Lesbian Pulp Fiction. Katherine V. Forrest
she’d had as a child came dancing on the scene of her mind: “Now We Are Two.”
Part of it was the way Leda acted when she had said “No, faster! Faster, Mitch!” It seemed far away and morbid, as though there was an insane spark to their love that made them fierce and careless. Sitting on the side of her bed, under the harsh light of the electric bulb overhead, Mitch could not know herself in that scene. She reasoned that she was not violent. Never violent. Yet there was still the faint taste of blood on her tongue, and the way she knew she had been strong there with Leda.
Don’t blame Leda. You’re trying to blame Leda.
There was a sound of steps in the hall. Mitch caught her breath when they came to the door. It was Leda returning.
“What are you doing with the light on?”
“I had to find out the time.”
“I told you not to leave it on. I told you to go to bed.”
“I just turned it on. I was afraid.”
“Well, it’s over, so go to bed.”
“Over?”
“Yes. It’s all right.”
“Wh-what did you say? How did you explain it?”
Leda’s face was composed and placid. She took her soap from the tray on the rack behind the door. Her washcloth hung over the bar above the shoe bag and she put that with the soap. “I’m going to wash my face. I’ll tell you when I get back. Look, it’s over. There’s nothing to worry about.”
Mitch just sat there staring.
“Get in bed. I’ll be back.”
“I’ll come too,” Mitch said. “I didn’t wash yet. Wait for me and I’ll come too.” She started toward the bureau.
“No!” Leda’s tone came out sharper than she had meant it. She could not look at Mitch’s face, which was alive with a new hope. Her words went to the rug. “No, it’s better if you stay in bed. I told them you didn’t feel well. You see, that’s how I explained it. I said you were sick.”
“Oh,” Mitch said. “I—” She sat back on the bed and rubbed her forehead.
Leda walked toward the door. “Look, just get in bed. I’ll be back in a minute. I’ll tell you then.”
“OK, Leda.”
Before Leda turned the doorknob, Mitch’s eyes met hers.
“Leda?”
“What?”
“Thanks.”
When she was gone, Mitch felt sick and dull all over. She was ashamed of the way she had thought about Leda. The thoughts seemed to tease her still, pricking her knowledge that Leda had made everything all right, that now there would be no reason to run and hide. Steadily she rebuilt the structure of their love, amplifying it with Leda’s courage and with her own indebtedness to Leda. She could feel the physical ache for her down to the tips of her fingers, replacing the enfeebled numbness, charging it with renewed vigor. Healing time had conquered the doubt and fear, and her servility was sworn in that moment. Mitch felt humble and brave in the darkness of the room.
A tongue of light cut through the black as Leda opened the door and slipped back in. Mitch could hear her putting things away and getting out of her clothes. The thud of her shoes on the floor sounded unusually heavy in the silence. Mitch threw the sheets and blankets back and went over to her.
“For God’s sake, no! We just got out of one mess.”
“I’m sorry, Leda. I just feel so—”
“Get back in bed. My God!”
The covers felt itchy on her chin and she pulled the sheet up higher. She could hear Leda getting in bed.
“I know you’re upset,” she said. “I should have known better than to come over to you, Leda. I’m sorry.”
“Forget it.”
Mitch waited. Leda would tell her now—everything that had happened. The minutes crept and the clock began the game, ticking out the word.
“Leda?”
“What?”
“You said you’d tell me.” Mitch’s voice was thin and meek. She didn’t mean to keep at Leda like that, but she had to know.
“OK. I said you were sick. I said you went to bed sick and you were feverish when you came after me.”
“D-did you say that I came after you?”
“Well, hell, I had to say something! When they came in the door, that’s what they saw.”
“Oh.”
The wind blew papers off the desk and they ruffled along the floor, the noise quick and airy.
“Leave them,” Leda said. She settled back and the noise stopped.
“Well, did they believe you? What about—My God, I was naked!”
“You were sick! I told them you were sick, Mitch!” Mitch wanted to stop the angry tone. She lay quiet and another paper chased across the room and landed on top of her on the bed.
“Mitch, I’m sorry I’m so snappish. I just feel like hell. It wasn’t easy.”
“I know what it must have been like, Leda.”
“It was hell.”
“Does—does anyone know? Anyone else, I mean?”
“Just Marsha and those two.”
“It’ll be hard tomorrow. What’ll I tell them when they ask what was wrong?”
Leda turned her pillow over on the side. Then she got up and put a bottle of ink on top of the papers so they wouldn’t blow any more. “It won’t be hard,” she said. “They won’t even talk about it. Just go along as though nothing happened.”
“Leda, I don’t know how to thank you.”
“Quit saying that! What in the name of God do you think I am, your holy savior?”
The night air was crisp and Mitch snuggled down in the covers. She closed her eyes and tried to sleep, but she kept listening for Leda to say more. When she didn’t, Mitch said, “I just want to say one more thing, Leda. I’ll always stick by you—always. You mean more to me than anyone I know.”
Leda didn’t answer.
by Anne Herbert
The unashamed story of a girl’s journey to the well of forbidden knowledge
It began at the summer camp, when Peggy Matthews and Lillian Parker met in the counselors’ cabin. After that, curiosity and desire had their way, but Peggy had no idea of what she was getting into. …
Dr. Herbert Greene says: “The Summer Camp is the unforgettable story of an eighteen-year-old girl losing control of her emotions. Her affairs with men as victim, then aggressor…her affairs with women, tentative, then greedy and unashamed…are delineated with valid insights. This is nothing less than a classic case history of modern lesbianism.”
Summer Camp
“Peggy, I wish I could. But I—I just can’t. If I speak that name, all of