Juicy Secrets Forbidden Tales of Lesbian Love

A quick recap of the Story Thus Far: Rural paramedic Nettie Hastings finds herself in the middle of a flurry of unexplained overdose calls and, with the help of her best friend and former lover, Terry Wilder, has begun putting clues together linking the source to her own hometown. Some suspect Terry’s involvement, including police chief George Fronse, as Terry’s ex-wife is a convicted drug trafficker. A drug raid on an abandoned meat locker goes awry, and Nettie’s father is killed in an explosion. A DEA agent named Bridgette Ramscone is brought in to work the case, and she seems to take a special interest in Nettie who, in the meantime, has entered into a clandestine affair with Terry’s preteen daughter.

For a more detailed breakdown of this story’s chapters, please consult the Chapter Links.

by Rachael Yukey

Halee and I ended up watching Top Gun, as we’d told Terry we were going to do a week prior. I brewed tea, and Halee made popcorn. Snacks and drinks in hand, we snuggled up together on the couch.

During the shirtless volleyball scene, Halee snatched up the remote and paused the movie. “Are those guys hot, do you think?”

I pursed my lips, wondering where she was going with this. “Yes, I’d say so.”

“Like, if you met them in person, maybe you’d want to have sex with them?”

“If I could’ve met Val Kilmer at that age, he’d probably have had his way with me,” I replied with a snicker.

“I don’t see that,” she said. “When I see that lady they call Charlie, I get tingly and start wondering what her boobs look like. When I see the guys, I guess I can see that they’re good looking, but it doesn’t do anything for me. Y’know?”

I squeezed her tightly. “I do know. I told you before how I had zero interest in men until I was sixteen. That’s when I figured out that I’m bi.”

“So maybe I just think I’m a lesbian, but when I get older I might realize I’m bisexual?”

“I think who you are now isn’t necessarily going to be who you are five years down the line,” I said after giving it a moment’s thought. “Right now, you’re sexually interested in girls, but not guys. So for you to say you’re a lesbian now is totally right.”

Halee thought about that for a moment. “Lesbian, subject to revision,” she said. We both cracked up.

After the movie had ended and the TV turned off, Halee and I began to gently make out. Then it was less than gentle. Soon hands were under bathrobes, fingering each other’s dripping pussies.

Halee was panting in my ear. “I want to eat you again.”

“Ever heard of sixty-nine?” I replied.

We ended up with me lying on the couch, Halee on top as we ate each other out. It felt so incredible, having my clitoris licked while my tongue was buried between her pussy lips that I came in record time, after which I flipped Halee on her back and dove between her legs.

“I liked it when you put your finger inside,” she said, shuddering and gasping as my tongue made contact with her clit.

I lifted my head. “Do you want me to try going in all the way?”

“Kind of, but I’m nervous. Do you think it’ll hurt?”

“It did for me,” I told her, “but it didn’t last long. And it was all upside after that.”

“Then I want to.”

I made her wait while I ran into my bedroom and retrieved a squirt bottle decorated with watermelon artwork.

“What’s that?” she demanded to know.

“It’s a sexual lubricant,” I explained. “It’ll make things extra slippery. I keep some around for company.”

We shared a laugh as I knelt between Halee’s legs. “What’s with the watermelon?” she asked.

“It’s flavored,” I said. “The regular stuff tastes disgusting. I tried to eat someone after using it once. It’s a mistake you will not make twice.”

I squirted some on my fingers, and rubbed it around inside her slit.

“Oooh,” she said, as my gooey fingers slid across her clitoris, “I think I like that.”

Lowering my face to her cunt, I extended my tongue and went to work. As her breath began to hitch, I slid a freshly lubed finger into her opening, just until I met resistance. I simply held it there, moving with Halee as I drove her to the heights of pleasure with my tongue.

When her orgasm hit, the now-familiar sounds issued forth, and her vagina gripped my finger, I drove it deeper with one swift thrust.

“Oof,” Halee grunted, then cried out as a second orgasm carried her away. An even stronger one, it seemed. I rode with her, a single finger deep inside, my tongue pressed against her clit.

When it was over I withdrew my finger, got myself onto the couch, and pulled her into my lap. She curled up, and I drew her close.

“You okay?” I asked, once her breathing had slowed.

“Yeah,” she said. “It didn’t really hurt… it just surprised me. And having your finger way up in there…” she giggled. “Well, you saw what happened.”

“Does it hurt now?”

“Not really. Did I bleed? I’ve heard people sometimes bleed.”

“Let me look,” I said, shifting Halee from my lap to the couch cushion. Moving her leg aside, I examined her vulva, but didn’t find any blood. “Looks hemostatic to me.”

“Hemo-whatsis?”

I chuckled. “Hemostatic. Medical term. Means it’s not bleeding.”

“Good. I was worried about ruining your couch.”

“Seriously? This couch is a turd. When I move, I’m chucking it.”

Her eyebrows lifted. “Are you moving?”

I leaned back. “Dad left me his house,” I said. “I haven’t decided yet if I want to move into it, or sell it and buy something a bit smaller. But either way, yeah, I think it’s time to get out of this apartment. And his furniture is way better than mine, so most of what I have here I’m just gonna ditch.”

She settled back into my arms. “Nettie,” she said, after a moment of silence, “you said you would hate yourself if you let this happen. I hope you don’t still feel that way.”

I hesitated before speaking. To be honest, I’d simply ceased to examine my feelings about the right and wrong of taking Halee as a lover.

“No,” I said with a shake of the head, “not anymore. I felt a little guilty at first, but you obviously want this, and I guess you’re old enough to make up your own mind.”

“Do you think Chelsey Milne is old enough?”

My head jerked forward in surprise. “Wait… why?”

Halee wouldn’t meet my eyes. “Because she made that comment about kissing girls sounding like fun. And she’s coming by for a sleepover with Naomi tomorrow night. And because ever since Naomi told us about what she said, I can’t stop thinking about it.”

“You’re attracted to her?” My mind was awash in possibilities, my body beginning to throb all over again.

Halee continued to study her hands, now twisting nervously in her lap. “Does that bother you? I mean, that I’m attracted to someone else?”

I hugged her tightly. “Jeez, no,” I said. “Even if we were an exclusive couple, people are attracted to other people sometimes. That just happens.”

Now she turned her head to face me, the corners of her mouth turning up. “Are you attracted to her?” she wanted to know. “Because I saw the way you reacted when Naomi was talking about Chelsey kissing girls.”

I grinned. “Guilty as charged, your honor.”

“So would you be upset if I, um…”

“Did something about it?” I laughed. “Seducing Chelsey: good. Not telling me every little juicy detail: bad.”

She considered that for a moment. “I know it’s a weird thing to think about,” she said, “because I’m still just a kid. I’m not sure if I’m in love with you, or even what that really means… but I do care about you a lot. I won’t do anything with anyone else if it would hurt you.”

I was so absurdly touched that I found myself fighting tears. I snuggled her even tighter, one hand wrapping around her head and pulling it to my breasts. “That means a lot to me, Halee,” I said, “but you don’t have to worry. I care about you, too, but I don’t own you. I don’t see any reason we need to be exclusive.”

She nodded slowly, her cheek grazing my nipple in a most delightful manner.

Five minutes later we were lying on our sides on the floor, faces buried in each other’s pussies. Halee was finger-fucking me with gusto; I refrained, figuring it would be better to not put anything in her vagina until she’d had a day or two to heal.

As my orgasm took me, I found myself surrendering the last vestiges of shame. This is right, I thought, as we held each other tightly in the aftermath. Nothing has ever been so right.

***

The next morning I’d scheduled a short pre-funeral visitation for anyone who had been unable to make it the previous evening. I was once again standing alongside Dad’s casket, doing my best to be gracious as people filed past.

After the first twenty minutes, foot traffic eased considerably. I was sitting alone next to the casket, watching a handful of guests mill about in the lobby. A tall, spare man with close-cropped hair just beginning to gray strode into the viewing room. He was wearing a black suit and tie, and was holding hands with a woman in her mid-thirties, an elegant lady with shoulder-length brown hair wearing a black skirt and white blouse with a black scarf draped around her neck.

The couple was followed by two lovely young women wearing somber, restrained dresses of maroon and green, with a girl in her mid-teens bringing up the rear. The woman wearing the maroon dress was as tall and dark as I am, a virtual duplicate of me except that her glasses were framed in purple instead of orange. The lady in green was short and blonde. The teen had brown hair with pink highlights, and was wearing a black dress that she looked distinctly uncomfortable in.

“Uncle Jason!” I exclaimed, hugging the man as he drew close.

It had been almost a year since I’d last seen my mom’s brother Jason Hanson, his wife Lisa, and their daughter Victoria, she of the pink-highlighted hair. More like two years since I’d seen Jason’s eldest daughter Julie, who really does look just like me, or her partner Mallory. I lived with Jason and his family for almost a year when I was ten; a horrible, traumatic time that I’ve mostly blocked out. Not through any fault of theirs, mind you. These people are probably the only reason I’m still alive.

Pushing back the half-remembered images before they took root in my mind, I gave Lisa a warm hug.

“How’re you doing, sweetie?” she murmured in my ear.

“I’m okay,” I told her, then opened my arms just in time to be attacked from both sides by Julie and Mallory. They make an odd pair; tall and short, dark and blonde, bouncy and somber. But they’ve been a couple since they were kids.

Vicky hugged me as well, a more perfunctory embrace than the others had bestowed. I understood; to her I’ve always been the much older cousin that she sees maybe twice a year or so.

“It’s good to see you, kiddo… circumstances notwithstanding,” said Jason.

“Really good,” said Julie, her smile brightening the room. “We’ve missed you.”

I reflected that Julie is the only person I know who can seem bubbly at a funeral without anyone taking offense. Cheer and enthusiasm seem to ooze from her pores.

“I’ve missed you, too,” I said. “It has been awhile.”

Jason, Lisa, and Vicky live in Dickson, almost a four-hour drive southwest. Julie and Mallory live in Colorado. Jason’s story isn’t so very different from Terry’s; he had a career in entertainment – music, in his case – which he gave up upon becoming a single father. The big difference is that Jason wasn’t as well-off as Terry, and still needed to earn money. He became a paramedic while I was staying with them. In fact, he’s the reason I got into this line of work.

Despite my best efforts, a wave of memory washed over me. Jason in his recliner, poring over the big stack of medic school textbooks I hadn’t been able to resist delving into myself. Lisa’s belly slowly blooming as Vicky grew inside her. Julie, bubbly and fun, except when she was hunched over the table absorbed in her electronics projects. Quiet Mallory, serious on the outside but with an inner strength that was apparent even at age eleven as she endured the twin struggles of breaking away from her parents’ religion and watching their marriage fall apart. It took a few months for me to realize that Julie and Mallory were a lot more than just friends.

“I didn’t know you were coming,” I said. “You guys need a place to stay?”

“Naw, we’re covered,” said Jason. “There’s this scraggy-looking motel just east of town; we’ll grab rooms there. We have to drive back first thing in the morning.”

“Oh, God,” I countered. “Please tell me you’re not staying at Milton’s.”

Lisa smiled. “It does kind of look like a good place to pick up crabs or something, doesn’t it?”

I shook my head. “Let me put you up at Dad’s place. There are, like, four bedrooms there.”

“Are you sure?” said Mallory. It was the first she’d spoken, but she’d always been the quiet one. “You’ve got a lot going on… we don’t want to be any trouble.”

“I’m very sure,” I said. “I’d love to get caught up this evening.”

More guests were approaching. Jason gave me another hug. “We’ll see you in awhile, then.”

Fifteen minutes later, Terry, Halee, and Naomi appeared, this time with Dawn in tow. That wasn’t a surprise; Terry let me know they would be there, and that little Maya would be attending the funeral but had opted out of seeing a dead person. Terry had seemed a bit apologetic about that, but I assured him that it was fine; I hate it when parents force kids into something like that.

I caught a glimpse of Maya out in the lobby, in the company of her friend Gina. Gina’s mom, Theresa, was riding herd on both girls. Theresa graduated high school with me, then married young and had Gina at the tender age of 19. I sometimes wondered what her husband would think if he knew that she had gone through an experimental phase with girls during senior year, and that she’d hooked up with me a number of times. Or that we’d hooked up behind his back maybe half a dozen times since then.

A line was beginning to form, so Terry and the girls passed by more quickly this time – spending a moment at the casket, hugging me, moving on in favor of the next person. Looking back towards the lobby again, I almost did a double take at the sight of Agent Bridgett Ramscone striding purposefully through the double doors. She walked into the chapel as if she owned the place, made her way to the end of the mercifully shortening line of humanity, and settled in to wait. I couldn’t remember ever seeing someone look so utterly relaxed, yet completely aware of their surroundings.

The two people in front of her were Dad’s sisters, and they took a bit more time than the others had. I forced myself to give them my attention, surreptitiously watching Agent Ramscone out of the corner of my eye. She seemed to be in no hurry.

Finally they moved on, and she stepped forward. There was only ten minutes to go before the funeral, and she was the last one in line.

She gazed into the casket for almost a full minute, then turned towards me. “Ms. Hastings,” she said, “I’m terribly sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you,” I said, inclining my head slightly.

“You may or may not have heard this yet,” she went on, “but your father died heroically. He saved the life of the very girl that you transported.”

“I just heard yesterday evening,” I informed her, “but thank you for making sure I knew.”

She gave me a secretive little smile. “We’ll talk later.” She took my hand in hers, gave it a squeeze, then turned and strode towards the lobby, leaving me wondering what in the world she thought we had to talk about.

The funeral passed easily enough, and without much of the usual bullshit. Dad had been friends with his pastor, who talked easily and humorously about him, painting a reasonably accurate portrait of the man. The graveside ceremony was marred by a chill spring rain, resulting in a thinner crowd than there otherwise might have been. As immediate family I got to stand under the awning; others were not so fortunate.

Naomi and Dawn huddled together under a single umbrella; Terry and Halee stoically endured the drizzle. On the periphery I spotted Bridgett, looking completely at ease under a large umbrella that was the same black as her clothing. I wondered if it was government issue.

The reception was held at Dad’s house, invitation only. The only people I’d invited who weren’t family or friends of my dad were Terry and his girls, because they’re the closest thing to a real support system I have, and I wanted them there.

During the reception I started to re-evaluate my almost-made decision to sell the place. It’s a beautiful, spacious house, with oak wall paneling and log beams on the ceilings. Looking around the living room, I thought that with a few carefully arranged tapestries to dampen reverberation, it was the ideal size and shape to make my audio system sing.

As the reception wound down, Uncle Jason and his brood took their leave. They’d decided to stay the night with me at Dad’s place, but had some visiting to do first.  Jason had planned to drop in on an old friend, while Julie and Mallory wanted to visit Sheriff’s Deputy Cindy Koep, who’d grown up with them in their home town.

As they departed, long-suppressed visions of my tenth year flashed through my head. Cindy Koep had been Cindy Moen then, and along with Julie and Mallory had been part of a circle that had come together to protect me from… what? I couldn’t remember.

“We’re taking you to dinner tonight,” said Jason. “No arguments, okay?”

My mom stuck around to help me clean up. She chattered animatedly about the past, and we actually managed to have a decent conversation for a change.

Finally on my own, I was lounging back in Dad’s recliner, allowing memories to wash over me, when the doorbell rang. I was startled from my reverie; who would possibly be calling? I wasn’t expecting Uncle Jason back for hours yet.

Pushing myself out of the chair with an effort, I made my way to the door. DEA Agent Bridgett Ramscone waited on the doorstep. It was the first time I’d seen her in anything other than her sensible black suit. She was wearing designer jeans that hugged her hips, cowboy boots, and a fleece-lined denim jacket. Instead of the usual bun, her hair was loose around her shoulders.

“Are you going to admire the view all afternoon, or are you going to invite me in?” she inquired.

I realized that I’d been gawking. Embarrassed, I stepped to the side, holding the door open. “Please, come in,” I said, with as much dignity as I could muster.

She stepped inside, pulled her boots off, and cast her eyes around the spacious open-concept living area. “This is beautiful,” she intoned, sounding as if she meant it.

I smiled as I gestured for her to follow me into the living room. “Dad owned the local lumber yard. He was pretty chummy with all of the contractors and got good deals on anything he wanted done for himself. He had this built after he married my stepmom. Have a seat.” I gestured towards one of the two matching recliners, seating myself in the one that had been Dad’s favorite.

“By ‘stepmom’,” she said, “you mean Tracy Hastings, maiden name Belgarde. Married your father in 2010, died in a snowmobile accident in 2018. You personally responded to the accident scene. You got her to the hospital alive, but she didn’t make it.”

I raised my eyebrows, but said nothing,

“As for the house, and the lumberyard,” she went on, “you’re now the proud owner of both. Have you decided to liquidate, or hang onto them?”

I forced my face into impassivity. “I think I might keep the house,” I said. “About the business, I’m not sure yet.”

Bridgett nodded thoughtfully. “I think it’d be tough to walk away from this house.”

I decided that I wasn’t in the mood for whatever game she was playing. “How can I help you, Agent Ramscone?”

Bridgett grimaced. It was the first expression I’d seen on her face that didn’t seem premeditated.

“I’ll level with you,” she said. “We’re coming up snake eyes on this investigation, and I’m just about out of leash. I can’t keep this many resources tied up in a nowhere place like this – no offense – for much longer. I can stretch this out another three or four days, a week at most, and I’m going to be ordered out of here, with no answers and no action taken.”

“That really sucks,” I said, “but I’m not sure what you think I can do to help.”

“First of all, you can tell me what you know about Terrance Wilder.”

So that’s how it was. “First George Fronse, now you,” I said, my tone positively acidic. “If you’re blaming Terry for any of this, I’m not buying what you’re selling. Anyway, what am I going to tell you that you don’t already know? You know exactly what I inherited from my dad, you know who my stepmom was and how she died… now you’re gonna tell me you don’t know more about Terry’s background than I do? Especially with his ex-wife’s history. I figure you’ve plowed that field pretty deep.”

Her only reaction to my tirade was a thin smile. “So you do know. My understanding from the interviews I’ve conducted over the past week is that your friend Terry is quite secretive about his past. Until now, I have yet to talk to anyone who’s aware of his ex’s criminal conviction.”

I shrugged. “So he’s private. That’s not a crime.”

She laced her hands in her lap and regarded me solemnly. “What you probably don’t know is that there were plenty of agents involved in Kathryn Wilder’s arrest who were far from convinced that Terrance was as clueless as he claimed to be. Oh, he was never brought up on charges, because there was absolutely no direct evidence to the contrary. Tell me this much: does Mr. Wilder strike you as a stupid man?”

I snorted. “Terry’s maybe the smartest person I know.”

She nodded. “I agree. Hell, it’s not even a matter of agreement, it’s an objective fact. The man has a tested IQ that makes most of us look like carrots by comparison. He ought to be in a lab somewhere curing cancer or inventing warp drive, you know?”

I found myself nodding in agreement. She wasn’t wrong.

“So you’ll forgive us if we’re a little skeptical that a man that bright lived with the top dog of a multi-million dollar international drug trafficking ring for ten years, had four children with her, and was utterly oblivious to what was going on. I’m not even suggesting that he was necessarily involved, just that he had to have at least known she was doing something illegal.”

I shrugged. “Are you suggesting he’s involved in what’s going on around here? I think that’s ridiculous. We were together on the Sam Jensen call; he was as perplexed as I was.”

Bridgett shook her head. “Honey, in my experience, most men that intelligent fall into one of two categories. They’re either socially inept and can’t get laid if their lives depend on it, or they’re… well… really scary people. Sociopaths, or worse. He might not have been as perplexed as he led you to believe.”

“Do you have any actual reason to think he’s involved, or just weird theories about how smart guys interact socially?”

“We have reason to believe there are very prominent international traffickers conducting some kind of operation in the Franklin County area. That’s how this all started. And we figure they have to be involved with what happened at the former meat locker. I can’t go into detail, but there’s a great deal of money and organization wrapped up in what was going on there.”

She sat forward. “But here’s the thing. There’s no way in hell that they pulled it off without local contacts and assistance. They set up some fairly sophisticated infrastructure to get supplies in and out, and electrical power to a facility that hasn’t been hooked to the grid in thirty years. Not to mention drawing in a number of local young people as guinea pigs without raising any red flags… until those young people started to get sick.”

“And you think Terry is part of that.”

“Not necessarily, but only because I know it’s a mistake to jump to conclusions. Do that, and your brain shuts down. A number of my agents are absolutely convinced that he’s involved. On what evidence, you might ask? It’s very simple: two of the traffickers who led us to start keeping a closer eye on this area in the first place are people who have had past dealings with Kathryn Wilder’s organization.”

I leaned my head back, gazing up at the ceiling. What she was hitting me with was a more sophisticated version of George Fronse’s paranoia. This time I wasn’t buying it even a little bit.

“If you really think Terry would help set up a drug operation in a place where his kids might be impacted, then you don’t know him,” I said at last. “Those girls are his world, and you’d know that if you saw them together. He wouldn’t put them at risk, even if he was involved in something like that.”

“Oh, I have seen them together,” Bridgett said, “but only in public settings. They look like the picture-perfect Leave it to Beaver American family, and in 2022 that by itself is kind of weird to see. The only thing missing is a mom in an apron. In private, you’d say he’s a devoted father?”

“Oh, Christ, yes,” I replied. “He spends tons of time with them, helps them with their homework, takes them places. Exactly the kind of dad mine wasn’t, to be honest. They adore him.”

“Has he said anything regarding his ex-wife’s activities that would lead one to believe he might have known what she was doing?”

“He’s barely talked about it at all,” I replied, electing not to tell her that I myself had only learned this very recently, “but he says he didn’t know. He told me that she had a lot of money invested and it was doing well, so he never questioned why she was rich. I believe him.”

A thought struck me. “Have you questioned those traffickers you were keeping an eye on? That’d probably be more useful than talking to me.”

She sighed. “Of course we have. But they’ve got themselves set up perfectly. Ordinary apartments, ordinary jobs in one of the neighboring small cities… all the outward appearances of ex-cons trying to get a fresh start. More than that, they were smart enough to not run like hell after the meat locker operation got hit. And these guys have been through the wringer enough times that being shaken down doesn’t ruffle their feathers. They’ll answer enough simple questions to look good, and then lawyer up the moment the questions get hard. And with the only evidence being their presence, the moment they say the word lawyer we pretty much have to let it go. There’s no point in continuing.”

There was a long, uncomfortable silence. Well, I was uncomfortable. Bridgett Ramscone, damn her, seemed to be perfectly at ease.

“Look,” Bridgett said at last, “you’re probably right about Terry Wilder. I admit that I’m grasping at straws here. I do think it’s a damn strange coincidence that he moved out to this backwater for no apparent reason, and then four years later some of his ex-wife’s former business associates appear in the same area and all this happens. But coincidence is all I have, and it’s not enough to condemn a man. You might as well forget I said anything.”

“It doesn’t make sense,” I said slowly, choosing my words with care. “If Terry’s as smart as you think he is, would he paint a target on his back like this? All this circumstantial stuff… yeah, it seems to point straight to him, doesn’t it? But he’d know that, wouldn’t he? I would think he’d be smart enough to not shit where he eats.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Seriously, come work for me. I could have you in a training seminar starting next week. It’s a major flaw in the argument, and it’s been bugging me, but I wouldn’t have expected a layperson to see it. And now that I think about it…” she stopped talking.

“It’s more like someone is setting it up so it looks like he might be involved,” I said.

“Yeah,” she said. “That’s what I’m thinking. It’s not even like someone is trying to take him down, just generate enough suspicion to create a distraction.” She sighed heavily and sat back. “Which of course leaves us exactly where we were before. I’m going to stretch this out for as long as I can get away with it, but by this time next week my superiors are going to order me back to Minneapolis.”

She laced her hands across her belly. “That’s as far as I can go without letting you in on confidential information. With your knack for deduction, I’d love to have you look over all of the evidence, but I’d never be able to clear it with my bosses. Forget about it.”

“Works for me,” I said, relieved to be done playing question-and-answer.

But Bridgett Ramscone wasn’t anywhere near finished. “So instead,” she murmured, ”let’s talk about your relationship with Halee Wilder.”

On to Chapter Fourteen!