Chapter 9

The music was going full blast and a few couples were still on their feet doing what apparently was supposed to pass for dancing, when Ursula arrived with her father, Victorio, who was in a festive mood and admired the tempo of youth. She had not been able to lose him, so she had decided to drag him along to Sheila's party rather than miss out on seeing Melanie. She sought out Sheila and found her with a group of friends playing the high priestess, demanding an article of clothing from an inebriated unsuspecting athlete. The poor victim was offering up his belt and was having a difficult time holding up his pants.

"Sheila, have you seen Melanie," interrupted Ursula.

"Oh, little Miss Innocence, is on the second floor behind a locked door I believe," Sheila answered gaily. "But don't be surprised, pet, if there's nothing left of her for you."

Ursula was infuriated by the remark, but she had her own way of getting back at Sheila. She turned to the athlete who was Sheila's slave in the game of removing clothes and said, "Give the bitch your blindfold, stupid," as she marched out of the room destroying Sheila's fun.

As Melanie opened the door to the small guest bedroom she was stopped cold. It took a few seconds for her to focus her tearful eyes on Ursula, who stood before her, staring in disbelief, her hand still raised in mid air ready to knock.

"Ursula!"

The tall Italian beauty seemed unnaturally pale as her dark eyes flashed over Melanie's disheveled hair and wrinkled dress. A wave of despair swept through Melanie as Ursula's gaze moved from her to the opened bedroom door. The lovely lips twisted into a cynical smile.

"They told me I'd probably find you up here," Ursula remarked flatly. "It appears they knew what they were talking about."

Melanie moved instinctively to intercept the taller girl who stepped to the opened door but then realized she was too late. She stood helplessly by, feeling shamed and sick, as Ursula peered inside to where Olivia sat on the edge of the bed, casually fitting her breasts into her lace-trimmed brassiere. Melanie saw Ursula's back stiffen and then relax again in tiny quivering degrees.

Olivia turned her head and her childish dimples flashed as she smiled at her audience. "Ursula, darling. I was hoping you'd show up tonight, Melanie and I were just...."

Ursula slammed the door on the velvety voice and turned to stare coldly at Melanie. "When you decide to do something, you really go all the way, don't you? Who's next on the list? Mrs. Briar?"

Melanie winced under the verbal lash of the cold and bitter voice. "Ursula, please ... let me explain

"Don't bother, baby," Ursula said crisply, pushing Melanie to one side. "I've heard it all before."

Melanie watched Ursula's lean and graceful form move away and hurry down the hall to where an elderly man was waiting near the head of the stairs.

"Watch it papa. That little virgin could teach you a thing or two."

The terrible sinking sensation deep within Melanie was unlike anything she'd ever experienced. It was as if a part of her was being wrenched out by the roots. Finally, sobbing, she broke out of her numbness and ran desperately down the corridor. "Ursula, wait! Please wait."

The tall brunette and her father turned the corner of the staircase and disappeared from view.

"Ursula!"

A body lurched into Melanie's path, checking her progress, putting an end to any hopes she might have had of catching up to Ursula. It was Hank Meyerson. Melanie came to an abrupt stop as he gripped her wrist. Her spirits sinking, she realized that there was no longer any point in trying to pull free and continue after Ursula.

"Hey, where you been, Red?" the art student slurred. "I been lookin' all over for you, honey."

"Hank, let me go. Let me go."

Hank pulled her into the alcove and pushed her against the wall, using his thick body to block any avenue of escape. "Why did you run out on me, huh," he said dully, his eyes bloodshot and his hard chest pressing against her still sensitive breasts. "Is that any way to treat a guy from Chicago?"

Melanie's nerves were worn thin and the strong stench of whiskey breath was adding to her disgust. She struggled to free the wrist Hank held doubled behind her back and ward off the other hand that was moving up the side of her thigh to her hip. She twisted her face to one side just to time to avoid a slobbering kiss and a spurt of acute distaste shot through her as his wet mouth slid across her cheek to nibble at her ear.

"Hank, who do you think you are? Let me go, now. Damn you, let me go," she screamed, wincing as her body flattened under the bulky weight of his body.

"C'mon, Red," he blubbered, pinioning her to the wall, his hand moving up to cover and knead the fullness of her breasts. "Let's have some fun, huh? Let's have ourselves a ball. Everybody else is doing it. How about you and me?"

Melanie began to feel dizzy as his sour breath floated around her face like a heavy cloud. The hand that was punishing her breasts was much too crude and rough. The long fingers pressed deeply and coarsely into her flesh in cruel contractions, hurting her. The wet lips seemed to be all over her face no matter how frantically she tried to escape them. They captured her lips and she sobbed with frustration. "Stop it," she gasped, wrenching away. "So help me, if you don't...."

"What's a matter with you?" he mumbled, his hand tightening on her breasts and making her nipple throb painfully. "Who the hell you think you are? A virgin or something?"

Melanie drew strength from her desperation. Without fully considering the consequences of her actions, she turned her body and drove her knee upwards against the leaning weight of his stocky physique. Hank's breath exploded into her face as he cried out in shocked pain. Melanie shoved his crumpling body away as she dashed toward the staircase, her heart thumping with fearful excitement. She could hear Hank's guttural groans even as she began descending the stairs two at a time. The sounds of his violent retching was dangerously contagious and she felt nausea fluttering within her own body as she slowed and told herself that he was beyond chasing her.

Once she reached the first floor of the huge chalet, Melanie drew a deep breath and wiped the film of clammy perspiration from her feverish face. The throbbing of her breasts continued and her lips were still stinging from the cruel punishment of Hank's teeth. She felt shaken and weak and sullied by the incident and, as she stood and looked around at the party surrounding her, her disgust increased steadily.

The open archway of the rumpus room testified to the fact that the news of the party must have spread over the village. It had tripled in size since her arrival and the dozens of boys and girls seemed to be caught up in the orgiastic atmosphere. Everyone of them appeared drunk and everyone of them had apparently shed all their inhibitions.

A boy and girl stood a few feet from her and the girl's skirt was hiked high around her waist by the boy's moving hands. Another couple were sprawled on the floor of the high ceilinged reception room and their bodies were moving together in feverish urgency. A trio of raucous males staggered from one room to the adjoining one, dressed ludicrously in their lettered sweaters and colorful shorts and white sweat socks. A brassiere dangled from a light fixture on the wall and someone had become ill just to one side of the stairs.

Melanie saw all these things and even though she realized Ursula might still be somewhere in the chalet, she knew she could no longer remain a part of such a spectacle. Bitter tears of self shame were already brimming at the corners of her eyes as she was forced to see herself in each of the guests who lurched in and out of view.

Finally, with a convulsive sob, she turned and plunged out of the chalet away from the noise, away from the sordid abandonment, away from her own shame. The night air whipped across her face as she continued to run across the gravel driveway and snow-covered grounds. She gulped at the clean air greedily, unable to get enough of it, unable to suppress the convulsive sobs that wracked her body.

Then, when the noise of the party no longer pursued her, she stopped running. Her legs ached as she walked tiredly down the highway. A degree of lucidity returned as her breathing became quieter and Melanie was able to think of what she had left behind. The disgust was still strong within her but not nearly so strong as the contempt she felt for herself.

What a fool she was for having wanted so desperately to be a part of such a scene. What an idiot she'd been for having yearned to be exactly like The Witchwags. They were spoiled and selfish and sluttish, for all their superficial sophistication, and they'd almost succeeded in contaminating her with their jaded beliefs.

Melanie shivered as she walked along the road leading back to Turbenthal Hall. In fleeing from the party, hadn't she really been trying to flee from herself? From the ugliness of her actions? From the shaming insinuation of Olivia's casual words?

Was it possible for a person to draw pleasure from being intimate with another person of their own sex without being homosexual? Was it possible to feel a desire for another girl without being a lesbian? Was it possible to do all these things she had done with Kate, Ursula and Olivia without being ... queer? Brilliant conclusions; it didn't seem likely. No more likely than Olivia's comfortable and self protective belief that there were varying degrees of being gay. Either a girl was that way or she wasn't ... there was no in between.

Melanie had no choice but to follow her thoughts to the inevitable conclusion. She had enjoyed being with Kate Cartwright that first night. She had exulted in being so expertly loved by Ursula Povia the following morning. And despite the revulsion and disgust that had followed, she had thrilled to the newness of what she had done with Olivia Lucas only a short while ago.

It added up to one thing and one thing only. There could be no escaping the fact of it. She was gay. She was queer. She was a lesbian. Further testimony to the truth of it was the terrible revulsion she'd experienced when being manhandled by Hank Meyerson. There had been nothing at all pleasant about the feel of his hands on her body, nothing at all exciting about the feel of his powerfully masculine body against her own, nothing at all thrilling about the feel of his mouth capturing and exploiting her own.

She was gay.

She had to accept it.

Melanie felt the acceptance take hold of her and she knew there was a permanence to it. She felt like weeping, and yet deep down, there was a curious relief in having at last faced up to the truth about herself. After a lifetime of dodging and avoiding and rationalizing secret misgivings and strangely mysterious yearnings, she'd admitted their cause and their nature and their basis. And now that she had, she felt as though someone had removed the great weight from her shoulders.

All right, what now?

One thing was certain, in any case. She had to break with The Witchwags. Gay or not, she couldn't swallow their brand of love. They'd resent it, of course, and most likely make her life miserable at Turbenthal. Nobody quits The Witchwags. How many times had she heard that expression used? Kicked out, perhaps, but quit? Never. A girl would have to be out of her mind to even want to do such a thing.

Well, this is one girl who wants out, she thought grimly. And if things get too bad, she'd even leave Turbenthal Hall. There were other schools, other colleges. Perhaps not as exclusive, but that didn't matter. What mattered was that she learn to live with herself, a sane and rewarding life ... if such a thing was possible under the circumstances.

It would take time. Time to adjust to it all. And the matter of transferring to another boarding school would have to be handled carefully. Her parents would be heartbroken by the news unless she explained it to them in such a way that they felt it was all for the best. They'd worked so hard to send her to Turbenthal, to give her the very best ... or, at least, what they thought was the very best.

Melanie was aware of a feeling of relief for having decided to leave Turbenthal. She'd be tactful, of course, allowing herself time to drop little hints in her letters to her family in a way of preparation. She could say that she was interested in courses that Turbenthal did not offer. Her father would like the idea of her wanting to improve herself, even if it meant leaving the school they had selected for her. Then, when the time was right, she would file applications at other schools. She would make the transition with a minimum of discomfort and suspicion.

There was only one thing that remained to tem per her newfound resolve. Now that she had admitted that she was gay, could she ever hope to find a measure of happiness and fulfillment in her personal life? Was lesbianism, by its very nature, doomed to be always transitory and sordid in its rewards? Certainly, the level she'd reached with both Kate and Olivia did not offer much hope for anything substantial in the way of true emotional gratification.

As for Ursula Povia ... well, Ursula had given her a glimpse of something more beautiful and meaningful, but it had been only a glimpse and one never again to be repeated. Ursula was gone and with her, all chances of possibly finding out whether her life was destined to be an endless succession of momentary thrills and ensuing shame. She couldn't blame Ursula. The older girl had been justified in her biting remarks. No amount of words could have erased the fact that she'd been with Olivia and that she'd done exactly what the tiny little blonde always demanded from her partners.

There was little comfort in the thought that she'd learned a bitter lesson from the incident. Melanie had not realized how much Ursula had come to mean to her in so short a time until she saw Ursula walking out of her life. It was a high price to pay for learning a lesson, a very high price, and Melanie suspected that with the passage of time she'd continue to appreciate just how high a price. She doubted whether she would ever again meet a girl like Ursula Povia.

With a deep sigh of sadness, Melanie turned the corner of the path that led up to the entrance of the dorm. She had not realized it until this moment that she had walked all the way from the chalet, a distance of almost two miles. She felt drained and exhausted and in thinking back, the entire day seemed impossible to accept as having really happened. The remembrances were tiring in themselves and Melanie yearned for the cleansing heat of a hot bath and then the cool sterility of starched sheets.

She started up the stone steps to the dorm.

"Miss Stevens?"

Melanie stopped and turned, peering into the shadows to one side of the building. A vague figure moved forward slightly, gradually emerging into a circle of light. Melanie caught her breath and felt her heart skip a beat as she recognized Mr. Briar.

"I've been waiting for you, little lady," the heavy set man stated softly. "I believe you and I have something to discuss."

Melanie swallowed the lump in her throat and tried to conceal her nervousness. "I'm not sure I understand."

Mr. Briar smiled slowly. "Please, Miss Stevens, let's not play games with one another. You paid a visit to my home, a visit which caused my wife a great deal of embarrassment. I assure you it would be much wiser for us to discuss the matter on an informal basis rather than doing so in the office of the Dean of Discipline."

Melanie sagged with defeat. She wondered how he had found out her name and whether someone had informed on her. Could it have been Kate or Sheila? Then, knowing it didn't matter how he knew, she realized she had to face up to the situation and try to make the best of it.

"May I suggest that we talk as we stroll," Mr. Briar suggested smoothly.

"It's very late," Melanie mumbled weakly.

Mr. Briar smiled wryly. "Come now, Miss Stevens. It is Friday evening, and judging from the window lights in your dormitory, most of your house-sisters are still out enjoying themselves." He stepped to one side and gestured with his hand. "Shall we walk?"

Melanie nodded reluctantly and descended the stone steps. She walked stiffly at the man's side, convincing herself that he wouldn't dare to try anything on the school grounds. There were too many people around who would hear her if she screamed and then he would be the one in trouble. "I hope you understand that it was only a joke, Mr. Briar," she offered worriedly. "I mean, I never intended...."

Mr. Briar chuckled and peered at her. "Please don't bother to explain, young lady. I'm fully aware of all the circumstances leading up to your visit."

Melanie nibbled on her lower lip as they followed the path toward the shadowy library. Why hadn't Mr. Briar told his wife? He apparently hadn't, because if Mrs. Briar had known of Melanie's identity, she would have gone directly to the Dean. It was certainly grounds for immediate dismissal. Melanie shuddered at the thoughts of what such a scandal would do to her parents, especially her father, who was riding on the crest of success with his best selling novel. The publicity would be outrageous. The whole thing would be built up in the papers back in the States. Melanie knew she had to play upon the older man's sympathies. She braced herself for the task, still not sure of what his angle was. "I'm really sorry about all this, Mr. Briar. I mean, I really am."

The rotund man shrugged indifferently. He was almost amused. "To be perfectly truthful, young lady, I couldn't care less about the embarrassment to my wife. As a matter-of-fact, I rather enjoyed it. You see I was able to straighten up the bedroom, so I had no explaining to do whatever. Only my wife was humiliated by your visit." He touched her arm and steered her around the side of the huge library in the direction of the more remote section of the grounds. "This way, Miss Stevens. We will require a certain amount of privacy."

"Now look here, Mr. Briar, I don't know what you're up to, but I think we have gone far enough."

"If you know what's good for you, you'd better hear what I have to say."

Feeling a need to keep the man talking, she asked the question that she had pushed aside moments earlier. "How did you get my name?"

Mr. Briar pulled something out of his coat pocket and held them up so that they were illuminated by the moonlight. "These are your panties, are they not?"

"I don't know. I mean I can't be sure."

Mr. Briar smiled smugly. "Well, I can, Miss Stevens. An indelible mark inscribed by the student laundry service testifies to the fact. All it took was a telephone call inquiring as to the meaning of the code letters. Once learning your identity, a brief investigation disclosed the fact that you have recently become a member of The Witchwags, a most interesting organization of young ladies, who have held a feeling of hostility toward my wife for some time now-a hostility which I might add I share, but nevertheless. I have more than sufficient grounds to prove your guilt and to cause you a great deal of trouble. Possessing obscene pictures and books and then circulating them is shocking enough, but if I should report what I caught you and my wife doing in her bedroom...." He held up Melanie's panties once more, dangling them from his fingers as evidence.

Melanie felt her blood chill. "You must be mad!"

"Oh, come now, let's not be childish. I've been aware of the things you young ladies do over at the Povia lodge for sometime now. It wouldn't be difficult to bring the whole thing out into the open."

"Just what do you want?"

"You understand, of course, if I bring this matter out in the open, exposing my wife, a member of the faculty, and you, the daughter of a most famous father, the results will be scandalous, disgraceful and dismissal for both you and my wife." He paused at this point to take a breath and gave Melanie an owlish glance along with a chuckle. "As it is, Mrs. Briar still has a lot of explaining to do."

"I said what do you want."

"Well what a man wants, young lady, and what a man gets are sometimes two different things."

"Mr. Briar, if you don't come to the point, I'm going to start screaming and then you'll have a little explaining to do along with the rest of us."

"All right, to the point, Miss Stevens. I would like to get away from my wife, an insufferable woman, but that would take a little money...."

"Blackmail? Is that what you're getting at?"

"Now, now, Miss Stevens, don't be hasty. I did say what a man wants and what he gets."

"How much money, Mr. Briar?"

"My, you young people are impulsive. There is an alternative. Wouldn't you like to know what it is?"

"I asked you how much money you wanted, Mr. Briar?"

"Well, I hadn't really thought much about that angle, but it would have to be enough to get me to ... say a place like South America-I've always wanted to go there. I'd need enough money to get started in a little business."

"And just where do you think I would get that kind of money?"

"I think if a few of you young ladies got together, you would be able to come up with a satisfactory sum. If Miss Povia sold her Ferrari, for instance, it would bring a few thousand. And Miss Winslow comes from a very wealthy family. Her allowance...."

"Then why don't you go to Sheila Winslow. Why me? I don't come from a wealthy family I'm very sorry to inform you."

"Yes, but I do have something on you, young lady-much more than the others. And then again I did say there was an alternative, didn't I?"

"An alternative?"

"That's right, Miss Stevens. It is entirely up to you as to what I do and who I involve in this matter."

The uneasiness returned and and Melanie felt her throat go dry. "Up to me?" she croaked weakly, knowing and yet trying desperately not to know what she was thinking.

Mr. Briar stared at her fixedly. "You see, young lady, I find you most appealing ... and as it happens, I have a pronounced weakness for appealing young girls." He paused a moment, still confident, obviously enjoying her discomfort. "Well, what is it to be? A scandal involving you and some of the other girls that will certainly stigmatize you for the rest of your lives, money or a few harmless moments with me?"

Melanie lowered her eyes, shuddering at the thoughts his words evoked...."a few harmless moments." She thought then about Sheila and Kate and Olivia and Ursula and involving them along with her. She didn't much care about the others, but Ursula kept bouncing back into her thoughts. More than anything she didn't wish to involve Ursula, especially since she already had one strike against her. Somehow, and why it seemed so important to her at that moment she did not know, but she could not bear the thought of hurting Ursula again.

"A few harmless moments...." The words penetrated deeper and deeper into her thoughts.

"Well, Miss Stevens, what is it to be?"

It was as if all the fates of the universe had been conspiring against her. She felt whipped and emptied almost to the point where she wondered if it mattered any longer what she did or didn't do. Still faced with the ordeal of an enforced intimacy with Mr. Briar, a part of her refused to surrender without a final attempt to escape such a repulsive experience.

She steeled herself, not wanting the nervousness to creep into her voice. "Do you know what you're asking, Mr. Briar? What if I told you that I have never been with a man that way?"

Mr. Briar frowned. "Are you claiming to be a virgin, Miss Stevens?"

"Not claiming to be one. I am one."

He chuckled, as though amused. "Remarkable! However it doesn't relate to the moment. I have no intention of destroying your most cherished possession, my dear. I prefer to take my pleasure in another manner. "I want you to french me!" He chuckled. "Blow me, if you prefer that expression."

"You...!" Melanie felt her heart sink. She was filled with horror and revulsion. "I couldn't ... I...!"

Mr. Briar sighed impatiently. "Don't look so bewildered, Miss Stevens. You have to merely obey."

The momentary relief evaporated and a nameless fear took its place. Melanie shivered inwardly as his eyes took on a new and eager brightness, one that she sensed was born of excitement and anticipation. She thought of his threat and of the scandal and of the effect it would have, not only on her parents, but on the other girls and their parents, and Mrs. Briar and everybody connected with the school. Once a thing like that gets started, regardless of who is guilty and who is not guilty, it avalanches into an ugly situation that seriously affects everybody. Why take the chance of involving everybody. Why hurt Ursula again? In a way if she agreed to do what Mr. Briar wanted, whatever it might be, she could consider it a self imposed punishment for what she had done to Ursula. Besides she told herself bitterly and despairingly, it wouldn't be any more degrading than what had happened at the party that evening, the scene with Olivia, the ordeal with Hank Meyerson.

In an instant, she made up her mind. She would submit to his mysterious desires. This would be her punishment for all her mistakes, for all her sins.

He seemed to sense her sudden acceptance of his demands.

"It's really a most enjoyable way of getting my kicks," he said. "Who knows? You might even enjoy it yourself."

"I doubt it," she said sarcastically. "I doubt that I could enjoy anything with a repulsive creep like you."

"Don't get bitter, dear," he warned.

Reaching for his waist, he pulled his zipper downward and pulled his shaft into the open. It was only semi-hard but growing steadily into a full erection.

"Suck on it!" he said. Grabbing her arm roughly, he pulled her forward and forced her down to her knees.

Shuddering, Melanie allowed herself to be manhandled. On her knees before him, she reluctantly clasped his throbbing member by the base and ran her tongue lightly over the tip. He groaned and thrust his hips forward to meet her mouth.