fix it.'
She stepped close to shield Sharon's body from the gaze of others. She fingered the bikini crotch, stretching it out, then tucked the errant hair back under the yellow material. Her feather-light touch seemed to burn Sharon's groin.
Lita took her time at it too, at last patting the material in place, saying, 'There! Done. But I must say, you're still not quite presentable. I can see a dark line of moisture in your crotch. Have you been having sexy thoughts?'
Lita was smiling, her manner casual. But her touch had been a caress. Sharon felt tongue-tied. She studied the other's heart-shaped face. Grayish eyes were shadowed by the hat brim, which made them seem sultry despite her casual air. Her dress front clung to breasts that seemed very large for her diminutive torso, and her short skirt exposed beautifully turned legs.
Sharon was on the point of saying that the cunt juice that had wetted through her swimsuit crotch was Lita's doing. But she decided on caution. She really was not sure about Lita's sexual leanings.
She said, 'I was thinking about a little white convertible I want to buy. Do you think that could have moistened my pussy?'
Lita laughed. 'You mean, you're queer for a car? What a fun kink! You must tell me about it.' Her hand closed caressingly on Sharon's arm. 'Darling, this whole bathing suit thing is absurd. Wouldn't you rather swim nude?'
Sharon shrugged. 'There's no place around here…'
'But there's the pool at my house. Would you like to swim there? Private? Just the two of us?'
'Yes.'
Sharon had spoken hurriedly. Now a flush burned her throat as she realized the implications.
Lita's hand still stroked her arm. 'Then, Sharon, I'll meet you at my place in an hour. I still have a little work to do at the Boutique.'
Sharon nodded agreement and hurried off to the lounge.
There she found that her legs were trembling violently. She had to sit down to gather her wits. Could she swim naked with a lesbian? Well, she had an hour. Maybe driving the little white bomb would take her mind off it and ease her nerves.
She changed into a halter and shorts and hurried out of the motel and headed downtown toward Harris Motors. She walked rapidly, as though fleeing something, and was still trembling when she entered the showroom.
Tom Thornton came out of the office. He smiled in his smooth, professional salesman's way.
'Ready to go for a drive?'
She nodded, swallowing a lump in her throat. Tom offered her a set of car keys.
She said, 'I feel kind of shaky. I'd better not drive.'
He frowned. 'Has something upset you? You look pale.'
'It's been a long night's work. Problems.'
'What you need is a shot of whiskey.' He took her arm and steered her into the office. There he opened a file cabinet drawer that contained a quart bottle. He unscrewed the cap, poured a shot in it and handed it to Sharon.
She had never drunk whiskey straight. She swallowed it and the stuff burned her throat. She gagged, her eyes streaming.
He chuckled. 'It's a strong dose, but you'll feel better now.' He replaced the bottle and led her out a back door to the used car lot. They paused beside a replica of Sharon's beloved bomb. However, it was blue and somewhat dented. Its appearance impoverished her dream. Still, climbing in on the passenger's side, inserting herself in the narrow space, she felt a certain thrill. And when Tom started the motor, the howl of it made her smile broadly.
He wheeled the little car out to the seaside boulevard. Sharon buckled her seatbelt and settled down to enjoy the wind whipping tears from her eyes and flailing her hair.
She watched Tom, studying his lengthy, hard-looking body, trying to superimpose his forceful masculinity on the image of the lovely Lita that kept bobbing up in her vision.
On almost every heartbeat she felt a burning in her groin, where Lita had lifted her bikini crotch and replaced the fringe of twat hair. Never before had a girl touched her pussy. Oh, when she was a young kid, she and some other girls had experimented with kissing and feeling titties.
But this was different. It was lesbianism, and her bowels were quaking.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Tom whipped the little car along the coast road for a few miles, then veered off on the highway and drove inland.
Sharon was calmer now. Maybe the whiskey had helped. Also, she felt reassured by Tom's firm grip on the wheel. He drove expertly, she thought. And she liked his looks. He was attractive without being handsome. His gaze was level, assured, sometimes quite piercing.
She knew that he was Harris' ace salesman and earned big commissions. Many a girl would give her eye teeth to marry him.
Sharon could not care less about that.
Why? She guessed her father's continual chasing of young broads had made home life seem impermanent. Somehow she trusted only her own ability to earn a dollar. Even if it involved her with a lesbian. She bit her lip. She didn't want to think of that, not now.
Tom eased off the highway onto a Macadam Road that wound through grazing country where hump-backed cattle wandered. The animals were beginning to gravitate to the meager shade of a few live oaks as the day's heat increased.
Tom drove slowly now. 'Want to take the wheel?'
'No.'
He eyed her. 'I'm trying to figure you out, Sharon.'
She smiled wryly. 'That's a coincidence. So am I.'
'Do you have a boy friend?'
'Nobody steady.'
'But you're a terrific-looking girl.'
She shrugged. 'I'm a loner, I guess.'
He stopped the car under a tree that shaded the road. He took cigarettes from his shirt pocket and gave her one. As he lit it Sharon felt the day's heat close in on her. The silence was broken only by the distant lowing of a cow.
'And you?'
'I play the field.' He glanced sharply at her. 'I make a bunch of money, more than most guys at my age. Lots of chicks would love to get their greedy hands into it.'
Abruptly Sharon unsnapped her seat belt and climbed out of the car. She just had to touch something real, permanent. She went to an oak and rubbed her palms on the rough bark.
Tom was watching her.
Suppressing a smile, she smoothed the seat of her shorts, aware that she was drawing his attention to her plump, high-sprung ass. She was profiled to him and knew that her behind looked especially large when compared to the side view of her narrow waist.
She was in no mood to seduce him. If she were to beat down his price on the car, it would be at another time. But sometimes exhibiting her body gave her a charge of reassurance; and she felt it now, especially when she saw the growing bulge in the crotch of his pants.
'Tom, do you dig me?'
He chuckled. A red burn spread on his throat. 'Very much so.'
