Alice Murphy turned on the bed, her long, satiny blonde hair cascading over the pillow, forming a soft cushion for her head that lay heavily back against it. A thin sheet covered her body from the warm Florida summer breeze that blew gently in from the open window.

She had the body of a lush Venus, its provocative curves traced in detail through the gossamer, clinging sheet. It barely hid the high-set, round, widely spaced breast whose rose-tipped nipples clearly showed through the thin fabric. The sheet tapered down over a slender, girlish waist to round, luscious hips, a flat, smooth stomach and long, full-swelling thighs; breathtaking curved calves tapered down to thin, well-formed ankles. It was a body that would attract admiring attention from the most discriminating of men – and envy from women.

The honey-blonde hair on the pillow framed a heart-shaped face that would cause any male to turn his head when she passed. Her hazel eyes were set slightly apart, and she had a dainty, almost Doris Day nose, a full, ripe mouth, and a round, dimpled chin, and a soft, slightly tanned ivory complexion. But at the moment, her lovely face was drawn in lines of worry and dejection, and calm sleep escaped her, making her toss fretfully, moaning occasionally in a soft, sighing voice.

Alice was worried because of her daughter, Sandy. It was Friday night – date night for all the girls in Sandy's high school – and her sixteen-year-old child was, like the others, out. That's all it ever seemed she was, Alice mused. Where have you been? Out. What did you do? Nothing… Alice wasn't afraid that Sandy was promiscuous or anything terrible like that; Sandy had been a virgin at the last checkup according to Doctor Webster, and she was a good girl by nature. But Alice was well aware of the traps and snares young people could fall into in this permissive age, and she had the natural fears which mothers, especially widowed mothers raising their children alone, have about the recklessness of innocent youth.