Chapter 9

Hanson Allen put his feet up on the railing of the porch and sipped the iced tea his mama had just handed him. He was wondering whether or not he should bother borrowing his dad's pickup to drive to Elsie Shelton's that night. What he really wanted to do was see Billie-Ann Wheeler, but almost a week had passed since he'd given her the books at Basset's Pond and there'd been no sign of her either at the pond or walking the dusty roads. It was a pretty sure bet she'd decided not to go with him to Elsie's.

But ever since he'd grabbed her wet, clinging body in the wood pond and then kissed and hugged and rubbed her until his balls turned themselves inside out, Hanson had been bothered by cold sweats, sometimes in the hottest part of the day. That very morning, he'd had one hell of a dream and woke to find his cock bubbling thick semen all over the sheets.

He took another mouthful of the tea and let the details of the dream sift through his head. He'd run over them a dozen times already but couldn't resist doing it just one more time. Dreams were nice like that and Billie always acted differently in his sleeping mind than she had at the pond. In the dream she'd pulled off his skimpy mesh shorts after the two of them were on the bank together. Then while Hanson stretched back against the mossy ground, she'd steadied his huge cock and sucked it noisily into her mouth. But the dream had gotten even better. When he'd been close to coming Billie'd cupped her soft hands under his balls and swathed the underside of his penis with the pointed tip of her tongue, whimpering for him to fill her mouth until finally she took his glans to the back of her throat, and greedily gulped the scalding, spurting seed.

Hanson finished the tea with a groan and put the glass down. The heat waves were rising from the gravel road in front of the house while the trees roared with the intertwining rhythms of a million insects. Hanson gave a humorless laugh. Hell, he'd scared the shit out of that poor little white girl at Basset's Pond. That was it all right... she was just too damned white. The past few days he'd been kicking himself for being so crazy in the first place. Yeah, she was tan as a berry all right, but whiter than white inside.

"I must've been asking for trouble," he said aloud in the still air of the porch. "But goddamn it, she was a fine little piece of tail." Hanson tightened his jaw until the muscles twitched at his temples while he thought of Billie's lovely body. The long, straight, flowing brown hair. The way it tumbled over her shoulders like strands of silk. And those pretty, thin shoulders and that narrow, sweet-smelling back. He laughed again, realizing that he'd never really smelled it. It would smell good, though, Hanson was sure. There was that orange T-shirt, too, that made her titties look so small and soft... tipped delicately with tiny buttons of nipple flesh. Pink nipple flesh.

Angrily, he picked up the empty glass and sucked the last ice cube into his mouth. "That's why I'm all fucked up right now!" he muttered. "I can't get that little demon off my mind." And Hanson was off again, thinking about when Billie'd slipped into the drop- off at the pond. He'd seen the young girl's shape clearly after she'd gotten wet. That cheap, short dress sticking to her limbs like it'd been painted on. He knew from experience that his hands could encircle her gorgeously tiny waist with ease and that her boyish hips flared out only enough to say she was a girl. That much innocent beauty alone was enough, but with Billie-Ann there was yet more. Her thighs and legs had perfect proportions... long, lanky and tan. Every sinew, every bone and muscle seemed sculpted for the perfectionist, and Hanson counted himself one. Sweet calves swelling just a little. Her ankles fine and delicate as her wrists. And to top it off, Billie's hands and feet had that childish grace and slimness that made him almost have to turn away when she moved them.

"Eatin' stuff for sho," he laughed, shoving at his swollen crotch. There were indeed parts of Billie-Ann he had yet to see, but if the rest of her was so good her sweet cunny was most likely a masterpiece.

Hanson tried to stand up but groaned with the strangle hold his pants had on his hardened cock. Cursing under his breath, he limped to the porch rail, and, curling his fingers under it, lifted mightily until the blood surged away from his cock and into the bulging arm muscles that were now demanding it. In a few seconds he felt his parts soften and relax and he strolled into the house for another glass of tea.

Hell, he'd just have to go to Elsie's... Billie or not. At least he could get his ashes hauled by Alicia Shelton and stop thinking about white meat for a while.

At five after eight, Hanson finished drying from his bath and slipped into a pair of suede-leather pants, tight in the ass and flaring slightly over his high boots.

"Shit," he laughed, slapping the back of one thigh, "I'll show these country boys how to dress." Then he pulled on a skintight jersey, tucked it in and cinched up the silver buckle of his big brown belt.

"You be careful, son," his father called from his rocking chair as Hanson walked down the front steps. "I hear Elsie's gets to goin', even on a week night."

"Now how'd you know I'se goin' to Elsie's?" Hanson laughed, jingling the ignition keys around his finger.

Mr. Allen chuckled and stuck a crooked cigar between his teeth. "Now where else would a good-looking black boy be goin' durin' the night in this county?"

"Yeah, you right, old man," Hanson said, crossing the yard.

Lucas Allen leaned his chair against the house, smoking. "I reckon if you was in Kansas City or Memphis you'd be going somewhere else, but 'round here you'll be going to Elsie's."

Still smiling, Hanson backed the truck out of the yard and headed down the narrow, bumpy road towards the fork. It hadn't even occurred to him that Billie-Ann might decide to go with him to Elsie's, but as he passed the big tree where he'd told her to meet him, Hanson glanced to the side anyway.

"Great God almighty!" he roared, locking up all four wheels of the old truck... holding the pedal down till it slid sideways to a dusty stop. Out of the bushes flashed Billie's fantastic long legs, her sandals slapping on her feet. Hanson saw that she had on a dress almost as worn out as the one she'd worn at Basset's Pond, and he couldn't help imagining her in something expensive and chic.

"What made you change your mind?" he asked, leaning across to pull the door handle. Billie gave him a thin smile and settled into the seat.

"I just got to see somebody," she said.

"See somebody at Elsie's?" Hanson started the truck off again. After a mile or two of silence, he swung left at the fork and studied the girl's pretty profile. She wasn't in a mood to talk, but he was more than a little intrigued about who she meant to meet at the Shelton place. Maybe there was more going on than he'd guessed.

"I didn't know you'd been out there before," Hanson said, fishing.

"I haven't." Billie crossed her legs and he heard the way her young skin sounded sliding over itself. "I want to talk to Elsie; that's all."