It was moving toward the late afternoon of July 4, and Frank hustled west on I-80. It had been a little time since he'd visited Lucy Lewis in Kearney, Nebraska, and once again he was anxious to see her again. It was to be a weekend together: she was going to treat him like a king and do anything he wanted. He glanced at the fireworks sitting in his back seat and grinned evilly.
Lucy had moved again since he'd last seen her, and she was living in a small farmhouse three miles outside of town. This pleased him, since he could now enjoy every whimper and cry from her without having to fill her mouth to safeguard the police breaking on from neighbor's complaints. It also meant they could do anything they wanted outside, and he was eager to play outside.
It took him a few minutes to navigate the back roads outside town before he found the place, but soon he pulled into a long lane that lead up to the little domicile. A field next door was full of dairy cows grazing languidly in the late afternoon sun, brown and white, and they regarded him dully as he got out of the car and unloaded his stuff. The place fit her description perfectly, so he put his bag through the front door then carried his explosive cargo around to the back.
A picnic table was laid for two with a checkerboard tablecloth. A couple of anti-insect torches burned fragrantly, and Lucy herself was standing next to a huge grill burgeoning with ribs. She was slaving in front of the heat, wearing a white apron over a pink halter top, blue jean shorts and bare feet. He dropped his load and covered the ground between them to grab her savagely from behind and reach under her top to squeeze her huge breasts in his meaty hands.
She ground her chubby hips back into him, encouraging his erection just beginning to arise in his jeans. He wore a St. Louis Cardinal t-shirt and sandals over his pudgy frame, and a Redbird hat covered his balding pate. His hands continued to pinch and squeeze and twist as they roamed her ample flesh, and she sighed and closed her eyes.
"I hate to say this, but you need to stop that so I can finish these ribs 'fore they burn."
He let her go and sat down on the bench. "If you burned them, you'd have to be punished."
She turned and gave him a cheeky smile. "Mr. Fletcher, you'd punish me anyways, but it'd be a sin to waste this lovely meat."
Chuckling, he shook his head. "Yeah, it would. These cows over here yours?"
"Nope. They's Frank Larsen's, milk cows. Don't mess with their udders, Frank'll shoot ya for messin' with his income."
Another laugh. "There's only one cow here whose udders I'm gonna mess with." An explosion in the distance, followed by a string of popping noises followed. "Nothin' like fireworks on the 4th. You sure we can see the show from here?"
She turned around, smiling. "Yep. I was here last year, got a great look. That's how come I found out this place was for sale, took me almost a year to come up with the down payment."
"Great. Now I can make you scream as loud as I want."
"Yeah, baby, turns me on." She turned the slabs and slathered on some barbeque sauce. "I gotta go inside and git the rest of the stuff. You wanna beer?"
"What kind ya got?"
"Bud Light"
"Standard issue for a St. Louis boy. Bring it on." Lucy reached into a large cooler and pulled out a frosty bottle, then opened it to fill a frosty glass she kept right there. "You're not bad, girl," he murmured as he accepted the lager.
A couple minutes busting back and forth and the table was laden with fresh potato salad, ears of steaming corn on the cob, warm rolls and butter, and sliced watermelon. She produced a large platter and pulled the meat off the fire, letting it rest to optimum eating temperature.
"Lucy, I'm overwhelmed. Never knew you could do that."
"Oh yeah, how d'ya think I got this fat? I love to eat."
"Me, too. And stuff like this gave you those floppy udders I love to hurt."
She smiled and started buttering an ear of corn. "You're going to be a tease for a while, aren't you?"
"At least until after dinner." They laid into the repast with few words, relishing the sensual feel and taste of the food, ignoring the need for napkins, until sated. Their faces and hands were greasy from butter and barbeque sauce, and after cleaning up from their feast, they finished with fresh wedges of watermelon, sweet enough to eat unseasoned.
After clearing the table, she cracked a fresh beer for him, and asked: "How would you like to start, honey?"
He slapped her hard across the face. "Who said you could call me that?"
"Sorry."
"Did you fix your clothespins like I asked you?"