Summer Shorts by Huck Pilgrim Page B

jeans and boyish hips, she looks even more attractive to Joe all pouty and grim. Pulling the car into the dark part of the empty bank parking lot, Joe shuts it down.
     
    The engine ticks as it cools.
     
    Grinning at her, Joe gets out and walks over to the ATM machine. Crickets chirp. Joe grew up here in Carnal. The cool June air feels good on his arms. He’s a real estate agent, a good one. Used to getting his way. In his belly he can feel that same slight fluttering as he did when Gloria first noticed him in the garage. An image of Gloria on her knees at the boy’s feet pops into his mind. He had seen fear, panic in her eyes. But then he noticed something else, something not so much in the look that she gave him, or in the way that she surrendered to her circumstance, but in the way that she then threw herself into satisfying the boy, working his cock with her hands and mouth, utterly ignoring Joe.
     
    He punches in his numbers, listens to the ATM hum.
     
    Suddenly Joe decides to make another, much larger withdrawal—three hundred dollars. He punches his numbers into the machine again and grins. He’s going to fuck that pouty little kid in his car. Why not? She had already taken one load of come in her tummy tonight. What harm sending her home with just a tiny bit more?
     
    Getting back into the car, Joe finds Gloria smoking.
     
    “You got another one of those?” he asks.
     
    Gloria taps a cigarette out of her pack and silently hands it to Joe. Lighting up, he exhales smoke. Fans the cash in his hand.
     
    “How much do I owe you?” he asks. He counts through the bills, passing them from one hand to the other.
     
    “You don't have to pay me anything,” she says.
     
    “No, no—I want to,” he says. He peels off five twenties and hand them to her. She looks at the money, but doesn't move.
     
    “Take it,” he says, waving the cash towards her. “You earned it.”
     
    She looks at him, looks at the money in his hand.
     
    “You don't have to do anything,” he says. “It's yours.”
     
    She reaches out, takes the money.
     
    Joe folds the rest of the bills in half and stuff them into his shirt pocket. He chuckles and says, “That was some show back there—watching you blow that boy.”
     
    She blows cigarette smoke through her nose and laughs.
     
    “Funny?” he says.
     
    She folds the money in half, lifts her bottom off the seat, and then slips the folded bills into her front jean pocket.
     
    “I watched you swallow it,” Joe says. He’s watching her to see how she'll react to this kind of language. “You let him empty himself into your pretty little mouth.”
     
    She turns her head from him, looks out the window.
     
    Flicking his cigarette out the window, Joe quickly puts his hand on her knee. “Nothing to be ashamed of, honey. You're a good looking girl. Tight little body.”
     
    Joe can feel her bony knee under the tight denim. Leaning toward her, he takes his hand from its position on her knee and puts it across the back of her seat.
     
    “Slim hips, dark skin,” he says.
     
    His upper body is in her personal space. Joe puts his other hand on her knee. “A lovely girl,” he whispers.
     
    She cocks her head and Joe can see a hesitant half-smile. She enjoys this praise for her body, but she keeps her head mostly averted, her body very still. Likes to play it coy.
     
    “Nothing wrong with a little sex.” Joe’s hand moves to her thigh. “A girl your age.”
     
    Joe glances out the windows and into the mirrors to make sure they remain alone. Moving his hand to the inside of her thigh, he returns his attention to her.
     
    As he moves his hand to her sex, she squirms slightly, almost imperceptibly, in her seat. His fingers play across the intersection of thick seams at her crotch and she draws in her breath. She's damp.
     
    Joe draws his hand back, then lets his knuckles brush across her hip, the bare part of her waist where her shirt has drawn up.
     
    “How did it