Chapter 6
Chester sat well over in the seat, about as close to the door of the car as he could get without actually being outside. Being outside the car was something he would have liked very much at this particular moment, but it was rather impractical, owing to the fact that the big, white convertible was traveling over seventy miles an hour.
It had happened, he realized with awe. The beautiful lady had come along, just as he had imagined she would. She had come zooming down the highway in her expensive car and had stopped and backed up and looked out at him and asked him if he wanted a lift And she had smiled. She surely had.
Chester thought the lady's smile was one of the most dazzling he had ever seen. Her teeth were pure white and as lovely as pearl, and her red, moist lips framed them perfectly.
But it wasn't only her smile that was beautiful. Nosiree. This lady was beautiful all over, from the glowing, golden crown of her hair to the delicate, dainty tips of her feet. She was full and rich, with skin like evaporated milk, and flesh as soft and yielding as a baby's behind. There was a difference between skin and flesh, as far as Chester was concerned. Skin was the covering, the top layer, the flexible outer shell; flesh was the inner fullness, the interior structure that made the skin fall into this or that hollow, mound, fullness, or curve. Chester had known girls in school with beautiful skin, but lousy flesh. Like that girl that sat in front of him in Biology II-the girl with the twenty-three-inch view. She had beautiful skin, almost as beautiful as the lady. But she had no flesh to speak of.
Then there was the other girl, the one who sat beside Chester in Music Appreciation. She had the biggest frontage he had ever encountered, and she knew it. She made every effort to assure that every boy in the school, including Chester, encountered them sooner or later. That was flesh. That was really flesh. But that girl had bad skin. She had skin like a relief map of the moon, full of pits and craters and mountain ranges. So the flesh was hardly worth considering, if you had to put up with skin like that to get at it.
Skin and flesh. Some have one or the other. Some have neither. Few have both. The lady was one of the few.
Her whole body was so perfectly constructed that Chester could barely stand to look at it. Watching the interplay of curves and dips as she wheeled the speeding car around a turn, watching the subtle workings of the' calves and legs through the thin material of her dress as she pushed the accelerator closer and closer to the floor, seeing her twin beauties pointing out over the dashboard toward the road-it was maddening. Chester had to literally sit on his hands to keep from reaching out and grabbing just one quick handful of that rich flesh, skin, woman. Chester was going quietly out of his mind.
Not all of his discomfort could be laid to the woman's beauty, however. Chester had other problems besides keeping his hands where they belonged. Chester had a bigger problem than he had ever faced before.
It had happened.
He was in a car with a beautiful lady, speeding down the highway through the deepening afternoon toward the end of innocence, the beginning of adulthood, the first landing on the moon. At least, that was what the script said.
But the script also said that it was Chester's move now; that is was up to him to strike up the overture, turn down the houselights and crank up the curtain. That, said the script quite positively, was his job.
Which was fine, except for one thing--Chester had forgotten his lines.
When the car had stopped and the lady had looked out the window and offered him a ride, Chester had been supposed to accept in an adult, debonair manner. That was the first line in his part. He was supposed to go up to the car, and say something mature.
It sounded simple enough on paper.
So, when the car stopped and the lady handed Mm his cue, Chester had stepped forward and opened his mouth. And nothing had come out. Chester had just stood there with his mouth hanging open, letting the balmy breezes tickle his tonsils, and not one single sound had come out. It had been quite a picture.
The lady had not seemed to notice Chester's flub. She played the scene like a pro, covering for his discomfort with bits of business. Like opening the car door; like saying, "Climb in," in a sweet, clear voice; like brushing her legs against him as he scrambled into the seat beside her. Yes, the lady had done fine, and the audience probably had no idea at all that anything was wrong.
But Chester knew. This big production was going to fall flat on its face unless he could think of his next speech.
He glanced sidelong at the lady's profile. She was holding her head high, looking at the road with mild interest. A small smile was at the corner of her lips.
She hadn't spoken a word since Chester had gotten into the car.
Now, take it easy, he told himself. Don't get flustered. She's not going to bite-at least, not just yet. Start talking, and let it develop. You know that this is the one you've been waiting for, and you also know how the scene is going to turn out in the end. There's no doubt about that. It follows the script too closely to work out any other way.
So there's nothing to get nervous about. Just play it the way it's written and wait for developments. Open your mouth and say something debonair. Come on.
"Pardon me, lady," he said, in a finely wrought imitation of Henry Aldrich.
She turned her golden head and looked at him. Her eyes were dark and mysterious. "Yes?" she asked.
"Do you-" He swallowed and tried again. "Do you always drive so fast?"
The lady laid her head well back and laughed. "Fast? Why, this isn't fast at all. I don't call seventy miles an hour fast. Now, this is fast!"
She jammed the accelerator flush with the floor board and the car leaped ahead with a roar. Chester felt himself being pressed back into the seat, like a man on his way into orbit. The trees on either side of the road blended into one continuous blur of green.
Chester felt himself becoming sick. He closed his eyes, expecting the impact of collision, or the sickening lurch of a flat, at any moment. This particular bit of business hadn't been in his copy of the script.
It lasted a long time-to damned long, as far as Chester was concerned. Finally, he decided that he had had enough.
"All right, lady," he yelled over the roar of the motor. "You've made your point. This is fast. You don't have to kill us both to get that idea across."
The lady let up on the pedal and the car slowed to a more reasonable speed. She turned and looked at Chester, and he noticed with surprise that her expression was somewhat hurt.
"I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't mean to do that. I guess I just wanted to show off. It was a foolish thing to do. Will you forgive me?"
Chester stared at her, unable to believe his ears. She had asked his forgiveness. Nobody had ever asked him for that before. It was a heady feeling, a feeling of power. More than that, he now had the upper hand. She was off guard. Now was his chance to put the scene back into its proper perspective. Now was his chance to do the mature bit.
"I suppose we all get the urge to show off now and then," said Chester, in what he hoped was a wry tone. "It's part of being a human being to want to show off now and again, even in such a small thing as this."
Well, now. That wasn't half baa.
The lady was looking at him steadily. The little smile was creeping back to the corners of her mouth. "You make it sound so right," she said.
Chester wondered what that was supposed to mean, but his cogitations were interrupted by the realization that the lady was looking at him. Looking steadily at him. And not at the road.
Steady, Chester. Say it cool. "Don't you think it would be a good idea if you looked at the road now and then?"
The lady snapped her head back with a start. The road lay empty, and straight as an arrow, before them. "I-I'm sorry," she said. "I don't know what's come over me. I'm usually a much more careful driver than this. You must think I'm a very foolish woman after the exhibition I've been putting on." Her eyelids drooped demurely.
Hey, thought Chester. This is working out just fine.
"Nonsense. It's difficult to concentrate on driving for long periods of time. There are so many other nice things to think about."
Was that too broad? Or. too narrow? And had that leer that he tried to put in the tone really come off? He watched and waited for a reaction.
The lady smiled a full-fledged smile, her first. "Such as?" she asked sweetly.
"Oh." said Chester. "Well..." He faded, Damn it, now the play was squarely in his lap. How far could he go at this stage of the proceedings? Was she ready for an out-and-out proposal, or was more verbal fencing required before the main event? "Well?" she said.
"Well," he said, "like ... what a beautiful day it is, and all." Phooey. That line should have come out in rehearsal. "And how lovely the sky is in the afternoon, and the way the trees blow in the west wind." Come on, Chester. That's not debonair. That's like fey.
The lady didn't seem to notice anything amiss. She listened carefully, and nodded when Chester had finished. "Yes,-I agree. It's a pity that we can't stop somewhere and drink in the beauties of this afternoon."
Whoops. There it goes again. Your ball, Chester.
"Well," he said, around a wad of cotton which had somehow become lodged in his throat "why not?"
The lady didn't move. The lady didn't say anything. The lady kept her eyes fixed on the road.
Now, thought Chester, I have torn it. Now I have torn it for real. It was too soon; I didn't give it a chance to develop properly, and now I've killed the whole thing. Damn it all, after having a chance like this dumped in my lap, I have to go screw it up-screw it up beyond repair.
He felt a sort of anger at himself for blowing the bit, but at the same time he was a bit relieved. After all, losing one's virginity wasn't something you did every day. In fact, it was pretty important step. And despite the fact that Chester had that very thing in mind, the approach of the moment of truth was beginning to frighten him more than a little. So, maybe it was best this way after all. Perhaps there would be another beautiful lady along sometime. If he did this often enough, he might get the knack sooner or later.
The lady turned the wheel suddenly and swung the car off the road onto the shoulder. The car bumped and lurched across the rough earth and squealed to a halt beneath a large tree.
Chester sat frozen to his seat as the lady put on the hand-brake and switched off the ignition. She turned and looked at him. "Well," she said, "here we are."
The wad of cotton in Chester's throat had turned to rock. Nothing, but nothing, could get past it. He sat, completely dumb and stared at her.
The lady settled back in her seat and stretched her magnificent body luxuriously. "Ah," , she said. "It's good to stop for a while. Too much driving can make you stiff."
"Grg," Chester said.
"Mmm?" the lady said, turning to face him, and drawing one leg up on the seat. Chester watched her dress hike up her leg with fascination, and horror.
"Yes, it's nice," he said, staring at her creamy flesh.
"You like it?"
"Oh, yes." Which did she mean? The leg or the afternoon?
The lady aimed one dimpled knee at Chester's hip and moved across the seat until contact was made.
"Listen to the birds," she said. "Don't they sound happy?"
"Sure," said Chester. Birds? What birds?
"Think of it. All those birds up there in their airy little homes, nesting together-making love. Listen to the sound of that. Doesn't it get you?" She prodded his hip slightly.
"Yes-yes, indeed. They sound very happy." They should have troubles like I have, he thought.
"You know...." the lady said, slowly. "I think I would like you to kiss me."
"Really?" said Chester, aghast.
"Why, of course. A man of your experience should know that there is nothing a lady likes better on a nice afternoon like this than to be kissed. It makes everything so-so dear."
Well, he had no idea what that was supposed to mean, but he couldn't possibly misunderstand her request. She wanted to be kissed. She said so.
So kiss her.
Chester leaned forward and put his lips to hers. He kept his mouth closed, afraid to use his tongue, afraid that the lady would think him too bold.
The lady grabbed him around the back of the head and pulled his face tight up against hers. Chester felt her tongue brush his lips. He opened his mouth slightly and her warm tongue forced its way between his teeth and deep into his mouth.
Chester felt little creatures with ice-bags on their feet begin to scale his spine. The lady's tongue squirmed wildly in his mouth, he tried to meet it with his own tongue, but kept missing. The soft wetness was all over the inside of his mouth; the roof, behind the teeth, under the tongue, everywhere.
This, he thought, was a kiss?
The lady took one of his hands and put it on one of her breasts. Right hand. Right breast. Right.
They were even nicer than Rosanna's-firmer, and at the same time, more yielding. Breasts, at least good breasts, can only be described in contradictory terms like that.
Chester's hand went into its breast act, like an old trooper. He remembered what Rosanna had liked, and the rest was automatic. Apparently, the lady liked the same things.
Chester cupped the breast and rotated it slowly, his fingers squeezing the fullness, his palm pressed flat against the nipple. He felt the nipple growing firm against his hand.
The lady's breath was warm in his mouth; her tongue was frantic. He slipped his free hand around in back of her blouse and searched for the buttons.
There was one. Got it. There was another. And another. Got 'em. Now. one more. There. Now, pull the hem of the blouse out of the skirt, like so Right. Now, feel around for the snaps of the brassiere. There they were. Snap, snap. And snap.
Now, take the hand off the breast, and never mind that you don't want to, because if you're strong now, for just a second or two, there's all sorts of goodies awaiting you on the other side of this clothing. Keep calm; do it slowly. Get your fingers around the edges of the blouse and be sure you've got a grip on the ends of those brassiere straps and draw the whole shebang forward, over her shoulders, over her arms, down to her lap; pull the arms out of the sleeves, like she wants you to do, and she does because she's helping you a little, going all limp and slack so you can get the blouse off more easily; pull the arms free and let the blouse and the bra fall in her lap.
There, now.
Chester detached his mouth from the lady's and attached it instead to one of her boobs. The lady's whole body stiffened as his mouth touched the pink roughness and he kissed it. She moved her hands on his back.
Chester remembered some more of the things that Rosanna liked, and tried them. They worked fine. He was rapidly coming to the conclusion, with that part of his mind that was still thinking coherently, that all women were very much alike. They enjoyed the same things, in the same way, and apparently to the same degree. That was encouraging. If every woman's responses were as predictable as this, Chester would have no trouble being the world's most debonair, nature, successful, and busy busy busy love artist.
Vistas were opening.
The lady's hands, not to be outdone by Chester's, were also doing things. He noticed, from a distance, that the buckle of his belt was hanging alongside one of his legs. He could feel it swinging against his pocket and clinking against the change.
Chester's rational mind began to shut down, bit by bit, until he stopped thinking altogether. There was nothing in the world but the beautiful lady, and her beautiful flesh, and her beautiful hands.
He slid back on the seat gradually as the lady bore the weight of her body against him. He felt the coldness of the plastic seat-cover against him.
Where did my pants go, he wondered.
Now, the lady was sprawled against him, completely, utterly. He could feel her resiliant flesh touching his hips; he could feel the weight of her breasts against his chest.
A star-shell went up into the dome of his skull and burst into red, white, and blue flowers. Inside the flowers, there were glowing words. Congratulations, Chester. Hooray for Chester. We knew you could do it, boy. Bravo. Chester; today you are a man.
Now something absolutely great was happening. Chester could find no words to describe it. It came and went in pulses, like waves crashing on a beach, like a pendulum slicing a chocolate cake, like a steam locomotive chugging up the slope of the Big Rock Candy Mountain going full tilt. It was utterly fantastic.
Chester went limp as a rag doll, and waited for the finale.
And then, she stopped.
It was a long moment before Chester realized what had happened. He couldn't believe it. It was impossible. But there it was.
The tide went out, the pendulum stopped dead, the engine slid slowly down the slope and into the darkness of the valley below. In a few seconds, it was almost as if it had never happened at all.
Chester opened his eyes and found that the lady was staring at him with an intense expression. There was something buried deep in that gaze that sent a little chill through him.
Then the expression flickered out, and the lady's face arranged itself into a look of frustration. "No-this is no good," she said.
"No good?" Chester could barely speak.
"It's wrong. The mood is all wrong. Here, on a patch of dirt, in a car-it's just not right."
"But," he said.
"No." The lady moved away from him, and slid back under the wheel. She started to arrange her clothing. .
"But-we can't stop now. Please. We just can't!"
She looked at him sidelong, her face completely expressionless, her eyes opaque. Her voice, when she answered, was strained. "Not here. Not in a car. It must be in a bed. It won't seem so-so dirty in a bed."
All at once, Chester became aware of the condition of his clothing. He glanced down and winced. He pulled up his pants hastily, trying to turn away from the lady, wanting privacy, wanting to conceal himself from her.
His brain began ticking over again, like an automobile on a cold morning. Gradually, his thoughts began to thaw out and make some sense.
What happened? What did I do wrong? Why did she stop, why did she stop then, then of all times of all the times to stop? What's going on?
He felt a numb sickness in the pit of his stomach. It had all seemed so beautiful, so wonderful, so great and grand; and now, everything was ruined. The whole thing was spoiled, thoroughly.
His dreams had come true; in every detail: the beautiful lady had picked him up and responded to his advances and taken him to a dark, shaded spot and allowed him to touch her and undress her and make love to her and everything had been so fine and the virginity that bound Chester to his past had been peeling away, layer by layer.
And now, the key had turned in the chastity-belt once again, and Chester was the same, ordinary scared kid he had been before it started.
With one exception. Now, Chester wanted nothing better than to get out of the car and forget the beautiful lady forever; to forget all beautiful ladies; to forget everything. The whole idea was repulsive to him. Something had happened, deep inside him, and he wished he could be out of this place and away somewhere, somewhere alone.
He buttoned up his shirt and stuffed it into the top of his pants. He glanced at the lady.
"I'll be seeing you," be said. "Thanks for the lift" He put his hand on the door latch.
The lady's eyes got wide all of a sudden; a look of fright crossed her face. "Wait! Where are you going?"
Chester returned her gaze tiredly. "I'm going back out on the road and see if I can't thumb a ride from some nice, hairy track-driver. At least that way I'll know where I stand." He pulled down the handle and opened the door.
"But-but don't you want to make love to me any more?"
Chester stopped halfway out of the car, and looked back. "What?" he said.
"Don't you want me?" she asked. "Don't you want what I can give you?" Her voice held a note of desperation that was unsettling.
"Look, lady-" Chester began.
She cut him off. "I don't want it to be here. It's too cheap. I want it to be in a bed. Just the two of us, in a bed."
"Lady-"
"Come," she said, taking hold of his arm and pulling him back into the car. "We'll drive somewhere-somewhere where it can be done right. Please." Her fingers were tight on his arm.
Chester let her pull him into the seat beside her. She reached across him, and slammed the door. Without a word, she turned the key in the lock and gunned the car out onto the black-top.
A half-mile later they both saw the sign up ahead.
It said: Happy Inn Motel.