Struggles of a Country boy

  "Oh, sure." She giggled. "I can always get a little closer to you."

  Although Brad had been to the Peterboro Theater many times this was the first time he had been there on a date.

  Several couples were arriving at the ticket window when he and Cynthia walked across the wide concrete sidewalk in front of the theater holding hands. Brad listened when Cynthia spoke to two of the girls and realized several girls and their dates seemed to ignore her and were talking quietly amongst themselves while they covertly watched Cynthia and himself.

  "Come on, Brad. Let's go up in the balcony, the air conditioner blows up there and it's cooler."

  Cynthia seemed immune to all that was going on around her. She paid no attention to the sidelong glances which were being cast her way as she led Brad up the stairs into the darkness of the balcony.

  Since Brad didn't know anybody who went to Peterboro High except Cynthia he couldn't tell friend from foe, but it was obvious to him some of the looks passing back and forth from the couples around them weren't from friends.

  While they settled themselves Cynthia brushed and accidentally pushed against Brad several times and soon he was in a constant state of excitement from the warmth of her body touching his and the soft give of her breasts on his arms and chest.

  For several minutes they sat shoulder to shoulder watching the newsreel and waiting for the cartoon to liven up the screen. Neither had spoken since the theater lights had gone down.

  Brad felt the nervous dampness in the palms of his hands.

  I'd like to feel her boobs some more. I wonder if she'll let me? She'll probably get mad if I do, I'd better not.

  Brad squirmed a little in his seat before finally putting his arm across the back of Cynthia's seat just as Porky Pig declared "ThThTh-at's aaaall folks" and disappeared into a swirl of color.

  Cynthia reached up and brought Brad's right hand down over her right shoulder and absently toyed with his fingers while she slid closer to him and laid her left arm over the armrest and into Brad's lap.

  The heat of his blush and the sweat forming in his armpits made Brad uncomfortable and feeling feverish when Cynthia gently pulled his right arm further down across her shoulder squeezed his hand and then pressed it into her left breast. Brad felt the roughness of lace and realized that she had put his hand inside of her dress and that his hand was cupping her breast and the warmth he felt was her bare skin.

  Guiltily, Brad swung his head around and searched the dim faces nearest to them to see if anybody had noticed or were watching. But every person he could make out in the dimly lit balcony was engrossed in Burt Lancaster and Deborah Kerr locked in an embrace as the surf washed over them.

  It's getting hot in here.

  Just then there were two loud clicks from behind them and he heard the fans come on and within seconds he felt the air stirring from behind and coming down the lines of seats towards the screen.

  "Wait a minute! I have to button my dress before the lights come on."

  All around them people were getting out of their seats as the movie credits rolled down the screen and Brad knew at any second the house lights would be turned up and what Cynthia was doing would be quite obvious. Nervously he watched her fingers struggling with the oversized buttons and he couldn't understand why she was having so much trouble getting them buttoned.

  "What are you laughing at?" Brad asked her as she finally stood up and reached down for his hand.

  "Never mind. I'll tell you later. Come on, let's go."

  Cynthia tugged him out of his seat and they hurried down the stairs and out across the lobby. When they started across the sidewalk towards the parking lot Brad slowed her down with a gentle pull on her arm.

  "Do you want to get something to eat? We can go to the Oaken Bucket.”

  He had never been in the Oaken Bucket, but he had heard kids in his class say they went there to eat after they played basketball games in Peterboro.

  "No, thanks, Brad. I'm not hungry. At least not for food.

  "Come on! Let's get in the car."

  Cynthia led them around to the side of the theater and held tight to Brad's hand when they hurried across the parking lot. As they walked she swung his right hand behind her and pressed it against her butt.

  The muscles in her upper thigh and butt rippled and played under his hand. She slowed down and leaned against him in the dimly lit parking lot.

  Confused and disturbed. But enjoying what was happening to him, Brad felt a new surge of excitement with each touch of Cynthia's hip and thigh against him and his hand continued to caress her backside.

  "Open your door and I'll slide in ahead of you. Hurry!" Her voice was deep and barely audible.

  There was barely room for Brad to get under the steering wheel since Cynthia had only gone in far enough to let him get next to her. Without a word she put both arms around his neck and pulled his face to hers. Her lips were hot and moist. She opened her mouth and her tongue came against Brad's lips with an urgency and persistence he couldn't understand. Her tongue slipped between his teeth and flicked the tip of his tongue.

  "We can't stay here." Her voice was low and ragged. "Let's go to Sunset Lake. It will be quiet and pretty there." Her voice was stronger and more under control when she slide over to give Brad more of the seat so he could sit all the way under the steering wheel.

  "What were you laughing at when you were." His voice trailed out.

  "When I was what, Brad?"

  "You know - - , buttoning your dress?"

  Cynthia was smiling and Brad thought she was kind of laughing at him.

  "What did you say Brad? You're talking too soft."

  "Why were you laughing when you were buttoning your dress in the movies?" Brad was laughing at himself along with her.

  "I put bigger buttons on my dress to make them easier to undo in the dark. But I didn't make the new button holes large enough for them."

  "Oh." He didn't understand it and decided he had been embarrassed enough so he kept quiet.

  "Did you like the movie, Brad? I thought it was great. Didn't you?"

  "Yeah, it was."

  But Brad's mind wasn't on the movie they had just seen.

  Cynthia snuggled against him as they drove in silence. Both of her hands held Brad's right hand on her bare legs well above her knees. His mind was in a turmoil. He knew what he wanted and he knew what Cynthia was suggesting. But he wasn't sure if it was right or not and most confusing was whether Cynthia really meant what her body language was saying or was she, as he had heard other boys call some girls, a “cock teaser”. Nothing he had ever seen or heard about Cynthia led him to believe one way or the other about her. Never had she done anything or said anything in front of Brad to make him believe that she was an easy lay, or that she would lead him on.

  If I try to screw her she might let me. But I'll be in real trouble if she doesn't want me to and then squeals on me.

  Shortly after they had started back towards Greenfield and Sunset Lake Brad's stomach muscles tightened up and started to ache. Now as he turned the corner onto the lake road, he could hardly draw in a deep breath without being in excruciating pain.

  "Brad, we can park by the camp gate. You know the little beach were I saw you last summer? The people who own the children's camp own the beach too. They told me we could use it anytime we wanted to."

  Brad gently pulled his hand out of hers so he could negotiate the turns between the trees and drove onto the edge of the sandy beach.

  There was a three quarter moon just coming up across the lake and a little to their right. In its increasing brightness Brad could see Cynthia's bare legs as she turned part way around towards him before pulling her shapely legs up onto the seat next to him. Her cotton dress was hiked up across her upper thighs and a hint of pink silky panties were peeking out from under its hem.

  For several minutes they sat quietly together.

  "I need some air, it
's too hot in here."

  "Here let me open the window, Brad."

  The knots in Brad's stomach jerked a notch tighter and threatened to jerked him over double when she reached for the window handle and he realized the warm silky feeling his hands felt were Cynthia's bare breasts. She had unhooked her bra and pulled it above her full breasts.

  He felt her elbow rubbing against his thighs as she tried to crank down the window. The next time around she stopped cranking with the side of her elbow pressing his erection against his thigh.

  He moaned softly more to himself than to her and he pulled her to him by her breasts.

  "Ohh! Not too hard, Brad. It feels good but don't pull them. Squeeze and rub them. There. There. Ohh, just like that."

  Their mouths met and mutually they started to slide down on the seat. Cynthia spread her legs as she turned onto her back and Brad started to come down on top of her.

  The pain shot through his stomach like a flaming arrow when he tried to straighten out and he froze half twisted around.

  God! That hurts!

  She grabbed him up by the shoulders before speaking. Her voice was deep and quivering with passion. "We can't make love because I'm having my period. But I'll come if you play with my breasts and suck my nipples."

  Brad heard her words through the fog of his agony as his stomach rolled and he felt the bile rise up in his throat.

  "Let me out of here! I'm going to be sick!"

  The door flew open when he slammed the handle down with the palm of his left hand. Brad half rolled and jumped out. His vomit splatter on the rear tire but missed his pants and shoes.

  Brad felt Cynthia’s soft warm hands on his shoulders while he was bent over retching into the sand. For a long time she held him until his stomach seemed to have settled down and some of the knots loosened their grip and allowed him to slowly straighten up and turn to her.

  When he looked at her the first thing he saw was concern and a little bit of fear in her eyes. Her strawberry blond hair had fallen across her face and was hanging down over her right shoulder. Her dress was still unbuttoned and her bra was pulled up across her upper chest.

  She has beautiful knockers and her nipples are so big and pink.

  Seeing where Brad was looking made Cynthia suddenly get self conscious and she turned her back to slip her bra over her breasts and began to buttoning her dress.

  "I guess it must have been my supper. I haven't felt good all night."

  Brad stepped over to her. Laid his arm across her shoulders before speaking again.

  "Come on, I'll take you home before I get sick again.

  Are you OK, Cynthia?"

  There were tears in her eyes when she turned and finished doing the last button up on her dress, she just nodded yes. She stood in the bright moonlight facing Brad. A smile started tugging at the corners of her lips. Gradually her whole face lit up with a smile.

  "You'll probably never know what you've missed Burgess. I have a feeling you won't stay around long enough to ever find out how good we would have been together."

  Her eyes again brightened with tears as she climbed into the car.

  After Brad got in and had the Pontiac started Cynthia slide back to the middle of the seat and rested her hand on his knee.

  They rode in silence for the two miles back into Greenfield. Each teenager was looking into their own thoughts.

  Brad felt there was no rhyme or reason to his thoughts. His straight-laced, hypocritical New England upbringing kept rearing its ugly head trying to place blame. And blame should be placed on the immoral. But his own free-mind kept fighting back that no one had to be blamed. And Cynthia's morals and values were her own and were based on something he didn't know about.

  Several times during the short trip a knot would twist and burn in his stomach making him jerk and bend at the waist. Each time it happened, he felt Cynthia's hand tighten on his knee and the pressure of her shoulder against his would increase.

  "I don't have to go right in. But I guess you don't feel too good. Huh?

  "Obviously you know I'm not a virgin. I've been had before." She spoke softly and matter-of-factly with no emotion in her voice. But the fingers of her left hand were digging into Brad's knee and her right hand was white knuckled as she squeezed the door handle.

  “Fact is, it was my brother. The first time and bunches of other times. When I was about seven and he was fifteen the first time.

  After that it didn't much matter who did it.

  "I didn't mean to hurt you Brad." Her emotions started to betray her. "I thought you were taking me out so you could get some. Just like every other guy who ever asked me out.”

  Brad heard the tears in her voice.

  "Go out with Cynthia Parker and have a good time. She'll let you do anything to her or her to you for a show and a box of popcorn."

  When she slipped out the passenger side door her tears were flowing freely down both cheeks but she was holding herself in control.

  He watched her leave the car and run onto her front porch.

  She hesitated on the top step and for just an instant Brad thought she was going to turn around; she didn't. The door slammed shut behind her.

  SEVENTEEN

  The speedometer never got past thirty not that it mattered. It was a rural road and at this time of night there was very seldom any other traffic. Brad drove past his house and through his tears saw his father had left the outside light on for him. In another half mile or so and the stacks of lumber at Ballou's sawmill came into sight around the bend just as he came to Crane Road. It was a shortcut across the back side of Lynd mountain and he turned left onto it and started meandering through the back roads of his country.

  He popped the glove box open and as he drove slowly along the narrow gravel road he fumbled around in the dark until he felt the leather cartridge belt and holster that held his .22 revolver.

  Stoney Creek swept away to the northwest and left a wide flat bench where over a hundred and fifty years ago the Crane family had built their farm. Brad didn't know who owned the farm now. Not that there was much left to it. All of the buildings had collapsed a long time ago after many hard winters and heavy snowfalls. He thought that maybe Charlie Ballou owned it along with his sawmill a half mile or so back down the road at the intersection with the state highway.

  A hundred yards away Brad could hear the waters rushing down Stoney Creek when he opened the Pontiac's heavy driver's door. He stepped out into the dew soaked weeds and pasture grasses to relieve himself. His bladder had felt like it was going to burst ever since he and Cynthia had walked out of the theater in Peterboro but he had been too embarrassed after his one attempt to get Cynthia to go to the Oaken Bucket Restaurant to stop anywhere else while she was with him.

  At least my stomach doesn't ache anymore. It must have been something we had for supper.

  In the hour or so since he and Cynthia had left Sunset Lake the moon had been climbing in the sky so it was now shining almost straight down onto the remains of the old farm. Here and there Brad could pick out the bones of the old buildings by the silvery wet sheen of the moonlight reflecting on the dew which had collected on the old pieces of wood. The timbers and planks had taken on a ghostly, almost surreal appearance in the moon's bright white glow. He came here often to hunt for grouse in the old fruit orchard. It was behind the pile of hand-hewn white pine timbers which were all that remained of the old barn. Once he had tried the hand pump which stood on a concrete slab just a few feet to his right. He was very surprised when it actually pumped up some water though it was dirty, the color of rust and smelled bad, like something dead. Next to the pump stood a jumble of rotten and twisted clapboards which marked the grave of the two story farmhouse where several generations of Cranes had been raised until they disappeared in the depression years somewhere between 1929 and 1939.

  I wonder if they had a happy life here? Maybe one of their sons made his youn
ger brother do bad things too.

  Brad turned back to the car and reached across the front seat to pick up his holstered .22 revolver. It only took him a second to fasten the cartridge belt around his waist and another minute to take the cylinder out of the H&R 922. He slipped 9 Super-X hollow points into the cylinder before replacing it in the revolver's frame. He shoved the gun into the holster on his right hip before he started away from the Pontiac.

  I don't need my flashlight, the moon is really bright tonight.

  A game trail ran from the gravel road where Brad parked to what remained of the homestead’s front yard. From there the trail followed the old barnyard lane between the chicken coop and hay barn. He didn't have any trouble following the line of wet silvery weeds and tall grass bordering each side of the trail across the barnyard and down the lane into the cow pasture, then into the orchard.

  The rushing and burbling of the water in the creek grew louder as he moved between the lines of gnarly old apple and pear trees.

  I never noticed that peach tree before. Ugly old thing stuck in between the apple trees.

  Brad stopped next to a tall pear tree which was leaning over towards the creek and he looked to his right for another marker. He was searching for the root wad of a huge old sugar maple which had fallen last month when the high waters from spring runoff had undercut the creek bank around the three hundred and fifty year old tree.

  The sugar maple's 6 foot trunk was lying diagonally across the creek with its top partly down in the far side of the creek to form a dam of sorts partially obstructing the creek's flow. The water was forced to eddy around and under the rough barked trunk. Some of its leaves clung perilously to life and although they appeared silver in the bright moonlight Brad knew they were a healthy green and had been growing rapidly during the two weeks since he had discovered the newly fallen monarch. Brad vaulted up onto the silver/gray trunk and stepped out over the water. He turned to face downstream before sitting down on the dew coated bark. He felt the cold moisture penetrate through his slacks but in a short time his body heat made the wet bearable to sit on. The dew laden air smelled clean and fresh as it slowly drifted down stream in the night time down slope air currents.

  With his feet hanging over the swirling stream Brad studied the turbulent water in the moonlight as it rolled out from under the tree where a line of silver and gold streaked foam formed along the far shore and against the tree's partially submerged trunk. A thin vaporous shadow raced up the creek towards him and startled Brad until it descended on him and forced him to look up towards the moon.