Chapter 9

My cousins did not ask any questions and I supplied them With no information. What the hell, as long as I paid them off daily what more did they want?

The next evening I was again at the discotheque, listening to the sound of rock, drinking colas and waiting for Jean to show up. She did not disappoint me. This time she strolled in wearing a dress, with, I could clearly see, nothing under it. The blonde was equipped for action.

There were the preliminaries to go through, some dancing, a little conversation, and then she headed for the toilets with me following after a suitable pause. This time there was no kissing under the trees. We walked swiftly to the house, climbed in and got right down to our private business.

She was on fire this time, the lips of her pussy burning wet. As usual I wanted to enjoy her fleshy charms, fondle the hard breasts and investigate the strength of her thighs. There was time, I felt, so why not linger and play with each other.

But Jean was boiling and the vaginal lips had enlarged and parted, widening her opening. With the blonde in such a frenzy intercourse immediately was the only answer.

Her thighs went up high and I penetrated, feeling my weapon spear through the creamy softness. My strokes were quite strong but definitely slow but she was frenzied, and flung that ass up and up. She sighed, she gasped, she let out some croons and then my penis was bathed in hot water.

She lay back, smiling contentedly with her eyes glazed. I was still in her, buried deep, supporting myself with flattened palms on the bed.

"You went off like a gun."

"I suppose I was thinking about it too much...all day."

My hands encircled her trim waist, my palms went down to grasp the bowl-shaped ass and bring her up. This movement enabled a deeper thrusting and Jean emitted a cry but then she was pumping again under me.

The excitement first felt had evened out and my strokes were steady and measured, making her squirm with pleasure. We did not talk for our breath had to be saved. I only heard the tearing sound as her ass ground over the sheets and then she purred like a cat and breathed into my ear:

"I am going off again!"

Fortunately for me, with my relatives just in the other room, Jean did not cry out when she climaxed. True, her ass did become violent, ramming up three to four times as I slammed down only once, but the sound created was like two dry palms rubbing together. But as before a hot flood poured out of her sheath, drowning my tool.

I allowed her the orgasm but continued to jolt her steadily, keeping on and on with my thrusting until she recuperated and started bringing her twisting body up quicker and quicker.

She popped off again, her body rocking in a storm but still joined to me. Then I felt my penis swell up, become so large at the tip that it was difficult to rise and fall without rubbing fiercely against the tissues of her quim. My breathing quickened and Jean, knowing I was due squeezed my hips with her hard thighs and bound me to her, using the strength of her arms and legs.

I climaxed with a whine while her vagina closing after her orgasm pinched my penis, squeezing the juice from it like strong fingers pinching a large tube of soft toothpaste.

When we broke apart the creamy stuff bubbled out of her slit, messing up her body. She wiped herself as best as she could but the goo was on the bed, dripping on to the rug, landing on her shoes and stockings.

"Man! How much was stored up in you!"

"I can't go anymore, I am dead."

There was a silent rest. We lay side by side, holding hands while the moments passed. She began to talk in low tones, asking why I wished to know nothing about her. Was sex all I wanted?

"You just need my body, is that it?"

"Well, you haven't questioned me either. There is a lot more to me than what you've picked up as local gossip."

"If you remain in this town a while longer everyone will talk. After all, you don't work."

"Maybe I am a philosopher, thinking all the time. You ever consider that?"

"Please don't treat me like an idiot. Sure, this is a small town but because I live here doesn't mean I'm backward. Some of the teachers at our school were educated at good universities and are not only well-read but well-traveled. We gained a lot of knowledge from them. And I graduated in the top ten of the class."

Easy to do, I figured, if there are only eleven or so kids in the class. But I was puzzled by another aspect

"You graduated?"

"Sure. Think I'm a moron. Oh, my God, just because you're from New York City!"

"But I figured you to be around seventeen years old."

"I was seventeen, a long time back. Christ I look young but I'm not."

She was well over age, good. No one could charge me with impairing the morals of a minor.

"Well, what are you doing now? I mean there's no university around for you to attend."

"I work."

Did she tell me before? I don't know, I was vague about so many matters. Perhaps Jean was right; it was her body that interested me.

"I don't know how long I can stick living in this one-horse village."

"Why?" Even in the darkness I could see her eyes light up with sudden fear. Oh, oh, she was looking to put the hooks into me.

"Sweetheart, there's nothing for me to do. If I hadn't met you I'd go bugs. Hell, watching television's not for me and I'm tired of reading. Holding an intelligent conversation with my relatives is impossible. What should I do, go out and buy those plastic car or airplane kits and build them to keep occupied?"

Jean was thinking. "We should take our affair out into the open."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, let it get around that we're going together. Meet my family and all that. Then we wouldn't have to meet on the sneak like this. I could show you things to do here and we could visit other places."

"Sure, that tough brother of yours with his leather jacket and motorcycle would love that."

"It would be none of his business. If we meet like this then everyone will suspect it's for one purpose. But if we are open about our behavior then people, including my brother, will see it's not just sex."

"Of course, and then they'd be looking at your finger for the engagement ring. Baby, I am still married. Worse, I am older than you are."

"Hah, ten years or so."

"More."

"So what. Do you think I want some young twenty year old? I feel like a real woman when we are making love. Half the time with the others I fail to reach a climax."

"Jean, baby, please don't get any ideas. I am not going to spend the rest of my life here." "Neither am I."

I let it go at that but I knew the time to fold my tent and slip away like a desert Arab had come. The conversation turned to other things and then fatigue set in, causing us both to talk in monosyllables. Jean should have risen and dressed and left but somehow I did not persuade her to.

The next thing was a key turning in the lock and my uncle and aunt stepping into the room. Behind them, dressed in pajamas were my cousins, Doreen, Mavis and a laughing Harold.

"Scoundrel!" This from my uncle.

I was too numbed to reply although it did register on my sleep-drugged brain that the old bastard's eyes never once left Jean's naked body.

She screamed and snatched at the bedclothes. There was a loud plop! That was my aunt, fainting and hitting the floor. Her children stepped over her to enter the room and join the fun.

"Get the hell out of here, all of you."

"Fornicating with a girl half your age and in my house."

That was a blow to my vanity because Jean was not half my age, but I didn't press the point. Instead I bellowed at the son of a bitch to get out and take his tribe with him. His girls, Miss Tits and Miss Ass were a little amazed by Jean's normal construction. Nature had supplied her with the two things that were my cousins' only claim to fame. Harold, on the other hand, being well acquainted with Jean's body, continued to guffaw.

"Sheeet! I knew you two were making this scene. Everyone at that shitty old discotheque was on to you. Sneaking out like you're going to the toilets. Sheeet!"

"All right." My uncle, looking ridiculous in a much-patched bathrobe, nodded. "You are a grown man and well aware of the consequences, Frankie. I did not know of this situation even though my children did. However, you should know that this girl's brother is outside, waiting. He woke us up this morning when he came to get his sister."

"Oh, no!"

"Oh, yes! Her parents were naturally worried when they found her room empty this morning. They were ready to notify the police but apparently her brother knew exactly where she would be."

He left the room, slipped his hands under his wife's armpits and hauled the wobbly woman to her feet. The kids looked at me with serious eyes. All laughter had died for I was up to my neck in real trouble.

Jean was white, not a sound came out of her. She just lay under the sheets like a corpse. Everyone had seen me naked so I didn't bother to cover myself but I did consider this was getting to be a habit. First being trapped in my Greenwich Village dive by Barbara and her parents and now, miles away the same thing happens.

"Well...I guess I am one man who lives without planning. Okay, you all leave now while Jean and I try to figure this thing out."

Harold snickered. "Her brother is bad, man, but I mean baaad! Your ass is in real trouble. Sheeet, you didn't have to mess with Jean, man. Whyn't you come to me? Hell, I could have fixed you up with girls on their own, man."

"It's too late now."

"Sure is, man. You have had it."

I said to Jean: "Is there any way out of this?"

Her teeth were chattering. "No-o-o!"

Harold shook his head. "He's out there in the front with four other bad cats, man. Real Hell's Angels type rockers. Leather outfits and strong motorcycles. And he's a sadist, man, he'll love torturing you."

"He'll kill me," Jean whispered.

"Nah, he won't kill you but your ass will hurt for a month when he finishes kicking it in. You won't be able to plant it on a toilet seat, baby."

"You've had something to do with her." I began to get into my clothes. "How come he didn't get after you?"

"Oh, man, I am discreet. When we finished our business, man, I saw to it that Jean got home. Didn't catch her sleepin' all night with me. Hell man, that's for married folks, and you two definitely are not married!"

"Look, get your father's car," I said to Harold.

He backed off with his hands upraised. "Oh, no man!"

"I'll give you fifty dollars to bring it around in front of the window."

"No, man, not even for seventy-five." "I'll do it," screeched the youngest girl.

He sneered at her. "Hell, you just turned sixteen and have no driving license."

She stuck her tongue out at him. "Does it mean I can't drive?"

"I'll give a hundred." My hands went at my pockets and came up with dollar bills. They were spread across the bed I just left. "There, a full one hundred dollars for two seconds worth of driving."

"Forgetting one thing, girls," said Harold. "Papa's car ain't but a little old Volkswagen. Them boys out there are hopping aboard Harley-Davidson cycles. It'll be no contest."

"Go and get the car and let me worry about outracing those thugs." I flung things into my suitcase.

Jean left the bed with the sheet wrapped around her, said oh, what the hell, tossed it to the floor and reached for her dress.

The girls were surprised that she did not wear panties or a brassiere and said so. Harold took it as a joke stating that "old Jean was ready for action all the time."

A voice rang out loud and clear in the early morning: "Frankie Hill...your time is up, man, better come on out here."

"My brother!" Color drained from Jean's face again.

I eased the window open. The girls had left and Harold had gone outside to stand vigil with his parents. My aunt was crying and my uncle could be heard soothing her. The comforting sound was the snarl like pots and pans rattling caused by the Volkswagen motor. Then there it was before the window with Mavis and Doreen, still in pajamas, getting out.

like an acrobat I went through the window, flinging my suitcase into the rear. The key was in the ignition, the motor revving. Automatically I released the handbrake, pushed the shift stick into first gear and started off when Jean screamed: "Wait!"

There was the stupid young bitch, blonde hair flying, the dress crawling up over her naked thighs to show her pubic bush and belly, climbing over the window sill and hopping into the passenger's seat.

We took off, making about a quarter of a mile before those leather-jacketed ass-holes discovered our escape. Then I looked up into the mirror and saw five dark specks. The specks grew larger, becoming black dots and I knew it would take fifteen seconds at the most before we were surrounded by motorcycles.

I did eighty miles per, the most anyone can get out of a Volkswagen but those choppers could do twice that with ease and on the road leading into the town dear old brother and his rockers caught us.

Jean's screams deafened me more than the thundering motorcycles. I pulled up thinking here comes the beating of my life. Ah well, as long as some teeth are left in my head. A broken nose can be repaired and split lips will eventually heal. As for black eyes, what the hell, I've had them before. Only my teeth worried me.

We heard sirens and two police cars converged on us, their red roof lights flashing. The rockers took off, all except Jean's brother. He already had the door of the Volkswagen open and was tossing punches at me. I grabbed his wrist and really held on to it.

The police pulled him away and set up a yelling about exceeding speed limits and committing violence.

Jean and I sat still, keeping silent. Her brother tried to explain something about his sister's honor. The result was that we all had to go to the station.

There I was charged with speeding and fined twenty-five dollars which I paid on the spot. The magistrate, apparently well-acquainted with Jean, was not surprised by her sexual activities. Since she was over age I could not be charged. However, he did ask if I wished to press any charges against her brother.

The brother, whose name was Lucas, a big ugly gorilla of a boy, was furious. His revenge had backfired and now he was in the soup. Yes, I told the magistrate, this man attempted grievous bodily harm and I did wish to make a charge against him.

"Right." The magistrate, a sour-looking man who could not have been over forty said: "It means you'll have to remain here in this town until his case comes up."

"Oh!" This was something I didn't want. It would mean booking into a hotel since I had no intention, of going back to my uncle's house. I looked at the gorilla, at the waiting policemen, at Jean and finally at the magistrate.

"Well?"

"Well, ahh, you see, I...ah, can understand this fellow. After all, you know, it is his sister. But...if he is willing to forget it then so am I."

The gorilla snarled. "Think you're gettin' off light and easy, huh? Just forget it like that, huh? I'll get you, you son of a bitch and beat the dirty shit out of you."

"Stop that!" The magistrate shouted at Lucas. "Threatening a man here, before your peers, and before witnesses. Another charge added. And the use of obscenity! Another charge!" "I am pressing charges."

"All right." The magistrate signed an order and told the policemen to take Lucas to the cells. "Let him know his legal rights and send for a lawyer so we can fix bail. Trial will be one week from today."

I had to sit still while some old woman typed out forms for me to sign. Jean, considered a material witness, had to do her share of signing, which did not make her too happy.

As we were leaving the station a taxicab stood outside, parked between the two police cars. A fat man, resembling Lucas stepped forward. His eyes bore into mine and his fists clenched.

"My father!" Jean gasped.

"Get home, you prostitute," he sneered. He stepped up to me. "Lousy city bastard. I got a lot of friends here and we'll get you, one way or another."

He pushed Jean into the back of the cab and drove off. I just stood there on the sidewalk, alone, feeling more than a little stupid. One thing, I knew, however, I was not staying in this town one minute longer.

As I went down the street past the local beer hall men stared at me. Nearby was the bus station, a bus waiting to go to Boston. If I attempted to purchase a ticket a policeman would be there, reminding me that I had to stick around for Lucas' trial. I paused, thinking.

I picked up my bag and went off, whistling. Within a short distance I found myself before a garage. A young man stood before a big car wiping oil from his hands with a rag. He turned upon hearing my footsteps and took me in.

"How did it go?" He had cropped hair like an old-time Prussian officer and a lean, hungry-looking face.

"You know already, do you?"

"Everyone does. Hell, think this is New York City where you come from? Hey, how'd you find Jean in the sack? Good piece of ass, eh?"

My bad luck was running true to form. Jean was the local prostitute, mounted by everyone who could walk and I had to be the man who had to pay for all the sins. Typical.

"That your car?"

"Belongs to a customer." He pointed at an old Ford Thunderbird that was repainted silver. "That's my car."

I showed him a fifty dollar bill. "Are you going to get me out of this town or not?"

"Mister, for fifty I'll take you to hell and back."

"Then let's waste no more time standing here and talking."

That was how I said good-bye to a goddamned one-horse town, my aunt and uncle, Miss Tits and Miss Ass as well as long-haired Harold and dear, lovely, whoring Jean and her dangerous motorcycle-racing brother.

At the next town I caught a train to Boston, went to the airport, flew into New York City, checked into a hotel and went to get my passport renewed. I remained in the midtown area, seeing movies, eating in restaurants and just walking. At no time did I go near the apartment to discover what was happening with Barbara. It was my guess that the call girl, Victoria, had put the police on the scent and they wished to ask me some embarrassing questions. Just being in possession of all that money was a crime and I would pay dearly.

The day my passport came through I purchased an Air France ticket for Paris. The plane left in the afternoon and three hours before the departure I went to the bank, hauled the money out of my safety deposit box and spoke to an assistant manager. The amount of money did not surprise him. After all, he did work in a bank. But his suspicions were aroused when I stated I wished the entire sum transferred to a bank in Geneva, Switzerland.

It took less than twenty minutes for the arrangements to be made after which I signed some typed forms. My opinion was that he would be notifying the tax department of the transfer. Those lovely civil servants would in turn check my income tax returns and come to wonder how I would be in possession of so much money. An investigation would start but by the time it got under way I would be long gone.

I took a taxi out to Kennedy Airport, signed in, waited, feeling not at all nervous, and boarded the jet In minutes New York City was below me, then the Atlantic Ocean. Six hours later the jet put down at Orly airport. My bag was collected and I got on a bus along with a lot of tourists.

The bus dropped me at the air terminal in the Inval-ides section and I walked along the Seine feeling great. At the Place Michel I looked at the mob swirling around the fountain, the same type of mob found on the streets of Greenwich Village. But this was Paris!

I was free!