High School Scandals

CHAPTER NINE

He went in the same way he’d gone out, through the back, across a neighbor’s yard and an empty lot. Everything looked about the same as when he’d left it, but Dallas had one of those weird premonitions, the same kind of feeling he’d often experienced while on patrol in Vietnam. It was nothing concrete, just a prickling at the back of his neck, and a sensation that something was wrong.

Peering through the drawn drapes, turning down the radio, he saw nothing outside and heard nothing out of the ordinary inside his house. There was no car parked across the street, and it probably had been gone for some hours. The party as the communal pad had lasted for quite a while. Joey Nottingham drove him home, weaving through a crisscross pattern of back streets in a circuitous route that would thoroughly have confused anyone following them.

But still, something was wrong. Dallas searched the house, and that didn’t take long, even though he didn’t know for what he was looking. Dissatisfied, he took his last can of cold brew from the refrigerator and popped the top. Settling into the battered easy chair, he flipped on TV and drank a few swallows of the cold beer.

Watergate was on, what else; he reached for the dial and stopped his hand in midair. Watergate bugging. Dallas came out of the chair and went directly to his phone.

He found the tiny mike buried in the mouth piece and stared unbelievingly at it before screwing the mouthpiece back together. Then he really searched the house, looking everywhere a transistorized bug could possibly be planted, and, that meant just about everywhere.

In the bedroom, Dallas found one, and another in the bathroom; there were two in the living room and another in the kitchen. He didn’t disturb any of them; it had taken him more than two hours to uncover the damned things, but be left them alone when they were discovered. Sweating and angry, he sat down and thought about this new development.

Maybe he hadn’t found all the bugs, even though he had been pretty thorough.

Electronic cuties could outsmart him easily enough, but what was pissing off Dallas was why. It wasn’t only that his privacy was being invaded; it was the idea that a full head of hair and a gunfighter moustache should bring on all this kind of shit. Craig Collins was setting him up for any kind of bust that could be hung on him-pot or contributing to the delinquency of a minor, anything at all to get him fired.

Well, screw Craig Collins. Dallas would see the big bastard dead first. He turned up the TV and went to the kitchen to drop the empty can in the garbage sack. Whoever had followed him home had evidently come sneaking up to see if he was actually there. How much later, there was no way of telling.

Then the private cop had come into the house via trick key or an unlocked window, using the time to wire the premises for sound. The guy had done a fair job of it too, Dallas admitted. And the guy also knew that Dallas had been somewhere else that evening, that he had sneaked out of his own house.

Which would tell the cop something else, Dallas thought it would say that Dallas Bradburn knew he was being checked on. Getting away wouldn’t be as easy; from now on. But maybe that bit of information would prove a two-edged weapon.

The private eye didn’t know Dallas had uncovered the hidden mikes, and he should be able to lay a lot of false trails by feeding crap to the listeners.

Shaking his head, he thought that this had to be Collins; the school board didn’t have this kind of money to spend, so the store chain owner was putting up the bread himself, to get Dallas. And with a sweet, horny little daughter like he had. What the hell would Collins do, if he knew Dallas and a few other guys, blacks included, had been fucking Kathy Collins. Call the Cosa ‘Nostra probably, and put out contracts.

He felt like another beer, but damned if he was going to drive anywhere this late at night to get more. Dallas took a shower instead, and once lying nude and nicely tired upon his bed, he got the good FM channel on his radio and closed his eyes. Damnit, the kids were worth all this hassle. He wasn’t going to let them put him down or chase him out.

Dallas had never been fucked the way the kids were giving it to him, hadn’t even thought that sex could be so wild and free, without hang-ups or jealousy or uptight moral barricades. He had been to an orgy with them, and it had been wonderful. Not only accepted by them, he was part of them, one with them in their grooving on sex. He didn’t want anything to change that. So now his battle had gone beyond the mere keeping of his hair; now it involved his inner core.

If he cut his hair now, if he backed down and kissed ass for the school board the kids would know him for a copout, and they’d be right. All this fine, deep rapport between him and his class would vanish like pipe smoke in a high wind.

There’d be no exchanging of cunts upon his hard prick, no tender pulling of young mouths upon his balls. He’d have no marvelous little snatches to eat. The mingling, the blending and meshing of flesh and spirit would be gone suddenly.

He fell asleep with the radio going, and woke only once in the morning to shut it off, and to pull up the sheet in the early chill of a new day. Strangely enough, he had a hard-on, and grinned sleepily at the idea. By all rights, the strength should be gone from his cock for weeks to come.

Dallas didn’t dream, and awoke again some where around noon. He loved Saturdays, he thought, and climbed groggily from his bed, ravenous and ready for whatever the day might bring. Frying bacon, he remembered the bugs and frowned; he didn’t get many phone calls, but one of the kids might buzz him.

After he ate, he’d have to do something about that.

There’d have to be a code set up he realized; something very simple that didn’t sound phony. Or else, he’d pass word not to call him at home, unless it was strictly school business. Any messages could be given to him in class, passed to him with test papers or something. Dallas bit into toast and thought that he was already turning paranoid and thinking like some kind of cloak and dagger operator.

Finishing breakfast, he piled dishes in the sink and headed for the shower. By the time he’d soaped himself all over, the events of the night before came crowding back to shove everything else out of his head, and his sudsy hand caressed his half-hard cock as he saw the scene again.

Damn-those kids were the hottest, sexiest he could imagine. Not only the now known bodies of Kathy Collins and black Angel, but the other two girls-silvery Blythe and golden Susan; they loved to eat cock, and to both a man’s semen was precious, something to be swallowed adoringly.

He had fucked them both, or rather they had screwed him with sweet little cunts so tight and blazing, so juicy and slick. And he had eaten both of them, sucking and lapping, happy with the wonderful intimacy of pussy hairs against his cheeks and cunt oils over his chin. He had reveled in the twisting and surging of their modeled asses, the moaning and heaving as they came against his tongue and teeth.

Stiff-dicked, Dallas rinsed himself off, and climbed out of the shower. Drying his taut body with a rough towel, he thought that he was among the most fortunate of men. He’d been given the chance to fuck not one, but four lovely teenage girls, and he was thankful that he hadn’t screwed up the opportunity.

Was one of the kids better fucking than the other? He shook his head and plugged in his electric razor to move it over his cheeks and chin. The moustache, he left it alone, and the sideburns too. Kathy-was she a hotter screw than Angel, or was Blythe Jackson’s little snatch more loving than Susan Lee’s almost hairless pussy?

There was no way to compare, to judge. They were all terrific, each of them a different flick In herself, and together In pairs they could drive any man right up the wall. What the hell would it be like, to bail bare-assed and horny, with all four of them at the same time? Dallas had no doubt that the girls would respond, if he simply asked them.

Not that he minded the other kids putting the meat to them; that just added spice to the screwing really. Closing his eyes, Dallas saw the pretty pictures of black on white, of white on black, and the patterns were stimulating. Joey Nottingham’s long, black prick had worked solidly into Kathy’s red-haired pussy, and Marty had plunged the cock strongly into Angel’s midnight snatch, his pale body locked into the loving grip of those sleek black legs.

The kids had switched off later, changing positions as well as girls. Dallas hadn’t gotten into those two, his first loves, because he’d been kept too busy by his new cunts, and when they’d finished with him the flesh was too weak to continue.

Putting on his shorts, Dallas had to tuck his hard shaft into place. Here he was ready to go all over again, eager to fuck those glorious kids, to have his cock sucked by them, to shove his entire face into the wet, hairy kiss of their cunts.

Meanwhile, he had the new problem of being watched, and being wired for sound.

He slid into, his pants and tennies, put on a tee-shirt and ran a comb through his hair. Ready for wherever he was going and whatever he meant to do, Dallas recovered his wallet and stuff from the dresser top, slipped the lock on the door, and went outside.

As he reached his VW, he looked casually up and down the street. There was a car parked halfway down the block, a grey Ford; he could make out the hood of a blue Chevy in the opposite direction. Would his house be staked out on a weekend? Climbing into the bug, he keyed the switch and thought why not.

Collins wanted something on him-anything that could be used as ammunition for a school board firefight Morals and character, habits and traits-all that outmoded crap that should have gone out with the witch-hunt age, but still hadn’t in small towns.

The board could hassle him, try to fire him if he boozed too much, or was caught doing grass, or was found in the company of a woman of ill repute. And if anyone ever got the slightest idea that he was swinging with his own students-he wouldn’t only be fired, he would be cremated.

What the hell, he thought, and pulled the VW away from the curb, heading toward a lonely stretch of beach about forty miles out of town. If he stood fast this term and earned the respect of the kids, as well as kept peace with himself, he could move on to the junior college next year. He’d have all summer to decide.

But if he put down the kids and the wild love life they had opened to him, then he’d be a fink of the worst order, and it would be tough to live with.

No car followed him when he turned onto the coast road; that he could tell. A few miles out, a grey Ford whipped by him carrying two guys. But there were plenty of grey Fords, and the day was too nice to bother about them. He breathed in fresh salt air and smelled the sun, wishing that at least Kathy Collins could be on the seat beside him, that they could swim and sun and fuck leisurely on the deserted beach without being seen by hateful eyes. She was still his favorite girl.

The rearview mirror picked up a blue Chevy, and Dallas blinked at it; two more guys inside, and the car hung back, not attempting to pass even when he slowed some. But when he signaled for a left onto the beach, the Chevy kept going up the highway.

Locking the bug, Dallas strolled down the beach, becoming interested as always in the waves, in sand patterns. When he looked up again, they were coming at him from two directions. He stood still for only a startled moment, seeing two men bearing down on him from the north, watching two more get between him and his car. He was neatly boxed in, and there was no help in sight.

Dallas stooped to snatch a smooth rock from the sand; it wasn’t as big or heavy as he would have liked, but it would have to do. Then he fooled them by not bolting for his car. Instead, he darted toward the highway, and when they ran converging upon his line of flight, he spun and raced head on for the pair loping down the beach.

He flung the rock when he was fifty feet away, and lucked onto another one when he skidded to a stop. He was trying to boot it out of the sand when his first missile landed and the man yelled. When Dallas rose with another chunk of granite in his hand, he faked a throw north, then pivoted and actually loosed the rock south. It was pretty good, catching that oncoming pair by surprise, not hitting either one, but scattering them and slowing them down.

There were no more rocks, and he went in at a run, mouth wide to suck air lifting from his feet in a karate kick and catching one burly guy on the shoulder with it, The big man spun around and down, but the other one banged Dallas along the head.

Dallas sprawled and rolled, coming up in a spray of damp sand. He kicked out again, wishing he wore boon Dockers instead of the soft tennies. The second man took the shot on a hip and staggered, but the burly guy was sitting up by then, so Dallas bounced once and kicked him in the head.

He hurled a handful sand into the man’s face, and slammed him a good shot in the mouth with a hooking left hand. Then suddenly he was down with the whole side of his head vibrating; the reinforcements had arrived.

Somebody hit him in the chest, and he fired back with both bands, banging away in a soft belly that fell aside. He took another rap on the head, and another, and barely wheeled off the knee that was trying to nut him. There was the taste of blood in his mouth when he went down, and he remembered to roll, roll, with one hand cupping his balls and one arm wrapped around the back of his head.

Into the waves he went, catching a blurred glimpse of a big foot that drove savagely down for his head and missed by inches; Spitting salt water, he came up again, crouched and running, and the piece of driftwood was solid when he caught it in his right hand.

Head-down, he rammed into a body, almost fell, caught his balance and swung the driftwood club it made a soggy noise when it landed, and a man yelled hoarsely.

Flailing around him, Dallas drove them back. Then he plunged through them like a fullback, chopping the stick of water-heavy wood, shoving it like a spear at a man’s cursing face. He was almost to the car when somebody caught him from behind and slammed him into the metal body of the bug.

Dallas caromed off, wheeled to land the club once more, and had it jerked from his grasp. He put a foot into someone’s balls, leaped forward and caught someone’s head so he could rake spread fingers at the bastard’s eyes.

They hit him twice in the head and several times in the body, but he got a full-armed swing into a throat with the edge of his hand, and that thug was out of action for the day, if not forever. Dallas got his head cleared and his hands up in time to beat off another attack, but it seemed easier now. When his eyes focused, he saw two guys on their backs, one holding his crotch and the other clutching his throat while he gagged.

Slipping a punch, he got in close and ripped viciously at the man’s belly, snapping the top of his head up. The guy’s teeth slammed together and his head whiplashed back. Gasping, spitting blood, Dallas moved at the remaining man.

The guy backed a few steps, then turned and ran heavily back up the beach.

Inside the bug, everything seemed to move in slow motion, but Dallas finally got the motor started and backed to where he could turn the VW around. He drove slowly for awhile, his ears buzzing and his eyes sometimes blurred. But he made it home in fair shape, and into the house where he fell across the bed.