Fall of '69 Ch. 02

At least now we were presentable, if not as beautiful.

With our clothes on, my anxiety level dropped, along with my excitement level. But a man's gotta do what a man's gotta do, at least until he's out of the public eye.

When we pulled into the gas station, I worried that Becky would suddenly spring to life and create a scene. The pump jockey leaned down, gave me a brown smile, and asked how he could help. A greasy name patch on his blue overalls said Chip. Chip is not a name for a 40 year-old man. Normally, I would offer that piece of advice, but Chip appeared too curious about Becky, and her lack of movement. As he washed the windshield, his eyes kept glancing in her direction, so I made him check the oil, to prove I wasn't concerned.

"She all right?" he asked.

I handed over eight dollars and forty cents. "Yeah, she's just tired. We had exams all week, and she pulled some all-nighters, cramming."

In a serious voice, Chip commanded, "Drive careful."

"You bet. Thanks, Man."

I breathed a sigh of relief, and sped off into the night. With nothing but good vibes about what lay ahead, I popped in the Beach Boys' tape and sang surfer tunes, off-key. This trip home was a great idea. I needed a break from the daily ho-hum. I wondered if my parents would freak out if they found me at home with a girl. Maybe we'd stay the week. Becky might not be ready to face classes on Monday. It would be my pleasure to show her around the Steel City. It wasn't a bad place, if you didn't mind smoke.

Just 30 minutes from home, Becky sucked air, sat up, and looked around, dazed.

"Hi, Beckster. You okay?"

She crosser her arms over her chest, and said, "I'm cold. Stop the truck. I want the sweatshirt."

I'd neglected to put it back on her. Apparently, she remembered where it was. Traffic was light. I pulled over and retrieved the fleecy garment. Becky thanked me, and that was the end of our conversation for 10 miles.

She stared at the city glow ahead, and asked, "Where are we?"

"Almost to Pittsburgh. Kansas was just too far, Beckster."

Becky didn't say anything or ask questions. For the rest of the trip she rested her head against the door. Sometimes her eyes were open and sometimes they were closed. The conversation remained one sided -- just me, acting like a tour guide, commenting on points of little interest along the way.

Finally pulling into the driveway, I felt exhausted and relieved the trip ended safely. Our house sat at the end of an oak-lined, dead end street. I left my truck outside, so the neighbors wouldn't get suspicious if the house lights were on while my parents were away. We entered through the empty garage and into the kitchen. The place smelled of cinnamon. Mom must've baked an apple pie for the visit with Aunt Mary.

"Where's the bathroom?"

"Follow me." We went upstairs and I showed her the main bath, and then I pointed. "I'll be in my room, making the bed." That was my first chance to see her eyes up close in good light. Her irises looked normal. My guess was the acid hit had been relatively mild and she was nearly, if not completely, back to normal.

"Thanks," she said, and quickly closed the bathroom door behind her.

I finished tucking in the sheets and was putting a fresh pillowcase on, when Becky appeared at the bedroom door.

"How are you feeling?"

She didn't look at me, but said, "Like an idiot."

"It wasn't your fault. Cindy shouldn't have --"

"It was my fault. She offered it and I took it."

"Oh." I was speechless. I'd believed Cindy had secretly slipped her the drug. "Why?"

Becky shrugged, and simply said, "I wanted to escape from all the pain."

My chest tightened. "After you found out about Jeremy, you came to see me, didn't you?"

Her eyes welled with tears, and she whispered, "Yes."

"But you saw Patty and me together?"

Words escaped her, but she nodded slightly.

"Becky, I had no idea she was going to kiss me. She only did it because she saw you coming, and knew that I liked you. She did it to be spiteful. You were right; Patty did have feelings for me. Today, she found out I didn't have any for her."

We stood silent, digesting the information.

"Where's your Mom and Dad?"

"New York, visiting my Aunt. They won't be back until Monday afternoon."

"How convenient."

Well, that hurt. "I'll take you back, right now, if that's what you want. I just thought you'd like to get away from everything for a while."

Becky looked at me. With tears streaming down her cheeks, she said, "I'm sorry."

I rushed over and hugged her. "Don't be. There's nothing to be sorry about. I'm sorry about your brother. I'm sorry you've been hurt so much. I just want you to know, I'm here to help in any way I can."

Becky wrapped her arms around me and sobbed uncontrollably against my neck. I held her tight, and soon fought back tears of commiseration. Words escaped me. How do you comfort someone who's lost everyone?

Eventually, her tears ran dry and she broke away, seeming embarrassed by the outburst.

"Are you hungry, Beckster? I smelled apple pie. Mom never makes just one. We could gorge ourselves; eat it right out of the pan."

She laughed. Wiping her cheeks on her sleeve, she said, "We should save some for your parents, but I'd love a piece. Would there be vanilla ice cream to go with it?"

"Of course, is there any other way? You want your pie heated?"

"Of course, is there any other way?"

"Not in this house."

We walked down the stairs and into the kitchen.

I went after the pie. "Turn on the oven, Becksteroni."

"I don't like that one."

My mother had heavy ceramic bowls for such occasions. I cut two large slices of deep-dish apple pie and deposited them into the bowls. "Mom's a great cook."

Becky hovered close and watched over my shoulder with her hand on my back. "Looks delicious."

"Grab the ice cream. Might as well let it soften while we wait."

After retrieving the ice cream from the freezer, she leaned against the counter beside me. An awkward silence heated the air faster than the oven.

To kill time, I asked, "Did your Grandma make good apple pies."

Becky's nose wrinkled. "Not really. We were more of a cake family. She made great apple pancakes, though -- won blue ribbons at the county fair."

"Yeah? That sounds good. Do you cook, Becksterini?"

"Don't like that one, either. Grandma taught me everything she knew. So I guess I won't poison anyone."

I laughed. "I can't make that same promise." I grabbed the pie bowls and headed for the oven. "That should be hot enough. Open her up and I'll stick them in."

Once they were in the oven, I wound the timer. "Four minutes is usually enough."

More time to kill. "How are you feeling?"

"Honestly? I feel a lot of different things, mostly embarrassed."

"About?"

"About what I did."

"What did you do?" I hoped she didn't remember everything.

After a long pause, she said, "I threw my sneakers out of the truck window."

If she remembered that, then she probably remembered the rest. I guessed she didn't want to bring up everything. "Yes, you did."

Her hands flew to cover her face. "Oh God, I've become a drug slut, like Cindy."

"No! You are not." I took her in my arms.

Becky remained rigid with self-contempt. Her hands remained over her face.

"It was the drug's fault. You'd never act that way."

She didn't seem comforted by my drug-fault theory. I really believed that the drug removed all inhibitions and allowed her to do exactly what she'd wanted to do. I wondered how she would react to the memory.

I held her until the timer went off. "Pie time, Becksterooski."

"Don't like that one."

I donned plaid oven mitts and placed the warm bowls on wooden trays. Becky regained her composure and scooped a generous portion of vanilla ice cream on top.

Picking up my tray, I said, "Let's eat in the game room."

"Game room? Sounds sophisticated."

"Just a fancy name for the basement. Dad had it finished off for a place where rowdy brothers could entertain their friends, without disturbing the parents or damaging the antiques."

At the bottom of the stairs, Becky glanced around, and said, "Wow, this is nice. You guys had it made."

I turned on the TV, fiddled with the antenna, and then sat on the lumpy, Naugahyde sofa beside Becky. With our feet on the coffee table crate, we enjoyed our pie a la mode, while watching late-night 'I Love Lucy'. It was the episode where she stuffs her mouth full of bonbons in the chocolate factory. Gluttony all around.

"Mmm, Doc, this pie is delicious."

"Good thing Mom only makes them once in a while, otherwise I'd be huge and you wouldn't think I was so beautiful."

My reference to her nude truck comment made her blush, further evidence she remembered everything. Her eyes remained focused on the grainy picture tube, but she smiled between forkfuls of delight.

In companionable silence we finished our pie. Becky declined a second helping. The TV channel signed off at midnight with the Star Spangled Banner, leaving us with a grayscale test pattern and what-next tension.

Becky laid her head on my shoulder.

I said, "It's been a long day."

I felt her nod in agreement.

"You should go to bed and get some rest."

Out of no where, Becky said, "My panties were on backwards."

What could I say, but, "Sorry."

She kissed my cheek. "Thanks for the helping hand."

I laughed. "Anytime."

"I'm going to bed." Becky got up.

I followed her upstairs, gave her a toothbrush, and left her alone. I went into my room, grabbed some clothes, and then went to my brother Rob's old room and made the bed. When I came out, my bedroom door was closed.

I knocked, and said, "Becky, I'm taking a shower. Do you need anything?"

The door opened. Becky appeared, wearing only my sweatshirt. "No, I'm good." Her emerald eyes were heavy lidded, her lips moist, and her skin flushed. "Call me Beckster. I like that."

The thought of her, sleeping in my room, in my bed, and wearing my clothes, revived all of my adolescent fantasies. "Okay, Beckster. Sweet dreams."

"Night, night." The door closed slowly, as our eyes remained locked.

That little exhibition did little to promote sleep. Maybe a super hot shower would help. I stood in the steaming spray, thinking about Becky eating ice cream, Becky kissing me, Becky on the mountain, and Becky in the truck. I never thought of Becky in the shower, until the shower curtain opened. The rattle nearly made me jump out of my skin. Then I saw her, and wanted to jump on her skin.

She boldly stepped in.

"I'm sorry, this shower is taken."

Becky grabbed the washcloth and lathered it up. "Turn around."

I rolled my eyes, and did what I was told. "Plutonic friends can wash each others back, I suppose."

"I suppose." She did a thorough job, too, stopping at my waist. When she finished, she said, "Rinse."

I turned around, sporting a towel rack of my own. She hung the washcloth on it and we switched places.

As I soaped up my hands, Becky pulled her hair over her shoulder to clear the way.

I said, "Okay Bubble Buddy, a quick wash and then you're out of here."

It wasn't that quick. I have the willpower of a flea at a dog show. My hands did a thorough job on her back, and then they drifted south. Becky put her hands on the wall for support and moaned softly.

"What was that? Did you say 'I missed a spot'?"

Huskily, she answered, "Yeah, you missed lots of them."

The spray splashed down her back. Extra soapy hands were required to really clean everywhere, which naturally took longer. Becky didn't seem to be in a hurry, or able to wash herself. Obviously, she was still under the influence of pie a la acid.

Of course, this was all about being a good friend. Good friends do good things for each other. Because she seemed incapable of taking care of herself, I pulled her upright to lean against me, and then took great care washing her front side. In my big head, we were just buddies. Unfortunately, my penis had a head of its own. Becky noticed, and leisurely swayed against the uncouth renegade, sandwiched between us. "Okay, Beckster. All done."

She turned, put her arms around my neck, and pulled me down for a crushing, full bodied kiss, then wordlessly, stepped out.

I said, "You're welcome."

Before exiting the bathroom, I allowed enough time for my body to return to normal. Her bedroom door was open and the light was on. So I stopped to check on my guest. Becky stood at the dresser, wearing my Roberto Clemente, number 21 jersey, examining one of my childhood plastic car models -- a 1962 Chevy Corvette convertible.

Without looking at me, she said, "I thought you were a Ford man."

"That car is a work of art. You can't deny beauty, wherever you find it."

"I guess not."

I was seeing beauty now, on two legs. "The shirt you're wearing, Dad bought that for me at a night game, when I was 16. There were fireworks afterwards. Seeing the shirt brings back great memories. It's too small for me, but it fits you perfectly. Now, I'll have great new memories."

She gently put down the model, and walked over to the Barbara Eden poster on the wall opposite my bed -- another adolescent acquisition I should've put away. "She's beautiful. Wouldn't it be nice to have a genie to make all your wishes come true? I bet you thought of that a lot -- on your bed, looking at this poster."

"I won't deny it." In fact, at that moment, I found myself wishing.

Becky walked past me, and stood in front of my Joe Namath poster. "He's kind of cute, in a rugged way." Then she looked at me with the full power of her charming grin. "But he's not beautiful, like you."

My knees felt weak. I put my shoulder against the door frame. "You're not making this easy for me."

"No, I'm not," she said, moving to stand in front of me and untying the knot of my robe. "I'm trying to make it hard for you."

The robe parted four inches. Becky ran one finger down the center of my chest, across my stomach, and stopped at the junction where my stomach met my it, and it was only semi-hard. Her finger traced along the sagging top and then slipped underneath to support it. About 10 seconds later, her wish came true.

"Wow, that's amazing." Becky backed away to ogle.

"Beckster..." The way her eyes slid over me tied my tongue. Since I have the will power of a mosquito in a nudist colony, I removed the robe and threw over the desk chair.

Becky continued to stare, and a blush grew on her face and neck. Her nipples pushed out against the numbers 2 and 1. I'd never witnessed overpowering desire on a woman before. With intense yearning on her face, Becky radiated warmth like the sun heats the skin. Her eyes met mine, and their green fire consumed me. "Doc?"

My cock began to throb with my heartbeat. But, in the back of my mind, my self-righteous subconscious remembered my promise. I had told her, if she couldn't trust herself around me, she could trust me. We would just be pals.

I stepped forward, and Becky's eyes opened wide with anxious expectation. Brushing past her, I pulled Barbara off the wall, and crumpled my boyhood fancy into a ball. I walked out of the room, saying, "My fantasy days are over. Sweet dreams, Beckster."

After a few steps toward my brother's room, she followed me into the hall. "I don't want to be alone."

That's all it took. She broke my heart and my will, all at the same time. Without turning, I said, "Give me a minute," and entered Rob's bedroom.

It probably took five minutes before I was able to put on a pair of boxers and go back. The nightstand light was on. Becky was in bed, hidden under a sheet pulled up to her neck. The baseball jersey lay over the chair, on top of the robe. My old, double bed looked tiny. It seemed huge when I was a kid. I was about to tell her I'd sleep on the floor, when Becky grinned and threw back the covers, revealing her bare side from hip to shoulder.

Having the willpower of a Great White in a school of tuna, I didn't argue. Instead, I smiled warmly, backed onto the bed, teetered on my side near the edge, and pulled the sheet over me. "Beckster--"

"Shh."

A quick hand yanked me onto my back, while the sheet flew off. Becky put her full weight on my chest and her full lips on my mouth, moving with a contagious hunger.

I gave as good as I got, and it was very good, indeed.

I tried to roll on top, but she threw her leg over me, and pinned my shoulders to the mattress. "Stop! It's my turn."

"When did we decide to take turns?"

She waved a finger in my face, "I mean it."

Who was I to argue with a beautiful, naked woman? "Your wish is my command."

That made her smile. "Good," she said, and resumed kissing me into submission.

Having her way with a man was new to Becky, and being a woman's first experience was a new thrill for me. I think our assured privacy gave her the confidence to be bold and inquisitive, or maybe it was still the acid. At that point, I didn't really care. As Becky explored, her curious glances for my reaction only excited me more. I folded my pillow in half to better watch her beautiful body, while she titillated mine.

Shortly after she started teasing my chest, the front of my boxers began to rise magically like a pan of Jiffy Pop.

Cupping the bulge in her hand, she said, "I think I'd better release you, before it does damage."

Rapidly, we were both naked.

"That's better." Becky rubbed the underside of my cock and smiled shyly. "Isn't it?"

"Oh, yeah, much better."

For the next ten minutes, Becky was engrossed in a study of the penis. I became a lab specimen -- a very happy lab specimen. "It's so hard and so soft, all at the same time." "Are you circumcised?" "The veins make it look strong."

"How does this feel?" was my favorite question.

When Becky felt fully informed and stopped asking questions, she laid her head on my stomach, leisurely stroking my cock. Her head slid down a few inches, and I felt her tongue gently lick the tip. "Not much flavor."

Then I felt the velvety warmth of her mouth cover the crown.

"Beckster..."

"You like that?"

"Uh-huh."

"Me too," she said, and did it again, this time humming.

For someone so inexperienced, I found out Becky was an intuitive lover. Instinctively, she would add another sensation, like a tickle with her fingers or a twirl of her tongue, piling one pleasure on another. This had been lacking in our earlier encounter on the mountain. She was no longer indifferent, she was attentive and loving. The notion Becky was totally into it brought me quickly to the brink.

My hips twitched with the beginning. "Sweetie, you make me feel so good."

"Sweetie? I like that." She bobbed her head faster and sucked, while pumping a fistful of shaft.

Placing my hand on her head, I warned her, "I'm coming, Sweetie."

Just in time, Becky pulled her mouth away, but continued to jerk me off.

I erupted violently, expressing my extreme pleasure with an arched back and a feral moan, new to my sexual lexicon.

Becky laughed, and said, "Wow, Honey. That must've felt good."

Unlike the first time, Becky continued to caress me as the pleasure faded. It felt caring and personal. Then, totally unexpected, she wrapped her lips around my deflating cock and sucked for a few seconds. "Mmm, a little salty, a little bitter, but not bad."

I grabbed her arm and pulled. "Come here, Beckster."

Smiling, almost triumphantly, she laid down beside me. This time she allowed me the top position. Hugging her tight, I kissed her with all the passion I'd held in check for hours. My grateful heart was near bursting, and yet part of me felt I'd betrayed her. I worried she'd regret this in the morning. All I could now was live in the moment and show her absolute appreciation.