Damn, it was hot!
Hardly seemed like February at all. Seventy-four degrees and muggy with no breeze to speak of, and here I sat in my truck running errands. True. it wasn’t really all that hot, but yesterday it was in the low fifties. I tried to crank the driver’s window further down to no avail. It stubbornly remained at half mast, and I reminded myself to add it to the list of repairs needed. Despite my irritation at her idiosyncrasy, I patted the dashboard. It had taken a lot of work, but at least she had it where it counted. Her engine purred like a fat and sassy kitten, belying her crappy exterior.
A rebuilt engine weighed down the bed of the truck, earmarked for a Honda we had at the shop. Me and Franklin had been amazed at the damage Mrs. Forley had done to the poor car. Emergency services had towed it in, the block still smoking. Damned if we could find any cause on how the fire started except that the little old woman had gone a few rounds at the Indy 500. More amazing was her insistence that we repair the vehicle and give it a new paint job. It would cost less to replace the thing. Franklin said she was sentimental since it had belonged to her dear, departed husband, Henri.
As much as I loved my truck, she’d be on the scrap heap if that ever happened to her. I patted the dash again in mute apology for my unfaithfulness.
Sweat beaded in my hair, tickling my scalp. Glad I’d had the foresight to ditch my coveralls before heading to the city, I drained the last of my water bottle and tossed the empty onto the seat. My stomach grumbled, reminding me that breakfast had been hours ago, and I still had a bit of a drive to get back to my town. Since there was nothing more pressing than an oil change at the garage, I pulled into the parking lot of a Quickie Mart and turned off the engine.
I tossed the empty bottle in the trash by the door, and went inside the convenience store. There was no air conditioning to be had, but several fans had been brought out. That at least made the steamy interior tolerable.
I made a beeline for the refrigerated units and opened the door. The cold did wonders for me as I stood there. Chillness washed over my t-shirt and jeans, as I looked over the selection of pre-packaged cardboard food. Sure, I could have looked through the glass rather than opening the case, but what would be the fun in that? The clerk gave me the evil eye, so I grabbed a couple of beef and bean burritos and let the door close. A fan blew warm air over my icy sweat and I shivered.
Making my way to the food prep kiosk in the corner, we were both distracted by the sound of feminine frivolity as the Quickie Mart was invaded by a bunch of school girls. Five of them. I raised an eyebrow as I realized they were all in uniform, too. Wasn’t there a Catholic school that our football team always rivaled? St. Augustine’s or something?
As I teased the memory, I opened the burrito packaging and tossed them into the microwave. Once it was going, I went and poured myself a soda from the fountain. The girls had split up – two giggled together in the candy aisle, one flirted with the clerk who turned bright red at the attention, and another basked in the refrigerated air of the beverage cooler. I smirked to myself, knowing the clerk would never have given her a disapproving stare . . . providing he actually saw her. The Flirt talking to him had him stammering and grinning like a fool.
I remembered acting like that with Elle.
Snorting at the memory, I turned back toward the microwave with my soda and almost spilled the entire thing on the fifth girl.
“Whoa! Didn’t see you there,” I exclaimed, pulling back.
She giggled and side stepped. “Sorry.”
Our eyes met. Hers were cinnamon brown. She froze, hand still reaching for a slushie cup, staring at me. Maybe she was trying to figure out my gender, I don’t know. I just know that while she might have been a high school girl, she certainly seemed a lot older than her adolescent companions. She had dark hair, almost as dark as mine, brushed back from her oval face. It fell with casual beauty to her shoulders in a wavy length. I’d bet she never had to use hair sprays or mousse to get it to look like that. She was probably the envy of her friends.
I was no longer the shy and awkward kid I used to be. Misty Sue and several other older woman had done wonders for my self-confidence. Rather than duck and blush as I would have done a year ago, I grinned and gave her a wink.
Her olive complexion reddened, and she dropped her gaze.
Chuckling, I returned to the microwave and retrieved my lunch. She was slow to get back on track, but I soon heard the gurgle of the slushie machine. I used a handful of napkins to carry the hot food to the counter, my drink in my other hand. From the corner of my eye I watched her turn slightly to track me as I passed behind her.
The candy aisle girls made it to the clerk before I did. They helped the Flirt continue her outrageous toying with the young man as he rang up their purchases. It took several minutes, but I put the time to good use as I scoped the girl I had just left.
She definitely made the uniform work. The plaid skirt flowed over her trim ass without making it look chunky, and the hem was just high enough to entice without appearing indecent. Well, except when she rose on her toes like that to reach the uppermost lids, revealing an intriguing expanse of thigh. Too bad she had those white stockings on.
I had a flash of old fashioned stockings with garters and belts. A warmth that had nothing to do with the weather eased through me, and I decided I could live with her in stockings like that.
Everyone’s heard the story that Catholic girls are wild. Doesn’t mean they’re true, but the idea does have its merits. Besides, it’s my fantasy. Who cares if it’s politically correct? So, as the clerk finally finished his transaction, I mentally put the girl in gartered stockings. With no panties.
I blew out a breath at the sudden flare of lust in my belly. It was definitely time to get laid.
Bemused, I stepped forward and set my purchases down. The girls had only stepped to one side, not willing to leave the clerk alone as he rang up my stuff. A faint wisp of perfume hung there, and I enjoyed the aroma, wondering what kind my little schoolgirl was wearing. Probably something light and airy for a hot Valentine’s Day, with that underlying musky odor of a woman. Oh, yeah.
I felt the shadowy disapproval as the girls realized I was one of them. They stepped a little further away, as if the hint of masculinity in my manner was contagious. My jeans were baggy and well worn, my t-shirt gray instead of the crisp whiteness it had seen in better days. Smudges of axle grease, sweat stains and assorted blotches decorated the surface. Their voices dropped to whispers and I ignored their shocked giggles as I got my wallet from my back pocket.
Used to be I’d be ashamed of my appearance. Not that I could do anything about it; putting a pig in a ball gown would make a better impression than me in one. In school I was castigated for what I looked like, how I felt, what I was. It didn’t matter anymore. The valedictorian of my senior year was my girlfriend when she graduated. And I could tell the future. I already saw what would happen to these little chicks when they grew up, not realizing the grand dreams they held now would be mostly shattered by the real world outside the hallowed halls of St. Augustine’s. Hell, in three or four years they could only hope I’d pay them the slightest bit of attention. Just like the women I was bedding in my home town, they’d be beating down my door.
It was nice letting their prejudices roll off my back. The clerk was torn between showing distaste for me and interest in the girls, but I smiled at him as he gave me my change. The girl from the cooler stood behind me, holding a bottle of soda, and he quickly pushed my lunch to the side, eager for more female attention.
I picked up my purchases and turned toward the door, bringing me face to face with the gaggle. They blushed and tittered, they’re expressions knowledgeable. What the hell. I winked at them, too, as I pushed past. Peals of laughter followed me outside.
Climbing into my truck, I set the cup on the floor and got situated. Soon music from the radio filled the cab as I ate lunch, my drink melting between my thighs. I’ll admit, the only reason I stayed in the heat radiating off the tarmac instead of finding a shade tree was because I wanted another look at my little schoolgirl. Her friends’ behavior hadn’t distracted me from my craving.
While I waited, I went back over the daydream. Stockings and garters, no panties to impede access, nothing but warm wet skin beneath that little skirt. I’d offer her a ride home. She’d climb in and sit right next to me, the stick shift between her legs. She’d pull my hand off the gears, take my fingers in her mouth to moisten them, and draw me to her hidden depths.
I swallowed hard, food forgotten. Squirming in pleasurable discomfort, I took a long swig of my soda. My mind began to wander through the women on my list. wondering who would be home and available for a little afternoon delight at this hour , when the Quickie Mart doors opened and the girls came out.
There was only one other vehicle in the lot, so it wasn’t as if they didn’t know I was there. Since I was no longer in their immediate presence, however, I was beneath their notice. No skin off my nose. My little schoolgirl, though . . . she pointedly scanned the area until her eyes met mine.
I hadn’t noticed her breasts in the store, what with her facing the slushie machine at the time. I saw now why I had thought her older than the others. It wasn’t that she was more developed than the others, but that she wore her shirt like a woman rather than a child. The white button up fit snug against her slender belly, flaring to accommodate her breasts. That shirt had to have been fitted for her. She had undone the top three buttons, revealing a graceful neck and the beginning of some very entertaining cleavage.
A sudden racy image passed my eyes. She sat with her back against the passenger door, legs spread, one foot on the bench seat. Her plaid skirt was bunched up around her waist, revealing her vagina, her fingers glistening as they moved with languid purpose. Her shirt rumpled and hanging open. Those luscious breasts hung free, nipples swollen. She looked at me, cinnamon eyes hooded with seduction.
My hand flew to my crotch, upsetting my drink in a vain effort to ease the sudden throb from my clit. With a curse, I threw open the door and jumped out of the truck. I don’t need the bad opinion of others to make me feel crappy. I just need to do something absolutely foolish like spill a cold drink in my lap so I look like I peed my pants.
The seat was vinyl, so that was something. At least I wouldn’t have to sit in a puddle all the way home. I dug a grimy rag from behind the seat and began mopping up.
My not so little schoolgirl looked at me through the open window of the passenger door.
I blushed, my previous sophistication abruptly failing me. “Yeah. Just wet.”
A smile played at her lips and I saw a spark of interest.
A moment passed as I realized the innuendo I’d spoken aloud, and I grinned back at her. “Where are your friends?” I finally asked, glancing over shoulder to see an empty lot.
She shrugged with feigned nonchalance. “They’re going to the library.”
“And you’re not?”
“Nope. I’ve got better places to be.” She glanced pointedly at the seat of the truck.
Putting the rag away, my smile turned lazy. “Need a lift?”