Seventeen, but she could pass for twenty-one. And Arthur Wrigley didn't much give a damn. She was the hottest thing he'd had in years, and he planned to keep her.
He watched her stretching out on the bed, her taut young nipples standing up on her breasts like two bullets, her cunt open and inviting. Her head was near the edge of the bed, and Arthur walked towards her, his erection jutting out in front of him. He stood over her wondering face for a moment, then he pushed the shaft of his rod toward her lips.
"Lick it, Baby," he commanded.
Her tongue flicked out, and he pushed the head of his tool closer to her lips, delighting in the sensations shooting through his loins as her tongue circled the throbbing meat.
"Oh, Baby, you do that good," he moaned. She raised her head slightly, licking his scrotum, her body twisting hungrily on the bed.
CHAPTER ONE
Leonard Felton let his hand drop to Bunny's knee, stroking the girl's leg slowly, his hand moving higher and higher along the soft thighs, pushing the short skirt up as he spread her legs further apart. He flicked his tongue in her mouth, thrilling at the feel of her teeth, of her lips, of her own searching tongue. His free hand crept into the half opened blouse, pinching the un-brassiered nipples.
Bunny Harris put her own hand on the massive bulge in Leonard's pants, rubbing it quickly, roughly, until it seemed the tight levi's would burst from the strain of holding the hard cock. She could feel his hands nearing her cunt, could feel the tautness of her nipples. Her juice began to flow slowly, wetting her legs, running in a rivulet onto the car seat. As he pinched her nipples, she moaned softly, arching her supple hips, lifting her buttocks into the air, pushing her vagina against his circling fingers, inviting him to enter her.
He pushed his thumb into the waiting opening, and felt the stickiness of her. His need was overwhelming, and he frigged her quickly, then pulled his thumb out and began to unzip his pants, letting his stiff rod come free, where her hand quickly encircled it. She began massaging the aching tool, her small fingers running along the length of it, down to the heavy sac beneath. She curled the soft black hair in her fingers, then cupped the balls in her hand, squeezing gently. Again, she encircled the throbbing shaft, squeezing it, pulling it, letting the foreskin exposed the glowering head of it, then covering it, jerking him slowly, sensuously.
His lust building in his young body, Leonard pushed Bunny sideways to the seat, laying her flat. Her legs instinctively lifted so that she could fit into the small space, and her skirt was hiked above her waist exposing the hairy lips of her womanly vagina. Leonard glanced down at the opening, fascinated, afraid, and desirous. He filled the opening with his fingers, then took his cock and began to insert it. Bunny moaned, thrusting her hips upward toward his burgeoning manhood. He thrust it into her and began humping her slowly at first, then more and more quickly, feeling the cum building inside his balls, feeling the explosion nearing. Suddenly he gasped, and his hips plunged downward as the burning liquid of his semen exploded into the girl's hungry cunt. He laid there for a moment, exhausted, pleased, and satiated. The girl hugged him to her, writhing as she reached her own climax.
They sat up slowly, straightening their clothing, their hair. Leonard looked slightly sheepish, Bunny slightly angry.
"You should have pulled out," she said, accusingly. "You should have at least done that."
"Ah, hell, Bunny," he said. "You're on the pill. What the hell difference does it make?"
"Well, you still could have pulled out."
Leonard gunned the engine, and the car screeched to a fast start. He glanced over at Bunny Harris, wondering what she was so upset about. She was the coolest chick in his high school Everybody knew that Bunny Harris could be laid, but that she set her own standards. He was lucky to be going with her. But what the shit was all this nervousness about a little cum in her cunt? She was on the pill. He decided she was just being petty, and he slid his hand around her shoulder, drawing her to him.
"Don't forget the beach party tomorrow," he reminded her.
"I won't," she answered, suddenly snuggling into his embrace.
Women, he thought disgustedly. Women!
CHAPTER TWO
The car bounced down the embankment, following tracks made by some earlier visitor to this lonely stretch of beach. The four occupants, two boys in front, the girl and boy in back, jostled about as the car swayed over uneven ground.
Leonard wanted to hold Bunny still so he could kiss her but managed only to plant his lips on her cheek, her nose and then her forehead. He wanted her to make up for her anger at being the only girl along, and satisfy his desires as soon as possible. She complained at his mauling and tried to draw away.
"Leonard! God-dammit Leonard!" she cried in desperation, "Wait a minute!"
He was beyond the point of rationality. He was feeling the passion of youth and the warmth of her was magnifying his desires beyond all proportions of his eighteen years. In the field of sensuous desire, he was a man, and right now, wanted very much to prove it.
Bunny had no desire for a demonstration. She beat back his roving hands and struggled to keep him at a distance. The boy continued to paw, clawing at her clothing and seeking to explore her figure.
"Damn you, stop!" she demanded and pushed her hand into his face, forcing his hold and breaking free. Then she sat back, breathing rapidly, pulling her skirt down about her legs, sighing and wondering what his next move might be.
They parked the car at the foot of an embankment, carrying the beer the rest of the way to the water's edge. Bunny sat silently while the boys unloaded the car, then followed reluctantly behind. She was piqued by Leonard's actions and his continued refusal to take her to a movie. It would be over tomorrow and probably never come back again.
She settled into the sand beside the pile of beer packs and potato chips that Leonard's money had provided, evading his accusing glances. She could see that Leonard was unhappy. His face was becoming more sullen the more she refused him. Once more he looked at her with that pitiful stare and once again she mouthed the word NO. She wouldn't give in to him. She would not permit him to make her a spectacle on the beach, he would have to do without until a time when they could be alone in privacy.
There was a smell of fish in the sand and it was warm to the touch. She scooped it up in handfuls, letting it trickle through her fingers and accumulating little mounds beside her. Around them, she traced her initials with the long manicured nails which were rapidly losing their pink polish. Her hair fluttered in the breeze which blew in from the sea, bringing the smell of open water and carrying sea gull across the wide expanse of beach.
She tucked her skirt about her legs and sat watching the boys cavort along the sand. She could almost forget the mauling and forgive Leonard his repressed intentions as she surveyed the empty cans and six packs laying about in the debris cast up by the waves.
Her thoughts were interrupted as the boys came back, running up the beach, pants legs rolled up, damp from the encounter with the bouncing waves. The three settled down, opened fresh cans of beer and proclaimed this stretch of world as theirs' alone.
Victor sat opposite Bunny, looking at her through the dark glasses so she couldn't see the eyes which appeared to be appraising her. For a moment she had the feeling of being naked to his gaze and she didn't like it.
"Have a drink Baby!" he said handing over a can with the indication more of a command than an offer. The girl looked at it for a moment and then refused.
"No thanks," she said stiffly. "The stuff makes me sick."
"Man, you are a drag," Victor said. "What do you do when you want to live?"
"That depends on what you mean by live."
"Swing Baby-rock out-give a little-make the scene." She could feel his eyes on her and even though she couldn't see them, she was sure they were following every line of her body. She knew of the look that was probably in them and began to resent his insults and insinuation. Before, she had considered him a very uncouth boy who had little intelligence and very poor manners. She was certain he must have been born and raised in a pig sty and was making no effort to get out of it.
He was gazing intently at the spot where the skirt, tucked in behind her legs, hid the panties beneath and she again had the feeling he was undressing her.
She looked to where Leonard lay on the sand, paying little heed to the scene building up so near him. Apparently he could see nothing wrong in Victor's soliciting a little fun and the fact the subject happened to be his own girl friend seemed to bother him not at all. Perhaps that was a part of their crazy code.
Victor drained the can of beer and tossed the empty onto the growing pile.
"Sing!" he said, his glasses looming closer and bringing a sudden fear to the girl.
He was leaning toward her, the dark lenses reflecting the rays of the setting sun, his hair hang-;ing down over the frames and making him look a great deal like a rag doll that had been left to lay in the weather.
I wonder why he doesn't get that hair cut, she thought. It was so long it must be difficult to keep groomed and the matty mess now looked more like a bedraggled halloween mask than something that was his own. She decided he did look like a rag doll, one that someone had thrown away.
"You're high prize, Baby," he was whispering hoarsely in her ear. "You and me could really swing! How about it?"
Bunny turned away. She didn't like Victor Zigler and wanted nothing to do with him. She regretted consenting to come to the beach and hoped she might still coax Leonard to take her to a movie or something-anything that would take her away from the overgrown delinquent who was making himself so obnoxious.
"I want to go now," she said looking to Leonard beside her, then when he didn't move, "Do you hear me, Lenny?"
Victor burst into a roar of laughter. "I want to go now!" he mimicked. "Do you hear that, Lenny?" He turned on his friend in a tirade of abuse. It was impossible to see the eyes behind the glasses but the impression was there that the eyes were flashing fire.
"I don't like it here," continued Bunny. "You will take me home, won't you?"
"You will take me home, won't you...." Victor echoed the words, his mouth rounding out each syllable and making a mockery of it, then, he burst into laughter again.
Leonard looked to Victor, then back at the girl. "I suppose I could...."
"You creep!" Victor blurted the words and leaned forward menacingly, his face close to Bunny. "You want to spoil the fun?" The girl drew back but said nothing.
"I thought this doll was a real bird," snapped Victor turning on Leonard. "What does she do besides holler Mama? You ever get any out of her?"
"I...." Leonard tried to speak but Victor cut him off.
"What would you do with a chunk like this, Weedo?" The blustering teenager turned to the third companion who sat silently by, paying little attention to the happenings. Guido appeared more entranced by the breaking waves on the beach and the constant flow and recession of the water. His thoughts appeared to be more occupied with the figures further down the Cove and the circling sea gulls overhead, than by the girl or Victor.
Bunny was momentarily relived by the respite from the blustering teenager's attentions. Victor was trying to get the third boy's attention and Guido turned finally to face heckler. He stared at Victor, his glasses pushed up on his forehead and his black eyes narrowed.
"Think she would make a good piece, Weedo?" asked Victor.
Guido straightened his legs and leaned back on one arm. "I don't know," he said, then rolled over in the sand facing the girl.
Bunny Harris felt more relaxed under his gaze. He seemed more like the kids she used to know in school, a little wild but not really bad. It was too bad Victor couldn't be more like him. The girl tucked the skirt up behind her legs and pressed hard, as though she might, by covering the tunnel under her skirt, retain her feeling of virginity and protect herself from Victor.
Victor lunged forward, forcing her back, his weight upon her, pressing her flat. His hands pressed against her cheeks and his mouth came down on hers, half open, in a kiss that seemed to smother her. She struggled, bringing her hands up between them, trying to force him away. She wanted to turn her head away from his smothering mouth but he followed her every move. Closing her lips, she compressed them in a tight line under his probing tongue. Finally his hold on her head relaxed and she broke away.
"You ... You ... A" She couldn't find the words to voice her contempt, her mind was a clutter of confusion. His weight on her chest still pinned her to the sand and she struggled to free herself. He was a heavy boy in spite of his short stature and his attack had taken her so completely by surprise that she was weak from the sudden exertion.
"Leonard!" she cried, hoping he would come to her aid.
"Come on Lenny," exclaimed Victor. "We'll play Rabbit with her!" Victor was moving his torso in a rotating motion and there was little doubt of his intentions.
"Get off me," snapped Bunny. "Let me up."
Victor was up on his knees, holding her to the ground with one arm while his free hand pulled at her skirt. It was up to her waist and his hand probed the elastic of her panties.
The girl struggled and cried out again, striving to free her arms, to push him away, half rising, forcing him back, causing him to free his hold on her. She pushed up to a sitting position, tired and exhausted by the exertion. She was sure her hair was a mess and the green skirt ruined.
Leonard Felton lunged against her, pushing her back down on the sand, burying her upper body beneath his own. He was laughing as though he completely enjoyed the action.
"Now Vic!" he cried pinning the girl beneath him.
Victor Zigler was over her again, crouching above her hips, probing at her dress, grasping the panties by the elastic and pulling them downward as the girl bounced in the sand.
Guido Bartoni paused in his digging to watch. "You shouldn't do that," he commented as the two boys fought to undress the girl.
"Please!" Bunny's voice was barely audible under the weight of Leonard. She was bouncing her legs in an effort to work free while Victor was astride her things holding her down.
"Please!" she begged again and then was still. The boys were disregarding her plea and she felt very tired and weak.
She could feel Victor's hands in her panties, probing, searching feeling. His fingers were brushing the wispy hair at her crotch and all the time she could hear the chortling cackle of his laughter. The sound frightened Bunny and could be heard along the full extent of ocean beach.
Bunny Harris was becoming frightened. Up to now she had given only passive resistance, hoping to make the boys come to their senses and behave themselves. The savagery of the attack sapped her strength and left her helpless. Now, she didn't know what to expect. One drunk could be a problem but two might be dangerous. Leonard had never before shown such belligerent tendencies and Victor was more of a stranger to her. She continued to struggle.
"Damn it Leonard! Stop it!" she demanded when finally her face was free, then she tried to push him back and sit up. "Leonard, damn you Leonard!"
Victor tugged at her pants while Guido watched from his viewpoint on the beach.
"Leonard! Help! Someone, please!" She struggled with the panting, squirming body on her chest and tried to force her buttocks into the sand. Victor pulled the panties down her thighs and blubbered with glee.
"Hey Weed!" he called to Guido when the sexual area had been exposed. "Take a look at this, Man!"
Bunny Harris was crying from fright and flailing her arms. Leonard struggled with her upper torso while Victor worked the pants along her legs. He had pulled them over her hips, stretching the fabric until she relaxed the pressure of her body and permitted them to be tugged lower. When they reached her ankles, she kicked her feet trying to break his hold and get away from the arms that held her.
Victor jerked the panties over the shoeless feet and rose triumphantly to his feet. He twirled the garment on the tip of his finger while he cackled gleefully.
Bunny lay very still and Leonard relaxed his hold on her. Below the waist her body was bare in the dim light and she cried softly, feeling too weak to struggle and too exhausted to get up.
Victor was down on his knees digging dog fashion in the sand, throwing it out between his legs. Then he buried the panties in the hole and scooped the sand back in over the garment. A little mound finished the ceremony and the boy bowed his head over it.
"Here lies all false modesty," he intoned in mock reverence.
The girl climbed to her feet, feeling around for her shoes in the sand. She ignored Leonard who lay on his back looking at the sky. She wondered if he felt a little ashamed. If he did, he didn't show it. She wondered why he had acted as he did. She had always been good to him. He never had to beg for her favors, never had to spend much. She had always serviced him when he desired and this was a very shabby way to treat her. She replaced her shoes and reached for her purse.
"I want to go home," she said and worked with the mussed up skirt. Leonard seemed not to hear. "Leonard," she said again. "I want you to take me home ... now," and the word now was very firm.
"Yeah! Take her home!" chortled Victor. "Take Baby home to Mama!" and he burst into hilarious laughter.
Leonard stung with the implication of words from his idol. He felt he wasn't a Mama's boy and wasn't going to let a girl make him miss out on the fun. The evening was still young and there could be a lot more to do.
"You want I should take her home, Ziggie?"
"That's for you, Preacher." Victor slumped on the sand to light a cigarette and open another can of beer. By now he should be feeling rather light headed and possibly didn't give a damn what anybody did. Victor was accustomed to having what he wanted but didn't want to force the issue in front of the other boys.
Leonard sounded unsure of himself. "Will you wait until I get back Zig?" His voice was solicitous and almost begging. "Will you Ziggie?" Bunny wanted to slap him and see if that would make him act like a man.
"Maybe," Victor said. "It all depends."
"It won't take long." Leonard said trying to explain, "I'll hurry right back."
"And not get into that while you're home?" Victor was dragging deep on a cigarette and taking gulping swallows of the beer. He paused long enough to ask his question and wait for an answer. When none was forth coming he laughed and made faces at Leonard.
"Man, if you're going to waste the stuff, maybe I should utilize the chick myself."
"No!" Bunny said loudly. She was getting the full picture and didn't like the way he was looking at her. "You touch me and I'll scream. I want to go home."
"How about it Lenny?" Victor said and leered at Bunny. He appeared to be enjoying the situation to the utmost.
"I don't know," muttered Leonard. "I...." He was ill at ease, being forced to take a stand between the only two friends he had. He knew that Victor always got what he wanted, even when it was the use of girls. Most girls liked it that way. It was a status symbol to have been 'rocked' by the owner of the polished blue Imp.
"You're crazy man, crazy!'" Victor snickered and dug his heels in the sand. "You got a doll like her and want to keep her all to yourself." He rose to his feet and moved toward the girl.
"You want to share, don't you Baby?" He grinned and reached for her arm. "We always divide what we have."
Bunny stepped back, still trying to arrange her clothing and straighten her hair. Victor continued to confront her. The girl drew herself up, swung with her left hand and caught the boy a stinging blow on the face. He stepped back rubbing the spot. Leonard was so surprised he didn't know what to say. He looked from Victor to Bunny and back to Victor. The girl picked up her purse and ran down the beach.
"If you follow me," she cried, "I'll scream."
"Oh hell, take her home." Victor said. "There ain't no fun if you have to fight with the doll all the time."
Leonard turned to follow the scurrying figure but Bunny was already past the parked car and climbing the embankment. He didn't want to chase her and was beginning to feel very foolish for the way he had acted. He was certain it would be better not to face her again until she had cooled down.
"She'll make it alright," he said sinking back to the ground. "I guess she won't need me."
Victor Zigler grinned behind his dark glasses and opened another can of beer. Guido Bartoni poked a bit of driftwood into the sand and stared out to sea.
"Let's go get your car and drag," suggested Victor.
"Can't," mumbled Leonard. "It needs work."
"Fix it."
"I have to buy a new carburetor."
"Buy?" Victor was amused by the notion of buying anything. "Like with money?"
"Dad says I have to...."
Victor burst into another peal of laughter. "Man you are out!" he blurted. "Buy a carburetor for that gas burner ... you crazy man!"
"But...."
The heckler was finding the situation very amusing. "You stutter man! You're a solid, color-me-white creep! You're like dead ... no guts and no solid bottom ... you're really flat man!" Victor finished his tirade and sat looking at the now dejected companion.
"Stop it," Leonard said and turned to Guido for support.
The third teenager was already on his feet, brushing the sand from his trousers. He stretched to relieve his cramped muscles and tossed an empty beer can into the debris on the sand.
"I have to go home," he said. "My folks will be wondering."
"I have to go home ... I have to go home ... Jeeeezzzusssss!" Victor mimicked. "Man what a bunch of creeps," he lamented.
"My folks aren't like yours," Guido retorted. "When dad says to be home, I have to be there."
"Hell! You might as well be in the Army, soldier boy!"
"Might as well," agreed Guido straightening his pants at the waist.
"Stick around for a while ... it's early yet. We might do some moonlight shoppin'."
"Moonlight shopping?" Guido looked at his friend quizzically.
"You dense, man?" Victor asked in disgust. "Confiscate, pilfer, appropriate ... make like ours man!"
"You wouldn't!"
"Try me," Victor said ripping the top from the last can of beer. He gulped the liquid in long steady swallows until the can was empty, tossed it on the pile and turned toward the embankment. "Try me man," he said again and headed toward the car with long strides. The two boys followed behind with quickening steps that made them look a great deal like two toy poodles trotting along behind their master.
CHAPTER THREE
Arthur Wrigley twisted the glass in his hands and tapped it on the bar in impatient nervousness. He was deeply aggravated by the relationship involving his wife and family. Harriett Wrigley was so busy nowadays she had very little time for him. Her social commitments seemed to be taking up more and more of her time and it was frustrating to be left home alone so much with nothing to do but watch television. He didn't like to read, except Playboy, and he didn't like television. The programs were becoming so juvenile it was impossible to be entertained by them. Everything was for the kids, the movies, the programs, the commercials, everything aimed at the intelligence level of fifteen or under and an adult had little left to occupy his time. Arthur Wrigley wanted companionship, someone to talk to. Denise was out with her friends, Harriett was off on some committee endeavor and this was one night he didn't feel like being alone. It was getting easier every day to drift down to the bar.
He sipped his drink while letting his eyes rove the length of the bar. Beyond, were booths with narrow tables wide enough for two, sometimes four, people. Occasionally a party would occupy the booth while enjoying a cool drink and mutual conversation. Arthur Wrigley decided to accept the comfort and privacy of a booth.
The buzz of conversation of the well patronized bar had a soothing effect on his nerves and the drink began relaxing the built up tensions which bothered him. It filled him with a sense of being a part of something, of belonging somewhere, so he ordered another drink.
She walked slowly by him, the youngish slender girl with the honey colored hair and pleasing figure. She settled on a stool at the end of the bar, sitting so she faced in his general direction and he could see almost all of her well developed body. She deposited her bag at the bottom by the foot-rest and ordered something while working with a lighter to get a cigarette going.
Arthur Wrigley appraised her casually, noting the well formed legs and the flash of white thigh that could be seen from his vantage point. The contour of her body was youthful and vibrant and to Mr. Wrigley, the entire package looked very vivacious and inviting.
He knew he shouldn't be there but didn't care. Tonight he was doing all the things he wasn't supposed to do. Life was meant to be lived and he felt he owed it to himself to have a little teensy bit of fun and see what might come of it.
The girl at the bar was ordering another drink and fumbling in her purse. Arthur Wrigley waved his hand and climbed unsteadily to his feet to attract the bartender's attention. A waitress in tights and low cut costume came by to see what he wanted.
"Drinks for everyone," he said making a sweep of the bar with his hand. "Especially the little lady over there," and he pointed an unsteady finger in her direction. Then, peeling a bill from a clip, he patted it into the waitress' hand. "You set'um up baby," he said. "Give'um what they want."
The waitress tucked the bill into the bodice of her costume and nodded while Mr. Wrigley watched with attentive pleasure. "Tell the little girl hello for me," he added.
The waitress beamed and patted the spot above the buried twenty dollar bill. "I'll do more than that," she offered, and walked over to the honey haired blonde. She leaned over and said something, the young girl turned, looked in his direction and slid off the stool.
"Did you want to tell me something?" she asked approaching the table.
Arthur Wrigley was flustered and at a loss for words. Usually he was quite articulate but the cooperation of the waitress and the response of the girl in the green skirt took him by surprise and he didn't know quite what to say.
"I ... er ... yes," he said delighted and sagged back into his seat behind the table.
"Is this seat taken?" the girl inquired, making it easy for him. She sat down without waiting for a reply, scooting in across from him.
"No," he said grinning foolishly and settling back on the leather cushion. "Please be seated."
The waitress came back with two glasses. "The bartender made these with his best whiskey," she said setting a glass before him. "I'm sure you'll like it." She looked down at the honey haired blonde with a smile of understanding and winked. The blonde lifted her glass. "To us," she said, " ... and a long friendship," and she drank half of it in a long burbling swallow.
Mr. Wrigley drank to that.
It was a long time since Arthur Wrigley had enjoyed the company of any woman other than his wife. What he saw now pleased him very much. The honey colored hair framed a face, with green blue eyes that were seemingly childish and innocent. They were looking on Mr. Wrigley but the look was not one of childish intent but of a cold financial appraisal. Bunny Harris was calculating just how much this kind gentleman might be worth in the financial world and, best of all, just how much he could be worth to her.
"It was nice of you to buy me a drink," she said and her eyes were just moist enough to make them coyish. "I was sure this would be a very lonely evening."
Arthur Wrigley could only smile. He wasn't quite sure what to say and felt that if he waited long enough this beautiful creature might give him an inkling of what she liked to talk about.
"I haven't seen you here before," she said with just enough tone to let him know she was a woman of the world.
"First time," he said. He reached over, snubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray and reached for a fresh one. "Have one?" he said, offering the pack.
The girl refused the offer. "I'd rather dance," she said. "Do you like to dance?"
Dance! His face took on a frightened look. He hadn't expected that. It was fifteen years since his last try at a dance floor. Why did people always insist on dancing? Weren't there other ways of having fun?
She must have read his fear and suspected the reason for it. "It's a beautiful evening," she said. "Would you rather just talk?"
"How about a ride?" he suggested.
She didn't answer right away and he was certain she would refuse. "Just a short one?" he pleaded. "We can get a bottle of our own and go somewhere with it."
Her eyes brightened. "I'd like that," she said and drained what was left in her glass.
He led her from the booth, through the room to the outside where his car was parked. The girl walked along beside him, her arm crooked through his, the heels of her shoes making a tap tap sound on the hard surface. She wore no wrap and swung the large purse at her side as she walked. Overhead, a clear sky was pale about pinpoints of brightness and a bold moon stared down on a city waking up to fun and activity.
He chose a full quart of bourbon at the corner liquor store, then followed her directions to the tiny apartment on a nearby street. When she opened the door, he strode in reluctantly and half afraid. She took the bottle and mix and directed him to a seat on a sofa where he could look out of a window overlooking the street and still see what she was doing in the makeshift kitchen.
He sat and smoked while she made the drinks and brought them to him, then she withdrew to make herself ready for him. When she returned she was wearing only a thin robe, tied at the middle with a belt and hanging very loosely at the top so it gaped open giving him little intimate peeks at the body underneath.
"Ahhhhhhh," he muttered happily when he saw her, then sipped the drink with pleasure because he was thinking of what was going to happen and just the thought of it was enough to make him feel absolutely wonderful.
For twenty years he had known no woman other than his wife, had seen no woman other than his wife. Now he was looking upon the satin smoothness of youth and the contours and firm roundness of the body before him filled him with elation.
The alcohol he had absorbed filled his blood, bringing a growing desire which could be satisfied only by a complete union. He undressed where he stood, tossing his clothing aside and caring not for the sudden discard of modesty. He wanted to be free of everything that hampered his life and stood for the repression of what he wanted to do. He stood before her completely naked, the immensity of him prominently poised. Bunny Harris looked and cringed mentally but outwardly was calm and confident. She discarded the robe, pausing for a moment so he could look and then sank back onto the bed and waiting for him to come to her. Her eyes continued to search his body, then she looked up into his face and smiled.
He sank down upon her, feeling her warm flesh against his own, the pointed nipples of her breasts on his chest and he thrilled to the touch. Then, he crouched above her, slowing feeling his way and mating with her. The warmth of her about him was tantilizing and he realized now all the fun, all the thrills, all the pleasures of variety he had been missing for so many years and decided that he would make up for it.
He pulled the young girl roughly to him, pinching her breasts between his fingers, letting his hand slide down her flat belly to her cunt. He rubbed the opening vigorously letting his finger wander into the opening tweaking it and finger-fucking it in intervals. He felt her fuck juice start to flow. This young girl was all he needed. His massive erection throbbed against her stomach. He picked her up and placed her on the bed. The sight of her young eyes staring up at him, staring at his erect cock, aroused him even further. He looked at her pert little mouth, and, holding his cock in front of him, he advanced so that his groin was over her wondering face. He pushed the shaft of the cock downward, so that the head of it touched her lips.
"Lick it, Baby," he said softly, but command ingly. "Lick my cock."
Her tongue flicked out hesitantly, and he pushed the shaft hard against it. He watched her as she licked the rim of his cock, watched her tongue circle the head, flick into the opening of his penis, and then move down the hard shaft.
He turned around, his ass over her face, and squatted so that his anus and scrotum were in front of her. She knew what he wanted, and she was so hungry for that large cock, she licked anything he put in front of her. She delighted him with the workings of her tongue. Though she had not done this before, she had heard of it, and knew what to do.
Almost expertly, but still somewhat shyly, her tongue darted from his ass hole to his balls, licking the taut skin between. As he lowered himself further, she began to nibble lightly on the flesh thrust before her.
Arthur felt his balls tightening with the need to explode, and he turned around to face the girl, pushing her back onto the bed, and then straddling her, his own mouth lowering to her cunt where he began to lick and suck hungrily, delighting in the musky juices his mouth encountered. He thrust his cock into the girl's throat, fucking her in the mouth, forcing the shaft deep into her throat.
He found her clitoris, erect and nubile, and he began to tongue it expertly, feeling, for the first time, free in this act of sex.
It was the most delightful sensation Bunny had ever known, and she thrust her cunt into his mouth, all the time sucking roughly on his erection, wanting to feel him shoot her full of his manly fuck, wanting to know the taste of his hot come, hungry for his prick.
They climaxed together, his fuck blasting into her throat, almost gagging her, her own juices being sucked up eagerly by the man.
He pulled her hips to him, bury his face in her cunt, moaning, almost crying with the relief, hungry for the sweet smell of her, the hot, sweet smell of her young body. He turned over, pulling her with him, and spreading her ass, looking at the tight little hole.
He knew what he would fuck next.
CHAPTER FOUR
Guido Bartoni was worried. He had butterflies in the pit of his stomach and expected at any moment for something to erupt and wake up the neighborhood.
Nothing did.
Now that the plan was in the act of execution, he wasn't feeling very good. Talking about busting a scene and actually doing it wasn't quite as exciting. Not near so much as when Victor first talked about it. Guido had never engaged in burglary before. This was something the fellows always talked about, making it sound very easy and very wild. He remembered the stories of the thrill, the excitement, the kicks of climbing a wall, breaking a window and entering into the unknown.
It wasn't quite that simple.
They had climbed a fence and entered the yard but it didn't seem so thrilling. Someone could be watching them and perhaps even be calling the police ... and it didn't seem a bit easy.
Guido was scared.
It was rumored that Joe Dent kept dogs in his wrecking yard. Ferocious dogs with sharp teeth, trained to stop a man. Guido Bartoni didn't like dogs, not dogs that were trained to bite. He hung back, trying to wrap himself in a cloak of darkness and hide from the realization that he was doing wrong.
Leonard coaxed him in an anxious whisper, urging him to stay close and he followed along behind, trying vainly to see in the dim light, bumping objects in his path and wishing heartily that he had gone home as first intended. He felt a tinge of conscious and wondered what the others would say if he simply cut out and went home. He mentally rejected that idea also, he was much too afraid of invoking Victor's wrath by mentioning the idea.
Victor Zigler gave every indication of being experienced in what he was doing and was enjoying it. He hammered a nail into the wooden door jam just beyond the edge. It slanted upward and in where, as it progressed, the tip would push against the beveled tongue of the latch forcing it back. He tapped lightly and patiently, after each series until the door pushed free. Then he opened the door slowly and inched inside. It was now too dark to see without a light and he struck a match, holding it high in order to get the most from the feeble glow. Guido watched intently as he moved about the room.
"Turn on the light." Victor said, pointing to the switch.
"Light?" Guido wasn't certain he had heard right. He looked to Victor for reassurance.
"Yeah man! The daylight stuff-make with the brain, like right now!"
"But a light!" Guido was sure that even a glimmer would bring the law dashing in on them.
Victor was irked by his attitude. "You scared?" he demanded.
"No," Guido said. He was too worried to say much more.
"Then make with the light, man."
The teenager moved toward the swtich, stumbled against a chair, knocking over an ashtray stand and sending it clattering to the floor in a burst of noise that sounded more like a bathtub than a small dish.
"Jeeeeezusssss!" hissed Victor and turned to see what was causing the commotion. "Quiet man, you want to wake everybody?"
The offender cringed against a wall while Victor lighted a new match, then reached up and flicked the light button. The illumination burst with a brilliance that made the three boys blink.
Victor was elated. "Jackpot!" he cried in triumph and headed for the nearest shelf of parts. Guido still held back, feeling uneasy and frozen momentarily so that he could only watch as his two companions began advancing to the shelves. The sudden view of the room in the light made him feel even more uneasy and strengthened his realization that he shouldn't be there. He knew they were trespassing and could guess what his folks would say if they ever found out.
"Come on creep," Victor said glaring at him. "Grab a handful," and he motioned to the shelves of accessories. Guido obligingly headed for the rows of packages and used parts.
Leonard Felton shuffled forward reaching for a shelf and the items on it. He was familiar with the merchandise except that this stuff was dirty and greasy, just as it had come from the wrecked automobiles in the yard outside.
"What do you want?" he asked of Victor, "This?" and pointed to an item on the shelf above. "You want a carburetor, creep! Help yourself."
"This junk," muttered Leonard in disgust. "Not for my car."
Victor reached up and lifted a device from the upper shelf. He held it out so Leonard could see it.
"Four barrel with over linkage. Try it chump," and he pushed it in the boy's direction.
Leonard surveyed the item. It was covered with a black layer of accumulated dirt and grease. He reached out to touch it and then drew back as his fingers sank into the goo of the dirty metal.
"Not me," he said. "I want something good," and put a strong emphasis on the word good.
"You like how the Imp runs?" Victor asked peering at Leonard over the rim of the used part. He was leering sarcastically and the glint in his eyes irritated the younger boy.
"Sure ... That's...."
"Just like your's," Victor said interrupting. "Just like this," he held the carburetor out so Leonard could see. "Christ man, how do you think I can afford the Imp? I don't need money, I have friends," and he laughed again in the high falsetto which was becoming unnerving to both Guido and Leonard.
"Don't want it," mumbled Leonard. "I think I'll go home."
"Me too," Guido decided, suddenly remembering that he had extra work to do tomorrow. He pulled his eyes away from the carburetor and tried to bring a smile to his face. "I think I better go now," he added.
Victor's attitude changed from one of disgust to amusement. "Let's go home," he snickered. He removed his dark glasses, folded them and tucked them in the pocket of his shirt. For the first time, he looked at the world without them.
"You guys for real?" he demanded. "Where's your guts," and then he snickered again.
Guido removed his dark glasses and placed them in his pocket, copying almost motion for motion, the same action as his friend. He started at the single light bulb hanging from its cord and wondered vaguely if he should snap off the switch. "I don't care," he stated with a sudden surge of determination, "I'm scared."
"Go man!" blurted Victor. "If Mama says run, you run. Don't stay with me man ... if you want to run, you run." He was climbing the shelves, removing articles he wanted and placing them in a cardboard box from behind the counter.
"Move man!" he snapped to the two transfixed, insecure thieves. "Help yourself." All the while he was selecting articles from shelves, showcases and placing them in his box. "Hurry." He said. "You better hurry."
Guido began scooping up articles of his own with abandon. Parts, accessories, side view mirrors, radio antenna, anything he could pickup and dumping it in a pile beside the box. Leonard watched with a drawn face and appeared as though he might be about to cry. Outside, a loud barking broke the stillness, followed by a mournful howl.
Victor paused, one arm outstretched, a foot seeking a new foothold on the shelves. He listened for a moment and then dropped to the floor.
"Let's get out of here," he ordered and bent over to pick up his box. He hoisted it to his shoulder and headed for the door through which they had entered only a few minutes earlier.
"Go man!" he said quickly. "You want to stand an early seven! Move it creep!" and he hurried through the door into the darkness toward the fence they had just climbed and which now could be the beginning of their imprisonment. Guido trotted along behind, carrying the carburetor. In his mind's eye he could see it sitting atop the intake manifold of the old Chevy delivery truck. The aging motor always needed something done to make it run better and Guido had just made up his mind that this was a good time to start doing something about it.
Leonard scurried along behind, aware that the dogs were barking at full volume and up the street, people were probably looking out their windows and wondering what was causing all the commotion.
A black shape bounded across the yard, darting between hulks of wrecked automobiles. Two burning eyes searched for an opening in the fence. The object moved toward Victor, passing between his legs, pausing only long enough to claw at this new menace and then hurtling up the fence and over the top. A wavering 'Meeoow' floating back its defiance.
Victor Zigler stumbled and then caught his balance as the box dropped from his grasp. It crashed to the ground in a jumble of rattling metal. The sounds echoed and re-echoed across the yard and the boys quivered in indecision.
"God damn!" bellowed Victor and danced about in pain. He lifted his foot to rub the ankle where a metal object had bounced off on its way to the ground.
"Hurry," pleaded Leonard heading for the fence.
"Right behind you," Guido said in encouragement as he reached for the tip of the wooden boundry.
"Don't leave, Victor," cautioned Leonard, stopping at the fence looking back. "He might need help."
Victor was back on two feet and hurrying toward them. He had neglected to retrieve his box or any part of it's contents. In the aftermath of the accident and the urgency of escaping whatever it was that had discovered them, he had forgotten the box and its contents. The boys had no further desire for anything other than climbing that fence and finding the Imp as quickly as possible. Except Guido....
He clutched the carburetor to his bosom as he scrambled up the fence and over to the other side. He had come this far to get it and had no intention of returning home without it.
* * *
Bunny Harris had expected that sooner or later, they would be getting around to her. Someone had mentioned in a course of casual conversation that two plainclothesmen were doing some investigating around the neighborhood. They had also mentioned it had something to do with the three boys, Victor, Leonard and Guido.
Now that they were here she couldn't see anything to be so shaken up about; after all, they were only men and she could expect to have them eating out of her hands in at least five minutes or so.
She surveyed them with calculating eyes, asked them in and wondered what to tell them. The older one she definitely decided was cute, with the gray hair in his temple showing up with just the right degree of prominence to make him look distinguished. It also made him look older.
"This is Sergeant Cunicheck," he said introducing his partner. I'm Inspector Hamilton."
"Charmed," Bunny said, scanning the room for suitable places to sit. She wondered vaguely if they were here on business or for kicks, after all, they were men and, well, men were men.
"We want to ask some questions," began Mr. Cunicheck. "Hope you don't mind?"
"Not at all," Bunny said and decided she liked the younger man better. Perhaps with a little urging he could turn out to be a pretty good mark. He looked in his early thirties, a dark muscular man with the build of an athlete but appearing none too bright. He was giving her the eye and that was good. He was also following the lines of her body like he was drawing a picture and from the expression on his face, he liked very much whatever he was drawing.
"How old are you, Miss Harris?" he asked when she had motioned them to a seat on the davenport in the tiny living room.
"Twenty one," she lied, looking him straight in the eye without flinching.
"You sure?"
"Of course," she said adding to her first lie. "If you don't believe me, ask my mother."
"Where can we find her?"
"Anywhere there's men. Just look around. She might even give YOU a date." The girl laughed with a half catch that sounded more like a sob. "She doesn't have time for me anymore. Afraid I might take one of her boy friends away from her."
The girl settled onto the one remaining chair and crossed her legs. That was a good position for men. Something about it made them breath harder and that always helped when it came time to ask for money. The tight skirt drew up above her knees displaying a large expanse of leg and shiny stocking. Above the knee in the. tunnel of the skirt, a flash of white thigh drew the attention of Mr. Cunicheck. He looked quickly, turned away and then looked again. His superior noticed his confusion an decided to take over the questioning.
"Where is your father, Miss Harris?" he inquired striving to ignore the leg below the skimpy skirt. His gaze traveled up and down her body and for a moment their eyes met. A flush of color mounted his cheek, he coughed and then cleared his throat.
"Cripes!" muttered the girl. "Call be Bunny. This Miss Harris stuff makes me feel positively sticky."
"All right Bunny, where can we find your father?"
"He left home years ago-back east somewhere-ran off with some little flip young enough to be my sister. That's what Esther says."
"Esther?" The Inspector looked puzzled.
"My mother," Bunny said in disgust. Why did they always need a picture drawn of everything. Can't a person have some things kept secret?
"Oh," Mr. Hamilton said as though he understood but the look on his face proved he didn't.
"She didn't like me calling her mother or mom or anything like that when any of her men freinds were around, so...." The girl toyed with a lipstick on a side table and looked dejected. " ... so I called her Esther. She liked that."
"Was she the one that was known as the lady of Nebraska Street?" inquired the sergeant. The inspector looked sharply in his direction and frowned.
"They called her the Bitch who ran at the head of the pack," replied Bunny. "Isn't that a marvelous thing to live up to!"
The sergeant coughed while the inspector looked embarrassed.
"It doesn't matter." Bunny said. "I'm used to it." and she began dabbing her fingers with a brush from the bottle beside her chair. A bit of moisture appeared in the corner of her eye but she wiped it away.
"We want to know what happened the night you went down on the beach."
"Oh that...!" She was working with her skirt, trying to pull it down over the expanse of leg showing above the knee. Cunicheck was deeply engrossed in the proceedings. Her eye caught his, a look of understanding passed between them and she shifted on her chair so her legs pointed more in his direction. Then she recrossed the nylon clad attractions, tugging the skirt just a bit higher to permit the partner a full view of what she had to offer.
The younger officer blushed, lowered his eyes and turned his head away. The girl in the chair was puzzled and couldn't understand for a moment, then she remembered that she had failed to don the most important garment of all in her haste to answer the door. She smiled at the officer and placed her feet flat on the floor. He looked disappointed so she recrossed her legs again and waited for him to turn away. He didn't. She smiled and turned her attention to the older man. She had already won one battle and was in a mood to launch another.
The Inspector was looking also, his eyes darting from the knees, up the tunnel between her legs to the bare anatomy displayed and then back to the knees.
"You think I have nice legs?" Bunny asked in all seriousness. She had a bit of a smile coursing her face and her eyes began to grow bright. "Do you think so?"
"Yes I do, Miss ... Bunny. I really do." The Inspector paused in confusion and then continued his questioning.
CHAPTER FIVE
Guido Bartoni stared at the black sedan and the two men who got out of it. He was accustomed to seeing salesmen call on his father because of the store. It was part of the business of being a store keeper. This time however, something about them seemed to be different. They didn't have sample cases or carry themselves like salesmen, and the way they looked, first at him, then at the surroundings, made him wonder what they might want.
Guido was working on the truck. When the men approached the store he burrowed back into the recesses beneath the hood and tugged at the wrench and nut which had been causing him so much trouble. He hadn't intended to do an overhaul job. He didn't know that much about motors and the folks wouldn't like it. It was his intention to remove the old carburetor and replace it with the one he had acquired through the moonlight shopping at Dent's. It never occurred to him that replacing the old one with a newer model wouldn't be sufficient to give the pep and economy he desired in the worn out panel truck.
"Your name Guido?" The voice took him by surprise and he jerked up, hitting his head on the underside of the hood and sending a stabbing pain across the top of his temple.
"Damn," he muttered and rubbed his head.
"Didn't mean to startle you," the voice said and he looked out from under the hood into the face of the taller of the two men. The stranger had a face that looked serious. "Didn't mean to startle you," he said apologetically. "Looking for Guido Bartoni."
"That's me," the boy said and pulled back from under the raised hood. The spot on his head hurt and he continued to rub it with the palm of his hand, then brushing back the hair from his eyes, he tried to see the men better. Once more that peculiar feeling was forming in his stomach and fear became his strongest emotion.
"I'm Guido," he admitted. "If you want the folks...."
"I'd rather talk to you," the man said. "I would like you to answer a couple of questions." He paused as though expecting the boy to pick up the conversation. Guido remained silent.
"Do you know Leonard Felton or a Victor Zigler?"
"Yes."
"Close friends?"
"I guess so." Guido wiped his hands on a grease rag and prepared for the worst. They had to be cops.
"You chase around with them?"
"Chase around?" He knew what the man meant but the words came out anyhow.
"Go for rides with them, spend time together, do things?"
"We go to the drags sometimes."
"With Victor's car?"
"Yes...."
"How about Leonard Felton?"
"He goes too."
The stranger looked absently at the tire of the panel truck. His hands were in his pockets and there was a thoughtful look on his face. "With his car?" he asked.
"He doesn't race it," Guido said.
"Why not?" inquired the stranger turning away from the panel truck. "I understand he has a very good one."
"It needs work on it."
"A new Corvette?" The man pushed his hat to the back of his head and leaned toward the raised hood of the truck. He was scrutinizing the signs of the replaced head, also noting the carburetor had been replaced.
"Leonard's car isn't new," explained Guido. "It has a good paint job but needs work."
"Isn't his father a dealer?"
"Yeah," Guido wished they would come to the point. He was beginning to feel uneasy with all the questioning and still not knowing what they wanted.
The taller man grunted and took a pipe from his pocket. "Doesn't he get parts to fix his car?"
"His Dad says he has to pay for the stuff he gets."
"He has to work to buy what he wants?"
"He gets an allowance ... at least that's what he says."
"Then he would like to get the stuff to fix his car up?"
Guido had that feeling again. Something in the man's tone was coming through to him. They weren't salesmen, they had to be cops. And the questions, the only reason for that must be what happened the other night at Dent's. They hadn't taken anything. Victor had dropped his box and Leonard didn't want used parts. There wasn't any thing stolen except ... except ... Unconsciously Guido's gaze moved to the carburetor atop the intake manifold. He dropped his eyes so the men wouldn't see and when he looked up, it was to stare point blank into the quizzical expression of the older man.
"Doing some tune up on the old buggy?" the man asked casually.
"New head gasket." Guido said pointing to the residue he had cut from the oversize blank. " I had to trim it down a bit to make it fit this block."
"How about the head? Did you have to mill that down?"
Guido shook his head in the negative. "Couldn't," he said. "I used two gaskets and pulled it down tight. It should take up the warp so it won't blow." He pointed toward the application on the block so they could see. "Can't do too much to this old wreck," he added.
"How old are you, son?" asked the tall man.
"Almost eighteen."
"Are you taking this in high school?" indicating the mechanical work with a jerked thumb. "I don't go any more."
The tall man showed a bit of surprise. "Oh, you quit?"
"Yeah, had to help the folks."
"Too bad," remarked the second man. "Pretty rough nowadays without an education."
"I get by," muttered Guido.
"Where were you Thursday night?" asked the tall man.
"Thursday night?" The feeling in his stomach increased in intensity. Now he knew they were cops. "I don't know."
"Think," suggested the second man. "You should be able to remember a few days back."
"I think we went down to the beach."
"Who were we," he inquired.
"Victor and Lenny." Guido said.
"No one else?"
"There was a girl."
"A girl?"
"The fellows call her Bunny."
"Where does she live?"
"I'm not sure. Leonard would know."
"Leonard Felton? Why him?"
"She's his girl."
"She went along? To the beach?"
"Yes." the boy said.
"Was she with you all evening?"
"Most of the time." The boy answered the questions even though he felt he might be telling something he shouldn't. Perhaps the matter wasn't the break-in at Dent's after all. Perhaps something had happened to Bunny.
"How late?" the man asked.
"I don't know...."
"Didn't you look at the time?"
"No-it was dark."
"Real dark."
"Pretty dark. The moon didn't show much."
"Then what did you do? "
"When?" Guido was becoming bothered. He wasn't certain what they were hinting at. "On the beach ... What did you do?"
"Just fooled around a bit."
"Nothing else?"
"Just Bunny and Leonard had a fight."
Now the tall man was interested. "Fight?" he echoed. "What kind of fight?"
"Leonard tried to rock her on the beach."
The tall man looked surprised and cast knowing looks to the second man, who grinned and seemed amused about something.
"What did he do?" inquired the tall man.
"To Bunny?"
"You said he tried to rock her ... isn't she his steady?"
"Yeah...." Guido paused for a moment. The tall man had a serious look about him but still seemed friendly. The boy decided to explain what he could. "Victor wanted to try her," he said. " ... and they got into a scuffle."
"Victor wanted to try her?" the tall man was puzzled but the man behind his was grinning from ear to ear.
"She has a reputation of giving out and Victor wanted some."
"This modern slang," snorted the tall man. "You have to be a college professor to keep up with them." He put tobacco in his pipe from a black pouch and tamped it with his finger. His face was blank to what the boy was insinuating.
"That's when they had the ... er ... scuffle?"
"Yeah ... when Victor and Leonard removed her...." The boy dropped his eyes and his voice stopped. The tall man sat a firm paw and urged the boy.
"Removed her what, Guido?"
"Her pants."
"What did she do?"
"She got mad and left."
"Then what did the boys do?"
"We drank the rest of the beer and horsed around on the beach."
"How long?" inquired the tall man.
"Until pretty late."
"Then where did you go?"
"I had to come home. The folks wanted me to come home early and I did."
"You didn't go anywhere else ... sure?"
"No." Guido hoped his face didn't show the uncertainty he felt. He wondered why all the questioning about a picky little thing like Joe Dent's Wrecking Yard. Everyone expected the kids to get parts there, and according to the word that went around, they all did.
"That all?" asked the second man.
"That's the bit." Guido said and hoped he sounded convincing.
The men turned back toward the sedan. The tall man said something to his companion and they both looked back at the boy.
"You let me know if you think of anything else," the tall man called across the space. "Just phone the station and ask for Inspector Hamilton."
"Ok." Guido said and opened the hood of the truck. Once more he burrowed into the maw of wires and rods and greasy metal. The door opened from the kitchen and a short dark haired woman peered through the screen. "What they want?" she demanded.
Guido crawled back from beneath the hood, turning to face his mother.
"Nothing Ma. Just a couple fellows checking around," and he dug back into the mysteries of the worn out truck.
* * *
Leonard Felton was both mentally and physically disturbed. The saga of the night on the beach had other reprecussions than the scrutiny of the law. It also created an estrangement between himself and Bunny. Not being able to submit his requirements to Bunny was creating a bad case of anxiety and frustration. His attentions were equally divided between the book he held in his hand and the long haired brunette who, doing the Frug squarely in his line of vision, continually turned her head in his direction to smile.
He opened the cover of the book and looked at the flyleaf:
The Art of making love!
How to have complete satisfaction!
Best positions and techniques.
The erogenous zones and how to caress them.
"Wow!" muttered Leonard as he read down the page and then turned to the first chapter.
"What is it?" asked Guido who sat across from him in the booth.
"Nothing," muttered Leonard. He adjusted his dark glasses and read further down the page. "Preliminary Coital Technique: The best positions. "
"What's Coital Technique, Weedo? He asked his companion.
Guido grimaced. "I don't know-you go to school."
Leonard read on. He was becoming deeply engrossed in the visions the words were bringing to mind. He tingled with a sense of excitement which bolstered his ego and stimulated muscles already causing him too much discomfort. His thoughts were carrying him into a phase of daydreaming where he was master of all and his every wish satisfied. Right now he needed his desires satisfied ... desperately.
"Weedo!" a voice exclaimed and another boy pushed into the booth. Guido looked up into the face of Victor Zigler. He said "Hi Ziggie!"
"The beer's on you friend." Victor ventured hopefully.
"I'm broke," muttered Guido.
"Me too." Victor said. "Boy, I sure would like a beer." He looked across at Leonard who closed his book and stared back at him.
"What's up Lenny?"
"He's mooning over his lost love," observed Guido. He grinned at his friend and reached for the book. "He's still hunting Bunny."
"You Dope," accused Victor.
"Why me?" demanded Leonard. "I miss her...."
"You ain't seen her since the beach?"
Leonard twisted his head in a negative answer. "She won't answer the phone," he complained.
"Two men came to my house." Guido told Victor. "They were asking about things."
"How much did you tell them?"
"Nothing. Only that we went to the beach."
"Nothing that happened afterwards?" Victor wanted to be sure.
"No." Guido said again and reached for the book which Leonard had laid down. He opened it to the page Leonard had found so inticing and started reading the double spaced lines.
"Cops?" Victor asked.
"Two of them. They didn't say but I'm sure they were cops."
"They were." Leonard said reaching for his book. "They talked to Dad. He saw their badge."
"The creeps," muttered Victor. "Always nosing around ... trying to catch a guy at something."
"You too?" asked Guido. "They talk to you too?"
"Naw ... just the old man."
"Did they tell him?"
"Who cares." interrupted Victor. He adjusted his dark glasses and pushed the long hair back to one side. "Who cares what they tell an old man...?"
"Wouldn't he care?"
"Him!" Victor giggled and dug in his pocket for a cigarette. "Him! Hell, he wouldn't care if they drug me away for keeps."
"Oh," whispered Guido and his eyes dropped to the open page of the book.
"You readin' that crud too, Weedo?"
"Don't mean nothin'." He snapped the book shut and slid it across the table top to Leonard. "Just lookin' at it." he said.
"You're weird, man! Readin' books when you could be gettin' the real thing."
"What?" inquired Guido.
"Fuckin", stupid! What else is worth while?"
Guido blinked and seemed to shudder from the shock of the actual word. "How?" he asked suddenly becoming interested. "Where?"
"Girls."
"I know, but where?"
"Oh Christ!" blurted Victor. "Are you dumb." He looked at his friend as though expecting an explanation. None was forthcoming. "Anywhere," he said finally. "Anywhere there's girls."
Guido toyed with the coke glass and batted his eyes behind the dark glasses. He was thankful Victor couldn't see his eyes. "Of course." he said in his strongest masculine tone. "But where do you get the girls?"
Victor burst into a fit of laughter that made the other occupants of the Pink Rabbit stop and look about. "You're dead, really dead." he chortled. "You . ... Where do I find girls?" he mimicked, then loud laughter again. "Dead man! You are dead!"
"Well...." Guido bit the word off. He had intended to say something but thought better of it. He didn't fully understand Victor and, even though he wanted to be more like him, was afraid of the older boy.
"Ring 'um man!" Victor said and held out his hand. "Give 'em one of these." And displayed a cigarette he had taken from a package.
Guido reached for the cylinder of tobacco but Victor jerked it back beyond his reach.
"Uh uh," he said waving a finger. "This is special stuff. You don't get any here."
"What is it?" Leonard asked looking at the brown coarse paper. "A Mexican cigarette?"
"It's a cigarette all right, you can bet that ... it's more." He looked at Leonard and then sideways to Guido. "You'd like it," he said. "It's a full flight into tomorrow, a night at the strip, an armful of angels, a full piece of ... of...." he paused, searching for the word. " ... poontang," he finished.
"Huh!" Guido blurted. "What's that?"
"Girl stuff!" snorted Victor. "A handful of Pud, a ticket to some all night fuckin' ... that's what!
"Shhhhhhh!" Leonard said hissing. He was certain the explanation had been heard all over the Pink Rabbit.
Victor looked across the room to the bouncing dancers who never seemed to stop. "You kill me." he chortled. "Who cares what we talk about ... You think they don't say the same things?" He beat his hand on the table in accompanyment of the 'Swampers and Their Golden Bucket'. The clatter of sound held the same level of decibels as a pneumatic pavement hammer. Anything heard above that would have to be in the realm of an atomic blast.
"Savvy?" he asked grinning across at Leonard. "It's loud even if it isn't groovy."
Leonard Felton could see he was right. No one was paying attention to them. Every one in the Pink Rabbit had projections of their own to take care of. "What is it?" he asked, indicating the cigarette.
"Pot," stated Victor. "The soft float, the big dream ... It's wild man!" He was twisting the cylinder in his fingers and carressing it like a lost love.
"What?" asked Guido.
"Pot," he said, then held the tube so they could see it more clearly. "Smell it." he suggested.
"It stinks," muttered Guido.
"It smells like a dank weed." remarked Leonard trying to remember something to compare it with. "What is it ... really...?"
"A flight to the moon ... With a girl ... a piece of ass for sure"
"You're kidding!"
"Try one."
"When could we do it?"
Victor looked at Leonard who had been most enthused in his descriptions. "When will you have money for beer and stuff?"
Leonard twisted uneasily in his seat. "I'm flat." he stated. "Dad says I'm borrowed too far ahead to get anymore."
"Weedo?"
"Flat," explained Guido. "I'm a poor boy, remember?"
"Jeeeezusssssss!" groaned Victor removing his glasses. "What a situation." His eyes narrowed in the light of the room and he quickly replaced the shades. "God damn!" he mumbled. "What a situation."
"Next week maybe?" suggested Leonard.
"What's with next week?" Victor was becoming calm now which meant he was once more interested in listening to suggestions.
"Presentation week."
"Presentation what?"
"Cars." Leonard said and began to wonder if he had said too much already.
"Give Creep, make with the plan. What's with cars?"
"His folks are going to Detroit." He turned grinning at Leonard. "I can learn things to," he explained.
"Happy day!" breathed Victor. "What day?"
Leonard thought for a moment. "Middle of the week, Wednesday, I think."
Victor liked the sound of that. The middle of the week would be fine. "Can you have a party?"
"I'll ask mom."
"All alone?" Victor pressed for more information.
"Alone?" Leonard was puzzled.
"Will you be alone when they go?"
Leonard nodded in the affirmative. "Except for maybe Edith."
"Happy day!" exploded Victor. "Hear that Weedo? Happy day!"
Guido Bartoni had been lost to the thread of conversation. He couldn't see what Leonard's folks going to Detroit had to do with the little cigarettes that would make girls give him what he wanted. "How come?" he inquired.
Victor was overcome by elation. "We'll throw us a real party," he exclaimed happily. "Beer, reefers, and oodles and oodles of girls! Boy what a day."
"I didn't say...." Leonard said trying to recapture his statement.
"You'll do it, Lenny? Won't you?" Victor stated. His tone was chiding and indicated that NO was not the answer he expected.
"I guess so." Leonard agreed reluctantly. "Yeah, I guess so."
"You comin' Weedo?"
"There's going to be girls?"
"Sure. Lenny's gonna invite 'um, ain't ya' Lenny?" Victor was leering at his friend and even the glasses which hid his eyes couldn't hide the full degree of his rapture.
"Sure," Leonard said but his heart wasn't in it.
"Count me in," decided Guido. "I'm building up a real good storm!"
"And you'll invite Bunny," stated Victor. He laid the brown cigarette down on the table and pushed it across toward Leonard. He was toying with it, moving it a fraction of an inch at a time and carressing it with his finger. Leonard watched fascinated.
"OK, OK," he said giving in. "If I can get her to come."
Victor nodded his assent. "Sure, sure." After all, he wasn't that interested in Bunny. There were other girls. He turned his attention to the Malt bar and the kids dancing in between. One long haired doll attracted him and he wanted to do a little serious watching.
"I'll go call her," Leonard offered and headed for the phone booth in the corner.
"I could sure use a beer," Victor said looking toward the bar. "I suppose they have beer here." He was becoming more interested in the girls. He liked to see them go through the high stepping routines of the modern jump dances. The skirts bounced so high on their legs and occasionally a doll would leave off everything underneath just so....
"No beer in here." Guido told him. "Just soft drinks."
"What a bunch of creeps," complained Victor. "A bar and no beer. Boy what creeps!"
"Yeah." echoed Weedo. "Creeps."
Victor was trying to see the booth where Leonard was phoning. "Damn, what I wouldn't give for a beer." He looked once more for the boy. " Get Lenny and we'll go have a beer bust, on him."
"He's over there." Guido said pointing to the booth. It was empty. "Well, he was over there."
Leonard came back with a good looking girl who had long hair and wore a miniskirt. He was carrying two glasses of coke and was intent in explaining something to her. Victor rose quickly to his feet, took her arm and offered the seat where Leonard had been before.
"Hello Doll," he said guiding her to the seat. "I'm Vic, who are you?"
The girl's look of surprise turned to one of amusement. She giggled and moved over so he could sit beside her. "Denise, Denise Wrigley."
"She's with me," blurted Leonard. "I invited her over."
"Thanks." Victor said putting a hand in the girl's lap. "I know she was dying to meet me." Leonard groaned in disappointment. "We were going to dance. Denny is showing me how to Frug."
"I'll have her show me something else." Victor paused for a moment and glared at Leonard, then added "Something much better."
"You going to get some beer?" inquired Denise.
"Lenny is." Victor said. He was still looking at Leonard who was becoming nervous from the gaze. "Ain't'cha Lenny?"
"She was with me," complained Leonard looking from Victor to Denise. "I saw her first."
"You can buy her her first beer," promised Victor. "I'll help her drink it."
"I'm broke." Leonard said staring at his new found girlfriend who appeared on the verge of becoming Victor's girl. "Nuts!" he retorted. "I'm going home."
"Me too," stated Guido. "Dad says be home at ten, I'm home at ten."
"Well!" muttered Victor. "At least they care!"
"Huh!" Guido said.
"Nothing," remarked Victor. "How about it Doll? You got money for beer? We could take a ride in the Imp and go down to the beach and after the beer we could dig in the sand and then if you were in the mind to...."
Guido pushed out from behind the table. "This is where I came in," he said and headed for the door.
Lenny started to follow, but Victor grabbed his wrist and pulled him into the seat beside him and the girl.
"Stick around, little buddy," Victor said, half threateningly, "and I'll show you how a man works it." He laughed roughly and hugged the girl to him." How's about it, Doll? Wanna go down to the beach and rock a little?"
She snuggled against him, enjoying his young arms around her. "Sure, Honey," she simpered. "Sure."
* * *
The Imp stood on the hilltop empty in the warm sunlight. Below the hill, the girl was giggling as Victor ran his hand along her naked legs towards her cunt.
"You like, Lenny?" Victor said, teasingly.
Leonard lowered his head, not quite daring to look at the young couple, almost embarrassed by their public display, and yet fascinated.
Victor grabbed Lenny's hand and pulled it to the girl's cunt. "Feel that, Man," he ordered, holding Lenny's hand on the moist opening. "Now that's how you know when to fuck a chick. When all her hot fuck juice starts running down her legs. Stick a finger in her hole, Stud. Get a good feel."
Lenny jerked his hand away from Victor's grasp. " Shit, man, I've felt a girl before. Screwed 'em, too."
"Ohhhhh! A big man, already. Well, what say we bang this chick. Me first, then you, until we both get satisfied.
"Ah," Lenny started to protest.
"You ain't goin' to be a chicken shit and try to get outta this, are ya, Stud," Vic said, with a heavy emphasis on the word Stud. "I mean, you got the tool, don't ya?" He reached over and punched Lenny's groin.
"Hey, Man, don't!" Lenny said. "I ain't goin' to chicken out. Ya wanna bang the bitch, let's bang her."
The girl lay back, exposing her vagina and her taut young breasts.
"Tell ya what, Lenny, Old Buddy, Old Stud, You take her ass and I'll screw her cunt."
Lenny squirmed a little, somewhat afraid, but even more fearful of losing Victor's respect. "Sure, Man. Sure."
They laid the girl between them, inserting their cocks, their hands rubbing her body fiercely.
CHAPTER SIX
Arthur Wrigley put down his copy of Playboy and started to undress. Bunny was in the kitchen mixing drinks, and he wanted to be ready for her when she returned.
Never in his life had he felt so completely satisfied as he did with this girl and he had no intention of letting anyone deny him his pleasure. He knew he shouldn't be in her apartment but he didn't care. It was his privilege and he intended to make use of it. The whole thing was mapped out in his magazine and all he had to do was live up to it. He was a human being, he was an individual and he was entitled to have a little bit of what he desired, and right now, he desired most of all Bunny Harris.
Bunny Harris was agreeable that Arthur Wrigley should have her. She happened to like Mr. Wrigley, but liked even more what Mr. Wrigley was doing for her. Now the rent was paid and there was no roommate to contend with. She had a new dress to go dancing in and enough liquor to keep Arthur happy. No more beating herself with some young punk who expected a weekend of fucking for a measly few bucks and expected her to thank him for the sacrifice. Meeting up with Mr. Wrigley had been a stroke of luck and she had no intention of permitting anyone to change it.
"Here's your drink, Honey," she said coming out of the kitchen with two glasses on a tray. "I hope you like it. I bought Early Times this time instead of the stuff you didn't like."
"Great!" exclaimed Mr. Wrigley. He was in the process of pulling his pants off but took the glass and drank deeply.
"Ahhhhhhhh!" he sighed in satisfaction. "That sure hits the spot." He sat the glass on a small end table and began unbuttoning his shirt. The girl settled down in the one big easy chair in the apartment, pulled the thin negligee about her middle and sipped at her own drink.
"Here's to us," she said beaming in the direction of Arthur Wrigley and holding out her glass.
"And more to come," promised Mr. Wrigley taking note of the flimsy garment and the inviting flesh he could see through it.
"That too," promised Miss Harris. She turned, startled, as the door rattled from the force of the fist which struck it repeatedly on the outside, then hurried to see who it was who would dare to spoil their afternoon.
She pulled the negligee closer about her, completely aware that the thin material was incapable of shielding her body from whoever would be calling. "Who's there" she asked through the door.
"It's me." Leonard said from the other side. "I want to talk to you."
"Go away," muttered Bunny "Go away ... I'm busy."
"I want to see you." Leonard said again and rapped once more on the door.
"Go away," the girl said again.
"Who the hell's that!" barked Mr. Wrigley completely miffed by the distraction.
"A kid I know."
"A kid....Kid!" blurted Mr. Wrigley. "You been wasting this stuff on kids?"
Bunny tried to explain her statement. "Just a friend. I played him for kicks."
"Jesus! You're not banging any more kids! Tell him to get lost!"
"Go away," repeated Miss Harris.
"Not until I talk to you," insisted the boy and the door rattled in the frame as he jerked the knob.
The girl turned the catch of the night lock and pulled the door open a few inches. "All right, what do you want?" she demanded through the opening. "What's so damned important it can't wait another five minutes?"
The boy blinked and then his eyes opened wide in astonishment. For a moment he was unable to speak while his gaze took in the full impact of the thin robe which hung open at the front, leaving her bare body to the full view of his scrutiny. "I have to see you." he stammered.
"What about?" asked Miss Harris. She fumbled with the knob of the night lock completely unaware she was on display. "What's so all fired important?"
"You didn't answer the phone."
"I was busy!" The girl moved back behind the shelter of the door and drew the robe closer about her.
"I want to apologize." He pushed on the door to force the opening larger. "So apologize!" snapped Miss Harris putting her knee firmly against it. The opening was open only a crack but she wanted to close even that. From all indications Leonard was becoming panicky and could cause real trouble. She pushed harder with her leg.
The boy put his shoulder to the wood and moved it a few inches. The girl glared at the intruder and pushed harder from her side. "Go away damn it, you bother me!"
"I gotta see ya!" he blurted." Later maybe?"
"I don't have time to fool with kids, I'm busy."
"Please!"
Arthur Wrigley stopped in the process of removing his shoes and stalked to the door. He pushed Bunny aside and confronted the intruder through the narrow opening.
"God damn it kid!" he bellowed in mounting anger. "Can't you take no for an answer!" He glared down at the startled boy who was backing away from this new threat.
"Beat it punk! Don't you understand English?"
Leonard Felton gaped open-mouthed at this new menace and a flow of color mounted his cheeks. It was quite apparent that he had interrupted a proceeding for which there was no apology. He tried to look away and be nonchalant but succeeded only in appearing more defiant. Arthur Wrigley exploded.
"Scram Kid!" he bellowed, "or I'll tear you in half!"
"But I ... I...." Leonard was almost tongue-tied.
Mr. Wrigley was turning a vivid shade of red and his eyes were rapidly becoming glassy. He was almost speechless with rage. He pulled the door open further, displaying the full extent of his nudity.
"Scram Bud!" he bellowed " ... or I'll beat you to death!" and he reached for Leonard through the opening.
The protruding arm appeared to the excited boy like some giant scoop shovel which was about to pounce down on him. He turned in terror and scurried down the hallway as the door banged behind him with reverberating echo. It was quite plain that Bunny Harris had no further need for him and the only thought now in his mind was to put as much space between him and her as he possibly could.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Across the fence which divided the Felton property from that next door, a light winked on in the bedroom of Marlena Hancock. She was greatly disturbed by the amount of noise coming from the house next door and wished mightly that some one would do something about it.
She always spent this time of day going through her beauty routine and was aggravated because the disturbance was interfering with it. Counting the strokes of her brush was taking on the aspects of a problem because of her inability to concentrate. Her failure to think was caused by the fact that every time she reached the count of ten there was a loud bleep from across the way and she promptly forgot whether this was the third 'ten' or the fourth. It was impossible for a person to keep count with all that incessant noise swelling across the fence from the direction of the Felton household.
Mr. Hancock also took notice of the distraction and turned from the window with a shudder of anticipation.
"Sounds like Felton is throwing another party tonight," he commented. "Strange he chose to have it here instead of at the store."
Mrs. Hancock looked up from her chore. "I hope they don't keep this up too long." she said. "It could get rather sickening." Mr. Hancock listened again to the wild juvenile beat. "Very unusual." he stated and nodded in agreement.
"Would it be unneighborly to ask them to tone it down a bit?"
"They might be offended," decided Mr. Hancock. "Let's turn a deaf ear to it for a while and perhaps they'll stop."
"Deaf!" exclaimed Mrs. Hancock. "That I almost am...." and she returned to her stroking and counting.
* * *
The party was slowing down. Not so much in tempo as in desire and the amount of physical endeavor expended in the persuit of pleasure. The large quantities of alcoholic beverage consumed was beginning to tell on the guests who, now, were more inclined to sit and talk, or sit and make advances at any one who might be a receptive target for an advance.
Victor had expected to be the center of attention, to cater to the girls with his cigarettes, and to the boys, with Leonard's beer. In spite of his desire to please, no one was paying any attention to him. The empty beer cans on the side table testified to the degree of his thirst and the mound of butts in the ash tray, the pleasure of his cigarettes. Right now he was feeling the swift reactions of the little round cylinders and was being wafted away on the magic carpet of hallucination.
Victor removed his glasses and peeked through the spread fingers of his left hand, which covered his left cheek, his eye and part of his forehead. He was certain that the girl he was watching had removed her blouse and brassiere and was doing a topless frug. Just to make sure, he looked again.
The vision seemed to come through a long funnel of haze and the movements he was viewing were slow and exaggerated, like the slow motion movements of an old time movie.
He felt like he was floating on a cloud of nothingness, hanging in space and seeing everything that went on around him as though through the wrong end of a telescope. Over there, a boy with long hair was undressing the girl in the checkered stretch pants and having a difficult time of pulling the pants down her legs. She stood swaying, with one hand on his shoulder and lifting a foot at a time so he could pull the tight cuffs off over her feet.
The entire living room was floating somewhere in the regions of the clouds and for awhile he felt completely out of place and alone. He grinned to himself and Wanted to shout to everyone to catch up, then he knew it was because everyone else was late in getting started on their trips and would have to take a little longer.
In a far corner, a youthful figure stood poised in the process of examining a shadow on the wall and delighting in the wonders of a magnified dream. Victor scowled for a moment and drew back against the girl beside him.
"Gawd!" he muttered breathing deep with the quick gasp of startled reaction. He shook his head to clear the haze, dropped his arms to his side and stared toward the spot in the corner.
The figure was still there. Victor blinked, looked again and then grunted. He felt strangely upset and the figure in the corner was doing something to his mind which he couldn't control. "Nuts!" he said brushing the vision from his mind with a mental sweep of his hand and turning to Denise. If she saw it, he would know he was right, that the person in his mind was really there. Denise appeared to be asleep and he refrained from disturbing her. He knew he could never explain what he had just seen because she would never understand. How could anyone understand that his mother was over there looking at him and crying from eyes which looked clear through him. When he looked again he knew she would be gone. Sho always was.
Denise slumped against him, the bulk of her weight resting against the muscular frame of his body. She sipped occasionally on the glass of fortified orange juice and tried to remember whether this was the third or fourth. She had a floating smile on her face and faced the wall, giving no indication that her eyes could see anything.
Victor shifted his weight on the sofa and reached for another cigarette. He smoothed out the wrinkled covering of the last one in the pack and fumbled with a book of matches. He strained to see the tip of the match as the flame sputtered and then dropped it to the floor where it went out without doing damage.
He could see that the girl doing the topless frug was still bouncing to the music and the boys clustered about her in a semi-circle watching intently. The more aggressive were engaged in projects of their own and paying little attention to the semi-nude dancer or the intent audience looking on.
A boy came from the kitchen with a glass of water and stood puzzled looking about the room. "Where's Lori?" he inquired, looking for his friend in the group.
"In there," Ginny said pointing to the door of the guest room. "She and Simms are making out."
"Shhhhiitttt!" He said unmindful of the group. "Couldn't she wait for me?"
Ginny shrugged and returned her attentions to the more promising prospects of her own. "Why don't you go ask her?" she said.
Guido Bartoni was becoming decidedly bored and wanted to do something. He had expected the party to be a little more lively but up to now all anyone wanted to do was lay around and smoke butts. Guido didn't smoke and really didn't like to drink. All that was left for him to do was to watch the others.
The silky haired blonde was doing a slow motion version of some kind of dance and Guido watched her very intently. As she moved, the short skirt bobbed about her legs, lifting to the limit of her cute little bottom and the calves of the bouncing legs looked very inviting. He was seeing as much of her as possible and wished that he could see more of that cute little shape. Maybe if he waited his chance, just maybe....
His fingers rubbed the smooth metal box in his pocket which contained the three items that were supposed to be the steady companion of every teenage boy. Guido had never used one and wasn't sure these were any good. They had come out of his father's dresser drawer and he didn't know how long he had had them.
Guido wasn't completely decided whether to use them or throw them away. None of the other fellows would tell him and Victor was a bastard.
"Like washing your feet with your socks on.!" he exclaimed. "In this day of the pill, who needs them!"
So Guido decided that if the need ever came, he probably wouldn't use them anyhow. He knew Victor thought him a square in the matters of sex but he didn't have parents like his. He had wanted to ask his father about girls and things but had chickened out at the last minute. Maybe some day he would. Anyhow, why worry about it now. He would have to get a girl first. He settled back in his chair keeping the little blonde in view and realizing with shocked appreciation that she was removing her blouse, then her brassiere and dancing about in a rendition of a topless frug. Guido watched enchanted and the problem of his erection grew in importance.
Blouses suddenly became too warm, stretch pants too tight and youthful Levis too hampering. Those who were being overcome by the mounting desires found the journey into pleasure, aided by the stimulation of narcotic and alcohol, was quickly shortened into only an arm's length away.
Guido scratched through the pocket of his pants and rubbed his hard cock. He was beginning to like what he saw and intended to stay as long as anyone else did. He liked the idea that was formulating in his mind and waited only for the moment for him to put it into action. What the alcoholic spirit might lack in stimulation, his own desires were providing and his imagination burst all bounds in picturing what he could experience if only he had the patience to wait.
Roni Collins weaved to the music, adding a bit of the oriental to it and making a combination belly dance and discotheque out of the Watusi. As she danced, her hands weaved about her body, moving up and down her sides, then higher to the buttons at the front of her blouse. She worked with the buttons, opening them one by one until the entire row was unfastened and then, removed the blouse and dropped it to the floor.
"Hey Baby!" a voice shrilled. "You dropped something!" and a burst of laughter followed.
The blonde snapped her head rapidly from side to side, her hair swirling about her ears, keeping time to the beat as she went into a wild shake from the hips up. Then her hands moved up her back, picking at the straps of the meager brassiere covering her breasts. The hooks parted and she jerked the garment away, swinging it in one hand while continuing her bobbing and weaving. The boys whistled at the topless performance, begging for more.
"Go Baby Go!" the audience cried and Roni increased her tempo of shaking gyrations. Wildly, the dance continued, her head bobbing in unision to the music.
"Take it off, Baby!" a voice shouted and the surrounded by a circle of boys and girls who were watching every movement with delight. Sprawling or sitting in small groups, their upturned faces a study of expectation.
The blonde reached for the button of her skirt, loosened it and lowered the zipper, then, pausing momentarily in her dance, pushed it over her hips, down the shapely legs to the floor, stepped out of it and resumed the dance clad only in her very thin pale blue briefs.
The boys cheered and beat beer cans together. The room was filled with cries of "Take it off! Take it off!" then more whistling and cheering and demands to "Blow it Baby."
The room was becoming smoke filled. The haze was a hanging grayness which shrouded the figures sprawling on the floor. It was humid and hot and foul with the smell of closeness.
Ginny Watters squirmed and clawed at the tight blouse. "Damn it's hot," she said fanning herself with a free hand. "I want to get out of this," and she fumbled with the buttons. Her eyes looked glazed and she swayed uneasily. The boy beside her offered the remaining butt of his cigarette and waited until she finished it.
The girl smoked silently then handed back the stub and pulled at the offending blouse. She unfastened the buttons one by one, looking nervously from side to side and pulled it open at the front. Her companion watched intently, then worked with the buttons of his own shirt. "Boy, it sure is," he said agreeing with her. He unbuttoned the shirt and pulled it off. He emptied his can of beer and threw it at the opposite wall where it banged against the plaster before dropping to the floor, leaving spots in the painted surface of the newly decorated wall. "You really hot Baby?" he inquired. He reached for the opened blouse.
The girl nodded, pulled her skirt up as far as she could and rubbed her hand on the naked leg exposed. "You ain't kiddin'." she said. "I'm cookin'."
"Too hot for shirts too," observed her companion pulling off the offending garment.
The girl watched until he was finished. "Dresses too," she said and ran down the zipper of the skirt. The boy watched entranced. "Now the rest of it," he pleaded.
She leaned toward him. "You do it," she said, she turned her body, lifting herself off the floor while he pulled the skirt down away from her hips, down her legs, and then set back on the floor, lifting her feet so he could pull it free.
The boy was overcome by the actions. He waited nervously for her to finish the disrobing. "The blouse too," he suggested staring at the lace panties that was the only garment below the waist. The girl obliged by climbing to her feet and he rose to help her.
"I'm smothering." she said. "Can't stand clothes," and proceeded to remove the blouse.
"Now the pants," her companion said reaching for the panties, "Let's you an' me rock."
"Not yet," she said pulling away. She reached up her back, probing for the catch of the brassiere. "This first," and she struggled to find the snaps.
His arms went around her, reaching for the fastner of the tightly fitting bra. The girl dropped her arms and waited for him to finish. "Help yourself, Swinger!" she said and then laughed.
"Ginny's gonna rock," a voice said and then snickered.
The boy jerked the brassiere free, tossed it after the beer can and then swung the girl about while laughing gleefully.
"You and me, Doll!" he exclaimed. "Just you and me!" His hand hooked the waist of her panties, forcing them downward over her hips and she laughed, wildly beating at his hands, slapping him in passionate fun, using up the energy released by the beer and answering the demands of a mind subdued and inhibited by the toxic action of marijuana.
"Jimmy!" she squealed. "Oh Jimmy!"
His hand was inside her panties, down across her stomach, clawing at the tender spot between her legs. He was so occupied it never dawned on him his name wasn't Jimmy.
"Ginny's gonna rock!" chortled the snickering voice.
The boy staggered under the weight of her tottering body, fell backward, dragging the squirming girl with him. He landed on his back on the floor, the girl on top, his arms still around her, one hand on the left breast and the other clawing at the vicinity of her vagina. A volume of laughter followed their display and then the chant stopped. The boy rolled, holding the girl in his arms until he was on top and she was flat on the floor beneath him. He held her firm, one hand brushing her thighs, then he grasped the fabric and jerked hard. The material split and fell apart displaying the silky fuzz beneath.
The boy gasped and then poised for a moment in silent admiration and then he was over her, pinning her to the floor with his left arm and probing the area of her crotch with the other. Then, a sly smirk on his face, he found what he wanted and his finger pumped in and out while the girl squirmed and slapped at the floor.
"Oh God!" she said reaching for the hand. "Oh God!"
The smirk on his face widened and the girl became quiet.
"Turn on Baby!" the boy said. "Be a love dove, make like kittens and cream."
The girl quit squirming and lifted her head from the floor. "If you want to do it, let's do it but get your finger out of me-that hurts." She lay back on the carpet and sighed. "It also tickles," she added.
The boy removed his pants, completely unmindful of the youthful audience to his actions then settled down on the girl and worked his organ into her. The spectators grinned then turned away leaving the pair alone. The girl winced, groaned and settled back into submission, the magic carpet of marijuana carrying her higher and higher; now that she was rid of the offending clothing, she didn't really care what he did to her.
Additional converts, not to be outdone, joined in the pursuit of the altogether, each little section acquiring it's striptease artist. Other girls arising to the occasion by removing too warm blouses, too tight stretch pants and joining in the wild dervish recital of concupiscent yearning.
Guido Bartoni watched the developing events with excited interest. Deep within him, the sleeping man began to take note of the feminine inticement and to come awake. His gaze moved from the couple by the wall to Roni Collins, still dancing in the center of the floor and then to Denise.
He noted that Victor too was watching the dancing girl, who, oblivious of all that went on about her, was still capering to the strains of a new record and seemingly no more fatigued than when she first started.
Victor forced himself from the sofa, dumping Denise to the floor and stepping over her in his hurry to get to the capering blonde. Denise struggled to sit up. Leonard leaned against the kitchen door, his face deeply furrowed and his chin set in frustration. He was deeply piqued by Victor's treatment of what he considered his girl. Victor wasn't treating her right and now would be a good time to get even with him. If he took Denise away from him it would serve him right. He pushed through the circle of humanity to the spot by the couch. Nothing in the room was real. Only a sea of indistinct faces and merging bodies met his gaze as he tried to focus on the spot he had last seen the girl. He reached for her and felt relieved when a hand closed in his and he could pull her to her feet. Now he was there and she was there, he wasn't certain what he should do with her. He could never do as those two were over there, undress right here before God and everybody and rock her on his own living room rug.
He grasped her by the hand and tugged toward the hallway and the stairs which led to the second floor. The girl followed agreeably.
Guido Bartoni stood as though entranced. Wanting to be attentive to both girls and engrossed in the mounting scene, was caught in the predicament of not knowing in which direction to go first.
He watched while Victor approached the dancing girl and reach for her arm. He noticed that the girl slowed her dance for only a moment to look at him and brush the hair from her face.
"Go away," she told Victor and resumed the wild beat.
He could see Leonard as he leaned over Denise and the silly grin which replaced her expressionless examination of the living room wall. Leonard reached for her hand, waiting for her to take it and then followed her as she moved to follow through the sprawled gathering of hoppies who now drew back to make room for them to pass. The trance which accompanied the dance continued to hold them spellbound and they could see nothing except the near nude figure in the center floor, nor care that anything else should exist.
"Here," Leonard whispered, holding Denise by the hand and leading her from the living room into the hall and toward the stairs.
Victor reached for Roni's arm. She paused and drew back. He grabbed for it.
"Stop!" she said and paused once more in the dance. Victor stared at the round fullness of her young body and his face below the replaced glasses was wrinkled in a leering grin.
"Come with me, Baby," he coaxed. "Come take a trip with me."
The girl stopped dancing and looked at him. She was breathing hard and moisture stood out on her forehead.
"No," she said and turned her back.
Victor burned with indignation. "Well shit," he hissed.
"She promised me," a voice said. "She's my girl."
Victor looked for the source of this new irritation. "Get lost!" he snapped. He was mentally enjoying the lushness of the young body in front of him and had no intentions of giving up. "Scram!" he said.
"Go away," Roni said reaching down for the skirt and blouse on the floor. She glanced only momentarily at the boy who had joined Victor.
"Beat it." Victor was getting angry. He doubled a fist and turned on the teenager meancingly. "Split, Drummer!"
"Guido approached the girl from behind the antagonized boys. He touched the blonde on the shoulder. "Come with me," he whispered. "I'll help you," and motioned toward the archway into the hall. Roni Collins looked to the retreating backs of Leonard and Denise, then she took the boy's hand and followed him across the room. Victor, intense in his discussion, was incapable of noticing anything. He was only aware that he was being challenged and this was his party.
"We're going to fly!" thought Guido glancing back at Roni. "Nobody but us-Boy!-will there be action? I'm going to do it Baby, with you Baby." He was silently voicing the statements of his mind and building visions of the pleasures he would experience. The bulge in his pants increased in size.
Leonard and Denise were at the top of the stairs and starting down the hall toward the doors leading into the upper rooms. Guido followed, moving quietly on the carpeted floors, leading Roni who was hugging her skirt and blouse to her bare bosom and appearing quite docile.
Roni Collins hugged her clothing to her breasts and seemed uninterested in where the boy was taking her. Guido glanced at her from the corner of his eye, his heart pounding. He wanted to stop and touch her but knew he must get her alone first.
He tried the door of the guest room, pushed it inward and then guided the girl inside. A faint night light cast a feeble glow over the room, bringing the furniture into outline. To the right was a large double bed.
He guided the girl toward the bed. She permitted him to direct her across the room, moving quietly and almost mechanically like some huge doll motivated by the commands of some master. The boy paused at the bedside, sought to turn the girl, reaching for the clothing still tightly clasped to her breasts. Her hands gripped the garments and her face turned to him in a blank stare of noncomprehension. Her fingers twisted in the blouse and skirt, refusing to give them up, her eyes looking beyond him into a world of unreality.
Guido put his hand on her shoulder, attempting to press her downward to a sitting position on the edge of the bed, with intentions of pushing her flat so he might lay beside her. His fingers pressed gently at the tip of her shoulder, her head turned, then, at the touch of his hand, she lifted her head, fluttered her eyes, opened her mouth and screamed!
The ear splitting shrillness cut at Guido's eardrums and he unconsciously put his hands to his head, turning to the girl in astonishment. He reached to quiet her and she screamed again. Then she sat down abruptly on the edge of the bed, her hair hanging about her shoulders, the clothing dropping in a heap on the floor. She sat for a moment facing directly ahead and then fell over backwards, dead to the world.
Guido left her laying crosswise on the bed and closed the door behind him. He had to leave, he wanted to leave, completely unmindful that she might be sick, might need aid or anything other than the fact she had passed out from the blow of a fifth of vodka. His sexual desires for the moment were forgotten and now he had only the wish to go home and to bed.
Below stairs, the sounds were beginning to originate again and there was a sound of scuffling. Loud voices broke the quiet of the living room and a crash added to the pensive atmosphere.
Guido slipped into the hallway, pausing to listen. The dim hall light made everything seem bright now that he was accustomed to it. He stood just outside the door of the guestroom wondering what to do. The girl inside hadn't stirred and he had no intention of going back to find out why.
He was still indecisive when the door of Leonard's room opened. The figure that emerged stood silently looking at him and then moved in his direction. Guido looked up quickly and then his face froze in a mask of bewilderment. It was Denise Wrigley and she was completely nude. She walked toward him slowly until she was only a few steps away and then she stopped. Guido stared at her in astonishment and for a moment couldn't believe he was seeing right. She smiled faintly and then, without making a sound, took his hand and led him back into the room from which she had just come.
Guido Bartoni's mind was a whirloool of questions which had no answers. Where was Leonard and why had Denise come after him? After trying to get close to her all evening it was a little hard to realize that she was here and as naked as the day she was born. Looking at the slim, curvaceous figure made him forget the disappointment of only a moment ago and once again he felt his lust rising. Denise was a very attractive girl and that beautiful shape would be a fit target for anyone.
Leonard wasn't in the room. Guido looked furtively about, noting the bed lamp which cast a warm glow about the room and the small pile of clothing placed neatly beside the bed. Denise sat down on the edge of the bed, looked up at him with eyes that were strangely hazy and more blue than he had noticed before. She lay back on the cloth spread and stared up at him with a vacant expression. Guido wanted to look away, felt that he should look away but couldn't. Something within him told him this was wrong, that he shouldn't be here. He didn't care.
All the frustration of his seventeen and a half years welled up in him, beating down his morality and leaving him the desiring man that his physical makeup had become. His desires were strong and, now that the opportunity had presented itself, was not going to be denied. He removed his clothing quickly, dropping his pants to the floor and going to her. He felt her young supple body, running his hands over her warm smooth skin and feeling the roundness that was so inviting.
His searching fingers found the proper spot and he knelt over her, probing and pushing to enter her.
He felt the softness of her, marveling at the white skin which was always shielded from the tanning rays of the sun, the pointed breasts now strangely hard and so wonderfully beautiful.
He lay down upon her, the touch of her vibrant body warm and caressing. He could feel the quickening beat of her heart, a beat which matched the wild excitement of his own and he wondered if she too enjoyed sensations like those building up within his body. He marveled at the stranged wonderfullness of her, the warm and sweet tenderness of her, the perfumed and scrubbed loveliness of her, and it was like nothing he had ever experienced before.
His mind was a caldron of emotion. He was certain that what he was doing wasn't right but it was so pleasureful he didn't care. What was right or wrong was no longer important. He only knew an urge which demanded to be satisfied and now was the time to do it.
He was glad he hadn't used the rubbers, was certain it couldn't have been like this if he had. He was beginning to breath easier but his mind was becoming cluttered with doubts that his inexperience was unable to answer. What should he do now? Should he simply move in and out or was there something else a man did when he was alone with a woman?
The girl squirmed beneath him, moaning in what might be great pain, as though she was finding the experience different from what she had expected, finding that this first encounter wasn't entirely the rewarding experience Playboy had depicted it to be. He tried to hold her still, hugging her in a grip of passion, pushing hard to satisfy the aching nerves within himself. He worked slowly, then as the fury mounted, pushed harder still while the girl continued to squirm beneath him.
"Love, my love," he whispered. "Do I hurt you?" He drew back, looking down on the face so close to his own. He could see the eyelids, the beads of moisture which stood out on the pink forehead.
"Oh, God!" she moaned, "Oh, Oh God, don't, don't, don't stop," and grasped him about the neck, pulling him down upon her while her body writhed in torment.
She .was crying softly, her arms locked about his neck, her head in the hollow of his shoulder and making tears wet on his neck. He felt closed in, her arms tight and restraining. He tried to pull away and suddenly was filled with panic.
Her bosom was heaving with emotion and she was breathing in short gasps.
"Please," she whispered in his ear and pressing tight against his cheek. "Please," and her movements increased in tempo.
Guido had no time to be frightened or remorseful or even embarrassed. He could feel the tension building and wondered at the mounting surge of total erection. His body pressed hard against her and she clung to him. As the fury mounted he could feel the awakening of muscles being brought into play by the sudden burst of ejaculation. The sudden stabbing pain was not what he expected and he could only gasp. "Oh God, Oh My God!" and then it was over. Denise Wrigley became quiet and relaxed on the coverlet. She was still moaning faintly as though pained by the action which was supposed to have been so pleasurable.
The boy sighed and slumped on top of her. Inexperienced as he was, his movements had been natural, the operation complete and the outcome very satisfying. Never before had he experienced anything so overpowering, so tantalizing, so thrilling, since the time he first masturbated in the bathroom.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Mrs. Hancock stared at the house beyond the fence. The lights were going out one by one and the automobiles parked along the street and driveway were being driven away. Mrs. Hancock was very unhappy. If the police didn't arrive shortly, there would be no one left to arrest and she would never learn the cause of all the screaming.
She started to turn from the window but a flash of light caught her eye and the beams of two headlights swept the length of the house next door. She paused, turning back to watch this new development as a car raced along the street, cut into the driveway beyond the fence and directly across the well-kept Felton lawn. The front wheels dug into the turf, the back wheels spun and two ditches were gouged the length of the lawn. Voices erupted in hilarious laughter, the motor roared and the car, with occupants screaming, disappeared out the farther drive, into the street and the darkness of the night.
Marlena Hancock was stunned. She knew how much work had been put into that lawn by the Feltons and it was inconceivable that anyone would go to the extent of deliberately ruining it. That was exactly what was happening, deliberately ruined.
Mrs. Hancock made a silent prayer for the police to arrive in time to catch the culprits and make them pay for the terrible damage they had inflicted.
Down the street, the officer in the approaching cruising car was piqued by the new assignment. "Holy Christ!" he complained, snapping the switch on his radio mike. "Another one of those!" He hung the mike on the hook and ground his teeth together and looked at his partner.
"Again?" muttered the driver. "Oh Brother!"
"Maybe this will be just a nice clean murder or wife beating and we won't have to stay long," observed the officer. "Boy, I sure could use a good cup of coffee."
"No such luck." grumbled the driver heading the car for the area of the disturbance. "Probably some old bag heard an alley cat on the back fence...."
"Probably...." agreed the officer.
Victor Zigler was feeling the influence of the marijuana and flood of beer he had consumed. At the moment he was certain he was ten feet tall and his head was almost scraping the ceiling. All the kids looked like toys scattered about in various angles and none of them with enough sense to go home.
"Go home," he mumbled and tried to concentrate on Denise. Nothing was going right. Roni Collins had disappeared right before his eyes and Denise Wrigley was among the missing. In fact, everyone was missing except him and those silly kids who seemed to be forever getting in the way. He was sure he was walking through acres and acres of kids and not one of them with enough sense to know when they weren't wanted.
"Go home," he bleated toward the piles and piles of humanity. " Go home! Everyone go home!" and he headed toward the front hall in hopes of finding some trace of the missing girls.
Victor rested with his foot on the first step and his hand on the railing of the front staircase. He was certain that somewhere up there he would find Denise Wrigley. He didn't like the fact she had run out on him without satisfying his needs and he had to locate her before some other Drummer fit the scene. She had to be somewhere and she must be up there. He would find her, if only he could get up these damned stairs!
Never in his life had he seen a stairway so high or steps so big. He tried to focus his eyes on the spot where they disappeared into the nothingness at the top. He lifted his foot to the first step which suddenly became four feet high and was made out of nothing but rubbery substance. He looked into the haze which secluded the rising stairs and the grinning face of Guido which suddenly appeared where the purple and blue cloud had been only a moment before.
Victor grinned sheepishly and held out a hand for help.
"Help me Weedo," he pleaded in a tone that was thick with the leavings of beer, vodka and marijuana. "Help me...."
The long arm came down the staircase, grasping his hand and pulling him upward, and as he moved along from step to step he had the sensation that his feet no longer responded to his thoughts. It was like he was floating a few inches above each step until he reached the top and was standing there looking at Guido. A Guido with eyes that were two pools of black ink and shivering like a cold and very wet puppy.
From outside came a bedlam of sound. Voices babbling shrilly, mixed with shrill laughter. The bark of a motorcycle ripped the night and the more subtle roar of a complaining motor. It sounded as if a miniature speedway was being instituted outside the Felton doorway. A shattering staccato of sound ripped the night air and squeeling tires, loud shouting and then suddenly, all was still.
"Wild," mumbled Victor, trying to form the words with a tongue too large for the inside of his mouth. "Really wild!"
Guido nodded agreement but said nothing.
"Wher'sa girlsh? Victor asked, trying to hold his head up above a floor that seemed to be continually coming closer. "The girlsh," he repeated.
Guido said nothing.
"Wher'sha Lenny?" Victor asked.
Again Guido was silent.
"Is Lenny down there?" Victor demanded extending an arm to point along the hallway. It was clear he was getting impatient and wanted to find Leonard. He had a sneaky feeling that where ever Leonard might be, Denise might be also. "Is he?" he demanded again.
Guido made a motion with his head but throught the haze of his befuddled brain, Victor was certain he had indicated yes or no.
"Is he?" he asked again and forced one foot to move in the direction of the doors leading off the upper hallway.
"Want a Birdie!" he stated as he wavered on his feet. "Want a bird to fly!" and he staggered down the hall holding his hands against the wall to stay erect and feeling his way as he moved along.
"Lenny! Oooooooooo Lenny!" he wailed and opened the first door he came to.
The master bedroom was empty and the outside light from the huge window showed the un-rumpled bed and smooth spread. Victor said "Damn," and moved on to the next room.
The guest room was a picture of serenity, illuminated by the soft light which feebly disclosed the form of Roni Collins, still sprawled across the coverlet and breathing deeply in slumber. Her hair partially obscured her face, and she was clad only in the brief panties and curled up like a purring kitten in the process of sleeping it off.
Victor glared down at her and turned away in disgust. He wanted his sexual partners awake, warm and willing. Roni Collins appeared to be none of the three.
In the hall again he paused to call for Leonard once more. He gestured feebly as the bathroom door opened and the lost host shuffled into the hallway. His pants were open down the fly, his shirt rumpled, his hair mussed. He was trying to stuff the shirt tails inside his trousers and grinning foolishly.
"Watsamatter?" he inquired thickly. "Wats-a-shouten-for?"
"Werr the'ell you been?" demanded Victor. "Wersh my girl?"
"Bathroom," mumbled Leonard. "Ain't seen no girl." His mind was blank, he couldn't remember any girl. In fact, his mind was incapable of measuring the passage of time. He had no idea of how long since he came upstairs or why.
"What you doin' in the bathroom?" demanded Victor thickly. "You shhhhhick?"
Leonard shrugged and worked at the front of his pants trying to close the fly. "Had to pee," he explained. "Had to go real bad."
"Where's Denise?" inquired Victor. He wanted to keep his eyes focused on Leonard but he wouldn't stay still. He appeared to be going around and around like the special effects on a television program.
"Denise?" mumbled Leonard completely puzzled.
"Didn't you take her?" demanded Victor.
I'll
"When I wasn't lookin'. Didn't you?"
"Huh?" muttered Leonard making the only sound that came to his mind. "Whoosh she?"
"Jezussss!" stormed Victor. "Ain't you seen her?"
"No," mumbled Leonard completely forgetting what had happened only a few minutes ago. "No I ain't." And he pulled on the zipper to close his pants.
"Shumbody did," growled Victor. "L'ess find her." He pointed toward the one remaining un-searched room. "Shee in there?"
Leonard wrinkled his nose, shrugged his shoulders again and looked completely blank. Victor turned the knob and pushed the door open.
The nightlight was still burning and Denise Wrigley, now fully clothed sat on the edge of the bed looking at the opposite wall. Her eyes turned toward the boys as they entered the room and she climbed shakily to her feet.
"Want to go home," she informed them. "Don't like parties."
"Watchdoen Baby, mis't ya."
"Have to go home," the girl repeated. "Have to go now."
She was completely dressed and nothing about her manner other than the sloppy hang of her skirt gave any indication that she had ever been disrobed.
"Wancha stay with me." Victor said and his tone implied that it should be the natural thing to do without asking.
"Have to go," the girl said again. "Have to go now," and she tried to push past him to leave the room. He held out an arm to stop her. There was a sinking sensation in his stomach. All possibilities of satisfaction were being torn away. What had started out as an evening of fun and fulfillment was turning out to be an insatiable nightmare.
"Jezusssss!" he exploded. "You let some damn drummer fuck you already!"
"Go away," Denise said and weaved past him toward the door.
Victor reached for the sweater and the mound of flesh beneath it.
"No!" she said pushing his hand away. "Must go home," and she shuffled through the door into the hallway. "Find a cab," she said and started unsteadily along the hall toward the staircase.
"Take her home! Take her home!" whispered Victor hoarsly. "Everybody go! Go! Go home!!" He stalked along behind her through the door into the hall. He could see her as she headed down the stairs and disappeared from view behind a wall. Nothing, absolutely nothing was going to turn out alright.
Downstairs, the house was vacant. The kids were gone and only the wreckage left behind to remind some one that eventually, eventually, there had to be a day of reckoning.
A black automobile with a white crest on the door coasted slowly past the now silent residence. The officer peered through the window and grumbled to his partner. "Wouldn't you just know it," he complained surveying the dark windows of the Felton house. "Some phone happy jerk has done it to us again."
"You just can't win Sarge," agreed the driver. "Can we go get that coffee now?"
"Why not?" remarked the Sergeant. "If we keep trying, we might come up with a murder yet, the night is still young," and he laughed at his own little joke.
Victor Zigler slammed the Imp into gear and jumped the clutch. The wheels caught on the black top with a squeal and the odor of burned rubber. The automobile leaped from the driveway into the street, the lights cutting a running swath through the darkness. The burbling motor rose in volume but not enough to drown out the higher pitched sound of hysterical laughter that poured from the throat of the youthful driver.
Victor Zigler was laughing at the world, laughing to show that he understood the joke and didn't care even if he was part of it. Victor was used to being the butt of scrutiny and the one most likely to lose out whenever anything good came around. The fact that tonight had turned out as it had didn't mean a thing. What difference did it make if other kids had all the fun, the nice girls to cater to them and a decent place to go home to? He didn't care what happened to anyone, Leonard, Guido, Denise or even that sassy little blonde who made eyes at him all evening and then went out the minute he looked the other way. He didn't care at all so long as he was Victor and the world looked up to him because he was the best.
The laughter died out, the car moved to the side of the street, coming to an abrupt halt as his foot hit the brake, a figure doubled up over the steering wheel and the voice broke into a burst of uncontrollable sobs!
Victor Zigler had just had a glimpse into tomorrow and what he saw, he didn't like!
CHAPTER NINE
Leonard Felton opened his eyes into the grayness of a new day. His hands wormed to his head, feeling of the aching exterior. His temples were throbbing like pulsating pumps and the back of his eyes seemed crammed against his skull.
Across the room, the shadow of a door loomed huge and sinister and the clattering echo from it gouged at his eardrums. Leonard cringed and sought the protection of the covers.
Once more the vibrations rattled the walls about him and the realization blossomed in his mind that someone, or something, was trying to arouse him.
"Who is it?" he called weakly trying to sit up in bed and hoping it was all a dream. "What you want?"
The voice from the other side of the door was equally feeble. "I want to go home-will you call me a cab?"
"Huh!"
The voice was firmer this time. "I want to go home."
"Who are you?" The boy pulled the cover close about his chest to ward off the evil spirits. "What you doing here?"
"Roni Collins-I have to go home-will you take me or call a cab?"
"Collins! Collins!!" blurted Leonard trying to pull an image out of his brain. "What are you doing here?"
"I went to sleep. Open the door."
"Oh Lord!" Leonard groaned and tried to hold his head up so he could hear the weak voice through the door. "Do you have to go now? Go to bed somewhere."
"I have to go home," the voice said becoming pleading. "If mother finds me gone."
"Jesus! Can't you call a cab?" Leonard pushed to the edge and lowered a foot over the side. "No," he decided withdrawing the statement, "Don't do that. I'll call a cab myself."
"Can you open the door, I want to ask you something?"
"Coming," he said and tried his weight on the right foot, then forced his tortured body into a standing position. I'm ... I'm coming."
He shuffled across the floor toward the door, swaying uneasily and wishing he could crawl into a hole and disappear. His tongue felt thick and there was a dryness in his throat. He couldn't remember anything of last night and the burning sensation in his head gave him little desire to even try.
He pulled the door open, standing in his pajamas and completely unmindful of the appearance he made. The pallor of the beginning day outlined his figure, creating a picture of utter dejection.
Roni Collins eyed him with bloodshot eyes and blinked repeatedly. "Sorry," she murmured. "I do have to go home and don't know where to find a phone." She was dressed and looked as good as her wrinkled clothing would permit.
"I hate to bother you," she said apologizing again. "The kids must have left me." She was looking at him with a peculiar expression.
"If you'll wait I'll put on something." He backed away from the door and the girl followed into the room.
"I want to talk to you."
Leonard tugged at the tops of his pajamas and his expression must have indicated something other than what he was thinking. The girl snickered and held a hand to her lips.
"I'm sorry," she said again. " ... but you look so funny."
Leonard Felton didn't feel funny. In fact, he wished heartily this girl would drop dead so he could go back to bed.
"You wait," he said again and putting a hand to his head to see if it was really as big as it felt. "I'll put on something."
The girl laughed a low throaty laugh, walked over to the bed and sat down, her fingers working with the buttons of the blouse which sagged open in front.
"Did you put me to bed?" she asked innocently.
"Bed?" Leonard's face was a blank.
"Undress me, take my clothes off and put me to bed. Did you?"
Leonard moved his head in the negative and tried to remember what happened beyond the awful knock on his door. He couldn't remember anything beyond five minutes ago but he didn't want her to know that. "Not me," he said and tugged at the front of his pajama top to force it below the top of the bottoms and the terrible gape that insisted on coming in to being at that moment.
The girl snickered again, her eyes following the movement of his hands. "You're funny. You act like I was going to rape you."
"Huh?" The boy stared at her in disbelief.
"I want to know if you raped me."
"If I WHAT!" Leonard was finding a few words.
"The love bit, you know, boy uses girl, the real big people stuff!"
This time he was speechless, which must have appeared to Roni Collins as being even funnier than before. She burst into a loud ribald laughter which tore at Leonard's temples like the wail of a siren.
The girl quieted down and apoligized again. "You're funny," she said.
"Yeah...." agreed Leonard stroking his head. "Funny."
"Somebody put me to bed," the girl said. "Do you know who?"
"I didn't see anybody...."
"It wasn't you." The words were more of a statement than a question and implied this knowledge was an accepted fact. "It must have been some one else."
"Why?" inquired Leonard trying to wake up enough to gather his faculties about him. "Who would have wanted to?"
"That's what I want to know." She looked up at him and her expression was one he couldn't understand. "Why did some one put me to bed without ... without...?" She paused looking thoughtful.
"What?" He tried to make his eyes stand still on the front of her figure long enough to see what she was doing. The pain in the spot between them made him feel as if the eyeballs were coming right out of the sockets.
"Without...." she said and then paused. She seemed to be searching for a word to express her thought. "Without loving me," she concluded. She looked up from the bed and frowned slightly.
"Love?" Leonard was beginning to get a vague notion of what she meant. His brain was unable to grasp the full import of her intended meaning but he did understand the word love. "I don't know," he said looking at his feet so she couldn't see how bad he felt.
"You're thick," she muttered. "You wouldn't have sense enough to rock me."
"What do you want?" he blurted beginning to comprehend the direction of her reasoning. "You want me...?"
"To call me a cab," she said getting up and brushing at her skirt. "Besides," she added under her breath. "It's a lousy time to go to bed."
"I'll call the cab," he promised and went down stairs to use the phone with the blonde following along behind.
He knew that five thirty could be an unusual time for a girl in her teens to be going home from a party. Also, that it was unusual for a young man to place said girl in a taxi while dressed in a pair of pajamas covered over by a long winter coat and with hair that was overly long and much in need of a comb, but he was too sick to worry about getting dressed or combing his hair. His only consideration was to get Miss Collins into the cab and out of his life as soon as possible and it never occurred that there would be anything unusual in two people waiting on a badly scarred lawn at five thirty in the morning.
The driver did think so.
He eyed the two with suspicion while the girl crawled into the back seat. Her skirt pulled up as she settled on the cushion and she made no attempt to adjust it. The driver's expression changed to one of delight and then of intense appreciation. Leonard backed away from the cab door and out of the driver's gaze and away from the girl's reproachful look.
"'Bye," he muttered and pulled the coat collar up about his ears, "Gu'by."
"Where to?" inquired the driver glaring at Leonard. "Downtown?"
"She'll tell you." mumbled Leonard and turned away in hopes of shutting out the picture.
"The lady?" The driver crawled in behind the wheel, reached up and adjusted the rearview mirror so he could see the girl behind him. The way the mirror was hung often gave a very good view of the miniskirts. "Man what a doll!" he thought. "I bet she's really been slept with!" Aloud, he asked. "Where to Miss? To a hotel?"
"Home," Roni said slowly and told him the address. The driver's expression changed. He had been positive this dish would be from one of the hotels downtown and there was always the possibility...."Ah hell!" he said and put the car in gear.
Leonard navigated uneasily back to the front door and sat down on a step. He wanted desperately to shut his mind to the clamor of the garbage truck making its rounds. It was light enough now to see the front lawn and the litter left behind by his guests. His eyes opened wide as they followed the two black ruts across the center of the green lawn. He could only stare and fight the numbness in his mind.
"Oh God!" he moaned, "I'm but dead!"
CHAPTER TEN
Guido Bartoni was very happy about the party. Not necessarily the way it had progressed as the way it had ended. Making love to Denise had been such a thrilling experience that he wanted to tell everyone about it but something cautioned him not to.
He nailed the white oblong card to the end of the stake and handed the hammer to Leonard. He should be getting home. It was late afternoon and time to be restocking shelves for the following day. His father insisted he be prompt where work around the store was concerned and he shouldn't remain there too long. Maybe just a couple times around the front of the administration building would be enough and he could go home.
"What are we protesting today?" he asked Leonard, "Who are we against this time?"
Leonard Felton straightened the square of cardboard on his pole and pushed a nail into the fibre. "Who cares?" he mumbled nervously. "It's ,five bucks isn't it? So long as their money is good, I've got time."
"I feel like maybe we shouldn't." Guido said. "It's like doing something against your family."
"Just holding a card up? Christ! These drips don't mean nothin' to me." Leonard couldn't get enthusiastic about anyone going to school from choice. It was like swimming with your clothes on, possible but not very desirable.
"But walking around in front of everyone! Aren't you afraid some of your friends will see you-your teachers maybe?"
"Them...." Leonard said grunting and placing the faculty on the same level as other lesser insects. "They burn me."
"How about your folks?" Guido knew Mrs. Felton was a member of the Association of Mothers and Teachers for Better Living and was a well known figure on the campus. "Won't they give you fits?"
"Not if she don't know it." Leonard replied hopefully. "They aren't due back for a couple more days." He shouldered his card and headed for the end of the line that was forming near the entrance of one of the buildings. Guido followed. Many times before, he had helped Leonard earn money this way but today something seemed to be different. The idea behind the current project bothered him. It would have to be pretty important to require the police and he knew that the man beside the car at the curb was a policeman. It was the tall man who came to see him after the affair at Dent's Wrecking Yard.
Inspector Hamilton watched the growing group of students and frowned. He was deeply irritated by the way things were beginning to shape up. Even in his own family, the flux of sensationalism was beginning to be felt and that bothered him, "Hurry up Rump." he said prodding the sergeant through the open window. "We better scout this lineup before something begins to happen."
"OK Inspector," the sergeant answered and pushed the speak button on the radio microphone. He wished strongly that his superior would take a walk along the curb so he could tell the doll on the other end of the radio phone set-up just what he wanted to tell her. He was in no hurry to have the connection broken off. His own problem was a great deal more important than a bunch of silly kids on a stupid campus.
"Honest Baby," he pleaded, hoping his party wouldn't hang up and promising to make the outcome worth her while to listen a bit longer. "I'll show you a very good time, I promise." He hoped the dispatcher wasn't listening in on the conversation. This was something he didn't want anyone else to know. Cutting into a phone patch over the car radio was the hard way to do it but he didn't have time to go look up a phone.
"Will you please?" he pleaded.
The girl gave in, more from boredom and futuility than from the promise of better things to come.
"All right," she agreed with indifference. "Pick me up at seven thirty and you can take me to dinner."
Cunicheck was delighted and about to sign off when the voice once more came over the speaker.
"Remember, Mr. Cunicheck, I didn't promise anything."
"Sure, sure, Baby," he assured her reaching for the off switch. Before he could press it, a male voice cut into the transmission.
"Remember Sergeant, she didn't promise anything...!"
"Drop Dead!" growled the sergeant replacing the mike in the cradle.
The Inspector slapped his hand on the roof of the car and headed toward the group at the building entrance. He could hear the sounds of mounting emotions and what he heard, he didn't like. He couldn't understand kids who wouldn't give in to authority or who felt they were continually being abused. Right now that was one of the sources of his irritation.
Only this morning his daughter Candy had intimated she would be joining a sit-in at Fillmore Junior College.
"Why?" the inspector had wanted to know. He was never quite able to understand his daughter, finding it necessary to look to Mrs. Hamilton for interpretation. This time, even her ability to translate was of no avail.
"We have to," his daughter explained. " ... all the kids are doing it. We have to stick up for our rights!"
The inspector viewed the mounting scene about him and wondered what he should do to soften the situation. None of these fool kids knew when they were well off. What the devil would they do if they were living in Red China or Russia. The Inspector shuddered at the picture his mind conceived.
Rump Cunicheck followed his superior across the campus toward the milling students. He was becoming increasingly attentive to the new mod fashions worn by the girl students. Never before in his life had he seen so much girl protruding from so little clothing. He grinned at the inspector and sighed.
"Isn't it amazing," observed his superior, " ... to what extent women will go to satisfy the rape urge."
"It really turns you on," admitted the sergeant.
"And when you're turned on, what can the boys do to get turned off?"
"I guess most of them do it," the sergeant said.
"There's no mystery to sex on campus any more," mused the inspector. "How can you be romantic about a girl when you've been able to sample everything she's got already. The female body is no mystery to any male student nowadays. They have an intimate knowledge of most of the girls on the campus."
"The day of the pill," the sergeant said and nodded his head in understanding agreement.
"No young men," the inspector said. "Just kids. Kids who want to romp and play and have fun fun fun."
"Jeeze!" whistled the sergeant taking in the attire of the collecting protesters. "Is there a barber's strike?"
"You're behind times," accused the inspector. "That's what young people call being Mod. You have to learn to like it."
The sergeant grimaced in disbelief. Four years in the service had caused him to miss out on some of the American trends and his introductions to the new ways of life were often rather painful.
"It isn't like it used to be, not any more." He looked sad and his eyes were hard marbles of color. "Nothing anymore but delinquents, from the moment they leave grade school."
"Lord pity us," murmured Mr. Cunicheck. "I'm sure I don't see anything over there I would vote for."
"In a few years ... who knows-ever a caterpillar changes." The inspector wiped a hand across his face as though to remove the image his mind was inspecting. "I suppose we better start letting them know we're here." He motioned toward the far end of the huge lawn area where a platform loomed above another gathering group. "You take that side. I'll be over there," he pointed toward the card carriers. "Circulate a bit and see what you can hear."
The sergeant loosened his jacket and straightened his shirt in the top of his pants. The bulge in the left arm pit drew his attention. He fingered the butt of the police reolver and adjusted it in the holster. He should have had that catch fixed so it would be more stable.
"Should I have left it in the car?" he inquired of the inspector. Inspector Hamilton moved his head in the negative. "Better keep it," he said decidedly. "Someone might see it in the car and we don't want too many temptations around.
"Yeah sure," agreed the sergeant. He inched the strap up on his shoulder and loosened the hold down loops. "There," he said rotating his shoulders, " ... that's better." He moved across the lawn toward the platform. Chasing crooks or investigating crimes he could understand, but baby sitting....
This wasn't his idea of sergeant's duty. His desire was wrapped up in a little blue eyed blonde who had just consented to go out to dinner with him and he was reasonably certain that before the night was over, he would be able to indulge in a great deal more than simply wining and dining....
"You're not listening," complained the inspector.
"Sorry," apologized the sergeant. "I was worrying about my poor Aunt Kathryn. She has to go out of town on business and there isn't anyone to stay with poor Uncle Albert...."
"How sad," commented the inspector. " ... your poor Aunt Kathryn...." and he chuckled
"Oh NO!" blurted the sergeant and started running toward the platform where a red spot appeared on the hand rail surrounding it. Something very red and very ripe had just struck it and a babble of voices rose in dissention.
"Go home you Sonofabitch, you don't belong here!" screamed the long hair in the black jacket and threw another tomato. The speaker on the platform ducked, turned to face the assailant and thumbed his nose. The group of boys and girls booed. A member of the faculty hurried to the microphone and called for attention.
"Students ... students ... STUDENTS!"
The rumble died away and for a brief moment there was a semblance of quiet.
"I want to answer the charges," declared the teacher. Mr. Bendige is unable to be here and I have consented to act in his place."
"Boooooooo!" screamed the crowd.
"STUDENTS!!!"
"Booooooooooo!"
"I will be heard!" cried the teacher. "It is an appalling situation when members of the faculty cannot be permitted to speak to the students." The grouped quieted a bit and the teacher became more encouraged. "You have come here today to present your demands but unless...."
"Go home!" screamed a voice from the gathering. The teacher paused, blanched, looked for the heckler in the crowd and then sought to continue.
"Students!" he cried into the microphone. "Listen to me ... Let us be young men and women ... students ... not a rabble! I say, not a RABBLE!"...." HOME!" hissed the boy in the long hair. "We don't want to listen to you!"
The young man on the platform who had first spoken, returned to the microphone and grasped the tip of it.
"Fellows! Fellows!" he shrilled. "We did not come here to create a nuisance. We want to speak our demands and do it in a fitting way...."
"Booooooooooo!" screamed the crowd.
"Tell them what you want," suggested the young man.
"More pussy!" cried the voice. The crowd appeared to shudder for a moment and then the rise of babbling voices started again. Guido Bartoni stood his sign on the ground and balanced it with his hand. "Let's get out of here," he said and grasped Leonard's arm. "I don't like this."
"They're just having a little fun," Leonard said moving back out of harms way. "I wish Ziggie would show up."
"I don't like it," repeated Guido. "Maybe Vic got sick from the party."
"He said he'd come," answered Leonard shifting his own sign to a more comfortable position.
Guido looked for something to lean his pole against.
"I'm tired," he said rubbing a spot on his arm. "This is turning out to be more than five bucks worth. Why don't we shuck it and go home?"
Leonard was looking toward the stage in the center lawn and the commotion around it. "I want to hear the rest of it. Besides, we should start moving pretty soon."...." seems kind of silly to me," mumbled Guido. "Besides," he looked about at the mottled group of students, " ... I don't know any of them."
"Neither do I," admitted Leonard. "I guess they were hired too."
"I wonder why?" mused Guido.
Leonard didn't answer. He was listening to the shouting kids.
"We want more freedom in the dorms!" sang out a voice below the microphone position. Guido looked toward the soruce of the voice but didn't know him either.
"Girls in our rooms until ten o'clock-no Saturday homework and automatic deferment from the draft until the final semester."
Across the lawn, the inspector was listening to the list of demands and he didn't like it either. "Girls in the dorms after ten o'clock and a baby in the home after nine months...." Kids nowadays have entirely too much freedom when it comes to sexual togetherness. The attitudes of these long haired delinquents was proving that out completely.
* * *
Victor Zigler parked the Imp by the curb and walked down the block to the gathering. He had promised to be here earlier but there had been other things to think about. The argument with his father hadn't helped the matter and the outcome of his trip downtown just now only added fuel to the fire of discontent.
As he approached the students moving about the green lawns of the campus he was deeply dis turbed by the outcome of what was happening to him. "To hell with them!" he muttered to himself. "I can get along without them, or anybody." He approached the vicinity of the raised platform while searching the sea of faces for Guido or Leonard. The pinpoints of pain at his temples seemed to enlarge with each burst of sound and didn't do a thing to improve the state of his jangled nerves. His head ached and for the first time since morning, he was beginning to wish he had stayed at home in bed.
On the platform, the young man at the microphone was calling for attention and shushing the gathering so he could be heard.
"Students, STUDENTS!" he cried in annoyance, "We must be orderly! Have your sit-in but please ... STUDENTS ... let's do it like ladies and gentlemen."
"Get that square!" screamed the voice. "He's a full fledged suckass like the rest of them!"
The face of the young man on the platform grew red and he backed away from the microphone. The faculty member tried to speak again.
The outburst of bad language bothered Rump Cunicheck. "What do we do now?" he asked the inspector. "Should we start banging a few heads?"
"For what purpose?" inquired the inspector.
"They haven't done anything yet ... except talk."
"But the language he used."
"Common everyday words; not pretty but common. You can't haul them in for that."
"What if they start their sit-in?"
"Then we drag them out," explained the inspector. "The boys first and then the girls ... just in case the girls don't follow when we get the boys."
"And if the girls don't come-then what do we do, Inspector?" The plainclothes man rubbed a nervous hand over his chin and muttered something to himself, then aloud, "I guess we pick'um up and haul'um out, just like the boys."
"How?" grunted the sergeant pushing for an explanation. He took another look at the short skirts and protruding legs. "Where do we pick them up?"
"I really don't know. I suppose we can't be fussy ... if they want everybody to see it, then they can't be too upset if we grab a fist full."
"They sure don't leave much to hang on to," reflected the sergeant.
The inspector moved across the lawn toward the buildings and a new group that was collecting along the walkways.
"It isn't them I'm most worried about," he told his partner as they neared the students. "It's them," and he nodded toward the newer group.
He was greatly disturbed by the rapidly growing numbers of this new gathering and the manner in which they were stationing themselves along the walks. It was reminiscent of the racial disturbances and he didn't want such a simple thing as a sit-in to develop into a riot. It had happened before on the campuses across the nation and he was fully aware that it could happen here. Kids are kids anywhere they collect and even though they might insist they were only to resolve differences with the faculty, it was possible for things to get out of hand until a simple gathering was something a lot more serious. It was quite obvious that there were sterner undertones below the surface of what appeared to be a class demonstration.
"You watch 'em Rump!" he directed his partner. "I'm going to call the station and get some help." He hurried to the cruiser and reached the mike through the open window. "This is Hamilton," he rasped into the instrument. "Send a couple of squads out here and tell them to bring sticks. It looks like we're in for trouble, one way or another."
He placed the microphone back on the hook and reached for a handkerchief. God, what an afternoon! Things were beginning to look pretty rough and might get worse before the shift was over.
Guido Bartoni turned the lapel button over in his hand and read the inscription on the plastic face. THE SEXUAL REVOLUTION WANTS YOU! He felt it was a little risque to be worn in public and wondered if he dared to pin it on his shirt. All around him, other kids were wearing similar buttons and it was considered a very IN thing to do. He pushed the point into the fabric above his left breast and turned to Leonard for approval.
Leonard Felton was busy watching the group by the raised platform and remained indifferent to Guido's demand for attention.
"Oh hell!" Guido said and leaned on the pole of his protest sign. The placard was getting heavy and he was tired. There was something he didn't like about the whole affair and he would rather have been home helping his dad with the shelves. Most of these kids didn't look like students, at least not the students he knew. These were older, and very rough looking. They made him feel uneasy and he fingered the heavy growth of hair at the nape of his own neck. Up to now, it had been fun to be like Victor and Leonard but now, looking at the ultimate result, he didn't like it. He pushed the long strands back from his face and rubbed his forehead to remove the moisture.
"It's awful hot!" he complained, more to himself than to Leonard. His companion heard and turned on him in disgust.
"What you expect?" he growled, " ... an air-cooled Pad?"
"Nothin' " retorted Guido and moved away from the collecting students and their forest of protest signs.
Across the lawn, Victor Zigler waved a hand in recognition and stood spread legged on the grass.
He wanted to be away from the jostling spectators so he could see the whole bit. He needed a spot where he could watch everything going on around him. He was certain that something was going to happen and didn't want to be caught in the middle of it.
"Show offs," someone grumbled and a titter ran through the group by the platform.
More voices were added to the exchange of demands between the members on the platform and the protesters around it. The signs were brandished in the air for the administration to see. END THE WAR! BRING THE BOYS HOME! BRING THE GIRLS OUT! END THE DRAFT! MAKE LOVE-NOT WAR!
"I thought this was a demonstration against too much homework." Victor said and didn't realize he had spoken aloud until a boy next to him nudged his arm.
"You a nut or somethin'!"
Victor looked into the bearded face of the heckler and took a step sidewise to leave more space between them. He was more interested in what was going on at the platform.
Beyond the sea of heads, a young man climbed up on the edge of the raised platform and hung while he turned to face the students. "Who the hell cares who's fighting!" he cries. "I want beer after ten o'clock!"
"With some doll?" someone asked.
The boy grinned and yelled back. "Why ask! Don't you know?"
The spectators tittered again and applauded.
"Man! That's for us! A Babe in every pad, a ball in every hall, a skirt with every shirt!"
"Oh Brother!" sighed Victor and rubbed at the pain behind his eyes. It was beginning to look like a very long day.
The bearded heckler was watching him intently. "What ya' weavin' Man?"
"Nothing." Victor moved further away.
"Well get this nut!" The heckler called to his companions who instantly turned on the much confused Victor.
"What's the strain Man? Don't you drag the bag?"
"Go away," Victor said. He stood confronting them now, his thumbs thrust in the top of his jeans.
"You tellin' us to split, Mac?"
Victor continued to glare at the speaker and back away. The heckler took this as a sign of weakness. He stepped forward with doubled fists.
"I asked a question, Man-you hear?"
Victor still stood his ground, then he removed the dark glasses and slipped them into a shirt pocket.
"Ain't you got a tongue, Mac?" Silence.
The beard turned to his two companions and waved his hands in aggravation. "Lookie Robe, this here jerk ain't answering no questions. Should we show him how to talk?"
"Go away." Victor said. "You make my head ache."
"Grab that!" chortled the beard. "He wants us to go away-figures this here bashup is just for him!"
"Cut it Gordie," admonished his companion. "Mother Hubbard will scream plenty if you blow this bit." The speaker gestured toward the tormentor and then turned back to face the stage.
"Go home, Bastard!" he screamed. "We can do our own choosing!"
"No more war!" screamed the beard. "Stop the war! Stop the fuzz! Stop the draft!"
"War is for Squares! We want more love!"
"Free pills for the girls."
"Oh Lord!" blurted Sergeant Cunicheck. "Are these young men what our country must depend on?"
"You better believe it," moaned Mr. Hamilton and wiped his forehead once more with the handkerchief.
Around the stage, a swaying motion was coursing through the spectators. The placards dipped, then bent forward as pressing students crushed together. A force from behind pushed them against the platform.
Cries of anguish arose above the volume of protest.
"Stop it!" A young girl cried in distress and held her stomach where she had been forced against the wooden structure of the platform. "Damn it stop!" There were other cries of pain and the circle bore backward.
The young man at the microphone held up a hand for attention. His fingers held a small rectangle of paper over the wavering flame of a cigarette lighter.
"I'll burn it," he stated to the upturned faces of the spectators. "I'll burn it and then they'll know I refuse to serve."
"Some protest."
"At least they'll know!"
The manner in which the proceedings were progressing were not as originally planned. Some students did not like the insinuations being implied.
Where did this small bunch of creeps get the idea they were speaking for them? How could one group of such a large school stand up and declare the thoughts for the entire establishment? It wasn't right, it wasn't fair, and they didn't like it. A shudder ran along the group and their minds seemed to function as one unit, coming to the same conclusion, deciding on the same plan of action. As a unit, they surged across the green grass, across the walkways, determined to dash against the wall of placards, banners and distasteful signs.
Poles and banners chopped downward, walls of flesh met flesh while fists drove into heads, stomachs, and beat against other parts of the anatomy. The wave of protesters fell back, the wall of signs wavered and hot tempers exploded.
"You dirty Bastards! Go home! Dirty Bastards go home...!"
Victor Zigler crouched to meet the charging wall of humanity. All his life he had been compelled to take on all comers and this seemed little different, only the numbers were larger.
He slashed wildly at the first figure, then ducked as a sign post swished by him. The splintering of wood announced a near miss and he ducked again as other attacks pummeled him. He faltered under the mass of blows, staggered and fell back before the engulfing mass.
Beside him, Gordie and the boy with the beard stood their ground, determined to show the attackers the power of the 'Dark Angels."
A fist came up fast, catching Victor below the temple and forcing him back. His ear hurt, a shooting pain erupted into his eye and his legs buckled under him.
Rump Cunicheck raced down the stretch of lawn waving his arms and looking for the inspector. The flying squads should be here by now to give assistance in containing what was fast becoming an unruly mob. He charged the onrush of students, waving his arms and shouting as loud as possible.
He charged the pack with arms outstretched in the best lineman charge, his shoulders hunched, his head low, full into the flailing fists of the tall one. He staggered backward, grasping for some sort of support. His fingers found and grasped the loose shirt of Victor and together they crumpled to the ground, rolling together. The wave of humanity piled on, gouged, crawled over, and swept on....
The sergeant stood up feeling for broken bones and wondering who had hit him. He mumbled to himself and slapped at his pants. Two squad cars screamed to a halt and the sergeant beamed as he watched them discharge their occupants.
Victor lay for a moment, stunned and bewildered, and then slowly sat up. As he moved, his fingers touched cold metal and closed on it. He stared for a short moment at the object and then with the dawn of realization, thrust the object into his pocket.
Leonard Felton loomed over him, reaching to help him to his feet. "Where you been, Ziggie? We've been waiting for you."
"Never mind," Victor said pulling his shirt out of his pants and letting it hang down over his pants. "Let's get out of here. I've got something to show you."
He started at a brisk walk across the lawn toward the Imp with his two buddies close behind. Behind them, the police were charging into the fray and confusion reigned. Farther along the curb, the sergeant settled back in the seat of the cruiser and breathed a sigh of relief. He was fearful of having suffered a strained ligament which might stop him from keeping his date tonight. That would have been very frustrating. His hand moved over his person, feeling for broken bones and then....
His mouth dropped, his eyes opened wide in sudden realization and his fingers probed deep into the empty holster.
"Oh, my God!" he blurted in consternation. "I've lost my gun!"
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Denise Wrigley was insistent.
"I want to see you," she said again ... tonight. Can you come over?"
Leonard Felton was both surprised and puzzled. He had no idea why the Wrigley girl would want to see him. In the past, she had always seemed to find Victor more appealing and hardly gave him a second glance. Now, all at once, she wanted to see him. His mind raced back over the period of their acquaintance, trying to remember the few times he had seen her, the very few times he had been able to talk to her. His memory refused to give him a clue.
He stalled for time, trying to think. "Why?" he asked, hoping it was something unimportant.
"I can't tell you-not over the phone-come over tonight, will you?"
"I'll try," Leonard said, wishing she would drop dead and he wouldn't have to. It had been a rough day with the fight at the College and all and he couldn't even collect the five bucks.
"The folks are supposed to be in tonight," he said into the phone. "I'm to meet them at the airport." That was a lie but he knew Denise couldn't know it.
"Please come if you can-It's important, very important."
"Why?" Leonard asked again. "Does it have something to do with the party?" Everything had something to do with the party. The memory of it was a nightmare and more repercussions could still come.
"Alright," he promised. "I'll be there about seven-thirty. I have to do the front lawn first-it's kind of messed up."
Her voice sounded anxious in the phone. "Please don't say anything to anyone about it-not just yet."
"OK ... What should I do? Come on in or do we go somewhere?"
She sounded relieved, like she was pleased he had agreed to come. "Maybe just a short ride ... I have to talk to you."
"I won't have any money," Leonard said suspiciously, " ... any thing we do will have to be Dutch!"
Denise completely ignored his statement. "I'll be looking for you," she said and hung up. Leonard stared at the phone, wiped his forehead on a short sleeve and sighed deeply. What now? He was beginning to perspire and wasn't certain if it was the heat or the conversation which was making him feel so much warmer.
Going to see Denise Wrigley right now wasn't his idea of a good time. His car was still torn down in the garage and there were those two horrible black ruts across the center of the lawn. He could fill them up with dirt, strip some cod from around the edge of the lawn and hope for the best ... if he could only get rid of this damn headache.
The ruts in the yard, the horrible pain behind his eyes and that shapeless something that he felt he should be able to remember. Something about Denise's voice made him feel there might be a connection between that illusive something and what she wanted to talk about. He probed his mind, trying to think back for the item which bothered him, the something which happened and he couldn't remember. It only made his headache worse.
He placed the phone back on the table and walked into the garage. His Corvette stood in the spot usually taken up by his mother's compact and it stared at him accusingly with its forlorn headlights. It should have been finished by now. It could have if he had saved some of his allowance instead of spending it on beer and copulation.
The lawn rake hung from a hook in the corner and his mother's spade stood in the rack his father had made for it. He picked up the spade, grasped the rake and shuffled to the button beside the huge mechanical door. As it rose in the guide, he whistled a tuneless tone as a morale booster.
How long had they been gone? How much time did he have to make the house and grounds resemble something approaching normal? Was this Tuesday or Wednesday? It should be Wednesday ... they would be back tomorrow and then if he didn't have everything as it should be....
Edith should be in tomorrow to do her weekly cleaning. If he could get her before the folks arrived ... Maybe he could coax her to help out with the remaining work and not tell his mother. Edith usually did what he wanted her to. Sometimes a five dollar bill would work wonders, like the time he had coaxed her to help him take a bath ... with both of them in the tub, and the fun they had afterward ... Then he had found Bunny and didn't need to call on Edith for help anymore ... He would have to remember to ask her tomorrow ... He was getting so horny from thinking of what he was missing that he ... Where did Victor get the cigarettes? The little brown ones with the strong taste that made you feel like you were flying ... That was what he was trying to remember! The little brown cigarettes!
He remembered now, Victor had brought them. He, Leonard, had furnished the beer and some of the booze. They had really lived it up until ... The cigarettes had lifted him into a state of being which he had never experienced before. It was like walking through a layer of clouds and all about you were girls ... girls ... girls ... and they were all ... all ... NAKED!
He remembered a door ... but what door! Was it the door to his room ... the bathroom? Which was it? He tried again to remember and also why it was so important. He remembered a girl, a girl who went with a boy into a room and disrobed. She had taken off all her clothes until ... until ... That was that door again! That blackness which shut out the vision of the girl ... closed down over the eyes of the boy so he could no longer see her nudity or enjoy whatever it was they had come here to do....
Leonard wiped his forehead again and ground the shovel into the dirt. He wanted to see Bunny, wanted to see her more than anything. To tell her he wanted to go out with her again and have fun like they used to. Then it dawned on him that Bunny had a steady ... a new somebody who sounded mean and was too big for him to cope with.
He would have to go see her anyhow after he talked to Denise, maybe ... just maybe....
* * *
Harriett Wrigley was certain her world was getting out of hand Nothing nowadays retained the values it used to have and the ways of society appeared to be on a decline.
She felt Denise was becoming something of a problem. She was reaching the age when a girl should start preparing herself for the ultimate goal she would accept in life; that of being a wife, a mother and homemaker. All that kids were interested in nowdays was something called the Frug, the Watusie and a lot of noisy uninteresting music called a beat. Harriett Wrigley didn't like what the outcome might be if all this 'fadism' continued to grip the world.
Girls running around in tight fitting pants with little thought as to how they might look with their round little extremities practically exposed to the world. Girls didn't used to be like that.
In her day girls used to look forward to their first permanent and prepare for weeks for that first real hairdo, lipstick and bra. Girls nowadays start wearing the 'pre-bra' bra at thirteen, 'no lipstick' lipstick at fourteen and looking for sanitary pads in the grocery stores at the same time they shopped for gum and corn chips.
Sex had become the most predominate thing in mind at all times and life couldn't seem to progress without a shot of it from some source of media. Children were subjected to sex from the moment they started viewing television and learning the meaning of the innuendos it projected. Of course that didn't mean they would have to do away with television but it did seem that some parents were in for a great deal of trouble in raising a proper child. Now take Denise, children like her, who were trained properly, should take it all in stride the same as any other body function, or would she?
Mrs. Wrigley wasn't so sure.
Denise was seventeen. Old by her own standards but young when evaluated by the necessities of the modern world. She didn't know how to cook, couldn't sew a straight seam and had absolutely no interest in homemaking. What was the world coming to? What was the younger generation going to do to make their way in the new, comples, automation of the 'Great Society'?
Harriett Wrigley made a mental note to bring it before the next meeting of the Association of Mothers for Better Living. Something had to be done about the girls and their tight pants, the boys and their long hair and the fact that more and more time was being taken up on television by programs which taught them absolutely nothing. She would have to make a motion, get up a petition or something and then maybe....
Mrs. Wrigley pulled the car into the driveway and stopped at the closed garage door. Arthur could put it away later. Right now she would have to start thinking about dinner and what they would have for dessert. She looked into the garage noting that it was empty. Peculiar, she thought, Arthur should be home by now.
Denise Wrigley looked up from reading as she entered.
"Where were you today, Denny?" she asked, noting that her daughter was dressed in shirt and jeans rather than the mini skirt she had been wearing so much of late. "Anything exciting?"
"Not really," the girl said looking up from the latest copy of her father's pet magazine. "Out shopping with one of the girls."
"Where did you go, Dear?"
"Just around," Denise said guardedly. "The Emporium and Rhoades, then later, we went into Seventeen after Pumpers."
"At the Plaza, Dear?"
"Yes Mother."
"That's peculiar," stated Mrs. Wrigley." Alice Wilson said she saw you down by Cambrian Acres. Were you, Dear?"
"Oh! We were there too," Denise said quickly. "Donna wanted to find a gift for her boyfriends."
"A birthday?"
"Something like that!" Denise hated to tell an out and out lie to her mother, but she couldn't say what she was actually doing at the Center. She couldn't just up and say, "No Mother, I went to see Doctor James today...." Something like that would have created such an uproar there would never have been an end to it. Besides ... she didn't want to tell her mother anything just now. There would be ample time for that later.
"That's nice, dear," remarked Mrs. Wrigley and busied herself clearing the kitchen table.
"Are you going out tonight, Dear?"
"No Mother," said Denise.
"Who you asking?" inquired Mr. Wrigley appearing in the door way between the dining and living areas. "Me?"
"No, Arthur, I was asking Denise if she was going out with any of her little friends tonight."
"Why shouldn't she?" inquired Mr. Wrigley. "It's good for a girl to get around nowadays."
"I think so too," agreed Mrs. Wrigley. "There are so many nice movies to see and places they can go to have sodas and things...."
"Humph," murmured Denise and turned the page of Playboy to the picture of the young man in the Jaymar slacks.
"You're not tearing my magazine?" growled Mr. Wrigley good naturedly. "I don't want any pictures taken out of it until I see who the new playmate is...."
"I won't hurt it," responded Denise. It irritated her the way her father made over the pictures of girls in the magazine. Most of them were of kids younger than she. None of them were as good looking as her mother and five would get you ten that they were green as grass when it came to the bedroom routine.
"Just kiddin' you Baby. You look at it long as you like, OK?"
"OK Daddy."
She flipped the pages to the double fold in the center and smoothed it out. She felt like sticking out her tongue just to show her contempt for the figure looking back from the color spread.
The playmate was typical, she thought, young, childish and showing nothing but breasts. That is, nothing really worth looking at. Hell! Her mother had a better looking set of boobs than that and she was an old lady.
The girl traced her finger down the nose, across the chin and along the front between the two mounds being displayed so prominently. The figure was partially disrobed, wearing a pair of Levi's, which were open at the flap and showing the navel and a lot of skin through the vee. She wasn't pretty, in fact, she wasn't even cute and Denise couldn't understand what her father could see in the skinny frame with a crease across the neck and another just below the point of the vee.
"Men!" she said in disgust. They always knew what they wanted but sure as hell didn't know the best place to get it!
* * *
Rump Cunicheck wasn't thinking about Playboy magazines or Playmate pictures. What he had in mind was something a little more substantial and inviting. He hadn't expected too much of the evening but was rather happy the way it was turning out. There was only one fly in his ointment, he felt very ill at ease.
In spite of the smooth flow of conversation during dinner and the ease with which he was moving in on the little blue eyed blonde, he was still irritated by the boo boo he had pulled at the college. Inspector Hamilton would be up in fits when he found out he had lost his gun.
He had found it rather inconvenient to mention the mishap to the Inspector and decided to put it off until tomorrow. He was positive his superior would have put him on report, probably given him a suspension for being so careless and detained him so long at the office filling out papers that he would have been unable to keep this date.
Now as he fitted the key into the lock of the girl's apartment he was wrapped up in the thoughts of what his excuse could be on the morrow after he had gathered up enough courage to even mention the subject of the gun.
He twisted the key, removed it, dropped it into the girl's hand and absentmindedly turned to go away. Bunny Harris frowned and looked to see if she really understood his actions. Never before had she been treated so indifferently. Always, in her experience with men, they had almost forced their way into the apartment in quest of a very suddenly necessary cup of coffee, a glass of water, or just and out and out demand for a moment along to 'talk'. The Sergeant's attitude was one she couldn't anticipate and it caught her completely off guard.
"Don't you want to come in?" she asked anxiously and then bit her lip for saying it. She hadn't intended to encourage him because sometimes the police can become rather obnoxious and cause a girl a great deal of trouble. Now that she had said it, there was only one thing she could do ... follow through with as much sincerity as possible.
"Sure do!" blurted the Sergeant and his face lighted up like a go-go sign. He followed her into the apartment and appraising her figure as she removed her jacket and hung it in the little closet by the door.
"Would you like a drink, Mr. Cunicheck?"
"Yes I would," he smiled at her and turned on all the charm at his command. "Call me Rump," he pleaded. "I would feel so much better if you did."
"Rump? Isn't that a funny name for a man?"
"It's a nickname," he explained. "It was tagged on me as a kid and I've still got it."
"What does it mean?"
"Its short for the gnome in the fairy tale Rum-plestilskin. You remember?"
"I'm afraid not," she said. "I didn't get to do much reading."
"That's too bad," he said. "It gives a youngster an opportunity to build his own dream world. It's something to fall back on when you get into trouble." He looked at her and wondered if he was supposed to walk over, take her in his arms and try to kiss her. The thought of doing it pleased him very much but he couldn't make his feet or hands do what his brain was commanding.
"Is that what you did?" she asked and there was a puzzled look on her face.
"Sure," the sergeant gave up the idea of taking hold of her. Something about the way she stood told him it wasn't a very good idea and she just might scream if he made any unasked advances. He would have to wait and let her make the first move. Surely she would do something. Any doll who had been out on the town had sense enough to know that there came a time for payment. "When I felt things were getting just a little too rough," he said so that she could see he was being very casual about the whole thing. "Then I would think 'Sergeant, you are Rumplestilskin and you can do about anything you want to,' they would get up and do it."
"Hard things?"
"Sometimes."
Bunny motioned him to a seat and placed cushions on the davenport so he could be comfortable. "Bourbon or vodka, Sergeant?"
"Anything," he said. "Call me Rump."
"Water or mix, Rump?"
"Water," the sergeant said and dropped to the pillows on the davenport. "This is great," he sighed. "Absolutely great!"
The girl disappeared into the kitchen while he stared casually about the apartment. It was a nice little place. Clean, comfortable looking and the type usually found in the low income group. Nice pictures, decent furniture and reasonably good looking carpet. Good place for a young couple just getting started. He could imagine himself in a place like this with a girl of his own, maybe someone even like Bunny Harris.
"You didn't finish your story," Bunny said coming back with two glasses. "You were going to tell me how your nickname helped you out."
"Oh that," the Sergeant said and looked a little embarrassed.
"You don't have to if you don't want to." She sat down in a chair opposite him and crossed her legs. "Mind if I get rid of my shoes and stockings?" she asked.
"Be my guest," replied Rump with mounting interest and stared at the nice curves under the hose. He sipped at the drink before saying more. "You still want to hear?"
She nodded.
"Well," he said trying to avert her eyes and keep from letting her know what her nearness was doing to him. "Where was I?"
"You didn't say," Bunny said raising her skirt and unsnapping the tab of her garter. "You were going to tell me."
"Yeah, I guess I was. Well, there we were sitting about half way up a hill one night and pinned down by a group of chinks on the top of a rock. Every time we try to break out, they throw up a signal flare and start lobbing mortar fire into us. After a while, I'm getting a little put out by all this and make up my mind there must be a way out." He watched while Bunny worked the stocking down the well formed leg and over the ankle. He gulped, sipped his drink and returned to the story. "I says, 'Rumplestilskin, if you were in my shoes what would you do?' " He paused so she could absorb that much of the story and wonder about the outcome.
Bunny Harris tugged the stocking slowly over her foot and held it at arm's length. The sergeant's eyes bored holes into it.
"Then what did you do?" she asked pulling the skirt up and unfastening the tab on the other hose. "Did you go after them?"
"Nope!" grinned the sergeant, devotedly following the movements of her hands and delighting in the amount of leg uncovered by the raised skirt. "We made them come after us."
The girl paused in the operation of dropping the stocking and looked at the sergeant. "Oh?" she said.
"Yes sir!" exclaimed the sergeant. "I just says 'Rumplestilskin, if you was pinned down here and couldn't go up the hill, what would you do?' "
"And?" inquired Miss Harris depositing the hose on the side table.
"Right then, there was this vision of a little green man and he says to me, 'Rump, you go DOWN this hill! Make them come after you.' "
"Did you?" The other leg was up, the skirt lifted and a flash of white panties showed plainly. Rump swallowed hard, grinned, blinked and continued his story.
"That's just what we did," he declared with gusto. "We let out a holler, made a lot of noise and some of us lit out down the hill. When them chinks heard all that commotion going on, they just knew we were retreating and headed right down that hill after us. Then ... the boys we left behind opened up with machine guns and clobbered them but good ... They couldn't set up their mortars and we beat the liv'en hell out of them!"
"My!" remarked Miss Harris, "That must have been some fight!"
"Yeah," echoed the sergeant licking his lips and staring at the narrow strip of white panties. "Yeah ... some fight!" and he downed his drink in one long swallowing gulp.
"Damn...." he muttered under his breath and then louder, "DAMN."
"More?" inquired Miss Harris reaching for his glass. "Maybe one more?"
"Yeah, one more," nodded the sergeant. "Jeeze, it's hot in here!"
"Should I get into something more comfortable, Sergeant?"
"Gosh yes!" exclaimed Mr. Cunicheck beaming. "Something real comfortable."
The girl disappeared from sight and the sergeant leaned back on the davenport, seeking to calm his nerves and return to some degree of normalcy. He had promised not to expect anything but what he was experiencing wasn't helping his blood pressure a bit. One more drink and he would have to get the hell out of there and go take a long walk in the ocean.
"How's this?" asked Miss Harris, coming back and doing a slow turn so he could appraise the 'something comfortable.' Rump Cunicheck took one look and dissolved into jelly.
The 'something comfortable' was a thin peignoir, and revealed the fact that she had removed all of her clothing and was clad now only in some Baby Doll briefs. She settled back in the chair, raised her glass and offered a toast.
"To us," she said simply but the tone was full of meaning.
The sergeant drank deep of the renewed glass of bourbon and then sat it on the small side table. He grinned foolishly, reaching for her arm. She extended a hand to meet his, then came to her feet as he pulled her upward. His arms went around her, his lips finding hers in a kiss of passion which could be restrained no longer. His hand roved the extent of her back, then rested on the warm contours of her bottom.
The flesh beneath the negligee was warm to his touch and sent his blood racing.
"Oh Baby," he blurted. "Oh Baby ... do I need you!"
She broke away, her eyes meeting his, the deep wells of emotion showing the depth of her desire.
"Come," she said and tugged him toward the bedroom.
He followed meekly, his mind completely engulfed by the anticipation of sampling the pleasures she was offering. They reached the doorway and started through and then the girl stopped, comprehending for the first time that someone was knocking long and hard on the front door.
She paused startled, pulled the peignoir closer about her body and not quite decided what to do.
"Who the devil is that?" she asked and her eyes opened wide as realization seeped in on her.
"It's me," a voice said from the hall. "Hurry and open up!"
CHAPTER TWELVE
Arthur Wrigley leafed through the new issue of Playboy which Denise had just laid aside. It bothered him a bit for her to get it first but wouldn't mention it to her. She really didn't do it any harm since the center spread was still intact.
"Are you still ogling that Alice in Wonderland book?" demanded Mrs. Wrigley. "Couldn't you lay it down long enough to fix the catch on this door?" She banged her fist against the door which in turn banged against the cupboard frame making two bangs and a lot of aggravation. "Couldn't you?" she repeated.
"Oh all right," muttered Arthur Wrigley laying the magazine down beside his easy chair.
"What the devil's so all fired important tonight?"
"It won't stay shut," complained Mrs. Wrigley. "It keeps coming open and someday I'll poke an eye out on it."
"Don't get so riled up," soothed Mr. Wrigley, "It's a very simple matter." He examined the door in question and bent the small half circle prong which closed about the ball attached to the cupboard shelf. "All you have to do is tighten this," he pointed to the item. "It's very simple ... even a ten year old child could do it."
"I'm sorry I bothered you," replied Mrs. Wrigley. She hated for Arthur to act that way and it irritated her a great deal. Being spoken to like a child and treated as though she couldn't open a jar alone.
"Nothing to have fits about," retorted Mr. Wrigley. "Didn't take over five minutes."
"Nothing is important to you except that sex book of yours."
"Now Harriett...!"
Mrs. Wrigley turned on her heel and headed down the hall toward the bedroom. There was a peculiar look on her face and for a moment Mr. Wrigley thought he saw a tear. He brushed that idea aside as being ridiculous. Why would she cry over a simple thing like a door catch that didn't work?
Denise Wrigley was sorting her records when he went back to his chair. She looked up at him with that little girl look she used when seeking favors.
"Do you think it is permissible for consenting adults to have sex outside of marriage?" She asked the question in a matter of course tone and Mr. Wrigley was so surprised he didn't know quite how to answer.
"What, Baby?" he asked, just to be sure he had heard her right.
Denise repeated the question. "Do you think it is all right for grown up people to have intercourse if they want to?"
"That depends on the people," replied Mr. Wrigley wondering what had brought this on.
"People who aren't married?" asked Denise.
"Under certain circumstances," replied Mr. Wrigley slowly, "It would depend on the conditions."
"If you loved the other person?"
"Possibly, yes, I think so...."
"Suppose you didn't love them," stated Denise, pursuing the question. "Suppose you just knew them?"
"That would depend."
"It's being done, isn't it, Daddy?"
"I'm sure it is," replied Mr. Wrigley and his neck was beginning to feel very warm. "Then it is all right? You said it was."
"Yes, I guess so."
"For me, Daddy?"
"Huh?" Mr. Wrigley almost dropped his book. "Huh?"
Denise giggled. "I said, was it all right for me?"
"To ... to ... to have intercourse?"
"Of course. Isn't that what we were talking about?"
"Yes, yes, of course," agreed Mr. Wrigley completely confused. "Yes, I suppose it would be all right for you to have intercourse ... under the proper circumstances."
"With an acquaintance?"
"No!" blurted Mr. Wrigley, his conscience knocking at his fatherly judgement. "No! Of course not!"
"Isn't that what you said, Daddy?" demanded Miss Wrigley, deliberately staring her father down. "Isn't it, Daddy?"
"Yes ... er ... I don't know ... Do we have to talk about it now?"
"No Daddy ... Sorry! I just thought I would ask. That's what it says in your book there and I figured if it was all right for some, it should be all right for everyone."
"Oh," sighed Mr. Wrigley greatly relieved. "You just read my magazine anytime you want to, Baby. It has a lot of good stuff in it." He thought for a moment and then added. "But don't take it too much to heart."
"Yes Daddy, thank you." Denise turned to the stereo and began selecting records to show Leonard. She had found out what she wanted to know and could decide now what she would have to do. In spite of the fact her parents talked contemporary talk, she was positive that underneath, they would never understand her problem.
Leonard Felton approached the Wrigley household with a great deal of misgiving. He parked his mother's Nova II at the curb one house beyond the Wrigley's and walked slowly up to the door. If anyone was watching, they wouldn't know it was he and if he chickened out before he reached the porch maybe they wouldn't know.
He pushed the bell with his finger and waited patiently for someone to answer. This was his first visit to the Wrigley household and, although he had heard of the Wrigley Construction Company, he was quite surprised by the pretentiousness of the surroundings.
A sound brought him back to the matter at hand as the door opened a crack and a face appeared in the space.
"Yes?" a voice said and memory came up hitting Leonard square between the eyes. He stared at the face in awed disbelief and then in shocked realization.
"Well?" demanded the face. "What the hell you want, kid?" The voice paused and then came back louder and more demanding. "Well...?"
"I ... I...." Leonard stuttered in confusion and stopped open mouthed. His mission was for-gotton and the knowledge he had heard the voice before beat him back. He stopped, awkwardly aware of what was happening, his eyes moving up and down the figure showing through the narrow opening and what he saw, was not the well groomed, the dark suit, the white shirt or blue polka dot necktie, but a nude figure of a man whose eyes glared down on him, even as these were glaring now, a figure only partially hidden behind a clutched towel which did not, could not, hide the most fascinating thing about the masculine entity.
Leonard lowered his eyes, worked his mouth, shut it and backed away in bewilderment.
The man looked at him again, watched as he turned stumbling from the porch and then pushed the door shut. "Kids!" he said in contempt. "You never know what the fool idiots are going to do.
"Who was at the door?" asked Mrs. Wrigley returning from the bedroom. "Somebody for me?"
"Nobody, Honey ... just some fool kid ... I guess he was lost."
Denise started to rise, opened her mouth to say something and then decided not to do either.
"Were you expecting someone, Denny?" inquired her mother.
"No mother. Not really."
Arthur Wrigley pulled his tie tight at the throat and straightened the pin which held it to the front of his shirt. The Playmate in the gatefold had been very enticing and he felt a sudden urge to go looking for something. He looked at his reflection in the hall mirror and mentally figured the time.
"You going somewhere?" inquired Mrs. Wrigley.
"Going down to see a man about one of the contracts. Don't wait up for me. I might be late."
* * *
Bunny walked slowly to the door. "Who is it?" she asked.
"It's me," stated the voice. "Art ... hurry up Honey, open up."
Bunny stopped short and bit her lip. "Oh God!" she said under her breath and then aloud. "Can you come back later?"
"Why?" the voice demanded. "I'm busy...."
"Busy! BUSY!!" blurted the voice. "Holy Christ, you got somebody in there?"
"Hell! I've been here this late before. Come on, open up."
"I am busy," insisted Bunny. "Come back later."
"Jesus Christ, you HAVE got somebody in there!"
"Please, go away, I'll see you tomorrow."
The voice was becoming harsh with irritation. "Are you banging somebody else in there, Bunny?"
Bunny Harris flinched and clutched nervously at the negligee. "Do you mean am I having intercourse with another man?"
The voice grew louder and the door knob rattled. "I mean, are you fucking some bastard in there. ARE YOU?"
"No, I'm not," she replied.
The door knob rattled again. "You are! God Damn you sure are! And on my new bed!"
"I AM NOT!" Bunny said firmly.
"Then open the door," ordered the voice. "I want in."
"I promise ... I'll see you tomorrow ... if you'll just go away."
"My ass!" snapped Mr. Wrigley. "You'll see me tonight! ... If you don't open this door, I'll break it down!"
Rump Cunicheck stirred uneasily in his chair. Up to now he had been tongue tied. Following Bunny Harris to the door, he had found it restful and quieting to sit down until the matter of the door opening had been settled. Now he decided to intervene and take command of the situation. He took a position behind Miss Harris where he hoped he could be heard without raising his voice. "I demand you go away," he stated in his most official voice. "Go away and leave us alone."
"Like hell I will!" retorted Mr. Wrigley through the door and it rattled under his pressure.
Rump Cunicheck stared blankly at the door which separated him from the caller. The voice continued to come through the paneling.
"You either let me in or I WILL BREAK IT DOWN!" stormed Mr. Wrigley. "I'm not paying her rent so she can ding-a-ling every kook she meets." He paused for a moment for his threat to sink in, there was more shaking of the knob and then, "I'll break it down for sure...."
Bunny Harris looked at the sergeant. She was flustered, confused, and even a bit frightened. The threats from the other side of the door were taking on a very ungentlemanly flavor and some of the words were very poorly chosen.
"Stop right there!" ordered the sergeant. "We are opening the door." He reached around the girl, turned the latch and pulled the door open.
"Who the hell are you?" demanded Mr. Wrigley drawing himself up to administrative stature and trying to wilt the sergeant.
"I might ask the same of you, Sir!" stated Mr. Cunicheck.
"That's my girl you are with."
"I beg to differ with you, Sir!" retorted the sergeant. "Miss Harris is a free agent."
"If you aren't out of here by the time I count three I'll make a free agent out of you."
Rump Cunicheck was getting nervous. This man was getting belligerent and he didn't know how far he should go. Having a free-for-all in the hall of the apartment building wasn't his idea of being discreet. Having one's name in the papers because of a triangle brawl wasn't exactly the best way to keep harmony at home.
"Cool it, Mister!" he said drawing himself to his best police configuration, "I'm a police officer!"
Arthur Wrigley wasn't to be squelched so easily. "Look here Buster!" he demanded, "What you doing with my girl?"
"I'm not doing anything and she's not your girl." The sergeant was becoming more than ruffled, he was getting down right mad and was having difficulty holding himself in check. He didn't like the way Arthur Wrigley was staring at Bunny and the dirty smirk which was now on his face because of the girls skimpy attire, but getting into a fight with a private citizen over the favors of a girl was not the best way to remain in the good graces of the force. The thought of the Inspector and what he might say kept his temper cooled. He could almost see the headlines that such a display of temper might bring. 'Local Police Sergeant involved in brawl over call girl!' He knew what the Captain would think of it. He would probably end up on a beat out in the sticks, if not laughed off the Force altogether, not to say the least, of what his wife, Margarite, would say.
He groaned inwardly, forced himself to full height, and faced the intruder. "I suggest you go away and leave us alone," he said, using the tone he usually reserved for drunks. "The young lady doesn't want to see you."
"If you don't get the hell out of here," threatened Mr. Wrigley, " ... I will throw you out!"
"In that case," explained the sergeant, " ... I shall have to haul you in for creating a disturbance, threatening an officer and molesting this young lady."
Arthur Wrigley was visibly shaken by the announcement and froze.
"If you want to go for seconds...." he offered, " ... I'll have you hauled into court to face a charge of adultery. How would you like that?"
Mr. Wrigley shrunk by two inches. "Huh! ... Who the hell are you?"
"I'm Sergeant Cunicheck of the Police Department. Now I suggest you leave us alone so we can finish our drink."
Arthur Wrigley stared at the flimsy peignoir and the outline of what was underneath. "Yeah," he agreed, " ... to your drink," then he turned abruptly and disappeared down the hall.
Behind the sergeant, Miss Harris was crying softly. Life had just dealt her the wrong card and something told her that from now on things were going to be a little bit rougher.
"Good night, Rump," she said wiping her eyes. "I'm awful tired. I want to go to bed ... hope you don't mind."
"Sure Kitten," sighed the sergeant. Rotten luck! Just when things were going so well.
* * *
The phone rang. Denise raced her mother for it, almost slipping on the hall throwrug in her haste. She hoped it was Lenny. It was Guido. Denise's reaction to Guido's request to see her was at first reluctant, then acquiescent.
"Well ... all right, I guess. Mother's going out for a while, so O.K." As she hung up, Denise vaguely regretted the intrusion. After all, she had almost screwed up the courage to tell Lenny he was going to be a father. Now that would have to wait. She decided to jump in the shower and change before Guido arrived.
She barely made it. When the doorbell rang, she was just finishing straightening her hair. Her mother had left already, so she hurried downstairs to let him in.
Guido-always looks nice, she thought-was wearing a particularly sexy pair of tight-fitting jeans and a pull-over shirt that showed-off his chest nicely. Denise took all this in momentarily, subconsciously, not fully aware of the sexual attraction she felt for Guido.
Guido was in a perky-though horny-mood.
"Hi sweetheart!"
"Hi. Come on in and sit down. Want anything to drink?"
"No, thanks. Say, what's the serious face all about? You look pretty glum. Anything wrong?"
"Well, not the kind of thing that...."
Denise walked over to the mantle, picked up the silver lighter and lit her cigarette, nervously undecided whether or not to tell him. To hell with it, she thought-why not?
"Damn it, Guido, I'm pregnant! I found out about it a couple of days ago. I know it's stupid and all, but I'm kinda shook up about it, you know? Anyway, Mom's gotta tell Daddy, and that's the hell of it."
"Who's the father," asked Guido, mildly suspicious that she was about to break the news to him at any moment-and not at all displeased.
"Lenny. And he probably doesn't give a damn and neither should I-but, dammit, I do. I just wish it could've been somebody else."
Guido was smiling, almost craftily, glad she felt nothing for Lenny.
"Maybe it was," he said.
"Was what?"
"Somebody else. When did it happen. I mean, how far along are you?
"About a month I guess. Why?"
"Because I think it was me. At the party."
Denise was surprised, but pleased with the thought. She almost grabbed at it. She wanted it to be true.
"At Lenny's party? But nothing happened, I mean, how could it of been you?"
"Ha! I thought so! You were so bombed out of your mind you didn't even remember. I fucked you."
Denise wasn't shocked, just happy. "You're sure?" she squealed. She ran across the room, and hugged him enthusiastically.
"Oh, Guido, I'm so glad it was you! I can't think of anyone I'd rather...."
"Have screw you? I hope so baby, 'cause there's a hard pecker in these pants just bursting to get into you now-and you won't forget it this time!"
His hand was already up her dress, pulling at her panties, wriggling to get inside her tight warmth. He pulled her off the couch, down onto the rug, not even giving her time to take off her clothes. He stood over her, legs stradding her, looking down at her as he unzipped his fly and took out his huge piece of rock-hard cock. She writhed and moaned at the sight of it. He fingered it, jacking it slowly up and down, letting little driblets of semen drip down the shaft and onto her belly as he talked.
"Baby, you're gonna get all of this up your hole. You're gonna get a load of hot come you'll never forget."
She had unbuttoned her blouse while he stood above her. Her breasts tumbled out invitingly and the sight made him even hotter. He knelt to tongue her breasts, biting them almost viciously, but lovingly, desperately. His finger was working at, delving in, worshipping her pussy.
"Guido," she moaned. "Please. Now. Now." Denise was thoroughly aroused, thoroughly happy. She needed the warmth of this boy, this boy so suddenly turned man. She needed and wanted to feel his hard shaft throbbing through her cunt, wanted to feel his prick digging into her.
Guido pushed the head of his cock against her opening, slightly drunk with the knowledge that this was the first time he'd ever fucked her when she was aware of what he was doing. It thrilled him to know that she had always wanted him, that she loved him, cared for him. It was sure as shit that no one else had. No one. Not even Victor, not really. Victor just let him hang around. Victor really hated him. But Denise! Denise was different. She would do anything he wanted. Anything. The rough talk he'd tried on her hadn't even phased her.
He shoved his ass heavily toward her, almost clumsily, but as he progressed he began to work his buttocks more easily, allowing himself to feel the full thrill of the act, allowing himself to enjoy every moment of being with this wonderful girl.
Suddenly he felt the familiar surge of aching pleasure in his groin, felt the hot semen bursting free, and his hips jerked involuntarily, convulsively. Every ounce of his come shot into her as she reached a climax with him, as her young body writhed on the floor, her buttocks working frantically, her arms holding Guido to her. She moaned as their bodies relaxed.
Guido looked down at her. He knew one thing. This girl was going to be his wife. Whether he'd fathered the baby or not, this girl was going to be his, and the baby would be his too.
CONCLUSION
Cunicheck slapped his hand against his side and glanced nervously at Inspector Hamilton. They were standing in front of the Felton home, waiting for an answer to their knock. After a brief period, the maid opened the door.
"Yes?" she inquired.
"Excuse me, Ma'am," Hamilton said. "Police Department." He flashed his badge at the suddenly startled woman. "Are the Felton's home?"
"Er, Yes. Yes. Just a moment." The maid hurried off into the interior of the house.
Cunicheck stared at Hamilton. "Boy, some layout," he said, admiringly. "This Felton must be quite a guy."
"How do you think he'll take it? I mean, our busting in on him like this?"
"Rough. You can expect him to scream for the D.A. He's one of those S.O.B.'s whose kid can't do any wrong. You know the type."
"Yeah," Cunicheck said, tiredly. "Yeah."
Mrs. Felton approached the door graciously, extending her hand. "The Maid," she stressed the word Maid, "said you were from the Police Department?"
"That's right, Ma'am," Hamilton said. "We'd like to talk with you and your husband, if we could."
"Certainly," Mrs. Felton said, coolly, hiding her nervousness. What could these men want? Was anything wrong with Lenny? "Won't you come this way," she pointed toward the large living room. " I do hope this is about the creatures who ruined our front yard."
"Sort of, Ma'am." The relief that started to surge through her breast at this statement was stopped short by the quick realization that he had said only "sort of", not a definite yes. What else could there be?
Mr. Felton rose as the officers entered his plush living room. He stared hard at the men.
"You catch the punks that wrecked the yard," he demanded at once.
"We know who they were, Mr. Felton," Hamilton replied undaunted.
"Well?" The word was impatience, command, and question rolled into one.
"I'm sorry to have to tell you that our investigation has revealed the fact that the yard was wrecked during a wild party your son was giving. We've interviewed the neighbors...."
"Nosey sons of bitches!" Felton exploded...." and we've interviewed several of the kids at the High School. It seems your son...."
"Goddamn punks," Felton interrupted...." It seems your son has been for a long time, involved with a kid by the name of Victor Zigler. In case you aren't aware of it, Victor is a known Junkie."
Felton looked stunned. He sank into a chair, waiting for the officer to continue.
"Zigler is known to have brought several packages of cigarettes, cigarettes whose basic ingredient is Marijuana, to the party your son was giving. Each of the kids at the party smoked one or more of the cigarettes."
"Oh my dear God," Mrs. Felton said, her hand across her mouth. ','Oh God."
"We have further evidence that your son was involved in a slight fracas at the University, again with Victor Zigler. Further, your son was involved in a burglary at a junk yard in which auto parts were stolen."
"You can't prove it," Mr. Felton said desperately. "You can't prove any of this. It's just gossip. Just lousy, fucking gossip. A bunch of nosey neighbors who'd love to see my kid strung up by the balls. That's what it is. And a bunch of goddamn punks who can't bear to see my kid with his own car while they still have to bike or hitchhike. You don't have a shred of proof, you bastards. I'll have your asses hauled in so fast you won't know what happened. I'll...."
"We have a witness. A witness and a participant."
"Who!?" demanded Felton. "Name me one reliable witness. One."
"Guido Bartoni," Hamilton said.
"Weedo?" Felton looked startled."
"The Wop kid?"
"Yes sir."
"He's a lying Bastard! I'll kill the son of a bitch! He's just trying to throw this off on my boy. You fucking bastards get out of here! NOW!"
Hamilton stared at Mr. Felton, disgust rising in his belly at this hunk of nothing that refused to believe his son could be anything but pure.
"Mr. Felton, we have come here to let you know that a warrant has been issued for the arrest of your son. We have just got word that he was spotted on the Freeway, and by now he should be on his way to the station. I'd suggest you call your lawyer. If you want to help the boy."
"YOU SONS OF BITCHES GET THE HELL OUT! YOU GODDAMN BETCHA I'LL CALL MY LAWYER." The officers left.
* * *
"Guido," Denise said in the darkness of the parked car.
"Yeah, honey?"
"Guido, did we do right?"
"Right?"
"Finking out on Lenny and Vic. Telling the cops."
"It was the only way, honey. We had to be square with the law. There just wasn't any other way to do it. I didn't ask them to let me off. You know that. I'm willing to take whatever I've got coming. But I couldn't go through life knowing what had happened, wondering if I was going to get rapped any minute, wondering if there was someone on my tail."
"I know," she snuggled closer to him. "Oh, I guess you're right."
"Sure I'm right, honey. You'll understand later."
"Guido?"
"Yeah, Denny?"
"Hold me. Just hold me for a little while, and then let's make love again."
He pulled her soft form to him, glad to feel the warmth of this girl, this marvelous girl. There was only one thing left to do, and that was to tell her parents, and then they could be married. Married, and square with the world. It was a wonderful feeling.
He felt the passion surging through his veins, felt the softness of the girl beside him in the car.
He bent toward her waiting lips and kissed her. Her arms encircled his neck and she held him in a tight embrace.
"Fuck me, Guido. Please. It's O.K."
He laid her gently down on the car seat, gently undressing the quiet, waiting form. His hands ran slowly along the length of her legs as he pulled her panties down. He pushed her skirt up along her hips. She herself undid her blouse, and her bra, letting her tight young breasts fall free.
Guido stared at her warm young body, the lust building in his loins.
She spread her legs apart, as Guido pulled his pants, shirt, and underwear off. He knelt down on the floorboard of the car, his tongue darting out toward her cunt. He licked slowly at first, letting the heat build, waiting for her juices to start flowing again. She shivered as his tongue found its target, as his young fingers, inexperienced and yet so wise, trailed along her smooth, firm stomach to her breasts and began to pinch her nipples, began to massage the taut, full breasts.
"Oh, Guido, now!" she whispered to him. "Do it now!"
Guido climbed on top of her, his hard shaft pressing against her waiting vagina, and then he thrust his rod into her, easily and yet quickly. Another shiver ran through her body as his manhood entered. She shifted her weight and began slowly moving her hips in a long, sensuous rhythm, as his butt rose and fell on top of her. For this time they were alone in the world. For this moment there were no problems, no hang-ups, no parents. They were young, and the world lay before them.
