Chapter 6
The Youth Club camping site was a bustle of activity. Jean, a veteran of many camping holidays with the Guides had been instructing the would-be campers for many weeks before their arrival. Now each boy and girl had their particular job to do and was engaged upon it with more enthusiasm than expertise. The majority of the teenagers had never been camping before and the release from brick walls and parent's discipline had rather gone to their heads. They were noisy and excited. Jean took it all in her stride. She was used to it and kept a firm hand on everything. Her two assistants were also experienced campers and soon the tents were up, the equipment stored, the cook tent organized and a camp fire built. There were eight bell tents for the girls, separated by the Leader's tents from the six tents of the boys. A mixed camp was a new departure for a Youth Club and there had been some protests from parents and a few of the members' bookings had been withdrawn. The Leaders knew the responsibility they carried but were confident of their ability to keep reasonable order and an eye to morals.
Tracy was as carefree as the rest of them. She had come to terms with her great romance and, although she would not admit it, felt a certain relief to be back in her own world again after pining for so long for the unattainable which had suddenly dropped into her lap. She felt more than a little superior to her friends and regretted she was unable to boast about her wonderful experience. It said much for her character and genuine regard for Martin that she had never dropped any hints of their brief relationship. She was, however, being very mysterious to the girls in her tent about something special she had brought with her in her kitbag. She had them guessing and intrigued all day, to such an extent that anything less than what she did produce that night when they were all in bed could have fallen very flat indeed.
Tracy, Marion, Erica, Barbara, Lisbet and Katy were all snuggled down in their sleeping bags when Mrs. Buller came in to say goodnight and told them to put out their lantern in half an hour's time.
"It's a book!" said Tracy dramatically, as soon as she had gone.
"A dirty book?" asked Marion whose sleeping bag was next to Tracy's.
"Come on, Tracy, let's see it," urged Erica on the other side, craning her neck forward as Tracy fumbled in her lumpy kit bag.
"It's not a story," said Tracy and a groan of disappointment went up, followed by noisy shushes, "but it's about dirty words, I found it in my brother's room. He's on holiday in Italy and I was looking for something to read," she explained.
"Ah! Here it is . . . " she produced a book, carefully covered in brown paper. "But it's ever so interesting. You can all read it whilst we're here, but for goodness sake don't let Mrs. Buller see it."
"Is it a French book? asked Marion, "Dirty books come from France, don't they?"
"You've got it all wrong," said Tracy, opening the book while five pairs of eyes watched her, "It's a book about prudery."
More groans.
"Now listen, it's really interesting. The man who wrote this book says that it's people's minds which are dirty and not words and . . . "
"We don't want to hear all that bosh," said Barbara suddenly, "What are the words themselves, that's what I want to know the only rude word I know is cunt."
"Well, it's not a rude word see, Barby, it's the perfectly proper word for the female sex organs," Tracy was leafing through the book, obviously looking for the relevant passage, "It says here that cunt is real Old English and it was probably used all over Europe at one time it's even found in Ancient Egyptian where it also means mother!"
"Cor! If I called my mother a cunt she'd beat the daylights out of me," exploded Lisbet in a shriek of laughter.
"And do you know there used to be streets all over England called Gropecunt Lane it was supposed to mean 'a dark and disreputable passage.' "
"Bloody cheek," said Kathy edging forward into the light, "That's just typical of what men think of women."
A murmur of agreement at this insult to women's integrity went round the tent.
"Are there any other words for cunt?" asked Lisbet.
"Oh there are hundreds, all this chapter is about the words which used to be used instead of cock and cunt. People were so scared of the real ones they invented their own, and he's got lots of them here, right back to the 12th Century."
"You mean he's collected euphemisms?" asked Marion quietly, she was the studious one amongst them.
"Yes, that's right, that's what he calls them," said Tracy, "and some of them are screamingly funny honestly!"
"But," persisted Lisbet, "is cunt the only real word for a woman's sexual organs?
"Oh no . . . there's tail (that's 14th Century), gear (16th Century) and twat and quim (both 17th Century). And then there's the technical word which doctors use vulva is that the one you wanted?"
"Ah yes! Now if I wanted to say to Dr. Menzies that I had a pain in my cunt I ought to say vulva to him, is that right?"
"You wouldn't dare!" laughed Marion, "you'd do what we'd all do you'd say 'I've got a pain down there'. "
Oh no I wouldn't," argued Lisbet.
"Don't you see that's what this book is all about silly prudery," insisted Tracy. "You've just got to read it to understand what he means. But those euphemisms really are funny listen to these for a man's prick: peacemaker, middle finger, flapdoodle, clothes prop, pudding, sugar stick, mouse, goose's neck, star gazer, fiddlestick, pike of pleasure, fowling-piece, master of ceremonies, thorn in the flesh, cuckold-maker, water-engine, cunny-catcher, rump-splitter, ass-tickler, grinding tool, cream stick, Old Slimy, pisser, merry maker, giggle-stick, thingumy . . . "
By this time the girls were in fits of laughter.
"Well go on Tracy tell us some more" gasped Barbara.
"But isn't it funny about 'thingumy'? " said Tracy, looking up with her finger on the page, "My mother uses it all the time, she'd die if she knew what it originally meant, and thingumybob and oojahmaflip they mean prick also!"
"I've heard Miss Prentice say thingumybob hundreds of times. You'd think she'd know what it means. I won't be able to keep my face straight next time she says it," giggled Erica. Miss Prentice was her headmistress, a very straight-laced and hated person in her life.
"Are there any euphemisms for a woman's sex, asked Lisbet, who seemed to have that part of her anatomy on her mind.
"I'll say there are! How about: open wound. Queen of Holes, mouth that says no words, port hole, the Netherlands, cat's meat, thatched house under the hill, fanny artful, watchermacallit, itching Jenny, little spot where Uncle's doodle goes, manhole, poke hole, hot passage and slimy pit of sin!! ! "
The girls were now so convulsed with laughter they had forgotten they might be overheard. Miss Summers, hearing all the noise decided she ought to go and investigate. She was horrified by what she heard through the flimsy canvas walls of the tent and hurried to Jean. They both stood listening to Tracy continued to recite lists of euphemisms to her rollicking audience.
"Surely we can't allow this sort of thing to go on in the camp Mrs. Buller?" whispered Jacqueline, "We ought to confiscate the book and punish those girls.
"I'm not at all sure you're right Jacky. No, I'm not sure. As a matter-of-fact I rather like their attitude towards those silly words, it's quite wholesome. They aren't treating it as pornography to get a thrill out of it, are they? They are simply laughing at prudish grown ups who are too scared to use the proper words. Do you know I think it would have done me a lot of good to read a book like that when I was a teenager ? "
"But Mrs. Buller surely they are far too young to even know about such things like that let alone discuss it amongst themselves or even read about it?"
"Nonsense, Jacky. Sex shouldn't be a mystery to children at any age. Things are better now than since I was a child and these girls' children will know even more and the more the better."
Jacqueline seemed quite upset: "But Mrs. Buller there are boys in the camp," she protested. "If the girls are reading books like that, they might try to experiment and after all we are responsible for what they do and what happens to them."
"Yes, Jacky, that's something we've got to think about. I agree it could happen, but in a way it's an argument not against the book but against their ignorance. Their parents don't tell them a thing and all the Church says is THOU SHALT NOT. There's rarely anyone telling them WHY NOT? and certainly nobody telling them HOW!"
Jacky was shocked: "Surely nobody should ever tell them how?"
"Why not?" asked Jean, gesturing Jacky away from the girls' tent, which had quieted down considerably while they were talking. It was possible they had heard the Leaders' voices. "It's just because they don't know how that they experiment. Most of the time it's just sheer curiosity about a forbidden subject. I can tell you this quite honestly. If I'd known as a teenager even half the things I know now I'd be a much happier person right at this minute."
Jacky pondered as they walked back to the tent they shared.
"I see what you mean, Mrs. Buller, but it's so difficult to throw off this idea that children should be kept in ignorance. I find I do it instinctively. But the parents of those kids would be outraged if they knew you had discovered they possessed that book and did nothing about it."
"The trouble with most parents," said Jean as they entered the tent, "is they refuse to understand their children are people, with all the same emotions and senses they have themselves, they just can't keep them in ignorance without damaging them in some way. I don't think there's anything beautiful about innocence unless you believe sex is dirty then it makes some sense perhaps, but it's a point of view I don't agree with.
"Even so, Mrs. Buller what are you going to do?"
"I haven't made up my mind. I think I'll sleep on it."
Jean began to rearrange the blankets on her camp bed and laid out her cigarettes conveniently beside her on a box. She suddenly became aware that Jacky was sitting, staring at her.
"Mrs. Buller what did you mean about being a happier person if you had read a book like that. You seem quite balanced and normal to me."
Jean looked at her steadily: "It's all according to what you mean by normal, Jacky. There is a small minority of people who are different because they can't help it. To themselves they seem quite normal, but the world tells them they are not, and some of the poor devils believe it and live terribly unhappy lives because of it."
"Are you talking about homosexuality, Mrs. Buller?"
Jean realized she had gone a little too far. She did not know Jacky's attitudes towards sex. It could be disastrous if she revealed her Lesbian tendencies and the girl went and reported her to the Committee.
"I didn't say I was one of those unfortunates myself," she said carefully, "I was just questioning your use of the word normal."
"Oh . . . " Jacky sounded disappointed, and Jean was interested in her reaction.
"Do you know anything about homosexuality, Jacky?" she probed.
"Only what I've read," replied Jacky eagerly, "I'm terribly sorry for such people, and I understand them . . . " she rushed on, obviously in a confiding mood after the conversation they had just had.
Jean slipped off her mac and got into bed. Then she lit a cigarette. This was getting even more interesting.
"Have you ever met one?"
"Oh yes . . . there was a girl in my class at school and . . . " Jacky in her turn felt she had gone a little too far. She blushed and, to cover her confusion, Jean leant across the space between their beds and offered her a cigarette. She decided to probe a little more.
"It's quite a common thing for teenagers to experiment with others of their own sex, Jacky. That doesn't mean they are homosexual they just grow out of it."
"Oh but this girl was one definitely she even looked different from us. I didn't get to know her until the last year at school and . . . " once more she blushed, but Jean did not drop the subject.
"There's no need to be embarrassed with me, Jacky. I know about these things. Was your friend very unhappy?"
"Oh no . . . at least she had been but I suppose she made the best of it, and of course she had friends, I mean . . . "
Once more Jean covered up: "Have a biscuit? That little trip in the night air has made me hungry."
Jacky gratefully helped herself from the proffered packet.
"Do you still know your school friend now you've left school?"
"Not now," Jacky said mournfully crunching a biscuit, "She moved away. I miss her terribly. She was the best friend I had and she was ever so clever. I'm saving up to go to Ireland and visit her."
"I had a friend like that once," said Jean, carefully feeling her way, "and she moved into the West End. It nearly broke my heart. I went to see her quite recently and she had changed so much I didn't like her any more."
"Really?" There was no mistaking the interest in Jacky's voice, "You mean she was a . . . a? "
"Oh yes. But I was very disappointed when I saw her again. So you mustn't bank on your friend staying as she used to be. You must make new friends now."
Suddenly there were tears in Jacky's eyes: "But I can't. You see she understood me so well and there aren't any people like her around, I mean . . . I . . . . "
Jean stretched out her hand and was just able to take hold of Jacky's trembling hand where it lay on the bedclothes.
"I know exactly how you feel my dear. Now don't get upset. It's part of the business of growing up when we lose our friends. You'll soon find someone else just as sympathetic as she was and in the meantime you've got me around.
I understand perfectly and you can tell me all about it any time you want. Just now we must get to sleep because we've got a tough day tomorrow. Now settle down and I'll turn the lamp out. Goodnight."
There was a smothered goodnight from Jacky, but Jean could tell from the way the girl still clutched her hand that she was deeply moved by their conversation. She gently relinquished her hand and lay pondering the unexpected insight she had just gained into Jacky's life. She had purposely cut short any further confessions in case the girl might regret it later. Her heart went out in sympathy for the obvious loneliness she had tried to express. She was very fond of Jacky and a tremendous yearning built up to hold her in her arms and tell her that she need be lonely no longer. But, she told herself, there was a lot of difference between needing sympathy and actually loving another person, she did not know yet which Jacky sought.
The next morning left Jean in no doubt as to Jacky's feelings. The girl followed her round like a dog with adoring eyes: she wanted to fetch and carry for her as though she were a slave. Jean was afraid the others would notice and realized she would have to do something about it pretty soon or there would be a scandal. In the afternoon she invented an errand for Jacky and herself and asked Fred Crant to take the campers boating up river. This suggestion was very popular and they soon went off merrily, leaving Jean and Jacky alone in the camp, ostensibly getting ready to go into the village.
Jacky was delighted to spend the afternoon alone with Jean and eagerly questioned her when the others had gone.
"I don't really have anything for us to do," admitted Jean, "But I had to get you on my own. You've been behaving in a rather tactless way all the morning, don't you realize it?"
The girl blushed furiously, "I'm terribly sorry . . . I . . . I"
"Now look here Jacky, I'll have to have a talk to you. But first pull down the tent flap, so we can be absolutely private."
Jacky obeyed her, with wide excited eyes.
"Come and sit down beside me." Jean took the strong brown hands in hers, "We didn't say much to each other last night but I've come to the conclusion we understood each other quite well I'm right aren't I?"
"Oh yes!" breathed Jacky.
"I thought so. But my dear there's something you've got to get into your head. Nobody must know how we feel either about each other or in general surely you see that?"
"I suppose so," said Jacky reluctantly, "I was so happy I didn't think . . . and I wasn't quite sure . . . I wanted to make you like me . . . oh Mrs. Buller you're such a nice person . . . "
"I don't think you need call me Mrs. Buller anymore my name's Jean. I like you very much my dear. You're sweet and clean and you wouldn't hurt anybody. But one thing I'm frightened of is that you might get hurt yourself. You will have to be honest with me, even if it does embarrass you . . . how far did you go with your friend ? "
Jacky's face went even redder. She looked down, swallowed and then said quite firmly: "In the beginning we used to just talk and sometimes show each other our private parts . . . but towards the end we used to play with each other properly, until we'd . . . satisfied . . . each other . . . you know what I mean. It was wonderful."
Jean was impressed. The girl was quite capable of talking coherently, and above all, she was not ashamed, or didn't seem to be.
She leant over sideways and kissed the girl's cheek tentatively and the next moment found herself enveloped in strong arms which wound around her and drew her body close to Jacky's.
"Jean . . . Jean . . . oh Jean . . . I love you I love you!"
The passion in the girl's voice took her completely by surprise. Somehow she had imagined she would be master of the situation, but it seemed to be taken out of her hands. Presumably Jacky was the male counterpart of their inversion, a revelation which made Jean's heart beat wildly.
Nor was she prepared for the fact that poor Jacky had been driven nearly mad by the lack of sex in her life and was frantic to relieve herself of the oppression of her frustration. They fell back on the bed and Jacky was now on top of her, pressing her urgent body against Jean's and kissing her face and eyes and neck in a fever of desire. She thrust her own body back into Jacky's in response and suddenly she felt the girl's frame shake, go rigid and tense and then relax. She burrowed her face into Jean's neck and lay quiet.
It was obvious she had reached a climax without any manual stimulation whatsoever. Jean lay stroking her hair and delicately caressing her cheek, running her fingers along the line of the brow. She was aroused herself but tact suggested this was as far as she should go for the time being.
She whispered in Jacky's ear.
"We'll share my bed tonight when all the others have gone to sleep, will you like that?"
"Oh yes . . . yes!" breathed Jacky into her neck. "I'm sorry about what happened just now. I couldn't control myself any longer I wanted you so much. But it'll be better tonight, I promise. I'll do all the things I learned from Hilary . . . and you can teach me as well . . . I'm sure you can teach me a lot . . . I'm only a beginner really. Oh Jean, I love you!"
She rolled off Jean and lay beside her. Jean could not resist running her hand the full length of her relaxed body. The pleasure of touching a woman's curves again sent an electric thrill through her. She felt her genitals tingling and her breasts throbbing. Yes, these were normal feelings for her now, she felt no shame, only an intense desire to experience and enjoy. In the semi-darkness of the tent, laying beside Jacky, she felt her body tremble with suppressed desire. She liked the secretness of their confinement under this canvas covering and, hearing a car pass on the road nearby, wondered what they would think if they knew two women were lying here vibrating with eroticism.
"Tell me what you like," murmured Jacky, her face still buried in Jean's neck.
"I like my breasts being sucked I love that. I like my clitoris being massaged and I'll love it when you put your mickey against mine and rub them together . . . oh Jacky, I love you too, darling . . . darling . . . "
The girl reached up with searching lips and kissed Jean passionately pushing her tongue into Jean's mouth and pressing her body hard against the older woman's. Jean let herself go ecstatically for a few minutes and then gently pushed her away.
"We mustn't talk like this, we're getting too excited and it's too risky in broad daylight. The farmer might come and visit or . . . or . . .
"The flap is tied on the inside and nobody could get in quickly," said Jacky, very clearly the dominant party now. "Let me just make you come with my fingers it's not fair that I enjoyed myself, I can feel you want it badly," And as she spoke she ran her hand quickly up Jean's skirt. Jean made a gesture to stop her but the hand pressed against the crotch through her panties and brought such a surge of excitement she was helpless.
"Open your legs," whispered Jacky, and immediately Jean did so and soon felt a probing eager finger inside her slit. With unerring knowledge the finger found its way to her clitoris.
"It that the spot for you?" she was asked.
She nodded, breathing deeply.
"Just relax and let me do it to you, you don't need to do anything to me at all . . . "
Jean opened her legs wide, one on each side of the bed and closed her eyes and let the gentle finger work away expertly. It didn't take long to have her writhing in sexual ecstasy. She did not control herself in front of Jacky. She wanted there to be no inhibitions during the coming night and this was as good a way of demonstrating her sensual nature as any. Jacky was whispering in her ear: "Oh darling Jean you love it don't you? Your cunt is lovely and wet and I can feel it responding under my fingers. I'm dying to get my mouth on it. I'll suck every spot of wetness out of it and then you can come again and I'll suck that too!"
This was quite sufficient to have Jean shuddering in her climax, jerking violently upwards into the probing finger. When Jacky took her hand away she licked her finger with every sign of enjoyment, so that Jean could not help laughing at her.
"Come on we'd better get moving and have the kettle on the fire for their tea before they come back."
"Alright," said Jacky, "But will you just touch me there once just for a second?"
"Where?"
"On my quim please."
"Now we can't get started again."
"Please . . . just for one second," she pleaded. Jean reached out and ran her hand up Jacky's skirt.
"Why you haven't got any panties on."
"I know I hoped and prayed you might touch me some time during the day and I wanted to get the benefit of it straight away."
"You naughty girl!"
"I know I didn't think there was much chance but just in case! Please Jean, touch me once . . . just once."
Jean ran her hand through the very coarse-haired bush she encountered, poking her finger once into Jacky's clitoris, ran her finger down the crack and poked it in her vagina. She was startled at the reaction of the girl. Once more just because of the contact she had a climax. Her legs were thrown wide, her breasts were heaving and suddenly Jean was aware that her hand was receiving a little spray of liquid into the palm. Jacky was panting and thrusting her body in spasmodic jerks up and down on the bed. Jean looked at her in amazement until she subsided. The girl was obviously very sexually potent and it thrilled her to think she would have such a virile lover.
During the week Jean received an unwelcome postcard from Mr.. Huxtable. He would be in the neighborhood that weekend, he said, and would pay them the compliment of staying at the local Inn and spending Sunday with the campers. He would arrive Saturday night and invited two of the three Youth Leaders to dinner, which he had already ordered by telephone. Doubtless Mr.. Huxtable imagined they would be pleased to eat a civilized meal after camp-fire rations. There was such marked reluctance to go to dinner with their Treasurer that the Leaders were forced to draw lots and neither Fred Crant nor Jacky, who were successful, looked very enthusiastic at their good luck.
The imminent visit of Mr.. Huxtable was explained to the campers, who took it good humouredly, probably because the envisaged his usual open-handed generosity and pocket money was short. There was one camper however, to whom the visit was a real shock. Tracy had imagined she would never see the man again. His forthcoming social ruin was a secret she hugged to her breast and looked forward to with almost bloodthirsty anticipation. Although she felt uneasy at his visit she was not unduly disturbed, she felt pretty safe living a public life amongst the campers.
Huxtable was in a fever of impatience. He had been standing under the weeping willow tree for half an hour. The consumption of half a bottle of whisky to protect him from the open-air rigors of the countryside had done nothing to calm his senses. He watched Tracy's slow and reluctant approach and took it for typical teenage teasing. He stood in pajamas and raincoat, holding his long thin penis in his hand and pumping it vigorously. An afternoon's exposure to a bevy of teenagers, their delectable asses enveloped in tight shorts had worked him to fever pitch. He was in no mood for coy dalliance.
It had been a brilliant idea to write Tracy a letter at the last moment and make this appointment. He had pinpointed the willow tree when he came down to view the site earlier in the year. It was far enough away from the camp to ensure they could not be heard and they certainly could not be seen. All day he had been in a fever of. anticipation for this moment, but his natural sense of caution had also sent him prowling around the sleeping camp just to make sure there was no sleepless person who might take a moonlit walk and interrupt him. And what a windfall his precaution had presented him with! Standing silently outside Jean's tent he had heard enough of what was going on inside to know he had one more opportunity for blackmail. He would extend his visit for a couple more days and before his holiday was up he would add Jean Buller to his list of conquests. This was certainly a vacation he would remember for a long time.
"If I don't get rid of this load of spunk in a few minutes," he thought crudely, "I'll scream like a madman! Look at her, the little bitch, playing hard to get right up to the last moment. You wait till I get you, my lady, you'll get what's coming to you alright and you'll love it, the way they all do."
Tracy pushed her way through the trailing forest of the willow's branches and was taken unaware by the eager hands which grabbed her in the darkness and the hot rough lips which came down harshly on her mouth. She fought to free herself from the sudden onslaught, making a screaming sound in her throat and thumping with her fists on his chest. Huxtable, who had not thought there would be resistance, was also taken unaware, and they crashed to the ground, Tracy underneath, every ounce of air knocked out of her lungs. He grabbed her wrists and croaked at her: "Stop fighting, you silly bitch stop it I tell you! Who the blazes did you think it was, you knew I'd be waiting stop it!"
But Tracy was hysterical. Now his mouth had left hers she took in a great gulp of air and began to scream wildly, turning her head from side to side in an anguish of fear. Huxtable was furious. He put a hand over her mouth and hit her viciously with the other hand. It did no good. So he smacked her again and again and again with the flat of his palm until she subsided in choking, shuddering sobs.
Instead of realizing the hideous mistake he was making, Huxtable was so inflamed by drink and lust that the only effect the screams had was to rouse him inordinately. His long skinny body already pinned Tracy to the ground. Holding both her wrists in one hand above he head he pulled aside his raincoat. Her nightdress had ridden well above her crotch because of her thrashing legs and he had no difficulty in thrusting his prick between her thighs into the dry hot slit. She began to struggle again, but feebly, despairingly, whimpering and crying like a whipped cowardly puppy. With a dip of his knees he was between the lips of her quim, one wriggle of his hips and he felt his shaft enter the tight hole he had been thinking about so avidly for the past half hour.
Tracy felt the burning entry of his long elderly tool and was overcome with an automatic revulsion of rejection which wracked her body to such an extent that she nearly succeeded in dislodging him. But he held on, like an eagle clutching its prey. The entry was overwhelmingly painful, because Tracy, not being sexually roused, had not exuded any of the natural juices which normally help the entrance of a welcome intruder. She squirmed her bottom on the scratchy ground, trying to wriggle from under him, pulling ineffectually at her imprisoned, wrists with her puny arms but Huxtable, driven half crazy by her struggles had the strength of two men in his body and pinned her down with his chest, grinding his loins into her pelvis, bruising her tender flesh between their two bones. His feet were hooked around her calves in a vice-like grip. She was powerless, no breath left in her body to shout and tired already from the fight.
Suddenly she collapsed indifferently all resistance gone. He bore up her reluctant cunt and pushed impertinently against her womb. She hardly felt it her whole body seemed encased in pain. Huxtable was almost disappointed when she ceased to struggle but the long awaited orgasm was very near and he pounded in and out of her, regardless of anything except the satisfaction of his licentious passion. He was panting and growling. One hand clawed at her breast tearing the flimsy nightdress and rousing her to feeble resistance once again. But he was inexorable. His. cruel fingers closed on one pretty breast and squeezed hard and painfully, pushing and pulling it as though he were milking a cow.
She began to cry, desolately and hopelessly, the tears running across her cheeks and down her neck. Her mouth gaped open as her head rocked from side to side, her eyes unseeing and her mind in an agony of sheer misery, shame and disgust.
The raping man was nearing his climax now, riding her like some savage wild beast covering his mate. He squealed as he bounced and thrust, until his shuddering body shot its sour deposit into her defenseless womb. Finally he crumpled and fell panting and sweating to the ground beside her.
In thirty years of technical rape he had never actually raped a schoolgirl. This experience had temporarily unhinged him. His sex life had been very restricted for the last year, his supply of ready victims being unaccountably short. In his raincoat pocket was a Durex sheath, but Tracy's unexpected resistance had prevented him from putting it on. As he lay beside her it dawned on him for the first time what he had done.
Tracy suddenly reared up, turned her head and was violently sick on the ground. When he saw her, she merely lay down again he knew she was genuinely upset, for the stench of her evacuation reached him from where he lay. He dragged her over to the other side of the tree but she lay supine, almost senseless. He could not understand what had caused her useless fight. He presumed she had just panicked because of his sudden approach. He was still incapable of understanding he had misjudged the girl. Not that it would have mattered very much if he had known. Like so many men who make sport of youngsters he only wanted his own gratification and cared very little for them. Nevertheless self preservation was important and it wasn't in his own interest to push a girl beyond caring a-bout scandal, or beyond reach of blackmail.
There was still a mouthful of whisky left in the bottle in his pocket and after rummaging in his raincoat he crawled over to the girl and tried to lift her to drink it but she immediately rolled over and away from him, cringing against the tree bole and holding her torn nightdress against her ravaged breasts.
"You brute! You brute!" she panted, her eyes staring wildly, her hair in a tangle about her throat, "I'll tell my father about you I'll tell him what you've done to me and he'll go to the police!"
"Oh no you won't," he said, carelessly, kneeing up and tipping the whisky down his own throat. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and threw the bottle amongst the branches. "Christ knows why you're making such a bloody fuss anybody would believe you'd never been screwed before. I know I'm not the first and probably not the fourth or fifth either. Do you think your father would stand for a scandal like that coming out in court ? No you'll keep your mouth shut, my dear and next time just you stop this fighting . . . you know you like it really."
"You nasty . . . bastard. There won't be a next time, you'll be in prison see?"
"Now don't be a fool Tracy, keep your mouth shut or you'll bring on trouble in a big way," he snapped, standing up and brushing down his trousers. He was feeling just a little uneasy. Her resistance had excited him tremendously and he was afraid he'd been a little too rough. He was not particularly worried about possible pregnancy. It had never happened before, even when he'd been careless and he had a sneaking suspicion that he was barren.
He squatted down beside her, fishing in his back pocket: "Here, Tracy, buy yourself something really nice and then it won't seem so bad dearie here take this," and he thrust a handful of notes at her.
"I don't want your stolen money," she spat at him, cringing back and trying to crawl away.
He stared at her thunderstruck and the next moment pounced on her viciously, holding her down with her back pressed painfully against a protruding root.
"What did you say? What are you talking about? Answer me come on!"
She was terrified and trembling violently, "My father told me you were a . . . thief . . . you've been fiddling your firm's accounts," she stuttered.
"How does he know?" he shook her mercilessly, intent on an answer. "He's an accountant."
He released her. There was no need to question further. The game was up. The details were irrelevant. He stood for a moment staring down at her then turned abruptly and walked away through the trailing curtain of leaves which surrounded them.
Tracy sat a long time with her back against the tree trunk. She was dazed and numb. The horror of her experience was so great she could not think properly. There was only one person who could comfort her and that was Martin and he was over a hundred miles away. How could she go to his wife or Miss Summers, or any of the other girls ? The thought of telling her father, as she had threatened, was impossible also. She would have to suffer it all alone. This was the penalty of growing up. She had stepped from childhood into womanhood when she let Martin make love to her and now she was at the mercy of the world which contained beasts like Huxtable.
After a while she tried to stand. Her legs still trembled. Her nightdress was torn irrevocably and she wrapped her summer coat around her as she began to shiver from shock in the chilly night air. Slowly and painfully she made her way through the overhanging branches and stood in the meadow looking at the distant white tents, quiet and peaceful. How could they rest so assured when she had been raped so mercilessly . . . it seemed impossible they could be unaware . . . the whole world should have been up in arms on her behalf. She swayed and fell to her knees but struggled up again and made her way to the river's edge. There she bathed her face and breasts in the cold water and sluiced the white ooze of Huxtable's emission from her sore genitals. She sat on the bank for a while and watched the swiftly flowing river glittering in the moonlight. She thought of throwing herself in the clean healing water, but Tracy was a fighter, not a loser and soon dismissed the idea.
Feeling better, she made her way painfully to her tent, crawling quietly under the brailing and slipping into the soft warmth of her sleeping bag. Utter exhaustion and shock sent her off to sleep almost instantly. She had not one thought tor Huxtable, whose loathed existence she banished from her mind.
Further down the river bank he pondered on the inscrutable hand of fate which had guided him to forcibly rape the daughter of a man who was, presumably, to have a hand in his downfall. This was undoubtedly a situation he would not get out of with his customary ease.
As soon as Jean opened her eyes the next morning she remembered the terrifying experience of the night before. Hearing a sound outside the tent she had left Jacky's bed and investigated, saying she was going to the restroom. The retreating back of Huxtable had been quite unmistakable. She had also heard him chuckling to himself. There was no doubt in her mind that the Treasurer had heard their amorous and sometimes obscene conversation through the tent wall.
She had stood outside for several minutes. This was the end of her career as a Youth Leader, she was sure of it. Jean was naturally unaware of the true character of Mr.. Huxtable. Although she disliked the man she had no means of knowing his prediction for schoolgirls. She had sensed his interest in her during his visit to the camp that day. Whenever she had looked at him he had seemed to be already looking at her. She had been uneasy, her guilty conscience making her wonder whether he knew about her and Jacky. She had dismissed this as foolish several times, since their new relationship had only grown during the last few days and they were behaving most decorously. Now she was absolutely sure he must have been suspicious and prowled around to confirm it. When she went back into the tent she told Jacky what she had seen. They did not make love again but lay discussing the threat which now hung over both of them, the threat of exposure which would bring disgrace on the Youth Club they had helped to found and prosper.
Jacky was still sleeping. Jean reached for her cigarettes but before she had put a match to one she heard her name being called. She pulled a raincoat over her pajamas and emerged from her tent into the cool morning air. Mrs. Jenkins, the farmer's wife, was standing near the camp fire with a policeman in uniform who looked very uncomfortable.
Mrs. Jenkins hurried towards her, "Sorry to disturb you Mrs. Buller, but the Sergeant wants to speak to you and he insisted I brought him over."
"What does he want at this hour of the morning?" Jean asked.
Mrs. Jenkins was opening her mouth to explain when the Sergeant intervened: "I'd be grateful if I could have a few words with you, Mrs. Buller," he said in a thick country accent, "you see there's been an accident . . . "
Jean immediately thought of Martin traveling on the continent, and her face went white.
"It's about a Mr.. Huxtable I understand you know this gentleman who's staying at the Rose and Crown?"
His serious face did nothing to calm Jean, although she was much relieved the accident didn't involve Martin.
"Yes," she said slowly, "I know Mr.. Huxtable. He's one of the sponsors of the Youth Club I've brought down here. What . . . what about him?"
"I'm sorry to inform you ma'am that Mr.. Huxtable was found in the river early this morning."
"Oh my God is he dead."
"Yes, ma'am."
Another feeling of relief flooded over Jean, but this time she was ashamed of it the poor man.
"Was he drowned?"
"Yes ma'am. I'm sorry to have to ask you, but would you be kind enough to identify the body? You knew him well?"
"Oh yes. I've known him since I was a child. He's not married but he's got several relatives. What a terrible thing to happen . . . but . . . how did it happen?"
"Well ma'am . . . " the policeman was obviously not used to dealing with serious cases, "we have reason to believe it could be suicide."
"Surely not!" protested Jean, "Why would he come down here to do such a thing, with all these youngsters around. It sounds absurd."
"Perhaps so, ma'am, but we've been through to his local police station in London and they say a warrant for his arrest was taken out yesterday by his employers and it could be considered a motive for suicide. However, I shouldn't be discussing this with you and I hope as you will keep that aspect of the death to yourself."
"Of course," said Jean, bewildered by the turn of events, "when do you want me to identify the body?"
"Later this morning, if you please Mrs. Buller, a police car will take you into town."
"I see. What about the campers? Should I tell them?"
"Well ma'am, I think it would be better if you just told them briefly that Mr.. Huxtable is dead and I've got to ask them a few questions. Sort of prepare them like?" I'm sorry, Mrs. Buller, but in view of the suicide question I must find out things like who saw him last and whether he said anything which showed he intended to take his life."
"Well the campers won't be able to tell you anything like that. Miss Summers and I walked back with him to the Inn last night after he had spent the day with us and we said goodnight after having a drink with him in the lounge. That was about 10 o'clock. We returned to the camp and went to bed. The campers were already in bed and most of them asleep by that time."
"I see." The Sergeant was now writing now, laboriously, and Jean was feeling very uncomfortable. "And did Mr.. Huxtable say anything about taking his life?"
"On the contrary. He was very cheerful and said he had enjoyed himself thoroughly. He was a bit edgy and nervous though, I did notice that."
"And nothing else? Can I have a word with this Miss Summers then, please Mrs. Buller. After that I'll see the campers just in case they noticed anything."
"Very well," said Jean reluctantly. She returned to her tent to find Jacky just awakening. Quietly she told her about Huxtable's death. Jacky was very shocked, although Jean detected the faint relief which she herself had felt. She then went from tent to tent telling the Club what had happened and that the Sergeant would be questioning them.
Her news came as a bombshell to Tracy. She was still dazed after her experience of the night before and this new development was almost more than she could take in sensibly. But after a while the full significance of it dawned on her. Although no mention of suicide had yet been made she knew instinctively that Huxtable had drowned himself and that her revelation of his impending ruin had been the cause.
She remained silent amongst the chorus of questions from the occupants of her tent. Soon she slipped away to have a quiet cigarette amongst some nearby trees and there managed to come to terms with herself. She must not tell the policeman that she had seen the Treasurer. That would be fatal. Her guilty secret might come out; she would not trust herself not to break down under searching questions. She would merely say the same as all the other campers and there seemed no reason at all why she should not be believed. Fortunately she had already burned Huxtable's letter at the camp fire and there was no clue to connect them together.
The Sergeant did not spend much time questioning the campers. The case seemed pretty cut and dried to him. He had come to the conclusion that Huxtable had telephoned London some time during the day and found out about the warrant for his arrest. His enquiries therefore should be at the Inn or the local telephone exchange and it was merely routine to get statements from the Youth Club.
When he got on his bicycle and pedaled away he had no idea he left behind him two unhappy people who had not told him all they might have done.
There is very little more of this story to tell. Jean and Jacky found themselves brought even closer together because of the tragedy of Mr.. Huxtable's death. The threat of exposure they imagined had hung over them was now dispelled, but they realized the danger of continuing their work with the Club. Sadly they decided to give in their resignations. Nevertheless a new life was beginning for both of them, as the tragedy receded in their memory, so they began to plan for their future together.
And Martin, bathing in the sunshine of the south of France in the daytime and enjoying the charms of his mistress in bed every night was as happy as a man can hope to be in this uncertain world. He had not asked Anna to marry him yet but he would do so before the end of their holiday. He felt their lives were inextricably entwined, whether they married or not and he knew she would give up her other lovers in his favor when he asked.
And Tracy, as the shock wore off, was able to transform her experience into high drama which she scribbled down in half a dozen notebooks and read to heir friends, gloating over the fact that they could never know it had all really happened. Even so, it left a mark on her which would always remain in her memory. In the first flush of her youth she had known tenderness and the consummation of love. If she could cling to that memory to the exclusion of the rest, then the damage was not irreparable.