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Love of older women with one leg takes Devon to a new place.
Back to 1862. To 1863, the year didn't matter. All that mattered was it must have been what it was like for one of the dozen, maybe two dozen, women who did fight in the ranks. They were women after all, not lesbians. Whether they'd gone to be with their husbands or just off on the adventure, this had to have happened to one or more of them. They weren't saints back then, no more than we are today. I could almost see and feel another time when reality gushed into me and the moment was gone. Jake collapsed on top of me spent, panting for air but I could only grin. I almost felt it, but there again there would be tomorrow.
It's a hell of thing, trying not to think about how wet my underpants had gotten while a Civil War battle raged. All right, a pretend battle but I was still soaked through, every time my lover/commander passed another tremor shooting through me that afternoon. We both were showing off for each other and we knew it. That made it all the more erotic, the handsome stallion strutting past knowing I was his woman, at least in camp. At the moment I was his trooper. Once night came, I had another plan for a Saturday night in the past. It was time for the trooper to take control.
The sun was just beginning to set as I sauntered past our leader's quarters, pausing for just a moment to whisper a piece of news into the general's ear. The little tidbit that I was wearing a thrift store shirt seemed to be something I thought he might be interested in. After all, as the leader of a military force, he would be used to making conquests. Taking what he considered his prize. The flicker of pure animal lust that darted across his face was my answer that he'd understood the news from the front quite well. I strolled on, quite pleased with myself and knowing there was so much more to come.
Not that I condone rape, don't get me wrong. That is a hideous crime and the offender should have his cock cut off and then be shot, no doubt. Conquest is another matter, especially when that is exactly what a woman wants. To be the trophy, to be taken as the prize. A man's bounty, that's fine by me as long as the man is Jake. My husband, never, but Jake, always. Hell, we'd been lovers for nearly a year, we'd even had a night together when our spouses were both away, but we hadn't had enough. Not yet and my lover had no idea how much he was going to get. I strolled on through camp praying the sun would go down faster, my husband would be drunker quicker. Maybe one of them way back then was just like me.
A woman of 1863, waiting for her lover, his manhood enraged by the heat of battle. His lust on fire by his want of her. A right and proper woman and yet still a woman, given to every lust of a man. Ready to prove herself as a man's equal in the field, more than ready to prove herself even more as a woman as the darkness fell. Darkness and finally, mercifully, the drunken snore of my betrothed from the tent beside mine. Finally, mercifully, my time.
Quickly I made my way through the dark, out through a field to an old, abandoned barn. Jake had seen me make my escape, he'd know where to find me. I leaned back against the siding of the building and looked up just once. Overcast, nearly pitch black, but no rain. At least not from the sky. I fingered the collar of my shirt just once and heard a twig snap. My heart began to pound, another footstep coming. Coming closer and he was there.
Was one of them back then like me now? Standing in a dark corner, the world totally illuminated by the lust of two bodies in need. A woman of 1863 waiting, her woman's body cloaked in the attire of a man as she waited for her man to come and have his. To stand as I did, seeing her man's eyes sparkle. Feeling his gentle kiss grow to one of passion. Knowing he was slowly unbuttoning her shell jacket just like Jake unbuttoned mine. Watching him pause, looking one more time into her eyes like my man looked into mine, waiting to see one final nod. Going into total, complete heat.
I felt Jake's hands on t