A Knife at Lover's Lane


"This is how it's supposed to be," Spike said, sliding deliciously within her. "Told you I'd make you feel good."

His arm stretched, and cranked the window handle just enough to lower the window an inch or so. Peggy Jean felt the draft, heard Jimmy's raving, and knew what Spike wanted her to say even before he asked.

"How's that, girlie? You like it? You like what I'm doing?"

"Yes, oh, please don't stop," she said. "Make it good … make it good for me …"

"Make you come, you mean?"

"Yes! That's what I want!"

He moved a little faster, though still gently. Peggy Jean wrapped her legs around his hips and clung to his shoulders. Jimmy had given up his assault on the car and stood dumbfounded at the window, jaw hanging, eyes huge.

"I can feel you getting ready," Spike said. "You are one sexy lady, one sexy lady who loves a good fucking."

She cried out, astonished to hear the obscenity from her own mouth – "Oh, yes, fuck me, I'm there, I'm coming, fuck me now!" – and undulated beneath Spike as her climax crested, wave after tumbling wave. In the middle of it, he joined his voice to hers as he let himself go, spilling into her.

They rested like that for an unknown amount of time, in each others' arms. Peggy Jean felt Spike's mouth curve as he smiled against her neck.

Then, Jimmy, rousing himself from his agog stupor, began hammering on the window again. Spike disengaged himself from Peggy Jean. His greased-down hair was disheveled, even after he patted it back into place. He had taken off his leather jacket, and the deck of smokes turned up into the sleeve of his white tee shirt had come most of the way out. He pulled up his jeans.

"Guess I better deal with your boyfriend," he said as he unlocked the door.

Peggy Jean, still adrift in a wonderful haze, sleepily blinked her eyes. She watched the lean flex of Spike's legs as he got out of the car. She sat up, her head swimming.

Jimmy rounded the trunk, waving his fists.

"Alex, you prick!" he shouted. "I never said you could do that!"


Spike grinned ruefully. "Someone had to make up for your lack of manners, Jim."

"I'm going to beat your goddamn head in," Jimmy said.

He swung a haymaker, which Spike dodged. "Take it easy. This was your idea."

"For you to make her let me," Jimmy fumed. "Not for you to fuck her too!"

Understanding dawned on Peggy Jean. She scrambled out of the car, not caring about modesty – it was pointless to worry about her nudity now – and confronted them.

"What did he say? Whose idea?"

"Um …" blustered Jimmy. "Nothing."

Spike, or Alex, or whoever he was, shrugged. "He set this whole thing up. I'm his cousin."

His voice had changed, lost its rough accent and slang. Jimmy went scarlet.

"That's a lie!" Jimmy shouted.

"His cousin?" Peggy Jean turned to Jimmy. "You did this? You … arranged this?"

"The knife, the script, everything," Spike said. "I have to give him credit. He may be a lousy lay, but my cousin here is one hell of an actor."

"Jimmy, why?" she shrieked. "Why would you … how could you … why?"

"You kept telling me no," Jimmy said, his lip sticking out in that sullen way she had come to know and loathe. "What else was I supposed to do? All the other guys have done it. You wouldn't even let me put my hand under your sweater. I was tired of waiting. So, yeah, I called my cousin and made the plan. I'd give you one last chance, and if you still wouldn't come across, he'd do the thing with the knife. But I never meant for him to get in the back seat with you! I swear! That wasn't part of the deal."

"Jimmy Reed, you … you shit!" Peggy Jean spat. "I told you I wanted to wait. You said you respected that, but then you'd whine, and pout. And you know what? Spike's right. You are a lousy lay. You're a selfish, greedy little boy and I never want to go out with you again."

She ripped the yarn cord from around her neck and hurled Jimmy's class ring at him. It struck him in the face, below the eye, and raised a welt. As he reeled back in surprise, she lunged into the car and retrieved her underwear. Her skirt and sweater had been knocked to the ground while Jimmy was angrily beating up his car – his fists had made a few dents, she was glad to see – and her bra was a loss. She dressed as fast as she could.

"I'll tell everyone," Jimmy said. "How you let him do it with you. By the time I'm done, all of Wentworth will know you're a tramp."

Peggy Jean looked at him, dismayed. "No, you can't –"

"If you tell," said Spike, "so do we. How you set this up so you could rape your girlfriend. We'll tell them how bad you were. What do you think all of Wentworth will think of that? Not to mention your parents? You'd be finished, Jimmy. You'd be the laughingstock of the whole town."

Jimmy glared at his cousin for a long, smoking moment. Then, with a short but venom-filled look at Peggy Jean, the welt on his cheekbone already puffing up and turning purple, he bent and snatched up his ring and the car keys that Spike had tossed into the grass. He leaped behind the wheel. The engine roared to life, sending up a plume of smoke, and then Jimmy was tearing out of Lover's Lane leaving a cloud of dust.

Spike looked at Peggy Jean. Neither of them said anything for a while, not until the sound of Jimmy's car had receded and the normal noises of the night resumed.

"So," he said. "Would you like to go out for a hamburger sometime?"

"Are you asking me on a date?"

He grinned. "Thought I might, since you don't have a boyfriend any more. I'm really a nice guy when I'm not threatening people with a knife."

"Sure," Peggy Jean said. "I'd like to go out with you."

"Great. For now, though, I guess I'd better give you a ride home. Ever been on a motorcycle?"


The End

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