I spit on your graves Read Online Free PDF Page B

Dexter liked me, after a fashion. He must have hated me because of my muscles and my body, and also because of my guitar, but I guess it attracted him too. I had everything he didn't have. And he had plenty of dough. We'd make a good pair. And besides, he'd understood from the very beginning that I was willing to try at-I'm sure he didn't go that far-how could he have suspected it any better than the others. He just figured, I think, that together with me he could organize some real wild orgies. A far as that goes, he wasn't wrong.
    The town's population had now come back to normal; I was beginning to sell school books such as general science, physics, geology, and stuff like that. They sent all their school friends to me. The girls were pretty bad. At the age of fourteen their main interest had already become to get themselves petted, and you've really got to try hard to find a pretext for that in buying a book. But they always
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    I Spit on Your Graves
    managed : they made me feel their biceps so I could see how they'd built them up during their vacations, and then, bit by bit, they got me down to their thighs. They overdid it. After all, I had some serious customers and I had to look out for my job. But these kids at any time of the day were as hot as a bitch in heat, and must have had wet panties all the time. I don't think being a college teacher can be a very restful job, if an ordinary bookseller can go so far so easy When school started again, I was a lot better off. Then they came only in the afternoon. What's worse is that the boys liked me too. They were neither male nor female, most of them except for some that were already built like men, most of them got as much pleasure as the girls from having me. feel them. And then there was their damn dancing anywhere any time. I don't remember ever having seen five of them together without their beginning to hum some popular hit and then start hopping. In a way that made me feel good for I knew that came from my people.
    I didn't worry any more about my being caught. I think I showed nothing suspicious. Dexter had frightened me one of the last times we went swimming. I was clowning with one of the girls, no clothes on of course, tossing her into the air and rolling her on my arms like a
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    Boris Vian
    little baby. He was watching us, stretched out on his belly behind me. He was an ugly sight with his sickly body and the scars on his back from the drainages when he'd had his twice repeated onsets of pleurisy.
    He looked up at me and said:
    "You know you're not built like everybody else, Lee, you've got the same kind of drooping shoulders as a colored prizefighter."
    I dropped the girl and tensed into alertness, and I danced about him singing some lyrics I'd made up, and everybody laughed, but I didn't feel good. Dexter didn't laugh. He just looked at me.
    That night, when I looked in the mirror over my washstand, it was my turn to laugh. There wasn't a thing I had to worry about with the blond hair I saw there, the pink and white skin. I'd take them all in. It was jealousy that had made Dexter talk that way. And then, I really did have drooping shoulders. So what? I hardly ever slept as well as I did that night. A couple of days later, they organized a party at Dexter's house for the weekend. Evening dress. I rented a tux which it didn't take the tailor long to fit to me. They guy who'd worn it before me must have had just about my build, and it wasn't bad at all.
    That night too, I thought of the kid.
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    I Spit on Your Graves
    As soon as I was in Dexter's house, I understood why they'd specified evening dress : our bunch was lost in a majority of "better class" people. I recognized some of them at once : the doctor, the preacher and others of the same type. A colored servant took my hat, and I noticed a couple of others. Then Dexter took me by the arm to introduce me to his parents. I learned that it was his birthday. His mother looked like him : a little,