Fisk Lovell-Personal Narrative

“Wow sounds like this was starting to get interesting. So who was Darcy and what did they tell Fisk that lead to all of this?” Terry asked.

“Hell with the kind of fate that the news got him I don’t think I want to know.” Brad said as he sat behind the desk, his own cock still rock hard form the stories more sexually charged parts. He would have never admitted it to anyone but as Jeb was recounting the night of heated passion that Ben and the Jeb of the past had shared in the miner’s cabin he was on the verge of blowing his wad into his boxers without even touching himself. He had gotten so enthralled at the idea. Even daring to picture himself in the role of Big Ben Hollingsworth, that even the description of the tortuous fate that Fisk
The ones who lived there full time were there because they didn’t have anywhere else to go. Like so many town on the frontier, especially in the northern territories at that time, Lovell was the product of a moment. It sprang up to provide needed services to the men of the hills that were looking for gold. Those men either found it and left, gave up and left, or met their maker while being there. Either way they didn’t stick around. The town was also on the edge of the northern wagon train trail leading to the Montana territories and not too far removed from the trail leading to the Canadian wilderness and the fur traders trails north of the border. That meant that there were folks coming ad gong on wagons and stagecoaches all the time. They would invariably take one look at Lovell and decide that as soon as possible they would move on. Those who did call the place home, if that word could be used for such a place, didn’t usually do so for long. They would, just like those transient men who came and went on their search for riches, would give it a while to see what turned up and after discovering that nothing was ever going to packed their bags if they were able and headed out to better
Of course, the big draw was the saloons, the whorehouses and the gambling hall. There were plenty of the first two in town but only one of the latter, the Silver Dollar. Most of the time the town was quiet during the day, but when the sun went down you could be sure that those men who the town existed for would make their way in from all across the area and either celebrate their successes of the day or pamper their sorrow and failures. Either way thy would do so with a shot glass or bottle in their hand and more than lily with their britches around their ankles and their hard peckers buried balls deep into some dirty whore by the end of the night. With the seemingly prolific success of the area surrounding Lovell in terms of prospecting, there were no shortage of men to fill its