Harold C. Jones
A tiny, fringed buckskin purse dangled on its strap.
Inside was everything she needed, a driver’s license, a compact.
Lipstick,
chewing gum and a little money, plus her usual five dollars tucked away for a
taxi in an emergency. A handful of French safes, the key to the back door and that
was about it.
When Mickie saw the two cute guys in the red
Fairlane, she didn’t hesitate. She stepped forwards into the brighter light and
gave them a cute little wave, bringing smiles and causing quick mutual looks
between them.
A long wolf whistle came from the driver’s side as
the passenger stared. There was music going in there and the light was about to
turn. It was Crimson and Clover, one of her favorite songs.
Not for one minute did she hesitate.
“Hi, guys! You, hoo.”
The one in the passenger seat looked astonished and
then grabbed the driver’s arm. The light turned green and they were about to
pull away. He looked back, eyes a bit wide. She was a vision of wholesome
American loveliness in her handkerchief-sized cutoff jeans, faded and fringed
all around the edges. The halter top, thin cotton and hot pink besides,
revealed her nipples, her tummy and a lot of bare skin everywhere else. He
stared into those big, baby-blue eyes.
Gotcha.
“Hi.” She waved again, bobbing up and down slightly,
as if she was in a hurry and needed to get to the bathroom.
The driver hurriedly hit the right blinker, gave it
some gas, and neatly turned hard right into the curb.
The boys stopped right at her feet where she stood
at the crosswalk. She stepped up to the door, putting her hand on the edge. She
leaned forwards and the passenger’s eyes refocused hurriedly.
The desert night was warm to begin with, but it was
rapidly cooling.
The driver leaned over to look her in the eyes through
the window.
“Yes, Miss?”
“Hi. Nice car.”
“Uh, yeah. Thanks. Uh, can we help you with
something?”
She smiled.
“I’m Mickie.”
“Uh—Hi. I’m Flynn to my friends and this is Herman.”
Flynn to his friends and Alvin to anyone looking for a
beating was what he
almost said, although he knew that women weren’t interesting in that sort of
talk.
Talk was cheap, as everyone knew.
“Hello, Herman. Nice meeting you, Flynn.”
The one in the passenger seat bobbed his head and
risked a quick look up from her feet, which were a sight in the dark brown
sandals with the thong straps tied calf-high. He took his time over her breasts
and honey-tanned cleavage, but he came back to her.
“Uh, hello. Hi, Mickie.”
Flynn seemed nonplussed.
“So, uh—”
She was about to speak, but Herman seemed a bit
brighter. That Flynn sure had big arms, though. Herman was pale but cute, and
definitely still more boy than man.
“Would you like a ride somewhere, ah, Miss Mickie?”
She smiled from ear to ear, hands on her hips and
her long blonde hair framing her face in a manner she had always thought of as
elfin when looking at herself in the mirror. She tilted her head as if
considering the possibility for the first time.
She stabbed Herman with a look.
“Yeah—why, you practically read my mind there,
Herman.” She gave Flynn another kind of look, as if to say, my, what a smart boy, that Herman.
He stared into those eyes with parted lips, heart
beating like a hummingbird’s wings. They both did.
Herman, seventeen years old and blushing like a dewy
rose in morning sunlight, hastily hopped out after a jab in the short ribs from
Flynn.
“Why sure, Miss Mickie.” Flynn had been dreaming of
a girl like this for about his entire life as far as he could recall.
They both had. They had sure as talked about it something
awful as well—on almost any given night like this, perhaps they had even talked
or fantasized just such an eventuality as this. They had read a few stories and
looked at a few pictures in magazines.
Herman, with a mop of thick brown hair, dark eyes,
six-foot-one and all of one hundred fifty pounds, got out and held the door for
her. It was cute. He was looking up and down the sidewalk, checking as if to
see if anyone in particular had witnessed this noteworthy event. She clambered
in and it looked like Herman, perhaps not so bright after all, was going to get
in the back. He looked a bit lost as he contemplated the open car door and
Mickie within. She took another look at the blonde Flynn character, the upper
leg hard and bulging up against her own.
“Hop in, Sugar.” Mickie squeezed over, ever further
inwards, leaving her lean and tanned legs trailing over into his side as he got
back in.
She sat up straighter, her left hand as she reached
between his legs, brushing Flynn’s thigh as she braced herself, giving Herman a
nice smile and then feeling around under his left hip, looking for the seatbelt
but there wasn’t one there. Herman sucked air and looked away even as some of
the rigidity left Flynn’s body.
“It’s okay, Sugar.” Mickie lifted Flynn’s big arm,
and casually draped it around her shoulders as Herman stared fixedly at her
knees, her calves, her bare toes and drinking in the heady wine that was her
scent.
His lips framed silent words, anyone listening to
the wind in the palms might guess what they were.
Oh,
my, Gawd!!!
“So. Where did you want to go, ah, Miss?” Herman
sounded pretty cool, although it wasn’t his car. “Flynn and Herman to the
rescue!”
He leaned over and gave a thoroughly-stunned Herman
a quick grin.
“Right, little buddy?”
“Erg.” Herman shot Flynn a dark look, an exaggerated
look, and Mickie snickered, patted his knee and got him grinning in gratitude
again. “Oh. Ah, yeah, absolutely.”
It wasn’t exactly Flynn’s car either, it belonged to
his dad, but he had permission to use it while the folks were away at his
aunt’s in Chicago. This was no time to point that out, Herman decided.
Flynn was a full year older than Herman. While
Herman had his beginner’s permit, it might be a while yet before he had wheels
of his own, working evenings and weekends jerking soda for ninety cents an
hour.
Flynn helped his dad build houses on weekends and in the summer for more
like a buck-forty, hence the wheels on occasion. It was more usual to get the pickup truck.
“Oh, anywhere, really.” She reached over and gave
Herman’s hand a quick squeeze. “”I’ve got a little money. Maybe we could get
some beer.”
“Sure, Mickie.” You had to be twenty-one to buy
liquor and beer, thought Flynn, mind racing with the implications. “Whatever
your little heart desires.”
There sure were a lot of implications, and yet she
was so pretty, so fresh and young and vibrant.
She sure had a lot of confidence for what was a mere
slip of a girl.
Herman’s hand was a bit moist, but when she
squeezed, he squeezed right back, not looking at her exactly, but sneaking a
look at the rearview mirror in the center of the windshield.
He was trying to get a glimpse of her face, failing
that he snuck a look across at Flynn, looking fairly bemused as he drove at a
sedate thirty-three miles per hour down the wide boulevard street, lined with
tall still palm trees and the bright neon lights of the city that never slept.
Mickie leaned forward and turned up the radio just a
little bit.
This was going to be fun.
***
There was a pounding in his head. At first he
thought someone was at the door.
The phone was ringing too.
Flynn groaned.
Eyes blinking in the glare, he rolled over and
looked at the alarm clock.
His mind went back to last night, a jolt of
something went through him, and he swung his feet to the floor.
Alone in the
house, he padded naked to the living room where the phone was. He ran his hands
through his tousled mop, still marveling at his luck. His face felt like a
glazed donut, but oh, well.
“Flynn! Flynn!”
“Yeah, yeah. Shit. I’m here.”
“Can you believe that?”
It really happened, Flynn felt like saying.
Something stopped him. What, he couldn’t exactly say.
He laughed, and Flynn just stood there with the
phone in his hand. What he wanted to do was to go and open up the front
curtains and put the coffee on. But Herman was there too.
“So how are you
this morning, Herman?” The grin faded in recollection.
While the image of Mickie spread-eagled on the trunk
of the Fairlane down that deserted dead-end road would stick with Alvin Flynn
for the rest of his life, there had been something funny about Herman’s begging
off at the last minute, pleading a little too much beer.
Something about not liking sloppy seconds, not that
Herman had actually said anything like that. Not last night—maybe he was
jealous of Mickie plastered all over him like that.
For crying out loud, someone had to go first—it was
up to Mickie, really.
“Hung, over.” The answer finally came as Flynn savored
the taste in his mouth, convinced that it had all been real and no fluke
either—there was more where that came from. “Like, wow, man.”
“Yeah.”
Yeah,
me too.
What were you supposed to say? And yet you had to
say something.
Herman would never be able to tell Flynn how it
felt.
But the stab of jealousy to see Mickie in Flynn’s
arms and to wish it was him—and to know that it was over, and you couldn’t lie
to yourself anymore, and that for the love of God why couldn’t it be me?
Oh, God, why couldn’t it be me.
“So, what are we doing tonight, little buddy?”
Herman repressed a sigh.
“Oh, I don’t know. Whatever.”
Flynn stood there looking at the curtains, holding
the warm set up to his ear and grinning just like a Cheshire cat.
Yah-hoo!
Guess
who ain’t a virgin no more.
A thought struck him.
Flynn was home alone and why not?
Why not.
“Whoo—ee.” He let out a rebel yell sure to shock the
dog and maybe even lift an eyebrow next door.
Flynn was still young, still full of piss and
vinegar, and to hell with them anyways.
“Halleluyah!”
The phone was very quiet after that little outburst.
I
will be damned.
“Day-am it all, little buddy, we got laid!”
“Yeah, yeah. I’m happy for you, Buddy.”
That’s
me, and so cool, too.
Flynn laughed and laughed and laughed.
All recollections of Herman’s half-hearted efforts,
finally begging off due to a blasted headache of all the things—oh, how they
had chuckled about women and their headaches during many a bull-session over
the long, lean years together.
Flynn had forgotten it already.
***
Herman lowered the phone, knowing that for the rest
of his life, he would be living a lie.
Flynn was gone. He knew that now.
All of those girls, it was not just Mickie. The
hair, the eyes, the teeth, the tits and the asses.
They had the legs and the mouths and the lips, the cute
little up-turned noses, the pussies and the belly-buttons and everything in
between.
He only wished he could hate her for it.
Mickie…Mickie is everything I will never be.
END
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