Pat Kemp had his Tshirt off before he’d even closed the car door behind him. The night’s breeze brushed against his back. He tossed the shirt onto the car’s still hot hood. By the time they reached a good, flat, secluded spot, Karen had slipped hers off, too. Pat ‘ s eyes were drawn to her again and again. She spread the blanket out on the wet grass, right between the tombstones, while Pat pulled another beer off the dwindling sixpack of Old Milwaukee pounders. The cans were starting to get warm in the muggy June heat. He popped the tab. It sounded loud in the darkness. White foam bubbled around the rim. Pat took a sip and sighed in frustration.
“This place gives me the creeps. I still don’t see why we can’t just do it in the car.” Giggling, Karen gracefully stepped out of her sandals and lay down on the blanket. She arched her back, thrusting her breasts forward. They swelled against the fabric of her bra. She stretched like a cat, crossing and then uncrossing her long, slender legs.
“Because I likebeing outside. I like the stars, and the dark. It’s romantic.” The moon hung full in the sky like a watchful yellow eye. It reflected off the stained glass windows of Karen’s father’ s church. Each window bore a scene from the New Testament; the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus walking on water, bathing someone’s feet, riding on a donkey, the crucifixion and the resurrection. Hell, maybe the moon really was an eye
