Chapter 11
If Jack Able had been having a problem these last few weeks, it was no more severe than the one which afflicted Jill.
With Jill, the torment was not physical, however. Her problem was psychological in nature. She had been deprived of her special vice the one form of pleasure which was more important to her than all others.
As a result of Big Lou Rombaugh's admonitions, there was not a man in town who would have anything to do with her. This included even Mort Hopper and Pete Larrabee. They looked, as did all the others. But anyone would have thought Jill had leprosy or some other dread, contagious disease, as reluctant as every man was to touch her.
Only the men of the town had been warned, however, for in Fruitvale the thought of love between women was practically unheard of. Certainly Big .Lou hadn't considered this. Nor had the operator of the Fruitvale Hotel.
So when Laura Preston, a woman in her middle thirties who was a buyer for the Rombaugh Company and spent most of her time outside the office, came to call on Jill at the hotel one night, the manager didn't hesitate to send her up to Jill's room.
Though Laura and Jill had become pretty well acquainted over the weeks, Jill had no idea the older girl was a Lesbian.
To Jill, Lesbianism was something that existed far away-on the patios of Hollywood, the penthouses of New York, and the art studios of Paris. She hadn't thought about this much at all, as a matter-of-fact.
She hadn't ever really considered whether she would derive satisfaction from the attentions of a woman. Men had always occupied the center of her interest ... if not her body.
So she didn't think anything, one day, of slipping into the ladies room at the office with Laura and casually lifting her dress as they stood chatting in the open area beside the sinks. "My darned elastic keeps slipping," Jill explained as she held her skirt and slip about her middle and restored the top of her panties to their proper position at her waist. Laura stared.
The female buyer was black-haired, more sophisticated in appearance than most of the girls in that part of the country, and she had appealing, dark-blue eyes. Almost purple, they were. Now these purple eyes took on a brighter-than-usual gleam.
"How lovely," Laura murmured.
"My pants?" Jill asked innocently. She dropped he skirts. "Yes, I like nice ones. I buy nothing but all-nylon. Some day I'm going to have some that are real silk."
, "I have some like that," Laura remarked.
"Do you? Really? Where did you get them?"
"A shop in Hollywood. I used to live down there."
"How exciting!" Jill said. "What did you do?"
"I was a kind of secretary."
"Well! I didn't know you knew typing and shorthand. Maybe you could give me some pointers."
"I don't, actually." Laura smiled. "I can see you don't' understand how a girl could be a secretary without being able to take shorthand and type, but you see I was an executive secretary. I handled ... appointments only."
"Oh." Jill's expression revealed that she still didn't understand fully.
"I met important men who were calling on my boss and I sort of saw that they were taken care of. Now do you understand?"
"Maybe."
Laura was certain the other girl didn't understand, and this was perhaps just as well.
"We ought to get together some time," Laura remarked as they walked out of the ladies' room. I mean, away from the office and all somewhere where we could really let our hair down."
"Sounds nice," Jill said.
And this was what led to Laura's visit at the young girl's hotel room on the evening in question. To Jill, letting one's hair down with another girl meant chatter about clothes and men and other subjects of special interest to females. She was to learn, however, that this expression had a totally different connotation as far as Laura was concerned.
Laura had been converted to Lesbianism when she lived in Southern California. She had found this a welcome change from the sort of "Love" she was required to purvey to the clients of her employer. There were many clients and potential clients of the public relations company who had to be made happy, and some of these required a great deal of attention.
Women, on the other hand, were gentler and more permissive and required only what Laura wanted to give. Love with them had meaning, whereas with men, it had become a ritualistic exercise without substance.
In Idaho there weren't many opportunities for a woman with Laura's exotic taste . (though there were more than most of the local residents would have thought) and she was therefore constantly on the lookout for recruits. The intimate glimpse of Jill which Laura had enjoyed in the company washroom had persuaded the older woman that here was a prospect of rare quality one which should not be neglected.
When Laura arrived at Jill's room, she found the other girl in shorts and halter. "I like to go around this way when I'm alone," Jill explained. "Somehow, this feels so much freer."
"You know, when I'm alone," the black-haired girl confided, "T usually wear nothing at all. That gives you the freest feeling you can imagine."
"I'll bet," Jill smiled.
"Haven't you ever wanted to try that."
"Well, I've thought about it," Jill admitted. "But you've never tried?" Jill shook her head.
"Why don't you try right now and see what it's like?" Laura said. "There's no harm. We're both girls."
Jill had a peculiar sensation as she looked in Laura's violet eyes. She wondered if perhaps there would be some thrill in baring herself that way so boldly in front of another woman.
"Go ahead," Laura urged. Laughingly, she reached for a strap of Jill's halter. "Here ... do you want me to help?"
"Oh, I don't think we'd better ... I mean..."
But Laura was insistent. Her fingers worked deftly at the bit of cloth about Jill's upper body, and almost before the younger girl realized what had happened, her firm and shapely breasts tumbled out.
"Oh, they're beautiful!" Laura exclaimed.
The obvious sincerity in Laura's voice and the way that her dark-blue eyes now gleamed caused a ripple of excitement to course through Jill. This was the sort of feeling she'd had only with men before.
"Do you really think so?" Jill asked.
"Yes! You ought to be a nude model. You really ought to, dear." Laura took her by the shoulders and turned her first this way, then that. "Oh, yes. They're the prettiest I've ever seen."
Jill was surprised and pleased ... and stimulated, too. Such a long time had passed since she had been admired, that this admiration from a woman excited her almost as much as that she had been used to receiving from men.
"I've thought of modeling," Jill admitted (for, in truth she had), but I always thought I'd have too hard a time getting started. They say a new girl has a lot of trouble breaking in that it's kind of like a private club for a few girls."
"That isn't so ... if a girl has the kind of qualifications you have." Laura was staring at Jill's large erect, pink-nippled breasts. "Here let me help you strike some poses. You know, I happen to have had a little experience with models. That is, the company I worked for in Hollywood handled them."
"What kind of company were you with?" Jill asked as the other girl moved her from one position to another, gazing critically at the results.
"Public relations. We had models who worked on special jobs beauty contests, store openings things of that sort." She adjusted Jill's arms. "Now, put your shoulders back just a little more. That's good.
And..." She was still staring at Jill's breasts. "Oh, this will never do."
"What?"
"Your nipples. They're too soft. When you model in the nude, your nipples ought to be ... well ... extended. Here. Let's see."
As the other girl's finger came into contact with the summit of Jill's right breast, a thrill shot through her which was not at all unlike the sensation she was used to receiving when a boy touched her there. Jill marveled at this. She marveled so much, as a matter-of-fact, that she didn't think to restrain Laura as the other girl moved her finger back and forth, tickling Jill's sensitive flesh with the edge of her nail. (Or perhaps she didn't want to restrain Laura. But Jill, of course, would not admit this even to herself.)
Jill's right nipple quickly began to rise, stretching forward and swelling at the same time, until the nubbin stood tall and thick and trembling atop the white fleshy dome. The aureole about the nipple puffed up, also.
As she stared at the fresh young girl's eager response, Laura Preston's red tongue darted forward to touch her lips. "Oh, yes! That's perfect. Now, let's do the other one, shall we?"
Jill became a little embarrassed now and decided she should call a halt. She restrained Laura's approaching hand. "I think that's enough," she said, her voice surprisingly husky.
"What's the matter?" Laura asked innocently.
"Does my touch bother you?"
"No. Not really. But ... well, this doesn't seem quite right somehow."
"How do you know?" Laura replied, her eyes very bright and intense. "Have you ever been with another girl? Do you really know how that feels at all? Do you have any idea?"
"No." Jill's brow furrowed. "Do you mean that you ... that you like to ... make love with another woman?"
Laura smiled, though she was far from cool. Her excitement was plain to Jill, and this served further to heighten Jill's own response, and her curiosity as well. "Yes, I do," Laura admitted. "Well ... don't look so shocked. There's really nothing unusual about that. In sophisticated places, there are lots of women who prefer other women to men. We're not monsters. We're not even strange, really. We just have a different preference."
Jill stared at her and felt the excitement rise and spread, in much the same way as if she were with a man. Even more strongly, perhaps, for the experience which Laura offered to share with her was one which Jill had never really thought about before. This was something new, and therefore especially stimulating.
"Why not try?" Laura asked, touching Jill along the arm very gently. The older woman's fingers did things that Jill didn't want to admit to herself. But what could she do? She couldn't deny the way she felt.
"We shouldn't ... " was the only objection Jill could raise, and even this was spoken in a tone which made quite plain that she was considering doing what Laura had suggested.
"Why not?" the other girl argued. "Who will be hurt?" She hesitated. "If you're a virgin, this is one kind of love you can enjoy completely without having to worry. You'll still be a virgin when I leave here. That I promise."
Jill found herself unable to resist this argument.
The truth was that she wanted to try. She wanted to see what this was like.
And she was tremendously stimulated by the excitement which was displayed on the face of the other woman. Heretofore Jill had seen such a reaction only on the face of a man ... and men were dangerous; they could hurt a girl. But with another girl, there was nothing to be afraid of.
Jill and Laura sank to the bed and the older girl guided Jill's fingers to the top of her dress. As Laura removed Jill's shorts and the gossamer panties which she wore beneath them, Jill lowered the top of the other girl's dress. She lowered Laura's brassiere. And she began to toy with the smallish, brown-tipped breasts which were unveiled.
Laura had to instruct Jill every step of the way.
And Jill found every step exciting.
There was not only the excitement of Laura's desire for her; there was Jill's own physical response which, surprisingly, seemed to be awakened even more strongly by this woman than had ever been the case with a man.
After they were both completely nude and had caressed one another for just a few minutes, Jill found that she was so passionately aroused she could hardly wait to carry the game to the fulfillment which beckoned her.
She kissed Laura hungrily ... on the lips, on the nipples, everywhere. And then Laura guided her to a special arrangement of bodies which was unlike any Jill had ever imagined.
The girls continued to kiss, now more passionately than ever.
When fulfillment reached her, Jill virtually exploded with ecstatic delight. Warmth enveloped her and she trembled for minutes as every last bit of passion was spent.
Afterward, as they lay side by side caressing gently, Laura asked, "Well? That was pretty good, didn't you think?"
Jill had to struggle to find her voice even then: "I ... had ... no idea..."
Laura laughed gently. "No girl does, until she finds out. What a pity so many don't have the chance to learn."
"I thought I could feel that way only with a man ... or when I thought about a man."
Laura raised herself on an elbow and looked down at the other girl. "But you've never let a man go all the way."
"I know. I was always afraid."
"So you've found the perfect answer," Laura told her gently. "There's no reason to be afraid with me ... or any woman. A woman can't hurt you. She can only make you feel good and happy and free from tension all over."
Jill snuggled close to the older girl. "Oh, Laura ... you're so wonderful. I . ... " She stopped.
"Go ahead. Say what you were going to."
Jill laughed nervously. "I ... can't. That would sound so sort of funny."
"No. What you were going to say wouldn't sound funny at all. I've heard that very thing from other girls, and I've said that to them, too." She took one of Jill's lovely breasts in her hand and began to caress the nipple gently. "Do you want me to show you?"
"Y-yes."
"Very well." Laura smiled warmly at her. "I love you. Now, that didn't sound too peculiar, did it?"
"No. That didn't sound peculiar at all."
"Then you tell me. Go ahead."
She clutched the other girl and pulled her close breast to breast, cheek to cheek. Her lips were at Laura's ear:
"Oh, darling, I do love you. I love you so!"
"Angel . ... " Laura breathed and began to caress Jill's satin-smooth back.
From there the two girls set out upon the passionate journey again.
That first evening with Laura Preston brought a change to Jill's life which the nineteen-year-old would not have thought possible.
What she had learned of particular significance was that she didn't need men at all.
Jill could derive all the satisfaction from a girl she had ever had with a man ... and more. She could do everything with a girl without fear or anxiety of any kind.
There was no sense of guilt, for Jill had long been resigned to the fact that she was somewhat different. So loving a woman was just being different in another way.
From that first evening, she lost interest in men altogether.
The men of Fruitvale, however, did not lose their interest in her. Not Jack Able.
Or Pete Larrabee, who remembered the one peculiar date they'd had and whose longing for another chance with Jill had been growing from week to week until this had become something of an obsession.
Not Mort Hopper or the other men who saw her men who worked in the plant or had other jobs around town. She was a favorite topic of conversation for all of them, and they all shared a common wish: To get her under the moonlight on some warm evening and work out with her desire which gripped them every time they saw her walk by, twisting her lovely bottom and jiggling her breasts as her high heels clicked against the sidewalk.
Even her Uncle Lou entertained such thoughts.
Now that he was living alone (for his wife still had not returned) he thought of his lovely niece more often than ever, and in a far bolder way. He now not only admitted to himself that he wanted her, but he nearly had reached the point where he was ready to do something about it. In the large house by himself most evenings, he had begun to drink more heavily than he used to do. And when he drank, his brain came alive with visions of luscious young Jill dancing in the nude, swinging her naked breasts before him and teasing him with the firm young legs and backside which he had longed for since that first evening in her hotel room.
But on these occasions in his liquor-nourished dreams she didn't only tease him. She gave herself to him. Fully. Passionately. And he took her ravenously. He was a young man again in these dreams ... and Jill might have been his childhood sweetheart instead of his niece.
Still, when he was sober, he didn't dare say or do anything which would give his secret passion away. This would be unthinkable, unforgivable, an affront to Nature and to the sister who had trusted him with the care of her most precious treasure. He couldn't face himself were he to do such a thing. He couldn't go on living.
So Big Lou Rombaugh brooded and drank, and only when he'd been drinking did he dare entertain such sinful thoughts only then when his personal censor was drugged into insensibility and the animal within him had free rein.
As for the other men in town, they had no compunction about thinking ... or talking among themselves. But they were restrained from action by the admonitions of Big Lou.
No one could stand against Big Lou Rombaugh in Fruitvale and survive. Not only did he wield a lot of economic power, in several forms, but he was almost universally respected. This remained true in spite of the breakup of his marriage and what had brought this about. Men understood. And women ... well, so long as he wasn't their husbands, they could be tolerant of what he had done. So Big Lou's status in Fruitvale had not suffered materially.
Lou had made the point crystal clear to all the men in town, either directly or by word that was passed from one to another, that his niece was strictly off limits as far as they were concerned, and they knew Big Lou would enforce this "diet by every means available to him. So they kept hands off.
But they talked.
"A bunch of us ought to get together," Pete Larrabee was telling a group of cronies at the Red Apple Bar. "If there was a bunch of us, we could make her come across, and what would Big Lou be able to do?"
"Are you nuts?" one of his friends retorted. "The guys who broke into her hotel room tried that and they're still running ... that is, if they haven't been caught by this time."
"But we could get her out into the country; one of us could lure her and the others would be waiting."
"Rape's rape, man!"
"Yeah, but she wouldn't holler ... not after the whole business was over and done with."
"T wouldn't bank on that."
Pete stared morosely at his glass and guessed that maybe she would. Tf she didn't holler to the sheriff, she would probably whisper in Big Lou's ear and that would be as bad or worse.
They talked at the grocery store, too, when there no women around and a couple or three of the guys had the place to themselves:
"Man. I got close that first night," Mort Hopper was saying. "I mean, the first night she was in town. She was just as warm and friendly as you please. The only thing was, I didn't want old Wilbur to know what was goin' on. Shoot, I should've bedded down in her room and let Wilbur go shinny up a lamp post!"
"You really think you could have made her, huh?" one of Mort's close friends asked.
"All I had to do was reach. Why, I've tumbled broads in the back room here who haven't smiled at me half that nice."
"Too bad, Mort. You really missed out on something good there."
"Maybe I haven't missed out yet," he said. "There still might be a chance."
"Not after Big Lou said what he did. You're just dreamin' if you think you're gonna get anywhere with that babe now."
Jack Able didn't talk about Jill. But he did a lot of thinking. He couldn't get her out of his mind, and he couldn't forgive her for the fact that she was indirectly responsible for the social ostracism he was suffering. Except for the way she had led him on that night when they'd gone out and then refused him, he wouldn't have gotten caught loving Linda Samuels in her bedroom, and he wouldn't have landed on the don't-date list of every decent girl in town.
Of the ones who were available to him, Marjorie Steck had proved the most satisfactory, but she was darned near old enough to be his mother.
Why he didn't move on to another town, Jack Able didn't know ... unless perhaps this was because he still entertained some hope of getting Jill.
Hope was all the men of Fruitvale seemed to have.
And by this time Jill herself couldn't care less. She had found a form of excitement and satisfaction far better than that which she'd gotten from any boy or man.
She had Laura Preston.
Laura had given her a new outlook on life.
Jill didn't need men any more. They could all take a flying leap, as far as she was concerned. She had what she wanted what she had always wanted, she guessed.
She only wished that she and Laura could be together all the time. As things were, Laura was out on the road a lot. But as soon as the summer and the year's apple harvest were over, perhaps they could get a job in the same office.
In Southern California, maybe.
Jill had talked with Laura about this, and the older girl had said it might be possible. She had been a little indefinite, but Jill would keep after her.
They could have their own apartment in Hollywood and be together all the time night and day.
They could spend every night in the same bed. What could be more wonderful?
As for her mother, Jill didn't care what the old lady thought. Jill had never cared, really. She had been dependent upon her mother as long as she lived in Portland, but now that she had proved she could take care of herself, she wasn't dependent on anyone.
She could go where she wanted to go, do what she wanted to do, and live with whomever she chose
And the person she wanted to live with was Laura Preston. Only Laura. No one else. Ever.
A new happiness had come to Jill, and a new pride, too. A deeper sense of meaning had entered her life.
She couldn't give this up. Regardless of what happened, she had discovered what made life worthwhile, and such an understanding, once acquired, could not be lost.
All of Jill's thoughts were devoted to Laura and to planning ahead for both of them.