Chapter 1
Myra shivered in the dark. It was incredible! She couldn't believe it. People didn't live like this even if Mommy had told her what it was like, had warned her, had showed her so often the little book they called The Escape Hatch.
"That's to buy cleanliness and God's fresh air. So we won't ever have to go back to that sort of living . . . to filth and dirt and stink and men. No more men . . . " It wasn't quite dark enough. Myra could see the ugly reality of it, smell the stench of unwashed bodies, of urine, probably where Sissie had peed in the covers. And hear the noises, the ugly noises across the room, of Uncle Ben and Aunt Louisa in the big double bed. The creaking of the old, tired springs, the regular thump and bump of the short leg, the tinny tinkle of brass knobs loose and, pinging.
Only that wasn't Uncle Ben and Aunt Louisa in there. That was Uncle Ben with Connie, the fat, sloppy fourteen-year-old. Humping and heaving and grunting. And Connie's occasional "yip" as if she liked it. With her own daddy!
Myra could hear Lem's chuckle and his hoarse whisper. Lem was almost sixteen and he'd been smoking since he was eight, so his whisper was a kind of rasp.
"The old man and. Connie are having their-selves a ball. How 'bout it, huh? Let's you'n me screw." And Lem had laid a hand on Myra's breast. "Hey, for a twelve-year-old you really got 'em, ain't you ? "
Myra writhed around in the squalid heap of old quilts and ragged bits of bedspreads, trying to squirm away from Lem's hands, and bumped into the flabby, slack body of Sissie, the "simple" one, lying sprawled, taking up more of the squalid corner of quilts and blankets than was her rightful share. Sissie was naked except for a sleazy pair of tattered boy's jockey shorts, her flabby breasts falling into flaccid, jellylike mounds that rose and fell like a vast pink tide with her breathing.
Myra felt Lem coming, his approach telegraphed through the matted pile of covers. She rolled away from Sissie and the foulness of her body, stale, unwashed, irritated and odorous from casual peeing in the tattered drawers, and bumped into the twins, Jim and Jessica, inspecting each other's privates as if unsure of quite what to do with them.
Jessica had the remnants of a tee-shirt hiked up above her nubbin breasts, which she pushed with the assiduous energy of a man playing the keys of a cornet. While pulling at Jim's pecker with a regular but absent-minded rhythm. And Jim was running his fingers over Jessica's pee-hole, occasionally running a finger in it and then holding it up to inspect it and sniff at it.
Myra, her shortie gown now well above her waist and caught in its own folds, scurried away from the twins. Suddenly she felt Lem's hand on her ankle. He yanked and she came down, burying her face in the foul-smelling covers.
Lem hauled himself toward her, using her legs, sliding his hand up and grasping, then coming closer, his hand going still farther up her leg until it almost reached her little pee hole.
Myra struggled frantically with the gown to untangle it from its own folds, and tried to twist away. She felt hot and ashamed that her body was being touched . . . and ashamed also of the way her body felt because it was being touched.
As Lem's hands went up her leg, then touched the lips of her pee-hole, Myra shivered. She was actually excited and, inside her, new heat generated and spread. She tried to wrench free and found herself in the corner with rough plaster and old, tired crumbling wall paper at her back.
Lem crawled up beside her, facing her, his pecker at salute, jabbing toward her. He grinned at her. "Don't fight it, kid. You're gonna like it. Hell, any. little doll built like you at twelve is bound to like a little fucking. Bound to. Why, them titties was just made for bitin' . . . "
Lem leaned over and chewed lightly but enough for her to feel it deep inside on one of her breasts.
Myra whimpered. "Please, Lem . . . Please don't! I'll call your father."
Lem sniggered. "The old man? Hell, he's occupied with Connie. They can screw for an hour. Of course, it don't do the old man no good. He can't fuck worth a damn. She has to sit on it to hold it up any more but it keeps him occupied. While you and me have fun over here. Savvy?" Lem chuckled, leaning down to suck on her breast. He looked up. "Right tasty. Anyway, Paw's jess waiting his turn at you. Like I say, he can't fuck worth a damn now, so he don't go for cherries no more. But I like cherry. Eat it up, hair an all ! "
Lem wriggled around, sliding his tongue along one breast and then down, past her bellybutton, to the crease between her leg and her pelvis, and then along that to her pee-hole. His mouth fastened on her pee-hole and his tongue slid between the lips.
Myra pounded her fists at his head, pushing and thrusting, trying to get this creature away from her privates. But he clung to her, his arms wrapped around her little rump, pulling her closer, closer. Her blows grew feebler.
Myra whimpered. She didn't want Lem's mouth on her pee-hole, but it was doing things inside her that made her weak as it seemed to grow, to expand. His hand slid up, playing with one of her breasts, his fingers grabbing and lightly pinching her nipple.
Her legs were getting weak. She had locked them tight, holding them together against Lem's mouth. Now they betrayed her, falling treacherously open.
He wormed his chin in, between her legs and thrust his tongue into her little pee-hole, shocking her into a half scream. She clamped her. mouth on that and fought against a rising tide of, nausea, half praying, half talking to Mommie. "Please! Please don't let him do this! Oh, Mommie! Mommie! Can't you stop him? Can't you tell him to leave me alone the way you did that fat man? Mommie! Mommie!"
Only Mommie would never answer. Myra knew she was gone dead but she couldn't bold back the cry. Mommie had always been there, always. A wonderfully safe retreat, a healing for bruises of reality and ego, arms and breast that could comfort a little girl in a bewildering world. And this was the most bewildering.
Lem was sucking on her little pee-hole and for some reason it was answering, contracting and opening up as his mouth worked. And flooding Myra with strange burning wants, wants she had never known existed. Wants she didn't really want and wasn't prepared to handle.
Ideas, wild and terrifying, ballooning in her head made her dizzy, feeling faint and unable to resist the push of Lem's tongue, the hunger of his mouth and the demands of his bands on her breasts and nipples. She wanted to lay there, open up her legs and let him have what he would of her. She had vague, confused ideas of what it was he wanted but he could have it. And she would enjoy it. Something deep inside her kept repeating the treacherous formula she would enjoy it.
Lem himself kept repeating it. "You're gonna love it, kid. Love it. Any kid with titties like 'yourn is bound to love it. Bound to. Just open your legs a little more . . . more . . . I'm coming in!"
The last was almost a triumphant shout as Lem drove his pecker at Myra's little pee-hole. In the dull light, reflected from a street lamp that had miraculously escaped destruction by the local vandals, she could see it; big, a shaft that waggled in the light, with a huge bulb on the end. And he was trying to push that into her little pee-hole. Oh, Mommie! Mommie! It'll kill me! It'll hurt so!
It was already hurting, stretching her little pee-hole, but, surprisingly, not as much as she had anticipated. There was something slippery down there something out of herself and out of Lem. Her pee-hole was opening up to meet the head of Lem's pecker. Myra could feel the lips fold back, opening to him.
Now he was going in. With short, heavy jabs of his pelvis, he was stabbing his pecker into her. She felt the lips of her pee-hole give, gulping down a small portion of his pecker. And inside her pee-hole it burned, really hurting.
Myra whimpered. Lem squeezed down on one breast, gasping with his own excitement. "Just for a minute. It'll hurt . . . just for a minute. And then, boy, will it feel good! Like nothing you ain't ever felt."
Her very flesh seemed to stretch to take his pecker. She could feel that bulb burning its way up her pee-hole . . . way up . . . and up. Oh, Mommie! Please, Mommie! Don't let him hurt me! He's tearing me up. His pecker was going too deep! Way too deep. It would ram right through her!
Lem was still driving, still sliding that big shaft of his into her. He rested a minute, propping himself on his elbows to look down at her. "You're a sweet kid, Myra. I like you. And your cunt is nice and tight."
Vaguely Myra heard the words, but they were drowned in the noises within herself, the tensions, the need to scream yet not scream, the hurt and the very odd, wonderful feeling that flooded her, evening out the hurt. During that brief respite, she caught her breath, gulpily, nearly sobbing.
"Lem, please! Don't do whatever you're doing. Please. It hurts. It's ugly."
Lem bent down, bruising her mouth with his. "Shut up, kid. You're getting screwed by an expert. And you're gonna love it."
His pecker was moving in and out, in a slow rhythm that built up excitement inside Myra, excitement that, momentarily, covered the hurt and started her little pelvis to working, to move her pee-hole in counterpoint with Lem.
Without her being conscious of it, she was responding and his pecker slid up and down through her pee-hole in gradually increasing tempo that brought low squeals from Myra, that had her clawing at Lem's back, trying to get more of that delicious ache.
Lem drew back, almost pulling his pecker out of her, and held it there. "Here it comes, kid. Here comes the old jizzum. Full load on . . . it's . . . way . . . " He rammed his pecker deep into Myra's pee-hole, deeper than ever . . . and held it there.
All along her pee-hole, as far up as Lem had gone, she felt the pulsing and rhythmic swelling of his shaft and then the explosion of his bulb, ramming hot juices way up her. Way past her bellybutton it seemed. Myra writhed, moaning, because something was happening up there to her. Something let go; as if she might unravel. A wonderful release and a gush of hot juices. She could feel them, feel the silent "boom" that went off in her.
She wiggled her pelvis, just a little, to try again for more of that excitement. A little came, but the big excitement was over. Lem drooped and sagged over her, letting his pecker slide out of her little, pee-bole.
In spite of being sweaty and wet between her legs, Myra felt wonderful, as if some great experiment had gone well, as if her body had expanded, taken on a new dimension.
She lay back, almost exulting in this new power in her body. All at once she became aware of the twins sitting there, naked, grinning at her. And that brought back the smells and the filth ,and Lem's hot, sweaty body smelling horribly beside her. And the fact that now her body, too, was sweaty and smelly.
How had it happened? It seemed impossible. Only a little over a week ago she and Mommie had shared a bright, gay apartment that was airy and always smelled of flowers Mommie was constantly bringing home.
Now Myra lay naked on a pile of filthy quilts, her body aching from the assault on it. Lem was beside her, grinning wisely up at her. "Told you, you'd love it, kid. I can always tell. When. they got babbies like yourn at twelve they're gonna like it. Love it!" But how had it happened? What had thrown her into this horror that had one blinding moment of excitement amid this squalor? Myra tried to remember.