Chapter 2
His warm, wet hand pressed the especially sensitive stretch of thigh between her bare knee and the high hem of her dress, and Tracey Aronson felt happiness bubbling up inside her. She leaned her fair head lightly against her boyfriend's shoulder and hummed a few bars of "Blue Velvet", the last song that had been played at the Methodist Church Rock Revival Hop. Dancing, even with a lead-footed partner like Robbie Runions, was something she adored. Once the rhythm of the music started throbbing through her bloodstream, she forgot to feel shy and inhibited.
That crazy, wonderful feeling lingered even now, fifteen minutes later, as they cruised along the shore-side highway in Robbie's Dad's company car. Normally, she pushed his hand away from her leg. In Drivers' Ed they'd seen terrifying movies about what happened to people who didn't keep their hands on the wheel and their mind on the road; besides, the over-intimate touch made her stomach churn in a disturbing way. Tonight, though, she was enjoying the strange, tingling sensation too much to rebuke him.
"I sure had a fabulous time tonight!" she smiled at Robbie's freckled, snub-nosed profile, his thatch of sandy hair with its irrepressible cowlick. No one could have accused him of being handsome, but at the moment she felt very fond of him. "That Birch Bay Bebop Band wasn't half bad, was it?"
"Yeah, they were far out!" He turned toward her, gray-green eyes blinking beneath his bleached eyebrows because his contacts were bothering him again. "I dug the way they played all those slow numbers at the end. . . and I 'specially dug the way you dance. . . "
The sixteen year-old was grateful that darkness hid her automatic blush-darn that silly, childish habit, anyway! It had been great dancing close in the darkened church basement for the last twenty minutes of the Hop, but she'd never have admitted aloud just how much she relished the slow, sensual beat and the almost indecent physical contact. A guy could say things like that-everyone expected him to, in fact-but if a girl spoke in the same way people might start thinking she was a cheap slut.
"I specially liked the drummer, and the lead singer was good, too."
She pretended to ignore his intimation, the significant squeeze on her upper leg, though the touch sent quivering white-hot arrows shooting out to every nerve-ending in her ripe young body. As usual on a hot summer night, she wore no pantyhose-no brassiere, either; in fact, no underwear at all save a lightweight pair of bikini panties. Mom didn't approve of bras, and all in all it was easier to go along with her mother's views than argue. Besides, her firm adolescent breasts stood high and proud without any need of support.
Had Robbie realized she wasn't wearing a bra when they were dancing cheek-to-cheek, chest-to-breast?
"Wonder if the Bebop Band's going play at the Fourth of July Dance, too," she continued, her voice shrilling slightly. "Hope so!"
"What I hope is that I can make it home that weekend..."
Another more intense press on her tender-skinned thigh, and Tracey caught herself just in time before a small shuddering sigh escaped her throat. She'd forgotten-funny how often she didn't remember things Robbie told her-his news about having found a summer job at last, fairly well-paying work as a lifeguard at some YMCA camp downstate near Benton Harbor. Her first reaction had been an unfaithful flush of animation, for Benton Harbor was quite a long drive from here and perhaps if everyone wasn't thinking of her as "Robbie's girl" other boys might ask her out. Robbie was a sweet guy, and perfectly acceptable socially since he'd become captain of the swim team, but he definitely wasn't the cream of the crop at Birch Bay High. Not by any means! Mr. Runions had a respectable job as an insurance adjuster in the nearby small city of Harbor Springs, but there were six kids in the family and Robbie wore threadbare hand-me-down shirts and had to work after school at the A&P. And even with this part-time job, he couldn't afford to take her anyplace nice since he turned most of his earnings over to his mom.
"Yeah, Robbie, I sure hope you can make it the weekend of the Fourth, too..."
She meant it sincerely. Dancing with him this evening, feeling his well-developed swimmer's muscles rippling against her thinly-clad body and growing more and more aware of the hardness in the crotch of his jeans, had put her in an affectionate mood. Also, there was absolutely no assurance that anyone else would want to date her. Probably she'd end up spending every Friday and Saturday night moping around with her girl friend, Clara Pringle, or else sitting home helping Mom type those boring articles she wrote for FREE AND FEMALE. What a drag! And if she couldn't find a summer job, the days would be just as deadly as the empty evenings.
"I sure am going to miss you, Robbie," she added, head still cradled on his broad shoulder. "Too bad you didn't get that job life guarding at the Birch Bay Club right here, huh."
"Ha! Fat chance! When Hughie Hopkins' Pop practically owns the place.
"I know, but he only just passed his Red Cross test last month, and you..."
Her voice trailed off as she suddenly realized where they were. One minute the company Chevrolet had been spinning down well-lighted Ridge Roadway toward her home, and the next they were bouncing along a rutted lane winding downhill toward Lake Michigan. Her tongue flicked out, moistening her oddly parched lips, and she drew a deep breath to quell the swarm of butterflies which had started swishing around inside her tummy.
The trees were a fathomless fence around the Chevrolet now, their thick foliage eerily iridescent in the glow of a gilded gold, basket-ball-round moon, and ferns and other roadside bracken were brushing against the fenders of the fat-bellied car as they dove down into the darkness. Although Tracey had never navigated this derelict driveway before, she knew exactly where they were heading-a private beach belonging to the deserted "Villa la Reja." Ever since Old Lady Douse died a few years back and the "For Sale" and "Trespassers Will Be Violated" signs had grown rusted and unmenacing, she'd often descended the rickety wooden staircase to swim and sunbathe on its secluded sands.
But I've never been here at night, she thought, sensing her heartbeat accelerating so much that her naked-nippled breasts swelled to thrust against the floral fabric of her new cotton dress. And I've never been here with Robbie...
"How does a midnight swim sound?" He spoke without looking at her, for the road was pothole-ridden and limb-littered, and if he messed up his father's company car there'd be hell to pay; but his right hand still rubbed eloquently along her leg. "I'm not one bit sleepy yet, are you? And-and, well, this is our last chance to be alone together for ages. After I catch that 2:47 train tomorrow afternoon I don't know when I'll be able to make it back to Birch Bay. Whaddya say, honey?"
The high school sophomore hesitated, uncertain of what she wanted to say-or rather, of what she ought to say. A moonlit dip in the lake sounded marvelously romantic, but of course she hadn't brought her bathing suit along...
"Well, I-I don't know..."
"Oh, c'mon!" Robbie jerked the automobile to a halt instants before the gravel truck merged with white sand dunes. "The water's real nice now. I was skinny-dipping last week and it was warm as a bathtub. Honest Injun!" Skinny-dipping. . . ?
And she detested when he used corny, grade schoolish expressions like, "Honest Injun..."
"But I haven't got my suit with," she protested, imperceptively inching away from him.
On the one hand, she yearned to feel gentle waves washing over her inexplicably overheated loins; on the other she was fearful of her new, difficult to control erotic urges-urges which had been aroused by the dancing-and definitely uneasy about inviting temptation by stripping off her dress.
"I mean, it sounds great, b-but," she stammered awkwardly, "do you th-think we should. . . ? "
"So let's go, if it sounds great!" Robbie interrupted a trifle impatiently. "Who cares about bathing suits? We're all alone here on Old Lady Douse's beach-and your underwear's no different from a bikini, anyhow."
There was a vast difference. Her modified "string" bikini-an identical copy of the sort everyone who mattered was wearing this season-was pretty skimpy on top, but at least it was a token covering of her budding breasts. Yet wasn't Mom always saying that there was no reason on God's green earth why a Female should be ashamed of her nature-endowed tits? And wasn't it Robbie's last night in town?
"Okay! What the heck! Let's go!"
She flung open the passenger seat door in a spurt of wild exhilaration and sprinted away over the sun-warmed sands toward the seashore. Over her shoulder she called out, "Last one in's a rotten egg!" Then, shedding shift and sandals as she ran, she plunged into the surf.
Robbie had been correct-Lake Michigan was delightfully tepid even in the middle of the night. Tracey, who'd lived near the water for as long as she could recall, set off at a fast crawl for the quarter-mile-away rocks; but Robbie, star of Birch Bay's trophy-triumphant swim team, soon overtook her. They crawled up onto the moon-irradiated boulders, giggling and panting a bit from exuberant exertion, and it was thus a minute or two before the boy realized that his date's breasts were indecently exposed.
"Wow...!"
Her pert-tipped globes glowed like priceless ivory in the moonlight, and the sensuous swells accentuated against the dark tan of her slender shoulders and flat young belly nearly drove him out of his mind. He'd explored those tantalizing twin thrusts through the impediments of wool pullovers and cotton shirts, but so far he'd never dared to make a determined effort at undressing the girl he'd been dating every weekend these past months. And now here she lay-clad in absolutely nothing except a sopping-wet scrap of nylon lace through which he could clearly discern each and every strand of her golden-brown pussy hair!
"Wow...!" he gulped again. No other communication was conceivable at this miraculous moment. "Wow, Tracey...!"
All alone with an almost naked blonde ... isolated from everyone else in the world by a quarter-mile of inky-black water ... it was simply too good to be true. Was this really happening to him? He felt at least as dazed as if one of the rocks on which they reclined had dropped smack on the center of his skull; even more out of it than he had that time after the Bay City meet when he and the rest of the guys on the swim team had polished off a fifth of Bacardi with one of those economy-size cans of Hawaiian Punch.
Until about one year ago, when he finally shed his baby fat and the humiliating nickname of Porky, Robbie Runions dared not risk ridicule by inviting a girl for so much as a Coca-cola. Tracey knew she was the first girl he'd dated steadily, but she didn't realize she was also the first one he'd kissed. It didn't occur to her to wonder why he wasn't a dirty-minded, persistent predator like so many other guys; she was simply grateful that he was apparently satisfied with tender kisses, hand-holding, and a few discreet above-the-waist caresses.
At sixteen, Robbie had an almost-developed man's body; obviously he was not satisfied with his Ann Landers approved sexual life. The other guys were always boasting about their conquests, and even if half what they said was bullshit, they were having much more fun on Saturday nights than he was. But although he was often tempted to introduce a little more spice into their good-night embraces, he never quite dared because Tracey acted so uptight at tentative touches and off-color jokes. He was certain the cute teenager wasn't That Sort of Girl. . .
. . . or was she? After all, she was running around without a bra-the fact that he'd never noticed before proved how timid his advances had been-and hadn't needed much convincing to discard her dress. Robbie sighed and wished for the hundredth time that he knew more about the opposite sex. All women-even his schoolteachers, his plump mother and pubescent younger sisters, the housewives in the A&P-had a disconcerting way of changing their minds and manners for no apparent reason whatsoever. How on earth was a guy supposed to figure out what his girl really wanted?
An urgent thrust of his eager adolescent thickness against the clammy cloth of his jockey shorts weakened the youngster's inhibitions, and then an inspiration struck. It was all so simple that he couldn't imagine why it hadn't occurred to him long before: the way to find out what Tracey wanted was to test how far she'd go before getting really mad at him. Breath quickening, cock lurching again, he gaped greedily at the slender figure reclining on the rocks beside him and at the expression on her up-tilted face. She was staring dreamily at the star-spangled sky, and if her near-nakedness embarrassed her she was hiding the fact very well indeed.
There's absolutely no reason to feel embarrassed! Tracey was telling herself firmly as she squinted unseeingly at the clearly-defined constellations. Mom never wears a bra, and last Free and Female thing I typed for her was about making topless bathing legal in State and National Parks. Anyhow, Robbie never tries to get too fresh-I'm sure he would never do anything I didn't want him to do.
Tracey turned off her thoughts. Continuing this train of thought would mean admitting that, deep down inside, she was wanting him to do some things of which even her liberated mother would definitely not approve.
"Isn't it a beautiful night," she hastened to start a perfectly normal conversation. "Look, you can see all the Heavenly Bodies, just as clear as those slides Mr. Wallace showed in science class last term. There's the Milky Way, and Orion, and-oh, those bears, what're they called again? I forget."
"I dunno." Robbie leaned toward her, clutching at her smooth arm. "But I know one thing-I'm sitting right next to the only heavenly body I care about! Honest, Tracey, you're-you're beautiful!"
No one had ever said that to her before! It made her feel warm and happy inside, but she was too afraid of appearing vain to accept the compliment gracefully. Also, it was best to keep the tone light, under the delicate circumstances.
"Oh, Robbie! You must've lost your contacts again! Hope they're not at the bottom of the lake, like the time they fell out at the swim meet. Your dad'll really hit the roof this time!"
"No kidding, Tracey, I mean it. I always thought you were one of the cutest chicks in the class, but tonight you're beautiful! You could be one of those models in Playboy."
"Robbie Runions!" Tracey snatched her arm away from him and folded both arms over her exposed breasts. The very idea of posing in the nude before a camera, of millions of male eyes leering at her naked photograph, sent shivers slithering over her damp flesh. "What a thing to say! I'd never let my picture be in that stupid magazine-not for a hundred thousand dollars."
It was frustrating to have his compliments received as insults. "It's not a stupid magazine," he retorted sulkily. "Did you ever read it?"
"Of course!" It was a lie. Mom would have had a fit if she'd brought home an issue; every time she passed the magazine rack in Johnson's Drugstore, she loudly and disdainfully declared that male chauvinist trash like Playboy was every woman's enemy. "But that doesn't mean I'd want to be in it! No nice girl would."
"Hey, don't get mad." It was this uptight attitude of hers which always made him lose his nerve. "I didn't mean anything bad, honest."
"Who's mad?" What was the point in quarreling on their last night together? She reached out to brush an unruly tuft of damp hair from his freckled forehead, an uncommonly affectionate gesture for her. "Not me!"
The young athlete's hopes and potent penis rose in perfect synchronization, and he leaned nearer intending to give her a tender kiss as a prelude to what he intended to be their hottest yet making-out session. Suddenly, his hand encountered something smooth and metallic instead of porous boulder-two pop-top malt liquor. Exactly what was needed to loosen Tracey up!
"Hey, lookit what I found!" he exclaimed, immediately opening both tins. "Someone must've had a picnic here and forgotten 'em. What a piece of luck, huh!"
The girl accepted the proffered beer, more because she wanted to appear sophisticated then because she wanted it. Before she'd taken more than a token taste, however, she heard something that froze her hand in mid-air ... a sort of gasp, followed by a shrill but soft squealing noise, then more unnatural breathing....
"What's that?" she whispered.
"Huh?" Robbie was still maneuvering his way toward a kiss-he was going to try "Frenching," something the other fellows talked about a lot-and couldn't hear anything but the loud thud of his own heartbeat. "What's what?"
"That noise. It sounds like a hurt animal or something."
Tracey loved all animals, even things like lizards and snakes which disgusted her girl friends. It was one of the few things she had in common with her mother; so long as they confined their conversations to the family's two golden retrievers, three adopted stray cats, and parrot, they got along splendidly. Until she'd realized that she'd only avoided flunking geometry, biology, and general science because Mr. Wallace and Mr. Kotowich happened to like her, she'd dreamed of becoming a veterinarian.
"Awh, take it easy. I don't hear anything," Robbie swallowed half his malt liquor in two giant gulps, hoping it would build up his courage, and since he was unaccustomed to alcohol it made him dizzy at once. "Hey, Tracey, you look so cute tonight, I just-"
"Ssshhh!" She interrupted by placing a finger against his lips. "Let me listen. Don't you think it might be a sea gull with a broken wing, or maybe even a poor dog who fell off a boat? There it is again! I'm going to find out what's wrong!"
Before he could protest she was nimbly navigating the steep slope of the jagged rock mass, her snow-white buttocks jiggling provocatively above the tiny strip of her nylon bikini panties. He rose automatically, beer in hand, and followed like a dog on the trail of a bitch in heat. Jesus! If it wasn't one goddamn thing, it was another. Wounded sea gulls, for God's sake! Wasn't he ever going to get the chance to get to first base with the sexy blonde sophomore?
Suddenly he, too, perceived the faint noises.
"OOhhh ... aaaahhhhh..."
That was no sea gull ... it wasn't a dog either. It was a human being-a female human being.
Robbie's left wrist quivered precariously as he raised the can of Country Club Malt Liquor to drain its final drops, then flung in down into the lake. Then he took a deep breath and rather clumsily clambered up the cliff after his girl. When she suddenly froze, his impulses were so slow that he bumped into her ... nor was he sorry, for the pliant globes of her ripely rounded buttocks felt fantastic around his out-jutting penis.
"Oh, nooo!" the innocent Aronson girl gasped softly. "Oh, God!"
Robbie inclined his head over the smooth slope of her shoulder, prurient curiosity churning through his bloodstream even before he viewed the obscene evidence. When he actually saw the two lewdly entwined bodies mere yards below, he felt as though he were about to faint from excitement. It really was a girl-and a guy-and they were going at it like crazy. He recognized them: Otto Strang and Mimi Sweeney, two members of the "fast" crowd at Birch Bay High, to speak to.
Tracey was aware that her date had lurched against her, but she was too astounded to head the hard swell shoving at her unprotected ass-cheeks. Her brown eyes darkened to wide, cloudy pools and her full lower lip dropped open in disbelief as she gaped at the older couple, who's spread a blanket on a flat slab of stone and were writhing nakedly amidst a clutter of discarded clothing and empty beer cans. Oh, God! They weren't just making out-they were doing that unspeakable thing which made the boys snicker whenever Mr. Kotowich wrote "69" on the blackboard in math class. The "nice" girls pretended they didn't understand what was funny.
"Ohhhh!" she gasped under her breath. "Oh, Robbie, it's awful! We've got to get out of here right away!"
"SShh!" His arms eased around her from behind to press his hands just below her tantalizing twin mounds and he ground his aching groin harder against her taut buttocks as his fingers grazed the swelling pliancy of the undercurve of her naked breasts.
"They'll hear you! Anyhow, what's so awful? Seems to me like they're having a great time."
Suddenly she was aware how close their bodies were, how his arms encircled her bare body. It occurred to her that she should squirm out of the embrace, but they were half crouching at the top of the rocks and to move away would mean standing up in full view of the couple below. She'd just die if word got around that she'd been here watching-and of course everybody would assume she and Robbie had been doing nasty things, too.
"Robbie, this isn't a joke. We can't stay here-I mean, don't you see what they're doing?! ? "
"Sure I see!" His lust leant him enough bravado to cup the warm gloves of her breasts in his palms. "I'm taking a real good look, you bet I am. Who wants to leave?"
There was a guttural intensity in his voice that she'd never heard before, and when she twisted her neck around to stare into his face she was almost frightened. And he'd never grabbed her in this greedy, animal way before, either ... he'd been a gentleman and his caresses had always been tender, respectful ...
"Robbie, wh-what's wrong with you?" she hissed. "You're talking crazy. And d-don't touch me there! You know I don't like that."
"We can't leave now-they'll hear us. We're just lucky they didn't already. In fact, all they gotta do's look up and they can see us spying on them."
"B-but ... but-"
He paid absolutely no attention to her faint protests, and his hands remained firmly fastened on the supersensitive spheres of her breasts. Before she realized what was happening, he'd eased her over to where there was a smooth, moss-coated hollow and maneuvered them both to the ground.
"Now they can't see us 'cause of the rock wall," he breathed against her cheek. "But we can still see 'em fine! Look!"
Sure enough, a handy crack provided a camera's eye view of the salacious spectacle below. Tracey told herself that she definitely wasn't going to look at the dirty things they were doing even as she squinted down through the peephole, and her lithe young loins tensed as the moon reappeared from under a cloud and the blatantly bared bodies were revealed in high-noon clarity. Each and every erotic detail was visible, but for the moment all she noticed was the girl's thick thatch of darkly tangled pubic curls and the scarlet tongue which was lewdly lapping into the strands of dampened pussy hair.
"Oouuggghhh..." Her jagged expulsion of breath echoed over-loud in the starlit stillness. "How could any girl..."
Her horrified suspiration trailed off in a shuddering sigh as she realized that her own pussy was vibrating with a peculiar pulsating warmth. It wasn't merely the swim which had dampened the narrow crotch band of her bikini panties; sinful secretions were playing their part as well. Surely the sight of that immoral girl's splayed-apart thighs and coral pink cuntal lips wasn't turned her on? Unthinkable! But now the strange heat was flooding from her virginal vagina to every nerve ending in her near-naked body, and there was no ignoring the evidence of her indecent arousal.
If only she'd been brought up a Catholic or a Methodist or whatever and could pray to God for guidance, for strength to fight the insidious stimulation created by Robbie's rummaging fingers on her tender breasts and the lurid scene transpiring below.
Mom had always scornfully stated that religion was the placebo of the mindless masses-whatever that meant, exactly-so she couldn't elicit aid from her guardian angel or count on forgiveness following the ritual of confession. Perhaps religion wouldn't have helped, anyway; Robbie was a Catholic, and he was acting wild and weird tonight, fondling her breasts until she wanted to scream aloud in an insane ecstasy of pleasure-pain.
"Robbie, please! T-take it easy, okay. C'mon, don't do that."
"Lookit them!" he rasped, rolling sideways so that their bodies were wedged together like the pieces of a jigsaw-puzzle, his thickened phallus fitting neatly into the hollow between her barely parted thighs. His voice sounded more frenzied than ever, and his fingernails were digging into the erect buds of her nipples so roughly that her breasts tingled with red-hot torment. "Jeez, she's really gonna suck him off, I bet. Gonna swallow his pecker!"
Tracey's glassy gaze swiftly shifted from the girl's tongue-abused vagina to where her tangled mop of dark hair sprayed out over the beach blanket. It was difficult to see her expression, for the boy was crouched above her with his muscular buttocks over her face and his knees straddling her head, but she saw enough to make her cringe in stupefied shock: Just above her uptilting chin and rouge-smeared lips dangled the boy's rigid thing!
"Oh, God..."
How huge it was-and it didn't look one bit like the drawing of a "male sexual organ" in her Tomorrow's Happy Homemaker health textbook. That discreet diagram had been an unalarming black-and-white, whereas this real-life specimen was an angry-red cudgel embellished with thick, purplish veins and topped with a mushroom-shaped knob of an even brighter crimson. His testicles, too, seemed enormously swollen-they were much larger than her pet retriever's hairy balls-and the entire rod glistened wetly in the moonlight. On the very tip hovered a pearl-like droplet, winking up at her.
Did all males look this huge, this threatening, when they took off their pants? Did Robbie? Out of the corner of her eye she glanced toward his jockey shorts, but she couldn't see the outline of his penis because his groin was pressed up against her leg. However, she could definitely feel its rock-hard bulging length, and it seemed quite as gigantic as the kid below. Shivering, she made another weak attempt to ease away from him, away from that frightening fascinating, phallus.
Her boyfriend's hands tightened on her swollen young breasts. "Please, Robbie!" she pleaded, alarmed at the illicit excitation engendered by the salacious scene and his outrageous fondling of her naked flesh. "You've got to stop that..."
Her voice rang so unconvincingly in her own ears that she wasn't really surprised when he paid no attention ... nor was she really sorry. His lips mashed against her mouth, his tongue splurged down between her teeth, and she found her own lips and tongue automatically responding to his ardent French kiss. It was wrong, she knew, but somehow the sight and sounds of the passionate pair below fanned the erotic fires of her desire. Never before had she felt so turned-on with Robbie ... never before had her body's responses blazed out of control of her conscience...
"OOhhh," she wrenched her mouth away at last. "W-we've got to stop b-before we get carried away."
He drew her flushed face back toward him. "Stop?
How come-this feels so good, baby, and I won't kill you again for so long. Don't spoil our last evening."
As their tongues lewdly entangled once again, both youngsters kept their eyes riveted to the naked couple below, hypnotized by the obscenity of their oral embraces and secretly longing to experience the obviously extraordinary sensations. Tracey recognized the girl now: Mimi Sweeney, an over-painted senior who was famous for (I) her extraordinarily large breasts, (2) spending her junior year with green hair after an attempt at peroxiding herself into a blonde, and (3) her well-documented promiscuity. Mimi didn't have any girl friends, but she had lots of boyfriends, mainly among the non-college-bound crowd who wore Easy Rider sunglasses and leather jackets, drove motorcycles, and hung out at the Roller Rink or a place called Isabella's which served booze without asking for ID's.
Until now, Tracey Aronson had turned up her nose at Mimi, whom she considered a cheap tramp. She wouldn't so much as have smiled at her in the washroom or on the street, even though she knew the older girl because they were in the same gym class, and she joined in the general mockery of the voluptuous brunette's size-too-small tops and out-of-style miniskirts above black nylons with runs and patent leather boots. Suddenly, however, she found herself almost envying the girl who didn't have any moral inhibitions to interfere with her physical pleasure.
"Aahhhh, oouuhhh..." Mimi's moans echoed up to the entranced onlookers. "Yeah, Otto, that's it. Fuck me good with your goddamn tongue."
In principle, Tracey believed that anyone-and especially girls-who used vulgar language was lower-class and unintelligent; but the brunette's gasping obscenities were oddly exciting. Robbie's cloth-covered cock was prodding more urgently between her trembling thighs now, "dry-fucking" her, stimulating her over-sensitive cuntal lips, and she couldn't dream of bringing herself to stop him. Not yet ... just a few minutes more...'cause it felt sooo gggooodddd ... Besides, she was busy trying to ascertain exactly what Otto's prodding red tongue was doing to Mimi Sweeney's glistening coral-pink cuntal orifice ... not to mention what his gigantic flesh pole was doing as it plunged in and out of her bulging cheeks and wide-stretched lips.
"Ohh, Tracey, honey..." Robbie groaned in demonic delight. "If you only knew how bad I've been wanting to touch you like this!"
His words didn't really sink into the sixteen year-old's befuddled brain, but they blended with Mimi and Otto's strangled gasps and moans and obscenities to form an impossibly arousing chorus of lust. Fingers of fire blazed from her quivering pussy and crushed breasts, electrifying every cell in her awakening body with a rising need for fulfillment, and low, unbidden mewls spilled from her lips as she continued kissing, encouraged more and more caressing. A warning siren shrilled in her brain, but it no longer seemed to matter that she was playing with fire and could very easily be burned.
"No, R-R-Robbie ... noooo..." she whimpered under her breath, but it was a mere token protest which neither of them took seriously.
Somehow, before she'd noticed, Robbie had eased off his damp jockey shorts. Now she could feel the heated hardness of his slender phallus grazing her barely-protected buttocks-just the way Mimi down below could feel her long-haired date's plunging penis. Except, of course, that the dark-haired senior was actually tasting male cock as the rigid rod seesawed between her straining, lipstick-smeared lips ... and Tracey herself would never permit such an outrage. . . of course she wouldn't. . .
"Baby, please!" Robbie stopped kissing her to pant in a hoarse, unfamiliar voice. "Let's feel good like they are, okay? There's nothing really wrong-it's not going all the way-and I want to taste your pussy so bad. I wanna feel you kissing my prick before we leave each other for the whole long summer. Please..."
His unexpectedly lewd suggestion jolted the inexperienced girl out of her euphoric trance. She rolled clumsily as far away as possible in the narrow space between the rock walls, staring in dismay at his exposed penis, cursing herself for having gotten so carried away. A little petting in the moonlight was one thing, but an ominous, uncovered hard-on was quite another, and the worst of it all was that she couldn't take her eyes off the thing. It wasn't as thick as the senior boy's down below, but it seemed quite as long ... and growing longer before her incredulous eyes with each passing second.
"P-put your pants on again, PLEASE," she stammered, shrinking so far away from him against the cliff that barnacles cut into her bare back. "I'm not a slut like Mimi Sweeney and I should hope you know that!"
"I know you're not, Tracey." He embraced her again, more carefully and tenderly now although his balls ached with the urge to slide into her almost visible pussy, or at least her sweet heart-shaped mouth. Christ, had he blown things just when they were going better than ever before? "But it's different with us 'cause we're in love. If I'd just picked you up at the dance, it'd be another story; but no one could call you an easy make like Mimi just for wanting to be real close before we say goodbye. Anyhow, nobody's gonna know about it..."
In love? Tracey considered his words as logically as she could considering the circumstances, her budding body remaining tense as a spring although she allowed him to stroke her back and shoulders and presently even her belly and breasts and upper legs. The Gothic novels and Romantic nineteenth century poetry which were her favorite extracurricular reading material had led her to expect that when she finally met her True Love things would be a good deal more passionate than they were with the Runions youth, on the other hand the flattering fact of having a boy be in love with her made her feel all warm and elated. No one had ever spoken these words to her before, so she was innocent enough to overlook the possibility that he might be exaggerating in the ardor of the moment. Before she knew it, she'd relaxed against him, warmly pushing penis and all, and was tilting up her flushed face for another kiss.
"I-I'd never let anyone pick me up anywhere!" she protested, defensive in her guilt at allowing their hot necking session to go on. "Never! But, you're right, I guess; we've been dating for ages and it is your last night. And I really I-uh, think you're the greatest."
Robbie pulled away from her, and she wondered if he was mad because she'd been unable to honestly claim she loved him. But no-he was removing the only object which covered his naked young loins, his class ring, and he was slipping it onto her middle finger.
"Would you wear my ring this summer, Tracey? 'Cause I really love you a lot, and I'd feel fantastic if I was sure you were gonna be true to me. How about it, honey? Shall we go steady?"
The sixteen year-old's amber-flecked brown eyes widened as she stared dizzily at the signet ring on her left hand. Her first fleeting reaction was to say no, she hadn't she been daydreaming about dating other guys while Robbie was out of the picture-but instead she slowly nodded her tousled blonde curls and kissed him tenderly. Deep inside, far below the level of conscious thought, she knew why she'd accepted the significant symbol binding her to a boy she didn't truly care much about: it made what they were doing here on the rocks relatively legitimate.
"I-I'd love to wear your ring," she whispered. "B-but-but we still don't want to do something we'll be sorry for. Promise me you won't go too far? Promise? Not even now we're going steady?"
"Cross my heart and hope to die," he fibbed.
Another of his uncool expressions which normally affected her nerves like chalk scraping on the blackboard, but tonight it scarcely registered on her sex-preoccupied mind. One of his perspiring palms had immediately latched onto her left breast, thumb forefinger rolling the erect crimson nipple, while his other hand began slithering downward over her belly toward her panties. Tracey held her breath, closed her eyes tightly. Despite her virtuous resolutions and prim protests, thrills of untempered pruriency were pulsating through her veins, and the worst of it was that the more he acted like an aggressive animal the more he turned her on.
I must be some kind of sick pervert! she agonized, not aware yet that no woman in the world wants her man to be a meek, well-mannered gentleman in the bedroom. I like it when he pinches me so hard it hurts, . . and I want him to make me do dirty things I know are wrong. Oh, what's the matter with me?
Oddly enough, her shame only served to increase the building tide of longing in her healthy young loins. Ripples of strange masochistic excitement broke over her awakening body and spread out in wave after widening wave of lusting desire, and the voices of Mimi and Otto rising from below were a further stimulus. Something about the rock angles made the older couples' sensual sounds seem to be issuing from right beside them ... as if they were in the middle of an orgy, like in those forbidden "adults only" books some of the kids read under their desks during boring classes.
Robbie, too, was intensely aware of the lascivious back-ground noises. His eyes shifted dizzily from his girl friend's curvaceous sun-bronzed figure to the salacious scenario of oral love and back again, and his passion-blurred vision was so distorted that he failed to identify the approaching circle of luminance as a boat's headlight. Nothing mattered to him except the sperm churning in his bloated balls and the urgent need to get Tracey's tight little panties off so he could kiss her glistening pink pussy and drive her out of her mind the way Otto was doing to Mimi.
"Open your eyes, honey," he hissed as he hooked his clumsy fingers around the elastic waistband of her last shred of protection. "Lookit-I think they're gonna cum!"
Of course, she ought to say she didn't want to look, just as she ought to order Robbie to get his hand out of her panties, but somehow she couldn't seem to manage to speak. Her lids fluttered open and she stared entranced at the licking, sucking twosome while her steady boyfriend gingerly traced his middle finger along the never-before-touched lips of her virginal vagina. Already she was so aroused that the timid caress drove her mad for more, especially when she saw the voluptuous brunette spasming and twitching in the throes of extreme ecstasy.
"Good! Goddamn good! Go, you bastard, go on and tongue me to death! Oh, yeah! Ooooohhhhhh!"
Mimi's thighs were disproportionately heavy, her ankles were thick, and her legs were pasty white because she worked all day Saturday and Sunday serving root beer and hot dogs at the "Dog 'n Suds" drive-in. Yet as far as Otto Strang, the two adolescent onlookers, and another pair of as-yet-unobserved spies were concerned, she might have been a Playboy or Penthouse centerfold. Her unshapely legs had wrapped around Otto's lean shoulders, her heels beating a frantic tattoo on his muscled back to drive his delving tongue deeper and deeper into her craving cuntal channel, and her chinless, acne-afflicted face was now a mask of sheer wanton lust as she gulped the boy's tumescent thickness halfway down her throat.
"Oh, God ... It's too obscene! She's gonna strangle her-" Tracey's shuddering whisper broke off in an abrupt, heartfelt mewl as her date's inexperienced finger accidentally grazed the nerve-filled bud of her sensitive clitoris. Nothing had ever felt so magnificently erotic-it was a hundred times more exciting than when she used her own finger to bring herself to guilty climaxes in bed. Yet much as she longed to murmur, "There, Robbie. Round and round, just there," and direct his inept fingerfucking, she was too timid, too fearful of sounding like the wailing, wanton Mimi down on the rocks below.
"AARRGGHHH! I'm almost there! Oh, Otto-gimme your cum! Shoot your nice hot, sticky jism right down my throat! Ohhh, do it, you bastard!"
Even as Mimi's lascivious howls echoed in her ears and her steady boyfriend's middle finger once again accidentally rubbed against her clitoris, Tracey froze. A small, strangled yelp spewed from her suddenly fear-parched lips, and she jerked away from him to cower under the overhanging cliffs.
"What the hell-"
"Look, Robbie. Look! The cops!"
Although the sixteen year-old swim team champion was so aroused that cum was cartwheeling down in his ready-to-explode testicles, he also froze at the word, "cops". It took a moment for his passion-distorted vision to focus, but the second he recognized the black hull of the patrol boat, he too flattened himself on the promontory and groped blindly, vainly for his hastily discarded jockey shorts. As the boat inched forward and its low motor shivered to a halt, he even had the foresight to secrete the empty can of Ballantine's malt-liquor in a convenient barnacle-plastered cavity. Then his arms groped silently for Tracey's shuddering figure and they lay clinging to each other, trembling with trepidation as they envisioned the dread consequences of being caught out here by the authorities.
I'll never win that athletic scholarship that Coach told me I've got tied up so long's I keep my nose clean, Robbie agonized, his mind abruptly clear and concise even though his contrary cock had swollen thicker than ever in his panic. And Dad can't afford to pay tuition, even to State, so I'll have to get some shitty job in a factory or join the army or some crap. My life'll be ruined!
Tracey was at least as distressed as the youth whose warm, tremulous loins were welded to her near-naked body. Her Reputation! If she lost her Reputation, it meant two long, unendurable years of social ostracization at Birch Bay High, not to mention the fact that Mom wouldn't trust her any longer. At present she got away with murder compared to her friend Clara and lots of other kids, for Mom viewed curfews, rigid rules and strict supervision as parental dictatorship. She advocated self-reliance and an occasional democratic family counsel, and was fond of declaring:
"My daughters have been raised to know better than to let some male talk them into drinking or drugs or sex. I've brought them up to think of themselves as Women of the Future, so of course I trust them. Smother-love isn't love at all! What those mothers need is an interesting career of their own."
This agreeable arrangement would end abruptly if Mom got a call from the police department. She'd be a virtual prisoner in her home, and life would be a purgatory of lectures. Even if Mom didn't ground her, however, no decent guys-or girls either, for that matter-would have anything to do with her after she'd been arrested along with the infamous Mimi Sweeney.
Yet, crazy though she knew herself to be, she was still acutely aware of Robbie's turgid thickness burrowing against her tensed-together thighs. Instinctively, she wriggled her buttocks against the smooth stones, easing her legs apart just enough so that his bulbous cockhead could press against the desire-dampened crotch band of her panties. God, his thing felt good against her hotly tingling pussy lips ... what would it feel like inside
Rather to his surprise, Robbie discovered that paranoia had made him hornier than ever. Lust filled his veins with liquid lightning as he ground his enormous erection against Tracey's warmly responsive vaginal mound, and he could see her biting her lips to hold back whimpers of arousal. Then he followed the direction of her glowing eyes to where the older couple were still loudly licking and sucking as they hovered on the brink of orgasm.
"Wh-where's the cop boat?" Tracey's soft breath tickled the inside of his ear. "Have they gone?"
He tore his eyes away from Mimi's crazily thrashing figure and gluttonously gulping throat to survey the still black water. "I don't see it," he whispered, "but you can bet it's around somewhere. There-see that shadow over there?-they've cut their motor and put out the lights."
"Wh-why?"
" 'Cause they wanna watch the action first." He'd heard stories about the same thing happening to kids who'd parked in the forest preserve or the bird sanctuary, two "lovers' lanes" popular because of the thick foliage and lack of through traffic. "As soon's they've gotten their kicks, they'll move in and bust them."
"But that's rotten! How-"
Tracey's indignant exclamation was cut short by a wild wail from the brunette below. Her voluptuous loins spasmed and jerked till she resembled a large, obscene marionette manipulated by some marquis de Sade-minded puppet master, and her face was so contorted now it didn't even seem human. Goosebumps rippled over the incredulous watching girl, and she squirmed in vicarious excitement as Mimi's frenzied hands grasped the boy's testicles and massaged them madly.
"Cumming!" shrieked the uninhibited senior. "Yeah, lover, ggooddd! Stick your finger in my ass-hole. Ooohhhh, ggoooodddd! Oouugghh! AAAGGGHHH!"
The Aronson girl shuddered, unconsciously rubbing her body provocatively against her steady boyfriend.
So that was what happened when you made love ... it looked so wild and wonderful that she almost wished Robbie would put his mouth on her burning pussy and quell the fires that were raging there, although of course she'd never be able to do anything as vulgar as taking his cock inside her mouth.
"Here goes, you bitchin' slut!" Otto's shaggy dark head reared up from Mimi's insanely twitching ass and thighs as his own orgasm raced upon him. "Open that cheatin' throat of yours real wide so's you can swallow every damn drop! NOW! Oh, yeah, oh yeah, oh Christ! Cumming!"
Tracey continued to stare, transfixed by the sticky streams of cream-white sperm which escaped from the edges of Mimi's cock-stuffed lips to dribble down over her chin and madly gulping cheeks and gagging throat. A few droplets of the obscene seminal fluid even trickled onto her melon-shaped breasts. Never in her sixteen years had she dreamed she'd see anything so unspeakably lewd, but in fact the most shocking thing of all was that she was more fascinated than repulsed by the wanton display of depravity.
The boy beside her sensed her breath quickening, her body vibrating against his own ready-to-explode loins. She was turned on by the sordid sixty-nine scene! Turned on enough to let him push his painfully pulsing pole into her pussy, whose warm, dewy pinkness was now quivering against his groping fingers? He was so stimulated by now that he was going to try, whether she liked it or not. Hell, he'd endured the humiliation of being a sixteen year-old virgin far too long already!
"Oohhh!" Tracey gasped, forgetting the still-invisible policemen as an electric shock jolted from the tips of her ten white toes to the top of her blonde head.
"Wh-what're you doing? You promised not to!"
It was as though he hadn't even heard her. His finger was sure and steady now as it bore down into the clasping confines of her tight cuntal channel, and then he remembered something else he'd dreamed of doing but had never dared. Groaning like an uncaged lion, he fastened his mouth first on one taut-nippled breast, then the other, nipping the pebble-hard little buds a good deal more roughly than he realized.
"Robbie! Don't-that hurts!"
The frightened adolescent forgot all about the other couple, who had in any case collapsed on the rocks in satiated exhaustion; she'd undoubtedly have forgotten the Peeping Toms in the patrol boat, too, had they not chosen that moment to turn their spotlight on full-force and activate their siren. Even the dangerous high-noon brightness and screaming alarm didn't deter Robbie, however. He continued groping at her panties as though he were possessed by satanic sexual forces, and she was actually having to fight him off physically to retain her last shred of protection.
"Stop it! You can't do that! Please..."
Her voice warbled weakly, for the finger digging into her palpitating pussy was speeding her into a delirious whirlwind of unwanted passion. Down below, the siren cut off abruptly and there were the sounds of gruff, ominously official shouts, but she scarcely heard as two conflicting voices inside her head commenced a clamorous debate.
No, no! You'll be sorry if you let him do it-and he'll probably drop you cold and boast about it to the other guys, so whenever you go out you'll be fighting to keep your panties on like now. That was her conscience, the segment of her character conditioned by mother's moralizing, small town society's mores and
Seventeen Magazine and Red Rose romance novels' fantasies.
Who cares? demanded a second, louder voice rising from deep within her newly awakening feminine soul. He can't tell the other guys, 'cause he'll be down at that camp Benton Harbor. And does it really matter, anyhow? Does anything matter except feeling his big, warm thing inside my aching pussy? I'll bet a lot more girls do it than let on, anyhow, especially if they're going steady ... and I'm not a little kid now, I'll be an upperclassman when school starts again in September. I'm ready to be a woman.
But you don't want to become a woman in an ugly way like this! her conscience interfered again. Not with him forcing you and acting so crazy you can bet he wouldn't care whose vagina he was screwing. The first time is supposed to be romantic and beautiful! Besides, there's a boat full of cops just yards away and if they find you balling on the rocks you'll be in a real mess. Use your head! Think what Mother would do...
Mother would definitely never allow any man to compel her to commit any act she herself hadn't instigated.
"Cut it out! Don't you dare!"
Tracey was suddenly fighting like a tiger, losing her temper, scratching and kicking at the lust-demented high school athlete, but even though she was a strong, lithe-muscled girl after a childhood of beach and country exercise, she simply wasn't as powerful as Robbie. Within seconds he'd literally ripped her pink nylon panties from her wiggling buttocks; they drifted down the cliff, fortunately attaching to an outcropping crag rather than landing on top a policeman's head.
"You-you bastard," she hissed, and clamped her thighs together so that neither his middle finger nor his rampant rigidity could invade the virginal privacy of her vaginal mouth again. "You said you'd take it easy! What's got into you?"
Robbie ground his gigantic male weapon against the barrier of her clenched upper legs, gritting his teeth in desperation. "Honey, I can't help it! I gotta have you now! I'll go crazy if I can't cum in your sweet little pussy!"
If he only knew how badly she wanted to spread her thighs wide open in uninhibited acceptance, to scream and sob out her passion at the top of her lungs the way Mimi Sweeney had minutes before. But Mimi was the senior class slut, and she wasn't about to follow in her footsteps; her hymen must remain intact until her honeymoon night ... or at least until she was engaged to be married.
She locked her thighs together tighter than ever, exerting so much energy that her muscles ached and wobbled before the savage slammings of his hardened manhood. It felt as though a red-hot metal poker were prying apart her legs, and despite herself she let her tensed tendons slacken for a moment's respite. Immediately his invading penis partially parted her pulsating thighs and was rubbing excitingly against the swollen flanges of her vagina and even the erected button of her tingling clitoris.
"Oh, God!" she sobbed, shutting her eyes as wild, wanton sensations sped out to every nerve ending in her overheated young body. "Oh, God! Oh, please ... nnnoooo...!"
"Oh, baby, baby! I can't wait! I'm gonna cum. Gonna cccuuummmmm!"
The innocent sixteen year-old felt her boyfriend's prick expanding between her inadequately entrapping inner thighs and groped out to grab it's rock-hard length and force it away from her sacred sanctuary. As soon as she grasped his pummeling penis it began pumping madly against her palm, and his entire body jerked against her. It was a nightmare! Then his harsh, guttural grunts reverberated against her ears:
"Oh, shit! Cumming! Can't stop! Oh, you cock-tease! Aahhhhhh!"
Hot, sticky fluid surged in spasmodic spurts between her clasping fingers, and when she gaped down in horrified fascination she could see his life-giving seed spilling out of a thin glans slit in the bulbous head of his enormous penis. Jet after jet of white-hot semen bubbled out of his long-frustrated cock, splashing over Tracey's golden-blonde pubic mound, trickling over her upper legs, slithering down into the quivering pink crack of cuntal flesh between her shuddering thighs. She almost orgasmed from the sheer sensation. . . but now quite. The climax rose, fell, vanished, and she lay like a frozen statue as the last dribbles spattered her defiled, frustrated, but still-pure body. A queer moan of half humiliation mingled with unsated lust burbled from her throat, and then she fell limply back against the rocks, breathing heavily.
Once Robbie had eased his pumping, panting ejaculation, he also fell into a lifeless pool of satiated flesh. Neither boy nor girl dared look at each other as the frightening sounds of cops and culprits echoed up to their burning ears, and silent tears spilled from Tracey's wide brown eyes while her outspread fingers frantically wiped at the shreds of drying sperm which decorated her naked body.
"Okay, kids, let's get it straight." The cop had a broad Midwestern accent; his vowels were broad, like Mayor Daley of Chicago on the television. "You was having yourselves a late-night picnic out here. Drinking Ballantines an' eatin' pussy and cock. Well, that's just fine with us ... so long's you've got an ID that shows you're old 'nough to purchase that there booze.'
"Officer, we was only-"
"Your ID, kid! On the double!"
Tracey's tears had dried, but she was still trembling like a leaf in a gale. Her fingers fumbled among the rocks for her panties, and when they were nowhere to be found she crossed her hands over her cum-matted pussy mound in a belated gesture of modesty. It was all my fault! Her conscience accused. I let things get out of hand, beginning with this crazy skinny-dipping. But God, how could I have been so dumb?
"Right-under twenty one-jist like I thought!" The loud-mouthed cop turned toward his sway-bellied, silent partner. "Guess we gotta run these two in, huh? Betcha we find sumpin' else against them once we get down to the station, too! C'mon, ya two-get decent and come along with us."
Both Robbie and Tracey lay unmoving, paralyzed and panic-stricken, until Otto Strang and Mimi had sulkily covered their naked bodies and followed the cops onto the patrol boat. The black motorboat faded from sight in the general direction of Petoskey, one of the larger cities along this northern Michigan coast. Then, hesitantly, they gazes into each other's eyes.
"Jeez, Tracey, I'm sorry," mumbled the chastened swim team champion as he tugged his damp jockey shorts over the wilted remnants of his manly member. "I-uh, I dunno what got into me. It won't happen again, I promise."
"It's okay, Robbie." Tracey's voice sounded strained, uncertain as it vibrated in her own ears. "It was as much my fault as yours. . . " She slunk away from him, feeling dull and disinclined to think. "Let's just go home now, okay."
The quarter-mile swim back to shore seemed to take five times longer than it had the first time when they were infused with unconscious erotic energy. By the time they were in Robbie's Dad's car and heading toward Tracey's house, they were both too tired and depressed to talk much. Robbie, who was so nervous he kept grinding gears whenever he shifted from second into third, pulled the automobile to a halt just beyond the entrance to the Aronson's gravel driveway. He cleared his throat.
"Hey, Tracey, honey, I hope you aren't real mad at me. I hope you'll wanna keep wearing my ring...'! "
Her eyes slid down toward the unfamiliar circle on her left middle finger; it was an ugly thing, actually there were five styles of class rings, according to price, and Robbie's was the cheapest sort and fashioned from some sort of unidentified metal with a glaringly fake ruby set square in the center. No, she didn't want to be burdened by this unattractive thing ... she didn't want to feel tied to him ... but after the way she'd behaved tonight, what could she say except:
" 'Course I want your ring, Robbie."
She planted a quick kiss on his parchment-dry lips, then jumped out of the car without waiting for him to drive her up to the darkened house. Best that Mom didn't awaken-it was almost four in the morning, according to her Timex-and anyway she just wanted to be alone in her bed now. No more conversations, no more emotions. She felt drained dry, sad and besmirched ... and very, very weary.
But once in bed, sleep eluded her. The fingers of her right hand inched surreptitiously up underneath the high hem of her pink nylon nightie, and her moans of release figured in her mother's troubled dreams.