Chapter 5
The phone was ringing when he let himself into his apartment. Warren was away for the night and Jim answered it. It was Patti.
"Jim, what happened?"
She was phoning from an outside booth-he could hear the traffic sounds-and he gathered his cool and began his act.
"Somebody slugged me," he said. "After I left you, I went into the John, and that's the last thing I remember. Somebody was set up behind the door, laying for me. I think they hit me with a goddamn sledgehammer." And then he told her the rest of his rehearsed story. He came to on the bathroom floor, his pockets were turned inside out, and most of his money was missing. "I went back to the supply room and you were gone. So then I came here." He paused. "Where are you?"
She did not answer his question. Instead, she said, "I think you're lying, Jim."
"Lying?"
"Yes, lying. I don't believe you went to the bathroom, and I don't believe anyone slugged you. I think y'made up the whole thing and I think it was you who arranged for your boyfriends to do what they did. You got me drunk and then you-"
"What the dickens are you talking about?" He swallowed, trying to recapture some strength in his voice.
"You know perfectly well what I'm talking about. You set me up so those horrible friends of yours could do all those dirty things to me, and if you think you're getting away with it, you've got another thought coming."
"Patti-"
"Don't Patti me, you sonofabitch! I've heard about some dirty underhanded schemes in my day, but I've never heard of anybody doing as filthy as what you did. Talk about perverts-" She cleared her throat. "You're the lowest of the lowest."
His face reddened, half in anger, half in befuddlement of what to say to her. He felt like telling her that what he had done was no worse than what she had done: two-timing him, promising herself to him, and sucking another man's peter behind his back. But she was mad enough without this remark, and he checked his temper and continued to plead his innocence, sticking to his story of being slugged.
"You must think I'm awful stupid, Jim."
"I don't think anything of the kind, but-"
"I know a put-up job when I see one."
"Patti, you don't know what you're saying."
"The hell I don't. What was in those drinks?"
"Drinks?"
"Yes, drinks. Don't you think I know when I've been drugged."
Christ! Now what was he to say?
"Patti, we both drank the same shit."
"Yes," she said, her voice suddenly lower in tone. "You out of one thermos and me out of another."
He froze up. Had he been that obvious?
"Look, Patti, I don't know what this is all about, but whatever it is, it's not going to work." He paused, wondering how this sounded to her. They said the best defense was an offense, and this was precisely what he was aiming at. But the offense never came off. She cut him off before he even got started.
"Let's not waste each other's time, Jim. You and your friends had your cheap kicks and that's that. You and I-we're finished."
"Patti-"
"And as far as what happened tonight, don't think you're getting away with it. My day in court is coming and when it does-when it does, you'll be sorry you were ever born."
He started to say something, but the line was suddenly dead. He called out her name. Silence. Again. More silence. And finally he cradled the phone.
What to do? Cool her? Patronize her? Send her some flowers? Phone her when she gets home? Christ! Always trouble.
He poured himself a drink. What did she mean, My day in court is coming. Was this simply a figure of speech or was she going to the police?
He tried to think. Got to get this thing straight in my mind, he thought. Got to figure out what to say.
He had a second drink. Maybe she'd phone again. Maybe she'd say-well, what would she say? And what would he say? Tell her he was sorry? Admit the truth? Explain that he was trying to get even with her for what she did? And suppose the cops came, pounding on his door, hollering, "Open up!" What was he to say to them?
His thoughts went around and around and around. He felt sick and he threw the rest of his drink in the kitchen sink. He stretched out on the bed, closed his eyes, and hoped for a small miracle, and the miracle arrived. He fell asleep.
By late the next afternoon, he realized his fears were groundless. The day had passed without incident. No police at his door, no summons into court. His university mailbox was empty-none of those yellow memos from the Dean, those dreaded, hastily-scrawled messages that read See me in my office.
Neither was there word from her parents, and this was perhaps the brightest sign of all. A pissed-off parent was usually beyond compromise. Hang him, they would say, and it might come to that. But inasmuch as there had been no word from them, it was reasonable to assume she had not told them.
He became more and more certain of this during the days which followed. No trouble, life a breeze. And if Patti had not informed her parents-or the authoritie-she was in the clear.
Warren Yanko, his roommate, agreed. Those threats were a lot of horseshit. He had badly unseated her ego with that prearranged gang-bang, Warren said, and it was only natural for her to fling wild threats at him.
Jim sighed happily. "I was kind of worried for a while."
"Well you don't have to worry any longer. She got what was coming to her, and it's over with."
He fell into the old routine, without concern. Classes as normal, football workouts from three until dusk, hit the books until midnight, dream about the Big Game-and sometimes a wet dream over a piece of ass.
It was this latter bit-wanting and needing something strange-that set his eyes to wandering. He wanted someone young-that was the best stuff, he argued-and this time he would not get serious about her.
His attention was drawn to the young high school cheerleaders who were frequently on the playing field, Patti among them. They drilled almost as much as the football team, he noticed, and sight of their short skirts swirling above their asses constantly excited him. They probably screwed around-what young girls didn't?-but how was he to make his pitch and still avoid a direct confrontation with Patti? Get one of those juicy morsels aside? Sure, but how?
"Let me do it, that's how," Warren told him. "I'll just go up to one of them and say, 'Hey, I got a buddy, and he wants to meet you.' And when she asks who is this buddy I'm talking about, I'll tell her."
"And you think she'll drop her drawers and come a-running, huh?"
"When I finish my pep talk, yes. I'll say, 'Look here, sweetie. This buddy of mine just happens to be the greatest quarterback in State Tech history. He covers the 100 yard dash in 9.7, has a 4.42 average gain from rushing, has completed exactly 51.6% of his passes, and if that isn't enough, he also has the biggest cock on the campus.'"
Jim warmed to the friendly slap on the back. He laughed and said, "Warren, either you're the best public relations man in town or the biggest pimp."
"At your service, ol' buddy," Warren said with a smile, and his glance dropped to Jim's crotch, suggesting that his services included more than date-fixing.
Jim pigeon-holed Warren's double-entendre for a rainy day. At the moment, he was more interested in his roommate's offer to approach one of the young high school cheerleaders and propose a date.
"And you think it'll work, just walking up to 'em and hitting 'em cold like that?"
"I know it'll work," Warren said confidently. "Do you want me to prove it?"
"Why not?" he shrugged. "What's there to lose?"
Warren Yanko succeeded admirably. The girl's name was Lisa-Lisa Norman-she was red-haired, a mere 16, this was her first year with the cheerleader group, and going on a hayride with Jim Cade-this was what Warren had suggested-was "absolutely groovy!" She was not overly bright, Warren pointed out-"So who needs brains to screw?"-but she did more for a sweater than Arnold Palmer.
"You never saw tits like these before," Warren raved. "Straight out of dreamland, friend. The biggest, juiciest, loveliest tits in the universe. Fm telling you-"
And as Jim discovered on the night of the hayride, Warren's superlatives were somewhat exaggerated. True, Lisa's breasts did beg for attention, and they were nice. But what enhanced the beauty of her luscious 16 year old breasts, and perhaps warped Warren's judgment, was the super-tight, deeply vee'd sweaters she delighted in wearing. That and the crazy French bra which bulged her titties up and outwards, so that with a bit of effort and the proper light one could see the succulent pink of her nipples.
When they met at the site of the hayride, Jim had difficulty meeting her eyes. Her breasts constantly snatched his attention, and he wondered why he hadn't taken notice of her before. No doubt it was because of Patti. Being in love with someone could certainly blind you to all the others.
"This is going to be groovy," she said as they stood behind the high school, waiting to climb aboard the hay wagon.
He nodded nervously, pondering what one said to a young high school girl, whose vocabulary consisted mainly of "groovy" and "cool" and "kooky." She wasn't overly bright-Warren had been right about that part-but as his gaze returned again and again to the exciting shadow between her breasts, he knew he was more interested about what was inside her sweater than inside her head.
"Were you ever on a hayride before?" she asked.
"No, this is the first time." He unconsciously wet his lips, noticing, as a full moon broke over the treetops, that her hair was more of a brown than a red. "Is this the first time for you, too?"
"Lordy, no. I've been on four or five of 'em." Her wide eyes, somewhat anxious, swam across his broad, muscular chest, then darted back to his face. "But they were a bust," she added.
"What makes you think you'll like this one, then?"
She shrugged her shoulders. "I don't know," she said. "But I just think it'll be groovy."
A real brain, he thought. But here I am, he warned himself, worrying again about her friggin' intelligence, and what the hell is the point of it? Patti was a whiz-brain in certain areas, and she played me for the biggest fool in town.
"You don't have to get home at any certain time, do you?"
"Not on Friday nights," she told him. "I can stay out as late as I want."
Score one for the home team, he mused. Fm going to lay this little chick-and tonight! Neck with her on this hayride, feel her up-especially those tits!-suck her tongue until she's half-crazy with excitement, and then ask if she wants to come up to my place for a while. She'll break her balls to say yes-he was familiar with the signs of hero worship: giddy, eyes over-bright, unable to still her hands-and once he got her up to the apartment, the rest would be downhill.
At precisely eight-thirty, with fourteen young couples nestled in the huge old hay wagon, the ride began. A pair of aged work horses drew the wagon over back streets and were guided by their driver to a seldom-traveled country road. There was much laughter and chatter, even some off-key chorusing of "Ninety-nine Bottles of Beer on the Wall." But as the rickety old wagon carried them deeper and deeper into the quiet and black of the country, the chatter and sing-song subsided. Boys and girls, eager for a stolen kiss or a free feel, separated from the others and burrowed into the hay. And, by and by, the coupling was complete and all that was heard was the clop-clop of the horses' hoofs and the rattle of the creaky, over-burdened wagon.
He and Lisa discovered that the rear of the wagon afforded them greater privacy, and this was where they had stretched out. The 16 year old, as fresh and fragrant as a climbing rose, was hardly what Jim would have called bashful. She molded her warm, curvy, jailbait body against him, needing no suggestion or encouragement.
The feeling of her hot chest on his shirt front was not unpleasant, but he did feel a little ill at ease with a girl as bold as Lisa. He would have preferred being the aggressor himself, the master of the house taking advantage of the desirable, helpless nymphet.
"Are you cold?" he asked.
She snuggled closer. Her slack-covered lower body kissed his loins. "Not now, I'm not." She gave off a suggestive wiggle with her behind. "Right now, everything's just groovy."
He smiled elatedly. This Lisa was going to be one helluva good lay. He could tell the type. Young and wild and bratty, not afraid of anything.
Excited, he nuzzled his face in her hair, baby-kissed her forehead, her temple, the soft warmth of her cheek. At the same time, he gave a little push with his pelvis. He wanted her to know he had a hard-on-some of the guys said this drove the chicks crazy-and he half-expected the 16 year old to push back; but she didn't.
He squeezed a bit tighter on her tiny, curvaceous waist, and while his denims were quite heavy, he still was able to feel the thrilling warmth of her skin.
He was decidedly hot. Hot because she was so close; hot because she was so young; hot because she was so willing.
He wriggled his body, carrying them deeper into the hay. His warm mouth traced the blushing curve of her cheek, and he moved upward until he was kissing her eyelid. Some of the girls went slightly batty when you did this to them, and it was always fun to experiment and see.
Lisa liked the eyelid kiss. She moaned softly and her breathing quickened and Jim began to anticipate the wondrous moment when he would lower the zipper of her bell-bottoms. And if she was getting hot just from his kissing her eyelids, what would happen when he got down to the real stuff: sneaking his hand inside her panties, caressing her cunny, rubbing her hairy mound, and then deftly sliding a stiff middle finger into the crack between her legs?
Thinking about it stirred him to an intense excitement. The pulse beat of his prick grew stronger. His mouth grew dry and his hands wanted to roam.
He lowered his hands slightly, so that instead of being at her waist, they were at the curvy slope of her behind. She made no move to resist him and his hopes raS onward at a feverish pitch. She was going to let him, he thought. She was going to let him do anything he wished.
He kissed her eyelids again, rubbed noses with her, then let his lips settle in the inside corner of her eye. A tremor went through her. She wriggled excitedly.
"Damn you," she sighed.
He repeated the kiss, thrilling to the wild effect it was having on her-and on him, too. He slid his hands lower on her ass. Through her striped bell-bottoms, he could feel the elastic ribbing of her panties. And beneath her panties-beneath her panties of nylon or silk, his trembling fingers sensed the full, voluptuous curvature of her pinchable behind.
His eyes searched the vee of her sweater. It was too dark to see her titties, but he knew they were down there, golden goodies, forbidden fruit, a girl's playthings, something to cause them the crazy crazies.
But should he attempt to play with her tits this soon? he wondered. She was dangerously young, which meant she might not know exactly what she wanted. And teenage girls were incredibly unpredictable, he reminded himself; intolerable teases, as well. Also, it was possible that he might frighten her if he moved too swiftly, and once frightened-this had happened to him before-the girl would refuse him.
He decided to hold off a bit, let Tier offer the encouragement. If she wanted him to get real wild, she would soon find a way to let him know.
They hugged and petted for several more minutes, during which time he kept his lean, muscular body pressed against the young girl's. It provoked an exquisite sensation in his body and he loved it. At the same time he was thrilling to this, he maintained a tight grip on her cute ass, dying to feel the crack of it, but fearful of frightening her if he did.
At length, he kissed her mouth, and he could not recall when, in all his years of messing around, a kiss had been this thrilling. She had the clean, sweet mouth of a young child: soft, yielding lips, a bit moist, a bit warm, innocently permissive. But the wanton animal that was so much a part of her was not to be bridled. She hadn't worn these tight, revealing clothes for the fun of it. She wanted something to happen to her, to be fondled and fooled with. And during this long, memorable moment that spelled the first kissing of her mouth, she revealed just how very hot she had become; and she did it by gently forcing her wriggling little tongue between his lips, wriggling it until it was deep inside his mouth.
His blood raced. Her mischievous child-woman tongue set his genitals on fire. And god almighty, wasn't she something! So young, this Lisa, and yet so learned.
He opened his mouth slightly, so that she would have more room in which to tantalize him. Almost instantly, her rolling, swirling, teasing tongue made contact with his, and the sensation was maddening.
How un-like other girls whom he had French-kissed, he thought. Simply sliding her tongue in and out of his mouth, this was not enough. Her imaginative rosebud-colored tongue had to do other things. She flicked her tongue like a tiny, restless butterfly flicked its wings. She worked under his tongue, darted on top of it, played along its sides. She dueled his tongue, nibbled it, sucked it.
He was half out of his mind with excitement. He strained against her. Her breasts squeezed against his shirt front. Her nipples, nearly as hard as the head of his dick, were more apparent than ever.
Suddenly Lisa withdrew her tongue, arched her head back. Her wide dark eyes searched his face. Her girl child mouth offered him a faint smile, and she seemed to be asking him, How was it?
"Where'd you ever learn how to kiss like that?" he asked, perspiration gleaming on his brow.
"From guys," she said blandly, and she continued to study his expression.
He wondered how many guys. Probably quite a gang of them. Probably been messing around since she was ten or eleven. And no doubt somebody had copped her cherry during that time, too. Or had they?
His eyes shot to her firm, ripe breasts. His gaze pinpointed her nipples, and he sensed she was reading his mind, knew how he ached to reach down inside the vee of her sweater, grab her grapefruits, squeeze 'em, tickle the nipples, squeeze her tits some more, and finally suck 'em like mad.
She said, "What are you thinking of?"
He was dying to tell her but still a bit worried how she would take it. He'd never fooled around with a girl quite this young, and he didn't intend to take any chances.
He said, "I was still thinking about that kiss."
Her eyes crinkled: a regular little imp. "Wanna see something else?"
"What?"
"Gimme your hand."
Now it was his turn to study her expression. He removed his left hand from her buttocks. Lisa took his hand and brought it to her mouth. She parted her cherry-red lips. She singled out his index finger, guided it into her mouth, past her teeth.
Joy coursed through his body. The wet warmth of her mouth was highly arousing, and the erotic parallel to a stiff penis entering a hot, moist pussy was unmistakable.
His finger explored. He touched the slick tissue just inside her lips. Slowly he traced the shape of her mouth, going around and around, stirring himself, stirring her. He played every surface before she took the initiative once again, driving him mad with her tongue.
His finger and her tongue fought, played tease. Animal sounds came from deep in her throat and she sucked feverishly on his finger.
For many lost minutes it was like that, Lisa driving him crazy with desire. Then, and very slowly, she drew his finger out of her mouth. But the tease was not over, for she spread his fingers apart and began licking the sensitive crotches one by one. Then her exploring tongue went to his palm. She licked the very center of it, went back to his fingertips, licked each of the fingers in turn, finally returning to his palm.
He was so hot he almost came in his pants. He made small moves with his legs. Lisa responded with similar moves. He melted. And then, happening so fast that he couldn't have accurately recounted it, she reached for his fly, clasped the zipper and pulled down.
Her small hand found his shaft. The contact almost sent him spinning into space. He shivered with joy. He had heard of extremely young girls who were oversexed and acted with animal instinct, grabbed your peter without being asked, but this was his first acquaintance with such a girl.
"That feels nice," he groaned, as she pulled his throbbing peter out of his pants and started to stroke it.
"Then this'll feel even nicer," she whispered. She sat up, smiled briefly, then bent over him.
He didn't guess it was going to happen, not until her mouth dove to his lap. And what a mouth it was!
She first licked her lips. Then she stretched her lips, covering her teeth, forming a firm, smooth ridge. She lowered her mouth onto his penis, sliding his throbbing excitement in as far as it would go, which was clear to its base.
Slowly, very slowly, she raised her mouth to the head of his dick, paused, then dove again. He almost fainted, it felt that good.
She continued raising and lowering her hot mouth over his penis: a slow, steady in-and-out stroke that made him delirious with joy.
He was too hot to hold back. But he warned her, "L-Lisa-Lisa, I'm gonna-I'm gonna come."
She kept right on with what she was doing.
He said it again, a harsh whisper, urgent. But Lisa couldn't stop, didn't want to stop. She was as consumed with sucking him off as he was by his excitement.
He made a last-second effort to stop her before he came in her mouth: pushing at her shoulders. But now it was too late. He jerked. His ass raised out of the hay. His peter went deeper into her throat, and the white cream came and came and came, and Lisa, devil that she was, sucked and sucked and sucked.
He lost track of time, for ecstasy had pushed reality out of his mind. But now he was back amongst the living. Lisa was releasing his peter, licking her lips free of semen, patting him gently, then settling beside him.
He couldn't believe his incredible good fortune. This lovely 16 year old girl who was cradled in his arms had sucked him off! And she did it without being asked, he thought. Sucked me and licked me and made me come. And if she's that willing to do different things, I wonder what she'll be like as a screw?
He reached to his groin. She hadn't put his penis back inside his pants, which was what he was going to do himself.
"Don't put it away."
"Well I can't leave it out."
"But I wanna suck it some more." And like a hot little leech, she went down on him again.