1941 Chevy Pickup

1941 Chevy Pickup

Tal didn't remember exactly how long he had known her. He did know that he had wanted to play with her: take her clothes off and play with her and fuck her for some two years now. He knew that it had started on a summer night after a jam session in The Village horse barn.

She had leaned against the log wall the whole evening with two other girls and some guy that nobody seemed to know. She had been drinking rose' wine stingers and clapped whenever he, Tal, played a solo riff. He remembered that she had worn a short shirt tied in a knot at the bottom and that several buttons at the tops were undone. Her jeans were old and had a hole at the knee and another where the bottom of the right pocket should have been, except that the pocket itself seemed to be missing. He remembered thinking sometime during the evening that if one were to put his hand down into her right pocket that one could feel her panties ... or, in the event that she wasn't wearing panties, feel her pussy! ... For a country boy that was a truly outrageous prospect.

At the end of the evening, but before she had left with the banjo player, she had lifted his, Tal's, hat from his head and placed it on her own crown ... hair so black that it seemed to have traces of red in it. She, Cajun maybe, from south Louisiana. She winked at him when he retrieved his hat.

He went home and made love with his current squeeze ... a blond girl from Missoula. All the while that he was doing things to the Montana girl that were so good they had to be sinful, he was really thinking about reaching down into the black-haired girl's pocket to check on there being panties or no panties underneath her faded and torn jeans.

For two years Tal watched her at jam sessions and when they did gigs. She winked at him and from time to time borrowed his hat when she leaned against the wall and held a long neck India Pale Ale bottle in her long slender left hand, fingers. ... She always left with the banjo picker.

Then: The banjo picker moved off to Austin to see if he could catch on with a big time band.

On a Friday night they played a wedding bash in a stone and log hunting lodge; fourteen inch oak planks on the floor. The bride and groom left around mid-night. The attendants and a rowdy crowd of friends two years out of college stayed until the wee hours ... danced with abandon. The girl with the jet-black hair leaned against the wall, one foot propped up behind her ... sipped IPA's from a long neck bottles. She winked at Tal.

"I got the pickup," she said when he, the band, started breaking down the sound system, packing it into the van.

A restored '41 Chevy, the three horizontal chrome strips above vertical dental work on the nose. He lay the guitar case in the back, started toward the shotgun side door.

"You drive," she tossed him the keys. "You do know how to drive a stick?"

He laughed. "Grew up on a farm tractor," he told her.

"You always looked like a guy could handle a stick," she said. She got in, slammed the door behind herself.

"Where we going?" Tal asked.

"Jus' drive around a while," she said.

The rumble from beneath the hood told him there were more than the original ninety horses working under there. She lay down across the seat, her head on his thigh, feet propped up on the windowsill.

"What about our friend the fiddle player?" he asked.

"He's found a red-head." Then: "Rub me." she said. "I like to be rubbed."

"I like your attitude," he said. Ran his hand across her belly, the front of her jeans.

Tal drove through the sleeping town, unbuttoned the top button of her blouse, ran his hand inside, cupped her breast: a complete handful. He tweaked the nipple with thumb and forefinger. The black-haired girl closed her eyes, made sounds.

He thrust the hand down into the front pocket of her jeans.

"You aren't wearing panties," he said. Drove across the bridge and out into the dark countryside.

"No," she said. Spread her knees farther apart.

She had, indeed, cut away the pocket. His hand went immediately to the skin at the top of her leg, moved to the soft curled hair that covered her lower belly, her mound. She made sounds. Her hips did an involuntary up-and-down movement. She unzipped the jeans, her hand covered his, pressed him more firmly against her.

Tal drove the '41 Chevy deeper into the night, the open fields that flanked the road. Turned onto a gravel lane.

The Opelousas girl moved his hand, inserted a finger deep into her wet pussy, inserted the finger into his mouth. He licked, sucked the smell of her, the taste of her from the long, slender finger.

"I know a place we can watch the sunrise," he said. Moved his hand to inside the unzipped jeans. He covered the warmth, the wetness of her with his hand between her legs. She pushed the jeans down four, maybe six, inches. The skin of her belly, the black hair, shown in the faint light from the dash. She made sounds, mewing sounds. He was hard, his cock trapped inside his jeans.

The truck found it's way to near the end of the gravel lane, through a cattle gate, across a recently cut hay field, to the top of a low ridge line. Tal killed the engine. Diana Krall came out of the speakers ... something about Peel Me A Grape.

"Maybe we could get rid of these jeans," he said.

The girl lifted her ass off the seat, slid the jeans down to and off her ankles. The jeans with the hole at the knee and another at the bottom of the right pocket. The jeans with the inside of the pockets cut away. She lay across the seat, her shirt open exposing her tits, her nipples; her belly and hips and legs naked.

"Rub me," she said, reminded him that she liked to be rubbed.

He ran his hands over her, feeling all of her that he could reach. He would get to the rest of her later. He bent to her face, kissed her, stuck his tongue into her mouth. She sucked his tongue, his upper lip.

She twisted in his arms, pulled her face and shoulders and chest, her tits, up against him. She had not been fucked in a long time. She was anxious, ready, impatient. He could play with her, lick her, eat her pussy later. Do those things later. Right now she wanted him inside her, wanted to feel the hardness of him inside her, sliding in and out. She wanted to feel his balls slapping against her ass, wanted to feel his cum flooding deep into her pussy, filling her. Wanted to feel it, his cum, seeping out, trailing down the crack of her ass.

The Cajun girl moved again, onto her knees, kept her mouth on his. She tore at his jeans: the belt, the zipper. Reached inside the opened front. She did not find shorts or briefs there, wrapped her hungry hand around his cock.

"Ah-ah," Tal sounded, sucking in a deep breath, the serrated teeth of the zipper again the base of him, below her hand.

"Let me," he said.

The jeans moved down his thighs, over his knees and ankles. A puddle on the floor, tangled around the brake and the clutch. The girl banged her hip against the steering wheel, lifting herself up and over, straddling him.

"I have to move over," he told her. The was not room for Tal, the girl, and the steering wheel on the left side of the almost tiny cab. He had to slid across the seat, allow her to get a knee on either side of his hips, his thighs, allow her to straddle him.

"Hurry," she said.

She moved, giving him room. Holding his cock with one hand, already spreading open the lips of her pussy with the other. Ready to drop herself onto him. She rested her weight out on the end of his knees, held Tal's cock, looked down at it, a good half of it protruding above her encircling hand and fingers; licked her lip, pushed back the long black hair with the free hand. She made noises.

The Cajun girl with the shiny black hair from Opelousas moved her body up against his, her tits on his chest, raised herself up onto her knees, lower herself onto him. She touched her clit, came immediately, the length of him inside her, his pelvic bone pressing hard against her. She quivered, made noises.

"It's been so long... so long," she said, breathing deep. Her tits heaving, her nipples brushing against his chest. "Give me a minute."

He held her, crushing her torso hard against his. Wet ran out of her onto the hard base of his cock, down his balls, between his legs.

The first rays of a late June sunrise came through the vee in the ridge line off to the east, too early for most folks to be up and about. Too late for anybody to still be awake from the day before. The girl lay on the bed of the '41 Chevy, tailgate down, her ass all the way out to the edge. Tal stood between her legs, her legs tired, hanging down, toes almost touching the dew-wet grass, his still (almost) hard cock in the gaping pussy, the golden rays touching the black of the brush covering her mound, moving at lazy, leisurely rhythm, in and out.

He squeezed a breast with one hand, tweaked her nipple, supported a part of his upper body weight with the other. Joelle, lay sated, her eyes closed, stroked her clit with the tip of a finger. She came for a fourth time. Shuttered and lay still. Tal held the old and faded jeans to his nose, his mouth, smelled the smell of her, early summer sun in his eyes.