Tom knew a great little place he’d seen a million times, a sort of little cowpath between where you turn off the main road at the Hi-Top and the dirt road turnoff that you took to the farm. Just wide enough for a little car and you could turn then into some tall grass right under and behind some big trees. Must be pitch black at night. He drove a little faster, sweet Christ! he could swear he was going to get some nookie, he’d moved his hand across her chest to her other tittie and she squirmed a little and said, “Oh Tom, you shouldn’t,” but she didn’t, thanks be to God, do a goddamn thing to stop him. What a piece she must be! He always loved it when some dame kept saying no-no-no while you were humping her cross-eyed. He saw the Hi-Top and turned off and a minute later was turning off down the cowpath, nice and slow, driving behind the trees and parking. Sweet baby! he said, or something, Christ knows what, and he was grabbing her almost before he had the goddamn ignition off. She came to him, pressed her tits into his chest and they kissed and kept on kissing. Come on, kid, Tom said to himself, do your stuff, and he opened the front of her dress one-two-three and put his hands inside her slip and brassiere and just eased her knockers out, my God! He caught his breath, they were beautiful, just right, a handful each, with her nipples dark and stiff poking straight up. He bent over and started to lick and suck her nipples, Marie was panting and stroking his hair and he could hardly believe it, he could hardly believe it, he was sure as shit going to screw her in a minute. He got the hem of her skirts in his hand and pulled them up to her hips, oh God help me! the way her legs looked slightly open and the whiteness of her thighs against the dark stocking tops stretched so tight by her garters. He started to pull her step-ins down, don’t forget, don’t forget, you son of a bitch, about unfastening the garters, and all the while he kept lunging at her breasts, his tongue stabbing at the two hard nipples. But then she said no. She said, goddammit, no! Marie closed her thighs and started to pull her skirts down. What the fuck is this? Christ knows what she was saying, something about some other time, not now, not here— the same old shit, they’re all the same, think the goddamn thing is made of gold. She was leaning back on the seat though, her breasts still hanging out of her clothes, Christ! He pulled his fly open and yanked his hard-on out of his pants, then grabbed her hand and told her to look at him, for God’s sake, my darling, my dear one, look at him! I love you I love you I love you I love you. Marie opened her eyes and saw him exposed, let him guide her hand to his dick, then she grabbed it, I mean really got a handful of it, and started to frig him jerkily and erratically while he sucked at her nipples again, running his hands over her thighs and hips under her skirt, sliding his hands under her garter straps, working her thighs open to jam his hand into her crotch. Jesus Christ! She doesn’t, does not, know how to jerk a guy off! She was whispering something, smiling, her eyes closed, rubbing him up and down, allowing him just enough room to move his hand barely, just barely, between her legs. Dumb as a goddamn post when it came to … he thought of that usherette who would frig him with one hand and tickle his hole with the other. Then he felt Marie’s other hand caressing his nuts, Oh baby, oh my darling, and now! Now! He was going to! He sat up straight, his back pressed against the seat, and pulled his handkerchief out of his breast pocket, pushed it against her moving hand, but she didn’t take it and he clamped it over his rod and her hand himself just as he began to come, don’t know shit-all about anything, but oh oh oh baby baby. He thought he’d never stop coming and when he did she just kept frigging away, holding his balls for dear life and staring at his dick with her mouth open. He put his hand on her wrist to stop her. Then she took her hands off him and looked away as he cleaned himself up and adjusted his pants. She was covering herself up too, smoothing her dress down, and buttoning up. “I love you,” he whispered, smiling, and they kissed again, chastely, but she was trembling, he knew, lay seven to five, that she wanted to fuck him all night. Give her a chance, kid, plenty of time. Am I complaining? He wasn’t complaining, hell no. A hand job from a doll who’s almost a nun on the first date? Tom had no beef, kiddo.
Now what in the name of hell? Some dumb bastard was shining a light on the car almost as soon as he’d pulled into his spot and yanked the emergency. Oh, o-ho! It was the wrathful father! Right out of some goddamn burlesque, John was yelling, by Christ, he was yelling out the window, can you beat it? He’d wake the fucking dead! Marie, my God, the poor kid was sitting bolt upright like she’d been shot, looking over at Tom with tears in her eyes, her hankie pressed to her mouth. Was she going to get sick? The lousy rotten old bastard. Tom wanted to know if he could come up with her, the old harp had his flash held steady on the car now and some lights were coming on in the house. Nice going, you old son of a bitch! The floor show. Let all those old bastards embarrass her gawking. No, Marie didn’t want him to come up with her, he didn’t know Poppa … Now some nosy Parker was out on the porch, probably Sapurty, sticking his two cents in. Marie got out of the car and that mean old fart held her in the beam of light till she was right on the porch. Then he heard the door open and bang shut.
Tom filled his pipe and lit it, take it nice and easy, that old son of a bitch hasn’t got the right … he sat there, smoking, figuring he’d blown it getting her home so late. If he’d been smart… Well, if the summer was shot to hell he’d figure out some scheme for the fall back in the city. She was a dish, my God, all innocence, but hot as a pistol. My God, how he wanted to put it in her! And he liked her too, she was really a lady. Didn’t even know how to do it! Oh, brother, tomorrow! Tomorrow would be one hundred per cent Barnum and Bailey. He wondered what that poor cockeyed kid thought about all this, the old bastard must have scared him out of his wits.
~ ~ ~
He was pleased with himself. The idea of leaving the tobacco pouch was absolutely the cat’s meow! There was no question that John McGrath had beaten him, but the game wasn’t over, not by a long shot. Still, the scene had been upsetting to him, because he didn’t expect anything like it. Oh, he’d thought that the old bastard would bawl Marie out, sure, and he’d expected a lot of hard looks and a lot of frost for the next week, but never in a million years anything like that flashlight — and that godawful yelling! Christ almighty. The man was unpredictable, that was certain, sour old paddy. Tom was annoyed that he’d lost the chance to get Marie alone one more time, maybe way out in the fields somewhere, or in his coo-pay. Somewhere. It was a dead cinch that he’d have plowed her good and proper with just a little trouble, just a few don’ts — he could hear her now — a few blushes and sighs. But he would have done it, if he didn’t know a damn thing else he knew dames, and Marie was ripe for picking. Even Saturday night — if she’d had just one more Tom Collins … No use crying over spilt milk.