cleanup reprint: nuther story writ fer group

note: this post furst appeared on 2/28/2005. i am deletin the ole one to git rid of the filthy lanks in the comments. i plan to do this fer a while till i git it all cleaned up. thankee fer yer indulgents.

i mentchuned yesterdy how i had dun gone thru the ashes of my life, witch by that i ment ole papers n such, a'hopin to cum out of my migraine crisis a lil stronger. i wuz deelited by all the ritin i found, witch this here story is one i rote to read to the group back in 1982 or 1983.


Revenge on a Hot Afternoon

Shortly after his divorce became final, Joe Carpenter met Mary Henderson in the Twins' Restaurant in Clinton, Tennessee. She was working as a waitress there at the time. Joe had just finished his third session with his psychiatrist -- divorce being no easy matter -- and he'd stopped into the Twins' on his way home for a cup of coffee and a small bowl of banana pudding. It was three thirty on a hot May afternoon. The Twins' was empty. Mary was bored, waiting to get off. They talked for forty-five minutes about Clinton, the weather, and marriage. She explained her schedule -- off on Tuesdays and Thursdays. She penciled her phone number onto a napkin. He could call anytime in the afternoon before four-thirty.

"Why before four-thirty?" Joe wondered?

"My husband gets home around then."

He called her the following Tuesday from work. It broke the back of a hard afternoon keeping books for his uncle's warehouse in Oak Ridge.

H called her the Thursday after that and brought up the subject of sex. His heart beat fast.

The next Tuesday, he told his uncle he had a meeting with his psychiatrist and left early. He drove to the Bi-Lo gas station out by Ezra Gate. From there, he called her again.

"Hello?"

"Mary? It's Joe."

"How are you doing?"

"I'm a little on the hot side. And I'm thinking."

"About what?"

"I think you know."

"Terrific."

"Yeah. You are."

"Oh, Joe!"

"How about if I came over?"

"Sure. I'd love it."

I'd love it, she said. Joe smiled, climbed into his red '73 Ford Pinto and drove to Clinton, singing along to a song that advised him to do it until satisfied.

Joe was a huge, handsome man, with vivid blue eyes, curly blond hair that could hole no part, and a small, dark brown moustache. His nose was a little too long, perhaps, but it was straight and gave his eyes a look of mystery. Joe thought so anyway. So had his wife, Amelia. So, he assumed, did Mary.

Joe had told Mary right from the beginning that he wasn't bitter about women because of his divorce. Men, now, he felt a little bitter about men, especially since a man had stolen his Amelia from him. Mary laughed to hear him say he was bitter about men. He laughed to hear her laugh. And he thought he'd be able to trust a woman again. After all, he already felt he could trust Mary. All three of their conversations had been deep, very deep, touching on subjects he and Amelia had not attempted in seven years of marriage. For instance, he had never spoken with Amelia or any other woman about masturbation before. And he'd never been sure if Amelia experienced orgasms properly. And he was so relieved to hear Mary discuss her own experiences openly and without shame. He agreed that his marriage had lacked sexual liberty. Had hers?

Mary answered the door the instant Joe knocked. He'd parked down the street, near the corner, just in case. When he saw Mary, he blushed. She was wearing a halter top that barely concealed her small breasts. Joe stared a moment at the thin blue material to determine whether or not he could see the outline of her nipples.

"I can see what you've got on your mind," Mary said, causing Joe to blush again. He looked away, took a deep breath, looked into Mary's grey eyes, and asked if he could come in. Mary looked up and down the street.

"Sure, Thought you'd never ask."

She led him into a small living room and offered him a place on a green vinyl couch covered with a clean white sheet.

"It's too hot to sit directly on that old couch. Would you like a beer?"

"Sure."

Joe carefully rearranged the sheet so both he and Mary could sit on the couch. Then he sat down, pulling the sheet into a wad under him. He looked around at the small living room, noticed the stereo in the corner, the overstuffed red chair next to the little table which supported a pipe rack and ash tray. Beneath the chair he spotted a pair of leather house shoes. He tried to straighten the sheet again.

"Don't worry about that old thing," Mary said, placing the full, frosty beer cans onto the chipped and scratched surface of the coffee table. She then came around the table, gave the sheet a sharp jerk, and sat on it not over a foot away from Joe. She curled her bare legs beneath her and sat on her feet.

"Let me look at you," she said.

Joe turned to let her look at him, knowing that he was just her type with his curly hair, blue eyes, strong, muscular build, hairy chest, look of mystery. Mary was not his type, though she was very nice. She wore the layered look hair style that was so necessary in the early 1970s, and it made her already curly blond hair look permanently ruffled. Her grey eyes were large, too large for her tiny, thin nose. Her mouth, with its full lips, lopsided smile and tiny beads of sweat was her best feature. Joe wanted to kiss it, but he grabbed his beer instead.

"How about some music?" Mary asked.

"Sure, what have you got?"

"You like Johnny Rivers? I think he's so sexy."

"Yeah, sure."

Joe watched Mary's precise movements as she slid from the couch onto her knees before the tiny, cornered stereo. She removed an old record from the turntable, sleeved it, pulled out her Johnny Rivers, twirled it twice to pick the side she wanted to hear, dropped it onto the turntable, picked up the needle and manually set it onto the first track, "Memphis."

"Great song," Joe said.

Mary agreed, stood up, stretched, letting Joe watch her halter slide up to reveal her white belly, protruding belly button, and the lower edge of her rib cage. Her white shorts were so thin that Joe could see she wore nothing under them. Joe liked her slim hips. He watched Mary yawn as she stretched and looked at him through her half closed eyelids.

Joe smiled and opened his arms. Mary quickly tip-toed around the coffee table and sat in his lap. They kissed, tongues touching, probing, licking lips. Joe slowly inched his left hand around from Mary's hip up to her rib cage and finally, slowly, tentatively, to her right breast. She kissed him even harder, moaning. He began rolling her nipple between his fingers. He felt her right hand looping lazy circles on his belly, each a little lower than the previous. Joe lowered her onto her back on the couch. He adjusted his pants.

"Oh, Joe, it feels so good to have you here."

Joe grunted. He was hot, sweating, tired. But victory smelled sweet.

If only Amelia could see him now!