Kent Collins - First Time For Sister

Forcing himself up out of the muddy bottom, Hanson lurched toward the trees, where he'd draped his clothes, swearing silently. "You is a jive-ass peeping fuckah!" he hollered into the silent woods, then threw back his head and laughed. It made him feel right and good to talk the way he'd talked all his life, even though he could conjure up perfect East Coast English whenever he wished… English as good as Pamela Whittier's any day. Fuck Pamela Whittier and her high-tone friends and her fucking high-class apartment and the way she giggled when she called him the "noble savage." That's what had finally gotten to him.

Pamela had started asking his closest friends over when he was there and then suggesting games in the bedroom… introducing every rich young jet-setter she knew to the wonders of being fucked by a… nigger. Hanson gritted his teeth and spat into the water as he pulled his shirt on. No, she'd never said the word, but that's the way it was.

Whenever he had wanted to discuss a book with her or go to a play, Pamela had thought it quaint. She preferred her own kind of evening's entertainment. Hanson picked his jeans off the tree where he'd hung them and struggled his wet legs in. Somehow rehashing the whole thing had made him feel a little better. At least he'd had strength enough not to let Pamela's image suck him into jacking his meat. The idea of spraying the pond with his hot, stringy seed for some reason caused him to laugh again; then he started up the path toward his parents' house.

"I ain't ever gonna think of Pamela Whittier again," he swore to the trees around him. "Ever."

Lucas Allen was sitting on the front porch of his house when he caught sight of his son coming out of the woods. Hanson crossed the stone walk he'd help lay himself ten years before and smiled up at his old man.

"Where's you been, Hanson?" Lucas asked. "It's almost eleven o'clock."

"I been in the woods screwing a pretty white girl." Hanson sat down in a chair and put his feet on the porch rail. "But I decided I didn't want to mess with her no more."

The old man's eyes widened at this; then he narrowed them at his son.

"Will you just listen to that big-city talk!" He pulled a crooked cigar from his shirt pocket and slapped his thigh. "My-oh-my!"

Hanson grinned back. "It might be big-city talk, but I swear to God them white girls like it back there." He leaned toward his father and whispered the next words wickedly. "They just love that black cock."

Lucas Allen had his cigar going now and snapped the top of his lighter shut. "Way to stay out of trouble is to stay away from white girls.

They's trouble from the tip of their pink little tits to the ends of their soft little toes."

Hanson smiled mightily at his father. "Sound like you's talking from experience, old man."

Lucas blew gray smoke across the still air of the porch. "Maybe. Maybe not. What I know, I know."

Hanson shook his head and sucked a tooth. "Man, you is about as bad as some of them college professors. Cain't get the motherfuckers to say nothin' for sure." He chuckled and spat. "They just tell ya that this depends on that and this over here might account for that thing over there, but only if it all works together under certain circumstances …" Hanson was off and laughing again.

"Well, boy, that's what you went to school for. To learn to talk people around until they's crooked from listening." Lucas Allen smiled and nodded, happy with the point he'd gotten across. "I figure that's the only way you can make a living nowadays less'n you farm." Lucas looked sideways at his son. "But you never took kindly to farming, Hanson, no need to tell you that."

For a while Hanson sat back and let the quiet settle between them. It was nice jawing with his old man again. During the time he'd been East it had been one of the things he'd missed. Finally Lucas leaned forward and winked at his son.

"Tell me the truth now, Hanson. You wasn't really fucking a little white girl down in them woods, was ya?"

Hanson fell back on the porch laughing till the tears came to his eyes.

Finally he was able to look at his father with a straight face. "How 'bout lettin' me take the truck into town? I ain't even had time to see how it's changed since I been back."

"Sure, son, sure," Lucas said, handing the keys across. "Jest don't forget this ain't New Yawk."

Hanson started out to where the shiny old pickup was parked. "That's one thing you don't have to remind me of," he said. "But I'll sure keep it in mind."

The truck started immediately and Hanson headed it out of the drive and down the road. He marveled at how his father had time to keep something so old in such good shape. The old Ford hardly even rattled and the engine was smooth and quick to respond. But it was his father's nature … everything orderly and productive and quietly efficient. Hanson knew that that was the only reason he'd been able to go back East to school.

A roadside weed slapped at the side mirror and Hanson edged the truck back into the middle of the road. He didn't want to stay around Dooberville, but he didn't want to go back East, either. He'd applied for a teaching job in Colorado, but even if it came through, he wasn't sure he wanted that.

"Don't want to do nothin' but mess around," he said aloud, "and maybe see the country."

When he got to the fork, Hanson had to pull around another pickup, and out of the corner of his eye he noticed that a small white girl was just getting in the passenger side. But he was too caught up in his own thoughts to take much notice. He got onto the road to town and let the old Ford out a little, trying not to let Pamela Whittier's face slip into his daydreams.

"What nigger is that?" Jed Judson asked, squinting his eyes at the shiny red pickup disappearing ahead of them up the dusty road. "Looked to be Lucas Allen's truck, but it shore warn't him drivin'"

Billie-Ann tried to keep her voice relaxed and casual-sounding.

"Probably it's Hanson. That's the Allen boy." As she said it, she thought how funny it was to call Hanson a boy. Standing in that pond he hadn't looked like any boy she'd ever seen.

Jed spat out the window and got the truck into first gear. "Shit, that's that uppity kid they sent to college a long time ago, ain't it?"

Billie nodded, remembering how scared she'd been alone by the edge of that pond-especially when Hanson's cock had started growing right before her eyes. That's when she'd thought he was going to find her for sure… and drag her under the nearest bush. That's when she'd run and never stopped till she was halfway to the fork.

"How come you know so much about him anyway?" Jed nagged, shifting into second.

"Chrissake, Jed," she said sharply, "you asked me who he was, didn't ya?" If there was one person Billie-Ann wasn't afraid of it was Jed Judson. Him, always dressed in bib overalls and wearing that silly straw hat. Jed was as big as a bull and about as strong but there was something weak and easy about him too. Young as Billie was, Jed had never been able to get her goat and she enjoyed reminding him of that fact.

"You don't have to go gettin' sassy," he snarled. The truck rattled and lurched over a rough spot in the road.

Billie-Ann let him cool down awhile, then turned toward him with the pouty smile she'd practiced just that morning in the mirror. "Got any new books, Jed?"

"There's a good one in the glove compartment," he said, grinning, happy that he owned something Billie wanted.

Billie dug the book out and saw that it was a science-fiction novel.

That was fine with her, especially if it had some sexy parts in it, and most of them did these days.

"You through reading it?" she asked.

Jed nodded. "Sho, it's all yours."

Billie riffled the pages of the book, and a packet of photographs held with a rubber band fell out in her lap. Jed Judson chuckled like a moron and licked his lips.