9
One of those young men was Lester Ivanhoe Pratt. Following the touch-football game, he and a bunch of the guys had driven up to Lake Auburn, about twenty-five miles away. There was a week-long tent revival going on up there, and Vic Tremayne had said there would be a special five o'clock Columbus Day prayer-meeting and hymn-sing. Since Sally had Lester's car and they'd made no plans for the evening-no movie, no dinner out at McDonald's in South Paris-he'd gone along with Vic and the other guys, good Christian fellows every one.
He knew, of course, why the other guys were so eager to make the trip, and the reason wasn't religion-not entirely religion, anyway.
There were always lots of pretty girls at the tent revivals which crisscrossed northern New England between May and the last state fair ox-pull at the end of October, and a good hymn-sing (not to mention a mess of hot preaching and a dose of that oldtime Jesus spirit) always put them in a merry, eager mood.
Lester, who had a girl, looked upon the plans and schemes of his friends with the indulgence an old married man might show for the antics of a bunch of young bucks. He went along mostly to be friendly, and because he always liked to listen to some good preaching and do some singing after an exhilarating afternoon of headknocking and body-blocking. It was the best way of cooling down he knew.
It had been a good meeting, but an awful lot of people had wanted to be saved at the end of it. As a result, it had gone on a little longer than Lester would have wished. He had been planning to call Sally and ask her if she wanted to go out to Weeksie's for an ice-cream soda or something. Girls liked to do things like that on the spur of the moment sometimes, he had noticed.
They crossed the Tin Bridge, and Vic let him out on the corner of Main and Watermill.
"Great game, Les!" Bill MacFarland called from the back seat.
"Sure was!" Lester called back cheerily. "Let's do it again Saturday-maybe I can break your arm instead of just spraining it!"
The four young men in Vic's car roared heartily at this piece of wit and then Vic drove away. The sound of "Jesus Is a Friend Forever" drifted back on air which was still strangely summery.
You expected a chill to creep into it even during the warmest spells of Indian summer weather after the sun went down. Not tonight, though.
Lester walked slowly up the hill toward home, feeling tired and sore and utterly contented. Every day was a fine day when you'd given your heart to Jesus, but some days were finer than others.
This had been one of the finest kind, and all he wanted right now was to shower up, call Sally, and then jump into bed.
He was looking up at the stars, trying to make out the constellation Orion, when he turned into his driveway. As a result he ran balls-first, and at a brisk walking pace, into the rear end of his Mustang.
"Oooof!" Lester Pratt cried. He backed up, bent over, and clasped his wounded testicles. After a few moments, he managed to raise his head and look at his car through eyes which were watering with pain. What the heck was his car doing here, anyway? Sally's Honda wasn't supposed to be out of the shop until at least Wednesdayprobably Thursday or Friday, with the holiday and all.
Then, in a burst of bright pink-orange light, it came to him.
Sally was inside! She had come over while he was out, and now she was waiting for him! Maybe she had decided that tonight was the night!
Premarital sex was wrong, of course, but sometimes you had to break a few eggs in order to make an omelette. And he was certainly up to the task of atoning for that particular sin if she was.
"Rooty-toot-toot!" cried Lester Pratt enthusiastically. "Sweet little Sally in her birthday suit!"
He ran for the porch in a crabby little strut, still clutching his throbbing balls. Now, however, they were throbbing with anticipation as well as pain.
He took the key from beneath the doormat and let himself in.
"Sally?" he called. "Sal, are you here? Sorry I'm late-I went over to the Lake Auburn revival meeting with some of the guys, and..." He trailed off. There was no response, and that meant she wasn't here, after all. Unless...!
He hurried upstairs as fast as he could, suddenly sure he would find her asleep in his bed. She would open her eyes and sit up, the sheet falling away from her lovely br**sts (which he had felt-well, sort of-but never actually seen); she would hold her arms out to him, those lovely, sleepy, cornflower-blue eyes opening wide, and by the time the clock struck ten, they would be virgins no longer.
Rooty-toot!