Molly Ramirez O'Reilly heard the old chevy pickup long before she saw it. She knew it was Deke's truck from the way the muffler roared and popped. Funny, her brother didn't never give Deke a ticket for that noisy, smoky engine. But then Deke and John was gettin' to be buddies. But John and Deke hadn't never asked her to go along when they went out, even though Deke lived on tother side of the fence. And Molly was gettin' mighty tired of not meetin' him face to face; specially as she knew him so damn well otherwise. And here she was, gonna do it again.
Course, she shoulda stayed in the house, certainly in the
yard
. Such a hot day. Even jest sittin' on the porch...waitin', she was gettin' so hot. She was hardly movin' and she was all sweaty under her titties. She was wearin'
almost nothin'
, a pair of cotton drawstring shorts. A denim shirt with the tails knotted above her belly button.
Bare feet
, for pity's sake. Still hot.
But now his pickup was headin' up the road to his cabin. And she knew what he did afternoons like this. Because he had to. Because his cabin was heated by wood. Because the maple syrup evaporator was heated by wood. Come next Spring he would need all that wood and maybe buy some more offa them. Lotta choppin' to do. But then he most always did somethin' else whenever he finished choppin'. She wanted to see
that
.
Had
to.
How had she come to this? She was a good girl. She even went to
church
without anybody askin'. Oh, she like to party as much as the next girl. But her idea of party was to go out to the barn dance and do some contra. Didn't nobody walk her home, except Andrew that one time. And he was more shy than she was; so he kinda went scootin' off the minute he got to her mailbox. She could tell he was
thinkin'
about kissin' her. But the more he thought about it, the more nervous he got, until finally he jest took off a runnin.'
So this thing with Deke was
bad.
Well, it wasn't like she and him was really
doin'
anythin'. But she guessed Pastor Dean, up to the First Baptist, would call it a sin anyways. And she prayed on it. But that just made her think about it. And if she prayed on it before she went to bed, well, that was a mistake, because then she had Deke right there up in her head when she got under the sheets. And she was seein' his back, and those
thick
arms as they brought the axe down on an innocent little piece a wood.
She shivered, even though she was so hot.
She could tell herself to stop it. She could. Only she wouldn't, cuz....
She should do somethin' else, really, somethin'
busy
like peelin' potatoes or scrubbin' the kitchen floor on her hands and knees. But it almost didn't never. Once she was thinkin' about Deke, she was
done.
Cause it was like her body was doin' all the thinkin' for her. And once she started to feel it
there,
well, it was like corn likker (which she only tried that once, but oh...). The feelin' just moved out her legs and then her arms, and she could feel it all tight up in her chest; and her nips got so tight she
had
to pinch 'em. And her face she could tell was gettin' red the way it did; like somebody was rubbin' strawberry juice up her cheeks all up in the freckles; and her
neck
was gettin' hot and red. Goodness. Thinkin' about it, she could hardly breathe.
She had to go to her hidden place. And see him. Do. It.
She grabbed a water bottle and went.
She could of gone right along the fence; but then he might a seen her from his kitchen window, and she didn't want that. So she went around the back of the woodlot like she did, past the little frog pond with them magical dragonflies. She coulda just hung out there forever watchin' them; but she had to get to her place before he started choppin'. So she hurried on through the woods, even though it meant sometimes she got scratches from the brambles on her legs. But later, when she was rememberin' in her bed, she could feel 'em and it made it ...closer, and excitin' all over again.
They was two woodpiles; the new one where Deke was puttin' the wood he just cut; and the old one a little farther away. And she had found, or made herself a little niche, just backa the wood, with a coupla gunny sacks under her bottom and against the old pine there. She just had to make sure not to lean back and get the pitch off the bark in her hair. One time she did that and the only way to do was to cut a chunka hair off. But it was a good spot otherwise, because she had the old stump to sit on and she was invisible in the shadows behind the dogwood tree.
So sometimes she got to look at him kinda framed by pretty flowers.
She was only a little outta breath when she settled in on her stump; and sure enough, in a little bit, here comes Deke wearin' nothin' but those grey gym shorts. She knows he's some kinda fool to be choppin' wood dressed like this, because all too easy a chip can fly loose and nick you good. An' this even happened a time or two. And there was this scratch just oozin' on Deke's belly; an' she had to keep herself planted, because she
so
wanted to jump up and
help
some, mebbe splash some from her water bottle or rub it off a little with the hem of her blouse, or.... Molly shivered, watchin' Deke as he rubbed the whetstone on the gleamin' edge of his axe. No. What she
really
wanted to do was to press her hot mouth to that wound and taste Deke's leakin' blood. To seal it with her kiss.
Damn! It was happenin' already. Without him doin' nothin','cept sharpen his axe. She was gettin' wet. What to do?
Deke got a log and put it on the choppin' block. Now he coulda done it the
right
way with a hammer and a wedge. Lotta ways that was quicker and easier. Split the log neat. Split it again tother way. But she could tell Deke liked the
action
of choppin'. You could see it in his face that he got real satisfaction outta liftin' the axe high over his head and bringin' it down neat on the wood. Best stroke was to split in one hit. But sometimes it took two, or three.
And those were the moments Molly loved; watchin' that broad tanned back stretch upward, the axe swingin' over his shoulder and comin' straight down with a solid 'whack' on the wood. She loved to watch the man's hands on the axe handle; thumbs crossed as he brought it down. And she could tell that he put his whole body into the stroke; from his heels inside the old, loose hikin' boots, up over the bulgin' calves and thighs, tightenin' the hard cakes of his butt; that low, slick triangle just above his pants band and ripplin' up his back into his shoulders and neck.
His face was a study; eyes all focused on the wood, lips loose, soft curls floppin' onto his forehead.
Molly was losin' it as she always did; feet propped up on the back of the woodpile; knees spreadin'. She kind of pretended she didn't know her left palm was beginnin' to crush against her chest; her right hand fingertips slidin' under the loose waistband of her shorts. This was almost enough. If she wanted to, she could take herself over just watchin' him chop. But it was better to hope for the better later. When he laid down his axe after a good batch of wood was stacked up on the new cord.
Now he stopped. Now he took a swill from an old jug. She didn't know if it was water or moonshine; but she always drank when he drank; imaginin' him handin' her his jug and watchin' her as she took a big gulp. Watchin' her throat as the liquid flowed down....
Here's where he dropped his pants. She leaned forward on her secret seat, hopin' her view wouldn't be blocked by the stacked wood. Her foot knock a ol' piece a wood an' it fell and he turned; but just then a squirrel ran across the pile and jumped into the dogwood. Close call. What would he do if he knowed she was lurkin' there, watchin'...watchin'....
He finished takin' off the pants and hung them on a rusty nail on the smoke shed.
Now, when he had them shorts on she could tell he was 'well gifted.' The critter in there bounced and swung around as he moved and her fingers itched to squeeze that bundle. But once the cloth was gone she could see what had been churnin' that fabric. The boy was
built.
And that was without gettin' the thing excited. A long, ruddy rod with a fat mushroom head swayed below tight, dark curls that matched his hair. But he never just left the thing alone.
Molly's right hand had found the magic spot she loved best: Her thumb on top of her button and just below that her finger was slidin' on her slick little lip. She liked to git somethin' magic goin' with her finger and thumb squeezin' and twirlin' her bud between them. Sometimes she could take herself up just ticklin' and ticklin' this baby until it started to leak. Ring finger was right at the mouth of her V. Sometimes, not
always,
she stretched
way in
an' kinda churned and churned
hard
until that warm lettin' go thing happened... and sometimes, sometimes when she just
needed to
she just pushed her pinky.... Wait.
Where did he go? Other times he just sorta stood there, spit in his hand, and jerked that thing until it got thick, and in a little while; when his face as all red, and he was gruntin' somethin' fierce, all that stuff came out and spilled into the woodchips. Oh, she wanted that. As he started gettin' to the point where she knew he was gonna let go she let herself pretend it was comin' right at her, comin' right
in
her as it spurted and spurted. Sometimes, if she was lucky, she got it just the same time as him; an' she had to bite her lip not to cry out; tiltin' up and lettin' go some of her own juice.
