Free Karen Mercury by Manifested Destiny [How the West Was Done 4] Page B

“hung like a bull.”
    During all this patter, Tabitha had clung weakly to the doorknob, waiting for the opportunity to turn it. She certainly couldn’t barge on in right now and interrupt their orgasms. Men would contract some sort of penile gangrene if interrupted in the process of an orgasm. Their penises turned black and atrophied, or something of that nature. No, she couldn’t barge in now.
    So she clung to the door like a life raft. Her labia bloomed with moisture as she listened to the slap of flesh against flesh. It sounded as though Foster was the aggressor, and this excited Tabitha to untold heights. Her husband Parker had been a believer in “free love,” and this occasionally extended to inviting another male of their group to join in their antics. Tabitha would never allow another woman to join for fear of jealousy, but Parker seemed fine with adding one of his friends. Although the two men would never touch each other, it always made Tabitha randy to see how much more aggressive Parker became with the addition of another male. Like two battling elks locking horns, two men in heat elicited the most martial and barbaric behaviors from each other.
    That was probably the case now, as Foster apparently slapped the athletic Worth on his shapely rump—while buggering him? Tabitha couldn’t tell, but her active imagination filled in for her. She wiggled her hips with her thighs clamped tightly, creating friction in her labia. She had not seen Jeremiah yet today, and Ivy had gone back to her ranch in the Snowy Mountains, so Tabitha felt free to lift a hand to her breast, pinching the nipple through the bodice. She hadn’t realized she was so prepared to lock horns herself.
    Then she felt a bit of sorrow that these two he-men were obviously androgynes, men who preferred the company of other men. She would never get to enjoy a romp with the rough-and-tumble Foster Richmond, as he preferred the charms of the well-hung Worthing Ludlow.
    Why had he kissed her in front of the Cactus Club, then? He had told her to never go away! Perhaps he was just overcome with joy at finding his dog. Perhaps androgynes could sometimes bring themselves to kiss women, if overcome with joy.
    Yet something else was wrong with this image of the two bumfucking men. Tabitha had been having creeping feelings that perhaps she was in love with Foster Richmond. Last night after retiring, she had sat at her bedroom desk sipping her sherry, languidly musing on his soft, spiky ginger hair, the rounded globes of his ass, and his straight, aristocratic nose.
    She must have fallen asleep, for the next thing she knew, she awoke to discover she was holding a pen in her hand and had apparently written some highly disturbing things while sleeping. She had heard of sleepwalking before—she had once possibly mistaken a closet for the privy in the dead of the night—but… sleep writing? The most frightening aspect of what she’d written was that apparently it was someone named Bettina who had taken over the pen and was writing about her life in a place named Campeche.
    Campeche? It sounded Spanish, but Tabitha had never heard of it or anyone named Bettina. Even creepier, the rounded, elaborate handwriting wasn’t even her own.
    I miss my love, Tabitha’s sleeping hand wrote. All I do is pace along the beach with my eyes to the green sea. I feel my eyeballs must be saturated with saltwater, and then I realize I am crying. I do not remove Pierre’s ruby necklace even when I bathe and—
    “Keep your damned paws off her, Worth.”
    What? Why would Foster be warning Worth away from her? If they were happy androgynes, why would Foster even care? Tabitha’s ear plastered to the door pricked up, and she forgot all about the strange Spanish town apparently populated by French people.
    Worth retorted angrily, “She can make up her own mind! And you’re not even staying in town. You’re going back to the army.”
    Foster is going back to the army? He had