Lover With A Grudge
by Curt Aldrich


WOMAN HATER! 

In his book. Sex in Society, Alex Comfort writes: "It is unfortunate that so 
much which is written about early sex experience and teenage behavior is 
written by men and by unmarried women -- for perhaps the key problem of sex 
education, physical, social, and moral, is to give boys, who in our culture 
are the more sexually aggressive, some rudimentary insight into the way in 
which girls' responses differ from their own. For a man, defloration is an 
achievement but no more -- if anything, he is doing his partner a favor 
making a woman of her. For the girl, every act... is an invasion of her body 
by forces outside herself." And handsome Harry Pearce understood female 
psychology too well. His depraved mother existed in his early memory, and he 
swore vengeance on all women. They became his playthings, to conquer and 
cast away -- until he found one who was different. 


CHAPTER ONE 

Edwina Porter was the owner of the store. She was a thirty-eight year old 
divorcee, tall, large-boned lush. She had black hair which she piled on top 
of her head, and she wore two-piece dresses cut in a plain, almost severe 
style. 

But no trick of tailoring could hide the thrusting glory of her large 
well-shaped breasts or the womanly beauty of her backside which was, if 
anything, a little too generous and round. Her waist was small enough and 
her legs, though sturdy, were pleasant to view. 

When Harry Pearce, the stock boy, got word that she wanted to see him, a 
tingle of excitement touched his lower region. This was it, he thought. The 
day. The time. He had been working to get her ever since she had hired him 
three weeks ago, and now he was going to succeed. The look in her eyes that 
morning and the tone of voice she had used when she greeted him had 
furnished the tip-off. 

She was ready to be had. 

Harry put down the shoe box he was holding, cast a glance at the cute 
retreating rump of the clerk, Reba Williams, who had brought him the 
message, and followed her out of the stock room. As she moved on to the 
center of the shop, he turned and headed up the stairs to the offices on the 
mezzanine floor. 

He bestowed a boyish grin on the short-haired blonde whose desk was just 
outside the owner-manager's door. 

"Go on in," she told him and smiled back. 

Everybody liked Harry because he smiled a lot and had an obvious zest for 
life. He was ruggedly handsome with black wavy hair. His dark eyes could be 
rakish at times, and this added to his appeal if the evaluator happened to 
be a woman. 

He had a way of making the susceptible ones feel warm inside their panties 
when he looked at them. 

Edwina was susceptible. Harry had been sure of that the first moment he saw 
her, he had been playing on her susceptibility with looks, smiles and 
remarks that could be taken more than one way. Though only twenty-one years 
old, he was well experienced with girls and women and he had a great amount 
of confidence where they were concerned. He knew he had exactly what most of 
them wanted, whether they would admit it or not, and he gloried in giving it 
to them. In his own special ways. 

He opened the door and entered Edwina's office. 

"Did you want to see me, Mrs. Porter?" he asked. 

"Yes, Harry. Sit down, won't you?" 

He shoved the door closed behind him, walked slowly over to her desk and 
remained standing, looking at her. 

"Well?" she said. "Sit." 

"I'd just as soon stand if you don't mind." 

She took off the glasses she had been wearing and gazed at him in surprise. 
He had never spoken this way to her before. 

"I called you up here to talk with you about the shipment we received 
yesterday from Mar-Bro Styles. Your inventory doesn't seem to check with... 
" Her voice ran out and a change occurred around her eyes as she watched him 
studying her. 

"W-why are you looking at me like that?" she asked. 

"Because I caught you in a lie, Mrs. Porter," he said gently. "The Mar-Bro 
shipment isn't the reason you sent for me." 

"Harry... " 

He looked at her soulfully and continued, "You sent for me because you feel 
about me the same way I feel about you." 

"No," she said, but it seemed to be directed more toward herself than toward 
him. 

"I'm in love with you, Edwina." 

A rosy blush crept into her cheeks. Her red lips parted and trembled. 

"I... I don't know what to say," she told him. 

"You don't have to say anything, darling. I know how you feel. A man can 
sense that with a woman. I've been sensing it with you." 

He turned and walked to the door. 

In an anxious tone she demanded, "Where are you going?" 

"No place. I'm just going to lock the office so we won't be disturbed." 

"Oh, no!" she exclaimed. 

Her pretense of shock annoyed him, especially since she was such an obvious 
hot pants. She was hurting. Though she had considerable physical appeal, her 
stand-offish nature probably had made it difficult for her to get close to 
men. Consequently she was missing severely what she used to get from her 
ex-husband. 

The world was full of women like her who were missing it and didn't seem to 
know what to do about their trouble. They couldn't approach a man as a man 
would approach a woman, and something about their personalities held men 
off. 

Harry enjoyed coming to their rescue. 

He locked the door quietly, so that a click would not be heard by the 
secretary seated outside, and he returned to Edwina's desk. She was standing 
now, looking tense and somehow helpless. The look gave him a charge. 

He walked around the desk, took hold of her arm and turned her gently to 
face him. 

"Oh, Harry!" she cried and came into his savage embrace. 

He clamped his seeking mouth over hers. 

As he held her tightly, letting her artillery-shell breasts bore into him, 
he plunged his tongue at the warm sweetness of her mouth. 

She moaned, clutched him hard at the back, and returned his kiss with 
suddenly released fervor. 

Want it, did she? 

Man, she was wild for it! 

A surge of exultation rose within him. He would give her a good going over, 
just as rough as she wanted, and afterward he would have her really hooked. 

He was going to enjoy this in more ways than one. Her breasts burrowed at 
him and her plump belly agitated against his lower middle. As he kept 
kissing her hungrily, he ran a hand down her back and onto her bottom. 

She was girdled, of course. As an expert student of feminine rear ends, he 
had known from the first time he saw her that she clothed herself in armor. 
There was no evidence of division to her large backside, with the cheeks 
squeezed together and the spandex or whatever it was around them. 

He would find the division, though. 

He would find it and part it and use her the way she ought to be used. 

Their kiss terminated and she leaned back, gasping. His hands went to the 
buttons on the front of her jacket. 

"No!" she exclaimed. "Not here! My God!" 

"I need you now, Edwina," he pleaded. "I can't wait." 

He grasped her hand in his and carried it to him. His passion had risen 
partway during the kiss and now, with her hand there, the ascent quickly 
proceeded. She clutched and her eyes grew wilder yet. 

"Here!" he said hoarsely. "On the couch." 

"All right," she breathed in complete surrender. 

He smiled, thinking how easy it had been, and went to work on her buttons as 
she continued to hold him. She was something like a dog that had gotten hold 
of a particularly appetizing bone and wouldn't let go. 

A bitch with a bone, he mentally amended. 

She wore a white brassiere in which her oversize breasts were squeezed 
tightly together. He wondered how much they would fall when he popped the 
hooks. 

No time to find out like the present, he decided, and put his hands there. 

She was flushed. She had lost all her poise. She was no longer the woman he 
had known before or that her other employees knew. Now she was a female in 
heat, anxious to have him. 

Her bra was a three-hooker and he opened it deftly, without looking. He 
pulled the cups forward and up, and its big fleshy burdens fell out with a 
bounce. They had ruddy tips with good-sized circles around them. The nipples 
already were half up. 

He palmed both beauties, squeezed them, and wiggled them around, enjoying 
the spongy feel and the way her warm soft skin wanted to cling to his hands. 
She had her head tilted back and was breathing hard. She was really worked 
up. The cool exterior which she usually maintained was shot to hell. 

Her nipples were full to bursting with excitement now. They poked into his 
palms. He let her breasts go and put a pincers hold on each tip with a thumb 
and forefinger. He pulled and rolled. 

"Oh, God!" she moaned. "I'm going out of my mind." 

"Come here." 

He led her over beside the couch which stood against the wall. He gripped 
her skirt and slip at the top and stripped them down, kneeling to remove 
them from one leg then the other. 

She was down to stockings and panty girdle now, and the white foundation 
garment was the long-leg style that came over the tops of her hose. It 
didn't have a zipper. Remaining on his haunches in front of her, he gripped 
it at the top and pulled it down, baring her belly and her loins and 
stripping it along her thighs, her stockings peeling with it. 

He removed shoes, stockings and girdle at the same time, stood up, and 
tipped her onto the couch on her back. 

"Ooo... cold!" she cried as her buttocks hit the smooth plastic. 

He knelt beside the couch, took her in his arms, and kissed her passionately 
all about the face and neck and bosom. He drew her big nipples into his 
mouth, in turn, and loved them hungrily. She squirmed, her soft flesh 
rolling against him. 

As he continued to kiss, his hand found the hot center of her body and her 
legs came apart as if they were being pulled from either side. His 
fingertips invaded the wealth of softness. 

She moaned and whimpered and said, "Oh, that's wonderful! Keep doing it! Oh, 
Harry... darling... lover!" 

He continued to caress her there, expertly, as his lips squeezed and rolled 
first one nipple, then the other. She became very ready to receive him and 
he was ready to take the plunge, except that he still had his clothes on. 

Well... small problem. 

He stood up, stripped off his jacket and tie, opened the top of his 
trousers, and let them down. He freed himself from his jockey briefs and 
clambered between her thighs. 

She was rolling and tossing beneath him even before he made contact, her 
head turning from side to side. He could tell that she was just about there 
and he hadn't even taken possession. 

He guided himself by hand, found the way, and pressed. The sensation, as he 
first claimed her, was marvelously good. 

"Oh, Harry!" she cried. "I'm going. I'm... " And she went. Tumultuously. 
Noisily. Her buttocks slapped against the plastic. With all that racket, he 
hoped her office was soundproofed. For her sake. But he smiled at the 
thought that it was not and that perhaps her secretary had an ear cocked 
close to the panel. 

He held himself still and let her spend her passion. 

She lapsed back, blissfully bushed before he even had started. 

"Was that good, sweetheart?" he murmured solicitously. 

"Oh, yes," she breathed almost inaudibly. "It was heaven." 

"You're going to have a lot more. We're going to have a lot more. We're 
going to ball it up good." 

"I couldn't. I couldn't move a muscle." 

"Then I'll move enough muscle for both of us," he growled. 

And he began. 

His motions were long and sure and steady, rocking her and making the couch 
creak beneath them. She didn't move at all for awhile. She had her head 
turned to the side, her eyes closed. Her black high hairdo already had come 
apart. 

His firm middle slammed against the softness of her belly. His lunges came 
with the regularity of a piston stroke, but slowly. He was propped on his 
arms watching Edwina's face for evidence of renewed excitement. 

He could go as long as he wanted. Harry was never victimized by his own 
passion. Pleasure, for him, demanded that he put the female securely under 
his power, and to do that he had to give her a great deal of satisfaction. 
Once he had her hooked, it became a different ball game. 

He was in the process of hooking Edwina now. He was gaffing her, harpooning 
her. 

The soft domes of her breasts vibrated like dishes of pudding with 
maraschino cherries on top. He swiped a hand across them, felt the drag of 
her hard nipples, and enjoyed the loose shaking of the white mounds beneath. 

She moaned a little and turned her head to look up at him. 

"Come on, baby," he coaxed. "Move with me, huh? Shake it up a little." 

"Nnn... Harry. I've never been loved so much." 

"Move, move," he chanted in time with his steady thrusting. "Show me... you 
like it." 

She began moving tentatively. Her hair was falling around her forehead, her 
eyes were narrow and becoming intense, her lips were parted. 

"That's it, baby... come on," he encouraged. "Give a... lotta hip... to 
Papa." 

Calling himself her papa was a laugh because she literally was old enough to 
be his mother. He liked that. He always enjoyed balling the older ones. 

He leaned fully against her and dug his hands underneath to grasp her by the 
bottom. Those buttocks were big doughy loaves, softer than he liked them 
because she had worn a girdle all her life. But there was plenty for a man 
to get hold of. 

He squeezed, letting his fingers sink deeply into the softness. He wiggled 
the buttocks, spread them apart and pushed them together. He forced them as 
high as he could. 

Now he went at her with a vengeance. 

He would have bet she had never been balled like that in her life. She 
tilted and pressed at him, worked with him, rotated around his plunging 
strength. She moved faster. He let her set the pace. When the moment was 
exactly right, he shifted into overdrive and sped up the straightaway toward 
the finish line which beckoned on the shimmering horizon. 

Again she climaxed before him. She let out a series of garbled cries and 
twisted her buttocks upward in his hands. Her breasts rolled against his 
shirt front. He plunged once, twice, three times more... jerked deeply... 
and exploded. 

He growled as his shudders mingled with hers. 

He got up from her slowly. 

She was sweat-filmed and motionless except for the rapid rise and fall of 
her breasts. Her eyes were closed. Her hair was really a mess now. 

His lips twisted a little as he looked at her. 

By the time she had roused herself, he was fully dressed and was attending 
to his hair in front of the small mirror on her wall. 

"That was so wonderful," she murmured. "Darling... I had no idea." 

He went to her, knelt beside the couch, and kissed her long and deeply. Then 
he helped her sit up. 

"Come on, sweetie," he said. "You've got to get dressed now." 

"Yes. I know." 

But she didn't move to do so immediately. She was looking at him as if she 
had never really seen him before. 

"You were right," she said. "I did want you from the first time I saw you, 
but I had no reason to hope you would feel the same way. You're so young." 

"Youth or age has nothing to do with love, precious. I see in you something 
rare and very beautiful. Do you understand what I mean?" 

"I believe I do, Harry." 

They kissed again. 

* * * 

She invited him to have dinner with her at home the following evening. He 
accepted. He knew she was looking forward to a feast of erotic sensation 
which was more important than food... unless, of course, a person was 
starving, and she certainly was not. 

In a sense she had been starving for love. 

It amused Harry to think that she could really entertain serious notions 
about a man seventeen years younger than she. That showed how silly she was 
underneath, in spite of the fact that she could run a business successfully. 
It showed that she was cheap, too. It showed that most of all. 

She was no different from the rest of the females of the world. They all 
pretended to be decent and fine, but underneath they were hot animals, just 
waiting for a male to come along and ram them. It was the hypocrisy of the 
whole thing that he hated. He enjoyed exposing that hypocrisy for what it 
was. 

Edwina lived in a large house in one of the best parts of town. A uniformed 
housekeeper admitted Harry when he called and showed him into the living 
room. Edwina appeared almost immediately. 

She wore a pink satin dress that came down to her ankles, but it was a 
two-piece job like all her other outfits. He could tell, as she preceded him 
into the dining room, that she had left off her girdle. The dress moved with 
her liberated buttocks, and the sight was stirring. He had an urge to grab a 
big double handful then and there. 

But he resisted, because dinner would be nice first. 

They had stroganoff and good wine. The table was set with candles and the 
other lights in the room were extinguished. Edwina smiled lovingly at him. 
He had the impression that if he were to pop the question that evening, she 
would accept. 

Some chance. 

What the hell would he want to marry her for? 

In the living room afterward, they had a bitter-sweet liqueur with coffee. 
Edwina slipped her hand in his. 

All through the evening, he had made lavish use of love words and he had let 
his eyes say things that were even more romantic. His gaze spoke of lifelong 
happiness. 

This was a matter of compulsion with him. His conscious attitude was that he 
was doing what he wanted to do, treating women as they deserved to be 
treated, serving justice as justice was served by the punishing of other 
kinds of wrongdoers in other ways. But the fact was that he could not have 
avoided this peculiar course of conduct if he had wanted to. He was not 
acting out a rational choice, but a deep-seated compulsive need. 

If his conduct were not compulsive, he could not have convinced Edwina so 
readily that he really loved her and that he was worthy of her love in 
return. 

When the hour grew late and the housekeeper had retired to her own quarters 
at the back of the house, Harry circled the large living room, turning off 
all lamps except the small one at the end of the sofa. He sat down beside 
Edwina and took her in his arms. 

A sense of sweet anticipation rose within him and touched his brain with 
giddiness. 

He was approaching the supreme thrill. 

He had already decided how he was going to polish Edwina off. It was a way 
appropriate to her type, both mental and physical. 

He began kissing her and caressing lightly on top of her clothes. His hand 
moved around and over both massive chest protrusions, stole down her side 
and petted her round warm hip. She felt better without that girdle. He 
twisted her more toward him as they continued to kiss, and he patted the 
buttock that was elevated off the sofa seat. He enjoyed the way it jiggled. 

He caressed her along the thigh. 

He could do anything he wanted with her now. She was his. 

Of course, she thought of things the other way around. To her, she was the 
huntress and he the prey. Or so Harry believed. Women were constantly 
looking to trap a man. That was the reason for all the deception they 
practiced. They pretended not to need sex and to be above it, so that a poor 
sap would feel obligated to them once they had surrendered, but all the time 
they were burning for it as much, if not more, than he was. And once they 
had a man trapped, they couldn't be trusted not to play around with others. 

Well, none of them would ever trap him. 

He would always be the quick mouse who stole the cheese and snapped the trap 
on the pussycat's tail. 

He pressed Edwina to a reclining position on the sofa and turned her on her 
side so that he could unfasten the buttons on the back of her pink satin 
dress-top. 

"Darling," she protested when she could find her voice, "I'll get all 
rumpled this way. Come up to the bedroom with me and we'll each undress." 

"No," he said firmly. "I can't wait. But I'll let you take off your dress if 
you want to." 

"Harry... we can't do it here!" 

"Why not? Your housekeeper won't disturb us. She'll never know." 

Edwina's eyes were saying she was as anxious as he was to consummate their 
love for a second time. She looked around, then whispered, "All right, if 
you'll close the door." 

As he crossed the room to do as she asked, she began to open the back of her 
dress. She was turned away from him and, while he watched her, he removed 
his tie, then his jacket, then his shirt. 

The removal of her long skirt left her in a short lacy half-slip and bra, 
both pink. 

She turned to look at him, blushing. "I'm embarrassed to have you watch me 
like this. Shouldn't we turn out the lamp?" 

"Darling, you're so lovely. You have nothing in the world to be embarrassed 
about. But you can face the other way if you like." 

"Yes. I think that would be better." 

Nervous as a bride, she let her eyes take in his hairy-chested masculinity 
before she turned away. He smiled to himself. 

Things were working out perfectly. The signal cord which rang a bell in the 
housekeeper's apartment was located next to the drapes, a short distance in 
front of Edwina, and there was a large overstuffed armchair beneath it. Yes, 
perfect. 

Excitement thrummed in him. 

This was going to be choice. 

Edwina worked her slip down, exposing a bottom spanned by shining pink silk 
pants. Garters traveled from beneath them to grip the tops of her hose. 

What big thighs she had -- big and white and soft. 

And her bottom was a formidable target. 

She straightened up and released her bra, drawing the shoulder ribbons down 
her arms and taking the cups away. She let it flutter from her fingers onto 
the ottoman at her side. 

Harry's shoes and pants were off by this time. 

"Darling, do me a favor, hm?" he said. 

"Of course," she replied without turning around. She hesitated, awaiting his 
request. 

"Leave your stockings and garter belt on." 

"If you like." She gave a little nervous laugh. 

He skinned out of his briefs and watched as she gathered her panties at each 
hip and slipped them down from her buttocks, along her thighs and past her 
knees. Aiming her large rump slightly away from him, she drew the panties 
the rest of the way and stepped free. 

He let her straighten up, and then... 

He charged like a football lineman going for the opposition quarterback, 
only he had the advantage of approaching from the rear. And the thick carpet 
muffled the sound of his bare feet. 

He reached Edwina before she knew he was coming at her. She gasped as he 
straight-armed her between the shoulder blades. She could not keep from 
being pushed the several steps to the large overstuffed chair and down over 
the arm of it. 

She screamed and tried frantically to resist him as he leaped onto the 
chair-seat between her twisting legs. It was no use. Positioned as she was, 
she couldn't get at him with her hands and she couldn't gain the necessary 
leverage to straighten up. She couldn't even kick effectively. 

He moved at her big upthrust buttocks and, as he did so, reached for the 
servant's signal rope which was hanging next to the draperies. 

When the housekeeper opened the door and entered the room a minute later, 
she stared in astonishment at the sight of her sedate mistress tipped over a 
chair arm, black hair loose and whipping against the rug and legs churning 
wildly, as the young man who had come that night to dinner stabbed viciously 
at her bottom, his nude buttocks clenching and unclenching. Mrs. Porter 
wailed. The young man grunted. 

The housekeeper gasped and fell in a faint. 

 CHAPTER TWO 

"Harry! Where are you? Things are in a terrible state with you not here. To 
make matters worse, Mrs. Porter didn't come in today, either." 

"She probably won't show up for several days, Reba. She isn't feeling well. 
Say, honey... do me a favor, hm? There are some things there in my locker. 
Throw them into a paper sack and bring them over to Arturo's. You know, the 
restaurant on Eighth Street? I'll be there at quarter of twelve. Meet me in 
the lobby and we'll have lunch together." 

"Arturo's? Gee, I've never had lunch at such an expensive place." 

"Well, you won't have to worry about the cost today," he said with a 
chuckle. "It's on me." 

"Gosh, Harry, I don't know if I can get away. Some shipments came in, and we 
girls have been taking turns between customers inventorying the stuff and 
putting it in stock." 

"You can get away, honey. That is, if you want to. You would like to see me 
one last time before I leave town, wouldn't you?" 

"Well, sure, but... why are you quitting?" 

"We'll talk about it when we get together. And don't tell anyone, okay?" 

"Okay, Harry, I'll do my best to be there." 

Harry hung up the telephone with a smile. 

He had packed his things and moved out of his downtown room. His luggage was 
checked at the bus station and he had a ticket in his pocket. The few odds 
and ends he had left at the store were not important, but Reba was. He 
didn't want to leave town without making her. 

They had dated a couple of times and she had rejected his advances. He 
hadn't pressed too hard because Edwina was his main interest and he knew 
Reba would be handy as long as he remained at the store. Now the matter was 
urgent, unless he was willing to forget Reba altogether, and Harry never did 
that unless he had to. He had spent time on a few girls he couldn't make, 
but wry few. He wanted to keep the number to an absolute minimum. His ego 
required this, as did his rationalization for the kind of life he led. If a 
substantial number of females were to reject him and get away with it, he 
could hardly go on thinking of the entire sex as tramps. 

But they were tramps. He knew it. And he was going to prove it again with 
Reba. 

She was young, cute (but not beautiful) and a good mixer. In addition to 
dating him, she had at least two other men on the string. He had seen them 
pick her up at quitting time at the store. 

If she wasn't getting any sex action, it was no through lack of opportunity. 
And Harry's youth did not impress her. So what was his pry? 

On their last date, she had furnished him a clue: She was tired of the city. 
She didn't like the congestion and the noise and the scramble to and from 
work every day. Like every girl her age, she had marriage very much in mind. 

Harry had told her he was leaving town. But he didn't have to leave alone. 
And he didn't have to leave single. 

He knew Reba liked him pretty well. "How could she help it? He was likable." 
She hadn't given any evidence of being in love with him, but love was a 
funny thing, as a great many wise men had observed in one way or another 
down through the ages. Sometimes it occurred spontaneously, sometimes it 
could be coaxed into being over a period of time, and sometimes it could 
even be wished into existence. 

Example: A girl meets a man who is pretty much like a number of other young 
men she has known, but this particular man has a great deal of money. He is 
no more handsome than the others, no more charming, and no more like the 
ideal she has locked away in her heart of hearts... but he is rich and all 
the other young men she ever met were relatively poor. If this man lets her 
know she has a chance to marry him, is it not likely that she might convince 
herself she is in love with him? 

Harry thought so, and he laid his plans along this line. 

His plans for laying Reba. 

When they met at the restaurant, he was smiling more broadly than usual and 
his manner was very brisk. 

What had happened to him, she wanted to know. Why hadn't he shown up for 
work that day? Why was he quitting so abruptly? Where was he off to? 

Over the most expensive luncheon on Arturo's moderately expensive menu 
(which Harry had ordered for them both with hardly more than a glance at the 
card) he explained: Last night he had received a special delivery letter 
from a law firm in Los Angeles. It contained the startling information that 
an uncle, whom he had all but forgotten, had died, leaving him something 
like half a million dollars. (The lawyers had given him only an approximate 
round figure because there were expenses to be deducted, etc.) He had to fly 
to Los Angeles immediately to claim the estate. 

He had called Mrs. Porter at home to inform her that he was quitting his job 
and that was when he had learned she was not feeling well. 

He couldn't stand to leave town without seeing Reba and telling her how he 
felt about her. He had been hesitant about opening his heart to her before 
because... well, what did he have to offer a girl? But now things were 
different. He was going to be rich and he could support a wife. They could 
live in one of Southern California's most exclusive beach resorts, spend 
their days basking in the sun and their nights doing 'the town, with 
frequent weekends in Las Vegas, Mexico, and who knew where else. He wanted 
Reba to be his wife. Would she marry him? 

She nearly choked on the crab salad. 

"Well, darling?" he said and took her little hand in his. 

"My goodness, Harry!" she stammered. "This happened so -- so suddenly. I -- 
I can't think." 

He squeezed her hand more tightly. "You could learn to love me, couldn't 
you?" 

"Well, gee, I... gosh!" 

Her brown eyes were very wide and her chestnut-colored bangs quivered 
against her forehead. 

He smiled. "I know it seems sudden to you, darling, but I've been thinking 
about it ever since our first date. I just didn't have the nerve to ask 
you." 

"But, Harry... we don't know one another very well." 

"I know you, sweetheart. That is... " He looked down. "I know you in all 
respects but one." 

"What's that?" 

(The girl wasn't very bright.) He said, "We've never been to bed together." 

"Well, of course not. I don't just hop into bed, willy-nilly, with boys." 

"It isn't willy-nilly if you and the boy are engaged." 

"No, I suppose not, but... " He clutched her hand very tightly now. "I want 
you to go to bed with me before I leave. Give me that to remember and to 
keep me warm while we're apart. As soon as I get settled in California, I'll 
send you an airline ticket. What do you say?" 

"But, Harry, can't we wait?" 

He looked at her soulfully. "Do you want to wait? Don't I attract you at 
all?" 

"Sure you do, darling." 

Darling, he thought. Ah! 

She went on: "It's just that this has all been so sudden." 

He sighed and looked down. "I guess you don't care for me. I suppose you 
never could." He took his hands away. 

Her hand came quickly across the table to grasp one of his. "That isn't it, 
Harry. But, golly... a girl has to have time to think." 

He looked her in the eyes and asked, "Are you a virgin, Reba?" 

Her lips moved, but no sound came out. He read the answer in her eyes. 

"I hope you're not," he went on. "I'm a strong believer in premarital 
experience, because it seems to me that if a person has no experience with 
others before marriage, he or she will have a strong desire after marriage 
to play around." 

"Oh, I wouldn't play around, Harry." 

"Then you're not a virgin," he concluded. 

She looked down and said softly, "No." 

"Wonderful!" he whispered and held her hand tightly. "Let's go to a hotel as 
soon as we leave here. So what if you're a little late getting back to the 
store? You could even quit your job now. It will be less than a week until I 
send for you." 

"But, Harry... " 

"Please, Reba," he said with all the emotion he could pack into the words. 
"I need this to sustain me. Don't turn me down now. If you do, I'll know 
there's no hope for us." 

The waiter came with their entree. 

As soon as he had left, Reba said, "But I haven't accepted your proposal 
yet." 

"That's right. You haven't." He looked very sad. 

She fidgeted. 

"Oh, golly!" she said so loudly that the people in the next booth heard her 
and glanced her way. "Why do things have to happen like this?" 

"It's life, honey. You take it as it comes." 

Now she looked intently at him. "You really love me, Harry? You really, 
really do?" 

"Yes, angel. I love you with all my heart." 

Slowly a warm smile came over her face. He watched her melt. 

He took her hand again. "What's your answer, precious?" 

"Yes," she murmured. "To the marriage?" She nodded. "And to the hotel?" 

She nodded again, quickly, with a beautiful rosy blush lighting her face. 

Geronimo! he thought. He was in like... what was the name of that old guy 
again? 

* * * 

The hotel where he took her was a cheap joint on skid row. He apologized for 
it as they entered, but he said they might have trouble registering at a 
better place. 

As it was, the desk clerk gave him a fishy eye. And why not? He had no 
luggage and there was Reba, hovering guiltily in the background with an 
about-to-be-made look on her face. 

Harry slipped a ten-dollar bill out of his wallet, placed it on the counter 
and said softly, "Just an hour, hm?" 

The clerk slipped him a key. 

Once Harry had Reba in the room, he went after her like a hound going for 
raw meat. There was no reason to hold back. She had committed herself. In 
fact, if he were to hesitate she might have second thoughts. As it was, she 
was looking around the shabby room uncertainly. 

He pulled her into his arms and gave her a bruising kiss. Her young breasts 
dug at him. They were hard little apples, as different from Edwina's big 
soft ones as two sets of knockers possibly could be. 

His mouth forced hers all the way open and his tongue took total possession 
of the warm sweet cave. 

She said, "Nnn," then "Nnn?" and twisted against him. He held her all the 
tighter, letting the agitation of her breasts and belly arouse his lust, 
which had been about ready to rise out of dormancy the moment they had 
entered the room. 

His hands found her tight squirming buttocks, clutched them, and pulled them 
toward him so she could feel the fullness of his manly vigor. Her hip action 
changed from a mindless squirming to a slow forward-and back motion, which 
showed that she knew what she wanted and how she wanted it. 

Harry elected to give it to her without further delay. Anyway, he was in a 
hurry. He had a bus to catch. 

He broke the kiss and turned her in his embrace. She was so star-struck by 
what he had told her during the last hour and so physically stimulated by 
being hurried to the hotel room, that she couldn't organize her thoughts or 
actions. She moaned as he kissed her around the neck and cupped her breasts 
from behind, squeezing them and rotating them on her chest as much as tight 
breasts in a tight brassiere could be rotated. His lower body swayed forward 
and back to transmit teasing touches of his readiness through their clothes. 

He began to pull her white blouse up and out from under the waistband of her 
skirt. 

She moaned and wiggled like a harem dancer as he got under it and palmed her 
smooth slender waist. 

The blouse buttoned up the back, and he went to work on the row of little 
fasteners. When he had the garment split to the top, he pushed it forward 
and down her arms to flutter away. 

"Oh, Harry," she murmured as he cupped the cups of her white brassiere. He 
didn't feel any nipples through the coarse fabric of the bra. 

He opened the harness quickly and whipped it off, then turned her to face 
him. 

She had nipples, all right. Cute little berries, they were. Brown tinged 
with pink. The white mounds that backed them up were perfectly erect, and 
they didn't yield much when he put his hands on them. 

They were real tight little jobs. He liked to get hold of a pair like that 
every once in awhile. 

Reba ground them against his grasp as he played. 

"It makes me crazy when you twiddle them," she said. 

He twiddled. He plucked. He let them drag against his brushing and rotating 
palms. Then he dropped his hands quickly to her waist, opened the fasteners 
at the side of her skirt, and tugged her skirt and half-slip down. 

She wore white briefs which were opaque and fit her snugly. Garters traveled 
from beneath them. As soon as he had rid her of skirt and slip, he opened 
the garter clips quickly and shoved her stockings down. She raised her legs 
in turn to let him remove her shoes and nylons. 

"This is wild, being undressed like this," she said, and her tone made clear 
that she meant it. 

"Lie on the bed," he directed when he had her down to the two final 
articles. 

She obeyed. He stood beside the bed and let her watch him take off his 
clothes. 

"Gee, is this what it's like to be married?" she asked nervously as he was 
about to pull off his shorts. "I've never gone through it this way before. 
It's always been sort of grab in the dark. You know." 

"Yeah. I know, baby." 

He took his cotton briefs away, hopping as he pulled them off his feet. His 
manhood swayed back and forth. 

"Harry!" she said. "Oh, Lord!" 

"What's the matter?" he grinned as he went to her. 

"You're so... " 

"The better to love you, sweetie," he said and immediately gripped her 
panties at the top. He pulled them all the way down and off. 

Her body was girlish in its slimness, but the portion which he had just 
unveiled proved the fact of her womanhood. As he opened her legs and 
approached her, he felt a little like a native with a machete, about to hack 
his way through some tropical growth. Only Harry didn't hack. He plunged. 

Quickly. 

There was no point in giving this one a lot of pleasure because it was a 
one-shot deal. 

"Unh!" she cried and bicycled her legs at either side of him. 

He had hurt her, but that was all right. He reared back and took another 
lunge. 

"Baby!" she said. "Take it easy!" 

"Your body will get used to it," he growled and, even though she was 
pressing her buttocks deeply into the mattress, he caught her three-fourths 
of the way on his third move. 

He could tell that she hadn't been possessed many times, and probably not at 
all in several weeks. Or months. 

He withdrew almost completely and slammed his hips brutally forward, causing 
her to cry again as he sank deeper. Each succeeding thrust carried him 
farther to her, and gradually she did accommodate herself to him. 

She began to enjoy, circling her hips and reaching for the thrilling gift of 
his sex. 

As he worked with passionate concentration, and as she lifted to bear 
against him, the garters which still hung at her sides whipped and clicked 
together. Her breasts trembled, but they didn't shake. He twisted his head 
to the side and did not interrupt the rhythm of his steady thrusting as he 
grabbed a small-nippled crest, shook it, and let it pop free. He twisted the 
other way and did the same with the other tip. 

Now she was huffing and crying and bounding up at him with a vengeance. He 
stayed on straight arms, looked her in the eyes, and began to mouth 
vulgarities. Her eyes widened and her body moved even more fervently as the 
words had their effect upon her. He wanted to think she hadn't heard some of 
the words before, though he knew she probably had. 

Her hips moved very fast and it became apparent that she was going to reach 
her destination even though he hadn't taken extra pains to insure her doing 
so. He speeded up, giving his lust its head. 

He made the old bed creak and clatter. She gasped and cried. Her 
contractions, which occurred suddenly at the moment of climax, nearly 
strangled him. Her body whipped and thrashed. She squealed. He exploded in 
ecstatic spasms. 

He fell fully against her. 

"Oh... oh... oh... " she said, and he could feel her heart pumping madly. 
Her slim legs still clutched him. 

"It was never like that before," she breathed a few moments later. 

"Now we've both got something to remember," he said and got up. 

She stared at him in warm fascination, then giggled. "You changed so fast." 

"You liked me better the other way, hunh?" 

"Oh, yes!" 

Pig, he thought. Like all the rest of them. 

As he was getting dressed he said, "Well, baby, I've got that plane to 
catch." 

"Gee, I'd just like to lie here. I don't feel like moving a hair." 

"You can stay as long as you want," he said, buttoning his shirt. 

"No, I want to leave with you." 

She made the supreme effort and sat up. "Oh, gosh," she said with a little 
laugh and touched her forehead. "I'm dizzy." 

He paid no attention as he pulled on his pants. 

"Harry...?" 

"Yeah?" 

"We didn't take any precautions." 

He glanced at her. "Didn't you?" 

"Of course not. I'm not in the habit of going to bed with boys. I told you." 

"Well, you'd better get in the habit of protecting yourself." 

She blinked. "Wh-what do you mean? Don't you want a family?" 

"A family!" He laughed. "What the hell are you talking about?" 

"But, Harry, that's why people get married, to have children and a home." 

"Who's getting married?" 

Her mouth fell open and she stared. 

"All I wanted was a piece," he went on, "and I got that. If you find 
yourself with a problem at the end of the month, you'd better look up a good 
doctor." 

"Harry!" 

"Cut out the crap. You wanted a thrill, I wanted a thrill, we had it 
together. Now it's everyone for himself, dig?" 

She started to cry, and he left the sleazy room a few moments later with the 
sound of her anguished bawling still in his ears. 

He had played it wrong, he decided, as he strode up the linoleum-carpeted 
hallway. He should have kept her thinking he was in love with her. That way 
she might even have quit her job and she would have waited from day to day 
to hear from him, eating her silly heart out by degrees. That would have 
been good. 

Well, the devil with her. 

What difference did it make? 

A pig was a pig, and all they were good for was sticking. 

He gave a jaunty wave to the guy behind the desk as he passed through the 
hotel lobby and out to the street. He glanced at his watch as he turned 
toward the bus station. He still had forty-five minutes. It had been a fast, 
smooth make and it had given him a great deal of satisfaction. 

Poor little Reba, he thought sarcastically. She had thought she had her 
hooks in something good and that she would be set for life. He sure as hell 
had fooled her. 

There wasn't a woman born who could make a sucker out of Harry Pearce as his 
father had been suckered and as a lot of other guys were suckered who didn't 
know the score. He knew, and he made sure the score was in his favor all the 
time. 

Find 'em, fool 'em and... yeah. 

A wry smile twisted his lips as he strode through the early afternoon crowd. 

 CHAPTER THREE 

Harry's father was a traveling salesman. His mother was an exceptionally 
beautiful woman. Among Harry's earliest recollections were the smiling faces 
and the patting hands of the men who came to the house to visit when his 
father was away. 

Their home was located in a suburb that was not well built up, So there was 
no fear of spying neighbors. The men came, they patted Harry on the head, 
then later he heard them with his mother in her bedroom and there were funny 
noises -- the same kinds of noises he heard when his father was at home: 
rattlings, bumpings, creakings, and the whole range of sounds that a 
passionate woman made when she was in the throes of sexual pleasure. 

When Harry was very young, he did not understand. But this much was clear to 
him from the first: He must not say anything to Daddy about the men who came 
to call. 

As he grew older, he understood everything. 

He would listen to the adoring words his father lavished upon his mother 
when the old man was at home, and he would feel sick. 

His father loved his mother. His mother pretended to love his father and to 
be a virtuous wife, while actually she was practicing treachery and deceit. 
She had involved Harry in her deceit and he felt, for this reason, that he 
bore some of the guilt. 

He was not strong enough to tell his father the truth when he became old 
enough to do so. Instead, he left home as soon as he could. He never 
returned. 

He still carried the guilt, and the only way he had of trying to work it out 
was to pay back all womankind for what his mother had done. In so doing, he 
was allied in his mind with his father. At the same time he reaped the 
pleasure, without strings attached, which his mother's boy friends had 
reaped. He was all men, paying back all women for their treachery. 

Harry hardly ever thought of either his mother or his father on the 
conscious plane. Their relationship, and his part of it, was so ugly that he 
had pushed it into the back of his mind. But he dreamed of them every once 
in awhile. Sometimes he dreamed only of his mother. On several occasions he 
had seen himself killing her. 

* * * 

The Greyhound streaked through the Kansas night and most of the passengers 
were sleeping. Not Harry. He was very much awake. Every part of him was 
awake, including the portion which usually roused itself only when he was 
about to make love to a girl. 

The reason was the young blonde who was seated beside him, next to the 
window. 

She had gotten on at the last stop, he had given her the preferred seat, and 
they had become acquainted. Her name was Sally Weston, and she was on her 
way to visit her grandparents in Colorado Springs. 

Now she was asleep and, as she dreamed to the accompaniment of the bus's 
gentle joggling, her skirt had slipped a little way up her legs, exposing 
the frilly edges of the pink pettipants that came down over the tops of her 
stockings. 

The moonlight through the bus window spotlighted the erotic view, and Harry 
had become aroused from holding his gaze there and visually caressing. He 
wanted to caress her with his fingertips. He wanted to make her. 

On the bus. 

There was much about Sally to arouse a male. In the first place, her hair 
was very light gold and silken. It was held by a ribbon over the crown of 
her head, but it spilled over the ribbon at the sides and in back to drop to 
her shoulders where there was a saucy upcurl. 

At her forehead she had cute little bangs. 

Her ripe breasts thrust roundly inside the top of her gray-blue denim dress 
and, though her skirt was wide and loose-fitting, there was evidence of a 
complimentary roundness to her hips. 

She was a sweet little package all the way around, and desire for her roiled 
Harry's body, keeping him on edge. She was particularly appealing now that 
she was asleep and so vulnerable. 

But what could he do about it on the crowded bus? 

Tentatively he extended a hand in the moonlight, approaching her pretty 
knees. His hand hovered for a moment, then slowly settled on the knee 
nearest him. She was warm through her stocking, and the nylon was sleek. She 
didn't move. 

Harry kept his hand there for a moment and the contact made him throb. He 
was almost as excited as he would have been if she were spread out nude on a 
bed in front of him. 

After a little while, he slowly began to slide his hand upward toward the 
lacy cuff of her pink nylon pantyleg. Slowly. Carefully so as not to rouse 
her. 

Oh! 

She moved, pressing her legs tightly together and swinging them a little bit 
the other way. She turned to press her far cheek against the tilted back of 
the seat. 

Harry's hand remained on her, unmoving, his fingers now trapped between her 
stockinged lower thighs. 

Come on, baby, he coaxed mentally. Open 'em for Papa. 

But baby didn't obey the unspoken directive. After a few moments, Harry 
exerted a little pressure on the leg he held. Very slowly the leg swung 
toward him. 

More. 

Yes. 

Now the girl's legs were just about as far apart as they could get within 
the flaring denim skirt. The way was open for him. 

His tingling fingertips moved along, lightly over the nylon, over the lacy 
pettipant cuff... up, up on the soft nylon tricot. He felt her warmth 
through the panty leg, and he was aware of her silken smoothness. 

Young girls had very smooth inner thighs. Not too soft, just smooth and 
warm. Like living silk. 

He caressed in little circles as his throbbing made his pants very tight and 
uncomfortable. Her pants were not tight, and they were soft and thin. 

He moved farther. 

Farther yet, and... Zap I He was touching her through her nylon pettipants. 
Touching the place where she was very soft and as warm as a little oven. He 
began to caress vertically. 

"What are you doing?" she whispered with a huskiness in her throat. 

Shocked, Harry pulled his hand away. 

She turned her face toward him, pressing the near cheek against the seat's 
headrest, and said just as softly as before, "Well? What were you trying to 
do to me?" 

"I was... " Harry cleared his throat. "... just touching." 

"What made you think I could sleep through that?" 

"I... I didn't know." Harry felt like a fool, but his passion was still up. 

"Also, you ought to realize that you can't get anywhere with a girl when she 
has these long handles on." 

"Yeah," he growled softly. "I suppose I should." 

He was angry with her for waking up and angry with himself for being caught 
like a kid. 

"You want me to slip them off?" she murmured. 

He sat up suddenly. "Your pants?" 

"Shh. Yes." 

"God, and how!" 

"Okay. Just a minute." 

She gave him a quick look around to make sure no one was watching. They 
weren't. The only persons who could possibly have seen were the ones seated 
directly across the aisle. They were an elderly couple, and they had their 
heads back, mouths open, dead to the world. 

Sally unfastened the red belt at her waist and wriggled as she hiked her 
dress and slip up around it. Harry stared. In the moonlight she was a 
delectable sight in those pink silken trousers. 

But the sight got even better. 

Sally ran her thumbs around her pettipants waistband, hooked it firmly, and 
bobbed her hips as she skinned the pettipants down. It happened so fast, 
Harry couldn't see anything but a glimpse of soft white belly before she 
bent forward with her legs close together and worked the pink long panties 
over her feet and off. She stuffed them onto the seat between her far hip 
and the wall of the bus. 

When she sat up straight, he saw a golden fringe. 

Harry extended his hand slowly, and her legs moved apart to reveal the 
entire triangle. Beauty of beauties, he thought. 

Then his hand was there. Seeking. Finding. Caressing. Ruffling. Sally 
widened her legs even more, lay fully back against the headrest with a sigh, 
and placed her hand on his lap. 

It was wild. 

For once in his life, Harry was not concerned with getting the better of a 
girl and humiliating her. This was purely and simply a matter of sensual 
enjoyment, and it was heightened by the fact that Sally was at once so young 
and so wise. She had given no hint of this worldly wisdom when he had talked 
with her before. She had seemed to be all girlish sweetness. 

She moved gently against his invading touch, and her loins were like satin. 
Her hand gripped him just right but -- damn it! -- his pants and jockey 
shorts were in the way. 

With his left hand he released his zipper. She accepted the invitation and 
snaked her cool slender fingers through the fly of his briefs. 

Big thrills boomed up to his brain as she swung him free. He put his head 
back and seemed to go stiff all over as she caressed him in the open. His 
fingers plunged and rubbed and circled at her warmth. 

Suddenly her hips began to buck forward and back, her heated softness 
working against his touch, and he could not restrain himself, either. All he 
could do, at the final critical moment, was to spread has legs widely apart. 

"Glory... " she breathed. "Yeah," he rasped. 

The rest of the bus was silent. The driver sat stiff as a rod, staring 
through the huge windshield. The multiple tires hummed over the pavement. 
Harry felt the thudding of a pulse inside his ears. 

Finally he took his hand away from the girl. 

"That was kind of a waste," he whispered. 

"Yes. The real part of you should have been where your hand was." 

"Let's pull a quickie at the next stop," he said. 

"I don't know. What if the bus leaves without us?" 

"Then at the breakfast stop in the morning. Hell, we don't have to eat, do 
we?" 

"All right," 

"In the meantime," he asked, "can I play with your boobs?" 

"Okay. But you'd better zip up first." 

"Oh. Yeah." 

He adjusted his clothes. 

She shook her pettipants in front of her and bent to work them over her feet 
and up her legs again. 

"Why do you wear those damned things?" he whispered. 

"My mother makes me, because my skirts are so short" She raised her bottom 
and wiggled it to get the trousers up. She snapped the waistband against her 
plump little belly. She pushed her skirt down and found the two ends of her 
belt. 

"God, I don't know when a hand job has been so good," he told her, being 
frankly honest for once. 

"But it's not like the real thing. I like to feel a fellow reach me." 

"How many times have you done it, Sally?" he murmured. 

"I have a boy friend back home. We do it at least three times a week, 
sometimes all day Saturday when my folks are away." 

"Was he the only one before me?" 

"No. He was second." 

Harry chuckled. "You're a pretty good little swinger." 

"I'll bet you really think I'm cheap." 

Funny. He hadn't thought of her as a pig. He just realized that now. Maybe 
it was because she had been so honest about the whole thing, the way a guy 
was. There was none of that phony I'm-not-that-kind-of-girl jazz. 

"Well?" she asked, her blue eyes searching his in the soft light. "You 
didn't answer me." 

"Who am I to say what's right or wrong?" he murmured surprisingly. 

"Maybe I'm sexier than most girls my age, I don't know," she said wistfully. 
"But I just feel as if I have to have it. Grown-ups have it, so why 
shouldn't teenagers? Our bodies are just as fully developed." 

"Makes sense," Harry said. 

She twisted to lie partially against him and opened the row of little 
buttons down her front. Her white bra cups bulged, and the overflow flesh 
was squeezed beautifully together between them. 

She worked an adjustment on each shoulder ribbon, lessening the tension. 
Then she hooked her right bra cup with her thumb and drew it forward. 

"Here," she whispered. "Lift my right one out." 

Harry put his arm around her neck and let his hand serve as a scoop, dipping 
inside the slackened cup next to her warm flesh, cupping the adorable mound 
and lifting it free. It became propped on the stiffness of her bra. 

"Now the other one," she said and they followed the same procedure with 
that. 

Both gorgeous round breasts were exposed in the moonlight, tilted upward, 
their aureoles pale pink and crinkled, the rosy tips at their centers very 
stiff. He ran his hand over them and thrilled at the way the nipples pricked 
him and at the firm full shifting of the globes. Sally had one of the best 
sets he'd ever played with. 

She lay back against his shoulder and sighed as he twiddled and petted to 
his heart's content. 

Morning couldn't come soon enough to suit him. 

 CHAPTER FOUR 

He didn't pet her boobies all night, of course. Both he and Sally needed 
sleep and, in spite of his intense excitement, he finally suggested that she 
put her treasures back into the cups of her bra and button her dress up. She 
did. 

But she continued to lie in his arms and his right hand idly played over the 
bosom of her dress until he dropped off. 

He woke up in the morning as excited as he had been when he'd closed his 
eyes. 

The bus was coming into a town and the driver was announcing a half-hour 
stop for breakfast. 

Sally yawned, twisted in her seat, and straightened up. Harry withdrew his 
arm from around her neck. He felt stiff in several places. Even the most 
comfortable chair was not the best place to sleep. 

One particular locale of stiffness worried him as the bus pulled to a stop. 
The door opened and the passengers began to get up. 

"Well?" Sally said anxiously. "We don't have much time." 

"Just a minute," Harry told her. "I can't stand up now." 

"Oh." She giggled. 

Things looked a little different to him in the morning. Sally looked every 
bit as good as a sexual object, but the way he felt about her was different. 
The moonlight and the silence of the night had weaved a kind of magic, 
causing him to react more deeply and spontaneously than he usually reacted 
with a girl. Now he was his familiar self again. 

Sally could detect no difference. 

"All right now?" she asked after most of the other passengers had gotten 
off. 

"Yeah. I guess I can make it." 

He got up and helped her. She walked up the aisle in front of him and he 
admired the sway of her girlish buttocks. 

The bus was parked in front of a roadside diner in some cruddy Kansas town. 
As soon as he stepped down onto the gravel, he looked around. 

"Let's find a parked car," he whispered at her ear and began to guide her 
away from the restaurant. 

"Harry, look," she said as she stopped and turned to face him. "We won't 
have time to enjoy ourselves here. You know that. And if we use somebody's 
car, they're liable to show up and catch us. You're riding as far as 
Colorado Springs, aren't you?" 

"Yeah." 

"Then let's wait until we get there." 

"But your grandparents will probably meet you at the bus." 

"So? You can layover for a couple of days. I'll get away as soon as I can 
and meet you. Maybe we can work in several parties before you have to 
leave." 

"No good. I'd rather layover here." 

"Harry, I can't! If I'm not on the right bus, my grandparents will call my 
folks and I'll catch holy hell." 

"You call your grandparents now," he said. "Tell them you missed the bus. 
Tell then anything." 

"No. There'll be a lot of questions." 

"Then we'll find a parked car," he said and grasped her arm. 

"No. I won't." 

Forget her, something told him. She's not worth it, anyway. She's too easy. 
She proved herself a slut of her own accord. It won't be any fun to jump her 
and kiss her off. 

But he couldn't forget her. He remembered how her silken loins had felt to 
his fingers the night before. 

He had to feel those loins in a different way. From the inside, with his 
power pulsing. 

"Damnit, Sally," he said. 

"Shh." 

Ah! So she did have pretenses when other people could hear. He took a little 
more interest. 

Suddenly the solution to their problem occurred to him. He glanced back and 
confirmed that the bus was deserted. Even the driver had gone in to 
breakfast. 

"Come on," he said harshly and pulled her toward the open door. 

"But if we're not going to do it," she said, "we might as well get something 
to eat." 

"We're going to do it, baby." 

"Where?" 

"On the bus." 

"Harry... no!" 

But he was pushing her ahead of him through the bus doorway and up the 
steps. 

"I won't," she was saying as he shoved her along the aisle. 

"Yes, you will. We're safe. We've got at least twenty minutes before anyone 
comes back." 

"But, where?" 

"On the floor. In the aisle. Hurry up -- skin your pants down and open the 
top of your dress." 

"Harry, I feel like a tramp." 

Good! he thought. That's just the way I want you to feel, sweets. 

He pushed her down and fell with her so that they were out of sight. The 
aisle was barely wide enough for Sally to lie and get her legs a little way 
apart, but Harry had a remedy for the tight quarters as far as her legs were 
concerned. 

She was still protesting as she wriggled and hauled up her skirt. He gripped 
her pettipants and dragged them down, exposing the luscious blondeness that 
he hadn't seen very clearly last night. Now he saw it in sharp vividness. 

"This is awful," she was whimpering. "We won't get away with it." 

"The devil we won't! Who's gonna stop us?" 

On his knees in the small space available, he clawed at the front of his 
clothes to release his excitement. Sally had the top of her dress open and 
she wriggled the bra cups up and off her luscious mounds. 

Talk about your milk-and-honey girls! 

Her upper thighs, above her elasticized stocking tops, were smooth as glass, 
sleek as satin, and tinted a mouth-watering creamy hue. He bobbed his head 
quickly downward and kissed her. 

Her belly was a lush inverted bowl above her blondeness, white and soft and 
inviting. 

Her breasts were twin trembling monuments to lust. He moved up and placed 
his hands over them, shaking them as much as they would shake, which wasn't 
a great deal. Some girls had boobs that were large and loose, others had 
small and tight ones, but Sally's were large and tight, and a fellow didn't 
bump into many of that kind. 

Harry bent and gobbled at her nipples as she squirmed and whimpered and 
said, "For gosh sake, hurry!" 

He decided that was a good idea. He didn't want to be stopped in the middle 
of his fun. 

He ran an arm around each of her thighs, just where her stockings started, 
and forced them all the way back to her breasts. 

"No, Harry! You'll split me!" 

"Just what I had in mind, honey," he growled and moved at her. 

Now he had all the room he needed. The forward part of him kissed her 
softness, gained access, and slid into nearly complete union with her on the 
first lunge. 

"Oh!" Sally cried. 

"Shut up. You can take it." 

He pulled back and slid to her again. This time he occupied her all the way. 
Young as she was, she was better conditioned for sex than that dumb chick 
Reba. 

He went to work vigorously. 

Her legs were high in the air, kicking against his arms and shoulders. That, 
he realized later, was the trouble. The driver, who apparently was seated at 
a point in the cafe where he could watch his vehicle, had glimpsed her 
kicking feet through the windows. Perhaps if he had known what Harry was 
doing to her, he wouldn't have interrupted. Perhaps. But it was possible 
that she was being mugged or strangled. 

So the driver ran to the rescue. 

Harry was going well, swinging his hips in hard looping thrusts, powering 
himself into the soft pleasure with everything he had, and Sally was taking 
the loving with equal zest, in spite of the hazardous circumstances and 
uncomfortable location. Unlike most girls, she kept her eyes open. Her 
parted pink lips trembled. All she said was, "Uh... uh... uh," rising in 
pitch as she approached her climax. 

The hard floor of the bus hurt Harry's knees through his trousers, and he 
imagined that it felt worse against Sally's twisting, thrashing buttocks 
which were bare. But what she felt coming at her from the other way must 
have more than compensated, for she lifted her hot loins eagerly to 
encompass each thrust of his sturdy manhood. 

She was the first to lose control, and her buttocks bounced against the 
floor like rubber balls. This forced him to speed up, and it was well that 
he surged to the finish when he did. Just as his pelvis strained forward and 
as the jolts of completed passion gripped his arching body, the bus driver 
lunged up the steps into the vehicle. 

"Hey, you can't do that!" he cried foolishly when he saw what was going on. 

Harry fell back and twisted in the tight quarters to see who had yelled. The 
driver could have grabbed him if he had moved quickly, but he was hypnotized 
by the shocking beauty which Sally's parted legs revealed. When he did move, 
Harry had already vaulted over a seat and lunged to the emergency door. He 
opened it and leaped to the ground. He ran up the highway with his trousers 
open. 

He took satisfaction in the knowledge that Sally had been caught and 
doubtless turned over to the local juvenile authorities. 

He lost his luggage, which contained all his worldly possessions except what 
was on his back. But he had over a hundred dollars in his wallet. 

Worse from his standpoint was that he was stranded in the middle of nowhere. 
He didn't dare use his ticket on a later bus, for fear of a pick-up order 
out on him. 

But he would make out. He always had and he always would. 

Deciding it would be dangerous to remain in town, he found a road which 
branched off from the main highway and began to hike along it. His hope lay 
in picking up a ride quickly. The offense he had committed was not serious 
enough to warrant the setting up of roadblocks, so he figured that once he 
was in a car he would be safe. 

The first car approached rapidly and passed his outstretched thumb without 
slowing down. He spoke to the hot Kansas air about the driver's ancestry. 

He trudged along. 

The country which spread at either side of the narrow ribbon of asphalt was 
flat and dry. He turned at the sound of another vehicle approaching. It was 
coming slowly. He gave it the thumb and a big boyish smile. 

The driver put on the brakes. 

A plump, middle-aged woman was driving the dusty blue Chevrolet. "Get in, 
young man," she called cheerfully. "It's too hot a day to be walking." 

Harry agreed. He climbed into the front seat beside her and said, "Thanks a 
lot, ma'am. You sure saved my life." 

"Oh, I don't think I did anything that fine," she replied as she put the car 
into gear. It churned forward. "Where you headed?" 

"I'm not sure." 

She glanced at him. 

He smiled. "What I mean is, I'm looking for a job and I don't know where 
I'll be able to find one." 

"You new around here?" 

"Yes. I'm from back East. I was passing through and this looked like such 
nice country that I decided to stay for awhile. You don't know anyone who 
needs a willing worker, do you?" 

"I just might, young man. What did you say your name was?" 

"Harry Pearce." 

"Well, Harry, I'm Bernice Poston and I run a little gas station at Cheever's 
Corners. That's about four miles ahead. I could use a fellow of your age to 
help me at the place. Of course, I couldn't pay much." 

"I'll take the job, Mrs. Poston. When can I start?" 

She looked at him in surprise. "That was awfully quick. Don't you care about 
the wages?" 

"Nope, as long as they're enough to eat on and I've got a place to live." 

"Well, I'll put you up. And you can eat with me and the girls." 

"The girls?" 

"My daughters. One's eighteen and the other's twenty-two. And there's 
something I want to tell you about them right off: There's to be no 
hanky-panky, understand?" 

"Oh, I understand, Mrs. Poston. I don't believe in that sort of thing." 

She smiled in satisfaction. "You seem like a very nice boy." 

"Thank you, ma'am. I try to be." 

"I suppose it wasn't necessary for me to warn you about the girls at all, 
but they're both pretty and... well, you take some young men -- they would 
start trying to shine up to them right away." 

"I'm sure I'll like them, Mrs. Poston, and I hope they like me. But as for 
anything improper taking place, you don't have to worry about that." 

She smiled and settled, self-satisfied, into her plumpness. Looking at her, 
he wondered how pretty her daughters could possibly be. 

He found out as soon as the car reached Cheever's Comers. Both girls were 
there, one at the little frame gas station and the other on the porch of the 
two-story house in back. 

Each was a potential beauty contest winner. That is, unless the judges 
happened to be prejudiced in favor of the fashion model type. These girls 
had meat on their bones and would probably look like their mother by the 
time they reached the middle forties and the meat had turned to fat. Now it 
was firm and delectable. 

Mrs. Poston drove the car onto the bare dirt beside the station and cut the 
motor. The younger girl, in a gingham plaid dress and flat shoes, walked 
over from the small frame building. She had dark blonde hair which tickled 
her shoulders and she wore a big smile. 

"Hi, Ma," she said and looked at Harry. 

"Chrissy, I want you to meet the young man who's going to work for us -- 
Harry Pearce. Harry, this is my youngest -- Christine." 

"Hello, Harry." 

He gave her his best smile. "Hi, Christine." He got out of the car. 

As he walked around and got a better view of her. Nice full breasts, warm 
hips and plump thighs. It would be a pleasure undressing her. 

He glanced toward the porch of the dwelling house where the other daughter, 
taller and a little more mature but equally well built, was descending the 
steps. She wore a green shift that skidded pleasantly against her curves and 
she, unlike her younger sister, wore stockings. Her hair was dark brown. 

Harry was introduced to the older daughter, whose name was Margaret. 

Mrs. Poston told him, "If you'll come into the house I'll show you where 
you're to sleep. Oh! Where are your things?" 

"At my room in town, I'll catch a ride back this afternoon and get them," 

"That won't be necessary," she said. "One of us will be glad to drive you." 

Harry looked at the group of smiling females and decided that he had fallen 
into a very good spot. The food would be excellent and plentiful, judging by 
the plump appearance of them all. The shelter would be at least adequate. 
And the loving was apt to be choice. 

He figured he would be safe from the law when he appeared permanently 
settled. Anyway, the only person who could identify him was the bus driver, 
and he was on his way by now. 

"I take it there is no Mr. Poston," he said to the mother as he walked 
toward the house. 

"No. He passed on several years ago." 

"I'm sorry," Harry said. 

But, of course, he wasn't. 

 CHAPTER FIVE 

Chrissy was his first target. 

He selected her for several reasons: First, he was going to be working 
closely with her at the station; second, she was the younger of the two 
girls and therefore probably the most susceptible; and, third, she made him 
hot just to look at her. 

He got his first good look that day. 

A wind blew up suddenly, which was not unusual in Kansas. As Chrissy bent 
over to pull the air hose out of its well beside the gas pumps, the wind 
caught her just right. It got under her wide gingham skirt and lilted it 
over her back, giving Harry an exciting peek at her rounded rear in pink 
rayon panties. 

In spite of the fact that he'd had a girl just that morning, his manhood 
responded. He had to jam his hands into his pockets to hide the effect. 

Chrissy straightened quickly and turned to look at him with a blush on her 
face. "I wish Ma would let me wear pants," she stated. 

"You do wear pants. I saw them." 

"Outer pants, I mean. She says it's a sin for a girl to wear anything but 
dresses." 

"I agree with her," Harry grinned. "Especially on windy days." 

"You're naughty," she said with a sly smile. "I shouldn't even talk to you." 

He walked over to her and was just about to slip his arm around her waist 
when the man whose car she was servicing came back from the John. Harry 
turned back to his chore of greasing an elderly Ford. 

Instead of a hydraulic lift, the station had a wooden grease rack next to 
the office. It hadn't been used since the Postons' last helper had quit, and 
Harry was a little leery about working under it, but he supposed it was safe 
enough. He worked as quickly as he could and got out. 

Earlier that day he had talked Mrs. Poston out of driving him into town and 
had picked up a ride from a customer of the station. At a place which called 
itself a "dry goods" store, he had purchased a few articles of clothing and 
a canvas zipper bag. He went from there to a drug store and picked up a 
razor and toilet articles. This stuff would tide him over until his first 
pay day, he decided, or until something else broke for him. He had no desire 
to hang around Cheever's Corners very long. 

The making of Chrissy and Margaret were on his agenda, in that order, and he 
didn't think either girl would offer much of a challenge. As for their 
mother, he would pass up the doubtful pleasure of diddling that dumpling. 
Though it would give him a kick to prove it could be done, physically it 
would be a negative experience. There were enough pretty pigs in the world, 
so that a man didn't have to waste his time sticking homely ones. 

That night at the dinner table, Margaret brought up an interesting topic: 
"Something awful happened in town today. I was talking to Lucy Fraser a 
little while ago and she said she heard that some man raped a girl on a 
Greyhound bus in front of the Daisy Cafe." 

"No!" Mrs. Poston exclaimed. 

"Yes. And that wasn't the worst of it. The girl was young." 

"Are they sure it was rape?" Harry inquired mildly. 

All eyes turned to him. 

"I mean," he went on, "the girl could have been willing." 

"A teen-ager?" Mrs. Poston asked in surprise, as if girls of that age didn't 
know the meaning of sex or what to do about it. 

Harry returned his attention to his soup. 

"I don't even want to talk about it, Margaret," the older woman said. "You 
ought to be ashamed for bringing it up in front of your baby sister." 

"Aw, Ma!" Chrissy said in disgust. 

Harry smiled inwardly. He wondered if both daughters were cherry. He would 
have bet Chrissy was. And from the way she talked and looked at him, he 
guessed that she was pretty tired of the condition. As for the older girl, 
he considered it likely that she'd had some experience. She seemed a little 
wiser in the eyes. But it was hard to say. The last virgin he had nailed was 
thirty-one, so age alone was not much of an indicator. 

Margaret gave piano lessons to the children of the community, which helped 
contribute to the family till, and the mother tended a large coop of 
chickens in back of the house. All in all, the family seemed to be doing 
pretty well. 

Harry hoped he could get his hands on some of that loot before he shoved 
off. He wondered if they kept it in the house or if they had an account at 
the local bank. He would have bet in favor of a mattress or cookie jar. They 
seemed like the type. 

The room which Mrs. Poston gave him was upstairs, at the rear. Chrissy and 
Margaret had separate rooms on the same floor, and the mother slept 
downstairs. This was an arrangement which Harry hoped to take advantage of. 

His bed was an old fashioned iron one with flat springs, but the mattress 
had coils in it and was comfortable. The house offered the convenience of 
indoor plumbing, so he showered that night before going to bed in the raw. 

As he lay on his back thinking about the two toothsome girls in their beds a 
short distance away, his body responded to the images which his mind 
conjured up. He was so used to frequent sex that his body required it He 
thought he might get away with tip-toeing down the hall and sneaking into 
Chrissy's room. There was a good chance that she would accept him in her bed 
without putting up a fuss, but he didn't want to press his luck. It would be 
better to allow a day or so to get acquainted before he made his play. 

Tomorrow he would feel her up. 

He wondered if her large breasts would be as good to squeeze as they were to 
look at. Her bottom had looked mighty squeezable in the brief glimpse he'd 
had of it. Her rayon panties had clung to the nice plump curves, and the 
shape of each cheek was perfectly delineated. 

Thinking about Chrissy's bottom didn't help calm him. His hand sneaked down 
under the covers, took a grip. But he didn't stroke himself. That was kid 
stuff. With so many plush natural appliances in the world, his hand was a 
mighty poor substitute. A girl's hand could be fun, but only when he 
couldn't get at the other. 

He turned onto his side and diverted his mind from the subject of sex. 
Gradually his body calmed down. He drifted into sleep. 

Breakfast was at seven a.m. in the Poston household. Across the table from 
him, the girls looked chipper and ready for the day. 

Harry was ready for them. 

Any time, but the sooner the better. He had awakened that morning as hard as 
ever in his life. 

As he followed Chrissy out to the station, he watched her ample backside wag 
in a cotton dress and wanted to press himself to her right there, with her 
dress hiked up and her panties down. Steady, boy, he cautioned mentally. 
You'll get your chance. 

Cheever's Corners was, as its name suggested, a country crossroads which 
didn't qualify as a town. The Poston's gas station was on one corner, a 
general store was on another, a farmer's produce stand occupied a third, and 
the fourth was an open field. A man named Cheever had founded the store 
fifty years ago, and his descendants operated it today. 

The day was clear and hot. Harry, in T-shirt and jeans, began to sweat right 
away. He wasn't sure if it was the heat outside or the heat within him which 
was principally responsible. He kept watching Chrissy and his passion 
constantly threatened to rise. 

She was pleasant company, quick to smile at bun. 

There wasn't much business that morning, rarely two cars at a time, so he 
took care of most of them while she stayed in the office. A grease job 
rolled in at ten-thirty and he went to work on that while she took over the 
pumping of gas. 

Toward noon there was a lull, which permitted them to stay in the small 
office together. An electric fan was blowing, but it did little to relieve 
the heat. 

"Have you got a boy friend, Chrissy?" he asked as he sat on a ledge at the 
side of the room and propped one foot on the arm of a chair. 

"No regular one. Ma doesn't want me to get serious with anybody." 

He grinned. "What's she saving you for, some rich old widower?" 

"No. She just thinks I'm too young to think much about boys." 

"Are you?" 

Chrissy gave him a very direct look. "I think about the." 

He let his eyes roam over her suggestively. "I'll bet they think about you, 
too, built the way you are." 

"Now, you shouldn't talk like that," she said with a blush, but obviously 
she was pleased. 

He slid down from his perch and pulled a chair over beside hers. He sat. 
"What would you do," he asked softly, "if I were to put my hand on your leg? 
Would you jump?" 

"I don't know," she replied, her brown eyes a little nervous. 

"I think I'll try it and see." 

"Ma wouldn't like it," she said and drew her knees more tightly together. 
They peeped out from below her plain dress, round and smooth and bare. 

"Your Ma don't need to know. Hell, Chrissy, you're eighteen. At your age,- 
city girls are having themselves a good time." 

"I wish I could go to the city," she said wistfully. 

"Maybe you can. That's where I'll be going when I leave here." 

He leaned closer. Anticipation alone had begun to excite him. 

He put out his hand and cupped it around the knee closest to him. Chrissy 
drew in her breath and her eyes took on the look of a shy forest creature. 
He nudged her dress upward, his possessive hand sliding. 

Her leg was warm and smooth and firm. His excitement rose quickly. 

"You shouldn't do that," she breathed but she didn't push his hand away. She 
watched and he watched as her skirt slid higher. 

His hand was halfway to her lap now, and the flesh he had uncovered was 
tasty looking. He would have liked to tongue it. 

"Come on, honey," he murmured. "Relax a little." And he tugged gently at her 
leg to try to separate it from the other one. 

She laughed and slapped his hand away. She took a little longer than 
necessary to draw her skirt down. 

"Chicken," he said, looking at her warmly. 

"Come on. Here's a car." 

She got up and edged past his knees. He remained where he was. At the 
moment, he had to. 

The attempt to arouse her hadn't been casual enough, he decided. Next time 
he would catch her by surprise, and he wouldn't waste time fooling around at 
her lower thighs. 

His opportunity came toward the end of the afternoon. There was no business 
at the moment and Chrissy was in the office, bending over to remove a fresh 
supply of paper towels from the bottom shelf of a cabinet. Harry came 
quickly up behind her, placed his hand between her slightly parted knees, 
and scooted it up. All the way. 

The feel of her warm, soft femininity through her rayon panties was 
exhilarating. 

She said, "Ooo!", straightened up and turned to face him, but he kept his 
hand where it was, wrapped warmly around her panty seat. Her skirt rode high 
on his arm. 

"Harry... goodness!" she cried and started to struggle, pushing at his arm, 
but the struggling only served to rotate her softness against his impudent 
fingers, with just the silky panties in between. 

He captured her parted lips with his. His tongue surged. 

She made a couple of sounds deep in her throat, then clutched him and ground 
her balloon-like breasts against his front. His hand fondled her fanny 
freely, patting and petting, rubbing all over her crowded panties. 

"Beep!" 

The sounding of the auto horn caused them to break apart. Harry's body was 
at full excitement and he quickly dropped into a chair. Chrissy patted 
nervously at her hair and, with a rosy blush on her face, went to take care 
of the customer. 

After the car had driven away, she returned. 

"I think he saw us," she said. "That was old Jed Lamper and he had a wise, 
dirty grin on his face." 

"He was wishing he was me," Harry replied. "Come on. Let's pick up where we 
left off." 

He got up from his chair and reached for her, but she evaded him. "Not 
here," she said. "It's too dangerous. What if someone were to tell Ma?" 

"Okay. Where, then?" 

"This evening," she murmured. "I'll meet you beside the house, at the yard 
swing." 

"What will your mother say?" 

"She's driving into town right after dinner. Her club is having a meeting." 

"That's great," Harry grinned. "But why don't we just use your room?" 

"That would be wrong," she said. 

He shrugged, not wanting to argue with her. He couldn't see any moral 
difference between a girl getting laid on a yard swing or on her bed. 

He found out when he was on the swing with Chrissy, in the cool dusk, that 
she had no intention of letting herself be laid. She kept her knees pressed 
tightly together and, at first, she didn't part her lips when they kissed. 
His attempt to place a hand at her breasts drew a quick defensive slap on 
his wrist. 

Girls' good intentions didn't amount to much when Harry was around. They 
simply meant that he had to work a little harder. He decided not to try to 
feel Chrissy for a while and to concentrate on kissing her. Some of a girl's 
most sensitive nerve ends were located on her lips and tongue, and if a man 
maneuvered his tongue just right he could fire her to fever pitch just from 
kissing. 

Then getting into her bra would be no problem. 

And after the bra, the pants. 

In his mind's eye Harry saw her already spread, her knees up, her virginal 
little body waiting. He had the key .that would trip her tumbler. 

When he approached her for the second kiss, he didn't try to force her lips 
apart with his. Instead he touched her lips with the tip of his tongue and 
ran it back and forth, not trying to enter, just sliding it against her 
sensitive labial flesh. She groaned a little and he kept sliding. His hand 
at her back, pressing against the bra clasp through her dress, drew her a 
little closer to him so that the forward portion of each bra cup touched his 
chest. 

He could feel her lips softening, all tension going out of them. When the 
moment was right, he slipped his tongue tip between her lips and held it 
there for a few moments, quivering. 

This sprang the catch. Her mouth opened, and his slippery tongue slid far 
inside. Now she clutched him and they embraced as heatedly as they had in 
the station that afternoon. 

His tongue was a piston, moving in and out, exciting the nerves of her lips 
and those of her tongue as his tongue rubbed against it. Her mouth opened 
wider. Her tongue ventured forth to dally with his and finally to surge into 
his mouth as he held his back. 

He guessed that she hadn't been kissed this way many times, if ever. The 
local boys were probably afraid to take liberties, since her mother was so 
strict. 

Daughters of strict mothers were Harry's meat. 

He sucked Chrissy's tongue gently and she squirmed in desire, causing her 
breasts to rub against him. 

Now, he thought. Now. 

His hand moved quickly between them and up to her bosom. His seeking fingers 
crawled around a luscious brassiered mound and clutched. He could feel her 
nipple stiffening through her bra and dress. He concentrated on the 
sensitive protrusion, squeezing it with thumb and finger through the 
fabrics. 

He wanted to move his other hand to the zipper at her back and release it so 
that he could slide the dress off her shoulder, but he dared not move too 
fast. Like a nervous fawn, she would be frightened easily. 

They continued to kiss, his tongue now circling hers and curling with it. He 
rubbed her breast more vigorously, as if he were polishing an apple. In 
size, it was comparable to a big juicy Delicious, but in shape and texture 
there was no comparison at all. She panted, her warm breath striking his 
cheek in quick, excited bursts. Her tongue stroked in and out of his mouth. 

His fingers crept to the tab at the top of her zipper. 

As he kept up the caressing at her front, he brought the zipper down. Then 
he thought, what the hell. As long as he was doing that, he might as well 
pop her bra, also. 

His hand, inside the open back of her dress, caressed smoothly. He ran it 
back and forth along her bra strap as the other hand kept working on her 
breast. The nipple was very large and thrusting now, and the bra fabric must 
have been uncomfortable against it. 

He quickly solved that problem for her by deftly squeezing her bra clasp, 
opening both hooks at once. The bra sprang forward. As she broke the kiss 
and leaned back in alarm, he pushed the side of her dress down and reached 
under her limp bra to grasp the warm breast that he had been petting through 
her clothes. 

He could not contain it entirely in his hand. It was full and firm and it 
sat up beautifully, even without the bra to support it. With his other hand, 
he crossed in front of her and lifted the bra so that he could see what he 
was holding. He moved his fingers, and a large rosy nipple popped forward 
between his curving thumb and index finger. 

"Oh, Harry... don't," she whimpered. "Please don't." 

"Why not, angel?" he crooned and watched as his thumb and index finger 
stroked the nipple and rolled its tumescent firmness. There was a moon out, 
which furnished just enough light to enhance a girl's beauty. 

"Margaret might come out," she moaned and watched his fingers working with 
her. 

"Nonsense. She's with her boy friend in the living room. They're probably 
doing just what we're doing here." 

"Not Frank," Chrissy breathed. "He wants to marry her." 

"That doesn't mean he won't play with her breasts. Damn, Chrissy, you sure 
have lovely ones." 

He slipped the other side of her dress down and draped her white cotton bra 
around her throat. He put his free hand on the breast he had just released 
and squeezed that as the nipple emerged into his palm. 

"You've got me so excited," Chrissy cried softly and twisted her treasures 
against him. "I don't know what I'm going to do." 

"I know. You're going to let me make love to you." 

"No!" she exclaimed and swung her breasts away from him. 

Watching those babies bounce free in the moonlight stimulated him all the 
more. The thick rosy nipples stuck out three-quarters of an inch and aimed 
at the low-hanging stars. 

"Why not, Chrissy?" he pleaded. "I'm crazy about you. I really am. When I 
leave here, you could come with me. I'm on my way to California." 

"Really?" she said as she cuddled her breasts. 

"Yeah. Los Angeles." His gaze licked at what he could see of her boobs. 

"Oh, Harry, I couldn't. This isn't right." 

She tried to get up, but his arm across her front stopped her. He pried at 
her crossed forearms and lifted one of them away, exposing a nippled crest. 
He bent his head swiftly and lit on her crinkled aureole with his lips. Her 
nipple quivered on his tongue. 

A mouth at the breast worked with most girls, and Chrissy was no exception. 
Her resistance crumbled like the walls of Jericho. Harry let his lips slide 
and his tongue circle, teasing the sensitive tip. She had uncovered her 
other breast and ran one hand into his hair while the other clutched him at 
the back. Harry caressed that breast with his hand while he kissed the other 
one. 

She was at the gateway of heaven. No doubt about that. She squirmed and 
whimpered, her thighs opening and closing anxiously. Harry fastened more 
tightly on her throbbing nipple and began to suck as he ran his free hand 
quickly up between her legs. 

Now she was his. Her thighs yawned, giving him free access. He petted her 
through her damp panties for awhile, then hooked a leg elastic and slipped 
his fingers between the rayon and her fevered flesh. 

His fingertips explored, excited. He found his way. She was warm with 
desire. He searched a little further. 

She was virgin, all right. 

He moved his mouth to her other breast and went to work on its bud as his 
hand remained within her panties, the fingertips stroking. She pushed her 
hips forward and began to twist a little. A girl couldn't give the signal 
much more plainly than that. 

He got up, twisted her and pressed her onto her back on the swing. Her legs 
came up. 

"No, Harry, no," she whimpered as he reached way under the skirt to grip her 
panties and pull them down. He spread her legs apart and clawed at the front 
of his clothes. 

He was onto her before she was able to see what he had and be frightened by 
the sight. Holding himself, he touched and rotated deftly, finding exactly 
the right place to press. He had it. He pressed with all his might. 

Her cry of pain pierced the air and then he was moving, hunching, sliding in 
and out, up and down, giving her wild excitement. 

The fun was over quickly, for deflowering a virgin always stimulated Harry 
so strongly that he couldn't last long. This virgin was one of the ripest 
he'd ever taken. 

There was no need for him to last because Chrissy was already sobbing and 
quaking in blissful release, her legs kicking in the air. He gave her the 
coup de grace and shuddered in the grip of the great satisfaction that 
possessed him. His heat struck again and again. 

He slipped out of her embrace and stood up. 

"Oh, Harry, what have we done?" she cried in sudden anguish as she struggled 
to a sitting position. 

"I made you a woman," he said, zipping his pants. "That's something you 
should have wanted." 

"Ma will kill me!" 

"She doesn't need to know. In fact, you'd better not tell her. You have your 
own life to lead." 

Her eyes were big and bright in the moonlight and her legs gleamed white 
above the edge of her tan. 

"Do you love me, Harry?" 

"Sure I do. We're going to be married." 

She sighed. "I guess that makes it all right, then." 

"You liked it, didn't you?" 

"Yes!" 

"Then that makes it all right," he said, "regardless of anything else." 

But he was thinking: Poor little piggy. Like all the rest. 

He smiled to himself. 

 CHAPTER SIX 

A he lay waiting for sleep to claim him. The thrill of taking a virgin never 
wore off right away. He felt he was doing a great service to the world when 
he deflowered one because that made her less able to squeeze a guy into 
marriage. She would be hungry for more of what he had given her, and now she 
had nothing to save. 

The studs of the countryside were going to have a field day, he thought. At 
least, the smart ones would. But sooner or later she would catch herself a 
sucker, and he would pay for everybody else's fun. 

Ha! Not him. Never him. He paid for what he got and that was all. He got 
fun, he gave fun in return, and no woman would ever get her hooks into him. 

It was laughable, when you stopped to think about it, for a man to feel that 
he had to marry a girl in order to receive what he was happy to dish out for 
free. Getting men to accept that notion was the basis of the females' 
racket, and they had been working it successfully for years and years. Talk 
about your bunco games! 

He knew Chrissy hadn't protected herself, but this didn't give him any sense 
of guilt over what he had done. Was it his fault that she didn't know the 
score? It was the fault of her mother for not wising her up. Nowadays even a 
virgin could protect herself. But the thing was, both Chrissy and her mother 
assumed she would be able to work her racket successfully and hold the guys 
off until she was able to fox one into marrying her. 

Harry had burst that bubble, but good. Ha! 

There had been times, like the other night with Sally, when a different 
feeling had possessed him. A kind of warmth. It usually was when things 
didn't go just as he expected, when a girl behaved differently. Like Sally 
-- wanting it and not blubbering or trying to make any deal. 

But by morning he had recovered. When he looked at her in the broad light of 
day, he had realized that she was no different. None of them were any 
different, really. Some acted a little different, but they were the same 
hot-tail bitches down inside. Hot-tail and cool calculations. 

Get married first. That was the way they all thought. Get a sucker hooked. 
Then have a ball playing bedroom bingo while the husband was out working for 
them. 

If someone had pointed out to him that not all wives cheated, he would have 
said: "No. Some of them are frigid. They don't even give their husbands a 
good time. The poor slobs get nothing for their work." 

If someone had said that there were wives who were responsive and went to 
bed only with their husbands, his reply would have been: "That's what you 
think, buddy. That's part of the racket, to make you believe that. But it 
just isn't so. There are the hot broads and the cold cookies. The hot ones 
will get hot for anybody; the cold ones pretend until they've got a man 
hooked, then spit in his eye." 

This was Harry's philosophy of love and life and sex. He dedicated most of 
his time and effort to the proof of it, in the way that religious zealots 
dedicated themselves to the saving of souls. Every conversion served to 
strengthen the zealot's faith and to assuage the tormenting doubt which he 
would never admit existed but which was always there. So, with Harry, every 
conquest assuaged the doubt which he would not admit to himself---the doubt 
that tried to tell him sometimes that he didn't understand it all, that 
there was more to the man-woman relationship than he believed. 

That morning Chrissy behaved like a different girl. She was quiet at the 
breakfast table, indrawn, watching him. He was afraid that her mother might 
notice, but she didn't seem to. 

Afterward, when they were alone together at the station, Chrissy told him, 
"I've been thinking so much about last night. I've been feeling you here." 
She placed her hand against her dress at the loins. 

He grinned. "Felt good, didn't it?" 

"More than just good. I'm in love with you, Harry. I want to go away with 
you as soon as we can." 

"Sure, honey. But this is something we have to think about. We have to make 
plans, and I've got to get some money together." 

It didn't make any difference what he said to her -- anything to stall for 
time. She didn't interest him any longer, but her sister did. After he had 
made the sister, he would take off, perhaps with some of the family loot if 
he could get his hands on it. 

"I have some money saved," Chrissy told him. 

"Yeah?" His interest pricked up. 

"Over five hundred dollars in my own bank account." 

So they did do business with a bank, after all. 

"I don't believe in taking money from a girl," he said. Stalling for time 
was still his main concern. 

She came to him and pressed her ripe, young body close. Her full breasts 
mashed against him. "I want to give it to you," she whispered and her lips 
lolled and quivered, waiting for his lips to descend. 

What she most wanted to give to him, right then and there, was what he had 
taken the night before. But he didn't want to take her now. 

He grasped her by the arms and moved her back. 

"Harry... what's the matter?" 

"Nothing. We just have to be a little careful is all." 

"You weren't worried yesterday about being careful," she said petulantly. 

"Well, now it's different." 

"Harry, do you love me?" 

"Sure." 

"Then say it." 

"I love you." 

Even though he hadn't put much feeling into the words, she glowed. 

"I love you very much," she said. "I didn't know that having a boy could be 
so wonderful. It hardly hurt at all, and after the hurt there was such 
pleasure!" 

A car drove into the station and he went to take care of it. His problem now 
was to keep Chrissy from clinging to him like a stamp on an envelope so that 
he could make some time with her big sister. That one was apt to prove more 
of a problem. In the first place, she had a steady boy friend and, secondly, 
she knew a lot more about life. 

Harry didn't consider passing her up. The old compulsion was at work, 
telling him that he had to take her just because she was there. 

He manufactured an excuse to saunter into the house before the morning grew 
very old. Margaret was with a young piano student in the living room. Mrs. 
Poston was in the kitchen. Harry went up to his room, killed some time 
there, and returned downstairs when he heard the piano student leaving. 

"Oh, hi," Margaret said with an impersonal smile as she turned from the 
front door. She had folded and was pocketing in her dress some bills for the 
lesson. 

"I've always wanted to learn piano," he said pleasantly. "Do you suppose you 
could teach me?" 

"You're putting me on." Her eyelids drooped and she took on a look which was 
surprisingly sexy for a supposedly unsophisticated country girl. 

Yeah, this chick knew what it was all about, all right. 

Harry moved closer to her. "I'd really like to learn, especially from such a 
pretty teacher." 

"Careful. Chrissy will be jealous." 

"What do you mean?" he asked easily. 

"Weren't you sitting in the moonlight with her last night?" 

"Yeah. She's a sweet kid. I like her." 

"I wouldn't doubt that she likes you pretty well, too. She doesn't get a 
chance to become acquainted with many boys. Ma's pretty strict with her." 

"But not so strict with you, I've noticed." 

They were talking softly so that Mrs. Poston could not hear. Anyway, dishes 
were clanking in the kitchen and the water was running. 

"Well, I'm a little different case. You see, I've been married." 

"Yeah? What happened, or is it any of my business?" 

"It isn't. But I don't mind telling you. We got married just before he was 
drafted. He went away to camp. For awhile he wrote to me every day, then 
every other day, then once or twice a week. When he came home on leave, I 
could tell he had changed. It wasn't long before he was sent to Europe. I 
got two letters from there and that was all. The next I knew, he had signed 
up for another hitch. Finally he wrote me and said he wanted to marry a 
German girl, so I filed for a divorce." 

"That's a hell of a way for a guy to treat his wife," Harry said with an 
apparent trace of sympathy, but actually he was smiling to himself. 

Marry a German girl? Shoot, that cat was through with marriage. He had found 
out the score. It had cost him a little, no doubt, but at least he had 
wiggled free. 

"I didn't shed any tears over him," Margaret said. "Actually, he wasn't 
much. I'm going to be very careful before I jump into matrimony again." 

He didn't believe her. It was a female trick to try and convince a 
prospective sucker that she was choosy. That way he felt flattered when she 
showed an interest in him, and his ego helped lead him into her trap. 

"The guy who came to see you last night," Harry said. "I understand he's 
asked you to marry him." 

"Did Chrissy tell you that? She's a snippy blabbermouth." 

"You don't intend to marry him, hm?" 

"He's just a friend." 

The front door opened and Chrissy appeared. A cloud crossed her cute face 
when she saw Harry talking with her sister. "There are two cars waiting for 
service," she said. "I can't take care of both of them." 

"Okay," Harry grinned. "Be right there." 

Chrissy turned and left. He gave Margaret a wink before he followed. 

So she was a divorcee, hum? That meant she was going to be easier to make 
than he had figured. 

He began to think in terms of a quick score with her, then off with Chrissy 
and her five hundred dollars. He could ditch her in the first good-sized 
town. That would be a slicker move than stealing some dough and getting 
himself branded as a thief. 

* * * 

Mrs. Poston was at home that evening, so he and Chrissy had to confine 
themselves to exchanging warm glances across the living room while they all 
watched television, Margaret included. She didn't have a date. 

Harry was careful not to be overly friendly toward the older girl while 
Chrissy was around. And he couldn't be too friendly toward Chrissy, either, 
with her mother there. So it was pretty much of a standoff. 

Chrissy was the first to go up to her room. Harry went up shortly 
thereafter. He walked to Chrissy's door, instead of his own, and rapped 
quietly. She was in a robe with pajamas underneath when she answered, and he 
pulled her into his arms. 

"Harry, no!" she breathed sharply. "Someone might see." 

He didn't try to kiss her. He merely held her snugly against him so that he 
could feel the soft surge of her unbrassiered breasts, and he whispered at 
her ear: "I'll be in your room later tonight." 

"No! Someone will hear." 

"We'll be quiet. You want me to come, don't you? Really?" 

"Darling, I want you very much. But it's so dangerous." 

"Nonsense. I'll wait until Margaret's had a chance to fall asleep. I'll walk 
quietly downstairs." 

She looked at him fearfully, but with desire warming her brown eyes, also. 
Then he pressed a quick kiss to her parted lips and went to his own room. 

He took pleasure in the thought that she would be simmering until he crept 
to her little den later. What he wanted would be very warm and ready by the 
time he got to it, he conjectured. She would come on stronger tonight 
because of the taste of honey he had given her the evening before. 

The waiting was difficult for him, also. He didn't have a robe to put on, so 
he remained in his daytime clothes and paced the floor of his small room 
until he began to wonder if this would keep Mrs. Poston awake, at which time 
he flopped on top of his bed and entertained himself with erotic visions of 
Chrissy as she would look after he had arrived in her room and had begun to 
play with her. 

She was one of the most succulent girls he had ever possessed, having just 
come into full ripeness. She was plump in a healthy, young way which 
suggested a diet of butter and cheese and other good things from the 
country, along with plenty of fresh air and sleep. In appearance and in 
personality, she was very different from the general run of city girls he 
had known. This made her worth several tumbles, whereas they were worth only 
one. 

He waited until there were no sounds in the house, and then he got off the 
bed, removed his shoes, and crossed the room to the door, being careful not 
to make a board creak. He continued to be careful as he followed the thin 
runner in the hallway to Chrissy's door. He didn't knock. He merely opened 
the door and let himself into her room. 

She emitted a little gasping sound, but otherwise said nothing until he 
reached the bed. The only light was provided by a big, white moon that hung 
low in the sky, and this amounted to just enough. 

Chrissy whispered, "Please be quiet. If Ma or Margaret were to find out, I'd 
die." 

He grinned at her in the semi-darkness. "No, you wouldn't. Love is nothing 
to be ashamed of." 

"This way it is," she whispered back. 

He said, "I'll see if I can change your mind," and he began to undress. 

Chrissy had never before watched a boy remove his clothes and, as Harry 
dispensed with his shirt and jeans, the whites of her eye glittered. He 
whipped his shorts down, exposing his relaxed manhood, and Chrissy's eyelids 
lowered slightly, but she was still watching him. 

He reached and lowered the covers on the bed. 

This handed him a happy surprise, for she had removed her pajamas while she 
was waiting for him to come to her room. She was lying nude and ready for 
his love. 

Harry carried the light covers all the way over the foot of the bed. He 
stood for a few moments and gazed down at her, his eyes gently stroking her 
nudity like a pair of paintbrushes -- swabbing the high, soft domes of her 
breasts which were studded by watchtowers at their summits, tinted as if 
touched by a sunset's glow. His gaze made circular sweeps over her plump 
belly with its dark little navel depression which seemed the perfect place 
for a man to insert the tip of his tongue. He visually caressed her shaded 
loins, then her full, smooth thighs. 

Chrissy watched his desire strengthen and climb until, in just a few 
seconds, it had assumed massive proportions. Her accelerated breathing 
caused her breasts to rise and fall more quickly, and little tremors danced 
over the responsive flesh. Her hand rose from the bed at her side and 
reached tentatively toward him. 

"That's so exciting," she said in a soft, husky voice. "I never saw it 
happen before." 

"Feeling's better than seeing," he whispered and sidled along the bed until 
he was easily within her reach. 

Still, she remained hesitant. 

He reached and guided her hand. He placed it against his burning flesh and 
helped to curl her fingers around him. 

Chrissy breathed an exclamation of delight and gripped harder. He throbbed 
in response. Bone-hard now, he gloried in the sense of power which pervaded 
him. He was the complete male, the complete stud, about to subjugate 
womankind. 

Chrissy didn't know how to caress him. She merely gripped the evidence of 
his desire and sighed with pleasure at the contact and at what it meant. She 
knew it was a compliment to her sex appeal, and this evoked a warm response 
all through her. 

Harry placed a hand on the inner curve of her near thigh. Her thighs quickly 
parted. By now his eyes were perfectly accustomed to the dim light and he 
could make out the entire beauty of her which he had had little opportunity 
to appreciate the evening before. 

He eased away from her grasp and climbed onto the bed between her legs. He 
crouched at her knees and lowered his face, leaning a little to the side so 
that he did not cast a shadow upon the area he wished to inspect. He lifted 
her knees a little and moved them even farther apart. 

She whimpered and twisted, but she seemed willing to let him take his time 
in this visual appreciation of her. His eyes caressed the plump rounded 
cushions of her buttocks and the crevice which separated them. He gazed at 
the widened playground immediately above, which marked her sex. Her 
light-brown curls furnished an attractive adornment which multiplied to 
became a thick clump at the base of her belly. 

She twisted more, tilting her thighs this way and that, and Harry watched 
the interesting effect of this twisting. She moaned. 

After he had studied her to his heart's content, he scrambled forward. She 
began to reach for him with her body, but he was tilted too high for access. 
His arms kept her arms pinned to the bed. She twisted from side to side, in 
extreme torment now, her high-mounded, firm breasts quivering. 

He dropped his mouth and began to kiss them all over. 

She made high-pitched, anxious sounds as his tongue-tip toyed with a nipple, 
pushing it and bending it and circling around. He licked along the inner 
breast-slope and along the base of the tender mound where it joined her 
ribcage. His moving lips grazed the warm satin flesh. 

He took keen pleasure in the evidence of desire which she was showing, both 
in the soft sounds she was making and in her efforts to get at him with her 
hands so as to effect an immediate union. But he continued to hold her arms 
prisoner under his. 

He kissed her other breast all over and finally settled warmly about the 
upstanding nipple. He drew it deeply into his mouth and let it quiver atop 
his tongue as he worked his teeth gently against the sensitive aureole, his 
lips sliding against the soft surrounding whiteness. 

Chrissy was nearly out of her mind with desire. Her belly was bucking up at 
him, nudging his hardness but unable to gain possession of it. Harry liked 
to tease girls this way --to make them so hot that they were ready to scream 
for what they needed. 

He pushed her breasts together with his hands and licked back and forth 
across the throbbing tips. Her nipples were as rigid as any he had ever 
kissed. They seemed about to burst with excitement. He moved back and forth, 
tugging at each of them in turn, using his teeth as well as his lips, and 
she sobbed. 

"Like that?" he asked hoarsely as he raised his head. 

"It's wonderful!" she exclaimed. "I need you down below. Please!" 

He chuckled and pushed himself backward so that he could kiss her around the 
navel. She whimpered and wiggled her belly against his open mouth. His 
tongue darted at the little cup, then pressed in as his hands petted along 
her sides and on her legs. 

She lifted her knees higher. 

He held one thigh with a grip at the outer side, just above the knee, and 
ran his tongue-tip along the satiny flesh. She said, "Uh... uh," with rising 
intensity and bumped at him. He switched to the other thigh instead and 
licked downward toward her knee. His hands crawled underneath her and 
grasped her plump buttocks. She had enough of a backside so that it was not 
necessary for a man to hold her that way or to put a pillow under her in 
order to gain the most pleasurable contact with her loins, but Harry wanted 
to hold her like this for a little while. She twisted and danced in his 
grasp. 

Smiling down at her, he asked, "Do you want it, sweets?" 

"Oh, yes!" Both her hands went around him. She began pushing him. 

He decided that he had teased her long enough. Anyway, his own need had 
become difficult to deny any longer. 

He allowed her to position him, and then in one magnificent exertion he took 
total possession of her, lifting her buttocks at the same time. 

"Aaahhhggg!" she said and clutched him with her hungry body. 

Elemental forces took over. What happened was as far beyond human conscious 
control as the striking of a lightning bolt into the soft moist earth or the 
attraction of a magnet for a bar of iron. 

Their bodies worked and stroked. Chrissy's gasping and whimpering made Harry 
growl with pleasure. Her belly swiveled, her female heat claiming more and 
more of him. Her breasts shook with her exertions, but not loosely. It was a 
taut surface tremble that caused her stiff nipples to nod. The effect was as 
pleasing to him visually as was the feel of her, circling and pumping up and 
down around his strength. Though he had initiated her to sex just the 
evening before, she knew instinctively what to do so as to provide the 
maximum pleasure for them both. 

He hunched more vigorously, riding the surge of passion which was going to 
carry him quickly to culmination. He knew that he would not be too quick to 
please her if he let himself go. She was almost there. 

Her belly bounced up and down against him, her buttocks hammering at the 
mattress. He had removed his hands from them so that he could support 
himself more firmly against the bed, and her vigorous motions were causing 
the old bedsprings to creak. 

Harry didn't care. Chrissy, in her condition at the moment, didn't even hear 
them. 

"Ah... ah... ah... AHHH!" she said and she was there. 

As she contracted, he had his release. 

They clung to one another for a long while, both breathing hard, neither 
speaking. Her breasts were crushed against his perspiring chest and he could 
feel her nipples growing soft. Her hot breath struck his neck and lower 
cheek. His nose and mouth were buried in her silken hair. 

Finally she ran an arm around the back of his neck and crushed his head 
harder against her. She murmured at his ear: "I can hardly wait for us to 
get married so we can do this every night and not care who knows." 

He didn't say anything. 

Gradually she slackened her grip. She brought her hands to his cheeks and 
gently moved him back so that she could see his face. 

"You do want to marry me, don't you, Harry?" 

"You bet." 

"When?" 

"As soon as we can manage it." 

She smiled warmly. "I wouldn't be surprised if we had to now." 

He was a little surprised that she would come right out with such a remark. 
Maybe in her part of the country it worked that way, but Harry was not' a 
Kansas farm boy. 

He pushed himself away from her and stood up. 

"I'd better be getting back to my room," he said and began picking up his 
clothes. 

She watched him silently for a few moments, then said in a slow, careful 
voice, "Do you mind if I tell Ma about us -- not that we've done it, I mean, 
but that we're in love with each other?" 

"Not yet," he replied quickly. "We want to have all our plans made first." 

"What plans do we need to worry about, honey? I've got enough money for us 
to go on until you get a job in California." 

"Well... okay. But don't tell your mother until we're ready to take off." 

"When will that be?" 

"Pretty soon. Just a few days." 

He pulled on his pants. 

"I can hardly wait to be Mrs. Harry Pearce," she said in a voice as smooth 
and sweet as honey. 

That will be the day, he thought to himself, but he just smiled at her. 

The pressure she was putting on him made it all the more imperative that he 
make some quick progress with Margaret He decided to go after her tomorrow. 

 CHAPTER SEVEN 

His chance came early the next morning. Chrissy wasn't up yet. He went 
downstairs to find Margaret standing in front of the hall mirror, patting at 
her dark brown hair. 

He walked up behind her and reached quickly forward, past her right armpit. 
He wrapped his hand snugly around her thrusting right breast and gave it a 
squeeze. 

An angry expression came over her face and she knocked his hand away. She 
turned to face him. 

"Maybe Chrissy lets you paw her like that, but I won't stand for it," she 
said. 

He kept his poise, and the grin which was pasted to his face didn't loosen. 
He asked, "What makes you think Chrissy does?" 

"Oh, I know what's going on. Don't worry." She edged out from between him 
and the wall. 

They could hear Mrs. Poston preparing breakfast in the kitchen so, at the 
moment, they could speak freely. 

"So, tell me. What is going on?" 

"It's my guess that you're humping her." 

She gave him a wise look and turned toward the dining room, but he grasped 
her by the arm and made her face him again. 

He was still smiling as he asked, "What makes you think that?" 

"Oh, the way she looks at you, and a couple of things she said when we were 
alone yesterday. Then last night I thought I heard noises from her room." 

"Like what?" 

"Something was squeaking, and I don't think it was mice." She looked at him 
more closely. "Were you in there on top of her?" 

"Only a crumb would admit it if he was." 

"Well, it's my guess you were. I don't care because I knew the kid was bound 
to get wised up pretty soon. But Ma will be sore as hell when she finds out. 
She'll have a preacher over here before you can say, 'I was framed'." 

"You're a pretty wise one, aren't you?" 

"Wiser than most country stuff. As I told you, I've been through the mill." 

"So why don't you want to get to know me better?" 

"Because I don't need what you've got. Clear?" 

"Oh, yeah. Good old Frank -- I forgot about him." 

"How do you think Chrissy would like it if I told her you tried to feel me 
up?" 

"You wouldn't do that." 

"Oh, no? I just might, if you don't keep your hands to yourself." 

He stood with the smile on his face sliding away as Margaret turned and 
hip-switched into the dining room. She had kicked him squarely in the ego, 
and that hurt. He was all the more determined to get next to her. 

But how? 

That evening Mrs. Poston took Chrissy into town with her to visit some 
friends. Harry went up to his room early. He probably would have remained 
there, listening to a ball game on the transistor radio which the Postons 
had loaned him, if it were not for the sound of a car pulling to a stop at 
the side of the house at a few minutes before nine. 

From his window Harry watched a tall slender man emerge from it and approach 
the front door. It was Frank. Harry had glimpsed him the last time he had 
come to call. 

He heard Margaret greet her caller and usher him into the house. They 
remained in the living room. 

Harry began to imagine what they were doing, and his imaginings caused his 
interest to rise. He still wasn't entirely sure about Margaret, though. Did 
she put out or didn't she? If she wasn't putting out to Frank, she was 
probably frigid. That could have been the reason for the break-up of her 
marriage, too. If she was frigid, he could forget about her with no loss of 
face. 

On the other hand, if she was giving herself to Frank, it would mean that 
Harry would have to hang around until he had gotten some for himself. 
Otherwise his whole theory about women and the appeal he held for them would 
be weakened. 

The only way to settle the question would be to sneak downstairs and have 
himself a peek. But this presented a problem of its own. If anything was 
going on in the living room, the hall door surely would be closed and 
probably locked. The room had two side windows which were shielded from the 
road by thick bushes and, since it was a warm night, these windows probably 
had been left open and unshaded, but if he were to walk down the stairs and 
leave the house so as to get a peek from outside he probably would be heard 
and the couple in the living room would 'have plenty of time to cover up. 

Harry walked to his side window again and looked out. 

There was a slanting roof just below the window, which was above the service 
porch at the rear corner of the house. Next to the edge of the roof was a 
sturdy tree limb. 

Harry studied the moonlit scene for a minute, weighing the question of 
whether he could make it down that way. Finally he decided that he could. 
And it wasn't likely that the people at the front of the house would hear 
him. 

He eased his window open carefully. Before he climbed out, he glanced at the 
radio which was still blaring the baseball game. He decided to leave the 
radio on. Perhaps it could be heard downstairs and, if so, it would furnish 
evidence that he was still in his room. 

He sat on the window ledge and swung one leg out. He followed with the other 
leg and kept a firm hold on the window as he stood up. 

He made his way carefully to the edge of the roof. 

The tree limb was a little farther away than it had seemed when he had 
studied it from inside the room, but he decided that he could make the jump. 
He always had been agile, though he hadn't exercised much in this particular 
way since he had grown up. 

After taking a careful bead on his target, he leaped and landed in a crotch 
of the limb, his arms going around the branch higher up to steady himself. 
The limb swayed, but it was more than strong enough to support his weight. 

Slowly he climbed down to the ground. 

His heart was beating at an accelerated pace as he made his way along the 
house toward the living room windows. He wasn't sure if the excitement was 
due to the slight risk he had just taken, to his minor exertion, or to 
anticipation of the erotic scene which might soon be spread before him. 

A dim light was cast from the windows onto the shrubbery, but he couldn't 
yet be sure if the dimness was due to the shades being drawn or if only one 
lamp was burning in the room. 

He picked his way forward, edging between the bushes and the house. 

Harry had never been much of a peeper. Once, when he was in high school, he 
had lingered outside a window of his home and had spied on his faithless 
mother while she was with a boy friend. He had watched the guy pick her 
clothes off and strip himself, but he had slunk away before his mother and 
the man had actually gotten together. In that instance, Harry had been 
motivated by curiosity about his mother's conduct rather than by erotic 
excitement, and the idea of the man taking her had been too unpleasant to 
face, once it became clear that this was what was going to happen. 

There had been one other occasion on which he had peeped at a couple making 
love. This had been on a foggy night in the city, when a man couldn't see 
more than half a dozen feet in front of him. Harry had been walking home 
from a movie, and he had passed an apartment house built right next to the 
sidewalk. Beside the building there was an alley lined with the windows of 
the first-floor apartments. 

He had noticed these lighted windows previously and the thought had occurred 
to him that there might be something going on in one or more of the 
apartments that would be worth watching, but the possibility of being 
noticed by a passer-by in the street or by a neighbor had kept him from 
lingering at the side of the house. 

0" the particular evening in question, however, he happened to have seen a 
very sexy show. It was an Italian picture with Sophia Loren, and she had 
appeared in scene after scene wearing blouses cut nearly to her nipples. In 
one scene her blouse was wet, and the imprint of her luscious standing tips 
was lasciviously plain. Harry, then seventeen, had acquired a throbbing 
condition that had given him a great deal of discomfort. As he headed home, 
the fog furnished a blanket. From the street or from neighboring houses, no 
one could see him in the alley. 

He prowled along the windows until he found one which depicted a thrilling 
bedroom scene: A young woman was lying on a bed just a few feet from him, 
her white body aglow in soft lamp light, and approaching her was a naked 
man, bristling with desire. 

Harry bristled in the same way as he watched the man lie down beside her and 
take her in his arms. The girl was a natural redhead and she squirmed with 
delight as the man caressed her titian adornment, first on her head then 
elsewhere. Harry stared open-mouthed, his passion throbbing, as the man 
hungrily attacked the girl's breasts. He continued to watch as the man 
mounted her. 

Harry watched the whole thing. 

Sex wasn't an unknown experience to him, even then. He had gone steady with 
a girl in high school, whom he had possessed a number of times. Before her, 
there had been one other. 

But doing was one thing and watching was another. Each had its own 
particular appeal. 

The trouble with watching, however, was that the activity did not include 
its own means of attaining satisfaction. It left a guy painfully hung up, 
unless he became so vicariously involved that Nature furnished a release 
without friction... or unless he chose to supply the friction himself. 

Harry did not have a hair trigger on his sexual apparatus, even at the age 
of seventeen, so Nature could not solve his problem by herself. After the 
action had been completed in the bedroom and the lovers had lapsed into a 
side-by-side embrace, blissfully at ease, Harry left the window and made his 
way painfully back to the street. His arousal clung to him all the way home. 
Once there and in the privacy of his room, he had to work a cure. He hadn't 
done this since he had begun to go with girls, and he found the effect less 
than completely satisfying, but at least it relieved the pressure. 

He didn't go peeping after that. And he tended to avoid sexy movies. 

Anyway, at about this time in his life he was beginning to regard sex 
subconsciously as something other than a means of merely attaining pleasure. 
The retribution drive was setting in, and this gradually assumed a status 
equal to physical considerations. 

Now, as he crept along the side of the house at Cheever's Corners, he was in 
search of the answer to a question: "Did she or didn't she? 

It had to do with Margaret and bore no relationship to the color of her 
hair. 

He moved up to the nearest window. 

It was unshaded, as he had hoped it would be. The only light in the room 
came from a lamp positioned at the far end of the sofa where Margaret and 
her boy friend sat. 

They were embracing and, as they kissed, the boy was playing with her 
breasts. 

Harry backed carefully into the bushes so that his outline would blend with 
the tangled foliage. He watched closely. 

Frank had lowered the top of Margaret's dress and he had removed her 
brassiere. The white cotton garment lay on the coffee table in front of 
them. Frank had his back to the window and was kissing the girl as his left 
hand moved back and forth slowly from her neck to her breast, caressing the 
side of her throat and her shoulder and rubbing her balloon-like boob up and 
down. Each time he drew his hand downward across it, it gave a little bounce 
after his trailing fingers had passed. As he rubbed it upward, the rigid 
brown nipple stuck high for a moment, then bent under the pressure of his 
hand. He kept doing this over and over, rubbing down and rubbing up, as the 
kiss continued on. 

Harry immediately became affected by the sight. 

Finally the lovers broke for air and Harry got a good view of both large 
breasts, hanging naked at Margaret's chest. To say that they hung was not 
quite accurate. Mostly they stuck straight out. And the nippies, which were 
ringed by wide aureoles, were at rigid attention. 

Frank toyed with these turgid tips as he whispered to her and she whispered 
back. It was love mush, Harry presumed. 

Now Frank bent to her again, but this time aimed his mouth at her throat. 
From there his kissing gradually slid around and down until he was 
manipulating her breasts with his hands so that first one nipple and then 
the other slipped between his moist, passionate lips. 

Harry had a clear view of Margaret's face for the first time and it was 
evident that she was very excited. Her mouth was open and her eyes were 
closed, her head tilted back and her chest fruit shoved forward. 

Harry could have stopped watching right then and he would have had his 
answer. Margaret obviously was enjoying herself, since there was no need to 
feign a passionate expression when Frank was not looking at her face. 

But Harry was caught up in the excitement He had to see more. 

Frank bent further forward and kissed her below her breasts until his face 
was nuzzling against her rumpled dress which frustrated a further advance. 
Margaret said something which Harry could not make out and Frank 
straightened up. Wriggling, she skinned the dress out from under her rump, 
her white half-slip going with it, and she slid both garments down her legs 
and oft She wore no stockings. 

She was nude except for white opaque pants. 

Frank bent and kissed her along the panty elastic. Her long, slender fingers 
caressed the back of his head. Frank's hand was petting the front of her 
panties. 

Margaret's legs inched open and her lover's hand went to the narrowest part 
of the single garment that she wore. He caressed up and down and his mouth 
leaped to capture a nipple again. 

By this time Harry was in a painful state of excitement. His jeans and 
shorts were way too small for him, and his manly need throbbed. He wanted to 
place his hand at his lower front and rub a little, but he restrained the 
impulse. That wasn't his way to go. 

Still... 

Frank hooked a leg elastic of Margaret's panties aside and delved. She 
shuddered and twisted, raising her leg to trap his bedeviling hand between 
that one and its twin. 

Vicariously Harry could feel what Frank was feeling-- the dewy softness, the 
delightful depth. Frank's elbow was jiggling, which betokened the activity 
of his hand that was hidden from view. Margaret's thighs rubbed against him. 
She tossed her head this way and that. Frank's mouth remained fastened to a 
luscious breast. 

Harry felt like yelling to the guy: Hell, take her pants off! 

But he didn't. 

He merely kept watching, his mouth open and dry, a pulse beating wildly at 
his throat, his massive need straining against the constriction of his 
clothes. 

Now Margaret's hand came into view, crawling up her lover's leg. She 
caressed him for a few moments through his clothes, then sought and found 
the zipper tab at the top of his fly. She drew the zipper down. 

Part of her hand snaked out of sight momentarily, then reappeared clutching 
what it had gone after. 

Hell, Harry thought, the guy was a pygmy compared to him. 

But Frank was very excited, and it was his excitement that Margaret wanted. 
She caressed him expertly, alternately squeezing with her encircling thumb 
and forefinger, 'then stroking up and down with her whole hand. 

To Harry it was almost as if Margaret's hand were at work on him instead of 
on her boy friend. He could almost feel the pressure and the sliding 
thrills. His hand sneaked to his front. 

Frank developed a greater sense of urgency now that he had Margaret's hand 
upon him. He gripped her white panties at the top and began to slide them 
away. She raised her bottom from the sofa to help. 

Her lower belly and her hips became bare as Frank slid the panties along her 
thighs, then past her knees, and down her lower legs. He bent and worked 
them off her feet. 

She was nude. 

Her legs sprawled and she lay back against the sofa. Her entire body was a 
playground on which her lover's hands and lips could roam and romp, frolic 
and cavort, dally, dance and diddle. She squirmed and lifted the tufted 
treasure of her loins, her legs tensing, her breasts quivering, her 
kiss-moistened nipples hard and dark and gloriously upthrusting. 

The sight was too much for Harry. His clothes came open and his hand went 
vigorously to work. 

By the time Margaret had stretched out full-length on the sofa and her boy 
friend had slid on top of her, Harry had nearly achieved his goal. Sighting 
up the brunette's wide-flung legs, he watched her eager body mesh with the 
virility of her lover. Her legs lifted high and clamped about Frank's back. 
They pulled against him, thereby elevating her soft pleasure zone as he 
plunged and nearly withdrew, plunged and nearly withdrew again. 

The lush curves of her bottom twisted as she voraciously claimed her lover's 
masculine strength. The sight from Harry's point of vantage was erode in the 
extreme. He observed everything. 

As he watched, his hand flew. 

And then suddenly the scene didn't interest him any longer, even though 
Margaret and her boy friend were far from finished. 

As he restored his clothing and sneaked back along the house to the tree 
which would make it possible for him to return to his room unobserved, he no 
longer had any doubt about Margaret's sexuality. She was a thoroughly 
responsive female. 

His task now was to make her respond to him. 

 CHAPTER EIGHT 

"When are we going to leave, Harry?" 

"When are we going to get married?" 

The incessant repetition of these questions from Chrissy marked the next few 
days of Harry's existence. The days were marked also by no luck with 
Margaret and by a nightly bedding of the younger girl. 

Physically Harry was well taken care of, but psychologically he was 
distressed. 

He had to take Margaret, as a climber had to take the Matterhorn or Everest. 
Just because she was there. The more she slid away from his attempts to 
caress her, the more her dark eyes glinted threateningly, the more caustic 
the remarks she made -- the more determined he became. 

To give up would have been an admission that (a) a woman could be true to 
one man, in this case a stumbling Kansas farm boy named Frank, and that (b) 
Harry lacked the appeal of the said Kansas farm boy. He intended to make no 
such admission. If he failed in the end, as he had failed a few times 
before, it would be only after he had made his best effort. Then he could 
charge the thing up to a fluke. 

Life was full of flukes, as any human knew. 

But retire from the field while the possibility of victory and vindication 
still remained? Not after Harry had once committed himself. 

And he was committed to the making of Margaret. 

He considered and he contrived. 

The one thing he knew about Margaret for sure was that she was hot. On the 
night he had spied on her, she had responded to Frank as any inflammable bit 
of fluff would respond to the application of a glowing match head. He had 
flamed brilliantly. All Harry needed in order to ignite her with his own 
match was a reasonable opportunity when she was in a relaxed and receptive 
mood. 

The mood was the problem. Harry thought he had the solution. He waited until 
Mrs. Poston next drove into town for her evening club meeting. (The meetings 
were held in the evening instead of during the afternoon, she had mentioned, 
because most of the members were farm wives who had plenty to keep them busy 
around the homestead during daylight hours.) Just before she left this 
particular occasion, Mrs. Poston remarked, "It's so nice to have someone at 
home who can keep my girls company when I drive into town -- someone I can 
absolutely trust." And she had smiled in a saccharine way that had wrenched 
Harry's stomach. Silly old pig, he thought. 

But he was pleased about everything, including the fact that Margaret had 
gone out with her boy friend the evening before and was therefore unlikely 
to date him tonight. He had observed that they never had dated two nights in 
succession. 

Harry had gone into town the previous evening and had picked up a quart of 
hundred-proof bourbon. 

There was nothing quite like booze to loosen up a chick. It had worked with 
recalcitrant cases before. For instance, there had been that 22-year-old 
virgin in Philadelphia -- three drinks and she had draped her legs around 
his neck. 

But he was not relying on the liquor alone to ease his way into Margaret. 
Chrissy was going to be on hand and she would help him, after she had downed 
a few jolts herself. 

The plan was daring but capable of success, Harry believed. 

He was prepared to gamble everything on that belief tonight. 

Chrissy and Margaret were in the living room together when he brought the 
bottle down from his room, right after Mrs. Poston had left. 

"What's that?" Margaret asked foolishly when he placed it on the coffee 
table in front of the sofa. She could plainly see what it was. 

Harry smiled disarmingly. "It will make the TV look better," he said. "Just 
one drink all around." 

"Oh, I don't think I'd better," Chrissy told him. 

"Nonsense. You're old enough. And since when did one drink hurt anybody? 
Marge, (be a good girl and get some glasses from the kitchen." 

She remained seated in a chair near the sofa, her bare legs crossed, and 
looked at him steadily. For a few moments he feared that his scheme might 
founder before he had begun to put it into effect. If he couldn't get the 
liquor into Margaret, how was he going to succeed in getting himself there? 

"Well?" He grinned stronger. "You're not a teetotaler, are you?" 

She answered with a question of her own: "Do you have any idea what Ma would 
say if she knew there was liquor in the house?" 

"You're members of different generations," he said. 

Margaret looked at Chrissy and Chrissy looked at Margaret. Harry grinned at 
them both. 

"Oh, come on now," he chided. "One little drink isn't going to send us all 
to hell." 

"I-I've never tasted it," Chrissy said, eyeing the bottle. 

"Then it's time you did. Marge... get the glasses, hm?" 

"Well," the older girl replied. "Maybe one drink would be all right." She 
uncrossed her lithe legs and stood up. 

Hooray! Harry said to himself. 

He moved over to the sofa to sit beside Chrissy and to be close to the 
bottle. 

"Now, no fooling around!" she whispered urgently. "If Margaret were to find 
out about us... " 

"Don't worry, sweetheart. Nothing's going to happen. (In his mind, he 
substituted everything for nothing. The situation was definitely looking 
up.) Margaret returned with the glasses. He uncapped the bottle and poured. 

A man had a big advantage when he was with a girl who knew little or nothing 
about liquor. He could pour her a double without her realizing the potency 
of it. 

Margaret had played into his hands by bringing large water tumblers. A 
double in a glass like that didn't look like very much. 

He handed Margaret her drink and she sat in a chair near the sofa. Chrissy 
remained warmly ensconced beside him, and she took a long look at the dark 
amber liquid before raising the glass to her lips. 

Harry watched her carefully. This was crucial point number two. It was one 
thing to persuade a girl to agree to a drink and another to get her to gulp 
it down. The strong taste spooked some. 

But Chrissy's presence helped. Chrissy wanted to show her older sister that 
she, too, was grown up. Though she made a face, she forced herself to take' 
a good swallow of the liquor. Her eyes watered as she put down the glass. 

Harry smiled and said, "The next sip will be smoother." 

He took a sip from his glass. 

Margaret drank slowly and watched the others. 

The television was all but forgotten. 

Crucial point number three in his plan was the pouring of the second round 
of doubles and getting the girls to accept them. He waited until both their 
glasses were empty and placed on the table. Then, as casually as possible, 
he picked up the bottle and tilted it over first one glass, then the other. 

"Hey!" Margaret said, but not until the second drink had been poured. 

Harry smiled and handed the drinks across. 

"You said one," Margaret reminded him, but she took the glass. 

Chrissy looked at hers for a moment, then reached. 

"That's the way," Harry said. "I knew there weren't any party poopers in the 
crowd." 

He poured his own and went to work on it. He let his mind play with visions 
of the two girls with their clothes off. Erotic excitement began to gain a 
hold on him. 

They chatted, each of them glancing at the television from time to time but 
none really paying attention to it. A variety show was on. 

The third round was poured promptly, Harry replenishing the glasses while 
they were still in the girls' hands. This time there were giggles instead of 
wary looks or protests. 

This drink made Chrissy nicely high. Harry took the glass away from her as 
soon as she had downed the final drop, and he drew her into a loose embrace. 

"Harry... don't" she murmured, but her eyes were shining and there was a 
merry color to her cheeks. 

Margaret scooted forward in her chair and bent her head slightly, watching 
over the glass that she held against her lips. 

Harry laughed and kissed Chrissy, not attempting to use his tongue the first 
time. She squirmed and this inflamed him. Her breasts were round and ripe, 
and they rolled from side to side in her slack brassiere. She wore a simple 
brown-and-white housedress with a zipper at the back of her neck. She, like 
her older sister, wore no hose. 

He let her fall away from him and she was breathing hard, those luscious, 
big breasts rising and falling. "Ooo," she said and touched a hand to her 
forehead. "You make me dizzy." Her voice was thick. 

"Is it him or the whiskey?" Margaret asked. 

"Let's find out," Harry was quick to suggest and he leaned over her, 
pressing her head against the back of the sofa with a torrid kiss which 
spread her lips apart and sent his tongue thrusting deeply into her mouth 
where it lashed. 

She made a sound in her throat, as if to protest, then gripped him 
passionately at the back. Her far leg lifted slightly and Harry placed his 
hand there, just below the hem of her dress. As Margaret watched, he slid 
his hand slowly upward. 

Margaret reached for the bottle and poured herself a fourth drink while 
Harry petted her baby sister's leg. His hand slid up and down freely and 
circled the luscious plump thigh. If Chrissy felt it, and she surely must 
have, the sensation blended so nicely with her alcoholic glow and with 
Harry's tongue-plunging kiss, that she couldn't bear to restrain his 
caressing hand. 

Anyway, her inhibitions were down. 

And when inhibitions fell, could panties be far behind? 

Harry could have reached as high as her panties right now if he had elected 
to do so. He could have petted all over them, teasing her belly through the 
sleek rayon, teasing her rump, teasing the delectable ravine between her 
legs. 

He could have had her dress up around her waist and he could have slid her 
briefs away. 

But he didn't try to do that yet. He was aware that Margaret was continuing 
to drink, and he wanted to have her as high as possible before he really 
pounced at Chrissy. He wanted to make certain that she would stay and watch 
it without making a fuss. 

As for the younger girl, she was ready to lie on her back and kick her feet 
in the air. In her present state, Margaret's presence offered excitement 
rather than suggesting peril. 

The kiss became more leisurely, turning into a mutual licking of lips and 
tongues. Harry's tongue tip traced Chrissy's lips, darted inward, then his 
lips drew her tongue out. She moaned and petted the back of his head. Her 
breath was warm and fragrant with liquor fumes, as was his. 

Margaret said nothing as she watched them, even when Harry moved Chrissy's 
legs apart and tickled upward along her satiny inner thigh. Her legs lolled, 
with Harry's hand busily exploring between them. He touched the warm rayon 
shield of her panties and she gave a little jump. 

The older girl who sat a few feet away could see all this. She could see her 
sister's pink-pantied loins. She could watch Harry's fingers caressing 
there. 

Even now he didn't try to pull her panties aside. 

Abruptly he sat up and poured another stiff drink into Chrissy's glass. 

He smiled at Margaret and made a motion with the bottle. 

Her eyes were narrow and a little glassy. Her lips were loose and moist. 

"Come on," he murmured. "You only live once." 

"You are a very bad man," she said with careful precision and stuck her 
glass out. 

Chrissy lifted hers. 

Harry poured himself another. 

News was on the television. The hands of the clock were crawling on their 
inexorable journey. No one paid attention to either instrument. 

Now when Harry pulled Chrissy into his arms, she came at him hungrily, her 
loose lips smearing at his, her tongue surging into his mouth. He twisted 
her on her hip so that he could pet her bottom, and he lewdly flipped her 
dress and petticoat high. In full view of the smoldering Margaret, who 
twisted this way and that on her chair as she watched, Harry petted 
Chrissy's plump buttocks through her panties. 

He rolled the buttocks around and patted them, making them quiver underneath 
the rayon. He rubbed them up and down. His fingertips danced along the 
panty-protected division between them. And then he slid his hand underneath 
a leg elastic and directly onto her buttocks. Margaret could watch his hand 
moving inside her sister's pants. 

Chrissy kissed ravenously, moving her open wet lips, jiggling her teeth 
against Harry's lashing tongue. 

Finally Harry broke the kiss and pulled her face-downward across his knees. 
She giggled and squirmed, her skirt and slip falling to her head. 

Margaret laughed, which was the first sound to emanate from her in quite 
awhile. Harry watched her as he petted Chrissy's resilient bottom with the 
rayon panties still clinging to it. 

He said, "I think little girls who drink too much ought to get their fannies 
spanked, don't you?" 

"No...!" Chrissy squealed and giggled some more. 

Margaret said thickly, "Boy, does she need it!" 

He raised his hand and gave her a swat. The sound was sharp. Her panties 
shook with the more-than-ample hemispheres of flesh which they contained. He 
swatted her again and laughed. 

Chrissy grasped his leg and was hanging on. 

Margaret stared at her sister's upraised rump across Harry's knees. The 
small amount of liquor remaining in her glass was forgotten. 

"There's one thing wrong with this kind of spanking," he said as he paused 
and studied the attractive backside which was displayed in front of him. As 
he spoke, Chrissy raised her rump slightly. She twisted it in an invitation 
to his hand. 

"A spanking doesn't really count," he continued thickly, "unless it's on a 
bare butt." 

"Oh, no... oh, no!" Chrissy squealed, but she took a harder hold on his leg 
and literally quivered in anticipation. 

"Pull 'em down," Margaret directed drunkenly. 

Grinning like a devil, Harry took a firm double grip on the elastic band at 
the top of Chrissy's briefs. He stretched it away from the small of her back 
and down across her buttocks, causing the pink rayon to pull away. Her 
divided white bottom came into view. 

He slid the panties along her thighs, past her knees, and off. 

He spanked her five or six times on her jiggling buttocks, not hard but 
crisply, and every collision of his hand against the tender flesh made a 
sharp fleshy sound. Margaret laughed and pivoted on her burning behind, 
swinging her legs this way and that, causing her skirt to skid way back. 

Harry lifted the blushing, wildly excited Chrissy to her feet in front of 
him and said, "Okay, honey, let's get the rest of those clothes off." 

"No... no," she said, laughing, and play-fought him. 

He lunged to his feet, bumping the table and almost knocking the bottle 
over. 

"Look out!" Margaret cried and made a grab for it. Once in her hand, she 
tilted it over her glass. 

Harry wrestled Chrissy playfully as they stood in the center of the living 
room. She wasn't really trying to get away from him. His very evident 
excitement goaded her as she rubbed and bumped against him. 

He succeeded in getting her zipper down and hauling her dress up. It went 
over her head. She reeled and he let her fall, cushioning her contact with 
the floor. He pulled her slip away. 

"Oh, God, this is wild! " Margaret squealed. She was oiled to the ears by 
this time, ready for anything. 

Harry and Chrissy were more than ready, too. 

He rolled the curvaceous young girl onto her stomach and unhooked her bra. 
He brushed the ribbons down her arms, then caressed her up and down the back 
as he pulled at the front of his clothes to release the vigorous evidence of 
his manhood. 

Margaret squealed again as he took a firm hold on Chrissy's rump and lifted 
it. Her bra cups fell away, leaving her breasts hanging naked between her 
braced elbows. 

He moved up to her from behind, spread her buttocks, and let his body tease 
for a moment until he tilted himself downward. He lifted and pulled Chrissy 
to him. 

Margaret leaned avidly forward, her hands clenched on her bare knees. She 
was sitting on the very edge of the chair and, from his point of vantage on 
the floor in front of her, Harry could see the little V of her white 
panties. 

He watched there as he began to hunch at Chrissy. She moaned and twisted, 
pressing backward in an effort to get more of him. Her large buttocks were 
delightful as they rotated against his front. But even more delightful was 
the hot grasping of her, still good. 

Margaret pushed her skirt and slip to her lap and placed a hand on the panty 
V he had been watching. She fingered the silken cloth aside. 

Harry decided that he would have to hurry if he was going to accomplish his 
main objective, and the fastest way to finish a girl was not from the rear. 
He wanted to finish Chrissy quickly. 

He pulled back, heard her disappointed "Oh!" and rolled her over, lush 
breasts bobbing. 

He lunged forward between her upraised knees, made contact, and sank himself 
forward. 

He hunched vigorously, swiftly, rapaciously, and Chrissy's bottom flopped 
and twisted against the floor. She screamed as her legs locked themselves in 
back of his. She hammered her soft loins up to and around his plunging 
hardness. 

It was over in seconds... for her. 

She tightened, lifted, and shook all over, moaning and biting her lip as she 
came. 

He left her immediately, still massively aroused -- more massive than ever 
-- and lunged at the chair where Margaret sat with legs widely parted, her 
mouth gaping, her hand caressing herself. 

She made an excited sound but offered no protest as he swung her out of the 
chair and onto the floor beside her sated sister. He pulled her panties off 
and tore at the top of her clothes. Buttons popped. Her brassiere snapped in 
two. 

He brushed a hand across her stiff-nippled breasts, shaking them back and 
forth roughly. 

"Come on!" she cried hoarsely and pulled him to her, her legs already locked 
around his rump. 

He entered and went all the way. He had her I Now he shifted to low gear and 
began a series of long, slow, forceful lunges, glorying in the feel of her 
soft femininity sliding against his hardness. Every nerve-end was 
figuratively standing up and screaming. As he stroked and as Margaret panted 
and thrust her loins rhythmically at him, he looked at Chrissy's face. 

Her eyes were glazed, almost as if she didn't comprehend what she was 
seeing. She was so blissfully sated and so drunk that his performance with 
Margaret might have been a vision without substance. 

It gave Harry a special pleasure to take Margaret in front of her. This was 
part of the humiliation .which had to follow a conquest, part of the 
establishment of his superiority over all things female. 

But his greatest pleasure at the moment cap-"-from the femininity of 
Margaret, moving up and down around him. He dug his hands underneath her and 
grasped her buttocks as he lunged harder. 

"Feel that?" he growled as he gave her an especially long, strong thrust. 

"Oh, yes! God!" 

"Better than Frank?" 

"Yes I" 

"Better than anybody?" 

"YES I" The liquor had given him a great deal of staying power and he was 
able to keep ramming longer than he normally could have done. Margaret 
finished wildly and he went on. She lay with her cheek against the carpet, 
not returning his lunges, but he didn't care. Having possessed her and 
driven her over the rim of erotic release, she meant nothing to him now 
except as a vessel in which to discharge the physical evidence of his lust. 
Let her wiggle, let her pump, or let her lie there like a cold fish -- he 
didn't care. 

He kept pumping, gradually moving faster. He hardly noticed when her body 
reawakened and began to move with him as before. 

A car pulled to a stop at the side of the house, but neither Harry nor the 
girls heard it. Margaret was moaning again and her buttocks were beating 
against the floor. Also, her body made a sound as it rhythmically merged 
with Harry's, something like the pump in a washing machine. 

The front door of the house opened. 

An agonized scream ripped the air. 

Chrissy sat up, her full breasts jiggling. She stared at her mother, unable 
to say anything or even to cover herself. 

Harry glanced but he didn't stop what he was doing. 

Margaret didn't even look her mother's way. Perhaps the scream hadn't gotten 
through to her, Harry didn't know. All he knew for certain was that he was 
getting through deeply and solidly. She was flopping and whimpering, her 
breasts wildly ajiggle. 

Mrs. Poston stood for a moment, gaping. Then she rushed to her younger 
daughter. 

"Did he...?" she asked, shaking Chrissy's shoulders and making her breasts 
jump. 

"Oh, yes, Ma!" 

The older woman fell to her knees and began to sob. 

Harry and Margaret moved with utter abandon. The girl drew breath and 
expelled it in a series of ragged little gasps and cries. Her hips pumped. 
Harry pistoned. And then, finally, completion caught both of them at the 
same time, lifting them like a toy rabbit in the jaws of a hound, shaking 
them violently and letting them drop. 

They clutched and gasped and panted, then Harry slid away from her and stood 
up. Mrs. Poston stared at him as he restored himself to his clothes. 

"You horrible, contemptible... " she began in a stricken tone. 

"Oh, shut up," Harry said and pulled his zipper dosed. 

He reached for Chrissy's hand and drew her to her feet. Margaret lay with 
her eyes closed, unmoving, her heels drawn back, her knees lolling. 

"Your daughter and I are going away together, Mrs. Poston," he said in a 
mocking display of courtliness. "Tomorrow morning. We're both a little too 
drunk right now." He laughed. 

"You monster!" 

He patted Chrissy on the buttocks and said, "Come on, baby. Let's go 
upstairs." 

"She will not go with you!" Mrs. Poston stated with finality. 

"Well, let's just ask her. Chrissy... you heard your ma." 

"Don't pay any attention," she said thickly and gazed at her mother with 
passion-dulled eyes. "What does a silly old woman know?" 

"Yeah. That's what I say." Harry laughed again. 

Chrissy turned and he helped guide her to the stairway and up to the second 
floor, her naked buttocks twisting. Mrs. Poston stood in the living room and 
stared after them until they were out of sight. 

Harry felt very good. The old lady's arrival at just that moment had capped 
things exactly right. 

 CHAPTER NINE 

"Wake up!" Harry said as he gave Chrissy's shoulder a shake. 

Her nude, quivering breasts were quite an enticement, but at this moment 
Harry had something else in mind. He had slept longer than he should have. 
He could hear Mrs. Poston already moving about downstairs. It was necessary 
for Chrissy and him to get their things packed, get downstairs and into the 
car, and take off for town. The bank would be open by the time they arrived 
there. 

"Hey!" he said and shook the sleeping girl again. 

Again her bowl-like breasts quivered. The nipples had been teased into 
hardness by the morning air. 

He placed a hand on each of them, squeezed, and rolled them around. 

Damn, he thought. Why not? 

He threw the covers all the way over the foot of the bed, opened Chrissy's 
legs, and mounted her. 

Crouching on his knees, he remained back from her loins for a while as he 
kissed her breasts thoroughly. She woke up in the midst of this process, 
gave a start, then purred something and reached for the root of his desire. 

In moments she was fitting him to her warm body, and mutual pressure 
achieved a deep union. They began lazily to rotate and thrust. The bed set 
up a rhythmic squeaking. 

Her silken legs rubbed against his sides. Her soft belly patted his hard 
middle. Her breasts quivered and shook, the rosy nipples reaching toward 
him. 

He hoped Mrs. Poston could hear the creaking of the bedsprings. Let her hear 
her baby girl getting it, he thought, because this meant she had failed in 
her scheme to barter Chrissy's virginity for a lifetime of security from 
some chump. 

He stepped up the tempo, hammering away. Chrissy twisted and cried and 
climaxed, quivering as he finished with a final straining thrust. He 
twitched, and desire sped from him. 

He rolled onto his back. 

"Oh, Harry, when you do that to me, there's nothing else in the world that I 
want. Everything's per feet." 

He chuckled, patted her on the soft stomach, and stood up. 

She showered first and went to her own room to get dressed. She waited for 
him to get ready, and they went downstairs together. 

Mrs. Poston looked at them as if they were conspirators and as if she was 
the one who had been damaged. She made no gesture toward Chrissy. The 
daughter's rejection of her the night before had stung. 

Chrissy stayed close to Harry and looked at her mother with defiance. 

Harry smiled to himself. 

"You can fix your own breakfast," Mrs. Poston said to Chrissy. "I'm not 
going to do anything for you any more. I want you out of here as soon as 
possible." 

She turned away. 

Chrissy looked at Harry and her lip quivered. He put his arm around her and 
gave her a quick hug. 

The two young people went to the kitchen. They had the room to themselves. 
There was coffee in a pot on the stove. They had that with cold cereal. 

Chrissy said, "That really was bad the way we acted last night, in front of 
Margaret and all. And what was the idea of you taking her?" 

This was Chrissy's first evidence of anger, and it was relatively mild. 

Harry grinned. "We were all juiced, baby. Those things happen. It didn't 
mean anything." 

"I feel bad about Ma, too," Chrissy said and looked down. The cereal didn't 
seem to appeal to her. 

"Mothers have no business telling a daughter of eighteen how to live," he 
said. "You're right in declaring your independence." 

"But I still feel bad about it." 

"You'll get over that." 

She looked at him. "I'm going to have to talk with her, Harry. I've got to 
try and make her understand how much we love one another and all." 

"She'll try to get us to settle down here. She'd like to have me run the 
station and take care of both of you. But I won't do that." 

Chrissy gazed at him and bit her lip. 

"Talk to her if you want," he went on. "But we're taking off today." 

She got up and left the kitchen. Harry continued with his breakfast. 

All he was concerned about now was getting hold of Chrissy's five hundred 
dollars. The small amount he had earned since he had been with the Postons, 
plus the little he had left over from before, was not enough to get him very 
far. He wanted to shake the dust of Kansas off his shoes. 

He wasn't worried. He felt certain that Chrissy would choose him in 
preference to remaining with her mother. All he had to do was remain firm 
about leaving today. 

When he strolled into the living room, he found Chrissy standing at the 
front windows and dabbing a handkerchief at her eyes. She turned when she 
heard him. 

"Ma's gone to her room. She'll never forgive me, I guess." 

"Remember, baby -- you've got your own life to lead. Let's go upstairs and 
pack." 

He got her moving with an arm around her back. At the stairs they met 
Margaret coming down. She said nothing to either of them and the look she 
directed at Harry was harsh with accusation. Hell with her, he thought, and 
grinned. 

Chrissy and Harry got a ride into town from a customer who stopped for gas. 
Margaret had opened the station a few minutes before. 

Harry had thought about taking Mrs. Poston's car and leaving it in town for 
some acquaintance to return, but he had decided at the last minute that it 
would be just as well not to upset her any more than she already was upset. 

After visiting the bank and withdrawing Chrissy's money, they bought bus 
tickets for the county seat where the marriage license bureau was located. 
They took the first bus out Chrissy lay against his shoulder as the huge 
conveyance rolled over the road, and she kept yammering about plans for 
their future. 

Harry tried to tune her out. 

The county seat numbered about ten thousand people, which made it twice as 
large as the town near Cheever's Corners. 

Harry took Chrissy into the cafe where the bus stopped, and they sat at the 
counter. He ordered coffee. 

"Now that we're traveling together and we're going to get married," he said, 
"I think I ought to carry all the money. Don't you?" 

"Sure, Harry," she agreed with a smile and opened her purse. She took out 
the slender stack of bills she had received from the bank. 

Harry took them and jammed them into his pocket. 

"Now everything I have is yours, darling," she said as she clutched his arm 
and gazed up at him warmly. "We belong to one another forever." 

"You bet." He slipped his hand underneath the counter and patted a 
stockinged knee which emerged below the hem of the simple blue skirt she 
wore. 

When they had finished their coffee, he suggested, "Why don't you run into 
the little girls' room and fix your face? Then we'll head over to the 
marriage license bureau." 

She pulled his arm tighter against her warm, round breast and moved it 
there. "I think you're as anxious to tie the knot as I am," she murmured. 

"You know it, sweetheart." 

As soon as she had disappeared from sight, he'd dropped a couple of dimes on 
the counter and picked up the bag which had been on the floor beside his 
stool. Chrissy's remained beside the stool where she had been seated. 

He walked out of the restaurant and headed quickly down the street. 

A sweet sense of triumph coursed through him, lightening his feet and 
putting a glint in his eyes. The bit with the Postons had been the cutest 
deal he had ever pulled. He had made both girls and he had rooked one of 
them royally. 

He visualized Chrissy's expression when she returned to the cafe counter and 
found him gone with his suitcase... and all her money. 

He wondered if she had held back any money at all. Probably just change, he 
decided. 

Well, she could call Mama collect, and Mama would come to pick her up. He 
would be long gone by the time Mama put the cops on his trail. That was 
assuming Chrissy told her mother about the money right away. Perhaps she 
wouldn't. She would look like enough of a fool without that. 

He needed a ride, and he found it at the corner gas station where a produce 
trucker was getting his tank filled. It was hard to snag a ride with a big 
trucking outfit, but the independent guys who drove their own heaps usually 
were glad to have the company. This one was. He was going only about thirty 
miles, but that would get Harry across the state line and out of reach of 
the Kansas cops, so he was satisfied. 

They took off. 

The trucker was a talkative sort. Harry just listened most of the time. He 
was still savoring his success with the Poston girls. Neither of them would 
be the same after this, he felt sure. 

Harry hadn't changed the girls in any respect. He merely had proved to them 
what their true natures were and had proved to himself, once again, that all 
women were essentially the same. They were secretly lustful while pretending 
to be virtuous; they were hypocritical about everything; they were intent 
upon dominating and sucking the very life blood from a man. 

They deserved to be treated exactly as Harry treated them. 

"You're pretty quiet," the trucker told him after he had finished a long 
story and had drawn only "mm" and "uh" from Harry in the way of comments. 

"I like to hear other people talk." 

"You're a rare person. Most people can't wait to start sounding off about 
themselves whether they've got anything interesting to say or not. I should 
know because I pick up a lot of guys on the road, and you ought to hear 
the... hey! Take a look at that!" 

Harry sat up straight. What he saw sent an electric impulse speeding through 
him. 

There was a red Barracuda parked at the side of the road, its left rear tire 
flat, and beside it stood possibly the most beautiful girl Harry had ever 
seen -- a fantastically curved brunette in a sleeveless white dress. She was 
looking up and down the road helplessly. 

"Stop!" Harry directed as the truck passed her. 

"Huh?" 

"Stop, damn it!" 

The trucker put on the brakes and said, "Okay, buddy, if you want to be a 
Samaritan. But I've got a schedule to keep." 

"That's okay with me. Just stop this thing." 

The truck came to a clattering halt about a hundred feet past the parked 
car. Harry grabbed his suitcase, muttered a thank you, and leaped out. The 
trucker shook his head, as if to say there was no accounting for people, and 
put the heap into gear. It rumbled off. 

Harry headed back along the road. 

The girl watched him as he approached. She was even more beautiful than his 
first glance had led him to believe. Her jet hair was glossy and long, 
falling about her shoulders. Her oval face was piquant yet delicate, the 
nose and chin possessing an aristocratic fineness. The vee of her skimpy 
dress revealed the beginnings of high-riding breasts which were just large 
enough. The dress stopped above fine-boned knees in sheer stockings. 

Harry put on his usual likable grin. "Can I give you a hand with that tire?" 

"You sure can. Thanks for giving up your ride to help me." 

"It's no more than anybody would have done." 

"Ha! You should have seen the dozen or so cars that passed me up. And how 
about the guy driving the truck?" 

"He's got a schedule. Can I put this in your car?" he asked and, without 
waiting for an answer, swung the suitcase over the Barracuda's window ledge 
and onto the floor behind the front seat. 

"By the way, my name's Harry Pearce." 

"Pam Cochran. I suppose I should have tied into the blasted wheel myself, 
but I don't know beans about anything mechanical. Besides, I'm not exactly 
dressed for greasy jobs." 

Harry let his gaze sweep over her frankly. Her dark blue eyes were twinkling 
when his inspection reached her face. 

"Do you approve?" she asked. 

"Very much. I can't understand how any guy on the road could pass you up." 

"Most of them were with wives and kiddies. You'd be surprised the difference 
that makes in their reactions. Oh, let me get you the keys so you can open 
the trunk." 

She turned and leaned into the car to snatch the keys from the ignition, and 
Harry had an opportunity to size up her buttocks which were packed snugly 
into the slim white skirt. Two perfect hemispheres of trembling flesh, they 
were. No girdle compressed them. As her dress pulled extra-taut, he noted 
the arching impression made by a panty elastic and farther down her thigh, 
the impression of a garter clip. 

She handed the keys to him. "You're really a life-saver," she said. "I'm 
going to have to do something nice for you in exchange for this." 

"You might give me a lift as far as you're going, and I hope it's all the 
way to California." 

"Sorry. I live just across the state line, so that won't be much of a ride. 
Maybe we can figure out something else." 

"Forget it," he said gallantly. "You won't owe me anything " He proceeded to 
change the tire, with Pam standing nearby. Every once in a while, as he 
worked, he would glance at her elegant legs. This gave his sexual battery a 
charge. He kept thinking about having those legs around him. 

When he was through, his hands were dirty and he had worked up a slight 
sweat. He had, during the same time, worked up a large lust for Pam. 

"Get in," she said as soon as he had snapped the trunk lid closed. "I'll 
stop at the first gas station so you can wash up." 

He walked around the car and got in on the passenger's side as she slid 
behind the wheel. Her white skirt crept very high along her thighs. The 
lower portions of her stocking welts came into view. 

As his eyes caressed there, he experienced the beginning stage of hardness. 
He jerked his gaze away. 

She was watching him. Now she glanced back at the road, a little smile 
clinging to her lips. They were breezing down the highway at sixty-five 
miles an hour. 

"So you're headed for California," she said. "What's the big attraction out 
there?" 

"Oh, I don't know. I've always wanted to see the place." 

"I've seen it, both north and south. Parts are nice, like San Francisco. You 
can have Los Angeles." 

"I don't have any definite plans," Harry said. 

"Meaning that you could be persuaded to alter your course?" She threw him a 
mischievous glance. 

"Sure. I'm free as the breeze." 

"Here's a gas station up ahead. As soon as you've had a chance to clean up, 
we'll talk about it." 

Harry had this thought to tease him as he visited the men's room and 
scrubbed his hands. He washed his face while he was at it and combed his 
hair. He looked a lot more presentable when he emerged. 

"Daddy runs a lumber business in the town where we live," Pam told him when 
they were on the road again. "It's the largest in this part of the state -- 
the lumber business, not the town. I think I could get him to put you on if 
you'd care to settle down for a while." 

Harry took the suggestion as a signal that Pam was hot for him. Her eyes had 
seemed to denote this, also. 

Without a word he reached across and placed his hand against the inner side 
of her right thigh just above the knee. Her tightly packed stocking was 
sleek and warm. 

She didn't jump, utter a protest or seek to protect herself from a further 
advance of his hand. But she glanced at him quickly. 

"Of course," she said smoothly, "if you don't care for a job, maybe you'd 
like a quick score." 

He pulled his hand away. She had startled him. 

She laughed. 

"What's the matter?" she taunted pleasantly. "Big mans surprised little girl 
speak his language?" 

"It isn't often that a girl comes out and offers it," he said. 

T know. It isn't the socially accepted thing. But I don't give much of a 
damn for conventions. And I don't really see, in this age of The Pill and of 
emancipated womanhood, why a girl shouldn't be as outspoken about her 
desires as a man is." 

Harry didn't like that even though he wanted her strongly. He said, "Does 
your father know you talk this way to guys?" 

"He knows I'm not a virgin, and he didn't become apoplectic when he found 
that out. As to the way I behave with fellows, I figure that's my business 
and not his. He seems to agree." 

"He must be broad-minded." 

"Look, are we going to talk about my father or about us?" She reached over 
and picked up his hand. "And you can put this back where it was, if you'd 
like to." 

His hand slid warmly around her stockinged inner thigh again. Her legs 
inched farther apart. Damn, he thought. He had a clear road! 

His reaction was one of disquietude and vague displeasure. Physically he was 
thrilled by the contact with her kg, but his mental attitude did not agree. 
The girl was not behaving according to form. 

Physical considerations exerted the stronger pull at the moment and he began 
to slide his hand upward, pushing her skirt and slip along. His possessive 
touch moved off her stocking and onto warm bare flesh where her thigh was 
gloriously full. He squeezed gently. 

Now his passion was up, vigorously demanding. 

Pam purred, "Maybe we'd better stop some place. 

You're petting the leg that's on the gas .pedal. If I gave a sudden jerk, we 
might go up some truck's tailpipe." 

"Yeah... okay," he said and pulled his hand back. 

She left her skirt high, exposing both legs above her stocking tops. They 
were superb, both as to form and coloring. She was a tasty morsel any way 
you cut her, not cheap at all as far as appearances went. But, hell, the way 
she was offering herself was not how a nice girl ought to act. Harry truly 
was shocked. 

She turned onto the first side road. They had crossed the state line and 
were in the Colorado foothills. The road wound around some grassy knolls and 
headed up a lightly timbered slope. She pulled off at a flat place and 
parked. 

"Let's get out," she suggested and hopped from the car before Harry got into 
motion. He still showed evidence of erode excitement, but he was able to 
walk without embarrassing himself too much. 

They strolled into the woods and stopped where a pile of boulders obscured 
the view from the road. Pam looked around. 

"I don't dare sit down on the grass in this dress," she said. "It'll get all 
green. Do you mind if I strip?" 

"Wait a minute," Harry told her. 

She looked at him inquiringly. 

"What's the deal?" he asked with a little chuckle. "You got the hots for me 
as soon as you saw me -- was that it?" 

"I like you. Put it that way. I assume you like me or you wouldn't have 
started to feel me up. So I thought we might as well do something about it. 
I mean, I wouldn't want you hanging around my home town like a sick hound, 
just waiting for a piece, if you didn't have any other desire to stay 
there." 

Harry squinted at her. "I never met a girl like you." 

"Nobody's too much like anyone else, really. There are general similarities 
among females, just as there are among males, but you find out everyone's an 
individual when you get to know them. Like snowflakes. Well, do you want to 
strip or don't you?" 

Harry had to say, "Yes." His body demanded that. But he was less than 
pleased with the way things were going. 

She reached for the zipper at the back of her dress and loosened it, then 
reached up from below and let it all the way down. She faced away from him 
to slide the dress off her shoulders and down her arms. She worked it over 
her hips and stepped free. 

Her bra strap was slender and white. Her plain slip, of matching color, was 
only about two hands wide. She let that down quickly. 

She was a sight, there in the woods, in bra, panties, and hose. The scene 
was incongruous... but highly stimulating. As he unbuttoned his shirt, Harry 
was as stimulated as he was amazed. 

Pam's white nylon briefs clung to as perfect a set of buttocks as he had 
ever seen. They were plump but firm, as were her upper thighs which were a 
delectable creamy-gold between the panties and her stocking tops. White 
garter straps gripped the dark stocking welts. 

She turned to face him with a smile. "Well, am T going to have to help you?" 

She moved up and took over the job of unbuttoning his shirt. 

Harry had the giddy sensation that he would soon wake up and discover that 
this had been a dream. Girls just didn't behave this way, unless they were 
out after money. Even the commonest barroom tramp required a little romance 
from the guys she went to bed with. 

Pam required no pretension on his part at all. This bothered him. Sally 
Weston had been pretty straightforward, but not until they had gotten 
acquainted and he had become the aggressor. 

With Pam, she was the one who took the lead. Now she pulled his shirt out 
from underneath the waistband of his slacks and helped him shrug it off his 
shoulders and arms. Her hands dropped to the self-belt of his trousers. 

He grasped her and pulled her tightly against him. She could feel his rising 
excitement. His mouth clamped onto hers and immediately their tongues were 
in liquid embrace. He placed a hand on the silken seat of her panties and 
enjoyed the responsive quiver of the girlish globes within. 

The kiss didn't last very long. Pam pulled away and gazed down at him. 
"Let's get that out in the open. What do you say?" 

She dropped to her pretty haunches and lowered his pants to his knees. She 
left them bunched there while she removed his shoes. He obediently lifted 
first one foot, then the other. His jockey shorts were out of shape in front 
of her face. Wild excitement was pulsing through him. 

After she had removed his pants, she took a grip at the top of his briefs. 
She stretched the waistband forward and down, peeling the briefs away. 

He swayed in front of her. 

She looked at him as she worked his briefs the rest of the way off, then 
placed her cool hands around his burning hardness and gave him a quick kiss. 

Swiftly he swung her onto her back and pulled her panties off. He dropped to 
the ground between her knees and struggled with the shoulder ribbons of her 
bra, getting them down and releasing her firm, up-pointing breasts. They had 
finely textured aureoles. The nipples were like hard-rubber dowels. He 
wrapped his hand around her left breast, squeezed, and fitted his mouth to 
the inviting summit. 

The nipple was turgid with desire and he loved it with all the skill and 
passion he could express. His tongue moved over and around it again and 
again. His lips tugged gently upward, tightening more and more until the tip 
jumped free and jiggled atop the taut breast. He recaptured it and sucked. 

Pam wriggled, boring the breast deeper into his oral embrace. He opened his 
mouth wider and took as much of it as he could hold. He felt it quiver in 
the moist warmth of his kiss. 

He went to the other one and loved that in a similar way. 

Pam was caressing him, her talented hand moving up and down slowly, paying 
particular attention to the ridge where his most sensitive nerve endings 
were bunched. She squeezed there a couple of times quickly, then resumed the 
gentle gliding motion. 

Suddenly Harry raised his head. 

"Come on," he rasped. "Now!" 

She tilted him toward her, and he lunged. The sensation as he claimed her 
was intensely good. She was exactly right for him, as if Nature had had his 
measurements in mind when her body was engineered. 

She positioned her calves behind his thighs so that she could dig her 
stockinged toes into the ground as she exerted a pulling pressure against 
his legs. With her pelvis tilted up at him, she rotated slightly and worked 
herself forward and back around his every thrust. 

He had had the notion in the back of his mind that perhaps her forwardness 
was an over-compensation for a lack of ability to become genuinely aroused. 
He had half-hoped this was true. 

The notion was completely wrong. 

She turned savage with him close. Her hips pumped and twisted, her buttocks 
staying clear of the ground most of the time. She kept her lower lip clamped 
between her teeth and her eyes remained open, but the fire in them was 
unmistakable. 

There was nothing that she enjoyed more than having a virile male stir her 
depths. She worked at it voraciously and, when she climaxed, her muscles 
contracted spasmodically, triggering his explosion. His groans mingled with 
her passionate moaning as their locked bodies convulsed. 

When the tumult finally had ended, he lapsed forward against her. They clung 
to one another, neither of them speaking. 

After a time, he twisted his head and captured a softening rosy nipple. He 
licked at it and drew it deeply into his mouth. 

She murmured, "You were very good," and petted him along the back. 

He didn't say anything. He didn't quite know what to say. His feelings 
toward her were confused. It had been a marvelous loving, one of almost 
textbook perfection, and yet he was strangely dissatisfied. 

Finally she told him, "You know... you're getting heavy." 

He got off her and helped her to her feet. 

She brushed at her backside, then sighted over her shoulder and down the 
backs of her hose. 

"Looks like I popped a couple of nylons," she said. 

"Not only that. Your ass is a little green." 

"That's okay. Nobody will see it before I get into the tub." 

He watched her straighten her bra and fit it to her perky breasts. The dark 
garden of her loins was very pretty. 

He began to get dressed. 

 CHAPTER TEN 

Before putting her dress on, she sat down beside him on a flat ledge of 
rock. He asked, "Have you done this many times with boys?" 

"What do you mean -- balling?" 

"The way we did it, on the spur of the moment?" 

"A few times, I guess. Why?" 

"I don't know. With most girls, a guy has to put on a lot." 

"Would you have liked it better if I had played coy and made you pursue me?" 

"No," he said, not sure that he didn't mean yes. 

She laughed a little. "Men are funny. I think it scares them when a girl is 
honest about sex." 

"So you admit that most girls aren't." 

"Sure. And I gave you the reason: They don't want to scare their boy friends 
off. The male ego is a fragile thing." 

She stood up. "Well, I suppose we'd better be on our way. At home they'll be 
wondering what happened to me." 

"So they care." 

She looked at him peculiarly. "Of course." 

She put on her dress and paused to comb her hair and repair her lipstick. 
Harry preceded her to the car. He was still uneasy. 

"What were you doing in Kansas?" he asked after she had joined him. 

"I spent the night with a girl friend." 

She started the car, backed it around, and headed back to the road. 

They didn't speak for a minute or so, then Harry said, "I think I'd like to 
meet your father." 

"To see about a job?" 

"Mm." 

She laughed softly. 

"What's the matter?" he asked. 

"You don't have any... ideas about us, do you?" 

"What do you mean?" 

"I mean, you're not getting serious." 

He looked at her. 

"Well?" she asked with a smile. 

"I don't know. Maybe I am; maybe I'm not. Does it matter to you?" 

"Yes. I don't want to get serious with anyone. I'm going back to college in 
the fall." 

"Oh." 

It was silent for several minutes. Warm air rushed past the open windows of 
the car. The highway was lightly traveled. Pam could set her own pace, and 
the needle of the speedometer hung just under 70. 

"Most girls are hot to get married," he remarked after a while. 

"Goodness! Don't tell me you're proposing." 

"Of course not. But most girls have marriage on their minds." 

"If that's true, I must be an exception in that respect, also. I don't want 
to get married for a long time yet." 

"How old are you?" 

"Twenty. You?" 

"Twenty-one." 

There was another spell of silence. 

Harry looked at her pretty knees which were poking out from under her snug 
skirt. He let his gaze move upward, along her full thighs. He remembered how 
those thighs had felt next to him. 

"You're a very pretty girl," he said, "and you make love like a tigress." 

"Thank you, kind sir," she said with a little smile. 

Something gnawed harder at him inside. She didn't really care much what he 
thought of her. They had met and had physically collided, and now the 
collision was over and they were just acquaintances. She hadn't asked him to 
remain in her home town. 

Then he thought he understood: This was her way of playing with him -- a 
strange way, but a way nonetheless. She figured that the hot loving she had 
given him would get him hooked; now she would cool off suddenly and pretend 
disinterest. Her statement that she didn't want to get married was supposed 
to throw him off the track. She expected him to give her the rush act, then 
finally she would submit, with an engagement ring to seal the bargain. 

Hell! 

"Maybe I'd better go on to California after all," he said. 

"Whatever you like." There was more silence. 

He would have been tempted to believe that he hadn't satisfied her back 
there in the woods if it were not for the fact that her deep orgasm had been 
obvious to him. No woman could fake a response like that. Anyway, why would 
she have tried to fake it? 

"You're a funny girl," he said. 

"I've never known another boy who has carried on like this," she replied. 
"You know... I think you're a little prudish underneath. When you put your 
hand on my thigh the first time, I'll bet you were just testing me out. You 
probably were hoping I wouldn't play." 

"That's silly." 

"Then why do you keep calling me an oddball? I'm not really that strange." 

But she was. She was very strange. Nothing could shake Harry's conviction 
about this. 

When they reached her home town, she brought the car to a stop on the main 
street. She said, "Maybe you can pick up another ride here. I hope so." 

"You mean it, don't you? You'd really let me go." 

She blinked her eyes at him. "Well, if you don't want to... " 

"I don't want to. I want to meet your father." 

She shrugged prettily and put the car into motion again. 

Sure. She was playing him. Oh, she was a cute one! But not cute enough to 
get him hooked. The woman wasn't created who could do that. 

Ralph Cochran was fifty, handsome in a middle-aged way, and genial. Pam took 
Harry to meet him at his office. She explained how Harry had come to her 
assistance and pointed to her popped nylons as evidence of what had happened 
when she had attempted to change the tire herself. She was casual and 
convincing about the whole thing. 

Yeah, she was smooth, Harry told himself again. The smoother they were, the 
more dangerous they could be. 

"Harry's looking for a job," she said finally. "Do you suppose you could do 
something for him, Daddy?" 

"Don't see why not. Have you had any experience in a lumber yard, son?" 

"I'm afraid I haven't," Harry said. "How about general office work?" 

"No." 

"Well... we'll work out something." 

What it turned out to 'be was a flunky's job. Harry couldn't complain. That 
was all he was qualified for. Anyway, the work didn't matter. He intended to 
hang in only long enough to prove that his theory about Pam was correct. 

It had never occurred to him to wonder whether other men went through their 
lives constantly trying to prove something about women. 

* * * 

The proof depended, he believed, on his ability to wait Pam out. If he 
stayed away from her long enough, she would get in touch with him. Then he 
would have the upper hand. 

Remaining away from her was difficult because he kept remembering how good 
she had been underneath him on the grass. Besides this, he was a young man 
who required regular sex. 

He eased the pressure by dating a girl who worked in the company's office. 
Her name was Noreen Leets. She was slender, well built, and red-haired. She 
had a light sprinkling of freckles across her nose and at other, more 
interesting locations on her person. 

His attitude toward her, from the very beginning, had not been the usual one 
he took with girls. He had viewed her as simply a physical sex object. He 
had gone through the motions of saying the usual things, of course, because 
that was the way to get into a girl's panties. The I-love-you's and the 
references to marriage came easily. 

On the third date, he coaxed Noreen into his room. 

Coaxing her out of her clothes was a little more difficult, but it was no 
great problem because Noreen wanted to be naked with him. 

All it took was some hot petting. 

When he had her breasts bare and was jiggling them in his hands, the battle 
was won. She could hardly wait for him to go the rest of the way. 

But Harry took his time. Her swollen orange-pink aureoles were worthy of a 
good deal of attention, as were the little rounded nubbins at their centers. 
He licked each breast cap all over, then spent some time nibbling at the 
tips. He kissed the undersides of the breasts and their inner slopes, as 
well. 

After this, he lay Noreen back on the couch and kissed her around the navel. 

He could not proceed very far beyond this little cup because her rumpled 
clothing was in the way, so he paused long enough to remove completely her 
dress and slip. She wore pink nylon briefs. He nuzzled her warm belly 
through the silken cover, then folded the top of the panties down and kissed 
where he had nuzzled. 

She twisted, pushing her pantied loins up at him. He urged her onto her 
stomach, folded her nylon pants away from her bottom, and kissed the 
freckles that he found there. 

She had a few freckles on her thighs, as well, and he took care of those 
after he had slid her panties off. 

Now he undipped her garters and brushed her stockings down. He took the 
garter belt away. 

"Want to undress me, honey?" he suggested as he stood up, revealing the 
state of his excitement to her. 

She swung around and placed her feet on the floor. Sitting there with her 
thighs close together, she hid most of the reddish-gold at the base of her 
belly. She was a little clumsy with his snaps and zipper as he quickly 
removed has own shirt. 

He surmised that she had never undressed a male before, but he doubted that 
she was virgin. Anyway, he would soon find out. 

When his vigorous arousal confronted her in the nude, she stared at it. 
"Gee," she said and lifted her hands tentatively. 

He took a step closer, straddling her knees. He moved his hips a little, 
which caused a side-to-side swaying motion that collided with her hands. She 
clutched him hard. 

"Ouch!" he said. "That's a tender place. Maybe you'd better kiss it to make 
it well." 

"Harry! What an awful thing to say." 

"That's not so awful. Girls do it all the time." 

"Have you ever had one do it for you?" she asked "Sure. Try it. See what 
it's like." 

"But I wouldn't even know how." Her voice was a little huskier and she was 
leaning closer to him. 

He arched his back to force himself further forward. 

"Well, that's the way, baby, and... yeah! That's it! Good, hm?" 

She said, "Nnnnn," and kept loving him with her tongue and lips. 

"Now more," he said and pushed forward. "Yes." 

"Then go to it, honey." 

She did as he had suggested. He shut his eyes, kept his body arched like a 
bow, and clenched his fists. 

He growled and pushed himself forward. He moved his hips forward and back. 

That was enough. With his manhood throbbing blissfully, he pulled back and 
told her to stretch out on the sofa. She was more than ready. 

He placed one of her feet at the top of the sofa-back and angled the other 
one to the floor. 

He took her and began to hunch in long, hip-looping motions. She wiggled a 
little, but didn't give him any pumping action. He didn't care at the 
moment. She felt good just the way she was. 

She made up for her lack of motion by the way she talked as her head 
thrashed from side to side, her eyes closed, her lips lolling: "Oh, yes 
yes... that's wonderful... keep doing it, honey... oh, great. I love it! I 
love it!" 

"What do you love, sweetheart?" he asked as he kept powering to her. 

"You... oh, that wonderful feeling." 

"How many words do you know? Tell me." 

She told him. Explosively. Passionately. She seemed to relish the 
opportunity to vocalize words which doubtless had teased her mentally many 
times. 

She knew many. He supplied others. She repeated them back to him. 

Now that he had her talking juicily, he mentioned additional words and she 
repeated them -- words that applied to her body and to what the two of them 
were doing. She enjoyed the verbalizing as much as he did. 

Finally, when it became difficult to talk any longer, he said, "Now move a 
little. Push up to meet me. Keep the rhythm." 

She responded well, and the conversation evolved into a series of mindless 
sounds -- grunts, groans, moans, whimpers and mewings. 

He increased the pace of his stroking, concentrating on the hot point of her 
sex instead of trying to maintain great depth. This brought both of them to 
the edge of release, and when he felt her teetering, about to take the 
plunge, he struck deeply four or five times, really powering in. She 
climaxed ecstatically and he came right afterward. The heat of their 
impassioned bodies fused. 

He took her a second time before the evening came to a close. This time he 
unfolded the sofa which provided a full-sized bed. He had her crouch above 
him, facing his feet, and, after she lowered her head, both of them watched 
while her delightfully springy buttocks beat a tattoo against his belly. 

After he took her home, he thought for a long time about Pam. The interlude 
with Noreen had been only a physical thing; he had gained no other kind of 
satisfaction from it. He hadn't sought any. His interest was still centered 
in the strangely independent minded brunette who had picked him up on the 
highway, given him access to her body without his hardly having asked, made 
it possible for him to get a job, then seemingly disappeared from his life. 

Now she was more strongly in his mind than ever, not because Noreen hadn't 
been a good lay but because that was all she had been and Harry required 
more. 

He lay awake for quite a while, visualizing Pam as she had looked when they 
were in the woods together. He remembered how her femininity had felt to him 
-- the heat of her, the clinging contractions when she climaxed. 

He wanted to call her the very next day. He had waited more than long 
enough. But perhaps if he waited a little while longer, she would come to 
him, and that was what he really wanted. 

In the meantime there was Noreen. 

Now that he had broken her in, she would be available whenever he required 
her. 

Pam didn't talk about marriage. In fact, she had said she didn't want to get 
married. 

Bosh! He didn't believe that. 

He remained convinced that she was stringing him. 

But he knew, at the same time, that there would have to be an end to his 
patience. He couldn't wait indefinitely for her to come around. Another week 
or maybe two, he estimated, then if he hadn't heard from her he would give 
her a call. 

 CHAPTER ELEVEN 

The time passed and no call came from the pretty girl who lived in the 
large, old mansion at the edge of town. 

Harry had walked past the place. 

He had written down her phone number and carried it in his wallet. 

Finally the time arrived when he had to make use of the number. From the 
telephone in the hallway of the small hotel where he lived, he dialed Pam's 
number on a Saturday morning. 

An older woman answered and he asked for Pam without identifying himself. He 
waited. A peculiar tension had taken hold of him, not the sort he was used 
to feeling where girls were concerned. It was not involved with lust for 
conquest but with a fear of failure. 

His hand perspired as he maintained a tight grip on the telephone receiver. 

"Hello," Pam said. 

"Hi." His voice was not as steady or as confident as he wanted it to be. 
"This is Harry. How are you?" 

"All right." The tone was not unfriendly, but it certainly gave no 
suggestion that she had been awaiting his call. 

"I... uh, have been thinking about you quite a lot." 

"Have you?" 

"Yeah." 

"I'm flattered." 

"How about a date tonight, Pam? Dinner and a movie, maybe." 

"I'm sorry, but I can't. I already have a date." 

"Oh." He paused. "Well... how about tomorrow?" 

There was silence for a few moments. 

"I don't have anything definite," she said. "I thought maybe I'd take a 
little drive in the country." 

"Would you consider taking a passenger who'll spring for a meal?" He 
chuckled. 

"Sure, Harry. If you like." 

He took heart. Though her tone remained rather cool, he found confirmation 
for his earlier belief that she was putting on an act. She wanted him as 
much as he wanted her. More. 

"Where shall I meet you? You want me to come over to the house?" 

"All right. Ten o'clock or so." 

"I'll be there." 

He was grinning as he hung up the phone. 

* * * 

Pam seemed even more beautiful than he remembered her. She wore a plaid, 
long-sleeved shirt with a button-down collar. It would have looked boyish 
except for the way her erect breasts shoved forward to make breath-taking 
hills in the colorful cotton cloth. Her pants were blue and bell-bottomed. 
She wore them slung low on her hips with a wide black belt for added 
interest. Red ribbons gathered her black hair into two bunches at the sides 
of her head. That was little-girlish. All in all, the effect on Harry was 
powerfully intriguing. 

She handed him the keys to the Barracuda. 

They took off, headed for the mountains. 

He set a casual tone for the conversation and Pam went along with it. She 
laughed a great deal. It was a fine day, the air crisp and clear, the sun 
out, a little breeze blowing. 

They stopped for lunch at a picturesque mountain inn and drove on. He 
suggested a short hike later, and they parked the car and took off, finding 
a lightly traveled trail that led to the top of a ridge. From there they 
spotted a stream and walked down to it. 

They were utterly alone on a carpet of grass beside the rippling water. The 
large trees all around them furnished a canopy through which sunlight 
filtered. As the branches rustled, small spots of brightness appeared here 
and there on the grass. 

It was a idyllic setting, exactly what Harry wanted for the romantic pitch 
he had planned. 

As they sat side-by-side on the grass, he took Pam's hand in his. 
"Beautiful, isn't it?" he said, watching the dancing points of sunlight 
reflected on the water. 

Pam murmured her agreement. 

He turned his gaze to her. "It isn't half as beautiful as you are, though." 

"Harry... that's sweet." 

"I mean it. I'm really gone on you, honey. I've been thinking about you ever 
since that last time. I haven't been able to get you out of my mind." 

Her dark blue eyes remained with his for a moment, and then she looked down. 

"You've been thinking about me a little bit, haven't you?" he pressed. "What 
happened before wasn't something you could just forget like that." He gave a 
snap of his fingers. 

"It was good," she admitted. "It was a pleasurable experience. But I told 
you I didn't want to become serious with anyone." 

"I know that's what you said, but... " She looked quickly at him. "You 
didn't believe I meant it?" 

"Well... " He grinned. 

"I did mean it, Harry. I don't want to become involved. You have to accept 
that." 

"Okay. So you don't want to become involved. Maybe I feel the same way for 
the moment. But that doesn't mean we shouldn't keep seeing one another 
and... well, who knows what might happen." 

"I know what won't happen," she said firmly. "We won't have any more sex." 

He was startled. "Why not?" 

"Because you're entirely too serious. I don't want to hurt you, Harry. I 
don't want to hurt anyone. I just want to stay free." 

He gave a nervous laugh. "You're talking like a guy instead of a girl." 

"What is this with you? You seem to think every girl is out to get trapped 
into marriage or to get some guy trapped into it." 

"Trapped. That's a funny word for a girl to use." 

"There you go again." She pulled her hand away from him and stood up. "If 
you're going to start telling me how peculiar I am, the way you did before, 
I'm not going to stay here with you." 

He grasped her around the hips and pulled her close to him. His large hands 
fanned over her plump buttocks, the fingers sinking into her resilient 
softness. His cheek pressed against the sleek pants-front. 

"Harry... please." She pushed at his head. 

Suddenly he went wild with desire for her, not only to possess her 
physically but to break through the cool reserve she had put up between 
them. One of his hands shot up her front to play over the taut brassiered 
mounds within her shirt while the other spanned both buttocks as he turned 
his head to kiss her through her clothes. 

"No!" she cried and attempted to wriggle free. 

This further inflamed him. He placed both hands on the big black buckle at 
her belly and tore it open. Underneath was hidden the zipper tab of her 
mannish fly. She fought him, pushing at his arms and head, but he was able 
to get the zipper open. His hand snaked inside, across silken bikini 
panties, and clutched the core of her female warmth. 

"Damn it, stop!" she screamed. 

He rose to his knees as she fought harder and he succeeded in toppling her 
onto the grass beside him. They wrestled in tense silence until his vastly 
superior strength subdued her. She was on her back. He straddled her at the 
thighs. 

"This will be rape," she proclaimed angrily, breathing hard, her breasts 
rising and falling. 

"No, it won't," he said. "Not the way I'm going to do it." And he unsnapped 
the top of her pants and began to pull them away. 

He had to climb off her in order to remove her pants, and she took advantage 
of the opportunity to kick and thrash about. But she couldn't rise or roll 
over because he was holding her legs and pulling the pants along them. As 
soon as this garment was removed, he sprawled forward, holding her legs down 
as he went to work on her black bikini briefs. They came down in a wink, and 
she was exposed before him. 

He spread her legs apart and fell forward But he did not cover the upper 
portion of her body. His face landed at her cute navel which was exposed 
between the tails of her shirt as they whipped this way and that. 

He fastened his lips there and kissed warmly. The softness of her little 
belly against his face was stimulating. She had doused herself there with 
some provocative cologne. 

He kissed and nuzzled around, gradually sliding lower. She beat at his head 
and shoulders, but the blows didn't hurt. She wasn't putting much steam 
behind them. 

Taking a firm grip at the back of each of her thighs, he shoved them toward 
her middle. He tucked his shoulders under them. He lowered his head. 

It was not Harry's usual practice to make love to a girl this way. Normally 
it didn't fit his concept of the sort of relationship he wished to have. But 
Pam was different and required different treatment. Winning her over had 
become more important than ever. 

His parted lips pressed against her. He could hear Pam's cries from far 
away. Her legs twisted between his shoulders and his hands clamped at their 
tops. The cries and the struggling could have been interpreted as protests 
or as passionate involvement with his lovemaking. He chose to interpret them 
as the latter. His judgment was vindicated a moment later when her legs 
tensed and her loins lifted so that she was fitted more firmly against his 
possessive kiss. 

He kissed with deep passion, showing not the slightest hesitancy or reserve. 
She cried with great excitement and pressed her satin inner thighs against 
his head. Her belly bumped slightly. The muscles in her legs were jumping. 

It was no longer necessary for him to hold her, so he slithered his hands up 
underneath her shirt and worked both bra cups off her breasts. He fondled 
the breasts ardently, plucking at the nipples. 

She was talking to him now, but he couldn't make out what she was saying. 
Her legs were clamped too firmly against his ears. She wasn't protesting, 
though. That was for certain. 

He was lost in a world of female warmth and excitement. His brain was giddy. 
She twisted to him and quivered against the serpentine insinuations of his 
tongue. 

Then suddenly she reached the zenith, tightening and crying out as she 
climaxed, her belly shuddering wildly against his face. He continued to 
stroke her until, at the last moment, he clamped his lips firmly. She shook 
harder and he could hear her squealing. 

Her legs relaxed and her buttocks dropped against the ground. 

He slowly raised has head. 

"Oh... you devil... devil," she panted. 

He crawled fully over her and fitted himself to her warmth. He began to 
thrust gently and slowly. As he worked with her, he unbuttoned her shirt all 
the way to the collar. He slid her bra higher around her throat and played 
over her breasts with talented fingers. 

He carried her to a second release just before he had his own. His body 
shuddered mightily and erupted in hot spasmodic spurts. 

He fell forward and kissed her neck and cheeks and hair. 

With his lips against her ear he whispered several times, "I love you." 

She didn't return a like declaration, but neither did she protest. 

After a time, he let her get up and he helped her with her clothes. 

As they walked back to the car, he hugged her against his side and asked, 
"Well, would you call that rape?" 

"No. I'd call it wonderful." 

They stopped and he drew her into his arms. He kissed her deeply and her 
belly rubbed and twisted against him. 

* * * 

Their next date was made when he took her home that afternoon. She agreed to 
meet him two days later for dinner and a movie. 

After the show, she went with him to his room. 

They undressed one another and rolled into bed. 

They tried several ways, first with him on top, then with her on top and the 
third time on their sides. By then they both were exhausted and it was an 
effort to get up and dress. They managed it, however, and he accompanied her 
to her home. 

As they sat in the car after he had brought it to a stop in her driveway, he 
said, "You still haven't told me that you love me." 

"I've never told anyone that," she replied. 

"But you feel that way about me, don't you?" 

"I don't know, Harry. I really don't. All I know for certain is that 
marriage now would foul up my life." 

"You still believe that?" 

"Yes." 

"And you would let us break up because of it?" 

"Are you sure you want to get married?" she asked, looking at him intently. 
"If I said yes, maybe you would decide you had been too hasty." 

"Never," he said with firmness. "I love you and I want you to be my wife." 

"Harry... " She placed her hand on his lap and fondled him gently through 
his clothes. In spite of all the excitement they had shared in his room, he 
was still able to rise to the challenge which her hand presented. 

"Will you marry me, Pam?" he persisted. 

"No, I won't. That doesn't mean I don't like you and enjoy being with you. 
You know I enjoy that. You know what you do to me in bed. Right now, just 
from feeling you like this, I'm ready again." 

"Let's drive back to my place," he said immediate- "Silly! I have to get 
in." 

She vaulted from the car and, in spite of his aroused condition, he got out 
and walked with her to her front door. He pulled her into his arms and gave 
her a burning kiss, his tongue reaching deeply. 

"Tomorrow night?" be whispered as she opened the door. 

"I'll call you at the company tomorrow," was her answer, and she threw him a 
kiss as she entered the house. 

He turned and walked the six or seven blocks to his hotel. 

The next day he didn't hear from her. 

That evening he telephoned her house. The Cochrans' housekeeper answered the 
phone. 

"Pam?" she repeated. "Oh, she left today." 

"Left!" Harry gripped the telephone more tightly. "Where did she go?" 

"Back to University at Boulder." 

"But it doesn't start for another three weeks, she told me." 

"That's right. She decided to get there early and spend some time with 
friends. Is this Mr. Pearce?" 

"Yes." 

"She left a message for you. I jotted it down. She said to thank you for the 
good times and that she would remember you always." 

"Is that all?" 

"Yes." 

He hung up the phone. 

She hadn't even thought enough of him to call or write him direct. She had 
been content to have her goodbye delivered by a servant. 

He returned to his room, stretched out on top of the bed, and tried to sort 
out his thoughts. 

His attitude toward Pam had undergone a considerable change in the last few 
days, but he wasn't able to define it accurately. He knew he felt 
differently toward her than he had ever felt toward another girl. He still 
wanted to believe that his declarations of love and his proposal of marriage 
had been for effect, but he wasn't sure how he would have felt or reacted if 
she had accepted him. 

Most important of all, she had convinced him by her words and by her actions 
that she was not out to take him down the line in the way most girls sought 
to do with men. She had responded to him sexually with as much warmth as he 
had ever received from a woman, and there had been no strings attached. 

His theory about womankind had been undermined and shaken. On the conscious 
level he would not admit to any change in his beliefs. But most of his 
obsession was subconscious, anyway. It lurked beneath the surface of his 
actions like the major portion of an iceberg, which is never seen. 

He thought about following Pam to Boulder, but gave that up. Assuming that 
he would be able to find her, he didn't know what he would say when he did 
so. She wasn't in love with him. That was clear. She was one of the very few 
girls he had not succeeded in making fall in love with him after a 
considerable effort on his part. He had made her physically, but that hadn't 
meant anything more to her than an ordinary conquest meant to a male. And 
she hadn't tried to capitalize on his evident desire for her in any way. 

All in all, it had been a sobering experience. 

That night he found himself thinking about his mother and wondering, for the 
first time, if perhaps he had been too harsh in his judgment of her. 
Perhaps, also, he had been harsh in his judgment of other women. Perhaps he 
had seen only what he wanted to see. whether it was the outstanding 
characteristic of their behavior or not. 

That was as far as his conscious thought would go, but that was a 
considerable distance. 

He had a fitful sleep. 

The following morning, he walked into the lumber company office and cornered 
Noreen at the filing cabinets. He made a date with her for that night. 

She smiled radiantly. 

He had broken a date with her the other evening to take Pam out and, while 
she didn't know the reason she had been upset. Now everything was all right 
again. 

He thought about her as he returned to work. 

From the outset, he had not sought to prove anything with Noreen because he 
had Pam on his mind. Consequently he and Noreen had developed a more normal 
relationship, though only on the physical plane. 

But something about her had insinuated itself more deeply into his 
consciousness. Her sweetness -- that was it. She was a very sweet girl 
indeed, but she was smart, too. And she looked up to him. 

He was aware of an unusual sense of warmth as he looked forward to their 
date that night. 

 CHAPTER TWELVE 

Three weeks later, he and Noreen were married. 

He could hardly believe it was happening as the minister pronounced them man 
and wife... but he had proposed, she had accepted, and he had let her set 
the date. He had gone along the whole way. 

If someone were to ask him to explain how it had come about, and if he were 
required to be completely honest in his answer, he wouldn't have been sure 
what to say. 

But he thought he was in love. 

After Pam, he no longer was interested in the kind of retribution which had 
obsessed him before. The experience hadn't changed his convictions 
completely, but it certainly had shaken them. And it had changed him. 

Noreen had changed him, too. She had sneaked into his affections when his 
guard was down. After Pam left, Noreen had remained. 

Now they were married. 

In the back of his mind something said, if it doesn't work out you can 
always walk. But even as he thought this, there was a hope which was 
stronger -- the hope that he had found a reality he had ignored before, a 
reality that would bring peace and comfort to him. 

Their wedding night was, in some ways, merely a repetition of the sex they 
had enjoyed before. But somehow it was also different. 

When he removed the frilly nightgown from Noreen's fresh, young body, and as 
he drew her soft nudity against him, he felt that she was his in a way no 
girl had ever been before. And, of course, this was true. They had the 
marriage certificate and the matching gold bands to prove it. 

He kissed her, using his tongue sparingly at first, just to tease her along 
the lips. At the same time, his hand toured the delights of her feminine 
form, toying with her taut breasts for a while until the nipples were 
rigidly erect and reaching for his love. Then he slipped his hand down the 
satin runway across her middle, palmed her navel depression, and went on to 
the secret delights which, from this day forward, only he would have the 
right to know. 

She opened her legs for him and he petted her silken curls. His fingers 
reached as far as they could go, teasing the lower curve of each buttock and 
the point where the curves met on their upward sweep against the mattress. 

He stroked her inner thighs and, by now, his tongue was plunging slowly in 
and out of her mouth. Her tongue rose to chase his on one of its 
withdrawals, and he clamped his lips and teeth against it gently. 

His fingertips parted her feminine softness and probed. She was very ready 
for him. She had generated more excitement than usual. He stroked against 
the tingling sensitivity, causing her to squirm and push at him. Finally she 
began calling for him in the blunt, exciting words which he had taught her 
to use. 

But he wasn't ready to enter into the final stage of the lovemaking yet. 
There were many things to be done first. Such as... 

Kissing her breasts. 

He leaped astride her, forcing her thighs closed, and bent to run his tongue 
tip over a puffed-up aureole. He licked at the rounded nipple at its center 
until the little passion nub was very firm. He could almost feel it 
throbbing against his warm, liquid caress. 

Now he trapped the nipple between his teeth and bit gently. 

Noreen arched her upper body, pressing her head deeply into the pillow, and 
she wiggled her breast at his mouth. "That's it," she moaned. "Bite it. 
Torture it. Set me on fire." 

He nibbled that breast tip for a little while longer, then quickly switched 
to the other one and placed a hand where his mouth had been. He kneaded and 
pulled at the ripe, round passion fruit as his mouth brought sweet torment 
to its tingling twin. 

He pushed himself backward and smeared his wet parted lips around her tummy. 
He jumped then to an inner thigh and licked upward. He didn't proceed all 
the way but leaped to her other leg instead and bit gently, making her 
squeal. 

After climbing completely off her, he grasped her legs and twisted, making 
her roll onto her stomach. He kissed the backs of her thighs and her 
buttocks. He kissed the small of her back. 

She was a sweet symphony of silken curves, a playground of passionate 
pleasure for his lips and tongue. 

When he had placed her on her back again, he did not hesitate to kiss her 
where a woman most enjoys being kissed. He pressed his lips to her warmly 
and suctioned as his tongue gave her tantalizing messages of delight. From 
the spontaneous fervor of her response, he judged that she had never been 
kissed that way before. 

He stopped after a few moments because he didn't want her to finish that 
way. Not tonight. He wanted to experience one more delight before their love 
play reached its final phase. 

Rolling onto his back he said, "Now you kiss me, hm?" 

"Oh, yes, darling... yes... yes." Immediately she was onto her knees and 
leaning over him, her hair hanging down and furnishing a silken caress which 
served as a perfect accompaniment to her nibbling lips and gliding tongue 
and fondling fingers. 

She kissed his lips, his chin and his throat. She clasped one of his small 
stiffened nipples between her lips, then his other one. She let her open 
mouth trail down to his belly. 

She poked at his navel with the tip of her tongue. She grasped him in her 
cool hands and, with her hair brushing against his hips and stomach, proved 
the depth and warmth of her desire for him. 

Her soft lips slid against him. Her tongue teased. She clasped rhythmically, 
drawing his passion dangerously close, then switched back to the 
head-bobbing motion she had used before. But more slowly, with tenderness 
and intense love. 

When he felt as if he couldn't stand another moment of the giddy thrills she 
was transmitting to him, he lifted her and swung her onto her back once 
more. He mounted. 

His strength infused her swiftly. She rose to him, her belly beating against 
his, her buttocks bouncing on the bed. He stroked at furious speed and, as 
all resistance suddenly gave way and his male heat surged forth, she was 
twisting upward around him, convulsing, crying, clawing at his back. 

It was a marvelous release for both of them. This completion was followed by 
two more before they finally fell asleep in each other's arms. 

In the morning he awoke her with his knees planted between hers, his urgency 
probing. She came to full awareness quickly and joined in the happy game. 

They showered, slipped into robes, and had breakfast sent up. As soon as the 
dishes had been cleared away and the serving cart removed, they denuded each 
other and made love again. 

Time stood still that day. 

Neither of them could have been happier. 

* * * 

But time has a way of diluting happiness with trouble, real or imagined. In 
Harry's case it was a re-emergence of the old obsession which never was 
entirely laid to rest. 

Jealousy plagued him. 

Whenever Noreen so much as glanced at another man, he imagined that she was 
thinking of taking the other fellow to bed. 

He accused her of infidelity on the slimmest of circumstantial evidence, 
which amounted really to no evidence at all. Each time, she fervently 
assured him of her faithfulness, and the rousing sex session which always 
followed convinced him for the moment. 

But he could not remain convinced. 

His mother had been unfaithful; therefore all women were unfaithful. It was 
not a proposition which would stand up under logical examination, but it was 
one which he could not seem to shake. 

He thought not only of his mother but of the many women he had seduced, 
including Noreen, before they were married.. The evidence of all those cases 
seemed to support what he had been led by his mother's example to believe: 
Women used men solely for their own purposes, to provide security when they 
needed it and to furnish pleasure when pleasure alone was what they wanted. 
They would say anything or do anything in order to accomplish these ends. 
Truth was a mockery. Fidelity was an illusion. 

It seemed finally that there was only one way for him to set his mind at 
ease: He would have to put his wife to a test. 

He contrived this in the coldly calculating way that he used to plan his 
seductions. 

He and Noreen were living in San Francisco. They had been married for seven 
months. He had been faithful to her for that entire time and he had no 
positive evidence that she had not been completely faithful to him. But 
there was the terrible nagging doubt that he could not dispel. 

To dispel it -- or to prove it -- he needed the help of another man. 

He found him in a neighborhood bar. Harry was in the habit of dropping into 
the place on his way home from work. He had made up his mind about what he 
wanted to do and, on this particular night, the type of man who might help 
him execute the scheme was seated at the bar, sipping a beer. 

Harry chose him because of his handsome appearance. The handsomeness was, 
like Harry's, of the rugged sort -- the kind Noreen would go for. He was the 
right age. He was by himself. 

Harry took the vacant stool beside him and struck up a conversation. After a 
while, they moved from the bar to a booth when Harry said he had something 
important to talk over. 

"So what's the big confidential deal?" the other fellow asked. His name was 
Jack Tuttle and he had a glimmer in his gray eyes that told Harry he 
wouldn't be above taking part in the kind of game Harry was going to 
propose. 

Harry outlined it quickly. Jack listened to the whole thing and, when Harry 
had finished, leaned back and looked at him long and searchingly. 

He said, "Man, that's about the wildest thing I ever heard, and I've heard 
some beauties." 

"What's wild about it?" Harry countered. "I just want to find out if my wife 
is really in love with me or if another guy could take her away. There's no 
risk to you one way or the other. And if you score, look what you've got. 
She's dynamite in the sack. Really." 

"You say there's no risk, but what if she goes for me? You're her husband. 
You're not gonna take that lying down if I'm any judge." 

"I'll be mad as hell at her, sure, but I won't have any reason to blame you, 
since I'm putting you up to the play." 

"You're sure that's the way you'll feel about it afterward?" 

"Guaranteed. I'm a reasonable guy. Anyway, you're single. You're entitled to 
go after anything that walks if she appeals to you. My wife's married, so 
that makes her to blame if there's any hanky-panky." 

"Man, I don't know." 

"Look, I've got the whole thing framed up. I'll be at work, see? Or, at 
least, that's where Noreen will think I am. You'll come to the apartment to 
check out the TV set." 

"What the hell do I know about TV? I'm a truck-driver." 

"Relax. You don't need to know anything. I'll doctor the set -- take out a 
couple of tubes. Get the idea?" Harry grinned. 

The other man wasn't grinning. Not yet. But he was interested enough to hang 
around and listen. 

The prospect of strange tail will do that to a guy. 

"I'll tell my wife I've called a repair man. We live in an apartment 
building and she can't see the street from the window, so she won't know 
whether you come in a TV repair truck or not. And most repair men don't wear 
uniforms." 

"Yeah, but they have a tool kit." 

"I'll get you one. It'll only cost a few bucks, and it's worth that to me to 
check this out." 

"Man, you really have some hang-up! What makes you think your wife will 
cheat, anyway?" 

"I just have a suspicion, that's all. I can't explain it." 

"Okay. So you get the tool kit. That don't mean I'll know what to do with it 
when I get into the apartment." 

"I told you, you don't have to know a thing. Just open the back of the TV 
set, look at where the tubes are missing, and put the same damned tubes back 
in. That's all there'll be to it." 

"Yeah? Then what do I do with your wife -- topple her onto the couch and 
pull her dress up? She'll holler rape right away." 

"You don't try to rape her, Jack. Smile, talk friendly -- hell, you know how 
to make up to a girl, don't you?" 

"I've had some pretty good results. But never as a TV repairman in some 
other guy's apartment." 

"That will make the pitch easier. She knows she's safe because I won't be 
home until evening. She can't help but like your looks. And there's a bed 
just a hop and a jump away. Shoot, it's a set-up." 

"And you think your wife will play, hm?" 

"I don't know," Harry said with a trace of impatience. "That's what I want 
to find out. Will you help me?" 

"Well... man, I don't know." 

"You said you've got your daytimes free this week." 

"Yeah." 

The guy still was not completely sold. 

"Okay," Harry said finally. "If you score, you get my wife and that makes it 
worth your trouble. Right? If you don't score, I give you ten bucks. Now, 
your time for an hour can't be worth any more than that." 

"All right, friend. You're so damned determined to find out what's what, I 
suppose I can't refuse you." 

"That's the idea," Harry said and slapped the other man on the back. He 
ordered another pair of beers. 

He arranged with Jack to show up first thing in the morning, two days later. 
What Harry didn't explain was that he intended to witness what happened. 

That morning he called the company where he worked and reported sick. He did 
this from an outside phone, so that his wife wouldn't be wise, and returned 
to his apartment house. He climbed the service stairs at the rear of the 
building and stepped through a hallway window onto the fire escape. His 
bedroom window was the next one in line, and the fire escape landing passed 
in front of it. 

He edged carefully to the window. 

Noreen was in the bedroom, making the bed. He stayed out of sight and waited 
for her to finish, after which he hoped that she would return to the living 
room so he could enter the apartment. 

He felt a little foolish, but the need to gain an answer, once and for all, 
to that question that had been plaguing him, made the whole thing 
worthwhile. 

He had impressed upon Jack that he was to go all out in an effort to seduce 
Noreen. "Give it a good try if you want that ten bucks, buddy," he had said. 

"How are you going to know what happens?" Jack had asked. "Are you just 
going to take my word for that?" 

"You look like an honest guy," Harry had told him. "Anyway, I trust people." 

"You do, hunh? Everybody but your wife, I suppose." 

Jack had continued to look at him as if he thought Harry had three heads. 
But he would go along. Not only was there the ten bucks and a possible 
mattress romp with a pretty woman, but there was curiosity, too. 

Harry eased himself into the bedroom at the first opportunity and hid in the 
closet until he heard the front door chimes sound. Then he came out and 
listened by the partially open bedroom door. 

"Mrs. Pearce?" he heard. "Acme TV Service. Got some trouble with your set, I 
understand." 

"Yes, that's right," Noreen said. "Come in." 

So far, so good. 

Harry tensed up. 

For a few minutes there was no conversation. Suddenly the set blared into 
life. 

"Well, that takes care of the problem," Jack announced, and shut the set 
off. 

"Wonderful!" Noreen said. "What was it?" 

"Just a couple of tubes." 

"How much do I owe you?" 

"I'll send you a bill," he said, as Harry had instructed him to do. 

"Say... " Jack began, with a leer in his voice. "You're a mighty pretty 
girl. Do you know that?" 

"Thank you," Noreen replied. "But I'm also a married one." 

"That's okay. I'm broad-minded. Look, honey, how about a kiss? Just a 
quickie. Your husband will never know." 

"Maybe he will. Maybe I'll tell him." 

Harry tensed more as he listened. Noreen hadn't taken the guy up yet, but 
she hadn't exactly cut him dead, either. 

"You wouldn't do anything like that," Jack was saying. "What husbands don't 
know don't hurt 'em, I've always believed. Smart wives figure the same way." 

"You're awfully sure of yourself, aren't you?" 

"I'm sure I can give you a happy morning. How about it?" 

Harry strained to hear his wife's answer. But there was only a short spell 
of silence. What was she doing -- smiling at Jack in that sexy way she had? 

Sweat popped on Harry's forehead. 

Suddenly he heard sounds that suggested struggling. The guy was kissing her, 
and she was putting up a little fight. But did she mean it, or was she just 
leading him on? 

Now Harry wondered if he hadn't better get back inside the closet. Any 
moment now, Jack might come charging through the bedroom door with Noreen in 
his arms. 

In a few split seconds of time, Harry's jealousy-inflamed imagination 
depicted the scene that would take place on the bed: Jack's hands pushing up 
Noreen's skirt and slip. Harry could see her twisting, naked legs as the 
other man clawed for the elastic band at the top of her white briefs. 

He saw Jack pulling Noreen's panties down. 

Now her legs were spread and the man was coming at her, his lust aroused. He 
was onto the bed, gripping Noreen's buttocks, lifting them... 

No! 

He mustn't torture himself like that. Noreen's voice came from the living 
room, soft-pitched, husky and intense: "What made you do that?" 

"I just felt like it, baby. Man, I really want you. Come on... let's go into 
the bedroom. I'll give you a good time. I promise." 

Harry held his breath. 

"You know, I feel sorry for you," Noreen said. "You must be sick, thinking 
you can work a pitch like that on every woman you meet." 

"I don't try it on every woman," Jack protested. 

"You probably don't, at that, or you wouldn't be able to keep your job. But 
you tried it on the wrong one today. Get out of here, buster." 

Harry broke into a wide, happy grin. 

"Aw, now look, honey," Jack said. "Maybe I was a little rough but, honest, 
I've really got the hots for you. And I'll give you a damned good loving." 

He was trying, the son of a bitch! Harry had to give him credit for that. 

He held his breath and waited for what Noreen would say next She didn't 
speak. She acted. 

The sound which carried through the small apartment could have been made in 
only one way: By the collision of a naked hand with another area of naked 
flesh. 

Noreen had given him a hard slap on the face. 

"Ow!" Jack exclaimed. "That hurt, Goddamn it!" 

"Well, I hope so," Noreen said. "Now get out of here. And I think I'll tell 
my husband what happened when he gets home." 

"You hadn't better," Jack mumbled, but Harry could hear him closing his tool 
kit. 

There was the sound of the front door opening, then closing. 

With a big grin still on his face, Harry scrambled onto the fire escape and 
across to the hall window. He was a happy man. 

He didn't remain away from the apartment until evening. He didn't have to, 
since he worked close by and could come home for lunch if he felt like it. 

He never had done so before, so Noreen had no reason to expect him. But 
today he couldn't stay away. 

When he walked into the apartment, she turned with a gasp. 

"For heaven's sake!" she said. "What are you doing home, honey?" 

"Thought I'd surprise you," he said, and grinned. 

He moved up to claim a husbandly kiss, but she held him off for a moment 
"You did more than surprise me," she said. "You almost scared the panties 
off me. Wait until I tell you what happened this morning." 

He dropped into a chair and asked, "What?" 

"The guy from the TV repair company you called tried to get fresh. He said 
the nastiest things. He tried to get me to go into the bedroom with him." 

"What?" Harry thundered as he rose to his feet in' righteous wrath. 

But actually he was very pleased that she had told him. She hadn't had to do 
it, and the fact that she did was a very good sign. It meant that she was 
entertaining no lingering regret about not giving in to Jack's pitch, and no 
thought of giving in to the next guy who came along. 

"He even kissed me, Harry. I -- I couldn't help it. He just grabbed me 
before I could do anything. But I gave him a swat across the face for his 
trouble. Actually I think he's a sick man." 

"Baby, you're wonderful," Harry said, and pulled her into his arms. 

They kissed. 

Her mouth opened to accept the warm probing of his tongue. Her tongue slid 
against his. Her breasts burned at him through their clothes and, after a 
few moments, her belly commenced a subtle motion. 

Harry's passion started to rise. 

After the kiss broke, she murmured, "Well, what would you like to have for 
lunch?" 

"You, sweetheart. Just you." 

He swept her up in his arms. 

What he had imagined before, when he feared Jack was going to take her into 
the bedroom, came true. But now Harry played the male lead in the little 
drama. 

He placed her in the center of the neatly made bed and leaned forward to 
lift her dress and petticoat high. 

"Harry, you're so passionate!" she exclaimed. "What in the world brought 
this on?" 

"Are you objecting, sweetie?" he asked as he pulled down her panties. 

"Oh, no, angel. You can pick me up and rape me any time." 

But what happened was nothing like rape. She didn't offer resistance. 

On the contrary, she cooperated every step of the way. 

As he kissed her along the bare legs, she opened the top of her dress and 
squirmed out of her bra. When he lifted his head, her plump naked breasts 
were waiting for him, the nipples stiff and inviting. 

He kicked off his shoes and stretched out on the bed beside her. 

"Ooo, your shirt scratches," she said when he turned her bare-breasted 
loveliness against him. 

"Well, maybe I'd better just kiss those little tippies and make them well, 
hm?" he suggested, and went for her nipples with his parted lips. 

"That reminds me of when you told me to do that with you the first time. 
Remember?" 

"Maybe I was a heel to say it," he suggested when he came up for air. 

"No. It thrilled me. In fact, if you've got the time... " Her hand moved to 
the front of his pants and began to manipulate the fasteners. 

Husband and wife became lost in passionate love-making. 

It was better that day than ever, because Harry finally had placed all his 
doubts at rest. 

He no longer pretended to know a great deal about womankind in general, but 
there was one woman he knew very well -- and that was his lovely wife. He 
was sure of her. This knowledge was worth more than anything else in the 
world. 

As their heated loins merged, and as the bed beneath them sang its 
passionate song of desire and surrender, Harry felt something like a soldier 
come home from the field of battle. 

Now he was claiming the fruit of victory. 

And the fruit was sweet. 


THE END
