His voice didn't break, but it was pitched low, as if he was afraid to talk too loud.
He shook my hand gently, not limp or featherlight, and not crushing, just a gentle, firm touch. His eyes kept wandering to my cleavage, and I found myself arching my back to make my breasts look bigger, to give him a better show.
"I'm Shea," I said. "Shea Harley."
He smiled, a bright, amused grin. "Shea Harley? Wow, that's a cool name." He ducked his head, and a lock of black hair fell across his eye; I was already growing to adore that stray lock of hair and the thumb that brushed it aside. "I'm Tre."
He said it "Tray". I must've given him a curious look, because he shrugged his shoulders and looked embarrassed.
"It's a nickname. My initial are T-R-E: Timothy Robert Evan. I hate my name, so I go by Tre."
I kept swinging, letting my foot brush his leg at each apex. "I like that. Tre. It fits you so much better than Tim. You're not a Tim." He shifted forward, and when I swung forward again, I let my foot slide up his calf to the back of his knee.
It was a first hesitant flirt, just to see how he'd react. He glanced at the offending foot, and then at me, as if wondering what I could mean by it, and what he was supposed to do in return. I could see him thinking, figuring, wondering.
"So, Tre. What do you do?"
He shrugged. "I work at a garage, changing oil and fixing cars and such. Daddy wants me to go to seminary, but I'm just not sure I want to. I ain't decided yet."
"Your dad's the preacher, right?"
"Yep. Although don't let him hear you call him 'Preacher'. He's a pastor, he says. He's got a whole lecture on how a pastor is called to the pulpit and his flock, while anyone can preach."
"And you don't want to be a pastor?" I swung forward again, and this time I caught myself on his legs with my feet, hanging there by my hooked toes, and then swinging free again.
Tre shrugged again, but I could tell there was a lot on his mind, a lot expressed by that nonchalant shrug. "Not really. I just ain't felt the call, you know? I never been outside of Mississippi, and I've barely ever left Yazoo. I just...I don't know. Seems like there might be more out there for me than one little town, one little church, for all my life."
He fell silent, and he seemed embarrassed. I don't think he meant to say all that.
"Well, I think you oughta make your own choices," I said, standing up.
There was only two steps between us, and I took one, so I was just inside his personal space. My breasts were nearly brushing his chest, and he was valiantly trying to keep his eyes on mine.
"You know, you're right about one thing, Tre. There is a whole world out there. You just never know what you might find." I fanned my face with my hand. "It sure is hot out here, isn't it?"
I had my blouse buttoned up to just above my cleavage, and the button at the bulge of my breasts was straining. I met his eyes, held them, and slowly, so slowly let my hand drift up to that button, touched it with my finger. Tre's tongue touched the corner of his lips, and I nearly kissed him then. He knew I was playing a game, so I kept playing it. He was waiting, and I drew the moment out. I circled the little white button with my index finger, then pinched it and pushed it through, tugged my blouse apart so a greater expanse of cleavage was revealed.
It took a lot longer, then, for his burning mocha eyes to return to mine.
"You're hot," he blurted, then closed his eyes in acute embarrassment.
I laughed, shifting forward, closer to him. "Thank you, Tre. I think you're pretty hot, yourself."
He looked confused by this. "You do?"
I nodded. "Mmmmm-hmmm. I do. You're sexy." He blushed scarlet.
He seemed to be trying to come up with something else to say. "No one's ever told me that, before."
"Well, you are. If they all can't see that, well...they're blind." I was pressed up against him, now, not crushed closed like I wanted to be, but close.
He was looking down at me,