God, what a beautiful day this was! June just budding into life and the sky was as blue as a virgin's eyes, the grass vivid green, flowers blossomed a cascade of colors everywhere, and birds chirped in every tree. Angela was the only person I knew in this entire city, but I had such a happy smile on my face as I walked from the University administration building that strangers were nodding and telling me hello. Too many ex-convicts have trouble getting jobs in the straight world, which leaves them no choice but to return to crime for livelihood. Well, this ex-convict was due to start work as an instructor in history, come Fall, and she had no intention of contributing to any crime statistics as long as the government behaved itself.
"Oh, baby," I said aloud, and a couple of people turned to stare, "I can hardly wait to tell you!" A guy came out of the student union, got an eye-fix on my tits, and ran into a tree. I couldn't suppress a giggle. Let him look, I thought, because looking was the best he'd be able to do.
In a way it was too bad, though, for I'd almost gotten used to being cupped in a bra again, and his horny stare had reminded me that the garment was there, that it lifted my tits slightly and made them just a little more prominent, more noticeable. I wished I could just stop in my tracks, haul off my sweater, and strip away the damned uncomfortable thing, but the middle of campus wasn't the place for it. Ah, so! Angela could remove the no-longer-needed brassiere for me when I got back to her digs, and she could massage my skin with her sensitive fingers until the red strap marks were all soothed away, and then – well I was pretty sure she could come up with something to do then.
Maybe I should have called her from the Student Union. In retrospect that seems like a good idea, but I was too anxious to get back to her place and break the good news face to face. As a preliminary, of course, to getting mouth to cunt. I knew she'd be as happy as I was, because it meant we could be together again, and permanently. And I wanted to see her eyes light up when I told her that I had the job, that I had her, that I didn't need anything else at all.
Boonesfield isn't that large a city, but it's nearly as bitchy to get through as Boston. One-way streets, detours, mandatory turn-off lanes – I'd never been there before, and somehow I managed to get into the circular by-pass around town. I was like a squirrel on a treadmill, getting nowhere fast. But as I drove, instead of cursing and bitching, I let my memory feast on the way Angela and I had discovered loved behind the stone walls and steel bars.
God, she was hot for it from the very beginning!
"I never had an orgasm before," she confessed to me, lying in my arms after I'd given her one with my tongue and fingers. "Not even with myself. I always felt too guilty just touching myself down there, you know? Well, don't laugh! For the most of my life, the only thing I wanted to be was a nun!"
"What do you want now?" I asked teasingly, my fingers running through the hair she still kept very short.
"This," Angela replied firmly. She cupped my cunt in her hand. There was a surprising strength to her grip, and when she got her fist on me, I thought she was about to rip my pussy out.
"Oh, dear God," I moaned, thrusting my cunt into her clutch. "Oh dear, dear God – but is that all you're going to do?"
"Of course not," Angela giggled. That was when I really stopped thinking of her as a nun, because I couldn't imagine a nun with such a sexy, provocative giggle. But in a moment she announced her liberation in an even more thrilling manner. Her head moved down my belly, into my crotch, and her tongue found the damp, open crack of my cunt. From the moment her tongue flipped my clit, I was lost. Completely lost. I grabbed her head and slammed my cunt into her open, sucking mouth.
And we were no longer locked into a cell in a filthy, dreary prison. We were rolling in dew-damp grass, and a warm breeze blew through the meadow while the moon shone like silver beams on our bodies. It had to be the moon. The moon belongs to women. Stars twinkled in a blue-black heaven and they were far, far away, but if I'd wanted, I could have reached up and plucked them from the sky. The bars of our cell were melted away, and we were free, and there was nothing else in the universe except me and Angela and the night.
She was with me, in me, her tongue, her fingers, doing me as if she'd been eating pussy all her life, and I was coming a river onto her sweet sucking face and I never wanted her to take that mouth away from my cunt. Never, never, never! And before I knew it, I'd pulled her legs towards me, and my face was buried in her cunt, and we were doing a sixty-nine with me giving as good head as I received. My tongue stabbed again and again into Angela's fragrant honeysuckle snatch-hole, until she drowned me with her cum and I smacked my lips like a glutton, drinking her pussy-cream, sucking cunt till she gave me more.
It only got better as our confinement dragged on.
Oh, how could time drag, when I knew that each and every night of that prison term Angela and I could give glum, hard-timer looks to the guard-bitches who locked us in – and then, as soon as the cellblock lights went out, we'd be on each other, in each other, sucking cunt, kissing, fingering – learning for the first time what it was really all about. Everything important, at least. Life, love, passion. Did anything else matter when she was in my arms and I in hers?
"Mr. and Mrs. Bergman," they used to call us – all the old bull-dykes standing around with the trembling young chickens they'd dildoed into submission. As if they thought we had the same kind of relationship they did. Fat fucking chance! We were equals, Angela and I, and we were both completely aware that we were women. We didn't have to pretend by using imitation pricks on each other, and we didn't need to establish a domination/submission status. For ours wasn't the kind of situation that frustrated women turn to when they're locked away in prison. We were in love.
The older inmates – the same ones who'd gang-raped us in the laundry room – invited me and Angela a few times to sample the new brides with them. It was a sign that we were old-timers, too, privileged to take part in prison sports, but neither of us had the slightest interest. And, as I've already said, I carried a knife. Which I never had to use – merely to show once or twice when some venturesome old dyke would make a play for "Mrs. Bergman".
All in all, our prison year wasn't that bad. In many ways I hated to see our paroles coming, because it meant an end to the total intimacy we'd found behind bars. Oh, outside, we'd be much freer, physically, but we had responsibilities on the outside, too. Her job, my doctoral work. We couldn't throw those away. We'd have to sublimate our passion until we could once again embark upon it with all the freedom we'd known in jail. Doesn't that sound paradoxical?
Well, no matter if it did, because the time was at hand. I had my job at Boonesfield, the same school where Angela taught, and we could be together always, as we were meant to be. I'd already broken the news to my parents – that I was deeply, fully, irrevocably in love with another woman – and they'd taken it much better than I'd ever dreamed they could. Of course they didn't understand. They're middle class bourgeois-liberal. But they acknowledged that it was my life, that I had the right to live that life as I chose. Perhaps Angela and I could come out of the closet here in Boonesfield without losing our jobs. We could try, at least. But for now…
There was a small foreign car parked on the curb outside Angela's home, and I had to steer hard to get my oversized junker past it, into the driveway. Did we have company? Probably not. At least, I hoped not, because I had the most fantastic news for Angela, and I wanted to tell her, then celebrate it in bed, and we didn't need company around for that.
I let myself into the house, using the key she'd given me. Even from the doorway I could hear the sounds of lovemaking. A bed shaking. Violently! Angela groaning, whining, cooing. Her tones were unmistakable to my experienced ears.
For a moment I stood in the doorway, numb, shaken. Wait, Marilyn, I told myself. If she's making it with another woman, is that really such a big deal? You tried a couple of ladies on for size when you were separated from her, didn't you? Maybe she had a date this morning, made before she found out I was coming, a date she couldn't break. Maybe – I smiled knowingly – she's using one last sexual encounter as a means of telling that other woman good-bye, it's all over, my love has arrived and I must go to her. That would be like Angela. She was so kind, so gentle. She hated to cause pain. She would say good-bye as sweetly, as tenderly as she could. My heart still beat rapidly, but the numbness had begun to depart. Of course that's how it was. After all, I was here now. We'd made fantastic love last night.
The bedroom door wasn't quite shut. That's why the sounds were so obvious when I entered the house. I reached curiously, touching the door, pushing it gently. Maybe I'm too nosy for my own good, but I had an interest in stealing a peek at Angela's other companion. I was vain enough to wonder if she mightn't have picked a temporary lover who perhaps reminded her slightly of her Marilyn. Just a sneaky look, and then I'd steal way to allow Angela freedom in breaking the news to her friend.
Well, she hadn't picked a sweetheart who reminded her of Marilyn, and I wished that I had never looked around the half-open door. The damned thing slid easily, without the graciousness of a telltale squeak, and as it opened farther, my eyes were treated to a broadening view of Angela's bed and its occupants.
Angela was on top, rocking up and down. Her eyes were shut tightly and her head swayed from side to side. Unless she was an incredibly good actress, she was definitely enjoying herself.
Beneath her, stretched out full-length on the bed, was a man. A man, with hairy legs and hairy chest and a big hairy cock that was, at that particular point in time, busily involved in Angela's plummeting pussy.
She rocked up and down, thrusting, swooping in to eat up his meat, and he lunged up to join her, burying his tool in her delicate, tasty snatch. Her hands were braced on his stomach and he held her, one hand on her ass, the other pawing her small, tender tits.
"Ooooooohhhhhh!!" she squealed in glee as he mauled her titties and pulled the nipples with his fingers.
I could even see his balls shake as he punched his tool up her cunt with sure, vigorous strokes. And she was enjoying getting fucked by a man! There could be no doubt. None at all!
"Harder, darling Mark! Harder! Harder! Oh, fuck me! Fuck meeee!" she cried in a delirious voice.
It hit me like a slap in the face. The name she'd whispered in her sleep! Oh, foolish bitch! I chided myself. I'd thought it was only a mumbled venture at saying my name. It had sounded like Mark, I remembered, but I'd been stupid enough to rationalize it away. Oh, God, I thought. Oh, God!
Tears blinded my eyes as I listened to her wail in ecstasy as that big prick pounded in and out of her dripping cunt.
"Do it, do it, do it to me! Fuck me! Fuck me! Fuuuccckkkkk!"
The door slid a little farther, and I could see his face. It was a passable face, as male faces went, but there was nothing extremely handsome or provocative about him. He appeared to be in his middle thirties – about Angela's age, I suppose, though she had always seemed much younger to me because of her late awakening. I saw no character or other traits that could help me understand why my lover was mounted upon his ugly dick, fucking the hell out of it and herself.
She rocked more passionately, her ass bouncing up and down on his lap, and I saw her shoulders give a twitch. Muscles rippled in her back and thighs and butt, and I was certain that in just a moment or two, muscles would also be rippling inside her darling cunt, all around that disgusting cock.
There was a weakness in the pit of my stomach and I wanted to turn away, to stop watching this hideous nightmare, but I couldn't. I felt a dizzying sensation in my head and I reached for the door to steady myself. Just then, Angela squealed.
"Oh, Christ! I'm commmmmiiiinggcggg!"
She slammed her pussy down forcibly upon his impaling prick. My eyes closed. I heard him groan and the bed started shaking even more as if he were really pumping his dong up into her cunt. And then he was panting and puffing like a steam engine and I knew he was coming, too, that his cock was drenching the pussy I'd eaten only last night with the acrid, sticky juices of male orgasm.
I grabbed the door, bumping it, knocking it slightly past my reach, and I stumbled towards it for support, just as I began to sob in hurt, aching convulsions.
The sickness only lasted a moment, but that moment seemed an eternity. When I opened my eyes and stood up straight, balance regained, both of them were staring at me from the bed, and Angela's pale body was suffused in a total blush.
She'd uncunted herself, and she was lying on her side, blocking my view of his genitals. That was fine by me, since I had no interest in looking at the cock that had befouled her sweet pussy – the pussy I had thought was mine and mine alone.
"Oh, dear," she said. "Oh, dear." It seemed a mild reaction, to say the least.
"I'm sorry you had to find out this way," she went on, her voice sincere as hell. "I wanted to tell you last night, but it didn't seem the right time. You were so happy, and you had your interview this morning. Oh, Marilyn, I wasn't going to keep you in the dark! I wanted you to know! I'd have told you! But…"
"What would you have told me?"
"About me, about Mark." I felt the world collapsing around my shoulders.
"Hello, Marilyn," the man said. "Angela's told me a lot about you."
"Well I never heard a fucking thing about you," I snapped back bitterly, taking a step towards them. Violence smoldered in my fists, but against whom should I direct that violence?
His clothes were tossed haphazardly onto a chair beside the bed. I saw them then, for the first time, and the first thing I noticed was a clerical collar. I started giggling hysterically.
"Please, darling," Angela tried to explain. "What you and I had, what we shared in prison – it was beautiful and I wouldn't take anything in trade for the memories. You kept me sane; helped me become a woman. But I came here, Marilyn, and…"
"And she met me," the man interjected. Without his clothes on, he didn't look very clerical, but straight guys don't wear collars. My God, was Angela fucking a priest? With her background, a priest seemed the obvious choice, though.
"Yes," Angela said. "Mark is assistant director of the Newman Center on campus, though he's planning to leave the priesthood soon. We drifted together by accident, we became friends, and in time we became lovers. When it happened, Marilyn, it happened without plan, without forethought. But it was such a magical thing, so incredible, like a mystic experience."
"Marilyn," her partner added, "you and Angela were thrown into a vicious, unnatural institution, and what happened there was almost inevitable. But it was only inevitable in that prison setting. Here, in the real world, it couldn't last. If Angela hadn't met me, she'd have met someone else. She's too much a woman to be trapped in homosexuality. She's…"
"This is ridiculous," I interrupted angrily. "I have been betrayed and thrown aside like a used rubber, and the only thing that comes to my mind is, 'Well, at least Angela found herself a good Catholic boy'. Does anyone particularly mind if I go into the bathroom and slash my wrists?"
Angela had the graciousness to arise from the bed. Over her shoulder I could see the man stretched on the bed. He had a long, lean body and appeared to be well-hung, if that matters. To me, it doesn't matter. I hated him, I hated her.
She came towards me naked, her body still flushed from the screwing Mark had given her, and she extended her hands to me. As if that would make it any sweeter! God, I'd been fantasizing, not two minutes ago, and what had I been fantasizing? That Angela was graciously breaking off with some substitute who'd eased her loneliness during my absence. The only thing I had wrong was the identity of the discarded lover. It was Marilyn who was getting the gate, and I felt as if she'd slammed it on my fingers.
"I'm sorry," she said when I rejected the offer of her hands. "I'm sorry for you, Marilyn, but I've finally found out what love truly means." That's the same thing she used to tell me in prison as I sucked her pussy and licked her little nipples. "Mark and I are very happy and when he leaves the priesthood, we're going to marry. And have children. I want children very much, and so does Mark."
"Whoopee shit."
"Please don't take on so, Marilyn. I still love you very much, as a person, as a friend. I hope we can always be close. It won't be the same as before, but I want to be your friend. Oh, please say you understand."
I didn't say anything. Angela went on, "If you want to, you can stay here with me until you find your own place. We can't be intimate any more, of course, but…"
"Why don't you stick it up your ass?" I suggested. "And you can tell the University to do the same with their fucking job. Which I got, not that it's of any interest to anyone, because I'm leaving. And I wish you – both of you – all the happiness you fucking deserve. Don't think that's a hell of a lot!"
"Marilyn," she said again, but Father Mark interrupted.
"Her mind's made up, Angela darling. She's obviously living in a dream world, and she won't listen to reason. Let her go, if go she must," He was damnably cool for a naked priest, and thinking of cool made me wish for an icicle. SO I COULD RAM IT UP HIS COOL FUCKING ASS!!
Angela listened to him, too, the cunt! She didn't move to stop me as I gathered up my clothes and stuffed them into my suitcase. Instead, she moved towards the bed and took his hand and turned her big soulful eyes on Mark's face with an intensity that made me sick. I wanted to kill. Kill them both. Mark for snaking himself into the settled pattern of my life and Angela's, and Angela for being so shallow as to let him. Didn't she understand that he only wanted a piece of her ass? Men will use any means necessary to get into a woman's cunt. Leave the priesthood? I'll bet the cock-sucker had a cardinal's hat in his closet, just waiting for the day of his appointment many years hence. Couldn't she see that I, Marilyn, was the one who loved her? I could see it. Why not Angela, too?
And the gracious gentility and hospitality she'd offered me. I could stay on, if I wanted to, but I had to stay out of her bed. I wished she were in prison right now, being raped round the clock by an army of bull-dykes with broomsticks and dildos! And I wished I was dead and buried and far removed from the bitterness my life had become without warning.
"Good-bye," I said, not looking back, afraid I'd break down and crawl to her on my knees, begging for another chance. I had my dignity to preserve and I left with that dignity intact. My heart resembled something that had passed through a paper shredder.
I threw my bag into the car and took off, intending to drive until I ran out of road. At that particular moment I was confident that no matter what happened next, it had to be an improvement. I had never been more wrong in my life.