The Milkman

by Tabatha Kiss

  I push up onto my toes, positioning myself over his cock and he withdraws his fingers.

  Will laughs through his smirk. “Flying past third base here, aren’t we?” he asks.

  I align us a little closer. “Baseball is so boring.”

  “Agreed.”

  He reaches into his back pocket, quickly withdrawing the condom hidden inside. I wait with bated breath as he rips it open and expertly sheathes himself.

  I chuckle. “I see you had plans for tonight.”

  “Jovie, I’ve been carrying that around since the moment I knew you came home,” he quips.

  “You cocky bastard.”

  I slide downward, penetrating myself on him and we both groan with a lustful vengeance.

  Years of longing and waiting have come down to this and we waste no moment of it. Will pulls me down, guiding himself as far in as he’ll go and I bite my lip to keep from crying out his name as I round my hips on him.

  I meet each upward thrust until my thighs burn and my toes turn numb. His lips never leave me, sliding from my neck to my mouth and down to my breasts. I run my fingers through his hair, delighting in his painful groans as I grip his scalp and scratch at his back through his shirt.

  We find a rhythm quickly; a new yet oh-so-familiar grind. What began as desperate, animalistic greed shifts into a slower, deliberate movement that curls my toes and I feel the desire trembling inside of him.

  He eases forward to lay me back along the gas tank. Dizziness rushes my gut but I put my trust in him as I reach over my head to grip the handlebars and hold on.

  Will fucks me slowly, easily maintaining our balance with one leg on the floor. I moan with my knees up around his waist. Every part of me throbs with a deep pleasure unlike any I’ve felt before now. My heart beats with his. Our tongues dance together. His cock fills me over and over again, each wild thrust bringing me closer to climax. His grunt becomes a growl and I know he’s just as close as I am.

  “Will.” I gasp. “Come with me.”

  He can’t speak but he doesn’t need to. He kisses me in response, crushing our lips together as he thrusts a little faster.

  I lean back as the tension mounts in me. I dig my nails into the clutch as his grip on me tightens. It’s painful but that just excites me even more. I look into his open eyes and he does the same to me, locking our passions together for a few final thrusts.

  We break down, each feeling a crushing, long-awaited orgasm from our head to our toes. Spots flood my vision as my body twitches and my lungs burn. Will lays his head against my shoulder, grunting and breathing hard as the wave runs through him. We hold onto each other, clinging with every ounce of strength we can find.

  After a minute, Will raises his head. “I’ve missed you so much,” he whispers.

  I run a finger along his sweat-covered forehead to brush the hair out of his eyes. “I missed you, too,” I say.

  I lower my stiff legs and he helps draw me up to sit. Jolts of pleasure still fire up my spine and I rest in his embrace as I glance around the car lab.

  “Man, college is more fun than I thought it’d be,” I say.

  Will laughs.

  Twenty-Two

  Will

  By the time we make it home to Clover, the streets are deserted. Still, I turn off the main roads as soon as I can just in case someone recognizes my bike and realizes that’s Jovie riding on the back of it.

  I feel Jovie pat my arm and I look to the left, following her pointed finger toward the high school parking lot as we pass by it. Nearly two dozen cars are parked together by the entrance — not exactly a sight one sees at nine at night.

  I hit the brake and pull over to the side of the road.

  Jovie slides her shield up. “Town meeting?” she asks.

  I shake my head. “Not tonight.”

  “Then, what’s going on?”

  We look at each other and our lips curl with the same devious smiles we saved for the more rebellious nights of our youth. I rev the engine and accelerate into the parking lot, rolling all the way to the school entrance and stopping there.

  The door is unlocked. We walk inside the dark and shadowed lobby and slink past the front desk and principal’s office. A few voices travel toward us from the gymnasium down the hall. Jovie’s hand finds its way into mine and we take light steps to the propped-open doorway.

  About thirty people sit around the gym, clumped together on folding chairs in groups of a half-dozen or so but with no practical reason as far as I can tell.

  Coach Rogers stands at the front with a laptop connected to a projector, showing off various slides as he does for visual aids at every town meeting but there wasn’t one scheduled for tonight.

  What are they doing here?

  I listen closely as Coach continues talking back and forth with the small crowd but my sense of hearing fades as Jovie lays her hand on my chest. There’s a layer of cotton fabric between our skin but a rush of warmth still ripples down my abs. I look down into her big, smiling eyes and this entire evening flashes in my head again.

  I made love to my Jovie again. Finally. I felt her body writhing against mine, just as warm and tight as she was before. The real intimate details of her came rushing back like the way her hands shake for several minutes after orgasm. Things that no one else in the world would know except me.

  She comes closer and grows two inches taller as she pushes up onto her toes. Our lips touch, silently pursing in a slow kiss. I pull her against me and her hands falls to my waist while mine settle on either side of her face.

  “Okay, let’s talk about the Jovie situation.”

  Her heels touch the floor, breaking our kiss.

  “As you all are aware,” Coach continues, “Jovie Ross has reappeared in town and has already displayed some interesting behavior.”

  “Interesting?”

  I look into the gym again and watch as Lucky cries out from her chair.

  “More like criminal,” she says. “She’s already driven people away from my bar. I could go bankrupt.”

  “And let’s not forget that tantrum she threw in the town square!” someone adds.

  “Get her out!”

  “Well, now…” Coach tries to subdue the scattered shouts. “Technically, she hasn’t broken any laws—”

  “We don’t care!”

  Mrs. Clark’s shrilling voice carries over the others. “She assaulted me on my own porch!”

  “Clover was fine without her!”

  “We should make her leave! Her useless father, too!”

  Jovie recoils, her face torn apart in the shadowed hallway as the voices get louder.

  Rage drives me forward and I reach for the door.

  “Wait,” she whispers. “Will, don’t—”

  I slip free from her grasp and barge into the gymnasium, instantly catching the attentions of people in the back row. A wave of silence passes through them all one-by-one as they each realize I’m here.

  “William,” Coach Rogers greets me from the front. “What, uh… what brings you here?”

  I make eye contact with a few of them as I walk between the scattered groups of folding chairs. They all turn away from me; Lucky, Mrs. Clark, even Marv. Faces I’ve known and looked up to since childhood now slink away with hateful, cowardly eyes.

  All because of my Jovie.

  “I was just passing by,” I say. “Didn’t realize there was a town meeting tonight. Guess I didn’t get the e-mail.”

  “Well, this was just an impromptu gathering of local business owners to discuss new policy changes.”

  “Then, where are my parents?” I ask, glancing around. “They run a business here, don’t they?”

  “Medical practices will not be impacted by the new changes,” he says quickly.

  “Oh.” I nod. “Okay, then.” I find the nearest empty chair and sit down. “Please continue. I apologize for the interruption. What was that you were saying about Jovie?”

  He sighs. “William…”
>
  “Because I find it strange that her name would come up at all in discussions about local business policies.”

  “That girl is a menace!”

  I look to the front row to see Mrs. Clark’s wrinkled eyes boring into me. “Why?”

  “She is rude and disrespectful and I don’t want her in this town!”

  Her voice echoes throughout the gym, slowly dying as all eyes shift toward me.

  “Okay,” I say, keeping my calm. “That’s one opinion. Anyone else want to chime in?”

  Lucky turns in her seat. “That’s not just one opinion, Will. We’re all in agreement here.”

  “Show of hands,” I shout. “Who here thinks Jovie Ross should board the next bus out of Clover?”

  Several palms instantly fly into the air. A few stragglers join them, most of them with their heads down.

  “And who here thinks you’re all nuts and that we should all leave Jovie Ross alone?”

  I raise my own hand. One other palm rises from the back corner. I look to see Mr. Trin sitting there, shiny head and all. People fire looks of disgust at the both of us but neither of us back down.

  “Over what?” I ask them. “Because she called out an old woman for being blatantly rude? Because she took offense to people stalking her around town, spying on her? What is it about Jovie that has the rest of you so hell-bent of casting her out?”

  Coach Rogers walks to his laptop. “It’s not about our feelings towards her, William. It’s about cold, hard statistics.” He taps the mouse a half-dozen times, flipping through the slideshow until it stops on a line graph.

  Clover Crime Rates, it reads along the top.

  He clears his throat and uses a long pointer to indicate a sharp dip on the line between February and March 2013. “The week Jovie left, crime in Clover shrunk seventy-nine percent.”

  “Oh, come on,” I say. “Clover doesn’t have any crime.”

  “Not anymore.” He clicks to the next slide. “As soon as she left, vandalism dipped twenty percent, street drugs all but disappeared, and the biker gangs never came back.”

  I scoff. “There were never any biker gangs here.”

  He holds up two fingers. “There were two motorbikes registered at the local DMV that year.”

  “Yeah.” I nod. “One of them was mine.”

  “Right. And you never registered one again, thus proving the theory of Jovie’s negative influence on the community.”

  My eye twitches as I push out of my chair to stand near the front. “Mr. Trin!”

  He looks up at me as people shift around in the chairs. “Yeah?”

  “Jovie works for you,” I say. “How’s that going?”

  “Well, she ain’t too great at counting back change,” he says. “But she keeps a little calculator by the register for when she needs it.”

  “Okay...” I hesitate. “Something to work on. What else?”

  “Her hair is long and flowy and she smells nice.”

  I exhale. “Okay, that’s not really what I’m looking for. Has she done anything at all, in relation to her employment, that is cause for concern for the community-at-large?”

  “No,” he answers, scratching his chin. “Jovie is, and always has been, a stellar employee. She arranges the dinosaur figures alphabetically by species. Very educational.”

  “Right. Thank you, Mr. Trin.” I address the rest of them again. “See, guys? Nothing to worry about. You’re blowing all of this way out of proportion!”

  “I would hardly call that nothing, Will,” Lucky says. “First, it’s dinosaurs. Then, it’s how to hide weed in the spines of their school textbooks.”

  I blink. “This is a joke, right?”

  “No,” Coach says. “You’re not being punk’d, William.”

  I cringe. “Literally no one says that anymore.”

  Mrs. Clark pops out of her chair in the front row. “I, for one, find it utterly offensive that she works in a toy store where children play.” She visibly shivers. “Who knows what she’s doing to influence them to crime or drugs or worse?”

  My mouth sags. “Are you kidding me? Can you people not hear yourselves?”

  “And she always wears those jeans!”

  “What jeans?” I ask, following the new voice across the room.

  Vice Principal Sanders shakes his head from the far corner. “The ones with rips on the knees,” he says. “You buy a pair of jeans because they last. What’s the point of buying them pre-torn?”

  “It’s a popular style,” I argue.

  “Not in Clover.” He scoffs. “Maybe in the big cities where she’s obviously been shacking up with weirdos for the last few years, but here in Clover, we keep our jeans hole-less and wrinkle-free!”

  I roll my eyes at the wave of agreeing voices. “That’s ridiculous. Who irons their jeans?” Several hands shoot up into the air and I sigh. “That was rhetorical but okay...”

  Coach points to his presentation again. “William, you should be more concerned about Jovie being back than anybody.”

  “Why?”

  “Your happiness index.”

  I pause. “My what?”

  He navigates to another slideshow, this one labeled ‘WMyers’ on his flash drive. “Overall happiness is a ten-point scale. Ten being full happiness and one being full unhappiness.”

  A new slide fills the screen. Another line graph dating back to the early 2000s with a photograph of my face in the top right corner.

  “Wait…” I squint in confusion. “What is this?”

  “It’s a measure of your personal happiness over time,” he answers nonchalantly.

  I stare at him. “You keep tabs on my personal happiness? What, do you keep psychological profiles on everybody in town?”

  He hesitates. “Well...”

  My eyes grow wider. “You keep psychological profiles on everybody in town?! How is this not common knowledge?”

  “Well, the profiles become tainted if people know about them.”

  “This is a serious invasion of privacy.”

  He shrugs. “It’s my job, William.”

  “You’re the PE teacher!”

  “And it’s my responsibility to monitor the physical state of this town’s citizens.”

  “No, it’s your responsibility to teach sex-ed and the rules of dodge ball.”

  “Oh, no.” He waves a hand. “We don’t play dodge ball anymore. It’s cruel and encourages bullying.”

  My jaw drops. “Oh, my God!”

  “This is your happiness profile,” he continues, pointing at the screen unfazed. “As you can see, you lingered at a steady 7.8 from age ten until your freshman year of high school when it dipped to an understandable 7.4. Now, half-way through your junior year, that spiked to an all-time high of 9.1.”

  I nod. “That’s when I started dating Jovie.”

  “Exactly. Fast forward to February 2013 when Jovie left town.” His pointer crashes to the bottom of the graph and the crowd audibly cringes. “1.4, William. Usually, we reserve the low points on the graph for homeless people and the recently deceased.”

  Blood rushes to my cheeks. “So, what? Breakups are, in general, unhappy times. It’s not a crime to be sad over a breakup. Also, none of this affects any of you. It’s none of your business.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong.” He clicks open another document and I groan. “We like to keep the General Happiness Index of Clover — or G-HIC — at a healthy average of 7.3. If this point drops below 7, we start to worry, but if it goes anywhere near a 6...” He shakes his head.

  “What?” I ask. “You start sacrificing virgins in the town square?”

  “No, we call regular town meetings to address those who are messing up the curve and, William...” He lays a hand on my shoulder. “If history is going to repeat itself, as it often does, then this Jovie situation could plummet you right back down to low happiness ratings and that affects all of us.”

  I shake his hand off. “No, it just affects these absolut
ely batshit insane charts you have.”

  “Language,” he warns. “You’re in a school.”

  “No! This is...” I turn to the silent crowd again. “Look, I get it. You don’t like change. No one does. That’s normal but Jovie Ross was born in this town and she deserves to be here as much as everybody else in this room.”

  Mrs. Clark leans forward. “But, Will, she...”

  “She what?”

  “She glued a rubber...” she hesitates, “you-know-what to the statue of George Washington outside the elementary school!”

  I hold back a chuckle. “Oh, come on. That was me!”

  They all gasp.

  “Yeah, that’s right!” I point at my chest. “I did that! You gonna drive me out of town, huh? You gonna start having secret town meetings about me behind my back to address the Will situation?”

  “Will, you’ve grown up,” Lucky says. “You come from a good family. Hank and Jovie Ross, well...”

  “Well, what?” I shrug. “Sure, Hank isn’t perfect but he’s lived here for nearly forty years. He’s worked the same job, paid the same taxes, contributed to the same local businesses for forty years. How many of you can say that?”

  Lucky sighs. “He’s just not what we like to call Clover Folk, honey.”

  Coach flicks his pointer and draws a line along the middle of the graph. “And his happiness level has never gone above a five. Even when Jovie was born. Usually, a newborn baby gives the curve a steady jump for several weeks. It never budged when Jovie was born. Bad omen right there.”

  The crowd nods in agreement.

  “How is that her fault?” I scoff. “You know what? Shame on you. Shame on all of you. Jovie’s had a rough life. Her mother died. Her father neglected her. She never had the opportunities the rest of us did. So, yeah, she acted out in her teen years but she’s an adult now and she’s trying which is a hell of a lot more than I can say about anyone else in this room.”