Chapter 1
Stripped to the waist, his young broad and bony shoulders moist with a slick of sweat running down over the pale tan of his skin, Jimmy Kean leaned lovingly over the brightly polished metalwork of his HarleyDavidson motorcycle. His.
That was the part that was hard to believe, the part he had to keep convincing himself of as he went over and over the already gleaming chromium gas tank cap with a piece of jeweler's cloth.
His own bike.
A Harley. A full-fl-edged motorcycle, a road-monster with all the zip and terrible power its two huge pistons could give it; the almost new paint a bright white and gold, the saddle covered with new sheepskin, the gleaming chrome wheels, spokes and hubs, with hardly a mark of rust in them-it was just about too much to absorb in one day. He rubbed harder, his long sinewy fingers feeling the warmth of the metal through the cloth as he worked, wanting to know the feel of all its parts, experiencing the pride of ownership.
Too much. A dreamy look came over his soft gray eyes as he worked in the shade of the woodshed in his back yard, going over in his mind all of the possibilities now opened up to him by the simple fact of owning a cycle-the best damn cycle in town!
His own wheels.
There wasn't a thing, a spoke or sprocket or metal part on it that didn't shine enough to knock anyone's eyes out already, but he kept on rubbing anyway, rub bing and thinking and dreaming in the shade of the shed in the late afternoon, a hot late June afternoon in a small sunny suburban town in north California. He thought about all the things he had done to get it-lying about his age so he could work on construction last summer for a whole month before they found out about his age and fired him; working the summer before that picking prunes and during the school term often working as many as three part-time jobs at once. A lot of sweat had gone into his acquiring this machine.
To some people this might seem fairly stupid. What is a motorcycle but two wheels held together by a frame and propelled by a couple of rackety pistons? Just a hunk of metal and rubber; an expensive high-powered way to kill yourself and generally a damned nuisance to anyone who had to hear it.
Of course.
On the other hand, if you happen to be seventeen years old and you've been dreaming about owning one for the last three years and, furthermore, hustling your rear off to achieve that goal, a motorcycle can be a whole lot more.
It can be everything.
The world on wheels. A friend and a lover and a pride and a joy. A symbol of achievement. A girl who can give you the best time in the world. A mark of status, of arriving-having "made it."
Everything.
Jimmy Kean was seventeen years old, tall for his age, broad shouldered and rangy of build, with cool gray eyes set in a thin handsome face and a shock of dirty blond hair that often as not hung down over his forehead, untamed by a comb. He had slim hard muscles all over his wiry body, some of which, had come from his interest in working out with weights in the cellar of his parents' white frame house, when he had nothing better to do.
He had graduated from high school, barely making it, just two days before acquiring the Harley. His old man had given him a hundred bucks as a graduation present, and that had clinched the deal as far as Jimmy was concerned. Above both of his parents' objections he had gone ahead and bought the machine, and now he had it and that was all there was to it. The way Jimmy figured, he was a man now and he could do whatever he took a mind to doing.
A young man with wheels.
The Harley had cost nearly two thou. It was only a year and a half old and he knew the man who had owned it had taken good care of it, which was why he hadn't tried to knock down the price too much. One look at the Harley and it had been a case of love at first sight. His only fear had been that the guy might sell it before he had a chance to get up the rest of the dough. But he had talked long and hard and the guy had waited an extra month, and the hundred bucks had clinched it.
Now the Harley was his.
All of it.
God.
Excited by his thoughts and dreams, he dropped the polishing cloth at last and swung a long, slim, Levi clad leg over the saddle. His palms sweated as his fingers slid around the handle grips. A dry feeling clutched at his throat as he put the gears in neutral, braced his right leg against the ground and with the leather sole of his left boot slammed down on the starter.
The machine exploded to life under him. He turned the grip, revving the engine down to a low steady deep-throated throb. The sound was loud, but to him it sounded like the purring of a kitten when its stomach is stroked.
Music to his ears.
Cool, he thought. Perfectly tuned, both cylinders firing clean and in exact time. He could almost feel the wind rushing past him out on the open highway. It was like sitting atop a thousand pounds of dynamite, going off in a steady controlled way. The urge to ride out and away was like a pain in his middle. Where the hell couldn't he go with this rig? Across country, if he wanted to. The east coast: he had never been there....
But then the sound of another engine, the familiar one of Jerry Wise's hot-rod roadster coming down the street and spinning gravel into his driveway, came to his ears. He sat there, poised and cool, a tight grin pulling at the corners of his thin lips, as the red car with its brightly chromed exposed Merc engine, slid into view around the house.
Jerry scrunched his red bomb to a halt and leaned his dark head out the window, letting off a long low whistle as he took in Jimmy on the cycle.
"What is it man-an Indian?"
Jimmy shook his head, grinning wider. "Hell no! Can't you tell a boss Harley when you see one, stupid?"
Jerry got out, slamming the door after him. He walked up to and circled around his friend, his eyes full of awe.
"Like its bee-yootiful, man! When? Where? And how much? Can I cop a ride?"
Jimmy answered his friend's last question first. "Nobody hops this girl but me, Jer. Sorry. But you can get in back of me if you want. I just tuned her and cleaned the plugs. Want to spin off for a short run?"
"Yeah, man-let's see what the golden cat can do!"
"Later-I'm not doing anything freakish yet. Just a test run down Joplin."
"Cool," Jerry said, hopping on the big fleece saddle in back of Jimmy. "Let 'er rip!"
Jimmy revved up the engine till the sound bounced off the house next door like rocks clattering against a wall. Then he kicked the machine into gear, and with Jerry gripping tight, they rolled across the lawn and out the driveway. Jerry letting out a big whoop as they turned into Joplin Avenue.
Myra Lesser had been watching everything from her upstairs bedroom window.
She had been watching Jimmy, working on his motorcycle all afternoon, trying to get up the courage to go down and ask him to take her for a ride. This might have been no great problem except for one little fact: Myra Lesser was in love with Jimmy Kean. Or, if you wanted to put it another way, she had a big thing going for the blond boy next door.
Simple enough. Still, it was all horribly complicated for her. Tremendously complicated.
It should all have been very simple, really. She was the girl next door; she had been the girl next door for a year, since the first day they had moved in. Being the Girl Next Door was supposed to be the simplest thing in the world. You had all the opportunity in the world, being the Girl Next Door. You could sit on the porch in very short shorts and let your legs dangle over the rail; you could wear very tight knit blouses to show off your breasts; you could walk around in your own back yard and smile over the fence and say hello while the smile said something else.
If you were good looking you could do all these things. Myra was very good looking, and she had done all these things. She had even tried undressing in her room at night with the shade pulled up and the light behind her.
And all for nothing. Jimmy, for all she knew, wasn't even aware that she existed. Lots of boys were very much aware that she existed, but not Jimmy. He just never seemed to be around, and when he was, he was always doing something.
Now he had that beautiful motorcycle. It was hell, having to be jealous o a motorcycle, but she was jealous. Jimmy went out with girls, but unlike the other boys his age he had never gone steady with any of them. Not as far as Myra knew, and Myra had made it her business for the past year to know all about Jimmy Kean. He was two years ahead of her in school, one of the "older boys," and though she had done everything she could think of to attract his attention there-going out for cheerleaders when he was on the team, inviting him to a girl's sorority party, arranging to be in places around school where she knew he would appear-he had never given her a second look.
All of which was highly frustrating to a fifteen-year-old girl who knew damn well that she was pretty. Lots of boys had told her that already, when they took her out on dates and went parking afterward and got their hands under her blouse in the initial stages of the kind of heavy petting she was accustomed to. They had told her she was pretty, beautiful, lovely, nice, neat, cool, a swinging chick-all the compliments you could expect to receive if you were fourteen and going on fifteen and damn good looking.
Now she was fifteen and even better looking only how in God's name could she prove that to a boy who never even asked her out? Tremendously complicated.
Complicated because his treatment made her angry, and the angrier she got the more she knew she was in love with him and would do just about anything to get him.
Anything at all. That, too!
Yes. If a girl had to resort to that to get noticed by the right person, she had to, and that was all there was to that.
God knows, she had imagined that enough times. She had almost done that a number of times too, if the truth be told; even lost her bra and panties in the back of a car with a big stupid jerk who didn't know that a girl meant No when she said No.
But that was all she had lost. Losing more had been the intense subject of her thoughts for the last intense year of her life, and several times she had lost, in her imagination-with Jimmy. But always they were married and on their honeymoon and he would be kissing her tenderly, soft sweet music in the background as they lay on a grassy riverbank or in a boat bottom in the middle of a moonlit lake. And she would imagine him doing that and he would be good, sweet and tender and not hurting her at all or if he hurt her just a little she wouldn't complain, because she had him, body and soul, and then they would live together in a nice little house and he would go to work everyday while she cleaned and cooked and waited for him, and then they would have a baby....
"Oh hell!" she groaned, stepping back from the window where she had been poking her nose between the curtains while Jimmy worked in the yard below, his bare tanned upper body exciting all kinds of delicious thoughts in her, just watching him. And then, when she had finally screwed up the courage to get dressed and go down and talk to him, that other boy, Jerry had come wheeling in and spoiled the whole thing.
"What the heck's wrong with me?" she said aloud to the empty room, stepping in front of the full length mirror on the back of her bedroom door. "Am I ugly or somethin'? Do I have pimples? Buck teeth like Ellen Stewart or flat breasts like Janie or skinny legs like Sue Walker or...."
But the mirror answered No to each of these questions.
At fifteen, Myra Lesser was doing more than all right in each and every department you could think of.
Take breasts, for instance. Why not take breasts for instance? Myra had nice breasts, round and hard and pointed at the tips so that under a sweater they looked like a couple of Indian teepees-which may be a very odd place to find a couple of Indian teepees, come to think of it.
But you get the idea. Myra had nice breasts. Fine breasts, superb breasts, as good breasts as any sixteen or seventeen year old girl could hope to have. And she was only fifteen.
Take legs. Myra had two, which made her fairly normal, but each of them was much nicer to look at than normal legs, nice as normal legs can be to look at. She had the best legs on the high school cheerleading squad. If you've ever stared much at the legs of a high school cheerleading squad, your imagination can fill in the blanks. Myra had damn nice legs. Both of them.
Take waist. Myra's was small, without an ounce of waisted flesh, and her fullish hips and remarkable chest development served to accentuate that fact. She had a small waist.
Take buttocks. Some of the cheers Myra did required bending over and facing the audience backward, so to speak-but when Myra did them, she was simply putting her best foot forward. The younger, weaker, virginal boys sitting in the stands at such times could be seen nervously cracking their knuckles. Yes, Myra had a lovely little rear on her.
You would have enjoyed being the chair she sat on.
But let's not forget face, either. Something has to be said about face sooner or later, just to sort of complete the picture, so we'll say something about face. Lips, for instance. Myra's were cute as could be, two rosy round rosebuds which, since she had a habit of looking astonished when she wasn't, formed the nicest little O. She also had a pert, slightly turned-up nose, hazely big eyes, creamy skin with just a light spattering of Girl-Next-Door freckles, and, of course, red hair.
Naturally.
Nice bright red or orange red or carrot red hair. Her hair was closer to what would be called a chestnut red. Darkish, shiny, but definitely red.
Definitely.
Myra found herself toying with her definitely red hair now. She stood in front of her mirror, just sort of thinking about Jimmy Kean and his beautiful gold and white motorcycle....
School was over and she had the summer ahead of her, a summer with nothing to do, a dull dreary boring summer of helping her mother with housework and oth er dull, dreary things, things she had to help her with because her father was dead and her mother had to work most of the time.
But this summer would be different. This summer would be shared, by hook or by crook, with Jimmy. All her thoughts and emotions would be needed for him. because she was going to make him feel toward her a little bit like the way she felt for him. Jimmy's cycle was beautiful, a gas, and she intended to be the girl who got to ride around on the back of that cycle.
She would open his eyes if it was the last thing she did.
Starting today. This afternoon, even-when he came back from his ride.
She moved from the mirror, her limbs animated with determination, and went to her dresser to get the new summer outfit she had brought from a downtown department store a day ago. She got it out and began to get into it, forgetting about underclothes.
She wouldn't need them, if things worked out right. A bra and panties would just get in the way.
In front of the mirror again, she looked at herself in a pair of the wildest shorts she had been able to find. They were navy blue, tight fitting and slit up the sides in little inverted vees, baring most of her legs there, and in back the hem failed to do the job of completely covering the soft undercurve of her softly rounded rear.
The blouse had no sleeves. It was an orange and white print with a low neckline made by tying the tails together, which left a good deal to see upstairs and down.
She thought of herself riding on the back of a motorcycle in that, her arms clinging tighter around Jimmy Kean's strong waist than was necessary-and her thoughts seemed to take on a sudden reality as she heard the sound of a motorcycle in the street below. Breathlessly, she grabbed for her lipstick.
"It's too cool, man," Jerry said, getting off and slapping the seat with his hand. "Going to get yourself a jacket and cap?"
"I don't know," Jimmy said, kicking out the stand and propping the bike with it. "I don't think I want to run with a pack or nothing like that."
Jerry nodded. "They're hard guys. You'd have to carry a blade. I hear they have real kicks, though."
"Well, I just don't want to get my bike busted up, is all."
"I'm hip, baby. What do you want to do tonight? Got a date?"
"No."
"What about that chick next door-what's her name?"
Jimmy looked toward the gray shingle house next door.
"Myra? She's too young for me. I like 'em older."
"Well you know what they say-train 'em while they're young. See you later, man. I got to go before the old man swears out a warrant. What a drag!"
"Later."
"Later."
Jerry got back in his car and whipped out of the driveway and down the street. Jimmy grabbed his motorcycle and wheeled it into the woodshed. Out on Joplin, he had heard a nose he wanted to check out before the folks came home from a visit to his uncle across town.
He was inside, bending over the machine with a spanner in his hand when he heard his name called softly behind him.
"Jimmy!"
He turned his head. "I'm in here! Who is it?"
The light in the shed was not very bright, but when she stepped into view she was fully illuminated by the bright sun behind her. He blinked his eyes, not recognizing her for several seconds. When he did, he said: "Oh, it's you. What's up?"
She stepped inside and stood close to him, leaning down when she spoke.
"Jimmy, I saw your new motorcycle from my windown. Oh, it's simply beautiful! I mean, gorgeous, you know?"
"Yeah," he said with some annoyance. "Well, I got to work on it a little. I think the carburetor might be clogged."
"Will you take me for a ride on it when you're finished?"
Jimmy looked around with annoyance and then at her. Her trim white legs were very near his face. It was funny how he had never noticed them before-her legs. God, with the shorts she had on he was sure as hell noticing them now.
Some legs, he thought.
"Jimmy? Please?"
He began clanking the spanner rhythmically against the cement floor, frowning, "I don't know, Myra-I'm supposed to go meet the guys later. Maybe some day, thought."
This time she was annoyed. She stamped her foot loudly on the floor. "The guys! Why don't you try looking at me for a change?"
It amused him to have got her goat so easy. He decided to see how far he could push her. His eyes went over her, taking in some things he had never noticed before.
"Maybe you don't show me much," he said. "Oh, I could show you a whole lot if I thought you'd look," she said, her cheeks reddening prettily. "Yeah? Like what?"
Her voice changed a little, became coy as she wriggled her hips and turned around completely.
"Don't you like what you see now?"
He managed to scowl and grin at the same time. This was getting to be fun. She was neat all right, even if she was just a kid, but there was no need telling her so.
"Maybe," he said. He fingered a cigarette from a crumpled pack in his dungaree pocket, and stuck it in his lips. Again, he looked at her sharply. "Yeah, you don't look too bad-what I can see of you, that is."
"You might see more if you tried being nice to me."
He reached out a greasy hand and caught her around one trim white ankle.
"You really want to go for a cycle ride, baby?"
"Yes."
"Okay," he laughed, "Do something for me first!" He was only kidding. But when he saw her face the smile left his.
Her face was dead serious.
And her hand was untying the knot that held her flimsy blouse together.
"I'm going to Jimmy," she said. "I'm going to do something for you, right now."
His hand slid up the back of her leg, feeling the swell of the calf.
"I was just kidding, Myra," he said a little nervously, wondering what had gotten into her all of a sudden. He never remembered her acting like this in front of him before.
Maybe it was the bike, he thought. They really went for a neat looking bike.
She continued to undo her blouse. When she had the ends separated, she held them in her hands, moving them apart just enough for him to see the rounded beginnings of her firm young breasts. They swelled like growing melons underneath the thin material, their stems about to poke through.
Jimmy began to hope they would. As if to help them, he rubbed his hand behind her knee, experiencing the sensation he always got just before starting something with a girl.
He was getting excited as hell, against his will. He had never paid any attention to Myra before because he had always thought of her as being too young; the girls he went out with were usually his age or older.
But she didn't seem too young now. As she pulled the ends of her blouse, each breast appeared, like a small moon glowing softly in the pale light inside the shed. His breath caught in his throat as he looked at them, and he knew that this was no longer just a little wising around. Suddenly it seemed very warm in the shed, airless.
Hotter than hell. He could feel little droplets of sweat begin to prickle the bare skin of his torso. Not a sound came from outside; his parents wouldn't be back for at least another hour....
Plenty of time....
Should he? He didn't want to get involved with her; the plans he had been dreaming up for the summer didn't include her or anyone else for that matter. But the flesh of her leg was cool under his hand, cool with an underlying warmth, and those breasts....
His hand gripped her leg harder and she sank slowly down to him, onto the rough cement floor. "Jimmy!"
He could see she was excited. Breathless, panting, warm for him. He had never had an offer right off like this before-not like this, completely with abandon, without the usual sweet-talk and extended foreplay. His throat felt constricted and there was an ache in his spine, a keen pulsing ache.
"Myra baby," he breathed, folding her to him and putting a hand around her ripe pear-like breast. The flesh was cool but the nipple felt like a hard knot under his moist palm. He squeezed and felt the hard thump of her heart underneath.
Her eyes, her flesh--everything about her said she wanted him, here in the woodshed.
He tipped her backward, against the floor amid some rags he had been using to clean the cycle with. She gasped and then the gasp turned into a sigh as he began to stroke her breasts and legs in earnest. She clutched him around the neck, craning her face up to his to be kissed.
He kissed. Her ripe red lips tasted like berries, sweet and succulent against his mouth, and then his tongue probed and she was even sweeter, warm and sweet.
At least she knew what this was all about, he thought to himself, growing more and more excited. She must have been spreading herself around all along living right next door to him and playing around and he had never noticed or guessed. So this wasn't as if he were taking something that didn't belong to him, something she didn't want to give.
He spread the blouse further apart and began kissing her breasts. Her low quick cries filled the shed.
"Ooohhh! Ohhh, oooh, ahhh, ah-ah-ah-ahha!"
Each time he touched her with his lips or hands a current of electricity seemed to go through her. This was the most excited he had ever gotten a girl, and a feeling of enormous power surged over him.
She was old enough....
His hand found the button and then the zipper at the side of her shorts. The sound was like a quiet snicker in the woodshed. She helped as he tugged the shorts down.
"Jimmy. Jimmy, hurry, hurry-please, Jimmy darling!"
She seemed to go crazy. Her nails dug into his bare back as he wrestled with his pants to get them undone and down while the rest of her flipped in a fierce fury, making things all the more difficult.
But at last he managed.
At last he was ready.
More than ready, he was eager. She had a soft sweet curvy body and for the first time he noticed that she was truly a beauty, all the way, and somehow this discovery gave him a new respect for her.
A highly physical kind of respect.
He knew what to do and began. But now he detected along with her obvious passion a tense nervousness, a quivering in her flesh and a painful fear in her hazely eyes, which went wide, her lips compressing as he pressed himself against her, trying to take her effortlessly, wanting to show his experience.
But he encountered difficulties almost immediately.
Real difficulties "Myra ... I can't seem to...."
"I'll help you," she screamed. "Please don't stop; God don't stop now; I've never done this before Jimmy but I want you now, now!"
His head drew back in amazement.
"You mean you're...."
"Yes!"
"I don't know..
"Please! I love you Jimmy and I want you to be the first ... please!"
But her urging was by then unnecessary. He became even more excited once the fact of her virginity was accepted, and, seizing her in a tight embrace, he took her.
She screamed.
Again.
Afraid, he put his hand over her mouth until she stopped and was relatively still.
Her moment of fear passed. This had just begun for him-the thrill of getting her, being there first, overcame him.
Quickly, in fast determined phases.
Again and again.
She seemed to be all right now. The fear left her eyes and her jaws unclenched; her first sobs turned into whimpers of pleasure and then sighs.
Again and again.
Her soft rounded flesh scraped against the floor as she moved for him. Faster and faster.
He felt so strong, so terribly strong and controlled, like he could go on forever without stopping, but the inevitable rhythm of the cement floor produced the inevitable results-her saw her strain toward him and they both seemed to rise upon a hazy cloud of expanding passion like balloons being inflated past the bursting point.
And then their twin passions burst and spent them selves. She screamed and he groaned and rolled away from her.
Finished.
Only the sound of their loud heavy breathing filled the still air of the shed now.
After a few minutes he dressed, feeling elated.
She got up slowly and painfully. There were tears in the corners of her eyes, but her face was flushed with pleasure and she looked at him with love.
"Jimmy," she said softly, "will you take me for a ride now?"