Unknown - High School Scandals

And she began to run her fingertips along the tensed flesh of Dallas’s thighs, feeling along them to the nesting of his balls, touching the bone of his penis.

Her hair fell forward over her face as she moved nearer to his prick, blowing warm breath on it, petting the shaft and head so tenderly.

“Going to suck you off teacher,” she murmured. “Going to give you some fine head, while Joey sticks his prick up my ass, or my pussy. I’ll make you come again darling. I promise I’ll make you come again.”

Her lips were hot, and her mouth ravenous; he flinched when she drew the sharpness of her teeth across the skin of his rod, and he felt the head of his swelling cock slide wetly across the roof of the girl’s mouth. She was above it, lowering her face, holding his thighs spread apart, passing her mouth up and down on the stiff trunk of his shaft, and her tongue was doing all kinds of tantalizing tricks over his glands.

“Got to take it out,” Joey said. “I’ll hurt you mama. Here-wiggle your ass some-oh yeah Kathy; now it’s going into your tight little cunt.”

Slowly, in a special voluptuous rapture, Dallas rolled his hips and felt his cockhead bump the cup of the girl’s throat. He gave himself up to the erotic pulling of her mouth.

The kids hadn’t been gone an hour, when Dallas awoke groggily to a heavy banging on his front door. The buzzer sounded loudly, and somebody beat on the door again.

“What the hell,” he mumbled, and stopped to throw on his beat up terrycloth robe before going to the front of the house.

When he opened the door, he saw cops; they weren’t in uniform, but they were definitely cops. Both of them had the weathered look of old gunny sergeants, and about the same kind of softness.

“Dallas Bradburn?”

“Yeah; what do you want?” He rubbed at his eyes and winced. He’d forgotten the cut over his left eye and the bruise under the right one.

The taller man extended a piece of paper. “We have a warrant for your arrest.”

Dallas frowned. “What? On what charge?”

“Aggravated assault, doing great bodily harm. We’ll come in while you get dressed.”

He stood a while longer in the doorway, trying to digest it all. “Am I going to be booked?”

The shorter man moved toward him, making him back into the living room. “Don’t make any trouble mister.”

Dallas asked, “May I make a call from here, or do I have to wait?”

The tall guy said, “We’re not in that much hurry. If you can reach a lawyer on Saturday, go ahead.”

“Thanks,” Dallas said, and picked up the phone. In a few seconds he said, “So!?

Dallas, man. I’m being arrested here in my own house. Assault, they say. Fine, man; I really appreciate it. See you there.”

The short cop was sitting on the arm of the overstuffed chair, surfing the air for the scent of grass, his sharp eyes darting everywhere. “So! Solomon Shapiro. That figures; you’re both long hairs.”

“Is that a charge too?” Dallas asked.

“Don’t get smartass,” the cop said. “I don’t like a smartass hippie.”

The tall man said, “Ease off, Jim; let the guy get dressed.”

“Don’t forget your fucking beads,” the short cop said.

True to his word on the phone, Sol Shapiro met them at the station, and ten minutes later, had bail set and posted. The short cop stared them out of the station and onto the street.

“What the hell you been up to?” the lawyer wanted to know.

Dallas felt his banged-up eye. “You want a beer? I’ll buy a couple over at the spa. It’s cooler there, and I can tell you all about how I assaulted these four big muscle guys who were only trying to get away from me on the beach!”

“That’s interesting,” Shapiro said. “It might even believable.”

In the dimly lighted tavern the lawyer sighed, leaned back and wiped foam off his beard. “That’s cute,” he said. “Dallas if that’s not really cute. This Collins is beating you to the punch man. And I’ll figure that’s smart enough to have the warrant sworn out by only one guy; the other three are going to be witnesses. But basically, I think he meant you to sit out the weekend in jail.

If I wasn’t a pal of Judge Erdrich, you wouldn’t have gotten sprung until Monday, bail or no bail.”

Dallas sipped beer. “And who knows? There might be a couple of big guys waiting for me on the inside.”

Nodding, Shapiro said, “You’re right. But your curly locks are worth it, I gather?”

“You gather, Mend.”

The lawyer thumb nailed his flowing moustache. “Then I’d better check out these four guys; all the way I mean. If they all turn out to be bonafide employees of the same detective agency, it will be somewhat of a help.”

Dallas grinned, and stopped because his lip hurt. “Maybe they were that dumb; I hope so. If they can make this assault charge stick, I’m out of a job.”

“And I’m out a fee,” Shapiro said. “You going to buy another round?”

When Dallas got home, he was glad he hadn’t been driving He was feeling no pain, other than the gripe of being hassled and the assorted lumps and cuts he’d picked up on the beach.

There was no note for him, but then the kids couldn’t have known what happened, not yet. He made a couple of sandwiches and tapered off on cold milk. Then he took another shower and hit the sack, checking once again to see that all the bugs were in place and connected. Setting the timer on his bedside radio, he drifted off to sleep, waking once when the music clicked off, and again sometime before dawn.

Sunday. He went through the early morning routine, and while he was making a bowl of ten-grain cereal, heard the news item on the radio. He was a celebrity, an infamous attacker of innocent men, a wild eyed radical, all “alleged,” of course. Monday was going to be a lot of fun, facing the principal again, if not the assembled school board in special meeting.

The phone rang. “You fucking commie; get outa’ town.”

The phone rang. “Hey, why don’t you go join a commune and leave decent people alone?”

The phone: “Dirty goddamned hippie; get outa’ town.”

Ring, ring: “Dallas Bradburn-I asked you to be sensible. Now see what you ye gotten yourself into, you and that violent temper.”

“Selena,” he said, “You didn’t even ask if I did it.”

When the phone rang again, he almost didn’t answer it, but thought that the guys monitoring his line expected it. He lifted the receiver. The guy said, “We’re with you, Mr. Bradburn. I mean, really with you; today, even.”

He said, “Thanks, friend. I know what you mean.”

And he knew where, which was a lot more important. The young voice had put emphasis in the right places. The communal pad would be a good place to get away from the harassing calls. As Dallas finished eating, the phone kept insisting for attention, but he ignored it.

Getting dressed, he wondered if all the callers were legitimate, or if Collins had a staff of bastard hired to grind him down. The big red-necked son of a bitch was going all out, that was for certain. He left the phone ringing and walked outside. There were no other cars in sight at the moment, but he didn’t doubt that private fuzz were lurking somewhere close.

Five blocks from home, a red light flashed in the VW’s rear window, and Dallas automatically pulled to the curb. It was driver’s license, registration and get out of the car, in that order.

“Put your hands on the car; spread your feet and move them back. You heard me jack. Right now!

They shook him down carefully, and one of them stood over him while another went through the car, taking a lot of time and trouble. The cop sounded disappointed when he said, “Clean.”