“I don’t know exactly. She said she wanted to talk to me.”
“What about?”
“About you.”
“Me?”
“Uh-huh. She said she heard something about you and she doesn’t know if it’s true, but she wants to talk about it. And she told me something else.”
“What?”
“She told me to be careful.”
He roared at that. “She means don’t get pregnant,” he said. “Wonderful.”
“What do you suppose she heard?”
“That I play with girls,” he said. “Did you know that, my dear?”
She grinned. “I wouldn’t have believed it for the world.”
“But it’s true.”
“Really?”
“Really”
“Now?”
“Now.”
“Not with that towel on,” she said. “I’ll bet you can’t do anything like that with that old towel on.”
“Then do something about it.”
She reached out. Her hands touched his chest, cool and moist from the shower. They found the towel, opened it and dropped it to the floor.
“My God,” she said. “I have all these damn clothes on.”
“Take them off.”
“Should I?”
“You had better,” he said. “Otherwise I’ll tear ’em to shreds.”
“It sounds like fun.”
“But it might throw your mother, April.”
She giggled. Then she pulled the sweater over her head. She was wearing a bra — if you went without one at school you bounced going up and down the stairs, and the boys had enough ideas about her as it was. She unhooked the bra and discarded it and her breasts leaped free.
“You like?”
“You’re still overdressed, April.”
She got the skirt off and kicked her shoes halfway across the room.
“You like?”
“You’ve still got your socks on,” he said.
“I want to keep my socks on.”
“You do?”
“You told me it’s sexy when a girl wears stockings. What’s wrong with socks?”
“Get them off, April.”
Teasingly, she lifted one foot, peeled the sock down and off. Then she stood on that foot and removed the other sock. She threw both socks away, put her hands on her hips and posed.
“Look.”
“Come here, April.”
“No,” she said playfully. “No, you have to catch me. Do you think you can catch me, Craig?”
He lunged for her, almost comical in his eagerness. He lunged and missed and she danced away, light on her feet, eyes flashing in excitement. She ducked behind a low-slung modern chair and he raced after her. This time, when he made his lunge, his hands brushed her breasts but she got free again, skipping into the center of the room, still, his touch had affected her. She was excited now, needing him, aching for him, but waiting for him to catch her and master her.
“Can’t you catch me, Craig?”
He lunged and missed again.
“Damn you, April.”
“Catch me, Craig.”
And, of course, he did catch her. She tried to dodge behind the sofa but she was off-balance and caromed off the wall instead, and his arms snaked around her waist and dragged her to the floor. She thrilled with excitement that was half pleasure, half pain. His hands were everywhere, setting her afire, and her need grew.
He laughed. “Beg for it,” he said. “Beg for it, April.”
“Please—”
“Beg,” he taunted her. “Tell me what you want.”
She told him.
“Tell me what you want me to do to you.”
She told him.
“Tell me how much you need it,” he said. “Beg for it, burn for it, itch for it — tell me!”
She told him.
At last he rewarded her, burying himself in her soft hot body. Her flesh was pulsing now, flaming, and her hips were thrusting and her breasts were crushed beneath his hard chest. She locked him to her, making sure he wouldn’t escape, making sure he would not retreat to leave her screaming in agony...
She cooked dinner, after a fashion. There was a huge barbecue pit in the backyard, and there were two prime sirloins in the refrigerator, and there were two old Idahoes in the potato bin, and with all that equipment any low-grade moron could have cooked dinner. Craig built a fire in the pit and she wrapped the potatoes in foil and tucked them away in the coals, then smeared the steaks with a little salt and a speck of pepper and chucked them onto the fire. The steaks came off the fire burned on the outside and raw in the middle, just as they should be, and the potatoes, improved with a tablespoon of sour cream and some chopped chives, were fine.
“You’re a good cook,” he told her.
“It was tricky.”
“But good.”
“How about dessert?”
“I know exactly what I want for dessert, little girl.”
“Oh?”
“Don’t smirk at me. Yes, I know what I want for dessert. I want you for dessert.”
“It sounds like fun,” she said. “But I’ll go hungry. Did you ever think of that?”
“I thought of it.”
“Well?”
He sighed mightily. “April,” he said, “you have a lot to learn, little girl.”
“I do?”
“Yes.”
“Teach me, Craig.”
He smiled gently. “You shall have dessert, too,” he told her. “I could hardly bear to eat while another went hungry. Do you understand, April?”
And, some moments later, they were head-over-heels in love.
A few minutes past nine, she left the Mercedes and walked to her front door. The door was open. She went in and her mother and father were waiting for her in the living room. She kissed them both hello, hoping the brushing she had given her teeth was sufficiently thorough.
Her mother took her to one side. “I mentioned that I wanted to talk to you, April.”
“Yes, Mom?”
“Let’s go upstairs, dear. I don’t want to upset your father, April.”
They went upstairs, Mrs. North leading and April close behind her. Whatever Mom had heard about Craig, April thought, was undoubtedly true. Well, she would have to find a way to talk Mom out of what was bothering her. If her mother ordered her to stop seeing Craig there was going to be trouble. Because she would not dream of giving Craig up.
But the talk would not go that far, she thought. Maybe her mother was just going to give her the usual sex talk, and don’t-let-boys-put-fingers-up-you routine, the save-it-for-your-husband bit. The old lady would probably fall over in a faint if she knew there was nothing left to save for a husband.
They went into April’s room, closed the door. April sat on the edge of the bed while her mother took the one chair and planted her ample rump upon it.
“April—”
“Yes, Mom?”
Mrs. North sighed. “This may be difficult for both of us,” she said. “Especially after the approval I’ve voiced over your Craig. But I’ve asked around about him, April, and—”
“Why, Mom?”
“Why, because you’re dating him, dear. A mother wants to know the sort of young man her daughter is seeing.”
“I see.”
“And what I’ve heard is not — well, not exactly favorable. There are rumors about that boy, April.”
There are probably more rumors about your own daughter, she wanted to say. How had her mother missed hearing about her? Everyone else in town seemed to know that April North was no longer a virgin. But her mother existed in a calm little dream world, untouched by truth.
She asked, “What kind of rumors?”
Mrs. North sighed again. “It’s hard for me to tell you, April. He seems pleasant enough, but people in town have told me he’s a mite wild. That he dates girls and seduces them — and he drives around in that car of his at very fast speeds and runs with a fast crowd. He drinks a great deal and—”