Marlene saw him just before dusk came down on the ranch. She had no idea what the bejeezus he could be doing out there, but there he was, sprawled prone on the ground amidst the rocks and the cactus, looking half dead. A canteen lay by him, apparently empty, and his hat had flown off, leaving his head exposed to the sun. She dismounted and walked over to him, sticking her boot into his side to see if he was awake. Nothing. She whistled through her teeth. "Damn," she said to herself, half out loud, "what the hell am I going to do? I've still got a hundred yards of fence to mend out there, and now I have to save this bumpkin, or else let him die on my own land. Won't the sheriff like that!" She laughed, a little bitterly, knowing she had no choice.
The man was heavy, but Marlene had gotten strong over the years since her husband died, leaving her to tend the ranch herself, with the help she got from her hands. Throwing him over her shoulder, staggering under the weight, she managed to toss him roughly over the back of her horse. A half hour later, she was back at her ranch house, and she and one of her hands dragged the stranger up the stairs and into a spare room. He mumbled from time to time, but never came to. They tossed him onto a creaking bed, and she told her hand to get back to his chores. "I'll take care of him from here, and tomorrow I'll go into town to tell the sheriff and see what he wants to do with him."
Marlene had had experience with a heat-stroked man before... her husband, in fact, when he lost his canteen but refused to come home, rounding up stray calves until he fell off his horse. Back then the doc had told her what to do, and it had worked. "Strip him naked," he said, "wash his body down with cool water, then dry him off so he doesn't catch cold. Keep doing that, and if he can drink something, give him water that's not too cold. And then hope and pray." Her husband had taken more than a day to come round, but he was apparently no worse for wear afterwards, except for a headache that hung around for days. So, bringing a pail of water from the well, Marlene set to undressing the man, closing the door so her hands wouldn't get the wrong idea. "Ideas," she muttered, "what ideas? I haven't had a man in the ten years since my husband passed away, and damned if I haven't needed one. All they're good for is a few minutes in the sack, then they get jealous, or they get you pregnant, then they leave you. Hell with that!". She had gotten his shirt off, with great effort, rolling the man around on the bed and twisting his arms almost out of their sockets.
She was surprised at what she saw... this fellow was a genuine Adonis. Once she had wiped the grime off his face and gotten his shirt off, she saw how handsome he was. Young, maybe early 20's, strong, lean and with smooth, silky skin that her hard, calloused hands couldn't help but linger on. She shook her head. "Damn you, Marlene, get your head on straight! Wash him down and get the hell back to your business," she thought. Taking the washrag, she ran it over his face and forehead, pushing his abundant and luxurious hair away, but letting her hands linger a bit, stroking his locks and feeling their fineness flow through her fingers. She proceeded with the cloth down his body, cooling down his chest, tightly muscled, with not an ounce of fat on him. His pectoral muscles were hard and well defined, and Marlene couldn't help but think back to her first night with her husband, when he too was a young man, full of hunger for her body... she remembered how his hard chest had pressed against her breasts as he hugged her to him in those first moments in their wedding bed, glorying in her softness and taking her again and again, as though he thought he was going to lose her when morning came. She had often thought back to that night, especially after he died, remembering how he filled her, and the pleasure that would warm her as she moved her own body to let him go deep inside. He had been gentle, and she had sometimes wanted him to take her harder, but she had been content to let him be himself, because he loved her so much and did so much to make her happy, especially in those first years together.
She shook her head, casting out those thoughts. She was surprised at herself... she had never wanted another lover after she lost her husband, and never allowed herself even a minute's thought about the hungry, horny ranch hands she employed. They thought about her, she knew, and once she had had to shoot one in his thigh to get him to cool down. After that, her reputation made the rest stay away. But here, in this kerosene-lit room with the curtains drawn, something was welling up inside that she hadn't felt for years. "Pull yourself together," she thought morosely, "you'd damn well better be good." But she made herself finish the job, taking his boots and pants off and wetting him down, before drying him, trying to ignore the feel of his corded thighs and calves as she passed the cloth over them.
She finished her rubdown of the man, who was sleeping more calmly now, with easy breaths that made his chest rise and fall in a gentle rhythm. But apparently his body had reacted to her touch, because she noticed a hard bulge that surged from his filthy underwear. She had a sudden thought... "I should really get something clean on him... I still have my husbands breaches somewhere." Partially just wanting to get away from the man, and her own desires, she slipped out of the room and fetched a pair of underwear from the chest where she still kept her husband's old clothes. Returning with them in hand, she gingerly sought to sneak the sleeping man's dirty pair off of him without causing him to get any more aroused. Unfortunately it was a complete failure, and when she had finally pulled his underpants over his feet, she saw that his member had become fully erect.
She felt mesmerized, like she was no longer in control of herself... something deep was happening and she was no longer certain she even wanted to fight it. Kneeling by the man's side, she felt afraid to touch his penis, but she convinced herself that just looking at it wouldn't do any harm. "Hell," she said to herself, "it's not like I never saw my man's cock." But the stranger's rod was bigger than her husband's, thicker around though not longer, and it was so stiff that it had turned red and its vein stood out hard, throbbing gently. Without realizing she was even doing it, she let her hand get near, feeling the heat of his skin as she came close, then feeling its smoothness in her palm as she wrapped her hand gently around him. The stranger grunted in his sleep, and moved his pelvis so that his cock slid through her fingers, up and back. She pulled her hand back, afraid that her hard, calloused palms might be hurting him. But he mumbled and moaned, apparently in pleasure, and Marlene couldn't hold herself back any longer. Grabbing his cock by its base, she leaned down over him, her hair falling over his pelvis, and she took him into her mouth, the way her husband taught her. "Don't tell the parson," he would joke whenever he guided her head down to his member, "he'll tell you you're damned to hell for sucking on me!"