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“Fuck… yes… shit… Vader… yes… now…”
“I gotcha, baby…” I said, holding on to her hips as she pommeled up and down on my cock. I could feel my orgasm building, my balls getting tight, muscles tense, preparing to blow like hot lava from a volcano.
“Now… Vader… fucking… cummmmm….” she squealed, tossing her head back and growling at the ceiling like a she-wolf howling at the moon. She was slamming up and down so hard on my cock that I had to slow her down so she didn’t break it.
“Shit… yes…” Every muscle in my body tensed. I arched my back and lifted my ass and raised her clean off the bed. I could feel the cum shooting through my cock like water through a firehose. As Pope gushed her sweet juices all down the shaft and over my balls, I filled her with a load of hot milky cum that made her sweat. She kept it going for a few more seconds, then looked down at me and smiled and wiped the sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand.
“Fuck me,” she said with a grin.
“I think I just did,” I said, bringing my hands up to her melon tits and giving them a hard squeeze. I leaned up and gave her nipples a lick. “I’m gonna miss you when I’m gone.”
“I’m gonna miss you, too,” she said. “When do you have to leave?”
“I head back to Mosul on Monday.”
“Fucking Mosul.” She scrunched up her pretty nose and shook her head like the thought of going to Mosul made her sick. “I hate fucking Mosul.”
“Yeah, me, too,” I said with a sigh. “But for now, that’s home.”
She lifted herself off my cock and reached for the towel she had brought to bed with us. That was Pope. Like a good little scout, she was always prepared. She sat between my legs and gently cleaned the cum off my cock and balls, then gave the tip a little kiss and tucked the towel between her legs to soak up the ooze.
“What about you?” I asked, putting my hands behind my head.
She shrugged one shoulder. “I’m here for at least the next few months. Then, who knows.”
“There are worst places to be,” I said with a smile.
“Yeah, Mosul.”
My cellphone was on the nightstand. When it buzzed I ignored it, but Pope, like most women I knew, couldn’t just let a phone ring.
“Let it go,” I said, stretching out my arms, trying to stop her.
“Just let me see who it is,” she said, picking it up and staring at the screen. She held out the phone so I could see the screen. “You might wanna take this. The caller ID says Uncle Seth.”
I stared at the screen for a moment. Uncle Seth was my mom’s younger brother, and the only member of my family from either side that I had stayed in touch with over the years. He was like the father I never had, even though my father lived in the same house I did.
I pushed up onto my elbows and took the phone from Pope. I knew why he was calling. I could feel it in my bones.
“Uncle Seth?”
“She’s gone, Shane,” he said, crying into the phone. “Your mama. She’s gone.”
4
Annabel
Buttercup the mare delivered the fold without any issues, although she certainly took her sweet time doing it. It always amazed me how animals just instinctively knew what to do while humans needed a team of doctors and nurses and classes and books to have a baby. More amazing to me is how quickly non-human babies get up and move on their own. Buttercup pushed the fold out of her womb and within minutes the fold was standing up on its spindly, wobbly legs.
Mr. Gibbs and I watched from outside the stall because unlike human women who wanted their husbands hovering over them du
ring delivery, and every living relative waiting in the hall to tell them how cute their ugly baby was, mares did not appreciate human intervention when they gave birth. It made restless. It was as if they were thinking, “Just leave me alone and let me do this.” So, I waited and watched from afar. I’d only get involved if the mother or fold were in distress.
Buttercup had been restless for hours, indicating that she was getting ready to give birth. Mr. Gibbs said she would lay down, then stand up and tromp around the stall, then do it all again. When she started sweating and lay down on her side, I knew the fold was about to come. After twenty minutes and one good push, the fold gushed out of her in what looked like a giant condom. Buttercup lay quietly for a few minutes, resting, catching her breath, getting her heart and blood pumping again. Finally, she got to her feet and started licking and cleaning the placenta off the fold. I stepped in to make sure mommy and baby were fine, then stood outside of the stall with Mr. Gibbs to watch them bond.
“It’s a beautiful thing,” the old man said lovingly, using a long, bent finger to push back the brim of his worn Stetson on his high forehead. He was tall and thin to the point of being gaunt, but his skin was the color and texture of saddle leather after decades of baking in the hot Texas sun. His bushy eyebrows and the stubble that covered his pointy chin and hollow cheeks were as white as the hairs curling out over his ears from beneath the Stetson.
“What’s that?” I asked.
