Soul Selecta

by Gill McKnight

  Jesse dipped a finger inside her own opening. It went in easily. Slowly, she pushed in another. She had never penetrated herself before. Her breathing became labored. Pressure was building in her belly. She withdrew her fingers and trailed them up to her clitoris and hesitated. What was happening? It had nearly doubled in size. That had never happened before.

  Hey, this baby’s massive. She began to tentatively stroke it and nearly shot bolt upright at the intensity of her light touch. Her breathing fell into a short, rasping moan. Her hips jerked back and forth, becoming increasingly frantic. This was very different from her usual gentle undulations when self-pleasuring. Rather than settle for a quick release, she tried to pace herself, to experiment, using the mental image of Bette and Lorrie as stimulus.

  She stroked the hard nub firmly then softly. She pinched it between thumb and forefinger, rubbed with the flat of her fingers, pressed down hard, and tweaked it with gentle consistency. And then, out of the blue, with no warning whatsoever, her orgasm hit in a rush of white light and chest-crushing palpitations. Her spine melted. It felt as if lava rippled through each vertebra to settle in her groin. She bucked and grunted like a rodeo pony and cried out, “Oooh holy fuck!”

  *

  Three thousand miles away, on the west coast of Ireland, in a farmhouse on the edge of Lough Meela, Norrie Maguire unexpectedly let out a high-pitched squeak. The sudden and surprising orgasm microwaved her nerve endings and napalmed her unprepared body into a puddle. She felt as if she’d been hit by a heat-seeking missile, directly in the panty area.

  “What was that?” her mother looked startled. They were in the kitchen baking scones for the farmer’s market.

  “Nothing, Ma.” Norrie managed an answer though her voice was a register too high. “Someone just walked over my grave.” Except I’ve just been cremated! She puffed a breath over her flushed cheeks still shocked at the blaze in her belly.

  Alva Maguire gave her a bemused look. “Your grave is it? More like the flu,” her mother said. “It’s going around the school, isn’t it?”

  In the mirror beside the back door, Norrie could see how red her face was. She looked like she had a fever. Her hair was plastered to her forehead, and her eyes glittered brightly.

  “I feel fine, Ma. It was just a shiver.”

  *

  In Soul Selector’s opinion, this was soul selecting at its finest. She engineered this. At Jesse’s true sexual awakening, her libido had now become bonded with that of Norullah Bernadette Therese Maguire, or Norrie for short. Norrie was Jesse’s soul mate, and as they were on separate continents, Soul Selector thought it best to “introduce” them as soon as possible.

  This impromptu connection would imbue in them a subconscious awareness of each other at a physical level. Cunning, wasn’t it? Basically, she’d tuned them into each other’s sexual vibration. It didn’t matter that they lived half a world away. When they finally met as mature women, this little shortcut would get them into bed quicker and ultimately save her a lot of work. It was brilliant! Her best idea yet.

  Of course, this shared orgasm thing wouldn’t happen again. It was just a one-off. A “getting to know you” experiment. Soul Selector was going to make this her trademark. She was rather proud of it. In fact, she intended to patent it.

  Chapter Five

  “I’m off to practice, Ma. Call me if you need any help.” Norrie washed the flour from her hands and headed to the back parlor where the old family upright stood in the corner.

  She sat at the Boyd London piano and stretched her fingers through her practice scales. The battered old relic released a couple of throaty notes, and soon the regimented exercises segued into a melody that had been simmering in her head for days. Slowly, she reduced it to a richer texture with every passing minute revealing a little more of the final flavor.

  The strange “rush” she’d experienced in the kitchen had galvanized an elusive chord sequence in her mind. She had finally found the missing element she was looking for, and now she had to test it out before it fizzled away. Her nimble fingers blended in her thoughts and feelings until the sweetest, most luscious melody began to caramelize on the keyboard. It was a seductive rhythm that she knew would induce hips to sway and hearts to swell rather than toes to tap. It had a smooth, sexy tempo, and she had no idea where it came from except that it had exploded inside her while she kneaded dough, and now it was clamoring to get out. She allowed it another dance across the keyboard before noting it down.

  Music was Norrie Maguire’s gift in this life. She could read, write, and play it since she was old enough to blow into a tin whistle. Music was elasticity in her hands. Though she was only sixteen, her innate ability had taught her how to extend and condense a musical score until it rolled under her fingers like baking dough. Music was energy to her, vibrant and humming, running in patterns along the fine hairs on her arms down into the timbers of the tired old piano. Her music brought the old beast to life. No longer did it skulk forgotten in the corner as it had for generations. Norrie made it hop and roar like a dancing bear, and in her quieter moods, purr like a cream-filled kitten.

  Her teenage dream was to make music her career. Norrie wanted to go to America when she was old enough. She wanted to be a professional musician in Nashville, Memphis, New Orleans, Chicago, everywhere, anywhere. Anywhere that music had its roots, she had to be there, work there, see it.

  “What’s that you’re playing, sweetheart?” Her father stopped by the doorway. He was just in from the fields and smelled of pig meal and mud. The achingly seductive notes brought him to a halt. “It sounds very…modern.” He groped for the word.

  “Just something that came together this morning, Da. Do you like it?” A few more bars led into a very voluptuous bridge, then on to another grindingly sensuous chorus. It definitely had a mature theme.

  “As long as there’s no lyrics. Okay?” He smiled and tried nodding his head in time. Norrie noticed his unease and stopped playing. She had the song sorted out in her head now and had already begun to notate it. “Where’s your mother?” he asked.

  “In the kitchen. We’ve been baking.”

  “Aha,” he said. She watched him make a beeline for the kitchen and slowly stood to follow. There came the click of the kettle and her mother’s laugh.

  “What?” Her father’s deep voice traveled down the hallway.

  “Malachy Maguire, I can read you like a holy order,” her mother answered. “You’re dismayed by that music.”

  “She’s growing up fast, Alva,” he admitted. “Almost too fast.”

  “Sure she’ll always be her daddy’s girl.”

  Norrie decided it was time to get into the kitchen before the conversation became completely embarrassing. Her mother dumped a heaped spoon of loose tea into the teapot.

  “Just in time for a cuppa, love,” she said, and her parents’ conversation changed to news from the market and the price of hay.

  Chapter Six

  Nearly two weeks had passed, and Jesse managed to avoid contact with either Bette or Lorrie. This wasn’t easy as she shared French and math classes with Bette and the sports facilities with both. In fact, she was so busy trying to avoid them that she ended up registering their movements more than ever.

  She knew when they lunched, where they went at recess, and their study times at the library. The cheerleading timetable was etched on her mind as much as the volleyball and swimming squad schedules. It unnerved her to see them walking side by side from the parking lot on the mornings they shared a ride in. She found out through a third party, Lorrie’s mom had the car on Tuesday and Thursdays because she was having an extramarital affair. That’s how sad I am. I even know what Lorrie’s mom does with the manager of Topshop. Jesse was appalled by her obsessive behavior.

  She started to use the back entrance and circumnavigate far-flung side corridors, relieved her hall locker was nowhere near either of theirs. It occurred to her that in some macabre way she was fixated on them, and bega
n to stress as to why. Was she really running away to avoid them? Or was she actually spying on them on some hidden agenda she wasn’t even aware of? It couldn’t be healthy. She was confused and creeped out, and that made her uneasy with herself. And all of it made her irritated with Bette and Lorrie. Her moodiness, her creepy behavior, it was all their fault. They strolled through corridors, cafeterias, life, as if nothing could ever annoy them. They were some of the prettiest girls in school and had great clothes, cars, and boyfriends; and only Jesse knew they were phonies. To add insult to injury, Bette and Lorrie knew she knew and still they didn’t give a rat’s ass. It was all a joke to them.

  On Wednesday morning, Bette was missing from French class. When Jesse realized this from her seat at the back, she relaxed in a way she hadn’t for weeks. She began to enjoy a class she usually excelled in. Recently, the class had become awkward for her due to Bette’s presence. It didn’t matter that she hadn’t so much as looked in her direction. Jesse’s eyes burned holes in her back just the same.

  Her reprieve ran out almost immediately after the bell rang, and Bette came running down the corridor. A top grade student herself, she was in a hurry to catch up with her school day. She caught Jesse at her hall locker.

  “Hi.” Bette stopped beside her. “I had a doctor’s appointment. Any chance I could borrow your notes?”

  “Sure.” Jesse tried to look cool while avoiding eye contact. She reached into her locker for the folder.

  “Thanks.” Bette leaned against the locker next to hers. “I’ll get them straight back to you. I can’t afford to miss a thing with the midterms coming up.”

  Unsure of how to be on this first meeting with this weirdly friendlier, lesbian version of Bette, Jesse tossed the file at her without thinking. She was instantly ashamed of her ill mannered gesture. Bette’s face stiffened, she heaved the folder back into Jesse’s arms.

  “Thanks, but I’m sure I can do better elsewhere.” She turned and strode away with her head high and her back ramrod straight. Jesse looked after her feeling small and mean, and thoroughly disgusted with herself.

  To add to her feeling of shabbiness, Val sidled up to her. “What did you do to get the poodle in such a snit?” Her eyes gleamed with malice.

  Jesse shook her head impatiently. “Nothing I’m proud of.” With a sigh, she took off down the hall after Bette.

  “Bette. Wait up,” she called. Bette slowed and allowed Jesse to catch up. “That was an ugly way to act, and I’m sorry. Look, let’s have coffee or something. I think we need to talk.”

  Bette glared at her so coldly Jesse backed up a step.

  “Well, at least I do,” she mumbled, expecting a barrage of abuse. Bette continued to glare at her for a long moment, and then her gaze defrosted and she relaxed a little.

  “Okay,” she said, and turned and headed toward the main door with Jesse trotting behind.

  They emerged onto the quadrangle and, without a word, strode across campus to the cafeteria. There they grabbed paper cups of disgusting coffee from the vending machine and found a quiet corner.

  Jesse took a deep breath and rushed straight in. “Look, I want to apologize for what I did back there. I’m not even sure where that came from, and I’m sorry I said it.”

  Bette sipped her coffee thoughtfully before responding. “I know where it came from. First of all, you’re defensive because of what happened in the showers. You’re uncomfortable with what you saw and how you feel about it. Secondly, you’re punishing me because you don’t know how to deal with those feelings. Well, that’s your problem, not mine, so don’t dump on me. You know very well where my preference lies. Your behavior was cheap, but I assume you were protecting yourself. So that’s where it’s coming from. That’s what it’s about.” She took another sip of coffee watching Jesse over the plastic rim.

  Jesse bristled. “I see Psychology 101 is going to be your major? And for the record, I’ve no idea where your preference lies, nor do I care. As far as the school is concerned, you date Jimmy Maaser. What you do behind his back with Lorrie is your business. Just keep it away from me. I don’t give a damn either way,” she said emphatically. “And you and Lorrie don’t need to worry about the…the shower incident.” Here she tried to sound as nonchalant as possible. “I’ve no intention of mentioning it to anyone.”

  Bette laughed at her largess. “Honey, there are already so many nasty rumors about my sex life, believe me, a lesbian extravaganza in the showers with Lorrie is old news. Anything, and I mean anything, you could say would just be a drop in the putrid ocean of small town malice. Constant sexploitation is the best camouflage I have. All that scandal, innuendo, and sick humor gives me the freedom to do what I want in my real world. I could get caught red-handed fucking Lorrie on the principal’s car hood, and in under an hour, it would be no more believable than any of the other juicy rumors floating about. It probably wouldn’t even be the worst one.”

  Jesse looked blankly at her, uncertain what to say. Bette shrugged and gave a hard, quirky smile. “I’m gay and I’m gorgeous,” she stated flatly. “So suck it up.”

  Jesse had no idea how.

  Chapter Seven

  What she did do was call a tenuous truce with Bette and Lorrie and, consequently, capped her own fears and prejudices.

  Jesse and Bette started to share study time in the language labs, and once or twice sat together in class. It made sense as the midterm exams were coming up. Each was a serious student, and if they worked together combining their strengths and pooling resources, they were confident they could ace the exams.

  The odd looks this new partnership garnered soon melted away. Everyone was focused on midterms, and all sorts of class alliances were being formed and reformed. They were merely one of many temporary study groups.

  This newly developed trust began to trickle over into their social sphere. Jesse and Bette’s coffee breaks began to include Lorrie. Her humor was as stinging as a hypodermic, and their break times were full of laughter. It surprised Jesse what good company Lorrie could be, but then she was learning lots of new things about these two.

  Val had the most difficulty with these changes. Unsure of how to deal with Jesse’s new term time allegiance, she withdrew and sulked. Which left Jesse with more freed up social time than she cared for. Val had been one of the crowd she hung out with on weekends, and Jesse expected to miss her a lot more than she actually did. In reality, it was a relief to not have to listen to Val’s constant bitching and vacant gossip. Val’s silent treatment turned out not to be such a big punishment after all. Determined not to feel lonely or upset, Jesse used the extra time for study.

  *

  A week before midterms, Bette arranged to meet Jesse in a downtown bookstore Jesse had never known existed. They both shared a love of books, and Jesse was intrigued to hear of a backstreet bookstore she had never been to before. With nothing but another weekend of study stretching out before her, she was happy to accept the invitation.

  Jesse arrived early and, instead of hanging around outside in the cold, made her way to a small second floor coffee station.

  “Hey, Jesse. Over here.” Bette and Jimmy Maaser waved at her from a small side table. Their feet were surrounded by shopping bags. Jesse squeezed through the busy tables and sat beside them.

  “We got here early, too,” Jimmy said. He had the cheerful, highly infectious grin of a young man everything in life always goes well for. Jesse had not seen Jimmy since Bette had “come out” to her. Now she could barely meet the poor guy’s eye. Life was not as rosy as his apple-cheeked smile intimated, if only the poor schmuck knew it. The deceit was an aspect of Bette’s true lifestyle that Jesse did not appreciate. They lived in a conservative town, and Jesse understood the need for self-preservation, but to dupe everyone with a fake boyfriend, especially someone as genuinely nice as Jimmy, was kind of cruel.

  “We’ve been shopping,” Bette announced unnecessarily.

  “You don’t say.” Jesse began to relax. Be
tte’s business was not hers; they were study buddies, that was all. She had to stop judging people. And anyway, Jimmy was a big, big boy. He’d survive.

  “Shoe shopping,” Bette elaborated. She pulled the most impractical footwear imaginable from a shoebox with a huge designer label on the lid. “Adorable, aren’t they?”

  “If you say so,” Jesse said. She noted the price tag and calculated the really nice hockey stick she could buy if she had that heavy a wallet.

  Jimmy burst out laughing. “You’re such a jock, Jesse. I bet you’ve just spent the money on a skateboard.”

  Jesse smiled. “Hockey stick.”

  “I don’t know why you’re siding with her,” Bette scolded him. “He helped me pick them out.” She reached across the table and slapped the back of Jimmy’s hand. “It’s his only use. Jimmy has excellent shoe taste.”

  Jesse frowned. She was being told something here, but she couldn’t unpick the code. Her eyes flitted from Bette to Jimmy, to their touching hands, and shared smiles, and back again. They were laughing like any young couple enjoying the weekend.

  “So.” Jimmy spoke directly to her, pulling her out of her observations. “What would you like to drink?” he asked.

  “Apple juice would be fine.” She fumbled in her jeans pocket for change.

  “No, I’ll get it.” Jimmy shooed her cash away and went to get her drink before she could argue. He was halfway to the counter when it clicked. The gaze of several male patrons followed his burly football player build across the room. She turned to Bette.