The Girl

It was a whole week before I saw the bread-truck fellow again. It made me wonder, but when I asked about it, first chance I got, he said on other days he had other routes to run. Come Thursday again, though and there he was. I had nearly reached the artesian well when he came rolling along; he didn’t stop, but went to wait until I got there. Smiling secretly to myself, I took my time. I knew that silver quarter would keep.

He was standing in the open doors of the truck. He reached one hand to pull me up, and the minute the doors were closed, he grabbed me so tight I couldn’t breathe. He laid his hands under my ass to hold me close, and he was kissing my face, just shaking all over. I let him do as he pleased for as much as a minute before I moved away.

“You know it’s gonna take another quarter,” I warned him.

“All right, all right,” he said impatiently. His old Thing was bulging his pants something awful.

“Give it here, then,” I said, holding out my hand.

He put a quarter into my palm. I looked at it, folded my hand tight, and placed my books on an empty shelf. I looked at the aisle between the shelves, pleased with what I saw. It had not only been swept clean, but there was a nice army blanket all spread out. So I just laid down backward, hiking my skirt and pushing down my drawers as I did so.

“Here It is,” I said. “Come and get It.”

He was so stirred up to gaze on my offered nakedness that he looked like he was going to be sick, his face was drawn, and his body was trembling like he had the chills and the fever. He didn’t take time to pull off his white coveralls, either, but fell on me like a hawk on a chicken.

Lord, he was so frantic. I wrapped my arms around him, trying to soothe him down, talking, telling him he didn’t have to be in no such a rush, there was all the time in the world because he had done paid his quarter, hadn’t he? It didn’t do no good. I reckon he was so caught up he didn’t hear what I had to say; at least, he spurted it so quick It was over before he had hardly poked his old Thing at me. Then he just collapsed, his breath coming so hard I thought he was crying, like Papa always cried.

So I held him, though his used-up little old Thing had slipped out; and we lay so for a long time. Gradually I noticed that he was coming back to himself; so I reached down and found enough to tuck inside where it belonged to be. I cherished his Thing with my pussy while it grew and grew, and all the time he was gazing down into my eyes, feeling what I was doing to him. Remembering how much pleasure he had got out of it the time before, I put my mouth on his breast nipple. A ragged sound came from his throat. I held him with my legs so he couldn’t hardly move, and took it away from him like taking candy from a baby.

“Good God, girl, where did you learn to do It like that?” he asked after he was finished.

“I don’t know,” I said. “I just do It, that’s all.” Then I said, most reasonably, “After all, you’ve got to get your quarter’s worth, ain’t you?”

He sort of laughed, still holding me close and beginning to move his hips around, though as far as I could tell, he didn’t have nothing left to do with. Then he started in to kissing me. I pushed him away, saying, “I think you’ve got It by now, so get up off of me.”

He rolled to one side. But when I started to put my dress down, he said, “Wait a minute,” and laid his hand between my legs. Well, that was nice of him to think of it, so I let him. He was watching my eyes while he twirled his hand. But when it started making me feel restless, like that sort of thing will do, I pushed his hand away with both my hands and covered myself.

“Don’t you want something, too?” he asked, surprised.

“Don’t you worry your head about me, mister,” I told him. “Just worry about yourself.” Then I looked at him sweetly. “Will you bring me another quarter next week?”

“Yes,” he said. “Before then, if I can steal the time from another route.”

So, knowing I had a steady income I could count on, I was proud of myself as I added the second quarter to the first quarter in my Reynolds-wrap-lined fruit jar; then a third and a fourth, making a whole dollar, both coming in the same week, because he was there on the Tuesday and again on the Thursday.

But I want to tell you, men are hard to deal with. Seems like they ain’t never satisfied with what they got. Here he had a nice girl he could count on, and he seemed to like It better every time he came. But it wasn’t enough, no sir, he had to start talking about me sneaking out at night so’s he could carry me to his place, where we could take off all our clothes and get into a real bed together. The first time he mentioned it, I told him nothing doing right off, because I didn’t aim to try no such trick on my papa.

“He’d whale the tar out of me,” I said. “You might just as well not talk about it anymore.”

He wouldn’t shut up about it, though, so that finally I had to say, “If you mention any such a nasty thing to me one more time, I won’t take no more of your money. I’ll walk right on by your old bread truck with my head held high.”

He got a hurt look to his face. “But can’t you see that I . . .” He stopped for a minute. Then he said, “Listen. I live all to myself in a house trailer. Air-conditioning and everything. You’d like it there, you really would, and when I’d come home from work at night, we could . . .”

“You talking about me living with you?”

He got an eager look. “Will you do it? I love you, girl, I guess you know that, and I know you like me, else you couldn’t be so good doing It with me. You know you like It as much as I do.”

Maybe I gave him to believe I was thinking about his idea, because I didn’t say anything for a minute. His face got all lit up, and he was holding my arms hard with both hand, and he was starting to shake like he did when I had first raised my skirts for him.

“Get your clothes together and run away tonight. I’ll meet you here in my own car to take you home. Oh, love, you’ll like living with me . . . we’ll be so wonderful together . . .”

I shook my head. “I don’t want to live with you,” I said. “First thing you know, you wouldn’t want to pay me no more.”

He stopped dead still, like he hadn’t heard right. Maybe he didn’t want to hear what I was telling him. Then he got this very serious expression on his face.

“I’ll marry you,” he whispered. “I’ll make you my wife.”

Well, that did it. Making him let go of my arms, I moved a step away. “Mister,” I said, “I ain’t but fourteen years old. That ain’t old enough to even begin to think about getting married.”

His face was all twisted up with the hard begging. “But I love you. You must love me. Like me, anyway, and once we’re married . . .”

“I don’t know nothing about no love,” I said. “All I want is my quarters. That’s all I’ve got on my mind.”

Turn a fellow down and he’ll get mean on you every time. He glared. “You’re just a two-bit whore. That’s all you are,” he snarled.

“That’s not nice,” I said, my voice as sharp as a slap in the face. “If you can’t do nothing but talk bad-mouth to me, I’m going home.”

I picked up my books and marched right out of that bread truck, him trying to stop me, saying he was sorry, he hadn’t meant a word of it, please don’t go away mad.