by Gwen Masters
(04/25/07)

The chair had two broken rungs. One of them rubbed against Ronnie's back as he rocked in front of the old Overton Store. It was actually Overton and Sons' Tack and Feed, but Overton was really the only name it had ever been called. Ronnie sometimes wondered if the Sons were insulted.

Not many new things happened in an Appalachian town like this one. The same old trucks ran around the same old square and the same old men told the same old jokes. The biggest excitement was whose granddaughter had a new baby and the bull that got loose and ran up on Highway 80. Ronnie had been listening to the stories, including one new story about the Colburn's boy getting drunk and tearing down Father John's fence with that newfangled Camaro his parents had been stupid enough to buy for him. Surely he and Debbie would never do that.

If they ever had kids, that is. Ten years of marriage and nothing yet, and the townspeople were starting to talk. Ronnie sighed and looked down. The face of his watch was cracked but it still kept time. He had fifteen minutes before he had to be at work at his auto shop, half a mile away.

The men hollered the same old things as he walked away. Tell your Momma hello, I'll bring the truck up there for a new tire, you take it easy. The road was paved but the asphalt had worn away on the edges, leaving patterns of gravel and the remnants of blue salt dropped by the snowplows the past winter. Ronnie counted cigarette butts as he walked and cursed himself again for giving up smoking. It would be nice to pass the time.

He didn't often lament his position in life. He grew up here, he had lived to the age of thirty right here in this town, and he would be carried through these streets when God called him up. He had wanted to go to college but things like that cost money, which was one of the many things nobody around here had, so he went into business with his best friend from high school. They might not have college degrees, but they knew cars better than anybody in these hills. They had built up a business that, if it wasn't bringing them riches, at least paid the bills.

A truck from the rock quarry roared past him. Ronnie waved with two fingers and listened to the gears whine as the driver shifted. It would be two weeks before he had his hands on that engine, tops. The transmission was going, and going quick.

Greg was waiting at the shop, the doors already up and old Mr. Robertson's car already on the lift. Greg's shirt had a smudge of oil on the collar but otherwise looked pristine. They prided themselves on a clean and neat shop where everything had its place. Ronnie watched as Greg wielded a wrench under the car. The more pressure he applied, the more stubborn the bolt got. Finally it broke free with a resounding squeal and Greg cursed as his knuckles hit the metal.

"Howdy," Ronnie said, and Greg looked at him with a pained expression.

"Coffee's hot," he said, in way of greeting.

Ronnie found the clipboard: enough work to keep them busy with overtime for weeks. Now that winter was coming on, more and more cars were showing their problems. Cold had a habit of doing that to engines -- and everything else, for that matter.

Ronnie turned to the second bay and gave the 1976 Ford 3500 the once-over. He used to ride in the bed of that truck when he was a child. The old bench seat had no seat belts and the radio was AM only, no dial, only push buttons. It had belonged to his grandfather and then his neighbor and finally landed in the driveway of a distant cousin. It hadn't had a bad run for -- Ronnie leaned in to check the mileage -- 230,000 miles. Today it would have a new fuel pump.

He had just lifted the hood and hung the shop light from the edge of it when he heard the smooth idle of an engine that was definitely not American-made. Greg glanced over at Ronnie and lifted one eyebrow. "That little thing ain't from 'round here," he said.

"Mercedes?" Ronnie guessed.

"I'm thinking something a bit nicer than that," Greg drawled, then went back to his work without glancing back at the bay door.

Ronnie picked up a shop rag and cleaned his hands out of habit. He strolled to the door and stopped at the threshold, staring at a sleek vehicle he had only seen in magazines. The body was short but streamlined into oblivion. The style was understated in such a way that there was no mistaking the power of the engine. He looked for a long moment at the interior and noted with appreciation that it was a six-speed. There was no driver in sight. Ronnie stepped away from the cherry-red rocket and headed for the office.

She turned when he opened the door. Her eyes were wide and green, and her brunette hair hung all the way down her back. She wore designer jeans and a shirt that was far too thin for the weather, but her leather jacket looked warm enough. She couldn't have been more than twenty-five years old. If that. Ronnie thought that she looked just like the car: expensive.

"I'm so glad someone is here," she started, laying her flashy black wallet on the scarred countertop. "I don't know what's wrong with the car. It's losing power. It just started happening back down that hill."

Ronnie nodded and stepped behind the counter. He flipped open a notepad. "I'm Ronnie."

"Good to meet you, Ronnie. I'm Cecelia. People call me Sissy."

Ronnie looked out at the car, trying to lose himself in the beauty of it instead of staring at the beauty in his office. "That's a Porsche."

"A Boxster," she clarified.

Ronnie lifted one eyebrow. This time he looked full at Sissy, and she blushed a perfect shade of pink, but her eyes were perfectly calm. He was straight with her. "Sissy, that's one hell of a chunk of change. To be honest, we don't have much experience with luxury sports cars."

"I don't know that it will make it to the next town," she explained.

Ronnie fired up the computer and pulled up a spec sheet on the Boxster. He glanced out the window to see Greg walking around the car. Greg stayed a safe distance away from it, as if the door might open on its own accord and whack him in the ass. Ronnie chuckled.

Sissy turned and watched Greg peruse the car. She smiled for the first time, and her face lit up when she did it. Ronnie stared at her until she swung back around, and then he quickly averted his eyes. But surely she had seen him looking.

"If it's something basic, we can get you on the road in a little bit. Otherwise you might have to make other arrangements," he said conversationally. "Where you headed?"

"Connecticut."

Ronnie looked up from the computer, surprise written all over his face. "Connecticut?"

"My father's house for the holiday. I'm coming from Atlanta. I'm in college there, at Emory."

Ronnie had never been to Atlanta. He glanced out at the car, then back at the computer screen. Greg had popped the hood and was poking around in the engine. "Greg's looking it over," Ronnie said. "He'll get you fixed right up."

"Me or the car?" she asked, and Ronnie looked at her, not understanding.

"What?"

"Will he fix the car right up, or will he fix me right up?" Her eyes were mischievous and pretty. Damn, she was pretty.

"The car," Ronnie said, not sure where she was going with the comment, but knowing it was probably a place Debbie would understand in an instant. And she would rake him over the coals for it.

"She wouldn't have to know."

Ronnie blinked once and glared at her. "What are you talking about?"

Sissy shrugged. "That guilty look on your face. I've seen it before. You were wondering what your wife would do if she found out you had been thinking about things you shouldn't."

Ronnie blushed scarlet. "How do you know I have a wife?"

"The tan line on your hand, Ronnie. And the way you look at me."

He was curious now. "How do I look at you?"

She grinned at him, a slow grin that seemed more dangerous than mischievous. "Like you want to look, but you're afraid to."

Ronnie was suddenly indignant. He could look if he wanted to, damn her. He could. Debbie wouldn't know, and Greg would keep his mouth shut. Nobody would know.

Nobody would know...

For the first time in his life, Ronnie considered exactly what that could mean.

Sissy watched him. Her eyes seemed a deeper green than they had been when he first looked at her, the smile on her face a clear invitation. Greg opened the door and still Ronnie stared at her, unable to pull his eyes away.

"Not pulling?" Greg asked, looking from one to the other with a questioning expression.

"That's right," Sissy told him, still smiling at Ronnie.

"I think I found the problem. We'll have you on the road in twenty minutes."

Sissy nodded, tilting her head to the side. "Twenty minutes," she agreed. Greg hesitated for a moment and Ronnie felt his eyes crossing between the two of them. Then the door clanged shut behind him.

"Nobody would know," Sissy said. "And it's been a long time. Months."

Ronnie took a deep breath and swallowed hard. "You don't know me."

"That's best, don't you think?"

He shook his head and stood up. She moved around the end of the counter. Ronnie could smell her perfume, something light and airy, nothing like the perfume Debbie had worn for as long as he could remember. Sissy's jacket slid down her arms and then she stood before him in that thin shirt. Ronnie could make out her hard nipples behind the millimeter of fabric.

"Fifteen minutes at the most," she almost whispered. "And it has been months."

Ronnie wanted to touch her. He needed to touch her. She was hypnotizing, with those red lips and those rounded hips, that long hair and those come-hither eyes. Who would ever think that a woman like that would just materialize out of the blue one morning, back here in this mountain country, and offer Ronnie fifteen minutes of what was sure to be heaven?

"Fifteen," she said, almost pleading. Ronnie lifted his hand, reached toward her. Sudden thoughts of Debbie stopped him. What if she found out? His hand dropped to his side and he shook his head slowly.

Sissy's expression shifted to near-rage in an instant. She stepped up to him, pressed her body against his, and ran her long fingernails into his hair. She yanked his lips down to hers. In the instant before she kissed him, Ronnie thought with mild surprise that Debbie had never, ever taken charge of him like Sissy was.

One touch of her lips, and Ronnie's cock went rigid. Sissy didn't waste any time. She ground her hips against him and slid her tongue into his mouth. Her free hand was working on the button of her jeans. Ronnie thrust up against her, one time only, and she groaned into his mouth. He pulled away just long enough to whisper, "In the back. Go."

Sissy turned and very obediently went through the door at the back of the office. There were boxes of auto parts, shelves, a few old tires. Sissy shoved him back against those shelves and knocked down a stack of air filters. The boxes scattered on the concrete floor while Ronnie unbuttoned his overalls. Sissy's hand was immediately inside them, and Ronnie gasped when her cool fingers circled his erection.

She stroked him quickly, looking up into his face. "Can you come in ten minutes?" she asked.

"Oh, fuck. Five?"

Sissy smiled. She reached deep into the pocket of her jeans and pulled out a condom. Ronnie stared at her as she tore it open.

"You carry condoms in your pocket?" he asked incredulously. Sissy eyed him with impatience.

"Didn't you carry condoms when you were single?"

"No," Ronnie said honestly. "I didn't have sex till I got married."

Sissy considered him for a moment, searching his face. "I always have one. I might be a slut," she said, her voice soft and low, "but I'm not stupid."

"I didn't mean --"

"I know."

Ronnie sucked in a breath when she pushed the overalls down. The condom slipped over him and then she was pulling him to her, right onto the floor. The concrete was cold under his knees, even through the denim. She stripped her jeans down one leg while Ronnie lifted her shirt. Her breasts were small and perfect. He touched one and she arched up into his hand.

"Fuck me," she begged, and wrapped her legs around his hips. Ronnie sank deep with one thrust. Sissy dug her nails into his shoulders and bit her lip to muffle a squeal of pleasure. He stroked into her gently at first, delighted by the feeling of a complete stranger's pussy wrapped around his cock. Then Sissy was bucking up into him and gentle wasn't the way to go. Ronnie thrust into her harder, then even harder as she forgot to be quiet. Her moans resounded through the little room.

Ronnie covered her mouth with his broad hand, and that's when she really cut loose. She ground up into him and raked her nails down his back. Ronnie could feel the sharpness of them through his shirt. He looked down at her and thought about the fact that he was fucking a stranger, that he was being unfaithful, that he was wrapped up in legs that were miles long and a pussy that was tighter than anything he had ever imagined. He rammed her hard, and Sissy's eyes widened. She wanted it like that.

Ronnie gave her everything he had. It couldn't have been more than five minutes, but it was a five minutes he knew he would remember for the rest of his life. He also knew Sissy would be sore as hell on her drive up to Connecticut, and Ronnie thought this was good and well. He wanted her to remember him.

He took his hand from her mouth. "Scream for me when you come," he said.

Sissy smiled up at him, that dangerous smile that said he would get exactly what he wanted. "I'll come when I feel that thick cock explode in my cunt."

Ronnie did exactly what she wanted. He came so hard he would feel lightheaded for hours. His last thrust was hard enough to drive Sissy's body across the concrete. He saw the flash of pain in her eyes, then the pain was followed by a completely different expression. She came, just like she said she would, and she hollered like a cat in heat. Ronnie groaned aloud at how tight she was around him, how he could feel every last pulse of her orgasm. I made her do that, he thought with wonder, right before he collapsed beside her on the cold floor.

They lay there for a few moments, catching their breath. Ronnie felt the marks of her nails, dim and fading now, on his back and shoulders. He wondered if Debbie would see them, and what he would say if she did.

"That was incredible," Sissy said. Her voice was dreamy and distant.

"Yes," Ronnie said simply. There wasn't much else left in him.

Sissy rose up on her elbow and looked down at him. She ran a hand through his hair. "Regrets?" Ronnie looked at her and shook his head. She touched his nose as if he were a small child, and grinned down at him. "You are a really good fuck," she told him, and the emphasis on the word fuck made him blush.

He watched while she put her clothes back in order. He rolled off the condom and dropped it in the trashcan, contemplated it for a time, then dropped a handful of papers on top of it. Sissy watched him as he zipped up and tried to make himself presentable. He turned back to her and smiled.

"Your partner out there knows exactly what we did in here," she pointed out, her voice teasing.

"Let's pretend he doesn't."

Sissy laughed, that low wind chime laugh. "I enjoyed you," she said simply.

"I enjoyed you, too," Ronnie said, and he meant it. He wouldn't forget a moment on that concrete floor, not as long as he lived. "Did I hurt you?" he asked suddenly.

Sissy smiled. "Only as much as I wanted you to." She pulled him down for a kiss. This one was slow and deep, tongues dancing, tasting every part of each other they could reach. After a long minute she pulled back, dropped a kiss on his nose, and walked out the door. Ronnie somehow understood he was not to follow.

He listened to her move around in the office. The door chimed. Greg's voice came in with a rush of air, and was cut short when the door closed. A few minutes later came the soft purr of the engine, and Ronnie listened to it as Sissy drove away toward Connecticut. He tracked her progress in his mind. She was at the second stoplight when Greg stepped into the back room, and Ronnie's vision of Sissy evaporated like smoke.

"She gone?" Ronnie asked nonchalantly. Greg nodded, watching him closely. Ronnie spied the boxes of air filters on the floor and knelt to pick them up. He stacked them. Lifted them. Put them on the shelf, all the while avoiding Greg's gaze.

"I'll get that Ford finished within an hour," Ronnie said. "Then I'll work on Patterson's pickup."

"Great," Greg said softly, and walked toward the door. At the threshold he stopped. His eyes met Ronnie's. "Was she good?"

"Best I'll ever have," Ronnie said.

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