Chapter 1
Maurice Hayko opened the door and stepped inside, knowing the girl must be somewhere in this teen-age retreat. His forehead throbbed with a passion-pulse as he scanned the faces of people seated at the booths. He smelled hamburgers and coffee brew, their scent mingling with the makeup of young females with leather-jacketed escorts.
The girl was a fire which snaked through Maurice Hayko's veins. He could not ignore or forget her any more easily than he could gloss over the fact that he was a man-with demanding physical equipment and the need to use it.
How might he appear casual? Swallowing his embarrassment, he went to the order counter of the Red Corner, a drive-in restaurant on the west side of Milltown. He glanced through the window and saw dust falling upon the motorcycles and jalopies parked outside.
"Yes sir," the boy at the grill barked.
Maurice nodded, "Hot dog and coffee, please."
The booths were rather deserted for a Thursday evening but he still felt uneasy. Then he spotted her, sitting alone at a table in the corner and absorbed in a magazine. He knew it was crazy to chase her like this. His eyes swept over the ivory white flesh of her body; the downy, perfectly formed legs whose thighs ended their nakedness at the hem of crisp yellow shorts. She also wore a halter and flat shoes. In his imagination Maurice peeled the rayon halter away and left her nude to the navel.
He grimaced, thumbing a film of sweat off his brow. Quietly he brought his hot dog to the table where Ida Reneson sat.
"I was hoping I'd catch you before you went back to the dorm," he said.
Ida looked up swiftly. Her frown melted into a soft, slow smile that threatened to drive him insane. "Hi, professor. Did I go and flunk the first exam of the season already?"
"No." The kids were forever upset about small things in academic life. "Grades are only relative to the picture taken as an entirety. May I?"
"Be my guest."
He slid onto the chair and forced a return smile in her direction. As he began eating he studied Ida's honey blond hair, worn long today, cascading toward the peaks of her breasts. They were large, firm, seventeen-year-old breasts, and they heaved delightfully with each breath she took.
"I've taught a lot of freshman students in my day," he offered. "You have less to worry about than anyone."
"About English lit grades, you mean."
"My duties are supposed to stop there. I'll admit, though, a girl with your looks and figure would distract St. Jude. Too bad I'm old and married and middle-class."
"Why, professor!" she replied coyly.
"If you'd call me Maurice, perhaps I wouldn't appear so foolish."
Ida closed the magazine and folded her arms as she stared back at him. "Look who's talking about the need to be sociable and friendly. I've been trying to get you alone for three weeks."
"A gent of my age loses his confidence where young dolls are concerned."
She laughed abruptly, then switched the subject to classroom gossip. He could not concentrate upon her miniature descriptions of the other frosh in his English 105 set. All he thought about was Ida and the lustful desire which had raged within him since the college year had started a few short weeks ago.
He wondered if it would help any if he explained the problems of a man who has reached age forty ... his fear of being inadequate in sex, his death grip on whatever success he had gained upon the earth. Maurice constantly dreaded the loss of his virile powers. Ellen was the type of wife who considered such doubts unimportant-when she thought about them at all.
Ida leaned over the table and shook him by the wrist. "Hey, you didn't answer my question."
"Sorry about that. I must have been daydreaming."
"I said-is it possible that a kid like me could turn you on? Sexually, I mean?"
He sighed. "Ida, you're rich and tantalizing. You bubble with a sense of humor. Show me the mortal with soul so dead that he wouldn't-"
"Let's get right down to the point," she whispered close by his ear, the warmth of her breath making him shudder. "I'm a virgin. But it isn't that birth control sends me to the heights like a boot of LSD. You understand, Maurice?"
"Almost."
"I'll wait for someone who deserves the right to my maidenhood. A wise, gentle, straightforward person instead of these infants at Milltown U."
The halter hung loose around her and she let him see the entirety of her snow-pure breasts, to the dark tips. Then she leaned back and adjusted the strap tight again on her spine. "Apparently the cat's got your tongue," she snapped.
"Ida, you're going to drive me wild yet." He glanced at the few other patrons of the Red Corner, busily occupied in cokes and listening to the loud juke box. He realized no one could hear his conversation with the coed. But she kept forcing an issue and he had to reiterate his stand so she'd comprehend the dangers involved.
"If I were only single," he groaned, "it would make such a difference. If you knew how badly I desire you-"
"Sour grapes. You sure didn't follow me to this joint with the idea of giving me a sermon." She stood up and seized her purse. "But then we shouldn't expect your dear wife to understand about sex and the way it makes two people hap- py."
"Tell me what you want."
"I'll write you a nice letter on the subject. And incidentally-you might ask yourself what it is both of us desire."
"Wait!"
But she was already swivel-hipping out past the cigaret machine toward the exit. Maurice crunched the napkin in his fist until the knuckles vibrated with pain. He had hoped to sever the strange attraction between him and the girl. He should be glad that she was leaving him flat, and yet a void ached inside him as he dwelled upon the emptiness of life if she should truly go away without ever returning.
Damn it, she's got my head spinning, he cursed as he stood up quickly. They teach lessons too well in our psychology classes. Instead of dropping Ida as I ought to, I know it's a matter of time-maybe days-until we're rolling in the hay together.
He hurried out to the lot and opened the driver's side of his aging brown Renault. An irritating pain stabbed through his foot as he climbed into the car. It was hell to get old. His trick right ankle, injured in basketball many years ago, had recently started bothering him.
At home that night he watched television with Ellen, aware that she had a yen for nothing sexier than spectatorship in front of the one-eyed monster. His wife was becoming a slap upon his masculinity.
"You look tired," he said as they sat together on the couch. "I suppose going to bed is out of the question."
"Once per week at the most, darling."
"Of course."
Ellen's encouragement helped him sleep like a log after they had retired. In the morning he reported for his duties at the faculty room in the university. Sipping at coffee from the thermos, he wondered how best to gr': Ida out of his blood. They rode a dead-end street with a one-way ticket and so many differences existed between them that he found the physical attraction all the more startling.
He patted the flesh on his rising pot-belly and knew he should get more exercise. Still, the hint of flabbiness didn't seem to deter Ida's campaign of seduction. Maybe she had a father fixation and he was the image of her parental past.
Maurice jammed the cup back onto the thermos bottle and rubbed his chin. It was a cleft jaw-you could hardly call it matinee idol material.
The room was silent and vacant except for Smithers with his infernal history lesson-plans at the far end. Maurice squinted in the sunlight which beamed down through the Venetian blinds. A lady had entered and seemed to be heading past the desks, toward him. But it was not really a lady after all because now he recognized Barbara Judd and suddenly he knew how to forget his troubles. You fought fire with fire.
"Don't get ruptured from the strain of saying hello," Barbara pouted. "I waited for you in the cafeteria."
"Stay right where you are. The sun is outlining you and I could swear that beauty has found birth in each mature, sleek curve," he lied. If his plan were to work, he must switch roles and chase Barbara with a rush. It would probably shock her at first because she had for so long been the pursuer even though he was a man who had rarely cheated on his marital vows.
"Your musical voice could woo the pants off a nun," she said.
He clicked his heels and arose. "As you wish. But nuns don't wear pants, naughty as it sounds."
Barbara Judd, dean of women at the college, smiled thinly as though tolerating a boy who had breached discipline. She powdered her nose from a compact as she stood near his leather-backed chair. "You and I have opposite personalities, Maurie. Surely you noticed how extroverted I am and how-"
"Introverted."
"Yes. You are the meek accountant type, to a certain extent. But that doesn't mean the electricity has vanished between us."
"I think it's stronger than ever," he intimated as he came nearer and squeezed her thigh at the apex of her womanhood. She blushed and then let her hand stray toward his own limp, half-awake erogenous zone.
"We've sung this song before, Maurice. The long ride which you promised me has never happened. Just a come-on for bachelor girls, eh?"
"The ride can be tonight if you'll say the word. Ellen has her bingo game."
"How convenient."
He waited patiently because he knew Barbara would jump at such a chance. She was nervous, self pitying, ashamed to face society. The modern fast code of living made her feel out of the crowd who scoffed at chastity and old maids. She was no angel; her respectability hid the whorish bent and her searing desire to marry, a condition all the more dangerous since he felt she would enjoy hooking him.
"I'll pick you up at seven," he purred. "It's going to be a night to remember, sweets."
"When I hear you rapping at the door, I'll believe you."
As the day progressed he performed like a automaton at the head of his classes. He droned on about Keats and Shelley and Renaissance poets, anxious to impart his enthusiasm to the students-but knowing that his mind remained upon the date with Barbara. Sure, he had done an about-face. She was probably wondering how a guy could find her suddenly irresistible and turn on his Casanova charm.
She needn't be briefed on the reason. Let her do her share to bring him back to the days of youthful erotica ... let her help erase Ida Rene-son from his imagination.
Precisely at seven he escorted Barbara out of her apartment and put her in his tiny foreign car. The Hawk Ridge Motel was an abode edifice set upon an overhang above the parkway. Maurice spoke only spasmodically as he drove along Route Eighteen, listening to the whiz of pine trees on the center island as he sped past. Strange, how he didn't feel certain that his agility would match her expectations-but then again, the satisfaction was of secondary importance.
He joined her in the motel room after signing the register. She unbuttoned her blouse without taking her eyes off him. "I think I'm turning into a nymphomaniac and I want you to cure it."
"Sounds like you're bribing me."
"My breasts haven't shrunk any since the good old days of adolescence. Touch them, dear. Show how you arouse the devil in these battle-guns."
He kissed her arm and then her neck and the flash above her bra. Like the limbs of an octopus he massaged her buttocks with hungry strokes. Barbara whimpered in ecstasy. She threw back her head and sobbed as he moulded her breasts and let his hot fingers play a symphony upon the flesh around her ribcage. He hefted the twin globes while bending over to kiss the rigid ends. They popped to life under his masterful guidance as the minutes flew by.
She ripped his belt off and peeled the pants away from his sweaty legs. "Oh, Maurie!" she gasped. Her head worshipped the hairy mass of his stomach and chest. She kissed every inch of the male body until he began to growl like a dog. She laughed mischievously. He unhooked her bra and watched the breasts spring free in full, stiff urgency; his fist tightened around the lace panties.
"I'm going to tear you apart and burn the pieces that are left," he said. "They'll construct a monument in your honor."
"Go ahead and kill me."
She shrieked in delight as the panties became shreds of fabric in his paws. He wrapped his arms around her, grunting hard, and carried her to the bed. They dove simultaneously upon a soft, silk quilt which ate up their nude forms in pulsating billows of welcome.
He worked on her breasts and inner thighs until she started weeping with frustration. "Kiss me there again! It's so wonderful and exciting-how can I stand it? Oh!!"
His burgeoning need soon lost the race against Barbara's wish for more delay via kisses and whispered words. He groped for her womanness. But as he straddled her and slid his passion rapidly into the normal position, her hand clamped about him. He let out a long, agonized hoot when the forbidden pleasure coursed through him with each stroke that she gave.
"I might disappoint you if you expect any double-headers," he moaned.
"So don't just kneel there! Do something!"
He yanked himself away, sensing the evil pain tom-tomming within him. She had drawn the outline and there could be no turning back. His face buried in the musk and fleshy depths of her bosom, he wiggled like a bullfighter awaiting the exact moment to aim his blow.
The woman shuddered violently as he harpooned her with bestial force. Deeper went the thrust and she burned like a mass of red-hot canvas beneath him, each spasm contorting her eyes and facial features. She grinned in triumph. Their struggle ended with a photo finish and as the thunder clapped its vicious echo around him, he knew she also had reached the culmination with him.
Blackness enfolded the tiny room. Panting for air, he rolled over and flicked the radio on and then lit two cigarets.
"We forgot about the entertainment part of our little affair. Cigaret, Barbara?"
"Thank you."
Despair hit him with the force of an ocean wave, for he sourly realized the experiment had failed. He felt ancient-not younger, as he had hoped. And instead of forgetting that brat, Ida, he needed her more desperately and could envision no other female on earth except her.
"You're very quiet," said Barbara. "Don't go saying I was less than you anticipated. We're up to our ears together in this, honey, and I intend to hang on."
"With the eternal claws of your species?"
"Tonight may have been our first time. But I advise you to make sure there are repeats."
Her threat was clear enough to give him the gist of it, and he figured a rather horrible mistake had been perpetrated when he got involved with the Dean of Women.