Morning Glory by Lavyrle Spencer

hooded, his lips dropped open with lascivious expectation as he lifted his knee against her.
    “Ooh-hoo-hoo, Lula-baby, sugar-pie, you sure know how t’ do it to a man.”
    “You bet I do, kiddo, and you’d like it right now, wouldn’t you?”
    He gripped her hips with both hands. “I’m here, ain’t I, baby?”
    She took his hands and transferred them to her breasts. “Feel that? I got gumdrops just thinkin’ about you. Wanna know what else happened when I thought about you, Harleykins?”
    “Yeah,” Harley growled, low and lusty, manipulating her pelvis. “What?”
    They ground against each other in earnest. Harley’s root had sprung up like a mushroom after two weeks of rain. She grasped his neck and put her lips to his ear and whispered something coarse, for good measure.
    He laughed gutturally and said, “Oh, yeah? Let’s see,” then reached for the thatch of blond hair and slipped a finger inside her.
    “Ooh-hoo-hoo, Lula-baby, you need your damper turned down, and how.”
    She unbuttoned his shirt and pushed it off till it hung from his waist, all the while riding his hand, which was braced against his thigh. She looped both arms around his neck, nipped his ear, licked the inside of it and suggested, “What I need is one of them new electric fans that turns back and forth. I seen one down in a hardware store in Atlanta last time I visited my sister Junie.” She eased down and ran her lips across his chest, then splayed her hands on the black curly hair. “Mmm... I love my men hairy. Gets me itchin’ somethin’ awful.”
    Harley was nearly at the bursting point already. “Honey, I ain’t made of money, you know.”
    She bit his nipple, then tugged it until he yelped and jerked back, nursing it. She gazed into his eyes, her face feigning innocence as she gyrated against him. “I bet your wife’s got one o’ them electric fans already, hasn’t she, Harley?”
    “Come on, Lula, let’s go to bed. I’m hurtin’, honey.”
    “What about that fan?”
    “Maybe next payday.”
    She pouted her vermilion lips and ran one finger down her damp cleavage. “Next payday’s too late. Why, it’s been sohot, I just can’t hardly sleep nights at all.” She wiped her collected sweat beneath his nose.
    “Lula, be reasonable. I already give you that Frigidaire and the Philco and had that closet made into a bathroom for you. I had to do some fancy explainin’ to Mae about where the extra money went.”
    Abruptly she gave him a shove and flounced away from him, throwing her hands in the air. “Mae, Mae, Mae! I swear that’s all I hear from you, Harley Overmire! Well, if you won’t get me that electric fan, I know somebody who will. Why, just today Orlan Nettles was in the cafe and all I’da had to do was crook my little finger and it woulda been him here tonight instead of you. I’ll bet you five dollars Orlan never did it the way I had in mind to do it with you tonight.”
    “You thought of a new way?” Harley was pure miserable by this time.
    With her back turned, she inspected her painted nails. “It was a good one, too.”
    The music on the Philco had changed to “Paper Doll.” It continued blasting as he came up behind her and clamped his teeth on her neck, reached around front and started convincing her again. But Lula had coercion down to an art. She dipped her knees and got the most out of Harley’s strokes, but she could remain unyielding till she got what she wanted, and it was always more than just an orgasm. If she was going to live the rest of her life in this little jerkwater town, she’d live it in luxury, by God. The fan and the bathroom and the Philco were just the beginning. She intended to have a Ford, and a carpeted front room and an R.C.A. Victor phonograph before this was over.
    Behind her, Harley was breathing like a winded horse. What he had inside his pants felt like it belonged to a horse, too. She reached back to help Harley make his decision.
    He groaned against