Todd screws his eyes up to see whatever he can pick out through the driving rain, which hammers down against the windscreen.
Lightning rends the night sky. Thunder rumbles.
Todd drives slowly.
"If I don't get the chance to sing 'I Will Survive' after all that rehearsing, I'll go fucking postal," Angie whinges.
Nick grunts distractedly. He can't get the image of a pool table, a girl with legs akimbo, and furious sex out of his mind.
Johnny Boy is wondering who the hell Michael the Mutant could be. And what exactly Buck and Duncan did to him to provoke legal intervention by the slimeball attorney Armijo?
Johnny Boy pushes these thoughts out of his mind. Lola is his girlfriend, but in the last half hour, his gaze has become fixed exclusively on Angie's unfettered breasts, their exquisite form, the high, proud nipples pressing against a damp, ever so skimpy tee-shirt.
Johnny Boy wants Angie, even if she insists on singing a karaoke version of 'I Will Survive' as he plumbs her delicious depths. Lola is okay, but she's skinny, like him. He sometimes worries that when they fuck a little too enthusiastically, the friction will start a fire.
His unwavering gaze never strays from Angie's erect nipples. He is nursing a hard on so ferocious that he fears it might actually start eating his jeans in a bid for liberation.
Meantime, Todd, squinting into the darkness and the driving rain spots a white painted timber archway off to the right. It bears the legend: CAMP GRUESOME DEATH.
"We're here!" Todd exclaims as he pulls off the road into a driveway covered by a canopy of trees.
"Does this mean I get to perform 'I Will Survive'?" Angie says, absently tweaking her left nipple twixt thumb and forefinger, causing Johnny Boy's eyes to roll in his head, and his hand to touch his painfully engorged member. He wonders if it will ever be the same with Lola again. Lola's nipples aren't as upstanding as Angie's. Lola is the tree branch, he decides, the twig, whereas Angie is the succulent fruit.
His balls ache.
"What is it with you and 'I Will Survive'?" Nick asks.
He's still thinking about unfettered sex on pool tables but he's determined to act as normally as possible. He wonders why Johnny Boy's eyes have glazed over. He can't imagine what could be causing that to happen.
"I've rehearsed it," Angie says. She's aware that her nipples are erect, and that they're tingling, sending messages to other parts of her body. She touches both nipples at once. Electricity shoots through her entire body.
Johnny Boy starts banging his head against the camper van window and groaning audibly.
"What's up with him?" Nick asks.
Fran knows full well what's up with Johnny Boy. He has a raging hard on that just won't go away. Fran's hand strays to a point between her legs and it feels real nice.
"Dunno," she says dreamily, as she imagines getting shagged rotten on a pool table in some seedy bar.
"We're here!" Todd announces, effectively breaking the sexual tension. Nobody does sexual tension like teens. Old farts know what's about to happen, so they don't get so carried away. But teens tend to have all these raging hormones which somehow make everything more intense and meaningful.
Todd pulls the camper van up outside a red brick bungalow where a porch light, and window lights shine out through the storm.
Todd sounds the horn.
A minute later, a figure emerges, carrying a raincoat overhead to keep the rain off.
"Step inside!" the man says, before scurrying back through the open door of the bungalow.
"Well," Angie says. "Let's go! I might get 'I Will Survive' in yet!"
Six teens make their way into the bungalow through the driving rain.
"Howdy, what can I do for you?" the man asks, in the most pleasant manner.
He looks a little like Geraldo Rivera, Fran thinks. Kind of handsome. But he probably struggles to put his trousers on in the morning. By his own admission.
"You're American," Lola says. It's a statement, rather than a question.
"Surely am ma'am. Allow me to introduce myself: I'm Frankie the J, and soon to make an appearance will be Mrs Frankie the J."
The amiable gentleman then shook hands with the teen campers, unable to tear his eyes too far from Angie's erect nipples.
JEEZUS! he's thinking. I COULD USE SOME OF THAT!
"So whereabouts in the States are you from?" Angie asks.
"West 'By God' Virginia," Frankie the J says proudly. "The Good Lord's own country, by God."
"So what brings you here, to England?" Fran asks. "To Camp Gruesome Death?"
"Nipples..." Frankie says, unable to peel his gaze away from Angies conspicuous love buttons.
"Nipples?" Fran blurts, aghast at the sheer audacity of the man.
"Did I say 'nipples'?" Frankie the J asks innocently. "I'm sorry, I meant to say nickels,"
"Nickels?" Lola asks.
"Erm, oh yeah. My folks died and left me a whole bunch of nickels. Mrs Frankie the J caught this business opportunity on eBay, Camp Gruesome Death. We bid for it and we won. Sort of..."
"What do you mean, sort of?" Angie asks, aware that Frankie the J is carefully scrutinising her upstanding radio tuners.
"Well, it's okay" Frankie the J says. "But like any business it has its downside."
"What does that mean? Exactly?" Lola asks.
Frankie the J scrutinises Lola for the first time with a well trained lecherous eye.
Fuckable, he decides. But too skinny. Very limited in the hooter department. Nice luscious lips though. He imagines what they'd look like clenched firmly around his...
"Francis! Why didn't you tell me we had visitors?" It's obviously Mrs Frankie the J. She exudes cool confidence. "Pleased to meet you,"she says, shaking hands with the teens. She is unable to ignore the throbbing erection so obviously straining against Johnny Boy's jeans. Her eyelids flutter. She is thinking - I know what I'd like to do with THAT! Flat on my back on a pool table. Legs akimbo. I could get real jiggy with that love pump.
But she says nothing. She simply squirms a little as her lady parts get the better of her.
"Sorry. What does what mean my dear?" Frankie asks Lola. He's trying to talk business but his mind is filled with images of sensual blow jobs.
"You mentioned a downside...excuse me!" Lola says in that horrible whiney tone that teens seem to have perfected to a tee.
"Oh, that..." Frankie the J mumbles.
"What the hell are you talking about here?" Todd asks, his voice drenched in anxiety.
"It's nothing," Frankie the J says. "You'll enjoy your stay here, as long as you don't let the inbred mutant hoody zombie serial killers get to you."
"You fucking what?" Todd shreiks, like a girl.
"It's twenty pounds per night," Frankie the J says. Imagining rude developments involving parts of his anatomy and Lola's luscious mouth which we won't go into here. "Take it or leave it."
"I guess you've got a deal," Todd says.
"Pleasure doing business with you young uns," Mrs Frankie the J says, eyeballing the rampant, ever so obvious erection in Johnny Boy's jeans.
Nobody notices the shadows racing by outside the lighted windows.