pulled her close to him. He ran his hands over her breasts, caressing them, pushing his tongue into her mouth. Catherine felt a hot moisture deep down inside her and she could feel her pants dampen. Here I go , she thought. It’s really going to happen! It’s really going to happen! She clung to himharder, filled with a growing, almost unbearable excitement.
“Let’s get undressed,” Ron said hoarsely. He stepped back from her and started to take off his jacket.
“No,” she said. “Let me.” There was a new confidence in her voice. If this was the night of nights, she was going to do it right. She was going to remember everything she had ever read or heard. Ron wasn’t going back to school to snicker to the girls about how he had made love to a dumb little virgin. Catherine might not have Jean-Anne’s bust measurement, but she had a brain ten times as useful, and she was going to put it to work to make Ron so happy in bed he wouldn’t be able to stand it. She took off his jacket and laid it on the bed, then reached for his tie.
“Hold it,” Ron said. “I want to see you undress.”
Catherine stared at him, swallowed, slowly reached for her zipper and got out of her dress. She was standing in her bra, slip, pants, shoes and stockings.
“Go on.”
She hesitated a moment, then reached down and stepped out of her slip. Lions, 2—Christians, 0 , she thought.
“Hey, great! Keep going.”
Catherine slowly sat down on the bed and carefully removed her shoes and stockings, trying to make it look as sexy as she could. Suddenly she felt Ron behind her, undoing her bra. She let it fall to the bed. He lifted Catherine to her feet and started sliding her pants down. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, wishing that she were in another place with another man, a human being who loved her, whom she loved, who would father splendid children to bear his name, who would fight for her and kill for her and for whom she would be an adoring helpmate. A whore in his bed, a great cook in his kitchen, a charming hostess in his living room …a man who would kill a son of a bitch like Ron Peterson for daring to bring her to this tacky,degrading room. Her pants fell to the floor. Catherine opened her eyes.
Ron was staring at her, his face filled with admiration. “My God, Cathy, you’re beautiful,” he said. “You’re really beautiful.” He bent down and kissed her breast. She caught a glimpse in the dressing-table mirror. It looked like a French farce, sordid and dirty. Everything inside her except the hot pain in her groin told her that this was dreary and ugly and wrong, but there was no way to stop it now. Ron was whipping off his tie and unbuttoning his shirt, his face flushed. He undid his belt and stripped down to his shorts, then sat down on the bed and started to take off his shoes and socks. “I mean it, Catherine,” he said, his voice tight with emotion. “You’re the most beautiful goddamn thing I’ve ever laid eyes on.”
His words only increased Catherine’s panic. Ron stood up, a broad, anticipatory grin on his face, and let his shorts drop to the floor. His male organ was standing out stiffly, like an enormous, inflated salami with hair around it. It was the largest, most incredible thing Catherine had ever seen in her life.
“How do you like that?” he said, looking down at it proudly.
Without thinking, Catherine said, “Sliced on rye. Hold the mustard and lettuce.”
And she stood there, watching it go down.
In Catherine’s sophomore year there was a change in the atmosphere of the campus.
For the first time there was a growing concern about what was happening in Europe and an increasing feeling that America was going to get involved. Hitler’s dream of the thousand-year rule of the Third Reich was on its way to becoming a reality. The Nazis had occupied Denmark and invaded Norway.
Over the past six months the talk on campuses across the country had shifted from sex and clothesand
“Let’s get undressed,” Ron said hoarsely. He stepped back from her and started to take off his jacket.
“No,” she said. “Let me.” There was a new confidence in her voice. If this was the night of nights, she was going to do it right. She was going to remember everything she had ever read or heard. Ron wasn’t going back to school to snicker to the girls about how he had made love to a dumb little virgin. Catherine might not have Jean-Anne’s bust measurement, but she had a brain ten times as useful, and she was going to put it to work to make Ron so happy in bed he wouldn’t be able to stand it. She took off his jacket and laid it on the bed, then reached for his tie.
“Hold it,” Ron said. “I want to see you undress.”
Catherine stared at him, swallowed, slowly reached for her zipper and got out of her dress. She was standing in her bra, slip, pants, shoes and stockings.
“Go on.”
She hesitated a moment, then reached down and stepped out of her slip. Lions, 2—Christians, 0 , she thought.
“Hey, great! Keep going.”
Catherine slowly sat down on the bed and carefully removed her shoes and stockings, trying to make it look as sexy as she could. Suddenly she felt Ron behind her, undoing her bra. She let it fall to the bed. He lifted Catherine to her feet and started sliding her pants down. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, wishing that she were in another place with another man, a human being who loved her, whom she loved, who would father splendid children to bear his name, who would fight for her and kill for her and for whom she would be an adoring helpmate. A whore in his bed, a great cook in his kitchen, a charming hostess in his living room …a man who would kill a son of a bitch like Ron Peterson for daring to bring her to this tacky,degrading room. Her pants fell to the floor. Catherine opened her eyes.
Ron was staring at her, his face filled with admiration. “My God, Cathy, you’re beautiful,” he said. “You’re really beautiful.” He bent down and kissed her breast. She caught a glimpse in the dressing-table mirror. It looked like a French farce, sordid and dirty. Everything inside her except the hot pain in her groin told her that this was dreary and ugly and wrong, but there was no way to stop it now. Ron was whipping off his tie and unbuttoning his shirt, his face flushed. He undid his belt and stripped down to his shorts, then sat down on the bed and started to take off his shoes and socks. “I mean it, Catherine,” he said, his voice tight with emotion. “You’re the most beautiful goddamn thing I’ve ever laid eyes on.”
His words only increased Catherine’s panic. Ron stood up, a broad, anticipatory grin on his face, and let his shorts drop to the floor. His male organ was standing out stiffly, like an enormous, inflated salami with hair around it. It was the largest, most incredible thing Catherine had ever seen in her life.
“How do you like that?” he said, looking down at it proudly.
Without thinking, Catherine said, “Sliced on rye. Hold the mustard and lettuce.”
And she stood there, watching it go down.
In Catherine’s sophomore year there was a change in the atmosphere of the campus.
For the first time there was a growing concern about what was happening in Europe and an increasing feeling that America was going to get involved. Hitler’s dream of the thousand-year rule of the Third Reich was on its way to becoming a reality. The Nazis had occupied Denmark and invaded Norway.
Over the past six months the talk on campuses across the country had shifted from sex and clothesand
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