Mary Jenkins

Innocent in Chicago Volume One

CHAPTER ONE

When a child of eleven, Cynthia Gordon was perfectly content to live on the farm in Iowa where she had been born and raised. Her father, a burly, blond, third generation American of Scandinavian descent, grew mostly corn and pigs, but Johnny, her fifteen year old brother, who wanted to stay on the land, was interested in raising cattle. He already had a young milk cow which he had raised from a calf and was thinking of breeding her with a neighbor's bull.

One morning early that autumn, as the pumpkins were glowing yellow and plump on the vines, and her mother's kitchen was permeated with the heady smell of spices and pickling, and the fresh tart odor of baked apple pies was floating through the window to where she was sitting on the back porch with Pal, their thick coated German Shepherd dog, she heard her father and Johnny talking in the kitchen about his cow.

"Jersey seems to be in heat now, Johnny," her father said. "If you still want to breed her, now's the time to do it. I've talked with Chris about it and he says to bring her over anytime. He's got a fine bull and it should be a dandy calf."

"Gee, Dad, that's swell. When can we do it?"

"Tomorrow's okay with Chris. But remember, the entire responsibility of bringing this calf up is yours. No saying you're tired of taking care of it and Jersey after it's here."

"Gosh, Dad, you know I won't do that. I'm all set to grow her up and win me a couple of prizes at the fair."

"Okay, boy, we'll go over tomorrow after lunch, then."

Cynthia slipped off the porch so her parents wouldn't know she had heard and walked down to the barn to look at Jersey. She had noticed that previously she had not only been kept away from the pens and barns at breeding times, but that any discussion concerning them between her parents, or between her father and other farmers, had always ceased when she approached. Thus, the only things she associated with the word "breading" were the sound of the bull's bellowing cries echoing over the green hills and a feeling that it must be something "not nice".

But lately she had been disturbed by vague warm sensations in her own body, centered deep in her belly, which had made her restless and irritable, and she had begun to speculate about her own sex organs as well as those of animals. She resolved she would sneak over to Chris' farm tomorrow and see what happened that was so forbidden.

The next day was a golden autumn day with the smell of an early winter in the air. From a deep blue sky the sun turned the leaves to a shimmering fire of reds and golds. Along the road the sumac was glowing purples and deep reds, and by the farmhouse the late blooming flowers were showing their last blossoms.

After lunch, Johnny and his father went down to the barn to load Jersey into a truck to be taken over to the next farm.

"Cynthia," her mother said, "you're as restless as a cat. You don't have to help me with the dishes. Go out and play but stay close to the house. And put a sweater on."

She ran up to her bedroom to get her sweater, clattered back down the stairs and out the door, her pigtails flying. She went down to the barn where the men were about to leave.

"Put Pal back in the house, Cynthia," her father said. "We don't want him following along and disturbing the cattle."

She didn't ask to go along with them as she knew her father would refuse. Instead, she obediently took Pal back to the house and then headed for the wood, on the other side of which lay Chris' farm. Once out of sight of the house, she broke into a run. She was afraid of missing whatever was going to happen. When she came to the other edge of the wood, she hid behind a bush and peeked through the leaves. No one was in sight. Directly in front of her was the back of their neighbor's barn. Beyond it she could hear the sound of men's voices and from time to time the bellowing of the bull. She quickly climbed through a wire fence, ran across to the barn and slipped through a rear door. Inside, the barn was dimly lit with shafts of sunlight lancing through crevices in the roof and filtering through a haze of hay dust lazily turning in the still air. It was warm and close with the smell of cattle, now out to pasture, and the acrid scent of manure. A few chickens stirred restlessly and ruffled their feathers as they perched on the railings of the stalls. She looked around and not seeing anyone, moved silently to the other side, beyond which lay a small corral. She could hear the voices more clearly, as well as unidentifiable rustlings and scrapings and the restless, heavy tread of the bull.

"He's sure as hell rarin' to go," someone said. "He's hotter'n a firecracker."

A loud urgent bellow cut off the voice.

"Okay, Johnny," said a voice which she recognized as belonging to Chris, "you can bring your cow in soon. Just wait a minute until he's moved to the other side of the corral away from the gate."

Entering an empty stall, Cynthia lay down on a pile of hay. It pricked and ticked her body through the clothes she was wearing and the hay dust made her afraid she would sneeze. She pressed her eyes against a small crack between the wooden slabs and looked into the corral beyond.

Three or four men were standing on the other side of the corral fence, their tight blue jeans showing every muscle and curve of their legs. To the right was her father. Johnny was looking anxiously at the bull and while saying something to his father, burst into a tense, embarrassed giggle which he tried to hide with a cough. Chris was standing near the gate, one hand on the latch. Everyone was looking inside the corral.

And there was the bull. Big, black and powerful. A dark boxcar of latent, dynamic energy. His muscles rippled under the shiny dark hair over his firm, bulky shoulders and haunches. He was standing near the fence, a square block of massive movement. Lowering his head, he sniffed through the fence, his lips curled back, his nostrils flared, his shoulders hunched. He could smell the cow in heat, although she was not yet in sight. The scent made him all male, urgent and demanding. He was in constant, restless movement, at times almost dancing with a heavy tread as he sidled along the fence, scraping it with his side. Saliva dripped from his lips. He swayed slowly from side to side, his tail raised at an angle. Beneath him his large, potent testicles were stretched tautly from the urge in his body. He snorted loudly again and then backed away, pawing the ground with one hoof as he raised his head. With his square, black face raised towards the luminescent sky he roared a mighty bellow which was insistent, commanding, almost an ultimatum.

When he had moved over to the other side of the corral, Chris quickly opened the gate and let the cow in. She stood quietly, switching her tail and looking at the bull. He turned towards her immediately, lowered his head and pawed the ground. Moving to her haunches he sniffed loudly and wetly at her rear. She lifted her tail and he began licking the opening beneath it. His rough tongue caressed her moistly as saliva drooled from his mouth and fell to the ground below.

Cynthia held her breath as she watched the animalistic ritual going on in the corral. Tiny dewdrops of moisture formed between her own legs without her fully understanding why and she closed them tightly together to try and snuff out the tiny ripples of sensation that were for the fast time in her life beginning to stir there.

The bull's heavy, thick pointed penis suddenly emerged from the thick sheath enclosing it. It was wet and glistened in the afternoon sun as its full prominence burst into view. He stopped to bellow triumphantly and the sound echoed over the surrounding hills proclaiming his stirred passion. His penis slipped out another eight inches and he tried to mount the wobbling cow, rearing up with a clumsy lunge, but she moved to the side and his forefeet crashed to the ground. Staggering slightly from the first failing effort, he tried again. He succeeded in straddling her with his front legs, his black, immense chest crushing down on her haunches. Her legs buckled slightly from his weight but he succeeded in entering her this time and Cynthia's watching eyes bulged wide as she watched the huge, pole-like instrument slither without resistance deep down into the belly of the straining cow. The bull gave an angry snort and began a sudden series of short, quick jerks with his hind legs and suddenly emitted a soulful moan from deep in his chest. The glistening red penis sunk deep inside the cow beneath him throbbed for an interminable moment and then he backed quickly away and gave an ear-splitting bellow that somehow seemed now less urgent to the gaping Cynthia as she crouched excitedly behind the crack in the barn wall. The cow staggered drunkenly around the corral, her head down in sudden fatigue, her back arched spasmodically.

"Okay, boys, that should do it," Chris laughed.

"Man, that was like a freight train going into a tunnel."

They all burst into laughter over the comparison.

Johnny entered the corral and led the cow out and over to the waiting truck.

Inside the barn on her pile of hay, Cynthia lay back tense and trembling. Her mouth was dry and the hay scratched her arms and legs more intensely now. She was too surprised and shocked at what she had seen to be able to move. She had never in all her young life imagined that such a thing was possible. Her stomach churned slightly and she felt strangely dizzy. Did humans do this too? Was this the reason for the same, but softer and more secret sounds she had often heard coming from her parents' bedroom late at night when they had thought she was asleep? It must have been, they were so much the same. Her whole body began to quiver uncontrollably at the lewd and obscene thought of her mother and father coupled together as the animals she had just seen through the secret crack of the barn.

Then, she was suddenly jerked back to reality as she heard Chris ask one of the men to go into the barn and bring back a halter for the bull. In desperation she crawled back over the hay and jumping to her feet, ran out the rear door. She silently scuttled through the fence and fell on the ground behind a bush and lay there for some time, panting and gasping, too afraid to move. Later, she made her way back to the farm just as her father and brother were returning to the house after unloading the cow in the corral. She could not look either of them in the face and silently began to help her mother prepare the evening meal. Her thoughts were strangely muddled and disturbing to her young and innocent mind.

***

A few days later Cynthia went on one of her beloved rambles over the countryside. She never grew tired of these explorations, searching through the woods for tiny, wild flowers, running and skipping over the lush, dark-green meadows, with Pal barking madly at her side, or weaving her way through the rustling lanes of corn. Her favorite spot was a small glen in a wood on the other side of the wheat field. Here she used to go to drowse away an afternoon or to construct a small lean-to of branches and "playhouse", or to sit quietly and hope a rabbit or squirrel would approach. Pal would sniff around the surrounding woods, barking loudly in surprise and excitement when he would startle a wild bird. Usually, however, he would lie on the soft gently waving grass, panting in the heat. It was an Indian summer day, almost as hot as it had been in July.

"Come on, Pal, let's go to the woods," Cynthia said playfully, as she slammed the screen door and Pal jumped up from the porch. "But no roaming today. It's too hot. We have to walk slowly like Grandma and Grandpa Holiday."

They followed a winding path around the barns and set off across a meadow, Cynthia's yellow braids swinging from side to side as she looked for hidden field mice in the grass, or knelt to pick up am autumn flower. The intense sun pressed sullen on her head. The sky was a vacant, wide tent of pale blue. The air was filled with the sweet, fecund smell of meadow grass and the small white and yellow flowers which dotted the field.

When they reached the glen, Cynthia plopped on the ground and wiped the perspiration from her forehead with the hem of her skirt. Pal lay on the grass beside her panting heavily.

"Poor old Pal's so hot in his winter overcoat," she said soothingly, as she petted him. "It's just too hot today for clothes."

Cynthia pulled up her short skirt over the whiteness of her already developing thighs and sighing as the cool breeze washed over the flimsy silk of her brief panties, lay back on the cool grass and stroked his thick fur. She opened her legs wide to let the air cool between her perspiring thighs and looked contentedly up at the drifting puffs of summer clouds that moved lazily overhead. Pal rolled on his side next to her and turning her head at the feel of his movement against her hand she noticed that his penis was protruding slightly from its fur covered sheath. She remembered the black bull from the other day and tentatively touched its pink, moist end. As she curiously fingered it, the small glistening penis slowly emerged into the air until it was fully in sight. Pal growled deep in his throat and then jumped up, quivering. Feeling uncertain and a little afraid, she squirmed slightly away on her back and looked wide-eyed up at him not knowing what to do. It was a strange feeling, one that she had never known before with Pal. He had always leaped at her first command but now she was not so certain he would react the way he always had done before. There was an animalistic gleam in his eye that both frightened and confused her. It was as though she had lost complete control over him and would never regain it again. He suddenly had command of her and her childish mind froze, unable to move as he hovered over her spread-eagle form panting and jerking like the lust-enraged bull she had seen such a short time ago just before it attacked Jersey in Chris' corral.

He had moved between her wide spread legs and was standing with tongue hanging out just above her.

She dared not move in her sudden fear.

His head dropped and she clenched her eyes tightly shut as she felt the coldness of his nose brush experimentally against the warm inside of her thighs. She could feel the heat of his breath as he panted like the bull and the sudden wetness of his tongue as it snaked out of his mouth and began softly licking at the exposed flesh of her inner legs. She started to push him away, but the cool damp tongue suddenly felt fresh and alive on her hot skin. Instead, she lay back and let her arms fan loosely out on the grass as his tongue continued its strange and probing search up toward the whiteness of her panties. She tried to move again but was met by a whining growl that stilled her completely. There was nothing she could do now and felt her body begin a slow uncontrollable writhing against the grass beneath her as suddenly his long searching tongue reacted the top of her thighs and began a gently almost tender licking against the silk band of her panties that covered the warm, sweating slit of her young, untouched vagina. A slight groan escaped from her mouth which was dry now from the strange and unknown sensations flickering through her young and inexperienced body. Her tongue ran in small desperate and uncontrolled circles around the edges of her lips, the salty taste of the tiny drops of sweat forming there increasing the urgency of the feelings suddenly circling around deep inside her white, virginal belly. The sun burned white into the skin of her face and exposed legs and she could feel the roughness his tongue probing gently against the thin, protective veneer of her panties, pushing it wetly into the now open and palpitating lips of her small and untouched cunt. She giggled slightly and it tickled her but soon she felt a curious sensation flowing up into her loins and stomach, a feeling that was unfamiliar but strangely pleasurable and had its strength deep inside her belly. At first it frightened her, but then she gave herself slowly and uncertainly to its new and delicious delight and felt a sudden ravenous curiosity as to where it would lead and what it was all about.

Her hands moved without thought down over the beginning blooms of her tiny but sensitive breasts and making a wide, open-palmed sweep down over the whiteness of her nylon clad belly began a soft circular stroking around the insides of her thighs as the hot, licking tongue of the dog continued its desperate probing of the nylon band still covering the tiny, hair lined slit of her vagina. Her body began a slow wiggling and squirming down into the cool mat of grass beneath her and she slowly raised her knees until they were pointing directly up at the fleecy cloud floating lazily above, and then with the first moan of passion uttered in her young life, they limply fell outwards, exposing the whole of her nylon covered loins to the now more desperate flicking tongue of the dog. Her buttocks and pelvis began a slow, yet hard rotation up at the teasing wet nose of the animal haunching down between her wide-spread legs and she could feel the long, moist, snake-like tongue trying without success to curl beneath the tight elastic legband of her flimsy panties and make contact with the soft smooth flesh beneath. Her fingers automatically moved inward and with the forefinger of her right hand she deftly and quickly pulled the soft nylon crotch band aside and groaned with a feeling she had never in her life thought possible as she felt the great wet mass of Pal's flicking tongue sink hungrily between the wet and throbbing lips of her young and now unprotected cunt. A low animal moan escaped from between her tightly clenched teeth and she grasped his furry ear with her other hand and pulled his nose tighter between her legs, grunting and twisting beneath him on the grass as though she had suddenly lost her mind. At the same time, mewling whines of unsatiated hunger rolled from the panting mouth of the wildly licking dog and he thrust the tip of his tongue deep between her wide-spread legs until the thin ring of her youthful virginity would allow it to sink no deeper inside her. Saliva drooled from his mouth in wild sucking torrents, wetting the whole of her madly rotating pelvis and loins as she wiggled and squirmed in wild and uncontrolled abandon beneath the lapping dog. Feeling the hot delight rising like fire in the depths of her quivering belly, she ground her crotch desperately around and around, savoring with untamed delight the newfound sensations rippling in never ending waves through her young, virginal body.

"Lick me, Pal! Lick me," she chanted ceaselessly through her passion-contorted lips as her buttocks twisted and smacked with wild uncontrolled abandon down into the soft mat of grass beneath her. She did not know what the outcome would be, but she instinctively felt through her lust-dimmed mind that there was an end, some end, and that this was the way to it. Her hand dropped from his ear and she pressed it to the other side of the split of her cunt, pulling the tight, tiny lips as far apart as she could get them until she almost felt herself screaming from the pain that she felt as though she were splitting her own self apart there between her legs. His tongue lapped deeper, a hard painful pressure against her virginity so that she squirmed up with a hopeless desperation, knowing that on the other side of that thin unyielding membrane inside her lay a happiness and sensation that was beyond imagination and she bucked and twisted with all her strength, praying his tongue would break through and satiate this wild need goading her back on and on into wilder and wilder gyrations.

And then – as quickly as the feeling had begun, it burst!

She cried out into the hot summer air and then suddenly all her muscles relaxed, her legs jerking in one last spasmodic quiver out to the sides of the still licking dog's body. She continued to rotate her pelvis up against the wetness of his tongue, but more softly and slowly now, as the burning fire quickly ebbed.

She breathed out deeply and reaching up with both hands, firmly pushed his panting head away from her still wide-spread loins. He backed begrudgingly away, a protesting whine singing from his throat and she lay drained of all strength panting and perspiring on her back.

She still did not understand exactly what had happened. But it had happened and it was the most beautiful thing she had ever known. It would come again now, and often, she had tasted it and there would he no escape when it occurred again – no matter what the circumstances.

CHAPTER TWO

As the months and years passed, she found many new ways of fulfilling the ache which periodically filled her groin and crept down her legs and through her body. Instead of Pal, she used books, the arm of an overstuffed chair, the edge of her bed, or a pillow stuffed between her legs as she lay face down on her bed in the quiet of the night. The small, rosy bud mounted high between the lips of her sex became more and more the center of her attentions. With one or two of her fingers she would rub its fleshy swelling, gently and rhythmically, or smoke the soft length of the path leading up to it, terminating her stroke against it until the familiar rising flood of pleasure would swell up sharply and spill over. Or she would use her whole hand to apply moving and steady pressure over these warm responsive areas. And sometimes she tugged at her sex with her hand, finding that the pull on her muscles stimulated the pink bud to which they were connected.

By the time she was fifteen Cynthia was strongly desirous of a full sexual experience. But the farming community in which she lived was so small and closely knit she was afraid of the possible consequences of being discovered, punished severely by her parents and talked about by all the gossips, her reputation ruined and her parents ashamed. Then, too, she still felt lagging remnants of guilt about her own masturbation and was uneasily reluctant to take the next step. True, she had been kissed, and deeply, by many of her boy friends, had allowed a few of them to handle her young, swelling breasts, and permitted one to finger her sex with his rough, chapped hand, making her sex juices flow and her desire mount almost unbearably, but she had gone no further.

That June, when the winter-bare, plowed fields were covered with emerald green stalks of corn, rapidly inching their way upward to be knee-high by the Fourth of July, a square dance was held to celebrate the end of the school year. Johnny, as well as Paul Dawson and another friend named Mike, were home from the state agricultural school. Mike had become engaged to Betty Sorenson, who had blossomed into a dark-haired, ripely-rounded beauty with a saucy pair of blue eyes and a dimple in her right cheek.

The dance was to be held at a meeting house a few miles down the road. All the girls had new skirts, full-belled and brightly colored. The fiddlers in the area tuned up their fiddles and practiced the songs, the callers reviewed their patter and tried not to overstrain their voices during the preceding days, and all the wives and mothers cooked their treasured specialties, pecan pies, double-fudge cakes, fruit bread jeweled with red and green candied fruit, succulent hams studded with cloves, all to be eaten at midnight by the leg-weary crowd. For everyone was going, everyone who could still shake a leg or scrape a fiddle, or even just sit along the sidelines and gossip and urge on the dancers.

There was a full moon that fourteenth night of June, an orb glowing like an opal which lit the countryside almost like day and covered the rolling hills with a sinuous cloth of silver lame. Cynthia was dancing with Paul Dawson, now a tall, attractive lad of twenty with a lean face and a ready smile.

"My legs are about ready to give way," Paul said, as they finished a fast square dance and walked, breathing heavily, off the floor. "Let's get some fresh air."

They went outside and sat on the cool grass. With her arms behind her, propping her body, Cynthia tilted her flushed face toward the sky, in the moonlight her heavy, blond hair a rippling mass of silver sequins, and her eyes, dark and deep-set under the winged brows, as quiet and mysterious as a Sphinx. Her blouse, cut low in a circle revealed the clean curve of her shoulders and the soft, rising mounds of her white breasts, the hollow between them a deepening shadow as it disappeared under her blouse. The firm, twin arches of her breasts rapidly rose and fell as she tried to catch her breath, perspiration gluing the cloth to her moist, hot body, sharply outlining under the thin material the molded, outward swelling curves, each tipped with a hard bud, jutting outward under the wet gauze, dark and swollen, and the round, cupped fullness below. From her small, nipped-in waist her full skirt billowed out, its hem lying above her knees, framing in firm, plump flesh of her thighs, white and glistening in the moonlight.

"You're growin' up pretty as a heifer, Cynthia," Paul said. "Pardon my buttin' my nose in where it has no business, but is there anyone you're particularly sweet on around here?"

She glanced sideways at him, her eyes flashing in the moonlight. She liked Paul. "No," she said slowly. "Not particularly." She waited quietly.

He started to move his arm as though to put it around her, but then picked up a stone instead and threw it with a brisk swing, the stone clinking on a rock when it fell. He seemed embarrassed and unsure of himself, his inexperience revealed in his husky voice and nervous manner.

"Well, look, Cynthia," he said, "I was wonderin' what you were thinkin' of doin' after high school. Going to get married? Or are your parents goin' to send you to college?"

"I don't really know, Paul. They've said I could go if I wanted to, but I don't want to much. Maybe I'll go to Chicago and get a job. My aunt lives there, you know."

Although she hadn't told anyone, she had already made up her mind. College was not for her. She was too anxious for a quick plunge into the complex morass of life where she could surrender herself to the myriad delights she knew it would offer. It was not for her to go to college, where the fetters of a college routine would bind and choke her like the restrictions she felt at home, where the boys would be replicas of Paul and others in her own community, young, hesitant, undeveloped, and where she would not be able to freely indulge in the kind of experimentation she knew her body was ready for and eagerly demanded. No, when the time came, she would go to Chicago, live with her aunt until she found a job, and then strike out on her own.

As she shifted her position so her arm would brush against his and gave her head a shake so her fragrant hair swung against his face, tickling it with the golden wisps of her curls, she felt herself suddenly pushed back against the ground, her back pressed into the grass, her breasts and her belly flattened by the crush of his body on top of hers. Roughly he grasped her hair with one hand, entwining his fingers in its thick locks until her scalp tingled with the pain, while his other hand kneaded her soft breast, rapidly making it become firm and taut with desire. His mouth hungrily sought her own, his lips smashed go forcefully against hers that they parted and her teeth chewed his upper lip, making the blood flow and fill her mouth with its warm, salty taste. Her nostrils flared as the acrid scent of his male sweat reached them and she arched her back like a bow while his hand passed heavily down over the smooth swell of her stomach, seeking her hot loins.

Just then a figure appeared in the brightly lit rectangle of the door, the whirling music of the fiddles and the hoarse patter of the caller blaring out behind it like a radio fully turned up.

"PA-U-L! PA-U-L! Are you out there, Paul?" It was his mother.

He quickly rolled off her, breathing heavily, swearing softly. Cynthia lay with her eyes closed.

"Yoo-oo-oo-hoo-oo-oo! PA-U-L!" came the insistent, inquiring call again.

"Yeah, I'm over here," he finally yelled back, as he adjusted his clothes. "What do you want?" His voice was impatient and angry.

She walked toward them, saying, "It won't take a minute, dear. I only want you to drive me home. So many more people came than expected, we'll need another coffee urn. It'll only take a second." Her voice sounded apologetic when her eyes, now accustomed to the dark, saw Cynthia with him.

"God-damn," he exclaimed under his breath. Turning to Cynthia as he got up, he added, "I'll be right back. How about eatin' with me when the dinner's ready?"

She nodded and watched him trail after his mother toward the line of parked cars. She lay back on the ground, her arms clasped under her head and looked at the glowing sky. The milky moon floated like a white gull on the calm, deep sea of the night, cloudless and without horizon. The warm, summer scented air and her aroused unfilled desires flooded her body with longing. The knot of lust twisted deeply in her belly and flowed down her limbs, making her legs ache and her muscles tense. She could not sit still. Rising from the ground, she slowly wandered away from the meeting-house, over a moon-drenched hill toward a small wood which lay like a silver castle on the far side of a meadow. Under the trees, standing like silent sentinels, the moonlight filtered down through dark, leaf-laden branches and fell on the grassy sod in liquid white pools. She walked between the dark pillars of trees. It was as if she were walking through an eerie, deserted church in a dream, or in another world, all alone, where objects could not be recognized and had no name, but only existed, quietly, peacefully.

But she was not alone, for suddenly she heard a male voice speaking gruffly a short distance away and an answering, gentle female laugh. Wondering who it could be and what they were doing, she took off her shoes and, picking her way carefully, so as not to stumble over a branch or snap a twig and thus betray her presence, moved cautiously toward where they were hidden. As the voice became more distinct she recognized them as belonging to Mike and Betty. She fell to her hands and knees and inched along, her aim a small group of bushes behind which they seemed to he. What could they be doing? Whatever it was, she hoped they were too intent to hear the small rustlings she unavoidably made now and then. That they might be making love was more than possible. The mere thought of it made the tight knot in her groin rotate sharply. Having reached the bushes, she searched for an opening; finding one she looked through into a snug, grass-carpeted glade, ringed with bushes, which the moonlight, fading between the tall, watching trees, bathed in an opalescent light and softly spotlighted the entwined figures against the darker ground.

"Mike, darling, I do love you," Betty murmured, "but do you think we should? Mightn't someone come?" She was lying on her back, Mike beside her, one leg angled over her knees, an arm propped on the ground and the other stroking her hair.

"Oh, honey, please. No one'll come way out here." He moved his hand to her blouse and began unbuttoning it slowly, his lips following his fumbling fingers as he gently kissed the gradually exposed flesh. Quietly she lay, the fingers of one hand hidden in his dark, curly hair, her body then moving with easy twists as he took off her blouse and reached behind to unhook her brassiere. As she sank back onto the ground her long dark hair fanned out on the grass, moonlight glittering in the rippling mass like a phosphorescent fish swimming in a dark sea. The soft silver light accentuated the contours of her young torso, high-lighting the lustrous curves and shadowing the hollows, moulding her smooth body into a liquid, flowing melody of beautiful movement, without beginning or end. Her eyes were dark pools of desire and love; her full lips, mauve in the moonlight, were parted to reveal small, glistening teeth and the pink end of a wet tongue, eager to be met by his. The column of her neck flowed outward into the sloping, alabaster curves of her shoulders and down to the raising sweep of her apple-sized breasts, which were firm and raised like two white-hot, glowing coals, tipped with lavender buds, swollen and hard, and as softly caressed by the shimmering moonbeams as by Mike's hand and lips. Moving his fingers to her skirt, he raised it up over her ripe belly, kissing the lily-white shafts of her thighs and then eased it down over her hips and slowly pulled off her panties with exaggerated care. Quickly he got up from the ground, undressed, and stood gazing down at her, his body like a statue of chalk in the moonlight. He was fully a man, for his male organ stood out like a long, thick rod of ivory, ready and eager to bury itself in the wet, dark tunnel between her legs. Against the darker grass, the long milky, columns of her legs widened upward in pure, clean lines, swelled outward in the rounded parentheses of her hips, which were as white as snowdrifts, as mysterious as the moon above. Her belly curved in a gentle swell, soft, inviting, centered by the dark shadow of her navel, while below rose the strong jut of her mound, richly covered with sparse, dark swirls of budding pubic hair.

He dropped to the grass, leaned half over her and raised his hands to the shadowed hollows of her neck, moving them slowly and heavily outward around her sloping shoulders, downward over the soft pillows of her breasts, around the small circle of her waist and over the smooth, silky rise of her belly, following the creamy sweep of her hips down to the pliant, satin flesh of her full white thighs which he tenderly licked, slowly, heavily. She reached down and drew him up on top of her. Their lips met in a hungry kiss as they clasped each other strongly, their legs tangled together, her hands passing languidly over his back and kneading the white globes of his haunches. Soft moans and sighs mingled sensuously with the sound of their bodies, brushing and sliding against each other as their hands and lips explored warm curves and hidden crevices, their entwined, moving bodies looking like shifting, silver snakes. He buried his head against her breasts, kissing and fondling them.

Cynthia held her breath and reaching forward carefully with her hands, parted the bushes slightly and crawled forward a few more feet. She was as silent as possible in the darkness and the slight noises she made were no more than the wind rustling through the otherwise quiet forest. She was not more than two feet away from the sensuously writhing couple now and had a sudden almost uncontrollable urge to reach out and touch them. Her position was such that she could see without hindrance the soft, sparse pubic hair nestling mysteriously between her girlfriend's wide-spread thighs and the wet, pink slit of her open cunt as it throbbed in anticipation of the ravishment it was about to receive. Betty's hand had reached down between their hard pressed bodies and her fingers were curled tightly around the full marble-whiteness of Mike's cock as it hung poised for entry into the tiny, waiting entrance between her legs.

Cynthia's mouth was dry and she could feel tiny beads of sweat breaking out on her forehead just beneath the soft, blonde hairline as she heard the moans and sighs rippling from deep in Betty's chest. She would have given anything at that moment to change places with her, to be lying there beneath Mike's hot, lust-filled body waiting for him to fuck into her like the bull she had seen so long ago in Chris' corral.

"Put it in, darling, now, oh my darling," he whispered into the writhing girl's mouth beneath him. "I want to fuck you."

"Oh, fuck me, please do, please fuck me, darling!" the half crazed girl twisting under him pleaded wetly into his mouth. He moaned and pressed forward with a flick of his hips, the full, blood-filled head of his cock guided by the eager hands of the girl parted the moist red lips of her young, ready cunt and slipped wetly inside. She moaned loudly and crushed her head against his shoulders, chewing at it passionately with her lips. His hands slithered down the full rounded curves of her body and cupped the full rounded cheeks of her ass, bringing it suddenly tight up against his pelvis as he rammed forward with one great flesh splitting lunge and buried his cock deep, deep down in her belly.

Cynthia gasped as the forest was suddenly split by a half scream that was choked off almost as suddenly as it began by his hand that clamped down over her tortured girlfriend's mouth. There was a moment's silence and then the soft sounds of painful grunts coming from Betty's hand covered lips as Mike began a slow but hard rotation of his hips between her wide-spread thighs. He rode her slowly at first, taking his hand from her lips and again cupping the full rounded melons of her buttocks to pull her tighter up against him.

Cynthia's mouth was gaping wide now as she watched with unbelieving eyes the giant white cock skewering like a well greased piston deep between the wide-held legs of her girlfriend. She felt the juices of her own vagina begin to moisten the tightly clenched insides of her thighs as Betty suddenly jack-knifed her churning body and clamped her legs high up around the hollowing and plumping buttocks of her lover. Her pelvis rotated wildly against the softness of the leaves beneath her and small grunts of passionate delight burst in puffs from between her tightly clenched teeth. Cynthia's hand had lowered itself without consciousness down between her own legs and had inserted itself up under the elastic leg band of her panties where she fingered herself madly, almost forgetting the silence she had to maintain. She could not take her eyes from the now wet and glistening instrument that drove without mercy into the clasping hair-lined cunt between the legs of the moaning girl in front of her. She had slipped to her knees now so that her own buttocks were waving high in the air behind her and the tiny bud of her clitoris throbbed and jerked beneath the hot, slippery tip of her finger as she followed the wild rhythm of the couple fucking right in front of her eyes.

Then, when she thought they could go no more, she saw Mike speed up his thrusting hips until they were almost a blur in the whiteness of the moonlight and smacking them loudly and wetly down into the twisting and churning loins of Betty beneath him, gave a deep, muffled moan and rammed as far up into her as he could go. At the same time, Betty squealed and locked her ankles tight around his back and jerked as though she were dying beneath him. Cynthia gasped also and felt her own wetness cascading down into the palm of her wildly stroking hand as she watched the small white trails of the sperm Mike had ejaculated deep into Betty's body overflow out the lips of her quivering vagina and down between the cheeks of her buttocks to the leaves below.

There was a last deep groan from both of them as Cynthia held her breath in silence and then Mike sank down heavily upon her girlfriend's satiated body. She lay still, not daring to move. Later he rolled to one side and lay on his back, his chest rising and falling, while she put her head on his shoulder and her hand down on his now limp and useless penis.

"God, I'd like to touch a boy like that," Cynthia found herself muttering silently, surprised at the sudden boldness of her thought.

After awhile, they rose hesitantly from the pile of leaves they had been lying in and after adjusting their clothing walked happily back toward the party. Cynthia followed in a few minutes, almost afraid to look at anyone for fear they would know what she had been doing. She knew now that she had to get away from this place, and quick, or she would be raping the first young male that came within arms length of her. There was only one place she could go, and that was Chicago.