Harry on the Prairie

Chapter 18

                   

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

Howdy to my country sugar blossoms out there. Thanks for readin' and votin' for my lil' story. I really appreciate ya.

And there's a special place in my heart for y'all who comment! If you're not commenting, I gotta ask: why the heck aren't ya? There's no need to be pussyfootin' 'round here. We don't bite none. I promise.

*****

Whisper to me softly, breathe words upon my skin
No one's near and listening, so please don't say goodbye
Just hold me close and love me, press your lips to mine
Mmm, feels so right. Feels so right.

                                -Alabama

*****

HARRY:

Frankie's snickers are muffled behind me as I awkwardly walk over to the tree to grab my shirt. I'm practically limpin' cause it feels like I'm trying to smuggle a piece of firewood in the front of my damn britches. I grab my shirt of the branch and whip around real quick.

Frankie's eyes drop to my crotch and her laughing stops right off. She is just starin' at my . . . area, kinda stunned like. "See what you did, Frankie?"

I dunno if this should be embarrassin' or not, but I find it kind of excitin'. Frankie's fingers fumble to fold the blanket without even lookin' at it cause she's too busy eyein' the bulge in my britches. Feelin' a little ornery, I lazily bring my hand up to the button on my britches.

"You wanna see it?"

*****

FRANKIE:

Harry has been pushing my buttons all night in more ways than one. As if his long and lazy kisses aren't enough, all the attention he's been lavishing on my breasts is causing my river to overflow its banks, plain and simple. A girl can only take so much, and watching his tongue circle one nipple while his fingers pinch the other like he's making pie crust has me in a feverish condition.

Do I want to see it? Does a pig like mud? Yes, I want to see it. I've never seen one before, so I'm right curious. I might even wanna touch it, just to see what the skin feels like, or if it does anything. Where I'm from, I'd been privy to a few improper conversations.

Pictures flash through my mind real quick like, and I know they must be put there by the devil himself, cause these aren't things I could ever imagine on my own. And while they're downright sinful, they still light a spark down there.

As much as I'm chompin' at the bit to see Harry's pecker, for many reasons I tell him no. There's God, for one. He could strike me down quicker than a jackrabbit'll steal your cabbage. Then there's the fact that I like Harry. A lot. I mean, my heart beats double-time when he's nearby. When he looks at me with those big eyes, I can see they're full of affection. He thinks I'm the cat's meow, and I wouldn't be able to live with myself if he ever thought anything less.

I simply tell him to quit misbehavin', which he don't like much, but it'll have to do. We finish gatherin' our things, and before we know it, we're approachin' the cabin where Duke's waitin' on the porch.

I pause by the front door to take a gander at the swing, holdin' the lantern up so I can look at our names carved into the back. I turn to grin at Harry, my heart full. Settin' down the picnic basket and fish bucket, he pulls the blanket off his shoulder and folds it in a way so it fits perfectly across the seat of the swing.