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The family saga one (fam,inc,cuckold,xxx,group,gang)



The family saga one



The knowing, wise, old eyes of the school nurse regarded the lovely, auburn-tressed girl who sat across the desk from her. The complaint was a common one; the girl was suffering some faintness with her menstrual period. Ordinarily, Ernestine would have sent the afflicted girl home with instructions for bed rest for the remainder of the day, but she was stopped in mid-reach for the special form excuse she would have to fill out. The girl had just said that she didn't want to go home, asking instead, that she be allowed to stay in the Health Office until the close of school.

"Is there some special reason, Charity, something that would keep you from staying at home...?" the nurse asked.

Charity Scott glanced up into the kindly face, momentarily, then concentrated her gaze on the pen-holder on the desk as an attack of dizziness reminded her of her reason for this visit to the school's Health Office. She didn't know exactly how she should answer Mrs. Keaton's question. It was difficult to put into words; she just knew that it would be best if she did no? Go home. With an effort, she began, "M-My dad's at h-home... he's sick and stayed h-home from w-work... t-today..." she stumbled.

"Is he quite ill?" It was a leading question.

The girl was quiet for a moment, not answering. How should she answer? How can a young girl put it into words?

"Well..." Charity dropped her eyes to the floor, "h-he drinks... quite a lot... a-and..." She stopped then, not wanting to go on.

"... And, what... Charity...?" Ernestine's voice was kind, coaxing.

"I-I just d-don't want t-to go h-home... is all...!"

Ernestine Keaton, school nurse, knew the reason without asking. She had heard it all before, many times, from many girls. She flipped through the Emergency Card file to extract Charity Scott's card signed by both parents. She knew the answer to her question, but she asked, "Is Gabriel Scott your real father?"

Most of the time, Ernestine mused, it was stepfathers who molested the young girls, but she had known of many cases where the girl's real father had had sexual interests in their own, flesh-and-blood daughters. The unnatural, incestuous lust revulsed and disgusted the nurse, but there was little she could do about those situations, most of the time, it was too late. Dear God! Here's another lovely young girl, exposed to heaven only knows what...! A drunken, sex-maniac of a father, no doubt... peeping and pinching... waiting for his chance to... to debase her... ruin her! God! Why isn't there some way we can help... before it's too late? She had to know. She probed a little further.

"Are you afraid... of your father, Charity...?" she asked, "... afraid to be alone with him... afraid he might... do something to you...?"

Charity's face flamed. She looked up in disbelief at the school nurse who had dared to say what she had not even wanted to think.

"That's crazy, Mrs. Keaton... Why sh-should I-I...?" Tears welled into her lovely grey-green eyes, and she looked away, out of the window, across the sprawling campus, quiet now after the change of class.

Empathetically, Ernestine's heart reached out to the girl. She knew for sure, now, and she understood. Softly, she said, "I'm sorry, Charity. Please forgive an old lady for prying... and I do understand... and want to help you... if you need help."

"Wh-What's to h-help, Mrs. Keaton, go ahead and write m-my health excuse... a-and I-I'll go h-home..." she said, forlornly.

"It won't be necessary. I have an extra cot... just go on in the next room, there, lie down and rest. Stay until final dismissal."

Ernestine watched the girl as she left her office and went, obediently, into the separate room where several cots were provided for the girls' use. She sighed, resignedly. Her mind was in a whirl. Dear God! How had Mrs. Keaton known...? How had she guessed...? I didn't tell her...! Daddy's really never... done anything... but... Oh, God... the way he looks at me... sometimes! I know he must be thinking some awful thoughts... about me! Thinking about sex-things... maybe about things he'd like to do to me! Oh, God! It's just horrible... living in our house... with him! But what can I do...? Dear God... What can I do?

***

And Don knew that Jack Roberts would be there. He was always there, except for the times when he got busted and was hauled off to Juvenile Hall for possession of drugs. Somehow Jack was always clean. The fuzz couldn't pin anything on him, even when they put on the big crunch.

Jack was sitting on a bench at one of the outdoor tables, a stringy-haired blonde sitting next to him, hanging on his every word. He was a heavy dude, for sure, as far as the chicks were concerned. Looking up, he saw Don approaching and said, "Split, baby... here comes a dude looking for a hit... like, you know, bread first, meat later."

Don sat down, giving the mini-skirted chick a long look at her cute, little behind, the skirt barely covering it, as she twitched away to join a knot of girls, giggling about some confidence just exchanged.

"Man... like she comes on strong..." Jack said.

"Must be something else..." Don agreed; then, "You mowing any grass. Today...?"

"How much you need, man...?" Jack's voice toneless.

"Ten roaches..."

"Only ten...?" Jack turned away. "Man, I ain't got the time..."

"It's all I got bread for..." Don was desperate.

"You know how much... put it in the saddle-bag on your hog!" Jack said.

"It's already there!"

"About ten minutes, then," Jack told him. "But I don't know why in hell I should take a chance on being busted for ten lousy roaches? Christ!"

"Shit! I can't buy it by the ounce, yet!" Don flared.

Jack glanced around apprehensively, then glared at Don. "Back off, man! There's liable to be narcs around...!" He turned to leave, but after one step, he came back and went on. "No more, after this, Don, it's got to be by the ounce!"

Don watched him as he mounted his big Japanese motorcycle, kicked it into roaring life and rode away up the broad avenue. Jack, he knew, didn't live in that direction, but then, a big man like Jack wouldn't be foolish enough to keep the stuff at home. Idly, he wondered who Jack was working for, because he was pretty sure the pusher was handling hard stuff, as well as marijuana. He knew the kid was making big bread, and he was envious, but at the same time, he was aware of the risk Jack was taking in furnishing him with the ten roaches he had ordered. The fuzz could bust you for that as easily as for a whole kilo.

Don went to the order window and bought a large Coke and a bag of fries. He was munching them when the girl Jack had been talking to when he arrived came over and sat down next to him. She took a piece of his French Fried potato, put it in her mouth and sucked it in, little by little. He watched in fascination, aware of the symbolism, and his penis jerked upright in his pants.

"You come on strong!" he said. "What's your name...?"

"Marcy," she said, repeating the performance.

"You Jack's chick?"

"In a way... we swing..." she said.

"He's a heavy dude... I don't want him to put the crunch on me!" Don told her. "So... why don't you split... now... unless you got something going..."

"Just being, like, you know... Friendly..."

"Flake off!" Don snapped.

She scribbled a telephone number on a paper napkin and thrust it at him, "Get me on the horn, Don! It might be... like, you know... a real thing..." She was gone.

He remembered seeing her around Perry High School. She was a junior, too, like himself. He watched her walk away and decided he would like to get to know her better. It would be easy if Jack didn't have a prior claim on her. He finished off the fries and drank his Coke. Man! She's on it!

A few moments later, Jack roared into the parking lot, parked Don's cycle and ambled over. He sat down.

"Same place..." Jack told him, "and remember, only in ounces from now on!"

"I'll remember!" Don said, getting up. "See you around!"

He mounted his motorcycle, started it and headed for home. As he roared along the avenue, his long hair blowing in the wind, he spotted her walking along the sidewalk. He would know her anywhere, her auburn hair, the way she walked.

Pulling alongside her, he stopped and grinned. "Want a ride... Sis?"

Charity returned her brother's smile. "Sure, if you promise to go slow, I don't want my hair to blow all over!"

She climbed behind him, straddling the cycle saddle, exposing her firm young thighs as her skirt hiked up. The vision of those lovely columns was not lost on Don Scott. He thought his sister had the most beautiful figure he had ever seen. Many times, lately, he had spied on her in various stages of undress... and last week, he had caught her completely nude when he had walked into her room without knocking. She had been flustered, covered herself in embarrassment and shooed him out of the room, but not before he had gotten his eyes full.

Don rode slow, enjoying the feel of her arms around his middle and the twin mounds of her luscious breasts seemed to be boring holes into his back.

Shit! Chicks like Marcy are like nothing... compared to. Sis! She's really got it... and all in the right places, too...! But damn it! She's still my sister! Christ! If she wasn't I'd really want to swing with her! Man! She's something else!

He allowed his hand to drift down to her knee and run up her thigh a few inches while he steered the cycle with one hand. Charity slapped his hand away, and she cringed, inwardly, at the salacious suggestiveness of his caress. She put her mouth next to his ear and shouted over the roar of the wind, "That's not nice, Donnie! Stop it!"

"I can't help it if you've got nice legs!"

"You can keep your hand to yourself, little brother!"

Don bristled. "Little brother, hell! I'm almost as big as Dad!"

"I don't care... I don't want you to do that! It isn't right, and you know it!"

"I'll do what the hell I want to!" he said, defiantly.

"You do... and I'll tell Mom!"

"Oh, Christ! Here we go, again!" he mimicked. "I'll tell Mom! Don't sweat it, though, Sis, because I'm going to split one of these day. I've had it! It's the street for me!"

"You're going to... run away?"

"Soon's I get a little bread... I'll be long gone!"

"Why?" she asked. "Anyway... you've got to graduate from high school!"

"School! Crap, Sis... there's nothing for me at school! Only the chicks! Man! Some of them come on strong... like, you know... they swing! Groovy."

Don left the avenue and turned into their street. Reaching the house, he turned into the driveway and parked the motorcycle. Charity clambered down and went into the house, feeling the dislike deep in her of the shabbiness the whole place exuded.

She passed through the living room, where her father sat, glassy-eyed, nursing a can of beer and watching a newscast on the portable television set. He sat, heavily, wearing only an undershirt and tan work pants, his paunch hanging over his belt, slightly. He had kicked off his shoes. A three-day growth of beard darkened his jowls.

Gabriel Scott's eyes lighted up as she came in, responding with a grunt to her airy greeting. His eyes roamed over her figure, his head twisting to follow her path through the living room and dining room to the door of her bedroom that opened up off the dining area. He turned back to the T.V. newscaster, only after she had disappeared into the sanctuary of her bedroom. Christ! She gets prettier every day! No matter what they say... those short skirts sure show a lot! Damn...! And she's my daughter... turning into quite a woman!

Outside, in the driveway, Don reached into the saddlebag on his cycle and extracted a neatly wrapped package, the ten marijuana cigarettes he had bought from Jack Roberts. With trembling fingers he stowed them safely in his shirt pocket. Shit! He hadn't liked that scene with Jack, but a guy had to have some of his own! He had to have something to share... and he had a place to share it... and some kids to rap with. Then, there was the sex... with chicks that were with it. That's all there is, man! That's all there is... and now there was Marcy! He checked his pocket. Yes, he still had her telephone number. He'd have to give her a buzz on the horn... like, tonight! Man! She really comes on strong!

He went into the house through the back door to his bedroom, converted from part of the back porch. It was a tiny room, hardly large enough to contain the single bed and a small student desk. He hid the roaches, suppressing a desire to burn one, right then, knowing that he had to save them for later. Stretching out on his bed, he retrieved a pornographic novel he had hidden under his mattress and soon lost himself in the lurid descriptions of natural and unnatural sexual athletics.

As he read, the explicit descriptions stimulated him, and his penis came up to rigid, erect attention, his hand going down, unconsciously, to massage and caress it. His thoughts drifted to the girls he knew, but soon the vision of his sister pushed the others aside, as somehow, the forbidden became the most desirable in his mind. Charity? Christ!

Retreating to the door of the motel room and stuffing the money in her purse, Dorothy Scott said, "Damn it! I told you when I came I couldn't stay all night... It's just impossible!"

She avoided another lunge of the drunken traveling salesman she had agreed to meet after her stint as a cocktail waitress, made it out the door and headed rapidly for her car. The slam of the door behind her as she fled told her there would be no more difficulty from him. Thank God!

Ordinarily, she tried to avoid the real drunks, but this one had been fairly sober, looked clean and decent, a man who had been on the road for two weeks... and needed a woman, baby. She had met him at ten thirty, after work, went to his motel with him, where he broke out a new fifth of V.O., forcing her to drink with him before the bout on the bed. Ugh! I hate to have drunks mauling me!

She had done her best for him, giving him his money's worth, using her mouth to bring him to a fully hardened condition, then allowing him to slobber his lips over her nakedness, hurting her lush, white breasts with his strong hands; finally, ineptly trying to use his tongue on her, before he rammed his short but thick penis between her legs and jack-hammered away into her vagina until he came, after long minutes of exertion, and collapsed on top of her. She had had to push his slumbering weight off of her in order to get dressed; it was already nearing midnight, and she always tried to be home by then to allay Gabe's suspicions.

The salesman had awakened just as she finished dressing and insisted that she stay with him all night. He was willing to pay, he had told her. She had refused, politely, but he had become abusive. It was then she had made her hasty exit. God! I just couldn't do it! His money looked awfully tempting, though! But I'm still a wife, and mother, first! I couldn't ever let Gabe find out... but I'd die, I think, if Charity or Donnie ever found out what their mother is doing...! And dear God, it's only for the money, money to get a few of the little extras, extras that make life just a little better for all of us. I wouldn't do it, if there was enough money! Heavens only knows when Gabe'll be able to get a job, and keep it.

Dottie drove home through the almost deserted streets of Redfern, past grand old houses of an earlier time, most of them beginning to fall apart with abundance of time and decay. The huge trees, on either side of the broad avenue reached their limbs across the street to each other, creating a feeling in her as though she were driving through a long tunnel. The cooling effect of the trees, in the day time was pleasant, and the effect of the arching trees was different. It was at night, the eerie feeling overcame her.

She turned into her driveway and noted that Donnie's big motorcycle was not there. It was slightly after midnight, and she was irritated that he was not home. She had told him, repeatedly, that he must be home before eleven thirty, but more and more, it seemed, he'd been staying out later and later. And I really don't know where he is... Or who he's with! I hardly ever see my children... Anymore. They're gone off to school before I get up, and they're out, somewhere when I come home at night. No, it's Donnie that's out, Charity's always here, at least, when she does go out on a date she's got enough sense to come home at a reasonable hour.

She let herself in the front door. Her husband was seated before the television set watching a movie re-run. He had made no move to open the door, barely glancing up when she came in and responding only with a grunt to her greeting and brush of a kiss. He took a swig from his ever-present can of beer, looked up at her, finally, as she turned to go into their bedroom that opened off the living room and said, "Out kind of late, ain't you?"

"I had to work overtime," Dottie lied. "One of the girls had some car trouble... and couldn't get to work on time."

"Oh...?" He was satisfied.

"Did you see about that job at the mobile home factory?"

"Yeah, they filled it already. No jobs available, they said..."

"And the dairy job across town..."

"Didn't make it..." Gabe growled, "ran into a couple of buddies and drank a few beers. Swapped a few yarns..."

She went into their bathroom, musing that they didn't call her husband 'Gabby' for nothing. He was just that. When he sat in a bar with some of his old crones, the hours flew away from him as he talked and told stories. Yes, he was well-known in the town as drunken Gabby Scott, ne're do well, unable to hold a job for more than a few months, a man who was willing to let his wife support him and their two children. He was a real mess, and Dottie wondered why she continued to put up with him. If I'd had any sense I would have divorced him ten years ago...! But, here I am still married to him, slaving to keep us together as a family, and I take on men on the side, for a little extra cash, acting the whore, and trying to be respectable at the same time! Dear God, what else could I do? I guess I love him, still... I did love him, I think, when we were first married, or maybe it's just blind loyalty... loyalty to the children... because I thought they needed a father...

She turned off her thoughts about her family as she prepared for bed. She was tired, physically and emotionally. She had risen at about ten in the morning, did her housework, reported for work at two thirty in the afternoon... and afterwards the hour and a half she had spent with the salesman: that had really done her in. His sex techniques had only served to arouse her, to be left dangling, emotionally, when he had cum, the end result being frustration. Remembering the sex act, she decided she had better wash herself, even though she had insisted, in spite of his grumbling, that he use some protection. Thank God, I've been lucky so far, no disease... or pregnancy...! And to think how often I take the risk! God! Is it all worth it?

The bathroom connected with Charity's bedroom. On impulse, Dottie opened the door a crack and looked in on her firstborn, a beautiful, young girl budding into young womanhood. Charity lay in her bed, sound asleep, a sweet, serene expression on her face, her upraised arm had brought a mounding breast up from under the sheet, its contour under her thin nightgown promising a fullness that was also her mother's. Her face was framed in a glory of auburn hair, and Dottie could think of only one word to describe her daughter in peaceful sleep: innocence.

... And as she watched, a fleeting grimace crossed Charity's face. It was an expression of pain. Dottie guessed instantly. It was time for her daughter's menses to begin. She had remembered marking it, secretly, on the calendar. She didn't know why she did it, but perhaps she didn't expect the innocent to remain innocent. It was, she realized, a cynical attitude, a fear that corruption begets corruption... or simple guilt on her part, the hypocrisy of the lie she, herself, was living making her suspicious... almost paranoid concerning her daughter's chastity. She told herself that she was only being protective. Kids these days seem to have lost any sense of decency! They're reaching out for sex long before they're emotionally ready for it! Sex and drugs! It's just horrible!

She finished her bath and came out into the bedroom, a towel wrapped about her. Heading for the dresser to get a clean nightgown, she was aware that Gabe lay on the bed in his shorts, the bulge of an erection throbbing up against the fly of the thin cloth.

"Dottie, you got a ten-spot you can let me have?"

She hesitated. "No, I'm saving to get our couch upholstered, and I've got just enough, now," she told him. "I've already picked out the..."

"God damn it!" he roared. "I ask you for ten, and I get ten reasons why I can't have it!"

He came off the bed, bounding over to her, moving fast for his corpulence. "And how about a piece of ass, or are you too tired... or too sleepy?" His hands reached to rip the towel from her body, revealing her lovely nudity to him. Instantly, he crushed her in a bear-hug, his lips seeking hers.

She turned her face aside and said. "Please, Gabe, not tonight! I am dead tired, and..."

CRACK!

His open palm caught her across the face. "Bitch!" he growled. "I ought to give you something to remember!" He drew back his hand to strike, again.

"P-Please, Gabe, don't hit me again..." she begged, tears welling into her eyes from the pain and humiliation. "I-I'll go to bed w-with you, a-and you can have the ten you want..."

CHAPTER TWO

At about seven, that evening, Don Scott had dialed Marcy's number. Her voice came down the wire to him, knowing and throaty, "Oh, Don... I was wondering if you'd call."

"You know it... like you came on strong, this afternoon!"

"Like what..."

"Like you make the motions... send up smoke signals..."

"You curious...?" she queried.

"You know it...!"

"Curious enough to find out... for sure... Don?"

"Like groovy! Where?"

"My house," she said. "My parents have split!" She gave him her address, over near the college.

"I'm on my way."

"Bring some bread, Don!"

He thought she was joking. "You putting me on?"

"No, man! I said to bring bread... and that's it! Otherwise no party!" She hung up on him.

"CHRIST!" He spat at the dead phone. The little bitch! God damned little whore! Christ... And I thought she was interested in me!

Don looked in his wallet; he had a ten-dollar bill he was saving. He had been planning to use it for the next school dance scheduled for the following Friday. Oh, well, maybe I can earn some more before then... or sell something to get a little extra bread! Christ! I've got to see Marcy, though.

He went back into his bedroom; his search turned up another 75 cents in change. He'd have enough for a couple of packs of cigarettes. An inspiration struck him and on impulse he carried it out. Carrying the ten-dollar bill was foolish, he decided; he should have two fives, instead.

Going back through the kitchen, dining room and living room, he went into his parents' bedroom and rummaged in a drawer where he knew his mother kept some cash.

Charity was watching a television show and doing some math homework, at the same time. She saw Donnie go into the front bedroom. Curious, she got up and followed him into the room. She saw him with bills in his hand.

"Donnie! What are you doing in Mom's drawer?"

Startled, he looked up and grinned, "Just changing a ten for two fives..."

"It looked like you were... well, taking something..." she accused.

"Stealing...?" He was incredulous. "Not me that's not my bag!" he assured.

He put the money back in the drawer and put the two fives in his wallet.

Charity still watched him. He looked at her, hard and said, "What's with... little sister... don't you trust me?"

She relaxed. "Yes... I'm sorry, Donnie... it just looked kind of funny."

Coming out through the door he gave her a pat on the behind, a caressingly affectionate pat that was definitely not brotherly. Charity twisted aside to avoid any other contact.

"Donnie! Ugh! How many times do I have to tell you... to keep your hands to yourself?"

He mimicked, reciting, "Keep your hands to yourself, Donnie... or I'll tell Mom! Christ! You're not with it, Sis! You don't know where it's at! I'll bet you wouldn't say cock... even if you had a mouthful!"

"Shut up, Donnie! I don't want you to use those words around me!" She was angry, instantly. She huffed off to sit on the couch, ignoring him.

"You'll learn them... sooner or later!" he taunted; then he chanted, "Shit! Cock! Cunt! Fuck!"

Charity covered her ears with both hands. "Stop it!" she screamed. "Stop it!"

"Never!" He went on, "Ass! Prick! Cum! Suck!"

She hurled her math book at him. It missed. "Shut up... Donnie... or I'll tell Dad!"

"What'd he do...? That old drunk! Fuck him!" Donnie roared. Then, "Where is he?"

"Out!" she said. "Out to get some more beer, I think!"

"That figures!"

"You get out, too... and leave me alone!"

"When I'm damned good and ready! I'll split when I feel like it!"

She was on her feet and stormed into her own room, slamming the door behind her and hurling a final word over her shoulder, "Foul mouth!"

Don laughed aloud. Christ! She was pretty when she's angry. He didn't know what had possessed him to taunt her, but he had enjoyed watching her as she had burned with anger, her expressive face mirroring her every emotion; in addition, the way she had twitched her hips, her tapering, white thighs showing under her miniskirt as she had flashed past him produced a pang of pure lust in him. Damn! What a beautiful chick his sister was! Man! She comes on strong! What a swinging chick she's going to be! Too bad she's my sister... all that nice cunt going to waste! Shit!

Going into his own room, behind the kitchen, he dug out the ten roaches he had bought that afternoon, extracted two and re-wrapped them, carefully, stowing them in his shirt pocket... just in case Marcy would want to burn one with him. The other eight hand-rolled cigarettes went back into their secret hiding place. He was ready to go. He went out the back door, walked around the house, climbed onto his big bike and kicked the engine into a full-throated roar.

He roared down the avenue, staying well within the speed limits. The last thing he wanted was for one of the local pigs to bust him for speeding. They might try to shake him down. If they did... they'd find the two marijuana cigarettes, for sure. Then, they'd have him for possession... and he'd wind up in Juvie... and that's the last place, man! The last!

Arriving at the address Marcy had given him, he found the house to be one of the older ones in town; however this grand old house was not falling into decay. It had been well cared for over the years, and when Marcy invited him in, he saw that it had been remodeled and thoroughly modernized. The name on the mailbox intrigued him: it was one of the oldest and respected names in Redfern. A Lunceford had been one of the founding fathers of the city, and the Lunceford name figured prominently in cultural and political, as well as business aspects of the community.

"You a Lunceford...?" he asked.

"Yeah... like old Isaac Lunceford was my great grandpa..." she said, flippantly, "but don't let it get to you! I don't! All that silly old crap turns me off!"

Don knew that his family had come to Redfern not long after its founding. He remembered that they had lived in such a house as this, further out on the edge of town in the orange groves. Somehow, his father had lost the house and the grove, and the family had had to move into town to take up residence in the shacky house in which they now lived. He was too young to know and understand all of the reasons. There was a bankruptcy. They were evicted. His father couldn't seem to hold a job. He was drunk most of the time, anyway. Don's mother had been supporting them for several years. It was all a big mess, for try as he might, he couldn't warm up to his father, give him the respect a son should give a father. Christ! The old drunk!

"What kind of wheels you got, Don?"

"My bike..." he answered. "Why?"

"I thought you might have a groovy car we could ride in."

"Sorry..."

"Well, you know... like if a guy wants to make it with a chick, he's got to have a car!" she explained.

"Yeah... Well..."

"Houses are too risky! We got to stay here... and my folks could come home... and well, you know, there'd be a big crunch... but in a car... Man! It's groovy... nothing but privacy... if it's fixed up right..."

Don understood, now, and suddenly, his big Japanese motorcycle was nothing but real kid stuff. He had to have a car! Christ! No wonder he hadn't been making it... as often as he would like. It's the dudes with the cars that are scoring, man!

"You better park it in the alley!" she told him.

"Right on!" he agreed and went to do as she suggested. He was elated. She was practically inviting him to stay, although she had not said it in so many words. Her meaning was clear enough to him.

Marcy Lunceford met him on the back walk, just inside the gate. It was dark now, and she put an arm around him, snuggling close and led the way to an old-fashioned, screen-enclosed pergola standing in deep shadows under towering trees in a corner of the spacious back yard. He draped an arm, carelessly over her shoulder and cockily allowed his hand to stray down to a pouting hemisphere of firm young breast. Through the thin material of her dress he caressed and gasped with acute pleasure to discover that she wore no bra to confine them. The bud of her nipple was firm and erect, burgeoning into the palm of his hand, tantalizingly.

"You dig that?"

"Like, wow... you know..." he said, carelessly.

They were in the pergola. She led him to a seat on a roll-around garden lounge. It had a nice soft mattress on it, and he lay back, luxuriously, on it. "Man! This is soft! Better than my pad." He reached for her.

She came easily into his arms, lying on top of him, their mouths searching, finding, welding in a deep kiss, their tongues probing, tasting and twining together. It was she who broke the kiss and asked, "You got some grass?"

"Yeah... you want to take a chance... here?"

"It's plenty safe!" she affirmed.

"Nosy neighbors..."

"They're like too fossilized to know what's with it."

Don broke out one of the roaches, lighted it and inhaled deeply, holding it in his lungs as long as he could, passing the cigarette to her and watching as she duplicated his actions. To be safe, he took a regular cigarette from his pack, lit it, hoping that the odor of the burning tobacco would cover the characteristic, burning-alfalfa smell of the marijuana. They traded, puffed, inhaled, held breath, exhaling slowly, allowing the narcotic smoke to work in them, its effect beginning slowly and building, building, building, until time stood still and the beauty of the night was magnified, every sound was heard... and they were all-seeing... all being. There was only the beauty of now! This is where it was! Everything was there in the smoke. The world was love... and love was everything, because they were young and healthy human animals... knowing all things... and capable of doing all things. They were the young invincibles! It was their right, indeed, their command to love. "Love the world!" it said. "Love each other! Love me..." it said, "and I'll love you back!"

The roach burned down. He snuffed it out and re-wrapped the remaining paper, ash, leaves and twigs, carefully, allowing none to escape him. It was necessary to be this careful; investigating narcs could find even one carelessly dropped particle. He put it safely in his pocket and buttoned it; then, languidly, seeing Marcy, clearly, in all her glorious beauty, he reached to the zipper on her dress, running it down her back and the whisper of the tiny pieces of metal was loud in his ears, as though a freight train had thundered through the quietly serene pergola.

She moved, helping him, standing to remove the dress over her head, revealing the budding womanliness of her, instantly, as she wore nothing under the dress. She was completely, gloriously naked... and he saw her as Athena, the Goddess of love. Indeed, she was love, incarnate.

All love resided in her. Marcy was love!

Dancing a few steps away from him, she moved to unheard music, her body shining alabaster, her long, raven hair swishing across her back, a few locks straggling over her shoulders to fall into the cleavage of her full, proud young breasts, her hips swaying, teasingly, back and forth, in imitation of sexual movements. Her rounding and tapered thighs moved with sure strength, and he watched the suppleness of her legs as they moved.

Don had to have her. Christ! He had to have her now! His penis ached, throbbingly, jerking against his pants, demanding release and relief.

He came off the couch and captured her in his arms to mash his mouth down on hers, kissing her hard and brutal. She melted into his arms and kissed him back with lips and tongue, searching deep into his mouth. Suddenly, he abandoned her mouth, and he was kissing her breasts, taking the nipples into his mouth, one by one, then moving down... down... he kissed her belly, stopping to probe into her navel. Then, he was at the vee of her loins, and he knelt to hold her around the hips while his tongue pressured into the top of her warm femaleness to search for the tiny bud of her clitoris in its warm little shrine of sex-flesh. He found it alive and quivering under his tongue. He licked and she exploded in rapture.

"Oh, yes, Don! Do it!" she murmured. "Lick me! Lick me good! OOOOoooh! It feels soooooo goooooood!"

Inching backward, she leaned against a small table and spread her thighs wider, standing in wide-spaced stance, her buttocks resting on the edge of the table, half supporting her weight. Uncontrollably, her hands went to either side of his head to guide his face between her open thighs and encourage him. He used his tongue, hungrily, licking deep at her vaginal slit, the sparse, youthful curls of her pubic mound tickling softly against his lips. She pushed him away.

"Let's do it the easy way... on the lounge," she whispered, hoarsely, moving away from him.

Don got to his feet and followed her. She turned and reached for his belt, opened it and zipped down the fly of his jeans. Then, she unbuttoned his shorts to release his virile young cock into the night air, the cooling wash of it over his sensate flesh a new and different sensation. With hands on his shoulders she pushed him down flat on the garden lounge and positioned herself upside down over him, her glistening, coralline vagina inches over his face, her knees on either side of his head, as she knelt over him, her own face only inches above the hardened cock-flesh of him, spearing up into the air, massively above him, its bulbous head waving excitedly like a battle standard in the wind.

She lowered her loins slowly and teasingly to his mouth, and he used his hands to spread the soft fleshy lips of her young pussy wide apart. He clamped his mouth to the moist, now slightly pulsating mouth, the gentle movements of its own muscular nibbling action apparent to him on his lips pressed up deep between her open thighs, his tongue coming through them, now, to taste and savor, then to thrust and swirl into her cuntal opening, wildly.

The exquisite sensations in him, arcing in the nerves of his cock-head as her mouth slipped warmly and wetly down over the sensitive, throbbing flesh caused him to flex his hips to shove his member up to her. He looked down the length of his body, straining to see in the semidarkness through the arch of her breasts hanging down, soft and lush above his hard, flat belly. He could see the nipples, hard and erect, like small, ripe berries ready for picking. His cock was in her mouth, and she held the shaft of it with one hand while the other gently stroked and caressed his testicles in their soft wrinkled sac, below. Then, her lips turned in to cover the sharpness of her teeth, her mouth began to slide heatedly down his hardened length; down... down... down, encompassing him, engulfing him, slowly and continuously, until he knew that she would take it all the way back to her throat.

Don stared in utter disbelief as his thick, hard cock disappeared deeper and deeper up into her mouth and throat, her voraciously sucking lips working on him, suctioning him, as, inside her mouth, her tongue swirled and laved him. He flipped. Christ! There was nothing like it! It was out of this world! Out of sight... and still going away!

Her smoothly undulating young pussy came down harder on his face, reminding him of the mutual orality of the act, and he returned to the hungry, moist opening with renewed effort, using his lips and tongue both flow on the tiny erect bud between her legs. He sucked the tiny female phallus up into his lips, holding it while his tongue licked and caressed. He could feel the shock of it in her body, the gasping for breath around his hardened rod.

Then, Don remembered the first and only other time he had experienced oral sex. He had been at a pot party and was all toked up. Watching another couple who had, uninhibitedly, kicked off the sex scene by tearing off their clothes and making passionate love right in front of everybody, he had gotten aroused almost to the point of ejaculation. He had grabbed Betty Fowler, the youngest girl there. Even under the influence of the grass she had smoked, she had been unwilling to fuck, agreeing in stead to blow him, use her mouth to bring him to climax. She had been inept, he knew now, but she had tried... up to the point when his big cock had begun to spurt his cum into her mouth. She had gagged and made a big scene about it, causing everybody there to have a good yuck at her expense.

... But Marcy... Christ! She's an expert! She's taking my whole cock in her mouth! She'll probably swallow it... too! She hasn't gagged yet and my cock's halfway down her throat! Man! She really eats it... like it was an all-day sucker!

The building pressure in him told him that it would not be long. His cock throbbed and ached for release, the acid-like burning sensation of the held-back semen urging him to flex his hips, shoving his prick up into her mouth to counter her up-and-down movements, fucking it deeper and deeper into her oral cavern with the urgency of his youthful desire to cum.

"Oh, baby!" he moaned. "I'm ready to cum!" Her mouth moved on him faster and with increasing pressure and suction, her cheeks hollowing in and out, and a couple of times, she allowed her teeth to scrape along the hardened length of him, eliciting a sharp pleasure-pain that caused him to gasp aloud.

"Oh, Christ! That's the most...!"

It was there for him! His big cock, in her slaving mouth, exploded, spewingly, his semen, hot, white and viscous, spurting from the tip of his cock-head deep up into her mouth and throat, forcing her to swallow, voraciously. God! He came and came... and came, his sperm jetting from him in endless streams, it seemed to him. The sensations of release were exquisite; the rapture of them causing a high whine of pleasure to come from far down in his throat. Christ! She's pumping me dry!

As she licked and sucked at him and his jerking penis began to subside, the waves of muscle-relaxing euphoria of sexual release left him satiated, but he tried, manfully, to bring her, too, to climax, sucking and licking at her wildly gyrating cunt above him. Damn! Why doesn't she cum?

Events happened suddenly then. A light at the rear of the big old house was snapped on, its cone of light reaching out into the spacious back yard, but, fortunately, not out as far as the pergola where they lay in illicit sexual embrace.

Don froze. His heart pounded. He was scared. Good God! "Wh-Who...?" he strangled.

"Oh, God!" Marcy gasped. "It's my folks!"

She scrambled off him, groping for her dress. She was thinking fast. "I-I'll have t-to go in!"

"I've got to split!" He was in panic. Standing up, he pulled up his shorts and pants, zipped the fly and cinched up his belt. He started for the door.

Marcy was shrugging her dress down, smoothing it over her hips. She saw him move toward the door. "No! Wait! I-I'll go in f-first! When the light goes out... split fast!"

He drew back into the shadows, trying to make himself invisible. Marcy had more instructions for him.

"P-push your bike! D-Don't start it... un-until you're out of the a-alley!"

"Right!"

"Pay m-me!" she demanded.

"Wh-What...? Now...?"

"I-I told you t-to bring bread!"

"Marcy!" It was a high, female voice, strident and demanding.

"Coming... Mom!" she called back, then, "Give!" she snapped at him, her voice deadly.

Don fished out one of his fives and gave it to her. She didn't look at it; she crumpled it in her hand and made for the screened door of the pergola.

"See you around!" she said and was gone, walking toward the light at the back door of her house.

"Marcy?! Where are you...?" Her mother, again.

"Right here... Mom!" Marcy said, with some irritation.

Don watched as she came into the light. It shone through the thin material of her dress, showing her shapely legs. She might as well have been nude. He would have enjoyed it more, if he hadn't been so frightened. His heart was still pounding hard in his throat, and his mouth was dry from the fear. Christ! I almost flipped!

As he watched her go up the back step, open the door and go into the house, he had some second thoughts about having given her only a five. She hadn't actually named a price, but he knew that ten dollars would have been more like the going rate among the teen-age hustlers that seemed to throng Perry High School. Establishment, he knew, would never have believed the extent of the practice; the administration was blind to it, either because they couldn't see it, or because they didn't want to see it. The V.D. rate as reported regularly in the press was a good indicator, but it was laid to promiscuous sex... not to prostitution.

It's done, now! I should have laid the other five on her, but shit! I was in a hurry... and scared half to death! Anyway... we had to split... right in the middle of it! I could have fucked her in the cunt, tonight... if it hadn't been for her old lady coming home and breaking up the party! Damn it!

He was still under the narcotic influence of the pot, but he could think straight and his motor control of body was good, and as he waited for what seemed eons of time, the light in the Lunceford back yard was switched off.

"Damn!" he breathed. "About time!"

Slowly, he drifted out of the pergola and across the yard, sticking to deep shadow, until he gained the gate and went through it into the alley. It had taken him only a few moments to traverse the short distance, but the distortion of time, in his drugged brain, made it seem like miles and miles and hours of time to accomplish. It seemed to him that he moved in slow motion, every step taking an eternity, and it was as though he had no contact with the earth. He floated in a marijuana dream world... only this was a bad dream in which he had to run away... run until he could run no more... until he dropped from sheer exhaustion.

He was through the gate, now. He almost had it made! A car entered the upper end of the alley, its lights lancing ahead of it into the darkness. Don shrank back, kneeling down to hide behind the two garbage cans next to the fence. The car ground slowly down the alley until it was abreast of the gate into the back yard of the Lunceford place. The car stopped. A man got out and shone a flashlight on Don's motorcycle.

He got a glimpse of white-striped blue pants.

PIGS!

"Does it belong here?" a deep voice from the patrol car.

"Naw! Probably belongs to some kid that's making it with that youngest Lunceford girl!"

"Marcy? That the one...?"

"Yeah..."

"She's playing fast and loose!" the patrol unit driver said. "We'll have to take her in one of these days... then there'll be hell to pay because it's just a matter of time before they'll get her in a narc raid on one of those pot parties!"

The policeman with the flashlight got back into the patrol car. He lit a cigarette. "That bad?" he asked.

"Hell yes! She's a Lunceford... and Luncefords carry a lot of weight in this town."

The patrol car moved off down the alley; whatever else the driver had to say about the Luncefords was lost in the sound of the engine and the crunch of the tires on the gravel.

Don came out of his cramped place of hiding behind the garbage cans with a huge sigh of relief. He expelled the air, gratefully, convinced that he had been holding his breath for at least an hour. He leaned against the fence to calm himself. MAN! That was close! They would have busted me for prowling... and what could I have said? Nothing! That I was just diddling with Marcy... toked up on pot... and Frenching each other? They would have found the joints on me... and I would have been had! Christ! Who would've ever expected something like this to happen... It's just too close! Too damned close! If the man ever busts me... It's Juvie... and maybe C.Y.A.. Shit! I'm still shaking!

Out in the alley, now, he kicked up the parking stand on his big motor bike, grasped the handlebar grips and pushed it up the alley, in the opposite direction from the police patrol unit. Near the end of the alley, he started the engine and rode out onto the street. He gained the avenue in a few moments and headed for home.

A few blocks from the house, he decided not to turn into his street. He was still under the influence of the marijuana and didn't want to risk having either of his parents see him yet. He continued riding out the avenue into a semi-rural area where he turned off on a lane heading into the hills. He gunned the big bike up to the top of one of the steeper hills, dismounted, killed the engine and stretched out on the ground, enjoying the stillness and studying the expanse of the starry canopy over him. He stayed there for almost three hours, alternately dozing and being totally aware, all of his senses alive to everything around him... and in him.

Finally, he mounted his cycle, rode back down the hill and went home. It was well past 1:00 a.m. when he crawled into bed dead tired. He had had a full day... and night!

***

He saw Marcy Lunceford in the hallway during passing time. She was cool to his airy greeting, but he persisted.

"Get lost, Don!" she snapped.

"Marcy... I just wanted to tell you..."

"Didn't you dig...? I said split... get lost!"

He couldn't understand her manner. He had just wanted to tell her that he wanted to give her the other five he still carried in his wallet. It was too late, he guessed. Christ! I sure goofed it up with her!

After school dismissal, Don spent several minutes gassing with some of his acquaintances. The campus was almost deserted as he made his way to his motorcycle parked in the south parking lot. He had almost reached his big bike before he realized that something was wrong. Jack Roberts was seated in the saddle, obviously waiting for him. Two other students lounged near him. It was too late, he realized. He would have to talk to Jack!

"What's with, Jack...?" he greeted the pusher.

Jack climbed off the motorbike and faced Don Scott. He stood, easily, arrogantly, lazily alert before him.

"Marcy..." he said. "She tells me like you were making it with her last night...?"

"Yeah, Jack... I was over her house... why...?"

"Like she says, she gives you head... and you only lay a five on her!"

"Her old lady almost busted us... I had to split but fast! I thought I was giving her a ten!" Don explained.

"That's nowhere, man! Like she says she has to finger herself to bring it off afterward... and she's feeling like frustrated... so she wants another fifteen! Lay it on me for her!"

"Christ! I ain't got another fifteen... I got five!"

Jack looked at him coldly. "Fifteen, man! Like it's your problem! You get it!"

"This gets to sound like blackmail!" Don said, screwing up his courage to say it.

The pusher glanced toward the nearest building, drawing Don's eyes there, as he said, "Well, look at that!"

Don was sucked into the ploy. His eyes swiveled to look where Jack had indicated. Off guard, he was totally unprepared for the hard, swinging blow to his gut. As he bent over with the sudden, nauseous pain of it, a steel-shod toe booted him, painfully, in the buttocks. He sprawled writhing in pain to the ground. Instinctively, he balled himself, as from the other side another boot caught him in the ribs. Several more such blows were rained on him, all accurately placed in his body so they wouldn't show. His arms, legs, groin and face were scrupulously avoided, as the beating was administered, quickly, soundlessly... and with professional elan. It was over in a matter of seconds. As the three hoodlums walked away, Jack said, curtly, "Tonight!"

Don Scott was almost seventeen. It had been a long time since he had cried real tears, but he did now. He sat on the curb and bawled. He hurt all over, and he cried with the hurt, the fear... and the humiliation.

Finally, after long minutes, he crawled onto his motorbike, painfully, and headed for home. On the way, he passed his sister, Charity. She waved at him, flashing him a smile as he went by, but he did not stop to pick her up. He didn't want her to know what had happened to him. Actually, he couldn't tell anyone. It was a burden he would have to bear alone. Christ! I am in it now! Where in hell can I get fifteen dollars?

He was almost home when it hit him. The idea was monstrous! He had never considered anything like it before, and he wondered whether or not he could do it. Hell, if I don't pay off... those goons are liable to cut me up next time!

Shuddering, he visualized how he would look after having been beaten with bicycle chains, iron bars and brass knuckles. It was too horrible to think about. The beating administered to him was just a warning. He knew that. He could do nothing now but pay off! He had to have money! He had to have it fast!

His mind was made up. He would do it. Don Scott was going to steal a twenty-dollar bill from the money his mother kept in her dresser drawer! He did it before Charity got home.

CHAPTER THREE

Charity walked home in the midst of a group of chattering, giggling girls of her acquaintance; her head was in the clouds, and she was in contact with reality only intermittently as she talked excitedly with them hardly believing that it was true.

She had stayed after school for the auditions for the annual school musical production. Her singing and acting had been outstanding, and she had been selected to sing the leading female role. She couldn't believe her ears when the final announcement had been made just a few minutes before as she sat in the auditorium surrounded by several of the other girls who were trying out for parts. There had been screams of excitement and general confusion after the announcements. Needless to say, she was elated. Getting the leading role in the musical was one of the things she had dreamed about, but she had worked, too. She had worked hard at her music and dramatics. It was the hard work that had paid off for her.

The drama teacher had talked with her, briefly, after the auditions, questioning her concerning her plans for further education and suggesting that she consider applying for various scholarships.

"They've an excellent Drama Department at Redfern College, and I'd be willing to recommend you... Charity," he told her.

"My folks don't have much money... It'd be..." she began.

"Scholarships go begging every year... I'll help you get started, and the earlier the better!" She was still walking on air after her talk with the drama coach, her mind filled, now, with impossible dreams.

One sad note entered her thoughts. She hoped and prayed that this year her parents would attend the musical production. The year before, as a high school junior, she had sung an important supporting role in the musical. She had been happy and elated with her accomplishment, and had looked forward to the night when her parents would be in the audience. On the night of the performance, however, her mother had had to go to work at the last moment to replace a waitress who had called in saying she was sick and couldn't work. Charity had been disappointed. Her mother had said, "Charity... you understand, don't you... we need the money, and my boss isn't able to get anyone else, just now."

Charity had understood with her mind. Yes, it was true they needed the money, but she needed something money couldn't buy... she needed her father and mother in that audience watching her and listening to her... she needed their moral support to complete the reason for her effort. It was not too much she was asking: three hours of her parents' time, spent in the darkened auditorium enjoying the world of make-believe she was helping to create on the stage.

Well, even if both her parents couldn't be there, her father would be, she told herself, but in this hope, she was disappointed, too. Her world had been shattered when he didn't show up. He had gotten drunk with some of his cronies, forgetting all about his daughter's great performance. An evening that should have been a high point in her life had turned sour, and she cried herself to sleep that night in her loneliness.

Charity was walking alone, now, along the avenue. She heard the roar of her brother's motorcycle as he overtook her and passed her. She flashed a smile at him, but he didn't stop. It wasn't unusual; it was only occasionally that he would stop to give her a ride home, but today, especially, she had wanted to talk to Donnie. She wanted to tell him about her having won the leading role in the musical. She had to tell him, because Mom would be at work and Dad was probably out somewhere drinking. Even if he were home, he'd probably be half-soused, she decided. Anyway, there was no talking to Dad. He talked to everybody except his family. She knew of her father's reputation as a talker; it was an embarrassment to her to know that he was one of the town drunks, a character known as Gabby Scott. His loud-mouth ways, quick temper and ready fists had landed him in jail for short stretches on more than one occasion. And Mom...? She wouldn't be able to see her until morning... that is if she hadn't had to work overtime and was sleeping later than usual.

She let herself into the house. Donnie's cycle was parked in the drive, but he was nowhere to be seen. She was surprised not to find him in the kitchen gobbling down a snack. Her father, also, was apparently not at home. She headed for her own room, but on impulse, she went on through the kitchen to the back porch and knocked, softly, on his bedroom door.

"Donnie...?" she called.

"Yeah..." His voice a croak.

"I wanted to tell you something..."

"Flake off!" he grunted.

"I got the lead... in the musical... And..." she faltered, feeling his rebuff.

"Big deal!"

She recognized, then, that something was wrong. "Are you all right... Donnie...?" she queried.

"Get the hell out of here!" he roared. "Get off my back... just get the hell off my back... damn you!"

Charity turned from his door, not understanding, a tear welling into each eye to run down her cheeks, and went into her own room. Dear God what's happening to us... to our family?

For the second time, the thought worked to the surface of her conscious mind. I'd be better off... if. I didn't live here! I feel like I could run away... maybe run away with Donnie! He said he felt the same way... and was going to do it pretty soon. I wonder if... he'd take me with him...? We could go on the street together... and help each other... and look out for each other. It would be just the two of us... the two of us... against the world...!

She realized that something must be bothering her brother. He was sometimes moody and treated her badly, but he always came around. Later, he would rap with her about the musical and tell her how glad he was that she had gotten the part.

Don, meanwhile, lay flat on his back, on his narrow bed, smoked a cigarette and tried to find some answers for himself. His body hurt, horribly, from the blows he had received at the hands -- and feet -- of Jack Roberts and his two hangers-on.

Right after he had let himself in the house, he had gone, immediately, to the drawer in his parents' bedroom where his mother kept her extra cash, took a twenty dollar bill, put it in his wallet and went directly to his room. He felt a qualm of conscience, knowing that what he was doing was wrong... but rationalizing with himself that he could not do differently. He had to have the money! It was expedient to take it from his mother's cache. He had a passing thought concerning the possibility of trying to return it, later, but he knew that would not be possible... at least, not right away; especially, after she had discovered its disappearance. He had already decided to take it... and he would lie, if necessary, after his mother discovered its loss. God! He was in a real bind! They'll cut me up... sure as hell... if I don't pay up!

Then, he had stripped himself naked, in the privacy of his room, to examine his injuries. There was no blood, no broken bones, but the bruises were already evident. He would be awfully sore and stiff. In a little while, he would go take a hot, soaking bath to allay some of the soreness.

Damn! It's muscle and organization! That's what Jack's got! And there's no fighting it alone! Christ! Three to one! I didn't have a fucking chance!

His mind raced. His thoughts dealt with revenge, planning how he would even the score with competition, trying to think of ways to hurt Jack Roberts, fighting fire with fire, as it were. He couldn't settle anything, but he knew that Don Scott had been made a fool of... for the last time. He was going to play it smart and cool... never allow himself to get into any kind of bind at all, and he would do all and more that Jack Roberts was doing. When the time came, he would take care of Jack... and Marcy! Just use my head from now on! Brains! Muscle! Organization! That's for me, man! Yeah!

He put on a bathrobe and went into the bathroom. There was only the one connecting bath in the house, making it necessary to go through one or the other of the bedrooms. He chose to go through Charity's room, thinking he might get to see her nude body, again.

Not knocking at her door, he went in. She was just taking off her bra, the only garment she wore, and just before she turned her back on him, clutching at herself to cover her nakedness, gasping out a frightened, "Donnie!", he saw her in all her luscious, young beauty: the mounding swell of her breasts, high and proud, her smooth, white thighs, her full, soft, rounded buttocks and the curling reddish hair at the vee of her thighs. "Sorry, Sis!" he mumbled, not at all sorry, but happy with what he had seen.

"Ugh! How many times do I have to tell you to knock!" she stormed, angrily, as he went on into the bathroom.

Turning back to her, as he closed the door, he said, "Don't get shook, Charity... I've seen naked women before!"

He closed the door quickly; she had just hurled a shoe at him, with another snort of irritation. Inside, the bathroom he took off his robe to reveal an almost instantaneous erection, spearing out from his loins, thick and hard. He reached down to massage and caress it with a hand. Christ! She's beautiful! Man... how I'd like to get it into her... if she just wasn't my sister!

Charity was irritated with her brother for his frank appraisal of her body. It seemed he had "accidentally" been seeing an awful lot of her nakedness, lately. She was embarrassed by his lustful stare, each time he had walked in on her like this. He looks at me... like he does at those pictures in the books and magazines he reads!

She remembered how her cheeks had flushed when he had shown her a particularly suggestive picture of a couple in lewd copulation. "Donnie! That's not very nice!"

"Get with it, Sis!" he had told her. "Sex is here to stay!"

Then she remembered what he had just said. "I've seen naked women before!" He hadn't said girls... he said women! Donnie considers me a woman!

She looked at herself in the mirror, tipping it and standing tall to see as much of herself as she could. What she saw, she liked, for the first time. Yes! He's right! I'm really a woman... almost a full-grown woman!

***

Something he overheard from the man next to him caused him to prick up his ears and listen more closely. The man had asked about a woman... a woman named Dottie!

"Yeah... I got a real good lay with her a couple of days ago, when I was through here... thought I'd look her up, again!"

"Sorry, buddy... I can't help you..." the bartender said.

"Name's Dottie Scott... good looking... damn good legs... and she really knows how to wriggle her ass! Hell! It cost me twenty bucks for less than an hour with her!"

The bartender looked aghast at him, then cast a surreptitious glance at Gabby Scott. Good Christ! Gabby's wife! "Look, buddy! I think you'd better drop it... just a word to the wise!"

Scott was off his chair, his fists swinging in short, punishing arcs, and the salesman was on the floor, in seconds. Gabby's drinking buddy grabbed him to keep him from changing the man's sex as he aimed a deadly kick at the salesman's groin. The bartender called the police, and Gabby was arrested and booked on a disturbance of the peace charge. The salesman was pretty badly shaken up. He told the arresting officer that he was thinking of preferring a charge of assault, against his attacker.

"Damned if I know what got into him!" he told the bartender.

"Dottie Scott is his wife!" he told the salesman, levelly. "Now, get the hell out of here!"

"It's a fact... What I said."

"Maybe Gabby'll want to sue for slander... now, just leave my bar, fella...! I don't like your kind of business!" the bartender said. He was exasperated. Trouble like this was bad for business... and he could care less how many guys Dottie laid. It was none of his business... up to the time it began to affect the patronage of his bar. Then, he didn't want any more to do with it. The stupid ass could take his problems some other place!

The salesman slapped a bill on the bar and growled. "Mighty friendly place you got here!" His voice dripped with sarcasm. He left the bar and went back to his motel to take care of his cuts and bruises. Damn! That was a coincidence! Who'd ever think the broad's husband'd be sitting right next to me? Well, he'll be in jail for a few days! Then, the idea hit him! He's in jail! Obvious!

***

"Dottie... I'm being booked... down here at the jail," he said... "can you go bail for me...?"

"What happened? Why were you arrested?" she worried.

"I hit a guy... in a bar! I was under the influence..."

"Whatever for..."

"You and me'll talk about that, later!" he said grimly; then, more placatingly, "... But, I don't want to spend the night in jail! Can you get me out?"

"Gabe... I can't! We're short-handed here... and if I walked out... I'd get fired sure!" she explained. "I'll come down first thing tomorrow morning... all right...?"

"Hell no... it ain't all right... but if that's the way it is... I guess I'll have to live with it!" He growled and hung up.

She stared at the silent receiver, replacing it in its cradle, absently, trying to fathom what he meant. How could she be involved? What dark reason was there for her husband to beat up another man in a bar? Who was it? Why? WHY? There were no answers coming her way, and there was a customer signaling for her. She moved out to the floor, going about her work in a daze. Dear God... what's happened? I wish I knew! Oh, how I wish I knew!

About ten o'clock, the traveling man came into the cocktail lounge. Dottie recognized him, at once, but there was no way she could avoid him; she had to take his order, serve him his drink... and talk to him, if she had to do so. The owner wanted happy, satisfied customers. It was that simple, and since he had chosen to sit alone in one of the booths rather than at the bar, she went, reluctantly, to take his order.

"Hello, Dottie..." he leered in a sarcastic tone of voice, "I'll have Scotch on the rocks."

She hurried away to fill his order, not wanting to talk to him. He was slow with the money when she brought his drink. His question was direct, however. "How about a little party, tonight?"

Her smile was dazzling, artificial, "I'm all tied up," she lied, "for the rest of the night! Maybe... some other time."

Crestfallen, for a moment, he brightened with, "All right... some other time, then. You know I made a swing back down here, on purpose... just to see you, again..."

"I'm flattered... If you'll excuse me... My customers..." she said, grateful that there really was a customer trying to get her attention.

The salesman finished his drink and left the lounge, after a few minutes. Dottie breathed a sigh of relief as she watched him go. She had no intentio

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Becoming Michelle

I've always had a very high sex drive and various fantasies. My wife, Michelle, is pretty much the opposite. Sex is pretty standard and not very often and whilst this is fine for Michelle it does leave me wanting. I would never cheat so I often turn ..continue reading

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My parents were just renting their house so after the funeral and after I got their things sold off there wasn't much else for me to do so with my summer semester paid for by a student loan I went back to school after the funeral. All too soon the se ..continue reading

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Mom teaching teens

Sex between adults and children is a long-standing taboo which has abhorred decent people while secretly fascinating many of them. Certainly, the thought of an adult forcing himself or herself on an infant of very tender years is an abhorrent one. B ..continue reading

My bully is my girlfriend

My name is Mark and I love my bully. this may sound weird but ever since I was little I've had feelings for this girl named Samantha. she was a rough brunette tomboy and we used to play in the park together and wrestle. we had grown up though and th ..continue reading