She obscenely spread her legs apart, her pussy swollen and surrounded by coarse pubic hair opened up like the gates of hell.
'I think I'd better get you home, Miss Ima.'
She leaned forward and grabbed his arm. 'Don't be shy, chauffeur. It's kosher.'
She guided his hand to her breasts and he withdrew it as if he had touched something hot.
'Don't pretend any longer, Catch. I won't tell anyone.'
'You're damn right you aren't going to tell anyone,' he said abruptly, 'Because nothing is going to happen. Nothing!'
'What do you mean?' she asked incredulously.
'Don't you know that the very sight of you makes me puke, you egotistical pig! You're well named. Ima Swine… it should be Ima Pig.'
She slapped him across the face with all her might. Catch's ears began ringing. He blinked his eyes several times and turned around. He started up the limousine with a roar and they sped down the highway toward the Swine estate. Ima cowered in the back seat, awash with alcohol, the pain of sunburn and the humiliation of rejection.
By the time they had reached the estate, her shame had turned to anger. She didn't wait for him to open the car door. She swung herself out of the limousine and marched over to him.
'You're fired! Do you understand? Fired!'
Catch didn't say anything. He drove the limousine to the garage, went into the dressing room, took off his chauffeur's uniform and got dressed in his own clothes. He hitched a ride home. He was relieved that he wouldn't have to put up with Ima Swine any more, but he was in turn depressed because he had lost his job.
But, when he reached home, his mother was on the front porch waiting, waving an envelope. He quickly tore it open.
He'd been granted a scholarship to Tulane University.
CHAPTER FIVE
Catch was not yet to be rid of his involvement with the Bayou Country Club-however oblique.
Mr. Swine tried to hire Catch back but he would have none of it. He didn't want to contend with Swine's horny daughter. He got a job for the rest of the summer working on construction at a small local concern. Ironically enough the job was repairing bridges, walls, buildings, sidewalks, and so forth around the Bayou Country Club.
It was mid-July and the torrid Texas sun hung in the cloudless sky like a burning ball of flame. Most of the construction work was outdoors and Catch liked that. He learned bricklaying and how to finish concrete. The job helped tone up his body and since he worked without a shirt he became as brown as a tobacco leaf from the waist up. To continue staying in shape for his track work Catch got up at five o'clock every morning and took several laps around the golf course before it was time to start working. On one of these early morning excursions he encountered a middle-aged man and his young, attractive wife who were playing golf.
The man, a paunchy but robust southerner, who identified himself as Floyd Colbert, asked Catch what his business was on the golf course. Catch explained what he was doing and Colbert was impressed by the young man's fortitude and ambition. Catch could not help but notice that Mr. Colbert's young wife was very beautiful in a sophisticated way. Mrs. Colbert was tall, sleek and a thoroughbred. She had ash blonde hair which was pulled back and caught at the base of her neck with a ribbon. It fell in one thick braid halfway down her back. She dressed in a tailored shirt with matching shorts. Her legs were long and beautifully shaped.
Catch had heard Colbert call his wife Elise. He rolled her name around in his mouth like a sweet. He yearned to be successful so that one day he, too, could have a beautiful woman of quality by his side, not a panting Chicano waitress or a frustrated schoolteacher but a woman who would make other men envious of his good fortune.
He saw them often on his early morning runs and they always waved to one another. Then, one morning around five-thirty when he was sprinting near the ninth hole, he saw only the woman. She waved to him and he broke his pace. He had sensed that she wished to talk to him. He walked over to where she was standing next to her golf cart (at that hour of the morning they had to do without caddies) and Catch asked, 'Good morning, Mrs. Colbert. Where's the mister?'
'I'm afraid it's his back. Poor Floyd is going to be confined to his bed for awhile.'
'I hope it's not serious.'
'Not serious but uncomfortable. He has a recurring slipped disk which acts up occasionally.' She surveyed the young man's body, encased in a grey sweat suit and pants. Triangles of perspiration stained the front and the back of his sweatshirt.
'Would you like to have a cup of coffee?' she asked. 'I bought a small hamper with me.'
'Why yes, I guess so,' Catch replied, trying to conceal his pleasure.
'Let's go over there,' suggested Mrs. Colbert, indicating a small stone pavilion which was designed as a resting place for golfers out of the sun.
Catch followed Mrs. Colbert across the golf course to the building. The early morning sun was just beginning to dry the dew from the grass and the air was filled with an incredible freshness. They set down at a small picnic table and Mrs. Colbert opened the hamper. She produced a large thermos of coffee, two plastic cups, two buttered crescent rolls and two small plastic dishes containing fresh fruit. She handed him a napkin and said, 'I hope you can drink your coffee black or with sugar. I neglected to bring cream.'
'That's the way I like it,' replied Catch. 'Dark and very sweet.' He wondered why there were two of everything, particularly since Mr. Colbert was in bed with an ailing back. She handed him his coffee.
'Tell me about yourself, Catch. What do you hope to accomplish at Tulane, and after?'
'I want to be a success,' he replied, simply.
'A success in what?'
'I'm not sure. But I want to belong to a country club like this one and I want to have…'
'Yes? Go on.'
'I want to have a beautiful wife,' he said quietly.
Mrs. Colbert tilted her head back and laughed lightly.
Catch scowled.
'Oh, I'm not laughing at you, Catch, but I'm sure you could have had many beautiful young wives by now, not your own, of course.'
'I don't know what you mean,' he replied sincerely.
'No, I don't suspect you do.'
Catch broke off a piece of the croissant and dunked it in his coffee. 'These are great,' he said. 'Really flaky.'
'I have a marvelous cook.'
After they finished the fruit compote Mrs. Colbert poured more coffee and they sat in silence. Mrs. Colbert was the one to break it.
'Do you find me attractive, Catch?'
'Yes, I do, Mrs. Colbert.'
'Thank you. I find you attractive, too.' She moved her hand across the table until it touched his. She stroked the back of his hand with her long slender fingers and Catch could feel himself becoming aroused.
Mrs. Colbert kicked off her left golf shoe and raised her foot. She touched the inside of Catch's thigh. He stiffened but did not move. She stretched out her leg and pressed the bottom of her foot against his huge prick. Beads of perspiration broke out on Catch's upper lip as she massaged the fleshy shaft and drooping balls with her foot.
'What have you got on, an athletic supporter?' she asked.
He nodded. She could feel that he was starting to get erect even in the elastic confines of the supporter.
'Take it out, Catch,' she hissed through her teeth.
Catch untied the waistband of his sweatpants and pushed them down to his knees. Getting out of the elastic supporter was a bit more difficult. He had to stand up to get it down. Mrs. Colbert's eyes lit up when she saw what
