Chapter Twenty-three

Things were going downhill for Kevin. First he got a D on a quiz about George Orwell's 1984. Then he got reamed out by his coach for not scooping loose balls at practice.

He knew he was falling apart but he just didn't care. All he could think about was Vicki Hastings. He was already thinking of getting into her car with her and touching her soft white panties and sticking his finger inside of her, the way she moaned and moved . . .

God, it was so fantastic. There was nothing else like it. Who could study, or read about how the world was going to be taken over by “doublethink,” when soon he would be in her house, fucking her in the bed, on the floor, and on the dining room table.

He was obsessed. He was completely obsessed and wanted her all the time.

But tonight was the worst. She had told him that her husband was bored with her and, worse, that he had smacked her in the face with the back of his hand and called her a “dumb cunt.”

Kevin couldn't believe it. He held Vicki close to him in bed as she cried and said, “You're all I have. I'm so afraid of him.”

Kevin was deeply shocked. James was beating down on Vicki? That was totally insane.

Kevin propped himself up in bed and said, dead serious, “ If he ever hits you again, you tell me and I'll kick his ass all the way down the block and then light him on fire.” He'd heard an actor say that line in a gangster movie once. Robert Mitchum maybe. He thought it was cool. Very cool.

But now he wasn't trying to be cool. He really meant it.

She reached down, held his cock, and kissed his mouth.

“My hero,” she said.

“I mean it,” Kevin said. “ I mean it. If he ever hurts you I will kill him.”

“Oh, Kevin,” she said, and went down on him.

Kevin fondled her breasts as she sucked him, and he felt his mind slip away.

He really would, he thought just then. If fucking James ever hit her again, he would definitely kill the son of a bitch.