Fall of '69 Ch. 03

She retaliated like a Kansas Jayhawk diving for its prey, and knocked me backwards.

Outweighing her, I easily reversed our positions, and pinned her down in the red and gold crunch.

Becky's hot breath burst against my face, as I struggled for control. With her arms trapped, she writhed against me, and the intimate contact rang my Pavlovian bell.

Like a starving man, I kissed her. I wrapped her in my arms and pulled her tight.

She went limp.

Briefly, I thought I'd gone too far. But I was beyond shame, and continued to kiss her like my life depended on her affection.

When Becky's fingers began to rake through my hair, it was not in anger, but with returned fervor. Her legs parted, and suddenly we were in the most intimate of positions. Her ankles cross over my bottom, and her heels pressed down. Responding in kind, I ground into her. Our clothes were barely an obstacle to the sensations. The heels of her Red Ball Jets spurred me to the realization the neighbors might find our foliage foreplay a little too risqué. I rolled off, and we lay side-by-side, panting at the azure sky through the naked tree limbs. Nothing was said for long seconds. I basked in the crisp world's sights, sounds, and smells.

Afraid to look at Becky in the prone position, I got up, and held out my hand to her. "Let's finish this."

Becky smiled warmly. Her flushed face held nothing but playful agreement. The vision of her beauty against the primal backdrop is forever etched in my mind. She was the one. I'd felt it from the start. Everything about her pulled me like the moon pulls the oceans.

After I helped her up, I grabbed my rake and continued.

She hesitated before picking up her rake. Becky's brief look of disappointment puzzled me. Then a brainstorm hit. When I had said, 'Let's finish this,' did she think I meant to take her inside? My pulse raced at the idea.

We worked fiercely, until the pile stood four feet high, and six feet wide at the south end of the garden.

"Great job, Beckster. Now, the Carter tradition demands we jump into it. I'll go first, to show you how it's done."

"The trees in Kansas drop their leaves too, Doc."

"Okay then, let's go together."

We backed up ten yards.

"Ready... Set--"

"Ladies first!" Becky took off.

"Go!" I caught up and pirouetted into the pile with her. The soft leaves wrapped around us, and we disappeared from head to knees.

I couldn't see Becky at all. "That was great. You want to do it again?"

A rustling sound was followed by her hand touching my arm. "That was fun, Doc. But I'd like to go inside now."

Popping up like a Jack-in-the-Pile, I said, "Let's go."

We picked up our rakes and our chosen leaves, and headed inside. Respect for Becky's delicate emotional state was the only thing keeping my hormones in check.

She acted subdued -- sweetly, shy.

Entering the kitchen, I headed for the wax paper. "Tradition demands that we preserve the Chosen Ones, before they dry out completely."

After ripping off enough wax paper to cover both leaves front and back, we headed downstairs to the ironing board and iron.

As the iron warmed up, I turned on the TV and switched to the World Series.

Becky asked, "Would it be alright if I washed my clothes?"

Pointing, I said, "Sure, no problem, the washer and dryer are behind those bi-folds."

She said, "Thanks," and headed upstairs.

I had the two leaves encased in wax paper by the time Becky returned. She wore my blue terrycloth robe and white socks. Why that seemed sexier than lingerie, I don't know, but it did. Maybe it had something to do with me wondering what she had on underneath.

Unaffected by my lecherous gaze, Becky started the laundry without assistance. Washing machines must operate the same in Kansas. I thought they still used washboards and washtubs on the farm. My mistake. Too much time spent watching the Beverly Hillbillies had skewed my perception of country life.

Fighting my unseemly desires, I sat down on the couch and watched the game, while cutting out my oak leaf. It was the top of the third with one out. The Mets had Weis on first.

Becky sat down beside me and crossed her legs. The robe slipped open and exposed her toned legs to mid-thigh. "Who's winning?"

"It still nothing-nothing, but the Mets have a man on."

"Don't get your hopes up. The Mets are losers."

"You look nice in my robe."

"Thanks. I like it. It smells like you after a shower." Becky turned her head and inhaled against the collar.

I handed her the waxed Maple leaf and a pair of scissors. "Carter Tradition, you have to cut out your leaf for the scrapbook."

Obediently, she began to cut around the edges of her hole-in-the-heart leaf. "Do the Carter's have a lot of traditions?"

"Not really. Less than a hundred."

Agee grounded to the shortstop, and Weis was thrown out at second base.

"See. Losers."

Becky was teasing me. I got it. But I didn't like it, and I wanted to shut her up. So I put my hand on her bare thigh. "It's only the third inning."

Now, I was on first base and could easily steal second, third, and home, but I waited for a sign.

McNally walked Harrelson. Agee went to second. "The Mets are in scoring position." They weren't the only ones.

Becky continued to ignore the baseball game and my game of rubbing the inside of her leg. "Doesn't matter. They can't score. They're losers." Her focus remained on cutting out the Maple leaf.

Cleon Jones, batting 340, the best hitter on the team, came to the plate. He'd be the hero. He'd drive in a run and shut Becky up.

"Doc?"

"Yeah?"

There's the pitch! Jones swung, and the ball rocketed out of the infield. I jumped up, ready to cheer the first run to score. But the ball lined into the left fielder's glove and the inning was over.

Groaning my disappointment, I flopped down.

"My leaf is done. Do you want it?"

I glanced over and did a double take. Becky had opened the robe to her waist and placed the traditional waxed leaf between her legs, thus covering her untraditional naked femininity.

"Do I want it? Hmm, let me think." Snatching it away, I said, "I'll have to add a note to the scrapbook, 'Virgin leaf'".

The Marlboro Man commercial ended and the game was back on. I focused on the commentators.

Becky closed the robe, and whispered, "Sorry to disappoint you, but I have to confess, technically, I'm not a virgin."

Technically not a virgin, sounded a lot like a little bit pregnant. Trying to hide my shock and disappointment, I continued to watch the game and said, "Really? What does that mean? I got the impression I was your first anything."

"Let's just say, you're the first I remember."

Mets first baseman, Clendenon, leading off the fourth inning, stood over the plate and took a couple of practice swings. I turned to stare at Becky, who continued to stare at the TV. There was a loud crack of a bat and then cheers. My attention stayed riveted on Becky's emotionless expression.

"Homerun," she said. "You missed it."

"I don't care."

"Yes you do."

"I care more about you."

Soon, tears trickled down her cheeks and she met my gaze. "Two weeks after grandma died I was lonely and depressed. I had to break out of my routine, do something adult, something new and exciting. My friend Jill and I planned a road trip. But she got sick and backed out at the last minute. I decided to go anyway, and spent the weekend alone in Topeka. Being a stupid farm girl, I went to a nightclub for the first time in my life. The ugly truth is... Saturday night I drank too much and smoked something in an alley with a group of people I'd met on the dance floor. Sunday morning, I woke up in a stranger's bed, and I didn't remember how I got there or what happened. He was naked. I was naked, sore, and bleeding. So it was obvious what happened. I snuck out, called a cab, got my car, and drove home." Becky turned back to the TV, "You're the only person I've told."

The homerun ball had mysteriously come through the TV screen and was now lodged in my throat. I couldn't swallow. I couldn't breath. Several times, I tried to say comforting words, but could not find any that expressed my feelings of sadness and support. I thought about the party women I'd slept with at the frat house and hoped they hadn't regretted it the next day.

Tentatively, I put my arm around her.

Becky cuddled into my side.

Kissing her hair, I mumbled, "I'm so sorry, Beckster."

"Me too, Doc. I messed up."

We sat through two more scoreless innings snuggled together.

The game faded into the background, as I ruminated over Becky's confession. "Technically, Beckster, all the guy did was break a little piece of skin. He doesn't count as your first. You weren't even there, technically speaking."

She rubbed her cheek against my shoulder. "Thanks. You're a sweetheart."

"I don't know about that."

Reaching into the robe pocket, Becky said, "I took something from your parents' room," and then placed a condom on my knee.

The baseball lump returned to my throat. "I thought you wanted to wait until marriage for the final act."

"What I really wanted was to wait for Mr. Right." She hugged my arm. "But I choose you. We've already done just about everything else, anyway."

I laughed. "So, I'm Mr. Second-best?"

"That didn't come out right. What I meant was... You're fun and sexy. I love how you've treated me. I love how you make me feel special. You're the first guy I've ever wanted to... be with. After everything that's happened in my life, I don't want to wait any longer."

Mr. Compromise, Mr. Second-banana -- that was my role in her life? In the past, I was fine with that kind of relationship. In fact, that's all I ever wanted, but not now, not with Becky. On the other hand, how could I refuse? It's not like I didn't want her. It's not like she didn't enjoy what we'd done already. I'd be a hypocrite to say I didn't want to fuck her senseless. But fucking wasn't really what I wanted with her.

"Are you sure about this, Beckster? I don't want you to regret anything with me. Yesterday, I made a promise that you could trust me, we'd just be pals, remember?"

"Doc, don't be an idiot. After last night, just being pals is not an option anymore."

Knowing she was right didn't mean I wouldn't argue with her like an idiot. "Last night, you were high. I was afraid to say no, and upset you." Why I thought that explanation would help proved what an idiot I really was.

Becky moved to the other end of the couch and glared at me. "So... you were humoring me? Was it all an act to calm me down? Why did you show me the Trojans this morning, if you didn't want to use any?"

Picking up the condom, I studied it, as if the label contained instructions on why a man would show them to a woman, as if there were a reason other than 'I'm a safe fuck'.

"Don't get me wrong, Beckster. The time we shared last night was the best I've ever spent with anyone, and I would love to have all of you." I stood up and put the Trojan in my pocket. "But... I want more than sex from you, and I don't want to lose your respect." Was that really me talking? Was I tripping?

Her mouth opened and closed several times. Then she laughed.

Unnerved, I went to the closet and removed the family scrapbook and some Elmer's glue. Sitting down on the couch, I began the process of adding our waxed leaves to the Carter family tree.

Becky asked, "How does it feel to want more?"

"Scary. Confusing as hell."

"Good."

Becky moved over beside me, and watched, as I mounted her leaf and mine on the 'Fall of '69' page. Beneath the hole-in-the-heart Maple leaf I wrote 'Beckster'. Under my perfect, golden oak, I wrote 'Doc'.

Studying the Maple leaf, I wanted to be the doctor that would heal the hole in Becky's heart. But heart wounds weren't my specialty. Malpractice seemed the inevitable outcome.

"A family scrapbook is a nice tradition," said Becky, taking the book from my lap and placing it on the coffee table. "Someday, I'm going to start one with mine."

She swung her leg over my knees and sat on my lap, facing me. Her hands pulled out the bow holding the robe belt tight. The cinched fabric relaxed and parted to reveal a stripe of silky skin.

As she brought her lips to mine, I said, "Me too," hoping the future scrapbooks would be identical.

There remained no doubt about or expectations, as we tenderly kissed. My hands slipped inside the robe to caress her back, while I eased her down onto the cushions. We lay there, exploring the best ways to kiss one another, as if we'd discovered its pleasures for the first time. My lips never roamed lower than her shoulders and my hands stayed behind her.

Naugahyde is not the most comfortable surface for bare skin, and there would be bare skin soon, so I got up and turned off the TV.

Extending my hand to Becky, I said, "Let's go to bed."

Her hand was small and warm. She felt small and warm against my side all the way to my room.

I closed the bedroom door, more for a sense of intimacy than a fear of discovery.

Placing the condom on the bedside table, I began to undress.

Becky approached swiftly, with the robe flowing open, saying, "Allow me."

She left no doubt about her desire. The inviting smile, while sliding the sweatshirt up to my neck, caused my heart to pound so hard I believed it would be visible from the outside if she looked close enough. Once the shirt was on the floor, Becky did look, and she did touch my chest, but no alarm registered on her pretty face, only passion so hot, her touch burned to my soul. Her lips sizzled against my skin.

When I groaned, she groaned in return, finding pleasure in giving pleasure.

My hands tangled in her hair, as she kissed downward.

Kneeling before me, the robe parted, but not revealing all. Her fingers quickly opened my jeans and tug them down. Then she returned for the boxers, gently lifting the waistband away from my growing erection.

"You're beautiful, Doc."

"No, Beckster, you're beautiful," I said, stepping out of the pile. "Now, it's my turn."

Removing her robe took seconds. Preparing her body for coitus, I guessed, would take two orgasms. I wanted to be sure her body was ready for the invasion.

First, I made her sit in the desk chair and place her legs over my shoulders. Her feminine musk, after the physical labor of raking leaves, was stronger and tangier than the night before. To me, it was like honey to a bear. I growled a lot.

Sometimes, Becky mewed like a kitten or whimpered like a puppy. Very aroused, her breathing became ragged, and she moaned my name. When she came, she writhed like a woman possessed, and that made me proud.

After a minute of recovery, I pulled her out of the chair and we lay down on the bed. We hugged and kissed, rubbing our skin together. I told Becky how beautiful and sexy she was.

She said, "Mmm, Doc, I love your body," and grabbed my ass to pull me tight against her.

I've always avoided using the 'L' word with a woman. It was too easily misinterpreted. When Becky said it, I understood her to mean she loved my body, but it didn't mean she loved me as a person. That was exactly the kind of reaction I'd always wanted from a woman during a sexual encounter, until now. This time, I felt the stabbing pain of discontent, because I realized I wasn't just fucking around with Becky, I was making love to her. My heart and soul were in every caress.

Hugging her tight, I whispered in her ear, "Beckster, you're the first woman..." I couldn't finish. Fear tied my tongue, because what I wanted to say might come off sounding insincere.

Becky wouldn't let it go. "What was that, Doc? I'm the first woman, what?"

Now I was trapped. I'd gone too far and there was no turning back.

She pulled my head up to look me in the eye. "What were you going to say?"

I smiled. I kissed her. I told her the truth. "You're the first woman I have ever made love too."

Confusion clouded her face, and she whispered, "What?"

No further explanation made sense. Instead, I'd show her, and maybe she'd believe me, maybe not. But I knew for sure, I wanted more than her body for an hour. I wanted her heart.

I punctuated a long kiss with, "Beckster, I want you, so much."

She hugged me tight. "I want you too, Doc."

Sliding my hand between her legs, I pushed my middle finger between the damp folds. The fingertip entered, and I slowly pushed, until my palm rested flat against her hair.

With this unfamiliar pressure, Becky stiffened in my arms.

I gently sucked her nipple and slowly oscillated my finger, until I felt her muscles relax. On the in-and-out, I let the slick finger curl up and tease her clitoris, encouraging her mind and body to enjoy this new experience.

When Becky's hips began to encourage my hand by moving opposite the penetrations, I introduced the index finger.

"Oh, Doc..." Her hand gripped my cock, fondled it, and pumped it, as if she wondered how it would feel instead.

Soon, Becky's pelvis began to shiver and her lips made the incomprehensible sounds of approaching ecstasy.

Kissing her panting lips, enjoying her hot breath in my mouth, I tormented her clit with my thumb. My fingers sang with the squishy testament of her sexual eagerness. I hugged her tight through the formidable waves of release, whispering how beautiful she looked and felt. How happy it made me to please her.

When the climax ended and her body relaxed, tears streamed down her cheeks.

"Are you okay, Beckster?"

She answered by reaching over to the nightstand and handing me the condom. I took it as a positive sign.

As I rolled the latex barrier down my shaft, Becky propped herself up on her elbows to watch. Then she hooked me with her leg, and pushed me into position.

We both watched, as I opened her and teased her with the tip, testing the slipperiness.

I smiled, and said, "Ready, Baby?"

Continuing to stare at my cock, she nodded, and hummed, "Mm-hm."

Slowly, I eased in the tip, and then gently pumped in and out. Gradually, I slipped in deeper, as her body became accustomed to the girth.

"Oh my God." Becky fell back to the pillow when our hips met for the first time.

Stretching out on top of her warmth, I kissed her sweetly, and said, "Beckster, I love you."

Her eyes flared. "Don't say that!"

Her anger surprised me. Sure, I understood her skepticism, but I thought she'd give me a chance, under the circumstances.

Deciding not to push the issue, I grinned amiably and pushed my hips instead, and then retracted a little. I repeated the slight motion, until she succumbed to physical pleasure. A fresh wetness aided my motion, so I increased the thrusts.

Becky's eyes closed and her mouth opened with an "Oh..."

When I levered up on straight arms to watch my cock piston in and out, Becky did too. She laughed giddily, and fell back.

"Beckster, you turn me on like no one else."

This seemed to please her. She graced me with a smile and rubbed my chest.

Her loving touch enflamed me. My end was near, so I kissed her and pressed my hand between our stomachs to twiddle her clit.

Immediately, she responded with thrusts and guttural oaths. Her pussy clenched and released with velvety pressure.

Most of my self-control disappeared, as my hips gained dominance. "Becky, I'm coming."

My declaration pulled her trigger, and her legs wrapped around my waist, giving her hips leverage to fight back.

It was a delicious first coming together, a passionate thrill that happens once in a lifetime if you're lucky. I remained buried deep inside her as long as possible, clamped tight by her embrace. But I had to retreat, or risk condom failure by shrinkage.

Becky resisted, until I explained the circumstances. Then, grudgingly, she released me.