Long, Hot Summer Ch. 01

As I stood there smoking down that cigarette, I heard the shed door open. I listened. I heard her step inside. Then it was quiet. I dropped the cigarette. It landed soundlessly in the grass and I pressed it with the toe of my sneaker. Nothing but silence from the shed. Then I heard her the soft slap of her sandals as she exited and closed the door behind her. I waited until I thought I heard her go back into her house, then took off down the alley for home.

The phone was ringing when I stepped through the door. It was Suzie Bowen, wanting to know if we could go to the drive-in that night, after I'd finished my four-hour shift at the fabric store. Seemed like good timing to me. I would still be plenty spun up from my encounter with Eleanor Kaminski, and if there was ever a good chance of getting a hand job from The Imbecile, it would be at the drive-in. I refrained from rubbing one out in the shower as I normally would have. I wanted to make sure that Suze got plenty of jizz all over her reluctant hand if I managed to get the tug.

Suzie Bowen and I had a desultory start to the summer, repeatedly doing the only things there were to do: going to the mall, going to movies or the drive-in, sometimes hanging out in her living room watching television at night, maybe going to the public pool to swim and lay out on the rare afternoon when I wasn't at one of my jobs. Sometimes we'd go on double dates with her friends and their dim-witted boyfriends. But we really had nothing in common, and all those activities were just ways of killing time, for me, until we could find the privacy for necking and petting.

I was steeling myself for the break-up conversation. It would be silly for us to remain a couple; we really didn't seem to have very strong feelings for one another. I fully expected our continued interaction, after I moved away, to be one of complaint: I wouldn't call enough, I wouldn't write her enough letters, I wouldn't come home enough weekends.

My biggest issue was when to lower the boom. Bagging groceries or pushing a broom down a store aisle doesn't take a lot of mental energy, so I had plenty of time to think about it. Part of me wanted to make a clean, unambiguous break. But I also foresaw the potential problem with that. There could be a lot of anger, tears, recriminations—even rejection by someone that deep down you really don't have strong feelings for is still rejection. That kind of display could potentially cause me to backslide.

I wondered if I could just somehow let it fade away. You know, head off to college, let the communications slowly dwindle. She could then see it coming from a distance. That had to be better than something abrupt and unexpected. Maybe she'd take up with someone else in my absence and save me the trouble.

Or maybe we'd just have an argument over something stupid, like we frequently did, and I could just say, "Enough." Who knew? Maybe that would even happen that night at the drive-in.

Usually the drive-in pattern involved making out for a fair amount of time, until I tried to escalate the petting by moving my hand between her legs. At which point she'd redirect that hand to her breasts—my consolation prize—which I would fondle overtop whatever she was wearing, then underneath the shirt but overtop the bra, until finally I unhooked the bra and contented myself by alternately sucking her tits and French kissing her.

But this night, as soon as the last light fell and the movie started, she reached across me to turn down the speaker hanging on the window, pulled off her polo shirt and turned to face me, topless, in the front seat of my parents' car.

"Do you want to suck them?" she said. She had one hand on the dash and the other on the seat back. Her bare breasts with those large, round, chocolate nipples looked perfect, and on perfect display. She'd never done anything so overtly sexual in these last eleven months of dating. That was a bit of a red flag to me. Still, I didn't give a shit.

I took them both in my hands and fondled them lovingly—because I did love her breasts, even if I didn't love her. They were not like Eleanor Kaminski's, but they were a more than worthy substitute. She made little satisfied murmurs as I took her nipple between my lips and sucked, squeezed that soft young flesh and licked and sucked. Her hand closed tightly over the hard lump in my jeans, surprising me, since taking the initiative was not typical for her. She tried to one-hand the top button and I sucked in my stomach until she managed to slip it through the eyelet and then tug at the zipper.

Things had never gone this quickly and easily with her. But trepidation was no match for lust at that point. I had one of Suzie Bowen's hard nipples between my lips, Eleanor Kaminski's big jugs in my mind's eye, and my erection in a hand other my own.

Suzie Bowen pumped my cock. I hooked a thumb in the waistband of my Jockeys and stretched it down, giving her hand and my dick more space. I sucked her tit while she jacked me off. When I came up for air, she pressed her mouth to mine, muscling her tongue against mine, both of us breathing heavily. I didn't know if she was as turned on as I was, but she was a least acting like it—perhaps another first. As that first pulse of pleasure thrummed my nervous system, I slumped back in my seat, pulled up my t-shirt, and started to shoot. A long stream of cum stretched up my stomach, then another. Suzie Bowen bent my dick back slightly, and the remaining pumps of sperm spilled over her busy hand, lubricating my cockhead and shaft.

The windows were steamed nearly opaque and the hot interior smelled thickly of semen. I was still slightly hard, but she just held it now.

"There're napkins in the glove box," I said, still panting, but she didn't move for them right away as she usually did. Instead, she was looking at her hand, turning it over, her fingers sticky and spidered with my jizz. She brought her hand to her mouth and gingerly licked the back of one knuckle. She turned her hand over and licked some more from her palm, and between her thumb and forefinger.

"It's not like anything," she said.

I had no idea what to say. I fished a handkerchief out of the back pocket of my jeans and offered it to her. After she cleaned her hand, she wiped up the cum from my stomach and then handed me the crumpled hanky.

I cleaned my cock and tucked it back in my shorts but left my jeans undone. I pulled off my t-shirt, which was more than a little damp with sweat, thinking that if we were both bare-chested, she might be inclined to stay that way a little longer.

Wearing only her tan short shorts, Suzie Bowen leaned back against the bench seat, still facing me, and proceeded to tell me about a box that she had recently found in her parents' closet. She called it the Sex Box. It was full of books, paperbacks mostly, about sex: some non-fiction things like The Happy Hooker and Everything You Ever Wanted to Know About Sex (But Were Afraid to Ask), but also a lot of "porno novels," as she called them, and booklets of Penthouse Letters.

She said when she first found it she was freaked out. She flipped through a couple things but found it "gross" and stowed it away. But she couldn't stop thinking about it, and found herself dipping in again, and again.

She first thought the stories and letters were disgusting and unbelievable, so she read the "non-fiction" things instead, memoirs and how-tos and explicit confessionals, ostensibly by female writers. She was surprised, she said, at how women think as much about sex as men. After she read through the "true-life" stuff, she went back to reading the fictional porn.

"It kind of got me all... you know..."

I was going to finish her sentence for her with "horny," but paused for a minute, looking for something less... I don't know, something less direct.

"Kind of... worked up?" I said.

"Kind of."

This was definitely a turning point in my perception of Suzie Bowen. Though I'm not sure what surprised me more: that she was thinking about sex in terms other than how to avoid it, or that she was reading something voluntarily. I'd never known her to read something she didn't have to.

At that age, I didn't have anything particularly meaningful to say about the situation, like, "Everyone thinks about sex, it's a powerful urge," or "Human sexuality is a natural, complicated thing." So I didn't say anything.

"These chicks in these books and stories, they have lots of orgasms," she was facing the windshield now. The glass was still mostly steamed. But her averted gaze gave me the chance to stare at her tits, which I was thinking about getting back to very soon. Then my attention drifted down the smooth, tan plain of her belly, and I thought how easy it would be to pop open that snap on her short shorts. Not necessarily to make my way in there, but just to see that snap undone. There was something heartbreakingly sexy about seeing a woman with just that top button of her shorts or jeans open.

"This one chick writes about how much she likes to give her boyfriend... or, I guess, likes to give men in general, blowjobs," she said.

"R-r-really?"

"How she sometimes has an orgasm just from having a guy's thing in her mouth. How it turns her on so much when he comes, and how much she likes to swallow it. His sperm. She says all women should learn to like cum, they should all swallow more cum, because it's a turn-on and it's good for you."

This was news to me. Very. Pleasant. News. So there was a God. Even better, there were women (or at least one woman), who got off on sucking a guy's cock until he came in her mouth.

"Is that why you, you know, tasted it?" I said. My cock was already hard again, and plain to see because my jeans were still open.

She turned back to me and leaned in a bit.

"She said that a guy should always tell you when he's about to come, that you should ask him to tell you, even though, she said, once you do it a few times you can tell when he's about to. But even if you plan on swallowing, you should ask him to let you know it's coming. And if he says he will but he doesn't, that you should never blow him again. Because some guys are afraid that if they tell a girl he's about to come, she'll chicken out at the last minute and not take it in her mouth. Because they want you to swallow their loads. She also said that if you get a guy off with your mouth, he should be willing to do you with his mouth."

"That seems fair," I said.

"She also said that when you decide to try swallowing for the first time, you should give a guy a hand job first, especially young guys. Because they come so much and so hard and it's so thick that it might be really hard to swallow a full load if you're not used to the amount. And you have to start swallowing as soon as they start coming because they'll shoot like six or seven times, they'll keep shooting. Like you just did. So if you jack them off first then their next load isn't quite not so much."

So was she going to suck me off tonight, too? I almost asked but caught myself. Instead, I had something like a minor epiphany.

I was already down the carnal rabbit hole and had been from the very first sticky throes of puberty. If Suzie Bowen was standing at the edge looking down into it, I wasn't going to push her. If she wanted to jump, or let herself fall into it, I'd be happy to go along with her through bawdy Wonderland. She had (miraculously, I thought) found her own way, and it had infinitely more erotic possibilities than if I had dragged her there. No amount of coaching or persuading on my part could have ever accomplished this. She'd walked around for months with a sexual board up her ass, and suddenly she's sitting half naked in my car talking about sucking cock and swallowing loads.

"Take down your shorts," I said.

"What?"

"Your shorts. Take them off. And your panties."

"Why?"

"Why do you think?"

"We're not going to have sex here," she said.

"Not intercourse," I said. "I know. I want to lick it."

"No you don't."

I put my hand on her bare, tanned thigh.

"Yeah, I do."

"Ahhh... I don't know," she said, but I could tell she was thinking about it.

"Don't you want me to?"

I rubbed her thigh, gently moving higher. She closed her eyes for a moment.

"I'm afraid that you're going to get me all... worked up. And then try to stick it in me."

"I won't."

"You say that."

"I promise," I said. "That's not what this is about."

"What if you can't control yourself?"

"I don't want to do anything that you don't want to do."

"That's not true," she said.

"Sure it is. Look," I said, "when you just jacked me off, that was the hottest thing that ever happened to me."

"I've done it before," she said, as if I'd have forgotten such a thing.

"Yeah, but those other times, you really didn't want to. Or if you did, it didn't seem like it. This time was different because... well, you were into it. You wanted to do it. You were turned on from reading all those books and stories. It's so much more exciting if you're doing something because you want to do it." The back of my hand was now moving lightly over the taut fabric between her slightly spread legs.

"Those stories..." she said. "I keep thinking about how it would feel. Getting... licked down there."

"You can tell me how they do it in those stories," I said softly. "I've never done it before, so you can tell me how to do it the right way."

"You don't just want to do this so you can say, 'Okay, I did you with my mouth so now you have to do me with yours'?"

"I don't want you to do anything you don't want to do. It won't be any fun for me if you're doing something because you think you have to, or that you've been forced to. I'll just feel bad about it. I won't be able to enjoy it."

I didn't really, fully know, then, the extent of this truth.

Suzie Bowen looked at me as she popped the snap on her shorts, lowered the zipper, and then wriggled out of her last bit of clothing.

"I feel a little funny being completely naked here."

"The doors are locked," I said. "Let's switch places. I'm going to have to kneel on the floor, and this steering wheel is in my way."

I moved to the middle of the bench seat and, with her back to me, Suzie Bowen climbed over me. Her bare ass brushed over my hardon.

"I felt that," she said.

"Yeah, me too," I said.

"It's so hard. How can you stand it being so hard all the time?"

"I can't," I said, getting down on my knees, trying to find a good position. "That's why I'm always trying to get you to jack me off."

"I'm going to do it again," she said softly as she settled her back against the driver's side door and spread her legs as best she could.

Her pussy was swimsuit-grade trimmed and her pubic hair felt surprisingly soft. Her smell was more like faint sweat more than anything else, and when I finally brought my tongue to the petal folds of her damp pussy lips, she had a mild, almost nutty flavor. Go slow, I thought, get used to this. Figure it out.

"How does it taste?"

"It's good," I murmured.

"No, I mean really, what does it taste like?"

"I don't know," I said, carefully licking her slit from top to bottom, repeating that. "I've never tasted anything like it."

"Ahhh," she sighed. "You don't have to be so gentle. You can go harder with your tongue."

"Okay," I said, pressing the flat of my tongue hard as I drew it up her damp lips. When I reached the top, her entire body seemed to shudder.

"Yeah," she whispered. "Yeah...that does feel... good."

"Like that?" I said between licks. "Is that good?"

"Yeah, keep doing that," she said. "Maybe a finger."

"Inside you?"

"Yeah, just... go slow."

I brought the tip of my middle finger to her opening and ran it lightly up and down while I continued to muscle my tongue against what I'd hoped was her clit. When it, my finger, was wet with her juices, I slowly slid it in. She stiffened slightly and I felt her clench around me. Then, after a couple beats, relaxed and let out a deep sigh. I began moving my finger in and out.

"Oh God," she said.

"Mmmm..." I hummed against her cunt, pressing hard with my tongue and fucking her with my finger. "Is this what they do in the books?"

"Yeah," she breathed. "They say things too."

"Do it," I said. "Say things."

But she was quiet. I can't say that I knew what I was doing, or how long I should do it, but I wasn't going to stop. Everything was extremely wet down there now, my mouth, chin, and hand bathed in juices, and her flavor had changed to something slightly metallic. My finger was moving in and out of her with so little friction that, upon withdrawing, I placed my middle finger overtop my index finger and slid both inside her, filling her more.

"Oh, shit!" she hissed.

I started fingering her more rapidly and she was moving now, thrusting her hips up and holding them that way for several seconds before relaxing, then again, and again.

"Eat my pussy," she whispered. "Eat that hot pussy."

I couldn't believe what I just heard her say. Despite being mashed between my stomach and the front seat, my cock was intensely hard. I disentangled my free arm from the crock of her thigh, reached up to find one of her breasts, clutched it, and squeezed.

"Eat my pussy," she repeated. "Eat my pussy. Eat my wet pussy. Eat it. Eat my pussy... Uhhhhh!"

She thrust her ass up off the seat, her pubis pressing hard against my upper teeth and gums. I just tried to hold on, staying in place as she shuddered through the orgasm, until she put her hand on my head and pushed me back.

I climbed up on the seat and leaned against the passenger side door. She had one hand covering her snatch and the other over her eyes, panting. Then she twisted and sat up in the seat proper, completely naked behind the wheel, and started sobbing.

I just sat there and watched her. My cock was still a stiff pole inside my shorts and I tried to bend it to the side a bit so I could zip up my jeans, thinking that maybe this wasn't a display she cared to see under the circumstances. I had no idea why she was crying.

"That bad, huh?" I said. "I'm sorry. I'll try to do better next time."

At that, she stopped crying and started laughing uncontrollably, crossed her arms over her breasts and put her forehead against the steering wheel. Her laughing like that, at least in my presence, was a rarity.

I gave Suzie Bowen her clothes and told her to get dressed. We walked through the drive-in lot to the snack bar. More than a few fully closed cars had fogged windows with the occasional ghostly shapes moving about in some kind of activity behind them. Actors faces five stories tall loomed over us, mouthing words that were only just audible, their voices coming from multiple faraway places: an endless dark field of disembodied voices. In the dark of the lot, she found my hand and held it—again, another rarity; we never displayed any physical contact in public—but dropped it when we got to the refreshment stand.

"So... that was really okay?" I said to her as we stood on line.

"Yeah, that was good," she said matter-of-factly, tossed her hair and looked at the menu board.

"Because it seems like the kind of thing you'd have to spend some time on, you know, to get really good at it."

"Maybe," she said.

"I mean, with a specific partner."

"Right," she said.

"I'm not talking about going around—"

"Can you zip it," she said through her teeth, levelling a look at me.

I smiled and nodded. That was more like it. That was the Suzie Bowen that I knew.