September
19 3 3
2SC
Adam
•
Dean
Claire , Nat , Louise . Frank Kenneth # Kay Kennedy * Barker * Langdon * Young * Carroll
Q
*
Fritzi Dunn
Kay
t
Robert
#
Tom
Carroll
*
Dumont
*
Kane
SEPTEMBER
NOVEMBER
RIES*
RIES
->
25 Cents Stories By:
GORDON SAYRE KEN COOPER TOM KANE KAY CARROLL
25
Cents
Frank K.
Kay
Fritzi
Diana
Gordon
Young
Carroll
Dunn
Page
Sayre
JULY
MARCH
In this Issue:-
Stories by
KEN COOPER PEPITA DERNE
25 CENTS
CLINTON HARCOURT BLONDE TROUBLE "*/
CLIFF ca me urn
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the lusciously upholstered brunette,
she
"And now . . . ?”
addd as an afterthought: "Are you a model
"I take sunbaths in the nude!”
wife, by any chance?”
"So I see!” said Hazel, smiling, as she all
rolled over on her side and curled a leg
people!” replied Hazel, a wisp of bluishgray smoke trickling from her lips. "How
under an expansive hip. "This is the best time of day for it! . . . One gets all the
about yourself?”
benefits without the burn.”
"Such
a
question,
Barbara laughed.
from
you,
of
"Once upon a time I
"That’s
right!”
agreed
Barbara.
"It
was a model . . . for dresses ... in a
would be terrible to burn that lovely milky
store!”
white skin of yours.”
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Many hours
later, a
crescendo of
been
consumed
before
the
trout
were
hilarity could be heard in that mountain
broiled, and after a delicious meal, the
retreat.
quartet adjourned to the living room for cigarettes and coffee. Soon they were taking turns at cock¬
Only two lights were burning in
the bungalow, one in the kitchen and the other in the living room. The jazzy strains of dance music emanated from a portable phonograph. Two shakers of Barbara’s cocktails had
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tail conjuring, and there was a competi¬ tion as to the ability of each to turn out the most potently disturbing concoction.
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"I think I’ll rest up a bit,” Jack re¬ plied. “Maybe I’ll need it before I’m much older. What do you think?” Again Mary smiled. “Maybe you will,” she laughed, as she flipped out of the room.
Nothing ing. They after which right off to
much happened that even¬ had supper in the kitchen, Jack’s uncle and aunt went bed, taking Mary with them.
"We go to bed early in the country,”
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with an improvised cocktail shaker filled to the top and cooling in the spring. "Gee!” said Conrad.
"You’re a peach.
You’re good for something after all.” "Good
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for
something,”
cried
"You’d be surprised if you knew all I could do.” The cocktails were the hit of the even¬ ing, though Jill had to admit that she
Jill.
couldn’t remember whether it was one or
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mer season, kept time to the music, though her tiny feet never left the dance floor. Her hips, smooth and perfectly contoured, undulated with a sensuousness that suggested plenty to Wilbur and sent stabs of fire through his body. In a frenzy he gulped down some Canadian import (straight) and permitted his eyes to rest on the lines of her breasts as they molded into her body. Their soft pink tips were cov-
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ered with a diaphanous drape which only enhanced their charm. The perfect mounds of delectability were not white as Wilbur had pictured them in his Long Island home. It was late summer and the sun had turned them a glorious, richly tinted bronze.
Dixie Dolly finished her song with a final, jerky curves
rhythm quivers
which
made
of ecstasy.
her
inspiring
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This study offers an excellent contrast of highlights and shadows, which shows what can
be ac-
complished in photographic art.
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She grinned. “That’s too many questions at once.” She stepped to a closet, removed a pair of knitted swimming trunks. “You can use these if you can get ’em on. I’ll be down at the brook.”
“You were calling for someone,” she said. Her voice was deep and throaty. It sent funny little sensations racing up and down Gil’s spine. “Someone named Jenkins.” “My—my valet,” Gil said. She posed with her hands on the lyre of her hips, a faintly disdainful smile curling her plump, red lips. “I rather thought you’d have one of those things. You’re the type. How about some coffee? You could probably stand a gallon.”
She was gone before Gil could protest. He sat there, holding the trunks she had tossed into his lap and wondering how all this had happened. He remembered going out with Ar¬ lene and Frank Miller. He remembered that
“Got a drink?” Gil blurted out quickly. She stepped to a pump, raised the handle. “Clear, fresh and cold. Right out of the well.” Gil made a wry face. “Ugh! Not water!” She shrugged. “Sorry, I’m all out of cham¬ pagne. Water won’t poison you, Mr. Rhodes.” Gil’s brows arched. “How do you know my name?” “Found a card in your pocket. I’d suggest a short swim in the brook. Best thing in the world for a hangover.” “Say, listen, how did I get here, where am I and who are you?”
Frank and Arelne were going to get married. After that he remembred nothing. Flow in the name of heaven he had ever gotten to this log cabin was a mystery. How the same blonde who had slapped him had got¬ ten there was a double mystery. He was a little amazed to find himself shed¬ ding his trousers and donning the slightly small swimming trunks. It had been five years since he had even thought about swimming in anything but Scotch. And yet, here he was, Gil Rhodes, New York’s man-about-a-bottle, picking his way 37
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