“Nice pear,” G.W. agreed, warming to the game. “Better than that. ‘Nice’ doesn’t do it justice.” He still felt a little uneasy – women just didn’t act like this in Texas – but it had become a challenge, and he was determined not to let her get the best of him in this titillating repartee. “In fact, I’d have to say that it’s the… the finest, most luscious pear I’ve seen in a long time. Maybe ever.”
“Oh, come on now, G.W.,” she said. “Don’t get carried away. It’s just a piece of fruit.” (I don’t remember telling her my name, he thought with a start. Did she hear Barbara Anne say it?) Her eyes twinkled mischievously. “You are talking about the fruit, aren’t you?”
“Of course,” he said, his throat dry. “What else?”
“I thought that Barbara Anne’s pear was nicer than mine.” Corinne looked seriously at the fruit in her hand, studying it intently. “I mean, I think my pear is very pleasingly shaped, for sure, but her pear was so much larger than mine. Don’t you agree?”
“Larger, yeah, I guess so,” G.W. agreed. “But not necessarily nicer. I think that your pear is much, well, much firmer than hers.” He grinned, hoping that he didn’t give away his jitters, which were, thankfully, beginning to recede.
She straightened up, bringing an abrupt halt to G.W.’s private peep show, although he continued to be entranced by her décolleté. When he finally raised his eyes to hers, he found that they were fixed on him with a smoldering stare that was so intense that he actually felt his face begin to redden. Please, God, don’t let me blush, he prayed, as he met her gaze. It’ll embarrass the hell out of me.
Slowly, deliberately, she raised the pear to her lips, her eyes never leaving his. Her teeth sank slowly into the fruit’s yielding skin, then pierced it with a satisfying crunch. She tore off an enormous bite and chewed it slowly. Streams of thick, milky-white juice spurted from her lips and cascaded down her chin.
I’m gonna cream in my jeans, G.W. thought.
And: I don’t believe this is happening to me. This is like something out of a movie.
And: I wonder how long it’ll be until her husband gets back.
And: I wonder how long it’ll be before my wife gets back.
Corinne finished chewing her mouthful and licked her lips. “That was absolutely, positively delicious,” she announced. “You owe it to yourself to try one.” She took another bite.
G.W. shook his head. “I’m not hungry,” he said, afraid that he might somehow break the mood if he were to do anything but stand there and watch.
“Don’t you see anything here that you’d like to take a bite of?” she asked, playfully. And this time, he was sure of it: She deliberately wiggled her chest just enough to sway her breasts provocatively beneath the loose fabric. “You’re real hot, aren’t you?” she asked, before he could frame a response to her question.
“Beg pardon?”
“You must be real hot standing out there in the sun.” She smiled at him. “Why don’t you come around here in the shade? It’s so much more pleasant back here. You’ll see.”
He circled the end of the counter, trying to move slowly and deliberately to show her that he wasn’t as wildly out of control as he felt.
“Isn’t it nice back here?” she enthused, extending her hand to him. “Look out in the valley. Isn’t it beautiful?” She withdrew her hand even as he reached for it, and turned to lean on the counter, gazing out into the valley.
And although the valley was not the scenery he really wanted to look at, he followed her gaze out over the counter, past the monstrous black Cadillac that sat like a panting bull in the gravel parking lot. “It’s real pretty,” he said, not really seeing anything at all, and turned back to her.
She wrinkled her nose at him. “No,” she insisted. “Look. Really look.” And so he tore his fevered gaze reluctantly away from her and looked out over the valley. It is pretty, G.W. was forced to admit. It’s really the kind of picture-postcard scenery I’ve been looking for all day. Barbara Anne would love it.
Barbara Anne.
The thought of his wife brought him up short, and he turned his head abruptly back to the woman next to him, who was staring off into the distance, lost in thought. Her eyes glistened and seemed to be far away. She looked so pure, so wholesome, that it was difficult for him to imagine that his thoughts of her just scant moments ago had been so lustful. Could I have misread her so badly? he wondered. It’s not like she’s a real pretty girl, he thought. She’s got some kind of energy and an inner glow that makes her look prettier than she really is. But she doesn’t hold a candle to Barbara Anne.
“We love this little shed, Roger and I,” Corinne said softly, wistfully. There was so much love in her voice when she spoke of her husband that G.W. felt ashamed of the fantasies that he had so recently entertained. “We think that it must be the most exquisitely beautiful, peaceful spot in the entire world.” She smiled and turned to look at him, her eyes moist, her face illuminated by the glow that G.W. had sensed within her. “This is a very special place, G.W.,” she said solemnly. “A holy place. A place of magic. A place of power. Do you feel it?”
Now she’s overdoing it, G.W. thought. It’s a beautiful spot, okay, but holy? “It’s very pretty,” he agreed. “It’s…”
“Don’t patronize me,” she said, but without rancor. “You’re not opening yourself up to the experience. You’re only seeing it with your eyes. Look with your heart, with your soul, with every fiber of your eternal being.”
He stared at her blankly, wanting to please, but having no idea of what she wanted him to do. “I don’t understand…”
“Don’t talk. And don’t look at me. Look at the world, G.W. Merge with it. Don’t say anything. Don’t think anything. Just let yourself go, let your spirit soar over the hills. Just listen. Don’t think about what you hear, just listen.” She spoke softly, a reverent whisper.
“Try to see the cosmos through my eyes, G.W.,” she entreated. “Experience it through me. You’re a part of me. You’re a part of everything. You can feel it, I know you can. You’re in everything, and everything is in you. It’s a miracle, G.W. It’s your own, private, personal miracle.”
And he did feel something, undeniably. Maybe it was her hypnotic voice, chanting in cadences worthy of a Baptist minister. Or maybe it was the calm serenity of the valley. Or maybe he simply was tired from his long and frustrating journey. Or maybe it was the remnants of the wild sexual energy that had so recently coursed through his veins.
But whatever the reason, he began to feel a creeping infusion of some kind of force. A sense of peace and well-being began to flow through him. He heard a low buzzing like the drone of a million insects. Don’t think about what you hear, she had said. And he tried just to listen, not to interpret. The sound filled his head, and then the sound was in his head, and he wasn’t listening to it, he was it. It’s the sound of the universe, he thought. But it was such an atypical thought for him, he felt like someone else had implanted the thought in his head. It’s the sound of the cosmos, he thought, and it comes from within me.
His eyes lost their focus, and his vision became pleasantly blurred, and the air smelled oh, so sweet, like freshly cut grass on a crisp autumn day, like a field of spring flowers, like pine trees heavy with sap. The sound of Corinne’s sweet voice blended happily with the singing of the birds and the rustling of the wind. His senses reached out into the universe. She’s right, he thought, it is a part of me, and I am a part of it. Everything’s just as it should be. God’s in his heaven, all’s right with the world.
And he turned excitedly to her, to share his dramatic insight…
But no one was there.
He blinked several times, disoriented. He looked around frantically. There was not another soul in sight. He exhaled sharply, as if someone had knocked the wind out of him. Did I blank out for a minute? he wondered. Did she somehow hypnotize me? Why would she do that? Suddenly paranoid, he whirled around to make sure that his car had not
been stolen, but it sat serenely where he had left it, and he felt very foolish for looking.
Did I imagine the entire incident?
Did she slip me some kind of drug? But how? He screwed up his face as he tried to remember. No, I don’t think I’ve eaten or drunk anything since I’ve been here, have I?
“Corinne?” he said in a harsh whisper, feeling just as foolish as he had when he looked around for his car. And again, louder: “Corinne?”
“Come on down, G.W.,” a teasing voice said lightly, and he jumped, startled. She laughed. “Sorry,” she half sang, “didn’t mean to scare you. Come join me.”
The disembodied voice floated up from under the counter. G.W. crouched down to take a look. The outside of the counter – the side that faced the customers – was solidly planked in, but the inside of the counter was open, supported at regular intervals by two-by-fours. Under the counter, Corinne sat cross-legged on a dark blue blanket, hands on her knees, smiling up at him. “This is our private place,” she said. “Roger and I spend a lot of time in here. Come share it with me.”
This is where they must have been when we drove up, G.W. realized. And it doesn’t take a whole lot of imagination to figure out what they were doing.
He dropped down onto his hands and knees and crawled under the counter. There was barely enough room for him to move around, but after some awkward maneuvering he managed to assume a cross-legged position, facing Corinne. And so they sat there, Indian style, under the counter of Nature’s Bounty, their knees separated by no more than a few, electric inches.
The counter wasn’t quite high enough to allow G.W. to sit up straight, so he found himself hunched over, his wrists resting on his knees, feeling more than a little silly and self-conscious. What am I doing here? he wondered. I feel like a little kid in a secret hideout.
“It’s kinda warm down here, don’t you think?” he asked. Cut off from the breezes that circulated through the stand, the air under the counter was noticeably stale. “I mean, it’s shady and all that,” he added, “but it’s sorta stuffy, don’t you think?”
“It is,” she agreed. “That’s why Roger and I try not to wear too many clothes when we’re down here.”
G.W. was confused by her simple directness. Was she telling him that she and Roger had not been fooling around when he drove up – just keeping cool? He had a quick vision of Corinne stretched out naked on the blanket, and it was a delicious thought no matter what she had been doing.
“You don’t mind if I take off my shirt, do you?” she asked.
G.W. blinked, uncertain that he had heard her correctly. Was this really happening, or was his fantasy intruding on reality? Her tone had been as casual as if she had been asking what time it was. “Beg pardon?” he croaked.
“I just wondered if it would be okay with you if I took off my shirt.” She smiled innocently at him, her demeanor a puzzling contrast to her words. “It is stuffy in here, like you said.”
Was it possible that she was on the level? That she had no sexual intent? Maybe that’s what these hippies do, he thought. Maybe they just sit around all day with no clothes on and not think anything of it. Maybe she’ll think I’m crass if I make a pass at her.
Maybe she’ll say something to her husband.
Maybe she’ll say something to Barbara Anne.
But hell, he thought, people are people and women are women. She damn sure knows that I’m gonna get worked up if she takes off her goddamn shirt and shakes her boobies at me. She’s just playing with me, teasing me. But the bottom line is that she expects me to make a move. And if I don’t, she’s gonna think I’m some kind of faggot.
“Sure,” he finally said, forcing a smile and hoping that he sounded as casual as she did. “No problem.” He still felt uncertain, not entirely in familiar territory, so he tried for an effect somewhere between friendly and lecherous.
She stared gently into his eyes as she reached for the buttons of her shirt. Although the shirt was half open, she reached first for the very top button, next to the collar, as if she were unsure of exactly how high the shirt was buttoned. Then she let her hand slide slowly down the hem. He met her gaze for a few seconds, but his eyes were inexorably drawn to the motion of her hand as it slid toward the uppermost fastened button halfway down her shirt. She undid each button slowly, deliberately. He actually licked his lips in anticipation.
After she had unfastened the final button, she paused. The shirt hung open loosely, revealing tantalizing glimpses of the rise of her breasts, still mostly covered by the blue fabric. For a disappointing moment, he thought that she wasn’t going to go any farther, that maybe she had changed her mind. Or maybe this was as far as she had ever really intended to go.
But then, holding an edge of the shirt with each hand, she slowly drew the fabric over her breasts. She held the shirt close to her body, as if she were peeling it off. She dragged the coarse fabric over her nipples, which were starting to become erect. As her nipples popped out from under the edges of the shirt she stroked them lightly, sensuously, with her fingertips.
“Holy sweet Jesus,” G.W. murmured, with an intensity so fervent that she laughed, breaking the mood.
“I’m sorry,” she said contritely, suppressing a giggle. “I’m not laughing at you. I just wasn’t expecting such a strong reaction. You act like you’ve never seen a woman’s breasts before.”
She shrugged the back of the collar down past her shoulders, then threw her shoulders back and wriggled out of the shirt entirely. The backward thrust of her shoulders made her chest protrude, and her motions to free herself of the garment made her breasts sway and bounce enticingly in front of him. All doubt fled from his mind: Corinne was definitely exaggerating her movements for his benefit.
“You’re beautiful,” he said hoarsely. “Your body is so… so…” – he tried to conjure up the proper superlative – “… so magnificent. So perfect.” Although he was obviously focusing on her breasts, G.W. couldn’t help but think that the description was just as apt for the rest of Corinne’s body. She was lean and taut, her stomach tight and flat, her shoulders wide, the muscles in her arms long and powerful. In short, it was the body of the world-class, Olympic-champion swimmer that she was.
“I used to be so ashamed of my body,” she said, with a sad smile.
“You gotta be kidding.”
She shook her head. “No, unfortunately I’m not.” She sighed. “My breasts have always been big for a swimmer, and I used to feel extremely self-conscious about them. I used to always wear real loose clothes so nobody could see my shape. And I hated to get into a swimsuit. That was the worst. It used to embarrass the hell out of me, I just knew that all the guys were staring at my tits.” She smiled. “Sort of like you are now.”
“Oh, gosh, I’m sorry,” G.W. said. “I didn’t mean…”
“Oh, no,” she interrupted, “don’t be sorry. Please. I’m not inhibited like that anymore. I got over that a long time ago.”
“So I see.”
She laughed. “Roger brought me out of it. I was a scared virgin when I met him, can you believe it? He taught me not to be ashamed of my body. Not to be afraid of my passions.”
“Remind me to thank him.”
She glanced down at her chest and began to softly stroke her left nipple with the fingers of her right hand. “My body provides me with so much pleasure,” she said, as they both watched her provocative massage. “You can’t imagine how happy I am to be able to share that pleasure with you.” Spellbound, G.W. stared as she teased her nipple with sensuous, delicate caresses.
She smiled at his attention, a strangely maternal smile, as if she were providing a pleasant and nurturing pastime for an appreciative child. Reaching forward, she took his hand in hers and drew it to her. His hand had been resting on his knee, and he had been leaning more than a little of his weight on it, so when she pulled on it he nearly tumbled over. Corinne laughed as G.W. struggled to regain his balance and his composure. “Whooooaaaa, thea
h, big fella,” she said, and laughed some more at her weak attempt at a Texas accent.
She drew his hand to her face and rubbed it softly against her cheek. His calloused, roughneck palm grated against her silky-smooth skin. While G.W. gawked in incredulity, she licked and sucked the tips of his fingers. He exhaled sharply and whispered something that sounded almost like a prayer.
Slowly, painfully slowly, she slid his hand down, over her chin, her neck, her throat, and down to her breast, where she slowly stroked her nipple with his damp fingers. “Holy Jesus God,” G.W. said reverently. And then again, more slowly: “Holy Jesus God.”
“I’m so pleased that you approve of me,” Corinne murmured, casting her eyes down demurely. “Roger doesn’t pay nearly as much attention to my breasts as he used to.”
“You have the most amazing body I’ve ever seen,” G.W. said, with so much deep conviction that Corinne had to laugh. “I mean, you’re in such incredibly good shape. All that swimming, I guess. I just can’t believe that this is happening to me. I mean, here I am, sitting under the counter of a goddamn fruit stand in the middle of nowhere, playing with the boobs of a goddamn Olympic gold medalist. It’s too much.” He shook his head in disbelief of his good fortune. “It’s just too goddamn much.”
“You’re sweet.”
“And if Roger can’t see that…”
Roger.
He shook his head quickly, almost a shudder, as the vision of Roger riding off on his bicycle flashed through his mind. Without even realizing it, he tried to pull his hand away from her, but she held it firmly captive against her breast. She cocked her head, puzzled. “What is it?”
“I just thought…” He shook his head sharply again, as if he were trying to bring himself to his senses. “I was just thinking about Roger. Holy shit, he could be back here any minute. I don’t think you’d want him to catch you like this.”
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