easy money

        Hannah packed an enormous picnic lunch and drove her geriatric Sunbeam Alpine roadster to the academy. Coming abreast of the green, she saw the two of them seated beneath the banyan tree, deep in discussion. Mister Radcliff truly loved Mango. How neither she nor he could say. The wicked boy with a club foot needed so much. A father, a tutor, a lover. Briefly the man from Oxford was all three to Mango. Strict in every way.
        There was always a niche for her little car.
        "Hola, my fine cavaliers!"
        Mango chirped, "Oh, look out! She's after the both of us."
        Mister Radcliff stood up to greet her. "Good morning, darling."
        Mango enviously watched them kiss.
        He loved the both of them. Hannah he could only fantasize about.
        She caught his eye and smiled. "And what were you two discussing in such earnest?"
        "Beatnik typing."


                                                                                *


        Mister Radcliff smoked one of his Virginia Number 3 cigarettes, and then another, as Hannah read the poems. Mango had run off to play with The Deadknockers.
        "I thought the boy was coming with us," he said. "You packed for three."
        "He didn't want to."
        "What a wild one!"
        "This beatnik typing is quite good. Spontaneous. Stream of consciousness."
        "Free association gibberish."
        "You don't see the pain?"
        "James Dean angst. Rebel Without A Cause, and all that."
        "You don't fool me."
        "Oh?"



                                                                                              *


        The roadster buzzed up the two-laned hardtop. Hannah steered with one hand and veered onto the  shoulder, almost losing control. She expected Mister Radcliff to complain. Instead he laughed. A fatalist, she assumed.
        "Ho! That was a close call! Hah hah hah!"
        "Where do you want to go?"
        "I want to see your secret garden."
        "How did you know I had one."
        "Because you are such a private person."
        "Yes."
        She turned off the road and onto a dirt lane that switchbacked over the piedmont.


                                                                                       *


        It was a small glen surrounded by Australian pine. Long-needled boughs would catch the tail of a wind. Upon its release a great sigh would rise up. As she led Mister Radliff along, Hanna tiptoed like a fairy princess. In a hushed voice she said, "There were deer and rabbits and whippoorwills and we all told our stories. Guess who told the best story."
        "The whippoorwill."
        She laughed softly.
        He took her by the waist and brought her to earth.
        "Wait," she said. "I want to prepare our spot."


                                                                                *


        They made love upon the grassy nave of a forest cathedral. He groaned and ejaculated deep within her warm grinder. Its tiny muscles continued to grasp and knead his cock. He withdrew just as she let loose a gyser of her own. He kissed her muff and aoused  her with his tongue. She cooed and warbled until her exhalations grew reedy. He laid his cheek upon her quivering belly and smiled. Giving pleasure to a woman was truly wonderful. Again his hand explored her mound of mystery. The thatch of fur felt heavy and slightly nappy. He laughed quietly.
         "What?"
         "Just a joke. Nothing to it."
         "Tell me."
         "Another time." He kissed her deeply, putting a gentle hand upon one breast. The nipple felt like a minnow rising to the surface of a lake.
         Later, weary and apart, they gazed at the shifting sky.
         "Your beauty is something from Goya. The Naked Maja."
         "Keep it up, darling. Keep it up."