The Lake

Maybe dinner hadn’t been such a drag for him, after all, Deana thought. If the nervous, excited looks he gave her were any indication, he was too busy imagining sex in the woods to be bored with the family gathering. She’d had a difficult time, herself, keeping her mind on the festivities. By the time they were clearing off the dishes, she was such a wreck that Mom asked whether she was upset about something.

Well, see, Mom, it’s like this. Allan and I aren’t actually going to a double feature. We thought we’d find a place over by Mt. Tam where we’ll have a little privacy; we’ve only done this kind of thing once before, and we were both a little loaded then, so this will almost be like the first time, and I’m a little tense.

Just a little tense, that’s all.

The clicking sound of Allan’s turn signal brought her back to the present. She realized she was gripping her thighs and trembling. Calm down, she told herself. This is nothing to be scared about.

“It went right on by,” Allan said after making the turn. For a moment, Deana didn’t know what he was talking about. Then she remembered—the car that had been behind them.

“Well,” she said in a shaky voice, “I guess we’re in luck.”

Allan downshifted, the car growling like a determined animal as it started to climb the steep road, headbeams pushing into the darkness. Deana felt herself sink deeper into the bucket seat.

“Wouldn’t a breakdown be fun about now?” Allan asked.

“A laugh riot.”

Maybe this area is a little too secluded, she thought. And too dark—and scary. She found herself thinking about last night. Nightmare on Del Mar, starring, ta-dah…Mr. Hatchet Man. Uhhh…

She turned her eyes to the safe, familiar green glow of the dashboard instruments.

“We should’ve gone to a Holiday Inn,” she muttered.

“I thought you were against motels.”

“Yeah, well, I might be changing my mind.”

“Man, I wish you’d changed your mind half an hour ago. Want me to turn around?”

“No, that’s okay. We’re already here.”

“I don’t mind. A bed. A shower. Heyyy.”

“Maybe some other time.”

“Is that a promise?”

“It’s a thought. We’ll think about it, okay? It still seems kind of…I don’t know…tawdry.”

“Tawdry?”

“Look it up.”

“You’re definitely weird, you know that? It’s all right to fool around in a car or in the woods someplace, but you do the same thing in a motel room and it’s tawdry. Does that make sense?”

“It must,” Deana said, “or why would I feel that way?”

“Because you’re nuts?” Allan suggested.

At the top of a rise, the road leveled out. Ahead was a wide, moonlit clearing—the parking area for the outdoor theater. When they’d been here last month for a production of Othello, the lot had been packed with cars.

Now it was deserted.

“Looks like we’ve got the place to ourselves,” Allan

said.

“I figured we might.”

Allan drove to the far end of the lot. He stopped at its edge near the start of the footpath leading through the trees to the theater. He turned off the engine. “Well, here we are,” he said, sounding a little nervous himself. He killed the headlights. Darkness closed over the car. He took the key from the ignition, pushed the key case into a front pocket of his corduroy pants, and rubbed his hands on his legs. Twisting around, he reached between the seat backs and brought the blanket through the gap.

Outside, the night breeze chilled Deana’s legs and seeped like cool water through her sweater. Shivering, she gritted her teeth. She wrapped her arms across her chest. Allan joined her in front of the car. “Cold?” he asked.

“A little.”

He fluttered open the blanket and draped it over her shoulders like a cape.

“There’s room for two,” she said, holding out one side.

He huddled in close against her, drawing the blanket across his back and slipping an arm around her. They walked slowly toward the path. The blanket felt warm and good. So did his hand stroking her side. They were just a few steps along the path before his hand found its way beneath her sweater. She moaned as it moved over her bare skin. It roamed higher.

“Hmmm?” A surprised, questioning sound.

“Fooled you,” she said.

“You were wearing one at dinner.”

“My last stop in the john before we left. It went in the hamper.”

With a sigh, he reached and caressed her breast.

“God,” he whispered. He drew her around to face him. She lost her end of the blanket, but let it fall as Allan hugged her tightly, both hands now under her sweater and rubbing her back, his mouth open and urgent against hers. Breathless, Deana tugged out his shirttails. She sucked his tongue. She stroked his bare back. His hardness was a stiff bulge against her belly, the feel of it stirring a warm, moist tremor deep inside her.

He eased Deana away and lifted her sweater. Her skin, bare to the night breeze, crawled with goose bumps. Her nipples, already erect, grew so hard they ached, and then his hands were on them. Warm. Enclosing her breasts. Squeezing. The heat in her breasts was almost like pain, and she threw back her head, squirming.