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.. you remember that?"Boots knew he was talking about having his hands where they didn't belong. "Yeah," she said."Well unless I'm plumb loco, I don't believe that bothered you all that much." Why you think that?" she asked, genuinely curious."'Cause you didn't start up on me like you left off on him," said Dusty."That don't mean I want you to do it again," she said, stubbornly.It was quiet in the shack for a few long minutes. Finally Dusty spoke."You want to know why I can't stop thinkin' about you?" You can't stop thinkin' about me?" Boots sounded genuinely surprised."It's turrible," he admitted. "I about got gored by a longhorn t'other day, because I kept thinkin' about how it felt to pull you off of Black." I should have known," snapped Boots. "Men only want one thing." No, you don't understand," he said. "That's not why I can't stop thinkin' about you. That's just one of the things that pops into my mind when I'm thinkin' about you." He stared at her. "I can't stop thinkin' 'bout. Shy unclipped Cee’s bra and Cee turned back to my wife clasping the unhitched garment to her boobs. Then she discarded it, revealing those breasts, those nipples that I knew where more than her pride and joy. They were the centre of her sexual gratification.“Oh,” said Shy and reached out for her glass of wine, BUT her eyes had not wavered and Cee knew this because I saw that glimmer, that shadow of victory pass over her face. Cee leant forward a little to reach for her own glass and this allowed her breasts to swing pale against her tan lines, the nipples half-erect and wanting attention: a need I’m sure my wife was aware of.“Now it is your turn and I’ll help you if you want?”I remained on the perimeter, thankfully forgotten as Shy moved her hands to untie the thread that held the top of her dress over her chest. “Are you sure?” she asked Cee.“Of course and it feels wonderful and cool. Go for it.”Shy took another gulp of wine and reached up to begin untying the thread. Cee leant back.
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She could recognize the line of his back, the soft angle of his jaw, and the weak shelf of his chin. The kneeling curve of his hips and the soft pocket of flesh above his buttocks were unmistakable. Even from behind she knew it was Richard. Bile rose in her throat as she looked at the pictures. She swallowed angry tears and refocused on the road unwinding under her car tires.The edges of the pictures bent as she shoved them roughly into the envelope and tossed it into the back seat. It was too distracting, too tempting to open it again, too tempting to examine the faces, to see Richard's face locked in what looked like a painful grimace. She knew it was the look she had seen countless times over the years, the almost near snarl when he came. She could hear in her head the grunting exhalation that always accompanied that look. She could feel his weight as he thrust deeper into her, pounding her against the mattress.It was always the same when he came. Despite how they started, despite.

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