Summer Memories

She had been catching some sun that summer, that much was obvious, the pink of her face, arms, legs and even her belly wasn't reflected in the pale smooth skin peeking out from under her bra. All of our imaginations were providing images of what that white skin would look like revealed. My eyes moved to her face, down to her legs and across her butt, and even to the tight stretch of denim at her crotch a few times but lingered most on those barely jiggling breasts almost but not quite revealing themselves.

This time when the song ended she just raised her hands to cover her boobs and waited, breathing rapidly from the exertion and no doubt exposure. She knew, as we did, that she wasn't coming down yet. We all knew too what was probably coming next but we waited to actually hear Potter say it. I was holding my breath

He didn't say it as it turned out but just stared up at her confidently with that little owning grin until the next song started. When it did he made a quick gesture with one hand, pointing at her shorts. She didn't look around at us this time, accepting I suppose that there was no help to be found there, and the level of intimacy this strange incident was reaching made me grateful she didn't. I didn't think I could look into her eyes again while this continued, but eventually I did. It was becoming a sort of storm of lust there around that truck and the girl atop it, building slowly but gaining strength and knocking aside all common sense and decency. I felt it, feared it but was part of it, lending my own energy as it swirled around this girl.

She reached down with maddeningly slowness and unsnapped the shorts then unzipped and finally let them fall to her ankles. She kicked them aside and nobody moved to claim them this time. Their loss had revealed a faded pair of white panties, barely concealing the pale flesh underneath, and speckled with what I think were little red chili peppers. The aged thin and well-washed fabric clung like a second skin and highlighted crevices and fissures they were meant to conceal. One of the ranch hands next to me muttered under his breath. "Holy Shit."

I understood his sentiment exactly. That this was really happening in front of us was a little overwhelming, almost too much to handle, outright crazy. The dance that followed was possibly the most conservative of that day though. The girl was nearing the edge of her nerve but had not yet reached that threshold of abandon which would come later. She barely moved at times, stepping side to side, only swaying a bit at her hips all the while trying desperately to avoid eye contact, but it was enough. There was something about that plainly exposed figure up there, so womanly yet attired in seeming innocence that was alluring to the point of madness. None of us were pediphiles, or so I believe. I know certainly for myself I have never been attracted to anything younger than the occasional deceptive teenager. I cannot hide from the fact however that it was the illusion of youth up there, as much as her body that pushed the excitement. She was definitely a woman, a fine one, but those childish panties and ill fitting bra, obviously never intended for even her boyfriend's viewing, raised her appeal to unexplainably degenerate levels.

Beside me that same ranch hand moved his hand to his crotch, rubbing his offending organ through his dirty levis. He was the first to do so I think but others followed. I held off, for some reason actually fearing some sort of contempt from the girl if she noticed, which she obviously did as her eyes darted to the others so engaged. It was a silly concern. How she certainly felt about us then and later wasn't likely to change based on that sordid, self-indulgent gesture. We were perverts in her eyes I knew, manipulative and sick bastards. It stung but I accepted it. Still I avoided encouraging what was occurring within my pants until Potter's next direction when I simply couldn't help myself.

She had completed the song to another theatrical round of applause from Potter. One of the hands made as to join him but then stopped with his hands half raised. Potter was using that applause as part of his manipulation, we were simply the guilty but fortunate recipients of the girl's compliance. The friendly hooting and whistling we had done before might have been accompanied by encouraging applause earlier, but not now. We had moved far beyond that. Any semblance of friendly collaboration and support were long gone. She was performing and we were the clearly the benefactors. We stood silently as she sat down on the hood and the song ended, clasping her knees in front of her modestly as the radio granted her a commercial-filled stay.

Something happened in those long moments as one ad followed another, each teasing with the promise of a following song and what it would bring. Her breathing calmed and the quivering subsided and she eventually looked up not only at us but at Potter too. There was a sort of acquiescence in her expression, less fear and more of a resolute kind of determination. She barely noticed when Potter commended her on what a good job she was doing and how she would have all that money paid back in no time. When the music started again she got up, hands again defiantly on her slim hips.

The ranch hands and I had been lulled into a sort of horny daze by the whole situation. We hadn't said a word in minutes but we looked at one another now questioningly. We all knew what we secretly hoped would come next but honestly I was having a hard time believing Potter would go there. This had been a crazy few minutes, an unbelievably exciting but also perilous venture. To take it any further was insane. I found myself wondering if and then believing that it was surely over. The boss would stop here before anything really criminal happened. He had to right? He had orchestrated something incredible here. He taken advantage of this poor girl and in doing so propelled us into some perverse male fantasy but he would pull back now, enjoying his mastery of the situation and her vulnerability as much as the performance. There was really nothing else that needed to be done. He would order us back to the yard and laugh at our discomfort for weeks. Instead he stepped up to the hood of the truck, reached out his hand, and asked politely for her bra.

It should have shocked us but it didn't. The transformation from disbelief only a few seconds before to exhilarating arousal was instant. Apprehension, fear and guilt all vanished in a surge of raw lust. She hesitated only a few seconds, closing her eyes to help calm the nerves that were no doubt screaming. Then we watched in awe as she reached behind her, nimbly arching her back to catch the clasp with her fingers, and popped the bra loose. It dangled from her hand a moment before dropping into Potter's. She didn't bother raising her hands to cover herself, the moment between the songs had all but vanquished her last bit of modesty. She was ours, his more accurately, and trying to cover up would have been silly and futile.

My eyes ran across those stunning young breasts over and over. Smooth white globes highlighted by the sun-tinted pink of the torso around them. Flush pink nipples jutted up from the pleasant swells, sweat-glazed in the sunlight. When she started to dance they didn't flop or bounce but only jiggled, unrestrained now, quivering more with every sharp move. At one point she bent over at the waist and they protruded downward, not big enough to hang exactly but suspended there for a moment, the promise of what they would feel like dipping down into an open hand piercing our imaginations.

I realized I was rubbing myself then, unashamedly. I was hard as rock down there and so completely taken in by what I was seeing I couldn't help myself. God this girl was hot, but in a way I'm not sure I had ever appreciated before. This was no slutty, big-boobed stripper or even a saucy little bar-tramp eager for the picking. This was just a pretty girl, the kind you see every day and maybe admire for a moment but typically forget soon after. Everything about her, her undeniable innocence, made conjuring up the carnal inappropriate. This situation though, the sheer impossibility of it, and her inescapable presence, changed everything. The pale skin, sun-bleached hair, slight build, uneasy expression, and clumsy movements lent her a vulnerability and sensuality that is impossible to explain. When she caught my glance with her own by accident the burst of excitement I felt was stifling, taking my breath away. I wasn't sure if it was truly just her or the lascivious situation that was affecting me more but I cannot recall a single time in my life when I have been more turned on. I ached for her.

I have to stop here for a second and try to explain something that I'm not sure I have the words for. As the scene unfolded that day, the sun beating down on us as this pretty young girl danced and undressed, there was a kind of weird conflict present.

On one hand the whole situation seemed unreal, unbelievable in some way and I had the distinct feeling that I was dreaming and would suddenly wake up, cursing myself for the interruption. These kinds of things only happen in an x-rated film, between the sticky pages of some pornographic magazine, or in the head of a teen-aged boy. This sustained disbelief detached me somehow from what was happening, making me feel like a distant observer only of an erotic but remote spectacle. It was strong enough to cloud my judgment and suppressed scruples that otherwise would never have accepted, much less participated in, such a violation.

Pressing down on me at the same time however, as keenly as the heat, was the very realness of it, an intoxicating closeness, a seducing intimacy. She was there, not on some glossy page, T.V. screen or even up on some dimly lit stage, but right there. Her shadow moved on the ground at my feet, I could catch the smell of her shampoo on the breeze. The squeak of her sneakers on the metal hood, the music scratching through the old truck's speakers and her heavy breathing, they made it all so present. I was part of this, in this. That sweet young woman up there whose modesty and innocence were being stripped from her more and more every minute was real, so real.

When the music stopped she half attempted to cover her heaving breasts and dropped down to sit on the hood. Her dancing had taken on a more energetic, even abandoned feel to it this time and she was breathing hard. I'm sure it was Potter's composed inevitability of her situation that had begun to relax her inhibitions but inside I hoped it was arousal beginning to surface. The idea that some part of her was starting to enjoy this was both intoxicating from my animalistic standpoint but somehow sympathetic too, hoping her fear and humiliation would turn to something less painful.

Potter strode up beside her and suggested she take a minute to catch her breath. He offered her a beer from the cooler in the back of our truck but she declined with a silent shake of her head. She was noticeably stressed, physically from the exertion in the hot sun and what she was being forced to contend with emotionally. We fidgeted there in the dirt, the interruption easing the fervor raging within all of us but only slightly. When she stood up again, asking for that beer on second thought, it was back strong as ever. We watched as she tilted that graceful neck, pointing her tits to the sky as she worked the beer bottle. She swallowed hard and took a deep breath after draining more than half, a tantalizing dribble of white foam dripping onto her chest and racing down her belly. She handed the bottle to the old man and she stepped back.

She knew what was next and stood there several minutes motionless, the beer-foam soaking into the fabric below her belly button. We waited for a nudge from Potter but he was patient, giving her time. She closed her eyes and gnawed at her lip, settling some final inner compromise.

In slow motion it seemed she reached down and slid her thumbs into the elastic waistband of her panties. The material slid down first in the back as she bent over at the waist to ease them down, revealing the white expanse of smooth, tantalizing cheeks then dipped in the front as well. The little red chili peppers crinkled and folded as they moved down her thighs, past her knees, and slid down long slender calves. She straightened then, letting them slip from her fingers as they settled about her ankles. Strangely my eyes were drawn not to her womanhood immediately, now nearly visible between clenched thighs, but those panties, resting in a little bundle about her feet. First one foot rose slightly, relinquishing its hold on them and then the other. When the second foot lifted however the material clung precariously to one toe. Potter held out his hand and the so adorned foot rotated toward him, ever, ever so slowly. That long graceful leg turned out, away from the other, then extended ballet like. When she finally dipped the foot forward and dropped the panties into his hand, I traced the leg back, along ankle, knee and further.

Nestled between the already closing thighs was a triangle of pale white flesh, never graced by the sun under even the most daring of teen bikini bottoms. Within and beneath the triangle a rosy pink fold peered out coyly, the fragile petals of tender flesh delicately framing an oh-so-tiny darker recess. Only the faintest hint of transparent golden down surrounded her guarding labia, thinning as it fanned upward, catching a second of teasing sunlight as she pivoted back toward us. The thighs came quickly together and ended that alluring glance but even after the far more provocative and revealing images that would follow it is that momentary glimpse I have carried with me so dearly for all the years since.

Again the music began and she moved. There was a power in her dancing this time, all but gone were the prudish and embarrassed gestures of minutes before. Her hips moved without shame and her arms wound up in that blonde mane, proudly exposing her quivering bosom. The abandon lent confidence and quality to her movements and despite her still obviously amateurish display, she captivated us.

Her waist was so tiny it gave her hips and bust curves they hadn't yet earned and her tummy there was so taught as to show not a crease when she would bend full over in a rush, dipping her head and cascading her hair in a swirl. She spun away suddenly and for one devilish moment spread her legs widely, then bent completely at the waist, her ivory bottom facing us and the flesh beneath suddenly tantalizing visible.

"Oh shit" came a strangled cry from one of the hands who quickly turned and darted behind the truck, grasping at his crotch. I sympathized, feeling an impending climax myself. I stuck my hands frantically in my pockets, fearful that just one more rub accompanied by this dervish of forbidden lust in front of me would send me stumbling away too. My hands moved of their own volition within my pockets however, reconnecting with the throbbing flesh down there so eager to join with what my senses were taking in.

The song ended all too quickly and the girl dropped to her knees then sat back on her heels. Facing us briefly she graced each of us with a short glance then toppled back at the waist and reclined onto the windshield looking skyward, arms flung out in exhaustion. Her legs, pinned beneath her spread reflexively and she effectively collapsed, eyes closed, panting hard, breasts heaving.

I took a long intense look at her then, fixating and committing to memory every detail. Head to toe my eyes caressed her and then back again. I stepped closer, actually leaning over the hood, taking in her sweat scent. The feminine mix of sweat and maybe lavender soap filled my nostrils and the enticing nearness of that quivering belly drove me over the edge.

My groin contracted then released in an explosion of violent pleasure. My hands knotted in my pockets as I grimaced and let out a stifled grunt. I lurched back, stumbling a little, my eyes riveted on the glorious flesh laid out before me. She looked over briefly, a strange mix of humiliation and amusement in her eyes. I couldn't hold her gaze and looked down sheepishly, gasping as my body continued to respond.

The ranch hand next to me brushed past suddenly and moved toward the truck, actually reaching a hand toward her while the other clawed at his groin. I would have stopped him but I was still in the grips of release myself and could hardly stand much less interfere. Potter shouted a warning however and his tone was unmistakable.

"Get the hell back Ruiz or I'll fire you then shoot you in the Goddamn head!"

Ruiz halted, looked over angrily and the two men's gazes met. I was coming around by then and moved forward a little but was still pretty unsteady. I wondered privately in those few seconds if Potter was serious. Could you goad these guys, goad me, with such a situation and not expect us to act on it, not let us finish it off? I wanted her, God I wanted her. She was still lying there but looking up uneasily now, beginning to recover and beginning to sense the danger. She was looking at Ruiz but glanced at me again and in that second I realized I couldn't touch her, wouldn't let anyone touch her.

What she had shared, unwillingly of course, was something rare. It was tawdry yes, perverse certainly but special. Some of her innocence had been exposed and exploited up on the hood of that truck for out benefit, but not all. We, I, was so fortunate to have experienced it. There was no way I would tolerate someone trying to rip the rest from her. I guess Potter felt the same way or maybe he just feared pushing his luck. He might just get away with this, using the girl's fear to keep her silent, but a rape? That would be a whole different story. I prefer my line of reasoning but I'm not a fool, it was probably the latter that drove the old man to actually grab Ruiz by the shoulder and shove him away.

A few seconds later we were being shoved into the truck. Potter was yelling for us to take our horny asses back to the yard and forget this ever happened or else. As we pulled the truck around the drive I looked back and saw him handing her the t-shirt. She was still sitting up there on her knees but modesty was returning. She clutched the item quickly and drew it about her torso, scooted across the smooth metal to the far side of the truck away from him and hopped down. I got one last glimpse of long legs and the white of her butt before we made the turn onto the road and accelerated.

We returned to the ranch and Potter followed only a few minutes after. I was convinced then and still am that he never touched her after we left, he didn't have time. I suspect he made it clear what was at stake and tried to secure her silence and apparently he must have done a good job of it because nothing was ever said. I've often thought about what might have happened if she had dared reveal it all to her boyfriend or the police. There was no proof at all, Potter had been careful. It was our word against hers and even if someone believed her, there were so many nasty spins that could have put on the story that Potter would have ruined her. He would have too.

In the end it just died right there. You would think we would have talked about it amidst ourselves, embracing the memory together, thrilling in its recall, but we didn't. What we did privately with the images we would hold forever I'm sure is different but publicly, even amid ourselves, nothing, not a word. Potter didn't even warn us, he didn't have to. It never happened. We got it.

I didn't see the girl again that summer, not even out on the pasture. I don't know what happened to her immediately after but the owners came home, nothing was ever said about the tractor and she married Trent about a year later. That summer was the last I worked for old man Potter, picking up a better gig with a state agency through the rest of my college. I really didn't spend much time in town afterward either to be honest, not due to anything connected to the incident, life just took a few new turns for me that fall.