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From: Fowler Gray <fowlergray@yahoo.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} {ASSTR} Give Me That Old Time Religion 04 {Fowler Gray} (Fm)
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<1st attachment, "OTR4DO.txt" begin>

Author: Fowler Gray
Title: Give Me That Old Time Religion

   Part 4: Plainsong 4: What Would You Have Me Do



   Summary: Set in the late Sixties 'Give Me That Old Time Religion,' or
OTR for short, tells the story of how joining the Agapemone Bethel, where
sex is considered a sacrament, changes young Jake Gledhill's life.
Keywords: MF

   To quench any flames before they start raging, this is a work of
fiction. The author does not espouse the pseudo-theology contained in this
story nor is he an adherent to its practices.

   All of the usual legal disclaimers regarding the laws of your
jurisdiction apply to reading and/or downloading this story, which pursuant
to the Berne Convention, is copyrighted with all rights reserved by its
author, Fowler Gray, unless explicitly indicated.  Reproduction except for
personal use and reposting without the author's written permission is
prohibited.  This story may not be reproduced on any commercial site.

   Please pay attention to the story codes because they may change with
each Plainsong.

   A few readers have commented (complained) some chapters of OTR move too
slow and don't have enough sex.  If you're looking for a quick and dirty
stroke story (not that there's anything wrong with those), OTR probably
isn't for you.

   As opposed to a short story, OTR is a novella where the characters will
change and evolve.  Some chapters will be slower and have less outright sex
than others.

   Some of the women who have read OTR have written to tell me they have
been put off by its religious tenets and seeming misogynism.  Again I can
only say OTR is a story about transformation and growth.

   While I hope all of you will stick around for the ride, I'll understand
if some of you don't.

   Reader feedback plays an important role in keeping this story going. 
It's not necessarily a pathetic attempt at validation of my efforts
(although I'd be lying if I said there wasn't at least an element of that
involved), the feedback often sparks other ideas that keep the creative
juices flowing.

   All that being said, it's also nice to know your work has found an
appreciative audience.  Writing is a lonely, solitary profession.  Getting
feedback for what you've written is the difference between a writer's
literary efforts being masturbation or intercourse.

   So remember Celeste's Blow Job Principle which states "If a person
expects to get a second blow job, the recipient should make the giver glad
to have performed the first." Think of this story, or any story on this
site, as the written equivalent of the author giving you head (a handy,
gender-neutral phrase encompassing both cunnilingus and fellatio) and be
sure to say thank you.

   Thank yous for and comments on Gimme That Old Time Religion can be sent
to this email address: fowlergray@yahoo.com

   The story codes for OTR4: What Would You Have Me Do (MF)

   Give Me That Old Time Religion, An Oratorio In Several Plainsongs By
Fowler Gray The Fourth Plainsong: What Would You Have Me Do

   I didn't want to go out with Edna.

   Edna Todd was the second of the junior college girls my father had set
me up with.  Not that I had anything overt against Edna.  That would have
been difficult because I'd never met her.

   Point of fact, I only knew three things about her: 1, She worked at my
father's shop.  2, She was another of my father's many paramours.  3,
She'd, as Dad put it, "fuck at the drop of a hat and sometimes liked it a
little kinky." I guess counting the "kinky" part that's four things I knew
about Edna.

   My problem was a bad case of the losts.  My view of the world and my
place in it had been scrambled as thoroughly as a carton of eggs tossed
into a cement mixer.  Over the span of less than a year, I'd got religion,
albeit not a mainstream theology; gained a potential girlfriend/wife who I
hadn't gone out with yet; discovered my parents were, for differing
reasons, swingers with a taste for exhibitionism and voyeurism, and with
the approval of my mother, lost my virginity to one of my Dad's lovers.

   These events had knocked out the underpinnings of my life, robbing me of
my sense of surety, leaving only the swirling winds of cognitive dissonance
in its place.  Without any sort of an internal compass to guide me I was,
as the Kinks were to sing several years later, living in mixed up, muddled
up, shook up world.

   I thought I'd been handling it all rather well in that Sixties
nonjudgmental hang loose, do your own thing kind of way.  Emotions in
check, I'd taken everything in stride, accepted the weird as just another
form of normal, proceeded as though it all made perfect sense which, of
course, it didn't.

   In my more rational, non-hormonal driven moments I knew all of this was
seriously twisted, knowledge I buried deep in order not to have to think
about it.  Instead I soldiered on, unwilling to allow anything to put my
relationship with Elle at risk and hoping it would all eventually be come
together for me.

   It was way Debbie and I parted that really threw me into my tailspin.

   After being lovers, Debbie had asked, almost begged, for me to be her
friend.  The fact I couldn't was haunting me, as was the realization I was
treating her the same way as my Dad did.  But soon I might be able to begin
chaperoned dating with Elle, an exclusive arrangement that would leave no
room for even the most casual of contact with any other woman.

   I'd called Debbie at the shop and tried to explain this to her only to
hear the hurt in her voice as assured me she understood "...but the other
phone's ringing.  Gotta go Jake, maybe we'll see each other around
sometime."

   At first I was mad at her for making me feel the way I did.  We both
went into this with our eyes open, hers far wider than mine.  Just some
casual sex with no strings attached, that's all this was supposed to be
about; it wasn't my fault it turned into more.  But it wasn't her fault
either; she hadn't asked me to marry her, just to be her friend.

   I sought advice from my parents about what had happened with Debbie, an
exercise in futility.

   With the exception of my mother, my Dad treated women like facial
tissues; disposable after you came in them.  He encouraged me to do the
same.  I had with Debbie and at her own request until the night she
revealed the bitter consequences of self-deception to us both.

   Dad had a jaded view of the whole thing.  "Don't worry about it Jake,"
he advised me wryly.  "Deb's just seizing her chance when she can.  Can't
blame her for that.  Of course, you gave her the perfect opening with that
silly gift of yours.  Giving flowers is fine, even a small inexpensive
piece of costume jewelry is OK.  But a book of love poetry, that kinda shit
only put thoughts in her head.  She went after you, figuring to play on
your guilt and the fact you wouldn't know any better.

   "It's an age-old scam.  At first you're friends, friends who fuck like
minks but still friends.  The deeper she gets her claws into you the closer
she gets to her goal.  Shacking up would be the next step and then before
you know it you're standing in front of the justice of the peace wondering
how in the hell you got there.

   "Don't worry about kid, she'll land on her feet just like the cat she
is. Believe me, in a while she'll have forgotten all about you and be
balling someone else.  Hell, I think I'll give her a toss just to help
things on their way."

   My father had also warned Edna not to play mind games with me.  "She
knows the score.  You won't get any 'just love me for myself' shit out of
her but you are going to get some loving of a type Debbie doesn't like to
do.  Just don't give her another damn poetry book.  I've got the perfect
gift you can give her"

   Mom wasn't any more help, in fact she was harsher than Dad, reminding me
of her view liberated women, with their independence and insistence they
were a man's equal, if not superior, were perpetuating Eve's error and
bringing great unhappiness on themselves.

   "Look at Debbie.  She claims to be liberated, freed from obedience to
any master, able to do what she wanted when she wanted, including in
matters of sex.  Is it working for her, this 'liberation' she brags about?
From what you told me she doesn't seem very happy with her life does she?
She doesn't reverence the sex act as a sacrament from God; she uses sex as
a way of making herself necessary to someone."

   Perhaps realizing I found her lack of sympathy distressing, Mom tried to
soften the callousness of her words.

   "God does work in mysterious ways, Jake, taking us down paths we can't
understand for his own ends.  Sometimes the road of excess leads to the
Palace of Wisdom.  We can only pray these girls' casual promiscuity will
bring them to the Lord in his own good time."

   Pushing the envelope, I asked Mom how I was any different from these
promiscuous women.  Wasn't I just having sex for sex's sake, reveling in
the physical pleasure it brought me?  What made me any better than them?

   "Search your feelings, Jake.  Was it just sex or was it something more?"

   I had to admit to my mother I felt the sacred along with the profane,
the bestowal of God's sacrament, when Debbie and I made love.

   "Then you are different than them, different but not better.  You keep
that in mind when you go out with the next girl your father has lined up
for you, or any girl for that matter.  If I ever find you've been
discourteous or contemptuous to someone who shares herself with you it will
go hard on you," she warned me sternly.  "I mean it Jake.  They may be
doing these things for all the wrong reasons but they deserve your respect
and compassion."

   Begging off of my dates with Edna was out of the question, said my mom.

   "You still need the experience, more than ever after what happened last
time.  You have to know its not just lust that attracts you to Eleanor. 
You're going out with this Todd girl and that's it."

   Monday night found me peddling my bike to Edna Todd's.  Like me she had
no car but she did have a small efficiency apartment carved out of a
turn-of-the-century Regency home on the edge of the village.

   Along the way I worried about what would happen next, the memory of
Debbie foremost in my mind.  While that was a wound I couldn't heal, at
least right now, the last thing I wanted was to injure Edna as well.

   As I rode up the street her place came into view, a white-painted brick
three story house, its hip roof covered with grey-green moss on the side
shaded by the towering oak trees that dotted the property.

   The place cried out for some care, the black paint on the double-hung
windows and wooden shutters was peeling, the chimney on its west side badly
in need of tuck-pointing where the mortar had crumbled away.  Maybe Dad
could get a hold of the owner and make him an offer to do the repairs, give
us a chance to work together and earn some money at the same time.

   Cruising up the crushed gravel drive as it gently curved and dipped its
way though the oaks, I pedaled to the back of the home, parking my bike
under the back stairs.  Taking a brown bag out of my bike's saddlebag I
carefully began ascending the stairs, watching for the loose steps I had
been told were there, just one more thing for Dad and I to fix.

   Passing by the landings at the second and third floors, I reached the
end of the steps, a small door offering access to the space under the
attic. Pushing my unease aside and after a small prayer all would go right,
I knocked on the door.

   I might have been troubled by Dad's treatment of his women but I had to
admit he sure could pick them.

   Edna Todd was a stunner.  She was the very definition of "willowy," with
just enough flesh to keep her from being bony.  Luxuriant red hair framed
her elfin face, pouring down her back to end just below her shoulder blade.
She wore a thin leather necklace, a shiny metal ankh hanging from it to
rest in the hollow of her throat.

   Soft dark brown eyes, framed by a pair of slightly rounded tetragonal
tortoise shell glasses resting on an upturned button nose, confronted me
with a bold and direct gaze.

   This time I remembered my manners from the start, extending my right
hand toward hers, introducing myself as Jake Gledhill, Leonard's son and
asking if she was Edna.

   Smiling warmly, she took my hand in hers.  "Hello Jake.  It's a pleasure
to meet you but I'm not Edna," her voice sweet and lyrical.

   As I started to apologize for my mistake she laughed.  "It's OK Jake,
I'm who you came to see.  I just hate the name Edna.  Why my parents
saddled me with it I'll never know.  It's not like either of my
grandmothers were named Edna.  I'm the first 'Edna' in the whole damn
family.  Just call me 'Toddie,' like everyone else and we'll get along just
fine.  Come on in and make yourself at home."

   Letting the screen door bang shut behind me, I stepped in and began to
check out the place.

   Dad had been too kind when he told me her place was small.  My bedroom
at home was almost as big as her entire apartment and I didn't have to
wedge a bathroom, a kitchen and a table in my room.  Because it was
directly under the attic, with four and half-foot walls running the length
of the apartment, the ceiling pitched sharply, making it impossible to
stand up straight anywhere but the center of the room.

   To the right of the entrance door was what passed for a kitchen, the
refrigerator and stove half their normal size, as though they'd been
designed as toys for a child's playhouse, and a single sink, just big
enough to wash one plate at a time.  Two miniscule cupboards were jammed
above the sink.  The far end of the room was curtained off by a folding
plastic door, ajar just enough for me to see a small shower stall and,
thankfully, a full-sized toilet.

   A daybed with pink tubular scrollwork was pushed against one wall, a
squat three-drawer chest framing one end, a rack made of wrought iron pipe,
which substituted for a closet, the other.  On the wall directly across
from the daybed was a narrow table, maybe two, two and a half feet deep and
four feet long, with a pair of folding chairs tucked underneath it.

   The only natural light came from a window to the left of the door and
the glass panels in the door itself.  The apartment didn't run the full
length of the house, only to its center, another "efficiency" apartment on
the other side of Toddie's bathroom wall.  Just how efficient her apartment
was I couldn't say but there was no doubting the efficiency of her landlord
in squeezing out every last penny he could from his building.

   As a teenager, I couldn't wait for the day I could leave home and move
into my own apartment.  Toddie's cracker box added some caution to my
desire.

   It was fairly warm in the apartment but, despite the lack of windows,
not overly hot, the shade from the oaks protecting it from much of the
sun's heat.  An old beat-up box fan, its blades moving torpidly, blew air
from the outside toward the other end of the room where a bathroom exhaust
fan sucked it out, the air current not even strong enough to ripple the
wall's decorations, photos of rock stars cut from magazines.

   I was almost through with my examination when I caught a glimpse of
something that was definitely out of place in the apartment, my gym bag. 
It was tucked in the corner of the daybed next to one of the pillows.  I
knew it was mine because the name "Jake" was stenciled in blue letters just
below the school's Flying Dutchman logo, a red and white depiction of an
old two-masted brig under full wind.  It was in my closet the last time I
had looked.  I didn't have the slightest idea of how it got here or what it
was doing here.

   Determined to be cool, I ignored its presence.  Instead I complimented
Toddie on having "such a nice place," making her snort with amusement.

   "You don't have to butter me up.  My apartment is so small the door mat
just says 'Wel.'"

   Not wanting to be topped, I went into my best Johnny Carson imitation.
"Your apartment is so small, even the mice are hunchbacked."

   "My apartment is so small my closet is a nail."

   "Your apartment is so small when the sun comes in through the window you
have to leave."

   "My apartment is so small I can use my washcloth for wall to wall
carpeting."

   "Your apartment is so small you have to go outside to change your mind."

   "Now you're repeating yourself."

   "How about this one then?  Your apartment is so small when you put the
key in the lock you stab all the people inside."

   "Much better.  My apartment's so small when I walk through the front
door I'm in the back yard."

   "Your apartment's so small, Barbie did your interior decorating."

   Throwing up her hands, Toddie surrendered.  "Enough already.  I give up.
You win.  So what's in the sack?  A present for me?"

   Reaching inside the bag, I pulled out a fifth of Southern Comfort, Dad's
gift of choice for my date.

   "Oh yeah, very nice.  Much more practical than a book of poetry.  More
effective too.  'Candy is dandy but liquor is quicker.' There's some Coke
and ice in the refrigerator and some jelly glasses above the sink.  Why
don't you make us each a drink while I get out of my work clothes and into
something more comfortable."

   With no pretense at modesty, Toddie unbuttoned her blue chambray shirt
unveiling a chest as flat as the Kansas prairie.  Watching me watching her,
she grinned.  "I hope you're not a tit man Jake.  If you are, well I may
not have a giant pair of juggs but I make up for it in other ways.

   "I don't know how Debbie can stand all that weight pulling on her all
the time," she said as she continued to undress, pulling off her brown
workpants to reveal a pair of plain cotton panties ala J.  C.  Penny.  "By
the time she's 30 she'll be as hunchbacked as my mice.  If it wasn't for
the fact these damn work shirts rub my nipples raw, I wouldn't wear any bra
at all.  I mean it's not like I need one for support or anything.  Besides,
my apartment's so small if I had big tits I'd have to rent the apartment
next door too." Leave it to a woman to always have to have the last word or
in this case the last joke.

   Turning her back to me, she bent over to open a drawer, treating me to
the sight of a tight little ass moving under the cotton fabric.  Selected
clothes in hand, she moved to the daybed.  "Not that I don't appreciate all
your attention but it was pretty hot in the shop today.  How are those
drinks coming?"

   Before my time with Debbie, such an inquiry would have sent me blushing
into the other room, embarrassed at being caught enjoying Toddie's little
strip tease act, stammering out some type of lame apology.  But that was
before.  Even though I was still troubled by the way it ended, my affair
with Debbie had given me a measure of self-confidence, even a little
bravado.

   "You were working so hard at putting on such a tantalizing show, I
didn't want to miss a minute of it," I bantered, at the same time letting
her know I knew what she was up to.

   "Well, the show's over," she responded, "so get us those drinks and then
come sit down."

   As I mixed the drinks, Toddie finished dressing, putting on a avocado
green and white pullover with a matching pair of shorts.  Standing in front
of her, our drinks in my hand, I casually asked her to move my gym bag to
the floor so I could sit down.

   "Sure Jake, the floor OK?"

   "For now."

   Moving my bag, the black plastic bracelets around her right wrist
sounding like a baby's rattle, I noticed Toddie's fingers didn't match the
rest of her body.  Short and thick but with sharp edges, the bright red
polish was chipped away in most places, the remaining patches making her
nails look like they had the measles.  The most striking anomaly was her
right index finger, which was missing the entire first joint.

   "Camping accident," she said matter of factly.  "Chopped it off with a
hatchet at Camp Crooked Tree when I was a Brownie.  I was cutting down some
branches to build a lean-to.  They never did find it, probably made a nice
little snack for some scavenger.  The camp leader made a big fuss over it
though, paid all the medical bills and even refunded the camp fee.

   "Got a camp joke for you.  Know when a Cub Scout becomes a man?" I shook
my head no.  "When he eats his first Brownie." As I chuckled, she took a
sip of her drink.

   "Pretty good Jake.  Most guys put in too much alcohol; I guess they want
to get me drunk as quick as they can.  You've got the mixture just right.
Are you moonlighting as a bartender nights or is this just a natural
talent?"

   I explained I'd been making drinks for my parents and their friends
since I was 10.

   "Well, you've got a real talent for it," she said taking another
swallow. I followed suit, the caramel taste of the Southern Comfort
softening the sharpness of the Coke.

   "I don't know very much about you Jake, other than what your dad told me
and I know you don't know anything about me other than what your dad told
you which you should take with a mountain of salt.  Lennie's a dear but he
never lets the truth stand in the way of a good story."

   With a final gulp she finished her drink, holding the glass out to me.
"Drink the rest of yours then make us both a fresh one.  When you get back
we're going to play a little game called "Spanish Inquisition" to help us
get to know each other better.  It's a simple game.  We just take turns
asking each other questions and giving one-minute answers.  I'll be the
timekeeper.  We're each on our honor to tell the truth.  Can I trust you to
tell the truth Jake?"

   What the hell, I thought to myself.  What can it hurt; after all I won't
be seeing her again once I start dating Elle.  "You can if I can."

   "Fair enough," she said her eyes crinkling merrily.  "I'll start you off
with a simple question while you're getting those refills.  What do you
like to do for fun," she asked her eyes turning to her watch attached to
her left wrist by an inch and a half wide leather band.

   "Read, go to the movies.  I write a little, fish and hunt some.  I like
fishing better than hunting.  In spring when the floods come I like to
canoe down the drainage ditches.  It's exciting and scary to go through
those big metal culverts not knowing if they're blocked with brush or not,
whether or not you'll make it out the other side or drown in the dark.  In
winter I go snow camping on the weekends.  But mainly I read.  What do you
do for fun?"

   "You mean besides fuck," she asked provocatively.  "I like to tell dirty
jokes; working on the shop floor you learn to be one of the guys if you
want to get along.  I like swimming, hiking in the woods.  I'm into
astrology.  Listen to the radio.  I don't read much, just rock magazines.
I'm not a big movie fan, they're OK but there's better ways to spend a
couple of hours in the dark.  What's your favorite subject in school?"

   "Journalism.  What was yours?"

   "Shop and auto mechanics, I was the only girl in my school they let take
those courses, all the others took home economics.  But Jake, you can't
just parrot my questions back to me, you have to come up with some on your
own," she chided me.  "What was the best day of your life and why?"

   "Gezz, Toddie, I haven't lived that long."

   "No fair stalling.  Answer the question."

   "The day my debate team beat St.  Bonaventure in the regional finals
last year.  They were a bunch of stuck-up rich private school kids who knew
they were better than anyone else.  They even had a regular debate class
with a full-time teacher.  We just had Mr.  Homn for a few hours after
school.  They went home and we wound up finishing third in the state." I
was surprised at the distaste I felt for those rich little pricks even now;
the satisfaction I still got from beating them like a drum warming my
heart. "What's your favorite season," I asked her, still keeping the
questions fairly impersonal.

   "Spring, when everything and everyone seems to get a fresh start on
life. What'd you get away with in school you've still never told anyone
about?"

   "A friend and I broke into the school.  He stole the janitor's key and I
made a copy of it at the hardware store I work in.  It was a real commando
job.  We dressed all in black including black ski masks and black gloves.
Once we were in we went to the science lab and freed all the frogs they
were going to dissect in biology the next day, must have been more than a
hundred of them.  It was pretty funny; we left little ladders made of pins
and string on the edge of the tanks along with a note from the Amphibian
Liberation Movement.  Let them all go in the creek behind the school.  They
never did figure who did it or how we got in."

   Toddie got a real kick out of my tale; laughing so hard she spilled some
of her drink on the daybed.  After we got it blotted up I asked her,
"What's your favorite clean joke?"

   "Clean not dirty huh?  OK I'm up to the challenge.  Man says to his
doctor, 'I can't sleep.  Every time I lay on my left I hear 'The Green,
Green Grass of Home' and when I lay on my right, I hear 'Delilah.' The
doctor says 'I'm afraid you have a case of Tom Jones Fever.' Guy asks the
doctor, 'Tom Jones Fever?  Is that common?' Doc tells him, 'Well, It's not
unusual.' So what's your best dirty joke?"

   I thought for a moment.

   "A Catholic teenager goes to confession, and after confessing to an
affair with a girl is told by the priest he can't be forgiven unless he
reveals who the girl is.  'I promised not to tell!' the boy says.  'Was it
Mary Patricia, the butcher's daughter?' the priest asks.  'No, and I said I
wouldn't tell.' 'Was it Mary Elizabeth, the printer's daughter?' 'No, and I
still won't tell!' 'Was it Mary Francis, the baker's daughter?' '"No,' says
the boy.  'I'm sorry, son,' says the priest, 'I have no choice but to ban
you for six months.' Outside, the boy's friends ask what happened.  'Well,'
he says, 'I got kicked out of mass, but Father gave me three good leads.'"

   "I knew we'd get around to sex eventually." Toddie joked.  "Next
question?"

   "What's your family like?"

   "My dad's a long-distance truck driver, not around home much, maybe a
week out of a month although not all at the same time.  Mom works part-time
at the Topps in Marion.  She's a shelf stocker, sometimes a cashier when
it's really busy.  Rita's my older sister.  She's a beautician over in
Lumstead.  Married with three kids, ugly little buggers every one of them.
Her husband's an assistant night manager in the party store there.  My
brother Chaz is living in an ashram in California trying to find himself.
We don't get together much, not what you could call a close family.  Now
it's my turn to repeat a question.  I know your dad real well.  What's your
mom like and what's she think of all this?  Remember, we promised to be
honest with each other."

   I felt like a butterfly in a net, the killing jar in sight.  The
questions were starting to get serious now.  "Come on, come on.  I can't be
that hard to answer.  One minute, go."

   "Mom loves her family, loves Dad even though she knows she's sleeping
around.  She works hard, keeps the place together.  Wants me to be a
success and to save you a question, she knows I'm here and she's Ok with
it. Says I need the experience." I didn't mention my mother's very active
sex life, figuring it's not a lie if you don't say anything.

   "Far out.  My mom pretends she doesn't know about my sex life.  I'm
still a virgin as far as she's concerned."

   Still stinging a bit from the question about my mother I decided to up
the ante.  "What's the three most important things I should know about
you?"

   Now it was Toddie's turn to hesitate.  Chewing her lip she answered,
"One, I'm not Debbie.  I'm happy with who I am.  Two, I like my job.  I've
wanted to be a mechanic all my life and I'm a pretty good one.  Three, if
we hit it off I might not mind having you for a friend.  Believe it or not,
I do have male friends I don't sleep with.  But if you can't because of
Elle I'll understand."

   As the questions continued the level in the Southern Comfort bottle drew
lower.  We weren't getting drunk but we where getting a little buzz, one
that led us to be a little more forward in our questions and unconcerned
about our answers.

   "What's the most embarrassing thing that ever happened to you while you
were having sex," Toddie wanted to know.

   That one was easy.  "My mom walked in on me while I was spanking the
monkey."

   "You've got to be kidding me," Toddie said in disbelief.

   "Nope, not only was I jacking off, I was shooting my wad just as she
came in, everything in plain sight including the fountain of jism from Old
Faithful."

   Toddie roared in amusement.  "Christ, that must have been terrible. 
What'd you do?"

   "Yeah it was terrible, I felt like a pervert, just wanted to disappear
off the face of the earth.  Had to settle for hiding under the covers.  She
was cool about it though.  Told me everyone does it, including her. 
Brought me a washcloth to clean up with then started putting a box of
tissues next to my bed each night, said it'd save on washing sheets."

   Face bright with laughter, Toddie replied, "That's pretty bad all right
but I can top it."

   "I'd like to see you try," I said, intrigued at what would possibly be
worse than my ordeal.

   "I'd been dating a guy for about a month, a really vanilla type when it
came to sex.  Anything but the missionary position was debauchery
incarnate. It took four dates before I could get him to let me blow him. 
He never would eat me.  Anyhow, I got him drunk and convinced him to give
it to me up the old Hershey Highway.

   "There we were at his place; I'm bent over the edge of the bed, feet on
the floor, my hands and arms holding me off the mattress.  He's buried deep
in my ass, just pounding away like a jackhammer, yelling 'Oh god, oh god,
you're so tight, it's so good.  Fuck, fuck, fuck.' I mean he was an animal;
hands on my hips, pulling me back on his dick as he thrust forward, his
pubes scratching against my ass.  Really getting into it, pun intended."
She stopped, partly to take a drink, mainly to keep me in suspense.

   "I'm getting near my climax when I totally lost control and cut one. 
Not just a little one, a real blue flamer.  Sounded like Gabriel's trumpet
and smelled like something crawled up my ass and died.  Didn't go away
either, hung around in the air like Los Angeles smog.  About as thick too.
Poor Steve didn't just get a whiff; he got a whole lungful.  Started
coughing and choking, lost his balance and fell right on top of me."

   As Toddie told her tale, I was laughing so hard tears were coming out of
my eyes.

   "He weighed about 180-185 pounds so when he collapsed on me he drove me
hard against the bed."

   "Oh god, no," I managed to wheeze out between gasps for breath.

   "Oh god yeah," she said.  "The force of my hitting the edge of the bed
made me erupt again, just as bad as the first one, maybe with even more
force since his cock came out of me when we fell.  Now not only are we both
choking, he's a dead weight on top of me and it's getting to where I can't
breath.  Just in time to keep me from passing out, he pulls himself off me,
runs over to the wastepaper basket and pukes his guts out.  Between my
farts and his vomiting, I'm having trouble keeping my dinner down as well.
Talk about a mood killer, the whole thing was really disgusting."

   Hooked, I asked Toddie what happened next.

   "After we opened all the windows, turned on every fan he had and sprayed
the bedroom with a full can of Lysol, we got dressed and he took me home.
Didn't say a word to me all the time we were in the car.  Wouldn't even
look at me.  I told you he was pretty square; he'd always get out and open
the car door for me.  This time he just let me get out of the car myself.
As soon as I shut the door he took off and I never did hear from him
again."

   "What a bastard," I said, meaning it.

   "Aw, you can't really blame him.  After my performance he probably
thought I was a succubus sent by Satan to steal his immortal soul.  There
was no question about my smelling of brimstone.  Still his loss in your
gain."

   "How so?"

   "I was so embarrassed I went over to the woman's clinic over in Robinson
County and they taught me all about how to keep that from happening again.
There's these little pills the druggist sells for gas, I just take a couple
of those and I'm much less explosive."

   The secret of what Toddie did that Debbie didn't was out in the open
now. She took it in all three of her holes.

   "I don't know about you but I'm getting a little buzz from the drinks,"
she admitted.  "Two more questions each and then we'll go for a walk along
the creek.  It's your turn."

   Since the subject had been brought up, "Do you really like anal sex? 
Doesn't it hurt?" It wasn't just prurient interest, I really was curious.

   "Yes, I really like anal sex; sometimes I come the hardest with a guy's
cock up my butt.  Once you get used to it, it doesn't hurt, although it can
be a little uncomfortable sometimes.  You need to be with someone who
either already knows how to do it or who'll listen to you while you tell
them how to do it.  You know how they say 'size doesn't matter?' It does
with butt fucking.  You don't want 'em too long or too thick, those will
hurt.  I don't let any really big cocks anywhere near my ass.  And you've
got to make sure to use a lot of lubrication."

   A wicked gleam in her eye, she asked me her next question.  "What's so
special about this Elle girl you're willing to become a member of the
church, swear off other women, even the ones who'll let you jump their
bones and all just for her?  Lennie tells me you haven't even copped a feel
from her.  Says you two haven't even gone on a date yet and when you do
you'll be chaperoned.  Why her and not someone else?  I'll even give you
two minutes on this one."

   "Do you believe in love at first sight?"

   "Jake, you can't answer my question with a question."

   "Come on Toddie, play along.  Do you believe in love at first sight?"

   "Nope.  Lust at first sight sure.  Love at first sight, nah.  Doesn't
happen."

   "That's cool.  I don't believe in love at first sight either, so what
I'm going to say is going sound really stupid.  Elle calls to me.  I feel a
connection there even though I don't know what it is or where it will lead.
When I get to know her she might turn out to be the love of my life or she
might turn out to be a total bitch.  Could be something in between where we
date for a little while, maybe even make love a couple of times and decide
we're not right for each other.

   "I'm only 17," I said talking to myself as much as I was talking to
Toddie.  "I've got my whole life ahead of me.  What does it hurt me to take
a few months to find out if there can be something between Elle and me?  So
I jump through a few hoops; so we're not alone the first few times we date.


   "There's a scene in Casablanca where Rick tells Ilsa if she's not on the
plane for Lisbon with Victor she'll regret it; 'maybe not today, maybe not
tomorrow, but soon and for the rest of your life?' I don't want to go
through the rest of my life wondering what might have happened with Elle
and regretting I let a few inconveniences kept me from finding out.  It's
not such big a deal because at the end of all this I'll know."

   "I guess when you put it that way, it's not that dumb," Toddie said
thoughtfully.  "At least you'd always have Paris."

   "I thought you said you weren't a big movie fan?"

   "Puhleez, who hasn't seen Casablanca.  They show it on the Million
Dollar Movie at least once a month.  I'll let you ask two more questions
and then we'll get out of here and go for a walk."

   "What's my gym bag doing here?"

   "That's too easy.  Lennie gave it to me.  There's some clothes and a
fresh toothbrush in it."

   "No, not how it got here or what's in it.  Why is it here?"

   A sly, satisfied smile on her lips, Toddie said, "It's still too easy.
It's here so you can spend the whole weekend with me.

   "Come on Jake," she urged.  "One more question and we'll cut out of
here."

   "But it's your turn?"

   "Nah, I've learned enough for now.  Beside, we'll have the next two days
to talk won't we?  So what's your last question?"

   "Why me?"

   Stumped, Toddie looked at me in confusion.  "What do you mean 'why me?'"

   "You asked why I'm willing to do what I do to have a chance with Elle.
I'm asking you why you're willing to be with me.  You've never met me
before this so it's not like we were friends who were attracted to each
other.  I'm not anybody's idea of a dream date.  I'm not handsome, maybe
I'm not bad looking in a slightly goofy sort of way, but I'm not handsome.
I'm not very muscular, and for sure not an athlete.  I don't come from a
rich family.  Don't have a car.  Hell, you name any desirable
characteristic and I'm pretty much a 'not.' Plus I'm what, three, fours
years younger than you."

   Draining the last of my drink, I continued.  "And look at you.  You're
flat out gorgeous," only to have Toddie hit me with a pillow."

   "Watch it with those flat cracks.  We can't all be cows like Debbie."
Dense as I was, I was getting the distinct impression Toddie didn't like
Debbie.

   "If it bothers you so much, stuff a pair of water balloons under your
blouse."

   "Nah, I'd use Jell-O," she joked.  "It'd be more lifelike when it
jiggled."

   "See that's what I mean.  You're attractive; you're funny, you're smart.
Any guy who spent even a few minutes with you would want more.  So what do
you want with a gangly pimple-faced high school senior?  I know why I want
to be with you.  Why are you willing to be with me?"

   Her answer was a bitter one to hear, leaving me with a feeling like I'd
been drinking sour milk.

   "Because Lennie asked me to."

   Of all the answers she could have given me, that one was the worst.  Not
that I didn't know that was why I was there but for her to come right out
and tell me ...  well it was tough to take.

   "Jake, if you didn't want the truth you shouldn't have asked the
question," she gently scolded me.  "There's a reason the game's called
'Spanish Inquisition.' Besides you're wrong about a lot of things."

   "Like what," I asked morosely.

   "Let's go for that stroll," she said, tugging me up from the daybed. 
"The fresh air'll do us both some good."

   As we walked across the sunny meadow, its patches of wildflowers adding
splashes of bright colors to the otherwise monotonous green pallet, Toddie
took pleasure in outlining my errors.

   She had met me before in a roundabout sort of way.  I'd picked up Dad's
lunch once by mistake.  Since I hated liverwurst, I'd gone to the shop to
trade for my lunch.  Toddie had seen me then and I'd seen her, not that I'd
recognize her since she was in her full welding gear with the mask down
when I came by.

   Since then she'd seen me around town a few times and thought I was "sort
of cute in a sweet sort of way." She also knew more about me than I
realized because "Lennie's always talking about you, what's going on in
your life.  He's proud of you but he's been pretty concerned about this
whole religious kick you're on, worried you were going to 'let his hard-on
for this girl he met in church fuck up his life.  Poor bastard's wearing
his passion for her like a hair shirt.' At least that's how Toddie said he
put it.

   "He thought if you got laid a few times, you'd forget all about Elle or
at least decide you didn't have to go through with all of this 'holy roller
horseshit' just to get your wick dipped.  You already know Debbie and I
have both slept with Lennie.  He thinks we're easy and maybe we are but
that doesn't make us Jezebels.  I mean is there some sort of hidden virtue
in being difficult?  You get the munchies and you eat.  You get horny and
you screw.  In both cases, problem solved.  What makes one different from
the other?

   "I'll tell you this Jake, it's damn unfair.  I have an active sex life
with multiple lovers and I'm a cheap slut.  You do the same and you're a
big stud." Toddie caught herself and apologized, telling me she'd gotten "a
little off-track but the kind of crap just makes me so damn mad."

   I told her I agreed; my question didn't mean I saw her as a slut.  I was
only trying to piece things together, seeking to understand women and what
drives them.

   Tickled by my naivety, she told me "Women aren't meant to be understood
Jake; they're meant to be loved.  We're creatures of mystery, that's part
of our allure.  Oh, you can try and figure us out but once you think you've
got it we'll change just to confuse you."

   We'd entered the small forest bounding Pickett Creek during Toddie's
lecture, the early stands of oak, ash and maple along the edge of the field
quickly giving way to cedars, tamaracks and ferns as we got deeper into the
woods.  I took Toddie's hand to help her pick her way though the bog that
outlined this section of the creek.  The ground here could be tricky; one
wrong step and you'd be sinking in the spongy black muck.

   The swampland provided the best access to the creek, especially if you
were wearing shorts as we were.  Other areas might be easier to walk on but
they were harder to walk though as they were usually thick with itch weed
and sharp thorny brambles.

   Once I'd sliced myself open on the brambles then compounded my problem
by stupidly hiking not only though the itch weed but also the poison ivy
that flourished in the dryer ground.  It's not an experience I'd wish on
anyone I cared for.

   As we walked I was surprised how good Toddie's hand felt in mine,
nothing sexual, just a sense of correctness as though somehow it belonged
there, its warmth mingling with mine, our fingers entwined, her shortened
finger rubbing against my palm.

   Navigating our way to the creek, we put our conversation on hold
replacing it with short spurts of advice and instructions on where to find
the best footing.  Things were fine until, just a short distance from the
creek, the moss on a downed cedar we were traversing gave way under her
left foot, causing Toddie to lose her balance and pitch toward the ground.

   As she toppled I grabbed at her, trying my best to keep her from
falling. I was only semi-successful; managing to steady her enough to
prevent her dropping face first into the mire but losing my own balance in
the process, both of us plunging to mid-calf in the dark goop.

   "Shit, I hate it when that happens," she said good-naturedly.  "I hope
there's no leeches."

   Repressing a shudder at the thought of a leech swelling to the size of a
peanut shell on a meal of my blood, I wrapped my hands around Toddie's thin
waist and lifted her up and back on to the tree, both of her EZ slip-on
tennis shoes easily slipping off her feet to remain buried in the muck.  A
quick glance showed her legs were free of any vampiric swamp creatures.

   Telling her to stay on the tree, I pulled her shoes out of the clinging
mud then walked the rest of the way to the creek.  Bending down I washed
her shoes, carefully checking for any little bloodsuckers hidden inside. 
After Toddie's footwear was as clean as I could get it, I walked back
though the bog, thankful I wore tied shoes that stayed on.

   Toddie had been watching me with a curious look on her face.  "Hold on
to these," I said, returning her wayward shoes to her.  "No, don't put 'em
on, just spread your legs as wide apart as you can and hold still."

   I turned my back on Toddie and squatted as low as I could.  "Sorry I
don't have a cloak I can throw over the mud.  I guess I'll just have to do.
Hop on and I'll carry you to the creek."

   She didn't hesitate for a minute.  "My hero," she vamped, swinging her
surprisingly strong legs over my shoulders, her crossed feet locking them
in place.

   I gave a little grunt as I stood up, not because Toddie was heavy, she
wasn't, but because of the force with which she grabbed my hair.

   "Easy there huh," I asked.  "I don't want to be bald before I'm 20."

   "Really, and here I thought you wanted to be 'balled' as soon as
possible," she replied, wriggling like a baby in a basinet until she found
her balance.

   As I carried her to the creek, Toddie began to rub her crotch against
the back of my neck.  "Keep that up." I warned, "and we're both going to be
back down in the muck."

   "Why Jake, you're too much of a gentleman to throw me down and take
advantage of me here aren't you," she asked deliberately misunderstanding
me.  "You really don't want to have your way with me in this smelly goo do
you?  Wouldn't the bed in my apartment be better?" I shifted my balance to
the left, eliciting a small screech from Toddie as she tightened her grasp
of my hair.

   "Behave or you're leech bait."

   "Meanie," she pouted, her dry humping of my neck momentarily suspended.
"Just when it was getting interesting too."

   Stepping into the creek I again knelt down, allowing Toddie to slide off
into the running water, watching as it carried the mud on my sneakers and
legs downstream.

   My gallantry was rewarded with a small kiss from Toddie, nothing
blatantly sensual and no tongue; just a soft sweet sample of future
delights.

   The bed of Pickett Creek's was a combination of gravel and sand, the
depth of the creek varying but almost never getting more than four foot in
depth.  Toddie and I waded upstream, the knee-deep water rippling around
our legs, small rainbow-hued minnows darting in and out of our path.

   Before too long we reached a deadfall spanning the width of the creek,
an old swamp oak blown over by some long-forgotten storm, its limbless bole
wide enough to sit on comfortably and high enough above the creek to allow
our feet to dangle just below its surface.

   Surrounded by a cloud of mosquitoes being kept at bay by the liberal
quantity of repellent we'd applied before we set out, we went back to our
paused conversation.

   "Why does it bother you we're together because Lennie set it up?"

   Suddenly, it was important to me Toddie understood how I felt, even if
it meant I'd be riding my bike home that evening.

   "I love my dad but I don't want to be him.  He thinks he's looking out
for me, that he's helping me to 'be a real man.' But a real man wouldn't be
anyone's puppet, dancing every time someone pulls his strings.  A real man
would find his own way; make his own decisions.

   "And I want to be more than a piece of meat, a human dildo my dad loans
out to his girlfriends to get some experience.  Maybe that's too much to
ask," I said, my voice tapering off as I wondered if I'd crossed the line,
trying to read her face without much success.

   For a few moments Toddie looked at me in total silence.  Then she
laughed.

   "My god, and to think you men call us touchy and sensitive," she chided
me with amusement.  "Just listen to yourself, whining because your Dad set
up a date for you.  Poor young boy has to waste his time with an old dried
up hag like me.  Well, boo hoo and cry me a river."

   She gave me a straight-arm punch that left my bicep throbbing.

   "And what's with this human dildo nonsense?  I never said I was going to
have sex with you.  What kind of a girl do you think I am anyway?  You want
a sure thing, go see Debbie."

   Again I tried to read her face with the same result as before.

   'You're kidding me right," I asked my stammer just a knife's edge away
from breaking loose.  "I asked you why you were willing to sleep with me
and you said it was because my Dad asked you."

   "No Jake, that's not what you asked me," she said firmly.  "You asked me
why I was willing to be with you.  If you were using 'be with me' as a code
for 'fuck me," you should have given me the secret decoder ring so I'd know
what you meant.  I told Lennie you could stay with me for the weekend.  If
you thought that was some sort of carte blanche for sex, that's your
interpretation, not mine."

   Caught in another of those sudden relationship mudslides, the once firm
ground under my feet turning more treacherous than the bog we'd fallen in
earlier, I frantically reconsidered our previous conversations.  We'd
talked about sex.  Toddie hadn't been shy, going so far as to tell me about
her adventures in rectal loving.  She'd been flirty, enticing my interest
and stoking my arousal, but never once had she actually said we were going
to screw.  I just made an assumption based on what Dad had told me and on
my experience with Debbie, forgetting that "assume" was an acronym for
"Actions Seldom Supported Under Meticulous Examination."

   For the briefest moment I wondered if Toddie was just a cocktease who
got her kicks from giving guys like me blue balls; ashamed of myself even
as the notion flew through my brain.  Here I'd just been bitching about not
wanting to being treated like a piece of meat, yet was I really treating
her any different with my expectations of bedding her like a feudal lord
exercising his right of droit de seigneur?  So much for showing respect.  I
deserved her scorn and any abuse she cared to pile on to me.

   Humbled, distraught, embarrassed, I stumbled and mumbled my way though
an apology; although, unlike my mother had with me, I didn't kneel down in
front of Toddie while I requested her forgiveness.

   "Jesus, I'm sorry Toddie.  I'm an ass, an immature idiot.  I suppose
that's what I get for believing my old man's stories.  No, that's not fair
blaming any of this on him," I said in an unsteady voice, hoping she could
sense my sincerity.  "It's all my fault.  I should have known better and
you sure as hell deserve better.  It's just, just..."

   "Just what," she asked, not unkindly.

   Swallowing hard, I replied, "Just I thought you were going to sleep with
me?"

   "Let's not make any mistakes here.  You still haven't given me my
decoder ring.  By sleep with you I presume you mean have wild, passionate
sex with you; that'd we'd suck and fuck and I'd let you screw me in the
ass. That is what you mean isn't it?"

   Sheepishly I answered with a simple yes, and then continued with my act
of contrition, explaining now that she'd made it plain to me we weren't
going to fuck I was "cool with it."

   Ignoring my apology, Toddie again took my hand in hers, each silken
stroke of her fingertips against my skin brushing away some of the tension
I felt.

   "Did you hear the one about a man driving down a road," she said.  "A
woman's driving down the same road from the opposite direction.  As they
pass each other, the woman leans out the window and yells, "PIG!" The man
immediately leans out his window and yells, "BITCH!" They each continue on
their way, and as the man rounds a curve, he crashes into a huge pig in the
middle of the road and dies.  The moral of the story is 'If only men would
listen.'"

   "Jake," she told me, a decidedly wicked smile on her face.  "You've
really got to improve your listening skills.  I never said we weren't going
to fuck."

   OK, now I knew for sure she was screwing with my head, doing that whole
enigma wrapped inside a conundrum thing women seem to love.  This time
though I didn't take the bait, just sat patiently enjoying the feel of her
hand caressing mine, patiently waiting for her to continue.

   "But you're going to have to work for it Jake.  I won't just fuck you,
you're going to have to seduce me to get any loving."














   

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