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Ninety four degrees and three o’clock in the afternoon. Blue sky, hot sun, and it was only April in Texas. Leaving Becker Vineyards, and after getting our bearings, Louie stopped the car along the back road.
“I have to pee,” he said. He got out of the car to urinate in the bushes, and when he returned, I realized that I had to go too. But I left the big Mercury door open when I got out, so that it hid me from view. I pulled my skirt up and my panties down and I squatted baseball catcher style. Louie watched me pee as I let go right next to the car door.
“Give me a napkin or some tissue” I said, as I stayed squatting. Louie didn’t move quickly at all to find me anything, he sat and stared at my bare crotch and my position.
“What’s the rush?”
“You know I always wipe myself, find me something.”
“Will I be rewarded?”
“We’ll see if you deserve it.”
Louie then got out of the car and walked around to me, holding a white paper napkin in his hand. He hunched down and gently ran it across my vagina, moving the napkin upward which is the only way I do it. Then he stood back up.
“Good enough for a reward? Hmmm… you’re in a compromising position… on the ground with your panties down, one that I can take advantage of.”
In a quick motion, he unzipped his fly and had his penis in my face. Ok, I thought, this is easy enough, there’s no one around, and I took his dick in my mouth. My long slow suck put a smile on his face. I was happy to let him know that I was still his for the taking, anytime, anywhere. And I sucked his penis as best I could, squatting by the side of the car. But Louie stopped me from sucking him further.
“Lean back on the car seat,” he said, as he lowered his pants.
I climbed in the car and did as he asked, and when I did, he pushed my skirt up and took my panties the rest of the way off. Wow, I thought, Louie wants a quickie in the Texas countryside. I was ready to give it to him, and I spread for him the best I could. Once he had worked his long size deep in me as far as he could in that uncomfortable position, he stopped. His head was bumping the steering wheel and our legs were hanging out the door.
“”Sheryl, roll over, move back and we’ll do some doggie style.”
I slid up on my knees and backed by ass to the car’s edge. Louie was standing within the car door and he slipped his erection right in, all the way in. He bottomed out on me. In no time, we were rocking like the old days when we were new lovers cheating on our spouses. He screwed me so deep, and so hard, a car went by and we didn’t miss a beat. That went on for about ten minutes, but then Louie stopped pumping me. I guess I expected him to stop. Like a true ram, he doesn’t ejaculate much in the heat, and it was hot. We’d had fifteen to twenty minutes of sex, three positions. We were both sweaty and the scent of hot copulation, mostly from me, the scent of a woman freshly fucked, filled the air. Calmly, he backed away from me, he pulled his pants up, and he put my panties in his pocket. Within a few minutes we were back on the road at the intersection of Route 290. Louie turned right toward Austin.
“We probably have time for another winery stop,” I said, while I studied the map. Louie lifted my skirt up to see my bare crotch as I kept talking. He sometimes would become sexually frustrated when he would screw me and he’d not come. “There’s a jog in 290 near Johnson City, there’ll probably be a hotel there. In the worst case, we’re only an hour or so from Austin and it should be loaded with hotels.”
Immediately we came upon another vineyard right along Route 290. It looked real. We knew enough to recognize the European vinifera vines in the fields. The sign said ‘Grape Creek Vineyard” and Louie pulled in. Oddly, there were a couple of acres where new vines had been planted, and some of the older vines were in bad shape. I looked over and I noticed my panties were hanging out of Louie’s pocket, but I decided not to even ask for them back. No panties, strangers and a short skirt can be fun. By now, I had my second wind, and I wanted to try more Texas wines.
The winery tasting room was on top of the wine cellar, and the sign read that tastings were no charge. Another sign advertised a bed and breakfast over the winery. An older woman politely greeted us, we were the only customers there. I say customers because whenever anyplace has free tastings, we always buy something.
“We have some guests, honey,” she shouted down toward the basement cellar. After a minute an older man came out who I assumed was her husband. It was a mom and pop operation, something Louie and I once dreamed of having ourselves. The couple were in their seventies, maybe older.
“Are you here for a taste?” the man asked.
“We certainly are,” Louie said. “What are you pouring?”
“Do you prefer dry or sweet?”
As Louie spoke, the woman set three tasting glasses in front of each of us. She then took three open bottles of white wine from a cooler, and she poured each of us a two ounce taste of their Grape Creek Cuvee Blanc. We nipped at it, casino oyna it was pleasant.
“This is our everyday white wine, it’s a blend that varies a little year to year,” the man said. “If you detect some spice, it’s from the Gewürztraminer in it.”
“I can find it,” I said as I finished my glass, “it goes in a lot of directions.”
“Next try our Savignon Blanc,” he went on, and as he spoke his wife continued to pour. “It’s not oaked, and that allows us to bring out the melon and grassy flavors.”
It was good too, much like a New Zealand style Sav.
“Lastly, here’s our Fume Blanc. Same grape, same vintage, but this time aged in French oak barrels, which gives it that smoky finish.”
“Tell me,” Louie said, “do you grow all your grapes here?”
“We used to, when we first started. Hell, we started with a backyard vineyard after I retired from the oil business. We only wanted to make enough good wine to satisfy our own taste for it, after we’d caught the wine bug while living in Europe. That little vineyard we built up to seventeen acres, but we’ve had problems. These days we are buying grapes like everyone else to supplement our production and to meet demand.”
“The oil business…” Louie said, “I married, first time, into the oil business. My first wife’s family were old time wildcatters in Pennsylvania a hundred years ago. They moved to Bremen, Ohio in 1907, where oil could be found at forty feet. Later, they owned a refinery in Bay City, Michigan. Eight brothers, they were poking holes and running pipelines all over the place, even China. They’re about all dead now. It’s a long story, and one I won’t repeat in front of my wife Sheryl. It’s enough to say that I’m divorced from the oil business.”
“All wildcatter family stories are long, that’s the nature of the business. Texas made many of them wealthy, and many more poor. What was their name?”
“Stewart. Short guys, pure Scots.”
Louie, changing topics, continued with his conversation with the owner. “What’s the problem with your vines? Is it the heat down here? I mean, don’t vines go into stress when it hits one hundred degrees?”
“Not so much the heat, at least not here on this farm. We’re well watered and our nights are cool; that keeps our acids up. Our big problem is Pierce’s Disease. We’ve had to pull out vines, use whatever treatments we could find to stop it, and we’ve replanted. There’s just no cure for Pierce’s Disease, other than a hard winter freeze.”
“We don’t get Pierce’s in Ohio,” Louie added, “the sharpshooter bug that spreads the virus can’t survive our winters.”
I’d heard all of Louie’s banter before, so I stopped listening. Plus I was the one who started our own vineyard, I mixed the chemicals, I pruned the wines, I did the work.
“Mam,” I said, “can we try your reds?”
After I asked, she placed three clean glasses in front of each of us. First, she poured their Petite Rouge. It was fruity, a hot weather red that would best be served chilled. “This is our red blend. We recommend it chilled with a picnic or a barbecue. It’s basically Sangiovese, with Merlot and Semillon blended in. An Italian wine consultant recommended the two reds, one white blend, like a Chianti, which gives it balance, and allows it to be drunk young.”
Next she poured a straight Merlot. I found it respectable, Louie had no comment. For the final red, she poured their Cab Sav. It too was above average, and showed its oak aging well. These Texans made good wine, and they had a wonderful lifestyle, a literal dream come true.
There were photos of the rooms upstairs in the winery brochure on the counter. “Is your bed and breakfast available tonight?” I asked.
“Not tonight,” the woman replied. “We only have two rooms that we rent out and we’re booked solid for most of this spring. People come to see the bluebonnets and the crafts more than for our wine.”
“How much are the rooms, anyway?” I asked, as I looked at the photos of rather Spartan furnishings.
“Ninety dollars a night.”
Way too much, I thought to myself. We’d stayed at fancy wineries in Europe, with full board meals, for half that price. I thought about negotiating a better price, and I didn’t believe for a second that the rooms were rented. There were no other cars there. My intuition told me that the woman didn’t want my bare legs around her husband or around the rest of her family. Women know the scent of ovulation, and the smell of sex. And my hunch was that, had we stayed, Louie would have become involved in a prolonged argument about world oil. Maybe the misses knew that too. Sometimes we’re wanted as guests, sometimes we’re not. At Burny Vineyards, in Virginia, they rent out a new, fully furnished, two story, three bedroom house that overlooks their vineyards. We stayed there. Their regular price is one hundred and eighty dollars a night. But they wanted us to stay, and they rented it to us for fifty bucks. For fun, we did spend the whole evening at that house nude, cooking steaks, drinking wine and having great sex with the lights on. Who knows, maybe they watched through the windows.
Louie slot oyna picked out a bottle of Grape Creek’s Petite Rouge and a bottle of their Cuvee Blanc. When he paid, he had to take my panties out of his pocket. I am sure the owners noticed him doing it. He held them in his left hand as he fished for change. They then offered us a final taste of their Muscat Canelli, which was sweeter than the other whites and had some fizz in it. Overall, I found no faults in the wines at Grape Creek, and I don’t fault the owners either. It’s me, I don’t always make the best first impressions, and wearing my short skirt with no panties didn’t help with those old timers.
It was now past four and time to think about a place to stay the night. We drove toward Austin, which means that we went though Stonewall, and through Johnson City. I realized at the time that the place was named Johnson City, but that it wasn’t a city. It was a small rural community, and we had no intentions of paying homage to Lyndon’s museum. That’s where the road jogged, where I thought we’d find a place to stay. And there was one motel, a 1960’s red brick place on the east side of the road. We stopped, I did a cameo of the room, and it was a dump. Maybe, I hope, it’s been rehabbed by now, but there was no way I would sleep there, so we continued on the road to Austin.
What a surprise Austin was. I expected that it would mirror Columbus, Ohio. Each city has a huge university, each is the state capital, and each has several other academic and art institutions. But it was dark when we finally hit Austin’s outskirts, and I panic when it’s dark if I have no place to stay. The freeways, we’d call it an outerbelt back east, they made no sense on the west side of Austin. We’d drive up one way, spot the sign of a chain hotel, get off the highway, and then not be able to find the place. We’re not idiots. In Texas, they place their hotel signs at intersections, but that doesn’t mean the hotel is even near the intersection. After more than an hour of wrong turns, we finally found a vacancy at an Embassy Suites hotel on the northwest side of town. Louie didn’t want to stay there, too expensive, we don’t need a suite, and so on. Myself, I was wired and tired of being lost, and I agreed to pay the one hundred and fifty dollar a night rate.
Inside, Louie was freaked. The hotel featured an open space tropical courtyard, on the ground floor, with several stories of hotel rooms that surrounded it. We rode the elevator to our fourth floor ‘suite’, and the only protection from a deadly tumble overboard was a thin metal railing. The place was a real opportunity for suicide. Louie has extreme fear of heights, so much that he has to be fully tanked to board an airplane, and he’ll say the Rosary in turbulence. He hugged the walls until I opened the door to our room. The suite itself was ok, it had a kitchen and a sitting room, but we didn’t have any food. Once inside, Louie relaxed, he opened a bottle of wine, and he scanned the TV for news.
According to the brochure, the hotel featured a huge pool with a hot tub on the ground floor. Just the thing, I thought, to help us unwind. After a glass or two of Becker’s Chardonnay, I suggested to Louie that we go down for a relaxing soak. He didn’t like to admit his phobias, so he agreed to go. We changed into our bathing suits, I put my black bikini on, we grabbed some towels, and we rode the elevator down.
The entire pool area was packed. I hadn’t realized how big a hotel this was. The pool was filled with children, and the hot tub overflowed with a couple of dozen under thirty year olds not so discretely drinking from plastic hotel cups. It was everything for us to squeeze in. The crowd were all having a good time, but Louie and I didn’t fit in with it, especially myself with the bouncing children. The problem was that we had nothing else to do, no food to eat, and I was really flipped after being lost in Austin.
“Let’s go back to the room” Louie said, reading my mind. “It’s too crowded here.”
Once back in our room, I knew Louie was not leaving it again, not that night. We stretched out on the bed, we finished the wine, then we opened another bottle of wine, we watched TV, and then Louie fell asleep. Myself, I was wide awake. I got up, and I found my dry thin green bikini. I’m not sure if Louie heard me tell him that I was going back down to the hot tub, I figured the kids would be gone by this late hour and that I’d have the place to myself, so I slipped out.
And I was right. All the children had left, and the few couples that were soaking in the hot tub appeared harmless enough. I joined them. The temperature was mildly comfortable, not too hot, and I expected to soak in it for a while. The woman next to me, an attractive brunette, told me that she and her husband were in Austin on business. He worked in the music industry, she said, and his company was there to support a client who hoped to land a spot on Austin City Limits. She introduced herself as Joan, and introduced me to her husband Allan. They were an attractive pair, from what I could see in the water, they canlı casino siteleri were not fat and they were friendly. With them was another guy, Mark, who said his wife was too busy with their kids to make the trip. As we talked, they each sucked on plastic hotel cups that were filled with a clear beverage.
“Sheryl,” Joan asked, “would you like one of these? I made a pitcher of vodka martinis that I have hidden with our towels. Let me get you one.”
When Joan got out of the water I was struck by what a beauty she was. Her wet long brown hair ran down her back, she was about 5’7, she had thin shapely legs and hips, round right sized boobs, and a pretty face. Then I took another glance at her husband Allan, and he was good looking too, as was their friend Mark. Pleasant enough company, I thought. Joan brought me the vodka martini and she eased back in the water next to me. We discussed the usual stuff, and her vodka martinis were excellent. While we chatted, I checked her and her husband out, our conversation drifted from mild to bold flirtation. With such a beauty for a wife, I wondered why Allan kept his eyes on me. We drank more martinis, and after a short time we four were the only ones there.
I slid over to their friend Mark. He was an interesting guy, alone without his wife, and naturally we fell into conversation. He told me that his wife had given birth a few months ago, and that she had another child from an earlier marriage whom he was considering adopting. I loosened the strings on my bikini top, dropping it down, hoping to get his attention. We were flirting. I let him for a few seconds see my breasts, then I tightened my top back up. And Mark was only twenty seven. I told him I was thirty two, he didn’t seem to detect my lie. As he spoke to me, I studied him. He had a nice head of hair, a handsome square cut face, and little chest hair. Not like that hairy monkey I was used to.
“My wife,” he said, “she’s been having difficulty balancing things; her job, the kids, post partum depression, it’s been tough lately. This short break from each other, I hope it does us some good.”
Then the lights flashed like a bell ringing in a grade school playground.
“They’re ready to shut the pool area,” Joan said, slightly giddy from the martinis, “it’s past closing time. How about coming back to our room with us, Sheryl, we can hang out for a while.”
I had nothing else to do, Louie was passed out, and these people were interesting and fun. And young. I said sure. So we four left the hot tub and road the elevator to Joan and Allan’s room. Once inside, it was identical to the ‘suite’ I rented, although it had two double beds, each of which had been used. Mark must be staying with them, I thought. I had my towel wrapped around my waist, as did the others, and Joan began mixing up another batch of vodka martinis. She and I stood around in the kitchen, while the two guys flipped for a movie on the TV.
“Enjoying Austin?” Joan said to me.
“Hey, a couple more of these and I’ll be enjoying anything…and everything. Thanks for asking me up. I need the different company, and I need to unwind.”
“Me too. I’m getting out of this damn wet suit,” Joan said, and she walked off staggering to the bathroom. I went into the TV area where the two guys were. It had a small couch and a chair positioned in front of the TV set. As I was standing there sipping my martini, looking at the screen – the guys had some hotel porn movie on – Joan came out from the bath. She was completely nude, and was even more beautiful naked. And she wasn’t uncomfortable about it at all. She had a body to be proud of, and she knew it.
“Hey guys,” she was half toasted as she spoke, “don’t get the couch all wet with those suits. Get that couch wet and it will stink of every Egyptian that’s ever stayed in Austin. Hang them to dry in the bathroom. You know the rules. Jeez…”
I wasn’t shocked, more so I was impressed. In fact I enjoyed looking at her body, and her eyes caught me staring. I continued to watch her even after she caught me, she posed for me.
“It’s ok, Sheryl. We’ve spent the day at some lake beach here known as Hippie Hollow, it’s a nudist area. We’ve all been nude most of the day, together with a lot of other folks. Everybody in Austin that wanted to see me nude has seen me nude today. It was fun, I like showing off.”
“Well…I…sometimes I do too.”
“Then what’s slowing you down? Get to the bath and get out of that wet bikini.”
As she spoke to me, Allan and Mark came out of the bath, each naked. The guys were each around 5’10. They were trim and fit and handsome – with all over tans – and they were each well endowed. Mark’s penis got my attention first, he wasn’t that big, but he just plain looked good to me. I sort of…wanted to get naked with them…I knew I was going to. Then Joan, we were each past half drunk, she took my arm and led me to the bathroom. She stripped my bikini off of me. Maybe she detected some hesitancy on my part. She didn’t ask, she didn’t speak, she tossed my towel and she unfastened my top and pulled my bottoms down. I was too smashed, I guess, to say anything, we were all naked now, why complain. I was wobbly and I was dizzy from the strong booze and the long day. Joan kissed me on my lips and felt me, and I kissed her back. Then she led me back to the guys.
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