This story involves sexual contact between a minor boy and a late-teens girl. Read at your own risk! :)

Codes: b/G

Feedback and contact: tim.kyle@mail.com


Tinny's Summer Adventures -- Part 6 (chapters 27-29)

By Anatoly Rybakov and Tim Kyle




Today is Sunday!

The last two Sundays passed worthlessly for me. I don't even remember what I did; so I probably did nothing. But this Sunday, Smako and I decided to do something. We decided to go to the river. We'd take a train to the beach on the west side, and have a swim. And I'll take my diving set with me. I have to do something with it, since I bought it.

Vern called. After I told him that we are going to the beach, he cried out that he's coming with us.

"But we're all ready," -- I warned.

"I'm also ready," -- Vern answered. -- "How are we going? The train? Then you guys just start walking to the station, and I'll catch up and meet you there."

Smako and I were just passing the house where Vern lives when we spotted Ian. He was pottering with his brother's "Galaxie". The car stood at the sidewalk and Ian could not get it started.

"Don't drive the starter," -- I said to him, -- "you'll kill the battery."

Ian opened the hood, and stood next to it, clearly not knowing where to start.

"Let's try turning the shaft." -- I suggested.

Smako and I grabbed hold of the flywheel and turned the shaft directly. The motor was spinning as a street organ, but made no starting noises.

"You should check the ignition and fuel supply," -- I said.

Ian got out of the car and, indecisively, stared under the hood. Seriously, he doesn't know how to check the ignition and fuel supply! I'm telling you!

"Check it!" -- I said.

Ian irresolutely touched one of the spark plugs, then another and perplexedly looked at us.

I never dealt with a Ford Galaxie. And I don't care about technical stuff. But all in all, all cars and trucks have the same basic principle; and we do those kinds of checks at the garage all the time. At first you need to check whether there is a spark, then -- whether or not gasoline arrives into the carburetor.

"Let's check the spark," -- I told Smako.

I pulled one of the plugs out, Pete spun the flywheel, and a strong blue spark slipped from the plug onto the motor frame.

"Ignition is working well!"

I thrust the plug back into it's socket and, just in case, thrust a headless wooden match in there so the contact would be tighter. We do that at the garage.

"Now let's check the supply. Ian, give it!", and I turned to Ian and extended my hand.

And what does Ian give me? The ignition key! He doesn't understand shit!

"What are you giving me?!" -- I shouted. -- "What are you giving me, you moron?! Gimme a wrench, not the fucking key!"

I was not angry at all. I only pretended. It was pleasant to have Ian running around like a frightened bunny, to make him realize how worthless he is at this.

Ian rummaged in the trunk and stretched forward a wrench. I unhooked the gasoline pipe line. Gasoline was not arriving through it. Clearly, the gas pipe is littered. We blew it through -- and gasoline immediately started flowing. Peter and I, smiling, looked at each other. We found the malfunction, and so quickly!.. And it's not so simple, when you think about it. Even skilled drivers sometimes don't know how to do these simple checks, and call a mechanic. And we found it right away. It's pleasant, really...

At that moment Vern appeared. It's his luck that we were tied up helping Ian with the car, otherwise we would've been on the train already, and we definitely wouldn't have waited for him.

Ian sat in the driver's seat and started the car. He was giving it gas, wanting to be convinced that everything is all right. Then, with the tone of a guy who doesn't mind giving you a lift, if it's on his way, he asked:

"Where are you guys headed?"

"To the train station."

"Get in the car."

Now, looking at Ian, it was hard to believe that just a moment ago we were making him run back and forth like a little mouse. He was sitting back comfortably, steering with one hand. In other words, he was back to his old self.

"Where are you guys headed?" -- He patronizingly asked.

"To the beach, on the West Side."

"What a dump of a place!" -- Ian laughed. -- "It's crowded and dirty! I'm going to the Silver Pine forest. There's a dream of a beach! I have a meeting with some friends there."

Vern sighed:

"Well, we can't go there, we don't have a car."

In Vern's voice rang a request for Ian to take us with him. Ian pretended that he didn't understand that request. But where Vern failed, Smako immediately succeeded. That's what it means to have a practical way of thinking! Peter simply amazes me sometimes.

"You won't get there," -- Smako said indifferently.


"The fuel pipe line will get clogged again."

"You think?" -- Asked Ian with anxiety and started driving slower.

I immediately understood Peter's tactic and picked it up:

"Of course. There's probably litter in the tank. Where's the guarantee that it won't jam up again?"

Ian answered nothing. Silently, he drove in the direction of the train station. On the one hand, he didn't want to take us with him. On the other hand, he was afraid to go alone. What if something is to happen? What will he do without us? What all newbie, mechanically ignorant drivers do: flag down a passing car and ask the driver for help, or call AAA and get in huge trouble with his brother, the car's owner, at home. Plus, he probably only had a permit, not a license, so he could get in trouble with the cops as well.

We reached the train station. Ian irresolutely said:

"By the way, I can take you a bit farther, drop you off at Telton station."

"Yeah, right!" -- I objected and slightly opened the door, intending to get out of the car. -- "With the train we'll be at the west side in ten minutes. Like we need to be stuck in traffic in your stuffy jalopy all the way there!"

"But why do you have to go to the West Side," -- said Ian in despair, -- "I can take you to the Silver Pine forest beach."

"I don't know," -- I said in an indifferent voice , -- "Whadda you think, guys?"

"It's possible, perhaps," -- Smako said. -- "Whadda you think, Vern?"

"Yeah, okay, let's go," -- Vern agreed.

And so we were on our way to the Silver Pine forest beach.

It was a fine performance on our part!




The beach at the Silver Pine Forest turned out to be remarkable! There was a lot of people there, truth be told, the parking lots were chock full of cars, but there was nothing to compare it with the West Side beach. Open spaces! Cleanliness! Nature's Beauty!

We were slowly driving up a hill. The beach was covered with people. Ian attentively peered at the cars parked close to the bank and stopped, having noticed a gray Lark. Near it, having half-buried himself in the sand, laid a dark-haired guy in white swimming trunks.

"Hey, Nick!" -- Ian shouted.

The guy lifted his curly head, lazily waved at Ian and again buried his face in the sand.

We advised Ian to park right here, on the other side of the lot, and walk down on foot. The car would be clearly visible from below. But Ian did not listen to us. He drove further, found a descent to the riverbank and drove down. Then Ian stopped the car:

"Find a good spot, I'll be back soon. I'll just drive up to those guys and come back."

We understood perfectly why Ian wanted to leave us here. He does not wish to acquaint us with his older friends. Or, more accurately, does not wish them to acquaint with us. We, of course, don't give a lick about this, we can perfectly manage without Ian. But how would we get back into town?

"And how would we get back?" -- We asked.

"You guys are odd," -- Ian laughed, -- "I'll be back soon!"

"You won't come back," -- Vern said. He knew Ian well, having been his aide-de-camp for so many years.

"I give you my fair and noble word!" -- Ian had sworn.

"If you ditch us, we'd fuck you up so bad you wouldn't recognize yourself!" -- I threatened.

Ian insultedly pouted:

"Please, no threats. What beastliness! If you threaten me, I'd leave right now!"

"Just try, see what'll happen!" -- said Smako.

"What's the difference where you swim -- here or over there?!" -- angrily asked Ian.

"Very big difference!" -- Vern answered. -- "If we go with you, we can change in the car out of our swimming trunks after; and we can leave our stuff in the car as well, so we don't have to worry about it. And here someone can filch it."

"Who needs your junk, no one will touch it!" -- Ian objected.

I was starting to get annoyed with arguing.

"All right, sail away! But if you ditch us -- watch yourself!"

With contempt, we looked at Ian driving off, and started looking for a place to settle down. The spot where Ian landed us was sucky. There were a lot of people, cars, tents, bonfires, cans rolling about... Too busy!

We went along the beach in the direction Ian drove off. We figured it would be a good idea. Ian will be afraid to leave without us, but just in case, it's better not to lose sight of him. We found a good spot about two hundred feet from the Lark. Near it stood Ian's Galaxie. Ian, having hunkered down, was talking to Nick, who was still laying on the sand. Then he undressed, put his clothes in the car, stood "at attention", extended his hands sideways and took some deep breaths. He was clearing his lungs of the city air and replacing it with the river freshness. Then he said something to Nick and walked in our direction. Having seen us, he made joyful eyes as if he only just met us.

"You're all arranged? That's great!" -- he sat down nearby. -- "Let's sunbathe."

"Let's go swimming," -- Vern offered.

"I'll roll about a little," -- Ian said and lay on his back.

We ran to the water. The river here is wide, quite shallow, mostly knee--deep. Only in the middle it gets deeper, and then again shallow up to the opposite coast.

This is the first time I've gone swimming in the river this year. Each time I get into the water, I decide to go swimming at least once a week. Is it really so difficult? Some people swim in any weather, even in the winter. But I never carry out this decision. I don't know why. Probably laziness, or lack of time. But now -- that's it! Now I decided: every day after work at the depot I'll go to the west side beach, or to the swimming pool at the YMCA...

"Why haven't you put on your mask and flippers?" -- Vern asked.

Actually, I totally forgot about them. I didn't take them out of the car.

"I forgot them in the car," -- I answered, -- "Where are yours?"

Vern laughed:

"Ancient history! I traded them a while ago."

"For what?"

"For one thing," -- Vern mysteriously answered.

He did not like to tell us about his trade operations: they were usually not in his favor, so he was afraid of our sneers.

We splashed about a bit more and got out of the water. Ian was, of course, over with his friends. He sat there in the company of a guy in swimming trunks and a hippy-looking girl in a funny red rubber hat and very long hair. I remembered them at once. They're the ones who came for Ian on this Lark back then, when we were sitting in the yard of our building. Now they sat and talked. Only Nick still lay prone.

If I met some of my acquaintances here on the beach, I could go and sit with them. There would be nothing offensive in it neither for Vern, nor for Peter. And, if we were to meet the acquaintances of Vern or Smako, they too could go and sit with them. And none of us would impose ourselves, would not budge in and ask to be introduced... But in Ian's behavior was something nasty. He, as always, tried to get rid of us.

"Bring the mask and flippers, I'll try them out," -- Vern said.

"I don't want to go there, the hell with them!"

"The gear is yours, you have every right to take it," -- Smako said.

"I allow you to do it for me."

"Are you afraid?"

"I'm not afraid, I just don't want to go. They'll think that I'm imposing myself on them."

"So because of false vanity we should not have fun?" -- Vern was indignant. -- "Let's all go!"

We walked to the car. Ian stared at us with anxiety. The guy and the girl also looked at us expectantly. Only Nick continued to lay prone. In all of my life I never saw such a hairy person. He even had black ringlets of hair on his shoulder blades.

"We're taking the diving set," -- I told Ian.

"Go ahead," -- Ian answered, having been delighted that we have only come for the gear. He then turned to his friends and with an apologizing voice he added: -- "These are boys from my building, I brought them here, showing them the world divine."

"Ian is a friend to children," -- derisively proclaimed the guy, reddish, long-nosed, with a hardish and strong sight. Despite the ambiguity of this phrase, I caught in it a sneer not aimed at us, but at Ian.

I opened the car, took out the diving set. The girl suddenly stretched her hand forward:

"Let me see."

Nick slightly turned his head, looked at us askance and again buried his face in his crossed arms. I noticed his black eyes and short black moustache. The girl felt up my diving set with her hands and asked:

"Can I try them out?"

"Sure," -- I said.

We all went to the water. Except for Nick. Nick had not stirred.

We walked out into the deep part. The girl, who's name, for some strange reason, turned out to be Pine, with the help of Ian and the reddish guy put the flippers on. The guy's name was even stranger: Sandy! A man -- and suddenly he's called Sandy.

Pine pulled the mask on, turned her head this way and that, stuck out her tongue at us and dove. Her feet, extended by the flippers, flashed in the air. She came up in about thirty feet from us, pulled off the mask and declared:

"I can't see anything."

"That's because you're closing your eyes," -- said Sandy, -- "You're squinting. Give it here."

After Sandy I dove, then Ian, then Vern. Finally, Smako went. But he came up, for some reason, without the mask. He was holding it in his hand. There was little sense in the diving set. You just get to see the sand--covered bottom and people's feet for a while. Maybe it'd be great on the sea, but on our puny little river...

Pine and Sandy turned out to be great. They were easy going, fun people. And it was wholly apparent that they had no respect for Ian, which was especially pleasant to us. They didn't take him seriously. When Ian said something, Sandy would always say: "Really?" -- with doubt in his voice. This is the way you speak to a person whom you do not trust. And Ian, on the contrary, spoke with excessive persuasiveness. As a person who had gotten used to the fact that people do not trust him.

Also, I noticed that Ian was constantly trying to get closer to Pine; stealing glances at her bathing-suit covered boobs, and at her long, light-brown hair. When she was diving, Ian would always be near, to help her with everything, even though she really didn't need any help. He would touch her at every opportunity, when he was helping her put the mask and flippers on, or helping her to take them off. She was very nonchalant about this, but I also noticed that she thinks nothing of his advances and is not flirting back. Sandy also noticed Ian's efforts every time, and looked at them with a knowing, condescending, smile; as if he wanted to say that he knows nothing will come out of Ian's efforts. After the third time underwater, Pine came up and suddenly turned to me:

"Can you help me out of this?"

My heart started beating somewhat faster, as I came closer to Pine's very appealing body and let her lean on me as she took off the flippers. She almost tripped once, standing on one foot in the river current, and I grabbed her sides with my hands for support, just below her breasts, and then I blushed deeply. She laughed lightheartedly, and put her hand around my neck. Even standing in the cold water, I sported an immediate boner. Also, I caught on myself the amused, smiling eyes of Sandy and the jealous, angry eyes of Ian. Pine was flirting with me! I tried to calm myself, however, as it was clearly just for laughs: I must have seemed such a little boy to her. She had to be at least seventeen years old, I'd say probably eighteen or nineteen, and I was fourteen, and looking like I was twelve, on top of that.

But, jokingly or not, Pine continued hanging around me for the remainder of our stay in the water. She was constantly smiling at me, talking to me about some trifles -- like diving techniques she knows, for example -- and occasionally touching me -- putting her hand on my shoulder and once even brushing my cheek with her hand. Needless to say, my boner remained constant throughout the whole ordeal, and once, after putting her hand on my shoulder, her hand slid downwards and (accidentally or not, I don't know!) brushed my hard dick with the back of her palm. Oh my god!.. It was like an electric shock. I stopped mid--sentence, unable to say another word, and stared at her. Just then, Smako, who finished his round with the mask and flippers, came closer and handed them to Pine again, diverting my attention to the fact that we weren't here alone. Pine told Smako:

"It's okay, I've had enough of those, just give'em to Sandy."

Smako, without saying a word, walked off and handed the mask and flippers to Sandy, who immediately started pulling them on. Ian was stealing resentful glances in my direction, obviously wishing it was he who was standing there with Pine. Pine, meanwhile, suddenly turned to me, took hold of my shoulder, and said:

"Hey, Tinny, will you help me with something?.."

I looked up at her:

"Sure. What with?"

"Come on," -- she said, took me by the hand, and led me into the deeper part of the water.


We swam across to the other side of the river, and got out to the grassy shore. I looked back across at our group, and saw that Sandy was handing the diving set to Vern, while Ian was still following us with his eyes. Sandy then looked at Ian, and following Ian's gaze, he looked in our direction as well. I can't be all the way sure because we were pretty far away by now, but I think that Sandy winked at me, mischievously.

Pine, however, took hold of my hand again and led me into the thick pine forest which started in a hundred feet or so from the grassy shore. She wasn't saying anything, and I wasn't either, but my heart was pounding so hard that I was sure she'd be able to hear it. I was still semi-hard, and wondering what this hippy chick had in mind to do with a piss-ant boy like me. Finally, we stopped at a small clearing, with a mossy, cozy looking huge rock in the dead center of it. Pine turned around, sat on the rock, took both my hands in hers and said:

"Tinny. Is that your real name?"

I could understand how someone named Pine and who hangs out with a guy named Sandy would think that this is my real name. I said:

"No, it's from my last name, Tinner. My real name is Steven."

"Oh." -- said Pine and smiled. Then she let go of my hands, reached back and... took off the top of her bathing suit!.. Really!.. I couldn't believe my eyes, as I watched -- mesmerized -- how her full round breasts fell out into the open, staring at me like two milky-white moons of magnificence. My dick immediately turned from a semi to a full-on strainer, tenting out my swimming trunks as far as they would go.

"Had you even been with a girl, Steven?" -- asked pine, while still smiling. I saw no reason to try and cheat, and quickly shook my head no, as I was unable to speak anyway. Pine then reached forward, and gently pulled down my swimming trunks. I was, probably, turning into a dark shade of red by now, I was so embarrassed. Oh, how I wished I had more hair than that pathetic little ringlet at the base of my cock! And how I wished I had more to offer than this boyish stick, which she probably, at least in my head, considered laughable. But pine looked at my area without mock or ridicule, with a gentle smile, and said:

"You're so cute! I just love boys!"

And then it dawned on me: my underdeveloped frame and boyish dimensions were an asset here, not a drawback. If Pine would have wanted a developed teen with a hairy cock, then maybe Ian or Smako would be here in my place now (though hardly: she clearly didn't care for Ian, and Smako is ridiculously bad at these things). But she wanted a boy; and I was around, and now, it seems, a very important experience is about to happen to me. My embarrassment eased up slightly, and I smiled back. Pine took this as an invitation, and took hold of my dick with her hand.

Wow! I almost came right then. It was different than Matty touching me, probably because my brain kept going: it's a girl, it's a girl, it's a girl, it's a girl! I fleetingly thought that Matty touching me was somehow more intimate -- probably because we had a real emotional connection, while this was just physical fun. But at the same time, Pine's breasts just inches from my face, and the skillfulness of her hand, made the sensation unlike anything I've experienced before. Pine then took my right hand with her left (her right continuing to work up and down my cock) and put my hand on her breast.

"Rub it," she said. I did as instructed. It was soft and velvety, and the nipple was hard and rubbery. Pine, however, took hold of my other hand, and put it on her other breast, all the while managing to keep the motion going up and down my rigid tool. So now I was rubbing both her breasts while being slowly masturbated. I was in seventh heaven, unable to speak, my face still wearing an amazed expression, still not fully believing what my brain was already getting comfortable with. Then Pine suddenly slid downwards on the rock, so that my dick was now at her chest level, and slid my straining tool in between her boobs. Wow! Now this was interesting. I was still rubbing her tits, while she reached behind me, took hold of my butt and started to push it forwards and backwards. I quickly understood the idea, and started sliding my dick back and forth between her boobs by myself. It was an interesting sensation: there was less pressure than there was when she was wanking me with her hand, but at the same time it was way sexier, and gave me a warm fuzzy feeling at the base of my balls.

This went on for a while, until pine came back up (my dick slid out from between her tits and traced a line down her stomach to her crotch, which was still clad in her bathing suit bottoms), and suddenly she french--kissed me, sucking my mouth into hers, wrapping her tongue around mine. My hands were still on her breasts, and I continued rubbing them, both of us breathing heavily, while we sucked each other's faces. Then Pine gently pushed me away, took hold of her suit bottoms and pushed them down, stepping out of them, and revealing the holy grail to my amazed gaze. Her pussy was covered with a thick layer or brown hair, but even through that I could see that it was moist. Having no idea what to do next, I just stood and stared. Pine smiled at me, took hold of my back and pulled me in closer, my very hard, excited member lining up with her crotch. Then she took it with her hand, positioned it at the opening, took hold of my butt again and pulled me in, my rod pushing it's way pass the opening and sliding easily into her moist depths.

An involuntary scream escaped my lips as I felt the indescribable feeling of her welcoming vagina surrounding my cock with it's warm coziness. My sexual temperature jumped up several notches just from that very first thrust. Pine was also breathing loudly, as she took hold of my hands and put them back on her breasts.

While lying there and rubbing her breasts, with my dick buried in her pussy, my instincts started taking over, and I started slowly thrusting back and forth. My eyes were staring between us, as I was looking with amazement and disbelief as my little friend was disappearing inside her mighty bush and then appearing again. Every time I pushed it all the way in, my crotch would feel the warm fuzziness of her public triangle, and my tight ballsack pressed up to her slit. I felt that I wasn't going to last long at all, and desperately tried to delay my finish, as to not come off as a total spaz. But for all of the slowness of my thrusts and my mental efforts, a minute later I was no longer able to contain myself. I started banging her pussy faster and harder as an incredible orgasm washed over my body and I, without thinking of anything anymore, pumped three spurts of my boy-juice into her hole, whimpering like a puppy as I did so.

Pine waited for my orgasmic high to subside, and petted my back gently. She smiled at me, and I felt heavy embarrassment roll up; I turned red and buried my face in the comforting softness between her breasts.

"I'm sorry," -- I mumbled from there, -- "I couldn't help it... I came too quick, didn't I?.."

I felt Pine put her hand on the back of my neck, stroking me gently:

"That's okay, don't worry about it. It was actually pretty good for a boy's first time, trust me!"

That reassured me somewhat, and I found the courage to raise up my face and look at hers. Pine smiled at me:

"Besides, we can go again soon. How long would it take for you to recharge?.."

I didn't really know what to say to that, and decided to inspect the state of things, so I carefully pulled out my dick out of her pussy. It was still hard, a long string of transparent cum stretching from the opening after it. Suddenly I became really scared, remembering the sex book I read with Peter:

"Shit, but I squirted inside of you... won't that make you pregnant?.."

Pine stroked my hair:

"Don't worry about it, I'm on birth control. Look, you're still hard! Can you go again?.."

I touched my dick to feel things out.

"It's still too sensitive. Maybe in a few minutes?.." I said hesitantly.

"Great!" Pine smiled, and started frenching me again.

After a few minutes of sucking on each other's tongues (during which she sometimes gave me tips as so improve my kissing skills) and playing with Pine's boobs (which I also got some instructions for); Pine once again took hold of my dick and guided it inside of her canal. I could still feel the stickiness of my cum inside of her, which in tandem with the sensitive post-orgasmic numbness of my cock made for a very interesting feeling. I started slowly pumping in and out again, while still frenching her as best I could.

This time it took a while. I was slowly picking up my rhythm, but my second orgasm was still far away, and I felt confident that this time I'd last longer. I started driving my dick in more forcefully, trying to bury it as far as it would go, and heard an immediate reaction from pine: she started moaning with every thrust. Encouraged by this, I started massaging her breasts more energetically, which also reaped it's rewards in the form of intensified moaning. Suddenly Pine reached between us, took my right hand off of her breast, and truck in down in between our two crotches. I didn't understand what she wanted at first, but then she guided my finger to a small spongy protrusion located just above where my dick was going in and out of her. I took the hint and started rubbing this soft button up and down. The effect was profound: Pine all but screamed out, grabbed hold of my butt cheeks and started pushing me faster and harder into herself. I hammered down on her as fast and as hard as I could, while still rubbing that spongy button of hers, feeling my second orgasm quickly approaching. Suddenly, I heard Pine release a long and deep whimper, and felt her pussy twitching really hard, it was as if it was grabbing my dick all over and milking it violently. This was more than I could bare, and I unloaded myself into her pussy for the second time, sending a couple of small spurts into the depth of her cunt.

Both of us breathing heavily and with whimpers, we slowly came down from our high. Then I slipped my finally softening dick out of her, and snuggled against her warm, welcoming body. Pine said between breaths:

"Wow... that was... great! I hadn't cum so good in a while!"

I felt proud, and just kept breathing quietly, thankful for the experience this wonderful hippy girl allowed me to have. I was no longer a virgin, and I learned a few important things too. After a few minutes of quiet cuddling, she got up and put on her bathing suit. I did the same. We returned to the river and swam back across, to join our friends, all of whom were already on the beach. Pine -- in view of everyone! -- gently kissed my cheek, and went in the direction of the cars, where Sandy, Nick and Ian sat, while I went in the direction of our clothes, where Vern and Smako were waiting for me.

I sat next to them and said nothing, looking at the river. Both Vern and Smako, however, were staring at me, with clear expectation. I said:


Vern exploded:

"Whadda you mean, what?! Spill it!"

And Peter added:

"If you don't tell us what happened right now, you'll get a beating."

I wasn't planning to keep me losing my virginity a secret, I just wanted to torture them a little. So I once again stared at the river and said nothing. Finally, Smako punched my shoulder.

"Ow! Fine, what do you want to know?.."

"How far did it go?" -- Smako asked, somewhat hesitantly.

"Far. All the way. Twice." -- I replied. Vern whistled:

"You lucky son of a bitch!.. How was it?.."

"It was... awesome. She... taught me stuff."

Smako looked at me sideways, hemmed and didn't inquire further. Vern spent the next few minutes pressing for more details, but I refused to talk about it anymore. What happened -- happened! I'm a gentleman, I'm not gonna tell. Finally, Smako told Vern to stop harassing me about it. Then he said:

"Ian is gonna hate you pretty bad. He's got the hots for her, didn't you see that?.."

I was surprised at Pete's unexpected insightfulness.

"Yeah, I saw it. But he's an asshole, and I'm cute and lovable, so she wanted to have some fun with me, not him. What was I supposed to do, say no?.."

Smako agreed that, of course, I shouldn't have said no under any circumstances.


We laid, sunbathed and kept talking about Ian. We condemned his sponger role. It's good that we are not spongers, never were and never we will be. He is demeaning himself, trying to appear older and more important in front of his older friends, who still think nothing of him. And my experience today is just more proof that it is always better to be yourself, to be who you really are. People will like you more.

We felt great. The sun baked with might and main. We were not afraid of sunburns. Vern had a tube of sunblock ointment. Smako and I nearly squeezed out the entire tube on ourselves, Smako even greased his heels.

Then Ian started waving at us. Nick and Sandy were getting dressed. Pine was hidden from view -- she was probably getting dressed in the car. Ian was pulling up his trousers. They're leaving...

We got dressed as well and approached them. Nick and Sandy got into the car. Pine already sat at the wheel. She smiled at me.

Ian said in a pleading voice:

"I'll just take the kids to the train station and catch up with you right away."

"All right," -- said Sandy.

"Just don't go without me."

"All right," -- carelessly repeated Sandy, -- "Let's go, Nicko!"

They closed the doors with a slap. The engine roared. The car took off, made an abrupt turn and drove off the beach.

We followed it with our sights automatically, like you look following any leaving car. Then my sight fell to the sand... And I froze.

On the sand I saw sharp, deep and wide traces as though the car that passed here wasn't a Lark, but a Willis Jeep. Precisely the same traces, as I saw there, on the back road leading to the truck depot.

I followed my sight along these traces and on the place where the car turned sharply, I saw, near to the Jeep's traces, the narrow traces of a standard Lark tire. And then further, where the car has gone straight, the Lark traces once again disappeared and there were only the traces of the Jeep...

"Tinny, let's go, I'm late," -- Ian, again finding his commanding tone, impatiently said.

I was ashamed to look at Ian. Without turning, I said:

"What strange tires their car has..."

"Nothing strange!" -- Ian answered. -- "They fitted the tire covers of a Jeep, to increase off--road ability."

With a fading heart I asked:

"On all four wheels?"

"No!" -- Ian impatiently answered. -- "Only on the rear. On the front wheels they have stock rubber. Enough of this now, let's go!"




We thought, that after the meeting the restoration of our truck will go slower. After all, before we did it during the working day, and now only two hours after work. But it turned out to be just the opposite -- it became much faster. The mechanics helped us more. Some have so lit up by the idea, that they tried to do all the work for us. It caused our lawful discontent. After all, we are restoring the truck ourselves!

"Well, you see, universitant--emansipe," -- foreman James Dennon said to me, -- "The earlier state of events was uncertain. The brigade did not know what conditions the truck is being restored under. And now they know: it's a public cause, for the greater good. And everyone wants to contribute to a common cause."

Overlooking the reference "universitant--emansipe", James Dennon's thoughts seemed very reasonable to me. Even deep. The state of things should always be clear.

At last we put the frame on the back lot and begun assemblage. The assembly is the final stage of the restoration. The end is near -- so all work faster. It was pleasant to see, how the naked frame turns into a truck.

It was always crowded around our truck. No other truck in the depot attracted so much attention, everyone wanted to hang around our truck. Even the manager came to hang out with us. And if there was a jam, some part was missing, he'd say: "Go to the warehouse, bring it. Tell them -- I said it's okay". The work advanced without bureaucratism and red tape.

I think that it was more pleasant for the manager to sit in the sun--lit yard than in the cigarette--smelling office. But he can't just sit in the yard for no reason, people will say he's slacking off. And to sit near our truck is fine -- it's a public truck, it belongs to everyone.

And the workers are having fun chatting. When they repair other trucks and cars, there is no time for chatting, they have deadlines. And our truck is public, so you can chat around it. Also, it was pleasant for workers that here they can disagree about things with their superiors and argue with the manager. In the shops you can't argue, you do what you're ordered. And our truck is public, you can discuss technical points as much as you want. Especially because we were equipping the truck as an educational unit, we were installing additional controls for the instructor. So that the instructor could rectify an error of a pupil and prevent an accident.

During the lunch break workers sat with their milk and loafs of bread around our truck and advised how to do what, made suggestions. There and then came truckers who were ending their shift, recollected how they studied on instructional trucks, and gave ideas as how to better ours. And also argued with the manager. And when the manager defended his opinion, he didn't refer to the fact that he is the manager, but to the fact that he is a former trucker. In general, around our truck established a free, pleasant atmosphere. Everyone liked working in this atmosphere. Even office employees, who were leaving the depot through the back lot, looked at how we work, listened to the discussions of the technicians, were surprised that we, schoolchildren, are restoring a real truck.

The chief accountant, who is quite a gloomy person, said:

"It is pleasant to see."

He probably meant it in the sense that it is pleasant to see that the truck restoration is free of charge, and not a part of his budget. Or maybe he didn't mean that, but something else. I didn't ask him.

All of our kids honestly fulfilled the two extra hours. Some remained longer. For example, Ivan Polak, Adam Grinko and other kids with technical leans. And, of course, me and Smako. As we were the first assistants of Bud Zephron. Ian also hung around near the truck. He even made more fuss about it than others. He saw that the restoration is moving well. But he still held nothing in his hands, except for that damn folder.


The issue with the shock--absorbers became absolutely clear to me now. How didn't I think of this before? It was just the one Lark that drove up to the back lot, just that it had the tires from a Jeep on the rear wheels. The rear wheels, when going straight, destroyed the trace of the front wheels. And on turns where the tracks do not coincide, both sets of traces remained. And the Lark in question was the Lark that belonged to Ian's friends.

I was looking at Ian and thought: is he really involved in such a dirty business?! Even now I could not believe it. Is he a criminal?.. And Sandy, Nick and Pine, are they criminals as well? Pine?! That sweet, pretty hippie girl that took my virginity at that forest clearing?.. And, even excluding that, we had so much fun and laughs together, that day at the beach.

My head was bursting from these thoughts. In my mind, a criminal was an absolutely different kind of person. Actually, not even a person, but something altogether different. It always seemed strange to me, that criminals dress as all people do, some even dress well -- this displays human feelings, and all that is human is alien to them, as I see it, because they look upon the world with hostility. I didn't understand, why do criminals go to the movies, because at the movies they show normal people, normal human feelings. I did not understand, why they listen to music, sing songs, even read books, after all most books teach good and condemn harm. The criminal is an antipode of a person, and the fact that they act normal seemed unnatural to me.

I read and heard about criminal kids that did awful things. Sometimes they were the children of good and even famous parents. But all of it was far, distracted... I could not assume, that one of my friends might be a criminal. Ian, whom I know for so many years, Ian -- a criminal! And these nice people: Pine, for whom I will now always hold a warm spot in my heart, the funny, sarcastic Sandy, the phlegmatic Nick -- might also be criminals...

No! I cannot even consider that Pine is a criminal. She was so sweet and gentle, and I felt so close to her on that forest clearing. I would have sensed it if she'd been a bad person. She was probably fooled, suckered into this plot, just like we kids were. She is an innocent victim of circumstance, I'm sure of it. Sadly, however, I could not be as confident in Ian's innocence. I know him from first grade, yes. But I cannot, as much as I'd liked to, tell myself that he would never do such a thing.


Then, on the beach, I thought that Vern and Smako hadn't guessed, haven't seen the traces on sand. But at the train station, on the sly from Vern, Smako said to me:

"That's the car."

And when we were on the train, Vern leaned close to me and whispered:

"It was that car!"

The entire trip Vern and Smako threw out phrases to me about this car. Vern -- having seized a moment when Smako doesn't hear him, Smako -- when Vern turns away. To put an end to this foolishness, I said to Vern:

"We need to tell about all of this to Peter."

"What for?"

"He can help. And the guy is as silent as the grave, you know that!"

Thus, Vern didn't find out that I already told Smako everything long time ago.

All of that evening we went back and forth along our street, without even measuring steps. All of the distances here are precisely measured in steps. So that it's not insulting to anyone, when we see each other off. If Vern and I are walking home from school, I am obliged to go forty more steps to see him off. If we go by his house, he is obliged to walk me sixty more. But that Sunday evening we had no time for counting steps...

"Say what you may," -- I said, -- "But I still cannot believe, that Ian is a thief. Maybe he just made some mistake, and unwillingly got into this story. We should talk to him."

Vern objected:

"There is nothing to speak with him for. We should just bring all this up at a class meeting."

I said:

"Come on, Vern, you guys were friends."

"Oh really?! Has he been acting like my friend?!" -- Vern cried. -- "He wanted to pin it all on me, when it's really his fault!"

Vern was a kind guy. But now he was beside himself, recollecting the way Ian behaved meanly during the story with the spare parts. Vern often unjustly served as a whipping boy in our grade. And, thinking about these unjust moments now, he boiled with indignation.

I noticed:

"You should rise above this!"

"Rise above what?"

"Above your own insult!"

Smako grumbled:

"If we talk to Ian, he'd tell them, and they'll cover up their traces. We'll be the fools then. We should just go to the police."

I have resolutely said:

"Behind his back? No way!"

So in the end we didn't agree on anything then. More accurately, we agreed that we will do nothing, until we agree definitively. And keep all this in secret.


End of Part 6 (includes Chapters 27,28,29)

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