The town of Burchville was fairly small, and the richest man in it was Jonathan Polk.
You didn't have to be fabulously wealthy to be the richest man in Burchville, but Jonathan Polk was quite well off. He owned the steel mill, which was the basis of the city's economic structure. He had inherited it from his father, and he lived in what had been his father's house, a large white building standing in isolated splendor on a small hill at one end of the town. The townspeople called it "The Mansion"; and, by Burchville standards at least, that's what it was.
Polk had lived in Burchville all his life, but he did not have much to do with most of the townspeople. When his wife had been alive he had led a fairly active social life, but as there was very little society to speak of in Burchville, most of their friends had been residents of the county seat, sixteen miles away. But since Miriam's death five years ago, he had lived in virtual isolation, except for his business contacts.
And so he was somewhat surprised when his butler came into his study one afternoon in June to announce a visitor. He had been going over some production reports, and now looked up over his ledgers at the impassive figure of old Williams, who had been with the family almost as long as he could remember.
"A young lady, you say, Williams?" he asked in astonishment.
"Yes, sir," the butler replied. After a pause, he added, "Quite young, sir."
"What do you mean?" Polk asked, frowning. "How young?"
"I should judge about eighteen, sir," Williams said.
"I don't know any girls of that age. What did you say her name was again?"
"Miss Reynolds, sir. Sharon Reynolds."
Polk shook his head. "I never heard of her," he said curtly. "Tell her I'm busy." He bent over his ledgers again.
The butler left the room, but in a few moments he was back again. "I'm very sorry, sir," he said, "but the young lady is most insistent. She said to tell you she wants to see you on business."
Polk frowned again. "Business?" he repeated incredulously. Then he threw down his pen. "Oh, damn it, I suppose she's fund raising for something or other." He tapped on the desk impatiently. "Oh, all right, Williams, show her in, get it over with."
He leaned back in his chair to await the visitor as the butler went out. Though his hair was graying and his figure somewhat stocky, he still gave the impression of a man of strength and character. His face was beginning to show his years, but the brown eyes were quick and sharp.
The girl that Williams showed into the study was indeed young, but could by no means have been called immature. As soon as she came into the room, Polk realized that he had seen her face from time to time around the town. It would have been hard not to have taken notice of her. She was altogether stunning.
Sharon Reynolds was blonde. Her luxuriant, deep-yellow hair fell in a gentle wave to a point just below her shoulders. Her clear gray eyes looked out coolly from a face which, at first glance, might have been called cute; until upon further reflection on her finely-cut features and smooth, creamy complexion, one decided that "cute" hardly did her justice. "Lovely" would be nearer the mark.
She was neatly dressed in a yellow blouse and light gray skirt, and her body seemed to combine the firm suppleness of youth with the appealing development of maturity. Her full breasts thrust proudly against her blouse, above a flat stomach and narrow waist. Her skirt curved enticingly over slim hips and tapering thighs to end slightly above her knees. Her lower legs were smooth and well-molded.
"Miss Reynolds, sir," Williams announced, and went out, shutting the door behind him.
"How do you do, Miss Reynolds," Polk said. His annoyance at being interrupted at his work was somewhat offset by the attractiveness of his visitor. "Won't you sit down?"
"Thank you," the girl said. She took a chair across from his desk. There was a short pause. Although her manner was assured, she seemed to be considering the best way to begin.
"My butler said you wanted to see me on business," Polk prompted her.
Sharon nodded. "It is business-in a way," she said. "I want to ... well ... to make a deal with you. That's business, isn't it?"
Polk did not answer her question. He was puzzled. "What kind of a deal?" he asked.
The girl hesitated again. After a moment she said: "I graduated from Burchville High School yesterday."
"Well," Polk said, more puzzled than ever. "Congratulations."
"I want to go to college," Sharon said, and paused.
"That's very commendable," Polk said dryly. He was beginning to think that either this girl was a bit unbalanced or she was playing some kind of trick. Perhaps her friends had dared her to see if she could get in to see him. Part of an initiation or something ...
But she went on quite seriously. "I've been accepted by Hollis University," she said. "I can start there in September. It's a good school."
"I know it is," he said, because she had stopped again.
"It's also expensive," she resumed. "I can't afford it - the tuition and the expenses. I don't have the money."
"Oh?" He still didn't know what she was leading up to. "Can't your family help you?"
She made a small sound of amusement mixed with disdain. "My father is a laborer," she said, almost bitterly. "We live over in the other end of town. They used to call it Shacktown; now it's just 'the poor section'. I have three brothers and two sisters. What do you think?"
Polk rubbed his nose. "I see," he said. "Well, have you thought of trying to get a scholarship?"
She nodded. "My grades aren't good enough, though. I guess I'm not really a very good student."
"Then why go to college?"
"I have to," she said flatly.
"Why?"
She hesitated. "I have reasons," she said finally, and was silent.
"I see," Polk said again, although he didn't. "But tell me, Miss Reynolds, is this connected with what you came to see me about?"
"Yes, it is," the girl replied calmly. "I want you to send me through college."
He was taken aback. "You want me to-"
She nodded. "It wouldn't be any sacrifice for you," she said. "I mean, you can afford it easily."
"Undoubtedly," he said dryly. He adopted a sarcastic tone. "Would this be just for four years, or are you planning on graduate school?"
The girl remained unperturbed. "Just for four years. I only have to get a B.A."
"In what, may I ask?"
She shrugged. "It doesn't matter. I suppose I'll major in English. That's as easy as anything."
Polk stared at her for a moment, then gave a short laugh of incredulity. "Let me get this straight, Miss Reynolds-"
"Call me Sharon."
He sighed patiently. "All right-Sharon. You want to go to college for reasons you won't disclose, to get a degree in whatever subject is 'easy'-and you want me, a perfect stranger, to finance the whole thing."
"That's right," the girl said.
"And what in the world gives you the slightest notion that I would agree to such an idea?"
Sharon smiled faintly. "Because of my part of the deal," she said.
"Oh? And what's that?"
She met his eyes directly and took a breath. "I'll be your mistress," she said.
Polk made a startled sound and then stared at her, speechless. He was utterly astonished. The girl looked back at him steadily.
"You'll what?" he managed to say finally.
"I'll be your mistress," she repeated. As he continued to stare at her, she went on: "Don't you think I'm attractive?"
He cleared his throat. "Yes, I do," he said truthfully. "But really, Miss Reynolds-"
"I thought so," she interrupted him. "I've seen you in town sometimes. You seemed to ... notice me."
"You're very noticeable," he told her. Mixed with his surprise at the strange turn the conversation had taken was a feeling of annoyance at himself for having let it momentarily disturb his composure. He wondered if this was some sort of trick. But the girl seemed perfectly serious.
"Thank you," she said. "And ... well ... you don't have a wife or anything, I thought it might be worth it to you." She paused, and though her look remained steady, her voice became insinuating. "I'm sure you'd find that it was."
Polk was not about to be discomposed again, but he was certainly finding the situation intriguing. Of course the idea was unthinkable; but he might as well hear her out.
"And how," he said, "do you expect to become my mistress if you will be going away-at my expense-to Hollis?"
But Sharon evidently had it all planned. "I'll be your mistress for the summer," she said. "I'll come and see you whenever you like-any time you say. Or I'll come and live with you if you want."
He raised his eyebrows. "Wouldn't your family object?"
The bitter tone returned to her voice. "They wouldn't even notice," she said. "Then in September I'd go off to Hollis," she went on. "But each year, until I graduate, I'd come back here for summer vacation. I'd come back to you. That's four summers, including this one. That's the deal." She sat up straighter in her chair, letting her breasts mold the material of her blouse, still looking at him steadily. "Four summers of me for four years of college. I don't think you'd regret it," she said softly. "I really don't."
He had an urge to clear his throat again, but did not. To a part of him the idea was becoming less unthinkable than before. It was true that his sex life had languished since Miriam died. And the girl was certainly tempting. Tempting and intriguing. But there was something about her matter-of-factness that annoyed him slightly.
"You seem to have a great deal of confidence in yourself," he told her.
She shrugged. "I know I'm pretty," she said. "And I have a good figure." She crossed her legs, as if to emphasize the last statement. He let his eyes take in the well-curved calf and the generous portion of smooth thigh that was revealed by the gesture.
"A lot of girls-" he began, but she interrupted him.
"A lot of girls are stupid," she said. "They don't know how to use what they've got." She leaned forward, her voice becoming more intense. "Listen, boys have been after my body since I was thirteen. I can get them to do just about anything I want. They fall all over themselves for a look at my legs, or a feel of my breasts. For a little petting they nearly go crazy. And to go all the way-well, they'll practically kill themselves if I want." She leaned back again. "I don't think men are too much different," she finished.
"I see," Polk said. He didn't know whether he was mostly intrigued, amused or insulted by this outburst. "And tell me, Sharon, how many boys have you ... 'gone all the way' with?"
The girl smiled slightly. "Enough," she said.
A sudden thought struck him. "Just how old are you, anyway?" he asked her.
"I'll be eighteen next month."
Polk bent abruptly over his ledgers and picked up his pen. "Goodbye, Miss Reynolds," he said flatly.
"But that's all right," the girl said. "I wouldn't get you into any trouble."
He glanced up at her. "I know a man who became involved with an under-aged girl who wouldn't get him into any trouble," he said. "He's still paying her five hundred dollars a month. Now if you don't mind ..." He began to write.
But the girl was not giving up. "Shall I come back next month?" she asked.
He started to say no, but didn't. There was a pause. Again he started to say no; again it didn't come out. He threw down his pen in irritation and looked at her, wondering what was happening to him. He should just say no, that's all; send her away and forget the whole absurd thing. But she was sitting there, young and lovely, and her young breasts were pushing at her blouse, and her young legs were bare and enticing, and she was offering her whole young self to him if only he would say the word; and suddenly he thought what that young body would look like without the blouse and skirt, and suddenly his heart was pounding and his blood was racing, and suddenly he thought, after all, I would never miss the money ...
But he was careful not to let the girl see these things. He kept his manner deliberate as he spoke.
"Sharon," he said, "you're certainly a good-looking girl, and by all appearances you have a very sexy body. But I make it a rule never to buy anything without inspecting the merchandise. I'm afraid I can't commit myself to your deal without first seeing what I would be getting. Suppose you undress, and then I'll make a decision."
This time it was the girl who seemed taken aback. Her eyes narrowed. "You expect me to take my clothes off before I even know whether you'll do it?" she said. "Why should I?"
"Because it's the only way I can decide," Polk said. "Otherwise the answer is no."
The girl hesitated. "How do I know you don't just want a free show?"
"You don't," he said.
She looked at him a moment longer, then seemed to make up her mind.
"All right," she said.
She stood up and faced him across the desk. With an almost defiant toss of her head, she began to unbutton her blouse. Her movements were neither slow nor fast. If she felt any embarrassment, she hid it well.
When the blouse was open, she drew it off and dropped it on the chair where she had been sitting. Under it she wore a simple white bra, which revealed the beginnings of round breasts and the inviting cleft between them. Her stomach was flat and smooth, her waist trim.
She pulled a zipper at the side of her skirt and slid the garment down over her hips. It fell to the floor, and she picked it up and placed it on top of her blouse. Her panties were white, like the bra. Her thighs fulfilled the promise they had shown when she was seated. They were smooth and unblemished, soft-looking, and yet rippling when she moved with the sensuous play of delicate muscle and tendon. Together with her perfectly-curved calves, they formed one of the most delicious-looking pairs of legs Polk had ever seen.
The girl paused momentarily, more, he felt, to give him a chance to savor the sight of her in brassiere and panties than out of reluctance. She was watching for his reactions, which, he had to admit, were actually pretty strong, but which he was doing his best not to reveal. And which, he reminded himself, he had to keep under control-at least for another month.
Now Sharon's hands went behind her, and in a moment she had opened the catch of her brassiere and pulled it off, dropping it with the rest of her things. Her newly exposed breasts bobbed a little with her movements. They were full and firm and beautifully shaped, standing out proudly from her chest with the buoyancy of youth, tipped by lovely pink nipples which seemed to beckon to him. He felt unmistakable signs of rising passion as he gazed at her.
Sharon, after another momentary pause, hooked her thumbs in the waistband of her panties and pulled them over her curving hips. Then she straightened up and let them slide slowly down her legs. She did not bother to pick them up, but simply stepped out of them. She stood proudly, calmly, in front of him, watching his eyes travel over her gorgeous body.
Then, almost as an afterthought, she kicked off her shoes, the only things she was still wearing. For some absurd reason this gesture struck Polk as a breathtakingly erotic climax to her nudity.
After giving him another moment in which to admire her body, Sharon began to turn slowly in front of him. She turned in a full circle so that he could watch the stunning suppleness of her figure from every angle. When she was facing away from him she paused briefly so he could study the lovely vista of her back and the dimpled springiness of her buttocks, and get a new perspective on the perfection of her legs. Then she continued to turn until she was facing him again. She put her hands on her hips and stood, her legs apart, her breasts thrusting.
"Well?" she said. "Do I pass?"
Jonathon Polk allowed himself a great sigh. Then he nodded his head. "Yes," he said. "You certainly do. All right, Sharon, you've got a deal. Now put on your clothes and get out of here."
He was surprised at the sudden expression of relief and happiness that broke over the girl's face. Why was she so all-fired anxious to get into college? he wondered. But he didn't ask her again. At that point the wisest thing was to get her the hell out of there while he was still in control of himself. He forced himself to bend over his ledgers again. "Come back next month," he muttered, picking up his pen.
Sharon dressed quickly and went toward the door.
"And bring your birth certificate!" he called after her.
And she did. On her eighteenth birthday she was back, a copy of her birth certificate in her purse. This time she wore a light-blue sweater which molded every curve of her taut breasts, and a skirt which clung to her buttocks and thighs before stopping short above her knees. Her golden hair was pulled back and tied with a white ribbon, giving her a demure appearance which contrasted sharply with the wicked sensuality of her body.
Polk examined the certificate carefully and put it away in a drawer of his desk. Then he made a phone call to cancel a dinner engagement with a business colleague, told Williams-perhaps a bit too casually-that he could have the rest of the day off, and conducted Sharon on a tour of the house.
It was a handsome old place, and Polk was rather proud of it. His father had had it built to last, and his mother had furnished and decorated it tastefully. As they moved from room to room, he was pleased that Sharon seemed genuinely appreciative, exclaiming over or commenting on various items that struck her fancy.
When they had covered the ground floor he showed her the upstairs. As she preceded him up the steps, his eyes followed the sway of her buttocks and the flexing of her legs. His throat was dry.
The tour of the upper floor ended up-not exactly by accident-in his bedroom. Up to this point he had not so much as touched her, partly out of a slight nervousness, and partly out of curiosity to see whether she would make any move to initiate their new relationship. But so far, except for his covert glances at her alluring figure, they might have been father and daughter.
Now his glance swept her again as she stood with her back to him, looking out the bedroom window at the grounds below, and nervousness and curiosity were both overcome by desire. He went up behind her and placed his hands lightly on her shoulders.
She turned slowly to face him. He dropped his hands to her waist and pulled her toward him. She smiled at him and brought her body in against his. Her arms went around his neck. He brought his face to hers, and her mouth opened slightly to receive his kiss.
The softness of her willing lips and the length of her body pressing against his made his heart beat wildly. He could feel the firm yet soft pressure of her breasts as they flattened against his chest. Her thighs rubbed his. His hands moved almost instinctively to her buttocks, and as if in response she pushed her hips into him, making him gasp with the pressure against his loins.
He probed with his tongue, and her mouth opened wider to give him entrance. He explored the soft inside of her mouth eagerly, and when he withdrew his tongue, her own followed it, curling into his mouth and searching, stroking, avidly caressing, until he moaned.
The kiss went on. He did not want to break it. The girl's submissiveness, her willingness to follow his lead, excited him. It was as though she were delivering her part of their bargain absolutely, with complete abandon. So they continued to kiss, lips devouring, tongues stroking, bodies squirming, until they were both breathing hard, panting into each other's mouth.
He ended the kiss finally, but did not release her. He pulled away slightly so that his hands could have freer access to her body. His left hand continued to fondle her buttocks while his right traveled around to the front of her, moving over her hip, then sliding slowly up over her stomach to her breast.
He cupped the luscious mound in his hand, lightly at first, then with a gentle pressure, feeling it rising and falling with her breathing. He caressed it slowly, marveling at the feel of its yielding firmness beneath the tight sweater.
The girl smiled at him as he moved to the other breast. She writhed her body provocatively as he explored it, moving his fingers over the nipple. Her hand reached out to touch him lightly.
"Do you want to undress me?" she whispered. "Or shall I do it?"
"You," he said hoarsely. He moved away from her and sat down on the bed as she began quickly to remove her clothes. He watched avidly as she stripped for him. It was like the time in his study, except that now he did not have to control his reactions.
The sweater came off over her head; the skirt fell to the floor. She walked toward him as she removed her bra, and her lovely bare breasts swayed maddeningly. Standing directly in front of him, she slid her panties down slowly. She waited, gloriously nude, as his eyes once again devoured her splendid young body.
He reached out almost reverently to touch the shapely white thighs that would now be his. His breath came faster as he moved his hands over the soft flesh, tracing its curving contours. He stroked the unbelievable smoothness of her inner thigh, his fingers caressing in small circles. His hand moved higher and still higher as he savored the texture of her skin.
When he reached the juncture of her thighs, the girl gave a small gasp. He continued to caress her there, his fingers finding the most sensitive areas, while his other hand continued to slide over her leg. There were more gasps from the girl, and a soft moan. After a moment she placed her hands on his shoulders as if to steady herself.
Now he took his hands away from her and pulled her down beside him onto the bed. She was still smiling, but her eyes were glazed and she was breathing rapidly. His own breath was uncontrolled as he gazed at her lying there-his for the taking. The shapeliness of her breasts was not diminished by her prone position. He put his hand on one, and felt the nipple, already hard, stiffen even further under his palm.
He bent to put his mouth on the other breast, sucking at it eagerly. He pressed his tongue over the straining nipple and heard Sharon take in her breath sharply. The taste of her flesh maddened him. He could not get enough of her body.
His hands traveled hungrily over every inch of her flesh as his mouth moved first to graze on her other breast, and then lower, sliding over the sweet pastures of her stomach. His tongue stroked her, savored her, dipped into her navel. His fingers found their way between her thighs again, making her squirm, while his mouth feasted along the length of her legs.
After a few moments of this, his passion had become an inferno. He had to possess her. He forced himself to pull away from her long enough to strip himself quickly, tossing his clothes heedlessly to the floor. He lay down beside her, bringing the length of his now-nude body against her, wanting to feel all of her flesh touching him.
Her arms went around him as he fitted himself against her softness. Her breasts mashed themselves against his chest, the nipples boring into him. Her legs writhed along his, and her loins brushed lovingly against his straining cock. He kissed her, plundering her mouth with his tongue as she made little noises in her throat.
He rolled their bodies over so that he was lying over her, and he felt her legs open to receive him. He probed and found her, but forced himself to take her slowly, drawing out the exquisite pleasure of the initial contact. Her head went back and she uttered a long moan as he gradually gave her his rigid cock. His brain swam with the caress of her sweet, enveloping warmth.
When they were fully joined he lay still for a moment, holding her to him, savoring the moment of possession. Her legs lifted, curled around him, and locked themselves behind his back. Her hips began to move.
He matched her movements with his own, starting on a long journey of passion which was to be one of the most memorable of his life.
The girl was marvelous. Her wonderful body was a supple instrument of eroticism, yielding and demanding simultaneously. Her movements were a symphony of sensuality. She was untiring. She writhed and twisted beneath him, arching and squirming, bucking and rolling, and all without ever losing the steady, gradually increasing rhythm of her hips. She spurred him on to greater and greater heights of passion and endurance. He stayed with her, giving as good as he got. Once he felt his control in danger of slipping, and slowed down. She followed his lead, but her gyrating body, her thighs clasping his waist, her calves on his back, soon caused him to build up the tempo again.
They moved faster and faster now, lunging at each other. The girl began to emit little cries. Polk was panting hoarsely. They were both climbing swiftly toward their climactic moment. Sharon accelerated the already-rapid movement of her hips, squirming more wildly than ever. Her breasts rolled and slid against his chest. Her legs tightened around him, pulling at him. He felt himself drawn into the whirlpool from which there was no turning back.
Then Sharon's body spasmed violently, and he heard her give a loud moan of ecstasy, just as his own passion exploded with a force and intensity he had not known for years.
Later he lay beside her, feeling drained but happy. His fingers traced her breasts lightly, more out of objective appreciation now than passion. Sharon stretched contentedly.
"You're sure a lot better than those silly boys," she told him.
He drew a little circle around her nipple with his finger. "If all your experience has been with boys," he said, "you have a great deal of natural talent."
She grinned at him. "I'm glad you liked me," she said. "Think you made a good bargain?"
He nodded. "I think so. Collecting my part is certainly enjoyable." He stroked the valley between her breasts. "I think I'm going to do it often."
"Any time," she said seriously. "That's the deal."
"You still haven't told me why you want to go to college so much," Polk said.
She was silent for a minute. "My reasons don't matter," she said finally.
And he could get nothing more out of her. When he tried to press the point, she distracted him by moving closer and arching her body into his. "Listen," she whispered, "I'm ready for the second collection whenever you say."
He felt her thigh brush his loins, and her hand moved over his body. In a very few moments he was ready too.
So she came to live with him. It seemed to be the most practical way, and though he was worried about her family, she insisted that they were glad to get rid of her. One less mouth to feed. He wasn't concerned about the other townspeople. They might be shocked, but they would not do anything to arouse the ire of the most powerful man in town. Old Williams, he knew, was highly disapproving; but he was loyal, and nothing if not discreet.
Sharon seemed to have no interest in her old life or her friends from school. He was surprised at what a good companion she made him. Though she could never take the place of his dead wife, he enjoyed having her around. He had not realized how lonely he had become since Miriam's death. Actually they had almost nothing in common, but she showed a surprising interest in whatever he talked to her about. Her youth and vivacity charmed him, and made him feel younger than he had thought possible. When he was working she never bothered him, but found ways to amuse herself. And the nights-well, the nights were glorious.
As September approached he became more and more aware of his reluctance to let her go. He tried to persuade her to stay with him, but her determination to go to college was as strong as ever. He fervently wished that there were a school close enough to Burchville so that he could send here there and still keep her with him, but the closest one was ninety miles away, and it was nowhere near as good a school as Hollis. He even considered asking her to marry him, but finally decided that was going too far. He eventually resigned himself to waiting for next summer.
When the time came for her to leave, he took her to the station. She kissed him goodbye as she prepared to board the train.
"See you in June," she said.
Suddenly a question which he had been warning himself not to ask her forced its way out of him. "Sharon," he said, "I realize this wasn't part of our bargain, but ... are you going to be ... that is-" He tried to say it lightly. "Do you intend to sleep with those handsome college boys?"
She looked at him seriously for a long moment. Then she shrugged.
"Who knows?" she said.
TWO
Dave Hendrickson was waiting for the class to end.
It was Friday, and this was his last class of the week. He was impatient for it to be over. Not that the next two days held any special prospect, even though there were no classes; it was getting toward the end of the term, and he was going to have to spend most of them cracking the books. But tonight he had a date with Harriet. And Mr. Jelkes, the instructor, was a bore.
Jelkes was yammering away as usual, but Dave wasn't listening. He had gotten the assignment for the next class, had made a note of the term paper the instructor had assigned, and he knew that what Jelkes said from now to the end of the hour would simply be a repetition of stuff that was in the textbook: An Introduction to Economics.
As a future economics major, Dave found this freshman course a snap. Actually he had already had most of the material in high school, and took the course only because it was required. So he sat half lounging in his seat and let Mr. Jelkes' uninspiring voice flow harmlessly past his ears, and tried to make the time go faster by indulging in one of his favorite classroom activities: watching the girls.
One of the things he liked most about Hollis University was its high percentage of good-looking girls; much higher than in his hometown high school. In this class alone, for instance, there were at least half a dozen girls who were eminently worth watching, and who, as the kids in his high school had been fond of saying, he would not kick out of bed. Indeed there were several who, if it were not for Harriet, he would have actively attempted to manipulate into the pleasant location. Like Betty Kronsky, the pretty brunette with the large eyes and the large breasts. Or Nancy Gallagher, the slim redhead who was fond of miniskirts and black net stockings. Or Sharon Reynolds, the gorgeous blonde with the cool gray eyes and the anything but cool body. Or-
"Class dismissed," Mr. Jelkes said.
He heard that, all right. Slapping his books together, he rose and made his way out of the room. He left the building and began to stride swiftly across the campus toward his dorm, a good-looking, solidly built youth with wavy brown hair and a quick smile.
His date with Harriet was at eight o'clock. He had to admit it, he was really stuck on Harriet. He had met her at the beginning of the term. They had immediately taken to one another, and during the semester their relationship had grown so rapidly that already they had spoken of marriage, once they graduated from college.
Dave was a little surprised at himself. He had not thought himself ready for a permanent relationship. He had looked forward to several carefree years of playing the field at Hollis. But, he supposed, love came when it came, and there wasn't much you could do about it.
And, he thought as he climbed the dormitory stairs to his room, he could accept the whole situation philosophically if it weren't for the problem of Harriet's damn prudery. Well, not prudery exactly-she was a warm girl, and they had necked and petted enough for him to know that there was definitely a sensual side to her nature-but she did have this thing about not going all the way with him until they were married. And it drove him up the wall. It was their only serious problem. He was not cut out to be a priest, he kept telling her. And Harriet was sympathetic, but adamant. She said he would lose interest in her, or stop respecting her, or some damn thing. That was nonsense, but who could cope with the way a woman's mind worked?
He threw his books on his bed in exasperation. Well, things couldn't go on this way, that was for sure. He did not want to jeopardize his relationship with Harriet by going after other girls, but he was getting desperate. He wasn't giving up yet, though; he still had hopes of breaking down Harriet's resistance.
Maybe tonight, he thought, as he picked up his shaving kit and went down the hall toward the communal lavatory. Maybe tonight would be the night ...
He picked Harriet up at her dorm promptly at eight, in his battered but still serviceable 1959 Chevy. They drove into town and went to a movie, after which they stopped in at a local student hangout for a couple of beers and a frenetic dance or two to the rock-'n-roll jukebox. On the way home Dave turned into a familiar side road which led to one of those places to be found near all college campuses-a secluded clearing where cars could be parked and their occupants, by general consent, left undisturbed. On this Friday night there were several cars there already, but Dave found a relatively private spot and parked.
He put his arm around Harriet, and she snuggled up to him. She looked particularly attractive tonight, Dave thought. Her dark, medium-length hair seemed to shine softly in the faint light of the rising moon. The luminous brown eyes, the sweet expressive mouth, the little dimples when she smiled-he never tired of looking at them. The pert curves of her breasts were outlined by her neat woolen blouse, and the fashionably short skirt stopped well above her knees, revealing the slim, nicely shaped legs.
She looked up at him expectantly and he brought his mouth down to hers. The first kiss was gentle, her lips sweetly soft under his. They parted briefly, then kissed again, their mouths fusing more intensively. He felt Harriet's arms come up around his neck, and he turned slightly to bring their bodies closer.
Her lips began to move on his. He let his tongue come out and brush lightly over her lips. After a small hesitation, her mouth opened slightly to admit it. He sensed her breath beginning to come faster as he touched her tongue with his. She responded, and for several moments their tongues played sensually with each other within the sweet cavern of her mouth.
With their bodies half-turned into each other, Dave could feel the rise and fall of one firm breast against his chest as Harriet's breathing quickened. He tightened the arm that was around her shoulders and allowed his hand to drop until it just touched the tip of the other breast. Harriet made a small sound in her throat as his fingers brushed lightly over the nipple area through the material of her blouse. Still holding the kiss, he began to move his fingers in a small circle, alternating with slight scratching movements across the nipple, which he could feel growing harder under his manipulations. He knew from experience that she found this exciting. Harriet's mouth opened wider and she began to probe with her own tongue into his mouth.
Slowly, carefully, Dave brought his free hand to rest on the girl's leg, just above the knee. He continued to stroke her breast, widening the area of the circles his fingers made, but always coming back to tease the nipple, as he began lightly to caress the smooth thigh, his hand moving gently on the soft flesh, moving very gradually upward. His fingers touched the hem of her skirt, moved under it.
Harriet disengaged her mouth from his, and pulled her head back. She was panting, but making an effort to be calm. "Dave," she breathed. "Easy. Please. We mustn't get ..."
Dave stopped his caressings, but kept his hands where they were. "Sure, honey," he said softly. "Sure. Don't worry."
He tried to kiss her again, but the break had enabled Harriet to regain some control. She pulled gently away from him and sat back, the movement disengaging his hands from her breast and leg.
"Let's cool off a little, huh?" she said.
He felt like swearing, but he told himself to be patient. He wasn't giving up yet.
Harriet started talking about the movie they had seen. He played with her hair as he listened, then began to stroke the nape of her neck. After a while he felt her relax slightly and lean against him. He bent his head and nibbled gently at her ear, teasing it with his tongue, making appropriate murmurs from time to time in response to her comments.
Soon Harriet stopped talking. Her eyes closed, and her head made little sensual movements in response to his attentions. Now he brought his free hand up and placed it over her breast, cupping it. She made a soft purring sound. He squeezed the breast gently, then began caressing it with his palm. He kept this up until he felt her breathing deepen, then moved to the other breast. His hand slid slowly over the soft curves as the girl gave a long, shuddering sigh.
Now Dave's hand moved to the girl's throat, found the top button of the snug blouse, and opened it. Harriet made a little sound of half-protest, but did not move to stop him. He let his fingers play lightly over the exposed flesh before moving to the next button. He unfastened it, and the blouse parted enough to reveal the swelling beginnings of her breasts above her bra. His hand slid between them and moved slowly down to another button, then another.
When the blouse was open he rested his hand gently on the smooth flesh of her stomach, just under her breast, and after a moment began to caress the brassiere-covered nipple with his thumb. He could hear Harriet breathing now, hard and uneven. The way she was leaning back, he could not reach the catch of her bra to unfasten it. With his other hand he found one of the bra straps and carefully eased it over her shoulder, then slid the hand downward until it was inside the loosened bra, and he could feel the nakedness of her breast under his palm.
Harriet gave a soft moan. As he moved his hand softly over the sensitive flesh, she turned her head to him, eyes till closed, her mouth groping for his. He kissed her. Her lips were soft and pliant. Once again he brought his free hand to the bottom of her skirt. Before she could protest, it had glided up her leg till he touched the front of her panties. She gasped sharply against his mouth. His fingers brushed lightly over her, then slid between her thighs, stroking, seeking.
The girl tore her mouth away, but only to bury her face in his shoulder. She made little whimpering sounds as he continued to caress her through the thin material. He felt her hand moving on his leg. His own breath was audible now. His strokings became more rhythmic. There was a moisture under his fingers through the gauzy panties.
He moved his hand up over the front of her again and groped for the waistband of the panties. She made a hoarse sound of disappointment as his fingers left her crotch, but moaned again as he inserted his hand beneath the material at her waist.
The softness, the erotic texture of the skin of her lower belly drove him wild. As his hand moved downward, she squirmed and raised herself slightly to give him freer access. In his excitement, he took advantage of this to grasp the panties at the waist and begin to pull them down and off.
Suddenly Harriet's legs clamped tightly together and she was pushing at him, pushing herself away. "No!" she gasped. "Stop. Dave, stop. Don't!"
He wanted to hit her. "Damn it, Harriet!"
She struggled with him till he let her go. She was shaking her head, still breathing hard. "We can't. You know we can't. Not all the way."
"Hell, Harriet, you want it as much as I do!"
"Please, Dave. You know how I feel. It wouldn't be right. Not until we're married."
"Good Christ, Harriet, that's almost four years!"
"I know," she said softly. "But we just have to wait, that's all. Dave, please don't be angry. We can ..." Her hand reached out for the front of his trousers.
He jerked himself away. "Kid stuff!" he snapped.
She flared up. "Well, why not?" she demanded. "You're acting like a kid!"
"The hell I am!" he shouted. "I'm acting like a man! But maybe you don't know what that means, because you sure as hell don't act like a woman!"
She glared at him, then turned away and began to adjust her bra. "You'd better take me back now, Dave," she said coldly, buttoning her blouse.
"Sure," he said curtly, and put the car in gear.
They drove back in silence. But by the time they reached her dorm they had both thawed out enough to be pleasant to each other, and even for a mild goodnight kiss. Hell, Dave thought as he drove away, they had played this scene so often lately they should be used to it. But he was more bothered than ever. Sooner or later, he thought, something would have to give.
It was about a week later that Sharon Reynolds approached him.
It was after another of Mr. Jelkes' sleep-inducing classes. As Dave was leaving the building, he heard a girl's voice calling him. He turned. It was Sharon.
She caught up to him. "Hi!" she said brightly. "Talk to you a minute?"
"Sure," he said. He was somewhat surprised, because he hadn't exchanged more than a few words with her all term.
She fell into step beside him. "Feel like having a Coke?" she suggested. "I want to ask you about something."
"Okay, sure."
They walked across the campus toward the Coke Shop. As she walked, she hugged the books she was carrying close against herself, and he admired the way this made the tops of her breasts bulge against the sweater she was wearing.
They chatted aimlessly until they were seated opposite each other in a small booth and had ordered Cokes.
"You're really a whiz in that eco class," Sharon said, her gray eyes regarding him admiringly.
He shrugged. "Well, you know, I'm going to be majoring in the stuff. I had most of this elementary junk in high school. This really is pretty much a snap."
"Not for me," she said ruefully. "I can't make heads or tails of it, really. I'm just about scraping through."
"Well, the term'll be over in a couple of weeks," he said. "Then you can forget it all."
She made a face. "Yes, but there's this term paper we have to write," she said. "God, I don't know how I'm ever going to do it. I mean I don't know enough about the course to write a paragraph, really, let alone a whole paper. And then I have papers to write for other courses, too, and final exams to study for, and ..." She shook her head despairingly.
"Yeah, I know what you mean," he said. "It gets rough, doesn't it? Well, that's the price we pay for education, right?" He sipped at his Coke. He was beginning to wonder whether there was any chance that Harriet might see him with this girl, and if so what she would think.
"Actually, that's what I wanted to talk to you about, Dave," Sharon said. "I mean, since the course is so easy for you and all ..." She stirred her Coke absently with her straw. "I wanted to ask if you would write my paper for me," she finished.
The request was so unexpected that Dave didn't know what to say. There was a pause. Then he gave a nervous laugh. "Well, gee, Sharon," he began. "Well, I'd like to help you out, but I don't-I mean I don't think-"
"Would you, Dave? Please?" Sharon said. "Otherwise I know I won't pass the course. And then I'd have to take it over again and that's a drag. And it would be so easy for you."
He shifted uncomfortably in his seat and scratched his ear. "But Sharon, that's-"
She looked at him. "I'll pay you for doing it, Dave," she said.
He shrugged. "Well, that's not the point," he said. "I mean, sure, I could always use some extra money, but ... I'm damned busy myself right now, you know? And besides-"
"Listen," she said softly. "I don't mean with money."
He looked at her sharply. Her clear eyes gazed coolly, intently, into his. He stared at her, wondering if she could possibly mean what had instantly leaped to his mind.
After a moment, as if in answer, he felt her leg move against his under the small table. Her lower leg pressed firmly against his calf and began to slide slowly and deliberately up and down. All the while her eyes stayed on his.
Dave swallowed. He cleared his throat. "You mean ..." he began hoarsely.
The blonde girl nodded slowly. She leaned forward, so that she could speak in an even lower tone than the one she had been using. Her leg stopped moving, but remained pressed against his. Her breasts rested on the table top like ripe fruit. Dave's heart began to pound crazily.
"I'll go to bed with you," Sharon murmured. "Well, I guess we couldn't go to bed, actually, but, you know - I mean, you can make it with me. If you'll do it - the paper, I mean. What do you say?"
He had to clear his throat again. "I-well ... when?"
"As soon as I get the paper, if you want. Only once, of course. That's understood. Okay?"
Dave thought briefly of Harriet. Very briefly. He felt himself nodding.
Sharon leaned back again. "Okay," she said. "Then I'll count on you." She finished her Coke. "Remember, the thing is due by the sixteenth."
"Don't worry," Dave told her. "You'll have it."
She smiled at him. "Good," she said. "I'm glad."
She got up and left.
So Dave Hendrickson wrote two term papers for Economics I. Writing the extra paper was not difficult, although it did take up some time he could ill afford. His main difficulty was in trying to make it sound dissimilar to his usual style. He handed the finished paper to Sharon two days before the deadline.
"Thanks, Dave," she said. "That's sure a relief." She smiled up at him, promise in her eyes. "When and where?" she said softly.
He fought to keep his voice calm. "We'll have to use my car," he said. "I don't know where else we can go. They're very careful about letting students into motels and things around here."
"All right," she said.
"Tomorrow night?"
"Fine."
The next night he picked Sharon up at her dorm and drove directly to the secluded spot where he had so often been with Harriet. He had consistently pushed all pangs of guilt concerning Harriet to the back of his mind. After all, he told himself, it's her own fault, in a way. If she weren't so damn stubborn ...
It was a week night, and there were very few cars in the area. He chose the darkest spot he could find, underneath a clump of large trees, and parked.
The night was very dark; there was almost no moon. Sharon was an indistinct shape beside him, with soft highlights made by her blonde hair and the light-colored dress she wore. He saw a faint gleam of teeth as she smiled at him.
"Shall we get in the back?" she whispered.
He nodded. Sharon got her legs under her, sat on the back of the front seat, and swung herself gracefully over. He followed her, more awkwardly, bumping against her in the narrow confines of the back of the car.
Almost uncontrollably, his arms went around her and he bore her down to the seat. He heard her laugh softly. Now she was reclining under him on the seat, and as he felt the length of her body against him his passion instantly came to life and he felt his dick throbbing and pushing against her through their clothing. She felt it too, for she moved her hips playfully, arousing him still more.
"Mmmmm," she said.
Her lack of inhibition delighted him. He sought her mouth with his, and when he found it, her arms went around him and their tongues met instantly. He ran his hands down her body, rubbed the sides of her breasts, flattened under his weight. He groped blindly for a fastening on her dress.
She murmured something around his tongue. He drew his mouth away. "It's in the back," she breathed. "Wait." She struggled to sit up. He reached behind her and felt the little catch at the back of her neck, and the zipper. He opened the catch and pulled the zipper down to her waist. He pulled the dress off her arms.
He reached feverishly back to undo her bra catch, and she giggled. "This one's in front," she said, and undid it herself, slipping the bra off.
Her breasts were indistinct shapes of white in the darkness. But as his hands found them, his sense of touch told him of their symmetry and ripeness, and of the stiffening response of the nipples to his hands. As he fondled her, she reached for the buttons of his shirt and began to open them.
When she finished that she unbuckled his trousers and pulled down his zipper. He felt her hand seeking, touching, sliding slowly along his prick, and as he gasped sharply he heard her give another of her playful, appreciative murmurs.
His hands went to her legs, feeling the roundness of knee, then the soft secret smoothness of thigh. One hand reached the juncture of her thighs, and he felt her own fingers tighten on him in response. But already his other hand had found the waistband of her panties and was tugging at it. She raised her hips for him, and he pulled the garment down and over her legs, till it lay with her bra on the floor of the car.
Now Sharon released him to tug the skirt of her dress above her hips and pull the whole thing off over her head. She was naked. She lay back on the seat as Dave quickly shucked off his own garments. When he was ready he still hesitated, looking at the white blur of her body. He wished the night were not quite so dark. He longed to see that body more clearly, to allow his eyes as well as his hands and body the privilege of enjoying her beauty.
"What's the matter?" she asked.
"I-I wish I could see you better, that's all," he said.
He heard her give a throaty laugh. "Well, what about the car light?" she said. "The inside light, I mean. Doesn't it work?"
He hadn't even thought of that. He nodded. "It goes on when the door opens."
"Well, open it, then," she said. "If you want to. Go ahead," she urged as he looked nervously around. "Nobody will see me down here."
He fumbled for the handle, found it, and pushed the car door open slightly. The light came on.
He caught his breath. He had known she was naked of course, but somehow he had not been prepared for the effect of it all at once. She lay on the seat, one arm beneath her head for support. One leg was bent at the knee, leaning against the back of the seat. The other was stretched out, reaching to the floor. The weak light threw into relief all the curves and contours of that lovely body. It struck Dave as incredibly beautiful and incredibly erotic, both at once. His eyes roamed compulsively over every inch of her. She lay there quietly, smiling.
At last his excitement overcame him. He pulled the door closed, plunging the car again into darkness, flung himself upon her. He could not wait any longer.
Her arms encircled him again, and her hips moved, helping him find her. They joined, and through the blood pounding in his head he heard her moan of pleasure.
The cramped space made for less than ideal conditions, but Dave was aware of nothing except Sharon's nakedness under his body, her legs sliding against his, as he began to move strongly. He lost himself in her body. As the pleasure went on, he could hear her gasps and moans, but could give no conscious thought to her pleasure, or indeed to anything but the immediacy of her flesh. It continued, mounting steadily, until he felt his finish approaching, as powerfully and irresistibly as a locomotive. He surrendered himself to it helplessly, and he heard himself yell as it roared over him.
For a few moments he lay quietly, still clutching Sharon, his gradually decreasing breathing mingling with hers. Finally he disengaged himself slowly and sat up.
"Wow!" he said.
Sharon sat up too, beside him. "That was nice," she said softly. She felt around on the floor for her bra, found it, and began to put it on.
"Hey, what's the hurry?" he asked her.
She put her hand gently on his arm. "Only once, remember? We agreed. Okay?"
He hesitated, but then nodded. He didn't want to argue with her. He felt too good right now. Besides, she was right, he had agreed. So they both got dressed, got into the front seat, and he drove her back; she said goodnight to him, touching him on the arm again, and got out of the car and was gone before he even had a chance to ask about seeing her again, and he drove back to his dorm and went to bed.
For the rest of the term, when he saw Sharon in class and spoke to her, she was polite; she smiled at him, but she kept her distance. He did not see her alone again.
On the final day of the term, following the last of his exams, Dave and Harriet went for a walk through the woods that bordered one edge of the campus. This was a large, densely forested area owned by the college, which jealously kept it from the hands of builders and "land improvers", and called it, picturesquely, The Ramble. Dave and Harriet often liked to go on long tramps through the area, finding little-used trails and unexplored groves.
But today Harriet was strangely silent as they trudged along. Dave had thought perhaps she was worried about her exams or something, and had tried hard to make light conversation. But it became more and more apparent that something was oppressing her, and he began to get worried.
They were in the thickest part of the woods now and had left the trail they had been following, looking, as usual, for some place they had not explored before. Finally Harriet's monosyllabic responses to his conversational efforts annoyed him, and he stopped. They had come to a small clearing, thickly surrounded by trees and overgrown with moss, weeds and wild flowers.
"What's the matter with you today?" Dave asked abruptly.
Harriet did not answer.
He sighed, and spoke in a softer tone. "Come on, Harriet, something's been bothering you all day. What is it, honey? Tell me."
Harriet suddenly turned to look at him. There was something in her eyes that Dave did not like.
"All right," she said, almost defiantly. "I was talking to Joanne McCloskey yesterday."
"Yeah, so?"
"She said she saw you dropping some girl off the other night. A very pretty blonde girl, she said. She saw her getting out of your car. I asked her if she was sure it was you and she said yes."
Dave was silent, mentally cursing Joanne McCloskey.
"Who was she, Dave?" Harried said.
"Look, Harriet, this is all very silly-" he began.
"Oh, come on, don't give me that, Dave," she said. "If you've been seeing somebody else, I want to know about it. I mean I thought we-"
"Come on, honey, don't get excited." He reached to take her hand, but she pulled it away.
"No, Dave, I mean it," she said, her voice rising. "Who is she? Did you-I mean, what happened? I want to know. I have a right to know!"
He was piqued. "You want to know?" he snapped. "You really want to know? Okay, damn it."
And he told her the whole story. "So now you know," he finished.
She had turned away and was standing with her back to him. "Oh, Dave," she whispered.
He went up to her and put his hands on her shoulders, but she shook him off and walked further away, her back still turned. "Leave me alone," she said brokenly.
Guilt and exasperation fought within him. "Well, damn it, Harriet, what did you expect me to do?" he exploded. "I mean, Christ, you were driving me out of my skull. I told you, I'm a man, not a damned saint! Well, I didn't go out looking for it, but-Hell, when something like that just falls into your lap, well ..."
There was a long silence. Then Harriet said in a low voice, "Did you enjoy it?"
He sighed. "Now what am I supposed to say to that?" he asked. "Sure I enjoyed it. Hell, yes. Naturally. But it had nothing to do with-"
"Do you like her better than me?" Harried asked.
His voice softened. "Harriet, that's such a dumb question," he said. "I love you, for Chrissakes."
She turned around slowly to look at him. He saw that she had been crying. Her eyes looked steadily for several moments into his.
"You do, don't you, Dave?" she said softly. "You do, really."
"Of course I do," he said.
"And you won't stop?"
He smiled at her. "Not likely."
She gazed at him for another moment, and then nodded. "All right, then," she said, and began to unbutton her blouse.
He could only stare at her in amazement as she opened the blouse and drew it off.
"Promise me, Dave," she said, her hand going to the button at the side of her skirt. "No more Sharon Reynolds. Promise."
He nodded numbly. "I promise," he got out.
The skirt fell to the ground and Harriet stepped out of it. She stood before him in bra and panties. "Or anybody else," she said.
He nodded again.
"All right," she repeated softly. She unhooked her brassiere and pulled it off, and then, without pausing, bent to remove her final garment. She straightened and stood nude, proudly yet shyly.
It was the first time Dave had seen her completely naked, and he swallowed as he gazed at her. The firm, saucy breasts, the smooth roundness of belly, the curve of hips, the slender, finely-shaped legs. She was lovely by any standards, and even more so for him, Dave realized, because he loved her.
His numbness left him suddenly, and he began swiftly to undress himself. When he was as naked as she, Harriet lowered herself slowly to the ground, then held up her hand to him. He went toward her.
Thank you, Sharon, he thought fervently as Harriet pulled him down beside her. Thank you for a lot more than you know!
Then their bodies touched, and he stopped thinking.
THREE
Jimmy Browder arrived at the lecture room fifteen minutes early, as was his habit with most of his classes. He took a seat in one of the first rows, directly in front of the lectern. He laid his notebook and a pen neatly out in front of him on the flat surface formed by the extended single arm of the chair, and put the remainder of the large pile of books he was carrying under the seat. Opening his notebook, he began to go over his notes on the material he had read in preparation for this lecture. The notes he would take during the lecture would go on a separate sheet of paper. Later he would go over the two sets of notes and combine them into a third, and comprehensive, set. He was a very methodical person.
He was a small, slight youth with an unimpressive build and a nondescript face behind large horn-rimmed glasses. This unimposing appearance, along with a retiring manner and his natural shyness, had never made him very popular, either with boys his own age or with girls. In grade school the boys had picked on him, bullied him, beaten him up. In high school they had sneered at him and endowed him with such original nicknames as "Shrimpy" and "Four Eyes". Here in college they mostly just ignored him.
As for girls-well, he had never had much to do with girls. They were mysterious, aloof creatures; alluring to be sure, desirable certainly, but, he had always felt, they were for the others-the lucky ones, the ones who knew how to talk to them, how to act with them, be at ease with them, make them laugh. He did not. And so he kept away from girls as steadfastly as they kept away from him-though for different reasons. And if sometimes he found his eyes, or his thoughts, lingering too long on some particularly attractive feminine charm-the movement of a body or the softness of a mouth, the curve of a bosom or the turn of a leg-and he felt a desire rise in him which he knew to be hopeless, he would put it deliberately, though sometimes with difficulty, out of his mind, and immerse himself in his studies.
In a few minutes, other students began to drift into the room. It was a large, old-fashioned lecture hall with steeply-banked rows of seats rising all the way to the far wall. This was the weekly lecture period for the combined sections of History II.
Jimmy was still going over his notes when someone sat down in the seat next to his. A faint, fresh scent told him that it was a girl. He looked up, surprised, and was even more surprised to find that the girl was smiling at him.
He had seen her in his classroom section of this course, which met on Thursday, but he did not know who she was. She was very pretty, he thought, with her long blonde hair and her nice smile. He became conscious that he was staring at her and began to get flustered.
"Hi," she said. "I'm Sharon Reynolds."
"Uh-Jimmy. Jimmy Browder," he blurted.
"Hi, Jimmy," she said warmly. "We're in Mr. Rosen's class together."
"Yes. I mean, I know. I ... I've seen you."
"You have? Why, I didn't think you'd ever noticed me. You always seem so ... well, sort of preoccupied."
He could not think of anything to say, so he said nothing.
"But I've been wanting to meet you," the girl went on.
He stared at her. "You have?"
"Um-hm. Because I guess you're just about the most brilliant student in the whole class."
He felt himself starting to blush.
"I don't know how you do it," Sharon said. "I get everything all mixed up-all those dates and battles and treaties and things. And there's so much reading to do for this course, and so much stuff to prepare, I just go crazy. How do you keep up with it all, Jimmy? Tell me your secret."
He adjusted his glasses nervously. "Oh. Well, I-it's ... uh ... study habits, I guess," he mumbled. "Good study habits. And-well, you know-application, and ... and things like that," he finished lamely.
The girl sighed. "Those are things I haven't got too much of," she said sadly. "Not to mention brains. You've got those, all right. I'll bet you're here on a scholarship, aren't you?"
He nodded.
"I really admire that," she said softly. "I really do. It must make you very proud to be as smart as that."
Luckily he was spared the necessity of coming up with an answer to this, because at that moment the professor appeared and the lecture began.
As usual, he took copious notes, but he was distractingly aware of the disturbing girl sitting beside him. He noticed that she took almost no notes. Bad work habits, he thought.
When the lecture was over the students began pouring out of the room. But before Jimmy could get up, the girl turned to him again.
"It was very nice meeting you, Jimmy," she said.
"Yeah. Same here," he muttered.
"I hope we can be friends."
"Uh ... Yeah. Sure."
The room was emptying rapidly, but Sharon still did not move. "Jimmy, do you think you could sort of help me sometimes with some of this work?" she said. "Coach me a little? I mean, you know, fill me in on some of the material, and explain the important things, and maybe lend me some of your notes so I can kind of catch up? That would really be great for me. It would help me a lot."
"Oh. Well ... uh-"
"I don't want to cause you any inconvenience. I mean if it would be too much trouble or something," the girl said sincerely. "But it would be a real friendly thing to do, Jimmy." She placed her hand gently over his. "And if you'll be friendly to me, I'll be friendly to you."
She was certainly a strange girl, he thought. But he was flattered that she wanted to be friends with him, and he was happy to help her in any way he could. Especially if it meant spending some time with her. He was not used to being so close to a pretty girl. Or any girl, for that matter.
"Well, yeah," he said. "I mean ... sure. Okay."
"Oh, thank you, Jimmy," she said. "That's wonderful. Listen, I'm way behind. Could you lend me the notes you've taken so far this term so I could copy them down? That would give me a good start."
"Uh ... all of them?"
"I'll give them back to you at the next class," she said.
"Oh, sure," he said hastily. "Sure." He removed the pages of notes carefully from his notebook, made them into a neat pile and handed them to her.
"Thanks, Jimmy," she said. "And listen-next week, sit up in the last row. Way up in the back, okay?"
"What for?" he asked.
"Never mind, just do it," she said. "See you in class. Bye."
She returned the notes to him in class that Thursday; and the next week, when he entered the lecture room, early as usual, he climbed to the very last row and took a seat. A few minutes before the lecture started, Sharon sat down next to him.
"Hi."
"Hi," he said. There was a pause. He cleared his throat. "Uh ... Sharon?"
"Mm?"
"Why are we sitting way back here? I mean, nobody sits back here."
"That's the point, Jimmy."
He did not understand. "It is?"
"Uh-huh. Isn't it nice that we can be alone? Especially when we have this." She pointed to the partition that formed the back of the row in front of them.
"What do you mean?"
"Well ... suppose you're the professor, giving the lecture up in front. Or suppose you're sitting a few rows down, and you turn around. How much of us could you see?"
"How much?"
"That's right, how much could you see?"
"Well ... uh ... I guess ... about down to here." He put his hand a little above the level of his waist.
Sharon smiled. "Right," she said.
He was more puzzled than ever, but before he could pursue it the lecture began, and he picked up his pen.
About halfway through the hour, he suddenly felt Sharon's hand touch his leg. His pen made an unintentional blotch on the paper. He looked at her.
She had slid down slightly in the chair and her legs were stretched out in front of her, heels resting on the floor. Her skirt did not quite reach her knees. He could not help staring at her legs. They were smooth and bare and perfectly shaped, swelling gently at mid-calf and tapering down to trim ankles. He felt his heart beating.
When she saw that she had his attention, Sharon removed her hand from his leg and brought it to the hem of her skirt. With one hand on each side, she began slowly, very slowly, to slide the garment up over her thighs.
Jimmy could not believe his eyes, nor could he tear them away. Sharon, however, still appeared to be watching the lecturer as she continued to reveal her thighs to him, inch by agonizing inch.
Only a small portion of thigh remained covered when the skirt stopped moving. She sat still for a few moments, allowing Jimmy's eyes to gorge themselves on the lovely vista before them. Then she picked up her pen and wrote something in her notebook. She passed it to him so that he could read it.
She had written: Like my legs?
He picked up his own pen. His hand was trembling. Underneath her question he wrote Yes, then added an exclamation point.
She glanced at it and smiled, but still did not look at him. She wrote again and showed it to him. He read: Want to see more?
His mouth went dry. He wrote Yes again.
Once again her hands went to her skirt. She played with it for a moment, teasingly, then pulled it up over the last few inches of leg. He could see the bottoms of white panties peeking out above the firm young flesh.
Now he felt the girl's hand on his leg again, this time moving slowly, caressingly. From the side of his leg it moved to the front, and then to the inner part, and then-incredibly-upward.
He felt that his breathing must be audible to everyone in the room, and that his face must be a dead giveaway to what was happening. But no one turned around, and the professor was going on as usual, though for once Jimmy was not hearing a word.
Sharon's hand reached his lap and paused for a moment, resting on the bulge in his trousers. He was embarrassed, but he had never felt anything as exquisitely thrilling as the feeling of her hand on him. She stroked his hardness a few times, then curled her fingers around it, squeezing gently through the soft material. He bit his tongue to keep himself from crying out.
With one final caress, her hand left him. He fought to return his breathing to normal. She took hold of her skirt again, and he took a last long look at her thighs, expecting her to pull it down. But to his amazement she did no such thing. Bracing her feet on the floor, she raised her hips slightly off her chair, then pulled the skirt back and up, over her panties, to her waist!
Jimmy threw a hasty, worried glance at the professor, but apparently Sharon was as well-hidden as she had thought she would be. His eyes turned as if drawn by a magnet back to the girl. She had bunched her skirt in the back so that it stayed at her waist, allowing him the breathtaking slight of all that soft, secret flesh partially covered by the brief, gauzy panties.
But only for a moment. For now-and Jimmy could only believe he was dreaming, could only pray that he would not wake up yet-now Sharon grasped the thin material at her hips and pulled downward.
His head spun as the panties lowered. She raised her hips again to ease the garment over her buttocks, then pushed it down her thighs. It slid the rest of the way to the floor. She reached down and stuffed it into her purse, which stood on the floor by her feet.
The girl, naked below the waist, smiled again as Jimmy's hand clenched tightly on the arm of his chair. His eyes glued themselves to the juncture of her legs, fascinated by the way the creamy thighs melted into the smooth belly, and by the soft, mysterious blonde triangle in the center of it all.
One of Sharon's hands lay indolently on her own bare thigh while the other reached out for him again. This time she slid lightly over the center of his passion and reached for the tab of his zipper. He stifled a gasp. She pulled it down just far enough to allow her fingers to wriggle through the opening and find him. They moved lightly over his aroused flesh. He was too paralyzed to stir.
Then Sharon began to move her legs. She spread her knees toward the edges of her chair, her thighs parting slowly. Then they closed again. He found this unbelievably exciting. She continued to do it as her fingers caressed him, at first with no particular rhythm, but then she began to match the movements of her legs to the stroking of her fingers. As she stroked slowly upward, her legs would open; downward, they would close.
She kept this up, gradually increasing the rhythm. He felt his excitement mounting rapidly toward the breaking point. It was with great effort that he kept himself from squirming in his chair. A groan nearly escaped him, but he choked it back. More noises welled up in his throat and he fought desperately to keep them from coming out. He bit his tongue till he tasted blood, but it was no use. He knew he would cry out if she kept on. He reached down and pulled her hand away from him. Struggling for control, he pulled his zipper back up.
At that moment the lecture ended. Sharon pushed her skirt down swiftly and stood up.
"See?" she whispered to him. "I told you I'd be friendly to you." She turned and left.
Jimmy sat where he was. It was several minutes before he was able to get up and leave the room.
This incident took place about halfway through the term. From then on, Jimmy got together with Sharon about once a week to help her with the lessons. He would summarize the material for her and lend her his notes. Although she did not have much interest in the subject, she seemed determined to pass the course, with his help.
From time to time Sharon would reward him with little surprises like the one in the lecture room, though usually not that extreme. She seemed to take pleasure in exposing herself to him, and seeing him become aroused, especially in public.
Often they had their lessons on the campus lawn. Sometimes Sharon would neglect to wear panties, and she discovered a way that he could lie at her feet and appear to any passer-by to be innocently reading to her, while he was able, when she arranged her legs a certain way, to see far up her dress.
She took other opportunities to rub her breasts against him or arouse him with her hand. But, as they were never really alone, things could not go very far. But he did not complain. He was grateful for these limited delights, which were so much more than he had ever experienced before.
He had, naturally, fallen in love with Sharon, though he was smart enough to realize eventually that he was simply a convenience to her, and that once the term ended their relationship would probably end too. He was obsessed with her, nevertheless. He could not learn much about her except for the fact that she was a second-semester freshman, as was he, and, though a poor student, she possessed a fierce drive to get through college. When he asked her about this, she avoided answering, as she did with most questions about herself.
One evening near the end of the term Jimmy met Sharon at the library, where he was to help her prepare for the final exam in History II. He waited for her outside the building, and when she appeared his heart jumped, as it always did when he saw her. She was wearing a black raincoat, although the night was dry, and she looked lovely.
They went inside, got the books they needed, took them to one of the study rooms and settled down to work. Sharon did not remove her coat.
After an hour or so, Sharon closed her notebook and looked up. "Listen," she said in a low voice. "Let's go back in the stacks."
"The stacks?" he repeated. "But Sharon, we already have all the books we need. And there's no place to study back there."
"That depends on what you want to study," Sharon said. She leaned closer to him. They were seated side by side at a long table.
"Know what I'm wearing under my coat, Jimmy?" she whispered.
"No, what?"
"Nothing."
His stomach melted.
"Shall we go to the stacks?" she whispered.
He nodded.
They left the study room and made their way to the part of the building which housed the stacks of books available to students. Row upon row of tall shelves branched off from either side of an enormously long corridor.
In the far reaches of the area, they turned into one of the small aisles between two rows of shelves which reached to the far wall and formed a long, narrow alcove. They had determined that there was no one in the immediate vicinity of where they were; and they would be able to hear anyone coming along the uncarpeted corridor.
Jimmy watched Sharon anxiously. She turned to face him. Her fingers played teasingly with the buttons of her coat.
"Want to see?" she asked softly.
He tried to speak, but gulped instead; so he nodded.
She began without haste to undo the buttons, working from top to bottom. She held the coat closed as she did so. When there were no more buttons, she brought both hands to the front of the coat, then, watching his face, slowly pulled it open.
She had told the truth. She wore nothing underneath it.
Jimmy involuntarily took a step backward as the force of her revealed nudity struck him like a blow. He felt the shelves against his back. He gaped at her, transfixed.
She seemed pleased by his reaction. "You like?" she said.
"Sharon," he choked. "You ... you're so-"
She took a step toward him, still holding the coat open. "So what, Jimmy?"
"So ... beautiful," he managed.
"Thank you, Jimmy," she said. She took another step, then another.
His knees felt weak. Another step and she would be right up against him.
She took the step.
Her body leaned into his, pushing him back against the shelves. He could feel the warmth of her skin through all his clothing. He felt every inch of her solidly against him from knees to shoulders. Her soft thighs strained into his; her breasts, flattened against his chest, seemed to burn holes through his shirt; and the feel of her hips meeting his caused his cock to rise sharply.
She felt this, and slowly began to move her loins against him. A hoarse sound escaped him. She kept up the movement until he was rigid and throbbing under her artful flesh.
Then she brought the rest of her body into play. Her legs writhed against his, her breasts slid over his chest. Her entire naked body squirmed sensuously against his clothed one.
The sensation was almost unbearable. His head was whirling.
"Do you like that, Jimmy?" Sharon whispered, never stopping what she was doing with her body.
He made a sound which he meant to be affirmative. Apparently Sharon took it that way, for she began gradually to speed up her movements. What her lower body was doing to him was fantastic. Her rotating hips seemed to work on ball-bearings as they moved her loins in constant circles against his.
Now, as he felt the whole length of her squirming harder and faster against him, he knew he was swiftly approaching the point of no return. But the naked girl did not stop. His excitement rose higher and higher, his blood pounded. ...
"Sharon," he gasped. "Sharon, stop. I ... I'm going to-"
But Sharon only ground herself more fiercely into him. "Go ahead," she whispered breathlessly, moving with frantic abandon. "Go ahead, go ahead!"
His head went back; his eyes closed tightly; and in a few seconds he let out a short, rattling cry as her movements pushed him over the brink.
They composed themselves quickly, in case anyone had heard Jimmy's cry and came to investigate; but no one did. And perhaps it was just as well, for it took some time for Jimmy's breathing to return to normal.
"Come on, Jimmy," Sharon said after a few minutes. "Let's go."
But he hesitated. "Sharon."
"What?"
"That was nice-what you did just now. That was ... it was nice."
"I'm glad you liked it, Jimmy."
"I-I'd like to do something for you," he blurted.
"But you have been," she said. "You've been helping me with my history work all this time."
"I don't mean that," he said. "I mean something like ... like what you did for me."
She looked at him curiously. "You would?"
He nodded.
"Just what would you like to do, Jimmy?"
Jimmy had not had much experience, but he had read books. He knew what he wanted to do, but he did not know if he could do it right. He swallowed, then approached the girl. He was trembling. He lowered himself to his knees in front of her.
Sharon had buttoned the coat again, and now, without looking at her, he reached out a shaky hand to the bottom button and unfastened it When she did not say anything, he did the same with the one above it. Almost fearfully, he spread the bottom part of the coat open.
Then he looked up at her. "May I, Sharon?" he whispered.
"If you want to, Jimmy."
He swallowed again. "Will ... will you help me? Tell me what to do?"
"All right," she said.
His hands came slowly up to grasp her curving hips. He took a deep breath. His head moved forward.
Her legs parted for him.
He was awkward and unskilled, but willing. After the first few moments, Sharon began to give him instructions, and he followed them. She told him explicitly what to do, and where, and how; and he did everything she said.
In a little while he was rewarded by the faint sound of her panting. It got louder. He was encouraged, and redoubled his efforts. Soon he heard soft, breathy moans. Then Sharon's fingers were in his hair, holding him tightly against her. He went on and on. Finally he felt her stiffen, heard her gasp sharply several times as her hips made convulsive movements. She pulled away from him.
He rose to his feet again. Sharon smiled at him, and kissed him on the cheek.
"Thank you very much, Jimmy," she said. "That was lovely."
Then they left. As they came out of the building, Sharon turned to him.
"Libraries are certainly very educational places, aren't they, Jimmy?" she said, and giggled when he blushed.
It was while walking her back to her dorm that he finally got up the courage to ask his question. He had been thinking about it for some time, but had been afraid to mention it. Tonight seemed like a good time.
He cleared his throat. "Sharon?"
"Mm-hm?"
"Uh ... couldn't we ... sometime ... well ... make love? I mean-you know-really?"
She looked at him, her eyes wide. "Why, Jimmy!" she said in a shocked voice. "How could you? I'm a virgin!'
FOUR
It was Sunday. Before he was fully awake, Larry Haber knew it was Sunday by the sound of the church bells coming through the window. He stirred, but did not open his eyes. He didn't want to wake up yet. He had been having a nice dream. He wanted it to go on. It was about ... It was about ... But already he could not remember what it was about. Oh, hell. He was awake.
He gave a muffled groan, stretched, and turned over. Janice was still sleeping. They both liked to sleep late, especially on Sundays. He raised himself on one elbow and studied her.
A strand of brown hair had fallen over her forehead, making her look almost like a little girl, instead of a woman of thirty-three. He was always surprised by how little she seemed to have changed in the eight years they'd been married. Her face was still unlined, her body still firm, the breasts taut, the legs slender. He himself was five years older than she, and sometimes felt every day of it. But not now.
It had been a warm September night, and Janice had thrown her covers down to her waist. Her breasts were bare. They had been to a party the night before and had gotten home late, and she had been so tired she had simply thrown off her clothes and fallen into bed in just her panties. He gazed at the unblemished white mounds, slightly flattened as she lay on her back, going up and down with her even breathing. The nipples were of an unusual light brown color-matching her hair, he had always thought-and were relaxed and crinkly now in her sleep.
He lay watching her, feeling a familiar tingle of excitement begin within him. They had not made love now for several days, he thought. Let's see, today was Sunday; it had been ... almost a week, he realized with surprise. When they had first been married, they had made love every night, sometimes almost all night, sometimes during the day, too. Even later, when the newness and the exciting strangeness had worn off, they had seldom missed a night. But as the years went by, he supposed, everybody slowed down a little. But a week! He would have to do something about that.
He reached over and very carefully, so as not to disturb her, lifted the cover from her waist and pulled it off her. Janice did not awaken. His eyes moved over the sprawled length of her legs. He had always been a leg man, and Janice's were a delight; long, slim, delicately curved, and sometimes, when they had occasion to be, flexible as rubber.
The tingle grew stronger. He lay unmoving, letting his desire build as he gazed at the sleeping form clad only in the brief lacy panties; letting it build until he felt a heaviness in his loins, a movement, a straining; until he felt his breathing quicken.
He reached for the breast nearest him. With the very tip of one finger, he lightly traced the delicate circle around the nipple, then brushed softly over the small knob in the center. Janice's deep breathing did not change, but the nipple began to stir.
He leaned over and flicked at the little button with his tongue, then moved the tongue-tip slowly over and around it, coaxing it to life. It responded, hardening gradually. There was a faint sound from Janice, but she did not awaken.
He let his lips find her soft flesh, surrounding the area his tongue was caressing, and moved his hand to her other breast, cupping it, feeling this nipple begin to grow instantly under his palm. Her skin was warm from sleep.
Janice made another sound, and her body stirred. His hand moved on her breast and his tongue continued to work on the now-rigid nipple. Her body shifted again. She gave a long sigh. Her eyes opened slowly.
"Larry, wha ... Ooo," she moaned, as his hand circled her breast.
He raised his head. "Good morning, darling," he said. He moved his mouth to the other breast, while his hand slid down to caress the warm, smooth flesh of her stomach.
"Oh, Larry," she whispered. Her hand came up to clutch the back of his head. "Pretty sneaky," she said in a voice thick with sleep and passion. "Getting me all worked up while I'm asleep, and ... oh!-and can't resist."
His mouth moved upward from her breast, paused at the hollow of her throat, then found her lips. Their tongues met instantly, twining around each other. Her arms went about him.
The hand on her stomach slid downward, went under the waistband of her panties, slid lower. She whimpered. His fingers probed her cunt, finding her most sensitive spots from long experience. She bent her knees and pushed with her feet against the bed, levering her hips upward to give him freer access. She moaned continuously into his mouth as her hips writhed under his hand.
They broke the kiss finally, and he tugged her panties from her hips. She helped him, kicking them off her legs impatiently. He stripped off his pajamas quickly. He lay on his side again, and she rolled over and plastered herself against him.
"Oh god, you've got me so hot!" she whispered.
Janice was a talker, always accompanying their love-making with a continuous verbal commentary. He did not mind, although he himself was a silent lover. Her talking usually excited him.
Her hand went between their bodies and found his rigid cock. "Oh, darling," she breathed, caressing him. "Oh, how lovely you are. Oh, I want it. I want it now!"
She rolled over on her back, pulling him with her. He found her and their bodies joined smoothly. She cried out. The long, marvelous legs came up and wrapped around him, locking behind his back. He loved her to do that. He could feel the whole length of them against him. Their bodies began to move, slowly at first.
"Oh, yes," Janice said hoarsely. "Darling, yes. Ah. Oh, that's so good. So good. Oh. Oh. More. Give me more!" Her head thrashed as he moved faster. "Larry, Larry," she groaned. "Oh, do it. Don't stop. Nnnnn ..." Her words went on, punctured by gasps and moans. Her speech became less articulate as the tempo of their bodies gradually speeded up. They matched each other's movements perfectly.
His hands slid down beneath her to clench her buttocks. As they strained toward the finish, their mouths fused together, tongues battling madly. But as she felt her culmination hit her, she threw her head back with a great gasp.
"Now!" she cried. "Now! Ah. Aahhh. AAAHHH!" She convulsed around him, and a second later he joined her.
They lay quietly for several minutes, regaining their breath. Then Janice sat up, poking at her hair.
"Goodness," she said. "Look at the time! I've got work to do. The new term starts day after tomorrow."
"I know."
"Well, a lot of the students will be getting here today. I still have to make up some of the beds, and fix the rooms." She gave him a little pat, got up and went into the bathroom. He heard the shower start.
She was a good wife, he reflected. And they had had a pretty good life together. They were lucky to have this rooming house so near the university campus. During the school year, anyway, it was always filled with students, and it brought them enough income to get along on, while he pursued his chosen calling as a writer of highly serious, though infrequently published, fiction.
But it was too bad they had never been able to have any children. He knew this was a great disappointment to Janice, though she seldom showed it. But with just the two of them, living in this little town, their lives did sometimes seem to get into a bit of a rut. And if perhaps their lovemaking did, too. ... Well, listen, after eight years ...
He yawned, stretched, and got out of bed.
That afternoon, while Janice was still upstairs fixing the rooms, the doorbell rang. He went to answer it. When he saw the girl, he immediately assumed she was one of their new roomers-a couple of them had already arrived earlier. He brought her inside.
She was very pretty, he noticed, with long blonde hair and an excellent figure. She was wearing a miniskirt, one of the shortest he had yet seen, and no stockings. Her legs were remarkable. He tried hard not to stare at them.
He was getting out one of the standard information cards they used for new roomers, when the girl spoke. "I wanted to find out if you have a room available," she said.
He looked up in surprise. "Oh? You mean you haven't got one reserved?"
"Well, no," she said. "I'm just trying to locate one."
"I see," he said. "Well, I'm sorry, but I'm afraid all of our rooms have been reserved in advance. In fact, most of the reservations were made before the end of last term. Is this your first year at Hollis?"
"No," the girl said. "I'll be a sophomore. I was in one of the dorms last year, but this year I really wanted to live off campus. I didn't realize it was so hard to find a place." She sat down dejectedly on the arm of an easy chair, the movement bringing the tiny skirt almost indecently high on her thighs. "But I'm not having much luck," she added.
Her legs were really gorgeous, he thought. Sensational, in fact. Even-well, yes, perhaps even more exciting than Janice's. Differently exciting, anyway. Although not as slim as Janice's, they were not at all heavy, but ripely fleshed in exactly the right places, and shapely enough to make one's mouth water.
He realized suddenly that she was watching him admiring her legs, and he was embarrassed. He cleared his throat. "Yes, well, I'm sorry, miss, but there's-
"Reynolds," the girl said. "Sharon Reynolds."
"I'm sorry, Miss Reynolds, but I'm afraid we can't help you this term."
The girl did not move. "Do you think," she said softly, "that there might be a cancellation or something?"
"Well, that's possible, of course, but it isn't too likely. Students who do cancel out usually let a friend have their reservation ..."
His voice trailed off. The girl had gotten up from her perch and walked slowly across the room toward him, where he stood at a small table. She came to within two feet of him and stopped.
"Do you think," she said in the same soft tone, "that there might just be an exception this term?"
He frowned. "Well, as I say, it's possible, but-"
"Perhaps," the girl said, "you could arrange for a cancellation."
"I don't understand."
"Well, when one of the people with a reservation shows up, you could just tell them there's been a mistake or something, and give me the room instead." She moved a short step closer. She was almost touching him.
"Why would I do that?" he said. His voice was not steady.
She put her hand out and touched the back of his hand lightly with her fingers. "Because you like me?"
He got hold of himself and moved away from her. He wondered if this girl knew what she was doing. He did not want to find out. He was a happily married man. Wasn't he?
"What makes you all that anxious to live off campus?" he asked her, because he couldn't think of anything better to say to her.
"Because there's more freedom that way than in the dorms," she said. "And more privacy. Off campus I can come and go when I want to. And with whom," she added.
"Well, look, Miss Reynolds-"
"Sharon."
"Well, look, I'm rather busy, so-"
"You haven't answered me yet," she said, coming close to him again. "About the cancellation." Her voice dropped almost to a whisper. "Just think how nice it would be if I had a room here-and you could come and visit me sometimes."
He tried to make light of it. "Oh, my wife would love that," he said.
"Is your wife here all the time?"
"No, but-Now look here! I'm happily married. I've never cheated on my wife, and I don't intend to start."
"Really!" Sharon said. "How old is your wife?"
"What does that have to-She's thirty-three, if you must know."
Sharon looked at him steadily. "I'm nineteen," she said.
He could say nothing.
"How long has it been since you've had a girl that young?" Sharon asked, watching him.
He was irritated by his undeniable attraction to her, and her ability to work on it. "It so happens my wife is a very attractive woman," he said defensively.
"But she's thirty-three," Sharon said. "Are her legs as nice as mine?"
"Yes!"
"What about the rest of her? I have good breasts, too. Feel." She reached for his hand and placed it over one of her tightly sweatered breasts.
Now somewhere in the world there might be a normal man who, when a lovely teen-aged girl puts his hand on her breast and invites him to feel it, can refuse the invitation; but if so, Larry Haber was not one of them. Almost reflexively, his fingers tightened around the sweet outcropping of flesh, testing its resiliency, aroused by the springy firmness against his hand.
With his hand on her, Sharon stepped forward and placed one bare leg between his. "Will you get me that room?" she whispered.
He felt himself nodding.
She stayed where she was for another moment, and then drew back gently, smiling at him.
"I'll get my things," she said, "and be back later."
After Sharon left, Larry could not settle down to work. He was angry at himself, but he was excited too. He could not erase the sight of her legs from his mind, or the feel of her breast. He was relieved when the next new roomer arrived before Janice came down. He explained as convincingly as he could that there had been a mistake, that they had accepted one too many reservations, that this one had been the last, that he was terribly sorry, but there was nothing he could do ...
So he had committed himself. He drew out the reservation card and replaced it with one in Sharon's name. He usually handled the paperwork, and Janice would have no way of knowing about the substitution.
When Sharon returned later that day with her suitcases, Larry took her up to show her the room. Janice, he told her, would be going out the next night, Monday, for a meeting of her bridge club. They arranged that he should come to her room at nine o'clock.
The next day passed slowly. Larry had to make an effort to hide his nervousness from Janice as he waited for the evening to come. There was much to keep them busy, however, with the remainder of the roomers arriving for the opening of school on the following day. Luckily they had all appeared before Janice went out.
At the appointed time he went up and knocked softly on Sharon's door, and she let him in. His eyes widened at the sight of her. She was wearing a pink baby-doll nightie made of a gauzy, almost transparent material, which came down to her hips and stopped abruptly; a matching pair of brief panties; and high-heeled slippers.
"The way you were looking at my legs yesterday," she said to him, "I thought you'd like this outfit."
She modeled it for him, walking slowly to the other end of the room and back. His throat went dry as he watched the flexing of her bare legs as she moved, the slight ripple of the thighs, the delicate play of muscle beneath the taut skin of the calves.
He reached for her, and she came into his arms. They kissed. He felt the softness of her unfettered breasts against him. One of his hands went beneath the thin nightie to caress her bare back, while the other slid inside the panties and moved over her buttocks. She bent her knees, letting her body sag into him. The feel of her thighs against his aroused him quickly.
He released her and, lifting her suddenly, carried her over to the bed, where he laid her down on her back. He sat on the edge of the bed beside her. He let his eyes travel slowly once again over those luscious legs. Then, almost reverently, he put his hands on them.
He spent a long time exploring them with his hands, and not one square inch of them was left untouched. Then he bent and put his lips to them, kissing them all over. He ran his tongue over the length of them, savoring the exquisite taste of the flesh under his mouth.
Finally he straightened up. The girl was breathing heavily, and he could make out the hardness of her nipples as her breasts moved against the front of her nightie.
He reached for the filmy thing, and she sat up and let him pull it over her head. Her breasts were beautiful. He put his mouth to one, nibbling gently at the erect nipple. She made a purring sound.
He pulled her panties off, then stood up and, gazing avidly at her naked body, skinned quickly out of his own clothing. She reached out to touch his erect cock.
"Pretty good for an old man," she teased.
He wanted this to be as different from Janice as possible. "Don't talk," he said. "Don't say anything. All right?"
"If that's what you want," she said.
He joined her on the bed. They kissed again, his tongue exploring the soft inside of her mouth. Then he put both hands over her breasts, and moved his body downward slightly. Lowering his hips, he began to slide the hardness of his aroused cock over her legs.
The sensation drove him wild. He touched every part of her legs he could reach with his throbbing hard-on. He kept this up until Sharon, with an unerring sense of just when and how to bring him to the point of taking her, brought her legs together and began to rub his prick gently between her thighs.
He groaned. He could not take any more. He spread her legs apart again and enter her.
They moved together for a long time, their gasps and moans filling the little room. In the middle of it, he clutched her legs strongly in his hands and pulled them up and back, forcing them over his shoulders. Her hips canted upward, her buttocks off the bed. She cried out in pleasure-pain as he thrust at her with the deeper penetration this position gave him. Her legs were forced backward with every movement of his body, her thighs against her breasts. His cheek rested against one leg, his hand moved over the straining thighs, as he battered at her body.
She helped him, squirming her pistoning hips, taking everything he could give her. The breath rasped in their throats. In a few moments they had both hurtled over the peak, and lay panting and exhausted.
After that, it became a regular Monday-night practice, when Janice went to her bridge club, for Larry to visit Sharon in her room. Once in a while, on other occasions when Janice was out of the house for some reason, he would knock on her door; and if she was there, she sometimes let him make love to her, but not always. It was agreed that he would turn a blind eye to any hours she might choose to keep, or what visitors she might have, or any other questionable activity.
One Saturday afternoon about a month later, Janice announced that she was going shopping with a neighbor. When she was gone, Larry, feeling an urge for Sharon that had only been augmented by their sessions together, went up to her room. She was there, and she was willing.
When he came out of the room, about an hour later, Janice was standing at the end of the hallway, waiting. He froze.
"Janice!" he blurted. He groped for something to say, but his mind was blank. "I was ... uh ... I was just-"
"I know what you were doing, Larry," she said quietly.
She turned and went downstairs. He followed her down to their apartment. His head was swimming. He cursed himself. The last thing he had wanted to do was to hurt Janice.
In their living room, Janice sat down quietly in a chair and picked up a cigarette. He stood looking at her miserably. He did not know what to say. There was no sense in denying his guilt. It was too obvious. "How-how did you-" he floundered.
"I've suspected it for a while now," Janice said. "You're not very good at being furtive, Larry."
She was taking it calmly, anyway, he thought. He squared his shoulders. "Look, Janice," he said. "I love you."
"I know you do, Larry," she said.
Before he could think of anything else to say, she spoke again. "Larry, will you do me a favor?"
"Of course, darling."
"Tell me about," she said. "About you and her. What you do. What it's like. I want to hear it."
He was mystified. "I don't-" he began.
"Please, Larry. Just tell me. Tell me everything." She paused. "You owe me a favor, don't you think?"
He swallowed, and sat down across from her on the couch. Hesitantly, he began to comply with her request. He told her, as well as he could, about the things he and Sharon did, and how she made him feel. He did not look at her while he spoke. When he had finished, he was somewhat surprised to see her seated on the edge of the chair, her breathing slightly quicker than normal, her eyes bright.
There was a pause. Janice stubbed out her cigarette. "I'm not going to make any trouble about this, Larry," she said. "But I want something."
"Anything, Honey."
She looked directly at him for a moment, then away. "I want to watch," she said.
"You want-what?"
She closed her eyes, as if trying to gather strength for what she was saying. "I want to watch," she repeated. "You and her. Together. I want to watch you do it to her."
He was stupefied. Now she looked at him again, seeing his incredulous stare. "I can't help it, Larry," she said, keeping her voice under control. "I've been thinking about it since I first suspected it. About-about you and her-making love." She leaned forward. "It excites me, Larry! I don't know why-I don't understand it-but it excites me all to hell!"
He shook his head in bewilderment. "Janice! This just isn't like you. I ... I don't get it."
She got up and came over to sit beside him on the couch. "Listen, Larry," she said urgently. "I know you love me, and I love you. But you get turned on by this blonde teen-ager, right? Well, the thought of it-of watching you-is something that turns me on. I can't help it any more than you can."
He said nothing.
"Please, Larry," she said.
He made a vague gesture. "Even if it made any sense," he said, "she wouldn't go along with it."
"Ask her, Larry. Why not? Maybe she won't mind. Tell her-tell her she can have the room rent-free. Tell her something. Please, darling. Ask her now!"
He looked at her for a moment; then, in a kind of helpless resignation, got up and went to the door. He went up to Sharon's room and knocked.
"What, again!" she said when she saw him. "Now look, Larry, once in a while is all right, but-"
"No, no," he said hastily. "I have to talk to you."
"Oh. Well, come on in, then."
He waited until she had closed the door. "It's my wife," he said. "She knows. About us."
"Oh?" Sharon asked quietly. "Is she going to make trouble?"
He shook his head. "No. But she ... well ... she wants to watch."
She blinked. "She wants to watch? You mean-us?"
He nodded.
She began to laugh. "You gotta be kidding," she said. "You're telling me that your wife wants to watch you and me making it together?"
He spread his hands helplessly. "She says it excites her," he said. "The thought of it, I mean. Of us. I don't know, I don't understand it. She says to tell you that you can have the room without paying rent if you'll do it."
Sharon's eyes narrowed. "Oh? You agree to that?"
"I suppose so."
The girl shrugged. "Well, why not?" she said.
The next night, Larry and Janice went up to Sharon's room together. Larry felt a bit foolish. He had tried to talk Janice out of it, but she had persisted. Well, if in some strange way this would make up to her for his unfaithfulness, he thought, he would go along.
Sharon greeted them in the same baby-doll outfit she had worn on that first night. When they were inside, Janice surveyed the blonde girl for a long moment in silence. Then she walked over to a chair across the room from the bed and sat down.
"Go ahead, Larry," she said. "Go ahead just like I wasn't here."
He hesitated for a moment. Then he took Sharon into his arms, and they kissed. He felt awkward and self-conscious, making love to this girl while his wife looked on. But her presence did not seem to bother Sharon. Her tongue was a teasing butterfly in his mouth, and her young body wriggled as abandonedly as ever against his. His hesitancy began to melt.
He stripped her, and then himself. On the bed, he played with her nakedness, concentrating as usual on her legs, but not neglecting the rest of her. His awareness of his wife faded gradually from his mind as his excitement built, and he had almost forgotten her by the time he buried himself in the wonder of Sharon's body.
As they writhed together, their hips lunging at each other, Larry suddenly heard a moan that came neither from him nor from the girl beneath him. He glanced over at Janice. She was sitting hunched forward, staring at them intensely and breathing hard through her open mouth. She squirmed slightly in the chair, and another moan came from her.
A sudden acceleration in Sharon's movements brought his attention back to her, and he plunged furiously at her body as he felt the end approaching. Their groans of completion were nearly simultaneous. After a moment he sighed and rolled off her.
Janice rose slowly to her feet and stood unsteadily, her breasts heaving. Her eyes glittered feverishly. After a moment, her hand went to the back of her dress, unfastening it. She opened the zipper, pulled the dress off her arms, pushed it down over her hips, and stepped out of it.
She began to make little whining noises as she pulled her slip hastily over her head. She kicked off her shoes. Then she quickly removed her brassiere and panties, dropping them heedlessly to the floor. Naked and whimpering, she advanced toward the bed.
She threw herself down upon Larry, pressing the length of her body into him. "Oh god, Larry," she panted. "Screw me. Oh, Jesus. Please. Screw me now."
There was not really room for three of them on the small bed. Sharon rolled over and got to her feet. She did not seem particularly interested in the proceedings. She walked to her closet and donned a robe.
Janice was grinding her hips frantically against his, moaning. After his just-completed culmination with Sharon, however, his response was sluggish.
"Oh, please," Janice gasped.
She raised herself slightly and moved downward. Her breasts made twin trails over his stomach, and lower. He caught his breath as he felt her mouth on his rod, working to arouse him. She licked and sucked at him till she had made him rigid again, then slid back up his body and wrapped herself around him.
"Give it to me, Larry," she rasped. "Quick! Split me with it! God, I'm so hot I can't stand it. Oh. Oh!" Her hand went between them and guided his cock into her. She gave a loud groan as she settled down upon him.
"Ah, there!" she cried. "Yes! Wonderful. Oh, wonderful!"
She began to rise and fall upon him, her hips churning steadily, her body gyrating against him. He had never seen her so wild, nor heard her use such language as that which she now employed in the depths of her frenzy.
In a few moments his own passion had returned full force, and he rolled her over, matching her wildness, pounding her against the bed. Her nails raked his back, and a continuous stream of exhortations, obscenities and expressions of delight poured from her gasping mouth. His bout with Sharon had given him staying power, and Janice had twice climaxed fiercely before he reached his own finish.
He lay drenched in sweat and waited for the room to stop spinning. Sharon sat in the chair, watching them with a kind of amused detachment. In a few moments they got up and started to dress.
As they were going out the door, Janice paused. She turned to Sharon. It was the first time she had addressed her directly since entering the room. "When can we-again?" she said. "Tomorrow?"
"Oh, come on!" Sharon said. "I mean, I'm willing to earn my rent, but let's not overdo it!
"When?" Janice persisted.
"Next week, maybe," the girl said.
Janice looked as if she was going to protest, but she changed her mind. Larry followed her out.
From then on, instead of Larry alone, it was the two of them who visited the little room on what came to be a fairly regular once-a-week basis. Janice wanted it to be oftener, but Sharon would not allow it.
The scene was always the same. He would make love to Sharon while Janice watched from the chair; then Janice would strip and arouse him again, and they would have a frenzied animalistic coupling.
Soon Larry began to notice a difference in their love-making when they were alone. It seemed to him that Janice's responses were growing less intense, almost perfunctory. He began to worry.
Things got worse. After a while, Janice became less and less interested in making love with him except during their sessions with Sharon. She looked forward to these times almost obsessively, and between them she became jumpy and irritable. They quarreled often.
Larry felt increasingly disturbed. He decided he would have to get rid of Sharon at the end of the term. But would that solve the problem? He wondered.
One afternoon in December, he was writing at his desk when he heard Janice enter the apartment.
"Larry," she called. "Larry? Come on out here a minute."
He was annoyed. Janice knew he did not like to be interrupted when he was working. He went into the living room.
There was a girl with Janice. He recognized her as Margie Grant, one of their roomers. She was a small, vivacious girl with short dark hair in a page-boy cut and a cute, round figure.
"Hello, Margie," he said.
"Hi, Mr. Haber," she replied, not looking at him. She seemed unaccountably shy.
"Larry," Janice said, "Margie's been having a little money trouble lately. She lost her job over at the Coke Shop when they hired a full-time girl. And her brother's starting college this year, so her parents can't send her too much. She's been struggling to stay at Hollis."
"I'm sorry to hear that, Margie," he said.
Janice took a breath. "We agreed-that is-I ... I told her she could stop paying us rent if ... if she-you know-if you and she-"
"Janice!"
"It's all arranged, Larry," she said hastily. "She agreed. It's all right." She swallowed nervously. "And I can watch," she said.
"My god, Janice, we can't just-"
"Please, Larry." She clutched his arm, looking at him imploringly. "She's pretty, isn't she? She's attractive?"
"Yes, but-"
"Then please. Please, darling. For me. Please!"
Larry Haber looked at his wife for a long time. Then, slowly, he turned back to the waiting girl.
"Let me see your legs," he said ...
FIVE
Elaine Larsen was surrounded by twenty-five naked girls, and she was having a fine time.
She herself was not naked, because she was the teacher. But the brief two-piece bathing suit she wore covered only a small portion of her body. That body was not as trim as it had once been, and her short hair had darkened over the years from its original golden color; but she was still a moderately attractive woman, considering she was almost-not quite, but almost-forty.
The twenty-five girls constituted one of Miss Larsen's classes in Physical Education III. All freshmen and sophomores at Hollis were required to take physical education as part of their curriculum, and Miss Larsen was the Women's Physical Education instructor. The activities for all phys ed courses were rigidly outlined according to classes. Phys Ed III, for first-semester sophomores, consisted of one period a week of gymnastics and one of swimming. In the gym the girls wore shorts and sweatshirts; but for swimming, they went nude. Of all the activities of her classes, swimming was by far Miss Larsen's favorite. As she looked around her now, she thought, as she had countless times before, what an ideal job she had for a person with her proclivities. It was almost like someone with a sweet tooth working in a candy factory, or an alcoholic getting a job as a wine-taster.
And this certainly seemed to be a vintage year. Either they were making young girls more consistently attractive these days, or she was becoming more susceptible. Not too susceptible, though, she reminded herself, as she stood by the side of the pool, watching the bevy of nubile young bodies in action; never too susceptible. That was dangerous. But sometimes-just sometimes-the sight of so much young, uncovered flesh affected her so strongly she was almost unable to control herself.
Fortunately, she had a way of dealing with the situation on days when this happened, days when the feeling inside her grew so strong that she found herself perilously close to some ill-considered action, when her hand trembled with the desire to just reach out and touch one of those smooth, firm bodies ...
Today was one of those days. She could feel it in the beating of her heart, in the sensitivity of her nipples against the halter of the bathing suit, in the faint touch of moisture between her legs. How beautiful they were, those girls, in their nakedness; how sensuous, how exciting.
"Just carry on, girls," Miss Larsen called. "I'll be back in a few minutes."
She walked carefully along the edge of the pool, heading for the passageway that led from the pool area to the girls' locker room. She turned into it.
The passageway was formed by a wall on one side and rows of lockers, mostly unused, on the other. A little way along she came to a spot where one row of lockers ended and another began. There was a tiny space, no more than a crack, between them.
By putting her eye to the crack, Miss Larsen had a good view of the pool area which she had just left. No one would be close enough on the other side to observe her. And there would be no one in the locker room at this time. She had checked to make sure. She was alone.
She felt the warmth rising in her once more as she gazed again upon the profusion of breasts, buttocks, and thighs; upon her collection of lovely mermaids, cavorting in and out of the water. Her eye picked out some of her favorites among the collection. Mary Jamison, the best athlete in the class, was swimming strongly at one end of the pool, her beautifully-conditioned body rippling effortlessly through the water. Donna McLaren was lying on her back at the edge of the pool with her legs sprawled idly, one of them dangling over the side. Janie Weinstein was playing some game with another girl at the shallow end of the pool. She was jumping up and down in the water. Her large, firm breasts bounced on her chest like basketballs.
Miss Larsen wet her lips. Her right hand went down to her stomach, resting there a moment as if she had a belly-ache. Then, slowly, the hand began to move. It moved downward. It moved beneath the bottom part of the bathing suit. It went lower.
She started to pant as she caressed herself. She moved her legs apart, and her hand went between them. She did not take her eyes from the girls. Her fingers moved, stroked, probed. She made very low sounds in her throat. Her hand moved rhythmically.
"Why, Miss Larsen! Whatever are you doing?"
She gave a loud, frightened gasp and spun around, jerking her hand out of her suit, the blood rushing to her face. Standing in the passageway was Sharon Reynolds, one of the girls in the class. Her naked body was still wet from the pool. The expression on her face was unreadable.
Miss Larsen was trembling. She did not know just how much the girl had seen. She tried to brazen it out.
"Sharon! What-what are you doing here? You should be at the pool!"
Sharon looked speculative for a moment. Then she nodded. "Well, to tell you the truth, Miss Larsen," she said, "I was going to get dressed and sneak out while you were gone."
"Sharon!"
The girl smiled a very small smile. "But that's nothing to what you were doing, Miss Larsen," she said.
"I ... I don't know what you mean."
"Oh, come on now," Sharon said. "I saw what you were doing." She shook her head. "Imagine you getting your kicks from watching all of us naked girls. Well, well."
Miss Larsen swallowed. She fought down panic. "Sharon," she got out. "Y-you must have m-misunderstood. I-"
"Did I?" Sharon said. She began to move toward the older woman. "Do you think my body is nice, Miss Larsen?!" she asked as she approached.
Miss Larsen did not answer. She did think so, of course. She thought Sharon's body one of the loveliest and sexiest in any of her classes. But she did not know what to make of the girl's actions.
Sharon came up very close to her. Then, in a very soft voice, she said, "I'll bet you'd like me to do what you were doing."
Miss Larsen could only stare.
Sharon placed her hand on the woman's stomach. Then, just as Miss Larsen herself had a few minutes earlier, Sharon moved her hand down, letting it burrow under the bathing suit.
Miss Larsen drew in her breath with a sharp hiss. "Sharon!" she gasped. But it was not a protest.
A moan came from her as the girl's hand moved lower. Her knees began to buckle. She had to lean against the locker for support. Her brain was numb. She could not think; she could only feel. She was aware only of Sharon, beautifully, breathlessly naked, standing unbearably close to her, and of what this wonderful girl was suddenly, miraculously doing.
"Oh, Sharon," she whispered. "Darling!"
Trembling, she put her hand on the girl's breast. It was damp, with droplets of water still clinging to it, but it was one of the most exciting things Miss Larsen had ever held.
She closed her eyes, gasping steadily, as Sharon's fingers continued to move. Her other hand groped blindly for the girl's body.
Suddenly there was nothing. Sharon's fingers had stopped. Her hand had gone. She had stepped back. Miss Larsen gave a whimper of loss, and her eyes flew open.
"Not here," Sharon said. "Someone might come. And it's not very comfortable."
Desperately, Miss Larsen forced her brain to work. "Come, darling," she said. Clutching Sharon's hand tightly, she led her into the locker room and through it to a door on the other side, which led to the gymnasium. They went through.
The gym was empty. On the floor in one corner was a large tumbling mat. They headed for it.
Miss Larsen hesitated, a little nervously. She was still not quite able to believe her luck. But Sharon lay down on the mat on her back. She moved her body provocatively, letting it roll slightly from side to side, smiling up at her. Miss Larsen, with a small cry, flung herself down beside the naked girl.
Her hands reached hungrily for the maddening flesh. They closed over the breasts, held them, squeezed them gently, then moved over them wistfully, wanting to stay, yet having to go on. They moved down across the ribs, over the smoothness of stomach, around to grasp for an instant the small, solid buttocks, back over the hips, down the soft curves of the thighs. Then, slowly, upward, up the insides of the legs, until, almost fearfully, she touched the golden core of Sharon, until she was caressing Sharon as Sharon had so beautifully caressed her.
She heard Sharon's responding purr at the same time as she felt the girl's hand undoing the halter of her bathing suit. It fell away, and now Sharon's hands were on her breasts, skillfully-with a skill, she thought, only a woman could have, never a man-bringing the nipples to instant attention.
Sharon's hands left her breasts, trailing like soft fire over her middle to the waist of the bathing shorts, pushing them down, down. Miss Larsen pulled them off her legs.
She laid her now-naked body down next to the girl's. They lay on their sides, facing each other, and embraced, their bodies meeting, breasts to breasts, hips to hips. Miss Larsen's face was buried in Sharon's sweet-smelling hair.
"Kiss me, darling, please," she whispered into her ear.
Sharon turned her face to her, and their lips met. Sharon's mouth opened slightly, almost shyly, under hers. Miss Larsen probed tentatively with her tongue into the sweet mouth. Sharon responded, caressing it with her own.
Now their bodies began to move against one another. Their hips pushed forward, grinding their loins together. Their mouths parted as they gasped and panted in rhythm with the sweet friction.
Miss Larsen swept her hand down the hollow of the girl's back, slid slowly over the moving buttocks and between her legs from behind. Her fingers found Sharon's cunt and moved in counterpoint to the rubbing movements of her hips. Sharon emitted a series of high squeals, her hips squirming madly.
Her excitement aroused Miss Larsen even more. She was so sweet, this Sharon. So young, so sexy, so sweet. She was filled with desire to give her pleasure, to take her-to take them both-to the ultimate pinnacle of sensation.
She bent her head to the girl's breast, kissed it, then caressed its entire surface with her tongue. She came to the nipple last, working upon it with lips, teeth and tongue until it stood like a small nail in the flesh.
She kissed a trail to the other breast and repeated the process. The girl was moaning steadily. Miss Larsen's head moved down, her tongue gliding lightly in an irregular zig-zag path over Sharon's middle. She moved her body further down, positioned Sharon's legs, and then her mouth descended again, and found its goal.
The girl arched, moaning louder. Miss Larsen felt Sharon's hands on her head, moving aimlessly through the short hair. Her own hands stroked the girl's writhing legs as her tongue sought out her most sensitive spots.
In a few minutes Sharon stopped moaning. There was no sound but her loud, hoarse breathing, and an occasional sharp exclamation. Soon she began to move her hips in a strong, steady tempo.
Sensing that the girl had started to scale the last peak, Miss Larsen began to turn her body. It would take only a small spark, she knew, to explode her own powder-keg of excitement. She did not take her mouth from the girl as she slowly and carefully reversed her position. When she had accomplished this, her hips were over Sharon's face. With her own face still buried between the girl's thighs, she gently lowered her body.
She felt Sharon's mouth welcome her, felt the reaching tongue exploring, seeking. She cried out into Sharon's cunt. Together they worked passionately to hurl each other over the edge, and together they succeeded.
Miss Larsen lay dreamily in the blissful aftermath of satiation. She had seldom felt so wonderful. She knew she had to get back to her class-she had been away far too long-but she wanted just a few more moments in which to relish this lovely lassitude. She stretched her body contentedly and, smiling, turned to the girl at her side. She stroked Sharon's hair gently.
"Oh, darling," she said. "That was wonderful. Wonderful. Was it as beautiful for you as it was for me?"
"Hell, no," Sharon said.
She could not believe her ears. "What?"
"I said no, Miss Larsen. It wasn't as beautiful for me as it was for you," Sharon said coolly. "I don't really dig getting my kicks that way. I prefer more normal games."
She was stunned. "But ... but Sharon, you-"
"Yes, I know," Sharon said. "You want to know why I did that, Miss Larsen? I did it because I don't want to take your silly class anymore."
Miss Larsen moved away from her, staring. "I ... I don't-"
"See, I don't like your class, Miss Larsen. I think it's stupid to have to get dressed up in a silly costume and go jumping around some gymnasium at ten o'clock in the morning. Or splashing around in a pool, or whatever. I did it all last year, and part of this term, and I'm sick of it. It's a drag, and I'm not going to do it anymore."
Miss Larsen was beginning to feel cold. She crossed her hands over her breasts. "You'd better tell me what you're getting at, Sharon," she said.
"Well, that's really all there is to it, Miss Larsen. I'm just not coming to class any more. Only the course is required, you know, so you'll have to mark me present anyway. You see?"
Miss Larsen kept her voice under control. "You mean you think because you and I-because of what we did, that I'm going to let you do that?"
"Sure," the girl said. "And because you wouldn't want me to go to the Dean of Women and tell her about how you got me in here and took advantage of me."
Miss Larsen gasped. "Why, you little-" She began to tremble with rage. She clenched her fists to keep herself from striking out at the girl. In a shaking voice she said, "You wouldn't dare. No one would believe you."
"Do you want to take that chance, Miss Larsen? Because if I tell them about what I saw you doing out by the lockers, they can check with the other girls about all those times you've been away in the middle of class. And the other swimming classes too, I'll bet. And then when I tell them about the nasty, perverted things you made me do ..."
Miss Larsen looked at the girl in horror. "You dirty, scheming little bitch!" she whispered.
"Oh, you can call me all the names you want to, Miss Larsen. I don't care about that," Sharon said. "As long as you mark me present for the rest of the term. Okay?"
There was a moment of silence. Then Miss Larsen seemed to sag all over.
"Yes," she said.
"And pass me at the end of the term?"
"Yes."
"And next term, too," Sharon said.
Miss Larsen started to protest, but Sharon merely continued to gaze at her quietly.
"All right," she said. "You haven't lost anything. And I bet you haven't had such a good time in years." She turned and went out of the gymnasium and into the locker room.
Miss Larsen got slowly to her feet. She suddenly felt very old. She began to put on her bathing suit.
She hadn't lost anything, that was true. Nothing very tangible, anyway. But she had been used. Her body had been manipulated, appropriated, in a sense, for someone else's purposes.
It wasn't the first time that had happened.
Standing in the empty gymnasium, Miss Larsen remembered the first time. And she shivered, as she always did when she remembered. . . .
It had been the summer she'd turned seventeen, the summer her father had gone to stay with his dying sister. He had waited to go until her high school had adjourned for the summer, because someone had to be there to run the restaurant. Her mother had died several years before.
It was a small roadside restaurant, no more than a lunchroom, really, stuck out by itself in the midst of the Arizona flatlands, where she had been born and brought up. The restaurant did not do much business in those days, was in fact a slowly dying proposition since the state had put through the new superhighway ten miles away. But her father had put his life into the little place, and stubbornly refused to give it up.
So she took care of the restaurant that summer, serving as combination short-order cook and waitress for the infrequent customers who stopped by, and she took care of the house-"the house" being their euphemism for the three-room area in back of the restaurant where they lived. It did not bother her to be alone. She had been brought up without brothers and sisters, without close neighbors, and she did not need company. She swam in the creek; she lay in the sun; on Sundays, when the restaurant was closed, she took long hikes across the dry, flat country. In the evenings she read or listened to the radio.
Once in a while, a boy from one of the ranches in the area, or from the little village some miles away, would come out to see her, and they would sit on the side porch and talk, or go for a ride in his car, or perhaps occasionally to a movie in the village. If she liked the boy, she would let him kiss her. With one or two, she petted a little, but she would not allow it to go beyond that, although sometimes she wanted to. Her father had brought her up to have character.
What a beauty she had been in those days, she thought wistfully. Always an athletic girl, she had gone in heavily for sports in high school, and her body was trim and lithe, rippling with vitality and glowing with health. Her young breasts flared proudly above an absolutely flat stomach, a tiny waist, gently rounded hips and strong, shapely legs. When she laughed, her white teeth and deep-blue eyes flashed with equal brilliance in her round, pretty face. The sun had turned her skin a deep golden tan, and bleached her flowing hair to a pale, pale yellow.
In the middle of that brilliant summer, the two men had come into the restaurant.
They were both in their middle thirties. They arrived in a small truck with a license plate from up north, and they spoke with a midwestern twang rather than the soft drawl she was used to.
They sat at the counter and ordered hamburgers and coffee. While she cooked the burgers, they both looked her over with great interest, but she was used to that.
While they ate, she chatted with them in a friendly manner, as she usually did with the customers. They were going on a camping trip, they told her, in the mountain country to the west. They asked her about herself. They seemed interested when she told them about her father being away with her aunt.
One of the men-the taller one, with brown hair-put down his coffee cup slowly. "You mean you're taking care of this place all by yourself?" he asked.
She nodded. "There's not much to do," she said. "The new highway took most of the traffic away from this road."
The other man was heavy and dark. "It must get lonely around here," he said. "Doesn't seem to be anybody around for miles."
"I don't mind."
The first man turned his cup idly in its saucer. He seemed to be considering something. After a minute he raised his eyes and turned to his friend. A long look passed between them.
The taller man got up from his stool and sauntered across to the cigarette machine in the far corner, digging change out of his pocket. He procured a pack of cigarettes, but did not immediately return to the counter.
"Hey, Frank," he called to the other man. "C'mere a sec."
Frank rose and went to join him. They conversed in low tones. She could not hear what they said. She busied herself by clearing away the used dishes.
The taller man was doing most of the talking. The one called Frank had seemed a bit dubious about something at first; but now he was evidently agreeing, for he nodded his head.
A moment later, the first man came back to the counter, watching the girl. Frank walked casually toward the front door, as if he meant to get something from the truck. But he did not open the door. He reached for the night-bolt, and slid it into place.
"Hey! What are you doing?" the girl called.
"What's your name, girl?" the first man asked.
"Elaine. Why did he lock the door?"
"Well, Elaine, we thought maybe you'd like to have a little party with us, and we don't want anybody crashing."
She began to get frightened. "What do you mean?" she said.
"Just some fun, that's all," the man said. "The three of us could have a lot of fun, Elaine. How about it?"
She fought to stay calm. "You'd better leave," she said.
Frank had come away from the door and was approaching the counter. "She's sure a cute one, Joe," he said to the other man.
"Yeah," Joe said. "I go for all that nice yellow hair."
"What about those boobs?" Frank said. "Aren't they something? Come on out from there, honey, and let's see the rest of you."
Elaine broke and ran for the door at the back of the restaurant. She burst through it into the living area, hoping to be able to get to the rear door of the building. But they came after her, and before she had reached the back, they had caught her.
She fought them. She was a much stronger girl than she looked, and she fought with everything she had. It took them a long time to subdue her, and finally they had to bring her to the floor and pin her there by sitting, both of them, on her still-struggling form, the taller one, Joe, holding her wrists.
"Damn, but she's a wildcat!" he panted. "We'll have to tie her up, Frank."
"With what?" Frank asked.
"I don't know, there must be something around we can use. You get something, I'll hold her."
Frank scouted around. One of the rooms had Venetian blinds on the windows. He stripped the cords from them. When he returned, Elaine had almost gotten away from Joe.
"Hurry up, damnit," Joe gritted.
"Hold her hands," Frank said.
Joe, with some difficulty, held the girl's wrists together in front of her while Frank tied them tightly, both of them meanwhile doing their best to avoid her teeth and her flailing legs. When her hands were secure, Joe sat on her legs as Frank lashed her ankles together.
Then they picked her up, one at each end, and carried her, squirming mightily, into her father's bedroom, where they flung her on the large bed. They stretched her arms over her head and tied her bound wrists to the top of the bed, and her ankles to the bottom. They stood regaining their breath, watching her as she pulled desperately against the ropes, her body arching tautly off the bed, then falling back.
"Take it easy, Elaine," Joe said. "It's not as bad as all that. Relax and enjoy it."
He approached the bed, looking down at her. She was wearing a man's white shirt, pulled tightly by her position over her upthrust breasts, and a blue skirt which had ridden high on her thighs with her struggles.
"Wow," he said. "We got ourselves a ripe one, Frank." He reached down and put his hand over her breast. She tried vainly to pull away.
Frank came closer and placed his hand on her thigh, running it under her skirt. He licked his lips. "She's not gonna do us much good with her legs tied together," he said.
"One thing at a time," Joe said. "Let's get her naked."
They made quite a production out of getting her clothes off. They cut them off her, using Frank's pocket knife, and they did it slowly, one garment at a time, pausing between each one to fondle the exposed flesh. She writhed and she pleaded with them, but to no avail. Probably she would have been wiser to be still and show no reaction, for her obvious shame and discomfort only seemed to add to their pleasure as they stripped her.
When she was naked, they ran their hands eagerly over every part of her body. She was sobbing exhaustedly.
"Hey, I'll bet she's cherry, too," Frank said, tweaking the girl's nipple.
"I'm going to find out," said Joe. He rose and began to undress.
Frank did the same. "How about me finding out?" he said. "You can have seconds."
"The hell you say! Whose idea was this?"
"Man, I began having ideas as soon as I walked in that door!"
"I know what," Joe said. "How about both at once?"
Frank's eyes gleamed. "Yeah," he said softly. "I'll take the back."
They made their plans as they finished undressing. Naked, they reached for her. She moaned with fear.
They untied her legs and pulled them apart. Joe tied one ankle to the corner bedpost while Frank held the other in a firm grip on the other side. Then Joe climbed on top of her.
Although she was worn out now with struggling, fear and anger made her continue. The veins in her bound arms stood out against the skin as she strained against the cords that held her. She twisted her body, frantically trying to prevent the man atop her from achieving his goal. But Joe clutched her buttocks in his hands and lifted her hips, holding them still. He positioned himself and moved forward slowly, and then thrust at her. She felt a sharp pain. She screamed.
The pain increased as Joe lunged several more times, pushing more deeply into her. She felt as if there were a hot knife inside her. Her body bucked.
"Okay, now," Joe said.
Frank lifted Elaine's free leg, and Joe got his arm securely around her thigh. Then he rolled on his side, pulling the girl with him. Her other leg was crushed under his weight.
Frank lay down on the other side of her. She felt his hands on her buttocks. Then she felt him probing at her, pushing against her. There was a searing pain, worse than the other. She screamed at the top of her lungs. Frank grunted as he forced himself relentlessly forward.
She thought she would pass out. It felt like she was being split in two. Sandwiched tightly between the two men, her body jerked and heaved in an effort to escape from the double agony. But whichever way she moved seemed only to impale her further on one of the instruments of pain.
"God, she's tight!" Joe gasped, over her screams. "She was cherry for sure. How are things at your end, Frank?"
"Great. Just-great," Frank panted. "She's a real doll."
"I'm having trouble holding on with all that wriggling around she's doing," Joe said.
"Yeah, but that screaming is getting on my nerves."
"Wait a minute." Joe groped behind him on the bed and came up with the girl's ruined panties. He stuffed them into her mouth. Now her screams came out as muffled sounds.
"That's better," Frank said. His arms went around her body and his hands grabbed her breasts, squeezing them. "That's just perfect," he said.
It seemed to go on forever, the two men battering at her simultaneously, making occasional lewd remarks to each other, or to her. But at last first one, then the other, groaned and fell away from her.
She lay dazed and sobbing, her whole body a mass of pain. She started to choke on her sobs, and one of the men pulled the panties from her mouth. She felt them tying her free ankle to the other corner of the bed.
Then they left the room. She heard them in the bathroom, then in the kitchen. When they came back, they were each carrying a bottle of beer. They gazed at her lying there, helpless, her arms still stretched over her head, her legs wide apart.
"Just look at that!" Joe breathed. "I sure don't feel like leaving right now, do you, Frank?"
"Man, I don't feel like ever leaving!" Frank said.
So they stayed.
Frank put their truck in the little garage at the back so it couldn't be seen from the road, and Joe found the sign that said "Closed" and stuck it on the restaurant door.
And they stayed for a week.
They kept her tied to the bed, just as she was, and any time either of them wanted her, which was often, he simply came in and helped himself.
Whenever they heard a car stop, they stuffed the panties into her mouth again, until the disappointed customer drove away.
At night they slept with her on the big bed, one on either side of her; and it seemed that hardly an hour passed that one or the other of them did not wake up and roll over to force himself upon her again.
Once a day, they allowed her to get up to go to the bathroom. They kept her wrists tied. And they stayed with her, every minute. Then they re-tied her to the bed.
At first they did not feed her, until she was so hungry she begged them to give her some food. Then they told her what she would have to do for them in order to get it. She refused. But the next day, when she felt she would die if she didn't have something to eat, she did it.
When they left, they tied her up so they could get away, but in such a manner that she could eventually free herself. They warned her not to tell anybody.
And she had never told anybody. Not from fear, but from shame. She had burned her ruined clothes, she had washed the sheets, she had removed all traces of their presence. She had even put the cords back in the Venetian blinds.
And no one had ever known.
But she had found out about men. Lustful, rutting beasts who hurt women for their pleasure. The high school boys to whom she had been friendly before were surprised at her sudden coldness. She refused to have anything to do with them.
It was at college that a roommate had introduced her to the joys of lesbianism. It had proved a welcome outlet for her natural sensuality. Where men were brutal, she found, women were gentle; where men were cruel, women were kind; where men took, women shared.
But now, Miss Larsen thought, she had been used and shamed once again. Less violently, less brutally, but just as ruthlessly and just as coldly. And this time by a woman. A girl.
No one would ever know about this, either.
Miss Larsen felt the tears come. She tried to hold them back, but she could not. But she let herself cry for only a brief moment. She wiped her face with her hands. Then she went out of the gymnasium, through the locker room, and back to her class. She did not even glance at the tiny space between the lockers as she passed.
SIX
The clock on the wall of the mathematics department office read ten minutes to four. Phil Jessup glanced at it, and gave a sigh of relief as he turned back to the list he was typing. A few more minutes and he would be able to leave. He had been happy to get this part-time job at the beginning of the semester; but if he had known how dull it would be, doing the routine bits and pieces and clerical work that old Mrs. Gannon didn't get around to, he doubted that he would have taken it, even though he certainly needed the money.
Mrs. Gannon, who ran the math office and had done so for as long as anybody could remember, was seated at the far end of the room, typing busily. Phil knew she had seen him look at the clock. She saw everything. But he did not care. Another six weeks, and it would be goodbye Mrs. Gannon, goodbye math department office, goodbye Hollis University. And then, Phil thought, it was out into the world, with all those nice well-paying jobs waiting anxiously for a bright young man with a degree in mathematics to choose among them.
Lost in these happy thoughts, he made a mistake in one of the names he was typing. He swore under his breath, and bent over the typewriter to erase it.
When he looked up, a girl was standing in the doorway. She was a blonde, he saw, and very nice, too. His eyes went quickly over her figure. Better than nice. Much better. She was looking around uncertainly.
"Hi," he said. "Can I help you?"
She approached his desk. "I got a card asking me to come in to the math office," she explained. "Something about a mistake they wanted straightened out, or something."
"Are you a math major?" he asked.
"No," she said. "I'm just taking the required course. Math 21."
"What's your name?"
"Sharon Reynolds."
He rose and went to a small card file, opened a drawer and flipped through the cards till he found her name. "Reynolds, Sharon," he read. "Upper sophomore. Is that you?"
She nodded.
There was a little note attached to her card, and he read it quickly. "It's just a clerical error," he told her. "There's a confusion about which section you're in. Who's your teacher?"
"Mr. Grillo."
"That would be Section 3," he said. He wrote the information on the card and detached the note. "That's all there is to it," he said, returning to his desk. "Somebody just put the wrong information on some form or other. All these records have to be perfect, you know, otherwise the building might fall down or something."
She smiled. "Oh. Well, thank you very much."
"Sure."
The girl turned to leave, but then she hesitated. "Are you a student here?" she asked Phil.
"Yep, for six more weeks."
"And you work here, too?"
He nodded. "Part-time."
"That's very interesting," she said thoughtfully.
He didn't see anything interesting about it, but he wasn't going to argue with her. Her interest encouraged him. Forward, Jessup, he told himself.
"Look," he said. "I'm finished here now. Would you like to have a cup of coffee with me?"
Sharon smiled again. She had a charming smile. "That would be nice," she said.
Mrs. Gannon watched them disapprovingly as they left.
Over coffee, told her a little about himself and his plans for the future. She listened attentively.
"Imagine majoring in math," she said, shaking her head. "Why would anybody want to do a thing like that?"
"You don't like math?"
"I hate it," she said. "That's why I've put off taking this required course until this term. I don't see why they make English majors take that stuff, anyway. Calculus, ugh!" She wrinkled her nose.
He laughed. "It isn't as bad as that," he said. "Most people make math harder than it really is. It can even be fun."
"Not for me," she said.
"I'd be happy to help you with it sometimes," he said. "You know, if you're having trouble with something. I'm pretty good at it, if I do say so myself."
"Thank you," she said. "I'd like that."
The conversation turned to other things. Before he left her they had made a date to meet for coffee again the next day, at the same time.
After that, he began seeing Sharon several times a week. Some of the time he would help her with her math homework; but other times they would just meet for coffee, or eat lunch together, or now and then go for a short walk in The Ramble. He lacked the money to really take her out, though he would have liked to. But she seemed to consider their relationship to be mainly a friendly one. At least, she neatly and tactfully avoided the tentative passes he occasionally tried.
But she was aware of his physical interest in her, he knew, and though she skillfully evaded it when it manifested itself, she appeared at times to encourage it. A look in the eye, a turn of the body, would sometimes seem to him too provocative not to be deliberate. Often, when they walked together, her body would brush, seemingly by accident, against his. Or when he sat with her over a book, helping her with her math, she might lean close to point something out to him, and he would feel the softness of a breast against his arm.
Her contradictory actions puzzled him. He did not think she was a simple tease. He began to get the strange feeling that there was a purpose behind what she was doing.
One evening he came to the rooming house where she lived to help her with some work. Seated beside her at her little desk, he was distractingly aware of her nearness, the clean scent of her hair, the occasional touches of her body when she bent close to him. After a time he was unable to concentrate on what he was showing her.
All right, Jessup, he thought. Now's the time.
He rose and, taking Sharon's hand, pulled her to her feet. She let him bring her against him, but when he kissed her, she allowed him only a small peck, then pulled away. He tried to hold her, but she moved out of reach.
"Hey!" she said lightly. "What kind of math is that?"
He was annoyed. "Come on, Sharon. You've been inviting that all night."
Her eyes were wide. "Why, Phil! I don't know what you mean. I thought we were friends."
"Oh, nuts," he said. "You're not that dumb, and neither am I. You keep leading me on, and then turning me off. I don't like being teased, Sharon. What the hell's going on?"
She looked contrite. "I'm sorry, Phil," she said in a low voice. "I don't mean to tease you, really." She came closer and put a hand on his arm. "Be patient, honey, all right?" Then she kissed him lightly.
"You better go now," she said. "I'll meet you for coffee tomorrow."
So he went, but he was more puzzled than ever.
He continued to see Sharon, though she did not ask him to her room again. Her actions became more subtle, but she still managed to keep him fully aware of her body. In spite of his frustration, he enjoyed being with her. But he could not shake the feeling that there was a motive behind her relationship to him. She was working up to something, he felt. But he couldn't imagine what.
Two weeks before the semester ended, he found out.
On Sunday afternoons, students were allowed to have members of the opposite sex visit them in their dorms, with the stipulation that all doors be kept open at all times. On this particular Sunday, Sharon had come to Phil's room. They were there alone, Phil's roommate having gone into town. Sharon was seated on his bed, he in a chair across from her. They were chatting idly.
"Two more weeks!" Phil said expansively. "Fourteen days, and the process of formal education is over forever. For me, anyway."
"Two more years for me," Sharon said glumly. "But aren't you worried about your final exams, Phil!"
"Nope," he said. "They'll be a snap."
"I wish I could say the same," Sharon said.
There was a pause.
"Phil," Sharon said, casually examining a speck of dirt on her shoe.
"What?"
"The math exams-the finals-they're mostly departmental exams, aren't they? They're made up by the department as a whole instead of by the individual teachers, right?"
"Not all of them," he said. "It depends on the course."
"Well, the Math 21 exam, for instance," she said. "That's made up by the department, isn't it? Mr. Grillo told us it was."
"Yes, that's right."
She swung her leg idly. "They would be all made up by now, wouldn't they?"
"Probably. Why?"
She took a breath. "What do they do with them?" she asked.
"What?"
"What do they do with them? Where do they keep them between now and the day of the exam?"
"In the office," he said. "Where else?"
"The math department office."
"Sure."
She looked at him. "And you work in the math department office," she said.
He sat very still. There was a long moment of silence.
"What are you saying, Sharon?" he asked finally.
"Well, you have access to those exams," she said.
"No, I don't have access to them," Phil said. "I have nothing to do with-"
"But they're there, and you're there, right? And you know where they are. Don't you?"
"Well, yes, but-" He stopped. "Sharon, I hope to hell you're not suggesting what I think you are," he said.
"Why not?" she said. "Suppose you got a copy of the Math 21 exam and give it to me. That would be great, Phil! I could work out all the problems beforehand, and-"
He got up from his chair in agitation and crossed to the other end of the room. "Sharon, you're crazy!" he said vehemently. "You're out of your mind! Do you know what kind of trouble we could get into for something like that?"
"Oh, Phil, they make hundreds of copies of those exams," the girl said. "They'd never even know one was missing. And you're right there in the office. It would be so easy!"
"Nuts," he said. "Mrs. Gannon watches me like a hawk. If I even-"
"She's not there every minute, is she? She has to go out sometimes."
He shook his head in wonder. "Sharon, I can't believe this," he said. "You're kidding, aren't you?"
"I'm perfectly serious. And you know it."
"Well, forget it," he said. "It's out of the question. Even if it wasn't dangerous, it's certainly immoral."
"But, Phil-"
"I won't do it, Sharon!"
"Not even for me?" she said softly.
"Not even for you."
She stood up. "Not even for this?" Watching him, she cupped her hands over her breasts, then slid them slowly down across her stomach and let them trail over her thighs.
His throat tightened. He gazed at her in silence for several moments.
"Is this why you've been playing up to me all this time?" he said.
She smiled slightly. "Maybe."
He nodded. "Well, that's great," he said. "How do you think that makes me feel?"
"Sexy?"
He smiled in spite of himself. "Yeah," he admitted. "That, too." He shook his head again. "You're something, Sharon."
"Listen, Phil," Sharon said. "You work in the office tomorrow, right? What time do you get off?"
"Four o'clock," he said. "You know that."
"And how long would it take you to get from there to my place?"
"I don't know. Fifteen minutes, maybe. Why?"
"Well," she said, "at four o'clock tomorrow I think I'll take a quick shower. Then I'm going to lie down for a while. But I'm not going to put any clothes on. So at four-fifteen I'm going to be lying on my bed, and I'm going to be naked. Think about that, Phil."
He did. His heart beat faster.
"And," she went on, "if somebody comes and knocks on my door with a copy of that math exam-I'm going to be very grateful. Think about that, too."
She walked across the room as if to go. He was standing near the open door. She glanced out quickly. There was no one in the corridor.
"Here's something else to think about," she said. She came against him quickly, her arms around his neck, her body pressing tightly into his. She kissed him with open mouth. Her tongue snaked between his lips and made a slow, erotic circle around the inside of his mouth, while her body made subtle, sinuous movements against him.
It lasted only a moment, but even that short time he knew she could feel his hard-on. Then, just as suddenly, she pulled away, and before he could stop her she was gone.
He did not sleep much that night. Visions of Sharon moved behind his closed eyelids whenever he tried to stop thinking and doze off. He could not rid himself of the memory of that kiss, or of the promise in her voice and her eyes.
He had still not decided, at least consciously, what he would do by the time he walked into the math office the next afternoon. But he found himself waiting anxiously for Mrs. Gannon to make one of her periodic trips to the ladies' room.
It was three o'clock before she did. But at that time one of the instructors had come into the office to pick up some material. Phil bit his lip as the man lingered, reading the notices on the bulletin board. After a minute, he left.
Phil rose and walked over to the cabinet where he knew the exams were kept, carrying some papers in his hand. With a glance at the office door, he opened the cabinet quietly. He was tense. Piles of mimeographed exams took up several shelves. He swiftly located the Math 21 exam, and removed a copy. It consisted of several sheets, stapled together. He folded them quickly and put them among the papers he was carrying. He was closing the cabinet door when Mrs. Gannon walked in.
"What are you looking for, Phil?" she asked him.
"Carbon paper," he said quickly. "I ran out."
"That's in the other cabinet, over here," Mrs. Gannon said. "I thought you knew that."
"Oh. I forgot. Sorry." He went to the other cabinet, found a folder of carbon paper, and took it back to his desk. The other papers he laid casually aside.
That was close, he thought. Too close!
He made an unusual number of typing errors before four o'clock came around.
At a little after four-fifteen he was standing outside Sharon's door. He knocked softly.
Sharon's voice came. "Who is it?"
"It's me. Phil."
"Do you have what I wanted?" she asked.
"Yes."
"Then come in, Phil."
He opened the door and entered. His heart stopped.
Sharon was on the bed across the room. She was lying on her side, facing him, one arm supporting her head. She was completely naked.
She was even more beautiful than he had imagined. He had not thought breasts could be so bold and yet so firm, or legs so startling seductive, or the area between stomach and thighs so intricately promising. Or that the very texture of flesh could be so exciting merely to look at.
"Close the door, Phil," she said. "And lock it."
He did so.
"Now put the exam on the desk."
He did that too.
She smiled at him. "Do you like my body, Phil?" she asked softly.
He nodded. He did not trust himself to speak.
She rolled slowly over on her back. Then she stretched her body languorously, sensuously, her arms over her head, her legs slightly parted.
"Then come and get your reward," she said.
He didn't have to be told twice. His clothes came off in record time, and he approached the bed. He lay down beside her and moved his hands over her flesh. But he was too worked up to spend much time on preliminaries. He rolled over on top of her and took her.
She held him to her, responding as he started to move. His lust blinded him, and his hips worked strongly. His hands moved aimlessly, clutching at her body. The feel of her clouded his brain, and the way she moved beneath him drove his passion higher by the second. He thrust at her even harder, more powerfully. He could not stop.
Suddenly he felt himself on the edge of release. It was too soon, too soon. He did not want it to end. He tried to hold back, but it was no use. With a great gasp, he spent himself inside her.
It had been good, but he was angry at himself for not making it last, for losing control. He had acted like a high school kid with his first girl. Disappointedly, he moved to disengage himself from her.
But Sharon held him where he was, her arms still around him. "It's all right, Phil," she murmured. "It's not over yet. I told you I'd be grateful, and I am. Just stay there a while."
Holding him, she began to undulate her body very softly beneath his. He was reminded of when she had kissed him in his dormitory room. He felt the varying pressure of her breasts against his chest. Her hips moved almost imperceptibly, but with unmistakable effect, as her most secret muscles clenched softly, challenging him to respond. She moved her lips over his face, kissing him lingeringly, and her legs slid back and forth along his. Very soon he felt his cock beginning to grow again inside her, and the girl did not stop until he was fully as rigid as before.
"Oh, Sharon," he gasped.
"Aren't you glad you got the exam for me?" she whispered.
"Yes. Yes."
"This is how I say thank you." She curled her legs over his, and, using them for leverage, arched her hips slowly beneath him, and with a slight rotary motion, lowered them again. The sensation brought a moan from him.
"Thank you, Phil," she breathed into his ear as her hips rose again. Her movements continued. "Thank you," she whispered with each upward motion of her hips. "Thank you. Thank you. Thank you."
He stood this as long as he could, and then he began to move again, first with her, and then setting his own pace. But this time he was slower, surer. He relished every sensation as he traveled up the slow spiral of passion; and he had the pleasure of feeling Sharon's shudder of completion before he again experienced blissful, spasming relief.
It was a week later, at the beginning of the week of final exams, that Phil, while working in the math office, received a call requesting that he come immediately to the office of the Dean of Men.
His stomach turned over. He had thought there was something peculiar in the way Mrs. Gannon had looked at him when he had come in. Now he thought he understood.
Or maybe not, he told himself. Maybe it's something else altogether.
But he didn't really think so.
On the way there, he tried to make up his mind what he should do if he were accused. Deny it? But he knew it would be no good. He was a bad liar. His face always betrayed him. But if they found out the truth ...
He could only hope it was something else.
But when he entered the dean's office and saw that Dr. Fen ton, the chairman of the math department, was also there, he knew that it was not.
The dean waved him to a chair. He was a tall, spare man with steel-rimmed glasses and a habit of tapping his pencil on the desk as he spoke.
"We have to ask you about a very serious matter, Jessup," he said. "It seems that a copy of one of the final examinations has been discovered missing from the mathematics department office. Now, Dr. Fenton tells me that when he reported this to Mrs. Gannon, in charge of the office, she told him that she entered the office one day last week to discover you at the cabinet where the exams are kept. She also said that you claimed to be looking for something that you knew perfectly well was not there." He paused. "I don't have to tell you how grave this is. Do you have any explanation?"
Phil knew it was useless to lie. He had been caught, that was all there was to it. He said nothing.
The dean frowned. "I don't understand this, Jessup," he said. "I've looked at your transcript, and from your record I would never have expected such an action from you."
"It seems to me not only dishonorable, but foolish," Dr. Fenton put in. "Don't you know we keep a strict accounting of all copies of those departmental exams?"
He still said nothing.
"Can you offer a reason for doing this, Jessup?" the dean asked.
There was a pause. "No, sir," Phil said in a low voice.
The dean tapped his pencil.
Dr. Fenton leaned forward. "The missing exam was for Math 21," he said. "You don't take Math 21, Jessup. It's a basic required course," he explained to the dean. "Obviously you stole the exam for someone else. Who was it?"
Phil did not answer.
"You may as well tell us," the dean said. "You will have to take the consequences of your actions in any case, of course, but it doesn't seem fair that the person who may profit from them should not share those consequences."
He remained silent.
The dean sighed, tapping his pencil again. "Well, there's no way we can force you to tell us, I suppose."
He paused. "You realize, of course, that you cannot be allowed to graduate. You will be expelled immediately. It seems a great pity, so close to getting your degree. But I suppose you realized the risk you were taking." He turned to Dr. Fenton. "Do you have anything to add?" he asked.
"No," the chairman said. "Except that I'm surprised too, Jessup. And disappointed."
"Is there anything else you wish to say?" the dean asked Phil.
"No, sir," he said again.
"Then you may go."
Phil came out of the administration building and looked around dazedly at the campus on which he had spent almost four years of his life, only to have those years end so futility. There was a great numbness within him. All his bright hopes had been suddenly, shockingly dashed. How had it happened? Why had he done such a foolish thing?
For a lay, he reminded himself. For a romp in the hay. Nice going, Jessup. How goddamned stupid can you be? Sure, it was a great romp, with a beautiful, exciting girl, but it had hardly been worth this.
He was walking blindly when he realized someone was calling his name. He turned. It was Sharon. She ran up to him.
"Phil," she said, smiling, "I just took the math exam. It was easy, of course, because of you. I'm sure I got an A."
He looked at her, the clear gray eyes, the lovely face, the sweet smile.
"Congratulations," he said, and walked away.
SEVEN
Ed Gittelman stretched his slim, rangy body in the bed and sighed contentedly. He had to admit that it had its occasional advantages, this crazy grind he was involved in. He was a graduate student, going for his M.A. in education, and unless one had been in that position, he often thought, one's ideas of what the word "work" meant were necessarily deficient.
In addition to his ridiculous load of classes and lectures and seminars, and working on his thesis, the curriculum of the graduate student in education at Hollis included serving as assistant instructor under one of the professors in the undergraduate classes. This meant reading and grading student papers, marking exams, and taking over an occasional class. It was dreary. The whole shooting-match was dreary. But, he thought again as the bathroom door opened and the naked girl came into the room, it did sometimes have compensations.
His eyes went over her body appreciatively. She was quite a girl. And he should know. Girls were his specialty. In his view, they were the main reason for existence in an otherwise dull and senseless world. And this one was a beauty.
She was a lower junior, a student in the course in Medieval literature which he assistant-instructed under Professor Chester. He had had his eye on her from the beginning of the term. And either she had noticed it, or she had somehow sensed that he was inordinately fond of the opposite sex, for shortly before the mid-term exams she had approached him confidently with her proposition, and he had unhesitatingly accepted.
The girl sat down on the bed beside him. "Well," she said, smiling, "was it worth it?"
He stroked her breast casually. "Yes, it was," he said. "Most assuredly. I think I can say that without fear of contradiction. You're a real piece, Sharon."
"Good," she said. "Then maybe we can have a repeat performance around final exam time."
He pursed his lips thoughtfully, then shook his head. "No," he said. "I don't think so."
Sharon looked surprised. "What do you mean?" she said. "You just said-"
"Oh, no reflection on you, sweetheart. You were great. Just great."
"Well then-"
"But I never like to overdo a good thing," he said. "I have tasted the joys of your flesh, and now, delectable as those joys are, I feel it's time to move on to other fields."
She frowned at him for a moment, but then the smile returned. She placed her hand softly on his bare chest and began to move it in slow, small circles.
"You haven't tasted all the joys," she murmured. "We've hardly even started."
"Ah, you are a temptress," he grinned. "But the sad fact is that, while you may be able to embellish it, to ring changes upon it, the basic experience is already there. And I, alas, am ever in search of variety. Oh, I don't say I wouldn't enjoy another session with you if the occasion arose, but you understand, I no longer feel the same compulsion to bring it about. So while I was willing, even eager, to doctor your mid-term exam a little in order to get that lovely body into bed with me, to do the same thing on the final would be-" He hunted for a word. "Well-decadent."
"Crap!" Sharon exploded. She was frowning for real now. "It's no trouble at all for you to fix up that exam. And I'm damn good in bed and you know it. I can give you enough variety to last you a year."
He sighed. "You don't understand, Sharon," he said. "There is a little risk involved with the exam thing, though certainly not very much. Old Chester never looks at them, and if he did he probably wouldn't notice anything. But that isn't really the point." He folded his hands under his head and gazed thoughtfully at the ceiling. "How can I explain to you what I mean by a variety?" he said. "It's not just a variety of actions or positions, but a variety of total experience, a variety of personalities-or of bodies, if you'd rather put in on that level."
Sharon gestured impatiently, but he ignored her. "Take some of the girls in your class, for example," he went on. "Just the most attractive ones. How different each one is. Let's start with you. You're-well, you're like a beautiful young filly, untamed, unpredictable. Whereas Jenny Larkin is like a brood mare, one not too long out to pasture-earthy, knowing, powerful. Or Barbara Masters. A graceful, elegant show horse; a thoroughbred. And so on."
Sharon stood up with a derisive noise. "And you, I suppose, are the big stud stallion that gets them all," she said.
"Not all," he said regretfully. "Unfortunately, not all."
"Look, Ed," Sharon said. "I was really counting on you to fix up my final, too. I mean the mid-term's not going to do me much good if I fail the final exam."
"That's not my problem, sugar," he said. "You might try studying, you know."
"Medieval literature?" she said. "Don't be funny." She walked thoughtfully around the room, completely unconcerned about her nudity. After a minute an idea seemed to hit her. She turned slowly to face him.
"Listen," she said. "Those other girls you mentioned-Jenny Larkin, Barbara Masters. Now that you've had me, I suppose they are next on your list."
"Not exactly," he said. "I am happy to report-though I hope you'll keep it confidential-that I spent an extremely pleasant time with Jenny Larkin one night last month."
"Barbara, then."
"Ah, Barbara Masters," Ed sighed. "Yes, I admit the very name fills me with desire. But, to my great sorrow, she is unavailable. She goes around with an individual by the name of Glen Walderman." He said the name with distaste. "An engineering student, of all things. And a more solid couple I have seldom seen. The girl has eyes for no one else."
There was a pause. "Suppose she developed eyes for you?" Sharon asked. "Enough to go to bed with you, anyway."
"A lovely thought," he said. "But most unlikely."
"But you'd be thankful."
"I would burn incense to the gods for a year."
"Never mind the gods," Sharon said. "Suppose I could arrange it. Would you fix up my final exam paper?"
He looked at her in astonishment, and then he laughed. "You are too much, Sharon," he said. "Unpredictable is the right word."
"Would you?" she persisted.
"Certainly," he said. "For a session with the lovely Barbara I would do a great deal. But the idea is preposterous. Even if she weren't permanently glued to this Walderman person, I don't see how you could-"
"I can try," Sharon said. She began to get into her clothes.
"But how?" he said, curious.
"I'll tell you if it works," she said, buttoning her blouse.
He shook his head. "It won't, I assure you."
"Wait and see."
"I'll wait," he said. "But I won't hold my breath, if you don't mind."
"Just wait," Sharon said. "Bye now." She went out.
He was amused by Sharon's idea, and curious about what she'd had in mind, but he dismissed it as a spur-of-the-moment impulse, with no real validity. As the days passed, it gradually slipped out of his thoughts.
One evening about a month later, there was a knock on his door. When he opened it, Barbara Masters stood on the threshold.
In spite of himself, his jaw dropped. But he recovered quickly. "Barbara!" he said.
She seemed nervous. "May I come in?"
"By all means." He stood aside to let her enter.
She stood in the middle of the room, looking around uneasily. She was a girl of a little over medium height, and her erect, graceful carriage made her seem even taller than she was. Her shoulder-length hair was a rich auburn color. Her features were delicate and patrician. Her eyes were dark. She wore a simple brown dress over a slender but very well-curved figure. There was an aristocratic-though not at all snobbish-air about her which added enticingly to her beauty.
He felt a little strange. He did not really know her very well, had only spoken to her a few times in class.
"Sit down," he said, but she did not move.
Politely, he remained standing also. "Well, what can I do for you?" he asked.
She had been avoiding his eyes, but now she looked at him. She seemed to have difficulty speaking. But when she did, her voice, though low, was clear.
"I want to sleep with you," she said.
There was a moment of silence. The girl stood rigidly.
Ed gazed at her and then cleared his throat. "You do?"
"Yes," she said.
He scratched the back of his neck slowly. "Well, that's fine," he said. "That's just fine, Barbara. But why?"
"Does it matter?"
"Well, no, not really, but-are you sure?"
"Yes," she said in the same low voice. "I'm sure."
"You don't look like it."
She looked at him expressionlessly for a moment. An then, suddenly and with an unaccustomed awkwardness, her hands went to the back of her neck and fumbled with the clasp of her dress.
She had trouble opening it. Enough of looking gift horses in the mouth, Ed thought. "Let me help you," he said, walking around behind her.
She dropped her arms and stood stiffly as he opened the catch and slowly pulled the zipper down the back of the dress to her waist. He slid it off her arms and eased it over her hips. The half-slip she was wearing went with it, both garments falling to the floor. Her underclothes were white.
He hesitated, but the girl did not move or speak. His hands went to the back of her bra. She stood perfectly still and let him take it off. Then he bent and carefully slid down her panties. Rising, he walked around to face her.
She seemed half-proud, half-ashamed as she stood there naked, the little pile of clothes around her feet. She held her head high, but she did not meet his eyes. She made no move to cover herself, but he noticed that her hands, held stiffly at her sides, were curled into little fists as she remained motionless, letting him look at her.
Her body was flawless. Her skin was very white, and unblemished. Her figure more than fulfilled the promise it had given when she was clothed. She was slim and supple. There was not an ounce of excess flesh anywhere, but neither was there a straight line. His eyes traveled over small but perfectly-proportioned breasts, capped with deep red nipples which tilted proudly upward; down over the flat stomach and smoothly-curved hips to long, slender, elegant legs.
Excitement tugged at him strongly. His hands went to his own clothes and began to open them. When he did that, she turned and, stepped out of her clothes, walked over to the bed. She lay down on her back and was still, waiting, her eyes on the ceiling.
Ed took his time about undressing. He was aroused, but he was thoughtful, too. He wanted her very badly, but he did not want her like that. Whatever reason she had for coming, she was here and he was not about to throw her out. But neither was he about to make love to a living corpse.
When he was naked, he sat down on the bed, looking at her. She was a gift, and a challenge. Before he could appreciate the gift, he was going to have to meet the challenge.
Ed Gittelman was an expert. He knew women. He knew what they liked, and how to give it to them. He had spent years of his life gaining experience and developing his techniques. He was an artist, and he put that artistry to use now with Barbara Masters.
He put his hands on her gently, and aside from an almost imperceptible stiffening she did not react. Then his hands began to move.
For a long time he used only his hands, and he used them everywhere. He caressed and fondled and squeezed and stroked, touched and petted and probed. His fingers were sometimes light and feathery, sometimes strong and demanding. He touched every part of her. He played with her breasts, and her legs, and between her legs. And after a time, very gradually, the stiffness began to go out of her body. He continued patiently, unceasingly, until she was completely relaxed; and then he still continued.
After another time, her breathing began to be audible, at first very faintly, then more clearly. He waited until it was very clear indeed, and rather fast, before he decided she was ready for the next step. Then he used his mouth.
His mouth went everywhere his hands had been. His lips kissed their way over her incredibly smooth flesh; his teeth nibbled gently at her succulence; his tongue tasted her, teased her, curled into secret places; and while his mouth would be exploring one area, his hands would be continuing their pleasant work in another.
Barbara's eyes were closed now. Her breath was coming still harder. And as he kept on, an occasional moan or whimper would escape her. Little by little, these noises grew more frequent. At one point, Ed gently rolled her now-pliant body over, and for a few minutes his hands and mouth roamed over her back and buttocks and the backs of her legs. Then he turned her again, and went on as before.
He did not stop until Barbara was moaning regularly, until her head was rolling gently on the pillow, and her body moving automatically in response to his touch. Only then did he take his hands and his mouth away from her, and sit up.
Barbara's eyes slowly opened, and she stared at him glazedly. "Oh," she said softly. "Oh."
Now if she had told him she wanted to sleep with him, he would have no reason in the world not to believe her.
He moved her legs apart easily and took her. His own excitement was almost overpowering, and the sensation of their bodies joining sent thrills racing through him. But he began slowly, taking his time, building up a steady, surging rhythm.
Worked up though she was by his expert loveplay, his penetration of her had activated something in Barbara's brain, and she seemed to be holding back a little. But he knew this would not last long. He moved strongly, keeping himself under control, varying his rhythm artfully, using every trick he knew to bring pleasure to the panting girl beneath him, and thus to himself.
Her moans became louder. Her hands, which had been lying on the bed, began slowly to move, and soon they were clutching at his arms. After a minute they slid up to his shoulders, and then finally her arms went around him, holding him.
She was lost now, he knew-beautifully lost. He moved faster. A small cry came from her, and suddenly the long, slim legs came up and wrapped around him. Her hips worked in rhythm with his. Her body writhed against him.
He went faster and harder, bringing her smoothly and expertly up toward the peak, higher and higher, until with a little shriek she convulsed under him. He held her to him strongly as the spasms of ecstasy wracked her body.
Only after she had relaxed did he begin to move again. She gasped.
Soon tiny whimpering sounds were coming from her throat with each stroke he took, and her fingers were digging at his back. Her legs pulled him tightly against her. He gritted his teeth, keeping control of himself. He was determined to make her finish again before he allowed himself his own. He felt her lips on his face, searching for his. Their mouths joined, and their tongues clashed fiercely.
Now she was on the way again. Her hips twisted wildly against his, and then began to lift, arching from the bed. He let himself go with her this time, feeling the glory of it coming closer, pounding at her joyously. Then it broke over them, and their mouths parted with a simultaneous shout as their bodies hammered out their release.
Neither of them said anything for several minutes after they had regained their breaths and parted. Ed reached for a cigarette, and offered her one. She shook her head. He was surprised to see that there were tears in her eyes.
"What's the matter?" he asked.
She sat up and got out of the bed. "I'm going now," she said.
"Why so soon?" he said. "There's no rush."
She did not reply, but, turning her back to him, began to put on her clothes. Ed watched her in silence. When she was dressed, she turned to him. Her face was flushed, but her eyes were steady.
"Please don't try to see me again," she said clearly. "Don't even speak to me."
He sat up in surprise. "Now wait a minute!" he said. "What's this all about? After all, I didn't rape you or anything, Barbara. You came here, remember? And you had a very good time."
Her eyes burned into him. "That's the worst of it," she said in a very low voice. "It was bad enough-it was degrading enough to have to come here and do this. But I'll never forgive myself for enjoying it."
She walked quickly to the door and went out.
Ed stared at the closed door for a moment. Then he heaved a long, long sigh.
"Women!" he muttered to himself as he got out of the bed.
He was not surprised when the next day he received a visit from Sharon.
"Well," she asked him, "did you enjoy yourself last night?"
"I surely did," he said. "And I suppose I have you to thank for it."
"You can thank me at final exam time," Sharon said. "Were you surprised?"
"That's putting it mildly," he replied. "How the hell did you do it?"
"Didn't she tell you?"
"No, she kept it her secret. But it was evident that she wasn't doing it because she admired my manly physique. She had the idea that she would just lie there like a martyr while I, the insensitive brute, ravaged her victimized flesh." He grinned. "But I changed her mind."
"How?"
"Ah," he said. "That's my secret."
She laughed. "Well, it wasn't very difficult to arrange," she said. "I just took her boy friend away from her."
He raised his eyebrows. "Just like that?"
"Just like that," she said. "There aren't many men I can't get if I want to."
"What about me?"
"Well, you're more difficult than most. But I haven't really gone all out to get you, Ed," she said half-seriously. "Be grateful for that."
He said nothing.
"Anyway, when I had him really hooked, I went and had a talk with Barbara. She was a pretty unhappy girl by that time. I told her I'd do her a favor if she'd do me one. All she had to do was come over here and go to bed with you, just once, and I'd cut Glen loose and send him back to her."
He looked at her in wonder. "And she agreed to that?"
"Obviously. Oh, she cried some, and called me a few names, but she came through, didn't she?"
He shook his head slowly. "Sharon, I have said it before and I will say it again. You are quite a girl."
"Thank you," she said. "I guess."
"But it seems to me you went to a great deal of trouble just to get through this course."
"I've gone to a lot more than that to get through school," she said. "You just don't know."
"But why?"
She smiled at him. "That's my secret," she said.
EIGHT
Professor Danziger's dream had finally come true.
It was a dream he had had for many years-almost from the time he had decided to become a teacher. The dream had originally been based on stories he had heard as a youth about college girls. College girls were notoriously loose, even in those days. But sex itself was a much more secret and forbidden topic than it is now, and he and his friends spent a lot of time talking about college girls, what they did, and what they might do; and he heard many stories. Those which interested him the most were the stories about what went on between college girls and their professors. Girls were always "buttering up" the professors, it was said, to get them to give them good marks. When he himself went off to college, he heard similar stories about some of the girls there. That many of these stories were apocryphal, others conjectural, others outright lies, was no doubt true; but, he reasoned, some of them, at least, must have a basis in fact. And he envied the lucky professors who were the heroes of these tales.
Of course, this was not the only reason he had decided to be a teacher. He had the usual ideas about the value of education, the guidance of young minds, the handing of the spark of knowledge, and so forth. But when at times the going got a bit rough during his student years, it was not these abstractions which kept him plugging away. It was the thought of all those pretty co-eds who would one day be trooping into his classroom, offering their all to him if only he would raise their grades.
When he had gotten his degrees and was offered his first teaching position in a college (a co-educational college, of course; he would not have accepted any offers from boys' schools. A girls' school would have been ideal, but alas, there were no such opportunities) he was filled with anticipation. He could hardly wait for the end of the semester, when, he supposed, such offers were usually made, that being grade-giving time. As his first term of teaching came to a close, he waited eagerly for the first lovely young thing to proposition him.
It hadn't happened.
It hadn't happened the second term, either.
Or the third.
In fact, it had never happened in the entire twenty-five years he had been teaching.
He did not understand it. He sometimes tried discreetly to find out whether the other male teachers were as unlucky as he; but his colleagues, having their careers to protect, were very chary of talking about such things; and as a teacher, he was no longer privy to the tales of the college boys.
There were plenty of attractive girls in his classes, and almost every term two or three of them would fail, since the junior and senior courses he taught in Elizabethan English were not particularly easy. A few times he had been on the verge of suggesting the idea himself; but he knew that if any student ever became indignant and reported him, his career would be over. So he had waited. And waited. And waited.
He had never exactly given up the idea; but as the years passed, and he had gradually become older, and fatter, and less attractive, it had changed from an expectation to a hope, and from a hope to a wish, and from a wish to a dream. And even though he no longer eagerly scanned the female faces in his classes on the first day of each term to determine which was the most likely to proposition him; even though when a sweet young thing came up to him after class his heart no longer leaped in expectation of anything but a routine question about the day's lesson; yet it must be admitted that he occasionally still dreamed of the luscious, knowing co-ed who would one day walk up to him, bat her eyes, and say sweetly, "Oh, I would do anything to pass your course, Professor Danziger, just anything." But it never happened.
Until today.
Because today Sharon Reynolds walked into his office and made his dream come true.
Professor Danziger's office was a tiny room on the third floor of the Humanities Building. It was more of a cubbyhole than an office, but at least it was all his. Before he had attained the exalted rank of full professor, he had had to share an office. Now he had one all to himself. Such were the joys of academic advancement at Hollis.
When Sharon Reynolds appeared at the open door of his office, he was surprised. Theoretically, all office doors at Hollis were always open to students who wished to discuss some point with their instructors in greater detail than they could in the classroom, or to get their advice on some problem pertaining to the course, or simply to bask in the beneficent sunlight of their superior wisdom. But in actuality, few students took advantage of this opportunity. And Professor Danziger would certainly not have taken Sharon Reynolds to be one of those few.
She was in his Shakespeare class, and while she was perhaps the brightest adornment of that class in a physical sense, being one of the most eye-catching students Professor Danziger could ever remember having, in a scholastic sense she shone far less brightly. It was not that she was unintelligent, but simply that she seemed to have no interest whatever in the material, and little inclination to work very hard at it. Consequently, she was doing very poorly, and seemed almost certain to fail the course.
Years ago, when Professor Danziger had still cherished a flickering belief in the reality of his dream, this combination of high beauty and low classroom achievement would have made his blood race with anticipation if Sharon Reynolds, or someone like her, had walked without warning into his office. But the flicker had died, and so he was merely surprised-and completely unprepared for the first thing that Sharon Reynolds did when she had crossed the threshold.
She closed the office door behind her and turned the lock.
Even after, when Professor Danziger recalled that day of days, and relived it in his memory, he could never be certain whether it was at that moment that he knew, somewhere in the dark recesses of his mind, that the scene he had finally despaired of was about to take place; or whether the realization did not actually hit him until a few moments later. In any case, he did not protest her action.
He said, "Did you want to see me, Miss Reynolds?" A foolish question, perhaps, to a girl who had just locked herself in with him in his office; but what else was he to say?
She stood with her back against the door. "Yes, I did," she said, and added: "Privately."
"Yes, so I see," Danziger said. "What about?"
"About your class," she said. "I'm not going to pass, am I, Professor?"
He scratched his moustache thoughtfully. A little bell had started to ring in his brain-a bell that he had come to think he would never hear. But it was as yet only a tentative ring, very faint and far away, and he was not sure that it was the right bell.
"It doesn't look that way, Miss Reynolds," he said. "Your work has been-"
"I know," she said. She came away from the door and moved toward his desk. She was wearing a light green dress, in the mod style fashionable among young girls, with horizontal stripes, an abbreviated skirt, and a wide belt slung low around her hips. On any attractive girl this type of dress is exciting; on Sharon Reynolds it was almost an invitation to rape. The ringing got louder.
"But you see, I want to pass, Professor," the girl said as she approached the desk. "I want to pass very much. It's important to me."
There was a chair at the end of his desk, but she did not, as he expected, sit down. Instead, she circled it and came around to the front of the desk, standing against it. She was close enough for him to touch her. With her buttocks resting casually against the edge, she placed her hands on the desk for support and let her body lean backwards. The dress was pulled tight against the front of her body, molding the breasts, outlining the curves and hollows.
"What do you suggest I do?" she asked.
The ringing had become a clamor. It seemed to blend with a ringing in his ears. His collar felt too tight. After all these years, finally, incredibly, it was happening! But he had to be careful. Very careful. If he was wrong, it could be disastrous. He had to let her commit herself further.
"I'm-ahem!-I'm not sure I understand you, Miss Reynolds," he said.
"Oh," the girl said. "Then let me try and make it clearer, Professor." She gave her body a little upward hitch and slid her buttocks back, so that she was now sitting on the edge of the desk. Still leaning back on her hands, she deliberately crossed her legs, watching him.
"I want to know what I have to do to pass the course," she said.
It was true. It was true! He knew it. His hands trembled to touch her. Seated on the edge of his desk, her thighs were right in front of his eyes. With her legs crossed like that, he could see beneath the short skirt, could see soft bare flesh all the way up to black panties. He cleared his throat again. Just to make absolutely certain ...
"Just what would you do to pass, Miss Reynolds?" he asked.
She didn't bat her eyes, as the girl of his dream had so often done. Her gray eyes looked steadily into his. But he wasn't going to quibble about that.
"Anything you like," she said.
It was enough. Even if it hadn't been enough, he could no longer keep himself from touching her. He placed a trembling hand on her leg, above the knee; and, almost by itself, it seemed, the hand slid up the smooth thigh and under the girl's skirt.
She smiled. She did not move.
It is, unfortunately, given to relatively few men to know that supreme moment when the highest, the grandest, the most cherished ambition of their lives is achieved. When Julius Caesar had finally conquered the entire known world; when Ponce de Leon came upon the fountain of youth; when Copernicus discovered the true secret of the moment of the universe-these men, perhaps, felt something akin to what Professor Danziger felt as he sat in his office with his hand under Sharon Reynolds' skirt.
"Do you understand me now, Professor?" Sharon asked softly.
"Yes," Danziger said, a little hoarsely. "I think I do, Miss Reynolds."
"And do you think maybe I'll be able to pass the course after all?"
"I think it might be arranged," he said.
"I'm so glad."
He moved his hand on her leg. "We can't stay in here too long with the door locked," he said regretfully. "Someone might find out."
"We can meet somewhere else," Sharon said.
"Will you come to my house?" he asked.
"Of course."
"Tonight?"
"If you like."
His hand moved again, more intimately. "Oh, Professor," Sharon whispered.
"Miss Reynolds," he breathed. "Sharon. Please. Come sit on my lap. Just for a minute."
"All right," she said. She slid off the desk and sat down sideways across his lap, one arm going around his neck. His hand found its way immediately under her skirt again, while the other cupped itself eagerly over one of the straining mounds in the front of her dress. The feel of it brought a soft groan from him. He was very excited. The rotundity of his belly rose and fell with his heavy breathing.
Sharon turned her face toward him. Her lovely mouth was only inches from his, soft lips slightly parted. He moved his head forward slowly and kissed her. The kiss was gentle, but he was aroused by the way her pliant lips molded themselves to his, clinging softly but tenaciously. Her tongue crept slowly into his mouth, teased his own for a moment, and withdrew, as if inviting his to follow it. He accepted the invitation gladly.
He could not remember when he had felt so passionate. He knew the girl must have been able to feel his straining hard-on against her leg. After a moment, as if in response to this thought, he felt Sharon's hand touch his stomach, then move down. He gasped, drawing his mouth away from her, as she began to make little scratching movements with her fingers over the telltale bulge.
Her caresses became bolder. His hands tightened involuntarily on her breast and thigh. She made no complaint, however, but continued her ministrations until he moaned.
But he was afraid she would go too far. There was tonight to think about. "Sharon, stop," he whispered.
"Okay," she said. Her hand left him; but then, before he realized what she was doing, she had found his zipper and pulled it down. With a swift motion, she freed him. His blood-suffused cock was revealed, standing strong and proud next to the softness of the girl's thigh. Her hand went to him again, pressing the rigid shaft against her leg.
"Sharon, don't!" He removed his hand from her dress to pull hers away, but she caught his wrist and firmly put his hand back under her skirt.
"Just stay there, now," she said, as if to a naughty child. Her hand returned and began to stroke him. His cock was sandwiched between her nimble fingers and the delicious smoothness of her leg. He knew he could not hold out much longer against this treatment.
"Sharon, please," he said. "Tonight ..."
"Tonight, too," she whispered. "Don't worry."
"But-"
"Hush." She kissed him again, tightening the arm around his neck, holding his mouth to hers so he could not protest. Her lips suctioned his. Her tongue began to move in and out of his mouth in rhythm with her stroking hand.
Her fingers slid up and down the length of his cock, at the same time rolling it against her thigh. Small noises came from his throat and were muffled by Sharon's mouth. When, in addition, her thigh began a slight up-and-down motion against him, he gave up. In a very few moments, his body spasmed as the girl achieved the spurting result she evidently desired.
"That's just an appetizer," Sharon said, getting off his lap. "Now, what's your address, Professor?"
He wrote it down for her. His handwriting was a little shakier than usual.
"See you tonight," she said.
At first he had thought that Sharon might have spoiled that night for him, but he soon found out that this was not the case, for he was able to get excited merely by thinking about her and about their approaching evening together. In fact, she might have done him a favor, he thought, by easing him of his initial overbearing passion, thus allowing him to go about the evening's activities more leisurely. He wondered if that had been her purpose.
In the many years that he had been dreaming about such an arrangement, he had built up a mental repertory of games and pastimes designed to draw out and heighten his pleasure in collecting his part. He chose one of these to begin the evening with Sharon.
She arrived about nine o'clock. She had changed to a gaily-colored print blouse and a dark skirt. She smiled at him as he let her in.
"I hope you didn't mind what happened in the office today, Professor," she said when she was inside. "I'm sorry if I got a little carried away. Anyway, tonight is your night. You call the shots. Okay?"
"Good," he said. "That's fine. Because I have something in mind I would like to do."
"Oh? What?"
"Well, you expressed a great interest in passing my course today, Miss Reynolds. I was glad to hear that, because I'm always happy to see students taking an interest in their work, no matter how belated. So, since you did show a genuine desire to pass, I've decided to give you a special exam."
"An exam?" Sharon sounded puzzled.
"That's right. Not a written exam, of course-I haven't got the materials here-but an oral one. I'll simply ask you questions about the plays we've been studying, and you will answer them."
"Are you serious?" Sharon asked.
"Certainly."
"You mean now?"
"Right now."
"But what's the point?"
"Why, to give you a chance to pass the course, Miss Reynolds. That is what you said you wanted, isn't it?"
"Yes, but-well, this won't do it," she said. "I'm almost certain not to pass this exam."
"Don't be too sure," he said. "Remember, I said this was a special exam. The special thing about it is that if you don't pass it one way, you may pass it another."
"What do you mean?"
"The rules of the exam are these," Danziger said. "For every question you answer correctly, you will receive a certain number of points, as in my examination. However, for every question you fail to answer correctly, you will remove one piece of clothing."
Sharon smiled slowly. "Oh, I see," she said.
"Do you agree?"
"Sure. It sounds like fun. Strip Shakespeare."
Danziger's heart beat faster. "Good," he said. He sat down in an armchair. "You stand over there," he directed her, "and we will begin."
She stood where he indicated, at a point directly opposite and across the room from where he was sitting.
He cleared his throat. "Now," he said. "As you recall, the first play we studied this term was Richard II. What was the name of the man who deposed King Richard in the play, and succeeded him to the throne?"
"Richard II?" Sharon said. "Oh, yes." She paused. "I guess I never got around to reading that one," she admitted.
"Then, if you cannot answer, you must take something off," Danziger said, keeping his voice steady.
"Okay." Sharon kicked off one of her shoes.
"Shoes don't count," he said.
Her eyes widened. "Why not?" she said. "That's clothing, isn't it?"
"Not for purposes of this examination," he said flatly.
"That's not fair," Sharon said in mock-protest.
He pursed his lips. "All right," he said. "We'll compromise. I will accept the shoes, but you must count both of them as one article of clothing."
"Oh, all right," Sharon said. She slid out of her other shoe and stood demurely, waiting for his next question.
"Well, since you did not read Richard II," Danziger said, "let us go on to another play. In Henry IV, what was the nature of the complaints which led Hotspur and the other rebels to rise up against the king?"
"Gee," Sharon said. "It's a good thing I changed out of that one-piece dress. In fact," she went on teasingly, "if I'd known we were going to do this, I would have worn a slip, too. And stockings. And a garter-belt. And-"
"You're not answering the question, Miss Reynolds," Danziger said.
"I don't know the answer."
"Then ..." He gestured.
With a sigh of pretended resignation, but with a twinkle in her eyes, Sharon unbuttoned her blouse and took it off. His pulse hammered as he gazed at her bra-covered torso.
"The ... ah ... the next question," he said. "This should be an easy one, Miss Reynolds. What were the names of King Lear's three daughters?"
"Oh, dear," Sharon said, frowning thoughtfully. "Let me see. One was Cordelia. I remember her, all right. And then there was ... Now wait ... Oh ..." She shrugged. "I can't remember," she said. "But I got one out of three."
"That is not enough," Danziger said.
"I thought you'd say that," Sharon murmured. Her hands went to the fastening of her skirt, and it fell to the floor.
She was clad now in matching black bra and panties. Danziger stared hungrily. Her figure was superb, he thought. Not even among the girls in his dreams had he seen a better body. And to think that she would soon be his! For only a brief time, of course-one short night-but still his. It seemed to him at that moment that it had been worth all the frustrations and disappointments and hardships of the past twenty-five years.
He wondered suddenly if he would still think it was worth it after this evening, after this year, during the years to come, when he would again be a fat, lonely old man dreaming futility of youth and beauty. The unexpected thought chilled him, and he shut it out of his mind.
"What's the next question, Professor?" Sharon prompted him.
"Oh. Oh, yes," he said, his eyes still on her body. "The next question." He thought. "Identify the source of the following quotation:
"I have liv'd long enough: my way of life
Is fall'n into the sear, the yellow leaf;
And that which should accompany old age,
As honour, love, obedience, troops of friends,
I must not look to have."
"Oh, I know that," the girl said. "It's from Macbeth. I remember it from high school."
He was a little annoyed. "That is correct," he said. "Evidently, Miss Reynolds, you read more Shakespeare in high school than you have at college."
"How many points do I get for that question, Professor?" she asked.
"I'll keep score, Miss Reynolds," he said testily.
"Why can't you call me Sharon?" she asked. "You did earlier today. Remember?"
He remembered. "Very well, Sharon," he said. "Now let us go on. What are the parallels and the differences between the main plot of Lear and the subplot concerning Gloucester and his sons?"
Sharon shrugged. "That's too tough for me," she said. "Which piece do you want me to take off now?"
He swallowed. "The brassiere," he said quickly.
She took it off. He gasped as her magnificent breasts were revealed.
Naked except for the panties, she posed herself alluringly. With her weight on one leg, her hips canted, her hands clasped behind her, she twisted her body slowly from side to side, in a teasing-little-girl motion. But she was no little girl.
If she was trying to inflame him, she had succeeded. Lust pounded within him. "Come here, Sharon," he said.
"But, Professor," she said sweetly, "we haven't finished the exam."
He cast about for a question, but his mind was not working too well. What else had they studied? "Othello," he said. "What was Othello's tragic flaw?"
"It was jealousy," Sharon said. "Everybody knows that."
He squirmed in his chair. He was sorry he had started this game. All he wanted to do now was to get his hands on her.
"Ask me what Othello's wife's name was," she said.
"Why?" he asked suspiciously.
"Because maybe I don't know the answer, and then I'll have to take my panties off."
"All right," he said. "What was it?"
"Desdemona," she said, and giggled.
He fumed. The little tease! "Sharon," he said sternly. "Come over here. Now."
"Well, all right," she said. "But I'll have to keep my panties on till the exam's over." She came toward him, moving with an exciting fluidity and a maddening slowness.
When she reached him, he grabbed her and pulled her down to him with a cry. His hands went immediately to her breasts as she sprawled across him in the spacious armchair, holding them, squeezing them. He played with them until the nipples got hard. Then he bent his head and took first one, then the other, into his mouth, tonguing the stiff pink buds, moaning as he suckled on those firm young hills of flesh.
His hands glided down her body, over her ribs and stomach to her waist. They touched the panties.
"No!" Sharon cried as he began to pull them down. She caught his hands. "They can't come off yet," she said. "The exam ..."
"Never mind," he rasped, pulling against her hands.
"No!" she said again. She wriggled off his lap and backed away, out of his reach, adjusting the panties. "You made the rules, Professor," she grinned. "This may be my last chance to pass, and I don't want to mess it up."
He almost called her a name, but he controlled himself. "All right," he said. "I'll give you a question." He closed his eyes, forcing his brain to function. After a minute he opened them again. "The last play we read was Coriolanus," he said. "Discuss the implications of the influence over Coriolanus of his mother, Volumnia, with emphasis on the conventions of mother-son relationships in Roman times, when the play takes place, and in Elizabethan times, when it was written, and with reference to modern Oedipal theories."
"Wow," Sharon said. "Would you repeat that question, Professor?"
"No," he said.
"Gosh," Sharon said. "That's a hard one." Her hands went to the waistband of her panties and began to roll them down, slowly. "Let me see," she said. "I have to think about that." She rolled the garment lower. "That's the hardest question on this whole exam," she said. Now the panties were just a thin strip of material around her crotch.
"I give up, Professor," she said finally. She stepped close to the chair again. "Would you like to do the honors?" she asked.
He reached for the rolled up garment and slid it down her beautiful legs.
"Did I pass the exam?" she asked him.
"With flying colors," he got out. Then he pulled her down across him again. As his hands and lips paid homage to her flesh, Sharon began to open his clothing, taking off whatever she could. He savored her body for a long time, until he felt he could not wait another minute before possessing her fully.
"The bedroom, Sharon," he whispered.
They stood. He quickly slipped out of what clothes he still wore and, naked as she, led her into the bedroom.
He lay down on his back on the bed. "All right, Sharon," he said. "Now earn your grade."
"Sure, Professor," she said. She got onto the bed. She paused only long enough to stroke his hard-on briefly with one hand. Then she straddled him.
Her hips hovered above his for a moment, and he felt her hand guiding his cock, making the connection. Then, carefully, she lowered herself. He gasped as she let herself down onto him, little by little, until finally she had taken him completely. Sitting on his hips, she made a mischievous little twisting movement with her lower body that made him groan with ecstasy.
Then she began to move. Slowly at first, then with a very gradually increasing rhythm, her hips rose and fell. He lay still, letting her pleasure him. And she did. She was wonderful. She seemed to know exactly when and to what millimeter of a split second to pause at the top of her stroke, exactly how to bring a grunt of pleasure from him with that special extra twist when her hips met his.
She seemed tireless. He caressed her thighs, feeling the muscles working under his hands as she raised and lowered herself steadily. Her breasts bounced as she speeded up, working him inexorably toward the peak of sensation. He watched the bobbing globes with fascination, then reached to put his hands on them, holding on to them as he felt his finish draw gradually nearer. When it came upon him he tugged at them, pulling her down upon him, and his arms went around her, holding her body to his while she emptied him of his passion.
"Well," Sharon said, as she lay beside him a few minutes later, "do I get a good grade?"
"Yes, indeed," he said. "You did very well, Sharon. Very well. In fact, I think I'll give you a B."
"A B?" she said, sounding surprised. "You mean I didn't rate an A?"
Danziger scratched his moustache. "An A is a very special grade," he said. "It demands application, and ... well ... extra effort."
"I see," Sharon said. She moved closer to him until their bodies touched. Her hand caressed his chest. "What can I do to get an A?" she asked softly.
He told her, whispering in her ear.
"Oh," she said. "Well, I believe in doing the best I can in my studies."
She raised herself and leaned over him. She kissed him, her tongue dipping into his mouth. It circled once, then she broke the kiss, moving down. He felt her lips on his throat, then lower.
Her mouth slid over his chest. She licked at his nipple, somehow turning the brief caress into a highly erotic gesture. She let her tongue trail moistly across the front of him to the other nipple.
Then her mouth began a slow, meandering journey over his chest and stomach. It moved in languorous circles and swirls, her lips kissing, her tongue tasting him. Her head moved over him, back and forth and around, but always, slowly, gradually, downward.
His breathing was loud in the room. He felt the gentle touch of her long hair move over his lips. Her mouth traveled across the mound of his belly. Her lips were soft, sweet touches of fire on his flesh. Her tongue was at one moment a small point of sensation, flickering and darting like a butterfly; at the next, it was a broad, velvet swab, sliding hungrily over his skin.
Downward she moved, downward. By the time she reached her goal, he had long since been ready again. He cried out as he felt her lips touch his cock, first tentatively, then lingeringly.
He could not contain the hoarse noises he made as she explored his revived rod with her mouth. Her tongue flicked at it teasingly as her lips slid over it, then took over, gliding like a warm, pink snake over the sensitive flesh, then licking along the throbbing length with bold strokes that made him squirm ponderously on the bed.
He raised his head to watch her. It aroused him even more to see her ministering to him. She was half-hidden behind a curtain of silky blonde hair. She glanced up and saw him watching her, and with a little smile she pulled her hair back, out of the way, to give him a better view of what she was doing.
His head fell back to the pillow with a loud groan as her mouth closed over his aching cock. She took just a little bit of it at first, then more, then still more. Artfully, she made it seem as if she were working it into her mouth with difficulty, struggling against some obstacle. At last she was enveloping the whole of him. Her tongue made a slow, caressing circle around it. Then her head started to move.
Danziger saw stars in front of his eyes. He had never known anything like this. The girl was as expert as she had been before, but the sensations she was bringing him were even more exquisite, with her squirming tongue adding to the clinging caresses of her lips. He mouthed thick, inarticulate phrases as she continued. He wanted it to go on forever, but it could not last. He could not hold out against the waves of agonizing joy that threatened to drown him. His head rolled from side to side. His hips arched under her face. His hands clutched the sheets on either side of him.
"A!" he shouted, as he felt himself explode into her willing mouth. "A! A! A!"
NINE
College football, as everybody knows, is played in the fall. And during that season, the participants in this strenuous sport must observe strict rules of training in order to keep themselves in top condition, so that they will always be willing and able to do their utmost for their team and their school.
But out of season, this rigorous discipline is relaxed. So perhaps it was because it was June that one of Hollis University's brightest football stars of the past season, who was also its biggest hope for the next, was lounging naked on Mimsy Corrigan's couch in Mimsy Corrigan's apartment, having recently finished making lengthy love to Mimsy Corrigan, and eating cold chicken and drinking cold beer from Mimsy Corrigan's refrigerator.
Or perhaps it was not. Chuck Ramsden was a young man who liked the good things in life, and the exact same scene might very possibly have taken place in October.
However, it was now June.
One of the aforementioned good things, Mimsy Corrigan herself, was seated on the arm of a chair across the room, also naked. Anyone seeing her might have thought immediately of shamrocks, shillelaghs and St. Patrick, at least until he heard her Texas drawl. Her hair was of a redness which no one has ever been able to capture in a bottle; her small turned-up nose had a light smattering of freckles across the bridge which, like the freckles elsewhere on her body, only emphasized the smooth creaminess of her skin; her green eyes danced like leprechauns; and her petite body was as full of curves as the back roads of Killarney.
Chuck Ramsden had probably never thought of her in exactly those terms, but he thought she was a pretty groovy chick. And she had money, too.
Now she was watching him as he ate, pouting a little. "Honestly, Chuckie," she said, "sometimes I think the only reason you come here is to raid my refrigerator."
"That's one reason," he admitted cheerfully.
"Oh?" she said coyly. "What are the others?"
"Well, you're the only chick I know at Hollis who's rich enough to have her own apartment in town," he said. "It's very convenient."
"Thanks a lot," Mimsy said. She got up and, turning her back to him, walked over to the window. She pulled the edge of the drawn shade back just enough to allow her to peer idly out into the dim street. Chuck continued to eat contentedly.
"Hey," Mimsy said after a minute. "There's some blonde going into Danziger's house."
"Whose house?" Chuck mumbled through a mouthful of chicken.
"Danziger, you know, Professor Danziger, in the English Department? He lives across the street."
"Never heard of him."
"Well, I doubt if you've heard of any of the teachers, except maybe the football coach," Mimsy said smartly. "Anyhow, what's he doing with some young blonde coming to visit him? Looks like a student to me. There, he just let her in."
Chuck put his empty plate on the floor, took a last swig of beer, and licked his fingers. "Hey, Mims."
"What?"
"C'mere."
She did not move. "Why should I?" she asked.
"Because-" He stretched his well-muscled body lazily. "Because I just thought of some other reasons why I come here."
She looked over her shoulder at him archly. "Like what?"
"Come over here and I'll show you."
She stayed where she was for a brief moment, just to show that she was not at his beck and call. Then she walked slowly across the room toward him, her supple hips swaying slightly. But she stopped just out of his reach.
"What reasons?" she said.
He made a great show of lying back on the couch, relaxed, his hands behind his head. "Well, for instance-" And then he made a sudden swift lunge, caught her before she could move, and pulled her down on top of him. She gave a half-startled, half-delighted squeal.
"Like this, for instance," he said, his hands moving.
"Oh!"
"And these."
"Mmmm."
"And this."
"Ohh. Oh, Chuckie ..." Her arms went around him and she brought her body against his. His hands continued to explore her.
"Chuck," she murmured, as his lips nuzzled her neck.
"Hm?"
"Don't you think it's funny? I mean-Hey! Not so hard-I mean about that girl and old Danziger?"
"Maybe she's his daughter or something," Chuck said, his words muffled against her flesh.
"He's not married. At least, he lives alone." She paused to draw in her breath sharply as Chuck's mouth descended to her breast. "There's something funny going on over there," she said, squirming slightly.
Chuck lifted his head briefly, replacing it with his hand. "What's funny about it?" he said. "The same thing's going on over here right now."
"But you're not a professor, Chuckie."
He rolled her body under his. "I can teach you a few things, though," he said.
And he proceeded to do so.
It was late when Chuck finally emerged from Mimsy's building into the quiet street. Most of the houses were dark, but he noticed that there were still lights burning in the one across the way. He recalled what Mimsy had said about the young girl and the professor. He had not paid much attention to it at the time, but now he began to be curious. There could be nothing to it, of course, he thought, but on the other hand, who knows? It could be a situation with possibilities. He was always on the lookout for possibilities.
He crossed the street. The mailbox in front of the lighted house bore the name "Danziger." So this was the place, all right. He hesitated for a moment, then looked around. There was no one else on the street. He made up his mind. He walked swiftly and quietly across the little front lawn and went around the side of the house.
The shades on all the side windows were tightly drawn. One of the windows was open at the top. He stood very quietly, listening, but he could hear nothing.
He stole around to the back. On one of the two back windows the shade was up. He crept under it, peeking cautiously up over the sill. He looked into a small kitchen. It was empty.
He made his way to the other window. The shade was drawn on this one, but not quite all the way. There was a small slit of light at the bottom. Again he crouched, and carefully put his eye to the tiny crack between shade and sill. He had to restrain himself from gasping aloud at what he saw.
It was a bedroom. The bed was on the far side of the room, opposite the window. There were two people on it. They were naked. One was a large, fat, nearly bald man with a moustache. He was about fifty or fifty-five, Chuck thought. The other was a young girl with long blonde hair and one of the most beautiful bodies Chuck had ever seen.
His heart pounded as he saw what they were doing.
He watched them for a long time. He couldn't help it. When he finally dragged himself away, he was breathing heavily. He had felt quite satiated when he had left Mimsy, but the scene he had been watching had caused his excitement to rise again strongly. For a moment he thought of going back up to Mimsy's, but then decided against it.
He walked toward the campus thoughtfully, letting the night air calm him. There should certainly be some possibilities in that situation. He would have to investigate them. He wondered who the girl was.
He intended to find out.
But it was very near the end of the semester, and Chuck was kept busy with the usual flurry of exams, papers, and so on. He kept an eye open for the girl around the campus, and once or twice he spotted her. But he was not able to find out her name until the very last day of the term, when he happened to see her as he was coming out of the Coke Shop with a friend. He casually pointed her out, and asked his friend if he happened to know her.
The friend did. She had been in his Spanish class two terms ago, and she was not easily forgotten.
And her name?
Her name was Sharon Reynolds.
The term, and the school year, were over, and Chuck went home for the summer. But the name Sharon Reynolds was emblazoned on his mind. Before he left, he had looked her up in the student directory and had discovered that she was finishing her junior year. That meant she would be back next term.
So he waited for the fall.
When he returned in September, he began to do some investigating. It was football season then, of course, but between practice sessions and classes he managed to get in a little research. There was a girl in the administration office who was fond of football players, and he was able to get a look at Sharon's transcript and her schedule of last term. He looked around, he asked some questions, and he made his plans.
Again he watched for her on the campus, and three weeks after the beginning of the term he saw her. She came out of a building and turned onto the path a little way ahead of him. He quickened his step and caught up with her.
"Hi, Sharon," he said familiarly.
She turned, but she did not stop walking. "Do I know you?" she said.
"I'm Chuck Ramsden," he told her. He figured she would have heard of him. He was something of a celebrity on campus.
"Congratulations."
"I'm on the football team," he said. "I played-"
"I know. What do you want?"
He was a little taken aback. He was used to a somewhat warmer reception from girls. But he was not daunted. "I think you and I should have a little talk," he said.
"What about?"
"About Professor Danziger," he said, watching her.
She showed no reaction. "Danziger? What about him?"
He lowered his voice a trifle. "Well," he said, "you were in one of his classes last term, weren't you? Now, I had a reason to ask around about you, Sharon, and I found a chick who was in that class with you. She told me she didn't think you were doing so good there. That was her impression, anyway. In fact, she thought you probably failed. But I saw your transcript, Sharon, and you got an A in that course. Now isn't that funny?"
"It's hilarious," she said. "Now, if you'll excuse me-"
"Wait a second." He took her arm and led her off the path to stand by a large tree on the campus lawn. He looked around carefully. There was no one within earshot. "You didn't ask me what my reason was for asking about you," he said.
"I suppose you're going to tell me."
"That's right." He told her about that night of the preceding June. He did not bring Mimsy into it, but told her about looking through the window, and what he had seen. He described the scene in detail so she would know he had actually seen it.
She listened carefully, but again she gave no sign of his words having any effect on her. She sure was a cool one, he thought.
When he was finished, she simply shrugged. "Do you get your kicks from watching, or from telling me about it?" she asked.
He moved in for the kill. "Now, look, Sharon," he said. "Suppose somebody found out about that? Somebody besides me, I mean. Like suppose one of the school officials got an anonymous letter or something, telling about what I saw that night, along with the other stuff I found out. You think they'd be interested? You think they'd look into it? You could get thrown out of school that way, Sharon."
She looked at him. There was no panic in her face, no shock, no fear. She just looked at him coolly, appraisingly.
"You want money?" she asked.
He shook his head.
"You want me," she stated flatly.
He grinned. "How did you guess?"
"I'm an expert," she said, with a touch of bitterness. She was silent for a moment, thinking. Again, he was impressed by her calmness.
"All right," she said briskly. "Once. Do you have a camera?"
"A camera? Sure. Why?"
"I want pictures," she said. "For insurance. Then you can't threaten me again, because if you get me in trouble about Danziger I'll show the pictures, and that will be the end for the big football hero."
He had to admire her. "Pretty smart thinking," he said.
"I told you, I'm an expert," she replied. "Where will it be? My place?"
He shook his head. "Somebody might see me. I'm supposed to be in training. We'll meet in the clubhouse at the football field. The home-team clubhouse. I have a key."
"It doesn't sound very comfortable," she said.
"It'll be all right. How about Wednesday night? Ten o'clock."
"Don't forget the camera," she said, and walked away.
Chuck was glad his plan had gone so smoothly. His heart jumped whenever he thought of enjoying that luscious body he had seen performing so excitingly for old Danziger. He could hardly wait for Wednesday night.
On the other hand, there was something about the girl's imperturbability that disturbed him. He admired it in a way, but it annoyed him, too. She acted as though she were superior, as though even in this situation it was she who had the upper hand, not he. He wondered what it would take to make her lose that coolness, to shake her up a little.
Then he had an idea.
He considered it carefully, turning it over in his mind, weighing the pros and cons. And he finally decided to do it.
He broached his idea at the next practice session.
At ten o'clock Wednesday night, Chuck was waiting outside the door of the clubhouse when Sharon arrived. She looked breathtaking in a form-fitting blue sweater and a simple skirt. Chuck unlocked the door and ushered her in. He closed the door behind them and bolted it.
It was a typical players' club room, consisting mainly of lockers and benches and a rubbing table at one end. A partition divided the shower area from the rest of the room.
"Beautiful," Sharon remarked sarcastically. She started to say something else, then stopped.
Because from behind the partition there suddenly appeared a group of young men. They came into the room in twos and threes. There were a dozen in all. They stood in the center of the room and watched her, whispering among themselves.
Sharon turned to Chuck. "What's all this?" she said.
"This is the football team," Chuck said. "Boys, meet Sharon. It's not the whole team, of course," he added. "Just the first string. Nothing but the best."
Her eyes moved over the group expressionlessly. "Quite a collection," she said. "What's it all about?"
"Well, you see, Sharon, I was talking to some of the boys after the practice session, and I just happened to tell them that story about you and Professor Danziger. You know how it is in locker rooms. So now they all know. But that's okay, because we figured, you know, since you were going to be nice to me anyway, you might as well be nice to the rest of the team. Right, boys?"
There were expressions of enthusiastic agreement from the group.
Sharon gazed at him levelly for several long moments. "Aren't you the generous one?"
"It isn't that, Sharon," Chuck said. "I just wanted to shake you up a little."
There was contempt in her eyes. "It takes better than you to shake me up, hero," she snapped. "What am I supposed to do, break down and cry?" There was silence for another few moments. He had trouble meeting her eyes.
"You're really not very bright," Sharon said then. "You could have had me all to yourself. But you want me to take on all your teammates too, huh?" She shrugged. "Okay. Why not?"
There was an excited murmur among the group. Sharon smiled slightly.
"I still want my insurance," she said. "Did you bring the camera?"
He had. She took it from him and checked to see that it was loaded.
"All right," she said in a clear voice. "Everybody get undressed."
They hesitated uncertainly. She turned to Chuck. "Are they afraid to take their clothes off in front of a girl, or what?" She turned back to face them. "Come on, we're going to take some pictures first. For insurance. No insurance, no fun. You, too," she told Chuck.
Two or three of them started to undress, and then the rest followed suit. Finally they were all standing naked, looking a bit uncomfortable. Sharon took in the muscular young bodies with something like approval.
"What about you?" someone said.
"I don't have to be undressed for the pictures," she said. "This'll be evidence enough." She handed the camera back to Chuck. "You take the first one," she said. "The rest of you gather around me."
The men surrounded her as Chuck took the picture. Then she had him join the group while someone else took another. They took several more pictures before she was satisfied. Then she took the camera, rolled up the film, and took it out. Holding it in her hand, she faced them.
"Of course," she said, "it would be too bad for me, wouldn't it, if all you boys had your fun and then took this film away from me. Then where would I be?"
"We wouldn't do that, Sharon," Chuck said.
She smiled a small smile. "I know, you're the soul of honor. I can see that." She paused thoughtfully. "I'll tell you what," she said. "I'm going to go out and hide this film somewhere first, and then I'll know I have it." She went to the door and slid the bolt open.
"Wait a minute!" Chuck said suddenly, as she opened the door. "What if you don't come back?"
Her eyes widened in mock innocence. "Well, that would be a shame, wouldn't it?" she said. "You boys would just have to get your kicks with each other." And she went out.
"Hey!" Chuck called. He started to run after her, but then realized he was naked. He cursed and grabbed for his clothes. But he knew he was too late. Before he could get his clothes on, she would have hidden the film, and they would have no hold over her.
The others had also realized the situation. "Hey, she ain't gonna come back!" one said. "Why should she? She's got those pictures."
"Yeah, and we got nothing!"
There were curses and angry remarks.
Chuck threw his clothing to the floor in frustration and dropped onto a bench. But slowly the thought of how cleverly Sharon had tricked him overcame him, and in spite of himself he broke into laughter.
"How about that crazy chick!" he exclaimed. "Putting one over on us like that!" He shook his head. "She's an expert, all right. I tried to take her, and she took us, but good!" He chuckled ruefully.
The others did not seem to take it so philosophically. The cursing and muttering continued. Fists were banged angrily against lockers. A few of them started to get dressed. Chuck sat still, chagrin and amusement warring within him.
In another minute the door opened and Sharon came in.
Closing the door behind her, she looked slowly around at their astonished faces. Then she began to laugh. She leaned against the door as waves of laughter overcame her.
She looked at Chuck. "Who's shook up now?" she asked him, and started to laugh again.
Finally she straightened up, wiping her eyes. "You're an amateur, hero," she said. "I hope you learned something."
Then she crossed her hands in front of her and pulled her sweater over her head.
There was a sudden absolute silence in the room. They watched her with frozen amazement as she dropped her skirt and kicked it away. She stripped off bra and panties quickly, and stood before them, proudly naked, her hands on her hips.
"All right," she said. "Who's first?"
It was a long, long night.
TEN
The sign in the plate-glass window of the little tobacco store on the main street of the town of Hollis read:
REGAL TOBACCO CO.
John Bredman, Prop.
Behind the plate-glass window the store was empty. John Bredman himself was in his small office behind the store, with the door closed, seated behind his desk reading a magazine.
He was about thirty-five, but looked younger, a slight man with thinning blond hair and a sallow complexion. His eyes were very light, almost transparent-looking, and his mouth had a bitter twist, even in repose. He was a tobacconist now, but he had not always been. His father had wanted him to be a doctor and had sent him through medical school; but after a few years of practice he had been barred from the medical profession for unethical conduct, had left his home state and moved to Hollis, where he had bought the store which now provided him with his living-along with one or two other, less public, activities.
The magazine he was reading had on the cover a picture of a voluptuous young girl with most of her clothes off. She was tied down to a large wooden table, and she was gazing with terror at a grinning man in the uniform of a Nazi storm trooper who stood above her, wielding a wicked-looking leather strap studded with small spikes.
The story John Bredman was reading at the moment was of a similar nature. He read:
The naked maiden hung helplessly by her wrists, her beautiful young body marred with welts. She moaned with horror as she saw the demented monster pull the red-hot poker from the fire. The end of the instrument glowed a deep cherry-red. Inhuman sounds came from the beast's drooling mouth as he approached the tortured girl. She writhed frantically as he came towards her, in a futile effort to avoid the inevitable caress of the burning scourge which seemed to reach out eagerly to touch her soft, white body ...
A bell rang. Someone had come into the store. John Bredman cursed under his breath, put the magazine into a drawer of his desk, and went out to greet the customer.
It was a girl. She was blonde and pretty, with an excellent figure. She seemed a little nervous. As soon as he saw her, Bredman knew what she wanted.
"Can I help you, miss?"
She hesitated. "Are you John Bredman?" she asked.
"Yep."
She looked around to make sure no one else was in the store. "I-they told me at school-" she began.
"Come on inside," Bredman said, and went back into the little office. The girl followed him. He closed the door behind them. He sat behind his desk and waved her to a chair. "Okay, go ahead," he said.
The girl looked at him. "I go to the University," she said.
"So I gathered."
"One of the girls there told me that you sometimes help girls-girls in trouble."
"You're pregnant?"
She nodded slowly.
He gave a snorting laugh. "Isn't that something?" he said. "You'd think with the Pill and all the stuff they got today, you girls wouldn't get caught so much. But I get almost as much of this kind of business as I ever did." He shook his head.
The girl looked at him with some spirit. "I slipped up, that's all," she said curtly.
"Yes, you did. You sure as hell did," he said. "How far along?"
"Less than two months."
"Okay. What's your name, honey?"
"Sharon-Sharon Smith."
He snorted again. "Sharon Smith, huh? Sure it is. Well, Sharon Smith, did your friend tell you what I charge for this kind of thing?"
She hesitated. "No."
He thought she was lying. "Well, it's five hundred bucks, honey. Pretty cheap too, nowadays."
"I don't have five hundred dollars," she said.
"That's too bad," he said. "Can't you get it someplace? Your folks?"
She shook her head. "No. No, I can't."
He shrugged. "Well, you better have the kid, then."
"I can't do that either," she said. "They'd throw me out of school. I'm going to graduate in June. I have to graduate."
He spread his hands. "Can't help you, honey," he said. "I run a strictly cash business. No credit allowed."
"But-"
He shook his head. "And no bargaining," he said. "Five hundred on the line, and that's it. Now don't waste my time."
The girl sat up straighter in her chair. Her voice became throaty. "Maybe I can pay you in another way," she said.
When he realized what she meant he gave a short, barking laugh. "Go back to school, kid," he said.
She looked surprised. "What's the matter?" she asked. "Don't you like me?"
"Sure I do, honey. You're stacked real good. But like I said, it's a cash business. I used to take that kind of payment sometimes, but that was when things weren't so tight. Anyway, there's a little house over on George Street that's run by a friend of mine. They got some real sweet girls there-pros, you know? And I go there for anything I want."
The girl gazed at him steadily. "Anything?" she said. "Listen, I've been around. If you want something special ..."
He looked at the young girl with surprised amusement. She had spunk, all right. But if she was desperate enough, she'd find a way to come up with the five bills. He was about to send her away when a thought struck him.
The girls at Pearl's place were good, all right. He paid them well, and they catered to him. A couple of them, when he was extra generous, would let him indulge his tastes by slapping them around a little. And his favorite girl, Maureen, would sometimes let him tie her down and beat her with a special cloth belt which left no marks. But there was one thing that not even she would let him do, that no one had ever let him do ...
He had a sudden memory of the story he had been reading.
He gazed at the blonde girl speculatively. "Just how bad do you want to get rid of this kid, honey?" he asked.
"I thought I made that plain," she said.
"Uh-huh." He leaned back in his chair, still watching her. There was a pause. "You dig pain, baby?" he asked suddenly.
She frowned. "Pain?"
"Yeah. Pain." He reached to pull open the drawer of his desk where he had put the magazine, and took it out. He slid it across the desk toward her so she could see the cover.
She glanced at it, then looked up at him, her eyes wide. "You-you want to whip me?" she asked.
He shook his head. "Nope. Something else. Something I've always wanted to try."
"What?" she asked suspiciously.
"Well," he said slowly, "you know, you read in these sexy books all the time about guys beating up girls, and what they do to them. They whip them a lot, all right, but another thing they're always doing is burning them with cigarettes. Most often on their boobs, see, because that's where it hurts the most. Like if a guy is trying to get information out of a chick, or maybe he's just mad at her or something, he'll take this cigarette and put it out right on her nipple. Now that sounds like a kick." He paused briefly. "That's what I want to do to you," he told her.
The girl was staring at him incredulously. She stood up slowly. "You're crazy!" she whispered.
He shrugged. "Ain't we all?" he said. "Look, kid, I just thought if you wanted my professional services badly enough-"
"You go to hell!" she exclaimed, and walked swiftly out, slamming the door behind her.
He sighed. Well, it had been worth a try, anyway. He picked up the magazine, found his place, and settled back.
But a few days later, to his surprise, the girl came back. Again he took her into his office.
"Listen," she said. "I have to get rid of it. I just have to. I can't get thrown out now. I tried to find somebody else, but ..." She shook her head.
His eyes gleamed. "My offer is still open, honey."
She looked at him appealingly. "Isn't there anything else I can-some other way?"
"Nope."
There was a long silence. Bredman waited patiently. Part of her must have made the decision already, he reasoned, or she would not be here. Just give her time to accept it.
Finally Sharon said, in a voice so low that he could hardly hear her, "What-just what would I have to do?"
He took a breath. "Let me use a cigarette on you, like I said. Say twice. One on each nipple."
The girl paled.
"That's not very much for a five-hundred dollar operation," Bredman said. "I'm giving you a bargain."
There was a pause. She moistened her lips nervously. "It'll hurt," she said.
He nodded. "It'll hurt like hell, honey."
She swallowed. "It'll leave marks."
"They'll heal."
Sharon bit her lip. There was another long wait. At last the girl drew a long, shuddering breath. "All right," she whispered. "I'll do it."
"Good girl," Bredman said. "That's fine. Now why don't you come back tonight after the store closes, and we can have the place all to ourselves."
She shivered suddenly, as if struck by a chill. "And that's all there will be?" she said. "Just that?"
"Sure. Of course, we'll have to do it up right, make it good. I'll want to tie you up. It's more fun that way."
Her eyes blazed at him suddenly. "Like hell you will!" she said fiercely. "There's no telling what you might do to me if you got me tied up!"
"Now, now," he said. "You don't have to worry, baby. I don't want you to get me into any trouble, you know. You can trust me." He shrugged. "You have to trust me. Anyway, tying you up is part of the bargain. I should have mentioned that before."
She glared at him. "Are you going to gag me, too?" she asked contemptuously.
He shook his head. "Oh, no, baby," he said. "I want to hear you scream."
There was a flicker of fear in her eyes. Then she tossed her head defiantly. "What if I don't scream?"
He smiled slowly. "You'll scream," he said.
He saw the fear in her eyes return, battling with the indignation and slowly overcoming it. Suddenly she stood up and turned to leave. "I'll be back tonight," she said in a low voice. "Maybe." And she walked out.
For the rest of the day, he thought about what would happen that night. He figured out everything he would do, planning each action in detail. He was going to make the most of this opportunity. It would be something to remember.
She showed up about nine o'clock. She wore a light-colored blouse and tight dark slacks. She was very nervous, but trying hard not to show it.
They went into his office and sat down at his desk. She remained standing. He grinned at her.
"Well," he said, "we might as well get started."
He reached into his shirt pocket, drew out a package of cigarettes and a book of matches, and tossed them on the desk. The girl glanced at them once, then looked away.
"Come on over here, honey," he said.
She walked around the desk and stood in front of him. Her too-rapid breathing betrayed her apprehension.
"Well now, Sharon," he said. "It was Sharon, wasn't it? Sharon ... ah ... Smith, I believe. Okay, Sharon, why don't you light up one of those cigarettes for me, hm?"
She stared at him coldly. "Light it yourself," she said.
"Now, honey, be nice," he said. "Do what I say, because I'm likely to just get mad and call the whole thing off. Then where would you be? Go on, light me a cigarette."
After a brief hesitation, she reached for the cigarette package, shook one out and brought it to her mouth. She picked up the matchbook and struck a light. Her hands were trembling. She got the cigarette lit.
"Hand it to me," he said.
She did so slowly.
"That's a good girl." He did not smoke the cigarette, but sat holding it in his hand as his eyes moved to the rounded front of her blouse. There was a tingle of anticipation inside him.
"Take off the blouse," he said.
The girl swallowed as her hands went to the front of her blouse and began to open the buttons. He could sense the reluctance behind her movements. When the blouse was open, she pulled it out of her slacks and drew it off, placing it on the desk.
She wore a black bra. He admired the smooth, creamy flesh above and below it, and the way her golden hair fell over her bare shoulders.
He nodded at the bra. "That too," he said.
With only a barely perceptible pause, Sharon reached behind her and undid the clasp. She lowered the shoulder straps and pulled the garment away from her breasts.
He made a low, whistling sound through his teeth. Her breasts were perfect, plenty large enough without being too large, and beautifully molded. They stood out from her body with the firmness of youth, rising and falling slightly with her shallow breathing. And the soft pink nipples seemed to reach toward him like sacrificial offerings.
He reached out to touch one, but Sharon drew back. "That wasn't part of the bargain," she said. Her voice was unsteady.
His eyes narrowed. "All right," he said softly. "We'll get on with the bargain, then." Placing the cigarette in an ash tray on the desk, he opened a drawer and took out a length of rope.
"Turn around," he told her, "and put your hands behind you."
Her eyes flickered, but she obeyed.
He tied her wrists together behind her back. Then he turned her around again, backing her up against the desk. His own breathing was rapid, but for other reasons than hers.
"One more thing, honey," he said. "I want you ask me to do it to you."
She stared. "You-want me to-"
"That's right. Ask me to burn you with the cigarette. I want to hear you ask for it. Ask me nice. Say please."
She started to refuse; but as he continued to look at her, she gave in. Her voice was low. "Please burn me with the cigarette," she said flatly.
"Sure, baby," he said. He picked up the burning cigarette and knocked the ash from the tip. He raised it to the level of her breasts. Her eyes followed his hand in fearful fascination. He could hear her frightened breathing now, and her body was trembling.
"Don't move, Sharon," he said.
Deliberately, but without haste, he moved the cigarette steadily toward her breast. Without pausing, he pressed the glowing end tightly against her nipple.
Sharon screamed, and her body jerked convulsively. She pulled away, turning her back to him, and leaned against the desk for support, bending slightly over it, gasping with pain.
His heart was beating hard. That had been nice, but there was better to come. He replaced the cigarette in the ash tray, and waited until she turned around again. The sight of her excited him tremendously, with her hands still tied behind her, naked breasts heaving, tears of pain in her eyes.
He grinned at her. "That was the easy one, kid," he said. "Just for openers. The next one's going to be worse."
The girl went white. A small, involuntary sound came from her.
He reached into the drawer and took out some more rope. Then he stood, picking up the cigarettes and matches. "We need a new setting for this one," he said. "Come on."
He led her out of the office and through the darkened store to the small apartment at the back which he used as his living quarters. He took her into the bedroom. Sharon stopped when she saw where they were.
"Oh, no," she said, her voice regaining some of its assurance. "You're not getting me down on that bed!"
He sighed. "You want to go home now, honey?" he said. "With your part only half paid?"
Her eyes fell. She said nothing.
He untied her wrists. Then he took a cigarette from the package and handed it to her, along with the matches. "You can light up the other one for me now," he said.
He watched her as she forced herself to do what he wanted. Her hands were trembling so badly she had to strike three matches before she got the cigarette lit. He held out his hand for it, and she give it to him, avoiding his eyes.
"Now lie down on the bed," He said.
She obeyed him. He had her stretch out, and he tied her wrists and ankles to the corners of the bed, spread-eagling her.
He stood beside the bed for several moments, gazing raptly down at her. The helplessness of the bound, half-naked girl aroused him. Her position pulled her quivering breasts taut, causing them to strain upward. He wished she had worn a skirt, so he could have pulled it up and seen her legs. But he did not want to bother with the slacks now.
He had held the cigarette in his mouth while he was tying her. Now he removed it, and crouched with one knee on the other side of the bed.
Beads of sweat broke out on the girl's forehead. She tried to squirm away from him, but the ropes allowed her very little movement. Once again he had a sudden memory of the story he had been reading when she had first come to see him. The naked maiden and the red-hot poker ... Well, the cigarette was no poker, and she was no maiden, but the idea was the same.
"Okay, Sharon, baby," he said. "Now ask me again. Ask me to burn your pretty body with the pretty cigarette."
She gave a soft moan.
"That's right," he said. "Just like before. Only nicer this time."
The girl's eyes closed. Her mouth moved, but nothing came out. She tried again. "P-please burn me with the cigarette," she whispered chokingly.
He raised his hand. Her eyes opened, unable to bear the suspense. He brought the cigarette down slowly toward her unburned nipple, much more slowly than the last time. He watched her cringe away from it, shrinking her body, trying to melt herself into the mattress. Little whining noises came from her throat as the cigarette came closer.
He touched the tip lightly to her nipple, then drew it away. She howled. He did it again, a little to the left. Her body strained madly to get away from him, and her scream was louder. He did this several times, moving the cigarette around the nipple area, touching it to the tender flesh in hot little kisses. A series of anguished shrieks tore from the helpless girl, as her body twisted wildly against her bonds.
Then he placed the cigarette directly over the small pink knob and slowly ground it out by twisting it with gradually increasing pressure against the nipple. Her body stiffened in agony, arching off the bed, and her ear-splitting scream sent shivers of delight through him.
He dropped the dead cigarette to the floor and stood up. Sharon was crying, her sobs interspersed with moans. He walked around the bed, releasing the ropes at her wrists and ankles. It was several minutes before she could get up. She rose painfully to her feet, cradling her injured breasts in her hands.
"I'll give you something to put on them," Bredman said.
"Leave me alone," she sobbed. "Just-just leave me alone."
His mouth twisted. He wasn't going to leave her alone just yet. He had one more thing in store for her.
They went back to the office, where Sharon had left her things. She found the brassiere too painful against her breasts, so she left it off and put on her blouse.
"I guess my part's paid," she said to him bitterly. "What about your part?"
He nodded. "Come back Tuesday," he said. "Eight o'clock. I'll be all set up."
She reached for her purse.
"There's one more little thing before you go, honey," Bredman said.
"What?"
He was standing against the front of his desk. He reached down, unzipped his trousers, and pulled out his thick, erect cock.
"Look what you've done to me," he said as she stared at him. "You're not going to go away and leave me like this, are you? Let's have one of those specials you were telling me about."
Her eyes were slits. "You said-"
He suddenly reached up and slid his hand roughly over one of her blouse-covered breasts. She jerked away with a cry of pain.
"It's a tough life, honey," he said harshly. "You can't trust anybody these days. Now look, you've come this far, you might as well do this one more thing. Because I hate to see a well-built girl like you ruin her figure by having a kid."
"You bastard," she whispered.
"On your knees, honey."
"You dirty bastard," she said again. She lowered herself slowly to her knees in front of him.
He leaned back against the desk as he felt her lips touch his straining prick. He surrendered himself to the excitement of what she was doing, abetting it with the memory of her screams, which still rang like music in his ears.
ELEVEN
The meeting of the graduation dance committee was coming to a close. They had heard reports from the students in charge of refreshments, tickets, and entertainment. Ray Cliborn, the chairman of the committee, looked at the piece of paper in front of him. There was only one more item left to be taken care of before they could adjourn.
He banged on the table to bring the restless group to order. He was a tall, dark-haired, good-looking youth with a pleasant offhand manner. "Okay," he said. "One more thing and we can get out of here. What about the Graduation Queen? Baxter, you got the pictures?"
"Yeah." Baxter, a plump young man with glasses, pulled out half a dozen enlarged yearbook snapshots. "Jennings and I picked out the six best-looking girls in the graduating class. As far as we could tell from the pictures, anyway. Of course, if anybody has any other nominations, I guess we can consider them too."
"I still say this is a half-ass way to pick a Graduation Queen," a boy named Liebelson complained. "We ought to post the nominations and let the whole graduating class vote."
"Yeah, well, if we hadn't waited until the last minute to get organized, like I kept saying-" someone else put in.
A babble of argumentative voices arose. Ray pounded on the table again.
"Come on, you guys," he said. "Graduation isn't that far away, and we've got to get moving and get something done. Now we already decided that the committee would pick the Queen, so let's do it. Pass the pictures around, Baxter, and we'll vote on them."
The photographs were circulated. They each had the name of the girl printed on the bottom, and the committee members, with many comments and much argument over relative merits, wrote down their choices.
Ray collected the slips of paper. Most of the votes had gone to one of two girls, and of these one had received two more ballots than the other. Ray looked at the winning picture. He had voted for it himself. The girl was blonde and very lovely. Her name was Sharon Reynolds.
"Who's going to tell her?" someone asked.
"I will, I guess," Ray said. "I'm the chairman, right?"
There was a chorus of joking insinuations, and Ray grinned. "Okay," he said loudly, over the din. "That's it for now. Remember, we meet again Wednesday. Same time. And I want to see everybody here."
The meeting broke up, and Ray immediately set about finding Sharon Reynolds. He looked up her schedule in the Administration Office and found that she had a class at that hour. He glanced at his watch. It would be ending in a few minutes.
He went to the building in which her class was being held and waited outside the classroom door. After a minute the students started coming out. He spotted Sharon as soon as she came through the door. Her picture hadn't lied; if anything, she was even more lovely in person. And the picture had not shown her figure. We made a damn good choice, he thought.
"Sharon Reynolds?" he said.
She turned. "Yes?"
"My name's Ray Cliborn," he said. "I'm the chairman of the graduation dance committee. We've chosen you to be Graduation Queen." He smiled at her.
Her expression did not change. "No, thank you," she said, and walked away down the hall.
He stood still for a moment, stunned. Then he went after her. "Hey, wait a minute!" he called. She turned again.
"I don't think you understand," he said. "This is for the graduation dance, on the last day of the term. We've picked you to represent the graduating class, as Queen of the dance."
"Yes, I understand," she said. "I'm just not interested. Thank you anyway." And she walked away again.
"But-" He caught up to her again and walked along beside her. Her reaction had thrown him for a loss. But he did not want to give up just like that. He was convinced, since seeing her, that if anyone had ever deserved to be Graduation Queen, it was she.
"Look, Sharon," he said. "I think we ought to talk this over a little. You might want to change your mind. Let's get some coffee or something, okay?"
"I'm sorry," she said, "but I have to get home now. And there's nothing to talk over, really. I'm quite sure."
He sighed. They had come out of the building now. "Where do you live?" he asked. "In one of the dorms?"
"No, in a rooming-house on Twelfth Street."
"Well, is it all right if I walk you there?" he asked.
"Why?"
He shrugged. "You're a pretty girl," he said lightly. "I like to be seen with pretty girls. It's good for my prestige."
She gave a slight smile. "Well, all right," she said resignedly. They walked away from the building together.
"Now, tell me why you're not interested in being Graduation Queen," he said as they left the campus. "Most girls would be thrilled. It's really an honor, you know."
"I'm sure it is," she said. "I just don't want to be bothered, frankly. I don't want to get involved in all the fuss and everything. I'll be graduating in a few weeks and getting out of here, and that's all I'm interested in."
He could think of no good reply to this. "Well, that's a pretty selfish attitude, young lady," he said with mock severity. "Think of the position that puts the Senior Class in. You're the prettiest girl in the class, and if you refuse to be Queen, we'll have to make do with the second prettiest. Think of the humiliation!"
"Sorry about that," she said, laughing.
He made a few more attempts, but he was not able to change her mind, and soon they were in front of her door.
"Can I see your tomorrow?" he asked her.
"What for?"
He raised his eyes to heaven. "Will you cut that out?" he exclaimed. "Because I want to, that's what for."
She looked at him for a moment. "Don't get involved with me, Ray," she said.
"Look, Sharon, I just want to buy you a cup of coffee," he told her. "That's not exactly a proposal of marriage, you know."
She hesitated. "All right," she said.
So he met her the next day. Over coffee he again tried, with a couple of new arguments he had thought up, to change her mind about being Graduation Queen. But it was no use.
Then they talked about themselves. She asked him what he was studying.
"Pre-law," he said. "And next year I go on to law school."
"Criminal law?"
"No, that's for dedicated types," he said. "Corporation law and stuff like that. It pays better. Oh, I'll probably never get rich from it, but I'll eat steady."
"You have the right attitude," Sharon said seriously.
"Well, I'm not so sure," he grinned. "When I was a kid I used to want to do criminal law. You know, saving innocent people and all that. And who knows, I just might change my mind again."
"I guess it's a question of what's important to you," Sharon said.
"What about you?" he asked her. "What are you going to do when you get out of here?"
"Get married," she said lightly.
He could not tell whether she was serious or not. He was surprised at the little pang that went through him at the thought that she might be. "Got the guy all picked out?" he asked.
She did not answer, but changed the subject. "Where will you go to law school, Ray?" she asked him.
He told her, and they went on to talk of other things.
He told himself that she had been kidding about getting married. He hoped so, because he liked her a lot. They continued to see each other, and he found his feeling for her growing deeper. It was not only physical. He enjoyed her company, they seemed to respond to the same things, they had a similar sense of humor, and besides-well, he just liked her. He liked her very much.
He felt that she, in some measure, shared his feeling, though she often, as she had the first time, seemed strangely reluctant to see him. They grew closer as the days passed, but though this made him happy, it seemed to have the opposite effect upon Sharon. But because he was always able to talk her into seeing him again, he was not discouraged.
One day about a week before graduation, they were sitting in the Coke Shop, Ray complaining to her about how hectic this week was for him, what with final exams, papers to turn in, graduation rehearsals, the dance committee ...
"What ever happened about the Graduation Queen?" Sharon asked him.
"Well, just as I said," he replied, "we had to choose the second prettiest girl." He shook his head. "What a stain on our escutcheon!" he said tragically.
"You'll get over it," Sharon smiled. "Who's the girl?"
"Nancy Gallagher," he said.
"Oh, I know her," Sharon said. "She's much nicer than I am."
"No, she isn't," he said sincerely. "Nobody is."
"Ho ho ho," she said lightly.
"Look, Sharon," Ray said. "I know it's pretty late, but-do you have a date for the graduation dance yet?"
"No."
"Will you go with me?" he asked.
"No, thank you, Ray."
He put down his coffee cup. "What have I got?" he demanded. "Bad breath? Dandruff? Water on the knee?"
She laughed. "No," she said. "I'm just not going to the dance."
"Why not?"
"Too much bother," she said. "Remember, I said I only wanted to graduate? Going to the dance means buying a gown, and going to a lot of trouble, and worrying about things, and-for what? Who needs that?"
He sighed. "Well, what do I have to do to get a real date with you, Sharon?"
She looked at him. "You really want to take me out?" she said. "Okay, take me to Kelly's Place and buy me some beer and pretzels."
"Sure," he said. "When?"
"Next Saturday."
"Next-but next Saturday's the dance!"
"I know."
"But I can't miss the dance, Sharon," he said. "I'm on the committee!"
"Of course you can't," she smiled. "You see, Ray? It's like I said once-it's a question of what's important to you. You'd like to take me out, but there are things that are more important, right? Maybe that's the way I feel, too."
She touched him lightly on the arm. "I like you, Ray," she said. "But there's no sense in us getting in too deeply. It wouldn't be fair." She rose. "I'll see you around," she said, and turned and left the shop.
Ray was gravely disappointed at the turn things had taken. He could not dismiss Sharon from his thoughts. Several times he was on the verge of calling her, but he kept telling himself that if she really did not want to see him, he should respect her wishes, and that there was no sense in drawing out something that was evidently hopeless. Luckily he was kept so busy that week that he had little chance to brood about her.
Graduation day came, and he got his degree along with the rest of the graduating class. At the commencement exercises he spotted Sharon at a distance; but he was with his parents, who had come down for the ceremony, so he was not able to speak to her.
And that night was the dance.
It was a grand affair. He was proud of the work the committee had done, even though he had to help iron out several last-minute problems that they had not foreseen. There was a happy, celebration air as the students, most of them liberated now after four years of wondering if they would make it, swirled about the large dance floor in their tuxedos and evening gowns, or milled around the sides, chatting and laughing.
He chatted too, and he danced, but as the evening went on he felt less and less like laughing. He had the persistent feeling that something was missing, and though he tried to ignore it at first, he knew exactly what it was. He found himself comparing Sharon to every girl with whom he danced. And none of them measured up. He danced with the prettiest, the liveliest, the most personable girls he could find, trying to recapture that special feeling that he had had when he was with Sharon. But he only felt empty.
Halfway through the evening, he gave up. What the hell was he doing here, anyway? he asked himself. And he couldn't answer.
He found Baxter. "Look, I'm cutting out," he said. "There shouldn't be any more problems, but if there are, you take care of them, okay?"
Baxter looked at him in surprise. "Where're you going?" he said. "It's only-" But Ray had already gone.
He went to a store near the campus and made some purchases. Then he called up Sharon's rooming-house.
"I think we have a date," he said, when he got her on the phone. "I can't take you to Kelly's Place, because I'd look kind of funny walking in there in a tuxedo. But I've got a couple of six-packs and a box of pretzels. Meet me and we'll go someplace and deal with them."
"But, Ray, what about the dance?" Sharon asked.
"Oh, I took off," he said. "It was dull." He paused. "Anyway, I wanted to see you," he said.
There was a silence. "You're a nut," Sharon said softly. "A nice nut, though," she added.
"So humor me. Look, the beer's getting warm. Meet me at the main gate in ten minutes, okay?"
"All right," she said. "I'll be there."
He waited for her impatiently, and when he saw her coming, his heart raced. It was all he could do to restrain himself from taking her in his arms. He held her hand as they walked across the campus, trying to decide on a good spot to have their beer and pretzels.
"Hey, I know!" he said suddenly. "The football stadium."
"The football stadium!"
"Sure. What better place to have beer and pretzels? Come on."
"You are a nut," she said, but she came with him.
The stadium was deserted. They sat high up in the wooden bleachers at the side of the field and drank beer. It was a beautiful June night, and the moon lit the stadium softly, making it seem almost attractive. Ray was very happy, and it seemed that Sharon was, too. They chatted easily together, laughing frequently. They recounted the events of their week to each other.
"Well," Ray said, "I never thought I'd spend my last night at Hollis drinking beer and eating pretzels in an empty football stadium."
"In a tuxedo," Sharon laughed.
"Not that I'm complaining," he said, looking at her. Her eyes met his.
"I missed you, Sharon," he said.
She said nothing.
He leaned forward and kissed her. Her mouth was soft for a few moments, but then she pulled gently away.
"Don't Ray," she said. "Please."
"Hey, Sharon," he said. "I'm pretty stuck on you, you know."
"You shouldn't be," she said. "I told you that."
"I can't help it." He paused. "I'm not kidding, I missed you like hell this last week, Sharon. And tonight, when I was dancing with all those girls, all I could think about was you. You've got it over all of them. I don't mean just-you know, how pretty you are and all, but-well, I guess you know what I mean." He gestured. "I mean, I'm really stuck!"
There was silence for some time. Then Sharon gave a long, deep sigh.
"All right, Ray," she said in a flat voice. "Let me help you get unstuck." She put down her beer can and sat forward, gazing at the field below. "You don't know anything about me, Ray," she said. "Nothing. Now I'll tell you a few things."
She paused, then continued. "I grew up in a grimy little town," she said. "On the wrong side of the tracks, as they say. My father was a laborer who didn't work half the time, and when he did, he spent as much of his money on whiskey as he could possibly manage. There were six kids in my family. Six. And my mother and father. And we lived in a little three-room shack-and I mean shack! A lot of the time we ate the kind of stuff that your family probably put in the garbage can. That's how I grew up. And from as far back as I can remember, all I ever wanted to do was get the hell out of there. From the time I was old enough to think, all I could think about was having money and getting good clothes and living in a nice place. And I knew damn well I was going to do it somehow.
"Well, I was lucky, Ray. A lot of people live that way, and a lot of people want to get out. But they can't, because they don't have anything, anything at all. But I had something. I found that out pretty soon. I had something that had value to it. My looks, and my body. I had those, and an awful lot of people wanted them. That was something I could use. And I used it."
She took a long breath. "Since I was fourteen years old, Ray, I've been using my body to get me things. This nice, pretty body-this body that you'd like to make love to. I've done everything with it you can imagine, and some things you probably can't, to get what I want. For the last four years, I've used it to get me through school. Because there's something I wanted that I had to go to school to get."
She paused. "So you picked the wrong girl to get stuck on, Ray." She stood up. "I'm sorry," she said. "I really am. Thanks for the beer." She turned and walked off.
He sat perfectly still for several moments. Then he suddenly rose and went after her. He caught her as she was going out the stadium gate.
"Sharon, wait," he said, stopping her.
"Please, Ray." She tried to get by.
He held her. "Listen to me," he said. "Damn it, Sharon, I'm not going to just let you walk away again. I've never felt this way about anybody. All that stuff you told me-well, I can't say I don't care about it, but-" He shrugged. "Like I say, I can't help it," he finished softly.
Sharon shook her head helplessly.
"And you feel something for me, too, Sharon," he said. "I know it. Don't you?"
She did not answer.
"Don't you?" he repeated.
She looked at him for a moment, then lowered her eyes. "Sharon," he said, and kissed her.
At first she was still, but then she began to respond, her lips softening under his. Her arms went around his neck. The kiss lasted a long time.
"Oh, Ray," Sharon whispered when their mouths parted.
"Come on," he said. "Let's go."
They went to her place. "You'll have to excuse the way it looks," Sharon said when they were in her room. "I shipped most of my stuff out today. I just kept what I need for tonight."
He took her in his arms and kissed her again, lengthily, and then he began to undress her. She helped him.
He made love to her tenderly, gently, and she responded with a sweet ardor such as he had never known. It went on for a long time, and he had the feeling that he was as close to her emotionally as he was physically, and that this added to their pleasure. They rose gradually and simultaneously through levels of sensation, until at last they attained the ultimate unity in an intense, shattering climax.
"I love you, Sharon," he cried in that moment of truth. "I love you!"
She was going through a paroxysm of her own at that moment, and he did not know whether she heard him. But some time later, as they were lying quietly side by side, his arm under her head, she suddenly spoke.
"I guess I love you, too, Ray," she said.
Later they made love again, and then they slept.
When he awoke it was morning, and Sharon was gone. There was a note on the pillow beside him. He read it quickly.
Dear Ray,
Thank you for last night. It was wonderful. It was almost the only time I can remember that I've made love without expecting to get something out of it. And I think I meant what I said to you. But I'm still the same girl, Ray, and I still want those things I told you about. I can't change that. I've wanted them so long, and done so much to get them. Now I'm going to. But I won't forget you.
Sharon
He leaped off the bed and hastily pulled on his clothes, cursing at the troublesome tuxedo outfit. He stuffed the tie into his pocket and ran out of the room and down the stairs. He knocked on the door that said "Manager."
"Sharon Reynolds," Ray said. "I want to find-"
"She's gone," the man said. "I saw her go out with her suitcase, about two hours ago."
"Do you know where? Where she was going?"
The man shook his head. "She didn't say, son. Sorry."
Ray sagged helplessly against the jamb as the door closed.
He walked slowly back to the campus. When he got there, a sudden impulse drew him to the football field. He went in and sat where he and Sharon had sat the night before. He stayed there a long time. Then he left the stadium and walked toward his dorm.
He was almost there when someone called his name. It was Liebelson, one of the dance committee members.
"Hey, Ray," Liebelson said, coming up to him. "How come you left the dance so early? We were-" He stopped as he took in Ray's outfit. A slow grin broke over his face.
"Oho!" he said. "Now I get it. You've been out all night." He shook his head. "What a way to graduate!" he said. "Who was she, Cliborn?"
There was a pause. "Just a girl, Liebelson," Ray said slowly. "Just a girl."
He walked on toward his dorm.
TWELVE
Martin Quincy Fenster III sipped his cocktail nervously as he waited for the plane to come in.
Four years, he thought. Four long, endless years of waiting, and now finally she was coming to him. He could hardly believe that the day had arrived at last. He was nervous. Had he changed much? Would she still feel the same about him after all this time? Her letters said that she did, but he couldn't help being a little worried. He told himself, as he had a thousand times over these four years, that it was almost too much to believe that he should be so lucky; the most beautiful, the most wonderful girl in the world, should love him and want to marry him.
He had finally broken the news to his mother and father only the week before. His mother had been happy. She had wished for a long time that he would get married. Dad, of course, had been a little suspicious at first. That was natural, he supposed, since he had never met Sharon, and didn't know the kind of girl she was. But Martin had reassured him.
He was pleased when, the next day, Dad had told him that they had decided to give him and his bride the big house in the city as a wedding present. Getting on as he was, his father was not really very active any more in the business empire which he had inherited from his own father and built to even greater heights, and of which he was still the head. He left Martin to handle most of it nowadays. So, since he had little reason to come into the city any more, he had said, Martin and his wife might as well take over the town house, and he and Mother would be content with the country estate. Martin hoped Sharon would be pleased, too.
He took another sip of his drink, looking out the window of the waiting-lounge at the expanse of the landing field. He was apprehensive about seeing her, and yet he could not wait. All that time, he thought again. And all because his father had that silly notion ...
His mind went back to when he had first met her. It was his last year at Yale, and during the Easter vacation his father, in hopes of giving him some experience in the business that he would one day take over, had sent him off with Henry Billings, one of the vice presidents, on a business trip. Billings was going to a place called Burchville, where there was a small steel mill, to look into the possibilities of negotiating a merger; and Martin was to observe him and, hopefully, get some insight into the ways of business.
As Martin Quincy Fenster III, he found himself something of a celebrity in the small town of Burchville. The family name, of course, was well known, and his coming created quite a stir. But it had been a dull place, and he had not expected to enjoy his stay there.
Then he had met Sharon Reynolds.
He had been sitting in the lobby of his hotel one evening, and she had happened to sit down next to him. Somehow, they had started talking. He thought she was one of the most beautiful girls he had ever seen. For some reason, the date she had been waiting for had never shown up, and they had spent the evening together.
She was seventeen, a senior in high school, but he found her as bewitching and fascinating as any woman of more mature years. In addition, she had a youthful liveliness and vitality which, along with her alluring face and figure, captivated him completely. He saw her whenever he could. She seemed to be attracted to him, too, and his brief stay in Burchville flew by.
On one of his last days there, he rented a car and they went for a drive in the country. After a while he parked in a dark spot off the side of the road, and kissed her. She responded. They stayed there for a long time, and he was thrilled as, little by little, she allowed him to explore and take liberties with her lovely body.
She seemed to enjoy his caresses, but she protested when he tried to go too far. At last he became so worked up that he begged her to go back with him to his hotel room.
She looked at him gravely. "I've never done that," she said. "And I'll only do it with the man I'm going to marry."
The idea of marrying her had not crossed his mind, but once it did he could not get it out. He thought about it all the next day. He was certainly in love with her, he decided. She was a fine girl. He wanted her very much. By the end of the day, he wanted to marry her more than anything in the world. He hoped fervently that she would say yes.
He told her that evening, and she accepted. She seemed overjoyed, and so was he. They celebrated with triple-scoop sundaes at the Burchville Drug Store.
And that night she came back with him to his room, Martin pacifying the desk clerk with a twenty-dollar bill. He held his breath in wonder as her clothes came off to reveal the glorious perfection of her young body.
He gasped at the warmth of her flesh and the passion of her response. And when they melted together on the bed, she produced in him sensations he had never dreamed existed.
For an inexperienced girl, she was a wonder. The power of love, he thought, had lent her the equivalent of years of knowledge and experience. Afterwards, as he lay wrung out and contented beside her, he knew that now he wanted to marry her more than ever.
And then he remembered.
In the excitement of his need and his love for her, he had completely forgotten that ridiculous provision of his father's will. Now he blanched. He had gotten himself into a terrible position. What would she think of him? What would she do?
He turned to her. "Sharon," he said, "Darling, I-This is terrible ..."
"What's the matter?" she asked anxiously, seeing his stricken face.
"I just thought of something," he said. He sat up in the bed, holding his head in his hands. "It's my father," he said in a low voice. "He has this thing-oh, I know this sounds silly, but-he has this big thing about education. I guess it's because he never got to go to college himself. He wanted to, but his father was a self-made man, and he thought his son should be, too. But Dad-well, he always took it hard. He read as much as he could, you know, educating himself on his own, but he's got this-this damn stubborn idea that going to college is the greatest thing in the world. That's why he sent me to the best schools. But that wasn't enough. He's always insisted that if-that when I get married, my wife should be a college graduate, too. Now don't ask me to explain that," he said hastily. "I don't know if he has some dumb idea that his grandchildren will be smarter that way, or what. But he's got this crazy notion fixed in his mind, and the thing about it is-"
He hesitated. "Well, the thing of it is that he's put it in his will," he said.
"What do you mean?" Sharon asked. Her voice was expressionless.
"Well, he's got this clause in his will that says I can't inherit his estate until I marry, and then only if the woman I marry has a degree from an accredited college. If not, he'll cut me off with as little as he can."
"That's impossible!" Sharon said. "He could never get away with that."
"You don't know my father," Martin said miserably. "He's very powerful, and he has the best lawyers there are. Even after he's dead, he'll get what he wants."
There was a pause. He looked at Sharon. Her gray eyes were hard as granite.
"Is this a trick?" she whispered. "Did you promise to marry me just so you could get me to come up here and-"
"No, darling! No, I swear!" he cried, taking her in his arms. "Please believe me, Sharon. I would never have-I just forgot all about it, loving you so much. I wouldn't hurt you for the world!"
Sharon was silent for a long, long time while he held her. Finally she asked softly, "Would you still like to marry me, Martin?"
"Oh, darling, more than anything! But-"
"Would you wait?" she asked. "Would you wait a long time?"
"Of course."
"All right," she said, pulling gently away from him. "All right. Then I'll go to college. If you're sure you'll still want to marry me afterwards, I'll go to college and I'll get a degree and then I'll come to you."
"That would be wonderful, darling," he said. "But how can you? How can you afford it? How-"
"Never mind," she told him. "I'll find a way." Her eyes were determined. "I'll find a way, and I'll do it. But college takes four years, Martin. You have to be sure that you want to wait that long."
"Sharon," he said, looking into her eyes. "I love you. I'll always love you."
She smiled. "That's good," she said.
"If there's any way I can help you-"
"Just leave it to me," she said. "Now I'd better go. It's late."
"All right."
"But first," she said with a little smile, pushing him back down on the bed, "first I want to make you extra sure that you'll still want to marry me in four years."
And she did.
So he had gone back to Yale, and he had not seen her since. After his graduation, his father had sent him to Europe for a year, and then had started training him to take over his business activities.
He and Sharon had corresponded steadily. He was proud when she wrote him that she had gotten a scholarship to Hollis University. It was she who had decided that they must not see each other until she graduated. He had wanted to go to visit her at school, or to spend part of her summer vacations with her, even at the risk of incurring his father's displeasure. But she had asked him not to, explaining that it would only make the waiting harder for her, that she did not think they should place the extra emotional burden upon themselves. He had reluctantly acceded to her wishes. Her frequent letters had kept his love alive, even strengthened it. She was so warm, so sweet, so good ...
The loudspeaker broke into his thoughts, announcing the imminent arrival of Sharon's plane. He hastily finished his drink and hurried outside to wait for her at the gate.
The plane landed. It seemed to take forever for them to wheel up the steps and open the door. Sharon was the first one out. He melted inside when he saw her. She wore a bright yellow dress, and her hair was longer than it had been four years ago. She was even more beautiful than he remembered. She saw him and waved, and he waved back, his heart thumping. Then she was down the steps and running along the pathway and through the gate and into his arms.
He held her tightly in a long embrace, and then they kissed. When they parted, she smiled at him.
"Sharon!" he said huskily. "You're here. You're really here!"
"I'm here," she said. "And look what I've got." She reached into her purse and pulled out her diploma, which she unrolled and showed to him.
He laughed. "That's wonderful," he said. "You're wonderful. Everything's wonderful!"
She took his arm. "Did you miss me?" she asked.
"What a question!" he exclaimed. "Let's get married right away, Sharon, all right?"
"Yes," she said. "Right away."
He thought there was something strange in her voice, but when he turned to look at her, her smile was as bright as ever.
They went into the terminal, where he saw to her luggage, and then he took her outside to where he had parked. He pointed to the brand-new red Jaguar sitting at the curb.
"Like it?" he asked.
"It's beautiful," she said. "Is it yours?"
"Nope. It's yours," he said. "Present.'
Her eyes went wide. "Oh, Martin!" she said, throwing her arms around him.
"Come on, get in," he said. "I want to take you back to the estate to meet my folks."
He helped her in and got behind the wheel. He felt wonderful. In a little while they had cleared the city traffic and were rolling smoothly along pleasant roads.
"Where would you like to go on our honeymoon, darling?" Martin asked. "The Riviera? Paris? Italy?"
"Paris," she said. "I've always wanted to see Paris."
"Then Paris it will be," he said.
She settled back contentedly in the car seat.
There was one other question Martin wanted to ask, but he felt funny, even guilty, about mentioning it. She would think he had no faith in her, that he didn't trust her. But, foolish as he knew it to be, it bothered him; and he might as well get it off his mind, he thought, and then everything would be fine between them forever.
"Sharon," he said hesitantly. "It's been so long. All this time ... well ... you didn't-I mean, you were faithful to me, weren't you?"
Sharon looked over at him in surprise, and then she smiled.
