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had in store. I didn’t have anything in mind when I called her, other than the desire to tease myself. The only plan I had was not to come, Mary-Jane could come all she wanted.
    That’s what gave me the idea. What I’d do to her—to myself. How many times could I stand to make sweet little Mary-Jane come without my own release?
    We started the night at the Big Gulp, surrounded by high school kids and young families. Everyone who didn’t, or couldn’t go to a bar on Saturday night. I chose the place on purpose.
    She seemed partly confused, partly relieved, when she saw where we were going. While she had no idea what I’d planned she knew that she was going to go further than she had the other night. She knew this was no ordinary date. As soon as she got in the truck I made her remove her panties. She shivered as she slipped them over her feet. I knew she wasn’t afraid, wasn’t cold—she was shivering with anticipation. Her skirt came down past her knees. She was in no danger of flashing anyone, but it made her feel exposed and I liked that—so did she, from the gleam in her eyes.
    She looked so good. Just the way I wanted her to, in a candy pink sweater and matching skirt. Her blond hair pulled back in a neat ponytail. No one who saw her would suspect that she was anything other than a good girl.
    I led her to a booth in the back. I slid in first and then pulled her beside me, so that she was on my left. As soon as she was nestled beside me I started.
    While chatting about my day, telling her about how Mr. Grey’s dog tried to eat me, my hand slid under her skirt. Up her thigh, inch by slow inch.
    I was rewarded by the little hitch in her breath that I loved so much. She said nothing, just sat upright, shoulders tight and tensed.
    I kept talking. Inane shit, anyone who eavesdropped would’ve thought I was the most boring guy in the history of dating. The whole time I had my hand under her skirt. Two fingers hooked in her pussy and my thumb playing on her clit. Around us swirled the sounds of Saturday night at the Big Gulp—country music, laughter and the clink of cutlery on plates. I circled a thumb on her plump clit and felt the sweet contraction of her pussy. It thrilled me to be surrounded by all that wholesome goodness while fingering her wet slit. It gave me pleasure to pretend. To hide in plain sight. I spoke in a deliberate dull monotone while I increased the pressure on her clit. Her thighs locked tight around my hand and I knew she was close. When I felt that delicious clench of muscles and my hand drenched in the juices of her orgasm I stopped talking.
    She sat. Breathing deeply, obviously trying not to pant. Her face and chest flushed with the signs of her pleasure.
    Leaning in close I breathed in her ear, “That’s one. Drink your milkshake.”
    After leaving Big Gulp we went to the Cinema House. I bought tickets to the next available showing, not caring what we saw. I had no intentions of watching the movie.
    The Cinema House was old style, an upper level balcony and rows of seating sitting on the flat below. Everyone took the balcony. You could see better there and it was cooler. A favorite with necking High School kids.
    The seats I chose were on the flat, all the way up the back in the lower section. You could hardly see the screen from these seats. Unless the cinema was packed no one ever chose to sit there.
    I think she expected me to start as soon as it was dark. I didn’t. I had learnt a little from Mrs. D about the power of waiting—the aching build of anticipation. Several times I stretched my arm out and gently brushed the side of her breast. She shivered, and I heard a little gasp, but she said nothing, did nothing.
    Just waited.
    For me.
    I liked it, and resented it a little. Because I wanted to be her, be the one on the end of a night of slow teasing.
    About thirty minutes into the film, in the middle of some big noisy car chase I did it. I dropped to my knees, flipped up her skirt