Grace Wilkinson: Angie makes friends

"Did you feel something I didn't?"

"What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean," she said impatiently.

He stopped to consider whether he should tell her or not before he replied. Hell, why not? Maybe he could give her a false hope. He looked in to her eyes. "Well, just for a minute there, I had this intense feeling. But it went away before I could analyze it."

Angie's curiosity was aroused. "An intense feeling? Do you suppose a girl is supposed to feel it, too?"

"They must," Doug said positively. "All these mistresses the French kings had in the history books. I bet they didn't fuck just for jewels!"

Angie considered the lewd word for a moment. "Does your mother f-fuck with your father?"

"Of course. And they're always feeling each other up. When they think I'm not looking," he added.

They stared into each other's eyes, each weighing the idea and the other's reaction.

"If it didn't hurt so much," she whined.

"You're going to be like your mother," Doug warned.

"No!" Angie said angrily.

"Give yourself a chance to get used to it," Doug pleaded. "It probably doesn't hurt when it's done right. I'll try to help you. Come on, let me fuck you once more. Please?"

Angie couldn't resist his begging eyes. "Okay. Once more. Only."

"It'll be better next time, you'll see," he said confidently. "We'll be able to tell Brad lots of things."

"Not that we did it," Angie objected.

"Not that," he agreed.

"Are you sure we can find some good books?" she worried.

"Lots of them. The library must be full of them."

"I've never run across any," she said pensively.

"If I don't find any book, I'll spy on my parents," he said grandly.

Angie gasped in shock, "You wouldn't!"

"Wouldn't I?" Doug said boldly. "They're always encouraging me in my research work."

A picture of Doug peeking out from a closet at his parents humping in bed filled Angie's mind. She started to giggle uncontrollably. Doug caught her hysteria. They wrapped their arms around each other and rolled on the bed, laughing wildly.

Angie was lying on a down-filled bed, dreaming. Out of the darkness, a man's voice softly whispered in her ear. "I love you." A gentle breath in her ear sent thrills through her body. She turned toward him and held his arms out toward him. Eagerly, he came into her arms and twined his own about her. She delighted feeling his body against hers. His strong sinewy muscles were commanding and protective. They kissed and fires started burning within her. Their fingers began to explore each other. Her mind began to reel as passion consumed her.

Suddenly, an intense light came on, so bright that it dazzled her closed eyes. She opened them and looked. Her lover was her father! Before she had time to sort out that fact, she felt a cold presence and looked to see her mother approaching the bed. The horrible expression on her mother's face struck her dumb. She couldn't breath. Waves of fear immobilized her. Her mother's cold eyes bore relentlessly into hers. She began to choke, to fight for breath…

And then she woke up. Startled, she looked around the room to see if her mother was there. She was not. With a loud sigh, she lay back and tried to relax — to think.

Why did she have such an awful dream? Her own father? She loved him but she hadn't really thought about doing it with him before. And her mother. That set expression. How cruel, unforgiving. What if she did find out? About her and Doug? Her mother would never forgive her. Never.

She shouldn't do it again. It was too risky. When Doug came on Friday, she'd tell him. No more. Enough. He has plenty to tell Brad now. More than enough. He'll be satisfied.

The argument sounded so reasonable in her mind. Surely Doug would go along with it. Peace flooded her mind for a time.

She began thinking about Doug. What a funny boy. Nice, really. Considerate. But he had his funny little ways. The way he sat his glasses so precisely on the nightstand. Always trying to explain everything. Think things through.

Oh, yes. Think things through. The words struck an alarm. His insistence on completing a project. He wouldn't want to stop until he felt he had found out all he could find out. How could she overcome that? Persuade him to stop?

She concentrated very hard, but no ready answer came to mind. It was hopeless to tell him she knew all she wanted to know. But… if she could tell him she knew all she wanted to know. Yes. If she could say she'd talked it over with her mother… She didn't need to know any more, thank you very much. We can still be friends. Maybe it would work.

The more she thought about it, the better the plan seemed to her. Cheered, she decided to ask her mother about sex at the first opportunity. Then she could go back to her old life. Not very exciting. Not exciting at all. But secure.

The alarm on the clock-radio rang. Angie reached over and turned it off. She decided to dress quickly so she could get to breakfast early. Maybe she'd have a chance to ask her mother then.

Angie watched her mother furtively, trying to discern her mood.

Mrs. Marlowe bustled between the kitchen and the breakfast nook. Anxious lines creased her forehead; her mouth drew stern lines around her set jaw. No sooner had she sat down at the table and spread her napkin in her lap the toast popped up and she noticed the jam spoon wasn't on the table so she got up and bustled off to the kitchen to get it.

When she returned to the table she meticulously set about buttering her toast. Her face was seriously intent, as if she were writhing the Declaration of Independence.

Angie decided that her mother was behaving normally so she might as well ask her now.

"Mom," she asked hesitantly, "why couldn't I go to the sex education classes this year."

Mrs. Marlowe looked at her sharply. "Why should you go this year? What makes it any different than any other year?"

"Our biology teacher says everybody should know about sex by the time they're fourteen. And I'm fourteen now."

"You're still a child."

"No, I'm not. I've been menstruating for two years."

"That doesn't matter. You're not old enough to marry. You don't need to know until then."

"Does one have to be married to be able to understand sex? How come Maggie could get pregnant without being married?"

Mrs. Marlowe screeched angrily. "Put that out of your mind. Maggie was just a maid — she was no lady."

"How come other parents let their children learn about sex?"

Mrs. Marlowe choked drinking her coffee. She banged her cup down on it's saucer. "Other people have no morals, no standards. I'm not responsible for what they do. They should know better, but unfortunately they don't. They should be made to act decently."

Angie's heart felt cold as she listened to her mother's venomous voice. She felt a lecture coming on.

Mrs. Marlowe warmed to the topic. "I'm not responsible for all the filth in the world. It's the other people. Flocking to see dirty movies and plays, buying dirty books and magazines. Corrupting their children and trying to corrupt decent people's children. Everywhere you turn, you can't escape from filth. Now they're trying to drag it into the schools. Filling innocent children's minds with dirty thought…"

Angie's mind got confused listening to her mother's tirade. The sex her mother ranted against couldn't be the same kind she and Doug experienced. Anger stirred within her. "Is sex so bad, Mother? Is it? I thought it was a way to love another person?"

"That's not love," her mother said scornfully. "Love is pure. You love someone in your mind, not with your body. Love is not physical and — and — dirty!" She shook with revulsive excitement.

"How can it only be in the mind," Angie objected. "Why is it, when I feel love for Salome, I want to touch her. Hug her and kiss her?"