“How do you know about the Wilson place?” I asked. Knowing how secluded this place was, my anticipation of her motive for coming here had raised my heart rate. However, the car-ride and this place, they were her choices. I took a deep calming breath. I had to control myself and let this engaged worldly woman show me what she had in mind.
“Johnny’s grandfather, the owner and builder of the Okatie lodge, used to hunt here with Richard Wilson right after this place was built.” She motioned at what was left of the columns. “It used to be a four-story mansion with lawns, fountains, and gardens; presumably breath-taking.” She leaned her head back and gazed at the stars. “John’s dad and his wife, before Johnny was born, spent weeks partying with the Wilsons after World War One. Johnny’s father loves to brag about he and his family rubbing elbows with the ultra-rich.”
“I can only imagine what that was like.” I turned the car around and stopped under the shade of a grand old live oak as the sun dipped below the tree line. “My dad and I come over here and hunt boar. It’s private property, but the owners have never been seen here. And everyone does it.”
“So you can at least relate to the hunting part,” she said as she reached over and turned off the ignition. As she pulled away, her intense blue eyes scanned me. “Give me your hand.”
I held out my right hand, and she placed it on her lap, palm up. Then she began to lightly run her fingers over my fingers and palm.
“What are you doing?” I asked, though I loved the attention and the closeness.
“Just as I thought. You have a soft, gentle hand, not the calloused hand of a laborer. More like the hand of an architect, an engineer, or maybe a doctor.” She interlaced her fingers with mine and then stared into my eyes. “Mick, I know this is none of my business, but . . . I don’t want you to enlist.”
Her fingers were soft and warm and playful. I couldn’t remember ever holding hands with a girl, especially not like this, parked in the woods on the verge of nightfall. I really didn’t know this engaged woman, but I had to find out where she was going with all of this. “Why?”
She pushed her back into the corner formed by the door and seat, her gaze downward. “I, ah, I think you’re a wonderful guy who has the potential for being something much greater than a soldier.”
“That’s flattering, but you really don’t know anything about me.”
Her questioning eyes met mine. “I know enough to want to try to save you.”
“Save me? From what? You just told my friends—”
She glanced away. “What I told your friends back there about this being a ‘little conflict’ was a lie. I’m sorry, but I didn’t want them to influence you any more than they already had.”
Her eyes returned to me. “John’s dad, though I dislike him, knows a lot of powerful and knowledgeable people. His associates told him this is going to be a long and ugly war; which translates into large numbers of soldiers either dying or getting maimed. He says the threat of communism touted by the White House is not the main reason for our involvement. He says it’s all about protecting our mineral trade in the Far East and calls it ‘a rich man’s war and a poor man’s fight’.”
She leaned over and touched my arm.
“Please, don’t be a pawn, a tool to sustain or even grow the fortunes of the wealthy,” she pleaded. “Believe me, there are no rich kids in this fight.”
I looked at the fading light silhouetting the tree line and shook my head. “I . . . I don’t know what—”in a flash of movement, she slid across the bench seat, turned my chin with her hand, and kissed me.
Chapter Eleven
I had both kissed and been kissed by girls, quite a few. But I had never been kissed by a woman. The taste of whiskey on Sara’s soft lips, the sweet jasmine perfume, and her arms wrapped around my neck pulling her chest against mine; this was all new, right up there with eighty miles-per-hour in the Packard.
When she slipped her tongue into my mouth, her boldness, her daring compared to the thrill of the high speed ride. She was like Cleopatra, a dominate woman.
I slid my arms around her. My hands discovered her bare back, exposed by her backless dress; warm, baby-like skin.
Heat surged through me. My heart pounded, and my breath rate rose.
Lips on lips, tongues dueling, squirming pressed-together chests, and caressing naked skin continued for what seemed a breathless eternity. My mind was blank except for one thought; I wanted more; a lot more; I wanted everything.
As if she could hear my thoughts, she reached behind her neck and untied the top of her dress. Without breaking the passionate kiss, she pulled back just far enough to let her dress fall to her waist.
Starved for oxygen, I broke the kiss.
In the dim light, I couldn’t stop staring at her chest. Any blood left carrying oxygen to my brain rushed south.
She leaned in and kissed me. Then she took my hand and placed it over her soft, warm, breast. We both let out gasps. My response parented by the forwardness of her erotic surprise, and her clear desire for me to touch a part of her I’d had to work so hard for with other girls. This woman craved me, badly. Sara’s moan into my mouth erased all my thoughts, save one. It was my turn to be in control.
I pushed both of us, glued together at the mouth, away from the steering wheel. Then I eased her on top of me, straddling my thighs. I had never had a girl, let alone a passionate bare-chested woman like Sara, mount me. Everything had all happened so quickly.
In that moment, her yielding to me, I knew there was no return. Obviously, based upon how she was rubbing against me, she wanted me, and I had to have her. Finally, I was going to lose my virginity.
Finally.
My mind, my damned rational mind, interrupted my euphoria. I didn’t have a rubber.
Sara broke the kiss and leaned away. Panting, she reached down, and with the speed and dexterity of a surgeon, my pants were undone. And her wonderful hand stroked away all my concerns about a condom.
I had to be in her. I’d never wanted anything so much in my life.
She hiked up her dress.
She wasn’t wearing panties.
And in one movement, all my lonely nights of wondering and dreaming became reality.
I was inside her!
She was so warm and wet and . . . and rubbing.
I wanted this to last forever. It was soooo . . . no!
I couldn’t believe it. In a thrust and a grunt, maybe two, it was over. I’d lost my virginity.
Damn it!
She softly kissed me, eased off my lap, and cuddled into my arms.
I cleared my throat. “That was quick. Sorry, I—”
“It’ll be much better the next time,” she whispered breathlessly against my cheek. “And there will be next times . . . won’t there? Please don’t go to Korea.”
Chapter Twelve
Night had fallen by the time Sara and I headed back to Goodman’s Store. The radio played soft jazz; her favorite. She cuddled next to me with the cool night air washing over us as I drove. Her body was warm. Several times she leaned around to face me and give me a passionate kiss; her head tilted so I could see the road.
Her attention to me, her caring, her uninhibitedness were all things I could get used to. Each of her kisses was a new, and yet the same, wonderful experience; like a bite of home-made vanilla ice cream. And I could never get enough ice cream.
Between kisses, neither of us spoke. I wondered if she were thinking the same things booming in my head. My mind was fighting a war. I craved this woman; more than I’d ever wanted anything. But she was engaged. This relationship, if that was what this less than an hour old affair was, the sex, the whole thing was wrong. And I had been raised on a rock-solid Christian foundation of right and wrong. There were no exceptions. And yet I knew I would see her again, and again and again, if at all possible.
But the next time, I’d be prepared. I’d have a rubber. I couldn’t believe she hadn’t insisted on me wearing one. What
if she got pregnant? How would she explain being knocked up with her fiancé in an iron lung? Plus, I had received all the lectures in school and at home about safe sex. Sexually transmitted diseases had spread across the country after all the men came home from World War Two. No one was safe. And, although I didn’t want to believe otherwise; I’d be a fool to think I was the only one she’d cheated with. Her pretend fiancé-to-be had been sick a long time. And she was beyond forward, she was an in-control, sexually confident woman.
Two days ago, I had made a decision about my life, my future. I had made a commitment to my friends. Was I going to let an immoral act, with a person I barely knew, change all of that?
But on the other hand, my parents would be happy if I didn’t enlist.
And if I stayed home, I could see Sara. I yearned for that, but we’d have to sneak around. Even if I could get past that, could I live with myself while my friends fought a war without me?
When Sara and I arrived at Goodman’s Store the lights were on. I parked down the street from the bar.
“Do you want me to come in with you?” Sara asked.
“No.”
She snuggled against me. “What’re you going to tell them?”
I leaned my head on the top of the seat and looked up at a zillion stars. “I don’t know.”
“Then don’t go in there. Go home and think about what you should do. If you go in there now, I’m afraid . . . I don’t want you to enlist.” She pushed away, dabbed at her eyes, and sniffed. “This is wrong. I shouldn’t be influencing your life. We barely know each other. Go . . . go see your—”
My lips cut off her sentence. She sobbed until my tongue invaded. Then she wrapped her arms around my neck and kissed me back.
I slid my lips to her ear. “I want you. And I’m not going anywhere.”
Chapter Thirteen
When I walked into Goodman’s Store, the place was empty. I glanced at my watch. It was almost ten. Sara and I had been gone for well over an hour, more like two. I got this sickening feeling in my gut, like the time I struck out with the bases loaded in the last inning to lose a ballgame by only one run. I had let my buddies down. And I was sure they were thinking I’d let a woman change my mind. If so, they were right.
I went home and climbed into bed; but my mind wouldn’t shut off and sleep evaded me.
After an hour of staring at the dark ceiling, I got up and put on my pants. I grabbed one of Dad’s beers out of the fridge and walked into the living room to find Dad sitting in a chair reading a book.
“Now I know why your mom keeps telling me I drink too much; she’s keeping count of the beers in the fridge.” He marked and closed the book.
“Sorry, I couldn’t sleep. Do you want this?” I extended the beer toward him.
“No. But you can get me one of my own, and I’ll join you.”
I smiled, nodded, and retreated to grab another beer.
Seated across from him, I watched him take a swig of beer. “Thank you. That hits the spot. Now why can’t you sleep?”
“I . . . I decided not to enlist.”
“I applaud your decision. But now you feel guilty because of your buddies, right?”
“Yeah, but I don’t want to talk about that. Can we talk about college?”
Dad sat up and raised his eyebrows. “Sure.”
“I thought if I worked a couple of jobs for a year and saved my money, I could afford both an old puddle-jumper and the tuition to go to Armstrong Junior College for two years,” I said. I took a sip of beer. “Then maybe I could decide if I should go on to a university and what I wanted as a major.”
Dad smiled. “That sounds like a damned fine plan, son.” He nodded. “Your mom and I’ve been talkin’ and . . . well in two or three years we should have just about enough saved to help you go to a university.” He got up and walked over and clicked his beer to mine. “Here’s to a fine plan. Like my dad always said, ‘A man with a plan is better than a saint with a complaint.’”
“That’s very generous of you and Mom, but I’d like to do this on my own . . . some way.”
“Let’s take it a day at a time.” He lowered his head and rubbed his temples. “I know you don’t want to discuss your friends, but I have to ask.” He looked at me. “What are they going to do?”
“Sam has already joined, and the rest are planning to enlist tomorrow.”
“In the Marines?”
“Yes.”
“You’ve been pals with these guys since grade school. Friendships are one of the greatest gifts of life. Don’t let them leave without resolving any issues about you not enlisting.”
“I’ll try.”
“Do more than try, Mick. Fix it.” He inhaled deeply and let out a long sigh. “My best man in my wedding and I got into a stupid argument over what now seems like a trivial matter just before we enlisted. And we separated in anger.” He glanced away. “He never came back. And I’ll always regret that, always.”
Chapter Fourteen
The next day I was pumping gas at Clarence’s when the phone rang. The part-time mechanic stuck his head out the door. “Hey, Mick, you’ve got a call.”
This was a first. Rarely did anyone call me and never at Clarence’s.
The mechanic and I traded places. Wiping my red oil-smeared hands on a shop rag, I picked up the phone. “Hello?”
“Mick, happy Friday,” Sara said, her voice making the rancid station smell like jasmine. “What’re you doing tonight? Can you get away for the next couple of days? All you’ll need is a bathing suit. I have a friend who has an empty beach house on Tybee Island.”
When I got home from work, I told my parents a pseudo lie which bothered me. I had never lied to them. But I was in a bind, I needed to see Sara, and a white lie was the only way that would happen. I told them the truth in that I was spending the weekend on Tybee Island at a beach house. The stretch part was that a wealthy aunt of Carl Henry’s had rented the house, and he’d invited me to spend a few days with him and his family.
The Tybee Island house was a two-story mansion relative to what I was used to, a block from the beach. We arrived after dark.
Sara, wearing black peddle-pushers and a blue blouse, and carrying paper bags, entered and turned on all the lights. She deposited the bags in the kitchen. Then she gave me a tour of the house, closing blinds along the way. I noticed the dining room table was set for two across the narrow part of the long table, bracketed by two candles.
When we got to the upstairs master bedroom, she stopped me by the bed. My heart rate quickened.
“Please stand right here by the bed.” She motioned.
I did as she said but leaned down and pushed on the soft bed. “Nice,” I said with a wink.
She smiled. “I have thought a lot about how to make this weekend, our weekend, special, different. So I devised some Tybee beach house rules; henceforth known as Sara’s rules. Raise your right hand.”
I chuckled as I raised my hand.
“You think this is funny, some kind of kids’ game?” she asked as a stern look swept away her smile.
I summoned all my anticipation of what I thought would happen this weekend to form an appeasing look.
“Do you solemnly swear to follow Sara’s rules for the duration of this weekend?”
“I do.”
“Now do everything I do,” she said. And she began unbuttoning her blouse.
My heart now pounding, I unbuttoned my shirt.
She took off her blouse and then pushed down her peddle-pushers, leaving her standing in front of me in her white bra and panties. Her long, toned legs and flat belly complimented her hour-glass shape.
Without taking my eyes off her, I rushed and fumbled as I striped to my tee-shirt and underwear.
She stepped close to me and pulled my tee-shirt over my head. “There, we are now dressed for dinner. Oh,” her fingers touched her lip, “you can cook can’t you?”
“Maybe,” I said as I reached out and pulled her into
my arms.
She pushed away and wagged a finger at me. “There will be no touching until I say so, Sara’s rules. Follow me.”
We went downstairs to the dining room.
“Light the candles, and turn out the lights,” she said, handing me a book of matches. Then she walked into the kitchen.
When she returned she was carrying two plates of food with a bottle of wine pinched under her arm.
She was naked.
My breath caught in my throat. Blood surged.
Based upon what little experience I had with girls and the few naked pictures of women guys had passed around, Sara was perfect.
She set a plate of food in front of me, which I didn’t even look at. My eyes were fixed on Sara’s body as she handed me the bottle of wine with a corkscrew tapped into the cork. “Open this and fill the glasses.” Then she sat across from me with her plate of food.
It took all my concentration to take my eyes off her to open the bottle. I had never drunk wine or opened a corked bottle before, but I figured it out. Then I poured the blood red liquid into the two glasses filling them halfway, like I’d seen in the movies.
She picked up a glass and held it up, with the flickering candle light dancing on her bare skin. “To our weekend, may it be the first of many.”
“To our weekend,” I struggled to parrot her words and clicked her glass.
We both drank.
I liked the woody grape taste of the wine and drained the glass. The alcohol seemed to help expedite the southern flow of my blood.
“This isn’t quite fair; you still have clothes on. Let me take care of that,” she said as she slid under the table. I felt her fingers hook the band of my pants and pull them off. “Oh, and while I’m down here, let me enforce another Sara rule, no more premature ejaculations.”
Mickey's Wars Page 4
