To be published by the online literary magazine Montana Mouthful in February 2018

Sun-drenched. Exactly the right word, learned just a few weeks ago in Miss Hirschoff’s English composition class. The sun, still an hour from mid-day, was an orange orb in a blue sky, so vivid that looking up hurt his eyes. He reached down to feel the knee-high meadow grass. It must have been dew-drenched at dawn; now it was warm and dry.

Would Susan want to lie down in that thick, verdant growth? Or would she worry about telltale grass stains? He had no idea what to expect. English comp, where they met, was the only class in which a sophomore like him might get to know a senior, someone more experienced. He’d begun really getting to know her only last night, taking her home from a movie.

She’d seemed eager, inviting his tentative kisses. Then abruptly she sat up, reached under her sweater to unhook her bra, and curled backward into his arms. He’d felt inept, literally feeling his way through a welter of warm, wet kisses and firm flesh. At his older brother Josh’s instruction, he’d worn his football team jockstrap to keep his tumescence in check, but hadn’t been sure it would continue to contain his alarming stiffening.

And then just as suddenly she’d stopped him, sat up. “Your car isn’t very comfortable, and it’s getting chilly,” she said. “Do you know Dyson’s farm?”

Of course. A dairy out on the edge of town.

She was remarkably explicit. A hayfield out beyond the house and barn. Don’t go through the barnyard; take Mason Road. Look for an almost-invisible dirt track. “Seems to go nowhere, but it snakes through a little strip of woods into the field. Noon tomorrow?”

Without waiting for an answer she was out of the car, up the front steps, blowing him a kiss as she let herself into the house.

Come back in February when I get the copyright back and can show you the rest of the story


Leave a comment

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *