The first time I fucked Bonnie, she straddled my hips and humped me halfway through the mattress.
"Slow down," I yelled.
All yelling got me was a slap across the face, and then she used the heel of her hand to push my face sideways on the bed.
"Come one, Clyde," she snarled. "Fuck me, Texas style. Do it like a sonofabitch!"
She started waving an arm over her head like she was riding a rodeo bull.
I tore the front of her slip open, and when her tits tumbled out, she started mashing them into my face. The more she mashed, the more her nipples swelled. Pretty soon, they were jutting out like a couple of springy pink lipsticks. I was trying to catch them in my mouth, but it was like bobbing for apples at the fair, only they were sweeter than apples.
She grabbed a pistol off the bedstand and stuck the barrel up under my chin.
"Suck them right, goddammit. I want to feel pretty! Bang! You're dead."
***
We'd Been hiding out at the Hotel Boulderado in Boulder, Colorado, on account of a Texas Ranger named Frank Hamer, who'd been dogging our asses for six months.
***
I finally caught one of Bonnie's nipples in my mouth and started sucking. The tit sucking caused her to pump he ass and pant in my ear.
"I feel right, pretty Clyde--say something in French."
That's when she sat up straight, stuck the pistol barrel to her head, and said,
"Bang, bang, now we're both dead."
"Now you're gonna get it doggy," I said, turning her over and pulling up her hips.
"Ruff," she panted, arching her back and sticking her ass up.
"Open me up like a can of beans," she squealed.
At that moment, I don't believe they could have gotten us apart with a firehose. It was love.
The following morning, Bonnie and I headed for Arkansas in a 1934 Ford that was best in her class; she had a flat-head V8 purring steady under the hood and all the horsepower a man could ask for.
Bonnie had no problem getting her feet up on the dash because of her petiteness, and she had her skirt pulled down to her hips and was wobbling her knees back and forth and the window down to let the honeysuckle breeze blow between her legs.
"Mmm, that feels so nice."
I said, "Why don't you pull those panties aside?"
"Well, how about you pull them aside for me."
I reached to do it, but she slapped my hand, pointing to a filling station on four corners with nothing but farmland in every direction.
"Let's get soda pops and gas," she said, suddenly taking her legs off the dash and arranging her skirt.
I pulled in, and a pump jockey ambled out of the garage. He wiped his neck with a rag, pushed his hat back, and let out a slow whistle. I figured him for a simpleton.
"Hoo-wee, mister, she's a fine-lookin' vehicle," he said. "How fast will she go?"
"Faster than a cop car," I said. "But it ain't speed that counts so much as how you handle a machine like this. What's your name, kid?"
He looked at me with an expression of adoration, and I figured he might be useful.
"Jim," he said.
"How much do they pay you, Jim?"
"Pay me for what?"
"Look, Jim," I said, "don't get reckless and don't give me fast answers."
"Any place around here a lady can care for her business?" Bonnie interrupted.
"There sure is, ma'am; we got an amenity round the back."
"Sounds like an outhouse. Is that the kind of amenity you're talkin' about?"
"Why, yes, ma'am," Jim answered, pulling off his hat and coloring as Bonnie opened the car door.
