Chapter 7
Professor Jim Richardson met Laurie on a pre-selected dark comer the following evening. They walked swiftly and wordlessly to his car, parked in a nearby alley. He headed the car out of town. Laurie, more somber than she'd been in many a day, said:
"Jim, I want out of all this."
"Out?" He flashed her a concerned look. "Why?"
"I don't think I can take it. I thought I could when I started, but now...." Her voice dropped and her eyes lowered to her lap. He'll have to know why, she thought to herself, and I owe it to him to explain; and, of course, the basis for these profound thoughts was the fact that she loved him, and by sequential logic, you didn't love one person and perform perverted acts with another.
She told him in a halting style exactly what had transpired last night at The Cave. She spared him not the slightest clinical detail, because to omit was to lie.
"And then Sid Laska drove me home and he was worse than Vince Carbo. He wanted to know what Vince did to me, and when I told him, he got excited just from listening. He parked the car and he started pawing me." She took a deep breath. "I wasn't going to do anything with him," she added that they'd had intercourse earlier at his apartment "but then he got his hand under my dress ... and I'm such a foolish weakling when somebody puts his hand there...." She paused briefly, and finished, "so it happened again."
Jim's eyes had been steadfastly trained on the winding road, but having heard the total of her somewhat lurid confession, he slowed the car and clasped her hand, gazed appreciatively at her, and in the most commiserative tone he knew, he said:
"I'm afraid I put you into something you've no business in. Saying I'm sorry would do no good, but, on the other hand, if it does mean anything, I am sorry. Deeply sorry." He squeezed her hand and for a brief spell the inside of the car was acutely quiet. But he spoke again, saying:
"We'll stop somewhere and eat, all right?"
Laurie shrugged, "Whatever you want," and as she said it, she realized that the deep inner sickness she felt was not self-loathing, nor was it guilt for her sexual promiscuity; her mental depression and this nagging, empty loneliness were the gloomy by-products of unrequited love.
It was that simple. That complex.
They were the lone customers in a quaint, fire-lit dining room, which was dominated by an Early American influence, all in all, as warm and homespun as apple pie. There was no knowledgeable reason for the tradeless atmosphere. The Boston strip steaks they ordered were truly a chef's delight, nothing less could be said of the dozen-and-one trimmings, the delicious coffee, the memorable after-dinner wine.
Having completed their dinner, they quietly sipped the remainder of their wine. They sat like fattened and contented cows, lazily enjoying this idyllic and romantic atmosphere, its inviting and unexpected intimacy. Laurie emerged from the meal somewhat cheered, though she couldn't have said why, and by the time they were ready to leave, some of their earlier rapport had returned. They joked lightly, tickled one another during the slow walk back to his car, and a long ride in the night was fitting to the evening's inexorable end-a sleepy motel that nested on some hell-forgotten back road, where Jim registered them as man and wife.
Strangely, she thought in retrospect, he'd skipped the protocol of asking. Such a formality she realized would have been superfluous. Each knew what the other wanted.
When he'd closed and locked the door, he insisted on undressing her himself. She was agreeable. She flowed against him and presented her mouth for his kiss. The instant the contact was made, the fury of her excitement began. She churned her breasts against his shirt front and yearned for his hands.
He reached over her shoulder and switched out the light.
"Most men want the lights on," she observed. "We've got light. Lots" of light." He led her to the window. An April moon slanted its rays through the Venetian blinds and illuminated her face and body. Her eyes and mouth crinkled in a smile.
"The teacher thinks of everything, huh?"
"I try to," he said.
"And d'you think you'll be able to locate my zipper?"
His eyes gleamed. He never looked more mischievous than he did now.
"I may have to do a little feeling around," he said, "but I'll find it"
"Start looking," she ordered.
His hands moved to her hips.
"I think I'll start looking down here."
She let a sigh escape from her trembling red lips. Jim's hands were busy on her backside, stroking her spankable buttocks, dropping slightly and caressing her curvy young flanks and thighs.
"Feel good?"
"Ohhhh, y-yes. Keep it up."
He raised her dress. His warm hands brushed the insides of her naked thighs. A delicious shiver ran through her.
"You sure know how to get a girl teased up," she said in a trembling voice.
"Don't you want to be teased?"
"S-sure."
His nails tickled her between her thighs. She squirmed and giggled.
"If you can tickle, so can I." She lowered the zipper of his pants and fumbled inside his shorts. There was no question of his excitement and as she stroked and pulled at him and his excitement swelled and throbbed, Laurie's elation shot to the moon.
"Undress me, Jim. Hurry."
"And you undress me-all right?"
"Okay," she whispered, and she wanted to tell him how hot she was but it was hardly necessary.
The stripping was something frantic. Jim's hands unleashed her for new and total abandon. He slipped her dress over her head in something less than six seconds. He worked feverishly at her brassiere, drew it from her arms, and stood utterly fascinated as her breasts bobbed in his face.
"I just want to do some star-gazing," he murmured, completely captivated.
Laurie felt good inside. Her breasts were her special pride and boys had been trying to touch and feel them as long as she could remember. To have Jim so pleasurably paralyzed filled her with joy.
She said, "I think you have a breast fetish."
"I'm sure as hell developing one," he said, still admiring their creamy and curvy perfection. "They're just about the loveliest...."
"That you've ever seen," she finished.
"And how many beautiful breasts have you looked at?" she teased.
"4,328 of them."
"I believe it"
"But yours are the best"
"Touch 'em."
"I'm going to."
"And kiss them."
"Yes."
"And squeeze 'em."
"As hard as I can."
"Ohhh, Jim." She melted against him. His eager hands grappled her breasts, kneaded their cushiony hotness. Laurie almost fainted.
"Touch me, Laurie."
Her hands dropped from his waist and sought his masculinity. "That's it!"
She rubbed him savagely. "Like this?"
"Y-yessss! Ohhhh...." She released him momentarily. "My turn." She cupped her breasts, put them to his mouth. "Lick them, Jim All over."
The moon was their witness. He bent down. His long hot tongue lapped and curled around her youthful nipples. Laurie craned her neck and watched the exciting spectacle, the transformation of a soft nipple to a hard one; first one, then the other.
"Oh, does that ever feel wonderful," she sighed dreamily.
"You act like it was the first time anyone sucked your breasts."
"I can't help it," she murmured. "I guess it's 'cause you do it better than anyone else."
"I'm glad."
"So am I, Jim. So am I."
His mouth went back to her bouncing, throbbing breasts. Laurie, meanwhile, stroked him to greater eagerness. Soon he was pulling at her panties, drawing them down her slender hips. He stepped back. His eyes overflowed with excitement. Her panties were midway on her hips.
"Betcha can't make 'em come off without using your hands," he challenged her.
"I'll bet I can."
"Let's see."
Laurie thought it would be easy. She was wrong. She twisted and turned, pumped and gyrated her hips, but the elastic of her panties was more functional than she'd imagined and they continued to cling to the white of her body.
"They won't come off."
"I told you they wouldn't," he said.
"You just wanted to see me wiggle my fanny."
"What's wrong with that?" he smiled.
"Nothing." She was still undulating her body, trying desperately to win their joking bet. The panties moved. Just a fraction of an inch ... but movement, nevertheless.
"See!" she said triumphantly. "They're coming down." She stood still, squeezed her thighs tightly together. With her lower body now narrowed some more, the panties were now able to tickle their way down her flanks.
"I didn't think you could to it," he said, watching her step free of the panties.
"I can do a lot of things if you'll just let me," she said, swiveling her young body for his entertainment
"Like this," she said, falling to her knees.
"No, Laurie," he protested.
"Why not?"
"Cause."
But Laurie wouldn't listen. She loved him, and as she pulled downward on his pants and shorts, she said:
"If I can do it to somebody like Vince Carbo, then I can certainly do it for you."
Jim shook his head. He tried to push her a way.
"No, Laurie ... no!"
But Laurie wouldn't hear of his protests. She loved him. She raised up. Her red, heart-shaped lips encircled him. Once her youthful tongue began its work, Jim's protests were silenced for good.
Laurie had no shame. She was too excited for shame, too anxious to please. Her head bobbed up and down on him, faster and faster. She heard and felt his breathing grow irregular and she thought Now he'll know how much I care.
Seconds later, he tried to force her mouth from him. She refused.
"But Laurie...."
"If s all right, Jim," she said from the comer of her mouth. "But...."
"C'mon, honey," she purred. "It's all right ... all right...."
He stiffened.
"Laurie!" he screamed.
Her lips worked feverishly. Her hands flew to the scene. He exploded. Complete sexual capitulation to her lips, her divine tongue.
"Was it all right?" she asked afterward.
From the bed, he sighed heavily.
"Crazy! Out of this world."
She came to him with a lit cigarette, placing it between his lips, then curling next to his body. She stroked the limpness of him.
"A guy ought to have a substitute for situations like this. Somebody to fill in for him while he's resting."
"An idea."
"Well they do it in football and baseball and all the other sports, don't they."
"This is a different kind of ball game," he replied.
"You play your kind of ball game and I'll play my kind." Her hands deployed to new mischief, and with her constant and stimulative stroking, Jim was soon reacting in the way of all men.
"I think I'll keep you up all night," she announced. "Up?"
"That, too."
"You're a devil."
"We're going to make love all night, okay."
"You can't wear it out, y'know."
"Of course not But look at all the fun we'll have by trying."
"You're a nut!"
"Too much for you?"
"Never." He rolled over on top of her. His lower body sank between her outstretched thighs. He stabbed at her innards.
"Is that the best you can do?" she teased him.
He drew back, then plunged into her with maniacal force. Laurie let out an anguished moan. He stopped.
"Who's too much for who?"
"Don't stop," she pleaded. "I didn't moan because it hurt. I moaned because it felt so good."
"Are you sure?"
"Yesss ... y-yes."
He moved cautiously. Laurie urged him to go faster.
"We can't waste a minute."
"We've got all night."
"But the way I feel," she said, short on breath, "we'll need it!"