At the church, Emma had stared into the stained glass window behind the pulpit from the moment she had taken a seat, thinking of meeting Michael as promised as soon as she could break away. She did not catch a word in the service until her father said “Amen,” signaling the end before the snake handling.
And that had been her queue.
Emma had looked to her mother, who had leaned over to talk with a friend just as her father had called for the deacons to get the snakes. When the congregation had begun to sing a hymn, Emma had risen from the pew and walked on tiptoes to the front, telling her father she was feeling ill and going home.
“Okay,” her father had said.
Once Emma was free of the church’s side door, in the evening’s dusk amid the smell of honeysuckle in the foreground and the sound of locusts whirring in the trees in the background, she had moved in a walker’s stride at a trotting speed toward the barn at the Denton farm where she and Michael had pledged to meet. In a low breathy voice, she had sung the chorus lines repeatedly as she moved from the hymn the congregation had started singing as she left.
“I surrender all, I surrender all
All to Thee, my blessed Savior
I surrender all”
Nearing the barn at the Denton farm, Emma had seen Michael’s image in the fading light. He was leaning against the doorway.
He didn’t look up.
When Emma had reached Michael she had stopped directly in front of him, not more than three inches away. The wind had quieted with the fading sun, but she was so close she could smell his breath.
It reminded her of fresh cut grass.
She could smell his skin, too. It made her think of a fresh, ripe plum that begged to be eaten.
Emma wanted a bite.
Michael had looked up, his eyes connecting with Emma’s eyes. He had pulled his left hand from behind his waist, presenting a wildflower that looked like a daisy.
“Ahhhh,” Emma had said.
She had smiled, taking the flower and placing the stem behind her right ear so the petals aligned with her radiating cheeks. Emma had reached with her left hand and grasped Michael’s t-shirt, just above his right bosom.
She had pulled him downward, opening her mouth slightly and licking her lips from top to bottom, and from side to side. Emma pulled Michael’s mouth into hers.
Their tongues had connected, rubbing, searching, and pushing. Michael had begun moving his mouth around her face and neck, so that her chin began to bead in a mixture of sweat and saliva.
“Emma,” Michael had whispered.
As the sun gave way to the light rising from a partial moon, Emma and Michael had stepped in accord to the inside corner of the barn door, as if slow dancing to a song they knew by heart. Out of view from the roadway and with just enough light to see one another’s outline, they had fallen onto a thin pile of hay covering the barn floor without letting go of their interweaving grasp.
“Michael,” Emma had said.
On the ground, Emma had run her hands inside his Michael’s shirt, and up and down his back while she thrust her tongue into his so hard she could feel it pulling at the base. Michael reached his hand underneath her left thigh and squeezed.
“Ahhhh,” Emma had murmured.
She had hiked her dress up to her waist by bending her knees and spreading her legs. She had wrapped her legs around his jeans-clad pelvis and pulled Michael’s torso into her exposed lace panties with a hard pull.
She had felt his strength, and he felt her warmth against him.
Michael reached a hand to between her legs, squeezing his fingers between their bodies. He felt fine, soft hair peeking from her panties. It was moist. Her rubbed her crotch, and hot wetness oozed from panties.
"I'm touching your virgin cunt," Michael had said.
"Yes," Emma had said, thrusting against his hand. "You are touching my virgin cunt. Only my hand has been there before.
"Ahhhh," Emma sighed.
Sweat had dripped from Michael’s face to hers as she pulled him in, closer, with every bit of strength she had in her legs by squeezing them tighter and tighter around his thighs.
Emma had moved her mouth down the side of Michael’s face and down to the softest spot at the top of his neck, just under his jawbone. She had opened her mouth, encapsulating a circle the size of a tangerine with her lips, and she sucked with a probing, licking tongue.
She though she could taste his lifeblood drawn to the surface.
Emma had released her mouth, tilted her head slightly up, to Michael’s ear, and she spoke directly to him in a breathy voice.
“Take me,” Emma had said.
“What do you mean?” Michael had said.
“I want you to fuck me,” Emma had said.
Michael had kissed her cheek.
“I'm surprised to hear you talk that way,” he had said.