Richard Laymon - Island

She sneered at me. “What was I supposed to do, come by myself? I figured, better you than no one.”

“Oh, thanks a heap.”

“Well, you asked. Besides, I used to think I liked you.”

That one actually sort of hurt.

“I thought I loved you,” she said.

That one stunned me so much I wondered if it was a lie.

“If you loved me,” I said, “you had a funny way of showing it.”

“What, because I wouldn’t jump into bed with you?”

“No!”

“I happen to be very particular about who I jump into bed with, buddy. It’s a very select few, as a matter of fact. I have to be one hundred per cent sure of a guy… and I had my doubts about you from the start. Thank God I didn’t give in. But maybe you’ll have more luck with my mom… or Kimberly. It’s so disgustingly obvious that you’d rather fuck one of them…”

“Knock it off,” I said. “Man! Your father got his head chopped in half this morning; how in hell can you be talking like this?”

“Maybe it’s time for a little honesty, that’s how. Why go around lying and being a phoney about everything if we’re all gonna get killed anyway? You know? Screw it. From now on, I say what I think.”

“You mean, you haven’t been? Could’ve fooled me. But you know what? I don’t see more honesty here; all I see is that you’re getting more energetic in your nastiness.”

“Fuck you.”

“That’s original.”

That was apparently the final straw.

Or she just figured it was time to start the show.

She started it by twisting her face so she looked like a maniac. Then she hissed through her teeth and she leaped at me. Didn’t bother to go around the fire—sprang over it, instead. I didn’t even have time to stand up before she crashed down on top of me and slammed me backward into the sand.

She seemed to be all knees and elbows and fists.

Next thing I knew, she was sitting on my stomach. The knees and elbows no longer jabbed into me, but her fists kept smacking me in the face.

I put up my arms to block them.

And gasped things like, “Stop it! Shit! That hurts! Hey!”

I knew better than to think she was simply trying to make our fight look good for Wesley; she was trying to inflict damage on me.

And succeeding.

I’ve got a thing about hitting girls.

The thing is, I don’t do it.

If you aren’t some kind of a pervert or shit, you’ve got a deep-down revulsion when it comes to hurting a female.

So even though Connie was pounding me pretty well, I couldn’t bring myself to slug her. I tried to defend myself by blocking her blows. Then I managed to catch hold of her arms. She lurched and twisted.

“Stop it!” I gasped.

She kept trying to jerk her arms free, so I bucked and threw her off me. We rolled, and I got on top of her. I sat across her hips and leaned forward and pinned her arms down. She wouldn’t stop squirming, though. Afraid she might throw me off, I stretched her arms up past her head and put as much weight on her as I could. We were belly to belly, chest to chest, face to face.

Pretty soon, she quit struggling. She lay under me, gasping for air.

We were so tight together that I could feel the pounding of her heart. I also felt the push of her breasts against my chest. And her breath on my lips.

“Get off,” she said.

I stayed.

She was between my legs, and our groins were pressed together. She had sort of a mound down there that pushed against me.

“Get off, damn it!”

I’d never been this close to her before, never had so much actual contact. It started having an effect on me.

“Oh, terrific,” she muttered.

She’d noticed.

“Get off me, for Godsake. We’re supposed to be fighting. Leave it to you…”

“Sorry.” I let go of her wrists and shoved against the sand and started to push myself up.

“Get it over with,” she said.

“What?”

“What do you mean, what? Slug me, knock me out.”

“Shouldn’t we get on our feet first?”

“What, so I get a chance to fall down? I’m already down. Go ahead and do it.”

“This isn’t the right way. It won’t look right.”

“Okay,” she said. And her right arm shot up. She punched the side of my face so hard that I toppled over sideways. I flopped onto my back. She stood up.

“This how you want it?” she asked.

“Yeah,” I said.

She wasn’t playing the game I expected, but at least she was on her feet, up where Wesley could get a good view of her. When I tried to stand, she rushed in and kicked me over. On my second try, I blocked her kick and staggered up.

More like it.

We started circling each other, hunched over, hands out like a couple of disarmed knife-fighters. She made a lunge as if to grab me. I leaped out of reach.

Suddenly, she pulled her T-shirt off. She tossed it to the sand. “This better?” she asked.

I couldn’t believe she’d done it. Miss Prude. Up till then, she hadn’t even taken off the shirt to go swimming. She had a tan, though. She must’ve gone without it sometime, just not in front of me.

She didn’t look bad.

“Think I’ve got his attention now?” she asked.

“Probably.”

“Yeah? Just probably?”

Her right hand darted out.

Slapped my face.

Not a hard slap. It didn’t hurt as much as her punches, but it stung my ego. It was a humiliating taunt, just as she’d meant it to be.

I pressed a hand to my face.

She slapped the back of my hand, then pranced backward.

“They’re on the move,” she said.

“Huh?”

“Your girlfriends. Remember? The plan?”

I started to turn my head.

Connie stopped me. Stopped me dead by crossing her arms and grabbing the front of her bikini top with both hands and tugging it up. Her breasts seemed to spring out from under it. And there they were, right in front of me. Loose all of a sudden, they jiggled. They lifted and nearly went away, turning into small slopes, as she raised her arms and shucked the bikini top off over her head. When she put her arms down, her breasts came back out.

They looked so naked. They weren’t tanned at all, but had a pinkish hue from the firelight. The nipples looked big and dark.

“Think he’s distracted now?” she asked.

I didn’t even try to answer.

Letting out a huff of laughter, she tossed her orange top aside with one hand and slapped my face with the other. Before I could do anything about the slap, she leaped out of range.

We went back to circling each other.

She was wonderful to watch—the way she was bent over with her arms out, naked except for the waistband and meager orange front panel of her bikini pants, her skin ruddy and shimmering in the firelight, her hair golden—and how her prancing, lurching movements made her breasts bounce and bob.

For me, it was like something in a wild dream.

For Wesley, it must’ve been pretty exciting, too.

The absolute perfect diversion, just so long as the guy you’re trying to distract isn’t dead, blind or gay.

If our campfire was in view of Wesley’s hiding place, his eyes were glued to Connie. Not a shadow of a doubt about that.

Connie darted in and slapped me again.

I didn’t mind.

It was a good, sharp smack, but the view was stunning.

“Do it now,” Connie said, circling again.

“What?”

“Knock me out.”

I shook my head. “Too soon.”

“Isn’t. They’re there.”

“Are you sure?”

“Damn it, Rupert! Quit stalling.”

“I can’t hit you.”

“It’s pretend, remember? My Christ, this was your plan in the first place. Let’s do it! I’ll come in at you.”

“I don’t…”

“Now!”