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birthday and to then go and invite her own adult friends
to it. Paula’s friends had enjoyed a poolside brunch earlier in the day, under
the careful supervision of at least three sets of watchful parents. So here she
was now, bored with the party, sharing the quiet seclusion of the pool house
with Dean Rulski , son of Senator John Rulski of Arizona. Dean Rulski , a
sixteen year old kid who got a hard on if anyone mentioned the word brassiere.
                Still
he was kind of cute in a paedophilic sort of way. He had short blond hair with
the sides gelled into place, quite a nice body, lean and suntanned, and retainers on his teeth…well, a girl couldn’t have
everything!
                Paula
was lying on a cane sun lounger and he was sitting at
her side, blushing fiercely as he stroked her leg through the midnight blue satin
of her ball gown.
                “Christ,
Dean! I’m not a pet spaniel. You’re going to stroke me to death at this rate.”
                Dean
pulled his hand away sharply. “Sorry,” he stammered. “It’s just that…well I
guess I… I’m kind…”
                “Inexperienced?”
she offered helpfully.
                “I
guess.” He lowered his head and his eyes searched the floor seeking the hole he
hoped would open up and swallow him.
                “Christ,
don’t kids do this kind of thing in Arizona?” she snapped impatiently.
                “Sure
they do. It’s just that…well, what if we get caught?”
                “Oh,
they’ll hang us up from the nearest tree and pull our toenails out with
engineer’s pliers. Jesus, Dean, no one’s going to come down here! They’re all
having too good a time getting drunk on my old man’s champagne. Besides I’ve
locked the door. Here.” She lifted his hand and laid it down on her left
breast.
                “Oh
shit,” Dean said breathlessly.
                “Thanks
a bunch!”
                “No,
I didn’t mean…oh shit!”
                Paula
sighed and closed her eyes. “This isn’t working, is it?”
                “I
guess not. Maybe we should go back to the house.”
                Paula
was silent, lying there, breathing deeply, and trying not to lose her temper.
She’d never had this much trouble getting laid before. It was a new experience
for her. Any day she could go down to Archie’s, the coffee bar on Frazier Avenue,
and guys would be fighting each other just for the privilege of sitting at the
table next to hers. She knew she wasn’t beautiful, she’d never win Miss
America, but what she had she knew how to package expertly enough to make most
men have the hots for her.
                She
was five feet five, with a slender body, hips that were too big and legs that
were too short. In her opinion her best features were her breasts, her hair and
her face in that order. Her mouth was too small and lips too thin for her face
to be called beautiful or even pretty, but her large brown eyes, helped out
with subtle shading, made hers a face that stood out in a crowd. And she’d
learned early in her teens how to disguise her shortcomings in the mouth
department with the careful application of lipstick and gloss. Her hair was
raven black and hung halfway down her back, teased and tousled, a wild
unfettered mane that belied the hours she spent with mousse and curling tongs,
getting it to hang just so. On hot California days when she went without a bra,
her breasts could stop the traffic on San Diego freeway.
                She
opened her eyes and raised herself up on one elbow, reaching out with the other
hand and stroking the back of Dean’s neck. “I like you, Dean, I really do.”
                “You’re
just saying that,” he said sulkily.
                “Would
I have brought you down here if I