| Straight: Serial Stories: Wolf Creek Chapter 11 (2/6) |
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she couldn’t stomach his politics—at least not as much as she could stomach the masterful lovemaking of the famous rugged adventure author, J. Harvey Kincaid. Besides Ada’s now-feeble minister father, of the surviving family members on both sides, only Frank’s son, Jessie, was not at the wedding. Frank had established in no uncertain terms that Jessie would not be there; he was to keep to his side of the extensive Wolf holdings if he didn’t want Frank to pull the financial underpinnings from under him. And Jessie might have a mean-streak still, albeit it reputably was being muted with maturity, but no one ever accused him of being dumb. After the ceremony, the small group of friends returned to the nearly completed lodge and Frank filled the guests with fine food and wine, while the charismatic J. Harvy Kincaid mesmerized those gathered with his fascinating story telling of men combining their talents and strengths to successfully fight the challenges of the wilds and the elements of nature. While J. Harvey entertained, Ada and Pete slipped away momentarily and he pulled her behind one of the small outbuilding sheds, pushed her against the rough planking, her palms and cheeks against the wood, hiked up her wedding skirts and fucked her deeply from behind. As Ada turned her face to his for a sensual kiss and sighed and moaned for the working of him inside her, her mind could not help but surface the irony of where this had all started back behind the hen house in Natowa, Missouri, when that somewhat bumbling evangelist Hiram Laffler had pushed her against the wall and been the first to fill her other channel with throbbing manhood. As ironic as the situations were, however, Ada would not have asked for anything different. She had grabbed life by the balls and turned it to her own pleasure—and fully intended to continue doing so. Frank would not suffer. She would love him to exhaustion later that night. She had never left a man unsatisfied. And if there was a way to get George Vaughn and James Shaffer alone while they were still here, she would give them a workout as well. And she was capable of doing all of this and remaining the perfect hostess for all of her other guests. By the spring of 1929, the new dude ranch was completed and the first guests were enjoying an extended residence. Ada had seen to it that the rooms of all of the writers were well appointed with everything they needed to write and that all of the windows from these rooms overlooked an inspiring scene but did not overlook the rooms of any of the other guests. To the extent they’d want and/or need total privacy for their writing, they had it. As for the fine artists, one of the buildings that looked like a barn had, in fact, been especially constructed for the needs of the painter and had been oriented to catch the light perfectly. The days were reserved for private work and contemplation, but from the point of the hour before sundown, when rocking chairs aplenty and drinks and nibbles were set up on the wide verandah running across the downslope front of the lodge, through the supper hour, to the salon gathering immediately afterward, where the various celebrity residents could mingle and exchange bantering and jibes and brilliant ideas, the residents were thrown together. This, unless they continued to seek privacy, in which case they could take supper in their rooms. J. Harvey Kincaid quickly became |
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