Elly had been drilling the little ones when Helen came downstairs for the rest of their lesson, and she gave Elly a soft peck on the cheek for being so conscientious. The lesson proceeded nicely. James, in particular, was in great form, but they all did well. The children were very affectionate and attentive to her, and she praised them generously as she sent them off to bed.
She had been thinking what she would play, and she knew Maryssa was somewhere close by; she loved to listen to the children—and Helen—play; it struck a chord in her romantic heart, that she was part of a musical family, even if by adoption. Finally Helen had settled on a Mozart sonata movement, beautiful in its simplicity. She had played it often in the past, on the little piano she had left behind for Amy and David.
Helen came to the piano and pulled the bench out and sat down. The hard, varnished wood was still comfortable. She opened up the keyboard, took a deep breath and played a single note, her courage almost failing her. Vaguely she heard sounds out in the hallway, and somewhere in her mind it registered that Elly had heard the note.
Slowly she began to play, picking up speed when she heard the sound of the piano. It was a lovely instrument, very responsive, the action so tight that it was easy to play.
Soon the piano itself receded from her notice, and she focused on the strands of music, and the sonata seemed to play itself. It changed mood from minor to major, but quickly became minor again, and she was amazed at the genius of the writing. Now it was definitely major, making a determined effort to be happy. But all too soon the minor key returned, with its insistent assertions of sadness, leaving Helen confused about what to feel.
When it was finished, Helen felt exhausted. She hadn’t really played through a whole movement for more than a year, and she had forgotten the feel of doing it. It was frightening to remember how much music spoke to her soul. The sudden sound of cheering and general pleasure and amazement was disconcerting, but the sonata had been a gift for Maryssa, and she could not ruin it with moodiness.
Maryssa was at her side in a moment, her face glowing.
“Play some more!” she begged, her whole body pleading for it. Helen smiled, realizing that, if possible, Maryssa was even more a creature of music and passion than Helen was. It was her little tragedy that she could only feel it, and dance to it, and longed to make it.
“Okay, dance to this one!” Helen said, still trembling, and played the Dance of the flowers from The Nutcracker. They were all in the room, Elly, the little ones, even Jeannie, and indeed they danced. Helen had never played it through from memory, but now she closed her eyes, and could hear all of it, all the episodes, all the way down to the long coda at the end.
James reeled over and gave Helen an enormous hug, his eyes flashing with excitement. “I didn’t know you could play like that!” he said, sounding very adult. Allie hugged her too, echoing the same sentiment. “Miss Helen, you’re amazing!” was Jeannie’s verdict, while Elly could hardly stop whirling.
“Okay, let’s play a duet! Come on, Dvorak! Ready?” Elly was raring to go, but Helen called a stop. They had to be up early, and Simon (the Karate expert who was working hard to qualify Helen) had made it clear that he wanted her in the gym at seven for her usual lesson. There were many awws and grumbles, but Helen gently insisted that they should sleep. Perhaps on Monday, if they had an early supper, they could have a little music before bed. They ran leaping and squealing off to bed, with Peggy and Jeannie trailing after them. Jeannie would help put the kids to bed, and Peggy would drop her off right after.
Maryssa came to sit on Helen’s lap. She was as light as a feather, and when she leaned close to hug Helen, she could smell her perspiration and her characteristic scent, which was becoming for Helen the scent of home, and comfort and acceptance.
“I love you, darling,” she said, crying with happiness. “I thought you didn’t like the piano, and I was so upset!”
“Why? I loved it; I was only not in the mood to play it! You know I would never not love something you did!”
Maryssa kept giving her wet kisses, and she felt Maryssa’s tears on her cheeks. She kept saying that she loved Helen, and making incoherent complaints that she had worried about the piano. Helen undid the fastenings on the back of her dress, and got her bra free, enough to peel it down and release Maryssa’s little breast. She tenderly cupped it in her hand as Maryssa sighed, and then softly lipped it and tongued it. And then they were kissing like crazy, and Helen was baffled with the pleasure and the love she was feeling.
Hearing steps on the stairs, they quickly got Maryssa back together, and stood bashfully as Jeannie called out goodnight.
Maryssa took to asking Helen to play that very first movement she had played for her on the new piano.
“Which one is it, Helen? Does it have a name?” Helen had been amused at her excitement, and at her disappointment at its humble title. She had expected it to be called Etude, or something exotic like that. Elly, too, wanted to know which one it was, and Helen found the music for her, and heard Elly practicing it quietly one afternoon.
Presently it was Spring Break, and Janet, Elly’s mother, came to visit, her hair dyed a dark brown, considerably slimmed down, and over the course of that fateful week, sweet Crystal fell in love with Janet. That story is related in an earlier installment.
It was an eventful summer for all of them, not least, of course, for Janet and Crystal. Elly had spent the Summer mostly in Philadelphia, and was now well established at the Supermarket where she had started working earlier in the year.
Elly usually arrived at the store—a large suburban upscale supermarket—around seven in the morning, and today there was someone to greet her, a boy who had started working there this summer, Hugh Green. He was of medium height, with dark lustrous eyes and spiky dark hair carefully combed down early in the morning, but which stood more or less straight out by mid-morning. He still hadn’t started shaving, and there was a light fuzz on his lips that gave him a slightly rakish look when he smiled.
He had come in early, and was watching when Elly got off the early morning bus, and walked in. She was colored sort of like him, and he had noticed her early on. She whistled while she worked, softly; lovely tunes, not just snippets of songs, but long, long tunes that went on forever.
He slipped into the back, in time to catch her putting on her apron. She was still whistling, and it was the perfect opening.
“What’s that tune you’re whistling?”
“What?” she asked, smiling. Her smile lit her whole face, even a little one like just now. Her eyes were a smoky brown, and they were dancing round his face, sizing him up. She was continuing to whistle, almost inaudibly.
“Your tune! What is it?”
“Oh!” She was fumbling with her apron, thrown off her stride by his question. She sighed and gave up. “It’s … it’s Beethoven. You know Beethoven?”
“Beethoven! You mean like, Ode to Joy Beethoven?”
“Yeah, him!” She grinned, resigned to having to talk to him for a second or two. “It’s the violin concerto.”
“Whoa! So that’s why it’s so long, huh? It’s a classical piece?”
She nodded, whistling again, as she bent to re-tie her sneaker laces which were in danger of coming untied. He admired her legs and her buttocks, and her breasts that hung like enormous ripe fruits. She filled the polo-necked shirts of their uniform to perfection. She stood up and faced him before he could get his eyes back on her face.
“Yeah. What’s your name, anyway?” she asked, squinting at his name tag. “Hugh! That’s an unusual name!”
“So’s Elly. Elly is short for—what?”
“Eleanor. So you’re into music, are you, or just whistling?”
He squirmed, a little out of his depth. He was shy with girls, and he hadn’t worked out what he wanted to say to her this far along. Beethoven had upset his plans, and he didn’t know anything about him—or her; it might be a gal, like Alice Beethoven; who knew?
“I—I’m not into much of anything,” he said with a smile and a shrug.
She laughed. “That’s refreshing,” she said, completely confusing him. She walked off, whistling away, and turned to grin at him and wave.
He couldn’t stop thinking about her. He had only looked at her from a distance before, noticing the jaunty way she walked, her figure, and her cute voice. He had liked the way her breasts stood, facing just slightly away from each other, as if keeping watch on both sides of her. But close, he had seen how her scalp showed down her neatly parted hair, the soft bulge of her forehead, the sweep of her eyebrows. She was so friendly and cheerful!
As he worked, he fantasized about her, just befriending her, only talking to her. It would be a change from talking to the usual guys and the stupid girls he knew. Well, they weren’t stupid, but they were boring. It was like every girl he knew owned him, but fought among themselves for the other boys. He was always the one who got taken along when one of them wanted to get back at some other boy. So who’s she taking to the prom? Hugh. Well, figures. Or one of his friends would ask him, You’re going to the dance? With who? Sally. So what happened to Rick?
He whistled to himself while he worked, a long slow song from the sixties. All the way through, the interlude and everything. He was really getting into it, imagining the parting in her pretty little head, that made him want to run his finger along it. He looked around, feeling eyes on his back, and there she was, about ten feet away, listening intently! She nodded encouragingly, not making fun of him, and smiled, screwing up her eyes in a unique expression that seemed to say something, he wasn’t sure what. Then she was off again.
It was a couple of days later that he got off work at the same time as her, and he waited, talking to someone, until she headed out the door. He ran to catch up.
“Hi!”
“Hi again!”
“Shall I walk you to your bus? You could tell me about Beethoven!”
“Sure! And you could tell me about the Beatles!”
“How did you know about the Beatles?”
“I heard you whistling! Remember?”
Unlike the other girls he knew, she paid full attention to him, looking at him straight on, her eyes searching his face as he talked. He liked that. He liked that she didn’t play games with him. Maybe it was because she liked him, or because he didn’t stand a chance, and she could be nice without him getting ideas. And she liked the Beatles, which was a definite plus. And furthermore, she liked Beethoven, which was cool.
“My Dad has Beethoven CDs,” he said, “you should come over to my place and suggest some good ones for me to listen to!”
“Well, why not … I could come tomorrow.”
He was almost paralyzed with excitement, which he controlled with difficulty.
“Are you sure? That’s great! I live just four blocks away. You could have some sandwiches, and get on the bus from there!”
“Oo, sounds like a date! See you tomorrow, Hugh.”
He had a date!
“Get your clothes out of the dryer, Chip. Like now.”
“Okay, okay. Jeeze, I just got in.”
“That means, your clothes have been in the dryer for 24 hours, lettuce-head. That’s not good for the dryer, not good for your clothes, and not good for my clothes, which I had to pay for.”
“I don’t think the dryer cares, Morgan.”
Hugh’s sister was as unlike him as she could be. She, too had the dark spiky hair and grey eyes of her brother, but she was morose and angry, and never smiled. Hugh knew she liked him—in fact, he was her favorite. But she was always on his case, and it was just one of those inexplicable things. When she had been in college, he was the last one she said goodbye to, and she clung to him and kissed him so hard he had felt terrible that she had to go so far away. But she had a scholarship at the University of Rhode Island, and they were poor, and that’s why she went. When she got back, he was the first one she got a hug from, even before Dad. And she was always respectful to Dad, but she detested him. He was a hard-working, sober man, and Hugh loved him dearly, but Morgan just couldn’t stand him.
She’d made him egg sandwiches, his favorite, and he grabbed one, and dropping off his bag, headed straight for the dryer. Morgan must have a hot date or something, and her precious clothes needed to be dried, and he was the last one to stand between Morgan’s duds and the dryness they craved. He whistled as he plopped the few clothes from the dryer into the basket.
“What’re you whistling?” Morgan asked, sneaking into the laundry room silently.
“Whoa!” Hugh was startled. He put the rest of the sandwich whole into his mouth, and Morgan shook her head, her forehead creased in a severe frown of disapproval. Man, her sandwiches were excellent.
“Hey, Sis, could you do me a favor?” Morgan nodded, her face serious. “Could you make a few extra sandwiches tomorrow?”
She scowled at him. “Why?”
Hugh blushed. “I, uh, I’m bringing a visitor … someone who works with me!” He couldn’t help blushing deeper, and Morgan’s face melted in a smile. He blushed even harder. “She’s, like, interested in music, you know, Beatles, and such.”
“Is she the one who taught you the tune you were whistling?”
“Well, yeah! How did you know?”
Morgan laughed. Hugh was so happy that he didn’t even care about her answer. Morgan was real cute when she laughed. “Good for you,” she said, punching him. “I guess a lot hangs on those sandwiches, huh?” She laughed.
The next day, Elly was in great form, taking animatedly all the way home. Hugh was thrilled.
“There,” he said, pointing, “see the big willow in the back? That’s our Willow.” It was a pleasant, wooded street, shady and cool. They had been talking, so lost in their conversation that Hugh just realized how much he enjoyed the company of the girl with him. He also realized that they had stopped, and she was studying his face.
“Hugh,” she said softly, “I want to tell you something that … only my very best friends know.” Hugh nodded, silently. She looked so beautiful. “Will you keep my secret, even if you get mad at me?”
“Why would I get mad at you? I never get mad!”
“Okay.” She nodded. “I’m a lesbian.”
He stared at her, going completely white. She was white too, and he felt terrible that he might have said something to frighten her. But wait, he hadn’t said anything!
No; his face had said it all. She could see the crumbling of all his hopes and desires. In those two short days, she had grown to like the sweet-natured young fellow who obviously had the most enormous crush on her. And the more she delayed telling him, the more it would hurt.
She wondered whether there were other ways she could have handled this. Maybe if she did something to make him hate her! Or acted like a wacko. Or pretended to have a boyfriend somewhere. Yes, that would have worked! Or a girlfriend.
“I’m sorry,” he was saying. “I hope I didn’t do something to upset you!”
“No, of course you didn’t!”
“Does this mean … you’ld rather not come home?”
“Don’t be silly! I brought my own CDs for you!”
Hugh looked obviously out of his depth.
“Do you, uh, well, do you, uh, talk to guys …”
“Of course!” She seemed relieved to have a question she could answer positively. “I know lots of boys! I just … I’m just not interested in them … that way, that’s all.”
She could see the great loss in his eyes, and he could see her search his face in that wonderful way of hers.
And he saw that straight-as-an-arrow part in her hair, so neat, so enticing. How could she look into his eyes like no girl had ever looked, and say she was a … a … he could barely think the word!
She waited patiently for him to decide. She glanced at his house, and back at his face. She wanted to go inside with him, share her music. But obviously, being what she was made a big difference to her; she had wanted him to know beforehand. It was just one more way in which she was different. She had never once given him any reason to think she didn’t like him. She made him feel special. He did feel special; he had a girlfriend who was a lesbian.
“Well,” he said, “there’s egg sandwiches, it’d be a shame to waste ’em!” Her eyes suddenly crinkled in that special grin of hers that was almost a laugh but not quite.
“Lead the way!” she said. He wondered what it was that he felt.
Morgan was at the door, waiting for them, smiling. She must have been watching from the window the whole time.
“Come on in,” she said, smiling. She was smiling! Hugh could hardly believe his eyes. His heart was heavy, but at another level he was happy; he had brought his favorite person—he hadn’t realized she was that until that very moment—to meet his second-favorite person. “I’m Morgan, Hugh’s sister!”
“Hi, I’m Elly,” said the visitor, smiling. Hugh wondered whether Elly would check out his sister the way a guy would. “You look just like Hugh,” she added, grinning again. She was a little nervous, Hugh could tell.
“Hugh was whistling Beethoven yesterday,” Morgan said, smiling archly at her brother. “And here, as requested, are the famous Green Egg Sandwiches … for both of you … sit, and eat, and I’ll get the Kool-Aid, unless you prefer tea?” She was hustling them to the little breakfast nook, and Elly was checking out the sandwiches already.
“Kool-Aid is good,” Elly said seriously.
Morgan watched with amusement as her brother feasted his eyes on Elly. Every atom of his body seemed to broadcast that she was perfect. And she was perfect; there was an easy confidence in her bearing, coupled with just the perfect touch of hesitation, that indicated that she did not want to take her surroundings for granted.
It was all natural, a good, well-brought-up girl, with good, middle-class parents. She made the humble Green home feel like a palace. Her eyes never stopped on the peeling paint, the chipped china, the cheap furniture mixed with a few lovely old things, but went from face to face, to the sandwiches, the nice things, such as the interesting stuff on the refrigerator, things Morgan had put there over the years, to make the house more homey for Hugh.
They sat down together and ate the sandwiches, and Morgan was delighted with Elly’s appreciation of them.
“Good mustard,” she said, in her velvety voice. “And something else …”
Morgan grinned. “White pepper,” she said. “I’m glad you like it!”
“They’re really good!” said Elly, nodding, her tongue sneaking out to get a spot of egg that was trying to escape.
They talked about Beatles and Beethoven, and Hugh was surprised that Morgan knew about Beethoven. Morgan assured him that she knew enough, but she was no expert. They were both surprised at how much Elly knew, as well as how wide her interests were. Morgan was watching the chemistry between her brother and the girl she was hoping would be soon a regular visitor. But there was something odd; Hugh’s excitement seemed to alternate with a gloom that he tried desperately to disguise. They went inside to where the stereo was, and listened to records. And Morgan caught each of them in odd moments, off guard, looking at the other with some kind of awkwardness.
And suddenly Morgan’s radar clicked. A fraction of a second later, she must have sent out her own signals, because she knew that Elly had caught it.
Elly had, indeed, seen something in Morgan’s pretty grey eyes which sent all thoughts of her concern for Hugh to the farthest back of her mind. Confused by the game of flirt-without-getting-caught that started then, both girls focused on Hugh, confusing him completely.
There really were some nice recordings in the house. Hugh’s father, Hugh Sr, liked Beethoven, and to lesser degree, Mozart. Elly puzzled over Morgan’s offhand remarks about him, but ignored them. Half an hour later, Elly thanked them, hugged Hugh, shook hands with Morgan, and got ready to leave.
“I’ll stay for the bus with you,” Hugh, offered, grabbing his baseball cap.
“Oh, you don’t need to,” Elly said quickly, glancing at Morgan and quickly back. Jeeze, she couldn’t keep ogling her like this. “I’m going to stop at the drugstore on my way,” she explained. Hugh should know enough to let her go to the drugstore by herself. Morgan was watching her with those all-seeing eyes of hers. She said goodbye again, and walked up the street.
She went into the drugstore, looking over her shoulder, just in case one of the Greens was watching. There was no one. She sighed. She headed to the magazines, and picked one. It was the bikini issue of Muscle Magazine.
There was a nude photograph of an incredibly handsome girl —all-natural, Elly noted, with satisfaction. She was sick to death of silicone-breasted girls. Morgan had perky little breasts, Elly had observed, and a little tattoo on one arm that had excited Elly. She studied the nude closely, sighing softly.
“There you are!” said a soft voice, too low to be overheard in the next aisle. Morgan was standing a few feet away, looking a little flushed. They looked at each other, flustered. “I hope you don’t mind me barging in on you like this,” Morgan said, coming a little closer.
Elly dropped her eyes, embarrassed. She had hoped Morgan would come, but she felt very bold for having hoped that. “I hope I wasn’t too obvious,” Elly said, with a nervous laugh.
“Nonsense,” said Morgan, briskly. “I needed some supplies too, and … you just happened to be here.” To cover her awkwardness, she gently took the magazine from Elly, and for a moment was distracted by the nude woman in it.
“Wow,” she breathed, “isn’t she something?”
“Yeah,” said Elly in the same tone of reverence, “I think I have to buy this one.”
“I’ll buy it for you!”
“Oh no,” said Elly, blushing, “you shouldn’t; we’ve only just met!” They laughed, and Morgan gave Elly the magazine back.
“Look,” said Morgan quietly, her face flushed, “would you like to go somewhere and talk?”
“Sure,” said Elly.
“I’ll wait near the entrance,” said Morgan, obviously alittle nervous about buying muscle-magazines at the hometown drugstore.
A little later they were on a bus out to the big regional mall, where they could get a little privacy in the crowds. They sat next to each other, feeling each other’s presence acutely, as well as each other’s nervousness.
For Elly it was such a strange feeling to find someone as nervous about meeting women as Elly was herself. Tom could walk up to any girl and proposition her. But Elly never had the nerve to do it. Neither girl wore perfume, and each wished she had. There was a moment when you wanted to smell good and memorable, and here it was, and … there it went.
It was more comfortable to walk about, talking.
“Are you seeing someone now?” Morgan had asked.
“No, not exactly,” she had said. “I’m in the middle of … a sort of awkward relationship, but …”
“Me neither,” said Morgan, looking down at the floor. “I’m at the end of an awkward relationship.”
“Was she pretty?”
“Yeah. Too pretty. Yours?”
Elly nodded and made a sound of assent. “I don’t want to talk about her,” she said, her eyes filling up. But she managed with just a couple of sniffs. “I miss her something terrible. But then, she comes and talks to me, and I wanted her to shut up and leave.”
It was Morgan’s turn to nod. “I remember times like that,” she said.
They talked a little more about girls in general, and how lonely it felt at night, after having someone in bed for so many years. Then they talked about completely different things, politics, music, Philadelphia, clothes, books.
Morgan looked at her watch.
“Shit,” she said, “I have to fix dinner.”
“Oh no,” said Elly, feeling guilty for having delayed her. “Come on, let’s get the next bus!”
They were soon in the bus, seated all the way at the back. There was some degree of privacy, and Morgan took a deep breath. She took Elly’s hand in hers. Elly didn’t resist. She looked straight ahead, blinking slowly.
Morgan studied her full, soft lips. She was sliding down the slope, and she couldn’t stop. She could slow down, but … there was no stopping now.
She had hurriedly put on a rather conservative dress, and she rested Elly’s hand on Morgan’s own thigh now, feeling the heat of Elly’s palm through the fabric of her dress. That was all she dared to do, thank god, she thought; she had to behave decently. Elly was from a good family.
“Where do you live?” she asked, her voice hoarse.
Elly told her. Morgan smothered a gasp. It was one of the wealthiest neighborhoods in the city.
“You have to get off soon, then,” she said. Elly nodded.
Morgan’s eyes were filled with Elly’s lips. She leaned forward and touched them with her own. Elly turned to meet her. Another kiss. But Elly turned her head away at the third. People were looking at them.
“I’m not ready,” Elly whispered, lowering her head to rest it on the back of the seat in front of her. But her hand clutched Morgan’s tightly. Suddenly she looked about. She was a couple of blocks from her stop. She rose to ring the bell. She looked straight at Morgan, and something magical passed between them. “I’ll see you again!” she said, soundlessly. In seconds she had stumbled out of the bus, and Morgan watched her disappear in the darkness. Then all she had to do was look out the window and avoid the stares of the women across from her.
Hugh was nowhere to be seen when she got home. She began to make supper in a hurry, her purse and shoes hidden away. She was ready to pretend she had been at it for a long while. She cursed their microwave that hardly worked any more. In fifteen minutes or so, the meal was mostly ready.
“Where the hell have you been?”
It was Hugh, and he hardly ever swore. Morgan stared at him.
“I’m starving!”
Morgan heaved a silent sigh of relief.
“There’s a couple of sandwiches left.”
“I ate them already,” he said, sitting at the table and looking impatient.
“Get out the plates. Set the table. Come on, you know what to do!”
The potatoes were undercooked, the beans were stringy, the meat was tough, but they ate it, quite cheerfully, actually. All Morgan could think of was Elly, Elly, Elly. In her mind she saw her soft brown hair, her lovely eyes, the curve of her breasts, the smooth roundness of her thighs, the eager notes of her voice. How her parents must love her, Morgan thought, glancing at her father. She … at least Hugh was fond of her. Usually it wasn’t enough. She longed to have a rich, glamorous father and a beautiful, elegant mother. It was childish to want such things, and that knowledge made her more bitter than ever. She longed to be like Elly, to have the things she had, to live in the part of the City in which she did. But none of it would ever happen to her. And she knew that she would never see Elly again.
“There’s dessert,” she said, dully. She had picked up a package of pudding mix at the Mall, and made it while she waited for the potatoes and beans.
It was a hit. Suddenly she was a hero. Her father grinned at her, and she smiled, awkwardly.
Unexpectedly, two days later, there was a knock on the door, and there stood Elly, looking very nervous, but smiling.
“May I come in?”
“Yes! Yes, of course, come in!” Morgan was flustered. She was dressed in the junk T shirt and cutoff jean shorts she wore normally, when visitors were not expected. “Oh, I’m a mess!” she exclaimed, looking at Elly’s nice skirt and top. She had dressed nicely—for her, Morgan thought, blushing—in nice, sexy clothes. The top, especially, brought out the womanly curves of Elly’s torso, and showed just a tiny strip of midriff—just perfect.
Elly drew in her breath instinctively, inflating her breasts, like all women did. A sleeve of Morgan’s own T was torn, and her breast showed through the tear. Without thinking, she cupped her breast in her hand, and then dropped it, blushing furiously. “I better go change,” she muttered. She hurried off to her room, and Elly followed. “I’ll just me a minute,” she said, at the door, but Elly slipped in and shut the door behind her.
They looked at each other for a long while, and then came together slowly. Without a word, Elly slowly drew off Morgan’s T shirt, leaving her breasts exposed.
“Are you ready now?” asked Morgan, her own voice surprising her with its gentle eloquence. She took Elly’s hand and drew her to the bed, feeling the movement of her own breasts with rising desire. Elly came, unresisting.
“Mostly, yes,” Elly said, her voice hoarse. The passion in her eyes was driving Morgan insane with need and impatience. But they were caught by the slow poetry of the pace they had set together. “You have beautiful breasts,” she said, stumbling over the words, her eyes looking over Morgan’s body hungrily.
Morgan choked. “My god, why … your breasts are much nicer,” she said.
Elly’s eyes glowed, and Morgan was pleased that she had said the right thing. Then she reached out her hand, and cupped Morgan’s breast, and it was heaven. Moistening her lips, Elly rubbed her thumb against Morgan’s nipple, and Morgan watched the pleasure in her eyes at the sensation of her hands on Morgan’s body. Morgan had wanted a sensualist, not an intellectual. Susan had been a shallow intellectual, and ultimately a hypocrite. It had always been Morgan worshiping Susan, but never the other way round. But Elly … Morgan longed to kiss her, but she said nothing, did nothing. The kiss was an important moment, and it had to be perfect. A kiss must happen, it must not be taken. In the bus, she had taken a kiss, and it had been sweet.
But this next one had to be perfect.
Elly knelt by her, and unbuttoned Morgan’s shorts, and pulled down the zipper. She wore nothing underneath, and Elly closed her eyes. Morgan was too fascinated to wonder whether Elly disapproved. She gently peeled off the shorts, and Morgan was naked. Elly put the shorts and T-shirt away, and returned to caress Morgan’s breasts. Like a feather, she stretched Morgan out on her bed, and bent over her, to study her flat belly. Then she parted her legs, and looked, fascinated at her sex, the soft folds of flesh, the thick moisture that had already begun to ooze from between them. Morgan willed her to touch, but she did not; her hands stayed on Morgan’s thighs, trembling.
“I want to look at your breasts,” Morgan said, not believing her boldness.
With a smile, Elly took off her top, revealing a large satin bra, brimming with the full breasts that gave the girl that lovely tone to her voice. Morgan leaned forward, turning her around, to unhook the three fasteners that kept the undergarment in place. Then Morgan turned her around, and they were in each other’s arms on the bed, touching, feeling, but carefully away from the more intimate touches that both longed for.
Elly pulled Morgan close, burying her face in her breasts.
“This is crazy,” she said, coming up to kiss the older girl, her breasts heavy on Morgan’s body. “I can’t believe this is happening!”
They were both naked now, both still at the point where mere touching and kissing was intense enough to keep them occupied. But soon Morgan had gone further. She slipped her hand between Elly’s legs, and stopped.
“Do you want this?” she asked, looking into Elly’s eyes. She was feeling something so strong, that Elly could hurt her with a single look. Fear filled her soul for a long minute.
“Yes,” said Elly, “do it! I want you inside!”
“Call my name,” Morgan insisted.
“Morgan … I want you inside!”
Morgan loved the way Elly said her name, the way her lips caressed it. Then, the moment Morgan slipped her fingers inside Elly, Elly slipped into Morgan’s heart, the way she knew it would happen. She saw her eyes widen just for a moment, then narrow as Elly focused her awareness in her vagina, in her belly where the intruder explored, spreading pleasure. Morgan felt her fingers caressed by Elly, and they left all caution aside as they raced towards knowing each other in every way, devouring each other, until they were one pleasure seeking organism, crazy with lust, but infinitely tender.
“I’m falling in love with you!” Morgan hated to say it, but it had to be said.
“Me too,” Elly whispered, and there were tears in her eyes.
“Why are you crying, pretty eyes?” Morgan asked. But Elly only shook her head, and wept silently. And Morgan thought she would love Elly so hard, she would die. It was not good to feel so much for a girl. But she did. She wanted Elly so bad, she couldn’t even remember being in love with anyone else.
After Elly had made love with Morgan all morning, she fell asleep in Morgan’s bed. She awoke around two, and found Morgan watching her, with a large plate of sandwiches ready for her lunch. Famished, Elly sat up, covered herself in a sheet up to her waist, and ate hungrily.
Morgan watched her hungrily.
“Stay with me all night!” she begged.
“I can’t,” said Elly, worried. “I have work tomorrow!”
“Well, go from here!”
“But your dad, and Hugh!”
“They won’t know,” Morgan said. “Here, call home, tell them you’ll have dinner here!”
So Elly called Peggy and said she would be gone all night. “Tell the Triplets goodbye for me!” she said, and Peggy promised her she would.
“Who was that? And who are these triplets?” Elly gave her a vague answer, and soon they were at it again.
Suddenly there were noises downstairs, and Morgan started. “Hugh!” she whispered, and rolled out of bed and got dressed. “Just stay in bed, and cover yourself with the sheet,” she instructed.
It was an awkward, lumpy bed, and Elly didn’t like it. The bed sheets were not too clean, either, because the two of them had done a thorough job of soiling them. But Elly waited, still as a mouse, listening to Morgan and Hugh arguing, Hugh eating his sandwiches, and clumping upstairs to his room. He banged about noisily, and Elly could tell he was in a bad mood.
Morgan came upstairs, and asked him roughly what his problem was.
“Nothing,” he growled.
“Come on,” she cajoled, “tell me!”
“Oh, it’s Elly,” said Hugh, “she didn’t show today.”
“Took leave?”
“Yeah; it was her day to work, but she … called in for a personal day.”
“Wow. Are you allowed to do that?”
“Not just anytime,” Hugh grumbled, “but she got hers.”
“Oh, you poor thing.”
“Oh, leave it, Sis.”
Morgan couldn’t resist the temptation to throw after him, “I don’t think she’s your type, Chip!”
“What do you mean?”
“Oh, just … call it intuition,” Morgan said, smiling. Hugh looked miserable. Elly, curled up in Morgan’s bed, could hear everything that went on upstairs. Morgan came and sat with her, silently holding hands, and then went downstairs to cook supper. Mr Green came in around six, came up to his room, and went back downstairs to watch TV. Hugh went out.
“I’m nervous and scared!” Elly whispered a little later when Morgan came up to check on her.
“Please, Elly, just tonight! Just one little night!”
After an eternity, the little household settled down to sleep. Finally Morgan slipped in with her, their door closed and locked, and Elly had Morgan’s breasts in her hands again. They kissed and kissed, scared that the sound of kissing would penetrate the walls. Gradually they did far more than kiss, keeping their lovemaking silent. Around them, the house was noisy, and they heard the snores of the boy and his father.
For a while, Elly simply let her own need dominate her mind, taking, taking all that she needed, feeding on the desire of her new friend and lover. Then, becoming more aware of the feelings of the other girl, she began to focus on her, giving, tenderly, discovering, full of wonder.
Early in the morning, Elly found Morgan’s face close to hers. Her eyes were glowing like lamps. She lightly brushed her lips against Elly’s. Every touch had become a message, and the message was always: I love you, I want you, don’t leave me.
The two of them crept downstairs, to the kitchen. Morgan helped Elly wash silently, and dress, in the kitchen, in the dark. They left the house silently, and walked in the pre-dawn stillness, holding hands. They began to speak in the same moment, and laughed.
“You first,” Elly said, quickly, tightening her grip on Morgan’s thin fingers.
“How do you feel about—all this?” Elly could sense her concern, despite the mild tone of the question. She didn’t answer right away, and Morgan said, “I have only ever slept with one girl. I don’t sleep around, I want you to know.”
Elly sighed, swinging her arm, forcing Morgan’s arm to swing with hers. She had told her some of her life, her love for her adopted aunt, and for that aunt’s half-sister, who had been born on the same day as she, Elly. How that girl had seen Elly through her difficult teen years, but how her own needs had driven them apart.
“So I’m not a whole person,” Elly told her, “I belong to these other people, and I love them, and … I’m afraid what I have left to give you might be only … my longing for them! And you deserve more, you’re so wonderful!” So far it had sounded like a regretful no. But that was not what Elly wanted to say. She stopped and faced Morgan, studying her face. Was this the face of her future, her life? Was this her life partner? And to her surprise, a little voice inside her cried, take her, take her, yes!
“Can you accept a hurt, damaged remnant of a person?”
The look in Morgan’s eyes transformed in a second from hopelessness to delirious joy. She threw her thin arms round Elly, and began to cry, tears of happiness.
“Oh Elly, for a minute there … I thought you were saying no! No, you’re not a broken fragment, anything. We can do it. I can be happy, we can be happy. I can be happy with hardly anything, if I have you!”
“All right,” said Elly, giving Morgan a gentle smile of acceptance. Her heart had ached for Morgan, for the poverty in which they lived. Somehow they had a home in a decent neighborhood, but it was clear that their income was barely above poverty level. A large part of what Elly felt for Morgan was pity. But there was a genuine attraction between them, and Elly liked Morgan, and saw the potential there. She had graduated from College, after all, from an excellent school. Why had she not looked for work? These were all things she had to learn. But the sheer pleasure of having someone to call her own, that alone was wonderful. She had a lover again! A name, a face to keep her company through the nights. And they’d find ways to be together.
They made plans to meet secretly, without Hugh’s knowledge. It seemed important to both of them that Hugh should not know. He would be too hurt. Elly needed to learn more about Morgan’s world.
And so they parted, for the moment. Elly found a restaurant that was open all night, and started on a big breakfast. She’d eat slowly until it was time for work.
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