She did.
“That makes two,” she said, with a pretty smile.
“Put up the other one,” Tiger said, grinning away.
She had a cute T shirt on today, and with her hands raised her breasts stood out more prominently than ever under it. He observed them, loving them. He didn’t think she had one on today.
“Do I?” she said, invitingly.
“Come over here.” he said, grinning fondly at her, “With your hands up.”
“Oh—whatrya gonner do?” She was great. She tickled him. She got up.
He observed her as she walked toward him. There might be better forms somewhere, Tiger mused, but he didn’t know where. He was prouder than ever of Sawyersville, its young maids, among other things. She walked slowly, the teaser, toward him. He knew she was dying for him. Those marvelous orbs of love. He couldn’t wait to get his hands on them. He waited though. She came nearer to him.
“O.K.—let’s frisk you,” he said, standing up. He ran his hands up and over her. Expertly.
“Hey—” she said, playing it well. His hands had stopped at her treasures. He was behind her, fondling them through that cutest of T shirts. No bra. He had guessed right. What a girl. She leaned her head back until their faces touched. Hers burned.
“Hey—” she said again, whispering low. Her hands came down, slowly, and began caressing his neck, his head, he loved it
“Hey Hey—” she said, very soft and low, as he played with those marvelous gifts. Her warm breath on his face. He stroked the tips. She burned ever more.
“How’s everything?” He murmured to her.
“You’ll see—” said the maid, murmuring to him. She turned her face, her lips met his. “Oh—” she said, giving him a luscious kiss, her eyes closed, “Gosh—oh—" she said, turning slow, melting into him. He held her close.
“What’s new?” he said.
“That feels nice—” she gasped, pressing ever closer to him.
“Does it?” He asked.
“Tiger—oh—” She barely gasped, quivering a little bit, kissing him wonderfully again, her soft, full tongue gliding marvelously. He loved it. She certainly was true blue, Tiger mused, sliding his tongue over hers, feeling her quivering more. He was near quivering too. Now his tongue slipped through her wet lips, she gave him a little nip. They played gloriously in her wonderfully sweet mouth. She gasped. He unhooked her skirt. He helped her wriggle out of it. What a cute skirt, what a slip. That was the prettiest slip. He caressed her hips, gliding around, and inside her thighs. There was silken paradise. He helped her slip off her T shirt. He was dazzled by the sight. He kissed and suckled them, like a famished man.
“Tiger—” she moaned, her heart pounding hard. She burned. Tiger lifted her in his arms. He kissed her neck, and breasts, he carried her to the couch. Her head was back, she moaned in his arms. He kissed and glided over her smooth belly now. He laid her on the couch. Gently, he slipped off her silky things, admiring True Paradise, drenched, of course, tropically. That heavenly way. How he loved red hair. He stripped and lay down beside her, and she played with his formidable shaft, murmuring, and murmuring to him. Now she moaned again. She moved,
gently, stroking, caressing it, from time to time kissing it, gliding her sweet tongue over it, and once letting it slip past her lips, which closed over it, tenderly, as she held it in, exquisitely, a little while. Tiger gently withdrew, finally, she gave a long sigh, he mounted her—
"OH—” she cried, as he entered her, *7 love you so” Now she cried, as he slid deep into her, and began those inimitable divine thrusts into her, again, and again, deep into her. "TIGER DARLING!” She cried, beside herself, moving magnificently under him, with him. He held her delightful behind, he rocked with her, his thrusts hit a . fantastic rate, he was out of this world again. . . .
57
Surcher had before him Mr. Golden, one of the best of Sawyersville’s English teachers, and Ponce’s home-room teacher, of course. In a way, Surcher felt bad about it, interviewing all the teachers, male that is. As he felt bad about the whole rotten thing, disrupting and disturbing, as he knew it must, the entire educational process of the school, not to mention the kids. He hated anything doing that, for he was a firm believer in Education and all its processes. It was after all the very backbone of our democracy, well he knew, only too well what kids turned out without it. But he had to. That too he knew. Without a doubt it was one of the most frustrating, and certainly distasteful cases he had ever been obliged to turn his attention to, on that account alone, if no other. Unprofessional, and almost unethical, as he knew it was, he couldn't help wishing in a way that the colored kid Jim Green had been the one. At least, now it would have been over and done with. As things were, here he was, back where he'd started from.
“How old are you, Mr. Golden?” Surcher asked.
“Thirty-eight,” the teacher answered. He was a mild, almost shy man, slightly balding, of medium build. He just had the beginnings of a paunch, Surcher noted. He felt in his bones this couldn’t possibly be the man. In fact, Sur-
Pretty Maids All in a Row 313 cher felt somewhat sorry for him, imagining life around the school at times getting tough for him, some of those wiseacre kids. He wouldn’t keep him long.
“I’m sorry to take you out of your classes, Mr. Golden. I hope you’ll understand why I have to ask you a few questions. They won’t be many, believe me.’’
Mr. Golden nodded, and waited to hear more.
“Are you married, Mr. Golden?” Surcher asked.
The teacher hesitated before answering, obviously uncomfortable.
“No, I’m not,” he replied.
“Bachelor?”
“That’s right.”
Surcher nodded, and grinned that little grin, “One of the lucky ones,” he said, to put him at his ease.
Mr. Golden also grinned.
“Not for much longer though,” he said.
‘Taking the plunge?”
“Afraid so.” -“Swell, congratulations.”
“You’re from Kits ton, aren’t you?” Mr. Golden ventured.
“That’s right.”
“That’s what I heard—” Mr. Golden paused, about to say more, “My bride-to-be teaches there.”
“Is that right? Where?”
“G.A.R.”
“What do you know! My kids go there.”
“Well, well. What a small world. Ask them if they know MLiss Burke—English Department”
“Miss Burke? Oh yeh—I’ve heard of her—”
“That’s the one.”
“What do you know!”
“I lived with my mother a long time,” Mr. Golden said, “She died two years ago,” He also said.
“I see.”
Mr. Golden grinned, or tried to, “I guess I was a mamma’s boy.”
“Uh huh,” Surcher said.
“I wish I could help—with the trouble—” Now Mr. Golden said, dropping his tone low, “It’s an awful mess.” “Know of anyone who might conceivably be our man?” Surcher asked.
Mr. Golden stirred in his chair. He certainly was uncomfortable there. Surcher guessed he could name at least twenty-five wise guys right off the bat—though he wouldn’t, he knew. A lucky thing.
“I don’t, I really don’t—” the teacher answered at last. “Not one?’’ Surcher thought he would ask.
Mr. Golden shook his head, “I really wish I could help. I wish I could.”
Surcher nodded. He had nothing else to ask the man. He was absolutely sure of this one. However, out of pure devotion to professional technique, he had to ask—
“Mr. Golden—where were you last night?”
The teacher blushed, bright red, and replied, “With Miss Burke.”
Surcher jotted that down.
“Well, that’s all, Mr. Golden," he said, “Now if anything comes up, anything at all that comes into your mind, that you think might be useful to us, or important in any way, just let me know—o.k.? You never can tell.”