Actually, what this is, it's a wedding invitation. Now I know right away that blows your mind a little, right? I mean, me of all people. You think it's a joke. Old Kenny, he's putting you on again, but you're not going to fall for it. Well sit down and get ready for a shock, buddy; it's real.
Now I know I said I'd never take the step, unless maybe I was like eighty years old and senile, needed somebody to push me around in my wheelchair or something. Marriage is for squares and all that. With all the sweet young things running around loose out there, a guy has to have a loose bolt someplace to tie himself down to one chick. Etc, etc.
Okay, I'm a fink. But I haven't really gone square. (Can you picture me in the gray flannel suit bit? Not yet, friend.) It just happened that, like they say in the movies, the right girl came along. Don't vomit all over this letter, please. Not yet. Because I want to tell you just how it happened. It was all pretty wild, and you might get a bash out of it.
It started while I was still out in San Francisco. You remember I was living in that crazy pad on Haight Street. That was while the scene was still pretty groovy out there. I'm told it's kind of draggy now, all tourists and kids from Podunk who think they're where it's at because they see a beard once in a while. But at that time it was the real thing.
Well I was sharing this place with Frank the Fish. I don't recall if you ever met this guy, but he was one of the old characters from the North Beach scene, back when Ginsberg and Kerouac and those guys were around. I don't know why they called him Frank the Fish, maybe because his name was Frank. Anyway, he was an interesting type to talk to once in a while, but if you spent too much time with him it got to be Boresville pretty quick. Luckily, the way the place was set up, we each had our own private part of the pad and didn't have to see each other too often.
So one day I'm up there painting away like mad, like I usually did early in the afternoon, trying to get this picture I was working on to come out something like what I had in mind-which is always a hopeless cause anyway-when Frank comes to my door.
"Hey, Kensington," he says. Frank always has to do his own thing with people's names, he can never call them Joe or Jack or whatever, he has to fancy them up. I'm Kensington, don't ask me why.
"Frank," I say, still daubing away with the old brush.
"You busy?"
"Yes." I didn't really expect that to make any difference to him, and I was right. He comes in and plunks himself down on my bed, because he knows from experience that the one chair in that room, which I picked up off the street when somebody was throwing it out, was likely to come apart when you sat in it.
Frank is this very tall, skinny type, with stringy blond hair always falling in his eyes. "Listen, kiddo," he says. "I got this chick over in my room."
"Congratulations," I say.
"No, listen, the thing is she wants to meet you," he says.
"What for?"
"I told her you're an artist, see? She's a model. At least, she's not really a model, but she wants to be one. She got real excited when I told her my roommate was a painter. She wants to know if she can model for you."
"You gotta be kidding," I tell him. "You know the kind of stuff I do, Frank." I wave my hand around the room to show him all the paintings hanging around the place, all abstractions. "I'm strictly non-representational. None of that figure crap, man; that stuff's been dead for centuries."
Frank makes a face. "You know, Kensington, you're a drag when you start with this serious artist jazz," he says. "I mean here's this broad, she is no dog by any means, she's ready to come in here and pose for you. Now I didn't go so far as to ask her if she wants to pose in the nude, I'm a little more subtle than that, but hell, that's what models do, right? You're gonna throw this opportunity away because of your goddam aesthetic principles?"
I was starting to get interested, I have to admit. "She's willing to pose for nothing?"
"Hell, she's eager. She says she wants the experience. If you ask me, she just wants an excuse to take her clothes off. Who are we to interfere with the girl's career?"
I look over at him. "You, I suppose, are planning to stick around and watch while she poses."
"You know it. Sort of like a commission for bringing her, you dig?"
"I dig, I dig." I look kind of wistfully at my uncompleted picture, then shrug. "Okay, what the hell. What's this chick's name?"
"Emily, she says. I call her Emilina."
"Naturally. You wouldn't call her Emily just because her name is Emily, right? That would be silly."
"I'll bring her in," he says, and goes out. After a minute he is back with this chick, and I can see right away he is right about her not being a dog. She is maybe eighteen or so, with this very long brown hair and big brown eyes and cute little dimples in her cheeks. Medium size, and a very curvy figure. She's wearing one of these simple dresses that just kind of hang down and stop short in the middle of the thigh. They look great on shapely-type girls with good legs, and this kid qualified, no doubt about it.
"Emilina," Frank says with a grand flourish, "this is Kensington."
"Call me Ken," I tell her, "like the rest of the peasants."
She grins at me. "And I'm Emily."
"What's in a name?" Frank says. Which coming from him is very funny. "I've told this young lady that you are without a doubt the foremost undiscovered artist of our time. And other lies. Even so, she expressed a desire to meet you." He talks like that when he's trying to impress a chick. Sometimes it works, too, which I've never understood.
"Frank tells me you're a model," I say to her.
"Well, not really," she says. "But I'd like to try it out. It would be so interesting, I mean ... to be the inspiration for a real artist. But-" She's looking around the room. "You don't seem to paint people much," she says in a disappointed voice. "I guess you don't use models, do you?"
Well this gal doesn't strike me as being particularly bright. "Oh, yes indeed," I say, very sincerely. "But you see, I try to paint the inside of what I see, rather than the outside. That's why my pictures may not look like people at first glance. I paint their souls instead of their bodies, but the body is always the starting point."
"Oh," she says, very impressed.
"This one, for instance," I say, pointing to a picture composed of bright orange and purple lines, which I call Opus 397, "this is called Nude in the Afternoon. And this-" I move to a canvas filled with red and black squares. "This is Nude on a Bicycle. And this one over here is called Nude Lying Down. And so on."
"I see," the chick says. She moves over to stand in front of one of the paintings and looks at it closely for a minute. "Yes," she says, "I can see what you mean."
She's better than I am if she can, but I don't tell her that. Frank winks at me approvingly behind her back, and I press on. "As you can see, the nude figure provides the catalyst through which the artist gains access to the nude psyche." I'm even starting to impress myself now, and I figure she's got the idea. "So I'd be happy to have you pose for me, Emily."
She smiles happily. "That's wonderful!" she says. "Can we start right now?"
"Why not?" I say casually. I take the picture I've been working on off the easel and set up a clean canvas. I do a few artistic-looking preparations with paints and brushes, then I look at her expectantly and say, "Anytime you're ready, Emily."
Well this girl is cooperative as all hell. With another big smile she reaches back and unzips the dress, then pulls it up over her head. She's wearing this white bra and little black panties, and she is the curviest thing I have seen in a long time.
"Can I hang my dress up in your closet?" she asks me.
"Oh, sure," I say. "Go ahead."
She walks over to the closet, setting all those curves in motion. I watch the breasts jiggling under the tight brassiere, and the rippling of those sexy leg muscles as she walks. She hangs up the dress and turns back toward me, reaching around to open the bra.
I am trying to act casual about the whole thing, but Frank is staring at her like he can't get his eyes open wide enough. But she doesn't seem to mind at all, she is still smiling when she pulls off the bra and tosses it over the back of the chair. I am beginning to think that Frank was right about her wanting an excuse to take her clothes off. Maybe she is some kind of an exhibitionist or something. But who's complaining?
She doesn't really need the brassiere, because her breasts are nice and firm and stand out invitingly from her body without support. They sway gently as she bends over to slide her panties down. She steps out of them and puts them with the bra, then stands up straight and watches us as we look at her. She is still smiling, but there is something else in her eyes now, a kind of excitement.
"Will I do for a model?" she asks anxiously.
I clear my throat. "Yes, I think so," I say, looking her up and down with what I hope looks like professional detachment. I walk around her slowly, studying her body from all angles, and buddy, that is the kind of studying I go for. "You'll do fine," I tell her. "In fact, you're just perfect for a new picture I have in mind. I've been waiting for the right model to-ah-embody this idea for a long time."
"Really?" Emily says. "How wonderful!"
I'm beginning to wonder now just how far we can get this gal to go in the name of art. Her body was inspiring me all right, but not with thoughts of painting her picture. A scheme begins to form in my mind.
"This painting is to be called Nude Waiting For Her Lover," I say. "It will be a portrait of the excitement and anticipation in the soul of a beautiful young girl anxiously awaiting the caresses of the man she loves. I want to capture the conjunction of the spiritual and physical longing as they fuse into desire."
She is watching me, so she does not see Frank as he shakes his hand back and forth like Art Carney on TV. I have trouble keeping a straight face, but I manage. "Do you understand, Emily?"
"Oh yes," she says. "It sounds beautiful!"
"Good," I say. "Then we can get started."
"Where do you want me to pose?" she asks.
"On the bed," I tell her. "Just like you were actually waiting for your lover. You understand, the reality of the setting must be as strong as possible in order for me to pierce to the heart of the abstract." Whatever that meant.
"Of course," she says.
I turn to Frank, who has not taken his eyes off Emily since she finished undressing. "If you don't mind, Frank ... "
He reluctantly gets off the bed and goes to the chair, where he sits down very slowly and carefully, still not looking away from the girl.
Emily walks over to the bed and lays herself down on it, and what a sight that is! Her breasts stick straight up in the air even when she's flat on her back, and her round little stomach moves up and down sexily with every breath she takes.
"Like this?" she asks.
"That's fine," I say. "Now pretend you're waiting to be made love to. You're all worked up and ready. Your lover is coming to you. You're abandoning yourself to his caresses. Can you do that?"
"I'll try," she says. And she does, and I want to tell you she puts her heart into it. First she kind of wiggles her body a little, to get in the mood I guess. Then she throws her arms up over her head. This pulls those breasts taut, and I'm starting to get a little taut myself.
Then she moves those fine legs apart-wide apart-and she lies there all spread out like ... well, like I don't know what. I mean there is nothing you can compare a sight like that to. Nothing in the world. It's all by itself. I can feel my heart start to beat faster, and at the same time I hear a funny little noise from Frank. I figure his eyes must be just about popping out of his head by now, but I am not about to waste time looking at him.
Emily doesn't seem to notice. She's just lying there concentrating on doing her best in her new career. It might have made a great picture if somebody really had wanted to paint it; but like I say, my thoughts were on a different level.
I decide it's now time for Phase Two. I walk over to the bed, still trying to look objective. I sit down on the side of the bed, partly to get closer to her and partly because I'm afraid it's becoming obvious that my interest is more than artistic.
"That's excellent, Emily," I tell her. "Really excellent. Now just a few details and we'll be all set."
"Details?" she says.
"To make it more real," I explain. "So I can really get the feeling of excitement that I'm after. Your nipples, for instance. You're supposed to be really aroused. All worked up, like I say. Your nipples should be hard. They should stand out."
"Oh," she says, and she looks down at her nipples tike they had betrayed her or something.
I take a deep breath. This is the crucial point. "Let me help you," I say, and put my hands on her breasts.
I more than half expect her to object, but she doesn't, she just lies there watching me. Her breasts feel wonderful under my hands, soft and firm at the same time. I move my fingers over the nipples, and sure enough, they start to get stiff. And you know what else is getting stiff.
I keep this up until I've got her nipples standing up on the tips of her breasts like little red sentinels, and still she hasn't said a word. Also her breathing is beginning to get a little faster, which is a good sign.
"That's better," I say. My voice sounds a little shaky to me. "You see, the more you can get into the mood, Emily, the deeper the reality that will come across."
With this I slide one hand off her breast and start moving it down slowly over her stomach. Man, that smooth warm skin under my hands is making my head swim. But I figure I better keep making with the artistic talk before she gets mad and stops the whole thing. So I keep jabbering away about reality and aesthetic perception and stuff like that, and all the time my one hand keeps playing with those crazy nipples and the other one is sliding around on her stomach, working its way down.
Soon I can hear her breath going in and out and her eyes are getting a little glazed-looking. I don't really know what I'm saying by this time, but then maybe she doesn't either.
Now my hand has reached her leg, and I'm caressing the beautiful softness of her upper thigh. Her eyes go halfway closed and at the same time her cute little mouth opens slightly. Her lips are soft and inviting. I croak something about how her lips should be moist, and with that I bend my face down to hers and run my tongue slowly over her lips, tracing the circle of her mouth. She gives a soft little moan, and so I do it again, and at the same time I slide the hand that's on her leg very slowly to the inside of her thigh and then up to the soft moistness of her crotch.
She gives a tiny little gasp and another moan. I move my face away from hers and let my fingers explore just a little bit, experimentally. Her eyes close the rest of the way and her breathing gets louder.
Now I'm starting to tingle all over, because it looks like I've got it made. But just at this point Frank decides to join hi the fun. He gets up- carefully-off the chair and starts coming over to the bed. I give him a fierce look, trying to warn him off, but he doesn't pay any attention, the bastard. He goes around and sits down on the other side of the bed.
"I want to help out," he says, winking at me. "Anything for the sake of art." And he puts his hands on Emily's legs and begins to stroke them.
Well, I am sure the stupid fart is going to blow the whole scene and I am ready to knock his teeth out. But Emily does not make any objections. In fact, she reacts beautifully. Her body starts to twist a little, and I feel her hips raise up a bit under my fingers.
So it looks like four hands are better than two after all, and I let Frank play around with the lower part of her and I concentrate on the top part. Between us we cover every inch of that juicy body about a hundred times over, and we are having a fine time for ourselves, but that chick is really flying. In a few minutes she's squirming around on the bed like crazy and making little whimpering noises in her throat.
I didn't think those nipples could get any harder, but now I can practically see them throbbing. I bend down and take the nearest one into my mouth, running my tongue around it. She makes a funny gurgling sound.
Then one of her hands moves down, kind of like it's got a life of its own, and starts groping at me. She touches my chest, then goes lower. And lower. Finally she finds what I guess she's been looking for-she could hardly miss it by this time-and I guess she likes it, because the gurgle turns into a low moan.
She clutches at me through my trousers, then starts kind of squeezing and pulling at me, while I continue to feed on her breast. Out of the corner of my eye I see that Frank is keeping himself busy. His mouth is moving over one of Emily's legs, his left hand over the other one, while his right hand is buried high up between her thighs. Her hips are churning. Her breath sounds like a bellows.
I feel her busy little hand unwind itself from me, and then it heads straight for the waistband of my trousers and plunges down inside. Her fingers find me and curl around me again, this time with nothing between us. I straighten up with a gasp.
Emily moans again, tugging at me. "Please," she breathes hoarsely. "Please."
Well, as you know, pal, I am not one to turn down a lady, being the chivalrous type, so I skin the hell out of my pants and shorts, and while I'm at it I throw my shirt off too. Then, naked, I lie down on my side next to her and pull her over to me. Frank makes some kind of protesting noise, but he could be in Bermuda for all I care at that moment.
The chick brings that whole body up against me, and whammo! I mean it is like being hit over the head with a very soft sledgehammer. Those wonderful breasts are mashed against my chest, the nipples practically boring holes through my skin. I feel the soft stomach, the strong hips, the legs against mine; and it is all one squirming, twisting, moaning mass of girl-flesh-ready, able, and willing as hell.
Now don't you wish you were a painter?
Well, our mouths come together and her lips are sweet and pliable and sexy and the inside of her mouth is like a blast furnace. Our tongues clash and wind around each other, and in the middle of this I feel her leg sliding over the outside of mine. Our loins meet, and we wriggle around a little bit until we find each other and make the connection. Our mouths pop apart as we give a simultaneous gasp.
And then the chick really starts to blast off. Usually I like to kind of take it easy at first, but this kid doesn't know the meaning of the word. She wraps herself around me like an octopus, and she is writhing and moaning and pumping away nineteen to the dozen. I'm not exactly complaining, you dig, it's terrific; but like I want it to last a while, so I have to hold on and grit my teeth to stay with it.
Well, at one point while this is going on my eyes come into focus and I see that Frank has taken his clothes off too, and he is lying down on the other side of Emily, obviously intending to join the festivities. I yell something at him about keeping the hell out of it. But Emily has different ideas.
"Oh, yes," she gasps. "Him too. Please. Him too."
Frank smirks at me and cuddles up behind her. Emily's hips stop moving for a minute as Frank puts his hands on her buttocks and spreads them apart. She buries her face in my neck with a little whine as he positions himself carefully. Then he pushes at her, and I feel her teeth bite into my skin and she gives a cry of pain. But the next instant she is groaning with pleasure, and then she starts to move again, harder than ever.
Her teeth are still in my neck, but I don't even feel it now. All I am aware of is the fantastic sensation as her body jerks back and forth between the two of us like a puppet whose strings have all gone haywire. But no puppet ever felt like that, or made the noises she is making.
It goes on and on. The room starts to whirl around and I know I can't hold out much longer. I can hear Frank grunting like a pig in rhythm with his movements. Emily's cries start to get higher and higher, shriller and shriller, until she doesn't sound human any more. Then suddenly she goes all stiff and jams herself into me, shuddering all over, again and again. Her scream is muffled in my neck. At about the same time I feel the top of my head come off, and my brain explodes out of it and starts flying around the room.
* * *
In another minute we all fall away from each other and lie, gasping and panting, side by side on the bed.
The room gradually stops spinning around, and as it does I become aware that Emily is asking me something.
"What?"
"I said are you going to paint the picture now?"
"The picture? Oh-the picture! Well-uh-I- I'm afraid it's too late now, Emily. The light isn't so good now. The right kind of light is important, you know."
"Oh," she says, very disappointed. "That's a shame. It's too bad we got carried away like that."
"Yes," I say gravely. "It sure is." Man, I was really grief-stricken, as you can imagine.
Suddenly she brightens up. "But maybe I can come back tomorrow!" she says.
I look over at Frank and he's nodding madly. "Oh, sure," I say. "Certainly. By all means. Come back tomorrow."
"Oh, good!" she chirps, and with that she sits up, scrambles over me and off the bed, and jiggles over to where her clothes are. Even after what we've just been through, Frank and I watch all this with great interest, you can be sure.
While she's dressing she gets another idea. "Maybe I could bring my friend along," she says. "Could I? She loves art. Would it be all right?"
Frank and I look at each other again. This kid is full of possibilities. This time it's Frank who answers. "Of course," he says. "Please bring your friend along. The more the merrier."
When she is finished dressing I get up politely to walk her to the door. "See you tomorrow, Emily," I tell her.
She smiles at me. "Thank you so much for giving me a chance to be a model," she says brightly. "I'm so grateful." And she throws her arms around me and pulls my head down for a great big kiss.
I tell you, buddy, this chick does nothing by halves. By the time the kiss is over and she is out the door I am turned on again, and I mean all the way. Frank takes one look at my condition and starts hooting with laughter. I feel like throwing something at him but there is nothing handy, so I just plunk myself down in the chair. You guessed it -the damn thing falls apart, my rear end hits the floor like a load of bricks, and Frank starts laughing harder than ever.
CHAPTER 2
Now Walt, I don't want you to go getting the wrong idea, so I better let you know right now that Emily is not the girl I'm going to marry. I mean she's great in the sack and all, but there's more to life than that, right? Though, knowing you, you probably don't think so. Anyway, take my word, it would get tiresome having her around all the time. But I thought I better fill you in on how I met her, because that was how this whole crazy thing got started.
That evening I make it over to the Red Rhinoceros to look over the scene. It's kind of early when I get there and there's not too many people around, but I spot Hal Darby at one of the tables and go over and sit down.
"What's happening?" I ask him.
"Hey there, Ken," he says, wagging his beard at me. "How are things in Fine-artsville?"
"Not so bad," I tell him, and I give him a quick rundown on the scene of that afternoon, to which he listens appreciatively.
"Wild," he says, taking a sip of his coffee. "Reminds me of the time when ... " He then goes into a long story about the time his two female cousins came to town, which I had heard about three times before and I'm sure you have too, so I won't bore you with it.
"Say," he says when that's over, "are you going over to see Jason's new play? It's opening tonight."
Now I'm sure even you, old buddy, have heard of Jason O'Malley, the poet. There was a big stink a few years ago when they tried to ban one of his books because his poetic descriptions of some of his more amorous activities were a little too explicit for the authorities. You may also have read about a series of happenings he staged a while back which attracted a lot of attention. In one of them, for instance, he brought two goats onstage-a male and a female-and let them do what comes naturally. In another one he got the audience to start ripping out all the seats in the theatre. Stuff like that. Jason's a real avant-garde type and takes all this very seriously. He says sex and spontaneity are the driving forces of the new art of our time. Of course, I don't think he minds the publicity a bit either.
I'd heard that he was putting on his new play, called Love is the Beast, in the little loft-type theater he ran. "I didn't know it was opening night," I say to Hal.
"It ought to be a gas," he says. "I hear it's really far-out. Let's fall up there and take it in."
"Will we be able to get in?"
"Jase'll get us in," he says. "Let's go, we can just make it."
So we hustle over to the loft theater, which is over a dry-cleaning shop a few blocks away from the Rhinoceros. There's a bunch of people milling around out in front. Hal spots Jason in the crowd and we go over to him.
I had met Jason once or twice, but didn't know him as well as Hal did. He's a medium-sized, wiry type with hair down to his shoulders. He's usually wearing an old-fashioned brown vest and these little Ben Franklin glasses, but with all that he manages to look tough as hell. It's hard to tell which is the put-on, the toughness or the artiness. Maybe they both are. Maybe neither. Who knows?
Anyway, Hal tells him we want to see the play, and he passes us in and we grab a couple of seats. There is no real stage, just a cleared space up front where the action takes place.
In a few minutes all the lights suddenly go out. Everybody gets very quiet, waiting for the play to start. But for a minute or so nothing happens. Then out of the darkness comes this weird Oriental-sounding music. You know the kind-some string instrument that sounds like a cat wailing, and some people banging on pots or something, and occasionally somebody chanting in the background. I don't go much for this kind of stuff myself, but it seems to be the new thing in music. Well, you can't be hip all the time, right?
So this goes on for a while, then a bunch of colored lights start flashing on and off like crazy all over the place, making strange patterns on the walls, the ceilings, all over. This is supposed to be a psychedelic experience, but let me tell you, buddy, I have been on a few LSD trips in my day, and however you feel about acid, the fact is that you can't simulate the real thing, I don't care how many lights you have going for you.
This goes on for a long time and I'm starting to get pretty bored with the whole thing when finally the lights and the music stop simultaneously. There is another minute of silent darkness. Then the lights come up on the playing area and this chick is standing there. She is tall and very solidly built, but well proportioned, with very long, very dark hair, and all she's wearing is a funny kind of two-piece outfit that looks like it's made entirely of feathers.
She stands there looking out at the audience for what seems like a very long time, and then she raises her hands high over her head, stands up on tiptoe, and says in a very loud voice:
"Beast is love time is love beast is time love!"
Well, nobody wants to argue with that, so after a minute she brings her arms down and starts walking around in a circle. She does this maybe ten times, taking long stiff-legged steps, and every once in a while she stops, turns to the audience and gives out with the beast-time-love line again. Then, for variety, she turns around and starts making her circles in the other direction.
After she does her ten or so laps the other way, there is a loud growling noise, and out leaps a great big fellow all wrapped up in some kind of fur thing. The chick stops circling and stands watching him, and he goes into a sort of crouch, making his growling noises at her, which he continues to do for about a minute and a half. Then suddenly the chick breaks in with her favorite line again, and this seems to have a salutary effect on him because he stops growling and straightens up. He looks her straight in the eye and he says:
"Death is love. The universe is death. The universe is love."
This makes the chick very happy, and the two of them then go into a duet which I think is supposed to recapitulate the conclusions they have arrived at thus far. When this is over, the guy throws off the fur thing. Underneath it he is naked except for a very small loincloth. His body is painted all over with strange designs and around his neck he's wearing a very large cardboard clock face with the hands pointing to midnight. Or maybe it's noon.
Then he and the chick go into a kind of philosophical discourse which goes like this: The guy walks around in a big circle and the chick stands over to one side. He keeps saying things like: "Altar of the universe must dominate the wheel of Rubicon in quintessential time." And whenever he pauses, she comes back with something like: "Over in death, O beast, will turn my shuddering womb."
Well this conversation goes on for a long time, but it is not as dull as you might think, because there is an extra little touch. Every time he passes her on his way around the circle, he reaches out and pulls off one of the feathers from the top part of her costume and sticks it in the string holding his loincloth in place. Since, as I say, that costume is nothing but a bunch of feathers pasted together, it dwindles rapidly. Although I can't make heads or tails of the dialogue I am, as you can imagine, praying for it to go on. And it does, until finally the last few feathers fall away and the chick is left wearing nothing but the brief bottom part of her costume.
When this happens, the guy stops walking and turns to face her. They exchange a few more pithy remarks of the same kind as before, and then they start walking slowly toward each other. When they meet there is a long pause. Then the guy slowly reaches up toward her bare right breast and draws a small circle around the nipple with the tip of his index finger. He then repeats this on the other breast. He takes his time about it, and while he is doing this she reaches down and pulls out one of the feathers that he has stuck in his loincloth-string and drops it on the floor. Then she pulls one of the feathers out of the bottom half of her costume and drops that too. She repeats this several times, alternately plucking one feather from him and one from her.
At this interesting point, a third character enters the drama. It is another girl, a blonde this time, not as big as the first one but very nice-looking and well-built, as is quite apparent because of the thing she is wearing, which looks like a fisherman's net. She comes out humming a little tune, then seems to be taken by surprise at the sight of the other two. She walks around them in a slow circle-why should she be different?-and then she turns to the audience and says wisely: "The illuminated essence in the automobile of eternity."
With this the first two spring apart and glare at her. The guy goes back into his crouching and growling act, and the dark-haired chick walks over to the blonde and starts hissing at her like a leaky radiator. The blonde is not intimidated, but starts hissing right back. Now you probably won't believe this, friend, but this hissing and growling is all that goes on for at least ten minutes.
Finally the guy straightens up again. He points his finger at the two girls, who are still hissing madly at each other, and says: "Hour of one flesh in conquest to universal unbelief." Or something like that.
Whatever that means, it really seems to bug the two chicks, because they stop hissing and turn on him. They both start walking around him-in circles, naturally-and every few moments one or the other of them will make a little lunge, scream, and stick her hand up like she is clawing at him. Then the two of them close in on him and there is a kind of pantomime fight, with nobody actually touching anybody but all three of them screaming and yelling and carrying on.
At the climax of this, the dark-haired chick grabs for the clock face and rips it off. With this the guy gives a terrible scream, throws up his arms, and falls flat on the floor. I think he is supposed to be dead, but it is unwise to jump to conclusions at this kind of play, so I keep my mind open.
Anyway, the blonde evidently thinks he's dead because she turns her back to the audience, pulls the net she is wearing over her head and covers him with it. There is a very long pause while the two chicks stand and look at the body, and the audience looks at the brunette's breasts and the blonde's backside. Then the two of them raise their eyes and look at each other.
Slowly they walk toward each other until they are standing face to face, one on each side of the guy's body. They exchange a few lines of dialogue, but by this time, who's listening? Then the blonde falls to her knees, and the other one does the same. They are both kneeling on the guy's chest.
Suddenly they grab for each other, and then they are kissing. The audience gives a collective gasp which is followed by complete silence. They hold the kiss as the blonde reaches for the big girl's breast. Then they topple over to lie across the man's body, and their hands "start exploring each other.
At this point there is a sudden commotion from the back of the room and two big burly guys come striding down the aisle.
"All right, break it up!" one of them says, and they reach down and pull the girls to their feet. At first everybody thinks it's part of the play, but we soon learn different.
"You're under arrest," one of the guys says.
The guy that's lying down jumps to his feet and starts to protest.
"Shut up'" the first burly guy shouts. "We're policemen. You're all under arrest for a lewd and indecent performance. Get some clothes on and let's go."
The other guy starts yelling at the audience. "Okay, that's all, folks. Show's over. Go home now."
There are shouts of indignation from the audience and some uncomplimentary remarks, but the cops just ignore it and lead the three performers away. The audience is mad as hell, but finally there is nothing they can do but start to leave.
"Damn stupid fuzz!" Hal fumes at me as we are going out with the crowd. "Goddam Philistines. What right do they have busting up an artistic performance? It's persecution, that's what it is!" His beard is trembling with anger.
I agree with him on principle, but you know me, buddy, I can never see getting all hot and bothered about something you can't do anything about. So I just shrug. "What the hell, we got in free anyway," I say.
He glares at me and I guess he is mentally adding me to his list of Philistines, but he doesn't have a chance to say anything because as we're coming out the door Jason sidles up to us.
"Hey, Jase," Hal says. "How do you like those damn lousy-"
"Shh!" Jase looks around anxiously. "Let's split, man, like now. I don't want those bastards to spot me."
We make it out of there and go back over to the Red Rhinoceros.
"It's me they're really after," Jason explains when we're sitting around a table with coffee, "The fuzz have been trying to get me in the clink for years. Like I'm corrupting the morals of society, man. I'm a real menace, you dig?"
"What will happen to the actors they arrested?" I ask him.
"Oh, they'll let them go," he says. "They wouldn't go to the trouble of trying to make the charges stick. They'd have a better case against me, because I put the thing on. How about I sack out at your pad tonight, man?" he says to Hal. "They'll probably come looking for me at my place."
"Sure," Hal says.
"Then I think I'll split this scene for a while. The crud is getting too thick around here. I need some fresh air, man."
"Where'll you go?" Hal asks him. "Mexico?"
"Hell no, I made that scene last year, man, that's a drag. Think I'll head East, to the New York bit for a while. The word is that the East Village scene is pretty groovy right now."
"Way out, man," Hal says. "Way out."
"I gotta find a ride," Jason says. "Who do you know who's got wheels and wants to go East, man, like right away?"
Well, it just so happens that I have had some ideas of taking off myself around that time. I mean the whole Haight-Ashbury scene had already started to go downhill as far as I was concerned, and anyway I always get restless if I'm in one place for too long. Of course, now that I'm getting married, I guess I'll have to learn to settle down, right? Well, I'll jump off that bridge when I come to it, like the man says.
I hadn't come to any decisions about where I would head for, but the idea of getting back to New York suddenly appealed to me. It had been five, six years since I'd left there, and for some crazy reason I dig the place. So I speak up.
"I might make it out there," I tell him. "When did you want to leave?"
"Hey, manna from heaven, man!" Jason says excitedly. "Like tomorrow. You got a car?"
"A Chevy," I say. "Bought it from a friend of mine. It's kind of old, but it's reliable. But forget about tomorrow, man. I need a few days at least."
"What for? Listen, I don't want to crap around here, the fuzz'll pick me up for sure. How you fixed for bread?"
"Not too good. What about you?"
"Likewise," he says. "I can raise a little, though. Maybe enough for gas. We can take turns driving and sleeping, so we don't have to stop anyplace."
"We'll still need more," I say. "Like for food and details like that."
"Don't sweat it, man. Something always turns up for O'Malley. Right, Hal?"
"Sometimes, Jase," Hal says. "Sometimes."
"Always," Jason says. "How about it, Ken? Tomorrow?"
Well you know, once you get started talking about something like that, you suddenly get impatient as hell and want to leave right away. But there were things I had to do first, like getting my paintings and stuff stored with friends and things like that. Besides, I remembered that Emily was coming around again the next day, with her friend yet, and I didn't want to miss that.
"The day after," I say. "Okay?"
"Deal," he says. "Want to come along, Hal?"
Hal shakes his head. "Not this time, Jase."
Jason shrugs. "Just the two of us, Kenny," he says. "Against the elements!"
But it turns out he is wrong.
CHAPTER 3
So the next day Frank and I are, naturally, eagerly awaiting Emily's arrival. She shows up, and sure enough, there is another girl with her. But right away I can see that this one is a different story altogether. Not that she is unattractive or anything. Actually, she is very good-looking. Medium height, shoulder-length dark hair, with a figure that is slender but nicely filled out in all the right places. But the vibrations she gives out with spell Iceville. She is a very serious type, and nobody is putting anything over on this one. Her cold blue eyes take one look at you and right away you can hear her brain clicking, filing you away in your pigeonhole- the one marked "Disapproved."
"Pat," Emily said, "these are my friends, Frank and Kenny. Fellows, this is Pat. Aren't they cute, Pat?"
"Adorable," Pat says coldly. And when I say coldly, pal, I mean with that one word the temperature in the room dropped like ten degrees. "And which one," she goes on, "is the-ah-artist?"
By her tone you'd think she was asking which one was the murderer. "That's me," I say. "I understand you're interested in art, Pat."
"In good art, yes," she says. We are in my room again, and she looks around at the paintings which I've been getting together in order to cart them over to the friend I was going to leave them with. "Is this your work, Mr.-ah-"
"Call me Ken," I say. "Yes, it is."
She gives me a withering look. "Hardly the sort of thing that requires a figure model," she says.
Well, I am sort of taken aback by this chick and don't quite know what to say, so like a jerk I start giving her the line I gave Emily the day before. But right away I see that's a mistake. Her expression gets more and more contemptuous, until finally I figure I just better shut up, which I do.
"I thought so," she says. "It was all a ruse to take advantage of Emily. I suspected that when she told me the story."
Frank clears his throat. "Uh-just how much did she tell you?" he says.
"She told me everything," Pat says flatly. "She always does."
Frank and I are both silent.
"Gee, Pat," Emily says in a disappointed voice. "You mean I'm not going to be a model after all?"
"Oh, really!" Pat says. "Model! You just want to take your clothes off as often as possible. As for you," she goes on to Frank and me, "it's really despicable of you to take advantage of Emily just because she's-well-easily excitable."
I'm starting to get a little p.o.'d at this chick. "Emily didn't mind," I say. "Why should you?"
"You wouldn't understand," she says. "Emily and I grew up together. I try to watch out for her. I promised her mother I would, because my character is much stronger than hers."
"You mean because she likes boys?" Frank says.
"I mean because she is highly susceptible, and therefore tends to be promiscuous," Pat says. "I try to instill her with some sense of values, but it's very difficult with all the immorality among you young people."
Well, that bit about "you young people" really knocks me out, because this girl is maybe nineteen years old in her stocking feet. She is a young chick with an old lady's mind, and can you think of anything more wasteful than that?
I am about to tell her that, but I don't because she is looking at my paintings again. She goes close to one and studies it intently, then she moves to another. Then she bends down by a bunch of them that I have stacked up against the wall and starts looking through them.
When she stands up and turns back to me her expression is a bit less contemptuous. "You have talent," she says with some surprise. "Some of those are quite good. Do you always do abstractions?"
"Thank you," I say. "Yes, why?"
"Well, it's such a limiting form," she says.
"It is not! It allows more freedom of expression than any-"
"Hey, listen," Frank breaks in. "If you two are going to have an artistic discussion, why don't Emily and I just go over to my room for a while?"
Pat and I both protest this idea, but for different reasons. Pat is trying to safeguard Emily's little white body, while I don't want Frank to have it all to himself.
But with Pat standing guard, I have given up hope of anything interesting happening that afternoon. But not good old Emily. Her body might be curvy, but her mind is straight as a die, and all one track. She stamps her foot like a stubborn child and says, "But I want to pose!"
"Pose, my eye!" Pat says to her. "You couldn't stay still for five minutes. I know what it is you want."
Emily grins suddenly. "I guess you're right, Pat," she says.
Pat sighs. "Of course I am."
"So why don't you go out for a walk for a little while?" Emily says.
Emily shrugs. "Stay if you want to," she says, and she starts unbuttoning her dress.
I tell you, she's a doll, that Emily. A real doll.
"Oh!" Pat fumes. "You're impossible! Just impossible." She starts to walk toward the door, then she stops. "With both of them?" she says. "Again?"
Emily shrugs again. "Maybe not both at once this time," she says. "Why don't one of you boys go and keep Pat company? And then come back."
"Yes, that's a good idea," I say. "Why don't you do that, Frank?"
"I think you should have that privilege, Kensington," he says. "Then you and she can continue your aesthetic dialogue."
We glare at each other for a few moments. Finally we decide to toss for it. That may not be very elegant manners, but it's better than coming to blows, right? Frank loses, and he is not very happy about it. But since Pat is not happy either, they are a perfect match for each other. The two of them go out, leaving Emily and me alone.
"What's with that Pat, anyway?" I ask her. "Is she a lesbian or something?"
"Oh, no," Emily says. "She's just a very moral type. And she worries about me." She smiles at me. "Do you really want to waste time talking about her?"
"No," I say. "No indeed." I walk over to her. She has unbuttoned the first few buttons on her dress, and I can see she's not wearing a bra today.
"I liked the way you kissed me goodbye yesterday," I tell her. "Want to try it again?"
"Mm-hmmm." She comes in against me and we kiss. Her arms are tight around my neck, the soft length of her straining into me. It is not long before I feel myself stiffen in response. I slide my hands down her back to clutch her buttocks, and pull the lower part of her in tight, so she can feel it. She moans into my mouth and squirms her hips against me. Her tongue bathes the inside of my mouth.
I start bunching the material of the skirt of her dress in my fingers, pulling it up until I can get my hands under it. The backs of her thighs are incredibly warm and smooth under my palms. I stroke one while the other hand moves up and touches her through her thin panties.
She moves her legs farther apart to make things easier for me. I go beneath the panties, exploring the sweet moist heart of her. She clings to me, groaning and panting. I feel the pressure of her breasts flattening and relaxing against my chest with her irregular breathing, and she rolls her hips against mine as I continue to probe her, finding the most sensitive places.
She is one of the most responsive chicks I've ever known, and I sense that I can bring her to a climax just like that. Her hands are clutching at my back, her breath hot in my ear.
"Don't stop," she pants. "Don't stop."
So I don't. I keep it up until pretty soon she throws her head back and I can see the cords stand out in her throat, as her body jerks against me.
"Oh!" she cries. "Ohh. Oh God. Ahh. Ohh. Aahhh."
She slumps against me. "You darling," she breathes after a minute. "Oh, you darling."
I feel her tongue in my ear, making sexy little circles. Then it moves slowly over my face to my mouth, and dips inside as her lips nibble at mine. Then she steps back from me. Her eyes are shining. She raises her arms over her head and says, "Take my dress off, darling."
I grab her dress and pull it up over her head. All she's wearing are the panties.
"You like me?" she asks.
Now there's a silly question. I reach out and fill my hands with her breasts. They feel even better than I remembered.
She starts unbuttoning my shirt. I close my hands around those juicy things, gently at first, then not so gently. She seems to like it.
"Harder," she says. "Squeeze them harder."
I squeeze them harder. I squeeze them until the soft flesh is bulging out between my fingers. I know I am hurting her, but she seems to dig the pain. My shirt is open and she scrabbles at my belt and opens my trousers and drops them, and then the shorts too. Her hands stroke me,
"Let me go," she breathes.
I take my hands away, and I can see the marks of my fingers on her breasts. She sinks down to her knees in front of me. Then her head moves forward and her lips touch me. I groan and dig my fingers in her hair.
Well, she plays around down there for a while, with lips and mouth and tongue, and pal, if there's anything better than that in heaven I'd kill myself right now, except that I'd be going in the other direction.
But she doesn't take me all the way like that. After a few moments she pulls away and stands up. I can feel my blood pounding. Together we stumble to the bed. We fall onto it and immediately wrap ourselves around each other and start rolling wildly around on the mattress, our mouths fused, our bodies pressed together and straining to get even closer.
Finally we end up with my lying flat on my back and her sitting on me, straddling my hips. She reaches down and curls her fingers around me again, then lifts herself slightly and joins us. She comes down slowly, and both of us give long moans as I penetrate her.
Now she starts a strong, steady movement which soon has both of us going into orbit. After a minute she reaches for my hands and puts them on her breasts, which are bouncing up and down like crazy.
"Squeeze," she pants.
Now I don't know what it is the chick has about having her boobs squeezed, but I am not about to object. I squeeze the hell out of them. It wigs her out. She starts jerking and jouncing around like mad, and pretty soon I know the end is in sight for both of us.
By now my control is not too good, and at one point I'm kind of squeezing and twisting at the same time, and I mean hard, but it only makes her wilder. Then my whole body is about to explode, and everything is blurry, and I don't know which one of us is doing that yelling-maybe it's both of us-and then everything comes apart.
Emily collapses beside me. We are still holding on to each other and getting our breath back when there is a knock on the door.
"Come in!" Emily shouts.
I hastily cover myself up as the door opens and Pat comes in, followed by Frank. Pat is furious. Her cheeks are flushed and her eyes are blazing. Frank looks disgusted.
"What's wrong?" I ask.
"Ask your friend," Pat says. She is practically spitting. "I might have expected this, I suppose."
"What the hell happened?" I ask Frank.
"I made a pass at her," he says disgustedly. "For Chrissake, you'd think I wanted to burn her alive or something. She damn near knocked my teeth out." He rubs the side of his face.
Emily giggles. "I should have warned you," she says.
"Let's get out of here, Emily," Pat says.
"Oh, not yet," Emily replies. "I have to be fair to Frank, don't I?"
"Oh my God," Pat mutters.
Frank brightens up and looks eagerly at Emily, who has not bothered to cover herself too carefully.
"Okay, buddy," he says to me. "You go spend some time with Miss Man-hater over here."
That's not exactly something I look forward to, but I've had my fun so it's only fair to let Frank have his, since Emily is so deliciously impartial.
"Uh-if you'd like to wait outside while I get dressed ... " I say to Pat. She gets up and walks out without a word.
I dress quickly, and Frank is already stripping his clothes off and Emily is wiggling in anticipation as I go out of the room. Pat is waiting in the hall. She glares at me as I come out.
I put up my hands. "Don't shoot," I tell her. "I won't try a thing, I promise."
The glare remains. "If you don't mind, we'll go for a walk," she says, "so you won't be tempted."
I shrug, and we go outside. We start walking up Haight Street toward Golden Gate Park.
"I'm sure you had a good time," Pat snaps.
"Hell, yes," I say. "Look, what are you so uptight about? I mean, I had you pegged for a lez at first, but Emily says you're not. So what is it? It's the nineteen-sixties, you dig? Sex is fun. Ask anybody. Even if you don't have eyes for it, Emily sure as hell does, and so what? What's the big deal?"
"Aren't you aware that there are other values in the world?" she says angrily. "There's more to people than their bodies. What about their spiritual qualities? What about emotions?"
"Well hell, nobody's putting those things down," I tell her. "Everything in its place, I say. Including sex, or the body or whatever you want to call it. That has its place too, and a damn important one."
But I am not getting through to her. "Well, you needn't think you've discovered a gold mine of pleasure in Emily," she says. "Her interest in any one person doesn't usually last long. She gets bored easily."
"Don't worry your little head about that," I tell her. "I'm not going to be around long enough for her to get bored. I'm leaving for New York tomorrow."
Pat looks surprised. "Really? New York?"
"Yep."
She is quiet and thoughtful for a few moments. "What's the matter?" I ask her.
"Well, it's just very funny. Emily's mother lives in New York. In fact, that's where we're both from originally. And she hasn't been well lately, her mother. And we've been thinking of going back there ourselves."
"How about that?" I say. "It sure is a little old goddam small world. Well, I'd invite you to come along with us, but I'm going with a friend of mine who is even more disgustingly physical than I am, so I don't think it would work out."
"No, I'm sure it wouldn't," Pat says. "In fact, I wish you wouldn't mention it to Emily. She's very impulsive, as you know. And stubborn."
She sounded a bit anxious. I began to get a better picture of the relationship between these two chicks. Pat was the firm one and seemed to be the stronger of the two; but Emily, I figured, usually ended up having her way when there was any conflict. The reason was that Pat was a deeper person than Emily, and her feelings went deeper, and so basically she cared more for Emily than Emily did for her- or anybody else, for that matter. I don't mean in any perverted way, but they had grown up together and Pat felt very strongly about their friendship. So Emily could usually do what she felt like, because she didn't really give a damn; or even if she did, she had found out that Pat always ended up going along with her.
Just call me Sigmund, buddy.
Well, I promised her I wouldn't say anything, and then we started talking about painting again. Even though she had the wrong idea about abstract expressionism, she seemed like a pretty intelligent kid. Kind of likable, too. It was really a damn shame she had that big hangup about sex.
After I figured we had given Frank enough time to get his kicks we headed back. They were both dressed when we got there, and they both looked highly satisfied. But right away I find out that Frank has had some time left over for talking. Maybe the reason they call him Frank the Fish's because he has such a big mouth.
"Ken!" Emily says excitedly as we come in the door. "Frank tells me you're leaving for New York tomorrow!"
I see a look of alarm on Pat's face. "That's right," I say, because what else can I say? "I'm driving out with a friend of mine."
"Pat," Emily says, "isn't that wonderful? Why don't we go along?"
"Don't be silly, Emily," Pat says flatly. "Get dressed and let's go home."
"But Pat, this is perfect!" Emily says. "You said you didn't think we should travel alone. And it would be so exciting to go all the way across the country in a car!"
"But we haven't been invited, Emily," Pat says. "I'm sure they don't want two extra people along."
"Wouldn't you like to take us?" Emily says to me, and the look in her eyes almost makes me say hell, yes; but I get hold of myself.
"Well, you see, we're leaving tomorrow, Emily," I say. "You probably wouldn't be ready to leave that soon, and-"
"Why not?" Emily says. "We could be ready, couldn't we, Pat?"
"No," Pat says.
"Sure we could!"
"Don't you girls have jobs or something?" I ask.
"No," Emily says. "We're free as birds."
"We both have independent incomes," Pat explains.
Well, at that my ears perk up. This put a new light on things, because our cash situation was not too good.
"Oh," I say. "Then you girls would be able to- uh-contribute toward the expenses of the trip."
"Of course," Emily says.
Pat looks at me like I'm Benedict Arnold, and I guess maybe I am, but the combination of sex and money is just too much temptation to resist.
"What time are you leaving?" Emily asks.
"Emily!" Pat says. "Forget it. It's a ridiculous idea."
"But Pat-"
"No. That's all there is too it. No!"
So the next day the four of us left for New York.
CHAPTER 4
I'd been a little worried about how Jason would react to the two additional passengers, but when I told him he thought it was groovy. He digs chicks. And when I lay it on him about the bread they can come up with, he says he told me things always work out for him, and this was the proof of it. I don't tell him about the additional bonus of Emily's generous nature-I figure he'll find it out for himself soon enough-but I do warn him about Pat. He says she sounds like a drag, but you can't have everything.
Well we all gather in front of my place at the appointed time, and right away we have problems. Jason and I are old hands at this kind of thing and we are travelling very light but the girls are carrying so much luggage you'd think they were leaving on the Queen Mary or something. I have to explain to them how we haven't got room for all that stuff. So of course this means we've lost a couple of hours, what with arguing and driving the chicks home so they can repack, and driving them someplace else to drop their extra stuff off and what have you.
Then as soon as Pat lays eyes on my heap she says she doesn't think we will ever make it across the country in that. Well, to tell the truth I'm not so sure myself, but I don't say that. I tell her everything will be cool. I can see she is not convinced by this impeccable logic, but by this time there's not much she can do but just go along.
Finally, we really get started. Starting on a trip like that is always exciting, and as we go over the Bay Bridge and get out onto the freeway we're all feeling pretty good. I am driving, Jason is sitting beside me and the two chicks are in the back. Among us we've got three drivers. Emily doesn't drive, and that's probably just as well.
Jase and I have decided we'll take the central route and go straight across as fast as possible, so as not to spend too much bread, and also because neither of us is much interested in sightseeing. Now, if you have just guys on a trip like that you can go right across without stopping, taking turns driving and sleeping, and do the whole thing in three, four days. We didn't think the chicks would go for that; but not having the dough for motels and stuff like that, we were going to have to get them to shell out a lot more than their rightful share. I didn't think we'd have any trouble with Emily, since she figured to be the type that was as generous with her pocket-book as she was with her body. But Pat was another story.
The girls brought along a bag full of sandwiches and hard-boiled eggs and stuff, as girls will, so we don't stop for lunch. Everybody is still in good spirits as we cross the line into Nevada.
Late in the afternoon, we get to Reno. Emily suddenly gets very excited, and says she has always wanted to do some real gambling in Las Vegas and now is her chance. I explain to her that this is Reno, not Las Vegas, but she tells me it is the same thing.
I have been to Reno lots of times and don't particularly feel like taking the time; but I figure we better humor Emily if we want to take advantage of her generosity-both ways-so I head into the downtown area and find a place to park.
We get out of the car and head for Harold's Club. Pat is warning Emily about being careful with her money, but Emily doesn't seem to be listening much; she is too busy looking around excitedly at the open-front casinos that line the streets. She is getting a charge out of everything, like a little kid. Some kid.
Inside Harold's Club, Emily takes one look around and heads straight for the nearest crap table. I ask her if she's ever played craps before.
"No," she says, "but so what? All you have to do is throw the dice."
Well, with a philosophy like that I can see our whole trip flying out the window. I figure I better stick close by her and guide her betting-if she'll listen. The first thing I have to get her to do is to limit herself to buying one-dollar chips, which she does with reluctance.
Emily is the only one gambling, since Jason and I want to preserve what little bread we have, and Pat is probably above such frivolous pastimes. Emily follows my suggestions pretty much. She seems more interested in the fun of throwing the dice when they come around to her than in the money itself. So she doesn't lose as fast as she might have otherwise, but she's not winning either. She's having a great time.
The other people around the table seem to be interested whenever Emily throws the dice, too, and for a very good reason. She is wearing one of these peasant-type blouses with the scooped neck, and the neck on this one is scooped low enough to reveal a luscious portion of the tops of her breasts, and a good deal of cleavage between them. That's what shows when she's just standing there. But whenever she throws the dice she kind of leans far over the table, and that is a very interesting sight indeed. And then sometimes, when she makes a point, she gets so excited she starts jumping up and down in glee. This makes those boobs bounce around until you expect them to just pop out of the top of the blouse. Actually they never do; but hope keeps most of the players' eyes fastened on Emily a lot of the time. Even the stickmen, who are supposed to keep their eyes on the dice at all times, sometimes forget the rules of their job when Emily has the dice. And who can blame them?
Well, after an hour or so Emily has dropped about twenty bucks and she is starting to get bored, so we take off. We get ourselves a bite to eat in a coffee shop near the casino. Then we get back to the car and pretty soon we're out on the highway again.
By this time it's getting kind of late, and after a while Pat says she thinks we should find a place to stop for the night. It's not long till we come to a motel outside of some little town or other. It's a typical place, with about a dozen little cabins in a semicircle and an office with a sign advertising TV and all that junk, and I pull in.
Jason suggests that we save ourselves some bread by getting one cabin for the four of us. Of course I don't expect Pat to go for this, and I am right. She lays it out that we are going to get two cabins, one for her and Emily, one for Jase and me. Jase shrugs and says he'll go get them. Pat goes along with him, I guess to see that he doesn't pull any funny stuff. Emily and I wait in the car.
I take advantage of this to snow Emily a little bit about our money situation; and sure enough, she is only too happy to slip me some green stuff, no trouble at all. I tell her I'll pay it back to her, and I make a note to myself to do so eventually, because she is such a sweet kid she is making me feel like a louse for taking advantage of her.
"That Jason is awfully cute," she says. "What does he do, anyway?"
"You never heard of Jason O'Malley?" I ask, but of course, I shouldn't have been surprised. Emily was not exactly an intellectual giant, as you've probably gathered. It was too bad, in a way. I had the feeling that if she were only literate enough to write her own memoirs, they would make Fanny Hill seem like an amateur. "He's a poet," I tell her. "And a playwright."
She frowns. "Golly," she says worriedly, "he's not queer, is he?"
I have to laugh at her. "Hell, no," I say. "Not from what I hear."
She looks relieved. "That's good." She looks around to make sure Pat is not within earshot. "Listen. After Pat goes to sleep, I'll come over to your cabin. Okay? Don't lock your door. Okay?"
"Okay." Nothing could be more okay. What a great trip this is going to be! Out of curiosity, I ask, "Why do you have to wait till Pat goes to sleep? She can't control you. You always do what you want anyway."
"But I don't like to make her unhappy," Emily says. "She's really a very nice person. Don't you think so?"
"Oh, I guess she's nice enough, all right. If she only wasn't so uptight about the good things of life."
"She likes you," Emily says. "I can tell."
I look at her in surprise. "That is definitely not the impression I get," I say.
"Well, she does, anyway."
At that point, Jason and Pat come back. Jase is laughing. "Man, that cat in the office really flipped out when he saw me," he. says. "I thought he was gonna kick us the hell out. They must have nothing but squares in these parts."
Well, we have two adjacent cabins, and I pull the car over to them and we tell the girls goodnight. Our cabin has twin beds and is just like every motel room you ever saw.
I look around. "Can it be, o esteemed colleague," I say to Jason, "that we have finally discovered the legendary Taj Mahal?"
He grins. "It's better than sleeping in the car, man. Be nice if we could afford it, though."
"Have no fears, o wise and toothless one," I say.
I am feeling pretty good, I guess because of the excitement of the trip and also anticipating Emily's coming visit.
Jason stares at me. "What are you on, baby, and can I have some?"
"Nothing," I say. "But your luck is holding out, Jase." And I tell him about the dough I got from Emily.
"Crazy," he says. "A good kid, that Emily. Sexy little thing, too. Not too much in the brains department, but like who cares, man. Did you dig her at that crap table? That's out of sight, baby."
"What about Pat?" I ask him.
He shudders. "Later for that, man," he says. "Listen, I think that chick is running for Whistler's Mother. Like forget it!"
Jason goes in to grab shower. I turn on the tube, but there is this guy giving out with the news and it is all bad, as usual, so after a minute I turn it off again. When Jase comes out of the shower I grab one too, and when I come out he is already in the sack.
"Do yourself a favor and don't go to sleep yet, I tell him. "I've got a little surprise for you."
"What're you talking about?"
"You'll see," I say. "Just hang on." I lie down on my bed. I am naked, which I figure is the ideal way to receive a female visitor. One like Emily, anyway.
After a minute Jason says, "What's this surprise jazz, man? I don't dig."
"Wait and see."
"I think you've flipped, man, you know that?"
Suddenly the door of our cabin opens. Emily comes in. Jason stares at her as she closes the door behind her and leans against it. She grins at us.
She is wearing this little blue robe which comes down only to about the middle of her thighs. Her feet are bare, and I am willing to bet that under that robe the rest of her is bare, too.
"Hi," she says.
"Hi, Emily," I answer. "Come on in."
I can see that Jason now has no more intentions of going to sleep than I have. "See?" I say to him. "I told you I had a surprise for you."
"Well now!" he says slowly. "My deepest apologies, Kenny baby."
"Accepted."
"Well, don't stay way over there, honey," Jason says. "Come on over here and be sociable."
"Okay," Emily says, and she walks toward us, watching us watch her, and comes and stands in the narrow space between the twin beds.
"I'm betting she's got nothing on under that robe," I say. "Winner goes first. What do you say?"
"No bet, man," Jase. "I have never seen a more naked-looking chick in my life."
"What about it, Emily?" I ask her.
Emily smiles happily. She takes one end of the belt that holds her robe closed and hands it to me. Then she hands the other one to Jason.
"Pull," she says.
We pull. The belt comes open, then the robe comes open, and there she is, that whole bountiful body bare. Even though I am familiar with it by now, it still takes my breath away. It seems to have the same effect on Jason, and there is a pause while we gorge our eyes.
Emily is watching Jason closely. "You like me?" she asks him, giving a little wriggle.
I remember that, she had asked me the same thing. It was funny that a chick built like she was should be so insecure. But this was no time for psychoanalysis.
"Baby," Jason breathes, "you gotta be kidding." He reaches a hand up and puts it on her breast.
"Ooo," Emily says, and she sits down on the side of Jason's bed.
Well, I can see that Jason, being a new experience for her, is going to get first crack; but I don't mind waiting my turn. He puts his other hand on her and pulls her down to him. Their mouths are just about to meet when there is a pounding on the door.
The three of us stiffen. At first I think it must be Pat, come to try to rescue her friend from our clutches. But then a man's voice shouts: "Open up! Open up in there! This is the owner! Open this door immediately!"
"Oh, Christ," Jason says.
"What's the matter?" Emily whispers.
"I don't know," I say, "but we better find out." The pounding and yelling continue. "You better go into the bathroom, Emily," I say. "I'll let him in."
Emily runs into the bathroom, clutching her robe around her. I slip into my shorts and go to the door and open it.
"What's the trouble?" I say.
The owner pushes his way in past me. He is a skinny, middle-aged guy with a mostly bald head, and he is mad as hell.
"Where's the girl?" he yells. "I saw that girl come in here! I saw her! I've been watching you." He is looking around wildly. "I knew something like this would happen! I knew it! I know how you hippies are. You dirty beatniks! I didn't want to let you in here in the first place! I won't have things like that going on around here! This is a respectable place! I don't-"
"Hey, knock it off, man," Jason breaks in disgustedly. "What is this jazz? Don't hit me with your hangups, baby. Buzz off!"
The guy gets red in the face. "Get out!" he yells. "Get off my property! Immediately! Dirty hippies! Beatniks! Communists!"
Jason starts to laugh at that, but I break in to try to calm the cat down, because it would be a drag to have to leave and try to find someplace else at that hour. "Look, mister," I say. "We aren't disturbing anybody. We're not going to hurt anything. All we want to do is get a night's sleep and-"
But he isn't having any. "Get out, I say! Out! Right now, do you understand? Or I'll call the police!"
Well now it looks like we've had it, because the last thing I want to do is get the fuzz on our tail. I am about to tell him we'll leave quietly when suddenly the bathroom door opens and Emily comes out.
She has not bothered to fasten the robe again, and the guy's eyes nearly pop right out of his head as she comes toward him, all that beautiful equipment in motion. When she gets up close to him she stops.
"Oh, please, sir," she says, "don't throw us out. Please."
The owner is speechless. His mouth is open, but he can't get anything out. Emily smiles at him, and then she steps even closer to him, bringing herself right up against him, and puts her arms around his neck. She wiggles her body against his.
"You don't want to make us leave, do you?" she breathes into his ear.
The guy makes a gurgling noise in his throat. "I -I-" he gets out.
Emily grinds herself into him for a minute. Then she lets him go and steps back a pace. "Please don't make us leave," she says, and she goes down on her knees in front of him. "See! I'm begging you."
She brings her hands up in a kind of praying movement, but somehow they land on the front of his trousers. There is a little bulge there which has been produced by Emily's activities, and she kind of rubs her hands around and over it, while the guy makes some more incoherent sounds.
"I know you don't want to send us away," Emily says, and with that she pulls down the zipper of his trousers. Her hand disappears inside, and in a second she has pulled out his skinny little pecker, which is kind of puny-looking, but is definitely aroused. She brings her head forward and kisses it.
Jason and I have been watching all this with astonishment, as you can imagine, but out astonishment is nothing compared to this owner cat's. "Oh, my god," he chokes as Emily continues to kiss him. "Oh, god. Oh, my god."
After a minute she stops kissing him and stands up. The guy is trembling. He looks like he is about to fall over any second. Emily grins at him again, and then she pulls her robe off and lets it fall to the floor. The guy makes a kind of convulsive grab at her, but she steps back out of his reach.
"Will you let us stay?" she asks him. "If I'm real nice to you? Will you?"
Well the guy looks wildly around at Jason and me, but it is obvious that there is no contest. He jerks his head up and down in what is supposed to be a nod. His eyes are still popping out, and his breath is wheezing in his lungs.
Emily backs up until she gets to my bed, then lies down on it. She spreads herself wide, and I want to tell you I have to exercise restraint to keep from jumping on her myself. The owner scrabbles at his belt and lets his trousers fall, then pushes down on his shorts. He doesn't bother with anything else; he just stumbles over to the bed and flops down on top of Emily.
He moves his hips around desperately, trying to find her. Emily throws me a wink over the guy's shoulder. Then she brings her hand down to help him. He gives a long, rattling wheeze as she takes him in.
Then Emily lets him have it. She wraps her arms around his neck, hitches those fine legs over his skinny ones, and starts bouncing up and down underneath him for all she's worth. The guy is too out of it to do anything much but just hang on for the ride, but it has to be the greatest ride of his life. Like I said before, the chick doesn't do thing by halves.
I don't think Emily is getting too much out of it, but she is not suffering either. She is really pouring it to him, her hips pounding away a mile a minute. The owner is panting so hard I am afraid he's going to strangle, and he is going, "Unhh. Ahh. Uhh. Guhh. Unnh. Ooohh. Aah. Ummff." And like that.
He holds out longer than I expect, though; but finally he goes all stiff and screams out: "Oh Jesus!" and then collapses.
Emily stops moving but she doesn't look too happy. After a minute the guy pulls away from her and sits up. He is still panting heavily. "Oh my god," he says. "Oh my god." Then he looks around at Jason and me, as if just remembering that we are there. His face kind of gets red, with embarrassment this time, and he hops up and pulls on his pants.
He heads for the door, but halfway out he turns around and shakes his finger at us. "You be out of here in the morning!" He tries to yell, but it comes out a croak. Then he hurries out.
Jason and I both start whooping with laugher. "Man, I don't believe that!" Jason chortles. "What a gas! This chick is the living end!"
"You're great, Emily," I tell her. "You saved us from being kicked out on our ass."
"Did you see that cat's face when she came out of the bathroom?" Jason says. "I bet this is a night he'll never forget!"
Emily, still lying on my bed, now speaks up. "He wasn't very good, though," she says. "He just kind of got me worked up. Now I need a man."
She looks over at Jason, and he doesn't have to be asked twice. Or even once. He gets up from his bed and moves over to mine, sitting on the edge of it. He's still got his shorts on. I move from where I have been leaning against the wall and sit down in a chair to get a better view of the action.
Jason lets his eyes roam over Emily's gorgeous and yearning body. "I think I can help you out, honey," he says. "Now let's see, where were we so rudely interrupted?"
He bends down to kiss her. Emily's mouth opens as his comes down on it. She moans as their mouths meet, and squirms her body closer to him. Still kissing her, Jason lets his hands trail over her flesh. Her arms go around his neck as he teases her already aroused nipples. One hand slides lower, over her stomach, down her thigh, and back up between her legs. She arches herself as he plays with her.
She breaks the kiss. "Come on," she moans. "Now. Hurry."
"Easy, baby," Jason says. He bends his head to put his mouth over her closest nipple. Then he takes as much of the round breast as he can inside his mouth, pulling at it. One hand is still between her legs, the other travelling over her. Her body writhes under his treatment.
Emily is panting now, and she tugs at Jason, trying to pull him on top of her. But he is playing it cool. He moves his mouth to the other breast and starts sucking on that, his hands continuing to explore her flesh.
"You sure got a crazy pair of boobs, honey," Jason murmurs around the one he's got in his mouth. "Mmm. The greatest."
Finally Jason lets her go and stands up to pull down his shorts. He grins as he looks down at her. Her legs are twitching, her breasts, wet from his mouth, heaving up and down with her heavy breathing, the nipples stiff as nails.
"Man, you are one hot little chick," he says.
There is no arguing with Jason's statement, because Emily is certainly hot, all right. As Jason pushes his shorts down and kicks them off, she gives a little whimper of anticipation. His dick is erect and ready for action, and it is a great improvement over that of the recently-departed owner. Jason takes it in his hand and holds it out toward Emily.
"This what you want, honey?" he says.
"Yes!" Emily breathes. "Oh yes! Give it to me!"
"You know it, baby," Jason says. "But first it wants some of the same kind of attention you gave that square."
He kneels on the bed and swings himself over Emily so that he is straddling her chest, one knee on either side of her. His rod is aimed straight for her open, panting mouth.
The mouth opens wider as he lowers himself toward her, and she takes him right in. He gives a grunt of pleasure as her lips close over him. Her head begins to move. Jason squirms as her mouth slides up and down on him. His buttocks brush back and forth over the tips of her breasts. Emily clutches at him, digging her fingers into his hips as she sucks him. Her legs rub spasmodically against each other.
Well, you can be sure I am getting pretty worked up myself, watching all this. I am starting to think maybe I should try to get into the action, instead of waiting my turn. But just at this point Jason pulls out of Emily's mouth and starts down. His brick bounces off her chin and slides slowly down her body, leaving a wet trail between her breasts, over her stomach.
Finally Jason is crouching between her legs. She arches up to meet him. He makes contact with her, but he doesn't go into her right away. He just kind of rubs the head of his prick around the edges of her cunt, teasing her.
"Ready, baby?" he asks. Which is like asking the Atlantic Ocean if it is wet. Emily groans in answer and lurches her hips upwards, trying to bring him into her; but he pulls away. I don't know where the bastard got all that control. I mean I am practically coming just from watching; but Jason, though he is obviously excited, is holding himself back like a goddam stoic while he drives poor Emily right out of her mind.
Emily is practically sobbing in frustration now, as Jason rubs himself around her crotch again. "What do you want, honey?" he says. "Come on, let me hear."
"Put it in me," she pants hoarsely. "Do it to me! Oh, Jason. Do it to me now!"
"Do what?" Jason says, but his voice is no longer calm. "Say it, baby. Let me hear the word. That one beautiful word."
"That's the word," Jason says, and moves into her.
He penetrates her with one strong, steady motion. Emily draws in her breath with a long shuddering sound. When they are fully joined, there is a pause for a couple of seconds while they are absolutely still, hips jammed tightly against each other and straining to get closer. Then a high-pitched wail comes from Emily and she throws her head back and starts a slow rocking motion of her hips from side to side, spreading her thighs wide, trying to get even more of him inside her. Then Jason starts to move, and Emily goes crazy.
It is kind of a weird scene, because while Emily is bouncing around even more wildly than usual, completely out of control, Jason is pacing himself, moving in a steady, even rhythm, which wigs Emily out even more. She is moaning so loud that I am afraid she will wake up Pat in the next cabin, and her body is twisting and bucking so that it's a wonder the bed doesn't break. Her legs stretch wide on either side of Jason's body and raise straight up, her feet pointing toward the ceiling. Then they start circling like she is riding a bicycle upside down. Her head thrashes back and forth on the pillow, the brown hair flying around her face.
Jason just keeps pumping away like he could go on forever. He is propped up on his hands, looking down at the gyrating girl beneath him. He is panting, but completely in control. However, Emily is close to the edge. Her moans get even louder, crescendoing until she is almost screaming. Her nails dig into Jason's back. Her legs come down and clamp around his body as her hips go into a frantic acceleration of movement. Then, with a screech like a pig being slaughtered, she goes over the top in a violent, heaving climax.
When that's over, she falls back and lies still, gasping for breath. Jason stops moving to let her recover, but he is still inside her. He smiles at her as she lies limply under him, panting and sweating.
"You like that, baby?" he asks.
"Oohhh, Jasonnn .." She puts her arms around him and pulls him down to her for a kiss. He lets his body go flat on hers. Her breasts flatten and bulge sideways under his chest. Their open mouths meet in a long kiss. Their lips grind against each other's, and the way their mouths are working I can tell there is plenty of tongue activity going on.
After a minute Jason's hips start moving again, slowly. Emily clutches him tighter and moans into his mouth. Jason takes long, easy strokes, pulling almost all the way out of her and sliding all the way back. Emily's hips twitch, but they still don't move. Her legs are stretched flat on the bed, but I see her toes curling and uncurling in time with Jason's movements.
Jason tries to break the kiss, but Emily makes a little sound of protest and holds him to her, licking her tongue over his lips then thrusting it back into his mouth as she brings their faces together again. But soon Jason pulls away again and slides his mouth over her face to her ear. He dips his tongue into her ear and speeds up his movement slightly. Emily moans again.
"How does it feel, kid?" Jason whispers into her ear. "Tell me about it."
"Oh, it feels good," Emily murmurs hoarsely. "So good. Don't stop, Jason. I love it."
"That's it," Jason grunts, moving harder. Talk to me, baby."
"Ahh. Oh, it's marvelous. Oooh. Yes, do that. Oh, more. You darling, Jason. Faster!" Emily's body has started to move now in response to his rhythm. Her legs lift and curl around his.
"You sweet ... hot little piece!" Jason pants.
"Oh yes. You make me hot. So wonderful, Jason. Unnh. Oh god, yes, give it to me! Split me open! Jesus, I love it, I love what you do to me!"
Their bodies are both rapidly picking up speed, lunging at each other. Jason slips his hands under her ass and clutches her buttocks. She arches herself, her hips twisting.
"OOH! AAAHH! Oh god, I'm dying! Ooo, it's going to happen again. Oh Jason ... make it happen again!"
"Sure thing, baby," Jason gasps. "Inspire me. Tell it ... like it is."
She tells it like it is. "Oh, fuck me!" she cries. "Fuck me, fuck me! Oh, that's it, harder, Jason, harder! Oh Christ. Screw me, Jason. Screw me!" She is squirming wildly again, all of her in motion, her legs sliding up and down on his, her hands clenching in his hair as he batters fiercely at her.
"Me too, baby," Jason chokes. "Right now! Here ... it ... comes!!"
"AAA! AANNNNNHHH! EEEEEEEEEE!!!"
They cling together as the paroxysms crash over them simultaneously, and then collapse in a tangled mass. They he panting and gasping for what seems a long time.
Finally Jason stirs and pulled himself slowly up, disengaging himself from Emily. He sits on the edge of the bed, shaking his head as if to clear it; then he makes it to his feet and staggers to the bathroom. Emily just lies there like she's dead, her eyes closed, but with a little smile on her face.
Well, buddy, you can imagine the state I am in by this time. Like I am so ready I would willingly have made it with the Wicked Witch of the North, if she was the only thing available. But on the contrary, there was the gorgeous Emily, spread out naked on a bed not more than a few feet away from me.
Now under some circumstances the idea of having a girl right after she's finished a session with another man-correction, two other men-does not seem too attractive. But in this case, for some reason, there was something even more exciting than usual about Emily as she lay there, exhausted and satisfied. And like I say, I am really worked up.
I stand up, drop my shorts, walk over to the bed and sit down on it. Emily opens her eyes. At first she looks like she is in such a trance I don't even know if she knows I'm there. But then she glances down at my crotch, and grins as she sees my aroused state.
"Hello, Kenny," she says in a sleepy voice. "Did we get you excited?"
"What do you think?" I say.
She puts out a hand to touch my prick, and starts playing with it lazily.
"In fact," I say, I'm so excited that if you keep that up, there's going to be a premature explosion."
"Don't you want me to?" she asks, keeping it up.
"Hell, no," I say, pushing her hand away. "I want the real thing,"
Emily shrugs. "Okay," she says. "But I'm pretty worn out, Kenny. That Jason is too much!"
"Oh, great. Remind me not to let that bastard go first next time." I put my hands on her and run them over her skin.. She kind of purrs like a contented kitten, but she doesn't show much reaction. I keep trying. I touch her everywhere, play with her; but nothing doing. It seems she has really had it. I am going out of my mind, because I ache to sink myself into her; and though I know Emily will not stop me, I am not the type that likes to make it with corpses.
Then I suddenly remember the thing that had turned her on so much the last time. I don't know if it will work now, but I figure it's worth a try. I put both hands on her breasts and start to squeeze, at first not too hard, but then, when nothing happens, I put on pressure.
At first I think it isn't going to work; but soon, sure enough, it gradually begins to get to her. Her tongue comes out to wet her lips and her eyes start to get a little glassy-looking. I hear her breath catch in her throat.
I keep it up, squeezing and releasing, squeezing and releasing. I can feel her nipples slowly going hard under my palms. Her breath comes faster.
"Oh, Kenny," she whispers. "You know what that does to me."
"That's why I'm doing it, sweetheart," I tell her.
"Don't stop," she says.
So I don't stop. After a minute she has started whimpering and shifting her body, so I figure she is ready enough. I let go of her boobs and start to mount her, but she stops me.
"Oh, Ken," she says. "I'm so sore down there now. Wait a minute." she turns herself over on the bed and lies flat on her stomach.
The back of her is almost as nice as the front. Her back tapers smoothly down to her narrow waist, and then her buttocks rise in a firm, graceful curve above the beautiful columns of her thighs.
"Try it this way," she says.
I get the idea. I put my hands on her buttocks and spread them gently apart. I position myself over her and lower myself until my throbbing prick caresses those luscious mounds. Then I sink in between them and probe for her little hole. I find it and push against it. A grunt comes from Emily. I press harder, but I have to go slow, because it is so tight I can only gradually work my way in. Emily raises herself to meet me, bringing her knees up under her. It feels wonderful as I slowly make my way into her; it is so snug it feels almost like I am digging a hole into her that was not there before.
Emily is gasping. I slide my hands around to the front of her to clutch at her breasts again. This accelerates the process, and she begins to thrust back at me; and suddenly I am all the way inside of her. She gives a little cry and straightens her legs, flopping onto her belly again. My hands are trapped now beneath her breasts, and I continue to squeeze them. She wriggles her hips under me.
As I start to move, Jason comes out of the bathroom. He stares in surprise to see Emily back in action so soon. "Jesus Christ!" he says reverently, and sits down on the other bed, where I was before, to watch.
Well, I have the feeling this is not going to be a very long session, because I am strung out almost to the breaking point, and Emily's tight little asshole and wiggling buttocks are doing nothing to alleviate that condition. But I want Emily to get her kicks too, so I grit my teeth and stay with it as long as possible, thrusting deeply into her, and clutching and releasing her boobs in rhythm with my thrusts.
She seems to be enjoying herself. She is making her little noises and matching my movements with her own, as best she can in that position. I feel her legs moving under mine. I sense myself getting close, and I pump at her furiously. She gives a loud gasp. She turns her head sideways on the pillow, her mouth open. I bend down and put my mouth on hers. Immediately she jams her tongue into my mouth, moving it around wildly. That is all it takes to set me off, and with a final thrust I explode in a series of intensive bursts; and Emily gasps and shudders and bites at my lips as she comes with me.
I roll off her and lie next to her on my back. I am feeling a lot better. Emily lies quiet for a minute, then turns over and cautiously sits up. If ever I saw a well-balled chick, she was it.
"I better get back," she says. She swings her legs off the bed and stands up. She winces. "Oh, wow," she says. "I can hardly walk. You boys are really something!"
"You're quite a girl yourself, kid," Jason says. He gets up and picks up her robe off the floor and helps her on with it. She limps slowly toward the door.
"You'll feel better after you get some sleep," Jason tells her.
She turns and smiles at us. "Oh, don't worry," she says. "I'll be fine again by tomorrow night." And she goes out.
Jason turns to me, shaking his head. "Man, that chick is just something else!" he says wonderingly. "How in the world did you hit into that, anyway?"
So I tell him the story of Frank the Fish and the model bit. It breaks him up. "Crazy," he laughs. "That's really a gas." He goes over and flops down on his bed. "Let's hit the sack, man," he says. "It looks like we're gonna need all the strength we can get!"
CHAPTER 5
In spite of the night's activities, we get an early start the next morning. We are not too anxious to run into that owner cat again. Emily doesn't show any signs of wear though; she is fresh and chipper as ever. Pat looks pretty good too, I have to admit. I am so used to thinking of her as a young old-maid type that I keep being surprised at what an attractive chick she really is. And every time I realize it I keep thinking what a damn waste that she is the way she is.
Anyway, we take off and it is a beautiful day. Jason is driving this time, and Emily is sitting in front with him, Pat and me in the back. Jason starts snowing Emily about things he has done in his long and checkered career. Emily is fascinated, but I am not, so I sit back and watch the scenery. I make a few remarks to Pat, trying to start a conversation, but she is not very responsive. She is looking a little bugged, and I begin to get the suspicion that she has somehow found out about Emily's visit to us the night before. So I figure the best thing is to just leave her alone, so I shut up.
But she is not going to let it pass, not this chick. After a while she turns to me and says, in a voice you could practically ice-skate on, "Emily told me about what happened last night. So you needn't bother to try to hide it."
I heave a sigh. "Who's hiding it?" I say. "I'm not hiding it. Hell, I'll wear a sign if you want me to."
She glares at me.
"Come off the guardian angel bit, will you?" I tell her. "Why don't you let the girl lead her own life?"
"You mean let her lead your kind of life," she snaps. "And spend all of it on her back."
"Look," I say, "We've already made this scene. Let's not go through it again. What I don't get, though, is why she told you. I mean, yesterday she waited until you were asleep to come over, because she didn't want to bug you. So why doesn't she just keep her mouth shut?"
"You don't seem to realize," Pat says, "that Emily does not do things logically. She acts on impulse, always. And her impulses are not always good for her. But I guess it's impossible for you to understand that."
I am exasperated. "That's right," I say. "Because I'm just a dumb, thick-headed, disgusting animal type, and-"
"But you're not!" she says heatedly. "That's why you should know better. You're not a-a gorilla or something. You have intelligence, you have sensitivity. You-you're talented, and-"
She stops suddenly. I look at her in surprise. A slight flush comes over her face, and she turns away "Oh, forget it," she says abruptly, and stares out the window.
I can't think of anything to say, so I shut up too.
We are making pretty good time, and when we stop for lunch we are close to crossing the line into Utah. In the afternoon we cross the Great Salt Lake Desert and go through Salt Lake City. After a while we start getting into mountain country, and it is pretty spectacular. Pat has relaxed some by this time, and we are all pretty hipped by the scenery arid stuff. It makes me feel like sketching. Usually I carry a drawing pad around with me, but like a jerk I have forgotten to bring one in the hurry of getting ready to go. I remind myself to pick one up in the next town we stop at.
Well, it is getting on towards evening and we are on one of these winding mountain roads, and it is very peaceful, no traffic or anything, when suddenly I hear the noise of a motor behind us. But it doesn't sound like a car. I turn around to look out the back window, and coming up behind us are four guys on motorcycles. At first I think it is the fuzz, but as they get closer I see different. They look like guys from one of these motorcycle gangs, the Hell's Angels or something.
They catch up with us and pass us in single file, giving us a pretty good once-over as they go by they're a pretty mangy-looking lot. They disappear around a curve ahead of us.
"Goodness," Emily says. "What was that?"
"Looks like some cats from a cycle pack," Jason says. "I hear there're a lot of them in these mountains. I used to ride with one myself a few years back."
"Really?" Emily says, looking at him in awe.
I don't know whether to believe this or not, but if he wants to impress the chicks, who am I to stand in his way, right?
Well after we go on a little way, we see the same four guys heading back in the opposite direction. They slow down a little this time as they go past us, casing us again. I am beginning to get a little worried, because it is bad news to tangle with these types, and us just two guys, with a couple of chicks yet. I really start getting uptight when I look back and see the four of them stop and turn around and start coming up behind us again.
"Don't look now," I say to Jason, "but I think we're in for a little trouble."
"Cool it, man," Jason says. "Anything happens, let me handle it. I can hassle with these boys. Just play it cool."
The four motorcycles catch up with us and pass us again. They are kind of grinning this time as they look in on us, and they are the kind of grins that don't make me feel any better.
They get a little distance ahead of us, then they suddenly swerve their bikes sideways and come to a stop. They are lined up across the road, almost end to end, blocking the way. Emily gasps, and I see Pat go tense beside me.
Jason slows down as we come up to them. "Play it cool," he says again, and stops the car. He stays behind the wheel, not moving. The four cats sit there on their cycles and look at us. Nobody moves.
It seems like a long time goes by before anything happens. Finally the guy on the lead motorcycle sets his bike on its stand and wings off of it. He pulls off his helmet and sets it on the seat, then walks slowly toward the car. He is a big, burly type with close-cropped hair and long sideburns. He's got a denim jacket on with the word "Stampers" across the back of it. He's got a chain around his neck with something hanging from it. I half expect it to be a swastika, like you see in the movies, but it is just some kind of old coin or something. He is grinning, but he does not look friendly.
He comes up to Jason's window and leans on the car, taking us in. "Well, now," he says slowly. "What have we here? I believe it's a couple of hippie-boys." He turns to his three pals, still on their cycles. "How about that, fellas? It's a couple of hippie-boys." He turns back to us. "And their girl friends," he adds. "Now that's real nice."
I am feeling pretty tense, but Jason looks perfectly relaxed and comfortable as he watches this cat.
"You people must be from one of those big cities where the hippies hang out," the guy says. "Frisco, maybe?"
"That's right," Jason says evenly.
"Good town, Frisco. Where you headed?"
"We're headed East," Jason says. "And we'd like to get on with it. So how about letting us by."
"Hey, don't be in such a hurry, buddy," the guys says. "That ain't sociable. This is a real sociable part of the country, around here. Why don't you and your friends"-his eyes flick over Pat and Emily- "kind of visit with us for a little while?"
"No thanks, man," Jason says. "We'll just be on our way."
The guy's grin fades a little. "Well, that ain't very nice," he says. "What are you in such a big rush for? You have to stop for the night, don't you?" He waves his hand toward the wooded hills flanking the road. "We got us a nice little camp up here, a bunch of us, real comfortable and all. You could stay the night with us, you know? And we could all be real friendly."
Jason smiles a little. "Thanks for the invitation," he says. "But like I say, man, we can't take the time. So how about clearing the road, okay?" He reaches for the key and starts the motor.
The guy shakes his head sadly. "You know," he says, "Somehow I think you people aren't going to be heading on just now."
"Is that so?" Jason says. "Why not?"
The guy's hand goes to his belt. As he pushed his jacket back I see he's got a big hunting knife hung on his belt in a leather case. He pulls the knife out and holds it up in front of Jason.
The girls draw in. their breath sharply, and I feel my heart beating faster. I half expect him to carve Jason up and then start on the rest of us. But he turns and walks lazily to the front of the car. Then he swiftly bends down and with a quick motion slashes the left front tire with the knife. The air whooshes out of it, and I feel the car sinking as the tire flattens. My stomach is sinking too, because now I figure we've really had it.
The guy stands up again and comes back. "Well, what do you know," he says. "It looks like you got a flat tire, buddy."
Jason doesn't say anything, just sits there with his hands on the wheel, kind of nodding slightly. Then he turns off the motor.
"Kenny," he says, "have you got a knife?"
"Only my pocket knife," I tell him.
He puts his hand back over his shoulder. "Let me have it."
I can't imagine what he wants it for, since I can't see him going up against that big hunting blade with my little folding knife, but I reach in my pocket and give it to him.
He opens the door and gets out of the car, moving very easily. He walks past the big guy toward the line of motorcycles, opening the knife. The guy doesn't do anything, just stands and watches him. Jason walks up to the motorcycle the big guy has vacated, then deliberately bends down and slashes the front tire. The bike falls over. Jason catches it and lays it gently down on its side. Then he walks slowly back, till he is facing the big guy.
"What do you know," he says. "It looks like you got one, too."
The guy is not grinning now. He stands very still, and his eyes have gotten very hard as he looks at Jason. I feel Pat's hand clutching my arm.
The big guy speaks in a low voice. "You know what I'm going to do with you, hippie-boy?" he says. "I'm gonna take this knife and I'm gonna cut off all of that goddam long hair of yours. And then I'm gonna make you eat it. You think you'll like that?"
Jason stares right back at him. "You think you can do it?" he says.
The guy snorts. He turns to his friends. "He wants to know if I can do it," he says derisively.
"Show him, Barney," one of them says.
"Need any help?" another one asks.
"With this fag?" he says. "Don't be funny."
"You going to give me a knife, too?" Jason asks him. "Or would that make things too even for you?"
Barney looks at him in surprise, then gives a short laugh. "You'd go up against me with a knife?" he demands.
"Sure," Jason says. "If that doesn't scare you."
Barney's face goes hard again. "Listen, you got a big mouth, buddy, you know that? You're the one ought to be scared. You blind or something? I got three friends here, and a dozen more if I need them!"
"Right," Jason says. "Against two guys and two girls. That's real good odds. That makes you a very tough man. But that also makes you scared to take me on by yourself, on even terms."
Barney's voice is dangerously low. "Listen, you smart-ass son of a bitch, I can make you eat shit without even working up a sweat."
"Show me," Jason says.
"A pleasure." Barney puts his knife back in its case. "I'll break every bone in your fuckin' faggot body, and some you didn't even know you had."
Jason folds my knife and puts it in his pocket, then stands calmly, his hands at his sides, waiting.
Well I don't have Jason's confidence, but I am not about to sit around and watch him get slaughtered by this cat. I open my door and start to get out.
"Stay out of this, Kenny," Jason says. "It's my gig, man."
"That's right," Barney says. "Stay out of it. You too," he tells his buddies. "This bastard is all mine."
He charges at Jason, and they start to fight.
I am expecting Jason to get creamed within a few seconds, but I have a surprise coming. It seems that toughness is not all an act, because it is obvious he really knows how to fight. They go at each other with no fooling around, fists flying all over the place. Barney, of course, is much bigger and heavier than Jason, and he punches harder; but Jason is faster, and he's got a lot of skill. They're really pretty evenly matched, in a weird way.
Nobody is yelling or saying anything; it is completely quiet, except for the noise of the fight itself. It starts getting kind of bloody after a while, as both of them get cut up and pretty well bruised, but they keep right on.
Pat grabs my arm again. "Oh, god, stop them!" she says. "Do something!"
I shake my head. "Jason seems to know what he's doing," I tell her. "We better let him handle it. Or do you want to get raped by four guys?"
Pat shudders and shuts up. Emily, however, looks thoughtful, as if she is considering the idea and doesn't find it so bad.
Barney and Jason keep at it, battering each other around, although they are both pretty much out of breath by now. They keep it up for what must be a good fifteen, twenty minutes altogether, until they can hardly lift their arms any more. Finally they're both just kind of standing there, drooping and panting.
Barney is shaking his head. "Son of a bitch," he says when he has recovered his breath a little. "Where the hell did ... a hippie-boy like you ... learn to fight like that?"
"I been around, man," Jason says. "Grew up in a street gang. Even rode with a bunch like yours for a while."
"Bullshit!" Barney says.
"Square count, man."
"You can ride a cycle?"
"Why not?" Jason says.
"This I gotta see." Barney walks over to where his friends are still sitting on their machines, giving Jason a baleful look as he passes the one with the slashed tire. "Joe, lend me your bike for a few minutes. Digger, you let hippie-boy here use yours."
The one called Digger looks worried as he swings off his machine. "That's a valuable hunk of bike," he says warningly to Jason. "You mess that up and I mess you up, you hear me?"
"No sweat, man," Jason says. He and Barney mount the cycles.
"Okay, champ," Barney says. "Let's see if you can stay on that thing. We go straight down this road, and you just try and keep up with me."
He starts his engine and revs up, and Jason does the same. Then, with a screech of tires, they take off down the road together like demons. They disappear around a bend, and after a minute the sound of their motors fades away. There is silence.
The other three cats start talking among themselves, looking over at the car. I am hoping Jason and Barney aren't going to be away too long, because I don't know what these cats might take it into their heads to do.
After a minute the third guy dismounts from his motorcycle and the three of them come sauntering toward us. I get out of the car and stand leaning against it, trying to look calm and tough.
The one called Digger looks the car over with a contemptuous expression. "Where'd you get this heap?" he says. "Looks like it should be on a junk heap. Why don't you trade it in for a tricycle or something?"
I don't say anything.
"I kinda like what's inside it, though," the third cat says.
"Yeah," the one called Joe puts in. "That one in the back is a cute little piece."
"The other one has bigger boobs, though," Digger says. "Wouldn't you like to get your hands on those?"
I don't like the way the conversation is going. "Watch your mouth," I say.
"What'd you say, boy?" Digger asks, cocking his head like he hadn't heard me.
"I said watch your mouth."
"You know, that's what I thought you said."
Digger takes a step closer to me. "You a real tough fighter too, like your buddy?" I shrug.
"Well, why don't we just find out," Digger says. "Which one of us you feel like taking on, shithead?"
I'm starting to get mad, but I hold it back. "I don't specially want to take anybody on," I tell him. "So don't push me."
He spreads his hands innocently. "I ain't pushing nobody. You're the one started pushing, boy. You told me to watch my mouth, when all I was saying was that I thought that broad with the big tits would make a great lay. I'd like to really put it to her, you know what I mean? What's wrong with that?"
Well, it looks like this guy is determined to make trouble, and I am not sure how I am going to handle it. But before I can say anything else, we hear the sound of the cycle engines coming back. The three guys back off a little. You can bet I feel pretty relieved.
In a minute Jason and Barney come careening around the curve together and roar to a stop. Barney is laughing as they dismount.
"The hippie-boy wasn't crappin'," he says to his friends. "The son of a bitch can ride. Kept up with me all the way." He turns to Jason. "You give people the wrong idea, buddy, the way you go around looking like that. How come you wear that long hair and them faggy clothes and all?"
"Same reason you got those sideburns and that thing around your neck," Jason says. "I dig 'em, man. You know?"
Barney snorts. "Yeah? Well, okay, you showed me you can fight and you can ride, but you still ain't showed me you're a real man. You dig girls, too?"
"The most, man."
Barney grins suddenly. "Well, I'll tell you what we'll do now," he says. "Why don't we go on up to the camp-because you're not going anywhere anyway with that flat tire, right?"
"We have a spare," I say.
Barney nods. "Yeah, well, see, I have this funny feeling that if you put on that spare tire right now, that one might get a flat, too. You know? So like I say, we go on up to the camp for the night. Our broads are up there too, see? So what you and me'll do, buddy-What the hell's your name, anyway?" he demands.
"Jason."
"Jason?!" He shakes his head. "Shit! Well, Jason, you and me'll have ourselves a little screwing contest. How about that?"
"What do you mean?" Jason asks.
"Hell, you know what screwing is, dontcha? We do this all the time around here. A couple guys each get themselves a broad and see who can stay with it the longest. It's like a bet, get it? So I'll take my broad and you take yours-" he gestures toward the car-"and the guy who can hold out the longest is the winner."
Jason shakes his head. "No deal, man."
"Why not? Maybe you're a fag after all?"
"Nope. But neither of these chicks is my girl, and even if they were, I don't think they'd dig doing it in public, man." Jason shrugs as if to say he's sorry, but that's the way it is.
Barney gives his snort again. "Hell, I didn't think those hippie girls were that shy. Our broads ain't shy. We train 'em not to be, right, boys?"
The other three laugh.
A crafty look comes over Barney's face. "Tell you what, Jason buddy. I'm gonna be generous, 'cause I like you, see? I'll lend you one of our broads for the contest, how's that?"
"Why would you do that?" Jason asks.
"Because I want to see how much of a man you are, that's all. Course, there's one other little thing. Just to make it interesting, there's gotta be something at stake, you know? A prize for the winner. So here's how we work it. If you win, you and your buddy here can pick out two of our broads and borrow them for the whole night. They'll give you a good time, too, let me tell you. And if I win-" He grins again. "And I usually win-then you let us have these two gals for the night. Now ain't that fair?"
Jason shakes his head again. "Still no deal, man."
Barney's face hardens. "Don't push your luck, hippie-boy. Now, you don't seem to understand. You're not making the rules here. I'm making them. You got it?"
"Sure," Jason says. "You make all the rules you want. But leave the chicks out of it."
Barney's eyes blaze suddenly. "Now let's stop the crappin' around!" he yells. "I'm being damn nice to you, and you goddam well better be grateful. What the fuck do you think could stop us from beating you two punks to a pulp, and then passing those cunts around till they're worn out? Nothin', that's what! I'm giving you a chance, just to make things interesting, and if you don't want to take it we'll do it the other way. Which is it?"
There is a long pause. Jason looks thoughtful. Finally he says, "Suppose I go along with this scene. Suppose I win. How do I know you guys won't just go ahead and do that anyway?"
"You know because I say so, hippie-boy, that's how you know. What I say goes around here, and what I say I do. Now let's get moving. You pull that heap over to the side of the road there. You can walk to the camp; it ain't far. Let's go."
Jason and I get into the car, and Jason starts the motor and pulls it slowly over to the side. "Listen," he says to us in a low voice. "The only thing we can do is go along with this crazy jazz. Just hope that I can pull it off, and that this cat means what he says. I don't know how good a chance it is, but we gotta take it. Otherwise, it'll be gang-bang time for sure."
Pat's face is chalky. "My god," she whispers. "Oh my god." Even Emily is looking kind of scared.
"Take it easy," I say, though I am feeling sort of trembly myself.
We get out of the car and we all start walking down the road, the four cyclists pushing their machines. Around the next curve there is a smaller side road heading into the hills, and we turn off onto it. It is getting dark now. Pat is walking beside me. I can tell she is damn frightened, but all in all she is keeping pretty calm. I would have expected her to go into hysterics or something, and I am pretty impressed at the way she is keeping her head.
About half a mile along the side road we turn off again, this time onto a dirt road-more of a trail, really. After another few minutes we come out into a large clearing, and we are there. It's a real camp, all right. There are maybe a dozen guys there, all dressed more or less like the four we are with, and nine or ten girls that I can see. There's a whole group of motorcycles off to one side. Three or four fires are going in various spots.
There is a lot of yelling and shouting of greetings as we come in. Most of them come up and crowd around us, tossing questions at Barney and the others about us and making remarks about the girls.
"Hold it," Barney says. "Hold it!" He jumps up on a log that is lying on the ground and hollers for quiet. They simmer down.
"These people are spending the night with us," Barney says. A cheer goes up. "Shut up! Now this one here-" he points at Jason- "is gonna show us he ain't a fag like he looks."
"He the one busted your face up, Barney?" somebody calls.
"Yeah, but you can see I did some damage on him, too," Barney retorts. "Now, him and me are going to have a screwing contest, and here's the rules." He tells them his rules. The reaction is mixed; some of them seem to approve, others don't.
"I hope to hell you win, Barney!" somebody shouts, and that sets off another round of comments. Pat moves over to his side and I feel her trembling.
"Okay," Barney says, jumping down from the log. "Let's not waste time. Where's Wilma?"
"Here, honey." A buxom chick with short blonde hair pushes through the crowd and comes to Barney's side. He puts his arm around her waist.
"This is Wilma, my private broad," he says. He looks around. "Now I want a volunteer to make it with Jason here." He spots somebody. "Hey, Jerri. C'mere."
Another girl steps forward. "You just volunteered," he says. There is laughter.
The girl shrugs expressionlessly. She is tall and very well-rounded, with red hair falling loose around her shoulders. In spite of a tough look, a look that most of these chicks seem to have, she is kind of pretty.
"Buddy, if you can last very long with Jerri here, you'll be doing damn good," Barney says.
Jason kind of smiles. "It ought to be fun trying," he says.
"All right, let's get on with it." Barney leads the way over to a flat spot of ground in front of one of the fires. "Give me a blanket," he says. Somebody gets a big blanket and they spread it on the ground. Barney takes off his jacket and begins opening his shirt. He motions to Jason. "Okay, hippie-boy, off with the clothes."
Jason looks around at the crowd, then shrugs and begins taking off his things.
"I don't want to watch this," Pat whispers to me. She turns around and stands with her back to the action, but she still holds on to my arm. I look over at Emily. As I expected, she is fascinated.
When Barney and Jason are both naked, Barney lies down on his back on the blanket. Jason follows him. "The girls are gonna be on top," Barney says. "That way we can't cheat too much. They have to keep moving all the time. They can go fast or slow, but no stopping. Got it?"
"Good deal, man," Jason says. "I'll just lie back and enjoy it."
"Okay, girls," Barney says. "Your turn. Strip."
The two girls take their clothes off swiftly. Now it's me who is fascinated as the luscious bodies are bared. They are both generously endowed, and very well curved. Wilma is the more solidly built, even a little bit plump, but just enough to give an exciting effect of flesh pulchritude. Jerri is big and rangy, with full ripe breasts and good strong legs. The flickering light of the fire makes highlights and shadows over their skin.
By the time they are naked, both Barney and Jason look good and ready for them, and I don't blame them. Both girls move forward and stand astride the men, then lower themselves to crouch above them.
"You ready?" Barney says.
"Any time, man," says Jason.
"Okay, go."
Guiding the stiff pricks with their hands, the girls lower themselves onto the men and start to move.
Well this is one of the weirdest scenes I have ever watched, and as you know, buddy, I have seen some dandies in my time. The whole thing seems unreal: the moving bodies of the two naked girls-girls whom I had seen for the first time only a few minutes before-straddling the supine forms of the men, illuminated by the flames of the fire, surrounded by a crowd of motorcycle hoodlums and their chicks, the immediate fate of two girls riding on what happens, and the whole thing taking place on a wooded mountainside in the middle of Utah! What the hell am I doing here, I ask myself. And friend, I sure as hell didn't know.
But even though it does seem unreal, I have to admit it is kind of exciting. The girls move steadily, Wilma with a slow, even rhythm, Jerri a little faster and stronger. Neither Barney nor Jason appear to be overly excited, though both are obviously enjoying themselves. The onlookers keep up a continuous barrage of comments and suggestions.
I cannot help speculating on which of the two girls I would rather have if I were in Jason's position. It is a hard choice. I begin to compare them point by point. Jerri is prettier, but Wilma is younger and fresher-looking. Wilma's breasts are large and heavy and give a cute little bounce with each up-and-down motion of her body. Jerri's are firm and stand out from her chest, just kind of jiggling alluringly as she moves. I watch the rhythmic workings of their thighs. Wilma's movements produce a sensuous rippling of creamy thigh flesh, Jerri's an exciting play of muscle and tendon. I give up.
I suddenly remember that according to Barney's rules, if Jason outlasts him I will have myself a chick for the night. That was nice; I would be ready for her after this. But if Jason didn't ... I didn't want to think about that.
I know from the session with Emily in the motel room the night before that Jason has a lot of endurance, and now he is showing it. But Barney is matching him. Neither of them seem anywhere close to the end. Of course, they have it easy. The girls are doing the work. They are both breathing pretty hard, and the firelight shows up the little trickles of sweat on their bodies as they continue to move. The crowd, which started by being very boisterous, has gradually quieted down until most of them are just standing and watching, only an occasional shouted remark breaking the silence. I can hear the crackling of the flames and the panting of the two girls. Both of them are moving faster now, probably wanting to get it over with so they can stop and rest.
I glance at Pat. She is still turned away, looking at the ground, her body tense. It crosses my mind that with her hangups, a good gang-bang might be the best thing that could happen to her. But on the other hand, it might just wig her out completely and make her a candidate for the booby hatch. I wasn't worried about Emily so much; she would probably enjoy it. If she did get hurt, it would only be physically, and she would get over it. But Pat might never get over it. I look around, wondering if there is any way we can get out of there; but I can see that's hopeless. Even though the night is kind of cool, I feel myself sweating.
I turn back to the scene. For the first time both of the men have begun to show signs of the effect of the action on them. Barney's face is strained and working, and Jason's hips are rising and falling slightly in time with Jerri's movements. It is beginning to get to the girls, too, especially Wilma. Her head is thrown back and she is pumping herself up and down with abandon.
"Damn it, slow down!" Barney says hoarsely.
Wilma does, but her body twists as she rides him. Jerri is moving harder too, and I can see that Jason is making an effort to hold himself back. But Barney is also fighting for control. His body is moving under Wilma's. I can hear his hoarse breathing.
"Goddam it, Jerri," he pants. "Finish him, damn you! Make the bastard come!"
Jerri speeds up her movements even more. Then she leans down over Jason and brushes her juicy breasts back and forth across his chest.
"Come on, honey," she breathes. "Come on. Make it for Jerri."
Well, I can see that Jason is in trouble; but Barney is slipping even faster. He is making noises in his throat, and his hands are clutching Wilma's legs. I can see his teeth clench as he makes a final effort to keep himself from the brink. But he is too far gone. In another moment, he makes a loud hissing sound and arches convulsively. Wilma squeals ecstatically as he explodes inside her.
When Jason sees that Barney is finished, a big grin comes over his face. He wraps his arms around Jerri's body, crushing her to him, and gives a series of powerful upward lunges. And then he is gone, too.
Barney pushes Wilma off of him and climbs to his feet, cursing. He glares down at Jerri as she detaches herself from Jason. "Lousy bitch!" he yells, and gives her a hard backhand swipe across the face. She cries out.
"Hey, it wasn't her fault, man," Jason says. "She did real good."
Barney does some more cursing. I am tense, wondering if he is going to keep his word or not. The others seem to be wondering, too. They stand quietly, waiting for him to do something.
Jason gets up, and Barney turns to him. They stand looking at each other. There is a strained silence. After a moment Barney seems to relax, and almost in spite of himself gives a short laugh.
"Shit!" he says. "If you ain't the damndest thing!" He gives Jason a poke on the arm. "Boy, you know what you ought to do? You ought to cut out this hippie crap and join up with us, that's what. You know that?"
"It's not my bag any more, man," Jason says. "But thanks."
Barney waves an arm. "Well, you won, hippie-boy. I never thought you'd beat me at screwing, but you did it. So what I said goes. You pick yourself out a broad for the night. Any one that ain't private property. Or are you one of these one-shot guys?"
"I'll manage, man," Jason says. "In fact, I'll stick with this one here." He indicates Jerri. "She's a kicky chick."
I can hear unhappy mutterings from some people in the crowd. "You must be kiddin', Barney," one big guy yells out. "You crazy or something? You planning to let those two dames go to waste?"
Barney turns on him angrily. "You're damn right I am!" he shouts. "When I say I'll do something, I do it! Everybody here knows that! Now anybody has any objections, let me know it damn quick, and I'll beat the shit out of them!" He glares around. Nobody says anything.
"What about you?" Barney says to me. "Which broad do you want?"
Well, I haven't see all the available material, so I tell him I'll look around and decide. He orders somebody to get us some blankets and tells us to find spots for ourselves to bed down. He goes off with Wilma, and the crowd starts to disperse.
I look around to see if I can find a likely-looking chick. "Ken," Pat says to me. "Ken, I'm worried. Suppose one of them tries to ... "
"Relax," I say. "They all seem to be pretty scared of Barney. You'll be all right."
I spot a cute little prospect not far away, and I have started toward her when the cat called Joe walks past. He stops in front of Pat.
"I still think you're a nice one, baby," he says. "How about you and me making it? Just the two of us."
Pat shrinks back, taking a step away from him.
"Leave her alone," I tell him.
"Beat it, buddy. This is between the gal and me. You're getting yours, ain't you?" He turns to Pat again, reaching for her. "Come on, honey. You'll like it."
I step in between them. "I said leave her alone. She's not interested."
"I'm getting tired of you, turd-face," Joe says. "Take off or you'll get your skull bashed in." He reached out and shoves me aside. I push him back, hard.
"Goddam you!" he snarls. "Okay, if that's the way you want it." He comes at me, swinging.
Well I swing back, and we scuffle around a little, trading a few punches, but it doesn't get too far, because Barney is attracted by the commotion and comes running over.
"Hey, what the hell's going on here?" he yells. He grabs Joe from behind and swings him away from me. "What the fuck are you doing? What happened?"
"What do you think?" I say. "Your buddy is not as interested in keeping your word as you are."
"Shit, I was just askin' her," Joe pants. "I wasn't hurting her, for Chrissake."
"Goddam it, I said leave those broads alone! What are you, deaf?" Barney shoves him away. "There's plenty of stuff around here if you're so hot. Hey, Ellen!" he calls.
My cute little prospect trots up. "Yeah, Barney?"
"Take Joe away and calm him down, will ya? He needs some."
"Come on, sweetie," Ellen says. "I'll make you feel better."
Joe scowls at me and spits on the ground, then goes off with Ellen.
"Don't worry about him," Barney says. "He's safe now. You pick out somebody yet?"
"Well I was just about to, but you gave her away."
"Yeah? Well don't worry about it. I'll get you something just as good." He walks away.
"Thank you, Ken," Pat says.
"Nothing to thank me for."
Emily has come over to join us. Jason and Jerri have disappeared, and most of the others are getting ready to bed down. "Why don't you two girls find a place to settle down?" I say.
"I still don't feel very safe," Pate says. "Couldn't you stay near us, Ken? Just in case anybody else ... anything else happens?"
I hesitate. "Well, I'm going to be kind of busy, Pat."
Pat's voice changes. "Oh, of course," she says. "The broad. You couldn't pass that up, could you? I just thought-" She stops and turns away. "I'm sorry I asked," she says.
Well, she is making me feel lousy, but I am also pretty worked up after the scene with the two girls, and I don't want to have to give up Barney's little gift.
"Look," I say, "I'll be glad to stay nearby, if you don't mind what's going on." But I know that's no good as soon as I say it.
"Please forget it," Pat says.
I am really in a dilemma, but the more I look at it the more I see that I can't very well leave the girls by themselves, because I am sure not all of those guys can be trusted. You can be sure I say some choice four-letter words to myself under my breath; but by the time Barney comes back I have made up my mind.
He's got a dark-haired girl with him, and she is not bad-looking either. I try not to look at her too much, because I don't want to see what I'm missing, but I see enough to make me kick myself some more.
"This here's Babs," Barney says.
"Thanks, Barney," I say. "But I guess I'm going to have to skip it. I'm going to stay with the chicks."
Barney frowns. "You don't look like no fag," he says. "What's the matter, ain't our broads good enough for you?"
"Believe me, I'd like nothing better than a session with Babs right now," I say. "But the girls are nervous. You know."
He starts to say something more, but then he shrugs. "Suit yourself." He goes off again, Babs following him. I sneak a look at her twitching hips as she walks away. I sigh.
Pat smiles at me now. "Thank you, Ken," she says. "Thank you very much."
"Sure," I say. "What the hell. Any other little thing you'd like me to do? Castrate myself, maybe?"
Well I guess I shouldn't have said that, but I was feeling pretty miffed about losing out on old Babs. Anyway, Pat stops smiling.
We find a place to bed down near one edge of the clearing, and roll ourselves up in our blankets as we see the other people have done. Pat is a few feet away from me, and Emily on the other side of her.
After a while I hear Pat's even breathing and I know she has fallen asleep. But I have a harder time going off. Part of it is frustration, but also I keep thinking about Pat. I have a different feeling about her than I had before. It's like she has become more of a person to me. I look over at her. She looks different when she is sleeping, kind of like a little kid, in a way, and I suddenly have this big protective feeling. It's sort of a nice feeling; but it worries me a little too. Finally I tell myself to stop being stupid, and after a while I doze off.
I don't know how long it is before I am awakened by a rustling noise. I open my eyes, and I am not at all surprised to see that Emily has gotten up and is sneaking off. I had kind of expected that. I wonder which cat she is going to, or whether it makes any difference. Pat does not wake up.
Emily moves to one of the sleeping blanket-wrapped forms. I am not sure, but I think it is Digger. She looks around, but everybody seems to be sleeping. She begins to take off her clothes.
It is very dark now, and there is not much moon, so I can't see much more than her silhouette as she strips and drops the clothes to the ground. But what a silhouette it is!
She quickly lowers herself to the ground, finds the opening of the blanket, and slips inside it. I have to grin to myself as I hear Digger-or whoever it is-give an exclamation of surprise as he is awakened by a naked girl pressing herself against him. Then there is low laughter. The blanket squirms and wriggles, and after a minute it begins to move rhythmically.
That girl is a boon to mankind. I go back to sleep.
CHAPTER 6
We are up at dawn the next morning. I am still a little worried about getting out of there, but we don't have any trouble. Barney and two of the other guys go back with us to our car, and we put the spare tire on.
As they are about to leave, Barney walks up to Jason. He scowls, then awkwardly sticks out his hand. "Shake," he mutters.
Jason takes his hand. "Thanks for everything, man," he says. "It was a gas."
"Shit," Barney says, and walks away.
When we are ready to go again, Pat draws me aside. "Ken," she says quietly, "I want to thank you again for last night. I know you made a sacrifice. I want you to know I do appreciate it. Really."
"You're welcome," I tell her. "And I'm sorry I said what I did. I was just uptight. It wasn't your fault."
She smiles. She has a damn nice smile. "Okay," she says. "Friends?"
"Sure."
She gives a little imitation of Barney, scowling and sticking out her hand. "Shake."
We shake. "It's a gas, man," I say, imitating Jason, and we both laugh.
I get behind the wheel this time, Jason beside me, and we take off.
"I really have to hand it to you, Jase," I say, and I mean it. "You were beautiful. You saved us from god knows what, for sure."
"Simple, man," he says. "You gotta know about people, that's all. Gotta dig what they're like, how they think. Or don't think. How else are you gonna write plays, man? You gotta know where the cats are at. That's the secret."
I think of Love Is the Beast, the last play of his I have seen-or at least part of it-and whatever you might say about it, it doesn't seem to me that it displayed any great knowledge of what people are like. I start to ask him about this, but he brushes it aside.
"Man, don't throw that critical jazz at me," he says. "All that conceptual crap. It's just words, man. Just preconceived cultural structures, you dig? Nothing to do with truth. Later for that, baby." He leans back on the seat and closes his eyes. "I'm gonna try to get some sleep," he says. "That Jerri just doesn't know how to quit!"
Well, I am anxious to get the hell out of those mountains, and that whole area, because I sure as hell don't want to run into any more gangs. We might not be so lucky next time. So I make as much time as I can on those mountain roads. I feel relieved when we hit relatively level ground again.
I have noticed that the spare tire we just put on is not in the best condition, and I decide we better buy ourselves a new tire before we tackle the Rockies, which we are rapidly approaching. I figure we can get it when we stop for lunch.
A little before noon we get to a very small town. We are pretty hungry, not having had breakfast, so we decide to stop. We are in Colorado by this time.
Jason has awakened. "I want to stop at a gas station first," I say. "Get a new tire put on in place of that spare."
I spot one and pull in. The gas station attendant stares at us, as do several passers-by. We are strange animals to them. While the attendant is filling up the gas tank, I see a little stationery store across the street. I remember that I want to pick up a sketch pad, and I figure if they have them anyplace in this town, that might be the place.
"I'm going across the street for a minute," I tell Jason. "You have the guy put the tire on."
"Check."
I walk over to the stationery store. There are three of four young girls, high-school types, standing in a little group near the front of it, talking among themselves. I hear subdued giggling as I pass them.
I go into the store, and one of them follows me in and goes behind the counter. She is maybe sixteen or seventeen, very pretty in a round-faced, blue-eyed kind of way, with straight blonde hair halfway down her back, and a damn nice figure.
"Can I help you?" she says.
"Do you have any sketch pads?" I ask.
"Any what?"
Well I can see right away that this town is a real stronghold of the arts, boy. "Sketch pads," I repeat. "Pads for drawing on."
"Oh." She looks thoughtful. "I think we have some somewhere. Wait a minute."
She gets a little step-stool and climbs up on it, reaching to a high shelf. I let my eyes run over her. She is wearing a snug woolen sweater and blue jeans. Her breasts are high and solid-looking, pushing the sweater into two mouth-watering shapes. Her waist is slim, her hips gently rounded. At least they have something good around here, I think to myself.
She fetches a box down from the shelf and opens it. She hands me a pad. "Thirty-five cents."
I fish the change out of my pocket. She is staring at me curiously, something I am beginning to get used to. I hand her the money. "Thanks," I say.
She starts to say something, hesitates, then comes out with it. "Are you real hippies?" she asks.
Now what do you say to a question like that? I mean, how the hell do I know if I'm a real hippie or not? Like it depends on who's looking, you know? But I figure what the hell, let the chick get her kicks.
I shrug. "I guess you'd say that."
She is fascinated. "We almost never have real hippies around here. A lot of them go through, but they don't stop. Where are you from?"
"San Francisco."
Her eyes widen. "Haight-Ashbury?" she says avidly.
"Right."
"Oooh." She leans on the counter. "What's it like? Is it really the way they say?"
"I don't know. What do they say?"
"Oh, you know. All wild and free and far out and all."
"Well, kind of, I guess. Sometimes, anyway."
"I wish I could go there," she says wistfully. "This town is so square it's not funny."
"That figures."
She leans toward me and lowers her voice. "Hey," she says. "Do you have any pot?"
This takes me by surprise. "Well, no," I say. "Not with me."
She looks quickly toward the door to be sure that nobody is coming in. "I have some," she whispers.
Now I am really surprised. "You do?"
She nods. "I got it from my boyfriend. He knows somebody who can get it."
"Where is it?" I ask.
"It's upstairs, where I live. I have to keep it real well hidden. If anybody else around here found out-especially my folks-they'd probably kill me."
I nod understandingly.
She starts to say something else, then stops, looking undecided. She glances down at my change in her hand, goes and rings it up on the register, then comes back. "You want to come up and smoke some with me?" she asks.
Well, this is a tempting offer. Not so much because of the pot, which I can usually take or leave alone, but because of the chance of spending some more time with this chick, and who knows what might develop? On the other hand, I am a little apprehensive. I have the feeling that pretty young girls in a small town like this one can lead to a lot of trouble.
"Isn't anybody else up there?" I ask her. "What about your folks?"
"They're over to Oak Creek for the day, visiting my aunt," she says, "That's why I'm taking care of the store. But I was just about to close up for lunch, anyway."
What the hell, I think. Probably nothing will happen one way or another. We'll have a joint together, and I'll go on my way. I look out through the front door. Across the street I can see Jason and the girls standing around watching the gas station guy putting the tire on the car. I wonder if I should go tell them I'm going to be a while; but then I decide it's not a good idea.
"Okay," I say. "Sounds like fun. But I can't take too long; my friends'll be waiting."
The chick goes to the front door and closes and locks it. "My names Joanne," she says, coming back. "What's yours?"
"Ken."
"Come on." She leads me into the back of the store and then up a flight of stairs. We come out into a nicely furnished apartment, very middle class looking, but bright and clean. She takes me into the living room. "Sit down," she says. "I'll get it."
I sit down on the sofa. She goes into another room. I hear the sound of a drawer opening and things being shuffled around. She comes back with two thin brown reefers. She sits down beside me and hands me one.
We light up. It's the real stuff, all right. I am not anxious to get really high, so I take in just a little bit at a time. "How much of this stuff have you smoked?" I ask her.
"Oh, not too much," she says. "Tommy only gets it once in a while. And it makes him nervous. He's really kind of square."
"Then why is he your boyfriend?"
She shrugs. "He's about the best there is in this town. That's not saying much, though." She takes a drag. "Tell me about Haight-Ashbury," she says. "Is it true they're on drugs all the time, and everybody sleeps with everybody else, and they have wild sex parties and things?"
"Well, all those stories are always exaggerated," I say. "But a lot of the stuff goes on, sure."
"Do you like it there?"
"I guess so."
"Why did you leave, then?"
"No special reason. Just felt like making the scene in New York for a while."
"New York!" she breathes. "Wow! Greenwich Village, right?"
"Well, most of the action's not actually in the Village anymore. It's in what they call the East Village, The Lower East Side, actually."
I can see this doesn't mean too much to her. The magic phrase "Greenwich Village," like "Haight-Ashbury," really gives her a jolt.
"Oh, I'd love to go there!" she says. "Boy, would I ever. Hey!" She grabs hold of my arm. "Would you take me with you? Would you? Oh, please! I'd like to just pack up and leave this whole silly place. Not even tell anybody, just disappear. Can I come with you? Please?"
"Hey, take it easy," I tell her. I don't want any part of this half-baked idea. I mean all I need is an underage runaway on my hands, right? "Sorry, Joanne, but we can't do it. We already have four people. And anyway, it would be too dangerous for us. They'd probably send people out looking for you and stuff. It's no good."
She continues to look at me pleadingly, but I shake my head. "It's just impossible," I say. "Sorry."
She settles back dejectedly. "Nuts!" she says, taking another drag. "Well, some day I'm going to get out of this town."
"Sure you will. Just wait till you're a little older, that's all."
"That's square talk," she says, and I guess she's right. "I'm plenty old enough." She looks at me. "Do you think I would make a good hippie girl?"
"I don't see why not," I say.
"I bet I would, I know I would. I'm not square. And I'm not afraid of things, either. I'd like to try LSD. And my boyfriend thinks I'm sexy."
"Well, your boyfriend is right," I say.
"You think so?" She moves closer to me. "I haven't had a lot of experience," she says. "Oh, Tommy and I do a lot of petting and stuff, and, you know, fooling around. But I only let him go all the way twice. And I've never done it with anybody else."
Well, I like the way the conversation is going, and I dig the chick, and especially after the night before I am certainly in the mood to add to her experience. But ...
"How old are you, anyway?" I ask her.
"Sixteen."
Sixteen. I shake my head. "You could really get me into trouble."
"Oh, I wouldn't!" she says sincerely. "You know I wouldn't!"
Well she is looking at me like I am Sir Lancelot or something, her face close to mine, her blue eyes wide, her slightly parted lips full and tremulous. So what would you do? I kiss her.
Her lips are incredibly soft, and her mouth moves slightly under mine. Right at that moment I lose any reservations I might have had left. I forget about Jason and the girls, and just about everything else except this sweet, willing young thing beside me.
I let myself drown in that kiss for a while. When our mouths draw apart, my heart is already beating faster. I take the cigarette from her and crush it out, along with mine. Then I bring her close against me, put my arms around her, and kiss her again. I feel her hands at my neck and the back of my head.
This time I probe with my tongue between her yielding lips. She makes a tiny sound as it slides into her mouth. She touches it with her own, and a little jolt goes through me. I extend it as far as I can, wanting to explore as much as possible of the hot moistness of her inner mouth. She keeps her lips closed around it, sucking at it, drawing it in further while she strokes it caressingly with hers.
My head starts to spin. I pull away from her, breathing hard. "You're really something," I tell her.
"Oh, so are you!" she breathes.
The beautiful twin hills in the front of her sweater are moving up and down with her breathing. I put my hand over one, Joanne catches her breath, and her head falls back, resting on the back of the sofa, her eyes closed. I move my hand over the delectable shape, tracing its contours, thrilling to the soft solidity that is like nothing else in the world. I search for the nipple through the material of sweater and bra. I brush my fingers over it and feel it coming erect.
"Oh," Joanne says. She says it under her breath, so softly I can hardly hear it. "Oh. Oh."
I bring my other hand into play and caress both of the firm mounds at once, moving my palms in circles around them, brushing the nipples, squeezing them gently. Joanne is rolling her head slowly back and forth, the breath quivering in her throat. She reaches a hand out and runs it over me aimlessly, my arm, my chest.
I am good and hard already. I am fantastically excited by this chick. I kneel up on the sofa and bring my mouth down to hers. She moans as her arms go around my neck. This time her lips open wide and her tongue curls into my mouth, moving searchingly around the inside of it, licking, probing.
I swear I can feel my blood throbbing. On sudden impulse, I swing one knee over her legs so I am facing her directly, straddling her things, and still kissing her, I move forward until the hardness of my prick is jammed against her stomach.
She makes a mewling sound into my mouth, and her arms tighten on me. She squirms against the couch, making her stomach move against the front of my pants.
I tell you, I am going out of my mind. I break away from her and pull her down until she is lying flat on the sofa. I look down at that waiting body, the heaving breasts, the writhing hips.
"Oh, Ken," she pants. "Let's do it. Let's do it all the way."
Well, I haven't had anything else in mind for some time now. "You bet we will," I say. I stretch myself out beside her, turn her on her side and pull her full length against me, my arms around her. She pushes even closer, if that's possible, every curve and hollow of her from shoulders to knees mashing itself into my body. We kiss again, our tongues fighting each other.
She gyrates her hips powerfully against mine, raising my temperature dangerously. She continues the hip movement as she breaks the kiss and whispers into my ear.
"Tommy and I do it this way sometimes, with all our clothes on. I can make him finish this way."
"Yeah, well that's not the way we're going to do it," I tell her. "So cut it out."
The hips stop, but our bodies remain pressed together as she brings her mouth back to mine. I pull at the back of her sweater, tugging it out of the waistband of her jeans. My hands go under it, and I feel the smooth warm skin of her back. I stroke upwards until I encounter her bra strap. I find the hook and unclasp it. She gasps against my lips as I move under the loosened bra, sliding my hands around her sides and touching the beginnings of her breasts.
I pull away from her slightly so that I can slip my hands between us to hold onto the naked breasts. God, they feel marvelous-the yielding texture of the skin under my fingers, the nipples throbbing into my palms. Joanne buries her face in my neck as I caress them, scraping me lightly with her teeth.
"Take this thing off," I tell her.
"Yes." She sits up part way. Her face is flushed, her eyes misty. She takes hold of the sweater at her waist and pulls it up over her head. She struggles with it for a few seconds, and I have a tantalizing glimpse beneath the loose bra of her lifted, quivering breasts. Then the sweater is off, and I pull the brassiere away from her.
Her breasts are just as firm and shapely and thrusting as they feel, creamy and unblemished, their cute pink nipples pointing stiffly. I pull her down again and take one of them into my mouth, my tongue working over it. She groans and presses it harder against my face. I go to the other one, sucking at it avidly. Then I kiss over the taut skin beneath them, while Joanne purrs happily.
I feel her fingers at the buttons of my shirt, opening them. I straighten up to let her complete the job, then I pull the shirt off. She helps me as I tug my undershirt over my head. Her hands caress my chest, her nails scratching gently over the skin. Then one hand drops to my waist and unbuckles my belt.
I run my hand down along the front of her jeans and cup it over the place where her legs come together. Her body stiffens. Then she makes a throaty sound and scrunches herself down a little, trying to increase the contact. I leave that hand where it is, closing it a little more tightly on her, while the other goes to the buttons of her jeans. I work them open, while she does the same to my trousers. I slide my fingers inside and let them roam around a little, and she rolls her hips under my hands.
"Pull them off me," she whispers.
She arches herself so I can pull the jeans off. I tug them down over her hips, revealing her white panties. As I stand up to finish the job, my loosened trousers fall around my ankles. I kick them off, along with my shoes, and now I am naked except for my shorts. I grab the legs of Joanne's jeans and pull them the rest of the way off her.
Christ, her legs are gorgeous! Girls her age aren't supposed to have legs like that. They are perfect- beautifully shaped, flawlessly textured. The tapered sweep of the thighs, the molded curve of the calves, leave me breathless. I run my hands over them slowly, almost reverently, savoring the smooth young flesh.
I reach for her panties, but she stops me. "Wait," she says. "You first: Please."
"Okay." I open my shorts and drop them. Joanne stares wide-eyed at my strainingly erect rod. Then she reaches out a hand toward it. The touch of her fingers makes me feel weak. And I sit down again.
"It's bigger than Tommy's," she says, fondling it appreciatively.
"I'm glad you like it." My voice sounds funny.
She curls her fingers around it and begins stroking it. "This is what I do for Tommy most of the time, when he gets real excited and I don't want to go all the way."
"That's very interesting," I say, pushing her hand away none too soon. I need a little breather, or I am not going to be able to give this girl what she deserves. "What else do you and Tommy do?" I ask her.
She grins mischievously. "I like to tease him," she says. "Like this." She takes my hand and, straightening the index finger, brings it to her mouth. She kisses the finger lingeringly, flicking it with her tongue. Then, gazing intently into my eyes, she slides it into her mouth. She takes it in all the way, her lips closing over it. Then she begins to suck at it, exactly as if she is making love to a prick, bobbing her head, letting it move in and out between her moist lips, at the same time moving her tongue around it caressingly. It is fantastically, erotically suggestive.
"He gets mad when I do that," Joanne says. "Because then he wants me to do it to him here." She touches my dick. "But I won't." She brushes my hard length lightly. "I'll do it for you, though, if you want," she says.
I swallow. "I don't think I could take that right now," I say. "What else?"
She wrinkles her nose. "He likes to put it here," she says, indicating the little valley between her breasts.
That seems like an appealing idea. I raise myself up over her and rest my rigid shaft in that sweet crevice. She brings her hands to her breasts and pushes them together, forming a soft tunnel of flesh around me.
"I don't let him do that too much, though," she says. "Because when he finishes that way it's real messy."
"I'll bet." I move down, all the way down, my prick sliding out of the tunnel and over her stomach, across the front of her panties and down along her legs. Kneeling on the end of the sofa, I reach for the panties again, and this time she doesn't stop me, I pull them slowly down and off.
Cute little triangle of blonde hair at her crotch. Whole lovely naked teen-age body stretched out in front of me.
I put my mouth to those legs and kiss along the length of them, my lips trailing over the wonderful shapeliness, my tongue hungrily tasting her skin. My mouth travels over her calves and up her thighs. I move her legs apart and kiss the delicate flesh of inner thigh, while she squirms. At the juncture of her legs, I pause. But not for long.
I pull her legs up, spreading them wider. "Did Tommy ever do this?" I ask her hoarsely, and bury my face in her crotch. She draws in her breath with a loud noise, and her body arches convulsively. I set my tongue to work.
"No," she gasps. "No, he never-Oh! Oohh, nooo ... " Her voice trails off in a series of strangled moans as I run my tongue over the edges of her cunt.
I inhale the scent of her, the wild girl-woman smell. I suck avidly at the juiciness of her and slide my tongue into her slit, pushing it as far as I can, licking at her. I hear her high-pitched wailings from somewhere above me. Her hands are on my head, her fingers clenched in my hair. Her body tosses abandonedly.
I slip my tongue out of her cunt and find her tiny clitoris. Her hips jerk crazily as my mouth touches it. I lick over and around it, nibble at it with my lips, than flick my tongue rapidly back and forth across the hard little button. She goes out of her skull as I work it over, hissing and groaning, writhing frantically. Then she gives a sharp cry and her hips arch off the sofa, doing a weird, quivering dance against my face, and then fall back.
Her hands drop from my head. I pull away from her. She closes her legs and lowers them. She is lying flat, her eyes closed, her face slack, taking long, shuddering breaths. I lie down over her, and her arms go around my neck, clutching me tightly.
"Oh, wow!" she breathes in my ear. "Oh, my god! I've heard about that, but I never ... " She shakes her head.
"You'll have to teach Tommy to do that," I say.
"Oh god, don't talk about Tommy anymore." She kisses my ear, flicks her tongue into it. "Let me relax a minute and then we'll do it, okay?"
"Okay." I hold on to her, glorying in the nude length of her beneath me. I can feel her hard nipples pressing into my chest as her breasts shape themselves against me. My stiff prick brushes over the roundness of her thighs.
After a minute, her legs begin to move. Gradually her thighs open to me. I position myself and find her opening, then very slowly move into her. I feel her nails dig into the skin of my back as I feed it to her.
"Oh, yes, Ken!" she hisses. "Oh, yes!" Her hips rise to meet me. They go tense for a moment as I take her completely; then they relax, and begin a gentle rocking motion.
I move with her. She makes whimpering noises as I slide in and out of her. We hold on to each other, our bodies writhing slowly with the intense pleasure. Our rhythm increases gradually as it mounts inside us.
Joanne's legs are bent, her knees up. I feel her thighs caressing my hips. I move strongly, deeply. Her whimpers get louder.
The sweet joy of it goes on and on, getting incredibly better and better as our bodies grind into one another. I am beginning to pant with the effort, but I do not want to stop, not ever. Our movements have accelerated until I am almost plunging at her now, and she is responding with equal force, making hoarse, rhythmic moans.
Her legs flex and curl around me, her ankles locking behind my back. My brain boils with the sensation. My arms tighten around her until she cries out, flattening her against me as we continue to batter at each other. I can sense now that we are both on the inexorable road to the end, and I want to know, to possess every morsel of that youthful, ecstasy-producing body.
She is sobbing now, sobbing joyously beneath me as she strains toward her climax. We are careening together down the slope of passion. I thrust madly into her, trying to go deeper. I want to bury myself inside her. Her sobs turn into mindless little cries. Her legs clench fiercely around me, and her nails rake my back. Then she screams into my ear as her body convulses repeatedly under me.
I ride it out with her, but her finish has set me off, and in another moment I feel it upon me. I slam into her one final time as the spasms rock me and my brain goes to pieces.
It seems like a long time before I come back to reality, but it is probably only a few moments. Joanne is still holding onto me, panting into my ear. "I loved it. I loved it, Ken. I loved it."
"Me too, honey." And friend, I wasn't putting her on, either.
Then I hear something else, and it really jolts me back. It is Jason's voice, coming from somewhere outside, and he is yelling, "Kenny! Ho, Kenny!"
"Oh, Christ!" I say, and pull away from Joanne. "I forgot all about them. They must think I died or something."
I go to a window and pull back the curtain enough to see Jason standing in the street, looking around puzzledly. The window is open. "I'll be right down!" I yell, and duck back. I grab my clothes and start scrambling into them.
"Oh, no!" Joanne says. "Do you have to go right away?"
" 'Fraid so. My friends are waiting. We have to get going. But it's been great, kid. I really mean it."
"Won't you change your mind and take me along?" she says. "I won't be any trouble, honest. I'll just-"
"I'm sorry," I tell her. "After today I'd like to, believe me. But there's just no way. But if you ever do make it to New York, you be sure and look me up, okay?"
"Oh, sure," she says disgustedly.
I finish tying my shoes, then I go over to her and sit down on the edge of the sofa. "Hey, listen. Don't be mad, please. I mean, I know it's kind of lousy, running off like this right after ... But I can't help it. I had a swell time, though, and so did you. It was nice. Let's keep it that way, okay?"
She hesitates, then smiles a little. "Okay," she says. "I didn't mean to be square."
"You're not square, Joanne," I tell her. "You're a real groovy chick." I kiss her lightly. "So long, Joanne."
"So long, Ken."
I leave her there and hurry down the stairs and through the store, open the door and go out. Jason and the girls are across the street, waiting.
"Hey, what the hell happened to you, man?" Jason demands. "We're damn near starving to death!"
"I'm sorry. I got kind of tied up."
"Yeah, I can imagine. He glances significantly up at the window over the store, shaking his head. "I don't know how you do it, man. Come on, let's eat."
I glance at Pat, but she is not looking at me. For some strange reason I feel vaguely guilty.
We find a little restaurant a short distance away, and boy, do I have an appetite! Then we walk back to where we have left the car, and we are off again.
CHAPTER 7
Well, believe it or not (and, knowing me, Walt, you'll probably believe it) what with the beautiful distractions provided by Joanne, I had forgotten to take the sketch pad with me when I left. So there we are, going over the Rockies, magnificent vistas on every side-all those rolling hills and lakes and greenery and all that jazz, just like in the songs-and I am padless again. But hell, it was worth it. I mean, when the times comes that I have to choose between art and sex, I will become an insurance salesman.
Anyway it's all very pretty, and then we are going through Denver, which is less pretty, and after a while the terrain gets very-flat and the road gets very straight, and you can go along for miles on end without turning the steering wheel more than an inch or two either way. We shoot along that road straight into Kansas before night falls, and Kansas is even flatter and straighter.
A little while after dark we decide to call it a day, get some dinner and go to bed. We find a likely-looking motel and stop. Remembering our experience at the last motel, we send Pat in to get the rooms, since of the four of us she is the most respectable looking.
We are waiting for her to come out of the office when we hear a strange kind of thumping noise from somewhere in the back of the car.
"What the hell is that?" Jason says.
I am puzzled. "I don't know. We better see."
We get out of the car and walk around to the back of it. Emily follows us. The noise continues. It seems to be coming from inside the trunk department. I can't 'magine what is in there.
"That's pretty damn weird," I say.
"Better open it," Jason says.
"Yeah." I am a little hesitant, which seems very silly, but it can be damn spooky when inanimate objects start making noises. "I don't suppose you'd like to open it?"
"It's your car, man."
"Well, what the hell, damn the torpedoes," I say, and I open the trunk. And I nearly fall over. Because there, curled up in the trunk, all squeezed in between the suitcases and the spare tire, is Joanne!
I have to be dreaming, right? But I am too astonished to pinch myself. I am absolutely speechless as she stiffly and laboriously climbs out of the trunk, just as she was that morning, same brown sweater and blue jeans; but her face is smudged and her hair is disordered.
She walks painfully around in a little circle, stretching and rubbing her legs. "Oh, my god," she says, "I thought you were never going to stop."
Jason and Emily are staring at her, also speechless. I find my voice. It's not actually a voice, it's more of a croak. "Joanne! What the hell-" That's about all I can get out.
"You know this chick?" Jason says to me blankly.
I nod. "She was in that stationery store this morning."
A light comes into his eyes. "Ah, the one you got 'tied up' with."
I groan. "Joanne, for Christ's sake! How the hell did you get in there?"
"I got in while you were having lunch," she says. "Nobody saw me, honest."
"I don't get it," Jason says. "What's her bag?"
"Oh, god," I groan. "She wants to be a hippie!"
Jason suddenly bursts out laughing. I guess it is kind of funny at that, but I can't see much humor in it at that moment. "Well, she's off to a good start," he says.
"She must feel awful," Emily puts in. "Cramped up in that tiny space all this time. Are you all right, honey?"
"I'm hungry," Joanne says, and Jason starts laughing again.
Emily, I have to admit, is showing more concern for the kid than we are. "Come on, Ken, introduce us," she says.
"Yeah. Joanne, this is Emily, and this is Jason. And this is Pat," I add, because she has come out of the office and is approaching us, staring at Joanne curiously.
Emily explains to her what has happened. Her reaction is to start glaring at me. I put up my hands. "It's not my fault," I say. "I didn't have anything to do with it."
"No, that's right," Joanne says. "Don't blame Ken. He told me I couldn't come. But I just had to. I couldn't stay in that town another minute. I'm going to New York!"
"I think that's great!" Emily says. "Why shouldn't she? We have room for another person, don't we, Ken?"
"She's only sixteen," I say. "She's underage. She's got a family."
"Ahh, what the hell," Jason says. "It's happening every day, man. Kids are splitting the scene by the thousands. They're bugged with this family jazz, they want to head out on their own. Don't you read the underground papers? Hundreds of classified ads: 'Dear Janie, please come home, we love you. Mom, Dad, Jack, Jill and Rover.' It's the thing, man, why fight it?"
"I think Ken is right," Pat says. "We can't just pick up a strange girl, whose family will be looking for her, and carry her off to New York. You can understand that, can't you?" she says to Joanne.
"Oh, please," Joanne says. "Please take me! I won't go back, anyway. I won't! I'll-I'll hitchhike the rest of the way or something."
"Oh, dear," Pat says. "What do you think, Ken?"
"Do you have any money or anything?" I ask Joanne.
She digs into the pocket of her jeans. "Three dollars and eleven cents," she announces.
"Oh, great."
"Well look, it's too late at night to do anything about it now," Jason says. "Let's at least wait till morning, right? We'll get ourselves something to eat, and then we'll sleep on it. She can share a room with you girls, can't she?"
"Of course," Pat says. "Come on, Joanne, you'll want to clean up. Then we'll have some dinner."
"Maybe we ought to at least call her folks or something," I say. "Let them know she's all right."
Joanne grins. "You can't," she says. "You don't know my name. My last name."
What are you going to do with a chick like that?
We eat in a coffee shop across the road from the motel. Over dinner Joanne asks about seven million questions about being hippies, and life in "Greenwich Village," and what have you. She is disappointed when Pat tells her, very definitely, that she and Emily are not hippies. I try to play down the whole scene, but not old Jason. He comes on with all kinds of fancy tales, which Joanne takes in with rapt attention, like she's sitting at the feet of the Maharishi or something.
She starts asking him about LSD, and I wonder if she has brought her reefer along. I ask her about it.
"No," she says. "I threw them away before I left."
"That's good," I say. "If there's anything we need to be caught with less than a runaway, it's dope."
"You smoke pot?" Jason asks surprised.
"Sure," she says proudly. "I'm not square. Kenny knows that."
"I'll bet he does," Pat says dryly.
I get very busy eating.
When we are back in our room, I put Jason down a little. "You're sure a big help, man," I tell him. "Snowing the kid like that. Hell, she's hipped up enough on all the crap she gets about 'hippies' from the goddam TV and Life magazine and stuff. Now you're making it worse. Like, why don't you tell her some of the drawbacks too, at least? It's not all highs, Jase, you know that as well as I do."
He frowns at me. "What's the matter with you, Kenny? You're getting strung out, man; I don't dig where you're at any more. What are you giving the chick a bad time for? If she wants to swing, groovy, let her swing, baby. I wouldn't mind swinging with her a little myself. Hell, you did, didn't you?"
I have to admit he's right about that. I shrug. "Yeah," I say. "Sure I did." I start thinking about what he's said, and it occurs to me that I have been sounding pretty square about the whole thing. "Hell, I must be getting old," I say!
"Tell you what I think," Jason says. "I think it's that Pat twist. She's having a bad influence on you, man. You gotta watch these straight chicks, they're bad news."
For a minute I wonder if he is right, but I reject the idea. "Well, don't worry about it," I tell him lightly. "If I sound respectable, it's only a momentary lapse. I still know where it's at, believe me. But you know, Pat is actually a pretty nice person when you get to know her a little."
"You better look out, man, or she'll have you on the nine-to-five bit, with three kids and the picket fence."
"Pat?" I laugh. "No chance, man. I mean she's a nice kid, but let's not be ridiculous."
Jason shrugs and starts to get undressed. "Hey, I wonder if we'll get another visit from Emily tonight," he says. "Maybe she'll even bring that Joanne along, wouldn't that be a gas?"
"That would definitely be a gas."
But Emily must have been tired, or too busy with girl-talk or something, because we received no visitors that night.
By the next morning the three girls were chummy as hell. I can see that Joanne has been accepted, and I have decided that if the rest of them want her along, I am not going to make any more objections.
While we are having breakfast, Pat explains to me that Joanne is determined not to go back home under any circumstances whatever, and that rather than let her go off alone and maybe get herself into a lot of trouble, we might as well take her with us. But she has gotten Joanne to agree to send her parents a note, just telling them that she is okay.
So it is decided, and Joanne is so happy you'd think they had just legalized pot or something. So after breakfast we made it out of there, five of us now. The three chicks are in the back, chattering away like a sexy sewing circle.
Well, if you're ever driven through Kansas, you know it has to be the longest, flattest, dullest place on the face of the globe. Just the perfectly straight road, the sun beating down, and lots of corn all over the place, with maybe a cow or two now and then to liven things up. You can make good time on those roads, though, and they are not too worried about the speed limit. But even so, we are still in Kansas when we stop for lunch.
As we get back in the car after eating, I look at the map. "Thank god," I say. "We'll be out of this state pretty soon. Keep the faith, friends. Missouri has got to be better."
"Missouri?" Pat says. She looks thoughtful. "How far do you think we'll get today, Ken?"
"With any luck," I say, "we should be able to go right through Missouri and spend the night in the middle of the Mississippi River."
"Crazy," Jason says. "We'll make like Huck Finn and Tom Sawyer, man. You got a raft on you?"
"I think there's one in the glove compartment," I say.
"All right, you clowns," Pat says, laughing. "I think you had too much beer With your lunch. Maybe you better let me drive for a while."
"Why not?" I say. "What can we lose? When your number comes up, it comes up, right?"
"Very funny."
"I," Jason says, "will get in the back and commune with these two charming young chicks. No calls, please."
Pat gets behind the wheel and we move out. "The reason I asked how far we would get today," she says when we are out on the highway again, "is that I have a brother who lives in Missouri. The eastern part. I haven't seen him for a long time. I don't want to slow us up, but I just wondered how close we were going to pass by there, and if there was any chance ... "
"What town does he live in?" I ask.
"Bowling Green."
I consult the map. "Bowling Green. Here it is. Let's see ... Looks like it's about twenty, twenty-five miles south of Hannibal, which we pass through."
"Maybe if we stop for the night around Hannibal I could take a bus down there or something, and stay over," Pat says. "And come back the next morning. That way we wouldn't waste any time And I really would like to see him."
"Hell, it's not that far away," I say. "We'll just make a little detour and go down there. No problem."
Pat hesitates. "Well ... " She looks embarrassed. "Look, please don't misunderstand, Ken. But my brother is a very-well, I guess what you'd call a middle class type. I'm not sure how he would react to-well, to-"
"To us," I finish for her. "I get the idea. But there's still no problem. I mean I've got no eyes for the long-lost relative scene either, believe me. We'll just drop you off, go find a motel someplace, and pick you up in the morning. How's that?"
"That's very nice of you, Ken."
"Well, I'm a very nice fella," I say. "Children run up to me on the street and lick my hand."
She smiles. "You are when you let yourself be," she says.
"Hmm." I look over at her. "Jason thinks you're a bad influence on me," I say suddenly, for no good reason.
"He does?"
"Yep. 'Gotta watch out for those straight chicks, man, they're bad news."
She laughs. "And what did you say?"
"Oh, I told him you weren't so bad as you seemed.
"Well thank you, kind sir."
Missouri is a bit of an improvement over Kansas-what isn't?-but not a hell of a lot. I am getting pretty bored by the whole rural scene by this time. It never was my bag, as you know, and I am damn anxious to get back to civilization. I think of dirty, noisy, overcrowded, unfriendly, polluted, rotten old New York. And I can't wait to get there.
Evening is coming on by the time we turn off the main highway to make it down to Bowling Green. I have taken over the wheel now, Pat beside me. Jason is still happily playing guru in the back seat.
"What does this brother of yours do, anyway?" I ask Pat.
"He's an engineer. He has a very good job with one of the big aircraft companies."
"Yep, he sounds middle class, all right."
She gets a little huffy at this. "Yes, I suppose he is. Middle class, square, bourgeois-all those terms you use about anyone who doesn't share your values."
"Oh, I'll bet he's got a great set of values," I say. "Money and status. Right?"
"I think it goes a little deeper than that," she says coldly. "I think most of all he values his family. He's got a lovely wife and two children."
"And a picket fence?" I ask, remembering Jason.
"Never having seen his place, I wouldn't know about that. But he seems to be quite contented with his life."
"Contented!" I say disgustedly. "Sure he's contented. All those cows we've been passing for the last three days are contented."
She sighs. "All right, I used the wrong word. Happy, then. Is that better?"
"Well, if you use 'happy' to mean 'contented,' then maybe he is, I don't know. But if you're using it in any bigger sense, then I doubt it."
"Oh, you do!"
"Yes, I do. How can that kind of life make him happy? He goes to work every day at the airplane factory, right? Then-"
"It not a factory," Pat breaks in. "It's a whole big-"
"All right, whatever it is. Then he goes home to his picket fence arid has dinner and watches the TV. Right? Once in a while they have some people over, or they go out someplace, and sit around and get smashed. Or once in a while he goes bowling or something with the boys. That's the way most people live, sure-if you want to call it living. But that doesn't make it good. And there's nothing in that kind of life that's going to make anybody happy. Not in any real way."
Pat shakes her head intensely. "You're wrong, Ken. Because all those things are just surface things. It's not so much the things you do in your life that are important, it's the basis of it. The foundations. For my brother-and most of these other people you look down on-the foundations are a home, a family, security, people who love him. That's what makes him happy. That's there no matter what. So what if he watches TV instead of smoking pot? What's the difference if he works for an airplane company or paints pictures? He's still got a basis for his life. What's the basis for yours?"
"Freedom," I say. "I can come up with some more things, but I guess that's about the nitty-gritty. I can do what I want and go where I want and be who I want. And that means I'm able to lead my life as fully as possible. And that's what it's all about, baby."
"Is it?" she says. "And does that make you happy?"
"You betcha."
"I wonder. I don't see much of what you call real happiness among people who live your kind of life, either. It sounds fine to talk about, but it seems so empty finally. I think at least the chances for happiness are better my brother's way. That's what I want for my life, anyway. A foundation. A home. A family."
I am a little exasperated at her, and I talk without thinking. "Well I don't see how you're going to do it, Pat, because to get a family, you have-" I stop myself. I'd been about to say something about having to make it with somebody in order to have children, but it is kind of stupid thing to say right then.
But Pat knows what is in my mind. She flushes a little. "I'm not against sex, Ken," she says.
"No? You could have fooled me."
"I'm just against having it indiscriminately. Casually, with anybody. I think it's wasteful. But with someone you love, it's probably a very beautiful, meaningful thing."
" 'Probably,' " I repeat. "Why don't you try it and find out for sure?"
She looks at me for a moment in silence. "I guess because I haven't met the right man yet," she says.
I am a little bugged by this, and then I get bugged at myself for being bugged. "Well, I hope to hell you meet him before it's too late," I say.
She gazes at me for another few seconds, then turns away and looks out the window.
"So do I," she says quietly.
And that ends that conversation.
Not long after that we get to Bowling Green, and after asking a few directions find Pat's brother's place. When we pull up in front of it, I cannot help bursting into laughter. Because there is a little yard in front of the house, and around the yard is a small, neat, white picket fence.
Pat glares at me for a moment, but then it gets to her. She struggles to keep a straight face, but soon she is laughing with me.
We drop her off after making arrangements to pick her up the next morning. Jason offers to take over the wheel, and Joanne gets in front with him while I go in back with Emily. The house is actually a little way outside of the town, and there are no motels around, so we head up toward Hannibal.
It is dark now. It has been a long day. Emily is yawning. "Boy, I'm tired," she says. "I'm going to lie down and try to sleep. Can I put my head in your lap, Ken?"
"Be my guest," I tell her.
She lies down on the seat, on her side, and rests her head in my lap, shifting around to get into a comfortable position. She closes her eyes.
I don't know exactly how it happens. All I know is that Emily's skirt is pulled up very high on her thighs, and I can see her bare legs gleaming whitely in the dimness of the car. Her skirt is dark, which makes the legs seem almost disembodied, a sensuous entity complete in itself. As my eyes travel over them, images flash through my mind of those legs as I have seen them on other occasions-stretched wide on a bed; clenched tightly around my hips; waving wildly in the air on either side of Jason's plunging body.
Before I realize what is happening, I become aware of myself rising and swelling, growing rapidly to a throbbing hardness. I take my eyes off the legs, trying to shut the pictures out of my mind in an attempt to control it. But it is no use. In a few moments I can feel my pulsating prick fully erect, pushing against the front of my trousers.
Emily feels it to. She has half dozed off already, and she moves her head restlessly in my lap over the annoying bulge, which of course only makes it worse. Finally her eyes open and she raises her head.
"What are you doing?" she asks.
"I'm sorry," I say. "I can't help it."
Her hands goes to my trousers. "Oh, my," she says softly. She rubs her fingers over the protuberance. "How am I suppose to get to sleep if you're going to do that?"
I say nothing. Jason and Joanne are in animated conversation in the front seat, and are not aware of what is going on.
"I guess I'll just have to do something about that if I want to get any rest, won't I?" Emily says slowly.
Her fingers find the tab of my zipper, and she slowly pulls it down. I draw in an unsteady breath as her fingers slip into my fly and encounter my straining rod. In a minute she has freed it and pulled it out. It stands up like a miniature marble column in the darkness. I hear Emily make a soft sound of approval a she caresses the length of it. I feel myself breathing faster as I anticipate what she is going to do.
She turns so that she is lying on her stomach, her legs bent at the knees, her calves resting against the far door. She lowers her face close to my lap. Her tongue comes out and touches me lightly. I stiffen.
She flicks at me several times with the tip of her tongue, quick, darting, moist little touches. Then she places the end of her tongue at the base of my prick and slowly slips upward along its underside.
Pleasure rockets through me. I rest my head on the back of the seat, trying not to breathe too loudly as her agile tongue continues its work. I feel the tip of it moving in tiny circles on my turgid flesh, then in larger circles, then in little figure-eights. I stifle a gasp as she runs it carefully around the sensitive ridge just under the head of my cock.
Then her tongue softens and she caresses me with the broad velvet sweep of it, going at my prick as if it is an ice-cream cone and she is a hungry child. She licks around the sides of it, over the upper part, and across the tip, her swirling, voracious tongue not leaving a single millimeter unpleasured as it curls like a crazed snake over my tautened skin.
My hips are squirming under her erotic ministrations. She makes one final low, sweeping circle around my shaft with the entire length of her tongue; then draws it away from me. I arch off the seat, devastated by the loss of contact. But a moment later I feel her soft lips on my flesh.
She kisses lovingly over my skin, her ardent mouth moving with a soothing sensuality over the areas her tongue had set on fire. Her lips nibble at me gently, sliding upward until they are poised over the tip of my cock. Her mouth opens.
She pauses, teasingly prolonging the agonizing moment. I writhe as I feel her warm breath on my waiting flesh. Then her mouth closes over me.
She takes just the head of my dick inside her at first, mouthing the ridge while she circles her tongue around the tip. Then, with tortuous slowness, she moves downward, the hot, close caress of her lips ringing me lower and lower, until finally, unbelievably, she has swallowed me up, containing the entire length of me in the soft, moist furnace of her mouth.
She holds it there for a long moment, while her tongue brushes slowly, lingeringly, back and forth across me. I have to bite at my own tongue to keep myself from crying out in sheer joy. Then her head begins to move.
I have never experienced anything like the sensation produced by her clinging, suctioning lips as they slide up and down over my straining shaft. She seems to be trying to draw the very life out of me. Her head moves steadily back and forth, languorously at first, but with a slowly increasing tempo as the tension mounts inside me. Her tongue caresses me tantalizingly with every stroke as she works me in and out of her mouth.
I look down at Emily's rhythmically bobbing head as she continues to suck me. I place my hand on her brown hair and stroke it softly. I let my hand continue to glide down her back and over her waist, then rest it on the high curve of her ass. I turn my eyes again to those voluptuous legs which have started this whole thing. I know I can't hold out much longer. I press the back of my free hand against my mouth to hold back my groans.
Emily senses my finish coming on, and I hear her making eager noises in her throat. Her lips clamp even more tightly around me. Her head moves rapidly, swiveling, her tongue going wild. It is too much to bear. Ecstasy crashes over me, and I cannot completely suppress the sound that escapes me as I explode again and again into her mouth.
I feel her throat working against my thigh as my body sags. Through the roaring in my ears, I hear Jason's voice from the front seat "Hey, what the hell's going on back there?"
Emily gives a final swallow, then releases me and raises her head. "Nothing," she says, her voice a little throatier than usual. "I was just helping Kenny out with a little problem. Or I should say a big one."
"Good Christ, Emily!" I whisper. It is an inadequate comment, but it is the only thing I can think of.
Emily smiles at me. She folds my now-limp cock back inside my fly and zips me up. "Now maybe I can get some sleep," she says.
She turns on her side again, puts her head back in my lap, and in another minute she is asleep.
CHAPTER 8
The first motel we come to consists of a bunch of old, dilapidated shacks that seem like they're about to fall over. We are hardly the most particular people in the world about where we stay; but even so, that place is so ratty looking that we decide to pass it up and find another. If we only had sense enough to stop there, we would have saved ourselves a lot of crap.
We pass through a couple of towns that aren't even on the map without spotting another place. It looks like not too many people travel along that road. Who can blame them? On the outskirts of another town, we find a place that looks something like the first one, but by this time we are feeling less choosy.
Jason pulls up in front of the driveway. Emily awakens when the car stops and straightens up, yawning. "What do you think, Ken?" Jason asks me.
"Hell, let's take it before we end up in Canada."
He is about to start up again and swing the car in; but at that moment a police car pulls up beside us. There are two cops in it. One of them shines a flashlight on us out of his window. Then he gets out of the car and comes over to us. He is lean and nasty-looking, maybe thirty-five or so, and he is dressed like a small-town cop, which isn't surprising.
"What's the matter with you, fella?" he says to Jason. "You can't stop here. Don't you see that's a driveway?"
"We were just deciding whether to-" Jason starts.
The cop breaks in. "Lemme see your license."
Jason gets it out and hands it to him. He turns his flashlight on it, studies it, then shines the light on Jason. His mouth twists slowly into a sour grimace as he takes him in. Then he shines the light around at the rest of us. He lets his breath out with a little sound of disgust.
"Hey, Chief," he calls. "Come see what we got here."
The car door opens and the other cop climbs out. He is older, in his fifties, fat and red-faced. The first one shines the light around on us again for his benefit.
"What are you people doing around here?" he asks.
"Just passing through," Jason says. "We were just going to stop at this motel."
"You're not stopping in this town, fella," the first cop says. "If you're passing through, you pass through. And quick."
"Now wait a minute," I start to protest. I should have known better.
"Get out of the car," the chief says. "All of you."
We get out. Joanne looks nervous. Emily just looks sleepy. We stand by the side of the car while the two of them look us over more thoroughly.
The chief walks around to look at our license plates. "California," he says. "That where you folks're from?"
I nod. "San Francisco."
"That figures." The first cop makes his disgusted sound again. "You got the registration for this car?"
"I'll get it." I find it in the glove compartment and give it to him. He checks it over. "Where you going?"
"New York."
"This town ain't on the road to New York," the first one says.
"We had to drop off a friend."
"Should I give 'em a ticket, Chief?" the first one asks.
"Don't be dense, Wally. Give them a ticket, they'll just tear it up on their way out of town."
"We could take 'em in," Wally says.
"Hey, slow down, man," Jason says. "We were just-"
"You speak when you're spoken to, mister," the chief snaps. He surveys the four of us again. "We don't like your kind around here," he says finally. "This is a nice clean town. No hippies. No beatniks. No agitators."
"We're just passing through," I say again.
"Yeah. And breaking the traffic laws." He pauses. "Motels, huh?" he says. "What's your relationship with these girls?"
"Friends," I say.
He grunts. "Friends, huh? I'll bet. You ever hear of the Mann Act, boy?"
The Mann Act! I want to laugh, but I'm not sure he's kidding.
He shines his light on Joanne. "How old are you, girl?"
"Eighteen," she lies.
"Yeah, like hell you are." He goes back to Jason. "What else you carrying? Narcotics?"
"No, man, nothing like that," Jason says.
"I bet he's lying, Chief," Wally puts in. "This kind always carries drugs. They take 'em like candy."
"Well, we better have a look," the chief says. "Let's take them in."
"Take us in!" I say. "What for?"
"Get in the police car."
"But-"
Wally reaches for his holster and pulls out his gun and points it at me. "Do what the man says, boy."
So I do what the man says. I am kind of nervous with the gun on me, but mostly I feel I am having some kind of bad dream and will probably wake up any minute.
The chief puts the four of us in the police car, me in the front, Jason and the girls in the back, and orders Wally to follow him in our car. This is so we won't have a chance to hide any of the drugs we're supposedly carrying. He drives us in to the station in the middle of town.
It's a dingy little place, not much more than an office with a couple of desks and a few chairs, and two cells in the back. There is nobody else there. Evidently we have met the entire police force. What they do in that town if somebody commits a crime while the two of them are out patrolling for desperate criminals like us, I don't know.
The chief goes to the largest desk, gets out a cigar and lights it up. After a minute Wally comes in.
"You search the car?" the chief asks him.
"No, Chief."
"Well what the hell you think we're doing here, playing games? Search it!" Wally goes out again.
Well, by this time I know it's not going to do any good to talk about a search warrant or anything, but I am too mad to just keep quiet. "Are we under arrest, Chief?" I ask him. "If so, what's the charge? If not-"
"I got lots of charges, mister," he says threateningly. "Illegal parking. Resisting arrest. Interference with an officer in the performance of his duty. Transporting females across state lines for immoral purposes. Contributing to the delinquency of a minor. That's just for openers. Any more questions?" He walks over to the door and looks out to see how Wally is doing.
"Damn it," I whisper to Jason. "We gotta get ourselves out of here. Where's all this 'knowing people' stuff you were telling me about?"
He shakes his head. "You can't hassle with the fuzz, man," he whispers back. "They got all the cards, you got none. Just have to hang loose and hope they don't get too heavy."
Wally comes in, lugging our suitcases. "Nothing in the car," he says. "Don't know what's in here, though."
"Sometimes they hide it in the upholstery or someplace," the chief says.
"You want me to tear it apart?"
"Never mind. Open those things up."
They open the suitcases and dump them out on one of the desks. They paw through all our things, and when they don't find anything they just sweep everything off onto the floor.
The chief sits down behind his desk. "Empty your pockets," he says to us.
We do so. Wally picks up my pocket knife. "Carrying a concealed weapon," he says.
"Concealed weapon!" I exclaim. "That's-"
"Shut your mouth. Okay," the chief says to Wally. "Frisk 'em."
Wally approaches us and runs his hands professionally over me, and then Jason. "The girls, too?" he asks.
"Yeah, the girls too," the chief says. "Too bad our police matron ain't around. She must be out getting laid."
Wally laughs. He moves to Emily. "This is gonna be a pleasure," he says, reaching for her. Emily takes a step away from him. "Hold still!" he says threateningly. She does so, but she makes a face as his hands go over her, much more lingeringly then they did with Jason and me, with a few unnecessary excursions in the areas of breasts and buttocks.
He steps to Joanne, who shrinks back in revulsion, her hands coming up almost involuntarily to protect herself.
"Cut out the modesty act," the chief says. "I know about you girls. All you hippie girls are tramps. It's all that free love stuff with them," he says to Wally. "It's one big orgy all the time. They screw with anybody. Drug addicts, weirdos-anybody."
"Niggers, too," Wally says.
"Especially niggers. There's nothing they like more then to have some big black boy jumping up and down on them." The chief moistens his lips. "Wally, you bring that blonde one over here to me. I'll do her myself."
Wally takes Joanne's arm and pulls her around the desk to stand beside the chief's chair.
"Put your hands down, girl," the chief says.
Joanne hesitates a second, then obeys.
"Now you just stand real still," the chief says, "and you won't get hurt. You hear me?"
I am fuming. "How much of this do we have to take?" I blurt out.
"I told you to shut your mouth, mister, now you do it or you'll be mighty sorry!" the chief says angrily. He turns back to Joanne. I see Jason shaking his head at me warningly.
The chief reaches up to put his hands on Joanne's shoulders. She bites at her lip, but she does not move. The chief's eyes glisten as he runs his hands down the front of her sweater, gliding them slowly over the hills of her breasts.
"Oh, yeah," he says softly. "She sure as hell don't have anything hidden in there!" The hands continue downward, over her stomach. "You ever screw a nigger, girl?" he asks her.
Joanne shakes her head wordlessly.
"You lie," he says, sliding his hand between her legs. She flinches.
The chief laughs. "Okay, honey, get back there." He watches Joanne as she walks back to us. He moistens his lips again. His face is redder than before.
"You know what I think we ought to do, Wally?" he says.
"What, Chief?"
"I think we ought to search these characters more thoroughly. No telling where they might hide that stuff. I think we ought to search them right down to the skin."
Wally's eyes gleam. "That's a great idea," he says.
Well, in spite of the warnings, I have to try and stop this before it gets out of hand. I take a step forward. I try to sound calm and rational. "Chief, you're going too far," I say. "You can't-"
The next thing I know, Wally has whirled on me and given me two terrific whacks across the face, so fast I can hardly see his hand move, and so hard I am stunned. Then, without pausing, he punches me in the stomach. The blow feels like a pile driver. I double over, and he clips me one on the back of the neck. I fall down, choking and gasping. The room is spinning around like a top, and I feel as though I am never going to breathe again. Then Wally kicks me hard in the side, and I hear myself give a weak cry of pain.
"You got anything more to say, boy?" Wally says from above me.
"I warned you, mister," the chief says. "Put him in a cell, Wally. Put them both in a cell and get them out of the way."
Wally hauls me roughly to my feet and pushes me, still gasping for breath, into one of the cells. "You too," he says to Jason. "Let's go."
Jason hesitates. Then he speaks up, and after what he has just seen it takes nerve. He tries trickery. "You don't want to mess around with these chicks, man," he says. "They been with so many guys, they're like diseased, you know?"
But they don't fall for it. "Hell, you guys look pretty healthy to me," the chief says. "And you been humping them all the way from California."
Wally laughs. He picks up a billy club that is lying on one of the desks, and hits Jason a sharp rap across the ass with it that makes him jump. "Move!" he says. He locks Jason and me inside the cell. "You want them to strip, Chief?"
"Later," the chief says. "We'll get to them later, Wally. We'll take care of the girls first. You don't have any objections to that, do you?"
"Hell, no, Chief." Wally grins broadly. "Hell, no!"
The chief surveys the two girls as he takes a puff on his cigar, his eyes going over them with anticipatory relish. He waves the cigar at Emily.
"You first," he says to her. "Strip down, girl."
Emily looks undecided. It must be the first time in her life she is reluctant to take her clothes off. Joanne is cowering back against the wall.
Then Emily makes a big mistake. Her intentions are good, but she is just not very bright. She is used to having men fall all over themselves when she offers them her body. But she does not realize that this time she is not dealing with some frustrated motel owner.
"If I do," she says, "will you let us go?" She turns on her smile. "I can be real good to you," she says softly. "To both of you. And then you can let us out of here. Okay?"
Wally gives out with a loud guffaw. The chief's eyes narrow, his face going hard. "We're not looking to make bargains, tramp!" he snarls. "You just do as you're told, and do it quick!"
"You heard the chief," Wally says. "Take those clothes off."
Emily moves away from him, her eyes flashing. "No!" she says defiantly. "I don't dig you guys at all! You really turn me off, if you want to know."
The chief stares at her. He puts his cigar down and gets up slowly. "You hear that, Wally?" he says. "We turn this whore off!"
"Want me to knock some sense into her, Chief?"
The chief comes around the desk and stands in front of Emily. "You get naked, bitch," he says in a low voice. "Right now."
Emily shakes her head stubbornly. He snarls and reaches for the top of her blouse. She moves away again.
The chief slaps her across the face. "We have to teach you some manners, girl," he says hoarsely. "We'll teach you good. Put her up, Wally. Like we did with that uppity nigger last week."
"Yeah," Wally breathes. "That oughta be something!" He takes a pair of handcuffs from his belt and, grabbing Emily's arm, snaps one of the bracelets around her wrists. He pulls her roughly toward the cells. She makes a sound, half of fright, half of protest. Wally shoves her against the bars at the front of the cell. He pulls her arm above her head and passes the handcuff around one of the bars, above the strip of iron that runs across near the top of them. He yanks her other arm upward and fastens the free end of the handcuffs around her wrist. She gives a cry of pain.
Wally steps back. Emily is effectively hung up, her arms high above her head, her body stretched taut. She has to stand on tiptoes to keep the weight of her body from pulling her wrists against the cruel metal cuffs.
The chief gazes at her, a savage smirk on his face as she hangs there, struggling to keep her body from sagging. She is gasping. Her breasts thrust out, straining against the front of her blouse. Her skirt is pulled high over her trembling thighs.
Wally is breathing hard, and it is not all from exertion. Jason and I can only watch helplessly.
Joanne's horror overcomes her fear. "Stop!" she cries, running up to the chief and grabbing at his arm. "Stop it!"
Wally backhands her across the face with a blow that sends her reeling backward. She falls to the floor and lies there, whimpering.
The chief walks over to stand in front of Emily. Deliberately, he raises his hands and puts them on her protruding breasts. He rubs over them roughly.
"Now," he says softly. He puts both hands to the neck of her blouse, and yanks hard. Emily cries out again as the force of it pulls her brutally against her fetters. Buttons pop and there is the sound of cloth tearing. The blouse pulls open down the front. He pulls at it again, showing surprising strength, and the blouse tears across her shoulders. He continues to rip at it until it lies in tatters on the floor.
He regards the heaving, tightly-packed brassiere for a moment, then digs his hand into the front of it and yanks again. Emily yells as her body is pulled outward, then slammed back by its own weight against the bars as straps break and the bra comes away.
Wally makes an excited hissing sound as the magnificent naked breasts are revealed, pulled even higher and tauter than usual by Emily's upraised arms. The chief drops the brassiere and puts his fingers on the tips of her breasts. He takes each of the large red nipples between thumb and forefinger and squeezes them cruelly, twisting his hands outwards. Emily howls with pain, her body arching itself into a tight bow.
The chief laughs softly as he releases her. His hands move to her skirt. He takes hold of the material on both sides and pulls downward, forcing the skirt slowly over her hips, until it drops to the floor. Emily is moaning. He rips the panties apart with one powerful tug, and she is naked.
Both men gaze raptly over the nude form of the helplessly hanging girl. Wally's mouth is loose and open, his breath coming hard. The chief's tongue flicks repeatedly over his lips, the weird grin twisting his mouth.
He runs his hand lightly down Emily's body to her crotch. His fingers tighten suddenly in the patch of brown pubic hair, and he twists hard. Emily shrieks. Her body writhes as his hand continues to twist and pull. Her legs come up, first one then the other, bending at the knee and rising high, alternating in a strange dance of pain as she tried to alleviate the pressure.
After a minute the chief lets her go and steps back. His eyes glisten.
"All right, Wally," he rasps. "Go ahead. Knock some of the sass out of her." He picks up his cigar and relights it as he watches.
Wally approaches the moaning girl, the billy club still in his hand. Emily gives a cry of fear as he swings it backward, measuring her. Then he whips the club forward with terrific force. It whistles through the air, and makes a sickening sound as it slams into the tender flesh of her side, just below her ribs.
Emily screams in agony, her body twisting. She bucks frantically in a hopeless effort to get away as Wally swings the club again, this time in a backhanded motion. It smashes into the same spot on her other side, and she screams again.
I can't stand it. I grab hold of the bars of my cell, trying crazily to shake them loose. "Stop it, goddam you!" I yell. "Stop it!"
The chief doesn't even seem to hear me. Wally's response is to look at me and grin, then turn back to Emily. She shrinks back against the bars, terror on her face, shaking her head pleadingly. "No more," she gasps. "Please, no more."
Wally's grin widens. Then with a swift, sudden motion, he raises the club and brings it down with all his strength across the flesh of her unprotected belly.
The air whooshes out of her, and her body tries to double up, but her position prevents it. Her head falls forward, her mouth open and retching. She makes horrible choking, gurgling sounds. Her body jerks convulsively as she struggles for breath.
Wally stands and watches her agonized squirmings as she slowly recovers, until she is hanging limply, her head bowed, breathing in great spasmodic gasps. He goes to her then, grabs her by the legs and turns her body around, so that the front of her is pressed against the cell bars, her back toward him. Then, rhythmically and methodically, he starts beating her across the buttocks with the billy club.
The tortured girl screams with each blow. Every whack of the club causes her body to jerk forward, jamming itself against the bars, portions of her flesh bulging between them. She writhes in helpless torment, without the strength any longer to even try to support herself on her toes. The cuffs cut into the skin of her wrists. Her fingers scrabble frantically for a hold on the bars.
Finally Wally stops and moves back. "That oughta make her more cooperative," he says. "What do you think, Chief?"
"Turn her around," the chief says.
Wally takes Emily by the legs again and turns her around so she is facing outward. She is panting and groaning, her face a mask of pain. The chief walks up to her, his cigar in a corner of his mouth.
"What about it, girl?" he says. "You ready to do what you're told now?"
Emily nods weakly.
"Answer me, girl!"
"Yes," she gasps. "Yes. Anything."
"Yeah, I thought so." The chief pats Emily's breast.
"Should I take her down, Chief?" Wally says eagerly.
"Hold on," the chief says. "I want to save this one. We'll just leave her up here for a bit, while we take care of the other one. By that time she'll be even more ready to obey orders."
"Oh, God," Emily moans. "Please let me down. Please. I can't stand it."
The chief looks at her and sighs. "You don't learn, bitch. You want what we want. Now, we want to leave you up here. What do you want?"
Emily makes a sound of despair, not answering.
The chief takes the cigar out of his mouth, knocks the ashes from it, and without warning deliberately stubs it out on Emily's nipple.
Her scream is ear-splitting. Her body jerks and flops like a landed fish. He waits until she subsides, moaning piteously.
"I'll ask you again," he says. "I got lots of cigars, and lots of matches. You want us to take you down from there?"
"No," Emily says in a choked whisper.
"Say it louder."
"No!"
"Okay." The chief turns his back on her and walks back to his desk. Wally's eyes linger on Emily a moment wistfully before he turns away.
The chief turns to Joanne, who is still on the floor, looking terrified. "On your feet, girl!" he says.
She gets up slowly, and stands trembling.
"You want to get what she got?" the chief asks her, jerking his head toward Emily.
Joanne shakes her head, too frightened to speak.
"Then you skin out of those clothes, and do it quick."
Joanne swallows. She hesitates for a fraction of a second; but then, after a quick look toward Emily, her hands go to the bottom of her sweater. She bites at her lip as she tugs it out of her jeans. She pauses again, but at a slight movement from the chief she pulls the sweater quickly over her head.
Wally is watching her intently from one side of the room. Emily is panting and groaning softly in her fettered position. Jason and I are watching grimly, unable to speak, unable to turn away.
Joanne slowly unbuttons the front of her jeans, then pushes them down over her hips and steps out of them. She stands quivering in bra and panties, her eyes pleading.
"All of it!" the chief snaps.
Joanne bows her head. She turns around as her hands reach in back of her to open her bra clasp.
"Face front, girl! This ain't no goddam burlesque show."
She turns back to face him. A flush comes over her face as she opens the brassiere and pulls it off. Not allowing herself to pause, she grasps the waistband of her panties and pushes them down. She straightens up, naked.
The flush deepens and spreads as the two men silently take her in. Her hands come up, one going across her breasts, the other covering her crotch.
"There she goes with those goddam hands again," the chief says.
"I'll fix that, Chief," Wally says. He goes to a desk drawer and pulls out another pair of handcuffs. Joanne makes a fearful sound as he approaches her, but he grabs her arms and pulls them backward. In a minute he has fastened her wrists together behind her.
"How's that?" he asks.
"That's fine!" the chief says, his eyes traveling avidly over the length of her exposed body. "Now isn't that something!"
Wally walks around her and takes a good look of his own. He whistles. "I don't know which one of 'em is better," he says.
"What's the difference?" the chief says. "We got them both. What's your name, girl?"
"J-Joanne."
"Okay, Joanne, walk around a little bit. Go on," he says as she hesitates. "Walk around the room some. I want to watch you move,"
Tears come into Joanne's eyes as she does what he says. The two men follow her intently with their eyes as she walks slowly around the room, naked, her hands cuffed behind her back. There is no doubt that the sight of that gorgeous young body in motion is an inflammatory one, and the slight awkwardness imparted to her movements by her shame and by her shackled hands makes it somehow seem even more exciting.
"Goddam!" Wally says, "she's a juicy one, Chief. Look at the way them boobies bounce around when she walks!"
"Yeah," the chief says. "She sure gives me ideas, all right." He stands up from his desk. "Come here, girl."
Joanne approaches timidly. "You be good now, girl," the chief says. "Just like we was one of them niggers or dope fiends you give it to."
Joanne sees what is coming and tries to back away, but Wally grabs her arm.
"Put her on the desk," the chief says.
Wally takes her beneath the arms, and the chief takes her feet, and they lift her up. She struggles, wriggling like a snake, but they swing her up onto the top of the desk and lay her down. Wally holds on to her shoulders as she continues to struggle. The chief gathers her ankles and holds them tightly under one arm, while with the other he starts to undo his trousers.
When Joanne sees what he is doing, she redoubles her efforts. She twists her body strongly, and Wally has a hard time holding her down.
"Goddamit, keep her still!" the chief says, fighting with his zipper.
"I can't ... get a good ... hold on the bitch," Wally pants. "Wait a minute, Chief." He grabs Joanne's hair with one hand and pulls her to a sitting position. Joanne cries out as his painful grip on her hair forces her to bend forward. Wally takes the key to the handcuffs out of his pocket with his free hand, and unlocks them, releasing her wrists. Then, pulling her head back until she is lying flat again, he grabs her arms and pulls them above her head, holding her wrists down flat on the desk, one in each hand.
Joanne's movements are now much more restricted, but she continues to struggle as the chief drops his pants and then his shorts. I can see his fat, swollen cock, standing stiffly in readiness. Joanne moans with fright.
Now the chief takes one of her ankles in each hand and pulls her toward him, causing her body to slide on the desk until her buttocks are right on the edge.
"No!" Joanne pleads. "No, don't!"
With Wally still holding her wrists over her head, the chief places his hands under the backs of her ankles and lifts her legs, pulling them up until they are perpendicular, her feet pointing at the ceiling. Then he pushes them backwards, spreading them apart, while the helpless girl squirms futilely. He forces them back until she is bent into a taut arch, her feet in the air above her head, her crotch exposed and vulnerable.
"This is perfect," the chief says. He bends forward slightly, leaning on her ankles, grinning down at her through the wide V of her legs. "I'm really going to love this," he says hoarsely, his eyes taking in the terrified face, the quivering breasts moving up and down rapidly with her frightened breathing. "You ready, girl?"
Joanne begins to sob. "Don't," she cries. "Please don't. Please!"
"You little tramp!" the chief snarls. "Your twat's too good for us, huh? I'll fix that right now." He forces her legs even further backward and down, until he is nearly bent double, causing her buttocks to rise off the edge of the desk. She screams.
The chief moves his hips forward until his dick makes contact with her loins. He pokes around until he has got himself positioned at the opening of her cunt. Her torso humps desperately on the surface of The desk. Her arms strain as she tries vainly to pull her wrists from Wally's grip.
"No!" she screams. "No! N-Aaaaah!!"
The chief plunges forward sharply, ripping into her. Her screams continue as he inexorably forces his way forward, grunts of effort and pleasure coming out of him. He rams himself deeper and deeper inside her resisting body, until finally he has buried himself completely in her cunt. He holds himself there, straining his hips forward against her writhing buttocks, continuing to support his upper body by his grip on her painfully stretched legs.
"Christ!" he gasps. "She's a sweet little piece!"
"I bet." Wally's face is slack with excitement as he watches, but his fingers are clenched more tightly than ever around Joanne's wrists.
The chief begins to move, jerking his hips back and forth in a powerful, piston-like motion. He is a weird sight, standing there with his pants around his ankles, shirt and shoes still on, his ass heaving rhythmically, his fat belly shaking obscenely as he lunges against the imprisoned girl.
Joanne is sobbing hysterically. She is still struggling, but she is close to exhaustion, and her ineffective squirmings are only adding to the chief's pleasure.
"How's this, you ... you little bitch?" he pants. "You don't ... like it, huh? ... You'd rather have ... some damn hippie ... or some nigger ... in your cunt?" He moves harder, thrusting savagely, making Joanne cry out between sobs.
"Too much for you ... you young whore? ... I'll give it to you ... like you never ... got it before ... I'll split you apart ... There! ... There! ... There!!"
The chief is moving wildly now. He is close to the end. Frenziedly, he hunches himself over the desk, his hands pressuring her ankles, forcing her legs still further back, until her feet almost touch the desk on either side of her outstretched arms, and her lower thighs and buttocks are pulled even higher beneath him. Joanne shrieks as her body is bent almost to the breaking point, and the chief pounds himself into her, gasping hoarsely.
"Now ... you slut ... Oh, you ... tight little ... sweet little twitch ... Ahh ... Now! ... Aaahh! ... Unnhh!"
The chief's body shakes like a big blob of jello as he climaxes. In another few seconds he pulls himself out of Joanne and straightens up, letting her legs down as he does so. He leans on the desk, panting heavily.
Wally lets go of the girl's wrists. Joanne rolls over on her side, her body curling itself into a little ball. She is crying with deep, rasping sobs.
Wally's face is twitching with excitement, his breath coming fast. "My turn now, right, Chief?" he asks eagerly.
"Be my guest," the chief pants. "If it ain't worn out by now."
"I got a different idea," Wally says. He doesn't even bother to drop his pants; he just unzips his fly and pulls out his stiff prick. Then he scrambles up onto the deck and kneels beside Joanne.
A terrible, heart-rending sound comes out of her as he pulls her onto her back again; but she cannot fight any more. She lies there sobbing despairingly, waiting for him to violate her.
Wally runs his hands hungrily over her naked body, taking a quick inventory of her sensuous young figure. After a minute of this, he positions himself so that he is kneeling over her head, one knee on either side, his prick pointing straight at her face. Joanne's eyes widen in horrified realization.
"Open your mouth," Wally orders.
Joanne gives an anguished moan and turns her head away. He digs his hand into her blonde hair and twists cruelly, forcing her head back to him. He keeps his grip in her hair while with his other hand he gives her a series of hard, rapid slaps across the face.
Joanne cries out in pain, and Wally immediately plunges his cock into her open mouth. Her cry suddenly turns into a choking gurgle. She tries to turn away again, but his hand tightens still more in her hair, preventing her head from moving. Fresh tears flow from her eyes.
"Suck it, girl," he rasps threateningly.
Joanne's trembling lips slowly close around his rod. Wally draws in his breath sharply. He begins a rocking, back-and-forth movement of his hips over the tear-stained face of the girl beneath him, sliding his cock in and out of her motionless mouth. He groans with pleasure as he rubs himself between her lips.
His motion speeds up. He is too worked up to last long. High, whinnying noises come from him as he continues to plunder Joanne's mouth. In a few moments he has had it. "Oh, yeah," he gasps as it comes over him. "Oh, YEAH! !" And he empties himself into the girl's throat.
He immediately lets go of her and climbs off. Joanne rolls on her side again, choking and gasping.
"Goddam!" the chief says. "I bet that was fun."
"You know it, Chief," Wally says fervently, sliding off the desk.
"I'm damn near ready again just from watching you," the chief says. "Maybe I'll try that with Miss Sassy over there."
"I don't think she's gonna be very sassy now," Wally says, surveying Emily's pain-wracked body. "I think she's gonna be real docile."
Groans come at irregular intervals from the mouth of the fettered girl. Her head is bowed, her body alternately straining to support itself painfully on her toes, and sagging helplessly, suspended by the metal cuffs abrading the skin of her tortured wrists, pulling her upraised arms agonizingly taut.
"Yeah." The chief's pants are still around his ankles. He shuffles around the desk and lowers himself into his chair. He takes off his shoes and socks and gets rid of the trousers, then starts unbuttoning his shirt.
Wally follows his example, stripping off his own clothes. "Might as well get comfortable, huh, Chief?"
When the two men are naked, the chief rises and they walk over to where Emily is hanging. The chief steps up close to her and lustfully rubs his fat, hairy body against her nakedness. His prick, already half-erect, hardens further as it slides over her straining flesh.
"You're going to be real nice to us now, aren't you, honey?" he says.
Emily tries to speak, but only an incoherent sound comes from her. She nods her head jerkily.
"Take her down, Wally."
Wally gets the key to the handcuffs, then reaches up and unlocks them, releasing Emily's wrists. She falls to the floor and lies there, moaning weakly, her body twitching.
The chief pushes her over onto her back with his foot. She lies there unresisting, her face contorted, her exhausted legs jerking uncontrollably. The chief grins nastily as he looks down at her.
"And this bitch was going to make bargains with us!" he sneers. He lifts his bare foot and places it lightly on Emily's breast. He rolls the voluptuous mound of flesh under the sole of his foot, then tweaks the nipple with his toes. Then he slides the foot down her body. "Spread your legs," he commands.
Emily painfully draws her thighs apart. His foot slides between them, the toes rubbing at her crotch. He finds the opening of her cunt and presses his big toes against the tender flesh. He pushes at it, twisting his foot, trying to insert the toe inside her, causing Emily's body to jerk painfully.
The chief laughs. He removes his foot from her crotch and swings it up to her face, placing the toe, dirty from the floor and moist from her crotch, to Emily's lips.
"Lick it off, girl," he says.
Emily obeys him. Her tongue comes out and moves over the fat, soiled flesh of his toe. He makes her continue until she has licked it clean. Then he pulls his foot away.
"Yeah," he says. "I guess she knows the score now, all right." He laughs again. "She said she didn't dig us, remember? Let's make her take care of both of us at once."
"Great," Wally says. "But hold off a minute, Chief. That other bitch really did me in."
"Hell, we got all night," the chief says. "You got any more little tricks you want her to do? She's willing."
"Yeah," Wally says, licking his lips. He looks around the room, and spies the billy club where he has put it down on a desk. He goes over and picks it up. Emily screams as he comes toward her, the club in his hand. She struggles painfully into a sitting position, trying to protect herself.
He shakes his head at her. "I ain't gonna hit you with it this time," he says. "I'm gonna love you with it. I mean I'm gonna let you love yourself with it." He holds the stick out toward her. "Take it," he says. She does so.
"Better be careful she doesn't beat you up with it, Wally," the chief chuckles.
"Nah. Right now she couldn't beat up a fly. Okay," he says to Emily. "Now fuck yourself with it."
Emily stares at him, her eyes wide.
"Do what he says, girl," the chief says sternly. "You want to go back up there?"
"No!" She shakes her head wildly.
"Then go ahead," Wally says. "You've played with yourself before, ain't you? You'll probably enjoy it. Go on, stick that thing up your cunt."
Emily looks at the club in her hands. "I-It's too big," she stammers.
"You can do it," the chief says. "Just pretend it's a big brown cock on one of your nigger boyfriends." He laughs. "That's what it is, a nice big juicy brown nigger cock. That's what you love, right? Now do it!" he barks suddenly.
Emily gulps. She lies slowly down on her back again, then draws her legs up, spreading her thighs wide. She places the end of the stick against her slit and tries to insert it, but it is too large.
"I can't," she gasps. "I can't."
"You're not trying very hard, bitch," the chief says warningly.
Emily moistens her fingers and rubs them over her cunt, trying to lubricate it. She spreads her legs still wider apart, her bent knees almost touching the floor. She rubs the end of the stick over her opening, turning it in her hands, trying to get herself to accommodate it. She gasps with pain as she pushes it against her flesh. After a few minutes of effort she manages to slip the tip of it inside the lips of her cunt. She gives a little moan of anguish.
"That's it!" Wally says excitedly. "Push it right up there."
Emily does her best to obey. She twists the stick slowly, working it at herself, until a tiny bit more of it disappears inside her. The men watch avidly.
"More," Wally commands. "Diddle that thing. Screw yourself, girl!"
Emily slowly moves the stick back and forth in short little strokes, grunting with the pressure of it digging into her. Wally's depleted cock gradually stiffens as he watches the obscene performance.
Finally, when it becomes obvious that Emily is unable to insert the club any further, Wally leans down and grabs it away from her. "That's enough," he says. "I got something else I want to put up there."
"Let's go," the chief says. "Get on your knees, girl."
Emily turns over and slowly manages to get her knees under her. She kneels on all fours, her head hanging. The chief steps up to her, pulls her head up by her hair, and rubs his prick over her face.
"Let's go," he says again, his voice unsteady. He walks over to a nearby bench and sits down on it. "Crawl over here," he orders.
She goes to him on hands and knees, her breasts swaying as she moves. The chief slumps down on the bench and opens his legs, motioning to her. She crawls between them. He takes her head in his hands and places her face on his lap.
"You know what to do," he says. "Do it good, girl. Do it good."
Emily takes his prick in her mouth and begins to suck him. His body goes stiff. "Goddam," he whispers. "That's the way, honey. That's the way. You just keep that up." He looks over at Wally. "What the hell you waiting for?" he demands.
Wally grins. "Nothing, chief." He comes over and kneels down behind Emily. He moves her knees wider apart, then guides his prick between her legs. He reaches around to place his hands over her dangling breasts, then gives a quick, savage lunge.
Emily yells, the sound smothered by the chief's flesh. "Don't stop, you bitch!" the chief grates. She resumes what she is doing, her head moving up and down over the chief's lap, while Wally gets up a steady rhythm of his own behind her.
It goes on for a long time, the men's activities with Joanne having provided them with extra endurance for Emily. But finally the chief's face begins to work with the effect Emily's mouth is having on him. He arches from the bench, gasping sharply, and releases his passion. He slumps back, pushing Emily's face from his lap. But Wally holds on to her, grasping her breasts, humping himself wildly against her, until pretty soon he too goes over the edge. He slides off her, and Emily collapses wearily to the floor.
For a long time nobody moves. There is silence except for the exhausted panting of Emily and the two cops, and the soft crying sounds coming from Joanne, still lying on the desk. Jason and I have not moved through all of this, frozen in anger and helplessness.
Finally, after several minutes, the chief rouses himself. He gets heavily to his feet, walks across the room and starts to put on his clothes. "You, girl," he says to Emily. "Get dressed. You too," motioning at Joanne.
Emily has some difficulty getting to her feet, but at last she makes it, swaying unsteadily. Joanne slides gingerly off the desk. She picks up her clothes and starts dressing quickly. Emily's clothes are ruined, but she finds others in the pile of things they have dumped from our suitcases. She dresses laboriously. Wally, looking a little disappointed that the fun seems to be over, puts his clothes on also.
The chief orders the girls to pack up our suitcases. Then he comes over to the cell where Jason and I are.
"Now you listen, and listen good," he says. "I want you to get in that car and get out of this town as fast as you can, and don't ever come back, you hear me? Consider yourself lucky, because I'm letting you off easy. And don't get any ideas about trying to get us in trouble, because you couldn't, but I can get you in plenty. Nobody's going to listen to a couple of lousy hippies talking against the police force. Anyway, whatever you think you saw here tonight never happened. Isn't that right, Wally?"
"I didn't see nothing, Chief," Wally says. "'Cept we took these freaks in for breaking the law, and they were carrying on something terrible, yelling and threatening us and breaking things. Even having orgies in the cell." He shakes his head sadly.
"That's right," the chief says. "And if you say one word to anybody, I'll have you all in prison for the next fifty years, you better believe it. You got that?" He unlocks the cell door. "Now get!"
We don't say a word. We don't do a thing. Maybe you think we should have, but if so, I'd like to know what. If you've ever tangled with the fuzz, you know that there is really nothing you can do. Not ever. We walk out of the cell, collect the girls, leave the station, put the suitcases and ourselves in the car, and get the hell out of there.
CHAPTER 9
We stop at the first motel we come to after leaving the town. The girls, of course, are in a bad way. They are a mass of aches and bruises, and Emily can hardly move. Jason and I want to get a doctor for them, but they both say they don't want one. Doctors get very curious about things like this, and have to file reports, and even call in the police, and we figure we've had enough of them for one night. Still, we tell them that we can make up some story that will get us by okay; but they insist they don't need a doctor, they just need some rest and sleep.
We find a drugstore and pick up some liniment and other stuff we think might be helpful. We get them settled down for the night, and then grimly hit the sack.
The next morning I drive down alone to pick up Pat, leaving Jason with the chicks. We have decided to stay over where we are for an extra day, giving them a chance to rest and recover, and go on the next morning. I take a different route down, you can be sure, making a wide detour around our favorite town, and come back with Pat the same way.
I tell her what has happened, leaving out some of the lurid details, but giving her the picture pretty well. She is horrified, and terribly worried about the girls. I assure her they seemed much better when I had left that morning, and had eaten huge breakfasts. She says she thinks Joanne will probably want to go back home after an experience like that.
"No," I tell her. "I think she might have wanted to last right, but this morning she said she definitely doesn't. She still wants to go to New York."
"But why?" Pat asks, mystified. "Why does she want to get herself into a life where things like that happen?"
"That could happen to anybody," I say.
"Oh, no," Pat says. "Not really. They picked on you because you were hippies or whatever, didn't they?"
"Yes, and because they're stupid and ignorant."
"All right," Pat says. "But respectable people don't get treated that way."
"Sure," I say bitterly. "Because 'respectable' people are part of the same stupid, ignorant system. So they're protected. Until they run into somebody even more 'respectable', which means even more stupid and ignorant then they are."
Pat sighs. She is silent for a long moment. "Why do we always have to fight, Ken?" she asks softly.
I look over at her, and I suddenly feel very strange. There is a great kind of tender feeling inside me, and I realize that I really don't want to fight with her, that what I would like to do is make her feel good, not bad.
I shrug. "I don't know," I mutter. "We have conflicts. So what? Everybody has conflicts."
"But why are ours so important, Ken?"
I don't want to think about that. I shrug again. "Okay," I say, "so let's stop fighting."
So we do. But we are silent the rest of the way back.
Well, we stay over the extra day, Joanne and Emily spending most of it in bed; and by the morning after, Joanne is feeling better and Emily has only a few sore spots and a little stiffness.
So we are off again. We cross the Mississippi River into Illinois, and already I can feel we are getting into more civilized territory. For one thing, the states are not so damn big. Around lunch time we cross from Illinois to Indiana. It looks like one more night on the road, and if we don't get held up any more we should be in New York the next day.
Indiana is kind of pretty, with lots of woods and rivers and stuff, and the road is very scenic. Around one o'clock we come to a little picnic site cleared out of the woods by the side of the road, and overlooking a rustic-type vista of fields and farms and so on. There is a little stand selling sandwiches and things, and wooden tables scattered around. It looks kind of nice, and we decide to stop there for lunch.
I am not especially hungry, and seeing a little trail heading off into the woods, I figure I will take a little walk to work up an appetite. By this time I have finally gotten myself a sketch pad, and I take it with me, thinking that if I find a likely spot I might do some quick sketching. It seems like a long time since I have had a chance to work.
So I go along this trail for a while, and evidently I am the first person to do so in a long time, because it is kind of overgrown in spots. Then suddenly I come onto a little clearing. It is a pretty spot, and I sit down on a rock and open my sketch pad for business.
A group of three trees at one end of the clearing catches my eye. Their branches overlap and cross each other in an interesting pattern, and I study it for a while and then set about to abstract it on paper. I am at it for a little time when I hear somebody coming along the path, and then Pat walks into the clearing.
"Hi," she says.
"Hi. Lunch over?"
"Yes, but Emily is taking a nap in the car and Jason and Joanne went off somewhere, so I thought I'd come and see if I could find you."
"Well, you found me," I say. "Where did Jason and Joanne go?"
"I don't know. They just kind of snuck off in the other direction."
"Hmm," I say. "Joanne must be all better."
Pat looks away from me. She walks around a little. "What are you drawing?" she asks.
I tell her. She comes and looks at it. "Mmm," she says.
"You don't like it, huh?"
"Well ... " she says. "It's fine for what it is, Ken, but I don't think it really has much to do with those trees over there."
"Sure it does. It has everything to do with them. With the way I see them."
"But that's not the way you see them," she says. "You're kidding yourself. That's only a part of what you see. And not a very important part."
"It is the most essential part," I say. "Just because it isn't realistic doesn't mean it isn't real. You want a picture of real trees, I'll get a camera."
"That's not the point," Pat says. "Paintings can express a personal vision and still show some relationship to the real world. But when you go completely abstract, then you lose the reality."
"Not if you see it clearly," I say. "Then you can only intensify the reality."
Pat sighs. "That sounds like Jason talking about his plays," she says.
"I don't think so," I say. "It's something entirely different."
"Well, I'm not so sure. I don't think Jason could write a real play if he tried, and I'm beginning to wonder whether you can paint a real picture."
This kid is going too far. "Now just a minute!" I say hotly.
"Well why don't you, then?" she says. "Because I happen to prefer-"
"All right then, show me. Go on, draw something right now. Anything. Draw a tree. Or a rock. Or me. Anything!"
Well, now I see a way to get her off my back. "Okay, sure," I say. "Good idea. I'll draw you. Take your clothes off."
I figure that will take care of the art criticism, all right, and I expect her to turn right around and march out of there, maybe taking a swing at me first. But right then, buddy, I get the shock of my sweet young life.
Because Pat doesn't swing at me; she doesn't walk away. She stands there looking at me steadily for several long moments. Then, in a very low voice, she says, "All right." And then she begins to unbutton her blouse.
Well, as you can imagine, I couldn't have been more surprised if she had taken off and started flying around over my head. I can only sit there and watch her in amazement as she unbuttons the blouse down the front, pulls it out of her skirt and takes it off. She drops it on the ground.
She is not looking at me, but her face has a set, determined expression. She unfastens her skirt at the side and steps out of it, putting it on top of the blouse. She is wearing a little half-slip kind of thing, and she takes that off too.
She is down to bra and panties, and I am still not believing my eyes. She hesitates for only a brief second. Then her arms go behind her to open the bra, and she takes it off. Then she pulls off her panties and stands there, incredibly naked. She finally allows her eyes to meet mine.
I am absolutely dumbfounded. But my astonishment doesn't keep me from seeing how lovely she is. Her body is beautifully built, slender but excitingly curved, elegant yet sensual. Her breasts are not tremendously large, but they are firm, nicely shaped and perfectly proportioned. Her stomach slopes gently inward to her narrow waist, below which her hips curve invitingly. Her legs are slim and supple, the thighs well-rounded and tapering, the calves lovingly sculptured, diminishing into slender ankles. It is all finely put together to form a body of subtle sexuality that, attractive as she is, I had not imagined Pat to possess.
Pat flushes a little under my scrutiny. "Where-where do you want me to pose?" she says in a strained voice.
I am speechless. She goes over to a tree nearby, moving a little awkwardly, and stands against it. "Is this all right?"
I find my voice. "Yeah. Sure. That's fine," I get out. And because I am still too taken aback to do anything else, I turn over to a fresh page and start to sketch her.
At first it is just something I am doing automatically, but after a minute I begin to get absorbed in the drawing. I forget about the strangeness of the circumstances, and concentrate on trying to capture the fascinating quality of that sumptuously molded body.
I work quickly, and in a little while the sketch is finished. It is not too bad, either. I examine it with satisfaction, changing a detail here and there.
"May I see it?" Pat asks.
I get up and bring it over to her. She studies it intently. "So you can draw," she says.
"Of course I-" And that is all I get out. Because suddenly the impact of her nakedness hits me anew, and the mind-blowing fact that she, Pat, the original Ice Goddess, has stripped off her clothes and is standing there next to me, and that I have only to reach out my hand to touch that glorious body.
I drop the sketch to the ground and reach for her. I bring her in against me. Pat's breath catches in her throat. I feel her hands on my arms, and then slowly they slide up to my shoulders and go around my neck.
"Oh, Ken," she whispers. "Teach me. Show me. Please."
"Pat, Pat." My arms are around her, my hands moving over the smooth skin of her back. Her body is trembling against me.
I kiss her. Her lips slowly soften under mine. As I hold her, I feel the passion building in me, swelling and filling me until I am almost choking with it. But at the same time, I feel that I am melting inside, that a whole part of myself which has always been solid and unmovable is now flowing through me, and pouring out of me through my lips into this lovely girl in my arms.
Finally we separate. Desire and anxiety are mixed in Pat's eyes as they search my face. "Ken," she breaths. "Be gentle. I-I'm-"
"Yes," I say softly, my voice unsteady. "It's all right. It's all right, Pat."
I take a step back from her and begin quickly to undress myself. She stands watching me in silence as my clothes come off. I see her draw in her breath reflexively as I push down my shorts, but she does not look away.
I go to her and, taking her in my arms again, pull her down with me gently onto the soft grass of the clearing. She lies on her back, waiting, her eyes never leaving me. She is still trembling.
I put my hand lightly on her body and move it slowly over the soft, exciting flesh. I touch her breasts, caressingly, marveling at their shapeliness and resiliency. I slide the hand down across the flatness of stomach and the jutting curve of hip, and along the length of her leg.
I touch her with both hands now, letting them glide easily over her skin, accustoming her to my touch while I acquaint myself with the sweet contours of her body. Her trembling subsides as I continue to caress her, and soon I feel her body relaxing, little by little, under my hands.
I bring my face down to hers and kiss her again lightly. Then I kiss the little hollow at the base of her throat, where I can see a tiny, fluttering pulse. My lips move from there to her breasts, sliding over them lovingly, paying homage to them, kissing them lingeringly. At the same time, my hands continue to move softly over her body. After a while I feel her nipple stirring under my lips. Her breathing gradually slows and deepens.
Only then do I slide my hand between her thighs. Her body tenses as my fingers touch her. I hold my hand still for a moment, then slowly, gently, begin to stroke her, moving my fingers up and down over that secret softness. I find her little clitoris and brush over it lightly. Pat catches her breath.
I go on caressing her there, while my lips remain at her breast and my other hand moves soothingly over her skin. I go on until the tension slowly goes out of her again, and I feel a sweet moistness on my fingers, a moistness that signals the gradual softening and opening of flesh under my careful probings. Her nipples harden, her breathing becomes audible.
I move her legs apart gently. Pat's eyes flicker as I lower myself over her. Her hands come up to clutch tightly at my upper arms. I stroke the moistness between her legs one final time, then take my rigid shaft in my hand and guide myself to her.
Her body stiffens once more as the tip of my rod finds its way between the soft lips of her opening. I pause, holding myself back, letting her get used to the sensation. Then I move forward very slowly, very, very slowly. She gasps as I make my way bit by bit into the narrow passage.
I have been expecting an obstruction, and now I encounter it. Pat's face twists as my stiffness presses against it, and her fingers clench even more tightly on my arms. I move back a little, then forward, back again, forward, doing this several times, pressing a little harder against the roadblock each time, stretching it, trying to weaken it. Pat bites at her lip, wincing.
I hate the damn thing for causing her pain. I push against it steadily now, strongly, until I feel it give. Pat cries out. I hold myself still, waiting for the pain to subside, while I stroke her, soothe her, until she relaxes again.
I now begin a slow back-and-forth motion, sliding myself out of her almost all the way, and then back, but going a little further into her each time. After a minute I can hear her breathing again. Her fingers slowly loosen on my arms. As I continue, still at the same gentle pace, I feel them creep up to my shoulders, and then her arms are around my neck.
She is taking almost all of me inside her now, the unexplored mystery of her opening more deeply to me with each stroke. Her arms tighten around me. Her breathing is louder. A thrill goes through me as I feel her hips rise slightly to meet me, and then begin a sweet, gentle movement in response to my rhythm.
I begin to move faster. There is no more of me to give her now. She has it all, and she is welcoming it gladly. A soft moan of pleasure comes from her as we move together.
"Oh," she gasps. "Oh, Ken. Ken!"
My tempo increases, and she clings to me, rising rapidly through the ascending levels of joy and wonder. And I am with her, glorying in the journey, and I urge myself on, straining to bring her higher, higher, and still higher, until she arches under me with a cry of rapture. I gather her straining body to me as I join her in ecstasy, and together we tumble languorously back down to earth.
We lie quietly for some moments, holding on to each other. My face is against hers, and after a minute I feel moisture on my cheek. I turn to look at her. Tears are coming from her eyes.
"What's the matter?" I ask, brushing at one.
"Nothing," she says. "I'm just glad, that's all." she smiles a little through the tears. "Oh, Ken. I didn't know it could be like that. Thank you."
"My pleasure," I say, and I have never meant anything more in my life. I don't tell her then, but the truth is that I have never known it could be like that, either. Oh, I've had plenty of wilder sessions, and done a lot of far out stuff and all; but there was an extra quality about this time that is new to me. It seemed to go deeper somehow, to be all involved with everything else in me, instead of just one part. I don't know if you know what I'm talking about, friend, but I don't know how else to put it.
Anyway, it makes me very quiet and thoughtful while we're getting dressed and heading back along the path. Because I have a kind of beautiful but very scary suspicion that I probably love this girl.
CHAPTER 10
I expect the others to be waiting for us when we get back to the car, but Jason and Joanne have still not returned. A few minutes later they come out of the woods, both of them with satisfied expressions on their faces. I buy a sandwich to take along with me, since I haven't eaten, and we go on.
We stop at the next gas station to fill the tank. The three chicks go off to the ladies' room.
"I take it Joanne is better," I say to Jason.
"She's better," he says. "Oh, man, is she better!"
I grin. I feel like telling him that Pat is better too, but I don't.
"You know what that crazy chick said to me?" Jason asks. "She says she knows that to be a good hippie girl she has to have all kinds of experiences. She says you were one experience, her first real hippie. Then she got raped, that was another experience. Now she's made it with me, a famous writer, she says, and that's another one." He shakes his head. "Wild, man."
"Wild," I say but I am not so sure. Actually, it makes me feel a little sad, and I start thinking about what will eventually happen to the chick. I think of some of the girls I have known who have been on the scene a long time, and have had all the "experiences" lots of times, and I remember what Pat said, something about the final emptiness of it all. I figure Jason must be right about Pat having an influence on me, but I am sure any more whether it is bad or good.
Well, we have lost a little time, but I don't seem to care so much now. Anyway, with luck we can still make New York the next day. We are well into Ohio by the time we stop for the night, somewhere outside Columbus.
We get the rooms, then go and get something to eat, and after dinner Pat and I go off for a walk. We hold hands just like high school kids, talking about everything under the sun. We know there is something serious between us now, and it makes things seem a lot different.
When we get back to the motel, we meet Joanne going in the other direction. "Where you going?" I ask her.
"Just taking a walk," she says. "Jason and Emily are in our room, and they're kind of busy. See you later."
A frown comes over Pat's face. "Oh, no," she says, and starts off toward their room.
"Hold on." I catch her by the arm and turn her to face me. "Listen, Pat. Now listen. You've got to stop knocking yourself out over Emily. She's old enough to lead her own life. And you should know by now that she's going to do exactly what she wants to do, no matter what. You just keep getting yourself bugged and it doesn't accomplish anything. Leave her alone."
She gazes at me for a minute, her face undecided. "Maybe you're right, Ken," she says finally.
"I'm always right," I say. "When are you going to learn that?"
She makes a face at me. "Well, I guess I can't go to our room right now, then," she says. "You want to walk some more?"
"Why don't we go to my room?" I suggest.
She looks at me slyly. "What would we do there?"
"Oh, I don't know," I say with great innocence. "Talk. Play Chinese checkers. Chuck a football around. Sew some doilies. Whatever you want."
"I love you, Ken," she says suddenly.
Well, that stops me for a minute. I try to make light of it. "How can you love an abstractionist?"
"Darned if I know." She looks at me, a funny little grin pulling at her mouth. "That's right," she says. "Fight it."
"Fight what?"
"You know what. You're not going to admit a thing, right? Like maybe the feeling is mutual or something?"
"How do you know it is?" I say defensively.
"I heard it on the radio." The grin widens. "All right, Mr. Independent," she says. "You hold out as long as you can. Just let me know when you give up, okay?"
I have to smile back at her. "You're a kook, you know that? Come on, let's go."
We go to Jason's and my room. "Now you've got me at your mercy," Pat says.
"I have the feeling it's the other way around," I tell her.
She laughs. "Excuse me a minute," she says, and goes into the bathroom. I sit on the bed, thinking. Things are moving pretty fast, and I wonder what I am getting myself into.
In a few minutes, the bathroom door opens and Pat comes out. She is naked.
I stare at her. "You're just full of surprises today," I say. "What happened to that nice sensible girl who believed in all those spiritual qualities?"
"Oh, her," Pat says, coming toward the bed "She's still around someplace. She's just grown another dimension. Don't you like it?
"I like it, I like it." I reach for her.
It is great. It is fantastic. It is better than last time. It is like nothing I have ever imagined, and when it is over I tell her that the feeling is mutual.
* * *
The next day we are all kind of excited, because New York is in sight. We make it out of Ohio before lunch, and then we get on to the Pennsylvania Turnpike. We whiz over that in practically no time, with a quick stop for lunch at Howard Johnson's ("Howard, "Howard Johnson's!?" Joanne says disgustedly. "How square can you get!"); then through New Jersey, about which the less said the better; and early in the evening we hit the big town.
Walt, I don't remember if you have ever been to New York, but let me tell you, there is nothing like it. People will tell you all the lousy things about it from here to doomsday, and how it's hell to live there and all that, and I guess it's all true, but buddy, it just doesn't matter. It is the center of the universe, and as soon as you get there you know it. The air may be dirty and polluted, but it is also full of electricity, and a kind of magic. The minute we come out of the Holland Tunnel, a thrill goes through me, and I immediately get high just on the atmosphere, and man, I know I am home.
Emily and Pat are going to be staying at Emily's mother's place, which is over in the West 70's, and we drive over there first to drop them off. They invite Joanne to stay there with them, but nothing is going to keep that kid from heading right down to her dream land, 'Greenwich Village.' I promise them I will find her a place to stay, and tell Pat I will call her the next day. Then we head downtown.
There is a good friend of mine known as Harry who has this big pad in the East Village, over near Avenue B. I have known Harry for seven or eight years now, and never heard him use his last name. Maybe he doesn't have one. But he is a very friendly, big-hearted type, and his pad is always open to people who come into town needing a place to stay. I know I will be able to sack out there for a while, until I find myself a more permanent arrangement.
So we make it over there. I drive down St. Mark's Place to show Joanne a little of the scene, and she nearly goes out of her mind. She is really in heaven.
Jason has some friends of his own he wants to look up, so I drop him off. "It's been a gas, man," he says, shaking hands with me. "A real gas."
"That's what it's been," I tell him. "Catch you around the scene, Jase."
He starts to leave, then turns back. "Hey listen, man," he says with concern. "You really got a serious thing going with this Pat chick?"
I shrug. "Yeah, I guess so."
He shakes his head sadly. "I got a friend in this town who's a Yoga," he tells me. "He says he communicates with the Great Infinity or something. I'm gonna tell him to pray for you, baby. You need all the help you can get!" And he goes off.
We find Harry at his pad with his chick, Louise. He is surprised as hell to see me, and nearly knocks me over with his enthusiasm as he pulls me inside and starts firing questions at me exuberantly. He is a medium-size, dark-haired guy, and he never seems to be able to stand still for more than three seconds. Louise is one of these very quiet, ethereal types, with long brown hair and delicate features, but a hell of a good figure. I tell Harry I need a place to put up for a while.
"Christ, man, we got nothing but room," he says. "There's nobody staying here now but us and Big Marvin."
"Is Big Marvin around?" Big Marvin is this spade cat who's been on the scene in one place or another for about as long as I can remember. He's a poet. He doesn't get published much, but I really dig his stuff.
"Sure," Harry says. "He ought to be back any minute."
I introduce Joanne to them. "She needs a place to stay, too."
"She's got it," Harry says. "Welcome aboard honey."
We sit around rapping about this and that for a little while, and then there is a knock on the door. Louise opens it, and this very square-looking, middle-aged type is standing there. He's got kind of distinguished grey hair, a business suit, tie, the whole bit.
"Hello, Mr. Nelson," Louise says to him.
"Hello, Louise."
"Is it the first of the month already?" Harry asks.
"Yes, it is," the guy says.
"All right," Louise says. "Come on."
He comes in, and she takes him into another room and closes the door.
"Who's that?" I ask Harry.
"That's the landlord. He comes around every month to collect the rent. Only we practically never have the bread, you dig? So Louise lets him make it with her instead." He grins. "I bet that cat collects half the rents in this building that way. He probably loses money on the place, but he has a crazy sex life."
"Don't you mind?" Joanne asks. Then she looks like she wishes she hadn't, because he will think she's square.
Harry shrugs. "Hell, I believe in spreading the good things around." He turns to me. "The cat has this crazy game he likes to play to get his kicks. It's wild. You want to watch?"
"Watch? How?"
"C'mere." He takes me over to the door of the room the two have gone into. It is kind of battered up, and I see a narrow crack running halfway down the middle of it. "I broke this thing up while I was on a bad trip one time," he says. "Go ahead, take a look. Louise don't mind."
I put my eye to the crack and I can see into the room. The middle-aged guy is undressing. He takes off all his clothes and hangs them neatly over the back of a chair, while Louise stands watching him. When he is naked he goes over to the bed which stands against the wall opposite the door-it's just a box spring and a mattress-and lies down on it on his back, his head propped up on a pillow.
Louise walks around the bed and stands facing him, just far enough back from the foot of the bed so he can see all of her.
"How much is your rent, Louise?" he asks her. His voice comes faintly through the crack, but I can hear the words clearly.
"Eighty-five dollars," she says. Their voices have a kind of ritual quality, as though they have been through this many times before.
"You are a very pretty girl," the landlord says. "I will deduct five dollars if you will take off your blouse."
Louise's hand moves slowly to the top button of her blouse, and lingers there "I will for ten dollars," she says.
"No," the guy says. "Ten dollars is too much."
Louise's fingers leave the button. She rubs both hands over the hills of her breasts, massaging them in little circles, her eyes on his.
"Seven dollars," the landlord says.
Louise opens the buttons of her blouse, one by one. She pulls it slightly apart, enough to reveal a narrow strip of white skin, broken by a patch of bra. "Nine dollars," she says.
"Eight."
"All right." She pulls the blouse off.
He gazes at her. I can see his chest going up and down with his breathing. "Your skin is so light," he says fervently. "It's like cream."
"Do you want to see more of it?" Louise says.
"Yes. I will deduct another eight dollars if you take off your slacks."
Louise unbuttons her slacks at the side, and pulls down the zipper. But she holds them up. "I can't," she says.
"Why not?"
"They won't come off over my shoes."
"Take the shoes off."
"That's extra."
"No."
Louise lowers the slacks about an inch, just enough to show the rounded beginnings of her hips. "Yes."
He swallows. "All right. "One dollar."
"Three."
"Two."
She kicks her shoes off, then lets the slacks drop and kicks them off too.
The landlord's dick begins to rise as he looks her over. "Sexy," he says. "God, you're sexy."
"Thank you," she says.
"What's under the brassiere, Louise?"
"You know what's under it."
"Tell me."
"I'll tell you for a dollar."
"All right."
"My breasts," she says. "My naked breasts."
The guys prick rises further. "Take it off." His voice is hoarser.
"For how much?"
"Ten dollars."
"That's not enough." She pulls one of the bra straps off her shoulder.
"Twelve."
"Twenty." She pulls the other strap down.
"That's too much. Thirteen."
"To see my tits?" she says. "You know how much you like them. I'll make the nipples hard for nothing."
"Fifteen," he says.
She shakes her head.
"Sixteen."
"Well ... " her hands go behind her. "Say please," she says.
"Please, Louise. Please."
She opens the brassiere and drops it. The breasts are surprisingly full for her slim frame. She brings her hands to them and brushes her fingers over the brown nipples until they stand out.
"Oh, you sweet thing," he says. "I want you."
"I know."
"Take off the panties."
"But I'll be all naked."
He moistens his lips. "Yes. I want you naked."
Louise doesn't move.
"Fifteen dollars," he says.
"Fifteen! You gave me sixteen for my bra."
"Sixteen, then."
"Don't be cheap," Louise says. "Twenty-five."
"Eighteen."
"Twenty-three."
"Nineteen."
"Twenty-one."
"Twenty."
"Twenty dollars and fifty cents," Louise says.
"All right. All right."
Louise slides her panties down.
A small noise comes from him. "You're lovely," he says. "Lovely. And so young. God, those tits. Those legs. That fuzzy little crotch. But do you know what I like best about you, Louise?"
"Yes," she says. "My hair."
His eyes close. "Say it again," he breathes.
"You like my hair best," Louise says. "You want me to let it hang loose for you. You want to touch it. You want me to touch you with it."
"Yes. Oh, yes." His eyes open. "Go ahead. Do it. Please."
Louise's long, straight brown hair is pulled back and gathered at her neck with a little ribbon. She reaches back and pulls the ribbon out. Her hair comes loose, flowing around her shoulders. She takes her hair in both hands and pulls it over her shoulders so that it falls down in front of her, hanging below her breasts.
"Aahh," the landlord says softly.
Louise now walks around to stand by the side of the bed. The landlord's prick is fully erect now, and throbbing. He looks up at her hungrily.
"Please," he says.
"Twenty dollars."
He frowns. "How much have we deducted so far?" he asks her.
"Fifty-five dollars and fifty cents," she says immediately.
"There won't be enough left for ... "
"All right," she says. "Fifteen. Just this once."
"Yes."
She bends her head forward, leaning over him, so that her hair falls down in a brown waterfall over his face. He gives a little cry and buries his hands in it, clutching it to him, rubbing his face in it, drawing long shuddering breathes as he inhales the odor of it.
Then, after a minute, his hands drop. Louise moves her head from side to side, brushing the hair across his face a couple of times. Then she moves downward, stroking it over his chest. He begins to moan as she sweeps the soft strand back and forth on him.
Slowly, he moves downward again, the hair dragging across his stomach. His moans grow louder. His hands are clenched into fists. She continues her journey down, but deliberately bypasses his crotch. The hair glides over one of his hips, then slowly down the length of his leg. She drags it back up over his other leg. She pauses teasingly for a minute as he holds his breath, and then lets the silky hair flow over his straining prick.
With a groan he arches his hips from the bed. He continues to writhe, moaning loudly, as the girl's bowed head goes into a pendulum motion above him, stroking the brown tresses rhythmically back and forth over his genitals.
His excitement seems to build more and more as she goes on, and I am wondering if he is going to come that way, when suddenly he pulls himself away.
"The chair," he pants. "The chair, Louise."
She straightens up, tossing the hair back. The guy gets up and walks over to a straight, hard-backed chair near the wall. He sits down on it. "Come on," he says. "Hurry."
She walks toward him slowly, swaying. "You sure you want me this way?"
"You know I do."
She reaches the chair and turns around. He grabs for her hair again, stroking it. She sits down on his lap, her back to him, he reaches around her body to cover her breasts with his hands. He buries his face in the hair of her head and rubs himself against her with a side-to-side movement, obviously glorying in the feel of her long mane, caught between her back and his chest.
She hitches herself up a little and reaches beneath her, finding his cock. He moans as she guides it to her. She inserts it and settles down on it slowly, until she is sitting tightly against him, all of it inside her. He squirms, but her weight on him prevents him from moving very much.
"Now!" he groans. "Now!"
"Will this take care of the rest of the rent?" Louise says.
"Yes. All of it," he gasps.
"And will you pay the gas and electric bill this month?"
"Yes."
"And the telephone?"
"Yes. Yes!"
"Okay," she says. She spreads her legs, sliding them around to the sides of the chair, and hooks her feet over the rungs. Using them for leverage, she begins working herself up and down steadily.
The landlord's groans and cries fill the room as she jounces on his lap like she is riding a galloping horse. He pulls her back against him tightly by her breasts, rubbing her hair into his chest. I can see the swollen underside of his prick as it moves in and out of her. Louise reaches down again and puts her hand there, giving it a quick stroke with every upward movement of her body. Very soon the landlord makes a loud rattling noise in his throat and throws his head back as his climax rips through him.
I pull my eyes away from the crack in the door. Watching this, I have damn near forgotten where I am. Harry is grinning at me, Joanne staring curiously.
"Did I tell you it was wild?" Harry says. "You'd never think it to look at him, would you?"
"I'd never think it to look at her, either," I tell him, and he laughs.
A few minutes later the landlord comes out, fully dressed, and heads for the outer door.
"See you next month, Mr. Nelson," Harry calls.
He mumbles something and goes out.
"What went on in there?" Joanne wants to know.
Before I can answer, Louise's voice calls from the room the landlord had just left. "Harry!"
Harry gets up, grinning apologetically. " 'Scuse me," he says. "He always leaves her kind of worked up. I better go take care of it. Make yourselves at home." He goes into the room.
I find myself wishing Pat was there.
After a minute Joanne gets up, tiptoes over to the door of that room, and puts her eye to the crack. I start to say something to her, but then stop myself. What the hell am I going to say? Tell her not to do what I was just doing? Anyway, they probably wouldn't mind. So let the chick get her kicks. After all, I tell myself, that's what it's all about, right? Right?
I get no answer. The hell with it. I decide I'm hungry, and start looking around to see if there's any food in the place.
CHAPTER 11
I dig some stuff out of the refrigerator, find some bread and make myself a sandwich. I ask Joanne if she wants one, but I don't think she even hears me. Her eye is glued to the crack in the door, an expression of intense fascination on her face. As she watches, her body begins to shift restlessly. "Wow!" she breathes softly.
I sit and munch on my sandwich. After a minute the apartment door opens and Big Marvin comes in.
They do not call this guy Big Marvin because he is a midget or anything. He's got to be at least six-two or three, and he's built like a football player -and I'm talking about the big leagues. I once saw him lift a fat guy, who must have weighed about two hundred pounds, off the ground with one hand and throw him about ten feet through the air. His skin is a deep rich brown, and he's got a little black beard.
He flashes a huge smile when he sees me. "Hey, Kenny!" he booms. "What're you doing here, baby? Thought you were out on the Coast."
"Just got in," I tell him.
"Crazy." He shakes my hand, almost crushing it. "How they hangin', kid?"
"Pretty good," I say. "Pretty good. How about you, Marv?"
"Yeah, baby, you know."
Joanne has turned from the door when he comes in, and is staring at him, wide-eyed. I introduce them. We sit down and shoot the breeze for a little, telling each other lies about what we've been doing since we last saw each other and all that. Joanne cannot take her eyes off him. He notices her staring at him after a while, and I can see it is making him uncomfortable.
"Guess I'll get myself one of those," he says, pointing at my sandwich, and he gets up and goes to the refrigerator.
"Golly," Joanne whispers to me breathlessly. "He's beautiful!" Her eyes follow his movements avidly as he comes back, carrying food.
"What's with Lady Big-Eyes?" Marv asks me, gesturing at her.
"She thinks you're beautiful," I tell him.
Joanne is not embarrassed. She nods. "We don't have any Negroes back home," she says.
Big Marvin's face changes. The warmth drains out of his eyes. "You don't, huh?" he says. "Well this ain't no freak show, baby."
Joanne looks started. "But I didn't mean-"
"Yeah, yeah, I know. Save it, kiddo." He turns to me. "This twit belong to you?"
I shake my head. "She kind of stowed away with us, and we brought her along. But don't take her wrong, Marv. She didn't mean anything. She's just a little ... well, naive, you know?"
"Yeah, I know, man. Believe me, I know the type." He busies himself with making a sandwich.
"Ken," Joanne says softly after a minute.
"Yeah?"
"You remember what that cop asked me?"
Immediately I know what she's talking about, but I say, "Which cop?"
"You know. That fat one. When he was-was searching me. You remember?"
"Yes."
"Well, I never have," she says.
I don't say anything. I can see the kid has decided on her next new experience; but I don't know what she expects me to do about it.
"What's that all about?" Marvin asks me.
"Nothing much."
"Tell him, Ken," Joanne says.
I shrug. "We had a little session with two small town cops somewhere in Missouri. They were lovely specimens of American manhood. Well, one of them asked her, in his elegant way, if she'd ever screwed a nigger."
"Uh-huh." Marvin nods. "I get it. And the poor kid never has, huh? What a damn shame." He turns on her suddenly and points her finger at her. "Well, get this straight, baby. This is one nigger you ain't gonna screw. You go get your jollies someplace else, okay?"
"But I-" Joanne starts.
"Shit," Marvin says disgustedly. "You little teeny-boppers are all alike. You come sucking around here looking for the big thrill. You're gonna make it with a black man. That's real kicks, huh? That's real far out. And everybody knows all us black studs are sexy as hell in the sack, right? And we got natural rhythm, too. Shit!"
"I just thought-"
"Yeah, I know what you thought, baby." Marvin gets up from his chair and starts pacing the floor. "You goddam young white girls make me sick," he says. "Especially your type, Blue-eyes. You think all us black boys just go ape over your kind, don't you? You think we take one look at that white skin and that blonde hair, and right away we cream our jeans, right? Well forget it, baby! It's not that easy, not with this cat. I can do without that big thrill, and you'll just have to get yours from some other stud."
Joanne does not say anything more. But she has not given up. She resorts to her best argument. She simply stands up and starts to take off her clothes.
Marvin stops pacing and watches her in surprise. She takes off everything very calmly-shirt, jeans, bra and panties-not hurrying, but not dawdling either, just matter-of-factly stripping herself. And then she stands there naked and lets him look at her.
Which he does. His eyes go over her very slowly, and he doesn't miss one square inch of that marvelous body. He looks at her for a long time. And I am looking too, of course. But as far as Joanne is concerned I might as well be in Siberia.
"Son of a bitch!" Marvin says finally. "That sure is pretty. Yes it is." He shakes his head. "That's a body and a half, I will say that." He pauses, and I can see he is wavering. "Damn it, Kenny," he says to me. "You think it's true about colored men having a thing for blondes?"
I have to laugh at him. "Hell, no man could resist that," I say. "I don't care what color he is."
"Yeah." He pauses again. His eyes bore into Joanne. "Okay, honey," he says then. "You talked me into it. But get this. I dig your form, sure, but if you think I'm gonna wig out over your lily-white flesh you got another think coming. You're the eager one, kiddo. So if you want it, you come after it."
"I want it," Joanne says. She walks toward him.
I start to get up. "I'll leave you two alone," I say.
"Stick around, baby," Marvin says. "Watch the chick get her kicks. I'm not modest. And Blondie here sure as hell isn't. She's so hot for a black prick she don't care if the whole world watches. Right, Blondie?"
Joanne hesitates. Then she shrugs. "He can stay if you want him to."
"See what I mean?" Marvin says. He stands there, waiting. How he can keep himself from reaching out for those naked breasts about two inches away from him, I'll never know.
Joanne reaches up and unbuttons the top button of his shirt. She slides her hand into the opening and caresses his bare skin. I hear her draw in her breath as her hand moves over his smooth, hard chest. Marvin grins at her.
"Touch me," she says. "Put your hands on me. Please."
Marvin shakes his head. "You're doing the work, kid."
Joanne takes one of his hands in her free hand and lifts it to her breast. She moans as she presses it tightly against the thrusting mound. She holds it there for a minute, still stroking his chest, then moves it to the other breast. She seems to melt under his touch. Her eyes begin to glaze over as she slides his hand back and forth across both of her eager tits.
Then she moves the hand downward. Her body twists as she guides it in little circles over the soft skin of her stomach. She rubs it through her pubic hair, and a little gasp comes from her. Then she slides it between her legs.
She moans again, more loudly. She presses her thighs tightly together, trapping his hand there. She opens the rest of his shirt buttons, her body continuing to writhe against his hand as she does so. She pulls the shirt out of his trousers and pushes it back over his shoulders. It falls to the floor.
She moves her hands lovingly over his muscular torso. Then she leans forward, bringing her breasts against him. The nipples harden into stiff points as she sways slightly, rubbing them across his chest.
Then she brings herself in more tightly against him, and reaches up to pull his head down. She has to stand on tiptoe to reach his mouth with hers. Her tongue comes out and licks over his lips, lapping at them eagerly. Then she thrusts it deep into his mouth as she presses her lips against his.
Little whimpering noises come from her while her mouth works against Big Marvin's, her head moving from side to side, her tongue busy inside his mouth, her body straining into him, her closed thighs still keeping his hand tight against her crotch. Standing on tiptoe, her magnificent legs are tautened and shaped into a truly mouth-watering sight.
After a minute, Joanne breaks the kiss and moves back a little. She is breathing hard. Her hands go to his belt buckle, and open it. She unbuttons his trousers, pulls down the zipper and lets them drop.
Her hand goes to the front of his shorts, which are bulging noticeably. Her eyes get round as she strokes the bulge, and her mouth slackens. Marvin grins again.
She releases his hand from between her thighs and kneels down in front of him. She unties his shoes, and lifting his feet one by one, pulls them off. She also slips off his socks, at the same time getting his trousers out of the way. Then she reaches for his shorts and slowly pulls them down.
She gasps as his immense, nearly-fully-erect cock is revealed. She stares in wonder, nearly hypnotized by the huge thing swaying in front of her face. She brings her hand up and touches it, strokes it, causing it to grow even further as it stiffens to its full incredible glory.
"My god," Joanne whispers, her awe-stricken voice unsteady. "It's so big! I've never ... " Her voice trails off.
"That's right." Marvin says. "It's big and it's black. And you're just dying to get it inside you, aren't you?"
"Yes," Joanne whimpers. "Oh, yes!"
"Then you make me want to stick it there. Eat it, baby."
Joanne moves forward a little on her knees, until his cock touches her face. She presses her lips to it fervently. Then, holding it in her hand, she rubs it over her face, moaning, Finally her mouth opens, and her head bows over the gigantic staff.
The prick stretches her mouth wide, and she can get only the head and a little more of it inside her without choking on it. Her hand caresses the shaft of it near the base as her head begins to move back and forth.
Big Marvin looks down with satisfaction at the young girl on her knees before him, her head impaled on his cock, her blonde hair bobbing as she sucks at him. "That's right, white girl," he says. "You eat that big black thing for a while, and then maybe I'll let you stuff it up your cunt and get your goddam thrills."
Joanne makes a mewling sound and her head moves faster, her lips clasping his rod tightly, trying to get more of it into her mouth. Marvin lets her go on for a while, until I begin to see signs of strain in his face.
"Okay, that's enough," he says abruptly, and pulls away from her. Joanne looks up at him, half-dazed.
Marvin chuckles. He puts his hand under his rod, which seems to have grown even more now, and points it at her. "You want it now, Blondie?" he asks.
She nods wordlessly, her eyes begging.
"Well, I guess you earned it." Big Marvin lies down on the floor, on his back, and folds his hands under his head, his dick standing up like the Empire State Building. "It's all yours," he says.
Joanne moves to him on her knees. She bends over him and brushes her breasts over his rod, small noises coming from her as it slides against her straining nipples. Then she swings one leg over him eagerly and straddles his hips.
Her hand grasps his dick, and she raises herself high on her knees to bring her crotch above it. She scrunches herself down over it carefully. She gasps as she makes contact with its hardness, then groans as the huge head begins to penetrate her.
She sinks down upon it very gradually, her body squirming over it, weird noises of mingled pain and pleasure coming from her. Her face is screwed up into an ecstatic grimace as she twists her hips, moving them in tiny up-and-down motions, working his prick ever deeper into her cunt.
Lower and lower she goes, moaning and writhing over the impaling shaft, until finally she is sitting on his hips, the entire length of it inside her. For a minute she holds herself still, except for a few involuntary twitches of her body. She draws in her breath sharply several times, trying to become accustomed to the feeling of the enormity that is filling her.
Then, gingerly, experimentally, she begins to move. More groans come out of her as she lifts her body slowly upward and slides it back down over the rock-hard pole. She does it again, making a loud hissing noise this time as she comes down. A shiver goes through her body.
Then something seems to have been set off inside her, because suddenly she gives a loud, abandoned cry and starts moving herself up and down on him wildly. The sounds continue to pour from her throat as she bounces frantically over him, her body jerking and twisting, her breasts shaking and rolling ceaselessly on her chest.
After a minute the quality of her cries changes, becomes higher pitched, and her movements take on a steady rhythm, just as strong but less jerky. Her head falls back, her hair hanging free, and her thighs pump up and down rapidly as her squirming body rises and falls above him.
Big Marvin, watching the squealing, plunging girl straining toward her finish, now for the first time makes a move to touch her. Unfolding his hands from behind his head, he reaches down to grasp her ankles, one in each hand, and pulls on them. Joanne makes a sound of protest as his powerful grip pulls them out from beneath her thighs. She is forced to stop her movements and rest her buttocks on him as her legs come up. Marvin continues to tug her ankles toward him, straightening her knees, until finally she is sitting astride him, her legs straight out in front of her, one on either side of him.
She gasps as this position allows her to take even a little more of him inside of her. But she can no longer use her legs for leverage. She leans her body backward, propping herself on her hands, and in this way is able to resume her movements.
Her momentum has been interrupted momentarily, but in a minute she has worked herself back to the same level. Marvin runs his big hands up and down her legs as she grinds her body rhythmically against him.
Pretty soon it is obvious she is close to exploding. Her torso writhes uncontrollably. Her eyes stare unseeingly at the ceiling. Her wide-open mouth emits noises that are no longer human.
Marvin removes one hand from her legs and reaches out to rub it over her jutting, bouncing breasts. "Go on, baby, make it!" he says.
Joanne's body flaps wildly as the convulsions race through her. Then she falls backward and lies still, breathing in great gasps, her breasts heaving.
Marvin's imposing rod still stands, tall and granite-like as ever, slick now with moisture. He waits until Joanne's breathing has slowed almost to normal. Then he raises himself and turns his body until he is kneeling over her. She makes a purring sound, and her arms come up to encircle his neck. She moves her face against his arm caressingly, kissing at his skin.
"You get your kicks, baby?" he says.
"Mmmm."
"My turn now."
Her eyes open, staring. "My god!" she says. "You're still ... "
"Open up, honey," he says, nudging her legs.
"Oh, wow!" she breathes. "You're fantastic!" She opens her legs to him.
"Well, you know about us colored boys," Marvin says, and lowers himself toward her.
She gasps twice, once when he slides his prick into her now-slick cunt up to the hilt in one smooth motion, and once when his weight comes down on her, flattening her against him.
"You-you're crushing me!" she gets out.
"You won't feel it in a minute, honey," Marvin says, and begins to move.
Joanne starts moaning immediately as his powerful hips drive at her in long, steady strokes. Her nails rake over his back. Her head rolls, her blonde hair fanning out over the floor.
"Let's go," Marvin says hoarsely. "Wrap those legs around me."
Joanne obeys, bringing her legs up and curling them around his hips. They do not reach all the way around him. Her heels dig into his back. The whiteness of her legs makes an erotic contrast against his dark skin.
Marvin moves faster, his body lifting and falling like a dredger out of control. He continues, accelerating his tempo more and more, never pausing, never missing a beat, until his hips are almost a blur. Joanne's arms and legs clutch him to her desperately. She is sobbing in painful ecstasy, until after a minute she screams out her second climax, just as Marvin, with a loud roar, empties himself into her.
As they are lying there, exhausted, the door to the room Harry and Louise have been occupying opens and the two of them come out.
"Well," Harry says. "Glad to see you made yourselves at home. Hey, I'm hungry. Let's eat."
CHAPTER 12
I call Pat the next morning, and we decide that she will come down that afternoon and I will show her around some of the scene. Harry and Big Marvin and I spend the morning sitting around and reminiscing, and talking about who's around and who isn't. Harry decides he is going to throw a big party the next night, in honor of my arrival, he says. Actually Harry doesn't need an excuse to throw a party. There is nothing he likes better than to get practically everybody he knows into his pad and let them blast off.
After lunch Harry and Louise go off to see some people in the apartment upstairs. Marvin suggests that we go out and look around. I have to wait for Pat, but Joanne accepts eagerly, so the two of them take off.
So I am alone in the apartment when Pat gets there, and we take advantage of this situation by going into the room I am using and spending a very pleasant hour or so.
When we come out, Harry and Louise have come back. I introduce Pat to them, and Harry invites her to his blast the next night. Now I have been to some of Harry's blasts, and I know they tend to get pretty wild, so I am a little worried at first about whether it is a good idea for Pat to come. But then I figure what the hell, let her find out how the other half lives, it'll do her good.
We go out and walk around a little. The scene has changed a lot since I've been there, but I can still find my way around all right. There's more of it than there used to be, which is good, but a lot of it, especially around St. Mark's Place, has gotten pretty commercial, and I see it has already begun to go the way most of the old Village has gone. And I start wondering where the next scene will spring up. There doesn't seem to be much of any place left.
Anyway, some of the people I knew are still around. We go into a little gallery where I know the owner, a guy by the name of Tetley. He seems happy to see me, and we rap for a while about what is going on in the art world, and about my painting. He is a round little guy, almost bald, with one of these droopy mustaches.
"Hey," he says. "I don't know if you'd be interested in this, Kenny, but you remember George Bronstein, dark skinny fella, he was hung up on painting triangles?"
"Yeah, I remember him."
"He got this position managing this big gallery uptown."
"Yeah, I heard that."
"Well, I saw him a couple days ago, he's telling me he's looking for somebody to work in the gallery. You know the kind of thing. Doesn't pay a hell of a lot, I suppose, but it's not a bad job if you're looking for something."
"Yeah, well, I don't know," I say. "I do have to get something, I guess. Is it a full-time job?"
"I think so, yeah."
"Rather have something part-time, or temporary," I say. "But I'll keep it in mind, maybe I'll look him up. Thanks."
We talk a little more, and then Pat and I leave.
When we are outside, Pat says to me, "Why don't you take that job, Kenny? It sounds like something you'd like."
I shrug. "I don't want a permanent job. It's too much of a drag."
"But how are you going to live?"
"The way I always live," I tell her. "A temporary or a part-time job here and there, maybe selling a painting now and then, and lots of fervent prayer."
"But you can't live that way forever," she says.
"Who's talking about forever? I'm talking about now."
"But you have to consider the future."
"Why?"
"Oh, Ken!"
"Oh Ken what?" I say. "Listen, I'll consider the future when it gets here, all right? I got enough troubles with the present."
"But what about-" She stops.
"What about what?"
"Never mind."
Well, I know what is coming now, and I am not prepared for it, but I know it has to come out pretty soon anyway, so what the hell. "No, tell me."
She looks at me. "All right," she says. "What about us? Don't we have a future?"
"I guess so," I say. "Why not?"
"But what kind of a future, Ken? I can't live like that, from hand to mouth. I'm not like Louise. Maybe I should be, but I'm not. How can we make any plans or anything if you ... "
I remember something. "But look, you have this independent income, right? You don't have to worry about-"
"Oh, Ken, it's not just money I'm talking about. It's this whole way of life. And it's not just what I want for me, it's what I want for you, too. You remember what I said about having a foundation for your life? That's what we need-you need it too, whether you admit it or not-and if we can't build it, then, well ... "
"Then what?"
"Then I don't know, Ken. I just don't know."
I sigh. "I don't know either, Pat. I mean I can't see myself taking the 7:19 from Scarsdale every morning, in my three-button suit. And belonging to the Rotary Club or whatever. And going to bridge parties at the PTA."
She laughs. "That sounds pretty horrible to me, too. But there must be a compromise, Ken."
"Maybe. I don't know. I suppose there is. But, damn it, I don't know if I'm ready to make it."
"Will you ever be?"
"Hell, I don't know that either."
Pat is silent for a time. "Ken," she says then. "You said you love me, remember?"
"Yes."
"And you haven't changed your mind?"
"Don't be silly."
"And you know I love you?"
I nod.
"And you say you want us to have a future, right?"
"Right."
"Well," she says. "It seems to me that if those things don't make you ready, then you never will be, Ken. Isn't that so?"
This time it's me who is silent.
"And where does that leave us?" she says.
I throw up my hands. "Look, all this is going too fast for me," I say. "What's all the big rush for, anyway? Goddamit, we only just met about a week ago!"
"Is that all?" she says. "It seems like-"
"I know."
We smile at each other. I take her hand. "Look, Pat, let's cool it a little, okay? Or we'll do something silly. Let me think about it, and you think about it too. Something will work out."
She looks at me anxiously. "I hope you're right, Ken," she says. "Oh, I hope you're right."
"I'm always right."
"Oh yes, I forgot." She kisses me lightly. "Well, I promised Emily's mother I'd be back for dinner. I'll see you tomorrow night at the party, okay?"
"Okay."
After she is gone I try to think about the situation, but I can't get any place. It is like I am being pulled two different ways. I start to get a little disgusted. Hell, you meet a girl and all of a sudden she starts messing up your whole damn life. Who needs it, I think. I start remembering girls I used to know in New York, and wondering if they are still around. I'm not going to be pressured into selling out by some chick, no matter who she is. Not me. Let's see, there was Barbara ... there was June ... there was that blonde one, Carol ...
Walking back to Harry's place, I pass Tetley's gallery again. I go in and ask him for George Bronstein's phone number.
CHAPTER 13
The next day it is raining, and that is great for my mood, because I am pretty depressed anyway. I go around most of the day feeling sorry for myself, because through no fault of my own I seem to have been thrown into a situation where I have to make a choice I just don't want to make. The way I figure it, whatever happens, I lose. So I mope around the pad, and whenever somebody talks to me I come on kind of growly, until finally they leave me alone. I try to do some sketching, but I can't concentrate on it, and this gets me even more bugged. I start wishing I had never gone on this trip, and start thinking almost wistfully of the pad on Haight Street and old Frank the Fish, which shows you the kind of state I am in. Maybe this is part of the reason for what happened at the party that night.
Like I say, I have been to Harry's parties before, and I know they are not exactly society teas, but they must have escalated or something since I've been away, because I have never seen one get quite as far out as this one did.
It is still raining pretty hard that night, but it doesn't seem to keep anybody away. Harry's pad is quite big, but it starts filling up quickly as more and more people arrive. Some of them I knew, most of them I don't. Tetley is there, and he asks me if I called up George Bronstein, and I tell him I'm thinking about it.
Somebody puts Janis Joplin on the phonograph, loud, and a few people begin to dance over in one corner of the room. I see a couple of reefers being lit up and passed around. At least one guy has brought some acid with him, and he is inviting people to join him on a trip. A couple of them take him up on it.
Somebody passes me a reefer and I take a good drag on it, thinking it might not be a bad idea to get a little high on right now. There is some booze around too, of course, and lots of beer, and gradually the scene begins to loosen up. The noise gets louder, the music more frantic.
For a while I mill around a little, talking to people and being sociable; but then I grab a chair somebody has just vacated and sit there watching the scene, sucking on a beer and taking an occasional drag whenever some pot is passed my way. I am waiting for Pat to show up, and when I think about seeing her, I feel happy and depressed at the same time. And buddy, that's pretty confusing.
After a while this very cute redheaded chick shows up. She is dripping wet, and out of breath.
"Oh, my god," I hear her say to Harry. "I was over at Janie's place, without a raincoat or anything, and I ran all the way over here in the damn rain. God, I'm soaked through!"
"Why don't you get out of those wet clothes, honey?" Harry says. "You'll feel better."
She grins at him. "Good old Harry." She looks around the room. "Nobody else has their clothes off," she says. "What's the matter, Harry? Slipping?"
"Party's just getting warmed up," Harry says. "Come on, Marge, help it along. You're not shy. Remember last time?"
"Oh boy, I sure do!"
"Well?"
"Uh-uh," Marge says. "I don't want to be the only one."
"Hell I'll fix that." Harry yells across the room. "Hey, Louise!"
Louise is standing on the other side of the room, talking to some people. She looks at him inquiringly.
Harry shouts over the noise of the music. "Marge wants to get rid of her wet things, but she won't 'cause everybody else is dressed. Why don't you help her out?"
Louise nods. She is wearing a striped dress, very short, and she grabs the hem of it and pulls it up over her head. Without pausing, she takes off her brassiere, then slides her panties down. Then she throws the clothes into a corner of the room and resumes her conversation.
This, of course, draws the attention of the crowd, and the room get quieter. Harry turns back to Marge.
"Okay?" he says.
She shrugs and starts unbuttoning her sweater. Most of the people are watching her as she takes it off. She opens her blue jeans, pushes them down and steps out of them.
She hands the wet things to Harry. "Put them some place where they'll dry, okay?"
"Not me." Harry makes an exaggerated, comical leer as he looks at her curvy body, clad in white underwear. "I'm staying right here!" He hands the clothes to another girl. "Take care of these, will you, honey?"
Marge smiles at him. "Want to help me?" she asks, turning her back to him.
"Sure." Harry opens the clasp of her bra. She slips it off. Her breasts are lush. Harry slides his hands around her and covers them, tweaking the nipples between his fingers.
"Mmmm," the girl purrs. "Ooohh, Harry. Umm." She steps back against his body and rubs her rump playfully against him. "Oh, Harry! What that does to me!" She turns her head around, and Harry, his hands still on her breasts, leans down and kisses her. One of his hands move down over the taut flesh. It slides beneath the waistband of the panties, moves lower. Marge moans into his mouth, squirming, as his hand explores beneath the thin garment.
Then Harry breaks the kiss and steps away from her. "See?" he says. "I told you you'd feel better if you took your things off."
Marge is breathing deeply. "You going to stop now, you bastard?"
"Just warming you up, honey," Harry says. "Just trying to get things going around here."
"Oh, yeah? I'll get them going all right!" Marge walks up to a guy sitting on the floor nearby and stands over him. "Hi, Jim. You want to finish what he started?"
"Any time, Marge," the cat named Jim says. He reaches up and tug her panties over her hips and down her legs. She steps out of them, then moves her legs apart. She reaches for Jim's head and pulls it toward her.
"Hey!" he says.
"Come on, baby. Please, Just a little," she begs.
He lets her pull his face into her crotch. He nuzzles her, and his tongue comes out, working busily.
"Ooohh," Marge groans. "Ohh, baby. Aahh. Oh, you dar-ling. Mmmnnnnnhh."
The room is very silent now, all eyes on the two of them. After a minute he pulls back from her. She sinks to the floor beside him.
"Come on," she says. "Get your clothes off. Quick."
She helps him scramble out of his clothes, then throws her arms around him and pulls him flat on top of her. Her legs spread wide and curl around him as he sinks into her. Then they start moving together rapidly.
"Good old Marge!" Harry says happily. "Once you get her started, just stand back!"
Well Marge was right when she said she'd get things going, because now, as if on signal, clothes start coming off all over the room; and people begin pairing off-or in some cases tripling or quadrupling off-and pretty soon it seems nearly everybody is making it in one way or another. It is quite a sight. The place is filled with naked and half-naked bodies, most of them intertwined and writhing in some form of sexual activity. Moans and cries fill the air.
I know I can easily get into the action, but though I am watching it with great interest. I somehow don't particularly feel like joining in. Also, I expect Pat to show up any minute. I wonder what her reaction will be to this scene.
So I sit and watch. Marge and Jim have finished their frantic session and have now switched partners. Marge is lying right beside my chair, her mouth filled with the dick of a big blond fellow, whose head is buried between her legs. On the other side of me, a girl is on her hands and knees, squeaking ecstatically as the guy she came with gives it to her in the ass, while another guy is lying with his head under the bridge of her body, suckling on her hanging breasts; and he in turn is being pleasured by a blonde girl sitting astride his hips, riding up and down on his prick for all she's worth. Over by one wall there is a lesbian couple, busy being lesbian. And in a far corner of the room I can see Joanne having another new experience, going out of her mind as he is sandwiched between two wildly plunging men.
This is only a small part of the activity that is going on, and I have to admit it is getting to me in spite of myself. At this point Louise comes up to me, and sits her naked body down on my lap.
"Hi," she says. "How come you're not joining the fun?"
I shrug. "It's kind of nice just watching."
"It's better doing," Louise says. "You want to screw me?"
"That's very tempting," I tell her. "But I don't think so."
She pouts prettily. She is sitting sideways in my lap, and she slides herself closer to me, swinging her legs up over the arm of the chair, and puts one arm around my neck. "But I want to get screwed," he says.
"Why me?"
"Because I saw you sitting here, just watching, and looking all unhappy and everything. I'm the good Samaritan type."
"Thank you for the thought," I say. Which is a pretty insane thing to say, if you think about it, with a good-looking naked chick on your lap.
Louise runs a finger down the front of my shirt. "Don't you like me?"
"Sure I do." And I do. I can't help putting my hand on one of her smooth white thighs, so close to me.
"Then why not?" she says. "I'm not bad."
"I know," I tell her, sliding my hand up and down her thigh. "I saw you in action."
"You did? When?"
"The other night, with the landlord. I was watching through the crack in the door."
She giggles. "Isn't he too much?" she says. "He's really got this thing about my hair. You know what he told me once? He said he wishes my hair was long so that he could stick some of it up my cunt, and then he could feel it rubbing against his cock while he fucked me."
It's a funny thing about Louise. Most of the time she seems so quiet and out of it that it comes as kind of a shock when she starts talking like that. And it can be pretty exciting, too.
My hand, almost of its own accord, has moved to the inside of her thigh and is stroking the soft, warm flesh.
"Higher," she says.
I move my hand higher, slowly, until I am touching the soft core of her. She takes a shuddering breath. "Come on," she says. "Let's screw."
"Louise, I-"
She turns slightly so that one naked breast presses against my chest. "Fuck me," she says. "But I-"
Her hand goes between us, to my lap, rubbing over my hard prick through my trousers. "Fuck me."
I am weakening. She brings her mouth to mine, her lips parted, and we kiss. Her tongue immediately snakes into my mouth, curling erotically over mine. It goes on a flickering search around the inside of my mouth, while at the same time the wicked little hand at my trousers find my zipper and pulls it down. In a second she has my rod out. She withdraws her tongue, and mine follows it into her mouth. Her fingers curl around my prick.
"Fuck me," she mumbles around my tongue as she begins to stroke me rhythmically. "Fuck me. Fuck me."
I break the kiss. I am excited as hell now, as who wouldn't be, but I know I can still stop. I think about Pat. Not only the fact that my relationship with her means I probably shouldn't be in this situation, but also the fact that she might walk in any minute. I am torn two ways, and I am so goddam tired of being torn two ways that I think that is what decided me.
"Damn it, Louise," I pant. "I'll fuck you, all right. I'll fuck your head off!"
"Yes, Ken, yes!"
"Let's get on the floor," I say.
"No, right here. This is nice and comfy." She raises one leg. "Here, swing my leg over you."
I take her leg and pull it across me, so that now she is sitting facing me, one leg hanging over each of the chair-arms.
"Ooo," she says. "I've never done it just this way before. This ought to be groovy."
She lets go of my prick and puts both arms around my neck, sliding in even closer. I reach around her and put my hands under her ass, raising her.
"Oh, that's it," she breathes. "Ooo, I feel you, Ken. Oh, there. There. You're gonna go into me now. Go in me, Ken!"
"Sure thing," I say, and lower her onto me.
"Ahh. Ohh, yes, you're inside me, you're going ... Oh it feels wonderful, Ken, it feels so goooood. Ooohh. Now you're all in me, yes, I can feel you all the way up my cunt. Ooohhh, fuck! Screw me!"
She starts bouncing wildly, flexing her widespread thighs. Since much of her weight is taken by her legs, thrown over the chair arms, I am able to move my hips quite a bit, and I thrust strongly at her.
Her voice rises. "Oh yes, fuck, that's it fuck, god damn fuck. Oh it's great Ken, I can't stand it, I love it, fuck me! Oh yes that's right, more. Fuck, ah, fuck, oh, fuck, ooo, fuck. Fuck. Fuck! Fuck!! Fuck!!"
Well, I fuck. I fuck her like a demon. And believe me, it is a lot of fun, no doubt about that. But at the same time there is something wrong. I feel it inside me, even as I am banging away at her wriggling, jouncing body. There is something missing, something important ...
I move harder beneath her, trying to shut out that annoying realization, trying to concentrate on the delicious sensations going through me. I put my hands under her legs and lift them from the chair-arms, bringing her down harder against me and letting me penetrate deeper into her. She cries out with joy and holds on to my neck for dear life as I raise her legs to my shoulders, still pumping frenziedly at her.
"Oh God!! Oh it's too much, Ken, that's wonderful! Ooohhh! Ohh, I'll die ... Ohh, I'll die but I don't care ... Oh Jesus ... Oh Ken, I'm gonna come ... Ken, do it, fuck, I'm gonna come ... Oh yes oh ... I'm coming, Ken, right now, I'm coming ... I'm ... I'm ... commmilHINNNG!!!"
Her body bucks uncontrollably, twisting and jiggling on me, until I feel myself unmistakably on the way to joining her. I crush her to me, kissing at the calf of her leg against my face, biting at it as the deep spasms roll over me.
We cling to each other for a few moments as the world returns to normal. Her legs slide off my shoulders. But even through the sweet lassitude of physical satiation, I feel that nagging sense of wrongness, of incompleteness.
Then I look up, and see Pat standing in the doorway of the apartment.
Well, I won't try to describe the expression on her face. You can imagine it for yourself. What you can't imagine is the way it makes me feel. I am up out of that chair in an instant, practically dumping poor Louise to the floor, and starting toward her.
She stands frozen with shock for a couple of seconds, which gives me a little time to make my way across the bodies on the floor; but then she turns and starts back out the door. But I get to her and drag her back in.
"Let me go!" she hisses at me, struggling furiously. She whacks me one across the face. "Let me go!"
"Listen, Pat!" I take both her arms and hold her firmly. "Listen, damn it!"
Her eyes are terrible as they blaze at me. "Listen to what? Let me alone, damn you! I never want to-" She squirms mightily, trying to get away from me. She kicks me in the shins.
"Goddammit, calm down!" I shake her. When I stop, she stands quietly, breathing hard. Over her shoulder I can see people staring at us-the ones that aren't too busy. "Now listen," I tell her. "We'll go into my room and talk a little, okay? Then if you want to leave, you can. Okay?"
She doesn't say anything. I cautiously release one of her arms and, still holding the other one, walk her with me into the room and I have been using and close the door. Then I let her go, standing against it.
She turns on me fiercely. "You-" she chokes. "How could, you Ken? Oh, how could you?"
"Pat, take it easy, will you? It was-"
"What do you mean, take it easy?" She shakes her head wildly, uncomprehendingly. "What are you, Ken? What are you, anyway? I thought we-I thought we were-"
I have never seen her so upset. "Look, it didn't mean anything, damn it!" I say. "It was just something-"
"Didn't mean anything?" she repeats. "How can you say that? How the hell can you say that?"
I am getting bugged because she won't even listen to me. "I say it because it's true!"
"Well, it means something to me!" she says hotly. "Yesterday you tell me you love me, and today I walk in here and find you making love to some other girl, just like-"
"I wasn't making love to her," I say. "I was fucking her. You see? There's a difference. There was no love involved."
"Is that supposed to make it right?" she asks incredulously.
"Right, wrong, I don't know, it's just something that happened, that's all! Damn it, Pat, I thought you got over being a prude."
Her eyes blaze again. "A prude! Is it prudish, after we've supposedly just found out we love each other, to expect you not to go around having sex with other girls? If that's being a prude, I'm a prude, Ken. If that's too much to expect, then you've got the wrong girl."
All right, I guess I know what I should have done. I guess I should have apologized, said I was wrong, asked her to forgive me and all that. Then things might have been all right. But I was bugged-bugged at a lot of things. At the situation, at her, at myself-and even at the fact that the session I had been dumb enough to have with Louise had in some way left me unsatisfied.
"Look," I say. "I don't understand why it's always me who's wrong and you who's right. We're two different types of people, right? So what makes your type good and mine automatically bad? Why am I the one that has to do all the changing? Will you tell me that?"
She looks at me hard for a moment. "What are you saying, Ken? That I should become like you, and go around sleeping with other men? Is that what you want?"
"No, damn it, that's not what-"
"Well why not? If it's all right for you, why shouldn't it be all right for me, too? How would you feel, Ken, if I went out and had sex with somebody else? Would you think that was all right?"
"That's not the point-"
"It's my point! Answer me, I'd like to know. Because if not, then what gives you the right to-"
"Oh for Christ's sake!" I say, exasperated. "All right, sure, if you want to make it with other men, go ahead. If it means as little as it did with me and Louise, that's fine!"
There is a long silence while her eyes bore through me.
"All right, then," she says finally, in kind of a strange voice. "Let's find out, shall we?"
I know she is bluffing. "Sure. Why not?"
"Suppose I call in one of those men out there, right now, and have sex with him. Would you just sit by and watch and then act as if nothing had happened?"
I still don't think she's serious. "Of course," I say lightly. "Let's see, why don't you call in Harry? You know him, at least, and I think he's free right now."
"All right," she says in a flat voice. "I will. May I get to the door, please?"
This time it's me who stands and looks at her, because now I'm beginning to think she might be upset enough to go through with it. But I am a little upset myself, and having gone this far I am not about to back down now. So after a moment, I step aside.
Pat stands very still for about three seconds. Then her face sets. She goes to the door and opens it.
"Harry!" she calls. "Can you come in here a minute?"
She steps back in, looking at me. I don't say a word.
Harry comes in. He is wearing his shorts. "What can I do for you?" he says.
Pat takes a breath. "I want you to make love to me," she says.
Harry grins. "Are you serious?" he says. "Or are you putting me on?"
"I'm serious," Pat says. She starts to unbutton her blouse.
"What's going on?" Harry says.
"Nothing's going on," Pat says in a perfectly flat voice, as she pulls the blouse off. "I just want you to make-No. No, that's not the correct term, I'm told. I want you to fuck me. All right?" Her skirt drops to the floor.
Harry turns to me. "Ken?"
Now is my chance to stop it, to call off the whole ridiculous thing. But not me. I am mad, and I am stubborn. I shrug. "Whatever the lady wants," I say.
Pat takes off her brassiere. She takes off her panties. She walks over to the bed and lies down on it. She gives me a quick glance. Her eyes are hard.
"Come on," she says to Harry. "Take me. I'm waiting."
"Well, okay!" Harry says. "I'm not gonna pass up an offer like that!" He drops his shorts and joins her on the bed. He runs his hands over her body, nuzzling at her. Pat lies quietly and lets him do what he wants.
Finally he moves over her and positions himself between her legs. Something clutches at me. I almost make a move to stop him. Almost. But I don't.
Pat bites at her lip as he penetrates her. He groans as he moves into her. Looks at me. I can't take what I see in her eyes. I look away.
Harry begins to move over her. His hips churn smoothly, strongly. His face buried in her neck. He begins to grunt with each thrust as his tempo speeds up slightly.
Pat looks over at me again. "Well?" she says in a strained voice. "Are you enjoying it?"
Well, I am not enjoying it. Actually, I am going through hell, if you want the truth. But, of course, I don't say that.
"You don't look like you're enjoying it much," I say.
She glares. "Oh no?" she says defiantly. She puts her arms around Harry, holding him tightly, and bring her legs up around his waist. She begins to move her hips under him, matching his rhythm.
"Come on, Harry," she chants. "Come on, Harry."
Well a few minutes of this finishes Harry off, and he gives a great groan and shudders as he reaches his climax. He climbs off her slowly. There is a choking sensation in my throat. I feel like hitting him, but I hold myself back.
He stands up. "Hey," he says. "That was-"
"Get out of here, Harry," I say.
He stares at me. "But Ken, you-"
"I know, I know. Just get out, willya?"
He goes. I close the door behind him and hit my fist against it. I turn and look at Pat. She looks back at me, her face expressionless. Then, very suddenly, she turns over on the bed, buries her face in the pillow, and begins to cry with great, racking sobs.
All the anger and all the stubbornness suddenly drain out of me as I watch her, leaving me limp. I curse myself for being such a damn idiot. I go over and sit on the bed and put my arm around her.
"Leave me alone," she sobs.
"Don't, Pat. Please don't. Come on, honey."
She goes on crying for a while, while I sit there stroking her and murmuring to her. Finally her sobs subside. She turns over and looks at me. I take her into my arms.
"Oh, Ken," she says brokenly. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
"Shh." I stroke her hair. "I'm sorry too, honey. I acted like a jerk."
"You don't hate me for-what I did with Harry?"
"Of course not," I say. "I love you. But if you ever do it again I'll knock your teeth out."
"Oh?" she says with some of her old spirit. "You didn't enjoy it, then?"
"I hated it. Every damn minute of it."
"Then you know how I felt about you and Louise."
"Listen," I say. "Let me tell you something. You know how I felt with Louise? Wrong, that's how. It wasn't any good. Oh, I don't mean it wasn't enjoyable-you know, physically and all. But it wasn't-well, it wasn't like it is with us. And that made the whole thing seem-not really worth it, somehow."
"Really?" she says.
"Really."
"Give me a handkerchief."
I give her one and she blows her nose.
"You know, Ken," she says. "I think we're stuck with each other."
"It sure looks that way."
"And we will be able to build a life together, won't we?"
Well, I see myself going down to defeat. But I fight to the last ditch, boy. "Jason warned me about girls like you," I tell her. "It's going to be just like he said, right? The kids, the TV, the picket fence-"
She smiles up at me, brushing away a final tear. "No picket fence," she says. "I promise you that."
"Oh," I say. "Well, in that case ... "
CHAPTER 14
So, like I said at the beginning, Walt, this is a wedding invitation. The big scene takes place the 20th of this month at City Hall. Be nice if you can make it. I know it's a long way to come just for a wedding, but think of all the fun you can have laughing at me, and telling me how I sold out, right? Well, maybe so, but every time I look at Pat I know it was worth it. You don't buy that, huh? All right, maybe it's not that easy. So sometimes I wonder if I'm doing the right thing. But the thing is, friend, if I didn't do it, I know I'd always be wondering if that was the right thing. And what the hell, I'd rather wonder with her than without her.
We still have our differences, and we still fight sometimes. But basically we get along pretty well. We don't argue too much about art anymore, because whenever she starts in on me about my kind of painting, I remember that day in the woods, and I tell her to take her clothes off and I'll draw her, and she does, and then we don't have time to argue.
So I hope you can come, and meet her; and by the way, I'll also introduce you to Emily. Well, knowing you, I know that after that promise, you're probably running to pack your suitcase, without even waiting to read the rest of this letter. So I'll close.
But take my advice, buddy. If you do come, don't come by car. Take an airplane or something. It's a lot simpler.
