It was a summer in Tennessee when a gallon of gas cost considerably less than a dollar. Fear and death in Vietnam were realities, but many of us knew too little about it. The Mets were going to win the pennant, but many of us didn’t see that coming either. Me, I had just graduated from high school and was killing time until my induction ceremony for the Army.

Texaco would never have hired me that summer, but Junior did, and that was all that really mattered since Junior owned the gas station, not Texaco. Yes, Texaco’s name might have been on the sign out front but Junior definitely owned the place. To make that point clear, Junior held court from his stool behind the cash register six days a week for over twelve hours a day. (Junior never opened on Sunday.) It was kids like me who pumped the leaded gas, checked the over-used oil, filled the worn tires with air, and washed the mashed bugs off grimy windshields.

Texaco would not have allowed my cut-off jeans, tank top, and sandals as a uniform for servicing cars. But Junior didn’t give a shit. He was just happy to have company, even if we mostly just sat in silence, me reading the sports page, him counting receipts. Nevertheless, Junior did have his own diversions for his workday, one of which was my lunchtime visitor. Mary Anna always came by at least once during the day whenever I worked at Junior’s. She brought my lunch. Junior did truly love to see Mary Anna.

And Junior hated, seriously hated, Mary Anna’s father. The rich bastard, he called him. The rich bastard who had opened an automated car wash up the street and offered self-service gas pumps. “Who wants to pump their own gas?” Junior would ask no one in particular before spitting a chaw of tobacco on the floor.

“She coming today?” Junior would ask me suddenly as I read day-old box scores. “Yeah, I think so,” I’d tell him without looking up, knowing all along that she was coming on my lunch break. He’d just grin and look back to his stack of receipts. “She has a mighty fine ass, she does,” he’d say. I never responded. “But her titties need to get a little bigger,” he’d add. I never responded then either. “Fine looking young girl,” he’d mutter into his Coke as he took a swig.

When lunch came and Mary Anna drove up in her convertible Merc Cougar, you’d almost think she had come to see Junior by the way he acted. He’d perk up and smile, watching her ease herself out of the car and head for the front of the station. “Damn,” he’d say, “Look at her, those jeans are so tight they must hurt that tender pussy.” Mary Anna knew he was watching, and she wiggled a little extra for him as she strolled to the door. She would smile and wave at both of us. Junior would giggle a lonely old man’s giggle and say something like, oh shit.

Mary Anna always brought me something from McDonald’s since she never cooked. I never ate it, so it never mattered. We would always just grab a few Cokes from Junior’s cooler and headed back to his office for a little time alone during my lunch break.

There was one particular time, one particular visit for lunch, a visit that sticks out in my mind even today. Mary Anna wore her cheerleading shorts, the ones that usually stuck deep between her ass cheeks if she didn’t tug them out occasionally. She wore those shorts with the halter-top she’d out-grown two summers before. Junior almost wet his pants watching her walk inside carrying the McDonald’s bag.

“Hi, Baby,” she smiled as she kissed me. “Hi, Junior,” she added with a wiggle of her hips.

Junior just waved a response although his smile did betray most of his aged lust.

“I don’t have much time,” she added quickly, “Can you eat in the office again today?”

I looked at Junior but he was already nodding his approval.

We walked from the front of the station holding hands, heading for Junior’s office behind the rack of new tires. We stepped inside and I closed the door only moments before Mary Anna was in my arms, sucking on my lips, cruising my mouth with her tongue.

“I want you to fuck me,” she murmured in a whisper.

I never responded to her when she told me that, mainly because the answer was so obvious by the straining zipper on the front of my shorts.

She broke the kissing embrace and stepped back to begin tossing what little clothes she wore toward the coat rack behind the door. I did the same, tossing clothes wherever they might land. She finished first and settled into Junior’s office chair. She waited for me to see her before she slowly raised her legs and let each thigh rest on the arms of the chair.

“I shaved my pussy for you, Baby,” she smiled, “Like it?”

I only nodded as I stepped closer, holding my cock, stroking it slowly, letting the drop of pre-cum on its tip spread over the red, throbbing head.

“You gonna fuck me?” she asked, knowing but loving to ask anyway.

I let my cock answer. I let the tip spread her pussy lips, let the head ease inside her, let the shaft stay outside her as she adjusted to the feel of me inside her. Her moan told me it was good and that she was ready, so I slid the length of me inside her.

“Oh, shit, fuck me,” she growled.

So I did. No pretense, no hesitation, no pomp and circumstance, just fucking, raw fucking like two eighteen-year-old kids tend to do.

She came, I came, we both came, making and leaving a large wet spot on Junior’s chair. She used my tank top to wipe up the wetness between her legs before she slipped on her shorts, those shorts that should have been considered a modified thong.

“Tonight,” she cooed as she kissed me, “After you get off work?”

I nodded and kissed her back before we left the office and headed to the front of the station.

Junior wasn’t there when she left. I manned the station alone, reading the same box scores over again, waiting for the next pump job to drive up and honk. When he came back, he appeared flushed, a bit shaken, but he took his usual spot on his stool.

“Her titties are getting bigger, I think,” he said as he sat down.

“You still using that peephole?” I asked without looking up.

“Your ass would have been fired a long time ago if I wasn’t,” he answered.

We worked the rest of the day in silence and he paid me in cash before I left. I walked the block to the Dairy Dip where Mary Anna was parked.

She smiled as I opened the door and eased into the seat.

“Did he watch again today?” she smiled.

I nodded before she started the car and drove us toward the drive-in.

She was an interesting woman, even then.

© 2001 J.D. Coltrane. All right reserved.