9 comments/ 137877 views/ 23 favorites A Knife at Lover's Lane By: Sabledrake "Aw, come on, Peggy Jean. You know I love you. Don't you love me, too?" She drew away from him, smoothing her sweater down over the stiff cups of her bra and tugging the hem of her poodle skirt back below her knees. The radio was playing the new one by Jerry Lee Lewis, the windows of Jimmy's new car – a birthday present from his parents – were fogged up. The interior still smelled vaguely of burgers and fries, the wrappers from the roadside stand they'd stopped at crumpled by her feet. Next to her on the long bench seat, behind the thin blue steering wheel, Jimmy regarded her with a sort of pouting petulance that ruined his varsity letterman good looks and turned him into a little boy who'd just been denied an ice cream cone. He was handsome, oh, you bet, with wavy blond hair that he combed back from a clear brow, and baby-blue eyes that made girls giggle and sigh. His parents had money, too, and the mothers of Wentworth categorized him as a 'good catch.' Peggy Jean, having caught him, caught herself wondering if she oughtn't throw him back. She knew they looked good together, the perfect All-American young couple, fresh-faced and eighteen and about to graduate at the top of the senior class. She was the envy of all her girlfriends for possessing his class ring, which she wore on a hank of yarn around her neck. It dangled against the cotton-candy pink wool of her sweater, stretched taut over her breasts. But … "I do love you, Jimmy," she said. "You know that." "There's no other girl for me," he said. "We're meant to be together. It's right, Peggy Jean. Right that we express our love." "I didn't realize I had to prove it." Her laugh rang false in her ears. On the inside, she was churning with confused feelings. It was obvious what he wanted. He wanted to go all the way, right here and right now, tonight, in this car parked out at Lover's Lane. She loved it when he kissed her, and held her close while they slow-danced. She just wasn't sure if she was ready for more. The other night, at the drive-in, he had put his arm around her and gradually inched his fingers lower, from her shoulder toward the slope of her left breast. His eyes had been fixed on the screen the whole time, as if he was wholly absorbed in the movie. It was as if he thought that if he went slowly enough, she might not notice his stealthy effort. Of course, she had been so burningly aware of them that she had hardly been able to concentrate on the movie. It made her tingle and hold her breath, whirls of dread and excitement spinning through her. It felt good, but the moment his hand reached the edge of her bra, her sense of propriety had kicked in. She'd firmly taken him by the wrist and moved him back to her shoulder. Tonight, he hadn't bothered to be sneaky. They had been embracing, kissing, and all of a sudden his hand had been covering her breast. Squeezing. Pinching around like he was hoping to luck into finding her nipple through the sturdy fabric. "I love you," he said. He almost whined it, and he still had that pouting look. "Don't be like that. I just want to show you how much." "You gave me this," Peggy Jean said, picking up the ring. "I want to give you more. I want to give you myself. We're not children, Peggy Jean. We're adults. We'll be graduating soon, and moving on into the real world. We should act like grown-ups, not silly high school kids." "Jimmy, I don't think it's right." "You don't love me." He slouched in the seat. His lower lip stuck out even farther, if that was possible. "I do!" Though not, she silently added, when you act like this. "I'm not ready, that's all." "Tonight was supposed to be special," he said. "Our special night. I've been planning for it." A twinge of annoyance went through her. Did he mean that he'd boasted to the other guys that tonight was the night? "I even bought something for us," he went on, digging in the pocket of his letterman's sweater. "Down at the drugstore. I thought you'd be happy." Peggy Jean looked at the item he took out of his pocket. "Jimmy, is that a …?" "A rubber, sure," he said in a sulky tone. "To show you that I'm not some thoughtless kid. I planned ahead." "You bought that? At the drugstore in town?" "Yeah." His tone perked up some, turned proud. "With this, we don't have to worry about any, well, you know, little accidents." "You bought this from Mr. Harper?" "Yeah." "Jimmy, oh, gosh!" She leaned back in the seat and put her hands over her eyes. "Mr. Harper is on my dad's bowling league. What if he tells my dad? Everybody in town knows we go out together." "Oh," he said slowly. "I didn't think about that." "This is terrible." Peggy Jean could already hear her mother's shrill tirade. Mom had been a Rosie the Riveter, and come home from the factory with some pretty revolutionary ideas about traditional male-female roles, so much so that she'd kept working even after Dad returned from the war. But, outspoken about women's rights though she was, Mom was still very firm on the idea of Good Girls and Bad Girls, which type saved it for the marriage bed and which type did it in the back seats of cars on Lover's Lane. She thought about the film strips that her Home Ec. class had been shown, too. The ones with the Good Girl who walked out of a party when someone brought out the cigarettes, and the Bad Girl – always the one with the tightest sweater and the most make-up – who stayed. Smoked. Drank. Ended up in a dark room with all the guys at the party. Was the scandal of the town the next day. Left home in shame. Ended up a degraded, miserable excuse for a woman, hanging out in bars while her looks dwindled. Sex, according to Peggy Jean's mother, was a fine, natural, and enjoyable thing when it happened between two married people. She was enlightened enough that she'd told Peggy Jean how a girl could take care of those troublesome sexy feelings without a boy, and Peggy Jean was no stranger to the wonderful sensations her body could give her. Late at night. Alone in her bedroom. With no one the wiser. She'd experienced those feelings a few times when making out with Jimmy. And, honestly, whenever she let herself think about what it would be like to let him put his hand under her sweater, or even up her skirt, she got all weak in the knees and fluttery in the stomach. "But, hey!" Jimmy said in sudden brightness. "If everybody's going to know anyway –" "Jimmy Reed! How can you say that?" Peggy Jean cried. "What? If it's your reputation you're worried about –" "I certainly am!" "Then we might as well earn the talk." He wore an earnest expression now, and when he put his hand on her knee, he acted like he was trying to make the best of a bad situation. Peggy Jean plucked his hand away. "Jimmy," she said warningly. "It's okay, lover," he said, sliding across the seat and taking her in his arms. "It's okay." She pushed at him. "No, it isn't." "Give me a kiss." Before she could say yes or no, his lips clamped down on hers and he tried to wedge his tongue into her mouth. He also grabbed at her breasts again. His weight bore her over in a rustle of crinoline and he was halfway on top of her, moaning passionately. The front of his pants was pressed against her and she knew what she was feeling there, what that solid bulge was that rubbed her leg. She got a hand free and, almost as shocked by her actions as by his, slapped him smartly. When Jimmy recoiled, she struggled out from under him and threw open the car door. Cool air rushed in as Peggy Jean scrambled out. She stood on the crushed-down grass of Lover's Lane, gasping for breath, her hand stinging from the slap she'd delivered. They were still alone, no other cars nearby. The lights of Wentworth twinkled serenely in the blackness below the overlook. Jimmy, dumped on the seat when she wiggled out from under him, thrashed his way upright. His elbow hit the horn, which bleated like a startled animal. His hair had fallen down over his forehead, and his face was sweaty, red, and indignant. "I'm not that kind of girl, Jimmy Reed," she said. He slid across the seat and got out. She backed away from him, hand curled around his class ring. She was on the verge of giving it back. No, flinging it back, and if he missed the catch and it sailed over the embankment and was lost in the weedy brambles of the slope, that would be okey-dokey with her. "Peggy Jean," he said plaintively. "Don't be mad." "You shouldn't have done that," she said. "I only wanted us to express our love. To make each other feel good. So, come on. What do you say? You and me, tonight. Haven't we waited long enough?" Jimmy came closer, opening his arms to her. She retreated toward the edge of the woods that bordered Lover's Lane, finding herself suddenly and inexplicably on the verge of tears. "Darn it, Peggy Jean," he said. Then he stopped, and took a deep breath, and closed his eyes. His head drooped and he sighed. "Look, forget it. I'm sorry. Sorry I even mentioned it." She couldn't speak for fear of crying. "Let's just go home, what do you say? I promise, I won't do a thing. I really care about you. I want us to be together, but if you think we should wait, we'll wait." Warily, she studied him. He looked abject, downcast, and sincere. His baby-blue eyes, huge and sad, met hers in a puppy dog plea. "Okay," she said. "But you'd better behave, Jimmy. I mean it." "I will. Scout's honor." He held out his hand. She gave him one last dubious look, then accepted it. They walked back to the car together. The radio was playing, one of those heart-wrenching ballads about young love ending in vehicular tragedy. The music prevented Jimmy and Peggy Jean from hearing the quick footsteps until they were right behind them. Rough hands, protruding from the sleeves of a leather jacket, seized them and spun them around. They staggered, Peggy Jean falling against the side of the car, Jimmy plopping onto the seat with a surprised grunt. "Well, well," the guy in front of them said. "Ain't this cozy? A couple of sweethearts out on Lover's Lane. How ro-maaan-teek." He was a few years older than the two of them, with dark hair greased back in a duck-tail, and an unshaven shadow of stubble. Attractive, in a hard, rugged, dangerous sort of way. He was taller than Jimmy and broad-shouldered. His jeans were faded and snug, and he wore a white tee shirt beneath the jacket. Peggy Jean shrank against the car. Jimmy shot to his feet, blustering. "Hey, you, what do you think you're –" The guy pushed him. The backs of Jimmy's knees hit the seat and he dropped onto it again, barely missing whacking his head on the edge of the roof. Jimmy bounded up again, fists curled, but this time the stranger whipped a black handle from his rear pocket with the speed of a stage magician. He depressed a button. The handle made a snicking noise, and a shining steel blade sprang out of it. A scream snagged in Peggy Jean's throat. The night had gone cold as deep winter. She couldn't take her wide, terrified eyes from the knife. Neither could Jimmy. He sank onto the seat again as if someone had pulled a plug and let the bravado drain out of him. "Don't hurt us, okay?" Jimmy said in a small voice. "I've got money. Twenty bucks." "Good for you," the stranger said. "But that ain't why I'm here." Peggy Jean's skin crawled as he turned his gaze to her. He scanned her up and down, lingering on her chest and her legs below her skirt. She hastily crossed her arms, and shot Jimmy a frantic sidelong look. "Now, wait just a minute!" Jimmy protested. "Relax, friend." The stranger grinned, his eyes flashing. "I'm here to do you a favor, that's what. I been listening to you and your girlie here, and I must say, I am not at all happy with what I been hearing." "Leave us alone," Peggy Jean said strengthlessly. "Please." "You know what I hate about girlies like you?" he asked as if he hadn't heard. "Little prim and proper prick-tease girlies like you? Oh, you're a one, aintcha? You've got this poor idiot jumping through hoops. He takes you to the movies, out for a burger, he buys you flowers, he gets his car all washed and waxed and gassed up so he can drive you around, and what does he get in return? A peck on the cheek, am I right? A good-night kiss on your daddy's porch, and then you send him on home." "That's none of your business!" Jimmy got up again. This time, the stranger didn't push him down, or make any threatening moves with the knife. He let Jimmy move next to Peggy Jean. She crowded against Jimmy's side. He put an arm around her. "Jimmy, I want to get out of here," she said. He drew himself up menacingly. "Look, you, whoever you are, I think you'd better go." "For starters, you can call me Spike. And you don't want me to go, son. I'm the best friend you ever had. Gonna do you a favor. You'll be thanking me before we're through. I make it my business to help out fellas like you. Just think of me as a Good Samaritan." "I don't know what you're talking about," Jimmy said. Spike laughed. "Dontcha? I'll help you along. This is one date you ain't gonna end empty-handed. You're gonna get something you been wanting a long time." He turned to Peggy Jean and raised the knife. "You, there, baby-doll, take off that sweater." Jimmy's arm around her reflexively tightened. Peggy Jean clung to him, gaping at Spike. "No! I won't!" "Take it off, girlie, or it's liable to get messed up. You go on and fold it nice and pretty, and set it on the car so's it don't get grass-stained." "Peggy Jean, don't listen to him," Jimmy said, aghast. "You better listen, and you better obey." Spike stepped closer. "Or somebody might get hurt." He drove his point home by punching Jimmy in the gut. Jimmy bent double, coughing, and looked hatefully up at Spike. "You didn't have to do that!" he wheezed. "Why'd you do that? Why'd you have to hit me so hard? Huh?" "There's more where that come from," Spike said, staring into Peggy Jean's eyes so that she could see the rock-steady seriousness in his. "You want I should give him another?" "No," she said quickly. "No, here, I'll take it off. Okay? See, I'm taking it off." Spike wrenched Jimmy's head back by the hair. "You wanna watch this, my friend. It's all for your benefit, so enjoy the show." Whimpering, not quite sobbing yet but close, Peggy Jean slipped out of her sweater. She held it in front of her until Spike gestured meaningfully, then folded it, set it on the roof of the car, and faced them. Her arms moved uncertainly, wanting to cover herself but not quite daring. Spike feasted his eyes on her white skin and the whiter cups and straps of her bra. Jimmy was scared to death, but he looked, too. "Ain't she pretty, now?" Spike cuffed Jimmy on the back. "Not bad at all. You like what you see? Answer me, now." "Yeah," Jimmy said. He licked his lips and cleared his throat. "Yeah, sure I do, she's my girlfriend. She's beautiful." "I want to get dressed," Peggy Jean said. "It's … it's cold." "Not so fast, girlie. How about losing the skirt, too?" "Jimmy, make him stop!" "He's got a knife," Jimmy said, looking away from her exposed skin long enough to throw the blade a fearful glance. "Maybe you should do what he says." "That's the spirit," Spike agreed. "You just do what I say, and everybody walks away from this in one piece. Don't you worry none, girlie. No one's gonna hurt you. Now, the skirt." The whimpers did give way to sobs as Peggy Jean removed her skirt. The poodle and the acres of rustling crinoline joined her sweater, and there she stood in her bra, half-slip, stockings, garter belt, underpants, and penny loafers. Spike whistled. "Ain't she a sight!" Jimmy was speechless. "Please," begged Peggy Jean, tears running down her face. "Please stop. I want to go home." "Not so fast," Spike said. "You been riding high with your boyfriend here footing the bill. It's time he got back a little of what he's been investing. He's gonna take down his pants now, and you're gonna give him a nice hand job. How about that?" She and Jimmy both looked at him, astounded and horrified. Peggy Jean shook her head wildly. "I won't!" "You will, 'cause I say you will. He deserves it. Dontcha, Jimmy?" "I … I …" "Sure you do," Spike said, with an easy smile that would have made him handsome under other circumstances. He leaned into the car – it would have been the perfect chance for Jimmy to knock him down, but Jimmy was too stunned to move – and yanked the keys out of the ignition. These, he stuffed into his pocket. Then he opened the back door with a flourish. "Off with those pants, son, and set yourself down right here." Shooting Peggy Jean a wretched look, Jimmy took off his shoes and then undid his pants. "Jimmy, don't." "I have to!" he said, with a fearful glance at the knife. Moments later, he was naked from the waist down. It was extremely evident that part of him wasn't feeling very afraid. Part of him was poking up straight and hard as a drum major's baton. He hastily covered himself, unable to look Peggy in the eye. "Now, now, don't be shy," Spike said. "You just slide on over and let your girlie get in there with you. I'll have me a front-row seat." Peggy Jean didn't budge. "Are you giving me trouble, baby-doll?" Spike asked. When she refused to answer, he approached her. "Do what he says, Peggy Jean!" Jimmy called. "That's some good advice. You should listen to it." "You can't make me do this," she said. "Oh, but I can." He was incredibly quick, snatching the front of her bra and slicing through it with the knife. The blade was icy on her skin and she was sure she'd been cut, but when the heavy elastic let go, and the ruins of the bra fell away, she saw that she was unmarked. She screamed and moved to cross her arms, but Spike held the knife in front of her face. Weeping, Peggy Jean let her hands fall to her sides. "In the car," he told her. She climbed in beside Jimmy. Spike shut the rear door, then got into the front seat so that he was kneeling and facing over the back of it toward them. "Peggy Jean –" Jimmy began. "You hush up," Spike said. "She's gonna give you a little present. Go on, girlie. Wrap that pretty little hand around it. Give it a good rub. Up and down, nice and slow." "I'm sorry," Jimmy whispered. Crying, Peggy Jean reached into Jimmy's lap. He moved his hands away and she touched it, that fleshy pole jutting up from a nest of wiry dark blond hair. As her fingers came into contact with it, it leaped eagerly. Jimmy grimaced and hissed another apology. His skin there felt softer than she'd expected, and she was dismayed to realize that some of her dread was replaced by curiosity. So this was what all the fuss was about, what guys thought was so darn important. She grasped it, making Jimmy groan, and slowly moved her hand up and down. "That feel good?" Spike asked. Jimmy had his eyes tightly shut. "I said, that feel good?" Spike demanded, louder. "Yes!" The word was jerked out of Jimmy, and he immediately looked like he hated himself for saying so. "Thought it might." Spike's attention shifted to Peggy Jean. "Want you to lean on over, baby-doll, and give him a little kiss down there." When she hesitated, he leaned over and pressed the flat of the blade against her cheek. She twitched away from it, and crouched so that her head was in Jimmy's lap. "Oh, hey, no," Jimmy said, but it was a feeble protest and his member leaped in her hands in an uncontrollable lurch. Peggy Jean brushed the rounded tip of it with her lips. Jimmy uttered a low, throaty groan, and pushed his hips up from the seat. The tip of him bumped her lips apart and scraped her teeth. He hissed with discomfort. A Knife at Lover's Lane "Lick it," Spike said. "Like a lollipop. Suck on it." She gave it a tentative lick, expecting a nasty taste. Instead, she found it salty and warm and not totally unpleasant. Jimmy's reaction as she licked again, more boldly, was one of helpless delight. "Oh, God, Peggy Jean!" he wailed as she did what Spike said, and sucked on him like a lollipop. His buttocks rose and fell, thrusting into her mouth. "Oh, my God!" "Go ahead and touch her," Spike invited. "Touch those fine titties." She felt the knife trace a cool line down her bare back, and didn't dare move as Jimmy groped under her to fondle her breasts. All the times she'd thought about letting him do that, all the times she'd caressed them herself in her darkened bedroom, and now he was doing it, and it felt good despite the shame of her predicament. Jimmy was moaning in a regular rhythm, one that matched the way he slid in and out of her slurping mouth. His head lolled against the seat back. "You gonna come already, son?" Spike asked, sounding wryly amused. "I can't help it, oh, it feels so good! I'm sorry, Peggy Jean, I didn't want it to be like this but … oh! … it's so good!" He thrust faster, heedless of the way she choked when the tip hit the back of her throat. She could taste something new now, a strange flavor. Again, not unpleasant, but unfamiliar. "Got no staying power," Spike observed. "Too bad. I guess you don't wanna fuck her." "What?" Jimmy exclaimed. Peggy Jean wrenched her head up, and batted his groping hands away from her breasts. "What?" "Well," chuckled Spike, "that's what's next. After he fingers you some, accourse. And maybe gives you a nice licking, too." "What?" Jimmy said again, this time sounding shocked and prissy. "Lick her? You mean … you don't mean … down there?" "Ain't you learned nothing about pleasing a lady? And after she did it for you." Spike shook his head woefully and made a tsk-tsk noise. "It's only fair." "Wait," Peggy Jean said. "Please. You can't do this to us. Don't make us do this. We're waiting until we get married!" "Your fella Jimmy here has waited long enough. Go on, Jimmy. Feel her up." Once again, Jimmy looked at her, mortified. Then he firmed his jaw. "I won't." Spike poked the point of the knife to his neck, below the ear. "What'd you say, son?" "Okay! Whatever you say!" squealed Jimmy, flinching away from the knife. "Jimmy," she pleaded. "Sorry, Peggy Jean, but you heard him. He'll cut me if I don't." "You relax, girlie," Spike said. "Get rid of that damn underwear, too. Toss it on up here to me. Help her, Jimmy-boy. Those garter belts are tricky." Tears flowing freely, Peggy Jean squirmed out of the rest of her clothes before Jimmy could follow Spike's latest order. All she had on now was Jimmy's class ring, still on its yarn cord and hanging between her breasts. She bundled her garments into Spike's waiting hands and huddled on the back seat, her body as far in the corner as she could manage, trying to make herself into a defensive ball. "Lookee there," Spike said. "How about that, Jimmy? You like what you see?" Jimmy gulped. "Yeah." "Go on and have a feel. Make your girlfriend a happy lady." Slowly, gingerly, as if he was expecting her to slap him, Jimmy extended his hand. Peggy Jean cringed away from it. "Now, baby-doll," Spike said reprovingly. "Dontcha understand that this is your big chance? Here you got the opportunity to enjoy yourself, to feel real good, and it ain't your fault. You got no control over this at all. Me, and this here knife, we got the control. So you just put your arms down, and sit back, and let your Jimmy do what he's been hungering to do." Shuddering, eyes tightly shut, Peggy Jean did as she was told. She flinched when Jimmy's fingertips touched her skin. He started with her breasts, unencumbered by sweater or bra, and his breath quickened. He squeezed like he was testing fruit in the supermarket, and Peggy Jean yelped. "Easy, there, son," chided Spike. "Gentle-like." Jimmy eased up. Once again, Peggy Jean was mortified to realize that his lighter touch was pleasant, sending little sparkles of warmth through her body. But when Jimmy's hands strayed down, over her waist, and reached her naked loins, she jerked and pressed her knees together. "Aw, come on, Peggy Jean," Jimmy said. His fingers brushed back and forth over her downy blonde curls. "I don't want to do this any more than you do, but we don't have a choice." Whether he wanted to or not didn't matter. He was liking it, she could tell by the eager panting of his breath, and in a bright flash of emotion she hated him for it. How come he wasn't fighting Spike? How come he wasn't protecting her? Instead, he was going along with it. Maybe, yes, all right, he was afraid of being cut with that awful knife, but she could tell that he was also relishing this unexpected chance to see her, touch her, do things to her that she hadn't ever let him do before. And worst of all, his fumbling search was stirring feelings in her. Spike's words haunted her. No control. She wasn't letting Jimmy do this. She wouldn't. Not until they were married. But this wasn't about what she was allowing or not. Spike was right. She couldn't stop it, so it wasn't her fault. Oddly, that struck her as a sort of blessing. She relaxed a little. Jimmy's fingers probed around her groin. He was almost panting as he felt her up, again grabbing with that eagerness. As if he was worried that this might all end before he'd gotten what he wanted. His hand was warm, almost fevered. "Where?" he rasped. "Where is it? Where do I –" Then he answered his own question when his forefinger slipped between her vaginal lips. Peggy Jean bit back a startled cry at the invasion. He was too rough, and even with the betraying hint of moisture her body had created, it hurt. "Oh, gosh!" Jimmy said. "Oh, gosh, Peggy Jean!" She caught his wrist. "Jimmy, stop." "He won't let me," Jimmy said, before Spike could say a word. "I have to." "If you have to," she said, "at least don't hurt me!" "Listen to the lady," Spike said. "She knows what she likes. Go on, girlie, and tell him." If she had to do this, Peggy Jean thought, she didn't want it to be horrible. She wanted to salvage something out of this disastrous date, this nightmare on Lover's Lane. "Go slow," she said to Jimmy, hardly able to credit her own words. "Don't just … jab at me like that. There's … there's a spot. A sensitive spot. But you have to be gentle. Here. Right here." "But that's not the hole," Jimmy complained as she moved his fingers. "Shit, boy, but you're dumb," Spike said. "I am not. Here?" "Yes. But not so hard!" she added quickly. He sighed with a frustrated undertone, and let her direct his hand. Peggy Jean hazarded a glance at his face. Jimmy was rolling his eyes in annoyance. Clearly, he didn't appreciate being given any sort of instruction. He was the man, dammit. And evidently, the idea that girls could feel good in the same special way that guys could hadn't really crossed his mind. Spike watched avidly from the front seat. His eyes met those of Peggy Jean, and he winked. She blushed hotly and looked away. Using Jimmy's hand the way she had often used her own, she stroked herself. Her thighs relaxed apart, and she felt herself growing even wetter. "Now can I feel the real thing?" Jimmy asked. He sounded impatient, almost bored. "You can do one better," Spike said. "You can put that tongue of yours to good use. Girlie, you go on and turn sideways. Hike one leg over here, and the other one up in the back window. Lie back and make yourself comfy. You, Jimmy-me-boy, get on down there and do your stuff." Peggy Jean froze, but when Spike held up the knife – as if she might have forgotten it was there – she did as he said. She swiveled and reclined, and spread her legs. The right hooked over the back of the front seat. The left braced against the rear window. She was wide open and vulnerable, as Jimmy gawked down at her. "But do I have to –" he began. Spike poked him in the arm, the point drawing a pinprick bead of blood. "Ow! Hey! Knock it off!" "Do I have to remind you who's in charge here?" Spike asked. "You're one ungrateful son of a bitch, ain'tcha? When here I am trying to help you out. I oughta walk right on out of here. Trust me, son, if I do, you'll never see your sweetie like this again. If you know what's good for you, you'll get down there and make this worth her while. Lick that pussy. Use your tongue on the spot what she showed you, and in no time she'll be begging for more. Trust me." Peggy Jean was quivering. She, like Jimmy, had never even thought about the act that Spike was now insisting that they do. Yet the prospect thrilled her in a dark sort of way. It didn't sound at all like the kind of thing any nice, good, decent person would do. Neither did what she had done to Jimmy with her mouth. Jimmy twisted around on the seat until he was half-sitting, and half-laying on his side. His legs were bent to the floor, his head poised above her blonde curls. He wore a dubious, distasteful expression, and that bright flash of hate returned. What was he being so squeamish about? Spike was right. Fair was fair. She'd licked his thing. He owed her. "Go on, Jimmy," she said in a spate of meanness. "Like you said. You have to." He lowered his head. She felt his hot breath, and then the first clumsy touch of his tongue. He licked uncertainly, held his neck wooden. Peggy Jean nudged the side of his head with her thigh, trying to steer him over, but he didn't get the hint. Instead, she hitched her bottom over the opposite way, and his soft, wet tongue made contact where she wanted it. "Oh!" Peggy Jean gasped. "Looks like you found the spot," Spike said. But Jimmy sat up. "Okay, I did it. I did what you said." He wiped his mouth. "That's enough, okay? No more of that. It's just … weird. Wrong." "You didn't mind when I did it to you," Peggy Jean said. "That's different. That's normal. Natural." "You're either a prude or an idjit, boy," Spike said. He gave his head a sad little shake. "Well, can't blame me for trying. Believe you me, the women love a fella who can please them like that." He flipped a small object over the seat at Jimmy. Jimmy caught it. Peggy Jean saw what it was and the nice slippery warmth that had been kindling in her went cool. It was the item Jimmy had bought in the drugstore, the one he'd so proudly displayed to her as if he thought she ought to be happy. "I guess you may as well go on and fuck her, then," Spike said. "I did say you could." "No!" Peggy Jean tried to bring her legs together, but Jimmy was in the way. "I'm saving myself for my wedding night." "What you're doing, girlie, is what I tell you," Spike said. Jimmy, meanwhile, hadn't so much as made a peep of protest. He had torn the little square open and was studiously unrolling it to cover his rampant erection. "Jimmy!" she said. "I don't want to," he said. "You liar! You do, look at you, if you didn't want to, you wouldn't be all sticking up like that. Don't do this, Jimmy. Let me up." "But he's got a knife," Jimmy said. "Isn't it better to do what he wants? So nobody gets hurt?" He finished rolling the condom on, and got up on his knees on the seat. He was above her, between her wide-spread legs. "Please, Jimmy, don't." "It's okay," he said. "It'll be over in a minute." "I bet it will," snorted Spike. Jimmy lowered himself onto her. He prodded around with one hand, found the opening, and steered the tip of his sheathed length to it. "Here we go. Oh, yeah. Here we go." "If we have to do this," Peggy Jean said, "Please, Jimmy, make it be good. It's my first time. Make it be good." "Uh-huh. Sure." He fell on her, the motion driving him deep. Peggy Jean screamed, feeling split open, feeling him tear through her virginity and lodge entirely buried inside her. His face, suspended above hers, took on a look of almost stupidly sublime rapture. "We're really doing it," he moaned. "I'm really fucking you, Peggy Jean!" "Jimmy, wait," she pleaded. But he didn't, maybe couldn't. He started thrusting, fast and forceful thrusts that jolted her entire body. Her head smacked into the door handle with each one, and the seat squeaked as her sweaty back slid against it. Any arousal she'd felt earlier was replaced by a swollen, scraping ache as Jimmy rapidly pumped in and out. He kept babbling as he moved. "Oh, yeah, oh, baby, it's so good, you're so great, this is great, finally, we're finally really doing it, I'm fucking you, I can't believe it, I can't believe we're really doing it, oh!" He wailed, his last 'oh' turning into a drawn-out exclamation. His back hunched, his arms crushed the air out of her, he shuddered like he was being electrocuted, and then he collapsed. His weight pressed her into the seat, trapping her beneath his loose-jointed weight. She felt the thick bar that had been so unceremoniously rammed inside her grow smaller, softer, and limp. Her tender parts throbbed with a dull, abused soreness. Jimmy heaved himself off her, and slumped on the seat trying to catch his breath. "Oh, wow. Wow. That was … that was incredible." Spike, who had observed in silence, scoffed. "That was pa-theh-teek, son." Peggy Jean curled up on her side. It hurt to move, but it was worse to lay there all spread out. She was aware of wetness on her thigh, and a moment of dread consumed her – had the condom broken? Had he made her pregnant? – but when she looked, she saw that it was a reddish smear. Her blood. Her virgin blood. There was some on the condom, too, and Jimmy's nose wrinkled in disgust as he peeled it off. Underneath, his flaccid member was covered in white goo, but this he didn't seem to mind. He opened the back door and stepped out, naked and holding the used condom at the end of his arm. He flung it off into the bushes, where visitors to Lover's Lane sometimes saw them mingled with cigarette butts, food wrappers, and other debris. The front door opened too. Peggy Jean felt the car shift as Spike climbed out, and the rocking slam as he closed it behind him. A draft was sweeping the back seat but she barely cared. She could dimly hear their voices outside the car, but she barely cared about that, either. It sounded like Jimmy was getting dressed. If he ever touched her again, she was going to scratch his eyes out. The greedy, insensitive bastard! He hadn't even said that he loved her, not while they were doing it, not after. Plenty of times before, he'd said it, but like he was only using the words to try and get her to give in. And now that he'd gotten what he wanted, even if it took a stranger with a knife, what would happen? He'd be done with her. She knew it, in that part of her soul that had aged twenty years in the last few minutes. He'd say that he cared about her a lot, but that it wasn't working out. She told herself that she was being harsh. It had been his first time, too. Could she really blame him for being so excited that he couldn't hold back? He did love her. Everything was going to be all right. His voice intruded. "Hey! What do you think you're doing?" The car dipped as someone got into the back seat. The door clunked shut. A hand touched Peggy Jean's bare hip as she still lay curled on her side. "Sorry about that, baby-doll," Spike said. She tried to bolt upright and whirl around, but she'd no sooner gotten started moving than Spike was wrestling her down. He forced her onto her back again, bracing her legs apart with his knees. Jimmy pounded on the window. "No! Hey! Get out of my car! Who said you could do that?" He yanked at the door handle, but the only response was the abortive noise of the lock. "Let go of me!" Peggy Jean cried. Spike snapped the fly of his jeans and pulled down his zipper. She screamed again, ear-ringingly loud in the confines of the car, momentarily blotting out the sound of Jimmy beating on the windows and shouting threats and curses. "Calm down, girlie," Spike said. "I feel bad about the way he treated you, that's all. Just wanna make it right for you." "Get off me, leave me alone, get away from me!" "Don't be like that." He leaned down and kissed her, claiming her mouth with his while his body held her pinned to the seat. One of his hands caressed her breasts, not Jimmy's greedy groping but skillfully, urging a response. "You bastard!" Jimmy railed. He slammed the heels of his hands against the window. Looking up, Peggy Jean could see him, upside-down from her vantage point and distorted by the glass, his face a furious plum color in his rage. "Don't you touch her. She's mine! Get off her!" "Easy, now, baby-doll," Spike murmured into her ear. "Please don't," she begged. But the way he was touching her, the way Jimmy sure never had … He put his fingers to her lips like he meant to shush her. When she opened her mouth to protest, he slid them inside. She reflexively sucked at them. "That's right," he whispered. "Make them nice and wet for me. I ain't got time to do this as well as I should, but I am still gonna be so good to you, just you wait and see." When his fingers, slick with her saliva, emerged from her mouth, he reached down. Down between their bodies, between her legs. He rubbed her with a slow, persuasive urgency. Peggy Jean's next pleading outcry was lost in a helpless moan. Spike found that part of her, that spot, the one Jimmy had hardly cared about, and lavished it with attention. The heat she'd thought that the pain had extinguished proved to have a few embers left. She could not believe she was in the back of Jimmy's car with a stranger, a stranger who had threatened her with a knife and made her do the most awful, demeaning things. And now that stranger was on top of her, murmuring endearments and promising to do for her what Jimmy hadn't been smart enough to do. "That's right," he said as she moved her hips to meet the gentle coaxing of his fingers. "Let Spike make you feel good." Jimmy ran around the car, trying each door, swearing wildly when they all proved to be locked. He banged on the windows, ending up back where he was staring down incredulously at Peggy Jean's face. She tried to turn her head so he couldn't see her, but Spike stopped her. "Let him see how you feel. Let him see it in your eyes. I know you like it, baby-doll. I can feel how much you do." She couldn't have hidden it anyway. What he was doing to her was stirring her into a surging need. The ache of Jimmy's crude thrusts had mellowed, so that now she was conscious of a wonderful pulsing. As Spike rubbed her, his mouth was busy on her neck, her breasts. "Oh, oh yes," she breathed. "Yes, that's so nice!" Spike shifted, removing his hand and positioning himself to enter her. She tensed, drew in a sharp breath, but before she could say anything he was easing into her with a slowness that made her loose that breath in a shuddering sigh. He felt so different than Jimmy had, felt all warm and satiny and … He felt different, she realized in shock, because he wasn't wearing anything down there. It was him she was feeling, his skin, his nakedness pushing into her. But it was so overwhelming, the sensations coursing through her, that she only put her arms around him and sought his lips in a willing, hungry kiss. Jimmy, gaping at the scene – the windows were fogged, but he could see enough to know what was happening – let out a bellow of pure rage and attacked the car again. If he hadn't cherished the car so much, or feared how he'd explain to his parents, he might have taken up a rock and busted the window. A Knife at Lover's Lane "This is how it's supposed to be," Spike said, sliding deliciously within her. "Told you I'd make you feel good." His arm stretched, and cranked the window handle just enough to lower the window an inch or so. Peggy Jean felt the draft, heard Jimmy's raving, and knew what Spike wanted her to say even before he asked. "How's that, girlie? You like it? You like what I'm doing?" "Yes, oh, please don't stop," she said. "Make it good … make it good for me …" "Make you come, you mean?" "Yes! That's what I want!" He moved a little faster, though still gently. Peggy Jean wrapped her legs around his hips and clung to his shoulders. Jimmy had given up his assault on the car and stood dumbfounded at the window, jaw hanging, eyes huge. "I can feel you getting ready," Spike said. "You are one sexy lady, one sexy lady who loves a good fucking." She cried out, astonished to hear the obscenity from her own mouth – "Oh, yes, fuck me, I'm there, I'm coming, fuck me now!" – and undulated beneath Spike as her climax crested, wave after tumbling wave. In the middle of it, he joined his voice to hers as he let himself go, spilling into her. They rested like that for an unknown amount of time, in each others' arms. Peggy Jean felt Spike's mouth curve as he smiled against her neck. Then, Jimmy, rousing himself from his agog stupor, began hammering on the window again. Spike disengaged himself from Peggy Jean. His greased-down hair was disheveled, even after he patted it back into place. He had taken off his leather jacket, and the deck of smokes turned up into the sleeve of his white tee shirt had come most of the way out. He pulled up his jeans. "Guess I better deal with your boyfriend," he said as he unlocked the door. Peggy Jean, still adrift in a wonderful haze, sleepily blinked her eyes. She watched the lean flex of Spike's legs as he got out of the car. She sat up, her head swimming. Jimmy rounded the trunk, waving his fists. "Alex, you prick!" he shouted. "I never said you could do that!" Alex? Spike grinned ruefully. "Someone had to make up for your lack of manners, Jim." "I'm going to beat your goddamn head in," Jimmy said. He swung a haymaker, which Spike dodged. "Take it easy. This was your idea." "For you to make her let me," Jimmy fumed. "Not for you to fuck her too!" Understanding dawned on Peggy Jean. She scrambled out of the car, not caring about modesty – it was pointless to worry about her nudity now – and confronted them. "What did he say? Whose idea?" "Um …" blustered Jimmy. "Nothing." Spike, or Alex, or whoever he was, shrugged. "He set this whole thing up. I'm his cousin." His voice had changed, lost its rough accent and slang. Jimmy went scarlet. "That's a lie!" Jimmy shouted. "His cousin?" Peggy Jean turned to Jimmy. "You did this? You … arranged this?" "The knife, the script, everything," Spike said. "I have to give him credit. He may be a lousy lay, but my cousin here is one hell of an actor." "Jimmy, why?" she shrieked. "Why would you … how could you … why?" "You kept telling me no," Jimmy said, his lip sticking out in that sullen way she had come to know and loathe. "What else was I supposed to do? All the other guys have done it. You wouldn't even let me put my hand under your sweater. I was tired of waiting. So, yeah, I called my cousin and made the plan. I'd give you one last chance, and if you still wouldn't come across, he'd do the thing with the knife. But I never meant for him to get in the back seat with you! I swear! That wasn't part of the deal." "Jimmy Reed, you … you shit!" Peggy Jean spat. "I told you I wanted to wait. You said you respected that, but then you'd whine, and pout. And you know what? Spike's right. You are a lousy lay. You're a selfish, greedy little boy and I never want to go out with you again." She ripped the yarn cord from around her neck and hurled Jimmy's class ring at him. It struck him in the face, below the eye, and raised a welt. As he reeled back in surprise, she lunged into the car and retrieved her underwear. Her skirt and sweater had been knocked to the ground while Jimmy was angrily beating up his car – his fists had made a few dents, she was glad to see – and her bra was a loss. She dressed as fast as she could. "I'll tell everyone," Jimmy said. "How you let him do it with you. By the time I'm done, all of Wentworth will know you're a tramp." Peggy Jean looked at him, dismayed. "No, you can't –" "If you tell," said Spike, "so do we. How you set this up so you could rape your girlfriend. We'll tell them how bad you were. What do you think all of Wentworth will think of that? Not to mention your parents? You'd be finished, Jimmy. You'd be the laughingstock of the whole town." Jimmy glared at his cousin for a long, smoking moment. Then, with a short but venom-filled look at Peggy Jean, the welt on his cheekbone already puffing up and turning purple, he bent and snatched up his ring and the car keys that Spike had tossed into the grass. He leaped behind the wheel. The engine roared to life, sending up a plume of smoke, and then Jimmy was tearing out of Lover's Lane leaving a cloud of dust. Spike looked at Peggy Jean. Neither of them said anything for a while, not until the sound of Jimmy's car had receded and the normal noises of the night resumed. "So," he said. "Would you like to go out for a hamburger sometime?" "Are you asking me on a date?" He grinned. "Thought I might, since you don't have a boyfriend any more. I'm really a nice guy when I'm not threatening people with a knife." "Sure," Peggy Jean said. "I'd like to go out with you." "Great. For now, though, I guess I'd better give you a ride home. Ever been on a motorcycle?" ** The End