Chapter 2

Chris O'Brien took one look at her checkbook balance and swore. Damn! There was no way she could pay the rent and afford bus fare too, not to mention coincidentals like laundry and an occasional glass of wine. Then the worst realization imaginable struck the sandy haired girl between the eyes like 40,000 watts of voltage: there was no more money coming in until she found a job. Thank God they were getting food stamps!

Oh God! What to do? She collapsed on the single bed that squeeked under her slender weight and, covering her face with her hands, she wept, her five-foot four-inch body rocking back and forth on the Indian print bedspread. Why had she insisted on coming to San Francisco without a job? Her uncle Frank had warned her, her aunt Violet, her father, and her very own younger sister. But no, Chris O'Brien was going to prove her independence regardless of the ominous odds. So what if California already suffered from 13% unemployment, not to mention the spate of 18-22 year old jobless, of which she was but a statistic. Chris would prove them all overly cautious and narrow-minded. She would come in cold, get a well-paying, creative job with travel benefits. After all, she had a college diploma in one hand and a portfolio brimming with talent in the other. What more could she have going for her? Her professors at the University had encouraged her, telling her she should try cracking into the fashion design market out here on the West Coast. Sure, they'd said, it you want to start a career, go to New York; but the West Coast has lots more amenities. Now, after two months of scouring the streets, all she could show for her efforts was a bad blister on her left heel and an arm-long list of useless telephone numbers and contacts. And no money.

A roar as loud as her own crying rocketed through the Geary street apartment, the din's vibrating rattle making the stereo groan, then skip a cut. Chris pounded an angry fist into her knee. And this hole! It was filthy and noisy, snorted Chris. You couldn't listen to a record album without a bus interrupting everytime its brakes ground to a halt to repeat its never ending route up and down Geary Street all night. But you could hardly complain to a landlord about cockroaches and broken windows when you still owed last month's rent and had no prospects for paying the current month's either. You bit your lip and endured: that was city living.

What could she do? Chris bit into her trembling lower lips and stared blurrily at the yellow cracked wall. She might as well call her parents collect and humiliate herself by asking them to send her a one-way ticket back to Detroit and forget there was any part of America west of the Mississippi River. No. That would be giving in, sniffed Chris, wiping her nose with the back of her hand. She'd rather work at the telephone company, God forbid, than do that -- if they were hiring.

The twenty-two year old slim-hipped girl braced her foot on the bed board and, out of habit, twisted to reach her cigarettes on the night stand. With a wince and a snap of her fingers she remembered she'd smoked the last one last night -- or had her roommate bummed it? She couldn't remember which. Just yesterday she'd spent her last cash on a pair of stockings she didn't like, to wear to a job interview for a job she didn't want. Damn! she hissed, clenching her fists. We've got to do something. Anything!

And her roommate Sandy was no help either. God, she couldn't keep a dollar in her pocket for five minutes without it sending up flames. That, thought Christ pacing in front of the window, is the whole trouble with Sandy. Drugs. Money spent uselessly on drugs, and all it got you was a headache and another day in debt. In school it had been no problem even though they'd roomed together since neophyte freshman. One collect phone call to the folks telling them you needed another easel or art book, and the check was in the mail pronto. Now, being twenty-two and independent, neither of the girls could expect anything in the mail except for a good wish and a stamped, self-addressed envelope to back home. A case of responsibility, pure and simple.

Chris put her finger to her lip and concentrated on the old man across the street, stooping over to pick up cigarette butts from the gutter. Where had last summer's savings gone? She tapped her foot, mentally counting off the dollars. Rent-$70, clothes-about $10, rock concerts... ummm, that's where a good share of it had gone. And dope. One pound of top grade marijuana that she and Sandy had bought the first week in San Francisco. "Good stuff... safe connection... you can sell it, keep a couple lids for yourselves and make a killing on the rest." Right, thought Chris with a sarcastic nod of the head. Safe investment, huh! The dealer, some guy Sandy had picked up in the park and brought home for an afternoon of frolic and post-hippie lovemaking, sold them the goods and 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's 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 his jockey shorts that he bent over in pain.

Jesus, Christ! His step-daughter had beautiful tits!

His mouth was as dry as sand as he looked at her two nakedly free breasts with their tightly tensed nipples so dark and round. He watched her breasts quiver and shake in a wantonly provocative way; they were ripe and round with half-moons of shadow under them as she again leaned back all her weight on her arms and let her head loll back with her eyes closed. Her breasts were jutting up, right at him and the older man felt he could leap up, run down, surprise her, and grab those tits in his hands... and massage them... and put his hungry mouth over those tautly teasing nipples and bite and suck on them. He bent over again, forced to adjust his swelling cock in his pants.

"Jesus, I'm in for a show!" He whispered the words in his dry, caked throat as he waited for her boy friend to show up.

His hand swatted at the sweat forming on his upper lip just as Sandy sat up again, and looked around with a dreamy expression. He sank back further, keeping one eye on her and one hand on his painfully tight groin.

Sandy was feeling good, very good... and a little bold and wicked. Supposing someone should come along? She smiled, knowing that no one would. Only her mother was at home, and she was doing the wash. And her step-father... well, he was probably in town getting drunk. After all, it was Saturday afternoon. Just as well, her step-father had been accusing her of all sorts of ridiculous things of late, and she'd just as soon he spent his time on a bar stool, rather than trying to play father which he failed so miserably at.

Satisfied, she felt safe, felt that this was her day, her hour, that she could be safely alone and do exactly as she pleased, that she could be free and enjoy the sun. Free! The word hummed through her head like a song, a wantonly sensuous song. She cupped her budding breasts with either hand, touching them softly and intimately, her fingertips brushing across her already distended nipples as she marveled at the way her body had changed so dramatically in the last six months. Already the boys at school were calling her a cock teaser because of the way she strutted proudly. A thrill of lustful desire swept through her body, mixing, smoking and brooding, in her groin. Her entire young body seemed to, for a minute, throb with the hotly liquid desire of being a ripe woman.

Sandy almost lost her balance as she felt desire ripple through her body in increasing undulations as her fingertips brushed back and forth across her nipples. It felt so good!

God damn! She's acting like some twenty-two year old whore!

Lust twisted his face as he watched the unsuspecting girl gently teasing and exciting herself. He was right about her. She was putting out for somebody! Somebody definitely was getting her nooky! He clenched his fist and crouched low behind the tree, preparing to charge. He couldn't stand watching any longer and, damn, her mother never did that for him!

He was just about to go barreling down the hill as if her were pulling off an off-tackle plunge when he froze, catching his breath in an audible way he was afraid she heard. She was sitting up again and using her hands to push the dress down over her creamy-white hips. He held his breath as he watched her rocking from one cheek of her buttocks to the other, wiggling and writhing lazily as she brazenly slipped the bunched up dress down over her thigh and all the way down to her knees. She sat for a moment in her little white bikinis, feeling so drowsy in the sun.

George licked his dry lips and watched her with her naked breasts caught between her arms, pressing her cleavage tightly deep. Her breasts ballooned under her arms, making her nipples more tautly tempting than ever before. His eyes greedily took in her firmly flat stomach with its navel plainly visible as her abdomen tautly rippled when she again leaned back on her arms and tossed her wild black mane of hair.

Sandy basked in the gently, sensuous warmth of the sun. She closed her eyes and felt it warming her all over. On an impulse, she again sat up and hooked her dainty thumbs in her flimsy panties and pulled them off, feeling a rush of cooling air on her heat-moistened cuntal slit and in the deeply tight crevice of her buttocks.

George felt his body quivering like a big cat ready to leap. There she was before him, totally naked, her sensually voluptuous body so young and firm with a rubbery kind of resilience. He watched her breasts twin white orbs quiver elastically as she moved, lying down and stretching out in the hot sun. He saw her young naked loins moving enticingly as she stretched her legs.

His eyes were drawn to her groin where her firmly shaped thighs met her nakedly tempting torso and he saw her softly parted pubic hair that fuzzed out virginally. His eyes fastened on that slit and he caught a glimpse of warmly pink cuntal flesh as she lazily spread her legs. Her pulpy pussy lips were already glistening and swelling even as he watched. His cock throbbed and lunged once like a wild animal seeking freedom, and he gritted his teeth hard in an effort at self control.