Date: Fri, 24 Jan 2014 11:27:35 +0000
From: Moonbrand <moonbrand@gmail.com>
Subject: The Cowgirls: How It All Began

The Cowgirls
by Moonbrand

This story is copyright the author. It is a work of fiction and contains
graphic descriptions of sexual activity between women. If this type of
activity is likely to offend you, please do not read any further. The
author welcomes comments on her story to Moonbrand@gmail.com.

Prologue – How It All Began

Reminiscing with Ma about their first time together caused Sal to remember
a night around the campfire several months before when the girls had all
shared how it started for them. It was a bitter-sweet experience with some
of the stories being quite heartbreaking. Perhaps saddest of all was
Carita.

Carita's Story

Born into a poor Mexican family, Carita was repeatedly raped by her father
and uncle from a very young age. Eventually, at the age of thirteen she had
had enough so she took her father's shotgun and shot him dead in the bed he
laid in beside her mother. She then went around town to her uncle's shack
and slaughtered him in the same way. Fearing for her life now, she fled to
the United States where she eventually found work in a cook house on a
large ranch. Here the men treated her differently; like the child she
appeared to be. She was fascinated by their cowboy lifestyle and she often
snuck out of the cook house and on to the range to watch them
working. Though they shouldn't have encouraged her they did, teaching her
to ride properly, to brand steers, to use a lariat and much more. The women
at the cook house were unconcerned. They could recognise a troubled soul
when they saw one and were happy for her to grow up in the way she pleased.

There was one woman in particular who took an interest in Carita. Also
Mexican – as most of the cook house staff were – Ana was probably
only in her early twenties so not so much older than Carita who had just
turned 14. She was very beautiful in an especially Hispanic way with a mass
of dark curls that framed a dιcolletage built on almost perfect breasts
and colourful frilled tops. Carita found herself staring at Ana's breasts
more frequently than seemed right. She longed to get close to the girl and
nestle her face in that cleavage.

At night the women all shared a long bunk room. To give themselves a little
privacy they strung blankets between their beds and Ana's space was at the
far end of the room against one wall. Laying awake after midnight one
night, Carita decided she wanted the company of Ana and crept passed the
sleeping women to Ana's bed. Slipping under the blanket she saw the young
woman sleeping on a simple wooden bed. She had no blanket on as it was a
hot Californian night and she wore a simple shift. Carita stood and stared
for several minutes unsure of what to do next but a sixth sense must have
woken Ana as she stirred and opened her eyes. She looked curiously at the
child and an unspoken conversation took place.

Eventually Ana turned so she was lying flat on her back. She hoisted her
shift up, opened her legs and gestured to Carita to go between her open
legs. Carita obeyed and feeling foolish standing above the bed, she dropped
to her knees. In front of her she saw a straggle of dark hairs through
which some crinkled flesh poked through. She knew what it was of course but
knew little about it. She had never even touched her self since her
traumatic experiences with her father and his brother. So for a few moments
she stared at Ana's crotch without any idea of what was expected. It gave
her time to notice a fragrant smell filling her nostrils. A smell she liked
that made her feel warm. Then Ana whispered two words to her: "Lick me!"

So Carita press her mouth towards Ana's genitals and tentatively ran her
tongue through the bushy pubes. The rough hair didn't feel particularly
good on her tongue but when she ran the tip over the crinkly flesh it was
different. She felt Ana's groin twitch below her mouth and so she licked
the flesh again, much harder. She swore it pulsed beneath her tongue and so
she tried again. She tasted something good. Looking at what she was doing
she could now see two lips flowering out. They were slick with moisture and
not just from her saliva. They looked quite kissable which is what she did
next, then realised she could poke her tongue between them. She could have
happily played like this for ever but she suddenly felt Ana's hand behind
her head pushing her face hard against the women's crotch. Quite rightly
she took this as a signal to lick more and to lick harder which she did.

And Carita just kept on licking until tongue burned with pain. Without
further instruction she didn't no what else to do, besides she was enjoying
the sensation of the warm met flesh at her mouth. She felt Ana's hips buck
and tried to keep her tongue on target. She heard the woman groaning
despite the fact that Ana had pressed her hand across her own mouth to
stifle the noise. At the top of the fleshy lips Carita discovered a small
swollen knob of flesh that wasn't there before. She found that my flicking
this with her tongue Ana shivered uncontrollably. She enjoyed the power she
had in making the woman squirm.

For at least five minutes she licked and licked. Even her jaw was aching
but she kept going. Then Ana grunted loudly into her hand; bucked her hips
wildly and her groin convulsed. Ana kept her mouth pressed there despite
the violent movement and felt warm, wet and sticky liquid pulse into her
mouth. Again, uncertain of what to do she carried out her only instruction
and licked. This time however, Ana gently pushed her face away from her
groin. She kissed her fingers and placed them on Carita's forehead and
smiled gratefully at the girl. Then pulling down her shift she turned on to
her side and fell back into a deep sleep. Carita, feeling slightly
dismissed, returned to her own bed where, realising she couldn't use her
tongue on her own vagina, licked three fingers and stroked her pussy lips
imagining it was Ana's tongue instead.

And that was Carita's life for the next two years. Learning the skills of a
cowboy during the day and the skill of making love to a woman most nights:
she had never been happier.

Mary's Story

Mary's story was no less tragic. Born into slavery on a West Virginian
plantation, Mary was also raped as a teenage girl although her masters
thought it a right rather than an abuse. Of course, Mary was not only slave
girl to suffer the same humiliation as all but the oldest women underwent
the same thing most weeks. However, Mary was singled out for another
degradation on a frequent basis. For some reason the Mistress of the house
had taken a huge dislike to the young slave girl. She found fault in
everything the girl did and punished her on an almost daily basis. The
punishment was normally a beating with a strap or a stick and was usually
carried out by the Mistress herself. Mary's friend hinted that the woman
maybe got a kick out of delivering the beating but on one occasion when
Mary was accused – quite wrongly - of stealing food from the kitchen the
Mistress demanded of her husband that he girl be sent away. The Master put
his foot down and said that whilst he was happy for his wife to dole out
whatever punishments she deemed appropriate, the girl was a good worker and
was not going to be sent away.

As the man was fucking her that very night, Mary mused things over and came
to the conclusion that she was actually a favourite of the man and it was
that knowledge that provoked such animosity within his wife. Realising this
changed nothing of course so Mary just vowed to bear her beatings with the
same indifference she bore her maulings by the Master and his men.

As a matter of fact they were much easier to bear. The Mistress tended to
use a wide strap of a tick batten of wood rather than the whip that some of
the men had to endure. Even a thin cane would have bitten her flesh more
viciously. Coupled with the fact that the Mistress chose to carry out the
beatings herself and her privileged lifestyle had hardly given her much
more strength than a child. And also, she laid down the beating over Mary's
clothes, giving weight to Mary's theory that there was no sexual
gratification in it for the woman. Thus, when she knew she was to be
beaten, Mary could wrap some additional cloth around her buttocks to
cushion the weak blows. All in all, a beating from her Mistress left her
with a buzzing and warm arse.

In fact, although there may have been no sexual agenda for the Mistress,
Mary was developing one of her own. She was coming to enjoy the regular
beatings. The Mistress had no proper system and sometimes she would beat
the girl once a week and other times almost every day for a fortnight. The
number of strokes bore no relevance to the alleged crime and Mary never
knew quite how many she was top receive, This anticipation added
exhilaration to the process for her. The more she thought about enjoying
the strokes the more she actually did. She spent much of the punishment
time shifting around and changing her position. The Mistress thought she
was fidgeting uncomfortably and chastised her for it but in fact Mary was
trying to ensure that the blows landed further down her legs and closer to
her tingling pussy. If she could have got a blow across her swollen labia
she would have been in heaven but her thighs and well rounded arse stopped
this from ever happening.

Nevertheless, Mary continued to get increasing pleasure from the beatings
and on more than one occasion felt her wetness flowing. She imagined her
Mistress' face if she saw a trickle of liquid running down her thighs but
she knew that the extra layers of cloth wrapped around her absorbed this
guilty symbol. Afterwards, Mary would unwrap the cloth from around her and
press the damp material to her face. She sniffed the fragrant cotton and
relived the punishment time and time again.

It was ironic and so very pleasing that Mary – the slave – was
getting so much pleasure from what her Mistress felt was a punishment. It
especially pleased Mary that the woman was getting older and frailer and
finding the exertion of dishing out the beatings so much harder. And when
the woman was too ill to continue Mary was most disappointed. Shortly
afterwards the woman passed away and life continued much as it had been
before. Her visits from the Master were less frequent as he too was getting
older but there were always his sons and others to rape and abuse all the
girls. Mary's own parents both died in the same summer and Mary was left to
bring up her three younger siblings. Another slave girl of a similar age to
Mary had no family on the plantation and offered to help Mary with her
parenting. In time they became close and the girl shared Mary's bed as
well. No one in the slave quarters blinked an eye at this although they
kept it secret from the white folks.

Then, as Mary and her companion entered their eighteenth year, strange
stories rampaged like wildfire through the plantation. And then one day
soon after the tobacco was harvested the Master gathered all the slaves
together and told them they were freemen. Each was given a piece of paper
attesting to this fact and a few coin before being turned off the
plantation with their few meagre possessions. After a few days milling
around town with dozens of other puzzled ex-slaves, Mary and her lover
decided they wanted to get as far away from Virginia as possible. With
Mary's three brothers and sisters they got a job as cooks on a wagon train
heading West and set out for a new and very different life.

Sally's Story

Sally was orphaned when she was only three years old and ended up in an
orphanage in San Francisco. It was run by nuns and although they were
strict and dished out punishments when necessary they were fair and
loving. It was not a bad childhood and she was taught all the domestic
chores a woman might need. However, the girls could only stay at the
orphanage until they were 14 and in the months leading up to their
fourteenth birthday the sisters put them through intense training for the
outside world and tried to find them a job and a place to live. None of
this would have been of any great significance except that, a few weeks
before Sal was due to leave, a new sister arrived at the orphanage. She was
not a novice and had come from a convent in another State. The gossip had
it that she had been forced to leave for reasons unknown.

This nun – Sister Juliet – seemed to take a personal interest in
young Sally Merchant. One Thursday evening after Vespers, Sister Juliet
called for `Miss Merchant' to be brought to her cell. Once the girl was
stood before her, the nun explained that she wanted to ensure their
teaching had been absorbed and the girl was ready to enter the outside
world in the very near future. She ordered the girl to get undressed and
stand upright before her. This was not such an unusual request as nits,
scabies and other bugs were a persistent problem at the orphanage and
regular inspections had to be made of the girls. However, less normal was
the fact that Sister Juliet wielded a long stick in her hand; the type the
nuns used in the classroom to point to things on the blackboard.

Tonight however, it was Sally who was to be pointed at. Sister Juliet
tapped her on both shoulders with the stick and commanded her to straighten
her back. Sally obliged. The woman ran the stick down the side of the
girl's arms and asked her to ensure they stayed close to her body. She ran
them round the curve of the girl's hips and declared to no-one in
particular that "womanhood was upon her". Tapping the inside of Sally's
thigh she told the young girl to open her legs a little more. Again the
obedient girl did as she was asked. Then she rested the end of the stick in
the ridge formed by Sally's developing pudenda. After leaving it there for
a moment she waggled the tip back and forth just above the girl's vagina
and seeing and hearing a soft rustle of golden fuzz she nodded to
herself. Withdrawing the stick she gestured that the girl should get
dressed and go. Sally was puzzled but not unduly concerned about the
experience. Nuns were strange creatures by any measure.

The following Thursday Sally was again summoned to the nun's room. The
exact same process was repeated except on this occasion, before she was
dismissed, Sister Juliet ordered her to turn around and bend over. She
hoped she was not to get struck by the stick as she had done nothing
wrong. Instead she felt the tip of the cane stroking the inside of her
thighs and then pressing into her most private place. She felt it travel a
little way inside her before withdrawing quickly. The nun then told her to
put her clothes on and go. Sally could have sworn Sister Juliet seemed a
little breathless when she spoke. In her bed that night Sally pondered the
inspection but couldn't find any answers so let it slip from her mind.

Once more the following Thursday she was called by Sister Juliet. Again she
was ordered to strip and stand upright before the nun. This time however,
Sister Juliet held no stick in her hands. Instead she crouched down by
Sally and used her long fingers to correct the girl's posture and to trace
the growing curves of her body. Even though Sally was sure her legs were as
far apart as they had been last week, Sister Juliet still tapped the girl's
inner thigh with two fingers and asked her to place her feet further
apart. That done she stroked the fingers up Sally's vagina – causing a
strange shiver to run up her spine – and rubbed the soft down around and
above the lips. She ordered her to turn and bend which sally complied
with. Now she felt the nun's fingers prodding and probing at the entrance
to her sex. After a moment she felt one finger slip inside her. She gasped,
both with pain and a little pleasure. The finger felt long and also
bony. She hadn't realised how thin Sister Juliet actually was. The nun
probed inside Sally as if exploring as if looking for something. Sally was
quite enjoying the experience although it was leaving her a little
sore. And then, quite suddenly, the nun withdrew her finger and told the
girl to get dressed and leave.

That night Sally couldn't let the events slip from her mind. She replayed
them over and over again and whilst trying to understand why she felt such
a guilty pleasure about it, she let her own fingers drop to her thighs and
began to explore herself. The seven days between that night and the next
Thursday were some of the most important in Sally's young life. She
discovered no end of things about her own body and reached conclusions
about many things. It was a much more sexually aware and mature girl who
stood in front of Sister Juliet the following Thursday.

She allowed the woman to make her usual inspection, again using her bony
fingers and not the stick but when she was ordered to turn around and bend
over she refused point blank. The nun looked astonished but before she
could say or do anything, Sally jumped up onto the small writing desk that
was one of the few pieces of furniture in the sparse room. She pulled her
knees up to her chin and opened her legs wide. "Go ahead," she told the nun
"But I want to watch". Sister Juliet stood stock still for a few moments
but finally stepped closer to the girl. She crossed herself before reaching
between Sally's legs with her right hand. She closed her eyes as she probed
softly around Sally's cunt but the girl didn't She watched everything
intently with considerable curiosity. The nun's finger slipped inside
her. It was easier than last week as Sally had been aroused for an hour
before she was summoned by the nun, in anticipation of what was to
come. The nun realised this and fingered the girl faster and more
frantically. Sally was loving the experience and could feel strange
sensations in her groin, her tummy and her legs. Her head was a little
light-headed and she anticipated an explosion in her body such as she had
been experiencing all week whilst her experimentation and exploration bore
fruit. It never came. Instead Sister's Juliet's finger stopped moving and
the woman seemed to shake and shiver where she stood. A powerful aroma
wafted up from under her habit. Sally was inclined to think that the nun
had had her own explosion except when Sally had hers it always made her
happy; Sister Juliet looked like a frightened rabbit. She withdrew her hand
and told the girl to get dressed and go. She was much sharper than normal
and there was no warmth in her voice. Sally scrabbled into her clothes and
fled the room.

Lying in bed that evening she was once again confused but after finishing
herself off and reaching her climax, she fell into a deep sleep and didn't
care anymore. She was never summoned to Sister Juliet's room again, in fact
she rarely saw the woman except in passing. A few weeks later Sally
Merchant left the orphanage and took up a position in a textile factory,
sharing a small room in an apartment with three other factory girls.

Peggy's Story

If the girls' stories so far had seemed full of familial and
institutionalised abuse, then Peggy's story was completely different. The
daughter of a successful and moderately wealthy business man, Margaret Cale
had a good upbringing and at 18 married a young banker who her family had
targeted. For two years they lived a happy and blissful life. Margaret kept
the home with the help of several servants and spent her leisure time
playing cards, chatting or dress-making – a pursuit she much
enjoyed. However, after two years there was no sign of a child on the way
despite their frequent efforts to conceive one. Margaret didn't much care
for lovemaking with her husband and she wondered if this was why she hadn't
fallen pregnant. And when he took a lover and impregnated her almost
without trying, it was clear that the fault lay with Margaret.

She agreed to a divorce so her husband could marry his pregnant mistress
and for her part got a large settlement with which she set up a small
dressmaking business under her maiden name. It was successful enough that
after a year or so she needed an apprentice. Enquiring amongst suppliers,
it was suggested she take on a promising young seventeen year old who had
been at a local factory for three years. And so Sally Merchant came to take
up residence in a garret room in Margaret Cale's home and business with the
opening gambit, "Pleased to meet you Miss Cale. My name is Sally but I'd be
honoured if you could call me Sal, like my friends do".

To which she received the reply, "My name is Margaret and I don't have too
many real friends but if I did I'd ask them to call me Peggy"

And Sal and Peggy soon became firm friends. Neither had really had the
opportunity to talk about their life experiences: Peggy because she was too
refined to discuss her disappointing sex life with the women who's circles
she moved in when she was married; and Sal because she felt the factory
girls were too immature to be told of how a nun's probing fingers had
inspired her to discover her own body. She certainly couldn't tell them
that it had left her uninterested in the male species and wanting only to
feel another woman's fingers inside her. However, in time she felt she
could say this to Peggy during one of their cosy fireside chats late in the
evening after a long days work. Peggy let out a long sigh when Sal told her
this and said she thought she was a freak because her marriage had taught
her one thing and that was that she had no interest in seeing or touching a
man's body ever again.

That very night it was Peggy's long fingers that probed and twisted inside
Sally, and Sal's inside Peggy. That night and many, many nights afterwards.

Jane's Story

Jane too benefitted from a loving and strong family albeit one that
unwittingly helped steer her future life. Her father was a farmer with his
own small-holding in the West. He mad enough to keep him and his pretty
wife fed, watered and with a roof over their heads. When his wife fell
pregnant he knew that she would bear him a son to grow up and join him on
the farm before eventually taking it over. His wife was quite convinced she
was going to have a boy that she made all the arrangements on that
basis. So when, in April she delivered a perfectly healthy baby daughter,
they both scratched their heads and wondered what went wrong. Father was
quite prepared to tell all and sundry that they had a boy but the midwife
who helped deliver her was having none of it. So in the end they Christened
her Jane but often called her John accidentally. They gave her toy soldiers
instead of dolls and as soon as she was old enough, dressed her in boy's
clothing and let her play with their neighbour's three sons.

Jane grew into a tomboy and hung around with the boys' gang at all
times. They knew she was really a girl but seeings she could run, climb and
fight like a boy, they didn't let that worry them. And when, at 13 they
used to sneak down to the creek and watch the girls swimming nude, they
didn't mind that Jane liked to come too.

It was a couple of years later that the problems first arose – or didn't
in Jane's case! By now the boys had found one or two girls who were willing
to let them stuff their little hard-ons into them providing they pulled it
out before it spurted their cream inside them. Of course Jane had nothing
to offer the girls. On one memorable summer's day she had found a piece of
broom handle in her father's barn and stuffed it in her trousers. When the
girls came by to service the boys, she unbuttoned her fly and poked the
broom handle through. The girls – who knew Jane anyway – almost
choked on their own laughter. Jane blushed furiously and rushed off to hide
her shame.

Some hours later, still hidden in an old prospector's hut by the river, and
still crying, she heard a soft voice call her name. She recognised it as
belonging to Susan Chivers, the older sister of one of the girls who had
been so cruel. She must have been sobbing loudly because Susan came into
the hut and crouched down beside Jane. "I heard what happened" she
said. "I've been looking for you all day. I'm glad I found you"

There were a few moments of awkward silence before Susan said, "Listen. I
understand what you were trying to do and there is a way. Come here." She
led Jane by the hand to the far end of the broken down cabin. It was
lighter there as the afternoon sun streamed through a large hole in the
roof. Susan leant back on the end wall and hoisted her dress up around her
waist. She pulled her bloomers down with one hand exposing a neatly
trimmed, blonde bush. Taking Jane's right hand she pulled the girl closer
and the placed the hand on her bush. She curled two of the girl's fingers
and slipped them inside herself. "Now put your knee behind your hand"

Jane did this and without thinking began to drive her knee, and thus her
hand, back and forth into Susan's groin. Her two fingers squelched noisily
in and out of a now sopping pussy and Susan began to pant. Jane's free hand
grasped and clawed at Susan's breast through the flimsy fabric of her
frock. It was crude and inexpert but Jane was driven by passion not
experience.

Her mouth sought out Susan's but the girl's head was thrown back as she
groaned and grunted so Jane satisfied herself with kissing and biting the
outstretched neck. She left a hickey the size of a dollar- which Susan
would later chastise her for – and would have left another except she
felt the girl's pussy contracting around her fingers and felt a wetness
running down her wrist.

Jane had several more secret lessons from Susan that summer but in the
autumn she went away and Jane was lost again. Then, the following year when
Jane turned sixteen, Susan wrote her from San Francisco. She told her of a
club where there were others like them. Jane packed a bag and leaving a
note for her parents, headed for the city.

Barbara and Betsy's Story

The sisters also had a privileged and easy upbringing by many
standards. Their parents ran an undertakers business (Summers and Summers)
in a small western township which had a steady trickle of business and kept
the family well-heeled and well-fed. Betsy was the eldest by two years and
was successful in almost everything she did. She was beautiful although
suitors were not in abundance because the town was only a small one; she
was bright and won many awards at the town school; and she was
popular. Babs was no less beautiful, in fact the sisters looked very alike,
the age difference notwithstanding. The problem was Babs was a little
awkward; a little ungainly. She was also nowhere near as bright as her big
sister and was often told that. And Babs wasn't as popular as Betsy
because, well because people found her weird. Betsy was the daughter of a
successful businessman; Babs was the daughter of a man who kept dead people
in his shop. That's how they were seen.

So by the time she was 15 Babs wanted to rebel. Her way of coming out of
Betsy's shadow was to do things her own way. The problem was she didn't
quite know how to be a rebel. Betsy was walking out with a young man whose
father worked at the bank. Bab's idea of rebelling was to stay well away
from such boys. This was not hard because they didn't want to date her
anyway!

She finally formulated an idea of how to rebel when the widow Jones paid a
visit to her mama. Mrs Jones' husband had been dead some five years. He had
died young in an accident and the widow Jones was not yet thirty. The
family had carried out all the funeral arrangements for Mrs Jones and she
still called by from time to time to talk to Mrs Summers. On this occasion
they sat at the kitchen table to talk, unaware that Babs was sat outside
the window whiling away her day.

She heard most of the conversation but didn't really listen. It was boring
chit-chat. She hoped she didn't get that boring when she was as old as her
mum and widow Jones. She heard her mum ask Mrs Jones if she planned to
marry again. "Oh no," said the widow, "I don't want to be tied to a man
like that again. Although there are some things I miss". Mrs Summer's
laughed.

"I'm sure there are ways around that" she said. "Perhaps you should take a
lover".

Bab's ears had pricked up now. She didn't expect her mother to say such
things.

"I've considered it," said widow Jones "but look at the candidates. There
are no decent men in this town at all."

"Who says it has to be a man?" asked Mrs Summers, at which point both women
convulsed with laughter as if this was the funniest thing they had ever
heard. Babs, however, had a thought and she didn't hear any more of the
conversation as she turned the thought over in her mind. There was more
than one way to rebel, she thought!

It was another two months before an opportunity arose, during which time
she had developed and redeveloped her plan. Her mother had some fruit which
needed to be taken to widow Jones. Babs immediately offered to take it over
which surprised her mother but she didn't complain. Tidying herself at the
looking glass, Babs took the basket and walked 15 minutes to Mrs Jones'
house at the nice end of town. She knocked on the door and the glamorous
widow soon answered. She took the basket off the girl and thanked her
profusely but when Babs stood her ground, she thought she had best be
polite and ask her in. Babs thanked her and walked into the sitting room
where she sat down on the comfy settee.

Widow Jones was nothing if well-mannered so she offered the girl a coffee
and sat opposite her. They made a little small talk before the girl asked
if Mrs Jones found the house a little large for just herself and whether
she was lonely on her own. The woman shuffled awkwardly but so no reason to
lie. "Yes, I do get a little lonely from time to time" she admitted.

"Why don't you get married again?" Babs asked as innocently as she could

"Oh, I quite like my liberty I suppose" was the best Mrs Jones could offer

"Perhaps you should take a lover" Babs said with a conspiratorial
wink. Like mother, like daughter thought the widow remembering the same
conversation that was driving Bab's dialogue.

"And what would you know about lovers young lady?" asked Mrs Jones,
adopting a slightly school-marmy tone.

"I just know that I can't be bothered walking out with someone like Betsy
does so I think I am ggoing to take a lover instead" the girl explained.

"I see," said Mrs Jones "and did you have a particular young man in mind?"

"Oh, I don't think it will be a man" said Babs "There are no decent men in
this town at all"

Mrs Jones realised her own words were being repeated back at her and
blushed. Babs smiled sweetly and patted the sofa next to her and the widow
Jones silently obeyed and sat next to the girl.

"So you see," said Babs "I think we both have a problem that could be quite
simply solved"

The affair started that day and was incredibly passionate. It was also
awfully clumsy as neither woman nor girl had any experience with someone of
their own gender; Babs having no experience at all. However they persevered
and began to enjoy themselves. It was agreed from the outset that
discretion was paramount and at first they carried on their liaison without
arousing the suspicions of anyone. In the fullness of time it dawned on
Babs that she had embarked on this course to be a rebel. How, she argued to
herself, can your actions be seen as rebellious, if nobody knows what you
are doing. And so she let slip casual remarks to people she knew and
whispers started around the town. Sure enough, within a couple of weeks it
was the talk of the town. Widow Jones had taken a sixteen year old girl as
her lover. It was scandalous. Mrs Summers recalled the conversation she had
once had with the woman and felt that she herself was behind Mrs Jones'
madness. She went round and had a conversation with the woman; some money
may have changed hands or not but two days later a wagon collected widow
Jones' belongings and she left town. Her house was sold a few weeks later.

Babs was indifferent to losing her lover and overjoyed that she had a
reputation now. She was being talked about much more than her sister and
people pointed at her in the street. This was what she had wanted. And of
course she didn't get a stream of want to be suitors knocking at the
door. She was weird; the undertaker's daughter; and she liked girls. Nor,
unfortunately, did she find a stream of want to be lovers climbing into her
bedroom at night. The girls of this town were strait-laced and looking
ahead to a husband, children and domestic bliss. All but one that was.

Candy Allan was the only girl in town considered weirder than Babs. Not
especially pretty – just plain, she had shown a complete hatred for men
all her life. She had beaten her brother up constantly when they were
children and had almost crippled Johnny Adams when he bravely tried to ask
her to step out with him. In the days and weeks following the scandal with
Mrs Jones, Candy Allan came calling almost every day at the Summers'
house. Inevitable an affair developed and equally inevitably it became hot
news in town. Mr and Mrs Summers sat down one evening and faced the
truth. It was Babs who was the scandalous one and it was ruining their
reputation as business people in the town. Babs would have to go away and
since they could not leave the business, Betsy was instructed to take her
to the city and keep her out of trouble.

And so the two sisters took rooms in a lodging house in San
Francisco. Their parents had provided them with sufficient money to live on
so they did not have to look for work. Instead they discovered the bustling
city and Betsy tried to introduce her sister to eligible bachelors as well
as meet them herself. Of course she hadn't reckoned on her sister's
stubbornness and was dismayed when Babs came home excited one day having
heard of a secret club where people like me can go and be themselves. Betsy
tried to talk Babs out of it but to no avail. She forbade her from going
which solicited nothing more than a laugh from her younger sister. So
remembering her promise to keep the girl out of trouble, she set out with
her sister two nights later to a club known as the Iphis, actually a large
private drawing room in one of the city's more liberal hotels. Entry to the
room was strictly controlled and Betsy was hopeful they would be sent away
until Babs produced a letter of introduction with a theatrical
flourish. The same person who had told her of the club's existence had
arranged her membership and she took her sister in as a guest.

Betsy was surprised by what she saw. Not a sordid scene of half naked women
nor Sodom and Gomorrah. Dotted around the room were a couple of dozen well
dressed women and perhaps half as many men in formal suits. She hadn't
expected to see a single man at all. Then her eyes began to adjust to the
low light and the smoky atmosphere. The men, despite beards and moustaches,
had largely feminine features and despite the cut of their suits, could not
hide more shapely curves than Betsy would normally expect on a young
man. She realized in an instant that they were all women dressed up as men.

Betsy watched in dismay as Babs waltzed around as if born to this
lifestyle. She swanned around the room stopping to chat to virtually every
feminine woman in the room. She paid less attention to those dragged up
although Betsy saw her throw responses to those who paid her a
compliment. A waitress approached and Betsy asked for Bourbon. She need
something to steel her nerves. Whilst waiting for her drink to come, she
realised a woman had arrived at her side. "Your first time I think," she
enquired

"Um, yes," admitted Betsy "but I'm only here chaperoning my sister"

The woman smiled as if not believing a word she had been told and offered
her hand "Olivia Van Huys"

Betsy took the woman's hand and shook it awkwardly. "Betsy Summers" she
responded.

The woman was dressed in a beautiful blue evening gown. Its low neckline
and short sleeves revealed a lot of her perfect alabaster skin. Her long
gloves did little to conceal her modesty and Betsy found herself staring at
the woman's cleavage just a little too long.

More surprising to Betsy was that this woman was clearly of good
breeding. The dress looked expensive. She was not at all the sort of woman
she expected to bump into in this club. The woman was also intelligent,
something that soon had Betsy enthralled as they slipped easily into
conversation. Olivia seemed to know much about the world at large and San
Francisco in particular. She became so entangled in the conversation that
she had quite lost track of Babs.

Her sister was in fact engaging a charming lady in conversation at the far
end of the room. However, she was vying for her attention with a woman
calling herself John and dressed in a light coloured pair of pants and a
frock coat. Though the woman had introduced herself as John, a passing lady
had called her Jane and so Babs was stubbornly referring to her as Jane
every chance she could. Meanwhile, the woman who was at the centre of their
mutual attention was enjoying watching Babs and Jane/John spar.

Unaware of this unfolding drama, Betsy was learning about Olivia's view of
the role of women in modern America. It was a view she had never heard in
her home town and one she couldn't imagine their mother subscribing to. She
was being drawn in by Olivia's knowledge and her confidence. "I didn't know
intelligence was so attractive" she found herself thinking.

Around 2am Babs gave up her pursuit of the charming lady. In fact she had
spent as much of the past three hours chatting with Jane or John as she had
with the girl. She didn't quite get this desire to look like a man but if
others did that was their business and anyway, underneath that silly frock
coat, Jane was rather an attractive girl. Babs was not in the least
bothered that her efforts were going unrewarded tonight. She felt totally
in her element at the Iphis and couldn't wait to make her next trip. Now
though, she was tired and she wanted her bed. She scanned the room for
Betsy but couldn't see her. Strange, the room was barely crowded now. After
checking the powder room and still not finding her sister she approached a
waitress. She described her sister briefly and the waitress was able to
answer quite assuredly "Why, she left with Miss Van Huys over an hour
ago..."