GREASE JOB

                                                 by Abe

                   

                         I don't know if I should tell you this, about

                    Betty and Tom.  Well, it has been a long time, and I'll

                    try to avoid last names.  I guess it's OK.  It all had

                    to do with Uncle Ted's garage, and I'll have to explain

                    that.

                         Stanford's one of those crossroads towns.  In this

                    case, it's state route 92, where it crosses Blue Jacket

                    Creek, and county road 23, which runs more or less

                    along the creek, but on the higher ground.  The

                    respectable part of town runs from the bridge, Miss

                    Tina's Tea Shoppe, west along state 92, up toward the

                    Stanford Central School.  Uncle Ted had a garage, auto

                    repair and general black smithing, between the county

                    road and the creek.  It was an old brick building.  I

                    guess it was once a stable.  When I was a kid, Ted

                    married a widow who had a little girl, Betty, and I

                    guess that made her my cousin, or step-cousin.  Anyway,

                    Ted moved in with the widow, Aunt Edna, and continued

                    to run his garage in town until he died, and it was

                    boarded up.  I guess it was for sale, but who would buy

                    such a place?

                         The summer when I was going into eighth grade, and

                    my brother, Tom, who was fourteen, was going into

                    ninth, I used to hang around with Tom and his friends.

                    I suppose they were a gang.  The co-leaders were Carmen

                    and his brother, Frank, who was sixteen, going on

                    seventeen, but Frank had just finished eighth grade

                    with Carmen and Tom and the others, because they had

                    held him back.  Carmen had the brains in the family,

                    and Frank was the enforcer, about six foot two and

                    built like a bear.  Anyway, we used Uncle Ted's garage

                    as a sort of clubhouse.

                         Like I said, it was all boarded up, but out in

                    back was a big old oak tree.  It wasn't hard to climb,

                    and if you shinnied out one of the big branches, you

                    could drop down onto the flat roof, which had a kind of

                    brick parapet around it.  When I was younger, my

                    friends and I used to play Beau Geste and Robin Hood up

                    there.  Anyway, there was a skylight, which let in some

                    light, even though the windows were all boarded shut,

                    and, over in the corner, there was a hatch, like an

                    upside down box, all tarred over.  If you opened the

                    hatch, there were iron rungs set into the brick wall,

                    and you could climb down.  It was full of old car

                    stuff, and there was an office in the back, with a

                    storage loft over it.  There was a pit for servicing

                    cars, stuff like that, and an old blacksmith's forge

                    along one wall, with a big iron chimney that went up

                    and out through the wall.  In the summer, the place was

                    kind of warm and stuffy, with the windows and doors

                    sealed shut.

                         One summer day, Steve and Nick and George came by

                    our house, and Tom went with them.  I tagged along

                    after Tom.  Steve said Frank had some new girly mags,

                    and we could see 'em down at the clubhouse.  We met

                    Carmen and Frank, and the bunch of us went down along

                    the bank of the creek, so as not to be conspicuous.

                    Frank had a bag under his arm, and we were all anxious

                    to see what was in it.  I don't know where he got those

                    magazines, but they weren't just your ordinary Playboy.

                    In the garage, we had stored Penthouse, London Gallery,

                    Swedish Erotica, even a copy of Spanking Times, and

                    some really weird ones in German.  Tom says he thinks

                    Frank got them out of the dumpster behind the barber

                    shop.  They sure as shit didn't sell them in Stanford.

                    Anyway, one by one we went up the tree and onto the

                    roof and down the rungs in the wall.  Pretty soon, we

                    had the  magazines out, and we were leafing through

                    them and making comments:  "Wow, look at the tits on

                    that one."  "Shit, there's no hair on her cunt."  "How

                    can he put it in her in that position?"  "How can they

                    get some woman to let them do that to her?"  "It's

                    faked; the guy stands there with a whip and they draw

                    the streaks across her ass with lipstick or something."

                         All of a sudden, Carmen says, "Quiet!  There's

                    someone on the roof."  We dropped the magazines, and we

                    all hid in the dark office.  Couple of seconds later,

                    Cousin Betty starts down the rungs in the wall.  First

                    we see her sneakers, and that she's wearing jeans, then

                    her tee shirt, and finally her hair.  She'd bleached it

                    and teased it or permed it or something, so it adds

                    about two inches to her height and falls in waves down

                    her back.  She gets down, where we can't see her, or I

                    couldn't anyhow, and I hear her walk across the brick

                    floor and start messing with the magazines.  We could

                    hear her flipping the pages.  Carmen's crouching there

                    with his finger to his lips, and we're all quiet.

                         We hear Betty pause.  She strikes a match and goes

                    through the cigarette ritual: sssss, inhaling, hhhhhh,

                    blowing out the smoke.  She shouldn't have been

                    smoking; she's was only fifteen.  Then we hear her

                    ripping up magazines, and we all crept out of the

                    office and watched.  Her back was to us, and she was

                    ripping up the dirty pictures and piling them in the

                    forge, as if she was going to burn them.

                         Carmen and Frank grabbed her before she knew what

                    was happening, and Frank, who was a foot taller and

                    weighed twice what she did, had her on her back on the

                    floor in a second.  He got behind her head, had her

                    arms out like a crucifix, and pinned her elbows to the

                    floor with his knees, so he had both hands free.  She

                    squealed and screamed, but Frank put his left hand over

                    her mouth.  Nobody could have heard her, anyway, not

                    through those brick walls, unless they had their ear

                    against the door or something.

                         Carmen picked up the cigarette she dropped and

                    waved it in her face.  "You make any more noise, and

                    I'm going to stub this out on your cheek."  She stopped

                    trying to scream.  The look in her eyes was wild, like

                    the girls in those slasher movies, just before they get

                    chainsawed.

                         "You tore up our naked lady pictures," says

                    Carmen, "so we'll just have to look at you, instead."

                    He grabbed at the waist of her jeans and started to

                    undo them.  Boy, did she struggle, flopped like a newly

                    landed fish, kicking and all that.  George and Steve

                    each grabbed a leg and pulled off a sneaker, so, with

                    her legs pulled out straight, it didn't take Carmen

                    long to work her jeans down over her hips and down her

                    legs and off over her feet.  She had on pink hip-hugger

                    panties, and they came off in seconds.  Carmen grabbed

                    her tee shirt and pushed it up around her neck, and

                    then he got out his pocket knife.

                         Betty got real quiet when she saw that blade in

                    front of her face.  Carmen cut the shoulder straps of

                    her bra and then he slipped the blade down between her

                    breasts and sawed at the bra, between the cups, until

                    it came apart and practically flew off.  She had big

                    tits, big for a fifteen year old.  Carmen put his knife

                    away and put one hand on each breast.  Betty just

                    stared at him.  Then Carmen got up and took one of her

                    feet.  He pulled it up -- she wasn't strong enough to

                    prevent him -- and handed it to Frank, who grabbed her

                    ankle.  Then the other leg, so Frank had her elbows

                    pinned beneath his knees, with her head practically in

                    his lap and her legs up in the air, in a vee.

                         "OK, guys," said Carmen.  "Everybody gets a look

                    at the real thing."  Her rump was up off the floor, the

                    way Frank lifted her ankles, and you could see

                    everything, ass hole and all.  Carmen took hold of some

                    of her short hairs and pulled so that her cunt came

                    open.  "Take a look."

                         George got down on his knees and peered into her.

                    "She's so pink," he said.

                         "Go ahead, touch it," said Carmen.  George reached

                    out one finger and kind of rubbed her pinkness.  Then

                    he stood up.  Steve was next, and he took over holding

                    her cunt lips apart while Carmen had a good look and

                    pressed, there where the inner lips come together,

                    until Betty yelled.  "OK," he said, "you asked for it."

                    He stuffed her panties in her mouth, and held them in

                    with friction tape from the workbench.

                         Nick took his turn, inspecting her very carefully,

                    as if she was a biology lab specimen or something.

                    "OK, Tom, and you," said Carmen.  By the time it was my

                    turn to look, her inner lips were almost red, and they

                    seemed wet and slick.  Tentatively, I reached out a

                    finger and touched.  She was slippery.

                         "OK, Frank," said Carmen, "Your turn."  Frank

                    didn't get up.  He just lifted up on her ankles and

                    pulled back, so that her crotch was right in his face,

                    his nose practically in her cunt.  When he had had a

                    good look, he put her down the way she had been, her

                    legs still spread in the air, but her butt resting on

                    the floor.

                         "What do we do next?" said George.

                         "Let's stick our pricks in her," said Steve.

                         "No!" yelled Tom.

                         "Why not?"

                         "Because that's rape.  You could get twenty-five

                    years in the slammer for doing that."

                         "No," said Carmen, "we're juveniles.  They can't

                    send us to jail."

                         "Yeah?" said Tom, "they can send us to the

                    reformatory and keep us there 'till we're twenty-one.

                    Don't rape her.  She's under age, too.  They'll call it

                    child molesting."

                         Nick held up a torn picture of a woman all tied

                    up, with a couple of guys with hoods and whips.  "We

                    could whup her good, so she'd never come back here."

                         "No," said Tom.  "What's the point?  If we injured

                    her, left marks, why that's something she could show to

                    the police, and they'd be after us for sure."

                         Frank spoke for the first time: "We could stick

                    our pricks in her and whup her and then kill her, so

                    she couldn't tell."

                         "No, Frank," said Carmen.  "Tom's right.  We can't

                    do anything that hurts her, leaves marks, anything they

                    can take pictures of."

                         George was looking around the garage.  He came

                    back with a big can, twenty-five pounds, I think, of

                    grease.  "Yes," said Carmen, "that's it, a grease job.

                    Let go of her, Frank."

                         Frank let Betty's ankles go and got up off her

                    arms.  She rolled over on her front and kneeled, her

                    arms crossed across her breasts, her knees pressed

                    together.  Frank held her arms, while Carmen pulled off

                    her tee shirt and wrapped it around her wrists, for

                    padding.  Then he bound them together tightly with

                    friction tape.  They dragged her over to a chain lift.

                    It was meant for lifting engines and things; it was on

                    a kind of crane.  Carmen put the hook between Betty's

                    wrists and pulled on the loop of chain.  Slowly,

                    clanking away, the hook rose up and Betty dangled, her

                    feet a foot or so off the floor.  She was making little

                    noises, "umf, umf," through her gag, and her eyes

                    rolled.  Tom brought a chair for her to stand on, which

                    took the strain off her arms.

                         "Good idea," said  Carmen.  He brought another,

                    then arranged them about three apart, so that Betty had

                    a choice.  She could hang from her wrists, or she could

                    stand, with one foot on each chair and her legs spread.

                    She chose to stand.  "OK," said Carmen, "Everybody get

                    some grease."  He pried the lid off with a screwdriver,

                    and reached in for a handful.  The grease was bright

                    orange, and quite thick.  When Carmen pulled his hand

                    out, the grease was stringy, like melted cheese on a

                    pizza.  He slapped his handful right between her legs

                    and smeared it upward, over her belly.  Steve packed

                    some in between the cheeks of her ass and then smeared

                    a thick layer over her butt, from waist to knees.

                    Frank, who was tallest, worked several handfuls into

                    Betty's hair, turning it bright orange.  He modeled

                    the greasy hair into strange shapes.  She had two big

                    orange horns, like Clarabelle the Clown, and he

                    plastered a lot of her hair over her face, even

                    covering her eyes, so she couldn't see who was doing

                    what to her.  George and Nick took care of the rest of

                    her, rubbing grease into her breasts, covering every

                    bit of her body and legs, where ever they could reach,

                    even doing the soles of her feet.  Steve found an old

                    pillow, which he tore open.  They stuck feathers into

                    the grease, as if she had a feathered bathing suit on.

                    Tom and I just watched.

                         I thought that was the worst they could do to her,

                    but Frank found a grease gun and loaded it.  He pressed

                    the end into her ass and pumped until she wouldn't stop

                    screaming through her gag.  When he pulled it out, a

                    stream of yellow grease came out her ass hole, like

                    toothpaste from a tube.  Then he stuck the gun into her

                    cunt and pumped until bloody grease was oozing out. I

                    really felt sorry for her; what a way to lose your

                    cherry.

                         After that, they couldn't think of anything worse

                    they could do to her that wouldn't leave her scarred or

                    crippled. Carmen wiped his greasy hands on her jeans,

                    and so did the others, and on the remains of the

                    pillow.  "I think we'd better get out of here," said

                    Carmen.  "One at a time, so people won't notice."  One

                    by one, he sent Steve, Nick, and George up the ladder

                    of rungs, then Tom and me.

                         Tom said, "Aren't you going to let her go?"

                         "Later," said Carmen, "I'll come back later."

                         On the roof, Tom whispered to me to run home and

                    get some rags, towels, anything to clean up Betty, but

                    not to let anyone see me.  Tom went and hid behind the

                    big skylight.  Frank and Carmen didn't come out before

                    I left.  I don't know what they were doing, and Tom

                    would never tell me.

                         I ran most of the mile home, and I got Ma's rag

                    bag, and some flour and feed sacks,  a piece of old

                    blanket out of our barn, and a bar of yellow laundry soap.

                    Then I went back to the garage, going around by the

                    creek and trying not to be  seen.  When I got down the

                    ladder, Tom had Betty untied and ungagged.  He was

                    trying to wipe the grease off her face.  I didn't see

                   Carmen or Frank.  I gave him the  bag of stuff.  "Thanks.

                   Now, get out of here,  Kid," said Tom.  "Tell Ma I won't

                   be home for supper.  Say you think I've got a date, but you

                   don't know who.  We'll have to wait for dark to get Betty

                   out of here.  Can't let people see her all greasy."

                         The last I saw as I left was Betty standing, and

                    Tom wiping her butt with a soft rag.  Nobody but us

                    boys and Betty ever knew what went on in the garage

                    that day.  Somehow, Betty got home and got cleaned up,

                    hair washed, without her parents finding out about the

                    grease job.  After that, Tom and Betty saw a lot of

                    each other, went steady through high school.  Then Tom

                    went off to college, and Betty married a truck driver

                    from Steubenville.  It all worked out pretty well.  She

                    even got revenge on Carmen and Frank, but that's

                    another story.

                   

                                             [END]