Fall of '69 Ch. 09

Becky said 'make love to me' -- not 'fuck me', not 'screw me', not even 'make me come'. Wasn't that what I wanted in our relationship -- love making? How could I refuse? For some reason, as I stared out the window, I hesitated.

She pressed against my back, and, as her warm hand slipped down into my jeans, I wondered if my moral integrity might be regained if I refused her advances.

Her naked body teased my spine, while her fingers dug deeper. "Please, Doc?"

A gravely voice from behind us, responded, "To hell with Pansy-boy, I'll fuck you, and you won't even have to be polite."

Becky screeched in shock and hid behind me, as I spun around to face the rude opportunist.

Jack Osborne, alias Jack-ass, leaned nonchalantly against the doorframe. "I got to say, Becky, your birthday suit is just as sexy as I thought it would be, although, to be honest, I only got a good look at your fine ass."

"Jack, get out of here!"

I quietly fastened my jeans, hoping Jack would laugh it off and walk away.

Instead, he closed the door and walked over to the bed. He picked up her discarded tee-shirt saying, "I like the new you -- Becky-the-party-girl. By the way, does Lisa know you're screwing her boyfriend?"

"I'm not Lisa's boyfriend," I said, tired of setting the record straight.

"Funny, that's not what Becky told me this morning. It's not fair that you get two girls all to yourself. You should let me have Becky. I've wanted to screw her longer than you."

He draped her shirt over his arm and, with quiet menace, asked, "Who smashed my truck window?"

"I did."

"Why?"

"It seemed like the right thing to do."

Staying tight against my back, Becky pushed me sideways toward the door. "Jack, just go away and leave us alone."

"Uh-uh," said Jack, stepping over to block the exit. "Nobody is leaving until I get some kind of payment for my window."

"The window was your punishment for hitting Becky."

Jack scratched his bristly chin, as he seemed to consider the crime and punishment. "You're right, I shouldn't have hit her. But it was barely a slap."

"You cut her lip."

"I did?" He smiled briefly. "I'm real sorry, Becky," said Jack, in a tone that left sincerity bound and gagged in the basement of his soul. "Let me kiss it and make it better. I promise to make you feel fantastic all over."

I'd had enough. I didn't care how big and nasty this asshole was. "If you want a woman, Jack...ass, you have to be a man first."

"Is that so?" he growled, his hands fisting, ready to defend his manhood.

Becky must've felt my muscles tighten in preparation for a fight, because she stepped between us. "Stop it! That's enough from both of you."

Jack immediately changed his focus from me to her, smiling at her brave nudity. He seemed riveted in place -- turned to stone by the appearance of her outer beauty. I have to admit, I felt the same way.

Grabbing her tee-shirt from his arm, she slipped it on, saying, "Both of you just chill out. Find something constructive to do with your testosterone. I'm not interested in either one of you dickheads." Angrily, she walked out of the room, leaving us awkwardly staring at the open door.

He laughed. "Damn, seeing her naked was worth the price of the truck window right there," said Jack, slapping me on the back. "I gotta go hook up the plow. See ya, Dickhead."

Standing in the empty room, I waited for my adrenalin to burn off, wondering how much of the conversation Jack heard, before he interrupted us. Did he know that Becky and Lisa were intimate? If he did, the fallout might be catastrophic for Becky's reputation in her small hometown. Also, I felt hurt and disappointed that Becky was still associating me with skinny Lisa. And lastly, as I exited the room, I felt thankful that Becky had stepped out from hiding and saved my butt.

When I entered the farmhouse backdoor into the kitchen, Lisa was sitting at the table, eating a sandwich. "Hungry? I made tuna fish."

"Not right now. Where's Becky?"

"She ran upstairs. Seemed a little flustered. What happened?"

"I almost got in a fight with Jack."

"He's such a redneck asshole. He needs to mellow out." She opened up the bread bag, saying, "I'll take him a sandwich as a peace offering."

Absently, I answered, "Good idea," and left to find Becky.

I found her lying on the twin bed in her old room, facing the wall. The tee-shirt hiked up enough to reveal her bottom curves.

"Everything all right, Beckster?"

"Shut the door," she mumbled, "and lock it."

Great idea!

As I did, she rolled onto her back to stare blankly at the ceiling. "What's wrong with me?"

Leaning back against the door, I studied her physical perfection, and said, "Nothing. Why?"

"I'm a mess."

Her 'mess', I was afraid, had much to do with my bad influence. "How so?"

She looked me in the eye, but then appeared to lose courage and returned her gaze skyward. "I don't know."

Bending my knees, I slid down the door until my butt hit the floor. "Tell me what you're thinking. I promise to listen with an open mind." But I was scared as hell.

She closed her eyes and remained silent.

To keep the conversation going, I added. "Thanks for stepping in and preventing a fight."

A husky laugh escaped her lips, and she replied, "It was my pleasure."

"You probably saved my life."

Becky rolled onto her side to look at me, the shirt now bunched around her waist. "It turned me on... the way he looked at me... I felt desirable and... powerful."

Openly enjoying the view, I said, "You are absolutely, drop-dead gorgeous, Beckster. I think your boldness shocked him. I know it surprised the hell out of me."

"Yeah?" She flopped onto her back. "My heart's pounding, just thinking about it."

It sounded like she was asking for a second opinion, so I got up, saying, "Let me check." I sat on the bed and placed my hand on her chest. "It is!"

She looked up with 'kiss me' eyes, as my finger slipped over to investigate a nipple through the shirt.

Then the screaming started.

Launching myself from the bed, I ran outside to answer Lisa's frantic calls for help, and prepared to trade punches with Jackass, or maybe just be his punching bag.

Lisa met me halfway to the barn, yelling, "He's flipping out!"

We ran back to the tractor where Jack lay on the ground convulsing, like someone condemned him to death by ghostly electrocution.

Distraught, Lisa said, "I rolled him over, so his face wasn't in the dirt. What should we do?"

Becky ran up beside us and put her arm around my waist. "It won't last too long. Wait until it's over."

Becky pointed to a sandwich and a spilled glass of milk on the ground. "Did he eat anything? Does he have anything in his mouth he could choke on?"

I noticed she had taken the time to pull on a pair of cutoff shorts.

"No," said Lisa. "It started right after I brought the sandwich out."

Maybe another 10 seconds passed before he stopped twitching and opened his eyes. They didn't focus at first, and then he tried to sit up. "Shit!"

Immediately, Skinny Lisa knelt beside him and gently held him down. "Everything's cool, man. Take it easy. It's no biggy."

Jack didn't look so tough anymore. He glanced at me and then away embarrassed, like we'd caught him reading Playboy and jerking off. Well, that's a bad example. He'd probably enjoy that. It was more like we caught him looking at naked men and jerking off.

We all remained at a loss of words for a while.

To no one in particular, Jack mumbled, "This can't be happening. I have to finish plowing."

Becky asked, "How long before you can drive again?"

"Never."

"What?"

"I'm not supposed to be driving at all. Dad just lets me anyway. But if he finds out I had a seizure when I was supposed to be plowing, I'll be stuck in the barn, trapping rats the rest of my life."

Cruelly, I thought, it takes one to trap one.

Jack sat up, and Lisa put her arm around his shoulders for support. The two of them together looked like a toothpick holding up a brick wall, but Lisa was not without compassion. For all her druggy, slutty, twisted activities, she had a caring heart.

Covering his face with his hands, Jack looked like he was about to cry.

"I'll plow."

He uncovered his smudged face to glare at me. The girls' stares made me grin.

"It'd be a trip to drive the tractor for a while -- get back to the soil." I spread my arms wide to embrace the world. "Be one with nature." Since anger was Jack's fuel, I lit a match to burn away his self-pity. "Besides, how hard can it be if you can do it?"

"You don't know your ass from a--"

"I'll help," Becky interrupted. "I used to plow all the time with Grandpa. I'll teach you."

Student driving with Beckster on an International Harvester sounded like an adventure worth exploring. "Cool, let's go."

Jack just sat there speechless, while Skinny rubbed his back.

Becky walked around and inspected the plow hookup, and asked Jack, "Is it ready to go?"

"Yeah," Jack grumbled, rising to his feet with Skinny's assistance. I don't think he needed it, but he didn't complain.

I followed Becky onto the tractor, resisting the urge to help her up with a hand on her ass -- nice view though.

When she sat down on the driver's seat, I said, "Uh-uh. No way. No driving high. You can instruct."

"I'm not high, anymore."

"How would you know? Have you ever smoked pot before today?"

With a scowl, but no argument, Becky moved to the fender and I took the driver's seat. After her initial instructions, I started the engine and we drove off, while Skinny and Jackass headed for the farmhouse -- his arm around her shoulders and her arm around his waist. They made a cute couple in a Mutt and Jeff sort of way.

The tractor was loud, so Becky had to lean close to my ear for instructions to be heard. Her breath tickled and her voice resonated through my body. She put her arm around my shoulders to steady herself and I found it hard to concentrate. My dirty subconscious insisted on reminding me how wonderful it felt to plow into Becky.

Once the plowshares dug in and I was actually making furrows, Becky sat up and observed my progress, giving me occasional directions on how to turn at the end of the row, how to time the plow insertion and extraction, and what speeds worked best. It all sounded sexual to me, but that might've been caused by her bouncy boobs and erect nipples inciting my 'plow Becky' state of mind.

After my fifth pass, she said, "Let me off. I'll go make us some lunch and bring it back."

I stopped the tractor parallel to the farmhouse. She gave me a kiss on the cheek, and said, "You're a good guy, Doc."

After a compliment like that how could I grab her tit? "Thanks, Beckster. Let's plow together again real soon."

"The next lesson will be on how to disc the field."

That didn't sound half as fun as plowing Becky, but I smiled and nodded. "Can't wait."

When she was safely away, I went back to work, diligently following the rules of the row. The farming experience that I thought would bore my adventurous soul I discovered was actually physically and mentally invigorating. The air was clean -- except for the occasional diesel fume -- and the sunshine ignited a fresh sense of well-being. Maybe life on the farm would be a good life -- with a good wife.

Where was Beckster, anyway? I'd made a dozen passes since she left. Preparing sandwiches couldn't be more than a six pass task. If Jackass had another seizure she would've come out to tell me. What was happening inside that caught her interest? My perverted mind conjured up multiple Beckster-Skinny-Jackass combinations. The only thing that eased my mind was the fact that Jackass had to be too incapacitated for sex. But was that really true? My stomach started rumbling, and it wasn't from hunger. I learned that jealousy hurts.

My head was about to explode when Becky finally appeared, carrying a picnic basket. She waved, pointed to the hedgerow at the end of the field, and headed in that direction. My heart slowed to almost normal, but my stomach remained knotted.

Watching Becky walk along the freshly turned earth filled me with covetous desire. I wanted to do some planting of my own. Call it magic, or chemistry, there wasn't anyone else I'd ever felt this unending attraction for.

Shutting off the tractor at the edge of the field, I glanced back to admire my plowing prowess. The just completed row looked more like a dried up, meandering stream bed rather than a corn row. It was Becky's fault for distracting me. Oh well, I could fix that later.

Becky spread out a blanket as I approached. She reminded me of the farmer's daughter from 'Petticoat Junction' that I used to daydream about in Trig class. Her face appeared flushed and her nipples protruded like spring flowers ready to burst from the soil. My farmer-head was getting ridiculous. Then jealousy boiled up from my stomach, wondering what happened inside the house that had this effect on her. But I had to act cool. Doc was always in control.

"This looks great, Beckster. Thanks," I said, putting my arm around her shoulder and kissing her rosy cheek. Her skin was on fire. "You okay? You look a little flustered."

"I'm okay," she said, turning to wrap her arms around my back and press against me. Her hug was fierce. More than friendly. Needy.

I returned it with equal fervor. "Mmm, Beckster, you're starting me off with dessert. I like it, but something's going on. What's up?"

She buried her face in my shirt and inhaled deeply. "I'm so glad you're here."

I dragged her down to the blanket, saying, "Me too. I've never been happier than I am with you."

We lay side-by-side, propped up on elbows, staring into each other's eyes.

"So tell me. What happened that got you all cuddly. I want to be able to recreate it whenever I want."

Like a feather, her laughter tickled. "I promised Jack I wouldn't tell."

"Jack?" Blood began to boil. She'd known Jack for years. Why wouldn't she keep his secrets from a relative stranger like me? "I promise. I promise I won't tell anyone."

Surprisingly quick, she sprang, pushing me onto my back, holding me down with her weight on my chest. Why would I struggle against that?

"You promise you won't tell him I told you?"

"Cross my heart and hope to die... naked in your arms."

"Mmm, sounds like a good way to go. Sure you're not trying to commit suicide?" Then we kissed like she wanted to seduce me into a death-roll-in-the-hay. In self-defense I flipped her over and assumed the dominant position.

Entwining my fingers with hers above her head, I demanded, "Tell me or I'll ravish you!"

"Hmm, let me think." She pursed her full lips, donning a thoughtful face for a few seconds. "I think if I tell you, you'll ravish me anyway."

"Maybe."

"I'll tell you if you promise to ravish me good."

"Better than good. I'll bang you like hail on a tin roof."

Her eyebrows arched, "What does that mean? Is that good? I'll be bruised all over?"

"Shut up and tell me."

Relenting to my exceptional persuasiveness, she said, "Jack cried."

Not the bombshell I was expecting. Relieved, I lay down beside her once again. "Why?"

"He's frustrated because of his condition. He feels like an invalid. Can't enjoy life like a normal person." Running her fingers through my hair, she continued, "Yesterday was his 21st birthday and, out of self-pity, he got drunk. He's not supposed to drink, and that's what probably triggered his seizure."

"So... he overcompensates by being an asshole. I completely understand."

Slapping my shoulder, Becky chastised, "Don't be mean. You two are a lot alike."

No wonder I didn't like him.

She added, "I think Lisa likes him."

Who doesn't Skinny like? "How do you know?"

"She was mothering him -- rubbing his shoulders, telling him epilepsy didn't make him any less of a man." Becky rolled onto her back. "I found out her father's a doctor."

"Really? No wonder she's into drug therapy," I said, taking advantage by assuming the man-on-top position, once again.

Her eyes sparkled in the afternoon sun and the breeze sent errant strands of her silky hair to caress my cheek. Pressing our chests together, I could feel her heart pound with what I hoped was passion. Eager to express what was most on my mind, I asked, "Did you happen to hear what the score of the game was?"

"What?"

"You know... the World Series, Mets vs. Orioles, game 4. Did you hear the score?"

"I forgot all about the game."

Becky was not a true fan. "How could you?" I found it in my heart to forgive her. My lips dropped to the throbbing pulse on her throat and she moaned in response. Kissing my way to her ear, I whispered, "Let's eat. I have plowing to finish," I said, sitting up and opening the picnic basket.

In the warm autumn sun, we ate peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, drank Coke, and talked about farming and baseball. When the food was gone, I sat behind her and pulled her back to lean on my chest. She smelled like the earth -- fresh, fertile.

"Beckster?"

"Yes, Doc?"

"I want you," I said into the side of her neck. My right hand slipped under her tee shirt and rubbed her belly.

She tipped her head against the tickle and gave a throaty laugh. "You do? I would've never guessed."

"What I mean is... I want you all to myself." Pushing further, my fingers traced the bottom of a breast. Her only comment was a sigh. A twinge of disappointment pinched my heart, because I wanted her to respond in kind.

Determined to convince Becky of my monogamous intent, my fingers teased each breast, purposefully ignoring the alluring tips. "I don't want to be with anyone else, and I don't want to share you with anyone else."

"Why not?" She wiggled against my crotch, momentarily derailing my train of thought with her caboose.

"I want something more with you, something serious. What happened between us and Skinny was a huge mistake."

Her fingers kneaded the tops of my thighs. "Something serious? Like what?"

Was she purposefully being thickheaded? "I want --" unable to continue I swallowed hard, the 'R' word stuck in my throat. There must've been some peanut butter lodged between my heart and vocal chords, blocking the way -- "a relationship."

Her hand slid up my thigh and teased the edge of my expanding bulge. "Why?"

"I'm in love with you."

Her laugh sounded unconvinced. "No you're not. You're in lust with me. Love takes time. Time we haven't shared."

That was true, but I couldn't escape the bond I felt with her, a bond I'd never had with anyone else.

"I like you. I like you a lot," she continued. "You've opened my eyes to a world of sensations I was afraid to experience. My life is bigger now, because of you." She spun around and straddled my knees. "You are a true friend, and you've been there for me when I needed you most." She kissed me sweetly, and said, "I will always be grateful."

"I don't want grateful." Not knowing any other way to express my heartfelt desire for her body and soul, I pulled her to my chest and kissed her as passionately as I could.

Unresisting, Becky molded to me, returning all my affection with equal yearning. She was mine for the taking. My body ached for her, throbbed with desire.

Rolling on top, I gazed into those liquid green eyes, heart about to burst.

She looked away. A tear swelled in the corner and streaked to her ear. With whispered anguish, she said, "I can't love you. I can't love anyone. Everyone I love dies. You might be drafted, sent to Viet Nam, and be dead by summer. My heart can't take anymore."

I kissed her salty cheek. "Beckster, it's too late. You already love me."

She didn't deny it, nor did she agree.

Reluctantly, I left her and went back to the tractor. Like a good entertainer, I hoped I left her wanting more. I owed her a good ravishing.