II
After all the slogan painting and placard assembly was done, the group
had beer and pizza at a nearby pub. SG, wearing a borrowed trench coat over her
flag, had barely tasted her first bite of pizza when Tina told the others she
had a manifesto to write.
"We'll see you in the morning," she said. She reached for SG's hand but
grabbed her chain by accident. One of the other girls blurted out, "Ooooh, a new
sex slave," then instantly regretted it.
"Keep your dirty mouth shut," Tina hissed. "You've been the slut of just
about everyone in the movement, so don't get smart with me."
Outside, Tina slipped her arm around SG's waist. SG tentatively slipped
hers around Tina. She felt in awe of this intense woman - and grateful that Tina
seemed to like her.
In Tina's dorm room, the walls were covered with revolutionary posters,
and the bed was covered with papers - loose leaf paper with handwritten notes,
typing paper with slogans in capital letters, pages torn from books and
magazines. Tina grabbed a corner of the bed spread and swept everything to the
floor. Then she turned to SG and yanked away the flag.
"God, what a body," she said softly. "You're so fucking beautiful."
SG blushed.
"Beautiful but dirty," Tina added. "You look like you've been playing in
a mud hole. You need a shower."
She stripped quickly, and SG discovered that Tina's body was
outstanding, too. She was tall and muscular, and though her breasts weren't as
large as SG's, her figure was just about flawless.
Tina moved close to SG and stroked her hair. Then she kissed her softly
on the lips. "Follow me," she said seductively.
The bathroom was shared by two dorm rooms, but it was empty. Tina opened
the tiny shower stall and started the hot water. After a few seconds, she tested
it and declared it just right.
She stepped in. SG held back.
"Come on in," said Tina. "We're going to get clean together."
SG had never showered with another woman. She stepped in hesitantly, and
Tina shut the door.
The warm water felt wonderful. And so did Tina's lips, as she kissed the
back of SG's neck, then ran her tongue down her back and up again. Tina pulled
SG close to her and reached around and fondled her breasts. SG was breathing
heavily. Tina slid one hand down SG's belly until it reached her crotch. Then,
softly, with more tenderness than SG had ever encountered, Tina massaged her
labia and began stroking her clitoris.
"Oh God, I love it," SG moaned.
"Yes, you love it," said Tina . "And I love it. And you're going to be
my whore. You're going to be my slut, and we're going to do things to each other
that will drive us wild."
SG turned to face Tina, and they kissed as the water flowed over their
faces. Tina bent her knees until her mouth was level with SG's breasts, and she
began sucking her nipples. Then she knelt all the way down in the narrow stall,
and her tongue was in SG's slit, and SG was keening and swaying, and everything
went black.
She awoke to see Tina leaning over her.
"What happened," SG asked.
"You fainted. You had a big day, and I guess the stimulation was just
more than you could take. I was worried about you."
SG was lying in bed. Tina had pulled the covers over her.
"Are we finished making love?" SG asked.
"That's up to you. Are you finished?"
"No," SG whispered. "No, I want more."
"Then more you shall have."
Tina opened a drawer and pulled out a big, black strap-on dildo.
"Can you handle this?" she asked.
"You mean, can I wear it?"
"No," said Tina. "I'll wear it. Can you handle it inside you? Is it too
much for you?"
SG tossed the covers aside, got out of bed and lay on her back on the
floor. "Let's find out," she said, spreading her legs.
Tina fucked her hard, almost as hard as any man had fucked her. Twice
she had to stop because the strap came loose. Finally, she tossed the dildo
aside and rummaged in the drawer. She pulled out an even bigger one, made of
stainless steel and with a plastic handle, and went to work on SG.
Then it was SG's turn to be the penetrating partner. Tina wanted it in
the ass, and SG gave it to her, hesitantly at first, but then with growing
verve.
They spent the night dreaming up new ways to fuck one another and
squealing and moaning with delight. The girls in the next room were furious at
the commotion, but no one was willing to stand up to Tina the Terrible.
# # #
Leslie Gettlayd, reporter for WURM-TV, Lackanooka's only local station,
was fluffing her hair and adjusting the collar of her aquamarine silk blouse
while a mousy assistant held up a mirror.
"Tilt it up, tilt it up," she said in exasperation.
Nick, the cameraman, a bored young man with a large Adam's apple and a
bad complexion, said, "If you're going have something to bring to the boss, you
better speed it up. They're getting started."
Leslie and her crew were a few feet from a group of about 40 young women
who had gathered at the foot of the steps to the Marston College administration
building. The women were carrying placards that said things like "Drop Nixon,
not Bombs," "Impeach the Bastard," "Peace Now," "Fuck the Oppressors" and "No
Term Papers Without Representation."
Leslie, satisfied with her appearance, stood in front of the camera,
holding a microphone. The protestors were behind her.
"A group of Marston students are here protesting the war and what they
claim is a lack of democracy at the college. This protest is fairly small
compared with the anti-war rallies of '68 and '69, but . . . ."
"Tina," yelled a fat student who had overheard Leslie's introductory
remarks. "Tina, she's calling our crowd small."
Leslie lowered the mike. Her body stiffened and she turned on the
interloper.
"Listen, lard-ass, you're lucky to be getting any coverage at all today.
I'm only here because your little fuehrer promised a good show."
At that point, the "fuehrer," Tina herself, arrived out of breath and
furious.
"What the fuck's the matter?" she barked.
The fat girl started to speak, but Leslie cut in. "Nothing's the matter,
Tina. I was just exercising my First Amendment rights and commenting on the size
of the crowd here today - which, I must say, is pretty goddam puny. I mean,
there are almost as many cops and counter-protestors as there are protestors."
"Okay, okay," said Tina. "You're right. I'm disappointed in the size of
the crowd, too. But just keep your camera on the cluster of girls as the go up
the steps. When they spread out, I promise you'll be glad you came."
She hurried back to the closely packed group at the foot of the steps.
"Okay," she said. "We almost lost the media, but they're going to stick
around. Sallie, it's up to you to make this work."
SG, surrounded by Marston students, was wearing her flag, and Tina had
done her makeup to emphasize her big blue eyes and lovely mouth.
"Let's go, gang," said Tina, and the group surged up the steps.
Nick the cameraman stayed put, using his zoom lens to follow the action.
So far, he hadn't seen anything to justify this excursion to the college, but it
was better than chasing fires or doing pollution stories. The last time they did
an environmental report, he had ruined a good pair of cowboy boots.
"They're breaking up," Leslie said. "Who's that in the middle? Holy
shit, it's a bimbo in a flag suit. Jesus, you can see almost all of her ass."
"It's getting better," the cameraman said excitedly. "See the shackles?"
"Is that what those are? And what's hanging from her left wrist?"
"A chain, a fucking chain. God, is she a babe! I'd give 50 bucks to see
her take off that flag."
The striptease he hoped for didn't cost him a cent. SG unwrapped the
flag and waved it above her head. She was naked, and her fellow protestors were
yelling and clapping.
"We can't use this," Leslie cried. "They'd never let us. She's
completely nude."
At the top of the steps, SG continued to twirl and dance, using the flag
as a prop, like a professional stripper.
Tina said, "Great, now hurl it down and stomp on it.'
But SG kept dancing. It wasn't because she wanted the attention. It was
because she was afraid of what came next. She had repressed her objections when
Tina first outlined the plan, but now she couldn't go through with it.
"Drop the fucking flag," Tina hissed. Several other girls joined in:
"Sallie, come on, it's time."
Finally, Tina ripped the flag from SG's hands and threw it onto the
stone porch. Another student squirted it with lighter fluid, and Tina lit a
match and held it up dramatically. But before she could drop it, SG slapped it
from her hand. Tina looked at her, dumbfounded. Then rage took over.
"You miserable cunt," she screamed. "You're fucking up our protest."
She punched SG in the face. SG stumbled backward, into several other
girls, who grabbed her.
"Hold the bitch," Tina yelled. Then she lit another match and dropped it
on the flag. Flames quickly engulfed the banner. They grew higher after several
additional squirts of lighter fluid.
The WURM crew had pushed their way up the steps and were now only a few
feet from the fire. Nick was doing a closeup when he heard several screams and
suddenly saw naked feet stamping on the flag.
It was SG. She had broken free and was trying to put out the fire. She
even knelt and tried to beat back the flames with her bare hands.
"This is great," Leslie said breathlessly. "Who is this woman?"
But the protestors closed in and pulled SG away. Several began beating
her with their peace placards. She tumbled down the stone steps, and while she
was lying facedown on the paving, Tina grabbed a placard and shoved the wooden
holder deep into her ass.
"Holy shit!" cried the cameraman. "What a fucking show!"
Now the cops and a handful of counter-protestors fought their way to SG
and helped shield her from the angry anti-war sisterhood.
A dark-haired young man took off his athletic jacket and put it around
SG's shoulders.
"Come with me," he said. "It's time to close down this farce."
# # #
WURM-TV's 6 o'clock newscast included carefully edited film of the
protest. There were no shots of SG's bare breasts or pubic region, but viewers
saw close-ups of her waving the flag above her - and of the shackles on her
wrists. And that's what Police Chief Paul Patterson was most interested in, as
he sat in his living room, eating a TV dinner. He had read yesterday's report on
a strange accident on Doberman Road east of town, and he had talked to the
officers who had been on the scene. The truck driver had told them about a naked
woman with shackles, and his men had seen steel rods and chains where the paving
had been pushed out. But the woman had vanished.
The whole thing was getting weirder and weirder.
He called headquarters and asked for the captain in charge. What had
happened to the naked woman at the Marston protest? The captain told him to hold
the line and came back a few seconds later with news that she had been whisked
away by one of the counter-protestors. No, they didn't know his name, but the
leader of the protest said the woman's name was Sallie. She wasn't sure of the
last name - maybe Gaines or Gale.
Patterson put down the phone. He wondered if he could persuade the news
director at WURM to let him see all the footage that had been shot at the
protest. In some towns, reporters and editors got all hot and bothered by such
requests and started screaming about the First Amendment. But Ted over at WURM
was an occasional drinking buddy. Besides, Patterson had fixed at least half a
dozen tickets collected by Ted's asshole kid. Ted owed him.
He was lost in thought when his wife came in and reminded him that it
was bowling night.
"Okay," he said, "in a minute."
He called headquarters again. For some reason, the name Sallie Gale had
rung a bell. Had they checked the files?
"Yeah," said the captain. "I'm looking at something right now. And it
looks very, very sensitive. You better come down. It seems to involve the old
man, Silvio Mozzarella."
"I'll be right over," Patterson said. He put down the phone and rubbed
his chin. "No bowling tonight, honey," he called to his wife.
This was going to be a lot more interesting that just another evening at
Ralph's Super Lanes.
# # #
The dark-haired young man who had rushed SG away from the protest had
been accompanied by a group of Lackanooka Junior College boys who had little
interest in politics but who decided to protest the protest just for a chance to
raise hell. They were tagging along now because - what the fuck - here was a
naked woman in trouble. Maybe they could compound her troubles under the guise
of helping her, and get a little free pussy.
But SG's rescuer was older than the others, and no one in the Lackanooka
group recognized him.
When they reached a visitors parking lot on the edge of the campus, he
opened the door of a red Jaguar convertible and helped SG in. Then he went
around to the driver's side. Before he could open the door, however, one of the
Lackanooka students, the biggest in the bunch, grabbed his shoulder.
"Hey, where the fuck are you taking her?" he demanded. "We got plans,
too."
"Yeah, share and share alike," said another.
The young man leaned against the car and folded his arms. He didn't seem
at all intimidated.
"I'm taking her to my home," he said quietly. "She's been through a
lot."
"Well, we want to put her through lot more," said the student who had
grabbed him.
"You boys need to cool it," the young man said. "I'm a businessman here
in town. I run S&M Paving."
The big student shrugged. "What the fuck do I care about what business
you run?"
But another student pulled him back and whispered in his ear.
The group had gotten very quiet.
The big student shook his head in disgust and turned away. The one who
had whispered in his ear said, "Hey, we were just having some fun. No offense."
"Sure," said the young man.
Then he got in the car and said to SG, "I'm taking you someplace safe.
And I promise I won't lay a hand on you without your permission."
# # #
The young man, who told SG his name was Michael Collins, was true to his
word. He brought SG to a sprawling, modern-looking house on a big tract of
rolling land north of town. There was a two-car garage and a huge white '59
Cadillac in one of the driveways. He parked in the other driveway and took SG in
through the front door. He wanted to make an impression.
It worked. The entrance hall was all white marble and bronze. Off to the
left was the living room, which seemed to go on forever. Michael led her back to
a bedroom suite.
"There are lots of clothes in the closet, women's clothes - my sister's.
Find something you like. I'll fix you a drink. What do like?"
"Just a Coke," SG said. "Wow, this is really something."
"Go ahead. Explore. I'll be back in a minute."
There were two big closets with sliding doors in the bedroom and a
walk-in closet off a short hallway, across from the bathroom.
Michael's sister had quite an extensive wardrobe. And she must have gone
through a pretty dramatic growth spurt. SG found two pairs of bellbottom jeans,
one of which was a full three inches longer than the other. Some dresses were
clearly selected by someone with a very full figure, others by someone slender.
Her shackles and that damned chain limited what she could try on.
Finally, she settled for a baggy blue and gold sweater and a pleated white
skirt. She was admiring herself in the mirror when there was a knock at the
bedroom door.
"Are you decent?" Michael asked.
"Sure, come on in. Anyway, you've already seen me naked."
"You look quite lovely in clothes, too," he said, handing her a crystal
cocktail glass filled with Coke.
"Vita lunga," Michael said, raising his glass. He was drinking red wine.
He gave her a tour of the house. Paintings and photographs of Italy were
everywhere, along with bronzes modeled after the work of famous Italian
sculptors. SG stopped in front of a copy of Michelangelo's David. "He's
beautiful," she said softly. "Very sexy."
Michael smiled. "You think so? I've always thought he seemed deep in
thought."
"Ah, but to some women, nothing is so sexy as a man deep in thought."
"I'll have to try to look more contemplative, then, next time I'm at a
singles bar."
SG laughed. "Don't kid me. You don't look like a man who has trouble
picking up women."
"No," he admitted, with a sheepish grin. "No, I don't. I've always been
very lucky when it comes to picking up women. It's keeping them that I'm lousy
at." They went to the kitchen and he offered her leftovers from last evening's
dinner: veal scallopini, green beans, a little linguini. She ate greedily,
standing at the kitchen counter.
"You live alone?" she asked. Then she added, hurriedly, "That's none of
my business. I was just wondering who cooked this. It's delicious."
"I have a wonderful woman - a 65-year-old woman - who comes in three
times a week to cook. Another woman comes in twice a week to clean. And, yes, I
live alone."
"Except when your sister visits."
"My sister?" Michael looked puzzled. "Oh, yes, my sister. Yes, of
course, she comes in occasionally."
"So why all the Italian art?" SG asked.
"Because I love Italy. It's like a second home to me. My first home,
spiritually."
"How'd you get so Italian with a name like Collins?"
"Well, my father is Irish and Dutch, Irish on his father's side. But my
mother's father, he's Italian. He was actually born there. Came to America when
he was just a kid, with his parents. Learned English, worked hard, made a lot of
money. Now I run one of his businesses."
"Does he live here in Lackanooka?" SG asked, strolling into the dining
room and studying a small gallery of old family photos on the wall.
"No, he lives in a suburb of Metropolis. In a nursing home. He had a
stroke about six months ago."
"Oh. I'm sorry," said SG. "Is this him?" she asked, pointing to a
black-and-white photo of a young man standing very straight and unsmiling next
to what SG guessed was a 1920s Flivver.
"Yeah," said Michael. "He was a wonderful guy. Is a wonderful guy. He
and my mother never got along, and he didn't like my father, either. But he's
always been good to me."
They went through the gallery, with Michael identifying and telling
stories about each member of the family.
Then he said, "Okay, you've been asking all the questions. Now it's my
turn. How did you end up naked in front of the administration building at
Marston College wearing a flag and all that metal?"
SG smiled and lowered her head.
"It's a long story."
"That's okay. I've got lots of time."
"Well, it's also an incredible story."
"That's okay, too," said Michael. "I'm very gullible."
SG looked up at him, and suddenly the banter was over and she buried her
face in her hands and began sobbing.
"Hey, that's okay," he said. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to pressure you."
He put his arm around her - tentatively, then more firmly when she
nestled against him and her lips brushed his neck.
They made love in the living room, on an impossibly thick sheepskin rug.
As SG expected, Michael was an expert - confident and considerate. Afterward, he
carried her into the bedroom with the big closets and tucked her under the
covers. She fell asleep before he had even shut the door.
# # #
She was still sound asleep several hours later, when the doorbell rang.
Michael, who had been reading in a study just off the living room, answered it.
It was Patterson, the police chief. He was carrying a briefcase.
"What can I do for you, Paul?" said Michael.
"We need to talk."
They went into the study, and Michael closed the door.
"Are you alone?" Patterson asked.
"No, but I don't think we'll be disturbed."
"Good, because we've got a problem, and the fewer who know about it the
better."
(To be continued.)
