it had been exciting to have his hands on her; now she was searching for some other feeling, and it wasn’t there. Trembling, she reached for the front of his tan slacks and rubbed the hard ridge of flesh under the cloth. He gasped in surprise.
“Charley, if we’re talkin’ about gettin’ married, wouldn’t it be all right—”
“No, hon, no.”
She hitched up the flowing skirt of her dress and straddled him before he could protest. Deliberately settling atop his groin, she pressed her cotton-pantied crotch against him and wiggled. “We could get some … some condoms, and it’d be safe.”
He grabbed her arms roughly. “Amy, you stop this. I don’t understand what your problem is tonight.”
“Charley, please, I’ve gotta know how you’d feel—”
He pushed her off to one side. “I want you to be a virgin when we get married!”
“I know you didn’t want to go too far before, but if we might get married—”
“I say no, and I mean no! And that’s that.”
She grew very still. She’d never forced the issue before, but her anger had been simmering all along. “Charley, are
you
a virgin?”
“In my h-heart!” he sputtered.
Amy stared at him. “Like the president? You only lust in your heart? Give me the facts on a part about a yard lower than your heart, Charley.”
Even in the moonlight she could see the consternation on his face. “You watch your mouth! I can’t help what I did before I found the Lord!”
“Maybe I should go lookin’ for the Lord tomorrow so that I can do what I want tonight! How come boys have the corner on second chances?”
“It’s different with girls. Why do you think I love you so much, hon? You’re one of the few girls around who’s kept herself pure!”
Understanding stunned her. “You want to plant your seed in fresh dirt, and I’m about the only unplowed field left!”
He groaned in disgust. “That’s a stupid thing to say! I want to be a good husband for you. What’s wrong with that?”
Amy suddenly recalled a scene from one of her favorite movies. It was so easy for her to become lost in fictitious lives because they were so different from her own. Except now, now she felt exactly like Katharine Hepburn in
The Rainmaker
—frustrated, all alone, and terribly afraid of what fate was planning for her. She gasped for breath and clutched her chest. “Take me home, Charley. I’m suffocating. I don’t know which way to turn.”
“I think you need a good night’s sleep. You’re hysterical.” He helped her up. But when he let go of her to gather their blanket she ran, her hands on her throat. She reached his jacked-up Volkswagen with its sheepskin-covered seats, threw herself into the passenger side, and covered her face.
“You’ve been out in the heat too much,” he said seriously, as he drove back through the field to a paved road. “You’ll be all right.”
“S-sure. Sure.”
At home she squeezed his hand in farewell and walkedquickly indoors. Before she could reach the sanctuary of her bedroom Pop came out of the living room, where he had set up his canvas and paints and gin bottle for the night.
“I’ll be needin’ you this weekend,” he told her. “Gonna work a festival up in the mountains. Maisie’s sewing you a costume for it.”
Amy gasped for air. “Why?”
“It’s one of those medieval fairs. I’m gettin’ paid to do a routine. I need you to drive. And I want you to work the routine with me. Go change out of your Jesus clothes and come back. I want to practice what we’ll be doing.”
“Oh, Pop, please, I don’t mind drivin’, but don’t make me perform—”
“The least you can do is help me when I tell you to.”
“But I’m terrible at it. All you do is get upset every time I work with you. I never do anything good enough for you!”
“The only thing I know to teach you is how to work your ass off and not look for sympathy. Now get the lead out. I’ll be waitin’ in the living room.”
She
“Charley, if we’re talkin’ about gettin’ married, wouldn’t it be all right—”
“No, hon, no.”
She hitched up the flowing skirt of her dress and straddled him before he could protest. Deliberately settling atop his groin, she pressed her cotton-pantied crotch against him and wiggled. “We could get some … some condoms, and it’d be safe.”
He grabbed her arms roughly. “Amy, you stop this. I don’t understand what your problem is tonight.”
“Charley, please, I’ve gotta know how you’d feel—”
He pushed her off to one side. “I want you to be a virgin when we get married!”
“I know you didn’t want to go too far before, but if we might get married—”
“I say no, and I mean no! And that’s that.”
She grew very still. She’d never forced the issue before, but her anger had been simmering all along. “Charley, are
you
a virgin?”
“In my h-heart!” he sputtered.
Amy stared at him. “Like the president? You only lust in your heart? Give me the facts on a part about a yard lower than your heart, Charley.”
Even in the moonlight she could see the consternation on his face. “You watch your mouth! I can’t help what I did before I found the Lord!”
“Maybe I should go lookin’ for the Lord tomorrow so that I can do what I want tonight! How come boys have the corner on second chances?”
“It’s different with girls. Why do you think I love you so much, hon? You’re one of the few girls around who’s kept herself pure!”
Understanding stunned her. “You want to plant your seed in fresh dirt, and I’m about the only unplowed field left!”
He groaned in disgust. “That’s a stupid thing to say! I want to be a good husband for you. What’s wrong with that?”
Amy suddenly recalled a scene from one of her favorite movies. It was so easy for her to become lost in fictitious lives because they were so different from her own. Except now, now she felt exactly like Katharine Hepburn in
The Rainmaker
—frustrated, all alone, and terribly afraid of what fate was planning for her. She gasped for breath and clutched her chest. “Take me home, Charley. I’m suffocating. I don’t know which way to turn.”
“I think you need a good night’s sleep. You’re hysterical.” He helped her up. But when he let go of her to gather their blanket she ran, her hands on her throat. She reached his jacked-up Volkswagen with its sheepskin-covered seats, threw herself into the passenger side, and covered her face.
“You’ve been out in the heat too much,” he said seriously, as he drove back through the field to a paved road. “You’ll be all right.”
“S-sure. Sure.”
At home she squeezed his hand in farewell and walkedquickly indoors. Before she could reach the sanctuary of her bedroom Pop came out of the living room, where he had set up his canvas and paints and gin bottle for the night.
“I’ll be needin’ you this weekend,” he told her. “Gonna work a festival up in the mountains. Maisie’s sewing you a costume for it.”
Amy gasped for air. “Why?”
“It’s one of those medieval fairs. I’m gettin’ paid to do a routine. I need you to drive. And I want you to work the routine with me. Go change out of your Jesus clothes and come back. I want to practice what we’ll be doing.”
“Oh, Pop, please, I don’t mind drivin’, but don’t make me perform—”
“The least you can do is help me when I tell you to.”
“But I’m terrible at it. All you do is get upset every time I work with you. I never do anything good enough for you!”
“The only thing I know to teach you is how to work your ass off and not look for sympathy. Now get the lead out. I’ll be waitin’ in the living room.”
She
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