"I… don't understand," she stammered.

"You understand, baby, understand a hell of a lot," Brad said, his eyes narrowing.

Camey felt a rush of excitement. She hugged her blanket tightly to her tits, licking her lower lip. She was as shameless as some of the girls she called sluts in her class. Well, at least no one would know what she had done.

"Come on," he said again, taking her by the arm and escorting her from the weightlifting area.

Camey didn't see anything clearly for the next several minutes. Her feet were moving. People stared, someone laughed behind her as she moved north on the Walk. But all she could feel was Brad's strong fingers pressing down on her upper arm and his chest occasionally brushing her bare back. At times she wanted to stop, wanted to tear away from the handsome young man shoving her down the boardwalk and run for home. But something powerful had taken hold of both her body and mind.

What am I doing? Oh, God, what would my mother say?

These and other similar thoughts rushed through her head as the two of them threaded their way through the thickening Saturday afternoon beach crowd. A light breeze blew Camey's hair back as they turned a corner and started up a long narrow stairway.

"Inside."

Camey stepped into the second-floor garage apartment. There was the odor of stale beer and smoke hanging like a perfume in the air, mixed with a heavy musty smell. Clothes were strewn all over the floor, draped over the chairs and on what appeared to be a mattress on the far side of the room.

"Ain't much," Brad said, closing the door and snapping the bolt shut.

Camey jumped at the sound, wheeling wound and staring wide-eyed at the big man. What was she doing in this strange place? How had she managed to muster the courage to be with him alone, to do what she was doing to do? Her friends had always called her daring and unorthodox. Her mother had always said she had a curiosity that would get her in trouble some day. Well, it appeared as if they were all right.