It was pretty warm that morning in August, but Dorry thought it would be okay for her to walk across town to meet Susie for lunch. Susie was three years older than Dorry, but was one of Dorry’s best friends. She worked for her father in the summer, taking orders for the signs they supplied to local businesses. Her father’s shop was on the far west side of town, and Dorry’s house was in a neighborhood of ranch style houses on the east side. It was about 3 miles across town, but Dorry had walked it before.
Dorry pulled up a pair of hip-hugger, bell-bottom jeans over her bikini panties. She fed a wide black leather belt through the loops of the pants and buckled the large brass buckle. Then she put on her favorite bra and a blue mid-riff knit top that showed her flat stomach to advantage. She looked down at her belly-button, glad that it was not an “outy” and was nice enough to show above the belted jeans. She sat down and slipped her feet into the leather sandals that lay by the side of her bed.
She went over to the mirror and carefully applied makeup to her eyes, outlining them in dark liner, applying blue eye shadow to the lids and then black mascara to the lashes. She applied dark pink lipstick to her lips and rubbed her lips together to distribute the lip color evenly before she dabbed her lips with a tissue to remove any excess color.
She took her brush and brushed her long, brown hair. It fell softly in waves down her back and over her shoulders onto her chest just above her breasts. She swung her head and watched her hair float around her head and land softly on her back and chest.
Dorry put down the brush and picked up three dollar bills from her dresser. She folded them in half and slid them into the front pocket of her jeans. She walked out to the living room, went out the front door, and shut the door behind her. She didn’t lock it even though no one was home. Her family never locked the door; she and her sister didn’t even have keys.
She cut through the neighbors’ yards to get to the alley that ran behind the Shields’ big three story brick house. Eddie lived there; he was her age but they weren’t really friends, just knew each other from grade school.
Dorry followed the driveway to the highway that ran in front of the house. Highway 67 ran through the town east to west; it was called Broadway in town.
Dorry crossed the highway and leisurely strolled along Broadway, singing songs in her mind, making good time. However, by the time she reached 18th Street, she was feeling pretty warm. “I sure wish I had my own car,” she thought as she wiped the sweat from her brow with the side of her hand.
She noticed a car slowing down just a head of her. The driver pulled the car over to the side of the road and stopped. The window went down on the passenger side, an automatic window, and a man dressed in a white shirt and tie leaned over and spoke to her.
“Which way do I go to get to the airport?” he asked.
Dorry pointed straight ahead, “That way, it’s on the west side of town.”
“Thanks sweetheart. I thought I’d made a mistake.” As he looked her over, he noticed the beads of perspiration on her forehead. He smiled at her and said “It’s pretty hot today. Can I give you a lift? My car is air conditioned.”
Dorry felt the cool air blowing out the window of the car. She thought, “Why not?” and said “Sure.”
The man unlatched the door and pushed it open; as she got in, he gathered the papers that were strewn across the seat into a pile and moved them to the back seat of the car. The back seat was littered with more papers. A brief case lay open on the seat, and a box of tissues lay on top of the papers in the briefcase. His suit jacket hung across the back window on the driver’s side.
Dorry got in and pulled the car door towards her. She could hear the latch click as the heavy door closed. He rolled the window up with a button on his side of the car. It was a nice car; the leather seats felt very comfortable and cool on her skin when she sat down. The cool air blowing from the dash felt good, blowing across her, drying the perspiration.
“I’m going to the airport to pick up a business associate. I just drove down from Flora to pick him up at the Brownsburg Airport,” he explained.
“I see,” Dorry replied, while looking around the car.
“Where are you headed?” he asked.
“I’m meeting my friend for lunch. She works for her dad on the other side of town. You can let me out at Chestnut Street”
The man looked at her body up and down, from her sandal covered feet, up her long legs to the exposed midriff, to her tight blue top, to her shy smile, to her brown eyes, to her long brown hair; he smiled as his gaze met her eyes. He pulled back onto the highway and drove slowly into the downtown area. He looked at her frequently as he drove.
After a minute or two of silence, he said matter-of-factly, “There’s a game I like to play; I’ll bet you that I can guess your bra size.”
Dorry was startled; she didn’t know what to say in response. She looked at him as he sized her up with his eyes, then she looked out the front window again, embarrassed. She thought he would look at her and then say a bra size, like 34A or 32B.
“Okay,” she said quietly.
While stopped at a traffic light, he leaned towards her. He put his arm around her and held her by her breast on the right side of her body. He pulled her a little closer to him, but not all the way over to his side of the seat. She didn’t know what to do. He kept holding her breast and squeezing it. She felt that tingling feeling between her legs. His hand moved down to her midriff, feeling her smooth stomach muscles and his fingers slid under the belt a little, then they moved back across her midriff and slid under the knit top. He squeezed her breast through the bra, under the shirt.
