Rex Taylor: Turned on family

"Listen," she repeated, knowing that she had the floor for the moment. Her eyes flickered towards the tape recorder. It made a very soft humming sound, or was that the air conditioning? She wasn't sure, but the presence of the recording machine made her choose her words carefully. "I didn't start anything," she said. "Anything at all. Sean was the one. He came home early, found me asleep in his bed, where you told me to sack out, remember? And he tried to feel me up while I was out of it. You know what he told me? I hate to tell tales on him, but he told me he was horny all the time. Jesus, he thinks about sex a lot! That's normal!" Should she mention Sean's confession, that his mother's nonchalant bralessness and his sister's campaign of peeks kept his cock hard almost all the time he was at home? No. Not yet, anyway. "Besides, some girl would have let him ball her sooner or later. Better for him it was somebody who already knew how."

She stopped, wondering if she should go on. What about Jamie's eager voyeurism, her even more eager initiation at her brother's hands? And how should she describe what she and Jamie had done together while Sean was sleeping off his orgasms, or the manner in which she and Sam had sexed it up on the sofa in her living room? Robin was in trouble, damn straight, and the worst of it was that it really wasn't her own fault. She'd been acted upon as much as she'd acted in her own right.

Laurel's face was gray with shock. She looked ten years older than she had yesterday. Such a shame, Robin thought. She was a lovely woman. But it was Laurel's fault, too. Why couldn't she have trusted her daughter alone for one lousy night? Why did she have to be so overprotective as to hire a babysitter for a girl who didn't need one?

That was it! "Ms. Willis," Robin added, "I think you ought to know that you're nearly as much to blame as I am. Jamie's growing up. She's interested in sex. I know that I was. But you tried to muzzle her, to make her stay a baby. Maybe you're just afraid tat you're growing old yourself, but you can't."

Laurel didn't want to hear what she couldn't do. She threw herself on Robin, frothing, fuming, her fists batting and striking. She scratched and slapped at the blonde girl, almost knocking Robin to the floor with the frenzy of her attack, but Robin refused to fight back.

Amazed at the girl's passivity, Laurel began to hit Robin all the more vigorously, but the blows were strangely impotent, as though her raging strength were dissipating by the second. Her slaps became weaker and weaker.

Sympathy for Laurel radiated from every pore of Robin's body, and she held out her hands. They touched Laurel's neck and pulled the older woman's face closer to Robin's, and the blonde girl sighed as she realized what she was preparing to do.

Her mouth crushed upon Laurel's in a wet, tender kiss that attempted to sum up all Robin's apologetic sorrow.

Laurel strained to free herself, her hands flapping weakly in the air, unable now to find their target. She was so small, so pathetically tiny, and the teenager was so tall, so strong. Laurel's mouth opened suddenly, offering its warm heat to Robin, and the hands which only a second before had been flailing the blonde girl now wrapped around Robin's back. The two women melted into an embrace, Laurel on her tiptoes. Their tits rubbed together, their bellies touched, and Laurel felt herself being held up in Robin's strong grip. All the wrath that had flamed inside her seemed to vanish as she threw herself all the harder against the young girl she had only just been determined to murder.

Oh, she thought, what was happening to her?

And just as it seemed that both women were on the verge of discovering the true extent of their suddenly revealed lust for one another, Robin and Laurel felt rude, strange fingers touch their bodies and cruel hands that jerked them apart.

Dazed, stunned, they looked around, unable to reconcile the passion of their impromptu kiss with the abrupt way it had ended. "Hi," said Punch, and Timmy, and the Spider.

"Oh, Jesus!" whispered Robin.

Laurel came to her senses very slowly. Everything was happening so fast she wasn't sure who she was, what she was, where she was. Her hands combed and brushed at her tousled dark hair. "What's going on?" she mumbled.

"It's them," Robin said. "The guys who tried to rape me yesterday." Or did Mrs. Willis know about that? If she didn't, it was too late to explain now. Robin looked at their leering faces and the perfect improvisation came to her. "Look," she said, "Mr. Willis, the guy who chased you off yesterday, is in the next room. If one of us hollers, he'll come in here and wipe up the floor with you."

"Sure," said the Spider. "He's waiting for seconds, once you and this old broad finish dyking each other. Cut the shit, bitch! We cased this place before we came inside, and there's nobody here but us chickens."

Fear reduced Robin to a shell of quivering jelly. Spider's hand seized her wrist and he reeled her towards him. One of his hands cupped her tit through her thin green shirt. She was braless underneath, as always, and he could feel the fat puff of her dark nipple. "Mmm," he enthused, "you got nice boobs! Bet they taste as good as they, feel. How 'bout it, lady?" he added, looking at Laurel. "Do they taste sweet or don't they?"

"Get out of my house!" Laurel snapped, presence of mind beginning to return to her. She started to move towards Spider and Robin, but the leering young man raised his fist and backhanded her across the mouth. Laurel staggered, stumbled into the table, knocked the chair scattering to the floor on its back. She drew her fingers across her lips, staring down at the trickle of blood that anointed them.

"We're goin'," Spider said, "but we have to take your little lovebird with us. You can spare her for a while, can't you?"

As Spider spoke, something seemed to occur to Timmy, and he went to his friend's side, whispering into the Spider's ear in a voice too low for Robin to hear precisely. Spider looked up, solemn-faced.

"Yeah," he said. "That's right." He looked at the women. "There's been a little change in plans. Looks like both of you gonna have to come along with us. Leave the old broad here, she might do something silly."

Laurel's face was dead-white as she started towards the wall phone beside the door. "I'm calling the police," she said finally.

Punch was leaning on the door, looking as if he'd rather be somewhere else. But when she moved, he sprang into life, catching Laurel by the hands. "You do, and you die," he said calmly. Laurel twisted her head, looking over her shoulder. Timmy had fished a knife from his pocket, a vicious switchblade. It gleamed wickedly and her eyes enlarged as she began to whimper.

"We better get goin'," Punch said. "Somebody might come bargin' in anytime." He shifted from leg to leg while holding Laurel, as if he were struggling to keep from pissing himself.

"You'll never get away with this, Spider," Robin said with an assurance that surprised her.

"What's the matter?" he asked innocently. "We just want you to come down and take a look at our place by the river. That's all. No need to be so fuckin' unfriendly about it." He jerked at her hand, but Robin refused to budge. "Move it, bitch!" he barked, his voice changing from wheedle to threat, and she felt a knife point touch her ribcage. She had to move it. What else could she do?

The black and white '58 was outside in the driveway, blocking Robin's car. She and Laurel couldn't have escaped in the Pinto even if by some miracle they'd been able to break free of the hands that held them. Across the street a neighbor of the Willises was mowing his lawn, riding on a miniature tractor, he didn't even look up. As they were hustled into the car, Robin wondered if the tape recorder were still running. Maybe, if she and Laurel lived through whatever was about to happen, they could play the cassette at parties and tell their friends, "This is what a kidnaping sounds like." Big fucking deal!