George was swarthy and handsome. He'd have looked right at home with a top-knot and Fu Manchu, shirtless and carrying a scimitar. Georgia wasn't magazine beautiful but had a rare blonde sensuality. Not easy for a woman with pale hair, pale skin and pale gray eyes to come off fiery but she did it with a kind of deeper sweet hunger.
Their real strength was others didn't exist for them. George was a typical man of his era, tall and masculine, didn't dance, a sublime undertone of confidence and power. Women went all girlish and soft near him.
The same way men doted on Georgia's sweetness, which seemed to be for the whole world but she was just being a good girl. When those two looked at one another, they burned everything else away. Married but no kids, which was strange for the time and she openly dismissed the idea as "Not for us."
I guess they were too busy fucking to be parents. I was like ten or something and at some big wedding or baptism in a church basement me and a few other kids saw George and Georgia steaming up their car windows out in the parking lot. I guess they couldn't wait to get home, just had to take a break from the drinking and socializing to lay on a good fuck. They seemed a lot younger than my parents or their other friends. Fucking will do that. Amazing they didn't get sick of one another the way couples usually do.
Anyway, the point I was going to make originally was this thing Georgia would do. A couple times she dropped George off at a cafeteria my old man owned a piece of. George was a highly skilled carpenter. He usually did bowling alley lanes with an uncle of mine but since my old man had found him a cool hotrod Buick at a good price, George came round for a few days and built a new cafeteria counter.
I'd be sitting outside peeling potatoes in the alley way and see them pull in and she'd wipe his mouth and his mustache with her hand. Actually, more like fondle his face and mouth, this really slutty smile on her. I didn't recognize it as such then, being just some stupid kid, but I realized later on what her look meant.
I asked my old man about the mouth fondling and he was never a subtle guy. "She wipes her wet pussy first," he grunted then gave me a leer and winked but didn't explain further and I didn't ask since I had no clue what he was talking about.
Those old hotrods had a front bench seat, like a big sofa so were pretty much made for George and Georgia. Not like these cars now with the straightjacket little bucket seats. The crazy thing is not long afterwards he built that counter they were both killed in a high speed crash. I've always had the notion they died fucking, just couldn't wait to get home.