Don understood, now, and suddenly, his big Japanese motorcycle was nothing but real kid stuff. He had to have a car! Christ! No wonder he hadn't been making it… as often as he would like. It's the dudes with the cars that are scoring, man!

"You better park it in the alley!" she told him.

"Right on!" he agreed and went to do as she suggested. He was elated. She was practically inviting him to stay, although she had not said it in so many words. Her meaning was clear enough to him.

Marcy Lunceford met him on the back walk, just inside the gate. It was dark now, and she put an arm around him, snuggling close and led the way to an old-fashioned, screen-enclosed pergola standing in deep shadows under towering trees in a corner of the spacious back yard. He draped an arm, carelessly over her shoulder and cockily allowed his hand to stray down to a pouting hemisphere of firm young breast. Through the thin material of her dress he caressed and gasped with acute pleasure to discover that she wore no bra to confine them. The bud of her nipple was firm and erect, burgeoning into the palm of his hand, tantalizingly.

"You dig that?"

"Like, wow… you know…" he said, carelessly.

They were in the pergola. She led him to a seat on a roll-around garden lounge. It had a nice soft mattress on it, and he lay back, luxuriously, on it. "Man! This is soft! Better than my pad." He reached for her.

She came easily into his arms, lying on top of him, their mouths searching, finding, welding in a deep kiss, their tongues probing, tasting and twining together. It was she who broke the kiss and asked, "You got some grass?"

"Yeah… you want to take a chance… here?"

"It's plenty safe!" she affirmed.

"Nosy neighbors…"