"Range War: Epilog" by R.Schultz
Series: Alternate Universe VOYAGER.
Code: F/M
Pairing: Janeway/Harry Kim/Etc.
Rating: R
Spoilers: None.
Disclaimer: Things Trek belong to Paramount and ViaBorgCom. I am
borrowing a few of their abandoned children and giving them a rare
fun day out. They will be returned happy. This story is mine
under common-law copyright. February, 2002, 6,500 words long.
Summary: Widow Janeway has emerged the unlikely victor in a Range
War with her northern neighbor, the Hirogen ranch. She has lost a
husband and two young daughters and two dear friends. She has
survived insanity, a climactic battle and a number of gunshots.
She is one tough cookie, when you come right down to it. She is in
town for the wake's of Deputy Tom Paris and new friend Belle Anna
Torres. It is being held in the "Borg Palace", a bordello (also a
classy saloon and restaurant) owned by the tall striking beauty,
the Madam Selma Nine, herself also a lover of Belle Anna Torres.
Warning: None.
Special Western Era assistance for this story from Saklani.
Posted to CaFF, a group of writers of Internet fiction. Archived
at the CaFF TrekSmut site, and later to the ASCEM. May be archived
elsewhere, but please notify.
Comments to; cousindream@aol.com
RANGE WAR: EPILOG
by R.Schultz
Not much doubt of it, I thought. I definitely look like something
the cat drug in, and he chewed on it a little - a lot - first. I
shook my head and deliberately looked away from the bedraggled
bandage covered figure in the saloon mirror.
Of course I now looked at the large painting of two naked nymphs
reclining around a woodland pool. Very realistic, I thought.
Excepting the tapered long ears.
At some point in my life a younger me would have been mightily
upset by such flaunting of feminine nakedness. Today it failed to
offend me. Actually I thought it rather pretty and subdued. The
naked female creatures calming rather than immoral.
Actually the entire saloon and bordello was both garish and
pleasing. Red wallpaper and clean waxed wood underneath. Drapes
everywhere to make even the noisest night sound subdued.
Miss Selma Nine ran a classy palace of flaunted sin. In the
Restaurant waiters wore little red jackets, as did the bartenders.
The menu's were in red holders, and red rugs were everywhere.
The one jarring note were the two excellent polished wood coffins
propped beside the big front windows, inside. Mr. Tom Paris lay in
the one, a real satin shroud covering him south of his hips and
pillowing his head. Eyes closed, he held his trusty Sharps rifle
across his chest.
Another coffin stood next to his, where Belle Anna Torres looked so
peaceful and finished with life. There, her hands across her
chest, a pistol in each hand. I suspected it were white silk held
and comforted her mortal remains. The Mortician had probably
despaired of ever selling these two fancy and expensive coffins,
and must have fairly danced to see them leave his shop.
The papers in Denver and Cheyenne said each had slain a hundred
Kazon before they perished.
Did it matter? They had won my war for me, and had met Jesus by
now. I prayed He had welcomed my heroes with open shining arms.
I continued to the swinging doors, intent on finding some cool air.
It was nice to be given room and keep here, besides being
economical. It was luxurious not to have to cook up my own
victuals for a change. Not to mention I felt incredibly sinful to
have as a bedroom one of the Presidential Suites.
Such a beautiful and firm bed, soft sheets, rugs underfoot and a
little corner behind Chinese screens where I could relieve myself.
Plus another nook with a mirrored table and stuffed chair where I
could put on my make-up. Iff'n I owned any.
Always with a red pattern to everything. I had sat naked on the
little red chair, looking into the mirror. Imagining myself as an
over priced and over-painted hussy. A thirty-dollar soiled dove
preparing to further ensnare some rich and important male. Another
helpless virile man, submissive before my painted and irresistible
charms.
The bubble burst when I recollected I was a fifty year old widow.
I knew my modest financial condition, not to mention my owning free
and clear a good farm did much to make me appear more appetizing to
most males in this state. I dearly wished, though, that the male
of the species hereabouts would think foremost of sinfully misusing
my willing body than they would of my bank balance.
The heart of my dismay lived down the hall right now. Tonight Mr.
Harry Kim had tippled more than he should have, and he no doubt
smelled and snored. Yet every time I saw him today I wanted him
back in my bed. As a husband or not, but surely the Lord would be
a mite forgiving of an old woman's lustful sins if they end in
marriage.
My one ear near shot off'n, two wounds on my right arm and one in
my right foot which I had not even noticed. A hole in my left hip
and my left hand and wrist broken by passing bullets. Doctor Emil
Howard had patched me up as well as he could, but I still looked
like something the cat drug in.
One large men's slipper over my bandaged bad foot, a blue ribboned
dainty thing on my right. A black Chinese robe with golden dragons
on it, and me hobbling about on a pair of crutches. The robe stunk
of too much Rose water, but it WAS striking.
Outside it was nicer, a faint breeze cooling my brow.
"Can I get you anything, Missus Janeway?"
How can it be that such a large male could move so silently?
It was Bruno Chell, foremost of Miss Nine's bouncers and night
watchman. For all his size, he was a peaceable minded man, ideal
for gently tossing rowdy customers out the door just hard enough so
they don't really get hurt much. He worked here, and earned his
wages, thank you, but he knew the Bible.
He wore a sawed-off shotgun in his hip holster, and I suspect a
derringer or two. The girls in Miss Nine's bordello thought him a
big lovable hound and loved him accordingly. I suspected more than
one took only a few dollars from him and gave him something
interesting to remember.
"Can I help you, Missus Janeway?" he carefully asked.
I wondered what to ask. There were wood benches down each side of
the front of the "Borg Palace", but each one seemed filled with a
celebrant from the Wake, sleeping off their free whiskey.
"I was going to sit out here and cool down some before I returned
to bed," I sadly explained. "But all the benches out here seem to
be filled with those who couldn't get much further."
Bruno looked at me with a faint smile on his lips. "Do you want to
sit in a cool breeze for a while? I think I can accommodate that.
"First off, though, do you mind if I carry you for a little while?"
he asked. "Seeing as how you aren't in any condition to be
climbing' stairs, carrying you would be the only solution."
That sounded like an odd kind of fun. Being carried .... where?
"Where are we going, Mr. Chell?"
"We're going to go up on the roof. Miss Nine's girls go up there
during a hot spell. They have pallets and everything up there, all
the creature comforts.
"Hold tight to your crutches," he warned.
With no more ado he bent and slung my pain filled body over a
shoulder, remembering to duck when he came to a doorway. Otherwise
I'm sure I'd had gotten my brains spilled out somewhere inside the
depths of the "Borg Palace".
On the third floor he pulled down a smooth working and mostly
silent folding stairway. I suspected it saw much use. A hot
summer's night many of the girls must escape until the cooler open
air on top of the building relaxed them.
Without actually stepping out onto the roof, Mr. Chell sat me down,
steadying me until I was able to stand on my crutches and feet.
"I'll come by the stairway fairly often, now," he explained. "Just
give me a call, no need to shout, when you see me at the bottom of
the stairs. I'll see you get to your room for the rest of the
night." He then disappeared, leaving me to find my own way.
There seemed two large sheds in the center of the immense roof, one
with the doors open and darkness and oddments visible inside. A
dozen women were collapsed on blankets, proving high-flyin' lives
of sin don't mean the girls forgot how to sleep hard, as need be.
Most of them were probably raised sleepin' on a blanket or hard
cramped crowded beds. Eight chairs and rocking chairs were
visible. Most importantly a cool breeze riffled my moist hair.
Obviously I could spend the night. An outhouse was in a far
corner, and I could see a small pile of overturned chamber pots.
All the comforts of home. By the way the girls were sleeping,
obviously the night cooled things down to the point where they
rolled themselves in comforting blanket warmth.
A nearby bundle in a large weathered rocking chair was now seen to
be a blond woman with a fairly large child in her lap. My heart
strings tugged at the sight of her innocent waif. I knew I should
never be able to become accustomed to the loss of my two beautiful
girl children.
I sat in another large grayish weathered rocker, next to her, and
admired her girl.
"Do you want to hold her?" a spectral whisper said to me. The
mother's eyes were open, awake, almost smiling. I held out my arms
in supplication, and a mumbling seven year old was transferred to
me. As all seven year old's, she was thin and trusting and full of
unquestioning love. Obviously her mother was raising her well.
As I breathed in her familiar girl's scent of sweat, honest dirt
and lilac water, her mother unrolled a bundle of blankets onto the
roof.
"Madeline went off to Denver to marry a storekeeper," the mother
said. "I'm Sam, Samantha, the little one is Naomi.
"Madeline was one of our fancy girls, but she was proper clean.
She left a few blankets on one of these shelves .... Ah, here they
are. Had ribbons sewn in them, she had a real taste for ribbons,
she did.
"Nice gal, sweet disposition, I knew she'd get hitched the first
day she walked through the doors of the "Borg Palace". You can
tell sometimes they're going to become proper and married someday.
She bent to me, holding out her hand. "I'm the cook here, if
you're thinking I'm a mite too old and fat and motherly to be one
of those make their living here otherwise."
She unrolled two blankets with ribbons on the edges, just like she
warned. The third she left rolled for a pillow for me.
"Here," she whispered, "I'll be honored iff'n you'll cozy up to me.
I won't mind if Naomi cozens up to you .... you won't mind, now
will you? I didn't much think so ...."
Sam swept up her child and they laid themselves on their own
blankets for the night.
My exhaustion and recent opium drink conspired to make me seek the
ribbed blankets next to Sam and child.
I slept within a few minutes. Only a few noises woke me later,
presenting me with a problem. How to get to my feet so that I
could use one of those chamber pots.
On my stomach I debated my possibilities.
Miss Selma came around the sheds wearing not so much as a ribbon in
her hair. Nekkid as all get out.
Behind her came a red head, the Bajoran, Nerys Kira I recalled.
Nice appealing girl, rather sharp in the mouth though. If she were
to marry, her husband would probably quickly get the reputation of
henpecked. She was a long way from the Bajoran homelands between
France and Spain, or from Quebec.
She was right behind Miss Nine and she was as nekkid as her. As
Miss Nine rummaged in the one shed, Nerys Kira carefully fondled
and caressed the bordello owner's butt. Miss Nine giggled in
response.
Nerys raised one foot to her other knee, proving to me that she
could be even more nekkid than before.
The red headed woman noticed me looking at her, prompting her to
smile, wave at me, and leave herself fully exposed. She patted
Miss Nine on her unclothed shoulder when she came out of the shed.
Miss Nine was pulling something out of a supple bag.
With a third moon the something was easily visible. It was
something I'd heard harem women use on each other, their lives in
the seraglio one of maybe years between visits of the Caliph.
It was dark wood, shiny and curved. One end had a copy of a man's
erect thing. It was made to be fitted inside a woman ....
Miss Nine turned to see me now, her face must be turning red to be
caught handling such a thing, and the both of them women naked
besides. My own face turned red to be watching them in the midst
of something forbidden in the Bible.
Miss Nine was finding her own solace in another woman's arms. Just
as my own grief didn't stop me thinking about dragging Mr. Kim to
my own bed again.
We are all such sinners, Lord. It is a wonder sometimes that you
forgive us.
"Miss Nine," I whispered at her and her friend. "Miss Nine," I
repeated. She looked funny at me, but it was her smaller friend
who walked - no, sauntered - over to me. Obviously she was not
particularly shy about flaunting her naked body. Of course she was
a fancy girl, and obviously a lover of women, so I shouldn't have
been surprised by her lack of modesty. Still ....
She leaned over me, letting me notice how her breasts swung with
her movements. I looked away, blushing. Then swung my eyes
forward and up again, determined not to show my disapproval, or
shyness. I should not judge. And I will NOT be looked down on or
made fun of because I was unaccustomed to female nakedness. I will
NOT let this hussy make me look away.
"I need to use your facilities on the side there, and I am unable
to rise by myself," I explained. "Please help, I need to take
advantage of one of your chamber pots ...."
She smiled as big a smile as I've seen on a woman, but she bent and
began to help me to my feet. In a second Miss Nine had a bag slung
around her neck and was by my other side.
A night of .... differences. I was very much aware of the feel of
naked femininity through my shift, turning bright red to understand
I could feel naked nipples against my arms. Yet Miss Nine was kind
courtesy herself, lightly touching my arm with her surpassingly
gentle hand, and guiding me across the roof to her wooden outhouse.
She placed a new chamber pot under the seat and helped me without
seeming to give thought to her ministrations or her nakedness.
She stood outside the door and talked in a low murmur to me. "I
did not mean to offend you," she stated. "This place is largely a
world of women. We are accustomed to viewing each other in our
nakedness, since we are all women together and our .... our
business calls for much revelation between us."
"You do not offend," I replied. "Just surprise. I do not mean to
place difficulties in your life's path. Please forgive me."
I wondered when and how she had acquired that jagged scar above her
left eye?
She digested that for some seconds. Then she astounded me.
"When I heard from Belle Anna Torres that she was riding out to
your homestead, to fight for you," Miss Nine explained, "I thought
you and her were lovers.
"When I heard she was dead," she said, "I was enraged at you for
placing her in harm's way, for letting her die in a cause not her
own.
"I drove out to your homestead that night half ready to kill you in
revenge.
"Instead, when I saw you lying there, I half-way fell in love with
you myself, Missus Janeway.
"Can you forgive me that sin?"
She deeply sighed, continuing. "I have by now come to realize my
error in thinking you another lover of my Klingon girl. Can you
forgive me?"
I was struck dumb. Having finished my activities, I opened the
door, and a Miss Nine, wearing her own robe, helped me to my feet.
Behind her I also saw Nerys Kira in another robe, understanding she
had brought clothing for Miss Nine.
"I ....," I began, looking up into the unexpectedly gentle face of
Miss Nine. "You owe me no apology. I let your friend, your lover,
die. I shall be contrite for that lapse for the rest of my life,
Miss Nine, and I humbly beg your pardon for what happened."
Selma Nine ran a few fingers through my auburn hair, and I felt not
repelled but close. Did I see tears beginning to pool in her eyes?
Like they were in mine? It had only been hours since I gave Belle
Anna Torres a kiss or held her dying flesh
"Belle Anna was a beautiful, beautiful woman, she was full of
kindness and goodness and love, I know that, I believe that, I must
believe inside my heart that she sped to the arms of my Lord. I
watched her die and I can never forgive myself her death.
"Can you find it in your heart to forgive me, Miss Nine? After
what has transpired, I dearly need all the forgiveness I can get.
Please give me yours?
"I am sorry I have taken Miss Torres from you."
She took me in her arms then, pressing my head between her large
soft breasts. Eventually Miss Kira joined us and we all had a good
cry together. It felt oddly right to do that.
- - - - - - - - - - - - -
The sight of six carriage's coming from the direction of Fort
Morgan failed to surprise me. It was Miss Nine with a passel of
her fancy ladies. Well, almost all were employees of her emporium
of sin. Samantha Wildman, the cook, and daughter Naomi were also
passengers. Folk like Bruno Chell drove a carriage, then assisted
the ladies in getting down.
One carriage driver, Nerys Kira almost brought tears to my eyes,
for from her dark boots to wide-brimmed prairie hat and a deerskin
jacket in between, she suddenly looked like Belle Anna Torres come
back to life. I had to shake my head to lose the resemblance. I
wonder how much of the striking attire was her own idea, and that
of Miss Nine's?
Besides Mr. Chell, the other drivers were Mr. Lessing, the Negro,
and his cousin Tuvok, and other males. One was Mr. Harry Kim, who
tipped his bowler at me, then unhitched the horses to place them in
my new sod and wood frame stable. Take care of the horses first
was always a good rule to follow.
Hampers were unloaded from the Landau's, and Baroque's, as
expected. It was Sunday, the day of rest, and this was invited
company. It was going to be a day enlivened with picnic's.
Miss Nine was dressed in men's trousers and boots, prairie hat and
men's shirt. Yet still looking the quintessential embodiment of
pretty woman. We hugged, patting and making glad cries, until a
chattering Nerys Kira could join us. She loved to natter, her mind
always being outpaced by her mouth.
We were friends, not demanding the other change or alter their
lives. Those in town who looked down their noses at me and turned
their backs on me should read their Bibles more.
The two .... girls? .... went off to care for horses, and before I
joined them I stopped to greet Mr. Noah Lessing and his cousin
Tuvok Lessing. Mr. Tuvok was a powerful good carpenter, and being
a Negro was glad to get steady work at a decent price. The worker
is worthy of his hire, Thesallonians.
I had a large stable up, and two sheds for my farm equipment. My
house had two rooms finished and covered, and it would eventually
have two more. Covered with sod brick, more for the insulation
come snow, than anything else.
Bruno Chell sometimes worked for me as well. It were fortunate the
near nine hundred in gold pieces Bruce Hirogen paid his Kazon had
been given me. At the end I'll have just bare enough to pay a
worked or two to harvest my wheat.
First off we got the horses put up and fed.
Mr. Noah Lessing delighted in my wheat, he loved to sit by it's
ripening glory and read portions of the Good Book which referred to
wheat and bread. Today Noah, his cousin Tuvok and I sat against
the cottonwood's under which my husband and children lay. Noah
read from the Book of Job for us, and I felt closer, my Lord, to
thee, and much comforted. My afflictions and losses did not feel
any less hurtful, but I felt I could more easily put my life in His
hands.
The stables were bereft of Selma and Kira, and most of the horses
looked perfectly content. Evidently I had spent more time in Bible
studying than I thought I had.
When I got up I put out cold cornbread, ham, hard-boiled eggs and
pan chicken for the men folk. No one objected to the presence of
Negroes eating near white folk, so I felt good about inviting the
Lessing's. They were good Christians, they worked three times as
hard as most of the odd-hire men folk I'd seen in this neck of the
state and they certainly praised and smacked their lips in
appreciation of my pan chicken.
Naomi, with her strawberry-blond hair visible, was sidling near my
apple pies. So I sent her off to get her mother's permission and
cut her a nice wedge in anticipation of her gaining such approval.
It was a picnic day.
The noises of women greeted me long before I came near what I
considered `my' swimming hole, there in the Penance River. The
river might be cold as a Kazon's heart, but everyone seemed to be
enjoying being in it.
My clothes left me, including my button shoes, becoming a neat pile
by a Willow near the bank. Neat groupings of women's clothing
dotted the entire bank here. No fancy clothes, just dresses,
shifts, light bodice's, summer clothes.
Before I lost my courage I ran and dived into the river, being
immersed before my body realized how frigid the river was, and
began protesting in vehement tones. I broke for air, swam from
bank to bank thrice and finally allowed my teeth to chattter like a
Latin musical instrument. I spotted a very goose-bumped and naked
Sam Wildman, and swam by to say hello. We were both pleased to see
Naomi re-appear, with a single smear of apple pie filling on one
cheek. She was naked and swimming to us in a second.
Of all my visions of what life on the frontier would be like, yea
these years past, none of them included the sight of a few dozen
naked as all get-out young women enjoying frolicking in my river.
The ways of the Lord are sometimes very involved and confusing.
Suddenly I was held about the legs and I had been turned
topsy-turvy. When I came upright for air, and to spew water from
my nose, I realized I had been waylaid by Nerys Kira. This, of
course, called for swift, exact and vengeful action.
My goals, however, were for nothing. No sooner was I gaining on
that laughing red-head than I was pressed to the bottom of my
river. I again came up for air, looking about for my attacker.
This time I realized Selma Nine had intervened to dunk me once
more. Unfortunately for Miss Nine she couldn't swim worth a lick.
With a whoop of triumph, and with Selma shrieking in protest, I
tackled her about her legs. She went under, just as Kira pulled me
over again, head over tea kettle.
Naomi joined in, of course, then her mother, then Nicoletti, then a
dozen of the others. The river rang with cries of outrage, fits of
giggling and triumphant or dismayed shrieks.
I hadn't had so much fun in .... years? Since before the War?
There were two teenage fancy girls who crawled onto the bank in
surrender, I had forgotten their names. They never talked, they
had no friends, not even each other. They were lying to one side
of me, and for the first time ever they were smiling, calming a fit
of giggles between each other.
We became a trio, drying, warming in the summer heat, flapping at
insects. Talking. It was like watching a dam break. I kept my
face calm, but inside I was the tree uprooted and washed away..
Miss Nine saw us, she stayed back, her eyes bright to see her two
youngest fancy girls finally talking. It was like hearing the same
story in an echo room. The same pregnancies and abandoned
children, the same father's who should never have violated their
girl's trust.
I gave them no scathing words from the Good Book about their
sinful work in Miss Nine's elegant bordello. I did not tell them
to seek other work. What other work was there for them?
It was a pair of stories I'd just as soon have never heard. It was
a pair of near-identical stories told to the nearest soul they
could find that they could treat as their long absent mother.
We came late back to the meadow by my new house. We had taken
another dip in the river, letting the icy water cleanse more than
our bodies. They were beginning to smile now, they felt the better
to have told someone else of their pathetic sins. Our hairs were
wet, my soul was gray, I kept light words and encouragement on my
lips.
Nine and Kira had a few bottles of wine, and their faces were full
of laughter's. They made us picnic with them, their hands were
busy upon us, their smiles carefully searching our pains. They fed
us baked potatoes and buttermilk, raspberry preserves and bread
from the town bakery, and slices from a chocolate cake that had
become lop-sided in it's journey to my farm. They gave too much
wine to the girls and left them to doze away some of their pain.
I got more than mildly tipsy from the wine myself. Nine had found
a buggy wheel to lean back against, watching her girls be just
ordinary girls for once. I'd left a good bottle of whiskey by my
house door, expecting the men folk to have a snap or two. The
girls passed the bottle around and finished it.
As I sat down in front of Nine, my body between her un-lady-like
splayed legs, my back found the softness' of her breasts and her
arms. I needed comforting. Nine brushed fingers through my hair,
pulling out the snarls, touching my neck and ears and arms. She
kissed my neck and my ear, but it was not an untoward gesture. I
was comfortable enfolded by her tall warmth. I desperately needed
the touchings of a friend. She hugged me.
"What will happen to them?" I asked.
I felt her shrug. "They will be shot by their boyfriends. They
will get hitched and lead normal lives. They will end as drunks,
dying in the gutter. They will take cocaine and be found one
morning cold and lifeless. They will catch a disease and die of
it. They will miss a step at the top of the stairs and break their
necks. They will find religion and die in genteel poverty.
"Do you wish the full list of futures they might someday possess?"
I shuddered, then cried. Nine kept me with her, hugging me closer,
kissing my neck and head, once holding my hand up to her lips. I
wiped my eyes on her sleeve and she gave me a small useless frilly
kerchief to blow my nose on. It was a loud honk.
Nine continued brushing my hair.
As was customary with me, the wine and exhaustion and tears put me
to grateful sleep.
When I awoke after my short nap, Mr. Kim had settled down next to
me. Apart from a few words, I had neglected him in a dreadful way.
He obviously forgave me, because the first thing I realized he was
doing was pushing a fancy box of chocolates with creme fillings
into my hands. It was large, wrapped with a bright matching red
ribbon, come from Chicago, and must have cost near two dollar,
probably at Loewe's.
Now that he had returned to Fort Morgan from Cheyenne, I knew he
had been going out of his way to greet me and say hello and make
his presence known to me. I was still a little tiffed at the way
he had left Fort Morgan so promptly, months ago. Still, I had
known he was a man who had already journeyed much in his life. You
cannot hold men to be other than they are. At least not until
they'd made their own decisions. In this case, you had to let them
get to the point by themselves where they wanted to settle down.
We chatted, I asked about Cheyenne, he was curious how I was doing
as a farmer by myself. Which was an awful polite way of asking if
I had any other males sniffin' round.
Miss Nine had given him a third-floor room for the week, for which
he was grateful. He could be thrifty when necessary. I had to
smile to myself that he were surrounded by willing comely females,
but he was here with a real box of creme-filled chocolates from
Chicago. It was me he was come courting for.
He was asking, honest as daylight, if he could come around my place
more often. Visit me. Talk to me. Court me.
There! He'd come right out and said it. He wanted to court me.
Which meant he had seriously thought about marriage and not in a
negative way, either.
I was very hard reining in my emotions at that point, relishing his
attentions. Remembering his sweet younger body. Not at all sure
if I could remember how to play this courting game. Realizing I
was all feverish and worked up.
Mr. Kim explained how he had been free labor for his Father, back
on their spread in New Jersey. He had enlisted mainly to get away,
and lied about his age at the recruiter's. Going in a round about
way he was saying to me we could farm together here, it was a
possibility, he wasn't no city slicker unused to hard work.
It was hard to remember it was only afternoon. This had been a
full day already.
It was about that time I realized I had been hearing the arrival of
a pair of horsemen. It was Marshall Chakotay Pointe, and his
deputy Mr. Carey.
They were dressed in what was obviously their proper black
Sunday-go-to-meetin' clothes. Unlike their usually calm thin
smiles, they was glowering at each other like they was sworn
lifelong enemies.
They come directly to me, their eyes trying to cut vicious wounds
in Harry Kim's hide.
They each very politely said Hello to both of us, then sat
themselves down on either side of me. Mr. Carey didn't care much
that Mr. Kim was between him and me.
All was explained when I realized both lawmen were proffering me
presents. Each was giving me a big gaudy box of creme-filled
chocolates with a ribbon around it.
Today was a hundred and twenty days after John Bee died. I'd said
somewhere when asked that my mourning would be four months. I had
things to do. My official period of mourning was now over. Unless
I wanted to make it six months, or a year, though out west here a
year was considered a mite excessive.
No wonder so much glowering was going on.
I had three men come-a-courtin' on my hands. Or sitting in my new
farmyard, I should say.
I was sitting there flabbergasted and incredibly pleased with
myself, when another carriage came to my farm.
It was Doc Emil Howard, and he had come a-courtin'. With a big
gaudy ribbon-bedecked box of creme-filled chocolates in his hand.
Yup. I had four identical two-pound boxes of expensive chocolates
in front of me.
The first thought I had was that I was REALLY going to pig out that
night. Week. Maybe month.
My second thought was a thinking frenzy on how to send four
courtier's home today without anyone laying an ambush for the other
three.
My third thought was to wave Naomi over and have her take one of
those boxes to my guests and let them have a special treat.
My fourth thought was to make sure I told Naomi not to have
anything from the box except what her mother let.
My fifth thought was that I'd better have her Mother come over and
take charge of the box.
My sixth thought was how desirable I felt. Four men come
a'courtin'.
My seventh thought was how I'd like all four strong and presentable
men naked in my bed. Or better yet on the pasture grass down by
the river. Me naked too. Lots of growling and moaning as they all
four rolled me from one end of the prairie to another. Fresh grass
smell in my nostrils, and the sound of my river and four passionate
men loud in my ears. Crying aloud as their men's hands touched my
quivering body all over.
I felt warm.
- - - - - - - - - - - - -
Nine and Kira stood back, judging their work with a critical eye.
They both smiled at each other, then nodded their heads.
"How do I look?" I asked. Definitely had a high-pitched quiver in
my voice.
For answer both women broke out in a fit of giggles. While it
normally please me to see either woman in such a state of high good
humor, I thought; not now, please!
I had forgotten about their mirrored alcove.
By cocking my head to the side, I could look square at my rear.
Then I look to my front again for a variation of the same
spectacle.
Let me describe myself.
>From the front I could see a small woman in a crimson corset and
bodice. My large breasts were contained, tamed and pushed up. My
nipples were both prominently displayed and roughed. I touched
them and they felt hard.
Long black gloves were laced above my elbows. My legs were in
black button shoes stretching above my knees. In addition I wore a
pair of opera net hose kept up by four garter straps descending
from the corset.
Between my corset and my stockings I wore nothing.
I could see a garter strap stretched across each fat quivering
buttcheek. In front another pair stretched across my belly and
thighs. I blushed deep red and thought myself incredibly beautiful
at the same time.
They had worked for .... For a long time giving a curl to some of
my auburn hairs, rubbing oils and exotic Asian scents into my
crowning glory. A dozen ribbons, more, hung in my hair.
My face was carefully painted and colored, smoothed and prepared.
My face was now that of a twenty-year-old fancy girl, set to
enthrall a saloon full of the largest and most rowdy imaginable
crowd of drovers just off a state-wide cattle drive.
A stranger's kohl-daubed eyes fluttered at mine, signaling the
possession of unimaginable delights. I felt as if every one of
those cattle drivers would have gladly paid fifty dollars for an
hour's pleasure.
I had to stare at my .... lower parts. Nine and Kira practically
had to hold me down to control my agitation as they ....
I guess it was as Nine said, and for once I was dearly and
fervently hoping it were true, if I wanted to look like a
forty-dollar whore, I had to go through the entire .... I had to
look the part.
So they trimmed me.
Not much I guess. But I looked different from the last time I saw
myself in the altogether in a mirror.
Still beet red in my face, I carefully turned to my .... My fellow
conspirators. My voice was a mousey squeak when I asked: "Do I
look convincing?"
Kira licked her lips at me. "Me, I would pay fifty dollars to take
you to bed and ravish you. You look worth it."
Nine touched one perfect painted cheek with a caress of what I
realized was deepest regret. "I would pay a thousand and keep you
a week."
I was suddenly hugging them and they were hugging me.
"STOP!" Nine shouted. "Kathryn Janeway, you expensive whore, you,
you WILL NOT cry! Not after all the work I've put into that face
of yours.
"Now go, wanton!" she said, pointing at the door. "Go forth and
earn purses of gold for the both of us!
"Always remember! With you goes the honor and more importantly,
the reputation of the "Borg Palace"! Across five states and Dakota
and Wyoming Territories we are known for possessing the prettiest,
most ravishing, cutest and most sexy women a man may hold.
Provided he has the gold to pay for the earth-shaking pleasures
only my girls may deliver."
I think she panted slightly after that speech. I couldn't tell.
My ears were ringing and I was still blushing. I hoped my entire
body wasn't burning into a bright pink.
Nine opened the door, and both Kira and Nine chastely gave me a
light buss on the way out.
Outside Nicoletti and one of my teenage girls were holding a
fantastic rich light blue silk kimono open for me, helping me into
it, belting it and patting me on the shoulder. Ahead Bruno Chell,
in his best and most colorful bouncer's clothes, patiently waited
for me. Looking behind himself now, he smiled a thin loving smile
of support and regard in my direction. He too touched a shoulder.
And then we were off.
I was surrounded by people I had come to regard highly, these past
few months. Suddenly I felt a lot more confident.
Two flights of stairs, and then I was facing the door of my first
.... client. Nicoletti took the wrap, and all retreated. Leaving
me alone to face this .... next step.
I knocked, Knocked again, then opened the door wide, immediately
stepping inside. As the door was firmly closed, I turned to a
goggle-eyed Mr. Harry Kim and finally spoke to him. The man I
would make my next husband.
"Well .... Hi there, cowboy! I understand you're looking for the
most beautiful and absolutely the best and most exciting fancy
saloon girl in the entire Wild, Wild West? Can I see the fifty
dollars first?"
I think the part where I hooked one foot onto his cane-bottom chair
was the best part. I didn't fall neither.
I hope Harry understood I had made my choice as to which of my four
men I wanted to court me.
End