Chapter 3
It seemed that every year it was the same routine. At the last possible moment, all the camp preparations had been made, and Bernhardt was ready for the first onslaught of young scouts.
They began arriving Saturday morning, and the flood did not begin to dissipate until well into the afternoon. Since it was the first week of camp, the registration process did not resemble the well-oiled machine it would become in later sessions. There were troops sent to the wrong areas; some set up their tents in campsites designated for other troops. There were food and staple foul-ups at the commissary, and complete chaos at the waterfront.
Bob Shuster sat back in his rocking chair in front of the green maintenance shed and watched the confusion with amusement. His staff of six rough, older boys were working smoothly, as they had from the day they arrived. He chose his staff carefully, making sure they could handle anything from a collapsed sheepherder stove to a clogged urinal.
They hauled trash to the nearby dump, they fixed broken pipes both above and under the ground, they maintained the dam at the lake, they did all the dirty, difficult work that was beyond the abilities of the kids who ran the rifle range and the trading post. Their jobs were being well taken care of, and Shuster found himself with little to do. He arranged it that way; it was how he liked it.
He held a beer inside a paper sack and guzzled it contentedly, rocking back and forth as he watched confused scouts running around like chickens whose heads have been recently lopped off.
He chuckled as one youngster tumbled into the dirt and began crying, and he made no move to go help the boy. Another scout finally came along and lifted the boy to his feet, dusted him off, examined his skinned knee, and helped him find his unit.
Only one thing made Shuster sit up with extra interest. That was Lorraine Kemper. As the camp director's wife, Lorraine had access to the entire camp, with the exception of the staffs tent city and the individual troop campsites. She could go anywhere else her heart desired. And now, as Shuster watched from behind mirrored sunglasses, she seemed to desire something at the trading post. She trundled down the hill from her cabin, wearing a tee-shirt with the camp's insignia on it, and very short pants. Her small feet were covered with canvas deck shoes, and Shuster whistled softly through his teeth as he watched her walk, one long luscious leg in front of the other. Her firm, round breasts, without the support of a brassiere, bounced freely as she came down the hill, and the late afternoon was turning slightly cool, and her nipples were extended and hard, poking at the thick fabric of her tee-shirt.
She had passed Shuster a good twenty yards away, but his expert cock responded to the sight of her by tingling, and then he felt the blood flushing it, warming it, tightening the skin over it, as it began to harden.
She disappeared inside the trading post, and came out a few minutes later with an ice cream bar, licking at it with her long, pink tongue. Shuster closed his eyes and sucked in some air to try to clear his system. He was unsuccessful. When he opened his eyes, she was still there, proceeding up the hill toward her cabin. Now he saw the fine sculpture of her buttocks, as one cheek lifted and the other settled, bobbing one after the other like two firm apples in a bucket of water.
Shuster crossed his legs now to hide the stiff, meaty erection trapped inside his pants. He felt slightly ashamed; he couldn't remember the last time he had responded like that to a woman's mere presence. He'd always been able to be horny without being hard.
When she was out of sight, he shifted his gaze back to the dwindling number of scouts, and his erection shriveled back to its normal, limp size.
Still, his heart beat a little faster, his breathing was just a bit accelerated. He felt suddenly unsatisfied, lustfully hungry. Even though it was flaccid, his cock quivered with excitement, and he knew he had to find a cunt to slide it in.
That would do, for now, he thought. He would paddle across the lake and hit on Joanie tonight, and quench the fire for the time being. But he had come to one important realization; he had to have Lorraine Kemper. Before the summer was over, she would regularly and willingly spread her legs for him. And the sooner the better.
The mountain air and the exercise required to walk up and down the hill from the cabin to the commissary-trading post left Lorraine with a voracious appetite. Her own personal craving was vanilla ice cream-it had been that way ever since she had been a little girl. Yet when she finished the bar she had purchased at the trading post, she was still hungry. More than hungry. Famished.
She supposed it was the walk up the hill that made her that way. But she didn't want to tramp back down there again. Partly because it was a long ways off, partly because two ice cream bars in the space of a half hour was not the best thing she could do for her figure. And partly because Bob Shuster had obviously been watching her, and that made her feel queer. Didn't he realize she was newly married, that she was the exclusive property of Gary Kemper?
She blotted from her mind the itching she felt between her legs as Shuster's gaze bore into her. Only natural, she thought. It's up inside your vagina that you feel all kinds of things, like fear and glee and tension. Why not feel uneasiness inside you when a man who gives you the creeps watches your every step?
She didn't once think it could be that Shuster's gaze turned her on. It was not possible. The only thing that turned her on now was Gary's thick cock, and what it did to her when it was stuffed inside her, filling her to overflowing.
So she would not go back to the trading post. And yet, she was hungry. It occurred to her that she was only a short walk away from the staff kitchen. She turned the possibility over in her mind, and decided it was worth a try. Yes, she had been told like everybody else that the kitchen was off-limits to all, but the kitchen staff and anybody bringing supplies in. But her stomach was growling and she was, after all, the wife of the camp director.
She finally gave in to the urgings of her stomach and walked outside again. It was turning into twilight, and dinner was only half an hour off, but she figured she could use the excuse that she was new at Camp
Bernhardt and wanted to meet the cook.
She expected to find a burly old woman inside the shed-like kitchen as she walked toward it from her cabin in the chilling evening. She wished she had put on a sweater, or her jeans, because her tee-shirt and shorts were not keeping her warm enough. And suddenly she felt another chill pass over her.
She looked down the hill, and saw Shuster. He was in his rocking chair, a cigarette burning carelessly in the corner of his slightly parted mouth, his head turned in her direction. She could not see his eyes because of the mirrored sunglasses, but she knew he was watching her.
All right, she thought. Give him a taste of his own medicine. She stopped, faced him, and stood still, her legs apart and her hands on her hips. She wore no sunglasses; there could be no mistaking what she was looking at.
But Shuster responded in a way she had not expected. He smiled, and even from that distance she could see the shimmer of his even, white teeth, and then he waved at her as though they shared some great secret. Frightened and cold, she turned and moved on.
Still feeling the stab of Shuster's piercing eyes, Lorraine mounted the steps that led to a porch-like platform outside the front of the kitchen. Since the kitchen was on a hill, there was no similar porch in the rear. A large rectangular area had been carved out behind the kitchen, and a concrete slab laid down. Tarps were rigged over the slab, and tables were there; it was there that the staff assembled for three meals a day, except on Saturday when there was a large barbecue for the troops and the staff.
Hesitantly, Lorraine pushed on the kitchen door and stepped in. She was assaulted immediately by a flood of warmth-no, it was more than warmth. It was out-and-out heat. She was in a sweltering room, and sweat began to bead up on her forehead and her upper lip.
"Something I can do for you?"
Lorraine turned at the voice, and saw the cook. She was surprised, for what she saw was not what she expected. The cook was a tall, trim woman of about thirty, with short-cropped, raven-black hair and black eyes. She wore baggy jeans and an army fatigue shirt under her greasy apron, but the clothing could not mask her figure, which was just short of stunning. The apron draped down off her huge, out-pointing breasts.
She leaned against a large basin, a ladle in one hand, a butcher knife in the other. Her eyes, black as night, were filled with sarcasm, and her full, moist lips held a crooked smile.
"I thought I'd come over and . . . introduce myself," Lorraine said after she had finally collected her wits. "I'm Lorraine Kemper."
"I know who you are," the cook said. She tossed the knife over her shoulder into the basin, and Lorraine heard it splash, and some sudsy water leapt out of the basin onto the floor. "Anyway, now you've met me. Now what?"
"I still don't know your name," Lorraine said. For some reason, she could not take her eyes off the cook's breasts. Despite the layers of filthy clothing that covered them, they were so large and stood so healthily jutting out from her chest. There was no sag to them at all for all their obvious weight. She felt no desire for them, since she knew there was nothing lesbian about her, but she was altogether intrigued by them. She doubted she had ever seen breasts so large.
'The name's Garcia, Grace Garcia," the cook told her. "And if you want to talk to me, then talk to me. Not my tits."
Lorraine felt herself suddenly flush, and she knew her face had turned at least the shade of fresh, red beets. Nevertheless, she looked up into Grace's birdlike black eyes. "I'm sorry," she said.
Lorraine's honesty must have touched something inside Grace, because her expression softened, and her smile became more genuine. "Look, kid, I'm sorry, too. Can I be honest with you?"
"Sure," Lorraine said.
"I don't imagine Gary said anything to you about me," Grace said. Something fluttered inside Lorraine's chest at the mention of her husband's name. "We used to have a . . . a thing together. It was not recently. It was a couple years back. He decided I wasn't his type after about a month, and I never got over him. I knew who you were and I suppose I got a little green, you know? It wasn't right, and you seem like an okay kid, so will you accept my apologies?"
"Sure," Lorraine said, feeling as though she had just made a friend. It didn't bother her-yet-about Gary and Grace, since she rationalized that Gary was entitled to his flings before having ever met her. "And will you accept mine?" she said.
"For what?" Grace said, honest confusion covering her face. Then the clouds parted and she understood, and laughed. "Oh, for staring at my boobs. Yeah, sure. It's something I'm kind of used to. They are larger than most you see."
A fragrant aroma had drifted to Lorraine's nostrils, and she was sniffing with delight as her stomach gurgled. "What's cooking?" she asked.
"Dinner," Grace said. "Beef stew. Want a taste?"
It was precisely what she had come for, and she nodded eagerly. Grace lifted the cover off a pot and dipped a clean ladle in, then brought it out dripping brown, thick gravy. "Come over here," she said.
Lorraine obeyed, crossing the now-comfortably warm kitchen and standing next to her. Grace's breast grazed Lorraine's arm as she carried the ladle over to the blonde's mouth, and Lorraine shivered as she felt its fleshy firmness. But she was hungry more than anything else, so she ignored the sensation and opened her mouth. Grace poured some stew inside, and Lorraine closed her eyes as it burned her tongue and slid down her throat.
"Mmmmmm," she said. "It's no wonder you're cook. Why don't you work in a restaurant instead of a place like this? They can't pay you much."
"I like it here," Grace said. "It has its rewards."
"For instance?" Lorraine asked.
"For instance, mind your own business," Grace said sweetly. "I don't mean to be unfriendly or anything, but some things that go on around here are not meant to be public. You're married to Gary Kemper, and I know from personal experience that he's about the best fuck in the entire state. Stick with him, honey."
Lorraine didn't at all like the way Grace was talking, and she had an itch to get out of there, to go to Gary and find out precisely what this busty woman was talking about. Yet something compelled her to stay. That something was Bob Shuster, still in his rocking chair, looking up the hill at the kitchen. Lorraine watched him uneasily from the kitchen's screen door as he fished in his shirt pocket for his cigarettes, and lit a fresh one.
"Something bothering you?" Grace asked.
"Him," Lorraine responded, pointing down the hill.
Grace joined her at the door and looked down, saw Shuster, and laughed deep and throaty. "Shuster? He bothering you? You let me know when he gets on your nerves and I'll give him what for."
"I don't know what it is," Lorraine said. "Something about him gives me the shakes."
"For one thing, he's a womanizer. Bob Shuster would rather screw than breathe. And he no doubt has the hots for you. It's not such a bad thing, since he is awful good in bed. But I swear, he'd stick it in anything that was female and alive. Just don't encourage him, and he'll be putty in your hands."
Lorraine turned and looked directly into Grace's black, piercing eyes. "Tell me, what does he do about women in a scout camp?" She felt suddenly stupid and regretted asking such a question. First of all, there was Grace, of course, who had obviously liked sex and wasn't ashamed to admit it. Undoubtedly, she was right up Shuster's alley. And then there was the girl in that boy's tent.
The image flashed in her mind, and she felt suddenly hotter than the temperature in the kitchen would have accounted for. She saw the boy's young, stiff erection pumping into the girl's quivering pussy, her ass hoisted up in the air, her legs spread as far apart as she could spread them and still keep her sopping pussy high enough to meet the boy's cock. The girl was clutching the sheets, and her face was contorted in the agony of her pleasure, and she shoved her buttocks backward hard into the boy's pelvis with each thrust into her he took.
She closed her eyes and tried to clear her mind of the image. In a minute, it was just a hazy imagining, something unclear and vague. She opened her eyes; Grace was stirring something into the stew, her back to Lorraine.
Lorraine took a deep breath. "I suppose I'll head on my way," she said.
"Nice chatting," Grace said. "Stop in any time."
As Lorraine walked outside, covering her bare arms with her hands as the chilly evening air engulfed her, Grace stood at the screen and watched. She also watched Shuster, still rocking and smoking, watching her walk back toward her cabin.
"Keep your scummy hands off her," Grace muttered in Shuster's direction, and as though he heard her, he turned his head and looked at the kitchen. Grace noticed that Lorraine had disappeared into her cabin, and Bob's gaze was now directed at her. Well, she thought, I'll be damned if I'll play second-best to an asshole like you.
She went back to her stew and stirred, her mind about a million miles away. She didn't notice the rear door open and one of the older scouts enter. He was of medium height and a good build, with acne that was clearing and muscles already well-formed. He came up behind her silently, and took one of her meaty cheeks in each of his hands.
She started, and whirled around, pulling her buttocks out of his grasp. Then she saw who it was. "Jesus, Larry, you scared me."
"Sorry," Larry mumbled. He was one of the staff members assigned to the kitchen; Grace had three staff members in her charge, ranging in age from Larry down to fifteen-year-old Steve Richmond.
Larry continued to look at her sheepishly, and Grace shook her head.
"Now, now," she said. "We'll be having dinner in an hour."
Larry smiled. "It won't spoil my appetite." And without waiting for an answer, he reached around her curvy hips and unbuttoned her pants, then pulled them down in a rough jerk.
"Dammit, Larry, I said no," she said, reaching down to pull her pants back up. But Larry had already hooked his fingers into her underwear and was pulling them down, and before Grace could respond, his hand had slipped between her thighs and pressed up against her vulva.
"Larry, you haven't even closed the doors," she said. She tried to make her voice stern, but her eyes were closed at the feel of his hand, the simple touch of which turned her numb pussy into a cavern of hot delight, lightning bolts shooting up her spine.
"Fuck the doors," Larry said. He had lifted his middle finger toward his palm, and the finger rose and separated her pink, dry pussy lips. She moaned and whimpered at the same time, pain ripping her cunt as his finger twisted into her dry hole. "God, watch it," she said.
"You'll be wet soon enough," Larry said. She gritted her teeth and spread her feet a little as she felt his finger navigate through the folds of skin, poking and stabbing her, until suddenly it emerged free into the depths of her vagina, releasing a reservoir of lubricant that spread through her as though a valve had been opened.
She felt the fluid gushing through her, and his finger became a wonderful thing, teasing her and flicking against her hidden clitoris. She whimpered from pleasure now, and she could tell without seeing that Larry was unzipping his own pants as his finger probed the depths of her.
The finger came out suddenly, with a wet sucking sound, and she felt vacated. Her cuntal walls burned for the touch of something solid rubbing against them, and she could feel the lips of her hair-fringed fissure jiggling involuntarily in anticipation of the cock she knew she would soon have stuffed inside her.
She was not disappointed. Larry's solid cock head touched her pubic hairs, and shock waves soared and sizzled through her. The weapon-like crown, feeling rubbery and hard, next pressed against her vulva, ready to spread her lips apart as it dove inside her. "Make it fast," she whispered. The way she felt now, she knew she could fuck the scout all day long, but dinner was cooking and there would be about 100 people ready to eat in less than an hour, all clambering around her kitchen. It would not bode well for her job if they peeked in and found her humping a teenage staff member.
Yet it was just those teenage staff members that prompted her year after year to return to Camp Bernhardt. There was something thrilling about coupling with a boy, something inexplicably delightful about feeling their hard shafts inside of her, those shafts that have experienced so little. On full-grown boys, she found they tended to be harder, and fuck with greater intensity and enthusiasm.
Like Larry, all of seventeen, whose cock was now past her lips and pushing her cuntal walls apart as it burrowed deeper inside her, filling her. Despite the heat generated by her own aroused pussy, she could feel the heat from his cock as her cunt devoured it with wanton, reckless lust. "Deeper," she moaned, and wriggled as she felt her buttocks being grabbed in his strong, young hands.
The cock kept coming, sliding into her, as though he could ceaselessly unroll its length; she felt it would climb through her body and up to her throat. Finally he stopped, and Grace grabbed the kitchen sink wall with both hands and bent as low as she could; against her vulva, she felt his blood-bloated testicles resting before he withdrew for his first thrust.
She chewed on her lower lip and shuffled in small steps, awaiting his moves. He withdrew slowly, pushing her buttocks away as he slid his cock out of her, until all that remained was his lubricated, red cock head just spreading the outside of her cunt.
She tightened her grip on the sink, and waited. He came. He slammed his cock back into her like a freight train, and his balls slapped hard against her. For the first time, his stiff member had brushed against her clitoris, and she gasped with pleasure, then grunted as his cock was pulled hastily away. It rammed into her again instantly, and the pressure it put on her rock-hard little pleasure button increased. She moved her legs closer together once again, tightening her little hole, and she felt his thickness intensify in response.
He thrust into her continuously, without mercy, in a steadily increasing rhythm. His hands kneaded her cheeks, and his thumb found its way to her rubbery rectum, and pressed against its starfish-shape.
Grace let her mind wander as her assistant fucked her, his cock rubbing regularly now against her clitoris, making it grow and generate shivers and Shockwaves.
Her mind wandered four years back, back to the one time she had spent with Gary Kemper.
God, how she had wanted him, for the two years they had known each other she had lusted for him. She spent evenings in bed, her finger between her quivering thighs, bringing herself to shuddering orgasms as she pictured Gary atop her, his cock planted in her vagina, making passionate love for hours.
But Gary was exemplary; he never expressed interest in her, and knowing the rules of the dangerous game she played, she never made advances at him. But there was that one night when he showed up well after dinner, when she had been alone in the kitchen, cleaning a few odds and ends.
"Got a bottle of wine?" he asked.
"That's against camp rules," she told him, not expecting anything.
'The hell with camp rules," Gary said. That came as a shock to her, that he would be opposed to anything established by the scout leaders, but when she approached him, she saw he looked upset-extremely upset. She pushed the back door of the cabin open and let him in.
"What's the matter, Gary?" she said. "This isn't like you."
He shrugged. "I've got a lot on my mind. To be honest, I want to get drunk."
"There's always attitude adjustments," she said, but Gary only smiled, a bittersweet smile that tore at her heart.
"How would that look?" he asked. "The camp director up drinking beer and wine and whiskey and smoking pot with the staffers when I'm the one who's supposed to enforce the rules against that?"
She looked deeply into him, and decided to give him her stashed-away bottle of Southern Comfort. He threw back several swallows, and she watched in awe as his Adam's apple bobbed. He had consumed half the bottle when he stopped, wiped his lips and handed it back to her.
She drank some herself.
"So what is it?" she asked when she was done, noticing the warm glow that had come over Gary's face. "What's the problem? You can tell me."
"I suppose I have to tell someone," he said. "It's hard you know, being in charge. That sounds silly, this being only a scout camp. But it's just like being captain of a ship. Everybody looks at you as authority, and it's hard to share anything that you feel deep inside."
"What do you feel deep inside?"
"Pain," he told her. "I just found out my grandmother died. She practically raised me, and I wasn't even there with her. God, I feel lousy."
"I'm sorry, Gary," she said, and handed her bottle to him. He all but finished it off, and she took a last swallow, then discarded the bottle in the trash. "It's tough, I know. My Dad and I were real close. I was away when he died in a car crash. For years, I thought it would have been better if I'd been with him, in the car. I felt so guilty. That was years ago, and I still miss him."
"Then you understand."
She stood close to him, close enough to feel and smell the warm liquor on his hot breath. "Yes," she said. "I understand."
He grabbed her then, pulled her close and mashed his lips into hers. The Comfort and his wet, hot kiss made her dizzy, and she grabbed onto him to keep from reeling over, and his tongue snaked inside her mouth.
All the desire she had ever had for him welled up inside her in that single moment, and she reached immediately for his cock, cupping his genitals in her hand through the fabric of his jeans, squeezing and pulling it, rubbing it as though that would make it come out of his pants.
As she had hoped, it grew in her hand, she could feel it through his crotch-seam. Her own genitals were producing a gush of lubricant, and she sensed her wetness escaping the confines of her pussy, saturating her ample mound of cunt hair, and dripping down into her underwear. Her moist underwear began chafing against her, the edges of the crotch digging up into her cuntal slit.
They fell together to the tile floor, and she tried to undo his pants, but he had his own plan of action in mind. He pushed her down and hastily unbuttoned her shirt, revealing her alabaster orb-like breasts, quivering on the surface like jelly as she shook inside from the excitement of his touch. But he did not touch her huge, firm tits-he ignored even the nipples, protruding like pointers in their erections at least half an inch high. Instead, he turned and lifted the simple peasant skirt she was wearing, lifted it up over her belly, offering him free and clear access to her sopping underwear.
The panties he shoved down to her knees, and his head shot between her warm, creamy thighs. His face burrowed in the soaked hairs of her cunt, and his tongue had no difficulty spreading the well-oiled edges of her entryway apart.
He began a long, slow lick at the bottom of her crack, four inches of tongue inside her, and dragged the thick, strong muscle up along the crack. She heard him swallowing her juices as he lapped them up. His tongue reached the top of her slit and she gasped as he dug all of it into her. As he withdrew it, he curled it, and caught her distended clitoris in the curl. He drank her juices in then, and each swallow he took pulled his tongue, which tightened around her stony little clitoris and pulled at it. It felt like a marble being rolled between two palms, and she clamped her thighs over his head like a vice.
She burst into a climax that lifted her ass off the floor, jerking Gary around mercilessly. It went on and on, because despite her orgasm, he continued to keep his tongue locked over her clitoris, pulling at it, and when it shrunk from the exertion of her cumming, he nibbled at it, drawing the last throes of ecstasy from her spent pussy.
She relaxed against the floor, her chest heaving as she gasped for air. But Gary wasn't done. His face shining from her sticky moisture, he straddled her belly and pulled his cock out.
Still breathing hard, she looked with amazement at his stiff, thick cock, shaped as though chiseled by a master sculptor. He pushed the head against the bottom of her breastplate, and immediately understanding an unspoken agreement, she pushed her massive globes of flesh together. Gary pushed his cock between them, slowly guiding it up, until just the head poked out from the cleavage line. Then he withdrew it and stroked upward again, moaning softly and sucking his air into his lungs as he felt the baby-soft flesh of her tits against his ultra-sensitive penis.
He came in minutes, a geyser of hot, viscous sperm spewing out of his open cock head, splattering against her chin and crashing like a breaking wave up over her face. She rubbed it in with her palms like face cream, luxuriating in its warm, intoxicating feel.
His cock was still stiff, and he lifted himself up and settled it on her lips. She hungrily licked away the cum that stuck like snow to the crown of his penis.
"Put it in me," she begged.
"I can't," he said. "Nothing left." He, too, was gulping for air.
"Please, just for a minute. Oh, God, please."
He crawled between her lewdly splayed legs and achingly guided his slowly deflating shaft inside her. It was enough, though, to feel his flesh turned hard against the anxious walls of her pussy. She had dreamed of it for so long, and just that single sensation was enough to bring her to another climax, the most satisfactory she had ever experienced.
He pulled out of her when she was finished, and rested his head against the pillowy softness of her breasts, and almost fell asleep.
That had been four years ago, right here, in the exact same location that a teenage scout named Larry was now banging her with youthful intensity. Thinking about the one time she had fucked the man of her dreams, Gary Kemper, stiffened her clitoris, and it burst against Larry's eager cock,, and she ground her buttocks into him and cried out loud. Larry responded by unloading a bucketful of young sperm into her, and she could feel it splatter against the walls of her pussy.
He pulled out of her, and she hastily pulled her pants up, and smoothed out the apron.
"See?" said Larry as he cleaned himself with a kitchen towel, and hiked his own trousers back up. "Worth it, wasn't it?"
"Yes, but the next time I say no, I mean it, understand? You'll get plenty of my pussy this summer without making me miss a meal."
"Okay. From now on," Larry said.
"Good. Now hustle down to the commissary and get me a pound of beef. I need to add some to this stew in a hurry."
"Won't be but a minute," Larry said, and he burst out the front door and hurdled off the steep porch, landing safely on the hill and running on down without missing a beat.
She watched him go, and saw Shuster, still sitting, watching. Didn't that bastard have anything better to do with his time?
Shuster saw Larry Collins jump from the porch, and knew what he had been doing for the last several minutes. He knew all about Grace Garcia and her preference for younger boys. Too bad, he thought. She'd be an excellent steady fuck. He had nailed her a couple times before, but she had an image of the adult male she wanted, and it was somewhere off in fantasyland. So she stuck to young boys and only encouraged him when she was too horny, and no boys were available.
Bob Shuster appreciated women who loved to ball.
He wondered if Lorraine Kemper loved to ball, and knew he had to find out. He had to have her whether she wanted him or not.
It wouldn't be long before he had her. All it would take, he knew, was one simple phone call. Then it was just a matter of time.
In the meantime, he would row across the lake tonight, and have one of the church girls. Just biding his time, until he could sink his teeth into something truly worthwhile.
Something like Lorraine Kemper.
He laughed out loud, lit a cigarette, and headed up to dinner.