a dancer and bar girl.

Something had been niggling at my mind as I read Cecelia's letter and the newspaper articles when the flash bulb went off in my head.

In the late 1950's Marty Robbins had written and sang a song, El Paso. I'd heard that song played on every juke box in every bar on East Main (to you old salts; Easy Main) Street in No-Fuck, Virginia for months. I also faintly remember that later he'd written and sang a song about Feleena. I also vaguely remember another song titled El Paso City.

Could El Paso and Feleena have been written about true events, and if so how did he know enough about them to write the songs?

I clearly needed to think further on the matters now called to my attention, but my wine goblet was empty, and I needed more brain food.

Rising slowly so as not to disturb the pups, I headed to the corner hutch in the living room that served as my bar, poured myself a stiff brandy, picked up the decanter, and resumed my seat. My attempts to not disturb the boys went for nought as they grumbled at being disturbed, wrapped themselves even tighter around my legs and feet, and drifted back to sleep.

Lighting my pipe and taking a sip of my favorite adult beverage, I contemplated all that had been placed on my plate this evening. 

The first question that suddenly popped into my mind was how had Cecilia found me? How did she even know who I was and where I lived? Questions I needed answers to before I went further into the matter, if I did choose to pursue it.

After my second brandy I gave up in disgust. There was too much information and too much that was speculation to be able to formulate anything approaching a plan or make a decision.

After the dogs came in from their evening romp, I closed the house down, and headed for bed with two tired and sleepy dogs following closely behind.

That night, as was usual, I went to sleep with one Black Lab on each side of me, with me feeling like the white center of an Oreo cookie. 

My dreams constantly switched back and forth from Marty's songs, to Cecelia's letter, and yet in the background I swore that I heard Jean's voice reassuring me by telling me in a soft whisper, to trust Cecelia and all would be well.

3. Investigation and Decision

It had been my and my late wife's habit to sleep in when we were able to. This morning was no exception as I woke up at 10:00 when the morning sun shining through the bedroom window finally roused me from my fitful sleep. 

I staggered through my shower, dressed, and headed to the kitchen to feed myself and the dogs. While the sausage was frying in the skillet, I tried to formulate a schedule for the day but the dog's antics distracted me.

They had to be fed well away from each other or a fight would ensue. Even with them completely across the kitchen from each other they ate facing each other, growling and snarling between bites. Once finished they headed for the water bowl and slurped up their fill side by side with no animosity whatsoever. Weird!

As I sat down to eat my usual Saturday morning fare of sausage, eggs, and toast, the dogs took their accustomed positions; sitting on either side of me, waiting for their share. I'd slip them each a nibble of sausage or toast once in awhile. When I'd eaten my fill I slid the chair back and held the plate between my knees. Gunner and Bosun began licking the plate clean with no growling, nor even a hint of it. Their tongues worked that plate over until it was almost as clean as if it'd come out of a dishwasher. I never could figure out how they did it without biting their mate's tongue in the process. Weirder still!

With the dishes drying in the drainer, I headed to the entertainment room. A search of my records and tapes turned up copies of El Paso, but no Feleena or El Paso City. The first order of business was decided. 

I loaded the boys in the van and headed to the mall to Tower Records. They were most helpful and I soon had a tape of Feleena and El Paso City but I wanted the sheet music too, which they didn't have. At their suggestion I headed to a large music store which specialized in selling musical instruments and, as I was to find out, walls filled with racks of sheet music. After a lengthy search I found the words and music to all three songs.

Arriving home, I set the music on the coffee table, as I had more to do while it was still light. I climbed the stairs up to the attic and headed to my Dad's old trunk.

That trunk had come into my possession following his death almost ten years ago.

The trunk contained the usual things one packs up to store away; dreams, hopes, and failures, all tied up in blue ribbons. 

I did pull out several photo albums and several stacks of letters written by him to Mother, and she to him when he served in the Navy during WWII. He'd been drafted at the beginning of the war and left Mother and me on Grampaw's farm in Texas while he went off to serve his country. He'd been stationed on destroyers in the Pacific for most of the war. 

After the war he'd been offered a good job in San Diego, a town he'd found to his liking. Gathering Mother and me up, he'd moved us to La Mesa (just outside San Diego) and we began to settle into our new life.

I started to gather up the items I wanted to study when a paper wrapped package caught my eye. I removed the ribbon and opened it. To my surprise I found myself staring at my school report cards. Lord! Of all the things to keep; evidence of my follies, trials, and tribulations. Why would Dad keep my record of crime and failure for all to see? 

Thinking about it I decided that it wasn't Dad who did the deed, it would have been Mother, 'cause if we'd had children, Jean would have acted the same way.

Closing the trunk up I headed down the stairs with my trove. In the living room the coffee table once again received a burden to be gone over later.

Following supper, I settled myself with my brandy and pipe, and put on the tapes of what I now called "The Three Songs." to listen to them.

The problem was that my mind was distracted by those damn report cards. Not the cards themselves, but rather what came after. When I graduated from La Mesa High School in 1956, the country was suffering what would now be called a mini recession; what the Republicans at the time called an economic re-adjustment, and the Democrats screamed was the worst depression in the history of mankind.

Regardless of the truth of the matter, jobs were scarce, so I joined the Navy. Through good times and bad I spent the next twenty four years in the service of my country.

After my transfer to the Fleet Reserve (unlike the other services, sailors can't retire until they have thirty years of service. They are instead, transferred to the Fleet Reserve until they have thirty years of service, and during that period are always subject to recall to active duty). 

I know many shipmates who were in the Fleet Reserve after twenty plus years and recalled to active duty during the 'Nam War, some more then once.

After I left the Navy a great job offer in Washington State brought us up to paradise. We never regretted that decision.

Not being able to concentrate my thoughts, I decided to query Cecelia with a few questions that were laying heavily on my mind.

4. The quest?

Seated before my trusty old Mac I emailed her to ask the questions preying on my mind: 

Before I can agree to help you I need some answers. 

1) Besides your Great Aunt's family Bible how were you able to track Feleena?

 2) How were you able to place Paul Stone as a part of my family?

3) I am not the last of the Stone family, so why me?

I couldn't think of any more questions that needed an immediate answer, so I pressed send, shut the computer down, performed my nightly chores, and headed to bed.

The next day I spent a large part of it going through the photos. A large part of them were taken during the days of my youth. I don't remember much about the early years while we lived on the homestead. 

I do remember Grampaw. After we moved to San Diego we would come back to the farm on vacation each year. The pictures showed him to be a man about my size and build. Even though most of the earlier pictures were black and white, you could see the permanent tan he had from working in the hot Texas sun. Even Grammaw had that deep tan on her hands and face.

When Grampaw died, Dad's older brother, CW, took over the farm. He and Dad looked much alike and were sometimes mistaken for twins. CW was killed in a car accident in 1977 and his Son, LT, took over and was still running the farm.

When we were on vacation at the farm in my younger days, LT and I seemed to find ourselves in some kind of deviltry most of the time. Nothing serious, but bad enough for CW or my Dad to whup our butts. Didn't make any difference which father caught us, that was the one that whupped us.


El Paso - Ronnie Wachuka



I was a couple of years older then LT but he was always slightly taller and stronger then I was. His size made no difference, when we'd fight over something or other, I could usually take him.

The photos confirmed my memories of him with that same dark tan as all the Stone's seemed to have.

It'd been great to be able to spend those summers on the farm.

With warm thoughts of happy times, I finished the last of my brandy and put my pipe in the ash tray, closed things up, and headed to bed

Monday afternoon finally rolled around and I left work weary and worn out. There'd been serious problems with the schools computers, a brush fire that needed stomping out. It took a team of us to finally put the flames out after eight hard fought hours.

Opening the front door I faced the usual onslaught of two furry critters who couldn't make up their minds if they wanted to greet me and play, or answer nature's call. I scratched their heads and let them out the back door.

Labs are easy; love 'em, feed 'em, play with 'em, let 'em run, and they'll have you properly trained in no time at all.

While the Labs did their thing, I lit off the computer, washed up, and tried to figure out what I wanted for dinner.

Having pigged out over the weekend I decided to take it easy tonight. I pulled some chicken soup out of the 'fridge and poured some in a pan to warm. Next I put the skillet on, threw a little butter in, and sliced up a can of Spam. Sautéed' some onions, threw the onions on the Spam, and melted some Cheddar cheese over the whole works. Next I slathered some mustard and hot horse radish on the toasted buns, poured some Chablis wine, and I was ready for an epicurean delight. 

- Don't say nothin'! I know I'm the only sailor in history that actually likes Spam. -

I split the second sandwich between the boys. Ate about half a bowl of soup and put the bowl on the floor for them to finish up. No snarling or growling; just two chums having a good time. Go figure!

The way they cleanup a bowl or plate is something to behold. When they're done you could put it back in the cabinet, it's so clean.

The dinner and dishes done, I topped off the wine, and sat down at the computer to do some catching up with the world in general and some friends in particular. In the midst of my email was a reply from Cecilia. I left it until the last, lit off the printer, and printed out her reply.

Her reply began:

"Mr Stone I will attempt to answer your questions as best as I am able.

Working at the library I soon discovered a world of knowledge was open to me as the various library systems were slowly tied together via the internet. In addition, various government documents became available for perusal.

It was about this same time I began to develop an interest in my family and my antecedents.  I soon discovered several monthly magazines devoted to genealogy. Those magazines taught me how to use the internet to conduct the searches to discover my roots. The library system provided me with the means.

From Great Grandma's Bible I knew that I needed to search the New Mexico Territory census records: the 1850's records showed nothing, but the 1860 records showed a Mendez family with two daughters.

The 1870 census showed the addition of a son in the family.

The 1880 census provided a different view as it showed only Emilio, Juliana, and Jesus. Feleena and Alicia were no longer listed in the household.

Mr. Stone, you ask why I selected you. It is a very simple thing; you are the oldest surviving member of the Stone family, and as such, you are the patriarch of the family. You may also have memories, stories, or other helpful information not available to the younger generations."

Thinking about it I found that I needed answers to several more questions before I would accede to help her. I drafted and sent the following to her:

"Specifically, how did you find my ancestors and how did you find me?

I still don't quite understand why you think the Paul Stone in El Paso may be related to me.

I've never really thought about my ancestors, nor felt any reason to do so. I find your quest, and some letters I read from my father and mother to each other during the war years piquing my interest. How would I go about searching for my ancestors to prove or disprove your theories?"

Hitting the send button, I shut the computer down, let the dogs out for a bit, and we three headed for bed.

It was several days before Cecelia responded:

"Mr. Stone, I'm afraid I'll have to break this correspondence into several segments due to its length."

-Yet again, dear reader, I'll give you the gist of the several emails she sent - 

Because of the newspaper articles she had one fact about Paul Stone and a supposition; that he was in his early twenties.

If she was lucky she might find him listed in the census records for Texas taken in 1860, 1870. or 1880. If he'd been an out of stater recently come to Texas she might well be out of luck.

A search of the census records for the listed dates showed twelve Stone families. Only two showed a Paul Stone, but one was too old. That pointed her to my Stone line living in Grayson County, Texas.

The name Paul appeared on the census of 1860 and 1870 but not 1880 in my Stone line.

Not conclusive proof, but it did make it likely that Paul Stone of yore was related to me.

She'd traced my family through the years by various public records available to anyone who knew how to search for them.

She gave me the date my father married my mother, and when I was born.

She told me when my father had been drafted into the Navy in 1942, about his moving the family to La Mesa after the war to work in the ship yard in San Diego.

As for tracing me it had been comparatively easy for the most part. She knew that we lived in La Mesa, California and even included our La Mesa address and phone number.

A chill ran down my spine. Were we now entering George Orwell's era of Big Brother?

She knew when I'd graduated from La Mesa High School, entered the US Navy, and retired as a Master Chief Fire Controlman. She went so far as to congratulate me.

Damn that lady was getting cheeky! 

She told me about my being hired by Olympic College in Bremerton, Wash. as a computer specialist in their repair and maintenance department, and my later transfer to Western University as the Assistant Computer Maintenance Supervisor.

She extended condolences on my Wife's death.

Damn her!

Her next to last paragraph almost drove me to the edge; she wished me luck on my quest to succeed the supervisor on his retirement.

I swore to God if she gave me my present address, phone number, and my dog's names I was going to have her killed. 

She concluded her emails by informing me that unless I objected she was sending me two envelopes. The first was the information I need to search for my ancestors and how to go about it.

The second was my family line as she'd constructed it. It was not complete, but it was a good outline, if I wished to pursue it.

When I read that I was all but frothing at the mouth; how dare that woman intrude on my privacy in such a cavalier manner!

I needed to talk to her up close and personal. How dare she invade my privacy!

Controlling my anger, I merely sent her a reply that I thought that we needed to talk person to person rather then by impersonal email. 

I gave her my home phone number (as if she needed it), asked for hers if she would rather that I call her, and asked for a time and date convenient to her. 

Damn! Damn! Damn Her!

5. Purely Pissed Off and an Apology

Several days later I found two large envelopes laying on the floor when I came home from work. They were from Cecilia. I threw them on the coffee table to look at later and went to light my computer off to check my email.

I'd had to go out of town to take care of some personal affairs and had had to bunk out in a motel for the night. My neighbor, Hal, had graciously taken care of the dogs for me.

The two pups were so overjoyed to see me that I almost didn't make it to the head to take a leak. After relieving myself I let them run in the backyard while I changed and started supper.

Supper being taken care of, I sat down to check my email, There was one from Cecilia that I held off opening until I'd taken care of the rest of the messages.

I finally opened hers, still smarting from the feeling of my privacy being invaded from her last email.

It began:

"Mr. Stone, I owe you an apology for my actions and my conduct, and I wish to also apologize for the feeling of anger and hurt I must have caused you.

In my conversations with my oldest daughter I mentioned that your last email seemed to be very cold and distant. She asked me why that would be, and I had no explanation for her.

She knew about my searches for your ancestors and that was not a problem. When I told her about my searching the records to learn about your parents and you, she screamed at me in a most un-daughterly way.

She asked me how I would feel if I learned that someone was searching the records (public or not) to learn about me, my family, and my private life?

It was then, and only then, that I understood the enormity of my misconduct.

If it had happened to me I would have felt outraged and violated, as if a voyeur or peeping tom had been peeking in the windows of my house.

It was at that point that I finally understood why the Census Bureau doesn't release all of its records; it is to protect the living. Without any thought, I had crossed that line of conduct and transgressed into the space of the living.  

My Lord, what you must think of me!

I don't know what I can do to repair the damage I've done, other then to apologize.

I hope and pray that my actions don't detour you from your new willingness to search for your family roots. I also request that when your righteous anger subsides that you'll still consider yourself willing to assist me in my search for the truth.

Again, please accept my most humble and contrite apologies. 

If you desire, you have my permission to research my family records, just as I should have asked your permission to do.

Cecilia"

I was totally flabbergasted by her email. That lady had dealt with every point of my angst.

I found my anger dissipating by the second. She had realized the error she'd made and had been more then willing to 'fess up and take the heat for her misconduct. My estimation of her was on the rise in direct proportion to the rate in which my anger subsided. 

I had no desire to look at the envelopes she'd sent me, right now. I kept reading and rereading her email as I sipped my evening brandy and smoked my pipe.

A woman who was so contrite and willing to admit to her mistakes, was a woman I had to know more about.

I didn't respond immediately to her email. I needed to know more about her. I began my quest by searching the archives of the El Paso library system and the local newspapers. I struck it rich when I located several newspaper pictures of her and Robert, standing alongside this daughter or that, at that daughter's wedding.

The pictures were typical newspaper photos; a bunch of low resolution dots with no clarity.

After a little research I was able to call the newspapers, ascertain that the original photos were in the archives, and agreed to pay for 8X10 reproductions of the original photos, and have them sent to me at my expense.

6. Apology accepted

While waiting for the pictures, I emailed Cecilia, accepting her apologies, and told her that it would be several days before I contacted her due to the requirements of my work. I also informed her that I had not yet looked at the material contained in her envelopes due to work constraints, but that I would do so as soon as time permitted. I also asked her to call me Paul.

It took almost three full days, with lots of overtime during the first two of them, to make some long needed upgrades on the computers at Western. My boss told me to take some time off when we finished the afternoon of the third day. The boys were overjoyed to see me home early.

That evening I was able to sit down with a glass of wine and finally open the two large envelopes that Cecelia had sent. The first was full of suggestions and "how to do it" information to search for your ancestors (or anyone else). I set them aside for now because I'd had enough of 'how to' the past several days.

The second envelope was the information Cecelia had gathered on my family line. The line started with John Stone, my GGG Grandfather, who'd been born somewhere back east and went west as a young man. Somehow he'd gotten a land deed for 160 acres in 1834 in what later became Grayson County, Texas.

My GG Grandfather was named William T. and his listed date of birth was 1838. PJ (Paul Stone) was born in 1860. My G Grandfather, JC (Paul's Brother), was born five years later in 1865. He was followed by TJ in 1885, my Father, AJ, in 1910, and me, JP, in 1938.

My God! As I looked at the sheet of paper two things stuck out; 1), it was bare bones to get from the beginning of the line to me with the single exception of JC (Paul), and, 2) after GG Grandfather all the men listed went by their initials. I'd forgotten about that. 

In some areas of the South the babies had no names, only initials. They would supposedly pick a name later that was to their liking. Everyone called my Dad, AJ, except Mother. To her, he was John, unless she was ticked off, then he reverted to AJ. That extended to me too; I was Paul to her when she was in a good mood and when her ire was up I became JP. I'd been JP until I went to school in California and they weren't buying JP, so I became Paul in school and again in the Navy.

The rest of the sheets of paper filled in the blanks, in what I later learned was a standard genealogical format. They told me about uncles and aunts, great uncles and great aunts, etc. I was not in a mood to attack them so I put everything back in the envelope until tomorrow or the next day. 

Sitting there in my chair with my brandy and pipe, I tried to make sense of what I'd read. It was going to be necessary to wade through the rest of the papers Cecelia had sent.

I hadn't seen anything that proved or disproved Paul being my gg granduncle. It was a damn shame there weren't any photographs laying about.

Then it hit me: My Cousin Luke (yes, he was born LT) was still farming the old homestead. Maybe there was something laying about that might help. I needed to call him.

I also seemed to recall pictures of dead desperadoes taken by some photographer shortly after their death. I wondered if it'd happened in Paul's case? I'd have to email Cecilia.

That night I dreamed about the two lovers in El Paso. He'd rented a horse and buggy at the livery stable and they'd headed out of town for a picnic. I could see them, as clear as a picture; sitting under a shade tree on a blanket feeding each other with lots of smiling, laughter, and kissing between them. 

Their apparent joy and love evidently put me in a happy mood. I had the best night's sleep I'd enjoyed in a long, long time.

I emailed Cecilia before I left for work the next morning and told her about my thoughts about possible photos.

That evening's email told me she hadn't thought about that possibility but she'd investigate and would I please call her Cecelia. That made my day.

It took almost ten days before the newspaper photos arrived. Waiving my usual customs and ritual, I picked up the photos off the floor, rushed into the computer room, and slit the envelope open to look at the lady who was now the focus of my attention.

The first thought that ran through my mind was; Robert you married a woman that is beautiful, truly loves you, and is proud to be the mother of your children. Lucky dog!

As I looked at her picture I saw a lady of average height, slightly matronly, but truly pleasing in her proportions. Her face was framed by dark hair that was beginning to gray. A face that would please the angels with her saintly smile and dark laughing eyes. She was a lady truly at peace with herself, and happy with her circumstances. Lord! She was a lady I had to meet somehow, someway!

That night I once again dreamed about Paul and Faleena as they walked the streets of El Paso, she in her finery with a parasol resting on her shoulder. He, tall and slender with a dark tan on his face and hands; a couple in love. Yet in Paul's mind, a thought that Faleena could never be his because of her flirtatious ways, and a sure knowledge that some day there would be a disaster as a result of her misconduct. 

The final thought in my mind was Paul's warning to her that she would be the instrument of his death by virtue of her misconduct and flirting ways, but to his admonishments she paid little heed.  

My sleep was again a fitful one that night. I could almost feel Paul's sense of foreboding, and yet his reluctance to break off his love affair with Feleena.

Over the next several months I began to apply the suggestions and the guidelines Cecilia had given me to firmly anchor my ancestors into a provable family line. This required much emailing between Cecelia and myself to make sure that I was doing it right and taking advantage of all the information available to me.

Over this period of time we got more comfortable with each other even to the point that we would occasionally flirt with one another.

Eventually it became evident to me that the complexity of searching the records required something more then emails back and forth, so I suggested to Cecelia that I would like her permission to phone her, to which she quickly agreed.

The first time we spoke it became evident that we had to keep in mind that we were in different time zones. The conversation was fairly short and dealt mostly with questions I had about this and that.

Hanging up, I laid aside the notes I'd taken, poured my evening brandy, and lit my pipe to more clearly and leisurely analyze the call.

With her picture on my lap I compared her voice with the expectations I'd had.

On the whole her conversation and her voice were about what I'd expected; the voice of a woman well educated, comfortable with Spanish and English, and extremely articulate. I had half expected to hear the "school marm" in her words but was very pleased to find that expectation to be false. She didn't speak down to me, but rather talked to me as an equal.

What had surprised me was the warmth in her voice. It wasn't a sexual warmth but the warmth of affection for a friend. The conversation had been a little stilted but I laid that to be due to our conversing for the first time.

Over the next year we talked by phone several times a week and emailed each other daily. Slowly but steadily our phone conversation became longer and more friendly, to the point that we would flirt with each other, and a certain warmth developed between us.

We talked not just about genealogy but our families, our past, our likes and dislikes, whatever came to mind. 

We'd been carrying on with our emailing and phoning when one evening, in the middle of our conversation, I interrupted her with an exclamation, which startled her. 

"If you'll recall, my Cousin, LT, whom you know as Luke, owns and runs the homestead. I'd meant to ask him if there were any records or photos around that he could examine to see if our Paul Stone could perhaps be more closely linked to the Paul Stone in El Paso. I regret to say it had totally slipped my mind until just now." 

The next several minutes consisted of a renewal of her teasing me about our families use of initials instead of real names.

"Most confusing," she opined. 

As I hung up for the night I promised her that I'd call my cousin tomorrow.




El Paso - Ronnie Wachuka



The next evening I called Luke:

"LT talking, your quarter."

"LT it's JP."

"Damn Hoss, been awhile."

"Too long, LT."

"Tell me Cuz, since you left California, ya'll found ya got balls again?"

"Funny ya mentioned it. Grampaw used to accuse me of losing my gonads when I left Texas and ended up in California with all those nutless pansies."

"Sounds 'bout right."

"I can remember him settin' on the porch in his rockin' chair tellin' me to beware of Greeks bearing strange gifts and Californians droppin' the soap in the shower, an' he'd bust out laughin'"

"What's on your mind Cuz?"

I explained about my search to prove or disprove that one of our kin was the Paul Stone killed in El Paso in 1882 with Faleena.

"Damn, ol' son, what you been smokin? You're pullin' my chain, right? I remember Marty Robbins singin' that song when I was just a wet nosed kid. You're funnin' me, right?"

"Wouldn't think of it Cuz. I got the newspaper clippins' that say it's gospel. Don't know how Marty got holt of it, but it's straight arrow."

-My God! five minutes on the phone and I was reverting back to the slang and drawl of my youth. -

"What ya need, Cuz?"

"You got anything layin' about that might help one way or the other?"

"Don't rightly know. Since Dad, died, been too busy. Tell you what, Cuz. I'll get my grandkids to take a look-see and let ya know, k?" 

Two days later I got a call from LT. His grandkids had found several chests in the bunkhouse. Trouble was they were locked and nobody had been able to find keys for them. Seems they'd moved them there when they'd rebuilt the bunkhouse after the old one burned down and they'd built the new one.

That old bunkhouse had been built near the barn ever since Grampaw sold off the land.

I stopped him at that point.

"Cuz, why would Grampaw sell off land?"

"When the War of the Rebellion ended there was lots of land for sale. Widows couldn't tend the land. our GGG Grampaw, John Stone, paid them a fair price. Land was also for sale because with Mr. Lincoln's Emancipation Proclamation, slave owners couldn't afford to work the land. John screwed them an' didn't even blush. He hated slavery, and those who practiced it. He paid a dime on the dollar.

It was a pretty smart move 'cause at that time the government was settlin' the indians on reservations and part of the deal was to feed 'em. That meant buyin' lots of beef.

Before too long the family had several thousand acres of prime cattle land. It went well until the '20's when prices started droppin' and Grampaw was fixin' to lose the whole shootin' match, when the bankers stepped in.

They'd already took back too much land an' were losing their shirts. They needed to work with the farmers and ranchers rather then foreclose

They looked at Grampaw's problem an' told him to sell off the cattle land and keep the farm. If he did he'd have a chance to pull it off and survive.

There was a philosophy floatin' around at the the time 'mongst the ranchers that if ya had more land you could feed more cattle. If ya had enough cattle you could beat the odds and make a profit.

Grampaw an' the bankers took advantage of this theory an' sold the land at premium prices.

The end result was the original 160 acres survived intact, clear and unencumbered to this day."

LT had a sudden flash of brilliance; "Cuz, you ain't been on vacation for a long time, an' it's been a lot longer since ya been here. Why don't ya'll come down for a couple of weeks an' look them chests over?"

"LT,  I have a lady friend who is into this kind of thing. Would ya have objection to her also coming along?"

"Let me talk to my woman an' I'll get back to ya."

Next day he called back and said it was alright with Ellie, but no hanky panky. I quickly assured him there would be none, as I had no desire to embarrass him, his wife, or his granddaughters.

 8. Return (?) to El Paso

That evening I called Cecelia to tell her about the LT's granddaughters finding several chests belonging to my various ancestors. She was overjoyed, but in turn she had some gloomy news for me. She'd not been able to find any photos of Paul or Feleena.

I explained to her LT's invitation to come to the homestead and look through the trunks as I knew what I was looking for, he was too busy, and he had no idea what I was looking for anyway.

Cecelia was overjoyed. I heard a distinct shriek, like a school girl, before she composed herself to ask me if I was going to make the trip.

That was when I popped the question and asked her to join me in the search of the chests. I told her I would probably fly down to LA and catch a flight to Dallas, rent a car and drive up to the homestead, and she could drive up and meet me.

At first she demurred because she didn't want to intrude, but I explained to her that LT and his wife Ellie were looking forward to seeing me again and meeting her.

I told her I hated flying in and out of LA and Dallas but it may well be worth it, and I would greatly enjoy being able to meet her and have her join in the search.

Cecelia thought it over and made some suggestions:

She pointed out it was almost seven hundred miles from El Paso to the homestead up in Grayson County. That was at least a long full days drive.

Since I hated flying through LA and Dallas why not fly to El Paso and meet her. That way we could drive up to the homestead together, taking turns driving. It would also be cheaper since I wouldn't have to rent a car.

I didn't hesitate in my reply; "A great idea. I'll fly in and rent a room and we can be off early the next morning."

Her reply was also instantaneous; "Nonsense. You'll do no such thing. I'll meet you and bring you home with me. The children are all gone and there's a room for you for the night."

I readily agreed.

We agreed on times, dates, and all of those niggling things that need to be thought about, discussed, and agreed upon. Once we were in agreement I told her I would give LT a call to see if our proposed schedule was ok with him and Ellie.

A call to LT and Ellie that evening proved interesting. I laid out my and Cecelia's proposed schedule and before LT had a chance to reply, Ellie was on the phone. You could hear the excitement in her voice as she screamed at me that she wished the trip was sooner but she could live with it, and she was eagerly waiting to meet my lady friend.

I was now the Computer Maintenance Supervisor at Western, and would need to be there to make sure that all was well until the end of the school term and perhaps a week after. Cecelia and I agreed that we'd make our trip to the homestead after the school term ended in June and I had my work wrapped up for the summer.

I made arrangements with mine and Jean's good friends and neighbors to take care of Gunner and Bosun while I was gone. Since they had a key, rather then move them to their home, they would come over to my house so the pups wouldn't feel like they'd been abandoned.

At last! The day of departure arrived.

After I took my shower the morning of my imminent departure, I stood in front of Jean's full length mirror for the first time in years. I wanted to survey the damage the years had done to this tired, abused, old sailor's body.

If I'd been a stranger looking at me for the first time, I'd have run from the room screaming in horror: A tired old man, standing 5'7" and weighing in at 160 lbs, with a shaved head, and a beard with a few streaks of grey still showing through the white. A slight paunch I'd never been able to get rid of, even in my best years, which was just before the flood I thought with a grimace.

Slowly I counted; yep, all nine tattoos were still there, although they had long ago faded into being well nigh unidentifiable as anything other then a mess.

Moving closer I looked at my face. Lord! A face only a mother could love, and then only if she was in a good mood. Eyes that had never been able to make up their mind what color they were. They changed from blue, to green, to grey, for no rhyme or reason. Jean used to check them out to see if it was a mood thing and finally gave up in disgust. The eyes had a mind of their own. At least, I chuckled; both eyes changed to the same color at the same time.

My neighbor, Hal, drove me to the shuttle bus in town that'd take me to SeaTac. The flight from there would take me to San Diego, and from San Diego to El Paso.

El Paso City

From thirty thousand feet above the desert floor I see it there below
A city with a legend, the West Texas city of El Paso
Where long ago I heard a song about a Texas cowboy and a girl
And a little place called Rosa's where he used to go and watch this beauty whirl

I don't recall who sang the song but I recall a story that I heard
And as I look down on this city I remember each and every word
The singer sang about a jealous cowboy and the way he used a gun
To kill another cowboy, then he had to leave El Paso on the run

El Paso City
By the Rio Grande

					- Written and sung By Marty Robbins 

My mind was in total confusion as the plane made its descent, I pulled the now well worn photo she'd sent me as a Christmas present from my pocket, fearing I wouldn't recognize her.

What would my reception be like?

Would we get along person to person as we'd seemed to do by email and phone?

Would she be attracted or repulsed by me?

All the time I felt like I was having an out of body experience as the words from the Three Songs plowed through my mind.

In my mind I was seeing a young cowboy riding low in the saddle as he rushed back to be united with his lover, heedless of the risk.

She rushed out the back door of Rosa's only to see him fall from the saddle as the bullets tore through his vest and shirt, entering his body, mortally wounding him.

I shook my head to clear it of the horror I was witnessing and trying to avoid the scene I knew would follow.

By keeping a tight rein on my thoughts and focusing on the present, I was able to keep that nightmare from my thoughts as the plane, thankfully, touched down. 

After what seemed like hours the passengers were finally allowed to disembark.

Grabbing my old beat-up leather bag and laptop case I slowly made my way out of the plane and up the ramp into the terminal.

She was easy to spot. Just as she'd told me, she was wearing a skirt and blouse she'd laughingly called anemic cactus (and without the needles). She also promised that it would be the last time I saw that outfit, which was a gift from a color-blind friend. Her hair was combed back into a bun.

The bun was tied in such a way it didn't make her look school marmish, rather it gave the impression of being put up that way so it was out of the way while she took care of the business of driving.

She recognized me rather quickly and moved towards me in what I would say was one of the most graceful and sensuous glides I'd ever seen. Man, when she moved, you knew everything was working just right.

The smile on her lips and the twinkle in her eyes told me that all my fears were groundless. She was really happy to see me. She proved it even more by putting her arms around me and pulling me tightly against her.

Her head just fit nicely into my shoulder, which allowed her to turn her head slightly, and plant a kiss on my cheek which I promptly vowed to never wash off.

Her breasts pressing against my chest didn't feel too bad either.

Naturally I returned the kiss. As I smooched her cheek I got a whiff of her perfume. Lord, I thought; That stuff needs to be outlawed. I don't know what it's name was, but if I'd named it I'd have called it, "Take No Prisoners."

After two hours, or sixty seconds, whichever came first, we pulled back slightly, with our arms still wrapped around each other.

Looking up at me she said, "I won't ask you how your flight was because I know you hate flying as much as I do. Let's get your luggage and get out of here."

After picking up my bags, we headed for the parking lot. Somehow, even with all the bags, she managed to place her hand around my arm. When she stopped next to a mini van it kind of caught me by surprise. She laughingly told me she'd named it Chuck Wagon because when she had her grandkids in tow they were always grazing on something. It usually took two or three days of vacuuming to get it clean after their visits.

Over the months I'd discovered that she had a wicked sense of humor. Probably needed it to raise five kids and a husband.

We finally arrived at her home, and what a home it was. It was an older house, built the way a house in the southwest needed to be built. It was massive, with a veranda on the west side, and tall, with three stories. The stucco was at least two inches thick, and the house was sited to take advantage of the weather. It was not what I call, "California Stupid;" a single story ranch, with 1/2 inch stucco walls that serve no purpose whatsoever, except to make its occupants swelter, unless they have air conditioning, which they can't afford to run.

Those old time builders knew how to build a house for the climate.

After my bags had been deposited in the back downstairs bedroom we met in the family room. After a few moments of small talk, she said that supper would be ready in about an hour if that was alright. I 'lowed that that was fine.

She'd changed out of that God-awful green outfit and was now attired in a skirt and blouse that accentuated all of her curves. Her hair was draped down her back in a very sexy ponytail. Some women can't carry it off, but on her it looked great.

I was flabbergasted when for the first time, she addressed me by my initials, saying; "JP, how do you like your food?" Her using my initials? 

I answered; "Ain't been on the coast so long that I've forgot how to enjoy good cookin.' If my ol' bald head sweats, pay no mind. If my lips blister it may be a tad too warm."

Laughing, she moved to the kitchen.

When she glided back into the living room, she had two glasses of red wine. She handed me mine and invited me to sit next to her on the sofa. We sat and talked about things in general and nothing in particular. From time to time she'd softly touch my hand or arm to put emphasis on whatever she was talking about. The touch left burn spots behind when she reluctantly removed her hand.

Her voice was low pitched and her words softly spoken. Whatever the scent she was wearing was called, I felt like a fly drawn to honey. Man it was alluring to say the least. That, all coupled with her teasing eyes and sultry come hither smile, had my complete attention. 

Looking at her closely, reminded me somewhat of the famous painting of Mona Lisa. Yet somehow she was different, and I suddenly had it; her darker complexion added to her allure, but if I painted her exactly as I was seeing her, and named it, I would have had to name the painting. "Horny Mona Cecelia."

By now I felt like a male Black Widow Spider being wooed by the female, and like him I just didn't care.

Slowly she rose from the sofa, grabbed my hand, and pulled me up. The next words blew my mind; "Mi Corazon, dinner is ready." I'd been away from Texas too long or my mind was a wreck. I distinctly heard her say, " Mi Corazon, I'm dinner. Lay me on the table and make long slow love to me." 

By this time she had my hand and was leading me into the dining room. All the time I was torn between trying to clear my head and watching her hips and butt as she led the way. Grampaw once described it as a gunny sack full of squirming catfish. I didn't understand it at the time but I did now.

She seated me next to her at the table and we proceeded to dine. The only distraction to the meal was her foot softly brushing against my leg from time to time.

The dinner that night was among the best I'd ever had; A crisp lettuce salad, roast beef, and a mixture of green peas and carrots, along with homemade biscuits. The dinner wine was the same that we'd enjoyed before dinner. It turned out to be a very fine Gamey Beaujolais. I don't know what the sauce on the meat was, but it was hot and it was good.   

Despite her protests I helped her clear the table after dinner. We'd have dessert later.

Moving into the living room we sat together on the sofa.

Business was first, play would be later.

We agreed the best route was I-10 to 1-20 which would take us through Dallas.

I'd written up a rout from Dallas as I had originally expected (shudder!) to have to fly in there.

She thought that was fine.

Next she asked if I wanted to take the wheel for the first driving shift. I simply told her that she was the expert on El Paso. If I tried to drive us out of here I was reasonably sure we'd end up in Juarez, Mexico.

The business of the evening having been mostly covered, we put the map away, and got down to some serious smoochin', gropin', and lovin'.

We put our wine glasses down and wrapped ourselves in each others arms. My only thought was"

 "Thank you sweet Jesus." 

The first taste of her lips and her soft searching tongue was heaven to this Horny 'ol Sailor.'

The kiss was accompanied by the soft caress of her fingers on the back of my neck. Lord. I was 'bout done, but I had my own secrets; I softly caressed her back, the back of her neck, her arms, and the palms of her hands in what the lady who taught it to me variously called, "The Cloud," "The Cloud of Delight," and "Heaven's Cloud." It is a stroke so light, so delicate, most men won't or can't learn it. But I tell you sailor, if you ever learn to do it right, it's devastating. It worked its usual magic.

It only took about twenty minutes, before we were both breathing very heavily, and seriously trying to figure which bed we'd occupy for the night, when we heard a sound like a key opening a door lock.

We both immediately grabbed our glasses of wine, leaned against the cushions like two people talking about the weather, and waited for the onslaught.

When I heard the thundering herd in wild stampede, I looked at Cecelia, and the look I saw on her face was priceless; it was the look of a horny woman who was totally frustrated and pissed off. It only lasted for a mili-second before it was replaced by the look only a grandmother can have when she looks at her favorite grandchildren.

The herd (all three of them) had rounded the corner of the entryway and were now heading straight to her at flank speed, all the while shrieking, "Grammaw! Grammaw!" 

I saw the three; two girls and a young boy, ranging in age I'd guess, between twelve and eight. The young boy was having a hard time keeping up with his older sisters but he was giving it all he was worth.

Cecelia held her arms wide open to capture them, holding them open until the young lad was safely corralled, and then closing them to hug her precious load to her breast.

Lucky little bastards I thought with just a twinge of jealousy. 

That was when I saw her enter the living room. Rising, I moved towards her and since Cecelia was busy, I extended my hand, and greeted her; "You're Estelle, of course. I'm Paul, or better yet, just call me JP."

Continuing on, I pressed my luck, "I saw your wedding picture. I must say that you are an exact image of what your mother must have looked like as a teenager, and if your genes run true you'll be a real treat, just as she is, when you too reach middle age."

I couldn't tell if the sound from the couch was a giggle or a snort. 

The words had no more then left my mouth when the front door once again flew open. Another, smaller stampede was underway. Around the corner came two true crumb crunchers; arms flailing, legs barely able to keep them upright, and heading for Grammaw with appropriate yells and screeches.

I thought it was Cecelia's youngest daughter, but it's sometimes hard to tell when the lady in question is at least seven months pregnant.




El Paso - Ronnie Wachuka



I dared not repeat my greeting to Estelle, so I was going to have to wing it. 

Moving to her and taking her hand, I introduced myself; "I'm Paul, or better yet, JP. You have to be Gabriela. I remember your face from your wedding pictures. You were no doubt named for your great grandmother. I see God has blessed your house yet again. If it's a girl I hope she inherits the beauty of your mother, sister, and you. If it's a boy, may he inherit all that you love in his father." 

I think the sound from the sofa was a snort, but I couldn't be sure.

Cecelia finally took charge as a matriarch should, and in a true matriarchal tone asked the big question:

"Girls: Why are you here?"

I swear both of the daughters blushed before Estelle finally answered, in a little girls voice; "Mother, you're going away for several weeks and you've never been away from your grandkids for that long before. Besides, we wanted to make sure you got off to a safe start, so Sis and I decided we'd come over and make sure everything is packed. Tomorrow morning we'll fix breakfast and you can have a great relaxed start on your trip." 

The translation to all of the above was, " we know this man is a chain saw killer or at least a triple axe murderer. We'll check his luggage to make sure there's no chain saws or axes in his luggage."

I wasn't exactly sure what Cecelia's response was. It might have been a chortle, a giggle, or a snort because I was having a hard time trying to keep myself from breaking out into a belly-rippin' laugh.

Finally Cecilia broke the silence with a request, "JP, why don't you gather up the luggage while I feed these poor starvin' children? My daughters will show where the various bags go."

While Grammaw spoiled the kids with ice cream and strawberries, I lugged the various bags to their final destination; the girls in the South Room, the boys in North rooms on the second floor, with Estelle and Gabriela occupying the other two rooms.

Pleadin' natures call I stepped into the head to relieve my suffering. 

With the door closed I leaned over and smacked my head on the wall, uttering; "dumb son o' a bitch, plan A ain't worked worth a shit, sure hope plan B works better."

That night was a sad frustrating night in my lonely bed. 

9. The Quest Gets Side-tracked

 The delightful smell of food cooking brought me awake the next morning. After a quick cleanup, I headed to the kitchen to see if I could mooch a cup of coffee.

Gabriela saw me coming, poured a cup, and set it on the table with a smile as she informed me; "Mother says you take it black."

I thanked her and sat down to watch the two sisters busily preparing a mountain of food. Thinking about the four adults and five children to feed, I figured it might not be enough.

I Suddenly felt a soft touch on my shoulder. Looking up I beheld a most beautiful sight: Cecelia was standing next to me with her hand on my shoulder. The woman was dressed for comfortable travel, wearing a loose pale green sleeveless blouse and black slacks. Her hair was tied back in a ponytail and I could smell a soft hint of Lilac. She looked and smelled great. What more could you ask for to begin the day?

She softly asked me; "sleep well?" This was said with a definite smirk on her lips.

Picking up a cup, she filled it with coffee, and sat down next to me. We chatted idly for a few minutes while watching the breakfast preparations, when she rose to announce that she'd get the kids dressed for breakfast.

That left me to my own devices for the time being. I was on my second cup, and had answered several questions from the girls, when I heard the thundering herd in full flight down the stairs.

Cecelia was busy shooing them into the kitchen while Gabriela set up some card tables and opened folding chairs for the brood. Looked like this was a well rehearsed event as the kids seemed to know what seat was theirs. Pretty soon they were all busy eating and the adults were too.

The girls cleaned things up as Cecelia and I packed the bags into the van.

It took about another hour to get underway what with all the hugs and kisses that Grammaw had to bestow on the grandkids and her two daughters.

Finally Cecelia climbed behind the wheel and we were off to a chorus of goodbyes and hand waving. 

I was right about one thing; If I'd tried to get us on I-10 there's no telling where we'd have ended up. Cecelia made it look easy.

We followed I-10 until the turn off for I-20, which got us heading generally north east. At Odessa we stopped, gassed up, and swapped drivers.

During the drive the conversation had been general about our past and present lives; kind of a continuation of our long phone conversations. 

After we'd turned onto I-20 some of our former flirting began. At this point Cecelia asked me to call her by her nickname. I said I'd be honored but I was willing to bet I could guess what it was.

She smiled and said, "alright smarty, give it a try."

I said; "it's easy. CeeCee. But is it just CC the letters, or Ce Ce with two e's?"

Laughingly she said: "Just the letters CC. When I was young I had trouble pronouncing Cecelia so everyone called me CC and it stuck."

"So why were you bustin' my chops about JP when you go by CC?"

This brought a laugh. Damn, her laugh sounded great.

Now it was getting time to fish or cut bait, and I was nervous about what her reaction would be.

Finally I came out with it:

"CC, we've still got a lot of miles ahead of us. If we drive through it'll be dark and we'll be beat. What ya think about stopping for the night in . . . say, Abilene?"

Her response was most welcome: 

Reaching over to stroke my arm she smiled and answered; "JP, I think that's a lovely idea."

Now I had to tell her what might be the breaker on the deal: "I rented two adjoining rooms at the Elegante. If you have a different idea, I'm open to suggestions."

Her laughing reply made my day; "JP you old rogue, I love it. The Elegante it is."

A little later she turned towards me with a query: "JP, I know we spent many evenings talking on the phone, and you'd finish the night with your brandy and pipe. I haven't seen you smoke it, why?"

"Didn't want to smell up your house or van." 

"Nonsense. I smoke a cigarette once in awhile. Please light up. I want to smell what your smoking."

I dutifully packed my pipe with tobacco and lit it. 

In a few minutes she smiled, and asked; "I love the smell. What's the brand of the tobacco?"

I told her that I mixed several different brands to get the taste and smell I like.

Touching my shoulder she smiled and told me; "don't change it. I love the smell."

Hot damn! I wished we'd get to the motel soon.

The sun was slowly making its descent behind the Texas hills when we pulled into the Elegante's parking lot.

As we entered the lobby I noticed she was carrying a small travel case and a dress bag. I smiled to myself because I was reasonably sure that if I hadn't made the reservations she would've suggested an overnight stop herself.

On our way to our rooms she asked me to give her about fifteen minutes before we went to dinner.

That gave me time to get the wine I'd had put in the room into the 'fridge to cool.

I gave her fifteen minutes and ten seconds before I knocked on the door that adjoined our rooms.

When she opened the door I found myself staring in wonder: She was now wearing a sleeveless pretty pale yellow summer frock with a sort of scoop neck that showed a lot of cleavage. The upper part of the dress was tightly showing off an alluring figure. At the hips it flared out slightly, falling gracefully to end just above her nylon clad knees. Her feet were encased in black pumps with perhaps a one inch heel. 

She'd fixed her hair into some sort of bun, applied some lipstick, and all this in fifteen minutes. Amazing!

Turning around she laughingly said, "Zip me up sailor, if you remember how."

Zip her up? I wanted nothing more then to take that dress and pull it off of her.

As I reached for the zipper I got the full effect of the perfume she'd been wearing last night. 

  I couldn't help myself. As I finished with the zipper I placed my arms around her waist and softly kissed the back of her neck.

I heard her intake of breath and felt a slight shudder in her body. She turned around, placed her arms around my neck, and stroked it with her finger tips as her soft lips touched mine.

Giggling, she stepped back out of reach and in a soft regretful voice murmured: "Honey, anymore of that and we're not going anywhere except to bed. I don't know about you but I'm starved. Let's save it for after dinner."

Reluctantly, I had to agree with her reasoning, dammit! 

Dinner was about as good as it gets. A fine Caesar salad, Black Angus steaks about two inches thick. The steaks were marinated in some sort of sauce that didn't hurt the flavor any, and grilled over mesquite. Steak fries, and steamed asparagus completed the meal. The wine was a Pinot Noir that could only be described as superb.

We were both too full for dessert so we declined and walked slowly back to our rooms, hand in hand.

At her door she put a finger to my lips and murmured: "Honey. I need to get the grime off of me so I'm going to have a nice soak. Give me a half hour and I'll let you know when I'm through."

It suited me 'cause I needed a good cleanup too.

As soon as I entered my room I called down to the desk and asked them to deliver my previously ordered surprise to CC's room in thirty five minutes.

I quickly cleaned up and changed into a light weight robe I kept especially for traveling. Removing the wine from the 'fridge, I placed it in one of those little doo hickeys they'd used to serve the wine in the restaurant. 

I was watching TV when I heard the muffled sound of a knock next door and an unintelligible murmur which must have been room service.

Shortly, there was a soft rap on the door that adjoined our two rooms. Turning off the TV I moved to unlock the door. When I opened it I received a visual shock that rattled me to my bones:

CC was leaning against her door frame, dressed in something that was a cross between a peignoir and a short nighty. It was modest enough to not show much except a slight hint of the delights to be found, if she wanted it so. 

The air around her was laced with the most pleasant aroma of a woman who'd enjoyed her soak, and had applied a touch of the scent that drives me crazy. It was rapidly becoming my favorite fragrance whenever I have the pleasure of inhaling its erotic and enticing smell.

Her hair was falling in soft ringlets, framing her face, and laying softly against her shoulders. Those dark eyes were almost smoldering as she looked me over, and there was definitely a lurid smile on her lightly glossed lips.

In a soft voice with just a hint of her Spanish origins she murmured: "You're pretty sure of yourself, sailor."

With that, she turned and indicated with a crook of her finger that I was to follow.

Hoo Haw!

Picking up the ice bucket I tried to follow but my legs wouldn't move. The sight of her gliding across the room and the sway of her hips overloaded my brain, causing it to cease functioning. What her hips did to the material she was clothed in was downright criminal. It was clothing abuse pure and simple.

Seating herself on her throne (what we normal mortals would call a settee), she patted the seat to indicate that I should join her. The motion, and the way she straightened her back, caused her breasts to push against her night dress. It was equally obvious her breasts were much larger then I'd thought, and her nipples had become erect from the two huge indention's in her clothing.

I know that I must have looked like one of the Disney or Warner cartoon dogs with my tail wagging and my tongue in full pant as I moved to fulfill her command.

As I sat down she reached for a piece of melon from the plate of iced fruit and cheese that room service had delivered a few moments before. She carefully placed it to my lips and slowly pushed it into my mouth with a slow and sensuous motion of her fingers.

I slowly sucked her soft, delectable finger and thumb as I accepted the heavenly  morsel. While I let the icy delight settle on my tongue, I carefully removed the cork from the wine and poured the wine into the two wine glasses on the coffee table. 

Where had the glasses come from? I hadn't ordered them and she had no previous knowledge of my surprise. 

A truly sly, cunning, and all-knowing woman.

Holding her chin tenderly in one hand, I lifted the wine glass to her lips to sip  the wine of the evening.

She again one-upped me; placing her lips to mine she slowly and delightfully deposited some of the wine on my tongue with hers.

All bets were off!

We each decided that it was time to move to the next stage of our relationship.

Her hands were softly caressing the back of my neck as I stroked her body and our lips and tongues began a time honored tango of discovery and delight.

She reluctantly broke off our love making to rise and pull me up from the settee.

I rose to once again take her into my arms. As I kissed her I slowly began to remove her various garments even as she removed mine, until we were as God had created us, naked and unashamed.

She was a true vision of loveliness; A mature Venus de Milo in my eyes. Yes, her breasts sagged from her years, their weight, and fullness. Her hips were wider then a teenager. She had a slight tummy, and her butt cheeks were not as taut as a young woman's might be, but by God she was a vision of true delight to this Horny 'ol Sailor.

I only hoped and prayed that her first sight of me didn't cause her to break out in peals of laughter, or worse yet, run from the room screaming in horror.

My appearance apparently didn't frighten her enough, as she she took my hand and led me to her bed.

The next hour or so was spent in discovering each other. We each learned what excited our partner, and what didn't. Each reaction to a kiss or caress was carefully catalogued for future exploration. After several minor orgasms on her part she finally said; "Corazon de mi Corazon, fill me."

Our coupling was a joining of two friends whose mutual desire was to raise our attachment for each other to the next level. It was slow and unhurried, with each trying to bring to the other the maximum pleasure and fulfillment. 

When she reached what I thought was her great orgasm, I came with her as she entreated me to fill her. When we slowly returned to earth, I stroked her body while she lay in my arms with her head on my chest. I could feel her body shudder in an occasional minor orgasm.

While we lay in each other's arms I finally asked the question which had been foremost on my mind: "Honey, it was evident from the airport, and from the events at your house, you were playing the seductress; why?"

Her reply totally took me aback:

"Heart of my heart, our emails, phone conversations, and pictures, convinced me that you were a man I could easily love. It's been many a year since I loved a living man, and I thought you might be that man. I needed to know. When you told me you were coming to El Paso, I determined to find out if you were the man to become the lover who would join my Roberto in my heart."

That night, we never did get back to sampling the fruit and wine as we drifted into a deep sleep of total contentment, with her head on my chest and her leg thrown over mine. 

In the early morning I slowly woke to discover she was cuddled up to me with her back pressed tightly against my chest and my hand cupping her soft pendulous breast. I could feel my erection partially trapped between her thighs.

I slowly pressed it against my lover. She reciprocated by raising he leg and placing my hardness against her pussy. With one backward movement she engulfed me. 

We slowly and sleepily made love. It was the coupling of two lovers, happy and content with their partner, and wanting all that that relationship could bring. When we climaxed, it was a climax in satisfaction and love that no one will ever know nor understand unless they've travelled that road.

The next morning we showered together, twice. During the first one we both became aroused and ended up making love again. This time I was behind her again, but she was now leaning over and holding on to the sink.

This allowed me to really play with her dangling breasts. Turned out there were times when she wanted to be treated a little roughly, as she kept begging me to squeeze her breasts and pull on the nipples as hard as I could.

Just as she began to scream that she was cumming I smacked her butt cheek; not hard enough to hurt, but just enough to get her attention. The results astounded me and drove me to my own orgasm.

Her screams became so loud I thought that the police would be breaking down the door at any time now, and her movements became a frenzy of violent activity.

Her climax triggered my own, which promptly drove her to a higher level, and completely pushed her over the edge of whatever mountain she'd been climbing.

Her pussy muscles clamped so tightly around my cock I thought she was going to crush the little fella. She reached behind her to grab my legs to pull me deeper into her as her legs snapped shut to make sure I didn't get away.

Unfortunately, her fingers closed around the meat on my thighs and those finger nails dug in. Damn! That smarted!

I was truly a prisoner of love. A wounded prisoner at that.

Suddenly her legs started to give way and I had to wrap my arms around her waist to keep her from falling. 

When she began to calm down and regain use of her legs again, she turned around, pressed her body tightly against me, and stroked my cheek with her finger tips as she softly murmured:

 "My daring you make me feel like a wanton woman when we make love. You make me cum so hard and so often I can't get enough. I am becoming addicted to you, and I want more and more of your magic. You have made me a slut, sweetheart, but I will be only your slut. Last night and this morning has convinced me of what I'd already known, but was afraid to admit or say: I love you my sweet man."

The time had come for me to admit to my own feelings:

"CC, my sweet; I too have found myself falling in love, and last night and this morning have confirmed my feelings for you. Sixty year old men aren't supposed to make love like pimply-faced teenagers, but when I see your body and feel you in my arms, that's exactly how I feel; like a horny teenager. I can't get enough of you. I'm hopelessly in love with you my heart's desire. This Horny 'ol Sailor's never gonna let you go."

The second shower was one of much cooing. caressing, and kissing. If our bodies hadn't been temporarily satiated we might never have left that motel room.

Reluctantly, we finally got into the van and headed to the homestead.

10. Back to the Quest

As we pulled up the long driveway to the house, after what seemed liked days on the road, the screen door flew open; two teenage girls burst through the door like miniature tornados, bounded down the steps as fast as their young legs could carry them, and ran towards us at flank speed.

As CC and I exited the car I noticed Ellie moving down the steps to come and greet us. Lord, she was aging gracefully.

Ellie introduced her Granddaughters, Tina and Nicole, to us, and I introduced CC.

The last time I'd seen the two of them they were laying in their cribs after being fed, bathed, and changed.

The two women shook hands in greeting, and I swear that in that instant, CC informed Ellie that I was her intended, and Ellie congratulated her without a word being spoken. The smile on Ellie's face when she looked my way convinced me of that. How the hell do the ladies do it?




El Paso - Ronnie Wachuka



The two girls helped us with our luggage up to our rooms. and we all met in the kitchen for a cup of coffee and some damn fine coffee cake, which Ellie proudly informed us, had been lovingly prepared by Tina and Nicole. 

We sat around shooting the breeze until the back screen door opened and LT made his entrance after a hard day in the fields. Ellie greeted him with a hot cup of coffee, a hug, and a kiss, as befits two people still in love after so many years of happily living under the same roof.

I looked at CC and the look on her face was a look of smiling approval; She saw two people, still in love, and not ashamed to show it, even after weathering all of life's trials and tribulations for so many years.

During supper, LT informed us that they'd still not found the keys to the chests and so he'd called in a locksmith to open the chests and make a set of keys for each of them.

That would leave CC and I free the following day.

That evening we all gathered in the large family room (which at one time was the parlor), and Ellie, LT, and I caught up on family, and played that old familiar game of "remember when." Most of the incidents were brought up by Ellie since she'd lived just down the road and had either been in on the action or been an observer. 

I wondered why she was so intent on the memories of LT's and my sins of omission and commission in those days long gone by, which usually were concluded with mine or LT's Dad blistering our collective butts.

I knew CC was bored out of her mind, but when I turned slightly to look at her, I saw her sitting next to me with a quiet smile and a very attentive ear to all Ellie's stories, and I knew; Someday, someway, those stories were all going to resurface when CC thought the time was appropriate. Damn you Ellie! God, the women's union has to be the strongest in the world, they stick together like glue.

It finally came time to call it a night so I escorted CC up to her room, We stood outside her door kissing and caressing each other for a few minutes when she whispered, "Sweetheart, promises made are promises which must be kept," slipped from my arms, and glided through her door with her hips swinging in a way she knew would keep me up half the night.

Hell's fire! Another night in a lonely bed.

I was awakened the next morning by a soft kiss on my cheek, and a soft voice quietly telling me it was time to get up. Looking out the window I could see that dawn was just now breaking. Dammit! Farmers had no sense of when a workday should begin. With a snort of disgust I drew the covers over my head, but CC wasn't having any of it.

She pulled the covers off of me and began to kiss me and stroke my cock, which immediately got my attention. As I reached for her she laughingly made her exit while informing me that breakfast was ready.

Shit!

After breakfast Tina and Nicole took us on a tour of the farm. It'd been many years since I'd been here. The changes were in some ways extensive and yet, in a sense, I felt l was coming home. So many memories.

LT took the afternoon off from farming. Instead, the four of us sat in his office in the farmhouse and talked about the history of the place; How, at first, it was a simple farm, and its growth after the War of the Rebellion into a ranch and farm. According to several maps LT showed us the whole shebang must have been several thousand acres at one time, most of it devoted to cattle. 

Somewhere about 3:00 Ellie left to gather up the grandkids and get dinner started.

CC and I sat in fascination as LT told us about the changes and improvements his paw had made after Grampaw died, and the changes he'd made when he inherited the homestead.

All too soon, Nicole came in to announce dinner was ready. As we got up to head for the dining room, LT handed me a set of keys for the bunk house and the chests, while wishing us good luck on our search.

That night my dreams were once again of the young cowboy and Faleena. Why did Paul ride back to Rosa's, knowing full well it would be his final ride?

Why did Faleena kill herself? Was it remorse because her flirtatious ways were the catalyst that caused the sorry mess? Was it because she, a woman wise in the wicked ways of the world, had finally and truly, fallen in love and would rather die then live without Paul by her side?

Nothing in my dreams provided an answer.

11. The Quest Concludes

The next morning I felt something soft brushing my cheek and lips, and something just as softly stroking my cock. Opening an eye to see who or what was disturbing my sleep, I saw CC leaning over me with a leer on her face as she continued her attack. Problem was, my attention was kind of distracted; she was still wearing her night dress and the top several buttons were open. 

My eyes were riveted to her pendulous breasts dangling and swaying from her ministrations. My God, she was a women full of deviltry because I could see her shoulders shake so as to cause her breasts to wobble and sway just to torture me.

With a peck on my lips she started to turn and head for the door, her hips swaying and undulating like a clock pendulum gone mad. Pausing at the door she turned and softly said, "Up sailor, time to get the show on the road." 

There I lay hard and horny.

Again! 

I gritted my teeth, muttered a few well chosen cuss words, and rose to begin another day of  frustrated country living.

On our tour yesterday, I'd looked at the bunk house and somehow it seemed larger and different somehow from what I recalled as a boy and young man. LT told me that evening that my recollections were correct; the old bunkhouse had burned down about fifteen years ago as a result of a chimney fire, They rebuilt it and made it larger and more comfortable.

For the next two weeks CC and I went through the three trunks, carefully and thoroughly. 

The only item that shed any light on our quest was John Stone's, and later, William T's farm journal. 

Like most farmers and ranchers they kept a meticulous record of everything that affected the farm; materials bought and sold, wages paid, crop prices, etc.

Paper must have been a hard commodity to get hold of because John and William T both made notes in various margins about life as it affected them and the farm.

I learned for the first time that William T had two brothers killed in the Civil War; one was a Confederate cavalryman killed near Gettysburg. The other fought for the Union Army and died during a battle in Arkansas.

The other fact that came to light was a note in the ledger that William T's Son, Paul, had left to fend for himself in 1879 after the father and son had a falling out.

That notation, by what must have been a man suffering from anger, worry, and hurt, seemed to lay the case that Paul was my GG Granduncle. Everything CC and I had seen and read pointed to that fact; yet the definitive proof had not been discovered, nor was it likely that it would ever be found.

CC and I are forever indebted to Ellie and LT. We'd promised them no hanky panky in the house and we kept our word.

Ellie would almost daily find chores for the grandkids so they would be far away from the bunkhouse for most the day.

She and LT let us know we were on our own.

She'd also made sure that there was food in the fridge and clean sheets on the bed.

When CC first saw the bunkhouse and Ellie's handiwork she started giggling and before long she was laughing so hard she had to sit down. Pretty soon I had to sit down too because I finally figured out what she was laughing about.

That night she and Ellie were in the kitchen giggling and laughing like two teenage school girls. When Tina and Nicole would ask what was so funny, Ellie would tell them nothing, and they'd be off into another round of giggles followed by rib-busting spurts of laughter.

During our two week stay we'd screw like minks in the bunkhouse, throw the sheets into the washing machine, and hit the shower together. 

The food that was in the fridge was a delight to the palate. Ellie had outdone herself to give us all the comforts of home.

During the evening before going to bed and after it had cooled down a little, CC and I would take a walk and sit down on the swing in the gazebo behind the house and talk. She'd sit with my arm around her, her head on my chest. A lot of our conversations ended with a kiss and a caress. We had to be careful though, and keep it within bounds, because you never knew if those two precocious girls would wander in on the scene.

By now we both knew that we were deeply in love with one another. Yes the sex was great for the both of us, but it was that special sex that is not sex, it is an act of shared love.

One thing we'd agreed on; I was going to call my boss and extend my vacation for two weeks and stay with CC in El Paso.

The last day of our stay we sat down with Ellie and LT to let them know what we'd found or hadn't found.

I started it off by telling LT: "You need to get someone in from the local historical society. There's stuff out there they'd drool over if they knew it was available to them. Lord Cuz, you've got things in them trunks that go back to before the Republic of Texas.

 They'd have an orgasm if they read that journal of John Stone's and William T's, and those clothes could well go on display somewhere if you lent them to the museum.

As far as proving or disproving that the Paul Stone and Faleena in Marty's song and the newspaper articles are our collective kinfolk; can't be done with what we looked at. It's probable but not provable, Cuz."

The rest of the evening and night was spent in just enjoying each other's company.

The next morning as we were leaving, LT shook my hand as Ellie and CC were carrying on like two sisters about to be separated by time and distance for a long time. He looked me straight in the eye as he gave me a bear hug and softly said, "Cuz; Ellie and I'd shure 'preciate being there for the knot tyin'," in his best good ol' boy drawl.

When Ellie hugged me she whispered to me: "JP, have you set the date yet? When you do let us know, please."

I looked at CC, but there was no help from that direction. She was too busy wiping her eyes with her hanky.

While my arms were around Ellie's waist, I thanked her for all she'd done for CC and me. Her cheeks turned as red as a Texas sunset, and LT's head snapped around, as she broke into a giggling fit.

I just knew that she and LT were going to have an interesting conversation after we left. 

12. After the Quest.

We retraced our trip and once again made a fine night of it at the Elegante. We'd already agreed after our first stop at the Elegante that sleeping in the nude was the way it would be for us from that time on, and what a joy it was to feel her soft warm back against my stomach and chest as she pulled my hand up to her chest to cup a breast after a great session of love making.   

On our return to El Paso we found CC's family ensconced at her house awaiting our return.

As soon as Grammaw emerged from the van, an army of screaming crumb crunchers and older, wise, and aloof, teenage grandkids surrounded her. She spent the next five minutes hugging and greeting each one.

It was early evening when we'd pulled into her driveway. Her sons made quick work of unloading all of our luggage and putting them in the rooms in which they belonged. (CC had let them know that I'd be staying for awhile).

CC's daughters had evidently spent a long day cooking and cleaning because the house was spotless and the food was exquisite.

After dinner when the kitchen was back to its normal immaculate state and the youngest children had been put to bed, we all gathered in the family room so that CC could bring the family up to date on all (well, almost all) that had occurred on our quest.

She gave them the clean version, but I noticed that the daughters were giving each other knowing glances from time to time, so I guessed the jig was up and we were probably busted.

As darkness fell, each of CC's sons and daughters gathered up their brood and made their exit until CC and I were finally able to cuddle up together on the sofa. We were exhausted, but happy to be together, and thoroughly content to just hold each other and listen to the soft sounds of classic music on CC's stereo. 

We woke in the early hours of the morning, having fallen asleep in each others arms on the sofa.

For the next two weeks CC was my guide as we toured El Paso, visited with her children and grandchildren, and generally enjoyed ourselves, especially when the doors of the house closed behind us at night.

During our long talks, a lot of the conversation concerned our future. There were several questions that needed to be answered, and to that end, CC decided she had some vacation coming, and she'd be delighted to accompany me home for the rest of the summer.

 That almost caused a mutiny in the family when her daughters heard the news.

CC finally put her matriarchal foot down. informing one and all that she intended to fly home with me and she'd brook no more discussion.

On the appointed morning, the whole clan headed to the El Paso Airport in a convoy consisting of CC's van with me, her, and a mountain of luggage, and four cars of kids and grandkids.

I don't think the airport was ready for the storm of screaming, yelling, running, and generally disruptive humanity that descended on it.

CC and her daughters were finally able to restore order after the fathers deposited a few well placed swats on well deserving tushs. 

The grandkids were models of deportment even when we left the whole brood at the passenger lounge to board the plane. CC had worked her Grammaw magic and held, kissed, and whispered something in each ear before picking up her laptop and travel bag.

Someone had an in and we were able to upgrade my ticket and get her seated alongside me in first class.

The conversation during the flight and short layover in Houston were generally me answering questions about what she'd find when we got home, the weather, and about some places I wanted to show her.

She was curious about Bosun and Gunner so I showed her pictures of the two scoundrels and recited a lot of stories about their antics.

I did have one question; "what did you whisper in the grandkids ears when we were getting ready to board?"

With a loud laugh she replied: 

I told each them;  "if you misbehave while I'm gone, your parents will inform me of your misdeeds and it will be me paddling your butt." 

I also told them; " if you think Grammaw is easy, you ask my sons and daughters how they were punished for bad behavior when they were young."

The rest of the flight was a comfortable one with CC and I holding hands and making lover's noises.

True to his word, my neighbor, Hal, was there at SeaTac to pick us up. After introductions, we picked up our luggage, and headed for home.

It was love at first sight. When I opened the front door the pooches came through the door and made a beeline for me. As soon as they saw CC they changed course and headed for her with the full intention of giving her a Lab's version of a welcome.

She looked at them both for an instant and softly said; "sit."

The two critters instantly sat at her feet with their tails wagging at maximum speed and their tongues panting in perfect sync with their tails. She reached down and scratched each ear of the two pooches for an instant, and smiling at me said: "Honey, I love them."

It was also evident they now considered her to be their new benevolent mistress.

Without a word being said, they followed her into the house and totally ignored me.

That night we'd mutually agreed our lovemaking would consist of cuddling and snuggling as we were both pretty much worn out from our trip.

I'd already talked to CC about the dogs habit of sleeping with me. She had no objection, and so when we climbed into bed that night I patted the bed with my hand and they immediately jumped on the bed to assume their normal station for the night.

What happened next was not normal; the two pooches began to argue over who was going to sleep cuddled up next to CC. 

She put up with their shenanigans for about a minute before she looked each of them in the eye, one at a time, and muttered, "hush, lay down."

The pair of them dropped like rocks.

She turned around to kiss me, turned back to cuddle her back against me and pull my hand to where it could cup her breast, and sleepily said, "they're such good boys."

The two of them were a contented pair as they sandwiched us like a double layer Oreo cookie. 

The next day was mainly a tour of the house and yard, and unpacking the luggage. She'd already called her family as soon as we'd gotten home to let them know we were safe and sound.

That night we were both in a rather horny state so it was going to be another great night of love making.

Yahoo!

When we went to bed that night I closed the bedroom door with the dogs on the outside of the door looking much like two children who've been denied their play toys. As the door closed they began to whimper, but I paid them no mind, and climbed into bed with CC. As I reached for her she jumped out of bed and headed for the door.

It was an extremely pleasurable sight to watch her storm to the door, her breasts swinging, and her butt undulating, as she moved across the room.

She threw the door open and gave them "that look." I had a hell of a time trying to keep from busting out in laughter. Those were the two sorriest looking mutts in the world; laying flat on the floor, heads between their front paws, ears hanging down, and both trying to figure out how to tuck their tails underneath their bodies. What a  bunch of sad sacks the pair of them were.

Giving them her sternest look with her hands on her naked hips, she merely said, "quit!"

The last look I got of the pair of them as she closed the door, was as strange a sight as I'd ever seen. The pups were laying there and trying to cover their eyes and ears with their paws and legs so they wouldn't have to look and listen to the wrath of their mistress.

Now I knew why her daughters had knuckled under when they'd raised a ruckus about her coming home with me and she'd finally assumed her mantle as leader of the pack. 

As she turned and made her way to bed I made myself a promise:

I was going to make sure my computer address book and calendar had every appropriate date in them so I wouldn't have to face her wrath if I forgot to properly honor this occasion or that.  

We settled into a routine in the household. I had to get back to work at Western and get the computers ready for the fall term. CC would stay at home or go traveling about to see the sights in town. If she wished to use the van, she'd drop me off at school and pick me up when my work day was complete.

If she chose to stay at home she had my cart blanche to do anything or look through anything her heart desired. I wanted no secrets between myself and this woman I loved so very much.

The first day she stayed at home, I walked out into the backyard to find she'd weeded all the flower beds and shrubs. The next day the kitchen, living room, and bathrooms shined as though she'd spit polished everything. Everyday she'd clean some room or do a load of laundry, and at night she was the greatest, most caring, and enthusiastic lover I'd ever known. 

On the weekends we'd tour together. One weekend I took her up to see Mt. Baker. On another, I took her on a sight-seeing tour across the Cascade Mountains to a little town named Winthrop on the east side of the Cascade Range.

We left early in the morning and returned that evening so she could see the mountains bathed in the light of the full moon. A truly breathtaking sight.