The Making Of A Gigolo (13) - Misty Compton by Lubrican

   Foreword

   This is story number thirteen in a series of stories about how Bobby
Dalton was transformed, from a normal teenaged boy, into a man sought after
by many women.  His story starts with "The Making of a Gigolo - Tilly
Johnson", and there is much information in that first story, and the ones
that followed it, that will be useful to you in understanding what happens
in this story.

   For your fullest enjoyment, and because parts of each story are
continued in succeeding ones, please read the stories in order.

   Bob

   =================================

   1975 - August

   Chapter One

   The weather was beginning to get cool.  It was more at night, than in
the day.  The days were still glorious.  It was going to be perfect weather
for the Harvest Festival, and Amanda Griggs was very happy about that. 
KDEF was sponsoring the event, in coordination with a number of other
businesses.  She was responsible for the nightly concerts that would take
place at the State Fairgrounds.

   It had been an obvious choice, for the group of businessmen who gathered
in a smoky room, to cuss and discuss the festival.  Amanda ran the best
radio station in the area, and had the connections, so they thought, to
find and recruit some good talent.

   Amanda felt the same way, until she started trying to contact agents of
big name musical talents.  She found out that being the general manager of
a radio station in a town most big time agents had never heard of didn't
get her much.

   In fact, it had gotten her nothing, thus far.

   She sighed and sat back.  Belinda Snokes, who had hired on as a college
kid, to do odd jobs around the station, stuck her head in the door of the
office.

   "I got all those tapes organized.  Three of them were bad, so I
re-recorded them."

   "Thanks, Belinda," said Amanda.

   "Why so glum?" asked the girl.

   "I can't get any agents to talk to me in Nashville, or Hollywood
either," said Amanda.  "Everybody's already booked up.  I had no idea they
scheduled these things so far in advance.  Where am I going to find
somebody to put on concerts at the festival?"

   "Who have you tried?" asked the girl.

   Amanda reeled off a list ...  a long list of names of well known musical
groups, in various genres, from rock and roll, to blues, to country and
western.

   Belinda nodded.  "Yeah, all of those are good, but they're big names. 
They won't come to Hutch unless the money's really good."

   Amanda scowled.  "This is Hutchinson.  The money will never be really
good."

   Belinda just grinned.  "Then you have to go for somebody less well
known." She thought for a moment.  "Like that new girl, Misty Compton.  We
just started playing some of her stuff on the country segment you dreamed
up."

   "Don't make fun of me," growled Amanda.  "Country is getting more and
more lively.  It's beginning to cross over into other areas.  I hear a lot
of rock and roll influence in some of the new artists."

   Belinda held up both hands, palms outward.

   "Hey, I'm just telling you.  That Compton girl is going to go far.  I
love her myself.  But she's only put out one album, and it hasn't been out
long enough for people to make up their minds about her.  I think she'll
hit it big.  Maybe you could sign her before that happens."

   Amanda sighed.  "Find me a number.  I'll give it a whirl."

   ================================

   The artist being discussed in far-off Kansas, was currently cooking
pasta, for macaroni and cheese.  Six months ago, Misty Compton would have
been doing that in a fifteen year old trailer, in a run down trailer park
nestled in a wooded valley, near a town called Hog Holler.

   At twenty years of age, Misty had spent her whole life - save the last
six months - as a resident of Hog Holler, and had only recently seen enough
of the big, wide world to understand just what it meant to be from a town
named Hog Holler, in the Blue Ridge Mountains.

   People had been nice to her, as she was invited to record her very first
record album.  Everything had been shiny and new, and the people had seemed
shiny and new too.  Misty had been around long enough to have run into a
variety of "sorts of fellas", as she thought of it.  She had no trouble
recognizing snakes in the grass when she saw them.

   And Nashville was full of snakes.

   She'd been discovered by a talent scout whose car broke down right in
front of the Hog Holler community center, where there just happened to be a
talent contest going on.  He had walked in to find a phone, and heard her
singing.

   Since then it had all been a blur.  The very active and very talkative
man had assured her she'd be a big star, and had her sign papers that would
enable her to be whisked away to Nashville, where an army of people
listened to her, and handed her all kinds of music to play and sing.

   That part was no problem.  She'd been playing the guitar since she was
five, and could play the fiddle too, as well as a number of instruments
that didn't exactly have names the average American would be familiar with.
That she was already a big hit in Hog Holler helped to convince her that
the hyperactive talent scout might just be right.

   He had been.

   After recording the album, she'd been offered more papers to sign.  She
took them home and showed them to her Uncle Travis, who had actually gone
to college, and owned three businesses in Hog Holler.

   He told her not to sign them, and explained that, if she did, everything
she did would be owned by the record company for-almost-ever.

   "You can do better than that, pumpkin," he had said.  "Once that album
of yours makes its way around, they'll up the ante.  Trust me on that."

   The record company had not been happy.  All those smiling people stopped
smiling.  The record had already been released, though, and had sold some
ten thousand copies.  Several radio stations had picked it up, and were
giving her a little air time.  So she stuck to her guns and said she was
still thinking about things.

   When her album sold its hundred thousandth copy, they did up the ante.
Uncle Travis suggested to wait a little longer.

   Since she wouldn't sign a contract to make more records, they offered
her a chance to sing at concerts ...  to open for better known singers. 
"It will give you exposure," they said.  "You can have your own crew," they
said.  "It will be fun," they said.

   Uncle Travis was gone on a business trip at the time, and everybody else
got so excited that she'd be singing at concerts in big cities, that she
agreed to do them.

   They did, in fact, give her her own crew, which consisted of Josh, who
drove the bus, and Twila, who handled all the myriad of arrangements.  All
Misty had to do was get dressed up, and go out and knock 'em dead.

   It WAS fun.  She loved being around some of the stars at those concerts,
even though most of them didn't actually talk to her, at first.  But
dropping names of people like Linda Ronstadt, Pure Prairie League and the
Ozark Mountain Daredevils made her famous in her home town.

   And she DID knock 'em dead.  Within six months, her album went over the
three hundred thousand mark.  It wasn't spectacular, but the record company
was salivating, based on those sales, and the reports they got back from
Twila.

   Somebody back in Nashville had wanted her signature on those papers bad,
and, even though there seemed to be all kinds of expenses associated with
the bus, and with Twila and Josh, and with the clothes she was provided to
wear, she started receiving royalty checks.

   Those checks had changed everything.

   The thirty cents she had been told she'd get for every album sold
amounted to ninety thousand dollars.

   Even Uncle Travis was impressed.

   It had meant she could say goodbye to the trailer, and to Hog Holler,
and to the boys she had grown up with, and who now tried everything in
their power to get into her sexy new panties.  Only one of them ever had,
and she hadn't been all that impressed that time, so she had no trouble
"resisting temptation" as her mother put it.

   Now, as she stood in what she thought of as her Mamma's new kitchen, and
cooked up what she was used to cooking up, it all seemed like some fairy
tale dream that had come true.

   There were still snakes all around her.  She knew that, and was trying
to be careful.  But the bags of letters her agent gleefully turned over to
her, and which there was no way on earth she would ever be able to read,
much less answer, made it all seem real.

   She was a star.

   Oh, there were much bigger stars out there.  She knew that.  But the
crowds loved her, and they bought her record.  The studio was already
talking about another one - just as soon as she signed those papers - but
she hadn't had time to write very many songs, and she hated singing other
people's songs for money.  It just seemed wrong, somehow.  It was fun to
sing them ...  but not for money.  She wanted to sell her own songs.

   The problem was that the studio was making money on her too, and their
appetite for it was voracious.  Her concert schedule was crammed, and she
only got back home once every fourteen or fifteen days if she was lucky.

   The house she had bought her mother demanded that she accept that
concert schedule.  Even ninety thousand dollars hadn't bought a whole lot
of house.  Not in Nashville.  Not one that she felt like her Mamma
deserved. But the one she'd bought would have to be paid off, and that
meant keeping to the schedule.

   Everything was going fine.  She had six more concerts to do in the south
central part of the U.S.  Maybe after that, she could catch her breath and
write some songs.

   =================================

   Betty bent over to pick up a throw pillow that she'd knocked off the
couch ...  on purpose.  She knew that Bobby, who was sitting in the easy
chair, watching TV, couldn't help but see her bare butt as the T shirt rode
up.  If she held her feet just so, he might even see her pussy.  Matilda
was in the kitchen, baking cookies.  Betty had been helping, but had gotten
bored, and so decided to go tease Bobby some more.

   The sharp crack of Bobby's hand landing on the bare butt she had flashed
him was followed very closely by her howl of dismay.  He hit her so hard
that she stumbled forward, and only barely managed not to fall onto the
floor.

   "DAMN IT BOBBY!" she screeched.

   She stood, and twisted, trying to look at the spot that felt like it was
on fire on her backside.  This time, she didn't lift the shirt to show him
her pussy.  She did it to expose the bright red handprint on her otherwise
creamy white skin.

   "Don't curse," said Bobby, grinning.  He was standing now, having gotten
to his feet to put that handprint on her ass.

   "WHY'D YOU DO THAT?!" she yelled.  "THAT HURT!"

   "You were flashing me," he said, grinning.  "You were acting like a
slut."

   "I AM NOT A SLUT, YOU TURD!" yelled Betty.

   Matilda came almost running into the living room.  Mirriam was over at
Prudence's house, and the twins were alone with Bobby.

   "What happened?" asked Matilda anxiously.

   "Look what Bobby did to meeeee!" cried Betty, showing her sister the
handprint.

   Matilda gawked, and turned a murderous stare on her brother.

   "She had it coming," said Bobby, folding his arms.  "You do too, running
around without panties and showing off.  You're both acting like sluts."

   Matilda was dressed almost identically to Betty.

   "You've seen the others with less on!" Matilda stuck her chin out.

   "Is that what this is all about?" he asked.  "The others?"

   "Well why not?" whined Matilda.  "You did it with them.  Why won't you
do it with us too?" She took a step towards him.  "We broke up with Chuck.
We're used to having some fun.  That's all we want to do ...  have a little
fun.  And you did it with the others."

   "You don't know what you're asking for," said Bobby, his voice serious.

   "We've already DONE it!" said Matilda.  "It's not like we don't know
what it's like.  That's why we're so horny all the time.  Come on, Bobby.
Let us have a little fun too."

   The fact of the matter was that the twins' plan HAD worked, at least to
some degree.  In addition to the T shirts, lately, when the girls took
showers, they went to and from the bathroom in little or nothing, sometimes
stopping in his open door to say "Hi." They had been teasing him, and he
knew that.  Then, when Betty had bent over, and her cute, pink pussy lips
had winked at him, he'd had to do something.  That he'd chosen to leave a
handprint on her, rather than do the obvious, was only because he really
did think she was acting like a slut.

   But what may have had more impact on him was that Bobby was used to
acting on his urges, when a pussy winked at him.  His older sisters didn't
need him any more.  Prudence and his mother seemed satisfied with being
loved every two or three weeks.  Jill and Christy were busy with the
rapidly expanding photography business, but still had him come over to see
his children.  Rhonda still called him, occasionally, and Janet was a
regular.  He saw the other women, when he spent time with his sons and
daughters, but most of them didn't need him as much as they had in the
past.

   He looked at Betty, who didn't look nearly as interested as her sister
any more.  She was rubbing her butt.  He looked back at Matilda, whose
nipples were stiff, and poking through her shirt.

   "One at a time ...  or together?" he asked, dropping his hands to his
sides.

   There was a long moment of confused silence as the girls processed that
question.  At first, neither could believe he'd finally caved.  As the
reality of it sank in, they looked at each other and, with their particular
magical capability, they said "Together," at the same time.

   ===============================

   Things started to go wrong from the beginning, at least from the twins'
point of view.  That Bobby told them to go to his room was fine.  Matilda
said she had to get something, and darted to their room, returning with two
rubbers.

   "I don't use those," said Bobby, staring at her.

   "What?" Matilda's mind jangled.  She had been so intent on thinking
about the fact that they were finally going to get what they had so
desperately come to want, that this threw her.

   "I don't use rubbers," he said.

   "But you have to!" she squealed.

   "No, I don't," he said, so calmly that there was no doubt he was quite
serious.

   "But you have to!" she said again, unable to think of anything else.

   "Aren't you on the pill?" he asked.

   "No, we're not." said Betty.

   Bobby looked at her.  "I thought Mamma put you all on the pill."

   "Not us," said the girl.

   "Chuck always used a rubber," said Matilda, her hopes beginning to
descend.

   "I'm not Chuck," said Bobby.  I'll pull out, if you want me to, but
that's it." He put his hands on his hips.  "We don't have to do this, you
know."

   Both girls had been primed for this, and neither was willing to just
call it off, after all their hard work to get there.

   "No!" they chimed, together.  Matilda took over.  "OK ...  you can pull
out."

   "That's what the others said too," he said softly.

   Betty gulped.  "You did ...  didn't you?" Her voice was high and
breathy.

   "Sometimes," he said.  "If they really wanted me to."

   "We want you to," they said, in tandem.  It was eerie, how they did
that.

   "Then I will."

   ================================

   It got better from there, mixed with a healthy dose of frustration, at
least for a little while.  Their interpretation of "better" would undergo
some re-evaluation ...  later.

   Bobby, unlike Chuck, knew how to treat a woman.  He didn't switch back
and forth every sixty seconds, like Chuck had.  Since Matilda was acting
the most dominant, he took Betty first.  He worked her over for five full
minutes, stroking her and using his mouth, until Matilda boiled over,
watching what was happening to her twin.

   "Come ON, Bobby!" she yipped.

   He lifted his face from Betty's pussy lips.

   "Be patient.  You'll get your turn."

   "Not until I'm old and gray!" she complained.

   Betty wasn't complaining, though.  Betty's brain was beginning to
register that, while she had thought she was experienced ...  this was
something new.  He knew just where and how to touch her, and for how long,
and how hard and, it seemed, even in what order.  She'd had plenty of
orgasms before, but the one building right now was going to be a doozy ...
that she could already tell.

   "Shut up!" she moaned.  "Don't bother him."

   Matilda didn't shut up, though.  She continued to harp, rubbing between
her legs furiously as Betty moaned and sighed and told Bobby how wonderful
he was making her feel.  Matilda had seen her sister have most of the
orgasms she'd had, and her first glimmer that what Betty was feeling was
different was when she went rigid and ...  screamed.  Matilda watched,
wide-eyed as her sister suddenly sat up and her hands left Bobby's hair, to
go to his back.  She gasped as she saw Betty's fingernails leave streaks of
red up Bobby's back, and he grunted from the pain of it.

   He reared up, onto his knees, and Betty went limp, her legs obscenely
spread, as she gasped for breath.

   "Bad girl," he growled, and reached to grab her left knee.  He rolled
her and she squawked as she rolled off the bed and landed in a heap on the
floor.

   Matilda's mouth was hanging open as Bobby's blue eyes came to her.  What
she saw in them suddenly made her very nervous.  She had been beside them,
on her knees, upright as she pulled at her pussy lips impatiently.  Her
hand was still there, though now it was immobile from the shock of seeing
the violence.

   "Bobby ..." she said weakly, as he leaned toward her.

   "You asked for this," he reminded her, grasping her elbows.

   She squawked herself as she was manhandled onto her back.  He knew she
was wet, because he knew she'd been rubbing.  So he didn't tease her.  He
went instead for the main event and she gasped as he fisted his prick and
fed her half of it in one push, stopping only when he ran his hand into her
pussy lips.  He remembered, just then, that they claimed to have done this
"a couple of times".

   "Bobbeeeee," she complained.

   "You'll get used to it," he said, taking his hand away.

   Instead of shoving it on in, though, he kissed her.  She tried to twist
her face, but he moved to keep his lips on hers and, in the process, the
rest of his prick buried itself in her.  She froze then, her mouth and eyes
both wide open, as he ground against her clit.

   "Oh fuck!" she groaned.

   "Naughty, naughty," he chided, pulling it out and thrusting right back
in, to grind some more.  "Is this what you had in mind?"

   "Oh fuck, Bobby," she moaned, completely disregarding his correction of
her language.

   "OK," he said, smiling.

   Then he basically pounded her into submission.  She fought him at first,
until her pussy became adjusted to him, and started sending out screeches
of joy that rattled her brain.  Then, when she was enjoying it, he stopped
only long enough to grind into her, the tip of his prick pushing against
her cervix.

   Her first orgasm was completely unexpected, and took her by surprise. 
She'd never had an orgasm that was worthy of the name, while Chuck's penis
was in her.  There had been "leaners", in horse shoe language ...  feelings
that counted as an orgasm, but weren't worth as much.

   What Bobby did was throw ringers, and it rang her bell just like a
horseshoe clangs against the stake when it spins around it and plops to the
sand.

   Two orgasms later, she lay there like a wet rag, as Bobby got up off of
her, still hard, but dripping, both his own and her essences.  Betty was on
her knees, and had been watching.  He looked over at her.

   "You ready for more?"

   "Yes, yes!" she yipped.

   Matilda wasn't going anywhere voluntarily, so Bobby got up and pulled an
old page out of his play book, sitting in the straight backed chair that he
had, at one time, used for doing homework.  He beckoned Betty, who looked
confused, at first, and then staggered into position, straddling him, when
she figured out what he wanted.  She reached for him, and let herself down
on him slowly.

   Or tried to.

   He scooted forward and pulled, and she was suddenly sitting on his
thighs, full of prick.

   "Oh damn," she groaned, arching her back.

   "Where did you two get such potty mouths?" Bobby grinned, and then
taught her how to rock, while he sucked at her stiff pink nipples.

   "Ohhhhhh," she moaned, thrusting her hips rapidly.  "You're sure not
Chuck."

   He stopped torturing her nipples long enough to ask: "Am I still a
turd?"

   "Noooooo," she whined, feeling an orgasm rushing toward her.  "Ohhhh you
are DEFINITELY not Chuck!" Her eyes went wide.  "I'm cumming, Bobby ... 
ohhhh it feels so good ...  oh thank you!"

   Her hips flashed and she thrust so hard that the chair rocked, as she
came, his hands on her hips helping her crush her clitty against the base
of his prick.  He stood, suddenly, with his hands under her butt, and took
her to the bed, where he lay her back on top of Matilda's legs.  Matilda
tried to get them out from under her sister, but couldn't move fast enough.

   "I have to take it out now," huffed Bobby.

   Matilda sat up, just as Bobby pulled his prick out and fisted it.  His
first shot made a line of white from Betty's breasts to her fuzzy blond
pubic hair.  Feeling pernicious, Bobby altered his aim, and painted
Matilda's thighs with the second shot.  Both girls squealed, never having
felt spunk on their bodies before.  He emptied himself on Betty, taking
care not to shoot it into her gaping pussy mouth, though the urge was
strong to do just that.

   He stood back, panting.  "Sorry, I couldn't go very long this time.  You
two are pretty sexy, naked, and I got kind of excited."

   "Not very long ..." Matilda's voice was faint.

   "Yes," admitted Bobby.  "I can usually go for an hour if I try hard."

   "An hour," sighed Betty.

   "I'll try to do better next time.  I hope you're not too disappointed."

   "It's OK!" they chirped together.

   "Get off me!" said Matilda.  "I'm all icky."

   "Me too," moaned Betty.

   They jumped off the bed, their hands out away from their bodies, and
danced toward the door, intent on cleaning up.  After that they would talk,
and make the inevitable comparisons.  Chuck would not do well in that
process.  Neither girl had realized she could have more than one orgasm
while participating in this particular pastime.  Both had stared up into
their brother's eyes, and SEEN the love in them, as he pleasured them. 
Both had their first glimmerings of understanding that there was a BIG
difference between fucking ...  and making love.  It was like tasting a new
food, and finding that it was, quite suddenly, your favorite food.  Chuck,
by comparison, was flat beer, stale bread, or damp crackers.

   He would not really be missed, ever again.

   Chapter Two

   Misty picked up the phone and looked at it.  She was tempted to wipe the
mouthpiece off before she used it.  She sighed, remembering that what her
crew, and almost everybody else in the whole tour had wasn't communicable
in that way.

   The reports she'd heard were that it was food poisoning.  There had been
a big party, after a concert in Austin, Texas.  She'd had a splitting
headache, and had made an appearance, before slipping back to the hotel to
get some sleep.  She hadn't eaten anything.

   Everybody who had stayed had gotten sick.  Seven of them were in the
hospital!  She counted herself as lucky.

   Except for the fact that the rest of the tour had been cancelled.  There
were three more concerts on it, but the manager had called them all off
from his hospital bed.  That wasn't so terrible, though.  It meant less
money, but it also meant she'd get some unscheduled time at home.  She knew
how she would spend it.  She had four new songs roughed out in her mind,
with the basic melodies written down.  She was calling her agent to tell
him about all the furor.

   As it turned out, he already knew.

   "Don't worry about a thing, Baby," he oozed into the phone.  "I've got
you covered.  I got you a gig in Kansas.  We turned them down at first,
because you were busy, but now you can do it."

   "Kansas?" Misty had visions of flat, treeless land which, after her
upbringing in the mountains, seemed sterile and desolate.  Texas hadn't
been much of a thrill, though Austin was really nice.

   "Yeah, it's some kind of festival thing they do every year.  You'll be
the headliner, Baby!" The enthusiasm in his voice, which she now knew was
there whether he meant it or not, didn't mollify her.

   "How can I play a gig in Kansas?" she complained.  "Everybody in the
band is sick.  Josh can't drive, and Twila only gets up from the pot to
throw up in it!"

   "You were playing solo when I found you," said her agent smoothly. 
"Just take your guitar and some clothes and hop a flight.  I'll call the
radio station that's sponsoring you and have them handle everything else.
This could be a big break for you, Baby."

   "Don't call me Baby!" she snapped into the phone.  "I appreciate what
you've done for me, but I know the only reason you're doing this is because
you get a cut.  That doesn't mean there's anything between us!"

   She scowled fiercely at the phone, not thinking that he couldn't see
her. His hands had gotten entirely too friendly in the last couple of
months.

   "Hey, come on, Misty," he moaned into the phone.  "I'm only thinking
about you, honey, I promise."

   "Yeah, right!" she snorted.  "I know what part of me you're thinking
about, and it ain't gonna happen.  I was going to go home and write some
songs.  I don't want to go play at some hick festival in Kansas!"

   "Sorry, Babe," said the man on the other end of the line.  "I already
booked you.  Three nights, star billing.  You'll have days off to write all
you want.  There probably won't be anything else to do anyway.  You'll
still have time to go home and take a break after that."

   "When is it?" she moaned, knowing she had to do it.

   "I was just about to dial the phone when you called," he said.  "The
festival opens the day after tomorrow, so you need to get moving.  I'll
call the station and get them on it.  Either I or some woman named Amanda
will call you right back.  Don't go anywhere!  Stay right by the phone!"

   Misty put the phone down much harder than necessary.  She heard retching
sounds from the bathroom.  At least she'd be able to have a hotel room to
herself on this gig.  She roomed with Twila everywhere they went.  That
meant having no privacy at all.  Not that she needed it.  If anything it
was Twila and Josh who needed the privacy.  She knew they were doing it
together.  She could tell by the way they talked, and touched each other.
They pretended like everything was just friends, but Misty knew they were
humping like bunnies behind her back.  "Conferences", they called it.

   Yeah ...  right.

   What was done was done, though.  She went to her case and pulled out her
guitar.  It had pickups on it, but could also be played acoustically.  That
was good.

   She wasn't sure they even had electricity in Kansas.

   ====================================

   They came to him in the night, silently, like prowling cats, like pumas
who were hungry.  They crawled all over him ...  purring ...  kissing ...
demanding to be pleased.

   They wouldn't take turns, like their sisters had.  They wanted him
together.  Neither had ever felt his fountain of seed in their bellies ...
had never felt that from any man ...  and they didn't care about that.  All
they cared about was feeling his thickness slide deep inside famished
pussies, and that wonderful little rotation he did, that crushed their
helpless clitties, and brought such astonishing orgasms.

   Currently, it was Betty who was watching, torturing her own clit as
Bobby loomed over Matilda, whose legs were thrown wide in welcome.  She was
grunting softly, in time with his thrusts, and then moaning as he
occasionally stopped to rub.

   "It was never like this," she groaned, feeling an orgasm marching toward
her.  "I love this so much."

   "You feel good," said her brother, flexing his penis inside her.

   "Don't stop!" she urged.  "I'm almost there." She squeezed her muscles
around him, trying to grip him.

   "If you keep doing that I'll squirt," he warned her.

   "You can't squirt!" yipped Betty.  "I haven't had my turn yet!"

   "You guys are killing me," groaned Bobby, pulling out of Matilda.  She
wailed, and complained that she wasn't done yet.  He moved back and put his
face in between her legs, sucking her clit into his mouth.

   "AHHHHHHH" she whined, bucking up against his face.  The orgasm he'd
denied her bounced through her body as her clit vibrated.

   He kept sucking, sliding his hands under her butt to make his lips solid
around her clit, and she flailed as he over-stimulated her for a few
seconds.  Then he lifted his face and grinned.

   "Get up!" he ordered.

   "I can't," she panted.  "I can't move."

   "I want to try something," he insisted.

   She COULD move.  She just didn't want to.  But, when he pulled her up,
she stood, while he lay on his back.  He lay down, and motioned Betty to
climb on top of him.  They had learned this a night or two past, and she
happily sank down on his stiff prick.

   "Now you sit on my face," he said to Matilda.

   She argued at first, thinking it was both odd and probably impossible.
When she ended up, however, with her hands on the headboard, and her pussy
rubbing his face, she decided it not only COULD be done ...  it SHOULD be
done.  She particularly liked the fact that she could move the part of her
pussy she wanted licked ...  to where it was licked the best.

   The only problem with his plan was that Matilda liked it too much, and
he couldn't talk.  Normally, that wouldn't have been a problem, but his two
youngest sisters were hot as pistols, and he was affected by them on a more
passionate level than he'd anticipated.  It hadn't taken long for his
impression of them as "little girls" to be thoroughly destroyed.  When they
did this with him, they were all woman.

   And so, when he felt his balls signal their eruption, and tried to warn
Betty to get off of him, all he was able to do was make muffled groaning
sounds, which neither girl recognized as a warning.  Matilda felt his hands
on her hips, pushing at her, but she thought he was just trying to help her
move her pussy over his nose and mouth.

   Betty had ridden him through an orgasm already, and was rocking gently,
just loving the feel of being full.  She could still feel her pussy making
little left over spasms, squeezing and then relaxing, when she felt him
swell, and felt a ball of heat expand from the tip of his prick.  She
didn't get it, at first.  It felt wonderful.  Then, as her lust-fogged
brain finally DID realize what was going on, she tried to get her feet
under her.  He finished spurting in her by the time that happened and, when
she was able to stand, she looked in awe as her pussy drooled thick globs
of brother spunk, which dripped down and covered his balls, while his penis
lay softening on his abdomen.

   "HE SQUIRTED IN ME!" she yipped, staring at the evidence of her
outburst.

   Matilda twisted her upper body to look at her sister, and also stared at
the dripping strings of cum.

   "Wow!" she gasped.  "Why'd he do that?"

   She looked down at the top of her brother's head.

   "Why'd you do that, Bobby?"

   It was then she realized that the pain in her thighs was because he was
gripping them, pushing against her weight, which was still pressing her
pussy against his face.  She scooted back and was rewarded with Bobby's
round, blue eyes, which matched his round, gasping mouth.  He sucked in a
huge breath.

   "I tried ...  to ...  warn you," he panted.  "You were ...  busy ... 
suffocating me."

   "I was not," said Matilda, trying to slide her pussy forward again. 
"You told me to do this."

   It went downhill from there, and Bobby finally made them go back to
their own room.

   ===================================

   "What was it like?" asked Matilda, in the dark.

   "Him squirting in me?"

   "Of course!"

   "It was warm," said Betty softly.  "It felt like ...  I don't know ...
it was warm."

   "Did you like it?"

   It was silent for a few heartbeats.  "Yes." It was silent for a few more
heartbeats.  "What if he got me pregnant, though?"

   Matilda snorted.  "You can't get pregnant from just once."

   "You can't?"

   "Of course not.  You have to do it a lot to get pregnant."

   "Are you sure?  That doesn't sound right to me." Betty frowned.

   "Of course I'm sure," said Matilda loftily.  "I'll even let him squirt
in me next time if that will make you feel better."

   Mollified by her sister's completely incorrect interpretation of the
hazy lessons they hadn't really listened to all that well in High School,
Betty turned to what was on her mind.

   "What was it like ...e sitting on his face?"

   "It was SO cool!" sighed Matilda.  "You can wiggle around just right,
and get him to do it in just the right place.  You have to try that."

   "OK!"

   To be honest, both girls were ready to go back to Bobby's room right
then.  He'd been somewhat surly, though, and had all but kicked them out.
That was OK.  They could wait.

   After all ...  they had all summer.

   ===================================

   After her agent hung up, the phone was only silent for fifteen minutes,
before it rang again.  Misty picked it up.  She was slightly nauseated by
the sounds that kept coming from the bathroom, where Twila was constantly
being sick.

   "Hello!" she almost shouted in to the phone.

   "Ms.  Compton?" It was a female voice.

   "Yes."

   "This is Amanda Griggs, General Manager of KDEF Radio, in Hutchinson. 
Thank you SO much for agreeing to come to the festival.  When your agent
originally told us you were too busy we didn't know WHAT we were going to
do!  We had to book a couple of local acts, but now they can open for you."

   Misty frowned.  She could just imagine some hayseed band, croaking away
...  driving the audience away.  She had seen plenty of that in Hog Holler.
Of course the audience didn't leave.  Not in Hog Holler.  Most of them were
related to whoever was performing, in some way or another.  They didn't
leave.  They just tipped the mason jars a little more frequently, and got
roaring drunk.  When you were that drunk, it didn't matter if someone was
playing a guitar, or simply slapping their cheeks, making the note go up or
down by changing the shape of the mouth.  She was quite sure they didn't
have moonshine in Kansas, though, and an amateur band could drive people to
the concession stands.

   She sighed.  It had to be done.  She realized the woman was still
talking, and tried to remember what had been said while she wasn't
listening.

   "...  back you up if you like.  I know they'd be thrilled to play with
you."

   "No!" Misty almost shouted.  "I can play solo just fine.  That's how I
started out, you know."

   "Oh, of course," said the woman.  "Well then, all we have to do is get
you here.  The station will take care of everything.  You're in Austin,
right?"

   "Yes."

   "All right.  I'll find out when the next flight is and book you a seat.
Give me ten minutes and I'll call you back.  This is SO exciting!"

   Misty sat and listened to Twila retching in the stool.  Maybe it
wouldn't be so bad after all.  At least she wouldn't have to listen to
Twila being sick all night.

   She started packing.

   ====================================

   In truth, Misty was having a better time already than she'd thought she
would.  As much money as she'd made already, and as fancy a house as her
mother was now living in, she'd never been farther off the ground than an
oak or sycamore tree would take her.

   Flying turned out to be wonderful.  The airport was a strange and
exciting place, and looking out the big windows to see airplanes taking off
and landing made her excitement build.  She tried to act like she had done
this a hundred times, as she was handed a boarding pass, and then got into
an argument about her guitar case.  They wanted to take it from her, which
was completely unacceptable, in her opinion.  She said she'd just hold it
on her lap, which had gotten her some strange looks.  Finally they agreed
to let her take it on board, but told her it would have to be kept in a
special closet once she got there.

   The big planes, landing and taking off outside, fascinated her, and a
woman had to come and get her from the window when it was time to get on
the plane.  She'd heard the announcements of people with certain seat
numbers being invited to board, but hadn't paid any attention to them.  The
woman who came and got her said "Thank Goodness.  We thought we'd lost
you," and hustled her onto the plane.

   She had some vague notion that there was such a thing as "First Class",
but didn't know what that meant until after the plane was in the air and
she suddenly had to pee.  When she went looking for something that looked
like a bathroom, she went through a curtain, into a section of the airplane
that was filled with smoke and noise.  People there were crowded together
in a state that made her cringe.  She hurried back through the curtain,
afraid that someone would make her sit in one of these seats for some
reason.  Asking for the toilet got her where she wanted to be, but even
that was a tiny space, even smaller than the bathroom had been in the
trailer, back home.

   Then, after staring out of the window until her eyes were dry, there was
an announcement that they were going to land, and she got nervous again. 
The airport in Texas had been big and bustling.  She'd had to ask three
different people how to get to the place where she'd finally boarded the
plane.  The town flashing by beneath her looked just as big.  She had no
idea this Hutchinson place was so big!  And she had no idea what to do when
she got off the plane.  She had visions of herself standing there, while
everybody else went on about their business, leaving her alone.

   She did have one expectation.  She expected someone to be standing at
the gate, to hand her back the suitcase she'd had to turn over to them,
during the confrontation about the guitar.  That precious instrument was
safely in her hand, when she stepped off.  But all anyone said to her was
"Thank you for flying with us today."

   Her luggage was nowhere to be seen.

   Rather than trying to muster up the courage to ask someone where her
suitcase was, she decided to just follow the other people getting off the
plane.  They didn't have their suitcases either.  Maybe they knew where to
go to find it.

   She was distracted by a tallish man - a fan, obviously - who was
standing a few feet away from the gate, holding a large cardboard sign that
said "Misty Compton" on it in large, hand-scrawled letters.  She hadn't
been performing for so long that she was tired of signing autographs, so
she walked toward him.

   "You want me to autograph your sign?" she asked, smiling her best
professional smile.

   He looked at her blankly.

   "Are you Misty Compton?" he asked.

   Misty looked at him.  He was probably in his mid twenties.  They
apparently grew them just as big out here on the plains as they did back
home in the mountains.  This one was big, and the checkered shirt he was
wearing was filled with muscles.  He had on faded jeans, and well-worn,
dusty boots.  There was a lock of black hair that had fallen on his
forehead, and looked mildly cute.

   It would have, anyway, if he'd have known who she was.  What fan didn't
know what she looked like?

   "Of course I'm Misty Compton!" she said impatiently.

   "Oh, Hi.  I'm Bobby Dalton.  They sent me to pick you up."

   THIS was her chauffer?  She looked at his hands, both of which were
still on the cardboard, with the name on it that looked like it had been
put there by a six year old.  His hands looked callused, like those of her
cousins.  She looked around for his hat.  Everybody in Texas had worn a
cowboy hat, but there hadn't been any cows.  This was Kansas.  Wasn't that
where all the cowboys were?  She didn't see his hat anywhere.

   "Oh," she said, feeling ill at ease.

   "Let's get your luggage, and I'll get you out of here," he said,
smiling.

   "Good," she said, relieved that he seemed to know where her luggage was.

   He led her off down a long hallway, to one of those fascinating
stairways that moved, so that all you had to do was climb on and stand
there, while it took you up or down.

   "Where's your claim ticket?" he asked.

   "Claim ticket?" she responded.

   "You know, the little thing they probably stapled to your boarding
pass?"

   She'd left her boarding pass on the airplane.  The trip was over, so
she'd thought that was just trash now.

   She had the presence of mind to stop and look around, like she couldn't
remember where she'd tucked the object he was asking for.

   "I must have dropped it," she said carefully.

   "Well, you know what your stuff looks like," he said.  "We can just wait
until you see it."

   They went down, and she began seeing other people who had been on her
flight.  He took her to a big room that had another moving belt in it.  As
they approached, there was a thump, and she saw a suitcase appear from a
little door that looked like it was made of rubber.  The belt carried it
along.  More suitcases appeared, until the belt was clogged with them. 
People shoved and reached for pieces of luggage, trying to get them off the
belt before it carried them along farther.

   "See yours yet?" asked the man, who was pressed into her right shoulder
by the crowd.  His knees banged against her guitar case and she hugged it
to her front, protectively.

   "No.  Don't bang into my guitar case, OK?"

   "Sorry," he said, as he was shoved against her again.  "You want to step
back and let the crowd clear out a little?"

   "I guess," she said, uncertainly.

   They did that, and the crowd DID thin out, eventually.  She still hadn't
seen her suitcase.  Then, almost suddenly, there were only five or six
suitcases on the belt, going around and around, and almost everyone was
gone.

   "None of those are yours?" asked the man.

   "No.  Mine is blue," she said.

   There was another thump, and the belt stopped moving.

   An airport employee had been standing at the entrance to the area,
checking people's luggage as they took it away.  Misty had seen them
handing the man little white squares of paper, just like the one she'd left
on the plane.

   "Where's my suitcase?" she asked.  She felt the first twinges of dread.
Something was horribly wrong.

   "We'll ask about it," said the man with her.

   Chapter Three

   Amanda looked across the table at Rodney.

   "So, is everything taken care of?" she asked.

   "No problems," said Rodney firmly.  "We got her a room at the Prairie
Star Bed and Breakfast."

   "Why not the hotel?" asked Amanda.

   "It was booked up," said Rodney.  "Everything is booked up.  I had to
call in a favor from Mattie, at the Prairie Star.  I told her we'd work in
some commercials for her."

   "Is it a nice place?"

   "For a hundred year old stone house, it's gorgeous," said Rodney.  "Plus
it has lots of history, and it's right near the fairgrounds."

   "We want this girl to be happy, Rodney," warned Amanda.

   "Quit worrying.  I looked at her bio.  She's from back in the mountains,
in North Carolina, for pity's sake.  She's only hit it big in the last
three or four months.  She probably hasn't even broken in her new shoes
yet. She'll be happy."

   =======================================

   Misty Compton was not happy.

   The airline had lost her suitcase.  Every stitch of clothing she had for
the trip, except what she was wearing, was in that suitcase.  Her three
performance outfits, two pairs of jeans, and three T shirts were in that
suitcase, along with her toothbrush and all her fancy new underwear.

   They claimed that it accidentally went to Cleveland, Ohio, and she just
couldn't understand how anybody could think that her suitcase should be
sent to Cleveland, Ohio.

   The man who had picked her up didn't make things any better.  Instead of
yelling at the airport people, he just grinned and said everything would be
OK.  He'd been insolent about it too.

   "Hey, don't worry about it," he'd said, looking her up and down. 
"You're about the same size as my twin sisters.  You can borrow some of
their clothes."

   Now, as she hurried along behind the long legged insufferable cowboy,
she was fuming.  She was Misty Compton!  She didn't wear other girl's
clothes!  Not any more.  She'd thrown out all her hand-me-downs when she
got her first royalty check, and bought all new things.

   She'd tried to argue with him ...  put him in his place.  But he
wouldn't listen.  He just grinned that stupid grin, and looked at her with
those impossibly blue eyes, and told her to come along ...  that he'd get
her all fixed up.

   And now she was stuck.  She had no idea where she was going, or how to
get there.  He was her only source of information, and he wasn't talking.
He was just running ahead of her, like they were in some kind of race!

   "Slow down!" she yelled, suddenly.

   Then she ran into his back as he suddenly stopped.  She bounced off, her
thoughts going immediately to her precious guitar.

   "I didn't say STOP!" she yelled.

   "Sorry," he said, with that insolent grin.

   "Don't tell me you're sorry!" she snapped.  "You're not sorry.  You
don't look one BIT sorry!"

   "Look," he said, the smile fading, finally.  "I know this probably isn't
what you're used to, what with you being a famous singer and all that.  But
this is the best we can do right now.  Let's just get you out of here, and
get you to Hutchinson, and everything will work out.  I promise."

   "Get me to Hutchinson!?" She gave him a blank stare.  "We're already IN
Hutchinson, you idiot!"

   She hated the look of pity he laid on her then.

   "This is Wichita," he said, the corners of his mouth curling up just a
fraction.  "Hutch is forty miles away."

   It got even worse as he led her to a rusty old pickup truck, an early
sixties Chevy, just like the one her Uncle Zeke had, right down to the same
rusty holes above the rear fenders, and behind the cab.

   "Where is my limo?" she asked tersely.

   "This is your limo," he said, that maddening smile back.

   "You came to get me in a pickup?" Her voice rose higher with every word.

   "I didn't know how much luggage you'd have," he said calmly.  "If I'd
have known how light you traveled, I'd have used something else."

   Misty Compton, for whom crowds roared and stamped, wanted to cry.

   "I'm not putting my guitar in the back of this truck!" she snapped,
using her anger to keep from crying.

   "There's room in the front for it," he said.

   "I WANT A LIMO!" she screamed.  "I WANT MY SUITCASE AND I WANT A LIMO!"

   People were staring at them.  That didn't really bother Bobby too much.
When Amanda had called him, and asked him to go get the star performer for
the Harvest Festival, he'd agreed to do it because it was Amanda asking him
to.  He didn't listen to the radio much, and his sisters didn't play music
at the house as much as they had in the past.  Part of that was because
they were at work during the days, and some evenings, and part of it was
because, as they grew up, they weren't as fixated on celebrities as they
had been in their younger days.

   From Bobby's perspective, the only reason for worrying about Misty
Compton at all was because Amanda was expecting him to bring her back.

   "Look," he said.  "I'm sorry your luggage got lost.  I can't do anything
about that right now.  I was sent to pick you up, and that's what I'm here
for.  If you don't want to ride with me, that's fine.  You're a big
recording star, from what little I know about you, so I'm sure that if you
call somebody, they'll find a limo and send it to get you.  I'll just wait
until I'm sure somebody else is going to take care of you, and then I'll go
on home."

   "You don't even know who I AM?!" squealed Misty, outraged that her
burgeoning success was being ignored by this ...  this ...  this cowboy!

   "Amanda told me," he said, looking a little uncomfortable.  "I ...  um
...  don't listen to the radio much.  I'm usually working.  I'm sure you're
very good.  They wouldn't have asked you to come to the Harvest Festival if
you weren't."

   Misty quivered with indignation.  This was the last straw.  Everything
that COULD go wrong HAD gone wrong.

   The impression was disabused almost immediately as a big raindrop
splatted onto her cheek.  She looked up to see thunderheads above her. 
Where had those come from?  The sky had been as clear and blue as could be
when the plane was landing.  Three more raindrops hit her.  The
insufferable man started to walk around the front of the stupid truck.

   "I'll just wait in the truck while you take care of things," he said.

   It was her guitar that made her get in the truck with him.  She told
herself that, as she jerked open the door and pushed the case, with its
precious cargo, to the middle of the bench seat, and scrambled in behind
it. She was just in time, as the sky opened up and the windows of the truck
suddenly became wavering peeks at a surreal world outside.

   "Want me to drop you off at the terminal?" asked the man, as he got in
the driver's seat.

   "Just get me the fuck out of here!" she snarled.

   "Oke dokie," he said, his voice light, as if he didn't have a care in
the world.  He almost sounded like one of her cousins, back home.

   ==================================

   Twenty minutes later the rain vanished as quickly as it had appeared,
leaving only a few torn clouds, staining a blue sky.  The road went from
having puddles on it, to bone dry within a mile.  Misty glanced over at the
driver.  He hadn't said a word since he'd started the truck, and seemed to
be paying attention only to the road ahead.

   She felt irritated that he looked handsome.  In another time and place,
she'd have been intrigued by that strong jaw line, and that little lock of
hair that fell on his forehead.  His eyes were as blue as the sky, and that
faded checkered shirt bulged with the muscles it tried to hide from view.
She suddenly imagined this man wrestling with cattle, in a rodeo.

   "So," she said, more to break the silence, than anything else, "are you
in the rodeo a lot?"

   "Nope."

   He stared straight ahead.  He was ignoring her.  That made her mad too.
Nobody ignored her.  She was famous!  She decided to remind him of that.

   "Which of my songs do you like the most?" she asked.

   He looked over at her, but just for a second.  She remembered that he
had said he only knew what that woman from the radio station had told him,
and felt stupid for asking.  That made her mad too.

   "I don't know that I've heard any of them."

   She was beginning to wish she'd just stayed in the rain.

   "Where are you taking me?" she asked.

   "They got you a room at a Bed and Breakfast place, in Hutch," he said.
"I'm supposed to take you to the station first, to meet Amanda and the rest
of them.  Then I'll take you to the bed and breakfast, or anywhere you want
to go."

   "I don't have anything!" she wailed.  "I need clothes ...  I don't even
have a toothbrush!"

   "There's plenty of stores in Hutch," said Bobby.  "You can get whatever
you need."

   "They won't have the kind of clothes I perform in, you idiot!" she
snarled.  "Not in Bumfuck Kansas!"

   She was startled as the truck started slowing down, and he pulled to the
side of the road.

   "What's wrong?" she asked.  "Why are you stopping?"

   He turned to her.  She stared into those awful blue eyes.

   "You don't like me," he said, his voice level.  "That's not surprising,
because I don't much like you either.  Maybe it's just a personality
difference.  That doesn't really matter.  What matters is that I was hired
to take care of you, and when I take on a job, I take it seriously.  You
don't have to yell, or curse.  All you have to do is tell me what you need,
and I'll try my best to arrange it.  That's what I'm being paid to do. 
Now, if that isn't suitable to you, that's fine too.  I'm taking you to see
Amanda right now.  You can tell her you don't like me, and that you want
another driver, or whatever they call this, and I'll go on about my
business."

   He said it all so calmly, like he was just explaining something to her.
All she could concentrate on, though, was his comment "I don't much like
you either." Nobody talked to her like that.  Nobody HAD talked to her like
that since she left Hog Holler!  To top it off, he didn't even wait for her
to respond.  He just started the truck rolling again, and pulled off the
shoulder onto the road.

   "Why don't you like me?" she asked, and then wished instantly she hadn't
opened her mouth.

   "You're spoiled," he said.

   "I am NOT spoiled!" she argued.

   "I want a limo!" his voice was high, like that of a child.

   "Well?!" she objected.  "I'm a star!"

   "You're a girl," he snorted.  "You apparently have a gift, and people
like hearing you sing.  They're even willing to pay to hear you sing.  That
doesn't mean anybody owes you anything except the price of admission."

   "You're a horrible man!" she squealed.

   "And you're a spoiled brat," he said calmly.  "Now we know why we don't
like each other."

   The rest of the trip was completed in silence.

   ==================================

   Amanda looked up for the twentieth time, and felt vastly relieved as she
saw Bobby and a young blond woman coming through the door between the
reception area and the station office suites.  Her relief lasted only a few
seconds, though.  The girl looked mad, but it was the look on Bobby's face
...  grim was the only way she could describe it ...  that made her sit up
and take notice.

   "What's wrong?" She stood up and walked around the desk.  Her normal
urge was to hug Bobby, but she resisted.

   "They lost her luggage," said Bobby.  "She's not happy about anything."

   "THAT'S NOT TRUE!" shouted Misty.

   Both the man and the woman he had brought her to see stared at her.  She
realized that, if asked, she might not be able to come up with something
she was, in fact, happy about.  Her outburst had just been intended to
strike back at this maddening man.

   "Uh ...  I'm Amanda Griggs," said Amanda, holding out her hand.  "I'm
sorry about your luggage.  I'll get someone on it right away." She had
prepared a speech ...  or at least gone over how she wanted to greet a
woman who had sold almost half a million records.  Now, thought, everything
she'd though to say seemed out of place.

   She looked at the girl.  That's really what she looked like ...  a poor
unhappy girl.  Somehow Amanda had a hard time thinking of this poor unhappy
girl as a recording star, even though she was clutching a guitar case to
her chest.

   "Why don't you sit down and rest a bit," suggested Amanda, adopting a
solicitous attitude.  "Tell me all about it.  We can take care of anything
that's wrong."

   "Can you get me a band that's not sick?" asked Misty.  "Can you get me a
limo, with a driver who is polite and has at least HEARD of me?  I need
clothing.  I need makeup.  I need everything!" She got more and more
agitated as her voice rose.

   "She's a spoiled brat," said Bobby calmly.  "She seems to think that the
world should revolve around her."

   "SEE?!" shouted Misty.  "SEE WHAT I HAD TO PUT UP WITH?"

   Amanda felt ill, but the administrator ...  and politician in her ... 
took over.

   "Bobby, why don't you go fix something," she said, her voice level. 
"I'll take care of Misty.  You and I will have a little talk later."

   ===========================

   It took almost an hour, which, to be honest, Amanda did not have.  But
she spent that time anyway, because she needed Misty Compton, and she
needed Misty Compton to be happy and ready to provide the kind of
entertainment that everyone footing the bill for her was expecting.

   Initially, she just let Misty rant.  The girl ran out of steam,
eventually, and slumped.  Then Amanda started soothing her, explaining that
every obstacle could - and would - be overcome.  She didn't go into detail.
She just reassured the girl that, when she went on stage the next night,
things would be perfect.

   Then she directed the conversation toward the program.  Amanda was well
versed on the album this girl had put out.  She'd listened to it half a
dozen times, so she would be completely familiar with all the tracks,
titles and styles.  Once she got Misty talking about what songs she wanted
to sing, the girl perked up.

   "I have a couple of new songs that I haven't recorded yet," said Misty.
"Do you suppose it would be all right to sing them too?"

   "That would be fantastic!" squealed Amanda, meaning it.  "The crowd will
love it.  You're going to be a smash hit here, Misty, I just know it!"

   She'd spent too much time with this girl already, and needed to get back
to work.

   "Why don't we get you to the B&B and you can relax and change clothes
... Oh!  You can't!  Of course!  Why don't I have Bobby take you shopping!"

   "Him!?" snorted the girl.  "I don't like him!"

   Amanda wanted to moan.  It had never occurred to her that Bobby's charm
might actually fail, when it came to a woman.  If anything, she'd been a
little worried that Bobby might be TOO charming.  She was unprepared for
this eventuality, and had no one else to shepherd the girl.

   "I think you just got off to a bad start with him," said Amanda,
soothingly.  "He's really a delightful man.  I chose him specifically to
take care of you.  He's very resourceful.  I'm sure if you give him another
chance, you'll change your mind.  Give it until tomorrow, OK?  If things
still aren't working out, I'll try to find somebody else to take care of
you."

   In fact, the reason Misty decided to agree, was because she had in mind
plans to teach this cowboy a few lessons.

   "I'll do that if you tell him that what I want ...  I get," she said.

   Amanda felt something like a warning bell jangling her nerves.  But she
was already late for an important meeting, and she had no one else.

   "Within reason," she cautioned.  "There is no limo in Hutchinson, for
example.  He can't get you what can't be had."

   "Oh, all right!" snorted the singing star.  "But you tell him to be
nicer to me, or I'll just get back on the plane and go back to Texas!"

   "I'll talk to him," agreed Amanda, beginning to understand, perhaps, why
Bobby might not have responded well to this slip of a girl.  "Why don't you
go introduce yourself to the staff, while I do that.  They're all so
excited to meet you.  Would that be OK?"

   "Sure!" yipped Misty.  The thought of getting to meet fans was
attractive to her.  Most places she went, she was overshadowed by the
bigger more well-known stars and, in any case, security kept her far far
away from the fans.  She'd signed a few autographs, but even that was a
tightly controlled situation.  Maybe someone would even ask her to sing a
song.

   ===================================

   "We need her, Bobby," said Amanda.  "I'm late.  I have to go.  Please
just get her what she needs, and try not to upset her.  It's only for three
days.  Then you'll never have to see her again, OK?  I don't have anybody
else to do this.  We need her ...  and I need you, Bobby."

   "You haven't needed me for over a month," said Bobby, admiring her, like
he always did.  This was a woman he liked spending time with.

   "Yes I have," said the mother of one of his children.  "I was just too
busy to have you."

   She touched his hand, and, again, resisted taking him in her arms and
kissing him.

   "And I expect you to make some time for me while you're in town, too."

   "Are you on the pill yet?" asked Bobby, smiling.

   She looked at him and felt the flutter in her belly that he always made
her feel.

   "No, I haven't had time to do that either."

   "Good," said Bobby, stepping forward.

   His intent was clear, and she barely got her hands up to fend him off.

   "You're terrible!" she said.  "I can see why that poor girl can't deal
with you.  Now, go on.  I have things to do."

   "I will make some time for you," he said softly.  "I'm already looking
forward to it."

   "Go on!" She turned him and pushed him.

   She couldn't resist, though, one quick feel of his right buttock as he
headed for the door.

   ====================================

   Misty, basking in the attention of a very attentive radio station staff,
didn't just happen to be in a position that allowed her to see into
Amanda's office.  She had adopted her stance specifically so that she could
see the slump of that irritating man's impossibly broad shoulders when he
was put in his place by the station manager.

   She took a split second to be mildly irritated when his shoulders didn't
slump as he was dressed down for his impertinent behavior.

   She took several splits of a second to be mildly astonished when that
Amanda woman reached out and copped a feel of his butt while he was
leaving. That he didn't respond to that copping of a feel ...  that he
didn't jump ...  was mildly interesting.

   He didn't seem to have learned his lesson, though.  When he approached
her, he said "All right, I'm ready," like him being ready was important.

   "When I'm finished talking to these NICE people, I'll let you know," she
said, unaware that her chin was sticking out, and that she looked just like
what she was - a young woman pouting.

   "I'll be in the truck," he said.  He made it obvious that he didn't care
how long it took, and that he had better things to do than stand around
watching fans adore her ...  even if that meant just sitting alone in a
truck.

   She wanted to scream.

   She almost did when, as he walked by Amanda's office, she stopped
talking on the phone, momentarily, and blew him a kiss!

   Chapter Four

   Misty decided that the best way to break this particular mule was to
wear him out.  That she was tired herself was put aside.  When Rodney,
beaming appropriately and treating her like the star she was, walked her
out to the truck, she got in and started her plan.

   "I'm hungry," she announced.  "Take me to get something to eat."

   "I thought you needed clothes," said Bobby.

   "We'll do that after I've eaten," she said, her voice short.

   "Something to eat," he said.

   "That's what I said!" She tried to put some snap in her voice.

   "We don't have fancy five star restaurants around here," he said,
starting the truck.

   "And don't you have a nicer car or something?" she pressed.  "Something
that won't get my new clothes all dirty, once I have them?"

   "I have a car, but it's old.  You wouldn't like it either," he said,
putting the truck into motion.  "Where do you want to eat?"

   "How should I know?" she asked, getting frustrated.  "I've never been
here before!"

   "What kind of food do you like?" he asked, patiently.

   "Lobster," she replied instantly.

   "I don't think anybody in town serves lobster."

   "OK, then, caviar," she said stubbornly.  She'd tried the nasty stuff,
and didn't really like it, but she wasn't about to admit that to this
insufferable man.

   "There's one place in town that might have that," he said amiably.  "You
might have to eat it out of the can, though."

   It would have gone on like that for some time, had he not suddenly
pulled into a Dairy Bee.

   "How 'bout a burger?" he asked, shutting the truck off.

   "I'm not eating at a drive-in!" she announced, her voice surly.

   "Then you're not really hungry," he said, starting the truck and pulling
out.  "We'll just go find you something to wear before the stores close. 
Maybe you'll be hungry after that."

   ====================================

   It didn't matter what she did, or how much she complained.  He somehow
turned her statements against her.  She would have screamed at him, but he
had this maddening gift for making it sound like he was doing exactly what
she demanded, even though he did absolutely nothing that she demanded.

   When they stopped at a clothing shop, and she insisted that nothing was
suitable, he simply took her to another one.  It caught her by surprise
when, as they got back in the truck, he said: "Well, that's if for
Hutchinson.  I guess I'll have to take you back to Wichita."

   "The stores will be closed!" she yelped.

   He looked at his watch.  "Yeah, I guess you're right.  Well, maybe
tomorrow."

   "I have to rehearse tomorrow!" she wailed.  "I don't have anything to
sleep in tonight!"

   "You can always sleep naked," he suggested, looking straight ahead. 
"They probably have a washing machine, where you're staying.  They can wash
what you have on, and you can wear it again tomorrow, until we find an
acceptable store."

   "Nooooooo" she wailed.

   Misty's problem was that, at that point, she was tired, and weak from
hunger.  Nothing had gone right all day.  Nothing had gone right for
several days, in fact.  This was supposed to be her chance to break away
from the crowd ...to be the headliner ...  even if it was in some cow town
that nobody had ever heard of.  Her pride and stubbornness had kept her
from getting something to eat, and from having perfectly nice clothing. 
She was aware of that, on some level, but she blamed it on Bobby Dalton,
instead of her own prima donna behavior.

   Being young, and not having been able to break the mule she was with to
riding, she did what most young women do when everything goes wrong.

   She cried.

   ======================================

   Initially, Bobby felt only satisfaction when the young woman in the
truck burst into tears.  As it went on, though, and he heard the pain in
her voice as she railed at him, his normal nature began tweaking his
conscience.

   He admitted to himself that, despite the fact that she was a spoiled
brat, she WAS, in fact, the star performer in Hutchinson's celebration, and
that, if she continued to feel like she was feeling, she wouldn't be worth
squat on stage.  Most of his compassion was for Amanda, whose reputation
might suffer if this didn't work out.  He allowed just a little compassion
to flow toward his charge.

   He knew he wouldn't be able to make things better.  So he took her to
Amanda's house.

   "What are we doing here?" sniffled the crying girl.

   "We're going to get you something to eat, and let you watch Amanda tear
me a new asshole," he said.

   "What?"

   "You need something to eat.  I'm sure Amanda will have some leftovers in
the fridge.  She's a good cook.  Besides, you need to meet Ron.  He owns
the station, and he's your biggest sponsor.

   "I need clothes!" she wailed.

   "We'll borrow something from Mandy for you to sleep in," he said
patiently.  "In the morning I'll figure something out about the clothes. 
Don't worry.  You don't have to go on stage until something like eight in
the evening.  We'll get you appropriately dressed before then."

   "This is NOT like I thought it would be!" she sobbed.

   "Life isn't always fair," said Bobby.  "Don't worry, though.  I'll try
to do a better job of making life fair tomorrow."

   ===============================

   A very startled Amanda answered the knock at the door, and her eyes
widened as she saw her star attraction slumped and crying, beside Bobby. 
Her reaction was swift.

   "I thought I told you to take CARE of her!" she snapped.

   "It's complicated," said Bobby, almost flinching.

   "It is NOT complicated, Bobby Dalton!" snarled Amanda, opening her arms
to the crying girl, who rushed forward to be comforted.

   "She wanted Lobster and caviar," said Bobby, trying to mitigate Amanda's
ire.  "She wouldn't eat at Dairy Bee."

   "Of course not, you idiot!" said Amanda tersely.

   "She didn't like any of the clothes she saw!" said Bobby stubbornly.

   About then a toddler appeared, as if by magic, and attached himself to
Bobby's left leg.  Misty watched, through tear-filled eyes as he stooped
and picked up the little boy, who hugged his neck.

   "Hi, sport!" said Bobby, his face breaking into a smile.  "At least you
still love me."

   "You take care of Mikey," snapped Amanda.  "I'll take care of Misty,
since you don't seem to be able to do the simplest thing!"

   "Suits me," said Bobby, without a trace of guilt in his voice.  "Come
on, buddy," he said to the little boy.  "You want me to read you a story?"

   Misty, responding to the hug she was getting from Amanda, and the
dressing down this irritating man was getting from the woman hugging her,
calmed somewhat.  She calmed enough to see a completely different side to
the irritating man, who kissed the child on the cheek and threw him up into
the air.  Both women drew in breath as the toddler was suddenly suspended
in the air, and then fell into Bobby's arms, giggling and laughing.  He
laughed even more when Bobby made growling noises and "ate" the little
boy's neck.

   ================================

   Amanda hustled Misty into the kitchen, where the remains of supper were
still making a delicious odor that caused Misty's stomach to growl audibly.

   "I'm so sorry," cooed Amanda, sitting Misty at the kitchen table, which
was covered with a red and white checkered table clothe exactly like the
one Misty's mother still insisted using on their brand new table, in their
new house, in Nashville.  "Bobby can be terribly stubborn sometimes."

   Amanda, only recently a mother, had embraced that role in her life just
like she had embraced any other role she played.  Though she didn't have a
lot of experience with babies yet, her maternal instincts had been
awakened, and they were much more evolved than she both knew, or would have
thought.  Those instincts just naturally seemed to come into play when
soothing this heartbroken girl.  As she bustled around, getting a plate of
meatloaf, mashed potatoes and green beans ready, she sympathized with
Misty's problems, setting aside her own impatience with the girl for not
bucking up and dealing with things.

   That helped, because Misty's mother had always been the one who could
calm her down.  But, to be honest, the food helped just as much.  This was
a home cooked meal, simple though it was, and Misty was famished.  Soon she
couldn't talk at all, because her mouth was always full.  Amanda had
perfected her home made bread again, and thick slices of that topped off
the meal.

   In the process, emotions calmed and, when she could talk again, Misty
began to talk to her new friend.  Once assured that her immediate problems
would be dealt with, though those assurances were somewhat vague, the
up-and-coming singing star found herself just talking.  It was fun to just
talk.  Everybody in her life, recently, was too busy to just chat, and
everything they talked about was career oriented.  Amanda, though, had the
knack of getting a conversation going that slid into areas much less
stuffy, and of much more interest to a young woman whose whole life was
ahead of her, not the least her professional life.

   "I know how hard it is for a woman to get ahead," said Amanda, at one
point.

   That led to the sharing of stories of both complaint and victory over
adversity.

   "Does your husband support you in your job?" asked Misty, at one point.

   "Oh, I'm not married," said Amanda, clearing the table.  "Marriage isn't
for me.  Not yet, anyway."

   "But the baby ..." said Misty.

   "Mikey?" Amanda pinked up just a little.  "He's the light of my life,
but I wouldn't marry his father." Misty didn't notice the slight frown that
came across Amanda's brow as she remembered that Bobby was part of the
problem she was dealing with.

   "Oh!" said Misty, embarrassed that she had pried.  "That happens back in
Hog Holler a lot."

   "Hog Holler?"

   Now it was the singing star whose cheeks got rosy.

   "That's where I'm from," she said.  "It's called Hog Holler, and it's
back in the mountains."

   "No wonder you're so good," said Amanda.  "I've heard some recordings of
mountain music, and the technical expertise I hear in those songs is
astonishing."

   "Thank you!" said Misty, pleased at the honest compliment.  "But those
good old boys are pretty good at getting a girl in trouble too."

   Amanda laughed.  "I actually wanted to have Michael.  He wasn't really
an accident.  It didn't start out that way, but I loved his father so much
I just had to have a little piece of him to keep forever."

   "I thought you said you wouldn't marry him," commented Misty.

   "I wouldn't.  Not now, anyway.  He's too wild to tame, I think.  But I
love him just the same.  He changed my whole life."

   "Who is he?" asked the girl, curiously.

   Amanda realized how dangerous this direction of conversation was. 
Rather than say anything else, she just changed the subject.

   "Have you had enough?  I'm sure Daddy would just love to meet you.  He's
a big fan of yours."

   Misty had been around long enough to know when a particular subject was
taboo, and recognized the change of subject for what it was.  She blushed a
little more, feeling like she had pried even more.

   "I'd love to meet him," she said, trying to be gracious.

   ======================================

   They had to go through the living room to get to Ron's bedroom, where he
was sitting in his wheel chair, reading a book that was laid on the table
affixed to his chair.  Bobby had made a contraption that held the book, and
allowed Ron to turn the pages with his unruly hand.  He usually read while
Amanda cleaned up after supper.  Then, if it was still early, they might
watch some TV together.  If it was late, they engaged in more intimate
pastimes.

   On their way through the living room though, they stopped.  Bobby was
sprawled out on the couch, the little tyke lying on his chest.  A book was
laid across the little boy's back, open, but unreadable.

   Both were sound asleep.

   "I can't believe that," said Misty, her voice a whisper.

   "What?" Amanda was confused.

   "That little boy looks so peaceful and happy, lying there.  I can't
believe he'd be like that with that infuriating man."

   Amanda frowned again, but then forced a smile.

   "Bobby has some very good qualities," she said, reaching for the girl's
elbow, to pull her along.  "You two got off to a rocky start, but he's a
very nice man, down deep.  He's honest, and very loving."

   Misty looked askance at the woman holding her elbow.  "I'll believe that
when I see it," she said, loudly enough that Michael shifted on Bobby's
chest.  She then whispered "Sorry."

   ====================================

   Misty Compton hid her shock at the condition of the man she was taken to
see.  She hid it well, pasting a professional smile on her face, while her
mind recoiled from the sad looking man, who looked at her and hooted like
some kind of animal.

   "He had a stroke several years back," explained Amanda, unnecessarily.
"But Bobby taught us how to communicate with him.  I'll show you how."

   She then explained how her father used the bean bags to answer yes and
no, and introduced her father to the festival's star attraction.

   "How are you?" asked Misty weakly.

   Ron waved his hand and hooted.

   "You have to ask him a question that can be answered yes or no,"
reminded Amanda.  "I'll show you." She turned to her father.  "Have you
heard any of Misty's songs on the radio?"

   Ron's hand slapped down on the green bag.  His mangled voice made an
almost tune that, to Misty's astonishment, she recognized as "I'll Always
Love You", one of her most popular songs.

   "Is that 'I'll always love you?'," she asked.

   His hand slapped down on the green bag again.

   This tiny bit of intelligence, displayed by a man who looked like a
basket case, broke through Misty's shock at his appearance.  She also felt
shamed, somewhat by her initial horror.  That the poor man would try to hum
one of her tunes was really sweet.

   "Have you heard 'Take Me To The Fair'?" she asked.

   Again his hand slapped down on the green bean bag, and again, his voice
hit three or four of the proper notes, mixed in with a dozen that were
completely wrong.  Still, to her ear, it was recognizable.

   "Which is your favorite?" she asked.  She frowned.  "Oh ...  you can't
answer that.  How silly of me!  Is 'I'll Always Love You' your favorite?"

   Red bag.

   "It's not?  How about 'Take Me To The Fair'?"

   Again he put his hand on the red bag.

   In the end she had to go through six songs before his hand went back to
the green bag.  As it turned out, his favorite song of hers was "Tumbledown
Shack", which she had written about the trailer she had been living in. 
The message in the song was that what mattered was where home was, not what
home looked like.  That song hadn't been released as a single, and didn't
get much airplay on the radio either.

   "How sweet!" giggled the young singer.  "You know I wrote that song
about my own home."

   His hand went to the red bag.

   That got her talking again, and she told him the story about how the
song came to be, and what her home had been like, and what had made a ratty
old drafty trailer the place she would always think of as "home".

   They spent forty-five minutes talking to him and, before she left, Misty
said she'd sing his favorite song during the concert, and that she'd
dedicate it to him.

   His excited hooting woke Bobby up.

   ==================================

   When Bobby appeared in the doorway, holding a still sleeping little boy,
Amanda stepped forward to take her son.

   "I'll just put him to bed.  It's getting late anyway.  You need to get
Misty to the B and B."

   "Can you front her something to wear to bed?" asked Bobby, kissing the
little boy's cheek before turning him over to Amanda.  "We ...  um ... 
didn't get a chance to get her anything before I brought her here."

   "It's OK," said Misty automatically.  She liked Amanda, and she liked
Ron too.  It made her a little less irascible toward Bobby.  "I'll manage.
It would be nice to have something to put on tomorrow though.  Anything
will do.  Bobby's going to take me shopping again in the morning ... 
aren't you?"

   She looked straight at him.

   He sighed, but then smiled, which surprised her.

   "I guess I am," he said.  "To be honest, though, you don't need anything
special to play here in Hutch.  Plain clothes will do fine, if you ask me."

   "I don't remember asking you," said Misty, with false sweetness in her
voice.

   "Bobby!" said Amanda, warning in her voice.

   "OK, OK," said Bobby holding up his hands.  "Whatever she needs.  All
I'm saying is that she looks just fine in normal clothes, that's all."

   Amanda took Misty into her bedroom, both to find something to loan the
girl, and to get them apart.  Misty accepted an overlarge T shirt to wear
for the night, and Amanda led her back to the living room, where Bobby was
waiting.

   "You go ahead," said Amanda to her star attraction.  "I just need a
little word with Bobby."

   "OK, thanks a lot for the shirt.  It was really great to see you again.
Say bye to your father for me please?"

   Misty grinned, as she went out the door.  She knew that what was going
on in there was that Bobby was being told, once again, to cater to her
wishes.

   She was half right.

   That meant she was half wrong.

   She just couldn't resist trying to peek a little, to watch that
disturbing man get his come-uppance, which is why she went to the side, on
the porch, instead of to the car.  As she peeked in, she saw Amanda holding
both of Bobby's hands and speaking earnestly.  She couldn't hear the words,
but the frown on Amanda's face made her smile again.

   ===============================

   "Bobby, please," pleaded Amanda, inside.  "You've got to be nicer to
her. Everything has gone wrong for her, and she needs our help."

   "You get what you deserve," muttered Bobby.

   "I'll make it worth your while," said Amanda, inching closer to him. 
"I'm dying for you right now.  In fact, when you drop her off, why don't
you just come back here and spend the night?"

   "Now that's something that might make putting up with her a little
easier," said Bobby, grinning.

   "Here's a little taste, just to make sure you hurry," said the woman in
his arms.

   Amanda surged against him, and reached up to put her arms around his
neck, and pull him into an open-lipped kiss.

   ===============================

   Misty was about to stop peeking and go to the car.  She couldn't hear
anything.  It was enough to know that Amanda was putting him in his place.

   Then she saw the woman press against the man, and her open lips searched
for his.  Bobby's hands slid to grip Amanda's butt and he actually pulled
her up onto her tiptoes, and moved her hips from side to side.  The only
reason he could possibly be doing that was that he was pressing his ... 
his ...  his manhood against her!

   Misty was not a virgin.  Her cousin three times removed, Wally, by name,
had initiated her into the mysteries of being a woman, back when she was
sixteen.  Wally had been eighteen at the time, and had boasted that he
might ruin her for other men.

   She hadn't been all that impressed.

   It wasn't that it hadn't felt good.  After the initial pain, it had felt
fine.  She hadn't had that feeling she could get from using her fingers,
but it had been very nice, all things considered.  He'd made a mess all
over her stomach, when he pulled his cock out of her and spurted it all
over her front.  She'd had nothing to clean herself up with, and had had to
use her panties.  Then, with her clothes back on, she'd had to do something
with that soaked garment.  She'd ended up stuffing the panties behind a
dusty old box in her aunt's basement, where her deflowering had taken
place. Wally had simply zipped up, said "Thanks" and gone back upstairs.

   Since then she'd concentrated more on her music than on men.  Her music
always made her feel good.  Men were much less reliable.

   But Misty had enough experience to recognize two people doing something
that both of them were excited about.  No WONDER this insufferable man felt
like he could be so rude.  He was porking his boss!

   Her good mood vanished, and she went to the truck, barely getting her
door closed before Bobby came out.  At least he wasn't grinning from ear to
ear.

   They'd gone two blocks before either of them spoke.

   "So," said Misty, thinking she was being devious.  "Tell me about your
girlfriend."

   "I don't really have one," said Bobby.

   "Just like a man," thought Misty.  "Love 'em and leave 'em.  Get what
you can and wander off looking for another conquest!" She didn't say it out
loud, but she wanted to.

   "You seemed pretty friendly with Amanda," she said, trying to prick his
conscience.

   "I have lots of friends," said Bobby, turning onto the street where the
bed and breakfast was.

   They both saw the fire trucks, and police cars at the same time, and
Bobby's foot hit the brake pedal hard.  Smoke was coming from the roof of a
tall Victorian house.  There were firemen on the roof.  One had an axe and
the other had a hose.

   "Uh oh," sighed Bobby.

   "Can't we just go around?"

   "That house is where you're staying," said Bobby.  "Where you WERE
staying," he added, almost as an afterthought.

   "Shit, shit, SHIT!" moaned the girl.  "What ELSE can go wrong?"

   "Stay here," said Bobby.  "I'll go see what's up.  Maybe it's not too
bad.  I don't see any flames or anything."

   "I'm not staying someplace that smells like smoke!" said Misty, her
voice strident.

   "Maybe it DOESN'T smell like smoke!" argued Bobby.  "Just stay here. 
I'll go find out."

   ==============================

   Misty probably wouldn't have left the truck, except that Bobby had told
her to stay there.  For that reason alone, she got out and followed after
him, a few minutes after he left.

   He was talking to a fireman with a white hat, instead of a yellow one,
like all the others.  There was a woman with him who was crying, and looked
a mess, with her hair all flying every which way, and smudges on her face.

   "It was those damn new locks that the city made me put on the doors!"
the woman was moaning, as Misty walked up behind Bobby.  "They lock
automatically when you go outside.  I just went out to dump the trash, and
I guess Buster jumped up on the door to see where I was going ...  and it
closed.  I couldn't get back in!  I was looking through the back window
when that pan of chicken on the stove caught fire, but I couldn't get in to
do anything about it!" She looked down at a dog, sitting at her feet, which
Misty hadn't noticed until then.  "BAD DOG, BUSTER!" she snapped.

   "Calm down," said the man in the white fire helmet.  "That's why they
call these things accidents," he said.

   "Calm down!?" The woman almost screeched.  "I have guests!  I can't take
care of guests in a kitchen that's burned up!  That singer girl - the one
they got for the festival - SHE's supposed to stay here tonight!  What am I
going to DO?"

   "Most of the damage is limited to the kitchen," said the fire chief. 
"There's some smoke damage, but we got it out before it got into the
sub-structure.  You'll be back up and running in a month, tops.  Just send
your guests to one of the hotels in town.  Your insurance will cover the
costs."

   "There AREN'T any rooms in town!" moaned the distraught woman. 
"Everything's full because of the festival.  I was full because of the
festival.  This is terrible!"

   Chapter Five

   They were back in the truck, and Bobby seemed to be heading somewhere.

   "Where are you taking me?" asked Misty.

   "You have to sleep somewhere," he said.  "My house is on the way to
Wichita.  We'll have to go back there to get you the kind of clothes you're
looking for.  There's an extra bed.  At least you'll have somewhere to
sleep tonight."

   "If you think I'm going to YOUR house, alone with you, you've got
another think coming, buster!"

   "I live with my mother," said Bobby, his voice tight.  "You won't be
alone with me.  I have two sisters at home too, OK?  What do you want me to
do?"

   "Couldn't you take me back to Amanda's?" whined the unhappy girl.

   "If you want to sleep on a couch, instead of a bed, I guess that would
be fine." He looked over at her.  "She doesn't have any spare beds."

   "How would you know that?" asked Misty.

   "I know, OK?  Now, what do you want me to do?"

   "Wait a minute ..." Misty sounded thoughtful, suddenly.  "You live with
your mother?"

   "I'm not married, and two of my sisters are still at home," Bobby said
patiently.  "So what?"

   "But you're ...  what ...  twenty-five or something like that?"

   "Twenty-six," he said, his voice tight.  "So what?"

   "Oh nothing," she said, her voice light.  "It's just that the big strong
man lives with his Mommy." She giggled.  "That's so what.  I can see why,
though.  No woman would have you!" She thought that was hilarious, and
started laughing out loud.

   Of all the digs she could have tried to use against him, that one was
probably the worst possible choice.  If Bobby Dalton knew anything, it was
that he was attractive to women.  Most women, anyway.  What might have
gotten under the skin of another man bounced off of Bobby like a thrown
marshmallow.  His face remained calm and he drove on.  His reaction was SO
lacking, in fact, that Misty stopped laughing.  He wasn't angry.  In fact,
he looked positively confident, driving along in the almost-dark of the
evening.  It was unnerving.

   "What do you want me to do?" he asked again, calmly.

   "Shit!" she snorted, putting her nervous energy into the epithet. 
"Nothing else has gone right.  If there will really be somebody else there,
then I guess that's better than sleeping in a haystack."

   "You should watch your mouth," said Bobby, looking straight ahead.  "If
you were one of my sisters I'd take you over my knee for talking like
that."

   "You and what army, mister?!"

   He looked over at her.  His face wasn't exactly grim, but the look she
could barely see in his eyes made her want to scoot farther away from him.
She was already pressed up against the door, though.  She felt like her
nerves were jangling and, as a distraction to both him and herself, she
reached for the radio knob on the dashboard.

   "Does the radio work in this thing?"

   She was answered by the overly loud sound of music blaring, and turned
the knob back down.

   "Hey!" she chirped.  "That's me!"

   She turned the sound up a little, and started singing along with the
radio.

   "That's one of the first songs I ever recorded," she said, feeling
suddenly much more comfortable.  She remembered the recording session that
had produced the album the song was on.

   "Not bad," said the man driving the truck.

   "Not bad?" She was incensed.  "That album has sold over half a million
copies!"

   "I can see why," said Bobby.  "I've never heard that song before, but
it's not bad at all."

   Misty was almost shocked.  He went from threatening to spank her, to
complimenting her, albeit in a less than satisfactory manner.  She decided
that this man was the strangest man she'd ever met in her life.  That
seemed humorous to her, because some of her Uncles and cousins were
exceedingly strange, as far as she was concerned.

   Her confusion about Bobby only intensified when they pulled up to an old
farm house.  Part of her mind told Misty to complain about the fact that
she had to stay in an old house somewhere in the middle of nowhere, but
another part of her was a little homesick, and the glow of the yellow
lights from the windows, and their promise of warmth on this chilly night
took precedence in her mind.  Mirriam's welcome was both warm and genuine.
Misty liked her instantly.

   Moreover, when two teenage girls came into the kitchen, where Misty was
standing her night got a lot better.

   "You're Misty Compton!" said one of the girls.  "YOU'RE MISTY COMPTON!"
almost screamed the other, who looked identical to Misty.

   Misty looked at the man who had brought her here ...  who had caused her
so much anger since she met him.  He was rolling his eyes, but he was also
smiling.  His attention was on the girls, and not her, but that was blown
away in an instant as she was somehow surrounded by two giggling and
squealing fans.  That they were fans was obvious.  She heard the titles of
four ...  or was it six ...  of her songs?  It was hard to tell because the
voices sounded the same, but they were saying different things at the same
time.

   "HOLD YOUR HORSES!" yelled Bobby.

   To Misty's astonishment, the racket stopped abruptly, though the two
girls were frowning now.

   "She has to stay here tonight," said Bobby in his normal deep voice. 
"The bed and breakfast caught on fire, so she's a guest.  Please try to
behave."

   "She's staying HERE?!" gasped one of the girls.

   "ALL NIGHT?!" yipped the other.

   "Girls!" said Mirriam.

   Then it started all over again, with the squealing, and suddenly Misty's
arms were grasped by soft hands and she was pulled toward a doorway.  She
looked over her shoulder at Bobby and he shrugged and mouthed "Sorry" to
her.

   They calmed down a bit, as they dragged her to a room and proudly
displayed it to her, telling her she could sleep there.

   "Where's your suitcase?" asked one of the girls.

   "It got lost," said Misty.  She almost laughed at the moans and sympathy
she got, but it was so much fun to be adored like this that she tried to
maintain her role as a "star".  By the time the two girls calmed down
enough to carry on a decent conversation, Misty felt so good that all her
anger had washed out of her.

   "I'm Betty!" moaned one of the girls.  "This is Matilda, my sister."

   "You're sisters?!" said Misty, unable to keep the smile off her face
now. "I'd never have known."

   Matilda goggled at her and then made a funny snorting sound.

   "You're teasing us!" she gasped.  She turned to her sister.  "Misty
Compton is TEASING US!"

   They were so honest in their appreciation of her that she couldn't keep
up the false front of being a famous musician, who was above all this.

   "Calm down!" she laughed.  "I'm just a girl, like you.  You're making
way too much fuss about this."

   "You are NOT just a girl!" said Betty, her face serious.  "You're Misty
Compton.  You're the best, and you're right here in our house!"

   "OK," smiled Misty.  "I sing songs, and you like them, and I'm very
happy about that.  But while I'm here, I want you to treat me just like any
of your other friends, OK?"

   "Ohhhhh," moaned Matilda.  "Misty Compton wants to be our FRIEND,
Betty!"

   It was Mirriam's arrival that managed to calm the girls to the point
that they were no longer wringing their hands and gasping for breath.  She
had clothes in her arms.

   "Bobby told me what happened to your things," she said.  "This isn't
much, but it will at least cover you and keep you warm.  Bobby says he's
taking you shopping in the morning.  I think they'll fit all right, if you
don't mind wearing hand-me-downs."

   Misty was feeling so good by now that she simply reverted to being
herself.

   "I've worn hand-me-downs all my life," she said, smiling.  "I had to
wear my brother's clothes half the time."

   "He said you'd eaten." Mirriam handed the armful of clothes to Misty. 
"Did you get enough?  Would you like a little snack?"

   "I'm fine," said Misty.

   "Well, from what I hear you've just had a horrible day," said Mirriam.
"If you want to get some sleep I'll drag my daughters out of here and leave
you in peace."

   There were moans of unhappiness, and Misty again tried to hide her
smile.

   Just then Bobby showed up in the open doorway, holding a little boy,
about three.  When Mirriam saw him she stamped her foot.

   "What is he doing up?  Bobby!  It's way past his bedtime!"

   "I didn't get him up," complained Bobby.  "My sisters raised the roof
and it woke him.  He wants his Mamma."

   That appeared to be true.  When Bobby had first appeared, the little boy
had been holding tightly to him, his arms around his neck.  But when he saw
Mirriam, he instantly let go and reached for her.  Bobby put him down and
he ran to Mirriam, who scooped him up and hugged him.

   "It's OK, baby," she crooned to the little boy, whose eyes were wide and
taking in everything.  "It's just a little excitement.  Nothing's wrong."

   Misty watched her kiss the little boy's forehead, right beside a
drooping lock of black hair that looked familiar, somehow.  Then the little
boy wiggled until Mirriam set him on his feet.  He immediately trundled
back to Bobby and held up his arms to the man.  Once again, Misty watched
as Bobby's face transformed and softened, as he picked up the little boy,
who again hugged his neck tightly.

   "You need to go back to bed, Sport," he said softly.  All that did was
cause the boy to look around again, obviously wide awake, and obviously
interested in the disruption.

   "Give him to me," said Mirriam, her voice gruff, but somehow falsely so.
As she went to Bobby and took the wiggling boy, she looked over her
shoulder.  "Do you need anything else?"

   "I'll be fine," said Misty.  "You go on.  I'm actually a little keyed
up. I think I'll stay up for a while."

   "Will you sing us a song?" asked the twins, together, as if they'd
practiced it.

   "Girls!" said Mirriam, warning in her voice.

   "It's fine," said Misty.  "I do need to get in a little practice today.
Nothing else has gone right." She turned to the girls.  "Would you like to
listen to me?"

   To Bobby's ears, it sounded almost like the twins were having orgasms.

   =====================================

   Bobby, knowing he would have a long day the next day, went to bed.  He
left his door cracked, though, and listened to the distant strains of
guitar strings, and the soft voice of the singer who would perform the next
night in front of a crowd.  She was a pain in the ass, but she could
definitely sing.

   He didn't expect Matilda and Betty would be visiting him that night. 
Eventually he drifted off to sleep.

   =======================================

   He rose from sleep slowly, because he had been sleeping hard.  If he'd
have thought about it longer, he might not have been so surprised that two
sighing naked girls were crawling into his bed in the dark.  When they got
excited about something, they got excited about Bobby too.  As he came
awake, and realized what was happening, he jerked.

   "Are you crazy!?" he whispered.

   "She's gone to bed," said Matilda.  "We tried to go to bed too, but we
can't sleep."

   "We can't do this while she's in the house," he moaned.  He felt a soft
teenaged hand grope for and find his penis.  He couldn't tell whose hand it
was, but both of them were experts at manipulating him now, so it didn't
really matter.

   "We'll be quiet," said Betty, on his right, her lips so close to his ear
that he shivered.

   They WERE quiet too, straining under him and making only little huffing
grunts as they came.  Both of them were a little extra passionate, because
of the excitement of meeting Misty.  He took Betty first, and fingered
Matilda while he plowed Betty's furrow and she gasped under him.  Primed as
she was, she came quickly.  It was cramped, with both of them in bed with
him, but the feel of their naked skin rubbing up against him was both warm
and welcome.  He'd had a bad day too, and there was nothing that could fix
a bad day like a willing naked woman.  He rode Matilda through two orgasms,
not because he wanted her to have the second one, but because her clasping
pussy felt so good around his prick.

   "You can squirt in me," whispered Matilda, remembering her promise to
her sister to even the score.

   In Bobby's mind, what she was telling him was that they had finally
found a way to get on the pill.  Not once did it occur to him that both
girls were still as completely unprotected as when he had first sampled
their delights.  He welcomed her offer, because it felt so good to be in
her.  As streams of thick spunk left his balls and splashed into her
sucking pussy, he groaned softly.

   "You're right," sighed the girl under him, her head turned toward her
sister.  "It DOES feel wonderful."

   =====================================

   The comfort of sleeping in a good bed, in a home in which she felt
welcome, was delightful.  It felt a lot like what she thought home would
have felt like if she hadn't had to grow up living in a trailer, which
caused Misty to be in a good mood when she woke.  Breakfast only made her
feel better.  That was a complicated mix of being adored, if not so openly,
by the twins, and treated like one of the family by Mirriam.  She ignored
Bobby, other than watching him cut up waffles and bacon for Theodore.  They
seemed to be having a serious conversation about something, except that
Misty couldn't understand a word the little boy said.  Bobby, however, had
no trouble with that.  Again Misty was a little mystified at the different
sides there seemed to be to this Bobby person.

   That he whisked her away from the comfortable house, she expected.  She
was determined to make this day more pleasant than the last.

   "So ...  clothes shopping?" she asked, as he drove her away in the same
rusty old pickup truck.

   "Eventually," he said.  "Amanda wanted me to get some pictures made of
you, for autographs."

   "But I don't have clothes to take a picture like that in!" moaned Misty.

   "Personally, I think you look pretty good," he said, glancing at the
clothes Mirriam had loaned her.  "When Bev wore that she always stretched
out the front too much.  It's about perfect for you."

   Misty looked down at the fawn colored shirt she was wearing.  It was
made of something very soft and supple.  It had felt good sliding onto her
body.  The jeans were a good fit too, and were faded and soft as well.  She
looked at her breasts, which pushed the shirt out.

   "Are you saying I'm flat?" She actually was only teasing him a little,
even though she put a growl in her voice.

   "No, I'm not!  OK?" His voice was serious.  "Can't we at least try to
get along today?"

   "I was just kidding!" she said, feeling a surge of anger.  She forced it
back.  "I know I'm not flat.  This sister of yours must be huge if she
stretched this thing.  How many sisters do you have, anyway?"

   "Seven." His voice was calm, and he looked straight ahead.

   "No wonder," said Misty, smiling.

   "No wonder what?"

   "No wonder you're so impossible," she said, without rancor in her voice.
"No brothers?"

   "Nope." He frowned.  "Well there is Theodore, but he's only three."

   "Well, if you've survived seven sisters, and any of the rest of them are
like Matilda and Betty, I can understand why you're a little odd."

   "I'm not odd," he said, glancing over at her.  "And I love my sisters,
thank you very much."

   "I'm trying to get along with you, you dope!" she barked.

   He drove on in silence for half a minute.

   "Thanks," he said finally.  "I'll try to get along too."

   "Thank you," she said.

   "I'm sorry about the twins," he said.

   "What for?"

   "For mobbing you last night.  I've never seen them act like that
before."

   "Oh that," she tossed off carelessly.  "I'm used to that.  They were
sweet."

   "I didn't even know they had your record," he said.  "I've been kind of
busy lately.  I need to spend more time at home."

   The tone of his voice caught Misty's attention.  Most men didn't live at
home, when they were his age.  And if they did, it wasn't because they
wanted to.  To hear the honest desire in his voice to spend more time with
family was something she could identify with.  She'd been on the road for
three months now, and she missed her mother.  It was then that she realized
that she still lived with her mother too.

   "I live with my mom too," she said softly.

   "Really?"

   "Yeah, I bought her a house in Nashville."

   "Don't you mean you bought a house in Nashville, and you let her live
there?"

   She jerked a look at him, but he wasn't being mean.

   "I've always lived with her.  My brother went over to Natchez and got a
job, and since then it's just been her and me.  She deserved better than a
falling down old trailer."

   "I wish I could buy Mamma a new house," he said.

   "There's nothing wrong with that one," said Misty.  "It was a wonderful
place to stay." She blinked.  "Thank you."

   "You're welcome." He looked over at her.  "If you really feel that way,
and don't mind, it would be one more thing we don't have to worry about ...
I mean if you don't mind staying there for the rest of the time you're
here."

   "I'd love to," she said, meaning it.  "And you're right.  We have to get
clothes, and I didn't know about the pictures, and I have to rehearse.  I
don't know how I'll get it all done."

   "I have an idea about the clothes," he said.  "At least for tonight. 
Amanda said she's going to call the airlines and raise hell about your
suitcase.  If we're lucky you'll get it back sometime today."

   "What's your idea?" she asked, warily.

   "I know a woman who has some fancy western clothes," said Bobby.  "I'm
pretty sure she only wore them once.  She's about your size ...  maybe a
little taller, but the rest of her is about the same." He glanced at Misty
and, for the first time, his eyes dropped to her breasts.

   She saw that, and suddenly felt more normal, because a man was looking
at her body.

   "And if what she has is suitable for tonight, it would save us a trip to
Wichita," he added.

   "We'll see," she said.  "No promises."

   "Of course not."

   "Maybe we should go see her first." said Misty.  "Before the pictures, I
mean."

   "OK," he said.  "But I'm telling you, you look good just the way you
are."

   "Not for pictures like this," she said.

   "As far as I'm concerned," he said, glancing at her one more time, "you
could perform in that.  People around these parts would think you were just
like them."

   "I AM just like them," she said, her voice a little miffed.

   She wasn't sure whether it was good ...  or bad ...  when he made no
further comment.

   Chapter Six

   Misty was mildly astonished when he drove the truck up to the mansion.
That was what it was.  There was no other word for it.  The place was
gorgeous, with carefully tended lawns and gardens, and trees all over the
place.  That he felt welcome in a place like this was plain when, instead
of knocking and waiting, he just opened the front door and walked in.

   "Anybody home?" he called.

   There was a muffled female squeal and Misty watched in shock as a
uniformed woman ran and jumped up on him, wrapping her legs around his
hips. Her uniform skirt rose to show a pair of black panties under it.  She
kissed Bobby firmly, for a long time, before pulling back.  Then, the maid
saw that he wasn't alone and clearly panicked.

   "Oh NO!" she gasped, as her face flamed bright red.

   "This is Misty Compton," said Bobby, smiling for some reason that Misty
had no clue about.  "She's going to give a concert over in Hutch tonight.
Is Felicity home?"

   "Ohhhh you should have TOLD me you weren't alone!" moaned the maid,
still blushing, and unable to look at Misty.  With her eyes lowered she
turned toward Misty, obviously mortified.  "I'm so sorry, Miss.  I'll see
if Madame is free."

   She scurried off, while Misty looked curiously at Bobby.

   "She's kind of sweet on me," he said, grinning.

   "I guess so!"

   Things got more confusing when a blond woman perhaps in her late
twenties, came into the hallway and began walking toward them.

   "Wait!" came an anguished cry, softened by distance in the big house.

   Two toddlers, a boy and a girl came running, in that almost falling down
way that very young children have, that requires them to keep running,
because they haven't learned quite how to regulate speed yet, but they know
if they try to stop they'll topple forward.  They passed the blond woman,
who stopped, and then started up again, obviously trying to catch the two
children.

   Then, further baffled, Misty watched Bobby take a knee and hold his arms
out.  He caught the two children about the same time as the blond woman
caught up with them, and scooped them up into his arms, standing up with
them.  They giggled and squealed as he began raining kisses on their cheeks
and faces.

   Misty looked at the blond woman, who was standing and watching too,
smiling.  The maid came running down the hallway.

   "I'm sorry!" she wailed.  "They got away from me!"

   "No harm done," said the blond woman, her voice throaty.  "They just
wanted to see their ...  Bobby." She looked startled, for some reason.

   Meanwhile Bobby was asking the children if they'd been good.  Both
proclaimed loudly that they had, as he lifted them into a more comfortable
position, with their legs straddling his sides.  Both began talking a mile
a minute.

   "Wait a minute!" he proclaimed.  "I have to talk to YOUR mommy," he
said, kissing the boy on the nose.  "Then we'll play, OK?"

   In a surprising economy of words Bobby explained why they'd come.  What
made it all so mystifying was that, during the speech, he said "I thought
about that outfit you wore in Kansas City."

   Then he was gone, carrying the children off, and Misty stood there, her
mouth open.

   "Hi," said the woman, holding her hand out.  "I'm Felicity Chumley. 
Welcome to our home." She grinned.  "Bobby can be a little ...  odd
sometimes."

   "You can say that again," sighed Misty.

   "He thinks about things a little differently than most men.  He wouldn't
understand how you might not want to wear another woman's clothes." She
looked at his retreating back as he disappeared around a corner.  "He means
well, though." She looked Misty up and down.  "You're performing at the
festival over in Hutchinson?"

   "Yes Ma'am," said Misty.  She recognized that she was in the presence of
an important woman.  She hadn't seen much of Granger, but she'd seen enough
to know that it didn't have many houses like this one.  No place, except
maybe Hollywood, had a lot of houses like this one for that matter.  She'd
bought her mother a fine, fancy house, but this one made it look shabby by
comparison.

   "And your luggage was lost?"

   "Yes Ma'am," said Misty, feeling drab and plain beside this beautiful
woman.

   "Felicity ...  please," said the woman.  "I could have someone go and
see if they've found it yet," she offered.

   "Um ...  Bobby was going to take me shopping in Wichita, or to see if
they found it, but we're running out of time.  I have a photo shoot, and I
need to rehearse."

   "Ahhh," said Felicity.  "I see now why Bobby thought of me.  He can be
very clever sometimes." She cast another appraising look at Misty.  "I do
have an ...  outfit.  I got it to go dancing in.  I actually have two
outfits, but Bobby doesn't know about one of them.  It's not really my
style.  Not really.  It's a little fancy for me.  Would you like to see
them?"

   What Felicity was talking about were the two western ensembles that
Bobby had, in fact seen her in.  He had picked them both out.  The first,
she had vetoed.  It was a lavender sequined tank top, with a denim skirt
with fringe on the hem.  The skirt was very short and when she had
complained that her panties would show if she bent over in it, he had
calmly said "That's why you don't wear panties with an outfit like that."
She had kept the purple boots and hat that he'd chosen to go with that
outfit, but had made him choose something else for her to wear in front of
her high school friends.  Since then, however, her relationship with Bobby
had changed drastically and she had returned to the store and purchased the
original ensemble.  She'd been holding onto them, with a somewhat vague and
unformed idea that there would come a special occasion to spring them on
Bobby when it was her turn to have him for a night in bed.

   The other outfit was the one she had worn when she danced with Bobby at
a western club in Kansas City.  It was a doeskin shirt, with built in cups
for her breasts to go in, but which left them free to wobble enticingly. 
It had almost no back, other than soft strings that crisscrossed the bare
back of the wearer.  It went with a dark maroon skirt with a weighted hem
so that when the woman wearing it was spun, the skirt flared out and
rippled, showing all of her upper thighs.

   When Misty saw them, she had mixed reactions.  Performance clothing, by
and large, is cheaply made, and intended to be worn only once or twice
before being discarded.  While flashy and glitzy, the person wearing it can
both see and feel the poor quality of the construction.

   Felicity's clothes, though, while skimpy, were expensive and well made.
Misty could tell that instantly.  While a part of her mind noted that she'd
feel almost naked wearing either outfit, her performer's sensibilities knew
immediately that the crowd would love something like this.

   "They're beautiful," she sighed.

   "What there is of them," chuckled Felicity.  "You are most definitely
aware you're a woman while wearing them." She grinned.  "So is every man in
sight."

   "I can see that!" sighed Misty as she held up the doeskin shirt.

   She looked at Felicity, her critical eye running up and down the older
woman's body.

   "You're bigger than I am," she said.  "This would hang loose on me."

   "We can take care of that with a little alteration," said Felicity. 
"The strings in the back can be tied differently.  The tank top isn't a
problem.  It's really too tight on me anyway.  It's your choice, though. 
I'd be happy to send you in my car to Wichita.  My driver knows all the
right places to go."

   Misty tried to imagine herself, bare backed, singing and turning on
stage in these beautiful clothes.  She couldn't, but that didn't stop her.

   "No, I need the time for other things," she said.  "If you really don't
mind, I'd love to borrow these."

   "I'd be honored," said Felicity.  Her voice carried the truth of that
comment to Misty, who felt the thrill of being honestly complimented. 
"Annie bought your album, and I've been teaching my husband to two step to
some of your songs."

   "Really!" squealed Misty.  "That's great!"

   "You're pretty good," said Felicity.  "Not that I'm much of a critic of
your kind of music.  I never listened to it at all before Bo ..." She
stopped, and frowned.  "Before I learned to two step," she finished.  "You
want to try them on, so we can make the adjustments?"

   That took only fifteen minutes, as it turned out.  The tank top didn't
hug Misty's chest, like it did when Felicity wore it, and the strings on
the back of the doeskin shirt were easily retied to pull it tight against
her front.  Both skirts fit her perfectly.

   "I've always had a big butt," she said, arching her neck to look at how
the maroon skirt fit her.  She suddenly realized she had just suggested
that Felicity had a big butt too, since this skirt fit her, and covered her
mouth with her hand.  "I didn't mean that you ..."

   Felicity just smiled and waved her hand.  "I don't get any complaints,"
she said.  "I prefer to think of it as my mommy hips." She grinned.  "It
looks good on you."

   That business taken care of, Misty changed back into her other borrowed
clothes and Felicity took her to find Bobby.

   They found him in the den, and stopped in the doorway, to survey what
was going on.  He was on his back on the floor, and had taken his shoes
off. The maid was sitting on the edge of a chair near him.  The little boy
Misty had seen earlier was running around Bobby, while he held the little
girl aloft on his feet, which were raised straight above his stomach.  His
legs were waving slowly to and fro and the little girl's arms were
stretched out as she giggled.

   "You're flying, Junior!  Look at you!" Bobby sounded excited.

   His leg movements got wilder.  "Watch out!" he said, with false panic in
his voice.  "Turbulence!  Turbulence!  You're going to crash!"

   His feet suddenly snapped apart, and the little girl fell shrieking to
be caught by his hands and pulled into a hug.

   "Gotcha!" he laughed.

   "Me, me, me" called the little boy, grabbing a foot and trying to pull
himself up.

   Bobby rolled the girl off of him and pulled the boy onto his feet,
raising the boy up like the girl had been.  The little girl levered herself
up and toddled erratically toward the maid.

   "I crashed Mommy!" she said brightly.

   The maid scooped her up and pretended to examine her for injuries,
kissing her on her hands and cheeks and head, while Bobby "flew" the little
boy, like he had done with the girl.  Again there was "turbulence" and
Bobby's feet went up and down erratically, until the boy, too, fell to be
caught and hugged while he laughed.

   "Anyway," said the maid, obviously picking up a conversation that had
been interrupted by the play that was going on, "when he just walked up to
me and asked me to go out on a date with him, I didn't know what to do!"

   "I thought you said you went to school with him," said Bobby, putting
the boy back up on his feet.  He held the toddler's hands until he was
comfortably arranged, and then began weaving his feet back and forth
slowly.

   "I did," said the maid.  "But he never even talked to me back then."

   "Is he a nice guy?"

   "I think so," she said.  "He was in the model rocketing club, and I saw
him around school.  He was pretty quiet back then."

   "I think you should go out with him," said Bobby, starting the
"turbulence routine" with the boy on his feet.  "Just get to know him a
little and see what he's like."

   "I haven't been on a date in years!" sighed the maid.

   "You'll do fine," said Bobby.  He stopped to call "Turbulence! 
Turbulence!" and the little boy started shrieking "Ima crash!"

   In the process of dropping and catching the boy, Bobby rolled and saw
the two women standing in the doorway watching.

   "Hi!" he said.

   The maid turned her head and she looked pale, suddenly.

   "That's what I told her too," said Felicity, stepping forward.  "She
never listens to me, though." It was said with no anger or chastisement in
her voice.  To Misty it sounded more like what one friend would say to
another, joking.

   The little boy rolled to the floor and levered himself up, with a little
help from Bobby.  He, too, ran to his mother, squealing "I crash Mamma!"

   "I saw that," said Felicity, kneeling to pick him up and hug him. 
"Bobby caught you and saved you!  Did you say thank you?"

   "Tankoo" said the little boy, turning his head toward the man, who was
getting up off the floor.

   "You're welcome!" said Bobby, jumping up off the floor and landing with
his knees bent and his arms out.

   "Nooooooo," squealed the little boy.  "Mamma!  Mister Buzz Buzz!"

   Bobby extended one finger, pointing it at Felicity and her son.  He
began making a noise that was, basically "Bzzzzzzzzzzzzz", and his finger
began weaving around as he stalked toward the boy.

   Then he poked the boy, making the "Bzzz" louder when he touched him,
tickling him.  Misty watched, almost in awe, as this man also poked the
woman holding the boy.

   "Stop that!" barked Felicity, slapping at his hand.  "Misty is ready to
go!"

   Somehow, it seemed to Misty that her name had been used not so much to
inform him she was ready to go, but to remind Bobby that she was actually
there.

   Instead of stopping, though, Bobby turned and advanced on the little
girl, who was in the maid's arms, and poked both of them too.  Misty
blinked as it looked like Bobby actually pinched the maid's breast briefly!

   "Bobby!" squealed the maid.

   Then, almost as if magic was involved, he was suddenly standing and
looking completely normal.  He retrieved his shoes and pulled them on. 
Then he stood back up, looked at Misty, and said "OK, where to now, Boss
lady?"

   ===================================

   Where to next turned out to be a house on a cul-de-sac, instead of a
photo studio, like Misty expected.  She glanced, a little dismally at the
sign in the window: "Brown Photography", but kept her silence.  Several
things Bobby Dalton was involved with had turned out wildly different than
she had expected.

   On impulse, she stood to the side, where someone opening the door would
not see her.  She couldn't have explained why she did that, but that's what
she chose to do.  She was therefore mystified when, as he had done at the
Chumley mansion, Bobby simply turned the knob and walked into the house.

   "Anybody home?" he called out.

   Misty stepped in behind him to hear squeals of excitement, and saw two
children, a boy and a girl, running toward Bobby.  Again, he went to one
knee and scooped the two children up into a bear hug that was made more
real by growling sounds he made as he roughly nuzzled their necks.  They
squirmed, but held on to him as if he were a life raft.

   "Where's your Mamma?" he asked.

   "In the dark room!" said the girl.

   "In the kitchen!" said the boy.  He added: "Are you going to stay all
night Uncle Bob?"

   "Not tonight, squirt!" said Bobby, setting them down.

   "You're late!" Misty was surprised by the contralto voice of a woman she
hadn't seen come into the room.  "We expected you much earlier."

   "Had to get her something to wear," said Bobby, as if Misty wasn't
there. Then he waved a hand toward her, without looking at her.  "Misty
Compton, soon-to-be country legend.  I'd say make her beautiful, but she's
already mostly there, so just do what you do so well."

   The woman, who appeared to be a few years older than Bobby, with blond
hair and the appearance of a sports addict, smiled at Misty.

   "Hi, I'm Jill.  Christy is in the dark room getting everything ready. 
This is a rush job, and the chemicals have to be the right temperature and
all that kind of thing.  I'll take you to the studio and you can get
dressed."

   For whatever reason, Misty couldn't get past Bobby being addressed as
"Uncle Bob", and she had to ask: "Bobby's your brother?"

   Bobby coughed, reached for the children's hands and said "Come on,
squirts.  Come with Uncle Bob.  Let's go play a game."

   Jill's eyes widened, and something passed over her face, but her
response was only a second or two off.

   "Not my brother," she said.  She almost looked uncomfortable, for a
second or two, but then recovered.  "It's sort of an honorary name for
him."

   "Oh," said Misty, "I see."

   That wasn't really true.  She didn't see that at all.  Why a woman older
than Bobby would want her children to call him Uncle was beyond her.  She
was just trying to be polite.  In fact, she went another step down that
road.

   "Your children are cute," she said.

   "Only one of them is mine," said Jill, smiling.  "Steven is mine. 
Jillian is Christy's.  We live together."

   "Oh," said Misty, a little weakly.  "I see."

   Again, she didn't see.  She had heard of women living together before.
She had two aunts who lived together, for that matter.  But they were in
their sixties and didn't have husbands or children.  She wondered briefly
how two families could manage to live in the same house, but then put that
out of her mind.  She needed to get this photo shoot done and get to the
rehearsal.

   It wasn't until they went into the studio that Misty remembered her
mother saying "You can't judge a book by its cover." The studio was state
of the art, with lights everywhere, and cameras on tripods, and backdrops
on rolls that could be put into place quickly.  The room was spotless and
bright and looked very professional.

   "So, what are you wearing?" asked Jill.

   It was then that Misty realized she'd left her borrowed performance
clothes in the truck.  She said she'd go out and get them, and felt even
more stupid when Jill asked if she'd brought her guitar with her too. 
She'd sat for dozens and dozens of pictures before, and she'd had her
guitar with her in every one.  She felt her cheeks staining red as she ran
back to the truck to get everything.

   When she got back, another woman was in the studio with Jill.

   "Hi, I'm so glad to meet you," said the auburn-haired woman.  "I like
your music a lot."

   "Thanks," panted Misty softly.  "I've got everything now.  Sorry.  This
whole trip has been ...  difficult."

   "Well, we'll try to get this done without making it difficult for you,"
said Christy.

   Misty showed the women her clothing, which both held up and looked at
critically.  Then they held it up against Misty.

   "Can I ask you a question?" It was Christy who spoke.

   "Sure."

   "I get it that you want to wear this to perform in ...  that you want to
be flashy on stage.  I'd like to make a suggestion about your publicity
shots though.  Would you consider wearing exactly what you already have
on?"

   Misty looked down at the faded jeans she was wearing, and the checkered
shirt that Mirriam had given her to wear.  They looked dull and dusty to
her.

   "Why?" she gaped.

   "You're beautiful," said Christy simply.  "I think that the clothes will
just distract from your natural beauty.  I've got an old cowboy hat around
here.  I have an idea about posing you that will make people look at your
face, and not what you're wearing."

   "But this is so old," complained Misty, pulling at her shirt sleeve. 
"It's not even mine!  My luggage got lost and Mirriam gave me this to
wear!"

   "You've met Mirriam?" The surprise in Jill's voice was obvious.

   "I had to stay there last night," sighed Misty.  "The bed and breakfast
I was supposed to stay in caught on fire yesterday."

   "I thought that shirt looked familiar," said Jill, and then looked
surprised that she'd said it.  She blushed.  "I mean ...  we've spent some
time at Bobby's ...  I mean Mirriam's." She looked stricken, blushed and
turned away.

   "What she means is that Mirriam is a friend of ours," said Christy,
smiling.  "We go over there for parties, and such.  Anyway, will you let me
take a couple of shots with you dressed like that first?  Then you can
change and we'll take more.  You can take your pick when we're done.  I can
get a proof sheet done in ten minutes, and then you can see them all."

   "I guess so." Misty's voice was doubtful.

   Then there was a more familiar whirlwind of activity as Christy placed
Misty in various poses, holding the guitar as if she were playing it, or
just on her lap, and one with her standing, the guitar at her side.  The
old hat that Christy came up with was faded white straw, and looked like it
had been worn by generations of cowboys or farmers, but Misty wore it,
cocked back on her head, and down low over her eyes.

   The wardrobe change was done right there in the studio, which left Misty
a little agitated.  When she put on the doeskin shirt, she had to take her
bra off in front of the two women.  Standing only in panties, she felt
vulnerable, but the women rushed her through it and helped her get the
outfit on for the second time.

   "Boy, you'll knock them dead in that thing," sighed Jill.  She looked at
Christy.  "I'm not so sure you're right this time."

   "We'll see," said Christy, looking at Misty critically.  "We need some
make up with this outfit."

   Jill, it turned out, was also the makeup artist.  Misty could tell by
the fluid motions she used that she was good at what she was doing.  She
was a little nervous that no mirror was present, but then she was being
posed again.  This time the poses were different in ways that made Misty
wonder what in the world this woman was thinking, but she went along with
it.

   "Leave your bra off for the tank top," said Christy, as another wardrobe
change was made.

   "But my nipples will show!" squeaked Misty.

   "Exactly!" said Christy, smiling.  "I'll manage the lights so it isn't
obvious.  We want just a hint of sexuality."

   That part of the shoot actually took the longest.  Christy kept moving
the guitar around, and the lights, between each shot.  The frantic
atmosphere in the studio left Misty feeling out of breath, even though all
she did was sit there, or stand there.

   Then it was done, and, without a word, both women left the room.  Misty
looked around, suddenly alone.  She changed back into the jeans and work
shirt, putting her bra back on first, and bundled up the other clothes
before going out of the studio.

   She heard Bobby's voice, and followed it, to find him in a big
overstuffed chair, the two children perched on his lap.  They were reading
a book.

   "Snow White put her head out the window and said 'Go away!'"

   "Noooooo," whined the little boy.  "That's not right!"

   Bobby sighed.  "OK, Snow white put her head out of the window and said
'I must not let anyone in; the seven dwarfs have forbidden me to do so!" He
stopped.  "Why can't I change it sometimes?  Don't you get bored?  I've
read this to you a hundred times."

   "Read the story!" said the little girl.

   Bobby looked up.  "Uh oh!  Look who's here.  It's Misty Compton.  She's
a famous singing star."

   The children looked up at Misty, who had her performance clothes in one
arm, and her guitar in the other.  She could see the war going on in their
minds as they decided whether the story ...  which they had heard a hundred
times, if Bobby could be believed ...  or this new person was more
interesting.

   "Will you sing us a song?" piped the little girl.

   "I'd love to!" said Misty, pleased she had won the competition.

   ======================================

   Three songs later Misty was feeling good.  Her voice hadn't suffered
because of the problems she'd had.  She counted what she was doing as
rehearsal, in one sense, so she didn't mind taking the time.  And the
enthusiasm of the children, and to her chagrin, the smile on Bobby's face,
told her that she was singing well.  Singing like this, just sitting there
with her guitar, was how her whole career had started, and it brought back
wonderful memories.

   She was on the last few measures of the third song when Christy
appeared, holding several pieces of paper in her hand.

   "The proofs are ready," she announced, as Misty let the last chord die.

   "Great!" said the young woman.  "Except I need to go to the bathroom
first."

   "Just use the one in my bedroom," said Christy.  "I'll see what Bobby
thinks about these while you're gone."

   Christy pointed vaguely down the hall, and Misty hurried to a closed
door.  Inside was a vibrantly decorated room, with the walls split into
sections by diagonal lines.  Each wall had more than one color on it and
the walls were lined with framed photographs.  She was in too much of a
hurry to ease the pain in her bladder to stop and look, but after she came
out of the bathroom, she glanced at the pictures.  The first one she looked
at was of an old house, obviously vacant.  It looked sad, because there
were beautiful huge old trees around it.  A tire swing hanging from one,
suggested memories of children playing there.  The photographer, probably
Christy, had somehow captured a feeling that the house didn't want to be
empty, but had no choice.

   Her eyes drifted to other pictures.  All of them were gorgeous, and she
suddenly felt much better about the photo shoot, even though she hadn't
seen the proofs yet.  With that in mind, she turned to leave.  Another
picture caught her eye.  It was over the bed.

   It was Bobby!

   Not only was it Bobby Dalton ...  he was naked!

   She stepped closer to the bed, and peered at the picture.  He was
standing in an open window.  No, the window had been broken out, and he was
standing on the inside, looking out.  The look on his face suggested he was
looking for someone - his lover, maybe - waiting for her ...  hoping she
would come.  She examined the man in the photograph.  There were muscles on
his muscles.  He looked like some young warrior, perhaps, between battles,
or in a rare moment of rest when he didn't have to be vigilant.  She leaned
closer, putting one hand on the bed to steady herself.  The penis in the
picture was half hard ...  long and thick, but not rigid.  When Misty had
lost her virginity, in basement of her aunt's house, she hadn't gotten the
chance to really examine the penis that had plunged into her body, causing
more pain than she'd believed it would.  It had been a hurried affair,
quickly over and full of both embarrassment and shame.  Afterward, her
cousing had moved to get a job.  She hadn't wanted to try that with anyone
else, and had always felt like things had been left only half done somehow.

   Three years later, when she was finally getting up the courage to
explore men again, the talent scout had heard her singing, and she hadn't
had time for boyfriends since then.  In any case, the kind of men she met
in the music business all seemed a little greasy somehow ...  a little
soiled or something.  They weren't the kind of men she felt any passion
for.

   Now, however, seeing this man in this picture ...  this man who was so
maddening ...  who made her want to rage and shout at one moment, and then
somehow made her eyes get damp when he simply played with children ... 
seeing this man like this made something in her stomach jump and squirm. 
He was gorgeous ...  a magnificent animal in his environment.  That that
environment was a broken down old house somewhere didn't seem odd to her.
It seemed fitting somehow, like he was also seeking something, and couldn't
find it.

   She looked around.  There were more pictures of him ...  many more.  He
wasn't naked in all of them.  In one, he was just wearing jeans, lounging
against an old dry sink, probably in that same old broken down house.  He
had a half smile on his face, as if he knew some small joke that he wanted
to tell the viewer.

   It occurred to her that "the viewer", when this picture was taken, must
have been Christy.  There was no doubt that Christy had taken these
pictures ...  had seen this gorgeous man like this ...  had been WITH him
when he was naked ...  and gorgeous.

   Then she saw a picture of Christy, also naked, and standing in the same
open window as Bobby had been.  It was obvious to her that they had taken
pictures of each other like that.  She peered at Christy's face in the
picture.  She wasn't looking longingly out the window for some lost lover.
She looked excited.  The nipples on her bare breasts were elongated ... 
obviously stiff.  Misty felt her own nipples crinkle inside the bra she was
wearing, perhaps in sympathy with whatever Christy had been thinking when
that picture was taken.

   Her stomach felt upset, suddenly, and she turned and left the room. 
Bobby was still sitting in the chair, though the children were now playing
on the floor.  Christy was sitting on one arm of the chair, pointing at
something on the proof sheet he was looking at.  Jill was on her knees, on
the other side of the chair.  Her hand was on his thigh, inches from his
crotch.  That hand lifted and a long finger pointed.

   "I think that one is the best," she said.  "Look at her face.  You can
see how she's in love with that guitar.  It's perfect." She looked up and
saw Misty.  "She's back!  Get up, Bobby!"

   Why they thought Misty had to sit in that chair to look at the proof
sheet was a mystery, but she sat down between the two women.  Bobby stood,
looking down as she sat and the proof sheets were handed to her.

   Chapter Seven

   Most people, when they look at a picture of themselves, tend to see the
flaws in the person in the picture.  Maybe it's a mole you think looks
horrible, or that extra weight that photographs seem to show so well. 
Maybe the hair is out of place, or the look on the face looks goofy.  The
truth is that most people don't like looking at pictures of themselves.

   Misty was no different.  She'd been told she was beautiful, and
talented. She'd been told that by people in her family, whom she wanted to
believe, and by people in the music industry, whom she almost always
disbelieved.  If she'd been able to articulate how she felt about herself,
she'd have said something like "I guess I look OK, and I love to sing." She
still couldn't believe that almost half a million people had bought her
album.

   As such, when she looked at the proof sheet, the first thing she did was
dismiss certain pictures.  She saw something wrong in them, and discarded
them, looking on.  Most of those were ones in which she was wearing
Felicity's borrowed clothing.  It wasn't the clothing she objected to,
really.  That was fine, for the most part.  There was one shot, with her
wearing the doeskin shirt.  She was looking over her shoulder, and her bare
back was clearly on display.  She liked that one, but immediately decided
she looked entirely too naked.

   She looked at the ones where she was wearing the tank top.  Christy had
been right about them.  All you could see was that she probably wasn't
wearing a bra under it.  There was nothing really prurient about them, but
they made her face feel hot anyway.

   Then she got to the sheet where she was wearing the clothes Mirriam had
loaned her.  She looked more relaxed, somehow.  Her face wasn't as tight,
somehow.  She looked more like how she envisioned herself ...  just a girl
with a guitar that she loved playing, and the camera had caught that girl
doing what she loved most.

   The way Christy narrowed things down fit perfectly with how Misty was
feeling.  She asked first which shots were definitely not acceptable, and
crossed those out with a big red X in grease pencil.  Then, almost like an
eye exam, Christy would pick two shots and ask which one Misty liked
better. The loser in that round was crossed out.  Eventually, one whole
sheet was covered in big red Xes, and was put aside.

   "But I like some of those," moaned Misty.

   "That's fine," said Christy.  "What we're looking for is the one you
like the best.  I'll keep the negatives of all of them.  If you want me to
make you some prints later, I'll be happy to do that, but for right now, we
need three publicity shots.  We don't have much time either.  It's going to
take us all day to get enough for your concert tonight, and, after hearing
you sing, I suspect we're going to be busy all day tomorrow and the next
day too."

   In the end, Misty was surprised to pick one in which she was wearing the
clothes she still had on.  The faded jeans and soft looking work shirt
didn't do much to make her look feminine, but it was the look on her face
she loved.  She was wearing the old straw hat in that picture, worn level,
and her head was dipped slightly.  She was looking at the frets and her
fingers were poised to strum a chord.  There was just something about the
look on her face that made her feel good.

   "That one," she said.  "I can't believe it, but I like that one best."

   "I told you so," crowed Jill, grinning from ear to ear.  "Didn't I tell
you I liked that one best?"

   "Yeah, yeah, yeah," said Christy.  "Now get your butt in the dark room
and start turning these babies out.  I'll be there in a minute."

   "What about the kids?" asked Jill.

   "Damn!" said Christy.  "I forgot about them."

   "I can drop them off at Renee's," suggested Bobby.

   "Would you, really?" Christy smiled.  "That would help just tons and
tons." She turned to the two children who were sitting on the floor with
the book Bobby had been reading them.  They were pretending to read it to
each other.  "Hey, do you two little gremlins want to go play at Renee's?"

   They obviously did and, in short order, they were bundled into the front
seat of the pickup between Misty and Bobby.

   "You're a doll," said Christy, leaning in through the driver's window to
kiss Bobby on the lips.  "We'll get the prints done as quickly as we can.
What should we do with them?"

   "I'll come get them while she's rehearsing," said Bobby.  "Once I get
her to the fairgrounds I don't think she'll need me again until after the
concert.  I need to run over to Wichita too, and see if they found her
suitcase yet.  How about I pick up the prints on the way back from that?"

   All that arranged, they left.

   "So ..." said Misty, clutching her guitar between her legs, and her
performance clothing in her lap.  "Christy is your girlfriend?"

   "Nope," said Bobby carelessly.  "She's just a friend."

   "But the pictures ...  on the wall ...  in her bedroom ..."

   He looked over at her, and then down at the two children between them.

   "She's a photographer," he said simply.

   "Yeah, and you must be too," said Misty, thinking about the picture of
Christy.

   He smiled for some reason, and Misty felt anger trying to wiggle its way
into her chest.  She somehow knew that he wasn't going to give her any
information about those pictures.

   "She showed me how to work the camera," he said.  "That's all."

   "I thought maybe she was one of your sisters, at first ...  when we
first got there.  Or maybe Jill."

   He laughed then.  "Nope, definitely not my sisters."

   It was obvious that was all he was going to say.  She wanted to question
him more, for some reason, but Steven spoke, his voice high and piping.

   "Can I drive, Uncle Bob?"

   "Not in town, Sport," said Bobby.  "Wait until we get out of town, OK?"

   That happened in a few minutes and Misty watched as the little boy stood
on the seat between Bobby's slightly spread thighs and gripped the wheel
below Bobby's hands.  He made what were obviously supposed to be motor
noises as he tried to jerk the wheel from side to side.  He couldn't,
because Bobby wouldn't let him.

   "Straight down the road, Sport," said the real driver.

   They made one turn, going almost laughably slowly, and then another,
turning into the drive of a house out in the country.  A sign in the yard
proclaimed it to be "Renee's Child Care Center and Pre-School."

   "Wow!" said Bobby, putting the little boy back in the middle of the
seat. "You drove two whole miles!"

   The boy had lost all interest in driving, however.  Both he and Jillian
were too excited about getting to play at Renee's.  Misty had to set her
guitar case down to help them out, afraid they'd try to climb down from the
truck by themselves and fall.  Then they ran haltingly toward the house.

   "You can wait here, if you want," said Bobby, starting to follow them.

   "OK," said Misty, picking her guitar up and putting it back in the
truck.

   She was sitting there when a dark-haired woman came out the front door
of the house, to let the two children in.  They ran past her, eager to get
inside.  She was carrying an infant in her arms.

   Misty watched as the woman paused, while Bobby looked at the baby in her
arms.  Then the woman leaned forward to give him a long and obviously
passionate kiss.  The kiss broke, and Bobby leaned down to kiss the baby's
forehead, before turning and striding back to the truck.

   ======================================

   "So," said Misty as they got on the highway to Hutchinson.  "Is Renee
your girlfriend?"

   Bobby looked over at her.  She couldn't tell what was on his face.

   "Nope," he said.  "She's just a friend too."

   Misty spent the rest of the trip in silence.  When she wasn't thinking
about all the women who seemed to be so willing to kiss this man, and how
comfortable he seemed to feel with all their children, she was thinking
about that picture of him standing in the window.

   =====================================

   All thoughts of Bobby fled when Misty arrived at the fairgrounds and
found out that a band ...  of sorts ...  had been cobbled together to back
her up during the concert.  It had been Amanda's idea, apparently.  Misty
wasn't so sure it was a good idea.

   She was introduced to Jasper Tomkins, who proudly announced that he
owned a grocery store and played bass.  He looked to be in his early
fifties.  Rocky Waldorf was sitting at a drum kit, and said he worked at
the feed mill.  He played the riff that announces a joke has been told:
pu-dum-dum.  He looked like he wasn't a whole lot older than she was.  A
woman standing there with a guitar in her hands identified herself as Lucy
Simms.

   "I have three kids, and I'm a stay-at-home mom, but I practice all the
time, singing to them," she said.  "I play rhythm."

   Another woman - a girl really - sat at an electronic keyboard.

   "I'm Janie," she said shyly.  "I can't believe you're actually Misty
Compton."

   Misty turned to Bobby.

   "I'm supposed to play with these people?" she whispered.  "Store keepers
and stay-at-home moms?"

   "Isn't that who you played with back in the mountains?" asked Bobby,
smiling.

   Misty blinked.

   "Well yeah ...  but ..."

   "Give them a try," said Bobby.  "Amanda wouldn't have lined them up if
they weren't any good.  Trust me on that."

   Misty simply stepped up to a mike, turned around, gave them a title and
stamped her foot four times.  She intended to leave these yokels in the
dust.  She had intended to play solo, and didn't need any amateurs making
her sound provincial.

   The first thing that amazed her was that the four musicians knew her
music already.  They had what seemed like reams of sheet music.  It turned
out they had been practicing together for three days.  Not only did they
know the music, they knew the lyrics as well.  Jasper had a strong bass
voice to go with his guitar, and the drummer had a lilting tenor.  Lucy had
a smoky alto voice, and Janie's soprano was sweet and pure.  They had
improvised the harmony, because the harmony for the voices wasn't written
into the sheet music.

   The second thing she realized was that while these folks might live and
work in Hutchinson, Kansas, they were certainly not amateurs.  Within three
songs Misty was elated at the sound they were producing as a band.

   She grinned, announced another number, and, before she could stamp her
foot to set them off, the drummer beat her to it, hitting a stick on the
metal rim of a snare drum.

   They didn't take a break for over an hour.

   ===================================

   The musicians cut it off at five, but the only reason they did so was
because a crowd had gathered.  The festival gates opened at four, so that
people could begin to ride carnival rides, and shop at little booths
vendors had set up.  There was a rodeo scheduled between five-thirty and
seven, when Misty's concert would begin.  The rehearsal, however, had drawn
the crowd, who mingled, standing in front of the stage, clapping and
yelling as each song ended.

   Misty was starving, and was about to go get a hot dog when a she saw a
familiar truck pull up behind the stage.  Bobby got out, a box in his arms.

   "Got your pictures," he said.  "They printed a hundred of the last three
shots you liked."

   "Surely I won't need three hundred pictures!" she moaned, thinking of
having to autograph each one.

   A man and woman stepped forward.

   "Can we get one of those?" asked the man.  The woman smiled hopefully.
"You're really good."

   "Got three shots to choose from," volunteered Bobby, and he pulled out
one of each shot and produced a felt tip marker from his shirt pocket.

   "I like that one!" said the woman, pointing to one of Misty in the
doeskin shirt, with the guitar sitting on her lap.  Misty had liked that
one because of the smile on her face.

   Autographing that picture led to other people stepping up.  It took
fifteen minutes before the little crowd that had listened to the rehearsal
was taken care of.  When the last one had been signed, Misty realized that
Bobby had somehow moved her from in front of the stage to the back, where
people strolling by the stage couldn't see her any more.

   "Thanks," she sighed.  "I'm starving."

   "Let's get you out of here then," said Bobby.  "You seem to draw a
crowd."

   He took her to a drive-in called "Bill's Burger Bar", and they had
burgers and fries.  He offered her a shake, but she declined, saying the
milk in it would coat her throat and cause problems when she sang.  She had
7-Up instead.  It was six-thirty when they got back to the stage.  Amanda
was waiting nervously.  Jasper and Janie were already on stage, improvising
softly, with the amplifiers off.  Rocky and Lucy were nowhere to be seen.

   "THERE you are!" she yipped.  "I was getting worried!"

   "She has to eat sometime," said Bobby calmly.

   "The show starts in just half an hour!" said Amanda.

   A roar from a crowd announced that something exciting had happened at
the rodeo.  The announcer's voice, over the loud speaker system was sharp
in the evening air.  Rocky and Lucy walked up, and mounted the stage.  Lucy
picked up her guitar and joined Jasper and Janie at the keyboard.  Rocky
began playing riffs on the drums and fiddling with them.  Bobby saw the box
he had brought from Christy's, lying on its side, empty.

   "What happened to the pictures?" he asked.

   "I gave them all out!" said Amanda.  "People are crazy for them.  There
weren't NEARLY enough!"

   ===================================

   As a concert, Misty would remember her first night at the Hutchinson,
Kansas Harvest Festival for many years to come.  The crowd was small, by
comparison to those she had played at before, but it looked bigger than it
was because there wasn't enough seating for everyone who showed up.  The
three hundred folding chairs that had been lined up in rows were full, and
people stood four and five deep in a three-sided ring around them.  It was
a festive crowd and, to Misty's surprise, the usual cadre of drunks seemed
to be missing.  There were always a group of drunks, men mostly, who
capered and shouted and sang off tune with her, or whoever else was
performing.  In Hutchinson, though, while the crowd was noisy and excited,
they were also very well mannered, and the drunks seemed to be missing.

   They hit the ground running and went straight through five songs before
Misty, grinning and panting, told them how glad she was to be in
Hutchinson, Kansas, and thanked them for coming to the concert.  Then there
was a set of three more songs, flowing from one to the next, before they
had to take a break to drink something.

   The crowd might have been smaller than she was used to, but they were
also almost impossibly enthusiastic, shouting, clapping, stomping and
whistling as each song wound down and a new one began.  Misty finally
realized that the whistling was more in evidence whenever she turned around
to make eye contact with her band members.  She was wearing the doeskin
shirt, with the purple boots and hat, and the men loved it.

   They went through the entire program, and then used up both pieces that
had been reserved for encores and it was obvious the crowd wanted even
more. When she yelled "Good night Hutchinson!" the crowd made it obvious
they were disappointed.  "I'll be back tomorrow night!" she yelled into the
mic.

   By now she thought of Jasper, Lucy, Janie and Rocky as family, and the
grins on their sweaty faces made it plain they'd had a great time too. 
There were hugs all around as they left the stage.  It was then that she
saw Bobby for the first time since the show had started.  He was standing
with a slim dark haired woman, holding her hand.  The woman was smiling
widely, revealing two crooked front teeth.  The twins were there too, and
Mirriam, along with a small group of other women who seemed to be with her.

   The twins were almost pathetic in their praise for her, babbling about
how great she was.  She was walking toward Mirriam when the crowd surged
around the corner of the stage.  People were waving copies of her publicity
shots at her.  She was engulfed in a sea of happy, beaming ...  and
demanding people.

   This had never happened to her before.  She'd always been whisked off
somewhere, where some autographs might be done under controlled
circumstances.  Usually the people who got into that line were VIPs of one
sort or another, or those to whom the promoter was beholden, perhaps. 
Quite often she was there with other bigger stars, and watched them do
autographs, more often than she signed her own name.

   But this crowd was there for her and her only.  The press of people made
it almost impossible to do anything.  She felt a hand on her almost bare
back and turned to see a grinning man groping her.  She elbowed him angrily
and he just laughed.

   The drunks had shown up at last.

   She felt more hands on her body ...  on her buttocks and one on her bare
knee, as others pulled at the strings that held her shirt on.  She felt a
hand squeeze her left breast.  Then, as if by magic, Bobby was there,
slapping at hands and shouting for them to give her some room and line up.
Then the twins, Mirriam and the women with her were behind Misty,
protecting her back, while Bobby shouted and shoved and manhandled people
into a wedge-shaped almost-line.  Amanda was there too, shouting at the
crowd to behave.  She had some people with her too, and they formed a
protective phalanx in front of Misty.

   It seemed to Misty like it could go one of two ways, and she wasn't at
all sure which way it was going to go.  Finally, though, the crowd calmed
down a bit, and order was restored.  Misty relaxed and began to sign
pictures.

   Two hours later the crowd had thinned to the point that there was really
just one line, with only about thirty people left in it.  Mirriam kissed
Bobby on the cheek and said she was going home.  A woman who had helped
protect Misty, and who she now knew was named Prudence turned to the young
woman whose hand Bobby had been holding.

   "You ready to go Dear?" she asked.

   "Yeah," said the girl with the crooked teeth.  She turned to Misty. 
"You're really good.  I'm glad I came." Then she turned to Bobby. 
"Thanks," she said.  "It was a good idea.  See you later?"

   "You bet," he said, smiling.  He took her hand and kissed her
fingertips.

   Misty was watching her walk away with Prudence, trying to figure out
what was going on with her, when a picture was thrust in her face.

   "Can you sign mine now?" asked an excited teenager.

   =====================================

   Back in the truck at last, Misty sagged in the seat with a long sigh and
tried to relax.  She couldn't, because the tension seemed to be locked into
her muscles.  She was beat, and ached all over.  The rigors of the show,
followed by being on edge for hours as the crowd pressed on her had taken a
toll on her body.  It was dark out, but street lights they passed lit up
the interior of the cab with a regularity that made her feel drowsy.

   "You killed 'em," said Bobby.  "You were great."

   "Thanks," she said, tired of saying the word.  It seemed like she'd said
it a thousand times in the last hours.  "I hope they were happy, because I
don't have anything left at all."

   "I thought you did this all the time."

   "Not like that," she sighed.  "I've never signed that many autographs at
one time before.  And those guys who grabbed me.  I probably have bruises!"

   "Sorry about that," said Bobby.  "I'm kind of new at this security
thing. It won't happen tomorrow night.  I promise you that."

   "Tomorrow night," moaned Misty.  "I have to do it all over again
tomorrow night!"

   "You love it," chuckled Bobby.  "I could tell that just by watching you.
It was obvious."

   "Yeah, but I can hardly move!" she complained.  "Everything's sore!"

   "You can get a massage when we get back home," he said.  "I know how you
feel.  It's been a long day for me too.  Bed is going to feel good
tonight."

   "I thought you were going out after you dropped me off."

   "Me?" He seemed surprised.

   "Yes.  That girl you were with.  You said you'd see her later.  Is SHE
your girlfriend?"

   "Connie?" He had no mirth in his voice at all.  "No.  She's had a hard
go of things.  Her husband was killed in action.  I'm kind of keeping an
eye on her while she works through it.  I just meant that I'd see her in
the next day or two."

   "Oh," said Misty, remembering how the fingers of the their hands had
been interlaced in an intimate kind of way.  This man was SO strange ... 
so much more than he appeared on the surface.  She couldn't put her finger
on what made him different, but she knew he was, somehow.

   "Why are you so interested in who my girlfriend is?"

   The question caught her off guard.  Her mind wanted to be in neutral. 
She was ready to sleep, but the aches and pains in her body, and having to
sit up in the seat were preventing that.

   "I don't know," she admitted.  "It just seems like a lot of women really
like you." She thought that sounded somewhat harsh, as if women shouldn't
like him, and she added to her comment.  "I mean so many of them kiss you
and hug you and all that."

   "It's a little complicated," he said softly.  "I don't think you'd
understand."

   "Why not?" She felt the energy of anger begin to spark in her body. 
"I'm not stupid!"

   "I know you're not stupid," he said calmly.  "I'm sorry if you got the
impression I think you are.  I jumped to some conclusions about you that
were wrong, and we got off on the wrong foot.  I'm sorry about that." He
paused.  "I found your suitcase, by the way.  They had it at the airline
place when I got there.  They didn't want to give it to me because it
wasn't mine, but I talked them into it."

   "Oh!  Good!" She looked around.  "Where is it?"

   "I just dropped it off at the house.  I didn't figure you'd need it at
the concert, and I didn't want to leave it in the bed with the truck parked
at the fairgrounds.  The last thing I needed was for somebody to steal it."
There was mirth in his voice.

   The conversation lagged then, and Misty dozed a little as the truck
rocked through the darkness.  It wasn't until he pulled up at the farmhouse
that she realized he'd never explained the complicated nature of his
relationship with all those women.

   Chapter Eight

   The house was dark when they went in.

   "Where is everybody?" she asked.  Mirriam and the twins had left before
she and Bobby had, and she'd assumed they'd be home by now.

   "They're probably over at Prudence's," he said.  "They play cards on
Friday night, as a rule."

   "Oh," she said, sounding disappointed.  "I was looking forward to that
massage you were talking about."

   "Well, then, go lie down and we'll get right to it."

   "What?" She looked at him as he turned on a light.  "Who's going to do
it?"

   "Me, of course," he said.

   "You?!" She blinked.  "But you're a man!"

   He grinned.  "I am indeed.  What does that have to do with anything?"

   "But I'm a girl!"

   "You are indeed," he said, still grinning.  "I noticed that right away."

   "But I hardly know you!" she yipped.

   "True," he said.  "You can stay sore if you want.  I'm just offering,
that's all."

   "But how do I know I can trust you?" It was hardly out of her mouth
before she regretted it.

   "Let's not start this all over again," he said, no longer smiling.  "All
I'm offering is a massage, to loosen you up so you can sleep.  I'm not
going to molest you.  How would that look in the papers when you screamed
your head off?"

   "That's not what I meant," she said weakly.

   "What did you mean?"

   She felt so tired she didn't want to argue.  "I don't know.  Just
promise me there won't be any funny business."

   "I won't laugh once," he said, his face straight.

   They were in the kitchen, so she pulled a chair out from the kitchen
table and sat down on it, straddling the seat and facing the back of the
chair.

   "Don't you want to do this on your bed?" he asked.  "So you can just
fall asleep?"

   "If you think I'm going to let you put your hands on me in my nightgown,
you have another think coming, buster!" she snorted.

   "I wasn't thinking of your nightgown," he said.  "But that's not a bad
idea, I guess." He paused.  "Actually, what you have on right now will work
as well as anything."

   She was trying to figure out what he meant by "not thinking of her
nightgown", but the only thing she could think of was that he wanted her
naked, and that wasn't possible, but she couldn't think of anything else
that made sense.  Her brain was shutting down.  She was exhausted and just
wanted the pain to go away so she could sleep.  Later, when she thought
about that night, she would change her mind about how things happened
several times.  By that time, though, it would only be an academic
exercise, because it would be something in her past ...  something that
involved Bobby Dalton ...  and something that would not bring either
tenseness or unhappiness to her mind.

   But that would be later.

   ====================================

   Somehow she ended up lying on her bed, dressed in the doeskin shirt, and
burgundy skirt, under which she wore a pair of one of Bobby's sister's
panties, plain, white cotton ones.  She didn't remember kicking the purple
boots off but, when his hands touched her, she wasn't wearing them.

   Almost instantly, when his fingers started prodding and poking and
rubbing, she felt the exquisite pain of release, and her muscles gave up
the fight to stay tense.

   She only vaguely felt his fingers flicking at the straps that
crisscrossed her back, and the cool of the air as it caressed the sides of
her breasts.  Her mind rallied when she felt the skirt being raised, and
his hands on those panties, kneading her buttocks, but somehow the
objection her mind insisted she make never quite made it to her throat,
which was too busy moaning and groaning with the pleasure of what his
fingers were doing to her sore muscles.  When his fingers left her
buttocks, without wandering between her legs, her mind relaxed too.

   She was dimly aware that he lifted each foot, and worked over each
aching leg.  She was a little more aware when his hands reached her inner
thighs, but they didn't go too far.  He had worked his way back up her body
and was doing the back of her scalp when she drifted off to sleep, too
exhausted to stay awake any longer.

   =====================================

   Misty Compton awoke to impossibly bright light streaming through the
bedroom windows.  She stretched, and remembered the pain in her muscles the
night before.  It was gone.  She felt wonderful.

   That lasted until she sat up, and the covers fell to reveal that all she
was wearing were her borrowed panties.  She looked around.  The doeskin
shirt and the burgundy skirt were folded neatly and draped over the back of
a chair at the desk in the room.  Her suitcase was sitting on the seat of
that chair.  The purple boots were standing beside the chair.

   Bobby Dalton had obviously undressed her the night before.

   Her mind flashed to the part of her body that she assumed had been
violated.  She felt nothing there.  Unbelieving, her hand went between her
legs, to feel and press.

   Nothing.

   She'd been sore the morning after giving up her virginity.  She hadn't
had sex since then, but she was sure, somehow, that if she had, she'd know.
Now, feeling nothing, she wasn't so sure any more.

   She got up and opened her suitcase.  Everything was just as she'd packed
it.  She pulled out clothes and pulled them on, happier to be in her own
panties and bra, and her own shirt and jeans.  She put on tennis shoes and
left the room.

   She followed her nose to the kitchen, to see Bobby standing at the
stove, pancakes on a big cast iron skillet.  He looked over his shoulder.

   "Good.  Right on time.  Breakfast is almost ready."

   "I was naked!" she almost yelled.

   "No you weren't," he said calmly.  "I left your panties on."

   "But you took everything else off!" she complained.

   "It wouldn't have been comfortable sleeping in clothing," he said. 
"Anyway, the shirt was already mostly off when I got done with you, and it
seemed silly to leave the skirt on.  How do you feel?"

   He was so calm about it that she was taken aback.  He was acting like it
was completely normal for him to undress a woman and leave her in her bed
after running his hands all over her.  It was so odd that her breath caught
in her throat.

   "What did you do to me?" she finally asked.

   "I gave you a massage.  How do you feel?"

   She thought about that for a few seconds.  She felt great.  There was no
doubt about that.

   "Better." It was all she could let him hear.

   "Good.  Hungry?"

   She thought about that too.  She WAS hungry.  In fact, she was starving.

   "I could eat something." It was all she could admit to him.

   "You want syrup or jam?  We have some peanut butter too."

   "Peanut butter on pancakes?" She was astonished.

   "Several of my sisters won't eat pancakes without it," he said. 
"There's no accounting for taste."

   "Syrup is fine," she said.  It occurred to her that she was having
trouble staying outraged.

   He went through the "Milk or juice or both" question, and put butter on
the table and then sat a plate of steaming pancakes in front of a chair. 
She was still standing in the open doorway of the kitchen.

   "Eat 'em while they're hot," he said.  "Looks like Mamma and the girls
stayed over at Prudence's."

   She sat, thinking about how she'd been there all night ...  alone ... 
with him in the house.  He'd obviously seen her naked.  Almost naked, she
admitted to herself grudgingly.  Apparently nothing else had happened.  She
couldn't get her brain to process that.  He hadn't molested her.  She
didn't THINK he had molested her.  She remembered what HE looked like
naked, standing there in that window.  Then, for some reason, Christy's
picture came to her mind.  He'd seen Christy naked too ...  when he took
that picture.

   Her stomach growled.  She gave up trying to figure Bobby Dalton out and
went to sit down.  The pancakes were delicious.  Eggs appeared and she ate
them too.  Finally, realizing she had eaten to much, she pushed the plate
away from her.  Bobby was sitting across the table, eating one pancake, and
drinking a cup of coffee.

   "Can I get a cup of that?" she asked.

   He waved at the counter and she saw the coffee pot on the stove.

   Now that she was full she could think again.  As she got coffee she
tried to remember how he'd looked at her when she came into the kitchen. 
As far as she could tell, it wasn't any differently than any other time
he'd looked at her.  She sat back down with the coffee and stared at him.

   He looked up.

   "What?"

   "Nothing," she said.  He wasn't looking at her breasts.  He'd seen them
naked last night, but he wasn't looking at them now.  She didn't understand
that.

   "Whatever it is, just get it off your chest," he said.

   She suddenly wanted to giggle.  Here she was thinking about him looking
at her chest, and he said that.  He hadn't looked at her chest when he'd
used the word, either.

   "You're very strange," she said suddenly.

   "Really?  How so?"

   "You saw me naked."

   "OK.  I've seen a lot of women naked.  How does that make me strange?"

   He sounded so matter-of-fact about it.  It made her think that he had,
in fact, seen a lot of women naked.  With any other man she'd have thought
he was bragging, but it wasn't that way with this one.

   "Only one other man has ever seen me like that," she said.

   "Oh."

   Oh?  Just "Oh"?  She felt irked that all she rated was an "Oh.".

   "Sorry," he added.  "If I'd have known it would bother you so much, I
wouldn't have done that." He took another bite, chewed and swallowed. 
"Like I said, the shirt was already falling off of you, and you looked kind
of silly in just the skirt.  I didn't think it would bother you, what with
men looking at you all the time when you perform."

   "I don't perform naked," she said, her voice measured.

   "Well you were close last night." He grinned.  "I knew you were wearing
Betty's panties after the second song."

   Oddly, instead of feeling upset that he had seen them, what took
priority in Misty's mind was how he had known they were Betty's panties. 
She hadn't known whose they were when she put them on.  How did he?

   "You promised not to molest me," she complained.

   "I didn't molest you," he said with a sigh.  "I was only trying to make
you more comfortable."

   "I suppose now you'll tell me you closed your eyes while you did it,"
she snorted.

   "Not at all," he said.  "You're a good looking woman.  And," he grinned
again, "I am, after all, a man."

   His picture popped into her mind again ...  with all those muscles ...
and that long, thick penis.  She closed her eyes, trying to will that out
of her mind.  It didn't work.

   "Tell you what," he said.  "I won't tell anybody I saw you in next to
nothing, if you don't say anything about it either."

   Her eyes popped open, her mind clear of his image at last.

   "Of COURSE I won't say anything!" she blurted.

   "OK, then, problem solved."

   ====================================

   She sat and watched him clean up the kitchen.  He washed the dishes and
didn't ask her to help.  He didn't say anything else and she was left with
her thoughts.  Looking at his back, she had an errant thought, wondering
what he looked like from the back ...  naked.  She blushed and looked away.

   "What are we doing today?" she asked, trying to fill the silence.

   "Well, I suppose that's up to you," he answered.  "I'm just your
driver."

   "And my masseur," she thought to herself.  "And the man who kept you
from being raped after the concert," her mind added.  That was followed by
"And the man who just served you a wonderful breakfast and didn't assume
you'd clean up the mess." She was figuratively batting at all the other
"ands" that kept following, one after another, as she remembered things
this man had done for her to make her stay a little more successful after
the initial failure of practically everything.  She didn't want to feel
beholden to this man.  She didn't want to like him.  Most of all ...  she
wished she could stop thinking about him naked.

   "I'm going for a walk!" she almost yelped, standing up.

   "OK," was the only response she got.

   ===================================

   Misty did a lot of thinking on that walk.  She spent most of it thinking
about Bobby Dalton.  She needed to put him in some kind of category,
because that was what she was used to doing.  She didn't like feeling a lot
of the things she had felt since meeting him, and "deciding" what kind of
man he was seemed like it would make him easier to deal with in the future.
Eventually she decided that she had met one of the men her mother would
have termed "a gentleman".  There were a number of things that seemed to
conflict with that assessment, but by the time she turned back, he was
characterized in that way ...  primarily ...  in her mind.

   Mirriam and the girls were back when she returned from her walk.  After
the initial "YOU WERE SO FANTASTIC" comments were gotten through, things
calmed down and life got back to normal.  Mirriam started laundry, and the
twins went outside to do "chores", whatever that meant.  Bobby was reading
a book in the living room, and Misty just naturally gravitated toward
Mirriam, just to have someone to talk to, if nothing else.

   "Do you have anything that needs washing?" asked the woman.

   "Just the things you loaned me," said Misty, thinking that the doeskin
shirt and the skirt would need to be dry cleaned.  "Thank you for that.  It
turns out I got some of my pictures done in that outfit."

   "I saw that last night." Mirriam smiled.  "Suzie will just die when I
tell her her jeans have been immortalized with you in them."

   "She's another one of your daughters?" asked Misty.

   "Yes, she's off at college, becoming a doctor."

   That led to a recitation of what the other daughters were doing, and
turned into a general reminiscing about things from both women's point of
view.  At one point Bobby poked his head in at them.

   "If you don't need anything, I'm going to take a nap," he said.

   Both women thought he was talking to them, and both waved him on.

   "Is he treating you more respectfully?" asked Mirriam.

   "Yes," said Misty, automatically.  "He's actually been quite a
gentleman."

   Something like relief seemed to flicker across Mirriam's face.  Misty
just naturally assumed that was because Mirriam didn't want to be
embarrassed by her son's behavior to a "famous" singing star.

   "Can I ask you a question?" It came out before Misty realized she'd said
it.

   "Of course," said the older woman.

   Mirriam seemed so friendly ...  so much like family ...  that Misty went
ahead.

   "Does Bobby have a girlfriend?"

   The look that flickered on Mirriam's face now was anything but relief.
Something guarded settled into her eyes.

   "Has he done something to make you uncomfortable?"

   "No!" said Misty, again automatically.  Again, she felt so comfortable
with Mirriam that she said more than she intended.  "I mean he gave me a
massage last night, but he was a gentleman about it, mostly."

   She hadn't planned on saying "mostly" either, and almost groaned.

   "Mostly?" Mirriam's eyes narrowed.

   "It was nothing," insisted Misty.  "I was exhausted, and I guess I fell
asleep while he was doing it.  He just made me more comfortable.  That's
all."

   "More comfortable?" Mirriam frowned.

   "Well, he sort of undressed me when he was done ...  I guess."

   "I'll speak to him immediately," said Mirriam, her voice heavy with
concern.

   "No!" Misty felt something like panic.  He hadn't really done anything
to her.  She didn't want things to get unsettled again.  "He didn't do
anything.  I was just surprised.  That's all.  Please don't say anything to
him.  It was nothing.  I was just surprised.  Really."

   "He had no business doing that," said Mirriam, heavily.  "You are a
guest in our home, and I'll not have him acting like that.  Not with you!"

   What stood out from that sentence to Misty was "Not with you!".  It was
almost as if he'd done something like this before, and that his mother knew
about it.  But he wasn't some pervert.  Somehow she was convinced of that.
He hadn't done anything to her other than the massage.  He could have ...
but he hadn't.  Mirriam stood, and Misty's hand went out to grab her wrist.

   "Please," she said, her voice urgent.  "We talked about it.  He didn't
do anything wrong.  Not really.  All he did was try to make me more
comfortable.  I slept like a baby.  He fed me breakfast, and I went for a
walk.  That's all that happened.  Don't say anything to him.  I shouldn't
have mentioned it."

   Mirriam's face twisted a little, and then relaxed.  She sat back down
and leaned toward Misty.

   "It's just that Bobby has a way with women," she explained.  "He's a
good man, but women sometimes lose their heads around him.  I don't want
you to leave here thinking badly of us.  He doesn't do it on purpose.  He's
just being Bobby, but he needs to think about that sometimes, and he
doesn't."

   Misty thought of the women she'd seen hugging him ...  kissing him ...
even holding his hand.  That all made so much more sense after what Mirriam
had just explained.  This mysterious power he had over women didn't make
any sense, but it did explain why so many different women seemed to be
attracted to him so strongly.  She thought about how good he was with
children.  THAT would make most women like him, especially their mothers.
And she, herself, was halfway attracted to him too.  She could admit that
now.  She could blame it on his "way" with women.

   "I'll be fine," said Misty, squeezing Mirriam's hand.  "He was a perfect
gentleman with me.  We got off to a rough start, but we're getting along
much better now."

   Mirriam didn't say what she was thinking at the moment.  If she had, it
would have come out "That's what worries me, young lady ...  that's what
worries me."

   ====================================

   After lunch Misty had Bobby take her to town, where she arranged to have
Felicity's clothing dry cleaned.  The girl behind the counter recognized
her.

   "I was at the concert last night!" she said, with awe in her voice. 
"You were fantastic!"

   "Thank you so much," cooed Misty.  "I'm glad you liked it." She handed
the girl the doeskin shirt and the skirt.

   "This is what you were wearing!" said the girl, almost giggling with the
emotion of holding the clothing.

   "Yes, I borrowed it from Felicity Chumley," said Misty.  "I need to get
it cleaned so I can take it back to her."

   "I'll do that for you!" said the excited girl.  "I know where the
Chumley mansion is.  I'll take it back to her for you!"

   "Oh, you don't have to do that," said Misty, smiling.

   "Could I have your autograph?" asked the girl, leaning forward.  "The
pictures were all gone when I got there, but I'd sure love to have your
autograph."

   Misty turned to Bobby.

   "They're making more, right?"

   He nodded.  "They've probably been up all night, if Amanda got her way."

   She turned back to the girl.

   "Tell you what.  If you take care of that for me, I'll get you an
autographed picture, OK?"

   "Sure!" said the excited girl.  "You bet!"

   That led to another trip to Christy's.  Again, they went in without
knocking.  Christy came out of the dark room, looking haggard.

   "Oh, it's you," she said.  She smiled weakly.  "I didn't mean that the
way it sounded.  We've been up most of the night.  You're making me a ton
of money, but we're going to have to take a couple of days off when it's
all over."

   "We're just here to pick up anything you have ready," said Bobby.

   "Somebody already came and got two more cases," said Christy.  "I think
it was somebody from the radio station.  We've been making more, though."

   "We just need a handful," said Bobby.  "We're running into people who
didn't get one and she needs a few on hand for that kind of thing."

   "OK.  I'll get you some fresh out of the dryer."

   When she returned with them, she handed them to Bobby.  "Stop by Renee's
if you can.  We had to leave the kids there all night.  They're probably
getting fussy by now.  You can always calm them down.  Tell Renee thanks
for us, OK?"

   =================================

   After a half hour stop at the child care center, which revealed Steven
and Jillian were happily playing with other children, and stopped only to
give Uncle Bobby hugs and kisses, they went on to Hutchinson.  Her band was
already there.  They were jamming together on the stage.

   Misty grabbed her guitar and told them not to stop.

   "I'll just warm up while you guys do your thing," she said.  "Mind if I
jam with you?"

   It turned out that the four played together sometimes, for weddings, or
parties in town, and that Jasper had written some of his own tunes.  All
this was pointed out by Janie, while Jasper flushed, either from
embarrassment, or pride - it wasn't clear which, to Bobby.

   That changed when Misty heard a couple of his songs and pronounced them
perfectly fine.  When she suggested that they add them to the program that
night, Jasper almost had a stroke, but the others were enthusiastic about
it.  As Misty began to learn the music Bobby, waved and wandered off to
explore the festival grounds.

   Chapter Nine

   The concert Saturday night went as well, if not better than the one the
previous night.  Misty saw a lot of faces in the crowd that she had seen
the night before, waving photographs in her face and seeking autographs. 
The fact that they were hearing the same music didn't seem to bother them.

   After a set of five uninterrupted songs, Misty announced that they were
going to play a home-grown song and introduced Jasper.  She went through
the rest of the band, too, something she had forgotten to do the night
before.  The audience loved it, and they clapped and shouted just as hard
for Jasper's song as they had for her own compositions.  That didn't bother
her at all.  She just turned around and grinned at the blushing bass player
and had him take a bow.

   Autographs after the concert were more organized.  Amanda had seen what
happened the previous night, and had people on hand to handle the crowd of
admirers.  Still, there were hundreds of pictures to sign, and it took over
an hour before the line dwindled.  Amanda asked Misty if she wanted to go
out for a late bite and, feeling better tonight, she agreed.  That turned
into something a bit comical, as all the people who Amanda had hired
decided they were invited too and followed.  Initially, the manager of the
restaurant threw up his hands when twenty people walked in the door and
asked to be seated together.  Money went from Amanda's hand to his, though,
and they were given a private room.  Employees scurried around getting the
tables set while people relaxed into seats and were introduced to the star.


   Misty noticed that Bobby sat at the other end of the room, and then
wondered why she'd noticed that.  He was chatting with the people near him,
who seemed to know him.  They turned out to be employees of the radio
station Amanda ran, when it got to their introductions.

   "This has been fabulously successful," Amanda said after she finished
the introductions.  "I couldn't be happier at having you here.  This will
be a festival a lot of people will remember."

   It took a while for the unexpected large group to place their orders
and, by the time they left, it was very late.  Bobby was still talking to
people when Misty sidled up beside him and stuck her arm through his.

   "We need to go," she said softly.

   "OK," he said simply, bending his arm so she could hold on.  He seemed
to take in strid, the fact that she had her arm in his.  She had ridden to
the restaurant with Amanda, and let him lead her to the truck.  He put her
in her side and then went around.  Once they were going she spoke.

   "You know, I saw your car at the farm.  But every time you take me
anywhere, you use still this old truck."

   She saw him grin in the passing light of a street lamp.

   "At first I did it just to needle you," he admitted.  "Now it just seems
like the kind of vehicle people would expect you to be in.  You know ... 
country songs and pickups?"

   "You're the last person I would have thought would stereotype me," she
said, but there wasn't any discontent in her voice.

   "Contrary to popular opinion, I'm not perfect," he quipped.

   "So ...  are you going to give me another massage tonight?" Her voice
was lower than it had been.

   "Do you need one?"

   "Probably," she hedged.  In truth, she felt much better.  She still
remembered the feel of his hands on her, though, and that was a pleasant
memory, all things considered.

   "We'll see," he said.

   She didn't know what that meant until they got back to the farm.  It
wasn't dark this night.  Mirriam and the twins were still up, though little
Theodore was already in bed.  Mirriam seemed nervous, somehow, and the
twins seemed excited for some reason that had nothing to do with Misty.

   It was almost as if they had been waiting for them to get there. 
Suddenly everyone announced it was bedtime, and Misty got the impression
that, if she'd have said she wanted to stay up, she would have been told to
go to bed anyway.  She didn't want to stay up, though, and when Mirriam
said "Bobby, I need a word with you please," she went on to her room.  It
looked like there would be no massage that night.

   She wondered why that seemed like such a loss, all of a sudden.

   ================================

   "What's up, Mamma?" asked Bobby as Mirriam waited until everyone was
gone.

   "I need you tonight," was all she said.  Then she turned and walked
toward her bedroom, as if she just expected him to follow her.

   He did.

   ================================

   Bobby was surprised that she'd want him, with a stranger in the house.
She didn't know that the twins knew about them.  The twins didn't let on
that they knew Bobby occasionally stayed a long time in their mother's
bedroom.  But he knew she was still rather circumspect about having him
spend too much time in there.

   On this night, though, she was intent on keeping Bobby out of what she
thought of as "trouble".  Misty was a beautiful woman, and she'd displayed
the same kind of interest in Bobby that too many other women had displayed
in the past.  Mirriam had no trouble building up desire to spend time with
Bobby in bed.  She was used to her desires now.  She just helped them along
a bit so that he wouldn't be tempted to do whatever it was he did to women
...  at least not insofar as doing it to their guest.

   An hour later Mirriam lay weak from a succession of orgasms as Bobby
stood up and put his clothes back on.  His copious spend was dripping from
her pussy, and she closed it off with two fingers, not wanting to get up,
but also not wanting a wet spot in the bed.

   "Good night Darling," she sighed.

   "Night," he said, leaning over to kiss her one more time.  "I love you,
and I love doing this with you."

   "I know," she sighed.  "I love it too.  I'll make you a special
breakfast in the morning."

   "OK."

   Then he was gone, quietly leaving.  She was almost asleep by the time
the door clicked shut.

   ====================================

   If there hadn't been light coming from under the door to Misty's room,
Mirriam's plan to protect her guest might have worked.  But after getting
ready for bed, Misty realized she wasn't as tired, this night, as she had
been the night before, and a book on the night stand had caught her
attention.  It wasn't the kind of thing she usually read.  It was by an
author she'd never heard of before, a man named Isaac Asimov, and it had
the strange title of "I Robot".  It turned out to be a series of short
stories, and she had read the first one just out of curiosity.  She was on
the fifth, completely enthralled by the exploits of Powell and Donovan and
with the way Susan Calvin thought about things, when there was a tap on her
door.

   "Yes?"

   The door opened, and Bobby stuck his head in.

   "You still need that massage?"

   "I'm in my nightgown," she said needlessly.  She was lying on top of the
covers.

   "I see that."

   Misty closed the book.  She had been reading "Liar" and wished Herbie,
the mind-reading robot in the story, was there so it could tell her what
Bobby was thinking.

   "Why do you want to give me a massage?" she asked.

   "I don't want to give you a massage, necessarily," he said.  "But if you
need one, I'd be happy to do it."

   Something ...  perhaps the woman in her ...  was a little disgruntled by
his casual attitude.  Like most women, she wanted men to be intoxicated
with her ...  on her terms anyway.  Bobby's take-it-or-leave-it attitude
miffed her a little.  The fact that he'd seen her naked last night and had
NOT molested her miffed her a little for much the same reason, though she
didn't consciously think about it that way.  He was so attentive to other
women.  Their attitudes toward him made it obvious that he had the
capability to make a woman happy.  His mother had even said he "had a way"
with women.  Now, though she didn't think about it on a conscious level,
the stories she had just read about what made robots tick made her curious
about what made Bobby tick.

   "Will you behave yourself?" she asked, thinking about the first law of
robotics: A robot may not injure a human being or, through inaction, allow
a human being to come to harm.

   "Of course," said the man who wasn't a robot.

   "Will you do what I tell you to?" she asked, thinking about the second
law of robotics: A robot must obey orders given to it by human beings,
except where such orders would conflict with the First Law.

   "Within reason," said the man with a real brain, instead of a positronic
one.

   "I won't take off my nightgown," she said.

   "Your call," he responded.

   "OK, then," she said, somehow feeling as if things had been decided, and
she was perfectly safe and in control.

   She flipped over onto her stomach, and lay her head on her arms, getting
into a comfortable position.  She felt the bed move as he sat beside her,
and it tilted toward him a little, making her list slightly to one side. 
His hands came down on her back first and she was almost surprised to feel
herself pressed down into the bed as his hands slid across her shoulder
blades and up to the skin between her shoulders and neck.  He squeezed and
she groaned as she felt the sweet pain of his fingers kneading her muscles.

   In fact, the casual voyeur would have heard what sounded like a torture
session going on, if Misty's groans and moans had been the primary input to
the voyeur's senses.  Bobby pulled and pushed and moved her joints around
as she got more and more relaxed.  He moved down her body, like he had the
night before and, like had happened the night before, when he got to her
buttocks, and began mauling them, she was so relaxed that she didn't say a
word.

   Her nightgown only went to her knees and, when his hands slipped off
that onto her legs, she was astounded by how different his hands felt on
her bare skin.  She felt the warmth first, and then the roughness of his
hands, which somehow scraped her skin in a way that felt delicious.  When
he'd done her feet, and was working his way back up, his hands slid under
her nightgown to the back of her thighs.

   "You're being naughty," she murmured.

   "No I'm not," he said softly.  "I'm giving you a massage."

   She tensed a little when his hands slid up to her butt cheeks.

   "Now you're being naughty," she rasped.

   "Not at all," he argued.

   She couldn't believe how good his hands felt on her butt, moving the
skin around and squeezing her.  By and large, people touch and scratch
themselves on most parts of their bodies ...  except the buttocks.  We sit
on them, but we don't touch them much.  Misty found out just how good it
can feel for that area of the body to be touched.

   His hands got to the small of her back before the nightgown got so tight
on his wrists that he could go no farther.  Her butt felt so warm and alive
that she didn't realize it was exposed to his gaze.

   "You have a cute butt," he said casually.

   "You're not supposed to be looking at my butt," she muttered.

   "Why not?"

   "Cause it's my butt!"

   "Which is precisely why I'm interested in looking at it," he countered.
"There are thousands of men right here in central Kansas who wish they
could be looking at what I'm looking at right now."

   "NOW you're being naughty!" she groaned, as he pressed hard and his
rough hands scraped down to her waist.

   "Yeah, I guess so," he sighed.

   He pulled his hands out from inside her nightgown and started working
her back again.  The feel was completely different.  It felt good, but with
cloth between his hands and her skin, it was a totally different sensation.

   "If I took my nightgown off, would you behave?" she asked.

   "I'd try really hard."

   "You have to promise to behave," she groaned as he pressed hard with the
flat of his hands, pushing her into the bed and making it hard for her to
draw a breath.

   "OK, I'll behave.  I promise."

   The pressure vanished and she looked back over her shoulder.

   "Did you promise that just so you can see me naked again?"

   "I promised because you asked me to."

   Somehow, that was enough.  She reached down and tried to pull her
nightgown up, without getting up off the bed.  She struggled with it until
he said: "Here, let me help."

   She did a half pushup, to lift her chest off the bed, and felt his
fingers pushing the cloth of the nightgown up.  His fingers were positioned
on her sides, and she jerked slightly as the pressure slid up her sides and
tickled her.  His fingertips brushed the sides of her breasts and she
plopped back down.  She raised her head and arms to let him slide the cloth
off her body.  She suddenly felt very vulnerable.  At least last night she
had been wearing panties.

   "Remember, you promisssuuuuuhhhhhhhhh" Her warning turned into a groan
of satisfaction as his warm hands pressed her into the bed again and moved
from the middle of her back to the sides.  Again, she couldn't breathe.

   His hands seemed to be able to cover every inch of her back, somehow,
and his strong fingers dug into the muscles of her shoulders and neck.

   Within five minutes she was as limp as a wet noodle.

   He went down her body again, and then back up.  He didn't seem to be in
a hurry, and she loved how he was making her feel so much that she didn't
want him to stop.  When he finally got to the back of her head, and started
massaging her scalp, her neck muscles didn't fight him as he rolled her
head from side to side.

   "You want me to do the front?" he asked.  His mouth was so close to her
ear that she felt his breath on her skin.

   "Of course not," she sighed.

   "OK."

   The magic hands disappeared, leaving her feeling alone and naked.  That
wasn't so odd, really.  She was, for all intents and purposes ...  alone
and naked.

   "Do you have to stop?" she complained.

   "I've done your back three times," he said, mirth in his voice.

   "You just want to see my boobs."

   "They're good looking boobs," he said amiably.

   Again, she looked over her shoulder at him.  He was just sitting there,
like a robot, waiting to do her bidding.  His fingers hadn't strayed to
areas that she would have objected to.  He hadn't done anything but make
her feel wonderful.

   "I'm not a slut," she said.  She felt stupid as soon as it was out of
her mouth, and she was almost shocked to see something flicker across his
face that looked almost like disgust.

   "Of course you're not," he said softly.  "If I've said anything to make
you think that's my impression of you, I'm very sorry."

   He stood up suddenly and as his weight left the bed she rocked back to
her left a little.  She didn't want him to leave.  She didn't understand
why she didn't want him to leave, but it was there, in the front of her
mind.

   "Don't leave!" she said suddenly, rolling slightly to take her weight on
her left elbow.  Her right breast was suddenly off the bed, though her
right arm prevented him from seeing it.

   He stared down at her.

   "What do you want?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

   "I don't know," she answered truthfully.  At that moment, she had no
idea what she wanted from this man.  She wasn't sure she wanted anything,
except for him to stay.

   "You probably need to figure that out," he said, smiling.

   The tension suddenly evaporated.  He wasn't trying to get her to do
anything, really.  Her mind grappled with that.  The men she was familiar
with were always trying to get her to DO something.  They wanted her to
sing this way, or move that way.  They wanted her to wear this, or make the
music sound like that.  They told her how to do her hair, and how to close
her eyes at this or that part of a song, to make it look like she was full
of emotion.  Her mind flickered back to the story she'd read about Robbie
the robot, who only wanted to do for young Gloria what she needed him to do
to make her life better.  Bobby was standing there, waiting for her to tell
him what to do, instead of trying to get her to do something for him.

   "I've never done this before," she said, rolling to land, tensely on her
back.  Her hands automatically went to cover her breasts.

   His eyes stayed on her face, and she felt the conflicting mixture of
both relief that he wasn't ogling her body and impatience with him for not
recognizing her feminine attributes.

   "I'm honored," he said simply.

   He sat down on the edge of the bed again and she flinched a little.  He
didn't make her move her hands.  Instead, he reached for her face.  He used
his thumbs to move the skin around on her cheeks and forehead and his other
fingers to pull at her jaw.  She realized her teeth were clamped together,
and relaxed her facial muscles.

   He suddenly leaned over and kissed her forehead, like she was a little
girl or something.  His chin scraped her nose and she felt the whiskers
that had grown there since he shaved that morning.  He sat back up and his
hands flowed down the sides of her face to her neck and then to the muscles
between her neck and shoulders, to grip there and knead.  He took her right
arm and laid it across his lap, working it from the shoulder to the
fingers. She watched his eyes as he worked on her arm, but all they did was
look at whatever area he was working on.  He left her arm draped across his
lap and twisted to reach the other one.

   Now her breasts were exposed.  What she noticed, though, was that he
couldn't get to her left arm as well as he had the one that was on the same
side of her body as he was.  It still felt good, but it was just awkward
somehow.  Again, his eyes went to his hands, even though her breasts were
exposed.

   He dropped the arm and his hands covered her breasts so suddenly that
she gasped.  He pressed, rather than fondled, and moved her breast flesh
all over her chest in big circles, stretching the underlying tissues in a
way that was anything but sexual.

   "Relax," he chided.  "I'm not going to molest you."

   "I know," she whispered.

   Somehow - she couldn't have explained it - she knew that he WASN'T going
to molest her.  She was letting a man be more intimate with her than almost
any other man had ever been, but it was a different kind of intimacy.  No
man had, in fact, ever touched her breasts this much, for this long. 
Oddly, while she felt a tingle in her belly, and while her nipples woke up
and looked around, figuratively speaking, she didn't feel like what was
happening was sexual at all.

   That changed when his hands left her breasts to explore her ribs.  It
didn't tickle.  His touch was too firm for that.  His fingers on her rib
cage made her wish she could take a breath that would separate her ribs by
inches, so that his fingers could surround each one and stroke it.  When
his hands moved to her belly, she felt an explosion of heat inside and was
suddenly as horny as she'd ever been in her life.  His fingertips, moving
over her abdomen, just grazing the top of her pubic hair, made her feel
like spreading her legs.

   Alarm bells rang in her brain and she clamped her legs closed instead.

   She expected his fingers to move between her legs.  She was forming the
word "STOP!" in her throat when he twisted so that his back was to her face
and his hands slid down to her hips.  His left hand crossed over her pubic
mound so quickly, to join his right on her right hip that it was over
before she could open her mouth.  His fingers dug into the flesh of her hip
and his right hand pulled at her knee to make it cross over her body.

   All she could think of was that, instead of trying to get to her most
secret place, he had covered it up with her thigh.

   He worked the hip joint until she relaxed, stroking and digging into her
thigh muscles and then moved to the knee to gently maneuver it.  He pulled
her lower leg onto his lap, like he had her arm.  It stretched her hip
muscles deliciously and she loved the pressure of his fingers on her calf
muscles.  He'd already done her foot, while she was lying on her stomach,
but he did it again, pulling each toe and rubbing between them until she
moaned with delight.

   This time it was the leg nearest him that was awkward to reach, and he
stood up to work on it.  When he put her right leg back, it landed in such
a way that her feet were a foot apart.  His face was right over the
juncture of her legs, and she knew her pussy was exposed, but if felt like
it would take entirely too much energy to move her leg.

   He picked up her left leg anyway, which exposed her even more, until he
pushed it across her body, and covered up her pussy, like he had before. 
This time he went around the bed and worked on that leg like he had the
other, stretching her hip muscles with delicious pain while he worked on
her thigh, calf and foot.

   When he was done he let that leg flop back onto the bed.  Now she was
lying with her hands at her sides, her legs slightly spread, completely
open to his gaze.  He stood at the foot of the bed, looking up her body. 
Her eyes watched as his took in every inch of her.  His eyes seemed to
glitter as they slowly made their way up her body.  She felt the sudden
thrill of knowing that now ...  right now ...  he was a man.  The robot was
gone.  This was a man looking at a woman now, and she saw the appreciation
in his eyes.  The heat in her belly expanded and with something like horror
she realized she was getting wet.  Now it wasn't a matter of not wanting to
move.  Right now she was powerless to move, caught in his gaze like a bird
caught by the sinuous movements of the snake's head before it strikes.

   "You're really beautiful," he said softly, his voice confirming what she
had seen so clearly in his eyes.

   She couldn't speak either.  She realized, quite suddenly that she had
made a terrible mistake.  This man could do anything he wanted with her
right now, and she would be powerless to resist.  Her body had erupted into
a state she was familiar with.  In the past, when she felt like this, she
used her fingers between her legs to get the relief her body demanded.  Her
mind went back to the picture of him standing in that window, naked, half
hard, a man looking for a woman to mate with.

   With feelings she couldn't understand, or even argue with, she knew she
was that woman.

   He moved from the foot of the bed to her side.  Her eyes went to the
front of his jeans, which were pushed out in a way that made it completely
clear he was erect inside those jeans.

   He leaned over, his head directly above hers.  She was gazing into eyes
so startlingly blue that she couldn't believe she hadn't noticed that
before.  She took a breath to plead for mercy and, without warning, his
lips descended on hers.

   He didn't touch her with anything other than his lips.  His hands came
down on the bed beside her head, and she felt her head dip because of his
weight, but he didn't grab her or maul her.  He simply kissed her.  His
lips were soft, and moved on hers.  He wasn't driving her into the bed.  In
truth, she could probably have turned her head to escape those lips.

   She didn't, though.  As his fingers had brought her pleasure moving her
skin and muscles around, his lips brought her pleasure moving hers around.
She felt the tip of his tongue flick out to lick her upper lip, inside, and
then retreat into his mouth.

   As suddenly as he had kissed her, it was over, and he was standing
beside the bed again.

   "Good night," he said softly.

   He turned and the door was clicking shut before she could make her voice
work.

   Chapter Ten

   Misty lay there, unbelieving.  This wasn't how it was supposed to work!
She had seen the desire in his eyes.  In fact, she had seen the kind of
desire in his eyes that she had always dreamed of seeing in a man's eyes.
It wasn't the raw lust of a horny man.  It had been the look of a man who
sees something rare and precious and wishes he could be part of that.  She
had seen romantic desire in his eyes.

   Her pussy was actually wet after that kiss.  Her hand went between her
legs and she felt the obvious slickness of her own arousal.  He could have
done anything he wanted to.

   But he left.

   Her fingers automatically sought out her clit and rubbed, while she
thought furiously about what his leaving meant.

   His mother had said he "had a way with women".  That was no joke.  With
a shudder, her body gave up a small orgasm that distracted her.  She closed
her eyes and imagined herself to be holding the camera that had taken that
picture.  She imagined herself putting down that camera and walking toward
him.  Her fingers rubbed harder and faster as she imagined his penis
getting longer ...  thicker ...  until it stood out away from his body ...
for her.

   Her next orgasm was a bone crushing one that threatened to undo
everything his fingers had done to relax her.  Every muscle he had touched
seemed to draw up as the ecstasy roared through her and she curled up, her
fingers still digging and pinching her clitty.  She almost cried out with
the passion she felt as she jammed a finger into her slick pussy and
thought of his penis.  Unbelieving, she sensed that if she kept going,
there would be another one of those orgasms.  She'd never gone for more
than one.

   She did now.

   ==================================

   Bobby had been just as affected by her body as Misty had seen in his
eyes.  He had smelled her arousal, and had felt her acceptance in the
return of his kiss, but he had also known she wasn't ready.  Her body was
...  but she was not.

   And so, when he left her room, he went two doors up the hall and slipped
inside that room.  The twins were sleeping, but that didn't last long.  He
woke Betty up with a kiss.

   "What?" she asked sleepily.  "What's wrong?"

   "Nothing," he said, sliding his hand onto her breast.  "Can I get in bed
with you?"

   "About time," she said, moving over.  "It's been two whole nights,
Bobby."

   She was naked, and within a minute he was too.  She lay back, still
sleepy and let him mount her.  He got her ready by lovingly sucking her
nipples and kissing her lips.

   "What's going on over there?" came another sleepy voice from Matilda's
bed.  "No fair!"

   "You'll get your turn," said Bobby, notching the head of his prick into
Betty's pussy.

   "Ohhhhh yessssss," she moaned as he slid deep, prodding her cervix. 
"Ohhh Bobby I've missed this so much."

   He rocked in her and she got louder and louder until he silenced her
with a long kiss while she had a writhing orgasm under him.  He rubbed her
clitty with the base of his prick a little longer, and then pulled out.

   "Not yet!" she complained.  "Can't you go a little longer?"

   "I'm really horny," he whispered.  "You made me even hornier, and I
don't want to spurt and go all soft on Matilda."

   "OK," sighed Betty, pulling his face down for a last kiss.  "But you owe
me."

   "Right." He grinned in the darkness and then got up and padded over to
Matilda's bed.  She was naked too, waiting for him.  He didn't have to get
her ready.  She'd taken care of that.  Like her sister, she wanted him on
top this night and she arched her hips up at him as he impaled her.

   "I want at least three," she whispered, jerking her hips, trying to
speed up the first one.

   "You'll take what I give you or I'll stop now and go back to Betty," he
warned, grinning, even though she couldn't see his face.

   "Don't be mean!" she whispered.  "You know how much we need you, and you
go off and give it to other women.  You should love us more than them."

   "How do you measure love?" he asked, powering into her and rubbing. 
"Like this?"

   "You're doing fine," she panted.  "Just keep measuring."

   She did get two of her three orgasms, but he was too excited, and
stiffened before she could get number three.  He groaned and felt the
soothing jets of semen ease the ache in both his prick and his balls.

   "I love it when you squirt in me," panted Matilda.

   "I love squirting in you, baby," he panted back.

   ==================================

   Misty woke.  She was warm and comfortable.  She had dim memories of
waking up, naked and cold, and rolling and thrashing to get covers over
her. Then, finally warm, she had gone back to sleep.

   Now, though, she was awake, with that kind of alertness that tells the
sleeper that the time for sleep is past and will not return again ... 
maybe ever.  It never lasts, but those mornings just require that you get
up and do something.  Lying abed is simply not an option.

   She got up and saw her reflection in the big mirror fastened to the
chest of drawers on one wall.  She stopped, looking at her image as if
she'd never seen herself.  Her hair was a mess, but she didn't concentrate
on that.  She looked at her breasts.  A man's hands had mauled them last
night, but they didn't look any different at all.  They still had their
perky pink nipples.  They were still round, as if someone had slid half a
grapefruit under her skin on each side.

   Her eyes dipped to the honey-blond hair between her legs.  He hadn't
touched her there.  After he'd left she had wished he had.  She remembered
that now, but it seemed foreign somehow.  She knew that, if he had touched
her, she'd hate him this morning.  She felt bad about that.  He was more
than a gentleman.  She knew she'd have welcomed him last night.  Somehow,
though, HE knew how she'd feel this morning.  She was sure of that.  She'd
seen the desire in his eyes.  As they'd raked up her body they'd paused ...
staring at that honey-blond hair.

   She looked down and bent over, trying to see what he had seen.  There
was a hand mirror on the dresser and, on impulse, she picked it up and
moved it so she could see what it looked like from where he had been
standing.  She stood straddle legged, knees bent, as if frozen in some odd
ballet position.  It was too dark to see and she turned toward the
brilliant light coming in the windows.  The mirror brightened.  Her outer
lips were thicker than she thought they'd be from the feel of them.  Her
inner lips were protruding raggedly, as if someone had tried to tuck them
in, but hadn't done a good job of it.

   She stood and put the mirror back.  This was silly.  She went to her
suitcase and took out clothes.  Putting them on, she wondered if he'd give
her another massage tonight, after the concert.

   "What am I doing?" she thought.  "I don't think about this kind of
thing! What's happened to me?!"

   She ran a comb through her shag cut and closed her suitcase.  It was
quiet when she opened the door.  She had no idea what time it was.  She
couldn't remember where she'd put her watch, but didn't search for it.  She
smelled meat cooking and went to the kitchen.  Mirriam was there.

   "Good morning!" she said, over her shoulder.

   "What time is it?"

   "Ohhhh, I imagine about seven-thirty or so.  It's late.  Everybody was
tired last night."

   Seven-thirty!  Misty rarely got up before nine unless there was a
recording session to go to.  Yet she felt more vibrantly alive than she had
in a long time.

   "I've got ham, with biscuits and gravy," offered Mirriam.

   "That would be fabulous!" said Misty, suddenly ravenous.

   That was another thing.  She was rarely "ravenous".  She ate because it
kept her body fueled.  But on this trip she craved food.  True, most of
what she'd eaten was home cooked, but even the hamburger she'd eaten with
Bobby had been delicious in a thoroughly decadent way.

   She was halfway through her plate when Bobby sauntered into the kitchen.
He was barefoot.  His jeans were faded and soft looking, and he had on a
shirt just like the one Mirriam had loaned to her when she first arrived.
That lock of hair was down on his forehead again, as usual.  He looked at
her and winked.

   She blushed, almost choked on the soft mess in her mouth, and stopped
chewing to get control of herself.  His mother hadn't been kidding.  He DID
have some mysterious power!

   He went to his mother, who was standing at the stove, and hugged her
from behind.  Misty watched as Mirriam's head lolled back onto his shoulder
and he kissed her cheek.  His hands were out of sight, but they seemed too
high to be on her waist, somehow.

   "Stop that!" barked Mirriam.

   "What?" He sounded injured.

   Crying sounded from another part of the house.

   "I'll get him," said Bobby, and left the room.

   He returned with Theodore in his arms, nuzzling the little boy's neck.
The child obviously loved the attention.

   As breakfast progressed, Misty felt more and more like she was home.  It
wasn't anything she could put her finger on.  Bobby sat Theodore in a high
chair and fed him with a tiny spoon.  Mirriam kept cooking.  The twins
showed up, looking fresh and happy and sat down.  There was light chatter,
and the girls said they were going to her concert that night.  They asked a
few questions about what it was like in Nashville, but they weren't as avid
as they had been.

   She thought about the bed and breakfast she was supposed to stay in.  If
it hadn't caught on fire, she'd never had experienced this family.

   "You know what?" she asked suddenly.

   Mirriam turned around.

   "You should open a bed and breakfast in this house."

   Mirriam snorted.

   "I'm serious.  You have made my stay so wonderful.  You took care of me.
I love being here."

   She blinked.  Why had she said that?  She decided it was because she DID
love being here.

   "Really!" she said, feeling excitement.  "I mean it.  I'd pay to stay
here, and I have a lot of friends who would love to get away from it all
and relax in a place like this.  You could make a lot of money Mirriam."

   "I wouldn't know how to run a bed and breakfast," said Mirriam, turning
back to the stove.

   "You already know," said Misty.  "Just be yourself!  All you need to
offer your guests is what you offered me.  A room, good food, and a place
where they feel like they're at home.  That's how I feel."

   Mirriam turned around again.  Her face was smooth and she seemed ready
to smile.

   "Thank you," she said.  "That's the nicest thing anybody's said to me in
a long time."

   "You should think about that," insisted Misty.

   "We could be your maids," said Betty suddenly.

   "You girls already have jobs," said Mirriam.  "You should be thinking
about finding husbands, instead of working at home."

   "Who needs a husband?" snorted Matilda.  "Men are too much trouble if
you ask me.  And just because we work for Renee doesn't mean we couldn't do
a little light work around here.  All it would mean is a little extra
laundry and making breakfast every day.  You should be used to that. 
Besides ...  how are you going to survive if we leave?"

   "I do just fine," said Mirriam.  "There's the rent we get for the land,
and with most of you girls gone, I don't buy nearly as many groceries as I
used to.  It's getting so the hens lay more eggs than we can use!"

   "Well, at least think about it," said Misty.  "Now that I know about
this place, I know I'd like to come here again, to get away from things
when they get too hectic.  I can't do that if you don't open a business."

   Mirriam laughed.  "You're welcome to visit any time you like."

   "Wow!" said Betty.  "Misty Compton wants to stay at our house
sometimes!"

   "I do!" Misty agreed loudly, as if she wasn't sure they believed her.

   "Just give us a call before you show up," said Bobby.  He grinned.  "So
we can stock up the larder.  You eat like a horse!"

   "Bobby!" Mirriam scolded.

   "That's because the food is good, you oaf!" Misty glared at him.  She
couldn't hold the glare when he winked again.

   "What's the matter with your eye?" asked Matilda.

   Bobby flushed.  "Nothing.  I just have a speck in it or something." He
looked back at Misty.  "What's on the agenda today?"

   "Just rehearsal," she said.  "Jasper has more songs.  He writes pretty
good songs.  I may ask him if I can record a few of them."

   "You'd give the poor guy a coronary if you did," said Bobby.  "I need to
see a few people today.  You want to tag along?  I can come back for you
later if you want to be lazy and stay here."

   "Bobby Jordan!" barked Mirriam.  "You mind your manners!"

   "She knows I'm just teasing.  I know she works hard."

   "Well," said Misty.  "You do seem to know the most interesting people. I
might come with you if you'll listen to your mother and mind your manners."

   "I always mind my manners," said Bobby solemnly.

   Four women shrieked with laughter at that.  He took it for thirty
seconds and then got up to go put on shoes, in an attempt to salvage some
of his dignity.

   ====================================

   They stopped at Janet Griswold's house first.  Bobby simply described
her as a friend who was pregnant, and had no man around to help out.  When
she opened the door her face lit up in a way that Misty was slowly becoming
used to when women greeted Bobby Dalton.  She looked to be about six months
along, maybe less.  She was obviously a healthy woman because her pregnancy
looked good on her and she hadn't gained weight anywhere except in her
womb.

   "Just checking in," said Bobby.  "This is Misty Compton.  She's the
latest rage in Nashville on the country scene.  She's doing the concerts at
the festival over in Hutch.

   "Come in!" said Janet.  "It's so nice to meet you.  I read about you in
the paper.  Everybody's in a tizzy about you being here."

   "Thank you!" said Misty, liking the woman immediately.

   Misty got to see Bobby Dalton in his role as a handyman, as he fixed a
lamp that had quit working.  A chair with a loose leg went into the back of
the pickup, with a promise that it would be returned in a day or two.  Then
Janet had to leave for work, and they got back in the truck.

   Next was a neat little house a few blocks away.  The woman who opened
the door was known to Misty.  She'd been at the concert on the first night,
and had helped Bobby restore order in the unruly crowd.

   "I thought you might like to chat with Misty when there weren't a
thousand other people around," said Bobby.  "Is Connie in her room?"

   "As usual," said Prudence.  She ushered Misty into the living room and
sat down.

   Bobby started down a hallway, and then backed up.

   "Help!" he cried in a falsetto voice.  "They're after me!"

   A little boy and girl, about the same age, came running after him,
laughing and yelling.  Bobby "tripped" and fell down.  He became a mountain
for the children to climb on.

   "Ha!" he yelled.  "My plan worked!  GOTCHA!"

   He began making growling noises and pretended to eat the children's
necks as they squealed and yelled to "Mamma" for help.

   "You two know what he's like," said Prudence smiling.  "You got
yourselves into this."

   "Got to get away!" growled Bobby, rolling to his hands and knees.

   That he wasn't really trying to get away was made clear as he paused for
the little boy to climb up on his back.  He had to help the little girl
with a hand under her butt, but then she settled in behind the boy, holding
onto him with her arms around him.

   "Giddyap!" yelled the little boy.

   Bobby crawled back down the hallway he'd started down originally.

   "Twins?" asked Misty.

   "Yes," said a smiling Prudence, watching them disappear.

   "Your grandchildren?"

   Prudence laughed.  "Not hardly.  They're mine.  Three and a half.  Don't
ever trust a man with a soft, silky voice." Her smile seemed not quite so
genuine as she said that.

   "Oh," said Misty.  "I'm sorry.  I thought maybe they were your
daughter's children."

   "No offense," said Prudence.  "I knew what he was doing while he was
doing it to me.  I love them.  I love him too, for that matter, even though
we can't be together.  I had a husband once.  One was enough for me."

   Misty thought briefly on how Prudence was the third woman that morning
to suggest that husbands weren't all that desirable in this part of the
world.  She was also another woman Mirriam's age who had a child ... 
children in this case ...  and wasn't married.  She also thought briefly
about the fact that every woman Bobby seemed to know either had children or
was pregnant.  She was distracted from that thought as Prudence started to
chat.

   ===================================

   Bobby crawled into Constance's room with her brother and sister on his
back, telling him to "Giddyap" over and over again, even though he was
moving steadily.  Constance was reading a book, sitting in an easy chair
she had moved into her room.  She looked up and smiled.

   "What are you doing here?" she asked.

   "I told you I'd see you later."

   Bobby reared like a horse, pawing with his hands, and the children slid
off of him to fall in a heap on his feet.  They got up and tried to make
him get back down, but couldn't.  They kept pushing on him anyway.

   "It's later," he said, on his knees.  "I thought I'd ask you if you want
to hang around with Misty and me today."

   "The singer?"

   "The one and only.  She's staying at our house."

   "I know that." Constance closed the book.  "Is she another one of your
women?"

   "Not yet." Bobby grinned.  "She's a lot like you though, so I doubt I'll
be able to resist her for much longer."

   "Like you ever tried to resist a woman in your life," snorted Constance.

   "I did one time when I was ten," said Bobby seriously.  "I can't
remember her name, but she was hot for me.  I ran away."

   Constance laughed and Bobby felt relief.  She laughed so rarely any
more. He was glad he could get her to do that.

   "How bout it?" he asked.  "We're not doing anything special ...  just
going around and seeing folks."

   "OK," she said, standing up.

   ================================================

   When they got to the truck Misty stood back and let Constance get in
first.  Constance knew him better, and it seemed right for her to sit
closest to him.  They only went a block and Bobby told them to stay in the
truck, and that he'd be right back.  He went up to a house, knocked, and
then opened the door and went in.

   "He does that a lot," said Misty, trying to think of something to talk
to Constance about.  All she knew about the woman was that "she'd had a
rough go" as Bobby had put it.  Misty couldn't imagine what it must be like
to lose your husband that way, and she didn't know what to say.

   "What?" asked Constance.  She felt humbled in the presence of this
vibrant, famous singer, who had made such beautiful music up on that stage,
in front of a thousand people.

   "I've been with him two or three times when he just walked in a house
like he lived there.  At least this time he knocked first."

   "Oh that," said Constance.  "Bobby's kind of special around here.  He's
very welcome in a lot of places."

   "Oh," said Misty.  "I see." That wasn't true, and it was obvious she was
just being polite.

   "That's where Jake and Tilly Johnson live.  Jake got mostly paralyzed in
a mining accident a while back.  Bobby helps out, occasionally."

   "He seems to do that a lot too," said Misty, looking at the house. 
"Helping out, I mean."

   "Bobby's wonderful," said Constance.  "I don't know what I'd have done
if he hadn't come into our lives."

   That seemed awfully mysterious to Misty, but she didn't pry.  Instead,
she opened a conversational salvo with "Granger seems like a nice little
town."

   They'd been chatting, mostly about inconsequential things, when Bobby
reappeared.  A slight woman with brown hair hugged him tightly in the
doorway and kissed him on the cheek.  He waved and ran back to the truck.

   Next was another house, like so many others, a few more blocks across
town.  Again Bobby suggested the women stay there, and that he'd be back
shortly.

   "That's where Rhonda Wilson lives," said Constance, without preamble. 
"She's married to a man, but he never goes anywhere and I don't know
anything about him."

   That seemed like a strange way to describe a family that a handyman
interacted with, but again, Misty didn't pry.

   Next was a tiny little house badly in need of paint.  Constance
announced that Beatrice Swallow lived there, and that she was in her
nineties.

   "She sometimes doesn't know who you are," said Constance.  "Bobby checks
up on her now and then to make sure she's OK."

   "I'm beginning to see why he's so special to folks," said Misty,
thinking about how her mother was home alone, with no one to look in on her
and make sure things were OK.

   "A lot of people love Bobby," said Constance softly.

   "You know," said Misty, smiling.  "I think that's kind of funny, because
when I first met him, I would rather have been aroud just about any other
person on Earth.  I had no use for him at all."

   Constance looked shocked.  "You didn't like him?"

   "We hated each other almost instantly," said Misty.  "I was having a
rough time of things, and I think he decided I was spoiled or something,
because he wasn't any help to me at all."

   "I can't believe that!" gasped Constance.  "I'll speak to him about
that!"

   "No," sighed Misty.  "His mother offered to do the same thing, but it's
not necessary.  We're getting along much better now."

   "That's not like Bobby at all!" insisted Constance.  "He's one of the
nicest men I ever met!"

   "Well, I know he CAN be nice," said Misty, thinking again about last
night, and the look in his eyes, and the fact that he left the room instead
of ravishing her.  "He invited me to come with him today.  That was nice. I
got to meet you.  That's been nice."

   "But you're special!" said Constance.  "He should treat you special!"

   Misty grinned.  "Thank you, but I think one of the things he's taught me
is that I'm just like anybody else.  Oh, I can sing, and people think
that's special, but one of the reasons I think we're getting along better
now is because I've gotten used to him treating me just like anybody else."

   "I think you're special," said Constance softly.  "You make me want to
laugh and cry when you sing."

   Misty hugged her.  "Thank you.  It's people saying things like that that
make me want to keep singing."

   Bobby was coming back to the truck, and he had something in his hands.

   "Cookies," he said, handing a bowl to Constance.  "Lord knows what
they're made of, but I took them anyway."

   "Oatmeal," announced Constance, pulling the lid off the Tupperware bowl.
"They look perfectly fine."

   "Well you try one first," joked Bobby.  "I'll head for the hospital just
in case."

   He drove instead to the gas station and parked by the self serve pump.
As he was standing there, a woman came out carrying a baby and walked over
to him.

   "That's Elizabeth Sinderson," said Constance.  "Her husband owns the
station."

   "What are you doing here?" they heard Bobby call out.

   "Just came to see my man for a while," she said, walking up to him.  She
looked around and then kissed Bobby on the lips, quickly.

   "There are people in the truck, Liz," came Bobby's low voice.

   "Oh!" she said.  Then, as if it didn't really matter, she moved to look
in the window.

   "Hi Connie!" she said gaily, through the glass.

   Misty rolled down the window.

   "I know who you are!" said the woman.  "We're coming to the concert
tonight!"

   Misty reached for one of the pictures on the dash.  She couldn't find
the felt tip pen, though.

   She shrugged and extended the picture to Liz.  "I can't find the pen I
use to sign these or I'd autograph it for you."

   "Oooo we have one in the office, I'm sure!"

   She turned and thrust the baby at Bobby.  Then, when he had the
wriggling little thing, she dashed off to the office.  Misty looked at
Bobby, intending to ask him what had happened to the marker.  She was
suddenly struck by the resemblance of the baby he was holding to ...  him!
The baby had the same wide forehead, and the same lock of black hair that
feel down over that forehead.  Blue eyes looked back at her from the round
little face.

   She was thinking about how much that baby looked like Bobby when Liz
came running back, waving the photograph in one hand, and a marker in the
other.

   "Thank you so much!" she gushed, extending them through the window. 
"Jeff will just die when I show him this."

   "Is he here?" asked Misty, signing the picture.  "I could say Hi to him
too."

   "Oh, he's waist deep in an engine inside, and he's all greasy.  I'll get
him cleaned up and you can wave at him tonight."

   "You two are welcome to come back stage," said Misty, grinning at the
woman's enthusiasm.

   "Could we REALLY?!" The woman looked suddenly faint.  "OK.  OK.  Yes! 
We'd love that!"

   She turned and grabbed the baby from Bobby's hands.

   "Oh!  I have so much to do!  I have to go home!  I have to tell Jeff!"
She turned to Bobby.  "I love you!" Then she turned back to Misty "Thank
you so much!  I have to go!"

   Then she was running across the pavement toward the station office.

   The pump clicked off and Bobby hung it up.  He headed for the office,
pulling out his wallet.

   "Did she just say she loved him?" asked Misty, not quite believing her
ears.

   "I told you," said Constance softly.  "He's special."

   ==================================

   There were a few more stops before they drove back to the farm for
lunch. They always involved women, and in two cases Misty saw him handed a
child to hold while he talked to the woman, or introduced her to Misty.  It
was just taken for granted that Constance was going to eat with them. 
Misty noticed that, at one point, he rested his hand on Constance's thigh,
and she rested her hand on top of his.

   It all seemed very strange to Misty.

   Until she again remembered how she'd felt the night before, with his
hands on her.

   Chapter Eleven

   Bobby took Constance home before driving Misty to Hutchinson.  On the
way she'd felt like moving over to sit next to him, like Constance had. 
She wondered what his hand would feel like, resting negligently on her
thigh.

   It got her worked up for the rehearsal.

   She pried more songs out of Jasper and did ask him if she could play
around with some of his compositions, when she got back to Nashville.  His
Adam's apple bobbed so much that she was afraid Bobby might be right, but
he didn't die.  Instead he handed her a sheaf of paper.  She promised him
he'd get rights to the music, and royalties too, if she recorded it.

   That got the band worked up.

   They broke for supper but, for once, Misty wasn't hungry.  She was too
keyed up.  She sat, sipping a 7-Up in a little barbeque shack, while Bobby
ate pulled pork.  On the way back to the fairgrounds Misty felt jittery. 
The crowd was already loud when they got back.  It was still an hour and
fifteen minutes until showtime.

   Back stage Misty stood in the shadows of the bandstand with Bobby, while
people checked cables, and ran sound checks and did all the things that
make a concert work.  She wasn't nervous about the show, but she still felt
jittery.

   "Do I get another massage tonight?" she asked suddenly.

   Bobby looked at her, his face unreadable.

   "That might not be a good idea."

   "Why not?" she asked.

   "I like you a lot more now than when we first met," he said.

   "Oh." She didn't know what else to say.

   "I didn't really want to leave last night," he added.

   "I see," she said.  Her stomach did flip flops.  She knew it wasn't
stage fright, even though it felt exactly like that.

   Amanda appeared.

   "There you are!  It's almost time."

   "We'll be right there," said Bobby.

   Amanda hurried off.

   "Would you do something for me before I go on?" asked Misty suddenly.

   "Sure ...  what?"

   "Kiss me."

   "Kiss you."

   "Yes, kiss me."

   "What's this all about?" he asked.

   "Will you do it or not?"

   ==================================

   The concert that night could only be described as a blowout success. 
There were more people there than would fit into the area reserved for
spectators.  The seats were full an hour before the concert started.  The
area around them was packed soon after.  People sat or stood on top of cars
in the parking lot, so they could see.

   The kiss she had gotten had almost been a bad idea, as it turned out. 
When Bobby had kissed her, he'd given her the same thing he gave every
other woman he decided to kiss.  She was wearing the tank top, sans bra,
and the very short skirt she had borrowed from Felicity.  She'd decided to
wear that just because Felicity had been kind enough to loan it to her. 
Her own performance clothing was still in the suitcase, back at the farm.
When Bobby kissed her, and her breasts were crushed against his chest, his
hands went under the skirt and cupped her butt cheeks, pulling her up.  She
ended up with her arms around his neck and, a minute later, when he
withdrew the support of his hands, her knees buckled and she almost went
down.

   Never in her entire life had she been kissed like that.

   She wobbled for five feet, with his strong hand gripping her elbow,
before her knees began to work again.  She was still panting as she mounted
the stage and the crowd started a swelling roar that threatened to blow her
back off the stage.  Jasper, Rocky and Lucy stood, waiting, grinning from
ear to ear.  Janie sat hunched on the seat at the keyboard, flushed and
wild-eyed.

   But, when she picked up her guitar, as the announcer said her name,
everything was OK.  The blast of the crowd fed her energy, and she bounded
to the front of the stage to the microphone.

   "HELLO HUTCH!" she screamed into the mike.  "ARE YOU READY TO PARTY?"

   Then she turned, to flash a manic grin at Jasper, stamped her foot four
times, and they were off to the races.

   =====================================

   Bobby stood on the ground behind the bandstand.  Amanda had her arm
around him and was leaning against him.  She had to yell into his ear to be
heard.

   "I wish I'd have thought to have a truckload of her albums shipped out
here," she yelled.  "We could have sold every one of them!"

   "She's good," Bobby yelled back.

   "She's FANTASTIC!" screamed Amanda.

   Later, when Misty asked the crowd to quiet down, so she could sing them
a love song, it was as if she had control of their voices.  She crooned
into the microphone, and there was a hush as all the lights went off except
for the spotlight on her.  She swayed her hips and almost ate the
microphone as she made every man in the audience believe she was singing
only to him.  The women hated her and loved her at the same time.

   Amanda hugged Bobby closer.  She didn't need to yell now.

   "I need you in the worst way right now," she sighed, leaning into him.
"You want to make another baby with me?"

   He squeezed her back.

   "One isn't enough?"

   "She makes me want to have a dozen," said Amanda, reaching up for a
quick kiss.

   "Not in public, Amanda!" growled Rodney, from behind them.

   =========== =========================

   It went long, but nobody cared.  The band wanted to play all night, but
they finally ran out of steam after an extra half hour of concert.  They'd
given it everything they had.

   Oddly, the crowd was also subdued when it was over.  There was an
atmosphere that suggested thoughtfulness, rather than emotion.  Maybe they
were worn out from screaming and clapping too.

   In any case, the lines of people clutching pictures were more sedate. 
People chatted while in line, waiting for their chance to get Misty
Compton's autograph on the picture KDEF had provided free of charge to so
many people.  There would be another thousand listeners to KDEF in the
weeks to come.  Such a little thing, combined with the singer's willingness
to stay and sign her name over and over again, when she was clearly
exhausted, meant a lot to people.

   No one wanted to go out that night.  Everybody was tired.  Two of Lucy's
fingertips were actually bleeding where she had pressed through the
calluses on them because they'd played so long and so hard.  Of them all,
Janie was the most radiant.  At seventeen, she had just done something
she'd remember for the rest of her life, whether she ever got to play in
front of a crowd again, or not.  She'd been terrified all three nights, but
that would never happen again.  People were asking HER for her autograph.
They all lined up with Misty, and shook hands.  Somebody came up with more
markers, and people gladly asked them to sign Misty's picture with her.

   Amanda broke down when it was all over.  She'd had a lot riding on this,
and the release of tension left her limp and sobbing.  Rodney put her in
his car and drove her home.

   Finally Misty dragged her feet to the truck and put her guitar carefully
in it.  Then she took it back out, got in, and pulled it in again, putting
it on the floor in front of the passenger seat.  When Bobby got in, she
leaned against him.

   She dozed on the way back, and never felt his hand on her thigh.

   ====================================

   "Wake up!"

   Misty jerked awake.  It was dark and the truck's engine was off.  She
was pressed against something that felt solid, but was warm and soft at the
same time.

   "I don't want to," she mumbled.

   "Don't make me carry you in the house."

   It was Bobby.

   "Why not?"

   "Cause I'll cop a feel, that's why." She smiled at the smile she could
hear in his voice.  She didn't believe him.

   "No you wouldn't."

   "Yes I would."

   She felt his hand on her bare knee, and felt it begin moving upward,
between her legs.  She clamped her knees together instinctively, trapping
the hand.  It moved another inch or two, letting her know she wasn't strong
enough to stop it, and then stopped on its own.

   "OK, OK," she said, giving up.

   She sat up and, in the process, her knees came apart.  The hand moved
another two inches, fully onto her inner thigh now and, as she sucked in a
breath, was removed.

   A wave of cold air wafted into the cab as he opened the door and stepped
out, leaving her sitting in the middle of the bench seat.  Rather than
trying to get out of her own side, she pulled her guitar up onto the seat
and scooted over, past the steering wheel.  She felt the warmth he had left
on the seat on the back of her thighs as her skirt bunched up.

   "It's cold," she complained, shivering as her feet hit the ground.  She
felt her nipples stiffen.  She pulled her guitar case out and hugged it.

   "Don't be such a baby," he said.  "It will be warm in the house."

   It was warm.  It was also dark.

   "Where is everybody?" she asked.

   "Probably already in bed." She felt his hand in the middle of her back,
propelling her through the kitchen.  "Where you need to be."

   He took her to her room in the dark, pulling her along because he knew
the way and she wasn't familiar with the house in the dark.  He turned on
the reading lamp beside the bed.

   "You were good tonight," he said, taking her guitar case from her and
standing it up against the wall.

   The emotion she remembered from the concert rushed back and washed all
over her and her eyes glazed over slightly.

   "It was magical," she sighed.  "It's never been like that."

   "You were good," he said again.

   Her eyes cleared and she looked at his.  He was looking at her chest. 
It was only the second time he'd ever done that, at least that she'd
noticed.  She looked down to see her nipples spiked under the tank top.  On
impulse she reached for the hem of the shirt and pulled it up and off her
body.

   "What are you doing?" His voice was husky.

   "Getting ready for bed," she said, not moving.  She watched his eyes
devour her breasts and felt the delicious warmth in her belly that told her
she was going to have to rub again tonight.  "Why?  Do you want to help
me?"

   "I told you that's not a good idea," he said.

   "Oh," she said, reaching for the clasp of her skirt.  She didn't want to
bend over, because she couldn't look at those eyes if she did that, so she
let the skirt drop.  It landed with a soft rustle around her feet.  She
realized she was still wearing the cowboy boots, and felt silly standing
there in boots and panties.

   Stepping out of the circle of the skirt, she moved to the bed and sat
down on the edge of it.  She tried taking a boot off, but it was stuck to
her sweaty foot.  Since the boot wouldn't move she stood and pushed her
panties down to her knees.  It was obvious they wouldn't go over the boots.
Now she felt even sillier.  She pulled them back up, but couldn't look at
Bobby any more.  She felt like she might cry.

   "Give me a foot," he said with an exaggerated sigh.

   She stuck one foot out in the air and saw his knees appear next to the
boot.  His hands came and grasped the back of the heel.  They lifted and
her tight muscles in her thigh and hip complained.  She flopped back onto
the bed, one foot high in his hands, and the other limp and hanging from
her knee at the edge of the bed.

   "You don't do this a lot, do you?" he asked casually as he started
pulling on the boot.

   "Do what?"

   "Try to seduce a man."

   She thought that was a mean thing to say, even though his voice wasn't
mean.

   "I'm not trying to seduce you." Her voice sounded pouty, even to her.

   He didn't say anything.  The boot slid past her heel and was suddenly
loose.  He pulled it off and caught her bare foot before it dropped.  He
moved it to the side, spreading her legs and she saw his eyes go to her
panties.

   She lifted the other foot and stuck the boot in his face.  He worked on
it without saying anything else, but his eyes were on her body.  When he
got that one off, she lay there, not knowing what to do.  He pulled her up,
turned back the covers and then pushed her gently back down onto the bed
where she lay, half on and half off until he picked up her feet and moved
them onto the bed.

   When his hands went to the waistband of her panties, she held her
breath. Her body assisted him without conscious thought as her leg muscles
tightened to lift her hips a little.  He moved the cloth slowly down her
legs and past her feet.  He tossed the panties negligently on the floor and
stood, looking at her.

   His hands went to his shirt front and began undoing buttons.

   =========================================

   Misty Compton, like most women, was a complex bundle of sometimes
conflicting parts.  She was a mountain girl, first and foremost, at least
in her own mind.  Fame and fortune, such as it was up to that point in her
life, hadn't changed the way she thought of herself.  It had changed her
lifestyle, and habits, and even her personality, to some degree, but she
still thought of herself as just Misty Compton, from Hog Holler ...  a
normal girl ...  who was having a run of pretty good luck.

   In reality, Misty was much more than just another girl from Hog Holler.
She was a complicated mix of innocence and experience, a wide-eyed young
woman who was going places and seeing things that other girls from small
towns would never see and experience.  Her capabilities in some areas would
serve her well all her life, but that life had been short, thus far, and
there were a lot of areas in which she had very little experience and
undeveloped capabilities.

   Sex was one of those areas.

   She was caught in a shadowy world in which she knew some things that
were true, believed some things that were not true, and had no Earthly idea
of what to think about a lot of other things.

   She knew, for example, that Bobby Dalton was getting undressed, and that
this signaled that she was going to have sex.  She believed she was
prepared for that eventuality, because, right then and there, she wanted to
have sex too.

   But she had no idea how all that was going to turn out, and didn't
really know what to expect, either from Bobby, or her own body.  As such,
she wasn't really thinking, exactly, about what was going on.  She was just
reacting to the situation as best she could.

   What all that evolved into, that night in Florence's old room, was a
situation in which things happened much like an avalanche, that starts with
the movement of a few flakes of snow, and gathers momentum in such a way
that nothing can stop it except the forces of Mother Nature herself.

   It was Bobby's fingers on the buttons of his shirt that were the flakes
of snow that overburdened the snow pack, so to speak, in the room.  Up
until that moment, there had been an equilibrium, of sorts.  But, as his
chest was bared, things started happening inside Misty's brain and body
that signaled the avalanche to come.  Her pulse increased.  Fluids were
produced and injected into her vaginal canal.  Her nipples stiffened even
more, and became painful.

   Like an avalanche, there was no movement at first.  She couldn't speak.
She was frozen in that moment of time as his chest was revealed.  His hands
went to his belt next and her eyes glittered like crystal snowflakes as his
pants were opened.  Slowly, and yet so quickly it was like magic, the man
in the picture she'd seen on Cristy's bedroom wall appeared before her
astonished eyes.

   Like the snow that lies there, already fallen thick, Misty lay there,
unable to move or do anything to affect what was going to happen.  She was
just waiting, not knowing what to expect.  When he moved, she knew he was
going to do ...  something ...  but she had no idea what that was.  Before
she could react, he was on the bed.  Her knees were in his grip and were
spread wide.  Before she could adjust to the fact that she was completely
exposed to him, his face was between her thighs, where no man's face had
ever been.  Something warm and wet and softly stiff was pushing inside her.

   The "UUNGH!" that ripped from her lungs and exploded past her lips was
completely unconscious, as was the jerk of her hips as muscles she wasn't
controlling thrust her pussy against his face.  His face shook between her
legs, like a dog shaking a rag he has just pulled from his master's hand,
and his lips strummed her clitty.

   "EEEEEEE" she squealed, and then was out of air.  Her lungs
automatically dragged in more, expanding until his head stopped shaking and
his lips sucking at her clit froze them.  Electric jolts flashed from her
clit, like rays of sunlight stabbing into the rest of her body and she half
sat up, holding that position and staring at his head, between her thighs,
until her stomach muscles gave up and she flopped back down onto her back.
Her breath rushed out, and then rushed back in.

   She felt a trail of warmth and wet run up her belly and lifted her head
to see his hair advancing toward her face.  His head stopped at her breasts
and she gasped as his lips sucked first at one, and then at the other of
her aching nipples.  The sweet sensations of his strong sucks made her want
to cry out, but she didn't have enough breath to do so.

   Then his face was above hers, and his blue eyes were staring down at her
wide brown ones.

   "I'm sorry," he panted.  "I'll do better next time, but you're making me
crazy."

   She was trying to figure out what that meant when she felt pressure in
her groin.  It was a strange pressure ...  different than anything she'd
ever felt before.  With shock, a part of her mind realized what was
happening.  But it had hurt before, and this was different.  This didn't
hurt.  She raised her head and looked down, to see that long hard thing
that had been sticking out of his groin.  Except now it was sticking out of
HER groin.  No ...  it was connecting their two groins ...  a thick pink
rod of flesh that left his nest of black hairs, and went to her nest of
blond ones.  Her brain had just registered that only the tip of his penis
was in her when the column disappeared and his black curly hairs mixed with
her blond ones, right before her eyes.

   She had been stretched before.  Now she was stuffed.  Like she had eaten
too much, she felt too full.  But it was that contented kind of fullness
... the kind that wants you to lie down and undo your pants to give your
full belly a little more room.

   She felt his weight hit her groin ...  ALL of his weight ...  and she
felt her body being pushed upward on the bed.  His chest went to the right,
then up a little further, and then to her left and, in that second, her
clitty was squashed flat and the tip of his prick prodded her cervix.

   Misty Compton saw stars.  Her eyes were wide open, as was her mouth, but
her vision failed her as bright lights exploded silently right in front of
her face.  Something ripped away from where all that pressure was, and
exploded out into her body.  Dimly, her brain recognized that as an orgasm,
but it wasn't anything like the orgasms she had experienced with her own
fingers.  Those orgasms were centered on that little lump of flesh, that
wiggled and squeaked as she came with her fingers rubbing.  This orgasm was
a bear, roaring, it's paws lashing out at the rest of her body and slashing
it with claws that felt fantastic, instead of ripping her apart.  She
wondered how it was possible to float, in a sea of warm water, while being
mauled so deliciously by that bear.

   The sea drained slowly away, and the bear withdrew into its den, and she
realized that there was an earthquake going on.  She was shaking.  The bed
was shaking.  Her body was jerking back and forth, up and down.  She opened
her eyes and realized it was Bobby who was moving, lunging back and forth.
She felt his penis leaving her and then rushing back in, his hips
withdrawing and then thrusting back toward her to slam into her.  Each time
he slammed into her, her clitty let out a little silent shriek of joy.  The
fullness had receded.  Now it was like she had eaten exactly enough ... 
was pleasantly full ...  as long as nothing left to leave her empty again.

   "Don't stop!" she panted.

   Now she felt tired muscles.  Her arms were around him, trying to hug him
to her, but she wasn't strong enough to immobilize him.  She realized her
legs were wrapped around his and that she was straining to lift her loins
as he pulled back.  Muscles already tired were screaming at her and she
suddenly went limp, to give them a rest.

   His knees moved up the bed and, somehow, her butt rested on his thighs,
as her hips were lifted slightly.  His chest came down on hers, and his
whiskery chin dug into the juncture of her neck and shoulder.  She felt his
arms slide under her back and grip her shoulders.

   Now she was helpless.  She was firmly in his grip, her legs splayed
wide. But it felt good to her.  She was being hugged, both outside and
inside.  His hips suddenly increased their speed and his prick flashed in
and out of her.  The ridiculous image of rabbits she had seen in her aunt's
back yard came to mind.  She and Bobby were fucking like rabbits!

   Another orgasm was there.  She could already tell it wasn't the same
kind as the one she'd just had.  As her body shook limply with the
battering it was being given that orgasm seemed to stand at the screen
door, asking to come in.

   "Well of course!" she said, out loud, and mentally pushed the door open.


   This orgasm was full of tickles and laughter.  It made her belly feel
warm and made her nipples tingle delightfully.  She felt wonder at the fact
that she hadn't known there could even BE more than one kind of orgasm.

   "Ohhhhhh Misteeeeeee," came a bass groan in her ear.

   His hips hunched forward one more time and he froze.

   "AHHHHHHHH," he moaned and she felt his hands press hard on her back.

   Suddenly her upper body was off the bed as he lifted her like she
weighed nothing.  His upper torso was upright, and she was pulled down onto
his spike as she felt it jerk and then felt more warmth, deep inside her.
When she'd lost her virginity, the boy had worn a rubber.  All she
remembered about that now was pain and disappointment.  But this was
nothing like that.  As she realized that his penis was spurting in her, she
felt like she was floating on a cloud again.  She let her upper body relax,
and her head fell back.  His strong hands held her there, at a forty-five
degree angle to his own body, while his prick belched again and again.  She
felt like a rag doll, but it was a wonderful feeling, sitting there, having
to do nothing, while a ball of heat expanded in her belly.  He only made it
better when his head dipped and he sucked at her nipples again, while his
penis gave up the last of its offering.

   She felt like if this moment were frozen in time ...  if they became
statues that could be displayed in some museum somewhere ...  she'd be
happy forever.

   ===================================

   Eventually, he lay her back down, and fell forward, catching his weight
with his hands on the bed, his wrists in her armpits.  She flung her own
hands up and out, lying limply, supremely happy and satisfied.  She'd never
felt this relaxed in her whole life.  The concert had been magical.  This
had been magical.  She felt like a fairy queen.

   His panting face appeared above her own and she mustered strength to
lift her head, seeking his lips.  He pressed her head back down with his
own.  This kiss wasn't like the one he'd given her last night.  This one
was heavy and full of something demanding.  She felt like he was
irresistible, in that moment.  If he ever kissed her like this again, she'd
do anything he asked her to.

   His prick was still inside her, but she didn't feel overly full any
more. It just felt comfortable, like it belonged there.  He kissed her over
and over again for what seemed like forever, but she didn't care.  She
loved the feel of his tongue and sucked at it sometimes.  He moved his
knees back, letting her butt back down onto the sheet.

   He was hard again.

   She felt it quite suddenly, as he moved it in her, still kissing her. 
She couldn't believe it wasn't over.  She had thought it was over.

   His whole demeanor slowly changed.  His kisses got less demanding, and
more tender.  He started kissing the corners of her mouth, and then each
lip.  His hips started moving and she felt the movement of his penis
against the walls of her pussy.  She thought it felt different, but then
realized that she hadn't been able to pay any real attention to that
before. It was so delightful ...  feeling his hardness moving within her.
He pushed and made his loins go in little circles.  Her clit responded
instantly and another orgasm was magically there, within reach again.

   "Ohhhhhhhh," she moaned into his mouth.

   His face lifted from hers.

   "You having fun?" he asked.

   "Ohhh please don't ever stop," she moaned.

   "I have to stop sometime."

   "Just a little longer, pleeeease," she begged.

   His pace stayed the same, with slow, measured, long strokes.  Every four
or five of them was punctuated by that thing he did where he pressed hard,
and went in circles.

   Three orgasms later, she was floating on that cloud again.

   Then, without preamble, and without a sound, he pressed hard and she
felt those warm spurts again, deep inside her.

   It was at that moment, when Misty Compton was twenty years old, that she
finally felt like a woman.  She would never think of herself as a girl,
ever again.

   Chapter Twelve

   "Don't leave," she said softly as he got out of bed.

   "If Mamma knew I did this with you she'd have my hide," he said, picking
up his shirt.

   "We're both adults," she pointed out.  It was the first time she'd
thought firmly of herself as an adult.

   "There are things you don't know about," he said.

   "Those other women?" she asked.  "The ones you insist aren't your
girlfriend?"

   That had come to her between two orgasms.  She had suddenly understood
completely why all those women looked at Bobby like that.  If he had done
to them what he was doing to her, they couldn't look at him any other way.
And, somehow, she knew he had done the same thing with them that he was
doing to her.  Another orgasm had approached about then, and she'd quit
thinking about the other women.

   "You figured that out, huh?"

   "I don't care about them.  I just don't want you to leave."

   "I shouldn't have done this with you," he insisted.  "The others needed
me.  It was different."

   "How?" she asked quietly.  "I needed you too.  I admit I didn't know it,
but now I do.  I still need you.  I've never felt like this, Bobby."

   His shirt was on now, and he looked silly, standing there.  His cock
looked about like it had in that picture, not quite soft, but not hard
either.  It looked shiny.  She lifted her head and looked between her legs.
Her pussy lips were open, and there was a mess of white all over them and
between them.

   "You're a star," he said.  "You're going places, and I'm never leaving
here.  You don't need some hayseed boy complicating your life."

   "You're anything but a hayseed boy," she said, her voice fully mature.
"And anyway, I'm from the hills.  We aren't so different."

   "You know I'm right," he insisted.  "And I shouldn't have cum in you.  I
know you're not on the pill."

   "How would you know that?"

   "Come on, Misty, you don't do this very often."

   "I've done this, as you put it, exactly twice." She blinked.  How did
one compare ten minutes of pain and disappointment with what seemed like an
entire night of pure bliss?  What had just happened HAD to count for more
than just one time.

   "When was your last period?" he asked.

   "That's none of your business," she said instantly, her natural modesty
rebelling against talking about that with a man.

   "Of course it's my business!" he said intensely.  "What if I got you
pregnant?  I love all my children."

   That's when the rest of it clicked in Misty's mind.  All those children,
who rushed to him for hugs, or wanted to ride him like a horse, or be read
to.  All those little boys, with their black hair, and that cute little
lock of hair that fell onto their foreheads.  With a jolt she realized that
Theodore ...  Mirriam's son ...  had that same appearance.  Misty was from
the hills.  She knew about how some women weren't at all picky about which
men they lay with, even if that man was a brother, or cousin or ...  son.
That part didn't shock her so much.  It was obvious there was real and
abiding love between the members of the family that lived in this house. 
Mirriam had even warned her.  Now she knew why.  His own mother couldn't
even resist him.  None of those other women had been able to resist him
either.

   Somehow, that made everything that had just happened seem like fate,
almost.  The forces of fate had brought her here ...  had given her the
honor of her first headliner show, and the ecstasy of knowing it had been a
complete success.  The forces of fate had thrown her against Bobby Dalton
too, and that had resulted in another kind or ecstasy that she hadn't even
known existed.

   She looked up at him.

   "I loved what happened."

   "Sleep on that," he said.  "You might feel differently in the morning."
He pulled on his pants.  "And please don't tell Mamma what happened."

   "Of course not!" she gasped.  "That's nobody else's business but ours!"

   He moved to the door.

   "At least kiss me before you leave," she said, her voice sulky.

   "If I kiss you again, I won't want to leave." He grinned.

   "Oh horrors!" she gasped, hamming it up.

   She felt a surge of strength and rolled off the bed, bouncing to her
feet and running to him.  She flung her arms around his neck and tried to
kiss him.  All she got was a whiskery chin, at first.  His hands on her
waist felt like they belonged there.

   "You're very stubborn ...  you know that?" he growled.

   Then he kissed her good night ...  a fairly quick, almost savage
pressing of his lips to hers, pushed and twisted her, and slapped her on
her right rump.  The crack of his hand on her tender flesh was loud in the
silence.

   "Oww!" she yipped.

   "Shhhh!" He grinned, opened the door, and left her standing there,
rubbing her butt cheek.

   It was the distraction of something wet, running down her inner thigh
that made her reach down for the panties he'd thrown on the floor.  She
pressed them to her sex and hopped back into bed, moving her legs under the
covers.  She was cold again.

   It was also that wet feeling under the panties still pressed to her
slit, that got her mind calculating just when her last period had been.

   ===================================

   Mirriam was frying potatoes and ham when Misty bounced into the kitchen.

   "What a glorious day," she said happily.

   "After last night I can see why you feel that way," said Mirriam,
smiling.

   The first thing Misty thought of was the sex, but then her rational mind
told her Mirriam was talking about the concert.

   "It WAS good, wasn't it?" she asked, knowing she was fishing for a
compliment.

   "I don't know how your records are selling everywhere else," said
Mirriam, waving the spatula at the world in general, "but I know there
won't be a single one on a store shelf around these parts by tonight."

   "I'm SO glad I came here," sighed Misty, her mind bouncing back and
forth between thoughts of records flying out of stores, and the heavy feel
of a man pressing her onto the bed ...  a particular man, anyway.

   "I am too," said Mirriam.  "I never met anybody famous before.  It's
nice to know that famous people are just plain folks too."

   "You say the nicest things!" said Misty.

   A plate of ham and potatoes appeared in front of her, with two eggs,
over easy on one side of the plate.  She dug into it with gusto.

   "Where to next?" asked Mirriam, sitting down with a cup of coffee.

   "Well, depending on how the crew is doing, we have another concert in
Texas in four days.  I need to get in touch with them and see if they've
recovered yet.  They were awful sick when I left."

   "You can use our phone," said Mirriam.

   The twins came in as Misty was finishing.

   "Jeannie Walters asked me for my autograph last night," announced
Matilda.  "Can you believe that?"

   "Why on Earth would she do that?" asked her mother.

   "Because Misty is staying here," laughed Matilda.  She looked at Misty.
"Do you have any sisters?"

   "Nope," said Misty, smiling at the girl's enthusiasm.

   "Can we adopt you?" asked Matilda.  "All our other sisters have moved
out."

   Misty laughed.  "Sure.  I always wanted sisters."

   She got up and went to the phone.  The only number she knew by heart was
her agent's, so she called that.  He yelled in her ear about how there had
been television cameras at the concert, something she hadn't been aware of,
and that she'd been mentioned on regional TV newscasts.  The crew and the
rest of the people who'd been sick were almost back to normal, and the
Texas concert was still on.  He asked her where she'd be flying out of, and
said he'd arrange for the tickets, so that all she had to do was show up at
the airport.

   "When do you want to leave?" he asked.  "I don't know when flights leave
Wichita.  I'll have to find out and call you back."

   "I'm thinking about hanging around here for a couple of days," she said
into the phone.  "This is a nice place."

   "Kansas?" He sounded incredulous.

   "Yes, Kansas!" she said loudly.  "I met some really nice people, and I
like them!"

   "OK, OK, you don't have to yell.  I'll call you back, OK?"

   She gave him Mirriam's number, which was printed on the little white
circle in the middle of the dial, and hung up.  When she got back to the
kitchen, Bobby was eating breakfast.

   "Good morning Bobby," she said, sweetly.

   Mirriam looked over her shoulder, her eyes narrowing.  She'd heard other
women greet her son with that tone of voice.

   He looked up.  Even sitting there eating, those blue eyes of his
captivated her.

   "Mirriam?" she said, turning her eyes away from Bobby's.  "Can I stay
here two more days?  My agent is finding out about flights, but I don't
have to be there for three days.  I'd rather stay here than be in some
strange hotel with nothing to do for two days.  I'd be happy to pay you."

   Mirriam snorted.  "Of course you're welcome to stay, and you know you
don't have to pay anything."

   "I still think you should make this into a bed and breakfast," said
Misty.  "Please let me pay you for the next two days.  You've been so
wonderful to me, but let me do that ...  please?"

   "Nonsense," said Mirriam.  "That's just silly.  I wouldn't know how much
to charge you anyway.  I won't hear another word about it."

   ===============================

   With nothing else to do, Misty finished "I Robot" and then asked for
another book to read.  She lounged in an easy chair, with her legs over one
arm, racing through "The Sackett Brand" by a man named Louis L'Amour, who
she had never heard of.  Bobby had a whole pile of his books, and she'd
already picked out "Hanging Woman Creek" to read next.

   Bobby had left, to go do some kind of repairs.  The twins were at
Renee's, working, and after lunch Mirriam said she was going to go visit
Prudence and Florence, one of her daughters.  She asked if Misty wanted to
come along.

   "I'm having fun reading," said Misty, "and not having to do anything.  I
think I'll just stay here, if that's OK."

   An hour later Bobby came in.

   "Hi," he said.

   "Hi yourself," she replied, closing the book.  It was exciting, but it
didn't hold a candle to what she suddenly wanted to do.  "Your mother is
off visiting people."

   "Ahh," he said, looking uncomfortable somehow.

   "We're all alone," she said, coquettishly.

   "Ahhh," he said again.  "I take it you didn't change your mind."

   "You take it correctly," she said, standing up.  She flushed pinkly as
she said the next thing that was on her mind.  "My period will start in
three days."

   ====================================

   An hour later, Misty Compton knew she was addicted to Bobby Dalton.  It
was just as good as it had been the night before ...  better, really,
because she was ready for it this time.  She welcomed everything.  This
time, between the three times he pressed her into the bed, he lay with her,
holding her, and they talked.

   His passion was astounding.  She had never felt like she was taking up a
man's complete and total attention before, but being with him was like
being on stage, with the spotlight on her, and every person looking only at
her.  The freedom she felt, doing this thing that she hadn't thought
seriously about doing with any other man, brought with it a joy that made
her wail out her happiness.  He let her, because there was no one to hear
her.

   And, each time she felt him go still, and heard him grunt, and felt his
penis jerk and spurt inside her, she thought about the preciousness of that
gift, that so many other women had accepted, even when it had made babies
in them.  That she was safe from that eventuality was what let her enjoy it
most.  She got to have what they had had ...  got to be the center of this
man's attention and the recipient of his passion, and it wasn't dangerous
at all.

   She loved every second of it.

   ==========================================

   After an immensely satisfying day, Misty stayed up with her host family
that night.  They stayed up late, playing cards.  When bedtime finally
came, the girls walked her to her room, and it was obvious she couldn't
have him again.  That ate at her as she lay in bed.  She got up to go to
the bathroom and stopped at his door on the way back.  There was light
coming from under it and she felt bold as she opened the door.  He was
reading, and looked over.

   He simply moved over and pulled the covers back to expose himself.  He
was already erect.

   She'd never felt more desirable in her life.

   ==================================

   The next day was more of the same.  He'd made love to her for hours, but
had made her go back to her room when the clock on his nightstand read
three in the morning.  The girls had to come get her up for breakfast. 
Bobby was already gone, again working as a handyman.

   She went back to bed, burrowing under the covers for a long nap, and
then got up to read some more.  Lunch interrupted that, but she went back
to it afterward.  Then the phone rang, and Mirriam came to tell her a man
was asking for her.  It was her agent.  The plane would leave at eleven in
the morning, the next day.  Someone would pick her up at the airport in
Texas.

   She was reading the final paragraph of the second book when Bobby came
in and she heard him talking to Mirriam.  She looked at her watch.  It was
almost five.  She had one more night in this comfortable, relaxing place,
and then it would be back to the grindstone.  Bobby stuck his head into the
room.

   "Want to go collect eggs with me?"

   She put the book down, and stood up.  Why couldn't she live on the
frontier, with some man like Bobby?  That would be the good life.

   Collecting eggs was interesting, but mostly because she was with Bobby
to do it.

   "Want to fool around?" he asked, grinning.

   "Yes," she said, pouting, "but your mother is home."

   "The house isn't the only place to fool around," he said.

   She let him lead her to the big barn, which smelled of hay and dust. 
His kisses inflamed her and she had another entirely new experience as he
bent her over a hay bale, pulled her jeans down and entered her from
behind. A month ago she would have screamed at any man who suggested she
behave in such an animalistic way.  Now she pulled her bra up herself, when
his hands slid under her shirt, so he could cup and squeeze her breasts
while he filled her from behind.

   This was fun of a completely different kind.  There were no orgasms. 
There was just Bobby loving her.  It really WAS animalistic.  The male took
the female, who accepted his advances.  It was naughty, and it felt good,
and she loved the fact that the male had chosen her.  She pushed her bare
bottom against him to receive his seed.  What washed away all the
animalistic feeling was when he spent another ten minutes kissing her after
their clothing was straightened back up.  He didn't just take her and
leave. He wanted her even after nature had taken its course.

   ===================================

   That night ...  her last night, as she thought of it ...  they watched
TV.  The twins went to bed early, because they had to be at Renee's early
in the morning.  Bobby sat with Theodore sleeping on his lap, until Mirriam
finally stood and picked him up to put him to bed.

   "You two go ahead," said Bobby, picking up a book.  "I'm going to read
for a while."

   Misty lay waiting.  She knew he'd come.  He had to come.  It was her
last night.  It was the last night she'd get to experience the ecstasy he
had shown her existed.

   He didn't disappoint her.

   "You have to be quiet tonight," he whispered as he came into her room.

   "I promise," she said, throwing the covers off to expose her naked body
to him.

   He taught her how to ride a man ...  how to sit up straight, to achieve
maximum penetration, and how to lean forward to rub her clitty against his
pubic bone.  Her vocalizations, during four orgasms that way were
restrained to a high pitched "Nnnnnnnnnnnnn" with her hand clamped over her
mouth as her hips pitched rapidly to and fro and the waves of luscious
feeling flooded her body.

   Then he got on top of her and recreated that first night, with his knees
up tight, and her butt off the bed as he made rabbit-like furiously rapid
thrusts into her.  He picked her up again, to let her sit in the saddle
he'd created as he spurted in her.  The only difference was that this time
she didn't hang limply in his arms while he filled her pussy with his thick
spunk.

   This time, she held her body up, her hands on his shoulders, looking
into his eyes as she accepted his gift.

   ==================================

   Bobby took her to the airport, of course.  For the first time, they rode
in his car.  Misty wanted to stop along the way, for one last tryst, but
Bobby kept driving.

   "I'll miss you," he said, his eyes straight ahead.

   "I'll miss you too."

   They drove on in silence for a while.

   "It seems so completely different than when I met you," she said.  "I
feel so completely different."

   "You're the same person you always were."

   "Not hardly!" she laughed.

   "Yes you are," he insisted.  "You're Misty Compton, singer
extraordinaire, loved by millions."

   "Not millions," she said.  "Am I loved by you?"

   He looked over at her.  "You have your life, and I have mine.

   "That doesn't stop me from loving what happened between us," she said
softly.  "It doesn't stop me from loving you for giving me something very
special."

   "If I love you it will hurt," he said softly.

   "You don't love any of the others?"

   "Yes!" he said hotly.  "I DO love them.  I love them all!  That's the
problem."

   "I see," she said.  In this case, she thought she really did understand.
She knew what it felt like to love someone - what she was feeling for Bobby
HAD to be love ...  some kind of love - and know that there was some
obstacle that prevented that love from maturing and welding them together.
She wasn't ready to settle down.  She was on the road all the time.  And
while Bobby made her feel like no other man ever had, she couldn't see
herself out on the prairie with him, like in the book.  She had places to
go, and things to do.  He had his life, and it wasn't one that would go
well out on the road, or waiting at home in Nashville.

   A feeling of melancholy swept through her.  She turned around on her
knees and reached into the back of the car, opening her guitar case.  The
lined paper she always carried was there, and the pencil.

   By the time they pulled up to the terminal, she'd roughed out two songs.
The lyrics were only half there, but that would come.  She looked over the
music, picking it out on the imaginary guitar in her head.  It was good. 
She could hear it already.  Even though the words weren't quite there yet,
she felt the emotion as she sang them.

   She realized they were sitting still, in the middle of what seemed like
frantic activity after the calm of the farm.

   "You want me to walk you in?" he asked.

   That would just drag out the pain.  And there was other music, dancing
in her head.  She needed to get that down on paper before she lost it.

   "No.  I'm fine."

   "I'm glad we met.  I'm sorry I was such a jerk."

   The music fluttered to the floorboards as she almost leapt across the
seat to kiss him one last time, pressing him against his door.  She pulled
back, licking her lips.

   "You can be a jerk to me any time you want," she said.

   Then she picked up her precious music, stuffed it back in the guitar
case, and picked up her suitcase in the other hand.

   "See you later," she said, looking directly at him.

   "I hope so."

   Then she was walking away, weighed down, not by the items in her hands,
but with the knowledge she was leaving something very special.  She didn't
hear him drive away ...  but she also didn't look back.

   ===================================

   That night, as Bobby lay in bed, thinking about Misty Compton, Matilda
and Betty came into his room.

   "Now that she's gone, do you have some time for us?" asked Betty.  She
wasn't pouting.

   "Sorry," he said.  "I was just busy."

   "We know how busy you were," said Matilda.  She DID sound like she was
pouting.  "We're not deaf."

   Bobby grinned.  "It's not appropriate for a sister to be jealous of her
brother."

   She dropped her robe, to expose stiff nippled breasts to him.

   "It's not appropriate for a brother to neglect his sisters ...  even for
Misty Compton."

   They stayed all night.  Each insisted on getting to feel the heavy
weight of his hot spunk spurting into her womb.

   ======================================

   A week later Mirriam dropped an envelope on the table in front of Bobby
when he sat down for supper.  It had been opened.

   "This came today," she said, without further explanation.

   Bobby looked at the return address: "Sunrise Records" with Nashville TN
under that.  Inside was a check for two hundred and fourteen dollars and
sixty-eight cents.  The payee line had "Dalton Bed and Breakfast" on it. 
There was a letter with the check, typewritten, that expressed Sunrise
Record's appreciation for hosting Misty Compton during her stay in
Hutchinson, Kansas.  Written in flowing script at the bottom was "Thanks so
much.  I can't wait to come back." It was signed "Misty"

   "Can you believe the gall of that woman?" asked Mirriam.

   "She's just trying to say thank you," said Bobby, grinning.

   "She's as stubborn as Bev!" snorted Bev's mother.

   "She is most definitely stubborn," Bobby agreed.

   "I see you two were getting along much better, there at the last."

   "Don't pry, Mamma.  It's not polite."

   "I'm not prying!  I just worry about you, that's all."

   He laughed.  "I think you're more worried about Misty than me." He stood
up.  "The girls are eating at Renee's tonight, aren't they?  I'm not all
that hungry." He advanced on his mother.

   "I just cooked all that food for you!" she yelped, backing up.

   "It will be there when we're done," he said.  "We'd better hurry. 
Theodore will wake up from his nap soon."

   "You're incorrigible!" she accused.

   She kept complaining until the prick she loved so much slid into her wet
and willing pussy.  Then she was too busy making love to complain.

   As they lay there afterwards, her head on his shoulder and her arm lying
limply across his chest, Mirriam looked up into her son's face.

   "You made love to her ...  didn't you."

   He kissed her nose.

   "Don't pry, Mamma," he said.

   "I could tell, you know," she said.  "She had the look.  I could tell
with most of the others too.  There's something about how they look at
you."

   "Like you're looking at me now?" he asked.

   "I hope not," she said, pinching the skin on his flat stomach.  "I love
you so much."

   "She's fine," said Bobby.  "She went back off to Nashville to be famous,
and I'm staying here."

   "I couldn't stand it if you left," said his mother.  "It would be so
lonely."

   "You have Ted, don't you?"

   "Not really," she said.  "Flo doesn't mind, and Ted is Ted ...  but it's
not right."

   "Then I'll just have to stick around a little longer and take care of
you," he said.

   He showed her what he meant by taking her through two more orgasms, and
leaving the bed a mess between her legs.

   ==================================

   Life settled down a bit in the Dalton household, after the excitement of
Misty's having been there.  The twins were glad to have their man back,
and, over the next couple of weeks, made up for lost time.  Bobby thought
they were on the pill the whole time, and happily sprayed them full of
semen.  The girls, having each had two periods, since beginning to make
love with Bobby, felt invulnerable, and didn't worry about all that
dangerous sperm.

   They weren't invulnerable.

   They should have worried.

   But that is for another time.  This tale has grown long, even though it
only covered a month of Bobby's life.  The ramifications of that single
month will have to spill over into the next story, because there must be an
ending somewhere.  So I'll close this chapter of Bobby's life, and move on
to the next.  I hope to see you there.

   The End.
   
