Olivia took hold of her collar with both hands. “It’s going to rain,” she stated.
“It’s not going to rain.” Griffin shook his hair back. “Besides, thunder and lightning will make it even better.”
Olivia’s lips pulled in. Griffin realized that he’d have had a better chance if he’d said the second sentence first. “And look.” He nodded to the narrow space between bushes and brick. “We’ll have lots of cover.”
Olivia looked to the people running along the track. “I can see over.”
“We’re not going to be standing up,” Griffin pointed out.
“Oh!” she said. “Oh, right.” She pulled on her collar some more, not really doing much more than twisting it.
Griffin studied the patch of dirt. “Yeah, this’ll be okay.” Turning to her, he found her mouth open, and very pink. Her eyes seemed very large.
Olivia saw Griffin’s eyes narrow. Was that exciting, or scary? Seen by everyone else as a reedy guy, tentative, with a mustache similarly thin and timid, Griffin seemed suddenly very masterful. Did he come here a lot? With…others?
She licked her lips and then, deciding that might be seen as an invitation, sucked them in. The advice she needed right now wasn’t in anything they’d given her to read in school, OR in the magazines. Who sat down first? It seemed creepy to just go…get down there while he was still standing up. She bit down on her lips to stifle a giggle.
Griffin heard it anyhow: that was encouraging. Nothing was going to happen, though, if they just stood there looking at each other. “Here.”
Stooping, he swept away a litter of leaves, torn newspaper, and Booty Burger bags. “We need some space.” Some paper was stuck under dried mud and took a little effort; this gave him a chance for a reminder glance up Olivia’s shorts. There as quite a lot of her; he really ought to get bonus points.
Curled against the base of the brick wall was a rolled and dirty issue of Subterranean Samurai Swingers from Cincinnati. He ran a thumb across the top, looking for the issue number. He had missed a couple of issues last winter, during the Ragnarok-Armageddon Showdown, when the Red Gotcha was killed by the Mad Auctioneer. But he couldn’t remember which issues those were.
“I knew when I first saw you,” she said, putting a hand on the wall.
“Huh? Oh, er, yeah. Me too.” He looked up again, with what he hoped was a romantic smile.
Olivia was tall, with soft, natural curls and soft, natural curves. Anyone would have thought she was six years older, except for her uncertain complexion and the uncertainty in her eyes. She was a very good hug.
She was silent. Griffin straightened and cleared his throat. “Well, this is the proof that can’t be denied. Here’s where we pledge that our love burns forever.”
“Burning love,” Olivia murmured. She shivered. Sitting down quickly, she yanked off her sandals.
Annoyance that she should start with the inessentials mingled in Griffin with a twinge of guilt when he saw those pink toes. “Burning love.” His eyes went up to the clouds. “Hope the weather doesn’t try to put out the fire.”
Olivia looked at the bushes, which were rustling fiercely again. “Oh. It will be…sweeter in the rain. We’ll remember this for the rest of our lives.”
“Yes.” Griffin’s mind was on more immediate matters. He’d have to put his hands in the dirt, wouldn’t he? So then how did…well, time for that when they got to it. SOMEBODY had to go first and report on method to the Four Rs.
He, with Tracy, Jason, Leif, Luke, Chuckie, and Jim, had founded the mighty club known, for security reasons, as the Four Rs. Only the members knew they were the Rough Rowdy RamRodders: a group dedicated to rising into adulthood through pursuit of adultery. (That was one of Leif’s best lines in the By-Laws.) Rank in the organization was regulated by the point system on Chuckie’s phone. Members received one point for a hand that landed here, two points for getting a hand in there, and so on through ten-point, hundred-point, and even thousand-point operations in the field of love.
Embarrassingly, the Four Rs had no officers. Only Jim had risen to the dizzying height of Privates First Class, with a verifiable twelve points. And even he hadn’t managed all that on a single date. Club Secretary Chuckie kept complaining he had almost nothing to enter into the complex coded recordbook he had developed.
Well, there’d be something to record now, once Griffin finished up operations here. There might have to be new codes to cover exploration of new territory.
Olivia had unbuttoned a single button. What was she supposed to do with her hands? Later, once…well, eventually, no doubt, you got to a stage where every move came naturally, but there were bound to be awkward moments between the time you got your clothes undone and the moment you remembered why.
“Perfect love,” she said, her eyes on the second button, “Casts out fear. Oh!”
Her hair, which had been well clear of any part of their camouflage, had suddenly gotten itself attached to a branch. A quick tug did not free hr; had she looked closer, she might have wondered how the wind had managed to tie several strands of hair in such tiny knots.
Griffin leaned down. “Here. Let me help.”
“No!” Both hands went up to hold off the man who was her Eternal Love. “No, no. Don’t…worry. I can do it.”
She torre at the branches and dashed leaves from her hair. A glance at Griffin showed she had not offended him; for a moment, when she shouted, she was afraid he’d walk out of the bushes. No need to shout. Griff wasn’t the type to take a chance at a quick grab: she wouldn’t be here with him otherwise.
Griffin did take a step back, his eyes on that second button, which had worked its way loos when she turned to tussle with her hair. He flexed his fingers.
Olivia pulled the last of the twigs from her hair. She spared not another glance for the trustworthy Griff. He was the only man Olivia had been out with this often who had not yet gon for tit or tush. The most he’d ever gone for was her arm: her wrist, in fact, not even her upper arm, which other guys considered an expressway into her blouse. And he didn’t push sex into every conversation.
Tom next door, for example, liked to study stuffed animals and point out omissions in anatomy. Jim was always spotting “wrinkles” in her clothes that he was willing to smooth out. That kept his hands outside, anyhow, unlike Terry, with his “Look! A wasp on your sleeve! I’ll get him!”
Griff was different. Griff kept his hands where they belonged, and Olivia had never detected a trap in anything he said. (Unlike Leif, with his “interesting book I just read”, ready at any flicker of interest toi follow this with “Want to try it out?”
Griff’s confession of love had surprised her; his invitation over here was amazing. But it had all been just right, his sincerity showing in every word.
Enough: the branches seemed to be staying put. She brushed the other leaves from the front of her blouse, undoing the other buttons in a single move.
She did not look at him. “I hope it’s not just these,” she said, her right hand cupping her left breast so she could lift the whole assembly in the (to her eyes) rather flimsy bra.
“Mmmmmm?” Griffin had been watching with such interest that he had forgotten for a omoment that he was part of this scene at all. “No no!” he tapped the side of his head. “It’s what’s up here that counts.” He added, to himself, “It’s what’s down there that adds up.”
“Hearts and minds that beat in time,” sighed Olivia.
Griffin licked his lips, and put his hands down to wipe his palms on his pants. On second thought, he shifted them to his own shirt. This was getting urgent: best not to take chances. No rushing: he would owe his position in the Four Rs to her; the least he could do was move at her speed. No points for rushing: the Four Rs insisted Rape was NOT worthy of being an R.
This, Olivi told herself, was going to be perfect. Even so, she had to take another breath before shrugging her blouse down. One arm, then two arms, and she moved to set it down.
“Ugh! Ants!”
Griffin had seen absolutely no ants when they chose this spot. He shoved a fist down among them, sending them away at a scurry and mashing into the dirt the little red piece of candy neither had seen roll into place.
“Heh. It’s not in your blouse you’re supposed to have ants.”
In any other guy, Olivia would have thought this was crude. She squirmed, more at the thought than from a lingering aversion to ants. But Olivia understood. It was just a little joke to put her at ease. Griff was thoughtful that way.
“To love ant cherish, huh?”
Griffin shivered. “Windy,” he said, to excuse this sign of weakness.
It was not a windy day. And yet the bushes rustled again, loudly, and a scrap of torn newspaper fluttered by, with another gum wrapper. The gum was Juicy Fruit, the headline, briefly glimpsed, was ‘NWED MOTHER, 17, KILLS SELF, BA”. Olivia’s hand jerked away as if this was a giant ant, and the scrap fluttered up against the wall, the flip side bearing an ad for secondhand tires.
Olivis glanced at Griff, and thought about asking. Instead, she reached behind herself for the hooks, shaking her head.
“These things,” she said, a little hoarse. “Everyone’s always looking at them.” Unharnessing her chest, she set the bra down on the blouse. “Big and fat and ugly.” She dealt the left breast a slap that left a pink handprint for just a second.
Oooohhh, golly: she was waiting for him to answer. “They’re not ugly.” So far, so good. “They’re not really….” He groped for a word and cursed as it came out. “Subtle.”
Olivia’s smile was all reward. Other guys, to get on her good side, would have gushed about her girls, or insulted them to get on her good side. This was just Griff, with an honest opinion. Her hands slid to her waistband.
Griffin swallowed again. She was so…clean. The nipples were pretty much the same color s her lips, which surprised him. Was that the lipstick? Did she wear lipstick?
“They slow me down.” She slapped the same spot again. “Nobody likes you when you’re big.”
Griffin’s lips seemed very dry to him. “I don’t know about that.”
She folded her arms across her chest, and rocked a little forward and back. “It was exciting at first, you know: being first and bigger than anybody.” One hand swung down to the large economy-size undershirt she had just discarded. “But you get to be fourteen and you’ve heard all the jokes about watermelons and…and cows, and ‘your cup runneth over’. And the senior guys asking if I wanted to go for a ride. And if I complained to anyone, it was always ‘Oh, yeah, you’ve got it so rough.’”
Griffin nodded with sympathy though he was now listening with one quarter of one ear. His eyes were taking up most of his brainpower, but what little was left reminded him he was part of this, too, and he’d better start slipping off some clothes. The Four Rs did not award many points for a long look.
“They stand around in the halls.” Olivia mashed a straying ant looking for the hidden red candy. “And it’s, ‘Hey, Livia, if you’re going to the gym, I’ll carry those basketballs!’ Or they’re leaning over your shoulder, drooling. Why did it take so long to find….” She slapped that same breast a third time: it must have hurt, but she turned a beaming smile on Griffin to let him know he was special.
Griffin’s mind went to the gym: shirts vs. skins. He always prayed he’d be picked for Shirts, or it would be “Put your arm next to mine! Do you get any sun? How white can a guy be without being dead?” His hands trembled with his shirt buttons now. Still, if she had something to say, she should say it now.
As the shirt came open, he looked down to find her gazing up at him, and it struck him that he was standing and she was sitting. His chest blushed with his arms and face, and he twisted a little to the side.
Olivia had never seen him without a shirt. Pity he had to turn just then but she could see his neck blushing and a little of his chest. She was stunned by how…by how PRETTY he was. She wondered if he blushed all over, and blushed herself.
Griffin tossed the shirt down as casually as he could. “Lucky it’s cloudy.” He cleared his throat. “We’d need a GALLON of sunscreen.”
Her face had gone doubtful: had she taken that as a comment on her frontage? Those thumbs had gone for that waistband about a dozen times now. He’d get ten points for helping her off with them, of course, but a move too fast might end this game. He was not losing all the points for sex in public with a virgin and settling for Privates First Class.
So he didn’t wear a T-shirt. And he had hair on his chest: plenty of it. Olivia decided she liked this. She pictured herself picking crumbs from that chest hair after breakfast in bed.
But he’d mentioned the weather, and her next glance went to the sky. She was glad it was still vercast, so she didn’t have to worry about sunburn. But he had that fragile look: would he catch cold if it rained while they were…busy?
“Why do the bushes keep rattling?” she demanded. “It isn’t windy, or cold. Is it squirrels? Not rats!”
“Squirrel, probably.” He went over and bent over the bushes to look. Olivia decided he would be pretty with his pants off, too. Did he wear underpants?
But she had to ask. “You aren’t cold, are you?”
He faced her again. “Are you cold?”
She shook her head. “But are you?”
“No.”
“Are you sure? You don’t want to catch cold.”
“I’m fine.” Griffin glared at the bushes, which were rattling fiercely now. Was the wind that much stronger on the other side? “But you’re sure you’re not cold.”
“I’ll be all right.” She hugged herself. “Anyway, I can always lend you a coughdrop.”
Was that a chuckle or a shiver? She was old enough to take care of herself, he supposed. He dropped his shirt to the dirt. Coughdrop: better if she could make up a story about where he’d caught a cold. If he caught one, which he wouldn’t.
He frowned. She’d lend him a coughdrop, would she? He realized suddenly that two hundred points wouldn’t be the end of the thing. He’d have to talk to her tomorrow. She might be expecting more than talk, too. That meant more points, of course, but also more arrangements. Assuming he didn’t go for two hundred points with someone else, of course. Anyway, what about winter? He could take her to The Burrow. He’d heard about it. She didn’t look like the people who paid to go to The Burrow. Neither did he, he supposed. So far.
He shuddered. “You ARE cold,” she said. “You can…keep your shirt on and still….”
“I am NOT cold!” he yanked at his belt, which stuck, as it did whenever he was in a hurry.
Olivia stuck her thumbs under her waistband again. She’d offended his masculine ego: no guy would ever admit he was cold. With a shrug, she raised herself so she could ease the shorts down. She paused. People caught colds all the time, of course: no big thing. But was it fair of her to insist on going through with this if he got sick?
Griffin got the belt unfastened, and paused. She didn’t LOOK cold: in fact, she looked very nice and warm. He didn’t feel cold himself. He was getting really hot under the…under the collar.
Another scrap of newspaper flipflopped along the base of the bushes. Olivia thought it looked like a Vaporub ad. Her mind flashed back to that other scrap. What happened to the father of the baby in the story? Had he died of pneumonia?
The bushes rustled and rattled. A siren started screaming, several blocks away. Griffin’s sense of self-preservation made him drop to his knees for cover.
Olivia wanted to jump back and lean forward at the same time. He was SO pink and nice. Was that his natural color, or was it the chill in the air?
“Do you want….”
“If you want….”
The sirens seemed to be approaching, and the rustle of the leaves was joined by another sound. That tapping took a second to identify. “Rain.” Griffin intended to say more, but had to stop and swallow.
Olivia slid her shorts back up. “There….” She had to swallow, too. “There’ll be other times.”
“It’ll….” Griffin started to rebuckle his belt. “It’ll be drier the other side of the building.”
“Have to….” Olivia reached down for her upper underwear. “Get dressed to get there.” She put her arms into harness. “Are you…I hope….”
Griffin swallowed again; something tasted very bad. “Yeah.”
“Good movie tonight.” Olivia struggled with the closure. “Sure Death of a Mouse. It was…third at the box office first weekend.”
“Yeah.” Griffin picked up his shirt. “Want to see it?”
Olivia’s hands kept missing the hooks. “If…if you want to.”
“Um.” Griffin computed the money in his pocket: it would be barely sufficient. “Wait.” He moved around behind her and fastened the hooks for her. She was, indeed, very warm. Biting his tongue, he pulled away and put his own shirt on.
A few actual raindrops were falling now, but Olivia didn’t feel them. He had soft hands. “Um. Six-thirty?”
“Okay.” He buttoned his shirt slowly, his fingers fumbling as he watched her rebutton her own top. Her lips were pressed tightly together, reminding him of the pink of her nipples and that handprint. “If we go at a quarter after, we’ll get better seats.”
Olivia opened her eyes, which had also been tightly closed, and then looked away from that belt buckle. “Okay.”
“if you want to.” He said, moving forward.
“Oh, I want to,” she sighed.
Griffin reached out and took her nearer hand. “We’d better get going. It’s wet.”
She squeezed his hand. “Yeah.”
Rising from the shelter of the bushes, they studied the park for the driest way through the increasing raindrops. Griffin squeezed her hand back; he could ait and get his points a few at a time instead of all at once.
“Remember you?” she demanded. “I’ll never forget.”
“What?” asked Griffin. The rattle of the bushes covered her reply.
Blogsy Babbles 