Mama And The Bike Boy
by Maude Jenkins
(SC-102)


FOREWORD 

"The motorcycle is obviously a sexual symbol. It's what's called a phallic 
locomotor symbol. It's an extension of one's body, a power between one's 
legs." Dr. Bernard Diamond, University of California criminologist, said 
those words in 1965, when the Hell's Angels and other notoriously renegade 
motorcycle clubs were riding the crest of a wave of violence, pushed on by 
the tide of sensationalized reports of their demented behavior. 

They were anti-social, proving this over and over again with their fighting, 
their raping, their use of drugs, their disregard for the welfare of anyone 
outside the circle of outlaw bikers and their women. Like children, they'd 
do anything on a dare. Their entire behavior was like that of bad little 
boys-the club, the uniform, the love of excitement, the need to flout 
authority. It has been suggested by Hunter S. Thompson, author of the most 
intimately authoritative book on the outlaw cyclists that they were indeed 
nothing more than men who'd somehow gotten stuck in puberty, and who banded 
together to share in their irresponsibility. They enjoyed every moment of 
their notoriety and they still enjoy a certain following of fascinated fans 
of their exploits, but now the renegades are getting old. 

This is 1973, and the long-standing threats of breaking up the motorcycle 
gangs are coming true at last. Prison cells hold a large number of the 
outlaw bikers, and graves hold even more of them. Most of the originals who 
survive are working at dreary jobs, having kids, getting fat, content to 
talk about the past rather than live it again. Others of them are still 
hanging on to their scarred old reputations by dealing in narcotics and 
illegal guns, for that is all they are equipped to do. 

This is the story of one of those old originals, his passions and his 
desperate deeds as he tries to hold onto a world that's left him behind. He 
is a boy in man's clothing, a thirty-plus pre-adolescent, full of brags and 
bluster and bluff, volatile and erratic, with the emotional trigger 
mechanisms of a boy and the lusty force of a man to be set off by those 
triggers. In Sexual Behavior in the Human Male, Dr. Alfred C. Kinsey said, 
"In pre-adolescent and early adolescent boys, erection and orgasm are easily 
induced. They are more easily induced than in older males. Erection may 
occur immediately after birth and ... it is practically a daily matter for 
all small boys, from earliest infancy and up in age ... Slight physical 
stimulation of the genitalia, general body tensions, and generalized 
emotional situations bring immediate erection, even when there is no 
specifically sexual situation involved ...." Typically, the motorcycle 
itself is Cotton Ronson's primary source of non-sexual stimulation. Add to 
that the tensions of his life-style, the emotional problems involved in 
facing an uncertain future, and it is most understandable that he, like so 
many other outlaw bikers, is almost constantly in a state of sexual 
excitement. In this state, a man can't think properly, but he can act. And 
act Cotton Ronson most certainly does. 

And this is the story of the vapid little motorcycle groupies who followed 
the overgrown boys with their overgrown bikes, those sullen-faced little 
beauties who were last seen riding off on the back fender of a screaming 
Harley. What was their final destination at the end of those long, wild 
rides across the country, and what sort of imprint-sexual and otherwise-did 
their days and nights of speed and narcotics, sex and profanity, leave on 
them? 

The wreckage of the big, bored-out Harleys has long since been melted down 
to produce the family economy Datsun sedan-the wreckage of the 
flesh-and-blood riders may still survive. 

-THE PUBLISHERS 

 CHAPTER ONE 

Gail came awake slowly, luxuriously, enveloped in the aura of her man. He 
was lying on his back, softly snoring, and each new rising of his chest 
lifted her lovely blonde head half an inch before settling it down again 
with his sigh. 

Sleep-slack cheek on his pectoral, she could smell his wonderfully familiar 
scent, musky damp from another warm night they'd spent together in their 
nest, entirely clean and fresh. His curly tan chest hair tickled her 
nostrils and she twitched her nose as a doe rabbit might, then snuggled 
closer still to her mate. She yawned and licked the corners of her mouth, 
tasted a hint of his salty-sweet chest, and reached out with her tongue 
through the tendrils of his hair for more of his aphrodisiac flavor. 

He made a small purr in his throat and he tightened the suntanned arm that 
was about her supple white waist. Glancing up through her long lashes, Gail 
confirmed that he was still sleeping, and she smiled, not yet ready to give 
up this time when she had him all to herself, this sunrise time when he 
couldn't give even a fleeting thought to his job, his career. 

She smoothed her hand over his flat belly, soft in sleep, and teased the 
ball of her little finger about the little gapping mouth of his navel. Her 
hand descended toward the fur of his loins as her smoothly tapered thigh 
slid up his leg. Still he slumbered on, though now Gail was so fresh and 
alive that she could feel each of his little leg hairs, it seemed, as her 
knee was drawn on by the warmth that radiated from under the tousled sheet. 

She was breathing more deeply and she had to swallow hard as hand and knee 
were drawn closer together. The warm thick wedge of his good sturdy body was 
pushed between her breasts. Her right breast, half atop his ribcage, glowed 
even whiter in contrast with his lightly tanned skin, and her erectile 
nipple showed its deep pink interest in another softly exciting morning in 
their new life together. That breast and nipple were lovely parts of Gail 
Harrigan's body, but she was easily able to look past herself to the 
erectile flesh of her man as she elbowed aside the percale. 

"You're all mine," she murmured, stealthing her hand through the soft fur to 
gently encircle the base of his hard throbbing penis. "You're my man, Clancy 
Harrigan, and I'm your woman. I can hear your heart beating, saying, "Hel-lo 
... Hel-lo ... Hel-lo,' and I can feel its pulse in my hand. I love you, 
Clancy Harrigan. I'm your woman, every bit of me, and that's just the way 
it's always going to be, even when I get wrinkled and old and you can't 
stand to even look at me." 

"No chance of that, Gail," said he, voice all furry with sleep, hand 
tightening on the satin roundness of her buttock to draw her closer. "I'll 
be deaf and blind by the time you get wrinkled and old, so I won't have to 
look at you. I'll just have to touch you, and you'll always feel as fine and 
smooth as this special place on your fanny." 

His fingertips were tracing the perimeter of a ragged oval on Gail's 
buttock. Inside the perimeter was woman-flesh that was so smooth it was 
shiny. Gail didn't like to look at that scarred spot on her body, didn't 
like to think of its origin, and only now after five months of marriage 
could she allow her husband to touch her there without its bringing back 
buried and decaying memories. The fine scar tissue was a very sensitive area 
of her body, and his touching it now could tactilely stimulate her. instead 
of hearkening her back to the shameful days of her youth. Only now was she 
beginning to unconsciously believe that she was existing in this incredibly 
good life that Clancy had brought to her, and that the old, wild, evil days 
were as wiped out as completely as the awful brand on her buttock had been. 
A skilled surgeon had transformed the obscene brand on her butt to 
artificially smooth flesh; Clancy's solidly beating love for her had been 
even more effective in covering over her obscene memories. She was grateful 
for the surgeon's skill and discretion; she loved Clancy with all her body 
and soul. 

His fingers slid down through the cleavage between the twin plumpnesses of 
her luxuriantly rounded bottom, and Gail wriggled closer still to him. She 
squirmed her warm, soft, moistness against his thigh, and she slid her 
softly gripping hand up over his hardness. She turned her face up to his and 
their lips met, his other hand closed on her shoulder, and their thoughts 
smoothly merged. Luxuriously, slowly writhing together in their big bed, 
smiling through the kiss, tasting the fresh new excitement of yet another 
day in their sixth month together as husband and wife, as man and woman. 

Brrr-r-r-r-rrrt! 

The sharp buzz of the alarm ended their first kiss of the day, and Gail 
moved her breasts sensuously across his chest as she reached to turn it off. 
His warm breath nuzzled through her long golden hair, and his hands 
confirmed the feminine contours of her fine young body. She could touch his 
hard heat with her thigh now, very close to her loins, moistening them 
further and welling up the warm desire for him. 

She clicked off the alarm and he yawned and said, "Shall we have another try 
for him this morning?" 

"This doesn't feel like my day for making babies," she told him, ruffling 
his hair, kissing his brow. "It feels like a day for just being greedy in 
love with you. And you're not even all awake yet, honey," she said, teasing 
with her voice and with her hand. 

"I'm as awake as I'll ever be down there," said he, pushing back at her 
hand, making it hard for her to go slowly with her sweet marital teasings. 

"I want you all awake, and I want to get up for just a minute before we make 
love. It won't hurt you to wait for a minute." she said, and kissed his lips 
and rolled away from his trailing hands. 

They slept naked together in their flowery yellow bedroom. They liked to 
feel each other's flesh even when they were sleeping. He liked to look at 
her splendid golden body, too, but now she picked up her green silk robe 
from the vanity chair and left the room with it, for she knew very well that 
he liked to be teased, too. He was like all men in this, but he was so 
special to her that she teased him as she'd never teased any other. 

She liked to serve him, too, and to this end she hurried her bare feet over 
the orange shag hall carpet and onto the patterned coolness of the kitchen 
tile. She plugged in the two-cup coffee-maker and turned to look out the 
window of her snug little kitchen as she slipped her arms through the 
sleeves of the robe. Her eight-by-ten foot garden had survived another night 
and was greenly greeting the rising sun. Tomatoes and corn, carrots and 
radishes, a childish little plot of vegetables that Gail Harrigan took great 
pride in. 

Tasha the cat brushed her long-furred side against Gail's ankle, and she 
stooped to scratch her snow white head. She followed along behind as the 
young lady of the house went into the bathroom, and she yawned and rubbed 
her head against that ankle as Gail sat down. 

"I'll feed you pretty soon," Gail said, "but we humans do come first." 

Gail rose and took a very swift shower. No soap, just a fast sluicing of 
fresh warm water over her body as she held her hair up off the pink nape of 
her neck. The cat was complaining as Gail quickly toweled herself dry, 
smiling brightly at herself in the mirror, working the sleep puff out of her 
pertly pretty face. Eyes clear and green, lips full and pink, teeth pearly 
white, roseate flush of pinkness emerged through the lovely smooth paleness 
of her cheeks. It was good to look at herself in the mirror, to see herself 
clean, fresh, happy, and above all free. 

With fast, long strokes, she brushed out her flaxen hair, ends curling about 
her bare shoulders, hurrying for her man, for the one who'd made it all 
possible. Brush set aside, she lightly dusted herself with lemony-fragrant 
powder, then stood before the full-length mirror to trace the lines of her 
shape with her hands. Good, high bosom, soon perhaps to swell with the 
nourishment for the child they might conceive this very morning. Long, trim 
waist, still as lithe and supple as when she'd been 'dancing' for a living, 
and those good, good legs that had first attracted Clancy to notice her a 
year before when he'd come to her former place of employ to take the static 
out of her switchboard. Beautifully turned bottom, impertinently 
back-thrusting, so sweet and round that Gail even enjoyed touching it 
herself-except for that oval scar whose origin she might never forget. 

The green silk of her robe covered the scar with six inches to spare. She 
sashed it loosely around her waist to allow a good view of the inch of chest 
between her breasts, and of the swelling curves of her proud, soft 
womanhood. The silk rustled nicely against her glowing skin as she returned 
to the kitchen and poured fresh coffee into the cups on the tray. Tasha was 
still rubbing against her leg. She followed Gail down the hall and stood 
meowing as Gail elbowed the door closed and turned to face her reclining 
husband's smile. 

"Who said cats can't learn? Tasha knows enough to keep out of our bedroom in 
the mornings," Gail said as she brought the tray to the nightstand. 

"You've trained her. She's a lady, just like you are ... except when she's 
in heat." 

Gail arched an eyebrow at his near-lewd grin, and cocked a hip in his 
direction. "Are you implying, sir, that your tiny little bride isn't a 
perfect lady at all times? Are you inferring, Mr. Harrigan, that there are 
times when your demure spouse acts like a bitch in heat?" 

"At five-six and a hundred and thirty pounds, you are neither tiny nor 
little, my dear. And you are not a perfect lady when the heat comes upon 
you, thank God, and that heat seems to come upon you every lovely morning at 
this time." 

In mock anger, Gail swept back the folds of her robe and placed her fists on 
her hips. His gaze roved down over the soft pale roundness of her belly, the 
deep vertical indentation of her navel, to the smoothly furry triangle of 
plumpness between her legs, and she said, "You unfeeling brute. You wake me 
up with that perfectly monstrous thing sticking up, and then when I try to 
help you with your problem each morning, you suggest I'm not being ladylike 
in every way. Honestly, Clancy, it's enough to make a girl turn to Women's 
Lib and ... whoops!" 

He caught her behind the knee and tumbled her down on the bed with him. He 
wrestled her around, tousling her freshly brushed hair, making her squeal, 
thrusting aside the flimsy green with the hardness of his muscles and his 
sex. He was always hard for her and she was always soft for him, even though 
she could use her woman's muscles to make the teasing tussle last a bit 
longer. 

She tickled him in the ribs to prolong it, fighting too at her need to 
submit at once, to lie back and accept him openly. She managed to get on top 
of him, there to flatten her lush breasts warmly against his chest, and she 
managed to ignore the badly needed heat pushing up between her humid thighs. 
She was easily able to hold him down long enough for a kiss, long enough for 
the taste of him to reach down through the whole length of her to meet the 
feel of him reaching up from below. The joining was simply too much for her 
and she went limp. His thigh slipped between hers and she clasped it, then 
the world spun with lazy wonder as she was rolled onto her back, in the 
position to meet with her man all the way. 

Soft wedging, slipping and sliding to deep, complete comfort. Good solid 
weight on her, as if she'd even think of trying to escape from this comfort 
of moving, living flesh and blood and bone. Rising to meet him, seeing in 
her mind's eye rippling fields of ripe wheat, undulating to meet the 
penetrating kiss of the rain. Soul rising now, hearing the words between 
them...."Love you, love you ... so good ... so beautiful ... so strong ... 
stay with me ... always ... now, please now ... yes, please YESSSS!" 

It was all new again, just like the first time with him, just like their 
wedding night, just like yesterday morning, but so much better for it was 
now, now, NOW. Wondrous thing! How could this possibly happen again? How 
could he once again transform her into this totally giving but completely 
wild animal that she now was, frantic to please him, frantic to please 
herself, yet secure in the knowledge she was doing both? And he, driving 
down into her with hard, brute strength, yet entirely gentle and wholly 
loving, how could he do this with such easy naturality? Groanings, gasps, 
and gruntings, huffings, pantings, and snarls, like beasts of the fields, 
yet perfectly civilized in this sharing of their bodies. She could feel each 
of the joyful spasms that went ripping through him even as he felt the 
soarings of her heaving body, not just down below in their coupled genitals, 
but in their hearts, in their brains, in their souls. 

Come to me, come to me! she cried out in her bursting brain, and he did, 
again and again, meeting her need with his until both terrible, wonderful 
needs were sated, and they sighed together and could talk once again. 

"Some lady you are. The way you move your beautiful bod' just about blew my 
head off, just like always. You are one fine piece of tail, Mrs. Harrigan." 

"Mmmm. Hush. Don't talk nasty to the lady." 

"Nothing nasty about a good piece of tail, and nothing nasty about talking 
about it. You know, you're beautiful? Beautiful boobs, beautiful ass, 
beautiful pussy, plus all the rest of it." 

"Hush, Clance. You know that kind of talk makes me uncomfortable." 

He chuckled at her ear and said, "You look pretty damned comfortable, and 
feel even more so. Or is damn too strong a word for you too?" 

"You never cursed in bed before we got married. And you used to say I had 
beautiful breasts, not beautiful boobs. Next thing it'll be ... I don't know 
what." 

"Great set of jugs? Gorgeous big tits?" 

The delicious languor was suddenly gone, and Gail pushed away at her husband 
and slipped off his slowly dwindling penis. He reached after her, telling 
her he was only kidding, and she said, "Well, pick another way. Drink your 
coffee before it gets cold, and I'll have your breakfast ready when you 
are." 

He followed her about the room with placating words and touches which she 
ignored as she took her frayed old terrycloth robe from the closet and put 
it on. She was so seethingly angry she could have slapped him as she left 
the room, but she settled for slamming the door behind her. She picked up 
the waiting Tasha, cuddled the fluffy white cat to her chest, and found 
solace in words to this fellow female as she headed toward the kitchen. 

"Yes, kitty, we're both ladies, aren't we? I'll just bet that when you were 
a silly little kitten and didn't know what it was all about, you got 
yourself laid by alley cats in trash cans and under greasy old cars. Now 
that you're a mature old lady of three or four years, the only time you like 
it is when we take you to the breeders and you fall in love with another 
white angora for a few days. Pedigreed cats are ever so much better than 
alley cats, now aren't they? Yes, and you have kittens in your tummy to 
prove it. It's better to be a good girl, isn't it? 

"A raw egg for you this morning, and dry toast for that man of mine. Great 
set of jugs. Ugh. Almost as bad as...." She stopped, straightening up from 
the cat and her bowl. The pink flush of anger had gone from her face, and 
her hand had gone unconsciously to cover the broad oval scar under her robe. 
"No," she said, "nothing could be as bad as what he used to say, and do. 
Forget about that. Breakfast for my loving husband, and if he thinks I have 
gorgeous bit t-tits, I'll let him tell me." 

"Sunny-side-up eggs, browned ham, fresh coffee, hot buttered toast-now, what 
in the world did I do to deserve a breakfast like this?" He peered at his 
plate over her shoulder as she stood at the stove. 

"You threw me a good lay, mister," Gail answered, with a jaunty bounce of 
her hip. "Get your keester in the chair so I can serve you." 

"Honey, I'm sorry if I speak to you a little crudely at times. It's all in 
fun, and surely you've heard that kind of talk before." 

"Not that I can recall, but it's all right, dear. I know it's all in fun. 
I'm sorry I'm such a prude about language, but at least I'm not a prude 
about pleasing you in bed. Sit down, now." 

He did as she told him. His continuing apology was in his eyes. "It's 
delicious. What's on your busy schedule today?" 

"A little gardening. A lot of work on the garage apartment. I wish we had 
tenants in it already. I hope we can rent it to a newlywed couple." 

"Well, I wish you wouldn't work so hard on it, and I sure do hope the 
building inspector doesn't look too closely at it." 

"He won't. He'll be looking at me. Sometimes it pays to be pretty. And my 
work isn't all that bad anyway." 

"Maybe, but it's not legal. That wallboard isn't the right thickness, I 
don't trust the way you plumbed in the gas to the water heater, and that 
extension phone sure isn't legal." 

"I'm spackling the walls and painting today, so he won't notice the 
thickness of the wallboard. The plumbing a farm girl like me learns might 
not be pretty, but it won't leak. And the extension phone goes before old 
Staunton comes to inspect. It stays until then, just in case you decide to 
phone me when I'm working up there. I'll be so proud of it all when it's 
done." 

"And I'm so proud of you already. I never even thought about getting a 
rental unit on this property. And we sure couldn't have built it as cheaply 
as we have so far without all the work you did." 

"My work up there proves I'm not a lady after all. I'm just a 
twenty-three-year-old female jack-of-all-trades." 

"Your work in bed proves you are a lady. I love you, Gail." 

She glowed a smile at him over his plate, and he fed her tidbits from it 
until it was empty. She walked him to the door and straightened his tie, 
kissed him, and handed him his attache case/toolbox. They exchanged touches 
and words there that are entirely too trite to bear repeating, and she stood 
on the stoop reflecting the morning sun's rays with her smile as he 
disappeared through the gate in the head-high privet hedge. That was her man 
who had just left her to go to work, left her with his belly full and his 
seed still tingling on her loins. Gail closed her eyes and filled her lungs 
with summer air, opened them and gazed about at her little domain. Then she 
went inside to gird herself for improving it all. The little white house on 
the cul de sac street was all but perfect for them already. Still she could 
improve on it, just as the surgeon had improved on her near-perfect but 
evilly branded body. 

 CHAPTER TWO 

The Harrigan house had belonged to Clancy's grandmother. She had lived in it 
for thirty years as a wife and for twenty years as a widow, and she'd left 
it to her only grandson when she passed away. It was a small house, built 
entirely of wood, painted white, with a green roof. It had one bathroom and 
two bedrooms, one of which would be converted to a nursery, the Harrigans 
hoped, within a year. Clancy referred to the furnishings Gail had picked out 
as Early Salvation Army, but in fact he liked the flouncy maple and the 
overstuffed couch and chair as much as she did. That sort of furnishings 
went with the house, and so did the garden that surrounded the house. 

Ferns, fuschias, roses, hydrangeas, sweet peas, and a flowering acacia tree 
grew in the front yard behind the hedge which gave the house much of its 
privacy. Bird feeders kept the air alive with twitterings, and kept Tasha 
the cat looking hopefully heavenward much of the day. She would creep 
through the lush dichondra lawn looking like a miniature white tiger in a 
miniature Garden of Eden, and leap high in the air toward the bird feeders, 
all of which had been placed just out of her reach. Now and again she'd 
catch a bird, for which she'd receive a severe scolding. 

The property was located on a short, dead-end street in a hilly section of 
town. The contour of the land was such that there were only two other widely 
spaced houses on the cul de sac, and this added to the seclusion that the 
young couple enjoyed. They could sun-bathe in the nude right in their own 
front yard. They could make love there too, if the mood struck them, and it 
often did, for they were both of a loving and sensuous nature, and still 
newly wedded. Only Tasha and the birds were there to see them as they rolled 
about in the warm leafy grass on the days that Clancy didn't go to work. 
Occasionally Clancy and Gail would moonbathe in the nude as well, and this 
pastime would inevitably lead to their coupling under the stars, completely 
free, alone in their little island of seclusion in the big, bustling city. 

The seclusion would soon be intruded upon, however, for the Harrigans were a 
practical young couple as well as a loving one. There was a sturdy garage 
and workshop on the front property line, and they were now in the process of 
building a small, modern apartment on top of this. Carpenters and 
electricians and plumbers had done the bulk of the heavy work, and Gail and 
Clancy were doing the finish work themselves, partly to save money, partly 
because they were in no rush to have their privacy broken by having a tenant 
on the property. It would be nice to have the extra income, but not so nice 
to have to confine their outdoor nudism forays to the back yard. 

Gail was doing most of the finish work on the garage apartment. She had some 
experience in building repairs, but it wasn't because she'd been raised on a 
farm, as she had told her husband. Gail was beautiful, loving, talented, 
hard-working, and devoted to her husband, but she didn't always tell him the 
truth, especially about her past. The origins of her experience in working 
on the house came from those secret days in her past when she lived in-a 
crumbling house in a decaying section of San Francisco. She'd been fourteen 
years old then, the youngest of a group of runaways who shared the house, 
the beds, the work, the money, and the narcotics. Gail had painted walls 
when she was high on LSD, had plastered and plumbed when she was stoned on 
grass, and had known crazily happy and tragically sad times in between. 
She'd been up on one kind of narcotic or another every day for over two 
years, had had V.D. several times, and had awakened one morning lying next 
to a dead girl friend, all before she was sixteen years old. She didn't like 
to talk about that period in her life, not even to herself, and she didn't 
like to think about some of the things she'd done to change herself from a 
Haight-Ashbury flower child to a happy and responsible young housewife. As 
far as Clancy knew, she'd lived on the farm in Wyoming until she was 
twenty-one years old, and had then come to the big city and worked as a 
switchboard operator until he had met and married her. With her parents 
dead, there was no one to refute the lies she had told him about herself, 
and she felt the lies were entirely constructive and not harmful in any way. 
She had lived a dissolute and usually unhappy youth, although it had seemed 
like great fun at the time. But now the happiness she knew with him was 
real, and it would be lasting, if she had anything to say about it. 

With her husband gone off to his job as a switchboard repairman, Gail 
returned to the bathroom for her second shower of the new morning. She 
didn't want to wash away the lingering scent of her man and his love, but 
her newly developed personal hygiene habits were so strong that she could be 
expected to take half a dozen showers each day before climbing into bed at 
day's end. She tied back her long golden hair with a green ribbon and 
dressed in bra, panties, tennis shoes, and a paint-spattered denim coverall 
suit. She climbed the stairs on the side of the garage that led to the 
apartment and entered it, mixed up a batch of spackle and water in a pan on 
the sink, and smoothed it over the joints in the wallboard. 

She worked happily, humming. All the soap and water in the world couldn't 
wash away the residual glow in her loins and in her heart that her Clancy's 
love had left her with. The cat played about in the small litter of 
construction materials on the floor of the tiny apartment. There wasn't much 
litter there, for Gail kept the place cleaned up after herself, but it was 
enough to keep Tasha occupied and out of the wet plaster. She'd mixed up 
three batches of it before she'd completed the joints in the kitchen, the 
living room, and the little bedroom and bathroom. She cleaned her pan and 
trowel and sat down on a paint can to look at her accomplishment, and as she 
did she unconsciously reached in her breast pocket for a cigarette. 

She had to smile at that. There were no cigarettes there at all. She'd given 
those up along with a lot of other things, but the old habit showed its 
strength at odd times, and this was one of them. 

Instead of the cigarette, she picked up the cat and strolled through the 
little apartment, inspecting her work. 

The water was plumbed in, as well as the gas, but there was no electricity 
as yet. This would be hooked up after Harry Staunton, the building 
inspector, had signed off the rest of the work. She could start painting 
that afternoon, when the spackle was thoroughly dried, and in the next week 
or so she could lay the carpeting with Clancy and the apartment would be 
ready for its first tenants. They would do their best to get a nice, young 
couple in it, and they'd do more than their best to retain all they could of 
their privacy. Only one window looked down on their front yard, this the 
small one in the bathroom, and the rest looked out on a fine view of the 
city which should keep the tenants happy with a privacy of their own. All in 
all, the arrangement would work out well; the extra income would be welcome, 
and it felt very good to have this tangible proof of the Harrigans growth 
and substance. As they aged, they would see a whole succession of newlyweds 
occupy this little apartment, and someday its occupant might be their son 
and his bride. 

Gail carried the cat downstairs and changed into shorts and halter before 
attacking the lawn. The shorts were very short, actually the bottoms of a 
faded bikini bathing suit, almost worn through in the seat. They were 
turquoise blue, and they rode high on. her shapely thighs, exposing much of 
the undersides of her perfectly round, perfectly white buttocks. A nice 
little bulge of tummy swelled over the top front of the tiny triangle of 
blue, and a few golden hairs could be seen straying out from the legs of 
that tightly packed triangle. The halter top was made from two red bandanas 
which went around her neck and back and were knotted in between her full, 
conical breasts. In this scanty attire, Gail went out in the front yard, got 
down on her hands and knees, and set to work with an old hunting knife to 
dig the oxalis out of the dichondra. 

The cat wanted to play. She jumped at the dull old knife blade until Gail 
had pushed her away three times. She walked underneath Gail, rubbing her 
back and tail against Gail's bare, swayed stomach. She purred and rubbed 
herself against Gail's thigh, provoking a desire in the young housewife that 
it be Saturday morning, not Wednesday, and that her husband was at home to 
play with her instead of the family cat. 

The sun was getting warm, and she was sweating lightly. A thin film of 
perspiration shone on her alabaster skin, and she could feel the sun's 
warmth deep inside her. Her breasts felt swollen and heavy as they hung 
within the damp red cotton, and the triangle of turquoise felt ever tighter 
about her loins. Still on hands and knees, the diminutive shorts had crept 
up ever farther between the upraised globes of her bottom. She had to hook a 
finger inside the triangle every now and then to tug it to a more 
comfortable position, and each time she did this she could detect the scent 
of her sex on her fingers. That made her wish even more that it was 
Saturday. It made her wish that she'd seduced Clancy into another coupling 
at the breakfast table. Baking in the sun, she allowed herself to dwell on 
just what might have happened if she'd, say, spilled a little coffee on the 
front of his suit pants. She'd have gotten on her knees beside him, 
apologizing all the way, and dabbed at it with a napkin. In seconds she'd 
have him aroused, all quite accidentally, of course, and he'd sit there 
grinning like a boy as she opened his fly and exposed his handsome 
genitalia. She might try oral sex on him. It would be the first time for 
that with them. So far in their married life he'd been prudish about her 
going down on him, and she'd been more than content with straight 
copulation. But one of these days soon she'd cleverly seduce him into 
letting her fellate him, and thus open new doors to the joys they had 
already found in bed together. She'd be clumsy at it to begin with, fooling 
him into thinking she'd never done it before. He was such fun to fool in 
things such as this, and it was all such constructive fooling. 

The tread of shoe leather made Gail quickly get up on her knees and cover 
her bosom with her forearm. It could be lovesick little Tommy Simmons coming 
by to moon over her and tell her some unnecessary tale of how he'd be late, 
or early, with their newspaper that afternoon. It could be a rare 
door-to-door salesman, one who might give her trouble. It could be a hippy 
hobo, or even a rapist. Normally Gail had no fear of such things, for her 
time on the streets had taught her how to take care of herself, but the 
fearful thoughts swept through her that morning so swiftly and strongly that 
she felt like running inside the house. But then she smiled and relaxed as 
she saw a part of a blue uniform through the gateway in the hedge, and knew 
it was Mr. Olson putting mail in their box. 

She stretched luxuriously, directly facing him, knowing full well he was so 
near-sighted he could discern her only as a vague white form. She conversed 
with him through the gate, asking why he was early, and for the second time 
that morning, she reached for a nonexistent cigarette. This time her hand 
went inside her halter top, and there she allowed her fingers to toy with 
her damp, erect nipple as she spoke with the white-haired old mailman. They 
talked about the weather while Gail hefted and squeezed the full weight of 
her left breast, palming its nipple, deliberately and quite wickedly teasing 
herself. Her loins felt very moist and warm now, and even as she talked with 
Mr. Olson, she was wishing her husband would unexpectedly appear. She waited 
until the mailman had left, however, before withdrawing her hand and 
slipping it down inside the triangle of blue, both teasing and assuaging the 
softly growing itch within her own warm pubic bush. 

Haunches on her heels, knees a foot apart on the grass, Gail gazed vacantly 
through the gate at the heat waves on the empty street as she wondered at 
the source of her sudden fear, and as she rubbed at that itch. The sun was 
baking her brain, and she couldn't seem to get her thoughts together. She 
kept seeing Clancy coming through the gate, his loins on a level with her 
eyes, his grin broadening as he saw her invitingly open posture. And Tommy 
Simmons took Clancy's place in her thoughts now and then. The 
fifteen-year-old newsboy would never get over it if he saw her now, hand 
inside her shorts, knuckles working at the blue fabric, look of glazed 
desire on her lovely face. The way she felt, she might attack him. It was 
just a few days before her menstrual time, and she knew very well this was 
the reason for the deep sexual desire smoldering inside her. She also knew 
that she'd tease her husband out of his clothes before he'd finished his 
after-work beer that night. In the meantime, she'd best throw herself into 
her work, the better to keep her mind off her body, the better to keep her 
thoughts from straying into fantasized adultery. 

She stabbed the ground with the dull knife, and twisted out the weeds. She 
was ashamed of herself for her thoughts, and she wished she could use that 
knife to wrench out the appetites she had which came from far too much 
experience in her youth. She was sweating freely now and panting slightly, 
from the heat, from the work, from the rage at herself which burned within 
her. The gardening was no longer fun, it was punishment, and she worked 
faster at it, soiling her hands and knees, forcing her senses to ignore the 
itch in her wet loins and the chafing of her hard nipples against clinging 
cloth. She willed Clancy to come to her, come to her, and banish her evil 
thoughts with his easy smile, and banish her yearning aches with his good, 
hard body. 

Gail felt rather than heard the approaching sound. It thrummed in her belly 
and fibrillated nerve endings from afar. She knew very well what it was, and 
she tried to believe it wasn't coming closer. The sun was very hot now, and 
as she knelt there slowly shaking her head, she sincerely hoped she was 
suffering from sunstroke, or from too much thirst. Still it came slowly 
closer, searching her out with its rumbling, snarling beat of valves and 
pistons. Her fists balled and went to cover her ears, and her lovely face 
was twisted into a mask of paralyzed horror by the sound of it, right on her 
street, then right on the other side of her hedge. She squinted her eyes 
closed, squeezing out salt-stinging sweat, and willed with all her might for 
it to go away. Miraculously, the sound of the motor was cut off ... but when 
she opened her eyes, there was the front wheel of the dreaded thing visible 
through the gateway, gleaming spokes, glaring wheel rim, low-raked chrome 
forks and shocks. 

Tears mingled with her sweat as she whispered, "No, it can't be Cotton. It 
just can't be him!" 

The pinging of air-cooling metal could be heard, the scuff of boots, and 
then his unmistakable mock-laughing voice. "Come on, Rita Bonita, and let's 
see if this fucking dump is where Mrs. Clancy Harrigan is hiding her ass." 

Come to me, Clancy, come to me! Gail's silent voice cried out, and the gate 
swung open to admit Cotton Ronson. 

 CHAPTER THREE 

He had a woman with him of the kind Gail had seen countless times before. 
Fifteen or sixteen years old, lithe and trim, grass-heavy eyes, black hair 
in a gypsy cut, twisted grin on lipsticked lips, dangling earrings and 
jangling bracelets, deeply tanned, wearing sandals, filthy jeans, and a 
flimsy tank top with two little bumps of her breasts in it and a 
silk-screened marijuana leaf on it. Though her coloring was so dark she 
looked Mexican, the girl reminded Gail so much of herself at that age that 
she felt sick. 

Looking at Cotton Ronson, Gail felt even sicker. Jail hadn't altered him a 
bit. He looked as lean and tough as ever, though now he'd be in his 
mid-thirties. Same scuffed cycle boots, same filthy Levi's hanging low 
around his waist, kept up with a chromed Harley chain. His chest was bare 
under the sleeveless Levi's jacket, showing the matted reddish hair against 
which Gail's cheek had nestled so many crazy, mindless nights. The jacket 
was even filthier than the pants, held together with dirt rather than 
thread, and she knew if he turned around that the embroidered patch on its 
back would still be there, proclaiming him a member of Lucifer's Imps. Same 
obscene tattoos on his arms, same leather cap on his head, same scraggle of 
red beard, same reflecting walleye sunglasses, same toothy grin as he came 
in through her gate and back into her life. 

She picked up the dull hunting knife and pointed it at him unwaveringly. 
"You get out of here. Get on that machine and go, or I'll call the police." 

He opened his arms expansively. "Is that any way to greet an old commde of 
the road? I went to a lot of trouble to find you, baby, and the least you 
can do is offer me a beer before we split. Rita, this is Pale Gail, the best 
Mamma I ever had. Gail, Rita Bonita." 

"She doesn't look so hot," said the girl. "She's stacked better'n me, but 
she's gettin' fat." 

He laughed and hugged her about the waist. He ran his hand up under her top 
and rubbed it over the little nubbins of her breasts, saying, "You should 
get some fat like Pale Gail's got." 

"You should feed me once in a while," she said, grinning at the kneeling 
Gail while Cotton mauled her little bosoms. "Ouch!" she said, and tears 
brought life to her eyes. 

She twisted in the grip of the wiry man, pulling at his hand, and he 
continued to smile as he said, "You complaining?" 

"No! No, never, Cotton! I was only kidding! Lemme go. Jeezus, that hurts!" 

He laughed and released her and she tucked up the little undershirt to 
inspect her right breast. It was little more than an overgrown nipple, but 
the little cone of pink was decidedly bigger and pinker than the twin at its 
left. Cotton patted it with his road-grimed hand and she stood there 
trembling, waiting for him to pinch it again if the whim struck him. No, 
Cotton hadn't changed a bit, and neither had his women. Gail shuddered and 
got to her feet, and gestured with the knife toward the gate. 

"Put it down, Gail, you don't need it. I'm not about to cause you any fuss, 
we'll split in just a minute. God, you're lookin' good. I'm glad to see you. 
I wish I could have seen you when you were topless dancing at that Go-Gb bar 
a couple of years back. Silly Willy visited me up at the joint and told me 
how good you were at swinging your tits. I always told you, you could go 
places with them." 

"Keep back," she said, and took a step backward herself. 

He folded his bare arms and said, "Yeah, I'm glad to see you making it on 
the straight. You remember Grubby Michaels? He's straight too now. Climbs 
telephone poles for a living. It was him saw you working at that place you 
were at and told Silly Willy about it. As soon as I got out of the joint, 
the first thing I did was try to look you up there. Don't worry, I did it 
over the telephone. I wouldn't go in any place that might embarrass you, 
even if you don't work there no more. But pretty quick I'll be straight 
enough to go into any place at all." 

"When?" she asked with a sneer. "As soon as you sell some more smack to some 
more narcs? The only place you'll be going back to is jail." 

"Oh, no. I've got something strictly legitimate -lined up now. It'll break 
in a couple of days, and . ... " 

"And you expected to hole up here. Not on your life, Cotton. Get out of 
here. Now." 

"No, no, nothing like that. I just come by to show Rita that tattoo on your 
ass. She'd like to get one herself, but she's a little afraid. Show us your 
ass, Pale Gail, and we'll split." 

"Putting your dirty mark on doped-up runaway girls, you haven't changed a 
bit, Cotton. Get out of here." 

"Hey, what does your old man think of that tattoo? I'll bet you and old 
Clancy Harrigan have a lot of laughs over it. You know, he's the only Clancy 
Harrigan in the book? He must be an understanding guy to marry you with that 
tattoo on your ass." 

"I told you to keep back, Cotton. I'll shank you, so help me," she promised. 

His grin broadened and he reached for a cigarette. "Damn, it's good to hear 
you talk like that, Gail. You haven't changed all the way, either. Hey, why 
don't we stick around and meet your old man? You know, talk about old times 
over a couple of beers?" 

"Cotton, my husband knows all about me. You can't frighten me into letting 
you stay by threatening to tell him what I used to be." 

"I'm not trying nothing!" he said, all indignant righteousness. "Hell, I've 
changed too. Just look," he said, and let the cigarette dangle from his 
mouth as he shucked off his sleeveless jacket. "Just look," he said, holding 
it up between them, showing her the unfaded circle that once had declared he 
was a member of a motorcycle gang fully as terrorizing as the Hell's Angels. 

"I've gone straight, or at least I'm trying to," he said, and snapped the 
denim jacket like a whip, cracking it against the hand that held the knife, 
giving him the instant he needed to lunge forward and shake it loose from 
Gail and lock his iron-hard arm about her soft throat. 

"Stupid broad," he easily said, choking the very life out of her. "You 
should know better than to pull a knife on me. Come on, now, show us your 
pretty butt, Mrs. Harrigan. Show Rita how nice she'll look with 'Property of 
Lucifer's Imps' tattooed on her cute little ass." 

Gail was almost unconscious and could put up only the feeblest of struggles 
as he turned her around, bent her double, and locked her head in his crooked 
arm. She was too late in grabbing for her bikini bottom as it was pulled 
down over her upturned rear, completely revealing her buttocks, and the 
shiny oval of scar tissue there. 

"Goddamn, she had it cut off! That was a helluva fucking thing to do. But 
she did have it, Rita, and you will too, soon." 

"No, man," said the girl. "I'm not about to have an ugly old scar like that 
if I ever decide to get it taken off." 

"It may look ugly, but it sure feels good," said Cotton, roaming his hand 
over the struggling Gail's bare bottom, digging in with the fingers that had 
once been able to trigger her to the tallest heights of keen delight. 

"It feels funny to me," said the girl, and now there were two hands fondling 
and caressing Gail's buttocks, defiling her privacy, making her feel more 
naked than ever she had when she'd been a topless dancer for beer-swilling 
oglers. She cried out and tried to bite Cotton's arm, she cursed and 
struggled and wept, and he and his new consort ignored all this and 
continued to put their dirty hands on her nude bottom as they conversed. 

"Rita Bonita, if you had an ass like this, I'd marry you and wait for your 
tits to grow." 

"It sure is white, and it sure is sweaty. Hey, her pussy's wet." 

"So it is, so it is. All she had to do was look at me and she got hot. You 
wanna help me make her cum? When she gets off, she really gets off. C'mon 
and finger her with me. Lookit the way she's shaking that ass of hers. I do 
believe she's cumming already. Kitchy-koo? Get on down there and lick it, 
Rita. Get you a taste of pussy, and make her cum a real good one." 

Gail was moving every bit as vigorously as she ever had during a sexual 
climax, but the fingers probing and delving at her vulva were not producing 
an orgasm. She hated their touch, and she resisted it with all of her will, 
hating herself as well for having had those errant thoughts which had 
produced the moistness of her puffy tissues. Fingers went on pushing and 
touching her private parts, violating her as badly as if she was being 
raped. She would go on resisting if Cotton had already depraved the girl to 
the point where she'd engage in cunnilingus. The stink of Cotton's body in 
her nostrils would help Gail in her resistance. 

But the teenage girl said, "I don't want to eat any pussy, Cotton, what I 
want is a shower. Okay?" 

"Sure, go on in, help yourself,, the house of anybody who used to ride with 
me is your house, baby. But first wheel my bike into Gail's garage, if 
there's room for it. We don't want the heat to come cruising by and pick up 
on the plate numbers. Go ahead, while me and Gail crack open a couple cans 
of beer." 

Rita went skipping out through the gate. Cotton Ronson turned Gail around as 
easily as if she was a child, took her head under his other arm. and led her 
toward the house. She was still being choked, and her shorts were down 
around her knees. With one hand she hauled futilely at his arm, with the 
other she vainly tried to grasp her shorts. She tripped over them, fell and 
skinned one knee, and he didn't slow down. The vertebrae in her neck were 
being stretched apart, and at last her survival instincts took over and made 
her cling to his torso and kick off the shorts to keep up with him. 

Up the steps, into the house he went, keeping up a good-natured chatter. "I 
s'pose you got some beer in the reefer for your old man. You wouldn't marry 
a teetotaler. What did you tell him about that scar on your ass? That you 
burned yourself there? I know good and goddamned well you didn't tell him 
you used to be a biker's Mamma. Where's the kitchen? Oh, yeah. What kind of 
beer do you two drink? Ahhh, Budweiser. You gonna have one with me, honey?" 

He let her go and she straightened up, rubbing her neck, panting. "Fuck 
you," she managed to say, and he gave her a swift, short punch in the belly 
that doubled her up gasping on the floor. Then he calmly reached within the 
open refrigerator and took out a can of beer, popped its top, and poured the 
contents over her head as she lay there writhing and gasping like a beached 
fish. 

He took out another can and flopped in a chair by the table to swill half of 
it down. She could see him through her hate-filled, tear-welling eyes as she 
fought against the pain for one deep breath of air. "Christ, it's hot," he 
said, and flipped open the metal buttons of his jeans to scratch in the 
red-brown fur there. "Why don't you get up and have a beer with me, kid? You 
know I don't like to drink alone, and it's a damned shame the way you went 
and spilled that first beer. Come on, live it up, enjoy the good life you 
and your old man work for." 

Gail crawled over the sticky wet floor to him, holding her belly. She caught 
his pantleg and pulled herself up to gasp, "Please, Cotton. Just go away. 
I've got about forty dollars. Take it and go." 

He grabbed her by the hair and brought her face close to his. He had no 
smile now as he said, "Forty bucks isn't enough to pay for four years in the 
joint. Twenty thou is, and I'm gonna get that in a couple of days, soon as a 
man comes to town who owes it to me. In the meantime, I stay here, with or 
without your old man's consent." 

"Just don't hurt him," she said. "Please!" 

He grinned, like a wolf. "I don't hurt my friends. And you and me used to be 
real good friends. Didn't we, baby?" he said, and pressed her head down in 
his red fur, patted and stroked her blonde tresses, while she sobbed against 
his hot, fetid loins. 

Come to me, come to me! she cried out to her husband. 

"We'll all get along just fine for a couple of days," he said. "One big 
happy family. Hey, what do you know, I'm gettin' a hard-on. How about a 
little blow-job before Rita gets out of the shower. Nobody cops a knob like 
you do. Come on, baby, suck me off. Your old man would never know. Suck my 
cock, Pale Gail, and then we'll talk about who's gonna sleep where." 

Come to me, Clancy, come to me! she silently called, and now her telepathed 
message was answered. The telephone rang, and she knew very well it was her 
man. 

Cotton gripped her hard by the hair and pulled her head back. "Nothing's 
wrong here when you answer that. Understand?" 

She nodded, and he roughly led her to the ringing phone on the kitchen wall. 
It was indeed Clancy, and it cost Gail an enormous amount of effort to speak 
normally to him, to tell him everything was fine, while Cotton Ronson stood 
behind her and rubbed his stiff penis against her bare bottom, toyed inside 
her halter with his hand, and kept the fingers of his other hand resting on 
her fragile windpipe. Clancy had only a few seconds to talk, and in that 
time he didn't detect the near panic in his wife's coolly delivered words. 
When he hung up, she slumped back against the body behind her, not caring at 
all that the knotted cloth between her breasts was being untied. 

"You did good, baby," the voice purred at her ear. "We'll keep out of sight 
when he gets here, and we'll be gone in a couple of days. If you tell him 
we're hiding in his garage, we tell him about what you used to be. Be good, 
be quiet, and in a couple of days you won't even know we've been here. 
Goddamn, you still got the tits, baby. I must have flogged my meat a 
thousand times thinking of this body of yours when I was in the joint. How 
about a little, hmm? You're all wet and hot for it, and your old man would 
never know. You know, I can just take it from you if I want to, but I'd 
rather you pitched in and helped. Remember how good it used to be? Up at the 
mountains, down at the beach, gettin' stoned and stayin' stoned, and fuckin' 
and suckin' like crazy. Lay down, baby. Let me taste you. Let me slip it to 
you." 

It had to be the emotional exhaustion, but Gail felt her body responding to 
his touch and his words. How easy, how sweet it would be to just sink to the 
floor, and there surrender all her worries to the pleasures of the flesh. 
She hadn't smoked any grass in years, but she felt half stoned now, not 
caring what happened to her, feeling the touch of his hands and the response 
of her body greatly magnified. 

She leaned her head back, mouth open, and felt the bristles of his beard in 
her throat as he kissed through her hair. His hands were remarkably adept in 
finding the most erogenous zones of her body, from her breasts to her belly 
to her thighs and loins. His erect penis fit with great exactitude in the 
shallow groove of her spine, and the soft sac below his, organ nestled 
beautifully in the groove between her buttocks. She felt somnolent and 
heavy. She felt that it was Clancy behind her, making all her fires glow 
before he took her off to their bed. But there was the smell of him to tell 
her it wasn't her husband, a goaty male gasoline smell that was working as a 
powerful aphrodisiac, drugging her, lulling her. 

The hands on her breasts were incredibly gentle and smooth in comparison 
with those which had choked her and punched her. The words at her ear were 
smooth too, evoking a dreamily nostalgic smile as she swayed against his 
body, as she arched back against his cock and balls. Her soft sigh was 
anything but a protest now as a hand slipped down over her belly and slid 
its finger into the creamy wet slit of her sex. She was just turning her 
head to meet his mouth with hers when a disdainful voice sounded from the 
doorway. 

"The minute my goddamned back is turned. Is all you care about is if a 
girl's got big tits? Well, mine are as big as hers now, and I bet I can move 
my ass a whole lot better than she can." 

Startled and highly chagrined, Gail saw the dark-haired girl standing 
hip-cocked in the kitchen doorway. She was wearing only black satin panties 
and bra, and the bra was miraculously well-filled. She exuded the fragrance 
of Gail's perfume and dusting powder as she stood there with a cigarette 
dangling from her lips, and the pungent aroma of its smoke could be smelled 
through the artificial flowery-lemon scent. 

Cotton went to her, took the cigarette from her lips, and dragged deeply on 
it. "Want a hit?" he croaked, and Gail shook her head and wrapped the halter 
around her bared breasts. 

Rita wanted another drag on the marijuana cigarette, and he gave it to her 
while he investigated the solidly packed brassiere. Now Gail recognized it 
as her own, as Cotton pulled an edge of nylon stocking from a cup. 

"You're cheating," he said, "but, goddamn, you look good. Let's fuck, baby. 
Let's break in our new crash pad with a nice, long fuck." 

She wrinkled her nose. "You don't smell good. Whyn't you take a shower while 
I have me a beer. She said it was okay to stay here?" 

"Sure she did. She's glad to have us. We just got to stay out of sight when 
her old man's here. You take a look at what it is they're building on top of 
the garage while I sluice myself off. We're gonna have a ball here. Gimme 
another hit." 

 CHAPTER FOUR 

"What did you have to pay for a place like this? How long you been married? 
How long did you ride with the Imps? Is it okay to go outside dressed like 
this? Haven't you got any neighbors at all during the day? Who takes care of 
the yard? I had a helluva time getting the bike in the garage; what's all 
that building shit you got in there? Is this an apartment being built up 
here? Does this phone work?" The girl kept up a stream of questions as Gail 
obediently showed her domain. She didn't seem to hear Gail's muttered 
answers; she was content to chatter away between deep drags of her pungent 
cigarette as she padded after Gail in her bare feet, in Gail's black 
panty-bra outfit. Gail wondered if she herself had been so brainless and 
giddy at that age, and decided that she had been. 

As they descended from the garage apartment, Cotton came out on the front 
porch of the house, trailing water, toweling himself off, still wearing his 
sunglasses. Rita jostled Gail aside and hurried to him. 

"That's a far-out little pad up there over the garage. It's got a phone that 
works and it's got cold water. Get Scar-Butt Gail to bring us our food, and 
we could stay there for a month." 

"Pale Gail is her name, and we're only gonna stay here a day or two. Got it? 
You're going to be a little lady and I'm going to be a little gentleman. 
Nobody's going to know we're here. Not her old man, not her neighbors, 
nobody. We'll make a couple of phone calls from up there, and when my bread 
comes through, we say bye-bye to Pale Gail and she'll never see us again. 
Understand? You're a good girl. Now you go through that side door of the 
garage and take our bedrolls upstairs. I'll be right with you." 

He watched her scamper off to do his bidding, and he turned his smile on 
Gail when she'd disappeared into the garage. "You sure do look good. You've 
still got it, baby, and I know it's going to waste on old Clancy Harrigan. 
Twenty thousand dollars is a lot of money. I could dump Rita Bonita and we 
could go on down to Mexico and live on a beach for a long time. You could go 
bare-ass all the time, just like you are now, but without that bandana 
hanging around your neck. It'd be a good life, Gail. That money would last 
us down in Mexico, and there's more where it came from." 

"It's a dope deal, isn't it? Just out of prison, and you're back to selling 
smack." 

"I swear on the graves of my dead road-brothers, I am not dealing heroin," 
he solemnly said. "But I am making money. You coming with me? Are you going 
to get out of this stupid vine-covered-cottage scam and live the really good 
life with me? Say the word and I'll get rid of Rita Bonita right now." 

"You could bury her in the back yard. I've got a little garden back there 
that's already dug up." 

The subject of their conversation came out of the garage then, arms laden 
with soiled sleeping bags. They both watched her go up the stairs before 
Cotton excitedly said, "I'll crack her neck and have her in the ground in an 
hour. You and me and the bread can be on the beach in Mexico in a week." 

He put his hand on her shoulder and she pushed it off. "I wouldn't walk 
across the street with you," she said, and started past him toward the 
house. 

He wheeled her about and said, low and even, "That's one I owe you, Pale 
Gail, and I always pay my debts, one way or another. Get out of my sight 
now. Rita's a better fuck than you are anyway." 

He flung down the towel. Gail picked it up and went inside. Twenty minutes 
in the house, and the pair had made a mess of it that would take an hour to 
straighten up. Gail put on her coveralls and went to work, gathering 
calmness about her in the familiarity of her household chores. Mop the 
kitchen floor, clean up the bathroom, pick up the strewn clothing, pull 
together an inward calm to match her outward calm, and think of what to do. 

Call the police and report them. But what had they done except invade her 
privacy? She could already hear Cotton's smooth, hurt explanation of how 
he'd dropped in on an old girl friend on his release from prison, how she'd 
gotten jealous of his new young thing and called the police out of spite. 
Calling the police would get them out of her house for a little while, but 
he'd be back, and when he returned, Clancy would know about her past, and 
their idyllic life together would be over. 

Confess it all to Clancy, and then do as he said. But what could he suggest, 
and how could he stand the confession? God, she'd done some terrible things 
with that creature with the outlaw motorcycle, things that she could hardly 
bear to think of herself. No, Clancy must never know of her past. Running 
off with Cotton would be better than telling her story to Clancy. 

She could run off with Cotton. Where would she be in a year? Dead, or 
selling her blonde body to the dark-skinned Mexicans that Cotton hustled for 
her. There might be some mindless, narcotic-induced joys before she snuffed, 
but her instincts for self-preservation just wouldn't let her go that route. 

She could do nothing-nothing but hope for the best. Cotton did have a code 
of honor, and if she went along with him and let him and his teenybopper 
secretly stay there for a few days, the chances were fairly good that Clancy 
would never know, and that in a few days this nightmarish intrusion would be 
nothing but a bad memory. Gail would be walking a tight-rope. It would be 
risky, but the risks involved with more positive action were far greater. 
The more she cooperated, however, the less the risks would become. She knew 
Cotton's temper. It could flare up in an instant. As long as she treated him 
and his friend as welcome, though secret, guests, the better were her 
chances to come out of this with her tranquil, happy marriage intact-and 
with her husband in one piece. She didn't like to think of what might happen 
to Clancy if Cotton exploded. 

Into the kitchen she went. Making up a plate of sandwiches was at least 
something to do. She took the sandwiches and two cans of beer out onto the 
porch, and almost dropped it all when she saw what her unwanted houseguests 
were doing. 

One of the bedrolls had been spread out on the dichondra. Rita was lying on 
her back on it. The stocking stuffing had come out of one of her bra cups 
and hosiery was strewn across her chest. One of her legs was out of the 
panties, and the little black garment hung loosely around her other thigh. 
She was smoking another marijuana cigarette, but the beatific look on her 
face came from more than, that, for Cotton Ronson was lying on his stomach 
between her outspread legs, with his face buried in her crotch. 

With shaking hands, Gail set the tray down on the porch and hurried to them, 
fighting her outrage. "You can't do that here! My God, what is somebody 
comes?" 

"Somebody's gonna cum pretty quick," said the girl, undulating and writhing 
like a black-and-tan snake under Cotton's loud kisses. "Baby, baby, you 
really know how to eat pussy." 

"Cotton, stop!" said Gail. "The mailman might come, or the paperboy, or ... 
or anybody!" 

"It's private property, ain't it?" he said, raising his face from the slim, 
immature loins, licking his lips and grinning up at Gail. "Get out of that 
monkey suit and I'll lick your cunt in a few minutes. I've had a tongue-hard 
for pussy for the past four years. I'll make you cum like your old man 
doesn't." 

"Cotton-n-n-n," the girl urgently said, and put her hand on the back of his 
head to return him to his task. 

Gail turned on her heel and went back into the house, quite ready to call 
the police, for now Cotton was committing a crime. He was sexually using a 
girl who was obviously a minor. The poor dumb thing, she had so little hair 
on her pubis that she looked closer to twelve than sixteen. There was more 
of her vaginal lubrication and Cotton's saliva on her plump, tan pube than 
there was hair. 

"Ohh-h-h-h. Oh, Jeee-e-e-zus, Cotton." Her moans and whimpers of 
marijuana-aided orgasm penetrated Gail's eardrums even when she covered her 
ears with her hands. Gail knew very well what an expert Cotton was at 
cunnilingus, and she had a very good idea of just how that teenaged girl was 
feeling at the moment. Between the marijuana and the nimble tongue and the 
sucking lips of Cotton Ronson, she was experiencing such huge joys of the 
flesh that she'd not even notice it when the police came, if the police 
came. They'd put the girl on probation, they'd put Cotton back in jail, and 
in another year or two, he'd be out, looking for Gail, looking for revenge. 
Let them do it, Gail decided. Cotton had enough sense to get out of the yard 
and into the apartment once he'd taken the first keen edge off his lust. 
"Cumming! Oh, again! Cotton, you're just wonderful! Baby, baby, make your 
Mamma cum just one more time, and then I'll ... Ooo-o-o-o. OH! 
Aa-a-a-a-ah-h-h-h...." 

Gail stalked into the bathroom, stripped off her coveralls, and got into the 
shower. She was still grass-stained and sweaty, and she soaped herself 
vigorously, trying not to think of what was going on in her front yard. That 
was hard to do. There was a girl out there who was so young she hadn't yet 
grown a full set of breasts, hadn't more than a fringe of black on her 
crotch, and she was getting stoned and letting a man stick his tongue in her 
pussy. Gail was familiar with that tongue. It had been in her own pussy 
countless times, stabbing inside her vagina, whipping her clitoris to an 
ever higher degree of turgid excitement. By now the girl was probably 
sucking him off as well. Dear Heavens, what would she ever say to Clancy if 
he came home now to find a pair of strangers going sixty-nine in his front 
yard? 

They're selling sleeping bags door-to-door, and demonstrating how a bedroll 
can be used for something other than sleeping. 

I have no idea who they are, dear. But they do look as if they're enjoying 
themselves, so I've just been doing my gardening work around them. 

What people? I don't see any girl with a big, hard cock down her throat, and 
I certainly don't see a man licking out her little pussy. Clancy, you're 
imagining things. Let's go inside. 

Gail began to giggle in the shower. For a few giddy moments her troubles 
were too ridiculous to be real, but then she sobered so quickly that she was 
close to tears. 

Her problems were only too real. She had to hold her temper, hold in her 
feelings, and indulge Cotton and Rita to the limit. She had to reason with 
them rather than rage at them. She had to treat Cotton as if he was a 
hair-triggered bomb, until such a time as she could ease him out of her 
house and out of her life. 

She put on her coveralls and a smile and went outside again, taking their 
neatly folded clothes with her. They were lounging side by side on the 
sleeping bag, sharing another marijuana cigarette. Wetness glistened in the 
sun on the girl's pubis, and Cotton's penis was at least partially flaccid, 
curled over his thigh and pointing its single, sightless eye directly at 
Gail. 

"If you two kids are through putting on a show for the police helicopter 
that comes by every afternoon, I've got sandwiches and beer over here on the 
porch," she said. 

Cotton raised a middle finger toward the sky and said, "Fuck the flying 
cops. And hold the sandwiches, we're still working up an appetite. Get me 
hard, Rita Bonita, get it up for me. You can do it a whole lot better than 
she ever could." 

The girl sat up and hitched up her padded bra, stuck her tongue out at Gail, 
and lowered her head over Cotton's bare loins. Cotton leaned back with his 
hands folded under his head, grinning broadly, as the girl took his penis in 
hand and began to lick it. "This is the life," he said. "Hey, Gail, you want 
to come over here and sit on my face?" 

Gail laughed and gave him the finger, picked up a sandwich and took a bite 
from it. The girl named Rita was slurping her mouth loudly and vigorously 
over Cotton's rising penis, but Gail's mouth was so dry she could barely 
chew the sandwich. She felt her stomach rebelling, too, and she picked up a 
cold can of beer, flipped its top, and drank from it. She grinned and 
smacked her lips as if it was ambrosia, hoping to tempt Cotton away from his 
front-yard sex show before someone chanced by. Of, course it didn't work. 
How could a cold can of beer compete with a hot and hungry mouth like the 
one sliding up and down the long length of his rigid organ? 

Gail continued to smile, continued to sip, just as if this sort of thing was 
quite commonplace to her. Her mouth was no longer dry. She was salivating 
freely, unable to stop from recalling just what it was like to have a hard 
penis sliding into her mouth, between her clasping lips, over her swirling 
tongue, and filling her constricting throat. It had been a long time since 
she'd watched people having sex together, and it was now making her nervous. 
She fidgetted her bottom on the top step of the porch, and hoped Cotton 
wasn't noticing her growing unease. She casually scratched at a little itch 
in her groin, then leaned back and gazed up at the acacia tree. Her hand 
struck Cotton's Levi's jacket. In its pocket were matches and a pack of 
cigarettes. She pulled them out and rummaged through the marijuana joints 
until she found a tobacco cigarette, lit it up and filled her lungs with 
smoke, knowing that the nicotine would calm her down. 

It didn't. She'd quit the habit three years before, and now the smoke was 
affecting her as a joint would, making her feel dizzy, making her feel high, 
drying out her mouth. She had another swallow of beer and went on smoking, 
knowing that at any moment the nicotine would have the desired calming 
effect on her. 

It tasted terrific, and it felt even better. She was exhilarated by it and 
at the same time she felt herself relaxing. With the return of her outward 
calm, she could watch the couple in her front yard with nonchalance, and she 
could smile and shake her head when Cotton beckoned to her with his tongue. 
She could even make a little joke with him by pointing at Rita and then 
turning down her thumb, as if to say the girl was a pretty poor cocksucker. 

"Come on over and give her a lesson, Pale Gail," said Cotton from the depths 
of his enjoyment. Gail shook her head and took another drag on the 
cigarette. 

"Come on and tell her how," Cotton persisted, "or we're liable to be here 
all afternoon. And bring me a beer." 

The young blonde housewife finished her beer and stabbed out the cigarette 
on the porch step. She carried the other can over and knelt beside them to 
open it for the languidly reclining renegade motorcyclist. Rita was curled 
up at his side, arm thrown over his stomach, busily fellating him behind the 
thick black veil of her hair. 

"Remember, honey," said Gail, "to suck as well as lick. It's not a 
lollipop." 

Rita brushed back her hair and glared up at Gail with malevolent eyes, 
cheeks sunken in, hard flesh deep inside her lipstick-smeared mouth. Gail 
winked at her and started to rise, but Cotton closed his fist on a gathering 
of her coveralls and held her where she was. 

"Stick around," he said. "You'll have a grandstand view of one of the 
greatest fuckers in the world at work. 

She feigned a yawn and said, "It's time for my nap." 

"Stick around," he repeated, and now it was a gathering of her flesh that he 
took in his fist. 

She shrugged and settled back with her haunches on her heels. His hand 
relaxed and patted the pinched flesh of the underside of her bottom. He 
said, "Thatta girl. And just so you can be part of the show, I'm gonna let 
you put my prick in her for me. You remember how that's done?" 

Matching his cool with hers wasn't easy, but she managed to laugh before she 
said, "I'm a married woman. We're taught to know something about insertions, 
and I think it's time your little friend learned it for herself." 

"No!" said Rita, lifting her head and wiping her puffed red lips. "I want 
her to put it in me. I want her to see your prick go right up inside me. I 
want her to open me up for it, and I want her to see just how good it makes 
me feel to have you love me, Cotton." 

"Go ahead, Gail," he said. "Do it. It'll show your heart's in the right 
place; it'll show us you're really gonna be our buddy for a couple of 
days-and we'll be your quiet buddies." 

Gail threw back her head and laughed, and looked heavenward for help that 
wouldn't come before she carried out this odious task. She'd done it before 
at motorcycle gatherings, she'd imposed the job on other girls, but that was 
so long ago that she wasn't even the same person. 

Cotton's penis was the same. Hard and long and slender, wet from a girl's 
kisses, Gail was able to delicately grasp its base between thumb and two 
fingers as the smirking Rita came forward with her knees astride Cotton's 
nude loins. 

"Don't be afraid of a little cock, grab it," said Cotton, and closed Gail's 
hand around his well-prepared organ. It was hard and gristly, more like a 
piece of wood than a piece of flesh and blood, and Gail tried to think of it 
as an inanimate thing as with her other hand she reached to part the soft, 
lightly furred bulge of tan flesh that held the crack of Rita's sex. 

She too was well-prepared. The pink within the tan was agleam with moisture, 
and the parts of her sex were quite reddened and engorged with the girl's 
heated blood. Man and girl kept badgering Gail as she brought the pinkest 
portions of their two bodies together. She was able to ignore the stoned-out 
chatter of the giggling girl, almost able to ignore Cotton's grosser 
comments, but it was impossible to ignore the hand that was roving her 
bottom and smoothing its fingers over the length of sensitive flesh that 
bulged under the crotch of her coveralls. 

Her own slit was moist, and she couldn't help that. She could turn her brain 
off to the task she was doing, but the responses of her body were still 
functioning. She had a soft, warm vulva in one hand and a hard, hot penis in 
the other, and as she joined the two organs, primitive triggers were being 
set off in her body. Her nipples were hard and her vagina was getting 
wetter. Though her thighs were clenched together against the explorations of 
Cotton's roving hand, her crotch felt very open and inviting. Her vagina 
wanted that hard penis that she held in her hand, though her brain was 
completely repelled by the thought of it. 

"Come on, Pale Gail, get it good and wet before you slip it in," Cotton was 
telling her. 

"Yeah, but hurry," said the girl, squirming about on her knees, all spiteful 
teasing forgotten, her hand grasping convulsively at Gail's shoulder. 

Gail pushed the thing in her left hand down, and she felt the quaking in the 
girl's body as it found its mark. The glans of Cotton's penis was right at 
the portals of Rita's vagina when Gail heard the thin, tell-tale squeal just 
on the other side of the hedge. 

"It's the paperboy! Quick! Get out of sight!" 

Rita let out a yawp and went scrambling, then running for the garage 
apartment stairs, with Cotton right behind her. Again Gail had the impulse 
to laugh as the panicked, raven-haired girl went flying up the stairs, 
bare-bottomed, streaming stockings out of her brassiere, with Cotton and his 
hard, bobbing manhood in close, fast pursuit. The apartment door slammed 
shut behind him, and Gail turned to face a newspaper boy in her gateway 
whose eyes were open nearly as wide as his mouth. 

 CHAPTER FIVE 

"Who the heck was that?!?" 

"Never mind, Tommy," Gail answered. "They're friends of ours. Nudists. Just 
toss me the paper and be on your way." 

He shuffled forward as she rose. He was still gaping up at the apartment 
door, with the afternoon paper dangling from his hand. 

"But the guy had a ... He was ... And the girl was wearing a brassiere, and 
nudists don't do that!" 

"Just give me the paper and go, Tommy," said Gail, as sternly as she could. 

He looked at her and grinned. He was tousle-haired and sweaty, bare-footed 
and wearing a T-shirt and cut-off jeans, freckle-faced and tanned. He looked 
like a modern day Huck Finn, but his grin was considerably more adult as he 
gazed boldly up and down the length of his customer's body. "Those people up 
there were doing it, weren't they," he said. "Right here in your front 
yard!" 

"I don't know what you're talking about," said Gail, and snatched the paper 
from his hand and headed for her porch, with the coveralls binding in her 
crotch at every step. The one-piece garment's zipper tab had slipped down 
nearly to her waist, undoubtedly a major reason for Tommy Simmons' staring. 
She paused to yank at it and broke a fingernail, pulled at it again and it 
came off. Trembling with frustrated rage, she threw down the newspaper and 
snatched up Cotton's cigarette pack and promptly spilled its contents on the 
steps of her house. She was on her hands and knees, frantically gathering up 
the cigarettes and the joints, when Tommy's bare feet hove into view beside 
her. 

He asked, "Is that pretty good stuff?" 

"I don't know what you're talking about," she snapped. She reached for the 
cigarette and the two joints just behind his feet and said, "No. They're 
harmful to your health. It says so right on the package.' 

"I sorta like 'em. You got a light?" 

She looked up along his sun-tanned legs with their sun-bleached hair, past 
the bulge in his cut-offs, beyond his hairless chest, to his grinning face. 
A roach was jauntily stuck in that grin, the butt-end of a marijuana 
cigarette that still bore the lipstick mark of Rita Bonita. Looking down 
again, at that bulge in his shorts, Gail sighed and admitted to herself that 
her paperboy wasn't a boy at all. 

He repeated his question just as insolently. Gail sat down on the first step 
of her porch, lit up one of Cotton's Winstons, and tossed Tommy the book of 
matches. Elbows on her knees, she inhaled deeply and stared at the ground 
between her feet. She sat there unmoving as she heard a great inhalation of 
air, a long pause, and a sighing exhalation. 

"That's pretty good stuff. Did those nudist people bring it? Were they 
really screwing out there?" he asked, before another huge inhalation was 
heard. 

Gail slowly shook her head, and the tears began to flow. Her shoulders 
barely quivered with her soft sobs, but tears flowed down her cheeks and she 
hung her head even lower to hide her despair behind her golden hair. 

"You want a hit?" he croaked. 

She shook her head harder. "N-no." 

"Hey, what's the matter?" ,he said, and came around in front of her, and 
bent down. "Aw, you're crying. There's nothing to cry about. My Mom cried 
when she found out I smoke a little grass, but now she understands. It's 
nothing to worry about. Gee, Mrs. Harrigan, I hate to see you crying." 

"It's all right," she blubbered. "Just go away." 

"I can't leave you like this," he said, and sat down cross-legged on the 
walk in front of her. He patted her knee reassuringly. He took another hit 
on the tiny roach, threw it away, and pressed his cheek to her knee, patting 
her there, rocking back and forth with her sobs. She covered her face with 
her hands and all but broke down completely in her weeping, and he stayed 
right there with her, murmuring soothing sounds now. In due course, Gail's 
tears stopped. She was weakly drying her cheeks with her hands when he 
whipped out a handkerchief, leaned forward, and dabbed at her cheeks. 

"You're a good boy, Tommy," she said, and hugged him hard around the neck. 
She sighed and said, "I suppose lots of boys your age smoke marijuana now 
and then, but it was such a shock to me. Let me go now, Tommy. Tommy, let me 
go. Now listen, dear," she said when he'd reluctantly sat down again. It was 
difficult to talk to him, not only because of her sudden flood of tears, but 
also because of the little edge of pink flesh now protruding over the 
buttoned fly of his faded, shortened jeans. " ... now listen, Tommy, those 
people are old friends of my husband's. They got here unexpectedly. I didn't 
know they were nudists or that they smoked grass. I'm going to ask them to 
leave right away. And I'm trusting you not to say a word about them or their 
marijuana to anyone at all. Okay?" 

She smiled brightly, hopefully, and he squirmed about and rubbed hard at the 
long bulge in his shorts. 

"Okay?" she asked again. 

He shook his head, grinning devilishly, and his hand crept out to touch 
Gail's bare toes. 

She snatched her foot away, and said, "What is it you want? Here. Take the 
rest of these joints. I don't want them around anyway. That should satisfy 
you; now go." 

He took out a joint and lit it up, dragged deeply, and held it out to her. 
"No!" she said, and he held up one finger, pleading with his eyes for her to 
join him in just one hit. 

She clucked and took a drag. She knew it wouldn't affect her when she was 
this upset. It tasted even better than the cigarette had, and she felt a 
sense of great relief as she exhaled and handed it back to him. They sat 
there passing it back and forth then until it was gone. The sun's warmth 
felt good now. Even the perspiration spreading out from under the armpits 
of-her coveralls and trickling down between her breasts felt good. It didn't 
feel so good to have the boy so obviously lusting for her with his gaze. It 
was flattering, but it made her uncomfortable enough to light up another 
Winston. 

She shook out the match and said, "Better split now, Tom." 

His face was very red. It got redder as he rapidly said, "Not till you show 
me your tits. Not till you let me feel of 'em, and ... and finger-fuck you, 
and screw you!" 

He was ready to throw herself at him when she blew a thick cloud of tobacco 
smoke in his face. With admirable serenity, she looked down at the bare, 
sweaty valley between her breasts, down at the tightly covered bulge of her 
pussy, where the cloth was wet with something other than perspiration. She 
looked into his eagerly anguished eyes and snorted a derisive chuckle. She 
said, "I'll go along with your stupid little game, kid, at least a part of 
it. I show you my tits, you split. I give you a good long look at these 
gorgeous big jugs of mine and then you cut out, you get your ass off my 
property and don't come back unless you want me to take that hunting knife 
over there and cut your fucking balls off. Right?" 

He looked very startled. He looked at the hunting knife lying in the flower 
bed, wiped the sweat off his brow, and turned back to look at Gail's 
bustline. He breathed deeply and said, "Okay. Show 'em to me and I'll go." 

Pale Gail was feeling very good. Hundreds of men had paid a buck a glass for 
beer to look at her tits, and here was a little boy who was being threatened 
with castration and still wanted to see them, even though they were 
compressed almost flat by the tight old coverall suit. She slowly 
straightened up and began moving her spine in a snake-like fashion, toying 
with the zipper tab, giving the kid a real show. She found that the tab 
would go down, but not up, and as she teased it lower she again extracted 
the promise that the nearly dumb-struck boy would leave as soon as he saw 
her breasts. 

She was feeling better all the time, almost hearing the bass-beating 
juke-box music of the beer joints she'd worked in as she peeled back the 
collar of the suit to expose and then sensuously caress one perfectly round 
white shoulder. She purred out a little false moan of pleasure as she 
reached within the widely splayed zipper and squeezed her left breast, then 
brushed the fingers of her right hand over her lips before hooking them 
inside her right collar. The boy was goggling more than when she'd first 
seen him at the gate that afternoon, and Pale Gail felt just terrific, in 
complete command of ft the situation. 

Smiling with pursed lips, looking at him through her lashes, she swayed her 
torso from side to side as she daintily peeled down her costume. He wasn't 
looking at her smile, however; he was raptly gazing at her chest, at the 
first emergence of a pair of pink circles, at the standing nipples as they 
came into view, and at the full white globes of the undersides of Pale 
Gail's luscious big tits which so perfectly matched those creamy upper 
slopes. 

"What a set of tits!" he murmured, awed, and she gave them a little shake 
for him, and she slipped her hands out of the sleeves of her costume and 
lifted the twin, pink-capped moons to mold them into even more erotic shapes 
for his hungry delectation. His hands were clutching spasmodically at his 
bare knees and the pink showing over his waistband was now quite wet. Pale 
Gail was just about to give him a real treat and lift one of the big globes 
to swirl her tongue around its nipple when the chopping drone of the police 
helicopter shattered the afternoon air. 

Gail performed some sort of a backward somersault in getting under the 
protection of the porch, and Tommy Simmons was right on top of her when she 
landed. His ink-stained hands were clutching all over her bare breasts, 
making the most of things in Gail's momentary panic. She rolled about on the 
wood floor with ,him, panting and sweating and trying to lift her knee into 
his groin; he rolled with her, mauling her breasts, whining in his frenzy, 
and humping his hot little hardness against her thigh. He was everywhere at 
once on her, and so strong in his blind lust to rut that she couldn't 
physically fight him off. 

"The phone!" she gasped. "The phone's ringing! Goddamn it, you little 
bastard, let go of me and let me answer the phone! It's probably the cops!" 

He relaxed his hold on her and she scrambled to her feet, but he was right 
after her. As she stood panting at the wall phone, trying to catch her 
breath, he rubbed his bulging pantsfront against her buttocks, slobbered 
kisses on her bare back, and tried with some success to reach her breasts. 
She kept slapping at his hands and kicking back at his shins while the phone 
kept ringing. At last she hissed at him to keep still or she'd kill him, and 
then she very sweetly answered the telephone. 

It was Clancy, her husband, but now she had little time for him because the 
boy was again pawing and kissing her and rubbing himself against her bottom. 
One hand was squeezing her breasts quite hard, the other was plunging down 
inside her opened coveralls, and not even a jab of her elbow in his stomach 
slowed him down. 

"Yes, Clancy ... What?" she said, wishing now that she'd let the phone ring. 
"Everything's fine. I'm just a little out of breath. I was ... I was just 
coming down the stairs from painting the apartment when you called and I'm a 
little out of breath ... Good ... Working at the naval base tomorrow? Good 
... Yes, I love you too ... I'll see you soon, dear. Good-bye ... What?" 

The boy behind her was rubbing even harder against her, and hugging her so 
tightly she could hardly talk. The whimpering noises he was making turned to 
urgent moans, and Gail's hair stood on end when she felt the trembling 
spasms ripping through his body. 

"Someone's at the door, dear. I'll see you when you get home. Good-bye." 

She slammed down the phone and twisted about in the boy's slackening arms. 
His eyes were heavy now and his grin was vacuous, until she pushed him a 
step back from her and slapped him hard across the face. 

"Get out of here and don't come back," she said in a voice that was dripping 
with venom. "Go! Leave! Now!" 

He turned and went running, staggering out the front door. Gail stood with 
clenched fists and counted to one hundred before she put her arms through 
the sleeves of the coveralls and hauled it up into place. She stalked out 
and gathered up the sandwiches, the clothing, the cigarettes, the beer cans, 
and dumped them in the middle of the sleeping bag. She made a bundle of this 
and carried it up the stairs and into the apartment. Cotton and his little 
brunette were lying comfortably back against the wall of the living room, 
smoking dope, using the lid of a paint can for an ash tray. 

Gail dumped the bundle at their feet and said, "As usual, Cotton Ronson, 
you've gotten me in trouble, this time with my goddamned newspaper boy!" 

Rita giggled and said, "We know. We saw him through the bathroom window. 
He's cute." 

Gail ignored her. "You can stay here till tomorrow afternoon, and then out 
you go. You can use the water, the crapper, and you can sleep on the 
goddamned floor. I'll bring you food when I think of it, but don't come down 
until you're ready to go tomorrow. And no lights up here tonight. Do you 
understand? I don't want any more trouble. I can't handle trouble anymore. 
I'm going to pretend you're not here. I'm going to pretend there's a stray 
coyote who comes to the top of the stairs for the food I leave there, and I 
don't want to see either of you again till you're on that damned hog down in 
the garage and riding the hell out of here!" 

"Gee, what happened with the kid?" Cotton asked. 

"He came on me, that's what happened! He ... he ... " Gail began to 
splutter, for she saw now that Cotton was giggling at her from behind his 
sunglasses, and Rita was doing so openly. "Out by tomorrow or I call the 
police and tell my husband!" she snapped, and went raging out and down the 
stairs. 

A hot and cold shower failed to calm her down. She put on a housedress and 
went through the entire house looking for evidences of her unwanted visitors 
that she might have missed. She found no signs they'd left behind, but she 
did find a package of cigarettes and sat down with them and a can of beer at 
the kitchen table to gather herself together. It took four of the former and 
two of the latter before she was relaxing, before she was able to convince 
herself that she could successfully secrete her former lover and his current 
girl friend for another day. Tommy Simmons she could handle with further 
threats, but there were no threats dire enough to frighten Cotton Ronson 
away. If he had some speed with him, if he smoked the right amount of grass 
in the playfully wrong mood, he could come down the stairs at any time and 
make a shambles of her house, her marriage, and even her husband. 

But, no. She mustn't think that way. Think positive, think confident, even 
pray a little, and she'd" get out of this all right. She'd been in worse 
scrapes before. Perhaps never in a jam where the stakes were so high, but in 
lots worse trouble. Be cool, trust in luck, don't think about it, and it 
would all pass. 

Gail felt considerably better until Clancy got home. He looked marvelous to 
her-medium height, medium build, not handsome, not ugly, just a good solid 
ordinary man, and one who loved her very much. But the very first thing he 
said on entering was that he was hungry and wanted an early dinner, a chore 
to which Gail hadn't been able to give a single thought all day. The freezer 
had only peas and carrots in it, the refrigerator was nearly bare, and Gail 
said she'd go to the store. He said canned beans would be a gourmet meal, 
and he grumbled his way to his favorite chair, beer and paper in hand. Gail 
fixed him gourmet beans-right out of the can-and didn't eat a bite herself, 
inwardly fuming at his callous disregard for the unbelievably bad day she'd 
gone through. 

Of course it wasn't his fault. She saw that when they were looking at 
television together, when they were laughing together at a line that was 
funny to no one but them. She snuggled close to them then and he put his arm 
about her and everything was fine. He took her in his arms and kissed her, 
until she stiffened at distinctly hearing Cotton Ronson's staccato laughter. 

"What's the matter, honey? Something bite you?" 

"No, I ... thought I heard a dog bark." 

"They're allowed to do that. Have a hard day?" 

"Just terrible, that's all. No, it was all right. I had a good day." 

"You don't act like you did. Tell me about it. What happened?" 

"Just an ordinary day. Oh, I had a little trouble with the newspaper boy. I 
think I'll cancel the paper for a while. It'll do me good to walk to the 
store for it every afternoon." 

"Want to tell me about it?" 

"No. Know what I want? I want to go to bed, with you, right now. Make a 
little love? Okay?" 

"How about a lot of love?" 

"Mmmm. That's just what I need." 

They were undressing when he said, "I sure hope I don't have to stay over at 
the naval base tomorrow night." 

It stopped Gail cold. "What? You think you might have to?" 

"Good possibility. Like I told you on the phone. You didn't hear me then?" 

"Well ... that was when I was having that trouble with To ... with the 
newspaper boy. There's a good chance you won't be home tomorrow night?" 

He took her dress from her hand and tossed it onto a chair. He took her in 
his arms and said, "If you really want me here tomorrow night, I'll drive 
back no matter what. Honey, what's bothering you?" 

"Nothing. It's just that time of the month," she said and laughed. "I'm just 
being silly. I can get along perfectly well without you for one night, Mr. 
Handsome Harrigan. I have before and I will again. I know how important a 
man's job is to him." 

"You sure? You want to talk about it some more?" 

"No. I want to go to bed where you can love me right." 

He did love her right. He made every move she liked, he held her long enough 
and hard enough and tender enough. He built up toward a climax with great, 
natural grace, but while all of his moves were natural and easy, all of 
Gail's were forced and thought out. He reached a climax that was obviously 
very satisfying to him. It was helped along by Gail's equally obvious 
response, but for the first time in their married life, Gail's climax was 
entirely false. She gasped and moaned and moved with convincing skill, but 
there was no way she could reach an orgasm with the imprint of Tommy 
Simmons' semen still burning on her back, and with the stabbing laughter of 
Cotton Ronson ringing in her ears. 

 CHAPTER SIX 

Gail hardly slept at all until it was close to dawn, and then her sleep was 
troubled. She dreamed of hellishly beautiful, psychedelic landscapes 
shooting past her as she lay strapped to an operating table with incredibly 
filthy doctors and nurses cackling over her as they prepared her for 
sterilization. When their leather-gloved hands finally touched her she broke 
the straps and pushed violently away, only to awake beside her indignant 
husband. 

"What's the matter? Have I got leprosy?" 

"I'm sorry, Clancy. I was having a bad dream." 

"Bad is right. You were cursing like a stevedore. I never knew you knew such 
language. And then when I tried to comfort you, you went at me like you were 
a tiger, and not a very lady-like tiger at that. But the language. Wow! What 
kind of day-time TV serials do you look at to learn words like that?" 

"I'm sorry," she said, groggily trying to snuggle up to him, to try to 
return to sleep in his arms. "Everybody knows those words. It's just that 
they came out while I was asleep." 

"The way you were running them together sounded like you practice up using 
them during the day." 

"I told you I was sorry! I can't help what I say in my sleep," she said, and 
rolled away from him, got out of bed and staggered toward the kitchen to 
start his coffee. 

Tasha was rubbing against her foot, and she kicked the cat away and went 
into the bathroom. She almost fell asleep on the toilet, and a splashing of 
cold water from the sink didn't do much toward getting the sandpaper out of 
her puffy eyes. It did bring her wider awake. She was in for another bad 
day. If it was as bad as it could get, she wouldn't see the end of it. The 
possibilities were good that Cotton would leave her with the momentos of 
black eyes and a broken nose before he left that afternoon. The man she 
loved might never again see the pretty face he'd married, and she couldn't 
leave him that morning with anything but good memories. 

Quickly, she took a shower, dried and powdered herself, and returned to 
their bedroom with a smile on her face. Clancy was already up, already 
half-dressed, and Gail went to him and slinked her arms about his neck, 
laced her fingers there, and softly pressed herself against him. 

"Could I talk you into going back to bed, mister?" 

He laughed and swatted her on the big roundness of her bottom. "How much 
will it cost me?" 

"Oh, a nickel? But with a handsome John like you, I could be talked down." 

He kissed her forehead. He grinned and said, "A stevedore when she's asleep, 
a hooker when she's awake-what the heck did I marry up with?" 

"I'm sorry I cussed when I was asleep, I'm sorry you think of me as a whore. 
I was just wanting a little loving," she said as she turned away. 

"Honey, I was just kidding you. I don't have time to go back to bed. It's a 
long drive to the base and from what I've been told it's a nasty little 
problem they've got up there. I won't even have time for breakfast, let 
alone a roll in the hay." 

She was just turning back to apologize to him and make things as right as 
she could when the alarm went off and he turned from her to stop it. She 
said, "You woke up without the alarm? You're sure eager to get out of here 
this morning." 

"I'm just eager to get back. Why don't you go back to bed and sleep till 
noon? You've been working too hard." 

"Why don't you come back with me?" She sat down on the bed. He was still 
standing by the nightstand. She nuzzled her face against the front of his 
trousers and said, "Ten minutes? Can't you even spare me ten minutes?" 

He gently took her hands from his hips. He pushed her down in bed, covered 
her up, kissed her, and said, "I'll see you tonight. I'll do everything I 
possibly can to be home on time, but don't count on it. Get some more sleep. 
I'll grab a donut on the way out of town. 'Bye, dear." 

She watched him go. She turned on her side and settled into the warm hollow 
that his body had made. She felt enormously contrite for every bad thing 
she'd ever done in her life, but she was asleep before her first tear 
touched the pillow. 

Gail's sleep was deep and dreamless. She came very slowly awake to a 
tickling about her nose and lips, but she was unable to move either of her 
hands to brush away the pesky, tittering fly that was buzzing there. 
Frowning, shaking her sleep-stuffed head, she opened her eyes to see a pair 
of pursed red feminine lips blowing at her nose from three inches away. 

"Goddamn you!" she said, and raised her head sharply to give a satisfyingly 
hard bump with her forehead against the nose of Rita Bonita. 

Gail struggled and twisted in her bed. Rita was on her left in the Harrigan 
marital bed, naked. Cotton was on her right, naked save for his reflective 
sunglasses. The bedclothes had been drawn down and there was a clothesline 
around Gail's right ankle that ran down over the mattress and disappeared 
over that corner of the bed. Another piece of her clothesline went from her 
left wrist to the headboard. These two ropes held Gail diagonally across the 
bed, and the weight of Cotton's body had her right arm pinned to the 
mattress. Only her left leg was free. The way Cotton was lying on her arm, 
she couldn't even claw at his bare back as she vigorously thrashed and 
writhed and cursed, while Rita gingerly felt of her bruised nose and while 
Cotton freely felt of Gail's nude body. 

"You bastard! You motherfucker!" she cried. "You promised you'd leave me 
alone! Let me go, you sonofabitch! My husband's going to be coming back any 
minute!" 

"Tut-tut-tut. Don't fib," said Cotton, moving his hand in lazy gropings over 
her churning body. "He hasn't even gotten up to the naval base yet." 

That stopped Gail's thrashings for a moment, but they started up again when 
Cotton bent to place his pursed lips on her right nipple. "You listened in 
on the extension yesterday! You filthy, filthy bastard, isn't there anything 
you won't do?" 

"Baby, I'm just tryin' to get along and have myself a good time while I'm 
doing it. I'm not gonna hurt you. I'm gonna make you feel good." 

His hand went down to her fur, fingers moving in slow circles on the curly 
bush. He was touching the hair, not the flesh, and Gail lay perfectly still, 
staring at the ceiling. She couldn't get away from them, and she wouldn't 
give them the pleasure of seeing her impotently struggling. His fingers 
brushing her fur were only a tickle which she could easily stand. Harder to 
stand were her thoughts of what was yet to come. 

"Now, that's a real pair of tits," said Cotton. 

"Okay, so they're big," Rita sniffed. "I saw 'em yesterday when she was 
showin' herself off to that kid." 

"Well, don't just look at 'em. Feel 'em." 

Rita snorted her disgust, but then a malevolent light dawned in her eyes and 
she reached out with her little tan hand and closed its fingers over Gail's 
right breast-hard. Gail didn't flinch, but her body tensed and Cotton felt 
it. He knocked the girl's hand away and gave her a short, fast slap across 
the face. 

"Didn't you hear me say we weren't going to hurt my old buddy? We're out for 
a good time, that's all. Now kiss her and make it well." 

"On her tit? Me?" 

He raised his hand as if to slap her again, and the girl leaned forward to 
primly place her lips against the nipple she'd pinched. She would have 
pulled back from the feather-light kiss at once, but Cotton held her head 
there and pressed her face harder against the cushiony softness under it. 
Gail went on staring at the ceiling, ignoring the workings of the unwilling 
mouth on her sensitive nipple. The dark-haired girl looked up at Cotton in 
question, and he smiled and patted her head. She went on kissing and sucking 
Gail's nipple when Cotton returned his hand to its roving at the helpless 
blonde's loins. 

"We're not going to be able to get out of here today, Pale Gail," he said. 
"I talked to the man last night and he hasn't got all the bread up yet. You 
don't mind if we stay a little longer, do you? We'll show you a good time 
while we're here, though. We'll even turn you on to some pretty good stuff." 

"I don't smoke grass anymore. Yesterday was just a fluke," she tonelessly 
told him, twisting her wrist against the rope, finding the knot secure. 

"There's lots more things than grass. Right, Rita?" 

"Mm-hmm!" said the girl, far too intimidated by him to stop her increasingly 
loud smackings over Gail's left breast. 

"I don't use anything anymore," said Gail. "And I can't let you stay here 
any longer. Let me up, Cotton. Let's talk about this reasonably. Maybe we 
can work something out, but not this way." 

"Your pussy's so nice and soft and warm. Sure like to give it a work-out, 
but I respect you being a married woman now." 

"Respect. What do you know about respect? Cotton, have her stop that. It's 
making me sick to my stomach." 

"She seems to be enjoying herself. Are you, Rita?" 

The girl shrugged a thin shoulder and went on sucking. Gail knew she 
wouldn't stop until she got the command from her master, but she didn't know 
how much longer she could stand the increasingly sensuous feeling of the 
small, wet mouth working over her areola and nipple. That, coupled with the 
ever more intimate movements of Cotton's knowledgeable fingers, was making 
her feel warmly nervous, and she was finding it hard to talk with cool 
reason to the overaged juvenile delinquent at her side. The prodding of his 
hard, blunt penis against her thigh didn't help things at all. 

"Why stay here, Cotton? There must be plenty of places where you'd be more 
welcome. My husband's liable to go up to look at the apartment any time. The 
only reason he didn't go up there last night was because he'd had a hard day 
at work. I know he'll go up there tonight, no matter how tired he is." 

"If he comes home at all. I heard him say he probably wouldn't get back. 
Hey, you're gettin' a little juiced-up. That's nice." 

"I'm not! Damn it, take your hands off me. And make her quit! I'm not a 
goddamn mother sow, even if she is a suckling pig!" 

Rita nipped Gail's nipple with her teeth, and Cotton laughed and laughed as 
the leggy blonde tried furiously again to wrench herself free of the bonds 
of rope and flesh that held her. She stopped her futile efforts in moments 
and lay there panting through tightly clenched teeth, dredging up feelings 
of hatred to displace the feelings of heavy warmth that had been creeping in 
on her. 

"So it'll be safe to stay here if he calls back and tells you he's got to 
stay over at that naval base. We'll wait for his call. We got plenty of 
time. And in the meantime, we'll have ourselves that good time. If he comes 
home unexpected-like, too bad for old Clancy. Rita Bonita, hand me the 
snuff-box and let's share with my friend Pale Gail." 

The girl smacked her kiss-puffed lips up off of Gail's erect nipple and 
said, "O-kay!" She reached down to the floor and came up with a small silver 
box from which dangled a tiny spoon on a silver chain. With her immature 
breasts, with her fragile waist, with the look of great glee on her little 
face, she looked like a child opening a birthday surprise rather than a 
hardened street-girl going for her share of the day's cocaine. 

"Whoops! Don't want to spill any," she said as she opened the box. 

"We can afford to waste a little," said Cotton. 

Rita giggled and said, "We don't want to disappoint any of your customers." 

Gail turned to look at the man in her bed. "Rotten Cotton," she said, "still 
dealing dope, but now it's coke instead of smack. Rotten, rotten Cotton." 

"You know I don't like people to call me that. Don't do it, Gail." 

"Rotten Cotton," said Rita. "I think it's cute." 

"If you didn't have three hundred bucks worth of our coke in your hand, I'd 
belt you clear across the room. Hand it to me." 

"Cotton-n-n-n, I'm sorry," she said, but she promptly handed over the box. 

"Sit on Pale Gail's leg," he said, "and open 'em up." 

Rita did this. Gail fought against it, but in no more than a minute her legs 
were spread wide apart, the right leg held by the rope, the left by the 
smooth, hard legs of the excited girl. 

Cotton dipped out a spoonful of the white powder and told Rita to hold out 
her hand. Again she obeyed him, and he sprinkled the spoonful of cocaine on 
her fingers. "Rub that in Pale Gail's twat," he said, "and if you do a good 
job of it, there's another spoonful for yours." 

Gail renewed her struggles, at the same time trying to blow the powerful 
narcotic off the girl's fingers. Again she failed in her efforts, and her 
only recourse was to vent out a stream of invective at Cotton as the 
grinning girl softly and gently rubbed her coke-covered fingers over Gail's 
open cunt. Cotton easily ignored her as he dipped out another spoonful of 
the stuff and expertly sniffed it up his nostrils. He coughed and took off 
his sunglasses to wipe his eyes, then laid them aside to look with interest 
at where Rita's hand was moving up and down through Gail's opened legs. 

"Does it itch, Pale Gail?" he asked. 

"Goddamn right it does! You know it does, you motherfucker! I'll kill you 
when I get up, Rotten Cotton. I swear, I'll kill you!" 

"She'll cum in a minute if I don't quit rubbing this in her nasty old 
pussy," said Rita. "Baby's pussy wants some too, Cotton." 

"Help yourself. We got plenty. Rub it in good while we let it soak on Pale 
Gail." 

The powder clung to Rita's fingers now, for they were wet from the touch of 
Gail's body. The girl's eagerness was disgusting as she squirmed about to 
open her legs while still holding Gail's leg a prisoner, and her broad grin 
was pathetic as she began to energetically push and rub her fingers all 
around in between her legs. 

"Oo, baby, does that feel good," she said. "This is all I was thinking about 
when I was suckin' on her fat old tit. I'm all wet and I'm gettin' wetter. 
I'm gonna really get off. Did you get off, Cotton?" 

"Bethcer sweet ass I did." His yellow eyes looked stranger than ever. In all 
the time she'd ridden with him, Gail hadn't often seen his eyes, and when 
she had, they'd frightened her. Today was no exception. Their animal glint 
scared her, but still she stared at them till Rita spoke again. 

"Can I have a little more? If a little is this good, a little more is a lot 
better. Right, Cotton? Right?" 

"That's right, baby. You can share another spoonful with Pale Gail." 

"Awxxxx-w. Look at her. It's not doing her any good." 

"I said to share it with her. Keep up your bitching and I'll dump it on 
Gail's twat and make you go after it with your twat-or your tongue." 

"Okay, okay! I'll share it." 

Her hand was shaking as she held it out for another measure of the cocaine. 
She was .very much sexually aroused. Gail knew the drug was not an 
aphrodisiac, but she also knew it was an irritant to mucous membranes-eyes, 
nostrils, mouth, vulvar area. And she knew that cokeheads frequently use 
their favorite narcotic to heighten sexual pleasures and orgasmic 
intensities. She wasn't a cokehead and never had been one, but the drug had 
those mucuous membranes of her vulva itching so that she was again pulling 
with her arms, not to get away so much as to scratch that itch. She was also 
trying to hold still as, right at her side, Rita purred luxurious little 
sounds while she rubbed one tainted finger up and down through her 
well-lubricated pink slit. 

"Give the rest to her," said Cotton. 

"No more. She can have it all," said Gail, trying now to dodge her sex away 
from the small, descending hand bearing more of the irritant. 

"Goddamn you!" she said, when the little fingers curled into her slit. Their 
rubbing of the itch was absolutely delicious, but Gail knew very well that 
the relief would be only temporary. 

"Ohh-h-h-h, God!" she cried, and her body arched involuntarily upward as the 
soothing fingers were taken from her slit. She felt strong enough now to 
wrestle her leg away from the legs of the girl so she could at least rub her 
thighs together, but the girl was stronger yet. 

Cotton bent his leering face over Gail's, yellow eyes agleam as she twisted 
and panted and squirmed her buttocks back hard against the mattress. The 
girl beside her was frankly masturbating now, rubbing her little pussy hard 
and fast, with an expression of joyful anxiety on her face. 

"What's the matter, Pale Gail?" he said in his oiliest voice. "You got an 
itch? You know, I got something to scratch it with." 

Pale Gail's pussy was itching like fire. It didn't feel good; it just 
itched. Cotton's big, hot prick was pushing harder against her thigh now, 
but its heat didn't match that of her pussy. However, it could give her 
exactly the right kind of massage that would take her itch away and let her 
sink into welcome exhaustion. 

"Where's that itch? Right here?" he asked, and roved his rough hand over her 
breasts, squeezing them and rubbing them, pulling out the nipples to harder 
peaks and letting them fall back again. She couldn't help but become more 
excited, now in a definitely sexual way, for as rough as the movements of 
his hands were, they were entirely erotic. 

He kept playing with her breasts and Rita Bonita kept playing with herself. 
As she did, she said, "Baby, you don't want to fuck her. Sloppy old pussy. 
C'mon, baby. I'm all hot and ready for you. She's got a sloppy old pussy and 
mine's all tight and nice, just like you like it. Jesus Christ, this is good 
stuff. Baby, you don't want to fuck her ...." 

"Where is that old itch?" said Cotton, and his hand crept in lowering 
circles over Gail's heaving belly, toward that seething, itching part of her 
body that was so badly in need of relief. 

"That stuff might be working on her," Gail said, "but it's not on me. 
Cotton, just let me go now and you can stay as long as you want. I'll keep 
my old man out of the apartment for as long as you say. Just let me go. 
Please, Cotton? Cotton!" 

"Now you're talking," he said. The heel of his hand was at her navel, the 
fingers of it fanning back and forth across Gail's pubis, rubbing through 
the golden curls just an inch from her throbbing clitoris. Her entire vulvar 
area was throbbing, pulsing, and she couldn't stop her hips from tilting up 
toward any sort of relief. Cotton Ronson remained calm as could be as he 
said, "How about throwing in a little fuck, just to make the contract 
binding? Your old man wouldn't have to know." 

"No!" she cried, snapping her hips back, away from his nearing fingers. "I 
love him! Cotton, you can't ask that of me. Please!" 

"You used to love me, and love don't die," he said, straddling her swollen 
clitoris with his fingers and rubbing slowly, much too slowly. 

Gail shook her head back and forth, blonde tresses whipping across his face 
and flailing against her pillow. "I never loved you! How could anyone love 
you? Rotten Cotton, the dirty doper who turned in one of his own road 
brothers for a lousy five hundred dollars reward! Indian Archie, the nicest 
guy ever to ...." 

A slap across Gail's face silenced her screaming diatribe, and gave her the 
shock and the pain she needed to escape from the hot fingers of lust that 
were creeping all over her body, inside and out. 

Bringing up this absolutely forbidden subject had transformed Cotton Ronson 
in an instant from a confident seducer to a raging madman. He straddled her 
torso to slap her back and forth across the face. With one arm free now, 
Gail could fend off some of the blows and try to roll with them. Her head 
was rocked from side to side on the pillow. She was seeing stars, and still 
seeing the angry red head of his penis, jutting over her lolling breasts, 
swinging back and forth with his blows. Perhaps she'd provoked the cokehead 
too far, and he'd go right on until he beat her to death, but at least there 
was the hope she'd be unconscious by the time he attacked her with his 
penis. 

It was Rita who saved Gail from more punishment. She was pulling at Cotton's 
shoulder, grasping at his penis, and saying, "What's wrong with you? Don't 
beat her up now. Fuck me, honey. Come on, I'm just dying for it! What the 
hell did she say?" 

"You didn't hear her?" said Cotton, sweating and panting hard, fists balled 
and at the ready. 

"Something about five dollars worth of Indians?" 

"Hee-hee-hee-hee-hee!" Laughter convulsed him and he held his belly and 
rolled sideways off Gail, onto Rita. The girl was laughing with him, near 
hysteria, and as they rolled and giggled on the bed, Gail was able to reach 
down and give herself the hard scratching she so badly needed. The relief 
she found was such that the bells stopped ringing and the stars stopped 
flaring in her head. With her left leg free, she squirmed her thighs 
together over her firmly massaging fingers, sighing and relaxing, not caring 
what happened now. 

Rita's laughter had abruptly stopped. She was lying under Cotton's body, 
knees up and out, seeking with her crotch for the chuckling man's sex. 
"Cotton, help me. I can't reach it. Baby, I'm ready, I'm so goddamned ready 
and I can't reach you." 

The pillow was snatched from under Gail's head. When Cotton raised his body, 
she could clearly see that neither his anger nor his laughter had diminished 
his hardness in any way. When Rita raised up to get the pillow under her 
girlish little buttocks, her arched and quivering posture was entirely 
womanly. 

Gail saw the two of them join. She had a grandstand seat for this happening 
in her marital bed, and she somehow couldn't look away. She saw the 
dark-haired girl's diminutive body arched upward by the pillow, saw her 
twisted expression of animal lust, and saw her little hands spreading her 
slit wide for the approach of Cotton's penis. It looked huge. It looked at 
least ten inches long and as big around as the girl's wrist, upward-curving 
and fitted with that big red knob which had so often entered Gail's body, 
right where she was rubbing with her fingers. 

"Stick it in, stick it right in, Cotton," the girl pleaded. "Fuck me. Love 
me." 

"You'll get all you want, baby," he told her, as he held his stiff penis in 
his hand and rubbed its glistening wet head up and down the length of her 
open slit. 

Rita looked very wet, but not as wet as Gail felt. Sloppy old pussy was 
indeed the correct term for the condition of Gail's vulva as she continued 
to work with her fingers on the assuagement of that widespread itching. 

"Tight as a goddamned flea's ear," said Cotton, with his lean back 
undulating, with his penis beginning to disappear between the girl's 
outspread legs. 

"Give it to me. Stick it all in me. Feels so fucking good!" 

It didn't look as if it would fit. The girl was so tiny and Cotton's penis 
was so big that it just didn't seem possible she could accommodate him. 
Still, the entire head of his organ was within her reaching body now, and 
with the way she was holding her labia apart, it looked as if those lips 
were actively sucking him deeper inside her. 

"Ahhh-h-h-h. Ahhhh. Oh, baby. So good. I just love your big old cock," she 
said, wriggling happily under him, and reaching around his neck with her 
arms now. 

"Yeah-h-h-h," he said, and pushed it the rest of the way in, gloating down 
at his accomplishment until his red curls were nestled closely against her 
sparse, dark pubic hair. He turned his head to look at Gail, his yellow eyes 
smoldering, and said, "You're missing out on a good thing, Pale Gail, but I 
got a hunch you'll forget about that marital fidelity crap before we get out 
of here." 

"Christ sake, Cotton! Move! Forget about her and fuck me!" said Rita. 

He began an easy, loping stroke that had the girl clinging harder to him and 
gasping, "Oh, Jesus. Oh, that's good. Baby, you're the best fucker in the 
whole world!" 

He had developed a little paunch on him since the last time Gail had seen 
him, but it fit very nicely against the hollow of Rita's stomach. She was so 
dainty and thin that her tummy was concave between the fragile ridges of her 
pelvis, and his hairy belly fit well against this smooth hollow. Her cheeks 
were hollow too as she laid there with her head thrown back and her mouth 
open, panting faster than the tempo of the slow strokes of the penis within 
her. Cotton was hunkered down against her now, with his hairy chest covering 
her right breast, but Gail could clearly see her left one. It was a tiny, 
teenaged breast, but the rhythmic hardenings and softenings of its nipple 
spoke volumes about the sexual maturity of the girl. 

Cotton jerked the pillow out from under the undulating girl and threw it on 
the floor. "This is the way Pale Gail used to dig it the most," he said, and 
rolled them over on their sides. 

The girl's back was to Gail. It was gleaming with a light film of 
perspiration, and its girlish muscles were convulsing under the movements of 
Cotton's scarred hands. Her olive-hued buttocks were as small as a boy's, as 
round as any girl's, and widely separated now with her legs being wrapped 
around the man who was coupling with her. Gail could see the brown puckered 
anus of the girl and the red hairy balls of the man, as well as each 
movement of the glistening wet penis going in and out of that very tight 
orifice of Rita's sex. 

Again, she couldn't help but think of the many times that cock had been 
inside of her pussy. Perhaps the side position had been her favorite, but 
she couldn't recall any favorite just then. Looking back on her life with 
Cotton and the Imps, all the wild sex had been good. She'd been so much like 
the girl Cotton was now fucking, completely irresponsible, interested only 
in getting high, getting fucked, feeling loved. It had been a depraved, 
pointless life, but she'd been happy then. It had been a roller-coaster 
existence instead of the straight and narrow track she was now plodding 
along with her husband, and it would be the easiest thing in the world to go 
back to it. No household chores, no bills to pay, no more dull evenings in 
front of the television set. All it would take would be a smile from her and 
she'd be the one living on a sunny Mexican beach with Cotton and his 
ever-ready cock instead of the girl he was fucking. Pale Gail spread her 
legs to rub her pussy more directly while she dwelt on the joys she might 
know with Cotton. It was feeling terrific now, as if the cocaine had gotten 
into her bloodstream. 

She planted her left foot solidly on the mattress, the better to push back 
at her moving fingers. She got one finger right on the quick of her clit and 
rotated it rapidly and firmly, puffing hard with the increasingly fast 
movements of the pair at her side. Rita was gasping and moaning and crying 
out in her joys so loudly that Gail was sure her own murmurs of contentment 
were going unnoticed, and she let herself go on toward an orgasm. 

She hadn't masturbated for years, and now it felt so good that she wondered 
why she'd abstained. Her pussy and her fingers were sopping wet and excess 
juices were trickling down from her crack to lubricate her asshole. Her 
belly was palpitating and her tits were quivering with the movements of her 
hips and hand, as beside her, Rita exploded with the pounding of Cotton's 
hard cock. 

"Cotton! Cotton, oh, Jesus! Cumming, really cumming GOOD! BABY, MAKE IT 
HAPPEN! CUM WITH ME! NOW, COTTON, NOW. AH! GAHHH-H-H-H! YESS-S-S-S! YES, 
YES, YESSS-S-S-s-s-s-s...." 

Pale Gail orgasmed right along with her. Her pussy opened up like a flower, 
then began a series of convulsions and closings that she could feel 
throughout her body. Half helpless from the rope, using just one hand, she 
was orgasming as hard or harder than she ever had with her husband, or with 
any man for that matter, except perhaps Cotton Ronson. Only he could make 
her feel this way, and now she longed with all her heart and soul for the 
throbbing, pulsing, erupting cock that she was looking at to be plunging 
into her body instead of that of the girl. It was Gail who needed those 
thick fingers digging into her butt, those big balls slapping up between her 
sex-wet legs, that big, curving organ stabbing up into her cunt. 

"I need it, I need it," she hotly murmured. "Fucking and sucking. Hell with 
everything else. Clancy's too good for me. Cotton. Rotten Cotton. Ahh-h-h-h. 
Nnn-n-n-ng. Oh, Cotton, Cotton ... Cotton...." 

"Huh? Did somebody call?" he asked, peering over the shoulder of the wilting 
girl, grinning his wolf-grin. 

"I didn't say a word," said Gail, returning her gaze to the ceiling, letting 
her hand go limp on her pube. "Now that you're through committing statutory 
rape again, will you please untie me?" 

"I'm busy," he said, and the sound of his wet penis sliding out of that 
tight orifice sent a hot shiver through Gail's very warm body. 

She continued to stare at the ceiling as new sounds assailed her ears. They 
were erotic sounds and familiar ones-the slurpings and smackings of Cotton 
Ronson's agile tongue, the oohs and aahs of a sexually sated girl who was 
being rearoused by a man with a lusty taste for a well-used vagina. 

"Oh, Cotton, I just love it. Mmmm, you're doing me so good. Lick it, baby. 
Eat Mamma's cunt. Oh, shit, I'm gonna cum again for you. Yes! Oh, yes! YES, 
LICK IT, EAT IT, MAKE ME CUM! ONE MORE TIM-M-M-ME!" 

Now the girl's outcries and the sex act being performed in the Harrigan bed 
didn't affect Gail at all. She felt as dirty and soiled as if it had been 
Cotton's penis inside her vagina instead of her sticky fingers. She was 
ashamed of herself for her masturbation, but even more ashamed for having 
even flirted with the notion of leaving Clancy for a man like Cotton Ronson. 
She'd go to a monastery for lifelong seclusion before she'd go with Cotton 
Ronson. She'd never leave Clancy, unless it was for his best interests. Her 
life had been sullied and dirtied forever by sins of the past which she 
could never obliterate, while Clancy was good and pure and innocent. She was 
entirely undeserving of him, and her lies of omission about her youth could 
never be atoned for. All she could do now was to protect Clancy's innocent 
goodness and his physical safety; her own welfare ran a very poor second to 
that of her husband. 

 CHAPTER SEVEN 

Cotton took his time about untying Gail and letting her up from the bed. He 
went out of his way to brush his used, wet penis over her as he released her 
ankle and wrist. As soon as she was released she briskly rose and left the 
bedroom, locked herself in the bathroom, and got into the shower. The hot 
water worked to loosen her cramped muscles while she massaged circulation 
back into her rope-burned limbs. 

She was spitting a little blood from a cut inside her mouth, but an 
inspection in the mirror showed that Cotton's hands hadn't damaged her 
beyond giving her a slight black eye. Foundation make-up would hide the 
discoloration from a casual observer, but Clancy was sure to notice it. It 
meant lying to him, and Gail had had enough of that. Now she actively hoped 
that he would not come home that night. It was her mess, and even though 
he'd promised to protect her always, it was up to her to see things through 
on her own. 

Gail wrapped a towel around herself, gathered up her new-found 
determination, and headed back to the bedroom. She'd survived Cotton's 
beating and his seduction attempt, and this gave her courage. Her vulva 
still itched from the application of the narcotic, but she felt that she 
could stand that now. Cotton was gone from the room, and Gail's relief at 
this was only temporary, for she immediately began worrying where he was at 
and what he was up to. Rita was under the sheet of Gail's bed again, 
sleeping soundly. Gail put on her most substantial old brassiere, an equally 
old pair of cotton panties, and her frumpiest housedress and went to look 
for Cotton. She found him in her kitchen, still naked, rummaging about in 
her open refrigerator. 

"You can stay in the apartment for a few more days," she said, "but you 
can't make yourself at home in this house. Get some clothes on, sit down at 
the table, and I'll fix you and your little teenybopper some breakfast. Then 
get upstairs and stay there. But don't touch me again." 

He turned and grinned. He was wearing his sunglasses again so she couldn't 
read his eyes as he smiled and said, "Yes, Mamma." 

He sat at the table as bidden, and Gail ignored his nudity as she set about 
to prepare a meal. "You know," he said, "I'm really sorry about that time I 
turned in old Indian Archie. You know how it was, though. I was all strung 
out on reds and I didn't know what the hell I was doing half the time. I 
didn't think they'd hit him with five fucking years just for strong-arm 
robbery, and there was no way I could know he'd get snuffed while he was 
serving the time." 

"Archie died in prison? I didn't know that." 

"You didn't, eh? Goddamn you, you got a way of working information out of 
me. You're the only one in the world that knows I turned him in for that 
reward money. How do you worm these things out of me?" 

"Cotton, I was only making conversation. Archie and you and the rest of it 
are completely out of my life now, or will be in another few days." 

"I broke the code of honor and you know about it. I don't like that. It 
don't make me feel good." 

"I couldn't care less what you did with your silly code of honor. I only 
brought it up to make you mad enough to leave me alone." 

"Hey, I'm sorry I hit you. But you know, I'd kill somebody else who knew 
about what happened to Indian Archie. My code of honor means a lot to me. 
It's my life. I screwed it up one time, and I'll never do it again. You 
believe that, don't you? You know me better than anybody. You know how much 
my road brothers mean to me. For your sake, I hope you don't go spreading it 
around." 

Gail broke eggs into a bowl and beat them. She poured them into a hot pan 
before she said, "Just who would I spread it around to? Lucifer's Imps are 
gone, Cotton. Indian Archie is dead, along with four or five of the others. 
Silly Willy was married and had two kids the last time I talked to him, and 
Grubby is climbing telephone poles instead of Harleys. God knows how many of 
the old Imps are in jail. Your gang is gone, Cotton. They're either dead or 
gone straight or in jail. The code of honor is dead too, and there's not a 
person in the world who gives a damn one way or the other about who got the 
reward money for a dead motorcycle thug. The Imps are gone, Cotton, and so 
is your little-boy code of honor. You've taken the emblem off your jacket, 
the next sensible thing to do would be to trade your cycle in on a VW bug 
and start selling insurance." 

"I hate to hear you talk like that, Pale Gail. I really do. You never did 
understand the code of honor, did you?" 

She slammed the frying pan down on the sink and said, "I understand that I 
used to be one of your road brothers. I understand that you're holding me a 
prisoner here, threatening my husband, screwing around with a minor child 
and working on a hard narcotics deal, all right in my house. My husband I 
could go to prison for what you're doing here. We could die there like 
Indian Archie did. If this is an example of your code of honor, I sure don't 
understand it!" 

"Aw, this is different," he said, taking off his sunglasses to show her his 
sincerity. "This is a business deal." 

"You're hopeless," she said, and slid the scrambled eggs onto a paper plate. 
"Just go right on living in the past. Get your little girl to sew your 
emblem back on and go out and be a one-man motorcycle gang till you're old 
and gray. Here. Take this food, that girl, and your clothes upstairs and out 
of my sight." 

He rose and took her gently by the arm. His eyes were now glistening with 
his need to be believed, for certainly any tears had long since dried up in 
a body so depraved and debauched as Cotton Ronson's but his voice was husky 
with emotion as he said, "Gail, don't you think I know the gang is gone? It 
was great while it lasted, but it's all gone now. Fifteen years of riding 
with those fantastic bums, doing whatever the hell I wanted, telling the 
world to shove it, and now it's gone and I know it. 

All's I got to show for it is a bunch of scars and a prison record, a pound 
of good coke, a dumb girl with a tight pussy, and my bike. Honey, I haven't 
got ten dollars in my pocket. I got to rip you off for a place to stay until 
my deal comes through. When it does, I'm gone to Mexico. With twenty grand, 
I can live on the beach for twenty years down there, hurtin' nobody, gettin' 
old, livin' on my memories of the good times, the wild times. If you tell me 
to leave right now, I'll leave. Me and Rita Bonita can get a hotel room for 
a couple of days. She can pay for it with her bod' until the man comes for 
the coke. Say the word and I'll split with her, right now. Or let us stay, 
and swear to God, you won't even know we're here." 

She got two forks from a drawer and a quart of milk from the refrigerator. 
She sighed and handed them to him and said, "Get your dumb little girl and 
take her upstairs to eat this. I'll be up later for my silverware." 

Gail Harrigan did her best to ignore the couple in her unfinished apartment, 
and she was not very successful at this. Doing her housework, she worried 
that Cotton and his girl friend would start sampling his wares again and 
turn the place into a shambles before coming down to harass her again. Doing 
her yard work, she could keep an eye on the place and see that it wasn't 
burning down, but each time she heard the slightest sound from up above, she 
gave a nervous start. She wanted them to be gone, so she could be up in the 
apartment, obliterating any trace of their presence. She was almost sorry 
she'd talked Clancy into building the apartment to begin with, for without 
it Cotton would have been content with terrorizing her, getting her to show 
the scar on her buttock, and departing for a more welcome place. She wanted 
to call his bluff and ask him to leave, but she knew if she'd done that, he 
wouldn't have left at all, and he wouldn't have donned his present facade as 
a knightly gentleman of honor. He would have stayed, and he would have made 
things as unpleasant for her as he possible could. She had to go on walking 
the tightrope, jumping at the slightest sound of laughter from the garage 
apartment, hoping for the best. It might take weeks after they were gone 
before she could forget about their presence. 

Rita was reminding her of that presence at least every half hour. She was 
bored in the unfurnished, unpainted apartment, and coming to Gail in 
child-like fashion for diversion. Magazines, a checker game, Gail's set of 
hobby oil paints, all these and more were taken upstairs by the little 
gypsy-like girl, and none of them kept her content for long. Thirty minutes 
at the most, and down she'd come again to shyly ask for Gail's suggestions 
as to another amusement, and then she'd go skipping upstairs again with some 
new means of occupying herself. It was a bother, but Gail didn't mind it, 
even though the girl remained naked. Away from Cotton the girl was acting 
more her age. She was just a giddy little teenybopper, seeking excitement 
and diversions as a means of burning up her youthful energy. Gail didn't 
like to look ahead to the girl's future, but she couldn't help it. 

If Cotton's plans went right, Rita Bonita wouldn't last long on a secluded 
Mexican beach. For days or for a few weeks, the shells and the water and the 
birds would amuse her, but those things and the dope Cotton would inevitably 
have would soon pall on her and she'd be begging him for a trip to the city. 
People meant trouble for Cotton, and he wouldn't last long in the city 
before he was in jail, and Rita with him. She could use her firm young body 
to eventually get out of jail, or at least to make her stay more 
comfortable, but it wouldn't be easy on her. If she survived at all, she'd 
be old before her time. That, however, was contingent upon Cotton's plans 
working out, but if they did, it would be for the first time in his planning 
life. Chances were that he wouldn't even get out of the city, twenty 
thousand dollars or no twenty thousand dollars. And with or without the 
money, he'd have little Rita turning kinky tricks with paying customers 
before she was old enough to vote. Though Gail had survived her stint as 
Cotton Ronson's Mamma, a lot of other girls hadn't, and Rita looked like 
she'd be included in his long list of losers in the game of life. But dumb 
as she was, Rita had chosen this route, and nothing Gail could do would 
change it. Gail wasn't in charge of Rita's life and Rita wasn't in charge of 
it; Cotton Ronson was pulling Rita's strings. 

His silence from up above was ominous. Gail knew he was holding himself in 
check after the scolding she'd given him, and it wasn't his nature to hold 
himself back for long. The longer he contained himself, the bigger the 
explosion would be when his volatile personality came to the fore again, as 
it certainly would. Gail was walking a tightrope with a napalm bomb dangling 
over her blonde head, and she couldn't even look up at it. She just went on 
pulling weeds. 

She hadn't realized how far out of hand the garden had gotten. A rank growth 
of weeds was sprouting behind the fuchsias, and Gail crawled in after them. 
Her head was deep within the flower bed and her knees were on the dichondra 
lawn as she yanked out the unwanted vegetation, and she didn't hear any 
footfalls from behind to announce the presence of the hand that slid up 
under her skirt to squeeze her upraised fanny. 

"Goddamn it, Cotton, cut that out!" she snapped, backing out, and going cold 
with the thought that it might be her playful husband, home early from his 
work. 

It was neither Cotton nor Clancy. The owner of that stealthy hand was Tommy 
Simmons. He stood on the lawn with his hands behind his back, rocking back 
and forth on his bare feet, grinning mischievously, with that bulge again 
present in his cut-offs. 

Gail glared venomously at his wavering grin and said, "I thought I told you 
not to come back." 

"But you didn't cancel your paper. I saved it for last today because I 
wanted to come by and say I was sorry for what I did yesterday. 

"And you tried to do it again today. You sneaked right in here and put your 
hands on me when I wasn't looking." 

"I couldn't help it. You're just too sexy, Mrs. Harrigan ... Gail. Anyway, 
I'm sorry for what I did yesterday. And today too. That's what I came by to 
tell you. I'll be good from now on." 

"Are you sure you didn't come by to smoke another joint with me and see if 
you could talk me into going to bed with you?" 

"Wow, that'd be far out! Let's go in and do it! I bought two whites for 
fifty cents today. We could really get high and you could show me how to do 
it! I mean, you know, how to screw!" 

Gail shook her head ruefully. "You'll be good from now on, will you? Speed 
in your pocket and a hard-on for one of your customers in your pants. Get 
out of here, Tommy. My subscription is cancelled." 

"Aw, Mrs. Harrigan," he pleaded, and was doing a good job of looking forlorn 
until Rita Bonita's voice chirped from the bottom of the stairs. 

"Hi. What's going on? You canceling your newspaper, Pale Gail? How come? 
Don't you like what you read in it?" 

She came sauntering across the lawn toward them, hands on hips, swinging her 
shoulders. She had a sweet smile and look of interest on her pretty face, 
but she was still completely naked. Tommy Simmons stood under the acacia 
tree and stared at her. He looked as if he'd been turned to stone, except 
that a fine flush of pink was spreading up out of the neck of his T-shirt. 
Even if she'd had on a long dress, Rita might have stunned him just as 
effectively. She looked terrifically pretty with her tiny, olive-skinned 
body all nude and natural, with her diminutive, brown-tipped breasts on 
display, and with only the thin veil of black covering her pubis, but her 
face alone would have been enough to stop Tommy's clock. It was her smile 
that was the focal point here. Her dark eyes were lilting and her thick, 
wavy hair framed it, and the smile sparkled dazzling white and pure, 
innocently happy and appealing. Even Gail was enthralled for a moment by the 
sight of this dark little nymphet mincing through the green, but it was only 
for a moment. 

"Tommy, this is one of our nudist friends I was telling you about. Please 
excuse her. She's been running around without clothes since she was a little 
girl, and she doesn't realize it offends some people. You'd better run along 
now, Tommy." 

"It doesn't offend me," he said, as his face and his grin came slowly to 
life. 

"Well, it offends me," said Gail. "You're a little sex fiend and she's a 
little sex pot, and I'm not about to have you two rubbing sparks off each 
other on my property. Get on your bike and go, Tommy. And, Rita, get 
upstairs and don't come down until you've got some clothes on." 

She said it sternly enough that Tommy swayed back in the direction of the 
gateway. He would have left, but for Rita's balling her fists on her hips 
and defiantly sticking out the tip of her pink tongue at Gail. "Make me," 
said the girl. "You just make me go upstairs and we'll see what Cotton does 
to you." 

"What's going on here? What's the hassle?" It was Cotton coming down the 
stairs from the garage apartment, wearing his sunglasses and his crusty 
Levi's. He had that smooth, no-nonsense look about him, and for the first 
time since he'd arrived, Gail was glad to see him. With either a threat or 
cajolery, he'd have Tommy pedaling out of there in no time, for there was no 
way Cotton Ronson would jeopardize his dope deal. Unless, of course, Cotton 
had been dipping into that snuff box again, in which case there was no 
telling what he'd do. 

But he seemed quite self-possessed as he strolled toward Tommy, causing the 
boy to shuffle back a few steps before Cotton stopped with his arm about 
Rita's waist. 

Gail quickly cued him. "I was just telling Tommy that he'd better leave and 
not say anything about Clancy and I having you two nudists as our 
houseguests. We certainly don't want to have a flock of spectators on the 
other side of the hedge while you and Rita are sunbathing." 

Cotton nodded and said, "Yeah, you better get out of here, kid." His lips 
hardly moved, and the sound came from out of his chest. 

"Sure. I was just goin'," Tommy said, shuffling backward, looking longingly 
at Rita as she stood with her lower lip thrust mournfully out at him. Tommy 
was at the gate, almost out of there, when he tore his gaze from Rita to 
ask, "Is that your bike in the garage, sir?" 

Cotton took a step forward and said, "What if it is? And what're you doing 
sneakin' looks in there?" 

"Nothing! I didn't mean to. I just ... I just happened to look through the 
crack in the door and I saw the chrome. It sure looks good. What is it, one 
of thse big Hondas? A 750?" 

"It's a Harley, man. You wouldn't catch me on one of those crummy little Jap 
bikes." 

"Is it a chopper?" 

"Your fuckin' A it's a chopper. It's an eighty-four bored out to ninety, and 
that's cubic inches, not cc's. Suicide clutch, ape hangers, full rake. It'll 
do a hundred and forty and still have some left." 

"Wow! Could I see it? I mean, up close?" 

"Sure. Why not? C'mon in this side door and have a look." 

"Cotton, I think Tommy had better just go," said Gail. 

"Let the kid see my iron. There's not many like it left on the road no more. 
C'mon, Tommy. Have yourself a look and then split." 

Tommy was looking at Rita as Cotton opened the door, and Rita was inviting 
his look. She'd turned bashful coquette now, lacing her fingers before the 
plump triangle of her loins, pushing her little breasts closer together with 
her upper arms. Tommy sighed and rolled his eyes as he went past her. She 
and an anxious Gail followed him into the garage. 

"Ouch!" said Cotton. "Look out for nails in your bare feet, Rita. Pale 
Gail's got this building shit spread out all over the place. Well, there she 
is, Tommy. Quite a machine, eh? I've been some places and done some things 
with this old hog that you wouldn't believe. I just got it out of storage 
and it's got a couple of rust spots on the chrome, but they'll polish out 
and it'll be cherry again. Lot of miles left on this here machine, a lot 
more good road to burn up with it." 

"Boy, that's really something!" Tommy exclaimed, crouching down to look at 
it, with his back turned to Rita and Gail. "It's really big! And it'll do a 
hundred and forty?" 

"Erasy. It'll do more than that. It'll take me anywhere I want to go, and 
once I get there, it'll help me find new friends and old. Feed it a little 
gas and oil, keep it tuned up and clean, and it'll never let me down. A 
man's bike is the one true friend he's got." 

Tommy went around to the other side, oohing and aahing. He looked up through 
the chromed spokes at the coyly smiling Rita and said, "And you and your 
father go around to different nudist camps and things on this?" 

Cotton laughed and laughed, and Rita joined him. He was doubled over with 
his mirth, and Rita was laughing along with him, arm hooked about his neck, 
giggling and tittering. Tommy was giggling too, and asking, "What's so 
funny?" Gail sat down on a nail keg and rested her head in her hands. 

"You thinking she's my daughter, that's what's so funny, said Cotton. "She's 
my woman. She's my lamb. And I oughta kick your ass for thinkin' she's my 
kid. Show him you're not my daughter, baby. Slip me some tongue." 

Rita leaned forward against him, bent back her head, and opened her mouth. 
Cotton rubbed his hairy chest against her bare breasts as he hovered over 
her, licking his lips. Her tongue came out to beckon him. He ran his hands 
down her arms to her slender hips, and as he cupped her small round buns in 
his hands, her hands slid up to lace behind his neck. The touched the tips 
of their tongues together and Cotton began a slow, humping movement with his 
hips that was met with a grinding, circular movement of hers. Their heads 
tilted, their tangling tongues drew them closer, and their mouths merged 
into deeply probing, heavily suctioning kiss. 

"Wow," Tommy murmured, and turned his grin at Gail, who replied to it by 
gesturing over her shoulder with her thumb. Tommy returned to looking at the 
kissing couple. 

Cotton ended the kiss, took Rita's hand in his, and guided it to the bulge 
in his jeans. She squeezed and massaged it as Cotton spoke to the boy. "Does 
your Pop kiss your sister like that?" 

"Man, I never seen anybody kiss like that! Man oh man!" 

Cotton chuckled and said, "Okay, show's over. 

You better split, kid, and keep your mouth shut about what you seen here." 

"Are you kidding?" said Tommy, rising. "I didn't see a thing. I didn't see 
zilch. Oh, and here," he said, reaching into his pocket, coming up with a 
crumpled marijuana cigarette. "It's something I picked up by Pale Gail's 
porch yesterday. I figured maybe it was yours. If you didn't drop it, keep 
it anyway. It's far-out. stuff, man; it's a good doobie." 

Cotton put his hand on the back of the boy's neck and ruffled his long sandy 
hair. He pulled him closer, forming a tight, open triangle of bodies, with 
Rita's nudity at the apex of that triangle. "You're okay, Tommy. You're 
honest. What do you call 'em now? Doobies? Keep it, kid. And if there's 
anything else we can do for you, name it. I dig a kid who's not a thief." 

Tommy looked down at the bare brown flesh he was being pulled against, at 
the black eyes smiling up at him. He gulped and sighed and said, "I sure 
would like to sit on your bike for a minute." 

Cotton stepped away and opened the gas cock, leaving Tommy and Rita standing 
very close and communicating with calves' eyes. He kicked the 
starter-BOW-WHOOOM!-and both teenagers rocked backward and clung to each 
other more tightly. He had to shout above the thundering racket in the 
garage. 

"BOTH OF YOU CLIMB ON IT. SHOW HIM HOW, RITA BONITA." 

The heavily vibrating machine remained upright on its kickstand while Tommy 
climbed into the saddle, with Rita right behind him. The boy reached up and 
gingerly closed his hands around the grips, the girl slid her arms around 
his torso and wriggled her bottom down in the double seat, and Cotton came 
over to squat beside Gail. He put a hand on her knee, cupped the other near 
her ear, and said, "You remember how that feels?" 

Gail remembered it very well, for she could distinctly feel the gutty 
vibrations of the big engine in the pit of her stomach, in the quiverings of 
her thighs and breasts. She knew that Rita could feel them even more, 
leaning back against the narrow chromed roll bar, with her bare sex pressed 
up against Tommy's thinly covered spine. As firm as her youthful flesh was, 
it could be seen quivering and vibrating with the heavy thrumming of the 
motor, and the slow smile on her face and the languid look in her eyes 
mutely spoke of how it was affecting her. 

With her bare feet on the rests and her knees angled up like a 
grasshopper's, she was wriggling her little bottom on the leather seat, 
getting still closer to the source of the deepest vibrations. Her hands 
moved on Tommy's belly, shifting the thin cotton of his shirt around, then 
sliding it up to roam over his bare skin. His eyes were fixed straight ahead 
and there was a glazed smile on his face. He was moving the handlebars 
slowly, not so much to turn the front wheel, but to softly work his back 
against the two little breasts pressed up against him. 

He held his legs wider apart and a look of joyful anguish came over his face 
as Rita's fingers brushed the rosy flesh which had appeared over the top of 
his shorts, and Rita snuggled closer still. Yes, Gail remembered very 
clearly how it felt to be riding behind Cotton Ronson on that bike, and she 
rose and moved away from him to cut the ignition and silence the din. 

"Okay, Tommy, tine to go now," she said. 

He completely ignored her, turning to Cotton and saying, "Are you a Hell's 
Angel?" 

"Better'n that. Lucifer's Imps," the man announced as he stood up. "But the 
Angels are okay. They're my brothers." 

"I knew you weren't a nudist. Your skin's too pale for that." 

"So you're a smart kid. You smart enough to know what that little bike ride 
did to Rita Bonita? Climb off and I'll show you." 

They both got off. Rita had a breathless look about her, as if they'd been 
going a hundred miles an hour. "Feel of her pussy, kid," said Cotton. "Go 
on, stick your fingers in her cunt." 

"Cotton-n-n-n," Rita admonished, but she wasn't at all shy about opening her 
legs and tilting up her pelvis. 

Tommy wiped his hand on his pants and looked to Cotton for confirmation of 
the license he'd been given. Cotton nodded, and the boy placed his hand on 
Rita's side. His fingers were shaking as they crept down through the shallow 
valley of her groin. She watched the progress of his hand, lower lip held in 
her white teeth, hands held under her breasts. Her buttocks clenched and 
wriggled as his middle finger touched the top of her prim little slit. His 
fingers stopped their shaking as he pushed them lower, two of them curling 
to follow the curve of her tenderly yawning groins, one sinking softly into 
her slit. 

"She's all wet!" Tommy announced. 

"Yeah," said Cotton. "The bike gets to 'em every time. How does it feel, 
kid?" 

"Like cream! Like hot cream inside of warm marshmallows. Jeez!" 

"Cotton-n-n-n, make him stop," said Rita, softly moving her hips to meet the 
slow probings of Tommy's fingers. "It's gettin' me all horny." 

"Just shut up. You love it. See how hot a bike gets a chick, Tommy-boy? It 
does it every time. It makes a guy horny too. Shit, I got a hard-on half the 
time I'm on my iron. You got a hard-on, kid? Rita Bonita, check him out. See 
what he's got in his jeans." 

"Jesus, Cotton, the things you ask me to do," said the girl. 

Her face had a sulky look on it, but her hands were more than eager as she 
popped open the buttons of Tommy's cut-offs. He was wearing white Jockey 
shorts underneath, and as Rita petulantly pushed the ragged denim off his 
hips, his hips jerked back and he gasped for breath, but he didn't stop 
fingering Rita Bonita. 

"Hold still so we can see what you've got in there," she said. 

She stretched out the elastic waistband of his shorts, looked inside, and 
giggled. "He's sure got a stiffie," she announced, "but it's just a little 
old thing compared to yours, Cotton." 

"Two-inch Tommy. Well, let's have a look at it. Pull his shorts down and 
let's see it. Pale Gail always liked to see a new cock." 

Gail said, "Cotton, I think this has gone far enough. I...." 

"Shut up!" he snapped, with sudden fierce authority. "Get your fat ass over 
there and take the kid's shorts down and show us his prick. Move, woman! 
Now!" 

Although Rita glared hatefully at her, Gail did as she was told. Cotton was 
in no mood to be crossed; the napalm bomb was close to her, and it was warm. 

Gail's newspaper boy was tensed and trembling as she eased his tight Jockeys 
down over his slim white hips. He smelled of youthful sweat and excitement. 
His stiff penis hung up on the elastic, making a tent of his shorts, until 
Rita obligingly reached inside to hold it while she plucked the waistband 
down over it. Tommy stood there gasping and twitching while the girl held 
his stiff white penis in his hand and the woman peeled his shorts down to 
his ankles. 

"Well, you got more than two inches," said Cotton. "Maybe five. Pull back 
the skin on it. No, not you, Rita. Gail wants to do it." 

Rita had already drawn back the boy's foreskin. Now she obediently pushed it 
back into its former snug position and reluctantly took her hand from him. 
Tommy was no longer feeling with his fingers in her slit. He was too excited 
for that. He had one of his shaking arms around the small of the naked 
girl's back, pulling her closer as she softly rubbed her loins against his 
hipbone. Gail saw this as she straightened up from the lowering of Tommy's 
shorts. She maintained an icy calm as she took his hard, hot flesh in her 
hand and quickly jerked back the skin. Cotton laughed as the boy gasped 
aloud and clutched convulsively at Gail's waist, sandwiching himself between 
the two females. 

"Now you look like an Imp," said Cotton. "A beautiful chick on each side of 
you, and your crank sticking up like a pole. Welcome to the club, Two-Inch 
Tommy. Give him a kiss, girls, both of you, a nice big fat one." 

Tommy's head was swiveled about by Rita's hand and in a moment he was 
clumsily imitating Cotton's open-mouthed kiss on the girl's widely parted 
lips, With the boy's throbbing penis in her hand, Gail said, "Let you stay, 
and I won't even know you're here. That's what you told me, Cotton, not two 
hours ago." 

"Aw, hell. It's all in fun. And if we're good to the kid, he's not about to 
talk. Just kiss him and you can go back to your dirty dishes." 

"Cotton, I don't want to kiss him." 

The man's smile vanished and he said, "I made him a promise. Kiss him. Kiss 
him good. It won't kill you." 

Gail turned her face from him. The youngsters were still kissing, but in a 
very adult fashion. Tommy was learning quickly, mouthing and sucking quite 
energetically on Rita's willing mouth, and groping his hand over her little 
breasts while she raked her fingernails up and around under his T-shirt. 
Cotton had to tell them to quit or they'd have gone on till dark. Rita drew 
back slowly, her red lips sticking to Tommy's pink ones, her tongue reaching 
for his. She gave him a slow wink as they closed their mouths and grinned, 
and he kept looking at her from the corner of his eye as he turned toward 
the mature blonde housewife. 

"Get it while you can, Two-Inch Tommy," said Cotton, and the boy put his arm 
about Gail's shoulders and pulled her into a kiss. She could taste Rita's 
lipstick on him, and the high state of excitement in him as he stabbed and 
probed between her lips with his tongue. He drew his other arm from around 
Rita's waist and grabbed handfuls of Gail's firmly covered breasts, 
breathing hard through his nostrils and turning to face her more directly. 

But then he stopped in his turning and was drawn back a bit. Instead of the 
hard penis she'd expected to kiss her skirted loins, Gail felt a soft but 
rapid movement between them. Through her slitted eyes, she saw Rita's face 
at the point of Tommy's shoulder, gently biting it while she reached around 
in front of him. The boy was clutching harder at Gail, making increasingly 
urgent noises in his throat, and all but bouncing up and down in his 
excitement. 

"Go to it, Rita Bonita!" Cotton gleefully said, and then roared with 
laughter as Gail felt the boy's embrace tighten even more, felt his mouth 
mash harder against hers, and tasted a great rush of purely sexual flavor. 

"Mmm! Mm mm! MMMM!" he moaned through the kiss, his body twitching and 
jerking, his movements all uncoordinated now. 

Heedless of Cotton's orders, Gail wrenched away from the gasping boy and 
headed out the garage door. She was halfway across the little yard when he 
called after her, "You better do some laundry instead of those dishes. Throw 
that dress in the washer and bring out some of your old man's beer." 

 CHAPTER EIGHT 

Gail walked into her house, went straight to the telephone, and dialed the 
first three digits of the police station number before she hung up the 
receiver. She slumped with her head resting against the kitchen wall until 
Tasha's rubbings at her ankle made her stir. 

"With all this fuss, you've been hiding out. I don't blame you. I wish I 
could hide out. Are you hungry? How about a nice raw egg?" 

The cat mewed its agreement to this and Gail went to the refrigerator. She 
whipped up the egg and put the bowl next to the cat's dish of dried food. 
Tasha looked up in thanks and began to lap it up. Gail watched, smiling 
again, as she unzipped her dress. She slithered it over the swells of her 
hips and down her long legs, and took it to the trash basket, not the 
washing machine. At the kitchen sink, she washed her face and hands very 
thoroughly. She inspected her bare thighs and her cotton panties for any 
sign of wetness that might have come from her dress, found none, and decided 
to take a shower anyway. Then she would change into a sweat shirt and a pair 
of long, baggy pants. She was heading for the bathroom when the telephone 
rang. 

It was Clancy, telling her of his problems at work, telling her he missed 
her and loved her. Gail was warmly telling him how she missed him when a 
finger running up her spine sent cold electricity jangling through her. 

It had to be Cotton Ronson. He smirked in answer to her glare and strolled 
over and scooped up the furry white cat as Gail went on talking. He made a 
choking sign with his hand around his neck, then pointed at Gail, then 
closed his hand around the neck of the struggling cat. 

She covered the mouthpiece with her hand and hissed, "Don't you hurt that 
cat! Put her down!" 

"Hell, she's the one hurtin' me. Is that your old man? Play it smart with 
him or the cat snuffs." 

"Yes, Clancy ... Oh, I've been busy all day. I'm going to sleep like a rock 
tonight ... No, I haven't started yet, but don't get your hopes up too high 
... Don't worry about it, dear. Your work comes first, and it would be 
foolish to drive all the way back tonight and then have to go right back in 
the morning ... Yes, I'll be careful ... Yes, I love you too. Good-bye, 
dear." 

She hooked the receiver and clung to it for a moment. Cotton let the cat 
slip from his arms, and she immediately returned to her egg. He approached 
Gail saying, "What was that about getting his hopes up? What didn't you 
start yet, Pale Gail?" 

"My period. I might be pregnant." 

"Oh, yeah? Sure doesn't feel like it," he said, slipping his hand around her 
waist and down inside her loose cotton panties. "You shoulda told me 
yesterday. I would have punched you harder. You want to have his kid? How 
come you never wanted to have mine?" 

"Because Clancy's a man." 

Strong, blunt fingers deepened into the softness of Gail's belly, and he 
said, "We'll see how much of a man he is when he shows up." His hand relaxed 
at once and began soothing over Gail's flesh, smoothing away the soreness as 
he leaned close against her back and spoke gently at her ear. "I'm sorry, 
Gail. I can't help gettin' mad when I think of you married to somebody else. 
You know you were the only one I really loved out of all of them, and there 
was a lot. You're worth twenty dumb little Ritas. I didn't bring her by to 
show her your tattoo; I came by to see you myself, just to look at you one 
more time. And that one time hooked me. Gail, we could make it again. It's 
not too late. No more wild ways for me. Say the word, I'll dump the coke 
down the toilet and go get me a job pumping gas. Corporation president, bank 
robber, movie star, I'd be anything you wanted me to be," he said, as he 
softly and sensuously moved his fingers through the blonde curls in Gail's 
panties. "What say, kid? What say?" 

"Would you take your hand off my stomach, please? I don't want anyone like 
you that close to my husband's son." 

He grabbed a handful of her hair and squeezed-hard. She hissed in pain, but 
she didn't cry out. He whipped out his hand, took a handful of the seat of 
her panties, and ripped it away from her. He swatted her hard on that bare 
spot with his palm and snarled, "Go get us that goddamned beer, you dumb 
twat. And serve it to us just like you are." He ripped the telephone off the 
wall, tugged and pulled and ripped off one of her bra straps, and went 
stalking off toward the front door of the house. 

Gail wearily got out the tray and set three cans of beer on it. Her bra 
strap was dangling down in front of her and the warm summer air was kissing 
her bare buttocks through the wide hole in her panties as she went to serve 
her guests. 

Cotton was just taking off his pants as Gail emerged from the house. Rita 
and Tommy were both lying on the grass, nude, a yard apart, on their sides, 
gazing and smiling at each other as they plucked at the leaves of the lawn. 

"Bring it on over here. Hurry it up," Cotton called. "Here comes the suds, 
kids, and there's plenty more where that came from. See here? All you gotta 
do is pull this here strap and the life-size doll runs to fetch it. I'll 
show you." 

He gave short little tugs to Gail's hanging bra strap until he'd succeeded 
in peeling the white cup down over her far whiter breast, baring the big 
pink areola and the embarrassingly erect nipple. Laughing, groping, he 
covered it up again and invited Tommy to test the impromptu bell-cord. The 
boy's interest in Rita quickly vanished as he got up on his knees to tug and 
tease down the cup once again. 

"Push this big pink button and she does a dance. Turn around, Gail. You 
reach around in this here crack till you find the right spot, and she 
whistles Dixie." 

Tommy and Cotton laughed uproariously and took turns probing in the depths 
between Gail's buttocks while she stood there and took it. Now she was sorry 
she'd so provoked Cotton in the kitchen, but she'd had to do it at the time, 
for his persistence and his expertly moving hands had come very close to 
breaking down her dwindling will to resist the temptations of the flesh. 
Even now those fingers moving so close to her sex were making her want to 
squirm her legs open to afford greater access to the fingers behind her. Her 
pussy was itching, without-the irritant of the cocaine. 

"Christ' sake, gimme a beer," said Rita in a sullen voice. 

"Gail, make us a table like that spade chick did at Sunset Beach. Move it." 

Gail set down the tray and silently got on her hands and knees on the grass. 
Her back was deeply swayed, her breasts and her head hung down, her golden 
hair touching the green grass. Her flat palms were directly under her 
shoulders and her knees were a foot apart-until Cotton nudged them to twice 
that distance with his bare foot. 

Cotton said, "Take a look, Two-Inch Tommy. Do you see where that button 
could be? Damned if I can, but we could poke around till we find it. You'll 
like the way she whistles." 

They were laughing and getting closer to her between her bare, splayed legs 
when Rita said, "That's really a shitty thing to do to a chick. Why do you 
stand still for it, Pale Gail?" 

"Because Cotton threatened me. He said he'd kill my cat, my husband, and me 
if I didn't play his stupid games." 

"That's a goddamned lie!" Cotton exploded. "I wouldn't threaten a road 
brother that way! She wouldn't hold still for it if she didn't get a boot 
out of it. Right, Gail? Hell, we played shittier games than this when we 
were on the road, and old Pale Gail was always right in the middle of 'em. 
Right?" 

Oh, God, she thought, he's right. Whatever happened to those poor dumb cycle 
groupies that I used to talk into humiliating themselves in worse ways than 
this? It's part of the initiation, Sandy or Cindy or Sally or Sue. You won't 
get hurt, and then you can rise with us. It's kicks, kid. I went through it 
myself to join the Imps, and I still do it now and then just for the turn-on 
of it. 

Gail had never gone through any initiation rite other than climbing into 
Cotton Ronson's bedroll with him. To her those tales of orgiastic initiation 
ceremonies were all made up for the benefit of the sensational press, and 
for the kicks the guys could get with impressionable girls. She'd gotten a 
few kicks herself from watching some of the sexual abuse the girls had been 
put to, but those kicks and her entire fascination with the renegade 
cyclists had ended that morning on Sunset Beach with the black chick turned 
gray from an overdose of heroin, still breathing, but not feeling the 
cigarette burns that were sprinkled over her body like diseased leeches. 
Where was she now, and what had been her name? What kind of marks did the 
other girls still bear? How much worse were they than that smooth, shiny 
scar on her buttock? How had she managed to escape from that life so easily, 
and what else would she do to keep the napalm bomb behind her quietly 
smoldering instead of rampantly exploding? 

A cold beer can set in the small of her back shocked her into an answer to 
Cotton's last query. 

"Right. I was right in the middle of things." 

"And you don't mind playing the game now, do you, Pale Gail? In fact, you'd 
get a big charge out of it. Right?" 

She nodded her hanging head. "Right." 

"Christ' sake, gimme a joint, Cotton," said Rita in disgust. 

A match was struck, and Gail knew it was Tommy whose hands were probing 
about inside her seatless panties, clumsily exploring the delicate flesh in 
the long deep curving valley of her sex. With one hand resting on her left 
buttock, he was reaching up between her legs to the top of her pubic hair, 
pressing his wrist up against her vulva and perineum. Then he'd pull it 
down, seeking and delving for the imaginary button with his hot little 
fingers. She could feel his breath against her legs as he crouched to peer 
at her sex and she knew if she looked down between her breasts she could see 
his flushed and fascinated face framed between the whiteness of her tapered 
thighs. He was disgusting, he was clumsy, he was inept, but he was touching 
her in the places most vulnerable to her resistance, and her resistance was 
weakening. 

With a double thump, Cotton dropped to his knees beside her. He held a 
smoldering marijuana cigarette under her face and said, "You want a hit, 
Pale Gail?" 

She shook her head. "No." 

"Maybe you'll change your mind. I'll just leave it here on the grass under 
your face so you can smell it. That'll leave me both hands free to push some 
big pink buttons. I'll just cut this other brassiere strap with my 
knife-so-and let 'em all hang out. No shit, Gail, you got the nicest tits I 
ever saw in my life. One of 'em fills both my hands, and they're still as 
nice and firm as when you were a teenager. How you doin' back there, 
Two-Inch? You think she's getting hot?" 

"She's sure gettin' wet, man! And you can't call me Two-Inch any more. I 
ain't never had a hard-on like this!" 

"Keep it up, she loves it. You can ring her bells up here pretty soon. Wow, 
them old nips are really up hard, eh, Gail? You're really diggin' this, and 
that's a fact. Right?" 

She nodded her head. "Right," she croaked. 

There was no use lying to herself or to him-she did dig it. The smoke from 
the smoldering joint was collecting under the curtain of her hair and 
filling her lungs with its pungent aroma, but that couldn't be blamed for 
how she was feeling. Her nipples were hard and tingling from Cotton's rough 
tweaking and fingering, and her slit was wet from end to end from Tommy's 
sliding hand. It didn't have to be Cotton and Tommy doing this to her. It 
could have been two total strangers, two mechanical robots caressing her 
most erogenous zones, and her response would have inevitably been the same. 

Gail was quite helpless to quell the rising flood of desire in her healthy 
young body. Primitive response mechanisms were being aroused to pump 
passion-heated blood through her veins in preparation for the rutting act. 
Her limbs felt too heavy to move, and her belly sagged lower as the hands 
sought and found the keys to civilization's locks on lust. The butt under 
her face smoldered on, smelling like incense now, making her eyelids droop 
and her mouth go slack. Still the hands toyed with her sex, joined by lips 
and tongues now, and Gail's lips were slowly being drawn back into a grin by 
the warm luxury spread by those hands. 

"Look at her," came Tommy's voice. "I don't even have to move my hand. She's 
just rockin' back and forth to move her cunt against it!" 

Cotton whinnied and said, "Our little rocking horse. Tear open her pants 
some more so we can see her bare-back." 

The wetness on Tommy's fingers was smeared across Gail's buttocks as he 
enlarged the hole in the seat of her panties until there was no seat at all 
in them. Her bottom was completely bare; nothing was left of her panties 
but" the elastics encircling her waist and thighs, and the ragged-edged 
front panel of the flimsy old garment. Her brassiere dangled limp and empty 
about her waist. Cotton squatted beside her, stiff penis searing her arm, 
and fondled and toyed with her heavy breasts. Tommy lay on the grass between 
her feet, cheek resting against her calf, as he moved his finger in and out 
of her vagina, reaching around her thigh with his other hand to play with 
her clitoris. The marijuana cigarette was close to going out. She reached 
over and picked it up, blew on its end to get the glow going, and took a 
very deep drag on it and held the smoke in her lungs. 

"Pretty good shit, eh?" said Cotton. 

She nodded. "Mm-hm." 

"Suck it up, baby. It's balling grass. You about ready for some cock now?" 

She sighed out a thin cloud of smoke and said, "You're gonna do it sooner or 
later. Might as well be now." 

"You don't sound like you want it very much." 

"You know how I feel about you." 

"I know how you like to fuck, too. I know how you used to want my cock in 
you all the time, all the time, and how goddamned good it used to make you 
feel." 

"Fuck me if you want to fuck somebody!" said Rita. "She doesn't want you!" 

"Shut your mouth, punk," he said. "Shut up and go inside. Take Two-Inch 
Tommy with you, if he wants to go." 

Tommy didn't want to go. He was far too fascinated with his explorations of 
the mature sex of the lovely blonde housewife so close before him to listen 
to Rita's whining pleas, and the girl flounced off by herself to the house. 
The boy had two fingers of one hand up her vagina now, and the thumb of the 
other probing at the puckered mouth of her anus. His hands seemed quite 
experienced by now. They were holding Gail at a plateau of sexual excitement 
that had her dizzy and panting and sweating, and that made her all the more 
vulnerable to Cotton Ronson's smooth voice. 

"I know you want me to fuck you, Pale Gail. I know you want me to slide this 
big cock of mine right up inside your hot pussy." 

"Then do it. Just do it and get it over with." 

"I want to hear you say it, baby. I don't want to do something you don't 
really want. You know? I'd feel mean. It wouldn't be good. But, Jesus, it 
sure would feel good to slip this hard cock to you just one more time." 

Just one more time, she murmured. "Do you want it?" 

She nodded. It was her body speaking, not her brain. 

"I couldn't hear ya, honey. You want what?" 

"You know. Jesus, Cotton!" 

"Well, don't get mad. This is no time to get mad at me. I just want to make 
you feel good, honey. You just tell me what you want, and I'll do it. 
Anything at all. Just for you." 

"Put it in me." 

"Hmm?" 

"Fuck me, Cotton. Stick your hard cock in me. Goddamn, you got me so hot I 
can't think about anything else in the whole fucking world but cock!" 

"Really hot, are you?" 

"Fuckin' right, I'm hot. Twat juice runnin' down my legs. That little 
motherfucker sure did learn fast about how to finger-fuck. C'mon, Cotton. 
I'm really ready. Give it to me, baby. Slip that big fat cock of yours right 
up my cunt before I go outta my fuckin' head." 

"That's the way I like to hear you talk. That's the Pale Gail I used to 
know. Shit. A couple of years don't change a person except a little bit on 
the outside. This reminds me of that party we had in...." 

Gail quickly pushed herself up on her knees and swatted the boy's hands from 
her. She swept back her long blonde hair and snapped, "You motherfucker, 
what're you trying to do to me? Are you gonna fuck me or are you gonna talk? 
Did they turn you into a goddamned fairy in prison, or do you still like 
cunt?" 

"I'll show you how much of a goddamned fairy I am!" he said, and pushed her 
back down again and went around behind her. 

She smiled and closed her eyes as she felt him parting the plump wet pads of 
flesh at either side of her gaping cunt with his thumbs. She was on her 
knees and elbows now, resting her chin on her crossed forearms, snoxxhite 
ass high in the air, blood-pink nipples nestled in the grass. When she felt 
him fit the head of his hot cock against her hole, she moved to put her 
forehead on her arms, and her grin broadened as she watched the whole, 
curving length of cock disappear inside her hungering body until his big, 
hairy balls were dangling down between her smoothly shaven thighs. 

He'd pushed it in fast and hard, exactly as she'd wanted him to do. Her 
remark about his becoming a fairy in prison had provoked his anger just to 
the proper point so that his hands were exactly rough enough as they dug 
deep into the softness of her buttocks. He was feeding it to her good and 
fast. The deep strokes of his big cock were stretching her clitoris down 
toward her hole, and BANG, she had that first badly needed orgasm before 
he'd been in her for ten seconds. 

"You cum, didn't you?" he panted. "I could feel you tighten up. I made you 
cum, didn't I?" 

"Just shut up and fuck me," she panted back, looking down past her wobbling 
white breasts as he took his turn at obeying her. Her juices were clearly 
visible now as they glistened down her inner thighs, and the movements of 
her triangular blonde pelt were altogether erotic as it was penetrated again 
and again by that long, hard cock. This wasn't the slow, luxurious coupling 
she'd grown used to in the past months, it was the wild, exciting fucking 
she'd known as a girl, and she wanted it to last forever. 

"Raise up. Lemme feel your tits a little, Pale Gail." 

She turned her head to see that the owner of the pleading voice and the 
burrowing hands was Two-Inch Tommy, and she grinned at him and pushed her 
torso up with her hands. It made her hotly frictioning cunt fit even tighter 
around the driving piston in it, and it allowed Tommy to get his 
cunt-smelling hands on her tits. At this point, that wasn't enough. 

She pulled him down on the grass, got him to lie on his back with his face 
up under her, and shook her shoulders from side to side as she lowered her 
breasts on him. 

BANG! She went off again. She was panting hard and fast against the shoulder 
of the boy who was sucking her tits, and feeling every hot inch of cock that 
was plunging in and out of her cunt. 

BANG ... BANG ... BANG ... The orgasms were coming steadily now, one after 
the other in such rapid succession that they all blended into a continuously 
flowing state of ecstasy of the same kind she'd so often felt while speeding 
through a hot desert on the back of a blasting Harley, stoned out of her 
skull on acid and rubbing her twat against the hard spine of a rough, tough 
stud who knew no fear. Her body was quivering and shaking all over from the 
spasms as he rocked her back and forth on her knees to meet the deeply 
stabbing penetrations of his steely hot cock. The avid suckings of the kid 
at her tits were good for a bit of added titillation, but it was that big 
hot cock that was doing the real job on her. 

Nothing mattered at all. She'd at last reached that dreamed-of state of 
perpetual pleasure, reaching on as endlessly as a smooth, fast highway 
reached toward the blazing afternoon sun. The cock in her was infinitely 
big, infinitely pleasing-and then she felt it grow bigger still with that 
first convulsive orgasmic swelling that sent her soaring up into the burning 
ball of the sun. 

"Oh, baby! UNGH, UNGH, UNGH!" 

"FUCK IT! FUCK IT, YOU HORNY BASTARD!" 

The kid sucking her tits was nothing but a nuisance now. She got upright on 
her arms, popping a nipple out of his puckered mouth, humping her back. Not 
many more of the good hard strokes left, and she had to make the most of 
them. 

His cock was slipping more easily in her now, lubricated with his semen, and 
she clamped down and squeezed on it with all her strength, tensing all her 
muscles to hold in the tremendous ripplings of joy that were coursing 
through her. 

"FUCK! FUCK!" she chanted, and he picked up the flagging tempo, dug his 
fingers deeper into her hips, and hit bottom with the head of his tool, 
stretching her clit to the utmost, giving her that last push into the 
burning ball of the sun, and hauling her back and holding them together, as 
with the last of her strength she ground her soft ass against his hard 
thighs, holding in all the vast pleasure with the tightness of her quivering 
cunt. 

 CHAPTER NINE 

Every muscle in Gail's body relaxed with the blossoming open of her cunt, 
and she slumped forward. The long, hard thing in her body was drawn sliding 
out of her and she collapsed on the cool lawn with a sigh. "Go 'way," she 
murmured, when hot little hands began running over her back and buttocks. 

"I want to fuck her now, Cotton!" Tommy excitedly said. "Jeez, I never 
wanted anything so bad in my life! Can I, Cotton? Is it true you guys share 
your women?" 

"Shit, yes. Roll her over, man, and sock it to her." 

The eager hands got Gail up on her side, and she pushed herself over the 
rest of the way, sprawling on her back in the sunshine now, legs apart, arms 
out, lazy smile on her passion-flushed face. 

"Come on, kid. Get it while it's hot," she said, and rotated her hips in 
animal invitation. That wasn't her young little paperboy kneeling naked 
beside her with a look of awed lust on his face, it was just another of the 
street-kids from San Francisco, eager to share his body with hers for a 
while and thus put the knock on the puritanical habits of the establishment. 
She was stoned on sunshine and sex, there was no tomorrow, and it was time 
for truckin' and fuckin'. She grinned as she looked through her lashes at 
the dazzling sun, until a shadow fell across her face. 

It was the boy, standing up, with his back turned to her. Gail grabbed his 
ankle to turn him around, then looked where he was looking. What she saw 
caused her to sit up. 

There was the dark-haired girl, slinking her way across the lawn toward 
them. She'd pinned her coal-black tresses up on top of her head and was 
wearing a pair of Gail's high-style heeled shoes, and from Gail's lowly 
angle, she looked about six feet tall. Large silver rings dangled from her 
ears, and her piquantly pretty face was heavily made up. Her eyebrows were 
arched and thickened with pencil and she had on a pair of Gail's sooty black 
eyelashes to further enhance the blue-shadowed sultriness of her dark eyes. 
Her lips were bright with thick red lipstick, and pink rouge tinged her 
cheeks. A black velvet choker was tight around her slender olive neck, and 
her slimly nubile body was scantily covered with the gauzy film of a red 
shortie nightgown, edged in black. Through this thin veil of nylon could be 
seen a crimson brassiere which was very well-filled, and its swaying hem was 
at the girl's little, nearly hairless pussy. The completion of the girl's 
abbreviated attire was the black shirred elastic garter around her thigh. It 
was all Gail's apparel, placed on the body of an adolescent, and somehow 
transforming her into a lewdly inviting parody of the loosest, most 
provocative type of woman. 

She was inviting enough to turn the heads of both Cotton and Tommy. Although 
Cotton had just sated his loins, he was grinning like a fool at the 
hip-switching little creature in black and red, and Tommy's keen interest in 
Gail's welcoming body was forgotten now as he aped the older male. 

"Didja fuck her?" she asked Cotton, waggling his limp, wet penis in her 
hand, "or is there any need for me to ask?" 

"Well, yeah," he replied, slipping his hand around her thin shoulders, 
trying to draw her to his side. "But I'll be ready again pretty quick. 
Goddamn, you look pretty good. I haven't seen a chick decked out like that 
for a long time. You want a little tongue?" 

"I want a little cock," she said, sinuously wriggling away from him and 
slinking her way over to the awe-struck boy. 

She took him in her hand. While Gail watched from not two feet away, she 
dexterously fondled his balls and lightly stroked his stiff cock with her 
soft little hand. The boy stood there panting, afraid to risk Cotton's wrath 
by touching her, but quite unable to stop her from touching him. 

"It's really hard," said the costumed girl. "It may not be as big as yours, 
Cotton, but it sure is a lot harder. D'you know how to use it, Tommy?" 

"I guess so," he stammered. "I mean, I never have, but I bet I could. I was 
just gonna do it to her when you ... when you ... Boy, you are really 
something! Isn't she really something, Cotton?" 

The man in the sunglasses swaggered over to the boy and swatted him on the 
butt, saying, "Yeah, she's really something, and so are you. I think you two 
oughta get together. I think we all oughta get together and have a party. 
Come on. It's party time, upstairs in the apartment where we can all cut 
loose. Gail, go get that case of beer I seen by your back door. Make it 
fast. These kids can't wait long. Move it, Pale Gail, it's party time!" 

Parry time. How many times had those two words set Gail into motion? They 
did it again now, they helped her up off the grass and into the house as her 
three companions climbed the stairs laughing. As soiled as her body was, she 
didn't even think about taking a shower. She hardly saw the interior of the 
house as she hurried to get the beer. She didn't want to see it, didn't want 
to think about what she'd done to her marriage, only wanted to get some beer 
in her belly as a further excuse to forget herself in party time. 

She jogged up the stairs to the apartment with the beer bouncing on her 
shoulder and her bare tits jouncing on her chest, hoping she wasn't too late 
for the onset of the sexual festivities. Cotton had considerately stayed the 
anxiousness of the two young people. They were sitting on a sleeping bag a 
yard apart, devouring each other with their eyes. Tommy's prick stood 
straight up from his loins as he gazed at Rita Bonita, while she sat there 
writhing and undulating her torso, caressing herself through the red nylon, 
trying to tempt him closer with the sultriest of looks at him. The boy 
didn't look away from her as Cotton popped open a warm can of beer, spraying 
foam in the direction of the sleeping bag. 

"Those two are really ready," said Cotton. 

"Well, let 'em get at it," said Pale Gail, "and give me one of those beers." 

"Cotton-n-n-n, don't keep us apart," said Rita, turning her back to the boy, 
looking at him over her shoulder, and walking an inch closer to him on her 
cunning little buttocks. 

"I think you oughta start him out with a little blow-job, Rita. What do you 
think, Gail?" 

"Christ, let 'em go at it any way they want. It's all good." 

"But it's best with you," he said, and spun her into his arms. 

She'd wanted to see the kids making it, but feeling the contact of hairy 
male flesh against her naked femininity was better than seeing any show. She 
reached for the sink with her beer, dropped it on the floor, and used both 
hands on Cotton's long hair to pull him deeper into the kiss. Behind her, 
she could hear the sound of eager lips on turgid flesh, and that provoked 
her to new erotic heights with the workings of her lips on Cotton's lancing 
tongue. 

He was getting hard again down below, not urgently so, but enough to start 
the juices flowing in her loins once again. She softly ground her belly 
against the hard length of him to keep it growing, and at the same time 
pushed her flattened breasts harder against his chest. His hands were 
digging deep into her buttocks, pulling her up to meet him, making her stand 
on tiptoe as she plunged her tongue into his hairy mouth. Through her 
slitted eyes she could see the reflection of her eyes in his glasses, 
distorted and broadened, but unmistakably lustful and hot. She could feel 
that hot lust spreading inside her body too, being pumped to all her 
extremities by the heart that pounded against that of the wiry man who had 
so lusted after her for so very long. 

"Mmm-m-m-m," cooed Rita's voice behind Gail. "You taste nice, but I bet 
you'll feel even better than you taste. Two-Inch Tommy, what a phony name 
for you." 

"It's good enough for me. Right, Cotton?" he asked, his voice all quavery 
with his excitement. 

"Don't bother me, kid, I'm busy," said Cotton, and gnawed with his lips on 
Gail's ear while he dug under the jutting swells of her ass with his 
fingers, close to her sex, injecting her with the old need for him. 

"Mexico, baby," he murmured in her ear. "Or I can get big in dope and buy 
you a place so goddamned big you could hide this little dump in it and never 
find it again. Clothes and jewels, Rolls Royces instead of Harleys, money in 
the bank, and more on the way from the next big dope deal. Excitement, baby, 
and plenty of it. I know the old times are dead, but there's lots of good 
new times to come. Money, baby, that's where it's at. You and me and a 
million fuckin' dollars. Say the word, that's all. Just say the word, Pale 
Gail." 

Gail moaned and shook her head at his throat, while behind her Rita sharply 
said, "Put it in, Tommy! Can't you find the damned hole? Here. Give me it. 
It's right ... ahhh-h-h-h ... it's right there...." 

"Ahhh-h-h-h ... Am I hurtin' you? Is it okay? Jeeze, am I in you?!?" 

"Yes, fuck me! OH, FUCK ME! GIVE ME YOUR CHERRY, TWO-INCH TOMMY! GIVE ME 
YOUR CHERRY!" 

"Goddamned kids really make a racket," said Cotton. "They're gettin' it on 
so loud I didn't even hear you say the word, kiddo. What do you say? You 
coming with me?" 

"Not now, Cotton. Jesus, get off my back and let's party it up." 

"Yeah, but we need some music!" he said, spinning her around in his arms, 
sweeping her feet off the floor, giving her a weird, kaleidoscope view of 
the energetically humping young couple in the corner of the bare room. 

The boy's white buttocks were fairly flying, though not too rhythmically, 
but the steady up-beat tempo of the girl's hips was making up for that. His 
eyes were wide and his lipstick-smeared mouth was in a frightened grimace, 
as if he was making the beast with two backs with a flamboyantly dressed old 
prostitute instead of with a little girl his own age. 

As Cotton spun Gail about in his arms, the scene in the corner changed as if 
it was all being illuminated by a slow strobe light. The couple would change 
positions as they continued to hump. There would be Tommy's frightened, 
straining face, then Rita's gaudily painted countenance reflecting keen 
delight in her coupling with the virginal boy. Tan and white and black and 
red, tumbling together on the khaki bedroll, there in the starkly bare 
corner of the room. They were knowing the delights that Gail had known in 
her youth, and that she was feeling once again as Cotton Ronson spun her 
crazily about the room. 

"OH! OH, JEE-E-E-E-EEEZZZZZ!" the boy cried out. 

"SOCK IT TO ME! GIVE IT TO ME! FUCK ME-E-E-E-E! CUM! CUM IN ME!" the girl 
shrieked back. 

Come to me, Clancy! Gail's silent voice cried out. Come to me before it's 
too late! 

"Hey, hey!" Cotton yelled, staggering and slipping, dumping himself and his 
flying blonde burden atop the orgasming flesh on the floor. 

Gail was there in the midst of a jumble of bodies, a part of the orgasming 
flesh. She could smell the orgasms most distinctly, and feel the shuddering 
contractions of the firm young flesh under her and her panting partner. A 
knee cracking against her head had knocked away any thoughts of salvation, 
and she wildly laughed and burrowed deeper into the pile, grasping at 
whatever she could to join the four of them deeper in the climactic melee. 

"Sorry," Cotton laughed. "Didn't mean to do that. Slipped on the fucking 
beer. Oh, my back." 

"You're just getting old," Gail said, and found his ribs with her fingers to 
make him squirm in the pile. 

He yowled and rolled her over, pinned her down across struggling legs. "I'll 
show you how old I'm getting!" he said, and she gasped at the sudden entry 
of her body with his. 

It was only there for a moment, but that was long enough to bring Gail to a 
high, thrusting peak. BANG! She went off like a short-fused firecracker and 
he was gone from her, rolling away from her and laughing, leaving her 
hanging on the hook of lust with nothing left in her to trigger the rest of 
the string of firecrackers which would lead up to the really big bang she 
had to have. 

She'd been this route before. It was the proper way to start a party. Get a 
little high on grass and beer, get a little hyped on sex, and then keep it 
all going, stretch it all out with anything goes fun while it all built and 
built to an explosively high orgy that left the revelers exhausted, dragging 
about for days, with no energy left for anything but fond reminiscenses of 
the last big blast before the next one. 

"Beer here, beer here," Cotton chanted. 

"Fetch, Rita Bonita," said Gail, with a loud swat on a damp butt. 

"Get off me. I'm all tangled up." 

"I'd get it but I'm too beat to move," said Two-Inch Tommy. "Jeez, that was 
really something! Thanks, Rita Bonita, and you too, Cotton!" 

"Beer here, beer here! Goddamn it, let's get an ass in gear around here! 
What kind of a coming-out party is this? Crack open some brews, and let's 
party!" 

Rita disentangled herself and staggered to her feet. She tossed cans of beer 
from the case by the door to Gail's hands, and Gail told her, "We need some 
music, Rita Bonita. There's a portable radio inside on the bookcase. Go get 
it and let's boogie." 

Down the stairs she scampered, ever ready to please. Cotton sat up, cracked 
upen his beer, and guzzled it down. Beside Gail, Tommy tried to follow suit, 
but the warm beer foamed up toward his nose and he choked, coughed, and 
spewed suds down on the sleeping bag. 

Coughing, eyes watering, he said, "Guess it went down the wrong throat. 
Sorry, Cotton." 

"You got plenty of time to learn to drink beer. I'll teach you how to do 
that. Shit, I'll teach you all there is to know! Where's the grass? Get me a 
number. Who's got the doobies?" 

He stood up, wincing, holding his back. Blaring rock music preceded Rita's 
re-entry to the room, and she stopped in the doorway, radio in hand, and 
said, "Rheumatism?" 

"Shut your mouth and get me a doobie," he said. 

 CHAPTER TEN 

The marijuana cigarettes were under a corner of the sleeping bag. Rita and 
Tommy got one, lit it up, and hurried to give it to Cotton. Two deep drags 
and a little flexing of his long lean torso and he was smiling again and 
embracing the young pair to his naked body. 

"So you got yourself a cherry, did you?" he said to Rita. "And, Tommy, you 
had yourself a piece of tail. Rita, I told you there was no way you'd ever 
be always faithful to me. A cock is a cock and a pussy is a pussy. Right, 
Rita? Right, Two-Inch Tommy?" 

"That's about the size of it now," said the boy, grinning as he pulled on 
his dwindled sex with his hand. "But it sure was terrific. I sure would like 
to do it again soon." 

"Get it up, kid, 'cause you got all the pussy you'll ever want, right in 
this room." 

"I'll be glad to help him," said Rita, slithering her body past Cotton's 
chest and nudging the boy's loins with the smoothness of her hip. 

Young as she was, Rita was an expert temptress. She employed all of her 
willowy tan body in twisting and turning to give the slowly grinning boy an 
exciting view, and as she sinuously moved before him she trailed her fingers 
and the soft nylon of the shortie over his loins. Cotton held the cigarette 
to his lips and he automatically inhaled from it, coughed, almost wept, but 
continued to look at the erotically moving girl beside him. Beside Cotton, 
his body looked very vital and young and innocent, nearly hairless and quite 
smooth, with none of the scars and cement burns that marked the flesh of the 
man at his side. It seemed as if the boy should have a small pair of wings 
sprouting from his shoulder blades, while the man should have horns 
sprouting from his head and cloven hoofs instead of human feet. The boy's 
penis was a sweet, shy little cherub, while Cotton's big cock was a gnarled, 
thick old snake. The bearded man grinned down at the rapt boy, who in turn 
was staring fixedly at the slow twistings and turnings of the black-haired 
bird in the artificial feathers. 

"Get it up," Rita purred, as she brushed her lips close to Tommy's. "Let's 
see it come up hard for me, honey." 

"Give the kid time. We got all night," said Cotton. "Right, Tommy?" 

"Yeah. Right, Cotton. Goddamn, she sure is sexy. Pale Gail is too. Goddamn, 
what a goddamn party! Goddamn!" 

"Shit, this is nothing," Cotton boasted. "Wait till you see one where 
there's a hundred bikers and their Mammas swingin' out, more dope than you 
could use in a lifetime, and a dozen chicks dancin' nude, all for the big 
bad bikers. Gail, let's get it going. Get up here and show us how you used 
to swing 'em at that Go-Go joint." 

She'd been sitting there sipping her warm beer and keeping the glow in her 
pussy alive with her hand. Her thoughts had drifted back with Cotton's words 
to the bacchanalias she'd been to with the bikers and beyond that to those 
psychedelic orgies she'd known when she was Rita's age. But now she was 
older, more experienced, and she put that experience to work for her as she 
got up and began to move to the music. 

It was a fast, hard beat. Rita was doing her sinuous dance at half-time to 
the gutty beat, but Gail swung into it matching each drum-beat with thrusts 
of hips and shoulders that had her whole body in fast-motion. Still it was a 
most voluptuous dance she did, for everything about her from her long satin 
legs to her full velvet breasts was nothing at all if it wasn't voluptuous. 
She could shake her tits till her nipples were a pink blur, she could move 
that ass of hers so fast that her blonde pelt was in a frenzy of activity, 
and still she was all womanly voluptuousity. She felt it in her body, she 
saw it in the expressions of both Tommy and the dancing Rita, and she even 
saw it through the mirror-like spectacles of Cotton Ronson. Rita was doing a 
teasing, provocative dance that was sexy in the extreme for a girl her age, 
clad as she was, but it was still a teasing performance. Gail was doing a 
fucking dance, arms held out from her sides, tits bouncing, lascivious grin 
on her face, while her hips thrust and jammed against a whole series of 
imaginary penises, hard as poles, which came at her from every side. 

"You've really got it, Pale Gail." said Cotton. "If I go bust, you can 
always make it for both of us as a topless dancer." 

"Is she coming with us?" Rita indignantly asked. 

"Don't worry about it now. It's party time now. Just keep dancing, Rita 
Bonita. Two-Inch Tommy isn't even up hard yet. I know what he needs. Where's 
the snuff-box?" 

"I dunno," said Rita, sullen now as she undulated her little body, but 
nonetheless provocative in her movements. "Look around for it." 

He gestured at the littered room and said, "In this mess? You can find it 
later. I'll bring up the stash. That's what old Tom-Tom needs. Keep goin', 
you two. I'll be right back." 

Gail didn't care if he ever came back. She was cutting loose, doing what she 
wanted to do, naked and flaunting it, can of beer in her hand, swinging out 
with two excitingly young people who couldn't take their eyes off her. The 
door was wide open and the blaring, thumping music could be heard out in the 
street, and she didn't give a damn. Marijuana, cocaine, minors-she was 
breaking hell out of the laws, and it felt good. The girl envied her, the 
boy lusted for her, and the man thumping down the stairs two at a time could 
hardly wait to get back to her. Wildly gyrating, she was the center of the 
universe, and everything in the universe that was happening was now, right 
now. 

BOW-WHOOM! The sound of the ninety cubes firing up below them reverberated 
the floor like a sounding board and sent its shock waves hurtling up through 
Gail's legs. It soared and faded, causing the youngsters to exchange a 
wondering look. It faded from below and soared from outside, and Pale Gail 
danced her way to the door, leaned out of it, and shouted down into the 
old-fashioned garden at the mod knight in his suit of tattooed skin who was 
revving up his iron steed at the bottom of the stairs: 

"Bring it up! See if you can do it, old man!" 

VA-VA-VAAA-ROO-O-O-OOOOMMMM! 

The big bike and its determined rider came bumping up the narrow wooden 
stairs, motor roaring, wheel tilting side to side as banister and wall 
turned the ape-hanger bars. Rita Bonita peeked and shrieked and backed out 
of the doorway as the thundering steel monster came on, and even Pale Gail 
backed off as the chromed wheel appeared at the landing, cracked a 
two-by-four railing, and turned its tread into the doorway. 

V A-V A-R O O O O O M ! POW! RROOOOO-O-O-O-OOOM! 

Crashing and tilting, knocking the door jamb loose, spewing fire, the iron 
hog wedged powerfully through the narrow doorway, its grimacing rider 
trailing one leg and fighting the grips with bleeding hands. It caught 
traction on the hardwood floor and surged ahead, buried its nose to the 
forks in the plasterboard and stopped, sending its mount sliding up the 
tank, off the bar and onto the floor, laughing and groaning and rolling out 
of the way as the plasterboard ripped and the thousand pounds of blasting 
machine came crashing down on its side. 

Tommy hurried to him. "Are you hurt? Are you okay, man?" 

"Turn off the bike! Switch off the ignition!" Cotton yelled, as he tried to 
stagger to his feet. Knuckles on both hands were scraped to the bone, and a 
flap of skin hung from his elbow. His left knee was badly scraped, and there 
was another scrape over the cracked left lens of his sunglasses. He winced 
in pain as he made it erect. Tommy held him upright as Gail cut the switch 
that controlled the big motor. The rock music sounded thready and very 
artificial in the wake of the big roar. 

"I can do it," said Cotton. "I can still do any fucking thing I set my 
goddamned mind to. Set my bike up, you fuckers, before all the gas runs out. 
Then lemme at that tank. That's where the good stuff is, that's where I got 
my stash." 

 CHAPTER ELEVEN 

The cocaine came out in sausages. He had it tied up in condoms, linked end 
to end, stuffed down inside the two-gallon gas tank and tied to the cap with 
a-string. Cotton wouldn't let the others help him. Bleeding, bruised, 
staggering, he pulled out the fat white pigs of dope with exacting care and 
laid them dripping with gasoline on the unfinished floor. "Don't nobody 
touch that till I get back," he said, and he got on his motorcycle and rode 
back down the stairs. 

He wedged it back through the doorway and went bumpety-crashing down the 
stairs. Tommy Simmons stood on the landing, wincing with every crunch, until 
the motor's roar fell silent. Pure worship glowed in his eyes as Cotton 
Ronson's feet trod the stairs, and he stepped aside to take the arm of the 
battered cyclist as he re-entered the room. One lens of Cotton's glasses was 
gone, he was bleeding from half a dozen places, and in his hand he carried 
the hunting knife. With it he hacked off one of the sausages and carried it 
to the pan Gail used for her spackling. He emptied the white powder into the 
pan and took a liberal pinch of it between a bloody thumb and forefinger. 
With two big sniffs, the cocaine disappeared up his nose, and he turned to 
smile at his hovering companions. 

"Ahhh-h-h-h, that's better. Help yourselves. There's my contribution to the 
party." 

Rita flung her arms about his neck and said, "Poor baby, you're all banged 
up. God, what a fantastic thing to do! What a way to deliver the coke! I 
just love you, I just love you half to death!" 

"Move away and let me breathe," he said, and gave her an elbow in the ribs. 

She sat down hard on the floor, and Tommy said, "Jeez, Cotton, you really 
got yourself banged up. Maybe you ought to go to the emergency hospital or 
something." 

Cotton laughed and ruffled the boy's hair, saying, "This is nothing. Shit, I 
didn't even break a fucking bone. A couple of scrapes don't mean nothing. I 
partied at the Lost Lake run for two days with a busted collar bone. Have 
some coke, kid. Live it up. Rita Bonita, help my friend turn on to the good 
stuff. Show him how to snort it. I'm gonna wash up a little and then we'll 
all swing together." 

"Come on down to the house, Cotton," Gail said, and firmly took his arm. "A 
couple of those scrapes need a band-aid." 

He protested, but he went with her. He looked back over his shoulder when 
they were on the splintered landing. Tommy was looking at him with concern 
mixed into his worship, and Rita was fingering through the pan of powder. He 
winked at Tommy and allowed Gail to help him down the stairs. 

Gail couldn't get him to go into the house. He insisted on staying behind to 
inspect the damage to his bike, while she went inside and gathered up the 
merthiolate and all the bandages in the medicine cabinet. When she came out, 
he was sitting on the grass looking at his big machine, while blood dripped 
from dangling fingers between his legs. 

She cracked the valve on the hose bib and poured a gentle stream of water 
from the hose over his cuts and bruises, and he didn't move. She painted the 
wounds with merthiolate and bound them up with bandages, and still he sat 
looking at his bike. 

"That was an awfully dumb thing to do," she said. 

He looked up at the doorway from whence came the thumping music and said, 
"It wasn't a bad show. The kids got a boot out of it. Man, I wish some of 
the boys had been here to see it. Old Rotten Cotton's still got some kicks 
in him." 

"You had an audience. Isn't that all that matters? Tommy will never forget 
what you did today. You've got a new fan." 

He chuckled. "Fat chance of that. He's a good kid. Reminds me a lot of old 
Cowboy Billy when he was young." 

"And where's Cowboy Billy now?" 

"Got snuffed in a fight about a year ago." 

"Cotton, that was seven years ago. Cowboy Billy was killed in a fight before 
I even met you. You used to talk about him then, and he was just as dead." 

"Was it that long ago? Shit, I sponsored him into the Imps." 

"And you'd sponsor Tommy in now if there were any Imps left, and chances are 
he'd be dead in a couple of years too." 

He took a deep breath and said, "You know, I think I might of got ripped off 
on that coke. I'm not gettin' off on it. I might have two dollars worth of 
milk sugar up there instead of twenty thou worth of happy dust. Well, easy 
come, easy go. We can party it up on grass and beer, and tomorrow I can go 
after that motherfucker that ripped me off." 

"Who? You and Tough Tommy? That's a good way to get him killed in a hurry." 

"Good way for him to prove he's got balls, too." He turned to look at her, 
one eye obscured behind the mirror, the other haggard and drawn, yellow and 
red. "You coming with me, Pale Gail? You come with me and the kid stays 
here. That's not a threat, it's a promise." 

Gail looked around at the house, the garden, the silent bird-feeders, the 
little pile of weeds she'd left by the flower bed, as Cotton spoke fast and 
low at her side. He spoke of constant summer nights, no problems but plenty 
of excitement, hard work when the need for it arose, and good times when 
they could be afforded, and he spoke of freedom. "I'll do anything you want, 
be anything you want me to be. We can take Rita Bonita along for kicks if 
you say so or we can drop her off at Juvenile Hall. Come on, Gail. I'll 
paddle Tough Tommy's behind and send him home, and then you and me can 
split. It'd be a good life, Gail. I wouldn't ever let you regret it. What do 
you say, kid? Tell me now." 

She sighed and slumped on the grass beside him, breasts and belly sagging. 
She looked up at the wrecked staircase, nodded wearily and said, "I'll go 
with you, I don't care where. But first get Tommy and Rita straightened up 
and safely out of here. I don't want them on my conscience too." 

He lifted her head by the chin, looked past the tears in her eyes, and said, 
"If you're knocked up, you'll have to get an abortion. I can take another 
man's wife, but I can't take his kid." 

The tears spilled out and Gail nodded again, shook off his hand and looked 
down at the green grass. She was plucking out handfuls of the dichondra when 
Rita's excited voice came down from above. 

"He's got a nosebleed! I guess he snorted too much and it made his nose 
bleed. How can I stop it?" 

"I'm okay! I'm okay!" said Tommy. 

He was on the landing, holding his head back with a rag pressed against his 
face, jitterbugging in place to the sound of the music. He kept on rapidly 
moving his feet as Rita led him blindly down the stairs in response to 
Cotton's command. The biker had the boy lie down on his back on the grass, 
told him to keep cool, told him the bleeding would soon stop. 

"A little blood don't hurt. Let's party!" said the boy. His penis was very 
erect, and his feet were still dancing even in the horizontal position. One 
hand held the rag to his nose, the other roamed and tickled around the 
diminutive body of the girl sitting beside him. One minute she was giggling 
and squirming and caressing him, the next she was proclaiming the marvelous 
potency of the cocaine. 

"Christ, could we ever have a ball if you didn't sell that, Cotton. There's 
enough there for the four of us to party on for a year!" she said. "I'm so 
hot I can't sit still! Tickle me there, Two-Inch Tommy, ooo, I love it! I 
wish you'd stop bleedin' so we could ball." 

"And I wish you'd shut your fucking mouth," said Tommy, and sat up. He 
dabbed at his nose, felt with his fingers at the staunched trickle of blood, 
and said to Cotton, "Hey, boss, that coke is far-out stuff. I could get to 
like that in a helluva hurry. Are you gonna sell it wholesale?" Cotton 
nodded, and he quickly went on. "If we sold it on the street, we could make 
even more. We could probably make twice as much selling it on the street, 
man! We could sell a little here, enough to maybe buy me an old Harley, and 
then the four of us could get on the two hogs and go to another big town, 
sell some more, buy some more from your dealer when we run out, and just go 
on and on! It'd be party time forever! You and me, the two chicks, lots of 
money and lots of dope, and two big hogs that'd never let us down. What do 
you say? Do you want to do it? I'd be with you all the way, Cotton. I'd do 
all the street selling 'cause you already took the risk when you bought it. 
Okay? Okay?" 

Cotton chuckled and said, "You are the stupidest kid I ever seen in my life. 
You know what that is up there? That's milk sugar. I got ripped off. I was 
stupid. They gave me a sample of good coke and then they sold me a bag of 
milk sugar. Not too smart, eh? Forget about being a dope dealer and stick to 
delivering papers. That's about your speed, Tommy baby." 

The boy looked at him dumbfounded, and Rita said, "Bullshit! I've had some 
coke, and that stuff up there is the best I ever had! Man, I'm so high I 
can't sit still! Let's ball, and then let's cut out of here and party all 
the way across the country!" 

"You can't sit still, eh?" said Cotton. "Then get your ass up those stairs 
and flush the rest of that milk sugar down the toilet. It is not cocaine. I 
got ripped off. Party time is over with. Now." 

She stared at his serenely brutal face just long enough for her smile to 
fade, then hurried up the stairs. Tommy looked from her to Cotton in 
disbelief, and he winced when the sound of the toilet flushing was heard. In 
a moment Rita reappeared at the doorway, licking her fingers with gusto, 
coming down the stairs to rejoin them. "You're crazy," she told Cotton, "but 
I love you and I did what you said. Can we party now?" 

She snuggled down between Cotton and Tommy, reaching at once for both of 
their penises. Tommy pushed her away and earnestly said, "I don't know why 
you did that, Cotton. It might not have been coke, but it was good whatever 
it was. I guess you are crazy, but I'm still ready to go with you, man. I 
could steal a bike and we could take off for wherever you wanted. I'm not 
afraid. If Gail don't want to go off with us, just the three of us could do 
it. We could share Rita Bonita. She'd dig that." 

"You just bet I would," said the girl, trying to worm her way in between 
them again. 

Cotton put his hand in her face and pushed her aside. He leaned close to 
Tommy Simmons, put his hand on the boy's bare knee, and said with an oily 
smile, "Who needs her? Who needs any chick? I mean, chicks are nice, but I 
got turned on to things in the joint that you wouldn't believe. I got a 
mouth, Tough Tommy, and so do you. I got an asshole I know how to use in 
more than one way, and I could teach you to use yours so's you'd never even 
think about a chick except to make some money from. You don't need to steal 
a bike to join up with me, you cute little punk. You could sit right behind 
me on the bike with this hot little pecker hard all day, and at night I'd 
keep it hot for you. I'll show you what I mean right now, Tough Tommy. Gimme 
a little kiss, and then we'll ...." 

The boy drew slowly back as Cotton's open, hairy mouth approached him. Four 
inches from his face was as far as it got before Tommy rolled away on the 
grass, got to his feet and stood there trembling. Without a word, he climbed 
quickly into his T-shirt and cut-offs. His red face turned crimson as Cotton 
beckoned to him with a bandaged finger, and he turned and went out the gate, 
jumped on his bicycle and went pedaling off up the street. 

Cotton shook his head and grinned. "Dumb fucking kids, they'll believe 
anything you tell 'em nowadays. Rita Bonita, did you really flush that coke 
down the crapper?" 

"Well, sure! You told me to, so I did. When you tell me to do something, 
Cotton, I do it. Why didn't you give me a sign if you didn't want me to? You 
know I always do what you say. Did I do wrong?" 

He sighed and shook his head. "Go upstairs and pack. We're cutting out of 
here." 

She looked at Gail and smirked, then flounced up the stairs, swishing the 
shortie nightie behind her. Gail sighed and said, "I suppose all three of us 
can ride on your bike." 

"What the fuck makes you think you're goin' along with us?" he snapped at 
her. "I sure as shit don't need an old bag like you when I got a tight pussy 
like her to go with me. A tight pussy and no brains, that's what she's got. 
Shit, take you along and sure as shit you'd tell her what I did to Indian 
Archie, and there goes my bein' Rita Bonita's hero. No, you stay right here 
with your Clancy Stupid Harrigan. Have his goddamned kid, collect your 
goddamned mortgage payment books, look at your goddamned color TV. Me and 
Rita Bonita are goin' off together to live the good life." 

Gail began to silently cry. She laid her hand on Cotton's arm and said, "I 
said I'd go with you, and I will if you still want me to." 

"Me take you along? A blubberin' old bag like you? Sheeyit! Get outta my 
sight. Go in and put on a Tampax, you're bleedin'." 

He rose and limped over to his bike to give it his full attention and Gail 
sat there, exhausted. Minutes passed, and Rita came skipping down the 
stairs, tight bedroll and miscellaneous clothes in her arms, wearing her 
Levi's and her tank top. Without a word, she dropped Gail's soiled red 
nightie on the blonde head of the weary housewife and went to tie the 
bedroll on the sissy bar of the bike as Cotton painfully got into his crusty 
old uniform of the road. 

Rita Bonita perched high on the padded back fender of the bike and Cotton 
laboriously got into the saddle and kicked the starter, and again kicked it. 

BOW-WHOOM! It roared to life, and Rita slid down and snuggled up against 
him, hands laced around his belly, and stuck out her pretty pink tongue at 
Gail. Cotton revved the bike and leaned back against her, squirmed his back, 
let the engine go to idle, and twisted around. He pushed the girl's hand 
away and reached down into the top of her little marijuana-leaf-emblazoned 
T-shirt to grope at the big twin mounds that were within it. Out came a fat 
white sausage. 

He pushed it back inside and said, "You dumb goddamned broad. Wait till we 
get to where we're going, and I'll teach you to try to fool old Rotten 
Cotton!" 

"Where are we going, honey?" she sweetly asked. 

"Never mind. You're so dumb you'd forget if I told you. So long, fat-ass 
Mrs. Harrigan," he called to Pale Gail, and he winked broadly through the 
empty lens of his sunglasses, angrily wiped away the tear that had squirted 
out, and took off rooster-tailing dichondra, screeched through the gate, and 
went screaming up the street. 

After a long time, Gail went inside the house. Very incongruously, it was as 
neat as a pin, without the smallest sign of the utter shambles that Cotton 
Ronson invariably left in his wake. She showered and used a sanitary device, 
put on panties and bra and a favorite old housedress. The telephone was 
ringing, but she didn't answer it as she went into the kitchen. It would be 
Clancy, announcing his completion of the job at the naval base, and she 
hadn't time for him just then. She did have time to whip up an egg for the 
complaining Tasha before she went outside to have another look at the damage 
to her yard and to the nearly finished garage apartment. 

The steps were very rickety as she climbed them. It was a wonder they hadn't 
collapsed under the weight of Cotton and his machine in its descent. He and 
Rita had left nothing of their possessions behind, but his mark was 
irrevocably on the apartment in the form of the damaged wallboard, the skid 
marks, the litter of beer cans, the smell of gasoline. The transistor radio 
was still playing, issuing forth now with a news broadcast about the bombing 
in Cambodia. Gail picked it up and slipped it in the pocket of her dress, 
picked up a stillson wrench and loosened the gas connection to the hot water 
heater. She struck a match to the hiss and smiled in grim satisfaction as 
the flame licked out to reach a wall. She went back down the stairs to watch 
until the blaze was well lit, and then went inside and telephoned the fire 
department. Soon all the evidence of her visitor would be gone, and even the 
tracks from his hog would be obliterated under the trampling feet of the 
fireman. Clancy, her husband, would never have to know .... 

 CHAPTER TWELVE 

"You're getting a pretty decent tan," said Clancy, as he smoothed the oil in 
over Gail's softly rounded abdomen. "Start a little earlier next year, and 
you might even be a little brown." 

"I'm tired of being pale," she said, stretching her arms over her head as 
she basked in the bright sunlight, smiling through her lashes at him as his 
hand slipped up to smoothly move over her nicely flattened breasts. "Will 
you like me when I'm a brownie?" 

"I'd like you in the dark. Matter of fact, I have, but this is better. You 
are so beautiful." 

"You are too," she said, and took little handfuls of him from his knee to 
his bare buttock as they basked and smiled together on another of their 
Saturday mornings. 

"Flatterer." 

"This is sort of handsome too. Your cock, I mean," and she took the slowly 
stiffening length of it in her hand, just to make sure he knew what she was 
talking about. 

"Hungry?" he asked. 

"Famished," she replied, and rolled up on one elbow to further stiffen him. 
"Yummy," she purred, after a long, lovely minute, and settled back, but 
still held him in her hand. 

"I've got a little appetite going too," he said, and she parted her long, 
graceful legs as he bent over her. 

His appetite wasn't extremely urgent, but it was very nicely selective. Gail 
softly ruffled his hair and settled back more widely on the terry cloth, 
rhythmically tilting her hips for him, sensuously licking her lips for the 
residual taste of him and thoroughly enjoying this new warmth. The sun was 
fine, but there was nothing like a loving husband to really warm a girl. 

This was real luxury, far better than any Mexican beach. By stretching out 
her right hand, Gail could touch the ice-packed cooler which held their 
beer, and by reaching out with her left she could dangle her fingers in the 
Jacuzzi section of their new swimming pool. Of course, she moved neither 
hand from her husband's body, and went on stroking his hard manhood and 
fingering his thick hair as he eased his appetite and simultaneously spoke 
of his love for her. Though his tongue was active, he didn't communicate 
with words. 

The joys were spreading and growing in her. She wasn't orgasming, but she 
was doing the next best thing to it-feeling the love of her man and 
returning it confidently. An orgasm is a sudden release of sexual tension, 
and now Gail felt no tension at all, but just a lazy happiness that was 
growing and swelling steadily in her. 

It ended, for the moment, with the tap of a key on their mailbox and the 
voice of old Mr. Olson. "I got a letter with some postage due on it. Is that 
you over there?" 

"Yes, Mr. Olson," Gail called back. "Just a minute." 

She rose to pick up Clancy's trousers and search in their pockets for 
change, and he whispered, "Are you sure he can't see us?" 

"He can see us," she whispered back, "but he can't see we're both naked." 

"Mmmm-m-m-m," said Clancy, and sat up to softly rub his cheeks over those 
smoothly protuberant cheeks of his wife as she stood beside him. 

"How much is it, Mr. Olson?" 

"It'll be six cents. I'll bring it over. Sure is a nice day. Is that a 
swimming pool you've got yourselves there? Wasn't there a garage there a 
while back?" 

"Yes, but we had a fire a few weeks ago." 

"I thought I smelled something about then. Is that you, Mr. Harrigan? 
Howdy." 

"Hi, Mr. Olson," said Clancy, up on his knees now to nuzzle more lovingly 
still at the elegantly rounded hips and buttocks of his wife. 

"So you had a swimming pool built with the fire insurance money, did you?" 
said the old man. "That's good." 

"It sure is," said Gail. "We enjoy ourselves so much out here, except when 
the police helicopter comes over." 

"Why?" Olson asked. "You don't do nothing wrong here, do you?" 

"Nothing wrong at all," said Clancy, as he ran his hands up between Gail's 
parting legs, and followed them with his lips. "We just have our own little 
private pool parties." 

Olson squinted and said, "Nice bathin' suit you got, Mrs. Harrigan. Here's 
your postcard. See you Monday." 

"It's from Cotton Ronson," she announced as she looked at the card. 

"From what you told me about him, I didn't think he could write. What does 
he say?" 

"'Traded coke franchise for gas station. Next time you're in Chicago, come 
by and get gassed with me and Mrs. Ronson.' They got married. I'll be 
darned." 

"I suppose you're wishing you ran off with him now." 

"Another crack like that and I'll push you into the pool." 

"I'll be good. And speaking of cracks, you've got the most beautiful pussy 
in the whole world. The most kissable, too." 

"And the most fuckable?" 

"Sit down here. I want to talk to you about that." 

Gail sat down very carefully, smiling very broadly. Her legs were apart and 
her golden sex descended directly over Clancy's hard penis. As always, they 
fit together perfectly, and now they basked together in an even deeper 
warmth as they sat facing each other by their pool. 

He massaged her buttocks and said, "You always feel better than the last 
time." 

"I know exactly what you mean. But I thought you wanted to talk about 
fucking, and here you are doing it ... and doing it very well. Oh, Clancy, I 
love you so!" 

Her arms went about his neck and she moved more passionately, squirming her 
fair hair against his darker pelt, working her eager vagina hard against his 
maddeningly stiff penis. 

"Fuck me, oh, fuck me good and hard, Clancy. Goddamn, the happiest times in 
my life is when I have your big fat cock up deep inside my hot, hot cunt!" 

"Gail, Gail, you know I can't hold back when you talk like that!" he said, 
sweating now as he hunched and humped up into her with delicious, deep 
haste. 

"COME TO ME, YOU HORNY BASTARD! EMPTY YOUR BIG BAD BALLS IN MY FUCK-HOLE! 
JESUS, I LOVE IT!!! OH, GOD, YOU'RE SHOOTING IN ME LIKE A FUCKING ROCKET!!!" 

"AAG-G-G-GH! CAN'T HOLD BACK! OHHH-H-H-H, GAIL!" 

"MORE! FUCK ME MORE, YOU CUNT-HOUND! NNN-N-N-NG! CANT STAND IT, BUT I GOTTA 
HAVE MORE OF YOUR COCK, COCK, COCK IN MY CUNT, CUNT, CUN-N-N-N-NT!!! COME TO 
ME! COME IN ME! YES! YES!!! YES-S-S-S-s-s-s-s-s...." 

Sighing and gasping, holding each other close and shuddering together, they 
subsided on the terrycloth still locked deeply together. Sighs turned to 
moans of contentment, moans turned to murmurs, then giggles. 

"I think that did it," said Gail. "Jesus Christ, you shot such a big load of 
your wonderful cum in me that I feel pregnant already. You are some sort of 
fucker, mister!" 

"Careful with that kind of talk or I'll get all horny again," he said, and 
they laughed and rocked in each other's arms. "I wonder if your old friend 
sold his motorcycle to get that gas station." 

"I doubt it. The money he got from the cocaine was probably enough. I 
imagine he'll have his bike bronzed someday. I still can't get over how well 
you took it when I told you about his little visit here and my nasty old 
past." 

Clancy shrugged. "We all have pasts. I still can't get over your telling me 
about it at all. After the fire, I'd never had known." 

"Are you still glad I told you?" 

"I certainly am. I'm glad you burned the garage apartment down too. The pool 
is much better than a tenant. Little Clancy's going to learn to swim in here 
next summer." 

"Yes, I think he will. Did I ever tell you about the time I went swimming 
nude in the fountain of the Mark Hopkins Hotel in San Francisco? I'd been up 
on acid for about a week, and I ...." 

He put his hand over her mouth and said, "Gail, I really think I've heard 
enough about your nasty old past for a while. Save something to shock me 
when we're old ang gray." 

She nipped his hand with her teeth, and she was mock furious when he pulled 
it hastily away. "You motherfucker," she said. "Why don't you let me make an 
honest woman of myself and confess it all right now." 

"It would take too long," he said, and gave her a sharp swat on the 
backside. 

She jumped sharply, and he quickly said, "I'm sorry, honey. I forgot about 
your tattoo. Is it still sore?" 

She thrust out her lower lip and rubbed her plump buttock. She took his hand 
in hers and rubbed that over the place he'd slapped. She looked back over 
her shoulder at the freshly tattooed words there that said, "Property of 
Clancy Harrigan, Hands Off," and she turned to him to say, "No, it's not 
sore, but that was a mean fucking thing to do. Just because you've got the 
biggest, hardest cock in the world doesn't mean you can beat me up." 

"Now, Gail," he said. 

"Just because you're so goddamned good at licking my sloppy old twat doesn't 
mean you can paddle my ass whenever you feel like it." 

"Gail, watch your language or...." 

"Or what? Or you'll make me suck you off? Is that it? Is that what you'll 
do?" 

"Well, it's not a bad idea, but...." 

"Or you'll fuck me again? Jesus Christ, you just gave me a cocking that'd 
make any woman in town leave her old man for, and now you want to fuck me 
again. You're not a man, you're a bull. All you think about is fucking and 
pussy and cock and eating it. You sonofabitch, you're getting a hard-on 
again!" 

"Can't help it, baby," he said, starting to move again. 

She moved with him, and she clucked and said, "You really are a bastard. I 
wanted to suck your beautiful big cock, and here you are jamming it in my 
twat again." 

"Doesn't it feel good there?" 

"Shit, yes, but I wanted to lick the cum off it first." 

"Oh, Gail. God, honey, you feel better than before. You do!" 

"Well, fuck me then. Didn't you hear me? I said, FUCK ME! JAM THAT BIG COCK 
IN ME AND MAKE ME CUM! OH! OH, GOD! YOU DID IT ALREADY. CUM-M-M-M-M! I LOVE 
TO CUM WITH YOU! AHHHH, STICK IT IN ME HARDER," she cried, rolling onto her 
back under his hard-thrusting weight, clasping him around the neck and 
throwing herself up at him till she was seeing stars at noon. 

"You like it?" he panted. "Then tell me about it!" 

"I love it. I LOVE TO FUCK! LOVE TO HAVE MY OLD MAN FUCK ME. OH!!!!Oh, 
AGAIN! CUMMING ALL THE TIME NOW! JESUS, YOU BASTARD, CUM IN ME, SQUIRT IN 
ME, SHOOT IN MEEEE-E-E-E! LOVE TO FUCK, LOVE TO HAVE YOU COME TO ME, LOVE TO 
FU-U-U-U-UCK!!!!" 


THE END
