This is the fifth installment of the Kentucky Woman saga. Kay and Frank met first in Kentucky when Frank was on a business trip. Their attraction was obvious and after one date and numerous phone and email communications, Kay traveled to New York to visit Frank where he opened her world up to new, exciting sexual possibilities. Now the couple are back in their respective homes; Kay in Kentucky, Frank in New York. Frank's account of his sexual life apart from Kay was seen in Interlude One. What follows Kay's sexual encounter during Frank's absence called Interlude Two.
I just returned from a business meeting with some potential buyers to one of my properties, when I heard the phone ring as I entered my house. I could see on the digital screen that it was the Kentucky area code. It was Kay.
"Hello beautiful," I said. "I was just thinking of you and how I need to get things organized here in the next few days so I'll have no work issues while I'm in Kentucky. I want no distractions when I'm with you, baby."
There was a pause on the other end. "Frank..." There was something wrong. Her voice was tentative....troubled.
"What's wrong, Kay?"
"I...I did something, Frank. Something I'm not very proud of."
I thought about what she said. "What, Kay? What could you have done that has upset you like this?"
"I don't even know if I should tell you. I'm so ashamed. You may not want to come here after I tell you."
Now I was very curious. "Did you do something....you know. Did you fuck someone."
There was silence again. So that was it.
"We talked about this, Kay. I don't care. I'm glad for you. It changes nothing between us. You know that."
I heard her sobbing on the other end.
"Kay, no guilt. You know I have none. I told you about my most recent escapade. We discussed all this."
"No, Frank, it's not that. It's not that I fucked someone," she said. "It's who I fucked."
"Who you fucked? Why should that matter?"
"It does, Frank," she said tearfully. "You don't understand."
"I don't, Kay." I said calmly. "Now settle down and help me understand. Tell me what happened. No secrets, remember."
"I don't know, Frank. I'm afraid what you might think."
"You know me better than that. I don't judge. Now tell me, Kay."
I heard her sigh. "I will," she said. "but I won't blame you if you cancel your trip here after you hear what I tell you."
"I'm sure you're overreacting, Kay. Let it out. Tell me why you are so upset. I'm listening."
And I listened to it all. You would think, based on how troubled she was on the phone, I would have been shocked at what she told me, but I wasn't. What she told me only reinforced my feelings for her. What she told me was so intimate and loving that I felt like getting on a plane for Kentucky that night, not later that week. What follows, in her words, is what she told me over the phone that night.
Each year, at the ranch where I work, we take on a number of interns; recent college graduates or graduate students who have an interest in animals, farming, breeding, etc. Some spend a month, others just a week or two. It's been a rewarding program for most of the interns. Many have gone onto to similar fields after graduating. Some years I've been assigned a few interns to work with me. Not all have worked out. Many kids just go through the motions. They can be lazy. This year there I was assigned just one. And I was lucky. He was far from lazy; a real hard worker with an amazing gift with the horses.
His name was Brock. He graduated from a Christian school in Colorado and, besides his interest in the ministry. He was shy, a bit ungainly, with glasses and traces of acne. He was also tall and broad with big shoulders and arms. I found out from him that he played football in high school and had a scholarship to the University of Colorado, but, at the last minute, decided to go to the Christian school and devote his life to God.
Like I said, he was shy, mainly around people, and myself in particular. But around the horses, he opened up. He would smile more when working with the horses, talk to them; soothe them when they were uneasy or agitated. He had a true gift; something that I guess just part of his make up. He also never hesitated to do the grunt work I assigned him; loading feed, cleaning out the stalls, shoveling shit, and even running paperwork errands for me. There was something about him; the way he went about his work and his calm demeanor that reminded me of my son, Gregory. Gregory also had a gift with animals, and tended to be shy, but not nearly as shy as this young man.
We didn't talk much beyond the work. I knew he was a Bible thumper and didn't want to get into any of that with him. He was young; hopefully the world would open his eyes a bit and wouldn't define it through the prism of religion. I would try to get him to talk at lunch. We ate everyday in my small air conditioned office. He would have a cheese sandwich, potato chips and a bottle of water...everyday the same. I teased him a little about it. He would just blush and say it was the easiest thing for him to make; that he just had a small fridge at the dorm where all the interns stayed. I asked him about his other interests, but it always got back to Christ and how he wanted to do His work, helping others in any way he can, so that usually ended any real discussion. He told me he would be going to Haiti right after his session at the ranch to work on a mission and build houses there.
He addressed me as Ma'am at first. I told him he could call me Kay, or Ms Richardson if that made him feel better. Eventually Ma'am became Ms Richardson. One day at lunch when I dropped a napkin and bent over forward to pick it up and looked up, I noticed that he had been staring at whatever cleavage was evident in my button-down blouse. I must have had a button or two open and didn't even notice. I dress very conservatively at work; mostly jeans, sweaters or long sleeve shirts because of the type of work we do. It's hard, sweaty work, far from glamorous except for when I'm doing a show. Like when you saw me the first time, Frank. Anyway, he knew I caught him and he blushed. I knew he felt bad so I said nothing about it, quickly telling him about our afternoon work schedule.
That night I thought about Brock a bit differently. There was more to him than his devotion to Christ. He was a young man made of flesh and blood and he obviously saw something that interested him to make him flush like that. After that I often caught him staring at me. He would try to hide it through his thick glasses, but I knew what he was really looking at; my breasts through my blouses; my butt, whatever he could get away with without actually gawking.
I started to think more about Brock and how much he reminded me of my son, Gregory. Gregory would be just a year or two older than Brock. When I got in bed I pictured Brock staring at my breasts. What was this shy, religious young man really thinking? My mind was going in a dangerous direction. I tossed and turned in bed. My thoughts were in a bad place and had a fitful night's sleep.
The next day when Brock arrived, I noticed things about him I had never paid any attention to. I was aware of the muscles on his back when he lifted things. I glanced at how his jeans curved over his firm butt, and how his hands were both large and gentle, especially when dealing with the horses.
We were breaking in two new warmbloods that arrived the previous day. They were both challenging, especially a gray and white beauty that had a wild temper. Brock did better controlling her than I did and that afternoon. When we were bringing them back to the stable, the gray beauty began to fight me. I held on, leading her as best I could while Brock was behind me with the other. Suddenly, the horse began to buck back at me and kick. I struggled with her reigns and then felt a strong pair of hands around my waist pulling me out of the way. With one hand, Brock held me away as he took the reigns and eventual control of the horse.
