show him how boring he was.
"We're going to start with the telephone. I don't want you to call Greg again. Is that perfectly clear? You just called him a few minutes ago, didn't you? I mean, even after what we just went through, you couldn't stand to not hear his voice, eh? So I can't trust you anymore with telephone privileges." He walked over to her bedroom phone and took out a large pocketknife.
She turned away while he sliced through the cord. She made her mind an absolute blank.
"I'm sorry I have to treat you this way. But you obviously are unwilling to meet me halfway. I can no longer allow you to have money of your own. You'll be given a small weekly allowance for your school things. I don't want you going out of the house except for . . . "
She had tuned it all completely out. She let herself think about Greg and those eyes and those soft hands and sweet ways, and let her mind daydream about how it would be that first time. It was going to be soon, she promised herself. No matter what she had to do.
"... while I'm at it I'll take the pills and whatever they gave you in the clinic today."
And she heard him searching for her purse and opening it and going through it and taking things, and she had to fight to keep from laughing out loud.
She had terminal cabin fever by the time the weekend rolled around, and her dad finally left the house for the first time in days. She ran downstairs and phoned Greg's number and held her breath, fingers crossed, praying he'd be home. She heard him pick up the phone and say hello on the second ring.
"Don't ask questions," she urged him breathlessly. "If you want to make love to me, hurry over to the house and pick me up. I'll be down by the highway where you turn off, okay?"
"Huh? Oh, oh, yeah. Okay. I'll be right there."
"Hurry," she said, hanging up while he was saying, "Don't worry. I will." And she dashed back upstairs and put some fresh lip gloss on, which she didn't need, and a little eye shadow, which she almost never wore, and checked her hair, and sprinkled some more perfume on, and made sure the pills were in her purse, and scampered off across Ruffstone Terrace to the highway. One great-looking fourteen-year-old virgin-but-not-for-long.
"Hey," he shouted through the open window.
"You got here fast."
"I don't mess around," he said as she ran to the car and got in.
"You got your dad's car." She was surprised.
"He's not home. I didn't ask. He and Mom took the wagon."
"Where do you want to go?" She said it almost absentmindedly.
"Huh?"
"I want to make love to you," she said, turning in the seat beside him, snuggling as close as she could. "Now."
In less than five minutes he was pulling off the road behind a motel-and-restaurant he knew about, and popping open the trunk. He gestured for her to get out. "Come on," he said. He'd produced an old army blanket.
"Where'd you get that?"
"We keep it in the trunk. For medical emergencies." He smiled.
"Is that what we are — a medical emergency?"
"It is for me, angel," he said, helping her step over the barbed-wire fence at the edge of a little triangle of woods.
"I'll nurse you back to health," she told him saucily, taking his hand.
"Yeah," he said, husky-voiced, looking at the way the soft cords gathered around that beautiful, high, perfect ass of hers. He crushed her against him. "Let's get you out of those pants."
"Ummmmm."
"God."
"Oh."
"Jesus."
"Oooooooooohhhhh." Suddenly it all burst loose like a damn being dynamited. All the weeks of wanting and waiting. And he was trying to get her clothes off, pull the damn pants down, she was tearing at his shirt, and the traffic was whizzing by in the distance, and they fell down on the old blanket in the woods behind where the motel-and-greasy-spoon dumped its garbage, which was at this moment in the scheme of events just about the sexiest, hottest, most wonderful and lovely spot in the wide world of sports.
"You know how . . . long —"
"Nnnnnn."
"How long . . .
"We're going to start with the telephone. I don't want you to call Greg again. Is that perfectly clear? You just called him a few minutes ago, didn't you? I mean, even after what we just went through, you couldn't stand to not hear his voice, eh? So I can't trust you anymore with telephone privileges." He walked over to her bedroom phone and took out a large pocketknife.
She turned away while he sliced through the cord. She made her mind an absolute blank.
"I'm sorry I have to treat you this way. But you obviously are unwilling to meet me halfway. I can no longer allow you to have money of your own. You'll be given a small weekly allowance for your school things. I don't want you going out of the house except for . . . "
She had tuned it all completely out. She let herself think about Greg and those eyes and those soft hands and sweet ways, and let her mind daydream about how it would be that first time. It was going to be soon, she promised herself. No matter what she had to do.
"... while I'm at it I'll take the pills and whatever they gave you in the clinic today."
And she heard him searching for her purse and opening it and going through it and taking things, and she had to fight to keep from laughing out loud.
She had terminal cabin fever by the time the weekend rolled around, and her dad finally left the house for the first time in days. She ran downstairs and phoned Greg's number and held her breath, fingers crossed, praying he'd be home. She heard him pick up the phone and say hello on the second ring.
"Don't ask questions," she urged him breathlessly. "If you want to make love to me, hurry over to the house and pick me up. I'll be down by the highway where you turn off, okay?"
"Huh? Oh, oh, yeah. Okay. I'll be right there."
"Hurry," she said, hanging up while he was saying, "Don't worry. I will." And she dashed back upstairs and put some fresh lip gloss on, which she didn't need, and a little eye shadow, which she almost never wore, and checked her hair, and sprinkled some more perfume on, and made sure the pills were in her purse, and scampered off across Ruffstone Terrace to the highway. One great-looking fourteen-year-old virgin-but-not-for-long.
"Hey," he shouted through the open window.
"You got here fast."
"I don't mess around," he said as she ran to the car and got in.
"You got your dad's car." She was surprised.
"He's not home. I didn't ask. He and Mom took the wagon."
"Where do you want to go?" She said it almost absentmindedly.
"Huh?"
"I want to make love to you," she said, turning in the seat beside him, snuggling as close as she could. "Now."
In less than five minutes he was pulling off the road behind a motel-and-restaurant he knew about, and popping open the trunk. He gestured for her to get out. "Come on," he said. He'd produced an old army blanket.
"Where'd you get that?"
"We keep it in the trunk. For medical emergencies." He smiled.
"Is that what we are — a medical emergency?"
"It is for me, angel," he said, helping her step over the barbed-wire fence at the edge of a little triangle of woods.
"I'll nurse you back to health," she told him saucily, taking his hand.
"Yeah," he said, husky-voiced, looking at the way the soft cords gathered around that beautiful, high, perfect ass of hers. He crushed her against him. "Let's get you out of those pants."
"Ummmmm."
"God."
"Oh."
"Jesus."
"Oooooooooohhhhh." Suddenly it all burst loose like a damn being dynamited. All the weeks of wanting and waiting. And he was trying to get her clothes off, pull the damn pants down, she was tearing at his shirt, and the traffic was whizzing by in the distance, and they fell down on the old blanket in the woods behind where the motel-and-greasy-spoon dumped its garbage, which was at this moment in the scheme of events just about the sexiest, hottest, most wonderful and lovely spot in the wide world of sports.
"You know how . . . long —"
"Nnnnnn."
"How long . . .
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