Author's Note: This is #7 in the Helena series, and I must always give tribute to my friend "Helena", a beautiful lady here on Lit who has become my muse and my friend in the last couple of years.
Leaving the river, we head home. It's still just a little after 3; too early for dinner. The river is clean and wonderful, but a nice hot shower seems like a wonderful idea. While you gather a change of clothes, I grab a couple of fresh towels out of the bathroom cabinet and hang them near the shower entrance, then go looking for you.
Your suitcase on the bed, you're going through some things, holding them up, as if you're considering them. I have no idea what the clothes are, because I'm rather focused on your delicious ass, which is most wonderfully naked. You don't hear me approaching.
I plant a kiss on the back of your neck just as I wrap my hands around your waist. I'm bracing for a scream, or at least a good squeal. I get neither.
"If you insist on sneaking up on vulnerable women, darling, you'll simply have to work on your skills," you tease me.
"How did...I know you didn't hear me..."
You give me that little laugh. "Oh, honey, don't you know? Every time you come near me, my heart just begins to flutter, my ladybits grow moist, my nipples..." you trail off, laughing at my raised eyebrows and open skepticism. "Okay, well, maybe if you weren't so focused on my bottom, you would have noticed this," you say, pointing to...the mirror on the dresser.
"Okay. But it's not my fault that I love your derriere. I mean, I AM a dedicated buttologist, so..."
"A what?" Oh, good. You took the bait.
"A buttologist. It's an emerging science. I'll explain it later, over dinner. But first," I pick you up and put you and your bare, beautiful butt over my shoulder, "Gog need shower," and with that I carry you away.
"Of all the cave men in all the world, why did I have to get kidnapped by one obsessed with my ass?" I hear you say.
The shower feels good. Where the river cooled us off from the heat, the shower bathes us in a relaxing heat. We take turns lathering each other up, which, of course, just means we have an excuse to touch each other. It's just fun, and we laugh as we do so, as if we'd been intimate lovers for ages.
"So," you ask me, as I towel you off, "what is the agenda for the evening?" You have to really make sure you get some spots dry, you know. Especially boobs and butts and lady bits.
"Well, I thought maybe we'd go to this little place I know of, up in Wears Valley, and have dinner. They have awesome barbecue."
Your squeal of joy echoes off of the hard walls. "Hurray! I finally get to have American barbecue!" I just smile at you; I love seeing you happy.
"Yep, you're going to finally taste what heaven will taste like. I figure we can get a sampler or something, so you get to taste a little of it all, figure out what you like." Hey, barbecue is an ART for us around here. All kinds of variations and forms. Pork, chicken, beef, pork, gator, wings, pork... Well, you get the idea.
Reluctantly, I finish drying you off, although I think there was just one more little wet spot that needs more attention. You turn and walk away.
"Hey! Aren't you going to return the favor?" I ask. As you turn, I flex my cock, which has begun to harden for SOME reason, making it bob up and down. You laugh at that.
"Sorry, I have an important date to get ready for. An American is taking ME to get genuine American barbecue!" You turn and practically prance away, but not before I see that smirk at my state of being.
You know what you're getting yourself into, woman?
*****
Wears Valley Road is a really fun, really beautiful, really dangerous ride. It takes you from Townsend the "back way" into Pigeon Forge. It climbed up and down foothills of the Smokies. In fact, going this direction, the mountains across the valley to your right are IN the Park. There are places that sell wooden carvings; eagles and bears and Native American figures representing the history of the area. Often, you'll see the artisans out carving them with chainsaws right on the side of the road, but the driver really can't spend too much time looking at the scenery; this road switches back and curves and twists quite a bit, and going off the road may mean either going into a wall of rock or plunging hundreds of feet straight down.
There are other businesses and stores, and a smattering of restaurants. Restaurants which feature breakfast, especially pancakes, are a big draw in this region, as are barbecue places. As we wind through the countryside here, you're pointing out sights to me.
"Look! They have those wooden bears like the ones on your porch!"
"When they say moonshine, what are they talking about?"
"My goodness, you Yanks must really like your pancakes!"
"Oh, my, look at that view!"
I just can't help smiling. It's like bringing a kid to the world's largest candy store. We wind our way through the scenic parts, which also bear much historical significance for the area since long before the National Park was the first National Park in America. One of these days, I'd like to spend a month or three just researching the area for writing materials. I've toyed with the idea of penning a series of erotic fiction stories set in the area, dating back into the first white settlers. A little wife-swapping among the Ogle and the Hubberts; some swinging with the Cox and Callaway and Reagan families, maybe. Maybe Lady Duggan having a highly inappropriate member of Cherokee tribe could be hot. Rutting in the moonlight...
Well, anyway...
As we get closer to Pigeon Forge, I spot our destination up ahead. Big Bob's BBQ. Big Bob's isn't a whole lot to look at as far as the restaurant goes, but it's eye-catching: A couple of old red fire trucks and a tractor sit out front, right along the road, as does an impressive double-smoker trailer. Their menu isn't super diverse, but it has the basics, and they are all great: Brisket (beef), shredded pork, pork ribs, chicken, and sausage. Great potato salad and beans so sweet they're almost a dessert.
I can see the skepticism in your eye as we get out of the Beast and walk towards the front door. It's a small place; I don't know if they seat 50 people, but the crowd is already beginning to grow.
We order; well, actually, I order for both of us. As we are getting drinks, I see a familiar face.
"Hey, Bobby, how are you doing?" I greet him with a handshake and a guy hug.
"Doing well, John, staying busy as you can see," he gestures to the crowd. We got in just before a line formed. "So, who's your lady friend here?" he asks, wiping his hand on his apron and extending it towards you.
"Bob, this is my friend Helena. Helena's visiting from England, I promised her some tremendous American barbecue. Unfortunately, we ended up here instead, though," I tease as he envelops your hand in his.
