In Laymon's Terms

“Right.” Tom hitched up his drooping jeans, then bent down and lifted the bicycle-built-for-two onto its tires. Holding the front set of handlebars, he rolled Speedy to the edge of the road and into the woods.

Charlie watched it go.

When it was out of sight, she tried to break free from Bill’s grip.

“Knock it off,” he warned.

She kicked him in the shin.

He decked her.

She was still sprawled on her back, moaning, when Tom returned from concealing her bike.

“What’d you do to her?” Tom asked.

“Gave her a taste of my famous knuckle sandwich.”

Tom scowled. “You gotta not do that sort of stuff when I can’t watch.”

“Don’t worry, you didn’t miss much. Tell you what, I’ll pull the car off the road, and you can stay with her. Maybe take her into the trees over there.”

“Hey, great.” He clapped his hands a couple of times, then headed for Charlie while Bill returned to their Mustang.

Stopping by Charlie’s hip, Tom gazed down at her. “You gotta boyfriend?” he asked.

“Maybe.”

“Huh? Do you or don’t you?” He tapped her with the toe of his cowboy boot.

“Maybe Herman. But...”

He kicked her. “Don’t give me this Herman shit. I mean a real boyfriend.”

“Herman’s real,” she muttered.

“Yeah, right.”

“He is. And you guys are gonna be sorry you were ever born by the time he gets done with you.”

“Sure.”

“He’s right behind you!” Charlie blurted.

Tom glanced around.

Charlie flipped from her side to her belly. As she scrambled to get up, Tom stomped her on the back. His boot slammed her against the blacktop. Her breath whooshed out.

“Think I’m an idiot?” Tom asked.

Bending over her, he grabbed the neck of her T-shirt and the waistband at the back of her shorts. He lifted her off the road. The T-shirt stretched and ripped, but its shoulders held. The waist button popped off her shorts. The zipper skidded down a little bit at a time as she was carried into the woods.

When Tom got her where he wanted her, he let go of the T-shirt and used both hands to shake Charlie out of her shorts. She fell headfirst toward the ground, but caught herself with her arms.

On hands and knees, she scurried over the forest floor.

And halted when Tom pulled the elastic waistband of her panties.

“You ain’t going nowhere.”

“Leave me alone!” she gasped.

He tugged the elastic and let it go. It snapped her across the buttocks. He laughed.

At the sound of footsteps hurrying through the dry pine needles, Charlie raised her head and saw Bill striding into the clearing.

As he approached, he pulled his T-shirt off. His jeans hung very low. The brass buckle of his belt looked like a skull. At the right side of his belt hung a knife in a brown leather sheath. Charlie hadn’t noticed the knife before.

He was very skinny and bony and white. He looked as if he had never before been out in the sun without a shirt on. In the middle of his chest, directly between his nipples, was a cluster of bright red pimples.

“Let’s see what we got,” he said to Tom.

Tom’s broad, oily face grinned. He stepped behind Charlie and slipped his fingers under the drooping shoulders of her T-shirt.

“Don’t,” she said, her voice shaking. “I’m warning you.”

He jerked the T-shirt, stretching and tearing it. As he dragged it down to her ankles, she clutched her breasts and called out, “Herman!”

Bill, an odd smile on his lips, helped. “Herrr-mannn?” he called in a lilting voice. “Yooo-hooo, Herrrr-mannnn! Where arrrrre you? Charlie neeeeeeds you.”

Tom, still behind her, tugged her panties down. He tongued her rump, and she cried out. “Help!”

“Can I have firsties?” Tom asked.

“No way.”

“Hey, come on. You always get firsties.”

“That’s cause they’re too messed up by the time you get done with ‘em. Just hold her for me.”

“Yeah yeah yeah. Hang on.”

Charlie stood stiff and trembling, legs tight together, hands cupping her breasts, while Bill took the knife from its sheath and clamped it between his teeth. The handle of the knife was wrapped with black tape. The blade, at least five inches long, looked sharp on both edges.

With his hands free, Bill unfastened his skull buckle and pulled down the zipper of his jeans.

He didn’t have any underwear on.

Charlie looked away fast.

Then Tom’s hands came around from behind her. They clutched her wrists and forced her arms high. He raised them until her shoulders hurt and she had to stand on tiptoes.

She could feel his bulging belly against her back.

Bare skin, hot and slippery.

In front of her, Bill finished taking off his boots and jeans. Then he stepped toward her, grinning behind the handle of the knife in his teeth.

“Get away from me,” she blurted.

He took the knife out of his mouth.

Charlie shook her head.

He touched the tip of the knife to the underside of her chin, then scraped it lightly down her throat and sideways.

“Please,” she murmured.

“Please? Who you talking to?” he asked. “Me or your buddy Herman?”

“Don’t hurt me.”

“Guess ol’ Hermy must’ve deserted her,” Tom said, and writhed so his belly slid against her back.