The field was empty, lit only by the full moon overhead and the lights of the city that surrounded it. It was quiet, only the chorus of the insects disturbed the silence of the night. In the distance, a set of headlights could be seen, running down the highway that bordered the field. Brake lights flared, and the vintage convertible swung into the road that bisected the field. It could be heard now, the low rumble of its exhaust silencing the night creatures as it passed. Rock and roll played from the two speakers lying on the back seat, and the sweet, clear laughter of a woman could be heard over the Chuck Berry tune playing on the eight-track.

The car followed the road to about the halfway point of the field, and slowly pulled off the road, gently bouncing and swaying through the waist-high grass to a clump of trees standing in the center of the field. It pulled around the trees until it was hidden from sight, and the rumble of its dual exhausts died. The lights went out, and Chuck Berry cut off in the middle of a hot lick from ‘Roll Over Beethoven.’

“Leave the tape on,” Linda said. “I like fifties rock and roll.” She dropped her head back against the headrest, and looked at the stars as I turned the key to ‘ACC’ and the music began playing again.

I sat back from turning on the tape player and looked at my passenger. Linda was twenty-seven years old, and the roommate of a woman that my best friend babysat for. She was around five feet, four inches tall, a cute, well-built brunette, dressed tonight in a denim mini skirt and a man’s shirt, my shirt actually, one I had left at her place for her to wash after crapping it up changing the oil in her car.

The two women and the five-year-old girl lived in a run-down three-bedroom apartment. I had spent many hours there, repairing all the little things that go wrong in a house, and had become friends with both women.

Gloria, the mother of the five-year-old, treated me like a kid brother. That didn’t bother me. I think Gloria is pretty much of a slut; she bedded most of the guys she dated, and she dated a lot.

Linda was a different story. She worked a regular job and took classes at night. A lot of her spare time was taken up with studying or reading, and she sometimes noodles around on her guitar. She treated me as her equal, and we share the same voracious appetite for reading.

Linda had passed a tough class this week, acing the exam, and wanted to celebrate. Gloria, always up for a party, wanted to go hit the bars and pick up some cute guys to party till dawn with. Linda declined her offer but accepted the two joints that Gloria gave her for her own little private party, which usually consisted of getting high in her room and playing her guitar.

I was there unplugging the kitchen sink and gave her a hug and congratulated her.

Gloria was astounded when Linda asked me if I’d like to take a cruise with her in her convertible. I jumped at the chance to go any where with Linda; I had a pretty good crush going on her. She grabbed a couple of beers from the fridge, and off we went.

When we got to the car, she tossed me her keys and told me that I was driving. Now I was astounded; Linda didn’t let anyone drive her car. The car wasn’t anything special; it ran okay, but it was old. She was a believer in ‘neither a borrower nor a lender be.’

I got behind the wheel and adjusted everything to fit me; I’m a good foot taller than she is. Then she asked me if I had my driver’s permit on me. I heard Gloria’s raucous laughter from the porch where she was watching this momentous event and blushed as I patted my wallet and told her that I had it.

That’s right, I said permit. I’m not old enough for a driver’s license yet.

I’m fifteen.

Linda scooted across the seat and sat next to me, her warm, round thigh against mine. “Ignore her. Let’s go.”

I started the car, backed out of the driveway, and we were off. We cruised around for a while with the top down, enjoying the beautiful July night and talking, while Linda shared one of her beers with me. We were out in the countryside, and there was virtually no traffic on the road. After we finished the beer, she asked me to find a place to do up a joint, and that’s how we landed in that little field. I’d been there before for a beer bash. The cops hadn’t discovered that spot yet.

We got out of the car and leaned against the front fender while Linda fired up the doobie. We talked about nothing in particular while we killed the joint, and then Linda looked around, searching for something to sit on.

“Sit here.” I suggested, and taking her by the waist, I boosted her onto the hood of the car. She squealed and laughed at my sudden move, crossed her long, lovely legs and smoothed down the short denim skirt she was wearing, tugging on it to try and cover more of her thighs. That was a losing battle, I was happy to see; it really was quite short, and she had great legs.

She solved her problem by swinging her legs up and reclining against the windshield. I stood next to her, leaning a hip against the fender while she fired up the second joint.

“Let’s not waste any of this one.” she said. “Let’s shotgun it.” She took a lungful of the sweet, pungent smoke, and after 25 or 30 seconds, she hooked her hand around the back of my neck and pulled my face to hers. She croaked, “Come on.” and put her open mouth to mine and exhaled as I inhaled.

I was electrified. It wasn’t exactly a kiss, but it was damn close. Close enough that I had an impressive rise in my shorts, my cock hardening down my leg.

Remember, I was only fifteen at the time, and there I was, out in the middle of nowhere with the woman of my dreams, the star of most of my jerk-off fantasies. She was dressed in a short denim skirt and a man’s shirt, the tails tied under her braless breasts. Her legs were bare and crossed at the ankles. She looked so beautiful there in the moonlight, that looking back on it thirty-seven years later, I decided that it was a wonder I didn’t come in my pants right then.

Regular as clockwork, we passed that joint back and forth, and I would lean over her and our mouths would join as we shared the smoke. Her soft, cool hands would cup my face, holding me in place, and my right hand would go to the back of her head, tangling in her thick black hair as I helped her hold her head up. It was some pretty good shit; we both were getting a nice buzz off it.

‘Trust Gloria,’ I thought, ‘to have enough primo weed that she can afford to pass it around for nothing.’ At fifteen years old, there was no room in my budget for grass.

All too soon, the joint was nothing but a tiny roach. I fitted it into the roach clip, put the flame to it, and held it to Linda’s lips as she inhaled the last of it. Thirty seconds later, she fitted her lips to mine and exhaled softly, her hands cool on my face as I inhaled deeply, my fingers lightly massaging the base of her skull as I held her head to mine.

Then things changed. Her eyes drifted closed as her lips softened under mine. She breathed in through her nose, and her arms slipped around my neck, her tongue slipped into my mouth and found mine, and just like that, we were kissing. There was nothing frantic about it; it was slow and sweet and wonderful.

We would French kiss for a few minutes, and then she would kiss her way to the hollow of my throat, or my ear and tongue my skin for a moment, driving me crazy, and then her lips would be on mine again. The weed must have made me stupid, or maybe it was the blood loss. (I am convinced that a man does not have enough blood to run both heads at once.)

Whatever it was, I finally caught on and kissed my way to her delicate little ear, and tongued it gently, tracing my tongue around the rim of it and sucking on the small lobe with its earring still in place, a bitter metallic taste that jolted my taste buds. She moaned, and her hands raked through my hair and brought me back to her lips, moaning deep in her chest as our tongues dueled in our mouths.

Her hands burrowed under my tee shirt, her hands flat, rubbing the muscles there, fingernails scraping lightly through my chest hair. She found my nipples and tweaked them gently, my first clue that a man’s nipples were an erogenous zone.

My hand was on her firm, flat belly, rubbing it in slow circles, moving from the waistband of her skirt, slung low on her hips, up to where I could feel the bottoms of her breasts on the side of my hand. I didn’t know what to do. I was deathly afraid that if I went any further, if I tried to touch her breasts or slip my hand over her pussy, that she would come to her senses and stop us right there.

And I desperately wanted to keep right on doing this; her mouth was a banquet, and I was a starving teenager.

She must have known what I was going through, for the next time her mouth made its sensuous journey to my ear, she whispered, “Untie my shirt, sweetie, I want to feel your hands on my breasts.” And then plastered her mouth to mine again.

My head spun as her words registered in my lust-clouded brain, and my hand found the knot tied under her breasts. And, wonder of wonders, it came apart on my first try. I pulled back and looked at her; she had a soft smile on her swollen lips. She nodded at me, and I slid my hand under her shirt, moving it slowly over her soft-skinned belly, feeling her muscles trembling under my fingers, and I cupped her lush tit in my hand.

Her eyes closed and her back arched, thrusting the ripe mound firmly into my hand, and she moaned, “Play with it, honey. Play with the nipple.” I could feel the hard nub between my fingers, and I closed them tightly on it, catching it between my knuckles, and pulling it away from the soft globe until it slipped from between my fingers and snapped back to her breast.

She groaned and shivered, and I finished up the move by flipping the shirt to the side, unveiling the snowy white mound to my hungry eyes. I cupped her face in my hand, and she turned her head and licked my palm. I slid it slowly from her face to her jaw, my thumb wiping across her lips, and moved my hand down her slender neck onto her heaving chest.

I moved it under the loose shirt that was still hiding her other breast, and up the lower slope of the lush orb, finding her turgidly erect nipple, and rolled and pinched it in my fingers, the loose cloth falling off of my hand, leaving both of her breasts open to my eyes. I drank in the sight of her as my hands cupped her tits, rolling both nipples between my fingers and wringing another moan from her.