The place was nicely appointed, vanity tables and benches facing excellent mirrors, sinks in pink porcelain, pink doors on the john stalls. Betsy wetted wads of paper toweling in cold water as Marcia, still sniffling, sat on a vanity bench.
Patting the wads on the woman's closed eyes, Betsy said, "Of course, you could tell your husband why you've been crying."
"He wouldn't understand."
Nor would Jim, Betsy thought, straddling the bench, holding the cooling wet wads in place. Marcia took over that task, and Betsy lit a cigarette. Really, how could she get through Jim's armor to explain that cunts were also people with urges, leches, and the overwhelming need to control their own destinies?
She asked, "Marcia, were you making a pass at me, or not?"
"I wanted to – touch you – in a friendly…"
"Let's see," Betsy said, taking the woman's hand and placing it between her thighs. Fingers trembled on her flesh, tried to press firmly, retreated. Betsy hunkered down the bench, closer to her, the hand almost to her panty crotch.
"Ann, I have nightmares. Kissing girls." Betsy figured that Tina's place did not fit Marcia's taste because there the lesbianism was apparently all feel and grab, whereas here she could tease herself while playing the virgin.
Sighing, Betsy pushed the hand out from under her skirt, and rose.
"Ann! Don't you – like me?"
Betsy gazed down at eyes now cleared of tears. She wondered if June Haley were like this, coyly skirting the edges of her lusts. That certainly would upset her plans.
She thrust away, out of the room, abruptly aware that she had been terribly cruel. But she had had enough of women who lacked the courage to do their thing; a woman such as she had been.
She saw Bingo talking to a girl who stood at the bar. Both looked at Betsy.
It had to be June. Tall – Betsy had imagined her smaller – with a long, fine waist, pouty breasts, a perky behind. Soft brown hair with reddish tint. But most striking were her eyes, hooded by heavy lids, and shadowed by the longest and thickest of black lashes.
Approaching them, Betsy said, "You must be June…"
A nod. A quirky, shy smile. Pearly teeth.
Bingo moved off. For a second they measured each other, June's eyes widening as she gazed at Betsy's breasts.
Betsy slipped her hand into the girls, said, "Let's sit in a booth?"
"All right." A sweet smile. The hand nestled warmly to Betsy's, fingers vining together. Her walk was a slow, swaying, long-legged saunter to the booth where they sat, pushing aside heaps of tablecloth.
"And how's Doris?"
"Like always," Betsy said, quickly dismissing her lover of last night, mentally apologizing to darling Doris, who must not be allowed to get between herself and this girl, Jim's office fuck.
A waitress brought Betsy's drink from the bar, and she ordered for June, then said, "You must have a good boss, letting you go this early."
June shrugged. "He had to see some visiting big shots off on the six-thirty plane."
So that explained why Jim would be home at seven, Betsy thought.
"But sometimes I work all hours," June said. "And the partying. Men! I get so sick of it when he introduces me as his wife. And winks. And the men snicker. So having a girl on the side makes him a big shot, understand."
"A big shit."
"Shit is right." She eyed Betsy slantwise. "You know, when you phoned today I thought you were his wife. Your voice sounded the same. But I see now I was wrong. His wife sounded like a mouse."
Betsy cringed inside. She had sounded like a mouse!
"But Ann, you're obviously strong and independent."
"You like strong women?"
The long, black lashes fluttered, and June whispered, "Well, I like you…"
Betsy stroked the girl's soft hand. Fingers twined sensuously into hers, and June squirmed closer. A warm little piece, Betsy thought. Yet she had to suppress a desire to bunt into laughter, and tell June that she, Ann, was the mousy Betsy whose husband introduced his secretary-mistress as his wife. She asked, "And are you wifely to him? I mean – in bed…"
June frowned. "I'd rather not talk of that."
"But June, I want to know all about you!"
"Let's talk about fun things. You – what you do…"
"No!" Stroking the girl's arm she said, "Let's hear the wont and get it out of the way." June sighed. "Yes, you'd be like that – determined – but Ann, you know that to hold her job a girl has to…"
"On the office couch?"
"Oh, no! Never. At the office he's very prim and businesslike. In my apartment."
"Does he pay the rent?"
June smiled. "You don't know my Mr. Walters. He doesn't pay for what he can get free. Still, it wasn't so bad – I mean, men don't often ring my bells – but last night was horrid. He made me submit to one of the visiting big shots."
"The lousy shit!"
June sighed. "But now I can forget it." She gazed smilingly at Betsy, then plucked a loose thread from the neckline of her dress. Her fingers lingered, almost touching bare flesh. "Your breasts are gorgeous! And no bra. That's so daring…"
Under the tablecloth, Betsy patted the girl's thigh, felt her squirm an inch closer. She saw the long, black lashes slant away.
June whispered, "Ann, you'll get me all excited!"
Betsy fingered under her skirt and stroked the soft sleekness of June's inner thigh. The girl shivered.
When her drink was brought she gazed at Betsy over the glass and murmured, "I'm so attracted to you, Ann. You're so forthright…"
Betsy's hand moved higher, brushing the sleek flesh. For a moment the girl's thighs jerked shut, frightened. But then she eased, curled over, pressing her shoulder to Betsy's.
"Ann, you shouldn't. Your hand. Not here."
"Darling, I can't resist." Indeed, stroking that luscious inner thigh flesh made Betsy's pulse pound. As she neared the girl's panties she pressed closer and whispered, "I want to kiss you, darling, but in public – well, the tablecloth hides – let me…"
"Ann, I'll get too excited!"
"But June, I'm so horny hot for you."
June sipped her drink, her hand trembling. "Wait," she whispered. "Let me gulp this down."
She drained the glass, then reached under the table to Betsy's hand and pushed it in between her spread thighs to her panty crotch, forced it in while straining, jaw clenched, as though to contain her emotions.
Then she groaned, and slumped down, her hand trailing away.
Sitting like that she let Betsy squeeze the damp crotch of her lace panties to the form of her pussy.
She choked, "Ann, nobody has ever turned me on so, so quickly that I can't breathe…"
"Hold still." Betsy slipped her fingers into a leg hole. The panties were rather loose, and soon she was raking her fingers through the girl's pubic muff, then down to the soft dampness of bushy haired lips.
"Listen," June said. "This isn't fair, it's like raping me. I mean Doris is so gentle; respects my inhibitions – sex isn't easy for me, Ann."
"Come now, your pussy has juiced up faster than mine. You're a hot cunt, June."
"But I can't just sit here squirming!" Betsy fingered into the girl's juicy slit, whispering, "Then we'll go to my house."
"My apartment – it's only a few blocks away."
"My house," Betsy said firmly.