69 Barrow Street Read online

  She stood up and paced the room for a few moments, her trim legs carrying her back and forth from the window to the door. She paused at the window for a moment to see if she could find Ralph but he was already out of sight. Standing by the window, her breasts heaving, she realized all at once that she was naked. She blushed automatically and took a quick step away, wondering whether or not anyone had seen her.

  Of course it really didn’t matter one way or the other. But everything was turmoilish enough as things stood without her inflaming some poor man outside who happened to be star-gazing. She tossed herself down in the armchair out of sight—but now that the idea had come into her head the idea of sitting around naked made her uncomfortable.

  She remembered that time when she and Sharon had discovered a Peeping Tom in the building across the street. The nervy son of a bitch had a pair of binoculars trained on their window and was getting himself a good eyeful. He must have been getting his kicks in style—instead of watching one girl take off her clothes he had the rare opportunity of watching two girls making love.

  But after they spotted him and his damned binoculars they ruined his little game forever by lowering the blinds before so much as unzipping a zipper or unbuttoning a button.

  She dressed nervously now, her whole mind still reeling in circles. She had been telling Ralph the whole truth, and it was tough for her to tell the truth in a case like this. For that matter it was hard to be sure just what was true and what wasn’t. The whole affair was wholly unlike anything she had experienced in the past. She was really in love with Ralph, deeply in love with him. No other word but love could possibly convey the feeling she had for him.

  But—

  That, she admitted, was the hang-up. But. The almighty but, the omnipresent but, the little word that got in the way and turned everything upside-down.

  But.

  But me no buts, she thought fiercely. But me no goddam buts.

  But where did she go from here?

  It was as much of a mix-up as she could imagine, and thinking about it she had to laugh to herself. She was a lesbian, a dyed-in-the-wool, twenty-four karat, one hundred percent dyke, a man-hating, lady-loving daughter of Sappho—and she was in love with a man. It was so ridiculous it made her laugh and so horribly hopeless she felt like shooting herself.

  And, to top it all off, she needed sex desperately. It had been quite a while now—a long time between drinks, and she was getting pretty damned thirsty. Not since Gloria, and that was how long? She couldn’t stop to remember, but it was a long time.

  She needed a woman.

  It would be much nicer all around, she reflected, if she needed a man. Then she could go find Ralph and crawl in bed with him and they would both be happy. Then everything would be just hunky-dory, happy and all, and there would be no more problems for little Susan.

  But it wasn’t that way at all.

  She needed a woman.

  But who? What did you do when you needed a woman? She could do what she had always done—make the rounds of the gay bars until she ran into some other frustrated babe out on the town and hungry for a playmate. That was generally easy enough. Then off to somebody’s bedroom and to hell with everything but the pure physical and emotional hunger that had drawn the two of them together in the first place.

  But she didn’t want that. That was the sort of thing she had never wanted, the blindly promiscuous craving that made most male and female homosexuals more than a little repulsive to her. It was as if their abnormality gave them a right to flout all the other conventions of the world along with the basic convention of heterosexuality. Once the one bridge was crossed, nothing was supposed to stand between them and the fulfillment of their physical needs.

  She didn’t go along with that notion. Just because she preferred women was no reason for her to take sex without anything more than unreasoning hunger. Why, there were men and women who chose sexual partners without so much as an interest in physical attraction! If those people just found somebody willing to sack out with them, that was all they were interested in. That wasn’t her idea of the way to run your life at all.

  Which left her right where she started from.

  In love—but with no way to consummate that love. And in heat—with no way to cool off.

  When the answer came to her she couldn’t figure out how she had managed to go so long without thinking of it. It seemed tremendously obvious, and it was a wonder to her that it hadn’t hit her mind right at the beginning.

  Because there was a woman she was attracted to, a woman she had wanted from the moment she first laid eyes on her. A woman who wanted her and would be ready and willing to start an affair with her. A woman she wouldn’t have to worry about hurting because the woman seemed to be immune to emotional pain.

  A woman named Stella James.

  Yes, it would be purely physical. And blindly promiscuous. All the things she reviled. But—

  But Stella would want her; Stella would be quick to accept her love. And with Stella it could be quick and simple, a relationship based upon mutual need and mutual attraction, with no strings on either side. With Stella she wouldn’t feel that she was cheating on Ralph, either—if only because the affair was going to be so basically empty on all but a physical plane.

  Then she would be able to make up her mind. Once she unwound and was able to relax physically her mind would be able to work on the problem that was currently banging it into walls. Once she could lie down in Stella’s arms for a quick and desperate orgasm, then the sex bit would leave her alone long enough for her to get some serious thinking done.

  That was the answer.

  She looked at herself in the mirror and decided quickly that a sloppy blouse and a pair of dungarees was hardly the outfit for a love affair. She changed into a dress—it was the first time in weeks she had had occasion to wear one. The dress was navy blue and it fit her figure perfectly, accentuating the calves and thighs and breasts. She went overboard and put on a pair of high-heeled shoes. She combed her hair very methodically until it was all quite perfect and placed a drop of her best perfume behind the lobe of each ear.

  “You,” she said to her reflection, “look remarkably young and lovely.”

  And she blew a kiss at the mirror and walked out of the apartment and down the stairs.

  Now that her mind was made up she didn’t waste time. She walked at once to the door of the first floor apartment and knocked three times. She wasn’t even nervous anymore. Indecision was worse than any decision for her—once her mind was settled she was always much calmer, much more relaxed in every way. When Stella opened the door a smile came at once to her lips and stayed there.

  Stella had spent the earlier part of the day doing next to nothing. She was dressed quite informally in comparison to Susan but looked lovely nevertheless. A skimpy polka dot halter encased her huge breasts and matching short-shorts covered her hips and thighs like a coat of paint. Her eyes lit up when she saw Susan.

  “Well,” she said. “Come in.”

  Wordlessly the girl followed her inside. Stella led the way to the couch in the front room and the two sat down on it side by side. Susan waited for Stella to speak; Stella, on the other hand, said nothing in an effort to force the younger girl to take the initiative.

  Then Susan said: “I wanted to see you.”

  “Oh?”

  Susan didn’t say anything.

  “Why?”

  “I think you know why.”

  “To borrow a cup of sugar?”

  “No.”

  “That’s the general reason in the stories. People are always dropping in on other people to borrow a cup of sugar. I don’t know—maybe the line’s so worn-out that nobody uses it anymore.”

  “I don’t want any sugar.”

  “Oh?” A smile appeared on Stella’s lips and light danced in her eyes. Susan’s lips formed a thin line. She didn’t smile. She didn’t say anything.

  “Well, you would have been out of luck i
f that’s what you came for. I don’t use sugar—don’t even keep it around the house.”

  Susan was beginning to get annoyed. Making conversation was one thing but playing games was another. And she didn’t want to play games.

  For a moment she considered getting up and getting out. Hell, she wasn’t so hard up that she had to chase after another woman. But she changed her mind and decided to stay. If Stella wanted to play it that way she would be willing to make the concession.

  “If it wasn’t sugar, what in the world did you come for?”

  “You know.”

  “I do?”

  “Of course you do.”

  “What makes you so sure?”

  Susan’s anger flared. “Damn it, you know what I came for and you want me. I know you want me—you made that obvious every time I’ve seen you. Why do you have to drive me crazy like this?”

  Stella smiled.

  “Please,” Susan said. “Please.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t you want me?”

  In answer Stella’s hand dropped to Susan’s thigh. The girl’s flesh was soft but firm beneath the thin fabric of the blue dress. Stella’s hand lingered there for a moment before she spoke, her fingers kneading the girl’s thigh gently.

  “Of course I want you.”

  “Then—”

  “I just wanted to be sure,” she went on. Her hand moved higher.

  “How could you help being sure?”

  Stella laughed. “You spend so much time with Ralph, I thought maybe I was wrong and you weren’t gay after all. I guess I was mistaken.”

  Susan’s mouth opened and she started to say how things were between her and Ralph, that she was in love with him. But the words refused to come out. Somehow she knew that this woman would only laugh at the private hell she was going through. She remembered what Ralph had said to her about Stella and decided that he was right.

  Susan stood up. “If you want to talk,” she said levelly, “you can find somebody else to talk to. I don’t feel in the mood for conversation.”

  “Neither do I.”

  “Then—”

  Stella stood up, the taunting smile fading into a stare of unashamed lust. “I want you,” she said. “I’ve wanted you all along. Come here.”

  Susan moved closer to the woman. Their eyes met.

  “Look at me.”

  Susan did as she was told. Slowly her eyes travelled the length of Stella’s body, studying the swelling calves, the tightly muscled thighs, the wide hips and flat stomach and the high, full, glorious breasts. Her gaze took in the blonde hair, the perfect features, the deep eyes.

  “Do you like what you see?”

  Susan nodded. She couldn’t speak.

  “Take off my halter.”

  Her fingers trembling, Susan reached around the woman and groped for the catch on the polka dot halter. The movement brought their bodies together and Susan felt Stella’s body press against her, felt the softness of her breasts and the strength in her hips and thighs.

  After two false starts her fingers managed to undo the catch on the halter. She pulled it off and dropped it to the floor, her mouth forming a little O at the sight of Stella’s breasts. They were so big, so perfect, so completely white except for the hard red nipples.

  “Look at me.”

  The command was unnecessary. Susan couldn’t have possibly looked elsewhere.

  “Now the shorts.”

  Susan bent over and reached for the front of Stella’s shorts. Her fingers had a great deal of trouble with the button at the top but she finally managed to get it open. Then came the zipper which was easier. When the zipper was unzipped she had to pull the shorts down over Stella’s hips and thighs. The bigger girl stood completely motionless, making no move to assist her. At last the shorts dropped to the floor and Stella stepped out of them. All that remained was a pair of filmy white panties.

  “The panties,” Stella said. That was all she said, but Susan could tell that the woman was hungry and ready for her. She was breathing faster and harder now and her hand seemed to be shaking.

  The panties were easy. Again Stella was completely motionless and again the girl had to do everything herself. When the brief panties rested on the floor Stella stepped out of them and kicked them across the room in one motion.

  They stood completely still and wholly silent for almost a full minute. Susan felt strangely embarrassed, as if Stella was dressed and she herself the naked one instead of the other way around.

  Then Stella said: “Now your clothes.”

  She took off her dress very precisely and methodically. For some reason there was no haste in the process—she wasn’t in any rush at all. She was in the middle of something and she intended to go through with it. But that was all. Any hunger she had felt in the beginning, any lust for the other girl’s beautiful body—it all had drained out of her for some reason which she couldn’t begin to figure out.

  She folded her dress neatly and placed it on the couch. Then she removed her bra and panties and put them, too, on the couch. She stood naked for a moment in her high-heeled shoes—then she took them off, too, and put them together at the foot of the couch.

  Stella’s eyes were bold. They stared at the hair she had taken so much time to comb and ran the length of Susan’s body. They studied the small but perfect breasts a long time and then moved to the special place, the secret place, the place where no man had ever been. And for some incomprehensible reason Susan felt embarrassed and frightened, as if it were a man who was looking at her.

  “You’re very lovely, Susan.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Do you think I’m attractive?”

  “You know you are.”

  “Tell me.”

  Pause.

  “Tell me, Susan.”

  “You’re…very beautiful.”

  “Thank you.”

  God, God, God. Why didn’t they just do it and get it over with? Why all this preliminary nonsense that neither of them needed? Or perhaps this was what Ralph had meant when he talked of Stella’s need to hurt, to dominate. Maybe her taunting had a purpose; maybe that was what Stella needed in order to enjoy what followed it.

  Susan didn’t know. All she knew was that she was beginning to regret the whole business. She wished vaguely that she was back in her own apartment by herself. But now that she was here she might as well get it over and done with.

  “Give me your hand, Susan.”

  Stella took her by the hand and led her back to the bedroom. Susan went along without a word, accepting what was going to happen and walking with quick, nervous steps. The bedroom was messy and disordered, with the bed unmade and clothing scattered on the floor. The appearance of the room added a note of cheapness and illicitness to the whole affair and increased her apprehensions. Maybe it would have been better if she had just stayed by herself, alone and frustrated but at least safe—

  “Lie down, Susan.”

  She sat down on the messy bed, then stretched out on it. She tried to close her eyes and relax but her eyelids refused to close and her body only grew more tense and rigid at the thought of relaxation. When she did manage to get her eyes shut her head began to reel and she felt as though she was going to be sick. She had to open her eyes once again in order to get her bearings.

  “Wait here.”

  Susan waited; there was nothing else for her to do. Stella left the room for a moment and Susan tried to figure out where she was going or what she was going to do. Maybe she just wanted to keep her waiting, thinking that it would make her even more nervous than she already was. Well, if that was her idea, it was certainly working. A fine sweat broke out on Susan’s forehead and she felt her palms growing moist with perspiration as well. She didn’t want anything now except to be back in her own room, didn’t want the sexual release that Stella was willing to provide her with, didn’t want anything but peace and solitude and the safety of being alone.

  For one wild minute
she considered the idea of getting up and running out of the room, grabbing up her clothes and racing up the stairs and to hell with Stella James. But the moment passed and the thought went with it. She just didn’t have the nerve to run away now.

  After what seemed like much longer than it was, Stella strode back into the room. She didn’t bother to explain where she had been or what she had been doing. Instead she sat down on the edge of the bed facing Susan. The familiar smile reappeared on her face.

  She reached out a hand and stroked Susan’s cheek. Susan tried to relax and respond to the touch but she found it impossible. She seemed to be frozen inside—Stella’s hand on her cheek was nothing, just a lump of clay.

  “You’re lovely,” Stella was saying, “and I want you very much. But I guess you know how much I want you.”

  Words of love. But this time they were just words, dead words, empty words. This time they meant nothing to her, meant even less than they must have meant to Stella. Instead of a sexual response Susan could think of nothing but the essential emptiness of the situation.

  Stella’s hand moved to her breast. Her hand was very large and her fingers encircled the breast, the nipple snug in the girl’s palm. The fingers began to manipulate the breast just as so many fingers had manipulated Susan’s breasts so many times.

  But this time it was nothing—no feelings whatsoever coursed through her body. There were times before when her sexual partner meant little or nothing to Susan, times when the woman involved was a good deal less attractive than Stella.

  But never before had her body refused to respond.

  Stella’s thumb and forefinger found the nipple of Susan’s breast and began to play with it. Stella pulled and squeezed at the nipple and it grew hard, but Susan knew that it was only a reflex. Fingering automatically made a nipple harden—and she was still unmoved, still unexcited, still cold and fully unresponding.

  Stella smiled. “Don’t you like what I’m doing?”

  No answer.