Chapter 6
Chief of Police Jack Petty was up late that Friday night. His one patrolman was supposed to take the duty from six in the evening until things finally eased off early in the morning hours, but Petty didn't feel like going home to bed with such a large crowd on the beach. He used his own car to drive to the fishing pier on the southern tip of the island to see how things were going.
Petty stood on the pier and talked fishing with a nice fellow from upstate. He looked up the beach toward the flickering fires of the college kids. They were one reason for his being up late. He'd like to see them more or less settled down before he went home to his wife and left the town in the care of Niles Jergens, his patrolman.
Petty was medium tall, solid, a sandy colored man of forty. He was retired from the Army after spending almost twenty years in the M.P.'s. His pay for running Lundy Beach's police department supplemented his retirement pay enough to keep his daughter in college and to pay for the gas used by his son who used any excuse to get behind the wheel of the family car. His daughter was due in on the bus the next morning to spend the Labor Day weekend at home. He knew damned well she wouldn't be lying on the beach somewhere drinking booze.
He stared moodily at the winking fires and wished that the kids had picked one of the more lively beaches up the coast for their holiday. However, he suspected that Lundy Beach's very quietness was one reason for their coming. There were long stretches of undeveloped strand that made for plenty of privacy and there were back roads in the undeveloped interior of the island for parking.
As he watched, he saw a few couples go away from the fires, make their way across the road to the brightly lit motel and disappear into a room together. Some drove away in the young cars, the Thunderbirds, the Mustangs, the sports models. There'd be a few pecker tracks on the secluded roads that night.
He stayed on the pier for an hour and there was no mass exodus from the beach. He gave up, finally, told the pier manager to call him if things got hairy with the college crowd and went home to bed. He took his wife with considerably more vigor than usual before going to sleep, stimulated by the thought of all those nice looking girls with their nice little asses.
On the strand, Tom Jack Murray was sloppy drunk. He pawed Jean Loras and was angered when she pulled" away from him. She treated him as if he were some kind of animal. He was mad. He was mad at Pat Emory, that stuck-up bitch, and he was just mad at the world. He was mad at Jean Loras, too. She was a silly bitch, trying to pretend that she was shocked when he suggested that they ditch David and go shack up. He asked her about it while David was gathering wood. She looked shocked and leaped up and left him alone by the fire. When they came back, David looked at him, tight-lipped, and suggested that he ought to go to bed. Well, no four-eyed bastard was going to tell Tom Jack Murray to go to bed. He started to get to his feet to clobber David, fell back, said to hell with it and went to sleep. David and Jean took their blanket and moved down to an abandoned fire and left him to sleep it off.
Jean felt as if something bad were going to happen. She had entertained grave doubts about making the trip to the beach, but David had assured her that it would be all right.
"There might be some rough stuff," he told her when he was asking her to make the trip, "but they're mostly a bunch of decent kids. Ernie Harper is a nice guy and there's Pat Emory and Tina Franklin. They're nice kids."
Jean didn't try to disillusion him. She knew Tina's reputation and she knew that Pat Emory wasn't exactly a symbol of purity, but she couldn't believe half the things she heard about either of them. And she'd certainly be treated as a lady by David. He was so innocent. He was such a nice guy that he automatically felt that everyone looked on the world just as she did. She'd been dating David since right after the beginning of the last school year. In all that time he had never done one thing out of the way. He hadn't even tried to make a pass at her. He was gentle and considerate. She thought it might be easy to fall in love with David Wofford.
David kissed her as they sprawled on the blanket on the sand. It was a tender, gentlemanly kiss which made her feel warm and lovely. There were times when David kissed her that she felt as if she didn't want him to stop, but David never did more than kiss her. He would hold her tightly and tell her how sweet she was. He was so gentle that it made her wonder a little. When she thought like that it made her feel guilty, because she had plenty of proof that she was attractive to boys. She had fought off enough of them. It was really a relief to be able to go out with David and know that she wouldn't have to spend the evening pulling pawing hands away from her breasts.
She lay on her back, one leg cocked up, and accepted David's nice kiss and felt wonderfully warm. The night was passing. The kids were leaving by twos. There was no one close to them and the fire had died down and they were in darkness. She put her arms around him. He pulled off his glasses and placed them carefully on a comer of the blanket and put the weight of his torso on her, pushing down against her breasts. He kissed her good and she answered it, knowing that she could be responsive with David without fear of encouraging him to greater efforts. She knew that some of the other girls were not going to stop at kisses that night and she felt a queer little tightness. How would it be to be like Tina, for example, to engage in sexual activities and-
She could feel a guilty blush creep up her face. She could never do that, not even with a nice boy like David. It wasn't right to even think about it. Nice girls kept such thoughts out of their minds. But it was alright to let David kiss her, because he wouldn't try to go any further. It was all right to let that pleasant glow grow in her and to press her breasts against him and take his kisses.
After a long time he stopped kissing her. His face was near hers.
"I'll graduate next spring," he said.
"I know, David."
"I'll be going east to take my Master's."
"Yes."
"I'm going to miss you very much, Jean."
She squeezed him. "Oh, I'll miss you, too." She felt a pang of sadness at the thought of not being able to see him. He was by far the finest man she'd ever known.
His fingers moved to the top of her bathing suit and she held her breath. For a moment she was afraid that he was going to make a pass and in that moment she went through an agony of indecision. If he wanted to touch her breasts, would she let him?
But he was only fingering his fraternity pin which she had transferred from her dress to the bathing suit out of habit. She wore his pin on everything she put on.
"Jean?" His voice nervous. "We're going steady, aren't we?"
"Yes."
"Is that enough."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, do you think we should do something else?"
Her heart pounded. After all these months he was working up to a pass. "I don't know what you mean," she said, steeling herself to tell him, "No."
"Well, I mean maybe we should have a ring or something."
"A ring?"
"I guess what I'm trying to say is that I think you're the one, Jean." The words gushed out as if he were afraid someone would tell him to stop. "I mean, I guess I'd like to be really engaged."
"Why, David!" She sounded so inane. She should have been able to think of something more intelligent to say, but her heart was pounding and she felt very glad.
"Jean?"
She took a long breath and smiled. In that moment she was sure of a lot of things. "I think I'd like that, David."
He laughed, a nervous, happy sound. "Hey," he said, kissing her quickly, a little love peck. "That was the hardest thing I ever did."
"Silly," she said fondly, brushing her hand over her damp hair. "Didn't you know?"
"I know this. I know I love you very much. I want to be with you always."
She squeezed him. "And I love you." The night was a wonderful, antique silver, singing thing and she felt as though she could dance on top of the waves. She wanted him to kiss her and kiss her and never stop.
"But I'll be going away to another school." He sounded as if he couldn't believe that something so horrible could happen.
"We can fix that."
"How?"
"I can transfer to the same school."
"Hey," he said hopefully.
"I don't mean that we have to get married right away," she said quickly. "I know you want to finish your education, but I can transfer to your new school and we can be together."
"Why not get married right away?" He was looking at her thoughtfully. "My education money is in a trust fund. I have more than enough to see me through. We could get a small apartment."
"I'd have to talk to my family," Jean said. "I don't know how they'd feel about paying for me to go to school if I were already married."
"What do you think they'd say?" he asked worriedly.
"I think they'd say, Jean, that boy is a very good catch. Grab him while you can." She giggled happily.
"Now, really."
"I think they'd be very pleased, David. I really do."
"I love you," he said.
His kiss was deep and it moved her tremendously. It sent thrills chasing through her and it went on and on and he was leaning on her, his chest crushing her breasts. She was very much aware of him and things had changed. He was the man she was going to marry. She would be in bed with him and it would be all right and she realized that she had always loved him, from the first time she saw him. She realized that her feelings for him were right, so right.
"We'd have to be careful," David said. "No children for a while."
She giggled. He was thinking of the same thing she was.
He squeezed her very hard. "Do you know what I'm thinking?"
"I believe I do." She held her breath.
"Oh, I love you," he said. "Won't it be wonderful, being married and all?"
"Oh, yes."
He kissed her for a long time. His breath was hot on her cheek, coming fast. He whispered it into her ear. "Do you think it would be all right if I touched your breast? Just touch it for a minute?"
She shivered. "I don't know." But if he wanted to she wouldn't stop him. It was the first step toward the coming surrender, total giving, which would come after they were married.
"Just for a second?"
She took a deep breath. "All right."
He touched her as if he were afraid of hurting her. His hand was large and tender as it cupped her rounded breast. She could feel the warmth of his hand where it overlapped the halter of her bathing suit. He continued to touch her as he kissed her and she clung to him, luxuriating in the thrill of his hand moving on her breast. She loved him with all of her heart. When he moved his hand, inserted his fingers into the halter of her suit, she held her breath, but it was still all right. They were going to be married. She moved her shoulders forward to give his hand room. It was the most exciting thing that had ever happened to her. His hand seemed to be heated by fire and yet is was so gentle as he closed it over her bare, large breast. She felt her nipple harden to press against his palm.
"And that's all of that," he said decisively, pulling his hand away.
She was deeply touched. He respected her so much. She felt as if she had to demonstrate her love for him. She took his open hand and placed it back on her breast and held it there.
"It's all for you," she whispered. "I know it sounds corny, but I've saved it all for you, darling.
I never let anyone do that before. There'll never be anyone else."
He held her in his arms, his girl, so sweet, so clean, so innocent. His, all his. He wanted her so badly he could feel his body shaking, but he wouldn't so much as touch her again until after they were married. He valued her too much. She had saved herself for him and, corny or not, he would not defile that wonderful sweetness even by his touch. He felt strong and powerful and good and he loved her terribly.
They lay side by side holding hands and watched the moon move across the sky until it was very late. He put his arm around her as they walked to the motel and he kissed her softly in front of her door.
In his room, Ernie Harper was snoring in one bed. Tom Jack was not there. David thought that the big fellow must still be passed out on the beach. He worried about it for a minute, but it was a warm night. Tom Jack would be all right. Even though it wasn't his responsibility, even though Tom Jack had made an obscene pass at Jean, David didn't feel too badly toward him. The big boy was only drunk. Not that David could overlook Tom Jack's behavior, he couldn't. Even a drunk should know that Jean was not that kind of girl. If Tom Jack ever said anything else to Jean, he would have to do something about it. David hated violence. He wouldn't get violent. Tom Jack would knock his head off if he did that, but something would have to be done if Tom
Jack continued to bother Jean. Maybe sober, T.J. would listen to reason. Or maybe he could get Ernie to talk to Tom Jack. The big man liked Ernie and would listen to him.
Earlier that evening, when Pat Emory left Tom Jack in the motel room, she was furious with herself for getting into a situation which put her body under the ministrations of such an animal. Still hurting, thinking that she would be sore for days, she didn't know what had ever given her the idea that it could be nice with Tom Jack. She remembered that she thought he made her feel small and protected and wanted. God, he'd made her feel small, all right, like a small walnut being crushed in a vice. He was a beast. They were all animals, all men. They didn't really appreciate a girl. All they wanted was a vessel for the deposit of their lust.
A still, small voice warned her that she was treading on dangerous ground. She didn't really understand why she left guilty about condemning men. She told herself, surrendering to the vague feeling of guilt, that she was not damning all men, that she liked men. She had never loved a man, really, but she liked them. She was, she told herself, a normal, healthily lusty girl who knew the score.
But, God, after Tom Jack, she'd stay away from men for a while.
When she reached the strand, Ernie was playing his guitar and singing. He was silhouetted by the fire and looked quite romantic. Tina was sitting with her back against the log, her long legs stretched out in front of her. Pat sat down on the edge of Tina's towel. Tina, she thought, looked very pretty, very much the female animal, her eyes sparkling in the firelight.
"Your lipstick is smeared, darling," Tina said, smiling knowingly. Her teeth were white and even and she was, actually, a very beautiful girl, not just pretty.
Pat felt her face go pale, was thankful that the poor light of the fire would not allow Tina to see her stricken expression. She started to speak, distrusted her voice and remained silent. She held her breath to stave off panic, felt the guilt and the fear grow in her until she wanted to scream. She rose and walked away in silence. She heard Tina say something about conscience and Tina was partly right. However, her conscience was not bothering her about Tom Jack. That, unpleasant and painful as it was, was no more than she'd done with several men. The thing which caused her to go cold inside was a black specter which came surging out of her subconscious as she looked into Tina Franklin's face. She looked at Tina and she found herself drinking in the features of Tina's regularly molded face with avid eyes and her eyes had shifted downward to the curves of Tina's body and the black specter roared out of her past. She was remembering, before she stopped the dirty thoughts, how she had felt that day when the older girl touched her young body all over with soft, female hands.
That was why she walked away. That was why she went pale and that was why the breath caught in her throat. God, she hated that girl. She hated all women like that. And yet she looked at Tina and thought, God, she's beautiful. And that thought was more than appreciation for the beauty of a fellow woman.
She joined a group of girls around a fire and tried to drive away the ugliness. She knew a couple of the girls at the fire. She'd seen one of them around the campus often enough to speak to her, without knowing her name. No one made introductions. The beer had been flowing freely and the girls were feeling no pain. It looked as if the unattached girls were trying to substitute beer for the lack of male attention.
Pat joined in the girl talk. She discovered that the girl she knew by sight was called Ellen. Ellen was a lithe brunette, older than any of the other girls. She wore a bikini much more revealing than Pat's and she filled it with trim curves. She had long, perfect legs and a pert pair of breasts which were thrust out as she leaned back on her hands with her legs extended. She was very friendly with Pat. She smiled and listened attentively when Pat talked.
The talk was about school and boys, cars and football games. Pat found a beer in her hands. When it was gone, Ellen passed her another.
Pat drank steadily. She knew she was getting buzzy and she told herself to stop or suffer a big head in the morning. But what the hell? It didn't matter. That was the morning. Tonight it felt good to sit by the fire and feel it warm on her bare legs and listen to the silly chatter of the girls and drink. She drank. Ellen moved closer to her and they had a two way conversation going while the others talked in the background. Ellen was a graduate student who would get her master's degree in the spring. She was a very nice girl. Pat liked her immediately. She was so very friendly, when the brown-haired girl handed her still another beer.
"You'll be sorry," Ellen said in a sing-song voice. She killed the last of her can of beer and tossed the empty into the surf. "But you won't be alone. I've over-done it a bit myself."
Pat heard the hiss of escaping gas as Ellen cracked a fresh can. "But who cares?" Ellen asked gaily. "We can sleep in tomorrow."
"S'right," Pat sighed. "Who cares anyhow?"
Ellen was such a very nice girl. She listened when Pat talked even though Pat was slurring her words and didn't follow her own thoughts too well. For some reason, she was telling Ellen about her mother. Ellen listened with a smile, encouraging Pat when she paused. Pat heard herself telling the girl all about how her mother wore the pants in the family and how her father was nothing more than a yes man, an implement for making money and for making mother when mother was in the mood. She told Ellen how she used to hate seeing father knuckle under to her mother and how she hated it when her mother and father were fighting with her mother always winning.
She didn't know how the conversation got onto the subject of sex and men, but she heard herself telling her new friend that men were very poor specimens of humanity and she heard Ellen agreeing vehemently.
"They're such peacocks," Ellen said. "They strut and show their muscles and things and think they're God's gift to the world." She leaned close to Pat and put a soft hand on Pat's arm. "If we could figure out some way to make babies without them, we could dispense with them entirely."
"Amen," Pat said.
"When did you have your first course with a boy, Pat?"
Pat tried to focus her eyes on the broad, nice face of the brown-haired girl. She was getting damned personal. But what the hell, she wasn't ashamed of her attitudes toward life. She was fully capable of knowing what she wanted to do with her life.
"When I was a freshman," she said.
"My gosh, you waited until you were an old woman."
"I never wanted to do it before then," Pat said.
"Tell me about it," Ellen said quietly.
Pat shrugged. "I was out with a boy and he was kissing me and feeling me and I got tremendously excited and we went all the way."
"Were you really excited?"
The question was somewhat of a challenge. Pat looked at Ellen sharply. "Of course I was. You don't think I'd have gone all the way if I hadn't been?"
Ellen smiled strangely. "Perhaps."
"Listen," Pat said seriously, feeling that she had to convince Ellen of her passionate nature, "my breasts were real sensitive, even then. When he touched me-"
"Didn't you tell yourself that you liked having your breasts touched by a boy because the other girls said they liked it?"
Something tugged warningly in Pat's mind.
"Have you ever been in love, Pat?"
"No. Not really."
"Have you ever gone steady with a boy."
"No. I don't believe in going steady."
"Why?"
"Why?" Pat shrugged again, moving her whole body. "I don't know."
"I like you, Pat," Ellen said, moving so close they touched. Pat looked around quickly. The beach was all but deserted. The fires had burned down.
"That's fine," Pat said. She patted her new friend's arm drunkenly. "We're buddies. Ole drinking buddies, right?"
"About going steady," Ellen said softly, her face close to Pat's. "You've had intercourse with a lot of boys, haven't you?"
"Nosey," Pat said.
"I'm not being nosey, really."
Pat felt warm friendship for the slim, pretty girl. "Okay, I'm not ashamed of it."
"But you never went steady with any of them?"
"No."
"You gave yourself to them and then you rejected them, isn't that right? You showed them you were quite a woman and then by rejecting them you told them they weren't much, isn't that the way it was?"
Pat's thinking was fuzzy. She tried to reason it out. "What are you getting at?" she asked.
"Nothing, really," Ellen said casually. She leaned back on her hands and looked at Pat's profile. "You're a very pretty girl," she said.
"You, too," Pat mumbled, beginning to feel sick from the beer. "We're both pretty ... pretty."
"Feeling dizzy?"
"Like wowsville."
"Why don't you lie down for a minute?" Ellen put a hand on Pat's shoulder and pulled her back on the blanket. "Don't close your eyes. That brings on the dizzy thing. Focus on one particular star and think how far away it is and you'll be fine."
It worked. Pat looked at a small, blinking star and at first it wanted to move around, but then it steadied and she felt better.
"Sex is so funny," Ellen said, leaning on an elbow, looking down into Pat's face. "What's right for one of us is all wrong for someone else. Some of us go through life looking for something and never finding it. Others are lucky and find it while they're still young enough to really enjoy it."
"S'what I've done," Pat said. "I've found it."
"Have you?"
"Sure."
'Tonight?"
Pat was suddenly taken back to the motel room and Tom Jack's brutality. "He's an animal," she mumbled faintly, her head beginning to swim again.
"Tom Jack Murray?"
"Animal," Pat repeated.
"All of them," Ellen said. "Everyone of them. They don't know about women. They don't know what women are really like and they don't care."
"Bassards," Pat mumbled.
"They don't know how wonderfully sensitive a woman's feelings can be," Ellen said in a strange voice.
"Jerks," Pat said sleepily. She brushed her hands across her bare midriff. Something was tickling her. She encountered a strange hand there and wondered blankly whose it was, and then she realized that Ellen had been trailing her fingertips along her smooth stomach skin.
"At tickles," she slurred.
"Let's go skinny dipping," Ellen said.
"Ummm," Pat protested.
"Come on. It'll be fun.
Pat tried to stop her but Ellen had the bikini top loose and she felt the warm night air on her bare breasts. Ellen put her arm around her and lifted her until she was in a sitting position.
"Come on," Ellen said encouragingly. "Get out of that suit. A swim will clear your head."
"Donwanta," Pat said, but she couldn't move her legs as stripped the trunks away. Pat sat loose-legged on the blanket as Ellen took away her bathing suit and then she felt herself being lifted and then she was in water and it was warm on her feet, up to her calf, to her thighs and then covering her stomach as she was led out into the surf.
The water was warmer than the night air and it was a good feeling on her nude body. She was being supported by Ellen's arm. She felt Ellen's hand digging into her soft flesh and she tried to pull away. She had never liked body contact with girls. She fell and went under, and came up snorting, her head clearing.
"I'm all right now," she said, as Ellen put her arm around her again.
"Well, let me hold onto you, then," Ellen said. "It's a big ocean out there. I love swimming at night but it's scary."
"I know what you mean," Pat said, looking out over the incoming waves. The dark water went on and on and it was sinister, somehow. She shivered.
"Let's go back," Pat said.
"In a minute." Ellen turned to Pat to face her. "I want to talk to you."
"We can talk back by the fire."
"Here," Ellen said forcefully. "Now. I want to show you something. I want to show you why you flit from man to man and never find what you want."
"Are you nuts or something?" Pat tried to pull away. Ellen's face was very close and in trying to escape the grip of Ellen's arms, she was forcing her lower body out. They stood waist deep in water. She felt bare feminine thighs pressed against her own, felt the pelvic bulge of the taller girl push into her stomach. She felt as if the whole thing was unreal, that it couldn't be happening.
"You don't really like men because this is what you want," Ellen said, her face coming closer, and one hand coming up swiftly to capture a bare breast and squeeze knowingly.
"No," Pat said, but she couldn't turn her head. Lips touched hers and the taste was new and different, very sweet. No male aroma, no tobacco taste, just sweet softness. And her damned nipple was coming to life under Ellen's touch.
"No," Pat said, forcing the girl away. "You're sick."
Her heart was thumping wildly. She turned and ran toward the beach but was caught from behind. Ellen put her arms around Pat's tiny waist and lifted her. Pat felt warm breasts pressing against her back. Hands moved up to cup her own breasts. She tried to tear away, but she was strangely weak. It was as if her strength had drained away.
"Please, don't," she gasped, terrified.
She was being kissed on the nape of the neck by wet, warm lips. The beach was deserted, coals from dead fires winked now and then in a gust of air. The wet, wonderful lip came to her ear and one hand dropped to fold around the mound of her womanhood.
"This is what you've been looking for, darling," Ellen whispered.
"No, no, no." But there was the girl from so long ago touching her, sending those peculiar feelings deep inside her. She felt her knees go weak and she would have fallen if Ellen had not held her. She was turned, saw Ellen's face come closer.
"No," she whispered.
Her lips were parted in acceptance of the kiss which burned her, took her, delivered her into the hands of the black specter which had haunted her. She was crying inside, but she was helpless. That wonderful, soft, hateful woman's body was against her and it was glorious and dreadful and she felt as if she were lost, as if the world were going to end because she hated what was happening and yet she loved it. Her whole body screamed out for it. She was a prisoner of the cascades of loveliness and of the tall girl whose arms clasped her and whose tongue was now a lance of fire in her opened, eager mouth.
Ellen stopped slightly and pressed pelvic hardness under Pat's mound of love, and Pat could not hold back the wonderful urge to let her loin muscles move in small circles. Billows of lust surged over her, killing her last resistance. She let herself be led pliantly to the blanket. She cried without tears, without sound. She was two people, one hating herself, the other deep in unholy desire. Fear was a tragic deepness in her as she was lowered onto her back, but she spread her legs automatically to accept the lovely woman's body which came to her. Ellen was so soft, so warm, so lovely. Ellen's kiss was sweet, untouched by the brutal desire exhibited by men.
Pat sobbed once and then the inner crying stopped, driven out by floods of love and desire as Ellen used her woman's body to do things down there, to wake her into a state of wild readiness never before attained. Warm, wet lips covered hers, moved down the pulsing line of her throat, smoothed the upper curve of her breast and fastened hungrily onto a stiffened nipple.
"Ah," said Pat, love filling her. "Ah, ah," she repeated, as lips shifted from one breast to the other. Her breasts were truly sensitive now, wonderfully responsive, tied in by singing nerves to her entire, trembling body.
She gave a cry of pleased surprise when Ellen went down to complete the union. Then she was tossing on a storm of turbulent desire, carried into a state of need far beyond her wildest dreams, rocking her hips upward to meet the wonderful feeling of love. Joy broke in waves inside her as she was filled with love, lifted to wonderful heights. She fell far over a sheer bluff of loveliness and floated down with chaotic rapture, with bliss taking her entire system. She blew like a rocket, sky high. Her whole inside melted into one throbbing, pulsing climax and she whined with joy, her voice high and thin. The ecstasy was almost unbearable.
As heaven faded, reaction came. It was in the form of black despair, a terrible knowledge of her true nature. All that she had hated, all that she had despised, she had become. She wanted to die. She wanted the dark ocean to come to her, take her, give her tortured mind the oblivion it sought.
"Darling, darling," Ellen whispered, coming to he full-length atop her.
Pat gagged and tasted bitterness in her mouth. She pushed with all her strength and threw the girl, the devious, soft, hateful female body, away from her. She leaped to her feet and ran and there was the sea, dark, endless. She felt the warmth of the water on her feet and then she fell forward into a wave and coughed salt water. She swam with desperate strength because Ellen was behind her, calling her name. She swam until her strength was gone and the beach, as she looked back, was gone down the horizon of wave crests. The woman was still there, calling her name.
She couldn't swim any more. She floated on her back and gasped for air, searching desperately for the courage to take that one fatal breath which would fill her lungs with water and blot out the horror of what she had become.
"Pat! You crazy fool!" That woman was beside her, treading water, her face visible in the light of the moon. "Are you trying to drown us both?"
"Yes," Pat screamed.
"Be sensible," Ellen said.
All she would have to do would be to lower her head, breathe deeply and it would be over. She turned onto her stomach and tried to make her lungs obey the command to drink death. She could not do it. She came up, gasping, with Ellen's hand in her hair. Ellen started swimming, pulling Pat along behind her. Pat knew that they would never make it. They were too far out.
"Leave me alone," she said. "I'm all right."
"We'll have to swim slowly. We're a long way out."
"All right."
Her muscles were fire, her limbs lead. She could hear Ellen's gasping progress just behind her and the darkness which marked the shore was far, far away. Her mind was going fast. Already she was trying to rationalize it away. It was just an isolated incident. It would never happen again. She had been drunk.
Perhaps that rationalizing pulled her through. Perhaps she believed it, because it was necessary to believe it in order to keep swimming. It was absolutely necessary to believe that it had happened as an accident, because she was drunk. To give herself a reason to live, she even told herself that she had enjoyed it with Tom Jack Murray. She told herself that she wanted to live because she wanted more of what life had to offer in the way of thrills. If she once admitted that she had become that hateful thing which she had always feared, her will would have faded. But, since she didn't want to die, she let herself lie. She lived. She swam blindly, her limbs painful weights, and she kicked and there was sand under her feet. She staggered into the shallow surf and fell. Ellen was beside her, gasping.
"Get away from me," Pat hissed.
"Crazy," Ellen gasped.
"I'm not that way," Pat wailed. "I'm not that way. I'm not that way." She sobbed brokenly. "You're dirty and perverted and filthy-"
"Come along," Ellen said, helping her to her feet. Pat stood on weak legs and jerked her arm away.
"Don't touch me, you, you queer."
"Crazy," Ellen said. Pat hit her. They struggled in the shallow water, fell. Ellen held her down with sheer weight.
"Now you listen to me and listen good," Ellen said angrily. "You're wrong, dead wrong. There's nothing queer about the way we are."
"Not we," Pat "screamed. "You! You!"
"You think about this," Ellen said, still breathing hard. "Think about how good it was. Think about the way you felt. It was good, Pat. It's the ways things are supposed to be for us."
"No," she said dully, all emotion gone. She was empty, eviscerated.
"I've had you spotted for months Pat."
God, she was a horrible girl, hateful, rotten, vile daring to dirty Pat's name with a mouth which had-
"You're all mixed up, dear," Ellen went on. "You've been promiscuous with anything in pants and that's a dead giveaway. I know. I've been that route. I looked and I looked for the perfect lover and I didn't find it in pants, girl. Remember that. I didn't find the perfect lover in pants and you won't either. Your kind of lover has long hair and a nice set of tits and-"
"Just leave me alone," Pat said.
"Will you be sensible and give yourself time to think things out?"
"I won't drown myself, if that's what you mean," Pat said.
"All right. You're going to have to do some tall thinking. You're going to have to think about what's been going on in your life and what's going to happen to you if you don't wise up to the way you're built. We've something different about us, girls like us. We are the special ones. I know how it is, believe me. It's a shock to realize that you're not what you thought you were all along. But, darling, isn't it nice to know that you're not a whore? Hasn't that ever bothered you?"
"I am not a queer."
"Honey, honey, don't fight it. You made it very, very big with me. That little scream of joy I heard pegged you, baby. Any man ever get that out of you? You can bet your sweet ass it's never happened like that to you before. You've found yourself, sweetie, and I'm glad, because I think that once you've wised up, you and I are going to have some good times."
"I am not a queer."
"All right. Look. Let's get dressed and go hit the sack. Don't even think about it tonight. Tomorrow, when you've got a clear head and a little perspective, you do some thinking. Then tell me that."
Pat dressed silently. She was shivering. It wasn't cold, but she was shivering and her teeth were chattering. The moon was a dim light over the strand and the small waves tottered in and fell, and a voice inside her kept saying over and over, "No, no, no, no."