Hot Blood: Tales of Erotic Horror

over control to him. Fear had drained out of her, and something quicker had replaced it.

When they were both naked, he drew her down onto the carpet and began to make slow, careful love to her. In the planter box above them she thought she could detect the movement of the hearty green things trembling slightly, aching toward them and the power they released as they spasmed together in a ritual at once utterly new because theirs was the meeting of the unfamiliar, yet ancient as the moon.

And as the shadow of passion closed around her she heard him whisper, 'There are many things to eat.'

For the first time in her life, she could not hear the sound of footsteps following her.

PRETTY IS… Mike Newton

Shelly Teasdale sat and watched the new boy as he finished off his fourth lap of the indoor pool. His name was John Assad — she knew that much — and he possessed an athlete's grace. He led the other swimmers easily.

'A penny for your thoughts,' said Marcy Melcher, seated on her left.

'No deal.'

'No need,' said Karen Reinhardt, planted on her right. 'I'll tell you what she's thinking.'

'Go ahead, if you're so clever.'

'Well, unless you're studying for midterms by osmosis,' Karen said, smiling, 'I'd say you're scoping him, and wondering how long he's good for in the sack.'

Beside her, Marcy giggled. 'It's the same thing, either way. She's working on biology.'

Between them, Shelly feigned offense. 'I swear, I don't know why I waste my time with either one of you.'

'That's easy,' Karen answered. 'We're your Chi Omega sisters, and we've known you like forever. Which is why I've got the power to read your horny little mind.'

'He's hot, I'll grant you that.'

'Stop drooling, Marcy.'

'Must I?'

'Is he dating anybody steady?' Shelly tried to make the question casual, but Marcy snickered all the same.

A shrug from Karen. 'I don't think he's dating anybody, period.'

'You think he's shy?'

'Or gay? Now, there's a waste.'

'Down, girl.'

'If he says so.'

'You two are being childish.' Shelly rose, but they were after her before she reached the bottom of the bleachers.

'Marcy, I believe we struck a nerve.'

'I'd say so.'

Karen nudged her with an elbow. 'Are you gonna try him on, or what?'

She couldn't hide the smile. 'I might.'

Behind her, Marcy made a clucking sound. 'Poor Tommy isn't going to like that.'

Shelly tossed her head and set the famous amber waves in motion. 'I can handle Tommy.'

From her childhood, Shelly had possessed a knack for handling men. Her father had been first, supplanted over time by playmates, teachers, boyfriends, and employers. She had learned the value of a smile, a wiggle, and a glimpse of thigh. Manipulation elevated to the status of an art form. And it never failed.

She had been handling Tommy Blackmon from the start of their relationship, last spring. Both euphemistically and literally. Shelly was not virginal, by any means, but you could not have proved the opposite from Tommy's recent scorecard. He was lucky to receive a hasty handjob these days, and he had not seen her stripped for action since the frat bash back on Labor Day, when she had downed too many coolers in a hurry.

She preferred to keep him hungry, in suspense, occasionally doling out her favors as a just reward, withholding them more often as a form of punishment — or simply for her own amusement. It was a technique which she had polished to perfection, and it served her well.

Her reputation as a tease was well-deserved, but she was never short of offers. Boys surrounded her like flies on honey, conscious of her game, each hoping he might be the one to wear down her resistance.

With a boy — a man — like John Assad, she thought it might be different. If he was strong enough to tame her, giving up the game might have its own rewards.

'I've gotta run. I'm late.'

And Shelly hurried off across the commons, smiling to herself and cherishing a tingle of anticipation.

Let the games begin.

'Hey, babe, you in there?'

Shelly's eyes came into focus on a hand that waggled inches from her nose. 'I'm sorry, what?'

She sat with Tommy Blackmon in the student union, facing him across a cafeteria table with textbooks and paper cups of Coke between them. He had been regaling her with tales of basketball, but she had not been listening. Her eyes and mind had been on John Assad, three tables over, seated by himself and studying.

Disgruntled, Tommy followed the direction of her gaze and saw the new boy, turning back to face her with a scowl. 'You window-shopping?'

'Don't be stupid, Tommy. I'm just… curious.'

'I'll bet.'

She registered his jealousy, dismissing it. 'He's interesting, don't you think?'

No idiot (despite his lousy math professor's stated views), Tom Blackmon knew where Shelly's interest lay — and lay would be the operative word. He kept the observation to himself and asked, instead, 'What do you wanna know?'

She stared at Tommy for a moment, as if he had spoken in a foreign language. 'What?'

He grinned. 'I got a buddy — you know, Hardy Cox? — who works part-time in records, and he tells me things. You wanna know about the new boy?' Tommy aimed an index finger at his temple. 'Well, I got it all in here.'

'I'm sure.'

'You don't believe me? Fine. For openers, he's not American.'

'I knew that, Tommy.'

'Yeah? I bet you didn't know he's from Iraq. Or was it Lesbia? One of those rag-head Middle Eastern countries, anyway. He transferred in from USC two months ago. They booted him.'

Her eyes flicked back to Tommy's grinning face. 'I don't believe it.'

'Would I lie? Some kind of trouble with a girl on campus. Way I hear it, things got ugly and he had to split.'

'What happened?'

'Well… I don't exactly have the details yet, but people talk.'

'That's cheap.'

'You think so? Like they say, babe, where there's smoke…'

'You're being juvenile.'

Across the room the new boy straightened, stretched. His eyes met Shelby's, and she felt a sudden heat between her legs that made her squirm. The moment stretched into infinity, abruptly terminated as he rose to leave. She was aware of Tommy speaking to her, from a distance, but she could not understand his words.