Chapter 2
The kid walking beside the road was scared and angry at the same time. He was scared because he had just run away from home, angry because he hadn't wanted to. He was a virgin which made him angrier and more scared.
His name was Chester Simms. He was seventeen years and 364 days old.
He had been walking along this road for over two hours, waiting patiently for a car to pick him up. In the three days since he had left home, he had traveled over three hundred miles by hitchhiking, and he now felt confident that if he had enough patience, he could eventually travel completely around the world in other people's cars. This is a common delusion with new lucky hitchhikers.
The past two hours, however, had been discouraging. The fact that he had gone that long without a lift did not really change his thoughts about the ease of parasitic travel, but there was no denying that he had hit a snag in his plans.
His plans were not too well formed, when you came right down to it; in fact, he had no real plan at all. Just a goal-; one that was quite clear in his mind.
He had decided that when the first day of his eighteenth year dawned, he would no longer be a virgin.
Being a very inexperienced young man, he had no idea of how to bring this about. He couldn't even imagine a place where it might happen. His romantic imagination, stirred by his anger and general fright, conjured up images of wild seductions in the backs of cars, or in haylofts, or hotel rooms, or behind convenient bushes. Occasionally, he would envision a beautiful lady in a sleek car stopping and picking him up, although thus far he had traveled with nothing but men. But somewhere along this road, he was sure, there was a car speeding toward him and a rendezvous with his virginity.
He had a clear mental picture of how it would begin. The beautiful lady would stop just beyond him, thereby showing that she didn't pick up just anyone without thinking it over for a few yards. She would stop beyond him, then back up a bit so he would get the idea. She would put her head out the car window; her hair would be soft and fragrant in the golden afternoon sunlight.
She would ask, in a voice as sweet as honey, if he wanted a lift, and he would step forward and accept. And he would gaze at her boldly, as if being picked up by beautiful ladies was something he had enjoyed many times before. And she would see experienced, mature desire in his eyes and would be stirred by it.
Then they could drive for a while and talk, just to break the ice. Chester would speak of the world and himself and the complicated relationship between the two. And she would listen and be impressed. Then she would talk about herself for a while.
The picture grew hazy here. Try as he might, Chester couldn't imagine the background of a beautiful lady in a fast car who would pick up a teen-ager with the idea of going to bed with him. But no matter; there were all kinds of people in the world. She would be along eventually.
So they would talk and share each other's thoughts. And gradually, a warmth that wasn't entirely passion would grow between them That was im-, portant; be had always felt that two people should share a certain affection for each other beyond the mere desire to go to bed.
So the affection would grow, and desire would grow with it. And finally, conversation would die, and the beautiful lady and Chester would look at each other; their gazes frank, the true purpose of their meeting in the open at last.
She would chose a spot-say, the back of the car, or a hayloft, or a hotel, or behind a convenient bush. They would go there, just the two of them, and....
It was at this point that the whole thing collapsed.
It wasn't that Chester didn't know the ins and outs of the act itself-it was just that he could never succeed in imagining himself doing it. The prospect of actually sleeping with a woman was appealing, but fantastic.
Chester had enjoyed women in a limited way during his life, but had never come anywhere near the culmination of such a relationship. Well, that wasn't quite right-he had come damn near a few times. But he had always backed off at the last possible moment.
He wondered again why that was. He remembered kicking himself several times on mornings after, and thinking that when opportunity knocked you should bang it back. But something always restrained him. Even in the fantastic moments when he and some young girl were wrapped up in each other, their hands frantic, their bodies pressed close, there was always the small cautious voice in the back of his head which told him when it was time to quit.
He had thought for a while that this was a flaw of some sort in his character. After all, the other guys he knew would never let an opportunity like that go by without at least taking a try at it.
But after a while, he decided that he was actually a very noble individual, and not the sort to go around taking young ladies just for something to do. He decided that that should be a sacred thing-something to be reserved for the marriage bed and not something to be enjoyed as casually as a beer on a Saturday night. He had felt rather proud of this attitude, but never proud enough to tell anyone.
As a result of this thinking he came to the conclusion that girls who allowed boys to take them were tramps and not worthy of his consideration. This was an easy attitude to adopt because he didn't know any girls who went that far with their boy friends. A lot of the fellow in his gang spent Saturday night that way, but always out of town somewhere. They never seemed to get involved with local girls. At least, that was what they said Chester didn't care anyway. He had his principles. He also had a girl.
Her name was Rosanna and she was one year younger than Chester to the day You would never know this to look at her-her face and body were so completely matured that she seemed to be a full-grown woman.
Rosanna was a beautiful girl. Her body was lovely, with wide hips and long tapering legs. There were small shadows beneath the bones of her ankles which Chester loved to look at. Her arms were round and pretty, and her hands were slender and cool. Her throat was smooth. Her eyes were black. Her hair was brown with reddish highlights.
Then there were her breasts. She had two of them.
They were full, ripe, rich, heavy, soft and warm; they were firm, too, and stood out from her with little or no help. They were the nicest things Chester had ever held in his hands.
He could remember vividly the night when he had first held those breasts. It had been one month ago. He and Rosanna had driven to a drive-in movie in his father's car.
He could even remember the picture, although he had seen very little of it. It was called A Noise of Sameness; a long, dull, noisy adventure about the Bengal Lancers, produced by Schwerner Brothers and starting Sebastian Coons and Barrie Lock. That was the kind of mind Chester had. His memory for minor details was terrific.
He and Rosanna had watched the picture for about fifteen minutes before he put his arm around her. It had taken about ten minutes more for the tips of his fingers to venture down to the top of her breast.
Things had speeded up a bit when Rosanna took a deep breath-a breath which lifted most of her breast into his palm for one glorious moment.
After he had recovered from that, he allowed his fingers to slip slowly under the cloth of the low-cut peasant blouse that she wore. He had gone just far enough to discover that she wasn't wearing a bra when she suddenly sat up straight and took his arm from over her shoulder.
Chester had prepared himself for a rebuke, so he was taken completely off guard by what she did. She turned to face him, reached her hands up to the top of her blouse and pulled it down to her waist.
"Don't feel them," she said. "Kiss them."
Chester remembered staring stupidly at her breasts for a few seconds before his mind began working again. It was the first time he had ever seen breasts, although he had felt them before. They looked, he thought, even better than they felt.
He found out that they tasted even better than they looked.
Chester kissed Rosanna's breasts for quite a while, switching from one to the other at regular intervals, and putting his hand over the one he was not kissing at the moment. Rosanna lay back against the seat and ran her long fingers through his hair.
Since these were his first, it took Chester several minutes to realize the right things to do with them. But he caught on fast. Soon, Rosanna was breathing quite rapidly, rolling her head back and forth on the top of the car seat. Her hands in his hair grew nails suddenly, and became more frantic.
Chester could feel her excitement growing, and he began to get scared. He felt his principles slipping, and the little voice in the back of his head was screaming danger at him. But he couldn't stop.
She pulled his head away from her suddenly and bent to kiss him on the lips. It was a long, fiery kiss-a kiss which made him realize for the first time just what kissing was for. It had never occurred to him to open his mouth when he kissed a girl, and he would never have thought to put his tongue into that mouth. Now it was happening, and it wasn't disgusting at all. The inside of Rosanna's mouth tasted sweet; her tongue against his was soft and warm.
She put her hands on him then, sending a shock through his body. The voice in his head was shrieking with rage, but he ignored it as Rosanna's fingers did things to him.
He let the fingers of one hand wander up beneath Rosanna's skirt, and when she made no objection, slid his entire palm up her leg. The flesh was warm in his hand; she squeezed together, imprisoning his fingers for a moment.
There was a little ruffle of lace around the legs of her panties.
Chester and Rosanna went about as far as you can go in the front seat of a car in a drive-in movie. They tried everything. Once in a while, Chester would become dimly aware of gunfire and Arab war cries from the Bengal Lancer movie; then Rosanna would do something new and the picture would be forgotten again.
They went so far at last, that it happened. To both of them.
The Bengal Lancers fired a twenty-one gun salute.
He took her home the long way, driving slowly with one hand, wanting to feel her beside him for as long as possible. She rested her head on his shoulder, her hands in his lap.
The little voice in his mind was still mad, but grudgily admitted that his principles were still intact. Chester and Rosanna had indulged in some heavy petting, but they had not made love, so that made everything all right.
They went out together many times in the weeks that followed. Sometimes they went to the drive-in; sometimes they just parked in a dark spot.
They would kiss and caress and explore each other and play around for hours and hours and hours.
But Chester never took Rosanna. That was against his principles.
One night, right in the middle of the game, Chester felt Rosanna's warm lips against his ear. She was whispering to him, and it took a while for him to get the sense of what she was saying.
He realized all at once that she was asking him to take her.
Chester had been very shocked. He had tried to explain to Rosanna that such a thing would be wrong-that it was against his principles.
Rosanna had listened, then looked at him in amazement. Gradually, the amazement was replaced by anger. Finally, the anger was replaced by disgust.
She asked him coldly to take her home.
When Chester thought about it the next day, he decided that Rosanna was not such a nice girl after all. It was not like a nice girl to get mad just because her boy friend would not. Not that mad, anyway.
So Chester decided that Rosanna was a tramp and crossed her off his list.
He was completely unprepared, therefore, when his father came into his room the next evening and belted him in the mouth.
Rosanna, it seemed, had told Chester's parents that she and Chester had made love the night before. She wanted Chester to marry her.
It had been quite a scene.
Chester had watched and waited for a lull in the confusion, and when it came, he did the only thing a gentleman could do in such a situation.
He scrammed.
He had been on the lam for three days now, and in those three days he had done a lot of thinking. Here he was, a young man with a strict set of principles; a young man who had never strayed from what he believed to be right-and what had it gotten him? The shaft.
He decided that it was pointless trying to be a good boy. Nobody cared, when you came right down to it. Everybody, in fact, was perfectly willing to believe the worst about you on the strength of a mere accusation.
So Chester had made up his mind. The virginity had to go. There were no two ways about it.
He dragged his mind back to the present and scanned the road. There were no cars visible in either direction.
He put his suitcase down and sat on it. His feet were sore and burning; he eased off his shoes with a sigh.
His watch said six P.M. He realized suddenly how hungry he was, and looked up the road, searching for some sign of life. There was nothing. Just blank walls of trees extending as far as the eye could see.
Chester began to worry about the coming night. What if he couldn't get a lift? What if he couldn't walk far enough to find a diner or a restaurant? He would have to sleep in the woods all night, and on an empty stomach. The prospect was depressing.
Well, he decided, there was still light enough to walk by, and he had better take advantage of it while he could.
He slipped his shoes back on and picked up his suitcase. He had only walked a few steps, however, when he heard the unmistakable buzz of a car approaching from behind.
He put the suitcase down and tried to locate the car. There it was; a white convertible with the top up. It was a new car, very expensive-looking, and it was coming very fast.
He doubted if anyone driving that fast would pick him up, but it would do no harm to try. He took the standard pose and stuck out his thumb.
The car roared past him, then slowed. The screech of the brakes set his teeth on edge.
The car stopped completely for a moment; then, it backed up a few yards.
A beautiful lady with blonde hair stuck her head out the window.
"Want a lift?" she asked.