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The subject matter in this story has not yet come to be accepted by most of society, who prefer instead to pretend that the practice does not exist; or that if it does, it is practiced only by some obscure tribeswoman in a lost Andean jungle village. However, the author’s diligent research proved otherwise. Talking at length with police officers, prison officials, court reporters and others constantly in touch with the often unreported aspects of law and enforcement, he discovered not only a surprising incidence of such practices, but found them, incredibly, to be present in all walks of life: From the prison inmate to the debutante, the bar girl to the jet-setter. As unbelievable as it may sound, not a single one of the sources confidentially interviewed failed to provide at least one personal incident or anecdote involving this subject matter.
Spring had long since settled on the idyllic small town campus of the Freeman Elliott College, and summer was closing fast, turning the pale greens and pinks of spring to the richer hues of June, July and August. The founders of Freeman Elliott College had wisely remembered to leave the huge oaks, maples, and pines that gave the hilltop location such a feeling of peace and tranquility when they cleared ground for the brick buildings of the small conservative co-educational college just after the turn of the century. But if the trees had weathered the battles with the contractors and the many subsequent expansions, the academic institution itself had fared less favorably. Small private schools, unless noted for academic excellence or societal prestige, were suffering from the effects of inflation and the wind down of the war in Vietnam. Male students as a whole felt less inclined to use college as a draft shelter while boys and girls alike were opting by the thousands to skip college altogether. So it was with this forced economy and lack of funds in mind that the administrators of Freeman Elliott had decided to cancel their planned summer credit program.
The Parker girls, known that way to almost everyone, as they seemed permanently inseparable, had received the notice with more than a bit of concern. The cancellation left them with no place to go for the three months that remained before fall classes began, unless they chose to live alone at home and hope for summer employment. Annie Parker Armstrong, their twice-divorced mother, had passed away after a lingering illness in late October. Their welfare was now the concern of one Hinton Wallace, trust department manager of the Citizen’s Bank and Trust in their home town, who administered the modest funds that their mother’s estate had provided for them. Mr. Wallace was not the sort to approve of any summer plans that included trips to Europe or the Caribbean, nor even of a leisurely summer at home that failed to include employment. More than likely he would insist on a term at his bank in some menial capacity at wages that would make an illegal immigrant laborer recoil in horror.
Fictional reading for entertainment purposes only.