Dallas Mayo: Girl-crazy girl

Now there was only hoarse breathing. A heap of flesh. It was something I couldn't quite comprehend. In spite of what those books had taught me, I simply hadn't expected such an abrupt finish. But I knew it was over, of course, all over for tonight.

After a while she raised her head, "Loi…"

"Hmmm?"

"Thank you."

"You're welcome."

It sounded pretty silly. Thank you. You're welcome. Like a lesson in good manners, very polite. But now I was just a kid again and Bernadette was a grownup. The fun had ended and everything was in its rightful place once more.

"I think you'd better go up to your own room, dear." There was firmness in her tone. "Go quietly, though. And remember, you mustn't tell anyone about me, about the two of us. Promise?"

"I promise."

"That's a good girl. Now scoot. Off to bed with you. Sleep tight and have happy dreams."

I scooted. But it was a long time before sleep came. The vision of that naked body hung in front of my eyes. All red in the lamplight, her big body reflected in the mirror. And even when my eyes got tired and let the vision blur, the palm of my hand still smarted. I pressed it to my cheek, feeling its warmth, a warmth that had cooled somewhat but was still reminiscent of the heat from her beaten buttocks, those two big dimpled ass-cheeks. I should have made her kiss it, I realized, that was how they usually ended a spanking at the lesbian pleasure resort. Whoever got spanked knelt down afterward and kissed the hand that had done it to her. It was like a ritual. Only they seldom stopped there either, what with one thing leading to another more often than not, and pretty soon the punished girl would be burrowing between the thighs of her mistress and acting like a cuntlapper who just couldn't get enough. Would she ever do that to me, would my grown-up naughty girl ever go that far?

It was something to think about. A tongue in my cunt, that great big thick tongue in my tiny little baby-pussy. I wondered how much better it would be than my finger. More exciting, no doubt, and a lot more effective – at least I hoped so! Because I was already trying that, trying every which way to soothe my tingly sensation, and it wasn't doing any good at all. I must have fallen asleep like that eventually, drifting off to a hoped-for dreamland with my fingers in my cunt.

Ordinarily, it would have been a safe guess to say that we had started something big together. As it turned out though, such a guess would have missed the mark. Bernadette went moral on me and refused to participate. Worse yet, I got a nasty scolding the next time she heard me use one of the naughty words. What if your father heard you talk tike that? So maybe it wasn't morality as much as fear of losing her job – but whatever the reason, I recognized that as a real stumbling block. If even the words were taboo, how would I ever convince her of my readiness for sex, my readiness to become a lesbian?

Alone, upstairs in my own room, I muttered a curse. It made me feel daring and I did it again, a string of curses now, words that I knew were dirty and forbidden. Over and over. And even though it was done in anger and frustration, I became aware that just speaking aloud so boldly was having an effect on me. Yes, it did make me feel bigger and older and grown-up and daring…

Daring?

To hell with her then, I just wanted another crack at those books. And now I saw no reason to hang around and wait for the perfect opportunity; after all, what if she did walk in and catch me? For that matter, I even thought about grabbing the stuff and carrying it upstairs to read at my leisure. Oh yes, I felt daring, sure enough – only that turned out to be a flop, too. The books simply weren't there. I checked all the drawers and pawed through her closet, only to come away empty-handed.

After mulling it over awhile, I decided to become her buddy again, a nice little girl who obeyed the rules and gave her no trouble. As if our night together had never happened. Still, on the pretense of offering a "little girl" brand of affection, I rubbed up against her and tried to get cuddly and did everything possible to soften her attitude toward me. But nothing worked; she just wouldn't snap at the bait – and I came to the conclusion that my old friend didn't trust me any more.

Time was the only remedy for that, time and good behavior, wiping out the bad memories. And so I really did become a nice little girl again, trying my best to pick up the threads of our earlier relationship. I did well, too, except that the thing deep down inside – the real me – wouldn't give up. At night, in the privacy of my own room, I tossed and twisted and could have sworn my mattress was developing lumps. Only the bed wasn't at fault, of course. My body was aroused, my poor little growing body had been cheated out of its promised and long-overdue payment. That big red lip-licking tongue, so near and yet so far; no wonder I couldn't sleep!

Even the weather turned against me, spring going into summer practically overnight, a summer heat that made my pajamas sweaty and unbearable. I switched to nightgowns, thinner and less binding, cooler and more comfortable – but that was only a minor relief, hardly a solution to the basic problem. My tummy still felt all quivery inside. Well, not my tummy exactly, but somewhere down there, a close enough estimate. (Anything closer was too close; nice little girls weren't supposed to know such words!) Anyway, even with thin sleep-wear and no school – no homework to worry about – the prospect of the long hot summer still seemed pretty dismal.

Until the night of the storm…

Who could forget such a night? It broke around two o'clock in the morning following a heat wave, a freak hailstorm that was like, nothing I'd ever been through before. My first impulse was to run to my father's room, until I remembered that he had left that same afternoon for a TV dealers' convention, a two-day affair. So I remained huddled in bed, shivering with fright as the huge hailstones rattled the window panes. Great streaks of lightning lit up the sky and brought enormous thunderclaps in their wake. The noise and glare were horrible, too scary for anybody to be alone in, much less a kid like me. And it didn't help much when I ducked down and pulled the covers up over my head, a sheet and then the bedspread, not much protection against all that violence outside.

The thunder kept rolling. On the verge of panic, I jumped out of bed and scurried downstairs toward the maid's room. Surely I would be safe there. Unloved, but safe from harm. Lightning wouldn't dare touch big strong Bernadette. Her very presence would calm my fears. It might even calm the storm a little, too.

Her door was ajar, the small room dark. I stood there in breathless anxiety, too upset to go back upstairs and too timid to awaken her. And then I heard it. The noise. What could it be? No, not the wind and the rain and the hail beating upon the window. It sounded like somebody crying…

Bernadette? Crying?

It must have been my imagination. My ears were playing tricks on me. I shuddered as a bolt of lightning blazed, so close one that struck with an almost simultaneous crackle of thunder. It lasted for ages, filling the room with electric daylight, a whole year of daylight crammed into one tiny interval. A scream sounded, a shriek of terror. Ghastly pale in the surrounding brightness, Bernadette sat upright in bed for an instant and then – just as I had done a few minutes ago – she ducked low and yanked the covers over herself. Right up over her head, a big woman like that!

I couldn't understand it. Only children were supposed to be afraid of lightning and thunder. And this grownup was actually more frightened than I had been. More frightened than I felt right now, certainly. Sympathy welled up inside me. I had come to seek comfort; couldn't I offer it instead?