Mary Jenkins - Innocent in Chicago Volume One

"Dear Paul," she said and took his hand in hers and squeezed it. "You're so sweet. You are nice!"

He looked disappointed. "Is that all you think of me?"

"Oh, you're impossible," she laughed. "I guess I've just changed. Our lives back home seem so far away."

"Remember the square dance we went to? You looked so pretty that night I wanted to carry you right off."

"On your white steed?"

"No, in my 1940 Chevy!" he laughed. "Oh, Cynthia, I hope we can see each other a lot when I come to Chicago."

She became wary and evasive. "Well, probably. But I'll have a job then and I'll be a lot busier."

"And so will I – but I'll never be too busy to see you." Unlike Frankie's poker-face, Paul's betrayed every flicker of his feelings, and now it was hopeful and pleading again. "Where are you staying? I may not be able to come again before I finish school, but I want to write you."

"Well, that's a bit difficult." Under no circumstances did she want him to find out she was living with Frankie. "I'm staying at a hotel right now, but hope to find an apartment. I'll tell you what, the best thing to do is to write me at my aunt's."

"Okay. Just so I can find you whenever I come back, without having to bump into every female in Chicago!"

Someone stuck a quarter in the nickelodeon and a swingy ballad pulsed out.

"Want to dance?" he said.

"Where?" Cynthia looked around. Although the bar was almost empty there was hardly any floor space.

"There's room between the tables. Come on." He got up and helped her to her feet.

Even in high heels, the top of her head came just to his mouth. At first he seemed ill at ease, and held her practically at arm's length, as though she were so fragile she would break if he pressed her to him. This amused her and she snuggled up against him until they were swaying slowly to the music, body against body, his head bent, his nose and lips nuzzling in her hair.

"You smell so nice," he murmured. "Fresh as a spring meadow."

She knew he wanted her, but was too much in love with her, as he had been for so long, and too shy in his inexperience to make many open advances, for fear of being rejected. However, the only love she wanted now after her frustration with the fat man was physical love, and she was afraid that if she submitted it would only succeed in making him more in love with her than ever. But as she felt his young virility through the rough tweed of his clothes, her qualms left her. She wanted a man. And maybe, she thought, if we make love he'd be satisfied and I'll be free of him.

So she rubbed her body up against his like a purring cat; her breasts, squashed against his chest, became hard, the nipples rigid and aching. Between the soft masses of her thighs she felt his leg moving slowly and insistently, pressed strongly along the lips of her vagina, while the turgid lump of his erection jutted into the soft flesh of her belly.

"Cynthia, Cynthia," he breathed in her ear, "I love you so." As they danced together, hardly moving, smashed together into one person, lust rose within her to spread the dull ache emanating from her groin throughout her limbs until her whole body was hot, trembling with desire and passion. He, too, was breathing heavily, his muscles as tense as a coiled spring.

"Let's go to my hotel," he whispered.

They left and found a taxi. The door had no sooner slammed than he crushed her in his arms and their lips met in a long, mellow kiss and their tongues sucked the honeyed juices from each other's mouths. Oblivious to the jolting taxi, the screeching halts for stop-lights, the lights of other cars flashing in the windows, they remained clasped together, searching for the treasures of lip and mouth, insatiable and without pause until the taxi jarred to a stop and a dry voice said, "Here we are, kids."

Blindly they climbed out and started for the entrance of the hotel.

"Hey, bud," the voice yelled. "How's about payin', huh?"

Paul went back and tossed him a couple of bills. "Keep the change," he mumbled and ran back to Cynthia.

"Thanks," the driver yelled, "and have a good time," his laugh rising above the sound of the accelerating motor.

When they reached his room, she looked around and recognized a few of his clothes scattered about – the bright green tie he had worn while home on Easter vacation and which she had unmercifully teased him about.

"Do you remember this?" she said laughingly and picked it up, holding it out to him. But he was looking at her seriously, with the intensity of a young lover, with the complete adoration of a first love – and she almost felt like a virgin again.

"Oh, Cynthia, Cynthia, I do love you so," he murmured as he walked toward her. He picked her up and carried her over to a large chair. He sat down, holding her on his lap. With his fingers he slowly traced the arch of her eyebrows, the hollow of her cheek, the straight line of her nose and ran it softly over the bow of her lips. She took it between her teeth and gently bit the tip while they looked deeply into the bottomless depths of each other's eyes, seeing reflected their mutual lust and desire. He brushed his hand down the thick, blond mane of her hair and drew her head down; his lips kissed the fragile shells of her closed lids and whispered over her nose and cheek to her lips, nibbling the smooth fragrant flesh, following the sweep of her hairline to the nape of her neck. Her head bent, his fingers ran lightly down the curve of her spine until they touched her low-cut dress and, as she straightened up, followed the black demarcation around to her breasts which swelled softly over the top of the material. He kissed the hollow of her neck, quietly, almost reverently, while his other hand strayed lightly up her leg, stroking the firm curves until it reached the full softness of her thighs and the barrier of her panties.

"Just a second," she murmured and got up.

She undid her skirt and stepped out of it. Through the transparent silkiness of her slip her legs rose lean and long, the stockings a dusky tan over the tawny skin, molding smoothly and tautly the upward curves, marking the middle of her thighs with a dark line, the flesh above wedged outward. He watched her mutely, his hands clenched together, a bead of perspiration on his upper lip. Reaching behind, she unzipped the top of the dress with its built-in brassiere so that it fell away from her suddenly, revealing in one sweep the full lushness of her torso which rose above her slip like a honey-colored tulip. Her hair tumbled loosely over her shoulders, framing the oval of her face with its blue eyes and red, parted lips and white glistening teeth. A lock strayed down over one breast, its blondness blending with the tanned hue of her skin, its swaying gratefulness accentuating the firm upward piles of her breasts, whose rigid tips glowed dully like the hearts of two blossoms. Like a flower she stood before him, but a flower of a loveliness and color never produced in nature, for below her waist she was all black and above, the rich color of a leopard; her legs, together in a straight line, encased in the dark stockings and tight, black half-slip, looked like the black stem of a flower proudly supporting the blossom of her torso, tinted like a pale, copper nasturtium.

She put her fingers under the elastic of her slip and began to slide it down, wriggling her hips as she did so. Paul leaped out of his chair and ran over to her, saying, "Let me do it."

He knelt before her, his head on a level with her waist, and looked at the fine texture of her skin, the flat planes of her sides which leveled down to the black of the slip; he looked up and saw her breasts, small and firm, jutting outward like two outcroppings of molten rock. But he did not touch her inviting nude flesh. Instead, he carefully put his hands on the smooth, silky material, hooking a finger under the band, and slowly drew it downward, thus by inch uncovering to his gaze the swelling fullness of her hips, round and resilient under the mesh panties, and the obese rise of her pubic mound richly covered with an umbrage of soft golden hair. Her slip lying in a pool around her feet, he drew off her panties with the same quiet, studied care, and unhooked her stockings and garter-belt peeling the hose down one by one between his two hands, feeling the slippery stuff give way to the warm, resilient flesh of her thighs and calves. Finally she stepped out of her shoes, and stood before him completely naked, silent before his adoration, her body quivering in anticipation. She felt like a worshipped pagan Goddess.