Hot Blood: Tales of Erotic Horror

PRETTY IS… Mike Newton

Shelly Teasdale sat and watched the new boy as he finished off his fourth lap of the indoor pool. His name was John Assad — she knew that much — and he possessed an athlete's grace. He led the other swimmers easily.

"A penny for your thoughts," said Marcy Melcher, seated on her left.

"No deal."

"No need," said Karen Reinhardt, planted on her right. "I'll tell you what she's thinking."

"Go ahead, if you're so clever."

"Well, unless you're studying for midterms by osmosis," Karen said, smiling, "I'd say you're scoping him, and wondering how long he's good for in the sack."

Beside her, Marcy giggled. "It's the same thing, either way. She's working on biology."

Between them, Shelly feigned offense. "I swear, I don't know why I waste my time with either one of you."

"That's easy," Karen answered. "We're your Chi Omega sisters, and we've known you like forever. Which is why I've got the power to read your horny little mind."

"He's hot, I'll grant you that."

"Stop drooling, Marcy."

"Must I?"

"Is he dating anybody steady?" Shelly tried to make the question casual, but Marcy snickered all the same.

A shrug from Karen. "I don't think he's dating anybody, period."

"You think he's shy?"

"Or gay? Now, there's a waste."

"Down, girl."

"If he says so."

"You two are being childish." Shelly rose, but they were after her before she reached the bottom of the bleachers.

"Marcy, I believe we struck a nerve."

"I'd say so."

Karen nudged her with an elbow. "Are you gonna try him on, or what?"

She couldn't hide the smile. "I might."

Behind her, Marcy made a clucking sound. "Poor Tommy isn't going to like that."

Shelly tossed her head and set the famous amber waves in motion. "I can handle Tommy."

From her childhood, Shelly had possessed a knack for handling men. Her father had been first, supplanted over time by playmates, teachers, boyfriends, and employers. She had learned the value of a smile, a wiggle, and a glimpse of thigh. Manipulation elevated to the status of an art form. And it never failed.

She had been handling Tommy Blackmon from the start of their relationship, last spring. Both euphemistically and literally. Shelly was not virginal, by any means, but you could not have proved the opposite from Tommy's recent scorecard. He was lucky to receive a hasty handjob these days, and he had not seen her stripped for action since the frat bash back on Labor Day, when she had downed too many coolers in a hurry.

She preferred to keep him hungry, in suspense, occasionally doling out her favors as a just reward, withholding them more often as a form of punishment — or simply for her own amusement. It was a technique which she had polished to perfection, and it served her well.

Her reputation as a tease was well-deserved, but she was never short of offers. Boys surrounded her like flies on honey, conscious of her game, each hoping he might be the one to wear down her resistance.

With a boy — a man — like John Assad, she thought it might be different. If he was strong enough to tame her, giving up the game might have its own rewards.

"I've gotta run. I'm late."

And Shelly hurried off across the commons, smiling to herself and cherishing a tingle of anticipation.

Let the games begin.

"Hey, babe, you in there?"

Shelly's eyes came into focus on a hand that waggled inches from her nose. "I'm sorry, what?"

She sat with Tommy Blackmon in the student union, facing him across a cafeteria table with textbooks and paper cups of Coke between them. He had been regaling her with tales of basketball, but she had not been listening. Her eyes and mind had been on John Assad, three tables over, seated by himself and studying.

Disgruntled, Tommy followed the direction of her gaze and saw the new boy, turning back to face her with a scowl. "You window-shopping?"

"Don't be stupid, Tommy. I'm just… curious."

"I'll bet."

She registered his jealousy, dismissing it. "He's interesting, don't you think?"

No idiot (despite his lousy math professor's stated views), Tom Blackmon knew where Shelly's interest lay — and lay would be the operative word. He kept the observation to himself and asked, instead, "What do you wanna know?"

She stared at Tommy for a moment, as if he had spoken in a foreign language. "What?"

He grinned. "I got a buddy — you know, Hardy Cox? — who works part-time in records, and he tells me things. You wanna know about the new boy?" Tommy aimed an index finger at his temple. "Well, I got it all in here."

"I'm sure."

"You don't believe me? Fine. For openers, he's not American."

"I knew that, Tommy."

"Yeah? I bet you didn't know he's from Iraq. Or was it Lesbia? One of those rag-head Middle Eastern countries, anyway. He transferred in from USC two months ago. They booted him."

Her eyes flicked back to Tommy's grinning face. "I don't believe it."

"Would I lie? Some kind of trouble with a girl on campus. Way I hear it, things got ugly and he had to split."

"What happened?"

"Well… I don't exactly have the details yet, but people talk."

"That's cheap."

"You think so? Like they say, babe, where there's smoke…"

"You're being juvenile."

Across the room the new boy straightened, stretched. His eyes met Shelby's, and she felt a sudden heat between her legs that made her squirm. The moment stretched into infinity, abruptly terminated as he rose to leave. She was aware of Tommy speaking to her, from a distance, but she could not understand his words.

"I'm sorry, what?"

On Thursday Shelly stood outside the new boy's final class and waited for him to appear. She had obtained his schedule by interrogating Chi Omega sisters who shared classes with him, or who knew someone that did. A few had questioned Shelly, but she had been cool, collected, even when their tone was catty. Most of them were envious that she had landed Tommy Blackmon, captain of the basketball and swimming teams. She didn't mind if they were jealous of her plan to have a little something extra, on the side.

But Shelly Teasdale didn't feel collected now. She wasn't cool. She felt all fluttery and nervous, like a schoolgirl, as she waited in the corridor outside of Physics 401. She worried that her nerve might fail her at the crucial moment.

Startled by the passing bell, she jumped and nearly dropped her books. Not yet, she thought, and stood aside as students started filing out. It would not do for him to see her waiting in the hall. The gambit must not seem contrived or artificial, if she hoped to make it work.

He was among the last to exit, and she caught his profile through a tiny window set into the door. Head down, pretending to be wrapped up in a bulky novel that her English prof had recently assigned, she moved to intercept him on a hard collision course, correcting once when it appeared that she might miss him.

Impact spilled his books along with hers. They crouched together, almost knocking skulls, and Shelly murmured an apology. His boots were snakeskin, polished to a satin luster. Shelly risked a glance and found him watching her. His eyes, she saw up close, were green with shifting flecks of gold.

He helped her to her feet and said, "That really wasn't necessary."

"What?"

"I hoped that we might meet. I've seen you watching me."

Her cheeks were burning as she said, "I'm sure I don't know what you mean."

He shrugged. "Too bad. I thought… well, never mind."

"What did you think?"

"That you might like to join me for a cup of coffee."

Shelly smiled. "I might, at that."

The student union was not crowded as they entered. Shelly made a quick inspection for familiar faces, thankful when she came up empty. Tommy would be off at practice, but she didn't need some busybody telling tales. When she was ready to enlighten him, she would be pleased to break the news herself. If there was anything to tell.

John bought the coffee, waving off her bid to make it dutch. When they were seated, facing each other, Shelly found him smiling at her in amusement.

"What?"

"It just occurred to me that we have not been introduced. My name is John Assad."

"I know. I'm —»

"Shelly Teasdale, yes."

"You know my name?"

"I have been watching you, as well."

She blushed again and concentrated on her coffee, covering.

"At home," he said, "our meeting might have taken months."

"I'm glad we're not at home," she said with perfect candor. "Did you come to the United States with family?"

He frowned and shook his head. "My father is a priest. He would not leave his homeland, and my mother's place is at his side."

"Is that from the Koran?"

His barking laugh surprised her, drawing glances from the nearby tables. "I am not a Moslem."

"Oh, I'm sorry." Shelly was embarrassed. "I assumed…"

"The East accommodates a wide variety of sects. Ours predates Islam by perhaps a thousand years. Its doctrines are… unique."

"I'd like to hear about it sometime."

"Possibly you shall."

"What brings you to the West?"

"An education, as you see. I feel that our traditions may be best preserved by learning modern ways. I have been a year in London, nearly two in the United States."

"How do you like America?"

"It stimulates me. You have so much freedom here, in travel, sports, and entertainment."

"And the women?"

"Ah." His smile was shrewd. "I find them quite… desirable."

Green-gold eyes had strayed to Shelly's sweater as he spoke, and while they lingered there she felt another tremor. Desirable, indeed!

"Shelly, I was wondering… but, no."

"What is it, John?"

"I was about to ask if you would come with me tomorrow night, for dinner and a film."

"And now you've changed your mind?" She did not have to feign the tone of disappointment in her voice.

"It is not proper, on such short acquaintance."

Shelly laughed despite herself. "Two years, and you're still concerned about propriety?"

"If I had asked you…"

"I'd have said come by the Chi Omega house at seven-thirty."

"Ah."

"So, have we got a date?"

"It seems we do." He glanced at his expensive-looking watch and frowned. "Regrettably, there are appointments I must keep."

He rose and leaned across the table, took her hand, and raised it to his lips. Surprised for openers, she was astounded when he turned it gently over, opening her fingers, pressing lips against her palm. His tongue flicked out to tickle her, a darting feather, leaving Shelly weak and wet.

"Until tomorrow."

Desirable. After dinner and a movie, Shelly thought she just might offer him a little something in the nature of dessert.

There was a bit of trivia to deal with first, potentially unpleasant, but she wasn't worried. Shelly knew that she could handle it. No sweat.

The phone rang half a dozen times at Delta house before somebody picked it up. She asked for Tommy, settled back, and spent the down-time practicing a level tone of voice.

"Hullo?"

"Hi, Tommy."

"Babe, what's happening?"

She saw no reason to delay the worst. "I have to take a raincheck on tomorrow night."

"Oh, yeah?" Suspicion in his voice. "Why's that?"

"Well…" Shelly had rehearsed a lie, but now it failed her. "Something's just come up, that's all."

"I'll bet. This something got a name?"

"Don't be like that."

"Hey, let me guess. The new boy, right?"

"What difference does it make?"

"No difference, Shell. Not one damn bit."

Her anger flared. "You're acting like you own me, Tommy. We're no steady thing, you know."

"Don't sweat it, babe."

"I hate it when you call me that."

"Well, pardon me, Miss Tease-tail. Maybe you'll get better service from your rag-head."

"Dammit, Tommy —»

She was talking to the dial tone now, and Shelly cradled the receiver violently, surprised to find her hands were trembling. She spent a moment working on her pulse rate, slowing it to an approximation of the norm.

No stupid jock could kiss her off like that. With perfect confidence, she knew that Tommy would be hers whenever she desired. One call, and she could have him eating from her hand, or better yet…

She thought of John Assad and felt the giddy rush again. She would let Tommy stew awhile. It couldn't hurt, and after Friday night she might not want him back.

"You like this better?"

Shelly stood before the full-length mirror, naked save for nylon panties, holding up a dress for her companions to examine.

"Too much yellow," Karen offered.

Marcy grinned. "It makes you look Chinese."

She tried another and another, casting each aside when they did not appear precisely right.

"So, how did Tommy take it?" Karen asked her.

"Like a child."

"What else is new?"

A puzzled frown from Marcy. "Let me get this straight. You want him to be glad you're seeing someone else?"

"Not glad, but Christ, he acts like I'm his slave or something."

She was holding up another dress, dark green, and Karen said, "That's pretty."

Marcy giggled. "Pretty is as pretty does."

"Puh-leese."

"I like it." Shelly wriggled into it, zipped up, and made a slow turn to admire herself. "That's it."

"By George, I think she's got it."

"What all's on the menu for tonight?"

"A movie and whatever."

Marcy moaned. "Oh, God, I love whatever."

Karen made a face. "I think you're turning nympho on us, Melcher."

"Hey, don't knock it." Marcy turned to Shelly, smiling sweetly. "If you're done with Tommy, can I borrow him?"

"Hands off. I'll have him back before you know it."

"Double-headers," Marcy snickered. "I admire your style."

The movie was a bomb, with Whoopi Goldberg striving for a happy medium between hilarity and sensuality, achieving neither. Shelly followed little of it, concentrating her attention on the man beside her, tingling when their hands made accidental contact in the tub of popcorn. She had not been this excited on a date in months — or was it years?

Assad, for his part, had not tried to take her hand or slip an arm around her shoulders, though she would have welcomed the attention. Shelly wondered if he felt intimidated by her, if her chosen outfit had offended him somehow. If so, he had a funny way of showing it, eyes gravitating to her ample cleavage over dinner, in the small French restaurant where they had stopped before proceeding to the theater.

At half-past ten, when they emerged, a biting wind had nearly cleared the streets.

"Some coffee?"

"Better not," she said. "I'd never get to sleep."

He seemed to have a sudden inspiration. "How about a swim?"

"This time of night? You're joking."

"Not at all. I know a place."

"We'll freeze."

He smiled. "Oh, ye of little faith."

She did not ask him how he had obtained a key to the gymnasium. It was deserted, dark inside, and Shelly felt a little like a burglar, excitement and fear playing tag with her nerves.

"Come this way."

For the first time Assad took her hand as he led her through dark and forbidding corridors. By daylight the halls would be commonplace, bland; in the darkness they might have been paths leading down to a medieval dungeon.

The pool was Olympic-sized, dark as an oil slick. Small lights, widely spaced in the ceiling, reflected like alien moons on its surface.

"The water is heated."

She felt herself tingling and blushing all over. "I don't have a suit."

"There is no one to see you."

"You're here."

"I won't look, if you say I must not."

It was warm in the gym, but her nipples were puckered. Her panties felt damp.

"You go first."

With his back turned, he stripped off his jacket and shirt, then stepped out of his shoes and his slacks. Shelly watched as he peeled off his Jockey shorts, stockings, admiring the musculature of his back, dimpled buttocks. His skin was a uniform olive, with no trace of tan lines.

Stepping quickly to the edge, he sliced the dark glass of the pool in a long, graceful dive, scarcely leaving a ripple behind. Shelly waited until he broke water, hair glistening, flat on his skull. His back arched, his feet kicked. He was gone.

Shelly tugged at her zipper, stepped free of the dress. She could swim in her panties, but they were confining her now, pinching tight at her crotch. She felt better without them.

The pool was as dark as a pit. Shelly looked for Assad, but he had not resurfaced. The water was warm on her skin as she pierced it, legs scissoring, driving her out of the deep end until she could stand on her own. Armpit-deep, she ran long, lacquered nails through her hair.

She was startled as Assad erupted from the water just in front of her, emerging like an elemental spirit. Shelly almost lost her footing, but she caught herself and laughed selfconsciously.

"You took me by surprise."

He drifted closer, silent, leaning in to kiss her. Shelly's legs were trembling, and she let the water take her weight. His tongue slid easily between her teeth, and she responded with a rising passion of her own.

She waited for his hands to find her breasts, prepared to let him take her, but he broke the kiss instead. It was a trick of light and shadow, she supposed, which made his pupils seem eliptical.

She was reaching for him when he folded at the knees and disappeared beneath the surface of the water. Big hands cupped her buttocks, fingers sinking in the cleft and pulling her off-balance, then his lips were there, his tongue a living thing, invading her. She shuddered, clutched his hair to keep herself from falling.

Jesus, just another second. Could he hold his breath that long?

She humped against his face, afraid that she might drown him, hardly caring as the spasms hit her, twisted her, destroyed her utterly.

John rose to meet her, and she braced herself with one hand on his shoulder. She was searching with the other hand, intent on giving him the pleasure he had given her, repaying him in kind. She found him, closed her fist around his shaft.

And caught her breath.

"John?"

"There is something I should tell you. Show you."

She could barely understand his words. His voice was thick, as if a strip of gauze was wrapped around his tongue.

And Shelly watched him rise before her, momentarily confused before she recognized the gleaming sinew of his lower body, smooth and streamlined where his legs had been a moment earlier. The reptile's knobby, double-headed penis thrust between broad ventral scales, dead-level with her face. Behind him, undulating coils disturbed the water of the pool.

Dumbstruck, Shelly watched his jaw fall open on elastic hinges, stretching backward past his small, inverted ears. A long, forked tongue flicked out between his dripping fangs.

He fell upon her as she summoned up the strength to scream.