Lesbian Pulp Fiction. Katherine V. Forrest

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      Beth sucked in her breath, completely startled by her own words. Obviously, she had not meant to go so far.

      Her eyes locked with Peggy’s. Then the nurse recovered herself and broke the trance.

      Forcing a smile, she said, “Yes. I mean in my own peculiar way, I feel affection for you. A kind of motherly love, you might call it. A protective instinct.”

      “You’re not old enough to be my mother,” Peggy said quietly.

      “Well, I sort of feel that way toward all the girls at camp. I love them all—you know?”

      Peggy shifted position so her body was closer to the nurse’s. “Beth, you don’t have to hide it. Don’t you know that I love you, too?”

      Peggy had not considered it before, but now she was certain of her feelings for this woman who had befriended her, stood up for her, guided her in a strange, new kind of consummation.

      Before coming to this camp, never in her wildest imaginings would Peggy have conceived of two women making declarations of love to each other. Yet it did not now strike her in the least strange that Beth and she were speaking to each other as if one of them were of the opposite sex. The only thing strange, as far as Peggy was concerned, was that she had not realized before that she was truly, gloriously, irrevocably in love with Beth.

      Yes—she was wholly certain of her feelings for this woman who had befriended her, defended her, and guided her to the most profound physical fulfillment.

      “Oh, I do love you,” Peggy swore. “I need you. Why can’t we make each other happy? Why must we fight ourselves? Why can’t I touch you—” Peggy’s hand reached out, her fingers trailing over Beth’s cheek—“feel how soft and delightful you are, whenever I want to? That’s not wrong, is it, Beth—to want someone, want to touch her? It’s not wrong when you love somebody, is it?”

      Beth brushed a wisp of hair from Peggy’s face. “No, Peggy, it’s not wrong. But we must be sensible and draw the line. There’s no reason we can’t see each other often, have our usual talks, go—”

      “Everything but make love, right? Well, I’m sorry, Beth. Sex is a part of love. Everyone knows that. I can’t be with you and not want you—and I won’t fight it anymore. So make up your mind. Either we must part entirely—or you must be mine entirely.” Peggy rose.

      Beth reached out, pulled the girl down. “Why do we always have to argue?”

      “We don’t have to.” There were tears in Peggy’s eyes.

      “Peggy—” It was barely a whisper.

      In the silence that followed, the two hearts were pounding as one. Bathed in moonlight, the women stared hotly. Then the air stirred. The gentle breeze seemed to be all that was needed to move them together. Their lips met.

      With that kiss, the floodgates burst open. The pent-up passions of the young counselor and the mature nurse emerged in a hot, rushing tide that flooded them both. Tensions were washed away. Fears and hesitations were drowned by surging lust.

      Yet both knew that this was not the time or the place. They might be seen. They might be overheard.

      As if the thought had struck the two simultaneously, they drew apart sharply. Beth threw a cautious glance over her shoulder. Peggy’s eyes warily searched the shadows on every side. Reassured, they turned back to each other, smiling fondly, tenderly.

      “No more arguments?”

      “No more arguments,” Beth promised. “I may as well enjoy you while I can.”

      Peggy sat up straight. “I wish you wouldn’t talk like that.”

      “Why not? I think of you as a butterfly—liable to take wing at any moment. Young people do tend to be flighty.”

      “But this is different. We love each other!”

      Beth laughed. “Don’t start that again, or I’ll be ravishing you right here on the beach. You’re a terribly tempting little hussy, you know.”

      “Your hussy.”

      Beth rose reluctantly. “I think we’d better get back,” she said.

      Peggy nodded, slipped on her shoes.

      Together they left the lake, careful to latch the gate behind them.

      Halfway up the flagstoned path that led to the lodge, Beth said, “I think I’ll stop at the Pillbox a minute. I’ll be in the lounge later. If we run into each other there, be careful. Let’s not act particularly interested in each other.”

      The pair halted. In the ghostly lunar glow, their eyes met and held. Beth’s look was a caress, Peggy’s an embrace. It was their only farewell.

      Peggy watched until the figure in white disappeared into the night, then continued on toward the lodge. Strange, she mused. Her body no longer ached with passion. The flood of desire had waned. Instead, she felt satisfaction, content, a welling of affection and tenderness.

      A joyful shout ahead of her broke into Peggy’s thoughts. Pushing the past minutes with Beth into a secret place in her heart, she hurried up the lodge steps. She collected her kids, herded them to the cabin and into bed. She decided to stretch out on her cot in the dark, and think over the events of the day.

      She was asleep before her campers were.

      The following day passed swiftly, but too slowly for Peggy. After dinner she was making her way up the lodge steps once more, when she was stopped by Ruth, the petite blonde.

      Involuntarily, Peggy looked around for Dorothy. This time, the tall riding mistress was not in evidence.

      “Say, Peggy,” said Ruth, “my girls are planning a masquerade ball for their program night, and we wondered if your cabin would like to help out.”