Sweet Tormented Love. Victor Jay
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Borgo Press Books by Victor J. Banis
The Astral: Till the Day I Die
Avalon
Charms, Spells, and Curses for the Millions
Color Him Gay: That Man from C.A.M.P.
The Curse of Bloodstone: A Gothic Novel of Terror
Darkwater: A Gothic Novel of Horror
The Devil’s Dance
Drag Thing; or, The Strange Tale of Jackle and Hyde
The Earth and All It Holds
The Gay Dogs: That Man from C.A.M.P.
The Gay Haunt
The Glass House
The Glass Painting: A Gothic Tale of Horror
Goodbye, My Lover
The Greek Boy
The Green Rolling Hills: Writings from West Virginia (editor)
Kenny’s Back
Life and Other Passing Moments: A Collection of Short Writings
The Lion’s Gate
Moon Garden
The Pot Thickens: Recipes from Writers and Editors (editor)
San Antone
The Second House: A Novel of Terror
The Second Tijuana Bible Reader (editor)
Spine Intact, Some Creases: Remembrances of a Paperback Writer
Stranger at the Door: A Novel of Suspense
Sweet Tormented Love: A Novel of Romance
The Sword and the Rose: An Historical Novel
This Splendid Earth
The Tijuana Bible Reader (editor)
The WATERCRESS File: That Man from C.A.M.P.
A Westward Love: An Historical Romance
The Wolves of Craywood: A Novel of Terror
The Why Not
COPYRIGHT INFORMATION
Copyright © 1965, 2012 by Victor J. Banis
Previously published under the title, So Sweet, So Soft, So Queer
Published by Wildside Press LLC
www.wildsidebooks.com
DEDICATION
I am deeply indebted to my friend, Heather, for all the help she has given me in getting these early works of mine reissued.
And I am grateful as well to Rob Reginald, for all his assistance and support.
CHAPTER ONE
“Mike, you know I do like you.” Karen’s voice was little more than a whisper in my ear. I held her tight to me with one arm and tried again to get my free hand under the fabric of her skirt. She twisted away from me again and my hand ended up on the seat after all.
I sighed and loosened my hold on her slightly. I wasn’t getting anywhere with her, and I had been trying already for half an hour.
“Got any cigarettes left?” I asked, resigning myself to my frustration. Hell, I thought, it’s no wonder I can’t make out with her, when I can’t even afford my own cigarettes.
She pulled her purse over to her lap and opened it, taking the pack of Winstons out to hand them to me. I lit two, giving her one of them, and dropped the pack back into her purse. The two dots of red glowed silently for a moment in the darkness of her father’s car.
“You know I like you,” she said again, breaking the silence.
Like hell, I thought bitterly. Oh sure, I was good-looking enough to interest any girl, and I knew that. But the simple truth was obvious to both of us; I couldn’t afford Karen. I wasn’t the only boy in or out of school that Karen was seeing, and the others could afford to show her a good time, take her to movies and dances, buy things for her, spend money on her. With an old man who only worked half the time and an old lady who drank up most of what he made, I was doing well to keep myself in school with what I made working part-time. I couldn’t even afford cigarettes most of the time.
“I guess I’d better go in,” she said finally, casting a glance at the window of her house where her mother could be plainly seen standing at the window, peering out at us. “I’d drive you home, but you know my parents expect me in by eleven on weeknights.”
“That’s okay,” I told her. “I can probably hitch a ride.” I made one more try, pulling her close to kiss her firmly on the mouth. She kissed back, her mouth working feverishly against mine, but she wasn’t having any regardless. One hand brushed mine deftly away from her lap.
“Are you still going to the prom with me?” I asked when we separated.
She looked up at me, her eyelashes fluttering. “I thought you didn’t have....”
“I’ll get the money,” I interrupted her sharply. I didn’t have any idea how or where, but I was determined that I wasn’t going to graduate from high school without going to the prom, and I intended to go to the prom with Karen. “Just don’t go accepting any other dates, okay?”
“Okay,” she agreed, leaning toward me to give me one final, brief kiss. We got out of her dad’s car, and I stood watching until she had hurried up the walk to the house and disappeared inside. Then I went down the drive to the sidewalk, wishing I had asked her for another cigarette. The one I was smoking was finished, and I tossed the butt into the street as I walked.
The side street on which Karen lived emptied into Hollywood Boulevard. To my right I could see the glitter and lights of downtown Hollywood, still bright even though it was after eleven at night. I turned to the left and walked down the street to the traffic light before crossing and taking my stand by the light, my thumb out for a ride.
A few cars went by without pausing. One of them, a carload of goofy-looking kids, honked the horn and yelled something as they passed, but I didn’t hear what it was and didn’t care. I gave them the finger and swore at them but they were going too fast to see or hear me.
A Buick crawled to a stop beside me, and the driver waved me over. Gratefully I darted from the curb to the car and slid quickly inside. It was getting cool out, and I was wearing no jacket.
“How far you going?” the driver asked, giving me a quick look as he started off again. I gave him the name of the street and leaned back against the soft seat of the car, thinking about Karen and the date for the prom, two nights away. Where in the hell was I going to get the money to take her between now and then?
“Cigarette?” His voice startled me out of my train of thoughts. We had stopped at a traffic light and I turned to see him staring across the car at me.
“Thanks, I’d love one,” I answered, puzzled by the look he was giving me. He reached the pack across to me and I took one from it. His hand stayed however, dropping lightly down on my leg. Then I understood the look. I jerked my leg quickly away as the car started up again.
“Not interested?” he asked, without looking at me. I didn’t answer, hoping he wouldn’t push the subject any further, I had never gone that route, and I wasn’t interested in starting now.
“Oh, I see,” he said finally, with a sigh. “You’re commercial. How much do you want?”
The question caught me off guard and it took a minute for it to soak in. He had mistaken my silence—he thought I wanted to get paid for it, and he was asking the price. My mind raced rapidly along this new track. I needed money for my date Saturday night, and this guy was offering to pay me to let him have a try at me. I had been around enough to know that this sort of thing happened, but I had never thought of trying it myself.
Why not, I asked myself