That girl was DesirЋe Mitchell, the rarest flower he had ever cared to pick. She had lightish, honey-blonde hair that dropped to her mid-back, a body of a model's proportions but with a hint of sexy baby fat, and a big pair of round, fruitlike breasts that begged to be stroked and sucked. Her eyes were wide and blue and her lips full enough to be sensual without being bimbo-ish, for there was no denying her intelligence.

Clete knew that she had had to pass up a musical scholarship at Northwestern U in Chicago when her father, a successful corporate lawyer and a puritan fearing for his daughter's chastity, sold their home in the Windy City and moved to the safety of the massive farm he had bought her in this county, taking her from the danger of fraternities and sororities and drugs and college orgies to the serenity of the country. Not that DesirЋe would have fallen in with all the "sin", for she simply was not the kind. It was just that her father couldn't trust her and thought she should spend another couple of years under his wing. Clete knew all this from listening to the gossip around town and it interested him to find out what this lovely girl was doing.

So every Sunday he stood outside the church where she dutifully and willingly attended, and she was always up front with the choir, singing solos for the congregation in that heart-melting soprano voice that had made her the recipient of three university scholarships. Today, Clete had stood in the door while she sang and smiled broadly when her eyes fell upon his dark face. He wondered if his lust for her showed too strongly in his eyes, for, even though he had found a future wife in Nancy Pace, he had every intention of fucking DesirЋe Mitchell, at least once in his life, if not more.