She had read about such things. Perhaps she might admit to fantasizing about how it would feel to be violated that way. But here she was about to permit it! Or would she?
"No, Gary! Not back there! It's too tight to do me there!"
"Aw, come on, Sally. Let's at least try it. Just once, baby. Just to see what it's like."
"Your cock is too big!" she giggled as the rubbery knob of it poked at the crack between the ivory-smooth globes of flesh. "You'll rip me apart, Gary. Besides ... someone might come along... . "
"Nobody ever comes to the beach this early in the morning," he panted over her shoulder, keeping a firm grip on her hips to keep her from getting away. "Just once, baby. Let's just try it."
Hidden by an old, weathered picket fence, Karen Martin watched and listened in silence. Pangs of guilt tore at her insides, telling her it was wrong to watch like this. But the excitement of their naked bodies and the promise of a performance she had never seen before, kept her from moving. After all, she rationalized, I was here long before they arrived. Ifs not my fault they just picked this spot and stripped naked without checking first to see if anyone was around. Probably college kids, who wouldn't mind anyway.
Convincing herself that she wasn't watching for her own sexual gratification relieved some of the guilt. She told herself that perhaps watching an-other couple make love would in some way help her own marriage. It might even help her understand her husband and the difficulty they were having over sex.
"Oh, Gary," the girl sighed when his arms slid around from the back, with one hand cupping her breast, while the fingers of the other combed through the dark triangle of hair between her legs. "I want you, Gary. I want you to fuck me the right way ... I need it ... I have to see that gorgeous plum dip into my pussy... ."
"I'll fuck you, baby. Fuck you real good. But first let me stick it up your ass a little."
"Mmmmmmm ... you drive me crazy," she purred.
"Bend over," he whispered.
Karen watched the pretty blonde spread her legs wide and bend at the waist. "Don't hurt me," she said as the lust-filled head of his thick meat slid down the crack of her ass. "OHHH!" she gasped, when it suddenly lunged between her legs and she felt the pulsing heat of it on her panting pussy. She could see the purplish head of it coming out in front and didn't notice that Gary's strong hands were pulling the checks of her ass apart.
"You're gonna like this, baby," he said in a raspy voice. "First we'll dip it in your cunt ... to get it wet and slippery ... like this."
"Nnnnggghhh!" Sally moaned. "LOVE IT! Mmmmmm ... soooo gooood ... Keep it there, lover! Let me come on it!"
"No, no!" he gulped, twisting his hips lewdly, swishing his throbbing cock in the juice-filled cunt. "If ... If ... I leave it in you ... I'll come tool"
"Oooowwww," moaned the girl as he slowly withdrew the long thick meat from her sucking pussy, leaving her breathless. Then he quickly brought the blunt tip of his cock to the little bud in the crack of her ass.
Karen, too, was breathless. She could see it all clearly; the pink, moist lips of the girl's panting sex, the little puckered sunburst in the crack of her ass, and the huge, thick cock that glistened with joy-juice from the girl's well of passion. In a way, she was glad her husband's cock wasn't as huge as this one -- though it seemed twice as big on their wedding night. But now she was excited watching -another girl take the savage rape of her back hole with such an enormous prick.
Then the heart-shaped head of his cock pressed forward, forcing the tight ring of her asshole to stretch open. "Ugh! No! ... Too big!" yelped Sally, but her boyfriend grimaced and pressed harder.
"There!" he gulped. "The head is in!"
"Nnnnggghbh ... I'm gagging ... Sooo big ... it feels like it's coming up my throat."
Now the slick white shaft, with its blue veins popping to the limit, inched into the dark dry tunnel. Incoherent, animal-like sounds escaped from deep in the girl's throat and Karen could feel her own rectum tighten to fight off the invasion of an imaginary cock.
"Too much!" Gary said breathlessly. "Out of this world, baby. So tight I can feel you breathe."
"Aaaggghhh ... big," Sally gagged. "Throbbing ... big ..."
"Oh, shit, baby ... I'm gonna come."
"COME! Gotta have it!"
"Squeeze my cock with those strong muscles ... suck it ... squeeze it ... YEAH!"
"Ohhh, Gary ... shoot it up my asshole ..."
She churned her ass around and around to make his prick leap in her belly. They fucked in a steadily faster rhythm, flicking until the girl's body was bouncing up and down, her tits jumping and shaking with passion, her stiff red nipples painfully tight and hard, her eyes gleaming with boiling desire.
"AHHHHHH!" from Sally as his joy-juices shot up the hot dry walls of her rectum. "Mmmmmrnm ..."
"What a way to fuck! Now use those muscles to force my cock out, baby. That should be easy."
Karen watched in awe as his softening prick slid from the girl's insides, leaving the little eye red and blinking wildly. But Sally didn't seem to mind at all. She dropped to her knees with exhaustion and grinned up at her lover, who was checking his limp cock.
"What's the matter, love?" Sally asked.
"Sore, baby. You've got one helluva tight ass-hole."
"That's what you get for sticking it in a meat grinder," she laughed. "Here, let me kiss it for you."
Karen felt herself retch as the girl's pouty-red lips pressed against the limp meat. All she could think about was the caked-on juices from the girl's own pussy, his come, and that she was now taking it in her mouth after it just came out of her asshole. She wanted to get up and run, but found herself mesmerized by Sally's eager mouth on his cock. The girl was swishing it around in her mouth, washing it clean with saliva. And in the process, his prick began to stiffen and balloon up again.
Then Sally just licked over it and occasionally let it slip briefly into her mouth. With a slender hand, she reached out and grasped the jerking spear, massaging the engorged head that was swollen and mottled with lust -- a heart-shaped plum aimed straight at her mouth.
Karen could see the cock slither from the girl's encircling lips, pulsing warm and rigid against her mouth, jumping again as she slid her tongue out and over it, licking it as her clenched hand tried to hold the lurching shaft still and buried in the oven of her working mouth.
The girl's lips were stretched by the thickness of his prick, the long shaft plunging down her throat, almost gagging her until she adjusted to the long, thrusting strokes as he flicked the clinging ring of her lips with his cock. She pulled on it and sucked on it hard, her tongue always working, making slurping sounds.
It seemed to Karen that Sally had an insatiable appetite for cock, and she wondered if he was going to pump his straining cock into that mouth forever. But then Gary slipped to a kneeling position between the young blonde's legs, his wet tongue lapping at her tender slit, his lips sucking hungrily at her soft folds, opening them to purse his lips around her cit. The girl gasped again, arching up as he sucked at her cunt, rooting greedily at it, eating her until the hot juices were dripping out of her.
Then Sally was up on her hands and knees, and he was licking her from behind, dragging his tongue from her cunt into the asshole he had made red with his cock.
"Ohhh, Gary, I need it!" she cried. "'This is real groovy, but I need your cock ... stuffed in my belly!"
He turned her around and quickly climbed up the blonde's thrashing body and took her with one long stroke of his spearing prick, filling her with its hardness and wringing a series of twists of exquisite pleasure from her body. She threw her arms around him, drawing him into her, and her tits were bouncing and jostling around the lines of his mouth, a hard nipple bounced over his cheek and his mouth quickly swooped over to retrieve it.
"Stay with me, Gary! Stay with me!" Sally screamed. "Fuck harder ... harder ... Nnnngggghhh ... more, more, MORE!"
He was pistoning his cock in and out feverishly now and she opened wider, thrusting her cunt up to meet the force of his penetration, and his prick dove deeper and deeper into her, closer and closer to the core.
As they flicked deeper and faster, he lifted her ass from the blanket1 bearing down on her with his cock. He lunged the hard, thick meat deeper and harder into Sally's wet and wild well, sucking furiously on her tits at the same time.
Karen knew, by the gurgling sounds coming from Sally's throat, that she was having an orgasm. Not just one! But a series, coming in like the waves on the beach, one after another, until his prick finally quenched the fire with the spray of foamy cream from his balls. Then their bodies went limp and they settled into a huddle of flesh.
Watching their wanton act did little more than satisfy Karen's curiosity. Or did it? she wondered. Was the ache in her own protruding nipples a sign that her body was capable of responding the way Sally did? Would she ever reach that evasive orgasm she desperately needed? But the questions only tormented her more, because she didn't have the answers.
When Sally wiggled out from beneath her boyfriend and got between his legs to suck his limp cock again, Karen slipped quietly from her hiding place. Enough was enough, she thought as she headed back to the apartment. But as she put distance between herself and the couple on the beach, her thoughts lingered on the prospect of duplicating the scene with her husband. She could almost see Allen's flabbergasted expression if she initiated the sex act.
First you have to stick It up my asshole, Allen, she heard herself tell him. Here, I'll bend over the bed and you get behind me ... NO! Wait! You have to dip it in my pussy first to get it all mushy.
In her mind's eyes, she saw herself bending spread-eagle, with Allen panting uncontrollably behind her. But when he drove his cock into her yielding cunt and withdrew it -- it came up dry! It always did, she told herself. She couldn't see herself suddenly flush with passion the way Sally did. At the same time, however, she wanted to see this thing through, and found herself telling him; Here, let me wet it in my mouth. Allen's knees buckled at that suggestion, which she found amusing, until she saw herself eye-to-eye with this thick cock. Everything was more vivid now, because she had actually seen Allen's lust-hardened prick from close range, the eye of it dripping a clear liquid and the putrid odor stinging in her nostrils -- not a memory, she could actually smell it now. Ugh! Not me! I don't know how she could do it. Or ... Or is there something wrong with me?
Chapter Two
She was tired of telling him to leave her alone -- didn't he understand? The message was there in the shapeless, sexless, flannel gown she wore to bed instead of the thin, filmy garments she might have assumed.
"Oh, baby, come here," he pleaded, dragging the small blonde woman into his arms. His hands pushed the long, matronly looking gown up from the delicate ankles, over the shapely caIves, past the full, creamy thighs. "Don't say no this time," ho whispered urgently.
What good would it do? she wondered bitterly, not moving, making her husband work to get the gown over the plump buttocks. Her flesh turned to ice wherever his fingers touched her.
"Oooh, baby," his large dry palms cupped themselves over the firm, hard-nippled breasts. Even after four years, their size didn't cease to amaze him. "Beautiful ... "
Fear sent chills down her spine and caused the small pink tips of her large breasts to harden even more. She wondered if her husband could possibly believe that it was passion that distended her nipples. The thought made her wait to laugh, but she couldn't, not with him grabbing her legs as he was doing. She knew just what would come. lie never altered his routine in any way. Each attempt at lovemaking was a duplicate of the last. It was a recurring nightmare -- without the reality of awakening to minimize its ugliness. If it has to happen, the young woman pleaded silently, at least make it different this time!
His breathing was coming faster, as it always did when he began. He loved this sensation of her loveliness and warmth. He was unaware of uncertainty, his awkwardness -- even his own lack of experience. Nothing mattered but the moment, and the moment was his!
This act, she thought achingly, this wonderful act which was supposed to mean so much! Would she never get used to it? Where was the pleasure? All she ever felt was pain, searing, degrading pain. Suddenly it was too much. She tried to control herself, but decided that it was much easier to just let it happen. Her resistance would only bring his resentment the next day. But even this awareness was not enough to make her lie still. Gritting her sharp, white teeth, the girl shoved at the flushed face, the lean driving hips. As many times as this had happened before, it always caught him off guard. Her strength was no match for his, but her determination and pain made her invincible.
"No! God damn it, no!" He fought against the pressure of her hands drunkenly. "Not again!" He reached out for the slim legs, but it was too late. They were clamped together. He rolled off her, wanting to kill her, wanting to clamp her to the bed and at last get all he could take of her lovely frigid flesh. But he couldn't stand for her to know how badly it hurt, this denial of her love.
They lay next to each other in silence, knowing that neither had the strength to rip at the other. Yet, there would be time for that tomorrow. There was always time for that... . Hate rather than love, frustration rather than peace, coldness rather than warmth, those were now the emotions that bound them together, and they had never felt further apart.
Chapter Three
Karen Martin, her full breasts heaving below the tear-stained pretty face, glared at her husband. She was too angry and hurt to speak. His stubbornness angered her, but his calm during these all-too-typical fights infuriated her.
"All I'm saying, Karen, is that I'm getting sick of your excuses." Allen's soft voice was its usual steady tenor. He looked like what he was, a busy young man with a number of things on his mind. He looked at the wonderful curves of his wife's young body. Wanting her had become an ache. He couldn't afford that kind of ache. There was too much he had to do. Working all day, going to school evenings, and studying whenever he found the time, drained too much out of him. He sighed deeply. "What is it you want of me, Karen? Just tell me, and I'll try to understand."
"That's the trouble," Karen answered bitterly. She choked on her tears. She was tired of crying over her marriage. She was, she admitted to herself, just plain tired of marriage. "I shouldn't have to tell you."
Allen gathered up his books with his usual efficiency. He knew what the problem was, but it baffled him. He sorted the books carefully, then looked at the girl. At twenty-one Karen looked like a fine-boned, big-eyed, big-busted teen-ager. Her waist was unbelievably tiny. Allen longed to wrap his fingers around the small middle and lift the girl into his arms. But he hadn't the time. Besides, even with time, all such a move would produce would be more tears.
God! I'm sick of the tears! he thought, rubbing his eyes wearily with his free hand. "Look, baby, I've told you before, and I'll tell you again: I love you. I really do. Only when people have been married a while, it's natural that they sort of take each other for granted a little. Why can't you understand that?"
Karen's large, round, brown eyes flamed again. "If you'd only try to be a little more sensitive ..."
"Sensitive!" Allen interrupted, at last jarred out of his matter-of-factness. "I swear to Christ, Karen, if I hear that word one more time, I'll go off my nut!" He laid the books down for a moment, glanced at the clock and picked them up again. "You talk like a sixteen-year-old who's been reading too many love stories!"
He started for the door, his slim, Ivy League-suited body and tired face making him look years older than his twenty-three years, but turned toward his wife again. "Karen, sex is a normal, natural and, hopefully, pleasant act. But it's no damn testimonial of love! Sure, it's a part of it, but just because I won't kiss your feet or something before I get on top doesn't mean I don't love you!"
Karen turned her back on her husband before he was through. He didn't understand! He would never understand! "You act like a -- an -- animal!" Karen blurted out, catching the new tears with her wet hands. "That's all right, too, I guess?"
Allen remembered going through this scene so many times that he gave up in disgust. Besides, he would be late to school if he didn't leave immediately. He'd never get his degree in accounting. It would mean so much to both of them. Why didn't she see it? Did she want him to be a clothing salesman at the department store all his life, never making enough money to support a family? "Forget it!" he mumbled, slamming the door behind him.
Once he was gone, Karen breathed a sigh of relief and immediately .stopped crying. At that moment she hated Allen. She threw herself across the faded and torn couch and wondered why they had ever gotten married in the first place.
But then she remembered how much she had loved him when they were going together, and wanted him. Allen Martin was the first boy Karen had ever really known. She had been too busy with school, her widowed mother, and making her home pleasant, to think of dating boys. She didn't remember her father, and men and boys had always made Karen uncomfortable -- she never knew how to act with them. But with Allen -- it had been different. He had been as shy as she.
Karen had been attracted to Allen's slim boyishness as she had never been attracted to the aggressive masculinity of the more popular males at school. She had felt safe with Allen. She had always felt vaguely threatened with other boys, as if by size alone they might suddenly overwhelm her. His first kiss had been so gentle, so shy and hesitant, that Karen had been the one to laughingly pull his face back to hers for a second.
She had agreed that they should wait until Allen finished his schooling before getting married. Allen had stressed that he didn't want his wife to work to support him through school, nor did he want a marriage in which the first few years were pure poverty. He wanted them to have every chance for happiness. Karen had been impressed when Allen very practically recited to her the statistics on divorce between young marrieds in the United States.
But when her mother died suddenly after graduation, Karen had become terrified at the prospect of remaining alone for several years. She had pleaded with Allen and cried, until, reluctantly, Allen agreed that they might as well get married at once. He had wanted to wait until he could afford a wife, but Karen seemed so lost he could not bring himself to resist. He immediately got a job as a salesman, and was forced to fit school in around his working hours. It would take much longer this way, but he allowed himself to be drawn into Karen's enthusiastic plans with some excitement. However, the plan which had promised such happiness for both of them turned into chaos on the first night of their married life.
Neither could she explain to Allen what had happened that night. He hadn't been too rough, nor had he been unkind. But, having felt the shocking pain of the first intruder her tender insides had ever known, Karen had tightened up immediately, making further entrance impossible. Allen, unbearably aroused by what was also his first introduction into sex, couldn't hold back. With a low grunt he rolled off her to his side of the brand new bed.
Karen had wanted to throw up. All the beauty, the emotional and physical ecstasy for which she had been preparing herself had come to a callous numbness which left her feeling used and deified. Speechless, Karen looked at the man from whom she had been expecting such pleasure.
"Relax, baby," Allen had said, trying to sound experienced and understanding. "Girls are always a little nervous the first time. This time it will be better."
And then he was on top of her again. She was too stunned to cry out, too tense to protest. But when she felt him begin to groan and breathe heavily again, Karen tried to push him away. Allen mistook her motion for passion and, with a final strong lunge, finished. Karen cried out finally with misery and despair. Allen, tired and content with the happiness he believed he had brought both of them, rolled off her aching, bruised body and, with a light last kiss, fell asleep.
Karen's hand, childishly small and protective, covered the violated flesh until she fell asleep also, her eyes wet with tears of fear and disappointment.
But Karen was realistic enough to admit later that Allen hadn't been deliberately cruel He had simply not understood. He had not been, nor was he now, sensitive enough to be aware of her needs. He had tried for months afterwards to make his young wife enjoy sex. But, somehow, just at the point when Karen thought she might become aroused, Allen would mount her and the rest of the act would be a repeat of the first night -- Karen would lie there, feeling used and cold. She knew that Allen thought she was frigid, and lately, Karen had begun to wonder if he might not be right.
No! she thought, hitting the old couch with a curled-up small fist. It was he, not she. A gentle lover, a thoughtful, sensitive lover would surely deliver her to the heights she had heard of so often. There were times, even with Allen, when she thought she might feel the first tremor of real desire, if only he would slow down, caress her more, let his mouth and teeth cling more to her firm, tender, pointing nipples... .
Karen got to her feet unsteadily. She had to get away from the house for a while. She couldn't stand another night of looking at the walls. That was another thing -- she was so lonely. Al was gone so much of the time, and when he was home it seemed they were either on the bed, or they were fighting about her reluctance to get on the bed. Or he would retire to the bedroom alone to study.
She appraised herself honestly in the mirror. She knew she was unusual looking, not so much beautiful as adorable, like the frilly drawing on a box of fancy chocolates. Her heart-shaped face was smooth-complicated and the large brown eyes made her naturally blond, shoulder-length hair look even lighter. Long dark lashes made moon shadows on her cheeks and her lovely lips were naturally bowed. Her small, womanly body was a perfect complement to the child-like, woman-like beauty of the girl. But her looks brought her no pleasure now. Her body, a thing she had taken pride in from the time it began developing at an age when other girls were washboard thin, had brought her only agony. She scooped up her purse and ran out of the house.
It was a drab house in the rundown section of Santa Monica, a house they had decided to rent because it was so close to the beach which they both loved, and because it was so cheap. But Karen hated the tired looking neighborhood. Somehow it reminded her sharply of her life, her marriage. She walked to the beach, liking the emptiness and majesty of the never pausing ocean as it crashed rhythmically against the infinite sands.
The sun was rapidly sinking into the gray-green ocean. It was a big ball of brilliant tangerine. Karen felt better as she walked. She took her shoes off and let the sand form into tiny dunes between her toes. She hadn't realized how far she had gone until she saw the queerly lit coffeehouse called, rather whimsically, Karen thought, Neverland West. She had been by the restaurant many times, had wanted to go in, but Allen had dismissed the place as a "hangout for weirdo's" and wouldn't take her in. Now, remembering the dollar in her purse, Karen pushed open the door and walked in.
The girl found a vacant table, sat down and pushed the windblown strands of blond hair out of her eyes before looking around. She felt an instant uplift. The people, the paintings on the walls, even the mismatched furniture, sent images to Karen's brain that made her feel strangely alive for the first time in months. The people were, for the most part, young and attractive. The men sported beards and longish hair, although one broad-shouldered giant proudly displayed a face as clean shaven as his enormous skull. The girls were uniformly appealing, with fine bodies shown off by clinging leotard outfits. They wore their hair long and Indian straight. But, like the hairless man, there was one girl who stood out sharply from the others. Once Karen noticed her it was almost impossible to tear her eyes from the girl Karen wanted to study the interesting paintings that coated the walls more closely, but the girl held an irresistible fascination for her.
The short blunt cut of the girl's hair served to outline the perfect oval shape of her head and the exquisite features of her face. Her cropped hair was a rich brown, and the blemishless skin was dark, contrasting vividly with the lightest blue eyes Karen had ever seen. The girl looked taller, slimmer, and a little older than Karen. She wore tight jeans and a short-sleeved sweat shirt. The blackness of her apparel made the beautiful face with the oddly disconcerting eyes appear to float bodilessly in the smoke-filled room. Karen noted the one pierced ear from which dangled a small silver cross.
Karen admired the girl openly. She wished she could look more like her. It wasn't so much the dark girl's undeniable beauty that Karen envied, it was more the feeling of absolute freedom the girl generated. She looked like a bird in her black clothing, prepped for flight at a moment's notice. Karen took in the easy, relaxed. way the girl sat, her long legs outstretched comfortably. She was sitting alone at the table, confidently looking around the room. Karen couldn't imagine this girl being uncomfortable anywhere. It was this unperturbed air of self-contentment which attracted Karen. It made her realize how miserable and trapped she was. Karen remembered some terms which were used in astrology. Air and water, she thought with some amusement. The dark girl was air, free and unpredictable, And she was water, locked in by banks and barricades. Karen almost smiled at her sudden mood of whimsy. Even water, she continued the thought, could break free in the case of a disaster!
Karen looked around for someone who might bring her a cup of coffee. She couldn't tell the waitress from the customers. At least she couldn't see anyone in a special uniform. Giving up for the moment, Karen glanced back at the girl across the room. She was unprepared to find the girl staring at her. Karen looked away quickly. She hoped she hadn't been caught gazing like a tourist or something. But after an uncomfortable pause, Karen sneaked another look at the girl. This time she met the sky-colored eyes squarely, was staggered by the depth of sensitivity she read in them. She felt a sinking sensation, as if she were herself in the clear pools. Karen thought the dark-haired girl looked like an artist. There was the kind of vulnerability and suffering in her face which Karen had always associated with truly creative individuals. She resisted a mad urge to go to this stranger and comfort her... . Karen felt a pang of regret that she hadn't the courage to approach another human being and offer friendship honestly. Everything had to happen according to conventions... . Wasn't that part of forfeiting freedom? Didn't the demands of society insist on the surrender of certain freedoms? Karen was confused. She had to smile, though, as she thought of the way Allen would react to her speculations if he could hear them. He would think she had become a hippie.
Karen looked around again for the waitress. The coffeehouse was becoming a madhouse. People were packed tightly into the small building now. When she turned back to the table, the girl was there.
"Hello." The dark-haired girl smiled charmingly. "You aren't leaving yet, I hope."
Karen felt as if she were looking into the face of an old and beloved friend. The sensation made her aware of how much she needed the stimulation of someone new, someone who could inject the essence of fun and excitement into her life. Her problems with Allen, and the prison of her depressingly dreary house faded completely. "I ... I had hoped to get a cup of coffee... . No one's come ..."
"In this place you have to fend for yourself. Let me do the honors. Be back in a moment."
Karen watched the slim back lose itself in the mob. She felt very pleased. It was more than her delight at having someone to talk to -- Karen felt flattered at being noticed by this beautiful girl. The attention made her feel like a desirable human being.
She realized suddenly that it was amazing she had never thought of seeking another man. She had felt so worthless and unresponsive with Allen for so long. A gentle, sensitive man might restore to her a sense of womanliness, even spark a sensual reaction. Karen felt like she had been dragging dead flesh around with her since their wedding night. But the image of another man, a man who could excite her, was impossible to evoke. She had really never known a man other than Allen, well. There had been no male figure in her childhood or adolescence. The idea of turning to a strange man now for the happiness she lacked seemed unreal. Yet, Karen knew it was a deep and gentle love she needed. She had been so sure that Allen would give her that love... . She had dashed from her mother's funeral into marriage, only to find that the warmth she had known in her mother's house was denied to her in her own.
The girl had returned as soundlessly as she had first appeared by Karen's table. "Sorry I took so long. It was packed up there." She indicated the area by the makeshift stage with a nod of her fine head.
A man by Karen's side lifted his arm to wave to someone, pushing Karen aside. He leaned over to yell a greeting, blocking her view of the girl. Karen twisted around in her seat so that his heavy body wouldn't touch her. She tried to look around the man. Instead of seeing the girl. Karen was confronted again with the bold paintings on the walls. Their colors blended into a tapestry of paralyzing spots of brightness, while the rich, smoky smell of the coffeehouse was abruptly oppressive. She imagined she could feel the heat of so many bodies pressed together in the limited space. It seemed a very long time before the man noticed her, grumbled an apology, and got out of her way to join a group he came in with.
"This place gets even busier later," the girl assured Karen, pushing one of the ceramic mugs toward her. "My name is Pat Collins. Patricia, actually, but I dropped the ending when I was old enough to talk."
"Patricia. That's a pretty name."
"Pat suits me better." She leaned across the table, putting her weight on her elbows. She studied Karen closely ...
Karen hoped she passed inspection. She wanted this girl to like her. "My name is Karen. Mrs. Karen Martin ..." Karen cursed herself savagely. Why had she added the Mis? What was she trying to protect herself from, anyway?
Amused, Pat grinned at her. "Can I call you Karen?'
"Please do," Karen answered, embarrassed. She found herself smiling back at Pat helplessly.
"I hope you don't think this sounds weird, but do you believe in an instantaneous rapport between two people, Karen?"
Karen didn't understand. She saved herself haying to answer immediately by lifting the steaming cup of coffee to her lips. She was grateful for the burning sensation in her mouth.
"I'm talking about the kind of spontaneous recognition between two people which has no logical beginning." Pat shook her head excitedly. "I believe that for some reason you and I have this rapport. I didn't want you to leave without finding out if you felt it, too."
Karen frowned, striving to understand what the girl was trying to say. All she really understood was that for some reason they had been attracted to each other. "Are you talking about a kind of personal magnetism?" Karen asked, sure that this wasn't what Pat meant.
"No, it's not really magnetism, exactly," Pat said thoughtfully. "In the study of mysticism you find words like vibrations, which tells you that you have an affinity for someone. I sensed that about you as soon as I saw you."
Karen felt both uncomfortable and exhilarated at the same time. "I ... I think I know what you mean, Patricia," Karen said hesitantly.
"Don't call me Patricia, please," Pat said, a trace of annoyance passing over her face. "I really do hate being called that. I always wanted to be a boy. I guess this is the closest I'll ever get to it, though."
Karen noticed the charm bracelet that encircled Pat's wrist. Religious symbols of every kind glittered from it. "I guess every girl wants to be a boy at one time or another. I did, when I was twelve or so."
"Well," Pat sighed, carefully moving her full coffee cup in large arcs over the table, "it's just as well we're not. Men are bastards. They sicken me thoroughly."
"It's hard to live without them, though," Karen said lightly.
"I can, and I do!" Pat replied, abandoning the game she had been playing with the cup. She tasted her cooling coffee and frowned. "Well, almost," she amended. "Men are occasionally handy for money. Outside of that, forget it." Pat's low voice was emphatic. "The only thing men have ever done for me is to give me money for a few fast minutes in the sack. Other than that, I try to avoid the entire sex."
Karen stared openmouthed at the girl while Pat fumbled in her sweat shirt for cigarettes. She watched the girl light one and suck the smoke deep into her lungs, her frank confession of occasional prostitution apparently forgotten.
"I have always felt a greater affinity for women. Men are too insensitive, too selfish. When I tell even the brightest, most understanding man that the only life worth a damn is the one which is devoted to self-realization and what I call the inner search, he doesn't even try to pick up on my meaning. He thinks it's a joke!" Pat moved her head easily from side to side, making the small silver cross twinkle as it caught the dim light and flashed it brightly around the room. "I find that men demand insincerity from women. It's vital to their egos. Men don't even want to have a go at pretending a little show of sensitivity. Or am I wrong?" Pat asked innocently, her slitted eyes distorting the smile her lips attempted. "Is, perhaps, your husband the exception, Karen?"
Karen passed a suddenly trembling hand over her eyes. "Well ..." Karen felt a compelling urge to explain. "We just don't seem to be getting along ... Al ... he's busy all the time. You know, work, night school. He's really a nice guy. Pat. It's probably me. He just doesn't seem to understand me."
Pat looked at the girl appraisingly. "How long have you been married?"
"Four years." Karen was surprised at the intimacy she felt towards Pat. Next, she chided herself, she would be telling Pat about her sexual frustrations, also.
Pat went on looking at Karen with the same remote appraising eye until she appeared to have satisfied herself about the girl. When she spoke again it was with an abrupt change of mood. "You know, Karen, sometimes I think I must become a hermit."
"A hermit!" Karen couldn't repress a smile. Her thoughts of Al again dissolved in an instant. She tried instead to picture this lovely young girl munching unripe berries in a cave. "Why?"
"Well," Pat answered dreamily, "it would be easier. Sometimes relating to people is an enormous task. How do we know if this affinity of ours will last or not?" Pat grinned. "We start this business of becoming acquainted -- starting up a personal relationship, right?"
Karen thought Pat looked amazingly like a beautiful boy when she grinned in that way. "Right." She grinned back.
"So-o-o, you begin by comparing likes and dislikes. Maybe you find you like the same kind of ice cream or have a mutual cousin or some such nonsense. Next you get into personal values and maybe religious and political affiliations." Pat's grin broadened even more. "Then, if you can still stand each other, you eventually become friends -- until your kids beat hell out of each other one day and bust the whole damn carefully formulated relationship."
Karen laughed. She was rapidly becoming charmed with this girl.
Then Pat stopped smiling. She leaned across the table until Karen thought crazily that Pat was going to swoop down on her like a graceful woodpecker. Her eyes were very soft. "I feel know you so well. I've known you for a hundred years! Yet, I've got to tell you what I am, bit by ragged bit of me, until you know me, too. And then you'll probably decide that I'm not the sort of character you'd want to know. Outside of a far-out coffeehouse, that is. Until tonight rd just about given up believing in immediate communication between people." Her smile, which reappeared in miniature in Karen's coffee cup, faded again.
"Why wouldn't I want to have anything to do with you, in or out of a coffeehouse?" Karen asked. honestly surprised.
"I see by your uniform... ." Pat swept her eyes quickly over Karen's simple cotton shift. Its brown shades brought out her eyes, but Karen knew she looked almost hickish compared to the interesting and creative attire most of the girls present wore. Even Pat, in her battered black jeans and matching sweat shirt, looked more vibrant and sophisticated. "You belong to a world I either left as a very young child, or one of which I never was a part." Pat resumed her explanation after a second penetrating look at Karen. "You're a product of a society in which someone like myself would be put way down. I live different, I look different, and I think different. Like I said, if I were to go that route to make us friends, tell you about myself honestly, you would run away and probably never look back!"
Karen felt rather hurt and insulted. She had been lumped into a category and judged, without a chance to defend herself. She felt like telling Pat that she would run and not look back anyway, without knowing these deep, dark secrets at which Pat hinted. But Karen knew it was just a pretense on her part. She didn't want to leave Pat. With this girl, Karen felt as if she had found a spark she had lost years before. Pat's erratic moods were a challenge. She found herself wishing that Al was less dull, could have just a drop of this girl's intensity. "That isn't very fair, is it? You really have no idea what I think about anything," Karen objected, trying to retain a trace of her former outrage.
Pat studied Karen's pretty face speculatively. When she spoke again her voice was bolder and more challenging. "Baby, if I told you about my life you would be shocked out of your head."
The girl made it sound like a dare! Karen began to feel breathlessly exhilarated. "Try me," she countered.
Pat grinned quickly, then composed her features so that they maintained a somber expression. "You're not gay, are you, Karen?"
"Gay?" Karen wondered if Pat was about to switch over to still another subject.
"You don't even know what the word means, do you, baby? You are a sheltered lamb, aren't you, honey?" Pat laughed softly.
Karen didn't like being laughed at. She was about to reply when she remembered a novel she had once read. "Homosexual?" she asked in surprise. "Who, me?"
This time Pat's laugh was very loud. It pierced the boisterous noises, making Karen aware of the others in the room for the first time in many minutes. "Yes, you!"
"Of course not!" Karen found her face coloring. She hoped Pat wouldn't notice.
"How do you know? Have you ever tried it?" Pat cut out the bantering tone she had been using. She watched Karen steadily.
"No! Naturally not." Karen became aware of a sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach.
Pat nodded her head slowly. She brought a finger to her mouth and chewed reflectively on the nail. "Naturally .. ." she repeated finally. "You used that word because you don't believe that love between two women could ever be natural, right?"
Karen frowned in confusion. "I didn't say that, Pat." She wished Pat would change the subject. She was beginning to get nervous. " There's all kinds of love between women. Mother-daughter ... Between close friends ... "
Pat shook her head patiently. "How about the physical, emotional, and intellectual love of two women for each other? The kind of love that women usually waste on men... . Don't you believe such a feeling can exist?"
"Of course. I know about that. Only ..." Karen thought of the rough-looking women she had seen in the beer-bars by the ocean. For the most part they appeared degenerate. The thought of a beautiful and meaningful love between them was remote to Karen. Then Karen thought of her own marriage. What had happened to the love between her and Al? It had been wonderful at one time -- and now it was just as remote.
"Only you don't really believe it's possible," Pat finished. She tapped a cigarette out of her pack. Instead of lighting it, Pat rolled the white cylinder between her fingers. She looked very lonely and vulnerable in this pose. She sighed deliberately, thinking without guilt that she would have made a great actress. "That's what I mean. Didn't you ever have a crush on a girl when you were younger?"
"But that's not the same thing!"
Pat leaned back in her chair. She lit the mutilated cigarette before she spoke. "Isn't it?" She released the smoke slowly, watching the gray swirl rise until it was swallowed up in the misty air. "Love is love. Age is unimportant. Can you remember how you felt with this girl?"
Karen felt a tingling begin at the base of her spine. This girl made half-forgotten events float to the top of her mind. Karen found herself remembering the time during her early teens when she and Lennie had evolved a world of their own. She thought back to the moments of agony when an unkind word would cause a fight between them, and the longer periods of ecstasy when the two girls would be in perfect unison. "Well, we were very close friends." Karen bit her lip nervously. She suddenly remembered one warm spring night when she was fifteen. She was spending the night with Lennie... . Their whispered chattering had centered on boys, their ominous strangeness. Karen couldn't recall which girl had turned the conversation to kissing.
"Was it so terrible?" Pat asked softly.
Karen pretended to study a large painting on the wall over Pat's head. She tried to trace this confusing conversation back to its beginning. Pat had a way of making her mind spin dizzily. There had been that crazy talk about not wanting to know Pat if ... "Are ... are you -- " Karen recalled the word " -- gay, Pat?" Karen kept her eyes on the painting. She felt her pale skin begin to burn. A furious pounding started up in her chest.
Pat watched the glowing tip of her shrinking cigarette die out in the ashtray. When she looked up her eyes were coated with a thin layer of tears. They caught and clung to Karen's. "The only happiness rye ever know was in a woman's arms.
Karen didn't know what to say. She felt embarrassed and uncomfortable. She thought again of the obviously homosexual women she had seen. Karen could not imagine Pat fitting into the unnatural world of effeminate men and crude-looking women any better than she.
A pretty girl with long black hair got up and walked to the small stage. She shuffled some papers in her hands and then waved to Pat. Pat waved back. "That's Paula!" Pat leaned over the table. "She's a poet. She's written some fabulous poetry! Listen to her!" Pat turned her chair slightly toward the stage, then twisted back to Karen for a second. "She's gay, too."
Karen was relieved to have something to distract them. She only pretended to listen to the attractive girl on the little stage. Instead, she glanced rapidly from Paula to Pat, trying to conceive a love restricted to women. She had felt tremendously attracted to Pat from the first. And Pat was a lesbian! No wonder other girls met Pat, then fled from her when they found out.
Karen leaned back to listen to the second page of the blunt, sensual poetry Paula was reciting. But she could not concentrate. Once having decided to take Pat's admission with a degree of casualness, Karen was at a loss to explain the peculiar sensation of excitement she still felt. She imagined her-self poised on the swaying edge of a fascinatingly distorted world. She no longer felt like the lonely, frustrated young wife whom nobody understood. Now she was urgently being asked to understand someone else! Karen studied Pat's beautiful face fondly. Then a sudden vision of Pat lying nude over the body of another girl passed before Karen's eyes. Her body started shivering uncontrollably. What was she thinking? Her gaze fell to Pat's naturally-colored lips. She found herself wondering how they would feel on her own ... .
"The poem I've brought tonight is still untitled." Paula moved her papers again and started to read slowly.
"Days go by and she doesn't comb her hair... .
She stops nude in a doorway to examine herself, her brain the sudden familiar prophecy of antennaed fingers... ."
Karen experienced a quick flash of anger at her husband. He had done this to her! He had allowed her to feel so unloved that the suggestion of warmth from any source, even one so far removed from normalcy, was preferable to none! She had found so much to detest in her husband's bed that Karen was unable now to imagine herself in another man's bed.
"Dead eruption in the stomach.
A pulsating mouth continuously breaking
endless rows of gleaming white soldiers.
Their heads like hats ... "
Karen found her stomach turning slightly as she listened to the last few lines of the strange poetry the girl was reading. "... . heads like hats ... " she thought, remembering a time shortly after her marriage when Allen had looked down at himself proudly before coming naked to her. The little man with the hat wants in ... he had said. Karen shivered.
"Freckled-faced little boys who didn't grow up and marry her.
The mischievous angels of childhood, their grubby little hands under the covers at night
Now I lay me down to play ... ."
Karen wondered if it was a few unhappy relationships, like the one she had with Alien, which made Pat and girls like her the way they were. Did they find what they wanted with other women? Then Karen wondered if Pat found her attractive, if she wanted her. The thought was strangely disturbing.
"I pray the Lord my nucleus to keep, secure with the light on in the hallway.
And Mom and Dad fornicating in front of the television set.
We couldn't have known then that none of us would have a choice.
Once wings of boyhood flew out of her thighs.
Leaving only a narcissistic leg to put in or out of the tub."
It never really seemed to occur to Allen that he could do anything definite about her unhappiness... . Karen wondered if two women together wouldn't be more sensitive to each other's needs, if the other's needs, in fact, would be their own. She looked again at the clear beauty of Pat's face and a small thrill passed through Karen's body. She had been so lonely and frigid ... and now she was finding herself almost titillated by the undercurrent of sexuality emanating from the body of another woman. Karen no longer cared about the why! She was suddenly too grateful just to be feeling anything, anything at all.
"And the lonely fondling of one's own breast ... ." Paula looked up slowly from her papers, acknowledging the approval the room full of people showered on her with a nod of her head. She moved off the stage leaving it empty and the room too quiet until the vacuum was filled with the sudden chorus of unrelated voices.
"Isn't she too much?" Pat demanded enthusiastically. "She has real talent. Better than most of the stuff." Pat examined Karen's flushed face. She liked the way the blond hair made the brown eyes sink deeply into the face. She reached out and touched Karen's hand gently. "Are you terribly shocked? I won't try to rape you, you know."
Karen felt the heat from Pat's slender fingers. "Don't be silly!" She felt immune from shock. She wished she were as immune to the growing excitement in her, or to the way she felt from Pat's light touch.
Pat's normally husky voice lowered still more. Her full lips were naturally moist. "I could make you happy, Karen. I'd like nothing more than to try. Now are you shocked and ready to run?" Pat let one of her long legs straighten out and come to rest against Karen's bare calf.
A sharp awareness shot through Karen's body at the words and touch of Pat's denim-covered leg against her. She did not try to understand her reaction to this strange girl, this part-time prostitute, this full-time lesbian. She only knew that Allen had never excited her in this wild, delirious way ... that for all her husband's passionate molesting of her body she had never before felt so desirable. Karen made herself notice the time. It was late. "I'm not shocked, and I'm not ready to run away, either." Karen forced a smile. "But since you mention it, it is late. Very late. I have to go home. Al will be home from school soon. He'll be furious if I'm not there." She had said the wrong thing again. Now she was making Al sound like a slave driver and a tyrant. Poor little Karen, she thought. Want the nice pretty lady to dry your eyes?
"I am scaring you away," Pat stated positively, with a small, dejected shrug of her shoulders. "I didn't want to do that. But before you go, I hope you'll let me tell you a few things ... and not be mad."
"Of course. I'm not mad! Honestly, I have to go because Al will get angry and we fight so much ..." Karen felt the leg shift slightly on her body. She wanted to close her eyes, but had to settle for just pretending that it wasn't happening. Yet, she knew she didn't really want it to stop, the leg or this night. She wanted to stay here with this girl who told her crazy, exciting things. This girl who seemed to understand her even better than she did herself... .
"Poor baby." Pat's eyes rested sympathetically on Karen's pretty face. "You're unhappy with your husband. You could be happy with me, you know. I'm sure of it! My apartment is big enough for both what am I saying?" Pat smiled sadly. "You must think I'm nuts. Well, I suppose I am. But that's the way I feel. I felt it when I first looked at you. It's better that you know it. I just couldn't act casual around you, Karen. I know you're not like me, but at least you know how I feel. Don't hate me for what I cannot help." Pat hoped that didn't sound too hammy.
"Don't say that," Karen begged, genuinely touched by Pat's sadness. She wished she had the courage to tell Pat that no one, no man had ever been so tender with her. She would have liked to stay on with Pat, now, if only to show the girl that she was not running from her. She felt alive in every pore of her body. "I would stay, if it were possible. I'm going because I have to go. I want you to believe that. It's late," she added apologetically.
"Where do you live?" Pat felt the softness of the knees which parted slightly to allow her own to slip between them in a casual but intimate embrace. She wanted this girl more than she had ever wanted any other person.
"In Santa Monica. It's not too far." Karen felt the knees inch up the insides of her legs. Her body was tingling unbearably. She felt the mature tips of her breasts harden and begin to throb.
"It is late, Karen. Let me walk you home. You shouldn't be walking alone around here at this time of the night."
"Why would it be less safe for me than you, Pat?" Karen asked, a bit delighted and yet a bit amused by the older girl's protectiveness.
"Simple, my sweet," Pat answered smoothly, getting up and fishing in her pockets for some change to cover their coffee. "If you were to be raped on the street you would mind terribly, wouldn't you?"
"Why ... why, of course!" Karen smiled suddenly at Pat. The wild-eyed girl had the power to delight, confuse, heat and startle her all in the same conversation.
"Well, that's the difference. If I were to be raped, it wouldn't hardly matter at all. I would forget it as soon as it happened. You don't understand that, do you?"
"No, I don't. How could you forget something like that?" Just the thought of a strange man taking her body sent a chill down her spine, cooling the warmth Pat's presence stimulated in her.
"That's what I meant when I talked about the inner search, baby. Nothing matters except what you want to matter to you. I could forget the horrors of being molested by some filthy scum, but I could never forget this excitement I feel just by being with you... . Because the first doesn't mean anything in my life, but the second means everything!"
The walk home seemed very short. Karen hardly heard what Pat was saying to her. Her comments about the true meaning of life seemed less vital to Karen than the fact that Pat was walking beside her. They reached the house much too quickly.
"Here's where I live, Pat. Thanks for walking me home. Do you want to come in? I could make us some coffee."
"No. No, thanks, Karen." The girl turned abruptly and started away from the house.
Karen opened her mouth to call Pat back, but she could think of nothing to say.
As if sensing Karen's wish, Pat turned slowly and returned to the girl "It's a shame, Karen, your being here, stuck with a man you don't love. I feel we belong together. I want you, Karen. I wanted you from the first moment I saw you." Pat yanked out a crumpled cigarette from her jeans and lit it with a battered lighter. "Okay. There ... you have it all down, now. That's the way I feel in a nutshell. Now, shall we play this dramatic little scene to its bitter end? Shall I ask you to leave your unhappy home and come away with me? Shall I, do you think? And will you say yes? Will you?"
The lightness of Pat's eyes picked up the glow of her cigarette and the faraway streetlight. She took a final look at the charming heart-shaped face, a quick glance at the large breasts that pushed against the brown bodice of her dress. Then she turned on her heel and started away.
"Wait!" Karen called, finding her voice. "Will I see you again?"
"Do you want to?" Pat asked, her voice rising to make up for the distance between them.
Karen felt wonderfully carefree. It was crazy. It was exhilarating, saying whatever she wished to this woman, not giving a damn what it sounded like to anyone else. This is what Pat did to her -- this is what it meant to be free! "Yes!" she shouted. "I do!"
Pat smiled faintly. "I go to the coffeehouse often."
"Good night!" Karen called, but the strange girl had already been swallowed up by the oncoming fog. "Goodnight!"
Chapter Four
Karen had been in bed over an hour before Al came home. Her body glowed all over. She couldn't sleep. By the time Al arrived, Karen was eager to see him. She felt like she had a wonderful secret. Even having Al would be better than being alone.
This time she didn't pretend to be asleep when he lowered himself into bed. Her body churned with the knowledge of her own desirability.
"Al?" Karen turned toward her husband.
"Whom were you expecting?" he asked grumpily.
Karen couldn't resist a smile. He was so childish sometimes. She was amazed at this burst of friendliness she felt toward her husband. "I went to that coffeehouse tonight. You know, the one in Venice?"
"The place with all the kooks, you mean?" Allen asked.
"Oh, Al! They're just people. Artistic people. It was lots of fun. I met a real nice person."
"Oh?" Al pretended casualness. "A male or female?"
Karen giggled. "Female, silly. A beautiful girl named Patricia Collins. I'd love to invite her over some evening, but I'm afraid you might fall madly in love with her." Karen wondered if she were slightly hysterical again. Why was she saying all this? What was she trying to do to Al? Or to herself?
"Not if I have you." Allen reached out and pulled her gently to his chest. She moved to him willingly. "Do I have you, Karen?"
Suddenly she felt ashamed of herself. He was her husband. What was she trying to do to them? She hadn't given him a chance. She loved him -- at least, she had loved him once. It couldn't be dead, not all she had felt for him. "Yes, Al, of course."
He ducked his head and kissed her softly on the lips. "Karen, let me love you. Don't fight me anymore. Please!"
The urgency and hunger in his voice tugged at Karen's heart. She put her arms around the man, drawing him even closer to her. Maybe this could be a new start for them. Why not? She wanted ... needed loving now. Never before had she longed for flesh against her own the way she did now.
When they kissed again, Karen slipped her hot tongue between Al's lips. She gloried now in the way his body was responding to her touch. She helped him pull the gown from her lush body. Her nipples, hard now with desire, welcomed his mouth. The teeth gnawed gently at the tender flesh while Karen moaned as the act sent shivers through her body. She was relaxed, magically readied for him and unafraid.
Karen was beginning to guess at this wonderful thing that she had read about, hoped for, dreamed about. A trembling was starting deep in her belly.
She was giving in to it gratefully. What did it matter if this grave excitement had been stimulated by a girl, a strange, beautiful girl. All Karen knew or cared about was that the moment she had so badly longed for was nearing.
Al reached for the soft waiting flesh between the satiny thighs. His fingers hesitated at the entrance-way to his wife's love spot. The dewy moistness excited him even more. For the very first time, Karen was slickly wet -- the way women ready for love were supposed to be. He loved this unexpected blast of heat, the yielding tightness of her... . He took his time running a finger experimentally down the hot path before enlarging it with his manhood. He wanted nothing more in this world but to lose himself inside her, bury his trembling sex in the pit of her womb.
He was between her legs in an instant; hurriedly replacing his finger with the swollen tip of his rigid erection. As always, before the very first plunge into her belly, Al felt himself swell even more, until the aching flesh threatened to burst before reaching its destination. He couldn't wait, not another second. He arched his back and wildly thrust himself into her, widening and lengthening the tender inner flesh with deep jabs that went on and on.
"Oh, baby, baby, Karen ..." Al moved over her.
"Oh, Al!" she groaned. "It ... feels ... wonderful... ." Strange words, words she had never expected to say to her husband, but she meant it. He felt wonderful to her now. There was no pain, in fact she felt that even pain might have increased the wild passion which was building in her.
Al tried to control himself. But the way Karen was responding to him was driving him beyond control. He finished suddenly, kissing her gratefully as his body calmed itself.
Karen kissed him back and tried to wait patiently for his body to become excited again. She let her lips slip lightly to the side of his stubbly face, breathing softly in his ear. She was so near that elusive paradise she knew she must enter to live.
He was so sleepy. He was being rocked to sleep on a delicately rounded cradle of loveliness. His pillow was a warm, vibrant breast. A generous plane of white flesh was his cushion. He wanted to drift off like this, seduced into sleep by this same wonderful creature who had just brought him so much joy. "I'm so beat, baby... ." he whispered sleepily.
Karen hadn't felt the discomfort of the broken spring under her back before. But now it bruised her suddenly frozen flesh. He couldn't be doing this to her! Not now! Not after she had at last come to life in his arms.
Allen felt the sudden stiffness of her body and understood. He felt humiliated and sorry. He also felt a hot flash of anger. Every time he tried to be a man with her she always destroyed it! In the past by not responding, and now by being dissatisfied with him! "I'm just too tired now, honey," he whispered, trying to be what she said he never was -- understanding. He kept his anger tightly in check.
"The mind is willing but the flesh is weak... ." he kidded softly.
Karen felt removed from her husband, yet, her body still cried out for fulfillment. She remembered that novel she had read long ago, the one from which she had learned that term Pat used -- gay. She remembered what it was the two girls in the book had done to each other. She thought of Pat, reddened, then forced herself to put the girl out of her mind. She thought again of the act, though. "Al ... " she whispered desperately, her flesh too hungry to care anymore about anything else. "There ... there are other ways ..." She was intensely glad of the dark. She knew her face was furiously on fire.
Allen jerked away from his wife suddenly. He knew what she meant. He remembered the things boys at school had said about it, the ugly, derogatory terms they ... .. Strangely, the thought of her request stimulated him. His body was young, quick to respond despite the exhaustion in him. "No!" he hissed accusingly. She was trying to steal whatever remained of his masculinity. Yet her words had stimulated him. He grabbed her roughly and started to make love to her as before. That was what she had wanted first, and now he was ready for her again. She would have to settle for that. He was a man, not a pervert.
Karen was alone again, the meaningless love of her husband a trial on her now cold body. He was again repugnant to her. Once more he had disregarded her needs, her desires. Again he was using her small body as a receptacle for his own lust. The tears she had expected to shed in ecstasy fell now as her misery increased. She couldn't stand him on her another moment, using her, masturbating inside her, forgetting her in his solitary pleasure.
Again, as she lay under Allen, taking his final thrusts unprotestingly, Karen thought of the dark girl whose eyes had penetrated her own that evening, and felt sure that Pat Coffins would never make her do things she didn't want to do. Pat would be sensitive and gentle with her. Pat would understand her loneliness when she should be feeling like a part of something wonderful. Pat would not leave her to die without ever letting her live.
Karen found herself wishing wildly that it were Pat with her now, instead of Allen ... instead of any man.
Chapter Five
A thin youth perched on a stool, and with a high womanish voice sang love songs of his invention. His delicate small-boned fingers plucked out a thin, wispy accompaniment. His ragged blond beard did little to disguise his effeminacy to which his song passionately confessed.
But Pat wasn't looking at the boy. Her watery eyes swam over the coffeehouse once more. The dainty heart-shaped face wasn't among the tightly packed mass of pretty, darkly outlined faces.
"Boy of the woods, youth of the forest... .
Sob once more against the virile breast of the wooden earth.
Climb the grassy crest ...
in my arms again find new birth."
Pat tried to shut her ears to the pseudo-feminine singing. The coffeehouse, usually a favorite spot, was irritating her tonight. This faggot with his lovesick songs, this collection of bodies which didn't include the one she wanted. Pat hadn't been able to get the girl out of her mind since last night. Karen! Why wasn't she here?
Pat again turned her eyes impatiently to the door. Would she come? Or was she home, in bed with her husband, in his arms, letting him feast his eyes and loins on the sweetness that Pat felt must soon belong to her? Pat shivered as an intense hatred of a man she had never met swept through her. She had to have this girl! She had to! Karen! Come in now! You must! I want you! Pat moved restlessly in the hard, cushion less chair. She regarded her untouched cooling coffee mournfully as the boy finished his song and sat down, giving the small platform up to the wild-eyed huge male with the shaved skull. He began immediately to recite some obscure poetry in a dull monotone. The coffeehouse was dense with cigarette smoke, warping the room with bluish vapors.
Pat pushed her own cigarette into the metal tray next to her coffee mug. She sniffed the foul air deliberately, hoping to catch a thin whiff of soap and talcum, the wonderful odor which had trailed cloud-like from Karen's curvaceous body. Pat found it hard to believe that her longing could not be felt by Karen, wherever she was, would not be picked up and urge the girl to the coffee shop, to her.
Vibrations were in the air. They were every-where. Pat could feel a dozen or more of them right now. She had only to close her eyes to sense hostility and trust, lust and momentary love, destructiveness and creativity, grief and happiness. It poured out at her, like sand from a loosely cupped hand. Others laughed at her, she knew, but Pat was one of the special ones -- she felt things others seemed to be incapable of feeling.
It was growing late. Pat knew Karen would not be coming, but still she clung to the hope, forcing herself to listen to the poetry being dealt card-like to the quasi-receptive audience. Finally, with a queer little thrill of frustration, Pat got up to leave. She didn't know where she would go, but she had to get out of this place at once. As she reached the door she felt eyes on her, digging into her lean back. Pat looked around, the lids drawing back from her squinting eyes. Maybe, maybe, somehow ... she thought. But it was just Lorna Wayne who smiled boldly at her. Not that Lorna was ordinarily to be taken lightly. Pat had enjoyed Lorna more than once, enjoyed the tough-nippled breasts, the softly curving belly, the long strands of blond hair which had formed golden puddles over Pat's body But now Lorna looked only slightly more desirable to Pat than the droning, slick-domed man, who, Pat felt, would never again be still.
"Oh, leaving already?" Lorna asked, letting her disappointment show. "I had hoped we could get up a little... . ." She smiled meaningfully.
"Yes. I can't stomach all this tonight." Pat hesitated as the girl came closer. She liked the way the long blond strands curled around each of Lorna's pear-shaped breasts. She wavered, remembering how the girl was in bed, how demanding she always was ... no! Not tonight! Not with the scent of another girl, a still lovelier girl, still fresh in her flaring nostrils.
"Going for a walk?" Lorna prompted, waiting hopefully for an invitation. If a party was out she would gladly settle for a bed, her car seat, even a secluded bit of grass somewhere.
"I don't know. Maybe I'll see you later." Pat turned to go.
"I'll be here another hour or so," Lorna said quickly. She reached out a hand to touch the dark girl, but Pat was gone.
Pat was in front of Karen's house before she admitted to herself why she was heading away from Venice and home, and into Santa Monica. The house was dark and tiny, but Pat could think of nowhere else she would rather be. Yet, there was a trace of strangeness, of disagreeable alien remoteness to the house tonight. He was home; Pat was sure of it. And it was dark inside. Pat listened for a moment. And quiet too. His body was next to Karen -- maybe on top of her, stuffing himself in-side.
The sea breeze was unusually chilly. Pat trembled as the wind penetrated her thin cloth jacket and pullover sweater. Her perfect and strong legs felt the night briskness whip through the denim of her trousers, licking at her calves and thighs like an icy tongue.
Pat knew she should leave -- there was nothing for her here, not now, not with him inside. Still she took the coldness and the loneliness for a few minutes more, reaching out with her mind and drugged heart to the girl. If she could only will Karen to appear, to come to her... . It could be done. If she truly believed in it ... and she did.
The night remained black and quiet, unbroken by the desired light or sound. Pat tried not to feel the cold. If she did not desire to feel it, she would not feel it. Yet her flesh cooled under her clothes, even while the furnace within her was continually stoked by visions of a negligee-clad Karen coming to her arms.
Pat looked once more at the locked front door, made one last intense wish, then, after a short unrewarding wait, she started away. She couldn't have Karen, not tonight, at any rate. Still, the thundering passion she felt could not go unappeased. Pat walked faster, putting more and more distance between the house and herself with every step. She crossed her arms for warmth, and, wondering if Lorna would still be at the coffeehouse when she got there, she broke into a graceful trot.
* * *
Karen kept her body rigid as Al turned over next to her. The last thing in the world she wanted was for him to wake up! Sometimes, acting more than half asleep, Al would break his deep slumber in the middle of the night and, if she happened to be awake beside him, he would reach out for her almost woodenly. He would somehow always be ready for her. Karen hated those mindless, emotionless times even more than the others.
When Al's breathing was normal again, Karen allowed herself a small restless wriggle. She couldn't sleep -- it was impossible. She found it equally impossible to think of anything but Patricia Collins. Then Karen became aware of a dull scraping sound. It seemed to come from right outside her front door. She listened with bated breath, as she thought she heard light footsteps retreating faster and faster from the house. She resisted an urge to get up and see who might be there. An immediately discarded image of Pat waiting outside for her popped into her mind. Karen wanted to tiptoe to the window and glance outside. But if no one was there ... if she had made the trip for nothing, only to find on her return to bed Allen awake and eager for her again, she would die. She tried to force sleep to overtake her -- even though she knew it was useless.
Finally, arranging the pillow more comfortably under her head, Karen gave up her futile attempts to seduce sleep. She allowed herself to dwell leisurely on Pat, going over their words together. Then she thought of all the things that were yet unsaid. She speculated about Pat's admission of prostitution. She wondered why this information, which, Karen knew, would shock and disgust her if it was anyone else, disturbed her so little.
She didn't want to think about that, anyway. In the privacy of the night, the intimacy of her bed and her impregnable thoughts, Karen played with and worried the knowledge of Pat's lesbianism. It gave a name, a meaning, to the wild emotions which fired her brain and aroused her body. Pat wanted her ... Pat, that beautiful, beautiful creature, strange and strangely free ... wanted her! It scared Karen, yet at the same time it also ignited her blood. Around Pat she acted the way gasoline reacted to a match, going off in small, body-shaking explosions of her hidden flesh, her trembling belly, her velvet-skinned inner thighs.
She had always assumed that a lesbian was a walking advertisement for degradation and misplaced identity. Karen had seen them by the oceanfront many times, mannishly dressed and crudely ludicrous. She had always felt a hesitant pity for these women. Often, in the case of a girl who would be feminine if garbed in a dress and heels, she had felt strong curiosity. But Pat was different. Pat was ... beautiful... . It was the only word Karen could think of that came close to describing the girl. She would never have guessed. Never.
Then Karen thought of her friend Lennie. For the first time Karen objectively pictured the girl with whom she had grown up. Lenore Gilchrist had retained her boyishness even after other girls had long outgrown the tomboy stage. Lennie, who hated being called Lenore, was tall, slim, and the hard nubbins of her breasts were still tight lumps which scarcely bulged her sweaters. Lennie had never liked boys. She had vigorously shared Karen's outspoken fear of them.
Karen remembered how hurt Lennie had been when Al had begun showing an interest in Karen. The two friends had from childhood planned to share an apartment together after graduation from high school Her marriage had shattered Lennie along with those plans, and Karen knew that no matter how Lennie tried to disguise it, the girl still resented Al, blaming him for taking Karen away from her. Now Lennie lived alone in an apartment nearby, spending as much time with Karen as possible. The girl had even turned down an offer once for a better job, simply because it would mean seeing less of Karen.
Karen was now wide awake. She wondered at Lennie's passionate interest in her, strangely titillated by a whole world of sensations and experiences she had never before considered. The thought of making love to Lennie did not excite her at all ... but Karen felt faint from the realization of how much the thought of being made love to by Pat did!
Karen eased herself cautiously out of bed, making the move by inches, stopping whenever the springs squealed in mild protest to the shift in weight. She dressed quietly, quickly, and in the dark. She wanted to put makeup on her freshly scrubbed face and arrange her hair attractively, but she dared not risk it. Before leaving the house she considered penning a note in case Al woke up worried, but every minute she delayed might mean arousing him. Besides, Karen thought, Pat might be leaving right now, right this minute. It might already be too late. Karen located her pocketbook in the dark and hurriedly tiptoed out of the house.
The big, bald man she had noticed the last time she was there was just stepping down from the informal stage as Karen entered the crowded coffee shop. His mouth was twisted into an ugly scowl as he stuffed papers impatiently in his pocket. The tight jeans he wore made the operation difficult, if not impossible. His frown darkened as he gave up in disgust and stalked out of the shop, almost knocking Karen over as he passed her. Karen glanced quickly around the restaurant. Everyone looked exceptionally bored and sleepy, Karen observed. But she really wasn't interested in the other patrons -- and the one person she was interested in wasn't there.
Disappointed, Karen found a small empty table and ordered coffee. Maybe she would be in yet. Karen was staggered by the depth of her disappointment. What had she expected? Pat to be here, waiting for her? And then what? What did she want? Pat would be here, and the two of -them would go off, hand in hand. To what? Where? Karen shivered and attacked her coffee grimly as soon as the waitress brought it.
* * *
The blurred shadow of early dawn was lighting the sky as Karen let herself into the house. She was tired. An infinite weariness was pressing in on her shoulders, her eyelids. Karen knew it was more than the hour, more than her body that produced this soul-crumbling exhaustion. But for now, at least, she would be content to sleep... . She re moved her shoes and padded barefoot to the bedroom.
Al was sitting on the bed, the short stub of his glowing cigarette burning unnoticed towards his clenched fingers. He looked up when she came into the room, his eyes puffy with sleep and worry. His body, covered only by loosely belted trousers, looked painfully thin, his narrow chest very naked under the light fringe of brown hair.
Karen put her shoes on the floor when she saw him. She bit nervously at her bottom lip, waiting to experience the guilt she told herself she had no reason to feel. "You're up," she said tonelessly when he didn't speak.
Allen got off the bed and came to his wife. The look of concern was fading from his features now that she was home. It was replaced with annoyance and something else Karen was too tired to evaluate.
"Yes, I'm up," Allen managed, stubbing out the bit of cigarette and then licking instinctively at his singed knuckle. "Where the hell were you, Karen?" He made an obvious effort to control his voice.
Karen turned her back and pulled off her loose sweater. She worked the zipper on her blouse, glad for something to which she could turn her eyes. "Oh," she sighed, striving desperately for casualness, "I couldn't sleep so I took a walk that's all. I hope you didn't worry, Al. I was going to leave you a note, but I didn't want to wake you. I thought I'd be back before you got up." Karen folded the sweater neatly and placed it in the drawer. She picked up the blouse and walked to a wicker hamper and dropped the garment inside. She drew out these little acts, making them last as long as possible.
"A walk? In the middle of the night? In this cruddy neighborhood?" Al turned his wife around, making her face him. His eyes automatically traveled over her torso, hesitating at the large breasts harnessed by the specially made bra she had to wear. She didn't often let him see her even partially undressed. She claimed the sight aroused him too much. She was right. But not now, not if he could help it.
Karen pulled away from Allen carefully, not wanting to anger him. She was suddenly afraid of his anger. She had no defense against it, against the answers she couldn't even give herself. "I just couldn't sleep. I guess you're right, though. It is kind of a bad neighborhood. But I can take care of myself."
Al watched her undo the fastening of her tight slacks. He wanted to ignore her slim, unusually voluptuous body. That body that she never wanted him to know.
"Over three hours?" Allen lit another cigarette, remembered his hurt finger and smashed the new cigarette to bits in the ashtray. "You just walked for over three hours?"
Had it really been three hours? Karen wondered, not really caring whether she had been away three minutes or three years. She slid the slacks over her hips and eased them from her legs, keeping her back solidly to her husband. "I just wasn't tired. I stopped for some coffee." Had she truly sat in the gradually emptying coffeehouse for three hours waiting for a dark girl with wonderful eyes whom she hardly knew?
"Stopped for coffee? Where? You didn't go to that weirdo place again did you?" Allen looked hard at the suddenly ballooning flesh of his wife's panty covered rump. He felt the familiar heat in his loins. He wanted to touch her, caress the two globes that somehow looked as innocent as a baby's rear. But if he touched her, that lovely skin would freeze under his fingers. He sighed with long, painful frustration.
"I wish you wouldn't refer to the coffeehouse that way," Karen objected, unable to keep the annoyance out of her voice. She turned around, forgetting how she was dressed until she saw his eyes go to the plump flesh of her thighs. She glanced down and saw the frilly panties which were her only covering. She twisted away from his penetrating eyes and walking stiffly to the closet and pulled out a warm flannel robe. She felt much better once she had something on.
"What's it got, baby? The coffeehouse, I mean. What's so hot there besides the coffee that makes you walk all the way to Venice in the middle of the night?"
Karen had never before heard Allen sound quite as bitter and sarcastic, not even during their arguments. "I told you, Al, I was just out walking. I happened to be going in that direction, so I stopped there for coffee."
"You sure that ... that girl you met, that ... what's her name?"
Karen sat heavily on the bed. "Patricia Collins." The name sounded precious in her ears.
"Are you sure that Patricia Collins is a girl?" Allen's face was flushed.
"No!" Karen exploded angrily. Oh, if he only knew! "Patricia's a man, of course!"
Allen couldn't take it as a joke. Suddenly it all seemed only too plausible. If there was a man ... She was so cold to him. Allen seized the girl by her shoulders. "Karen! Don't lie to me! The way you freeze up with me all the time. Have you been seeing a ... a man on the side? I want the truth, do you hear me?"
She almost smiled. This was not the calm, unemotional man she knew. Karen found herself al. most enjoying Al's anger. It was, at least, different. Then Karen felt an abrupt disgust congest her throat in sickening spasms. This whole ugly scene was degrading for both of them. How could he subject her to such accusations? "Allen, stop it!" Karen shut her eyes, not wanting to see his face. It was now hateful and ugly to her. "Just stop it! I went for a simple walk! I couldn't sleep! There is no other man!" She sighed and opened her eyes, controlling herself better now. But the feeling of repulsion she had toward her husband persisted. Karen wanted to sleep. She wanted to forget this whole, disastrous night. "And Pat is a girl You'll meet her. She might come over for coffee tomorrow Eight." Why did I say that? she thought, realizing that now she would have to go after Pat again. Was that why I mentioned her?
After Al, subdued and looking sick, went into the bathroom, Karen climbed into bed on her side and pulled the blanket up to her neck. She was too tired and disgusted to remove her robe and get into a gown. Her bra bit into her flesh, but she didn't have the strength to loosen it. She wanted to sleep for a week. But she had to get up tomorrow, had to find Pat and show Al. Karen's eyelids lowered dreamily, shielding her eyes from the graying light which began to fill the room.
Damn you Al ... Dear Pat ... you would never treat me like this... . Sweet ... sweet Pat ... you would never ... be mean ...
Karen slept until one o'clock. By the time she had straightened up the house, done some necessary ironing for Allen, and gotten dressed, it was time to start dinner. Al had a tight schedule on Saturdays. He worked all afternoon and had just enough time to come home for dinner before returning to the store for the evening shift. Karen had wanted to find Pat and talk her into spending an evening with her -- and meeting Al later on -- but she knew it was not just to prove to her husband that Pat really was a girl, that she wanted to see Pat. The memory of her evening with the dark-haired girl was threatening to drive her out of her mind. She could not stop thinking of Pat. She tried to tell herself that what really drove her on this way was a morbid kind of curiosity -- but she knew the truth... . What she felt towards Pat was desire, flesh-trembling desire. Al had become a tower of boredom and neglect. Pat was a bird, with freedom and excitement promised on the tips of each lovely feather.
The nearly silent dinner lasted an eternity for Karen. Before going back to the store Allen asked his wife about the evening. "Planning on doing anything special?" he asked.
"I ... I don't know yet. My friend said she would call if she can make it."
"Okay. I'll see you later." Allen straightened his tie and watched her clear the table. He felt guilty about the things he had accused her of in the morning, but his irritation remained unabated. If there was no man -- and now that he had calmed down he did believe Karen about that -- then what was wrong with her? Al glanced at his watch. As usual, he simply didn't have the time even to worry, much less do anything about the problem. He had exactly twenty minutes to get back to work.
Karen tidied the kitchen as soon as Allen was gone, and got down to the beach front just as the sun was disappearing into the water. It was Saturday evening and Pat might be just conventional enough to want to go out on the one night of the week everyone else did.
She felt wonderful all of a sudden. Pat would be there and would be happy to come to the house for coffee. She would show Allen.
Through the tinted glass front of the restaurant Karen noticed Pat sitting at a table in the center of the floor, appearing to be the hub of activity, with the other people revolving about her like spokes twirling around their axis.
Oh, no! Karen stopped short just inside the door. Pat wasn't alone! Karen hadn't noticed the blond girl sitting next to Pat. All she had looked for and all she had seen was Pat. Now, with typical feminine curiosity, Karen studied the other girl Pat had her back to the door and the blonde was facing her, so Karen could get a good look at her face. She was extremely pretty, Karen admitted miserably to herself. Her long hair glinted with a silvery glow and framed a lush, sensual face. The conviction that the girl used an aid to lighten her hair didn't make Karen feel any better. The girl was lovely ... and she was with Pat.
Karen felt ill from the paralyzing pain which seemed to grip her. Abruptly, she began to realize that she had assumed a great deal. It was only one evening.., she hardly knew Pat. Pat might have said the same things to many girls ... many times. Pat might have forgotten she even existed... .
She couldn't! Karen stared at the narrow back which was again covered by the black sweat shirt. She trailed her eyes up past the intensely graceful nape of Pat's neck to the rich, dark, cropped hair. Every line of the girl's body was somehow familiar to Karen. Pat couldn't have forgotten her!
Karen knew she should leave, go home, forget this girl who, at best, only meant confusion and trouble. Back to what? An empty house, a husband who cares only about a few square inches of my body? And what is there for me here? she wondered. I'll leave, she decided, knowing that she wanted to stay.
Pat saved her from acting either way on her decision. The pale-eyed girl leaned back in her chair and twisted around, making a quick scan of the room. Karen held her breath. She would know so much from that first look. Her stomach was tied in knots. If Pat didn't recognize her immediately, if there was a brief look of puzzlement even, she would leave at once, forget this girl who was driving her out of her mind.
It was just like the first time. Their eyes met and everything else blurred for both girls. Karen lost herself in the ocean depths of Pat's unique eyes, thrilling to the realization that Pat had also felt the same instantaneous excitement from the contact. Both forgot the long-haired blonde.
Lorna had been an insatiable panter in Pat's arms the night before. When she had returned to the coffeehouse from the walk that led her to Karen's doorstep, Lorna was still there and eagerly accepted Pat's invitation to spend the night at her apartment.
"I've got to do it my way tonight," Pat advised Lorna as soon as they reached the privacy of her living room. In her mind's eye she held the image of Karen, using a substitute blonde to act out her fantasy. "And the first thing I want to do is feel those gorgeous tits."
"Anything you say, sweets," Lorna cooed as Pat began to open the buttons on her blouse. The dreamy, faraway look in Pat's eyes only suggested an inner bliss she had known herself -- though usually with an innocent young girl.
With deft fingers. Pat eased the girl's bra from the full, pear-shaped mounds. Lorna's nipples fizzed out straight and hard. "Such beautiful, delicious tits," Pat sighed, her hands gliding feather-like over and around the milk-white globes of ivory-smooth flesh.
"Oh! Lick them, baby," Lorna cried breathlessly.
"Shhh!" Pat scolded, then quickly added in a soft voice, "Everything, my love. I won't disappoint you ... you can be sure of that."
Lorna's heart beat faster as the excitement of Pat's tantalizingly slow movements teased and toyed with her yielding flesh. She stood patiently in the center of the carpeted living room as Pat opened her slacks and eased them down to her knees, feeling the moisture seep out into the crotch of her sheer black panties when Pat's beautiful face approached within inches of the spot. Secretly, she hoped the fragrance emitted from her panting well of passion would spark Pat to tear off her panties and gobble up the oozing girl-flux. She knew she would, if their positions were reversed. But Pat simply straightened up again and looked deep into her eyes. Lorna felt her panties sliding down over her hips, with Pat bending before her as she slipped the garment to the floor.
"You're driving me nuts," Lorna breathed in desperation, watching the corners of Pat's mouth curl into a knowing smile. "Don't tease me, Pat! Eat me! Lick my cunt, baby! I need your tongue! OH! I NEED IT!"
But Pat paid no attention to Lorna's pleas. She only saw her innocent Karen stripped naked before her and told herself she mustn't rush the girl It might frighten her. Then smiling into Lorna's pleading eyes, she once again fondled her large breasts, this time bringing the tip of her tongue to the quivering nipples, licking both before sucking the breast-meat into her mouth. At the same time she fed the tit into her mouth, her other hand slid over the girl's hip to fondle the larger globes in back. As her mouth made slurping, sucking sounds on Lorna's breast, Pat's finger toured the deep crevice in the rear, searching for, then finding the sucked-in hole there. With a circling motion of her fingertip, she coaxed the anus to pucker and sip at her finger, then gently eased it into the hot dry tunnel.
"I wanna come!" Lorna cried. "Finger my cit. damn it! Help me! I gotta come!"
"There, there," Pat whispered, releasing her breast from the steaming heat of her mouth. "If you like my finger, love, you'll love my tongue. Now kneel down like a good girl and let me tongue that tight little asshole."
"Never mind my asshole," Lorna panted, but obeying Pat's request to kneel. "I need it in my cunt!"
Still paying no attention to Lorna's demands, Pat slipped behind her, keeping her finger deeply seated in the girl's rectum until she positioned herself in a kneeling position between Lorna's legs. Then she carefully unscrewed her finger from the sucking tunnel and spread the twin globes of flesh apart, placing her open mouth over the little bud, sucking it and teasing it with the tip of her tongue. She backed away enough to look at the blinking eye, moist now with her own saliva, and suddenly swooped down again, driving her wet tongue up the tight hole.
"Nnnnggghhh!" Lorna screeched, quickly reaching down with her own hand to satisfy the tormented ache of her itching cit. The mere touch of her finger released the orgasm churning inside her. Pat's slippery tongue swirling up her rectum became a delicious treat now that her juices were flushing freely.
Pat was delighted with the reaction the girl in her fantasy was showing and decided it was time to taste the forbidden fruit. Certainly Karen wouldn't object to having her cunt licked now, she thought, withdrawing her tongue from the depths of the tight hole. She lowered her mouth slightly, her nose buried now in the crease of those pillows of flesh, and licked at the tender lips of Lorna's weeping pussy.
Karen. My Karen ... Pat heard herself calling. But a safety mechanism in her brain kept her from saying the name out loud. Mmmmm ... sweet, delicious nectar, my love ... Her mind was consumed with the fantasy and she was unware that Lorna had maneuvered herself over on her back, while Pat's tongue dipped feverishly into her well of passion to lick away the joy-juice as fast as it seeped from the innermost walls.
Still in a dream-like trance, Pat submitted willingly when Lorna began stripping her clothes off. Yes, yes, she encouraged the girl silently. Now you must drink from my fountain ... suck on my tits, you lovely thing ... mmmmm ... your mouth is so warm and eager to eat all of me. When she opened her eyes, blond hair was cascading down her stomach and the hot, open mouth was sucking at the sopping wet entrance to her longing slit. This could very well be Karen, she thought as the fog lifted from her head and she felt the talented tongue flick over and around her swollen cit. She found herself lifting her legs off the floor and bringing her knees back toward her chest to expose everything to the hungry mouth.
"Lick my ass too," she said softly and Lorna immediately went to the task. "Mmmmm ... that's good."
It was no longer necessary for Pat to fantasize. She had satisfied her present lust to seduce an innocent girl by pretending Lorna was Karen. Now her only thought was the sensations she could bring to her own tingling body with Lorna's eager mouth. All during the time she was feeling and licking at the other girl's body, she could imagine how it felt and was tormented by the sensations it brought to her own body. She knew it took a girl to make love to another girl, because only a girl knows what the other is experiencing and what to do to heighten the pleasure. And now she knew the thoughts and tastes that Lorna was having at the ultra sensitive openings to her body. This, too, increased the pleasure of it.
Pat took a deep breath to contain the delight the tip of Lorna's tongue was delivering to her anus. No matter how many times you do it, she thought, there's always a moment of nagging uncertainty as to whether or not you want to stick your tongue into that forbidden, dark hole. Lorna was at that point now, Pat knew. The suspense was unbearable and she found herself working the muscles of that elastic ring in an attempt to capture the slippery serpent.
"AHHHIIH!" she cried out when Lorna's tongue finally snaked into the hot, dry tunnel. Pat's whole body seemed to focus now on the sensitive walls of that small hole and the sensations created by the wet, twisting meat of Lorna's tongue. It was breathtaking. "OH! BABY!" she gasped, when, at precisely the right moment, Lorna's finger slithered deep into her mushy cunt. The pent-up tide of her orgasm suddenly gushed out, her body jerked and convulsed, making it impossible for Lorna to keep her tongue in the sucking hole in back.
Pat's second orgasm came when Lorna's tongue replaced her finger in the drenched cave of her sex. She screamed at the feel of it spiraling up and up, deeper and deeper into her belly. She squeezed and sucked at the invading tongue, delivering a flush of girl-flux that seemed to drain everything from the top of her head to the tip of her toes. The insatiable tongue swept it all away and continued licking at the inner walls long after there was nothing left to retrieve.
Pat slumped to a mass of motionless flesh. The carpeted floor seemed hard and uncomfortable now, but she was too exhausted to do anything about it. When her breathing returned to normal, she slowly opened her eyes and stared with surprise into the bushy triangle of hair between Lorna's legs. The girl was kneeling in a straddled position over Pat's face now and beyond the protruding mounds of the girl's full breasts, she could see the grin on Lorna's face.
"I could come just looking at your beautiful face between my legs," Lorna breathed in a soft voice. "And if you're too tired to eat me, baby, just focus those gorgeous eyes on my aching meat and I'll come by myself."
"Mmmmmm ... I'd like that," Pat purred back.
Lorna reached down with both hands and gently spread the moist, pink vagina-lips. "There, baby. Look into the heart of me ... all hot and mushy in there because of you."
"It smells so sweet and delicious," Pat sighed as Lorna began to finger the steaming-hot mouth.
"Blow on it, love. Let me see you pucker those lips ... ohhhh ... yes ... blow on it ... ."
Pat could see the girl was arriving at the peak of excitement and waited until Lorna closed her eyes before saying, "I've got to eat you, love! I want it! I need it!" With that she reached up with both hands and pulled Lorna down by the hips onto her open mouth and anxious tongue.
Now Pat rose to her feet without breaking the communication of their eyes. "Karen!" she said, her voice immediately blotted up by the unintelligible droning in the room. She crossed the distance to Karen without a word of excuse to her companion.
"Hello, Pat," Karen whispered, trying to smile.
"Hello, baby," Pat's smile was intimate and very welcoming. She had come! Pat suppressed a triumphant grin.
"I ... I wanted to talk to you, Pat. But if you're busy ... ."
"Busy?" Pat wrinkled her forehead, then understood as she caught Karen's eyes on Lorna. "Oh, no, not at all. She's ... just a girl."
"And me'?" Karen heard herself ask breathlessly.
"Don't ask me that, baby. Not now. Not yet ..." Pat took Karen's hands and led her over towards the central table.
The words had set Karen trembling inside. She was glad she didn't have to talk just yet.
"Lorna, this is Karen." Pat frowned significantly at the blonde. "Karen wanted to talk to me."
Lorna got the broad hint. She sighed dramatically, but, not wishing to encourage Pat's displeasure, she got to her feet immediately. No one else ever gave her what Pat did. Pat was the best. "I've got to split, anyway." She couldn't quite bring herself to tell Karen that it was nice meeting her. "See you again soon, Pat?"
"See you, Lorna." She didn't bother hiding her impatience. When Lorna was out of hearing range, Pat caught Karen's hand in her own across the table. "I can't be with you long now, baby. rye got a date tonight, I'm sorry to say."
"A date?" Karen automatically tried to withdraw her hand from Pat's grasp, but Pat held her tightly, smiling at Karen's unconscious display of jealousy.
"With a man, baby! For money! It's a bore, but it has to be done."
"I wanted to see you, Pat. I had to see you. I couldn't sleep last night ... . I ... I even came down here, in the middle of the night, looking for you." Karen blushed cherry-red from her confession. She shut her eyes tight, forcing herself to say what she felt she had to, before she changed her mind and said nothing at all. She spoke quietly, raising her voice only enough to make herself heard over the din. "I don't know why, though," she said, keeping her eyes closed. "I mean, I don't know what I would want once I found you. I'm afraid ... and I don't know why."
"Oh, Karen ... baby. There's so much I want to tell you but it must wait. Don't be afraid. I'll take care of you. Trust me." She glanced at the clock, her features hardening. "I have to go now, damn it."
"Yes ..." Suddenly Karen remembered Allen and the coffee date she had mentioned. "But I wanted you to come to my house! For coffee! Tonight!"
"I wish I could. Tomorrow? Around eight? I'd like to see where you live. Where you sleep and bathe and eat and ... and.. .and l better get out of here before ... before I do something right here and now that you would regret. Not me, of course. I could never do anything to you I would regret, not when I love you the way I do." Pat got to her feet. Her eyes skitted over Karen's face like wet kisses. "Tomorrow night. Okay?"
"Yes." Karen started to get up, too.
Pat waved her back into her seat. "Stay. Have some coffee. Think of me."
She was a woman, like herself! Karen knew it, yet her body obeyed and thrilled to the masculinity that wasn't really masculine, the love that wasn't normal. 'Tomorrow," she repeated, unable to manage even a semblance of a smile. It was all too serious, too somber, too wonderful. "At eight. You remember where I live?"
Pat grinned in the boyish way Karen was coming to know so well. "Yes, I remember, baby. I couldn't sleep last night either. So I took a walk ... and wound up in front of your house. Sleep well, baby."
Karen watched her walk away. She sat staring at the door long after Pat had vanished through it and on out into the darkness... .
* * *
Pat tossed her sweat shirt and too-tight jeans on a chair and ran her fingers lazily through her short hair. "Damn!" she hissed, glaring at the walls resentfully. She could be with Karen now! But she had made this date two days ago, and it was too late to back out now. Besides, she needed the money. She still had time before the trick would arrive -- enough to take a shower and -- she reached down and ran her fingertips over her long, slim legs -- take a fast shave. She took pride in her socially unacceptable vocation. Anything she did, she did well, especially if it had anything to do with sex.
Pat looked at the mirror for a long moment. She liked looking at herself in the nude. That was why she had picked up a three-way mirror in a junk store and stuck it on a dresser near her bed. From the right angle, looking just so, she could see herself and whomever she was with, on the bed. Impulsively, Pat moved her hips forward,, keeping her balance precariously. Her body touched its mirror image. She looked down at the contact. The idea was crazy ... wonderful ... everything felt good when she was in a mood like this. Physical sensation, she thought, that was the answer! It freed the mind and delighted the soul.
Once in the shower, the warm water felt fabulous against her tingling skin. The touch of her own fingers soaping the delicate curves of her body increased the anticipation and fanned the flames within. She rinsed herself off quickly. Dripping, she reached for a towel and vigorously rubbed her lean and beautiful body.
A glance over her shoulder at the image in the full-length mirror on the bathroom door caused her to pause and stare. She turned slowly, the towel still clutched to her breasts and faced the mirror. Her left hand moved automatically to her breast and milked the aching desire from it as her right hand slid smoothly over her hip and thigh. Her fingers danced teasingly around her thighs and stomach, stopping above the triangle of damp hair, waiting for the thrills of anticipation to catch up with her. Then she combed her fingers through the matted hair, and a strange, pleasant crawling sensation itched her body, sending shocks of excitement to her brain.
Pat cupped the damp cove between her legs with her palm and it responded by grinding longingly on her hand. Chills ran up her back as her cool buttocks felt the warmth of her fingers that reached between her legs and pressed into her slit. She squeezed the globes of flesh and toured the crevice with a finger, imagining how the man that was about to arrive would be delighted to poke his finger in the little hole there, getting hotter and hotter as she tried to make him stop. Her imagination took over and it was the trick's finger forcing its way into the tight little tunnel.
Her eyes were fixed on the mirror as she dropped the towel and watched an imaginary man make love to her. She was under its spell. Fantasy, mixed with fact, built her up and coaxed the spark in her cove of passion to a flame -- craving more and more, faster and faster. Fleeting thoughts of Karen and Lorna raced through her mind as she concentrated on the panting entrance to her sex, her fingers playing tag now with its longing lips.
"See, Karen? Don't my cunt-lips feel moist and delicious?" Pat whispered, keeping her eyes on the reflected image in the mirror as a hand -- her own -- toyed with the sensitive, pink lips. "They're moist and hot for you my love. Just the sight of you causes my juices to flow freely. And ... and ... I can feel your juices flowing too, baby. Does the touch of my finger on your sweet-smelling cunt excite you? Mmmmmm ... You stick your finger into my aching cunt, while I examine yours."
Excitement and joy began to ooze from Pat's creaming meat with each delicately timed invasion and withdrawal of the experienced digit. One hand roamed the smooth skin from hard, quivering nipples to a gentle exploration in and around her buttocks, while the other remained between her legs to probe and delight. It seemed so real -- Karen was fingering her pussy, while she played with Karen's; the free hand belonged to Lorna, sometimes, and sometimes it was the man about to arrive.
"Nnnngggghhhh ... You, You are, sooo beautiful, Karen. And . .. and I told you I would bring delicious new thrills to your body. I can feel your cunt building to a wonderful, delicious climax, baby. Mmmmmm . . finger me! Faster, my pet ... faster. Your beauty is making me come! Finger-fuck me faster ... more ... more ... MORE!"
Pat's voice rose as her body climbed to the peak of excitement. Her hands moved feverishly, one squeezing harder and harder on her breast, as the other savagely poked the full length of its middle finger in and out of her slit.
"Come, Karen! COME! I want to feel you come on my finger, baby. There, there! Feel me coming on yours? So delicious ... so hot ... so gooooood! AHHHHHH!"
Pat slowly removed her finger from the depths of her sopping wet slit and smiled at herself in the mirror. The little game was just what she needed, she thought, to put herself in the right mood for a man. Not that she didn't enjoy a man. Pat just hated men. But there were times times even with a man ... Perhaps, she told herself with renewed enthusiasm, this man would be one of those times!
Chapter Six
The man at the threshold looked nervous and unsure of himself. "Are you Pat?" he asked awkwardly, his beefy face darkening perceptively.
The girl smiled. "Sure. Come on in." She turned and moved back into the room. She heard him follow but didn't turn around. She knew the man was surprised. They all were. Pat lived differently from the way men expected a seventy-five-dollar-a-throw prostitute to live. Her cheap apartment was unusual, and so was her failure to appear at the door in the standard uniform of the trade -- a sexy negligee. All she had on was a stiffly ironed man's white skirt.
"Mike tell you how much?" Pat asked. She knew girl in her price range was supposed to be more subtle -- only a ten-dollar number on Washington Avenue was this direct. But Pat didn't care. She made up for the niceties she neglected now, late; in hot merchandise.
"Seventy-five, right? That's a lot of money." The man's pig eyes paused at the bulging tops of the girls breasts, then hurried down to where the shirttails clung together between her thighs. "But you just might be worth it."
"Oh, honey, am I!" Pat took the money and crossed the room with it. She counted carefully as she put the crisp bills in the beat-up dresser. She unbuttoned rapidly as she moved to the bed. The man got out of his sport coat and laid it on the couch on the other side of the room. He watched her undo the last button. His own hands began to move as quickly over his shirt and trousers.
Pat turned her back to the man as she wriggled her shoulders, encouraging the shirt to fall away from her brown, evenly tanned body. She could feel his greedy eyes stabbing into her back, heard the quick intake of his breathing when the shirt slid over her firm, globular rump. He let his shoes fall to the carpet with a dull thud.
She turned slowly, allowing him a long chance to see and appreciate her unusual beauty. She knew how the curvy slimness of her figure drove men wild, and how the lush growth of onyx excited them even more than did her fine high breasts. She watched the man, naked, save for his concealing boxer shorts, react to her body in the expected way. She loved the wild feeling of jungle animalism her own beauty inspired in herself and others; she loved to play games with her body, show it off proudly. Most girls were impressed with their fine figures, Pat was enraptured with hers.
She walked to the man, grinning broadly at the way his gaze clung to her. She looked up into his eyes, forcing his attention away from her body and down into her eyes. "You look big enough to undress by yourself," she teased, suddenly kittenish and eager. "Or do you need some help?"
The man jerked erect and, grinning foolishly, yanked off the one remaining garment.
Pat inspected the man critically, unimpressed by the layers of fat that thickened his waist, though, nodding with approval at the rest of him. She had seen firmer, handsomer men, but he would do ... nicely. She kept her eyes intimately on him as she spoke. "What's your name, anyway?"
"Bill. Why? Does it matter?" His voice was thick.
"Not really. But I want to know what to call you when I tell you what to do... ." It seemed to Pat that the man paled as she spoke. She was going to like this... . It still wasn't Karen, and it was Karen she really wanted tonight, but she was going to like this, anyway.
Bill reached out with both hands. He weighed and squeezed one lovely breast. "You name it, baby. Just ... name it!"
Pat's ice-blue eyes glittered wetly. She could suddenly taste again the bitterness of the cheap liquor her stepfather used. Since the death of her mother, when Pat was eight, her stepfather was the only family she had known ... her life had been so lonely. There had been the school bus which had split the dusty road each day to take her away for a few hours from the tiny farm her father worked single-handed in the desolate corner of her native Oklahoma. But most of the time it had only been the two of them, fighting the reluctant earth, sharing a life together without love or understanding. Then one night, shortly after she reached her teens, he had returned to the ramshackle house late after an evening of drinking in town... . She had tasted the liquor on his bruising lips, felt his hands ripping her cotton shift from her body, and screamed out in terror, knowing even then that there was no help for her.
Her immature body had suffered under her stepfather's heavy body frequently after that. Pat had hated the assaults. She had tried to fight them off once she knew that the sound of his unsteady footprints approaching her bed meant another violent attack. Her body tried to escape, first by pretending illness, then, when the rapes went on in spite of it, by very real sicknesses which, nameless, produced terrible fevers and terrifying hallucinations.
Pat could never really recall what it was that happened to her shortly after these attacks began. She knew that there was an abrupt change in her body, a painful change. There was a visit by the doctor who screamed at her father, threatening to report him to the authorities, telling him he had ruined her life, that she would never have children after what he had done. Then came a blissful reprieve in the small local hospital, a blindingly white operating room. Followed by more threats when Pat was returned to her father, but the assaults resumed once she was well again, and the doctor, a drinking crony of her father's, never did more than threaten.
She had hated her stepfather for his cruelty. Yet, as the years passed, something happened. She came to almost look forward to the familiar booze odor and the sickening, sluggish body crushing her developing flesh.
This man handling her body, this man who called himself Bill, was built like her stepfather. He even smelled vaguely like him. Pat threw her arms around Bill's thick neck, thrusting her hard nipples against him. She tossed her head back as far as it would go, began a swaying movement that caused her tight young body to rub back and forth against the man, and closed her eyes with a fluttering of her dark lashes. Everything else was forgotten -- the money, the future, even Karen. "Don't ... don't be so gentle!" she panted.
Bill grabbed the girl and threw her on the bed. A new air of excitement had gripped him as well. "Just remember, you asked for this... ." His strong hands were on her, bruising and hurting the tender flesh wherever they touched. He reached down roughly and gripped her squirming legs, pulling them apart savagely. The man stared down at the straining thighs, and, more closely then, scrutinized the exposed valley of naked, darkly fringed flesh between them. He caught her ankles suddenly and jackknifed her legs against her tense belly and full breasts. The tempting fullness of her round buttocks and the jungle path of her moist core invited his attack.
"You beautiful slut... . You whore ..." he whispered fiercely, driving his fingers into the pulsating wetness waiting for his brutal touch.
Pat groaned, taking the furious assault on her body gladly, even joyously. Her limbs were uncomfortably twisted for his pleasure, but there was no pain. There was only a blinding, building pressure in her loins, a simmering bubble of expectant ecstasy. She was delirious with excitement -- she didn't care what happened to her. Let him bruise her, ravish her -- beat her, if necessary -- she was beyond caring. She was wet and open, frantic to be used as a victim of this strange man's lust ... and her own. Pat's fingers reached out for, and found, the throbbing stiffness of him.
At her touch, the man ceased his pillage of her body. Released, Pat slid from the bed and, like a large graceful animal, fell on her hands and knees to the floor.
"Stand up," she begged, trembling.
Bill obeyed, his firm flesh curving rigidly from his belly. Greedily, like a great cat, Pat rubbed the side of her head, her cheeks, and, finally, her lips against the spear-like penis swaying before her face. She was moaning with anticipation, but she put off the moment until, muttering curses, Bill grabbed handfuls of Pat's short hair and forced her mouth into a deeper embrace. He kept her face locked against his sweating loins, jabbing into her mouth with short, deliberate thrusts.
She was dying, she was being stabbed to death, she was an open wound from her grasping lips to the depths of her protesting throat... . . The insistent flesh throbbed in her mouth as she scraped her teeth gently over its sensitive folds. The huge head of his tireless penis was an enormous wedge, threatening to split her jaws for his pleasure. She was being used thoughtlessly for his solitary enjoyment -- and she loved it!
"You hot bitch!" Bill grunted, driving himself into her. "You think if I come in your mouth I won't be able to shove my prick up your pretty cunt... . I'll show you... !" He yanked again, with no trace of gentleness, on her hair, pulling her lips, still open and grasping, from his swollen penis. "Just use your tongue on it, lick it like the good little whore you are!"
Pat sobbed with the desire to get back at his body, grasp him within her panting lips, but the hands kept her far enough away so that only her wet tongue could taste the bulging head of his arrogant masculinity. She lapped at him greedily, moaning softly all the time.
"Now you're going to get it. Then, you'll get it again, on your back. Faster, faster ... now ... whore! Now!"
Pat felt the sticky wetness shoot out of him, drenching her lips, trickling down into her mouth, defiling her face. She was insane with passion. Feeling the slackness of his hold on her then, Pat captured the dying meat in her mouth once more, draining his juice utterly, and even before the last trace of his seed flowed out of him. The hot wet mouth which engulfed his flesh, gave him a spontaneous rebirth of lust. Bill shoved the girl away from him, then half dragged, half pushed her to the bed. Pat fell on her back limply, eager now to be ravished thoroughly by this instrument of her rape.
Bill grinned down at her, enjoying his complete power to do with her as he pleased. "Now I'm going to get my money's worth, baby," he said, moving one hand to the base of his once again stiff cock. With his free hand he lifted her smooth buttocks so that the slit of dewy flesh and black foliage formed a perfect target.
Pat groaned in ecstatic relief as she felt him breaking into her. He was so big. He drilled himself into her flesh relentlessly, finding no resistance in the squirming creature beneath him. Pat felt the first orgasm catching hold. She rode the waves of her lust tightly, knowing that as soon as this one passed there would be more. She felt she wanted to come with every thrust he made into her cunt. She knew there would be time for five, six more orgasms before this beast dropped his load into the mouth of her womb. She couldn't help but think of her stepfather again. He was like this, hammering his juice into her belly, tormenting her with his huge shaft, a madman, using her young flesh in every way, until she felt like nothing more than a series of openings, existing only to satisfy hard staffs of insatiable lust... .
Pat arched her supple back, drifting sweetly off into a hot bath of half-forgotten memory. She felt it build up in her as his rough hands manipulated her body. Next time it would be different -- gentle -- and that too, would be enjoyable. She shuddered from the exquisite pleasure. She wanted to call out, tell him. Her anguished voice mingled with his coarse grunts. "Daddy! Daddy! Yes! Daddy!"
Chapter Seven
Karen had no idea of how the night and day passed for her. The knowledge that Pat would be in her house that evening seemed too wonderful to be true. She waited until Allen was ready to leave for school in the evening before telling him. He hadn't even mentioned Pat's absence the evening before.
Once he was gone, Karen went hurriedly to the bathroom and took another shower. She wanted to be fresh and sweet-smelling for Pat. Karen sat in front of the cheap vanity table with a large towel tucked sarong-style under her breasts. She critically studied her face and what she could see of her figure in the three-way mirror.
Her skin was very pink from the hot shower. The color gave the girl an even softer look than usual. She surveyed her light hair, thought again of bleaching it, but, as usual, rejected the notion. Her fluffy hair was blond enough, striated with different shades of yellow where the sun had fingered and tinted the locks. She forgot her hair when her gaze fell on her face. She thought her pretty face too unexciting, too childish. She longed to look really sophisticated. sharply exotic, not like a face off a cameo locket. Her dark eyes penetrated her mirrored features, mentally adjusting her bone structure and coloring. In her concentration, her coral, pointed tongue darted out against her upper lip. When she noticed it, Karen frowned in disgust. She looked all of sixteen, and about as sophisticated as a bar of lemon soap.
The girl tugged at the top of her towel, letting it fall to her waist. She relaxed greatly at the sight of her own body. There, at least, she couldn't find much in which to object. Her smooth pretty flesh was all in the right places. Her breasts, in spite of their largeness, were very firm, with strawberry tips which pointed upwards. Behind each tip was a round smudge the color of jam. Under her breasts Karen's body tapered sharply to a tiny waist which Allen loved to encircle with his hands. Her shoulders were just broad enough to carry the mammoth breasts comfortably. And Karen could find no fault with her long neck. The girl got to her feet slowly, following the line of her body as it emerged in the mirror. She pushed the towel to the floor. Her hips widened from her small waist. She half turned to study her compact but attractively shaped buttocks. Her thighs were firm and full, and she knew, the rest of her legs were equally pretty. Karen looked curiously at where her thighs came together, wondering hotly if Pat would approve of her body... .
She snatched her eyes away and, red faced, began to dress. She pulled on a clean cotton bra and a pair of pink panties. She couldn't resist taking an-other look in the mirror. She smiled nervously, wondering what would happen if she met Pat at the door dressed like this, with her full breasts spilling over the top of her bra and the thin panties exaggerating her hips. Then Karen frowned. She hurriedly searched through her closet, trying to find something decent to wear. She decided on an old pair of black stretch pants. They were tight, anyway. She struggled into them, then searched around for a blouse. She had to settle for a pale-blue blouse which became less dull once it was on her splendid body. The color did wonderful things for her hair and skin. She wiggled her feet into thong shoes and applied the little bit of makeup she used. A thin line of brown on her eyelids brought out the depth and darkness of her eyes, and a light touch with a pink lipstick gave her mouth a nice shimmer. She had just replaced the cosmetics when the doorbell rang. She got up at once and hurried to the living room.
Karen yanked the door open, her heart racing furiously. Pat! It had to be Pat! Oh, please, Karen prayed, let it be Pat!
"Hi, baby, am I late?" Pat grinned easily from the doorway.
Karen hardly recognized the dark girl She stared speechless at the impeccably dressed, stunning young woman at the door. Pat wore a silk suit that fitted sleekly around her fine figure. The suit had an expensive look to it. It was Pat's color, midnight black, and her high-heeled shoes matched it. "You -- you look like a fashion model," Karen said, frankly awed by Pat's beauty and elegance.
"I did that once, too, Karen, dear." Her eyes on the girl were very warm and very familiar. "I've done just about everything."
"Come in, please," Karen moved back from the door, urging Pat into the living room. She had been so impressed with Pat's appearance that she had forgotten to invite the girl inside. "How come the clothes? I mean ..."
"You didn't think I ever wore anything but jeans?" The girl tossed her head and laughed. "You're almost right. This little outfit is in honor of your husband. Isn't he home?"
"Al's at school. He won't be home for a few hours yet." Karen couldn't stop looking at Pat. She loved the way the sensitive blue eyes were lovingly raking her own face and body. It suddenly occurred to Karen that, with a whole world of beautiful women, it was astounding that she had never before noticed the sheer beauty of femininity. The thought shocked and disturbed her.
"I can't really say that I'm sorry that we're alone, Karen." Pat reached out and touched Karen softly on the cheek.
It's only because I'm so hungry for real affection! it's only because other men frighten me and Al won't give me more than his body! Karen told herself desperately. Yet, at the slight touch, Karen felt herself sway towards Pat, even knowing why, and what she risked ... and that she was damning herself to a hell at which she could only guess. Damned if I do, and damned if I don't! Karen accused herself silently. "Neither can I," she answered wearily, her mouth very dry. It isn't up to me to choose! the girl sobbed inwardly, from the depths of her confusion. Pat pulled her, filled her brain, flooded her memory, and started new, strange, urgent desires in her limp body.
"Don't be frightened, baby," Pat whispered, her arms going around the smaller girl's waist. "Don't be, please. I won't do anything to you... ."
Karen looked up into the startlingly lovely face. She knew her own face must yield traces of the way she felt. She wanted to protest, argue, beg Pat ... yes, please, do something to me, anything... .
"Anything you don't want me to do, that is -- I need you to trust me, Karen. I won't hurt you, baby. I love you." Pat held the girl cradled against her breast, feeling love like a pressure against her heart, trying to forget other times when she'd felt it just as intensely before.
Karen felt the slim womanly body against her, smelled and almost tasted the shivery silk that draped the taut flesh of this woman, this one woman whom she believed she loved as she had never loved anyone. In a gesture as ancient and natural as emotion itself, Karen raised her lips to be kissed.
Pat looked down at the prettily pouting mouth, reading correctly the intensity of Karen's desire to be kissed. She smiled gently at the desirable girl she held, but withheld her mouth from Karen's.
"I wish you were mine, Karen. You've no idea how much I wish that!" Pat released the girl with an abruptness that was almost a caress. "I don't know how I got myself into this! It's a nightmare for me!"
Karen watched Pat as she paced the small room with the liquid grace of a cat. Karen was filled with confusion and fear. "A nightmare?" she repeated, not understanding.
"Yes," Pat exploded, her face suddenly dark and angry. "Yes, damn you!" Then Pat saw the look of shock and pain on Karen's face. She went to Karen and fell to her knees before Karen, her head pressed against the soft little belly. "Oh, baby, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to say that! I didn't mean to hurt you. Don't you see?" Pat looked up, past the huge pointing breasts, into the heart-shaped face. Her eyes were glossed with unshed tears. "I love you so much, Karen. But what good is it? We're going to go on torturing ourselves. You won't leave your husband. .We won't ever get together. We'll end up hating each other."
Karen put her hands in Pat's hair, smoothing the ruffled strands. Pat was right. This was insane. Was she willing to give up her marriage, her life, for this girl? A swift throbbing was alerting her body. The pressure of Pat's head against her stomach, the feel of the woman's shoulders and high breasts against the tops of her thighs, were speaking with a tongue all their own. She fought down a desire to cry out that she would give up Al, she would give up everything, for this girl she hardly knew! "Pat," she moaned, not knowing what to say. "Pat!"
"I want you, Karen," Pat said, rising to her feet slowly, brushing her body with easy deliberateness against the girl. "If you want me to stay I'll try to get you. I don't care about your husband, darling. You have to understand that. And if I get you ... I'll never give you up."
Karen couldn't break the communication of their eyes. She managed to speak at last, and when she did her voice was unnatural and strained. "I can't send you away, Pat. I can't promise anything, either. I'm so confused. But ... I ... I think I know how I feel about you. I don't understand it. I'm not so sure I want to understand it. But I think I.. .might ... love you ... ." She shook her head, impatient with the nothingness she had just uttered. What was she saying? She tried to smile, knowing that if she didn't she might have to cry. I'm going to make some coffee now. I could use a cup. Okay?"
"Yes. Sure, baby. I didn't mean to frighten you. Want some help with the coffee?"
"No, no thanks. Please, Pat, sit down. I'll be right back." Karen almost ran into the small kitchen. She was trembling violently, no longer sure of what had been said and what had been promised. She felt the proof of her excitement and hunger throughout her body. Her fingers shook as they measured coffee grounds and water. But by the time the coffee stopped perking she was almost calm. By the time she returned to Pat with the full cups of hot coffee she was able to smile almost normally. "Sugarless and black, right?" she asked, setting a cup before Pat.
Pat moved over on the couch, making room for Karen. "Right. And a sweet one," she added. She grinned at the girl "Maybe if I didn't know there were sweet girls like you I wouldn't hate men so much."
"Why do you? Hate men so much, I mean?" Karen asked.
"That's a tricky question, baby. I could go on for years." Pat took a sip of the hot coffee.
"Really. I'd like to know," Karen encouraged.
"Well, if you insist." Pat paused for a moment, pretending to collect her thoughts. "For one thing, I believe that men are all rapists, by inclination and desire. They take what they want from women and the world. Men are completely lacking in any kind of sensitivity. You take a gentle, kind woman and mate her with a man and you find the woman turning into a shrew and a household drudge. Men bring her down to their own level. I can't understand why a woman would willingly subject herself to such a relationship. The man is usually the boss, the breadwinner, and the absolute lord of the house. What does that make the female member of the so-called fifty-fifty partnership? The whole bit disgusts me. I've never known a man who could be trusted, and I've known a hell of a lot of men." Pat thought of her stepfather. She sipped her coffee reflectively.
"What do you mean, 'trusted'?" Karen didn't really agree with Pat, but the girl's words rang in her ears with cold conviction.
"Trusted?" Pat put the cup back on the saucer and smiled at Karen. "You're a very naive child, did you know that? Men can't be trusted for anything. You can't rely on them. Particularly in sexual fidelity. If that's at all important to you."
Karen smiled a bit smugly. "Most men, maybe, but the one thing I can say about Allen is that he's reliable. Sexually, too. In fact, one of the things I don't like about Al is that he's ... almost too reliable, if you know what I mean. He wouldn't even think of seducing another woman. I'm sure of that."
"Don't be too sure. It doesn't -- " Pat looked away from Karen and toward the door just as it opened. She studied the thin man with appraising eyes. She took in his quiet nice looks, his spindly build, and his complete lack of guile. By the time she had pasted a shy little smile of greeting on her face, Pat had already decided that Allen Martin was not going to be a formidable enemy.
"Oh, Al!" Karen jumped up from the couch nervously. "Pat Collins, this is my husband, Al. Al, I told you Pat was coming over tonight, didn't I?" Karen could feel her face going pink. She glanced at Pat's calm poise and envied the other girl. She tucked in her blue blouse at the waistband and made an effort to act casual, just as if Pat were indeed a friend dropping by for coffee and a friendly chat.
Al looked at the girl and smiled awkwardly. He suppressed an urge to grin at Patricia Collins like a fool. "Sure. I'm glad to meet you, Pat. You girls having coffee?"
"Happy to know you, Al. The coffee's delicious. Mine always tastes like diluted mud."
"I'll get you a cup, Al." Karen backed off towards the kitchen. She noticed the way Al was looking at Pat, and felt a glow of happiness. She allowed herself to gloat a bit. Al might have believed that the person she had claimed to meet at the coffeehouse was a girl, but it was obvious that he hadn't expected to meet anyone like Pat! Even dull Al, who never noticed anything except his books and time schedules was impressed by this girl.
"Take your time, Karen. Al and I will get acquainted," Pat called to the girl. Then she turned to Al and patted the seat next to her. "You have a charming wife, Al. We've been having a delightful chat."
"Karen said she met you at that ... that coffee-shop in Venice. You don't look like ... I mean, uh ..." Allen stammered uncomfortably. The body heat from this beautiful woman seemed to penetrate his clothing.
Pat laughed coolly. "It's all right," she interrupted, giving the young man one of her warmest smiles. "I don't look like you expected a girl from one of those places to look, is that it?"
Her smile encouraged him. He relaxed again. "Yes. I guess that's just what I was going to say."
"I suppose I don't." Pat put a slim-fingered hand on his surprisingly strong wrist "People have many moods and appearances. Don't let this one fool you," she confessed, knowing he would take her words for whatever he wished them to mean.
Allen felt the cool fingers on his wrist and started to breathe harder. He was painfully aware of his body's reactions to this dark-haired, tan-skinned, shy-eyed beauty.
"I won't," he answered, wondering what she meant. He dared not let himself believe that her words were a subtle invitation. He could imagine her going on to say something like ... I'm really a tiger under this respectable suit. And I've been waiting for someone like you ... . Her eyes seemed almost to talk for her. Allen thought immediately of the nights he had lain in bed wanting Karen and knowing that if he took her, she would lie there, hating it and him. Somehow he hadn't realized how much he longed for a woman who would respond to him, enjoy sex as much as he did. He was suddenly sure that Pat was such a woman.
Pat sighed softly. This was going perfectly. She had decided on what she would do from the first moment she saw Allen. It was almost too easy. She glanced at the kitchen door and listened for the sounds of china being rattled. She hoped her timing was good. "Al!" she looked up into his hazel eyes. Then she let her eyes trail down and stop at his generous mouth. "You're a very good-looking man."
Allen felt the faded eyes on his lips. His mouth felt bruised and neglected when they drifted away. "No one ever told me that before," he said, trying to smile. The girl was suddenly close to him, too close.
"It's true," Pat insisted softly. She let her eyes return to his mouth and stay there. "I like your mouth. It's ... sexy... ."
Karen balanced Al's coffee cup in one hand, held the steaming coffeepot in the other, and juggled a platter of coffee cake she had made earlier and forgotten to serve, in the crook of her arm. She walked into the room slowly, her eyes nervously focused on the precariously balanced cake plate.
Allen got to his feet quickly when Karen entered the room. "Hey, let me give you a hand, honey," he mumbled, going to his wife and taking the platter from her arm. He placed the cake on the coffee table in front of Pat, then sat down next to the girl.
Karen poured fresh coffee for herself and Pat, gave Al his cup, and sat down on a straight-backed chair facing her husband and Pat.
Pat kept the conversation on a light, amusing level. She avoided Allen's hesitant questions about her occupation. She thought of her plan while she spoke, wishing she could rush things. She wanted to skip the game for once. Pat wanted to take Karen to bed and bring her to life the way she guessed Allen never had. She looked at the young man, wondering whether or not she would actually have to sleep with him. He didn't appeal to her any more than most men did. Rather less than some men, she thought. His body was lacking in the muscular quality she admired. Allen could never control her body, force her buttocks into a mattress, excite her as he dug steely fingers into her soft skin. Still, his very weakness might be exciting. She could control him, she decided. She visualized Allen under her, his lean body punished by her teeth and bruising hands.
Karen was the first to become aware of the time. It didn't seem possible! Allen had never before stayed up to talk until three o'clock! "Oh, Al! You've got to get some sleep if you want to get up in time for work tomorrow."
Pat pretended to deliberate the invitation. "Well -- " she thought of spending the night in this house, near Karen. She thought of waking Karen in the morning. after Allen had left for work. "If you want me," she said gravely to the pretty blonde.
"I want you," Karen answered, just as gravely.
Allen took a last look at the sultry gin who would be sleeping only yards from his bed. "Need any help with the bed, girls?" He yawned sleepily, wishing that there were some way he could put himself to bed with the dark girl.
Pat was amused at this display of smug maleness. She was sure she was stronger than Allen. "I'm sure we can manage. You go to bed. I'm sorry I kept you up so late."
"It was a pleasure," he answered. This girl made him feel more like a man by a word, than his wife ever did in bed.
After Allen went to the bathroom Pat and Karen set about opening the bed-couch. When it was opened Karen excused herself to get some linens. Pat noted the snowy color of the sheets.
"It's nice to know I'm getting such a good housekeeper. My apartment is always such a mess." Pat grinned at the girl.
Karen looked startled, and her pretty face took on the color of cooked beets.
"Don't get upset, baby," Pat whispered, moving close to the girl "It has to work out that way, you know. Try to get used to the idea."
Karen opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. She turned around, hiding her face in her hands.
Pat looked at Karen's small back. The girl looked so small, so young and fragile. Pat gave in to a moment of regret. She had no business here! What was she doing to this girl? Hadn't she done the same thing enough times in the past to satisfy her ego? She was about to break up Karen's marriage. For what? What could I give her? she asked herself. "How do you feel?" Pat put a hand lightly on Karen's shoulder.
"How do you think I feel?" Karen whispered fiercely.
Pat saw the lovely huge breasts in profile. She imagined removing the plain-blue blouse, unhooking the restraining bra, and cupping the hot breasts with her hands. Pat took a deep breath and relaxed a gain. What was she thinking? What would she be taking Karen away from? She looked around the room. This dump? She looked toward the bathroom. That clod with an extra length of flesh instead of a brain? This idiot's existence? Pat smiled softly. She would be saving the girl from pure mediocrity. Whatever she gave Karen it would be better, more soulful, more enlightening than what she had. No matter what happened later on. "Karen -- "
The girl turned around all the way. She rubbed her small nose childlessly, her face again pale and composed. "I'm just frightened, Pat. Can we ... talk about it tomorrow?" She glanced toward the bathroom. She thought she heard the shower taper off. "Al will be out in a minute." She bent to the task of making the bed, all the while avoiding Pat's eyes.
"I'm out of the john, girls," Allen called from the bedroom. "Good night."
"I'll be in after I do the dishes. You better go to sleep," Karen responded. "Would you like to wear a nightgown of mine, Pat?"
"That would be lovely." Pat casually threw the jacket on a chair and sat down on the bed.
She could sense Karen's mood. Now was the time to be gentle. Damn Allen, she thought mildly. If he wasn't in the next room I could have her now! "You see," she went on in her most lonely tone, "I need someone to take care of me." She passed a fingertip gently over her lips, tracing the line of her chin, the length of her neck, the curve of her breasts. She watched Karen's eyes follow the finger. When the short nail and the eyes had fallen together to her lap, Pat spoke again. "I need ... someone ..."
"I ... I have to go ... to sleep now. I ... I'll bring you the nightgown... ." Karen backed toward her bedroom, hers and Allen's. She felt as if a cord were wrapped around her loins, urging her to the girl.
"It's all right, Karen," Pat said sweetly. "I think I'll sleep in my slip. It's all I sleep in at home, when I sleep in anything at all."
Karen glanced again at the slip. It was black. Karen thought remotely that she had never seen Pat in anything but black, undeniably her color, a witch's color, dark and mysterious and exciting. "If you like ... ." Karen longed to go to the girl and feel her lips against her own mouth. Once, anyway. She had never wanted anything so badly. "Good night, Pat. Dream of -- " What had she started to say? Karen was horrified by her traitorous mouth and body. What had happened to her? "Dream of something nice," she managed to say.
"I will, darling," Pat whispered. "I'll dream of you... ."
Karen retreated into her bedroom just as Pat stood up and opened the button on her skirt. She heard the hiss of a zipper as she closed the door and she visualized the skirt dropping to the floor. The slip must be short, she knew, remembering the above-the-knee length of Pat's skirt. She hadn't seen the color of the bra Pat wore, but Karen was sure it was black. And her panties, too.
"Karen? What are you doing?" Allen asked in the darkness.
"Nothing." She became aware of her body's trembling.
"Karen? How about coming to bed? Let's get some sleep, huh?" Allen's voice was muffled and remote, but not with sleep.
"Yes," Karen answered and began removing her clothing. She groped in the dark for a nightgown, pulling out the first one her fingers touched in the deep drawer. As the gown slipped down over her raised arms, Karen realized that of all the gowns she might have picked, she had chosen the frothy concoction of lace and ribbons that she had purchased for her wedding night. She had to forcibly keep herself from letting her wild thoughts revert to the girl on the couch. The choice of this particular gown, go lug to Pat in it, symbolically starting a new marriage.
"Hey, how about coming to bed? What are you doing, anyway?" Allen asked, sitting up in bed.
"I ... I thought I'd get some water." Karen turned in confusion toward the living room. But she didn't move.
"After all the coffee you drank? Don't be silly. Come to bed." Allen passed his fingers lightly over his body. He hadn't lost his readiness.
Karen nodded in the dark and walked to the bed. She was tired, unbearably tired. Sleep was almost as tempting as Pat.
The bed was warmed from Allen's tossing body. Karen wriggled between the crisp sheets and adjusted the blanket. Just as she got comfortable, Allen rolled over. He reached out and put an arm around Karen's shoulders.
"I thought you were sleepy," she said, trying to move away without making it seem like she was deliberately avoiding him.
"I am." He closed his eyes and tried again to ignore the pressure in the pit of his belly. He knew he wouldn't be able to sleep at all unless he gave some relief to his nagging body. He reached out for Karen again, this time lifting the frothy nightgown to her thighs.
"Allen! Stop it! What are you doing?" Karen pushed against his hands angrily.
"Won't take long tonight, honey," Allen whispered.
Karen jerked away from her husband. She sat frozenly erect on the bed. "With company in the living room you want to -- " Karen began in her frostiest whisper.
"Forget it! Just forget I asked!" Allen rolled to the other edge of the bed. "I'm going to sleep!"
Karen waited a moment, then cautiously lay down, keeping her distance from her husband. She felt the uncomfortable stiffness in her limbs, and knew that sleep was out of the question. Her mouth was dry. She thought of going to the kitchen for water. She closed her eyes and thought very hard about it. She could see herself going into the living room, looking down at Pat. Karen worked her tongue over her dry lips, listened to her husband's steady breathing and eased herself out of bed.
The living room was dark and almost silent. Karen stood very still and listened. She imagined she could detect a soft but steady rhythmic breathing coming from the couch. Her eyes, well accustomed to the darkness, could make out the outline of gentle swells under the blankets which draped the couch. She watched only a moment. Then, unable to make out the beautiful face at all, Karen continued on into the kitchen.
Karen filled a glass to the brim with cold water, and eagerly brought it to her lips. But after a few drops, she discovered that she was no longer thirsty. She poured the water down the drain and automatically rinsed the glass.
Then, because she didn't know what else to do, Karen turned to go back to bed.
Pat stood there so quietly it was impossible to guess how long she had been there, watching her. Karen wondered uncomfortably if Pat had silently observed her idiotic glass-washing. Then she forgot all about feeling awkward or embarrassed. Sensation poured in on her like a delayed reaction. She knew how she looked, with the small kitchen table lamp she had turned on shooting rays of yellow light though her gown, illuminating her large breasts with warm sun color, displaying her womanly hips, exhibiting the darker smudge below her rounded belly, thoroughly piercing the frothy material, and Pat was so shockingly beautiful, so much a part of the night, framed, as she was in the doorway, the night behind her, the light ahead. The short, black slip hid little of the lithely graceful body. Her sharply tilting breasts rose and fell gently under the bodice. All she wore under the slip was a pair of brief, black panties. Her expression was bland, but her vivid eyes were cat's eyes, alive, aware, hungry. She didn't speak, but, when Karen continued to stare mutely, she detached herself from the doorway and walked towards Karen.
Her movement was swift and sure. One moment she was part of the darkness, the next, part of Karen, their bodies pressed together, their lips moving against each other, their tongues locked before either could caution herself.
It was over in an instant. Karen's moist mouth and her pulsating body felt the loss of the contact even before she was aware that Pat was no longer in her arms. A fire was roaring hotly in her red-tinged ears. The fury of it drowned out most of Pat's soft good-night. She watched the black slip float lazily back into the darkness.
Even when Karen heard the soft protest of the couch, as Pat sank into it, she could not believe that the girl was really gone, no longer in her arms.
If this was love, Karen thought miserably, abnormal love, she amended, she wanted nothing to do with it! But even as she thought the words, Karen knew that there was nothing she could do about it any longer. It was like a drug, a powerful narcotic. She had toyed with it, played with it like a greedy kitten with a ball of wool, and now it was too late.
Karen hurried through the living room, this time not looking at anything but the door that led to her husband and safety. She slipped into bed with the soundless care she had so carefully cultivated. She descended into sleep with almost as much ease.
* * *
Allen opened his eyes with a sudden start. He blinked sleepily, and wondered what had awakened him so abruptly. Then he felt the arm over his chest, recognized an immediate, foolish hope that somehow the strange, dark girl was beside him, and looked down into his wife's pretty face. Karen turned again, this time moving her weight to the other side of the bed and away from him. Allen sat up in bed. He was suddenly too aware of his senses -- the desire for a woman other than his wife had stirred him, had made his body restless and his throat dry. He remembered the beer in the refrigerator. It was, he thought grimly, either the beer, or waking Karen.
Karen groaned softly in her sleep. Allen looked again at her valentine face, and felt a sudden tenderness for her. Drawing a deep breath, he got off the bed carefully, so as not to disturb her. Better settle for the beer, he decided.
He tiptoed through the living room, looking through the darkness for Pat's sleeping form as he walked. He closed the door to the kitchen quietly. then turned on the light. Allen thought again about Karen and his marriage as he got out the beer and poured himself a glassful. He took a quick sip and shook his head. His marriage was not right -- he could see that as well as Karen could, and although he could not put his finger on the trouble, of one thing he was sure -- it wasn't his fault. He had done nothing... .
Allen remembered with a fleeting twinge of guilt the thing Karen had wanted him to do to her that night, that one wonderful night when at last she seemed to be liking it, wanting it as much as he. What had stopped him? He gulped down some more of the beer. There was nothing wrong with the act. He knew that. Yet, there was something about doing what she asked -- all his childhood his parents had been on his back to be man... . A man didn't cry -- a man didn't bend -- a man didn't crawl. Maybe that was it. A man didn't crawl, in the deepest sense of the word. He couldn't, not even for her.
Allen thought about Pat as he took a final sip of beer. Now, there was a woman! Allen was sure that Pat would not need any exotic stimulation to make her act like a woman. He rinsed out his glass mechanically, his thoughts blurred and irritatingly exciting. He flicked off the light before opening the kitchen door. He didn't want to wake anyone. He was, Allen thought with a wiry smile, a model husband and boy scout.
He was halfway to his bedroom when he thought he heard the voice. He stopped and waited. Was this a wish taking on the substance of reality? Or had he actually heard Pat's low voice whisper his name?
"Al!"
The whisper was louder this time. He walked to the couch quickly, not wanting Karen to hear, somehow feeling nervous and guilty although he had done nothing, nothing at all. He was over the couch and could barely make out the girl lying under the covers. Then two slim and shapely arms snaked out from under the blankets and went out to him. He could see a flash of white as Pat's lips parted and her perfect teeth gleamed eerily at him. Then she was plastered against him, kneeling on the bed. The bit of black slip and panties she had been wearing were tangled around her calves, her naked body burning against him, her wet mouth covering his, her tongue darting between his teeth frantically. Her full breasts dug into his chest and the soft pillow of flesh between her thighs caressed him intimately.
Allen was pulling her even closer to him, cupping her ripe buttocks in both hands, moaning somewhere in his constricted throat as she slipped down from his embrace, a powdered, satiny-fleshed snake, her nakedness grazing his chest, belly and thighs in a loving caress of skin against skin. Her hungry, animal-like mouth nibbled wetly as her body receded from his. Just as Al thought he must grab this wonderful creature and push his throbbing hard flesh inside her, he felt the almost liquid kiss as it landed bird-like on his outstretched manhood for one brief, ecstatic second. Desire, like a ravished floodgate, obliterated caution, made him forget everything except Pat and her wonderful body. He pulled her against his frantically pounding chest, searching in the dark for her lips, her fantastic breast with its puckered tips... .
But she was suddenly evasive, no longer soft and pliable and there. He didn't understand. He could only feel. He could only ache with the need for her... . He felt the hands working now, pushing him away from her, but he didn't understand their meaning.
Pat had slipped down to the bed again, easily evading Allen. She smiled confidently in the dark.
"But... ." Allen was very aware of the wild staccato of his heart beat. "But ... I ... need ... " He could barely hear his own whispered plea.
"Not now! Not like this," Pat whispered back. She patted his thigh, liking the way his flesh trembled under her touch. "I'll come to you ... when you're alone. I'll find a way ... and soon!" she promised.
He understood, and felt guilty and absurdly cheap. He understood, but he didn't resist or tell her, as he knew he should, to forget it. Instead he grasped her hand and brought it to him. "I ... I can't wait!" he complained miserably.
"Soon, darling, soon," she whispered soothingly. Then, fluidly, Pat turned on her side, removing her hand gently, and, to all appearances, went to sleep.
Al stood by the couch a moment longer, feeling impotent in a way he had never felt before. Finally he went back to the bedroom which was his and Karen's.
His sleep was fuzzy and permeated with stabbing and constant pain from the pit of his tortured loins.
Chapter Eight
Pat opened her eyes and shaded them with her fingers. The morning light pushed through the tightly draped windows, revealing every crack and flaw in the plastered walls. She reached down and smoothed the slip which had hiked up around her waist during the night. She heard sounds in the kitchen, breakfast sounds mingling with the sweet sound of Karen's clear, untrained, yet appealing voice. Pat tried to identify the tune Karen sang. Then the voice drifted closer and Pat decided to close her eyes again and let Karen wake her.
"Pat?" Karen coughed apologetically. She was sure that Pat would be up by the time she had finished making breakfast, and now she didn't know whether to let her go on sleeping or wake her up. The cooling eggs she had whipped so carefully and the wilting slices of bacon decided her. "Pat?" she called a little louder. She saw the eyelids flutter in the still face. The girl was so beautiful and composed, even in sleep, that she made Karen feel like an adolescent with a crush on her teacher.
Pat feigned a sleepy grin. "Morning, baby." She yawned authentically. "Where's your husband?"
"At work. He won't be back until evening." Karen tugged nervously at the plain robe which completely covered the wispy nightgown. She pretended to pluck imaginary lint from a sleeve.
"Leave him, Karen," Pat swung her legs over the side of the bed, sitting up as the blankets fell from her body. Her voice was intense, yet her face was clear and undisturbed. "Leave him," she repeated. Her head came to Karen's breasts. She nuzzled between them softly, like a child, then dropped a kiss lovingly between the jutting globes. The faded-blue robe smelled of sun and woman perfume.
Karen looked down at the seated girl The head between her breasts looked so right where it was. She wanted to touch the dark strands. "How can I?" she asked, instead. "Even if I wanted td, I couldn't. Don't you understand? I couldn't. Don't you understand? I couldn't do that to Al. He really doesn't deserve to be treated like that." Karen wanted to explain, make Pat understand, but the girl's kisses were lightly skimming over her bodice, and she couldn't think, much less argue convincingly.
Hardly taking time to look up from the softness of Karen's well-covered chest, Pat contemptuously repulsed the blonde's sentiment. "Al's a nice enough guy, baby, but he's like any man. He'd make love to another girl in a minute, if he got the chance. The same as any other man, doll. If that sort of fidelity is important to you -- " Pat ducked her head and kissed a button which sealed the cloth over Karen's navel.
Karen closed her eyes and fought to keep her breathing and her head clear. She didn't have the strength or desire to push the lazily circling head away. "Not Al. He ... he's not like that. Really. I know that -- " The dark-haired head was back between her breasts. "Other men are -- like that, but not Al. I know."
"I could prove it, you know," Pat challenged, dropping a final kiss under one breast. She threw her head back and looked up at Karen, her lips spreading into a warm, almost innocent-looking smile.
"I've got breakfast on the kitchen table. Will you eat with me?" Karen wanted to change the subject. It was getting out of hand.
"I'm starved. I'll just be a moment." Pat got up and made her way to the bathroom. When she came out she looked much more awake.
Over their second cup of coffee, after Karen had removed their empty dishes, Pat resumed her argument. "I could prove it, you know. Are you afraid to find out that Al is like any other man?"
"Of course not!" Yet, Karen admitted to herself as she stared into her coffee cup, she was afraid! She was afraid that she was about to be tricked, about to commit herself to something she might regret, something she even now did not understand.
"Well, then, darling," Pat paused, her eyes suddenly slitted and looking dangerous, "shall I prove it?"
During that moment of hesitation, as Karen stared back into her empty cup for an answer, Pat moved cat-like to her side and silently coaxed Karen to her feet. This was the understanding, the sensitivity Karen knew was missing from her marriage and it made her weak all over. Everything was happening so fast, she was convinced it was all a dream. They were kissing. They were naked. They were on the bed in the living room. She felt her hot breasts being caressed by delightful, feminine hands, followed by tender wet kisses. A hot moist tongue traveled down her stomach and circled her navel, on its way down ... down ... down! Though Karen heard the animal-lust sounds escaping from deep in her own throat, she couldn't believe it was happening to her!
* * *
Afterwards, smiling into each other's eyes, Pat repeated her question. "I must have you as much as you need me. About Al -- darling," Pat kissed each lip separately before finishing, "let me prove it ... men ... It's no good. Us, we're right ... for each other. Al's like the others." She pressed her lips to Karen's pointy little chin. "Let me show you, darling. I'll prove his ..." she fished around for a word that would cover a concept she did not, in any case, value, "... faithlessness. Then you'll come away with me."
Karen sighed against Pat's breasts. She felt right there, pillowed by strong, yet feminine arms. Al was a blur in her memory. He didn't matter. Nothing mattered, save this moment, this happiness. "Yes," Karen whispered. She would consent to anything, anything, just as long as this wonderful moment did not pass too quickly. She plunged her lips deeply into the naked flesh.
Her last guilty thought, before again finding oblivion in Pat's embrace was of Allen. She found herself hoping that he would fail her, and, in that way, force her into a decision she didn't have the strength to make by herself.
* * *
Karen felt Pat's amused eyes on her as she unpacked with her usual efficiency and orderliness. She had done what she wanted to do, what she felt she had to do. She belonged to Pat now, in just the way she had wanted to, and had imagined she would, belong to Al. But he had let her down, first on their wedding night, and now, again, with Pat.
Karen welcomed the memory of the evening that had passed. It had been painful at the time, but it had served not only to chase away the fear and doubts, but also finalized her decision to leave her husband.
She had felt stupid and petty in agreeing to help Pat pull off her plan, her grand proof. She had felt like a thief and a sneak, first, while writing the note that Al was to find when he returned from school, again, when she had hidden like a peeping Tom in the bushes alongside her own house. Like a spectator who undertakes an intricate part in some bizarre play, Karen watched her husband return tired to their home, unlock the door, switch on a light, find her note and read it.
The view from the window was all Pat had promised it would be. Pat, on schedule, appeared at the front door moments later and then Karen watched the play, which would determine her future, progress. It came in splotches of exaggerated emotion. First, Al's face; surprise, welcome, hunger and awkward doubt. She knew the words Pat spoke, the game of pretending to seek Karen, as planned, in Pat's being invited inside to wait, the slow unfolding of raw sensuality. The final act, that of adultery, was observed and overseen by the playgoer held trance-like at the windowpane.
Pat was on her back, her naked loveliness spread out on the bed, their bed, while Allen, her husband, was fitting his thin body tightly between the outstretched limbs of the girl under him. Pat's face, eyes closed, was a precious mask of sensuality, and yet, remoteness... . Al's narrow buttocks were poised and ready to shoot his piston-like flesh into the soft cavity of the girl pinned under him.
Then the first thrust ... the involuntary reaction of totally feminine legs shooting into the air as the hard flesh of the penis pinioned deeply within her opened vagina.
A desperate battle was taking place on the bed; woman, warm, soft, open, the passive vault into which the man, driving, steel-fleshed and frantic, labored to release the terrible burden building in his loins. He was like a crazed machine, ramming himself into the girl, seemingly helpless beneath him. The tempo of lust increased, the slamming buttocks a blur of motion, the limbs flailing underneath ... until, finally, convulsively, a last wave of staccato thrusts culminated in body-racking, belly-quenching release.
Then the emotion was all on the part of the observer -- shock, the sting of faithlessness, the acceptance of betrayal, the faint stirrings of desire inspired by the blunt sexuality. Reaction set in, rationalization, conclusion. The interpretation was the finale. The man's disloyalty ... the water-eyed girl's sacrifice in the name of reality ... and love... .
It seemed appropriate that this union of man and woman should give birth to a new life. Karen's new life.
"Why don't you leave the rest of that stuff for later, baby?" Pat suggested, dropping a kiss lightly on Karen's ear.
Karen jumped slightly. "Oh! I didn't hear you come in." Karen turned to the girl, her intended smile a grimace. Be sweet and kind, Pat, please, she pleaded silently.
But Pat was filled with an impatient exhilaration. She couldn't keep from showing it. She had won! After all, she had won! She knew she would, but the actual accomplishment of it was heady.
"Let's go out, honey. Let's go to the coffeehouse. Let's celebrate! Let's go now, huh? Please?"
She's like a child, Karen thought. Does that make me a new toy? The cynical thought alarmed and surprised the girl. She repulsed it and again tried to smile. She was only slightly more successful "If ... if you want," she agreed hesitantly, not wanting to go out, not wanting to face more than herself and Pat with her decision.
"Mmmm, I want, baby! I want!" She kissed Karen with controlled passion. Desire for the lovely girl stirred, but there was time for that later, all the time in the world. Right now there was the anticipation of showing the world what she had accomplished ... what she had won.
* * *
Their entrance was all Pat knew it would be. The bevy of females and the assortment of males she knew at the coffeehouse eyed the couple with knowing, interested eyes. In her usual, blunt fashion, Pat had informed her closer friends of her intentions toward Karen.
Pat was introducing Karen to people at the frantic pace of the old silent movies. Karen didn't even try to remember names or faces. Then a pretty blonde was beside her. She looked into the familiar face, which was pouting now with irritation and envy, and at once recognized Lorna.
"So you moved in with Pat, huh?" Lorna began without any pretense of friendliness.
"Well, yes," Karen mumbled, shrinking under the blonde's overt hostility. She felt almost compelled to offer some kind of excuse, but sanity assured her that it wasn't necessary.
Unlike Karen, Pat seemed to swell even more at Lorna's antagonism. She looked at the beautiful girl warmly. "Don't be a bitch, Lorna," Pat said loudly enough to be heard over the constant din of the place. "We'll still see each other." She smiled adoringly at Karen. "My relationship with Karen is a spiritual thing as well as a physical love. We can't be hampered and destroyed by petty jealousy." Her next words were for Lorna, though Pat delivered them with her eyes locked to Karen's. "Fidelity is only important in a marriage with a man. If a man strays he is giving his total concept of love to another woman. That's because he has nothing else to give. With two women their love with another woman means only the sharing of that love to a receptive, uninvolved third body, taking her into their love by a bodily expression of pleasure and empathy. The love is not weakened by this act -- it's strengthened. That might sound confusing, but understanding comes with experience. Believe me."
Karen made a successful effort not to appear crushed by Pat's strange words. She only understood enough to know that the very thing she had left Al for was no longer a crime if committed by her new lover. Horror flooded her, speeding her heartbeats crazily. What have I done? she asked herself again. What have I done?
The rest of the evening was a blur to Karen. They walked back to their apartment arm in arm, safe in the cover of night. Yet, Karen had never felt more alone. There were so many moments when she was tempted to break away and run to the safety of the little cottage which had been her home until last night. Only the memory of the note she had hastily left Allen, telling him of her decision, stopped her. She couldn't go back to him and safety. She had nowhere to go but to bed with Pat.
Karen had delayed the actual moment like a child putting off a spanking. But the time had come. Her body felt stiff and unwilling, for once immune to the sought-after reality of Pat lying beside her.
But then, with the first light and sure touch of slender-tipped hands, Karen forgot her fears and heartache and turned to Pat with the ferocity of a mute animal. She looked for reassurance and love. What she found drove doubt and despondency to the outer cubbyholes of her mind with a liquid, torrid blast.
Then it was there, the same astounding sensation as the first time, the breathless ecstasy that accompanied this wonderfully sensual care taking of her body. The hands, the lips, that wonderful, giving tongue which brought her to the pinnacle of passion. But this time it was also different, because as the lapping homage was paid to her most secret flesh, Karen was overwhelmed with the need for a total commitment, a giving of herself on the throne of love, a sealing of the verbal transition of her flesh and soul from Al to this girl She had to be all to Pat, as Pat had become all things to her.
As a final burst of eternal fulfillment engulfed her again, Karen rolled away from the greedy lips, fastening her own in a swooping gesture of overt love on the beautiful, pointed breasts of her lover. She tasted the burning tip of another woman's breast, drawing the nipple deeply into her own mouth. The sensation was rewarding. She remembered the soft, gently sucking motions instinctively from her postnatal desires. Karen wanted to, had to, give herself unselfishly to the fragrant flesh of this savior who lifted her from the death of mediocrity into the reality of satiation.
Pat felt the wetness of Karen's pointed tongue as it skimmed over her breasts, halted to suck up each ready nipple in turn. She gave in to the keen pleasure, but not without gloating over the totalness of her victory once more. She carefully guided the lips to every sensitive inch of her body, goading Karen further and further with words of love and happiness... . "That's it, my darling ... . Yes ... yes, sweetheart. Oh, that feels so good. Yes, sweetheart ... use your tongue."
Karen moved her head under the skillful guidance of her teacher until her face was locked between Pat's marble-smooth thighs. The abundant hairs tickled Karen's lips and, for a fleeting moment, Karen involuntarily pulled away.
Smiling, confident now, Pat reassured Karen. 'That's right, darling... . Kiss me now... . I need you ... to kiss me... ."
Karen gave in to the fierce renewal of love which the sound of Pat's voice activated once more. Trembling, she let her lips brush and then press against the warm mound of exposed flesh. The musky scent did not repulse her. Experimentally, she flicked her tongue against the bud of flesh which stiffly beckoned for an intimate embrace. Pat's moans broke the stillness of the night. Then with a sigh, Karen buried her lips against the cleft, plunging her tongue deeply into this woman who was now truly all things to the girl. In a blur of torpid heat Karen felt Pat's body shift until, at last, the two women were working as one, grinding their bodies furiously against each other. Karen felt as if she died and was reborn as each ecstatic second ticked by with startling, new sensations.
It was glorious. Never had the girl dreamed of such passion, such pleasure ... . She finally surrendered to sleep, her lips pressed to one firm breast, her doubts shattered in a swirling pool of sheer rapture.
Chapter Nine
Karen stepped out of the shower and dried her body hastily with a large towel. For some reason she expected to see traces of her new life externalized in the face which stared back at her. But she looked as she always did, the only change she could detect was a paleness of her skin which hadn't been there a month ago. Karen had lost her love of the sun, allowing her bronzed tan to fade. Night living was one of Pat's whims and Karen found herself helpless to do anything but follow Pat's directions.
It had been, Karen reflected, a wild month. She hadn't realized just how routine, how stable, her life with Allen had been until she had come to live with Pat. Now her life was chaos, frantic, pleasure-shot chaos. Karen emitted a short laugh.
"What's so funny?" Pat called from the other room.
"You." Karen looked away from the mirror and up into Pat's always alert eyes as the girl entered the bathroom.
"Me?" Pat yawned and threw her arms far out.
Karen turned and looked at Pat. "You're funny. Fun and funny. Do you realize we haven't done a single thing all month except ... ?" she leaned over and kissed Pat lightly on the dusky tip of one breast.
"Except make love! Why not? I can't think of anything else I want to do."
"Pat!" Karen gulped as the girl's fingers began an erotic trip around the tips of her breasts. "You're worse than Al! I used to think he -- "
"Forget him." Pat reached down and pulled at Karen's towel, exposing the total loveliness of her lush body. "It's been a great month, hasn't it? At least, I have no complaints!" She moved behind Karen and ran a finger tenderly down the indented line of her spine. "I love you, baby. You know that, don't you? I want you to be sure of it ... and I want you to try to understand me."
"Oh, I know you do!" Karen said in a rush. She began to shiver. As always, Pat's hands on her body did crazy things to her.
"I have a certain pattern to my life, or I did before you became a part of it. I want you to be a real part of my life, of me... ." Pat lifted the girl to her feet.
Karen felt a physical and emotional desperation wash over her. "Oh, I want to be!" she blurted out, feeling suddenly panicked and threatened. "I'd do anything to be everything to you!"
"Then prove it to me, darling! Prove it! You know, before you, I used to get together with a group of women who believe as I do. We would talk, express ourselves, and there were times when our group rapport had been so great, that a physical intimacy emerged and we shared our bodies and our minds without any thought of conventional right or wrong, and all that crap society places absurd values on."
"You mean an orgy?" she asked, unable to contain her shock.
Pat took her hands from the body and walked away from the girl. She turned her back and fumbled with a pack of cigarettes. She kept her voice flat, with only a hint of pain showing through. "I might have known. I did know. 'An orgy!' Is that all I've been trying to say means to you? All right. Suppose I forget about it. Suppose I do. I'm capable of giving up almost anything for love! I'd do it, but I wouldn't feel any differently about the pure and simple benefits of a few compatible females enlarging their compatibility by sharing their bodies as well as their minds!"
"Don't be mad at me, please, Pat, darling. I ... I'm sorry. That was stupid of me," Karen said, the lightness of her tone disturbed only by a faint quiver. "I'll try!" Karen blurted abruptly. "I'll try to see things as you do! I want to." When the girl didn't reply, Karen spoke again. "Just tell me what you want me to do! I'll do it! I'll try!"
"Thank you, darling," Pat whispered. She kissed the girl on her opened mouth, and began to dress.
Pat laughed. "Hold it, baby! Wait ... until later ... ."
"Please don't stop. Please ... Karen caught the girl around her waist almost causing her to fall.
"Later?" Karen didn't want to wait. This wonderful feeling of pressing excitement was too great. Too new.
"We're going out. We're invited. You'll love it, I promise. It'll be the best ever. You have so much to learn."
* * *
Lorna had been a little more friendly to Karen from the moment she had gotten over her surprise at seeing the girl with Pat at her door earlier. Now she took another look at the little blonde. Karen looked faintly uncomfortable. Especially whenever she caught Bickki Palmer looking at her. Lorna cleared the coffee table, eager to get to the best part of the evening. The other four women were regulars at these sessions, and the older and most mannish woman, Bickki, wasn't the only one who was eager to initiate the pretty newcomer. Pat was talking avidly about some new experiments in ESP she had read about. Lorna knew that none of the women present cared a damn about ESP, but all were willing to indulge Pat her whims. They thought Pat was a little too far out, but she was an exciting, beautiful woman. Lorna was sure that each woman, from Bickki to Marge Caldwell, the pretty, feminine teen-age member of the group, would give up whatever alliances they might have to be in Karen's place. But right now the women were more than willing to settle for just a few hours out of Pat's life. And the lovely young woman she had brought with her would make it even more fun.
"Finish those domestic little chores, Lorna. I scored tonight. Goodies for everyone!" Ginny Gorez fumbled in her paint-stained artist's smock until she found the thin cigarettes. "I started a new canvas before I came over, and I've gotta save one of these for later, when I get back to work on it. Colors are such a gas when you're stoned!"
Karen had been nervously waiting for something to happen. Now it was about to happen. Karen had known Immediately what those cigarettes were. She reminded herself anxiously that she had once read an article about the harmlessness of marijuana. Once Lorna had returned from the kitchen, the skinny artist, Ginny, had taken one of the cigarettes in her mouth, moistened it with her tongue, lit it, sucked in some smoke and passed it on to Paula. Paula passed it on after taking a series of deep puffs. By that time Ginny had repeated the process with another cigarette.
Fascinated, Karen watched Pat take the cigarette and circle the rim with her mouth, leaving a small space for air to be Inhaled with the smoke. Her blue eyes watered slightly as she drew on it. Then she coughed softly and handed the cigarette to Karen. "Don't worry. It's good. It won't hurt you."
Karen took it warily. "I know." She hesitated only a moment, then the combination of curiosity and fear of antagonizing Pat made her attempt to duplicate the tricky act of smoking the thin cigarette. The first puff went off without any trouble. She managed to retain most of the smoke as the others did. Karen almost giggled in spite of her nervousness when she realized the smoke went up instead of down. It seemed to swim like minute fish through her blood and into her skull. The second puff made her cough miserably. She passed the cigarette on to Lorna. waiting apprehensively for her next turn. By now, several cigarettes were making the rounds. The lights were suddenly very low. Karen began to relax more and more with each puff.
The conversation leveled off, and Karen was mildly surprised to find out that she was feeling somehow intimate and warm toward the women in the room. She gave in to the feeling of pure benevolence towards all of mankind, knowing at that moment less insecurity than she had ever known before.
Pat looked more beautiful than Karen had ever before thought she was. It was very hard to keep from taking Pat in her arms and embracing her in front of everyone.
Karen couldn't remember when the entire mood of the room changed. All she knew was that at one moment everything was lazy and warm, and at the next, naked, thrashing bodies were everywhere, wrapped across the furniture and floor. Somehow none of this shocked or offended Karen as greatly as she'd imagined it would. These were her friends, and it almost seemed right that they should become a unit -- in every way. Karen knew with a part of her mind that it was the dope-cigarettes which were responsible for the way she felt, yet it wasn't until she saw Pat melt into an embrace with Lorna that the scene began to affect her personally. Their bodies straining together brought Karen out of her dreamy calm. She got to her feet unsteadily and made her way around the twisting hills of flesh. She found herself in the small bathroom, holding onto the sink.
"Baby? Is something wrong?" Pat was weaving slightly, but a look of concern was on her face.
Karen felt relieved at Pat's expression. "No. Nothing," she lied. She had given Pat her word. She couldn't break it now.
Pat put her arms around the shivering girl and forced her lips to hers. Karen didn't know if it was the marijuana or just the sheer relief at having Pat in her arms, but by the time the kiss ended she was weak with wanting the dark-haired girl. She reached for Pat again, and suddenly became aware that Pat had been easing her out of the bathroom and back into the living room while they kissed.
Still not breaking the kiss between them, Pat lowered Karen to the floor until they were one with the ocean of flesh. Hands appearing from nowhere were stripping the clothing from Karen's body. Then lips, hands, and darting tongues were working on her nakedness, infecting pleasure on her unwilling body. A small breast -- Ginny's child-like breast -- was presented to Karen's moaning lips, the surprisingly large nipple working its way into the girl's mouth. Figures were forming patterns of abandonment all around Karen. Other bodies were pressing in on her flesh, grinding against her sides... . It was a mural of female sensuality, an orgy in honor of Sappho, an overwhelming of the senses and a gluttony of lesbian ecstasy.
Karen remembered trying to hold back, feeling a twinge of distaste, and then the hands and lips drove everything out of her mind until she, too, was one with the room and the unfamiliar cool hands and warm lips and hot bodies. Soon she was beyond knowing whose hands and lips were on her, and before much longer, she was beyond caring.
Chapter Ten
"Pick up on that chick!"
Karen heard the whispering between the teenaged boys walking toward her. She tried to walk around them but they came to a halt in front of her, blocking her way. Karen experienced an instantaneous flare of pure hatred for the young men. She glared at them furiously.
Stunned by the look of such intense malevolence, both boys immediately resumed walking, letting her pass.
Men! Karen thought, painfully visualizing the man Pat was at this moment awaiting. Some of the ache she had felt earlier -- when Pat informed her that their money was running low and she had a date -- returned. She had done what she could to prevent it. She had begged Pat to forget it. She offered -- no, pleaded for -- the chance to get a job in-stead. But Pat wouldn't hear of it. She had insisted that this was the best way. A few hours during which they were to be apart, and then they wouldn't have to worry about money for awhile. Karen wondered how Pat could stand it! The thought of Pat taking some man to their bed made her flesh crawl.
Not that their bed was inviolate, Karen thought, pass she slowed down now that she was past the busy part of the walk. She remembered that first night at Lorna's house. It had been repeated once since then, and Lorna spent a night with them, the three of them cuddled in the small bed. Karen felt as if she had aged twenty years. She had been forced to give in to Pat again. Karen was only beginning to realize how much she had to give in to keep Pat happy with her. The thought depressed her more. She was like a -- Karen forced herself to think the words -- she was like a slave, especially about sex. But there didn't seem to be anything else she could do. Pat was so song ... and insistent.
Karen found herself turning automatically into her street -- Al's street. She saw that the house was dark and wondered where Allen was. She realized suddenly that she was unsure of what day it was! She felt very much out of touch with reality. Then she thought of how it would be if Allen came home and found her waiting by the house. What could she say? She turned around quickly and headed for Lennie's apartment, away from the house.
The musty hallway smelled like home to Karen. She knocked on the door eagerly.
"Who is it?" Lennie's voice sounded sleepy.
"It's me. Karen!"
"Karen!"
Karen heard the relief and joy in her friends voice. The door flew open and she was wrapped in Lennie's arms, greeting and trying to calm her friend.
"Oh, Karen! Why didn't you call? I've been so worried!"
Karen looked at her friend fondly, realizing how much she had missed Lennie. They had always been more like sisters than friends. "I feel like a rat. I should have called. I'm ... I'm not with Al anymore."
"Yes, I know," Lennie said quickly, pulling Karen into the apartment and closing the door.
Karen realized again how much Lennie looked like a boy, with her short brown hair and her thin, athletic body. Her breasts, in the loose pajamas, were hardly noticeable, and her hips looked incapable of cradling life. Karen thought of the mannish woman she had come to know, remembered how totally Lennie had always been devoted to her, and wondered again about her. Yet, there was the air of innocence about the girl that made Karen certain that Lennie had never known love with anyone.
When they were seated comfortably on the old maroon couch and Lennie had brushed off Karen's apology for awakening her, Lennie studied her friend carefully. "Is anything wrong, Karen?" Her eager eyes passed lovingly over Karen's face.
"No, not really. I'm glad to see you. I feel like I've just come home, or something." Karen smiled warmly.
"I wish you had," Lennie answered slowly.
Karen knew Lennie wasn't speaking now of their teenage plans to live together after graduation. "How did you know about Al and me?"
"I called you several times. Nobody answered, so one evening after work, I went to the house. Al was there, studying. You know, that guy never liked me much. I admit, the feeling's mutual. Anyway, Al was so glad to see me you would have thought we were buddies or something."
"What did he say?" Karen wished she had never come here.
"Well, you know how close-mouthed Al is," Lennie began. "He's pretty miserable. He tried not to let on. I kind of suspect he thought, at first, you sent me or something, but after a while he got the idea that I didn't know anything. Then he sort of ... broke down, or something. He told me you left him to live with a ... a girl, a girl who likes both men ... and ... " Lennie knew she was blushing furiously now, but she forced herself to finish. She had to find out! ... . and women ..."
"Her name is Pat, Lennie. She's ... beautiful." Karen didn't know what else to say.
"It's true, Karen?" Her heart was hammering in her breast. "Do you love her?"
Karen was moved by the tears which were threatening to spill out of Lennie's soft eyes. "Yes, I guess I do."
Lennie felt her control slipping away. She was unaware of the wetness on her cheeks. "I wish I were Pat! I wish it were me!" She turned her face to the couch pillows.
Karen watched the girl cry for what seemed to be a long time. There was something in the way her friend's thin back was trembling that made Karen feel like the stronger of the two. For all of Lennie's boyishness she seemed terribly young and vulnerable. Karen looked at her friend without passion, yet she ached for her, wanting to ease Lennie's misery and wishing that somehow her own might be lifted as well. She spoke softly, telling the still sobbing girl about her, new life honestly, leaving out nothing.
Shocked, Lennie lifted her wet and swollen face to Karen. "Yet you love her?" was all she could ask. "Even now?"
Karen sighed unhappily. "Yes. She's all I have."
"You have me! You've always had me!" Lennie's eyes filled again.
Karen shook her head. Her blond curls swung free. "It's not the same," she said gently.
"I'd do anything if it could be!" Lennie whispered vehemently. The naked longing to be involved, to love, to know passion, transgressed even the pain in Lennie's eyes. Karen saw it. Moved by pity, unhappiness and the desire to ease Lennie's suffering, Karen leaned over and took the girl in her arms. They were as one in their mutual agony. It was more than Karen could bear.
She made love to the girl with all the gentleness and fire that she could evoke. She used lovemaking as a blotter, hoping in some way to absorb their grief in a whirlpool of soft words and burning kisses. She felt a reciprocal joy as she willingly gave the fiery paradise to Lennie for the first time. With infinite care she led Lennie to the knowledge of how to gratify the body of a woman. She realized with a physical excitement that for Lennie, woman was the natural and only expression she would ever want to know. She knew it was the moment Lennie touched her lips and tongue to the most intimate parts of her body. Karen felt the total excitement of the girl as Lennie's tongue, hot, wet and anxious, dove, with the eagerness of an experienced worshiper of female flesh, into her body. She accepted this homage from her friend over and over, as Lennie realized at last the intensity of her need for love in Karen's beautiful flesh.
Afterwards, Lennie was tearfully grateful. She held Karen closely, not even letting the girl up when Karen insisted she had to get a glass of water or die. Instead, Lennie brought a pitcher filled with ice water to her.
"Stay with me," Lennie pleaded. "Move in with me. Please. I'll do anything for you!"
Karen was profoundly touched. Her refusal was gentle but firm. She had to get out of here. Now Lennie's initiated body was like an indictment to Karen.
* * *
Karen let herself into Pat's apartment quietly. It was very late. She had been able to leave Lennie alter assuring the girl that they would see each other very soon. She had even invited Lennie to their apartment against her better judgment.
"Is that you, baby?" Pat called from the bed when Karen had closed the door behind her.
"Yes." This room, which had been her home for more than a fistful of weeks, now looked unfamiliar. She imagined she could smell an alien scent in the room, an overtone of whiskey and cigar smoke. She wanted to run, but she couldn't even do that. She wouldn't allow herself to do that!
Instead, Karen went to the bed. She undressed quickly and then she was sinking into Pat's well-used, fragrant body, escaping all pain and thought in an embrace of sensual reunion. Only this time, Karen did not want Pat to touch her -- she wanted to reclaim Pat as her own. She had to take this body which had betrayed her with a man -- for money -- and make it pure with her lips. Just as Lennie had an hour before taken her from the angry demanding world. Through her own flesh, Karen sought to purify Pat's. She covered all traces where this strange hateful man had taken Pat... . Her tongue, not gentle now, demanded recognition from Pat, making Pat, finally, cry out in exhaustion and even pain. But Karen was insatiable. She bruised Pat's soft thighs, bit harshly at the tender flesh between them until Pat, aroused again by this unexpected rough handling of her body, gave in, slightingly bringing them both -- just as daylight filtered through the dirty windows -- to a final orgasm, one consisting more of hate than of love.
Chapter Eleven
"I'm not a whore, you know," the rather plain woman said softly.
Allen looked at her, surprise and embarrassment making him look even younger than he was. He instantly regretted coming to the crummy little neighborhood bar, but the house had been so empty, so lonely ... He couldn't stand another night of it. Wanting Karen had become such an immobilizing pain that work was impossible. It was this pain which had prompted him to force himself to approach the woman who looked almost as lonely as he. He had thought his roundabout approach was casual and sophisticated, but the woman's cool words had pierced even this self-protection. He felt like a fool now, a very young, helpless fool.
"Look. I'm sorry," he started ineptly. "I didn't mean ... "
The woman smiled warmly. The smile made her look younger, softer. He had judged her to be around thirty or so, but now she looked closer to his own age. It hadn't mattered before how old she was, or what she looked like. He needed a woman desperately, but somehow with her smile and sudden warmth, Allen was embarrassed about his directness.
"I know what you meant. Don't be embarrassed. I understand better than you think. Are you married?" The woman grinned at Allen. "My name is Cira. It's Spanish."
"You don't look Spanish." Allen felt a great sense of relief that the woman hadn't simply slugged him and vanished angrily. "My name's Allen."
"I'm not, but my mother was the fanciful type. So ... I'm Cira! Hi, Allen."
"Hi." He grinned back at her. Then he remembered her question. "Yes ... I'm married, sort of," he added slowly. "She left me." He wondered what this woman would think if he told her that his wife had left him for another woman. He was sure she wouldn't understand. Well, that would make two of them. He remembered Karen's note. It was garbled, yet the truth of her involvement with Pat came through loud and clear. Karen was too honest, and, he guess, too confused at the time, to try to hide anything.
"Someone else?" Cira inquired softly. She watched him nod. Poor kid, she thought. Poor miserable, lonely kid. There are so many of us! "Any children?"
"No. I guess that's good, now." Allen tried to be casual. He didn't feel he had the right to burden this woman with his heartache. She looked like she knew what it was only too well herself.
"Maybe." Cira thought of her own son, home asleep in her sister's house. At least she had him! She didn't know what she would have done this past year if it wasn't for the baby. She had done this to herself She was too old to get herself caught like a teenager! But she had loved the bastard too much! She was sure if there was a baby he would marry her, and she'd wanted a child badly. Funny how most men don't mention a wife until it's too late. Not like this boy. She felt he was telling the truth about himself. His loneliness and pain stuck out all over him like an extra set of ribs. She felt pity mingled with her own loneliness. It had been such a long time. She could make him happy for a night. One night, only. Then she would take her son, as she planned, draw her few savings out of the bank, and move to another town. She would give herself and this lonely boy one night of forgetfulness. Cira couldn't help wondering how many other people used sex as a panacea. She hoped she would never want to again.
"Do you have somewhere we can go?" The woman smiled up at Allen.
Allen opened his eyes wide in surprise. "I thought ... "
"I know. I said I wasn't a whore. That's true. I think I need you tonight, and you need me. Let's just enjoy each other and not ask a lot of questions. A deal?"
* * *
They smoked a cigarette together in bed afterwards. It had been a release for Allen, yet he was unhappy, knowing he hadn't really brought much pleasure to Cira. She hadn't said anything, yet he knew it was true. I'm sorry, Cira. It wasn't too good for you, was it?"
Cira felt a tenderness grow in her for this boy. His very ineptness contributed to this feeling. He was very inexperienced -- she wondered how much this had contributed to his wife's reasons for leaving him.
"You're very young," she whispered to him, her lips close to his ear. "Love has to be learned, just like everything else. Let me show you... ."
Al watched Cira get up from the bed. Naked, the woman walked to the phone. He heard her conversation with her sister, yet he didn't hear it. He was so confused. How could he learn love? He had loved his wife, yet she had rejected him for the love of a woman.
"I've arranged things so that I can stay with you for the weekend, if you'd like ..." Cira said, cutting into his painful thoughts.
"The weekend?" Al didn't understand.
Cira sat down on the bed again, drawing Al's head to her full breasts. "Yes, silly boy. Certainly you didn't think I could teach you about love in a few hours, did you? That is, I'll stay if you'd like me to ..."
Al felt a great relief at her words. He was so tired of being alone. "I'd like that very much. But ..." he tried to smile, "I'm afraid I'm kind of a drop out when it comes to lovemaking. Or, kind of a failure ..."
Cira pressed a soft nipple against his lips. "Nonsense! You're a sweet, warm person. Only, for some reason, you are determined to fight that natural sweetness in bed." She felt the nipple grow hard in his mouth. She guided his mouth to the other one, speaking again when his tongue began its hungry caress. "Poor baby, it's so hard to be a man and still be tender, isn't it?"
"Tender?" he murmured, still not really listening. not really comprehending. All he felt now, with the hot globes of softness against his lips, was the familiar desperate need to sink himself inside her body, extinguish the burning in his loins. He was ready again, suddenly excited by Cira's willingness to give herself to him. How many times had he wanted Karen, and been rejected, or forced to all but rape his own wife? He couldn't wait, couldn't ... Al grasped her legs, spreading them apart urgently. He lowered himself onto her compliant body, fitting his thighs between hers.
"Go slowly, darling, slowly. We have all the time in the world," Cira whispered, knowing that it was already too late, that his need for her -- for any woman -- was too strong. She instinctively knew that she had to help him now, had to let him get his fill of her, helping him alleviate the ache he felt before she could show him how to bring pleasure to the body of a woman as well as his own. She reached out for his stiff flesh, guiding him into her.
Feeling the wonderful moist flesh grasping at his penis from every side, Al began to moan and slam himself quickly into Cira. It was ecstasy ... it was the most sublime relief of all... . How could she not feel it ... not be there with him ... ? It was over almost before it began, over for her, before it began.
Knowing guilt once more, Al timidly rolled over on his side of the bed, away from her. "I. . I'm sorry ..."
Cira sighed, the aching between her legs unquenched. Poor boy, she thought. He didn't know. He was so hungry. She stroked his lean back tenderly. "It's all right, darling... ." She glided her hand over his flesh, tracing the line of his hip, easing her fingers over the curly hairs that coated his stomach. She grasped his small testicles carefully, massaging them delicately. "When a man is hungry, when he's starved, he stuffs his food without tasting at all. When he's had enough to eat all his life, he's able to taste, enjoy, savor... ." She moved her hand until it was lightly fondling the now-soft penis. Her knowing touch began to rekindle life in his tired body.
Al turned to the woman in amazement, too startled by her new advances to speak. He let himself feel, instead ... then, when he was pulsating with need again, Cira moved herself over him.
"Just lie still. Let me do it... ." She quickly straddled his loins, lowering herself easily onto him. She groaned pleasurably as the length of him slid effortlessly into her. She swooped down and kissed him, slipping her tongue deeply into his mouth. She licked avidly at his tongue, all the while taking him further inside of her, rearing back letting him all but slip out of her body, only to embrace him again with her tight muscles. Skillfully she brought them both to the pinnacle of pleasure at the same moment, letting Al know the beauty of having his own sobs of ecstasy mingle with those of another.
The weekend passed in a sea of sensation and bliss. Bits and pieces of never before suspected sensuality floated to his awareness, so that the wonderful weekend formed a collage of flesh and happiness in his mind.
Afterwards, Al remembered most clearly the moment when Cira had kissed his ear, and whispered, "You must concentrate first on giving great pleasure to the one you are with. Your own pleasure should not be thought of for a long time. It will come, then, from the happiness you give to the other person. Let me show you." Cira began a leisurely attack with her lips on his body, making every inch of him come alive in a new way. He felt sensations he had never known before flow through him. He groaned with the subtlest, most tremendous pleasure he had ever felt. She was like a graceful bird, darting over his body and sweetening it with honey wherever she touched. By the time she pulled away from him, Allen was shaking with happiness and gratitude.
"Now do the same things to me. Relax and let yourself come to me completely. Don't be afraid." Cira eased her back against the mattress. Her body appeared younger and fresher than her experience-hardened face. She saw his hesitancy and understood it. "It's okay, baby. It's right. You must earn your pleasure. It's best that way." She pulled the man in her arms with a maternal gentleness. Her kiss was very, very sweet.
Allen moaned in her arms. He was ready again, but he fought against the immediate desire to bury himself in her. She was so warm and understanding. She had-given him so much... . He began to kiss her awkwardly, trailing his lips over her smooth shoulders and over her firm breasts. Her hand on his head was tactfully urging, suggesting rather than commanding his mouth to explore further. He kissed the bare midriff, the slim waist, the wider hips. Her belly was so tender, so warm that he gladly took little mouthfuls of the flesh between his teeth and bit down carefully. He kissed the backs of her arched knees with a loving gratitude, and managed to draw his lips slowly down her legs until they caressed her sharp ankles. Somewhere inside of him, still buried under layers of pleasure and surcease from pain, a voice tried to remind him that this wasn't right -- that a man, a real man didn't do things like this... . He wanted to deny this kind woman nothing, nothing at all. Yet Allen felt himself stopped, locked in hesitancy by a terrible, binding fright. He knew this had to be wrong! He couldn't do this thing she asked of him. Not even now when he was able to admit he wanted it almost as much as she.
"Allen, darling, let yourself go." Cira's sweet voice was coaxing. "Whatever is done between two people for their own pleasure is right, so very right. Make me happy. Make us happy... ."
A verbal expression of masculinity meant nothing! Not if it meant sacrificing everything in order to convince himself that he was manly in all ways, at all times. Just then he heard Cira's voice. It cut his thoughts and made him begin to dissolve his prejudiced guides on exactly what constitutes masculinity. He found his eager mouth moving closer to the junction of her legs, his brain suddenly intoxicated by an aroma that burned deliciously in his nostrils. His stiff penis throbbed faster as he closed in on the source of this unusual fragrance.
Still filled with doubts and fears, Allen pressed his tightly closed lips to the coral-colored, puckered lips of her vagina. He took a deep breath, filling his lungs -- and his brain -- with that tantalizing fragrance. Suddenly, his dry lips were coated with moisture. He pulled away with alarm, automatically cleaning his lips with his tongue ... then finding the taste was not what he expected! Rather than being repulsed, he was aroused. The tempo of his throbbing male-muscle increased, demanding more of this sweet tasting nectar ... and Allen dove back to the source, his mouth opened wide and his tongue forcing its way into the well of her.
A smile of happiness and joy crossed Cira's face as she felt his sudden acceptance of her. She repeated what she had just said more slowly. "A man ... is tenderness ... gentleness ... strength... ."
Later, when Allen was over her body again, his lips crushing hers with the most adult-like passion he had ever known, he knew that he was more than repaying Cira for her lessons. He was, despite his still thin and boyish body, being reborn, this time as a man ...a real man.
With tenderness ... gentleness ... strength... .
Chapter Twelve
The past three days had been a blur to Karen. They aimlessly roamed the city, while Pat expounded at great length on the beauty of the world and creation. On the second day Pat had decided to change the rhythm. Walking, she decided, was too slow. So, at Pat's insistence, they had begun hitching rides with strange men. Many of the men were only too willing to take them on wild rides over the country. Everything they saw delighted and impressed Pat. Especially the hill near the freeway which sported a huge white cross. She had been immediately attracted to it. She had told the man who drove them to it, a middle-aged businessman who drove a big new car, that she always wanted to make love under a cross. The man, plainly excited by the beauty of the two girls, had responded by suggesting boldly that it might be arranged. Karen flinched as she remembered what had taken place after that. Pat had hustled her out of the car, told her that business might be combined with pleasure, and wore the girl down until Karen agreed to stand guard by the car while Pat fulfilled her dream under the cross for twenty dollars! Later, driving back to town, Pat had reverted to her initial excitement over the scenery they passed.
Karen listened to the shower rain down over Pat's body in the next room. She hardly cared what happened to them anymore. She did not know how she could sink any lower. She wondered listlessly what it was that kept her with Pat. The sexual part of their life was still good, but only when they made love in private, when it was more like love and less like kicks. That was becoming less and less common. Pat seemed to live for naked, blunt sensation. Karen wondered where all that sensitivity was that she had immediately seen in Pat. She wanted to laugh, but couldn't. She stayed because there was nowhere else to go, she stayed because there was nothing else for her anywhere, she stayed because she didn't know what it was she wanted and could see no point in further unsuccessful attempts to find out in still another woman's arms.
The phone rang harshly. Karen lifted the receiver reluctantly, wondering if it was one of the woman they knew organizing still another mass orgy.
"Hello?"
Karen recognized the hesitant voice instantly. She felt a lump grow in her throat. "Al!" He had never called before, had never made any attempt to contact her... .
"Karen! Look -- uh -- how are you?" Allen could see into the bedroom from where he sat by the phone. He had sat dumbly staring into the room for an hour before he mustered the courage to call.
"I'm fine, Al. How are you?" She could picture his face clearly. She tried to hide her excitement. She hoped Pat would be in the shower as long as she usually was.
"I'm okay." He waited. The silence rebuked him. He took a deep breath and plunged into what he called to say. "Karen. I could go on for an hour I guess, with a lot of trivia. But I braced myself to make this call and rye got to say what I intended to, or I never will."
Karen was amazed at the firm gentleness of his tone. He sounded more ... mature, more thoughtful. "All right, Al."
"Karen, first, let me tell you that I don't blame you for ... what happened. I know now that I was so damn busy with me I forgot about us. I'll never stop being sorry about that. You were right. I was insensitive. I didn't try to see what it was like for you." Al paused to take a puff of the cigarette he had nervously lighted while he spoke.
"Oh, Al, don't ... " Karen didn't want him to continue. His words were a hot blade piercing her heart.
"No, Karen, please, let me finish. You don't have to say anything. Just let me finish. I love you ... . I always did and I always will. I know that now. I want you back. Even the few minutes at a time I used to spend with you I did grudgingly. I was so busy... . Well, that's done. I can't do it over again." He stubbed out the cigarette, his face twisted with the desire to find some way to tell Karen what he had learned and how much he wanted her. "I miss you, honey. Come back. I need you. The work, the school ... they don't mean anything now. I'll beg, if you want me to."
"Don't!" Karen cried. Her emotions threatened to tear her apart. This was her Al, her Al, just the way he always should have been. And now it was too late! "Don't blame yourself! Please! I walked out -- "
"What else could you do? You tried to tell me -- "
"But don't you see? It's too late," Karen said quickly. "Too much has happened. With me. Pat and me ..."
"It doesn't matter. That's what you have to believe! I think I understand what happened. It's not just that I forgive you, it's more that I want you to forgive me! Let's try again. I know -- "
"It's too late, don't you understand? The kind of life rye led ... You wouldn't even want me if you knew." Karen was near tears. It hurt to keep them inside.
"I don't care!" Allen spoke very clearly. She had to believe him! Sweat streamed from his brow. "Karen, before you hang up just listen to this. It's so important. After what I've done to us I'm in no position to expect much understanding from you. But, Karen, honey, I just want you to know that I'll wait forever if I have to. And if you come back ... " His voice cracked slightly. "When you come back, it will be different. It will have to be a new start. We'll be different people. Karen, come back. I'll wait... ."
"Allen! I have to go. Now. Don't say anything else, please ... I can't take it... ." Karen realized she was pleading. Yet she didn't want to hang up. His voice had a wonderfully warm sound.
"All right. Just one more thing. Do you still have your key?"
"Yes," Karen whispered weakly. She was dimly aware of Pat switching off the hot water tap for the short stand under the icy water she liked before ending her shower.
"Use it. Anytime. I'll be waiting and praying for the day you do."
Karen hung up slowly. She wiped the tears from her eyes and threw herself across the bed. She hoped Pat didn't question her. She wasn't up to it now.
But she didn't have to worry. Pat didn't even notice anything wrong when she came out of the bathroom. She was too excited over the day they had spent Karen didn't bother listening to her. She thought instead of the phone call. Life with Allen might have been a little dull, and, yes, he had been insensitive to her. He even freely admitted that now. But Al had never plunged her into a nightmare world from which there could be no return... . Karen threw herself into the bathroom, adjusted the shower knobs, and stood limply under the droning water, crying bitterly for all that was forever lost to her.
Chapter Thirteen
The world was tumbling down in crazy little bits, and not all the marijuana or orgies or lies in the world would put it together again. The mass sex group had fallen away in pairs and threesomes, and even Lennie had left on the arm of the poetess, Paula. There were just the two of them left, she and Pat. Oh, yes, Karen thought, and a tiny white pill ... at which Pat was now eagerly staring. The last two days had been the most profitable Pat had ever known. She had duplicated the experience under the cross many times, with many different drivers from all over town.
Pat had bought armfuls of objects, clothing and religious jewelry, buying whatever caught her eye at the moment over Karen's more practical urgings that she save her money. And now she had bought this. Acid, it was called. The magical LSD drug that she had wanted to try.
"For the last time, Pat. Please, forget it. rye read so much about LSD lately. They say it can be harmful to some people... . They have no way of knowing how it will affect someone."
"Forget it? I thought we'd been through that scene already." Pat looked up at Karen resentfully. She had spent a childhood being told what to do, then was forced, sometimes brutally, into doing it. No one was ever going to tell her what to do again! Karen knew that stubborn look. She tried another ruse. "Well then, how about waiting until tomorrow? It's very late, and after all that ... fun," she stumbled over the word, "and the pot, don't you think tomorrow would be better?"
"Tonight, now," Pat insisted cuttingly. She wasn't going to be talked out of what promised to be the greatest experience of her life. She regarded Karen coldly, wondering why the girl wanted to make her put off anything so wonderful. She fingered the pill eagerly, lifted a water glass at the same time, and hesitated only a moment. "Now," she said again, making it a sort of casual salute.
Karen watched her swallow the bit of pill with a great splash of water. Feeling apprehensive, Karen occupied herself with straightening the apartment. It was the only thing of her past life she had been allowed to retain and she had dawdled over her chores for as long as she possibly could.
"I've got a great idea. Come with me!" Pat was in the doorway to the kitchen.
"Oh! You startled me!" Karen noticed the heavy lidded eyes that saw and didn't see. "I didn't hear you come in."
Pat didn't seem to hear her. "Come with me! I have the most wonderful idea!" She appeared to be listening for something.
Karen was aware of the sluggishness of Pat's speech. She wanted to comment on it, but she was afraid to say anything. She was even reluctant to ask Pat how she felt.
"You want to go out?" she asked, not sure if that would be a good idea.
"Hurry!" Pat took Karen's hand and dragged her out of the house, barely giving the girl time to grab her jacket.
The dying effects of the pot were still strong enough to give the streets a fresh brightness for Karen. She wondered how they looked to Pat.
Pat hurried them to Lincoln Boulevard, the closest major street. There was almost no traffic this late. The light clicked to red as they neared the corner. Pat didn't bother pointing her thumb at the one car that stopped for the light. She went directly up to the lone driver of the car and asked him if he would give them a lift. The man looked the two girls over appreciatively and nodded. Pat jumped in to sit beside the man, her bright plaid poncho billowing out in all directions, leaving Karen to either follow or be left behind.
The car started seconds after Karen got in. "Now drive us to Hollywood," Pat ordered, her eyes two glassy hard aquamarines.
The man twisted around and looked at Pat quizzically. "I'm only going as far as Beverly Hills, girls. Sorry. I'll give you a lift to there, but ..."
"I didn't ask where you were going. I said, take us to Hollywood!" Pat continued to stare straight ahead.
"Now, just a second! I don't mind doing a favor, but I'm not about to be ordered around this way. If you don't want to settle for a ride to Beverly Hills, I'll just let you out at the next corner and you can ... "
"If you try to ditch us I'll scream for the first cop I see and yell rape! Don't think I won't either. My friend will be my witness. Dig?"
The man turned around. His surprise was so great he narrowly avoided colliding with a parked car. He opened his fleshy mouth to speak, but shut it again.
Karen was as surprised as the driver. She was grateful she hadn't been called on to collaborate Pat's intention. She sank down in the seat, instead, wishing the man would smack the car into a brick wall and kill them all.
"All right," the man said finally. "I know when I'm licked. Where do you want to go?" In spite of the coolness of the evening the man was sweating freely.
"Drive up Highland Avenue until you hit the freeway. You know that hill with the cross on it there? Let us off right by it." Pat laughed suddenly. It had a grating, evil sound to it.
Karen turned to Pat. She felt stunned. "What do you want?'
"Shut up!" Pat answered harshly. "This is important!"
Karen saw that Pat appeared to be concentrating on something. She didn't push it. Nothing else Pat did could be more insane than this.
The man drove them precisely to the spot Pat directed. He drove off without a word, afraid even to encourage Pat's wrath towards him as he drove away.
"Now what?" Karen wanted to know.
Pat didn't hear her. All she heard was the absurdly musical high voices which had been talking to her all evening. They were the ones who wanted her to come here. They were the ones who would tell her what to do now! And they were urging her up the grassy mountain. "Come on!" she called to Karen, hurrying ahead without looking back to see if Karen was following. "We have to climb to the cross!"
Karen stared numbly after the girl. "Climb to the cross? Are you kidding, Pat?" But the girl was running ahead, tugging at handfuls of grass and twigs to help her along. "Pat! My God! It's the middle of the night! It's almost morning!" In the distance Karen could hear the dull roaring of traffic on the freeway. Was she really only seconds away from civilization? It didn't seem possible.
"Stay, if you must. I'm going!" Pat called back raggedly. She grasped a small bush and elevated herself still higher.
Karen was tempted to stay where she was, but with the drug in Pat, and in this murky darkness, she was afraid the girl would plunge to her death unless she were there.
They climbed silently. Karen felt the moist dirt wet her clothing, grass stick to her face. She tasted clammy earth and felt nauseated. She heard Pat muttering strange things. The words "spirits" and "command" floated down to her several times. Karen felt sure she must be going mad, that she was following a mad woman to her own insanity. What am I doing here? she asked herself, nearing hysteria. It was so fantastic, climbing this hill in the darkness seconds from life as she knew it ... following a girl who had awakened her body, dazzled her mind and drugged her senses. Karen, in an effort to hold on to something, anything outside this nightmare, thought of Al. She could have cried over the simplicity of their problems together. Instead of trying to help him, them, she had preferred to wallow in her own unhappiness, enlarging it, bleeding it for the subtlest masochistic thrill. Then she had simply run away, jumping willingly into a new relationship in which she could punish herself further.
Karen's hands were bleeding and sore by the time they reached and then passed the cross. Exhausted, she fell to the ground and lay there, no longer caring what Pat did. She couldn't move.
Pat, her face black with dirt and dust, came down beside her. "Now this!" she gloated, bringing her crusted lips to Karen's.
Karen felt her stomach turn when she realized Pat's intentions. She had gone through this degenerate, horrible experience for what? To make what Pat called love, their filthy bodies grinding together, on a hilltop, with a white cross as a vanguard for their conflict? Karen bit back the waves of illness which rose in her throat.
"No! Pat! No, not now, not here!" Karen found her voice had become little more than a hysterical moan. She bit back the sudden tears, the temptation to scream out her disgust. The thought of this girl touching her, attacking her flesh at this moment caused her stomach to tighten in revolt. Karen felt dirty, soiled with madness as well as faith... . The dry lips now on her own sickened her. She tried to fight, but Pat was invincible, a wild animal sucking at her skin with a hunger born of desperation. She felt lips, then teeth on her neck, shoulders ... The clothing was being torn from her body. She was on her back, being raped by the lust of this mad creature. Her thighs were scraped by the determined sharp teeth, she was being branded with ownership by this sex-crazed monster to whom she had given her love, for whom she had given up her marriage. The hurting teeth, the insistent tongue were inside her now, sucking without tenderness or love on her most vulnerable flesh. She wanted to die ... she wanted to die ... . She wanted this horrible nightmare to end ... she could not be further degenerated by anything, anyone. But she could not stop Pat.
The girl on top of Karen was completely without appeal for the first time. Karen wanted to fling her away. But she didn't have the strength. The sensitivity she thought she had found in Pat was in truth nothing more than insanity. Now it was easy. It was almost a relief for Karen to lose all feeling. Only a twinge of pity stayed, pity for both of them. She let Pat feed on her young body like a vulture until the morning began to unveil its first rays. Then she slept. She prayed with whatever feeling remained that she might never again awake.
Chapter Fourteen
Pat was unusually quiet for two days after their nocturnal climb. They spent most of the time in bed, resting. For Karen it was an interlude of nothingness.
The third morning found Pat completely refreshed. She complained of the inactivity, saying it was ruining her body tone. Karen listlessly watched her go through a series of exercises, still unwilling to relent her death-like inactiveness.
They ate the last of the food in the house, then Pat examined their funds. "We need more money."
Karen nodded indifferently. Pat came over to the bed. She looked at Karen speculatively. A new excitement was dawning in her clear, pale eyes. "You've got to help with the burden of finances, Karen," she announced suddenly. Her laugh was grating. "The honeymoon's over."
"Is that what it was?" Karen asked dully.
Pat hadn't heard her. "It's about time."
"I told you from the start I'd get a job if you'd let me... ." Karen retorted, the fine stirrings of anger getting the better of her desire for noninvolvement.
"I'm not talking about a job. You know what I'm talking about!" Pat began to knead Karen's stomach with lazy fingers. "I can get you a date in a minute. One phone call would do it."
Karen didn't know if she was pleased or disappointed to discover that nothing Pat could do or suggest surprised her anymore. She shook her head calmly. "I'll get a job, but forget that. It's out."
Pat colored slightly. "Are you telling me that you refuse?" Her hand stayed on the soft belly, but the fingers tightened convulsively.
Karen began to feel a slight tremor of fear. Pat had a will that had intimidated her from the first. "I'll work for you, if you want. But I won't do that. I can't, Pat! Don't you understand? It would make me sick! Don't ask me to do that!"
"Don't be a melodramatic idiot! It isn't so bad, you know. I can tell you how to do it so you don't feel a thing." Pat began to grow excited. Her hand moved to Karen's breast. She held one tightly. "You just lie back, smile sweetly, and think your way out of the room! It works! I do it all the time!" Pat wondered suddenly when she had done that the last time. She couldn't remember.
"Pat, don't." Karen tried to remove the hand without angering the girl. Pat was hurting the tender flesh now. "Maybe you can do that astro-projection stuff, but I can't! I said I'd work for you if you want. Why do you insist I do this?"
Pat let go of the full breast and reached for the other. She didn't notice the red streaks her fingers had made in the flesh. She thought of what a great kick it would be to take this girl after she had been ravished by a man! "It has to be this way. That's all there is to it. Don't argue about it anymore. I'll make it for tomorrow."
"Don't bother," Karen stated flatly. "I won't do it. You can't make me do it!" She had gone so far for Pat. First for love, then for peace, finally for pity. The idea of a paid alliance with a strange man sickened her.
"You must! If you love me, you should be glad to do it!" Pat threw herself on the girl, feverishly trying to arouse her to at least a physical response. She did all the things Karen used to go wild from. But Karen felt nothing, and Pat knew it.
"You don't love me!" Pat ranted finally, moving away from the blonde. "You never did," she accused.
"That's not true," Karen answered softly, wondering if it was.
"Don't lie to me!" Pat thundered. "If you did you'd do this, if it was important to me."
"Why is it important to you, Pat?" Karen asked in a whisper, fascinated in spite of herself.
"Because ... " Pat closed her eyes. Her face was like a tight mask. "Because I want it! That's reason enough! You lived off the money I made that way, didn't you? It wasn't too good for you then!"
Karen flushed. Pat was right. Why hadn't she protested more then? Why had she allowed all this to happen to them, to her? "I don't care what you say. I won't do it."
Pat's face suddenly collapsed. It was as if a waxen mask had drifted too near a luminous candle. The features seemed to run together crazily. She buried her face against Karen's breasts, wetting them with her hot tears. "Do this last thing for me, Karen! Please! Show me you love me this way... . ."
Karen was horrified. Pat's slim body was quaking hideously against her. She had expected cold fury, even physical brutality from Pat. She could have coped with that. But these senseless tears, these body-shaking tremors left her more whipped than if Pat had flogged her body with lead-tipped quirts. She found herself agreeing mutely to whatever Pat wanted of her. "Yes, all right," she muttered hoarsely. "Anything you say, only stop. For God's sake, stop! Please, I can't take any more." Karen moaned weakly.
Pat dried her eyes quickly. She spoke Into Karen's large breasts. "You'll see ... it won't be bad. You won't feel a thing. Just do as I tell you and it will be fine."
The words had no meaning for Karen. How many more things could Pat think up? With Al, Karen thought hazily, It would have meant doing so little and getting so muck! And with Pat, doing everything meant getting nothing, nothing at all ... Pay! Suffer!
* * *
Karen watched the man remove his clothing. He wasn't really as awful in appearance as Karen expected him to be, nor was he at all vulgar in his speech or treatment of her. She had followed Pat's Instructions to the letter, undressing in the man's presence, even saying the right things to him at the right time. She didn't know how she had accomplished it all. Pat had told her to think of herself as an actress playing a role. It hadn't been nearly as difficult as she had expected.
"I'll leave this up here, okay?" The man, graying and not out of his early fifties, indicated a folded stack of crisp bills. He came to the bed, brightly-colored shorts his only covering. His body was soft from the years of sitting at a desk.
"Fine." Karen felt the tension start in again as the man lowered his heavy body on the edge of the bed and removed his final garment.
He then stood up and turned to her. He was obviously proud of the one part of his body which hadn't aged or grown soft. He showed the readiness of a young man.
Karen hadn't minded his eyes on her naked body before this. She had left her modesty back in the house by the beach. But now, with his body alert and threatening, Karen had to fight against the urge to cover herself from his eyes. She steeled herself. It mattered so very little... . Suffer!
"Move over, honey," the man said, easing himself in the bed beside her.
The touch of his bare flesh against her body was vile. She barely managed to suppress her repugnance. She remembered what Pat had said about not feeling anything. She hoped it would work.
The man's eyes became slits. "I want it to be good for you, too. Do you like to play around for a while, or get right to it?"
"What -- whatever you want." Karen tried to keep her voice natural. It was one of the most difficult things she had ever tried to do. "I like it either way," she stammered.
"Good!" The man captured one of her mountainous breasts between his two hands and rolled it loosely. Then he lowered his face to a pink nipple. His teeth were sharp.
Karen closed her eyes. She felt no pleasure, but at the same time the feeling was not as repulsive as she thought it might be. His mouth was hot and hungry. Karen was unmoved by it. If only she could retain this feeling of distance, she could live through this.
"Beautiful, beautiful," the man was mumbling. He took her hand and placed it on his stiff meat.
Karen wanted to jerk her hand away. The touch of him made her want to be sick. But, with a nearly masochistic willingness, she allowed her hand to stay where it was. She was his, bought and paid for. The least she could do was see that he got his money's worth. She started, Instead, to twist her thoughts away from the room. If there was anything at all in what Pat said, Karen was more than willing to give it a chance. But the only thing she found she wanted to think of was Al, and she couldn't think of him now!
The man was content to probe and kiss her body for a long time. He was especially fascinated with her breasts. He touched her young body obsessively, not wanting to miss an inch of its loveliness.
Karen thought of a scene she and Pat had seen from one of those cars in which they had hitchhiked. It was a simple, overrun garden blocked from human eyes by the thick walls of a fire-ruined home at the edge of a cliff. She had particularly liked an ancient apple tree, its trunk was ravished and gnarled, yet, small buds peeked out of the branches, assuring nature of its victory over disaster.
The garden was almost real to her. She could nearly feel, smell and see it. She found herself thinking of Al and their shattered marriage before she could censor herself. Then Karen realized why the garden scene kept urging thoughts of Allen into her mind. Their marriage had been like that. Calm and vaguely wrong, like the house by the garden, which she now remembered as being much too modern, far too incongruous with the rolling garden it tried to obliterate. They had been like that, and their own personal fire had come along. If it hadn't been Pat, it almost certainly would have been something or someone else. There had been too little either of them were willing to do... . Although the fire had destroyed their house utterly, new grasses, the seeds of those which had been there all that terrible time, were taking hold and growing again. That was the way it had been with the garden. Wasn't it also the way their marriage was? The fire had done immense damage, but was it really irremediable? Wasn't the excitement she felt at the thought of her husband like those tender new grasses? A rebirth? Allen had said he still loved her, wanted her back... . Even in a fire, Karen remembered, the basic foundation was very rarely demolished.
The man had almost drugged himself with her succulent young body. He was ready for the big trip now. He freed himself from the hand which held him tightly. He looked into the girl's face. It was impressive. He wondered curiously if she was getting anything out of this at all, or if she was just another indifferent whore. Not that it mattered. He was getting what he wanted.
The enormous pressure of a large body lowering itself onto her brought Karen instantly back to reality. She realized that she really didn't have to fear going back to Allen with her past! Now that she understood the past and felt she could learn from it, the past was dead, unimportant. Like the garden. all that really mattered were the seeds and the foundation. There would never again be the need for guilt to weigh either of them down! At times, a reinforced article worked better than a new one. A mended broken bone was twice as strong.
"Here we go, baby," the man was saying as he parted her smooth thighs with his hands.
In order for her and Al to have the slightest chance, they each had to do more than just respect each other, Karen thought frantically. They had to respect themselves! It had to start now!
Every trace of listlessness evaporated in a shower of elated hope. Karen used her hands so suddenly the man never had a chance to protect his position. She managed to lift his large body off herself, pushing the man without a trace of gentleness to the floor.
"I'm sorry! It's over!" she said, leaping from the bed. She was half into a pair of jeans and shirt before the man got up.
"What the hell is this?" he demanded. His shocked body was softening.
"It's over. Either take your money and go, or stick around. My friend will return soon. I'm sure she'd be more than willing to help you out." Karen pulled a brush through her long hair quickly, wishing she could take more time with her appearance. But, it was Friday night -- Karen wanted to get home before Al returned from school. She wanted to fix him some dinner -- she couldn't imagine what he might be eating these days! She wanted to straighten the house. There was so much she wanted to do!
Karen looked around the room, ignoring the still naked man who sat dumbly on the bed. This, she knew, was still another example of a lifelong pattern. She had always gotten her way, even when in her life with Al it had meant endangering their entire marriage. Mother -- guilt -- run ... Allen -- guilt -- run ... Pat -- guilt -- run? Wasn't she now planning to complete the cycle? Wasn't she about to run again, even if this were, in effect, a run to reality?
Strength flowed through her veins now. She was strong enough to work out her own problems! She could never go back to Al until she had taken care of the biggest problem of all. Her idea of being home to greet Al would have to wait. She would bring him something warmer than a hot dinner, something cleaner than a spotless house. She would bring herself, free of Pat and her crippling guilt forever. She would never really be free of Pat until she was immune to the girl's fury and tears.
"On second thought, take your money and go. There's nothing here for you tonight." Karen didn't even hear the man's muffled curses as he dressed and left the apartment. He took the money from the dresser before he left.
Karen sat down on the one chair in the apartment, waiting patiently for Pat to return. She wasn't looking forward to telling Pat her decision, but doing it was vital. She couldn't bring her problem home for Al to solve. They would have enough of their own.
Chapter Fifteen
Pat knocked discreetly on the door. She had stayed at Bickki's an hour longer than necessary, to be sure to give Karen and her customer enough time. Besides, Bickki had been bending her ear over losing Lennie who she'd gotten together with not long ago. The girl had broken a date and then neglected to come back to keep another one that night Lennie was a bore. So, in fact, was Bickki.
"Come in!" Karen was surprised to discover that she wasn't at all nervous. If this is what she had to do to go home, she was ready to do it.
"Oh," Pat said, seeing Karen sitting in the chair, fully dressed and made up. "I wanted to make sure you were alone." She threw herself on the bed. "How was it?"
"Fine. I didn't go through with it," Karen answered calmly. "I want to talk to you, Pat."
"You didn't go through with it!" Pat rolled off the bed and looked at Karen.
"It's not important, now."
Pat looked somewhere between angry and hysterical. "You promised! You gave me your ..."
Karen looked at her erstwhile lover in stilled fascination. She wondered how she had ever thought Pat sensitive and beautiful. It was like looking at a portrait of sickness. She found neither beauty nor sensitivity in the intense face which glared at her, wavering between hate and self-pity. "Pat," she said as gently as she could, "I'm going back to Allen. I'm going home."
The next hour was only the beginning of an ordeal, the sort Karen hoped she would never have to go through again. Pat tried a burst of anger that numbed Karen's ears with its volume and fury. When that didn't work, Pat cried. Karen took the anger, the tears, the verbal brutality which followed them, and she also managed to withstand the final tantrum which came in the form of Pat on her knees, trying to make love to the girl, then begging for another chance. The arguments seemed endless, and lasted long into the night.
"I can make you happy, you'll... . ." Pat tried to kiss Karen's compressed lips.
Karen turned her head slightly, taking the kiss on her cheek. She waited patiently until Pat was finally quiet. Then she tried to explain how she felt. "It won't work. It never could. I'm going where I belong."
"What do you want from me? Congratulations? Am I supposed to wish you luck and Godspeed and all that?" Pat gave up. She refused to look at the girl. She thought of Paula, the young poetess who had made it very plain that she would give anything to be in Karen's place. So would Lorna. She didn't need Karen. She didn't need anyone.
"I don't need anything from you, except your word that you won't try to see me again. It would only make matters worse for all of us." Karen suspected that Pat wasn't as heartbroken as she wanted Karen to believe she was. That made it easier. She had packed earlier. Now she lifted her two suitcases and walked to the door. She wanted to say goodbye, but decided against it. The set of Pat's back demanded a more dramatic farewell.
Unfortunately, for Pat, Karen couldn't think of one.
Karen found herself walking along the beach front just as the day was beginning to peep through the curtain of clouds that hung over the water. The sky lightened as she walked. Karen thought back to the evening on which she had made her first trip down the beach front to the coffeehouse, the night she had first seen Pat. It was a lifetime ago, yet the ocean was the same combination of serenity and turbulence it had been then, a liquid garden at the edge of the cliff.
Chapter Sixteen
The house was as drab as it ever looked, even with the cleansing rays of the first hint of morning sun washing over its shabby pastel walls. She dropped her suitcases by the front door and felt in her pockets for her key. It was in the same pocket she had always kept it in. She unlocked the door carefully, not wanting to disturb Allen yet. She knew how much he needed his sleep. She vowed to herself to attempt to make things easier for him. There was no reason why she could not take a job somewhere. They would talk it over and work something out, together this time.
The living room was only moderately disorderly. But the kitchen, Karen saw, was a complete disaster area. She was glad. Now if Al wanted to kick her out, she could show him concrete evidence of his need for her. She was home, and this time she was staying there.
Karen heard a muffled yawn. She tiptoed to the bedroom door. Her eyes filled as she watched her young husband begin the familiar long process of grunts and groans which always proceeded his morning awakening. She stood very still, knowing his eyes would open at any second and he would see her immediately. She admitted her nervousness, now that there were only moments left, no time in which to run. She was through with running. If he didn't want her ... she would worry about that as it happened... .
Allen had been dreaming of something warm and soft, something womanly and remote. A feeling of strangeness had forced him to come awake before he managed to get to the object. He opened his eyes reluctantly, closed them, then opened them again immediately. At first he wondered if he could still be dreaming. It fit in so perfectly. "Karen?"
"Hello, Al," she whispered, her eyes very wide.
They looked at each other for a long moment. Karen wanted to tell him she was home for good, if he'd have her. But the words wouldn't come. She didn't even know how to begin.
Allen wanted to ask if she had returned to him for good. But he couldn't. It was too wonderful, just having her there. He didn't dare risk hearing that she had only come for something she had left behind. He tried to think of some way of asking without scaring her off.
Karen wondered fearfully how long this sweet agony was going to last. She knew that if she had-to choose between leaving for good or spending the rest of her life locked in this silent tableau, she would never move. Oh, All she thought fiercely, if only Pat's ESP worked! If only you could read my mind and know how much I love you, how sorry I am... .
The drawn-out moment passed with Allen's smile. "Did you lock the door?" he asked softly.
"Yes," she whispered.
"Good." Allen held out his arms.
Karen collapsed into them gratefully.
* * *
"You've changed," Karen said happily, not letting her husband out of her arms.
"So have you." Allen kissed his wife deeply. Her body was so soft and sweet against his. "I'm glad," he added finally, aroused by the sensation of his wife's beckoning body pressing aggressively against his.
"So am I" Karen said. She rubbed her cheek against his. "If some old seeds and a dinky apple tree can make it, so can we." She sighed happily against his shoulder.
"Nut," Allen laughed, not trying to break her bubble, whatever it was.
"For a while," she agreed, reaching again for her husband. Later there would be time to look at their problems, but not now. Now all she wanted to do was have him against her. They had their entire lives in which to talk and plan and, yes, make love. "But not anymore ... "
Their lips met again Just as the noisy alarm clock Karen had always hated started its usual irritating morning attack.
For the very first time, Al reached out with one groping hand and turned the screaming clock off without jumping up at its shrill demand. Then he turned back to his wife's hungry, waiting lips.
The moment Karen had feared the most was at hand. She didn't know how she would react to making love with a man again. But Al's massaging hands on her breasts felt no different than Pat's strong fingers. She hated herself for thinking about Pat at a time like this, but it actually helped her to relax and accept Allen's advance to the inevitable plunge into her body. Pulsing against her inner-thighs was the stiff tube of flesh she dreaded. Whether she could accept that was a question she knew would be answered in a very short time.
"I love you," Al whispered in her ear. Then his hot mouth moved down her neck and shoulders, licking a path with his tongue to her breasts.
With a little imagination, Karen told herself, there's not much difference ... . Al's sucking mouth on her rock-hard nipple felt exactly the same as any of her recent female lovers.
"Oh, Al!" she breathed excitedly when his tongue began an unexpected trip down her stomach. The very thought of Al -- her Al -- bringing her, body such pleasure, lifted Karen to the peak of excitement. And he wasn't in a hurry to simply fulfill an obligation he knew she would enjoy. She realized he was just as methodical in his approach as ... as Pat ... licking and nibbling at her thighs, while his hands slipped under her buttocks to squeeze and massage those tender balls of flesh. A finger was exploring the deep crevice, searching for that hidden opening, then playing with it and finally entering the tight tunnel.
When Al's wet tongue finally slithered over the panting lips of her sex, Karen flushed out the first juices of her pent-up orgasm. She couldn't hold it back, knowing how timid her husband had been about doing this one act she had always craved. Animal-lust sounds escaped from deep in her throat as his tongue plunged in to sweep away the flood of her orgasm from the walls of her sex.
Between the orgasm and the thrills Allen continued to deliver to her body, Karen's mind was in chaos. There was a tongue entering her tender flesh that surpassed even Pat's ferocious tongue. It was thick and filling, throbbing and jerking violently. She was bucking harder and faster, lifting herself off the bed to capture all of it ... and she knew she could finally accept making love to a man ... even if it meant thinking about Pat while she was doing it... .
