Chapter 8
Jennifer awoke, stretched, and groped for something that was not there. She opened her eyes wide, turning her head to seek what was missing. And then she knew. Bruce. Bruce was gone, but the long imprint of him was there. She touched the imprint, stroking it, remembering.
Remembering! Realization flooded her, striking deep at something inside. Her heart? It seemed her whole viscera were involved. And it numbed her.
She had had a man! She, Jennifer, had let a man fuck her. Oh, yes, she could use a word like that now. In humiliation, in degradation.
How could she have done it? How could she possibly have let a man touch her body, possess it completely, slide his prick into her belly and take her-not once but twice?
I must have been mad. Crazy. Quite crazy. Even to think of it! Let alone allow it to happen. And yet I not only allowed it, I connived at it. I sought it. Oh, not that particular moment -with that particular man. But I sought sex. Just by coming on this cruise.
There's no one to blame but me. I deliberately sought out this cruise. I even prepared for having sex. I bought The Pill.
Jennifer shivered and pulled the sheet around her nakedness. Naked! She was still naked, as Bruce had seen her, as Bruce had possessed her.
And, worst of all, I enjoyed it. My body enjoyed it. There were delicious thrills...
Jennifer deliberately put a stop to those errant thoughts. They weren't hers. She would deny them, and deny the night before. Wipe it out.
Only it wouldn't wipe out. Memory swept in waves over her. And the sensible, sane side of Jennifer glared at them, scowled them back into some depth of her being. Bruce hadn't been that tender. He hadn't thrust his prick that far up her, and exploded those delicious...
Jennifer cowered in her bunk. I'm depraved. I'm lewd. I can't -I won't think such things. I won't be such a person. That girl is an animal!" And the animals went in, two by two..." Yes, it takes two to be animalistic. So I cooperated. I was part of that animalistic act. That-fucking!
But how had it come about? Jennifer tried, behind her eyes that shut out-no, shut in-pictures of last night's debauch-to piece together the events that had led up to this-this awful, degrading night, when her body had been used. She ended those thoughts definitely, with finality. She had spent twenty years under Mother Dear's domination, under her precepts of right and wrong-and anything having to do with a man was wrong. Nauseously wrong. Violently, sick-making wrong!
The release of Mother Dear's death had ended her tyranny but it hadn't ended her precepts. It was against these that Jennifer had rebelled. Rebelled violently. Rushed to Cass, just because her body craved-something.
Those precepts were right! Those and what lingering memory Jennifer had of early Sunday school training. But not altogether. Sunday school teachings, and her other readings, had said such things were wrong. Mother Dear had said they were horrid! Filthy! Vile!
They weren't horrid. They were delightful, as Jennifer now knew. There were sensations that... Jennifer resolutely climbed out of bed and stalked to the shower. A cold shower would sting away those erring, wicked thoughts.
It didn't. It simply reminded her that last night she had used parts of her anatomy never really used before and other parts in ways that were new-and, of course, horrid. Only sometimes it was difficult to remember exactly how horrid they were. Waves of delicious languor swept up, obliterating the horridness.
She twisted around and viewed her tokus- which still showed a fading but once gaudy red from the Merthiolate. And remembering how the Merthiolate had been applied, Jennifer flushed.
But, remembering how she had received those bruises, Jennifer gulped, shuddering. A momentary step in the dark and a plunge that would have been fatal except for Bruce, whose strong arms had grabbed her.
And the gray shift? What had happened to the betraying gray shift that had left her naked? Was it still hanging like a flag from some stanchion on the boat deck for all to see? For all to know that here a girl had abandoned her clothing and her inhibitions?
Jennifer emerged from the shower, toweling her hair, aware of a sound at her door. Before she could retreat a trim Javanese stewardess walked in, holding the gray shift.
She smiled at Jennifer. "Mr. Caldwell said you tore this last night on a stanchion. I have mended it."
She displayed the back of the shift, where the tear had been skillfully, almost invisibly repaired. The shift had been pressed. It smelled freshly ironed.
Jennifer turned to her dresser, reaching for her purse, when the stewardess exclaimed, "Your backside! You have injured your backside! How does this occur? Your pardon... I do not mean to ask that. It is only that I would help if I could."
Jennifer corkscrewed herself around to study her derriere. "I think it's all right now. That's mostly Merthiolate. I-skidded." Jennifer held out a bill to the girl.
"Oh, no. That is service of the line. Mr. Caldwell say, line at fault. Fix dress."
Jennifer thrust the bill at the girl, taking the shift. "Nonsense. You did the work. And it wasn't altogether the line's fault. I was somewhere I shouldn't have been, I expect. So..."
The Javanese girl sighed. "Thank you. It is very kind of you." She backed out with a little bobbing bow, smiling.
Still, Jennifer was not going to wear that shift today. Let it hang in her wardrobe, a reminder. As if she needed one.
The shift was put away. But not the memories. Of course, she would have to thank Bruce for saving her life. It seemed to her she had done that last night, but it should be done in less stimulating surroundings, when things were- calmer. Even thanking him would, of course, remind her-remind both of them-of all that had followed.
She slipped into a silvery greenish number that had the very breath of spring, pinned on an aquamarine clasp that seemed to set it off, and went down to the dining salon and breakfast with almost unseemly haste, as only a normally healthy young female who had had abundant sex the night before could approach a breakfast.
Elsie, eager and seeming to bounce in her seat, was the only one of her tablemates present. But she was making up in eagerness and talk for the other two. "Anna has a hangover. She shouldn't mix her drinks. I've told her and told her... But we did have a lovely time. Some of the boys are really good musicians. After the dance we went down on C deck and had a real 'way-out session. Till five a.m." Elsie yawned majestically. "I got about an hour's sleep. Maybe I should'a stayed in bed. Like Anna. Except she's groaning and has the trots. You're lucky. A private cabin. Nobody to disturb your sleep..."
Jennifer nodded, deliberately willing herself not to flush. She had had someone to disturb her sleep. Bruce. Even very forcibly not thinking about him brought a slow warmth to her body, almost a glow in very private areas. Sternly Jennifer forbade her body to respond so eagerly. Not that it did any particular good, it seemed.
Elsie was scooping eagerly at her grapefruit. "I love breakfast. Lots of people don't. I mean --just a cup of coffee and maybe a snarl for the cat. I like to eat. I guess it shows." She patted one plump hip contentedly. "You look as if you could eat. Like you slept well. I mean, you aren't all tensed up the way you were yesterday. You look-oh-relaxed. Like you might be willing to enjoy this cruise after all."
Jennifer frowned thoughtfully. "Was I? Tensed? Yes, I guess I was keyed up. That's why I took this cruise."
Taking a large hot buttered roll, Elsie nodded. "It's already done you good. I can see."
So her body was betraying her. Again! Daring to show up-and at breakfast-relaxed and at ease when she should be showing the horrors of betrayal.
Somehow she knew Bruce was behind her chair even before Elsie beamed and waved a butter knife at him. "Hi, Mister Caldwell!"
Jennifer resolutely studied the menu while they talked above her head.
"I hear Anna needs a bullet to bite on. Or a hair of the gay dog that bit her. I've sent a stewardess to her cabin with a-harumph-restorative. I don't guarantee it, but it has been known to get a roar out of an old bearskin rug."
"That's Anna. She was wondering this morning who laid that old bearskin rug down in place of a tongue. Thanks, Mister Caldwell."
"Bruce. Make it Bruce. Simpler. And don't forget. We'll be in the tropics by tonight." He touched Jennifer lightly on the shoulder and her body stiffened, feeling too many responses, so she locked herself away. "The Southern Cross will be visible tonight. Am I going to have the pleasure of introducing you to it, Jennifer?"
That was ridiculous. How did you introduce someone to the Southern Cross? "Miss Lorn, the Southern Cross. Southern Cross, Miss Lorn- whom I am going to take below and screw a dozen different ways." That's what Bruce was really saying.
But he wouldn't. Not this night. Jennifer wouldn't be so unnerved by her near brush with death, by the betrayal of her body, responding in his arms. She would be calm, resolute. And thank him very nicely for saving her life. And go down to bed. Alone.
Jennifer hadn't realized how bleak the prospect sounded.