Candy
by Matt Anglen
June, 1987
"Come on, let's get out of here – I need to move," I growl, getting behind the wheel. The windows are down and both doors slam when we close them, that's fine with me. I fire up that 396 and let it rev good and loud – there's a sound my old man can't ignore. Six months I've been out of this house, I don't know why I ever come back.
Pulling out I don't lay rubber, Candy's afraid I'll lose my license and we won't be able to see each other as much though I've told her I'd come over if I had to crawl. Still, when she wants something it's hard to tell her no, especially when she slides across the seat right over thigh-to-thigh.
"Why do you have to have a stick?" she pretends to whine.
"Men have sticks, that's the way we are," I joke. "I thought you liked us that way." She sticks her tongue out and my heart goes thump. I'm pissed off and trying not to take it out on her.
"When you drove an automatic you could put your leg behind me," she reminds me, something I can't do with a clutch. I'd lay my right leg out along the seat, driving with my left foot and her right in my lap. It was pretty sweet, I got to admit.
I get down to Main heading through town, watchin' the lights, tryin' to let go of all those knots my old man always puts in me. Candy puts up her hand and plays with a ring, a ring I haven't seen before. I try not to breathe, make my mind go blank, just drive, but I know she wants me to ask.
"That's a nice ring," I tell her and it's true. "Your folks give you that?" I ask stupidly. The only thing her folks ever gave her was a crooked nose at age fifteen. That and a last name with thirteen letters and no vowels. Candy C-plus-twelve, I call her.
"Nope," she teases. "Guess again."
"No." It comes out a lot meaner than I mean it to.
"I was bad," she informs me, and I try not to think some more. I know her johns give her stuff all the time. "Think you should spank me?"
I squirm a little, shift gears to cover it. "You know I don't want to get into that kinky stuff."
"I won't call you 'daddy,'" she offers. "Just put me over your knee and slap my ass until I'm sorry." She pulls her arms inside her top and starts taking her bra off.
"Sorry you had to wear that," I tell her, trying to change the subject.
"Don't be silly – I wear one all the time," she says. "Just not around you."
"Oh." As she wriggles free I am struck by the image of her wriggling out of her jeans, the little patch of her panties that almost disappear at her hips. "You wearin' a thong?" I ask, trying to slide my hand down back to see.
"No. You'll have to pull them down," she explains. "To spank me." Giggle.
Traffic is light since it's Sunday night, streetlights finally coming on, even people at dinner are home by now. Candy opens her purse and starts putting on her mint lip gloss. I don't think she even likes the flavor, only wears it because I do. She puts on a lot.
"Have I ever told you you have the most delicious ass?" I ask her, and it's true. If I ever was going to slap an ass, hers would be my very first choice.
"Not since we got in the car, you haven't. You could kiss it if you want," she reminds me.
"I could do that," I agree, finally starting to relax.
"If I'd been good," she corrects me. "Too bad I'm so bad."
"Too bad," I echo non-committally. She is so soft and pretty... She puts her hand, the hand with the ring, on my thigh. "I'm sorry I didn't get you a ring," I admit. Money's been tight since I got my own place.
"You give me what I want," she assures me, flashing that cute little shy smile that's always so surprising.
"I give you what I can," I promise.
Candy kneels on the seat and leans so close I can smell mint as she whispers. "Good. Then give me a spanking."
We keep going past the high school, four, six, eight blocks. Her breast is against my arm, I swear I can feel her nipple through the fabric. I wonder if the ring came from a pawn shop, or the guy stole it, or it used to belong to his wife. But Candy likes it, I don't want to say anything bad. We sit at the light and I try to think. Up ahead and to the right is the long lazy loop that will take us an hour, an hour to forget dinner and my old man, work, bills, Father's Day, everything. Turning left we can cross the river, get on the Interstate, and be back at her place in ten minutes.
"You want to head back?" I ask.
"When the light changes." Suddenly my whole world is warm, wet, slippery mint Candy that I just can't get enough of.
A car behind us honks its horn and I shift back into gear, not even flipping him off.
"Someday," I promise, "I'll get you a ring."
by Matt Anglen
June, 1987
"Come on, let's get out of here – I need to move," I growl, getting behind the wheel. The windows are down and both doors slam when we close them, that's fine with me. I fire up that 396 and let it rev good and loud – there's a sound my old man can't ignore. Six months I've been out of this house, I don't know why I ever come back.
Pulling out I don't lay rubber, Candy's afraid I'll lose my license and we won't be able to see each other as much though I've told her I'd come over if I had to crawl. Still, when she wants something it's hard to tell her no, especially when she slides across the seat right over thigh-to-thigh.
"Why do you have to have a stick?" she pretends to whine.
"Men have sticks, that's the way we are," I joke. "I thought you liked us that way." She sticks her tongue out and my heart goes thump. I'm pissed off and trying not to take it out on her.
"When you drove an automatic you could put your leg behind me," she reminds me, something I can't do with a clutch. I'd lay my right leg out along the seat, driving with my left foot and her right in my lap. It was pretty sweet, I got to admit.
I get down to Main heading through town, watchin' the lights, tryin' to let go of all those knots my old man always puts in me. Candy puts up her hand and plays with a ring, a ring I haven't seen before. I try not to breathe, make my mind go blank, just drive, but I know she wants me to ask.
"That's a nice ring," I tell her and it's true. "Your folks give you that?" I ask stupidly. The only thing her folks ever gave her was a crooked nose at age fifteen. That and a last name with thirteen letters and no vowels. Candy C-plus-twelve, I call her.
"Nope," she teases. "Guess again."
"No." It comes out a lot meaner than I mean it to.
"I was bad," she informs me, and I try not to think some more. I know her johns give her stuff all the time. "Think you should spank me?"
I squirm a little, shift gears to cover it. "You know I don't want to get into that kinky stuff."
"I won't call you 'daddy,'" she offers. "Just put me over your knee and slap my ass until I'm sorry." She pulls her arms inside her top and starts taking her bra off.
"Sorry you had to wear that," I tell her, trying to change the subject.
"Don't be silly – I wear one all the time," she says. "Just not around you."
"Oh." As she wriggles free I am struck by the image of her wriggling out of her jeans, the little patch of her panties that almost disappear at her hips. "You wearin' a thong?" I ask, trying to slide my hand down back to see.
"No. You'll have to pull them down," she explains. "To spank me." Giggle.
Traffic is light since it's Sunday night, streetlights finally coming on, even people at dinner are home by now. Candy opens her purse and starts putting on her mint lip gloss. I don't think she even likes the flavor, only wears it because I do. She puts on a lot.
"Have I ever told you you have the most delicious ass?" I ask her, and it's true. If I ever was going to slap an ass, hers would be my very first choice.
"Not since we got in the car, you haven't. You could kiss it if you want," she reminds me.
"I could do that," I agree, finally starting to relax.
"If I'd been good," she corrects me. "Too bad I'm so bad."
"Too bad," I echo non-committally. She is so soft and pretty... She puts her hand, the hand with the ring, on my thigh. "I'm sorry I didn't get you a ring," I admit. Money's been tight since I got my own place.
"You give me what I want," she assures me, flashing that cute little shy smile that's always so surprising.
"I give you what I can," I promise.
Candy kneels on the seat and leans so close I can smell mint as she whispers. "Good. Then give me a spanking."
We keep going past the high school, four, six, eight blocks. Her breast is against my arm, I swear I can feel her nipple through the fabric. I wonder if the ring came from a pawn shop, or the guy stole it, or it used to belong to his wife. But Candy likes it, I don't want to say anything bad. We sit at the light and I try to think. Up ahead and to the right is the long lazy loop that will take us an hour, an hour to forget dinner and my old man, work, bills, Father's Day, everything. Turning left we can cross the river, get on the Interstate, and be back at her place in ten minutes.
"You want to head back?" I ask.
"When the light changes." Suddenly my whole world is warm, wet, slippery mint Candy that I just can't get enough of.
A car behind us honks its horn and I shift back into gear, not even flipping him off.
"Someday," I promise, "I'll get you a ring."
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