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thelittleredwildflower · 3 months

Text

Note: 18+, adult content

Calamine

Boone, Mississippi. 1976.

September

Ginny woke in the middle of the night to the restless song of crickets outside. She shifted lazily on Coralee’s springy old mattress and rolled onto her back, wiggling her toes beneath the soft, threadbare sheets. Her small feet throbbed with a fierce, burning itch, and she rose up in a daze, rubbing at her big eyes in the hot darkness.

The air was thick with humidity, stifling, and she sat for a moment, her body still damp and heavy with sleep. After she had roused herself a bit, Ginny swung her coltish legs out from under the striped sheets and pulled her knees up tight to her chest. In a stream of pale moonlight, she looked down, shocked to find both ankles littered with sore, red welts. The sight turned her stomach. It worsened the dull, steady ache that already lingered in her belly, and she swallowed hard, pressing a palm against her damp forehead.

Earlier that night, Coralee Cooper and Annabelle Lane had gotten Ginny drunk for the first time. The three of them had trekked out back into a thick of old trees and wild brush near the Indigo River, their worn backpacks plump with stolen beer. They had plopped down Indian-style in a patch of cool, blonde grass beside the rushing water, waiting on Cora to fish out her daddy’s old bottle opener. ‘Budweiser’ had been written in faded blue letters across the red handle, and they had pried open the smooth, cold longnecks with eager hands, giggling all the while.

The three of them had sat near the river’s edge for hours, watching the swift, dark current sweep over bedrock as they’d downed swig after swig of liquid gold. When all the beer had finally been drunk, they had flopped back on the grassy bank and smoked cigarettes, watching the late summer stars tilt and spin. It had been loads of fun, but from the looks of her swollen feet, Ginny had left the woods with more than just a good beer buzz.

She poked gingerly at one tender red bump and sucked in her breath. It stung and ached with the beat of her heart, and she knew straight off it was poison oak. She’d had it before as a little girl, and it’d been downright terrible. The stubborn, scarlet colored rash had gone on and on, no matter how many times her mama had rubbed it with salve and wrapped it in clean cloth bandages. For weeks, it had throbbed with her every step, and Ginny still remembered her mama’s warm, soothing voice, how her skin had smelled of honeysuckle as she’d dabbed thick patches of cool pink lotion over her feet and ankles. “It’s all right, sweet girl. That calamine’ll work it’s magic soon on ya soon enough.”

“Coralee?” Ginny sent out a quiet whisper to her friend, but Cora was deep in dreams, her eyelids fluttering like moth wings in the silver moonlight.

Ginny waited a minute or two, then pulled herself off Cora’s bed with a long, lazy sigh. Outside, in the hot damp of midnight, the steady, musical lull of insects droned on through the open screened windows. In the hazy shadows, Ginny finally found her glasses in a sea of glitter nail polish bottles and Seventeen magazines on Cora’s cluttered white dresser. She wiped the lenses clean with the bottom hem of her nightdress, then slipped the round, tortoise shell frames up onto her freckled little nose.

In the quiet heat of Coralee’s small, dormered bedroom, Ginny suddenly grew homesick. The Coopers had no air conditioning, and all she heard then was the eerie, drifting whir of steel blade fans running in every room of their dark house. Down the hall, restless with sweat and bad dreams, Cora’s little brother, Travis, tossed and turned in his small twin bed.

It was hot for late September, oppressively hot, and Ginny longed for autumn. She loved when the nights grew windy and brisk after the purple fall of dusk. She would often linger out in the backyard until late, her small body strewn across an old tire swing. Up and down the streets, people burned piles of leaves, and she would close her eyes and breathe in the pungent scent of their fires. Each year, she savored the sweet, somber hush of rolling foliage, the slow turn of trees in their neighborhood from deep green to crimson and gold. She hadn’t seen a wisp of color so far though, and it made her wonder if summer would ever give up the fight.

Ginny looked on at her two friends as they slumbered in the darkness. She listened to the soft sound of Annabelle’s breath moving in and out. It was tranquil and even, like the rise and fall of waves. In the far corner, Coralee sighed and shifted onto her belly. Ginny didn’t have the heart to wake them, so she stepped over Belle’s long, sleeping body and tried her best to be silent. A rush of searing pain swept through her feet and ankles then, and she stopped where she stood, wincing.

Cora’s bedroom door stood half ajar, and Ginny craned her neck, looking out into the dark, narrow hallway. It felt like trespassing, her roaming around in someone else’s house at night. The creak of a wooden floorboard, the groan of a warped stair, the shadowed corners and locked closets were all parts of a foreign land, one where natives slept, unknowing. She thought of the jumbled pile of shoes near the front door, the dirty dishes in the sink, the wooden coat tree beside the big picture window where jackets and sweaters and hooded sweatshirts hung at random. All the unfamiliar scents on blankets and sheets and pillowcases, they were the Coopers’ blood, sweat and tears.

Ginny stood for a bit, hesitant, smoothing her thin white frock over her slim, pretty legs. She tucked her wavy dark hair back behind both ears and thought of morning, how it was just a few hours off. She could wait. The last thing she wanted was to disturb the peace, but as she took another step, that deep, aching heat sprang to life again. She glanced back at Cora with hopeful eyes, but her friend still lay sleeping in a harbor of clean cotton sheets. Ginny turned toward the beckoning hall again, sighing reluctantly. She stayed put for a moment longer, then finally lifted anchor and drifted out into the hot, silent house.

“Mr. Cooper?” Ginny’s voice was soft and unsure as she looked down at him, at a good daddy sleeping peacefully on his brown plaid couch.

She had never known her own daddy. He had left her mama high and dry when Ginny was just three years old. At home, she never walked into their yellow tiled bathroom to find a straight razor sitting on the sink. There were no bottles of stiff, woodsy smelling aftershave tucked into the medicine cabinet, no dirty brown work boots lying idle near the front door.

Emmett Cooper had the same color hair as his daughter, Cora. It was the rich shade of burning embers, not red and not brown, but a beautiful, unique mix of both. His big, weathered hand lay across his lean belly, and it rose and fell gently as he took in a long breath, letting it out with a quiet, lazy sigh. His sleeping face was turned away from her, and the warm, dancing light from a muted TV screen cast rippling shadows all over the room.

Ginny stood a few feet from him, keeping still and silent. She had always been painfully shy, and more often than not, filled to the brim with a quiet uncertainty. Even as a small child, she had been soft-spoken and sweetly awkward. She couldn’t help but feel like pest then, saying his name again, so she waited, hoping he might stir.

She looked on at the frayed bottom hem of his gray t-shirt. It had come up an inch or two on his belly, and her cheeks burned at this small, unexpected glimpse of bare skin. A straight line of copper hair trailed down from his navel, disappearing into the waist of his blue work trousers. They were stained with grease and motor oil, and she saw how the dark cotton had worn thin at the knees.

Ginny only knew a handful of things about Coralee’s daddy. He fixed up cars down at Lipman’s Garage, he smoked a pack of Luckies a day, and he had a soft spot for horses. Cora had once said that her daddy loved to ride his old motorcycle, and on Friday nights, he would put his feet up, listen to blues, and drink Wild Turkey out of a tiny red shot glass. She had also said that her mama, Lucy, downright hated his motorcycle and the whisky drinking too. For months, Cora’s mama and daddy had been fighting like cats and dogs. Lucy had been staying out nights, spending more and more time working late shifts down at Ruby’s Diner. She was there that night, in fact, waiting tables and slinging hash to all the night owls and drunkards.

Cora had said that her mama had been acting like a selfish bitch, and that her daddy deserved his bit of fun, especially after he’d worked his hands to the bone all week. She had told Ginny that she missed her daddy’s goofy laugh and his stupid jokes. All of his silliness and playful teasing has gone absent since he and Cora’s mama had begun living separate lives. It all seemed so complicated and sad to Ginny.

“Mr. Cooper?” Ginny drew closer, intent on asking if they had any calamine lotion to soothe the itch on her tender bare feet. She jumped in her skin when he sat up quick, startled from a deep sleep.

“What? What’s wrong? Shit, I fell asleep. What time is it?”

Still bleary-eyed, he reached up and rustled his red-brown hair with both big hands. It stood up every which way, until he smoothed it back down again with a heavy sigh. He seemed disoriented and plain exhausted, and Ginny felt remorse for waking him up so suddenly.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Cooper. It’s ‘bout two o’clock, I think.”

He moved to the edge of their brown plaid couch, and almost at once, his big hands reached for a pack of Lucky Strikes that lay out on the coffee table. They had been tossed there beside an empty bottle of Budweiser, an old Zippo lighter, and a green plastic ashtray that cradled two spent butts. He smacked the half pack of smokes up against his big palm and pulled one out, taking it between his teeth.

“You one of Coralee’s friends? Lucy warned me ‘bout you girls stayin’ over tonight. Said I might not get much sleep on count of all the gigglin’ and carryin’ on.”

Emmett Cooper gave Ginny a tired, weary smile, showing just a glimpse of his straight, white teeth. He looked at her bare, freckled shoulders and tiny frame. She was a good bit smaller than his daughter, and she looked as young as a chickadee. The only thing that gave away her true age was the shadow of two tender points hidden beneath her thin cotton frock. She stood at just the right angle, where the smooth, white moonlight drifted in through the big picture window. Its soft glow made her little gown go completely sheer, and he looked away. She might as well have been standing there naked in front of him. She didn’t have a clue though, and he wasn’t about to let on. He had learned quickly, just by living with Coralee, that teenage girls were often over-sensitive, erratic creatures. He kept quiet and took a long drag off his cigarette. All the while, his eyes fought the urge to look at her taut little nipples through her pretty cotton sheath, and he cleared his throat as he exhaled.

“I’m Ginny Goodman. I work with Coralee over at the Dairy Queen…makin’ ice cream cones and such. We just met this summer. This is my first time stayin’ over.”

She had a honey-drip little voice that he could barely make out, and like a bloodhound, Emmett caught scent of her shy, hesitant nature. She had a quiet innocence about her; none of the giddy drama that was common in most girls her age. She was different, more sweet and trusting. It was in the downward tilt of her big doe eyes behind her glasses. It was in the high color of her baby soft cheeks, and he felt the tug of an erection come on him then. It took him completely off guard. It disturbed him, even, because she still looked like a little fawn.

He had never been one to desire knock-kneed, skinny young girls. He favored curves, and his wife, Lucy, had plenty of those. Since the night they’d first met, Emmett had been crazy for Lucy’s firm, rounded breasts. The way she filled out a snug white t-shirt had always driven him wild. She was near forty, but her ass still looked delicious in a tight pair of old Levi’s, and her legs had remained shapely and strong. After twenty years of marriage, he still had trouble keeping his hands off her. He even loved the little paunch of her belly because she had carried his three children there.

Emmett had always fancied solid women, women he could grab onto and drive himself deep inside of. He had never once, as a grown man, felt himself stiffen up so quick and eager for a girl so young. It just hadn’t been in his nature. In fact, he had always found it unsettling when the guys down at Lipman’s would catcall at passing teenagers.

In the summertime, a slow stream of wayward girls often trickled into the shop. Dressed in snug cut-off jeans and thin halter tops tied above the navel, they would prance around and put their flat, tanned-up bellies and firm, sun-kissed legs on display. They’d snap their bubble gum and flip their hair and give the middle-aged men like Emmett a knowing smile as they dropped their keys onto the grubby front counter. It was always a smashed-in bumper or a busted-up taillight that needed repair, the ruins of loud music, homegrown weed, and a lead foot. On the hottest days, they would wiggle their firm little asses out the front door and leave the sweet scent of coconut oil in their wakes. While most of his buddies would whistle through their teeth as the girls shimmied across the parking lot into their boyfriends’ trucks, he would only shake his head and let out a quiet belly laugh.

Emmett thought on Lucy then. It had been nearly three months since she’d let him touch her, and the last time had been rushed. It had been a quick, silent fuck in the still darkness of their messy bedroom, before the house had woken up or the sun had sneaked its way through the drawn curtains. After they had finished, she had slipped her warm body out from under his and whispered, “I need to make coffee…and I gotta pack a lunch for Travis.” It had seemed to Emmett that she hadn’t been able to get away from their bed fast enough.

By instinct, his body had grown hungry in Lucy’s absence. He knew it was possible that his wife no longer loved him. They had been growing apart for some time, years it seemed, but Emmett still had hopes that the two of them could put aside their problems and salvage the family they’d made together. As of late, Lucy didn’t seem too keen on that notion, and the whole thing broke his heart in two.

“Well, Ginny Goodman…” He took another long drag off his cigarette and slowly exhaled into the close, sultry air. “…it’s good to meet you. I’m Coralee’s daddy.”

“What in hell you girls doin’ out in them woods, anyhow? Drinking’ down my beer and smokin’ up my cigarettes, I reckon.” Emmett looked on at Ginny’s big chocolate eyes, waiting for her to deny it, but she just pressed her bee-stung lips together and let out a soft giggle.

“Yep. You can tell Coralee I noticed them smokes missin’ from my pack. You can tell her to cut it out too, or there’ll be hell to pay. I keep sayin’…if she’s stupid enough to take up smokin’, she best buy her own pack. I told her to stay out of them woods too. It’s ripe with poison oak.”

Ginny kept quiet and listened as he talked to her all daddy-like. She savored his playful, gentle scolding. It felt nice. She imagined what it would be like to have a daddy that loved you deep, one that teased you and made you laugh.

She was bashful as he took down a bottle of calamine lotion from the kitchen cupboard and walked over to her on quiet bare feet. He sat down beside her on the soft plaid couch and shook the pink bottle in his big hand, mixing it up lightly. He told her to shimmy her little behind around and sit with her back against the couch’s big pillowed arm, and she obliged him with dark, watchful eyes.

“Put your feet up here so I can get a look. I know that’s what you got though, and it ain’t no fun from what I remember.” He motioned for her to swing her feet up.

“It itches somethin’ terrible.” Ginny pulled her glasses off and wiggled her toes like a child.

“I bet. You’re covered in it.”

She set her small bare feet in his lap and watched his scruffy red beard, his thick fingers and creased knuckles. He had a black crescent of motor oil under each nail and a tender red cut on his left thumb. Her eyes lingered on his big hands as he took soft white cotton balls slathered in cool pink balm and gently dabbed them on her sore welts, just like she was his own baby girl.

“That hurt?”

He looked over at her eyes, and Ginny shook her head no. Though she was young, and green as a sprig of mint, a warmth suddenly blossomed up between her legs. The feelings brought on a whole mess of confusion because Mr. Cooper was a grown man over twice her age. He had sturdy arms and tiny lines at the corners of his eyes. He was no spindly teenage boy.

As the fan slowly teased across their hot skin and drew away, Ginny felt a ripple of uncertainty run through her. She wasn’t sure if Coralee’s daddy had looked at her bare legs in a way he shouldn’t have, or if he’d been wrong to let his deep hazel eyes wander to the thin strap of her nightdress when it had slipped down her freckled shoulder. She wasn’t sure of anything, only that his hands were like feathers on her sore bare feet, his touch soft and tender as he healed her ache with his smooth pink salve; the one that smelled like childhood.

“Wake up, pretty girl.”

Ginny came slowly from dreams with lazy, half-open eyes. She was still sleepy as he pressed his mouth against her damp forehead and kissed gently.

“You awake, sweetheart?”

His mouth was warm and searching, and he smelled faintly of cigarette smoke. The piney scent of sweat lingered on his skin, as if he needed a long, hot shower to wash away the day’s work. He smelled like those men had, the ones who’d come to fix her mama’s leaky kitchen pipes. They had been dressed in dirty old work trousers and worn leather tool belts, and they had carried the same scent of musk and tobacco. It was the way a daddy might smell, and a daddy was someone who had no business nestling his rough, scratchy face into the soft hollow of her neck.

Ginny’s first instinct was to pull away. She wanted to slip off the couch and sneak back to the quiet haven of Cora’s small, hodgepodge bedroom, with its crooked posters and pine floors and patchwork sleeping bags.

Instead, she lay there like a rag doll as Emmett Cooper placed a gentle kiss on her smooth, freckled shoulder. A moment later, he cupped a big hand around her cheek and traced his thumb lightly over her jaw, kissing up along her warm, salty neck. His mouth was hot and teasing, and Ginny closed her eyes tight at the prickle of his short beard on her soft skin.

“Don’t.” She didn’t want to hurt his feelings. He had been so nice to her as he’d tended her wounds and made her giggle in the quiet darkness. Still, she knew it couldn’t be right, him kissing on her like that.

“You don’t gotta be afraid. I ain’t gonna hurt you, baby. Not never.” He drew one finger along her hairline, watching her thick, feathered lashes, her large, silent eyes swimming in question.

Ginny remembered falling asleep on the big plaid couch, and for a spell, he had too. He had dozed off sitting up, still holding her damaged feet in his lap. She had felt nothing but safe and sound with him, but right then, she was taken aback at his closeness, almost bewildered by it.

She thought on Coralee and Annabelle, sleeping sound just upstairs. She knew that any girl in her place might be afraid, or at least unsure, but more than fear, Ginny was only shy and timid as his big hands worked down the front of her thin nightdress. One by one, he pulled loose her long row of buttons, and she closed her eyes, feeling his warm mouth against her ear.

He parted her gown gently, tracing his fingers across her smooth belly until she lay there, bare and bashful, looking up at him with wide, dark eyes. For a moment, she felt a whisper soft touch on her navel, then it was gone.

She looked down as his rough hands made their way along her slim, girlish legs. Before she knew, he had taken two thick fingers and laced them under the hips of her thin white underpants.

“Lift up.”

Ginny watched his eyes, listening to the smooth lull of his deep voice above her as she slowly lifted her small bottom off the couch.

“Yeah. That’s it, pretty girl.”

A moment later, he pulled her flimsy cotton panties clean off, and Ginny felt her cheeks go hot. It was unthinkable, that Coralee’s daddy, or any daddy for that matter, would touch her in such a forbidden way. She watched as he tossed her little white underpants on the coffee table next to his cigarettes and beer.

Ginny shifted away, uneasy as he slipped in beside her on the big plaid couch. He traced one finger down between her small breasts, then circled the warm, dark hallow of her navel again. The light, whispery feel of his touch tickled her hot skin and made her belly tense up. It made her suck in a little breath and bite down on her full bottom lip.

“That tickle?”

He walked two teasing fingers back up between her breasts, smiling down at her as he leaned in close. His mouth was hungry and eager, and it searched for hers until Ginny pulled away. She was all racing heart and vulnerable eyes then, and a deep, aching warmth had settled down between her legs. It throbbed with the beat of her heart as he traced a tender finger around each of her dainty pink nipples, first one, then the other.

‘I can’t believe this is happenin’.’ It was a silent thought inside of her as he touched the small, sparse patch of dark hair where her slim legs met. Since that sweet, curly tuft had sprouted up the summer before her thirteenth year, Ginny had been intensely shy about it.

Emmett slid his big hand down, rubbing gently at her slippery little cleft, testing the waters. She couldn’t help but look there. In the warm, milky light that spilled in through the big picture window, Ginny watched his rough fingers stroke against her most private place. It felt like too much at first, almost too good, and she nudged him away, feeling tingly and feverish. She rose up on her elbows then, looking at him with wide, over-bright eyes.

“That hurt you, pretty girl? I just… I forgot…”

Ginny didn’t know what he’d meant by that. Forgot what? That she had never been touched before? That she was a late bloomer? That at eighteen, she was still brand new, though most girls her age had already lost it to their boyfriends, or some drunken, shaggy-haired guy they’d met at a party?

“Let me kiss you, now. Don’t be shy. I just…I wanna make you feel nice.” It was a shameless confession, and he pressed his damp forehead to hers, closing his soulful eyes.

“You do?” She asked it in a way that nearly broke his heart.

Emmett knew he was doing the worst kind of wrong to his daughter’s new little friend, but in that moment, he had become someone else entirely. If he had looked in the mirror right then, he would have found a stranger’s face peering back at him, a man broken up and beaten down. He knew it was a shameful thing, to take his grief and frustration out on a sweet little bird like Ginny, but still, he leaned in close and ventured further.

“I do. Let me kiss you, sweetheart.” Emmett gave her freckled cheek one tender kiss, tucking a sliver of stray hair behind her ear.

“It’s scratchy.” She smiled but couldn’t look at him then, the flecks of evergreen in his eyes, the angry, ragged scar along his left forearm.

“My face?” He reached up and rubbed at his stubbly red beard. It made a sound like sandpaper moving across wood.

“I love these freckles.” He touched her nose with a sugary sweetness that made her trust him all over again.

“I hate ‘em.” Ginny felt herself blush. She had always cursed the mess of dusty brown flecks on her cheeks and nose. They made her look years younger.

“You’re such a beautiful little thing.” Emmett kissed her cheek again, smiling against her hot skin, and Ginny looked over at him, right into his deep hazel eyes.

She bit back a budding smile then, turning her gaze down like a shy doe, and it was all the invitation he needed. He took her chin in his big hand and pulled her smooth baby face close against his own. He kissed at her warm mouth, and she followed his lead, stroking her cotton candy tongue against his, kissing deeper when he did, her breath growing quicker all the while.

“You’re so sweet, baby girl. I love this pretty mouth.” Emmett traced a gentle thumb over her wet bottom lip, and Ginny lay there with a shy smile, taking in all of his sweet talk like a cool glass of water on a hot day.

She felt his big hand slip down and graze across her small triangle of dark curls. A moment later, he nestled his fingers against her slippery warmth again and started a slow, gentle rub there, circling around her most tender place. It sent a warm flutter of pleasure through her, and as he added more pressure, a soft, urgent ache took root deep in her belly. It made Ginny close her eyes and sigh like a baby in the dim quiet.

“That feel nice?”

Her small body went lazy against his, just like Lucy’s always did when he used a slow, gentle touch. With Ginny though, it only took a moment before she was swollen up wet and beautiful. She was young and eager, and her body told him so.

“Yeah. It feels nice.”

She smiled up at him bashfully, and he kept on, still going slow. He watched her pretty face, the way she closed her eyes tight, then opened them again, daring to watch his steady hand as it touched her in a way no one had before.

“Can I get me another kiss?”

Emmett leaned in and whispered near the hollow of her ear then, his voice honey sweet and soothing. She nodded her head yes, and this time, as he kissed deep at her full pink mouth, he felt the soft tilt of her hips, the way her pretty legs opened just a bit further in welcome.

He’d always had a way with women. He had never been the most handsome or shown the most bravado, and he had certainly never professed to be the smartest, but somehow, he had always known just what to say, and at just the right time. Like magic, the soft, deep rasp of his easy voice had made more then a few sets of legs fall wide open for him, and even at forty-two years old, it seemed that was still the case.

“Is that all right? The way I’m touchin’ you?”

“I guess so. Yeah.”

Ginny swallowed hard, and they both looked down, watching as he drew one finger up the slick line of her rosy cleft. A moment later, she felt the scratch of his beard on the firm swell of her breast. He used a slippery tongue to trace a slow, warm circle around her little pink nipple. It felt better than she imagined it would, and it looked like something you might see in a dirty movie, the kind all the boys talked about at school. She looked on with curious eyes, feeling the hot pull of his mouth as he sucked at both breasts softly. He licked at her pretty pink points, his warm tongue leaving a shiny wetness on her taut nipples. She saw it in the hazy light of the porch lamp through the big picture window, and it was a beautiful sight. The distant song of a neighbor’s wind chimes danced through the open screens as Emmett suddenly pulled his body away from hers. In the next breath, she found him gazing down at her, kneeling between her lazy open legs.

“It’s all right, sweetheart.” His voice was a quiet whisper above her, and his face was half-shadowed. He pulled his t-shirt up over his mess of thick, red-brown hair, and Ginny looked on, her big eyes full of wonder. He was lean-chested and strong-armed, his body a work of taut, natural muscle. She caught a glimpse of two reddish patches of hair under his arms, and suddenly, she felt very young.

Emmett had a strange, faded black tattoo inked onto his right upper arm. It looked like a rooster, but she didn’t dare ask to see it. She just watched him quietly, listening to the gentle, familiar hum of their refrigerator in the next room, her eyes on all the parts of him that were different from her own.

“Don’t be shy now, all right?”

Emmett slipped his body over hers then, and Ginny took in a sharp breath at the feel of his bare belly pressed tight against her most private place. It felt more than good, and she wanted to touch him, but didn’t know where to put her hands first.

“I won’t.”

Her eyes were like two dark moons below him. They roamed over his warm mouth and begged silently for another sweet kiss. He obliged her, and at the same time, they both let out a little sigh of pleasure. Emmett knew he was in the worst kind of trouble. The way he wanted inside of her then was something primal. He had never felt a desire quite like it.

“You got me all in a lather here, girl.”

He kissed at the damp hollow of her neck, and Ginny couldn’t help but worry on what came next. She didn’t want to think of his man part, but she couldn’t not think of it either. She knew enough about sex to guess what he might be easing her into, and she was more than nervous.

“Really?” Ginny was tongue-tied and self-conscious. She didn’t have a clue on how to respond to all the longing he had for her. With her glassses and her freckles and her slight, girlish frame, she just wasn’t used to being so irresistible.

“There’s just somethin’ ‘bout you, pretty girl. You’re sugar sweet.”

In the soothing darkness, Emmett traced a slick, sultry tongue around the sweet dip of her navel, and without hesitation, he gave her bare little cleft one long, slow lick. She tasted clean and salty and undeniably feminine. He hadn’t tasted another woman in twenty years. It was illicit and sinful and downright intoxicating. Ginny was different there, smaller and nothing but tender, the color of pale pink roses. Lucy, despite being an ashy blonde, was tawny skinned. She had always hated the color of her sex, though Emmett loved it, a warm brown like Tupelo honey.

“Just like I thought…sugar sweet. You taste so good.”

Emmett drew his tongue up slow, pressing it inside of her so he could get another taste, and she made a quiet sound above him. He slipped his sturdy arms under her slim legs, cradling the slight curve of her waist in his big hands, holding her small body gently until she relaxed against him.

“I do?” A note of disbelief came up in her quiet voice, and she looked down at him intently.

“You do. Sweet like sugarcane.” Emmett gave her a teasing smile, and Ginny saw all of his straight, white teeth shining up at her in the darkness.

He kissed at her belly, then slipped his hands down under her firm little behind. Emmett looked on at her sex. A hint of pink, swollen flesh peeked out at him, and Ginny’s whole body went tense as he nestled his thumbs up against her small, dainty cleft. He opened her with gentle fingers, then lapped his tongue from the bottom of her tender cut, right up to her tiny wet nub. Emmett went right to that most tender spot and took it in, sucking at it long and deep, and Ginny felt a warm, aching pleasure like nothing she had ever known. It made her legs tremble and her eyelids flutter, and she couldn’t help but let out a sound so soft and sweet, it made Emmett weak in the knees.

“That feel good, pretty girl?” He licked at her baby soft flesh, then fluttered his warm tongue up against her tender spot all light and quick.

“Oh, my goodness. Yes. It feels really good.”

Ginny answered him with the raw honesty of a green teenage girl. He heard the eager hitch in her small voice, and he had never been so completely and so desperately turned on by anything in his life.

Emmett had her for supper then. He pulled her slim, coltish legs up onto his shoulders, and she let out a surprised little gasp, rising up onto her elbows. He licked her clean, then sucked at her tender little nub, swollen up firm like the pit of a cherry. His natural instinct was to bury his fingers up inside all that sweet, slippery warmth, like he’d done to his wife a thousand times, but he held back, remembering that she was still brand new.

Ginny sighed like a baby bird. She couldn’t help it. The longer he sucked at her, the more it felt like she was chasing a butterfly just out of reach. It would hover close, then slip away, leaving her body hot with an aching frustration. It wasn’t until he began to draw a steady circle with his tongue that she dared to reach down and touch his damp, messy hair. She pulled at it softly, thinking of nothing else but the warm, deep rhythm of his hungry mouth buried up against her there.

It started with a tiny flutter of pleasure inside, then blossomed, bright and beautiful. Her first orgasm came on in swift waves, each one deep and stronger than the one before. She felt a warm shudder down where his mouth still worked against her, where his tongue still lapped greedily at all her hot, salty nectar, and Ginny let out a helpless little sigh, losing herself in the sudden rush of newfound heaven. It felt so good she almost couldn’t breathe.

Emmett had recognized the surrender in her soft sigh, had felt the tremble in her smooth legs against his lean shoulders. He had made her come for the first time, and it had taken all of five little minutes. He couldn’t help but be smitten with that notion.

“Oh, my goodness.” Ginny bit back a growing smile, covering her freckled face with both small hands.

“Oh, my goodness.” Emmett teased her in a whisper, his words playful and naughty, and he smiled back, planting a quick kiss on her smooth, flat belly.

“You like that?”

“Uh-huh. A lot.” Her breath went in and out in quick, quiet strides, and her dark hair lay damp and disheveled around her soft face.

“Didn’t I tell you I wasn’t gonna hurt you?”

He smoothed her hair back with both big hands, cupping her face, and Ginny nodded ‘yes’ like an over-eager child. Emmett looked at her cheeks. They were flushed up pink and pretty, and he knew it wasn’t right. She wasn’t ready yet.

He thought on Coralee, his own baby girl, and the shame she would feel if it ever came out, that her own daddy had made a midnight snack of her new little friend. And Lucy, if she ever came to know the truth? That he had messed with a girl so young and naive? Well, Emmett supposed she’d want to cut his stiff pecker clean off. It wouldn’t be out of jealousy, either. It would be out of disgust. The mama bear in her just wouldn’t stand for any of that business. It was a horrific thought.

Still, Emmett reached southward and loosened his thick leather belt.

“I don’t know, Mr. Cooper.” Ginny rose up again, watching his hands work the front of his worn trousers, hearing the faint sweep of his zipper part.

It struck Emmett then that she didn’t even know his first name, or if she did, she was too awkward to call him by it.

“It’s all right, pretty girl.”

“It ain’t!” For the first time that night, Ginny spoke without hesitation as Emmett’s dirty blue trousers slipped down his narrow hips. His erection spilled out in one swift, easy motion, and suddenly, the whole silky smooth length of his cock bobbed softly above her in the moonlight. It was beautiful and frightening all at the same time, and she marveled at him there. She couldn’t take her eyes away.

Emmett watched a gentle, love-struck gaze come over her pretty young face. It didn’t surprise him a bit. He had been no Don Juan before he’d met Lucy, but he’d had a fair share of lovers, and most had worn the same, almost comic expression when they’d seen his cock for the first time. It had always made him feel a little like a stallion, and Lucy had told him as much the first time they’d made love.

He remembered her as a young, careless girl, her eyes a bright azure blue in the darkness. The night had been blistering hot, and they had tucked themselves into an old motel off the highway. It had charged by the hour and asked no questions. Half the letters on its neon sign had guttered out months before, and the curtains had been ancient, wild and outdated. They’d drank cheap tequila out of plastic cups, and by the end of their tryst, the marred-up nightstand had been littered with lime rinds. Above the deep rumble of a mammoth semi that had lumbered past, Emmett had fallen in love with Lucy’s warm, lilting drawl. She had teased him coyly as her smooth, curved body laid naked and content across the faded floral bedspread. “You’re right proud of that big ol’ thing, ain’t you, Emmett Cooper?”

He had knelt above her, between her shapely legs, and she had prodded at his belly with the tips of her painted toes, tickling him until he’d grabbed her foot and kissed it gently. Lucy’s warm, teasing eyes had lingered on him there in appreciation, and she had giggled sweetly when he had answered with a wide, toothy smile. “Yes indeed, pretty lady. And now I’m gonna show you again just how proud I am.”

Emmett looked down into Ginny’s soft brown eyes then, and Lucy, with her now cold shoulder and distant gaze, seemed to drift off into the ether. He was swollen up heavy and hard as a redwood. He stood up long and thick and more eager than he had in ten years. He wanted inside of Ginny’s ripe little body. He wanted it in the worst way, but the daddy in him hesitated. ‘Don’t you dare, you old bastard. She’s still brand new, and that’s sacred territory.’

“My mama’ll go to her grave if you put a baby in me, Mr. Cooper.” Ginny looked up at him with wide, searching eyes. “I just…I don’t know ‘bout you goin’ inside. I ain’t never done that before.”

Emmett held his tongue and bit back a smile, grabbing onto his warm, throbbing cock. He kept it at bay, trying to make clear that he had no intention of impaling her.

“Just lay back. I ain’t goin’ inside. I promise.”

Ginny let out a long breath through pursed lips. Her freckled cheeks puffed out for a moment before she looked up at him with sweetly skeptical eyes.

“You promise?”

“I promise. I do. Now lay back.” He cupped her open face in his big palms again and nodded yes, reassuring her.

Ginny kept still, until finally, she obliged him.

Emmett slid in beside her again and traced a gentle thumb over her pretty red mouth. It was all swollen up from kissing, and he gave her full bottom lip a soft bite. He waited for her touch, and when he finally felt her warm, inquisitive fingers brush against his bare belly, it sent a shudder of pleasure through him. He rubbed his cock against her baby smooth thigh, savoring the skin-on-skin feel as he watched her eyes wander lower. She hesitated, then reached down where he was stiff and warm against her.

Her touch was gentle and curious. He felt her hot little palm slip all the way down his swollen shaft, and just like that, she pulled back again. It was a sweet kind of torture for him, but undeniably, the best foreplay he’d known in some time.

“Go on, now. Touch it all you want. It ain’t gonna bite.”

Ginny bit at her bottom lip, and slowly, when she was ready, her fingertips slipped down his hard belly again. Emmett watched her little palm start a soft, careful tug on his thick shaft. It was the stuff of dirty dreams, and like any red-blooded man, he couldn’t look away. His eyes were fixed on her warm, giving touch.

“Is that right?” Ginny didn’t have a clue. She did her best, until finally, she found his rhythm.

“You can handle me a little rougher if you want. You ain’t gonna hurt me. I promise you that.” Emmett leaned into her touch then.

“All right.”

Ginny bit back a quiet giggle, and Emmett sighed just hearing it. Her wide-eyed innocence was suddenly better than stiletto heels and black lingerie.

She stroked harder and faster, catching on quick, and soon, Emmett was getting a good old-fashioned hand job. For a minute or two, he felt like a young teenage buck again.

“I can’t believe I’m doin’ this.” She sounded giddy, her small voice full of wonder and mischief.

“Keep goin’. Don’t you dare stop now, pretty girl.”

Emmett kissed at her mouth, and the way she kissed back, all hot tongue and panting breath, made him want to slip inside her little body and fuck her sore. He had to reign in his desire before he hurt her in more ways than one.

“I want you to say somethin’ for me.” Emmett eased her hand away and grabbed hold of himself.

“What?” Ginny looked down at his swollen cock. He held it lightly in his big hand, tugging at it once or twice before he slipped his palm up and over its smooth, rounded tip. He lingered near the inside of her thigh as he stroked himself, and suddenly, as his bare knuckles brushed against her tender opening, she worried that he might break his promise.

“Say… ‘come on my belly.’ It’s all right, don’t be shy.” His mouth burned hot against hers, and his palm quickened, moving up and down his shaft at a firm, steady rhythm.

Ginny hesitated, but when his tongue nestled up against hers and began lapping softly, she grew more than eager. As he pulled back, she lay there with a dull, throbbing ache between her legs.

“Say it, pretty girl.”

Ginny knew what it meant, but she couldn’t picture it actually happpening. Her face went red with shame, and she felt feverish as she whispered to him in the darkness.

“Come on my belly.”

“Gimme them sweet lips.”

Emmett leaned in and kissed her deep, and Ginny let out a little hum of pleasure. When he finally pulled away, she almost couldn’t find her breath.

She lay there quiet on the big plaid couch, listening to the quick, whispery draw of Emmett’s breath as he worked his cock above her. She breathed in time with him, like they were two wild horses running side by side. He dropped his hips a bit, and that part of him nudged closer to the warm opening between her legs. Ginny felt the hot brush of his bare skin there, and a sudden longing filled her belly. She couldn’t help but wonder how he might feel inside, all of his stiff, silky heat. Her slim legs had a mind of their own then, and they grew lazy in welcome. The invitation was not lost on Emmett for a second. It was the most wicked temptation he had ever known.

“You ain’t ready for all that…are you?”

She lay flushed and open beneath him as his eyes wandered down to her soft, virgin warmth. He dared to nestle against her, rubbing the smooth head of his cock against her sweet little nub. Emmett sighed, and Ginny tensed right up, pressing her fingers into his belly then.

“Are you really gonna? I…I ain’t…” Her eyes looked frightened and excited all at the same time, and he pulled back, kissing her forehead as he fought himself.

“I ain’t takin’ the pill like some girls.” Her voice was almost a whisper.

She was torn, he could tell, both aroused and vulnerable.

“It’s all right, sweetheart. We don’t gotta do that. Just do what you done before.”

“Like before?” Ginny’s young face softened, and she slipped her warm fingers down his belly again, grazing the line of coarse copper hair she’d glimpsed earlier. She followed it down to the reddish tuft above his stiff cock.

“Yeah. You done good. Go on.”

Ginny did then. She grabbed hold and worked her restless little palm up and down his long shaft until he panted above her.

“That’s it, pretty girl.”

Her sweet, eager touch sent Emmett right to the edge, and as she rose up to kiss him, a soft, desperate look swam in his eyes. All at once, a quick rush of heat painted her belly like warm honey, and a quiet sound caught in his throat.

Ginny looked down as his swollen cock shuddered gently in the cradle of her small palm. Little spurts of hot, milky wetness fell onto her bare skin, glistening in the moonlight, and Emmett kissed her then, stroking his tongue against hers until the well ran dry.

He smiled down at her a moment later, feeling spent and satisfied. His heart went like a piston inside his chest, and he kissed her forehead gently. Her little palm still held fast to the sore head of his cock, and he eased it away with a tender hand.

“Did I do it right?” Ginny looked down at the warm, beautiful mess he had made on her soft belly. She dared to touch it with the tip of one finger, almost as if she might get burned.

“Yeah. You did, sweetheart.”

Emmett cupped a big, daddy-like hand around her cheek and bit back a quiet belly laugh. She was so young, and everything was so new to her, and in that moment, he had never felt more ashamed of himself. What in hell had he just done?

He shimmied his pants back up his narrow hips and buckled his old leather belt. Emmett leaned back against the big plaid couch and used his palm to wipe the sweat clean from his damp forehead. He needed a shower something fierce. The smell of sex seeped out of his pores, and he had to be sure every trace of it was gone before Lucy’s red Ford pulled down their narrow dirt drive.

He sat there, naked to the waist, his breath slowing, wondering what Ginny thought of him. He knew what he thought of himself in that moment. Dirty old man.

After a minute or two, she began to button up her little frock. She hadn’t thought to wipe his dried seed from her belly, and as his face went hot as he watched her.

Emmett looked down at the pink spots of dried calamine all over her small bare feet. He reached and touched one tender, throbbing welt, all swollen up with bitter poison. If not for her trek through the summer woods just hours before, Ginny would still have her innocence. He knew nothing would ever be the same for either of them again.

“You best soak these feet when you get home today.”

Emmett couldn’t bring himself to look at her big, searching eyes, so he just pinched at her little toes, feeling red-faced and awkward.

“I ain’t gonna say nothin’, Mr. Cooper. I promise.”

Ginny pulled her sore, ticklish feet away from him then, her eyes filled to the brim with a new kind of knowing, the flicker of her smile like a struck match in the dark.

End Note: The next story is coming soon. Same characters, but spicier. The title is ‘Cherry Tart’. I hope you all enjoyed this one!

My goal is to complete one story every month. (Not just these characters 😉). I’ll see how it goes though, sometimes my schedule is wacky and I can’t write as much.

P.S. Sometimes, Sam Rockwell is my naughty story muse. He’s been my favorite actor since forever.

P.S.S. My poetry is also on Tumblr @crowdsofclouds “Here On Earth” is the title of the blog.

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