Hey Johnny

"It has to be tough, taking care of two young-uns, Bob, and keeping the mill going," he said.

"Momma comes and helps all the time. I can take care of the mill myself. I got scared when the engine quit working, but now that that's fixed . . ."

He gave her a warm smile. "Glad to help."

He'd done right by her. She seemed encouraged.

She nodded toward the truck.

"I see you still got your daddy's old pickup."

"Yeah."

"Lots of memories in that truck." She gave a knowing smile. "Remember after Terry Jenkins's barn dance?"

He stared at her, hardly believing she had brought it up. He recalled the night vividly; the memory of it sent a jolt to his crotch. Two weeks before he'd joined the army, they had sat right there in the front seat, necking. She had pulled away from him suddenly, and held him at arm's length. Confused at first, he then watched, breathless, as she unbuttoned her shirt. She lifted up her bra and placed his hands on her titties. It was the first time he had seen a girl's breasts, let alone touch them. Awkwardly, clumsily, he caressed them, feeling their weight and stroking the soft skin. He'd gripped the pink nipples between his fingers and then she had let him kiss and lick them.

Damn. That was seven years ago. And she hadn't forgotten! So, she still thought about him. Part of him wanted to sing, but at the same time, he couldn't fight his disbelief.

He finished his sandwich and wiped his hands on his pants. "Well, I reckon I best be getting on."

He wished he hadn't of said that, but if he didn't leave now, he was in danger of falling in love with her again. Fool, he told himself, you never stopped.

"Why?" she asked. She seemed genuinely disappointed.

Because I can't stand another minute of not being able to grab you, that's why, he thought. I can't put myself through this again!

"I got things I need to do." He forced himself to stand. His knees felt wobbly. "And Momma's all by herself and I don't want her to worry."

Greta snorted. "I know your momma. She doesn't need you to take care of her. Why don't you sit awhile? We haven't talked in ages."

Five years, he thought. Five damn long years.

She patted the spot on the log, inviting him to sit back down.

He wiped his now-sweaty palms on his pants. He had wanted this moment for so long. He had so many questions, so many things to talk to her about.

"So, you still like to read?" he asked. Stupid! Five long years and that was the best he could come up with?

She nodded. "Whenever I get a chance."

"You still want to go to college?"

"Johnny, I'm married and got two babies. I'm never going to college."

He felt like a fool for having mentioned a sensitive topic for her.

"I guess both of our dreams went up in smoke," he said.

She looked at him. "Oh yeah? I don't remember you having any dreams. Cars and necking in your daddy's truck is about the only thing I remember you being interested in." She gave him a little smile. "What dreams you talking about?"

He looked toward the mill. A breeze blew through the branches of nearby trees and rustled his shirt. "Well, I always wanted my own auto shop."

"Really?" she asked.

"Yep."

She smacked him on the arm. "You never told me that."

He shrugged. "I didn't always tell you everything that was on my mind. Still thinking about it. You know, my GI bill will pay some of the costs. I can give Blaine Wilson a run for his money, I think."

"Yeah. You would. You know that sonofabitch said he wouldn't fix the engine unless I slept with him?"

"Yeah. That's Blaine for you." He gave her a sly smile. "Course, now that I fixed it . . .."

Her jaw dropped, as she pretended to be shock. "Johnny Willbanks! In your dreams!"

Every damn night, he thought.

They both chuckled. He realized their feet now rested close together. It made him think about the times when they used to lay in the back of his truck, looking at the stars. He'd looked down sometimes and just stare at their feet. She had some big ones, almost as big as his. He used to tease her about them.

"Something else I always thought," he said. "I thought I was going to end up with you."

There was an awkward pause. Johnny thought he might have crossed a line. Well, at least he had finally said it.

Greta adjusted the cuffs around her ankle. "Well, you blew that one."

Suddenly, the questions he had been wanting to ask for years came pouring out. "Why did you marry him, Greta? Why didn't you wait for me?"

She frowned. He could feel the steel in her now. "Because you left me, that's why. After I asked you not to. What? You thought I was just going to wait around until you changed your mind?"

Johnny felt the hardening of a lump in his throat. All his fault.

"You jackass," she said. "I cried my eyes out for weeks after you left. Then I had half the boys in the county coming to my door. Why should I have kept giving a rat's ass about a worthless piece of shit like you?"

He didn't recall her swearing so much before. He was taken a little off guard. She really had grown up.

"And you picked Bob Mansfield?" he said. "He's old enough to be your father."

"I get so sick of people telling me that."

"Why did you do it?"

He saw tears well up in her eyes. "Because, Johnny. I was just a damn kid. And I didn't know he . . ."

She looked away.

The conversation faded into uneasy silence. He cursed himself for being so callous. He thought about the choices they had both made, and wondered if things could have been different.

She rubbed her face, but she still wasn't looking at him.

"I'm sorry," he said softly.

She turned back to him, her face slightly flushed, but once again composed.

"You never married," she said.

"No."

"You were with Betty Munsell for a while. What happened?"

Betty Munsell ... now hers was a name he hadn't heard or thought of, for a while. They had gone steady for almost a year back in '49. She was a wildcat, that Betty. She'd had some nice tits and an appetite for sex that couldn't be tamed. She had made a man out of him in her daddy's cotton field one afternoon.

"Well," he said. "All the time I was with her, I couldn't stop thinking about you." He had been doggy fucking her when he'd accidentally called her Greta. Lord, did they ever have a knockdown-drag-out, afterward. He still had the mark where she had bitten him.

"Well, that's stupid," she said. "Betty Munsell's a pretty girl."

"Not as pretty as you."

He caught a hint of a smile, as she rested back on her hands, crossed her ankles, and cast her eyes toward the treetops. She really was just so damned gorgeous. He could barely stand it.

"You're such a jackass, Johnny," she said. "That should have been you I married. The young-uns—they should have been yours. And you should be the man I should be going to bed with and getting to fuck every night."

Johnny's head swung. "Greta! Jesus, your mouth."

She gave him a wry look. "I'm not that girl you used to court, Johnny. I'm a woman now. I can say what I goddamned please."

Yes, she was indeed a woman now. A beautiful, delicious woman, who had a mouth like a Guatemalan airman. And she had just told him she wanted to fuck him. He took a deep breath and felt his cock stir.

"Well, I can say what I goddamned please too," he locked eyes with her.

She didn't look away. "Good."

"And I'm going to say I'm going to tear all your clothes off right now and fuck you right here on this log."

Already he could picture her naked and he felt his cock uncoiling in his pants.

She sniffed. "I'm not going to fuck on a log. I'm not getting splinters in my ass."

"In the back of the truck then," he said moving closer. He had always wanted to get her naked back there.

She didn't move, though her foot was now bobbing over her crossed ankles. "I'm not fucking in the back of the truck either."

This was sounding very much like some of the tussles they used to always have. God, how he had missed those. They were teenagers again!

He grabbed her hand. "Over there against the truck then." He had daydreamed about that one plenty enough too, her bare ass out in the open air with him fucking away at her from behind.

She gave him a smirk. "I'm not fucking you anywhere out here. You can just get that out of your head, Johnny Willbanks."

The tease. He supposed he should be upset, but he was having the most fun he had had in years. Besides, there was something in Greta's voice and demeanor that told him if he was just a little more patient, she'd fuck him in a place of her choosing. Their heads were close now.

"A kiss then," he insisted. He leaned in.

"Maybe."

He put his lips on hers. So gentle and soft, just the way he remembered them. She gave him a little bit of her tongue. Greta wrapped her hand around his neck. Her breathing was picking up. Thoughts of fucking her against his truck were reappearing in his mind.

There was a call from behind them, coming from the farmhouse. "Greta!"

Her momma.

"Greta!"

Greta turned over her shoulder and hollered, "I'm down here, Momma."

"Little Janie's crying and I can't get her to calm down. I think she wants you."

"I'll be right on up."

Greta turned back and gazed at Johnny's face. She focused on his lips, and was about to say something, when he leaned in and kissed her again. Her tongue intertwined with his. There was a soft, sucking sound as she pulled away.

She knotted her fingers in his shirt and gave it a tug.

"You know anything about tractors?" she asked, not taking her eyes off of his lips.

"Yeah."

"There's something wrong with ours. Will you come take a look at it?"

"What's going on, Greta?" he teased. "You just going to have me do all the repair work around your house?"

"I can pay."

He looked her up and down. "You better."

She gave him a smirk as she stood to go. "In your dreams."

She glanced over her shoulder once as she went up the hill, swinging the picnic basket. He couldn't help staring, mesmerized by her swaying ass. Damn, she was so beautiful.

******

The tractor was parked alongside the house, just outside the kitchen window. Johnny looked it over and found it needed a new spark plug. He drove into town (with the dog) and got a replacement.

Greta had chores to do. She and her Momma were mostly in the kitchen, working. While he worked on the tractor Johnny kept an eye on her kids as they played around an overturned tree stump in the front yard. He let her son help him with some of the repair work, lifting him up onto an old box and then steadying him as the little man poked and prodded the tractor parts, all curious and getting greasy. Johnny thought he looked just like his mother. Greta smiled when she walked by him. She trailed a finger across Johnny's shoulder. He shivered.

Greta turned up the radio. Hank Snow and Lefty Frizzell came meandering out the window. He could see Greta through the screen, dancing and swaying. She came out with some iced tea as Eddy Arnold played:

_'Come here to me, my little chickadee

'Cause I think it's time you knew

That you're the kinda gal, I've had in mind

And I wanna play house with you.'_

.

She was singing along. She put the tea down on top of the tractor, grabbed his hand, and guided his arm so she could twirl underneath. She was so damned cute. If it wasn't for the kids playing nearby, he would strip her down, pin her to the ground, and lick every inch of her.

_'You'll be the Mama and I'll be the Papa

'Cause I wanna play house with you.'_

When the song ended, she let go of his hand, turned back toward the house, and gave him a look over her shoulder.

"I'm getting a little jealous of that wrench," she said letting him see her eyes roving from the tool, up his arms, and to his eyes.

She sashayed her hips as she went inside.

Johnny, my boy, you are in for some real trouble, he thought as he gave a low whistle and turned back to the tractor.

Just as she probably intended, he found it hard to concentrate on the repairs, instead he found himself imagining the things he would to do to her as soon as he got his chance. He hadn't felt so alive since . . . he couldn't remember when. He felt like that teenaged boy again with his best girl, in the front seat of his truck. He chuckled when he looked up to find Greta staring at him through the window. She crossed her eyes and stuck her tongue out at him... Oh the places she could put that tongue.

This was the way it was supposed to have been. He began to fantasize about how he could make this all real... He could open up his own shop in town. He'd take Bob's kids as his own, and best of all, he'd have Greta for the rest of his life.

Greta's mother left about an hour before sundown. She said both 'hello' and then 'goodbye' before getting in her car and driving away. She wouldn't meet his gaze and seemed anxious. There was no doubt she didn't approve of him being here, nor did she like the attention Greta was giving him.

As he wiped his hand on a rag, he realized how late it was getting. Truth be told, he had fixed the tractor hours ago, but didn't want to leave, and had been simply tinkering about. But now the sun was going down, and without the light he wouldn't have much of an excuse to stay longer.

The sound and smell of a sizzling frying pan, cooking up pork chops, drifted through the kitchen screen window. His stomach rumbled. A moment later, Greta came out to collect the kids.

"Hey, Johnny."

His knees melted.

"Hey."

"Our shower ring is starting to fall down. You think you could take a look at it?"

Stay a little longer? "Sure."

"After that, I'll feed you up."

"Sounds good."

He prayed she would be dessert.

Johnny followed after her, but suddenly remembered this wasn't his house. It made him hesitate as he stepped on the porch. He stopped and watched Greta disappear through the wide-open doorway and into the dark interior. This was another man's house.

Cautiously, he entered and found himself standing in the living room. It smelled musty and was bathed in the shadow of the single light in the kitchen. When his eyes adjusted to the light, Johnny froze, suddenly aware of the silhouetted figure in the far corner.

Bob.

His large frame was squeezed into a wooden wheelchair; his head had been shaved and he had lost near fifty pounds. While his body seemed to be without any life, his eyes were quick. They darted from Johnny to Greta and back to Johnny again. His raspy breath quickened. His big head hung to the side, as if his neck was unable to bear its weight. A string of drool hung from the side of his mouth and dangled down to the quilt covering his lap. Bob's eyes stayed locked on him. A deep rumble came from within his chest and vibrated his dripping lips.

They both watched Greta walk through the living room and down the hall without a glance at either of them.

In the span of a few seconds, reality came crashing down on Johnny. He had been living in a fantasy world for the last few hours. Greta wasn't his. Never had been. She belonged to this crippled monster in the chair. This monster that had taken so much from the both of them.

Sonofabitch. I hope that tick sucks every bit of blood out of your evil body.

Johnny moved to follow her down the hallway, feeling Bob's gaze on his back.

When he arrived at the bathroom door, he looked in and found her standing next to the cast iron tub, her hands on her hips, staring up at the ceiling.

"See it?"

"Greta, I think we need to talk for a few minutes - "

"See it?" she asked again, this time pointing.

Something in her voice told him she wasn't interested in talking about it. She was still in her fantasy world, and wasn't ready to come out.

He glanced at the ceiling, and saw that the screw holes were stripped. He'd just move the shower rod over a little, make new holes, and screw it back in.

"I'll get the ladder." He remembered seeing one leaning against the house.

"I'll feed the young-uns," she said with a smile, and hurried out the door.

As he fixed the shower rod, he weighed his chances once again. Bob was still alive and could still make a recovery. What would they do if he did? Johnny could never go back to the way things were, now that he had rekindled his relationship with Greta. He entertained thoughts of going out and getting his wrench from his truck. He could still take care of things right now.

Greta bustled in and inspected his handiwork. She nodded her satisfaction, then recoiled as if a bee was buzzing near her face. She waved her hand in front of her nose.

"Little too manly there, Johnny. Why don't you wash up? Bob's brother left some of his clothes here. I think you would fit. Let me go get them."

He turned on the water. He was in Greta's house, stripping down! He stepped into the tub and felt the warm water wash over him. Would she surprise him, and join him? Thinking about her body was making him hard. He flashed back to the time years ago when he had seen her naked body. And here he was now, seven years later with a good chance of seeing it again.

His thoughts drifted back to Bob. That wrench was still sitting in his toolbox. It would be so simple ... like putting an animal out of its misery. But what would happen once he did it? Everyone would know. Was there a way of making it look like an accident? No, and he was no murderer. Killing Bob wasn't the answer.

He stepped out of the shower, and found the clothes perched on the edge of the sink.

"Young-uns are asleep," Greta announced as she walked back into the bathroom. She stepped out of her shoes, unbuttoned and unzipped her jeans, and started pulling the shirttail out of her pants. For a moment, Johnny could only stare, wondering if he was about to get a strip-tease. He felt the tip of his dick push against the pants he had just pulled on.

She gave an amused look as she unfastened her top buttons, exposing her bra and bare shoulder.

"You intend to just stand there and watch me take a shower, Johnny?"

"Oh, I have no intention of just standing and watching."

She guffawed and turned him toward the door. "Get out of here!"

She closed the door behind him but then poked her head back out just long enough to say, "Go on in the kitchen. I made you a plate. I'll be out in a little bit."

Damn tease.

Johnny sat down at the little kitchen table. Greta had made him a plate with pork chops, sweet potatoes, and some greens. He picked up the pitcher of iced tea and poured himself a glass, but his mind wasn't on food.

The woman of his dreams was in there naked under that shower-head, dripping wet, and here he was, sitting like a fool in her kitchen. Why didn't he just go in there and take her?

Maybe she was expecting him to.

Bob's raspy breath filtered in from the living room, interrupting his thoughts. From where he sat, Johnny could see the tips of Bob's feet and the wheelchair in the living room. What were they going to do? He could take Greta and the kids away. He had relatives up in Birmingham. Or maybe they could go down to Florida. He had a cousin who said there was some good money to be made in the orange groves.

He heard the shower turn off. Greta was humming a few lines of 'I Wanna Play House With You'. A minute later the door opened and he heard her walk down the hall. She stepped into the kitchen wrapped in a bath towel, and rubbing her damp hair with another. He eyed the opening where the towel parted to make a slit running up her bare leg. He gazed at her naked shoulders above the top of the towel.

"How's your supper?" she asked, tilting her head to give her hair a good rub.

He glanced at the plate; he had barely touched it. "Just fine."

She smiled. "Good." She knew he watched her go back down the hall; she peeked back over her shoulder and gave him a playful smile before disappearing into her room.