easy! He fondled the butt of the short-barreled.38 that nestled in his groin. Like taking candy away from a baby! Shit! This could be perfect! The guy couldn't possibly identify me… it's so dark!
The boy pulled over to the curb and parked. His heart pounded. Fear and a certain sense of profound excitement welled up in him. He had experienced it once before and overcame it, as he reached into his mother's dresser drawer and stole a twenty dollar bill. What he contemplated, now, was bigger… much bigger. With an effort of will, he calmed himself. His mind was racing, planning what he must do. He must have every detail set in his hastily formulated plans. Every move must be thought through… so there could be no possible foul-up. Satisfied, finally, his mind made up, his plan of action settled, he went to work. He took off his boots, removed his socks, put the boots back on and used the socks, tying them on with bits of string from his saddlebag, to conceal the registration plate on the rear fender and the manufacturer's name on the right side of his bike. He was almost ready, but he looked around to make sure he was not observed. All the homes were dark and peaceful; however to throw off suspicion, he knelt down and pretended to tinker with the engine. It was a master stroke. A car drove by on the avenue, and he was caught in the glare of its headlights, as head down, he delved into the machinery of the motor. His heart beat like a jackhammer, momentarily, until he was sure the car would not stop. It continued on up the avenue, not pausing in its steady forty mile an hour speed. Damn! That scared the living hell out of me!
After long moments, he stopped shaking, mounted his bike, made a U-turn and headed back towards the parked station wagon with the flat tire.
Don had tied his handkerchief over the lower part of his face as he rode along and pulled his stocking cap down to his eyebrows. He pulled up beside the car and behind the man changing the flat tire, noting that he was just tightening up the lug bolts. Don said nothing. He waited, the gun in his hand.
The salesman looked up at him, finally, and started to say, 'Got the damn thing…' He stopped. The menacing pistol in Don's hand was pointed directly at him.
Speaking low, Don told him, 'Put your wallet on the hood of the car!'
The frightened man hastened to obey. It was the second time tonight he had stared down the barrel of a pistol.
'Now, put your hands up… on the roof!'
He retrieved the wallet, looked in, saw several bills and removed them. 'This all?' he barked.
'That's it… l-look I've got to drive eight hundred miles to get home… I–I can't…'
Donnie put a twenty dollar bill back in the man's wallet. Then, he threw the billfold under the car.
'Crawl under after it!' Don ordered. Again, the full-faced man obeyed. Far be it from him to argue with a gun.
Stuffing the bills into his jeans pocket, Donnie mounted his motor cycle and roared off down the avenue, in the opposite direction from his home; then, taking a round-about route he worked his way homeward, parked his bike in the driveway, removed the socks from it and put them in his windbreaker jacket. Easy! Christ! It was almost too easy! The damned guy was seared almost shitless!
Don hastily counted the money, as soon as he was in his room. It amounted to seventy-nine dollars. Not bad! Not bad at all! He put the money in a safe hiding place, the gun into the back of his closet in a cloth duffel bag. He was just emerging from the closet when he heard a soft tap at his door.
'Don…?' It was Charity, his sister. 'Can I talk to you…?' she murmured in a half whisper.
'Sure… why not?' He opened the door and let her in.
Afterward, she applied herself to her school assignments and watched a favorite T.V. show. It was later than usual when she prepared for bed. Her father had still not returned home, and she wondered, again, briefly, where he might be, deciding after some reflection, that it was not unusual for him to be away from home for long hours. He was probably drinking with some friends, trading stories, or maybe telling dirty jokes. He did get completely stoned, at times, she knew… but his absence out of her mind, went into the bathroom and began her bedtime ritual of bathing.
She couldn't, however, put her father completely out of her mind. The way he looked at her, lately, really bothered her. It was as though he was mentally undressing her, his half-lidded eyes following her every movement, avidly, devouring her every contour, and she knew, almost instinctively, that it was wrong. No father should have that kind of interest in his own flesh-and-blood daughter as a sex object.
… And, it was sexual interest in her, on his part; she knew it and recognized it, and was afraid to be alone with him. This was, of course, the reason why she had wanted to remain at school in the nurse's room, rather than go home. It was the unmentioned subject of her conversation with Mrs. Keaton, the school nurse. It was also what prompted her to remain in her own room, as much as possible, with the door locked, and she, habitually, locked the door to the connecting bathroom when she occupied it. On more than one occasion, he had accidentally blundered in on her, his eyes sweeping over her naked young body before he excused himself and left the room.
She knew, also, that Donnie was doing the same thing, now. There was the same look in his eyes, a lustful yearning… an unnatural desire.
Stripping her clothing from her young body she prepared to step into the warm bath she had drawn. Her reflection in the mirror caught her attention, and she studied her definitely womanly figure. She was satisfied with what she saw… But I'm not really as beautiful as Mom. My breasts are smaller… and my hips are not as curvy… at least not yet.
Running her hands over the smooth, satiny skin, she brought up both hands to cup the rounded hemispheres of her high, proud breasts, rolling the erectile buds of the nipples in her fingers until they were distended and the areolae puckered up around them, the warm flush of tumescence flooding through her… that feeling of need… of desire… of sexuality.
With an effort of will, she denied that sexuality, making herself think of other things to relieve the concentration of her thoughts on her body… and its promises.
As she had undressed a few moments before she was elated to discover that her menstruation had stopped. Well… that's finished and done with… for this month…
Charity knew about and understood the mechanics of sex and reproduction. She had had the Sex Education Class in school, but she had no burning interest in sexual things. She had refused to go steady with any one boy; she preferred to date several, but the mores of modern youth dictated steady dating as de riguer. It followed, that although she was an extremely attractive girl — no… she was an extremely beautiful girl — she didn't have many dates, because the word was out: Charity doesn't want to go steady! She was practically cut off the vine, so to speak, for one of the main reasons for steady dating was easy availability for petting… heavy petting… and sexual intercourse. Making out was the word, and Charity knew that many of the couples of her acquaintance were either going all the way in sexual encounter… or were petting to orgasm, so-called heavy petting.
She remembered with an embarrassed blush the boy she had consented to date for the third, consecutive time. He had parked after their date, and she had consented to a few kisses and embraces. Bill Cartwright, the boy, had gotten more and more aroused, his kisses deep and probing, his tongue tantalizingly sweet and demanding in her mouth, then his hands were on her breasts, dipping inside her blouse, unhooking her bra and going under it to the warm, satin smoothness of them, her nipples coming up spiky-hard, unbidden. There was that warm glow in her, and she did not stop him, strangely, in spite of her resolve not to, wanting it to go on and on, as searing sensations played in her loins… new, delightful feelings with their ever growing promise of rapture.
His mouth had trailed down her neck to the cleft between her breasts, and then unbuttoning her blouse, he claimed the budding nipples with his warm, wet lips. Oh, God! It was wonderful!
… But, something in her told her that it must stop, and she tried to pull away from him, mumbling, 'No… Bill, no! We can't go on…!'
He muffled her protests with his mouth, welding it to hers, as he kissed her, again, deeply, his tongue doing wonderful things to her, and she reciprocated, giving him her tongue to suck and nibble upon, while he allowed his hand to caress and smooth down across her flat belly, arriving, finally, at the vee between her thighs where he rubbed at her through her clothing.
Again, she objected, but his insistent hands were under her skirt, moving up her satiny smooth inner thigh against the rising wetness of her panties, his finger through the filmy nylon material, finding the hardening flesh of her clitoris in its secret hiding place, the sparse hair-ringed furrow of her femaleness. His finger played there, stroking her while the fiery sex sensations flooded through her, making her weak in her objections to his
