Passion Peeper (1965)

by Don Elliott

  He had never despised himself so much as right at this moment.

  Kathryn stood in the hall outside Mr. Crispian's door, shaking her head in astonishment and disbelief.

  She had never expected that to happen. Not in a million years. But the world was kookier than she realized. At the age of sixteen, Kathryn had discovered a good deal about life, but she was only starting now to find out how much craziness revolves around the world of sex.

  It was hard to imagine, though. She had walked into his apartment, thrown off her trench coat to stand naked in front of him-and he had refused her! He had put his hands on her breasts, taken a good feel for himself and then had pushed her on her bottom!

  What a creep, she thought. Her buttocks ached from the fall she had taken. But that ache would go away in a few minutes, she knew. There was a much deeper ache within her, and it would remain with her unless she took some steps to satisfy it right away.

  Kathryn was a hungry girl. And what she hungered for was a man.

  She had discovered men two years ago, just after she had turned fourteen. Before that, she knew only that sex was something for grownups, something that she wouldn't be able to appreciate until she was much older. Kathryn's first experiments with sex had shown her right away that the grownups were lying, as usual. You didn't have to be over twenty-one to enjoy sex. Sex was the greatest kick in the world, and the only reason the grownups kept it to themselves was because they were cruel and selfish, and had been denied it themselves when they were young. They got even by denying it to the next generation along.

  Kathryn was wild about loving.

  Kathryn was wild in general, as a matter-of-fact.

  At sixteen, she had been loved by almost twenty different fellows, some of them having had her many times. That was the track record for promiscuity among her set of girl friends at high school. She loved it. She couldn't get enough. She liked it every way she knew. She went in for some of the fancy sidelines, too, although she insisted that they all had to lead to the main event.

  She didn't think her parents knew what she was up to. They didn't pay much attention to her. All they were interested in was that she got good marks in school, so she could get into a decent college. And Kathryn got good marks. She was up near the top of her class. That made them happy. In another two years, she would go away to some out-of-town college, maybe Radcliffe or Wellesley or one of those, and she would ball her way through the whole Ivy League.

  But that was two years from now. Kathryn's immediate problem was getting some action tonight.

  She had gone out with a guy named Freddy tonight, a senior at school. It was their first time out. Kathryn was under no illusions about the sort of reputation she had at school, and she knew that when a guy made a point of arranging a date with her, he was interested in getting made. That was okay with her. She was interested in getting made, too.

  So she figured Freddy was hot for her lily-white body, and she figured correctly.

  The only thing she hadn't figured was that Freddy, at the age of eighteen-minus-three-months, was a virgin. A scared virgin at that. He didn't like being a virgin, which was why he had made a date with Kathryn. "She's a nympho," somebody had told him. "You're certain to score. You don't even have to work at it. Just grab her boobs, and she'll attack you."

  This was going to be the big night of Freddy's life. But Freddy goofed.

  They went bowling. Kathryn was a fair bowler, and racked up two games with a 145 and a 139. But Freddy, who was big and athletic-looking and well coordinated, bowled a woeful 81 his first game, and dropped to a 72 the next round. That should have been a tip off to Kathryn: Freddy was scared witless.

  They got into his car. They drove to a lover's lane at the edge of Federal Park, near the rhododendron garden. That was a traditional place for making out, and even the police had a kind of gentleman's agreement not to come snooping around there.

  They parked. They got into the back seat and started fooling around. Freddy unhooked her bra. Freddy fondled her bare breasts. Kathryn's nipples were standing up straight and tall. Kathryn was nice and warm as usual. She figured the evening would end in the appropriate way.

  But Freddy went on massaging her boobs, and on and on.

  He didn't make any move to get below the belt. Kathryn got impatient. Kathryn reached out and started to unzip his trousers. "D-don't," he said. "Huh?"

  "It isn't right."

  "What isn't?"

  "Putting your hand there," he said. He took his own hands away from her breasts. Kathryn looked at him and realized he was shivering.

  "What's going on?" she asked. "You sick or something?" , "I think we ought to go home."

  "It's still early."

  "I-that is--well, it's the middle of the week. We've got school tomorrow."

  "We've got lots of time. Time for a little fun."

  "Kathryn, I don't want to."

  "You what?"

  "I don't want to. I mean, we shouldn't get carried away. A girl has to think about her self-respect. We shouldn't do anything we'd regret later."

  "The only thing I'd regret is not making it," she said. Her breasts were swollen, her nipples were hard. "What kind of character are you? You get a girl all heated up, and then you say let's go home?"

  That was when he blurted the whole thing out, in a flow of miserable words; how he was a virgin and had dated her because he had heard she was wild, but now that he was down to the crucial moment he was scared; he didn't want to do this after all, and could they please go home?

  Kathryn blew sky high.

  She called him a pansy and a fink and a lot of worse things. She roasted his ears for a while. The idea that a six-foot-two hunk of virile-looking man would chicken out so totally and ignominiously on a date of this sort was incredible to her. She really ripped into him. By the time she was finished, he was so demolished that he couldn't even drive the car. He gave her the keys, and she drove home while he curled up in a dark cloud of shame as far from her as he could get. , She was still in a cold fury when she got home. Her parents were out. Kathryn stripped off her clothes and took out some of her anger with her hairbrush.

  As she thought it over, she realized that maybe she had goofed a little. If she had been tender and sympathetic to Freddy instead of chewing him out, she would probably have overcome his inhibitions and ended the evening with some boffing after all. But to hell with that. She wasn't going to be a nursemaid. Even if she had managed to get him, it would have been lousy anyway, wham, bam, and all over with before she felt a thing.

  Naked before her mirror, she rubbed her aching, lust-tainted body, cupped her breasts, sizzled in frustration, rubbing her heated thighs together. Then she noticed the fact that she had forgotten, in her anger, to close the blinds. And she remembered about the peeper.

  She had seen him before, sitting by his window, squinting out at the other side of the building. Kathryn knew what he was up to. She usually drew her blinds to keep him from getting a free show at her expense.

  But now a mischievous idea came into her head. She was much in need of loving. And there sat this lonely kook on the other side of the courtyard. Why not go over there? Why not get from him what Freddy had been too chicken to give her? It might be fun.

  Kathryn was willing to try anything once.

  She didn't bother to get dressed again. She just got her raincoat out of the closet and put it on over her naked body. It was funny feeling to walk through the courtyard wearing practically nothing. The trench coat rubbed against her sensitive, throbbing nipples, too. But soon she was on the other side of the courtyard.

  It wasn't hard for Kathryn to find the peeper's apartment. She had lived in this building since she was a baby, and she knew which windows belonged to which apartments. He was in the C line of apartments, and all she had to do was count to his floor and ring his bell.

  He was older and kookier than she had figured him to be, a dried-out-looking lit
tle man in his fifties. But Kathryn was so steamed up by her need that she didn't let that stop her. Since she had bothered to come across and hunt him out, she would give herself to him anyway.

  Only he didn't want her. That was the crazy thing. He looked scared half out of his wits, and he grabbed a feel, but then he shoved her over and told her to clear out. Kathryn had been so afraid that the little creep would go into wild hysterics that she left.

  Now, as she made her way downstairs again, she was in a worse fix than ever.

  Twice tonight she had been turned down by nervous imitiations of men. Two different sets of hands had fondled her bare breasts. She had shown her naked body to a stranger, given him a good look at everything she had, and the best he could think of doing was knocking her to the floor.

  Now she had to have a loving. She'd go wild if she didn't. Two frustrations within two hours had left every nerve in Kathryn's youthful, passionately voluptuous body throbbing in wild yearning.

  Where to go, though?

  Ring doorbells and say, "Excuse me, but I'm loving my way through the building, and I was wondering if you'd like to take a tumble or two?"

  Kathryn saw her answer. She wouldn't have to do anything as wild as that.

  All she had to do was go to the superintendent.

  The super was a young Cuban refugee, about twenty-eight or so, who had been working in the building for the past year and a half. He was sexy in a Latin way, very dark very sleek, very graceful.

  He had flirted with Kathryn many times, with winks and grins and an occasional soft phrase in Spanish. He had never actually made a pass, though. He was smarter than that. It was worth his job to make overtures to the nubile young daughters of tenants, and he knew that jobs weren't so easy to find when you were a Cuban refugee.

  Kathryn had a pretty good idea that he could be made, though. She would flip her wig entirely if he turned her down too. But she doubted that he would. He had the hots for her. And he was probably in a state of mind where he wouldn't object to a nice easy conquest. He had a wife, a skinny, worn-out little girl who looked twice her real age because she had had four children in five years. Right now she was pregnant again, blown up like a balloon, and Kathryn was willing to bet that with his wife in the eighth or ninth month the Cuban hadn't had any action for six weeks or more.

  He'd be ready and eager.

  She went down to the basement and rang his doorbell.

  Then she waited. It was past ten o'clock at night, and the super didn't often get called to the door at that hour. Moments passed. She heard babies crying and the sound of a radio blaring in Spanish. She debated ringing the bell again.

  Then the door opened. The super stood there, a slim, shiny-haired man who managed to look dapper even when, as now, all he was wearing was an undershirt and a pair of soiled khaki slacks.

  "Yes?" he said. "Is something wrong?"

  "Hello, Juan. I need you to do something for me."

  Be frowned. "It's pretty late-"

  "Take a look," Kathryn said, and opened the front of her trench coat. She gave him a good view, a clear glimpse of her high, swelling young breasts, her flat stomach, the firm thighs and dark allure. Then she closed the trench coat again. "Let's go somewhere private."

  Juan looked dazed. The brief view of her nudity had been so unexpected that it stunned him. He started to speak, but the words came out in Spanish, and he had to change gears and start all over again.

  "Do I understand what you want?" he asked.

  "It isn't hard to figure it out. Come on, Juan. I'm lonely. You're supposed to fix all the tenants, troubles. So fix mine."

  He shook his head in disbelief, then grinned at her Turning, he shouted a couple of sentences into his apartment, to his wife, who was not in sight. He spoke in Spanish. Though he spoke quickly, Kathryn had had enough Spanish in high school to get the drift of what he was saying. He was telling her that one of the tenants needed some emergency work done, and he would be back in a little while.

  Kathryn smiled. It wasn't really a lie.

  The superintendent stepped out into the hall with her and shut the door.

  "This is not a joke?" he asked.

  "This is not a joke."

  "Will you get me in trouble for it?"

  "Listen," she said, "don't ask a lot of stupid questions. I want you, and you want me. That's all there is to it. I'm not up to anything. Will you give me what I want, or do I need to go looking for a man?"

  A muscle rippled in his cheek. "Come with me," he said.

  Kathryn followed him through the dark, winding labyrinth of the basement. He produced a chain of keys and opened a door. They went into a musty-smelling storage room. The superintendent switched on the light. There were old bicycles and steamer trunks piled up everywhere.

  There was also a mattress.

  "Wait," he said. "I fix."

  He found a tennis racket that somebody had stored down there and pounded it against the mattress. Clouds of dust rose and drifted toward the ceiling.

  He went on pounding until the mattress was reasonably clean and almost all the dust was circulating in the air.

  "Give me the coat," he said to her.

  Unabashed, Kathryn slipped out of the trench coat and stood there in complete nudity, her jutting breasts rising and falling rapidly in sensual agitation. But the slim Cuban paid little attention to her bod ' at the moment. He seized her trench coat by the shoulders and waved it in the air, blowing the drifting dust away into the far corners of the room.

  Then he spread the coat out over the mattress, covering it almost entirely. Finally he turned to Kathryn. His eyes sparkled with desire. He reached for her; she rushed to him, and his hands closed on her pulsating, throbbing breasts, and her body writhed against his.

  She could feel the musculature of him through the soiled clothes he was wearing. Excitement coursed in her veins. He would not disappoint her, she knew. This long evening of frustration would have a happy ending.

  His mouth covered hers. He kissed her ardently, passionately, the kiss of a man who has not been near his lazy, pregnant wife in many weeks, and who is seething with inner hungers. His hands groped at her breasts, her buttocks. His breath was not against her cheeks.

  Then he let go of her. He stepped back. Without a word, he began to strip.

  His naked body was everything that Kathryn expected it to be. He was lean and hard, impressively male. His hips were narrow and his chest was deep. There was practically no hair on him, and his Latin skin was gleaming brightly with perspiration.

  He pointed to the mattress.

  "Lie down," he said.

  She sprawled out, back and buttocks against her trench coat, breasts and knees upturned to him. He knelt above her. Almost reverently, he put his hands on her breasts, gripped them a moment, then drew his fingers down the front of her body until they came to the warm, palpitating flesh of her yearning thighs.

  He touched her. Then he put his lips to her.

  He didn't stay there long. It seemed to Kathryn that he was not accustomed to that sort of lovemaking, and that he was doing it simply because he believed that an American girl would like it.

  This particular American girl liked it very much. She tossed her thighs, closed her eyes and lay back, enjoying his intimate caress.

  Then, slowly, his body slid down to cover hers. She felt him becoming insistent. She was wild and eager, and she thrust upward, capturing him. With a little sigh, he drove himself to her.

  At last! Kathryn thought.

  It had been a long, long evening. But now she was at the end of the rainbow, the pot of gold.

  She moved beneath him, putting all the agility and energy of her youthful body into her thrusts. He met her with answering thrusts of power and poise. He was like a coiled spring, tensed, ready to unwind in a shimmering flash.

  Most of the boys that Kathryn had been to bed with in her two-year career of infamy had been high
school kids, sixteen, seventeen years old. They were enthusiastic and energetic, but they didn't really know much about the fine points of love, and their idea of lovemaking was to get aboard and thrash away clumsily for a few minutes. Usually they reached the finale pretty fast, though most of the time Kathryn had been able to get some satisfaction, anyway.

  Only a couple of her sleeping partners had been what could be called experienced men: a college junior who had been around some, and another fellow who was in his early twenties. But now, in the arms of the Cuban, Juan, Kathryn discovered that she had never really tasted the ultimate joys of the body before. All her other lovers had been clumsy buffoons. This one was a man.

  He had finesse.. He had inner confidence. He had a full ration of virility.