pus. She loved the zinnias in the garden, the late blooming roses. She loved the rose between Chris's legs. She loved Jinx's laugh. She loved the soft hair on Charly's chest. She loved her own body, the speed and strength of it. She loved hearing the screech of a seagull, the sound of ropes slapping against a mast. Life's fragmented beauty finally revealed itself, the pattern of the mosaic becoming clear: celebrate, dance, laugh, love.
Sex initiated her enlightenment, but it spread far beyond that activity. She understood that her mother loved life in a way Bunny did not. She thought Charly might surrender to the world's beauty in time. She wondered if it took men longer or if other men kept them from this wild, ferocious tide of emotion. Duty hung about their necks, a heavy wooden yoke much different from the yoke around female necks and, to her way of thinking, much worse. She began to see men differently; she began to see their suffering, and her heart opened to them as never before. Loving Chris made her sensitive to men. Loving Charly made her sensitive to women.
Life was older than reason. She now knew it, and she was astonished at how many people did not. They believed in false prophets when the smallest butterfly was proof of life's holiness.
She hoped Chris would follow her into this uncharted territory of feeling, of vision, of sensing. She knew Chris loved her, and she began to know that Chris, constrained by inner fears, carried more baggage than she herself did. Vic also began to understand that loving Chris would be a piercing social burden even as it was the springboard to her own spiritual awakening, to emotional fullness.
She loved Charly and Chris. She loved them differently and curiously, she wanted them to love one another. Why choose? Why accept the world's limiting structures? It was easy to love more than one person at a time. The world made it hard, the heart made it easy.
Thank God for Jinx. Vic could tell her what she felt and Jinx listened intently. Occasionally, she felt a flash of jealousy from Jinx over the time she spent with Chris, but it quickly subsided. Friendship was the truest love.
Charly, bursting with joy, dreamed of a future with Vic, one with a
house and two cars and eventually children. Intelligent as he was, he didn't look beneath the surface, he didn't ask the difficult questions. Why? The world was made for Charly. He had a good heart. He would make it a better world. Loving gave him more compassion, but he didn't question the unwritten laws.
Chris questioned them silently. She feared the future. Love made her both happy and wretched, for she feared losing Vic. Why would a woman like Vic give up the privileges of eventually marrying Charly for the sake of loving her? It seemed incomprehensible to Chris that anyone would truly follow their heart, for childhood had taught her that social position and things were more important than people. She could see that the Savedges weren't that way, but could she let that old belief go? And why shouldn't Vic marry Charly? The more Chris was around him, the more she understood he was a lovable man. She evidenced little sexual feeling for men, but she could see his particular beauty. The more one loves, the more one has to lose. She tried to govern her love for Vic, but she couldn't. The force of the emotion blew away all restraint. She experienced moments when the fear evaporated, when tight in Vic's arms, she felt safe, light, silly even. She lived for those moments, and for the laughter. She had never laughed as much as she did around the Savedges, Jinx, and Charly. Even Piper made her laugh, and she fell in love with golden retrievers.
The laughter reached a crescendo the week before Thanksgiving vacation. No one could concentrate on their studies, as every student was thinking about going home or to a friend's for the holiday. Even professors, valiantly trying to cram facts, theories, and themes into young heads, struggled to concentrate.
Thursday at seven o'clock, it was already velvety dark. Vic and Chris picked up Charly from his forced feeding at the training table. He insisted on taking the women to dinner, where he sipped a Coke, watching them eat.
"We need to do something to remember this year. Something outrageous. Something that will become a legend at William and Mary," Vic said.
"What kind of a legend?" Chris munched on a French fry.
"If I were the drum major, the last time I'd take the home field, at
the fading away of the drumbeat on the last song, I'd have the whole band turn its back to the opposing side and drop trou. That kind of legend."
"Wouldn't it be more exciting if they showed their front, too?" Chris giggled.
"I could catch a pass, make the touchdown, of course, and then keep running, just keep running," Charly offered.
"Poetic." Chris smiled.
"Come on, we've got to do something," Vic persisted. "We've got to let people know we were here. Provoke them to top us."
"What about locking all the doors to the administrative offices? You know, taking a soldering iron and sealing the locks shut," Charly suggested.
"Good," Chris said appreciatively.
"We could paint the grass on the quad," Charly suggested. "Paint what?" Chris asked.
"A naked lady," Charly said.
"Only excite half the students. Have to paint a naked man, too," Chris added.
"I don't know," Vic said. "Everybody likes a naked lady." She didn't care what she said, she felt so free.
"What about all those teeny weenies dragged through campus by Mommy and Daddy?" Chris imagined the outrage. Plus the administration was still trying to live down the Alpha Tau incident.
"Well, let's do something." Chris finished the last of her fries. She would have hated to leave any.
"Follow me." Vic stood up.
T
he elderly monsignor of St. Bede's parish lived in a tidy house directly across from the church. A faithful laborer under the sign of the cross, his was an obedient nature. Monsignor Geof-
frey Whitby believed in the sacraments, kept his questions about the infallibility of the pope to himself, and exhibited little or no sense of humor. Nothing about Christianity was funny to him. He couldn't imagine a waiter at the Last Supper calling out "Fettucini for Jesus." Or Mary Magdalene wearing a lift-and-separate bra. No. Christianity had to be solemn, serious, even censorious. If the God of the Old Testament only laughed two times, then so it would be for Monsignor Whitby. Therefore when he glanced out his upstairs window on that velvety night and beheld the Blessed Virgin Mother being transformed, he was not amused.
The Blessed Virgin Mother looked fetching in an apron, a chef's hat on her head, a hibachi in front of her. In her upraised hand, the one giving the blessing, Vic had taped a long fork with a blue handle. Rubber chickens laid on the hibachi. A blackboard announced in col-
ored chalk, MARY'S BAR-B-QUE.
Vic and Charly had worked to transform the Mother of Jesus into a more contemporary mother while Chris, after writing the sign on the blackboard, had watched out for intruders.
When Monsignor Whitby, still wearing bedroom slippers, bar-
reled out the front door of the house, Chris was amazed that an old man could move so quickly.
"Blasphemers!" He shook his fist.
"I've never seen a face exactly that color of purple," Vic gasped as Chris turned and broke into a dead run.
Charly replied, "I think that's the normal color of his nose. You ready to leave this party?"
They both ran out the back way, soon overtaking Chris. They flew down Richmond Road. Chris, not the athlete the other two were, begged for mercy.
Vic and Charly skidded to a stop and then turned back. Each one grabbed an arm and picked her up off her feet. They shuffled a few steps with her then got to laughing so hard they nearly dropped her.
"Oh, my God, the monsignor," Chris gasped. "He's going to die of heart failure."
Charly hummed a few bars of "Nearer My God to Thee," which set them off again.
"Mary looked great. She looked happy. She looked young. If the monsignor loved her he'd buy her an entire wardrobe. That would make any woman happy." Vic wiped her eyes.
In the dist
ance they heard a siren. At first they paid no attention to the whining sound, but it kept getting closer and then cut off near where the church stood.
Charly frowned. "I bet the monsignor called the cops."
"Because of Our Lady of the Barbecue? We didn't harm anything." Chris suddenly had a vision of herself calling her father from the police station. This was not one of those reassuring visions where the Blessed Mother appeared to bestow her grace. She could imagine her father yanking her right out of school. He complained enough as it was about paying out-of-state tuition.
Vic checked her watch. "Charly, you'll never make it back on time."
"One thing at a time. Let's split up. I think I can get back in the dorm. Anyway, that's my problem. I'd rather not face the monsignor."
"Good idea," Vic agreed. "Chris, I'll take the longest route home by the east side of campus."
"Okay "
Charly loped to the corner, waved, and crossed the road as the two women quickly walked in opposite directions.
The police cruiser slowly drove by. Vic had the presence of mind to duck into a convenience store, where she bought a magazine. She watched the cop from inside. The monsignor might be old, but he wasn't blind, so she hoped he didn't get that good a look at them. She'd be easy to describe. How many six-feet-one-inch women with jet-black hair were there? Not that he would get her height exactly right.
Once the coast was again clear, Vic meandered homeward. A light shone in Chris's window. She tossed a small stone. Bull's-eye.
Chris opened the bedroom window, the cool November air rushing in. "Come on up."
Vic opened the back door, bounding up the steps, taking them in twos and even threes. The door to the apartment was open.
"I'm in the bedroom."
Vic closed the door behind her and dashed into the bedroom. Chris, wearing only her jeans, smiled. Vic wrapped her arms around Chris's small waist. She kissed her lips and then ran her tongue from her breasts down to the top of her jeans. Chris put her hand behind Vic's neck, leaning back.
"1 have to have you." She picked Chris up, gently placing her on the.bed. She covered her, kissing her, biting her, her head pounding. "Take your clothes off," Chris gasped.
Vic rolled off, pulled her shirt over her head, unbuttoned her 501s with one swift motion of her hand, and untied her sneakers as Chris pulled off her own jeans.
The house was cool, a counterpoint to the heat of their bodies. Chris drew back the covers as Vic grabbed her from behind and bent her over the side of the bed.
"I love your ass." Vic's breasts touched Chris's back as she entered her with her fingers.
Chris crashed through the biggest orgasm she'd ever had, amazed at what Vic could do to her, amazed at her own body.
Chris, facing her, stomach flat against Vic's, rested her forehead on Vic's shoulder. "We don't even know what we can do."
A knock on the door brought their heads up.
"Chris," Charly called from the other side of the door.
"Oh, shit," Chris whispered.
Vic hopped out of bed, grabbed Chris's robe. "He couldn't get in the dorm. I have to let him in."
"Wait. I'll put on my robe and answer the door. You put on your clothes."
"Right." Flustered, Vic ripped off the robe, threw it at Chris while reaching for her jeans.
Chris ran her fingers through her hair, shook it, and then hurried for the door. "Be right there."
She opened the door and a grateful Charly stepped in. The temperature outside had dropped into the high forties, and he was wearing only a shirt, no jacket.
"I'm sorry to bother you—I'm stuck." He grinned. "Vic's not home, so I thought she might be here. I'm locked out."
"I'm here." Vic, hair combed, clothes back on—although she was in her bare feet—walked into the small living room. "God, Charly, you must be cold."
Had Charly not been raised as a Virginia gentleman, he would have said, You can warm me up. But he didn't. "Never compromise a lady good enough to share her body with you" was a rule drummed into his head. "A little." He smiled.
"Sit down." Chris breathed deeply. Maybe they'd wiggle out of this. "Let me get you coffee or something to warm you up."
"Thanks, but it'll keep me awake."
"Hot chocolate?"
"Uh—thank you."
Chris went into the kitchen, and Vic sat next to him on the sofa. He could smell her sweet odor, he could smell the sex, but thought it was his desire.
"Let's hope Todkill doesn't check your room." He was the graduate student in charge of keeping the football players in line during season.
"You've got one last game to play. It'd be awful to miss it." She paused and then smiled. "'Course, they haven't a prayer without you."
"I haven't missed a curfew in four years." He dropped back on the sofa and put his hand on his knee. "If Coach finds out and benches me, well, I'll be bummed, but it's the only time I've screwed up."
Chris returned with hot chocolate, one for each of them. She needed chocolate. She sat across from the sofa in the comfortable Queen Anne chair.
"Come on, sit on the other side of Charly. He's cold." Vic smiled. Chris rose, left the room, returning with a red blanket she draped over his shoulders. But she did sit next to him.
"Body heat." Vic felt incredibly excited. She wasn't sure why.
Chris looked over at Vic, picking up on her energy. She thought Vic was the most beautiful woman she had ever seen and Charly was quite handsome. It made sense that they would marry, but the thought of it tore her heart out. She wanted to marry Vic.
"Men would kill to be in my position." He laughed. "Being a little cold—hey, it's worth it."
"Flatterer," Chris replied, the shawl collar of her robe gaping just enough to reveal the outline of a lovely breast.
Charly noticed, his face reddening.
Vic noticed, a surge of lust flaming through her. Then she realized Charly had also noticed.
He turned to Vic, his face flushed, saw that hers was, too. Charly was not an unintelligent human. Chris was in her robe. Vic in her bare feet. It had taken Chris a little while to reach the door; Vic had emerged from the bedroom. He got it. His first reaction was shock. Not that the two women were sleeping together, but that Vic, his woman, was sleeping with Chris. Fear rapidly swept in where shock had been. Mingled with the fear was desire. His dick began to stiffen. It was confusing. He didn't want them to know he knew. He placed his mug on the coffee table, folding his hands in his lap, but it was too late.
Vic winked at Chris, "Honey, I think you're causing distress." She patted her own breast.
"Uh." Chris looked down then pulled her robe tighter. "Sorry." "Don't be sorry." Vic laughed. "You've given us both pleasure." She
turned her body to face Charly; she knew him well. She removed his hands from his crotch. "She's hot, isn't she?"
He blushed. "She is." Then he turned to Chris, "I hope I haven't offended you."
Chris glanced down at the considerable bulge in his pants. "I'll take it as a compliment."
He breathed in. "You know I was going to stay with you, Vic, but I can call Tom McBride. I can bunk in with him."
A flash of concern crossed Vic's features. She didn't want to hurt Chris by taking Charly to her apartment and leaving Chris. Vic didn't know if he knew. On the one hand, it seemed obvious; on the other hand, people routinely missed what was under their noses.
"Don't do that, Charly. We can work this out."
Chris sat up straight. Her robe opened again. "There's no point going back out again. You'll freeze."
He exhaled. "It is cold."
Chris, too, felt the tidal wave of sexual energy in the room. She was no fool. She knew in her heart that Vic had slept with Charly and was discreet enough to keep it from her. While that pained her, at this moment, seeing him, she felt heat rising up from her body. She wanted Vic. She wanted Charly, too. God knows, no one ever discussed this during sex education.
Vic felt Chr
is's desire. She had the advantage in that she'd slept with both of them. She could read them. They couldn't yet discern one another's moods.
Vic kissed Charly light on the lips as she reached for Chris's hand, pulling her closer. When she finished kissing Charly, she kissed Chris. The sight of two beautiful women kissing, one with her breast showing, sent all the blood in Charly's body straight to his dick. Beads of sweat dotted his forehead.
Alma Mater Page 15