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my hand on her breast she put her hand over mine and held it there. She wasn’t wearing a brassiere and I felt her nipple stiffen under my thumb. I figured I had a sure thing and couldn’t wait for us to get back to the car.
    The Buick was parked at the edge of the lot, in the shadows of the trees. As soon as we were inside it I drew her to me and kissed her again. She helped me unbutton her blouse. There was enough light from the fairgrounds for me to see the freckles on her breasts like a sprinkling of cinnamon. I put my mouth to her nipple and she made a sound like a cat purr. She didn’t object when I ran my hand under her skirt and stroked her legs and bottom. But when I tried to lay her down on the seat she pushed me away and said Whoa there, mister.
    She said she was a virgin and intended to stay that way until her wedding night. I said she could’ve fooled me. She said she wasn’t trying to fool anybody but she meant what she said about waiting.
    Well hell, I said.
    She snugged up to me again and kissed me and put my hand inside her blouse. Don’t you like what we’re doing, she said. Don’t you think it’s fun?
    Sure, I said, it’s just…well….
    Oh, she said. She slid her hand up my thigh and closed it around the erection bulging in my pants. My breath hissed through my teeth. I could see her grinning in the dim light.
    She unbuttoned my fly. Goodness, she said, and stroked me gently.
    Then she bent and took me in her mouth. I was stunned breathless. I felt it building fast and tried to pull away, but she moaned and held me with both hands and I shot off. She attended to me a while longer, then sat up and kissed me.
    I’ve done a fella with my hand, she said, but not this. This was my very first time, I want you to know.
    I said it was truly grand and thank you very much—and we both laughed.
    That’s how it went every time we got together. Sometimes we went to the movies, sometimes we went dancing—her arms up high around my neck, her head against my chest. From across the room, we probably looked like a daddy dancing with his daughter, but after our first few turns I quit being self-conscious about it, and I don’t think she ever was. Whatever we’d do for fun on our dates, we always ended the evening with our clothes off, either in the car or, if we knew Earl wouldn’t be back for a while, in the apartment. She’d let me do anything except put it in. She liked me to rub it on her breasts, on her bare ass, she loved squeezing it between her thighs. We were on my sofa the first time I used my tongue on her and she was so loud I was afraid the old couple would call the police.
    Somewhere along in there she said she loved me, and I guess I said it back, since saying so is a good way to keep a girl in the right mood. But she was serious about not doing the full deed until she got married, and marriage was a subject I preferred to avoid. And so, whenever I got worked up to the boiling point, she’d always finish me with her mouth.
    It was swell, of course, and I had no complaints. But as marvelous as these intimate attentions were, they weren’t always enough. Sometimes a man has to get laid full and proper.
    For that particular pleasure I had Sandra Deloro.
    We’d met in a movie house one evening. She came up beside me at the concession stand and remarked in a lovely Southern accent that it was a shame everything on the shelves was so bad for a person’s teeth. She was lean and remarkably tall for a girl, only a few inches shorter than me, with a black pageboy and eyes as pale green as a Tom Collins. Her clothes were expensive but the only jewelry she wore was a little gold crucifix on a fine necklace. I figured she was slumming. She said she loved adventure movies like the one showing that night, The Thief of Baghdad. She was alone, so I asked if she’d like to sit with me and she said sure. Fifteen minutes after the houselights darkened we were kissing and I had a hand under her dress. Her