Chapter 2

"It's just as hot as they said it was gonna be" the teenager with the longer lighter blonde hair said as she skimmed the debris from the pool's surface. For Michelle it was like having a front row seat to the show she'd enjoyed from her bathroom window yesterday and elicited the same reaction—the flutter in her belly and a rising warmth that had nothing to do with the sun.

In a large tree near the property line she noticed a caterpillar spinning itself into a cocoon. The sun glinted off the silken thread and Michelle marveled at the wonder of nature. When that sheath opened a completely new creature would emerge; one that bore no resemblance to the creeping crawling insect that she was now observing.

The visitor took a seat on one of the comfy lounges and settled back to enjoy the show her neighbor was putting on. Maybe enjoy wasn't the right word. But there really wasn't a single word that described what she was feeling. The fluttering tingle—that wasn't a feeling like an emotion—it was purely physical. The emotion that went with it she couldn't describe but it was deep like a longing, a wanting. Something made her ashamed of feeling that way. That something told her it was wrong, just like spending too much time washing yourself was wrong. Michelle didn't know how she knew these things—she just did.

Becky finished her skimming chore and put the net away. Michelle watched the ultra short skirt attached to the bathing suit bottoms sway when she walked.

'Her mother must have made that" she supposed.

'I've never seen anything like that in a store ... in fact the only things like it I've ever seen were in grandma's old photo album, circa nineteen-fifty five.'

"How are your legs feeling now? Did the bath help?" the older girl asked while she was taking a seat. The question brought Michelle back from her self-analysis. She felt flushed at the mention of the bath.

"Uh ... yeah it helped" she lied. In fact her legs were fine and the bath certainly hadn't helped her other problem.

"Did it help last night when I rubbed them?" That question carried with it an image and sensations that turned the younger girl's flush to a full blown blush. She cleared her throat to cover the groan that was trying to escape. Michelle didn't know what to say or do, her breathing was starting to get out of control again and she didn't trust her voice so she just nodded.

"Would you like me to do it again?" Becky offered; and just like last night the girl in the fifties style swimming costume didn't wait for a reply. She was on the pool deck with her neighbor's right foot in her hand squeezing before the younger girl could absorb what she'd said. This time Michelle wasn't quick enough to stifle the groan. "Does it feel good?" the kneeling girls hands were already working their way up the freshly shaven calf. It was something like a tennis ball hitting her right in the crotch.

'Feel good!' Michelle thought that was the understatement of her life.

The intense sensations washed over her and all she could do was put her head back and try not to moan. It just got harder as the massaging hands worked their way higher.

Rebecca's mother noticed a cocoon attached to the wall on the outside of the kitchen window frame and thought that she should clean it off. Thinking about the beautiful flying insect that would eventually come out of the eyesore was making her reconsider. That's when she noticed the teenagers and in particular her daughter kneeling at the foot of their guest's lounge. She watched as her daughter began the therapy on the girl from next door. The low rumbling in her pelvis made her press her mons against the counter. The memories and feelings it stirred were ancient and bitter sweet.

In her daydream she wasn't Maryann Spencer, in fact she wouldn't meet Don Spencer for another eight years. She was Maryann Flanagan daughter of an upstanding Irish catholic father and a Scandinavian mother (hence the blonde hair genes). She had little recollection of her mother who had died in a car accident before Maryann's fifth birthday.

It wasn't until much later—after being caught by the Mother Superior with the novice that she'd overheard a conversation that should have forever damaged her few and faint memories of the woman who'd given birth to her; but it didn't.

It was Christmas time and she was home from the convent school for the break. She enjoyed playing lady of the house to her father and his buddies from work. She served them beer and snacks while they watched sports on TV. One particular afternoon stood out.

Her father had gone out to replenish the beer supply. She served up another round while he was gone. She was going on fifteen at the time and had a natural adolescent curiosity about members of the opposite sex so after she delivered the tray of cold brews she hung around just outside the door listening to their crude and frequently profane conversation. She heard one of her father's chums say,

'That Maryann's getting quite a little body on her' followed by another's voice saying,

'Yeah just like her mother ... I wonder if she fucks like her?' A third voice chimed in,

'If Jimmy hears you talking like that he'll put your lights out.'

The second voice responded,

'Ah Harry you know what she was like and Jimmy knew too. She fuck a snake if it had ears ta get a hold of' There were a lot of guffaws after that comment. The first voice rejoined,

'It's different where she was from ... Denmark or Sweden ... one of those free lovin' countries. She was just doin' what came naturally. We all did her ... you did too Harry so don't be so fuckin' self-righteous.' Then Harry replied,

'I'm not sayin' I didn't. I just don't think it's right to speak ill of the dead... 'sides ya weren't talkin' about Ilse anyway ya were talkin' about his daughter.'

Maryann recalled being so shocked by the revelation that her mother was unfaithful that she almost didn't hear her father come in. When she did realize that he was back she had scurried up to the kitchen with the empties.

As she was placing the bottles in the case one of the few clear memories she had of her mom came to the surface. Sometimes her dad was away for days at a time. She didn't understand then but now she knew that his skills were sometimes contracted out and that he traveled to remote jobsites. It seemed to her that when ever her daddy was away an aunt, one she never saw any other time would come and visit.

The aunt made her mom really tired because the two of them spent most of their time in bed and they never seemed to have any clothes on. Maryann recalled herself as a four year old, taking off her own clothes to be like the women she admired. Her aunt told her that she was going to be a less bean when she grew up, and laughed. She recalled thinking that she didn't want to be any kind of a bean when she grew up; she wanted to be a fairy princess.

The next really clear memory she had after her mother's death was her enrolment at Holy Grace. She knew that it pained her grieving father to be apart from her, but James Flanagan did not feel comfortable raising a little girl without a woman to provide guidance. No, the only sensible thing for a good catholic to do was to enroll his young daughter with the Sisters of Holy Grace.

She came home on weekends—most of the time. Her dad was a welder and there were times in the year when he logged enormous amounts of overtime, and sometimes had to travel. So it was that little Maryann Flanagan would wind up being one of a very few girls left behind at the convent.

The sisters always had their own agendas on the weekend and it generally didn't include entertaining left behind students. For the first six or seven years it meant a lot of reading and solitary game playing; then came Teresa. Maryann never really knew how old the novice was, just that she must have graduated to be in the position that she was in, and that she was much closer to her age than any of the nuns.

Watching her daughter administering the massage to their new neighbor brought back memories of that fateful Friday.

She hadn't felt well even when she'd gotten up. She had cramps and a head ache and felt generally rotten. She dragged herself through the day's classes anyway because it was better than staying alone in her room (she'd probably be doing that for the rest of the weekend unless Terry had some time for her).The Mother Superior kept Teresa pretty busy because she had a lot to learn, so Maryann couldn't always rely on her companionship.

When she got up on Saturday she felt even worse. The cramps were nearly unbearable. She didn't want to trouble any of the sisters but she did search out Terry for advice, or at least comfort and sympathy. She found her friend and weekend companion in the library cataloguing periodicals.

When she'd described her symptoms the older girl got a knowing look on her face and asked if she'd ever had a period. Maryann recalled being shocked. She'd sort of heard about the curse but it always seemed like a long way off, not to mention a little scary, so she tried to ignore it—forget about it—but if Teresa was right those days were down to a very small number.

The novice told her that she had to finish at least the one volume or she'd get in trouble but that Maryann should come to her room after evening prayers.

"In the meantime stuff a big handful of toilet tissue in your panties ... just in case" she'd said. Now she had not only the discomfort but fear to deal with as well.

She did as she was told and after prayers went back to her room (which she shared with three other girls during the week). She didn't go in but detoured stealthily to the portion of the building were the staff's quarters were. Terry and she had met there before but the novice wasn't actually supposed to have visitors in her room so secrecy was paramount.

When she arrived she was surprised to find that her friend and confidant had already changed into her night dress. 'Wow she did that pretty fast' Maryann remembered thinking, since they'd both left chapel at about the same time.

"Did ya start bleeding yet?" Terry had asked as soon as she was in the door. She was so embarrassed—embarrassed and scared by the whole thing that she'd only been able to respond with a shake of her head.

"Good at least we won't have to start by cleaning up a mess." She'd gone to her dresser and pulled out a box of feminine hygiene pads and another box with tampons in it. Holding up the box of pads she'd said "this is the hi-tech version of the toilet paper you've got in there now ... and this" raising the box of tampons "is the far better choice."

'Why is she bothering to show me the other thing then?' she'd wondered.

"The problem is if you're cherr ... uh, hymen is still intact you may not be able to use these yet." That explained it—sort of. They'd done some sex-ed but it was strictly need to know and apparently not even that complete. The puritanical way the material had been presented combined with her own mental block on the subject left her next to clueless. Her face must have conveyed her lack of understanding because her tutor had recognized the need to elaborate.

"When you're born there's a bit of skin that covers the entrance to your vagina. It's not completely closed over so the blood—it's actually called menses—can get out. In the olden days that skin, your hymen, would get torn the first time you had intercourse ... uh, made love with your husband. It's what makes you a technical virgin"

Maryann recalled that Terry had actually used the air quotes when she said those words.

"If it's still in place you may not be able to get a tampon in ... then you'll have to use the pad ... but they're messy and so ... um, gross."

Beyond the window she was looking through out on the pool deck Becky was up to Michelle's thighs. Missus Spencer pressed harder against the kitchen counter in front of her as she recalled the next words that she'd said all those years ago.

"H ... how uh, how would I ... uh ... know?"

The look that had come over Teresa's face was one that she didn't recognize and barely understood to this day.

"I ... I can uh ... check for you ... uh, if you ... if you want." As scared and embarrassed as she was she appreciated the novice's help.

The thought of having to go through this with one of the sisters was mortifying. She was much more comfortable with Terry—uh, sort of. She couldn't understand why her friend had gotten so flushed and nervous looking.

Then she'd made her take her panties off and lie down on her bed. She, of course was still wearing her uniform with the short tartan wraparound kilt and the white blouse and knee socks. The way her instructor's breasts jiggled when she knelt in front of her made her lack of a bra under the night shirt pretty obvious.

The kitchen was getting very warm—uncomfortably so—as she thought about what happened next.

The novice lifted her skirt and started pushing her knees apart; her legs had automatically resisted. She'd been so embarrassed she could have cried but Terry coaxed her; telling her it was OK, that she'd done this before, and that she wasn't going to do anything to hurt her. The nun in training talked about how this was all normal and natural.

"It's nothing to be ashamed of" she'd said; "trust me."

Maryann was recalling the strange new feelings she started to have in those stressful moments. As much as her tummy had been aching she'd begun to feel strange warmth down there—warmth and something else which she thought might have been gratitude to the young woman between her legs; the one who was whispering words of encouragement and stroking her thighs ... just like ... like Becky was doing now with Michelle.

Maryann Spencer's eyes were on the pool deck watching the girls, but Maryann Flanagan was lying on a small cot in a catholic boarding school looking down at the pretty face of the novice nun between her legs. And then she'd touched her!

"Oh God" Rebecca's mother moaned out loud and pressed ever harder against the countertop.

Delicate fingers were searching through her folds touching her in her most private place. The pain and cramps were nearly forgotten as waves of heat and something else—something she couldn't describe, and had no knowledge of at anytime while she was in the school, began to envelope her. Maryann Spencer now knew it to be sexual arousal. She was panting now just as she'd done then. She could almost feel the physical sensation of Terry's gentle fingers exploring her vulva—exploring and searching for her maidenhead. She didn't know now, as she hadn't known then, that it wasn't that difficult to find and see. She also didn't know and couldn't see the novice rocking slightly back and forth on the floor digging one of her heels into her own sopping vulva.

The kitchen was so hot. Becky's mother felt a jolt like an electric shock and she shuddered.

"Oh Holy Mother deliver me from this evil" she sighed and ran to retrieve the rosary from her bedside table.

They weren't thoughts; they had no language with them they were concepts, enigmas without clear definition. Was her religion, the church, a shell that she pulled around herself to shield out the iniquity of a sinful hedonistic world; because if it was she had to leave part of herself outside—the needy physical part. Or was it a lamp unto her feet that guided her through the spiritual wasteland and kept her from succumbing to her ungodly desires. She preferred the later. At least in that conceptualization she was whole; the former left her fragmented, at odds with herself. The enigmas tumbled over one another deep in her subconscious, only surfacing in unguarded moments.

The trouble was there seemed to be so many more unguarded moments since Don's passing. It had been easy to screen out the troubling questions when he was alive. She was an upstanding contributing member of the church, a wife and a mother. Why had Don's death changed everything so much? She was still all of those things—except a wife. Why did being a widow pull at the fabric of her self concept like tugging a loose thread on a knitted sweater. A thread that once pulled would unravel the whole thing.

She could have drawn them out into the light, these perplexing issues. She could have given them words so that they could be properly debated. In fact she didn't even have to draw them out, all she had to do was to let them emerge. They wanted to surface, but she was afraid. She dropped to her knees bedside her bed and worked her way through the Rosary as she always did at times like these.

Michelle had her eyes closed and was biting her lip to hold the moans in. Her new friend, the one in the yellow antique bathing costume, was massaging so high on her thighs now that she thought she could feel the flesh around her girlhood being tugged at. She prayed that Becky's hands would slip and touch her—touch her where the heat and throbbing was becoming so intense—touch her where she was afraid to touch herself.

Rebecca rocked a little as she squeezed and kneaded the warm silky flesh of her neighbor's thighs. Each time she sat back the heel of her left foot pressed between her legs sending a thrilling little pulse that seemed to shoot up and create a delightful tingle in her nipples. The kneeling girl was quite sure that they'd be sticking out like pencil erasers if the material of the bathing suit top wasn't so thick. She could scarcely take her eyes off the way the bottoms of Michelle's pink two piece molded to the plump mons it was covering. She did manage occasionally to look up at the younger girl's face and thought she recognized the blissful expression she saw there.

'She's enjoying this just as much as I am' the rocking young woman concluded.

The way her mouth was moving caused the tantalizing chorus to play in her head again; 'I kissed a girl ... and I liked it ... What would she do if I kissed her' Becky wondered and a tiny spasm rocked her girlhood.

Her eyes wandered back to the crotch of the slightly small bathing suit bottoms. Imaging the treasure that was so poorly hidden by the thin layer of synthetic material she thought,

'And what if I kissed her there?' That idea caused a much larger quake in her freely flowing bald cookie so she pressed down even harder on her heel. It was too much and she couldn't stop the squeal from happening. Their eyes met and for a moment there was a flicker of understanding.

"Have you girls got sunscreen on?" Rebecca's mother's voice shattered the connection.

"Uh ... no mom ... I, I forgot." Becky answered hoping nobody would notice how hoarse she was. She sat right down on the deck now out of breath.

"Well you'd better get some on sweetheart or you're gonna be sorry ... and you too Michelle."

She was smearing the lotion on her own arms and shoulders when she issued the warning. When the girl from next door could see straight again she realized how similar Missus Spencer's bathing costume was to her daughter's.

'She does make them ... now I'm sure of it.'

The older woman's suit was blue with a blue print to it that was too subtle to be able to tell from fifteen feet away exactly what it was—flowers maybe, or just an abstract pattern. The fourteen year old was trying to decide which and watching her girlfriend's mother applying the sunscreen when she realized for the first time how big her bust was.

In the dress she'd been wearing yesterday she could have been the shape of a watermelon and you wouldn't have been able to tell. Now, even though the ancient looking swim wear was designed for the utmost modesty, her substantial rack was quite evident. The top came up almost her collar bone and low enough that only about three inches or so of her midriff was exposed. Like her daughter's, the bottoms featured an over skirt that was connected and covered the leg holes and ended about an inch below the crotch concealing it completely, which of course was its purpose.

There wasn't too much exposed skin above her waist to coat with the protective cream but missus Spencer was evidently making sure that she had it all covered. When the older woman started inserting her hand into her top to spread the sunscreen under the edge Michelle got that fluttery feeling again. Actually it had never completely gone away, just when she saw the older busty blonde stick her hand inside her bra it gave the recently massaged girl on the lounge a vicarious thrill.

Rebecca picked up the lotion from the table where her mother had set it down and started mimicking her movements. Again when Michelle saw her friend's hand half disappear inside one of her cups she felt a delightful little surge from her girlhood.

'This is stupid!' she thought, 'How can I get this turned on by watching two women—one old enough to be my mother—put on sunscreen?'