Chapter 3
They walked into a hallway where Pat reached under a mat and picked up a key. Having unlocked the door, she stood back for Charlotte to enter. Then she closed and latched the door. After she turned on the lamp she gestured, her hand then dropping to her side, and said, "This is it."
The place was small and musty. The walls, badly in need of fresh paint, were peeling. Charlotte's rambling thought was of how even her ranch-hands lived like kings compared to this. The room contained a couch, a television set, a sofa chair, a coffee table, a hi-fi set, and three plants that looked like they were dying.
"Be right back," Pat said.
There was no sound in the room except the steady ticking of a plastic-bound travel clock on the coffee table and the trickling of running water in the bathroom. There was a definite feminine smell to the place. The odor of Pat's spicy, cheap perfume blended with the odor of makeup and powder. The smell was overbearing. Charlotte glanced down to the sofa where a bra and a pair of black nylon panties lay. The name Pat was embroidered across one side in red.
Reluctantly, Charlotte sat down.
I shouldn't have come. I'll have a drink. Just one drink. Then I'll go.
The bathroom door opened and Pat stepped out-naked. Stark naked. Charlotte stared wide-eyed. Her eyes ran up and down the girl's willowy body, over the intriguing curves of her breasts; firm, erect, slightly uptilted. Her eyes held at the tiny pink nipples.
Pat advanced toward Charlotte, her shoulders back, her finely formed breasts pointing eagerly outward. "Come on, honey," she whispered. "Get undressed." The girl's eager fingers worked at the buttons of Charlotte's clothing.
This can't be happening, Charlotte thought.
"Why so quiet?" Pat asked.
Charlotte shrugged, not knowing what to say, unsure as to what she should do. She was surprised at the deftness with which Pat undressed her. Seconds later, she too, was naked. She brought her hands up to her breasts, embarrassed at her own nakedness.
Pat took her hands away. She looked over Charlotte's short, robustly curved body. Her eyes widened when she saw the oversized breasts pointing forward determinedly. "Honey, you don't show what you've got in that old rag you wear," she whispered. "Oh, are you built." She reached out with slender, eager arms and embraced Charlotte, her eyes flashing, her golden breasts pressing into Charlotte's satiny mounds.
Nipples touched, lips met. Charlotte felt weak when the girl took her lips from hers. She stared into Pat's blue eyes, smoky with passion. Then Pat's lips were nibbling at her throat, then she felt them slide down to her arching breasts. Now Pat's mouth cupped over and took her hypersensitive nipples, her tongue lapping over the hardening tips. Charlotte cried out as she felt Pat's mouth twisting in passion.
Then Charlotte caught their reflections in the mirror in back of the bathroom door and a sickening feeling rose in her stomach. It was like seeing a grotesque, warped perversion on a giant screen. But the feeling left, and a new one took over. Watching Pat in the mirror working over her breasts with her mouth sexually aroused Charlotte almost as the actual act. The odor of their perspiring, perfumed bodies reached her nostrils and she felt dizzy with passion.
She heard the girl's husky whisper. "Let me make love to you, baby. I know what you need and I can give it to you."
Charlotte heard springs squeak as their bodies settled onto the bed.
Pat was in complete command. Her lips were all over Charlotte-touching her arms, her neck, her back-and slowly moving down.
Charlotte's conscience suddenly made her feel guilty-ashamed. She tried to convince herself that what she was doing was not wrong, but the more she tried the less convinced she became.
Pat's hands reached for Charlotte's breasts. She stroked the pink, firm nipples. "Like it, honey?" she breathed. "Go ahead, tell me you like it."
Unable to bear the torment of fire that raged inside her, Charlotte heard her own heated whisper. "I like it. Yes ... I like it."
Charlotte sucked in her breath as Pat's mouth found her with a frenzy. Looking down, she saw the girl's head twisting below.
Suddenly Charlotte pulled herself up in the bed. "No," she screamed. "Stop it! Stop it!"
But there was no stopping Pat. She spread Charlotte's thighs even further apart and dug deep into the woman, her mouth making loud, smacking sounds.
Charlotte's body convulsed and she fell back onto the bed, a long, deep moan escaping her throat as Pat pulled her closer, trying to reach to the very soul of the woman.
Charlotte sucked in great lungfulls of air as she strode along the dark streets. It was a pleasant, balmy night. After being with Pat for three hours, in a close apartment, she was grateful for the smell of the good, clean air. Pat's disdainful taunts still rang in her ears. It was all so wrong. She wondered why she had bothered with the girl. Pat had pretended interest in her, flirted with her, made love to her, and all for a price. It never occurred to Charlotte that she would have ended up in Pat's apartment. But to have been so blind as not to recognize a lesbian hustler-that was stupid.
Well, it was over.
She had to smile in spite of the irony of the situation when she recalled the surprised look on Pat's face. The girl had asked for twenty dollars. Charlotte gave her fifty. Poor thing, she thought, leading such a miserable existence. That could never happen to her, she told herself. For one thing she wasn't really that kind of a woman. She didn't need female love-what she wanted was the strong, secure love of a man. This no woman could give her. Still, it was an experience ... even if it left her uncomfortable and full of guilt.
The familiar blinking neon sign Pirate's Haven made her stop. The loud strains of an electric guitar sounded, playing the same music that the blonde girl had danced to. What was the girl's name? Carol. Yes, Carol Lord.
Perhaps a drink, a short one, might make her feel better.
She walked down the steps and pushed the door open. Edging her way past the crowded bar she found a spot in a corner where she could see quite clearly. Carol Lord, bathed in a spotlight onstage, was writhing her body to the beat of the music. Charlotte stared at the girl as if mesmerized. The girl really was a beauty. Her long, wavy blonde hair came down almost to her waist. There was an innocence about the girl-yes, that was the right word even though she was dancing in a place like this, even though she was almost naked-there was a great innocence certainly. She had a scrubbed hoyden look about her, yet she possessed an inner glamour that seemed to set her apart, Charlotte felt a nearness to the girl, a closeness she'd never experienced watching any other performer. A stirring sensation grabbed hold of her as she drank in the girl's voluptuous body twisting and dancing to the fiery beat of the guitar. The long tapered legs, the slender waist, the curving thighs and the luscious, swelling breasts enchanted her. She watched the girl closely, marveling at the loosely swinging hips, the hands cupping the girl's breasts, the hands feeling the flat, quivering belly. Charlotte's eyes found it difficult to pull away from the expansive breasts shaking so enticingly, the tingling body, the marvelous legs; but she forced herself to turn away. Quickly she made her way through the dark, slipping past shoulders and hips until she found the exit door.
Outside she inhaled deeply and ran down the street.
What's the matter with me? Why was I looking at that girl the way I did? Why do I have this desire in me?
Charlotte remembered what Pat had said when she told the girl she'd never been made love to by a woman. Well, well, well, honey. Welcome to the club. She could still hear Pat's high, rippling laughter. "The world is full of lesbos honey. No use in getting nervous about it."
Charlotte sat down on a wooden bench, her shoulders slumped, her eyes filling with tears.
Yeah, she thought, welcome to the club, Charlotte Watts.