Give a whistle? Traci's face darkened. Just what kind of girl did he think she was? She wasn't the usual kind of beach bitch hanging out in Venice.
"Hi, Don. You two met?"
Emily knew him? Of course. She would. She seemed to know everyone around town.
"Yeah… kinda met," he said, his attitude a little stiff toward her. Emily looked first at one, then the other, then smirked. She knew what had probably passed. Sighing, she reassured the young man that once he got to know Traci he'd like her.
"Anyway," Emily said, picking up her things and looking uneasily at the sky, "I'm glad you're here. It's awfully dark and I don't want to walk home alone."
That was one thing Traci agreed with. She'd been hearing about all the rapes and beatings going on around Venice lately. Some girls were found tucked under the pier in the morning, their bodies beaten and actually branded! Police were baffled, warning young women not to be on the beach after dark.
"We live close to each other toward Lincoln Boulevard. Come on," Emily said, helping Traci roll up the blanket.
The blonde tried to keep her eyes from meeting Don's. She was sure he was laughing at her. They'd probably have a lot of chuckles about her stand-offish attitude after she left. Oh, how she wished she'd handled herself a little better. Don hadn't really done anything offensive. He was trying to be friendly. And certainly Traci couldn't claim she hadn't lead him on – what with her skimpy bathing suit and all. Staring at him from the corners of her eyes she studied his massive chest, his well-developed pecs, his rounded, smooth biceps and triceps. There didn't seem to be an ounce of fat on him. Curly hair covered his chest and parts of his upper arms like a carpet. Everything about him radiated masculinity. She wondered how Emily knew someone obviously much older than she.
"Where does he come from?" Traci whispered as Don moved to his blanket to pick up his things.
"Funny, I didn't seem him there. Oh, he worked with my father on a couple of construction jobs in Glendale last year. My dad likes him. He comes over a lot. Isn't he fantastic?" Emily asked, giggling while nudging her friend.
"I think he's stuck on himself," Traci sniffed, feeling a hot, tight sensation buckle the walls of her hot cunt. She wondered how he would looked naked, that hairy, muscular body wriggling over hers. It was something that took the breath from her.
"Okay, girls!"
Traci turned, but not before she looked at his crotch again. She saw the outline of his cock bulging outward against the sheer material of his bathing suit. It was obscene! Men shouldn't be allowed to wear thing silk that unless they wore jockstraps underneath. Traci thanked God it was dark. At least they wouldn't have to put up with stares from passers-by.
"Look!" Emily said.
Traci's eyes moved to the right. She saw five or sex young men in t-shirts and Levi's leaning against the front wall of John Barleycorn's, a beer biker bar on Washington and Ocean Front Walk. Both girls felt a little nervous as they passed twenty feet in front of the place. It was Don's presence, Traci was sure, that kept the men at bay. But she could feel their eyes burn through her clothing as she walked quietly with the other two. One young man she spotted was rubbing his prick, giving her a look at its long hard outline. Traci felt a double jolt hit her. Don's presence had made her jumpy. And now this animal was almost exposing himself to her. She dropped her eyes, staring at the beach, quickening her pace.
"Whew! That's a tough group there," Emily said.
"Yeah. The cops say they can't get anything on 'em. But they're sure those guys are part of the trouble around the beach," Don said, glancing back as they turned onto Venice Boulevard.
"Who are they?" Traci asked, aware of Don's lingering stare. Why was he doing this to her? Why was he purposely coming on to her when he knew she wouldn't do anything.
"They call themselves the Huns… a good name for 'em. They used to be outta Santa Rosa. They've been hanging around Venice for the past month or so. Seems like everything in California winds up in Venice sooner or later," Don said sullenly.
None of them spoke too much on the way east to Lincoln Boulevard.
"Well, someone's home. Why don't you two come in for awhile," Emily asked as they stopped in front of her home.
"I'd better not. My mom's going to be worried if I don't…" Traci began.
"Oh, Traci! Well, goodnight, Don," Emily said, hugging the big man playfully. Traci looked the other way. It was shameful the way her friend threw herself at men. If she could only see how cheap she looked doing that!
They left Emily running up the front walk. Traci felt suddenly vulnerable, alone. Of course, that was foolish. Don turned out to be a perfect gentleman, someone trusted by Emily's mother and father. Still…
"Oh!"
Traci stopped in front of her house. Every window was dark. Of course! This was Wednesday night. Her mother wouldn't be home until eleven, working late at the office. She had taken her keys, hadn't she? Desperately she searched her bag under the bright light of a streetlamp.
"Damn!"
"What's wrong?" Don asked, drawing close to her.
"My keys. I think I left my keys at home," she wailed. "Well, I guess I'll go back to Emily's. I'll wait until my mother comes home."
"Wait a sec. I'm pretty good at these sort of things," Don said.
He took her by the hand, leading the girl around to the side of the big, dark house. Traci's heart was pounding – not because they were going to break in but because Don's manner was so masterful, his grip was so sure, so firm. She watched as he studied the windows, played a little with one of them, finally jiggling one hard enough to open it.
"Come on," he whispered, half in the house, stretching out a hand to her.
Traci threw in her blanket and beach bag, following the young man in. How good it felt to be in her home, even if she had to get in through the window. It would be something she and her mother would laugh about for years to come.
"Let me get you something to drink," Traci said, throwing her articles down on the dining room floor and padding to the kitchen. Don followed, laying his things on the table.
"I think I've got some fruit juice around her somewhere," Traci said, opening the refrigerator and sticking her head in. She didn't notice at first that Don was in the kitchen. Then she felt a hand touch her ass, caressing her full, firm asscheeks. This was going too far! Whether he helped her or not, she wasn't going to put out.
"Get out!" Traci snapped, wheeling around and slamming the refrigerator door shut. The cookie jar on top wheeled around, slipping to the floor and breaking into a hundred pieces. Don's cock was hard and thick, throbbing against the white material of his suit.
"You want it," he said evenly, his eyes narrowed, his face tight and determined.
"NO! Please, no, no, no!" Traci begged, startled by her reaction to his words. He was right. She knew he was right. Her body was begging for his cockmeat.
"I saw it on the beach. If Emily hadn't come out I would've had you stretched on the beach. You want my big, fat slippery cock in your mouth. You wanna lick it off and get my cum down your throat. Go on, touch it. I ain't gonna hit you," Don said thickly.
Traci couldn't believe she was hearing him right. The words burned her brain, made her mind whirl around. He was talking like that, speaking dirty in her mother's house.
"You don't know what you're saying. Get out or I'll call the police," Traci said, starting to move toward the dining room. Don grabbed her by the waist.
"No, no, you can't," she whispered tightly.
"I can and I'm gonna. What the shit is that?" he asked, pulling away slightly. Traci heard loud barking in the backyard. Thank God, Don hadn't decided to climb the fence and try to get into the back of the house. That damned animal her mother had bought for protection was more trouble than he was worth. Traci had been against it from the start.