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Amy’s Gift, Chapter 2

  • Posted on April 23, 2025 at 3:18 pm

The story thus far: Seeking a missing Texas Ranger, our old acquaintance The Tequila Kid comes across a poor family named Miller. Like many others in the area, this widow Sarah and her two little girls, Amy and Cindy, have been brutalized by a wealthy scoundrel named McCuller, who intends to drive away all the owners of small farms and ranches in the area and take their land. Later, drying off from heavy rain at the local stable, Sheriff Lucas Clay comes in search of The Kid, demanding she surrender her guns. Knowing Clay to be corrupt (and in league with McCuller, The Kid asks to speak with him in private.

And now, dear readers, we make our way into the next installment. Read on…

by Purple Les

The Tequila Kid followed Sheriff Lucas Clay down the covered boardwalk. The street itself was a sea of mud, and they occasionally had to step down and trudge through it when reaching an intersection. The Kid was glad she’d thought to cover the hole in her boot beforehand.

Along the way, they passed by a saloon. The Kid glanced inside, hoping she’d get the chance to drop in for a moment before the night ended. Just then, a young man loped out, leaned back against the wall and took out a tobacco pouch. Glancing up, his eyes widened a bit at the sight of Sheriff Clay.

“Well, now,” Clay began, coming to a halt in front of the man, “If it ain’t Jud Nelson.”

“Howdy, Sheriff Clay,” Jud said as he began to roll himself a cigarette. “Fine night, ain’t it?”

The Kid studied the man. Jud Nelson was about her height of five-nine. His dark water-stained slouch hat was tilted back on his head, showing a head of thick blonde hair. His eyes were gray, his face tanned a deep brown, and he was dressed in worn ranch work clothes.

As the young man stepped closer to the light, putting the rolled cigarette to his lips, The Kid noticed more details. Jud’s nose was crooked, and his left eyebrow had a scar in the middle. He’s had that nose broke, she thought. Maybe twice. Where’s that scar from… a knife fight? Wonder how the other fella looked afterward. Or maybe he just drank too much one night and fell into something.

The Kid thought Jud’s face looked open and honest, and there was intelligence in his eyes.

Glancing to the left, The Kid noticed a horse that had been tied to the hitching rail – the only one left on the street in this miserable weather.

Sheriff Clay glared at the young man. “No, Nelson, it ain’t a fine night. Or are you too goddamn dumb to see it pissin’ down rain?”

“Sorry, Sheriff. My mistake,” Jud said as he lit his smoke.

Still bristling with ire, the lawman paused to spit on the boardwalk, about an inch from Jud’s boot. “Listen here, Nelson. You been on the loaf for a month now. Most of the others McCuller fired had the good sense to move on. Why the hell are you still here?”

Jud’s eyes were hard, but he still wore a soft smile. “Oh, I’m workin’. Got me a job at the blacksmith’s, lendin’ a hand. Learnt the trade from my pappy, back when I was growin’ up in Arkansaw. Comes in handy when there‘s no ranch work to be had.” With a slight shrug, he added, “Where else would I go? It’s a peaceable town, and I ain’t in a mood to roam.”

The sheriff’s scowl held steady. “Where you layin’ your bedroll, then? Any bum I catch sleepin’ rough in my town, it’ll go mighty hard on him.”

“Stayin’ in a shack behind the blacksmith.”

Sheriff gave Jud a smile sour enough to curdle milk. “Best not be lyin’ to me, son. I’ll be checkin’ that story. Now, where’s your gun hid?”

“Well… since I can’t wear one here in town, I sold it,” Jud said. “Ain’t got no gun to hide, Sheriff Clay.”

“Now you look here, boy,” Clay growled. “Far as I’m concerned, you should’ve got your ass out of town with the rest of McCuller’s crew. He told me what a sorry bunch you were.” Drawing closer, he tapped Jud’s chest. “I got my eye on you, Nelson. Step one goddamn inch out of line, and I’ll squash you like a bug. Understand me?”

“Yes, sir,” Jud quietly replied. Turning to The Kid, he tipped the brim of his hat. “Evenin’, ma’am.”

“Evenin’,” The Kid replied, tipping hers in return.

Sheriff Clay stared balefully at Jud Nelson as the young man wandered back into the saloon. Finally he glanced back at The Kid. “Come on, then!” he snapped, then stomped off down the boardwalk.

Following the sheriff, The Kid paused long enough to look back at the lone horse in the street while Clay unlocked his office door. He took up a lamp and lit it as The Kid entered, closing the door behind.

The sheriff took his slicker off and put it on a coat rack, followed by his hat. He wore a white shirt, thin black string tie and a black vest. His hair was a little thin on top, but there was enough to cover his head.

Picking up a piece of wood, Clay opened the squeaking door of the pot bellied stove and threw it inside, watching long enough to make sure it caught. It was already warm inside the office, so The Kid hung her slicker and coat on the rack, but kept her hat on.

Sheriff Clay frowned at her. “You expect me to believe you’re a Texas Ranger?”

The Tequila Kid pulled out her badge and a worn, folded piece of paper she’d never been able to read herself. Clay glared at the badge, then after reading the letter, pushed it back brusquely.

“Looks official enough,” he said. “Shit fire, they must be hard up for help if they’re lettin’ women take the badge. Still, I don’t give a good goddamn if you’re a Ranger or not. No one wears a gun in my town ‘cept me.”

The Kid glared back at him. She stood slouched, thumbs hooked in the belt of her pants.

Lucas Clay gave a low, cold laugh. “You got some sand, girl. But you best take them guns off and hand ‘em to me, or I swear I’ll take them myself, then beat that attitude out of you.”

Still perfectly calm, The Kid said, “Texas Ranger Clark Hansen was here two months ago. He ain’t been heard from since. What happened to him, Sheriff?”

Sheriff Clay gave a derisive snort of laughter. “He didn’t do me the courtesy of introducin’ himself. I heard he rode out to Ben McCuller’s place. Reckon he got what he wanted and moved on.” Leaning back against his desk, the man crossed his heavy arms. “If that’s all you wanted to know, you can saddle up and get movin’ outa town right now.” Straightening, he added, “But if you plan to stay…” Clay took a menacing step toward The Kid. “Then you best hand me those guns.”

Firmly placing her right foot on top of Clay’s left, The Kid shoved the palm of her hand into the man’s face, squashing his nose. He lost his balance and fell back, hitting his head on the front of the desk. As he fell, The Kid deftly removed the sheriff’s pistol from its holster.

Clay sat up, rubbing his head, then gaped in disbelief as The Kid cocked the hammer, aiming the gun at his face. Reddening with rage, he began to struggle to his feet, but The Kid kicked him hard in the chest with the flat of her boot. Knocked off balance, he crashed against the desk.

Now Clay’s eyes were flashing raw hatred. “Now you listen to me, girl,” he said, his words crackling with anger. “Pull a gun on a man, you better be ready to use it.”

When he began to rise again, The Kid kicked him square between the legs. Clay went into a fetal position, his face contorted in agony. This time, he stayed where he was, clutching his groin with both hands, nearly biting through his lower lip. A single tear rolled down his cheek.

“I am ready to use this gun,” The Kid said softly and clearly. “The only reason I ain’t yet is ‘cause of the badges we both have. Now it’s your turn to listen, Clay. I got a federal warrant to examine the bank, and all that’s in it. I expect to find fake land deeds there… and then I mean to arrest the banker, a Mr. Tyson Avidite. Then I’ll be takin’ in your friend Ben McCuller.”

The sheriff’s face grew increasingly pale as The Kid continued. “I’d prefer you keep pretendin’ to be the law and help me serve that warrant in the mornin’.” Narrowing her eyes, she added, “But I’d just as soon shoot you in the head right now and leave the gun in your hand. The whole town knows you’re up to your neck in this. They’d figure you lost your nerve; took the coward’s way out.”

Swallowing hard, Clay managed to choke out, “I… I’ll be with you at the bank when it opens.”

The Kid didn’t reply, just removed the bullets from the sheriff’s gun, then threw the pistol across the room. She put on her coat and slicker and, fixing Clay with an icy stare, walked out, closing the door with an emphatic bang.

Clay lay on his side, his mind working furiously. Shit, shit, shit. What the hell do I do now?

* * *

Making her way back toward the saloon, The Kid stopped in front of the lone horse, still shivering in the icy rain.

“Hi, girl,” The Kid said, slowly extending a hand. The horse shied away as far back as the reins would allow.

The Kid slipped a hand into her pocket and produced the green apple Amy had given her. “Well, now,” she said softly, “I was savin’ this for my horse, but you look like you could use it more. Here, girl, I won’t hurt you none. Go on, take it.”

She stood completely still, her hand out. The mare looked suspiciously at the woman, but slowly drew near. Putting her wet matted head under the overhang, she plucked the apple out of The Kid’s hand and devoured it in a few bites.

Finished, the mare looked hopefully at The Kid. This time she was able to gently pet the horse’s nose. “Sorry, girl. That’s all I got.”

God damn it anyhow, The Kid mused, her jaw tightening. What sorry son of a bitch would mistreat a good horse this way?  Heaving a sigh, she entered the saloon.

Carefully closing the door, she glanced around. She saw an empty table in the back and strolled over to it, where she took off her slicker and coat, then draped them over a nearby chair.

The Kid sat down, taking in the surroundings. There was one table where a poker game was taking place. Most of the other tables were occupied by one, two, sometimes three men drinking, waiting their turn with one of the saloon girls.

The piano player wasn’t good, but he was loud, enough to drown out any sounds that might escape the upstairs rooms. The Kid saw one of those doors open and a man emerged, looking sheepish but content.

A moment later a woman came out wearing a fancy emerald-green dress, cut low in the front. She yelled, “Dixie! Cleanup in room four!”

A sleepy-eyed girl in a ragged, threadbare dress trudged up the staircase. She carried a bucket of water, and towels were draped over her free arm.

The woman descended the stairs, passing the girl along the way, and approached one of the tables. Hands on her shapely hips, she said, “Well, boys, who’s next?”

The men at the table looked at each other, then a young ranch hand with a face like a mule slowly got to his feet. “Reckon I am, Star.”

“C’mon then, handsome,” Star drawled, taking his arm and leading him up the stairs. The girl exited the room just before Star and the young man went inside, closing the door.

Once the girl returned to the saloon floor, she set the bucket in a corner and hesitantly came over to The Kid’s table. Studying the girl, The Kid decided she was close to twelve, maybe thirteen, just beginning to blossom. Her straggly blonde hair was dirty. She may have had a little shape to her thin figure but it was hard to tell what was under the dress she wore, which was at least a size too large. Her face was pretty with fine features and big blue eyes, but marred by several bruises – some were older, some more recent. The girl’s ears stuck out from under her stringy hair and she wore small earrings that pretended to be gold.

The girl looked curiously at The Kid, then managed to say in a well-rehearsed voice, “Hi, I’m Dixie. Can I get you a drink?” She stopped, confused, then added, “Um, the rest of what I say… well, I ain’t never had a woman come in as a customer, but I guess I better say it anyway cause I’m s’posed to.” With that, Dixie resumed her practiced spiel. “If you want to be with a girl all the way, you buy her a four-dollar bottle of whiskey. If you just want her to tug you off, it’s a two-dollar bottle. She’ll give you a list of prices if there’s anything special you want. If you’re lookin’ to play cards, there’s a cashier over there.” The girl pointed without looking to a cage of sorts, with a man sitting inside. “Buy your chips from him.”

At one of the card tables, Jud Nelson was playing poker. The Kid watched as he made a face, threw his cards down, then picked up his few remaining chips. Getting to his feet, he said, “I’m done for tonight, boys.”

Returning her attention to Dixie, The Kid said, “Bring me tequila and a beer, then ask the feller who just quit the game if he’ll have a drink with me.” Before Dixie could turn away, The Kid asked her, “Who’s the most popular girl here?”

“Star, for sure. Belle’s younger, and Kitty’s prettiest, but the fellers love Star.” Dixie replied.

The Kid put a ten dollar bill in Dixie’s pocket and said, “I’ll have a four dollar bottle of whiskey for Star.” As the girl’s eyes widened in surprise, The Kid winked, adding, “You keep the change, sweetness.”

Dixie was so taken aback that she bumped into a chair on her way over to Jud Nelson. She spoke briefly with the young man, pointing to The Kid before returning to the bar.

Jud came over to The Kid, removing his hat. With a shy smile, he murmured, “Ma’am.”

The Kid smiled back. “Sit down for a minute.”

Dixie came back with a glass of beer and said, “No tequila, but we have mescal.”

“Mescal will be fine. And whatever the gentleman wants.” She handed Dixie a silver dollar.

“Whiskey,” Jud said.

“Star will be with you next, ma’am,” Dixie said, then headed back to the bar.

If Jud was startled to see The Kid requesting Star’s services, he did his best not to let it show. “Much obliged for the drink,” he said. “That card game damn near cleaned me out.”

“Pleasure’s mine,” The Kid replied. “How’d you like to make five dollars?”

This time, Jud didn’t bother to conceal his surprise. The Kid continued. “I’m the Tequila Kid, a special agent for the Texas Rangers. I need some help, if you’re willin’ to give it.”

Jud broke into a grin. “There you go. When I saw you with the sheriff, somethin’ told me you was The Kid. You’re the one who brung down that crazy murderin’ woman Jess Sinclair. Well, I’m right pleased to share a drink with you. Speakin’ of which…” Dixie was approaching, bearing a tray with their drinks, which she set before The Kid and Jud before quietly retreating. They both drank, then Jud said, “How can I be of help, ma‘am?”

The Kid leaned in, speaking quietly. “At some point tonight, Sheriff Clay is gonna go see this here banker Tyson Avidite, or ride on out of town, maybe both. You know where the banker lives?”

Jud nodded. “In a big house on the nice side of town.”

The Kid said, “Keep an eye on that house. When Clay shows up, come back here and let me know. I reckon you’ll also be able to see if he leaves town. Either way, let me know and I’ll give you the five dollars.”

Jud thought for a moment, then said, “Fair ‘nough. What if it’s late and you ain’t here?”

“Then come to the livery. I’m sleepin’ in the hayloft. You best leave now. He’ll probably be on the move before long.”

Pushing his chair back, Jud rose to put on his coat, then his hat, pausing to touch the brim. “Reckon I’ll be seein’ you later, then.” He made his way to the door, then departed into the night.

Dixie returned to The Kid’s table. “Anything else, ma’am?”

“Just a question,” The Kid said. “Who gave you them bruises?”

The blood seemed to drain from the girl’s face. She stood rooted to the spot, unable to speak, then the bartender, a strapping man at least six feet tall with a pockmarked face, yelled out, “DIXIE! Get a move on, you goddamned brat!”

The Kid saw the terrified look on Dixie’s face as the girl hastened back to the bar. She had the answer to her question when the bartender grabbed Dixie’s shoulders and shook her hard, followed by a hard smack to the back of the head.

The Kid maintained a perfectly calm exterior as she sipped her mescal, but inside she was livid with rage. Looks like this town treats its women bad as it does its horses.  Glancing at the bartender, she promised herself, Soon as I’m able, that girl’s leavin’ here with me. I almost hope that barkeep tries to stop me from takin’ her, too.

From behind, The Kid heard a woman’s voice. “Hello, ma’am. I’m Star. You paid ten dollars for me. I ain’t sure what you expect, but I’m game if you are. Come along.”

The Kid gulped down the rest of her mescal, chased it with the beer, then got to her feet. Draping the coat and slicker over her arm, she followed Star upstairs.

Soon to come: Chapter Three!

 

The Beekeeper’s Lament: Chapter 1

  • Posted on April 19, 2025 at 5:08 pm

by BlueJean

For a list of the many characters who populate this saga, check out Dramatis Personae.

A brief summary of the previous chapter: Hailey Ellis has returned to Morcant-On-Sea after several years away, only to find the coastal town is a shadow of its former self. Amidst this decline, Hailey navigates her various relationships, but a shocking encounter with her selkie aunt foreshadows a chain of events that will change all their lives forever.

And now, dear readers, we make our way into the next installment, and a neighboring village. Read on…

1

Sadie Laine was doing her best to keep it together.

It was the last day of term, and eleven-year-old Freya Newton and her classmates were chatting away excitedly about their plans for the summer holidays.

The village of Derwold lay smack bang in the middle of nowhere, which meant the local school was comprised of a single mixed-aged class, the youngest student being six, the oldest eleven. Come the end of term, a few children would inevitably move on to secondary education, leaving their usually upbeat and bubbly teacher inexplicably bereft.

Sadie had told Georgia more than a few times how it broke her heart to see them leave, but there was more to it than that, a separation anxiety hardwired into her DNA. Perhaps it stemmed from the trauma her ancestor Eliza suffered at seeing her mother Isabel hanged. Whether we know it or not, genetic memories shape us all to some extent, but Sadie Laine was of the Wicca, and ancestral memories were at the core of her being.

“Quieten down, everyone,” Sadie hollered over the incessant chatter, and excited voices gave way to soft murmurs. “The summer holidays are upon us, so I’d like you all to think about how you’re going to spend the next few weeks. My advice is to put your phones and tablets away, turn off your TVs, and make good use of your free time. Visit museums, climb trees, swim in rivers, play football, go for long walks, fly kites. Or simply set yourself the goal of learning a new activity.”

“I’m gonna draw some pictures, Miss Laine!” Archie Cornaby bellowed. Archie wasn’t the sharpest knife in the drawer, and he had two front teeth that could’ve easily doubled as a tin opener, but Freya didn’t mind him.

“Good, Archie. That’s time well spent,” Sadie told the lad.

“My mum and dad are taking me to a petting zoo,” Lola Hughes ventured. Lola was only six, and the youngest in the class.

“Can I come?” the girl next to her, Chloe Oxley, asked.

“No.”

“I’m going to Greece for two weeks,” Mia Webb announced, looking exceptionally pleased with herself. No one liked Mia, but it was her fault for being such a bitch, Freya decided. Mia turned and gave the girl behind her a smug look. The girl behind her happened to be Freya’s sister, Millie Newton – witch’s apprentice, friend to animals, occasional fibber. “What’re you gonna do for the holidays, Millie?“ Mia asked, low enough that their teacher couldn’t hear. “Paddle in a dirty pond with your lesbian mum?”

Freya was about to come to her sister’s rescue and tell Mia to shut her mouth, but Millie didn’t seem like she needed much help. The eight-year-old bunched her fists together, brow furrowed into dark, no-nonsense lines. When you’ve almost had your soul sucked out of your body by a demonic tree, the Mia Webbs of the world don’t present much of a problem, Freya supposed.

“No, I’m learning witchcraft if you must know, Mia Pissypants!” Millie said triumphantly.

Sadie slowly shook her head, giving Millie a look that was almost certainly meant to convey that witchcraft was strictly on a need-to-know basis and that Millie should probably stop talking now.

Instead, Millie saved the moment with comic exaggeration. “And when I’m a fully qualified witch, I’m gonna turn you into a smelly old ferret!” With a look of abject concentration, she wiggled her fingers at Mia, as if casting a spell.

“God, you’re so weird,” Mia muttered under her breath.

Sadie cleared her throat and resumed her end of term speech. “Well, however you all choose to spend your time, I look forward to seeing most of you again next term.”

When Sadie’s bottom lip began to tremble, Freya knew what was coming. It happened every year.

“And to those of you who’ll be moving on to newer pastures…” She’s gonna cry. She’s definitely gonna cry, “it’s been a pleasure to get to know you, and I-I wish you all… Oh, goodness! I wish you all the best for the future!”

The last word emerged as a squeak as Sadie flapped her hands up and down and tried to compose herself to a chorus of “Awww…” from the children.

Shuffling forward from the rear of the class, Charlie Spencer made his way to the front and bashfully offered Sadie a bunch of sad-looking tulips. Like Freya, he was eleven, and would be attending a different school after the summer holidays. “Thank you for being my teacher, Miss Laine,” he said, unable to meet her gaze. He held out the bent, dehydrated flowers.

Well, that’s done it…

Sadie burst into tears and embraced the alarmed boy. “Oh, Charlie! Charlie Barley! Charlie Barley rides a Harley! You be a good boy for me, you hear? Go and get married to a nice lady and have lots of babies!”

“I’ve got flowers in my mouth!” Charlie exclaimed as he spat out petals.

Sadie released the poor boy and prised the flattened flowers from his face. “Oh, Charlie, my squidgy little moomin. Good luck out there in the big wide world.”

“Yeah, okay,” Charlie replied, eager to get away.

As the other kids packed their things together and chatted about this and that, Freya waited for Sadie to calm down a bit before going over to see her. It certainly wasn’t the first time she’d seen Sadie lose it like that, but it never failed to draw a few odd looks.

When the young schoolteacher had finally composed herself, Freya felt it safe to approach. “Are you coming back—” Before she could finish, Sadie slung both arms around the eleven-year-old and a second round of waterworks ensued.

“Oh, Freya!”

Freya tried to wriggle free of her teacher’s grasp. “Huh? No, d-don’t—”

“I’m going to miss you so much!”

“Sadie, stop it!” Freya hissed under her breath. “You’re embarrassing me!”

“I’m sorry, but it’s just so hard to let you go! I’ve enjoyed teaching you so much. I hope you go on to have a wonderful life, Freya Newton.”

“Um… we live together?” Freya pointed out.

It was true, they did. Well, most of the time. Sadie retreated back to her own little cottage frequently, but usually returned to the Newton household to share food with them and spend the night. It had been a novelty beyond reckoning for Freya and Millie to have their beloved teacher come live with them. Millie still thought it was amazing. Freya was over it.

Sadie wiped her eyes with the back of a hand. “I know, I’m just being silly. But it won’t be the same without you here in the classroom.”

“Well, you’ll still have Millie.”

“It’s true.”

“Are you coming back home with us?”

“I need to sort a few things out here first,” Sadie said. “You and Millie can wait for me or I can see you back at the cottage in a bit.”

“We’ll walk back then,” Freya told her.

The rumours had spread like wildfire, as they always seem to in small communities – how Georgia the beekeeper and Sadie the schoolteacher were a lesbian couple. There’d been side glances and embarrassed exchanges from the adults for them to deal with, but worse still were the looks Freya got from the other children. She knew it was jealousy – they all wanted to be Miss Laine’s favourite – but unlike Millie, she’d felt the need to keep her distance from Sadie at school, finding it hard to endure the scathing looks and awkward silences every time she approached the other girls.

Freya was angry with Sadie and her mum, but couldn’t exactly say why. She knew it wasn’t their fault they’d fallen in love, and of course they weren’t doing anything wrong, but still, it was making things difficult.

2

Millie Newton wondered what she’d done to upset her sister. The two girls had always bickered, but they’d rarely fallen out for long, any harsh words between them quickly forgotten, as is often the way of children. Lately though, Freya didn’t seem to want much to do with her younger sibling. Most times she wasn’t interested in the games they once played – the river explorations, the haystack climbing, swashbuckling pirates on Habbernack Island. Nor the other kinds of games they used to enjoy playing… the naughty ones.

Millie supposed her sister was growing out of those things, but it still made her sad.

As they walked home from school, Millie did her best to engage her sister in conversation. “Shall we go to Habbernack and play on the boat for a bit?” she said.

“Nah, not today,” Freya told her.

“Why not?”

“‘Cause I don’t want to.”

“Are you angry with me?”

Freya gave her sister an impatient sigh. “No, Millie, I’m not angry with you. I just want to go home. I’m not feeling very well.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“But you just said you weren’t feeling very—”

“It doesn’t matter!”

Millie tried to change the subject. “What’re we gonna do for the holidays?”

“Dunno, you can do what you like. Aren’t you busy with,” Freya did air quotes with her fingers, “‘witchcraft lessons’?”

Millie was pretty sure her sister was being sarcastic.

Last year Sadie had revealed herself to be a bonafide witch, subsequently taking on Freya and Millie as apprentices, mostly out of concern for Millie and her emergent arcane abilities, powers that Sadie was beginning to think even she might be out of her depth dealing with.

“Well, you’re Sadie’s apprentice, too,” Millie reminded her sister. “Why don’t you join us much anymore?”

“What’s the point? I can’t do all the things you can,” Freya replied with a shrug. “I’m not stupid – I know Sadie only asked me to be her apprentice because she didn’t want me to feel left out.”

“She didn’t. She asked you because you know a lot about herbs and plants.”

Freya was indeed becoming quite the budding horticulturist. The family greenhouse was her domain, a sanctuary where she could go to seek solace. It was a good place to try and figure out all the stuff that was going on in her head.

“What’s she teaching me, then, how to be a herbalist?“ Freya retorted. “I can learn that on my own. It’s not witchcraft.”

“It is, actually. It’s part of it.”

“It isn’t.”

“It is.”

“It isn’t!”

“It is!”

“Oh, shut up! Go and do your stupid, childish witchcraft lessons with Sadie. Just leave me out of it.”

Usually, Millie liked to have the last word, but there wasn’t much she could say to that.

3

Beekeeping is considerably easier than baking bread. Bees, for the most part, do what they’re supposed to do – they fly around collecting pollen, they turn it into honey, they make little baby bees. You check to see how they’re doing most days, and give them a helping hand if they need it, but on the whole, nature takes its course. Nature’s good at that.

Baking bread was never part of nature’s plan. It’s one of those weird human things. It can go wrong in a multitude of ways, and usually will. Make even the slightest miscalculation in your ingredients, kneading technique, or oven settings, and you’ll end up with a loaf that’s too hard, too soft, too flat, burnt on the outside, raw in the middle, not enough salt, oil, sugar, yeast, flour, or water.

Wasn’t it Aristotle who once said, “Baking bread is a bitch”? Probably not, but Georgia thought it was a profound philosophical statement nonetheless. She was getting better at the whole baking thing, though – the last loaf had actually been edible.

When Freya trudged through the back door, Georgia wondered how it’d gotten so late. The eleven-year-old slipped her shoes off and left them in the enclosed porch, then hung her school rucksack on its hook. The family dog, Bee, came rushing up to meet her with a tail so waggy there was a very real possibility she might take off.

Georgia gave Freya a wave. “Hey, eldest daughter.”

“Hello, mother,” Freya replied with the vocal equivalent of an eye-roll.

“Wanna help me make bread?”

“No, thanks.”

Freya disappeared upstairs with Bee in tow. Georgia had always thought of Bee as Millie’s dog – dogs seem to attach themselves more closely to one person in the family – but lately she’d been sticking to Freya like glue, like she sensed the eleven-year-old was going through a tough time.

Freya didn’t seem to want to be around her family much lately. In some way, Georgia felt like she was losing her daughter, and though that may have seemed a little melodramatic, any mother with children approaching their teen years would know exactly what she meant. There comes a time when your little ones stop being little. Bedtime stories don’t have the same appeal they once did; baking bread with Mummy isn’t quite the adventure it used to be. Kids grow up. And some part of Georgia wanted her girls to stay little forever, even if it was selfish on her part.

She’d always assumed the typical stroppiness that marked adolescence was the province of thirteen or fourteen-year-olds, not girls of eleven. Either Freya was an early developer or there was something eating away at her.

Even the sexual intimacy they shared seemed to hold little interest for Freya these days. Maybe that was the problem. Sadie and Georgia had one rule when it came to sex with the girls: they would let Millie and Freya decide when and if they wanted to join in, always careful never to pressure them into anything.

Of course, Georgia was under no illusions – lesbian sex with one’s daughters wasn’t a normal thing for families to be doing. She’d thought they were all on board with it, but in truth, theirs was a complex situation. Even in an isolated village like Derwold, society’s notion of right and wrong bore a weight that was hard to ignore.

Millie came through the backdoor not long after her sister. At least she had a smile for her mum.

“It’s the summer holidays!” Georgia sang, flour-covered hands in the air. “Woohoo!”

Millie wiggled her hips in a little dance. “Woooo!”

Georgia did a little jig with her. She didn’t care what anyone said – she still had the moves. “No more schoo-ool for six whole wee-eeks!”

“I’m gonna go ex-plor-rin’ in my pa-ja-mas!” Millie sang back.

“Wanna help me make bread?”

“Sure.” Millie made her way over to the sink to wash her hands. “How come you make such a mess when you do baking, Mum?”

“That’s the price of bakery genius, little one.”

Millie hopped up onto a barstool and set about kneading the large batch of dough sitting amidst the culinary warzone that used to be a worktop. Georgia sidled up and put her arms around her daughter to help. It reminded her of that scene from Ghost, with Demi Moore and Patrick Swayze, but with dough instead of pottery clay.

“You and your sister not talking again?”

“She keeps being grumpy with me,” Millie explained. “One minute she’s nice, and then the next she’s horrible.”

“Don’t take it personally, pixie. She’s just going through a phase.”

“Well, I can’t be doing with it, Mummy. I’m far too busy with Wiccan lessons and deciding what I’m going to do for the holidays. There’s just not enough hours in the day!”

Georgia couldn’t help but laugh. “Oh, I quite agree!” She planted a kiss on the nape of Millie’s neck.

Millie gave a soft giggle, turning to her mum with a cheeky grin. She dumped the big ball of dough off to one side, then clambered up onto the messy worktop, her legs dangling over the edge.

“You’ll spoil your school uniform,” Georgia warned her half-heartedly.

“That’s okay, I’ll just take it off,” Millie replied with an angelic and wholly innocent expression.

Her white blouse came off first. She held it out to Georgia, who took it from her, folded it up, then placed it on the back of the vacated barstool. Millie’s socks were next. She slung those on the chair herself, then lifted her bum from the worktop to pull her grey plaid skirt down her legs. It was already covered with flour and bits of dough. Georgia took it from her and folded it neatly anyway.

Sitting on the counter in just her knickers, Millie gave Georgia a look that could only be interpreted one way: Come and get me, Mummy.

“I’m not sure it’s hygienic to have naked little girls on my worktop,” Georgia told her.

“I’m not quite naked yet,” Millie pointed out. “You should take my panties off, Mummy.”

It was hard to argue with that. Georgia reached beneath her daughter’s bottom, grasping the waistband of her knickers and slipping them down her legs. She dropped them onto the back of the chair with the rest of the clothes.

Millie brought her feet up onto the worktop, then spread her knees apart. On a whim, Georgia dipped her fingers into the small pile of flour she’d made, sprinkling some of it over Millie’s smooth, flat chest. Millie giggled at that, so she let more of the white stuff fall across her belly and down her legs; finally a dab on her button nose for good measure.

“Don’t forget my kitty,” her daughter said with a naughty grin.

“Oh, I don’t think so,” Georgia told her. “We don’t want any flour there.”

“Why not?”

Georgia pushed the chair out of the way, then moved to the edge of the worktop. “Because it’ll spoil the taste…”

Millie helped herself to an egg from the nearby carton. Before Georgia had a chance to react, the little nymph crushed it against her body, rubbing yolk into her nipples and across her belly, clearly pleased with herself. Georgia grabbed another egg and cracked it neatly on the edge of the counter with one hand – the mark of an expert baker, she was keen to point out to whoever would listen – then let its yellowy contents drop down onto her naked daughter’s torso. She rubbed it into Millie’s belly before it had a chance to escape, saving some for her arms and legs.

“What a messy girl,” Georgia marvelled.

Millie dipped her fingers into the sugar bowl and gleefully sprinkled the brown granules over herself. “I’m all cakey!”

“You sure are,” her mother agreed. “Almost ready for the oven. But I should give you a little taste first… just to make sure you’re sweet enough.”

Licking leftover cake mix from the bowl had always been one of Freya and Millie’s favourite vices. Licking messy little girls was one of Georgia’s.

Tilting her head, she took Millie’s baby-smooth pussy into her mouth. The eight-year-old tasted exquisite, a day of school activities in the summer heat leaving her raw and gamey, an earthy vintage that clung to the tongue like a fine wine. Millie grabbed fistfuls of her mother’s dark hair, the tip of her tongue poking out from the corner of her mouth.

Georgia peppered soft kisses up and down her daughter’s vulva. When she pushed Millie’s thighs up, Millie knew exactly where her mum was heading next. She pulled her knees back towards her chest, then let out a breathless sigh when Georgia’s warm tongue pressed between her taut buttocks. Millie licked a finger, dipped it into the sugar bowl while Georgia was too occupied to notice, then brought the sweetened digit to her mouth to suck clean.

Georgia licked her little girl’s arsehole a while longer, the bitter spice of it sharp against her tongue. Finally, she returned her attention to Millie’s slit, lips gently tugging at the child’s elastic clitoral hood before letting it spring back into place, then lashing her tongue over the exposed node beneath. She repeated the process over and over again.

Millie twined a finger through her mother’s dark hair. “It makes me so sleepy,” she said with a dreamy smile. “Like when the hairdresser lady does my hair.“

Georgia could only respond with a smile of her own.

When Millie drew her eyes shut and exhaled a long, soft breath, Georgia knew she had coaxed her youngest to climax. Millie’s orgasms were mostly subtle affairs, lacking the urgency of her mother and sister when they came.

Georgia unbuttoned her linen trousers and pushed them down, hastily followed by her knickers. She couldn’t be bothered to remove them completely, so simply left them bunched around one ankle. She pulled Millie towards the edge of the worktop, then slotted her aching pussy against her daughter’s, twisting the girl’s hips round slightly to make the task easier. She began to move against Millie.

She was still grinding away against her little girl, her own needs now front and center, when Sadie came through the backdoor. Georgia briefly considered the folly of not locking doors and drawing drapes when engaging in sexual activities with underage daughters. Occasionally, their friend Roy liked to pop round to share the latest gossip, letting himself in with a cry of, “Yoo-hoo! Only me!” And Mrs. Jeffries from the post office had been known to turn up now and then with free groceries. Thankfully, unexpected visitors to Beekeeper Cottage were few and far between, and Georgia preferred it that way.

“Oh!” a delighted Sadie gushed, dropping her briefcase down onto a stool. “What’s all this, then?”

“W-we’re baking…” Georgia told her breathlessly, hips pivoting back and forth, the wet slap slap slap of flesh upon flesh delightfully lewd and unapologetic.

“We’re baking,” Millie confirmed, her free leg spread wide across the worktop. One hand was in the pile of flour. The other had tipped the sugar bowl over. There was raw egg everywhere. And Georgia was this close to coming.

“I never saw them do it like that on The Great British Bake-off,” Sadie mused, drawing alongside Georgia to stroke her bare bum as it moved back and forth. “Is there room for another?”

“We’re… we’re almost done,” Georgia told her, unwilling to let anything or anyone interfere until she’d done what she set out to do. “J-just… just stand there and watch.”

Sadie thrust a hand beneath her smart tweed skirt to rub the crotch of her panties while she watched her lover fuck her eight-year-old daughter. She liked it when Georgia got down and dirty, the way her eyes went wild, her top lip curling up into that little snarl.

The scent of female arousal cut through the smell of egg and sugar to leave a rich and heady fug. If there’s anything more enticing than the smell of freshly baked bread, Georgia pondered as her climax exploded outwards from the molten core of her sex, it’s the sweet scent of pussy. Another one of Aristotle’s, she suspected.

She came hard against Millie, cunt pressed tightly against her daughter’s while waves of pleasure rolled over her. “Oh, fuck, baby girl… Sexy, messy little cakey girl…”

Sadie leaned in and kissed her lover on the mouth, her fingers tracing the crack of Georgia’s arse.

“Welcome home,” Georgia managed.

4

Freya could hear them doing it downstairs. Her bedroom was right above the kitchen. The sound of their stupid moaning came from the open window below, and she could hear the dull thud thud thud of something hitting the worktop over and over.

She wanted to be annoyed – it was easy to be annoyed at things lately – but her body had other ideas. She could have gone down there and joined them. She did sometimes. But… well, she couldn’t explain it.

Why am I so angry all the time? Why does everything hurt so much? Sometimes it felt like she wanted to make herself sad – like there was a need to cling onto that sorrow and never let it go. It was all so confusing.

Bee gave a sigh of her own from her place at the foot of Freya’s bed.

“I know, right? They’re so annoying.“

She picked up her phone and opened the internet browser, then found one of the porn websites she’d discovered recently. Fibre optic broadband had finally arrived in their remote little village, and Freya was determined to abuse it as often as possible. She clicked on a thumbnail that took her fancy, careful to turn the volume down. Georgia had already caught her watching porn once, and hadn’t been particularly impressed. Freya had pointed out that it hardly mattered when they were all having sex with each other, but it had fallen on deaf ears.

She slipped a hand inside her knickers and quickly found her clit, the moans and gasps of her mother and sister below providing an unexpectedly erotic replacement soundtrack to the video she watched. She thought about squeezing her titties while she strummed her clit – ‘little bee stings’, Sadie liked to call them – but her free hand was occupied with the phone, and besides, they had been too tender to touch recently.

She pushed a finger inside herself, suddenly discovering an unusual amount of wetness down there. When she pulled her hand away she was shocked to find her fingers covered in blood. “Shit…”

The eleven-year-old lifted her skirt to find it’d soaked her knickers through, too.

It was going to happen sooner or later, she supposed. Her first period. Just what she needed.

Great. What a wonderful way to start the summer holidays.

Freya slumped back against her pillow and let the tears come.

Soon to appear: Chapter Two!

 

Between Evening and Dawn

  • Posted on April 14, 2025 at 2:29 pm

Note from JetBoy: When Juicy Secrets contributor Karin Halle died a few months ago, she left behind a number of stories. These were well-written but somewhat rough first drafts that she would have worked on with either BlueJean or yours truly. In the months (years?) to come, we want to share the best of these with you.

BlueJean and I both worked on this one. My hat is raised to Mr. Blue for the valuable editing he did here (especially since he has stories of his own to, er, keep his hand busy).

Thanks for the stories, Karin… and for your friendship. We miss you.

by Karin Halle

Few people were in attendance at the graveside funeral service, not due to any pandemic restrictions but because hardly anyone had come to mourn the passing of Elizabeth Long, dead at forty-six. She never married, had no children, and her parents were long gone. There was an older sister, Joyce, but they had been estranged for many years. Elizabeth had never known much about her niece and two nephews, except that they existed.

A couple of Elizabeth’s work colleagues attended the funeral, along with several other people with whom she had kept in touch from her student days. The neighbours who had witnessed the freak accident were there as well, still visibly shaken by the experience. They’d been complaining about that big tree branch for years, they said. It wasn’t safe, they said. It killed Elizabeth instantly.

They had been the ones to call the paramedics, who could do nothing, and the police, who concluded that the accident didn’t call for an investigation.

Only one member of Elizabeth’s small family was in attendance. Despite the fact that they hardly knew each other beyond a handful of letters and emails, Elizabeth had listed her niece Tammy as next of kin, so Tammy was the one who had been contacted by the authorities. Joyce had advised her daughter not to get involved, but Tammy ignored her. She was unaware of the reason why the two sisters had been so bitterly divided – but the feud had been going on for as long as the thirty-four-year-old could remember.

To Tammy, obligations were far more important than her mother’s feud, so she’d taken on the task of handling her late aunt’s affairs, as Elizabeth had wanted. The police had handed over her aunt’s handbag, along with her wallet and keys, so she had been able to let herself into her aunt’s modest house. Her first task had been to locate Elizabeth’s will, which she eventually found in a folder marked Important in her aunt’s unlocked roll-top desk. Her next priority was to engage with a lawyer to deal with all the other matters.

As she half-listened to the preacher’s droning voice, Tammy noticed another person at the gravesite, or more accurately, nearby. A teenage girl was standing by a small stand of trees that ran alongside a wall separating sections of the cemetery. She was clearly watching the service, but made no move to join the other mourners. Tammy couldn’t help but wonder who she was.

When the brief ceremony was over, Tammy headed towards the line of trees and spoke to the onlooker. “Hi there. You know, if you were that interested, you could’ve joined us.”

Glancing around, the girl seemed bent on escape, but decided not to run away. “I… I was afraid.” Then she said something which surprised Tammy. “Were you Liz’s friend too?”

“I’m her niece,” Tammy said evenly. “How did you know my aunt?”

With a defiant look, the girl replied, “We were friends.” As quickly as it had appeared, the defiance washed away. She quietly added, “Girlfriends.”

Unable to fully process that, Tammy asked, “H-how old are you?”

“Fifteen.”

Her head swimming, Tammy put a hand against a tree to steady herself. “How long were you and my aunt… how long has this been going on?”

“Over two years, close to three now.”

Tammy did the subtraction. “So you were… my God.

“Yeah. Twelve.” The flash of bravado returned. “Are you shocked?”

“Not shocked; not exactly, anyway. I’m not sure what I feel.” She looked closely at the girl. “I barely knew my aunt. She and my mum hadn’t spoken for years. I didn’t even know she was gay. Mum probably didn’t, either.”

Then a realisation hit her. Hard. “Or maybe she did know. Maybe that’s why they… oh, wow, that would explain a lot.” With an effort she pulled her attention back to the present. “I’m Tammy.”

“I’m Watson,” the teenager replied, causing Tammy to gasp. This time the girl’s words had shocked her.

“You’re Watson? Watson Cobb?”

“That’s right.” The girl’s puzzlement was evident.

Tammy swallowed and said, “What’s your middle name?”

Unsure where this was leading, Watson’s reply was tinged with suspicion. Nevertheless, she answered. “Louisa. Watson Louisa Cobb. Why? What’s it to you?”

“My Aunt Elizabeth… her, her will. She left most of her possessions to me, but there was a life insurance policy, in your name. I didn’t know who Watson Louisa Cobb was, or how I would even be able to find you, but the benefit on that policy is $250,000. A quarter of a million dollars.”

Watson looked as if she might burst into tears at any moment. “Oh, no… No, no, no! She shouldn’t have done that! She just, she shouldn’t have.” The teen looked desperately at Tammy, utterly distraught. “I never wanted anything from her. Really, I didn’t. She kept saying how much she loved me, and how much I meant to her, but I knew – you know, deep down, that she’d find somebody else sooner or later. But she said, over and over, that it wasn’t going to be like that, that I was… the one.

Tears began trickling down her cheeks. “I never wanted anything from her – except her love, f-for as long as it lasted.”

Tammy hesitantly put both arms around Watson and drew her close, letting the girl sob into her chest.

“I don’t want her stuff, or anything else from her – I just want her back!”

Tammy held Watson in silence until the tears stopped. Trite words weren’t going to help. It was already late afternoon, and when the sun became obscured by a bank of clouds, Tammy figured it was time to leave. Noticing several groundskeepers approaching the open grave, spades in hand, she gently led Watson away.

“Can I give you a lift somewhere?” Tammy asked the girl as they drifted toward the parking lot.

“I don’t have any place to go,” Watson replied despondently.

“Well, where’s home? Or where have you been staying?”

“I’ve been living with Liz for over eighteen months now. When my parents found out about us, they kicked me out. They didn’t know I was gay, not until then. We were lucky they didn’t call the cops on us.”

Bewildered, Tammy came to an abrupt stop. “But I’ve been over at the house sorting stuff out all week and you weren’t there. All the food in the fridge is out of date.”

“I was locked out – I never had a key. I didn’t ever need one. But the police locked the place when they finished up after… after what happened.”

“You’ve been locked out since she died? But that’s six days ago!”

Watson nodded, then explained, “I slept on the sofa on the back porch. The weather’s been pretty good – well, some of the nights were a bit cool.”

Tammy was stunned. “What about food?”

“There’s fruit trees in the backyard. I’m getting pretty sick of apples, though.”

“That’s all you’ve had to live on for six days?!” Tammy was appalled. “Come on, we’ll go and get dinner – a proper dinner. We’ll get you a key cut for the house, too.”

The sheer gratitude on Watson’s face nearly broke Tammy’s heart. “You mean… you’re letting me stay?”

“Well, I can’t think of any other suitable arrangement at the moment. I’m certainly not going to let you sleep outside!”

It was the teenager’s turn to wrap her arms around Tammy. “Oh, thank you. Thank you! That’s so nice of you. Does this mean we’re going to be sharing?”

“Maybe,” Tammy admitted. “Maybe it does.”

In fact, Tammy hadn’t yet given much thought about what to do with the house she’d inherited – sell it, rent it, or move in herself. She had an apartment of her own, but it was only rented, and the idea of owning a home was very appealing.

But now there was the question of what to do about Watson. She couldn’t put the girl out on the streets; this was a kid who’d already been thrown out once before – by her own parents, no less. On the other hand, her aunt’s house wasn’t big enough to accommodate paying tenants and let Watson stay.

I’ll worry about it later, she told herself. At least this poor kid doesn’t have to sleep rough tonight.

***

The first order of business was Watson’s key, and by the time that task was completed, it was time for dinner.

The restaurant at which they ate wasn’t particularly fancy, but the food was tasty, and the portions generous. Watson couldn’t disguise her hunger, but she didn’t rush the meal, making it a point to savour every mouthful.

By the time Tammy pulled the car into the driveway of her aunt’s house, it was getting late. She handed Watson the new key and waited for the girl to get out of the car.

Watson didn’t move. “I don’t think I can go in there alone.” She turned to Tammy. “Can you please come with me?”

Tammy got out of the car, and they walked to the front door together. She gave Watson a reassuring smile. “Try your key to make sure it works. We’ll have to take it back to the locksmith if it doesn’t.”

Although it was already full dark, the night couldn’t mask the look of relief on Watson’s face as she slipped the key into the lock and the tongue drew back. She swung the door open and slowly stepped inside.

Knowing that Watson would be feeling melancholy, Tammy put her arm around the teenager’s shoulders. She felt a tremble, then the girl leaned against her.

When she felt able to speak without breaking down, Watson turned to Tammy. “Look, I know it’s a lot to ask, ‘cause we’ve only just met and you’ve got your own place and all, but… would you mind staying with me? Just for tonight? I really don’t want to be here by myself.”

Between her aunt’s funeral and the revelations surrounding Watson Cobb, it had been a stressful day. It was late, she was tired, and didn’t much relish the idea of the forty-five minute drive back to her apartment. She’d taken a few days off work to attend to her aunt’s affairs, so there was no need for an early start in the morning.

Tammy was just about ready to agree to the girl’s request when something occurred to her: there was no spare bed. The house had two bedrooms, but the second bedroom had been used for storage.

“It’s okay,” Watson said when Tammy raised the issue. “I’ll sleep in the living room.”

“No,” Tammy firmly stated. “This is your home, so that means it’s your bedroom and your bed.”

“But it’s your house, and that includes everything in it,” Watson pointed out.

“There’s no sofa, only two easy chairs,” Tammy argued. “And you’ve been outside for too long, so you deserve to have the bed.”

For a moment they just stared at each other, each waiting for the other to yield. Neither did.

Watson broke the impasse. “We could, maybe… share? If you’re okay with it, that is. It’s a big bed, so we’d have plenty of room. We wouldn’t have to be close together, and I’ll stay on my side. You can use one of Liz’s nighties.” A hint of colour reached Watson’s cheeks. “If you can find one, that is. She usually didn’t wear them. Neither of us did, actually.”

“I’m fine with sleeping in my undies,” Tammy assured her.

“I will too, then,” Watson declared.

With that decided, the two of them settled in the living room to watch TV and chat. When it was time to turn in for the night they made for the bedroom, self-consciously stripped to their underwear and slipped between the sheets.

No sooner had they wished each other goodnight and turned to face away from each other than Tammy could hear the teenager crying, although she was clearly trying to do it quietly.

Tammy rolled over and reached out, pulling the weeping girl close and holding her until the tears petered out. For a while, she thought the teen had cried herself to sleep, but after a long silence, Watson said quietly, “I’ve never been in this bed without Liz. She never stayed away overnight or went anywhere without me. I loved her s-so much!”

“Are you going to be okay?” Tammy asked.

“I’m… I’m not used to wearing anything in bed. Is it okay if I sleep naked?”

Without waiting for a reply, Watson rolled onto her back, where she unclipped her bra and wriggled out of her panties. Tammy was expecting the girl to settle in once she was nude, but instead, Watson slipped back into her arms.

It was somewhat unnerving to find herself cradling a naked young girl in her arms, but Tammy knew how badly Watson needed to be comforted. She was still somewhat restless, too – even after freeing herself of bra and knickers, the teen continued to fidget restlessly, still pressed into Tammy’s embrace.

Eventually Watson was still, but Tammy was becoming alarmed by her own feelings. She could smell Watson’s natural fragrance, delicate and sweet, and feel the warmth of the girl’s bare skin against her body.

Tammy was enjoying this, more than she ought to. None of the men she’d been with had ever held her like this. Bet I wouldn’t have enjoyed snuggling like this with a bloke anyway, she told herself. For the first time in her life, Tammy found herself wondering what sex with a woman would be like.

Oh, don’t be silly, she scolded herself. I’m not a lesbian. And what does it matter? – I’ve never been that much into sex anyway.

Finally, despite these unsettling thoughts, Tammy managed to drift off to sleep.

She had no idea what the time was when she woke up, but it was still dark outside. Watson was stroking her breast, gently brushing Tammy’s nipple through her bra.

Before Tammy could make a sound of protest, Watson mumbled, “Why’re you wearin’ a bra in bed, Liz?” The teen’s fingers slipped inside Tammy’s bra cup to get at the bare flesh.

Tammy gave a short gasp of surprise at the sudden contact. She began to push Watson’s hand away, but had second thoughts. Was the girl really asleep, or just pretending? Tammy knew she should put a stop to this immediately, but that hand upon her breast felt lovely, and it had an undeniable effect on her.

She was still struggling with this dilemma when Watson suddenly pulled away and rolled onto her back, legs spread wide in apparent invitation.

“I need you, Liz,” the girl whispered, still in the toneless voice of the unwoken. “…Days since we did anything… An’ I’m so hot – f-feel how wet I am.”

Unable to help herself, Tammy let a hand wander to Watson’s lightly-downed vulva. It was wrong, she knew that, but somehow right, too. It even felt… familiar. She wanted this. She’d never stopped wanting this.

That doesn’t make sense, though. I’ve never touched a woman this way. And I don’t know this girl, for God’s sake.

Watson might have been talking in her sleep, but she was absolutely correct about her pussy being wet. Tammy’s finger slipped easily into the teenager’s vagina, and Watson responded with a deep sigh. “Fuck me, Liz. Please.”

Tammy knew she was playing with fire, but couldn’t bring herself to stop. I’m not Aunt Elizabeth, but I can play that part for Watson, can’t I? Poor kid, she needs to be loved so badly. And damn it, I’m enjoying this. 

She’d never done anything sexual with a girl before – or a woman, for that matter – and found herself astonished by how good this felt. It was far more of a thrill than any of her brief experiences with men, that much was certain.

She began to slide her finger in and out of Watson’s cunt, moving cautiously at first.

“Harder!” the sleeping girl demanded.

When Tammy eased a second finger in to accompany the first, Watson began to move her hips in time with the woman’s strokes, moaning in ecstasy. Tammy fucked the girl even more forcefully, intuitively understanding what the girl wanted, as if she’d pleasured her this way many times before. Little wet sounds punctuated each thrust as her arm sawed back and forth. My God, she’s so wet…

“Oh, fuck yeah!” Watson gasped. “Oh, Liz, I’m about to come!”

Seconds later, a choked cry escaped her lips, and she shook violently in the throes of rapture, leaving Tammy shocked, amazed, and very, very turned on.

She gazed in awe at the trembling young woman, seeing as if for the first time how utterly lovely Watson was, feeling a powerful urge to kiss her.

Half-open eyes were peering up at her… then before she knew what was what, Watson firmly shoved her with both hands, rolling a startled Tammy onto her back.

When Watson spoke again, it was clearly Aunt Elizabeth she was addressing. “Your turn, lover.”

Lowering her face, she brought their mouths together. Her tongue ran along Tammy’s lower lip, seeking entry. Without hesitation, Tammy opened her mouth. That was all Watson needed. She immediately thrust her tongue forward, claiming the woman’s mouth in a heated kiss.

Tammy soon found herself meeting the teen’s ardor with everything she had, kissing Watson with a passion she’d never felt for a lover.

Watson’s lips were soft and sweet. And once more, oddly familiar.

With Tammy eagerly responding, Watson ran a hand over her belly, then slipped into her panties.

“You shaved…” the teen murmured. It was the first significant display of emotion in Watson’s voice since this dream-like encounter had begun. “For me, Liz? Oh, wow. I love it.”

Tammy felt a sudden twinge of guilt. Should I be allowing this? She thinks I’m someone else, for God’s sake. We’re making love under false pretenses!

But when Watson’s fingers found her clit, Tammy lost the will to resist. None of her male partners had paid much attention to the clitoris, usually affording it a brief lick or caress as a prelude to what they really wanted. Watson’s approach was completely different, showering Tammy’s joy button with her undivided attention. Whenever she masturbated, Tammy always gave her clit plenty of love, but for the first time somebody else was concentrating on the sensitive bud, and it was like a gift from heaven.

Except it doesn’t feel like the first time, does it? Tammy considered, then shook her head impatiently. Why do I keep thinking I’ve done this before?

Her excitement and arousal continued to mount, but it was only when she was on the brink of orgasm that Tammy begged, “Put your fingers inside me, oh, please…

Uncertain if the girl even registered what she wanted, Tammy was thrilled when Watson crammed a couple of fingers into her cunt, teasing the clitoris with her thumb just in time to take Tammy over the precipice.

She arched her back as the most amazing climax washed over her. But Watson refused to stop, her fingers working their magic until Tammy writhed through a second orgasm.

Finally, she lay spent, unable to do more than fill her lungs with air. After a moment, Watson’s lips found hers, and Tammy responded with a hungry lover’s kiss, already wanting to pleasure her partner again.

This time, I’ll use my mouth on her. Tammy was surprised how easily that thought had come to her. She’d never seen herself as capable of lesbian sex, much less going down on another woman. Now Tammy longed to pleasure this lovely girl in every way imaginable.

But acute as her desire was, she was exhausted. I’ll just rest a bit, she thought, then quickly drifted into a deep, dreamless slumber.

***

It was late morning when Tammy’s eyes fluttered open. She felt movement beside her, and was awake in an instant. She peered across at Watson, but the girl showed nothing but serenity, gazing back at her with a shy smile.

My God… I think I might be gay, Tammy told herself. Maybe even in love. How the hell did this happen?

“Um, did you sleep okay?” Tammy asked, keeping her voice even, even though her heart was racing.

“Really, really well. I was kinda surprised – I thought I might have trouble sleeping in this bed. You know, because of Liz.”

Tammy said nothing.

“I had a really strange dream, though… super realistic.” Watson blushed before continuing. “Me and Liz… we were together. Making love. It was like she came to me one last time.”

Tammy knew it was better to be truthful and deal with the consequences here and now. “Watson… you were talking in your sleep. And you… well, you thought I was Aunt Elizabeth, and started, er, touching me. I should’ve stopped you, I know. But instead I, I let it happen. And, um, I touched you, and we ended up making love.”

Watson turned pale. “Oh, God… I’m so sorry! I didn’t know what I was doing.”

“Don’t blame yourself,” Tammy told her. “You weren’t in control. I don’t know, maybe I wasn’t either.”

“What do you mean?” Watson asked.

“It sounds crazy, I know, but it seems to me that we might’ve had a – a visitation.”

Watson’s eyes widened in astonishment. “From Liz?”

Tammy nodded. “I think so. I never knew her that well, but… I just didn’t feel like myself last night. And the whole time I was making love to you, I felt as if it had happened before. Many times. Not only that – I’ve never had a lesbian experience before, and yet… Well, let’s just say I knew exactly how to – to give you pleasure.” She could feel her face getting hot. It had always embarrassed her, discussing sex.

“Oh, yeah. You were incredible,” Watson murmured. “I remember that much, at least. So you think Liz wanted that to happen, for you and me to, to fuck? And… oh, wow, I made you come, too! Um… did you enjoy it?”

“It was beautiful,” said Tammy. “Easily the best sexual experience I’ve ever had.” Suddenly feeling constrained by her underthings, she sat up and took off her bra, then made equally short work of the panties. She tossed them both on the carpet, then stretched out, placing a hand on her companion’s hip. “Watson? Would you mind terribly if I was to kiss you?”

With a shaky laugh, Watson said, “I wanted to ask you the same thing.”

“Something tells me it’s what Aunt Liz wants,” Tammy said. “But I think I want it even more.”

Slowly, slowly, the two women came together until their mouths met. Tammy made the kiss a passionate one, her tongue darting between Watson’s parted lips. The teen was quick to respond, pressing the length of her body against Tammy’s.

They kissed for a long while, finally drifting apart. “Oh, Tammy,” the teen whispered, “that was so, so nice.”

“Yeah, it was,” a dazed Tammy replied. “Uh, Watson? I’m not an impulsive person by nature, but I’m in the mood to do something right now that, well, might sound kinda crazy.” She took a deep breath. “I want to get rid of my apartment and move in here.”

“Oh,” Watson said, her brow furrowed slightly. “So I need to find somewhere else to live.”

“No, no – that’s not what I mean!” Tammy was quick to clarify. “What I’m trying to say is, I’d like it very much if you moved in with me.”

Watson’s eyes widened. “You want me t-to live with you?”

Tammy nodded. “In fact… well, I was hoping we could be girlfriends.”

“But you d-don’t even know me!” Watson cried. “Not really. What if I – Look, I might drive you mental in a week! What then?”

“I do know you,” Tammy insisted, twining her arms around the girl’s waist. “Because Aunt Liz knew you. I think she knew somehow that we belonged together, that we could love each other. That’s how I feel – how about you?”

Watson’s response was to burst into tears. “Oh, Tammy!” she sobbed. “I already have those feelings! I liked you right away, b-but it seemed wrong for me to think that, ‘specially at Liz’s funeral.” She fought to calm herself, impatiently brushing the tears away. “Do you think we were supposed to meet that way?”

“I’m starting to think so,” Tammy said. “Maybe my aunt knew how much I needed a real lover in my life. And at the same time, she didn’t want you to be left alone. So, she put us in each other’s path. Or her spirit did. I don’t know, it sounds completely insane now that I say it out loud, but my heart tells me it might just be true.”

For a moment, Watson considered the proposition. “Like a ghost of love,” she murmured. “Do you think we’ll ever get another visit from her?”

“No,” Tammy said, sensing the truth of her words. “Something tells me she won’t be back. But it doesn’t matter, because Aunt Liz did what she needed to do. We have each other now.”

“Oh, my God, yes.” They came together in an impassioned embrace, Watson burying her face in the woman’s sweet-smelling hair. “I love you, Tammy,” she whispered.

“I… I love you too, Watson.” As she spoke, Tammy allowed her lips to brush the teen’s neck. “Know what I’d like to do right now?”

“Hmm? What’s that?”

“Get better acquainted,” Tammy replied, slipping her leg between Watson’s parted thighs. “When we made love last night, you thought it was Aunt Liz touching you. Now, it’s my turn. I want to hear you call out my name when you come.”

“Oh, yes, Tammy,” Watson moaned.

The two lovers slipped easily into each other’s embrace, as if they had known one another all their lives.

 The End

 

Bad Girls Club: The Beginning, Chapter 3

  • Posted on April 10, 2025 at 2:26 pm

A brief summary of what has transpired thus far: Katherine is a shy. inexperienced teen girl who is starting over at a new school, after being mercilessly harassed by bullies at the last one. It’s her first time in the cafeteria, and the girl assigned to show Katherine around strongly suggests she avoid one table in particular where four very different girls sit. She calls them “lesbian delinquents,” and a “regular bad girls club,” before abandoning Katherine to her own devices. Desperately needing to take a seat before everyone starts to stare, Katherine somehow finds herself approaching the very table she was warned against. She spends her lunch break with these girls and enjoys it, despite feeling a bit uncertain about the whole sex-with-other-girls thing. 

In the days that follow, Katherine finds herself feeling very much at home in the company of Yolanda, Fiona, Claire and Terri, enough to consider them friends. She still feels like a bit of an outsider, not having tried sex with a girl before… or with anyone, truth be told. Still uncertain about her own sexual preferences, but thinking more and more about other girls, she begins to masturbate on a regular basis. She enjoys touching herself. but has yet to achieve orgasm. What to do?

And now, dear readers, we make our way into the next installment. Read on…

by Mystery Mouse

CHAPTER 3 – Girls Watching Girls

Saturday mornings, freed from the demands of school, Katherine usually took it easy. She’d sleep in, watch TV in her pyjamas with a big bowl of sugary cereal, not bothering to get dressed until close to lunchtime.

Which would explain why, at 10 o’clock on this particular Saturday, she was trying not to yawn. Who gets up and about this early by choice? she grumbled to herself.

She was at school. On Saturday, damn it! Or, more accurately, she was at the small sports hall on the school grounds, which was open to the public outside of school hours and served as a leisure centre of sorts. Katherine wasn’t exactly sure what a leisure center was, and wasn’t about to embarrass herself by asking.

The reason she was there, far earlier in the day than she liked, could be found in the assortment of gymnastic equipment that filled the space. It was all being used by a collection of girls for a variety of exercises she couldn’t follow.

Gymnastics had never been Katherine’s thing. At her previous school, she’d steered well clear of anything that drew the attention of bullies, preferring to spend free time on her own or with her mum, a woman who understood the challenges redheads often face.

It wasn’t that she didn’t understand how gymnastics worked. She just wasn’t interested.

“I like your top. It’s very retro.”

This was Yolanda. She and Katherine were sitting with some other girls on one of two long wooden benches placed along one side of the hall.

Katherine’s first impression of Yolanda had been of somebody whose clothes somehow looked smarter than everybody else’s, even though everyone dressed alike. And that impression still held. Katherine didn’t know much about fashion, but she could tell how well Yolanda’s clothes fit her, and how well they complemented her dark skin. Yolanda always looked good.

By comparison, Katherine felt badly underdressed. She’d deliberately chosen to wear the most inoffensive, generic clothes she possessed. This was the first time her new friends would see her in anything other than a school uniform, and she was determined not to take any chances.

She muttered her thanks, struggling to resist a sudden urge to cross her arms and “accidentally” cover her T-shirt. What’s so retro about it? I only got this shirt a few months ago!

“We shoulda brung popcorn,” came a voice from the bench behind her. “Anybody got snacks?”

“We’re not at the movies,” a second voice replied. “You should have had a proper breakfast.”

“Feck,” the first voice grumbled.

Those voices belonged to Fiona and Claire. That Irish twang and the sarcastic rejoinder couldn’t have come from anyone else.

Since Katherine had first encountered this group, she’d come to a much better understanding of them. She spent every lunch break with the girls and shared some classes with them, though never all at the same time.

Yolanda was clearly the one in charge, the one who told the other girls what to do. They often complained about it, but Katherine noticed that, more times than not, what Yolanda said was what got done. Perhaps because she hosted the big sleepovers where the bulk of the group’s lesbian shenanigans took place. Katherine had heard plenty of stories about the girls’ kinky exploits by this point, and they did nothing at all to ease her sexual frustration.

Fiona was a nice, friendly girl who was more than prepared to hit anybody who crossed her. It wasn’t so much that she had a temper, Katherine realised, as that she wasn’t afraid to stand up for what she believed in. Katherine found that admirable.

She was also intrigued by Fiona’s accent, which seemed to come and go according to the strength of her feelings. When Fiona was particularly annoyed or excited, she was practically incomprehensible.

Claire was an interesting one. Katherine had come to realise that the tall blonde wasn’t as scary as she’d seemed at first. Claire had a dry, sarcastic wit and a razor-sharp tongue. Together, they made the girl seem nastier than she actually was.

Probably.

Nonetheless, Claire was still a bit of a mystery. Katherine didn’t feel like she’d really cracked her yet, but the two got on well enough, a positive step in Katherine’s eyes.

That just left one person in her new group of friends. The short, irrepressible, hyperenergetic ball of chaos that was the reason Katherine was here so early.

“Hey, there she is!” Claire exclaimed, echoing Katherine’s thoughts. She followed the pointing finger and realised with a shock that she wouldn’t have noticed the last member of the foursome if she hadn’t been pointed out.

Terri stood by a large grey mat in the middle of the hall, speaking with an instructor. Her long, jet-black hair was tied into a simple ponytail to reveal a serious, even sober expression on her face. There was no hint of a smile, and she looked almost fragile – so different from her normal demeanour that Katherine understood right away why she’d failed to recognise her at first.

“Feck, she looks nervous,” Fiona observed quietly.

“This is her last one, isn’t it?” Yolanda asked. “After this, it’s the next level?”

“If she does well enough, aye,” Fiona said. “If not, she’ll have t’rethink th’ whole routine. Like, th’ whole feckin’ thing. Not something I’d ever wanna do.”

“No, that’d kill her,” said Yolanda. “She’s been practising for ages.”

“She’s looking for us,” Claire interrupted. “Quick, everybody smile!”

Terri was now on her own, the man she’d been talking to engaged in conversation with someone else. Katherine thought she looked scared, like a little girl lost in the forest in some fairytale, wolves slowly circling her. Certainly not the feisty and enthusiastic sixteen-year-old Katherine had come to know.

But then Terri saw the group waving. Her face lit up, and she was back to her familiar, beaming self.

“Good grief.” Claire murmured. “That smile of hers. I should have brought my sunglasses.”

“How does she do that?” added Fiona. “Ya could power an entire bloody city with that face o’ hers, ya really could.”

“Ladies, please,” Yolanda admonished.

Katherine said nothing. She wasn’t immune to Terri’s megawatt smile, but now that she wasn’t worried so much about her friend’s mood, she began to notice what Terri was wearing. And she felt her pulse start to race.

Honestly, it was nothing out of the ordinary. All the other girls were wearing leotards, too. It was a practical item of clothing for any activity that required free movement of the arms and legs while keeping all the naughty bits hidden from view.

But there was something about the one Terri was wearing. It seemed almost like it was painted on. While the other girls’ leotards were clearly designed to draw attention away from what was underneath, Terri’s seemed to do the exact opposite.

Her breasts, which Katherine noticed only now and then at school, were clearly defined by the taut fabric. Katherine could see exactly how small they were, and she couldn’t help but imagine how they’d feel in her hands.

The material continued over Terri’s flat stomach, hugged her pubic mound, and passed between her legs, cradling her taut bottom to perfection.

Nothing was left to the imagination. Although Katherine couldn’t see through the leotard, she had no difficulty imagining what Terri would look like without it.

To make matters worse, the garment was cut high on the hip. Terri was four-foot-six – a mere one hundred thirty-seven centimetres – positively miniscule, compared to the rest of the girls. But most of that height was in her legs, and Katherine marvelled at how, thanks to the leotard, she could see every square inch of them.

“Are you alright, Katherine?” Yolanda’s voice came as if from far away. Katherine forced herself to tear her eyes away and turn to her neighbour.

“Yeah. Yeah. No, I’m fine.”

“You look a little flushed. Everything okay?”

“Yeah, definitely. Nothing to worry about. Just a little hot, that’s all. It’s kinda warm in here,” Katherine replied, improvising as best she could. “Besides, I’m a redhead. My people blush easily.”

Oh. My. GOD. My people? My PEOPLE? Did I really just say that? And did I have to say it to Yolanda, the one girl in the group most likely to be offended?

But Yolanda, for her part, simply raised an immaculately trimmed eyebrow and glanced back to where Terri was doing some warmup exercises. “Rrrrrright …” she said, dragging the word out in an amused tone.

Now blushing for real, Katherine turned back to face the hall, hoping to bring her colour back under control. As she did so, she glanced at Terri again… only to realise with a shock that her friend wasn’t wearing anything scandalous. It was just a normal leotard – no more, no less. That rush of sexually charged fascination had been nothing more than a figment of Katherine’s imagination. Sure, the garment was close-fitting, but no more so than what any of the other gymnasts were wearing.

What’s wrong with me? I notice Teri has a nice pair of tits, and it turns me into a hot mess! She gave her head a tiny shake, trying to clear it without being noticed. Get it together, girl.

And then the music started. “Shut it,” hissed Fiona. “She’s on!”

Terri stood stock-still at the corner of the mat. Her arms were straight out at her sides as the sound of a stringed instrument filled the hall… a cello? No melody yet, just one long note rising slowly.

As the pitch rose, so did Terri’s arms, and just as her hands were pointing straight up, the note ceased. After a moment of silence, an electric bass throbbed and the tune kicked in. A fast, intense track with a beat that dug into the brain.

Then Terri moved.

Katherine had no idea what to expect. She knew a floor routine involved some rhythmic movement to go along with all the actual gymnastic stuff … but she didn’t see this coming.

Terri was poetry in motion, dancing to the music in ways Katherine barely believed possible. The girl was impossibly lithe. Every step, every jump, every turn was perfect. She was graceful yet sensual and, through it all, incredibly agile. And she’d only just begun!

After a few seconds of the dance, Terri set her sights on the opposite corner of the mat and took off, exploding into a run like a champion greyhound.

As she ran, she fell into a cartwheel that somehow turned into a pair of backflips that saw her flying through the air, twisting as she soared, then deftly landing back on both feet. She posed, steady as a rock, as Katherine’s friends burst into applause.

Katherine did not applaud. She didn’t even think of applauding. In fact, she could barely think at all.

The whole display had taken seconds, but Katherine was blown away. Terri was so fast and nimble that her motions seemed effortless. Then, before it occurred to Katherine that she ought to join in the applause, Terri was off again.

This time, Katherine simply stopped thinking, and for the rest of the performance, allowed the sheer beauty of Terri’s movements to wash over her. The petite, raven-haired girl tumbled and spun. She flipped and rolled. She stretched and bent. She did things with her body that Katherine knew she couldn’t have accomplished in a million years.

All of it was in perfect sync with the music. Every element was in complete control. And it was nothing short of astonishing to watch.

When the routine finally came to a close, Terri bowed to the judges, then boldly strutted out of the hall – to get changed, no doubt. To Katherine, it was as if her friend’s departure signalled the breaking of a magic spell. Her attention had been riveted to Terri during the whole performance. What else could she possibly have watched while that was taking place? Now, with her friend no longer in view, the everyday world snapped back in a rush that left Katherine feeling almost shell-shocked.

Distantly, through the haze, she grew aware that her friends were discussing what they’d seen.

“I mean, I could do that. Y’know, if I wanted.”

“D’you think that was good enough for the judges?”

“Beats me. I have no idea what they look for.”

Getting to her feet, Yolanda brushed some nonexistent dust off her skirt. “Well, we’ll just have to keep our fingers crossed, won’t we?” she said. “C’mon, let’s go meet Terri outside.”

As she rose with the others, Katherine noticed no one else was standing. “Wait… aren’t Terri’s parents here?”

Claire gave a derisive laugh. “Ha! No chance. They don’t exactly get on.”

“But this is a big deal to her, right? I mean, I would’ve thought – ”

“Yeah, but the thing is, the Freeman family is… well, they have problems,” Claire cut in. “It’s kind of a long story. Let’s just say that the day Terri’s mother and father show up at one of these things is the day the world comes to an end.”

Katherine pondered this as they proceeded to the exit. If she’d been the one performing, Mum would have moved Heaven and Earth to be there. She just couldn’t imagine parents showing such indifference to their daughter.

She’d always been grateful to have somebody who loved her as much as her mother did. Mum had even changed jobs and moved to a different town for her daughter, just to get Katherine out of that awful school and away from the bullying she endured there. That’s what parents should be like, she told herself.

Just like that, it occurred to Katherine how lucky she was. Not just to have a great mother, but to have found friends like these girls. Life at her previous school had been such a misery that Katherine sometimes wondered if she’d ever be happy again.

And though Katherine was still uncertain how she felt about her friends’ sexual lifestyle, and there was always the possibility that she would say or do something stupid that would turn them all against her, for the time being she was in a good place. A happy place, even. For once, her future held promise.

And it was all thanks to the four girls she’d shared a table with on her first day here. The ones she’d been warned to avoid. They were the first to invite her to do something outside of school… not because they had to, but because they wanted to.

“Guys,” she said as they were about to head outside, “can we talk for a minute?”

The others exchanged glances. “Um, sure, Kat,” Yolanda said. “What’s up?”

Katherine took a deep breath and, before she had a chance to lose her nerve, began to speak. She told Yolanda, Fiona and Claire, what had happened in her previous school. She told them why she and her mother had moved to another town. Katherine told them about how she’d been bullied, then abandoned by the few acquaintances she had. How lonely she’d been.

She’d kept it to herself for so long. But the girls had made such a difference in her life. They deserved to know that.

When she finished, her cheeks glowing with embarrassment, there was silence.

Then Fiona stepped forward and put a hand on Katherine’s shoulder. “Kat,” she said, looking her dead in the eye, “if anybody, an’ I mean anybody, ever treats ya like that again, let me know. An’ I will beat … th’ ever-lovin’ … shite outta them.”

Claire and Yolanda added murmurs of agreement.

Katherine didn’t trust herself to speak. In fact, she felt emotionally exhausted. This morning had been an emotional roller-coaster, and she was wiped.

“Come on,” said Yolanda after pausing for a moment to let Katherine recover. “Terri’s waiting.”

But Terri wasn’t waiting. She was nowhere to be seen.

“Of course,” Claire said, shaking her head, “she probably has to get showered and all that first.”

This took Katherine by surprise. From what she understood, Claire and Terri had spent most of their childhoods together. Surely Claire would know how long they needed to wait.

“Haven’t you been to one of these before?” she asked.

Claire shrugged. “Not for a while. This was always T’s thing, not mine. She’s the fitness junkie. I like my morning lie-ins too much.”

“It works, though,” Fiona interjected. “That was really good. Best floor routine I seen in ages.”

“Oh?” Once again, Katherine was surprised. Fiona hadn’t ever expressed an interest in gymnastics. “You follow this stuff?”

“Pretty girls in wee leotards,” Fiona answered with a shrug, as if that was all she needed to say. Which it probably was.

There’s Terri,” Yolanda announced.

Terri was indeed approaching. And with good news. “I passed! Nearly perfect scores!” she declared excitedly as soon as she was within range.

Katherine tried to join in as the others eagerly congratulated Terri. She did her best, but she was aware of how self-conscious it made her.

Fiona, on the other hand, squealed with excitement and rushed to wrap Terri up in a giant hug. Fiona wasn’t that big a girl, but Terri was so small it didn’t matter – big hugs automatically became giant ones.

“Does this mean you’ve gone up a level?” Katherine asked, remembering the conversation from earlier.

Terri’s face was lost in the depths of Fiona’s curly hair, but she must have heard the question.

“Yup! Gettin’ a certificate an’ all.” came the muffled reply.

“Great. That’s very cool. Very cool.”

Katherine couldn’t think of anything else to say. She was happy for Terri, sure, but didn’t know what else to do about it. She certainly didn’t feel like she could get away with offering a hug of her own.

“So what do we do now?” Claire asked once Terri had been released. “It’s not even eleven o’clock yet.”

“I need to do some clothes shoppin’, I think.” Terri replied. “The elastic on these things is pretty much gone. Look.”

With that, she lifted her top to just above her belly button, exposing her midriff and showing just how low her sweatpants were.

“For goodness sakes, Terri,” exclaimed Yolanda, who was standing behind her. “Do you always have to go without underwear? I’m looking at a good few inches of butt crack here.”

Terri blinked innocently. “See what I mean? If I don’t get new ones soon, I’m gonna end up flashin’ everyone.”

“You could always just wear knickers occasionally,” Claire suggested. “You never know, you might actually come to like it. And then you can do it every day like a normal person.”

Katherine didn’t comment. The sight of Terri’s bare belly had unwanted thoughts whirling through her mind again.

“Can we get some lunch while we’re in town?” Fiona asked. “I’m starvin’.”

Yolanda nodded in agreement. “Sure, we could eat. Are you joining us, Katherine?”

Katherine panicked. She had just been able to convince herself to come out this morning. At least this was technically in school. But hanging out with people in an unfamiliar town centre for an unknown length of time? What if something happened? What if she ended up embarrassing herself? What if the girls realised they didn’t actually like her at all and left her there?

She couldn’t. It was too much. “Ooh, I would, but I promised I’d help my mum with the housework,” she lied. “Sorry.”

“Oh. That’s not a problem. Next time, maybe?” Yolanda replied with a smile that seemed a bit too knowing for Katherine’s liking.

She nodded and, after saying their goodbyes, the girls walked away.

She heard a quick snippet of conversation. “Hey, I realised somethin’. This right here is our first official club outing.”

“We are not a club.”

… and then they were gone.

Katherine heaved a sigh, then set off on the trek home. At least she hadn’t been completely untruthful. There was housework to be done, but she hadn’t promised to help with it. Still, the fact that she’d lied so easily to her friends bothered her.

For the rest of the day she felt a mix of guilt and annoyance. But there was one other thing that unsettled her much more. Try as she might, Katherine could not stop thinking about Terri in that snug leotard, especially now she knew that the girl had been stark naked underneath. When Terri pulled up her top, the sight of that cute tummy had affected Katherine in a big way. There was no denying the arousal she’d felt at that moment.

Could that be because all her friends were into other girls? Katherine was still a virgin, and intensely curious about the act of physical love. Her friends had already done it… with each other, even. If they were constantly thinking about and discussing lesbian sex, it’s no surprise that she’d be thinking about it too.

Or was there more to it? Could she actually be gay herself? Katherine remembered how she’d pictured herself cupping Terri’s breasts through her leotard. Would a straight girl even have thoughts like that?

Maybe I like girls AND boys, she told herself. Guess I should try figuring that out.  

Determined to unravel the riddle of her sexuality, Katherine said goodnight to her mother and went to bed early. She was tired, yes, but she wasn’t intending to sleep anytime soon.

The bedroom door securely closed, she stripped naked, then slipped into an extra-large Simple Minds t-shirt she’d been gifted last Christmas by a well-intentioned but culturally clueless aunt. Rummaging through a desk drawer, she emerged with a glossy teen mag Mum had bought for her a few months earlier. She thumbed through the pages to find the image she wanted: a shirtless male model, posing on a beach next to a cute blonde girl in a skimpy bikini.

Sliding beneath the blanket, Katherine folded the page down to remove the girl from the shot, then propped the magazine against a pillow. She hoisted the t-shirt up to just below her chest and began to masturbate, picturing herself in the man’s strong arms. His body firm against mine, breathing in the scent of his skin as he nibbles my ear…

It was pleasant enough, but nothing like the surge of warmth she experienced while watching Terri move. Still, Katherine refused to throw in the towel so easily. She imagined the man stripping off for her, moving his body in a lewd, slow dance. He’s taking down those Speedos, showing off what he has…

Nothing. Oh, sure, touching herself was nice… still, no matter how handsome he was, Katherine found the image of a naked man far more interesting than arousing. She was intrigued by the prospect of seeing an erect penis, but the thought of reaching out to touch it held no appeal whatsoever.

With a sigh, Katherine sat up. Okay, let’s try it this way. She folded the magazine page again, so only the girl in the skimpy bathing suit could be seen, they lay back and began to fondle herself again.

It was better, and she felt a stronger attraction to the girl, to the point of wondering what it would be like to kiss that pretty mouth, maybe hold her while they were both nude.

But I don’t even know her, Katherine thought. Why would I want to fool around with a stranger?  

Just then, the memory of Terri in her skintight leotard flashed through Katherine’s head like summer lightning. She shivered, that yummy warm sensation from earlier making itself felt all over again.

Fine. If that’s what I need to get excited, so be it. Let’s do this.

Impatiently sweeping the teen mag to the floor, Katherine began to touch herself for the third time. She pictured Terri standing at the foot of the bed, wearing that dazzling smile as she slowly peeled down the leotard to bare her breasts.

This time Katherine’s fingers seemed to summon up magic, complete with cascading stars and spinning moons. Now she imagined Terri stripping off completely, posing nude for a moment before joining her in bed.

Katherine wasn’t ready to fantasise about having actual lesbian sex… it just seemed like going too far. So instead, she had her petite friend lie down by her side to masturbate, just like she was.

The image only spurred Katherine’s excitement. In her mind, Terri was close enough for their bodies to touch, humming contentedly as she pleasured herself. I could kiss her, Katherine thought. Bet she’d like that. 

She was caught up in this naughty scenario, her touches feeling nicer than ever. Maybe this time, she thought, already anticipating her first orgasm; how good it would be.

But even then, Katherine still couldn’t make herself come. Again and again, she skirted the cliff’s edge, and each time, her body failed to go that extra inch. Not even when she imagined a naked Terri lying next to her, doing the same thing she was.

Eventually, exhausted and frustrated, she turned onto her side with a despairing sob. Damn it all… why can’t I do this? Is something wrong with me?

She gave a heavy sigh. At least I got closer this time. I’ll have to try again some other night. 

After a few minutes, Katherine managed to relax… then she drifted into a restless slumber.

As she dozed fitfully, caught up in bizarre and confused dreams, Katherine had no idea that something she’d done that morning had started a ball rolling. A ball that was about to knock over everything that stood between her and the pleasure she longed for so desperately.

Soon to come: Chapter Four!

 

Amy’s Gift, Chapter One

  • Posted on April 6, 2025 at 4:14 pm

Introduction from JetBoy: It’s been too long since we’ve had a new book from the life of nineteenth-century Texas Ranger The Tequila Kid, that lesbian agent of the law who made the Wild West a lot wilder. Well, good people… Purple Les has produced the goods, so your wait is over. Do enjoy.

 

by Purple Les

It was my little sister Amy who saw the rider first. I was in the barn looking for eggs from our last three laying hens. We’d lost just about almost everything, like the rest of the ranchers and homesteaders who lived around us.

First the night riders killed our plowing ox and our milk cow. They killed our two horses, then trampled our crops. We’d only just planted, Pa fought as best he could to stop them, but they gunned him down. 

My heart still ached from missing Pa. Losing our horses busted me up almost as bad.

So there I was, looking for eggs in our big barn that was mostly empty. We had lots of hay left cause we didn’t have any animals left to feed it to.

My little sister Amy was supposed to be helping me look for eggs. But she wandered off like she always did. I didn’t care. I liked being alone sometimes so I didn’t have to keep pretending to be brave. Being a few years older than Amy, I tried to look after her as best I could. 

I found an egg for the basket, but almost dropped it cause my fingers were so cold.

Anyway, I knew where Amy was. She’d sit on the gate and play her harmonica. I could hear her cause the barn door was open. Pa gave the harmonica to her one day after he went to town, and she learned to play it right quick. 

She was good at it too. She was just seven going on eight, but she could play Swanee River, Hark the Harold Angels Sing, and Joy To The World. She’d been playing those last two a lot cause Christmas was coming soon.

Well I heard her stop right in the middle of playing. She come running in to the barn yelling out, ‘Cindy! There’s a rider coming!’

I told her to get Ma, then I ran to the corral fence near the gate. Ma always told us to keep an eye out for riders, specially ones coming from the west. That’s the direction Mr Fletcher’s place was from ours. His place had been burnt down just last week. We could see the fire from our place even though he lived more than a mile away. Ma ran over there but by the time she got there it was all gone.

She’d found Mr Fletcher outside shot dead. Ma and some other neighbors found his wife and kids inside burned up in the rubble afterwards. That’s when she told us to watch out for riders. We were mighty sorry to have lost the Fletchers. They were good people to have for neighbors.

My heart was pounding hard when I watched this rider getting close with the dark gray sky behind. Ma came up next to me. She had the Winchester with her and it was already cocked. I saw Amy standing by the doorway to the house. Ma told me ‘Get over there with your sister,’ but by then the rider was too close and I was scared to move. I stood behind Ma, looking around her so I could see.

It was one rider on a nice looking Appaloosa horse. I thought it was a young man at first. But as they drew close riding slow I could see it was a woman. Even with the heavy sheepskin coat on you could tell.

Ma held the rifle tight and had it half raised up to show she meant business. The woman stopped near the gate, looked at Ma and tipped the brim of her hat. ‘My apologies for riding up on your property, ma’am.’ She sat calm on her horse with one hand holding the reins and the other hand on the saddle horn. The rider saw me peeking out from behind Ma and smiled. 

I could see her good now. She wore dungarees tucked in to beat up looking boots. She had on a Stetson hat, and under the brim was the bluest looking eyes I ever did see. Like looking at the sky on a warm spring day they was so blue.

On her chin she had these blue lines, like a tattoo that I’d seen one time on an Indian that came in to town once. She didn’t look like no Indian though, except for them tattoos.

Ma saw her looking at me and she said, ‘You get in the house now, Cindy.’ I started walking to the house backwards and slow cause I wanted to see what was going to happen. The rider closed and opened her eyes real slow, still looking at me.

Something in her face seemed to say ‘Do what your Ma says, but there’s no need to be afraid of me.’

The rider unbuttoned her coat, and I could see she had a six shooter on each hip. Ma held the rifle up higher and yelled ‘Cindy, get in the house like I said! You too, Amy!’ I’ll never figure how Ma always knows just what me and Amy are doing without even looking at us.

Me and Amy did as Ma told us to, but we went straight to the window to watch. We saw Ma and the rider having a talk, but couldn’t hear none of it. 

***

The rider dug through her vest pockets and, finding what she wanted, held up a tarnished badge.

The woman holding the rifle squinted at it, then frowned. “You expect me to believe you’re a Texas Ranger?”

The rider kept a blank face and answered, “Reckon not, ma’am.” Fumbling around in her pockets again, she produced an old grimy envelope. Holding it out she asked, “Do you read?”

The woman with the rifle cautiously took the envelope, opened it and took out a battered piece of paper. She read it, occasionally glancing up at the rider. Nodding to herself, she handed the envelope and paper back to the rider. “So you’re The Tequila Kid.”

“Yes’m,” The Kid replied.

Releasing the hammer on the rifle, the woman lowered the barrel and said, “Reckon you can climb down and water your horse if you’re of a mind to.”

“Much obliged, ma’am,” The Kid said. She slowly dismounted, then opened the gate, leading her horse through before closing it behind. Bringing the horse to the trough, The Kid used the heel of her boot to break through the crust of ice that had formed atop the water. The horse moved in to take a long drink.

Turning back to the woman, The Kid said, “Y’see, ma’am, I stopped first to the Fletcher place and found it burnt down, with a line of graves nearby. You appear to be their closest neighbor.” She reached for her canteen, detaching it from the saddle, then approached the trough.

“No need to get water from there,” the woman said. “It’ll do for your horse, but there’s a pump in the house.”

“That’s right kind of you, ma’am. So… did you know the Fletchers well?“

The woman’s mouth tightened. “Well enough to know Bob Fletcher sent a letter to Austin asking the Rangers for help. That was six months ago. No one knew for sure if it ever got there,” the woman with the rifle said, a bitterness in her voice.

“Yes, ma’am,” The Kid said softly. “Truth be told, they sent a Ranger two months ago. He weren’t never heard from again. I’m here to find out what happened to him, then do what I can to get this mess cleaned up.”

The woman with the rifle looked The Kid up and down, then shook her head. “Well, you look like you’d live up to all the stories I’ve heard about you, ‘cept you look mighty young for ‘em all to be true. I reckon it ain’t your own fault that you’ve come when it’s too late.”

The Kid’s eyes were focused on a grave marker across the way, near an oak tree. “Anything you can tell me about all this will maybe keep it from being too late for a lot of other folks, ma’am.”

The woman with the rifle followed The Kid’s gaze. “That’s my husband’s grave. Been dead ‘bout five months now. McCuller sent a gunman here.”

“That’d be Ben McCuller, ma’am? The one Fletcher wrote about to the Rangers?”

The woman looked at The Kid with weary eyes, but her voice was sharp. “Yes, that’s right. And my name ain’t ‘ma’am.’ You can call me Sarah.”

“Yes, ma…” The Kid paused, cleared her throat and continued. “Pleased to meet you, Sarah.”

Sarah looked around and said, “If you care to take your horse to the barn, there’s more hay than we know what to do with. Then come to the house and we’ll have us a talk.”

“Much obliged,” The Kid murmured as she led Button to the barn, glancing up at the dark sky.

In the barn, The Kid climbed a ladder into the loft and threw some hay down to the floor. Coming back down, she took off her horse’s bridle and loosened the saddle cinch. “You eat up and rest a spell, Button. Somethin’ tells me we still got a lot of ridin’ to do.”

The Kid joined Sarah, who was still standing in the yard, lost in thought and looking westward. Without a word, Sarah turned away and made her way toward the house, The Kid close behind.

Taking off her hat, The Kid glanced around. The inside didn’t feel very different from the outside, except it was darker and there was no wind blowing. It was very much like what she’d seen at the house she’d stopped at before seeking out the charred ruins of Bob Fletcher’s home. A handful of embers glowed in the fireplace, but the house was stone cold. There was a good quality stove in the kitchen area, along with a hand pump and sink. She saw there were two bedrooms, one for the girls, one for Sarah.

This place must have been really nice here before those damn raiders came. The Kid told herself. She noticed that the good china was stacked on the floor. Had to use the server for firewood, I’ll wager. The house was clean and well kept, but what The Kid noticed most was the emptiness of poverty.

She tried not to dwell on the thin, hollow-cheeked faces of Sarah and her two girls. Gettin’ starved out, just like the other family I met.

Placing the Winchester in its rack over the hearth, Sarah said, “These are my daughters Cindy and Amy. Girls, this is the Tequila Kid. She’s with the Texas Rangers, here trying to help us.”

The girls’ eyes widened. It seemed that they too had heard tales of The Kid’s adventures.

“You have a beautiful horse,” the eldest daughter said, speaking so softly she could scarcely be heard.

Breaking into a smile, The Kid said, “Her name’s Button. If you girls want to go to the barn and talk to her and pet her, that would be fine with me. Me and your ma are just gonna jaw a little bit.”

Cindy went from bashful to thrilled in an instant. “Can we, Ma?”

“It’s may we, and yes, you may,” Sarah said. “Just don’t touch The Kid’s gear or try to ride her mount, you hear me?”

“Yes, Ma,” both girls cried as they rushed out the door, slamming it shut behind them.

“Have a seat,” Sarah said as she pulled a chair out for herself at the table, gathering the man’s coat she wore tightly around herself. “I’m sorry I can’t offer you anything. Our larder’s pretty much bare.”

Seating herself, The Kid hesitantly spoke. “I stopped at a ranch before I seen what was left of the Fletcher place. The Vale family, it was. They told me some about what’s happened ‘round here. I reckon that letter Bob Fletcher sent says it all. If there’s anything you could tell, it might be of help. Like what happened here, if you’re up to it.”

Sarah seemed to be looking somewhere far away when she began to speak. “Ever hear of Eric Jax, Kid?”

The Kid slowly nodded. “I sure have. Heard tell he used to be the fastest gun in these parts. Not a killer, though, ‘cept in self-defense. He’s not been seen for a long spell, and no one seems to know what happened to him. He’s the one that gunned your husband down? That don’t square with what they tell of the man.”

A single tear rolled down Sarah’s cheek as she answered, “Eric Jax was my husband.”

The Kid raised an eyebrow, and Sarah continued. “I met Eric about eleven years ago. I was about your age, I reckon. Aside from havin’ to contend with young blowhards gunnin’ for him cause he was so quick on the draw, he was a good, peaceful man. I didn’t know at first about him being a shootist. And when he told me, it didn’t matter any more. He was fun and I liked him, and when I found out I was carrying his child he couldn’t of been happier.

“He put his guns away once we got married, then changed his last name to Miller. We left Kansas and settled here. He built a nice ranch for us. We was happy and doin’ well, just like the others who come along later.

“Ben McCuller was doing good too. He had the biggest spread in these parts. But he wanted more. Hell, he wanted it all. He started by buying off the sheriff. Lucas Clay, that’s his name, crooked as a rattlesnake’s trail. Don’t count on him to give you a helpin’ hand.

“No one knew at first why the ranchers closest to McCuller sold out and moved on. But little by little, he became more bold about takin’ over the other ranches and farms. Oh, he’d offer to buy at first, but not anything close to what the property was worth. Naturally, folks refused to sell.

“That was when he started havin’ night raids. Killed off our livestock, trampled the crops. The sheriff claims it’s all the doin’ of outlaws, and nothin’ at all to do with McCuller.” She gave a heavy sigh. “He means to starve us out. Won’t even let the town folk sell us supplies.” Sarah was staring at the floor, “We can’t afford none anyhow.”

She fell silent for a moment, then added, “Somehow, McCuller found out about the letter Fletcher sent, askin’ for help. Well, you see where we’re at now.”

“I understand Fletcher said in his letter that he had some sort of evidence. Did he tell you what or where it was?” The Kid asked.

“Not for sure. Rumor was, Fletcher had land deeds that proved some sort of crooked doings between McCuller, Sheriff Clay and the banker. Well, if they were in Bob’s house, they’re ashes now. So all that’s left is for McCuller to run the rest of us off. Makes it seem legal-like, but it ain’t. Not that it matters. The sheriff is no more’n an errand boy, damn his hide.”

The Kid shook her head, brooding. After a moment, she spoke again “Any idea who McCuller hired to shoot your husband?”

Sarah leveled her brown eyes at The Kid. “Ever heard of Kid Coley?”

The Tequila Kid gave a short nod, her jaw tightening slightly. “I have.”

“McCuller hired him to do the killing.” Sarah gripped the table’s edge with one hand, her knuckles white. “He came here. Goaded Eric into putting his gun on. Eric hadn’t worn a gun since we married. Coley shot my man stone dead, then had the gall to take the gold watch I’d gived him for our anniversary.”

“How’d Coley get away with it?”

“That’s the worst part,” Sarah muttered, a tremor in her voice. “Me and the girls had to admit that Eric drew his gun first. But it weren’t that way, even if it was true! Kid Coley claimed he was only…”

Placing her hand on Sarah’s, The Kid said, “I understand. Coley gets himself hired by a greedy scum like McCuller, then does the murder making it seem like self-defense. And when the sheriff’s in on it… well, let’s just say that justice ain’t served.”

They sat in silence for a moment, then The Kid slowly stood. “Reckon I best move on now.”

As they stepped outside Sarah looked at the sky and said, “You’re welcome to bunk down with us tonight. We all sleep in my bed to stay warm, so the girls’ room is yours, if you like.”

The Kid studied the sky. “Much obliged. But I got a lot to get done. If I set out now, I’ll have a chance of gettin’ to town before the rain.”

Sarah walked with The Kid to the barn, where they found the girls petting Button’s nose and talking to her.

“She’s the finest horse I ever did see,” Cindy said with Amy quickly agreeing.

“Now don’t be giving Button a swelled head, girls,” The Kid said as she put the bridle back on and tightened the saddle cinch. “She thinks she’s in charge of things as it is.”

The children laughed at that, and Button raised her head up and down as if nodding ‘yes’, she was the brains of the two. The Kid brought Button to the trough for one last drink, and Amy ran into the house. Sarah and Cindy went back to the barn to look for more eggs, and Amy came out as The Kid was about to mount up.

“Please take this, Kid,” Amy said, extending her hands. The girl held a green apple and an egg. “The egg’s hard-boiled… it’s for you. The apple’s for Button,” Amy explained.

The Kid squatted down and said, “Much obliged.” Taking the gifts from Amy’s hands, she stuffed them in her coat pockets. Turning away, she opened her saddle bag.

As The Kid dug through the bag’s contents she said, “I do love me a hard-boiled egg. And Button loves apples. She ain’t had one in a long while. So let me give you a little somethin’ in return. I’ll be gettin’ fresh grub in town, so I’d be grateful if you’d give this stuff to your Ma for me.”

The Kid loaded Amy’s arms up with her supplies. “Take this in the house now, ‘fore your Ma comes out of the barn. She’d be too proud to take it from me, I reckon.”

With that, she walked Button out through the open gate, closed it behind, then mounted up and rode off.

***

I almost dropped the egg basket when me and Ma came back in the house. Ma’s mouth hung open as she looked at the table. It looked like a feast to me. There was dried beans, and beans in a can. There was bacon and flour and coffee and salt.

Amy said to us she’d give The Kid an egg and apple and The Kid give us this food in return. Me and Amy was happy as could be. I don’t know why, but Ma sat down looking at it and cried.

***

The Tequila Kid might have beaten the rain if she’d gone straight to town. Instead she’d headed back to the Fletcher ranch to poke around the burnt remains of the house. She looked about, trying to picture the house as it had been, occasionally poking through the rubble.

Button snorted as the first cold hard drops of rain fell. “Just a little longer, girl,” The Kid called.

Upon finding the ruins of the fireplace and chimney, The Kid knelt down to feel her way around the hearth, which remained intact. Moving forward, she began to explore the rear of the chimney.

One of the large adobe bricks had a slight depression at each end. “I’ll be damned,” she whispered, a grin appearing on her face. Slipping her index finger into these hollows, she gave a hard tug… and the brick emerged about half an inch. Another three tugs and it pulled free.

Reaching inside the rectangular opening, The Kid withdrew a padlocked steel box. “Son of a bitch,” she murmured. “Just the same way Thumper Jones done it.”

She picked up a stone and raised it, breaking the padlock with one sharp blow. Nestled inside was a small stack of documents. These The Kid tucked into her vest. Taking a scrap of paper from her pocket, she put a stub of pencil to it, scratching out a few quick lines. She put that piece of paper in the box and closed the lid, then used the stone to hammer the box until it was jammed shut. Now it would have to be broken before anyone could get inside. Satisfied with her work, The Kid slid the box back into its cubbyhole before carefully replacing the brick.

The rain was falling steadily, so The Kid took her yellow slicker off from around the bed roll and put it on. She hoisted herself into the saddle and got Button going at a fast walk toward the town. From a ridge road on the hill, she glanced down at Sarah’s place in the distance as they went past.

As the rain came down harder and colder, The Kid began to wish she’d holed up there after all. At least they’ll have something hot in their bellies tonight. Cheered by that thought, The Kid headed Button toward the town of Helena.

***

Me and Ma broke up one of the rails from the corral fence and used it for firewood. It’s not like we needed it any more. Ma made a small fire and we heated up the can of beans. We all shared that, and it sure was a fine meal.

While we watched the small fire burn down, Ma said she’d save the rest of the wood for morning to use in the stove. She got me hungry all over again saying how she’d fix us a real breakfast. Said she’d make bacon and eggs and biscuits and coffee.

Then we did what we’d been doing lately. We took off our coats and laid ‘em over Ma’s bed for extra cover. Then we took off our boots and got under the covers. Ma blew the light out and we lay together in our clothes. Ma would tell us stories and wait for us to fall asleep.

I was in the middle between Amy and Ma. I wasn’t asleep yet, just trying to get there. I felt Ma move around to get comfortable and her hand was resting on my back side.

It made me think back to last summer. Us girls had been swimming down at Turkey Creek. Me and Amy and the Fletcher girls and a few others. We always swam bare. No one minded, long as no boys were around.

But this one time Maude Fletcher who’d just turned twelve took me round the bend and asked if I’d let her kiss me. I didn’t know nothin’ about kissing, but she sure taught me how. Well, we put our lips together for a second and giggled, then we did it for longer. It was a nice special secret for us. 

Maude asked me to lay down with her in the grass, and we kissed some more. Then she began kissing me different, sliding her tongue in my mouth. I did it to her the same way, and she rolled on to her back and pulled me on top of her.

Then Maude surprised me by grabbing my backside and hugging me to her till our girl parts were rubbing together. I’d never felt anything so nice before, and I guess we did that for a long spell until it was so good we had to stop. Maude told me she did it with her sister Tilly and asked me if I ever tried anything like that with Amy. I told her I hadn’t but she sure had me thinking about it. I always did like seeing my sister naked in the wash tub or when we got ready for bed and such. It made me wonder if Amy would let me kiss her that special way.

Me and Maude felt mighty relaxed now. We lay on our bellies holding hands and smiling at each other. That was when Amy found us. She was with Maude’s little sister Tilly, who was my age. Like us, they was naked.

Tilly said right away that me and Maude had been up to some kind of devilment, and we ought to be spanked for it. So they set about lightly paddling our bare backsides with their hands and laughing, thinking it was great sport. Well, me and Maude both jumped, grabbed our sisters and started doing that to them. They weren’t so high and mighty then! Soon they were begging us to stop, so we called a truce. 

By then we were all flushed and giggly. Tilly told Amy that she figured me and Maude had been kissing. Amy didn’t believe her, but Maude told her it was true. Then Tilly asked Amy if she wanted to know what it felt like, getting kissed. Amy thought about it and said she wouldn’t mind. 

So me and Maude watched as Tilly showed my little sister how to kiss with her tongues, just like Maude had done for me. They were pushing themselves together while they kissed, and Tilly was touching Amy’s bottom. I reckoned by the look on their faces that they was feeling the same things me and Maude did. 

After that we sat together in the sun not saying much, kissing each other every now and then. Sometimes Maude and Tilly kissed, which got me thinking about doing that with Amy. I wondered again if she would let me. I also thought about what it would be like to lie on her with our girl parts touching, the way I did it with Maude, and asked myself if that was bad for us to do. I decided it couldn’t be wrong if we love each other. 

While I was having those thoughts, little Mindy Cooper came round and said everyone else had headed home. She asked what we’d been doing, but Maude told her we’d just been talking.

After that, me and Amy went home too. We didn’t say much, but we did hold hands most of the way. 

After that time, me and Amy would kiss when ever we were alone together, mostly at night and in bed. We also liked to lift up our nightgowns to look at each other with nothing on. Sometimes I’d touch her girl parts to get that nice feeling, and she’d touch me the same way. If we got really excited, we’d take our nightgowns all the way off and take turns lying on top of each other with our bodies rubbing together. 

We hadn’t done that for a spell, though. Not since it got so cold that the three of us had to sleep in Ma’s bed so as to keep warm. Snuggling with Ma was real nice, but I missed the things me and Amy did.  

All those thoughts were going through my head as I lay in bed with Ma’s hand resting on my backside. I was wearing all my clothes, but it still felt good to have her touch me that way, even if she weren’t doing it on purpose. 

Then I started thinking about that summer day, how good it had been. It made me all of sudden sad that Maude and Tilly and all the rest of their family was gone forever. I tried not to cry, but I couldn’t help it.

Ma woke up. She held me and asked what was wrong. I told her I was scared we’d be burned alive like the Fletcher family. Ma held me tight and told me not to worry none, that we’d be okay. Said that Tequila Kid would put things right. But she didn’t sound like she much believed it herself. I wanted to believe, but I’d never heard tell of a girl Texas Ranger before. 

She did have a kind heart, that Tequila Kid. Something else I noticed, how she looked at me the same as Maude did that time at the creek. Would she want to kiss me that special way? 

It took me a long time to fall asleep, but at last I did.

***

The rain blew sideways and directly into the faces of The Tequila Kid and Button, so cold it felt like tiny daggers stinging The Kid’s face and eyes. Squinting into the storm, The Kid made out dark shapes ahead, as well as dots of light. Reckon I found Helena, she told herself.

She slowly advanced into the town. A torrent of water was running through the street, enough to reach over Button’s ankles as the horse trudged through the thick, icy mud, her nostrils sending clouds of mist into the night air.

Finding the livery stable at last The Kid dismounted, but her left boot, the one with the hole in the bottom,  went right into a deep puddle. “Shit,” she muttered, then shouldered the small inner door open.

An wizened old man sat near a lantern, glancing up from a checkerboard.

“Howdy,” The Kid said. “Got room for a horse?”

With a gap-toothed grin, the man stood up, saying, “Barely.” He sauntered over to throw open the big door. The Kid led Button in and the old man closed the door with a hard shove. Inside, it was warm and dry inside and the wind and rain could barely be heard.

“Well, now, that is one fine lookin’ horse,” the man said. “The name’s Abner Ancien, an’ I runs this stable. It’s a dollar a day, includin’ feed and water.” He gave a snort of laughter. “Good timin’ on your part. I ain’t got but one stall left. This weather has ever’one comin’ in off the trail.”

“Much obliged,” The Kid said as she accompanied Abner to the stall. Withdrawing two dollar coins from her pocket, she dropped them in Abner’s palm. “I’d like to make sure I got me a place for another night if I need it, Mr Ancien.”

“Just call me Abner. We ain’t formal round here.” The old man watched as The Kid took her gear off the horse and hung it on the side of the stall.

The Kid shrugged out of her slicker and sheepskin coat, then draped them over the stall wall to dry. “Nice and warm in here. Feels mighty good after ridin’ through that damn downpour.” She took a brush and curry comb from her saddle bags.

As The Kid groomed Button, Abner said, “Well, all these horses put off a lot of heat. I keeps the walls well mended, pluggin’ up the chinks if I find any. Means it’s cool when it’s hot and warm when it’s cold.”

“There any place to stay in this town, Abner?”

“Well, there’s a few,” Abner said as he scratched his chin. “But they’s more full up than my stable. I heard tell folks are sleepin’ three to a bed, ever’thin’s so full up.”

“Mind if sleep here in the stall?” The Kid asked.

Abner looked The Kid over and said, “Naw. Naw, I couldn’t let a lady sleep in a stall. If you’d like, though, you can stay up in the hayloft. There’s a rope ladder you can pull up behind. Be real private. I’ve offered it to folks before, but I guess no one wants to smell horse shit where they sleep.”

The Kid laughed. “Hell, I’d prefer the smell of horse shit over the stink of too many people close together.”

“True enough,” Abner said. The Kid was rubbing Button’s legs up and down to get them warmed back up. Once she’d finished, Abner offered her a horse blanket which The Kid draped over Button.

Abner gestured toward the checkerboard. “Play a game?”

“Sure,” The Kid answered.

“I got to warn you, I’m the best at checkers in town. Never been beat,” Abner said, seating himself at the board.

Pulling up an old crate, The Kid took a seat on the other side. Spying a folded newspaper lying nearby, she pointed at it. “You done with that paper?”

“Well, I was gonna put it out in the privy,” Abner replied. “But you can read it first if you’re of a mind to. I got yesterday’s paper, if you’re lookin’ to get the latest news.”

“Naw, this one will do me just fine.”

Abner looked on as Kid ripped the front page off and folded it into a small square. Removing her boot, she stuffed the folded paper into her boot, centering it over the hole. Satisfied with her handiwork, The Kid took off the other boot, then went to her saddle bag for a pair of dry socks. She paused to drape the wet socks over the rail, then sat back down on the crate to put her socks and boots back on.

“Go see Ed Sharp if you’re lookin’ to get that boot fixed for real. Best cobbler in Helena,” said Abner. He reached underneath his chair and produced an earthenware jug. He uncorked it, then took a deep swig of its contents.

“Applejack,” he announced, passing the jug over to The Kid. “Warms up your innards right nice.”

The Kid took a long slug as Abner pushed a checker on the board.

“You’re a tight lipped man, Abner,” The Kid said, making a move of her own.

Studying the board, Abner said, “I found out a long time ago not to ask too many questions.” He moved a piece. “If someone wants to tell me something about themselves, fine and dandy. But I don’t poke my nose in nowhere. Many a man’s dug his own grave by bein’ a mite too curious at the wrong time.” He watched The Kid make a move. “Sure you want to move there?”

“Yep,” The Kid answered. Abner jumped her checker and took it off the board with a pleased smile.

Placing one finger on a checker, The Kid said, “Couple months back, a tall dark-haired man wearin’ buckskins and a hat that was white a long time ago may have come through, ridin’ a black stallion. Recall anyone fittin’ that description?” She slid the checker forward.

“Sure you want to move there?” Abner asked. He watched The Kid nod yes, then he jumped her man. “I recall that feller, sure. Told me he was a Texas Ranger, name of Clark Hansen. Fine looking horse he had, a real fine animal. I gived him directions out to the McCuller place.”

“Then what?” The Kid asked, moving a piece.

“You sure ’bout that move?” Abner asked. The Kid nodded, then Abner jumped it and took it off the board. “Then nothin’. Never saw hair nor hide of him after that. Did notice the horse a few times, though. Cy Warren was ridin’ him.”

“Who’s he?” The Kid asked as Abner made his move.

“Ben McCuller’s new foreman, and a mighty bad sort. McCuller fired his real workin’ crew a spell ago and hired on a gang of toughs to replace ‘em.”

A few moves later, The Kid got a piece to the other end of the board. “King me.”

Abner crowned the checker, then made a move. The game continued in silence for a couple of minutes. “What about the sheriff here?” The Kid asked. “Wouldn’t he have somethin’ to say about a Texas Ranger disappearin’ into thin air… and another man ridin’ his horse?”

The old man’s eyes lit up. “Well, now…” he began, but was interrupted by the door opening and closing again. Looking up, he dropped his checker, startled. “Why, evenin’, Sheriff Clay.” Quickly reaching down for the checker, he put it back on the board, then made his move.

“Abner, you ugly old coot… who or what is this?” Sheriff Clay asked the old man while staring at The Kid.

The sheriff was about six foot tall, his hefty frame covered by a yellow rain slicker. He wore black boots with silver spurs and a soaked black Stetson hat. His face was clean shaven, except for waxed handlebar mustache, also black. His brown eyes had a cruel glint to them.

“Just a traveler come out of the rain, Sheriff,” Abner hastily answered.

The old man looked back at the board to see The Kid move her king piece, jumping each of Abner’s men from one side to the other and back again, clearing the board.

Abner stared, dumbfounded. “Well, I’ll be switched!” He looked up at The Kid. “Where in tarnation did you learn how to play that good?”

“Oh, I learnt it from a French woman who took me in for a spell,” The Kid said as she stood up.

Abner gave a shaky laugh, still studying the board as he scratched his head. “If that don’t beat all!” He got to his feet. “Well, you won fair and square.” He extended a hand, and they shook. Pointing at the board, he added, “How ‘bout a rematch?”

“Shut the hell up, Abner,” Sheriff Clay growled. He took a step toward The Kid. “I don’t allow no one to wear guns in my town, man or woman. Take ’em off.”

The Kid turned to the man, her eyes half closed and took out her badge. “I’m the Tequila Kid, a special agent for the Texas Rangers. Let’s not talk shop here. Can we go to your office?”

The sheriff spit on the floor, glanced sourly at Abner, then muttered, “All right, then. Come with me.”

The Kid put on her coat and slicker, then followed Clay to the door. She’d never bothered to take her wet hat off. Abner scratched his chin, shaking his head as he watched them step out into the rain.

On to Chapter Two!

 

The Beekeeper’s Lament: Prologue

  • Posted on April 2, 2025 at 5:33 pm

 

by BlueJean

Author’s Note: This new story is a sequel to both The Beekeeper’s Daughters and Selkie Days. If you haven’t already, I’d advise you to read those first, as this new installment won’t make much sense without the context of those earlier works. They are both stand-alone stories, with some connective tissue, and can be read in either order. That said, this prologue picks up a few months after the end of Selkie Days and is a direct continuation of that story, so reading The Beekeeper’s Daughters first, then Selkie Days, would probably be a good way to go.

~Dramatis Personae~

In the Anglo-Welsh border village of Derwold:

Georgia Newton ~ Mother of Millie and Freya. Lover of Sadie Laine. Moved to the village of Derwold after her husband died. Very grounded, and distrustful of magic. She is the eponymous beekeeper of the title.

Freya Newton ~ Oldest daughter of Georgia. A natural cynic who struggles with insecurities. She likes to spend time in the greenhouse with her herbs.

Millie Newton ~ Youngest daughter of Georgia and witch’s apprentice. Harbours magical powers. Loves to go on adventures. Just on the right side of precocious.

Sadie Laine ~ Schoolteacher and Georgia’s lover, secretly a witch. Came to Derwold to send her restless, troublesome ancestor Isabel on to the afterlife and ended up staying. Bubbly, kooky, but has grit where it counts.

Elsa Hart ~ Lady of the Manor and Simon’s Derwold’s wife. A refined woman of impeccable taste.

Simon Derwold ~ Ancestral heir to the Derwold estate. His family has a troubled past.

Astris ~ An ancient forest nymph known as a dryad. Has served as Derwold’s protector for many centuries. She speaks of Neanderthals, the Picts, and the Roman invasion of Britain as if she has witnessed these things firsthand.

Sally Jeffries ~ Runs the local post office. Wicked sense of humour. Strange and unusual things happen when she’s had a few drinks.

Bernard the Druid ~ Bumbling, pompous druid. Has made Derwold his temporary home.

Roy Sutton ~ Georgia and Sadie’s camp friend. Loves knitting.

Vivaan Dinesh ~ Derwold’s resident doctor. One of the few people who know of Sadie’s dual life.

Billy Buckham ~ A grumpy black cat and Sadie’s animal familiar. Does not suffer fools gladly.

Bee ~ Newton family dog. Has a very waggy tail.

Mr. Dalliard (deceased) ~ An elderly gentleman and friend to Sadie and the Newtons. Millie was particularly fond of him. As a young boy he was seduced by Isabel and nearly killed. Astris healed him, inadvertently extending his lifespan in the process. Last seen possessing the body of a majestic stag in order to protect Georgia and her girls. His spirit has since moved on.

Isabel (deceased) ~ Sadie’s ancestor. She was accused of witchcraft and killed by hanging. Astris reached out to comfort her during her last moments, allowing Isabel to anchor her spirit to the great oak and leech off the dryad’s power. Hundreds of years later, Sadie managed to send her back to the great cycle.

 

In the Cornish coastal town of Morcant-On-Sea:

Hailey Ellis ~ A young journalist and budding writer. Has come back to Morcant to live with her uncle.

Derek ~ Fisherman and Hailey’s uncle. Loud, brash, enjoys the simple things in life.

Rita ~ Hailey’s aunt, and for a time, her lover. Also happens to be a selkie. Derek stole her sealskin and bound her to the land but she has since found her way back to the ocean.

Jack ~ One of Derek’s former crew and Hailey’s occasional lover. Not the sharpest knife in the drawer, but means well.

Madeline ~ Morcant’s glamorous doctor. Lost her husband to the sea many years before. An unrepentant sexual deviant.

Isla ~ Madeline’s teenage daughter. All adolescent hormones.

Mike ~ Hailey’s boss at the local newspaper.

Karnu ~ Reluctant leader of the Selkie.

Sully (deceased) ~ Lifelong fisherman and Derek’s former first mate. His smoking habit finally caught up with him.

***

Prologue

 Amidst water lily fields, white and green
Grows a tree
And from the tree hang apples
Not for you to eat
Beneath the heaving sea
Where statues and pillars and stone altars
Rest for all these aching bones
To guide us far from energy
Mirth, birth, reverie
       Nico “Julius Caesar (Memento Hodie)”

1

Morcant-On-Sea was dying a slow death.

The isolated peninsula was fast becoming a ghost town, most of the houses now serving as summer holiday homes for mainlanders wealthy enough to afford such luxuries. In the autumn and winter months they stood cold and empty.

The pub down on the harbour, The Mal De Mer, had closed its doors for the last time a year ago. Its windows were now boarded up, the slow crawl of decay creeping up its salt-encrusted walls.

The post office suffered a similar fate, but that at least had found new life as a convenience store, a much needed necessity for the few remaining locals rather than a sound business opportunity – there wasn’t much in the way of custom these days.

The bookshop had gone too – the little gothic bookshop that everyone swore blind never existed. It was a launderette, some claimed. No, it was one of those cobbler and key shops, others insisted. Most were adamant there had never been anything there in the first place, that there had only ever been three shops on that street, never four.

But Hailey still had the book, that old battered paperback with the title The Selkie. The book was hers. It had always been hers. The lady in the bookshop had said as much, and Hailey understood the immovable truth of the mysterious old woman’s words in a way she couldn’t quite explain.

If the harbour town was in the last throes of death, then its small fishing industry had already breathed its last. Hailey’s Uncle Derek had held on for as long as he could, suffering the indignity of watching his crew dwindle to nothing. Sully was diagnosed with lung cancer and passed away; Odette returned to her native France, and then it was just Derek and Jack left. Then Jack threw in the towel to try his hand at painting and decorating. Now her uncle’s fishing trawler was the only vessel tied up in the harbour, its hold bare and dry.

To add insult to injury, the coastal town was collapsing under foot, the folly of building a settlement on what was effectively a cliff side now starkly apparent. Coastal erosion had plagued the length and breadth of Britain, but none more so than Morcant-On-Sea. When the houses higher up began to topple, the ones below would stand no chance.

When this became clear to residents savvy enough to go digging for the information, they quickly sold their properties at below-market rates before the insurance companies could get wind of it. Once the severity of the situation was blown wide open, the rest of the populace either abandoned their homes or took their chances in the harbour town.

2

Hailey returned to Morcant thinking everything would be as it always was, that somehow the small fishing town of her childhood would be frozen in time, ready to resume once she made her way back. Foolish nostalgia, she told herself. Nothing ever stays the same, no matter how much you want it to.

Except Jack. Jack hadn’t changed. A little older, yes, but certainly none the wiser. The brash, cocky boy of her childhood had given way to a kind, easy-going young man, one of those rare breed of human who seemed content to swim with the current, never questioning whatever life throws at them. He was safe, uncomplicated. And sometimes Hailey needed safe and uncomplicated.

He leaned across the bed and claimed her with an arm, his eyes still tight shut. She could smell the musk of his clean sweat, and the faint scent of day-old aftershave.

“Get up,” Hailey told him softly, stroking his thick blonde hair. “We both need to go to work.”

“Uh… what day is it?” Jack mumbled, still mostly asleep. “Thought it was Sunday.”

Hailey smiled at him. “Idiot.”

He was an idiot, and she liked him for it. It was both endearing and unthreatening – her very own handsome fool. But it wasn’t quite love. He was twenty-six; she’d be nineteen soon. The two of them offered each other as much as they had to give. Maybe that was good enough in a dying town.

But her heart lay elsewhere.

3

When Rita called to Hailey, she was compelled to answer, though there were times when she resisted the insistent tug. When she did go down to meet her aunt (Rita had been Hailey’s human aunt for so much of her life it was impossible to think of her any other way), it was hard to tell if it was of her own volition or Rita’s glamour at work. She considered telling her aunt to stop summoning her that way, but that would’ve been like telling someone to stop breathing. Rita didn’t do it by choice – it was just something she projected naturally, potent pheromones unique to the Selkie. It left Hailey wondering if it was truly love she felt, or something more akin to thralldom.

Regardless, it wasn’t the selkie she’d fallen in love with. It was her Aunt Rita. And Aunt Rita was lost.

Hailey made her way down to the beach and along the wide band of pale sand that traced the peninsula. She came to the ring of fossilised trees that had so fascinated her as a child. The prehistoric monument had been built by ancient hands, human and selkie alike. Rita told her it had been a gateway once, like other ancient monuments that dotted the country. Hailey didn’t know exactly what that meant, and Rita never seemed much inclined to elaborate on her musings.

She headed over to the rocks where a naked flame-haired figure sat gazing out at the ocean. Rita hadn’t aged a day since Hailey’s childhood – she suspected the passage of time hadn’t touched her aunt for many decades – but she had changed in other ways. A smattering of red-brown mottle adorned the selkie’s body, sprinkled across her temples and down the nape of her neck. Her ribs and thighs were similarly marked. Her skin was oily and sweet smelling.

The only reminder of who this creature had once been was the sea serpent tattooed down the length of her spine, a gift from her ‘friend’ Madeline.

Rita turned to Hailey and fixed her with emerald eyes – eyes that had once been brown. “Why do you fight it?” she asked, the strange lilt of her native tongue thick and alluring, its mellifluous timbre vaguely Icelandic. It’d been strange for Hailey to come back to Morcant and hear her aunt talking like that, her rough English accent all but vanished in the intervening years.

Hailey took a place next to her aunt. “I can make up my own mind whether I want to come or not.”

“You didn’t need to think about it when you were a child. You just followed your heart.”

“I’m not eleven anymore,” Hailey told her without much rancour. “And back then I didn’t realise what you were doing.”

Rita turned her attention back to the ocean with a faint smile. Hailey hated that smile. It didn’t belong to her aunt, the woman she’d loved with such intensity. “Something’s coming, Hailey. Something big. I think I will return to the cycle soon.”

More vague nonsense. It seemed her aunt was intent on speaking in riddles these days.

Hailey kissed her aunt on the mouth, then whispered the words that she wanted to scream. “Come back to me. Please.”

Rita wiped away her niece’s tears and smiled that imposter’s smile. “I’m here. Don’t you see me?”

Hailey wondered if this was how the friends and family of Alzheimer’s sufferers felt as they watched their beloved husband or wife or parent fading away, helpless to stop it happening. Those people were forced to accept the horrible truth of their situations – that their loved ones would never get better; never return to them. But like the people racked by that terrible disease, the old Rita still surfaced from time to time, and in some ways that made it worse. Hailey held fast to a thin hope that her Aunt Rita could be drawn fully out, that somehow she could still be set free. Sometimes hope can be a terrible limbo.

And there was another uncomfortable truth – that this flame-haired imposter was the real Rita. This was who she’d been before Derek had stolen her sealskin and bound her to the land. Hailey even had a vague memory when she was very small, of a quiet, almost confused woman her uncle had introduced as his wife. Had the loud, brash Aunt Rita she’d known and loved merely been a persona, a corrupted version of the selkie she had once been? Was she mourning someone who had never truly existed?

Rita’s sealskin lay behind her, draped across the rocks. It shimmered in the sun, seeming to pulsate with a life of its own. It shared a symbiotic relationship with its host. All those years ago Hailey had found the sealskin buried in a sea cave along the shore, hidden there for years. Separated from her aunt for so long, it had shrivelled and died, but Hailey had watched it miraculously regenerate in front of her eyes when selkie and skin were reunited.

What would happen if she stole her aunt’s sealskin, just as her uncle had done all those years ago? Would Aunt Rita return to her? Was that the only way to bring her back? It wasn’t the first time Hailey had considered doing such a terrible thing, and it shamed her. She pushed the thought away.

4

The office was quiet when Hailey wandered in later that morning. There were only three of them working on the local rag now, and Leonie was over on the mainland covering some football match. That left Hailey and head honcho Mike manning the fort, not that it was in much danger of being overrun any time soon.

Hailey was finishing up her article on local marine conservation efforts when Mike called her into his office. She sat down in the chair opposite his desk. She knew what was coming.

“Listen, Hailey, there’s no easy way to say this—”

“You’re firing me.”

Mike stared at her blank-eyed for a moment, then managed to compose himself. “Not firing, no – laying off.”

Hailey was pretty sure they were the same thing, but didn’t bother pointing it out.

After an awkward pause, Mike added, “The thing is, it’s last to join, first to go, and Leonie’s been here longer than you. I know it’s not fair, but… well, the money’s running out. I just can’t afford to keep you on much longer.”

“It’s okay.”

Mike pulled his glasses away to pinch the bridge of his nose. “It’s not okay. None of this is okay. It won’t be long before we have to shut down the whole paper.”

“Nothing much to report in a ghost town, I suppose.”

“Yeah. But listen, this was only ever a stop gap for you, right? Morcant’s been a good place to cut your teeth, learn the tricks of the trade, but the big bucks are out there on the mainland. You would’ve left eventually.”

Hailey didn’t know if that was true or not. She’d seen this place as a new life, or perhaps the reclaiming of an old one. Maybe not as a journalist – Mike was right about that. Even with a healthy populace, The Morcant Echo had never exactly been The Daily Mail. But as a published novelist writing her magnum opus from her beloved Cornish fishing town? She’d fallen in love with the idea, even if it was jumping the gun somewhat on the novel front. Now, though? She wasn’t sure. Morcant-On-Sea was not the hub of hustle bustle it’d once been. The town reeked of decay.

“Well,” Mike continued, “you don’t need to decide what you want to do right away. I can keep you on for a few more months. I just wanted to be upfront with you. I owe you that, at least.”

“I appreciate it.”

“How’s that novel coming along?”

Her first book was finished. She’d been pushing it around various publishing houses, but hadn’t had any takers yet. In the meantime, she’d begun work on a second, and told Mike as much.

“It’ll get picked up sooner or later, I’m sure of it,” he said, and Hailey wondered if he was just telling her what he thought she wanted to hear.

She had no idea if the book was good or not. Sometimes it seemed like literary genius to her; on other days, the scribblings of a child. Either way, she wasn’t hugely concerned. The consensus seemed to be that no writer should be trying to get published before they had an ample sum of years and life experiences under their belt. She was only eighteen. An exceptionally mature eighteen, with an intellect beyond her years, but eighteen nonetheless.

“Then I can tell everyone the famous novelist Hailey Ellis used to work for me,” Mike was saying.

Hailey found herself laughing at the notion. “Wouldn’t that be a splendid thing?”

“Absolutely.”

5

She found Uncle Derek down by the harbour. The tide had slowly inched away, exposing a flat expanse of muddy sand. He was harvesting cockles under the tangerine sky of early evening, inspecting each excavated crustacean before dropping them into a plastic carrier bag, occasionally casting one aside. There was something mundanely tragic about the scene, and Hailey’s heart broke every time she saw him out here. He’d been a proud fisherman once, with his own trawler and crew. Now he was reduced to this.

But Hailey knew the real reason he came out here.

Rita wouldn’t show herself to him. She was wary, Hailey guessed. And who could blame her after what he’d done? Stolen her sealskin and hidden it away for years, leaving her unable to return to the ocean. She had loved him, for sure – that was her nature – but doesn’t a domestic abuse victim still love their abuser to some extent, enough to keep forgiving them? It was an ugly parallel, and one that was hard to attribute to her uncle, but Hailey kept coming back to it all the same.

But now Rita was free of her captivity, and as far as she was concerned, it was once bitten, twice shy. Hailey told her uncle to let it go, but he wouldn’t. Or couldn’t.

“Found any good ones?” she shouted across to him from the harbour wall. Not that she knew what constituted a good cockle.

“They’re scrawny little fuckers,” her uncle hollered back. “Seem to get smaller every year. They was the size of dinner plates when I was a lad.”

“Don’t exaggerate!”

“I ain’t, girl!” Derek protested, but his grin said otherwise.

“Are they really worth the trouble? Not exactly a living, is it?”

“It ain’t about the money,” Derek said after some consideration. “It’s about the mud between yer toes, and the salt air in yer lungs. And watchin’ the sun sink into the sea.”

“Uh-huh.”

Hailey didn’t doubt the sincerity of his words, even if there was an ulterior motive behind them. They were spoken with too much earthy conviction to ever question their honesty.

“Come on,” Derek said. “Roll up them strides and give yer old uncle a hand.”

Hailey slipped her shoes off, rolled up her jeans, then waded out to where Uncle Derek waited with a spare plastic bag and a hearty smile. His beard was as full and lush as ever, but filaments of grey streaked through it now, and the lines on his face were beginning to mark the harsh passage of time.

They talked as they plucked cockles from the sand, and the conversation turned inevitably to a certain selkie.

“How is she?” Derek asked. He sounded good-natured enough, but Hailey couldn’t help notice the way he turned away from her when he spoke, as if his eyes might reveal the truth of it.

“She’s okay,” Hailey told him. “Not quite the Rita we knew, but… she’s happy, I think.”

“I’m glad.” He hooked his hands into the small of his back and arched into a stretch, a wince creasing his craggy face. “I can’t keep bein’ sorry, Hailey. It’s a dead end, you know? It don’t solve nothin’. I had to start puttin’ one foot in front of the other again.” He plucked another crustacean from the wet sand and turned it in his hands, regarding it sadly. “I just wish I could’ve explained things to her.”

“She’s not angry anymore,” Hailey offered. “I don’t think her kind dwell on things. She lives in the moment. Like an animal would, I suppose.”

“Aye. Best way to be, I reckon.”

“She asks after you.”

Derek scratched the back of his head awkwardly. “Bridge night up at the library tonight,” he said. “Female attendance has gone through the roof since I joined.”

Hailey rolled her eyes. “You’re so full of crap.”

He threw his head back and laughed that wonderful booming laugh. She didn’t hear it nearly often enough these days.

They plucked more cockles from the sand and watched the autumn sun disappear into the sea.

6

When Hailey entered the convenience store a short while later, she noticed Isla loitering in the shop’s meagre beauty department – a sparse two metres of shelf space devoted to deodorant, hair products and various other toiletries. The fourteen-year-old had her rucksack on her back, and was dressed in her school uniform. Hailey guessed she’d just gotten off the ferry from the mainland where she attended secondary school.

Hailey stood just out of sight and watched. Isla ran her hands through her shaved-at-the-sides pink bouffant, then cupped her chin in mock-concentration. Hmm… what to buy… what to buy… seemed to be what she was trying to convey, but from the way her eyes flickered furtively to left and right, Hailey strongly suspected that no money would be changing hands during this particular transaction.

And there it was – a jar of hair clay dropped into her open rucksack, closely followed by a can of antiperspirant.

Hailey approached from behind and tapped the teenager on her shoulder. “What’re you doing?”

Isla spun to face her, and Hailey saw the fight in her eyes. The fourteen-year-old deflated a little when she saw who was behind her. “Fuck! Don’t sneak up on me like that!”

“Put those things back before you get caught,” Hailey told her quietly.

“What’re you, my mum?”

“Put them back, Isla!”

“No!”

Sighing, Hailey held her basket up. “Drop them in there. And hurry up before someone sees us!”

Isla stared at her for a moment, then fished the stolen goods from her rucksack and dropped them into the basket. Hailey paid for both of their items – an old fashioned concept, she explained, but one that’s stood the test of time.

Outside the shop, Hailey handed over Isla’s ill-gotten goods. The teenager tilted her head to one side, squeezed her eyes to slits, then gave Hailey the sweetest of smiles. “Fank Yoo!”

“Save the cute act, devil spawn,” Hailey told her dryly. “I’m immune.”

Isla took Hailey’s hand, her eyes flashing suggestively. “Come home with me and I’ll prove you’re not.”

When Isla began leading her towards the beachfront property she shared with her mother, Hailey made no effort to stop her.

“What would your mum say if she found out you’d been shoplifting?”

Isla did an approximation of her mother, voice deepened to somewhere between Greta Garbo and Darth Vader, which, as it turns out, was a perfect description of Madeline.

“She’d say, ‘Isla, I’m veeery disappointed in you. I have a reputation to maintain, you know. And never mind that I used to make you stick your hand up my twat when you were a little girl. That doesn’t make me a fucking hypocrite at all, unruly child!”

Hailey tried hard not to laugh. “Okay, okay, point taken.”

“Why do you care what my dear mother thinks, anyway? You don’t even like her.”

“It’s not that I don’t like her, Isla.”

“You don’t, though.”

“All right, I don’t much. But I like you. I don’t want to see you flush your life down the toilet.”

Isla hooked her arm into Hailey’s. “Aww! So sweet!”

Madeline wasn’t home when Isla turned the key and ushered Hailey inside – she played bridge with Derek down at the library on Mondays and Thursdays. It still tickled Hailey to think of the two of them playing cards with the other, mostly elderly, residents of Morcant. They were also known to collaborate on the occasional jigsaw puzzle.

She had it on good authority (a certain pink-haired teenage informant) that Doctor Madeline had been in therapy since ‘The Selkie Incident’, but Hailey suspected her activities with Derek must have been a kind of therapy too, perhaps for both of them.

But no, Hailey didn’t like her. She couldn’t forgive the woman for what she’d done to Aunt Rita. If her uncle had been Rita’s jailor, then Madeline had been her tormentor, and that, to Hailey’s mind, was worse. Derek was family, and despite it all, loved Rita desperately, so Hailey found it easy to forgive him, but Doctor Madeline wasn’t getting off so easily.

Hailey didn’t think the doctor ever truly believed the story about Rita’s sealskin, not until the day Hailey retrieved it (mistakenly offering the skin to Madeline in the belief that she was the real selkie). Nevertheless, she had been forced to accept that the strange woman she was nursing back to health was not quite human – the x-rays and blood tests proved that, and Derek had all but confirmed it with his half-muddled sailor’s tales of Selkie, Merrow and Finfolk.

Aunt Rita pleaded with the doctor for help in the early days of her emancipation. Madeline could have opened the cage if she’d wanted to. Instead, she chose to poke and prod the creature inside, taking some perverse pleasure in corrupting the overwhelmed selkie, seducing her with sex and alcohol, and all the other trappings of humanity. That a woman would inflict such cruelty on another woman, regardless of species, somehow made it worse.

Isla corralled Hailey upstairs and into her room. The walls were plastered with posters of bands Hailey had never heard of. The fourteen-year-old switched on her stereo, and Amyl and the Sniffers blasted out of the speakers. Hailey winced and turned the volume down.

Isla undid her white school blouse button by button, taunting Hailey with her shrewd blue eyes. When the last button popped free she pulled the two halves open, then brought her hands up to cup a pair of small bare breasts, fingers scissoring back and forth across her perky nipples.

The grey plaid skirt was next, unclasped and pushed over her slim hips. She kicked it away, then fell back onto the bed with a breathless giggle. Lying there in white panties and socks, blouse slung open, her nose and ear studs glimmering like precious metal embedded in alabaster, the fourteen-year-old was the very embodiment of teen sex appeal.

Isla knew it too. “So what do you think, Hailey?” she said in a voice that sounded a little too much like her mother. “Are you still immune?”

Hailey paused a moment to take in the sight of the pink-haired nymph lolling on the bed. Slowly sinking to her knees, she tattooed kisses on each of Isla’s ankles in turn, then peppered her way up the girl’s smooth, honed calves.

When she reached the inner thighs, Isla propped herself up on her elbows and peered down at Hailey with a devilish smile. “Where do you think you’re going with that mouth?”

“Exactly where you want me to go,” Hailey told her.

“Not yet,” Isla said, then flipped herself round onto her hands and knees. “Pull my knickers down and slap my bum first.”

Hailey rolled her eyes. “Always with the spanking. Kinky little thing, aren’t you?”

She remembered spanking Isla for fun when the two of them were younger. As she recalled, Madeline had also been partial to warming her daughter’s bottom on occasion. Was it any surprise the teenager had developed such tendencies?

Hooking her fingers into the elastic of Isla’s knickers, Hailey drew them down until they reached the fourteen-year-old’s socks, then left them stretched around her ankles. Somehow that made the view even sexier.

Isla spread her knees as far as she was able, her pussy glistening with a musky dew. “I haven’t had a shower yet,” she said, peering back at Hailey with a grin. “Do I smell?”

“You smell gorgeous,” Hailey told her, breathing in the thick, tantalising scent.

“I got detention after school. The teacher was looking at her phone and not paying attention, so I spent nearly the whole hour masturbating. I’m always so fucking randy!”

“Nice to know you’re making good use of your time. Want me to eat you out now?”

Isla gave her head a hard shake. “Spank me first… or no pussy for you, Hailey Wailey!”

Drawing back a hand, Hailey whacked the teenager half-heartedly on the arse.

“Harder,” Isla demanded, so Hailey slapped her again, using more force this time. “Harder, I said!”

“I am.”

“You’re not! Make it hurt or fuck off!”

She should’ve given the teenager an earful for speaking to her like that, maybe walked out altogether. Instead, Hailey got to her feet and gave the little shit what she wanted, swinging her arm back and whacking her almost full force across one bum cheek, then the other. The loud crack echoed off the walls.

“That’s it, hit me!“ Isla cried. “You know you like it as much as I do!”

The schoolgirl pushed her bum back, inviting further punishment. Her arse was turning a cherry red, intensifying in colour as Hailey continued her relentless assault.

“You nasty lady!” Isla squealed in the bizarre high-pitched anime voice she was convinced everyone found endearing. “I’m telling Mooommmyyyyy!”

“Is this what you want, bad girl?” Hailey snarled. Then more words, each one accompanied by a slap. “Don’t. Ever. Let. Me. Catch. You. Stealing. Again!”

She found herself enjoying administering the beating more than she’d admit. Sometimes harsh truths reveal themselves in the bedroom.

“S-spank my pussy, too!” Isla blurted.

Hailey’s hand froze mid-swing. “Uh… what?”

“I’m gonna come soon! Spank my pussy! Hurry!”

Hailey slapped the teenager’s exposed mound. It landed with a dull thwack.

“Harder, Hailey! Make it sting!”

Hailey whipped her hand against Isla’s pussy, this time making contact with the tips of her fingers instead of the palm. When she caught it at just the right angle, a satisfying snap rang out. It’s just like skimming stones across a pond, she mused. It takes a while to get a good one, but when you do, oh how it flies!

Snap!

“Yes!” Isla screeched.

Hailey smacked her again and again, the teenager’s wetness only increasing the friction of skin on skin.

Snap! Snap! Snap!

Isla broke out into a series of violent shudders, her back arching spasmodically. She collapsed onto the bed and writhed against the sheets, her moans muffled by a pillow. The stereo oozed out Iggy Pop’s “Funtime.”

Finally, Isla rolled onto her back and blew the fluffy pink fringe from her eyes. She slipped the half-removed panties all the way off, and when she opened her legs, her sex was red, swollen, and very wet. “Maybe you should come kiss it better now,” she cooed in butter-wouldn’t-melt tones.

Once more, Hailey folded to her knees. A hand upon each of Isla’s smooth inner thighs, she bent to lap at the tart confection before her. Was there anything more exquisitely erotic than the taste of a young adolescent girl, the taste of a girl who’s spent most of the day edging herself under a desk when she should’ve been studying? Hailey flicked her tongue across the twitching teenager’s clit, coaxing several more smaller climaxes from her.

“Why do you still have your clothes on?“ a breathless Isla wondered.

Hailey made short work in remedying that. Now both naked and sprawled across the bed, Isla climbed over her friend until the two of them were mouth to pussy. When Hailey closed her lips around Isla’s clit, the teenager jerked away with a gasp.

“Too sensitive! Lick my bumhole instead, okay?”

Hailey dragged another pillow beneath her head, then spread Isla’s still-chafed bum cheeks apart. She teased the musky rosebud with feather-light flicks before wriggling her tongue inside. Isla grazed Hailey’s cunt with her teeth, a finger finding its way into her older friend’s arse.

Hailey came quickly, letting the waves wash over her, tongue still firmly planted inside Isla’s arsehole.

Isla flipped herself around and settled her body back atop Hailey’s, the two of them now face to face. “Why doesn’t the mermaid come visit me anymore?” she asked with a smirk, rubbing herself back and forth against Hailey’s pussy.

“She has a name,” Hailey told her defensively, “and she’s not a bloody mermaid.“

From the way Isla’s eyes sparkled so gleefully, it was just the sort of response she sought to provoke. She could be such a little brat sometimes.

“Reee-taa!” Isla mocked in a liquid growl. “Reee-taa the mermaid!”

“Stop pretending to be your mother, you childish little bitch.”

“Fuck you!”

“So do it! Fuck me!”

She never made it easy, did Isla. Sex was always like a war of attrition with her, the polar opposite of Jack’s gentler ways. But just as she was drawn to Jack’s tender, attentive love, there were times when Hailey needed this, too – this dark thing that smouldered between her and Isla, as much vengeance as it was desire.

7

Hailey awakened with a start in the small hours of the morning, a lingering cold sweat making her pyjamas cling to her body. Her sleep had been plagued by images of earthquakes, dead rising from the sea, terrible winged monsters.

But it hadn’t been the nightmares that’d roused her from an uneasy slumber. Rita was calling to her again. The summons had an urgent edge to it, and seemed to be coming from somewhere much closer than the beach this time. She hadn’t seen her aunt for several weeks, but that wasn’t so unusual – Rita came and went, as was her nature.

Hailey climbed out of bed – her own bed, in the attic of the old lighthouse keeper’s cottage. It was the first time she’d slept in it for days. It occurred to her that she might be spreading herself a little too thin of late. Jack, Rita, Isla – they all took their share. Was there any part left to call her own anymore? It didn’t seem to speak well of a supposedly independent young woman.

She slipped on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, then crept out of the cottage, as she’d often done as a young girl. Habit took her across the empty yard where Rita had once tinkered with Morcant’s cars, then toward the gated entrance that led down to the harbour. She paused, her attention drawn towards the lighthouse keeping vigil some yards away, its bright beacon constant and somehow reassuring. The door had been left ajar. Hailey hastened towards it, then began the long climb to the top.

Upon reaching the light chamber, she found a naked Rita hunched on the floor behind the central daise, knees hugged tightly against her chest. The sealskin lay beside her, its red hue now flecked with bits of white. Hailey clapped a hand to her mouth in horror and rushed towards her aunt.

“Aunt Rita! What happened to you?”

Her aunt’s hair was grey and lifeless, her pallid, sickly skin exuding a milky, oily substance, the rich ocean smell of it assaulting Hailey’s senses. Rita’s lips were dry and cracked, scabbed over with the same stuff that crusted her eyelids. Her whole body seemed to be draped in some kind of cobweb-like material.

Rita reached out and placed a cold, damp hand on Hailey’s cheek. “Who am I, Hailey? Who am I?” she croaked. “I am Reeta of the Selkie, ambassador to my people. ‘Witch-friend’ they called me – first to tease, then later out of respect. I am Rita the mechanic. Fishwife. Aunt. Yes, those too! Long years have I lived. I do not want to forget them!”

“You’re not well,” Hailey sobbed, brushing her aunt’s colourless hair back from her face. “I’ll fetch Madeline. She’ll help you.”

Rita clamped a hand around Hailey’s arm. “This is not sickness, Hailey. It is change. Nothing can stop it. Long ago we held rituals to usher in the metamorphosis, but the old ways have been forgotten. There are so few of us left now. So few…”

“I don’t understand. How are you changing? There must be something we can do!”

Rita’s hand tightened on Hailey’s arm. “Listen to me. The child… the child is coming.”

“The child? What child?”

“The Beekeeper’s child. She’s coming. And something terrible pursues her. Echoes of what’s to come… even now, they ripple through the water.”

It seemed like more cryptic nonsense to Hailey. But Rita was on the Path of the Siren. In the days of the Tuatha Dé Danann, those blessed, or perhaps cursed, with such a rare rebirth were revered, the change considered sacrosanct. For those on the path could tap into days yet to come, their perception of time coiling and dilating in strange configurations to offer glimpses of what might be. Even the mighty Dryad could not command such farsight, fleeting though it was.

But all Hailey wanted was to get Rita back, the way she had been. Her elusive aunt haunted the selkie, here one moment, gone the next, impossible to pin down. That was heartbreak enough. Now this. Whatever the hell this was

Hailey gently cradled her aunt’s face. “Come back to me, Aunt Rita. Please.”

And she did. Just briefly. The Aunt Rita she remembered from childhood. Hailey peered into her eyes, and there she was.

Rita gave her niece a weary smile. “Oh, we are so fucked, kid…”

On to Chapter One!