Lesbian Pulp Fiction. Katherine Forrest V.

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      “Peggy!” the nurse exclaimed, recognizing the girl. “How are you? Want to walk along the shore?” she asked, unlatching the gate.

      Peggy passed through, brushing against Beth’s arm. The touch sent an electric current charging through the girl. Beth seemed not to notice.

      “I’ve been expecting you at the Pillbox,” she said.

      Chills crawled up Peggy’s spine. But inside her, heat was gathering.

      They stood at the edge of the water, where wavelets washed upon the sand, darkening it, then rolling back again.

      “I’ve missed our talks,” Beth said, her eyes following the broad path of the moon upon the lake.

      Peggy kicked at a pebble. It rolled into the water noiselessly.

      The night air was warm and humid. There was no breeze. All was still save for the lapping of the water; leaves did not rustle, no laughter floated from the lodge anymore, even the crickets were not singing.

      Peggy fought down the turmoil in her mind. She did not think; she waited.

      Beth sauntered along the beach. She stopped when she reached the dock, turned, waited for Peggy.

      Peggy joined her. “Let’s talk, shall we?” Beth said, her voice cool in the hot night, cool as a breeze.

      Peggy nodded dumbly. They sat down on the foot of the dock, a girl and a woman silhouetted against the moon-glow.

      Peggy pulled off her shoes, dangled her feet in the wavelets.

      “I regret that I had to be so short with you the other night,” Beth said. “But the way you were carrying on was unbearable. It wasn’t like you at all.” Beth paused. “I realize,” she said, “that you’re under a tremendous strain, Peggy, and I know I’ve had a part in causing it.”

      Peggy dragged a toe through the water, concentrating on the ripples it left.

      “Do we have to discuss it, Beth?”

      “I think we should, don’t you?”

      Peggy shrugged.

      “Peggy, your age is a trying one for most girls. But you’ve been exposed to more than the run-of-the-mill problems. You’re riding the horns of a most serious dilemma.” As Beth spoke, the moon hid behind a cloud.

      In the thickened dark, Peggy began to swing her legs, feet splashing lightly.

      “I can sympathize with you probably better than anyone else you know,” Beth said sadly. “I want to help you, Peggy. I—”

      Peggy jumped erect on the dock. “I don’t want your sympathy. I don’t want your help—or your pity or anything else…” She grabbed her shoes. “Just leave me alone,” she sobbed hurrying away.

      “Peggy!” The nurse scrambled to her feet. “Peggy, wait a minute.”

      As Beth tore after her, Peggy broke into a run. She was rounding the far end of the bathhouse, planning on a cut through the woods to the seclusion of her cabin.

      The sand was cool and damp on her bare feet. She stopped crying, took a deep breath, clutched her shoes to her chest and sprinted across the beach. She could hear Beth running across the wooden planks of the bathhouse float, taking a shortcut in hopes of catching up.

      Peggy stumbled, dropped a shoe. She backtracked, picked it up, started on her way. Beth, right behind her now, caught her by the arm, knocking her off balance. Peggy sprawled on the ground.

      “I wasn’t finished,” Beth said breathlessly.

      Peggy sat up. She glanced at the nurse, then away. She contemplated the beach in front of her. The moon emerged from the masking cloud, rendering the sand a silvery gray.

      “Don’t you see?” Beth asked, dropping down next to Peggy. “It won’t do you any good to run away. Face things squarely. Get yourself under control.”

      Peggy said sullenly, “I don’t want you to feel sorry for me, that’s all.” She pulled on her shoes. “You said it’s partly your fault. Well, it’s not Beth. You can’t help the way I am, any more than you can help the way you are. It’s not your fault at all. Besides, you’ve done me a lot of good. Really, you have.” She was looking at the nurse now, talking to her rather than some spot on the ground. “You were doing lots of good even before—before anything happened between us, before I told you I heard you that night down here. Just being with you has always made me feel better.”

      Beth waited until she was certain Peggy had finished. “I understand,” she said. “And I’m glad. But now that I know what’s bugging you, I can do you even more good. I can open your eyes to what lesbianism is, Peggy. It’s not a game, or a habit you fall into or out of at will. A lesbian is something you are—or aren’t. If—”

      “How do you know I’m not?” Peggy demanded.

      Beth’s gaze did not waver. “How do you know you are?”

      “Because I’ve had a taste of being one. Because I want it more than I want love with boys.”

      “Peggy, try to understand. You were here, one day, at a strange place, with strange people—strange girls. You learned another girl wanted to seduce you. You were terrified by the prospect, but at the same time excited. After that, a row with your boy friend. Tensions mounted. And then—” Beth hesitated—“then you found out what it is like to make love with another woman. That served as both an emotional and a physical release, and a powerful one. So you decided you were a lesbian.”

      “Maybe I am. Maybe I’m not. I only know that a few minutes ago, when I saw you, I was bursting with want of you. I wanted you to kiss me, thrill me—and instead, you pitied me.” Peggy paused. “Beth, you said yourself I’d find out eventually whether I were a true lesbian. So what difference does it make if I find out here, now, this summer with you—or if I wait till next year or some other time?”

      Beth looked at the girl steadily. “Because if you wait only six months, that will be six months’ less torment for you.”

      Peggy frowned. “Is it really that bad?”

      Beth nodded emphatically in the moon’s platinum glare.

      “What I can’t understand,” Peggy said, “is your concern. Someone must have initiated you, and I’m sure you didn’t hate her.”

      “It’s not that I’m worried about your hating me some day, Peggy.”

      “Yet it means something to you that I don’t succumb.”

      “Of course it means something.”

      “But why?” Peggy demanded. “Why should you care? You enjoyed our sex together as much as I did. You must still want me. And you certainly know that I want you. So why can’t we please each other? Why can’t we act the way we want to when we’re alone? What difference does it make, as long СКАЧАТЬ