Hammer To Fall/Chapter 9

When I heard Wayne’s voice, I had curled up, tightly, into the fetal position, hiding my face, feeling a sense of dread, guilt, and, doom. And, I feared Tim’s anger. I felt as if I had manipulated Tim…as if he’d tried to stay away from me, and, I’d manipulated my way into his life, manipulated him into doing something that went against his own, personal set of rules. I felt as if he had every right to be angry with me, every reason to send me packing.
I heard Tim sigh, heard the shade rustle back into place. He turned back toward me, and, took me into his arms, prying my hands away from my face to look at me, very closely. “Now, don’t be freakin’ all out on me,’ he said, quietly. I said, in a tiny voice, “Are you mad at me?”, squeezing my eyes shut tightly, fearing him, fearing Wayne, fearing the night…full of fear.
He took my small hand, and, placed it on his chest, “You feel that?” he asked softly. “My heart is still thumpin’ away, and, my legs are all mushy. How can I be mad at a little girl in her birthday suit who makes me feel like that?” I said, cynically, “I think the thumping heart and mushy legs are more a result of the Wrath of Wayne(as we had come to affectionately refer to the eventual showdown between Tim and Wayne over…me.), than the skinny kid in the birthday suit.” He chuckled. “Naw, that’ll happen tomorrow morning, after I take you home. I might even cry. Hell, I almost crapped my pants when I looked out and saw Wayne lookin’ up at me. That would have been embarrassing.”
He held me for a few moments, his hands cupping my breasts, but, doing no more than that. I could feel his mouth against my shoulder, and, wished that the moment would never end, wished that there was no such thing as reality.
He then jumped up and patted my bottom. “Get dressed, darlin’,” he said abruptly, reaching for his jeans. He pulled them on hurriedly, and, threw on a shirt, which he left unbuttoned.. I realized, then, that I could hear voices in the living room. Wayne? Oh, God. Tim was rifling through his drawer, and, turned to toss me a striped rugby shirt. I asked, “Who is here?” “I think it’s your boys, “Tim replied. “My Boys,” was how Tim referred to two of his loyal followers, Doug and Tom. Doug was the son of our family vet, who was also the track vet, and, my other boss. Tom had been Doug’s sidekick since grade school. I knew both of them far better than I knew this cowboy(they were both in my class at school), and, I was actually pleased that they were there. It helped to distract both of us, I think, from the inevitable falling hammer that was to strike us come morning. Tim said softly, “I’m gonna go out and talk to them before they come back here lookin’ for me. You want me to tell ‘em they gotta leave?”

I hesitated. As excited and, pleased I was that they were there, it had occurred to me that I was with Tim, in his bedroom, and, that when I walked out to greet them, they would know immediately what Tim and I had been doing. It seemed far too intimate a situation: Me, alone in the tiny trailer with three men, one whom had been, only moments before, doing the most extraordinarily intimate things to my body. I looked at Tim, confused, and, had no idea how to answer him. Instead, I asked him, “Do you mind them being here?”
“Naw...I don't mind them comin' over,” he was heading for the door, “I’ll be right back, kiddo. I’m afraid they’ll come back here looking for me.” With that, he was out the door. I could hear the three of them talking, and, I think my entire body was suddenly red with embarrassment. I needed to get to the bathroom, however, I feared them seeing me cross the hall. I pulled on my cutoffs, and, Tim’s soft shirt, which was pleasingly thick and warm.
Tim returned a few moments later, looking me over as he entered the room. I was standing, uncertainly, feeling very vulnerable. I stared down at my bare feet, with their pink polished nails, unsure of myself, and, of the situation. Tim lifted up the shirt I was wearing, which hung down to the middle of my thighs, “You look like you ain’t wearing no drawers!” he commented with a laugh, then, pulled me close, smashing my face into his chest. “Don’t be embarrassed, Shell. They ain’t gonna think poorly of you. They think you are some kind of prize, and, are impressed that I managed to git you to go out with me. In fact, I'm feeling pretty proud of myself right now. I about wish they'd a come about a half hour ago. If we do that a few more times, we might just qualify for the World(The Quarter Horse World Show was like the Olympics, for Quarter Horse people. One had to accrue a certain amount of points, during the year, to qualify to show at the event, which was held once a year),” he said, pulling back to grin down at my face. I replied without hesitation, “How would we know if the judge is pointing at us, though? We'd have to look at the judge the whole time, instead of at each other.” He looked at me for a moment, and said, ridiculously, “You can watch the judge instead of burying your face in my chest, or, covering your face up with your arm..” “Where would we put our numbers?” I wanted to know, “We'd have no clothes to pin them on.” “Arm bands,” he replied dryly. I giggled at the visual image, and, he took my hand, and, we headed for the living room, where, “My Boys,” awaited.
Tom and Doug were all smiles as they took in my long shirt, bare feet and mussed hair, and, though my initial embarrassment was almost unbearable for a few moments, it quickly evaporated in the face of their good natured enthusiasm. Tim appeared to have no such problems with embarrassment, or, feeling awkward, as he moved about in his bare feet and open shirt. The only hint he gave of what had transpired only moments before were the occasional intense looks he gave me while swigging his beer, a couple of knowing grins, and, the newly casual way he had of touching me—a hand on a thigh, a pat on the bottom, and, arm about the shoulders.
Tom and Doug had brought beer, and, the big red bong(the bong was affectionately named Big Red, however, I had begun to call it Man O’War) was being lit, and, Queen’s Jazz was playing on the turntable. I sat on the sofa, between Tim and Doug, feeling quite pleased with myself, and, enjoying the company. I shivered for a moment, and, tried to tuck my feet under Tim’s leg. Tim leaned down and asked me if I was cold. I admitted that I was—it was a cool evening, and, I was wearing shorts and no shoes!! Tim bounced up and disappeared down the hall, returning with a pair of tube socks, which I put on, gratefully. I wondered briefly how long my shoes were going to remain in their place of honor: Tim’s rear view mirror. I really loved those shoes.
Watching Tim, I realized how much he seemed to enjoy his friends. He was so genial and outgoing, so unlike me. He was telling a story about some little fish called, “Grunions,” and, exclaiming, “The Grunions are Runyin’, The Grunions are Runyin’!” Tom and Doug were laughing uproariously. I am certain I saw one of them actually slapping his knee. I was beginning to feel a bit fuzzy, again, from the beer and the marijuana, and, slid closer to Tim, tucking my head under his arm. I felt his lips on top of my head, and, smiled. He said, “Wow, did ya’ll see that? She just touched me first!” There was an awkward silence, followed by laughter. I was embarrassed, but, refused to show it, and, kept smiling.

I wondered if we would have any more nights like this, or, if this was to be the end.