My El Paso Girl

There was no Mariachi Band, but we didn't complain. Instead of smiling politely, fishing for change, and turning our heads to avoid trumpet-induced ear damage, we could talk. I could listen. For once I didn't wolf-down all of my dinner.

"Do you trust me?" I interrupted her thoughts and the conversation.

She looked at me, before answering, with just a slight hesitation. It was probably something in my voice.

"Sure. Of course I trust you. You're a nice guy."

I cringed inside. I was not a nice guy.

"Let's go. I have an idea. I'm not sure if it's ever been tried, but I think I just figured out something wonderful and possibly a little crazy. Definitely nerdy. "

**********************

The whole time in my car I kept my eyes peeled in my review view mirror, thinking that she would suddenly stop following me and make a quick turn down some side street. But I watched as her headlights keep planted right behind me and into the parking lot of the Barnes and Noble.

"Ever wonder who goes book shopping on a Saturday night?" She was opening the door to her car, and her face was full of curiosity and little relief. She answered with a smile, "No not really. I've done it plenty of times myself."

She thought she knew what I was up to. "I'm not sure if I really want to run into a bookstore tonight, though. It was enough to wear this little number in a dark restaurant." She flailed her arms a bit as if saying: would you really look at this outfit?

I did look at her. The pink top didn't hide anything. Her tummy roll was in evidence, and then above, the curve of her breasts, which were yes - huge. In the yellow glow from the parking lot lights, she was a bombshell model, just with the addition of several sizes. The shadows fell softly. I wondered if I was actually seeing the faint relief of her nipples as they pressed through her bra and against her shirt. Her arms were a bit pudgy and soft; she wore her hair Texas-style big. I smiled. The glasses on her face said more than all the rest of it. She was wearing it like a costume. Everyone in the bookstore would stop and stare.

"I think you've already proved your courage. Wearing that is way beyond anything I could do... although walking around with this belt buckle is definitely more work than I thought." She laughed a little. "Just wait in your car a few minutes... I'll be right back! You're beautiful, by the way."

I started walking into the bookstore, and then turned to yell back. "Still trust me?"

"Yes!" she yelled back, with no hesitation.

**********************

We drove in a two car convoy back to her place. She apologized for not cleaning. She threw leftover clothes off her couch and into the corner. She thought we were just going to sit down and read to each other; she clicked on the lights. Apparently, that was an acceptable Saturday night activity. I pulled the book from the Barnes and Noble bag and started thumbing through.

"A Norton Anthology?" She was surprised. "I'd recognize those delicate little pages anywhere. They're like the skin from an onion."

"Wow, you've got a quick eye," I said, genuinely impressed.

"Any Lit student would have spent years with those. It's pretty common and recognizable."

I sat down on the couch and she next to me. Not close, not far. She sat in good reading pose, upright, not slouched. Literature demanded respect and attention. I grabbed another long eyeful of her breasts from another viewpoint. The charge went through me and I couldn't help but stretch and strain against an invisible force. Her top was way too tight. It fit right against her bra. I could see the straps, the cups, the seams.

"Sylvia Plath, Above the Oxbow..." She read the title on the page. "We're starting from the start then?"

"Yes, but that's not all..." My voice sounded awkward. I was racing ahead.

She smiled; I saw some kind of answer in her face.

I leaned over to her and whispered in her ear. I tried to say the words delicately and with affection, just like I felt inside. We weren't in my car, and this was far better. I finally knew just what I wanted to ask. I dropped my dynamite: "Read to me."

I said this and began to lay my head down on her lap, my face just inches from her tummy and her breasts. She made a move to stop me and then settled. Maybe it was the memory of my hand on her legs. Now my head was on her legs. She had let me do other things, why not this?

She starred at me, as if demanding an explanation I wouldn't give. I closed my eyes and waited. I thought about where I was and what I was doing. Suddenly it was okay. The connection took hold. She found the book and rested it heavily on my shoulder.

"Whatever happens, just keep on reading. Read to me like your teacher used to read to you."

"I'll try," she said. She brought the text on the page into eyesight and made a scholarly clearing of her throat. And then she began: "Here in this valley of discrete

academies..."

I smiled with the first words. I didn't waste a moment. My hands found her breasts and gave the same perverted, needful squeeze I had given her leg.

She quivered. Some instinct made her withdraw the smallest bit. Her voice stopped and the words stopped coming alive from the page.

"This is weird," she said.

My heart began to sink.

I had asked too much of her. I had followed a thread that had started in the junky outskirts of a border town and asked that it come alive a thousand miles away. It was too much. This was me, but not her.

There was a pause. A re-evaluation. She made a choice; she started reading again. I listened. I stayed still. She held the book with one hand and rested it on my shoulder. With the other hand she pulled my head, my lips, my mouth closer to her breasts. The words started springing from the page.

**********************

At first I doubted what she did. It felt sudden, like a crazy departure. We were learning each other. I waited a few moments, and then kissed through the fabric. She let me. I found her nipples and made little wet spots on her pink blouse. She let me do that. I was gentle, I was thrilled and yet I tried to be restrained. The feeling of her on my mouth went through my body like an electric charge. My cock stiffened and enlarged without the slightest touch and pushed against my jeans. I felt like I would cum with just a look from her.

I kissed her tits. I moaned in lust. I couldn't help myself. I tried to restrain my lecherous side, but it came pouring out. My breathing turned to a shallow panting. I lusted for her tits; she had to know everything now. I quivered in ecstasy and she let me go there. She cradled my head and held my lips on her breasts. The fabric tasted bad. I didn't care. My hips rose by instinct, pushing into the air, just to be that little bit closer to her.

I was nearly delirious. Through the fog I noticed her still reading. Her voice quivered now. The poem came and went in my mind. I heard some words. I listened more to the tone of her voice -wanting to make her lose her place, slow down, but never wanting her to stop reading. It was a dividing line: My obsession and her obsession. Sometimes she pushed my face further into her breasts. I tried to judge if she did it because she thought I wanted it or because she wanted it. It didn't matter. I moved my hands to push them to my mouth, to feel them completely.

She turned the page.

I reached behind her. She leaned forward and I found her bra straps. A nervous fumble or two and it was undone. I pulled her shirt up greedily; I lifted her bra away from her breasts. I was in ecstasy now. I didn't care about anything except my need. They fell into view with a heavy sway. They were sexy in a way I couldn't dream of. She pushed her glasses further up on her nose.

"The Applicant," she said

My mouth made a line straight for her nipples. I sucked and teased and pulled and devoured her breasts. The taste from the fabric was replaced by the taste of her skin and a sweet touch I couldn't get enough of. She began reading the next poem. At times she sighed between words. It made me want her even more. I lifted her tits into my mouth; I pulled them away to just gaze for a moment and became overwhelmed with lust. I suckled, I nursed. I licked across her nipple and then felt those sexy curves where they melded into her chest. At some point my crazy lust for her tits would change, I knew, into a full love of all of her. It might be hours, days or weeks; it was just a matter of time.

"It's a really long book," she said, pausing between poems. She looked down at me. She smiled. The silly pink top was bunched above her breasts, displaying them all the more. I couldn't believe my crazy idea was a reality. I couldn't believe my little whispered need found my perfect girl.

"I know - it will take weeks for us to get through all these poems." My mouth went straight back to her tits, and her voice went straight back to little Sylvia.