This is a fan fiction story based on characters from the Lonesome Dove television show, which belong to Rysher Entertainment and Hallmark. No infringement on copyrights is intended. All other characters and storylines belong to me.
Rated: R, m/f, coerced/consensual.
This is a coming-of-age story set in July, 1855. It describes Clay's first awkward sexual encounters with a girl shortly before he turns thirteen.
Please write to me about my stories if you get the urge. I welcome any and all comments from my readers.
Colleen J. MacLennan
Clay was bored. Without Robert, life was very boring. He had only three days left to wait, though, before his best friend and almost-brother would rejoin him at Hatton Willows, just in time to celebrate Clay's thirteenth birthday in two weeks. Then they would have the rest of the summer together to do whatever they wanted before returning to their studies at Thornhill Academy.
He wandered restlessly around the plantation grounds. Although he had started to change in both body and demeanor, he wasn't quite ready yet to put aside all his old ways, and he wanted to play.
He could go riding, but he did that already this morning, and anyway, where would he ride to? He could go fishing, but it was too hot out for sitting still. Taking off his shoes and socks, he wiggled his toes down to where the grass was cool and got an idea. Bathing! He would go for a bathe in the pond. There was nothing else to do.
Making his way toward the slave quarters, he scanned the yards for his childhood playmates, Obie and Lucie, the cook's children. They were both older than him, Obie by two years and Lucie by one, but that didn't matter. What was the use of bathing without someone else to race and dunk and engage in splashing contests?
Only Lucie was there, sitting on a wooden step, a torn shirt on her lap and a basket of sewing at her bare feet.
"Where's your brother?" he asked as he sat down next to her. "I want him to go to the pond with me."
"I don't know why you keep askin', Marse Clay," she said, shaking her head. "I already told you, Obie's all grown now." She licked a strand of thread and aimed it at the needle's eye. "He in the field every day with the other hands. Won't get back till sundown, I reckon, maybe later. There's just me here, and I got work, too."
Clay suppressed his disappointment, but still, one companion was better than none. "Come on, Lucie, you can finish your sewing later," he urged, anxious to get on with his plan now that he had one. "Come with me just for an hour. If anyone gets angry about it, you can say I made you."
"Well," she said, looking thoughtful, "I guess I can do that, but you better speak up for me if the overseer get mad. I ain't gonna take a beatin' on your account."
"I will, I promise," he agreed readily.
When they reached Brown's Point Pond, the still July air was thick with humidity, cicada song, and the smell of vegetation fermenting at the pond's sloped edges--all strong aphrodisiacs to carefree children out for fun.
"Race you, Marse Clay," Lucie challenged with a giggle as she began to remove the few items of clothing she wore, starting with her apron.
"I'll win," Clay asserted confidently, lifting his shirt over his head and throwing it to the side. Hurriedly unbuttoning his trousers next, he looked up to gauge her progress just in time to see her cotton shift come off, revealing her small round breasts. All at once, he stopped and stared, acutely aware of something occurring in his own body, a tingling-burning-moving-growing agitation in his private parts.
He had long ago discovered this strangely compelling pleasure on his own, and the wondrous results that rubbing could produce, despite the dire warnings of the schoolmasters. He knew what it was, but recently, the feverish sensation refused to be corralled. It reared at him like a wild stallion, and dragged him wherever it willed with a power beyond his control, regardless of his intent.
"What you lookin' at?" Lucie asked with a tinge of scorn, obviously proud of her developing attributes. "Ain't you never seen titties before? Come on, you ain't near done. I'm gonna beat you to the water if you don't watch out!" She pulled down her final article of clothing, a dingy pair of bloomers.
Clay dropped his gaze to the ground before she stepped out of them. His face burned with humiliation and desire, and he dreaded what would happen when he shed his own trousers and drawers, but he had no choice now. He'd look like a coward if he didn't, and he couldn't let a girl claim victory in the race he always won.
He stripped the rest of the way and stood up straight, ready to run like hell to the green water for cover, but he found Lucie with one hand over her laughing mouth and the other pointing at what was pointing at her.
"You must be real happy to go bathin' with me, Marse Clay. Your thing be doin' a little dance over it!" she said in a mocking tone.
"You shut up!" Clay ordered.
Without thinking, in a burst of shame-driven fury, he slapped her, and immediately things changed between them, never to be the same again. He was not a boy anymore, nor a playmate. He had become in that split second the young master of Hatton Willows, and Lucie was his servant, no longer to be given the freedom of sassing him like an equal.
She held her hand to her cheek in sudden silence, peeking up at him cautiously with a new look in her black eyes. Not fear, though, and not anger either, or at least not much. It was like she knew something about him now, something that gave her a power of her own, and she was trying to figure out what to do with it.
Clay went to her to comfort her, to touch her again, to be with her in the ways his body insisted. Bathing was forgotten as he pulled her to lie down, and she cooperated without complaint. If she disliked his hands on her tender new breasts, she didn't show it, and Clay didn't wonder about it. He was simply taking what was his to take. There was nothing to think about beyond that, and anyway, the stallion in him wanted free rein.
This first time, Clay only felt his way around her virgin terrain, exploring and learning what was what and what went where, but with inquisitive, fumbling fingers mostly. Hearing about women from older boys at school was very different from actually being with one, so when it came to other doings, he was too overwhelmed with sheer nerves to try and didn't want to seem awkward or ignorant.
Lucie was more than amenable to a second lesson, though, and then a third and fourth. It took that long for them to figure the situation and finally break through her body's defenses, but when he succeeded, Clay knew it was the best feeling he ever had and he wanted it as often as possible.
As the days and nights went by, he applied himself to his new-found art with the diligence of a scholar. In the afternoons, he hung about the slave quarters, waiting for Lucie to finish her washing or sewing or whatever tasks she had been given so they could go "bathing" again, and in the nights, he slipped out of the house to meet with her in the stables, where they lay on a horse blanket over straw.
Robert came from seeing his brother and grandparents, and it wasn't long before he learned the true meaning of "bathing," too, as Clay very generously offered him some time of his own with Lucie.
For her part, she seemed pleased with the attentions of these two eager white boys, one her master in the making. Apart from that initial slap, Clay was gentle and willing to give as much as he got, and his friend was the same and funny in the bargain. She laughed at Robert's jokes and made sure never to laugh at Clay again, and they all got along fine.
Clay was soon to find, however, that his idyllic obsession was not going unnoticed.
"You summoned me, sir?" Clay said to announce his arrival as he stood at the door to his father's study.
Langdon Mosby looked up from the papers on his desk. "Yes, son. I want to talk with you about something." He gestured for Clay to seat himself in the tall, leather-bound wing chair across from the massive desk between them. "I understand you've taken quite an interest in Lucie. Mr. Delbert says you've been visiting the slave quarters every day, keeping her from her work," he said, a weight behind his stern voice as he repeated the overseer's report.
Embarrassed, Clay looked down at his lap, feeling as if he had been caught en flagrante delicto. He wondered how much his father had been told, but he knew not to argue. "Yes, sir," he said guiltily, agreeing to the charges.
The older Mosby cleared his throat as if about to make a grave speech. "You are growing, Clay, I know that," he began authoritatively, sitting with a straight back in his chair. "Feeling things...urges you never had before. But you must learn to control these desires, son, direct them appropriately. Discretion and control are very important in these matters. You are a man, Clay, not a rabbit."
"Yes, sir," Clay answered obediently, but when he sneaked a look at his father's face, he could see him suppressing a smile. His father was proud of him.
"Now I expect you will continue to spend time with Lucie while you're at home, but remember that she has duties to fulfill first. Her work takes precedence over your enjoyment. That means no more bathing until after supper."
"Yes, sir, I understand." He sat a little straighter now himself and looked up with a steady gaze. His father thought of him as a man. He was a man!
"And Clay, your mother is a sensitive, delicate woman. As gentlemen, we are bound to protect her from the coarser ways of men. She should not have to think about such things or be made to witness them. I think you know what I'm saying to you."
"Yes, sir," Clay nodded. He was not to bring Lucie to the house.
"All right, then," his father said, looking back to his papers. "You may go now, Clay."
"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir." Clay got up and left the somber room, barely containing the excitement he felt, a new kind of excitement. For once, he had forgotten all about Lucie and the fire in his groin that drove him relentlessly. His father said he was a man and that's all that mattered to him at the moment. His thirteenth birthday was only days away and he would celebrate it as a man among men!
Colleen J. MacLennan