Mony tumbled onto the wagon willy-nilly and ended up between Tom's legs. He sat with his back against the sideboard, his legs on either side of her. She tried to give him a little room, but the crush of people pushed her back. Still, she hugged her knees rather than lean against him. In the dark, she could see very little. The straw smelled clean and fresh. Laughter wafted over them as the driver slapped the reins, and the horses began to pull. The wagon jerked, and Mony felt Tom's hands on her sides, steadying her. Although he quickly removed his hands, she was disappointed. His touch felt...sensual.
The wagon rocked side to side. Mony leaned back to gaze at the expanse of stars above her head. She recognized a few--Orion, Scorpio, Gemini--remnants from her university astronomy class. The stars twinkled with intensity in the clear, chilled October air. She thought of Jiminy Cricket and his hit song, but what would she wish for? What did she want? a new car? a vacation to Acapulco? a new man? Her "man" had skipped the hayride and bonfire. Gary opted for a football game with his buddies, leaving Mony the choice of an unescorted hayride or a lonely evening at home. Well, if Gary could run of with his buds, she would have fun without him. Her life didn't revolve around Gary despite what he might think.
Tom leaned forward and planted a quick kiss on her cheek. She half turned, and he laughed. "I couldn't resist," he explained.
Mony was far from displeased. She liked the idea that Tom couldn't resist, that her beauty granted her some unnamed powers over him. She ;smiled coyly and turned back to the others. Someone passed her a bottle of peppermint Schnapps, and she took a drink, feeling the liquor warm her throat. Across the wagon someone began to sing. The wagon bucked through a hole, and Mony deliberately backed into Tom, rubbing her bottom on his jeans.
"Sorry," she giggled and pulled away.
She could almost hear Tom's mine awaken, feel the blood surging through his veins. She wanted to laugh, but she didn't. She hugged her knees and smelled the sweet straw and listened to the clop of the horses, the creak of the wagon. Mony had never been an outrageous flirt, but she felt feisty, neglected. If Gary was away, Mony could splay. Next to her, Marsha gasped, and Larry laughed, and Mony could guess what Larry had touched.
When the wagon bounced again, Tome grabbed her hips and rubbed her on his crotch. She felt the hard lump, and this time he didn't let her pull away. Her tush rubbed and slide across him as the wagon shifted. Not hard, not tight, a sensual slide of denim on denim. Mony felt a glow inside, not just the flush of being desired but the glow of her own need. When Tom leaned forward to kiss the nape of her neck, she relaxed, letting herself melt into his hard chest.
The horses turned left into the pumpkin patch, silvery pumpkins dotting the ground. Someone told a blue joke, and everyone laughed. Mony felt Tom's hand creep beneath her sweatshirt and crawl spiderlike up her side. Mony could have protested but instead she rubbed her bottom across Tom's crotch. The fingers found the underside of her breast and tripped along its curve, tantalizing fingers that cupped her and gently squeezed. Mony reached down and grabbed the thigh on her right. The fingers flitted across her breast, bumping her hardening nipple. She felt a warm, moist tongue dance across her neck.
The pumpkin patch was rougher than the trail, and Mony jounced deliciously against Tom whose breath caught on every hard bounce. Inside, her glow deepened and spread. She liked the touch of his hand, his lips, so she didn't protest when he pulled her blouse out of her jeans and slipped warm fingers against her skin. The fingers flitted across her belly, and she shivered before they trickled to her silky bra, touching and tracing across her breast, seeking and finding her nipple, playing and frolicking on her. His touch was gentle yet provocative, writing desire on her, scribbling passion. With Gary, foreplay consisted of a few wet kisses and some hugs, and Mony had forgotten how erotic heavy petting could be. It seemed to her, familiarity bred consideration out of men. When Tom squeezed her nipple, Mony fought the moan in her throat.
The Schnapps bottle passed a second time, and Mony added fuel to the flame that burned inside. Tom's ministrations fanned the fire, and her breast seemed to drink his touch. She felt him rubbing himself on her, not waiting for the wagon, and his desire delighted her. She squeezed his thighs, reaching back as far as she could, her fingers sensing the heat from his groin. His fingers pulled her bra off her breast, and stroked her bare skin, circling her raised nipple like a puppy worrying a rubber ball. The fire inside Mony brightened and leaped; a smile spread her face. The hay ride was turning into an erotic thrill.
