The Shore of Women

by Pamela Sargent

  Arvil ducked down under the water, rose, and then swam away from the shore. His stroke was smoother, although still awkward. As he swam out of the cove and into deeper water, I called out to him. “Arvil! Don’t go so far!”

  He turned and swam back, then climbed out of the water. “You do not have to shout,” he said.

  “I was worried. You haven’t known how to swim for very long.”

  “A voice carries over the lake. Would you have the camp know that we’ve come here together to swim?” He shook the moisture from his hair and began to dress.

  We sat next to each other, not speaking. At last he said, “Like a spirit-woman, you vanished from my side. I had thought it would be different with you.”

  I turned my head from him as I combed my hair with my fingers. “I don’t want to speak of this.”

  “You feared me when you thought I could bring you no pleasure, and now you fear me because I do. If this is how it will be, I won’t come to you again. There’s not so much enjoyment in it that I cannot satisfy myself in other ways.”

  I was stung. “So I’ve lowered and demeaned myself for nothing.”

  “That is how you think of it—lowering yourself?”

  I got to my feet. “Find someone else, then,” I snapped. “There are enough men in the camp. I can ask Nallei to call you. She would do it for me.”

  “You say your friend hates what they do. Would you have her do what she hates, and grow to hate me? Do you think I could take any joy in that?” His hands shook; his face was taut with anger. “Do you think so little of us?”

  I turned as he leaped to his feet. He grabbed my arms and pulled me toward him. I expected him to utter more angry words; instead, he pressed his lips against mine.

  I wanted to feel his touch then. I pushed him away and climbed quickly toward the hut; he did not follow. I was crying with shame and hurt as I entered the dwelling. He had lain with me, and I wanted him to come to me again but could not say the words aloud to him.

  I threw myself onto the mat and wept, hoping he would come to me but knowing he would not.

  Nallei said nothing to me when she returned toward evening. As I set out our meal, she began to speak of Tulan. “The boy was honored to be asked to take me out on the lake,” she said. “He would be happy to do so again.”

  She was clearly waiting for me to tell her what to do, but I said nothing.

  “He told me of his friends,” she continued. “Since you gave him the horses to care for, he’s been quite proud of himself. Of course, he seeks Yerlan’s approval as well. It’s a pity he can’t remain as he is, but sooner or later I suppose he’ll become like the others, bullying those who are weaker. Already he allows only certain boys to ride the horses with him. Maybe you should speak to him about that, encourage him to be a little more generous. You brought those horses here—he might listen to you.”

  “He would listen to you, too.” I did not want to speak of Tulan.

  I had been drinking during the meal and had finished nearly a jug of wine by myself; Nallei was noting that but still asked me nothing about what had happened. She stood up, yawned, and walked toward the mat. “I must sleep.” She looked back at me. “Birana, is there anything you want to say? I might not be able to help, but I can listen.”

  I shook my head, then got up to clear our platter and cups from the hearthside.

  I sat at her side, drinking wine until she was breathing deeply and evenly. I could not sleep yet, and the wine had made my head ache. The fire was burning low. I remembered the first time I had been alone in the hut, how I had imagined Arvil near me.

  The hut seemed to be closing in around me. I went outside to breathe the cool night air until my head was clearer, then walked along the trail, not caring where my feet carried me.

  I was soon standing above the place where the boat had been beached and swayed unsteadily on my legs. A banked fire glowed on the ground; Tulan lay next to it, asleep. Arvil was gazing toward the camp; he turned his head and saw me.

  I backed away and stumbled into the trees. Branches snapped and rustled behind me. I hastened on, then tripped; I thrust out a hand as arms caught me.

  The wine had made me weak and dizzy. I was sinking, falling against a soft, mossy spot as arms lowered me gently to the ground. The darkness hid him from me. I thought: He has come to me once; it doesn’t matter what he does now; I can tell myself I was too weak to stop him.

  He drew my trousers down and covered my mouth with his. My lips parted as he probed my mouth with his tongue. His hand moved over my belly and then lower as my legs opened. Warmth flowed through me; again I was taking his hand and guiding his fingers. I told myself that it was not Arvil touching me, but a hand that might have belonged to a woman, but it was impossible to pretend even in the darkness. I felt the muscles of his back; his organ was hard against my thigh.

  I gasped. He withdrew his hand and took mine; I gripped him tightly as he had shown me how to do. He guided my thumb to his moistened tip; I wanted to pull away from him then, but he kept his hand over mine. He moved against my hand and groaned softly as his semen spurted from him.

  An odd elation filled me for a moment. I could do this for him; in return for the power I had given him over me, I had been given this power over him. He was no longer a man trained to ache for a woman without knowing why; he was Arvil, my companion, who sought only my touch.

  His penis was soft in my hand. I continued to hold it, then ran my fingers lightly over the testes beneath. He shuddered and sighed. “Birana, this is more than I felt with you before. This is closer to the holy state of the spirit-women, and yet more than that because it comes from you.”

  He kissed me again, moving his tongue inside my mouth. His hand was probing my cleft; I spread my legs wider, opening myself to his touch. “Is there another way?” he whispered. “Is it only my hand that can do this? A man will sometimes use his mouth with his partner. Should I put my mouth on you?”

  A moan escaped me; I did not have to speak my answer. He lowered his head and kissed my belly as his hands pressed against the inside of my thighs.

  His mouth was suddenly on the place between my legs, kissing me as he had kissed my lips. His tongue moved into me, flicking against my inner lips as he nuzzled me awkwardly. I heard myself whispering to him, telling him what to do. His fingers spread my folds open as his tongue licked and probed.

  I drew up my knees as a wave of pleasure flowed over me. My hand was against my mouth to stifle my moans as his tongue slid over me. My hips moved under him; I felt my pleasure would never stop, that it would ebb and flow and then wash over me once more.

  At last it flowed from me and did not return. He lay at my side, stroking my breasts tenderly as if he now sought no more than the feel of my skin. I touched his body and felt the harder muscles of his chest and then the downy patch just below his abdomen. His body, so different from mine, no longer seemed so repulsive, so alien.

  No one had given me such joy before. Perhaps if I had known a woman or girl who had truly loved me, it would have been impossible for me to accept any love from Arvil. I had longed for love even more than I realized.

  “Your kind has a power men do not,” he murmured. “A man burns, and then his pleasure rushes from him, while yours seems to move over you as though it would never cease.”

  The images in shrines conditioned men to want what they provided; it had not occurred to me before that they might also show men how to give us pleasure. Those ancient images, created in a time before women had completely separated themselves from men, had shown Arvil some ways to love me; people long dead still worked through him and through me.

  Arvil drew his shirt and mine over us to protect us from the cold. We lay there for a while, and soon his hands were caressing me more insistently. This time he did not have to guide my hand to him. His body moved more slowly as he spent himself and sighed softly. I felt no wave of pleasure as he touched me, but only a small spasm of joy that might have come
to me in a dream.

  He kissed my face and neck, stroked my hair, then sat up. “I would stay here with you,” he said, “but I must go. Tulan may wake and wonder where I’ve gone.”

  I rose reluctantly. He helped me dress, then put on his own clothes. His hands slipped around my waist. “I want too much, I know,” he said. “Tell me that I can come to you again.”

  I could not speak.

  “Tell me that I can hope, that you will welcome me again.”

  “I will.” I had said it at last. “I don’t think I could turn you away now, Arvil.”

  He released me and vanished among the trees.

  Nallei said little in the morning as I prepared our herb tea, but I had sensed she was feigning sleep the night before when I crept back into the hut. She must have known that something had changed, must have guessed that Arvil and I had been together.

  I was awkward making the tea and nearly burned my hand on one of the small stones. I could hardly bring myself to eat any of our fruit. As we finished our meal, I heard a voice outside.

  Nallei rose and left the hut; I followed. Arvil and Tulan were walking up toward us. “Is there anything You need, Holy Ones?” Tulan asked.

  My cheeks burned. I glanced at Arvil from the sides of my eyes. His face was flushed; he looked away and poked at the ground with one foot.

  Nallei cleared her throat. “Tulan told me yesterday of the contests the boys will hold soon to mark this season. Since My companion and I will be presiding over them, I would like Tulan to tell Me more about what is planned this time. I shall go out on the lake with him again today and return for Our noontime meal.”

  Tulan shook back his straight black hair and clapped his hands together, obviously pleased. “You honor me again, Holy One.”

  My face grew hotter as Nallei glanced from Arvil to me; I had confirmed her suspicions by not objecting while she spoke to the boy. “Perhaps Tulan and I can go out in the boat this afternoon,” I said quickly.

  Tulan beamed still more. “I would be honored.”

  “I must tend to my tasks,” I muttered, and ducked back into the hut. Nallei was speaking to Arvil, telling him that she would welcome him and Tulan at our hut for our meal. I felt feverish as I knelt by the fire and wondered if I was becoming ill. I reached toward a jar of berry wine, then let my hand drop.

  “They have gone,” Arvil said as he entered the hut and sat down near me. Perhaps he only wanted to talk now; there had been little enough talk between us since he arrived. I kept my head lowered as I stirred the fire.

  “You would rather be with Tulan this afternoon than with me,” he said. “I had thought…”

  “I’m being cautious. Would you want him to tell others that we were often alone while you were here? Yerlan might find it odd.”

  “They cannot know what has passed, and Tulan would say nothing. I am almost a guardian to him.”

  “So is Yerlan. We must be careful.”

  He nodded. “It is so. I’m too greedy. I think I must have every moment with you I can.” He paused. “I think Tulan is coming to care for you more.”

  “He is only a boy.”

  “He won’t be a boy for too much longer.” He ran a hand through his wavy, blond hair. “I shouldn’t say this, I know, but now that you have shared some pleasures with me, you may wish others to share them as well.”

  “Never!” I cried. “I’ve shamed myself enough.”

  “Is it still shameful to you, Birana?”

  I sat back on my heels. “I didn’t mean to say that. It seems that way afterward, not when I’m with you. Try to understand. No woman longs for a man. My city would call what I feel a sickness. I can tell myself it isn’t so, but I can’t forget that. They would think that what Nallei has done is bad enough, even though she takes no joy in it.”

  He took my hand and helped me to my feet. “We have little time.” He bent his head and put his mouth on mine. His hair and body smelled of the lake, as though he had bathed earlier; his tongue slipped inside my mouth and I remembered the feel of his tongue in me.

  His hands pulled at my clothes. When we were both naked, he led me to the mat. No darkness shielded us now; the morning light shone under the hide over the door and the fire glowed, I saw his body clearly in the shadows. Below his tanned chest and paler belly, his organ had already begun to swell.

  I lay next to him as he touched my breasts and guided his hands to my nipples. He rubbed his thumb over them until they were erect, then felt my thighs as he parted my legs.

  “Birana,” he whispered as his finger caressed me. “I want…” He was suddenly upon me, his penis between my legs. I pushed against his chest, resisting, until he rolled to one side.

  “Arvil, don’t.”

  “You said there would be no danger before. Is there danger now?”

  I sat up, pulling part of a hide over me. I could tell him that there was danger but wondered if I could lie to him now about anything. “No, there’s no danger. I know my own body, I’ve counted the days carefully.” I did not want what had happened to Nallei to happen to me.

  “Then why do you push me away?”

  “I don’t know if I can explain. What I’ve done with you… I might have done that with a woman. I can tell myself that, and then it doesn’t seem so…” I bit my lip. “But this other thing… it can only be done with a man, and that makes it seem worse.” I swallowed. “It may hurt me, too. I’m afraid of the pain. I’m afraid my body can’t take all of you inside me.”

  “I know I can please you now. I can make you ready for me. I must try. If you cannot, I’ll take my pleasure in the other way.”

  I wanted to trust him; he had been gentle before. Perhaps I would only have to endure this once; if he hurt me or saw I took no joy in this practice, he might not want it again.

  I lay back. He fondled me with one hand, but his touch was different this time. When I moaned, he hesitated before exploring me further. He lowered his head between my thighs and probed first with his hand and then with his tongue, arousing me and yet not satisfying me. His finger slipped inside me, then out, then in again more deeply.

  I lifted myself a little, thinking I might have to guide him. I was completely open to him, aching as he rubbed each fold lightly and his tongue flicked against my knub. I fell back, unable to bear much more.

  He lifted my knees and knelt between my legs. I felt the tip of his penis on my cleft. “If you feel pain, I will stop,” he whispered, although I wondered if he could, if his own desire might already be too great. He rubbed against me some more; his tip pushed against me. “Do you feel pain now?”

  I shook my head. I could not have deceived him; everything in me was aching for release by then. He cupped my buttocks and continued to thrust gently, moving a little deeper inside me each time, and then entered me fully with one final thrust.

  I cried out as he fell across me; this time, I felt pain. I twisted against him as his thrusts came more rapidly, but as he moved inside me, my pain was transforming itself, becoming a burning ache. At last he cried out, and my own cry answered his as my pleasure mingled with the pain.

  He slipped from me. Our bodies were drenched with sweat. He sighed as he held me. He had done this thing, had given me some pleasure with it, something I had not expected, something I had thought impossible. This was not the same pleasure his hands and tongue had given, but I had responded even to this.

  He leaned over me for a moment and then drew back. “I’ve hurt you,” he said. “There is a little blood on the hide. Have I done something wrong?”

  “No, Arvil.”

  “Has your time come to bleed?”

  “No, it isn’t that, only a small obstruction inside me that’s now been broken. You won’t make me bleed again.”

  He rested his head on my chest as I stroked his hair. “You are not a spirit-woman,” he murmured. “With them, a man can thrust without fear. With you, I must be gentler, as a kind man would be with a younger one who has not yet kn
own love. But this is different from what I felt with the spirit-women. They were more like creatures in a dream, but this was real, with you, and that makes it better. I’ll make it better still.” He slipped one arm under my waist. “And for you, Birana—what was it for you?”

  “I can’t say. There was some pain, but pleasure too.” I did not know what else to tell him; this was still too new to me. I had taken pleasure with a man in a way that had not existed for centuries, in a way that had died out long ago. I saw now why women had separated themselves from this act, how the need for it could enslave a woman and rob her of her reason. The act itself was foolish and dangerous. To love a woman exposed one to no dangers except the chance that one’s heart might be broken; to love a man meant embarking on a journey with an uncertain end. There was the chance of a child if I were not cautious, and Yerlan and his men might learn somehow of what we had done. But even the thought of those dangers was not enough to make me want to give it up.

  Arvil’s hand moved over my abdomen, and then lower, and I forgot everything except the sensations he was reawakening in me.

  Thoughts of Arvil distracted me for the rest of the day. I made an effort to listen to Tulan as we paddled the boat around the bay, but my mind was elsewhere, and I scarcely heard what he said. When I swam with Nallei that evening, I remembered how Arvil’s body had looked when he emerged from the water.

  That night, while Nallei slept, I went out to the place under the trees where I knew I would find Arvil. This time, he showed me something else he had experienced with the mindspeaker images. I learned that I could kneel, my legs on either side of him, that I could guide him into me and feel more pleasure in that way.

  As we lay under the trees, my hands searched his body, coming to know him better. There was a small scar near his left shoulder, the legacy of a boyhood fight; another scar marked his right thigh. I found that he delighted in feeling my thumbs against his nipples and welcomed my touch along the soft downy region between his thigh and groin.