Chapter 1
The girl who stepped from the greyhound bus in front of Glenn's Drug Store was young, exceptionally pretty, and possessed a certain quality which announced that she was very glad to be alive.
Glenn's Drug Store was located in the center of a six-block-long shopping district which comprised the entire commercial section of Fruitvale, Idaho; a town with a total population of a little over a thousand. What was more, the hour was late after 10:00 p.m. and there were only a couple of people on the sidewalk to see the girl arrive.
One of these was Pete Larrabee, a drifter who was currently employed in the local feed store where the dairymen and beef-raisers bought their supplies. Forty-two years old, he was foul-mouthed man who dipped snuff and got drunk at least three nights, a week. On this particular night he was not drunk, though he had lifted three or four in Bailey's Tavern. He was on his way from there to the town's other watering place, down the street, where he hoped there would prove to be a little more action. Action in Pete Larrabee's vernacular meant the presence of one or more unattached females who were passable in appearance and not so particular that they would be repelled by his lined and whiskery face, his mouth that was stained with snuff juice at the corners, his dark teeth and darker breath, and his totally-unchecked proclivity to express himself in four-letter words.
Larrabee stopped as the bus door opened and Jill Marshall stepped down. He stood and stared, trying hard to focus his eyes against the gloom of the dimly-lit street and the haze which liquor had manufactured in his brain.
Damn! he thought. There's a wild number! What the deuce is she doing, getting off a bus in a backwoods place like this?
Must be somebody's relative on a visit, Pete Larrabee concluded. Man. What a bundle! How I'd like to...
There is no point in detailing Larrabee's thoughts further, for they became mired in a morass of lewd sensuality as his rheumy eyes scanned Jill Marshall's curves. These were plainly even startlingly outlined by the skimpy summer dress she wore. The dress was sleeveless, cut quite low at the neck and hugged her lush young body tightly, ending just above her pretty knees. The bus driver had placed a single suitcase on the walk beside her. In addition to this, Jill carried a handbag in one hand and a small traveling case in the other.
The bus pulled away with a muffled roar, which echoed off the silent store fronts, leaving a puff of dark, foul-smelling exhaust to hang for moments in the July air and then to drift away.
Jill looked around. There was no one to meet her because she had purposely not informed her uncle of her arrival time when she had written him last. She had told her mother she'd done so; otherwise her mother would certainly have called Lou herself. After all, Sarah Marshall's main reason for arranging this job for her daughter in Uncle Lou's packing company was to assure that there would be someone trustworthy who would be near at all times to keep a protective eye on Jill as she began her office career. Sarah wouldn't let her daughter take a job right away in Portland, the city where she had grown up and just completed a year of business college. Portland was too large a city and the people who worked in its offices were too sophisticated. Sarah knew about the lurid activities that went on the way the married men went after the young single girls, the drunken office parties, the liberties taken by bosses. No, Sarah would not permit her daughter to be subjected to that kind of environment ... not, at least, until she was competent enough to look after herself. Jill was good and decent and unspoiled. Sarah was determined that her daughter would remain that way. Had not all her training through the years, as Jill matured to glowing young womanhood, emphasized the danger presented by men and, how a girl must constantly be on guard to protect herself so that she could retain the treasure which Nature had endowed? The point was to retain the treasure until Jill met a man who was in a position to offer her all a girl should receive in exchange, then to see that she got this in full measure, wrapped in a marriage certificate and bound by a wedding ring.
Sarah Marshall had no illusion that Jill would find such a man in Fruitvale, Idaho. But Jill was too young for marriage, anyway. The job in Fruitvale would permit Jill to gain some office experience and a certain measure of confidence in the business world, while under the watchful eye of Sarah's brother. Lou would see that nothing happened to Jill. This would be almost as good as Sarah herself being at Jill's side. Since Lou owned the company, no one who worked there would dare get out of line with Jill. The situation would be a perfect one, Sarah Marshall had concluded.
But Sarah didn't know her nineteen-year-old daughter as well as she thought she did.
Already though Jill had been away from home for only a few hours, she had taken advantage of a "rest stop" which the bus had made along the way, to change from the plain, shapeless skirt and blouse she had worn when she'd first boarded the bus, and had applied not only a liberal amount of lipstick but eye make-up as well. (A light touch of artificial pink on the lips was permissible, her mother had decreed a couple of year ago, but eye make-up was strictly taboo.) The fact was that Jill had been darkening her lips and using eye make-up regularly, this always being done after she left home and carefully removed before she returned.
Jill also had dated boys her mother knew nothing about, and Jill had gone much further with them than Sarah Marshall would have allowed. In fact, Jill's mother would have been horrified had she known. But Jill did remain a virgin. She was a nineteen-year-old virgin whose ripeness was conveyed by both sensory and extra-sensory means to every man she met, flinging a challenge which all males understood and to which most were impelled to respond.
Another illustration of the difference between the real Jill and the daughter Sarah Marshall thought she knew, was provided by the fact that Jill did not inform her uncle as to when she would be arriving in Fruitvale. She had said she would call him at his office from some point along the way, and even left the date sufficiently indefinite so that he wouldn't be concerned about not having heard from her.
She didn't want to be taken under Uncle Lou's wing. This was her first chance to be on her. own, and she wanted to derive as much fun as possible from the opportunity. She would find her own place to stay and she would appear at her uncle's office the next morning. After all, she was over eighteen, fully grown in every sense, and quite able to direct her own life.
That she was fully grown in a physical way could not have been denied by anyone who saw her. Her vibrant body was a model of young, womanly appeal. She possessed breasts which were full and round and delightfully thrusting. There was not a trace of sag in them, and those boys who had held them in their hands had never failed to comment on their firmness, while proving, by the contraction of eager fingers, that the breasts were as pliant as kiddies' balloons not completely blown up. They were, in short, as perfect breasts as any man might ever hope to hold and kiss and play with.
Her waist was slim and smooth and supple. The dimpled crown of her navel rode atop a pleasant little rise which tapered off to adorable shadowy delights. Her hips were well-rounded without being overly large, and her buttocks were trim, resilient half-globes neither too soft nor too hard. Her legs were long and creamy in tone, full at their tops and tapering to shapely knees, delicately arched calves, and slender ankles.
The men who stood on the Fruitvale sidewalk could not see all these delights. At least, they could not appreciate them in such detail for she was dressed, though thinly and skimpily. But what they saw was enough to let them know that here was an article worth coveting and going after, if a man stood any chance at all of success.
Pete Larrabee was realistic enough to believe he didn't stand a chance. She was less than half his age and far too fresh and fine.
The younger man who had moved up beside Pete had a little different attitude. He was Mort Hopper, the proprietor of the local grocery store. Mort had been at his store taking inventory. At ten o'clock, he had decided to knock off for the night, and he was now on his way home. Mort was thirty-four, round-faced, balding, and generally pudgy. He was a married man with five children, but he had a ready eye for every female who came into his place of business or passed on the sidewalk in front. Every once in a while, Mort succeeded in promoting something strange for himself, and this gave his life its zest.
Mort nudged Pete Larrabee in the ribs. "Plow about that, Pete?" he whispered.
Pete chuckled lasciviously. "Man, could I!"
"Gonna try?"
Pete gave the other man a look. "She's probably jail-bait."
Mort had a practiced eye and he was using this faculty right now. "I don't think so. I'd guess nineteen ... maybe even twenty. Watch this I'm gonna see what good I can do."
Jill had picked up her suitcase and was about to set off in the direction of the town's only hotel a small, two-story stucco structure which had a modest neon sign in front. As Mort Hopper moved up to her, she set the bag down again. She looked at him in her customary open way and smiled.
There was more than a glad-to-be-alive look about Jill's eyes. Additionally, they contained a challenge when they were directed at a man. They seemed to say, I'm a female and you're a male, and what are you going to do about that?
Her eyes were brown and quite large. They smiled almost all the time, even when her lips were still, and they were extraordinarily bright and clear. A man could figuratively swim in them as he talked with her. Her face was roundish, her cheeks inclined to be a little plump. Her wide mouth was friendly and full, with white gleaming teeth behind the redness. Her nose was medium in size, and her hair was brown, short and fluffy.
All in all, Jill was very much a living doll. The closer Mort got to her and the better he saw her in the dim light, the more keenly he appreciated this fact.
He smiled. " 'Evening. I don't want you to think I'm being forward, but if I can be of any assistance ... my name's Mort Hopper: I run the food market down the street."
"Oh. I see. Well, glad to know you, Mr. Hopper. I'm Jill Marshall." She held out her hand.
The hormones in Mort's fleshy body, which had stirred at first sight of her and had jumped up and down as he moved close, now commenced a wildly abandoned dance of desire as his large, rather moist hand clasped her dainty, soft, cool one.
Talk about friendly! he thought. Mort-boy, you're gonna get yourself some honey!
She laughed gently. "I don't know anything about your town. I need a room of course, and I see there's a hotel rtown the street ... "
Mort thought fast. "Sure is. The fellow who runs that hotel's a friend of mine and all, and I shouldn't be talkin' against him or his place, but it's no fit spot for a young lady like yourself to stay. I mean, it's mostly for men stock buyers, farm equipment salesmen; guys like that. Now, there's a nice little boarding house around the corner much homier, better atmosphere. I'll be glad to..."
Jill interrupted: "Thank you, Mr. Hopper, but I think the hotel will be all right. I really don't care much for boarding houses." She laughed again. "I mean I don't think I'd like them. I really wouldn't know for certain, since I've never been away from home before."
Mort had wanted to steer her to the boarding house because he knew the owner pretty well. She was one of the women in town whom he tumbled regularly a fortyish widow. They were frank with one another and she wasn't the jealous sort. She understood men. She would have let Mort use the back door to visit Jill at the place, and let him stay in Jill's room, provided the girl was willing. At the hotel ... well, there would be too much talk if he were to hang around.
Though mildy disappointed, Mort was not prepared to give up any of the hope he had entertained for himself and the new girl. There were other places, after all, besides bedrooms. Mort had bedded women in the back of his store, in nearby orchards, and even on haystacks. The farming country around Fruitvale offered many-likely spots for romantic dalliance, and Mort was resourceful.
At the moment, he was concerned with Jill's last remark that she had never been away from home before. The fact that she had made such a remark offered an opportunity to confirm his judgment about her age, also.
He said, "You seem pretty young to be out on your own. Why, I'll bet you're just outta high school, aren't you?"
"A year ago," Jill said. "I'm nineteen."
This pleased Mort and he grinned broadly. "What an age that is! My, my, I wish I was nineteen again! I really had me some fun 'long about then."
Jill remarked sweetly. "When you were nineteen, I was probably just a baby, wasn't I?"
Mort didn't take offense at the emphasis she so obviously had placed on the difference in their ages. Instead he saw the opportunity to make a suggestive quip: "You're quite some baby right now!" He laughed and gave her a light pat on the arm.
She accepted this in good humor. She seemed actually to be enjoying' herself with the older man.
Mort picked up her bag. "If you're bound and determined to stay at the hotel, the least I can do is to carry your bag for you. Wouldn't do for a sweet young thing like yourself to be seen carrying her own suitcase down Main Street."
"Why, thank you," she responded.
As they passed Pete Larrabee, who continued to stand and stare, Mort threw him a wink. Jill glanced and smiled. Pete's pulse rate took a little jump and he berated himself for not making a play when he'd had the chance, why the gal's downright friendly! Mort is sure a lucky dog with women.
Pete stared after them for a while, mainly watching the soft, smooth, thoroughly-enchanting wiggle of Jill's ungirdled bottom. Her thin print dress cradled the contours lovingly and revealed the outline of the brief panties which were her only undergarment.
A stronger desire for action stirred within Pete Larrabee. He finally turned in the direction of the Red Apple Bar and set out with a vengeance. He would have to scare up some fun that night for sure. He would have to, or he'd be in a bad way when he returned home to his lonely bed.