Chapter 1
Even before the sound of the high school dismissal bell faded, Darcy Williams had slammed her book shut, jumped up, and was the first one out the classroom door.
As she entered the corridor a full second before other students began to jam out of the rooms, Darcy felt exhilarated. She liked to be first-even in little things.
Darcy headed for her locker at the end of the corridor. Her breasts jiggled enchantingly from beneath her soft sweater, and her hips bounced sassily. Even her long auburn hair added to the appearance of anxious youth, hurrying toward adventure.
Darcy crashed her locker closed, turned, started to take a step, then stopped when she saw the tall boy hurrying in her direction. She smiled, seeing the dark scowl he wore, noticing, too, his quick stride that made his narrow hips seem very sexual. Darcy had a flashing memory of those hips spinning above her. Then she dismissed the thought as the boy stopped before her.
"Where you going in such a damn hurry?" the boy asked.
"Home, Rod," she answered, making her eyes go little-girl-round.
"Thought you were going to meet me," he said crossly.
Darcy's eyes changed. They narrowed in quick anger. "Now, you listen to me, Rod Baker. You've got to stop this possessiveness or we're going to be through altogether. Sometimes a girl just-likes to be alone, that's all."
"You? Alone?" he laughed. "That'll be the day."
"And this is the day," she said quickly.
Rod entwined his fingers around her forearm. "Come on, it's a great day. Let's take a look at the football field."
"It's got nothing but dandelions."
"Let's look at them anyway."
Darcy frowned, then sighed deeply, the movement causing her full breast to tease at Rod's hand where it gripped her by the arm. Her sigh was one of resignation.
"Well, all right," she said. "But I have to be home in an hour."
He grinned evilly, then said, "I doubt that's enough time for me, baby."
Together, they left the locker and joined the other hurrying students as all of them made their way toward the front exit door.
They were detained twice before they left the school-by two of Darcy's girl friends who pulled her away from Rod for a moment's whispers, and by tall, handsome Kenneth Masters, the school's assistant principal.
Darcy, of her own accord, lingered with Mr. Masters.
"Well, how are you today, young lady?" the man said.
"Fine, thank you," she politely replied. Then she flushed slightly as Kenneth Master's eyes roamed her young body, touching impudently at her breasts and waist and at her lively, long legs, which were bare and exposed beneath her short skirt.
Rod made a grumbling, impatient sound.
Kenneth Masters ignored him and continued to stare at Darcy, moving his eyes from her body to her wide, red mouth and the very unusual eyes, which were green and as oblong as almonds.
"Perhaps when you're not quite so busy you'll come into the office and visit for a bit," Mr. Masters said. "I-well, I'd like to get a little better acquainted with you, Darcy-with you and many of the students here at Sanford High. You know, a new assistant principal has many difficulties. You may be able to help me with some of them."
"I'll certainly try," Darcy replied. "And I will come in to see you soon."
"Splendid," Masters replied. "That'll be just
S splendid. You see, I have a little special project I'm interested in-I know you can help."
"I'll try," she said again.
"I'm sure you will," he said slowly, shaking his head and glancing once again over all of her body.
Rod tugged on her hand, and after Darcy beamed another smile upon the assistant principal, she allowed herself to be led out the door. She felt Kenneth Masters' eyes upon her as she left the school.
"What do you bother with that creep for?" Rod Baker said as they fell into step on the path that led to the football field.
"Well, he is the new assistant principal."
"And he is a creep."
"I like him. He's nice. He seems interested in everybody as if he's anxious to know us better."
"He's anxious to know you, all right," Rod said. "Crissakes, the way he leers at you iswell, hell, it's disgraceful."
"Huh," she laughed. "You're one to talk."
They were silent as they left the path and started to cut diagonnlly across the field. The ground felt fresh and lively beneath Darcy's feet. It made her want to run and shout or scream or express her joy for youth and the spring season in some absurd way. And because she could not-or would not-it added to the restlessness that had been churning in her body for weeks, a restlessness that she could not resolve, not by any endeavor, not even through the means of the mad love-making she had been using as therapy for the past month. She wondered what it was inside her that rushed so determinedly for outlet. She wondered if she would soon know its quieting. Then she wondered what would happen to her if the restlessness continued, even became overt and screamed its course through her life. She shuddered slightly.
Rod put his arm around her waist and held her closer. "That's right, baby, tremble because of my nearness."
Darcy did not answer him. She had become used to Rod's conceit. And she always hated it.
When they arrived at the bleachers, Darcy broke away from the boy's hold and sat down on the first bleacher seat.
Rod looked dismayed, then said, "Hey, it's nicer under the bleachers."
"I know," she said.
"What the devil's the matter with you lately anyway," he exclaimed. "Hell, the last few weeks you act as if you're one of those untouchables, or something."
She looked at him seriously, then said, "I've been speculating on my life, that's all. Don't you ever speculate on your life, Rod?"
"Not if I can help it," he said. "But speculating I do like-with you-right under these goddamn bleachers."
"See-there you go again. Sex, sex, sex-that's all you ever think about."
"Yeahhhhhhh," he growled luridly.
Darcy started to shake her head to show her disdain for the single-sighted boy, but he gripped her about the waist again and pulled her close. Darcy relented. She snuggled her head into his shoulder and in spite of herself felt the beginning of warmth creep over her body. This, too, was a part of the restlessness she had felt lately. Yet nothing seemed to really fulfill her.
Rod's hand sneaked upward and finally cupped at Darcy's left breast. She considered the feeling for a moment, decided that it really was rather comforting, that it was nice to be desired by the school's most popular boy, and that she did sometimes treat him horribly. She raised her head and parted her lips slightly.
Rod bent and captured her mouth. Darcy brought her arms around his back, clutching tightly at his strong shoulders, then lowering one hand to rub sensually at the small of his back, first on the outside, then inside his sweater where there was smoothness and the heat of his flesh.
When Rod half-turned her and pressured her in a way that brought her breasts in contact with his chest, Darcy shot her tongue fully into his mouth. She felt it taken and drawn upon, then released so that it could know the clash of Rod's tongue as it blazed to nip and twirl and slash strongly. She made a combat of their open-mouthed kissing. She fought his tongue with her own, chattering at it in a rhythm that matched the shudder of her body close to his.
Soon, Rod's hand moved upward and inside her sweater until it cupped around her strapless bra, then forced it down to squeeze at her naked flesh.
Darcy moaned into his mouth. Then she pulled her lips from his and buried them into Rod's neck.
"Oh, baby, you drive me crazy," he whispered.
"I know," she answered.
"Do I make you feel that way too?"
"A little."
"Just a little?" he asked, plunging his tongue into her ear, then withdrawing it so he could nibble at the lobe.
"Quite a bit sometimes," she confessed.
"Like now?"
"Yes, like now," she answered. "Come on, baby, let's go underneath the seats."
"No."
"Please." He squeezed her breast, then released it and brought his thumb and forefinger into play upon her nipple, making it lengthen and grow hotter.
"Come on, please," Rod breathed heavily.
"I can't," she said, sounding a little disappointed.
"Why?"
"Just because I can't-because I'm all crazy and restless inside and when we get through it'll be even worse-much worse-and it'll bother me for days."
"Maybe this time you won't feel that way," he offered, twirling her nipple between his fingers as if he were rolling a cigarette.
"It won't be any different," she said dejectedly.
Suddenly, Rod squeezed her breast very hard and jammed her entire body close to him. "I don't give a damn how you'll feel-I just gotta, Darcy, I gotta or go crazy."
Again, Darcy sneaked her hand inside his sweater and massaged at the small of his back as his body stiffened, then slightly trembled. A flood of sympathy flooded her. She knew how difficult the promise of sex without its fulfillment was for a boy-especially a boy like Rod Baker.
"Ohhhh, Jeeez, Darcy," he exclaimed in a long, slow expulsion of breath.
"I know, I know," she said soothingly.
"Jeez-you can't do this to me," he exclaimed, his voice tight and hard. "You can't-you can't, for Crissakes!"
His desperate cry scorched her and excited her. Darcy knew that it was now not within her to deny Rod's sad plight.
"All right," she said. "But you'll have to be careful this time-you have to promise."
"I promise," he groaned.
She released her hold upon him. When he pulled back, then rose from the bleacher seat, Darcy stood up and immediately moved down the long line of seats until she came to the end. Then she and Rod skirted the end and moved beneath the bleachers where the long shadows made it seem that they were jailed.
Darcy looked around, then said, "You'll have to do something, Rod. Somebody might see us."
Rod did not answer. But he turned quickly, sighted a pile of long green boards that were intended for the replacement of seats in the bleachers, then moved to them. He dragged a half-dozen of them beneath the bleachers. Then he piled them on the open side, creating a private place for love-making.
"There, that'll do it," he breathed.
Darcy moved within the concealed area. She looked at Rod, then lowered to the thick grass. She moved from her back to her side, then looked up at the seventeen-year-old boy.
He snorted a short growl of desire, then flung himself next to her. They embraced. Their bodies stretched long together, each part of them touching-breasts to his hard chest, bellies flat together, thighs smacking hard and feet touching and entwining. And their tongues mixed and played with a new fury, a fury that now held promise for its quieting. And hands moved and touched, too. Rod moved one of his inside her sweater again and squeezed and fondled and tipped at the nipple.
Darcy felt all of the various sensations at the same time. She thought of the restlessness that had been a part of her. And even as she considered it and thought of the antidote of love she was about to know, she knew that nothing that
Rod Baker could give her would suffice, that the things that screamed inside her were wilder than anything in life, so wild that their quenching would only come by something unique and mad and crazy ?nd defiant. Yet she knew she would submit to Rod, that she could not help but submit, for experimentation was needed before cure could be obtained. She smiled, then closed her eyes as she received him and the love he had to give.
Very quickly, their young bodies moved, then quieted. Rod's expression turned soft and satisfied. Darcy's did not. Instead, they seemed to express some new torment of her mind.
She turned from Rod as soon as possible. She did not want to see him reassemble his clothing. Nor did she want him to see her doing the same thing. Darcy felt displeased and unhappy, less with Rod than with herself. And she could not understand it. It was as if she had reached some point in her young life that demanded decisions-important decisions. The thought was not new. It had been with Darcy for many weeks, had filled her day dreams and played within the fantasies that filled her mind while she slept. Darcy never recognized their message, only that it had something to do with being young, with that and the threat of the rapid approach of age.
Darcy finished with her clothing and stood up. So did Rod. Then they turned away from the bleachers that had concealed their love-making.
They moved away from the bleachers and across the football field by the same path they had taken earlier. At the front of the school they paused.
"Come on, I'll walk you home," Rod said. "You don't have to," she replied. "It's in the opposite direction."
"I don't mind."
"No, really, Rod, I want to be alone."
He looked at her curiously, then said, "See, there you go again. And after what we've just had, too."
"I can't help it," she said. "Like I said, sometimes a girl just-likes to be alone."
"You're crazy."
"Maybe." She moved a few paces away from him, then smiled over her shoulder and said, "Bye-bye-see you tomorrow, Rod."
Darcy did not turn or slacken her pace away from Rod. She felt his eyes upon her until she reached the corner, then she turned and moved out of view. Relief swept her body. She hurried her pace, not toward her home but in an easterly direction that led to the giant lake and the hard, smooth sand beach that fronted it. For a week, this had been her destination immediately after school. For a week she had been moved to the scene by the lake that revealed strange and exciting characters, the-likes of whom she had never before seen.
When she arrived at the place she paused. The spot was a narrow, downward-sloping pathway which led away from the main highway and the sidewalk next to it, to the beach below. Darcy moved down the path.
Her loafers dug deeply into the sand. And the beach brush at either side of the pathway struck out at her, nicking at her hips and breasts as she moved.
Halfway down the path, she heard the roaring sound that told her she would not be disappointed once she had attained a full view of the beach below. She paused and looked around, then when the roaring-motor sound heightened, she hurried further down the path.
Soon, she arrived at a spot that offered a full view of the entire beach. Only a hundred yards away from where she stopped between the outstretched twigs of several bushes, the entire beach stretched before her. It was here that she halted, here that she sat down, curled her legs beneath her hips, and stretched her neck high in order to take in all of the beach scene that she had come to witness.
On the beach, some circling, others moving in a wider circle, a dozen power-packed motorcycles roared like hot, mad beasts. And the boys and girls upon the bikes looked beastly, too. The boys wore short denim or leather jackets and dirty, tight-fitting jeans. They wore hats, too, hats of all kinds: berets, stiff-visored, military-appearing caps, helmets with foreign country insignias upon them, mad, crazy hats that seemed to shout defiance to all convention, to authority, to the entire world. And the boys themselves seemed like rebels from hell. Some were bearded. Most wore their hair long and uncombed. Many wore sunglasses that gave the appearance of grotesque holes in their faces. A few of the boys were bare-chested beneath their parted jackets, showing strong-muscled chests that were very brown and decorated by crosses and other ornamental symbols that hung at the end of chains.
Darcy's heart pounded as she watched the boys move their big, powerful Harley-Davidson 74's in casual circles and crisscrosses across the beach. And when her eyes alighted on the boy who she had guessed was the leader, her heart pounded even heavier. He looked hotter and madder and crueler and more defiant than all the others. He was big and heavily muscled, yet his waist was small and showed the ripples of strength beneath his parted jacket. His beard was different from those of the others. It was not quite so straggly, and it was auburn colored, much the same as Darcy's hair. And he always held his head higher and more proudly than the others, much as if he were shouting insults to the sky, the sun, to all the heavens above. The way he rode his bike made Darcy feel the titillation of her breast tips against her bra. He rode it as though it were a beast, a female beast, with love and care, yet with the violence that women sooner or later come to expect and desire from a man. He looked hard. And ruthless. Violent and destructive.
Darcy fastened her eyes upon this rebel leader and did not take them from him until one of the girls approached the front of his bike, causing him to halt.
Darcy felt a sting of envy for the girl. She was quite tall, obviously one of the motorcycle gang, for Darcy had seen her with the others for a steady week, and she was pretty in that uncared-for way that seemed so attractive. The girl's hair was long, ending at her waist. It was very blonde. It was straight and seemed a perfect complement to her pale face, the large lips that were without lipstick, and the round, blue eyes that sparkled not from make-up, but from the sun, from excitement, and from, Darcy was sure, her presence before the reddish-bearded boy.
The conversation between the boy and the girl was brief. Each smiled from time to time. Once, the boy nodded toward the girl's breasts, which were concealed, but not unnoticed, beneath a tight leather jacket. The girl smiled back, then she lowered the zipper of the jacket to reveal her bare breasts, which were hard and cone shaped as they stuck impudently out from the edges of the leather jacket.
Darcy felt a lump clog her throat. She thought of her own breasts and how attractive they were, how much Rod always desired them. She wondered if the bearded boy would like them. She hoped so. She hoped she would some day have a chance to find out. Then she felt that other thing that had come to her every day for a week, every day when she had rested concealed while she observed the boy and the others upon the beach. She felt the hot throb of her young thighs, pulsating, pushing, steaming like an inferno. And it was this that Rod Baker had never been able to fully quiet. It was this that scorched her and moved her to the sight of the stranger-boy upon the motorcycle. There was a connection, Darcy knew, a unity between herself, the motorcyclist, and the hot, anxious throbbing of her young womanhood. She wondered if it was caused by more than sex. Then she knew that there was nothing more than sex, that it was tied to everything. And again she associated the restlessness of her body with the scene that she had watched secretly all week long.
Darcy shifted her position, hoping that quiet would come to her thighs. It did not. Nor did her heartbeat lessen when she saw the blonde-haired girl boldly part her jacket, cup one breast and hold it out to the reddish-bearded lad. He laughed. Then he said something. Then, like lightning, the girl jumped on the back of the motorcycle and locked her arms around the boy's waist, locked them tightly as she cuddled her bare breasts against the leather of his jacket.
As if ashamed of her thoughts, Darcy deliberately looked away from them, turned her attention to the other motorcyclists and their girls. There were fully a half-dozen other boys as attractive as the lad she had watched and desired. Some were even more handsome. And a few seemed even meaner and harder and more brutal looking, especially a colored boy whose jacket was red leather in a kind of defiance to his fellows. He excited Darcy quite a lot, but not enough to clear her mind of the red-bearded leader. And Darcy noticed that the other girls, all in an assortment of leather and jeans, were as attractive as the long blonde-haired girl. She wondered why it was that this particular girl presented herself to the boy-leader. Then Darcy could deal in suppositions no longer. She had to turn and look at the boy and girl who were clinging together on the chugging Harley-Davidson.
The boy moved the bike in a small circle as the girl clung to him, handling the machine casually with one hand, making it do small figure 8's and triple circles, acting very much as if he were undecided about a destination. But then the girl leaned forward and whispered into the boy's ear. He grinned, then spun the machine around and headed down the beach in a direction directly beneath the spot from which Darcy watched.
Darcy felt cheated and mad. She felt very envious of the blonde girl, of the way her hair flew wildly behind her, of the way her naked breasts oozed out from her jacket to crush against the boy's back. And she felt mad because she was sure that the whispered words had indicated sex, its invitation, its urgent need. She knew that it was toward this that they hurried.
Still, Darcy could not take her eyes from the pair. She raised to her knees and held her head high for a better view.
And then the most astonishing thing happened. The red-bearded boy jerked the motorcycle to a halt directly beneath Darcy's position midway up the hill. He braced the bike with one booted foot and looked up at Darcy. His beard and long hair glinted in the sun. And in a moment, the blonde girl followed the direction of the motorcyclist's gaze and also looked at Darcy.
Darcy felt her heart thump madly once again. But she did not look away. Mustering the same kind of defiance that the boy showed, she looked at him, held his gaze steadily as if awaiting his move so she could answer it.
Suddenly, the boy threw his head back and laughed hard, roared, rolled out long bursts of laughter that seemed masculine and hard and a little obscene. And while he laughed, he looked at Darcy, let his eyes rivet to her as if they could pinch at the bareness of her body beneath her simple, schoolgirl attire.
Soon, the blonde girl laughed, too, but it was obedient, came not at all from enthusiasm or even from the mystery that called forth laughter from the boy.
Darcy trembled. She felt her loins heat again, and she felt the sudden tautness of her nipples as they hardened and reached out, stretching, it seemed, toward the boy as they asked for his taking of them.
The boy ceased laughing. He continued to stare at Darcy. And now a different expression creased his weathered face. He took on a look of curiosity, touched with kindness and admiration. The change had come quickly, as if it had intruded upon him without will or permission.
And Darcy looked at him and wanted to melt. She felt like butter beneath a raging sun, an ice-statue facing a spring thaw, a girl caught spying upon a taboo scene. And yet her body reacted and thrilled, trembled and shook and yearned to break her pose, burst out, go clamoring down the hill and forward to the red-bearded boy upon the motorcycle.
But she did not. She merely looked at him, feeling that in some strange, incredible way, he was the answer to many things for her young body.
The boy laughed once more, then kicked the motorcycle forward and with the girl hanging to his waist, accelerated it hard until they zoomed terrifyingly fast down the straight, smooth stretch of beach.
Darcy watched the fading sight of them. Again she felt envy for the blonde girl, sensing that she and the boy were headed toward some secluded spot and the erotic adventures they would pursue there.
But, even as she felt sadness, Darcy also felt a glow of hope. She knew that her waiting and watching would soon be over, that soon, very soon, she would move to meet this boy and his gang. She wondered what would befall her then. She wondered if perhaps then she would know a calming for her restless spirit and churning body. She shivered as she considered it. She felt a little frightened. But it was a fright that she sensed came only from the great torment of her body, a torment that sought cure from a stranger, an angry, red-bearded rebel boy who laughed aloud and recklessly, then rode off on his motorcycle.