Summer Film Study

"I don't want the date to end yet," I told her immediately.

"Me neither." She was smiling now. "You should find a place to park, Chris." I gulped, the trees on either side swallowing my headlights. "Sooner, rather than later," she went on calmly. Her hand was tight on top of mine. "We've got to get you home at a decent hour, after all."

"I can't believe this," I admitted, not even ashamed to say it. Vickie had been impressing me all night with her maturity and her poise; she knew what I was getting myself into. She proved it.

"We don't need to do anything, Chris," she said hastily. "I don't want to trigger a existential disaster, here. I've had a great time already; I'd love to do a little nookie, but not if you're uncomfortable."

My God. I twisted my hand around, clawing up at hers, and gripped it fiercely. "I think I can pull off the road up here," I muttered, and her answering squeeze was more than welcome.

I got the truck stopped and the lights off as quickly as possible, pulling as far off the pavement as I dared. This was just a state highway, without formal pull-offs or rest stops, but I was able to get in tight to the trees. She spent the time twisting casually around to assess the condition of the backseat, scanning carefully. "Chris," she said at last, around the time I got the ignition off, "do you know your backseat is a filthy fucking mess?"

"Of course." Three kids spent much of their time back there; it was a wasteland of books, little toys, booster seats, and food trash. I'd have cleared it out beforehand, but I hadn't wanted to make my wife suspicious. "I never hang out back there, Vickie; it's not like I keep it neat for company." I was lowering the windows to the gentle summer breeze.

"Well, maybe now you will," she pointed out. She was surveying her surroundings, looking thoughtfully down at the center console. "We could just stay up here and see what we can do," she mused doubtfully. "It's not the worst place I've gotten it on."

I felt obscurely ashamed. "Sorry, Vickie."

She shrugged, confident. "I really want to do this, and I'm sure you want the same. I'm sure we'll somehow find a way..." She leaned toward me as she finished, a single car blew past on the road, and I moved in. For a moment all I knew was the apprehension in my brain, the adrenaline in my heart, and the smell of her hair before I felt her fingers on the back of my head and her mouth on mine.

At once I knew I was overpowered. Vickie was young and gorgeous and, obviously, in excellent practice for this kind of thing. Me? It had been ten years, at least, since I'd made out with anyone, probably twenty or more since I'd done so in a car. She came at me with smooth, controlled aggression, her long body curving over the center console as I started to hear smacking noises from our lips and tongues; I was way behind, still with my seatbelt on, my penis already rock-hard. One hand fumbled for the seatbelt button while the other, with a mind of its own, flapped blindly up to make contact with whatever part of her firm body it could find.

She surprised me with a low, fervent moan into my mouth, her tongue tracing nimbly up and down my teeth, when I somehow found her ribcage under my fingers with my thumb prodding for her nipple beneath the sundress. Her head backed away from mine in an explosion of saliva and she arched her back, searching for a way to drag at least one leg over to my side. In the dim moonlight I caught a glimpse of smooth thighs as her dress rode up.

"Fucking console," she grated, and I was amazed at how annoyed she sounded. I wasn't used to being desired.

"Here..." The seatbelt had come free at last, and I was able to disconnect my left hand from her body long enough to fumble down beside the door for the recliner lever. I found it and jerked desperately upward. She had just moved in on me again, leading with her open mouth, when the seat gave out and dropped me harshly back out of her range, and with a delightful little squawk she fell down onto my chest. "Better?" I was already nosing around underneath her head as she tried to get her bearings back, searching for another kiss.

"Oh yes," she giggled, and she met me with her lips and her hands and, at last, her leg, scrambling across the cupholders with a gritty sigh of relief. I was slurping hard and nastily, my whole face coated with our spit as we breathed into each other's faces. I felt deft, clingy hands burrowing under the Cuban shirt, touching the sweaty skin of my sides and back, feathering along my belly, and in desperation I tried to keep up. Her body was firm and strong and impossibly alive under my fingertips as they skated over her dress, feeling the subtle ridges of her bra and, lower down, her panties as I at long last got a hand onto the smooth, rich curve of her ass.

"Mmm." I caught a smirk in the dark as she backed off again, now finally on top of me in the seat as I lay back and gazed up at her. Our wild thrashing had gotten her legs spread incredibly wide, one knee wedged between my thigh and the door while the other was still thrown over the console. The sundress, forgotten, was now bunched high above her straining hipbones. "Do you like that?" she groaned as my hands explored, for the first time in almost two decades, a new buttcheek. She wasn't wearing a thong; I felt satin beneath my palm. "Do you like my body?" Her fingers never stopped, lifting my shirt up under my armpits to tickle my chest.

"You're so sexy," I understated, completely overwhelmed. "I can't believe this."

"You ought to," she whispered, nibbling at my ear. I rolled my eyes downward along her rhythmically rolling hips, seeing the long muscles rippling along her thighs, the dark shadow where the height of the console wouldn't let her vagina make contact with my aching erection. I was glad of that, at least; I figured any contact down there would leave me with a humiliating stain in my pants in very short order. "It's happening, Chris."

"You're amazing." I was babbling, both hands resting now along the smooth skin at the tops of her thighs. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me," she giggled, her voice high and excited. "I haven't even done anything yet." She let her hands crawl along my stomach then, finding skin and hair; instinct made me suck my belly in away from my waistband. "Though I think you want me to..."

"Oh Jesus," I whispered. Her fingers burrowed down along my abs, snaked past my belt, and dug both her hands straight down the front of my pants. I wasn't embarrassed by what she'd find; I've watched enough porn to know I'm pretty good-sized, and of course she'd know by now what she'd done to me. But still, there was a magic moment, an open-mouthed sigh, when her fingers fumbled around my sweaty shaft, pulsing in her hands like a firehose.

"Ooh!" She snickered. "You're a big one! I couldn't tell in your running shorts at the beach, but I was looking," she confessed. Her hands gripped me firmly, not even rubbing me. "You're so hard," she marveled.

"Shit." My belt dug into my back but at that point I wasn't really thinking much about that; I craned upward for another kiss, and Vickie obliged with great enthusiasm. More smacking, more spit, our breaths now deep and ragged. "Is this how kids make out on a first date?" I managed, proud of myself for saying anything but random grunts. She licked gently at my lips.

"No, actually," she said, her voice huskier now from an inch away. Her fingers had begun moving at last; constricted by my pants, they made tiny little stroking motions along my shaft, carefully avoiding the head. "I told you earlier, Chris. These days, it's all blowjobs, titfucks, or anal." She laughed then. "You need to get with the program here, old man."

I felt my mouth flop open. "Oh," I said lamely. "I thought you were joking."

"Only a little bit." Little nibbly kisses, all along my jaw, while her body moved sensuously across mine. "To tell the truth, I haven't actually heard of anyone doing anal on the first date." She pulled back and looked down at me thoughtfully, then came to a decision and pulled her hands abruptly out of my pants. Another car cruised past outside. "Open the door," she demanded. "A girl needs room to work."

I was completely unable to disobey even if I'd wanted to. I groped for the door handle while she maneuvered herself back over toward the passenger seat, smoothing her dress ineffectually over her lean body. When I stepped out into the night, my trousers ridiculously tented, I heard her door slam on the far side. "Get over here, Chris," she urged. "We probably shouldn't do this right by the road." There was a playful challenge in her voice.

I arrived in a furtive stumble. I'd parked in a grassy spot at least, with gravel crunching here and there beneath the green, and only a smattering of houselights visible far off through the dark trees. She was already kneeling, studying the ground to make sure she was keeping her dress out of the grass; I came upon her straight-backed and perfect, her face full of mischief in the moonlight. "What if somebody comes past?" I asked, hearing the excitement in my own voice.

She giggled. "That's exactly what's going to happen," she drawled. "You're going to cum... past my lips." She grinned, her teeth flashing. "Get over here, Chris."

I moved with a strange sense of dissociation, almost as if I was floating above myself watching. I tried for a casual saunter, but that's hard to do when you're trying to fumble with a belt buckle. "Give me a sec," I whined; my fly was stuck.

"Pull it out." There was no concealing the urgency in her voice. She had her arms up, doing her hair into a hasty ponytail. "When's the last time you got a blowjob, Chris?" There was an effortless sexuality to her voice. I thought about it as my pants at last came open.

"Shit." I shook my head. "Decades?" She gasped. "A long time, Vickie." I was surprised I was able to control my voice that much. I began unbuttoning my shirt as I stopped in front of her.

"That's just not right," she mused. I felt her hands on the front of my thighs. "You're a very attractive man, Chris. That's a real shame." She got her fingers around the waistband and pulled my pants and boxers comfortably down around my knees. My dick flew out like a drawbridge. She smiled, then looked up at me. "I'll just be a few minutes down here, sir; try to cope." I felt silky fingers tracing my veins and ridges, flicking at my balls. "I didn't used to give very good head, Chris. I've been trying to improve."

"Uhh, okay," I answered, as dulled by lust as if I were a kid on his first date, and then she was leaning forward, her mouth was opening, and I felt an intense wash of hot, humid breath tickling my head before she took me in. "Shit." I'm ashamed to say my legs nearly buckled right away; it felt incredible, her lips and tongue smothering me from all sides at the same time, her jaw wide, her staring eyes meeting mine as I looked down in disbelief. She got me about half way in, rolling her tongue wetly along the bottom of my shaft, and then she backed slowly out; I saw the moonlight glisten on her spit as my dick emerged, inch by inch, from Vickie's smiling mouth.

"You taste good," she said quietly, and then I felt her sure fingers on my balls, tugging rhythmically. "Like a man should." She inhaled me again, and I leaned far back against the side of the truck; this time, I felt her throat twitching and fluttering along my head while her tongue wrapped around my shaft, the saliva running freely down her chin. I heard gagging and smacking, felt the tickle of fingernails behind my balls, and then instinct took over and her ponytail was in my hands and I was thrusting forward, just a little. "How am I doing?"

I assumed I'd be good for thirty, maybe forty-five seconds of this. I did nothing but pant.

Vickie knew that, though, and was gentle after that initial pulse of her throat, backing off me and contenting herself with light, gentle licks across my pisshole. Her fingers at my crotch and scrotum never stopped moving, but there was no more power-sucking, no more of the supreme intensity which I'd barely been able to weather at first. "Holy shit, Vickie," I muttered. "This is..."

She trailed a string of saliva off my penis as she leaned back. "I know," she said calmly. "No need for words, Chris. Just enjoy me." And then she was back on me, her lips a dainty O shape around my head, her tongue flickering like a wet feather, and all at once headlights were coming from behind.

There was something about those lights, about their speed and shape, and both of us came to the same realization at once. "Cops," we both said, me with a sense of urgency, her with a sense of disappointment; my wet cock was still in her hand as she glanced up. "Better zip up," she advised, and no sooner had I gotten myself reassembled than the car slowed down, the spotlight flashed toward my drivers' side mirror, and the brakes squeaked slightly with the jumbled backing sound of a police radio.

We waited frozen for a few seconds, and then I crept carefully to the side and rested my hands against the edge of the truck bed. Behind me, Vickie melted into the dark, staying low and moving around to the front of the truck; she knew a sudden move would only attract attention.

The police officer who emerged from the drivers' side door was alone, a short figure bulked out by the vest and the utility belt, her hair pulled back in a severe braid beneath her cop hat. She loomed toward us in the shadow of the spotlight, her hand on her gun. "You okay?" Her voice was not concerned, just cynical. "Kinda late out here."

"Uh, yeah officer," I stammered, making sure to stay as frozen as possible. She turned on a flashlight and examined me; I wondered whether I was still pitching a tent. "We're just, uh..."

"I'm peeing, officer." That was Vickie, rising up from in front of the grille, and the cop's flashlight moved slowly to cover her. Vickie was brushing at her dress. "I'm sorry, ma'am; I just couldn't wait. My dad pulled over so I could go." I heard the swish of grass and the crunch of gravel as she came slowly around.

The flashlight moved back and forth like a laser sight deciding who to shoot first. "You're shirt's buttoned wrong," the cop said flatly. "You guys have ID on you?"

"Of -- of course." I dug around in my back pocket, the pants drooping; I hadn't been able to get the belt pulled tight. I felt Vickie stretch her lean body beside me, reaching through the window for her purse. "We're sorry, officer."

"Huh." She plainly did not believe our story. "You should really have your hazard flashers on while you're pulled over." She examined the licenses to the soundtrack of the muffled radio, then shone it back in my face. "Been drinking, sir?"

"Just a glass of wine," I lied; it had been two or three. I felt myself flush, but apparently I kept my voice steady enough; the cop looked back over the IDs, scraping at Vickie's with her thumbnail. It was from out of state.

"This your dad?" she asked doubtfully. We saw where she was going with this, and my voice stayed smooth as I replied.

"Vickie lives with her mother," I shrugged. "She's just visiting me here."

"I come out every summer," she put in helpfully. She hugged my arm. "Or he comes."

Jesus Christ.

The cop debated with herself for a moment or two more; she clearly knew we were lying, but was trying to decide whether it was worth her while to hassle us further. She fanned herself briefly with the two licenses, then turned to Vickie. She looked oddly at the sloppy ponytail. "Miss, you know you can't just urinate on the roadside. You know that's a bad idea."

"I'm sorry, ma'am; I know." I squinted. The cop was not unattractive. "Dad said I shouldn't, but I kind of threw a hissy fit."

"Did you." The cop sighed and handed back our licenses. "Well. You really shouldn't urinate in public, miss," she repeated slowly, "and you really should put on your flashers when you pull over."

"Yes, officer," we replied in unison, soldierlike. She nodded and rolled her eyes.

"Yeah. Whatever. Y'all drive safely." She switched off the flashlight at last. "I'll just block traffic for you, so you can get back on the road okay," she went on pointedly. There was no traffic for miles, but I wasn't about to argue. She nodded and began to walk away.

"Thanks, officer," I said, relieved, and Vickie squeezed my arm. She was grinning when I glanced over.

"Sure." The cop stopped, silhouetted, and then half-turned. "Oh, and miss? You've got dirt all over your knees," she added dully. "Better take care of that."

"Oh." Vickie sounded like she was about to laugh. "I'll make sure to be more careful, ma'am."

"Yup." The spotlight switched off, the blue lights came lazily to life, and Vickie and I traded a skeptical glance.

"Well," she muttered as I opened up the door for her, "that kind of kills the mood, I'd say. Dad." She chuckled, and I hoped the cop didn't notice me checking out Vickie's ass as I helped her up into the truck. "My knees," she scoffed. "Fucking ugly, cockblocking bitch. Is there anything sadder," she asked me in disdain, "than a jealous woman?" She shook her head, glaring through her mirror as the police officer followed us all the way back toward Seaborne.

* * *

It occurred to me, as I crept past my wife and her game of computer solitaire, past my kids' bedrooms, to scrub Vickie's gummed, dried saliva surreptitiously off my cock, that I'd done something horrible, something I couldn't come back from. I should have felt guilty about that, but no.

All I was thinking about was how great it would have felt to have had sly, lean Vickie's swallow my semen.

* * *

I hiked up the busy, hilly little street that cut through downtown Seaborne, feeling the humid sun beating on me like a sledgehammer, the sweat ruining my t-shirt. I get that it's summer, but does it really have to be so goddamn hot? I'd just spent a few hours lugging boxes out of my truck, getting all of last year's shit out of my basement and back up into my classroom. I'd hung my posters, pinned up my class rules, gotten the desks moved like I wanted them. I'd caught up with some of the other earlybirds, there on the same mission I was; the first day of school was ten days off now, and my God was I ready.

I was jumping out of my skin at home. My kids were running me ragged, I was bored as fuck, and I was still thinking vaguely, secretly, wildly, about meeting up with Vickie again.

So I was already hot and tired as I shuffled up to the locally famous Harborside Book and Tea, the B&T, where everyone in town met. There was a large cold-brew coffee in my immediate future, and I'd been looking forward to it for hours.

Gretchen grinned from behind the counter, knowing already what I'd order, and with a general wave to the other customers I took a seat heavily, groaning as I looked out the window. The seats underneath the ceiling fans were, of course, taken, but the B&T's ancient and wheezy air conditioning was doing its best, and I slowly recuperated.

Still, the sweat was clammy on my back as bouncy little Gretchen brought my large coffee, black and bitter and exactly what I needed. A woman at a nearby table, back by the bathrooms, eyed me with amusement as I drained a quarter of the cup in one convulsive gulp. I was still feeling the cold coffee filter through my body, spreading cool fire into my stomach, when the little bell at the door twinkled and in strode Alicia Romano.

Of course.

She was dressed in what my wife calls loose tightness, that odd and mysterious mix of clothing a few females can pull off so well. At a glance, she looked conservative and flowy on such a nice summer day: nice flipflops, shorts maybe three inches down from her crotch, a light shirt unbuttoned over a tanktop, fluttering like the flags of an advancing army. All cute, all offhand, all loose.