Juicy Secrets Forbidden Tales of Lesbian Love

By eloquent delinquent

“What’s that one called?”

“It’s just a robin.”

Birds are singing everywhere, and Megan knows them all. Sparrows, warblers, redstarts, yellow-headed blackbirds. The only bird Charlotte knows by sound is when the woodpecker rattles off in the distance ahead of them. But Megan seems to know everything.

Charlotte tips her head back, smiling up at the high, dappled vault of swaying yellow-green leaves above her. Every once in a while a flat cloud drifts across the sun, but otherwise light slants ambering through the canopy, and the air is sharp with green things growing. She takes deep breaths of the cool, shady air, trying to inhale the spring. And although she’s walking slowly, so she’ll be quiet and not scare the animals, she feels like skipping.

Ahead of her by a few steps, Megan leads the way, all decked out with a little pair of binoculars hanging from her neck, hair pulled back into an impossibly bouncy ponytail, her mom’s blue day pack full of seeds hanging heavily over one shoulder, a pink cap-sleeved tee shirt, faded denim skirt, and a pair of battered green rain boots with ladybugs on them. Charlotte, in her school outfit and sneakers, carrying an empty water bottle Megan gave her for some reason, feels silly and out of place. She never thinks of herself as an outdoorsy girl, and this feels really strange.

Because she knows that somewhere behind them and to the left, probably, is the yard and Amy’s house and the whole neighborhood around Whitcomb Circle, and somewhere to the right of them – again, probably – is the expanse of the catchment pond. But they are so deep in the woods now those two places may as well not exist. With the breeze in the treetops, she can’t even hear the sound of cars.

Without Megan, she’d be totally lost in this criss-crossing tangle of trails. Some of them so far have been clear and hard packed, but others are muddy and overhung with brush, and one was just a grassy rut and it seemed like maybe only animals used it. But her 8-year-old guide takes the turns with complete confidence. She says, “Here’s a shortcut,” or, “I wanna show you something.” The thing she wanted to show her turned out to be a little burbling waterfall. And it was right where she said.

“Oh, a mockingbird,” Megan says quietly.

She stops and cocks her head, eyes drifting half shut behind her glasses, savoring the sound. Charlotte listens, but can’t figure out which pretty song she should be listening to. So she watches Megan’s face until the younger girl is satisfied, and starts moving again.

She’s much quieter now. When they first set off the girl was all chatter, pleased to be showing off her favorite place. Very quickly, Charlotte learned that besides birds, the woods were home to deer and raccoons and squirrels and skunks and so, so many bunnies that only came out near dark. Once, Megan thought she found fox tracks, but later she found out that Mr Gomez’s little dog just liked to wander off sometimes. But all that talk trailed off as they got out of sight of the neighborhood, and now the little girl is careful, watchful. She seems so composed, so grownup.

They come to a little creek.

“Is this the same one as before?” Charlotte asks, glancing around, trying to get her bearings.

“No, silly. This is the creek that runs next to the baseball park,” Megan replies, and with a bounding hop she’s on the other side. “It runs all under the streets, and comes out of a tunnel at the end of Hobart Road.”

Charlotte makes a leap as graceful as she can manage in her long school skirt. “You’ve been all the way out there?”

Megan nods. “This one time, I went all the way around the lake, and saw where the forest ends. They built a cliff out of these giant rocks, and the Safeway sits on top.”

“Wow.” That’s at least a mile from here, maybe more like two. All on these little winding trails.

“Don’t tell mom, though.”

Charlotte smirks and makes a locking-key gesture. Megan says, “You need to fill the bottle now.”

The older girl bends down and unscrews the cap. “What for?”

The 8-year-old craftily replies, “You’ll see.”

They amble on through the woods, and after a ways, Megan wades into the budding bushes off the trail to where another feeder hangs from a tree. They’re all the same, made of a short black plastic pipe attached to another piece that has two openings in a T at one end, and a some clothesline tied through a couple small holes drilled in the other. Megan and her mom make them in the garage, Charlotte’s learned – Amy cuts and drills, then Megan glues the parts together and ties the line. It’s cheap, so it doesn’t matter if one disappears every once in a while.

“They disappear?”

“Yeah. Sometimes the wind blows them away. Sometimes the raccoons get to them.” Megan gives a one-shouldered shrug.

When Megan gets to her tree, she shrugs off her pack, pulls off her boots and scrambles barefoot a little ways up to a low branch. She unties the feeder, brings it down and fills it with seeds from the pack, then back up she goes, her little pale feet gripping the rough bark like a monkey. She emerges from the bushes when she’s finished, picking a twig out of her unruly hair.

“Why do you put them all so far back?”

“So I can watch from the trail. I’m quieter that way.”

A bit further on Megan leaves the path again, but this time beckons Charlotte to join her. “There’s something I wanna show you up here.” The 12-year-old follows, and after they push through some brush and gingerly skirt the edge of a huge mud puddle, Megan leads them on a climb up a steep, stony hillside. Megan might see a way, but Charlotte can hardly make out a groove in the ground. At the top, Megan ducks in a gap through some dense bushes. Charlotte, however, has to hike her skirt up to her knees and crawl through.

What she comes out to makes the crawling worth it. Opening before her lies a wide field of grass and dandelions, with a lone, skeletal tree standing on a hummock just off-center. As she stands, Charlotte can see spangles of sunlight through the screen of trees on the far side. It’s the pond! And best of all is Megan, watching Charlotte’s reaction, bouncing on her toes and giggling with unrestrained joy.

“It’s my secret place!” She cries. “I found it all by myself. I saw the light through the trees and I figured out it was here and that’s when I knew I was the Queen of the Forest!” She flings up her arms in triumph.

Charlotte takes small steps into the open, feeling somehow like an intruder. “Oh gosh, Megan, it’s sooo pretty.”

“I know! Early in the spring, there were fairy rings of mushrooms up here, and last summer it was all wildflowers,” she exclaims, sweeping her arms as if to reveal what she’s seen. “And nobody, nobody knows about it but me. I mean, nobody comes out here anyway, except people walking their dogs and those guys riding their big bikes on the weekends. But nobody’s ever been here but me,” she finishes breathlessly, and then places her hands together in front of her tummy and shyly looks at her babysitter with her deep brown eyes. “And now you.”

Charlotte understands the gift she’s just been given – another secret, but this one’s Megan’s – and this feeling blossoms in her chest. She wordlessly crosses the few steps between them, cups the smiling girl’s face in her hands, and kisses her blissfully on the mouth. Megan bounces again on her toes, clutching Charlotte’s waist, gleeful giggles buzzing against her lips.

They part and happily look into each other’s eyes and then Megan’s get kind of apologetic and she says, “There’s one more thing we need to do. Come on.”

The two of them stroll toward the gnarled gray trunk of the dead tree on its little rise.

“I always wanted to build a clubhouse up here. Like a base camp? But I can’t get the stuff up here. The hill’s too steep, there’s sticker bushes all down that side, and down closer to the lake it gets all muddy and gooshy.”

It’s cute the way she calls the pond a ‘lake.’ Charlotte’s not surprised, though; it’s pretty big, especially to a little girl.

“You could come camping,” she suggests. “Look at the stars. All you’d need is a tent. We did that when I went to Bible camp last year.” She doesn’t mention that you could see the lights of the camp buildings from their tents.

“Ooo, that sounds fun. A little scary, but fun. Would you do that with me?”

“Sure,” she replies, though she’s not sure at all. It sounds scary to her, too.

They reach the tree. Megan removes her pack with a familiar shrug and begins to work off her muddy boots. Charlotte tilts her head back and spies a feeder, high up, almost directly over her head. It looks different from the others.

“Don’t tell mom,” Megan says, cinches her skirt up almost to her childish hips, and clambers up the trunk with hands and bare feet. She scales past Charlotte and goes much higher, and again she’s struck by the little girl’s physical confidence. She seemed so mousy and shy, but out here, she’s an adventurer.

Reaching the proper height, Megan edges out onto a branch, stretching up to grip a slimmer one holding the feeder, and sidestepping gingerly out to it. Charlotte anxiously watches Megan’s little toes clutching the branch, and with each step the 12-year-old gets a stomach-fluttering glimpse of the younger girl’s satiny rounded legs, parting to reveal her blue and white striped panties. She gets all blushy and the warming tingle of the bad feeling pulses in her own panties, but she can’t look away. Or more honestly, doesn’t want to.

Carefully removing the feeder, Megan inches back along the branch, Charlotte thinking I never knew there were so many colors of underwear, and returns to the ground. This feeder is different – it’s an old glass ketchup bottle that’s been screwed into the top of what looks like a lawn sprinkler.

Megan separates the two pieces, squats down to where her pack sits on the ground and says, “I need the water now.”

Charlotte absently hands her the bottle she’s been carrying. “You know, I could see all under your skirt up there.”

The blonde girl’s eyebrows shoot up, her cheeks turn pink, but she looks up at Charlotte with a bright smile. “Naughty!” she teases, giggling.

She pulls a packet of pink powder out of her bag, tears it open, and pours it into the ketchup bottle. The water soon follows, and the mixture instantly turns ruby red. When it’s reassembled, the girl stands and nonchalantly climbs back up the tree.

While she’s tying the feeder up she purposely takes a very wide stance, rocking her hips back and forth. “Do you like the view?” She calls down, and it’s Charlotte’s turn to giggle bashfully.

When Megan’s back on the ground, she gathers her stuff together and says, “Come on,” leading Charlotte to another edge of the field, already in the shadow of the tall trees, where a few saplings are gamely growing into the open space. The two girls step into the midst of them, and Megan puts her pack down again.

Charlotte looks at her curiously, and Megan lifts her little binoculars, saying, “Now we watch.”

“For what?”

“Hummingbirds,” Megan replies, turning to observe the feeder. “I put that up last year, and I do my best to keep it full. They know it’s here now, they look for it.”

The girls go still, and it isn’t long at all before Charlotte sees tiny shapes zipping into the field, darting, hovering, and then dashing over to the bright red feeder where it glints in the late afternoon light. It seems like there’s three birds, coming and zooming off again, almost taking turns. Megan lifts her binoculars. Charlotte squints, trying to make them out.

Next to her, Megan quietly asks, “Do you want a turn?” She’s taking the strap from around her neck.

Charlotte puts the binoculars to her eyes, scanning, and occasionally she’ll catch a glimpse of green or buzzing wings, but they vanish as quickly as they show up. It’s frustrating.

“Silly,” the younger girl chuckles, “It’s like with the butterflies. Don’t chase the birds, watch the feeder.”

She does, focuses on it, and the birds dip in to feed, and they’re so delicate, so pretty, their wings a blur of blue-gray or teal and maybe a streak of pink, their throats silky and shot with brilliant colors. When one leaves and another arrives, a little astonished “Oh!” escapes Charlotte without her even knowing it was coming.

“I knew you’d like them,” Megan says, satisfied. Charlotte lowers the binoculars.

“Oh Megan, they’re so beautiful,” Charlotte gushes, feeling like she might cry. “All of it, everything, it’s so beautiful.”

Megan smiles proudly and Charlotte hugs her, the binoculars bonking between them, making them laugh. Charlotte takes them off and sets them on top of the bag.

“At first, I thought that hummingbird beaks were like straws,” Megan says when they part. “But I found out that they have really long tongues, and they sip the nectar all the way through their beaks,” and she demonstrates by pursing her lips tightly and poking her pointy pink tongue out in little darts. It’s so, so cute that Charlotte can’t help but beam. Megan giggles and continues, being a goof.

Charlotte leans in quickly and closes her lips around the little girl’s mouth, feeling Megan’s tongue kind of lick her lips. It was only supposed to be cute and funny, but the sensation sends tingles all through her body. Megan must like it too, because she keeps doing it, so they kiss like that for a minute, and Charlotte feels the 8-year-old’s tongue getting softer, less pointy and more curious, wet and soft and warm.

The older girl extends her own tongue, just a little, and their tender tongues make contact and it’s just crazy how good it feels. Megan makes a surprised, excited little noise through her closed lips and presses in, her hands clutching Charlotte’s hips. They stand there in the saplings, the birds forgotten, enthusiastically licking each other’s tongues, as Charlotte gently holds the girl’s shoulders to steady herself against the onslaught of pleasure she’s experiencing. Each can hear the other’s breathing getting deeper, faster.

Megan pulls back with a cheeky, open-mouthed smile, reaching down and pulling one side of Charlotte’s skirt up, up. Charlotte holds her gaze but doesn’t try to stop her, just to see what she’s doing. Then she feels Megan’s knees pass around her calf, and her hot, plump, panty-clad kitty snuggles up against Charlotte’s thigh just above her knee.

Still smiling, the young curly headed blonde releases the skirt, and her hand immediately comes to rest on Charlotte’s boobie, spreading knee-weakening joy through her shirt and training bra, making her realize how aroused and sensitive she already is. When Megan tilts her head up, Charlotte has no resistance to offer.

She strokes Megan’s neck as they kiss, their tongues venturing out again to lick each other, and she feels Megan’s hips start to move, her kitty rubbing against Charlotte’s leg with a need she feels herself.

But somehow knowing this, where it’s quickly leading, snaps her out of the dreamy sensual reverie she’s in, and she realizes she has no idea where she is, shadows have almost covered the field, and the sunlight is getting very slanty. She doesn’t know how long it’s going to take to get back, and she certainly doesn’t want to be out on that maze of trails in the dark.

So gently, reluctantly, she pulls back from the dizzying kisses, lifts Megan’s hand from her happy breast. Megan’s eyes open partway and meet hers, challenging, with a determination set in her jaw that reminds Charlotte of Amy, and she pumps her kitty more forcefully against Charlotte’s thigh, she can sense the damp heat building there, but the older girl draws her leg away from that insistent rhythm.

Megan’s disappointment is hard to bear. She adjusts her glasses back into place and pouts.

“We have to get back,” Charlotte explains.

“But… but I wanna.”

“You’ve got homework, and I have to make dinner. It’s getting late.”

The younger girl scowls, plucks at her massively unruly ponytail. “Don’t you wanna?”

“We can’t here. It’s almost dark.”

Megan lowers her head, quiet, then looks at Charlotte sidelong. “But you’ll touch me when we get home, right? You’ll touch me all over?”

It’s all she can do not to attack her right there, it’s so adorable. “Yes.”

“You promise?”

“Promise,” she replies with an assuring peck on the lips. “Now let’s get going.”

Megan shoulders her pack while Charlotte smooths her clothes, and then they head out of the field the way they came. On the trail back to the house, Charlotte comes to learn that Megan took her all over the woods today, showing her everything. The walk back only takes about fifteen minutes. They hold hands most of the way.

Continue on to Chapter 8