A Family Saga, Chapt 1 - 2

Chapter 1

The knowing, wise, old eyes of the school nurse regarded the lovely,

auburn-tressed girl who sat across the desk from her. The complaint was

a common one; the girl was suffering some faintness with her menstrual

period. Ordinarily, Ernestine would have sent the afflicted girl home

with instructions for bed rest for the remainder of the day, but she was

stopped in mid-reach for the special form excuse she would have to fill

out. The girl had just said that she didn't want to go home, asking

instead, that she be allowed to stay in the Health Office until the

close of school.

"Is there some special reason, Charity, something that would keep you

from staying at home ...?" the nurse asked.

Charity Scott glanced up into the kindly face, momentarily, then

concentrated her gaze on the pen-holder on the desk as an attack of

dizziness reminded her of her reason for this visit to the school's

Health Office. She didn't know exactly how she should answer Mrs.

Keaton's question. It was difficult to put into words; she just knew

that it would be best if she did no? go home. With an effort, she began,

"M-My dad's at h-home ... he's sick and stayed h-home from w-work ...

t-today ..." she stumbled.

"Is he quite ill?" It was a leading question.

The girl was quiet for a moment, not answering. How should she answer?

How can a young girl put it into words?

"Well ..." Charity dropped her eyes to the floor, "h-he drinks ....

quite a lot ... a-and ..." She stopped then, not wanting to go on.

"... And, what ... Charity ...?" Ernestine's voice was kind, coaxing.

"I-I just d-don't want t-to go h-home ... is all ...!"

Ernestine Keaton, School Nurse, knew the reason without asking. She had

heard it all before, many times, from many girls. She flipped through

the Emergency Card file to extract Charity Scott's card signed by both

parents. She knew the answer to her question, but she asked "Is Gabriel

Scott your real father?"

Most of the time, Ernestine mused, it was stepfathers who molested the

young girls, but she had known of many cases where the girl's real

father had had sexual interests in their own, flesh- and-blood

daughters. The unnatural, incestuous lust revulsed and disgusted the

nurse, but there was little she could do about those situations, most of

the time, it was too late. Dear God! Here's another lovely young girl,

exposed to Heaven only knows what! ... A drunken, sex-maniac of a

father, no doubt ... peeping and pinching .... waiting for his chance to

... to debase her ... ruin her! God! Why isn't there some way we can

help ... before it's too late? She had to know. She probed a little

further.

"Are you afraid ... of your father, Charity ...?" she asked, "... afraid

to be alone with him ... afraid he might ... do something to you ...?"

Charity's face flamed. She looked up in disbelief at the school nurse

who had dared to say what she had not even wanted to think.

"That's crazy, Mrs. Keaton ... Why sh-should I-I ...?" Tears welled into

her lovely grey-green eyes, and she looked away, out of the window,

across the sprawling campus, quiet now after the change of class.

Empathetically, Ernestine's heart reached out to the girl. She knew for

sure, now, and she understood. Softly, she said, "I'm sorry, Charity.

Please forgive an old lady for prying ... and I do understand ... and

want to help you ... if you need help."

"Wh-What's to h-help, Mrs. Keaton, go ahead and write m-my Health excuse

... a-and I-I'll go h-home ..." she said, forlornly.

"It won't be necessary. I have an extra cot ... just go on in the next

room, there, lie down and rest. Stay until final dismissal."

Ernestine watched the girl as she left her office and went, obediently,

into the separate room where several cots were provided for the girls'

use. She sighed, resignedly. Her mind was in a whirl. Dear God! How had

Mrs. Keaton known ...? How had she guessed ...? I didn't tell her ...!

Daddy's really never ... done anything ... but ... Oh, God ... the way

he looks at me ... sometimes! I know he must be thinking some awful

thoughts ... about me! Thinking about sex-things ... maybe about things

he'd like to do to me! Oh, God! It's just horrible ... living in our

house ... with him! But what can I do ...? Dear God ... What can I do?

* * *

And Don knew that Jack Roberts would be there. He was always there,

except for the times when he got busted and was hauled off to Juvenile

Hall for possession of drugs. Somehow Jack was always clean. The fuzz

couldn't pin anything on him, even when they put on the big crunch.

Jack was sitting on a bench at one of the outdoor tables, a

stringy-haired blonde sitting next to him, hanging on his every word. He

was a heavy dude, for sure, as far as the chicks were concerned. Looking

up, he saw Don approaching and said, "Split, Baby ... here comes a dude

looking for a hit ... like, you know, bread first, meat later.

Don sat down, giving the mini-skirted chick a long look at her cute,

little behind, the skirt barely covering it, as she twitched away to

join a knot of girls, giggling about some confidence just exchanged.

"Man ... like she comes on strong ..." Jack said.

"Must be something else ..." Don agreed; then, "You mowing any grass.

Today ...?"

"How much you need, man ...?" Jack's voice toneless.

"Ten roaches ..."

"Only ten ...?" Jack turned away. "Man, I ain't got the time ...."

"It's all I got bread for ..." Don was desperate.

"You know how much ... put it in the saddle-bag on your hog!" Jack said.

"It's already there!"

"About ten minutes, then," Jack told him. "But I don't know why in hell

I should take a chance on being busted for ten lousy roaches? Christ!"

"Shit! I can't buy it by the ounce, yet!" Don flared.

Jack glanced around apprehensively, then glared at Don. "Back off, Man!

There's liable to be narcs around ...!" He turned to leave, but after

one step, he came back and went on. "No more, after this, Don, it's got

to be by the ounce!"

Don watched him as he mounted his big Japanese motorcycle, kicked it

into roaring life and rode away up the broad avenue. Jack, he knew,

didn't live in that direction, but then, a big man like Jack wouldn't be

foolish enough to keep the stuff at home. Idly, he wondered who Jack was

working for, because he was pretty sure the pusher was handling hard

stuff, as well as marijuana. He knew the kid was making big bread, and

he was envious, but at the same time, he was aware of the risk Jack was

taking in furnishing him with the ten roaches he had ordered. The fuzz

could bust you for that as easily as for a whole kilo.

Don went to the order window and bought a large Coke and a bag of fries.

He was munching them when the girl Jack had been talking to when he

arrived came over and sat down next to him. She took a piece of his

French Fried potato, put it in her mouth and sucked it in, little by

little. He watched in fascination, aware of the symbolism, and his penis

jerked upright in his pants.

"You come on strong!" he said. "What's your name ...?"

"Marcy," she said, repeating the performance.

"You Jack's chick?"

"In a way ... we swing ..." she said.

"He's a heavy dude ... I don't want him to put the crunch on me!" Don

told her. "So ... why don't you split ... now ... unless you got

something going ..."

"Just being, like, you know ... Friendly ..."

"Flake off!" Don snapped.

She scribbled a telephone number on a paper napkin and thrust it at him,

"Get me on the horn, Don! It might be ... like, you know ... a real

thing ..." She was gone.

He remembered seeing her around Perry High School. She was a Junior,

too, like himself. He watched her walk away and decided he would like to

get to know her better. It would be easy if Jack didn't have a prior

claim on her. He finished off the fries and drank his Coke. Man! She's

on it!

A few moments later, Jack roared into the parking lot, parked Don's

cycle and ambled over. He sat down.

"Same place ..." Jack told him. "and remember, only in ounces from now

on!"

"I'll remember!" Don said, getting up. "See you around!"

He mounted his motorcycle, started it and headed for home. As he roared

along the avenue, his long hair blowing in the wind, he spotted her

walking along the sidewalk. He would know her anywhere, her auburn hair,

the way she walked.

Pulling alongside her, he stopped and grinned. "Want a ride .... Sis?"

Charity returned her brother's smile. "Sure, if you promise to go slow,

I don't want my hair to blow all over!"

She climbed behind him, straddling the cycle saddle, exposing her firm

young thighs as her skirt hiked up. The vision of those lovely columns

was not lost on Don Scott. He thought his sister had the most beautiful

figure he had ever seen. Many times, lately, he had spied on her in

various stages of undress ... and last week, he had caught her

completely nude when he had walked into her room without knocking. She

had been flustered, covered herself in embarrassment and shooed him out

of the room, but not before he had gotten his eyes full.

Don rode slow, enjoying the feel of her arms around his middle and the

twin mounds of her luscious breasts seemed to be boring holes into his

back.

Shit! Chicks like Marcy are like nothing ... compared to. Sis! She's

really got it ... and all in the right places, too! ... But damn it!

She's still my sister! Christ! If she wasn't I'd really want to swing

with her! Man! She's something else!

He allowed his hand to drift down to her knee and run up her thigh a few

inches while he steered the cycle with one hand. Charity slapped his

hand away, and she cringed, inwardly, at the salacious suggestiveness of

his caress. She put her mouth next to his ear and shouted over the roar

of the wind, "That's not nice, Donnie! Stop it!"

"I can't help it if you've got nice legs!"

"You can keep your hand to yourself, little brother!"

"Don bristled. "Little brother, hell! I'm almost as big as Dad!"

"I don't care ... I don't want you to do that! It isn't right, and you

know it!"

"I'll do what the hell I want to!" he said, defiantly.

"You do ... and I'll tell Mom!"

"Oh, Christ! Here we go, again!" he mimicked. "I'll tell Mom! Don't

sweat it, though, Sis, because I'm going to split one of these day. I've

had it! It's the street for me!"

"You're going to ... run away?"

"Soon's I get a little bread ... I'll be long gone!"

"Why?" she asked. "Anyway ... you've got to graduate from high school!"

"School! Crap, Sis ... there's nothing for me at school! Only the

chicks! Man! Some of them come on strong ... like, you know ... they

swing! Groovy."

Don left the avenue and turned into their street. Reaching the house, he

turned into the driveway and parked the motorcycle. Charity clambered

down and went into the house, feeling the dislike deep in her of the

shabbiness the whole place exuded.

She passed through the living room, where her father sat, glassy-eyed,

nursing a can of beer and watching a newscast on the portable television

set. He sat, heavily, wearing only an undershirt and tan work pants, his

paunch hanging over his belt, slightly. He had kicked off his shoes. A

three-day growth of beard darkened his jowls.

Gabriel Scott's eyes lighted up as she came in, responding with a grunt

to her airy greeting. His eyes roamed over her figure, his head twisting

to follow her path through the living room and dining room to the door

of her bedroom that opened up off the dining area. He turned back to the

T.V. newscaster, only after she had disappeared into the sanctuary of

her bedroom. Christ! She gets prettier every day! No matter what they

say ... those short skirts sure show a lot! Damn! ... And she's my

daughter ... turning into quite a woman!

Outside, in the driveway, Don reached into the saddlebag on his cycle

and extracted a neatly wrapped package, the ten marijuana cigarettes he

had bought from Jack Roberts. With trembling fingers he stowed them

safely in his shirt pocket. Shit! He hadn't liked that scene with Jack,

but a guy had to have some of his own! He had to have something to share

... and he had a place to share it .... and some kids to rap with. Then,

there was the sex ... with chicks that were with it. That's all there

is, man! That's all there is ... and now there was Marcy! He checked his

pocket. Yes, he still had her telephone number. He'd have to give her a

buzz on the horn ... like, tonight! man! She really comes on strong!

He went into the house through the back door to his bedroom, converted

from part of the back porch. It was a tiny room, hardly large enough to

contain the single bed and a small student desk. He hid the roaches,

suppressing a desire to burn one, right then, knowing that he had to

save them for later. Stretching out on his bed, he retrieved a

pornographic novel he had hidden under his mattress and soon lost

himself in the lurid descriptions of natural and unnatural sexual

athletics.

As he read, the explicit descriptions stimulated him, and his penis came

up to rigid, erect attention, his hand going down, unconsciously, to

massage and caress it. His thoughts drifted to the girls he knew, but

soon the vision of his sister pushed the others aside, as somehow, the

forbidden became the most desirable in his mind. Charity? Christ!

Retreating to the door of the motel room and stuffing the money in her

purse, Dorothy Scott said, "Damn it! I told you when I came I couldn't

stay all night ... It's just impossible!

She avoided another lunge of the drunken traveling salesman she had

agreed to meet after her stint as a cocktail waitress, made it out the

door and headed rapidly for her car. The slam of the door behind her as

she fled told her there would be no more difficulty from him. Thank God!

Ordinarily, she tried to avoid the real drunks, but this one had been

fairly sober, looked clean and decent, a man who had been on the road

for two weeks ... and needed a woman, baby. She had met him at ten

thirty, after work, went to his motel with him, where he broke out a new

fifth of V.O., forcing her to drink with him before the bout on the bed.

Ugh! I hate to have drunks mauling me!

She had done her best for him, giving him his money's worth, using her

mouth to bring him to a fully hardened condition, then allowing him to

slobber his lips over her nakedness, hurting her lush, white breasts

with his strong hands; finally, ineptly trying to use his tongue on her,

before he rammed his short but thick penis between her legs and

jack-hammered away into her vagina until he came, after long minutes of

exertion, and collapsed on top of her. She had had to push his

slumbering weight off of her in order to get dressed; it was already

nearing midnight, and she always tried to be home by then to allay

Gabe's suspicions.

The salesman had awakened just as she finished dressing and insisted

that she stay with him all night. He was willing to pay, he had told

her. She had refused, politely, but he had become abusive. It was then

she had made her hasty exit. God! I just couldn't do it! His money

looked awfully tempting, though! But I'm still a wife, and mother,

first! I couldn't ever let Gabe find out ... but I'd die, I think, if

Charity or Donnie ever found out what their mother is doing ...! And

Dear God, it's only for the money, money to get a few of the little

extras, extras that make life just a little better for all of us. I

wouldn't do it, if there was enough money! Heavens only knows when

Gabe'll be able to get a job, and keep it.

Dottie drove home through the almost deserted streets of Redfern, past

grand old houses of an earlier time, most of them beginning to fall

apart with abundance of time and decay. The huge trees, on either side

of the broad avenue reached their limbs across the street to each other,

creating a feeling in her as though she were driving through a long

tunnel. The cooling effect of the trees, in the day time was pleasant,

and the effect of the arching trees was different. It was at night, the

eerie feeling overcame her.

She turned into her driveway and noted that Donnie's big motorcycle was

not there. It was slightly after midnight, and she was irritated that he

was not home. She had told him, repeatedly, that he must be home before

eleven thirty, but more and more, it seemed, he'd been staying out later

and later. And I really don't know where he is ... Or who he's with! I

hardly ever see my children ... Anymore. They're gone off to school

before I get up, and they're out, somewhere when I come home at night.

No, it's Donnie that's out, Charity's always here, at least, when she

does go out on a date she's got enough sense to come home at a

reasonable hour.

She let herself in the front door. Her husband was seated before the

television set watching a movie re-run. He had made no move to open the

door, barely glancing up when she came in and responding only with a

grunt to her greeting and brush of a kiss. He took a swig from his

ever-present can of beer, looked up at her, finally, as she turned to go

into their bedroom that opened off the living room and said, "Out kind

of late, ain't you?"

"I had to work overtime," Dottie lied. "One of the girls bad Some car

trouble ... and couldn't get to work on time."

"Oh ...?" He was satisfied.

"Did you see about that job at the mobile home factory?"

"Yeah, they filled it already. No jobs available, they said ...."

"And the dairy job across town ..."

"Didn't make it ..." Gabe growled, "ran into a couple of buddies and

drank a few beers. Swapped a few yarns ..."

She went into their bathroom, musing that they didn't call her husband

'Gabby' for nothing. He was just that. When he sat in a bar with some of

his old crones, the hours flew away from him as he talked and told

stories. Yes, he was well-known in the town as drunken Gabby Scott,

ne're do well, unable to hold a job for more than a few months, a man

who was willing to let his wife support him and their two children. He

was a real mess, and Dottie wondered why she continued to put up with

him. If I'd had any sense I would have divorced him ten years ago! ...

But, here I am still married to him, slaving to keep us together as a

family, and I take on men on the side, for a little extra cash, acting

the whore, and trying to be respectable at the same time! Dear God, what

else could I do? I guess I love him, still ... I did love him, I think,

when we were first married, or maybe it's just blind loyalty ... loyalty

to the children ... because I thought they needed a father ...

She turned off her thoughts about her family as she prepared for bed.

She was tired, physically and emotionally. She had risen at about ten in

the morning, did her housework, reported for work at two thirty in the

afternoon ... and afterwards the hour and a half she had spent with the

salesman: That had really done her in. His sex techniques had only

served to arouse her, to be left dangling, emotionally, when he had cum,

the end result being frustration. Remembering the sex act, she decided

she had better wash herself, even though she had insisted, in spite of

his grumbling, that he use some protection. Thank God, I've been lucky

so far, no disease ... or pregnancy! ... And to think how often I take

the risk! God! is it all worth it?

The bathroom connected with Charity's bedroom. On impulse, Dottie opened

the door a crack and looked in on her firstborn, a beautiful, young girl

budding into young womanhood. Charity lay in her bed, sound asleep, a

sweet, serene expression on her face, her upraised arm had brought a

mounding breast up from under the sheet, its contour under her thin

nightgown promising a fullness that was also her mother's. Her face was

framed in a glory of auburn hair, and Dottie could think of only one

word to describe her daughter in peaceful sleep: Innocence.

... And as she watched, a fleeting grimace crossed Charity's face. It

was an expression of pain. Dottie guessed instantly. It was time for her

daughter's menses to begin. She had remembered marking it, secretly, on

the calendar. She didn't know why she did it, but perhaps she didn't

expect the innocent to remain innocent. It was, she realized, a cynical

attitude, a fear that corruption begets corruption ... or simple guilt

on her part, the hypocrisy of the lie she, herself, was living making

her suspicious ... almost paranoid concerning her daughter's chastity.

She told herself that she was only being protective. Kids these days

seem to have lost any sense of decency! They're reaching out for sex

long before they're emotionally ready for it! Sex and drugs! It's just

horrible!

She finished her bath and came out into the bedroom, a towel wrapped

about her. Heading for the dresser to get a clean nightgown, she was

aware that Gabe lay on the bed in his shorts, the bulge of an erection

throbbing up against the fly of the thin cloth.

"Dottie, you got a ten-spot you can let me have?"

She hesitated. "No, I'm saving to get our couch upholstered, and I've

got just enough, now," she told him. "I've already picked out the ..."

"God damn it!" he roared. "I ask you for ten, and I get ten reasons why

I can't have it!"

He came off the bed, bounding over to her, moving fast for his

corpulence. "And how about a piece of ass, or are you too tired .... or

too sleepy?" His hands reached to rip the towel from her body, revealing

her lovely nudity to him. Instantly, he crushed her in a bear-hug, his

lips seeking hers.

She turned her face aside and said. "Please, Gabe, not tonight! I am

dead tired, And ..."

CRACK!

His open palm caught her across the face. "Bitch!" he growled. "I ought

to give you something to remember!" He drew back his hand to strike,

again.

"P-Please, Gabe, don't hit me again ..." she begged, tears welling into

her eyes from the pain and humiliation. "I-I'll go to bed w-with you,

a-and you can have the ten you want ..."

Chapter 2

At about seven, that evening, Don Scott had dialed Marcy's number. Her

voice came down the wire to him, knowing and throaty, "Oh, Don ... I was

wondering if you'd call."

"You know it ... like you came on strong, this afternoon!"

"Like what ..."

"Like you make the motions ... send up smoke signals ..."

"You curious ...?" she queried.

"You know it ...!"

"Curious enough to find out ... for sure ... Don?"

"Like groovy! Where?"

"My house," she said. "My parents have split!" She gave him her address,

over near the college.

"I'm on my way "

"Bring some bread, Don!"

He thought she was joking. "You putting me on?"

"No, man! I said to bring bread ... and that's it! Otherwise no party!"

She hung up on him.

"CHRIST!" He spat at the dead phone. The little bitch! God damned little

whore! Christ ... And I thought she was interested in me!

Don looked in his wallet; he had a ten-dollar bill he was saving. He had

been planning to use it for the next school dance scheduled for the

following Friday. Oh, well, maybe I can earn some more before then ...

or sell something to get a little extra bread! Christ! I've got to see

Marcy, though.

He went back into his bedroom; his search turned up another 75 cents in

change. He'd have enough for a couple of packs of cigarettes. An

inspiration struck him and on impulse he carried it out. Carrying the

ten-dollar bill was foolish, he decided; he should have two fives,

instead.

Going back through the kitchen, dining room and living room, he went

into his parents' bedroom and rummaged in a drawer where he knew his

mother kept some cash.

Charity was watching a television show and doing some math homework, at

the same time. She saw Donnie go into the front bedroom. Curious, she

got up and followed him into the room. She saw him with bills in his

hand.

"Donnie! What are you doing in mom's drawer?"

Startled, he looked up and grinned, "Just changing a ten for two fives

..."

"It looked like you were ... well, taking something ..." she accused.

"Stealing ...?" He was incredulous. "Not me that's not my bag!" he

assured.

He put the money back in the drawer and put the two fives in his wallet.

Charity still watched him. He looked at her, hard and said, "What's with

... little sister ... don't you trust me?"

She relaxed. "Yes ... I'm sorry, Donnie ... it just looked kind of

funny."

Coming out through the door he gave her a pat on the behind, a

caressingly affectionate pat that was definitely not brotherly. Charity

twisted aside to avoid any other contact.

"Donnie! Ugh! How many times do I have to tell you ... to keep your

hands to yourself?"

He mimicked, reciting, "Keep your hands to yourself, Donnie .... or I'll

tell mom! Christ! You're not with it, Sis! You don't know where it's at!

I'll bet you wouldn't say cock ... even if you had a mouthful!"

"Shut up, Donnie! I don't want you to use those words around me!" She

was angry, instantly. She huffed off to sit on the couch, ignoring him.

"You'll learn them ... sooner or later!" he taunted; then he chanted,

"Shit! Cock! Cunt! Fuck!"

Charity covered her ears with both hands. "Stop it!" she screamed. "Stop

it!"

"Never!" He went on, "Ass! Prick! Cum! Suck!"

She hurled her math book at him. It missed. "Shut up ... Donnie ... or

I'll tell dad!"

"What'd he do ...? That old drunk! Fuck him!" Donnie roared. Then,

"Where is he?"

"Out!" she said. "Out to get some more beer, I think!"

"That figures!"

"You get out, too ... and leave me alone!"

"When I'm damned good and ready! I'll split when I feel like it!"

She was on her feet and stormed into her own room, slamming the door

behind her and hurling a final word over her shoulder, "Foul mouth!"

Don laughed aloud. Christ! She was pretty when she's angry. He didn't

know what had possessed him to taunt her, but he had enjoyed watching

her as she had burned with anger, her expressive face mirroring her

every emotion; in addition, the way she had twitched her hips, her

tapering, white thighs showing under her miniskirt as she had flashed

past him produced a pang of pure lust in him. Damn! What a beautiful

chick his sister was! Man! She comes on strong! What a swinging chick

she's going to be! Too bad she's my sister ... all that nice cunt going

to waste! Shit!

Going into his own room, behind the kitchen, he dug out the ten roaches

he had bought that afternoon, extracted two and re- wrapped them,

carefully, stowing them in his shirt pocket ... just in case Marcy would

want to burn one with him. The other eight hand-rolled cigarettes went

back into their secret hiding place. He was ready to go. He went out the

back door, walked around the house, climbed onto his big bike and kicked

the engine into a full- throated roar.

He roared down the avenue, staying well within the speed limits. The

last thing he wanted was for one of the local pigs to bust him for

speeding. They might try to shake him down. If they did ... they'd find

the two marijuana cigarettes, for sure. Then, they'd have him for

possession ... and he'd wind up in Juvie ... and that's the last place,

man! The last!

Arriving at the address Marcy had given him, he found the house to be

one of the older ones in town; however this grand old house was not

falling into decay. It had been well cared for over the years, and when

Marcy invited him in, he saw that it had been remodeled and thoroughly

modernized. The name on the mailbox intrigued him: It was one of the

oldest and respected names in Redfern. A Lunceford had been one of the

founding fathers of the city, and the Lunceford name figured prominently

in cultural and political, as well as business aspects of the community.

"You a Lunceford ...?" he asked.

"Yeah ... like old Isaac Lunceford was my great grandpa ..." she said,

flippantly, "but don't let it get to you! I don't! All that silly old

crap turns me off!"

Don knew that his family had come to Redfern not long after its

founding. He remembered that they had lived in such a house as this,

further out on the edge of town in the orange groves. Somehow, his

father had lost the house and the grove, and the family had had to move

into town to take up residence in the shacky house in which they now

lived. He was too young to know and understand all of the reasons. There

was a bankruptcy. They were evicted. His father couldn't seem to hold a

job. He was drunk most of the time, anyway. Don's mother had been

supporting them for several years. It was all a big mess, for try as he

might, he couldn't warm up to his father, give him the respect a son

should give a father. Christ! The old drunk!

"What kind of wheels you got, Don?"

"My bike ..." he answered. "Why?"

"I thought you might have a groovy car we could ride in."

"Sorry ..."

"Well, you know ... like if a guy wants to make it with a chick, he's

got to have a car!" she explained.

"Yeah ... Well ..."

"Houses are too risky! We got to stay here ... and my folks could come

home ... and well, you know, there'd be a big crunch ... but in a car

... Man! It's groovy ... nothing but privacy ... if it's fixed up right

..."

Don understood, now, and suddenly, his big Japanese motorcycle was

nothing but real kid stuff. He had to have a car! Christ! No wonder he

hadn't been making it ... as often as he would like. It's the dudes with

the cars that are scoring, man!

"You better park it in the alley!" she told him.

"Right on!" he agreed and went to do as she suggested. He was elated.

She was practically inviting him to stay, although she had not said it

in so many words. Her meaning was clear enough to him.

Marcy Lunceford met him on the back walk, just inside the gate. It was

dark now, and she put an arm around him, snuggling close and led the way

to an old-fashioned, screen-enclosed pergola standing in deep shadows

under towering trees in a corner of the spacious back yard. He draped an

arm, carelessly over her shoulder and cockily allowed his hand to stray

down to a pouting hemisphere of firm young breast. Through the thin

material of her dress he caressed and gasped with acute pleasure to

discover that she wore no bra to confine them. The bud of her nipple was

firm and erect, burgeoning into the palm of his hand, tantalizingly.

"You dig that?"

"Like, wow ... you know ..." he said, carelessly.

They were in the pergola. She led him to a seat on a roll- around garden

lounge. It had a nice soft mattress on it, and he lay back, luxuriously,

on it. "Man! This is soft! Better than my pad." He reached for her.

She came easily into his arms, lying on top of him, their mouths

searching, finding, welding in a deep kiss, their tongues probing,

tasting and twining together. It was she who broke the kiss and asked,

"You got some grass?"

"Yeah ... you want to take a chance ... here?"

"It's plenty safe!" she affirmed.

"Nosy neighbors ..."

"They're like too fossilized to know what's with it."

Don broke out one of the roaches, lighted it and inhaled deeply, holding

it in his lungs as long as he could, passing the cigarette to her and

watching as she duplicated his actions. To be safe, he took a regular

cigarette from his pack, lit it, hoping that the odor of the burning

tobacco would cover the characteristic, burning-alfalfa smell of the

marijuana. They traded, puffed, inhaled, held breath, exhaling slowly,

allowing the narcotic smoke to work in them, its effect beginning slowly

and building, building, building, until time stood still and the beauty

of the night was magnified, every sound was heard ... and they were

all-seeing ... all being. There was only the beauty of now! This is

where it was! Everything was there in the smoke. The world was love ...

and love was everything, because they were young and healthy human

animals ... knowing all things ... and capable of doing all things. They

were the young invincibles! It was their right, indeed, their command to

love. "Love the world!" it said. "Love each other! Love me ..." it said,

"and I'll love you back!"

The roach burned down. He snuffed it out and re-wrapped the remaining

paper, ash, leaves and twigs, carefully, allowing none to escape him. It

was necessary to be this careful; investigating narcs could find even

one carelessly dropped particle. He put it safely in his pocket and

buttoned it; then, languidly, seeing Marcy, clearly, in all her glorious

beauty, he reached to the zipper on her dress, running it down her back

and the whisper of the tiny pieces of metal was loud in his ears, as

though a freight train had thundered through the quietly serene pergola.

She moved, helping him, standing to remove the dress over her head,

revealing the budding womanliness of her, instantly, as she wore nothing

under the dress. She was completely, gloriously naked .... and he saw

her as Athena, the goddess of love. Indeed, she was love, incarnate.

All love resided in her. Marcy was love!

Dancing a few steps away from him, she moved to unheard music, her body

shining alabaster, her long, raven hair swishing across her back, a few

locks straggling over her shoulders to fall into the cleavage of her

full, proud young breasts, her hips swaying, teasingly, back and forth,

in imitation of sexual movements. Her rounding and tapered thighs moved

with sure strength, and he watched the suppleness of her legs as they

moved.

Don had to have her. Christ! He had to have her now! His penis ached,

throbbingly, jerking against his pants, demanding release and relief.

He came off the couch and captured her in his arms to mash his mouth

down on hers, kissing her hard and brutal. She melted into his arms and

kissed him back with lips and tongue, searching deep into his mouth.

Suddenly, he abandoned her mouth, and he was kissing her breasts, taking

the nipples into his mouth, one by one, then moving down ... down ... he

kissed her belly, stopping to probe into her navel. Then, he was at the

vee of her loins, and he knelt to hold her around the hips while his

tongue pressured into the top of her warm femaleness to search for the

tiny bud of her clitoris in its warm little shrine of sex-flesh. He

found it alive and quivering under his tongue. He licked and she

exploded in rapture.

"Oh, yes, Don! Do it!" she murmured. "Lick me! Lick me good! OOOOoooh!

It feels soooooo goooooood!"

Inching backward, she leaned against a small table and spread her thighs

wider, standing in wide-spaced stance, her buttocks resting on the edge

of the table, half supporting her weight. Uncontrollably, her hands went

to either side of his head to guide his face between her open thighs and

encourage him. He used his tongue, hungrily, licking deep at her vaginal

slit, the sparse, youthful curls of her pubic mound tickling softly

against his lips. She pushed him away.

"Let's do it the easy way ... on the lounge." she whispered, hoarsely,

moving away from him.

Don got to his feet and followed her. She turned and reached for his

belt, opened it and zipped down the fly of his jeans. Then, she

unbuttoned his shorts to release his virile young cock into the night

air, the cooling wash of it over his sensate flesh a new and different

sensation. With hands on his shoulders she pushed him down flat on the

garden lounge and positioned herself upside down over him, her

glistening, coralline vagina inches over his face, her knees on either

side of his head, as she knelt over him, her own face only inches above

the hardened cock-flesh of him, spearing up into the air, massively

above him, its bulbous head waving excitedly like a battle standard in

the wind.

She lowered her loins slowly and teasingly to his mouth, and he used his

hands to spread the soft fleshy lips of her young pussy wide apart. He

clamped his mouth to the moist, now slightly pulsating mouth, the gentle

movements of its own muscular nibbling action apparent to him on his

lips pressed up deep between her open thighs, his tongue coming through

them, now, to taste and savor, then to thrust and swirl into her cuntal

opening, wildly.

The exquisite sensations in him, arcing in the nerves of his cock-head

as her mouth slipped warmly and wetly down over the sensitive, throbbing

flesh caused him to flex his hips to shove his member up to her. He

looked down the length of his body, straining to see in the semidarkness

through the arch of her breasts hanging down, soft and lush above his

hard, flat belly. He could see the nipples, hard and erect, like small,

ripe berries ready for picking. His cock was in her mouth, and she held

the shaft of it with one hand while the other gently stroked and

caressed his testicles in their soft wrinkled sac, below. Then, her lips

turned in to cover the sharpness of her teeth, her mouth began to slide

heatedly down his hardened length; down ... down ... down, encompassing

him, engulfing him, slowly and continuously, until he knew that she

would take it all the way back to her throat.

Don stared in utter disbelief as his thick, hard cock disappeared deeper

and deeper up into her mouth and throat, her voraciously sucking lips

working on him, suctioning him, as, inside her mouth, her tongue swirled

and laved him. He flipped. Christ! There was nothing like it! It was out

of this world! Out of sight .... and still going away!

Her smoothly undulating young pussy came down harder on his face,

reminding him of the mutual orality of the act, and he returned to the

hungry, moist opening with renewed effort, using his lips and tongue

both flow on the tiny erect bud between her legs. He sucked the tiny

female phallus up into his lips, holding it while his tongue licked and

caressed. He could feel the shock of it in her body, the gasping for

breath around his hardened rod.

Then, Don remembered the first and only other time he had experienced

oral sex. He had been at a pot party and was all toked up. Watching

another couple who had, uninhibitedly, kicked off the sex scene by

tearing off their clothes and making passionate love right in front of

everybody, he had gotten aroused almost to the point of ejaculation. He

had grabbed Betty Fowler, the youngest girl there. Even under the

influence of the grass she had smoked, she had been unwilling to fuck,

agreeing in stead to blow him, use her mouth to bring him to climax. She

had been inept, he knew now, but she had tried ... up to the point when

his big cock had begun to spurt his cum into her mouth. She had gagged

and made a big scene about it, causing everybody there to have a good

yuck at her expense.

... But Marcy ... Christ! She's an expert! She 's taking my whole cock

in her mouth! She'll probably swallow it ... too! She hasn't gagged yet

and my cock's halfway down her throat! Man! She really eats it ... like

it was an all-day sucker!

The building pressure in him told him that it would not be long. His

cock throbbed and ached for release, the acid-like burning sensation of

the held-back semen urging him to flex his hips, shoving his prick up

into her mouth to counter her up-and- down movements, fucking it deeper

and deeper into her oral cavern with the urgency of his youthful desire

to cum.

"Oh, Baby!" he moaned. "I'm ready to cum!" Her mouth moved on him faster

and with increasing pressure and suction, her cheeks hollowing in and

out, and a couple of times, she allowed her teeth to scrape along the

hardened length of him, eliciting a sharp pleasure-pain that caused him

to gasp aloud.

"Oh, Christ! That's the most ...!"

It was there for him! His big cock, in her slaving mouth, exploded,

spewingly, his semen, hot, white and viscous, spurting from the tip of

his cock-head deep up into her mouth and throat, forcing her to swallow,

voraciously. God! He came and came ... and came, his sperm jetting from

him in endless streams, it seemed to him. The sensations of release were

exquisite; the rapture of them causing a high whine of pleasure to come

from far down in his throat. Christ! She's pumping me dry!

As she licked and sucked at him and his jerking penis began to subside,

the waves of muscle-relaxing euphoria of sexual release left him

satiated, but he tried, manfully, to bring her, too, to climax, sucking

and licking at her wildly gyrating cunt above him. Damn! Why doesn't she

cum?

Events happened suddenly then. A light at the rear of the big old house

was snapped on, its cone of light reaching out into the spacious back

yard, but, fortunately, not out as far as the pergola where they lay in

illicit sexual embrace.

Don froze. His heart pounded. He was scared. Good God! "Wh-Who ...?" he

strangled.

"Oh, God!" Marcy gasped. "It's my folks!"

She scrambled off him, groping for her dress. She was thinking fast.

"I-I'll have t-to go in!"

"I've got to split!" He was in panic. Standing up, he pulled up his

shorts and pants, zipped the fly and cinched up his belt. He started for

the door.

Marcy was shrugging her dress down, smoothing it over her hips. She saw

him move toward the door. "No! Wait! I-I'll go in f-first! When the

light goes out ... split fast!"

He drew back into the shadows, trying to make himself invisible. Marcy

had more instructions for him.

"P-push your bike! D-Don't start it ... un-until you're out of the

a-alley!"

"Right!"

"Pay m-me!" she demanded.

"Wh-What ...? Now ...?"

"I-I told you t-to bring bread!"

"Marcy!" It was a high, female voice, strident and demanding.

"Coming ... Mom!" she called back, then, "Give!" she snapped at him, her

voice deadly.

Don fished out one of his fives and gave it to her. She didn't look at

it; she crumpled it in her hand and made for the screened door of the

pergola.

"See you around!" she said and was gone, walking toward the light at the

back door of her house.

"Marcy?! Where are you ...?" Her mother, again.

"Right here ... Mom!" Marcy said, with some irritation.

Don watched as she came into the light. It shone through the thin

material of her dress, showing her shapely legs. She might as well have

been nude. He would have enjoyed it more, if he hadn't been so

frightened. His heart was still pounding hard in his throat, and his

mouth was dry from the fear. Christ! I almost flipped!

As he watched her go up the back step, open the door and go into the

house, he had some second thoughts about having given her only a five.

She hadn't actually named a price, but he knew that ten dollars would

have been more like the going rate among the teen-age hustlers that

seemed to throng Perry High School. Establishment, he knew, would never

have believed the extent of the practice; the administration was blind

to it, either because they couldn't see it, or because they didn't want

to see it. The V.D. rate as reported regularly in the press was a good

indicator, but it was laid to promiscuous sex ... not to prostitution.

It's done, now! I should have laid the other five on her, but shit! I

was in a hurry ... and scared half to death! Anyway ... we had to split

... right in the middle of it! I could have fucked her in the cunt,

tonight ... if it hadn't been for her old lady coming home and breaking

up the party! Damn it!

He was still under the narcotic influence of the pot, but he could think

straight and his motor control of body was good, and as he waited for

what seemed eons of time, the light in the Lunceford back yard was

switched off.

"Damn!" he breathed. "About time!"

Slowly, he drifted out of the pergola and across the yard, sticking to

deep shadow, until he gained the gate and went through it into the

alley. It had taken him only a few moments to traverse the short

distance, but the distortion of time, in his drugged brain, made it seem

like miles and miles and hours of time to accomplish. It seemed to him

that he moved in slow motion, every step taking an eternity, and it was

as though he had no contact with the earth. He floated in a marijuana

dream world ... only this was a bad dream in which he had to run away

... run until he could run no more ... until he dropped from sheer

exhaustion.

He was through the gate, now. He almost had it made! A car entered the

upper end of the alley, its lights lancing ahead of it into the

darkness. Don shrank back, kneeling down to hide behind the two garbage

cans next to the fence. The car ground slowly down the alley until it

was abreast of the gate into the back yard of the Lunceford place. The

car stopped. A man got out and shone a flashlight on Don's motorcycle.

He got a glimpse of white-striped blue pants.

PIGS!

"Does it belong here!," a deep voice from the patrol car.

"Naw! Probably belongs to some kid that's making it with that youngest

Lunceford girl!"

"Marcy? That the one ...?"

"Yeah ..."

"She's playing fast and loose!" the patrol unit driver said. "We'll have

to take her in one of these days ... then there'll be hell to pay

because it's just a matter of time before they'll get her in a narc raid

on one of those pot parties!"

The policeman with the flashlight got back into the patrol car. He lit a

cigarette. "That bad?" he asked.

"Hell yes! She's a Lunceford ... and Luncefords carry a lot of weight in

this town."

The patrol car moved off down the alley; whatever else the driver had to

say about the Luncefords was lost in the sound of the engine and the

crunch of the tires on the gravel.

Don came out of his cramped place of hiding behind the garbage cans with

a huge sigh of relief. He expelled the air, gratefully, convinced that

he had been holding his breath for at least an hour. He leaned against

the fence to calm himself. MAN! That was close! They would have busted

me for prowling ... and what could I have said? Nothing! That I was just

diddling with Marcy ... toked up on pot ... and Frenching each other?

They would have found the joints on me ... and I would have been had!

Christ! Who would've ever expected something like this to happen ...

It's just too close! Too damned close! If the man ever busts me ... It's

Juvie .... and maybe C.Y.A. Shit! I'm still shaking!

Out in the alley, now, he kicked up the parking stand on his big motor

bike, grasped the handlebar grips and pushed it up the alley, in the

opposite direction from the police patrol unit. Near the end of the

alley, he started the engine and rode out onto the street. He gained the

avenue in a few moments and headed for home.

A few blocks from the house, he decided not to turn into his street. He

was still under the influence of the marijuana and didn't want to risk

having either of his parents see him yet. He continued riding out the

avenue into a semi-rural area where he turned off on a lane heading into

the hills. He gunned the big bike up to the top of one of the steeper

hills, dismounted, killed the engine and stretched out on the ground,

enjoying the stillness and studying the expanse of the starry canopy

over him. He stayed there for almost three hours, alternately dozing and

being totally aware, all of his senses alive to everything around him

... and in him.

Finally, he mounted his cycle, rode back down the hill and went home. It

was well past 1:00 a.m. when he crawled into bed dead tired. He had had

a full day ... and night!

* * *

He saw Marcy Lunceford in the hallway during passing time. She was cool

to his airy greeting, but he persisted.

"Get lost, Don!" she snapped.

"Marcy ... I just wanted to tell you ..."

"Didn't you dig ...? I said split ... get lost!"

He couldn't understand her manner. He had just wanted to tell her that

he wanted to give her the other five he still carried in his wallet. It

was too late, he guessed. Christ! I sure goofed it up with her!

After school dismissal, Don spent several minutes gassing with some of

his acquaintances. The campus was almost deserted as he made his way to

his motorcycle parked in the South parking lot. He had almost reached

his big bike before he realized that something was wrong. Jack Roberts

was seated in the saddle, obviously waiting for him. Two other students

lounged near him. It was too late, he realized. He would have to talk to

Jack!

"What's with, Jack ...?" he greeted the pusher.

Jack climbed off the motorbike and faced Don Scott. He stood, easily,

arrogantly, lazily alert before him.

"Marcy ..." he said. "She tells me like you were making it with her last

night ...?"

"Yeah, Jack ... I was over her house ... why ...?"

"Like she says, she gives you head ... and you only lay a five on her!"

"Her old lady almost busted us ... I had to split but fast! I thought I

was giving her a ten!" Don explained.

"That's nowhere, man! Like she says she has to finger herself to bring

it off afterward ... and she's feeling like frustrated ... so she wants

another fifteen! Lay it on me for her!"

"Christ! I ain't got another fifteen ... I got five!"

Jack looked at him coldly. "Fifteen, man! Like it's your problem! You

get it!"

"This gets to sound like blackmail!" Don said, screwing up his courage

to say it.

The pusher glanced toward the nearest building, drawing Don's eyes

there, as he said, "Well, look at that!"

Don was sucked into the ploy. His eyes swiveled to look where Jack had

indicated. Off guard, he was totally unprepared for the hard, swinging

blow to his gut. As he bent over with the sudden, nauseous pain of it, a

steel-shod toe booted him, painfully, in the buttocks. He sprawled

writhing in pain to the ground. Instinctively, he balled himself, as

from the other side another boot caught him in the ribs. Several more

such blows were rained on him, all accurately placed in his body so they

wouldn't show. His arms, legs, groin and face were scrupulously avoided,

as the beating was administered, quickly, soundlessly ... and with

professional elan. It was over in a matter of seconds. As the three

hoodlums walked away, Jack said, curtly, "Tonight!"

Don Scott was almost seventeen. It had been a long time since he had

cried real tears, but he did now. He sat on the curb and bawled. He hurt

all over, and he cried with the hurt, the fear ... and the humiliation.

Finally, after long minutes, he crawled onto his motorbike, painfully,

and headed for home. On the way, he passed his sister, Charity. She

waved at him, flashing him a smile as he went by, but he did not stop to

pick her up. He didn't want her to know what had happened to him.

Actually, he couldn't tell anyone. It was a burden he would have to bear

alone. Christ! I am in it now! Where in hell can I get fifteen dollars?

He was almost home when it hit him. The idea was monstrous! He had never

considered anything like it before, and he wondered whether or not he

could do it. Hell, if I don't pay off ... those goons are liable to cut

me up next time!

Shuddering, he visualized how he would look after having been beaten

with bicycle chains, iron bars and brass knuckles. It was too horrible

to think about. The beating administered to him was just a warning. He

knew that. He could do nothing now but pay off! He had to have money! He

had to have it fast!

His mind was made up. He would do it. Don Scott was going to steal a

twenty-dollar bill from the money his mother kept in her dresser drawer!

He did it before Charity got home.