Summer Shorts 2 Read online

  SUMMER SHORTS 2

  Huck Pilgrim

  Copyright 2011 by Huck Pilgrim

  Smashwords Edition

  Second Edition

  Visit us online:

  http://huckpilgrim.wordpress.com

  Contents

  Bench Warrant

  Tricked

  MEN

  More from Pilgrim Press!

  Contact

  Introduction

  Summer Shorts are brief erotic stories from the small town of Carnal, where it’s always burning, no matter what the season. You’ll find some of the same characters from the original Summer Shorts, as well as a few new ones.

  In “Bench Warrant,” Gloria Dean is back. This time the police find Gloria in a compromising position in a public park. When the Canal police play “good cop, bad cop,” you better believe they aren’t looking for a confession. But sweet Gloria doesn’t know this. After she finishes satisfying the kind young officer, she realizes—much to her chagrin—that she may have to ride the nightstick of the surly older cop, too.

  In “Tricked,” Jimmy Manley learns something he didn’t know about hustling gay men from Roger Bones, a high school dropout and ne’er do well. For a small fee—and unbeknownst to poor Jimmy—Roger has offered some gay men from the local mall a taste of young Jimmy’s rod. If Jimmy can hold it together, he will learn some surprising things about hustling gay men, Roger, and maybe even earn a few dollars for himself.

  In “MEN,” Joanie Salinger returns, still angry with Roger Bones, her previous boyfriend, whose infidelity earlier this summer has essentially made her lose her mind. An eighteen year old senior from the local Catholic high school, Joanie’s fury knows no bounds. Hiding out in the Men’s room at a local high school basketball game, Joanie intends to give herself to the first boy through the door. Don Manley—Jimmy Manley’s Dad!—walks in and stands at the urinal.

  Bench Warrant

  Suppose there was a small town. Suppose it held a little park, and suppose this park had a baseball diamond, some bleachers, a stand of pines. Suppose in the daytime children played on the playground equipment, laughed and ran and hid in the sweet smelling pines.

  Now suppose the nighttime.

  Suppose a young woman, suppose she was eighteen. Suppose she took a lover. Suppose that for picking this boy, her parents put her out. Sent her to live with family, an aunt maybe, in some little town that held a small park.

  Suppose this young lady was about to receive a call.

  Suppose the call came from a judge. Or if not a judge, someone who carried the same weight, wielded the same authority. Someone who passed a verdict and you instantly believed their finding. Someone who welcomed you home and made you feel like you belonged.

  Suppose this call could only come from someone who lived in a town like Carnal. Suppose I welcomed you to Carnal.

  Suppose I made you feel like you belonged.

  In a deserted clearing in Carnal Park, a girl lay on a picnic table, the fabric of her light summer dress bunched up and riding high on her waist. Donnell Blackman stood over her, gliding his wet cock between her legs. She cooed a series of indulgent little groans. Felt a cool breeze tickling her bare bottom. Her cotton panties sat discarded, near her face, in exactly the place Donnell had laid them, not long after he’d slipped them from her boyish hips. With her knees almost touching her chest, the girl’s forehead and neck glittered with sweat. All wound up like a cheap tension toy, she loved watching her boyfriend fuck.

  This was Gloria Dean.

  Donnell was twenty-two and had the lanky, muscled body of a sprinter. He narrowed his eyes and gritted his fine white teeth. His powerful chest glistened with sweat. Pulling his wet cock from between her legs, he straightened his back and gazed down on her.

  Gloria knew exactly what he wanted.

  She dutifully raised her head and opened her mouth, her grip tightening on the edges of the thick wooden table. She wanted it, too. Extending her tongue, she waited for his juice. Crickets chirped. She squeezed her thighs together and twisted her trunk, trying to satisfy the deep need that still rumbled between her legs.

  And then Donnell’s long pole erupted, sending his cream arcing through the air.

  She took pleasure in the warm cum her lover splashed across her face. She swallowed quickly and kept her mouth open, extending her tongue like a hungry cat. His briny taste and soft sighs egged her on. She enjoyed the hungry noises he was making. She tried to move her mouth to catch as much as she could, but she couldn’t get it all. He was missing her mouth, spraying her cheeks and forehead. She giggled with delight. Felt the warm dollops of semen land in her hair, the front of her dress, and her bare shoulders and chest. Finally, Donnell’s deep moans gave way to satisfied sighs, and he stopped stroking himself.

  In the next instant, Gloria found herself bathed in a harsh, unforgiving light.

  The dark park suddenly changed from night into day. She stared at a wet spot on the front of her dress, trying to understand what just happened to the cool night air around her.

  A voice shouted: “Police!”

  She cocked her head and squinted, holding her arm out and shielding her eyes with her hand. Donnell hiked his shorts to his waist, stuffed his cock into his pants, and broke into a run. Gloria sat up, quickly swinging her legs off the table and pushing her dress into her lap. She briefly considered following Donnell, but she wasn’t sure which way he had gone. Wasn’t sure where her flip flops or purse were.

  That bright light disoriented her.

  Instead of running, she squeezed her eyes shut, turned her head, and let out a low rolling whimper. Someone raced past her. She heard the slap of fast moving feet, the jangle of a utility belt filled with all manner of equipment.

  The light continued to shine in her face.

  She looked to see if she could spot Donnell or the person chasing after him, but the bright light ruined her night vision and she saw only the inky blackness of night. Turning back to the light, she stood up. She did this as much to allow her dress to fall back over her hips and cover her bare bottom as to confront the person shining the light in her eyes.

  “Don’t move,” a voice commanded. This was Officer Jones.

  Gloria stood still. Her blood thumped in her ears. She squinted, raised her arm, and tried to look past her hand to visualize the man holding the light on her. “Who are you?” she said. “We weren’t doing anything.”

  “Lower your hand,” Officer Jones said.

  Gloria lowered her hand. She licked her lips and tasted Donnell’s salty cum. With a gasp, she realized her face and hair were still covered with his semen. She raised her hand to wipe her face, to clean herself up.

  “Lower your hand,” Officer Jones shouted. “Lower your hand!”

  His tone was demanding and urgent and Gloria froze. He instructed her to turn and put her hands behind her back. She sighed noisily and slumped her shoulders in the way that eighteen year olds often do. He repeated the command in the same no-nonsense voice. Gloria turned and put her hands behind her, slowly shaking her head.

  “Oh, come on,” she said. “This is so stupid.”

  In a few quick steps, he was behind her, slipping her wrists into handcuffs. As she felt the cold metal on her skin, she wanted to cry.

  “Sit,” Officer Jones commanded. He nodded to the picnic table bench.

  He shined the light back on her face and she winced as she sat. Gloria tried to duck her head, to hide the sticky mess that was on her face and in her hair. But the officer took her chin in his hand and tilted her head up. Shining the light in her eyes, he tilted her face first to one side, and then the other.

  Gloria closed her eyes. She could feel her face heating up, her mouth go dry. Licking her lips,
she tasted more of Donnell’s cum.

  She thought she might really begin to sob, but then something happened—something snapped inside of her. She was tired of being pushed around. Pushed around by her parents. Pushed around by her high school counselors and teachers. Even by the pastor at her church. But mostly she was tired of being pushed around by her own needs. Everyone was trying to keep her from Donnell. Everyone thought they knew what she needed better than she. Everyone was judging her, finding her lacking.

  Gloria opened her eyes, flared her nostrils.

  She raised her chin from the officer’s fingertips and shook the long dark hair from her face. She raised her thick brows and her chocolate eyes glittered. If this cop wanted to see the semen Donnell had deposited all over her face, she would show him. Squaring her shoulders, she pursed her lips and proudly presented her wet face. A cool breeze swept through the isolated picnic area, making her damp cheeks and chest tingle. She opened her mouth and touched the tip of her tongue to her upper lip. She turned her face first to the left, then to the right. She grinned and showed her teeth. Looking right back toward his face, she coyly tilted her head. If he hadn’t been shining that light in her eyes, she would have met his gaze.

  The officer snorted. He wiped his hand on his pant leg and then shined the light on the table top where her panties lay in a bunch. He chuckled and then shut the light off.

  The crickets chipped and no one said anything for a short while.

  “You’re the Dean girl, right?” he said. He wasn’t really asking a question. “I know your mom.”

  Gloria shifted uncomfortably on the bench. Her mother had grown up in Carnal, then moved to Cherry and married Gloria’s father. Until this summer, Gloria had lived in Cherry her entire life.

  “I know Louise, too,” he said. “She’ll be disappointed—”

  Gloria swallowed hard. Instantly regretting flaunting her face.

  Her eyes were adjusting to the dark. She could see Officer Jones was a middle aged man. Fit. A deep cleft in his chin. Seeing the particulars of his face somehow intensified her shame.

  “—but not surprised,” he said.

  He moved toward the table and lifted her panties with a crooked pinkie finger. “You’re just like your mom,” he said. “Apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”

  Gloria gasped.

  Another adult finding her lacking wasn’t surprising, but an attack on her mother from a small town cop was outrageous.

  “Fuck you,” she said. She meant it.

  She felt certain the police in Cherry would never have spoken to her the way this officer had. He chuckled and let her panties fall back to the table.

  His radio crackled, and he began chatting into the microphone on his shoulder. Soon the other cop appeared holding his cap in his hand and breathing hard. A young man, Officer Flynn had short blonde hair and the slender body of an athlete. He bent over, hands on his knees, and he struggled to catch his breath. His partner chided him for his inability to catch Donnell. The two bantered back and forth good-naturedly, as if they had known one another for a long time.

  Gloria never felt more alone in her life.

  “I’m still fast,” Officer Flynn said, standing erect.

  Gloria watched him put his fists on his hips and look toward her. She shivered. She tried to hold herself, to give herself some small comfort, but because the restraints still held her hands, leaning forward was the best she could do.

  “She try to run?” Officer Flynn asked.

  “No,” the older cop said. When he didn’t add anything else, Officer Flynn looked at him.

  Gloria felt her blood rising but she couldn’t say why.

  “The face,” Officer Jones said. “Lookit the face.”

  “Oh.” Gloria startled.

  Deep down inside she knew Officer Jones would say exactly this—or something quite like it. A warm pulse of excitement rose up between her legs, but it barely registered against her mounting temper.

  “Fuck you,” she spat. “You fucking fucker, fuck you.”

  The older cop’s whole face broke into a grin.

  Officer Flynn smiled sheepishly and shook his head.

  “Let me clean my face,” Gloria said. The menace in her voice surprised even her.

  The older cop spoke quietly to the younger one, the radios on their shoulders cutting the silence of the night. The young cop’s body language seemed to indicate something—anxiety? Exasperation? Condemnation?

  Gloria felt her heart thudding in her chest like a big bass drum.

  Officer Jones held out his hand for silence, took a few steps away from the picnic table, and spoke into his shoulder microphone. As he waited for a reply from dispatch, he asked his partner: “Put her in the car?”

  It was an odd question to ask, especially considering she was already handcuffed.

  The young cop simply raised his chin and put his foot on the bench opposite Gloria. His partner resumed talking to headquarters and then sauntered off into the park, his flashlight swinging back and forth on the ground in front of him.

  Officer Flynn clicked off his radio.

  He rubbed the back of his neck and then looked at his gleaming black boot for a bit. From the light of the moon, Gloria could just make out his strong chin, the tattoos on his thick muscular arms, his clean shaven face.

  He looked at her and smiled sympathetically. He shook his head.

  Gloria felt the last of the anger drain from her shoulders. She suddenly felt like she might cry, but she didn’t want that.

  “Let me clean my face,” she said.

  The words came out so softly, it surprised even her.

  He was looking right at her and she was grateful for the dark. She felt ashamed that her face was covered in semen. Grateful that he hadn’t used his flashlight. She could only wonder what she must look like. Imagine what he must be thinking.

  “Please,” she spoke again, even softer than before, and that’s when she felt it: an unmistakable swelling in her labia. This time, she couldn’t ignore it.

  Gloria lowered her face.

  Squeezing her thighs together, she drew in a small breath. Far more humiliating than being forced to sit here with Donnell’s cum drying on her cheeks was her own arousal. It was difficult for her to admit, but begging this man for permission to clean her face was having an effect on her. She didn’t want him to see her pleasure.

  “Promise me you won’t run?” the young cop asked.

  “If you’re a sprinter,” Gloria said, “you’ll just catch me.”

  “That’s right,” he said, an easy grin lighting up his face.

  Taking some keys from his belt, he motioned for Gloria to stand. She got up and turned her back to him, presenting her hands.

  “Your boyfriend,” he said, “is a bad character. Very bad.”

  Officer Flynn freed her hands and she rubbed her wrists. He was tall. Gloria noticed that he kept his body close to her even after he got the handcuffs attached to his utility belt.

  “Not bad to me,” she said over her shoulder.

  Gloria spoke automatically to defend Donnell, as she always did. This wasn’t the first time someone had suggested that he was no good. She was coming to realize that the things people were saying about him might be true. He could be selfish. This was the second time this summer he had abandoned her after they were caught having sex. The last time Gloria had been babysitting for Joe Murphy, who had come home sooner than she’d expected and then discovered her in the garage.

  But if Donnell was a bad character, Gloria knew she was far worse. On the drive home to her Aunt Louise’s house that night, Joe had slipped her one hundred dollars. Told her she’d earned it. That she deserved it, although she couldn’t imagine why. The next day Gloria proudly told Donnell about receiving the money, and he grew furious. Berated her. Said sitters didn’t earn such generous fees, and Gloria’s cheeks had burned with shame. For in that moment, she understood that Donnell was right. After she’d taken th
e money from Joe, he began speaking to her in such a deliciously dirty manner, even putting his hand down her pants and under her shirt. And Gloria had let him. Even encouraged him. With much shame, she recalled folding her hand over his and guiding it to where she needed it most: right between her legs.

  And Gloria had liked it. All of it. Every last delicious moment of it.

  She liked getting fondled in the car, just like she enjoyed begging for her freedom tonight, or proudly showing off her sticky face. She even liked the idea that Donnell suspected she’d done something dirty, even if he didn’t know exactly what. Gloria liked all the filthy little things she knew she shouldn’t. She knew she was a tramp. A hopeless little tart. It was the reason her parents had thrown her out of the house, the reason she was living here in Carnal. Her only real hope, she felt, was to hang onto her boyfriend, pray she could do a little better.

  Clean up her act.

  “You could do better,” the young officer said.

  “Better,” Gloria repeated automatically. “Yes,” she said. “Yes, I can.”

  They had only been standing in the dark park for seconds, but it felt as if whole days had passed. Gloria shook herself from her thoughts and glanced toward him.

  He was smiling down at her. “You’re a good-looking girl,” he said.

  He used his finger to move a lock of hair hanging in her eyes.

  Gloria felt something flutter in her tummy. If Donnell was a bad character, Officer Flynn was a good guy. Remembering her face, she quickly turned away and looked for something with which to clean herself. Finding nothing obvious to dab at her face, she began using her hands. Fortunately most of what was on her cheeks and chin had already dried. She found a wet glob on her neck and another in her hair. These she removed with her hands and then wiped her sticky fingers on her dress.

  “Wait, wait—” the young cop said.

  He patted his uniform pockets. Finding nothing, he quickly scanned the table and found something, a small piece of fabric laying in a wad. He grabbed it. Holding it in front of his face, he shook it out. He had to look at it for a minute to figure out what it was.