Every town in America has one, it seems. Drive along the main drag far enough and you’ll find it, sometimes right on the square but generally on the outskirts of town with the mini-malls and superstores: a small, white building standing by itself. It will be called Dairy Queen or The Corner Creamery or Tastee-Freez and from April through September, you can walk up to the window and buy soft-serve ice cream, milk shakes, malteds, burgers, fries, hot dogs and a few other items there. Chances are it will have a sign with an illustration of an ice cream cone outlined in neon next to its name.

In college towns, summer jobs are hard to come by because of the number of students who stay on after the school year ends. That’s why Carol wound up behind the counter at The Village Dairy—referred to as ‘The V.D.’ for so many years that only incoming freshmen thought it worth a smirk.

This was Carol’s final summer in town; she had completed her degree and graduated in June. She was trying to find a teaching job for the fall and in the meantime was doing her best to make a dent, however small, in her student loan payments.

And at the same time, of course, she continued to serve me.

It was just her luck that I happened to drop by The V.D. on a hot July night when she was single-handedly trying to cope with a huge post-softball game crowd. All the outdoor tables were filled and the line stretched down the sidewalk. Carol was alone inside. It seemed to me like a perfect opportunity to test her powers of concentration.

I let myself in through the side door. Carol heard the door opening and turned to see who it was. When she saw it was me her eyes widened for a moment—she knew me well enough by now to have some inkling of what was about to happen—but she managed a welcoming smile before turning back to her work.

She was wearing sneakers and sweat-socks, a red t-shirt, her khaki wrap-around skirt and over it all a white apron which was too large for her and hung nearly to her ankles. She was perspiring from the effort to keep up, even in the icy air-conditioning. I found a carton of plastic spoons to sit on and dragged it over next to her so I could observe for a while without being seen from outside or getting in the way.

Most of the time she was simply taking orders for ice cream, collecting money and then turning to the dispensing machines behind her to assemble the ice cream cone, sundae, root beer float or whatever was wanted. But whenever anyone ordered something hot, such as a burger, which took a little more prep-time, the customer would go sit down at one of the long tables outside or on a bench and Carol would hustle it outside to them when it was ready.

Fair enough, I thought, and while Carol was taking orders I reached up and stealthily loosened the ties on her skirt just enough so that she wouldn’t notice. Then I waited for the next hot food order to come through. When it was ready and Carol had her hands full of paper plates and was hurrying towards the door, I simply reached out and held on to one of the skirt ties.

The skirt slid neatly out from under her apron, revealing in the gap at the back that Carol was, as always, wearing a pair of little-girl panties. These were bright red, matching her t-shirt. They were trimmed with large lacy white ruffles and decorated with pictures of white bunny-rabbits wearing glasses, for some reason. They were also a couple of sizes too small.

Carol felt it, of course, when her skirt slipped away--she halted mid-step and whirled around to face me. When she saw her skirt in my hands she quickly looked down, remembered that she was wearing the apron and tried to look over her shoulder to see how exposed she was there, without success. She looked back at me for a moment, her eyes pleading, but knew from experience that it was no use. She huffed an exasperated and somewhat frightened sigh…and hurried out the door.

I rose and followed her to the doorway to watch, of course. And, as expected, no one even noticed. I was the only one to appreciate how cute her little behind looked as she scuttled over to the table where the customers were waiting, distributed the plates of food and then backed away like a courtier leaving the presence of royalty, not turning her back until she was safely inside the building again--which actually resulted in her drawing a few more glances than she would have if she had walked in a normal fashion.

She met my grin with a glare as she passed me on her way back to the service window. She knew, of course, that this was only the beginning. Especially when I seized one of her apron strings as she passed and gave it a little tug—just enough to undo the bow so that the apron hung open at the back.

She stopped completely still for a moment. I saw her shiver; heard her take a slightly quavering breath and let it out. And although I was behind her I knew that her eyes were closed for just that one instant. She was contemplating what lay ahead…and it was turning her on.

As soon as she returned to the window, I took my place next to her once more. There was still an hour or so until closing time and at first I contented myself with observing the effects of anticipation upon Carol, knowing that my simply sitting there would unnerve her almost as much as if I’d actually begun doing one of the things she was surely imagining. She was certainly aware of the fact that I was sitting to one side of her and somewhat to the rear, with a full view of her behind as it poked out between the open flaps of her apron—and that was enough, apparently to make her begin to stumble over her words somewhat as she took customers’ orders.

But I took no action, content to wait for the occasional order of hot food and to watch from the doorway as she delivered it. A slight breeze had sprung up, which was probably a relief to the customers waiting in line but was definitely a source of concern for Carol whenever she felt the front of her apron begin to rise, especially when she had her hands full and could do nothing about it. But it’s a fact of life that people rarely pay any more attention to a server than is absolutely necessary for receiving food from her—after which she vanishes from their awareness. So even though the breeze completely exposed her from the waist down on more than one occasion—from behind, at least—no one sitting at the tables took the slightest notice.

I waited until the softball crowd had been taken care of and the line had dwindled to a trickle before adding any further distraction. I took my time, at first only lightly stroking the backs of Carol’s knees and thighs with the fingertips of one hand while she stood at the window, withdrawing my touch when she turned to fill an order. That alone was enough to make her legs quiver, especially when I gave one ankle a small slap on the inside to signal her to stand with her feet apart and, when she had complied, began giving my attention to her inner thighs as well.

The customers must have wondered at least a little at her fevered expression and stumbling speech, but perhaps they chalked it up to a combination of heat and fatigue, especially since she was perspiring so freely. And her performance certainly did not improve when I suddenly moved my hand up and began to tease and fondle her behind through her panties. In fact, in her surprise, she dropped her pencil and order-pad to the floor. She apologized to her customer then bent down to retrieve them—and surprised me in turn by taking a moment to give me a passionate kiss, her tongue thrusting into my mouth, before straightening and returning to the window.

The customer ordered a hot fudge sundae, and watching Carol prepare it—filling the plastic bowl with ice cream from the dispenser, ladling on the hot fudge and crowning it all with a mound of whipped cream and a sprinkling of nuts—gave me a few ideas.

Carol must have wondered what was happening when, after returning to the window, she felt me actually re-tying her apron strings at the back, though not as tightly as before. But when I took one of the stainless steel ladles, carefully threaded the handle through the leg-holes of her panties and twisted it a full hundred and eighty degrees, pulling the crotch of her panties tightly between her legs and making her gasp out loud, she began to understand. Especially when I yanked the ladle upward and hooked first the ladle end and then the handle through her apron strings so that the pressure would be maintained.

It was fortunate there was no customer at the window right then as Carol stood with her hands balled into fists on the counter, head back and mouth hanging open, literally panting, for several moments.

It was unfortunate, for Carol at least, that the very next customer ordered a burger and fries.

She was barely able to acknowledge the order, and after the customer had gone to sit down, she stumbled around in a haze of arousal, taking twice as long as usual to get everything ready and moaning softly as she did so, especially when she had squat down to get another package of hamburger rolls from the shelf. But I was very proud of her when, as soon as the order was ready, she simply headed out the door to deliver it, making no attempt to conceal the ladle or her now almost completely exposed behind.

It was well into dusk now anyway. There were only a few customers left at the tables and they would have had to be sitting at just the right angle to notice the slight glimmer of fading light reflecting from the ladle as she made her way out and back. Or the slight weave in her steps as she tried to recall which customer the order was for.

I saw Carol glance up at the wall-clock as she entered. It was coming up on closing time; I’m sure she was wondering whether she could last that long without falling to her knees and begging me to let her come.

And I certainly wasn’t planning to make it any easier for her.

There were very few customers now, and long gaps between them. I took the opportunity to position Carol the way I wanted her: standing a few feet back from the counter, leaning forward and resting on her crossed forearms. Carol put up no resistance, of course, and made no comment beyond a small groan as she was being bent over and the pressure between her legs increased. When I folded back the flaps of her apron, I could see why: the crotch of her panties was barely visible between her pussy lips and the cheeks of her behind, so tightly was it drawn.

Still, to anyone approaching the window, she would appear merely to be resting and watching alertly for the next customer--perhaps a little too alertly, as her eyes were open very wide and she was breathing heavily through her mouth as if she had just run a long way to get there.

But that prospective customer might have become concerned when Carol’s breathing began to be punctuated by short, hissing gasps through gritted teeth--and rightly so. He would have no way of knowing that someone had taken a large spoonful of hot fudge and was slowly dripping it, drop by steaming drop, onto the all but naked behind of the woman behind the counter.

And if that same imaginary customer was still intrepid enough to approach the window after several minutes of this he might be put off by the fact that the woman now had her eyes closed and was completely ignoring him while making barely suppressed whimpering noises. He might assume that she was ill or in pain…when in fact it was merely the cooled fudge, now being slowly licked and nibbled from her skin, that was causing such a reaction.

It’s a good thing that there was no such customer, and indeed that there were no further customers that night and that the last car had pulled out of the parking lot moments before the scream came. Otherwise, there would have been all manner of panic and calling of the police—and when they arrived Carol would have had to explain to them that she was all right; that she had only screamed because, just as she was sliding the service window closed for the night, someone had pulled the crotch of her panties aside, placed a nozzle between her legs and unleashed more than half an aerosol can of very cold whipped cream in there.

As it was, I was the only one privileged to hear that particular crescendo--and watch her literally bouncing on her toes, her back fully arched, as she performed it.

In fact, I got to hear it twice more, in somewhat lesser variations: since I was responsible for the intrusion of whipped cream it seemed only fair that I take charge of removing it as pleasantly as possible.

Later, when everything had been cleaned up and put away, Carol led me outside to one of the tables and left me sitting there while she turned off the lights and locked up. She was gone longer than I expected and when she returned I was surprised to see she was still wearing her apron. In the now near-total darkness the white fabric of the apron was about all I could see.

She was carrying her knapsack, which she placed on the ground. She gently tugged me to my feet, then had me lie on my back on top of the table. She opened my pants and pulled them, along with my underwear, down past my hips. It wasn’t until she climbed up on the table as well and knelt, straddling me, that I realized the apron was the only clothing she had on.

Afterwards we lay side by side on the table, looking up at the Milky Way. Our deep affection and the pleasure we took in each other’s company was as fulfilling as ever, even though touched with the sadness of knowing how little time together we had left. She would soon find a teaching job somewhere; I was staying on to complete grad school. This meant that since neither of us had a lot of money the odds were that we wouldn’t be seeing each other again for a long time.

We held each other close, looked up at the stars and talked about our plans and our dreams for the future until the mosquitoes drove us away.

—-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

As it happened, Carol received quite a number of responses to her applications. She had done well in her studies. Her teachers had liked her and written glowing recommendations, as had the parents of some of the children she had taught. It was obvious that she would make an outstanding addition to any grade-school faculty.

She actually had to leave her job at The Village Dairy on somewhat short notice due to the overwhelming number of interviews she had scheduled. She was gone for several weeks, from the end of July through mid-August, and when she returned there was good news and bad news. The good news was that she’d found an excellent placement, teaching kindergarten in a town not far from where her parents lived. The bad news was that the town was in another part of the country from where we were.

It was not unexpected, of course, and the possibility of her accepting anything less than the best available position in order to stay close to me had never even been discussed between us. What we’d had was wonderful but we both knew it wasn’t what forever was made of. Still, now that the time of separation was approaching there was a feeling of poignancy underlying every moment we spent together.

There was also a sense of urgency, especially on Carol’s part. At her request, we revisited as many of the places where we had been together as possible—the classrooms, the alleys, the libraries, dining halls, buses, restrooms and phone booths. Sometimes we re-enacted events as they had originally occurred, recalling our dialogues as best we could; other times we allowed our instincts to lead us into new scenarios. She even filled in one night at The Village Dairy just so she could wear her vibrator and have me control it from my place next to her. There were some mighty shaky-looking ice cream cones served that night.

We had kinky, nasty sex. We also had sweet, old-fashioned love-making. Both often ended with tears and with great tenderness.

The night before she was to leave we met at the reservoir. We sat at the picnic table where it had all begun and had a candlelight dinner with champagne. Carol was wearing the same white dress she’d worn on that first night. We held hands over the table as we talked.

When we had finished and cleared everything away Carol climbed up and sat on the picnic table. I sat behind her with my legs on either side of her and massaged her neck and shoulders as I had before. We talked a little, though there were silences as well when I simply clasped my arms around her waist and held her.

At last, she turned to me and told me with a look what she wanted. I stood and picked her up in my arms once more. I kissed her for a long, sweet moment before carrying her over to the trees and setting her down. She picked up my hand and kissed the palm before pressing it to her breast. We embraced.

It all went as before: I fondled her while we kissed; I put my hands under her dress and stroked her; I knelt and nuzzled her pussy; I pulled down her panties and licked her. Later, she rubbed me through my pants, then took out my cock and stroked it with her panties; she knelt and took me into her mouth.

But after a moment, she stopped. She looked up at me with tears glistening in her eyes and said softly, “I really wanted us to make love that first night. And when we didn't, I was afraid I’d never see you again.”

I knelt down to face her. I took her hands in mine and replied, “I really wanted it too. But I was afraid that I’d already pushed you too far and you’d never want to see me again.”

We hugged for a long time. We looked into each other’s eyes for a longer time. Then I helped her to her feet. I remained kneeling long enough to help her slip back into her panties. Then I rose to my feet, closed my pants again and removed my jacket. I placed it around her shoulders and we started the long walk back to her room to spend our final night together.

EPILOGUE

The passage of time, combined with distance, can wear away even the most intense relationships. In the weeks after Carol left, there were phone calls and emails and text messages, of course--daily at first, then less often. I continued to give her occasional tasks and she would dutifully carry them out, sending me photos as proof when possible. She enjoyed performing for me via webcam. Once, she sent me a pair of her panties with a request for me to come in them and send them back for her to wear to work.

There was a connection between us that went beyond our sexual chemistry. And that, more than anything else, is what remained as we drifted away from each other, distracted by the demands of our separate lives. The webcam sessions became fewer, then stopped. Phone calls gradually disappeared in favor of emails, and they in turn became less frequent. The emails became less about sex and more about what was happening in our daily lives.

Over time, we settled into a relationship that I know we both felt very good about, even though it was sometimes tinged with a sadness for things that no longer were. It’s a common story, and a good one: we, who had been lovers, became friends. And we still are.