Chapter 7

Candy spent almost a half hour creeping past the watchman's gate station, working her way down the deserted road to the Archer gate and then into the wood once more.

At last she halted behind a large tree, gazing into a clearing much like the one at the Treacher Camp. There were a large frame building and several groups of tents, each throwing a sharp shadow in the moonlight.

She wondered...

"Who is it? Who's out there?"

The voice, high-pitched and perhaps frightened, came from one side and she looked into a group of trees where the shadows blended into a solid mass. She might have seen something move, but she couldn't be certain. She thought fast.

"It's just me," she replied softly, keeping her voice light and innocent.

"A girl?"

"I'm lost. Won't you give me some help?"

A figure detached itself from the gloom and stepped into the moonlight. He was a year or two younger than Candy, with straight, wheat-colored hair that flung itself across his forehead. His chest and shoulders had the thinness of an immature boy-but he was big enough for what Candy wanted.

She breathed through her nose, still detecting the faint smell of her cigarette, and her senses raced as she, too, stepped into the moonlight.

"I'll be darned," he exclaimed, coming close and peering down into her face. He was kind of cute. "What's a girl doing in the woods at three in the morning?"

Candy stifled an impulse to hand back a double meaning reply. "I'm in a terrible mess. I've been lost since nine o'clock, and if they find out they'll positively kill me." She hoped she was talking with the affected English of a Treacher girl. "What about you?"

"Guard duty," he replied, a ring of pride in his voice. "All the bigger guys pull four hours of night duty once a week. You know, to keep watch over the place and make sure no tramps wander in to steal things. Only us bigger fellows are able to qualify."

"Oh, I can see that," she replied, her voice an awed whisper. "But what can I do? I've been wandering around the woods for hours and if I don't get back..."

"What's your camp?"

"Treacher. Have you heard of it?"

"Sure. Just a little way up the road." He snickered like an adolescent. "They usually rope us guys into a dance there every August."

Candy wrung her hands. "I've simply got to get back, but I don't know the way."

"You just go out to the road..."

"No!" She shook her head. "I've been scared to death all night and I'm not going to take another step alone."

The boy looked over his shoulder at the tents. "I could wake Mr. Gibbs..."

"No! I told you, they'd kill me. I got lost during a night nature hike and my counselor will think I skipped out." She sighed. "If that happened, I'd probably be dismissed."

She could almost hear the wheels turning inside his head. At last he said, "I suppose I could show you the way..."

"If someone found us, you wouldn't be in any trouble." She stepped closer and placed her hand on his chest, gazing up into his face, smiling her most sincere smile. "I'd tell the truth for you ... What's your name?"

"Ralph." He gulped.

"I'd make sure you didn't get into any trouble." She shrugged, throwing her shoulders back so he could see her figure more clearly. "If no one saw us, well, it wouldn't make any difference."

He shook his head. "I really better not. If I left my post Mr. Gibbs would raise cain..."

Once they were on the road, he grew more cocky. As they stepped along he stuck out his chest and assumed a protective attitude and, at the same time, he flirted with her in his way.

"Candy-do they call you that because you're sweet?"

"Could be," she said, knowing they didn't have much time. They were already more than halfway back to the Treacher Camp.

When they came to a place where large trees threw shade over the shoulder of the road she stumbled, falling to her knees. He was at her side immediately, tucking his hands under her shoulders, pulling her up.

"Hey, are you hurt?" He studied her, frightened again.

She shook her head, leaning against him, clutching his arm and letting her breasts dig into his chest. For an instant, he pulled away. Then he changed his mind.

"I need a minute to rest," she sighed, leading the way into the grass. She sat down heavily and pulled the package from her shorts.

She shook one out. "Smoke?"

He stared at the pack a moment and swallowed. Then he tried to match her casual mood. "Why not?"

"That's the ticket, sonny," she snapped, abruptly abandoning her Treacher accent. Candy knew she had him the instant she touched a match to his cigarette. No more need for drawing-room affectation.

They sat with their backs against a tree, puffing slowly but deeply, and from time to time she glanced sideways at him. He said nothing about the peculiar taste of the cigarette and, judging from the way he held the thing, it might have been the first he had ever smoked.

"Where you from, bo?" she asked.

He was trying to inhale and his breathing had changed. It was faster. "Bakersfield."

"Hot town."

"You bet! My family heads for Laguna every summer, and they ship me off by myself."

Another one of the rich brats. Just think! Enough money to spend the whole summer on the coast or in the mountains. "Your daddy print money in the basement?"

He laughed in a high titter and she knew the smoke had taken over. "Heck, no. He's got a big Cadillac agency. All those oil wells earn money for expensive cars."

She sniffed, wishing she were back on the beach at a pot party with a swinging crowd. "Dad wants to give me a Cad," she said inanely, "but I'm holding out for a Continental."

He didn't seem startled. "I'll have to admit,' that's a good car, too."

They were silent until their cigarettes were gone and then he looked at her. It was darker now; the moon was lower in the sky and in a couple of hours the sun would trade places with it. The pupils of his eyes were extremely black and the whites very white, giving him a trace-like stare. For no reason he looked at her legs and laughed.

"Feeling chipper, jocko?"

"I feel something, that's for sure." He sucked air in through his nose, puffing up his chest. He pounded on it with both fists, making a thumping noise. "Man, I feel as strong as a bull!"

"According to plan," she said in a dry tone. "Let me know when you're strong enough to work off a little of the excess."

"Huh?" He promptly forgot his question. "Boy, I never knew a cigarette could make everything so tingly. No wonder my folks each go through two packs a day. They must be riding high all the time."

At last she sat up, turning toward him and drawing her feet under her so that her knees jutted. "Bakersfield, your daddy and mama and Cadillacs are peachy, chum, but what about us? You know, like here and now?"

He giggled again and she hoped he wasn't putting all his energy into laughing. "I feel like I want to do something, all right." He looked down at his hands and then at her knees, just inches away. "I don't know what. It isn't like wanting to run or swim or wrestle with the guys. It's different."

She lifted her hand and crooked her ringer. "Come on over. I'll tell you what it is, stud."

He leaned forward, his head turned to one side so she could whisper into his ear. She put her hand on his head and her lips to his ear. Then her tongue darted out, jabbing harshly into the ear while she held on, keeping him close.

His body jerked as though his nervous system had gone wild, and he pulled away, rubbing his ear. "Hey, that's crazy!" But he was grinning foolishly and didn't move far off.

She turned her head again, cupping his chin and pulling at him. She kissed him on the mouth, and her tongue thrust against his teeth until his jaws opened. In she darted, pushing everywhere, exploring deeply. His breath rattled through his nose.

She released him and sat back, her hands resting on her thighs. "Well?"

"Boy!" He rubbed his mouth. "That was something!"

She ground her teeth, biting back a remark that might have spoiled it all. Instead, she smiled and let her fingers touch the side of his face. She put them over his mouth, and he kissed her palm.

In an abrupt movement, she pulled her T-shirt over her head, taking a moment to pat her champagne hair back into place. While he stared, she looked down. Although the night had darkened, she could still see the high whiteness of her breasts and the darker color at their tips.

"What do you think of them?" she demanded. The cigarette had taken a tight hold on her senses, and she was growing tired of her timorous playmate. It was time for action.

"Beautiful!" he said with awe. "My mom has pretty good ones, but not like..."

"Screw your moral" she hissed, clasping her hands around his neck and pulling his head down on her.

His face struck between her breasts, buried itself in the deep, soft valley of cool flesh, and she could feel the whisper of his eyelashes against her. She tingled everywhere, her body fully ready, knowing that something would have to happen very soon.

His face turned to one side and, wiggling her shoulders expertly, she popped a nipple between his lips. Instinctively, he took it, opening his mouth over as much of her as he could manage. The pull of him was wonderful, and she felt her breast swell with ecstasy as the nipple stiffened, its very tip popping forward to a point.

He moved to the other breast, again taking as much as he could, and again she felt the delicious swelling, the final preparation of her body for the thing she wanted most. He removed her face and, unexpectedly, pulled out a handkerchief and wiped the dampness from her nipples. The touch of him was driving her ever closer to the brink.

"Come on, come onl" she growled, deeply in her throat. "Move into high gear, mister Cadillac."

His hands moved over her breasts and shoulders, patting her lightly, traveling in aimless circles. "I ... I ... guess I don't know..."

"I guess you don't," she cried, slapping his hands away.

She tugged at her hip, parting her shorts and kicking them off. She saw his shock at the sight of her lovely body, but at the same time he licked his lips and his fists opened and closed.

"Come on!" she cried again.

He put his hands on her, and she closed her eyes, letting her head roll back. Fingers explored her middle, worming into her navel, around her hips and then across her thighs. Her body stiffened like a hundred and twenty-five pounds of spring steel, and she realized she'd waited almost too long.

With a small cry, she lunged, hitting him on the chest, rolling him back on the pine needles. Instantly, she was digging at his clothes, opening things, releasing him, reaching for him.

He gasped, his knees working, his back on the ground. He was ready, she knew. Thanks to tender, virile years and the cigarette, the Mister America of Bakersfield needed almost no preparation. He still didn't know what to do.

She threw herself over him, letting herself down with the accuracy of imaginative experience, finding him, and pushing down harder. She felt him and, for a youngster, he was highly satisfactory.

Her talented hips took charge, and he began to catch her rhythm, struggling to match her speed and power. He did so at last, just long enough for them both to reach a bursting climax.

Their bodies stiffened and they hung onto one another for a second, then let everything go in a swirling geyser of sex. She let her face fall down on his, and her teeth found his lower lip. She bit spasmodically for a minute, and then it was all over.

Her body was drenched in perspiration, and moisture dripped from the tip of her nose to his face. Their bodies had lost their strength and relaxed together so that she was sprawled prone the length of him.

"Hey!" he said at last, his breath rattling in his throat.

"Hey, yourself, tiger."

"That was something!"

"Good enough for an encore?"

He blinked. "Tomorrow night?"

Candy hadn't planned to put it off so long. She had been toying with the idea of resuming relations in something like fifteen minutes. But she nodded. "Same time. Same place."

He closed his eyes when she lowered her lips to his. Then he said, "We'd better get moving. It'll be dawn soon, and they'll..."

She heard a footstep a split second before the voice crashed down on them. "So, here you are!" Then a brief pause and the realization. "Good God in heaven!"

The boy whimpered like a puppy. "Cripes! That's Mr. Gibbs!"

Instantly she put her lips down to his ear. "Okay, so we're caught. It's bad, but it'll be worse if they find out we were smoking. Remember, not a word about the cigarettes. Not one word!"