Excerpt:
Edmund Stevenson couldn't believe his good luck.
This was the sort of thing men talk about in bars, when they lie through their teeth. The young girl was eighteen years old and she was ready. She looked exactly like a young Liz Taylor but her shape was better. A small waist, fantastic tits, well-rounded hips, beautiful and smooth legs. His hands were sweating and he wanted to pounce on her and rip her clothes off. A rape would be fun, but impossible. He had the idea she was ready.
He called down for a bottle of bourbon, a pitcher of water, a half-dozen Seven-Ups and a bucket of ice. After all, he reasoned, I've rented the room for three days-I may as well use it.
Edmund Stevenson couldn't believe his good luck.
This was the sort of thing men talk about in bars, when they lie through their teeth. The young girl was eighteen years old and she was ready. She looked exactly like a young Liz Taylor but her shape was better. A small waist, fantastic tits, well-rounded hips, beautiful and smooth legs. His hands were sweating and he wanted to pounce on her and rip her clothes off. A rape would be fun, but impossible. He had the idea she was ready.
He called down for a bottle of bourbon, a pitcher of water, a half-dozen Seven-Ups and a bucket of ice. After all, he reasoned, I've rented the room for three days-I may as well use it.