Ларри Макмертри - The Last Picture Show

In no time there were groups of excited boys standing around, speculating about the look of Jacy's breasts. They even had a hot argument over whether or not blond girls really had blond hair underneath their panties. Some of the younger, illiterate kids thought that all women had black hair in that particular place, but the better-read youths soon convinced them otherwise by reference to the panty-dropping scene in I The Jury , a book the local drugstore could never keep in stock.

The news about Lester and Jacy did not surprise Sonny much. He knew that any time Lester came to Thalia he was likely to end up taking Jacy somewhere, and since he had heard for years that Wichita kids were always having orgies it was only natural that sooner or later Lester would take Jacy to one. The worst thing about it was that it would depress Duane something fierce.

While he was waiting for Duane to get the news, Sonny wandered into the refreshment room. There had been a big table full of plates of cookies, with a huge bowl of punch for the kids and the grown-ups who didn't drink. All the punch was gone and the only cookies left were a few rubbery, inedible brownies. Empty paper cups were strewn all around and a lady in a black dress was bent over picking them up and putting them in a big wastebasket. It was Mrs. Popper. The school teachers' wives always fixed the refreshments for the Christmas dance, but somehow Sonny was surprised to bump into Mrs. Popper just then. Coach Popper never came to dances, and especially not to Saturday night dances. He would not have missed Gunsmoke for all the dances in Texas.

"Hello, Sonny," Mrs. Popper said. "Want to help me pick up these cups, since you're not dancing? I'm tired:" She looked tired, too—at least her face did. She was not wearing any makeup and had apparently just come down to do her part with the refreshments.

"Sure, be glad to," Sonny said, picking up a cup. The punch had been a sweet, grape mixture and the rims of the cups were sticky. Sonny gathered about twenty and went to drop them in the wastebasket.

"I guess you still haven't found a new girl friend, have you?" Mrs. Popper asked quietly. Sonny was very startled. He had forgotten she knew about his old girl friend.

"No ma'am, but I'm looking hard," he said.

"Are you?" Ruth said, even more quietly. "It seems to me that if you were really looking hard you might look at me."

Surprised, Sonny did look at her, and remembered that they had become a little fond of one another the afternoon he had driven her to the hospital. He remembered wishing they had kissed, and when he looked at her mouth he wished it again, a very strange wish to be having in the refreshment room of the Legion Hall, during the Christmas dance. But there was something fresh about Mrs. Popper's mouth, as if what was left of the softness and beauty she was said to have had as a girl still lingered there. Sonny was mute. Suddenly he wanted Mrs. Popper and he didn't have the slightest idea what to do about it. He was simply mute, and his silence filled Ruth with despair. She waited a moment, hoping he would say something; when he didn't she felt something slip out of line inside of her and she turned away, holding the wastebasket full of dirty cups. She was afraid she might cry. Sonny saw the look of sadness come in her face and realized he had to say something if he wanted anything to happen between them.

"I'll help you carry that out to the trash barrel," he said. Then it was Ruth's turn to be muto—mute with relief. They went out the back door together and walked to the group of barrels at the edge of the alley. When they had dumped the cups into one of the barrels, Ruth hesitantly came close to Sonny and then came very close. Her cheek was warm against his throat, and he smelled the thin, clean smell of her perfume. For a minute they were too silent—Sonny looked over her head, beyond the town. Far across the pastures he saw the lights of an oil derrick, brighter than the cold winter stars. Suddenly Mrs. Popper lifted her head and they kissed. Their mouths didn't hit just right at first and she put her fingers gently on each side of his face and guided his mouth to hers. The touch of her cool fingers startled and excited him and he pulled her to him more tightly. Her breath was warm across his cheek. Near the end of the kiss she parted her lips and teeth for a moment and touched him once with her tongue. Then she took her mouth away and for several minutes pressed her lips lightly against his throat.

"You're not as scared as you were the first time I wanted to do this," she said.

It was true: Sonny didn't feel at all scared, though his legs were trembling just a little from excitement. He liked to feel Mrs. Popper's lips moving against his throat. This had been the first time in his life when kissing someone had been as pleasant as he imagined kissing should be. It was never that pleasant with Charlene.

"Maybe we're going to have something, after all," Ruth said. "Will you drive me to the hospital again next week, if I arrange for Herman to ask you?"

"You bet," Sonny said. "The sooner the better, as far as I'm concerned." He bent down to find her mouth and Ruth put her hands on his cheeks again. They kissed slowly and luxuriously. At first the kiss was as soft as the first one had been, but then Ruth discovered that Sonny had awakened and was thrusting at her, not so much with his mouth as with himself, wanting more of her. He kissed so hard her head was pushed back and when she opened her eyes for a moment she was looking straight up, toward the stars. Sonny tried to get even closer to her, pulling her against him with his arm. In years nothing had thrilled her so much or touched her so much as he did, simply by wanting her—the rush of her blood made her almost dizzy. She took his tongue into her mouth and touched it lightly for a second with her tongue and the edges of her teeth. Then she took " her face away quickly, pressing it against his neck again. "I'm going home now," she said. "This is no place to dawdle. Tuesday we'll do this more. I really want to do it more, don't you?"

"You bet," Sonny said, bending to kiss her neck. He didn't want to talk—what he wanted was more of the delicate, delicious sensations her mouth had given him. It seemed to him it might just be best if he said so.

"I want to kiss you one more time before you go home," he said.

"Goodness," Ruth said. "Okay." She lifted her hand and traced the edges of his lips with one finger before she kissed him. Again, when they kissed, he pressed against her with an insistence that thrilled Ruth: it was as if he were trying to find her very center, her deepest place. While they were kissing, a car turned into the other end of the parking lot and the lights arced in their direction. It was simply some teenagers turning around, but it scared them and they broke apart immediately.

"In three days I'll see you," Ruth said, picking up the wastebasket.

Sonny felt it wouldn't do for him to follow her in, so he walked around the building and entered at the front door. When he came in Duane was standing by the coatroom, obviously furious. Leroy Malone and two or three other boys were standing there too.

"I guess you heard the news," Duane said. "My girl's gone swimming naked with Lester Marlow. That's about the damndest thing I ever heard. It's enough to make a man go get drunk."

"I guess Mrs. Farrow forced her into it," Sonny said. "Let's go get drunk," Leroy suggested. "I know where we can steal a couple of bottles of vodka—I saw a man put two in his car just a minute ago."

The suggestion had much appeal, and Sonny immediately seconded it. Getting drunk would be the only way to save Duane from a gloomy night, and besides he felt a good bit like getting drunk himself. Kissing Mrs. Popper had left him excited and confused.