The Cowgirls by Moonbrand
This story is copyright the author. It is a work of fiction and contains graphic descriptions of sexual activity between women. If this type of activity is likely to offend you, please do not read any further. The author welcomes comments on her story to Moonbrand@gmail.com.
Prologue – How It All Began
Reminiscing with Ma about their first time together caused Sal to remember a night around the campfire several months before when the girls had all shared how it started for them. It was a bitter-sweet experience with some of the stories being quite heartbreaking. Perhaps saddest of all was Carita.
Carita's Story
Born into a poor Mexican family, Carita was repeatedly raped by her father and uncle from a very young age. Eventually, at the age of thirteen she had had enough so she took her father's shotgun and shot him dead in the bed he laid in beside her mother. She then went around town to her uncle's shack and slaughtered him in the same way. Fearing for her life now, she fled to the United States where she eventually found work in a cook house on a large ranch. Here the men treated her differently; like the child she appeared to be. She was fascinated by their cowboy lifestyle and she often snuck out of the cook house and on to the range to watch them working. Though they shouldn't have encouraged her they did, teaching her to ride properly, to brand steers, to use a lariat and much more. The women at the cook house were unconcerned. They could recognise a troubled soul when they saw one and were happy for her to grow up in the way she pleased.
There was one woman in particular who took an interest in Carita. Also Mexican – as most of the cook house staff were – Ana was probably only in her early twenties so not so much older than Carita who had just turned 14. She was very beautiful in an especially Hispanic way with a mass of dark curls that framed a décolletage built on almost perfect breasts and colourful frilled tops. Carita found herself staring at Ana's breasts more frequently than seemed right. She longed to get close to the girl and nestle her face in that cleavage.
At night the women all shared a long bunk room. To give themselves a little privacy they strung blankets between their beds and Ana's space was at the far end of the room against one wall. Laying awake after midnight one night, Carita decided she wanted the company of Ana and crept passed the sleeping women to Ana's bed. Slipping under the blanket she saw the young woman sleeping on a simple wooden bed. She had no blanket on as it was a hot Californian night and she wore a simple shift. Carita stood and stared for several minutes unsure of what to do next but a sixth sense must have woken Ana as she stirred and opened her eyes. She looked curiously at the child and an unspoken conversation took place.
Eventually Ana turned so she was lying flat on her back. She hoisted her shift up, opened her legs and gestured to Carita to go between her open legs. Carita obeyed and feeling foolish standing above the bed, she dropped to her knees. In front of her she saw a straggle of dark hairs through which some crinkled flesh poked through. She knew what it was of course but knew little about it. She had never even touched her self since her traumatic experiences with her father and his brother. So for a few moments she stared at Ana's crotch without any idea of what was expected. It gave her time to notice a fragrant smell filling her nostrils. A smell she liked that made her feel warm. Then Ana whispered two words to her: "Lick me!"
So Carita press her mouth towards Ana's genitals and tentatively ran her tongue through the bushy pubes. The rough hair didn't feel particularly good on her tongue but when she ran the tip over the crinkly flesh it was different. She felt Ana's groin twitch below her mouth and so she licked the flesh again, much harder. She swore it pulsed beneath her tongue and so she tried again. She tasted something good. Looking at what she was doing she could now see two lips flowering out. They were slick with moisture and not just from her saliva. They looked quite kissable which is what she did next, then realised she could poke her tongue between them. She could have happily played like this for ever but she suddenly felt Ana's hand behind her head pushing her face hard against the women's crotch. Quite rightly she took this as a signal to lick more and to lick harder which she did.
And Carita just kept on licking until tongue burned with pain. Without further instruction she didn't no what else to do, besides she was enjoying the sensation of the warm met flesh at her mouth. She felt Ana's hips buck and tried to keep her tongue on target. She heard the woman groaning despite the fact that Ana had pressed her hand across her own mouth to stifle the noise. At the top of the fleshy lips Carita discovered a small swollen knob of flesh that wasn't there before. She found that my flicking this with her tongue Ana shivered uncontrollably. She enjoyed the power she had in making the woman squirm.
For at least five minutes she licked and licked. Even her jaw was aching but she kept going. Then Ana grunted loudly into her hand; bucked her hips wildly and her groin convulsed. Ana kept her mouth pressed there despite the violent movement and felt warm, wet and sticky liquid pulse into her mouth. Again, uncertain of what to do she carried out her only instruction and licked. This time however, Ana gently pushed her face away from her groin. She kissed her fingers and placed them on Carita's forehead and smiled gratefully at the girl. Then pulling down her shift she turned on to her side and fell back into a deep sleep. Carita, feeling slightly dismissed, returned to her own bed where, realising she couldn't use her tongue on her own vagina, licked three fingers and stroked her pussy lips imagining it was Ana's tongue instead.
And that was Carita's life for the next two years. Learning the skills of a cowboy during the day and the skill of making love to a woman most nights: she had never been happier.
Mary's Story
Mary's story was no less tragic. Born into slavery on a West Virginian plantation, Mary was also raped as a teenage girl although her masters thought it a right rather than an abuse. Of course, Mary was not only slave girl to suffer the same humiliation as all but the oldest women underwent the same thing most weeks. However, Mary was singled out for another degradation on a frequent basis. For some reason the Mistress of the house had taken a huge dislike to the young slave girl. She found fault in everything the girl did and punished her on an almost daily basis. The punishment was normally a beating with a strap or a stick and was usually carried out by the Mistress herself. Mary's friend hinted that the woman maybe got a kick out of delivering the beating but on one occasion when Mary was accused – quite wrongly - of stealing food from the kitchen the Mistress demanded of her husband that he girl be sent away. The Master put his foot down and said that whilst he was happy for his wife to dole out whatever punishments she deemed appropriate, the girl was a good worker and was not going to be sent away.
As the man was fucking her that very night, Mary mused things over and came to the conclusion that she was actually a favourite of the man and it was that knowledge that provoked such animosity within his wife. Realising this changed nothing of course so Mary just vowed to bear her beatings with the same indifference she bore her maulings by the Master and his men.
As a matter of fact they were much easier to bear. The Mistress tended to use a wide strap of a tick batten of wood rather than the whip that some of the men had to endure. Even a thin cane would have bitten her flesh more viciously. Coupled with the fact that the Mistress chose to carry out the beatings herself and her privileged lifestyle had hardly given her much more strength than a child. And also, she laid down the beating over Mary's clothes, giving weight to Mary's theory that there was no sexual gratification in it for the woman. Thus, when she knew she was to be beaten, Mary could wrap some additional cloth around her buttocks to cushion the weak blows. All in all, a beating from her Mistress left her with a buzzing and warm arse.
In fact, although there may have been no sexual agenda for the Mistress, Mary was developing one of her own. She was coming to enjoy the regular beatings. The Mistress had no proper system and sometimes she would beat the girl once a week and other times almost every day for a fortnight. The number of strokes bore no relevance to the alleged crime and Mary never knew quite how many she was top receive, This anticipation added exhilaration to the process for her. The more she thought about enjoying the strokes the more she actually did. She spent much of the punishment time shifting around and changing her position. The Mistress thought she was fidgeting uncomfortably and chastised her for it but in fact Mary was trying to ensure that the blows landed further down her legs and closer to her tingling pussy. If she could have got a blow across her swollen labia she would have been in heaven but her thighs and well rounded arse stopped this from ever happening.
Nevertheless, Mary continued to get increasing pleasure from the beatings and on more than one occasion felt her wetness flowing. She imagined her Mistress' face if she saw a trickle of liquid running down her thighs but she knew that the extra layers of cloth wrapped around her absorbed this guilty symbol. Afterwards, Mary would unwrap the cloth from around her and press the damp material to her face. She sniffed the fragrant cotton and relived the punishment time and time again.
It was ironic and so very pleasing that Mary – the slave – was getting so much pleasure from what her Mistress felt was a punishment. It especially pleased Mary that the woman was getting older and frailer and finding the exertion of dishing out the beatings so much harder. And when the woman was too ill to continue Mary was most disappointed. Shortly afterwards the woman passed away and life continued much as it had been before. Her visits from the Master were less frequent as he too was getting older but there were always his sons and others to rape and abuse all the girls. Mary's own parents both died in the same summer and Mary was left to bring up her three younger siblings. Another slave girl of a similar age to Mary had no family on the plantation and offered to help Mary with her parenting. In time they became close and the girl shared Mary's bed as well. No one in the slave quarters blinked an eye at this although they kept it secret from the white folks.
Then, as Mary and her companion entered their eighteenth year, strange stories rampaged like wildfire through the plantation. And then one day soon after the tobacco was harvested the Master gathered all the slaves together and told them they were freemen. Each was given a piece of paper attesting to this fact and a few coin before being turned off the plantation with their few meagre possessions. After a few days milling around town with dozens of other puzzled ex-slaves, Mary and her lover decided they wanted to get as far away from Virginia as possible. With Mary's three brothers and sisters they got a job as cooks on a wagon train heading West and set out for a new and very different life.
Sally's Story
Sally was orphaned when she was only three years old and ended up in an orphanage in San Francisco. It was run by nuns and although they were strict and dished out punishments when necessary they were fair and loving. It was not a bad childhood and she was taught all the domestic chores a woman might need. However, the girls could only stay at the orphanage until they were 14 and in the months leading up to their fourteenth birthday the sisters put them through intense training for the outside world and tried to find them a job and a place to live. None of this would have been of any great significance except that, a few weeks before Sal was due to leave, a new sister arrived at the orphanage. She was not a novice and had come from a convent in another State. The gossip had it that she had been forced to leave for reasons unknown.
This nun – Sister Juliet – seemed to take a personal interest in young Sally Merchant. One Thursday evening after Vespers, Sister Juliet called for `Miss Merchant' to be brought to her cell. Once the girl was stood before her, the nun explained that she wanted to ensure their teaching had been absorbed and the girl was ready to enter the outside world in the very near future. She ordered the girl to get undressed and stand upright before her. This was not such an unusual request as nits, scabies and other bugs were a persistent problem at the orphanage and regular inspections had to be made of the girls. However, less normal was the fact that Sister Juliet wielded a long stick in her hand; the type the nuns used in the classroom to point to things on the blackboard.
Tonight however, it was Sally who was to be pointed at. Sister Juliet tapped her on both shoulders with the stick and commanded her to straighten her back. Sally obliged. The woman ran the stick down the side of the girl's arms and asked her to ensure they stayed close to her body. She ran them round the curve of the girl's hips and declared to no-one in particular that "womanhood was upon her". Tapping the inside of Sally's thigh she told the young girl to open her legs a little more. Again the obedient girl did as she was asked. Then she rested the end of the stick in the ridge formed by Sally's developing pudenda. After leaving it there for a moment she waggled the tip back and forth just above the girl's vagina and seeing and hearing a soft rustle of golden fuzz she nodded to herself. Withdrawing the stick she gestured that the girl should get dressed and go. Sally was puzzled but not unduly concerned about the experience. Nuns were strange creatures by any measure.
The following Thursday Sally was again summoned to the nun's room. The exact same process was repeated except on this occasion, before she was dismissed, Sister Juliet ordered her to turn around and bend over. She hoped she was not to get struck by the stick as she had done nothing wrong. Instead she felt the tip of the cane stroking the inside of her thighs and then pressing into her most private place. She felt it travel a little way inside her before withdrawing quickly. The nun then told her to put her clothes on and go. Sally could have sworn Sister Juliet seemed a little breathless when she spoke. In her bed that night Sally pondered the inspection but couldn't find any answers so let it slip from her mind.
Once more the following Thursday she was called by Sister Juliet. Again she was ordered to strip and stand upright before the nun. This time however, Sister Juliet held no stick in her hands. Instead she crouched down by Sally and used her long fingers to correct the girl's posture and to trace the growing curves of her body. Even though Sally was sure her legs were as far apart as they had been last week, Sister Juliet still tapped the girl's inner thigh with two fingers and asked her to place her feet further apart. That done she stroked the fingers up Sally's vagina – causing a strange shiver to run up her spine – and rubbed the soft down around and above the lips. She ordered her to turn and bend which sally complied with. Now she felt the nun's fingers prodding and probing at the entrance to her sex. After a moment she felt one finger slip inside her. She gasped, both with pain and a little pleasure. The finger felt long and also bony. She hadn't realised how thin Sister Juliet actually was. The nun probed inside Sally as if exploring as if looking for something. Sally was quite enjoying the experience although it was leaving her a little sore. And then, quite suddenly, the nun withdrew her finger and told the girl to get dressed and leave.
That night Sally couldn't let the events slip from her mind. She replayed them over and over again and whilst trying to understand why she felt such a guilty pleasure about it, she let her own fingers drop to her thighs and began to explore herself. The seven days between that night and the next Thursday were some of the most important in Sally's young life. She discovered no end of things about her own body and reached conclusions about many things. It was a much more sexually aware and mature girl who stood in front of Sister Juliet the following Thursday.
She allowed the woman to make her usual inspection, again using her bony fingers and not the stick but when she was ordered to turn around and bend over she refused point blank. The nun looked astonished but before she could say or do anything, Sally jumped up onto the small writing desk that was one of the few pieces of furniture in the sparse room. She pulled her knees up to her chin and opened her legs wide. "Go ahead," she told the nun "But I want to watch". Sister Juliet stood stock still for a few moments but finally stepped closer to the girl. She crossed herself before reaching between Sally's legs with her right hand. She closed her eyes as she probed softly around Sally's cunt but the girl didn't She watched everything intently with considerable curiosity. The nun's finger slipped inside her. It was easier than last week as Sally had been aroused for an hour before she was summoned by the nun, in anticipation of what was to come. The nun realised this and fingered the girl faster and more frantically. Sally was loving the experience and could feel strange sensations in her groin, her tummy and her legs. Her head was a little light-headed and she anticipated an explosion in her body such as she had been experiencing all week whilst her experimentation and exploration bore fruit. It never came. Instead Sister's Juliet's finger stopped moving and the woman seemed to shake and shiver where she stood. A powerful aroma wafted up from under her habit. Sally was inclined to think that the nun had had her own explosion except when Sally had hers it always made her happy; Sister Juliet looked like a frightened rabbit. She withdrew her hand and told the girl to get dressed and go. She was much sharper than normal and there was no warmth in her voice. Sally scrabbled into her clothes and fled the room.
Lying in bed that evening she was once again confused but after finishing herself off and reaching her climax, she fell into a deep sleep and didn't care anymore. She was never summoned to Sister Juliet's room again, in fact she rarely saw the woman except in passing. A few weeks later Sally Merchant left the orphanage and took up a position in a textile factory, sharing a small room in an apartment with three other factory girls.
Peggy's Story
If the girls' stories so far had seemed full of familial and institutionalised abuse, then Peggy's story was completely different. The daughter of a successful and moderately wealthy business man, Margaret Cale had a good upbringing and at 18 married a young banker who her family had targeted. For two years they lived a happy and blissful life. Margaret kept the home with the help of several servants and spent her leisure time playing cards, chatting or dress-making – a pursuit she much enjoyed. However, after two years there was no sign of a child on the way despite their frequent efforts to conceive one. Margaret didn't much care for lovemaking with her husband and she wondered if this was why she hadn't fallen pregnant. And when he took a lover and impregnated her almost without trying, it was clear that the fault lay with Margaret.
She agreed to a divorce so her husband could marry his pregnant mistress and for her part got a large settlement with which she set up a small dressmaking business under her maiden name. It was successful enough that after a year or so she needed an apprentice. Enquiring amongst suppliers, it was suggested she take on a promising young seventeen year old who had been at a local factory for three years. And so Sally Merchant came to take up residence in a garret room in Margaret Cale's home and business with the opening gambit, "Pleased to meet you Miss Cale. My name is Sally but I'd be honoured if you could call me Sal, like my friends do".
To which she received the reply, "My name is Margaret and I don't have too many real friends but if I did I'd ask them to call me Peggy"
And Sal and Peggy soon became firm friends. Neither had really had the opportunity to talk about their life experiences: Peggy because she was too refined to discuss her disappointing sex life with the women who's circles she moved in when she was married; and Sal because she felt the factory girls were too immature to be told of how a nun's probing fingers had inspired her to discover her own body. She certainly couldn't tell them that it had left her uninterested in the male species and wanting only to feel another woman's fingers inside her. However, in time she felt she could say this to Peggy during one of their cosy fireside chats late in the evening after a long days work. Peggy let out a long sigh when Sal told her this and said she thought she was a freak because her marriage had taught her one thing and that was that she had no interest in seeing or touching a man's body ever again.
That very night it was Peggy's long fingers that probed and twisted inside Sally, and Sal's inside Peggy. That night and many, many nights afterwards.
Jane's Story
Jane too benefitted from a loving and strong family albeit one that unwittingly helped steer her future life. Her father was a farmer with his own small-holding in the West. He mad enough to keep him and his pretty wife fed, watered and with a roof over their heads. When his wife fell pregnant he knew that she would bear him a son to grow up and join him on the farm before eventually taking it over. His wife was quite convinced she was going to have a boy that she made all the arrangements on that basis. So when, in April she delivered a perfectly healthy baby daughter, they both scratched their heads and wondered what went wrong. Father was quite prepared to tell all and sundry that they had a boy but the midwife who helped deliver her was having none of it. So in the end they Christened her Jane but often called her John accidentally. They gave her toy soldiers instead of dolls and as soon as she was old enough, dressed her in boy's clothing and let her play with their neighbour's three sons.
Jane grew into a tomboy and hung around with the boys' gang at all times. They knew she was really a girl but seeings she could run, climb and fight like a boy, they didn't let that worry them. And when, at 13 they used to sneak down to the creek and watch the girls swimming nude, they didn't mind that Jane liked to come too.
It was a couple of years later that the problems first arose – or didn't in Jane's case! By now the boys had found one or two girls who were willing to let them stuff their little hard-ons into them providing they pulled it out before it spurted their cream inside them. Of course Jane had nothing to offer the girls. On one memorable summer's day she had found a piece of broom handle in her father's barn and stuffed it in her trousers. When the girls came by to service the boys, she unbuttoned her fly and poked the broom handle through. The girls – who knew Jane anyway – almost choked on their own laughter. Jane blushed furiously and rushed off to hide her shame.
Some hours later, still hidden in an old prospector's hut by the river, and still crying, she heard a soft voice call her name. She recognised it as belonging to Susan Chivers, the older sister of one of the girls who had been so cruel. She must have been sobbing loudly because Susan came into the hut and crouched down beside Jane. "I heard what happened" she said. "I've been looking for you all day. I'm glad I found you"
There were a few moments of awkward silence before Susan said, "Listen. I understand what you were trying to do and there is a way. Come here." She led Jane by the hand to the far end of the broken down cabin. It was lighter there as the afternoon sun streamed through a large hole in the roof. Susan leant back on the end wall and hoisted her dress up around her waist. She pulled her bloomers down with one hand exposing a neatly trimmed, blonde bush. Taking Jane's right hand she pulled the girl closer and the placed the hand on her bush. She curled two of the girl's fingers and slipped them inside herself. "Now put your knee behind your hand"
Jane did this and without thinking began to drive her knee, and thus her hand, back and forth into Susan's groin. Her two fingers squelched noisily in and out of a now sopping pussy and Susan began to pant. Jane's free hand grasped and clawed at Susan's breast through the flimsy fabric of her frock. It was crude and inexpert but Jane was driven by passion not experience.
Her mouth sought out Susan's but the girl's head was thrown back as she groaned and grunted so Jane satisfied herself with kissing and biting the outstretched neck. She left a hickey the size of a dollar- which Susan would later chastise her for – and would have left another except she felt the girl's pussy contracting around her fingers and felt a wetness running down her wrist.
Jane had several more secret lessons from Susan that summer but in the autumn she went away and Jane was lost again. Then, the following year when Jane turned sixteen, Susan wrote her from San Francisco. She told her of a club where there were others like them. Jane packed a bag and leaving a note for her parents, headed for the city.
Barbara and Betsy's Story
The sisters also had a privileged and easy upbringing by many standards. Their parents ran an undertakers business (Summers and Summers) in a small western township which had a steady trickle of business and kept the family well-heeled and well-fed. Betsy was the eldest by two years and was successful in almost everything she did. She was beautiful although suitors were not in abundance because the town was only a small one; she was bright and won many awards at the town school; and she was popular. Babs was no less beautiful, in fact the sisters looked very alike, the age difference notwithstanding. The problem was Babs was a little awkward; a little ungainly. She was also nowhere near as bright as her big sister and was often told that. And Babs wasn't as popular as Betsy because, well because people found her weird. Betsy was the daughter of a successful businessman; Babs was the daughter of a man who kept dead people in his shop. That's how they were seen.
So by the time she was 15 Babs wanted to rebel. Her way of coming out of Betsy's shadow was to do things her own way. The problem was she didn't quite know how to be a rebel. Betsy was walking out with a young man whose father worked at the bank. Bab's idea of rebelling was to stay well away from such boys. This was not hard because they didn't want to date her anyway!
She finally formulated an idea of how to rebel when the widow Jones paid a visit to her mama. Mrs Jones' husband had been dead some five years. He had died young in an accident and the widow Jones was not yet thirty. The family had carried out all the funeral arrangements for Mrs Jones and she still called by from time to time to talk to Mrs Summers. On this occasion they sat at the kitchen table to talk, unaware that Babs was sat outside the window whiling away her day.
She heard most of the conversation but didn't really listen. It was boring chit-chat. She hoped she didn't get that boring when she was as old as her mum and widow Jones. She heard her mum ask Mrs Jones if she planned to marry again. "Oh no," said the widow, "I don't want to be tied to a man like that again. Although there are some things I miss". Mrs Summer's laughed.
"I'm sure there are ways around that" she said. "Perhaps you should take a lover".
Bab's ears had pricked up now. She didn't expect her mother to say such things.
"I've considered it," said widow Jones "but look at the candidates. There are no decent men in this town at all."
"Who says it has to be a man?" asked Mrs Summers, at which point both women convulsed with laughter as if this was the funniest thing they had ever heard. Babs, however, had a thought and she didn't hear any more of the conversation as she turned the thought over in her mind. There was more than one way to rebel, she thought!
It was another two months before an opportunity arose, during which time she had developed and redeveloped her plan. Her mother had some fruit which needed to be taken to widow Jones. Babs immediately offered to take it over which surprised her mother but she didn't complain. Tidying herself at the looking glass, Babs took the basket and walked 15 minutes to Mrs Jones' house at the nice end of town. She knocked on the door and the glamorous widow soon answered. She took the basket off the girl and thanked her profusely but when Babs stood her ground, she thought she had best be polite and ask her in. Babs thanked her and walked into the sitting room where she sat down on the comfy settee.
Widow Jones was nothing if well-mannered so she offered the girl a coffee and sat opposite her. They made a little small talk before the girl asked if Mrs Jones found the house a little large for just herself and whether she was lonely on her own. The woman shuffled awkwardly but so no reason to lie. "Yes, I do get a little lonely from time to time" she admitted.
"Why don't you get married again?" Babs asked as innocently as she could
"Oh, I quite like my liberty I suppose" was the best Mrs Jones could offer
"Perhaps you should take a lover" Babs said with a conspiratorial wink. Like mother, like daughter thought the widow remembering the same conversation that was driving Bab's dialogue.
"And what would you know about lovers young lady?" asked Mrs Jones, adopting a slightly school-marmy tone.
"I just know that I can't be bothered walking out with someone like Betsy does so I think I am ggoing to take a lover instead" the girl explained.
"I see," said Mrs Jones "and did you have a particular young man in mind?"
"Oh, I don't think it will be a man" said Babs "There are no decent men in this town at all"
Mrs Jones realised her own words were being repeated back at her and blushed. Babs smiled sweetly and patted the sofa next to her and the widow Jones silently obeyed and sat next to the girl.
"So you see," said Babs "I think we both have a problem that could be quite simply solved"
The affair started that day and was incredibly passionate. It was also awfully clumsy as neither woman nor girl had any experience with someone of their own gender; Babs having no experience at all. However they persevered and began to enjoy themselves. It was agreed from the outset that discretion was paramount and at first they carried on their liaison without arousing the suspicions of anyone. In the fullness of time it dawned on Babs that she had embarked on this course to be a rebel. How, she argued to herself, can your actions be seen as rebellious, if nobody knows what you are doing. And so she let slip casual remarks to people she knew and whispers started around the town. Sure enough, within a couple of weeks it was the talk of the town. Widow Jones had taken a sixteen year old girl as her lover. It was scandalous. Mrs Summers recalled the conversation she had once had with the woman and felt that she herself was behind Mrs Jones' madness. She went round and had a conversation with the woman; some money may have changed hands or not but two days later a wagon collected widow Jones' belongings and she left town. Her house was sold a few weeks later.
Babs was indifferent to losing her lover and overjoyed that she had a reputation now. She was being talked about much more than her sister and people pointed at her in the street. This was what she had wanted. And of course she didn't get a stream of want to be suitors knocking at the door. She was weird; the undertaker's daughter; and she liked girls. Nor, unfortunately, did she find a stream of want to be lovers climbing into her bedroom at night. The girls of this town were strait-laced and looking ahead to a husband, children and domestic bliss. All but one that was.
Candy Allan was the only girl in town considered weirder than Babs. Not especially pretty – just plain, she had shown a complete hatred for men all her life. She had beaten her brother up constantly when they were children and had almost crippled Johnny Adams when he bravely tried to ask her to step out with him. In the days and weeks following the scandal with Mrs Jones, Candy Allan came calling almost every day at the Summers' house. Inevitable an affair developed and equally inevitably it became hot news in town. Mr and Mrs Summers sat down one evening and faced the truth. It was Babs who was the scandalous one and it was ruining their reputation as business people in the town. Babs would have to go away and since they could not leave the business, Betsy was instructed to take her to the city and keep her out of trouble.
And so the two sisters took rooms in a lodging house in San Francisco. Their parents had provided them with sufficient money to live on so they did not have to look for work. Instead they discovered the bustling city and Betsy tried to introduce her sister to eligible bachelors as well as meet them herself. Of course she hadn't reckoned on her sister's stubbornness and was dismayed when Babs came home excited one day having heard of a secret club where people like me can go and be themselves. Betsy tried to talk Babs out of it but to no avail. She forbade her from going which solicited nothing more than a laugh from her younger sister. So remembering her promise to keep the girl out of trouble, she set out with her sister two nights later to a club known as the Iphis, actually a large private drawing room in one of the city's more liberal hotels. Entry to the room was strictly controlled and Betsy was hopeful they would be sent away until Babs produced a letter of introduction with a theatrical flourish. The same person who had told her of the club's existence had arranged her membership and she took her sister in as a guest.
Betsy was surprised by what she saw. Not a sordid scene of half naked women nor Sodom and Gomorrah. Dotted around the room were a couple of dozen well dressed women and perhaps half as many men in formal suits. She hadn't expected to see a single man at all. Then her eyes began to adjust to the low light and the smoky atmosphere. The men, despite beards and moustaches, had largely feminine features and despite the cut of their suits, could not hide more shapely curves than Betsy would normally expect on a young man. She realized in an instant that they were all women dressed up as men.
Betsy watched in dismay as Babs waltzed around as if born to this lifestyle. She swanned around the room stopping to chat to virtually every feminine woman in the room. She paid less attention to those dragged up although Betsy saw her throw responses to those who paid her a compliment. A waitress approached and Betsy asked for Bourbon. She need something to steel her nerves. Whilst waiting for her drink to come, she realised a woman had arrived at her side. "Your first time I think," she enquired
"Um, yes," admitted Betsy "but I'm only here chaperoning my sister"
The woman smiled as if not believing a word she had been told and offered her hand "Olivia Van Huys"
Betsy took the woman's hand and shook it awkwardly. "Betsy Summers" she responded.
The woman was dressed in a beautiful blue evening gown. Its low neckline and short sleeves revealed a lot of her perfect alabaster skin. Her long gloves did little to conceal her modesty and Betsy found herself staring at the woman's cleavage just a little too long.
More surprising to Betsy was that this woman was clearly of good breeding. The dress looked expensive. She was not at all the sort of woman she expected to bump into in this club. The woman was also intelligent, something that soon had Betsy enthralled as they slipped easily into conversation. Olivia seemed to know much about the world at large and San Francisco in particular. She became so entangled in the conversation that she had quite lost track of Babs.
Her sister was in fact engaging a charming lady in conversation at the far end of the room. However, she was vying for her attention with a woman calling herself John and dressed in a light coloured pair of pants and a frock coat. Though the woman had introduced herself as John, a passing lady had called her Jane and so Babs was stubbornly referring to her as Jane every chance she could. Meanwhile, the woman who was at the centre of their mutual attention was enjoying watching Babs and Jane/John spar.
Unaware of this unfolding drama, Betsy was learning about Olivia's view of the role of women in modern America. It was a view she had never heard in her home town and one she couldn't imagine their mother subscribing to. She was being drawn in by Olivia's knowledge and her confidence. "I didn't know intelligence was so attractive" she found herself thinking.
Around 2am Babs gave up her pursuit of the charming lady. In fact she had spent as much of the past three hours chatting with Jane or John as she had with the girl. She didn't quite get this desire to look like a man but if others did that was their business and anyway, underneath that silly frock coat, Jane was rather an attractive girl. Babs was not in the least bothered that her efforts were going unrewarded tonight. She felt totally in her element at the Iphis and couldn't wait to make her next trip. Now though, she was tired and she wanted her bed. She scanned the room for Betsy but couldn't see her. Strange, the room was barely crowded now. After checking the powder room and still not finding her sister she approached a waitress. She described her sister briefly and the waitress was able to answer quite assuredly "Why, she left with Miss Van Huys over an hour ago..."