“Why, that sounds like real fun.” Wilma patted his cheek. “Pick me up around eight tonight.”
Finishing up the dinner dishes, Wilma could hear Rafe’s ancient Ford coming up the road from at least a mile away. She took off the apron covering the low cut see-through blouse and skirt she was wearing and ran upstairs to put on some fresh lipstick and run a comb through her hair. Then she came down, kissed her father good-night, and intercepted Rafe coming up the front walk.
“Hey, honey, you look pretty as a picture,” he greeted her.
“Why, thank you, sir.” She piroutted quickly in front of him, well aware of his appreciative stare at her long legs as her short skirt flared out.
Rafe licked his lips and nervously brushed back the cowlick of straight black hair hanging over his forehead. When it fell right back again, he ignored it. “Might as well get goin’,” he said, remembering to hold the car door open for Wilma.
When he turned the car onto the highway, Wilma was surprised. “Where are you going, Rafe?” she asked. “I thought you said we’d go to the Henshaws.”
“They ain’t got that shack o’ theirs no more,” he explained. “They all settled in up at the Andover house an’ waitin’ for them people to work for.”
“Oh.” Wilma thought a minute. “Rafe,” she said then, “I don’t think you’d better go driving up there. The noise this car makes, they’d be sure to hear us coming. Why don’t you park just off the highway and we’ll sneak up through the woods."
“Sure ’nuf,” Rafe agreed.
About ten minutes later he pulled the car off the road and parked it. Wilma was getting out as he came around to her side of the Ford. “Hey,” he said, “Why don’t you leave your pockabook here? Ain’t no sense luggin’ it through them woods.”
“No,” Wilma replied, hanging onto the rather large bag. “There’s something in it I need.”
“What?”
“You’ll see.”
They started off through the copse of woods, Rafe in front, breaking trail, Wilma right behind him. They’d gone about a quarter-mile when a branch Rafe had been pushing aside got away from him and snapped back to hit Wilma in the face.
“Ouch! Hey, watch what you’re doing!” She rubbed her smarting cheek.
“Sorry.” He turned in his tracks.
Wilma, still walking, was flush up against him before she could stop. “Why are you stopping?” she asked.
“Jes’ makin’ sure you okay.” He grinned down at her, his eyes dropping from her face to the twin mounds half-escaping from the top of her low-cut blouse. They were rising and falling quickly from the exertion of pushing through the woods. “Hey, you a-pumpin’ like a steam engine. We’d best rest.”
“I’m all right. Keep going.”
But Rafe had other ideas. He wrapped himself around her and kissed her hard, one hand digging into the flesh under the blouse.
“Not now,” Wilma told him, breaking away.
“You sure growed up a hot li’l honeypot,” Rafe said. He reached out and squeezed both breasts admiringly. “You small, but you all woman right ’nuf, Wilma.” He kissed her again before she could stop him.
“I said not now!” She pushed him away as hard as she could.
“What’sa matter? Don’t you like me?” Rafe turned surly.
“Sure I like you.” Wilma’s mind worked fast. She needed this oaf. She made her voice coo. “I really like you, Rafe. Later we’ll have lots of fun. But now I want to get to the Henshaws.”
Rafe was reassured, but not quite ready to give up yet. “We got time,” he told her. “It ain’t even all dark yet.” He put his arms around her and one hand slid inside where her blouse and skirt met in back. His fingers pushed aside the elastic of her panties and their tips explored the plump flesh of her buttocks.
Held hard against him, Wilma could feel his excitement growing. The hot lump of his erection pressed against her belly. His breath was hot in her ear and his fingertips were clawing their way lower and lower. She gave a little jump as they explored the cleft between her buttocks and probed deeper.
“Nervous, hey?” Rafe laughed. He pressed his cheek against hers. It was wet with the sweat of his growing ardor.
“Rafe.” ‘She made her voice moan. “We really haven’t got time. We really have to be going.” She pushed him away lingeringly, as though she was as reluctant to stop what they were doing as he was.
“How ’bout if I offered you fifteen cents?” he persisted.
Wilma knew it was a joke, but she couldn’t help thinking what a hopeless boor he was. “Make it twenty, and who knows,” she said. “But later,” she added hastily when he started for her again.
“You win,” he sighed. “Let’s go.”
As she followed him again, Wilma couldn’t help thinking how ludicrous it all was, how different from the life she’d been leading these past three years, how comically different Rafe was from the sophisticated men she’d known. Through muck and mire with intrepid Mortimer Snerd, she thought to herself wryly. Beating the bush with the great white hunter of barnyard poontang!
At last they emerged from the woods a few hundred yards from the Andover house. It was night now, and the house was dark, except for two rooms on the second story. Rafe studied the house a moment.
“Reckon that’s the bedroom they usin’ an’ the bathroom next it,” he told Wilma.
“But how can we see anything up there?” she asked disappointedly.
“Jes’ follow along with me an’ I’ll show you.” He led her up to the house and pointed out a large tree shading the side of the house. “Them upper branches look right in their bedroom window,” he explained. “Come on, I’ll give you a leg up.”
Wilma slipped off her heels and put one foot in Rafe’s clasped hands. He heaved and she grabbed onto a low-hanging branch. She pulled herself up and sat on it. Rafe backed off a little and took a running jump. He caught the branch and pulled himself up alongside her.
“You go first,” he whispered. “Case you get stuck, I’ll help you. Hey!” He noticed that her handbag was hanging from one shoulder. “Why don’t you leave that down below‘? It’ll make it easier to climb.”
“I told you. I need it.” Wilma held onto the trunk, pulled herself upright on the branch and started to climb.
Rafe followed. From beneath her, he found himself looking straight up Wilma’s skirt. Man, she sure has nice legs an’ the cutest li’l fanny! He couldn’t resist it. He reached his hand up between her legs as far as he could and wiggled his fingers. Hot, wet snatch! Zowie! He felt his erection creep up his belly. Tight twat! Yeah!!!
“Stop that!” Wilma called down in a harsh whisper.
“Why?” Rafe giggled, reaching higher.
“Because it tickles!” She tried to jerk away from the poking hand and almost lost her balance. “There, see, you almost made me fall! Now stop it!”
“Oh, all right.” Rafe slid his hand reluctantly down her leg and stopped.
A moment later he pulled himself up beside her on the sturdy branch facing the lighted window. “See, I told you. You can see right in,” he said.
“So you can,” Wilma admitted. “Oh, there’s Mr. Henshaw, right?” she added as a figure turned from one of the room’s closets and stepped into clear view.
“That’s him all right.”
“He hasn’t changed much.”
“Reckon not. Hey, he’s takin’ off his duds.”
“So he is.”
“Puny critter, ain’t he?”
“I’ve seen worse,” Wilma remembered.
“You stick with me, suger, you gonna see a helluva lot better!”
“Shh! Quit bragging. Stop talking and watch.”
“What’s with you, honey? You really get a kick outa seein’ a twerp like Henshaw walkin’ ’round in his skin?”