by Selena Kitt
“Sure,” I said, pulling out my notebook. “So when we left off you were about to be raised by lesbians.”
“That's right,” Valerie said with a laugh. “Not wolves or sheep.”
“And the so-called witch? She must have been a little upset when she found your parents gone.”
“I was told she stormed over and demanded that I be handed over at once.
“'Because you traded some fucking plant for her?' Ingrid demanded. 'Look, bitch, you may have fooled everyone else in this town, but you know you're not a real witch and I know you're not a real witch. Now why don't you just crawl back to your fucking hole in the ground and leave us alone?'”
“That's a great story,” I said. “So the Prince ended up rescuing you from the lesbians?”
Valerie laughed again.
“I'm not sure rescuing is the right word,” she demurred.
“Okay. So tell me about Susan and Ingrid.”
“Oh, they were wonderful. Ingrid was a good deal older, maybe forty at the time. Susan was twenty-five. Ingrid was much more the parent, the responsible one I guess you'd call her. She worked in some sort of finance business. Susan was just sort of my older friend. She made pottery and Ingrid used to show her how to sell it.
“Then when I was about ten, Ingrid died. We didn't realize how much debt she had. And that was right when the market tanked. So all she really had to leave to Susan was this place in the country. And since the other house was a rental, and Susan couldn't afford the rent, Susan moved us there.”
“That must have been difficult.”
The princess shrugged. “It's not like I had any friends in the city. There was a lot of prejudice against Susan and Ingrid.”
“Against lesbians in general back then,” I agreed. “I remember.”
“So Susan kept on homeschooling me after we moved.”
“Still, it must have been very lonely.”
“There was Susan...” she said, her voice trailing off.
“But nobody your own age. And no, um...well, you know, there weren't any boys, I imagine.”
“No,” Valerie said, but she was blushing a deep scarlet.
I thought for a moment. “Wait a minute, you mean you...? You and Susan?”
* * * *
The ancient farmhouse to which Susan Prosser brought her ten-year-old was a ramshackle dwelling of rooms that had been added, one upon the other, like the slightly off-center blocks that might be assembled by a child. Valerie was delighted with it, as it created a crazy quilt of hideaways and retreats. Her particular favorite was the tower that had been added to the northwest corner. It was only three stories high, hardly a tower in the castle sense, but it was tall enough to allow Valerie to pretend she was the princess of all of the land she could see. And it was private, accessible only from an outside door. It was a perfect bedroom.
She was a gawky girl then, all arms and legs, as wild as a feral cat. She would run in the woods every day, making friends with the trees, the animals, the flowers. She would return with her ever-present jeans a mess, her fingernails dirty, and her long hair, now a sun-drenched blond, matted with sticks and leaves and burrs. Susan would brush it out each evening, always afraid one of the smaller animals might have crossed the line between woodland plaything and hair ornament. Finally, in exasperation, she cut it short.
Valerie's education, such as it was, took place in fits and starts. She seemed wholly uninterested in art, music and history—in anything, in fact, that she could not relate to her beloved woods. For three desperate years, Susan despaired of the little girl's becoming anything except the ignorant wife of one of the itinerant woodsmen who passed by the house, offering to cut firewood or do other chores in exchange for a hot meal.
The change was gradual, although it began with a single event. It was raining—not the light or even moderate rain Valerie had trained herself to ignore, but a driving heavy rain that kept even the animals in their dens. She stared out the window, trying to will the rain to end and the skies to clear. Finally, with a sigh, she slumped onto the couch and reached toward the table. Her fingers betrayed her, finding not the comic she sought but a book. Her thumb drifted across the cover, brushing the ridges in the leather with which the book was bound. It felt like luxury, as if the people who had published the book had considered it worthy of richness. Against her inclinations, she opened it. Pride and Prejudice. Stupid name for a book. Still. “It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune....” It might not kill her to look at it.
By the time she reached fifteen, Valerie no longer spent all her free time in the woods. She still visited her friends, but now there were others, friends who lived between the two covers of books. They were friends who lived in far-off places, friends who were old and young, men and women, heroes and villains.
By the time she was seventeen, she was wearing dresses nearly every day. Susan had stopped chopping off her hair once a month and it had started to grow. And once it started, it seemed to make every effort to make up for lost time. The eighteen-year-old Valerie was a woman with luscious, long, golden hair, conscious of herself and equally conscious of the attraction she held for the husky young woodsmen whose visits were becoming more and more frequent. She loved to have Susan comb it for her.
She had also become conscious of just how much Susan had sacrificed to make it possible. Susan was still only in her late thirties and the move to the country, although obviously the perfect choice for raising Valerie, had been difficult. Just as Valerie's appearance reflected her growing acceptance of her womanhood, so did Susan's attest to the effect of the last ten years. At twenty, her clothes had been loose and free-spirited, her eyes shiny, her hair a wild aureole of black. She still wore jeans when making her pottery, but she had become much more serious about selling it. Her sales trips found her in suits that Valerie found severe. Her eyes were narrower, as if the forest held more danger for her than freedom. Valerie was most taken, though, with the older woman's hair. It was cut far shorter now, and to the extent it had any length at all, Susan always kept it in a knot at the back of her head.
One evening, shortly after her nineteenth birthday, Susan had just returned from one of her trips. Valerie had cooked her dinner after searching far and wide in the forest for special ingredients.
“That was wonderful,” Susan said. “Perhaps you should cook every night.”
“I'd love to.”
“But maybe you could use some store-bought ingredients. You look like a rat's nest. Come here. Sit in front of the mirror and let me comb your hair out.”
As Susan ran the comb through Valerie's long tresses, she couldn't help but think to herself how much the young girl had grown. For her part, Valerie just smiled.
“What?” Susan asked.
“Nothing.”
“Tell me.”
“It's just nice to have you back.”
“Well, thank you.”
“I've never told you that before, have I? How much I appreciate your doing all the work you do, all the trips to sell your pottery, so we'll have a place to live, clothes to wear, food to eat.”
“Valerie...” Susan demurred.
“Do you, um, see anyone when you travel?”
“See anyone?”
“You know,” Valerie said. “I used to listen to you and Ingrid in the old house.”
By now Susan was in full blush.
“I'm past eighteen,” Valerie said. “We had our little birds and bees talk several years ago. Plus I watch the birds and bees all the time.”
Susan giggled.
“Well?” Valerie persisted.
“No,” Susan answered. “There's been nobody since Ingrid that I've really...” She had paused in brushing Valerie's hair and the brush suddenly slipped from Susan's hand, dropping into Valerie's lap. She reached down for it and felt Susan's fingers wrap around her wrist.
“What are you doing?”
“I'm not your daughter,
Susan. You're not my mother.”
Susan pulled back, but the young girl's strength surprised her. Valerie drew Susan's hand closer, pressing the palm against the soft skin of her exposed torso. Susan fingertips slid down to the even softer skin of Valerie's upper breast that was hidden beneath Valerie's gown,
“Valerie!” Susan gasped. “We can't.”
Valerie's answer was a soft, low hum that vibrated throughout her chest, tightening the nipples of both women. “Methinks the lady doth protest too much. If she could with her cousin, there's no reason she can't with me.”
“You knew?”
“I used to listen through the closet,” Susan said. “I learned quite a lot of interesting vocabulary. Shall we have a quiz?”
Susan made one last attempt to put Valerie off, even as she felt the rhythm of her heart begin to match the beat of Valerie's, a strong, quickening pulse transmitted through Susan's fingers and seemed to go straight to her soul. “But Ingrid and I...”
“...were in love,” Valerie finished. “Whereas with us, it would just be sex. A little vacation. You haven't taken a vacation in ten years. I do love you, Susan, but not like Ingrid did. All we would have is the passion...the tenderness...the press of lips and flesh and softness.”
As Valerie spoke, Susan felt her breath grow shorter and quicker. She became conscious that Valerie was caressing her fingers. That meant that the younger girl wasn't holding those fingers in place on her chest. That meant that those fingers were staying there of their own volition. Or of Susan's. She pulled them back.
“You have read far too many books, girl.”
Valerie stood to face Susan. “And lived far too little life.” As Susan opened her mouth to respond, Valerie reached up and put a finger across Susan's soft lips.
“I couldn't bear to hear you tell me no, but I understand if that's the answer. I'm going back to my tower now.” She pulled out the pins holding Susan's hair in place. “The door will be open. Maybe if you just need to let your hair down a little bit, you might stop by.” She bounced once on her feet and walked away quickly, leaving a stunned Susan standing there in silence.
Valerie was lying in bed later that evening, her hands working furiously between her legs, small gasps of breath bursting from between her lips. The knock was almost too quiet.
“Is someone there?”
The knock came again, louder this time.
Valerie smiled. “If someone is out there, and someone is ready to come in and let their hair down...I'm waiting.”
* * * *
Over the next half a year, whenever Susan returned from a trip, she would find the house deserted, the only lights those in the tower. She would find a small snack in the refrigerator, but she was usually far too anxious to waste time eating it. Instead, she ran to her room and changed into a soft peignoir. As autumn approached, she would throw on a long coat, knowing that it would not be on for very long.
After a quick look in the mirror, she would hurry out of the house and knock on the door to Valerie's tower. Their routine was always the same—the tentative knock; a louder knock and Valerie's invitation.
Susan would close the door behind her and drop her coat on the floor. She would walk slowly upstairs. Valerie would be on her bed, sometimes wearing a white or powder blue negligee, sometimes not. In either case, she would be wearing no panties. Her legs would be spread, exposing her soft, already moist golden curls to Susan's eyes. Valerie's eyes would be closed. She would purr as Susan mounted the bed, and when the older woman moved between her legs, she would reach down and find the pins holding Susan's hair. She yanked them free and then entwined her hands in Susan's hair, pulling her closer, pulling her lips into her cleft.
“Fuck.” Valerie would growl the instant Susan's tongue touched her pussy, a long, guttural rumble that served as a mere introduction to the music that would follow. Susan was a quiet, almost sedate lover. Valerie was just the opposite. Her voice rising to an inarticulate keen, she would pant, moan, groan, gasp and scream her passionate submission. Her thighs would tighten around Susan's head, her legs locking across her back. Her cries would take flight in a crescendo of sound, always stopping just short of the climax that Susan withheld.
And then it was Susan's turn to be pleasured, and suddenly the night would be filled with quiet. Between the owls and the wolves, the whippoorwill and the wind, only the most sensitive ear could have picked up the liquid sound of Valerie's tongue inside Susan's wet, swollen cleft. Susan would appear to hold her breath for minutes at a time, her body rigid, her muscles tense. Valerie would back off just a bit, Susan would relax, and breathe. And Valerie would start in again. It had taken the younger girl several months to learn how to deny her partner an oral climax. But she was gifted, and her skill developed quickly.
The two women finished one atop the other, rubbing body parts together, pinching, rubbing, slapping, and wiggling as they egged each other on. Valerie's climax was no less explosive for being delayed, and the two were now able to ensure that it arrived simultaneously with Susan's.
It chanced, however, that one day Susan was delayed in the city. And it chanced further that a young man noticed her absence. Most of the young men of the forest had heard the sounds of Valerie's pleasure and walked home in disappointment and disgust. They knew precisely what the sounds meant, and knew that if they were not their cause, then someone else was.
Christian, however, had no idea what the sounds meant. He was a prince, the only prince of the land, and his parents had impressed upon him the need for saving himself for marriage. The last thing the kingdom needed, they claimed, was a horde of little bastard princelets. And whereas most young men would have agreed with their parents and then run off to rut with the next available girl, Chris was different. Even when he turned twenty-one and went off to explore the kingdom he would one day inherit, he remained a naïf in the ways of women.
He thought Valerie the most glorious singer he had ever heard. He had tarried several weeks in the area, watching Susan knock on the door and seeing her invited inside for the concert. He had imagined her sitting there listening to the beautiful young girl, whom he had glimpsed one day as she strolled the woods. Imagine, such a lovely girl and such a melodious voice. If only he could meet her.
The day Susan didn't return, he screwed up his courage and decided to take a chance. He knocked once on the door, softly.
“Is someone there?”
He knocked louder this time.
“If someone is out there, and someone is ready to come in and let their hair down...I'm waiting.”
It was enough of an invitation for Chris. He closed the door behind him, threw off his cap and walked slowly up the stairs. The sight he beheld stopped him in his tracks. The blonde girl was naked, her eyes closed, her legs open. Her hands reached for him. He shrugged and approached the bed. He moved atop it and the Valerie wrapped her fingers in his long hair. She pulled him down to her sex and he instinctively began to lap and suck at the wet opening.
The singing began again. Until finally she made him stop.
“No more, wait,” Valerie gasped, her eyes still closed.. “No more. You promised you'd bring me a toy tonight. Where are you hiding it, you naughty? In your clothes?”
Chris leaned back. There was something hidden in his clothes, come to find out, harder and longer than it had ever been before.
“Give it to me,” Valerie demanded with a petulant pout.
Chris obediently pulled down his pants and leaned forward again. Valerie reached down and found it with her fingers.
“It's fucking huge!” she whispered. She guided it toward her opening and felt its massive head part the folds of her pussy. “Fuck a duck! This is—who the fuck are you?”
* * * *
“This is where we left off last time?” Valerie asked me with a frown.
“You were telling me the story and said you needed to go see your husband about something.”
“Oh, right.” A soft smile and a dis
tracted look spread across her face. “I remember.”
I rolled my eyes.
“See, this is the part that just doesn't work,” I said. “Everybody likes the prince. Fine fellow, good egg, all that. But this part about him and the giant cock...”
“You do know he's not the most physically attractive guy in the kingdom?” Valerie asked.
“Well, yeah.”
“Like his dad, right?”
“Right.”
“And you never wondered how King Hollingsworth had managed to get himself a hot wife like Queen Kristal?”
“Of course, I have. Shit! You mean the King has a...This is really more than I want to know, Valerie. So that's it? You and the prince found true love, he brought you home, happily-ever-after, fucking you with his big dick?”
She shrugged. “Almost. Chris left the next day but promised to return. Meanwhile, Susan had a shit fit when she found out and tossed me out of the house. I headed off in what I thought was the direction of the city, but the forest was a lot bigger than I imagined.”
“And the prince searched for you.”
“For a whole year. So did Susan.”
“Do I want to know how they found you?”
“I found this perfect piece of ebony and spent every night carving it and sanding it,” she offered. It was a perfect non sequitur.
“To make a fire?”
Valerie nearly fell out of her chair laughing.
“You do have a lovely way with words, Joe Boston. Yes, to make a fire. I was a skinny little wretch by then, living off berries and roots. I was dirty—what little hair I had left was completely black, all my hair. I was very dirty. But I kept remembering that first night with Chris. And when that ebony was perfectly smooth and exactly the right shape, I—”
“Started singing again.” I finished the sentence for her. “Okay, to recap. Your parents gave you up to a two lesbians. You ended up in the forest, and the prince heard you making love to one of them. He snuck in, made love in her place, she threw you out, and he found you by tracking the sound of your orgasm. Is that about right?”
“Exactly.”
“See, Highness. That's just not going to work. Nobody's going to believe that.”
