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Fall of '69

By: wilderness



Peer pressure has existed as long as humanity and it was a powerful force on college campuses in 1969. 

The majority of students protested the Vietnam War in one way or another. My frat brothers and I would predictably join whatever anti-war demonstration we could find, not out of our deep commitment to stop the war, but out of our commitment to skip classes and party. It wasn't surprising that our less than sincere attendance would cause the truly dedicated considerable distress. 

Becky was one of the dedicated. 

On the day we met, I carried a protest sign that shouted in red, dripping letters, "Fight for Peace" -- an oxymoron that, right from the start, made Becky suspicious about my sincerity. 

She turned and gave me the evil eye when we started chanting, "Fight for Peace! Fight for Peace," and then laughing at our own juvenile brilliance. 

"Why don't you boys go home and read your comic books? I can't hear the man speak."

A comment like that only encouraged us, because now we had someone specific to annoy, which was always more fun than shouting at no one in particular. 

Becky had a white peace sign sewn to the ass of her faded, hip-hugger, bell-bottoms. It caught Roger Miller's attention, and he started the ball rolling. 

"Give me a piece like that and I'd stay home -- in bed."

Others jumped on board, and she immediately became the target of every imaginable sexual reference for the peace/piece homonym -- piece of ass, nice piece, I want a piece now, and so on. At first Becky ignored us, but it must've gotten under her skin. 

She reached the breaking point when we started singing, "All we are asking is give peace a chance. All we are asking is give me some ass--" 

She turned around and kicked Roger in the soprano section, and then stormed off into the crowd.

I wasn't raised to be disrespectful to women. Somehow, through my chemical haze, I regretted our repulsive behavior. So, I chased after her to apologize for being part of the frat pack, finally catching up with her on the science building steps, where she sat down and cried. 

I put down my moronic sign and, totally out of character, tried to be sincere. "Hi... Hey, I'm really sorry about those idiots. We were way out of line." 

"JUST SHUT UP!" 

She wouldn't look at me.

I sat down a few feet away, so as not to give her the impression I was there to harass her, and for my own safety. 

After a few minutes, she calmed down and said, "My brother is in Vietnam... somewhere." She pulled her knees against her chest, and rocked. "I haven't heard from him in over a month." Her head dropped to her knees, the long chestnut hair hiding her face. "Please God, don't let him die."

That was the first time I felt moved by compassion for a stranger. I quietly asked questions and she eventually opened up, appearing glad to have the release. It was a moment that crystallized my life, and remains forever burned in my memory. 

I found out her brother, Jeremy, was a West Point graduate and a lieutenant in the Army. He was a platoon leader and had already seen plenty of action. 

"When he writes, he doesn't comment on the politics of the war. He just worries about his men. He said drugs are everywhere. Morale is low." She wiped her cheeks with the heels of her palms, and said, "How can you lead men into battle when they're stoned?"

"I'm sure it's not as bad as you think."

"Jeremy hardly ever says anything negative that would make me worry. So, if he told me that much, then it must be a lot worse."

As we got up to leave, I pulled a book of matches from my pocket and ignited the 'Fight For Peace' sign. 

"NO!" Becky yanked it from my hand and stomped out the flames. "I want you to keep it. Hang it on your wall to remind you."

I wasn't sure what it was suppose to remind me of. Man's insensitivity to his fellow man? 

I walked Becky to the cafeteria. She let me sit and eat with her. All the while, she talked about the war and the peace talks. Her anti-war sentiment was more about getting her brother home safe than any political ideology. Kissinger, a brilliant man, would stop the war, she was sure. 

Afterwards, we walked back to her dorm room and watched the evening news on her portable television. The small, black and white images of the wounded and dead gave the war a surreal horror. 

When the broadcast ended she turned off the TV, saying, "Don, I have to study. Time for you to go."

I didn't want to. "Can I help?"

Suddenly, a girl and a guy burst into the small room -- kissing and laughing, until they spotted us.

The girl wore rose-colored granny glasses and had a blue bandana tied over her blond hair. The paisley skirt and filthy bare feet announced, 'I'm a hippie chick'. 

Her words slurred together when she said, "Hey, Becky. Who's this guy? You finally gonna get laid?" 

The guy behind the hippie chick snorted while groping her breast through the peasant blouse.

"No, Cindy. We were just watching the news. He's leaving now."

"Too bad. You're so fucking uptight. A little buzz and an orgasm would do your head good."

Becky's face turned red, but she ignored the comment.

Hippie chick held out her hand to me. "Hi, I'm Becky's roommate, Cindy Litsky." 

Her male companion snorted again, and said, "Lit-sky, good one."

Out of politeness, I shook her hand. "Hi, nice to meet you. I'm Don Carter."

Cindy's companion introduced himself with, "Hey man, you wanna drop some acid?"

"Uh, no thanks."

Cindy watched Becky gather her books, and said, "Well, D. C., you must be a special man to meet Becky's standards. It's been a month and you're the first guy she's ever brought home. But don't get your hopes up." She rolled her eyes, and said, "She's saving herself for marriage."

"Excuse me." Becky pushed out of the room, carrying an armload of books and papers.

Cindy shouted after her, "Better plan on spending all night in the library, because Craig is spending the night here." Then she shook her head, turned around in her boyfriend's arms, and said, "What an uptight prude."

"Make love not war," said Craig, as his hands slipped down to her ass. 

She giggled and turned to smile at me, while he sucked on her neck. 

My heart rate accelerated, but I walked out. 

In the matter of a few hours, I'd developed a conscience. For the second time that day, I found myself chasing Becky. 

By the time I caught up she was halfway to the library. "Are you okay?"

"What do you care?"

I didn't know why. "Why shouldn't I?"

"Because, I'm Becky-the-bummer. Just leave me alone." She walked faster.

I stopped and watched her all the way to the Library front door. That peace sign had a hypnotizing sway. When she was gone from sight, I shrugged it off and went home. 

It was seven-thirty on a Friday night, and the frat house already reeked of booze and dope. People wandered from room to room. These were my brothers. I'd sworn an oath to uphold our traditions and values, which seemed completely self-centered in the light of what was happening in the world.

Roger spotted me.

"Where you been, Man? You missed it!" 

He put his arm drunkenly around my neck and his acrid breath stung my nose. 

"The National Guard showed up and crashed our fuckin' protest. Man, you should've seen Harry." Roger laughed at remembering. "He nailed a commando right in the head with a rock, and that started a riot. It was classic!" 

"Wow, I'm sorry I missed that."

Too blitzed to detect my sarcasm, Roger dragged me toward the keg. 

"Have a beer, buddy. This is going to be a weekend to remember." He drained his cup, and added, "But we'll drink too much and won't."

Dutifully, I filled a plastic cup, put my protest sign behind the couch, and sipped as I scanned the room. Recent events had tickled my libido and these parties were designed to loosen inhibitions. The halter-topped coeds in particular caught my eye. Their jiggling boobs marked time with the beat of Hendrix and I spotted several sorority sisters I knew to be especially entertaining. The sexual revolution was the only war I wanted to participate in at the moment.

Trying to attain the party spirit, I downed two brews and danced with the breasts I liked the best. Patty Conway had a shapely pair, and she loved to flaunt them. As usual, they were prominently on display -- barely confined inside a thin, white halter. Somehow, the left one had gotten wet, and the outline of its areola was clearly visible. Guys around us were staring and whispering. She acted oblivious.

After my initial titillation, her lewd behavior began to turn me off. She'd shake those melons for anyone. I found myself craving fresh, inexperienced melons, like the ones in the library. I wondered about the taste of melons that were not freely offered for mass consumption. 

In a rush, I understood the ideology my father had always preached -- You only value what you earn. 

When the song ended, I worked my way to the door and then out into the warm night air. My ears thrummed for a few blocks, and then the distant sounds of campus life came to me like a whisper, infusing me with a melancholy mind-set. In a couple of years, this experience would be over. What would I have to show for it? Was I really learning anything of value? 

After wandering inside the library for ten minutes, I spotted Becky on the third floor -- books open, papers scattered over the desk, but her eyes were glued to a small pamphlet in her hand.

Thinking about the best way to approach her, I decided to play it straight. I was tired of bullshit, and she didn't seem the type to play games.

"Hi, Becky."

She quickly closed the pamphlet and slipped it under a textbook. "What are you doing here?"

Pulling out the chair across from her, I sat down and said, "I was looking for you."

Becky flipped a couple of pages in the book, obviously disconcerted. "Why?"

"I like you."

"You don't know me," she said, while rapidly scribbling notes.

"I want to."

"Why?"

"Because you're different, you're interesting."

Without looking at me once, she said, "Your breath stinks. Why don't you go back to the party? I'm sure you can find some wasted chick to screw."

A little put out, I sat back and stared at her a while. "You think you know me? You don't know me at all."

Becky looked me straight in the eye, and said, "And I don't want to." Then, she appeared to be deep into her notes again. 

"Fair enough. But at least give me a good reason you don't want to. What did I do in such a short time that made you dislike me so much?"

Her pen flew across the page a few seconds longer, and then she put it down to meet my gaze. "I don't like your fraternity. If you belong to that group of pigs, then you're like the rest of them. You're right. Maybe I don't know you, but I know them."

"Guilt by association, then?"

"Exactly. You guys are a bunch of rich, spoiled brats. Just a drunken mob. If you were lost in the woods, and principles were sticks and morals were matches, you'd all die of hypothermia." 

I laughed contemptuously at the ridiculous metaphor, but inwardly died of exposure.

A change of subject was in order. "Are you really a virgin?"

"Go away!"

"I've never met a virgin this old before, but you proved they are just as uptight and bitchy as I expected. Enjoy being a spinster."

Since there was nothing left to say, I stormed outside to enjoy the early autumn night and cool my engine. I was pissed. Who was she to pass judgment on me? After pacing and cursing for a minute, I just wrote her off. The nearly full moon was breaking over the horizon. I sat down on a bench to contemplate its beauty and marvel at man's accomplishment to travel there and back. 

It had been an eventful summer. A summer I'd never forget and one for the history books -- Moon landing, Chappaquiddick, Manson, race riots, Woodstock, and the last Star Trek episode. Of course, the Vietnam War churned the country's collective conscience daily. 

As hard as I tried to occupy my brain with other thoughts, I couldn't get over the sting of Becky's indictment. It finally dawned on me that what bothered me the most was the truth in it. Was I really that bad? The answer kept coming back: Yes, I am.

Before I knew it, I stood across from her in the library once again, and said, "Becky, I'm sorry for what I said. I flipped out. I didn't want to face the reality in what you said--"

"I'm sorry too, Don." Her green eyes were as soft as her library voice. "I shouldn't have been so mean to you. You've been kind to me all day. It's just...my brother and everything..."

The words trailed off and she looked away. I could see tears welling up in the corners.

"Tell you what, let's start over." I sat down and looked at her textbook. "Philosophy, how's that going?"

"I hate it. It's stupid! All it does is answer a question with a question. I need answers!" Becky flipped the book closed. 

Underneath was the pamphlet she'd been reading when I first saw her. 'Sexual Awareness', it was one of those public service brochures the campus health department distributed at orientation. 

"Shit!" Becky grabbed it and slammed it inside her book. Staring at the table, she whispered, "I was curious."

I tried not to smile at her mortification. "Don't worry about it. Everyone is. We all want answers to something." 

Leaning back, and putting my hands behind my head, I laughed. "You said 'shit'. That's what really shocked me."

She grinned shyly. 

"You have nice dimples. You should smile more often." 

Her face turned a pretty pink.

"It's a beautiful night. How about taking a walk with me? I'll treat you to an ice cream cone."

Her eyes narrowed. "How drunk are you?"

"I'm not. Do you think someone has to be drunk if they want to spend time with you?"

"Drunk or stoned."

"Don't sell yourself short. You're a very intelligent and attractive woman."

There was only a slight hesitation, and then she said, "Sure. I'd like some ice cream."

"First, let's take your books back to your room."

Her face darkened. 

I understood her dilemma, and offered to take them into the room and put them on her desk. "You can wait in the hall, if you want." 

Before she could change her mind, I scooped everything up and put the pile under my arm. She begrudgingly followed me out the door.

"I can't stand Cindy. She acts like she's got it all together, but she's a scheming, dope fiend slut. She puts everyone down that doesn't agree with her. I've asked to be moved to another room, but no one wants to rock the boat when it comes to Cindy's deviant behavior. 'Free love', I'm sick of it. It's like she has the right to do whatever she wants and I have to turn the other cheek and close my eyes. This world's going to hell." 

I was beginning to think Becky might be a religious zealot. "Turn the other cheek, I remember that from Sunday school. I also remember the world is going to hell, or at least most of it. Aren't we supposed to love the sinner, but hate the sin? Maybe she just needs to be loved." 

Becky looked at me like I'd just grown a third eye. 

"Okay, I can't believe I just said that either." 

We walked through her dorm in silence. Their door was ajar, so I opened it just enough to peek inside.

"You'd better wait here."

"Why? What'd you see?"

"They're in bed asleep -- naked."

I slipped into the reefer-scented room. A lava lamp provided dim, rosy light. Cindy lay on her side and Craig lay against her back, his arm over her. I took a moment to admire her body. It wasn't bad. I don't like leg hair on a woman, but other than that, Cindy was fine. The boyfriend looked pudgy and pasty. I didn't understand her attraction to him, other than a drugs-for-sex symbiotic relationship. 

I placed the books on the tidy desk, assuming it had to be Becky's. When I turned to leave, I found Becky inside the room and staring at the couple on the bed, her expression more curious than disgusted. 

I waited until she had her fill. Then I followed her out, closing the door tight behind me.

"Man, less than a minute in that smoke and I've got the munchies."

She laughed softly. 

I liked making her laugh. It felt like a good deed.

Playfully, I put my arm around her shoulders, and asked, "What's your favorite ice cream flavor, Becky?"

Her body stiffened, but she didn't make a move away. "Hmm, I guess it depends on my mood."

"And what kind of mood are you in tonight?"

"I'm in a Rocky Road mood." She giggled a little nervously. 

"Ooo, good choice."

"How 'bout you, D.C.? What are you in the mood for?"

I smiled at her use of my initials. Everyone seemed to like using them instead of Don. I kind of liked it too. It made me sound cool. Coming from Becky, it showed a growing comfort level and an effort to reach out of her darkness. 

"I'm in the mood for opposites. The yin and yang of a chocolate and vanilla twist."

"That sounds good too."

I took my arm away, and said, "Tell you what. If you let me lick yours, I'll let you lick mine. Deal?"

"Deal." 

After a few steps, her head snapped in my direction. The suggestive innuendo finally sank in. It was too dark to tell, but I believe she was pink.

We walked on in an electric silence, until we reached the student union. The place was packed. Didn't matter what your political, social, or economic status might be, everyone had ice cream in common. 

While we waited in line, Becky asked me what I was studying. 

"Business Administration." 

It sounded lame and boring. But Dad wanted me to take over the Ford dealership someday, and I had no plans of my own. My life seemed a neatly wrapped package -- a present from my parents. I knew they only wanted the best for me.

I didn't like to talk about it, so I asked, "What's your major?"

"Education. I've always wanted to be a teacher."

"Wow. I admire your certainty. Good teachers are important. I'm always questioning my future."

"Thanks. But all I really want is summers off."

I laughed out loud. "Becky! You're funny!"

She smiled like it surprised her, as well.

"Are you're parents teachers?"

"No, they were farmers."

"Were?"

"They died in a tornado when I was a baby. I never knew them."

My mouth dried up and my chest tightened. There was that annoying compassion again, butting in and spoiling my fun. "Sorry."

She shrugged. "That's life." Then she smiled at me, making her dimples reappear.

We waited silently for a while.

Then Becky explained, "We were raised by my paternal grandparents. Grandpa owned the farm next door. At least we lived the lifestyle my mom and dad wanted."

"That's good. You have their belief system, anyway." Belief system? What the hell was that? Psyche 101?

"Yup. You gotta believe in something."

We took a couple of quiet steps in line.

"What do your parents do?"

"Well, Mom's a housewife. My brother and I are away at college, so she's a very bored housewife at the moment, buzzed on Scotch by 3:00, Monday through Friday. Dad is a workaholic, comes home around 10:00. He owns the biggest car dealership in Pittsburgh." 

"Sorry." Her green eyes looked gray in the neon glow, peering at me with an intensity that made me squirm. 

"That's the lifestyle I have to look forward to. My brother wants to be a chemist. I'm the one that's supposed to take over Dad's business someday. Sounds exciting, doesn't it?"

"Not to me. Does it sound exciting to you?"

"I'll let you know in ten years." I didn't want to dwell on it. By this time on a Friday I was always too drunk to question my future. Sobriety meant rational thought, and I avoided that as much as possible. "Is your brother going to take over the farm?"

"No. He's making the Army his career. The farmland is rented out. The money's in a fund to help pay for college."


Fall of '69 Ch. 02



Author's note: To fully understand the storyline, I recommend reading chapter 1 first.

*

For me, sex had always been about getting off, and that's all there was to it -- just fun and games. I liked getting off, and I liked getting my partner off. Becky Jeffries screwed it all up for me after one harmless hand job, because she regretted what happened. For the first time, I felt guilty about sex. 

"Hey, Beckster, what are you doing tomorrow?" 

"Going to church," she said, pulling my baggy sweatshirt on over her head, hiding her figure like a collegiate nun.

"I mean after. Let's play tennis, or I could help you clear out the rest of your stuff from the dorm."

"I don't think that's a good idea."

"Why not?"

She marched down the mountain path. "I don't think I should see you for a while."

Exactly what I was afraid of. "I'll behave. I promise. I won't even lick your ice cream cones."

At least that made her smile. "It's not you. It's me. I don't know if I can trust myself around you."

Well, that was different. She liked how I made her feel. "Don't worry about it. You can trust me."

Becky turned and gave me a skeptical look. "Yeah, right."

"Right on!" I caught up and walked beside her. "We'll just be pals." 

"Why would you want that?"

I didn't want just that, but it sounded asexual -- plutonic. "Because you're good people. I want to know you." I did too, in every way. "Don't you want to know me better?"

Her silence filled me with dread.

"We can go to church together. We can study in the library together. Lord knows. I need to do more of that." 

Desperate, I compromised on one of my cardinal rules. "You can borrow my truck whenever you want." 

By the surprised look, I knew she was impressed. "You'd let me borrow your truck?"

I took her unresisting hand in mine and we walked like teenagers. "Sure. Why not? You've probably driven a truck longer than I have."

She paused to think, and said, "Okay, Doc, I'll see you, on one condition. You come to Friday night Bible study with me."

Ouch! "Every Friday?"

Becky let go of my hand and resumed the down hill trudge. "No. Only the Friday's before weekends that you want to see me."

Hoping she would change her mind, I agreed. Then I tried to bring her over to my side of the tracks. "Why don't you come to the Frat house after church tomorrow and watch the World Series with us? It's game two." 

A glance of interest gave me hope. Her escape velocity slowed a little. "Who are you rooting for, the Mets or the Orioles?"

"Wow! You know who's playing? I'm impressed!" 

"Grandpa was a huge Kansas City Athletics fan. It broke his heart when they moved to Oakland. But the Royals did well for their first season. Lou Piniella will be a hall-of-famer someday. So, I'm rooting for the American League and the Orioles."

"Guess we'll have to disagree on this one. My Pirates are National Leaguers, so I'm cheering for the Mets."

Becky made a sad face. "Too bad, Doc. They don't stand a chance."

"We'll see. Miracles happen. They're on a roll. They made it to first place for the first time, they clinched their first National League East Championship, and they won their first National League Championship. It's destiny."

"Big deal, they won the National's little league championship. They're in the Big Show now." She stuck out her tongue and I wanted to suck it.

"So, come over and gloat with Roger. He's from Baltimore."

"Yeah, right. Like I want something in common with Roger?"

"He's not so bad, straight and sober." Thankfully, she didn't ask how often that happened.

"We'll see."

I think we succeeded in putting our physical encounter behind us, talking cordially all the way home, and then we sat in my truck, outside Crossway's house, for 30 minutes.

Finally, she had enough of my BS. "I have to go, Doc. Things to do."

My best puppy dog eyes couldn't dissuade her. "Okay, if you say so." 

Becky began to remove my sweatshirt, and I said, "Keep it. You look better in it than I do." The moment became awkward. "Hey, Beckster, thanks for a fantastic day." 

I leaned over, and she offered her cheek. I'm sure Crossway was pleased, if he was watching.

"I had fun, Doc. Thanks for," the hesitation lasted long enough for her to blush prettily, "everything." 

She was out of the truck and at the front door in Olympic time. With a quick wave, Becky disappeared.

It took a while for me to pull away from the curb. I felt empty. There was a hole in my life I never knew existed. A quote that I'd heard recently came to mind. "Love is friendship on fire," and it felt like Becky's departure just put me out. 

Saturday nights at the Frat house were pretty much a rerun of Friday nights. 

The Orioles had beaten the Mets 4 to 1, and Roger celebrated like it had already been a four game sweep. "Your Mets are weak, DC." He'd been partying all afternoon and swayed in a nonexistent breeze. "Buford led off with a homerun and showed those losers it'll be no sweat. This is a series they're gonna wanna forget."

"Rog, you're rhyming. You know what that means?"

"Yeah Man, I'm a poet."

"No, Rog. It means you're totaled and you're gonna act like a total ass." 

Trying to focus, he asked, "Speakin' of asses, how was that sexy nymphet Becky-wecky? Did you get some honey on your stinger, Buddy? Don't wear her out, 'cause I want some of that when you're done."

My fists clenched, ready to punch the smirk off his sloshed face. But then it dawned on me, I hadn't been much different from him just yesterday morning.

Even hammered, Roger noticed my reaction. "Take it easy, DC." He put his arm around my shoulders. "Man, I think you're hooked. Be careful brother, or she'll reel you in like a sucker, you dumb ass mother fucker." He patted my back, and then staggered off to annoy Jimmy and the skinny redhead on his lap. 

The cook didn't work weekends, but he left us a pot of beef stew for meals. I went into the kitchen, dished out a big bowl, and popped open a can of beer. The blaring music hurt my head, so I took my dinner outside to eat in peace at the picnic table. I was on my second bowl when Patty Conway plopped down beside me. 

She sat backwards, leaned against the tabletop to push out her boobs, look at my face, and purr, "Hi, Lover-boy." She stuck a finger in my stew and then sensuously sucked it off.

Patty did not lack womanly charm. I smiled, and said, "Hi, Patty. How's it going?"

"Where were you today? The seventh inning stretch just wasn't the same without you."

"I went for a hike, needed some me-time."

A pout clouded her pretty face. "I heard you went on a picnic with the party prude from last night."

Why didn't I tell her the truth? What was I hiding from? A little embarrassed, I said, "That's true."

"How come you never took me on a picnic?" 

I really didn't want to answer that. "Do you like hiking in the woods? I thought you only liked strolling around Manhattan." 

Patty ran her fingers up and down my forearm. "I'd give the woods a try, if the company was right."

The attention was flattering, and I allowed her fingers to entwine with mine. 

"Becky's a country girl. I thought she'd enjoy a break from civilization." 

"Sounds like you know her pretty well, already. I'm jealous. I thought we had something special going." 

The comment surprised me. "Really? Why's that?"

Her face darkened. "I thought all the times..." She stopped, as her eyes darted to something behind me. "My mistake. Let's just kiss and be friends."

Before I could react, Patty grabbed the back of my head and pulled my lips to hers. The kiss lasted longer and contained more passion than a dozen friendly kisses. I finally broke free. 

"What was that for?"

Patty stood and pinched my cheek. "Payback, Lover-boy." 

Afterwards, I felt unnerved. I had no idea Patty had any feelings for me, other than a good time in the sack. Unable to finish my stew, I went for a walk to stew in my own juice. 

Lehigh had a mediocre football team, and a jubilant post-game crowd wandered around campus, celebrating a rare victory over Rutgers. They were a good source of entertainment for a while, until I saw a girl with an ass that reminded me of Becky. I decided I needed a Becky-fix. 

It only took a few seconds for Bill Crossway to answer the knock on his door. His glower made my stomach flip-flop, and I thought, despite his religiosity, he could've been The Fugitive's one-armed man. 

"Hi, Bill. Is Becky here?"

"Haven't you done enough damage for one day?"

Now I was pissed. I glowered back, "No, I guess not." 

"She's not here," he said, in a less than missionary tone, and then slammed the door in my face.

"Okay. See you in church. Have a great evening." 

Becky was on the loose. I liked that better than the thought of her cooped up in Bill's attic, burning incense, and chanting Psalms to conquer immoral desires. But where would she go? The only two places I could think of were the library and her dorm room. 

The library was closer. A thorough search turned up nothing, other than eggheads wasting another Saturday night on inanimate ideas. Although, I did spot a couple of four-eyes playing footsie under the table while they appeared pre-occupied with demystifying Rationalism and Empiricism philosophy. Hey, whatever turns you on.

As I approached Becky's dorm, she stepped outside, and my heart beat faster. But something was obviously wrong. She appeared agitated. She wrung her hands and her head snapped around, as if reacting to sounds or movement. Then her roommate, Cindy, came out and put her arm around Becky's shoulders in a comforting gesture.

My pace quickened, and I yelled, "Beckster!"

Becky stared at me as I came near. Her lips moved, but I couldn't hear her. She wore a dopey grin and her pupils were dilated to their limits. 

"What's up, Beckster?" 

"Doc, you can help too."

"Help?"

She held out a piece of crumpled paper. "Help me find him." 

"Okay?" I took the paper and smoothed it out. It was a telegram from the Army. Her brother Jeremy was missing in action. 

With a slurred drawl, Cindy spoke up, "Man, she's trippin'. Becky is so fucking uptight."

"I'm not uptight!"

"She was freakin' out about her brother, so I dosed her with a little Mellow to make her chill out." Cindy waved her arms in a slow circle, "Now she wants to arrange this global search party. Man, she's too much." 

Cindy turned and walked back inside, saying, "You be her co-pilot. I can't deal with this shit."

Fuck! I took Becky's hand and started walking. "Let's look around campus, first." 

She stopped abruptly and pulled my arm. "No! We have to look in the jungle!"

Acid trips are unpredictable. We'd dealt with a couple at the frat house, and I knew how a person responded to LSD depended a lot on their emotional state and surroundings. Calmly, I said, "Becky, it'll be dark soon. Jeremy is a trained soldier. He'll be fine."

"Take me to the airport."

Good idea. "All right, let's go." Maybe I could drive her around until she came down. 

We walked hand-in-hand. Becky's head snapped around erratically, and I was afraid of what horrific jungle visions might appear.

Roger spotted us from the frat house porch. "Becky-wecky, you came back!" He jumped off the steps, fell down, got up, and wobbled over -- his knee bleeding. "Why'd you run off so fast?"

Becky seemed fascinated by the red streak creeping down his shin. Then something clicked, and she turned on me. "You! You were kissing her! I saw you. After I let you touch me, you kissed her!" 

Suddenly, my encounter with Cindy replayed in my head. 'Payback, Lover-boy.' She must've seen Becky coming our way, and kissed me just to screw things up between us.

Roger squinted for focus, and said, "Wow, Man. Look at her eyes. Becky-wecky is fucked up."

I stared hard at him, and said, "She just found out her brother is MIA in 'Nam. I'm taking her to the airport."

He slowly nodded. "Right..." 

Becky struggled to break my hand hold, and said to Roger, "I don't want him to take me. Will you take me, please?"

Roger smiled benevolently. "No, Babe. I don't need another DWI." 

I released her hand and headed for my truck. "Are you coming or not?"

After a slight hesitation, Becky followed. When she got in, I locked her door.

As we pulled out, Roger waved and yelled, "Fly the friendly skies, Lucy."

Bewildered, Becky frowned. "Who's Lucy?"

"Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds, ever hear of that?"

She started singing it, loud.

I pushed in a Bob Dylan eight-track and changed the subject. "It's a long way to the airport. Sit back and relax, Beckster."

The gas tank was three-quarters full, which meant I wouldn't have to stop for a while. West seemed the best direction, so off we went, headed to God knows where.

Becky stared out of the side window for twenty miles, enraptured by the fall colors. She would ooh and aah from time to time, seeming content. My worst fear was she'd begin to worry about her brother, see horrible visions, and start to flip out. 

I just kept driving and changing eight-tracks for background filler. 

Soon, it was too dark to see anything except passing lights. Becky became restless. She slid over next to me, and I put my arm around her. 

A mile later, Becky sat up and pulled off her sweatshirt. "Hot." 

Braless in her flimsy tank-top, she sat closer and laid her head on my shoulder. "Take me home, Doc."

At least she was rational. 

"Are you sure you're ready to face Crossway?" 

"No. Take me home. Take me to Kansas."

My arm lay across the back of the seat. Becky pulled it down, covered her right breast with my palm, and held it tight. "Mmm." 

She wiggled. I felt her nipple harden. 

"Kansas? That's not on the way to the airport, Beckster." 

"I know." She moved my hand up and down. "The airport was stupid."

"Kansas is a thousand miles away."

"Time flies when you're having fun." 

My thoughts were conflicted. I remembered my promise to keep our relationship plutonic. I thought about driving in circles. But, as Becky placed my finger and thumb around her nipple, my brain disconnected. The lure of adventure clouded my judgment. Besides, it was only Saturday night. We still had Sunday to get back when Becky finally came to her senses. 

My fingers, with a mind of their own, pinched and rolled the heavenly morsel. 

Becky moaned, "Oh, Doc."

That was it. Decision made -- road trip.

Of course, I convinced myself I was only complying with Becky's wishes, just to keep her calm. If I kept her distracted and happy, there was less chance of her acid trip turning ugly. I was making her feel good, for her own good. So, I didn't try to stop her when she started to remove her clothes. The road was dark. I caught flashes of her as cars passed. She giggled all the way down to her birthday suit, and it suited her just fine. 

"I'm free!" She knelt backwards and stuffed her restrictive clothing behind the seat. But her sneakers wouldn't fit through the narrow space. Before I could stop her, Becky rolled down the window and threw them out. Then she proceeded to stick her head and chest out. 

Grabbing her ankle, I yelled at her to get back inside. Thankfully, she obeyed.

"Close the window. It's cold."

Manic with chemical joy, Becky bounced to the beat of 'Sunshine of Your Love', blasting on the stereo. She drummed on the dashboard and seat, while inching ever closer to me. 

Worried about her grabbing the wheel, I slowed down and pulled off onto the gravel shoulder. Safely in park, I turned and smiled at my beautiful passenger, her perspiration glowing in the dashboard candlelight. I had a few seconds to fully appreciate her feminine form, and then she attacked my clothes. 

"Wait! Slow down!" I had to help her, or risk having only shreds to put back on. Before she yanked my legs up and pulled off my pants, I was able to hide my boots under the seat. 

Once I was naked, she calmed down, sat back against her door, and stared at me.

"Okeydokey, lets move on down the road, before someone stops to help."

This was so unlike the innocent girl I knew, I hoped her memory would be expunged by the drug. This indecent act might devastate someone so chaste. At least we were alone. At least it was dark. At least we weren't strangers and had a sexual history, of sorts. Secretly, I hoped she was acting out exactly how she felt about me. Wishfully, I thought maybe she was using her most pleasurable experience to forget her most painful.

After a few miles, sitting against the door and staring at me wasn't good enough. 

Becky slipped over, kissed my shoulder, and said, "Doc, you're beautiful."

"Thanks, Beckster, and you're a beautiful woman."

She tickled my ear with a purr, as I felt her fingers stroll up my leg and dance in the wiry hair. I let off on the gas pedal, when I realized we'd hit eighty. 

Afraid of a wreck, I said, "Beckster, why don't you lie down on your back and put your head on my lap."

Giggling, she obeyed. 

I began to massage her with my free hand, glancing down from time to time. Other than the barbwire scar on her shoulder, her body was perfect in every way. This was a purely clinical examination, of course. Honestly, I wasn't trying to arouse her, just provide comfort. She seemed content with the soft caress of my fingers over her torso. 

But Becky soon had other expectations. She put one foot on the back of the seat and the other on the dashboard. Opening her knees, she pulled my hand down between her legs, pressed my fingers against the hot, damp crease, and whispered, "Please."

I have the willpower of a vampire on Halloween. My fingers slipped easily up and down, over and over, around and around. 

Becky was much more animated than the first time I diddled her, loud in fact. Her body writhed mightily with ripples of magnified sensations. The movement of her head on my lap brought my body to attention. Her hands mauled her breasts, twisting and stretching the nipples. The orgasmic screech echoed in the truck cab. Afterwards, my right ear hummed like a transformer. 

Becky finally relaxed, and curled up her side. From time to time, she twitched and groaned. I rubbed her back, and she quieted. 

When the tape ended I enjoyed the silence. It gave me time to rethink my plan. Kansas seemed an impossible goal. I didn't have the gas money and we didn't have any clothes. So, where could we go to recuperate? Becky said she wanted to go home. So, why not take her to my home? It seemed the perfect choice. Pittsburg was only four hours away and, better yet, I remembered my parents were away for the weekend. They had gone to New York City, to visit my Aunt and watch the Steelers play the Giants.

The gas gauge read just above a quarter-tank as I exited route 80 and headed south towards Altoona. Just past the town of Wingate was a long stretch of nothing. I found it comforting to be on familiar roads, where every turn seemed second nature, my mind free to ponder the naked lovely lying beside me. 

Up ahead, about ten miles, was a late-night ESSO gas station. But the attendant might charge extra to service nude customers. We needed our clothes. From previous experience, I knew a secluded spot down a side road -- perfect for potty breaks or, in this case, getting dressed. 

The truck bounced over dried tractor ruts, as I pulled behind a hedge row. Becky groaned, but showed no other signs of consciousness. 

Quickly, I exited the truck and pushed the seatback as far forward as Becky's body would allow. I had to do the same from the passenger door, in order to reach all our clothes. I dressed myself, and then Becky, enjoying the latter probably more than I should have, and probably taking longer than I should have. It was necessary to make sure she was breathing and her heart rate was normal. Part of me was glad she remained out of it, part of me worried. At this point there was nothing I could do, except keep going.




Fall of '69 Ch. 02



At least now we were presentable, if not as beautiful. 

With our clothes on, my anxiety level dropped, along with my excitement level. But a man's gotta do what a man's gotta do, at least until he's out of the public eye. 

When we pulled into the gas station, I worried that Becky would suddenly spring to life and create a scene. The pump jockey leaned down, gave me a brown smile, and asked how he could help. A greasy name patch on his blue overalls said Chip. Chip is not a name for a 40 year-old man. Normally, I would offer that piece of advice, but Chip appeared too curious about Becky, and her lack of movement. As he washed the windshield, his eyes kept glancing in her direction, so I made him check the oil, to prove I wasn't concerned. 

"She all right?" he asked. 

I handed over eight dollars and forty cents. "Yeah, she's just tired. We had exams all week, and she pulled some all-nighters, cramming." 

In a serious voice, Chip commanded, "Drive careful."

"You bet. Thanks, Man."

I breathed a sigh of relief, and sped off into the night. With nothing but good vibes about what lay ahead, I popped in the Beach Boys' tape and sang surfer tunes, off-key. This trip home was a great idea. I needed a break from the daily ho-hum. I wondered if my parents would freak out if they found me at home with a girl. Maybe we'd stay the week. Becky might not be ready to face classes on Monday. It would be my pleasure to show her around the Steel City. It wasn't a bad place, if you didn't mind smoke.  

Just 30 minutes from home, Becky sucked air, sat up, and looked around, dazed. 

"Hi, Beckster. You okay?"

She crosser her arms over her chest, and said, "I'm cold. Stop the truck. I want the sweatshirt."

I'd neglected to put it back on her. Apparently, she remembered where it was. Traffic was light. I pulled over and retrieved the fleecy garment. Becky thanked me, and that was the end of our conversation for 10 miles. 

She stared at the city glow ahead, and asked, "Where are we?"

"Almost to Pittsburgh. Kansas was just too far, Beckster."

Becky didn't say anything or ask questions. For the rest of the trip she rested her head against the door. Sometimes her eyes were open and sometimes they were closed. The conversation remained one sided -- just me, acting like a tour guide, commenting on points of little interest along the way. 

Finally pulling into the driveway, I felt exhausted and relieved the trip ended safely. Our house sat at the end of an oak-lined, dead end street. I left my truck outside, so the neighbors wouldn't get suspicious if the house lights were on while my parents were away. We entered through the empty garage and into the kitchen. The place smelled of cinnamon. Mom must've baked an apple pie for the visit with Aunt Mary.

"Where's the bathroom?"

"Follow me." We went upstairs and I showed her the main bath, and then I pointed. "I'll be in my room, making the bed." That was my first chance to see her eyes up close in good light. Her irises looked normal. My guess was the acid hit had been relatively mild and she was nearly, if not completely, back to normal. 

"Thanks," she said, and quickly closed the bathroom door behind her. 

I finished tucking in the sheets and was putting a fresh pillowcase on, when Becky appeared at the bedroom door. 

"How are you feeling?"

She didn't look at me, but said, "Like an idiot."

"It wasn't your fault. Cindy shouldn't have --"

"It was my fault. She offered it and I took it."

"Oh." I was speechless. I'd believed Cindy had secretly slipped her the drug. "Why?"

Becky shrugged, and simply said, "I wanted to escape from all the pain."

My chest tightened. "After you found out about Jeremy, you came to see me, didn't you?"

Her eyes welled with tears, and she whispered, "Yes."

"But you saw Patty and me together?"

Words escaped her, but she nodded slightly.

"Becky, I had no idea she was going to kiss me. She only did it because she saw you coming, and knew that I liked you. She did it to be spiteful. You were right; Patty did have feelings for me. Today, she found out I didn't have any for her." 

We stood silent, digesting the information.

"Where's your Mom and Dad?"

"New York, visiting my Aunt. They won't be back until Monday afternoon."

"How convenient."

Well, that hurt. "I'll take you back, right now, if that's what you want. I just thought you'd like to get away from everything for a while." 

Becky looked at me. With tears streaming down her cheeks, she said, "I'm sorry."

I rushed over and hugged her. "Don't be. There's nothing to be sorry about. I'm sorry about your brother. I'm sorry you've been hurt so much. I just want you to know, I'm here to help in any way I can."

Becky wrapped her arms around me and sobbed uncontrollably against my neck. I held her tight, and soon fought back tears of commiseration. Words escaped me. How do you comfort someone who's lost everyone? 

Eventually, her tears ran dry and she broke away, seeming embarrassed by the outburst. 

"Are you hungry, Beckster? I smelled apple pie. Mom never makes just one. We could gorge ourselves; eat it right out of the pan." 

She laughed. Wiping her cheeks on her sleeve, she said, "We should save some for your parents, but I'd love a piece. Would there be vanilla ice cream to go with it?"

"Of course, is there any other way? You want your pie heated?"

"Of course, is there any other way?"

"Not in this house."

We walked down the stairs and into the kitchen. 

I went after the pie. "Turn on the oven, Becksteroni."

"I don't like that one." 

My mother had heavy ceramic bowls for such occasions. I cut two large slices of deep-dish apple pie and deposited them into the bowls. "Mom's a great cook."

Becky hovered close and watched over my shoulder with her hand on my back. "Looks delicious." 

"Grab the ice cream. Might as well let it soften while we wait."

After retrieving the ice cream from the freezer, she leaned against the counter beside me. An awkward silence heated the air faster than the oven. 

To kill time, I asked, "Did your Grandma make good apple pies." 

Becky's nose wrinkled. "Not really. We were more of a cake family. She made great apple pancakes, though -- won blue ribbons at the county fair."

"Yeah? That sounds good. Do you cook, Becksterini?"

"Don't like that one, either. Grandma taught me everything she knew. So I guess I won't poison anyone."

I laughed. "I can't make that same promise." I grabbed the pie bowls and headed for the oven. "That should be hot enough. Open her up and I'll stick them in."

Once they were in the oven, I wound the timer. "Four minutes is usually enough."

More time to kill. "How are you feeling?"

"Honestly? I feel a lot of different things, mostly embarrassed." 

"About?"

"About what I did."

"What did you do?" I hoped she didn't remember everything.

After a long pause, she said, "I threw my sneakers out of the truck window."

If she remembered that, then she probably remembered the rest. I guessed she didn't want to bring up everything. "Yes, you did."

Her hands flew to cover her face. "Oh God, I've become a drug slut, like Cindy."

"No! You are not." I took her in my arms.

Becky remained rigid with self-contempt. Her hands remained over her face. 

"It was the drug's fault. You'd never act that way." 

She didn't seem comforted by my drug-fault theory. I really believed that the drug removed all inhibitions and allowed her to do exactly what she'd wanted to do. I wondered how she would react to the memory.

I held her until the timer went off. "Pie time, Becksterooski."

"Don't like that one."

I donned plaid oven mitts and placed the warm bowls on wooden trays. Becky regained her composure and scooped a generous portion of vanilla ice cream on top. 

Picking up my tray, I said, "Let's eat in the game room."

"Game room? Sounds sophisticated."

"Just a fancy name for the basement. Dad had it finished off for a place where rowdy brothers could entertain their friends, without disturbing the parents or damaging the antiques." 

At the bottom of the stairs, Becky glanced around, and said, "Wow, this is nice. You guys had it made."

I turned on the TV, fiddled with the antenna, and then sat on the lumpy, Naugahyde sofa beside Becky. With our feet on the coffee table crate, we enjoyed our pie a la mode, while watching late-night 'I Love Lucy'. It was the episode where she stuffs her mouth full of bonbons in the chocolate factory. Gluttony all around. 

"Mmm, Doc, this pie is delicious."

"Good thing Mom only makes them once in a while, otherwise I'd be huge and you wouldn't think I was so beautiful."

My reference to her nude truck comment made her blush, further evidence she remembered everything. Her eyes remained focused on the grainy picture tube, but she smiled between forkfuls of delight. 

In companionable silence we finished our pie. Becky declined a second helping. The TV channel signed off at midnight with the Star Spangled Banner, leaving us with a grayscale test pattern and what-next tension.

Becky laid her head on my shoulder.

I said, "It's been a long day."

I felt her nod in agreement.

"You should go to bed and get some rest."

Out of no where, Becky said, "My panties were on backwards."

What could I say, but, "Sorry."

She kissed my cheek. "Thanks for the helping hand."

I laughed. "Anytime."

"I'm going to bed." Becky got up.

I followed her upstairs, gave her a toothbrush, and left her alone. I went into my room, grabbed some clothes, and then went to my brother Rob's old room and made the bed. When I came out, my bedroom door was closed. 

I knocked, and said, "Becky, I'm taking a shower. Do you need anything?"

The door opened. Becky appeared, wearing only my sweatshirt. "No, I'm good." Her emerald eyes were heavy lidded, her lips moist, and her skin flushed. "Call me Beckster. I like that." 

The thought of her, sleeping in my room, in my bed, and wearing my clothes, revived all of my adolescent fantasies. "Okay, Beckster. Sweet dreams."

"Night, night." The door closed slowly, as our eyes remained locked.

That little exhibition did little to promote sleep. Maybe a super hot shower would help. I stood in the steaming spray, thinking about Becky eating ice cream, Becky kissing me, Becky on the mountain, and Becky in the truck. I never thought of Becky in the shower, until the shower curtain opened. The rattle nearly made me jump out of my skin. Then I saw her, and wanted to jump on her skin. 

She boldly stepped in.

"I'm sorry, this shower is taken."

Becky grabbed the washcloth and lathered it up. "Turn around."

I rolled my eyes, and did what I was told. "Plutonic friends can wash each others back, I suppose."

"I suppose." She did a thorough job, too, stopping at my waist. When she finished, she said, "Rinse."

I turned around, sporting a towel rack of my own. She hung the washcloth on it and we switched places. 

As I soaped up my hands, Becky pulled her hair over her shoulder to clear the way. 

I said, "Okay Bubble Buddy, a quick wash and then you're out of here." 

It wasn't that quick. I have the willpower of a flea at a dog show. My hands did a thorough job on her back, and then they drifted south. Becky put her hands on the wall for support and moaned softly. 

"What was that? Did you say 'I missed a spot'?"

Huskily, she answered, "Yeah, you missed lots of them."

The spray splashed down her back. Extra soapy hands were required to really clean everywhere, which naturally took longer. Becky didn't seem to be in a hurry, or able to wash herself. Obviously, she was still under the influence of pie a la acid.

Of course, this was all about being a good friend. Good friends do good things for each other. Because she seemed incapable of taking care of herself, I pulled her upright to lean against me, and then took great care washing her front side. In my big head, we were just buddies. Unfortunately, my penis had a head of its own. Becky noticed, and leisurely swayed against the uncouth renegade, sandwiched between us. "Okay, Beckster. All done." 

She turned, put her arms around my neck, and pulled me down for a crushing, full bodied kiss, then wordlessly, stepped out. 

I said, "You're welcome." 

Before exiting the bathroom, I allowed enough time for my body to return to normal. Her bedroom door was open and the light was on. So I stopped to check on my guest. Becky stood at the dresser, wearing my Roberto Clemente, number 21 jersey, examining one of my childhood plastic car models -- a 1962 Chevy Corvette convertible. 

Without looking at me, she said, "I thought you were a Ford man."

"That car is a work of art. You can't deny beauty, wherever you find it." 

"I guess not." 

I was seeing beauty now, on two legs. "The shirt you're wearing, Dad bought that for me at a night game, when I was 16. There were fireworks afterwards. Seeing the shirt brings back great memories. It's too small for me, but it fits you perfectly. Now, I'll have great new memories."

She gently put down the model, and walked over to the Barbara Eden poster on the wall opposite my bed -- another adolescent acquisition I should've put away. "She's beautiful. Wouldn't it be nice to have a genie to make all your wishes come true? I bet you thought of that a lot -- on your bed, looking at this poster." 

"I won't deny it." In fact, at that moment, I found myself wishing. 

Becky walked past me, and stood in front of my Joe Namath poster. "He's kind of cute, in a rugged way." Then she looked at me with the full power of her charming grin. "But he's not beautiful, like you." 

My knees felt weak. I put my shoulder against the door frame. "You're not making this easy for me."

"No, I'm not," she said, moving to stand in front of me and untying the knot of my robe. "I'm trying to make it hard for you." 

The robe parted four inches. Becky ran one finger down the center of my chest, across my stomach, and stopped at the junction where my stomach met my it, and it was only semi-hard. Her finger traced along the sagging top and then slipped underneath to support it. About 10 seconds later, her wish came true. 

"Wow, that's amazing." Becky backed away to ogle. 

"Beckster..." The way her eyes slid over me tied my tongue. Since I have the will power of a mosquito in a nudist colony, I removed the robe and threw over the desk chair. 

Becky continued to stare, and a blush grew on her face and neck. Her nipples pushed out against the numbers 2 and 1. I'd never witnessed overpowering desire on a woman before. With intense yearning on her face, Becky radiated warmth like the sun heats the skin. Her eyes met mine, and their green fire consumed me. "Doc?"

My cock began to throb with my heartbeat. But, in the back of my mind, my self-righteous subconscious remembered my promise. I had told her, if she couldn't trust herself around me, she could trust me. We would just be pals. 

I stepped forward, and Becky's eyes opened wide with anxious expectation. Brushing past her, I pulled Barbara off the wall, and crumpled my boyhood fancy into a ball. I walked out of the room, saying, "My fantasy days are over. Sweet dreams, Beckster." 

After a few steps toward my brother's room, she followed me into the hall. "I don't want to be alone."

That's all it took. She broke my heart and my will, all at the same time. Without turning, I said, "Give me a minute," and entered Rob's bedroom. 

It probably took five minutes before I was able to put on a pair of boxers and go back. The nightstand light was on. Becky was in bed, hidden under a sheet pulled up to her neck. The baseball jersey lay over the chair, on top of the robe. My old, double bed looked tiny. It seemed huge when I was a kid. I was about to tell her I'd sleep on the floor, when Becky grinned and threw back the covers, revealing her bare side from hip to shoulder. 

Having the willpower of a Great White in a school of tuna, I didn't argue. Instead, I smiled warmly, backed onto the bed, teetered on my side near the edge, and pulled the sheet over me. "Beckster--" 

"Shh." 

A quick hand yanked me onto my back, while the sheet flew off. Becky put her full weight on my chest and her full lips on my mouth, moving with a contagious hunger. 

I gave as good as I got, and it was very good, indeed. 

I tried to roll on top, but she threw her leg over me, and pinned my shoulders to the mattress. "Stop! It's my turn." 

"When did we decide to take turns?"

She waved a finger in my face, "I mean it."

Who was I to argue with a beautiful, naked woman? "Your wish is my command."

That made her smile. "Good," she said, and resumed kissing me into submission. 

Having her way with a man was new to Becky, and being a woman's first experience was a new thrill for me. I think our assured privacy gave her the confidence to be bold and inquisitive, or maybe it was still the acid. At that point, I didn't really care. As Becky explored, her curious glances for my reaction only excited me more. I folded my pillow in half to better watch her beautiful body, while she titillated mine. 

Shortly after she started teasing my chest, the front of my boxers began to rise magically like a pan of Jiffy Pop. 

Cupping the bulge in her hand, she said, "I think I'd better release you, before it does damage." 

Rapidly, we were both naked. 

"That's better." Becky rubbed the underside of my cock and smiled shyly. "Isn't it?"

"Oh, yeah, much better." 

For the next ten minutes, Becky was engrossed in a study of the penis. I became a lab specimen -- a very happy lab specimen. "It's so hard and so soft, all at the same time." "Are you circumcised?" "The veins make it look strong." 

"How does this feel?" was my favorite question.

When Becky felt fully informed and stopped asking questions, she laid her head on my stomach, leisurely stroking my cock. Her head slid down a few inches, and I felt her tongue gently lick the tip. "Not much flavor."

Then I felt the velvety warmth of her mouth cover the crown. 

"Beckster..."

"You like that?"

"Uh-huh."

"Me too," she said, and did it again, this time humming. 

For someone so inexperienced, I found out Becky was an intuitive lover. Instinctively, she would add another sensation, like a tickle with her fingers or a twirl of her tongue, piling one pleasure on another. This had been lacking in our earlier encounter on the mountain. She was no longer indifferent, she was attentive and loving. The notion Becky was totally into it brought me quickly to the brink. 

My hips twitched with the beginning. "Sweetie, you make me feel so good."

"Sweetie? I like that." She bobbed her head faster and sucked, while pumping a fistful of shaft. 

Placing my hand on her head, I warned her, "I'm coming, Sweetie."

Just in time, Becky pulled her mouth away, but continued to jerk me off. 

I erupted violently, expressing my extreme pleasure with an arched back and a feral moan, new to my sexual lexicon. 

Becky laughed, and said, "Wow, Honey. That must've felt good."

Unlike the first time, Becky continued to caress me as the pleasure faded. It felt caring and personal. Then, totally unexpected, she wrapped her lips around my deflating cock and sucked for a few seconds. "Mmm, a little salty, a little bitter, but not bad."

I grabbed her arm and pulled. "Come here, Beckster."

Smiling, almost triumphantly, she laid down beside me. This time she allowed me the top position. Hugging her tight, I kissed her with all the passion I'd held in check for hours. My grateful heart was near bursting, and yet part of me felt I'd betrayed her. I worried she'd regret this in the morning. All I could now was live in the moment and show her absolute appreciation. 




Fall of '69 Ch. 02



My lips traveled down to her hard nipples and I sucked greedily. I pinched and tweaked mercilessly. Her fingers raked my scalp. I became mad with the desire to make her coming a hundred times better than mine. Increasing squeaks and moans made evident my success. 

Kissing down her stomach, I grabbed her legs behind the knees, lifted and spread them apart. My eyes met hers, and then I looked down at her open sex. Her essence wafted up, and I inhaled deeply. She watched entranced, as I kissed the inside of her thighs, one and then the other, working my way to the pink and juicy. Becky knew what was coming and her breaths became ragged. The tangy flavor of her on my tongue was enhanced by the jerk of her hips and the guttural release of "Oh my God" from her lips. 

"You're delicious, Sweetie." 

Determined to make this night one Becky would never forget or regret, I dove in with a full-frontal assault, my tongue blazing -- flicking, sucking, rubbing, rolling. My hands teased full tilt on tits and ass and clitoris. I touched all the bases, dozens of times. 

Becky thought she'd felt an orgasm before, but by the time I was finished with her, she was a shuddering, tingling pile of sensations -- a beautiful pile. I crawled up her body wearing my version of a triumphant smile. 

"That was tasty and fun." I licked my lips, and said, "Better than pie a la mode."

Slowly, I moved to kiss her, ready to stop at any sign of disgust. Her eyes showed only satisfaction, as our lips met. We kissed and fondled tenderly for what seemed like hours. Then I spooned her and we fell asleep. 



Fall of '69 Ch. 03



Becky was made for moonlight. 

I woke up and watched her sleep -- so peaceful, so radiant. I worried about her. I prayed for her -- something I hadn't done since I was a child tucked in at night. Becky slept on her stomach, her hands underneath the pillow. Her hair had fallen across her face and I brushed it back to see her clearly. She mumbled incoherently, and hooked her leg over mine. 

Later, when I awoke again, we had separated. I rubbed her back and then cruelly slid away when her foot searched for me. She woke briefly to rein me in with her arm over my chest, and hugged me covetously. For some reason, I was a comfort to her. What a nice feeling. My heart swelled with protective, teddy bear, intensity. 

At 8:00, I awoke with my usual morning erection. I thought it best to get up and pee, so as not to give Becky the wrong impression. While in the bathroom, I also washed off the dried residue from the night before, then shaved, and brushed my teeth. By the time I got back to bed I'd been replaced by my pillow, clutched against her cheek. 

Retrieving my boxers from the floor, I slipped them on. 

Her eyes opened when I sat down on the edge. 

"Good morning, Sunshine."

"Mmm." Becky rolled onto her back and stretched her arms out wide. "Good morning." Her fingers landed on my lower back and scratched lightly. "What time is it?"

"A little after 8:00." I bent down and gave her a friendly kiss. We rubbed noses. "I'm going to make breakfast. How do you like your eggs?"

While she thought it over, I grabbed the number 21 jersey from the chair and threw it on the bed for her. I was too selfish to offer underwear.

"I'd like a couple of eggs, sunny-side up, with buttered toast, please."

"You got it."

My gut wanted to watch her dress. My heart said, 'give her privacy.' I was going with my heart today.

From the kitchen, I could hear the telltale morning sounds in the upstairs bathroom. Breakfast was ready by the time she strolled in, looking freshly scrubbed and wearing paisley boxers she'd found in my dresser, along with the 21 jersey. 

"Mmm, smells good, Doc." 

"Well Beckster, I hope it tastes as good as it smells," I said, pouring orange juice made fresh from concentrate. 

Becky sat, and said, "I'm starving." 

"If you want more, just ask."

I put the plates down and sat opposite from her. She reached across the table and I took her hands. 

"Doc, would you say Grace?"

"Sure." I closed my eyes and collected my thoughts, knowing the prayer had to be more serious than my modified Boy Scout prayer from yesterday. "Lord, thank you for this food, and bless it to our use. Be with Jeremy. Protect and comfort him. Amen."

I opened my eyes, but Becky continued, so I closed them again. 

"Lord, be with my brother. Please bring him home safe. Thank you for Don -- his friendship and protection. Bless him too, Lord. Amen."

We opened our eyes to each other. Hers were brimming, but she smiled like everything was going to be fine. 

Breakfast passed in companionable silence. I'd brought the Sunday paper in from the porch and we shared sections back and forth. She read the war news. I concentrated on the sports section.

After a while, I glanced up from Saturday's World Series box scores to see tears fall from Becky's cheeks onto the colorful comics.

"Beckster, those are supposed to make you laugh. What's wrong?"

She shook her head. "Nothing."

I got up and walked around the table. Placing my hand on her shoulder, I asked, "Tell me, what's the matter?"

Becky pounded her index finger down onto the Peanuts comic strip. "Why won't Lucy let Charlie Brown kick the damn football? Why is she always so mean to him?"

"I don't know, Sweetie. Because he's such a block-head? Why does he trust her every time?"

"He's not a block-head! He's an optimist, always trying to see the best in people, always hoping for good things." Becky obviously felt a kinship with Good ole Charlie. 

"I know. That's why everyone loves him. I think even Lucy loves him. Some people just don't know how to express affection. Or maybe she's jealous." 

Why were we talking about these cartoon characters as if they were real people? "Next time, he should just kick her."

She laughed. "Charlie would never hurt anybody intentionally." 

"I don't know. Charles M. Schultz may snap someday. Pig Pen might take a shower. Linus might outgrow his blanket. Do you know what the 'M' stands for?"

By now, Becky had grown accustom to my smartass-ness, and she looked at me with cool skepticism. "No. Tell me."

"It stands for Mickey. Schultz hates Walt Disney, because he stole the Mickey Mouse idea from him. Snoopy was supposed to be a mouse."

As I went back to my chair, Becky just shook her head in disbelief. At least she stopped crying. 

I cleared my plate from the table, saying, "You want to go to church?"

Becky came up beside me. "I have nothing to wear."

"Rinse what's left on your plate into the garbage disposer." I opened the cold water faucet and turned on the switch. 

Above the grinding, I said loudly, "God won't mind. He's seen you without clothes."

Becky has sharp elbows.

"I bet my mom's clothes would fit you. You're about the same size." 

"She wouldn't like someone wearing her stuff."

"She won't ever know," I said, loading the dishwasher. "I bet you'd look nice in a dress."

"You guys have all the modern conveniences." She watched me wipe off the counter, and said, "I'd like to go to church. I guess it wouldn't hurt to try something on."

"Great! Let's go look." 

We headed upstairs. 

"When I was a teenager, I used to snoop in their bedroom when they were out." 

"Yeah? Did you find any surprises?"

I wasn't going to lie. "I found Dad's condoms in his dresser. He bought them in boxes of 24. So I figured he wouldn't miss a few. I was curious, and had to try one on. One led to another." 

A quiet, "Oh." was all Becky offered in comment. 

My parents' room hadn't changed in ten years. The king-size four poster bed, covered with a windmill quilt, dominated the room. The chestnut-dark furniture and woven, oval rug gave the impression rich colonial's slept here. All it needed to complete the image was a pitcher and bowl, and a chamber pot. 

As I walked over to Dad's dresser, I pointed at a closet door and said, "Mom's dresses are in there."

Just like old times, I opened Dad's sock drawer and pushed aside a pile of whites to spot the red Trojan box. "They're still here."

Something new had been added. I pushed aside more socks to get a clear view. "What?" I couldn't believe it. My parents had gotten kinky.

Becky said, "How would this look on me?"

Turning to see what she found, I clutched a pink dildo in my hand. "Beautiful, the green matches your eyes."

Becky's face turned dildo pink, as she stared at my discovery.

"Can you believe it? My parents are playing with toys."

Her eyes broke away from the phallus and met mine. "They really do have all the modern conveniences."

Laughing, I said, "I guess so." I put it back, and closed the drawer. 

Becky stared at me, while still holding the dress in front of her. 

"Are you going to try it on?" 

"Uh, yeah. I guess so." 

I learned that once Becky crossed a bridge she doesn't turn back. Seeming without embarrassment, she quickly stripped naked and then stepped into the dress. 

Turning away, she asked, "Would you zip me up, please?"

Like the Mohave Desert at noon, my mouth was bone dry. But I managed to squeak out. "Sure."

"It feels a little snug. How does it look?"

For a simple scoop neck, short-sleeved, knee length dress, it looked stunning on Becky. A glimpse of cleavage bulged, as the tight bodice hugged her breasts.

I think my eyes bulged out of my head, because she smiled, before I said, "Amazing."

"I don't remind you of your mother?" she asked, slipping her feet into a pair of Mom's high heels. 

"Definitely not."

"That's good. I don't want you to have any weird, Oedipus fantasies." She walked a circle in the shoes. "These fit perfect." 

Picking up her sleepwear, Becky said, "You'd better get ready."

We adjourned to my room.

After throwing the Pittsburg Pirate's jersey onto my bedroom chair, Becky discretely slipped the boxer shorts on under her dress. "I'm going to brush my teeth and wait downstairs."

She didn't stick around to watch me get ready, which was disappointing. My brown suit, a leftover from my high school graduation, felt a little tight in the shoulders and waist, but presentable enough. 

I found Becky outside in the backyard, standing radiant in the sunshine at the far end of the pool. 

"You look very handsome, Doc."

If there had been water in the pool I would've swam to her like Flipper, dancing on his tail fin. "Thanks."

"What a beautiful home your parents have. You were a lucky boy."

"Seeing you there, I'm still lucky."

Shyly, Becky looked away, and said, "We should get going."

It sounded like a plea to do something moral, before we did something that undid our Sunday best. 

"We'll be early."

"Well then, drive me around. Show me some sights."

The sights included my old high school, Dad's Ford dealership, downtown Pittsburg, and the nearly completed Three Rivers Stadium. 

"Next year, the Pirates and the Steelers will play there. I'm going to miss watching the Steeler's games at Pitt."

"How will they play baseball and football in the same place? The fields are so different." 

"A lot of people have asked that question. Some say it's too big for baseball. I guess we'll find out."

The stone monolith, known as the First Baptist Church, was our last stop. When I was little, I thought it was God's castle on earth. All it needed was a moat and a drawbridge.

Becky looked up at the towering steeple, and said, "Wow."

"Does it remind you of your church at home?" 

"You could put ten of my churches inside of this."

"We don't believe in the KISS method of religion around here."

Becky gave me her what-the-fuck-are-you-talking-about look. Okay, erase the-fuck part. 

I said, "Keep It Simple Shepherd." 

She laughed. Her laugh made me tingle. I've always wanted to be more of a comedian, but was afraid I'd be funny like Tommy Smothers instead of Dick, the smart one. I wouldn't mind being a fool for love, but I didn't want to appear dopey. 

It had been a long time since I'd been to church. No one in the intimate congregation of 900 looked familiar. I picked a pew in the back for a quick getaway. We sang some familiar hymns. Becky's eyes welled up when we sang 'It is Well with My Soul'. I figured it must be one of her favorite hymns after all she'd been through. She didn't have the voice of an angel, but she sang from the heart and held my hand. Even though my voice remained low, my heart soared to the rafters. We held hands during the prayer time, as well. For a religious woman, she liked physical contact in spiritual matters. I took it as a sign of affection. Unfortunately, I wanted to worship her like a pagan. Any sign of affection from her led to me wanting more. Sinful thoughts waged war in my body during the entire service.

The sunlight, streaming through the magnificent stained glass windows, poured rainbows into the cavernous sanctuary. Within the beams of illumination tiny particles slowly floated like flakes in a snow globe. It was a special time and a special place. A memory never to forget. 

When we sat down for the message, I put my arm around Becky. 

Without looking at me, she smiled and edged closer until our hips met. 

Pastor Ichabod began to preach, and I tried to concentrate. His name wasn't really Ichabod, but with his hawk nose and bobbing Adam's apple, it should've been.

"Open your Bibles to Luke 10: 25."

Becky took a Bible from the pew rack and quickly opened to the chapter. 

At least I knew Luke was in the New Testament -- Mathew, Mark, Luke, and John. After that, I have to flip through, and hope to spot the correct book on the first pass. I usually don't try, because by the time I find it, the pastor has already read the scripture out loud.

Becky held the Bible between us, offering me to follow along with her. 

The pastor read: "On one occasion an expert in the law stood up to test Jesus. 'Teacher,' he asked, 'what must I do to inherit eternal life?'"

"What is written in the Law?" he replied. "How do you read it?"

He answered: "'Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength and with all your mind'; and, 'Love your neighbor as yourself.'"

"You have answered correctly," Jesus replied. "Do this and you will live."

It was text from the Good Samaritan parable, one of my favorites. I glanced at Becky. She smiled at me, and I realized I might love my neighbor even better than myself.

She turned her lips to my ear, and whispered, "You're my Good Samaritan."

I thought, 'not so good', but warmed at the sentiment. Becky obviously had unrealistic expectations about my motives. While I sat and listened to the message, goodness reared its ugly head and I decided we should drive back to school right after the service. 

My brooding must've been obvious, because Becky elbowed me. 

When I looked, she crossed her eyes.

I smiled and she smiled. 

I wrapped my arms around her and ravished her lips with mine. 

Well, I wanted to, but I only thought about it. Then I confessed my sin and forced myself to think about Biblical plagues, to prevent an embarrassing boner from spouting like corruption in Sodom and Gomorra. Church is no place for a hard-on, even if you're married and thinking about your wife. Well, maybe then. But you can't do anything about it. So, in my mind, I suffered with locusts, boils, and the fires of hell, before my cock gave up. The fact that Becky rested her head on my shoulder didn't help at all. 

The pastor ended the sermon by quoting: Jesus told him, "Go and do likewise."

I took it personal. 

We sang a closing hymn and then filed out. 

Pastor Ichabod shook our hands at the door. "Nice to see you. God Bless." 

I wanted to warn him about the headless horseman, but figured he'd heard it before and, anyways, God would protect him. "Great sermon, Pastor. It really hit home."

"Thank you, young man." He had a toothy smile, like tipped dominoes. "Come back next week, and I'll try to hit a home run."

As we walked away, Becky said, "He reminds me of someone." 

"Yeah, I know. Ichabod Crane."

She smiled. "I was thinking of Bob Lewis."

I looked back over my shoulder, and said, "He does a little."

She laughed and bumped me with her hip. "You don't know Bob, unless you've been to Cottonwood Springs, Kansas."

"I was there last summer, for the cotton and wood festival. What a blast we had. The Bobster is a cotton pickin', wood choppin', maniac."

Beckster took my arm, hugged it, and then laid her cheek against my shoulder. "What time is the game?" 

I shivered with pleasure, and it took a moment to gather my thoughts. "What game?" 

"You know, World Series game 2, when the Orioles embarrass the Mets yet again."

This was the perfect opportunity to tell her we should drive back to school. "Two o'clock." 

"I need to buy some sneakers. Can we stop somewhere?"

"Sure. There's a Kressgee's on the way home. I think it opens at noon on Sundays."

"Can I borrow some money?"

"On one condition."

With smirking apprehension, she asked, "What's that?"

"You have to help me rake up the leaves in the yard. I'll buy you some Red Ball Jets, so you can run faster and jump higher into the pile."

She laughed. 

I tingled.

She said, "Okay. Fair enough," squeezing me sideways. 

As we drove out of the church parking lot, Becky slid over next to me and laid her palm on my thigh. I guess buying her a pair of sneakers meant we were officially a couple. More likely, it was an accumulation of events, and the sneakers just sealed the deal. Whatever the cause, I was fanatically into it. Forget about going back to school. Raking leaves with Becky took top priority. 

The Kressgee stop didn't take long. Becky quickly picked out a blue pair of low top, canvas sneakers, and we were home in no time. 

Up in my room, we undressed together and acted very nonchalant about it. At least it was an act on my part. Even though there wasn't anything that I hadn't already seen, touched, or tasted, my desire for her seemed to grow like a magic beanstalk. 

Unfortunately, she didn't stare at me with lust in her eyes like I'd hoped, but I caught her looking when I was down to my briefs. 

After Becky dressed in her own clothes, she said, "I'm going to put your mom's stuff back in her closet."

I smiled, and said, "I'll never look at that dress again without seeing you in it." Or seeing you get in and out of it, but I didn't want to sound vulgar, so I kept that part to myself. 

"Although, Beckster, you look beautiful no matter what you're wearing." Or not wearing.

She gave me a shy grin, said thanks, and left. 

We met again at the top of the stairs. There was a moment, as we smiled at one another, that I thought we might not leave the second floor until Monday. 

Then Becky pushed me out of the way. "Ladies first," she said, and started running down. 

"Well, that wasn't very ladylike, Missy." I followed close on her heals, and she squealed in playful terror.

I let her get as far as the garage door, before I grabber her and pulled her back against my chest. 

She laughed and struggled to break free, then tipped her head back to meet my eyes with anticipation. Her attention slipped down to my lips. 

"Allow me to get the door." 

I let go of her and opened it. 

There seemed a conflicted hesitation in her exit. She poked me in the stomach, and said, "Thank you. Maybe you are a gentleman."

"Don't get carried away."

There were only two trees in our yard -- two huge trees -- one a maple and one oak. 

As we approached the leaf blanketed grass, a burst of nostalgia ensnared me. This was another family tradition soon to end. I put my hand over the end of the rake handle and rested my chin on it. "I've raked these leaves every year, as long as I can remember. When I was a kid and would believe anything, Dad told us the trees competed with each other to see which one could drop the most leaves. I tried to count a few times, but I imagined the lead leaf-dropper award alternated every year."

"That's a nice memory."

"Which leaves do you like best, Maple or Oak?"

"I don't know. I've never thought about it." 

"Then I'll decide for you." Putting down the rake, I began my search. "Because you're so sweet, Beckster, you're Maple this year. I'll be Oak."

She gave me a confused look. "Okay? Now what?"

"It's a Carter family tradition. Before we rake, you have to find your favorite leaf."

I wasn't as particular as I used to be, and quickly found a golden oak leaf without defect. Becky picked out a brilliant red Maple, perfect except for a dime-sized hole in the middle. When she handed it over, I didn't ask why, and she didn't explain. I think I understood. 

After placing them on our leaf storage rock with small stone on top to hold them, I began raking the reject leaves toward the garden. "We make a compost pile over there, for mom."

We fell into the joint task like a pair of Olympic figure rakers. Without pre-arrangement, we naturally began to work close together, back to back. Our raking speed became a competition of sorts -- faster, harder, stronger. Along the way, we frequently bumped asses and elbows. Gradually, our pair's figure raking routine more closely resembled a hockey match, our actions less graceful with rougher contact. 

When Becky intentionally tripped me and then raked leaves over my head, the '69 Leaf War began. I grabbed her ankle and twisted, making her fall down beside me. Scooping up armfuls of rustling deadfall, I buried her. 




Fall of '69 Ch. 03



She retaliated like a Kansas Jayhawk diving for its prey, and knocked me backwards.

Outweighing her, I easily reversed our positions, and pinned her down in the red and gold crunch.

Becky's hot breath burst against my face, as I struggled for control. With her arms trapped, she writhed against me, and the intimate contact rang my Pavlovian bell. 

Like a starving man, I kissed her. I wrapped her in my arms and pulled her tight. 

She went limp. 

Briefly, I thought I'd gone too far. But I was beyond shame, and continued to kiss her like my life depended on her affection.

When Becky's fingers began to rake through my hair, it was not in anger, but with returned fervor. Her legs parted, and suddenly we were in the most intimate of positions. Her ankles cross over my bottom, and her heels pressed down. Responding in kind, I ground into her. Our clothes were barely an obstacle to the sensations. The heels of her Red Ball Jets spurred me to the realization the neighbors might find our foliage foreplay a little too risqué. I rolled off, and we lay side-by-side, panting at the azure sky through the naked tree limbs. Nothing was said for long seconds. I basked in the crisp world's sights, sounds, and smells. 

Afraid to look at Becky in the prone position, I got up, and held out my hand to her. "Let's finish this."

Becky smiled warmly. Her flushed face held nothing but playful agreement. The vision of her beauty against the primal backdrop is forever etched in my mind. She was the one. I'd felt it from the start. Everything about her pulled me like the moon pulls the oceans. 

After I helped her up, I grabbed my rake and continued. 

She hesitated before picking up her rake. Becky's brief look of disappointment puzzled me. Then a brainstorm hit. When I had said, 'Let's finish this,' did she think I meant to take her inside? My pulse raced at the idea.

We worked fiercely, until the pile stood four feet high, and six feet wide at the south end of the garden. 

"Great job, Beckster. Now, the Carter tradition demands we jump into it. I'll go first, to show you how it's done."

"The trees in Kansas drop their leaves too, Doc."

"Okay then, let's go together." 

We backed up ten yards. 

"Ready... Set--"

"Ladies first!" Becky took off. 

"Go!" I caught up and pirouetted into the pile with her. The soft leaves wrapped around us, and we disappeared from head to knees. 

I couldn't see Becky at all. "That was great. You want to do it again?"

A rustling sound was followed by her hand touching my arm. "That was fun, Doc. But I'd like to go inside now."

Popping up like a Jack-in-the-Pile, I said, "Let's go."

We picked up our rakes and our chosen leaves, and headed inside. Respect for Becky's delicate emotional state was the only thing keeping my hormones in check. 

She acted subdued -- sweetly, shy.

Entering the kitchen, I headed for the wax paper. "Tradition demands that we preserve the Chosen Ones, before they dry out completely." 

After ripping off enough wax paper to cover both leaves front and back, we headed downstairs to the ironing board and iron. 

As the iron warmed up, I turned on the TV and switched to the World Series.

Becky asked, "Would it be alright if I washed my clothes?"

Pointing, I said, "Sure, no problem, the washer and dryer are behind those bi-folds."

She said, "Thanks," and headed upstairs. 

I had the two leaves encased in wax paper by the time Becky returned. She wore my blue terrycloth robe and white socks. Why that seemed sexier than lingerie, I don't know, but it did. Maybe it had something to do with me wondering what she had on underneath. 

Unaffected by my lecherous gaze, Becky started the laundry without assistance. Washing machines must operate the same in Kansas. I thought they still used washboards and washtubs on the farm. My mistake. Too much time spent watching the Beverly Hillbillies had skewed my perception of country life. 

Fighting my unseemly desires, I sat down on the couch and watched the game, while cutting out my oak leaf. It was the top of the third with one out. The Mets had Weis on first. 

Becky sat down beside me and crossed her legs. The robe slipped open and exposed her toned legs to mid-thigh. "Who's winning?"

"It still nothing-nothing, but the Mets have a man on." 

"Don't get your hopes up. The Mets are losers."

"You look nice in my robe."

"Thanks. I like it. It smells like you after a shower." Becky turned her head and inhaled against the collar.

I handed her the waxed Maple leaf and a pair of scissors. "Carter Tradition, you have to cut out your leaf for the scrapbook." 

Obediently, she began to cut around the edges of her hole-in-the-heart leaf. "Do the Carter's have a lot of traditions?"

"Not really. Less than a hundred."

Agee grounded to the shortstop, and Weis was thrown out at second base.

"See. Losers."

Becky was teasing me. I got it. But I didn't like it, and I wanted to shut her up. So I put my hand on her bare thigh. "It's only the third inning." 

Now, I was on first base and could easily steal second, third, and home, but I waited for a sign. 

McNally walked Harrelson. Agee went to second. "The Mets are in scoring position." They weren't the only ones.

Becky continued to ignore the baseball game and my game of rubbing the inside of her leg. "Doesn't matter. They can't score. They're losers." Her focus remained on cutting out the Maple leaf.

Cleon Jones, batting 340, the best hitter on the team, came to the plate. He'd be the hero. He'd drive in a run and shut Becky up. 

"Doc?"

"Yeah?"

There's the pitch! Jones swung, and the ball rocketed out of the infield. I jumped up, ready to cheer the first run to score. But the ball lined into the left fielder's glove and the inning was over. 

Groaning my disappointment, I flopped down. 

"My leaf is done. Do you want it?"

I glanced over and did a double take. Becky had opened the robe to her waist and placed the traditional waxed leaf between her legs, thus covering her untraditional naked femininity. 

"Do I want it? Hmm, let me think." Snatching it away, I said, "I'll have to add a note to the scrapbook, 'Virgin leaf'". 

The Marlboro Man commercial ended and the game was back on. I focused on the commentators.

Becky closed the robe, and whispered, "Sorry to disappoint you, but I have to confess, technically, I'm not a virgin." 

Technically not a virgin, sounded a lot like a little bit pregnant. Trying to hide my shock and disappointment, I continued to watch the game and said, "Really? What does that mean? I got the impression I was your first anything."

"Let's just say, you're the first I remember."

Mets first baseman, Clendenon, leading off the fourth inning, stood over the plate and took a couple of practice swings. I turned to stare at Becky, who continued to stare at the TV. There was a loud crack of a bat and then cheers. My attention stayed riveted on Becky's emotionless expression.

"Homerun," she said. "You missed it."

"I don't care."

"Yes you do."

"I care more about you."

Soon, tears trickled down her cheeks and she met my gaze. "Two weeks after grandma died I was lonely and depressed. I had to break out of my routine, do something adult, something new and exciting. My friend Jill and I planned a road trip. But she got sick and backed out at the last minute. I decided to go anyway, and spent the weekend alone in Topeka. Being a stupid farm girl, I went to a nightclub for the first time in my life. The ugly truth is... Saturday night I drank too much and smoked something in an alley with a group of people I'd met on the dance floor. Sunday morning, I woke up in a stranger's bed, and I didn't remember how I got there or what happened. He was naked. I was naked, sore, and bleeding. So it was obvious what happened. I snuck out, called a cab, got my car, and drove home." Becky turned back to the TV, "You're the only person I've told."

The homerun ball had mysteriously come through the TV screen and was now lodged in my throat. I couldn't swallow. I couldn't breath. Several times, I tried to say comforting words, but could not find any that expressed my feelings of sadness and support. I thought about the party women I'd slept with at the frat house and hoped they hadn't regretted it the next day. 

Tentatively, I put my arm around her.

Becky cuddled into my side.

Kissing her hair, I mumbled, "I'm so sorry, Beckster."

"Me too, Doc. I messed up." 

We sat through two more scoreless innings snuggled together. 

The game faded into the background, as I ruminated over Becky's confession. "Technically, Beckster, all the guy did was break a little piece of skin. He doesn't count as your first. You weren't even there, technically speaking." 

She rubbed her cheek against my shoulder. "Thanks. You're a sweetheart."

"I don't know about that."

Reaching into the robe pocket, Becky said, "I took something from your parents' room," and then placed a condom on my knee.

The baseball lump returned to my throat. "I thought you wanted to wait until marriage for the final act."

"What I really wanted was to wait for Mr. Right." She hugged my arm. "But I choose you. We've already done just about everything else, anyway."

I laughed. "So, I'm Mr. Second-best?" 

"That didn't come out right. What I meant was... You're fun and sexy. I love how you've treated me. I love how you make me feel special. You're the first guy I've ever wanted to... be with. After everything that's happened in my life, I don't want to wait any longer."

Mr. Compromise, Mr. Second-banana -- that was my role in her life? In the past, I was fine with that kind of relationship. In fact, that's all I ever wanted, but not now, not with Becky. On the other hand, how could I refuse? It's not like I didn't want her. It's not like she didn't enjoy what we'd done already. I'd be a hypocrite to say I didn't want to fuck her senseless. But fucking wasn't really what I wanted with her.

"Are you sure about this, Beckster? I don't want you to regret anything with me. Yesterday, I made a promise that you could trust me, we'd just be pals, remember?" 

"Doc, don't be an idiot. After last night, just being pals is not an option anymore."

Knowing she was right didn't mean I wouldn't argue with her like an idiot. "Last night, you were high. I was afraid to say no, and upset you." Why I thought that explanation would help proved what an idiot I really was.

Becky moved to the other end of the couch and glared at me. "So... you were humoring me? Was it all an act to calm me down? Why did you show me the Trojans this morning, if you didn't want to use any?"

Picking up the condom, I studied it, as if the label contained instructions on why a man would show them to a woman, as if there were a reason other than 'I'm a safe fuck'. 

"Don't get me wrong, Beckster. The time we shared last night was the best I've ever spent with anyone, and I would love to have all of you." I stood up and put the Trojan in my pocket. "But... I want more than sex from you, and I don't want to lose your respect." Was that really me talking? Was I tripping?

Her mouth opened and closed several times. Then she laughed. 

Unnerved, I went to the closet and removed the family scrapbook and some Elmer's glue. Sitting down on the couch, I began the process of adding our waxed leaves to the Carter family tree. 

Becky asked, "How does it feel to want more?"

"Scary. Confusing as hell."

"Good." 

Becky moved over beside me, and watched, as I mounted her leaf and mine on the 'Fall of '69' page. Beneath the hole-in-the-heart Maple leaf I wrote 'Beckster'. Under my perfect, golden oak, I wrote 'Doc'. 

Studying the Maple leaf, I wanted to be the doctor that would heal the hole in Becky's heart. But heart wounds weren't my specialty. Malpractice seemed the inevitable outcome. 

"A family scrapbook is a nice tradition," said Becky, taking the book from my lap and placing it on the coffee table. "Someday, I'm going to start one with mine."

She swung her leg over my knees and sat on my lap, facing me. Her hands pulled out the bow holding the robe belt tight. The cinched fabric relaxed and parted to reveal a stripe of silky skin. 

As she brought her lips to mine, I said, "Me too," hoping the future scrapbooks would be identical. 

There remained no doubt about or expectations, as we tenderly kissed. My hands slipped inside the robe to caress her back, while I eased her down onto the cushions. We lay there, exploring the best ways to kiss one another, as if we'd discovered its pleasures for the first time. My lips never roamed lower than her shoulders and my hands stayed behind her. 

Naugahyde is not the most comfortable surface for bare skin, and there would be bare skin soon, so I got up and turned off the TV. 

Extending my hand to Becky, I said, "Let's go to bed."

Her hand was small and warm. She felt small and warm against my side all the way to my room. 

I closed the bedroom door, more for a sense of intimacy than a fear of discovery. 

Placing the condom on the bedside table, I began to undress.

Becky approached swiftly, with the robe flowing open, saying, "Allow me."

She left no doubt about her desire. The inviting smile, while sliding the sweatshirt up to my neck, caused my heart to pound so hard I believed it would be visible from the outside if she looked close enough. Once the shirt was on the floor, Becky did look, and she did touch my chest, but no alarm registered on her pretty face, only passion so hot, her touch burned to my soul. Her lips sizzled against my skin. 

When I groaned, she groaned in return, finding pleasure in giving pleasure. 

My hands tangled in her hair, as she kissed downward.

Kneeling before me, the robe parted, but not revealing all. Her fingers quickly opened my jeans and tug them down. Then she returned for the boxers, gently lifting the waistband away from my growing erection. 

"You're beautiful, Doc."

"No, Beckster, you're beautiful," I said, stepping out of the pile. "Now, it's my turn." 

Removing her robe took seconds. Preparing her body for coitus, I guessed, would take two orgasms. I wanted to be sure her body was ready for the invasion. 

First, I made her sit in the desk chair and place her legs over my shoulders. Her feminine musk, after the physical labor of raking leaves, was stronger and tangier than the night before. To me, it was like honey to a bear. I growled a lot. 

Sometimes, Becky mewed like a kitten or whimpered like a puppy. Very aroused, her breathing became ragged, and she moaned my name. When she came, she writhed like a woman possessed, and that made me proud. 

After a minute of recovery, I pulled her out of the chair and we lay down on the bed. We hugged and kissed, rubbing our skin together. I told Becky how beautiful and sexy she was. 

She said, "Mmm, Doc, I love your body," and grabbed my ass to pull me tight against her.

I've always avoided using the 'L' word with a woman. It was too easily misinterpreted. When Becky said it, I understood her to mean she loved my body, but it didn't mean she loved me as a person. That was exactly the kind of reaction I'd always wanted from a woman during a sexual encounter, until now. This time, I felt the stabbing pain of discontent, because I realized I wasn't just fucking around with Becky, I was making love to her. My heart and soul were in every caress. 

Hugging her tight, I whispered in her ear, "Beckster, you're the first woman..." I couldn't finish. Fear tied my tongue, because what I wanted to say might come off sounding insincere. 

Becky wouldn't let it go. "What was that, Doc? I'm the first woman, what?"

Now I was trapped. I'd gone too far and there was no turning back. 

She pulled my head up to look me in the eye. "What were you going to say?"

I smiled. I kissed her. I told her the truth. "You're the first woman I have ever made love too."

Confusion clouded her face, and she whispered, "What?"

No further explanation made sense. Instead, I'd show her, and maybe she'd believe me, maybe not. But I knew for sure, I wanted more than her body for an hour. I wanted her heart. 

I punctuated a long kiss with, "Beckster, I want you, so much."

She hugged me tight. "I want you too, Doc." 

Sliding my hand between her legs, I pushed my middle finger between the damp folds. The fingertip entered, and I slowly pushed, until my palm rested flat against her hair. 

With this unfamiliar pressure, Becky stiffened in my arms. 

I gently sucked her nipple and slowly oscillated my finger, until I felt her muscles relax. On the in-and-out, I let the slick finger curl up and tease her clitoris, encouraging her mind and body to enjoy this new experience. 

When Becky's hips began to encourage my hand by moving opposite the penetrations, I introduced the index finger. 

"Oh, Doc..." Her hand gripped my cock, fondled it, and pumped it, as if she wondered how it would feel instead.

Soon, Becky's pelvis began to shiver and her lips made the incomprehensible sounds of approaching ecstasy. 

Kissing her panting lips, enjoying her hot breath in my mouth, I tormented her clit with my thumb. My fingers sang with the squishy testament of her sexual eagerness. I hugged her tight through the formidable waves of release, whispering how beautiful she looked and felt. How happy it made me to please her. 

When the climax ended and her body relaxed, tears streamed down her cheeks.

"Are you okay, Beckster?"

She answered by reaching over to the nightstand and handing me the condom. I took it as a positive sign. 

As I rolled the latex barrier down my shaft, Becky propped herself up on her elbows to watch. Then she hooked me with her leg, and pushed me into position. 

We both watched, as I opened her and teased her with the tip, testing the slipperiness. 

I smiled, and said, "Ready, Baby?"

Continuing to stare at my cock, she nodded, and hummed, "Mm-hm." 

Slowly, I eased in the tip, and then gently pumped in and out. Gradually, I slipped in deeper, as her body became accustomed to the girth. 

"Oh my God." Becky fell back to the pillow when our hips met for the first time.

Stretching out on top of her warmth, I kissed her sweetly, and said, "Beckster, I love you."

Her eyes flared. "Don't say that!"

Her anger surprised me. Sure, I understood her skepticism, but I thought she'd give me a chance, under the circumstances. 

Deciding not to push the issue, I grinned amiably and pushed my hips instead, and then retracted a little. I repeated the slight motion, until she succumbed to physical pleasure. A fresh wetness aided my motion, so I increased the thrusts. 

Becky's eyes closed and her mouth opened with an "Oh..." 

When I levered up on straight arms to watch my cock piston in and out, Becky did too. She laughed giddily, and fell back. 

"Beckster, you turn me on like no one else."

This seemed to please her. She graced me with a smile and rubbed my chest. 

Her loving touch enflamed me. My end was near, so I kissed her and pressed my hand between our stomachs to twiddle her clit.

Immediately, she responded with thrusts and guttural oaths. Her pussy clenched and released with velvety pressure. 

Most of my self-control disappeared, as my hips gained dominance. "Becky, I'm coming."

My declaration pulled her trigger, and her legs wrapped around my waist, giving her hips leverage to fight back. 

It was a delicious first coming together, a passionate thrill that happens once in a lifetime if you're lucky. I remained buried deep inside her as long as possible, clamped tight by her embrace. But I had to retreat, or risk condom failure by shrinkage.  

Becky resisted, until I explained the circumstances. Then, grudgingly, she released me. 




Fall of '69 Ch. 03



We snuggled all night in our warm satisfaction. Neither one of us wanted to risk breaking the enchanted spell by attempting to repeat the magic. 

I prayed I wasn't just a diversion from Becky's reality.



Fall of '69 Ch. 04



Around 4 a.m., with my arms around Becky's warmth, my face nestled in her hair, I sank into a deep, Mariana Trench sleep. A sleep so ocean deep, nothing, short of a bomb planted by Jacques Cousteau under the bed, would wake me up. 

When I finally cracked opened my eyes, the clock next to the bed said it was 5 a.m.. After blinking out the blurriness, I realized the seconds hand was stuck on 10. Either time had stopped or I'd forgotten to wind it. Then I noticed someone was missing. Rolling over, I checked the room -- no Becky. 

Basking in the memory of her tenderness, I waited for her return, and floated in the tropical current of dreams, only to wake up alone. Sunbeams, slanting through the window, hinted the hour was much later than I'd thought. 

I put on my robe and walked out into the hall. The bathroom door was open, the light was off, and the house held its breath with a heavy silence.

"Beckster?" I yawned.

No reply. 

Maybe she was downstairs eating breakfast.

The kitchen was also empty, but in the middle of the table sat a paper towel with writing on it. I soon discovered a new way to wake up instantly, short of an under-the-bed-bomb. Hastily scrawled words exploded in my head. 

Dear Don,

I gave you something precious last night. I'm taking something precious of yours today. I'll return it when I can. I need to go home. I can't go back to school until I find out what happened to my brother.

Becky

Sprinting to the front door, I threw it open to confirm the driveway was empty. What was she thinking? Emotions raged. I felt hurt and angry, used like a fool. While staring at my 'Dear Don' letter, hoping to read something different, I decided I had to leave before my parents returned. Having to explain what happened to my truck would be an embarrassment beyond my endurance. 

I opened my wallet to make sure I had enough money for a Greyhound bus ticket, and found it empty. Becky had needed gas money, too. Digging in the couch cushions, I mined two quarters for city bus fare and walked to the corner bus stop. The wind had a chilling bite. Ten minutes later, hypothermia was about to shake me apart, when a Lincoln Continental pulled up to the curb. 

The window rolled down, and a woman asked, "Don? What are you doing?" 

Bending down to look in the window, inviting heat and enticing perfume thawed my senses. The woman behind the wheel was our next-door neighbor, Mrs. Ryan. Back in Junior High, before I was old enough to get a real job, I mowed her lawn and shoveled her driveway for spending money. 

"Hi, Mrs. Ryan, I'm waiting for the bus."

She dragged her purse over to make room, and said, "They've changed the bus schedule. It only stops out here four times a day, now. The next bus won't arrive until noon. Get in and warm up."

Shit! My day was going from bad to worse. Teeth chattering, I gratefully got inside the warm car. "Thanks." I rubbed my hands together. "Man, it's cold."

Mrs. Ryan drove off toward home. "Where's your girlfriend, Don? Didn't I see her driving away in your truck early this morning?"

Shit! My parents would find out that I had a girl spend the night. "She's not my girlfriend. She's just a friend. I let her borrow it to go home. She had a family emergency." 

"I saw you two raking leaves yesterday. It looked like you were more than friends."

Shit! "Mrs. Ryan, I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't tell my parents."

"Call me Peggy, Don." She smiled. "You're not a little boy anymore, and Mrs. Ryan makes me sound so old." 

"Okay, Peggy," I said, as she pulled into her driveway. "I was wondering... would you do me a favor and drop me off at the First Trust bank, downtown. I need to make a withdrawal, so I can buy a Greyhound ticket back to school." 

Turning off the ignition, she said, "I'll give you a ride in a little while, but first I need you to do something for me." 

Relieved, I followed her through the garage and into the kitchen, surprised to see boxes stacked by the door. "Are you moving, Mrs... Peggy?"

"Yes, I am." 

She walked to the counter and poured three fingers of vodka from an available bottle into a waiting tumbler. Lifting the glass to her lips with the left hand, I noticed her wedding ring was missing. 

Before taking a big swallow, she asked, "Would you like a drink," and then laughed bitterly.

"Uh, no thanks. Is everything all right, Peggy?"

"Everything is just groovy, Don. Do college kids really say that? How is college, by the way?" 

The way she looked at me jangled my nerves. Her eyes kept wandering up and down, and her smirk told me the small talk meant nothing. Something else was on her mind. 

"Have you joined the sexual revolution, Don?" 

Shit! Change the subject. "I really need to get going Mrs... Peggy. What did you need help with?"

She put the glass down with a hard thump of displeasure, and said, "Fine. Come with me."

As we passed the living room, more boxes were stacked by the front door. We walked down the hallway, past two empty bedrooms, and into the master bedroom. Almost everything was packed, except for the bed linen and some women's clothes hanging in the open closet. 

Curiosity got the best of me, so I asked, "Where's Mr. Ryan?" 

"Damned if I know. Damned if I care," she said, sitting on the foot of the bed and crossing her legs. 

She'd always had nice legs. I remembered many times during summer vacations Mrs. Ryan sunning on the patio, reading a paperback novel, while I walked back and forth, mowing their lawn for three bucks. Mrs. Ryan had been another boyhood fantasy of mine. I felt like a naughty little boy again, when she caught me glancing at her knees. 

"Don, there's a box on the closet shelf that's too heavy for me to lift. I want to go through it, before the movers come. Would you get it down for me, please?" 

The box felt like it was full of bricks. I set it on the floor, and Mrs. Ryan opened it immediately. She began pulling out the contents. Apparently, Mr. Ryan enjoyed adult magazines. 

Throwing a Playboy across the room, she screamed, "He is such a pig!" 

Angrily, she grabbed another one and opened it to the centerfold. "What is it with men? Why aren't they ever satisfied with what they have?" She broke down and sobbed, "Why didn't he love me?"

I didn't have an answer for her. After all, I was just a college kid, unfamiliar with the complexities of a long term relationship, so I kept quiet. 

Before I'd met Becky, I would've said men can never be satisfied with just one woman. Then, in a matter of days, I believed Becky was everything to me, and no one could touch me the way she had. Seeing Mrs. Ryan so heartbroken reminded me relationships, even good ones, don't always last forever. The best thing for me to do would be to go back to school and resume my hedonistic lifestyle, and pretend Becky never happened. 

"Aren't I pretty enough?" Mrs. Ryan stood up. 

Her flooded, heartbroken gaze touched me. Sometimes the truth doesn't set you free. Sometimes the truth traps you. I said, "I've always thought so."

Mrs. Ryan smiled. "Always? Still?" She turned the magazine around, and I was confronted with Miss July. "As pretty as her?"

"Prettier, because you're real and she's just a photographer's two-dimensional fantasy."

She dropped the magazine on top of the pile, and whispered. "You're a very sweet young man, Don." 

Not really, but I wasn't in the mood to argue, I just wanted a ride.

Her hands disappeared behind her back, and the fabric of her dress relaxed across her shoulders as the zipper went down. "When you mowed my lawn, I would intentionally lay on the patio to tease you. Did you know that?" 

My answer had to fight its way around the lump in my throat. "No, I didn't, but it worked."

She smiled with satisfaction and shyly looked away when the dress fell to the floor, leaving her in bra and panties, less exposed than in her bikini, yet much more intimate. "I think I owe you this for all the frustration I caused."

Oh man, I had my own Mrs. Robinson. "Mrs. Ryan, are you trying to seduce me?"

"Do you want to be seduced?"

Why was it such a difficult question for me? "I'm flattered, and really tempted. You are a beautiful woman. Any other day, I would say yes--"

"But not today?" She sat on the bed, shrugged off her bra, and leaned back. "What's so special about today?" 

I searched for a good reason written on her chest, but it wasn't there. I had to come up with my own. "I'm in love with someone."

"I don't believe that matters, Don. Sex isn't about love, anymore."

Averting my eyes, I said, "If it matters to me and it matters to her, then it matters."

Obviously annoyed by my rejection, Mrs. Ryan got up. "Fine, wait for me outside. I'll give you a ride as soon as I change."

It seemed to take forever, as I paced up and down the driveway, shivering and worrying my parents would come home early. 

Mrs. Ryan finally came out. I wondered how much more liquid support she had to drink since I'd left her. We drove silently to the bank, without climbing any curbs and running over pedestrians. 

As she stopped across the street from the bank, Mrs. Ryan said, "I'm sorry about what happened, Don. Good luck with your life."

Nothing profound came to mind, so I said, "Same to you, Peggy. Thanks for the lift."

I crossed the street behind her car, avoiding any revenge she might want to exact on men in general. Only a few customers stood in the teller line, and it took just a couple of minutes to withdraw three hundred dollars -- enough to get me back to school and through the month. Then I headed for the Greyhound bus station, two blocks away. 

While I walked, I thought about all the classes I'd miss today and all the lecture notes I'd have to borrow. It was then that I decided every Sunday night would be prep-night. Beginning today, I would always plan my week ahead. Without organization, life is a meaningless lump of time. My future should be laid out like a road map. All I had to do was plan and execute the miles from start to finish. Planning and execution would become my strengths, my mantra. Planning and execution during the week, drunk and disorderly on the weekends. Now that was living the high life. 

When the Greyhound ticket counter loomed before me, a recent quote I'd heard popped into my head: The tendency of organization is to kill the spirit which gave it birth.

Just like that, I walked away with my spirit intact and a bus ticket to Topeka, Kansas, instead of Lehigh, Pennsylvania. It felt more than right. It felt urgent. The road taken makes all the difference. At least I would get my truck back, if I could find Rebecca Jeffries. Ahead lay 900 miles and 20 hours for me to figure out how to do that, simple planning and execution.

One of the advantages of being from a well-to-do family is you don't ever have to take the Greyhound bus anywhere. So, I was unprepared for the adventures along the bus route never taken. The ride was uneventful, until we had a 15 minute stop in Dayton and I got off to use the restroom. Two men's room attendants, wearing ski masks, greeted me at the urinal with a knife, demanding a large tip. Lucky for me, they emptied my wallet and threw it in the sink and not into a toilet. 

When I was finally able to zip up and wash my trembling hands, I noticed blood on the side of my neck -- a scratch from the knife. My body shook, as I held a paper towel against the wound to stop the bleeding. I thought about throwing in the towel and heading home. Obviously, I was out of my element, and not the worldly wise man I thought I was. But I had been wise enough to split my money up, and had enough left for a bus ticket home in my jeans pocket. 

I made it back on the Topeka bus just before it pulled out. Greyhounds wait for no man, wise or otherwise. All the rows were at least half full. I picked a seat next to a black man in uniform. I figured he'd at least be quiet, and he was. He stared out the window, and then he nodded off. It's when he woke up, thrashing and screaming, that scared the shit out of me. 

"Sorry," he said, when reality finally caught up with him. 

"No problem, man. Where you headed?"

"Topeka."

"Yeah? Me too." 

He turned to stare out the window, signaling the conversation was over. 

Fifty miles later, the weather turned bad, rain fell in slanted sheets and the bus jerked in random gusts of wind. The scenery disappeared behind a linear grey wall. 

Boredom made me ask my neighbor, "You from Topeka?"

"Yeah. You?"

"Nah, I'm meeting a friend. She lives near Topeka. Maybe you know her brother. He's in the army. Jeremy Jeffries?"

"No, man. Never met him."

"He's missing in action."

"I hope he's dead."

A little pissed-off, I asked, "Why?"

"You'd rather be dead than a P.O.W."

"Maybe he's hiding from the enemy or wounded."

He gave me the you-don't-know-shit look, and said, "Maybe." Then he turned to watch the rain fight its way down through the wind.

It was a long ride, and I wished I'd brought a magazine or a book. Still wired from the encounter with the Dayton ski team, sleep was not an option. The rain eventually slowed to a drizzle. I kept track of our progress by watching the road signs. Indianapolis 120 miles, said the sign visible through the front windshield. On the shoulder below the sign sat a red pickup truck with a Pennsylvania license plate. As we passed by, I knew it was my truck.

Jumping up, I shouted, "Stop the bus!"

The driver looked back in his mirror. "Why!"

I walked up front, holding onto the handrails for balance. "That's my truck back there. I need to get off. My girlfriend must've broken down."

"I'm not supposed to stop--"

My army neighbor yelled, "Let him off!"

Others joined in.

The driver began to brake and pull onto the shoulder. "All right, but I'm not waiting. You got luggage?"

"No."

It was a mile run back to the truck. No one was inside. The hood was cold. Walking around to the passenger side, I found Becky's reason for stopping. The rear tire was flat. She had the jack under the frame and the spare tire lay ready and waiting. Why didn't she finish the job? Maybe she couldn't get the lug nuts off. Someone must've stopped and given her a lift. 

Picking up the tire iron, I placed it on a lug nut and it turned without a Hulkish effort, but with a pressure that could've been easily applied by Becky's body weight. The rest came off the same. The soft rain soaked my clothes by the time the spare was on and everything stowed. 

Pulling out my wallet, prepared to use the spare key I had tucked in a pocket, I noticed the keys were still in the ignition. The engine roared to life. The gas gauge showed half a tank. I didn't have to be Spiderman for my senses to tingle with alarm. While the truck warmed up, I pondered my options. I could go on, or I could turn back. Money was a problem, though.

Folded inside the truck's owners manual, I kept a blank check for financial emergencies, and wanted to make sure it was still there. As I reached over to open the glove compartment, I noticed my eight-track tapes were missing, so I began an inventory of my truckly possessions. Nothing was missing except the tunes and Becky. The tunes I could replace, and Becky, well, turns out she wasn't mine after all. Someone who'd steal from me wasn't someone I wanted in my life. At least I kept telling myself that, since I'd finally decided that trying to find Becky was so stupid even hillbilly Jethro Bodine wouldn't attempt it. It was time to head back to school. 

Pulling the shift lever into drive, I checked my mirrors. The passenger mirror reflected a spotty view of the clouds, but was otherwise useless. I put the truck back in park, slid over, and rolled down the window. After a few trips from one side to the other, I got the mirror back in position, and began to roll up the window. Glancing out along the grassy swale, I spotted a familiar looking patch of red, partially hidden in the weeds. Red flags shot up in my head, and I bolted out the door and down the rain-slick hill. The wet slope might as well have been covered in grease, for all the traction there was. I fell hard, sliding the final ten feet on my back. 

Sitting up next to the red object, I grabbed it, and my worst fears were realized. In my hand I held a soggy Red Ball Jet sneaker. The chances of the sneaker not belonging to Becky were like the chances of my ass not being wet. 

Immediately, my plans changed. The sneaker came along for the ride. We had a matching foot to find. Terrible visions crowded my head. All I could think about was the Manson family. I would've never believed people so vicious existed before the summer of '69. Now, I believed they prowled the highways, searching for easy prey. 

Becky was the perfect victim -- alone with no identification, driving a stolen truck from out of state, and no family to worry about her. I was her only hope, but my chances of finding her were like finding an inhabited planet just by looking up at the night sky -- astronomical. The only clue I had was the missing eight track tapes. If the kidnappers wanted my music they had to be young. Apparently there'd been a struggle, which knocked the mirror skyward and Becky's sneaker downward into the ditch, so it made sense there had to be more than one perpetrator. The word perpetrator, a new noun in my vocabulary, made my foot press hard on the gas pedal. Gravel clunked against the fenders, as I accelerated from the shoulder onto the blacktop. 

As I sped down the highway, I tried to think like a criminal. How long would they keep Becky prisoner? The only hope I had of finding her was if they were traveling cross-country. If they didn't stay on the highway, and, instead, headed for some rural hideout, all was lost. They had a big head start. If I was going to catch up with them, they would have to stop for a break. What kind of break? Good for me, bad for Becky. 

The rain stopped and, a few minutes later, the sun broke through the clouds. I flipped down the sun visor, and two twenty dollar bills dropped onto my lap. Becky didn't carry all her money in one place, either. From what I remembered, there had been about sixty dollars in my wallet. Becky must've stopped for gas at least once. So, that left around twenty dollars for the kidnappers. Not much of a haul. 

I'd been driving a while, checking every gas station and every diner visible from the interstate, with no sign of Becky or any suspicious dirtballs that might lead to Becky. My gas gauge was down to a quarter of a tank. Before I entered the congestion of Indianapolis, I exited the highway at a town called Triangle. Bermuda Triangle seemed a better name. From the off ramp, the only sign of civilization was a rundown truck stop. Rusted semi-trailers ringed the gravel parking lot like Stonehenge monoliths. The grey hulks gave the appearance of an elephant graveyard. This looked like a place where criminals would blend in and be ignored. Adrenalin began to squeeze my heart, as I slowly explored the lot. 

In the corner of the parking lot, farthest from the diner entrance, but still visible from the window tables, sat a delivery van the size of a milk truck -- hand painted in the flamboyant, Day-Glo, hippie style. Afraid someone might be watching, I didn't stop, I just drove by for a closer look. 

The designs on the sides of the van were not the typical peace signs or florid flower-power symbols I expected. Instead, they were pentagrams, moons, and stars, like the occult symbols I'd seen around campus, associated with some of the freaky, fringe groups my fraternity made jokes about. I wasn't laughing now. 

The van was backed in, giving me a clear view through the windshield. I didn't see anyone inside, but a curtain blocked the view into the back. The Indiana branch of the Manson family was probably inside eating dinner. At least I hoped they were, because that meant they weren't eating Becky. 




Fall of '69 Ch. 04



Anticipating a hasty departure, I drove to the gas pumps and filled my tank, all the while keeping an eye on the van. Then I backed into a space in plain sight, hoping they'd recognize the truck and give a reaction that would identify them as Becky's assailants. 

While I waited, my mind wandered over all the bad things that might have happened to Becky since she was taken. If these were the kidnappers, I'd caught up to them faster than I would have dared hope, which means they'd spent a lot of time parked, doing God knows what. Doing Satan knows what, would be more appropriate. 

When I'd worked myself up to a blind panic, and was about to bust a window and break into the van, three people exited the diner and headed toward Satan's milk truck. 

From a distance, they looked like the walking dead -- faces gaunt, eyes dark and deep set. One was a girl, or appeared to be a girl, only because she wore a dress, which hung straight as a drape on her wraith-like frame. My anger exploded when I noticed she wore one dirty blue sneaker and one, clean and bright, red one.

Immediately, I climbed out of the truck and leaned against the grill, careful not to block the Pennsylvania license plate. All three looked in my direction, but it was the girl who showed surprise, and whispered in the ear of the zombie to her right. 

They tried to ignore me, but walked faster toward the safety of their hell on wheels. 

I jogged the 10 yards to stand between them and their van. "Hey! What's shakin'?" 

The lead zombie put up his hands in surrender. "Nothin', man, we're just leaving. Not looking for any trouble."

Trying to keep my anger under control, my voice vibrated with menace. "I think you asked for trouble when you took something that belonged to me."

In a placating, calm tone, he asked, "What was that, my friend?"

I didn't have any proof of a crime, so I had to bluff. I'd brought Becky's sneaker, and held it out, then pointed at the zombie-girl's red sneaker. "That belongs to my girlfriend. You also have my eight-tracks."

The girl's shocked expression told me all I needed to know, but she obligingly added, "How did you--"

Lead zombie barked, "Shut-up!" and she wilted like a dead flower. 

He tried to walk around me, pretending I wasn't there. But he stopped when I threatened him with the tire iron, which I'd also brought with me, in case the sneaker wasn't persuasive enough. Hopefully, they weren't packing a Saturday Night Special, which would nullify my tire iron in a flash. 

We were in plain sight of the diner, so the zombies had to worry about causing a scene. I figured Satanist preferred working in the shadows, and not in front of a crowd. I, on the other hand, started to feel like a crowd would be nice company. 

No guns or knives materialized, so I assumed all their weaponry must be in the van. 

"Give me the keys," I said, "and I'll have a look, while you wait here. If I find what I want, you can go." 

No one made a move, so I love tapped the lead zombie on the shoulder with the iron. "Now!"

"Give him the keys," said LZ to the other male zombie. 

Quickly, he handed them over and I marched to the truck, watching over my shoulder to make sure they didn't follow. 

Inside the cab, I immediately spotted a switchblade on the center console and pocketed it. Glancing through the windshield, Satan's trio hadn't moved, but they were talking with hushed intensity. 

Screw them. I grabbed my Stones tape from the player, inadvertently crushing the player with the tire iron afterwards. They'd have to sue me for damages. After another quick glance, I ducked through the curtain that separated the cab from the cargo bay, and my heart jumped into my throat. Becky was hog tied, hand to foot, with a pillowcase over her head. 

Choking up, I said, "Beckster, Everything is going to be all right. It's me, Don."

She began to whimper and roll back and forth. 

I pulled off the pillowcase and pulled a bandana out of her mouth saying, "Hold still, Baby." 

The switchblade came in handy. She was free in seconds. 

She mumbled incoherently and tried to stand, but couldn't balance. They must've drugged her, to keep her quiet and manageable. 

"Put your arm around my shoulders."

We stood in a crouch and I opened the back door. I got out and then helped her out. 

"Beckster, hold these." I handed her the tape case, and she was able to cradle it against her stomach. With my free hand, I grabbed the tire iron and her sneaker.

In the light of day, I noticed her pants were open and the sweatshirt I gave her was ripped. Bile surged up. I glared at the zombies from between the trucks. They stood rooted, like tombstones in a graveyard. 

Instead of taking Becky out into the open, I helped her walk behind the abandoned trailer that stood between their van and my pickup. As fast as we could stumble, we made it safely to my truck, and I locked her inside. 

The zombies were due for some hell-raising. Since they loved the devil, I was in the mood to arrange a face to face meeting with their idol. 

Just as I rounded the front of my pickup, Satan's milk truck tore past, raising a cloud of dust and throwing stones. I never thought to ask them for the spare ignition key. 

All I could do was watch them go. The fight drained out of me. Becky needed me, now. 

Out of the cloud of dust flew a red sneaker, bouncing to a stop 30 feet away. Maybe they were afraid I'd hunt them down for it. I picked it up and returned to my truck, trying to think rational thoughts. My first priority was Becky. 

We sat quietly for several minutes. 

No one from the diner seemed to have noticed anything unusual. But from the look of the place, unusual might have to be an alien landing. Non-involvement was the status quo.

Becky's cheek was red and swollen. She didn't seem able to open her eyes wider than slits, and had a hard time holding her head up. She had to lean against the door for support.

"Beckster, I'm taking you to a hospital."

"No! Don't! Take me home."

"You need help. We need to call the cops."

"No. I won't... talk to the police." 

"What did they give you? What kind of drug?" 

"Made me... swallow some... pills." 

I held her wrists and pushed up her sleeves, looking for needle marks, but didn't find any.

"Your pants are undone, Becky. What did they do?"

Her body jerked as if shocked. "Nothing. The girl... wouldn't let them touch me." 

Becky pulled up her shirt, baring a little belly skin, to button her jeans. A black line had been drawn on her stomach. 

"What's that?" 

She mumbled, "What?"

I reached over and pulled the sweatshirt up, until I could see the whole design. They'd drawn a pentagram on Becky's stomach. 

Bleary eyed, she slurred out, "What is that? I don't remember that!" She clumsily spit on her palm and tried to rub it off, but couldn't. "Oh, Doc, I need to get it off. Take me someplace, where I can wash it off. Please!"

It was a mistake. I know that now. But all I wanted to do was take care of her, evidence be damned. Her emotional health was the most important thing to me. 

"Okay, Beckster." 

A few minutes after we were on the smooth highway, Becky fell asleep. Sleep was good. Sleep off the drugs, nice and peaceful. 

As we drove through Indianapolis, I kept my eyes open for Satan's milk truck, but never spotted anything even close to resembling it. Night had fallen by the time I pulled into a shiny Howard Johnson's motor lodge. While Becky slept, I registered as Mr. and Mrs. Carter. It felt weird, but good. I hated disturbing Becky. I thought about carrying her across the threshold like newlyweds, but it wasn't the right time for that. 

"Becky, wake up, Honey." I gently shook her. "We have a motel room. You can wash up now." 

She sat up, still woozy.

I opened her door, put the sneakers on her feet, and tied them. "Can you walk?"

"Yeah."

We had no luggage. Appearances were immoral. Good thing no one knew us. Our room, 215, was on the second floor balcony. We struggled up the stairs like a couple who'd partied all day. Once the room door was open, we headed straight to the bathroom. 

I was afraid she'd drown if left alone, so I helped her into the shower and then joined her. Whatever they used to draw the pentagram on her stomach was difficult to wash off. We sat down in the tub, while I scrubbed. Becky drifted in and out of reality. The sedative they'd used must've been powerful, but she didn't appear to have any problem breathing. I waffled on what was best for her -- waffled between emergency room and observation, and settled on personal observation. 

After 30 minutes, I had Becky dry and under the covers. She looked comfortable and peaceful. 

I was exhausted, but my mind wouldn't shut down. What if they raped her? Would she remember? What if she was pregnant? In my feeble brain I concocted a contingency plan. Instead of sleeping in the other bed, I slipped naked into bed beside her. If she were pregnant, I'd tell her it was mine. I'd tell her I had sex with her when she was still drugged. It was wrong, but at least she could claim to know who the father was. Wrapping her in my arms, I held her close, sure that if she moved it would wake me. 

Some hours later, she rolled over and I woke up. I listened for any distress and heard none. I felt her hands on me, caressing me. 

I whispered, "Becky?"

"Shh," she answered, as her fingers aroused my body. 

"What are you doing?"

"Loving my Good Samaritan." 

Her body was soft and warm, her hands persuasive. She kissed me gently, while adjusting her hips. I felt her moist heat swallow me. The gentle undulation of her hips seduced me. 

It was then I knew she'd been raped. It was then I knew she had devised the same plan of plausible paternity, as I. 

I took control and rolled on top. Kissing her passionately, I showed her exactly how I felt. I finished what she'd started, planting my seed where none other belonged.



Fall of '69 Ch. 05



As I lay beside Becky in the predawn hour, floating between dream and reality, I felt as though the hand of God had used me like a tool of divine intervention. How else could I have saved Becky from God knows what? It was as if our union was meant to be. Becky was my destiny, rescuing her from heartbreak my earthly mission. She was mine to love and protect. Cherish, just like in the Association's song. 

But would she cherish me? What if the powerful feelings I had for her were only an infatuation? 

Was it really possible to love someone forever after knowing them only a few days, or were my emotions like lava -- hot and flowing at the start, doomed to cool over time into a heart of stone.

My parents seemed to have kept their love alive. The dildo, hidden in Dad's dresser drawer, indicated sex of some form still happened. If I had found the phallus hidden in Mom's dresser, I would've guessed Dad had been replaced. 

Lying next to Becky and thinking about my parent's sex life creeped me out -- totally off the wall. 

Cuddling up against her warmth, I buried my face in her hair and breathed in and out, savoring her, and hoping she wouldn't reject me with the dawn of a new day. When my arms wrapped around her, she didn't struggle. Instead, her hands moved to rest on my forearms, as if she felt comfort in my embrace. A pleasant sigh escaped her lips. 

A few minutes later, Becky rolled over, and whispered, "You are real. I thought you were a dream."

I kissed her cheek. "You're the dream." 

Becky hugged me tight and hid her face against my shoulder. She struggled to put her emotions into words. "Why... How did you... know? How did you find me?" Her body shuddered. "I thought I was... it was hopeless."

"I don't know. I came after my truck, and when I found it abandoned I knew you were in trouble. I just drove and prayed." Kissing her forehead, I added, "It's a miracle. Everything is possible with God." 

A lightening bolt with my name on it, ready to strike a sinner dead for even mentioning God while caressing a naked woman who was not his wife, had to be in my future.

"Do you believe in miracles, Doc?"

"Yeah, I guess so. You?"

"I don't know anymore. I want to." She cupped my face in her hands and we kissed with sweet sincerity. "What happens now that you have your truck?"

"I take you home."

"Whose home?"

"Yours."

We lay silently cuddling for a while.

Becky said, "I'm sorry."

"For?"

"For taking your truck... For being stupid." She began to cry against my neck. "Thank you so much for coming after me."

"Shhh, it's all right."

Wrapped together, we eventually fell back to sleep, waking up when a car horn blasted somewhere in the morning commute. 

Smiling with sleepy eyes, Becky briefly fondled my morning erection, and I wished for a horn blowing of my own. Instead, she squeezed it once goodbye and then left for the bathroom. 

After the toilet flushed, the bathroom door opened, and she announced, "Shower time. Come on, Doc."

I jumped out of bed, inspired by Becky's conservationist attitude. 

As she stood beside the tub adjusting the shower spray, I stood at the toilet, waiting for my personal flow to begin. 

She kept staring at me. Then came over and rubbed my ass while looking at my cock. "What's wrong?"

"I'm waiting for my boner to go down enough so I can pee."

"Boner?" she laughed. "You guys make up some of the weirdest names for body parts. I didn't know men can't pee with an erection."

Her newly acquired inquisitive spirit was rather titillating, and only made me bonier. 

"I'll never be able to pee if you keep rubbing my ass."

"Oh. Sorry." 

Becky went back to the tub and stepped into the shower. 

"Is that better?"

"Much."

Then she peeked out. "How's it going?" 

"Stop it!"

"You mean if I just talk to you it's a problem?"

"Yes."

"So, if I kept this up all day your bladder would burst?"

"Probably."

"That'd be awful. I'll leave you alone."

I thought about game three of the World Series -- wondering who the starting pitchers would be, how great if the Mets could grab an early lead to demoralize the favored Orioles. Finally, to my relief, a stream finally erupted. 

The splash alerted Becky, and she peeked out to watch. "So that's how it's done. Is it hard to aim?"

"Sometimes." 

"How come guys don't sit down?"

I didn't know why. "Tradition, it's the warrior way."

Becky closed the shower curtain. "Then guys should clean the toilets. They make most of the mess." 

"It's negotiable." 

When I flushed, the sound of the shower spray diminished.

Becky yelped, "Hot, hot!"

Stepping in to block the spray, I said, "Sorry," and hugged her tight from behind, enjoying the contour of her tight behind, while kissing her neck.

Not much was said after that. It was all about good, clean fun. Unfortunately, we had to dress in yesterday's dirty clothes. 

Money was a problem, or the lack of money would be more accurate. My emergency check had paid for the room. Now we were broke. 

"I think we have enough gas left to make it to Topeka. Then we'll have to rob a bank."

Becky buttoned up her jeans, saying, "When we get to Topeka, I can get money out of my bank -- legally."

"Or, we could do that."

"I don't want us to become the new Bonnie and Clyde."

"Spoilsport." 

As we headed for the truck, I gave her the ignition keys. "Warm it up. I'll be right back." 

She grabbed my hand. "I'll come with you."

"I'm just going to return the room key."

"I don't want to be alone."

I liked being her guardian angel. Becky satisfied my masculine need to feel important like nothing else had ever done before. Plus, I'd become a guardian angel that was allowed to have sex, satisfying another significant need of mine. I never thought of myself as needy, until I met Becky. Sometimes you don't really know what you need until you've experienced it.

Putting my arm around her waist, we continued to the motel office and returned the key. 

The highway traffic to Topeka was relatively light. Becky sat close with her head on my shoulder and slept for a while. 

"You make a nice, warm pillow. Thanks." Becky kissed my cheek. 

"Feeling better?"

"Yes."

"Would you like to tell me everything you remember about what happened yesterday?"

It took so long for her to answer, I didn't think she would. Then, haltingly, she began with, "It's all kind of a blur. I remember them stopping to help with the flat. I remember struggling with them in the van. They tied me up and forced me to take some pills. One guy tried to take off my pants and the girl yelled at him to stop. I don't remember anything after that." 

Not sure that I believed her clouded memory, I chose to remain silent. Becky would tell me everything when she was ready.

Once we arrived in Topeka, I had to phone my father for money. Becky didn't have any identification, so withdrawing cash from her bank account was impossible. Dad, his stoic self, sounded disappointed that I'd skipped school, but was pleased to hear I'd helped Becky get safely home. 

"When are you heading back?"

"I don't know. I might drop out for the semester and transfer to a college here in January."

After a lengthy silence, Dad said, "You know, after January first, there's no longer a college exemption from the draft?"

"I know. But that's not why I'm dropping out... Dad, I'm in love."

Irritation in his voice, Dad lectured, "We've had this conversation before, so I'm not going to bore you with a sermon on the difference between sex and love. You do whatever you want, but after this, you're on your own. Only because you helped this girl will I wire you some money, but it's the last time, Don." 

His disappointment in me hurt, while on the other hand, I felt totally independent for the first time in my life. "Thanks, Dad. Tell Mom I love her."

"I will. Take care of yourself, Son."

It would take about an hour for dad to transfer the money. Meanwhile, Becky and I strolled around the streets of Topeka. The blue sky and warm temperature made the city appear friendly and inviting, and much cleaner than my Pittsburg. 

Becky took my hand and pointed with the other. "Let's go sit in the park and talk for a while."

We found a vacant bench near a fountain, drained for the winter. Golden oak leaves floated down from the tree behind us. 

Just when I thought Becky was going to tell me everything she remembered about her kidnappers, she suddenly hissed, "Look!"

Ambling across the lawn in our direction, barefoot and bedraggled, was the kidnapper-zombie girl from Satan's delivery van. On her back, she carried a huge green duffle bag, and looked like a sickly turtle who'd come out of its shell and was unable to crawl back inside. She walked with her head down, lost in a world of her own, oblivious to her surroundings.

She stopped in front of our bench and cautiously turned toward us, as if we unexpectedly became visible. Her gaze wandered, but she made an attempt to smile. "Hi. Would you guys have any spare change?"

Becky and I looked at each other in amazement. 

I didn't know what to say.

Becky stood up and put a steadying hand on the zombie-girl's shoulder. "Would you like to sit down?"

"Don't mind if I do," she giggled, dropping her pack. 

Flopping down onto the bench next to me, she introduced herself. "Hi, my name's Lisa." 

"Hi, Lisa. I'm Don."

She grabbed my hand and shook it. "Pleased ta meecha."

Becky sat on the other side, and introduced herself.

Lisa leaned closer and squinted at Becky. "You look familiar."

"I hear that all the time. I have a common face. Are you alone, Lisa?"

"Yeah. I got hooked up with a couple of freaks, but they were into some bad shit -- scary shit. So I ditched 'em. I'm just a free spirit, trying to find peace and love in the universe."

Hippie -- the stereotypical definition in the flesh.

I flashed a peace sign. "Flower Power."

"Right on!"

"Why don't you come with us?" offered Becky.

"What?" I jabbed a pinky in my ear to make sure it was unplugged.

"She needs a place to stay. I've got plenty of room on the farm."

"But, but..."

"Farm?" Lisa smiled. When she smiled, her face wasn't bad looking, only gaunt. With her short hair and thin body, she had a Tomboyish appeal. "That's cool. You guys starting a commune? I like that idea. Share everything -- one big happy family." 

Then, Lisa's smile faded. "I had a family once. I had a brother. He died in Nam last year. Mom and Dad weren't the same afterwards. They've split up."

That was all Becky needed to hear. "My brother is missing in action. He's all the family I've got left. So I'm starting a new one." 

Becky smiled at me, and I felt the warmth of her affection. If she wanted to take in strays, then so be it. 

I picked up Lisa's sack, and said, "Okay, let's go."

As we approached my pickup truck, Lisa pointed at the Pennsylvania plates, gasped, and stopped dead. "I know who you are!" 

Her face darkened. Turning to Becky, she said, "Believe me; I didn't know Larry and Melvin planned to snatch you. I thought they just stopped to help. I was too wasted to understand." 

She began to back away. "But they won't hurt anyone now. I called the cops on them. They had a lot of drugs. They won't be getting out of jail for a long time." 

I grabbed her arm. "Lisa, tell me what they did to Becky." 

"Huh?"

"What did Larry and Melvin do to her? They painted a pentagram on her stomach. What else?"

Lisa stood motionless and stared at Becky.

I waved my hand in front of her face. "Hello, anyone in there?"

"Easy, Don", said Becky. "Don't be mean." 

She put her arm around Lisa, and cooed, "It's all right. You don't have to say anything."

Why didn't Becky want to know? Maybe she did remember, and it was so bad, she didn't want me to find out. 

"What did they do to her?" I demanded again. 

"Nothing! They didn't do anything. You showed up before they had a chance." 

"Then who drew the pentagram on her stomach?"

Lisa smiled at Becky. "I did. Larry wanted to see--"

"Okay, that's enough," interrupted Becky. "Don, go get the cash. I'll stay here with Lisa."

Frowning at Becky, I reluctantly did what I was told, all the time wondering what Lisa was about to say. What was it that Larry wanted to see? All my guesses were both sexual and unsettling. I had impure thoughts -- normal for me.

The money transfer was complete. Dad was generous, as usual. He loved to throw money at problems, and I had always been his problem child. The two grand he wired would keep me out of trouble for about a month. 

When I got back to the truck, the girls were inside, and Becky seemed to be lecturing Lisa. When I opened the door, Becky looked away, but Lisa grinned at me -- weird. If something was wrong, why would Becky want Lisa around?

"Okay, let's hit the road."

After filling the truck with gas, we stopped at Woolworths to pick up necessary clothes for me and personal items for the ladies. I gave Becky and Lisa some cash, and then I headed off on my own. 

Having Lisa around was going to horn in on my intimacy with Becky. But always the optimistic dog, I purchased condoms at a nearby drugstore. If Becky wasn't already pregnant, I wanted to prevent it. Fatherhood was not on my immediate to-do list. 

The rubbers were kept behind the counter, and I had to ask for them. 

Concerned for my moral integrity, the pharmacist growled, "Are you married, Son?"

I forgot I was in 'Hicksville'. 

"Not until next Saturday. I'm just getting ready to pop the Little Lady's cherry on our honeymoon."

From his glare, I don't think he believed me, but I got what I wanted. 

While waiting for the girls, I sat in my truck and turned on the World Series. The Mets were ahead five to nothing in the top of the ninth. Nolan Ryan was throwing lighting bolts. The Orioles were getting zapped one by one. 

As the commentator recounted the amazing game saving catch by Mets' centerfielder Tommie Agee, Lisa came to the window and broke my concentration.

"Can I have more money, Doc?"

My surprise at her use of my new nickname must've been obvious.

She grinned, explaining, "Becky called you Doc. So I figured I would too." 

A little off balance, I asked, "Why do you need more money?"

"I want to refill a prescription."

"Oh." It sounded like something important, so I handed over another twenty.

"Thanks, Doc." Lisa started to walk away. "The Pill makes sex so much better." Then she turned and blew me a kiss.

I couldn't stop myself from watching her scrawny hips sway beneath the flowery, sack-like dress, and wondering if I'd get my money's worth.

The passenger door opened, and Becky bounced in with her bags of feminine hygiene products. "Lisa will be a while. I told her we'd go to the grocery store and come back for her. Boy, she needs a bath -- she stinks." 

"The Mets are winning -- five to nothing." 

"Did Lisa tell you why she needed more money?"

"To refill her birth control pills."

"I can't believe you gave her money for that."

"She didn't tell me what the prescription was for, until after I gave it to her." I started the truck. "We can leave her duffle bag on the sidewalk and take off."

Without hesitation, Becky said, "No. She needs someone to take care of her."

"Beckster, you're a good person. I hope you don't live to regret it." 

Thirty minutes later, we drove back to the drugstore. Lisa waited outside, sitting cross-legged on the sidewalk, meditating. 

I pulled up to the curb, and Becky got out, saying, "It's an hour to the farm. Lisa sits in the middle. I want the window seat." She wrinkled her nose, implying the fresh air was needed to offset Lisa's funky odor.

Crawling into the middle position, Lisa cooed, "Hi Doc," and kissed my cheek.

She did have an earthy aroma. But after living in a frat house, I've smelled a lot worse, so I didn't find it overly offensive. 

Becky gave me directions, and off we went. She popped in an eight-track, 'Strange Days', by the Doors -- very appropriate. 

Staying in the park overnight must not have been restful, because Lisa fell asleep in the first 5 minutes. Gradually, her body leaned toward Becky, until her head lay on Becky's shoulder. 

Becky held her nose, but let Lisa stay. 

The country roads turned bumpy, so she put her arm around Lisa to keep her steady. Lisa responded by snuggling closer.

I tried not to be obvious, but I couldn't help but glance over from time to time. Lisa's slim figure, cuddled against Becky's curves, touched my cranial erogenous zone. Their bodies were a study in contrast, and variety is the spice of life. I have always craved a spicy life. 

Knowing Lisa only a few hours, I'd already determined she was open to sexual experimentation. I'd guessed from what she said earlier, Lisa had done things to Becky for Larry's amusement. The fact that Becky didn't protest Lisa's contact today suggested what happened between them wasn't totally repulsive and she'd forgiven her.  

The question yet to be answered was how would Becky feel about sex, once we arrived at her home -- liberated or inhibited? 

We drove in silence with background music. The tape ended, and I expected Becky to change it. When I looked over, her eyes were closed and I assumed she was sleeping. This gave me the opportunity to really ogle the two women. 

Lisa had curled her legs up onto the seat and turned sideways. Her head was still on Becky's shoulder, but her left hand now rested on Becky's upper thigh. Unnoticed at first glance, I now perceived the hand was moving slowly up and down, brushing the junction of Becky's legs. Braless, Becky's right nipple jutted out, pronouncing its enthusiasm. Her left breast was blocked from view by Lisa's back, so I leaned forward to take a peek. 

What I saw snapped my eyes back to the road in shock. I couldn't believe it. Lisa's right hand cradled Becky's breast and a finger brushed across the cotton covered nipple. 

Those were my boobs! 

Why had Becky suddenly journeyed into the jungle of sexual exploration? I began to wonder about her. Maybe she doth protest too much about sex. Her recent curiosity about my fraternity's erotic party game and about her roommate's sexual exploits may have indicated a desire to break free from her conventional lifestyle. Last night, she'd definitely given herself to me freely. This morning, in the shower, I felt no reluctance in her touch or shyness about mine. 

As I thought about it, I wondered if she had been struggling with secret fantasies for a long time. Then I came along and uncorked her carnal genie. Now, after everything that's happened, she had no reason to hold back. She might as well do whatever feels good. Of course, these were just my lecherous musings. 

"Becky, put in another tape."

A little breathless, she said, "Sure," and leaned forward, breaking her connection with Lisa.

Soon, Mick Jagger was belting out, "I can't get no satisfaction..."

I was feeling a little unsatisfied, myself. 

Lisa sat up, looked around, and then laid her head on my shoulder. "Mmm, you guys are great. I feel so safe with you." Her palm landed high on my leg and massaged inward.

Staring out the passenger window, Becky seemed oblivious. I had the feeling she knew Lisa was getting acquainted and was intentionally ignoring us. 

Truthfully, I was torn. It took all my willpower to push Lisa's hand away. I shrugged her off, saying, "I'm hot."

Unfazed, Lisa said loud enough for everyone to hear, "You both are," and sat upright. "Are we almost there?" 

"No," said Becky. 

Becky and I made eye contact, and she gave me a halfhearted smile. 

The surrounding landscape was boringly flat, and in every direction there were corn fields as far as the eye could see. Most of the corn had been cut, and only stalk stubble protruded out of the ground. The earth looked like it needed a shave. 




Fall of '69 Ch. 05



What the hell was I doing here? Just to make conversation, I said, "Not much scenery. I'm used to trees, hills, and valleys."

"Yeah, there's not much to look at in this part of Kansas," said Becky.

Lisa put a hand on both our laps, and said, "I guess we'll have to find something else to do for entertainment." 

Becky and I remained noncommittal. 

We drove on, listening to the music for a while, and I began to think about the future. Eventually, I would have to find a work. "Beckster, do you think I can find a job around here?"

"Beckster?" Lisa laughed. "I love the way you guys have pet names for each other. Are you two engaged?" 

Too quickly, Becky answered, "No, just friends."

My heart sank. 'Just friends', it made our relationship sound ordinary and fleeting. She obviously didn't have the same strong feelings for me that I had for her. 

"I want a nickname." 

"How about Skinny? Pencil? Zipper? Cornstalk?"

"Don't be mean," scolded Becky.

Lisa just laughed, and said, "Skinny will do. I've heard it my whole life, and worse. I don't have much to offer, but I know how to use it. Thin is in." 

Lisa's hands went down to her knees and then dragged the hem of her stained daisy-print dress up to her hips. "I'm bored. You guys bored?" 

Her right hand disappeared under the bunched fabric. "Ahhh."

Becky's glance traveled from Lisa, to me, and then out the side window without saying a word. 

Feebly, I said, "Lisa, stop it."

With her eyes closed and the sounds of sodden pussy in the background, she asked, "Why?" 

Against my deviant nature, I answered, "It's inappropriate. You're making us uncomfortable."

"Why? You don't like sex? You don't like orgasms?" In defiance, she put her dirty feet on the dashboard and opened her knees wide. "I know Beckster likes them."

With a panicked expression, Becky met my gaze. "I was drugged!"

"Yeah, but once I warmed you up, you relaxed and got into it. Your body doesn't lie."

I pushed Lisa's feet of the dash. "You raped her!"

With a sudden burst of anger, Lisa sat upright and shouted, "I saved her from rape!"

Tears in her eyes, Becky said, "She did. She kept them away from me by..." Becky turned away, leaving the obvious unspoken. 

Defensively, Lisa said, "I'm not the bad guy here. I'm just trying to live for today, experience the most I can in my time. Have some fun and be happy."

A few seconds passed, and Becky mumbled, "I know."

"Well then, let's have some fun!" Lisa leaned over and hugged Becky.

"You stink."

"I do? But I took a shower last night at the YWCA." Lisa sniffed under her arms. "It's not me. It's my clothes that stink."

In a flash, Lisa pulled the offending dress over her head and stuffed it behind the seat. "There."

I was not surprised to discover Lisa didn't believe in underwear. First it was Becky on Saturday night, and now Lisa -- my truck had become a place women liked to get naked. 

Since Becky and I had recently become 'just friends', I didn't feel unfaithful looking Lisa over good, and saying, "You do smell better. Thanks."

"You're welcome."

She kissed my cheek and then turned to Becky. "What do you think?" 

Becky glanced at Lisa and turned crimson. "I guess it was the dress."

Lisa tugged on the hem of Becky's shirt. "Isn't this the same one you wore yesterday, and the same jeans? I think you're kind of smelly, too." Lisa turned to me. "What do you think, Doc?"

"Well... I really didn't want to say anything, but since you asked--"

Lisa laughed. "See Beckster, you could use a good airing out."

Becky turned the tables. "Hey! What about Doc? He's wearing the same clothes."

"I'm driving."

Lisa slid over and grabbed the wheel. "Take off that smelly shirt, Doc." 

After I stuffed it behind the seat and took back the wheel, Becky looked pissed, and argued, "People I know might see us!"

What an interesting comment. The problem wasn't being naked; it was being recognized by people in passing cars. There seemed to be wiggle room for negotiations.

Lisa thought the same thing, and looked around, perplexed. "What people? We haven't passed a car in miles." She stretched her arms across the back of the seat and sighed. "Mmm, the breeze feels nice."

"Yes it does, Skinny." 

Becky was the girl of my dreams. The last thing I wanted to do was humiliate her. But to me, this seemed like harmless fun. It made the trip exciting. No one was forcing anyone to do anything. 

Lisa had the chest of adolescent. Her breasts were slight swells topped by small nipples. She had nothing that physically compared with Becky. But Lisa exhibited the unashamed attitude about life that I found enticing. 

"How old are you, Skinny?"

"Nineteen, almost 20. I know -- I look like a kid. But don't you think I'm cute?"

After another peek at Lisa's body, I glanced at Becky, and she caught me. I smiled and shrugged. 

"Oh, all right." Becky unceremoniously freed her torso from the confines of smelly fabric. 

Lisa laughed and clapped. 

Then, placing an arm around Becky's shoulders, she said, "Look Doc, mountains and mole hills," while hefting Becky's boob and then circling her own with a finger. 

She continued teasing her own chest, saying, "My tits are small, but my friends tell me I have nice nipples. What do you guys think?"

Out of politeness, I said, "Skinny, they look very tasty."

Dripping with sarcasm, Becky said, "Oh really, Doc? You want me to find out for you. I'll give her a taste test, and let you know." Clearly out of spite, she bent down and began to suck on Lisa.

Lisa didn't mind the reason. She just enjoyed the results. "Ooo, Beckster. That feels great. They're tiny, but super sensitive." 

I had trouble driving on my side of the road, especially when Lisa's hand reached down and tried to caress Becky's hanging breast. It was unexpected excitement, not jealousy, I felt. Several times, Becky swatted the hand away, but Lisa persisted, until finally Becky relented. I almost cheered with the vicarious thrill of victory. 

It really surprised me when Becky switched nipples. She seemed to be into it.

"Oh yes. That feels wonderful, Baby. Suck it good." Lisa's hand switched breasts as well.

Over the road noise, I vaguely heard a moan escape from Becky's puckered lips. 

The breast-fest seemed to go on forever, but actually took only about a minute, and then Becky sat up with Lisa's fingers still twisting her nipple. She gently pushed the hand away and leaned against the door, her face beautifully flushed and her chest heaving. 

She gave me a glare of defiance, and said, "They are tasty."

Beaming with reassurance, I said, "It looked like you both enjoyed it."

Her eyes wandered down to my lap. "Looks like you did too."

Lisa reached over and had a feel to confirm. "Yes, he did. Bodies don't lie, and he's got a big one." 

Becky's lips made a hard line and her brow furrowed. Was she jealous? Why would she be jealous? After all, she just announced we were only friends.

Grabbing my wrist, Lisa placed my hand over her chest. The damp, pointy nipple tickled my palm. 

"See how excited Beckster made me." She dragged my hand down to cover her pussy. "Feel how wet I am. I need a little fingering to get me off, Doc." 

The moist heat and soft fur between Lisa's thighs invited investigation. Her hips bucked when I allowed my finger one swipe between the folds, before retuning my hand to the wheel. "Skinny, I can't. I don't want to have an accident." 

A car turned from an intersection and headed toward us. Afraid of being seen, Becky ducked down, practically putting her head in Lisa's lap. 

Lisa laughed, and said, "While you're down there, Beckster, how about helping a sister out?" 

I couldn't contain my smile, until Becky sat up and glared at me. She said, "No, you do it yourself."

Lisa began to play alone, and then whined, "But it's just not the same. I did it for you. Can't you return the favor?"

"Doesn't count. I was drugged."

"I know, but it felt good, didn't it? You came, right?"

"You took advantage of me. I couldn't refuse."

Lisa reminded her, "I saved you from Larry and Melvin."

Becky remained silent for a while. She looked annoyed at being coerced. 

Keeping my eyes on the road, I listened to their give and take. I didn't believe Becky owed Lisa an orgasm to repay a debt of gratitude, but at the same time, what was the big deal? Only a few minutes ago she was sucking on her tits. Becky's sexual barriers were crumbling by the mile. Plus, it had been Becky's idea to bring Lisa along, not mine. I would've been happy to leave her behind in Topeka. What did Becky think would happen? Did she think she could rehabilitate Lisa? It didn't appear like she was trying very hard, or trying at all. Also, Becky hadn't put up much of a protest about things already done. I began to believe Becky had ulterior motives, less than altruistic, for bringing Lisa along. To me, it seemed like she wanted Lisa around primarily for these new experiences. Now, she was either having second thoughts or was just acting coy. 

Deciding to push the issue forward, I offered a solution. "I can pull over and let Becky drive."

Irritably, Becky frowned at me for a second, and then put a hand on Lisa's thigh. "No, don't stop. Let's keep going. I'll help you out, Skinny."

Lisa giggled, while sliding closer to Becky. "Thanks, Beckster." She placed a hand on Becky's cheek and turned her head into a soft kiss.

I glanced over and witnessed Becky's wide-eyed shock, as she looked at me out of the corner of her eye. 

I smiled, and mouthed, "Wow!"

Becky closed here eyes and stayed connected with Lisa. Gradually she relaxed, and the rigid kiss melted into one of tolerance, if not collaboration. 

Lisa's hand slid down Becky's arm and guided the compliant hand over to her stomach. She didn't force Becky to touch any lower. Instead she moaned seductively, broke the kiss, leaned back, and closed her eyes in anticipation. 

"Car coming!" 

Becky ducked down and we all laughed a little. When the coast was clear, she sat up and gazed at me with questioning eyes. 

Whatever Becky decided was fine with me, so I winked and looked down at her hand, still resting above Lisa's bellybutton. The fingers began a cautious, circuitous descent, and my heart thudded heavily in my chest.  

Lisa put her feet back on the dashboard, as Becky toyed around the edges, playing in her hair. 

"Mmm, feels nice to be touched." 

Becky covered Lisa's pussy with her hand and raked her fingers up, fluffing the sparse hair. She did this over and over, until finally her middle finger slipped between the moistening folds. 

"Ooo, Beckster." Lisa opened her eyes to watch. 

Concentrating fully on Lisa's body, Becky slid the glistening finger more rapidly, up and down between the pink petals. 

Just to help matters along, I reached over and teased Lisa's left nipple. 

Becky watched my hand, while her hand pumped faster.

"How's that feel, Skinny?"

Her hips began to thrust. "Yes, I like it. I like it!"

There was little emotion revealed by Becky's expression, other than a blush of excitement. Her breasts jiggled enticingly from the motion of her arm. I wanted to touch them, but she was out of reach.

I kept driving with one hand on the wheel all of the time and both eyes on the road about 30% of the time.  

Afraid of breaking the spell, I kept quiet and let the women set their own pace. 

Lisa, willing to take whatever Becky would give, didn't make any demands, other than encourage her by mews, moans, and thrusts. 

Suddenly Lisa arched her back and cried out as if she'd been electrocuted. Trapping Becky's hand between her legs, she jerked violently through a massive release. 

When she calmed down, Becky pulled her hand free and sat apart. 

Sagging like a limp reed, Lisa whispered, "Oh my god that felt sooo good."

Becky sniffed her finger. 

"Let me clean that up for you, Love," said Lisa, pulling Becky's hand over and sucking on the clam coated digit. "Mmm, tastes yummy." Then she shocked Becky with another passionate kiss, while she groped her chest. 

When Lisa broke the kiss, she said, "Thank you. Now it's my turn," and tried to unbutton Becky's jeans.

Becky easily pushed her away. "No. We don't have time. We're almost there. Get dressed." 

"Awww.." 

I slid the seat forward enough for them to reach our cloths, while thinking about Becky's curious answer, 'we don't have time'. It wasn't the, 'No thanks. I'm not interested,' that I expected. 

A few miles later, Becky pointed at a foundation wall, almost hidden by tall grass. "That was my parent's house." 

Lisa asked the obvious question, "What happened?" 

"They died in a Tornado."

"Aw, I 'm sorry." She said, giving Becky a compassionate hug.

"It was a long time ago. That's my place up ahead." 

The farmhouse was set back from the road about 100 yards. It wasn't as big as I pictured, or as nice. Some of the front porch balusters were broken or missing. Faded black shutters hung crooked on tired hinges. Peeling white paint left clapboards exposed to the elements. A gigantic red barn sat 200 feet behind the house, and looked to be in much better shape. 

As if reading my thoughts, Becky said, "The house needs some work."

"I've got nothing else to do."

Lisa said, "Me either." 

We parked around back. Becky retrieved a key from the barn, as Lisa and I carried groceries to the backdoor. 

The door opened with a rusty screech into the kitchen. Like everything outside, the inside seemed old and worn out. We put the groceries on the dusty kitchen table. Becky put some fuses in the fuse box to turn on the power. We heard the well pump come to life and fill the plumbing. She turned on the propane tank and lit the pilot lights. 

"They'll be hot water in about an hour. The fridge takes a while." Becky poked my side, "I hope the beer doesn't spoil. There's an IGA about 10 miles farther up the road, in Elder Forks, when we need to restock. There's an ESSO station too."

Becky gave Lisa and me a tour of the house, opening windows as we went. There were three second floor bedrooms -- one was Becky's, one was her brother Jeremy's, and then the master bedroom, which had a huge four poster bed, big enough for all of us to sleep comfortably, if it came to that. 

Lisa said, "Tell me where the sheets are and I'll make the bed."

Just one?

"The linen closet is at the end of the hall." 

Lisa headed toward closet.

Becky took my hand and headed for the stairs, saying, "Skinny, I'm going to show Doc my car. I want to see if he can get it started. We'll be back in a while."

"Okay. Make sure you kids are home before dark." Then she laughed.

Once outside, Becky ran to the barn, pulling me along. 

Inside the cavernous structure, the pleasant aroma of aged wood and straw filled my senses. Parked in the center isle was a cherry Chevy Biscayne and an International Harvester tractor, but Becky passed by them and started for the far end. 

Letting go of my hand, she smiled and then ran, pulling her tee shirt off on the fly. 

"What's this?" I said, chasing her bare back and pulling off my shirt too. 

"What do you think it is?" 

I caught up and spun her around. Before I could react, she pulled my head down into a passionate kiss. 

Backing her roughly against the wall, I started at her lips and kissed down until I captured her breasts, sucking and squeezing. Her fingers raked my scalp and moans of desire egged me on, as I unfastened her jeans and yanked them off. 

She spun me around, slamming me against the wall. Kissing my chest, she opened my pants. Her fevered hand closed around my cock. She squatted and sucked, pumping me to full size.  

I grabbed under her arms and lifted her upright, pushing her sideways to the hayloft ladder. As I kissed and groped her body, Becky reached above her head and hung on. She found a foothold and climbed up one rung. 

I knew what she wanted and I knew what I wanted. Standing, I slipped my cock between her legs and felt her heated flesh. 

She let her body slip down and we both groaned with the pleasure. Her legs wrapped around my hips, and I began to thrust. Suspended from the ladder, she used her arms to lift and push. The sight of her wanton face drove me wild. I feasted on the breasts bouncing so invitingly before me. After the sensual buildup in the truck, the moment of crisis came quickly. High above, alarmed pigeons took flight, as we voiced our mutual release. 



Fall of '69 Ch. 06



Sweaty and panting, Becky and I rested against the hayloft ladder until the rush of orgasm faded, and we floated back to earth from the incredible Land of Euphoria. 

Unwrapping her legs from around my waist, Becky whispered, "Okay Doc, put me down." 

I kissed her with passionate gratitude before letting her go.

"That was fun," said Becky, patting my butt cheek.

Fun? Fun wasn't what I had in mind. I didn't want sex to be just about fun with Becky, so I upped the ante, "It was more than fun. It was amazing."

"It felt great. Thank you." Wiping between her legs with her panties, she said, "You came a gallon."

Another errant shot at fatherhood, when would I learn to control my dick? She didn't seem concerned. 

"Sorry. I bought condoms..."

Instead of heading home, Becky headed for the far end of the barn, while pulling on her tee shirt. "So Doc, how long are you planning to stay?"

Was she giving me the brush off, already? This was not the homecoming I had envisioned. She seemed to be turning away, instead of turning my way. Obviously, what happened with Lisa in the truck had renewed her conviction that I was not monogamous material. Or maybe, all of a sudden, she wasn't ready for monogamy. 

"I'm here as long as you want me to be." 

I should've said, 'I want to stay with you forever', but I wimped out. 

Sliding open the barn door, sunlight burst in, and Becky darkened into a silhouette with a long shadow. "Mmm, I forgot how much I've missed this place." She spread her arms and legs out wide and her shadow formed a ragged X on the cobblestone floor. 

I stepped up behind her and stared out at a vast plane of nothing. "What is there to miss?"

In my questioning tone she heard a genuine lack of appreciation. "You're a city boy. You wouldn't understand."

Reacting with irritation, I didn't pursue the issue. In hindsight, I should have talked to her about what she was feeling. Instead, I walked back to her Chevy and got in. The keys were in the ignition, and it started on the first turn. The gas gauge showed less than a quarter tank of fuel. 

I yelled, "Beckster, it needs gas. Can I take it for a spin and fill it up?"

She remained in the doorway, facing the sun. "Yeah, go ahead."

Destination: Elder Forks. Distance: 10 miles. Cruising speed: Bat-out-of-hell.

The road was mine. Not a truck, tractor, or honey wagon in sight. 

It was dinner time, and I imagined all the farmers and their families huddled around their dining room tables, talking the latest fertilizer gossip or maybe arguing about which tractor plowed the straightest corn row. 

Why was I here? Oh yeah, I was in love. 

The bustling hamlet of Elder Forks had a four-way stop at the only intersection. A grocery store stood on one corner. A bar, a church, and a gas station occupied the other three. Everything a man needed conveniently arranged in the center of town. Other ancillary businesses, such as a barber shop, hardware store, and Post Office, filled the remaining wood-frame storefronts. 

The gas station attendant -- a resident Goober -- gave my car a curious once-over. "Fill 'er up?"

"Yeah, sock it to me, and check the oil." 

"Sock it to you?"

"Fill it up."

Tired of sitting, I got out and leaned against the fender. "What do you do for excitement around here?" 

"Depends, what kinda excitement you want -- huntin', fishin', or drinkin'?"

"Man, so many choices! How do you decide?"

"Well, huntin' and fishin' depends on the open season. But drinkin' is always in season, and it takes less time and energy."

With a basketball sized beer belly, Goober didn't appear to expend much energy below the elbow. Lifting the hood, he asked, "Where'd you get this here car, Son?"

It is always best to tell the truth, but I wasn't in the best of moods. His snooping question irked me, and I really don't like being called 'Son' by anyone who's not my father. "Topeka auto auction. It was a steal." 

"I bet it was." 

"You bet your sweet bippy, it was."

"My what?"

"How's the oil?"

He slammed the hood closed. "Oil's good. That'll be five bucks."

If I'd been paying attention, I would've noticed his mood swing from curious to suspicious. Instead, I didn't think about it until, about a mile down the road, I heard the siren and noticed the flashing lights in my rearview mirror. A small part of me wanted to stomp on the gas, but I acted the law abiding citizen and pulled over.

At first glance, I would've sworn the officer that stepped out of the patrol car was Goober -- alias garage attendant, quick change artist, and Blue Meanie. The fact that his weapon was drawn arrested my day dreaming and sent a chill down my spine. My window was already down, so I clutched the top of the steering wheel, keeping both hands in plain sight. 

"License and registration, Please."

I gave him my license and then, under his watchful glare, dug through the glove compartment. "I don't have the registration." 

"Is this your car, Donny-boy?"

Donny-boy? Was he trying to piss me off, too? "I think you already know the answer, Ocifer."

"What'd you say? Are you being a smart-ass with me, Donny?"

"No Sir. That wouldn't be fair, Sir."

A few minutes later, while Officer Goober-twin blabbed on the two-way radio, sending coded messages to his dispatcher, I sat in the back of his squad car -- handcuffed and bloody lipped -- pondering the error of my ways. Of course, this was all Becky's fault, not mine. If she hadn't given me the brush off, I would've been in a better frame of mind and stayed out of trouble.

Eventually, we headed in the direction of Becky's farm. 

I waited in the car while Officer Goober-twin rang the doorbell. He waited impatiently, chewing on a cigar stump and peering in the front porch window. No one seemed to be home. Next, he tried rapping on the door with his nightstick. Maybe the doorbell was broken. 

After a few minutes, Becky finally answered the door, wearing a bathrobe, along with a towel wrapped around her hair. Obviously she'd been in the shower. 

Becky smiled and greeted him like an old acquaintance. They chatted a while. From the seriousness of their faces, I guessed Becky was catching him up on the bad news about her brother, Jeremy, missing in action in Nam. When they both turned toward the squad car, I knew the conversation had finally gotten around to me. 

Officer Goober-twin motioned for her to stay put, and then waddled to the car and let me out for the perp-walk. 

As I emerged from the car, Lisa joined Becky on the porch, wearing only a towel around her slim torso. The two of them should've looked sexy. Instead, picturing them in the shower together, washing each other's backs – etcetera -- I felt repulsed. Or maybe I was jealous.

Becky broke my conjecture by declaring, "Yes, I let him borrow my car. Don is Lisa's boyfriend."

"Sorry about the misunderstanding," said Officer Goober-twin to Becky, as he led me back to the car, still in handcuffs. 

Struck dumb as a fence post, I looked back over my shoulder at the girls.

Lisa flashed open her towel. "Don't be long, Doc."

After leaving the farm, my chauffer did not speak for about 5 miles. Then he adjusted his mirror to give me the evil-eye. "Rebecca is a good girl. I knew her grandparents. They were fine people." 

Feeling guilty for some reason, I kept quiet.

"I smelled marijuana when she opened the front door. Don't fuck up her life, Donny, or I'll fuck up yours." He paused long enough to light a new cigar. "You understand me, Son?"

Refusing to meet his mirrored stare, I watched the monotonous fields pass by. "Yeah, I got it."

"Good. We got a peaceful, law abiding town here. I want to keep it that way." 

Our conversation was over, until he parked behind Becky's Chevy. He removed my handcuffs, saying, "Remember what I said and we'll get along just fine. Have a good evening, Donny."

He drove off without a wave good-bye, and I thought we were friends now. 

Sincerely sorry for the trouble I'd caused, I made a U-turn and headed back to town, because I realized I hadn't yet caused any real trouble. Therefore, wrongly accused, I wanted to correct Officer Goober-twin's mistake. The corner bar offered the perfect opportunity.

Half the barstools were taken up by humans, but the place smelled like a barn. There should've been cows as well. No stalls were visible, but I couldn't see everything from the front door. Country twang blared from a jukebox in the corner by the pool table. Two young men, leaning on pool cues, looked my way. One of them said something unintelligible, and the other laughed. 

When I approached the bar, the bartender strolled over, drying a glass and wearing a sour puss. He didn't say anything, just nodded at me to acknowledge my arrival. 

"What kind of draft beer do you have?"

"Cold."

"I'll take one."

He filled a mug, and asked, "Where'd you get the fat lip?" probably afraid I was going to cause trouble in his law-abiding-town bar. 

"I slipped on a cow pie and hit my lip on a tractor fender."

He laughed out of surprise, like he'd never heard that one before. "Funny, you don't look like a dairy farmer."

"I'm not. That's why I had the accident. I was driving by a field, saw this tractor, and tried to cop it for a joy ride, not knowing what the hell I was doing." 

I rubbed my swollen lip. "Crime doesn't pay."

The bartender smiled a little. "Sure don't." He placed the mug of golden elixir on the bar, and said, "Since you've seen the error of your ways, the first one is on the house."

"Thanks." After saluting him with his gift, I held it against my busted lip and moaned with pleasure. My first pull drained half the contents. "Wow... that hit the spot. I didn't know how thirsty I was."

"Yeah, 'thirsty' is a good name for it."

A television hung in a corner, and made me think of something important. "You watching the World Series?"

"You bet. Tomorrow, game 4 at 2:00."

"The Mets are going to sweep the rest."

Behind me, I heard, "Bullshit!"

I hadn't noticed the pool players approach, although the manure smell did get stronger.

The leader, who was as wide as he was tall, asked, "Where'd you come from? You from New Dork city?" 

I guessed his mother must've been inseminated by a Brahman bull in a freak veterinary accident. 

He cleverly declared, "The Mets suck."

His buddy laughed, but his eyes didn't. 

Suddenly, a baseball bat appeared on the bar, and I had the feeling we weren't starting a game of 'flies and grounders'. 

The bartender growled, "I don't want any trouble, Jack."

I'd bet money the bull-man's last name was Ass, but decided it was too early in our relationship to inquire. 

Jack Ass poked my shoulder with a thick finger, declaring, "He started it." 

Trying to ease the tension, I turned around on the stool and smiled. "I just like rooting for the underdog." 

"They suck," Jack Ass repeated. Obviously, his bullish ancestry made him conversationally impaired. 

His friend embellished for him. "They're all fags. They suck cock." 

"That enough! You two, get out of my bar!" The bartender rapped the counter hard with the bat.

Jack and his pal scowled at me, and then reluctantly backed away. They didn't head for the door; instead they went back to the pool table, somewhat subdued. 

"Thanks," I said, turning back. "I think you saved my life."

The baseball bat went back under the counter. "They're all talk. Don't worry about them."

"If you say so." 

Edgy after the confrontation, I left a nice tip, picked up my beer, and walked over to the jukebox -- situated near the pool table. 'Show no fear and fear will disappear', that's my motto. Unfortunately for me, sometimes fear is a healthy reaction and sometimes I can be self-destructive. 

I looked through the musical list -- nothing but country and western. "Where's all the rock-and-roll?"

"Rock-and-roll is for long-haired hippy fags."

He was close behind me. I kept my eyes on the selections. "Jack, you've got a lot of hostility bottled up. The army could use angry men like you."

No reply. I think I hit a nerve. "Yeah, this shit war would be over quick, if they sent a couple thousand Jack offs to Nam."

"Damn right, it would be!"

Jack didn't grasp my jack-off reference. Just as well. He seemed to calm down, and I lost my desire for a fight.

"Your shot, Jack." 

He returned to the game.

I dropped in a dime and picked a song fitting my situation -- "Don't Come Home a Drinkin'". 

Loretta Lynn told me what I should do:

You'd been out with all the boys And you ended up half tight But liquor and love They just don't mix Leave the bottle or me behind And don't come home a drinkin' With lovin' on your mind

Without looking at my new friends, I headed for the door. "You guys have fun. Take Loretta's advice. I am."

Halfway to my car, Jack stormed out, and yelled, "Did you just call me a jack-off?"

"What? No way. Why would I want to get my ass kicked?"

He didn't have an answer. He just waved at me with his pool cue. "Don't piss me off!"

"Don't get pissed off when the Mets sweep the Orioles."

I got the finger. 

I gave the finger. 

He actually smiled. 

I actually got in my car and drove away in one piece. Life was good.

The night was clear, and no moon brightened the sky. I'd never seen so many stars. Their brilliant points of light sparkled like diamonds on black velvet. Some were so distant and tightly packed together, they formed celestial clouds. 

After parking the car back inside the barn, I sat on the front porch for a while and star gazed. Whenever I'm confused or upset, being outdoors helps me put things into perspective. My problems become infinitesimal when compared to the vastness of Creation. I become humbled and calm. Belief in God is renewed, somewhat. How could all this complexity be just a random combination of elements? 

I wish God had left a signed instruction manual, so we'd know His plan for humanity. From childhood, I was taught the Bible was an infallible book. But, because it was written by men, and men are not perfect, I had doubts. My doubts in a higher moral authority were the cause of all my poor choices, because I always chose what I wanted. 

Becky appeared from around the corner and sat beside me. "Nice night."

"Yup."

Quiet seconds passed. 

She added, "Chilly, though."

I slid over until our legs touched and then put my arm around her. She laid her head on my shoulder. 

Kissing her hair, I said, "Lisa might get jealous."

"I'm sorry for telling Sheriff Cummings she was your girlfriend. I panicked."

"Cummings? I though his name was Sheriff Goober."

"What? Why?"

"It's not important." I hugged her tighter. "Cummings said he smelled dope when you opened the door."

"Oh my god! He did? Lisa smoked some pot while I was in the shower. When I got out, she took a shower. I searched her stuff and found a bag of dope. So I hid it in the basement. Now, she's mad at me."

Ignoring the part about the weed, I asked, "You didn't shower together?"

Ignoring my question, she lifted her head in panic. "What did Sheriff Cummings say?"

"He told me not to corrupt you."

"What did you say?"

"Too late. I already had."

Becky punched my shoulder. "You did not say that!"

"Well, I feel like I have." With uncharacteristic guilt churning inside, I added, "I've been a bad influence on you."

She put her head back on my shoulder without comment, which only intensified my remorse.

Finally she said, "You've been both a good and bad influence. But I was free to choose what I've done. I don't feel sorry about any of it. I feel more alive now than I ever have before... and I trust you." 

My curiosity was peaked. 

Then she kissed me gently. "What happened to your lip?"

"I fell down while in police custody."

I kissed her back, and the night suddenly felt a lot warmer. "Beckster, I don't want to be a bad influence."

She cradled my face in her hands, and said, "Its okay. I'm tired of trying to be perfect all the time. You've set me free in more ways than you can imagine."

"I'm in love with you."

"Don't say that. You don't know me well enough."

I took that to mean she didn't know me well enough. At least one of us was being rational. 

Matter-of-factly, Becky commented, "You've been drinking."

"Just a little. After being handcuffed in the back of a cop car, I felt like a badass. So I went to the corner bar to blow off steam and drank one beer. I met a couple of friendly guys, joked around a while, and then I wanted to come home to you."

"I was worried when you didn't come right back." Becky stood up and held out her hand. "Let's go inside."

The kitchen smelled like home cooking. My stomach rumbled with anticipation. 

She opened the refrigerator, saying, "I already ate. I'll cook a couple of hamburgers for you."

"Where's Skinny?"

"Upstairs -- sulking. Why don't you go up and see if you can talk some sense into her. Get her to eat something."

I laughed. "Me? Talk sense?" 

"Well, give it a try, anyway."

It was a juvenile fear, but I realized Lisa scared me. She had an erotic magnetism, a formidable sensuality that I had too often found irresistible in the past. So I climbed the stairs with a wilting sense of confidence.

"Skinny?" I called, from the second floor landing.

An irritated voice answered, "What?"

I followed my ears to the open door on the right -- Becky's old room.

"Is everything," I turned into the doorway and saw her lying naked on her stomach, "all right?"

She didn't move. "No. I need my pot. I can't deal with life straight."

For a thin girl, she had a nice ass -- two round, firm handfuls. 

"Come downstairs and eat something. Life is better on a full stomach." 

"I'm not hungry."

"You need to eat. I can see every vertebra in your spine." 

"So what. Maybe I'll just starve myself to death."

Knowing I shouldn't, I stepped in and sat on the foot of the bed. "You're acting like a spoiled brat. Did anyone ever tell you you're self-destructive?"

"You're not my daddy. I'll do what I want."

"If you act like a brat, you get treated like a brat." I spanked her one time, hard. 

"Ow!" She rolled off the bed and rubbed her ass. Tears welled up, but she didn't say anything.

"Get dressed and come downstairs," I said, and left.

I entered the kitchen to the pleasant sound of sizzling beef. 

Becky pointed at the table. "Sit and eat some potato salad while the burgers fry." 

I ate a forkful and then drank a swallow of the beer she'd opened. Domesticated life definitely had its perks.

Flipping meat, she said, "How'd it go? I thought I heard her yell."

"I told her she was acting like a spoiled brat. Then I spanked her, and told her to come downstairs and eat."

Turning around at the stove, Becky gave me a look that suggested I had three eyes. "You spanked her?"

"Just once. She needed it."

Shaking her head, Becky returned her attention to the stove. 

A minute later, Skinny shuffled in -- barefoot and wearing a baggy nightshirt with a picture of a teddy bear on the front. The shirt was so loose that the neck opening fell off one shoulder. Her eyes remained downcast and her expression downtrodden. This was not the wild Skinny from earlier today. She was into a new scene, had become a new personality. 

Silently, she moved opposite me and faced the table, as if waiting for instructions. 

"Is that your shirt, Skinny?" 

Without eye contact, she mumbled, "No."

Becky hadn't seen Lisa enter the kitchen. Smiling, she turned around and then her happy expression abruptly transformed into one of puzzled concern when she saw the submissive nature of our previously audacious acquaintance. 

"That's my shirt. She can wear it if she wants. It's okay."




Fall of '69 Ch. 06



Lisa remained silent and unmoving.

Glowering, I said sternly, "You should ask before borrowing other peoples' stuff." 

Becky's glance shifted nervously between Lisa and me. "It's okay, really."

"Is it, Skinny?"

She sighed. "No."

"Should you be punished?"

"Yes."

"Sit down and eat your dinner."

Lisa pulled out her chair, but remained standing. "It hurts to sit."

Sensing this was just another game, I should've let it go, but instead I took the bait. "Why?"

"You spanked me too hard."

"Not that hard." Then I made another mistake. "Show us."

Lisa turned around and lifted the long shirt. A red hand print covered her left cheek.

Becky gasped.

I said, "Maybe Becky should spank the other side for taking her shirt without permission."

No comment came from either woman.

"Okay, sit down. You'll live." 

I drank the rest of my beer, as she sat opposite me. 

Becky put a thick, juicy burger on my plate. "Here you go, Master."

The word 'Master' got my attention. Becky was my dream genie, and I only wanted my dreams to come true with her. The curious facial expression she wore -- neither condemning or encouraging -- made me bold. I slid my plate over in front of Lisa.

"Skinny, I want you to put on some weight. Eat all of this or be punished." 

"Yes, Sir."

I got up and took three beers -- one for each of us -- out of the fridge. 

Without question, Becky gave me another burger and then placed more potato salad on Skinny's plate. "Eat that too," she said, using a domineering tone I hadn't heard since the first day we met.

I liked it. 

"Yes, Ma'am," said Lisa. She began to eat slowly, eyes never wandering from her plate. 

Meeting Becky's gaze, I smiled and shrugged, as if to say, 'whatever happens, happens'. 

She sat down, sipped her beer, and smiled wickedly at Lisa. The she looked at me and shrugged, which I took to mean 'okay, you're the master.'

Master-of-disaster, probably. Once again, I was letting circumstances control my actions -- 'circumstances' being a synonym for my penis. 

"Beckster, what are you doing tomorrow?"

"I'm going back to Topeka, to find out if the army recruiter can give me any more details about Jeremy." She glanced at Lisa, took a swig, and asked, "What are your plans?"

"I'm going to start scraping the loose paint off the front of the house. I'd like to get a primer coat on before winter." 

Lisa had eaten about half her hamburger, seemingly in a world of her own.

I said, "Why don't you take Skinny to the bus station and give her fifty bucks? I don't think she wants to stay."

Sitting blot upright, Lisa squeaked out, "No! I want to stay!" her wide eyes glued to mine.

"I don't know. What do you think, Beckster? Do you think Skinny can behave, and live by our rules?"

Without looking at Lisa, Becky replied, "Maybe we should give her a few days, see if she can meet our standards, and then decide."

"Good idea." I winked at Becky. "Lisa, finish your dinner."

"Yes Sir." Her eyes returned to the tabletop, but a grin played across her lips. 

"The World Series is on TV at 2:00. I'd like to see the game. If you can make it back in time, we can go to the bar and watch it, together."

After downing the last of her beer, Becky said, "Whatever you say, Master," with such sincerity, I thought I heard surrender in her voice, like she'd go along with anything I wanted. 

When our eyes met, she winked.

I glanced from one woman to another, and said, "House Rule #1: Whatever happens between us must stay between us. No one else should ever know. Agreed?"

In perfect harmony, the women answered, "Yes, Master."

Becky and I laughed. 

"House Rule #2: Don't call me Master. Call me Don, DC, or Doc."

Lisa smirked at the table and pushed away her plate. "I can't eat anymore." 

A dime sized piece of hamburger remained. 

Studying the unfinished morsel, I drained my beer while pondering the consequences of Lisa's intentional disobedience. If the two women cast me in the role of Master, then the fate of everyone present rested in my hands. Whatever I decided to say would set the tone for the evening, and might derail any future I hoped to have with Becky. 

Stalling for time, I gave Lisa a chance to reconsider. "Skinny, are you sure you can't finish that little bit?" 

"I'm sorry, Doc. I won't eat another bite."

Won't, not can't? She was asking for it. "Beckster worked hard to make that."

Lisa softly said to the tabletop, "I don't want it."

Continuing on with my lecture, I said, "You really need to put on some weight. You're too thin. I'm worried about your health, and this act of defiance cannot go unpunished. Do you both agree?"

"Yes," said Lisa.

Becky laughed a little nervously, and said, "Yes."

"Because Beckster prepared the meal that you refuse to finish, and you took her clothes without asking, I feel she needs to decide which punishment best suits the offense. Here are the two choices: Beckster, you can spank Lisa four times on her bare bottom, or..." I let the conjunction hang, as I developed my brilliant idea. 

Earlier in the day, Becky had reluctantly, but thoroughly, fingered Lisa to an orgasm. Being the prurient male that I am, I wanted to see Lisa return the favor, but only if Becky was interested. From the time we met, Becky seemed at first hesitant and then totally immersed in new sexual experiences. I realized her attraction to me might be partly or mostly attributed to her desire to discover new pleasures. By giving her the choice of disciplinary actions, Becky would have the final say. 

"... Lisa has to give you a massage according to my instructions."

Becky's eyebrows arched up in surprise and then they crashed together. Her forehead wrinkled in thought, as she considered the options. 

Positive that I was soon to be celibate, my eyes wandered around the room. Finally, I cleared the table and began filling the sink. "Skinny, help me wash the dishes."

I washed, Lisa dried, and Becky put everything away. The only sound was the clink of dinnerware and my heart pounding its way out of my chest. 

Sneaking glances at Becky, I noticed a blush coloring her face and hard nipples asking for attention. 

As the last plate was put away, I said, "Well, Beckster, what is Skinny's penalty?"

Tension in the air made breathing a struggle. 

Lisa stood with head bowed, ready to accept the verdict. 

Becky made her choice by exclusion. "I don't want to hurt her."

"Then it's settled." I pulled a chair away from the kitchen table and spun it around. "Beckster, have a seat."

Wearing a stony countenance, and after a small hesitation, she complied. 

"All right, Skinny, massage Beckster's head and shoulders for three minutes."

"Yes, Doc," said Lisa, with an air of satisfaction. 

"Beckster, would you like another beer?" 

Her voice trembled, "Yes, please." 

I handed her the longneck bottle and sat down at the table for my own voyeuristic enjoyment. 

As Lisa gently rubbed Becky's temples with her fingertips, I battled with myself over how far I should try to take this girl/girl action. Using all my cognitive skills, which were now muddled by alcohol, I concluded it took Becky so long to decide on which punishment to dole out because she obviously expected more than your average massage. The question remained, how much more?

Becky's eyes were closed -- a sure sign of capitulation -- while her nipples still stood at attention -- a sure sign of sexual titillation.

Searching for clues, I asked, "Feel good?"

"Mm-hm." 

"How are you doing, Skinny?"

Lisa never looked my way, but she did smile -- a positive sign. "Fine. I'll do whatever you say."

As I watched Lisa's fingers combing through Becky's hair, slowly kneading her scalp, the jealousy I felt when I thought they'd showered together was gone. Apparently, I just didn't want to be left out. 

When Lisa's fingers began rubbing along Becky's shoulder ridge, Becky groaned with pleasure and her head tipped forward. This was a good time to test her limits.

"Lisa, you can't do a good job on her shoulders through the shirt. Take it off and start over."

"Yes, Doc." Dutifully, Lisa bent over Becky's shoulder and grabbed the bottom of her tee shirt. 

As the fabric cleared her stomach and chest Becky stiffened, but her eyes remained closed. There, progress stalled. She'd have to raise her arms to let Lisa remove the shirt completely. It was up to Becky now.

Her eyes opened. She turned her head to look at me, and raised her arms.

I smiled. "Beckster, you're beautiful."

No answer, she just faced forward and closed her eyes.

Lisa kissed the top of Becky's head and then pulled her shirt off. 

Three minutes were long gone. At this point, no one seemed to care about time or punishment. 

"Skinny, continue the massage."

"Yes, Doc." Before she did, Lisa turned my way and lifted her nightshirt up to her waist, while her eyes asked if she should get naked. 

That was not part of the deal, but I'd momentarily lost my ability to speak. So, I shook my head 'no'.

Lisa stuck out her bottom lip to pout, but let the shirt drop, and returned to her assignment. 

Becky relaxed once again under her ministering hands. 

"How are you feeling Beckster?"

Before answering, she lifted the beer bottle and drank several swallows. "Warm, very warm."

"Do you want Skinny to stop?"

Again, Becky tipped the bottle high, finished off the remaining brew, and set the bottle down. She looked me in the eye, and asked, "Do you?" 

Damn! She wouldn't admit she wanted more. She wouldn't take responsibility. I had to be the ice breaker, the decision maker, the guilt taker. "No, I don't."

"Then... whatever you say, Doc." Becky closed her eyes. 

Lisa had an idea of her own that paralleled mine. "If you want me to continue, we should move this to the bedroom. So, Becky can really relax."

"Agreed." 

We all stood -- Becky last.

I felt like the charade of punishment had ended, and we were in new, uncharted waters. So, to encourage Becky, I took her in my arms and kissed her. The kiss grew passionate, which I took as affirmation of her enjoyment in what was happening. But her body trembled with ambiguity. 

In her ear, I whispered, "You are so sexy, Baby." 

A shy smile and blush was her only answer.

We walked upstairs hand-in-hand. Lisa followed after. 

Things became a little awkward when we entered the master bedroom. We all stood around and grinned at one another with uncertainty. I knew Becky wouldn't initiate anything, and Lisa stilled acted like the submissive and repentant brat.

It was up to me to get the ball rolling. I was sure this was something Becky really wanted to experience, or she would've put a stop to it long ago. 

I said to Becky, "Come here, Sweetie." 

We kissed until her trembling stopped, and then I sat her down on the edge of the bed, saying, "You should get ready for bed." Then I pushed her onto her back and unfastened her jeans.

As I tugged them off, she closed her eyes, but lifted her hips to allow their easy passage. 

Lying naked and vulnerable, Becky was breathtaking. I couldn't resist bending down for another kiss, along with a short suck on each nipple. "Mmm, you're delicious."

Reluctantly, I stood up. "Okay, Beckster, get in the middle and roll over."

Without hesitation, she did as she was told, keeping her face turned toward the wall. 

"Skinny, resume your massage."

She pulled on her nightshirt, and said, "This will get in the way. May I take it off?"

"Yes, you may."

In a wanton display, Lisa shimmied out of the baggy sack for my entertainment. Sex can feel like a drug, and I could tell Lisa was addicted. Maybe I was too.

"What should I do next, Doc?"

"Straddle Becky's hips and massage her back."

Lisa assumed the position, and worked her hands around Becky's shoulder blades, while grinding seductively against her bottom. 

Making myself more comfortable, I laid down beside Becky with my head propped up on my hand. 

She turned her head and looked at me.

I held her hand. "How's it feel, Babe?"

"Mmm, nice."

Lisa slid down Becky's legs in order to massage her ass without permission. She left a shiny trail from her own arousal. The seduction of innocent Becky had everyone excited. 

Leaning in, I kissed Becky's cheek, and whispered, "Why don't you roll over, and we'll both give you a massage?"

In answer she blushed furiously and turned away. 

I looked up at Lisa. She smiled at me with questioning eyes, and I nodded.

Continuing, she teased Becky's ass and thighs. "Ooo, Beckster, you feel so nice. I love touching your body." 

One hand disappeared between Becky's legs. From the angle of Lisa's arm, I could tell she had her hand underneath. A few seconds later, Becky's hips jerked and she moaned. 

Grasping Becky's far shoulder, I rolled the compliant participant onto her back without a struggle or even the hint of second-thought rigidity. 

Lisa pushed Becky's legs apart, while I kissed her lips and fondled her breast. 

"You are so hot." 

No one argued with me.

Moving to the headboard and pulling Becky up against my chest in a reclined arrangement, I was in position to play with Becky's tits and watch Lisa between her legs. 

Becky could watch too, if she wanted, but her eyes stayed shut. 

With her cute little nipples stuck out at full attention, chest expanding and contracting with quickened breaths, Lisa looked to me for guidance. 

"Skinny, make her come."

She answered, "Yes, Master." Deftly, she scissored Becky's clit between her fingers and then licked it.

Becky reacted immediately by thrusting her hips and moaning. 

"Do you like that?" I asked, while teasing her hard nipples with my fingertips.

Becky didn't say yes, but she didn't say no either. 

"I do," said Lisa, as two of her fingers disappeared inside, and she clamped her lips on Becky's sweet spot.

Within seconds, Becky's legs bent at the knees and she lifted off the bed, thrashing wildly side to side. 

Lisa clung to her pussy, while I clung to her tits, riding out the explosive orgasm. 

Becky never said an intelligible word throughout her coming. When it was over, she turned onto her side and curled up into a ball. I cradled her against my chest and Lisa snuggled against her back, waiting for whatever happened next.



Fall of '69 Ch. 07



I was lying in bed with two naked women -- one of the most common male fantasies. Why wasn't I thrilled? 

I'll tell you why. I only wanted one of the women -- Becky. 

Skinny Lisa was only there for entertainment purposes. But the show was over, and now she was in the way. Granted, it had been exciting to watch Becky orgasm at the hands and lips of another woman -- a truly novel experience. Now, the thrill was gone. I wanted Becky all to myself. I wanted Lisa gone. But what was the proper threesome etiquette? What would Emily Post do? 

Maybe Emily would've said: Be polite, but only show affection to the woman you want to keep. 

I'd try that. 

Becky lay sandwiched between Lisa and I, which made my advances easier. I began by kissing Becky's face with small pecks all over. 

Suffering from post-orgasmic exhaustion, it took a while for her to respond. 

"How are you feeling, Beckster?" 

"I'm not sure. Wasted. Satisfied. Embarrassed." 

"It was fun, Honey. Don't be embarrassed." Lisa reached over and put her fingers under my nose. "Smell."

Becky's scent coated them and I smiled. "Smells delicious."

Lisa leaned over Becky, and said, "Kiss me and get a good taste." 

Before I had a chance to say, 'I'd rather go to the source', she pulled me by the back of the head into a sloppy tongue twister. Becky-juice coated her lips and face. The carnal flavor whetted my Becky-appetite. 

In a low, sultry voice as Lisa could muster, she asked, "Is it my turn now, Doc?"

Becky had rolled onto her back, to watch us kiss above her. She answered for me with matter-of-fact coolness, "Of course it is, Skinny."

Because I started this whole debauchery, I wasn't in a position to argue. A twinge of regret tickled the back of my brain. 

Becky sat up, hugged her knees against her chest while looking at me, and said, "Someone is way over dressed" -- a bold statement coming from her.

Lisa put it bluntly. "Get naked!"

Other than wolf whistles and hoots of encouragement from Lisa, the ladies didn't offer any help, as I stood beside the bed and complied. Becky just stared and grinned. 

I can't deny I was turned on. My body spoke for itself when I dropped my pants.

"Wow, Beckster, he's a hunk!" 

Becky nodded her head in agreement. "I know."

I sat down and took Becky into my arms to show her how I felt, enjoying her skin against mine. But after a few seconds, she said, "Now give Lisa a hug and a kiss." 

Lisa didn't wait. Aggressively, she pushed me down and lay on my chest. Her hand grabbed my cock as her lips met mine, moaning with desire. 

She weighed so little, I easily rolled her over and made an excuse to leave. "Too much beer. I need to pee."

Groaning with disappointment, she reluctantly released me as I pulled away. 

Becky lay on her side, watching it all with detached interest. I wondered if my last chance for loving monogamy had slipped away. The uneasy thought ran through my head, and then was quickly tripped up when Lisa slid close to Becky, saying, "Master, tell her to fool around with me until you get back."

So, we were playing the master/submissive game again, were we? 

Becky's eyes grew round in surprise, but she didn't argue for or against Lisa's request, which I understood to mean, 'Whatever you say, Master.'

Thinking with my dick again, I wanted to see if Becky would obey. "Beckster, play with Lisa's tits until I return."

After a momentary hesitation and a look of vacillation, Becky silently rolled toward Lisa and rubbed the flat-chested girl's erect nipple with an index finger. 

Lisa arched her back and moaned. 

All of a sudden I didn't want to leave, and I was so hard I couldn't pee even if my eyes were floating. 

Becky switched nipples, and said, "Hurry back, Master." Then she bent down and suckled. 

Lisa gripped Becky's head to keep her there. "Take your time, Master."

I took Becky's advice and hurried. 

The shopping bag with my recent purchases sat on the bathroom counter. Quickly, I pulled out the box of condoms to take back with me. I hadn't washed since Becky and I made love in the barn, so after draining the main-vein I washed it to restore the fresh, manly taste. 

Rushing back into the bedroom, I said, "What'd I miss?" Not much from appearances. 

Lisa complained, "She's just teasing me."

Becky stopped sucking Lisa's nipple to look at me with fiery eyes, and said, "No I'm not. Master said to play with your breasts until he returned. I obeyed his command. That's all."

"Excellent job, Beckster." 

Good, I didn't miss anything, and from Becky's edgy expression, she'd been impatient for my return. Feminine pheromones filled the air, and I was drawn to the women like a bear to dripping honey pots. In fact, I think I growled as I crawled onto the bed.

Lisa now lay in the middle with Becky and me kneeling by her hips. "Take me now!" 

Becky laughed. "Demanding, isn't she."

"I'd say horny." Lisa was the kind of girl I was accustomed to -- enjoying sex for the rush, the release, the sensations. 

"What should we do first?"

I ran my fingers through Lisa's sparse pubic hair, and asked, "Do you want to return the favor?"

Wrinkling her nose, Becky said, "I don't know."

My index finger wormed its way between Lisa's pussy lips. I worked it back and forth, until her hips responded. 

Becky's eyes were fixed on the action with no appearance of jealousy on her face, only blushing curiosity. Although this threesome was electrifying, I began to wonder if Becky would want to try other things in the future, such as another man. I wouldn't be as open to that experience as she seemed to be about sharing me with Lisa. Double standards ruled my heterosexual love life. But for now, today's pleasures were all that mattered.

Lisa bent her knees and let her legs fall apart, opening up for us. My finger glistened with Lisa-lube, and I offered it to Becky. "Taste?"

Shaking her head, she said, "You first."

Lisa reached down, grabbed Becky's wrist and pulled the inactive hand to her chest. "Please?"

Smiling briefly at Lisa, Becky toyed with the offered nipple, while returning her attention to me.

I put the damp finger in my mouth. When the taste was gone, I put the finger back for a reload, this time using both hands to spread her lips wide apart, exposing Lisa's shiny pinkness. 

Once again, I offered my coated digit to Becky.

She stared at it a while, then grabbed my wrist and stuck the finger in her mouth. The suction of her lips and swirl of her tongue reminded my stiff cock it was being neglected. 

"Not terrible."

Lisa laughed. "Well, that's not very flattering."

"Sorry. I'm new to all this."

Lisa rubbed Becky's thigh. "I know. And that makes it all the more exciting." I knew exactly how she felt. 

"Show Beckster how it's done, Doc."

"What makes you think I know?"

Both women laughed, but Becky answered, "I know you know."

"Ooo, show me, Master!" Lisa reached down and spread her engorged pussy. The erect clitoris popped out of its cover. 

I looked at Becky. 

Her face was flushed. "Go on. Show me." Then she rubbed Lisa's boney hip. 

How could I say no?

Positioning myself between Lisa's legs, I lay on my stomach and threaded my arms gently around her stick legs. She seemed so fragile, but she did smell good. Keeping the mood light, I said, "Women's clits are very sensitive, so I like to numb the area first."

Lisa's hips jerked when I placed the flat of my tongue against her soft pussy, and vibrated it with, "Num, num, num..." It was an old joke, but effective. 

Then I twirled the stiff little nub with the tip of my tongue. 

Lisa gripped the back of my head. "I like you're stubble," she said, and then ground her pussy against my bristly mouth. She'd been turned on for a while, and it wasn't long before Lisa's abdomen and hips bucked in spasms of release. When the sensations diminished she released her grip on my hair. My scalp thanked her. 

Becky had been watching intently, while teasing Lisa's tits. Her face and chest were flush with arousal. 

"Kiss?" I leaned toward her.

Her glance flicked from my mouth to my eyes with indecision, and then she moved in. 

We kissed tenderly at first. As she grew accustomed to the other-pussy taste, Becky's lips moved passionately over mine. Her weight shift and her body move sideways, so I opened my eyes to see what was happening. 

Whether on her own accord or guided by Lisa's hand, Becky had straddled Lisa's chest. 

"Num, num, num," said Lisa.

Becky moaned and arched her back, planting her pussy firmly on Lisa's face. 

I backed away. 

Overcome, Becky closed her eyes and fell onto her elbows above Lisa's hips.

Moving off to the side, I reached over, slid two fingers into Lisa's pussy, and twiddled her clit with my thumb. When she bucked and squeaked from the pleasure, Becky peeked to see what happened. Watching through slitted eyes, she lay down closer to the action, placing her hands under Lisa's bottom. Tentatively, she softly kissed Lisa's thighs, while watching my fingers plunge in and out. 

"Yes, Beckster," groaned Lisa. "I love the feel of your smooth skin after Doc's rough face." 

Becky kissed Lisa just above her mons, and then moaned as Lisa continued to eat her, reminding her how delightful a woman's mouth can feel. Gradually Becky's lips moved lower, until they touched Lisa's clit. I continued to thrust my fingers in and out, while Becky experimentally probed with a pointed tongue. 

Both women began to squirm, as dueling climaxes approached. I pulled my fingers out to allow Becky full access to Lisa and, with sudden rush of purpose, she covered the sodden pussy with an open mouth. Becky lost control and rubbed against Lisa's face so hard that Lisa began to struggle against suffocation. I could see her pushing Becky's hips away, but her head was locked in a vice of flexing thighs, so I came to her rescue by pulling up on Becky's ass cheeks. 

When she caught her breath, Lisa laughed. "God, you horny bitch, are you trying to kill me?" 

Becky turned and sheepishly said, with her pouting, glistening mouth, "Sorry."

"But what a way to go!" Lisa spread Becky open with one hand and plunged two fingers in and out. The squishy sounds and moans from Becky made my dick bounce with my heartbeat. 

Lisa grabbed my cock and pulled it toward her open mouth. I got the message, and knee walked to be within range. 

"Num, num, num."

Skinny was a cocksucker -- a good one. She continued to plug Becky's pussy with her fingers, while working my dick with tick-tock-suck-cock Swiss precision movements. Maybe I'd change her nickname to Heidi. Her incredible coordination made me wonder how often she'd done this ménage à trios thing. Our little skinny girl made me feel like a party animal from the petting zoo, while she was a circus animal -- a performing lioness trained with a whip and a chair. For as good as it felt, I didn't want to spend in Lisa's mouth. I wanted Becky's pussy. Becky thrust passionately against Lisa's hand, grunting with increasing urgency, which ignited a jealousy in me I hadn't felt before. 

Pulling out of Lisa's mouth, I straddled her head, grabbed Becky's hips, and held them steady. My cock tip pressed in when Lisa removed her fingers. 

"Oh, god." Becky put her face down on the bed between Lisa's legs as my slow penetration became overwhelming. In to the hilt, I withdrew and reentered a little quicker.

"Nice view." Lisa pushed a folded pillow underneath her head and I soon felt her tongue licking at our union. 

Becky murmured, "Oh fuck... that feels good." 

I laughed. "What did you say?"

"Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck!" She was slamming back against me now, in the grip of coital frenzy. 

"That's what I thought you said." I pulled on her hips for added thrust. Our skin slapped together with juicy smacks.

I felt Lisa's hand on my balls and her other one appeared to be mauling Becky's swinging tits. 

Becky began a shuddering climax. Her body jerked in erratic spasm around my dick, and her screams of release echoed off the walls. 

My own orgasm overcame self-control, and I pounded into Becky with animal lust -- grunting like a love-sick moose. 

Spent and exhausted, I pulled Becky down and rolled her onto her back. Still stiff enough to function, I re-entered, kissing and fondling her in a show of true affection. 

After a quick recovery, Becky returned my kisses and moved her hips with mine. She squeezed my ass and rubbed my back, with reassuring warmth. 

At some point Lisa left the room quietly, and we did not see her again until morning. Not that we missed her. 



Fall of '69 Ch. 08



Becky and I slept like vines -- our limbs pleasantly entangled. My root remained planted in her moist, fertile furrow for as long as I could manage. But the connection didn't last. We woke up next to each other, with me sporting some brand new growth – fresh, good-morning wood. 

"Wood?" Becky laughed. 

Wrapping her warm hand around its trunk and shaking it playfully, she asked, "Why wood? Why not sausage, or kielbasa? Now that's a filling breakfast!"

I laughed at her uncommonly suggestive comment. "Beckster! You surprise me."

"It's all your fault, Doc. You created a monster last night. You turned me into a sex fiend."

Damn, just what I was afraid of. 

Trying to convince her otherwise, I said, "No you're not. It was just an isolated event -- something that just happened."

To argue her fiendish metamorphosis without words, Becky bent down for breakfast, ignoring the dried coital-funk coating. "Num, num, num."

It was all my fault. Before we met, this newly created sex fiend had been a chaste girl. 

Even though, at the moment, she was giving me amazing head, morning-after regrets were all mine for a change. I lay there, docile like a fossil, trying to put recent events into perspective, and soon decided to mend my lecherous ways. I came to the conclusion that, somehow, I had to get rid of skinny Lisa. She was the bad influence affecting both of us. Her presence just amplified my lecherousity. The threesome that happened wasn't my fault. It was Lisa's. Guys can't be held responsible for opening the fantasy door when opportunity knockers come calling. 

Tapping my happy-stick on the side of her formerly innocent, yet still sweet face, Becky looked at me with questioning eyes, and asked, "Do all penises look like yours?"

"Huh?" Uh-oh, this question meant trouble. "Yeah, pretty much, only a lot smaller." 

She laughed. "I don't know if I can believe you."

"Why would I lie?"

She shrugged, and said, "I don't know… but maybe I should do some research, and find out for myself."

At the suggestion of supplementary penile studies, my morning hardwood began to wither. She wiggled my increasingly limp limb, and asked, "What's wrong, Doc? You jealous or something?"

A little too forcefully, I said, "Yeah, I think I am… jealous, or something."

She let go of my wood, which now looked more like damp a twig, and got out of bed. 

Rapidly getting dressed, Becky rather brusquely pointed out, "I don't know why you'd feel that way after last night. You had your fun with Skinny. Why shouldn't I have my fun with another guy? Obviously, you and I are not a couple. We're just…" Zipping up her hip-huggers, Becky looked at me, puzzled and annoyed. "What are we, exactly… Master?" 

Before I could conjure up a coherent response, she walked out, saying, "I don't know, either. All I know is, life is short, and I'm going to live it on my terms. I'm tired of playing the fool." 

I laid there for a while, because getting out of bed seemed like a bad idea. In the game of life, today was one of those days when I'm a loser, and the game goes straight into extra innings. 

Biding my time, I looked around the room at all the family photographs and thought, how strange that Becky allowed us to fuck in her esteemed Grandparents' bed. It felt disgustingly disrespectful even to a weasel like me. Becky must be really messed up emotionally to act so detached from everyone she loved. My bad influence had only compounded the problem by leading her down the dead-end path of moral ruin, when all I really wanted to do was love her, and for her to love me. 

The debauchery in the last 24 hours weighed heavily on my conscious. 

Circumstances dictated immediate action. I had to get out of bed and see if the damages could be mitigated. I had to face the mountainous uphill climb to decency, doubting that I could find my way even if I had the Dalai Lama as a guide. I'd probably corrupt him too.

The old farmhouse bathroom, with its cast iron, claw-foot tub, breathed 19th century charm and, unfortunately, the shower head spat 19th century spray. No hot water after two minutes. Afterwards, my chattering teeth made it hard to shave. 

Clean and mean I went downstairs to the quiet first floor. "Anyone home?"

The kitchen showed signs of recent food consumption. I spotted a mouse dragging a bread crust toward a hole in a cabinet base. Breakfast cleanup had begun. 

"Hello?" 

An engine roared -- a big engine -- and sounded like it came from the barn. I went outside to investigate. 

The gigantic red tractor rumbled out of the barn with Becky and Lisa sitting on the open fenders. The driver's smiling face was partially hidden by a cowboy hat, but the jaw line looked vaguely familiar. 

When Becky waved to me, the driver looked up. It was my new friend, Jack Ass, from the night before. He stopped smiling, and I felt a sudden chill in the warm autumn breeze. 

Jack turned toward Becky and said something. From watching his lips, I guessed he'd asked ‘Who the fuck is that asshole?'

It seemed likely that Becky continued with her "He's Lisa's boyfriend" explanation of my identity, because after she answered, Jack nodded and put his hand on Lisa's boney knee. 

When Lisa put her hand over his, he smiled at her and then glared at me with a what're-you-going-to-do-about-it sneer. 

It felt too early for that kind of macho posturing, so I ignored it. Besides, he could have Skinny. Maybe things were suddenly looking up.

Becky climbed off the tractor. Lisa and Jack drove off toward the golden waves of corn. 

Walking over, I asked, "Who was that?"

She watched them drive away. "Him? That's Jack Osborne. He's a neighbor." 

Jack had his arm around Lisa's waist and she had her arm around his brawny shoulders, talking close to his ear. 

Becky turned, and sighed wistfully. "I've had a crush on him since the 6th grade."

Irritation in my voice, I asked, "What's he doing here?"

"His family is renting my barn. Why? What's your problem?"

"I met him in town last night. He's a jackass."

Frowning, she said, indignantly, "You don't know him. He's really a nice guy."

I bit my tongue and changed the subject. "When are you going to Topeka?"

"I'm not. I've changed my mind. They probably don't have any more information about my brother than I do, and if they did, they probably wouldn't tell me anyway." After a momentary pause, she looked away and softly added, "Besides, I think he's dead."

Even though I also thought her brother was dead, to hear her say it saddened me. Becky had given up hope.

I put my hand on her shoulder, and she moved in for a hug. 

"Well then, what do you want to do today?"

Grinning mischievously, Becky said, "Come on," and she led me back inside the barn. 

I began to think I was in for a repeat of yesterday's barn-boffing, until she opened a cupboard near the front door and extracted a plastic bag. 

"Lisa's pot." Handing it to me, she said, "Let's get high. I want to know how it feels."

In my head the bag weighed 50 pounds, but in reality it weighed less than an ounce. Staring at the potent golden buds, I flatly said, "No."

"Fine." She snatched the baggy from my hand and, without a backward glance, ran after the tractor, waving frantically. 

Two hundred yards away, the tractor brake lights came on. 

I watched until she climbed aboard the empty fender, brashly waving Lisa's stash of mother-nature. I seriously hoped Jack wasn't as big an ass as I thought, and would tell both the girls to get lost. 

No luck. A ‘whoop' of elation boomed across the field, before the tractor began to roll away once again. They drove to a hedge row and park under an ancient maple with a brilliant red canopy. Jealousy squeezed my stomach. When did I become such a stick-in-the-mud? 

Unsure about my next move, I went back into the house to brood over a breakfast of peanut-butter toast and coffee. Maybe it was time to head back to school. Becky was safe and sound in her home. She didn't need me anymore. 

The grandfather clock in the living room chimed nine o'clock. Still early morning at the frat house, I called anyway. The phone rang 10 times, before Gerry -- one of the new brothers -- answered. 

"Hey, Gerry, it's Don. How's it going?"

"Don! Where the hell are you? We were about to call the cops and report a missing person."

I laughed. "You guys noticed I was gone? Far out."

"Let me wake Roger up. He's been all bent out of shape, wondering what the hell happened to you and what's-her-name." 

There was a loud thud, as he dropped the receiver. 

After two minutes of waiting, I stood up and looked out the window. The tractor was still parked under the oak tree. From this distance it was hard to see much detail, but it looked like the threesome was sitting around the tree trunk, passing a joint. Not much harvesting or plowing was getting done today. Well, maybe a different kind of plowing.

The phone rattled on the other end of the line, and I heard a sleepy Roger say, "Don?"

"Hey, Rodge. What's happening, Man."

"Where the fuck are you?"

"Kansas."

"Kansas? You hanging out with Dorothy and Toto?" 

"No, just Becky and Lisa." 

"Two chicks now? When are you coming back to give us the juicy details?"

"I'm not sure. But I need my stuff. Have someone pack it up and ship it too…" I picked up an envelope lying by the phone and read him the address. 

"Doesn't sound like you plan on coming back anytime soon. The house won't be the same without you, Man." 

"You'll manage." 

Roger could talk the ear of a cornstalk, so I prevented further questions by saying, "I've gotta run to town and get some paint. I call you soon."

"Paint? For what?"

I hung up the phone, while watching out the window. 

Becky stood up, waving her arms, appearing angry.

Jack sprang from the ground and got in her face, acting equally irate. 

Becky slapped him hard. 

Jack immediately hit her with the back of his hand, knocking her down. 

To Lisa's credit, she pounced on his back, choking him with her forearm for a few seconds before he flipped her over his head, Judo style, into the dirt. 

Whatever happened in the next few seconds I missed, because I was running out to my truck. By the time I roared down the dusty path, Jack and the tractor were headed across a corn stubble field. Becky was helping Lisa limp in my direction. 

Skidding to a stop a few yards away, I jumped out and ran to them. "What the hell just happened?"

"Nothing important." Becky wouldn't look at me. Blood ran down her chin from her lip.

"Don't tell me ‘nothing happened'. I saw him hit you."

Lisa explained, "Jack started blabbing about the war." She looked sympathetically at Becky, before continuing, "He said her brother was stupid for going to West Point and fighting in Vietnam."

"I called him a coward," said Becky. "I shouldn't have."

"I'm going to kick his ass." 

She grabbed my arm as I turned toward my truck to chase after the tractor. "No. Leave him alone. It was my fault. He has epilepsy and he's always been touchy about being less than physically perfect. He has a chip on his shoulder that gets knocked off too easily. In school, he was always fighting to prove how tough he was. Then he'd have a seizure, and the older boys would tease him mercilessly about being a freak."

He probably deserved it for being an asshole. Aloud, I said, "That's no excuse to hit a girl."

Becky gripped my hands. "Please, leave him alone." She looked at me with pleading eyes. "For me?"

Staring at her, I came to the realization that Becky was a bad judge of character. She seemed to have good intentions about helping people, but didn't have the strength of will to uphold her idealistic values. Unfortunately, I was included in her poor character collection.

Too mad to say anything, I just got in my truck, and they followed. 

Back at the house, I spotted Jack's pickup parked alongside the barn, and was tempted to flatten the tires instead of flattening his nose. 

As Lisa and Becky got out, I announced, "I'm going to town."

Becky stopped, and asked, "What for?"

"Stuff?"

"Are you coming back?"

That was a question that I wasn't sure I had an answer for. "Yeah, I'll be back," I said, to prevent further discussion, and drove off.

In the bright morning sun, the town of Elder Forks reminded me of Andy Griffith's Mayberry -- quaint and quiet. The worst thing that could happen here was a cat stuck in a tree. 

I parked in front of Roberts Hardware -- not a parking meter in sight. 

"Hi! Nice truck, Mr. Pennsylvania." said the smiley, plump girl at the cash register. 

What a friendly town. "Thanks." I smiled back, as I moseyed past.

"That's the first Pennsylvanian plate I've ever seen. Not too many visitors around here." 

Just to spice up her humdrum, tiny-town day, I paused to add more gossip to her future party-line phone call, wondering if their telephones still had crank handles. "Really? With all the fun things to do in this town? Hard to believe." 

She laughed. "Isn't it? Tell all your friends about us. Maybe the town board will open a museum in the old meat packing plant to attract more tourists." 

While absently straightening a stack of paper bags, she probed, "What brings you here?"

Pointing outside, I said, "My truck."

Placing her hands on her hips in a show of dissatisfaction, she thrust out her ample chest, straining the buttons on the blue sweater. I was tempted to put up a hand in defense of a sudden release. 

She gave me a crooked grin, and said, "Ha ha. You know what I mean."

"I gave a friend a ride home from college."

"What's his name? I probably know him." 

"He's a she -- Rebecca Jeffries." 

She made a frowny face, and said, "Becky's back? Why?" 

"Did you know her brother?"

"Jeremy? I loved him. All the girls did. He looked so handsome in his Army uniform in the Memorial Day parade." Suddenly, it dawned on her, and she grimaced. "Is he dead?"

"MIA" 

She made a sad groan, and said, "Poor Becky. She's lost so much family already."

I thought about mentioning how Becky was building a new family by starting a commune filled with sex and drugs, but changed my mind. "Yeah, she's kind of a lost soul right now." I didn't mention that I was the one who spun her around blindfolded and let her loose, hypothetically speaking. 

"I should call her," said the buxom, rosy cheeked salesgirl. 

I answered, "She'd like that," not knowing for sure, but looking for an end to this dialogue. 

"Tell her Sandy said hi and will be praying for Jeremy."

"Okay," I said, walking out of sight, down the paint aisle. 

Didn't work. She followed me. "Can I help you find something?"

Sandy turned out to be very knowledgeable, helpful, and friendly. She wasn't totally unattractive. Women with a brain are sexy, as long as they haven't become bitter man-haters. In fact, that's what I first loved about Becky, her mind.

I left the store with enough painting paraphernalia to start my own business. Sandy was good at her job. Probably would own the store, someday.

As I was loading my truck, I glanced down the street and spotted a sign outside the Methodist church, and read, "Faith is the substance of things hoped for." Becky needed to regain some of her lost faith. Maybe we could do it together.

I drove back to Becky's farm and, after unloading my supplies, found an extension ladder and set it up against the front porch roof. The girls came outside, red-eyed and giggling. 

Already knowing, I asked, "What have you two been doing?"

Becky leaned against the rail, and said, "Just chillin' out." 

She floated down the stairs and threw her arms around my neck, the scent of cannabis lingered in her hair. "Why don't you take a break and joint us?" 

Joint us? What that meant exactly I didn't want to ask, afraid I might buckle to temptation. So, I kissed her cheek, and said, "Maybe later. I want to get the front scraped today, so I can paint tomorrow." 

"Aren't you the busy bee." She rubbed my crotch, and commented, "I like your stinger, Mr. Bee."

"And I like to poke you with it, Miss Tulips."

Skinny waited on the porch, watching and listening. "Come on Beckster, let him work. We'll keep busy, inside." 

I whispered in Becky's ear, "Don't do anything I wouldn't do." Then I had second thoughts. "Forget I said that. Don't do anything I would do."

Her husky laugh tickled my ear, and she answered, "I'll do anything I want." 

As she headed back up the porch stairs, I said, "I met an old friend of yours at the hardware store. Sandy says hi. She'll be praying for Jeremy."

"Sandy Roberts?" Becky stopped, and placed a steadying hand on the banister. 

"Yes, I guess so." Apparently she will be running Roberts hardware store someday, if not already.

After a slight delay, as if she were thinking deep thoughts, Becky said, "That's nice," and continued inside. 

Skinny waved goodbye. "Don't fall down and break your stinger."

Working in the sun, I soon became hot with the exertion and removed my shirt. It felt good to do some physical labor. My mind wandered as I scraped, until the bedroom window, a foot to my right, opened. 

Becky stuck her head out, and asked, "How's it going?" She held out a glass of water. "You look hot. Want a drink?"

"Sure, thanks." 

As I moved toward her, Becky extended farther out through the window, until her bare breasts were exposed to the world. 

Stupidly, I asked, "Where's your shirt?"

"Where's yours? It's hot in here and the fresh air feels good, doesn't it?" 

No argument from me. I took the glass, saluted her, and took a big gulp of icy refreshment. Suddenly, a pair of hands appeared from behind Becky, snaked around, and pinched her nipples. I began to cough and gag as the water rerouted toward my lungs. 

Giggling, Becky looked over her shoulder, and said, "Skinny, stop it. You almost killed him." Then she ducked back inside and laughter ensued, followed by unsettling silence. 

Trying to be unaffected, I ignored them. I didn't even glance inside. I finished drinking my water without another mishap, set the empty cup on the window sill, and went back to scraping paint chips. 

Then I faintly heard, "Num, num, num…" and a moan distinctly Becky's. 

That was it. I couldn't handle the mental image. Throwing down my scraper in loud aggravation, I scrambled down the ladder and marched to the barn. I had to get away from the sounds of their intimacy if I was going to have any self-control. I'm sure they would've welcomed my entrance through the window, but I'd made up my mind I was done with casual sex. I wanted Becky all to myself. The problem being, Becky was just beginning her sexual journey. A journey I launched.

Not having any specific direction in mind, I stalked toward the barn where Jack Ass's truck proved too tempting a target for my frustration. Angry at myself as much as anyone, and not having the common sense of a mongoloid, I picked up an Idaho potato-sized rock and threw it through Jack Ass's back window. The shotgun resting in the gun rack looked tempting, but I left it alone and continued inside the barn to cool off. 

After closing my eyes and taking a few deep breathes, I tried to decide what to do next. The cavernous barn begged exploration and would provide a nice diversion. So I began near the front and worked toward the back. Several doors led to storage rooms filled with farm tools and bags of crop-crap that I had no knowledge of. 

As I opened the last door on the left, I heard Becky shout from the far end of the barn, "Hey!"

She appeared as a silhouette against the sunny background, the lines of her bare legs enticing below a tee-shirt that just covered her hips. 

Swallowing a lump, I said flatly, "What." 




Fall of '69 Ch. 08



"Everything all right?"

"No," I answered, entering the room, and flicking on the light. I was surprised to find a bedroom, or more precisely, a studio apartment. So this is where the hired help stayed? Maybe I should move in. 

Walking across the plank floor, I opened the window shade. The view was as expected -- corny. 

Behind me, in a soft, apprehensive voice, Becky asked, "Doc? What's wrong?"

Turning around, the view vastly improved, although I denied my face the pleasure of expressing it. "Nothing."

"Nothing?" she said, taking a seat on the stained mattress, her shirt riding up to reveal a total disregard for underwear. "You act like there's something."

What could I say that wouldn't make me a total hypocrite? "I'm worried about you."

She smiled with what looked like relief. "What're you worried about?" she asked, lying down sideways and propping her head up on her palm. "I'm fine. I'm having fun for the first time in a long time." 

"No you're not. It's the booze and the dope." 

Rolling onto her back, her fingers languidly pulled up the hem of her shirt and played in the short, curly hair. "Maybe… a little. Mostly, it's because of you, Doc." 

Why do I always get credit for being the bad influence? I said, "I'm sorry," and turned back to the window. 

"Don't be sorry. I've never been happier. Come here and kiss me."

"Why?"

"I love how you kiss. When we kiss, my body tingles." 

She moaned, and I looked. 

With eyes closed, she teased her clit with one finger. 

"Didn't Skinny just make you tingle?"

Becky's labia glistened with arousal. "I did it for you -- to turn you on. It's not the same. Her touch just whets my appetite for you."

"I think it wets more than your appetite." 

"Don't be jealous," she said, sitting up and removing her shirt. "Make love to me."

Turning to look out the window, I answered, "I have work to do." 

The bedsprings squeaked. Becky pressed against my back and unfastened my jeans. "It's break time." 

Who was I to argue? After all, she was the homeowner, and the first rule of business is: The customer is always right.



Fall of '69 Ch. 09



Becky said 'make love to me' -- not 'fuck me', not 'screw me', not even 'make me come'. Wasn't that what I wanted in our relationship -- love making? How could I refuse? For some reason, as I stared out the window, I hesitated. 

She pressed against my back, and, as her warm hand slipped down into my jeans, I wondered if my moral integrity might be regained if I refused her advances. 

Her naked body teased my spine, while her fingers dug deeper. "Please, Doc?"

A gravely voice from behind us, responded, "To hell with Pansy-boy, I'll fuck you, and you won't even have to be polite."

Becky screeched in shock and hid behind me, as I spun around to face the rude opportunist. 

Jack Osborne, alias Jack-ass, leaned nonchalantly against the doorframe. "I got to say, Becky, your birthday suit is just as sexy as I thought it would be, although, to be honest, I only got a good look at your fine ass."

"Jack, get out of here!" 

I quietly fastened my jeans, hoping Jack would laugh it off and walk away. 

Instead, he closed the door and walked over to the bed. He picked up her discarded tee-shirt saying, "I like the new you -- Becky-the-party-girl. By the way, does Lisa know you're screwing her boyfriend?"

"I'm not Lisa's boyfriend," I said, tired of setting the record straight.

"Funny, that's not what Becky told me this morning. It's not fair that you get two girls all to yourself. You should let me have Becky. I've wanted to screw her longer than you." 

He draped her shirt over his arm and, with quiet menace, asked, "Who smashed my truck window?"

"I did."

"Why?"

"It seemed like the right thing to do."

Staying tight against my back, Becky pushed me sideways toward the door. "Jack, just go away and leave us alone." 

"Uh-uh," said Jack, stepping over to block the exit. "Nobody is leaving until I get some kind of payment for my window."

"The window was your punishment for hitting Becky." 

Jack scratched his bristly chin, as he seemed to consider the crime and punishment. "You're right, I shouldn't have hit her. But it was barely a slap."

"You cut her lip."

"I did?" He smiled briefly. "I'm real sorry, Becky," said Jack, in a tone that left sincerity bound and gagged in the basement of his soul. "Let me kiss it and make it better. I promise to make you feel fantastic all over."

I'd had enough. I didn't care how big and nasty this asshole was. "If you want a woman, Jack...ass, you have to be a man first."

"Is that so?" he growled, his hands fisting, ready to defend his manhood. 

Becky must've felt my muscles tighten in preparation for a fight, because she stepped between us. "Stop it! That's enough from both of you." 

Jack immediately changed his focus from me to her, smiling at her brave nudity. He seemed riveted in place -- turned to stone by the appearance of her outer beauty. I have to admit, I felt the same way. 

Grabbing her tee-shirt from his arm, she slipped it on, saying, "Both of you just chill out. Find something constructive to do with your testosterone. I'm not interested in either one of you dickheads." Angrily, she walked out of the room, leaving us awkwardly staring at the open door.

He laughed. "Damn, seeing her naked was worth the price of the truck window right there," said Jack, slapping me on the back. "I gotta go hook up the plow. See ya, Dickhead." 

Standing in the empty room, I waited for my adrenalin to burn off, wondering how much of the conversation Jack heard, before he interrupted us. Did he know that Becky and Lisa were intimate? If he did, the fallout might be catastrophic for Becky's reputation in her small hometown. Also, I felt hurt and disappointed that Becky was still associating me with skinny Lisa. And lastly, as I exited the room, I felt thankful that Becky had stepped out from hiding and saved my butt. 

When I entered the farmhouse backdoor into the kitchen, Lisa was sitting at the table, eating a sandwich. "Hungry? I made tuna fish." 

"Not right now. Where's Becky?"

"She ran upstairs. Seemed a little flustered. What happened?"

"I almost got in a fight with Jack."

"He's such a redneck asshole. He needs to mellow out." She opened up the bread bag, saying, "I'll take him a sandwich as a peace offering."

Absently, I answered, "Good idea," and left to find Becky.

I found her lying on the twin bed in her old room, facing the wall. The tee-shirt hiked up enough to reveal her bottom curves. 

"Everything all right, Beckster?"

"Shut the door," she mumbled, "and lock it."

Great idea! 

As I did, she rolled onto her back to stare blankly at the ceiling. "What's wrong with me?"

Leaning back against the door, I studied her physical perfection, and said, "Nothing. Why?"

"I'm a mess."

Her 'mess', I was afraid, had much to do with my bad influence. "How so?"

She looked me in the eye, but then appeared to lose courage and returned her gaze skyward. "I don't know."

Bending my knees, I slid down the door until my butt hit the floor. "Tell me what you're thinking. I promise to listen with an open mind." But I was scared as hell.

She closed her eyes and remained silent. 

To keep the conversation going, I added. "Thanks for stepping in and preventing a fight."

A husky laugh escaped her lips, and she replied, "It was my pleasure."

"You probably saved my life."

Becky rolled onto her side to look at me, the shirt now bunched around her waist. "It turned me on... the way he looked at me... I felt desirable and... powerful." 

Openly enjoying the view, I said, "You are absolutely, drop-dead gorgeous, Beckster. I think your boldness shocked him. I know it surprised the hell out of me."

"Yeah?" She flopped onto her back. "My heart's pounding, just thinking about it." 

It sounded like she was asking for a second opinion, so I got up, saying, "Let me check." I sat on the bed and placed my hand on her chest. "It is!"

She looked up with 'kiss me' eyes, as my finger slipped over to investigate a nipple through the shirt.

Then the screaming started.

Launching myself from the bed, I ran outside to answer Lisa's frantic calls for help, and prepared to trade punches with Jackass, or maybe just be his punching bag. 

Lisa met me halfway to the barn, yelling, "He's flipping out!"

We ran back to the tractor where Jack lay on the ground convulsing, like someone condemned him to death by ghostly electrocution.

Distraught, Lisa said, "I rolled him over, so his face wasn't in the dirt. What should we do?"

Becky ran up beside us and put her arm around my waist. "It won't last too long. Wait until it's over." 

Becky pointed to a sandwich and a spilled glass of milk on the ground. "Did he eat anything? Does he have anything in his mouth he could choke on?" 

I noticed she had taken the time to pull on a pair of cutoff shorts.

"No," said Lisa. "It started right after I brought the sandwich out."

Maybe another 10 seconds passed before he stopped twitching and opened his eyes. They didn't focus at first, and then he tried to sit up. "Shit!"

Immediately, Skinny Lisa knelt beside him and gently held him down. "Everything's cool, man. Take it easy. It's no biggy." 

Jack didn't look so tough anymore. He glanced at me and then away embarrassed, like we'd caught him reading Playboy and jerking off. Well, that's a bad example. He'd probably enjoy that. It was more like we caught him looking at naked men and jerking off. 

We all remained at a loss of words for a while.

To no one in particular, Jack mumbled, "This can't be happening. I have to finish plowing."

Becky asked, "How long before you can drive again?"

"Never."

"What?"

"I'm not supposed to be driving at all. Dad just lets me anyway. But if he finds out I had a seizure when I was supposed to be plowing, I'll be stuck in the barn, trapping rats the rest of my life."

Cruelly, I thought, it takes one to trap one.

Jack sat up, and Lisa put her arm around his shoulders for support. The two of them together looked like a toothpick holding up a brick wall, but Lisa was not without compassion. For all her druggy, slutty, twisted activities, she had a caring heart. 

Covering his face with his hands, Jack looked like he was about to cry. 

"I'll plow."

He uncovered his smudged face to glare at me. The girls' stares made me grin. 

"It'd be a trip to drive the tractor for a while -- get back to the soil." I spread my arms wide to embrace the world. "Be one with nature." Since anger was Jack's fuel, I lit a match to burn away his self-pity. "Besides, how hard can it be if you can do it?" 

"You don't know your ass from a--"

"I'll help," Becky interrupted. "I used to plow all the time with Grandpa. I'll teach you." 

Student driving with Beckster on an International Harvester sounded like an adventure worth exploring. "Cool, let's go." 

Jack just sat there speechless, while Skinny rubbed his back.

Becky walked around and inspected the plow hookup, and asked Jack, "Is it ready to go?"

"Yeah," Jack grumbled, rising to his feet with Skinny's assistance. I don't think he needed it, but he didn't complain. 

I followed Becky onto the tractor, resisting the urge to help her up with a hand on her ass -- nice view though. 

When she sat down on the driver's seat, I said, "Uh-uh. No way. No driving high. You can instruct." 

"I'm not high, anymore."

"How would you know? Have you ever smoked pot before today?"

With a scowl, but no argument, Becky moved to the fender and I took the driver's seat. After her initial instructions, I started the engine and we drove off, while Skinny and Jackass headed for the farmhouse -- his arm around her shoulders and her arm around his waist. They made a cute couple in a Mutt and Jeff sort of way.

The tractor was loud, so Becky had to lean close to my ear for instructions to be heard. Her breath tickled and her voice resonated through my body. She put her arm around my shoulders to steady herself and I found it hard to concentrate. My dirty subconscious insisted on reminding me how wonderful it felt to plow into Becky.

Once the plowshares dug in and I was actually making furrows, Becky sat up and observed my progress, giving me occasional directions on how to turn at the end of the row, how to time the plow insertion and extraction, and what speeds worked best. It all sounded sexual to me, but that might've been caused by her bouncy boobs and erect nipples inciting my 'plow Becky' state of mind. 

After my fifth pass, she said, "Let me off. I'll go make us some lunch and bring it back."

I stopped the tractor parallel to the farmhouse. She gave me a kiss on the cheek, and said, "You're a good guy, Doc."

After a compliment like that how could I grab her tit? "Thanks, Beckster. Let's plow together again real soon." 

"The next lesson will be on how to disc the field."

That didn't sound half as fun as plowing Becky, but I smiled and nodded. "Can't wait."

When she was safely away, I went back to work, diligently following the rules of the row. The farming experience that I thought would bore my adventurous soul I discovered was actually physically and mentally invigorating. The air was clean -- except for the occasional diesel fume -- and the sunshine ignited a fresh sense of well-being. Maybe life on the farm would be a good life -- with a good wife. 

Where was Beckster, anyway? I'd made a dozen passes since she left. Preparing sandwiches couldn't be more than a six pass task. If Jackass had another seizure she would've come out to tell me. What was happening inside that caught her interest? My perverted mind conjured up multiple Beckster-Skinny-Jackass combinations. The only thing that eased my mind was the fact that Jackass had to be too incapacitated for sex. But was that really true? My stomach started rumbling, and it wasn't from hunger. I learned that jealousy hurts. 

My head was about to explode when Becky finally appeared, carrying a picnic basket. She waved, pointed to the hedgerow at the end of the field, and headed in that direction. My heart slowed to almost normal, but my stomach remained knotted. 

Watching Becky walk along the freshly turned earth filled me with covetous desire. I wanted to do some planting of my own. Call it magic, or chemistry, there wasn't anyone else I'd ever felt this unending attraction for. 

Shutting off the tractor at the edge of the field, I glanced back to admire my plowing prowess. The just completed row looked more like a dried up, meandering stream bed rather than a corn row. It was Becky's fault for distracting me. Oh well, I could fix that later. 

Becky spread out a blanket as I approached. She reminded me of the farmer's daughter from 'Petticoat Junction' that I used to daydream about in Trig class. Her face appeared flushed and her nipples protruded like spring flowers ready to burst from the soil. My farmer-head was getting ridiculous. Then jealousy boiled up from my stomach, wondering what happened inside the house that had this effect on her. But I had to act cool. Doc was always in control. 

"This looks great, Beckster. Thanks," I said, putting my arm around her shoulder and kissing her rosy cheek. Her skin was on fire. "You okay? You look a little flustered."

"I'm okay," she said, turning to wrap her arms around my back and press against me. Her hug was fierce. More than friendly. Needy. 

I returned it with equal fervor. "Mmm, Beckster, you're starting me off with dessert. I like it, but something's going on. What's up?"

She buried her face in my shirt and inhaled deeply. "I'm so glad you're here." 

I dragged her down to the blanket, saying, "Me too. I've never been happier than I am with you."

We lay side-by-side, propped up on elbows, staring into each other's eyes. 

"So tell me. What happened that got you all cuddly. I want to be able to recreate it whenever I want."

Like a feather, her laughter tickled. "I promised Jack I wouldn't tell." 

"Jack?" Blood began to boil. She'd known Jack for years. Why wouldn't she keep his secrets from a relative stranger like me? "I promise. I promise I won't tell anyone." 

Surprisingly quick, she sprang, pushing me onto my back, holding me down with her weight on my chest. Why would I struggle against that? 

"You promise you won't tell him I told you?" 

"Cross my heart and hope to die... naked in your arms."

"Mmm, sounds like a good way to go. Sure you're not trying to commit suicide?" Then we kissed like she wanted to seduce me into a death-roll-in-the-hay. In self-defense I flipped her over and assumed the dominant position. 

Entwining my fingers with hers above her head, I demanded, "Tell me or I'll ravish you!" 

"Hmm, let me think." She pursed her full lips, donning a thoughtful face for a few seconds. "I think if I tell you, you'll ravish me anyway." 

"Maybe."

"I'll tell you if you promise to ravish me good."

"Better than good. I'll bang you like hail on a tin roof." 

Her eyebrows arched, "What does that mean? Is that good? I'll be bruised all over?" 

"Shut up and tell me."

Relenting to my exceptional persuasiveness, she said, "Jack cried."

Not the bombshell I was expecting. Relieved, I lay down beside her once again. "Why?" 

"He's frustrated because of his condition. He feels like an invalid. Can't enjoy life like a normal person." Running her fingers through my hair, she continued, "Yesterday was his 21st birthday and, out of self-pity, he got drunk. He's not supposed to drink, and that's what probably triggered his seizure." 

"So... he overcompensates by being an asshole. I completely understand." 

Slapping my shoulder, Becky chastised, "Don't be mean. You two are a lot alike."

No wonder I didn't like him. 

She added, "I think Lisa likes him."

Who doesn't Skinny like? "How do you know?"

"She was mothering him -- rubbing his shoulders, telling him epilepsy didn't make him any less of a man." Becky rolled onto her back. "I found out her father's a doctor." 

"Really? No wonder she's into drug therapy," I said, taking advantage by assuming the man-on-top position, once again. 

Her eyes sparkled in the afternoon sun and the breeze sent errant strands of her silky hair to caress my cheek. Pressing our chests together, I could feel her heart pound with what I hoped was passion. Eager to express what was most on my mind, I asked, "Did you happen to hear what the score of the game was?"

"What?"

"You know... the World Series, Mets vs. Orioles, game 4. Did you hear the score?"

"I forgot all about the game." 

Becky was not a true fan. "How could you?" I found it in my heart to forgive her. My lips dropped to the throbbing pulse on her throat and she moaned in response. Kissing my way to her ear, I whispered, "Let's eat. I have plowing to finish," I said, sitting up and opening the picnic basket.

In the warm autumn sun, we ate peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, drank Coke, and talked about farming and baseball. When the food was gone, I sat behind her and pulled her back to lean on my chest. She smelled like the earth -- fresh, fertile. 

"Beckster?"

"Yes, Doc?"

"I want you," I said into the side of her neck. My right hand slipped under her tee shirt and rubbed her belly.

She tipped her head against the tickle and gave a throaty laugh. "You do? I would've never guessed."

"What I mean is... I want you all to myself." Pushing further, my fingers traced the bottom of a breast. Her only comment was a sigh. A twinge of disappointment pinched my heart, because I wanted her to respond in kind. 

Determined to convince Becky of my monogamous intent, my fingers teased each breast, purposefully ignoring the alluring tips. "I don't want to be with anyone else, and I don't want to share you with anyone else."

"Why not?" She wiggled against my crotch, momentarily derailing my train of thought with her caboose.

"I want something more with you, something serious. What happened between us and Skinny was a huge mistake."

Her fingers kneaded the tops of my thighs. "Something serious? Like what?" 

Was she purposefully being thickheaded? "I want --" unable to continue I swallowed hard, the 'R' word stuck in my throat. There must've been some peanut butter lodged between my heart and vocal chords, blocking the way -- "a relationship."

Her hand slid up my thigh and teased the edge of my expanding bulge. "Why?"

"I'm in love with you." 

Her laugh sounded unconvinced. "No you're not. You're in lust with me. Love takes time. Time we haven't shared."

That was true, but I couldn't escape the bond I felt with her, a bond I'd never had with anyone else. 

"I like you. I like you a lot," she continued. "You've opened my eyes to a world of sensations I was afraid to experience. My life is bigger now, because of you." She spun around and straddled my knees. "You are a true friend, and you've been there for me when I needed you most." She kissed me sweetly, and said, "I will always be grateful."

"I don't want grateful." Not knowing any other way to express my heartfelt desire for her body and soul, I pulled her to my chest and kissed her as passionately as I could. 

Unresisting, Becky molded to me, returning all my affection with equal yearning. She was mine for the taking. My body ached for her, throbbed with desire. 

Rolling on top, I gazed into those liquid green eyes, heart about to burst. 

She looked away. A tear swelled in the corner and streaked to her ear. With whispered anguish, she said, "I can't love you. I can't love anyone. Everyone I love dies. You might be drafted, sent to Viet Nam, and be dead by summer. My heart can't take anymore."

I kissed her salty cheek. "Beckster, it's too late. You already love me." 

She didn't deny it, nor did she agree. 

Reluctantly, I left her and went back to the tractor. Like a good entertainer, I hoped I left her wanting more. I owed her a good ravishing. 




Fall of '69 Ch. 09



As I started the engine, Becky remained on the blanket, propped on an elbow, smiling at me.

The corn field was relatively small in dimension. To plow a row took approximately 15 minutes, round trip. I concentrated on keeping the furrows straight, my eyes remained fixed on the ground directly in front. Halfway through my return trip, I glanced up to see if Becky was still there. The picnic basket remained, but the blanket was gone. Struggling to continue in a straight line, I scanned the hedgerow and spotted the blanket spread on the ground -- partially hidden between a pile of field stones, a tree, and a thicket of brush. 

A few seconds later, Becky stepped out from behind the tree, naked, and lay down on her stomach -- ivory perfection shining bright in a patch of sun. 

My heart jumped, as I protectively looked around. Not another soul in sight. What was she thinking? Did she usually sunbath like this at home, or was this a tease? My furrow suffered because of her, and so did my dick. 

Becky never lifted her head or gave any indication that I or anyone else existed. 

At the end of the row, I turned around and headed back -- the plow pushing into the ground, folding the earth open like a hard cock opens a ready pussy. My mind reeled with salacious images. 

Impatient for the return trip, I glanced back repeatedly, no longer concerned about the integrity of my line. After all, this really wasn't my job. I was only here for Becky, and Becky had to be my main focus. She was the center of my universe, my hearts desire, the Cher to my sunny boner. 

Halfway back, Becky gave me a sign, an unmistakable signal that what she really wanted was a completion of our morning's romp. What else could I think when she rose up on her knees -- head down, ass up -- and began to finger her pussy. It had to be an invitation, a plea for pleasure, a cry for satisfaction. 

The last 20 yards took forever, but I finished the row and turned off the tractor. 

As I approached, Becky fingers moved faster, her moans became louder, but she never acknowledged me, never looked at me, or spoke to me. This was a new twist, a new game, one I wanted to play, too. 

I knelt behind her and massage her sweet cheeks. When my hand slipped down to join hers, she relinquished control. Her hips pushed back, as I slipped two fingers in. My free hand reached underneath to fondle her swaying breasts. 

Seconds later, she crumpled under an orgasm that took her strength and left her a shuddering mass. 

While she recovered, I stripped the clothes off my sweaty skin and, with the sun's rays hot on my back, I covered her, kissing her neck and working down. 

We still hadn't spoken a word, none needed.

Pushing her legs apart, I lifted her hips, and Becky obliged, pulling her knees up underneath. 

With one slow stroke, I entered heaven. Both of us moaning as one flesh. Soon, we were rutting like wild dogs. She the bitch, me the alpha male. Our smacking, damp flesh echoing our heat. 

Maybe she couldn't say she loved me because I might be dead by summer, but right now this was the best life had to offer. If I was lucky, I'd leave behind some of me to carry on with her, to love her. Maybe that's what we both wanted. When I came inside her, I knew that's what I wanted. 



Fall of '69 Ch. 10



We lay on our backs under the cloudless sky, the sun's rays keeping our skin glossy with perspiration. A gentle breeze tickled. No words had yet been spoken, but I felt like our souls were forever entwined. 

"I should get back to work."

"You probably should." Becky got up and headed behind the tree where she'd left her clothes. "I should find out if Lisa and Jack need anything." 

"You'll keep your clothes on... right?" 

She laughed.

I was serious. 

Quickly, I got dressed and waited for her. Strange that she felt the need for privacy after we'd made love out in the open. Women -- they're weird. 

My fingers were under my nose, enjoying the scent of Becky residue. When she stepped out fully clothed, I sniffed loudly, and said, "I'll be getting high on this while I plow."

She kissed my cheek. "I'll be thinking of you as your seed leaks into my panties."

'Seed' made me smile. I plowed and I planted. Now all I had to do was nurture. 

After she left, the field plowing returned to its repetitive, mundane nature, which gave me time to think. Usually, I filled my days with distractions to thwart any self-examination or reflection. But the last few days opened my eyes to a future where catastrophic events can happen against my will. The realization that most of life was beyond my control was unsettling and, in a way, liberating. 

After that small epiphany I felt restless. I wanted to put my future in fast forward and get things accomplished before fate screwed it up. Two hours later, the plowing was done and I parked the tractor behind the barn. A sigh of relief escaped, when I noticed Jack's truck was gone -- one less jackass to deal with. That left only me.

Entering the house was like entering a vacuum -- dead quiet. Did everyone leave with Jack? A moment of dread stilled my heart.

"Anyone home!" 

A faint, "Upstairs," came back. 

The temperature rose dramatically, as I ran up to the second floor. My heart leapt into my throat when I entered the master bedroom. 

Clad only in pink panties, Becky leaned over and smoothed the clean bed sheet -- her flawless skin glazed with perspiration, the crotch of her panties dark from leaking seed. 

"The Mets won," she announced, tucking the last corner, "in ten innings -- 2 to 1."

"Far out," I answered, mostly in response her nonchalant nudity. Baseball had retreated into the locker room of my mind. 

I forced my lecherous eyes away and noticed the room had changed. "You've redecorated." 

Placing her hands on her hips, she straightened up and smiled. "Yeah. I've decided this is my room now. I'm going to strip the wallpaper and paint this winter." 

The photographs had changed some. A high school graduation picture of her brother, Jeremy, now hung on the wall alongside her parents and grandparents wedding pictures. Jealously, I wanted one of me to be front and center. 

Her collection of Teddy bears lined the dresser, facing the bed, like a crowd of cuddly voyeurs. I had the impression she was clinging to childhood memories -- focusing on happier days. 

"Where's Lisa?"

Becky picked up a pillow and stuffed it into a pillowcase. "On her way to San Francisco... with Jack."

"What!"

"Jack wanted to get away from home, and Lisa offered him chauffer services... among other things, I'm sure. She wants to see Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young at Winterland -- in November. Jack wants to see Led Zeppelin." 

A weight lifted from my shoulders. "Sounds like a match made in Haight-Ashbury." 

"He said you could probably get a job with his father... That is, if you want to hang around."

I hesitated with my answer. Not because I thought of leaving, but because farming was not my life's ambition.

Becky apparently misunderstood my hesitation, and declared, "I'm fine now. There's no reason for you to stay. Go back to school." 

Picking up the naked pillow on my side of the bed, I slipped it inside a clean pillowcase, and asked, "Are you trying to get rid of me?" 

Now she hesitated. The damp spot between her legs made me think this was possibly an authentic pregnant pause.

Through the open windows, the sound of tires crunching on the gravel driveway interrupted our conversation. A black, Buick Electra parked next to the front porch. 

Hurriedly, Becky began to dress. 

"I'll go see who's here," I said, heading out the bedroom door. 

Exiting the house through the back and walking around front, I tried to give the impression I'd come from the barn. Three motherly types, and Sandy Roberts from the hardware store, stood on the front porch. 

"Hi, Ladies. Beautiful day."

Sandy smiled warmly, as the other women eyed me with suspicion. "Hello again... I never got your name."

"Don Carter."

"How's the painting going, Don?"

"I just got started. So far, so good."

A lady in a sunflower print house dress, holding a casserole dish, asked, "Is Becky available?"

With perfect timing, the front door opened and Becky stepped onto the porch. 

I pointed, and asked, "Is that her?"

Sandy was the only one who laughed.

Amid hugs, kisses, and heartfelt greetings, the women disappeared inside. Uninvited, I wandered back to the barn and returned to the hired-hand bunk. The fermented odor of freshly turned earth wafted in through the open window, as I lay dozing on the bare mattress. Plowing the field and Becky had tired me out more than I'd realized. But it was a satisfied weariness, leading to pleasant dreams. 

After a blurry amount of time, a soft knock on the open door brought me back to reality. The earthy smell was replaced with the satisfying fragrance of hot food, and my stomach rejoiced. 

"I thought you might be hungry," said Sandy Roberts, smiling brightly, and holding a steaming bowl in her oven-mitted hands. "The ladies are busy chatting with Becky -- very boring. I thought you might like some dinner and some company."

"Thanks, Sandy. I would." 

I set up a folding tray next to the bed and began to eat. Sandy sat beside me.

"Mmm, fantastic. Did you make this?" 

"No, Mrs. Graham did. She's in charge of the Methodist Women's Auxiliary, which means she does most of the work. Nice lady. Her son's in Vietnam, too." 

I nodded understanding and continued to eat. 

"Sorry to hear about your girlfriend."

"Girlfriend?"

Sandy sympathetically rubbed my back, and said, "Becky told us how she ran off with Jack to San Francisco." 

A lump of stew beef almost got sucked into my lungs, but I recovered quickly and choked out, "Oh, that girlfriend. We weren't very close, hadn't know each other long. I wish them the best and hope they have a blast. No hard feelings." 

I knew Becky was just protecting her moral integrity with the neighbors, but I still felt a twinge of rejection.

Sandy's hand slipped down my back and snaked around to rest on my thigh. "Does that mean you'll be leaving soon?"

Ignoring the intimate touch, I said, "I'm not sure... to be honest with you, Sandy. I'm in love with Becky. I'm hoping she'll fall in love with me, and we'll live happily ever after. But I think she's afraid to love anyone right now. I'd like to hang around for a while and be here for support." 

Thankfully, Sandy removed her hand, and answered, "I understand. You seem like a nice guy. I hope it works out for you two." She got up and headed for the door. "If you need a job, I can offer you part-time work at the hardware store. Business slows down in the fall and I'd like to take some evenings off. The job wouldn't pay much, but..." She glanced around the Spartan room, "if you're living here you won't need much." 

I smiled gratefully. "You're a sweetheart, Sandy. I just might take you up on that. I did some plowing today, and decided farming is just not in my blood."

"Then don't stay around here too long. You might put down roots."

Maybe it was already too late to leave. I pictured Becky naked, and her stomach bulging with our child. For the first time in my life, the idea of being a father made me happy. 

After I finished dinner, I fell sound asleep on the mattress. It had been a long day. 

The room was in shadows when I awoke. This late in the year, I guessed the time to be around 8:00pm. The folding tray still sat beside the bed, but the empty bowl was gone. After a good stretch, I got up, feeling refreshed. The barn interior was almost black. The open door at the end of the barn marked a gray exit. My steps pounded hollow on the concrete, as I quickened my pace to find the mother of my child. 

Entering the farmhouse back door, I yelled, "Becky!" 

"On the porch!"

The crisp evening air felt like a refreshing drink in my chest, as I jogged around front. 

Becky sat covered by a zigzag pattern afghan, rocking back and forth on the vinyl cushioned glider. "Have a nice nap?"

"I did." I couldn't help but smile. 

"What?"

"You're beautiful." 

She lifted the edge of the afghan, "Care to join me?"

Clearing the steps two at a time, I plopped down beside her -- the metal mechanism squeaked in protest. I put my arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. "Cold?"

"Yes, warm me up."

We sat snuggled together, silently enjoying the growing darkness. Stars twinkled on, and crickets sang to us in a twenty part harmony. 

Becky rested her head on my shoulder, and whispered, "Star light, star bright, first star I see tonight, I wish I may, I wish I might, have the wish I wish tonight." 

There was no need to ask what she wished for. The safe return of her brother had to be her greatest desire. "I wish too."

Her hand came up to cradle my left cheek, as her lips softly kissed the right. Then we returned to our comfortable cuddle, and slow rocking. 

A few minutes later, she asked, "What're you thinking?"

"I was thinking how nice it is to sit here and not think, just enjoy the moment."

"You enjoy doing nothing?"

"I love sitting here with you. That's not nothing, that's something."

"What did you and Sandy talk about?"

"Why? What did she say?"

"Nothing. It's just that she seemed very happy when she left with your dinner, and then seemed a little sad when she came back."

"Oh that. She's an Orioles fan. I told her I was a Mets fan, and they were going to win the World Series tomorrow. She didn't like hearing the truth."

Becky laughed. "I don't believe you."

"Even though I'm a Mets fan, Sandy offered me a part-time job. I like her. She's very friendly."

"How friendly?"

"Why? Are you jealous?"

She pinched my arm. "No. Why would I be?"

"I don't know." But I wanted her to be. "Maybe you didn't want her messing with your man."

Her silence was disconcerting. 

Moving on, I said, "Let's bet on the game tomorrow. I will bet you the Mets win again and end the Series." 

"No way! They barely squeaked by today. I think they've run out of luck. The Orioles are going to sweep the rest." 

"What's the bet?"

Becky sat up and faced me. "If the Orioles win tomorrow, you have to cook all the meals and do the dishes until you leave."

"That's not fair. What if I never leave?" 

"You can't stay. Living out here in the sticks would kill a city boy, like you."

"That's a discussion for later. I'll cook and clean until Monday."

"Fair enough. Now what would I have to do... in the remote chance the Mets get lucky?"

"You have to stop telling everyone I'm Lisa's boyfriend, or ex-boyfriend. You have to tell them I'm your friend from college. You can leave out the boy part, if you want."

The fact she had to think about it added to my growing unease. "Okay, it's a deal. But you'd better buy some Playtex gloves, or you'll get dishpan hands."

We shook on it, and then I pulled her into my lap to seal the deal with a kiss. 

Giggling, she struggled against my encroaching lips, but soon resigned herself to the inevitable, and kissed back with equal intensity. I don't know who initiated the descent, but soon I lay on top of her, while the old metal glider squeaked angrily, strained by the erratic motions of our enthusiasm. 

My lips slid to the side of her neck, and she whispered hotly, "Oh god, I love how you kiss." 

The fact she admitted to love anything about me only increased my need to hear more. I became obsessed with making her say she loved me, and I must've thought the way to a woman's heart was through her vagina. 

Becky said something, but hearing was not one of the senses I was paying attention too. 

"Ow!"

Becky got my full attention by grabbing my hair and yanking my head away from her nipple. "Stop," she hissed, "Someone might drive by and see us."

It was too dark by then, but I wasn't going to argue. Pulling her shirt back down over her breasts, I apologized. "Sorry, Beckster. It's just... you drive me crazy." 

"Me and every other woman you've ever kissed."

That hurt more than pulling my hair. "Not true. I'm in love with you." 

After the words drifted away on the black breeze, I knew how empty they sounded. All the evidence pointed in the opposite direction. Everything she'd experienced reinforced my lack of self-control.

"Don't say that." Becky pushed me off and sat up. "We're having fun. That's all." She grabbed my hand and led me inside. Once the front door was closed, she lowered the window shades, pulled off her shirt, threw it over the doily on the back of the threadbare couch, and headed for the kitchen. "I'm thirsty. You?"

"Sure," I said, taking a seat on the couch and turning on the table lamp, although my mood remained dark. 

When Becky returned and handed me a bottle of beer, I said, "Thanks," without looking at her. 

She sat down beside me, and then reclined with her head in my lap. After a long pull on the bottle, she said, "Now where were we?"

"If I remember right, you called me a liar."

"Don't be like that!" She grabbed my empty hand and placed it over her breast. "You were on first and ready to load the bases." 

"I just want to cuddle." 

Becky laughed. I smiled and took a hit of beer. 

"Then let's cuddle naked," she said, rolling over and working open my jeans. 

Half-heartedly, I said, "I'm tired." 

"You weren't a few minutes ago. Or do you just like doing it outside in public?" 

"You're being mean, Beckster."

"You're being selfish. I need a therapy fuck. Give me an injection," she said, as she pulled out my cock and began stroking it back to life. 

Boy, had she changed. 

Kneeling on the floor, between my legs, she leaned in close. "I love your cock, Don. It looks so strong and virile." Her finger traced the vein down to my balls and gently cupped them. "And these things are so delicate -- just the opposite of the shaft."  

Her intense study only made me harder. 

"You're a little crusty around the edges. Must be leftovers from this afternoon, huh? That was fun." 

"It was amazing." 

She got up and straddled my lap. Positioning my cock with her hand, she slowly lowered. Her eyes closed, as she sighed, "I love that feeling." 

"Me too," I said, pulling my tee shirt off, and hugging her bare chest against mine. 

"Mmm, skin," she cooed. 

Becky seduced me. There was no fighting my desire for her, not that I wanted too. But at least she said she loved my cock and she loved how I kissed. It was a start -- a good one. As she bounced up and down on my lap, and my hands cupped her ass, I was trying to think of ways to make her love me as a man, and a potential husband. I thought I'd achieved that status when I saved her from the druggies, but I made the mistake of bringing Lisa to our bed, and now I was afraid I'd ruined my chances with Becky forever.



Fall of '69 Ch. 11



I might have been awake an hour, watching Becky sleep. Her body twitched. She mumbled anxiously, while rain and wind rattled the windows. When dawn broke with a clap of thunder, she sat up in alarm - the sheet falling to her waist. 

"It's just thunder," I whispered, rubbing her back, feeling her tension subside under my palm. 

Resting her head on her knees, she groaned miserably.

"You all right?"

"I was having one of my nightmares." 

"Tell me," I said, pulling her down across my lap. "What was it about?" 

She sighed, as I massaged her into a tranquil reality. 

"Vietnam. My brother... fighting to stay alive." She sighed again, and then added, "But he doesn't."

"It's just a dream."

"Is it? Maybe it's a vision."

"Is it the same every time?"

"No."

"Then it can't be a vision."

"What's the difference? He's dead anyway."

Arguing with her wasn't going to change anything. I slipped out from beneath, straddled her hips, and began to massage her shoulders in earnest. The best way I could think to help her cope was to be a supportive partner. 

The violent storm outside shook the old house, while lightening provided flashes of clarity in the shadowed room. 

"Mmm, that feels good," she said, laying her cheek on the white sheet and closing her eyes.

Becky remained motionless for so long, I thought she'd fallen asleep. Then, with a husky morning voice, she said, "lower." 

My hands had already worked down to her waist. Dutifully, I slid down to her knees and pulled the sheet with me, exposing her bottom. Placing a hand on each cheek, I kneaded the firm hills. 

"Mmm, feels very, very good." 

"I love B. B. B." 

"What?"

"Becky's beautiful butt." 

She smiled, eyes closed.

After a gluttonous gluteus grope, I worked down each leg, ending with her fairy feet and twinkle toes. Several times I had to recapture an escaped foot, promising not to tickle it again. It was an accident. Honestly, I didn't mean to make her squeal - at least not the first time. 

Gently setting her limp leg down, I said, "I'm going to take a shower. We should go out for breakfast, since I may be cooking all the meals, after the game." Stopping at the door, I asked, "Does this tiny burg even have a diner?"

Her eyes were open, and her focus slowly rose from my groin to my face, making my skin tingle pleasantly. "Annie's diner opens at 5:00. Farmers get up early." She rolled over. "I need a shower, too." 

"Far out. I'll do your back and you do mine."

Actually, we washed each other, all over - thoroughly. One of life's great sensual pleasures is a soap-slippery, naked woman.

An hour later, we sat in the booth near the back of Annie's diner. Bad news traveled fast in 'Petticoat Junction'. Just about everyone in the place seemed to know Becky, and told her how sorry they were about her MIA brother. No one asked who I was, but their stares burned into the back of my head. I assumed they thought the worst of our relationship. The fact they were right didn't give me any warm-fuzzies. 

There should be a law against farmers wearing their shit-kickers into eating establishments. The diner smelled like a cow barn. My appetite practically disappeared. Coffee, bacon, eggs, and toast were all I could manage. Grabbing a newspaper off the counter, eager to catch up on world events, I read the headline and turned the paper around so Becky could see the bold print. 

Vietnam Moratorium Day, Thousands Rally Against the War.

"We missed a good protest, yesterday."

She took the paper from me, "Maybe the government will begin to listen to the people." 

"Miracles happen" ...not.

After reading the article, Becky stared out the window, deep in thought. "Maybe I should've stayed in school. At least there I could protest - do something positive with my time. When are you going back?"

I didn't dare tell her Rodger was shipping all my stuff to her house. Whatever she decided to do, I'd deal with it. "Why? Are you trying to get rid of me?"

She didn't answer, just turned her gaze out the window. The rain had stopped and sunshine streaked through breaks in the clouds. A tractor rumbled down Main Street, driven by a man whose face was made of crumpled leather.

"How old do you think that guy is - 25, 30?"

Becky laughed softly. "That's Mr. Harper. He so old, he remembers when the glaciers melted." 

"I bet he has a saber-tooth tiger head over his mantle."

"No, there's a wooly mammoth head over the fireplace. The tiger head is over the straw mattress in his bedroom."

"When were you in his bedroom?"

"Never. His 10th wife told me it frightened her on their wedding night." 

"You're funny," I said, taking her hand across the table. 

She grinned crookedly, and answered, "You bring out the best in me... and the worst."

After clearing my throat and swallowing hard, I said, "Then I'm both glad and sorry."

"Not me. I'm just glad. I've never felt more alive." Stroking my knuckles with her thumb, she said, "Before we met, I was just living up to everyone else's expectations."

"And now?"

"I'm free." 

Free sounded good, as long as it didn't mean free from me. 

Changing the subject, I said, "How about a day trip? Why don't we drive to Topeka and watch the game? The house is too wet to paint. It'll be something fun to do."

Becky smiled. "Okay."

We took her car. It had a full tank and needed some exercise. I drove. 

Becky sat close, and declared, "I own the radio." Her hand on my thigh hinted something else might be her property. 

Most of the radio stations played country music or gospel, reminding me how much I loved my truck's eight-track player. Becky stopped on a crackly station out of Topeka that, in between commercials, played Top 40 music. 'Put a Little Love in Your Heart' came on. Becky sang along, and every time Jackie DeShannon sang, 'Put a little love in your heart', she rubbed my crotch and changed 'heart' to 'hand'. 

We laughed. I bulged - her sexual aggressiveness always a satisfying surprise. 

The Archies, 'Sugar Sugar' came on right after, and I had the chance to sing back:

"Ah sugar. 

Oh honey, honey. 

You are my candy, girl, 

and you got me wanting you."

That's how it went for an hour. Hit songs, back and forth, my arm around her, copping a feel when traffic was nonexistent. 

Blood Sweat and Tears came on, and it was my turn to sing. The words couldn't have been more appropriate for how I felt, so I sang with all my heart:

"I lost at love before 

Got mad and closed the door 

But you said "Try, just once more" 

I chose you for the one 

Now we're having so much fun 

You treated me so kind 

I'm about to lose my mind 

You made me so very happy..."

Becky rested her head on my shoulder. A cool dampness caught my attention. I looked down, and her cheek was tear-stained. 

Next, the Fifth Dimension came on. Becky didn't sing about the 'moon in the Seventh House'. She didn't sing at all. But I had the feeling we were aligned with harmony and understanding, sympathy and trust abounding.

Quiet miles slipped by. 

Becky said, "Let's stop by the Induction Center. Maybe they can help me find out about Jeremy." 

I followed her directions into Topeka. The Induction Center wasn't hard to spot. Protestors, waving signs and chanting, marched back and forth. There were police in riot gear standing in front of the boarded up window. 

"Looks like they're closed," I said, coasting by. 

"Great... now what am I supposed to do?" 

Like I knew what-was-what, I said, "Write your congressman. He should be able to find out something." 

Becky's body seemed to deflate. She slump forward, head down, eyes close. "This sucks. The world sucks!" 

Rubbing her back, I gently responded, "Sometimes," trying to soften her all-encompassing sadness. 

"I don't want to be here. Don't feel like being around people. Let's just go home."

Disappointed and self-centered, I said, "What about the World Series?" 

"I don't give a damn about the game! Take me home. After that, you can go anywhere you want."

Well, if that's the way she felt, screw her. Tires squealed as I sped back the way we came, the return ride silent, and not fun. Becky sat far away, next to the passenger door, her face sideways, staring out. When we arrived at the farm, she left the car in a huff and ran inside. 

Me, being the selfish jerk that I am, left her for the town bar and the all important World Series game five. Baltimore jumped out to a three to nothing lead in the third inning. Then Mets pitcher, Jerry Koosman, shut the door, while their offense came to life when Clendenon blasted his third series homer. Two runs in the sixth, one run in the seventh to tie the game, and two runs in the eighth to win. The series was over. The Mets were world champions, and I won the bet with Becky. She would have to declare to everyone who asked, 'He's my boyfriend.' 

After downing my fourth beer, I was ready to go home and gloat. Staying under the speed limit took all my self-control. If Officer Goober-twin stopped me now I'd be in serious trouble. When I finally turned into the driveway, safe and unsound, I spotted a U-haul truck parked in front of the barn. 

"Now what."

The smell of pot and laughter greeted me as I entered the kitchen door. "Becky?"

"In here, Doc. We have a visitor."

Turning the corner into the living room, I froze. Becky and Roger sat on the couch together, both topless and passing a joint back and forth. Becky removed her hand from Roger's thigh when she saw my frown. His pants were undone, and he was sporting a significant bulge.

"Hey, DC, I brought your stuff, easier to deliver the shit than ship it. Besides, I wanted to see how you and Becky were making out."

Becky laughed, "We're way beyond making out." 

"I see that," he said, staring at Becky's chest, while his hand rose from her thigh to fondle her breast. 

Becky patted the cushion on her free side, "Have a seat, Doc." Holding up the joint, she said, "We can share." She took a hit, "isn't that right?"

Oh God, what have I done?

Roger pinched the nipple, and kissed her neck. Becky's eyes remained riveted to mine, showing no pleasure in his touch, but rather a glare of defiance. She said, "Roger said the pot's not free. So..." 

My blood pounded in my temples, my head ready to explode. With a hint of anger, I asked, "Hey Rog, what's the delivery of my stuff going to cost."

He sat back, and smiled, "Not a thing. Just seeing Becky," his hand cradled and bounced her breast, "was worth the trip."

"You've seen her. Now you can leave." 

Roger showed me his are-you-crazy face. "Man, what are you smokin'? I just got here." 

I glanced at Becky, trying to read her thoughts. Nothing transmitted. So I said to her, "The Mets won."

Her brow crinkled, and then memory of our wager must have cut through the fog. "So you win the bet," she said, and half smiled.

Roger released his grip on Becky. "What bet?"

Before I could answer, she said, "I have to tell everyone that Don's my boyfriend."

The fact she said boyfriend and not just friend gave me hope. Made me think she wasn't really into this scene, that this was all just an escape from a painful reality, or payback for a reality I created. 

"That's right, I'm her boyfriend. So keep your hands off my girlfriend, Rog."

"C'mon, DC, don't be a drag." He put his arm around her, "She's cool with us both... sharing. Right, Babe." 

Becky flinched, but she met my gaze and put the burden on me. "It's up to my boyfriend." This was a test. Her laser like eyes burned holes in my head. 

Without hesitation, I said, "Well, Rog. I'm not cool with it." Then I looked at her, and said, "Beckster, I love you. I don't want anyone else but you, and I hope you feel the same." 

Becky's jaw dropped in surprise. Then her head drooped. After a few seconds, she stood up, put on her tee-shirt, and walked up to me face-to-face. Eyes brimming with tears, she said, "I have one question, why did you have all your things sent here?"

"Well, Beckster... the truth is... Whether you kick me out, or make me live in the barn, I will never leave you." 

"I see." She looked at the floor in thought, and then turned to Roger, "Party's over." Without another word, Becky turned away and ran upstairs.

"Hmm, this is serious, DC." Roger stood up and fastened his pants. "I never thought I'd see the day you settled down. But, I have to admit, you're a lucky man." 

He held out his hand, and I shook it. Roger was a letch, but most of the time he was good friend. "Thanks, Becky is the love of my life." Saying it out loud, I realized how true it felt.

"Well then..." Roger smiled, "Best of luck. I guess I can't talk you into going to Canada with me."

"What?"

"My cousin lives there. He will let me stay to avoid the draft. No way am I going to Nam. I was hoping you'd come across the border with me."

"Wow." It took a few seconds to process, but my mind was already made up. "I appreciate the offer, but my life is here with Becky." 

"It's your funeral. Come on then, let's unload your stuff. I can make the boarder by tomorrow."

"No, stay the night."

He laughed, "There's no reason for me to stay. I felt your girlfriend's tit. Nothing else to look forward to." 

I laughed, and said, "You're a pig."

"I know. But a lovable pig ... and I know when I'm not wanted." 

Roger can be a pig with a good heart. So, we unloaded my belongings into the barn with frat brother harmony. When finished, we shook hands and wished each other the best. He again offered a place to stay in Canada if I ever wanted to avoid the war. He drove off, waving and honking the horn. 

I watched the truck until it was out of sight. My past life disappeared. My new life had just begun. I took a deep breath and watched the sun sat drop below horizon. Procrastination wasn't going to solve anything, so I went inside to face Becky. The bedroom door was closed. I knocked. "Becky, may I come in?"

A muffled, "Sure," came back in answer. She lay on her stomach, facing away. 

I sat down beside her and rubbed her back. "You okay?"

"No. I've turned into Cindy. Trading sex for dope. I don't know who I am anymore."

"You are not Cindy. You just had a bad day. You're depressed, and in a moment of weakness you found an easy escape. Being topless is hardly having sex."

"I would've... if you wanted to... or... if you hadn't come home just then. I have no self-respect." 

My throat tightened, regret choked like swallowing sand. "I'm sorry... for being a bad influence. But being with you, I've found out what I really want in life. Just you. That's all. I want a wife and a family. That's all I want to share with you." 

She rolled onto her back, eyes red from crying, her brow crinkled, "Was that some kind of marriage proposal?"

Cradling her cheek in my hand, I said, "No, this is. Becky Jeffries, will you make me the happiest man in the world and marry me?"

Her eyes flooded and spilled over. My heart leapt to my throat with fear of rejection, until she nodded, and said, "I will." Her arms reached out and pulled me down into a warm embrace and kiss. "I love you, Don Carter."

"I love you too, Becky Jeffries."

After a few more prolonged kisses, I pulled away to look into her eyes. "Would you come home with me for Thanksgiving, and let my family be at our wedding?" 

She smiled as more tears fell. "Of course I will. You and yours are the only family I have now. I hope your parents like me." 

"I love you, so they will too."

She hugged me tight, kissed my cheek, and softly whispered in my ear, "Until then, you're still my lover." 

No words came to mind, as my hands slipped under her tee shirt, dragging it up to expose her chest. The only thing left to do was fulfill her heart's desire the best way I knew.

The End.



Fall of '69



I hated to ask, but I couldn't help myself. "How's Grandma and Grandpa doing?"

"They're dead, too." She gave me a pitiful smile. "Maybe you shouldn't stand so close to me."

Instead, I put my arm around Becky and hugged her against my side. We stood in line like that. After a few seconds passed, she put her head on my shoulder and her arm around my waist. I could feel the tension release from her body. I'd never been a comfort to someone. It was a compelling sensation. 

We got our ice cream and wandered away from the building. The air turned cool, and was perfumed with a hint of autumn leaves. 

Becky seemed content to follow me, so I headed in the direction of my favorite secluded bench, only to find it occupied by another couple. Unaware of everything around them, their lips were clamped together. Her hand rubbed his crotch and his hand moved around under her sweatshirt.

The spectacle tickled my libido back to life. 

Becky's eyes stayed riveted for a few seconds, and then she turned and headed in another direction.

I followed her, patting the bottom of my ice cream cone.

Acting as if nothing unusual happened, she asked, "Why are you doing that?"

"What?"

"Pounding the cone on your palm."

"I don't like eating a dry cone. This moves the ice cream down and fills it up."

"Here." Becky grabbed the ice cream cone out of my hand and raised it to her mouth. She tipped it and pressed the ice cream down with the flat of her tongue. "That's how I do it." Then she took a sizable lick as a reward and handed it back.

"I see what you mean. But I don't like to use force. I prefer to gently coax the ice cream into the cone. A much smoother, kinder process, and less mess." I pointed. "Look how much ice cream is hanging over the edge now. By patting it, I don't have to worry about annoying overflow or cracking the cone. The cone accepts the ice cream willingly. The cone and ice cream become one flesh... colored treat."

She laughed. "Is everything sexual with guys?"

"Mostly." I held out my hand. "You licked mine. Can I lick yours?"

"Sure." 

I made a show of using just the tip of my tongue to leisurely scoop some Rocky Road off the side, and then moaned with satisfied bliss as I savored the flavor. 

"You're weird."

Handing it back, I said, "Thanks. Yours was delicious."

"I bet you say that after licking all your girls' cones."

Once again, I took the lead and headed for another spot I liked. This time, the bench was empty. 

We sat down, ate ice cream, and gazed at the moon. 

"Where were you when Armstrong walked up there?"

Becky sighed, and I knew it couldn't be good. "At a funeral parlor for Grandma's calling hours. Not many showed up."

"That's really sad." I put may arm around her and played with her hair. 

"Yeah, it was." She leaned against me.

Afraid to bring up more bad memories, I stopped asking questions. We just sat there, eating ice cream. 

A minute passed. Becky lifted her cone up to my mouth. I sampled hers and offered her mine. We shared back and forth, until they were gone.

I felt her shiver. 

"Here." I placed both arms around her and pulled her close.

The tension I usually felt in her body whenever I touched her did not materialize. She stayed relaxed and compliant in my arms. 

I said, "You feel nice," then tipped my head down and buried my face in her hair. "You smell nice," I whispered, and then kissed the top of her head.

Without prompting, Becky looked up at me and smiled. The moonlight glowed on her cheeks as her eyes studied my face, and then they closed with deliberate sluggishness. Her lips parted, invitingly.

She tensed, when I bent forward and touched my lips to hers. When I pulled away, she opened her eyes and stared at my mouth, as if saying, 'That wasn't terrible. I think I want another.'

"Becky, you taste delicious." Then, I kissed her a little longer and a little harder. 

When I pulled away again, her lips followed mine, and she mewled unhappily when we separated. 

I went back for another, this time using my tongue to tickle her lips. When my tongue retreated, hers advanced to repay my tickle with a tickle. I began to hope she would share herself with me, like we shared our ice cream. If I were giving, she would give back. The possibility of being her first sexual experience gave our tender exchange an elevated eroticism. This was not a moment to rush. This was not a moment at all. It was an event -- an event to relish slowly, and remember forever. 

That's why I stopped, and kissed her forehead. "Thank you."

Becky smiled and stroked my cheek. "For what?" 

"For sharing yourself -- opening up and letting me get to know you better." 

"Well then, I should thank you."

"For what?"

"Making me feel like I'm worth getting to know."

It dawned on me then that her aloofness and rigid principles might be born out of insecurity, and not from a feeling of superiority. She wasn't confident at all. She was afraid to let people close. Maybe because people she loved died. 

"Becky, Becky, Becky." I kissed her again with an aching heart and a lump in my throat that rivaled the one in my jeans. "I'm so glad we met today."

"Yeah?"

"It's been a trip. I like hanging out with you."

"Really?"

"Really."

She stood up, and held out her hand. "Then come with me."

I took her hand and she didn't let go of it. 

"Where are we going?"

"You'll see."

My mind wandered to all kinds of possibilities, but not this one. The sign in front of the house we approached read 'College Life Ministries'.

"Becky, what's going on?"

"The guy that lives here is a friend of my brother. I've been putting off meeting him. I wanted to be independent, make it on my own. But I need a place to stay. Maybe he'll help." 

I almost said 'you can stay with me,' but I had ulterior motives that were purely selfish. For her sake, this was probably a better idea. I gave in, which was totally out of character. 

People were singing inside. They sounded like a church choir. 

"Maybe we should come back."

She smiled and kissed me sweetly. "No big deal, it's just a Bible study," she said, and pushed the doorbell.

"Bible study! On a Friday night?" 

"Beats drugs and drinking."

The door opened before I could offer opposing arguments.

A young couple greeted us.

"Hi. Welcome. I'm Bill Crossway, and this is my wife, Trudy." 

He stepped out of the way and waved us in with his one arm. The left sleeve hung empty against his side. 

Trudy was a petite woman with a big, toothy smile. "Come in. Join the crowd." 

Becky stopped in front of Bill and introduced us. "Hi, I'm Becky Jeffries, and this is my friend, Don Carter."

"Becky Jeffries?" His eyes narrowed, as he studied her face. "You wouldn't be Rebecca Jeffries, J.J.'s little sister?"

She smiled shyly, and said, "Yes, I am."

Crossway yelled, "Praise the Lord!" and hugged Becky with his one arm. "This is great! I'm so glad to finally meet you. Jeremy wrote and said you'd be starting school here. Come in, come in." 

Bill went into the living room ahead of us and yelled. "Hey! All you sinners shut up for minute!" 

The room fell silent and all eyes turned expectantly. 

"I want you to meet the sister of a good friend of mine. This is Rebecca Jeffries, and her friend, Don Carter. If it weren't for her brother Jeremy, I'd be burning in Hell right now. He saved my life and then he showed me the way to save my soul. Make them feel welcome."

Everyone stood and came over. We shook hands. There were too many names to remember. 

This was not my kind of crowd. Everything was too nice, too civil. But I didn't want to leave Becky until I knew she had a place to stay. 

"Bill, can I talk to you a minute?" 

"Sure thing, Don." 

We stepped into the foyer for privacy, and Bill asked, "What's up?"

"Becky is having roommate trouble. Her roommate is doing drugs and letting her boyfriend sleep over. I think Becky's been spending nights in the library to avoid the hassle. Is there any chance you could find her a place to live off campus?"

Bill grinned at me. "Are you looking out for her, Don? You're worried about her. I like that. It's nice to know she has some good friends."

With such a favorable first impression, I couldn't tell Bill I'd just met her and I wanted to take her virginity. 

"Thanks. Becky's a nice girl. I just want her to be safe. She's really worried about her brother--"

"What's going on?" said Becky, walking up with a serious look.

"I was asking Bill if he'd be able to find a place for you to stay--"

"Without talking to me first?"

From the tone in her voice, I knew I'd blown it.

"Well, I need to get going, and I wanted to make sure you'd be all right--"

"Fine! See-ya around." She marched back into the living room and began chatting with a couple of guys. 

My blood surged. 

Bill put his hand on my shoulder and smiled with understanding. "Don't worry about Becky. We'll take care of her. She'll be fine."

"Thanks, Bill." Unceremoniously, I walked out the front door.

The loneliness I felt annoyed me. There was only one thing that would make it go away. I headed back to my frat brothers where I belonged. 

'White Rabbit' blared from the stereo as I entered the front door. Someone had placed a table lamp on the floor and built a six-foot pyramid of empty plastic cups around it, washing the room with a subdued glow. People danced around it like a tribal fire. I only recognized half the participants. Our Friday night open door policy invited revelers of all variations, which worked in our favor most of the time.

The second keg had just been tapped. Derrick was on guard duty. The frat brothers tried to rotated keg-watch every 30 minutes, after someone left the tap open and flooded the kitchen.

Derrick looked pitiful.

As I filled my cup, I said, "Hey, Man. What's up? Where's Roger?"

"Downstairs."

My head snapped up. Downstairs was our private party room. "Who with?"

"A bunch went down about twenty minutes ago."

I sipped casually. "Any chicks?"

"Patty, Linda, and a couple others."

"Sounds like fun. I think I'll check it out."

Derrick said to my retreating back, "Remind Jimmy he's on keg-watch in ten minutes!"

"Will do."

The door to the party room was locked, so I pulled the house key from my pocket and let myself in. It was like walking into another dimension. The only light was a flashing strobe. Incense and reefer mixed to form a low cloud, as 'In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida' drowned out any other possible sound. 

With my back against the door, I took a moment to get my bearings. The center of attention was the four girls seated on the couch. Eight horny guys stood around them like a picket fence. The girls whispered to one another, laughing and passing a joint. These guys were all pussy whipped. I know, because I'd been there. 

The record needle scratched to the end and lifted off in a crackle of static. The silence felt deafening for a few seconds.

Patty stood up in the flashing light, shimmied in a circle while jiggling those outstanding boobs, and said, "Time to get this party started!" 

Roger walked over to the wall switch and turned on the fluorescent ceiling lights. "Jimmy, get the game."

Quickly, Jimmy opened the closet, while a couple guys put a coffee table in front of the couch.

I smiled at how fast they moved. They were afraid the girls would chicken out.

A redhead I didn't recognize put on a record. 'Paint It Black' began to play and she turned the volume way down.

Jimmy placed the dice, a stopwatch, and a stack of dog-eared index cards on the table.

Roger said, "Everybody rolls to see who goes first." 

Harry spotted me. "Hey, D.C., are you in?" 

"Not right now. I'm going to spectate."

Patty groaned in disappointment. "Come on, Don."

I just laughed it off. "I'm sure you'll get off without me."

The dice began rolling, and I was forgotten.

"All right!" Jimmy won the honor of being first. He rolled a six. "Yes! Sixty-seconds!"

Everyone hooted and celebrated his good fortune, as he picked up the top card.

Jimmy groaned. "Shit!" and then read aloud to the group, "Pick two people. They must kiss for the allotted time. You cannot be one of them."

Laughter at Jimmy's change of fortune stopped when he held up his hand, demanding silence, and said, "Okay. I choose Patty and the redhead."

Patty was a veteran at this game and, before the redhead could protest, she wrapped her arms around her neck and planted a wet one.

At first the girl squealed in shock and struggled against the affection. But then the intensity of the kiss, her intoxicated condition, and the encouragement from the voyeurs overcame her inhibitions. Her arms pulled Patty tight, crushing their breasts together, and returned the passionate kiss for the last 45 seconds. 

As the next person rolled the dice, I realized this was just the kind of immoral behavior Becky accused us of. We were a pack of hedonists, ignoring the limits of decency. It seemed like harmless fun. But maybe, as educated people, we should be taking a higher road.

Deciding to take my turn on keg-watch and let Jimmy stay and play the game, I left the room. 

Before the door closed behind me, I heard Roger read the next card. "Fondle someone's chest through their clothes."

Derrick headed downstairs as soon as I release him from the keg. 

Sitting backwards on a chair in the kitchen doorway, I people watched. 

For the most part, it was a mellow crowd that drifted in and out of the front door. No one appeared totally out of control -- yet. The beer flowed freely and I drank my share. 

My keg-watch time ran out, but no one came to relieve me. Jimmy showed up 30 minutes late. 

"Thanks, Man, for taking my turn. It's wild down there."

"How wild?"

"Well, let's just say I won't have to jerk off for a week."

"That's because you're impotent, Jimmy."

I stepped out onto the front porch to escape his curses. The fresh air felt good and I took several cleansing breaths. 

"D.C.?" Becky walked out of the dark and up the stairs.

"Becky? What happened? Didn't Crossway find you a place to stay?"

Looking nervous and shy, she approached me, and said, "Yes, I'm staying with him and Trudy for now. But I didn't like how we left it between us." 

After several seconds of obvious indecision, she said, "I wanted to thank you for being so nice today. I had fun."

I wanted to take her in my arms and feel her body against mine. "You're welcome. I had fun, too. I'm sorry -- for taking off."

She looked past me, into the frat house. "I can see why you had to go. This looks very important." Then she met my eyes with her now familiar sarcastic smirk. 

For some reason, I liked that look. It made me feel exposed and accepted all at the same time. I wanted to kiss her crooked mouth.

"Hey, not everything has to be important. Life can be just about fun. You should thaw out once in a while and live a little."

Her jaw clenched, as she held back a spontaneous reply. "Well, anyway... Thanks again."

As she turned to leave, Roger staggered out the front door, bare-chested. "Well looky who we have here! It's the nice piece-of-ass sign from the rally. My balls are still sore, thanks to you." He rubbed them for show.

Becky looked away and said, "I apologize. I shouldn't have done that." 

"If you're really sorry, I know how you can make them feel better."

Her lips made a hard line, as her head wrapped around a proper comeback. Finally, she said, "Believe me. I'd only make them feel worse," and turned to leave.

"Don't go. I apologize for being an asshole." Roger grabbed her arm. "Stay and have one beer. We'll have a peace talk."

"Roger, leave her alone."

Becky gave me a hard look, so I put up my hands. "Sorry. I'll keep out of it." 

I just didn't get the whole women's lib shit. You never knew what they wanted. I was dammed if I did and damned if I didn't. I went inside for another beer. 

Surprisingly, Becky and Roger followed right behind me. Knowing how Roger's lecherous mind worked, this couldn't be good for Becky.

Jimmy winked at Roger, as he filled a cup to the brim and handed it to Becky.

Roger and Becky moved out into the living room. They chatted as amiably as any drunk and sober person could. 

Becky glanced around, as if she were using the time to strengthen her case against fraternities in general. I was too far away to hear any of their conversation over 'Nights in White Satin', but Becky seemed fine with whatever bullshit Roger was running. So, after a few minutes, I drained my beer and went to the little boy's room.

When I came back, Becky, Roger, and Jimmy were nowhere in sight. Keg-watch had been abandoned for something more interesting, which made me fear for Becky's reputation. I felt responsible after my 'You should thaw out and live a little' comment. Not knowing her tolerance for alcohol, I wondered how vulnerable Becky would be to coercion.

The party room was pretty much the same as before -- loud music, strobe lit, and smoky. But the people had changed. A new girl had been added. Becky now sat on the couch between Patty and the redhead. Other than Becky, the girls looked wasted and rumpled. 

In the flashing strobe, Becky met my gaze as a joint was passed to her. Staring defiantly, she passed it on without a toke. 

I don't know why, but I felt relief. 

Just when I thought the party might be winding down, Roger turned on the overhead lights and shouted, "Time for round two of 'Come Together'." 

Quickly, someone killed the music. 

The redhead perked up and raised her fist. "Far out!"

Patty spotted me. "Come on, Don. Play this time. Pretty please?"

Becky continued to stare at me. She didn't ask any questions. 

"Sure." I gave up trying to be someone I'm not. Hiding the truth would be hypocritical. Becky was about to see the real me. 

I thought, 'Bye, bye, Becky. It was nice knowing you,' and took a seat on the floor next to the coffee table.

Because we had a first time player, the group became wide-awake and attentive. If they only new how inexperience Becky really was, they'd be creaming their pants.

Everyone rolled the dice. 

"Yes!" Roger won the first play. 

Then he rolled snake eyes. "Twenty seconds." 

Roger drew the top card, and read to the group, "Pick two people to hold hands."

It was obvious to me then that the cards had been prearranged. We'd done this before with new people, to ease them into our little game of seduction if we thought they'd be reluctant.

"Patty and Becky, hold hands."

Patty enthusiastically grabbed Becky's hand and kissed the back.

Becky's face flushed, and she smiled shyly. 

My heart jumped. I was torn. Part of me wanted to drag her away from these letches. Part of me wanted to see her fall off her pedestal.

The joint got around to me and I passed it on without partaking. 

Becky glanced away and smiled. I'd obviously done something she approved of, and it felt good to make her happy. 

Jimmy was the next to roll. "Twelve!" Then he read his card. "Give someone a massage."

He looked, one by one, at the three women. 

Becky's eyes locked on mine.

"I choose Red." 

No surprise. Everyone knew Jimmy had a thing for redheads. I think his mother let him watch too much 'I Love Lucy'. 

Red stood up and stepped, a little wobbly, in front of Jimmy. Her bushy Afro framed a pretty, blue eyed, freckled face. She held his stare, as her lips arched into an inviting smile. 

Barely audible, Jimmy said, "Hi, Beautiful."

She tipped her head, and answered, "Hi, yourself."

"Where would you like it?"

Apparently no one explained to Red the game's slow seduction process. She turned around and backed against Jimmy. "I want you to rub me the right way, like before." Grabbing his wrists, Red placed his hands over her small tits.




Fall of '69



I shot a glance at Becky, who stared unblinking at the couple. 

Roger said, "Ready, set, go," and clicked the stopwatch. 

Jimmy wasted no time. His hands immediately went to work on Red's chest. 

She groaned appreciatively and laid her head back on his shoulder.

Jimmy kissed her neck, and Roger shouted, "None of that! That's not a massage."

Red pouted, until Jimmy's fingers concentrated on just the nipples that had sprouted beneath her cotton tee-shirt.

When Red began to grind her ass against Jimmy's crotch, Becky stood up. "I've gotta go."

Everyone groaned.

"Come on, Becky. Stay!" Roger stepped between her and the door. "Have another beer. Smoke a bone. Chill out. Have some harmless fun." 

She tried to go around him, but he blocked her with his arm.

This wasn't going well. Everything she'd accused fraternities of seemed to be proved true. I got up before Becky kicked Roger in the nuts again. "I'll walk you home."

Roger scowled at me, as I pushed by with my arm around her. 

"Rog, I'm doing this for your own protection." 

The frat brothers who were at the anti-war rally remembered the kick in the balls, and snickered. 

"Shut the fuck up!" was the last thing we heard, as the basement door closed behind us.

I followed her outside, where she turned around, and said, "I'm fine now. Thanks. Go back to your," she paused, and her eyes squinted as if she struggled to find an appropriately nasty adjective, but simply said, "game."

I continued to shadow her. "That's all it is! It' a stupid game."

"Do you think it's okay to have sex in front of a crowd?"

"They weren't having sex."

"Not yet! But what was next? What's on the other cards?"

She had me there. "No one has to do anything they don't want to."

"Oh really? If you weren't there would Roger have let me go?"

"Yes!"

"Are you sure?"

Not totally, but I said, "Yes."

"But first he'd try to get me stoned enough to manipulate me into playing."

She had me again. This was a no-win situation, so I just followed quietly behind.

After a block, she asked, "Does it turn you on?"

"What?"

She stopped and whirled around. 

I backed up a couple of steps and covered my privates.

That made her smile. "The game! Don't play stupid. Or maybe you're just too drunk to think."

Of course I knew what she meant, and I was playing stupid, because I was too drunk to be coherent, and I didn't want to say anything that would piss her off more. "Yes, the game turns me on! All right?"

She turned back around and started walking. I followed. 

In self-defense, I asked, "It didn't turn you on at all?"

Her steps slowed a little, and after a prolonged silence, she said, "Okay, it did -- a little. I'm only human. But, it's sinful behavior. Sex is not for public display. It's private."

"Why can't it be both?"

"Because, the Bible says so."

How could I argue with that? So I didn't. 

"Becky, I admire your virtue." In fact, I found it damn sexy. "It makes the kisses we shared that much sweeter." Which was true. I couldn't remember kisses more thrilling.

Out of nowhere, Becky said, "Patty likes you."

Stupidly, I said, "She does?"

"Well, she begged you to play the game. Doesn't that mean she likes you?"

I laughed. "No. It just means Patty likes variety."

"So do you, apparently."

"Hey! When I fall in love for real, I'll be monogamous. Until then, I'm having fun."

"If you were a girl, people would call you a slut."

"Times have changed."

"Oh really? Would you marry a girl like Patty?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"She's not my type."

"You're wrong. She's every guy's type. There's nothing special about a woman that screws around. That's why you wouldn't marry her. How could you trust her to be faithful?"

Becky stopped, and poked her finger in my chest. "How could any girl trust you to be faithful? You wouldn't know how. You're too busy having fun to know the meaning of love."

As she started to walk away, I backtracked, "Be honest. Weren't you turned on by watching Jimmy massage Red's tits?"

After a few steps, she said, "Honestly? I felt desire. But sin isn't always ugly. In fact, most of time it's attractive and seductive. People have the choice to do the right thing when they're tempted." 

She turned and pointed at her chest. "By the way, these are breasts, not tits. That's just another way you men demean women. Break us down into sex toys and give our body parts vulgar names." 

Becky had nice tits, and her pointing at them gave me the chance to openly stare. But it was a compliment that I didn't think she'd appreciate at the moment, so I kept my mouth shut. I just smiled at them.

Realizing her mistake, she huffed and continued walking away. 

I followed. 

She turned onto the sidewalk to her dorm. "I need to go to my room and get some things for tonight."

The fact she felt the need to explain where she was going gave me the impression my presence meant more to her than just an annoyance. If I weren't with her would she have the nerve to stop? 

The room door was closed. Without knocking Becky barged in and I followed. She stopped short and I bumped into her. 

Her roommate, Cindy, sat naked on the edge of her bed. Craig and some other naked guy stood in front of her. She gripped a cock in each hand. The trio looked in our direction with red eyes and brainless grins.

"You people are animals!" said Becky, and began stuffing things into a duffle bag. 

Cindy began stroking the erections, and said, "The human body is beautiful, and should be enjoyed in every way. There's no shame in what's natural."

The guys grunted their assent. 

Craig bent down to roll her nipple. 

Cindy closed her eyes and moaned from the sensation. 

Becky glanced their way, before storming out of the room. 

I said, "Nice to see you again," and, after a few seconds pause, followed Becky from the room. It amazed me how such an attractive girl, like Cindy, would put out for such ugly guys. Must be the drugs. Everyone plays their own power game to get what they want. There was no doubt in my mind Cindy was the one in control.

"Did you enjoy that?" asked Becky, when I caught up.

"It was a cheap thrill."

"Cheap is right. Why don't you go back and get in line?"

"No thanks. I don't want what Cindy's selling."

"What do you mean?"

What did I mean? "I don't know. I'd feel obligated or indebted. I don't need druggies thinking they had something on me."

"So, it's all about power and control, not free love? Then your frat game is a power trip, but you boys are in control."

"That's different."

"Yeah, right."

We walked in silence for a block. 

Someone yelled, "Look out!" 

A glow-in-the-dark Frisbee zipped toward Becky's head. I grabbed it just before impact and threw it back to a silhouette standing in the front yard across the street. 

The shadow said, "Close one. Nice save. Thanks man."

I said to Becky, "I saved you from a broken nose or a black eye. You owe me."

We passed under a street lamp, and she looked at me. "What do you want for repayment? A hand job?"

I laughed out loud. Her sarcastic humor always tickled me. "That's okay. I'll take care of it later, myself."

"Really? You do that?"

Thinking I might as well be honest, I said, "Hey, it's been a long, frustrating night. I need some relief."

"Why don't you go back to the game? I'm sure Patty would give you a hand."

"Maybe you've shown me the light. I don't feel like playing games. Sex should be private."

She laughed, and said, "I meant private as in, shared between two married people in love, not alone."

We walked on a few paces, and she asked, "What will you think about when you do it? Cindy? The game? Other women you've known?"

Wow, what a question. "You really want to know?"

Becky stopped and looked at me with genuine interest. "Yeah. I'm curious." 

Well, I was drunk enough to tell her the truth. "I'll be thinking about you."

That shut her up. She continued walking at a faster pace.

I watched her for a few seconds, before catching up. "Hey! You asked!"

"I know. I'm sorry I asked. It puts the wrong thoughts in my head."

Now I was curious. "Tell me."

"No."

"I'll tell you mine, if you tell me yours."

Becky glanced at me. "I already know what you're thinking."

I grabbed her arm. "Slow down."

She gasped at my touch, and stopped. Standing close, she passively stared at the ground between our feet, while I struggled with a coherent apology. 

Becky spoke first. "Don, I--," Without warning, she wrapped her free arm around my neck and kissed me. 

The force knocked me back a step and the shock slowed my reaction. It was over before I could unravel my senses. "What was that?"

"A goodnight kiss." She turned and ran to the front door of Bill Crossway's house.

"Becky! I'll pick you up tomorrow, at 9:00. I'm taking you on a picnic. Dress for a hike."

The front door closed behind her without a word. 

All night, Becky Jeffries' taste was on my lips and her body pressed against mine. I dreamt about her -- felt her, and heard her voice -- only to wake up with a throbbing erection, begging for relief. But I didn't do it. I didn't take matters into my own hands. I was afraid she'd ask me and I'd disappoint her by saying I had. It would make me less in her eyes, and I wanted to be more for her. I could've lied and gotten away with it, except I'd know. Maybe I wasn't as jaded as I thought. 

At dawn, I showered, made ham and cheese sandwiches, and began packing my truck for the day. No one would be up for hours. The house was trashed. Empty cups were abandoned all over. There's nothing like the stench of stale beer in the morning to make me want to get outside. The only sounds were snoring bodies, and they occupied every room. Someone I didn't recognize was even asleep on the kitchen table.

Outside, Roger lay on top of the picnic table. Good thing it stayed warm, otherwise he might have died of hypothermia. When I dropped the cooler onto the truck bed he rolled over and opened one eye. "Where you going?"

"On a hike."

"So early?" He looked at his watch. "It's only 7:30. Wait an hour. Let me change and I'll go with you."

"Nope. This is a date. Three's a crowd."

Groaning, Roger sat up. "You're not going out with Becky the bitch, are you?"

I wanted to hit him, and that scared me. "She's not a bitch."

"Hey Brother. She kicked me in the balls. She's a bitch."

"You deserved it. You were an asshole."

He lay back down. "She's got a nice ass. I want all the details," he said, before closing his eyes.

The truck needed gas. I drove into Lewistown and filled up. That left an hour to kill. I wasn't sure Becky would even be up, much less go anywhere with me, but after the kiss, I knew she felt some affection for me, or maybe it had been a permanent goodbye kiss. The anticipation was torture. I wanted to drive right over to Crossway's house and pound on the door. 

Instead, I drove to the grocery store and bought some ice, potato chips, and a variety of sodas. In hindsight, the cans of beer already in the cooler might turn Becky off, and that was the last thing I wanted to do. I wanted to appear considerate and temperate. The thought crossed my mind I should jettison the beer. But if Becky would not come with me, I wanted the beer to numb my unhappiness.

At 8:30, I drove by the Crossway's. No sign of life. After the third trip around the block, I parked in front of the house and sat for a while. 

Around 8:50 the front door opened. Bill Crossway, in a bathrobe, stepped out and walked to my window. "Good morning, Mr. Carter." 

The formal tone put me on notice. "Good morning. How's it going?"

"Fine, thanks. How are you?"

"I'm good." Enough small talk. "Is Becky up?"

"Yes, she is." Crossway leaned close, and quietly said, "Becky's a nice girl, Mr. Carter. She's lived a sheltered life. She's been through a lot recently. Last night, I smelled alcohol on her breath. I'm concerned about her vulnerability and falling in with the wrong crowd. What are your intentions?"

Anger bubbled up at his accusatory tone. I fought against a sarcastic remark, and said, "I like Becky. I want to know her better. We're going on a picnic."

"Where?"

"Sand Bridge Park."

"I want her home before dark, and I want you to come to church tomorrow, or she's not going anywhere with you." He stuck his one hand through the window. "All right?"

God, I was pissed, but I shook his hand anyway, and said, "All right."

As I got out, Crossway walked around to the front of my truck and memorized the license plate number. 

On the way to his front door, Crossway said, "First Baptist Church on Waverly. The service begins at 10:00. Sunday school starts at 9:00, if you're interested."

I kept my mouth shut, because I had no intention of showing up for either. 

When I reached the bottom step of the porch, Becky stepped out, and all my hostility was washed away by her smile.

"Good morning, D.C."

"Good morning, Becky."

She looked fresh and country clean in a straw cowboy hat, jeans, and flannel shirt. Her hair was tied in a ponytail that hung down between her shoulder blades. Growing up on a farm, I guessed she looked like this most of her life, and I liked it. 

Crossway watched us walk to my truck, saying, "Remember, be back before dark."

Becky answered, "Okay. See ya later. Have a nice day."

I opened the truck door for Becky. It wasn't something I normally did for a girl, but somehow I thought it was expected of me. 

"Wow, DC, I love your truck! Grandpa had a Ford 250, but it was a lot older."

"Thanks. It was my high-school graduation present." I closed her door, walked around and got in, feeling like a spoiled, rich kid.

"I pictured you more as a Mustang convertible."

I was happy she thought about me at all. "Not me." I said, pulling away from the curb, excited to finally have her all to myself. "Can't go four-wheeling in a Mustang." 

"Is that what we're doing today?"

"If that's okay."

"Great! I'd love to see some of the countryside. Pennsylvania is beautiful. Where I'm from, everything is flat and nothing but cornfields as far as the eye can see."

"Where's that?"

"Kansas." Becky leaned against the door and smiled at me. 

"What?"

She looked away. "Nothing."

"Okay. Don't tell me. Put on some music."

Becky looked through the 8-track collection. "Oh my God! I love this album." 

'The Sound of Silence' began to play. "You're full of surprises."

"What? I can't like Simon and Garfunkel if I belong to a fraternity?"

She laughed and closed her eyes, enjoying the music for a minute. "Did you sleep well?"

Since she brought it up, I said, "No. I kept dreaming about you."

Shyly, she glanced at me, and then out the window. "I thought guys always fell fast asleep after... an orgasm."

"That was the problem. I didn't have one."

Becky almost looked disappointed. "Oh?"

"I wanted to, but it just felt wrong."

Staring straight ahead, she quietly said, "I'm flattered you thought of me that way and showed restraint."

Miles of country road passed serenely as we sang along with the music.

While song tracks changed, she asked, "How far is this place?"

"Only 20 miles. Won't take long." Was she bored already?

"It's getting hot."

I was about to tell Becky to open the window, when she took off her hat and began to unbutton her shirt. 

Playing it cool, I kept my eyes on the road, while watching her out of the corner of my eye. When the shirt was open to her waist, Becky pulled the shirttail out of her jeans and tied it in a knot at her midriff. Underneath, she wore a navy-blue tank top. Unless my eyes deceived me, her breasts were free under the thin cotton. Maybe it was just wishful thinking.

Becky broke into my daydream by asking, "This isn't going to be you, is it?"

"What?"

"Richard Cory."

Suddenly, I heard the lyrics again. 

"...Oh, he surely must be happy with everything he's got..." She was staring at me, waiting for an answer. 

The tragic song, about the richest man in town who kills himself, always touched an empty place in my soul. I related to the purposelessness of Cory's life. "No."

She continued to stare at the side of my face, apparently not satisfied with a one-word answer.

I was saved from more explanation when we crested a hill. "Check it out."

Just ahead was a car with its rear wheels in the ditch. A lady, cradling a baby in her arms, stood next to the front fender. 

"Oh, the poor woman," said Becky, as I pulled off the road and stopped.

"Hi. Are you all right?"

"Yes. We're fine. A stupid deer ran across the road. I swerved to miss it and lost control on the gravel shoulder."

"Maybe I can pull you out."

"Really? That'd be wonderful."

I knelt down and looked under the car. It didn't appear damaged. Mud coated the wheel wells from her spinning the tires. They just couldn't get enough traction to climb out.

"Yeah, no problem. I have a cable and a come-along in the truck." 

I got what I needed from behind the seat, crawled under the car, and put the cable through holes in the frame. Satisfied it would hold, I got up and went to hook the come-along to my truck hitch, but it was already done.

Becky smiled, and said, "We did this all the time on the farm."

I was in love. "Great! Get in the car and steer. Give it a little gas, but don't rear-end me."

A few minutes later, the car was out of the ditch, and the woman and child were safely on their way. She offered us twenty dollars, but I declined. 

As I stowed the tools behind the seat, Becky said, "That was nice of you." 

"I like doing stuff like that. Back in Pittsburgh, me and my friend Doug would drive around during snowstorms and look for stuck cars. We'd pull them out for free. If they offered to pay us, sometimes we took the money, sometimes we didn't." 

"And what did you do with the money?"

"Got beer."

There was that look of disapproval. Then she held up a hand, and asked, "Got a Band-Aid?" 

Blood dripped down her middle finger. 

Gripping her wrist, I gently inspected the small slit. "How'd you do that?"

"I snagged it on the come-along cable."

"Sorry about that. I have a first aid kit."

"It's no big deal. I've had a lot worse. See?" She dropped the shirt from her left shoulder to expose a 2-inch scar. "I tried to go under some barbed wire when I was seven. Farms are dangerous places."

As I retrieved the first aid kit, I asked, "Got any more scars? I'd like to see 'em all."

She laughed with an in-your-dreams tone. 

Wiping the wound with an alcohol swab, I said, "It would only be for educational purposes. I'm minoring in anatomy."

Cleaning the wound must've stung, but Becky didn't flinch. She just smiled, as I bandaged her up. 

When I was done, I kissed her finger. "All better?"

"Thanks." Her face colored a little, and she met my gaze with something more than gratitude. 

'All right. Let's hit the road."

"Wait. Turn around."

"Why?" 

"You've got dirt on you."

She roughly brushed my back clean from shoulders to waist, and then she quickly swiped the seat of my pants. "There. All done."

"Thanks. I appreciate it."

She grinned and walked to the other side of the truck. "Anytime."

I liked the sound of that.

It was a clear autumn day. The deep blue sky against the red, yellow, and orange leaves on the hills painted a brilliant tapestry. 

We passed the time talking about Becky's life on the farm and about my life in the big city. I think we held a mutual admiration from our opposite experiences. I know I enjoyed her stories of harvesting, county fairs, church suppers and the violent storms that marked her youth. Becky seemed equally interested in my urban tales of school, rock concerts, and nightlife. 




Fall of '69



Soon we were at the Sand Bridge park entrance. 

"We'll make a pit stop here. There are no bathrooms where we're headed."

"Where's that?"

I pointed to a dirt road. "That way to Naked Mountain."

She laughed. "Very funny."

"No, really." I pulled out my topographical map and opened it on the seat between us. "See. We're here." Drawing an imaginary circle, I explained, "This is the Bald Eagle State Forest." I dragged my finger along the dotted line representing the road, "and we are going there, Naked Mountain. There's an amazing view of the Susquehanna Valley up there."

"Will we see any Bald Eagles?"

"Maybe. If we're naked."

She slapped my shoulder. "You wish."

I did.

The bathrooms were nothing more than plywood boxes with no amenities other than china fixtures and cold water. As I washed my hands, I clearly heard Becky call my name.

"Need some help in there?" 

"There's no toilet paper."

"Wait a minute."

I swiped a half roll from the men's room and took it next door. "Is everyone decent in here?"

A hand appeared under the only stall door. Faintly, I could see sneakers, with jeans and pink panties piled on top.

I placed the roll in the hand, but then wouldn't let go. "What's it worth to you?"

"Don! Give it!"

"Okay, okay." I resisted the urge to peek through the door crack, and went back outside to wait.

At 10:30 AM there were no other vehicles around. As far as I knew, we had the entire mountain to ourselves. The fragrant air invigorated the senses and filled my head with memories from last night and hopes for things to come. Soon, other people would arrive, but past experience told me no one ventured higher than the paved parking lot this late in the year.

Becky came out of the bathroom grinning. "You are so bad!"

I got the impression she was beginning to enjoy my badness. "But not all the time."

"That's true. You have a couple of redeeming qualities."

I didn't ask what they were and she didn't offer. 

"Let's rock-n-roll." 

Even with four-wheel drive, my truck struggled to make the climb up the dirt trail. Becky laughed and screamed with excitement, as the cab bounced and tipped. She seemed in her element, carefree and animated. 

By the time we reached the end of the ruts, my arms were tired from wrestling with the wheel. "It's a 30 minute hike from here to the top. Are you up for it?"

"It'll feel good to walk for a while."

"Cool. Let's pack up some food to take." I climbed into the truck bed, untied the cooler, and slid it to the tailgate. "I hope you like ham and cheese. That's all I have."

Becky flipped up the lid, saying, "I'm a vegetarian."

My heart sank. "Really?"

Her hand went deep into the cooler. She withdrew it quickly, and flicked ice water at me. "No. Just kidding."

"Oh, so that's the way it's going to be?" Dipping my hand into the icy depths, I said, "Remember, you started it."

She laughed, and turned to run.

Grabbing her around the waist with one arm, I pulled her against my chest and rubbed my wet palm against the back of her neck. 

She squealed and struggled to get away. "Oh! That's cold!"

I restrained her briefly, and then let go.

Her face was beautifully flushed from the struggle. The flannel shirt had come untied and I caught a glimpse of jiggling breasts and distended nipples through the soft cotton.

"I guess I asked for that," she said, retying the shirttails. The laughter in those piercing eyes told me there were no regrets, only the possibility of retaliation.

"Yes, you did. And there's more where that came from, so behave yourself or suffer the consequences." I hoped she'd misbehave all day.

She didn't say anything, but went back to the cooler. This time, she pulled out a 7-Up. "I'm so thirsty." 

"Wait!"

Too late. She lifted the tab and soda sprayed out. Most of it missed, but enough struck home to drip off the end of her nose and wet her sleeve. 

Her shock gave way to laughter, so I joined in. 

Shaking the foaming liquid from her hand, Becky said, "I should've known better. Now I'm going to attract flies." 

"Nah. We can clean you up." I sprung into action, wanting to take the initiative before she had time to think. 

Retrieving a napkin, I dipped it in the ice water, saying, "Better take off the flannel."

There seemed little reluctance, as she removed it and threw it on the tailgate.

Keeping my eyes locked with hers, I said, "Hold still," and began washing her face. 

She argued, "I can do it myself." 

Pushing her hand away, I said, "No, let me."

After a moment of indecision, she gave in.

As I wiped her forehead, Becky closed her eyes and I took the opportunity for a quick glance down at some very alluring cleavage. 

When I moved the napkin to her cheek, her eyes reopened to meet mine. The warmth I saw in their green depths stirred me to confess, "You're beautiful."

She smiled and blushed. When the napkin laved her neck, her eyelids fluttered and she looked away. 

I thought she would stop me. I expected her to stop me. When she didn't, my arousal soared. 

Soda had dripped from her chin onto her chest. Reverently, I washed lower, all the way to the exposed cleft. The pulse on her neck throbbed and her chest rose and fell with rapid breaths. My fingers ached to slip down and tease the proud nipples. Instead, I refreshed the napkin in the ice water and wiped off her sticky hands.

"That should do it," I said, throwing the wet paper into the truck.

In a husky whisper, Becky said, "Thank you." 

I wasn't sure if she thanked me for cleaning her up, or for not taking advantage of her vulnerability. Maybe both. 

"My pleasure."

Her gaze dropped to my lips and then closed. Her body tipped forward. 

This was an unexpected, yet longed for invitation. So, I did what any red-blooded, horny young man wouldn't do. I gave her a quick peck on the lips, and said, "Let's get going," and began loading my backpack with lunch. 

Obviously puzzled by the brevity of the kiss, Becky remained silent as we gathered the picnic supplies. I caught her glancing at the bulge in my jeans. 

Eventually, the testosterone fed beast inside me receded. 

When everything was ready, I removed my sweatshirt and offered it to Becky. "I'm going to get hot carrying this pack. You might need this."

I was rewarded with a grateful smile as she put it on.

"Okay. That's it. Let's go." 

Becky drained what was left of the 7-Up and tossed the empty can into the truck bed. Then she burped, and said "Lead on, DC."

"Nice."

We walked a few paces, when Becky asked, "Do you come here a lot?" 

After the roar of the truck, the serenity of the woods felt incredibly calming. I loved the solitude, and often came by myself to wander along the forest trails and escape from the world.

"Whenever I can. It's peaceful. I forget about everything when I'm here."

"How many other girls have you taken on picnics like this?"

The prying comment annoyed me. "Why?"

"Never mind. It's none of my business."

We walked 50 paces in silence.

"No one, I've never brought anyone else up here."

After another 50, Becky said, "Thanks for inviting me. It's beautiful. My brother and his friends loved to hike in the Rockies. He took me once, when he came home from West Point." 

It was quiet a few more seconds, and then she added, "I wonder if he ever enjoys hiking in Vietnam. I wonder if he can ever really relax."

She was behind me on the trail, so I couldn't see her face. "Jeremy sounds like a guy who loves life. I bet he can find happiness wherever he is."

Sniffling caught my ear. I stopped and turned around. 

Wiping her eyes, she muttered, "I'm sorry. I'll be all right." 

No words of comfort came to me, so I hugged her against my chest, and she cried into my shoulder for a while. When her body finally stopped quaking, I stroked her hair and asked, "Feel better?"

A heavy sigh, and then, "Yes, I do." 

She kissed my cheek and we separated. Her eyes were red and her smile weak, when she said, "Thanks for being so understanding."

"Me? Understanding?" Resuming the uphill trudge, I said, "I'm not. I just saw the perfect chance to feel your body against mine."

I kept walking, and then, "Ow!" pain shot through my side. "Your claws are sharp!"

"You deserved it -- for being a snot."

"That's going to leave a mark." I lifted my tee-shirt to inspect the red welt. "You're going to have to kiss it and make it better."

"You wish."

"I do."

Becky just smiled, and gave me hope. I never pictured her as a tease. Maybe all women are, naturally. Maybe it was just my wishful thinking.

Soon, the steep and uneven path took its toll. We became too busy huffing and puffing to talk. When I looked back to check on Becky, the sweatshirt was off and tied around her waist. With every step, her breasts swayed delightfully under the loose tank top.

Tearing my eyes away, I said, "Let's take a break," and headed for a log.

"Thank you!"

Obviously winded, she bent over and put her hands on her knees. "I can't believe how out of shape I am." Her shirt bloused open, revealing the creamy skin of her chest. 

I couldn't help myself. "You look in great shape to me."

Realizing her exposure, Becky snapped upright. "Pervert," she said, punching my shoulder. Her grin said something else.

"What'd I do? A guy can't even give a girl a compliment anymore?"

The backpack cut into my shoulders, so I dropped it and rubbed a sore spot.

"Here, sit down. Let me." said Becky, circling around behind. "I used to rub Grandpa's shoulders. After a long day on the tractor he'd get so stiff." 

I bit my tongue, as my head filled with inappropriate 'stiff' jokes.

Timidly, her hands began to massage.

"Thanks. That feels fantastic." The stiffness left my shoulders and moved south. 

My sweaty neck didn't seem to faze her in the least. Her fingers became more confident and explored the contours of my upper back for a little while. 

I groaned in pleasure and let my head loll forward. "You're going to let me return the favor, right?"

Her fingers slid up and tickled my ears, sending a tingle down my spine. "We'll see," she said, and sat down on the log beside me. 

We took turns drinking from the canteen.

"Mmm, the air smells so good." Becky leaned back on her hands, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath. Her chest expanded, her back arched, and the shirt molded to her body. After several more cleansing breaths, she sat upright, and stretched her arms overhead. "I'm ready when you are, D.C."

We both stood.

My heart thumped, as I studied her smiling face. When Becky was happy, nothing compared to her beauty. She radiated a magnetic, innocent joy that tugged my lips toward hers. 

As I drew closer, Becky's posture changed. At first, I saw nervous indecision, and then, as our lips touched with feathery softness, I felt surrender. The kiss lingered, and her body pressed against mine. My hands slid up from her hips to brush the sides of her breasts. She tensed, as I momentarily stroked my thumbs along their outer curves before my hands continued up to cradle her face. 

I broke off the embrace, and we shared an intimate smile.

Becky looked away, as my eyes wandered over her body. But she said nothing to discourage it.

Picking up my backpack, I said, "We'd better get moving," and slung it over my shoulder. 

Once again, we trudged in silence with me in the lead.

After a while, I tried to make small talk. "So, Becky is short for Rebecca. Do you have a middle name?"

"Evelyn. It was my grandma's name."

"Rebecca Evelyn Jeffries. REJ, Rejjie. Anyone ever call you that?"

"No."

"Then I will, unless you hate it."

"No."

"Is that, no don't call me that? Or no, you don't hate it?"

"It's a guy's name! Becky is fine. But please, don't ever call me BJ."

Laughing, I said, "Okay, I promise."

"What's your middle name, Don? Is it Juan?"

"Ouch, that hurts."

"Sorry. I'm feeling a little defensive."

"You have no reason to be. I'm harmless."

She snickered, as if unconvinced. 

We walked a few paces, as I thought things over. "Promise you won't tell anyone?"

"I promise."

"I really hate my middle name. I never tell anyone, but I trust you. It's Oliver."

She tried, unsuccessfully, to stifle a giggle. "Instead of DC, I'll call you Doc."

"Thanks for the compassion."

"Oliver is pretty bad. Is it a family name?"

"It was my uncle's. He died in the Korean war."

"Sorry."

"Thanks, but I only know him from photos."

"Could've been worse. His name could've been Oscar." 

A jingle popped into my head: "Oh, I'm glad I'm not an Oscar Mayer wiener. That is what I'd never want to be. Cause if I were an Oscar Mayer wiener. There would soon be nothing left of me!"

She laughed. "You're weird."

"I know. Things just pop into my head and come out of my mouth. It's a bad habit."

"At least I'll always know what you're thinking."

"Well, I don't say everything. For example, I didn't tell you how nice your boobs felt."

Afraid to look back for her reaction, I just waited for another agonizing pinch. 

Instead, after long seconds, I heard, "Some things don't need to be said. Your wiener, poking me in the stomach, already told me how much you liked it. Maybe I should've asked, 'What's up Doc?'"

I laughed out loud, and then a flash of red caught my eye. "Look, a cardinal!" I stopped and pointed. 

Becky stopped beside me, and we watched the crimson bird flit from pine bough to pine bough.

"Did you know if a red Cardinal and a Blue Jay mate you get a Purple Martin?"

"No, I didn't." She took my hand. "You're quite the nature expert. What else can you teach me?"

"What do you want to know?"

She thought about it, and said, "What do you get when you cross a Kansas Jayhawk with a Pennsylvanian woodcock?" 

My mouth went dry and coherent thoughts wouldn't form. She was definitely playing with my head. "I'm not sure, but I bet it would be a thrilling experiment."

Becky did not accept or reject the hypothesis. She just smiled shyly and looked up the path. "How much farther is it?"

That was my cue to start walking again. "Not far. Are you hungry?"

"A little."

Sex seemed to be on her mind. After everything we'd done and seen together, it was obvious she'd been thinking about physical pleasures since yesterday. For some reason, she regarded me as a safe person to tease. The funny thing about my excitement was the hint of reluctance that dulled my usually unbridled lust. I didn't want to hurt her. 

"Doc, do you play any sports?"

"Yeah, but nothing serious. Just for fun. Why? Do you want to beat me at tennis, or something?"

"You're in great shape. I just figured you were a jock." 

"You mean a dumb jock."

"When we first met I thought so, but now I know you're not dumb."

A compliment about my body seemed like another green light. "Thanks, Becky. And you're not half as uptight as I first thought."

"Thanks a lot." 

I got another pinch. 

After 100 yards, I announced, "We're here," and pushed through a wall of scrub brush. 

Becky came up beside me. "Wow!"

"Exactly." The view of the river valley stretched for miles. The autumn leaves blanketed the panorama like a patchwork quilt. 

I pointed. "You can just make out the campus from here." 

Removing the backpack, I walked over to the base of a large oak. "Let's eat in the shade."

Becky helped me spread the blanket and unpack the food. The cans of 7-Up, almost cool, were opened carefully.

When all was ready, she said, "Doc, would you ask the blessing?"

"Uh... sure."

We closed our eyes, and she took my hand.

Regrettably, the modified prayer from my Boy Scout days popped out. "Thank you for the food we eat, Thank you for my warm, dry feet, Thank you for the friends we make, Thank you for girls' sexy shake, Thank you for the birds that sing, Thank you Lord for everything, Amen."

"Amen." She slapped my arm. "You're bad!"

"I know. I'm sorry." 

"No you're not." Her smile only encouraged my bad behavior.

"Not really." 

We sat in crossed-legged silence, eating crushed chips and bland sandwiches, while feasting on the view. 

"This is wonderful, Doc." Becky rubbed my knee. "Thanks again for sharing it with me."

I gave her a 'see-food' smile, and mumbled, "You're welcome."

She shook her head and looked away. "You're bad AND gross."

When we'd had our fill and the garbage was packed away, I walked out to the cliff's edge where the view was the best. Becky stayed on the blanket.

"Come out here Beckster. You can see a lot more."

She made an anxious face, and said, "I'm kind of afraid of heights."

"There's nothing to be afraid of." I jumped up and down. "See, its granite, solid as a rock."

"I can see plenty from here."

"Suit yourself." 

I turned to face the valley, and started taking off my shirt. "Man, it's hot in the sun."

When the tee-shirt covered my face, I started to wobble, "Uh-oh." I tipped forward and stepped off the edge.

Becky screamed as I fell, and then her horrified face appeared over the precipice.

I grinned up from the ledge eight-feet below. "See? It's perfectly safe."

"Ooo, you're such an ass!" Then she disappeared.

I climbed back up. "Don't worry. I'm not going to Cory out on you."

She sat on the blanket with her arms folded, staring angrily at me. Her eyes flooded.

I remembered all the loved ones she'd lost and her worries about her brother. My heart sank down to my stomach.

Sitting, I put my arms around her, and said, "You're right. I am such an ass. That was a stupid thing to do. I'm so sorry, Becky."

She didn't answer.

Hugging her tight, I asked, "Forgive me?" and kissed her cheek. 

Turning to meet my gaze, Becky didn't say a word. Instead, her eyes closed, pushing tears out to roll down her cheeks. Her body pressed forward and our lips met tenderly.

I kissed back with a little more enthusiasm, and she groaned approval. 

With shared effort, our bodies moved as one. Soon, Becky was lying on her back, as we kissed passionately -- her hands in my hair, my arms around her back, clutching her to my chest. 

She was mine. I knew it when her thigh moved suggestively against my groin. The surprise of her advance shocked me back to reality and, frightened I'd lose control, I rolled off to stare at the sky and catch my breath. 

I heard Becky's breathing ease up as she regained composure, but I didn't dare look. I was afraid I'd see horror or disdain when she came to her senses. The big, puffy clouds, gliding across the sky, became my focus. I tried to see images in their shapes, anything to subdue the desire burning inside.

Stupidly, I pointed at one, and said, "That one looks like an elephant's head without a trunk."

Becky laughed, breathily. "I know where his trunk is. Or were you just happy to kiss me?"

"Becky!" That didn't sound like a woman with regrets. I turned to look at her. 

She blushed prettily, but continued to stare at the sky.

Rolling onto my side, I propped my head up with one arm and laid my free hand on her stomach. "I was enormously happy to kiss you. You're all I've been thinking about since we met."

"Enormous? Don't flatter yourself. I've seen horses bred. Now that's enormous."

We both laughed, and my worst fears dissolved. "I guess size is relative to what you compare it to."

"Well, that's about all I have for comparison -- horny farm animals." Becky looked at me seriously, and said, "But you have known a lot of women for comparison." 

The accusation stung. I flopped onto my back and stared at the sky. "Not a lot."

Becky rolled onto my chest and looked into my eyes. "How many? What are their names? Who was the best?"

"None of your damn business!" I pushed her off and sat up.




Fall of '69



"What's the matter, Doc? Don't you kiss and tell? Won't your frat brothers be grilling you about what happened today?"

"It's none of their damn business, either."

We sat side by side for a while. I stared out at nothing, trying to control my anger. I felt set up, just to be put down for her self-righteous amusement. 

"So then," Becky whispered almost inaudible, "today is our little secret?"

Still not comprehending the implication, I said, "Yes, I won't tell anyone that we kissed. Your reputation is safe." I stood up. "Are you ready to go?"

"No." She leaned back on her hands and stretched out her legs. Looking off into the distance, she said with a quivering voice, "I'd like to kiss a little more."

Understanding finally rushed into my thick skull. I turned away. "Well... maybe I don't."

"Really? Why not?" 

"I think you'll regret it, later." which was the truth. I can't believe I cared about the truth. But that was only a half-truth. I was afraid she'd regret it, and then hate me. 

We let our emotions chill for a while. I walked out to the cliff's edge to prevent my lack of discipline from overcoming good sense.

Becky broke the shaky silence. "I'm not asking you to have sex with me. You're the first man I've ever felt this attracted to, and I want to know what things feel like."

I didn't say anything. I didn't look at her, but my heart was torn between wanting her body and wanting her to like me for who I am. Honestly, my hesitation frightened me. Falling in love was not my style. I thought I knew a lot about sex, but nothing about relationships. Now suddenly, I began to think I wanted one. I wanted her respect and admiration, because she had mine. Maybe relationships were more fulfilling and I didn't know how to do it.

When I didn't respond, she added, "I couldn't sleep last night, thinking about you. Thinking you were masturbating about me. It turned me on. I touched myself for the first time..." Her voice faded. 

I stared out over the valley, my heart pounding. "Where?" 

"In my room."

I laughed. "I meant where on your body."

"You know. Down there."

"Did you come?"

"No. I didn't. I heard Bill and Trudy on the other side of the wall. I could hear them whispering. Then I heard Trudy moan. Their bed squeaks. It embarrassed me, but it excited me too." After a brief pause, she added, "Everybody around me is having sex!"

I turned around and faced her. "So, what do you want from me?"

Her eyes left mine and stared at her toes. "I don't know." She pulled her knees up and rested her chin on them. "I guess I was hoping you'd be willing to... take the lead without getting carried away." She laughed with self-contempt, stood and bent down to pick up the blanket. "I'm sorry. It sounds stupid."

"It doesn't sound stupid." I couldn't say anymore, but it was enough. 

She dropped the blanket and straightened up. 

We stared at one another and shared a nervous grin.

My eyes wandered over her, and the anticipation coursing through my veins felt greater than having all the unopened gifts ever given laid at my feet. I went to her, and my resolve to be virtuous dissolved like sugar against her lips. 

Becky said she wanted me to lead, but it was her palm on my chest that moved things forward. She massaged the firm curve of muscle and then her thumb found my nipple and teased it through my shirt. 

I responded in kind, filling my hand with her right breast. 

Becky moaned and shivered, then broke our kiss to watch me fondle the supple weight through her shirt. When I gently rolled the jutting tip between my fingers, her eyes closed with overwhelming pleasure. 

A simple, "Oh..." escaped her lips, before I covered her mouth with mine. 

Our tongues met, and soon tangled with desire. In slow motion, we dropped to our knees, embracing chest to chest. I broke away and sat back on my heels. Without preamble, I pulled my shirt over my head and threw it aside. 

Becky's eyes shyly drifted down to study my torso. She didn't comment, other than smile with approval. Her hands drifted to the hem of her tank top and a lump lodged in my throat. With timid sluggishness, the fabric inched up her belly. I knew Becky was fit, but her lean, defined abdomen surprised me. 

She closed her eyes again, and I wondered if she were pretending to be alone in order to have the courage to expose her chest. The trembling hands paused when the bottom curves were visible, and then, in a rush, she pulled the shirt off, and tossed it near mine. 

Becky's breasts were perfect. Exactly the size and shape I always fantasized about. "Rebecca Jeffries, you're a beautiful woman all over, inside and out." 

She opened her eyes and smiled. Her face and chest turned a rosy pink. 

Rising up on my knees, I held out my hands and she took them. I pulled her close, and when our bodies touched, we both sighed with the pleasure. The first incredible contact of her skin against mine is an experience I'll never forget. We kissed, as I lowered her to the blanket. It took every ounce of self-control not to rush my exploration of her body. I wanted Becky's first experience to be everything she'd ever hoped for. 

While we kissed, my left hand calmly teased -- circled an areola, slipped down to her bellybutton, and then back, enjoying her contour. She squeaked and her body twitched from the sensations. When I finally traced over a stiff nipple, her hands drew frenzied circles on my back. 

My lips began a gradual tour down, stopping at the sensitive areas I knew existed on her neck and shoulders. The thrill I felt teaching Becky these new delights had me near a climatic level already. Every time she whimpered or sighed it touched me like a caress. Being her first brought back memories of my own first -- everything new, all exhilarating.

My mouth finally touched the rise of a breast and her fingers tangled in my hair. She tugged, trying to move me along, but I held firm to my slow progress. With lips and tongue I tortured one breast, while my fingers tortured the other. Becky started to writhe, which only made me burn hotter. 

"Mmm, Becky, you taste so good, and you feel so good."

"Don..." was the only audible sound I understood, once my mouth sealed around one nipple and my fingers pinched the other. Although many other encouraging noises slipped uncontrollably from her, while I did my best to take her higher.

Rising up on my arms, I stopped to admire my work. Becky's chest heaved with great gulps of air. Her skin glowed from my kisses and her nipples extended out to me. 

"God, you're beautiful."

Her green eyes opened to smile at me. "Thank you. That felt incredible."

She pushed me away, and removed the rubber band holding her ponytail. Shaking her hair free, she said, "Your turn. Lie back." 

I did as I was told, and watched, placing my hands behind my head as a pillow. 

Feisty, a word my grandpa used to describe grandma came to mind. Becky was feisty. I saw the appeal of loving a feisty woman. Was this the beginning of love? It definitely was a greater level of attraction than I'd ever felt before.

Becky bent over me and smiled with those sensuous lips. "You look happy."

"Never been happier."

She lay on my chest, and before kissing me, said, "Me either."

Her hair and breasts tickled, as she pecked her way down, following a trail similar to the one I had traveled on her body. A woman who wants to repay pleasure for pleasure is a rare jewel. As Becky's emerald eyes flashed to witness my reaction when she softly kissed my nipple, I knew I'd found a treasure. 

Becky licked it with a broad tongue, and said, "You're salty. You'd make a good saltlick." She licked the other side and then sat back on her heels, leaving her hand on my stomach, her fingers playing with the sparse hair below my navel. 

She traced to my side where I'd been pinched earlier. "I did leave a red mark. Let me make it better."

As she bent down and gently kissed the injury, her hand rested on my hip, just inches away from my straining cock. The pressure from her weight gave it a nice tug. She peeked at the bulge in profile, while she soothed the welt on my side. I wondered if she'd someday kiss that swelling until it receded, as well. 

"Feel better?"

"Much better," I said, and cupped a hanging breast with my hand. 

Her eyes closed with the sensation. By the nipple, I guided her back to lie beside me.

We smiled, kissed, and cuddled for a few minutes. A gusty breeze tickled our hot flesh. Mother Nature seemed to be playing along with us.

Rolling Becky onto her stomach, I said, "My turn," and straddled her thighs. "Time for a back rub."

Starting with her scalp, my fingers massaged gently down to her shoulders and lower back, eliciting pleasant moans of enjoyment. Occasionally, I'd chafe against her firm ass with my crotch. 

"Mmm, you have good hands, Doc."

"Just relax and let me operate."

Becky responded with a soft laugh of acquiescence. 

My hands drifted past her waistline to new, unexplored territory. Gradually, my fingers worked down, until I was squeezing her bottom. 

The muscles tightened, but there were no complaints.

"Relax, Becky. Feels nice?"

"Mm-hmm."

"Good." I massaged all the way down her legs and then, said, "Let's air out those toes," removing her sneakers and socks. "Are you ticklish?"

"A little."

"I'll be careful." 

Methodically, I tended to each foot and toe. The limp weight of her legs, as I bent them at the knee, confirmed her total relaxation. 

After a few minutes, I stopped and lay on top of her. Her back felt cool against my chest. I kissed her neck, and whispered in her ear, "There, all done."

In a dreamy voice, Becky answered, "Mmm, thank you. That was very nice."

Rolling of to the side, I pulled her over onto her back. 

Fully at ease now, Becky lay with her eyes closed and hands above her head, a contented grin curling her lips. 

But I was far from content. While bending over for a kiss, my hand slipped down across her abdomen and wedged under the waistband of her jeans. 

Her stomach tensed.

My fingers wormed in until they met the elastic band of her panties. Our lips played lightly, while my hand pushed further and toyed along the hairline. 

Becky's breathing became ragged. Her body trembled. 

Sensing reluctance, I ended the kiss to look into her eyes. I saw anxiety in those emerald pools. Was she pleading for self-restraint? It seemed Becky didn't have the willpower to say stop. I withdrew my hand and cupped her sex from the outside. Her eyes closed and she moaned encouragement. 

As I fondled the cleft of her sex, my mouth found a nipple and playfully sucked. Moist heat radiated through the denim onto my palm. 

"Oh, Don..." Becky's hips began to gyrate. Her thighs sporadically opened and closed. 

My hand abandoned her sex to unbutton her jeans. 

She bent forward to see what I was doing. "Don?"

"Shh, it's okay." I pressed Becky's shoulders down with one hand as I unzipped her with the other. "Trust me. This will feel great," I said, and then kissed her, while my hand slid unrestricted into her panties. 

Becky squeaked into my mouth when I touched her cleft. Her pussy was unbelievably wet and my finger slipped easily between her labia. The entrance to her vagina was incredibly tight. I pressed the tip of my index finger inside, and then her thighs clamped together.

"Relax, Beckster. I won't hurt you. I just want you to feel good. I want you to come." 

I left my hand trapped where it was, unwilling to give up ground. My finger could still move enough to tickle her clit. My mouth and free hand went to work teasing her breasts. Becky was already extremely aroused. It wasn't long before her legs relaxed and her hips began to twitch, once again. 

"That's it Becky. Go with it. Let it build. Don't hold back." 

Afraid I'd scare Becky, I didn't try to penetrate again. Instead, I toyed with her clit, using different speeds and pressures to vary the experience.

Less than a minute passed, when her arms pulled me tight to her chest, and she hissed, "It's too much..." 

"No Honey. Let it out." 

Becky's body began to convulse. Her hips lifted from the blanket and her legs crushed my hand. Her high pitched squeal echoed across the valley. The climax came in waves -- first a tsunami and then lesser swells and troughs. She grabbed my arm and wrenched my hand from her panties. "Stop!" 

I can't describe the thrill I felt, gazing down into her hooded eyes and hearing her deep breaths slow to normal. I zipped her up, and then brought my hand to my nose and sniffed, "Yum." I sucked her essence from my fingers, and she blushed. We hugged and kissed, and then I lay down beside her on my back. Becky had always returned my affection in kind, so I thought a hand-job was in my future. 

My expectations were high, until, in a husky voice, she said, "I'd always planned my first orgasm would be with my husband." 

I turned my head to witness a tear fall to the blanket. Becky continued to stare straight up. This was exactly the regret I feared, and I cursed myself. "There are plenty of first you can still share with him." 

I sat up. A terrible dread engulfed me. Would I lose the first woman I'd wanted to know more than sexually because of sex? I reached over, picked up her shirt, and handed it to her.

Without hesitation, she sat up and put it on, and then rested her forehead on her knees like she was praying.

"I'm sorry if you're upset, Becky. I'll never forget you. I'll always cherish this memory." Cherish? I don't think I'd ever used the word in a sentence before, evidence I was definitely not myself. 

Becky got up and walked out to the ledge. For no apparent reason other than a change of subject, she said, "This country is so beautiful."

She couldn't jump from there, but I was still worried, so I got up and stood beside her. At least she smiled at me when I took her hand, and yet there was no strength in her grip. 

"Hey Beckster, this isn't the end of us, is it? You don't hate me, do you?" God, I was acting like a wiener. 

"Hate you?" She smiled and shook her head, as if the question was too silly to even consider.

"That's good." I put my arm around her and kissed her cheek. She laid her head on my shoulder. We stood like that for a long time, silently enjoying the moment. 

"We should leave soon. You need to be home before dark or Bill will crucify me."

"Very funny, Doc."

"He wasn't kid--" My sentence was cut short by Becky's lips attacking mine. The force made me stumble back and trip over a rock. We fell in a heap with her knee in my groin.

As I writhed in agony, Becky knelt beside me and kept up a stream of "I'm so sorry". 

"It's okay. I'll live." God was punishing me. "My fault. You surprised me, that's all."

She laughed nervously, and said, "I hope I didn't break you. Is there anything I can do?"

What a question. "I'll be all right."

"Are you sure? Maybe you should check it."

The thought occurred to me that the knee had been intentional. I laughed through gritted teeth. "Do you think so?"

Becky tucked her hair behind her ears and stared at my crotch. "Yes, I think you should."

"Maybe you should look to, because it's hard for me to see down there."

"Okay."

The pain had nearly subsided, but I faked a limp all the way to the blanket. I turned away, unfastened my jeans, and dropped them around my ankles. Then I sat down in my jockey shorts and Becky sat beside me. This was supposed to be a clinical examination, so without dramatic flair, I pulled my jockeys down to my jean covered ankles and lifted my limp dick out of the way. 

Bending forward to examine my balls, I asked, "How do they look?"

Becky's face became serious, as she flipped her hair to one side and bent down to inspect. "Like Robin's eggs in a wrinkled sack." 

"Damn it!"

Her head snapped up. "What?"

"They should look like woodcock eggs in a wrinkled sack."

Relief made her face happy again. "You can't be too hurt, if you can joke about it."

'Kiss it and make it better' popped into my thoughts. Instead, I lay down and closed my eyes to give her curiosity unobserved access. "You're right. I'm feeling much better."

Ten seconds later, I felt a delicate touch trace over my scrotum. Keeping my eyes closed, I wrenched a foot out of my pants, and spread my legs wider. 

Becky's fingers began to tease around my thighs and the base of my cock, without actually touching it. But the results were the same. I got hard. 

She stopped caressing me, and whispered, "There, all better, Doc Woodcock."

I sat up on my elbows, looked at my hard-on, and then at Becky's red face. "Not really. Now it's just a different kind of ache, but I'll live."

Her gaze darted from my eyes, to my dick, and back. 

I smiled. 

She smiled. 

I winked. 

With her usual startling impulsiveness, she grabbed my cock in her fist, and said, "Lay down."

She didn't have to tell me. The rush of delight from her hand made me fall back. I wanted to watch, but I didn't want to make her more uneasy. Mine was the first cock she'd ever seen or touched. That alone brought an unmatched thrill. When her hand squeezed and pumped me with experimental sloth, I knew I wouldn't last long. 

I groaned.

"Feel good?"

I heard a smile in the question and had to look. Becky's eyes were fixed on my groin. Her face beamed with exhilaration, and struck me with a fresh tingle. 

"Great," I said, getting back up on my elbows. My ache grew larger. 

Now both her hands gripped my shaft loosely and pumped. "Are you going to come soon?" 

The comment sounded so indifferent. This was just payback, and not the affectionate exploration I'd hoped for. 

"Yes."

I lay back down and enjoyed her hold on me. 

She picked up the pace. "Relax, Doc. I just want you to feel good. I want you to come." 

Those were almost my exact words to her, and they sounded hollow and impersonal. It was then I realized I wanted more. But how could there be more? What was missing? 

My cock didn't care. I warned her, "Getting close."

A couple of strokes later, my load shot out with pent up force, laying down a thick streak from my neck to my navel. Becky stopped pumping as soon as I erupted, which made it a little less pleasurable, but all-in-all, it relieved a lot of frustration. 

Tenderly, she released my cock and patted its softening underbelly. "Wow." 

We shared a smile, and I said, "Thanks Beckster, that was just what the doctor ordered."

Grinning, she rubbed my thigh, and said, "I'll get some napkins." 

After cleaning myself up, I got dressed and we headed back down the trail, the mood much heavier than before. The invisible line we'd been flirting with had been crossed. Things could never be the same between us.