natural part of him. As much a part of him as the sex magazines he kept hidden in his dresser junk drawer. But the magazines were rapidly becoming inadequate for him; did not give him the kick, the heady erotic feeling they had originally produced a few months back.
Jon wanted to feel real breasts beneath his hands; wanted to touch the flesh of a real female; wanted to feel female hands on his body, touching him, their pretty pouty mouths going oohhh and aahhh at his hot, heavy long erection. And he knew—if and when he got the chance—they would do just that, too, for Jon had studied pictures of other men, and knew he was equipped large in that department. He wasn't as freakishly built as that black guy he'd seen in sex ads; wasn't as hefty as that Texas fellow; but he sure as hell wasn't average, either.
Jon felt a flush spread over his body. His face felt feverish and his hands were trembling. His mind replayed pictures of high eroticism. But he vowed he was not going to masturbate.
He was going to find a woman. Or a girl. Didn't make shit to him. Long as it was female. He was going to experience the sensation of getting some pussy.
"Jon?" a voice called to him in a whisper.
The boy spun around, his face pale, his mouth hanging open in shock and fright.
He knew the house was empty. Supposed to be anyway.
"Who—who are you?" Jon whispered.
"What are you?"
"A friend."
"Invisible!"
"But very real. Talk to me, Jon. Tell me your troubles. I'll listen and give you real answers, real solutions to your problems."
"All right," Jon said, taking the first step into the dark arms. "I want a woman."
"Then you shall have one."
"You promise?"
"I promise."
The room began to fill with a slight odor, not unpleasant.
"I know someone who desires you," the voice said. "She is not fully aware of that desire, but it is there."
"Who desires me?" Jon was becoming more relaxed. Something seemed to be calming him. He didn't know what; he didn't care. He was in such a high emotional state he was ready to accept anything; ready to believe anything… just somebody, anybody, do something to relieve the high sexual frustrations that had reached the boiling point within him.
And that somebody had arrived. Had waited for just this moment in the young man's life. That somebody would not fail this time.
"You have prayed for help, have you not, Jon?"
"For all the goddamned good it did me, yes."
"I see. Well,
I
keep my promises. You shall see this afternoon."
"Who desires me?" Jon pushed for an answer.
"Patsy Catlett," the voice whispered.
"Patsy? Nobody gets to Patsy. She's untouchable. Not even the school jocks can get to her. She's a religious freak. Like I used to be before I wised up."
"You have—ah—wised up?"
"Oh, yeah. Believe it. I've rejected quite a lot of that shit I was taught about God."
"I'm glad to hear that, Jon. You know, quite a number of the young people here in this community have done the same."
"Yeah? Well, that's good. It was gettin' kind of boring around here."
"But I need your help with Patsy."
"You got it."
"No—" the voice laughed obscenely,
"you'll
get it. The way is open. Patsy is waiting for you. She will be at the spot where she always goes on Saturday afternoons, when the weather is nice. Do you know the place?"
"No."
"By the banks of the St. Regis," the voice whispered. A strange giggle reached Jon's ears. "She'll be reading her Bible."
"She'll be reading her Bible and waiting for me to fuck her?"
"That is correct, Jon. Now, Jon—want to do me a favor?"
"Sure."
"Take your Bible and tear it apart; throw it on the floor."
Without hesitation, the boy did as ordered. It seemed funny. He kicked at the pages, scattering them. The urge to shit came over him.
"You know what to use to wipe yourself, Jon," the voice came to him.
The boy picked up the pages and went into the bathroom.
Will Gibson tied the rope around his waist and with a small smile of farewell to Chief Draper and Joe
Jon wanted to feel real breasts beneath his hands; wanted to touch the flesh of a real female; wanted to feel female hands on his body, touching him, their pretty pouty mouths going oohhh and aahhh at his hot, heavy long erection. And he knew—if and when he got the chance—they would do just that, too, for Jon had studied pictures of other men, and knew he was equipped large in that department. He wasn't as freakishly built as that black guy he'd seen in sex ads; wasn't as hefty as that Texas fellow; but he sure as hell wasn't average, either.
Jon felt a flush spread over his body. His face felt feverish and his hands were trembling. His mind replayed pictures of high eroticism. But he vowed he was not going to masturbate.
He was going to find a woman. Or a girl. Didn't make shit to him. Long as it was female. He was going to experience the sensation of getting some pussy.
"Jon?" a voice called to him in a whisper.
The boy spun around, his face pale, his mouth hanging open in shock and fright.
He knew the house was empty. Supposed to be anyway.
"Who—who are you?" Jon whispered.
"What are you?"
"A friend."
"Invisible!"
"But very real. Talk to me, Jon. Tell me your troubles. I'll listen and give you real answers, real solutions to your problems."
"All right," Jon said, taking the first step into the dark arms. "I want a woman."
"Then you shall have one."
"You promise?"
"I promise."
The room began to fill with a slight odor, not unpleasant.
"I know someone who desires you," the voice said. "She is not fully aware of that desire, but it is there."
"Who desires me?" Jon was becoming more relaxed. Something seemed to be calming him. He didn't know what; he didn't care. He was in such a high emotional state he was ready to accept anything; ready to believe anything… just somebody, anybody, do something to relieve the high sexual frustrations that had reached the boiling point within him.
And that somebody had arrived. Had waited for just this moment in the young man's life. That somebody would not fail this time.
"You have prayed for help, have you not, Jon?"
"For all the goddamned good it did me, yes."
"I see. Well,
I
keep my promises. You shall see this afternoon."
"Who desires me?" Jon pushed for an answer.
"Patsy Catlett," the voice whispered.
"Patsy? Nobody gets to Patsy. She's untouchable. Not even the school jocks can get to her. She's a religious freak. Like I used to be before I wised up."
"You have—ah—wised up?"
"Oh, yeah. Believe it. I've rejected quite a lot of that shit I was taught about God."
"I'm glad to hear that, Jon. You know, quite a number of the young people here in this community have done the same."
"Yeah? Well, that's good. It was gettin' kind of boring around here."
"But I need your help with Patsy."
"You got it."
"No—" the voice laughed obscenely,
"you'll
get it. The way is open. Patsy is waiting for you. She will be at the spot where she always goes on Saturday afternoons, when the weather is nice. Do you know the place?"
"No."
"By the banks of the St. Regis," the voice whispered. A strange giggle reached Jon's ears. "She'll be reading her Bible."
"She'll be reading her Bible and waiting for me to fuck her?"
"That is correct, Jon. Now, Jon—want to do me a favor?"
"Sure."
"Take your Bible and tear it apart; throw it on the floor."
Without hesitation, the boy did as ordered. It seemed funny. He kicked at the pages, scattering them. The urge to shit came over him.
"You know what to use to wipe yourself, Jon," the voice came to him.
The boy picked up the pages and went into the bathroom.
Will Gibson tied the rope around his waist and with a small smile of farewell to Chief Draper and Joe
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