Chapter 6

What does a salesman do on a very hot day? He calls on his customers. But he doesn't have to like it.

That's what Roger Dutton did when he finally arrived at his destination, Erie, Penn. Erie is a dreary town. It not only has slums, its slums have suburbs. But even dreary towns need hardware.

Roger drove down the main drag of the town, looking for the Hardware Emporium, the city's largest hardware store. He'd sold them plenty in years past, but ownership had changed hands recently and the new owners wouldn't give him a tumble. But salesman are born to try and try again and Roger was no exception.

He found a parking space about a block from the store, opened his car's trunk, grabbed his heavy sample bag and headed down the street. The case was heavy. The weather was hot. The humidity was high. By the time he got to the Hardware Emporium, his shirt was wilted, his tie wrinkled and his suit dripping with sweat.

Nonetheless, he summoned up all his salesmanship, gave the new owners a terrific pitch and a good deal and ended up selling more hardware in one order than he'd ever sold in his life. He walked out of the Hardware Emporium floating on air, sure he could conquer the world whenever he wanted to.

This was the kind of deal that most salesman would say entitled them to a day of rest, maybe two or three. Roger Dutton was no exception. And the day was right for it. All that heat and humidity. What Roger wanted now was to take a swim someplace, to cool off and forget about work.

He thought about it a moment. Howard Johnson's, where he was staying, had a pool. But he didn't have a suit. That was easily remedied. He pulled in front of a small discount store, found a pair of trunks for about $5, and headed out toward the motel.

On the way, he saw a sign: Cedar Park beach, 5 miles, next right.

Now why, you may ask, hadn't he thought of it earlier---a beach, a picnic ground for young bathers, many of them, most likely, young, pretty and female. It was a question Roger asked himself, too. Such an obvious idea for a dirty old man and he hadn't thought of it.

Perhaps it was that the opportunities for doing something about the inevitable excitement of seeing those firm young, nubile young bodies clad in nothing more than a couple of well-placed ribbons were small indeed. All the average dirty old man could do, in such cases, was look. Now, for some, looking is its own reward. Roger usually wanted more than that. He was a freak about touching, feeling and fucking. Restraining himself when young lovelies appeared was a might difficult job for him.

Today, however, he decided to relax, to take it easy, to give his eyes a treat without asking for more. It was a reasonable enough thought. After all, he'd had some perfectly splendid adventures in the last few weeks. He wasn't pooped out. Dirty old men are never pooped out. If a cunt comes along, they have a cock that's ready. Still, it was good to recharge the batteries once in a while.

Roger steered off the main road and onto the highway that led to the beach. Summer vacation was drawing to a close for the school kids, he reasoned. That meant that as many as possible would be there at the beach, trying to perfect their suntans before they were once more imprisoned within the walls of that local institution of learning the law said they must visit occasionally.

It should be a good time for dirty old men out there on the sand. As he drove, Roger envisioned healthy, tanned young bodies dancing down the beach and through the water, their firm, slender legs flashing in the sun, their boobs bouncing invitingly, their navels uncovered for all to see, their swim suit bottoms so tight that their woman-mounds were very prominent.

Roger wondered for a moment, as he drove through farmland toward the beach, if these girls knew what sort of reaction they provoked in the men who saw them. He wondered if they had fantasies too, of stepping out of the locker room directly into some guy's line of vision and causing an instant erection. He wondered if they looked at male crotches and wondered what they'd find underneath the suit, if they speculated about how it would be to be fucked by one of the guys on the beach and then another.

Certainly the experienced girls thought that way. He'd heard enough about that to know, just in the last couple of months. From what he'd gathered, the girls thought about sex every bit as much as the boys. They got horny, too. When they saw a boy in a swimsuit, his cock clearly visible, making a bulge in just the right place, did their cunts start getting wet? Did they experience little quivers in their clits, just as he felt twitches in his cock when he gazed at some sexy little girl?

My god, he reflected, they're sexy earlier and earlier these days. They seem to get tits earlier. The hair grows on their cunts earlier. They're aware of their bodies and of sex earlier. When he was a teenager, the girls wore skirts down to their ankles, where they were met by heavy bobbie-sox. The girls wore shapeless sweaters and giggled about holding hands in the movies. Sure, there were stories about girls who fucked in high school. But they were nothing more than stories, so far as he'd been able to tell. There was another sign directing him toward the beach and Roger made the proper turn.

Hell, he thought, the most those girls would let you do in my day was feeling 'em up a bit through their clothes, maybe lie on top of them---all clothing on, and dry hump. He remembered one pretty young girl, Phyllis, her name was. She let him do just that---lie on her and dry hump. At least, that's what she did until the action got too fast and furious. Then she'd push him off and say he'd better take her home.

Once she got carried away and she. let him actually reach a climax. He could still remember how it felt, inside his pants, that sticky white cum spreading out all over his underwear, staining his pants probably. He'd gotten up from her that time and she'd felt her dress.

"I'm wet," she said in horror. "You've wet me."

"Impossible," he'd said. "I didn't even unzip my zipper."

"But I am wet. Feel for yourself."

He felt.

"Not there," she'd said angrily, "here."

Sure enough, there had been a damp spot. Evidently, it had soaked through his pants.

"Well," he said, "that's nothing to worry about. It will come out in the wash."

"What if my parents see it? Roger, that's the last time we're going to do anything like that."

And so it was.

Yessir, he thought, the girls were different in those days. They were saving themselves. I don't know for what, but that's what they said. In those days, he reflected, virginity was the be-all and end-all of everything. If a girl wasn't a virgin when she got married---well, that was it for the marriage. At least, that was what everyone said.

Besides that, the girls he knew an his high school days just didn't know anything about sex. He remembered, for example, a pretty little brunette---Peggy Wilcox, or something like that. He was dating her friend, Jeannie Weiss. One day, he noticed that Peggy was moping around, looking depressed and down.

"What's the matter with Peggy?" he'd asked Jeannie.

"Oh, she's depressed."

"I can see that," he'd said. "But why?"

"Well," Jeannie said, her voice low and confidential, "she thinks she's pregnant."

"Pregnant?" Roger had said. "But who---"

"No one, that's who," Jeannie had interrupted. "She thinks you can get pregnant by kissing. Her period is a little late and she's scared to death."

"Really? She thinks that kissing can make you pregnant?"

"I know it sounds silly, but that's what she thinks."

"I can't believe it. She simply isn't that naive."

"She's my friend and I can tell you she is."

Roger had swallowed it all. Jeannie was always straight with him. She wouldn't lie, especially not about a thing like this. Now, he was sure he was the naive one, not Peggy or Jeannie. The girl had been fucking around, it was that simple. And she really was scared that she was knocked up. She had good reason to be, no doubt. There was another sign. He was only two miles from the beach now.

Come to think of it, Roger said to himself, that wasn't the only time I was fooled by a girl. There was also Ruthie. Ruthie was a girl he'd dated in college. She seemed remarkably sweet and innocent, the kind of girl who'd never do anything wrong or sexy with anyone. Hell, she hardly ever even kissed him goodnight. It took some kind of special occasion, like a birthday. He was sure she'd be a virgin when she got married, and that she'd probably pass out with the shock of sexual content. Then he had a conversation with one of his fraternity brothers, a guy named Norman, a raunchy type if ever there was one. Norman came up to him one day with that leer in his eye that such guys often have.

"I see you're dating Ruthie," he said.

"That's right. You know her?"

"Oh yeah," Norman had said, the leer intensifying. "I've known her for a long time, if you know what I mean."

Roger had been shocked and annoyed. "No, as a matter of fact, I don't know what you mean."

"Well," he said, "she's a hot little chick."

"Hot?"

"Sure. I never got a better blow job than the one she gave me one night in a drive in movie."

"She gave you a blow job?"

"Sure. Couple of my friends, too, Same night."

"You sure we're talking about the same girl?"

"Absolutely. Ruthie Slovak, right?"

"That's her name. But she isn't the kind of girl you say she is. She couldn't be."

The leer broadened. "You mean you aren't getting anything from her?"

"Of course not. I mean we really have a very nice relationship. But it's strictly proper. Do you understand?"

"Perfectly."

"And I don't want you spreading any stories about her, especially the sort of filth you've just told me."

I Roger had walked away still convinced that Ruthie had never done a dirty thing in her life. But the seed had been planted. One day, finally curious beyond his control, he'd come out and mentioned Norman's name to her.

"You ever date a fellow named Norman Cashman?"

Ruthie had looked at him in panic for just an instant.

"I think so," she finally said, "years ago."

"I talked with him about you."

"What did he say?"

"He said the two of you were very close."

There'd been a smile on Ruthie's lips that `couldn't have been misinterpreted. By the end of the night, Roger was getting the best blow job of his life, which he should have had at least six months earlier, same girl.

Sure, he thought, I was naive in those days. But times have changed and so have the young girls. I'm really making up for lost time now.

Up ahead of him, he could see the beach-the bright umbrellas, the blue waters of Lake Erie, the pale green locker houses. To his joy, the beach looked crowded. With exactly the same sort of crowd he would have chosen, if he had had the choice.

He found a parking place, jammed his bathing suit under his arm and headed for the locker building. All around him, it seemed, young fillies were parading around nearly naked, sipping Cokes through straws and talking about boy friends, munching on hot dogs and exchanging information about school, their asses and tits practically popping out of their flimsy little suits.

There was a blonde one over there, hair shining in the sun, shape like an hour-glass, tits like dunce caps, dressed in a swim suit that, if there'd been any sort of breeze at all, would have been blown away in a single puff. There, over there, was a short brunette, her scanty top stretched around two glorious globular boobs, her ass cheeks separated by the fabric of her suit bottom. They jiggled a bit as she walked and Roger found himself licking his lips.

Was there anything else in the world worth looking at, he wondered. Was there anything so satisfying to the eyes or stimulating to the cock as a young girl? For the life of him, he couldn't understand how these kids could walk around the beaches without being raped repeatedly.

That was his impulse, and a barely restrained one at that. He wanted to grab the nearest girl, rip off her swim suit and ram his rod into her furry little cunt hole. He expected her to protest at first, but he knew how women reacted to fucking. After the initial resistance, they melted in a puddle of cunt juice and lust. Virgin, nympho, schoolgirl or dropout, they all behaved the same way.

He headed toward the bathhouse, rented a box, went into a changing booth, slipped into his suit, piled his clothing as neatly as possible in the box, locked it up, and strolled out onto the sand, completely unselfconscious about his milky whiteness, his thoughts instead riveted to the girls around him.

It was as if he were in a department store of young girls, tall ones, short ones, thin ones, plump ones and a wide selection of just right ones. Would that they were for sale.

Roger walked over to the. concession booth, rented a towel and a small beach umbrella and padded down toward the water, looking for a likely place to plant himself. For all the wandering young girls, the beach wasn't actually crowded. He got a spot near the water, not far from six giggling teenagers-all female---clustered around a portable radio blaring out rock music.

Fortunately, Roger Dutton had on a pair of dark sunglasses. It was quite simple for him to lie down on his towel, spread out in the sun, and pretend to close his eyes, while actually gazing at the girls nearby.

What kind of a beach was this, anyhow? There were at least four girls to every boy, not counting families, that is. There were, it is true, many families, many mothers with noisy children. But, as those children began to approach puberty---so long as they were female children---they, too attracted Roger's attention.

For a long time, he lay there, eyes apparently closed, staring at the girls nearby. Of the six, three were quite acceptable. And two of these were really fine-looking; an auburn-haired girl with fair and freckled skin who, Roger estimated, must have been about 15, even though her body was more like that of a 25-year-old woman; and a bleached blonde---16, perhaps---her body still in the midst of puberty, but with great promise.

What fun it would be, Roger mused, to be invisible for an hour or two, to run among the girls, touching those fabulous tits, caressing those swelling woman mounds, rubbing his cock along the fine golden hairs of the darkly tanned skin of their bellies until he shot his load off.

It was a delicious fantasy and not a particularly new one for this particular dirty old man. How would the girls react, he wondered, at the touch of an invisible hand on their privates? Would they jump in terror or sit motionless, secretly enjoying the sensations? He let his mind roam toward the auburn-haired girl in the group nearby. . In his mind's eye, he touched her pussy with his forefinger, running it up and down her slit. In his mind's eye, she gasped, stared down at her crotch unbelievingly and sat quietly, too embarrassed in front of her friends to say anything or move.

In his mind's eye, Roger put his other hand on her tits. He slipped a finger underneath the cup of her top, sliding it over her remarkably cool and smooth tit flesh until he finally touched her nipple. It was a funny, wrinkled nubbin until he started rubbing it. Then it grew, it expanded---as though it were being inflated somehow. And the girl now had to struggle to betray nothing to her girlfriends. Every once in a while, she'd take a sharp intake of breath, which she promptly smothered and disguised.

In his mind's eye now, Roger could not be seen. He could come as close as he liked to whatever female he fancied, examine her at length, then complete the examination with his hands, his fingers and his tongue. He looked around at the other girls on the beach. This time, he selected the bleached blonde. In his mind's eye, he walked over to her, totally invisible, and stood looking at her, from a distance of about three inches.

How wonderful her skin was, smooth and flawless. How inviting were those swelling tits of hers, at least two-thirds of the way out of her swim suit top. He decided to help her all the way out. Invisibly, he grabbed the middle of her top and jerked it down abruptly. Her melon-shaped tits popped free, milky white in contrast with the rest of her body, except for cherry-colored nipples that adorned them.

She screamed, of course, if only in his mind's eye. She tried desperately to pull her swim suit top back into place. Failing that, she cupped her tits with both hands, hiding them from view. Her girl friends stared at her bewildered. First, from their point of view, she'd bared her breasts. Now, she was squeezing them. Had she flipped out? In his mind's eye, Roger prepared a complication. Then, he imagined his invisible self carrying it out. He jammed a hand beneath her suit bottom, directly into her mass of soft cunt hair.

The girl reacted immediately by taking a hand from one tit and sticking it into her bottom to find out what was happening. Roger grabbed the hand---he had expected it---and pushed it down against her cunt. To every eye, now, it would appear as if the girl had suddenly been overwhelmed by her own lustful fantasies and was now jerking off in front of everyone, her sense of shame pathologically absent.

As he imagined all of this, his real life cock began to swell with desire. He felt his breath grow short. He turned over on his stomach, his cock digging into the towel below him. As unobtrusively as possible, he began to wiggle his ass. His cock grew with the stimulation, until it was as large and erect as it could get. By now, Roger was sweating profusely and it wasn't just the summer heat that was responsible.

He glanced over at the girls now, his mind working away like wildfire. Once more, he imagined the blonde girl apparently playing with herself. It was easy to maintain the illusion; Once she'd dipped a hand down in defense of her pussy, Roger, in his mind's eye, used his free hand to squeeze her unprotected boob. She wrenched her hand out of her bottom and reached for her tit. Once again, Roger imprisoned that hand, pressing it tightly against the girl's tit, his fingers pressing hers into her own flesh. She seemed to be squeezing her tits in a at of passion. In Roger's mind's eye, her girlfriends stared at her, astonished. Then in his imagination, Roger jammed a finger into her cunt hole, driving it deep into the young girl. She sighed and her hips jerked, in spite of herself.

"You okay?" one of her girl friends asked, eyes agog.

"Yes," the girl said, "no, I don't know. Something is happening to me, I don't understand it." She twisted and turned, trying to fight off Roger's imaginary and invisible hands. It was an impossible struggle, complicated by the fact that her body was not acting in her own best interests. After a while, her passions were boiling. She was losing the battle, which wasn't surprising, since her adversary had her own body as an ally.

Roger gazed at the girls, his own excitement now almost overpowering him. His cock, hard as a rock, was digging into the sand so fiercely it brought him pain. The sweat was rolling oil his body and his breath was coming in short gasps.

To his great disappointment, the girls next to him chose this exact instant to rise, brush themselves off and head for the water. In a few moments, they'd be cavorting in the waves, well beyond his field of view. And there he was, so excited he was nearly ready to come. It was a shame.

Then Roger decided to join them. He needed a cooling off. He needed to get closer to the girls. But there was the problem of his erection. How in the world could he get up from his towel, stand tall and walk the 15 or so paces to the water's edge without displaying that enormous hard-on for all to see? He thought about the problem for a few moments, then stood, .. protected from view by his beach umbrella. He folded it up and took it toward the water's edge, protecting his erection from view.

Once at the Water, he stuck it once more into the sand, tied his towel around it, and headed for the cool lake in front of him. Despite the summer heat, the water was cool---cold, almost---but Roger didn't hesitate to enter the water. He knew it would take a lot more than that to cool him off.

In a few moments, he was waist deep in the water. Then, chest deep. It was, fortunately, a calm day, with no waves. Roger headed toward the girls who'd been sitting near him.

Meanwhile, another group of girls was approaching him from the rear. They were playing catch with one of those gaily colored plastic beach balls.

"Hey Sandy," one of them shouted, "wanna play catch?"

Roger turned, just in time to see the beach ball sail over his head---and just in time to catch a flash of the girl who had thrown it, a buxom brunette in a flowered print bikini that in any other age but this would have been strictly illegal. It was enough to heat Roger to the boiling point once more.

Chest deep in the water, as he was, it was a simple, natural thing for Roger to reach down, slip a hand under his trunks and fondle his cock. Which was still hard as a bone and exquisitely sensitive to the touch.

He looked at the girls he was surrounded with and played with himself freely. There was no way they could see what he was doing. It would be a snap to jerk off and to fill the lake water with millions of little sperm. Who knows, maybe one would sneak into one of the girls' cunts.

As he played with himself, he watched the girls playing with the beach-ball. They were yelling and giggling and throwing their voluptuous bodies around in a manner you'd think was calculated to excite. And Roger was completely taken in by them.

After a while, they were playing keep away. Suddenly, the ball splashed down right beside Roger.

"Hey, Mr.," one of the girls yelled, "throw the ball here."

"No," shouted another girl, "throw it here."

"No, here."

In a few moments, half a dozen girls were shouting at Roger, asking that he throw the ball their way. He picked it up, dropping his cock for a moment, and looked around, trying to decide which girl was the prettiest. He would throw it her way.

Finally, he tossed the ball toward a tall redhead with very pointy tits. To his surprise, she threw it back. Then, he threw the ball to another girl. She also returned it. In no time at all, Roger was part of the game. The girls had counted him in. Perhaps it was because he was the only guy around. But Roger wasn't going to spend time trying to figure it all out.

It was really a terrible position for a man as excited as Roger was. What he really wanted to do was to jump one of the girls---any of them would do---and drag her down into the sand, shoving his cock into her hole with all of his strength. But here he was, playing catch instead. It was very frustrating.

And Roger Dutton wasn't the sort of man who dealt well with frustration. He wasn't one to delay gratification, not even for a moment, if he could manage it. So, while playing catch with one hand, he reached down to his crotch with the other---and started playing with himself. The girls, of course, hadn't the slightest idea that the fun and games he was imagining had nothing to do with beach balls.

After a while, the game itself got fast and furious. The ball was bouncing from girl to girl, from Roger to girl and back again. He was in the middle of the pack by now and the girls were huddled close around him.

By now, Roger's cock was enormous. He had his fist wrapped around it and was beating off furiously. First, he directed himself toward one girl, then toward another. In his own mind, at least, he was fucking first one, then the other, then still another.

The game, as it happened, was very athletic. Everyone of the girls was giving her all, jumping out of the water, falling down below the surface and leaping up. They knocked against him frequently, at first to his surprise, then to his pleasure.

They surrounded him now, gathering around him very closely, hardly giving him space to move. Inside the circle of giggling teenagers, Roger Dutton somehow managed to unzip the fly of his swimming trunks and whip out his dick.

Then, accidentally, or so it seemed, he rubbed first against one girl, then against another---all in the spirit of the game, in the spirit of fun. The beach ball bounced around with gay abandon and the girls fought over it. As they fought, they managed often to stimulate Roger's protruding cock. He felt the soft skin of one girl's thigh against it, then the round surface of another girl's ass, then the bare skin of still another girl's belly.

Roger was breathing hard now---but that seemed logical enough. He was exerting himself visibly, fighting for the ball, throwing it, racing others for it. But he was also exerting himself invisibly, in a way, his hand wrapped around his cock, his fingers beating out a tattoo on his gigantic erection.

One of the girls---the redhead---bounced against Roger and stuck there a moment, held by her own momentum. When she moved away, finally, she had a strange look in her eye. What had happened was that she'd rubbed her thigh against his cock. And, evidently, she wasn't so innocent that she didn't know just what it was that she was touching with her thigh.

Despite her strange expression on moving away from Roger, the game went on and she participated in it. Once more, the action carried the redhead against Roger's outsprung cock and this time the strange look was accompanied by a smile. The girl retreated a few feet and whispered in a girlfriend's ear. When the ball next came that way, it was the girlfriend who crashed against Roger, and she rubbed her thigh against his outstretched cock. What's more, she did it more than once, But then, the flow of the game carried her away from him, and toward the bleached blonde about whom Roger had been having those invisible man fantasies a few minutes ago.

Roger was caught directly. in between complete panic. and total excitement. As he watched and played the game, he saw the word about him being passed along among the girls. One would whisper to another and they'd both giggle. Then the girl most recently informed would turn to still another girl and tell her. What Roger was worried about is that one of them would be very shocked by it all and would bolt, perhaps informing the life guard, or, worse, the beach patrol. Then, his goose was cooked. But that isn't what happened. Instead, the girls came to him, one by one, very casually, almost accidentally, to rub against his magnificent erection. Their rubbing, and his hand, soon had him excitingly near climax.

The game went on, just as before, with even more giggling, though. And now the girls seemed to be taking turns coming up close to Roger, rubbing against him while going after the ball, then slipping back into the group. What Roger wanted to do most, of course, was to grab one of the girls---a pretty one, of course, hold her close, rub against her until he filled the lake waters with millions of swimming sperm. So, as the girls approached him, he managed to return the rubbing, touching them between the legs, brushing his hands against their tits. They must have known exactly what he was doing, but they made no indication whatever.

None, that is, until the redhead girl approached him. She rubbed her thigh against his cock, as all the other girls had done, then, to his surprise and delight, she wrapped her fingers around his organ and began to jerk him off. Just as he was ready to spend, the ball unfortunately bounced near the girl. She released his cock and grabbed the ball, to throw it on. Then, she moved away. Her place was quickly taken by another girl, a brunette, who grabbed his cock and started to jerk it off quite vigorously, a distinct leer on her young face.

Roger held himself back by sheer force of will. They were taking turns with him now and he wanted to wait for a particular girl---the blonde, who he'd played with when he was imagining himself invisible.

In a few minutes, it was her turn. By now, his cock was twitching and jerking like crazy. The blonde did something none of the other girls had done. She backed up to him, pushing her ass against his cock, almost capturing it in the crack between her ass cheeks. Then, she reached a hand around behind her and started squeezing and massaging his prick.

That did it for Roger Dutton. He could restrain himself no longer. He humped violently against the young girl, finally reaching around in front of her and pressing hard against her suit, where he thought her clit was. She responded by speeding up her massage against his organ. Suddenly, he shot off. Gob after gob of his semen floated out into the lake water. The girl shivered her ass against him, driving him to a series of quivering jerks. Then, as quickly as it began, the game was over. One of the girls threw the ball on the beach and the others ran after it.

Roger, still quivering with the last sensations of passion, could not follow immediately. And, by the time he'd zipped up and started out of the water, the beach ball---and all the girls-----was far, far away.

He trudged over to where he'd planted the umbrella, folded it up, flopped the towel over his shoulder and walked toward the bathhouse. It was, after all, rather late in the afternoon. The sun was starting to sink in the sky. Besides, he was well satisfied. And, finally, he was cooled off. The girls were out. of sight.

All in all, it had been a very, very good day.