"Every Man For Anne" - читать интересную книгу автора (Peters Staci)

Chapter 2

New Concord was a growing town. Year after year, slowly but always steadily, this quiet college town expanded. And George Weston's fortunes rose with the development of New Concord. Weston had been the senior partner in a building supplies company, which had prospered as the community enlarged.

The University had a long-established reputation which was further enhanced by the addition of two new colleges, and then in the sixties New Concord had been chosen as the site for the Institute for Advanced Computer Technology. That was another windfall for Weston's company. They had also just completed the contract to help build the new Center for Military Studies, a steel-and-glass structure carefully blended with the more traditional architecture that surrounded it. New Concord had indeed been good to George Weston and his family.

Larry, Anne's elder brother, had left for England. Father and son had an easygoing relationship, founded on trust if not mutual understanding. Larry was an excellent student of political science, but George Weston confessed that he never could figure out what his son saw in rock music. It was another important way of putting across basic political truths, Larry told him often enough. It was the surest way to communicate with other young people. George would shake his head every time no matter how carefully Larry tried to explain it; still, better that he should be involved with his own rock band than hot-rodding round the gravel pits or aimlessly hanging around the bar at the Excelsior Hotel like so many of the other kids. And besides, George was secretly proud of his son. After all, he had managed to earn enough playing at high school dances and Christmas patties to pay much the larger part of his tuition fees at the University of New Concord. Now that sort of get-up-and-go, that kind of self-reliance, was something George did understand, and he was especially pleased to see it in his boy.

Larry had graduated the year before, and had immediately left to hitchhike around Europe with Jim Cavendish, his best friend and the drummer in their band, before commencing graduate studies at the London School of Economics. "He'll make out all right," George often told his wife Jean, "and we can't hold it against him if he doesn't want to join my arm." Perhaps deep down inside George Weston was just a little disappointed that Larry didn't want to take over from him, but he was wise enough to know that he had no right to upset Larry's ambitions by forcing him to work in building supplies.

With no one to whom he could pass on his share of Weston, Hawthorn, and Smith, George decided to retire early, much to the delight of his wife. "I'll just see how it suits me," he had said, "and if I get bored I'll start up another little business of my own." He'd always been a keen stamp and coin collector and at the back of his mind was the idea of a small philately dealership in New Concord. There was no competition and he'd already picked out a possible spot. In the new Parkside Shopping Mall development. "Before you start talking about throwing yourself into another business," Jean had said, "we're going to celebrate by taking that trip we've always talked about."

Jean Weston had a passion for ancient history. Years ago she had taken an undergraduate degree in Classical Studies. The house was full of coffee table volumes on the art and architecture of the ancient world, books on mythology, and novels set in the heroic ages of Greece and Rome. Now with George retiring she had the chance she'd longed for to take a leisurely cruise around her beloved Mediterranean. She planned it all through the cold winter months, pouring over every glossy pamphlet that the travel agent could supply. George left her to it and let Jean arrange the whole thing. His one major suggestion had been that they might return via England so they could stop by and see how Larry was getting on in London.

Anne was looking forward to her parents' holiday almost as much as they were. Not that she had anything particularly wicked in mind, but she knew it would be fun to have the run of the house for a whole summer. George and Jean Weston had debated what they should do about leaving Anne all to herself for three months and finally decided they should do absolutely nothing. "DO her good to look after herself for a while," George had said, "it'll build up her self-confidence, just you see." "Of course it'll be all right," Jean finally agreed. "And it's not as if she'll be all alone for she'll always have Silke for company."

Silke Sommers had arrived in New Concord the year before. She'd come over from Munich to get her first degree at an American college. Her father, a wealthy manufacturer, fully realized the value of fluency in English and an understanding of the American outlook; after all, his business success was founded on it. Silke had met the Westons in her first week at New Concord. Now that Larry was away they had decided to finish a minor conversion to the basement and rent it out to a girl student. Jean thought it would be nice for Anne to have a companion who would also be a next-door neighbor, as it were, and Silke was certainly no disappointment it suited the German girl admirably, as quiet tree-lined Russell Avenue where the Westons lived was only an eight-minute walk from the campus. She'd taken an immediate liking to Anne and the two had become firm Mends. Although Silke was taking History and German, an easy option for her, she'd enrolled in Creative Writing as an elective in order to share at least one class with Anne. Anyway, it was a good opportunity to practice and develop her own expression in English.

The two girls had driven George and Jean out to the airport to see them off, and on the way back they'd daydreamed wildly about all they were going to do now they had the place to themselves. Actually, very little changed, as both Anne and Silke worked hard on completing their college year successfully. They'd both picked courses that stressed participation, seminar work, and take-home essay exams, so that neither of them had finals to face once classes were over. Of course, it hadn't been all work and no play. Silke didn't have to kick Greg out early since there was no one, to see her boyfriend's coming and going. And Anne reveled in the freedom of staying in the lounge and letting Bill fuck the pants off her after she'd teased him all evening. Once he was sitting in the big comfy chair in front of the television with his trousers open whilst Anne gently rubbed him off, when Silke came knocking at the connecting door by the stairs. He'd only just tucked, his stiff cock out of sight when Silke strolled into the sitting room. She'd only come up to borrow some tonic water, but it was obvious from the twinkle in her eyes that she guessed just what Anne and Bill were up to. Bill would have been most surprised if he knew that Anne and Silke compared notes on their sexual adventures.

For the last couple of weeks they'd only seen the fellows in the coffee shop, or met them outside the library, as the girls were both busy finishing off their term papers. Sixty percent of their marks rode on the essays they were to hand in to Professor Martin, the Creative Writing teacher. Bill could almost feel his balls ache at the memory of Anne's handling of him in the drive-in; he could hardly wait for the end of term and the chance to put into practice a little of what they'd seen in Deeper and Deeper. He'd ‘told Greg what an utterly fantastic sucking session was the movie's climax, and, although Greg didn't say anything, he too was more than eager to stick his fat cock once again into the moist cavern of Silke's sensuous mouth. This was really going to be some end-of-the-term celebration, the boys thought in their separate ways.

One evening, just before Anne's parents had left for their cruise, the two girls had gotten together in Silke's small apartment to discuss their strategy for doing well in Creative Writing. They figured the fellows would either try to do an action piece (of which they had little experience) S imitate some kind of episode from Catcher in the Rye; as for the girls why, they'd probably do some character study drawn from their family or some phony romantic scene. They had to be different Ann and Silke decided, really different, and even shock Martin into noticing their papers. Anne finally decided to use the Bronco Drive-in as a cross-section of New Concord's inhabitants, one which revealed the moral reality hidden beneath the surface of the quiet college town. Oh, she'd change the names all right to protect the guilty, she promised Silke, but otherwise it'd, be no holds barred. After a while Silke decided to reject a possible confession about life in a German girls' boarding school and settled instead on an Incident that had happened on her flight over to America. "It's outrageous," Anne had laughed when Silke first told her about it, "but that's just why he'll sit up and take notice?

They had handed in their papers a week and a half before classes ended and got on with finishing their take-home finals. The two girls seemed to have reached an unspoken understanding not to discuss and worry over their essays but to wait till they got them back before broaching the subject again.

John Martin had tacked a notice to his office door: The term papers for Creative Writing 241 have been left with the department secretary. Anne walked down to the glass-fronted office. "Hi, June. Have you got the papers that Martin's just marked?"

"Sure. They're over there." June gestured toward the pile of essays on the table beside her desk.

Anne walked around the front counter and flicked through the heap.

"Here it is," she said, extracting the paper in its blue plastic covering. She turned to leave. She was dying to get away on her own and find out the mark, but she resisted the temptation to do it there and then in the office.

"Oh, by the way," the secretary said, "Silke dropped by to pick up hers about fifteen minutes ago. Said she'd got some shopping to do and would see you back home later."

"Thanks, June," Anne called out over her shoulder as she left the office with a quickening step.

Elizabeth Kendall, who taught American Poetry, bumped into Anne outside the Faculty of Arts building.

"Hello, Anne. Can I walk with you?" she asked, as they were evidently both going in the same direction.

"I was extremely pleased with your analysis of Anabel Lee," Elizabeth told her as they crossed the lush green field that the university centered around. ‘Most students mistakenly think Poe is a fairly easy subject, that the symbolism is all rather apparent… your tentative approach to his work was rather refreshing."

"Thank you," said Anne, her mind firmly on the essay which was burning a hole in her canvas carry-all.

"Yes. I shouldn't really tell you before you receive official notification of your grades, but I gave you a solid ‘A'. Eighty-six percent, I think it was."

"That's marvelous, thank you; I really did enjoy the course!"

"Are you going to enroll in my specialized reading course on Whitman next term?"

"I think I will," said Anne rather absent-mindedly.

A few moments later Professor Kendall said: "Well, here's where I must leave you: I'm going to catch the bus downtown."

"Oh," said Anne as her mind focused attention once more on her surroundings. "Thank you again. And have a good holiday."

"I'll certainly try to;… lots of preparation to get on with though."

Ann left Elizabeth Kendall at the bus stop, turned the corner into Russell Avenue; and fairly flew home. She jumped up the front steps two at a time, fumbled with the key in the lock, and hurried indoors. She threw the canvas bag down by the coffee table in the lounge and very deliberately went out to the kitchen and poured herself an ice-cold lemonade from the fridge. Only then did she sit down and reach for the paper, quite tingling with anticipation.

Anne couldn't believe it. She just couldn't believe it. There on the final page was the mark in bold red felt pen: "A disappointing effort. 34/60. Overall grade, 61%/C-minus."

"C-minus shit!" she exclaimed bitterly. Anne read his final comment: "I'm being generous in giving you a C-minus."

Anne blinked back the hot tears which stung her eyes. She flipped back through the pages: "… merely an adolescent fantasy… why this obsession with physical activity, there's more to people than that… crudely expressed… is this supposed to shock me?"

"Damn him," she said out loud. "Damn John Martin's eyes!"

Fuck that bastard, she thought, this awful mark absolutely blows my chance for a scholarship next year. She had so wanted to show her father that Larry wasn't the only one who could put himself through college. It wasn't just a game of seeing if she could best her brother, but her father did put a lot of store in people making do for themselves. Even Professor Kendall's good mark was wasted now. She threw her essay on the floor.

"Jeez, the bastard," she said again. "Fuck his bloody generosity. A lousy C-fucking-minus."

She lay back on the couch and the tears burned down her cheeks. Anne was furious. She sobbed for a moment then wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand. She didn't even hear Silke's knock on the interconnecting door. Anne was suddenly aware of her friend's presence when Silke said quietly: "So you got screwed too."

"I can't believe it," Anne said. "C-minus. How did you do?"

"I got a C too. Sixty-four percent overall."

"What a prick," replied Anne, choking back another bout of tears. "What was he expecting, another Hemingway?"

"I've no doubt some of the other kids handed in Hemingway imitations, probably got good marks for them too. As soon as I saw how he'd graded mine, I guessed yours would be pretty much the same."

"I'll never get that scholarship now," said Anne, as the tears trickled down again.

"I'm sorry," Silke consoled her. "I'll put on the kettle. Let's have a cup of tea for a change."

Anne just lay there staring at the ceiling, vaguely listening to her friend go through the motion of putting the kettle on the stove. Silke called out to her from the kitchen. "I guess I was overconfident I thought after the last term's results I just might have got through with straight A's."

She came back into the lounge carrying a tray with two glass tumblers on it. "That fucker's spoiled it now. What a blot on my record! Here, a shot of this'll make us feel better."

Anne reached up and accepted the jigger of brandy. Her nose wrinkled a little at the strong aroma.

"Come on, drink it down," Silke ordered as she placed her own glass and the bottle on the coffee table. "It'll do you good, Anne."

Anne wasn't very fond of brandy but she swigged ft-back in one long gulp. She put the glass down and coughed violently. Silke sat down beside her and started to pat her back and rub it with a circling motion. Anne calmed down a bit.

"Here I am always telling Dad that women can stand on their own two feet, and now I'll have to go to him and ask for next year's tuition fees," she choked again. "What a bummer… and all because of that bloody puritan, John Martin."

"Your Dad won't mind…" began Silke.

"That's not the point," Anne cut in. "I guess I wanted to prove it to myself as much as to please him."

Silke went out and got the tea. She put the cups on the table and poured another finger of brandy.

"There you are, have another one. You can use the tea as a chaser."

"What kind is it?"

"Earl Grey," said Silke. "Come on, drink up."

"It's a bit early in the day for all this," said Anne. "What are you trying to do-get me drunk?"

"That wouldn't be a bad idea for both of us," Silke said quite seriously. "It's just what I feel like doing."

This time Anne sipped at the strong spirits. "I'm sorry," she said.

"Pardon?"

"I'm sorry I got you into this mess. I don't have a straight-A record, but I can imagine how disappointed you must feel."

"Here, now," said Silke, "you didn't get me into this, we both got into it together. It was a mutual decision."

"I suppose you're right," Anne agreed. "But it did seem like a good idea at the time."

She curled back up on the couch, laying her head in her friend's lap.

"I still think it was a good idea," Silke said firmly. "Anyway, I enjoyed doing it a lot more than I would have done if I had simply written about my first impressions of America or something corny like that. Come to think of it, Russ was my first impression of the States."

Anne half-listened to her friend's consoling chatter but she still felt bitter about the let-down she'd received at the hands of John Martin. Involuntarily another tear trickled down her cheek. Silke bent forward and kissed it away, then with the point of her tongue she licked away the track of tears on her other cheek. She ended by kissing Anne on her forehead.

"Oh, Silke," Anne murmured as she pulled her friend down closer. The two girls kissed each other full on the lips. Silke's tongue pushed its way into Anne's mouth.

With her hand Silke swept back Anne's long hair from her neck and kissed her gently there before nibbling at her ear. Anne squirmed with surprised delight when Silke poked her tongue in her ear and swirled it around. "Kiss me again," she said urgently.

This time their mouths met in open invitation. Silke slid her hand down and caressed Anne's breasts. Beneath the sheer blouse her nipple hardened in response. She made no move to halt Silke's exploring fingers. One, two. She slipped the blouse open and pushed her hand inside. She cupped the whole mound of Anne's, left breast then bent down to suck on it.

Anne wriggled with the thrill of her friend's lips rolling the taut buttons on her fits and half-slipped off the couch. The two girls roiled onto the thick shag carpet. Anne's top was open to the waist now and she reached up to undo Silke's shirt. Neither of them was wearing a bra. Silke alternated her attention between Anne's breasts and nibbling on her earlobe.

"That feels so good," moaned Anne. Silke let her hand stray lower and rubbed it along the inside of Anne's thigh.

"Anne… Anne… " she repeated softly. Silke sat with her head against the seat of the couch and held Anne's head to her chest. Anne sucked greedily at Silke's tits. She sucked them as a grateful baby might, while Silke's fingers probed the flimsy defenses of her briefs. The German girl slipped her fingers underneath the elastic edge and played with the tuft of pussy hair that she could fell.

"Anne, lie back," Silke breathed in her friend's ear. Anne obediently lay on her back but reached forward with open arms for Silke.

"Good, it's so good," she murmured. "Don't stop… don't stop."

Site had no Intention of stopping now. She pushed her tongue deep into Anne's mouth, while her finger slid into Anne's juicy cunt. In and out, in and out, she finger-fucked her friend. Anne sucked on Silke's tongue as she reveled in this delicious frigging. She ground her hips into the carpet and shuddered convulsively as she spent her orgasm. Silke held her tightly. It was several moments before either of them spoke.

"Wow, that was fantastic," said Anne, breaking the enchanted silence. She sat up, catching her breath, then putting her arm around Silke's shoulder she kissed her a warm thank-you on the cheek.

Site looked at her lovingly. "It was all my pleasure, Anne. You don't know how I've longed to be with you like that."

"What do you mean?" asked Anne. "You go out with Greg and…"

"Of course I go out with Greg. And I sleep with him whenever I fancy it… but that doesn't stop me from wanting you."

"Wanting me?"

"Sure. Just because I like getting fucked by a fellow, doesn't mean I can't appreciate and enjoy a girl's attentions, or giving them for that matter."

"I'm not sure I really understand," Anne said as she sipped on the cup of tea, which had cooled down considerably now. "I feel like a cigarette, how about you?"

Anne got up, straightening her skirt as she did S. but she didn't bother to button up her blouse again. She lit two Pall Mall filters at once and handed one over to Silke.

"You did enjoy it, didn't you? Silke asked her.

"I should have thought that was obvious," said Anne, making a little stroking motion on the front of her skirt.

"Well, so did I," said Silke. "You know a private boarding school can be a pretty lonely place for healthy growing girls. We used to relieve our frustration, in the dormitory after the lights went out."

"Thinking about it… you really are most skillful," Anne complimented her.

"Practice, sweetheart," she laughed, "lots of practice."

"Didn't it put you off boys?"

"Hell, no. No way. One afternoon I got fucked by a young gardener in the woods by our horse-riding trail. And in the evening I recounted the whole episode to my friend, Elke, while she was busy sucking me off."

Anne smiled devilishly: "I bet you give pretty good head too?"

"Sure," said Silke, "Maybe tonight I'll show you just how good. Let's face it, girls know their way round a pussy better than any guy. That's why we can give each other so much pleasure when we go down for a little feast."

"I'd never thought of it like that," confessed Anne. "I guess you're right."

"Any sex is great," Silke reassured her, "so long as your heart's in it. What should it matter if I sleep with Greg or with you?"

"You're not seeing Greg tonight, are you?" Anne asked, with a slightly disappointed edge in her voice.

"No," laughed Silke. "Let's stay in together on our own tonight."

"Great," said Anne, with evident relief. "I know, let's get out some beers and phone for a pizza. Then you can teach me all your tricks. I can see I've got a lot of catching up to do."

"O.K." said Silke, secretly pleased at Anne's obvious delight in this new dimension that she had opened up for her friend. "Let's call it mutual consolation."

Anne set her cup down sharply. That last remark had made reality come flooding back in.

"Jeez, I'd like to get my hands on John Martin. Adolescent fantasy… what the fuck does he know?"

"I know what you mean… I'd like to show him a thing or two myself. Bloody prude!"

Anne finished off the drop of brandy in her glass and washed it down with the rest of her tea.

"I'd like to make that mean bastard pay…" She stopped, now fantasizing about the kind of revenge she'd take.

It was quite a few moments before Silke said: "It would be better for us if we could change his mind."

"Change his mind?" queried Anne. "What do you mean?"

"Well, the final marks don't have to be in until the end of next week, so I doubt if he's submitted his official grade report yet… "

"… and if we could change his mind before then," Anne took up the theme eagerly, "he might up our grades before feeding them into the computer."

"That's the general idea. Of course, I haven't a clue how we could do it"

Both the girls sat there in silence, mulling over the problem.

"How about going to ‘his office and seducing him," suggested Anne half-heartedly. "Give me an A and I'll let you fuck me here on the desk."

Site said nothing, just stared blankly ahead of her. Anne trailed on: "No, that's been tried so many times before. Martin's too smart to let that sway him. He'd probably have the time of his life and then still end up giving you a C out of pure meanness."

"There is a way… " Silke said very slowly. "There is a way we might change his mind."

"How's that?"

"Make him see that our stories aren't just daydreams but do reflect what's-going on now."

"Aw, he's convinced it's a lot of juvenile fantasy."

"Maybe we didn't shock him enough," Silke said, looking Anne in the eyes. "You remember that English novel he made us read as a fine example of, what was it, ‘inner narrative'… "

"Psychological revelation, he called it," said Anne.

"Right. The one about the chap who keeps the girl captive in his cellar. Oh, what was it called? The Collection, or something like that."

"Whatever. I remember it now. Go on."

"Well, if we turned the tables on him," Silke continued, warming up to her own plan, "we might be able to persuade him or shock him into changing his mind."

"Great!" said Anne. "But how do you propose we get our hands on the happily married Professor Martin? I presume he is happily married?"

"Yeah, that's the problem."

"Well, you think about it. I'm going to phone out for that pizza. All the trimmings?

"The works," Silke nodded.

A few minutes later she came charging into the kitchen as Anne was hanging up the wall phone.

"I've got it!" she exclaimed. "There was something in this week's bulletin. Have you got a copy?"

"Sure… oh, shit, I've thrown it away."

Anne held up a finger indicating inspiration and then she pushed on the pedal of the waste-bin.

"Here it is," she said, fishing out the crumpled bail of the University Bulletin. It had already soaked up the stains of the previous evening's coffee grounds. "Ugh, what a mess."

"It's on the back page… where it lists faculty activities," said Silke, as Anne straightened out the paper. "Look, there it is."

Anne read the item and smiled, "A heaven-sent opportunity."

She threw the damp paper into the air and clapped her hands for joy. Silke started laughing and in between fits she described her plan to Anne.

They were both still giggling when the delivery boy arrived with the pizza.