Juicy Secrets Forbidden Tales of Lesbian Love

For a list of the characters from the previous two stories that you will encounter here as well, visit this page.

by Rachael Yukey

Rainbows, they only laugh when you cry
Lightning has struck you not once but twice
Warfare, it will subside when you are blind
Love’s within your reach and there’s no time
Queensryche, 2022

Diary of Mallory Kalvornek, June 4th, 2022

Back home in Dickson! Actually, I was just here a couple of months ago, but not long enough to really appreciate it. Julie and I flew up when Nettie’s dad died, drove to Bronning for the funeral, and returned to Colorado the next day. And guess what: in about ten minutes we’ll be joining the driveway boarding queue to make the three-hour drive to Bronning all over again. We just got out of the car last night after a long-ass drive from Boulder, so I can’t say I’m anxious to climb back into any kind of vehicle—even one with Julie standing in as the sexy stewardess.

I haven’t kept a diary since the summer of 2007, when I was twelve years old. So why, you might ask, am I taking the pen up again now? Truth be told, I’m not clear on this myself. Maybe it’s because I’m slowing down for the first time in forever. I have a PhD in music, a teaching position at a good university, and a rock-solid relationship with the best domestic partner I could ask for. I turn down more requests to perform than I could possibly accept, and I’m starting to earn some recognition as a composer. I’ve reached a comfortable plateau in life.

Maybe I’m starting a new diary because our vacation is triggering so many memories, even though it hasn’t really begun yet. For some reason, that first year with Julie is bouncing around in my head. I struggled so much with everything! Losing my faith, accepting myself as gay (my bisexual side would emerge a few years later), falling in love. It was the most difficult year of my life—but also, in lots of ways, the best.

Or maybe it’s this intangible feeling that I’m on the cusp of something important. I’m not sure, really—this summer is meant to be a vacation, but I wonder if it’s really that simple.

There’s unfinished business I’ve got to deal with. I need to reconnect with Mom, for one thing. We were the best of friends (and occasional sex partners) in the years following her divorce from my father, but she’s been cold and distant for the past three or four years now, and I’m not sure what to make of that. Whatever’s wrong, it’s time to have it out with her; try as best I can to make things right.

Speaking of Dad—well, I’m still processing that. The adrenal gland cancer that took his life at the age of forty-eight was shocking, unexpected, and cruel. We were never close when I was little, but things changed after he split with Mom, and he eventually came to terms with my choices and my sexuality. We became friends. He even grew close to Julie’s father Jason, and they became hunting and fishing buddies.

Now it’s time, past time really, to make some hard decisions. Ownership of the family farm fell to me when Dad died. The house I grew up in, almost two hundred acres of untillable woodlands, and a large amount of cropland. I’ve been renting out the latter, along with the grain storage facility, and letting Jason hunt the woods in the fall. But it was always a temporary solution, and I’m committed to deciding on a final disposition of the property before the summer is out.

Our plan for the first week home was to spend time with Julie’s family. I was really looking forward to it; in many ways, I was closer to them than my own parents during much of my preteen and teen years. But at the last minute, Jason received an invitation to be keynote speaker at an EMS conference in Las Vegas. He accepted—and his wife Lisa, along with their daughter Victoria, chose to go along for the ride. I can’t fault them for that; who turns down a family vacation in Vegas? But it left Julie and me to our own devices on our first weekend home.

So we decided to visit Julie’s cousin Nettie Hastings in Bronning. If you read the diary I kept when I was twelve, you know Nettie, but she’s not the same traumatized little kid you remember. Far from it. She’s twenty-six years old, a paramedic, and dipping her toes into the investigative line of work, assisting the DEA with some of their more difficult cases. There’s a retirement party planned for the director of her local volunteer EMS service this afternoon, and we’re expecting to be there in time for it. Nettie’s friend Terry Wilder is taking over the position, and will be giving a speech.

Sigghhh… Julie just asked if I’m ready to get my ass in gear. I love her more than life itself, but I’ve never gotten used to her boundless energy and enthusiasm. Did I mention that I do NOT relish the idea of getting into a car at this moment in time?

***

“Robbie’s resemblance to Yoda extends far beyond his advanced age and his large, hairy ears.” Terry Wilder paused for effect, letting the brief spate of laughter run its course. Resplendent in a salmon-colored sports jacket and jaunty black fedora, he seemed at ease, hands resting lightly on the edges of the podium. The Minnesota breeze tugged at his shoulder-length hair.

The day had blossomed to warmer-than-expected temps, and the party had been hastily moved from the fire hall to the large, grassy field immediately behind. The port-a-stage from which Terry spoke had been erected at the far end of the expanse, just short of Marshal Avenue. Over his shoulder and across the street, the long, low-slung red-brick nursing home blighted the landscape. Weeds sprouted from the cracks in the cordoned-off parking lot, and the Edmunds Realty sign planted on the overgrown front lawn had begun to fade with age.

Terry, favored his audience with an ingratiating smile, then plunged ahead. “Much like the fabled green oven mitt of Star Wars fame, Robbie’s presence has always been one of calm, wisdom, and fortitude. If he ever becomes agitated or overwhelmed, I’ve certainly never seen it. His competence and leadership have upheld the highest standards for far longer than I’ve been here, and led to Bronning Ambulance receiving awards for exceptional emergency care every single year during his directorship. That’s thirty-two years of honors, folks, including no fewer than seven awards for best volunteer service in the state. No other such agency can lay claim to more than three.”

He paused again as a round of applause swept the field. Julie Hanson, standing just behind the last row of folding chairs, extracted her arm from her partner’s waist and clapped along. She didn’t know Robbie Wachinsky from Adam, and had only briefly met Terry Wilder a couple of months before—but he was an engaging speaker, and being out of the car seemed reason enough for applause all by itself. She wanted a shower, or at least a private moment to extricate her undies from the crack of her butt, but for the moment the sunshine and warm spring breeze would suffice. She and Mallory had pulled into Bronning just moments before the ceremony began.

“It falls to me now,” Wilder was saying, “to shoulder the burden Robbie has carried so well during his lengthy tenure. What do I bring to the table, aside from prodigious good looks and charm?” Another pause; another pattering of laughter. “To be honest, I’m not so sure myself. I do know I have very large shoes to fill, and can only do my best to carry on the tradition of leadership and standard of excellence that Robert Wachinsky has set for Bronning Ambulance. And on that note, the time has come to break bread in Robbie’s honor. Pastor Dan from First Lutheran is going to lead a prayer, and then we can all dig in. Pastor?”

Julie and Mallory applauded with the rest of the crowd as Terry Wilder strode to the side of the platform, making way for a bearded young man wearing a button-down shirt and tie. The assemblage bowed their heads, and Julie followed suit, noting out of the corner of her eye that Mallory was resolutely keeping her head high and her eyes open. Julie was more than content to do as the Romans do when in Rome, but Mallory’s childhood struggle for independence from her Evangelical upbringing had left its mark. Observing any sort of religious practice, even on the surface, was a point on which she would not bend. Julie took Mallory’s hand and squeezed.

The prayer was mercifully short, and lines began to form at the potluck tables. Julie turned at once towards the open back door of the fire hall. “Bet there’s a bathroom in there,” she said, smiling down at her partner.

Mallory snickered. “And here I thought I was the only one who needed to pee.” They made for the hall at a fast walk, still holding hands. As always, the pair turned heads. Eye flicked towards Julie’s long, shapely legs, amply on display courtesy of her short flower-print sundress. Mallory’s diminutive, curvy form drew just as many looks, buttocks on display under tight designer jeans, her low-cut orange blouse showing just the right amount of cleavage.

“Think there’ll be any food left for us?” said Mallory.

Julie giggled. “I think we’ll be okay with a quick pee break. Did you see those tables? I thought they were going to collapse from the weight of all those eats.”

Mallory raised an eyebrow. “Is that a structural observation based on obscure math that can only be calculated by someone with a master’s degree in engineering?” They both laughed. Julie let go of Mallory’s hand, preceding her through the fire hall door. Julie, whose stepmother was mayor of a little slice of nowhere pretty much exactly like this one, raised her eyebrows at the almost-new condition of the red-on-grey steel-sided structure. She supposed its predecessor must have been in poor condition indeed for the city council in a burg like this to vote through the money for a new building, and wondered if some state funding might have been taken advantage of.

Minutes later they emerged, Mallory in the lead. Julie squinted in the bright sunlight, casting her eyes about for a familiar face. She felt lighter and more relaxed with an empty bladder, to say nothing of her panties no longer being wedged between her buttocks.

Mallory was the first to catch sight of someone they recognized. “There’s Nettie,” she said, tugging on Julie’s sleeve and pointing towards a picnic table off to the right. A virtual carbon copy of Julie sat hunched over a plate of food, a shorter, ample-bosomed redhead parked across the table from her.

Nettie was Julie’s cousin, but they could have been twins. They shared the same lean, six-foot frame, and thick black hair. They were distinguishable mostly by affectation; Nettie wore her hair long and flowing, whereas Julie had recently adopted a pixie cut. The frames of Nettie’s glasses were orange; Julie had always favored purple rims.

Hand in hand, Julie and Mallory set off across the grassy field, picking their way through the throng. Nettie caught sight of them as they approached and waved them over.

“There you are,” she said, standing as they reached her table. “I saw you guys when you got here, but the ceremony was starting, and then you disappeared before I could say hi.” She spread her arms, and they came together in a three-way hug.

“We didn’t get a chance to pee before the speeches,” Julie explained, squeezing tightly.

“Yeah, if Terry had talked for much longer, I’d have a big stain down the front of my pants,” said Mallory.

Nettie laughed, releasing them and backing off a step. “I’m glad you could make it. This is my girlfriend, Hannah.” The redhead was standing now, stepping forward with hand extended. “Hannah, this is my cousin Julie, and her partner Mallory.”

Julie glanced at the outstretched hand, then looked into Hannah’s eyes and gave her best smile. “It’s a pleasure, Hannah. Can I hug you?”

Hannah grinned back, then stepped into Julie’s waiting arms. Julie felt a light tingling as the shorter woman’s ample breasts pressed against hers. They parted, and Hannah turned towards Mallory, who was already opening her arms.

“You two should go get some food,” said Nettie as Mallory and Hannah embraced. “Terry and his girls are coming over to eat with us, but it’s a big table. There’ll be room.”

Sure enough, by the time Julie and Mallory returned with heaping plates, Terry Wilder was seated at the table, holding forth on Walt Whitman and the rise of a distinctively American brand of poetry. His four daughters stuffed their faces as their dad chattered on. Julie was damned if she could remember any of their names.

Oh wait—the oldest must be Halee. The one who got shot. 

Halee, Julie couldn’t help but notice, was already ripening into a beautiful young woman. How old is she? Maybe thirteen? Her hair was dyed jet-black with blue highlights, budding breasts just barely visible under an Iron Maiden t-shirt.

Terry broke off his monologue, head lifting to give the two approaching women his full attention. “Julie and Mallory, right? We met a couple of months ago.” Julie seated herself next to him at the end of the table, Mallory settling in across from her.

Looking across the table, Julie caught the eye of the gothed-out beauty to Mallory’s left. “Halee, isn’t it?”

Halee met her eyes boldly, overtly dropped her gaze to Julie’s chest for a moment, then looked back up. “Yup. Good to see you again.” Julie raised mental eyebrows at the directness of the girl’s gaze; the way she emphasized the word ‘you’. Damn… is she flirting with me?

Julie turned her attention to the girl on Halee’s left. “I’m sorry—I don’t remember the rest of your names. I met too many people at the funeral reception last month. You are—”

“Dawn,” the little girl piped up. She had long chestnut hair, high cheekbones, and an endearing smile.

“And how old are you, Dawn?”

“I’m eight.”

Julie leaned forward, craning her neck to look past Terry, to the two girls seated between him and Nettie.

Terry grinned. “Sound off, you two.”

The little towheaded girl next to him smiled shyly and said “I’m Maya, and I’m six.” She then proceeded to stuff four fries in her mouth at once.

“Oh, gross, Maya!” exclaimed the girl next to her. “Naomi. I turned eleven last Tuesday.”

Terry was looking at Julie sidelong. “You’ve changed hairstyles. It’s lovely.”

Julie allowed herself a smile as she dipped a french fry in ranch. “Thank you.”

“Notwithstanding that change, it’s nothing short of astounding how closely you resemble your cousin over there,” he went on, jerking his thumb towards Nettie.

“They looked alike even when they were kids,” said Mallory, scooping up a forkful of potato salad. “Except that Nettie was shorter than Julie. She caught up in her teens.”

Terry looked across the table at Mallory, capturing her eyes as she shoveled the food into her mouth, favoring her with a lopsided grin. “I wasn’t aware you’d known these two for that long.”

Mallory blushed lightly under his scrutiny, swallowing her food with a visible effort. “I’ve known Julie since we were ten,” she said. “I met Nettie when she was almost eleven, and Julie and I were either twelve or close to it.” She looked down at her plate, blush deepening, then tipped her eyes across the table to her partner, her head tilted slightly.

Julie returned the look with a slight smile and a nod. She’d never felt the slightest bit threatened by Mallory’s bisexuality; after all, it wasn’t like they’d ever been sexually exclusive. Mallory’s very occasional hunger for a man usually manifested itself exactly like this—suddenly, when she found herself attracted to a particular guy. She never acted on her desire without asking, and Julie had never refused her.

Wilder glanced between the two women, and Julie had a feeling the exchange hadn’t been lost on him. Well, she thought, Nettie DID mention that he’s exceptionally good at reading people. In the meantime, her gaze was drawn to Halee Wilder, seated next to Mallory and tucking into a cheeseburger. The girl’s eyes were flicking between her father, Julie, and Mallory, wearing a sardonic grin that was focused, intelligent, and totally aware. She caught Julie’s eye and locked gazes. Tilting her head to the side, she tipped a wink.

Julie blinked once, then lifted her eyebrows suggestively. Halee’s grin got bigger. This hot little vixen IS coming onto me, Julie realized. It didn’t faze her in the slightest; she and Mallory had enjoyed their own first sexual adventures with adult women when they were younger than Halee was now. But such brazenness was a bit surprising, especially at that age. Halee might just prove to be a fun diversion, either in a threesome with Mallory, or perhaps a bit of one-on-one fun if Mallory preferred to indulge in a little straight sex with the girl’s father. It would not, she reflected, be the first time.

Then there was that smoking hot redhead sitting across from her cousin. Nettie had referred to Hannah as her girlfriend, but Julie couldn’t help but wonder just how exclusive they were. And what about Nettie herself? It had happened before, but they’d been much, much younger then.

From the opposite end of the table, Nettie listened to the conversation with half an ear, working her way through a burger in between sips of coffee. She was blissfully content to have Hannah across the table, right there in her hometown among friends and family, but something about this whole downtable exchange was preying on her mind.

Not that she had a problem with anything that was transpiring, but the thought of Julie and perhaps Mallory embarking on a tryst of some description with Halee was triggering images, flashes in which memory and imagination were so entangled she had no way to distinguish between the two. She’d blocked out much of that horrible, traumatic year following the death of her twin sister, to the extent that she remembered kindergarten better than she remembered the second half of the fifth grade, or the first half of the sixth. Most of that time she’d spent living with Julie’s family.

She’d always thought of her liaisons with Miranda Olmstead at age fourteen as her first genuine sexual experience, but at times like these, she wondered. Images of herself in licentious situations with Julie and Mallory as children, even with some of their friends, flitted in and out of her head. How much of it was real, how much fantasy? She’d never worked up the courage to ask.

“Antoinette?” A light touch to the back of her hand shook Nettie out of her reverie. She looked up, startled. It was Hannah’s fingers resting on her hand, her lover’s eyebrows raised in concern.

“Sorry,” Nettie tossed off a laugh. “Got to daydreaming, I guess.”

“Ladies, and gentleman, Antoinette Hastings has officially departed low earth orbit,” said Terry, gesturing in her direction with a spoonful of baked beans, which he then proceeded to slip into his mouth.

“I was just asking if you’d gotten settled in the new place,” said Mallory.

Nettie shrugged, willing her tensed muscles to relax. “I’m all moved in, but I haven’t finished going through Dad’s stuff. About half of it is still boxed up in the garage.”

“What about the business?” Julie wanted to know.

“On the market,” Nettie replied. “I decided hanging onto it would be more trouble than it’s worth. Know anyone who wants to buy a lumberyard in the back end of nowhere?”

A chuckle made its way around the group, interrupted by a dozen or so pagers going off at once, two of which were at their table. Julie, her waist lightly touching the vibrating pager clipped to Terry’s belt, let out a squawk and dropped her fork.

Bronning Ambulance, Franklin, respond to 13343 State Highway 27 for a mental health crisis. Caller states that she swallowed three times her usual dose of Zoloft and is requesting transport to the hospital. Your time is 1632.

“Whoa,” said Julie, running a hand across her eyes with a laugh. “It’s been too long since I’ve lived in a house with one of those.”

Terry cast his gaze around the open space. “Who’s on?” he called out.

Nate Haus was already on his feet and moving across the field. He waved an arm over his head. “Me and Jessie.”

“Actually,” Robbie Wachinsky announced in a deep booming voice as he rose from the table nearest the stage, “Jessie’s sick. I’m covering.”

Terry burst out laughing. “Robbie,” he said in a voice that carried across the distance and over the horde, “you’re the only person I know who’d volunteer to cover at his own retirement party. I’ll take it for you, if you want.”

“Y’know what?” Robbie said as he followed Nate across the grass, still loud enough for everyone to hear, “this is the last time I’ll ever have the pager on. I can take a call. I’ll be back before it’s time to cut the cake.”

He paused as he passed their table. “What do you think, Nettie? Will we need a paramedic?”

Nettie snorted. “Three times an SSRI dose? That’s six hundred milligrams at the outside. It’ll make her sleepy; it’s not gonna kill her. Just drive her to the hospital. She’ll be fine.”

Robbie clapped her on the shoulder. “Enjoy the barbecue, then. I’ll be back.”

***

The sun is sinking slowly beneath the pines, casting long shadows as it approaches the nadir of its trajectory. A pair of sunken, bloodshot eyes watch it descend, the mind that lurks behind those eyes barely contained in its impatience. Sleep has not come easy this day. So much watching, so much waiting. Too much. It has been so very, very long.

Less than a mile away, two girls watch TV in the living room of a dingy, unkempt trailer. Their mother appears at the hallway entrance, her too-bright lipstick intended to match her red knee-high “steppin’ boots”. Her denim skirt doesn’t quite manage to cover the prominent bubble of her ass.

“How do I look?” she wants to know.

***

How, Nettie lamented to herself, do I end up in these situations? Nothing like wanting to rip someone’s clothes off and fuck them silly when I have a roomful of guests. 

She was ensconced on her loveseat, an arm around Hannah, a drink in the other hand. Robbie’s party had begun to split up as the sun went down, people trickling off of the field in small groups like stray electrons spinning off into the ether. She’d helped gather up and pack away the folding chairs, then retreated with her guests in tow.

Despite having Hannah all to herself for the first time in weeks, she could hardly have avoided offering Julie and Mallory a place to crash while they were in town. She had room to spare, and Bronning’s only motel was the best of all possible places to pick up bedbugs, lice or a social disease. With rarely-seen family in the house, her place had turned into a sort of party after the party—the kind that nobody would be driving home from.

Mallory and Julie had taken most of the couch, close together with arms touching, Mallory on the middle cushion. On Mal’s other side was Franklin County Sheriff’s Deputy Cindy Koep, who had gone to school with Julie and Mallory in Dickson. Occupying the room’s two recliners were Terry Wilder and his eldest daughter, Halee. Terry had found an overnight babysitter for his two youngest girls, while eleven-year-old Naomi was doing a sleepover at the home of her best friend Chelsey.

An image flashed through Nettie’s mind of what those two young lovebirds were most likely up to, which was a good deal more spicy than playing with Barbie dolls and watching Disney films. After all, she’d been there to watch them have sex for the first time. A wave of heat spread upwards, flowing from her groin to her belly. Dammit.

Mallory, Julie, and Hannah had mixed themselves daiquiris, Nettie and Terry were sipping shots from a bottle of scotch Terry had brought along—Nettie had taken one look at the label and resolved never to ask what the price tag was—and Cindy was nursing a bottle of locally brewed beer. A half-finished Coke rested on the table next to Halee’s chair.

A record was playing, the volume turned low. Nettie had chosen a Van Halen album in deference to her guests; at the moment Sammy Hagar was begging the question ‘Why Can’t This Be Love’. Why indeed? Nettie mused. Damned if I know.

“In other news,” Cindy was saying, “remember Floyd Peterson? That sorry sack of shit just got sentenced. He’ll be doing five years minimum.”

Julie guffawed. “Color me the least surprised person on earth. What’d he do this time?”

Cindy took a long pull of beer before she replied. “Assault with a deadly weapon. He beat the shit out of a guy with a big-ass crowbar. The victim was suing to get his money back; I guess he contracted Floyd to do a cement-block basement for his trailer and the whole thing came out crooked. No surprise there, either. So,” she paused for another sip, “Floyd shows up at this dude’s house drunk off his ass, and the moment the door opens, starts swinging. Probably would have killed him, but he dropped the crowbar and ran when he heard the victim’s wife jacking a shotgun shell into the chamber. The prosecutor tried to get him for attempted murder, but they couldn’t prove intent.”

Floyd Peterson. The name bounced around in Nettie’s mind, trying to find a place to land. It sounded familiar; someone she must have known during her year in Dixon. An image flashed through her mind; screaming girls wrestling in the snow with a taunting bully, all seen through a haze of tears. She couldn’t be sure it was related.

Mallory was shaking her head. “Good grief. Wasn’t he living with Kelly Larsen?”

“She walked out on him two years ago,” Cindy supplied. “Took the kids and moved into one of those crusty apartments above Dickson Hardware. Last I heard, she was working at the grocery store.”

“What a waste,” Julie lamented. “She was a year ahead of Mal and I in the advanced learning program, and wrote amazing poetry. Had a real head for math, too. I’ll never understand how someone that bright ends up going down such a bad road. I hope she kicked him in the balls on her way out the door.”

“He sounds like a real jerk,” said Halee.

“He was in our grade at Dickson Public,” said Cindy, “and a regular little asshole. Even in elementary school, he was constantly in trouble. Me, Mallory, and Julie got in a fight with him once, along with our friend Emma.”

That image flashed before Nettie’s eyes again; girls fighting with a boy in the snow. And an older girl, with goth clothes and a dirty mouth. Something about a man in an overcoat?

Hannah’s eyebrows went up. “How’d that happen?”

Cindy threw her head back and laughed. “Oh, God—it was so fucked. He never messed with any of us again, though.”

Julie was shaking her head. “It was right after school; we’d have been in the sixth grade. Floyd was picking on—well—a younger kid.” Her eyes flicked uneasily towards Nettie, then away again. “He—”

“Hold on,” Nettie broke in. “Why do I have the feeling I should remember this?”

Cindy looked down at her hands. Mallory and Julie exchanged an uncomfortable glance. It was Mallory who broke the silence. “Yeah—you were there. You usually walked home when the rest of us did.”

Hannah poked Nettie in the ribs. “You never told me you went to school in Dickson.”

“I lived with Julie’s family for about a year,” said Nettie, wishing she’d kept her mouth shut. “Long story. I was pretty young, and my memories of that time aren’t always real solid. When Cindy said ‘Floyd Peterson’ I got an image in my head of a kid being wrestled down in the snow by a bunch of girls—I’m guessing that’s what this is?” She hoped rather fervently that someone would get the hint. Hannah was looking at her with an eyebrow raised; Terry with an expression of profound sympathy.

Fortunately, Mallory was as perceptive as ever. “Like Julie said, it was right after school. It was spring and kind of nice out, and I was going to Julie’s house after school that day, so a bunch of us decided to walk home. We had this route we’d take. We’d hit Emma’s house first, then Cindy’s, and finally Julie and I would end up at her place. Nettie kinda got roped into the whole thing while she was crashing at Julie’s.

“Anyway, the five of us were standing around outside the school, not really in a big hurry to start walking, and Floyd came by with one of those sad sack guys that used to follow him around and do whatever he said…”

“I think it was Tom Ladwig that time,” Cindy put in.

“Yeah, Tom!” said Julie, picking up the thread. “So Floyd’s passing by, and starts totally being a douche. And I guess I kind of lost my head.”

“Julie was screaming at him to shut up,” said Cindy, “and that older girl you two used to hang out with showed up and threatened to put his lights out.”

“Megan Frost,” Nettie said suddenly. All at once the entire scene was replaying in her mind, as vividly as if it had happened yesterday. “I remember now! You guys went back and forth for a bit, Mallory squared off with him and threatened to kick him in the balls, then Julie just fucking pounced him. Mallory came in right behind her, then Cindy and Emma got in on the action. I remember Mallory yelling at Megan to stay out of it, because she was older and might get in more trouble.”

“Yeah,” said Mallory, smiling at the memory. “Floyd was trying to get his hands on Julie’s wrists, and I knew she’d be in trouble if that happened, because he was a lot stronger. So I just kind of dove in, then Cindy and Emma helped. He was a big kid, but the four of us had him down in the snow and pretty much pinned before the principal broke it up.”

Terry was laughing. “The mental picture you’re painting here is beyond hilarious.”

“Did you get in much trouble?” Halee wanted to know.

“Floyd got in-school detention for a few days, with zeros for missed assignments,” Cindy said. She took a swig of her beer, let out a satisfied sigh. “Which we thought was funny, because he was already flunking some subjects. The four of us had to write essays on alternatives to violence. My mom was kind of pissed because she was obsessive about black marks on my record, but it wasn’t a big deal. Julie’s dad was the coolest. He took us out for ice cream.”

“Including Megan,” Julie put in, “because we told him how she’d helped. She’s the reason Floyd got in so much trouble, because she saw the whole thing and backed up our story. Dad was so proud of us I thought he was going to burst. I don’t remember how Mallory’s parents took it.”

“They were finalizing the divorce,” said Mallory. “I don’t think it even registered with them. Emma got grounded for a couple of days; nothing serious.”

“Are you guys still in touch with Megan?” Cindy wanted to know.

“Yeah!” said Julie. “She lives in Fargo. She’s married now; she and her partner got hitched literally the day after gay marriage was legalized in North Dakota. They’ve got three adopted kids, and are fostering two others.”

“Whoa,” said Cindy, laughing. “We’re both talking about Megan here, right? Goth chick with a sharp tongue?”

“Yeah, that Megan,” said Julie with a grin. “Hard to believe, huh?”

“What about Emma?” said Nettie.

“Oh, she’s just down the road from Dickson,” Cindy supplied. “Perham, to be exact. She’s a network engineer for Arvig Communications; it’s the primary telecom in that part of the state. We have lunch when I’m down that way; maybe twice a year or so.”

“We’re still in touch, too,” said Julie, “but we haven’t seen her in a few years. Speaking of which, Cindy, did you get the time off in August?”

“I did! Can’t wait to get the four of us back together again.”

“Fantastic,” said Mallory. “Jamie Nelson will be around, too, because we’re reuniting 80 Proof to play the town festival. I let Megan know, and she says she’ll try to make it. If not, we’ll drop by her place on the way home. Just so you know, Nettie—if you want to catch up with some of that crowd, come down to Dickson during the first week of August. You were only around for about a year, but people still ask how you’re doing. Jamie in particular.”

Nettie rested her head against the back of the love seat, her eyes unfocused. Mention of that sweet, spacey teenage girl with the huge record collection and wicked guitar chops launched a cascade of memories; things she hadn’t thought of in years. Surprisingly, most of them were pleasant. Have I been so intent on pushing aside the bad stuff, I’ve let the good stuff slip away? 

It took her a moment to find her voice. “It’d be amazing to see Jamie again.”

“One of your old bandmates, Mallory?” Terry inquired. Mallory returned his gaze, accompanied by a shy smile.

“Jamie was our guitar player,” she said. “I used to hang out at her house, and we’d jam and come up with riffs together. Then we’d present the best ones to the band. Julie was usually there too, and Nettie used to come along sometimes to hang out. Jamie was a big metalhead, and Nettie fell in love with her record collection.”

“So this Jamie chick is the person responsible for Nettie’s predilection for that abysmal noise?” Terry demanded.

Julie was laughing. “Oh yeah—big time.”

“And Nettie is now infecting my daughter with the same disease,” said Terry, looking woefully in Halee’s direction. “I thought the punk rock was bad, but over the past month the sanctity of my domicile has been infringed upon by uncouth pummeling and unholy screeching, courtesy of the likes of Iron Priest, Judas Maiden, Megatallica, and who knows what the hell.”

Nettie, who had chosen a most inopportune moment to sip at her scotch, was forced to clap a hand over her mouth to keep from spraying it all over the room. Halee was doubled over with laughter. “Dad,” she got out, “if you’re gonna make fun of what I’m listening to, you can at least get the names right.”

“I’m a classical musician by profession,” said Mallory, laughter in her voice, “and even I know better. Come on now. Halee’s even wearing an Iron Maiden tee.”

“The correct naming,” Terry said balefully, “makes it no more palatable.” But he was grinning. He switched tacks. “When you speak of writing riffs for presentation to your band, can I take that to mean you performed original material? I have your upcoming album of piano music on pre-order, by the by.”

“Thanks for that,” said Mallory. “You’re a friend of Nettie’s; I’d have hooked you up with a promo copy if I’d known you were interested. As for 80 Proof—we started out as a cover band, but then started doing our own stuff.”

“They did pretty well, too,” Julie put in. “By the end they were playing original music in cover band clubs, for cover band money. They recorded three albums—just regional releases, but they did okay. I mixed sound for most of their shows, and produced the second and third albums.”

“What kind of music?” Halee wanted to know, leaning forward in her chair.

“We were a very eclectic sort of rock band,” said Mallory. “Ranging from heavy metal to jangly folk-rock. Just whatever came out when we sat down to write. I’ve still got a bunch of CD copies of all three albums, if anyone wants them. They’re long since out of print.”

“What about that piano album Terry just mentioned?” Hannah inquired.

“Classical music—part piano and part harpsichord. Mostly lesser-known 18th-century composers, including some works that, as far as I know, haven’t been recorded before. There’s also some Bach thrown in to help sell the thing, and two of my own pieces.”

“My daughter Bethany listens to classical music,” said Hannah. “I’ll have to get her a copy.”

“I’m particularly excited to hear your original work,” said Terry. “I ordered the vinyl limited edition; one of only a hundred copies, I’m told.”

“Wow—thanks. Those limited editions aren’t cheap. I was surprised the label did one at all, seeing as how this is my first release with them.”

Noting belatedly that the music had stopped, Nettie got up and crossed the room to her turntable. “Any requests?” she said as she carefully lifted the record from the spindle and slipped it into its sleeve.

“How about something heavy, just to piss Dad off?’ said Halee, grinning smugly at her father.

“Tempting,” said Nettie, “but…”

“I could go for something heavy,” Cindy broke in. “Talking about Jamie Nelson kind of put me in the mood for it. Weird, huh?”

Deciding to go for a middle ground, Nettie selected a Rainbow album. Settling back onto the love seat and wrapping her arm around Hannah, she noticed a shift in the room. The conversation had lulled, the lengthy Hammond organ intro of the first song creating an atmosphere of mystery and intimacy. People sipped their drinks.

It was Hannah who broke the silence. “Mallory, Julie—I have to ask. How long have you been a couple? I seem to remember at the picnic today you told Terry you’d known each other since you were ten or so.”

Julie wrapped an arm around Mallory’s shoulders; pulled her close. “We met in the fifth grade,” she said, “but we didn’t really start hanging out until a year later. And then…” she hesitated, sipping her daiquiri. “We got involved sexually pretty shortly after that. Some might say we were too young, but here we are, after all these years.”

Visions flashed once again through Nettie’s mind, half-remembered images. She noted a sleepy little smile playing at the corners of Cindy’s mouth.

“I think the age thing is overblown,” said Hannah. “When you’re ready, you’re ready. At least you knew what you were. I totally went into denial when I realized I liked girls. I started spreading my legs for every dude in my high school just to prove how gay I wasn’t, and that’s how I got knocked up at age fifteen. Not that I have any regrets. Things turned out.”

“Things usually do,” said Cindy. “I had my first sexual experiences with girls, and I was pretty young. Now I’m married to a man. And I feel like everything that happened was the right thing for me at the time. Halee—is this conversation okay with you?”

Halee snorted. “Please. Nothing here I haven’t heard before. I’m a lesbian myself, actually.”

Terry sipped his whiskey and grinned. “But a lesbian of the pure, innocent, platonic variety, to be sure. None of my daughters shall lose their virginity until they’re at least thirty-two—and even then, I expect them to ask permission.”

“Whoops,” said Halee with a smirk. “You should have told me that before I did something irrevocable.”

Terry set his empty glass on the end table, fixing his eyes on his daughter. “This is one of those moments,” he said carefully, “in which I can’t tell whether you’re being serious or sarcastic.” But before Halee could speak, he dismissed it with a wave of his hand. “Never mind. It’s none of my business. I can hardly expect my progeny to emulate my own standards of sexual purity.”

Nettie rolled her eyes. “Says the man who’s poked half the married women in this town.”

“Fake news,” Terry said cheerfully. “Nothing but incel energy here.”

“Look at it this way, Terry,” said Cindy with a smirk. “At least if she’s a lesbian, you don’t have to worry about a pregnant teen in your house.”

“I worry at the prospect of having human teenagers in my house, period,” said Terry.

“You just turned thirteen, didn’t you, Halee?” said Julie.

“Yup.”

“And you’re already comfortable with your sexuality,” said Hannah. “Good for you.” She raised her glass in Terry’s direction. “And good for you for being so chill about it. Especially at her age.”

Terry shrugged. “I’ve been making the beast with two backs since I was thirteen myself. Under those circumstances, one can hardly be judgemental.”

Halee choked on a mouthful of Coke. “The beast with two backs?! Jesus, Dad!”

“You’ve never heard that expression?” asked Nettie with raised eyebrows.

Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, Halee shook her head. “I have now.” She grinned. “Besides, who knows? Maybe I’ll be interested in guys somewhere down the line. Right now, I’m just into chicks.”

“That’s how it happened for me,” said Nettie. “I didn’t figure out I was bisexual till I was sixteen.”

“I always knew,” said Cindy. “Even when I was hooking up with other girls, I knew I liked boys, and that I wanted to marry a man and have kids. But I didn’t have hetero sex until I was seventeen.”

Hannah pursed her lips. “Can I ask how long you’d been fooling around with girls at that point?”

“Since her twelfth birthday,” Julie chimed in, raising her glass and grinning. She, Mallory, and Cindy dissolved into gales of laughter.

“Oh, God, the sleepover!” Cindy choked out.

“So all the elaborate fantasies the boys concocted regarding the goings-on at girl’s sleepovers have some truth to them after all,” said Terry. “I must say, it warms my heart a little.”

“Not as many of ‘em as you’d probably like to think, big guy,” said Cindy. “Most of the time it was just silly crap like playing Fuck Marry Kill. But if you got those two—” she waved a hand at Julie and Mallory—”together with the right combination of girls, shit got crazy sometimes.”

“We liked to spread the fun around,” Mallory said with a smile. “But I was like Nettie; it took a few years before I knew I was bisexual. Obviously I’m in a committed relationship with Julie, but sometimes I’m attracted to men, too.” Her gaze locked with Terry’s for a moment, then dropped to her hands.

“I know I’m asking a lot of nosy questions, but I’ve always wondered how couples dealt with that kind of thing,” said Hannah. “You can tell me to mind my own business if you want.”

“Johnny and I have an agreement,” said Cindy. “I don’t sleep with other men, but women are fair game. I’m careful to not abuse the privilege, and he occasionally gets a little extra payoff. Some of the women I hook up with are bi, so he’s gotten a few threesomes out of the deal.”

“Mal and I have never been completely exclusive,” said Julie. “As Cindy can attest. When it comes to other women, we’ve always done hookups together. Both of us or neither. There’ve been a handful of exceptions, and we always agree to those in advance.

“But once in a while Little Miss Insatiable here wants a penis, and I’m not at all into that. She always checks with me first, and while she’s off having fun with the Weiner of the Week, I’m free to indulge myself with whomever.”

“I like it,” said Hannah. “The lack of jealousy, I mean.”

Kissing Mallory lightly on the forehead, Julie smiled. “It’s just the way we started out,” she said. “We were always doing stuff with other people, right from the beginning. Some of them quite a bit older than us, but I think that worked out nicely. We sure learned a lot!”

“One of the first women I bumped uglies with—there’s another great expression for you, Halee—was old enough to be my mother,” said Terry. “I failed to see the problem then—and honestly, I still do.”

Hannah grinned. “A room full of enlightened souls. I love it.”

Another silence enveloped the room, but not an awkward one. Sexuality practically crackled through the air. Nettie suspected there wasn’t a dry vagina in the house, and couldn’t help but notice how Terry’s hands were strategically folded across his lap. His eyes were locked with Mallory’s, and neither of them were being furtive about it anymore.

Nettie was aroused herself, but also exhausted. She hadn’t had a wink of sleep since her long night on the truck. She needed to get off, then she needed to pass out, preferably in the next hour or so.

“I hate to be the party-pooper hostess,” she said. “But I’m gonna have to call it before much longer. I was on the boo-boo buggy most of last night.”

“It might not be a bad time to turn in,” Cindy agreed.

Terry nodded, his gaze still fixed on Mallory. “It seems as good a time as any to make an elegant departure. Thanks for having us, Nettie; it’s been delightful.”

Nettie shook her head. “I planned on everyone staying here tonight because I knew we’d be drinking. There’s lots of room, Terry.”

Pushing himself to his feet, Terry smiled. “My house is an easy walk from here, and it’s a lovely evening. Halee can either come back with me, or stick around and indulge in whatever—” he paused meaningfully— ”festivities remain.”

Halee paled visibly, and Nettie’s heart skipped a beat. Terry, she realized, was more aware of the past two months’ activities than she would have guessed. Obviously, he was prepared to take it in stride. She forced herself to relax.

Hannah was eying Terry appraisingly. “Sounds permissive.” she said, a note of teasing in her voice.

“I do try to not be an ogre,” said Terry. “With all that said—”

“Hold on,” said Julie. Her eyes were on her partner. “Since it’s all kind of out in the open anyway—Mallory, are you leaving with him?”

Mallory’s hand darted to grip the back of Julie’s head, pulling her into a deep, wet, sensuous kiss. They parted, foreheads resting together. “I love you, Julie,” Mallory said.

“Love you too,” said Julie. “Have fun.”

“Oh, I will. You do the same,” said Mallory. Rising from the couch, she crossed the room to Terry, fearlessly taking his hand.

“Goodnight, all,” said Terry. “Halee, coming or staying?”

Halee looked to Julie, an eyebrow inquisitively raised. The older woman gave her a smile and a slight nod. Halee turned back to her father. “Staying.”

“All right, then. Have the best of all possible times. Don’t get up, Nettie; we can let ourselves out.”

As the front door closed behind them, Julie slid to the middle of the couch, wrapped an arm around Cindy, and kissed her lightly on the mouth. “It’s been way too long,” she breathed. Halee was staring across the room at the pair, naked lust in her eyes.

“Okay, then,” said Julie, “what are the sleeping arrangements for the rest of us?”

***

A tired engine whines to life, coughing hoarsely through rusted-out pipes. It settles grumpily into idle, lifter knock apparent even above the roar of the mufflerless exhaust. The woman behind the wheel checks her makeup in the rearview, hoping the age lines don’t show too much through the foundation. She smiles.

Her nostrils burn a little from the nose candy she’d taken on board just before emerging from the bathroom, but the high is starting to kick in, and she’s feeling alive, wired, and hot to trot. Let the fat-ass babysitter ride herd on those two snot-nosed little brats for a while; it’s steppin’ time!

As the sun finally disappears beneath the pines, she shoves the gearshift of the smurf-blue Accord into reverse and backs out, flakes of rust pattering to the ground in its wake.

From a vantage point high in the boughs of a pine, the corners of a mouth curl upwards from beneath a pair of binoculars.

Soon to come: Chapter Three!