“Tiger—” she murmured, somewhat tremulously. She stood there.
“How are you?” He asked, softly, across the way to her.
“A little scared—truthfully—”
“Come back here.”
She walked to her chair, slowly. His warm gaze followed her.
“That's a very nice dress,” he told her, “I like your dress,” he informed her.
“Thank you—” She told him.
“Let me touch it—’’
“You—can touch it—”
“What can we do?”
“1—don't know—”
“Like me touching it?”
“Yes—I do—”
“Would you like to?”
“Tiger—”
“Have you ever?”
“Once or twice—”
“Enjoy it?”
“It—can be nice—”
“How are you?”
“You keep asking—”
“You’re a beautiful girl—”
“Am 17”
“You know it—”
“I think you’re nice—”
“What have you got on?”
-Tiger—”
“Come over here—”
“Alright—”
He pulled her gently onto his lap. He had pushed his chair back from the desk.
“Beautiful—” He murmured. "You’re just beautiful—” He murmured, embracing her, aware of her pounding heart, the slight trembling of her warm form now, in his loving arms.
“Is it alright?” She said, quietly, her voice shaking a little bit, “In here—I mean?”
“Perfect,” he replied, 4,Don’t worry”
Her face was turned to his, she was breathing softly, yet quickly. She closed her eyes, and kissed him. It was a luscious kiss, delicious, he loved it. His hands caressed her body, gliding over that sweet dress. They found her breasts. She moaned sofLly.
“When did you have your period?” He asked, gently, finally breaking the kiss, his hand inside her dress, fondling those breasts.
“O.K.—” He said, “That’s just great—” He said, pressing his mouth to hers again. His hands strayed around her back, they found the hook on her bra straps. He released it, deftly.
“You're a beauty,” he murmured, “A beautiful beauty” he kept on murmuring.
“I’m going to enjoy it—” she began whispering to him, between kisses, so warm and luscious. She caressed him. His hands held her treasures, and played with them. Tenderly, he fondled them, and stroked the tips. She sighed, she moaned, against him. Her legs parted. His hands strayed to her legs, and up them. Gently, lovingly, he caressed her thighs, which were lovely, exquisitely, he found the moist, soft terrain. He caressed it. More and more she moaned. Her kisses were frantic. He urged her to get off him. He stood up, he held her in his arms, kissing her. She was a lovely.
“Tiger—” she moaned, murmuring low. She was pounding and trembling against him. He caressed the dark skin, loving it.
“How do you want it?” He murmured.
“Up to you—” She barely moaned.
He slipped her breasts out, he turned her around. Her back was to him. His organ touched her magnificent buttocks. He played with her breasts, a long while, and then down, ever down. He was between her thighs. Her dress was above her thighs. She was loving it, whispering and murmuring to him. He helped her slip out of her things. Last of all, the silky underthing. Neatly, he draped them over a chair. He turned her around again. She was gasping, in his arms, against him. Her hands strayed all over him. they found his organ. She trembled.
“Unbuckle my belt—” he murmured.
She did so. She helped him off with his trousers. Now, his organ was in her hands. Tenderly, she guided it, and it was wet by her, as it pressed against her. His hand encountered hers. He caressed and stroked her, his fingers gliding. parting her. gently. She moaned even more.
He had an idea, suddenly. An inspiration, actually. She had said it was up to him.
“Here—" he murmured, leading her to his chair. He sat on it and guided her onto his lap. Gently urging her, helping her, she straddled him. Finally, marvelously, he entered her.
“Tiger—” She cried, softly, with delight. She kissed him.
He murmured, between kisses, caressing and fondling her. He was deep in her. He reached the depths of her. She moved, with him. She moaned, tropically wet.
“Ever try it this way?” He asked.
"No—” She gasped.
“Nice, isn't it?”
"I love it—"
“I thought you would.”
Her magnificent buttocks were in his hands, as she rocked with him. exquisitely. They could go on all day. He loved her. He was kissing and suckling her breasts, those brown lovelies. The tips filled his mouth, he suckled and suckled them. He thrust upward vigorously, ever upward, into Paradise, and she moved divinely, with him. crying out softly, to him. . . .She was great. Greai. He felt greaL When had he last felt so great? He wondered.. . .
Surcher had Jim Green before him. This lad was a handsome young Negro if ever there was one. He was tall and powerfully built, an athlete, without a doubt, as well he knew. He starred in basketball, as well as football, he knew. Looking at him, he reminded him very much of that other Negro athlete, the internationally renowned Cassius Clay, or Muhammad Ali, as of course he preferred to be called. Physically, only. There the resemblance ended. Jim was a quiet-spoken, apparently modest boy. In marked contrast, Surcher mused, to the ebullient former Heavyweight Champion, for whom he had a certain respect, but, in truth, did not like. He felt sorry for him. He felt he would have a tragic end. Sometimes, he even wished he would.
“How are you, Jim?” Surcher began.
“O.K.,” the lad said, waiting for more.
“Well, that’s fine,” Surcher said, “I'm just going to ask you a few questions, that’s all, like I did the rest—”
“Uh huh,” the boy said.
“So—” Surcher said, “Your name is Jim Green— you’re a Senior here—and—you live w'ith your folks at Thirty-eight Franklin Street, East Caxton—Right?” He spoke quietly, mildly, as he always did.
“That’s right.”
Surcher was busy writing now.
“And your father works at the typew'riter plant—is that right, Jim?”
“Right.”
“What’s he do there?”
“He’s a janitor.”
“Docs your mother work?”
“She cleans a few offices—couple hours each day—in town.”
“Uh huh. You have brothers, Jim?”
176 Pretty Maids All in a Row “Three."
“How old are they?”
“Uh—one’s fifteen—other two are older than me.”
“How old are they?”
“Twenty-two, Twenty-four.”
“Where do they work?”
“At the plant.”
“Doing what?”
“On the line.”
“Uh huh. You came here last year, is that right, Jim?” “Right. Beginning of my Junior year.”
“Like it here?”
“Yeh, it’s alright.”
“You’re doing pretty well here, I hear—”
“I try.”
“You’ve got quite a name for yourself—I mean especially on the sports side—football, basketball—”
“I try.”
“I’ve seen your name in the papers lots of times—sports pages—Remember that Kitston game last year? Basketball, that is—”
The lad grinned. And nodded his head.
“How many’d you plunk in?”
“Oh—I dunno.”
“Thirty-eight?”
“That was some show.”
“D'you see the game?”
“I saw that one.”
“Uh huh.”
“I saw the football game, too—” Surcher said.
“Kitston?”
“Yes. I’m from there, my kids all go to school there.”
“Uh huh.”
“Two TD passes you caught—right, Jim?”