ripped them off on the same night. Some scam!
He'd come late at night to break up the kilo and weigh out the pound in front of the two girls. Next thing Chris remembered she was lying on the floor from an overdose of PCP sprinkled in the marijuana – a drug she'd smoked occasionally while in school – with Sandy making passionate love to the dealer on the sofa. Chris, on hands and knees, had crawled to her bedroom, just one doorway beyond, and listened to the grunts and groans and slurping and slapping of flesh on naked flesh only to wake up the next morning to find her roommate passed out on the couch and Chris' purse laying open and empty… and the pound of dope picked up and carried off by the same hands that had brought it in only four hours earlier. It was a killing all right, mused Chris with the caustic wisdom of a victim of the city. A real lesson.
She'd blamed Sandy for it, calling her irresponsible and a poor judge of character, that she should have been able to pick up on the guy's vibes and known better than to buy dope from a stranger. But then, honestly speaking, if Sandy had to pass on her judgment of people, she wouldn't have passed kindergarten, for Sandy was a girl who knew what she wanted on the skimpiest of superficial levels and sacrificed anything to get it – money, honor. It didn't matter. If it felt good, Sandy indulged. It was her life's principle. 'Some people live by the ten commandments,' Chris remembered her best friend saying, 'and I have my fun.' No one could argue the point; in a crazy sort of way it made sense.
Even Chris couldn't argue with Sandy on that issue. The long haired girl lit the half-burned cigarette she found among the marijuana roaches in the seashell ashtray and lit it, feeling the hot match warm her fingers as she thought on. No, Sandy had never been discriminate about her college dates. If they liked loud music, beer, and dope, they were Sandy's kind of people. Poor, rich, white, black, yellow, red – Sandy had had them all. And loved it.
That must have been thought Chris pulling on the second-time-around cigarette, why Mom and Dad were opposed to her coming along with me out here to California in the first place. Though she was loathe to concede the issue, her parents were right. Sandy was getting out of hand with bringing home guys from the laundromat, the bus stop, and the pool hall – anywhere she could find a willing mate who wanted to spend an afternoon in bed. And worst of all, they would crash all night with Sandy in her bedroom and play the stereo on full blast so that Chris couldn't get to sleep until the east turned yellow.
But damn it, you couldn't help but love Sandy no matter how many times she broke a promise or borrowed money. She was a true friend, a real sister, and Chris would do anything to help her roommate. After all, Sandy had stuck by Chris through all her traumas and hard times, always offering everything she had to give.
Like the time Chris' parents had decided to make a surprise Sunday afternoon visit to their oldest daughter in college, and Sandy had given up her afternoon to chat and play hostess to Mr. and Mrs. O'Brien while Chris lay in frozen silence behind her bedroom door with her boyfriend after a night of de-flowering love making. Chris had been far too embarrassed and shame-faced guilty to face her parents, especially with Dick haggling her for a second time around. Hadn't Chris a debt to pay there? Return one good turn for another? Sandy had shrugged it off, saying she enjoyed company. True, the dark haired girl did like people.
That, succinctly, was another one of Sandy's problems. But nobody could blame her. Everybody said she was lucky not to be scared for life. And to think her step-father was responsible.
Chris felt a wave of nauseating guilt. She drew heavily on the last drag of the tortured cigarette and snuffed out the filter in the carbon-stained seashell. For some unaccountable reason Chris sensed that she shouldn't even be thinking about Sandy's problems… that lurid, terrifying story had been related in confidence, and Chris wasn't even sure she had the facts straight. The antidepressant drugs – stelazine and meloril – the doctors administered to Sandy that night in the hospital after she'd attempted to commit suicide by threatening to jump out of a ten story campus building because of a breaking up with her boy friend, had triggered her memory and blurred her speech.
Chris had spent the night in the psych ward of the University hospital holding Sandy's cold, clammy hand and listening to the mumbled horror of a childhood nightmare. Had Sandy the courage to relate her story without the mellowing effect of drugs to ease the emotional and physical torture that scorched her body each time she talked about it, Chris was certain the objective truth might run like this:
The day that Sandy was to remember forever had dawned very hot, and she had decided to go for a walk down by the creek to get a bit of sunshine and daydream as twelve-year-olds do. A physically mature girl for her years, the black haired girl had walked with her back curved and her full young breasts jutting out and bouncingly firmly. She'd been happy; her mother, after a year of husbandless loneliness, had married a man at last, and Sandy was happy to have a father.
Sandy strolled along, occasionally raising her hand to shield her eyes against the glare of the sun. Born and raised in the Michigan countryside, she loved the out-of-doors and especially the creek, where as a child she used to build log dams and fish for trout in the cool fresh water. She sauntered down to the creek that ran through their property, down to its shady banks where she drifted under the willow trees, feeling the coolness like caressing fingers all over her body, and finally reached a sheltered place she knew. It was a spot where the creek widened out into a crystal pool that was hidden from all eyes by the bushes and a natural embankment. Here, Sandy kicked off her shoes and waded ankle-deep in the water, playfully kicking up a spray, with her dress showing a flash of nakedly white thigh. Here, in the tiny glen, Sandy felt that she was safe to do as she wanted.
It felt good being out of the house, because things hadn't been going as smoothly as the twelve year old thought they should. There had been much arguing between her mother and step-father, much of it having to do with Sandy and her newly discovered social life. Already at the approaching teenage year, she had dated once or twice and her step-father thought she was being too loose for a girl her age. He had made accusations which sent her mother into tears, and Sandy had the feeling he'd been following her, something her mother refused to believe of her new husband.
The young brunette hadn't counted on the prying eyes of her step-father, who made his quiet way up and down the creek embankment, and now stood looking down at Sandy tossing her thick mane of black hair. He crouched down behind a tree on the top of the knoll and watched Sandy sprawl in the grass and turn her face up to the warming sun. Her face was delicate, with a slender nose that ended in a provocative tilt. There was also a tilt to her wide pale green eyes. Her face was delicate and feminine, right down to her wide, fleshy mouth.
But it was her voluptuous young body that excited her step-father and made him chew on his lips. He watched his step-daughter from behind the tree and saw Sandy lean all her weight back on her arms, letting her head even further back so that her face and throat were presented to the warming sun. She raised one leg and bent the knee. The man held his breath as he watched her firmly white thighs. He saw her sprawled with the hem of her dress in her lap and her legs spread as she let the knee wantonly fall over to one side, revealing the tight white band of her panties that so snuggly held and hid her pussy. He stared as though mesmerized at the flimsly white panties covering the treasure he wanted to so badly to see, then blinked and wiped sweat from the palms of his hands by rubbing them on his pants.
Christ, his wife had one hell of a good looking daughter, alright. A lot of style for a young girl, the way she strutted her stuff, flashing her ripe breasts in front of the young guys. And already she'd come home at two o'clock in the morning on two different occasions. Hell if she wasn't out getting it!
Sandy sank back, her eyes closed, smiling slightly at the kiss of the sun on her face and neck. It felt good! The rays caressed her flesh and made her tingle in a drowsy kind of way. A slight breeze blew and sent ripples of pleasure over her face and neck. Sandy listened for a moment while lazily thinking how nice it would feel if she were to…
Her step father was like an Indian, freezing immediately when he saw the girl sit up and open her eyes and look around. Slowly, he sank back into the shade of the tree and held his breath. With one eye, he watched Sandy glance around and cock her head as if listening for something. Had he made a noise or did she hear someone coming? He was sure she'd run off and was waiting for her boy friend to show up.
No! He held his breath and felt his rapidly awakening cock give a hard jerk in his pants as he saw her unbuttoning the front of her dress and pull it free of her creamy shoulders and gather it around her incredibly slender waist. His mouth went dry as he saw her sitting with her breasts looking so full blown that they were literally stuffed into the bra and were straining to burst free. He watched as Sandy reached behind her with both arms. Her breasts jutted forward and up as she worked with the clasp in the hollow of her back. Her fingers snapped the clasp and her ripely fleshed mounds sprang quivering free.
The step-father, George, almost yelled and his cock jerked again so powerfully in the tight confinement of
