Amiga ISO Collection/AmigaDemoCD2.iso/ASCII/TEXTE/SEX/ADULTSHARE/H/HEAT1TO4.TXT

Text File | 1990-08-26 | 30.6 KB | 598 lines

The HEAT (Parts 1-4 of 8)

                                     1

     On July 11th, the temperature in downtown Willyville topped 94
degrees, a considerable jump from the high of 78 the previous day. The high
pressure area that Bob Katt, the weather forcaster for TV station KNUT, had
been predicting all week had finally arrived. The sun sat hot and brassy in
a sky devoid of clouds. Bob Katt had predicted that the temperature would
only increase for the rest of the week, at least. The heat wave had begun.

     Three days later the temperature broke 100 and everybody knew the heat
was here to stay. The air was hot and heavy. Those unfortunate enough to be
working outside or without benefit of air conditioning groaned and cursed
the sun, giver of all life and bringer of all misery.

     Skin became a much more common sight as uncomfortable humans stripped
down to the bare neccessities, if not farther, in search of some relief. As
clothes fell away, so did inhibitions as the human, the horniest animal on
earth (who was actually capable of becoming sexually aroused at the mere
sight of the uncovered body of a fellow human of the preferred sex! Imagine
that!) began to follow the urges that nature had imbued them and that they
themselves had honed to a fine and wonderous art.

     In other words, once the night cooled off, they started fucking like
rabbits.

     But human nature can be a two edged sword, and while one edge was
sweet, the other was very bitter indeed. Hot weather and its attendant ills
caused tempers to flare where they otherwise would have been held with
discretion. Many great home truths, which had been considerately
unmentioned by friends, lovers, relatives, etc., suddenly came out in full
force with the expected arguments and fights following. Frustration at the
endless discomfort caused human to strike out at fellow human in a futile
substitute for lashing back at the true source of their aggravation, a safe
93 million miles out of reach. The local constabulary spent a great portion
of their time quelling these arguments. Of course, being human and just as
uncomfortable as everybody else, their tempers were somewhat shorter than
they would normally have been, and guess who they took it out on? Quite a
number of offenders made their way to the local lockup by way of the local
emergency room.

     But all of this was simply human nature, and none of it was very
serious, at least not on a grand scale. Civilization had survived much
worse. But on a personal level some of the catastropies were very serious.
Some lives were changed completely. One such person who'd had his life
changed by the heat was Harold Sykes. And here's what happened...



                                    ---

     The moon poured in through the open window, flooding the bedroom with
an eerie half light. The air was warm, a pleasant 75 degrees. Perfect
temperature for nudity. Cindi settled back on the pillow with a satisfied
sigh of pleasure not yet faded to memory. Harold still kneeled on the bed
between her knees, his erection pounding almost painfully against his
belly. The moonlight spilled across her nude, fluid form, and he lovingly
eyed her firm, small breasts, still hard nippled in the aftermath of her
orgasm. His eyes roamed down her smooth, taut belly to the wiry mass of her
pubic hair, where he had but moments ago spent so much time carefully and
artistically bringing her to a powerful climax. Whatever else you could say
about his performance in the sack, he knew how to give head. It was one of
the skills he was especially proud of.

     But enough wool-gathering (bad pun intended). Harold leaned forward,
placing his hands on the bed on either side of her. He kissed her fully and
deeply as he gently lowered his weight onto her. For a moment they simply
lay there, as he savored the full body contact, the feel of her naked skin
against his own. Then he raised his hips and she gently guided him into
her.

     For Harold, at least, no sensation in the world could ever compare to
the warm, slinky feeling of penetration. He thrust deep, and her hips moved
in response. His excitement towered to new heights, and his balls ached for
release. Take it slow, take it slow. He kissed her again and ran his hand
along her side, from thigh to shoulder, feeling, touching, loving.

     He began to pump in a slow sinuous rhythem, her hips moving with his.
Her legs raised and locked around his waist as her hands moved along his
back. Her breathing became short and rapid, and Harold knew she was
building to another orgasm. With each thrust, his own pleasure mounted to a
new height until finally he poised, breathless, at the brink. Too soon, too
soon...


     Too late. He cried out as his seed shot into the warm depths of her
body. Face straining, he pumped again, one last time, trying to squeeze
what last litle bit of feeling might be left after that almost painful
explosion of pleasure. Then he collapsed on top of her, exhausted.

     For an endless time he lay, gathering strength. Finally it soaked into
his sated conciousness that something was wrong. Cindi lay beneath him
wooden, unmoving. He looked down into eyes that stared back with cold fury.
"What- what's the matter?"

     The anger in her eyes flared as she placed her hands on his chest and
pushed him off. Her strength was surprising, and Harold fairly flew against
the wall by the bed. Blinking back stars, he looked at her in confusion.

     "God dammit!" she yelled.

     Frightened now, Harold could only gasp, "What... what..."

     "You didn't even try to make it last!" Hands on hips, her bare breasts
jiggled fetchingly as she shouted. But Harold wasn't exactly fetched at the
moment.

     "I sure did try! It's not my fault-"

     "The fuck it isn't! You don't even TRY!" she yelled, "Two pumps, a
tickle, and a squirt and that's all you're ever good for! I'm sick of it!"

     What the fuck was this? It was hard to believe she had been so
intimate and caring a minute before. Miss Jekyl had just turned into a
raving Miss Hyde and Harold was far too stunned to properly defend himself.
"You mean to say you haven't gotten any enjoyment out of tonight?"

     "Ha!" She was gathering her clothes and putting them on now. "Hasn't
it ever occurred to you that I might get a little tired of being frigged
and licked every single night? I want a MAN, dammit! Not some little boy
who shoots his wad five seconds after he gets his pants off!"

     He watched, unbelieving, as she stomped around the room. This was the
woman he had been so in lust with the last few weeks? Was he really such a
terrible lover? "Why are you doing this to me?"

     "You did it to yourself." she snapped. She was fully dressed by now.
Shouldering her handbag, she turned to him. "I'm leaving now. Until you
learn how to fuck, don't bother calling me." Her pretty features twisted
into an ugly ironic smile, "Have a nice life."

     And then she left. Harold stared at the door a long time, his stomach
churning along with his mind. Cindi had deliberately set about to hurt him
in the worst way she possibly could. The only thought that kept running
through his head was WHY?

     The sound of a car starting and pulling out floated in through the
bedroom window. Somehow this sound seemed to bring reality back into focus
and his mind started working again. With a snarl he jumped off the bed and
ran to the window, throwing the curtains aside.

     He screamed something out the window, causing lights to come on all
over the neighborhood: "YOU FUCKING BITCH!"

     He ducked back inside before anybody could see him, collapsing back on
the bed. Nothing was resolved, and some painful issues would have to be
dealt with in the near future.

     But he had to admit that, for the moment, he felt a little better.




                                     2

     The days seemed to grow longer, and if possible, hotter. Bob Katt
recieved the usual number of crank letters and calls demanding he do
something about the heat. He even went so far as to run a videotape of an
indian rain dance on his show. No such luck, and the local indian community
inundated KNUT with calls demanding Bob's resignation for broadcasting
racist material. A couple dozen even went so far as to picket the station's
parking lot. It was noted by many that some of the placards bearing the
station's call sign, the N and the U were transposed, though whether this
was accidental or intentional was unclear. Bob was beginning to wonder if
it was time for that long overdue vacation. The station manager wondered
the same thing.

     The growing membership of the Willyville Nudist Society (formed
somewhere around July 11th) petitioned the mayor's office to temporarily
modify the laws against public indecency so as to allow the nudists to
pursue their own version of 'personal freedom'. A story about it appeared
in the local newspaper, and a day later the mayor's office recieved over a
thousand anonymous letters in support of the petition. However, almost 80%
of those letters were mimeographed in the same writing, unsigned, and sent
without return addresses. Somebody had been very busy, indeed. There was no
comment from the mayor's office about the whole situation. Rumor had it he
had snuck out of town for a long overdue vacation...


                                    ---

     For Harold Sykes, the usual lunacy of Willyville passed over him
without notice as his days stretched into a grey cloud of depression. At
work he hardly spoke, and when he went home he drew the blinds and sat in
the stifling heat staring at a blank wall. When he saw a pretty girl out on
the street he would avert his eyes until she passed by. When his friends at
work spoke to him he would always jump, as if jolted from some private
world. When asked about his change of behavior, he would simply dismiss it
as the aftermath of a breakup. But deep inside his heart ached and he spent
long, sleepless nights wondering who Cindi might be with and what they
might be doing and being certain that she was having a far, far better time
now than she had ever had with him. His depression grew deeper and deeper
and he knew that over the horizon lay only more dark clouds.

     The situation came to a head when Harold nearly throttled a co-worker
for singing "Zipity-Doo-Da" one morning after announcing his engagement.
After explaining to his supervisor (and the police officer) that he had
been under a lot of stress lately, he was awarded with a two-week (unpaid)
vacation and the advice to see a psychiatrist. Soon.

     Instead he sat at home, watching "Love Boat" reruns and drinking some
horrible beer and lemonade concotion bottled in New Jersey. Masochism was
the word of the day here.

     He was idly (and a bit drunkenly) trying to decide whether to use a
sledgehammer or a shotgun on the TV set when the phone rang.

     The harsh, obnoxious sound grated in his ears, pulling him from the
fantasy that enveloped him. A part of him begged to answer the phone, as
usual, to see who would be calling. The rest of him said screw it, why
bother?

     Finally, long ingrained habit won out. He lurched over to the phone
and yanked the reciever off the cradle. Placing it to his mouth, he offered
the most cheery greeting his jangled mind could come up with.

     "Go fuck yourself."

     There was moment's hesitation before a familiar male voice came out of
the other end. "Harold! How ya doin'?"

     "Hi, Tom." Harold sighed. Tom was Harold's best friend and a devout
hedonist, to boot. "I'm doing fine. Just don't feel like getting out much
in this heat, is all."

     "Yeah, right." Tom said in a voice that made it perfectly clear he
didn't believe a word of it. "Well, shit, man, you need to get out
sometimes, before you start to grow cobwebs or something. And I got just
the thing..."

     Harold silently groaned and rubbeed his temples. The only thing he
wanted was to be left alone. One of Tom's 'just the thing' ideas was the
last thing he needed right now. "Uh, look, maybe later-"

     "Later my ass!" The voice on the other end roared. "I know what
happened. Kelly told me." Harold's eyes widened but he really wasn't
surprised. He fully expected Cindi to blab to everyone who would sit still
long enough to listen. He tried to imagine that Cindy was sitting in front
of him instead of the TV and suddenly his hands fairly itched for that
sledgehammer.

     Tom continued, "Shit, man, something like that would've killed me.
Cindi has got to be the most twisted bitch I have ever heard of. Nobody has
a right to do that to somebody else."

     "Yeah, I ain't too happy about it either. But I can't do anything, so
how about I call you later-"

     "I ain't done yet." Tom interrupted firmly. "You've got to get out of
there and back into circulation. You stay in that dark house much longer,
you're going to do something stupid." Harold felt a sudden shock. What had
he been thinking? He had twelve payments to go on the TV yet. Suddenly the
beer and lemonade in his stomach began to churn.

     "Look, Harold, I'm your buddy. It hurts me to see what she's done to
you. I wanna help, and I think I know the best way to do it. There's a
party going on Saturday afternoon at this place I know over in Squirrel
Heights. Right off Wanker street. The whole gang's gonna be there, along
with a bunch of other people I don't know. Lots of available girls, I hear.
Hoping to add a couple to my collection myself. I think you ought to go
with me. Keep me from getting in too much trouble."

     Harold's voice was thick as he struggled with his gorge. "I... I don't
know..."

     "Aw, c'mon. I want you there. You don't have to do anything or talk to
anybody if you don't want. Just soak up some rays and good feelings. I
ain't heard of anybody going away from a West Side Party feeling bad."

     "Well..."

     "It's settled, then." Tom concluded, perhaps a bit prematurely. "I'll
be by about noon Saturday, and you can ride with me. I know you don't
drink, and I could use somebody sober to drive me home. If I go home at
all. If not, you can use the car. Sound good?"

     Harold had his voice under control and was actually feeling a bit
better. Tom's nonstop talking had distracted him from the full impact of
the crisis, and his depression was beginning to lift a bit. "Sure, why not?
Should I bring anything?"

     "Toothbrush and a change of shorts, maybe."

     They talked for a few more minutes and when Harold finally hung up, he
felt immensely better. He had felt so alone not long ago. It was good to be
reminded he had friends. Maybe with their help he could pull through this
depression and come out a whole human being once again. But that was still
a ways off.

     In the meantime, he tidied the house up. Lastly he came to the
collection of bottles from his binge that morning. He was astonished to
discover how much of that stuff he had drunk. Thinking about it reminded
him just how awful the stuff really was. He hiccuped once and ran for the
bathroom, hand over his mouth.

     He almost made it.




                                     3

     The week wore on and Willyville got even hotter, if such a thing was
possible. It also got weirder, and many had considered that impossible,
too.

     During the daytime the streets were like that of a ghost town, as
everybody remained inside with shades closed to beat the heat.
Air-conditioners became the number one most stolen item in the city,
beating out televisions by a wide margin. It made sense of a sort, after
all, you don't even need to get inside the house to steal one. Many a
homeowner returned from work in the evening to find a large hole in the
wall where the family's most cherished appliance once rested and
subsequently broke down in tears. However, the chief of police had a sudden
brainstorm that guaranteed a quick end to this new and despicable crime
wave. He promptly instructed all four hospitals in the Willyville area to
inform the police of any emergency room cases involving hernias or slipped
discs. When the anxious media questoned the chief of police on this new
tactic, he simply replied that the results so far were "interesting".

     In other news, weather forcaster Bob Katt had been suspended for
appearing on his show wearing boxer shorts, a tie, and nothing else. It
seems the building's air-conditioning system had been stolen the previous
night (an impressive feat in itself, considering that the compressor alone
weighed half a ton) and Bob had refused to work in a suit in the stifling
heat. So he had walked into the studio, dressed only in his skivvies, and
up in front of the camera before any of the stunned studio crew could even
think of stopping him. Of course, it would have been very bad form to yank
him off the camera, so they simply let him do his broadcast. Once he was
finished he was greeted by a purple faced station manager. Despite the
indian pressure groups, Bob was still very popular in Willyville, so he was
not fired on the spot.

     Instead, the station manager sent him on a long overdue vacation...


                                    ---

     Saturday dawned bright, clear, and warm (surprise, surprise!). Harold
was up with the sun, mostly because he hadn't slept at all the previous
night. His stomach was a tight little knot and his heart would not stop
pounding. He was having second thoughts about the party. Harold Sykes had
never been a party animal, and recent... events... had convinced him that
he would be very wise to stay away from certain segments of the human race
(read: female) for a long time to come. In fact, now that he thought about
it, he was rather frightened of them. After all, if he couldn't keep Cindi
happy, would he be able to keep any woman happy? And there would be lots of
girls there, probably all laughing at him. Why go?

     Then he thought about his depression of the last couple weeks. Tom had
a point: right or wrong, he had to do something.

     Tom came by at 2:30 and picked Harold up. As they drove over to
Squirrel Heights, Tom did most of the talking. Harold had lapsed into a
moody silence, soaking up Tom's words and saying almost something in
return. If Tom noticed, he didn't show it as he kept up a steady monologue
all the way to the house.


     The Squirrel Heights Boarding house was a dumpy three story affair
sitting in front of about two acres of worn out farmland. The place was run
by an aging ex-stockbroker named Michael Wilburn, who believed in free
expression of everything and threw wild parties as often as the house's
budget would allow. Some of the parties were solely for the house's
inhabitants, but most of them were for whoever wanted to come. Booze and
most kinds of drugs generally circulated freely, and Harold had heard
rumors even more outrageous than that. All in all, it was pretty
intimidating to an introvert like Harold, and as he stepped out of Tom's
car and looked at the peeling gray mass of the boarding house looming over
him, and the virtual sea of cars surrounding it, he knew he had made a
mistake. He as much as said so to Tom, who ignored him completely.

     The affair was already in progress, as he discovered when Tom led him
around the back of the house. There must have been almost a hundred people
there, engaged in all manner of outdoor activities. People everywhere,
talking, yelling, running, horsing around, just generally having a good
time. A table had been set up by the back door, and there was somebody
serving booze and food to an endlessly regenerating queue.

     Harold looked around and noticed that Tom had abandoned him and was
nowhere in sight. For an instant he almost panicked and yelled for Tom,
then his rational mind took over. What's your problem? it said. You're an
adult, you don't need a keeper.

     So Harold decided to walk around and see what he could see.

     In one corner a net had been set up for a vollyball game. There was a
team on each side, if a pushing, laughing, staggering group of people could
be called a team. Harold stood off to one side with a small group of
spectators and watched. All of a sudden his attention had been captured by
one particular member of one team.

     She wasn't tall, maybe five seven or so, buxom, and maybe a few pounds
overweight. Which, as far as Harold was concerned, made her all the more
nicely rounded. Her hair was blonde and fell down past her shoulders. Her
face was pretty, but not spectacularly so. What had really caught Harold's
attention was what she was wearing, or, more to the point, not wearing. She
was dressed in frayed cutoff jeans that were so tight they had split along
the sides halfway up her hips, and a string bikini top that struggled
valiantly to hold up under the weight of enormous breasts. Harold glanced
around and saw that she had the attention of pretty much every man in the
crowd.

     His heart fluttered as he watched her move, and he couldn't help but
wonder what it would be like to take her to bed. He imagined her long hair
spread out over the pillow, glimmering faintly in the moonlight, those
magnificent breasts moving in slow liquid motion as she arched her back in
sheer pleasure, her frenzied gasps as she reached a sudden and powerful
orgasm...

     Harold shook his head to clear it. Get real, he told himself. Someone
like that certainly already has a boyfriend, and even if she didn't, why
should she be interested in somebody like him? He turned around and began
to make his way back towards the house.

     Sudden catcalls and whistles made him turn around again. She was
sitting on the grass, apparently having just fallen. When she landed, the
overburdened top string of her bikini had given way, exposing her for all
the world to see.

     He could not help but stare. Her nipples stood out hard, the aurioles
colored light rose pink. He ached to take them in his mouth, to feel their
soft but firm weight in his hands. Then he looked up and saw she was
staring directly at him.

     He locked eyes with her and suddenly his face turned beet red. Why, he
didn't know, because surely every other male here was staring and thinking
the same thoughts. She made no move to cover herself, she just sat there,
challenging him with her gaze.

     Finally, Harold turned and pushed his way through the crowd. His heart
was pounding in his ears and his balls, denied their release, ached
miserably. He still had a raging hard-on and kept his hands in his pockets
to conceal it. He felt sick, and ashamed. And he wanted to leave this
instant.

     But that stare kept coming back to him. On reflection, he felt there
was more than just a challenge in her eyes. What, he didn't know, but he
somehow knew it. It was almost as if a spark had passed between them.
Undoubtedly it was just his overworked imagination, but...

     He felt as if she wanted him, too.






                                     4

     Day gave way to night, as days usually do, and slowly Willyville began
to cool off. People moved out of their stifling houses (except for those
who hadn't had their air-conditioning stolen yet) and into their back
yards. They brought TV trays, TV's, barbecues, bedrolls, and just generally
prepared to enjoy the night in relative coolness.

     All over Willyville the night was alive with the sound of voices,
televisions, stereos, lustful moans and the other noises of humans enjoying
themselves outdoors. With one exception. In Squirrel Heights, all was
quiet. The place seemed deserted, in fact. Virtually all human life in the
area had gravitated to one spot. At the Squirrel Heights boarding house,
when night fell, the real party began...


                                    ---

     Harold Sykes hadn't left the party like he planned, although he came
awful damn close to doing so when he spotted Cindi in the crowd. But, in
the end, the thought of going back to his lonely, empty, stuffy house was
just too much. So instead he wandered around the yard, just watching the
extraordinary panorama of human activity taking place before him.

     Eventually he found a peaceful spot on the back porch where he just
sat and watched the sun set. Tom came by and asked him how he was doing.

     "Better." sighed Harold, "I really feel better."

     Tom gave him a wink. "You may be feeling better than that before the
night's over, old buddy." and sauntered off before Harold could say
anything.

     Now what was that supposed to mean?


     As it got dark, the party outside thinned out. A few left, spinning
their wheels in the gravel lot out front, but most just went inside the
house. Probably gonna booze it up good, Harold thought, Although it looked
to him like they had been boozing more than adequetely already. Harold
didn't feel like drinking very much, especially after his binge the other
day. Drugs didn't hold much of an attraction for him, either. Just sitting
there, alone with his thoughts, seemed to do quite a bit for him.

     Eventually he awoke from his musings and was startled to find he was
alone. With a sigh he got up and went in through the back door.

     The back hallway was unlit. There was the low murmur of voices and
music coming from somewhere ahead. He could make out dim light from around
a corner in the distance. Cautiously he made his way down the hallway,
hoping nothing solid was in the way of his shins.

     Eventually he made his way to the light, and when he turned the corner
he recieved the shock of his life.

     The front room was spacious and poorly lit. But the light was more
than adequete for Harold to see what was going on. There was about twenty
to thirty people sprawled about the room, all naked, contorted in every
kind of sexual position imaginable. And a couple that weren't imaginable.

     Harold could only stare dumbly. The floor was almost lost amongst the
moving, writhing bodies. There were six people on the couch, in some
bizarre group contortion that made them look like something from another
planet. One man sat moaning softly in an easy chair with a hard-on that
Harold would have sworn was twelve inches long, at least. He watched in
total amazement as all twelve inches dissappeared into the mouth of the
co-ed sitting on the floor between the man's feet.

     The blonde he had seen earlier was conspicuously absent.

     He heard creaking above him, and he looked up. In the rafters, some
twelve feet above, a rope and pully setup had been arranged with a large
wicker basket. Three people were in the basket, which swung back and forth
alarmingly. Harold quickly moved several feet over, out from under the
setup.

     His head was spinning. His experience with sex had always been
limited, and now he was confronted with a full-fledged orgy. It was too
much. He didn't want any part of this. All he wanted was out.
     Watching his step carefully, he made his way for the nearest door. He
was almost there when he saw the one thing he *knew* he didn't want to
see.

     There was a clear spot at the far end of the room. Only two people
were there, a man flat on his back with a woman sitting astride his hips,
moving up and down in sensuous rhythem. He didn't know who the guy was but
he knew the girl. Cindi. Pain that had been mercifully submerged now rose
to stab arrowlike into his guts. Cindi turned her head at that instant and
their eyes met. Instant recognition and something spiteful and unpleasant
glittered in her eyes for a brief second, and then she turned her attention
back to what she was doing. Her movements became more frantic, and her
moans much louder, exaggerating as much as possible.

     Her parting words rang in his mind: "I want a man, dammit!" Well,
fine. All Harold wanted was out. He averted his eyes and ran blindly
towards the closest exit. He stumbled over one couple on the way (startling
them into a premature orgasm) and mumbled apologies as he kept going.

     Then he was in a hallway, but not the one he had come from. Doors
lined the hall on both sides. He grabbed one and pulled it open, only to be
rewarded with several outraged yells. Redfaced and near tears from
embarassment, he pulled the door shut and looked around desperately. And
empty room, anything, just so he could get out of sight and get his
thoughts together. If he didn't do it quick, he feared he might lost his
mind. He had to get away, somehow!

     There, at the end of the hall. An open door, the room dark within. He
paused at the doorway for a second, but could detect no movement within.
Empty, thank God! He slammed the door shut behind him and let the blackness
envelop him as he sank to the floor with a hoarse sob. He lay in a heap for
who knew how long before he finally calmed down.

     His heart gave a sudden leap as he somehow realized, in the total
darkness, that that the room wasn't empty after all. After a long moment,
he finally summoned up a weak voice. "Who's there?"

     There was a longer silence, and he almost began to hope he was alone
after all, when a soft voice answered "Are you all right?"

     Fuck NO! I ain't all right, you stupid... But Harold controlled
himself before replying, "I will be, eventually. In about fifty years or
so." He hesitated before the next question, "Are you, um, alone?"

     "Yeah." she replied, "I just wanted to be by myself. I kinda outgrew
the scene out front a long time ago. All the interesting guys already have
somebody. There was one guy, but I think he went home or something."

     Harold got up, a little unsteadily "I'm sorry. Sorry I barged in on
you. I'll leave now."

     "Please, don't." she said, "Unless you really need to. I think we
could both use someone to talk to."

     Harold sat back down against the wall with a weary sigh. "Sure, why
not?" After a silent moment, he continued, "Would you mind turning on a
light? I'd like to see who I'm talking to."

     "Well," she began doubtfully, "you may feel more comfortable without
the light, but if you insist..." There was a click and a flare of light
exploded into his eyes, blinding him momentarily. When he could open his
eyes, he recieved the last shock of a very long day.

     Standing by a lamp on the dresser was the blonde from the vollyball
game, still dressed in the frayed shorts but minus the bikini top, which
lay discarded on the bed. She had her eyes screwed shut against the light,
opening them a moment later.

     "Oh! It's you!"