We talked about my life as a student, my summer job, my family, my this, my that. I tried to steer the conversation around so that I could find out something about my hosts, and about Ms. Washington, for that matter. But I was the guest, and they kept me talking about me, mostly.Dave was kind-of staring at me, and I wondered if my lipstick was smeared, or something.Eddie was exuberant, welcoming, easy to talk to. I almost instantly began to have very positive feelings for the boy. I silently compared him to my own family's crop of privileged adolescents -- my cousins in Northern Virginia, mostly. And my younger brother. Eddie seemed to me to be livelier, sweeter, and smarter and cuter than any of them. But then, I'd never been big fans of any of my cousins, and I suppose I was somewhat motivated to like Eddie Hooks.Because I liked Davey -- David -- Hooks. "Admit it, girl," I told myself. "You have a serious case of the hots for this guy."I did admit it to myself, too. Only, I also. Or so she thought. I made her stand there like that, arms locked around my waist, gaze fixed on mine, while I delivered nine more slaps to her behind, sometimes left-handed, sometimes right but each one hard enough to echo through the alley. And each one jerking her loins against mine. She must have been determined to stay silent because, aside from an inadvertent grunt after each blow—Unh!”—she made no sound. When, after the final blow, I disengaged her hands from behind my back she must have thought that we were done. At least until I pulled the tail of her pink shirt free of her waistband, then lifted the shirt from her shoulders and let it slide off her arms to the ground behind her. Her gaze was furious as I placed her hands on top of her head, then reached down and gently eased the elastic waistband of her shorts down over the curve of her buttocks, then slowly lowered them until I could let them fall around her ankles. She still said nothing, even though I could tell she was.
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