There was no way to compare, to judge. They were all terrific, each of them a different flick In herself, and together In pairs they could drive any man right up the wall. What the hell would it be like, to bail bare-assed and horny, with all four of them at the same time? Dallas had no doubt that the girls would respond, if he simply asked them.
Not that he minded the other kids putting the meat to them; that just added spice to the screwing really. Closing his eyes, Dallas saw the pretty pictures of black on white, of white on black, and the patterns were stimulating. Joey Nottingham’s long, black prick had worked solidly into Kathy’s red-haired pussy, and Marty had plunged the cock strongly into Angel’s midnight snatch, his pale body locked into the loving grip of those sleek black legs.
The kids had switched off later, changing positions as well as girls. Dallas hadn’t gotten into those two, his first loves, because he’d been kept too busy by his new cunts, and when they’d finished with him the flesh was too weak to continue.
Putting on his shorts, Dallas had to tuck his hard shaft into place. Here he was ready to go all over again, eager to fuck those glorious kids, to have his cock sucked by them, to shove his entire face into the wet, hairy kiss of their cunts.
Meanwhile, he had the new problem of being watched, and being wired for sound.
He slid into, his pants and tennies, put on a tee-shirt and ran a comb through his hair. Ready for wherever he was going and whatever he meant to do, Dallas recovered his wallet and stuff from the dresser top, slipped the lock on the door, and went outside.
As he reached his VW, he looked casually up and down the street. There was a car parked halfway down the block, a grey Ford; he could make out the hood of a blue Chevy in the opposite direction. Would his house be staked out on a weekend? Climbing into the bug, he keyed the switch and thought why not.
Collins wanted something on him-anything that could be used as ammunition for a school board firefight Morals and character, habits and traits-all that outmoded crap that should have gone out with the witch-hunt age, but still hadn’t in small towns.
The board could hassle him, try to fire him if he boozed too much, or was caught doing grass, or was found in the company of a woman of ill repute. And if anyone ever got the slightest idea that he was swinging with his own students-he wouldn’t only be fired, he would be cremated.
What the hell, he thought, and pulled the VW away from the curb, heading toward a lonely stretch of beach about forty miles out of town. If he stood fast this term and earned the respect of the kids, as well as kept peace with himself, he could move on to the junior college next year. He’d have all summer to decide.
But if he put down the kids and the wild love life they had opened to him, then he’d be a fink of the worst order, and it would be tough to live with.
No car followed him when he turned onto the coast road; that he could tell. A few miles out, a grey Ford whipped by him carrying two guys. But there were plenty of grey Fords, and the day was too nice to bother about them. He breathed in fresh salt air and smelled the sun, wishing that at least Kathy Collins could be on the seat beside him, that they could swim and sun and fuck leisurely on the deserted beach without being seen by hateful eyes. She was still his favorite girl.
The rearview mirror picked up a blue Chevy, and Dallas blinked at it; two more guys inside, and the car hung back, not attempting to pass even when he slowed some. But when he signaled for a left onto the beach, the Chevy kept going up the highway.
Locking the bug, Dallas strolled down the beach, becoming interested as always in the waves, in sand patterns. When he looked up again, they were coming at him from two directions. He stood still for only a startled moment, seeing two men bearing down on him from the north, watching two more get between him and his car. He was neatly boxed in, and there was no help in sight.
Dallas stooped to snatch a smooth rock from the sand; it wasn’t as big or heavy as he would have liked, but it would have to do. Then he fooled them by not bolting for his car. Instead, he darted toward the highway, and when they ran converging upon his line of flight, he spun and raced head on for the pair loping down the beach.
He flung the rock when he was fifty feet away, and lucked onto another one when he skidded to a stop. He was trying to boot it out of the sand when his first missile landed and the man yelled. When Dallas rose with another chunk of granite in his hand, he faked a throw north, then pivoted and actually loosed the rock south. It was pretty good, catching that oncoming pair by surprise, not hitting either one, but scattering them and slowing them down.
There were no more rocks, and he went in at a run, mouth wide to suck air lifting from his feet in a karate kick and catching one burly guy on the shoulder with it, The big man spun around and down, but the other one banged Dallas along the head.
Dallas sprawled and rolled, coming up in a spray of damp sand. He kicked out again, wishing he wore boon Dockers instead of the soft tennies. The second man took the shot on a hip and staggered, but the burly guy was sitting up by then, so Dallas bounced once and kicked him in the head.
He hurled a handful sand into the man’s face, and slammed him a good shot in the mouth with a hooking left hand. Then suddenly he was down with the whole side of his head vibrating; the reinforcements had arrived.
Somebody hit him in the chest, and he fired back with both bands, banging away in a soft belly that fell aside. He took another rap on the head, and another, and barely wheeled off the knee that was trying to nut him. There was the taste of blood in his mouth when he went down, and he remembered to roll, roll, with one hand cupping his balls and one arm wrapped around the back of his head.
Into the waves he went, catching a blurred glimpse of a big foot that drove savagely down for his head and missed by inches; Spitting salt water, he came up again, crouched and running, and the piece of driftwood was solid when he caught it in his right hand.
Head-down, he rammed into a body, almost fell, caught his balance and swung the driftwood club it made a soggy noise when it landed, and a man yelled hoarsely.
Flailing around him, Dallas drove them back. Then he plunged through them like a fullback, chopping the stick of water-heavy wood, shoving it like a spear at a man’s cursing face. He was almost to the car when somebody caught him from behind and slammed him into the metal body of the bug.
Dallas caromed off, wheeled to land the club once more, and had it jerked from his grasp. He put a foot into someone’s balls, leaped forward and caught someone’s head so he could rake spread fingers at the bastard’s eyes.
They hit him twice in the head and several times in the body, but he got a full-armed swing into a throat with the edge of his hand, and that thug was out of action for the day, if not forever. Dallas got his head cleared and his hands up in time to beat off another attack, but it seemed easier now. When his eyes focused, he saw two guys on their backs, one holding his crotch and the other clutching his throat while he gagged.
Slipping a punch, he got in close and ripped viciously at the man’s belly, snapping the top of his head up. The guy’s teeth slammed together and his head whiplashed back. Gasping, spitting blood, Dallas moved at the remaining man.
The guy backed a few steps, then turned and ran heavily back up the beach.
Inside the bug, everything seemed to move in slow motion, but Dallas finally got the motor started and backed to where he could turn the VW around. He drove slowly for awhile, his ears buzzing and his eyes sometimes blurred. But he made it home in fair shape, and into the house where he fell across the bed.