Chapter 2
The thick scent of lilacs and the chirping of orioles in the bush outside the window roused me to awareness of a sunny Monday morning. I yawned and stretched. Before I had time to glance at the clock, Jim entered the room, fully dressed.
"Oh, Jim! I'm sorry. What time is it? " He leaned over to kiss my eyelids and bare breasts. "Honey, you better rest today,"he said with a chuckle. "You wore both of us out yesterday."
I jumped out of bed. "I'll make some coffee."
"No you won't." His arms went around me, the palms of his hands cupping my bare ass-cheeks. "You go back to bed and rest, hear?" Close up, the tip of his nose touching mine, his gray eyes were lighted with merriment, as he pulled me against him, the soft bulk of his cock pulsing on my thigh. "He'll be ready for a repeat tonight, darling. You be ready. Bye, bye."
I lay down on the rumpled sheet, strangely pensive and restive. Damn! I thought, I'm as horny as a bitch in heat! What in the world had come over me? I wondered, as I tossed about in bed, stroking my palms over my belly, up and around my breasts, regarding my naked body in the mirrors of the closet doors. As I wriggled about in bed, the tender skin of my buttocks scratched over starch-stiff spots on the sheet. Normally, this would have caused a feeling of revulsion which would have impelled me to rise immediately and change the sheets. But this morning, I took erotic pleasure in wallowing in them. What's happening to me? Until last Wednesday noon, I had been perfectly content and completely satisfied in my sexual relations with Jim.
I thought there was no peak of delight we had not scaled. But ever since I had met Don Ashby at lunch with Jim that day, I'd been unable to erase from my mind the image of his pink-tipped tongue moistening his wide lips, and the tantalizing movement of the feathery tip of his beard, like a dowsing rod wavering over my subconscious, dipping .. . here, the long-forgotten events of the past now welling up into the present.. . and I lie shivering in the heat of this August night, stretched on a blanket, staring at- the stars blinking through the tree leaves overhead. I hear the croak of a bullfrog and his plopping leap into the murmuring waters of the Des Plaines River, the chirping of crickets, and the growl of truck traffic on the highway a mile away. And through this, the slither of Ed Bellmon's shoes through the tall grass, setting my heart thumping and prickles of fear coursing through me.
I try to calm my panic as he sits beside me-it won't hurt too much, I tell myself, it's all over in a minute, the girls have told me-oh God! Get me out of here before it's too late.
"Heh! How about that? " he chortles. "I was sure I had a bottle of wine in the glove compartment. Here, honey, have a slug." I sit up, shivering, my arms folded across my breasts.
"It's getting late, Ed. We'd better go."
"What?"
He sets the bottle on the ground, puts his right arm around my shoulder, and pushes me back down on the blanket. "You told me your folks won't be home till one. It's only nine-thirty." His lips close over mine and I feel his tongue probing stiffly into my mouth. For the first time in the last two months, my tongue refuses to duel .with his. Somehow, with his two hundred pounds of muscled frame pinning me down in the dark night, and his left hand fumbling with his belt and zipper, the romance I had imagined for this moment has turned into terror.
"Please, Ed. Let me up." I can feel him lift his hips and I know he has pushed his trousers down below his knees.
"Don't be afraid, baby. You have to grow up sometime." His left hand is under my skirt. How silly of me, I think; there isn't a spot on my body that he hasn't touched. And tonight, to make it easy for him, I had worn no panties and no brassiere under my loose-fitting sweater. I had decided that tonight Ed Bellmon, captain of our championship high school football team, would make me a woman. I feel the night air on my thighs and lower belly, and his fingers in my pubic hair.
His tongue is licking the inside of my lips, as one of his fingers works its way into the crack of my pussy. My legs part and my buttocks lift up off the blanket, forcing my clitoris against his circling finger. Mmm! I hear myself murmur as his lips leave mine and his head drops down to nose in under my sweater. I raise my shoulders slightly as his head pushes my sweater up over my breasts.
"Jesus! What a gorgeous pair of tits," he whispers, nuzzling into the cleft of my breasts, nibbling at my nipples.
"My darling," I murmur, stroking his long blond hair and cupping a teat up to his mouth. All fear and terror have vanished. My thighs are spread, my ass lifting and rotating to the rhythm of his probing fingers reaching into my cunt, foiled of deep entry. "Christ!" he mutters, "a virgin!"
I clamp my thighs on his hand, and moisture oozes down my crack. Pressuring his face into my breasts, I urge hotly, "I want it. Oh, Ed! Give it to me." My skin tingles all over and a warm delightful flush spreads all through me as I feel his stiff cock throbbing against my left thigh. I've never seen nor handled a man's cock, and my left hand moves down stealthily as though to close about a wary bird. He is on his knees now, his lips and tongue caressing my breasts, nipples, then wetly mouthing down to my navel, sending spasms of joyous ripples across my belly. The touch of his lips is as gentle as butterfly wings. My fingers find the head of his cock and jerk back momentarily. Then I explore its length back to the thick growth of hair at its root. I shudder as I compare its length and bulk with the size of my finger. But I want it in me, oh! so desperately do I want it.
Ed straightens up and bends over to kiss my lips. "Baby!" he whispers, "you really are eating pussy. I want to eat it first." The palm of my hand holds his balls, and I thumb over the crinkled skin. "What do you mean? "I whisper. He laughed aloud. "Jan, how old are you?" I answered without thinking. "Sixteen." He raised up. Even in the dark I could see the frown lines in his forehead. "Jail bait! Christ, I thought you told me you were eighteen." Sliding my hand along the length of his cock, I replied hastily,
"I'll be seventeen next week." He shook his head. "That's a big help. Only sixteen and finished high school already. I don't want to get into trouble." My fingertips traced the outline of the bulging head of his cock, satin-smooth, wet and slick. "Ed, please, I want you to do it." He leaned over and kissed me passionately. "If I end up in jail, baby, you better come spend weekends with me." Shaking out of his trouser legs, he straddled me, facing my feet, his right knee close to my shoulder.
As he bent forward, his big cock was just above my face. I felt his lips on my belly, then down in my crotch. I turned my cheek to keep his cock away from my lips, felt the wet slick of it dripping down. Revulsion forced my face away from it, but irresistible attraction drew it back. His palms were on the inside of my thighs, pushing them apart, and his thumbs were on the lips of my cunt, spreading them open to his working tongue. As it circled my clitoris, I arched my back in convulsive joy and my hands went up around his hips to clasp his ass-cheeks, pulling his pubes down to my face. My nose was buried in the hair to the right of his balls, my nostrils filled with a strong musky scent, unlike any I had ever known. I could feel the warm and tender surface of the skin of his prick throbbing along my cheek.
Suddenly, Ed jumped to his feet. "Get up," he ordered hoarsely.
Headlights of an automobile outlined the tops of trees above us.
"Get in the car, quick."
I scrambled to my feet, adjusted my skirt and sweater, as Ed rolled the blanket, and tossed it in the back of the car. He had the car in gear and started down the rutted road when the red light atop the oncoming car flashed on. "Stay in the car," Ed said curtly as he braked to a stop and got out. I had the shakes, too scared to cry, the five minutes Ed was gone. He swaggered back to the car and started the motor, as the police car pulled off the road to let us pass.
"What happened? Are we under arrest?"
Ed laughed. "Hell no. I told you my uncle was County Commissioner. But that was close, baby. Home you go."
He left for college in the East two days later. I never saw him again.
Three months later, in a cheap, hot-bed motel south of Waukegan, I lost my virginity to a dumb, brutal Polack, a member of the freshman football squad who somehow managed to break my hymen and spill his seed in a forty-second bunny hop.
The telephone rang. Still seething with the fresh recall of that painful, disgusting event, I growled a hello into the phone.
"Jan? This is Don Ashby."
"Oh, Don." I glanced at the clock. "How are you? Jim will be in his office in another fifteen minutes. He's always .. . " "I'll talk to him later. Right now I want to talk to you. How'd you like the swap party Saturday night?"
"I didn't, frankly. I'm sorry ..."
"Jan, honey, that's why I waited till this morning to call. I wanted to talk to you while Jim wasn't home. I knew you both were disappointed with the results when you didn't wait for breakfast."
As he talked on, explaining that the group was bringing in new people, I found his low, resonant voice at once soothing and disturbing. The fingertips of my right hand were trailing over my breasts and belly. I closed my eyes, trying to simulate the feathery touch of his beard on my skin.
"... and Jan, I'll set aside the whole day tomorrow. We won't be disturbed, I guarantee you. You have such a marvelous figure, I must paint you. Can you come? Please?"
"Oh!" The shiver that passed throughout my body put a tremor in my voice.
"Jan? Please come."
"I thought the group had a rule against that." His laugh was quick and light. "You're enlarging on the invitation, Jan. There's no rule forbidding an artist to paint." "No, Don. Jim wouldn't..."
"He doesn't have to know. Hell, that's up to you. You could be here at ten, leave at three. That should give us plenty of time. Listen, do you have a pencil handy? Good. Take: down this number. Don't decide now. Give me a ring in the' morning after Jim leaves for work. The number is ... " I wrote it down.
"I'll expect to hear from you, Jan."
"No, Don. The answer is no. Good-bye."
Propping the pillows up in back of me, I sat staring at the note paper for several minutes, then deliberately tore it up and dropped the pieces into the waste basket beside the bed.