Kent Collins - First Time For Sister

"When I was young," Lucas Allen said, pouring himself a third cup of coffee, "we had to hay all day. Even if we didn't get home till dawn."

"Well, ain't nobody gonna make me hay all day." Hanson shook his head.

"Not on a Friday for sho. You mighta been crazy enough to do it, but not me."

"Wasn't so crazy about it," Mr. Allen said, nodding sharply. "Man said work. We worked."

Hanson finished his toast and gulped down a glass of orange juice.

"Give me them keys. If I sit here listening to you jaw all day I'll never get that stuff from the store."

As he drove towards Dooberville, Hanson let the memories of the night before soothe his booze-aching head. There was even a shiny place on the seat where some of Billie-Ann Wheeler's sweet honey had run down from her cunt and dried. To look at it gave Hanson a terrible pang of desire. But it was easier in the daylight to remember he wasn't living in New York or Boston. It was Missouri and they played the game differently here. It wasn't the first time he'd reminded himself of that, but when it came to innocent young girls his will power disappeared. The truth of the matter, of course, was that fourteenyear-old Billie-Ann had enraptured him to the point of desperation.

Even after sating his appetite with lovely, hot Alicia Shelton, all he could think of was the way Billie looked in her forlorn and raggedy cotton dress.

A dove flew up from the roadside and narrowly missed hitting the front of the truck. Hanson watched it disappear into the trees, and somehow its graceful flight brought another dreamy image of Billie into his head. That lovely little cunt of hers, delicately shaped… all white from being hidden from the sun. And when he'd opened it with his tongue the smell had been a mixture of girlish piss musk and the ambrosia of her sex juices. But she was small in the hole. Hanson was pretty sure she'd never been really fucked yet… at least not by any full-grown man. No cock that was close to normal size could fit into the tight place he'd searched with his tongue-tip.

Thinking of how her loins had tasted and how she'd tossed and struggled made Hanson take another deep breath of restrained passion. "Something gotta give," he said. Ahead the stop sign at the highway came into view and he slowed the truck and pulled up. Hanson knew there wasn't any future for a black man around Dooberville. He made his mind up right then to leave the county in the next day or so… leave Missouri even.

As long as he stayed he knew he'd have to see Billie again, and the longer he messed around with her the more he'd want her. She was far too young to understand how crazy a man could get. Hanson didn't want to be the one to sacrifice his sanity.

When Hanson drove the truck through town on the way to the hardware store, he hardly noticed the sheriff's big white car waiting at an intersection. But three blocks further, the revolving red light reflected in his rear-view mirror and he pulled over to the curb. A beer-bellied deputy swaggered heavily over to Hanson's side of the truck and pushed his big hat back on his head.

"Let's see your license, boy."

Hanson tightened his jaw and fished his wallet out. There would be time later to get pissed off, he told himself. When he was out of this goddamned state. The deputy glanced quickly at the small card and tapped it with the edge of his thumbnail.

"Appears to me this license is for the State of New York."

Hanson was getting mad now and the big man's sunglasses were reflecting the glaring sun right into his eyes.

"I live in New York," he said, keeping his voice easy.

"What you doin' here then?" The deputy smiled and pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose with a thick finger.

"Visiting."

"And this truck's got Missouri plates, too." The man looked at him hard. "You sure you didn't steal it?"

"It's my old man's truck… Lucas Allen. Everybody around here knows him."

"Never heard of him. You better show me some registration."

When Hanson couldn't find the papers tied around the steering column or in the glove compartment he checked behind the visor. There wasn't so much as a chewing gum wrapper anywhere.

"Look, next time I'm in town I'll bring them by your office…

Already the deputy was shaking his head, smiling a smile that Hanson wanted to shove his fist into. "I figure you better drive on down to the office right now so we can check this thing out."

Hanson stared straight ahead, gripping the steering wheel so hard his fingers ached. "Bullshit," he said, just loud enough for the man to hear.

"What you say, boy?" The deputy slipped Hanson's license into his shirt pocket and leaned on the door.

"I said bullshit."

The man jerked open the door and grabbed Hanson's arm. "You'd better come along now or I'll throw a resisting arrest charge on your black ass!"

It all seemed so ridiculous that for a minute Hanson thought if he just laughed that the deputy would laugh, too, and it would all be over.

That was when the other door of the truck flew open and Jed Judson piled in, pushing and shoving Hanson out into the deputy's arms before he could get out by himself.

"Thought you might need some help," Jed said to the lawman, grinning and nodding all the time.

Now Hanson knew who the other man he'd seen in the front seat of the patrol car had been. He tried to meet Jed's eyes, but the awkward fellow looked away and fiddled with one strap of his bib overalls.

There was something about the way things were fitting together that Hanson didn't like at all.

"What about the truck?" he protested as the deputy led him toward the patrol car.

"Don't worry none about that; we'll take good care of it."

On the two-block ride to the Dooberville police station, Hanson stared at the back of Jed Judson's stupid head and thought. He tried to recall the first day he'd given Billie-Ann a ride and remembered then that he'd passed Jed's old pickup stopped by the road that same day. It was later when he'd happened upon Billie walking. Hanson had known the Judson boy when he was younger and it seemed that as a kid he'd always been weird. Had he grown up to be even weirder?

While the deputy helped book him at the station, something else occurred to Hanson. The headlights that had followed him the night before had come into view right after he'd left the pull-off where he'd stopped with Billie-Ann. And Jed had passed them earlier on the same road when they'd been heading for Elsie's.

"Can't I make a phone call?" he asked.

"Phone's out of order," the clerk said, not looking up from his writing. Jed was hanging round just inside the door and when Hanson tried to look at him again, the shallow blue eyes darted away like scared rabbits. Then the deputy was pulling him out of the room and down a hallway lined with cells. Hanson was shown into one and the steel bars clanged shut behind him.

"You lockin' me up over something like this?" Hanson watched the man turn the key. "You gotta at least tell me what I'm charged with and what the bail is set at."

"I don't have to tell you nothin', boy." The deputy took a toothpick from his pocket and stuck it between a gap in his front teeth. "But for now we'll call it driving without registration and a proper license."

Hanson watched his back disappear into the front office; then he sat down on the bottom bunk and rubbed his eyes. If the Judson boy had seen something while Billie was stretched out half-naked on that truck seat … He shook his head solemnly. It was enough to make any southern sheriff's mouth water. And now they had him. If they dragged Billie into it and forced some kind of confession from her, that would be the end.

"Open up, penitentiary," he said to the empty cell, "'cause I'm comin' in." The only way out would be for someone to get his bail before other more serious charges were added. Charges like the carnal knowledge of a minor. A white minor at that. Something the judge wouldn't forget when he read sentence.