There was this girl named Connie. I'd seen her for years, and she worked the checkout at the new Foodliner supermarket on Fairmount Drive. She had cinnamon colored hair, lustrous and gleaming. She usually wore it in a thick, twisting ponytail, tied with pink ribbons. With her round face, snubby nose, and bright green eyes, she looked like a trade mark doll version of the All-American girl. I asked her out. I wanted to make her mine. I began to plan the perfect date.
Then my friend told me that she was a slut.
"Not just a slut," he said. "THE slut. She went to Catholic school. She was the biggest whore at Mount St. Mary's."
"You're lying," I said.
"Ask the whole football team. She was the blowjob princess of the high school. Always in the backseat of a car after games."
"Bullshit." I did not want to believe him.
"It's all true." He gave me a shrug... it looked like a cruel gesture of dismissal. "She was well known. She loved her bite-jobs. She swallowed...everything."
Strange emotions took hold of me. I'd talked to Connie maybe six times, and she'd always seemed so sweet. She had a calm, gentle face, the kind of face you never think of a vixen having. Her features were round, smooth, slightly pudgy, with a snubby uptilted nose... the face of an innocent schoolgirl. The only realy striking feature were her eyes. Bright green they were, glowing green. Emerald green sparkling with diamond splinters. Blowjobs? Could it be true?
Images were stuck in my mind. I kept expanding them. There was Connie, in the back seat of a car, stroking a large, swollen cock with her delicate hands. I saw Connie push the cock past her lips. I heard her greedy sucking noises as she licked and sucked the length of it. I could hear her soft purring sounds, I could see that little pink tongue flashing out in the dark.
For days one scene kept repeating, like a looped segment of film: big, swollen cocks squirting in Connie's face. I couldn't shake it. Connie's pudgy face smeared with cum. Thick, pearl-colored syrup. Over and over. Twenty, thirty different cocks.
My fantasy always ended with Connie being dropped off at home, walking into her house with a cum-stained plaid skirt.
At first the images I created disturbed me. Then I realized how excited I was getting. I didn't deny it. I wanted her to be a whore. I wanted her to be my slut. Just the idea of being next to her, knowing she had sucked so many cocks, thrilled me to no end.
Connie told me she liked movies, that she loved going to the Sky-Line Drive In. I asked her to go on Saturday night. All Saturday morning I worked on my 1957 Pontiac Catalina. I washed it, waxed the outside. Then I bought chrome polish for the dash board, wiped down the vinyl, vacuumed the seats. I was going to treat her like the princess she was. The blow-job princess.
That afternoon I began to worry. I kept going back to Connie and her cocks.I took a drive past Mt. St. Mary's school. I remembered how the girls always looked so tantalizingly delicious, so dangerous and forbidden in their plaid uniforms. I pictured Connie walking past the concrete shrines in the churchyard, her skirt a little too short. Maybe she wore the same skirt while giving blowjobs. Maybe if you snuck to some lonely place in the courtyard, and kissed her secretly, you could taste somebody's cum on her lips. Of course, I'd never know....Connie had graduated three years ago...but was she still the same?
It was only the middle of May; the nights were cool. When I picked Connie up she was wearing a fluffy wool jacket. Underneath she had on a tight sweater, where I could make out only the bulk of her breasts, but not the shape. Her hair was done up in a thick braid, which wrapped around the back of her head. She wore white canvas sneakers. Women always seemed to keep their sneakers bright and clean. A cute little touch was her white socks, ankle socks, with a ruffled pink border on the top. Cute, but slightly ridiculous.
She talked a lot, about things she thought were funny. That was a relief, I didn't have to worry about saying the wrong thing. You know, the way it is when you're trying to be clever, but it comes out all wrong...anyway, she smelled good. She smelled of laundry soap and ivory soap and cheap drugstore perfume. The scent was like lilacs, heavy, concentrated lilacs, not overpowering, but just enough to mingle with that weird natural cinnamon smell women give off sometimes. I liked it. The inside of the Pontiac smelled delicious for once.
The drive in movie was not very crowded because the season had only just begun. I had planned things out; I found a great location right on the edge of the parking area. We were alone in a sea of gravel.
"I love coming here," Connie said. "I love this place. I came all the time when I was a junior."
"What movies did you see?" I asked.
She seemed to think the question was very funny.
