Outside, in the driveway, Don reached into the saddlebag on his cycle and extracted a neatly wrapped package, the ten marijuana cigarettes he had bought from Jack Roberts. With trembling fingers he stowed them safely in his shirt pocket. Shit! He hadn't liked that scene with Jack, but a guy had to have some of his own! He had to have something to share… and he had a place to share it… and some kids to rap with. Then, there was the sex… with chicks that were with it. That's all there is, man! That's all there is… and now there was Marcy! He checked his pocket. Yes, he still had her telephone number. He'd have to give her a buzz on the horn… like, tonight! Man! She really comes on strong!

He went into the house through the back door to his bedroom, converted from part of the back porch. It was a tiny room, hardly large enough to contain the single bed and a small student desk. He hid the roaches, suppressing a desire to burn one, right then, knowing that he had to save them for later. Stretching out on his bed, he retrieved a pornographic novel he had hidden under his mattress and soon lost himself in the lurid descriptions of natural and unnatural sexual athletics.

As he read, the explicit descriptions stimulated him, and his penis came up to rigid, erect attention, his hand going down, unconsciously, to massage and caress it. His thoughts drifted to the girls he knew, but soon the vision of his sister pushed the others aside, as somehow, the forbidden became the most desirable in his mind. Charity? Christ!

Retreating to the door of the motel room and stuffing the money in her purse, Dorothy Scott said, "Damn it! I told you when I came I couldn't stay all night… It's just impossible!"