Juicy Secrets Forbidden Tales of Lesbian Love

By Jos Mous

It didn’t take very long for Sam and Mac to fall into a kind of routine. Despite everything Hollywood tries to tell the world, most human beings are creatures of habit and would prefer tomorrow to be very predictable instead of filled with exciting surprises. In the mornings, Sam would get up first, go to Mac’s room to see that she was usually still asleep and, depending on her mood, wake her up or just let her be. Then she would go down to get breakfast and leave for work soon after. When she came home, she usually made some hasty arrangements for dinner and spent the rest of the night looking at papers to ensure Mac’s stay and find a school for her.

Mac would spend the day lounging around the house, listening to the radio, watching a spot of TV and, if she really had to, do a bit of shopping at the local grocery. She often made plans of getting out of the house, going to the nearest city and start scouring bars, but she always gave up on those plans when she realised that she still didn’t speak the language.

Neither of them ever brought up the subject of Mac’s brief pregnancy again.

This went on for some weeks until one Sunday afternoon Sam sat down in the living room and looked serious enough for Mac to realise that there was going to be A Talk.

“Mac…” said Sam.

“Yeah?” Mac asked, turning off the TV and deciding to sit up a little straighter.

“You are going back to school tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow? Couldn’t you tell me that earlier?”

“I just received the phone call today.”

“Well, that’s great,” Mac said testily. “Which school is it and how am I supposed to get there?”

“It’s called the William of Orange School,” Sam said, smiling ironically. “I suppose someone found it very hilarious to name a school for foreigners after a national hero. It’s not very hard to reach. You just hop onto any bus here and you get off at the central bus station in the city. There you take line 35 and just sit in it all the way since the end of the line is right in front of the school.”

“Well, that’s something, I guess,” said Mac. “Not sure if I speak enough Dutch for the bus, though.”

“You’ll probably do fine in English.”

“Here’s hoping. How ‘bout books?”

“I’ll order them first thing tomorrow, but it’ll take a few weeks before they arrive.”

“Figured as much. Anything else?”

“You’ll have to talk to the principal first tomorrow and he’ll show you around and everything.”

“Great. Was that it?” Mac asked, getting impatient.

“One more thing,” said Sam. “Don’t screw this up. I’ve managed a green card for you and I found a school for you. I’m not your legal guardian, however, and you’re not a citizen of this country so you really have to try your best.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Mac, they’ll send you back to the States.”

Mac froze, now she really looked at Sam. “What?”

“If you cause a lot of trouble or simply skip school, Immigration will revoke your green card and send you back to Mike.”

“What? You’re a politician, can’t you do something about that?”

“I’m not above the law, Mac.”

“Well, I’m not going back.”

“Nobody said you have to.”

“You just threatened me with sending me back!” Mac yelled. “And I’m not going back, understand! Ever!”

“Mac…”

“No, fuck you! I’ll throw myself off a bridge before I go back!”

“Mac, you can’t be serious!” Sam exclaimed, shocked.

“Damn straight I’m serious! I’d rather be dead than go back! And I mean it, too.” Mac rolled up a sleeve from her black shirt and showed Sam the wrist of her left arm. There were scars on it.

“You slit your wrists?”

“Three times,” Mac said, rolling the sleeve back down. “Survived them all, unfortunately. I was almost successful last time, if it wasn’t for the fact that Mom had hired a cleaning lady and forget to tell me about it.”

“But why?”

“Gee, Sam, can’t you guess?”

“It couldn’t have been that awful.”

“Oh fuck, Sam, grow up. Things can be that awful. They’re that awful in thousands of families.”

“But… how could… I mean… it was never like that when I…”

“I don’t know, okay? People change and all that. Dad’s a fucking bastard, Mom’s an alcoholic and I got caught up in the middle.”

“Mom’s an alcoholic?” Sam asked, unable to grasp the concept.

“Yep. For the same reason I’m a slut. To escape reality for a while.”

“You are not a slut, Mac,” Sam said, her voice very carefully held evenly.

“Hello, Earth to Sam? Lost virginity at twelve, got pregnant at seventeen and got fucked everywhere anyone wanted to in-between? Face it, I’m a slut.”

“You are not a slut. You just… did that to survive.”

“OK, fine, I’m not a slut. Happy now?”

“Mom’s an alcoholic?”

Mac looked at Sam’s face and saw the she was on breaking point. She wasn’t surprised when Sam started crying not long after.

“Aw, shit,” muttered Mac.

The teenager walked over to the woman, sat down next to her and pulled her into a hug. Sam gratefully accepted the comforting gesture and cried into her shoulder.

“And here I was thinking you adults always kept things together,” Mac muttered, gently stroking the brunette’s hair as she sobbed.

Sam was busily working on her slightly archaic computer one Saturday afternoon when Mac decided to take a shower.

This was not a problem, of course, since Sam’s computer was not in the bathroom. What was a problem was that the bigger of the two clothes hampers in the house was standing inside Sam’s bedroom and that the way to the bathroom led past Sam’s little work space. This still shouldn’t have posed a problem if Sam kept the door to her room closed, but, having lived alone for quite some time, she seldom did.

“Mac?” asked Sam, her eyes fixed on the screen in front of her.

“Yeah?” came Mac’s voice from the bathroom.

“Nice tattoo.”

“Which one?”

“The one on your upper left arm.”

“Oh, right. Thanks.”

“Still, I’d prefer it if you didn’t walk around the house stark naked.”

There was a slight pause.

“Sorry.”

“No problem,” said Sam. “Just keep something on in future.”

“Right. I’ll do that.”

As the sound of rushing water started to filter into Sam’s room, the brunette stood up from her chair, walked over to the door, firmly closed it, walked back to her chair, sat down again and continued working. She focused on her work with a kind of angry determination. She often did this when she was upset about something.

Right then, she was very upset about something. From the moment Sam had seen Mac on her doorstep, she knew that her younger sister wasn’t the same little kid she’d last seen about thirteen years ago. But now that Mac had walked past her open door like that, it really hit Sam that she had grown into a beautiful young woman.

A very beautiful young woman.

A very desirable beautiful young woman.

The keyboard cried and rattled as Sam punched the keys and if the screen had been able to see anything it would have shut itself off in an attempt not to see the angry glare in Sam’s eyes.

Mac had often complained about the fact that Sam didn’t have an automatic dishwasher. Lately, however, she’d stopped complaining and simply accepted the fact that she would be drying dishes for as long as she stayed there. After all, there were worse things than having to dry dishes. This was something Mac knew for a fact.

What she also knew for a fact was that Sam had been very quiet all day, and had tried hard not to look at her or even be around her. This disturbed Mac somewhat. She knew all about avoidance, an art she’d practised daily when still living with her father and mother. She had enough experience to notice if someone was trying to avoid her. Especially if that someone was still very new at avoiding someone else.

“Did I do anything wrong?” Mac asked.

“What?” Sam asked, coming back from whatever thoughts were in her mind.

“Did I do anything wrong?” Mac asked again, while putting a few cups in the cupboard.

“Err… no. You didn’t do anything wrong,” Sam said.

“Then why are you trying to avoid me?” Mac asked.

“I’m not trying to avoid you,” said Sam.

“Yeah, and I’m the pope,” said Mac. “C’mon, I know there’s something wrong. The least you could do is tell me what.”

“We didn’t grow up together, did we, Mac?”

“Err… no,” said Mac, confused at this turn of the conversation.

“I left for Europe when you were just four years old.”

“That’s right. Where’s this going?”

“The only things I’ve seen of you growing up were pictures Brooke sent me by e-mail.”

“Your point being?” Mac asked, getting impatient.

“You’re not my sister, Mac.”

“What do you mean?” Mac asked, suddenly turning pale.

“We don’t have a sisterly bond,” Sam said, as if trying out the words for herself. “We’re practically strangers from each other.”

“Sam… what are you saying?”

Sam looked at Mac and upon seeing the fearful look on the younger girl quickly smiled.

“Don’t worry, this doesn’t change anything. You’re still my sister and I’ll take care of you as long as you want.”

“But… you just said…”

“Never mind that,” Sam said quickly. “It was a stupid thing to say. I was just trying to explain something to myself, really. Don’t worry.”

“Right,” said Mac, not entirely sure if she believed her.

“The point is… well, we are sisters, actually. The fact that we were separated for so long doesn’t change that.”

“I see,” said Mac.

“So, how was school?” Sam asked in a cheerful tone that seemed somewhat forced.

“It’s Saturday. There was no school today.”

“Right, right,” said Sam. “Well then, let’s just… get on with the dishes, okay?”

“Fine,” said Mac.

Mac took a plate from the rack and started to dry it. She didn’t think very often. Or at least, she didn’t used to think very often. In the past, thinking had hurt — and it was better to do something, anything, to distract her from her thoughts.

But now that she was living with Sam, she’d started thinking a lot. About home and how she didn’t want to go back there. About the times she tried to commit suicide. About the careful friendships she was forming at her new school. And sex. She thought about sex. She often thought about her baby and how she should tell the truth about it to Sam.

Right now, Mac was applying these new-found thinking skills to her big sister. Sam had just said that she was acting weird around her because, evidently, she hadn’t “explained” something to herself. Mac wondered what that was. It had something to do with her, obviously, and the fact that they were sisters. It also had something to do with Sam having some sort of difficulty with this “sister” concept.

But why would Sam feel uncomfortable with the fact that they were sisters?

And why would Sam have difficulties now?

What on earth could have happened that…

Suddenly an answer presented itself to Mac.

No. Fucking. Way.

Continue on to Chapter 3