thing that raucous bunch out there was still dulling its collective senses with vodka-spiked punch.
They were raucous, sure enough. All those shrieks and howls and screeches, loud enough to compete with a barrage of amplified guitars. The mating call of the heterosexual adolescent. But we didn't pay much attention here inside the powder room. This was a private party, just me and my slave-girl. Hmm. There was something depraved about that, something deliciously unspeakable…
Graduation was over and it should have been a lovely summer, a lazy vacation before buckling down at college. Only it wasn't much fun without my best friend. Goaded by her parents, Alix had accepted an invitation to visit her cousin's family in California. Without her, a walk to our woodland glade was as frustrating as a whodunit with the last Chapter missing. I could hardly wait for her to come home. And when she finally did, I didn't waste much time getting over there to welcome her.
'Sue, I didn't expect you so soon. I'm not even unpacked yet. But I'm glad you're here, there's something I have to tell you. I was going to put it in a letter, but this way is better.'“
'Hey, you sound serious. What's up?'
'I'm serious, all right. Boyd and I are engaged. It hasn't been announced yet, so I'm not wearing his-'
'You-you're going to marry him?'
'Uh-huh. Some time next year.'
'But what about college? We were all set to room together.'
'You'll have to find another roommate. I'll be busy producing a brand-new line of Moreau babies.'
'Old-time aristocracy, huh? Big deal.'
'It's big to me.'
'Okay. I won't tease you about it, darling. But never mind next year, let's just relax right now and-'
'No! Not now. Not ever, don't you understand? It was fun for a while, I'll admit, but that's over now. I love Boyd Moreau and we're going to be married.'
'You're sure of that, huh? Sure you love him, I mean. You're sure the idea didn't come from your mother and father? If you get married, you'll have to go to bed with him, you know. And he's a man, he won't be nice and soft like me, he'll be-'
'Sue, you're raving. You think I don't know what a man is like? Guess again. I've been to bed with him. And it was great, you hear? My man fucked me, he fucked me good and proper, he shoved his big stiff cock into my soft little cunt and me feel happier than I've ever been in all my young life. Better than you ever did, that's for sure. There's just no comparison. You ought to try it yourself and see, then maybe it won't make any difference what kind of girl you room with at-college next year. Maybe you'll be interested in the same things I am.'
'Yeah. Love and marriage. And babies.'
'Don't knock it.'
'Who's knocking? I'm happy for you, Alix. Don't you think I want the same thing for myself some day?'
'Do you? I wonder. But that's your business, not mine. And I'd rather you kept your business to yourself from now on. We've been good friends, Sue, but that's water under the bridge now. I don't think we should see each other again.'
'You-you mean it?'
'Uh-huh. Let's just call it quits. Oh, don't worry, you won't have to cross any streets to avoid me, I'll be living in California anyway. And getting fucked every night, how about that? Like I said, you ought to try it yourself, Believe me, there's nothing like a good hot fuck to make a girl feel like a real woman.'
That did it. I got out of there before she could start giving me advice again, all that fuckfuck-fuck talk. It left me pretty depressed, naturally, but I soon cheered up. The roommate problem was only minor; I'd get along by myself just fine, even at a big university like State. Mter all, wasn't I the only girl chosen to play Helen of Troy twice?
Chapter 9
Ambling along the corridor, I could sense the warmth of countless eyes caressing my body. It was happening again. I couldn't seem to contain the swing, the exaggerated sway of my hips; it had the fabric of my skirt pulled just taut enough to be molded to the well rounded contour of my butt-cheeks. Just like a born tease! I wondered how many guys were watching…
Girls too?
Uh-huh. Girls too, making me almost self-conscious. But that was only natural, dictated by the weight of sheer numbers, the preponderance of females in this branch of the university. At least that was what I kept telling myself. But then why had I become so sensitive to it lately? My goose-bumps broke out in a different pattern when a feminine eye gleamed. I was even getting bored with college men altogether, finding them more and more like bigger and brasher-and often just as callow-high school boys.
But it wasn't exactly new, this recent feeling of mine for the flutter of a mascaraed eyelash, the lick of a lipsticked lip. So I must have been ripe for someone like Florinda Brokaw. Funny thing. I knew who she was long before we got together; maybe it was fate or predestination or something like that. Then again, maybe it would have been impossible not to. In this sequestered segment of the great couldn't-care-less university, our Department of Education-also known as Teachers' College-was like a closed shop where everybody knew everybody else sooner or later. And the woman had long since been pointed out to me as someone important. Florinda Brokaw. Graduate assistant. Master's in Education. Studying outside the department for a Master's in Dramatic Arts. Wears swanky clothes and drives a sporty car. Is in good with the dean. Also in good with the students, according to the latest grapevine consensus-not even the trivia escaped the notice of us freshman-her own apartment in town, the lucky bitch? How we marveled over that!
Anyway, it was with more astonishment than difficulty that I recognized whose eye had caught mine from across the cafeteria. It seemed unreal, a fantasy; why should that gorgeous personage condescend to come to my rescue? I needed help, sure enough. And there was something mystical in our exchange of glances, some bit of magic that told me the situation was understood and help was being dispatched forthwith. Only it didn't say why. Why would Florinda Brokaw involve herself in the deliverance of one insignificant freshman girl from the clutches of an upper class bully?
The guy was a pretty playful bully-not the violent type-just another third-rate jock flexing his muscles and making a sexy pass. He had latched onto me the minute I came through the cafeteria entrance off the corridor. Now he. was being more discreet, his clutching hand out of sight under the table, but I was already telling him off before that big predatory paw tore my panties to shreds. Then it was dear Florinda holding my shoulder like an old friend and saying she hated to interrupt our wrestling match-and that was all it took to send the horny jock slinking out sheepishly.
Despite her curiously assertive voice, there was a feminine softness about her that I found quite appealing. She was svelte and willowy, attractive enough to set up a responsive vibration inside me. Her dark hair was styled in an upsweep, spectacular but too sophisticated for this place. Even her jewelry had a tinge of the bizarre. Whatever it was, something about her excited me-a wisp of exotic perfume, that same look in her eye, the unflagging vivacity, the casual assurance of her fingers, such a tender touch!
We didn't talk much, just long enough to break the ice and make a definite date for the future; wouldn't I like to forsake the ulcer-paced academic life for the restful quiet of her apartment one night this weekend? She could even come by for me in her car-no, don't say no-saving a poor inexperienced freshman from the likes of corrupt cabdrivers and chaotic bus schedules. I accepted and that was about it, just a surface skim, no mention of why our eyes and met and what she really wanted of me.
I knew, of course. What she wanted. There just wasn't much doubt in my mind, the woman was a lesbian with designs on my fair young body. True, my first-hand knowledge of the subject was extremely limited; maybe I couldn't recognize a real lezzie if one jumped out from under my bed and frightened my straight roommates, those two simpering dullards. Unless such an intruder was the obvious butch type, too masculine to be anything but an imitation man, easy to identify. But when it came to womanly women and what their sinful secrets might be, my judgment could only be based on guesswork. And yet I had no doubt about Florinda Brokaw…
Had the car been even a few minutes late, I might have used it as an excuse to renege. That was how
