Hiding Places

by Shannon Heuston

  I was still trying to work out a way to get rid of her without upsetting my father, but I was drawing a blank. Maggie was a dream come true.

  “You know, Papa, Maggie’s going to graduate one day and then she’ll leave us,” I said, sawing away at a chicken cutlet one night at dinner.

  Papa glared. “What are you talking about?” he grumbled. “She’s just a junior, and she said she might get another degree after she’s done. She won’t be leaving for years.”

  Damn the girl and her chatter, getting chummy with my father. I didn’t like it.

  “It might not be the best idea to let my father call you Angela,” I announced, the next time Maggie and I were alone.

  I had played nice, made her a cup of tea. Her gratitude at this small gesture was pathetic. It turned my stomach.

  Her mouth turned down at the corners, as if she saw through my attempt to be hospitable. “I have to admit, I’ve been a little worried about that,” she confessed. “What do you want me to say to him?”

  Yes, know-it-all, how do you want her to crush Papa’s feelings? Especially since Papa knows her real name isn’t Angela.

  I set down my cup. “Forget it,” I snapped. “Forget I said anything.”

  I turned away from the hurt in Maggie’s eyes.

  A storm sprang up unexpectedly one day in early November. It was a North Country surprise, unheard of downstate. Rain was in the forecast. The day dawned gloomy and wet, the temperature in the early fifties.

  I had been working feverishly in my office when I heard the telltale thump of a snowball hitting the side of the building. I froze. It couldn’t be. But I knew that sound very well, although I hadn’t heard it in months.

  I had to be imagining things. It was chilly, but way too warm for snow.

  I peered out the window and gasped. In an alarmingly short period of time, the entire campus had been transformed into a winter wonderland. There is something so beautiful about the first significant snowfall, the drifts so clean and pure and pristine. The paths were coated in at least a foot of snow. Only a few students were outside, slipping and sliding on the unshoveled walkways, lobbing snowballs at each other, filled with joy at nature’s surprise.

  Papa, I remembered with alarm. At least Maggie was with him. All must be well, or I’d have received a text from the girl. I double checked my phone just to be sure I hadn’t been so absorbed in my work that I missed one.

  My Rav-4 had four-wheel drive, but the roads were unplowed and slick. It was a white-knuckle drive home. Fortunately, I was the only one heading home from work in the November twilight. Everyone else had gone home early.

  I pulled into my driveway and plodded up the path to the door, shaking my head. This was quintessential Northern New York.

  I missed the city.

  Once it snowed up here, that was it. The ground would be blanketed until April. Such a depressing thought.

  I found Maggie and Papa on the sun porch, of all places. My father was wearing a coat and scarf. To my shock, there was a snowman melting on the indoor/outdoor carpet.

  “I hope you’re not mad,” Maggie said. “Your father was talking about how he remembered making snowmen as a little boy, and it gave me an idea.”

  “What do you think, daughter?” Helmut asked, gesturing at their creation. “Not so much like Frosty, eh?”

  They’d outfitted the snowman with clothes they must have dug out of boxes in the attic. A battered top hat graced its head, and a moth-eaten silk blazer was draped clumsily over its rotund shape.

  “Very nice, Papa,” I said, struggling against the sudden flare of jealousy. Was this sibling rivalry?

  Maggie had been part of the household barely a month and my father had changed tremendously. He didn’t hide as much anymore. He sat on the stairs waiting for “Angela” instead.

  Now he was building snowmen on the porch, and I’d never heard of him making them as a little boy. He always said he didn’t really remember life before he had to hide.

  Before long, Papa would be going outside, and that would make my head explode, calling everything I’d ever thought to be true into question.

  “Maggie’s got to get going,” I told my father. “Say good-bye.”

  Maggie hesitated, staring into my eyes beseechingly. “It’s snowing really bad out, and I have yet to see a plow.”

  I sucked in my breath. I knew I should offer to drive her home, but the roads were terrible. It would take her forever to walk back to campus, trudging through deep snow with cheap canvas sneakers on her feet. They would be soaked before she even cleared the property. With my luck, she’d get frostbite and lose her toes.

  “I don’t know what to tell you,” I said, shaking my head.

  “I can crash here overnight,” Maggie said, much too eagerly. “I won’t be a bother. I can sleep on the couch, or the floor. I’m not fussy.”

  Helmut grinned at her. “That would be wonderful! We can bake cookies and read together and drink tea! And then tomorrow, we will have breakfast. Just like we used to, so many years ago.”

  The girl turned toward me, her face twisted in wordless appeal. “It would be loads of fun,” she coaxed. “This house is so big, you won’t even know I’m here.”

  “Fine,” I snapped. “It doesn’t seem like I have much choice in the matter. The weather certainly isn’t cooperating, and my father seems to have his heart set on it.”

  I clacked out of the room, hating myself. I felt like old maid villain from a kid’s movie, the wicked witch of the East in The Wizard of Oz, or the headmistress in A Little Princess. The mean, bitter unmarried woman who hated fun and was allergic to laughter.

  I listened to their chatter as I prepared dinner, shaking my head. Why didn’t Papa ever talk to me like that?

  I was chopping vegetables so vehemently I nearly cut off my finger.

  After dinner, I built a fire in the living room. Papa was amiable to moving our chairs in there, even though the windows faced the road. On a night like this, no one could see in anyway. As Papa slurped cocoa and feasted on cookies warm from the oven, I wondered if the sudden improvement in his condition was due to dementia. He was coming back to life just when he should be letting go.

  I had Maggie to blame. Thank, rather.

  Papa started nodding off, so I shepherded him up to bed like a child, supervising while he brushed his teeth. I pulled back the covers for him and he slid into bed.

  “You and the girl, Ursula,” he rasped, looking up at me.

  “Come again?” I asked, confused.

  “It’s fate, her being here,” he mumbled, his eyes already closing. “Stop fighting destiny.”

  Maggie was staring into the fire when I returned. She sat up straight when I entered. I found that both amusing and incredibly sad.

  Dueling emotions. Maggie always seemed to cultivate that within me.

  “I want to turn in early tonight,” I announced. “It’s not that late, so don’t feel like you have to go to bed too. You can watch television if you like, and there’s plenty to read. A lot of psychology textbooks and journals, I’m afraid. Better than a sedative for putting you to sleep!”

  Maggie smiled faintly at my poor attempt at a joke. “Where should I sleep?” she asked.

  I thought. “There are a few empty rooms that have beds,” I said. “I’ll have to dig out some bedding, but…”

  Maggie waved her hand dismissively. “Why don’t I just sleep with you?” she asked, eyes wide and innocent. “I don’t want to be a bother.”

  She thinks sharing my bed isn’t being a bother? “What? I mean, why would you want to…”

  She shrugged. “Your bed is huge,” she pointed out. “There’s plenty of room for both of us.”

  “Yes, but…”

  “It’s no big deal,” Maggie said. “I used to sleep with my cousin when we were little. It was so much fun.” She got a faraway expression in her eyes. “Then we got older, and I was demoted to the floor.”

  I would have sa
id no had she not added the last part, about her cousin making her sleep on the floor.

  I had never shared my bed with anyone, never had a friend or a lover. But I felt strange refusing the girl. A sudden feeling of exhaustion overcame me. I couldn’t do this anymore, try to keep one step ahead of Maggie. I was too tired.

  “Suit yourself,” I answered, turning on my heel and heading up the stairs.

  Maggie didn’t follow. As I was brushing my teeth, I realized I was a terrible hostess. The girl didn’t have anything to sleep in. Maggie was heavier than I was, but perhaps one of my nightgowns would fit. I emerged from the bathroom, planning on proposing this idea, when I caught sight of the girl and the words died on my lips.

  Maggie was standing in the middle of my bedroom completely naked. As if by accident.

  Her breathtaking beauty drove away rational thought. She was pale alabaster skin and lovely curves and round puffy breasts topped with swollen cherry nipples. Over this, that wild mane of curly auburn hair flowed, the hair of a nude wood nymph in an enchanted forest.

  My eyes slid down the gentle slope of her belly, to the place where her lush thighs met, a curly puff of dark red hair outlining her cleft.

  She was trembling.

  I was sleepwalking through life, not really living, just existing.

  It was only in that moment, staring at Maggie’s nude body, that I came alive.

  She took a few hesitant steps forward, then her arms slid around my neck, her luscious breasts bouncing inches from my mouth. Those blue eyes gazed into mine, innocent, as if she was merely a child fresh from the bath.

  But Maggie was no child, and her warm supple lips were on mine, tasting me. She was breathing life into me, the way she’d breathed life into my father who had been dying since the day he was discovered by the Germans.

  I broke the kiss, my hands sliding up to touch the girl’s breasts, feel their weight. I was suddenly conscious of a burning, intense heat between my legs, a smoldering fire teased from long dead ashes. I lowered my head and licked Maggie’s berry like nipples, took one in my mouth and nipped it, while my hand massaged the other, squeezing it. Maggie sighed.

  We didn’t speak. It would have broken the spell. Instead, Maggie slid both hands into mine and tugged me backward, leading me to the bed. She unbuttoned my blouse, her fingers impatient and clumsy, then pulled my small breasts out of my armor-like bra and started hungrily sucking them, first one, then the other. Maggie’s hand rubbed my belly in soothing circles, then started moving lower, until suddenly her fingers were in my panties, shyly teasing. I gasped.

  I had never felt this way before, never experienced anything close to sexual pleasure. It had always been for other people, my subjects. I was above it.

  I twisted around and pushed Maggie onto her back and dove between her soft thighs, the girl’s sweet, flowery odor enveloping me. I once regarded the very idea of oral genital activity with revulsion, but now I flicked my tongue into the girl’s moist, pulsating tunnel. Maggie’s answering groan was a triumph. I reached up both hands and pinched her nipples in response.

  We switched positions again, and Maggie was softly blowing warm air on my tender, swollen flesh. I lay back and waited, panting, as she hesitated, then pressed her mouth against me. Her tongue felt wet and feathery as it probed my bud, pushing it back and forth as I thrashed above her, the sensation driving me wild. My back arched as the pressure began to build. When my orgasm hit, I screamed, my entire awareness centered on the spasms wracking my body.

  “Oh my God,” I breathed, rolling onto my back. I turned my head to look at Maggie. “Did you…?”

  “No, but it’s okay,” Maggie assured me. “That was amazing.”

  I slid my hand over her thighs, into the warm wet cleft between her legs. I slowly explored her as she twitched and sighed, analyzing her responses like the professor I was. I pushed my finger into her and began to rotate it. Maggie let out a gasp. She spread her legs wider and pulled her knees up, driving my finger further into her. She began furiously pumping my hand, eyes squeezed shut, chasing her orgasm.

  Then she bolted upright and screamed, her face contorted in ecstasy. I withdrew my finger and brought it to my nose, inhaling the girl’s scent. Then, almost experimentally, I licked it. It tasted salty.

  “I love you,” Maggie whispered.

  I didn’t answer.

  We lay nude together, side-by-side, as we swirled down into the sweet darkness of sleep. For the first time in my entire life, I didn’t dream.

  Chapter Nine

  Maggie

  Many songs were about the morning after. Now I knew why.

  I awoke first, disoriented, wondering why I wasn’t opening my eyes to the familiar yellow cinder block walls of the dorm. Next to me, Ursula twitched in her sleep. The memory of the previous night came flooding back.

  I had sex with my professor. That was what we’d done, correct? It seemed like a dream. I seduced her. I seduced her, and it worked. Temporarily, anyway. Who knew how Ursula would react in the light of day?

  Maybe I’d just ruined everything.

  It was an impulse that compelled me to shed my clothes in the older woman’s bedroom. Almost as if commanded to do so by a higher power. I read shock and desire in her eyes as she came upon me, naked as the day I was born. I knew that I must seize the moment and act immediately, or it would be too late.

  I took a hesitant step forward, not knowing if it was the right move, then boldly walked through the invisible wall Ursula had erected, throwing my arms around her slender neck and pressing my lips to hers.

  I was taken aback at how swiftly the woman lost control, as if she’d only required the slightest spark to blow her self-imposed repression to hell.

  As the day steadily lightened, I feared Ursula waking. Maybe I should just creep away, so we could pretend this never happened. Perhaps that would be best.

  What did one say to your professor after making love to them all night?

  On top of everything else, I very badly wanted to do it again.

  I was dozing when Ursula finally stirred. I sleepily turned towards her.

  Her normally stern face softened as she gazed at me. “How did you sleep?” she asked.

  “Fine,” I squeaked. “Good.”

  I sat up, deliberately letting the sheet fall to my waist, resisting the urge to cover up. After all, this woman was my lover. I didn’t have to hide my body from her.

  “You’re so beautiful,” Ursula marveled, her voice soft. “What are you doing here?”

  I shrugged. “I wanted you,” I confessed. “I’ve wanted you from the moment I laid eyes on you, back last spring, in the Union. I saw you every morning buying your coffee.”

  Ursula frowned thoughtfully, trying to place me in her memories. “Really?” she asked. “That’s so…odd. Why? Why me?”

  “I saw you, in the middle of all those people. I saw your soul.” I put my hand over Ursula’s. “I knew you were all alone, like me.”

  Her eyes sought mine, seeking truth. “Is this your first time…?”

  “With a woman?” I concluded, nodding. “Yes. This was my first time with anyone at all. I’m a virgin.” I bit my lip. “Does this count as losing my virginity?”

  She snorted with laughter. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “I never had sex before, either. I’m the wrong person to ask.”

  I collapsed back onto my pillow. “I want to make you come again,” I whispered.

  Ursula slowly and deliberately rolled onto me. For a moment, we just held each other. I closed my eyes, enjoying the sensation of a warm body snuggled in my arms. It was the nicest feeling in the world. I’d been missing out.

  Ursula gazed into my eyes, perhaps searching for answers as to how this explosive thing had happened. I raised my hands and slid them down the length of her body, feeling all the angles and bones, places covered with plump flesh on my own body.

  “I’m so bony,” Ursula complained, as if reading my mind.
<
br />   “No,” I argued. “You’re fine. I’m too fat.”

  “Rubenesque,” Ursula corrected. “You have such beautiful curves. I wish I could paint you.”

  She lowered her head and licked at my swollen red nipples. I moaned as she took one in her mouth, nipping it gently.

  Rational thought fled. Occasionally, I would swim back into my senses, in between orgasms, as the older woman slurped hungrily between my legs or nibbled on my clit, making me squeal. Dr. Reiter excelled at everything she did.

  When we were done, I still ached for more. But it was time to get up and get Helmut his breakfast. I worried that if we lingered any longer, he’d come upstairs and catch us.

  In the bathroom, Ursula pulled me into the steamy spray of the shower, lathering up her loofah and running it over my curves. As the hot water rained down over us, she cupped my face and kissed me hungrily, sliding her tongue into my mouth. I slid my finger inside her in response, making her gasp.

  Helmut was already up and watching television in his sitting room. At least he hadn’t hidden. “Is Angela still here?” he asked his daughter.

  Ursula was dressed in a sensible gray skirt, a turtleneck, and a cardigan sweater. With her hair pulled back tightly in a bun and glasses on a chain around her neck, she was a porn movie come to life, the schoolmarm that went wild when she let down her hair.

  “Maggie’s still here, Papa,” she replied.

  He lit up. “All we had was gruel, but she used to pretend it was a pancake breakfast. She promised we’d have real ones together someday,” he said.

  “Pancakes it is, Papa,” Ursula said.

  I went in and sat with him, while Ursula mixed the batter.

  I wondered what he would think if he knew what his daughter and I had gotten up to last night. He was from a different generation. He wouldn’t understand. I felt slightly guilty playing his sweet and pure Angela, when meanwhile I had done what he would consider dirty things with his daughter.

  We ate together as a family in the gloomy kitchen. “The sun’s out but it’s so dark in here,” I complained. “Wouldn’t it be nice to cut back the trees, so we could get some sunshine?”