Way too soon, she loosened her hold on me. Her lips moved away from mine. Her breasts stopped touching me. But she remained so close that our noses almost touched, and she stared into my eyes.
I stared back into hers.
This time, the staring didn’t make me nervous. This time, it just felt good.
After a while, she tilted her head sideways and kissed me again. This time, her lips barely touched mine before she took them away. “You’re all spitty,” she whispered. She eased away from me, but not very far. She was wet around the mouth herself, and a little bit red. Smiling softly, she leaned toward me again. She stretched out the neck of her T-shirt and rubbed it across my mouth. Then she moved back and wiped her own mouth in the same place. “Kissing can be messy, huh?” she asked.
I opened my mouth. For a moment, I thought I might’ve forgotten how to talk. But I managed to say, “Guess so.”
“Think the fire’s ready yet?”
“Maybe. I’ll be right back.”
Leaving my beer on the step, I stood up and started toward the grill. As I walked, I could feel a slippery wetness in the lining of the swimming trunks that I wore under my jeans. It dismayed me. I mean, we’d just been kissing. It had been the most wonderful kiss of my life. It had been overwhelming, but sweet and pure, not sexual. At least that’s what I’d thought while it was happening. I hadn’t had a hard-on—at least I didn’t think so—and I certainly hadn’t ejaculated.
I’d sure leaked, though.
A hot, sick feeling flooded through me.
While I still had my back to Slim, I glanced down. The front of my jeans was safely hidden by the hanging front of my shirt. Rusty’s shirt, actually.
Vastly relieved, I looked down at the fire. The paper and kindling had burnt away, but the charcoal briquettes were just about right: the gray had almost reached their black centers.
“Looks ready,” I called to Slim.
“I’ll get the burgers.” She took another swig of beer, then reached down again and set her bottle on the step. Standing up, she plucked at the legs of her cut-offs. Then she turned around and rushed up the stairs. At the top, she swung open the screen door. She vanished into the kitchen.
I waited for the door to bang shut. My back to the house, I looked down and pulled aside the front of my shirttail.
No wet spot on my jeans.
One less thing to worry about.
Pretty soon, the kitchen door swung open and Slim came out with a platter of burgers in her hands. Though her hair wasn’t much longer than mine, a wispy flap of it draping her forehead and the fringe around her ears bounced as she trotted down the back stairs. So did her bikini top. I could see it jouncing up and down ever so slightly through the front of her T-shirt. The crew neck of her T-shirt drooped a little to the right from when she’d pulled at it to wipe off our mouths.
“I put salt and pepper on them,” Slim said as she came toward me. “Also, I found the buns.”
“Good deal,” I said.
While she held the platter, I removed the patties one at a time. They felt cold and greasy in my fingers, and sizzled when they hit the grill.
I looked at my hands. “Guess I’d better wash.”
“You could’ve used this.” Slim reached behind her back. Her hand returned holding a spatula, which must’ve come from a back pocket.
“Now you tell me.”
She grinned. “Go ahead and wash up. I’ll watch the burgers.”
“Right back,” I said. Taking the platter with me, I ran to the house. I set it on the counter next to the buns. The buns were already on another plate, open and slathered on both sides with mayonnaise.
Slim knew what we liked.
I hurried over to the sink. When I tried to wash my hands, I found that cold water wouldn’t take off the grease. I had to . use hot water and soap.
Through the window in front of my face, I could see Slim standing by the barbecue. Pale smoke was rising in front of her and drifting away on the breeze. She was frowning slightly. I couldn’t tell whether she was worried about something or just thinking hard. Maybe she was concentrating on the burger patties, trying to judge when to turn them over. She had the spatula ready in her right hand, but wasn’t using it yet. Her left arm hung by her side. She stood with her left leg stiff, all her weight on it, that side of her rump sort of pushing out against the seat of her cut-offs.
I might’ve kept staring at her forever, but the water burnt my hands. I gasped and jerked them out from under the faucet. They were stinging, so I let cold water run on them for a while. Then I dried them on the dish towel.