Butter Stories

“Michael,” Loretta said softly, “Michael?” She bent over and kissed his cheek. He pulled her close to him and wrapped his arm around her. “What is it, Baby?” “It’s six-fifteen and we haven’t loaded one tub,” Loretta chuckled because she knew what his reaction would be. “Well, that’s a problem. Let’s neck,” I whispered into her ear. “Michael. Oh, what am I going to do with you?” Loretta tried to sound flustered. “Roll over...

She felt the room close down to nothing, his hand under the hem of her burgundy dress, slow, steady slide up the inside of her thigh while her palms pressed into the bare concrete wall between grey metal fuse boxes. The one bare light bulb hanging from the ceiling was still swinging slightly from when Nason pulled the chain to turn it on. Her shadow was shuffling side to side on the floor beneath her. A pair of voices and...

Pamela had already made the picnic and packed it into a wicker basket when the boys arrived. She’d cleaned the kitchen as well, been a thorough little domestic goddess with her mom and dad away for the week. And finally she had changed from jogging pants and T-shirt into her costume. Nothing outlandish, just a simple white-muslin dress and sandals, and then to the garden to pluck daisies and buttercups and ring them into...