Chapter 9
There was no hesitance, no fumbling, groping or mawkish word. She trembled in his arms, she raised her head, timidly yet proudly offering her lips.
His pulse hammering in his temples like a timpani choir, he made a ritual of bringing his own mouth to hers, he touched that fevered flesh tenderly and reverently. Then, by increasing grams of pressure, he pressed his lips harder and harder. Until a thunderbolt of passion cleaved him from head to toe. And he kissed her viciously, brutally, driving his mouth to hers.
He was trembling uncontrollably.
And Patti was shaking like she'd suddenly been chilled to the marrow of her bones.
Still the kiss went on. The whistling was back in Ken's ears, it seemed he was falling into a black pit. Damn, he raged inwardly. This can't be happening! Things like this just don't happen! They don't!
Yet he sensed dizzy triumph. This was happening. There was no doubt about that. God, was this happening!
Now he was broken by the sweet joy as Patti pulled her head away and dropped into the sheltering cover of his ams, her cheek against the hard bulwark of his chest. "I couldn't breathe, Mr. Baylor," she said apologetically.
"Sorry, sorry. I forgot, lost control of things for a minute I guess."
"It's all right. I didn't mind. I wanted that. You're all I've been able to think about for days. I've been walking around in some kind of a trance. My Mom really thinks I've flipped now, that I'm really spooky."
She stopped talking, looked up at him earnestly, her eyes moist, growing opalescent in the gloom. "Is this wrong? Is this so terribly wrong? For me to want you to kiss me? For a school kid to want to kiss her teacher?"
"Wrong?" he smiled. "Who can say what's wrong? This's happened to us, Patti. And what are we going to do? Can we turn this off like water from a faucet?" He held her closer, dipped his head, slid his lips in her tangled curls. "I've been going crazy remembering. I've been waiting every night since, hoping...."
"I wanted to come, really I did. But I didn't have the nerve. I was afraid ... this ... would happen again. Then I was afraid you wouldn't...." She laughed nervously. "Oh, I'm really mixed up, let me tell you."
"That's all right, Patti. You're here, we're together that's all that matters."
It seemed to Ken Baylor that he was floating in, supported upon, a gauzy cloud of cotton an insulating wall that shut him off from reality, that imperiously denied the existence of a world outside themselves. He was with Patti, she was with him! They were kissing and embracing. Beyond that, what else mattered? What else at all?
As if to reassure himself, Ken took Patti's chin and lifted it. Tenderly, as if afraid to sunder the bittersweet mood, he kissed her again, working his lips softly against hers, flattening them, easing away the self-conscious stiffness. Until they became lush, compliant. Until they were answering his avidly.
It seemed an hour passed while they involved themselves in that sweet, searching kiss.
While within Baylor, and Patti Conte also presumably, a savage demon of desire went sorting through his entrails, tangling and knotting and pincering them. The sensation was maddening, approaching the realm of actual pain.
Ken sighed deeply, actually forced Patti's body away from his. "Here," he husked, "let's take off that coat." Returning to mundane matters, he took off the white rain coat, threw it over a chair. Patti was dressed in a plain beige jersey dress, a demure, teenage thing, buttoned and pleated down the front, a copper belt around her small, elegant waist. She wore no stockings; her feet were shoved into dark brown flats, relatively new, the toes in a squared off point.
Ken now saw how flushed her face was, the disheveled state of her dark hair. In one corner of her mouth a smear of lipstick betrayed the passion so recently shared, as did her enchanting breasts, rising and falling so rapidly.
"Don't," she protested. "Don't look at me like that. I'm all messed up. I wanted to be pretty for you...."
"You are pretty for me," he breathed. "Here, sit down. No, right here." He indicated the row of library chairs along the back wall. "We've got so many things to get straightened out."
"Yes," she whispered. "I guess we have."
Still, despite his resolve, he couldn't keep his hands off Patti. AH he knew was that he wanted her close, he wanted to touch her every second they had together. To this effect he drew their chairs together, put his arm around her and pulled her head down to his shoulder.
She sighed quakingly, trembled, then relaxed, seemingly content to surrender herself to his will. "What happened to us?" she said in a small, wondering voice. "I can't understand this at all. I've tried and tried, but nothing helps. One minute we were talking, you were listening to me rattle on about my mood foolishness. And the next...."
"I don't know," Ken replied. "All I know is that you were wonderful. That I haven't been able to think about anything else since. We're crazy, T know. We should break this off immediately, this can only lead to bad trouble. But I don't want to. I want this to go on, I'm willing to take almost any risk to go on."
Her hand shook in his and she turned, looked soulfully at him "Oh, Mr. Baylor ... I. . . "
"Not Mr. Baylor. Not when we're together ... like this. Ken. Please, Patti."
"Ken. That sounds so strange. It's going to take some getting used to."
"Try. Only don't call me Mr. Baylor."
"Yes ... Ken."
He kissed her then, holding her tiny face with both hands rocking and cradling her as his lips touched and pressed and teased. Until Patti was shaking like a leaf.
"This is crazy, crazy," she quavered. "I just don't understand..."
"Maybe you just needed someone. Someone who could hear you out, who could...."
"Who could what?"
"I don't know." He laughed briefly. "I just don't know what I'm trying to say. Words just don't seem adequate somehow."
"No, Mr. Bay ... Ken. They don't."
"Your parents. Have they changed their attitude any, since ... Have you even mentioned college to them?"
"No. That's like talking to a stone wall. I've given up trying. They only make me see red. Then I say things I shouldn't, and Dad slaps my face and..."
The conversation drifted off. Seemingly nothing they said caught fire that afternoon. Several times Ken tried to lead Pattie to talk about her mystic feelings about nature and music. Once he got her started on her love of Dylan Thomas's poetry and prose, especially his "Child's Christmas in Wales," but that fizzled out also.
Other more powerful forces were at large within each of them. Forces which had nothing whatsoever to do with puny conversation.
". . . I spent five dollars of my baby-sitting money," Patti was saying, "and bought the record of Dylan Thomas reading his story along with some of his poems on the other side. It's magnificent; he has such a booming, hypnotic voice. Sometimes, in class, when you're reading something to us, you remind me of him."
"Thank you, Patti. What a nice compliment."
"Of course my parents thought I was nuts. 'Pay five bucks for a record with only some guy talking on it, no music...'" Patti mimicked. "Talk about slobs."
"You shouldn't judge them so harshly, Patti," Ken defended. "After all, they haven't had all the advantages you have. They can't help it if...." But his plea was no good; his heart wasn't really in it. Precious time was speeding by. And soon Patti would have to leave, he'd have to hurry home to his insensitive, busy-busy wife. And disastrous as he knew the next segment would be, he nevertheless desired her with a hectic frenzy.
The mystic wonder of the moment was strong within him again. He seemed disjointed from time and circumstance. He didn't want this moment to end, he didn't want to talk to Patti about such petty things as her parents, her school problems. There was only one thing he wanted to talk about.
And when he considered that he was appalled, dragged almost to the gates of reality and reason. This was an incredible thing he was speculating! For a grown, supposedly mature man to lust after one of his students, to actually formulate a stratagem whereby he'd seduce and physically possess that innocent body...
I'm mad, he charged, absolutely mad.
Yet this was a virulent, rampaging madness, mounting, becoming more unbearable every moment he held Patti in his arms, fueled to blast-furnace intensity with each new kiss.
Until finally all talk died. And they were clinging to each other with shaking, restless arms as if both infected by the same unhinging contagion. There was no doubt about what was in their minds. They must have this release; this seemed the only solution to their problems.
The room seemed darker now; the light filtering in from the hallway was watery and gray. A dash of rain against the banks of outer windows served to rouse Ken from his indecisive mood. He sucked in his breath audibly.
"Ken...." she said, the name sounding alien even to him, "what is it? Why don't you say something?"
He gathered the soft, flexible body into his arms, buried his lips in the deep of her throat. "Oh, Patti," he gritted, his voice phlegmy. "I can't talk. If I do I'll say things I shouldn't. I'll rave like a madman."
Again that same worldly-wise mantle seemed to fall over Patti. It was as if she actually sensed what he wanted to tell her, was determined to coax the declaration from him. "What kind of things, Ken? Tell me. I won't be offended. I want to share . . .whatever . .
He kissed her hungrily, his mouth pecking at hers, moving to her nose, her eyes, her ears. The carnal impatience became even stronger; the elemental, chaotic wildness grew in him. The wildness that could only be expressed in one way. "Patti, Patti," he groaned.
"Please," she begged softly. "Tell me. What do you want to say?"
His lips closed on hers, nourished there while his hand, the fever finally becoming overpowering, slid on her legs, then rose to her breast. His fingers formed velvet tongs, gathered and clustered around the nipple of her left breast. A long, low sigh escaped Patti; the rosette immediately became rigid beneath her clothing.
"Tell me," she demanded, her body stiffening, her tone all but deranged.
"I want you, angel," he choked. "I'm wrong, I'll admit, but I can't help that. I want you so terribly. Do
.now what that means? That's a polite way of saying...."
Her voice was shadowy. "Yes, Ken. I know what that means. I'm not an absolute kid. I've read lots of books. I know what you want...."
"Patti...."
Her hand closed, flattened his hand, fashioned a cup for her bosom. "I want you, too. I'm scared to death, but I do." Her voice snagged. "I do, I do."
His stomach tumbled like wet clothing in a dryer. "Patti ... are you saying.... ? "
She disengaged herself from his hands and stood before him, staring out the windows. She swayed slightly, was silent momentarily. Then, her words resigned, cold: "Where, Ken? Here? On those chairs? On the floor? Just tell me."
Ken was transfixed, he sat as if turned to stone. Then, regaining his senses, he jumped up to embrace the child in a jarring bear hug. "My darling," he rasped. "My darling..."
She smiled a sad, wise smile. "Where, Ken? I can't stay too much longer...."
That would be blasphemy, to consummate this love here in this barren classroom. On something as uninviting as a row of chairs. Then he remembered. The place wasn't adequate by any means, but was better than ... this.
"Would you mind terribly ... Patti ... if we went to the nurse's room? There are beds there."
Patti's face was expressionless as she faced him. "No, not at all, Ken. Anything you say. That'll be fine."
Then she melted into his arms, trembled in huge, wracking shudders, hung heavily on him as he led her from the room. Their footsteps echoed hauntingly in the empty, tiled corridor.
They set out down the hall, neither of them saying a word, toward the nurse's room.
The room was open as a matter of mandatory school policy in case of emergency. It was a clean, antiseptic cubicle, modern as far as any room in the school might be considered modern, separated into two sections an anteroom with two cots on each wall, another cot inside the nurse's office proper. It was here that Ken, wanting to have two closed doors between them and the world, took Patti.
They were horribly awkward and self-conscious at first, some of their ardor having burnt out during their purposeful passage down the corridor. Ken and Patti perched on the edge of the crisp, white-sheeted bed, their arms about each other, kissing wildly, trying to revive passion. Beyond this was the fact that Patti's terror had by now ganged up on her and she was twitching uncontrollably.
This reaction mixture of fear-and desire-gave Ken pause, filled him with deadening guilt. I shouldn't, I shouldn't, he railed at himself.
But immediately came answering refrain: I must, I must. I can't turn back now. I want her too badly. I'll die if I don't have her.
And then, as if deliberately setting out to bury conscience, he was pushing her back, he was lifting her feet, placing her on the bed, simultaneously removing her shoes, dropping them to the floor.
Until she was full length, her arms loose at her sides, her face turned away, staring at the wall. Still reluctant and frightened as she might have been-her goose-fleshed arms and legs, the way her bosom heaved, her deep quick breathing, too loud in the silent room, served to betray her innate need.
There was no turning back for either of them.
He went to her, lay beside her, his lips seeking hers, drilling and pressuring her frenziedly, his hands sliding on her. Until they reached the promontory of her breast, roiled without stop.
Patti came alive to his touch. Her kiss was grinding and impatient, her breath hissed from her nose, a small whimper formed in her throat.
A magnificent guilt-annihilating storm was building within both of them.
Yet he felt uncertain. So much time had passed since he'd initiated Diane into the glories of love that he wasn't quite sure just how to proceed with an innocent like Patti. He wanted the experience to be a supreme delight to her; he didn't want to hurt or frighten her. Especially he didn't want to disgust her.
He compared her to Tessa Vareese, found no basis for comparison whatsoever. Tessa had gone fifty-fifty with him. Maybe even sixty-forty. With Patti this was all his show. He had to mastermind things from inception to finish. And yet, he chafed, he didn't want to fool with finesse. He wanted Patti so badly. He wanted to hurry, hurry to get this first one out of the way.
There was time enough for wooing and delicacy later.
His mind rebelled. Later? How was he sure there'd be a later? Maybe this would be the one and only.
So he forced himself to hold back, he forced himself to be gentle, to lead Patti from plateau to plateau of sensation. All leading to the apex of sensation. Her first time...
Briefly he was angered at his impatience. Jerk, he challenged, who was so hot on training these immature girls, who was going to teach them what love and love-making should really be? Who wanted Patti assigned to him?
And now, you're just crazy enough to ruin the whole bit. Relax, make this last. And last.
But Patti brought him back to the immediacy of their situation. Practical female to the end. "My dress, Ken. Let me take that off so that it won't get all wrinkled up. My mother will wonder..."
"Let me," he said. "I'll help. Here now, you just lie still. There. Relax, now..."
His voice was soothing, and Patti sighed as she fell back, allowing him to undo the buttons down the front of her dress. Then the belt. Now she adjusted easily, sat up, let him pull the dress over her head. In a reflexive show of modesty she stopped him when he started to raise her slip. Then, realizing she was committed, that this had to be, she dropped her hands and let him work the white nylon garment off. She lay still, one arm over her eyes, as the slip came away as she was revealed in just her brassiere and panties, a matching white ensemble, with a dark blue stitched "Friday" embossed on each garment.
For long moments Ken sat staring at her, seeing the spray of goose bumps on her flesh, seeing the darkened nibs of her nipples through the sheer nylon. Then finally he drew away from her felt embarrassment as he disrobed completely before her, knowing full well that she was watching him through slitted eyes.
He felt a surge of pity hit him as her muffled words tumbled out. "Is that..." she referred to the effect she'd had on him, ". . . the way this is?"
"Yes, baby," he said gravely, fighting back a smile.
"Come over here, Ken. By me."
She protested when he tried to undo her brassiere. "Ken, couldn't we ... just leave that? I mean ... my pants ... they have to ... But my bra ... I..."
He was gentle, but firm. "This'll be better with the bra off. With both of us ... naked. Please, baby. Relax. I won't hurt you."
Docilely she yielded, let him turn her so he could get at the snaps. Then the filmy band was being slid down her arms, the erect, crinkled, brown nipples were exposed to the dim light. Ken sat over her, staring at them, watching the way her breasts heaved in growing excitement. Seconds later her hands drifted up to cover them. But Ken, dissatisfied, pried the hands away. A sharp, seething sigh broke from her as he bent, ministered to her breasts with his lips. Her body lurched and twisted on the sheets.
His lips went crazy on her as he resisted her attempts to replace her hands. And in a moment, a long, whining sigh filling the air, she went limp, quit fighting. Learning fast, she let herself enjoy his gentle attentions.
She made a last show of modesty as he began rolling the panties down, but that was only token resistance. Then his hands were streaking down her legs, following the nylon garment to twist that off her feet.
And now, all need for shyness gone, she was driving her naked body at his, her arms were around him, her hands were sliding feverishly on his back. Small puffs of breath broke from her throat. "Ken, Ken..." she cried.
She permitted him to labor at her breasts a little longer, her body becoming a frenzied, tortured thing, her low cries of delight a nonstop chant. He kissed and compressed the nipples with his lips, he let his hands hold and mold her breasts to better advantage, let his jingers twirl her nipples, hold them captive for his lips. Until the poor innocent was beside herself with supercharged emotions the like of which she'd never known before.
She was lovely, Ken had to admit, more lovely than he'd dared dream. Her breasts, taut and firm, vibrant in their fresh youthfulness, were a vision of beauty. Her waist trim and smooth, with just a trace of baby fat above her hips, was charming, her legs were perfection, working a peculiar magic upon him.
"Ooo, oooh," Patti moaned in long drawn out sighs, "I never thought you would be like this. I never knew there were feelings like this. Oh, Ken, I'm so afraid. And yet not afraid. I don't know what to think."
"There's nothing to be afraid of. I'll be good to you, I won't hurt you. I swear..."
"You promise. I've heard the girls talking. They say this hurts awful the first time."
A fireball welled inside Ken at Patti's admission of her virginity. This child, this woman, wants to give me. . . she's willing to suffer this pain for me ... It made the miracle of this love all the greater, humbling him. He felt like shouting his triumph from all the rooftops in the city. Patti, you angel.. .
"Ken..." she started.
"Yes, what?"
"You'll have to ... soon. I don't think I can stand this any more. I feel all crazy. like I want to bite and scratch and break things. Besides, we haven't much more time."
Still Ken couldn't hurry. Attending her breasts anew, his hands continuing to slide all over her; he couldn't get enough of that pristine, mint-fresh loveliness.
"Please, Ken," she whimpered. "I feel so funny."
Her hands came around his waist. "Go ahead, Ken. Please, oh, please..."
A further strange quirk was exhibited as he complied with her request.
"Hurt me, Ken. Oh, hurt me. I want you to hurt, hurt something awful. So I can remember always...."
This was a waving flag to a raging bull. He was beyond control now, all sensitivities routed. His lust was magnified a thousand fold as he saw Patti bite her lips, as he saw the way her face squeezed up in agony, as he heard her muffled squeals of pain.
"Oooh!" she groaned. Her arms tightened and she cried out again. Only now pleasure and delight dominated her tones, agony was sent packing.
Ken was dazzled at the variety of his sensations. Humbleness, pride, exultation. And a hearty helping of awe as well as out-and-out ecstasy. He was almost in pain. And yet ... such exquisite pain. A pain he wanted to last forever.
Patti said no more. But her soft, thick sighs, the whimpers that broke from her, were indication enough of the heights of rapture she was experiencing.
Then Patti's body froze, her head lolled on the pillow, her mouth gaped. She exhaled a long, rasping cry.
"I love you, Ken," she said, all the sincerity of her young heart behind the words. "I do, I really do."
And puzzled, not knowing actually what he felt, Ken forced himself to repeat her declaration. "I love you, Patti. Love you, love you..."
While he continued,, the savage, sweet pain ballooning and pressuring, backing up until .he felt he would choke from the glorious ecstasy. Strangely enough he wanted to use the terminology Tessa had taught him.
But he did not dare. Not with this baby.
"Ken?" she wondered at his continuing activity. "What?"
"I'm almost there," he muttered, a field of glare-silver forming behind his eyelids.
"Oh," was all she said. And in her innocence, her passion achieved, sated now, she went limp, did not know enough to help him.
And then...
He was there.
The whistling again. Turning to the thunder of a thousand kettle drums, the shimmering vibrato of as many violins intermixed, climbing over, conquering the booming cacophony.
Ken groaned, went still.
"Darling," she realized then, "I should have ... I shouldn't have let you do that alone. I didn't know."
"It's all right, angel, perfectly all right. Any "better and I'd be dead."
She kissed him. "Next time you'll have to tell me. I want to be good for you. I love you so much."
Ken wanted desperately to talk, to make plans for that elusive next time. But Patti was frightened. It was almost seven o'clock. She was going to have some tall explaining to do as it was. And so was Ken Baylor.
Lingeringly they began to dress. Lastly they put the room back in exactly the same order they'd found it.
The rain had stopped. As they furtively came out of the building, Ken offered to give her a lift. Patti refused. "I'll walk. It'll fit in with my story about getting into one of my moods, walking in the rain."
Then she was running away from him, disappearing into the gloom.
Ken actually stopped at Barney's Bar on the way home, swiftly downing two martinis to reinforce his alibi for being so tardy.
He feigned a thick tongue. "I'm sorry, Diane. Dave and I stopped, lost track of the time. You know how it is sometimes. It's 'Thank God It's Friday' day. You can understand that, can't you?"
"You could've at least called."
"I tell you we lost track of the time. Got to playing some pool and stuff. And before you know it it was seven o'clock. Drop it, will you? You act like I do it every night."
"You're doing it a lot more than you used to."
Despite the swift creeping intoxication infecting him, Ken Baylor couldn't help but notice the probing, dark suspicion in his wife's eyes. If he hadn't known better he'd have sworn she was wise to something.
"How about something to eat?" he bluffed, deliberately staggering as he went to the bathroom to wash.