| Codes:
ff, firsts Summary: It's 1959, and a young woman comes to grips with her sexuality when a new family moves into her small college town. |
| Annette Hoffman had a
cardboard box of magazines hidden under
her bed. Nothing obscene, of course, nor anything out of the
ordinary for a teenage girl. It was stuffed with flimsy teen
magazines, the sort that featured interviews with teen idols and lots
of pictures of cute boys. That’s not why Annette
kept them
hidden. She kept them under the bed because it
wasn’t the
boys she was looking at. Before she would go to sleep, she
would
pull those magazines out from underneath her mattress and trace the
contours of the girls’ faces with her finger: Connie
Francis, Natalie Wood, Annette Funicello. Something had to be done to correct this behavior, Annette knew. She turned to the only entity who could fix her problem. Late at night, when the demands of logic receded and irrational hope reigned, Annette would lie in bed and pray for God to turn her into a boy. He didn’t. At least, not tonight. Annette awoke to the sound of her mother calling her for breakfast and rolled out of bed reluctantly. If anything, the young woman thought as she brushed her hair in the mirror, her body was intent on moving the opposite direction. Annette sighed as she struggled to clasp her bra around her back. She’d need a bigger size soon. “Annette, you’re going to be late!” “No, I’m not, mom, it’s only seven-thirty,” she shot back, taking as long as she could to finish putting on her trousers and sweater. Downstairs, Annette's parents were already sitting around the kitchen table, her plate sitting in front of an empty chair. Her mother was scraping a thin layer of butter onto a piece of toast while her father, having never been a breakfast enthusiast, had only a newspaper with his morning coffee. Annette sat down, mumbled a greeting and half-heartedly poked at her scrambled eggs. "Are you excited for the new year to begin?" her father asked as he meticulously folded the local paper neatly in half. "I guess," Annette shrugged. "Nothing really changes," "Well, next year you'll be in college," her father smiled. "Everything will be different then," "I guess," Annette had known where she would go to college for most of her life, as her father was a professor of German Literature at nearby Otterburg College. Having gone from Brooklyn to this Midwestern Liberal Arts college town through the GI-bill and three years as a translator during the War, Dr. Hoffman knew the value of a free education. "Finish your eggs, Annette!" her mother admonished, even as she piled more bacon onto her daughter's plate. *
* *
Annette noticed something was wrong as soon as she walked into the classroom. The five rows of six chairs that had stood unchanged throughout all of junior high and high school had been inexplicably altered. It was as though even the janitor was hesitant to add a thirty-first desk, and the extra desk had been placed at an awkward angle in the front of the class. The girls rustled into the room behind Annette, their broad skirts buoyant with gossip: “I heard we're getting a new student today,” “Heather said that she heard from Sarah that Jennifer said his name is Jerry,” “I hope he's cute,” The desks filled up with their usual occupants, and the identity of the mystery newcomer was on everyone's lips. Nobody, it seemed, knew anything about him, except his name and that his father was the new visiting history professor. Annette listened to the rumors with a detached air, although she was a little curious about what kind of person the new boy was going to be. The entire room hushed when Mrs. Becker walked in, accompanying the new boy. Or rather... the new girl. The gossips quietly groaned, the boys sat bolt upright in their chairs and Annette's mouth dropped. The newcomer followed behind their teacher in a red and white spotted sun dress, like a vision from a guilty dream. She had a face that should have been in a magazine: bright red curls bounced around her shoulders and framed a smile that made Annette wonder if the young woman had heard the rumors and was enjoying herself. “Class, I would like you to meet our newest student, Christina... ...” Mrs. Becker started speaking, but Annette had stopped paying attention to anything but the fire headed goddess standing in front of the blackboard with her books cradled to her chest. “Please, most people just call me 'Cherry',” the new girl said, much to their teacher's visible vexation. “Yes, well, I expect everyone here will make Christina feel welcome,” “Oh, I'm sure they will,” Cherry said, no doubt aware of the fact that half the students were drooling over her and the other half were plotting her painful death. Suddenly, Annette realized which half she occupied and dropped her eyes to the etched surface of her desk. Her hands started to shake. Cherry took the seat awkwardly arranged in front of the class and Annette tried not to look at her for the rest of the day. Not that it mattered, as her mind had already memorized every detail of that first glance. She thought about Cherry's legs throughout algebra, her lips during English, and her slender shoulders dominated the discussion of American History in the afternoon. It was with considerable relief, then, when Annette left school that afternoon and began burning the image of the new girl out of her head during the long walk home. Annette arrived at her house by rote memory alone, and her mother made her a fried bologna sandwich, which Annette ate without tasting. Afterwards, the young Ms. Hoffman feigned exhaustion and excused herself to her room. Calmly, she closed the door, went to her bed and cried (as quietly as she could) for two or three hours. “Annette!” Her mother yelled from the base of the stairs. “Are you getting ready?” “Ready for what?” she yelled back. “I told you, the Sullivan are coming for dinner tonight,” “Who?” “You know, the new professor... Don't you ever listen?” Annette's mother continued to berate her, but Annette was was hearing words hours old: Sullivan. Christina Sullivan. *
* *
Cherry's father was a journeyman professor of Art History who had recently been hired on to Otterburg's faculty. Annette's father, clearly intent on ruining his daughter's life, had been the first to introduce himself to the new adjunct. Soon the two men had forged a friendship based on their mutual time in France and Germany during the War. Geopolitical occurrences which inevitably led to Annette staring at her roast beef intently, while the fire haired goddess sat across the dinner table from her. “Annette!” her father had to shake her shoulder to get her attention. “I'm sorry, what?” “I asked if you liked your teacher this year?” “Oh, yeah, she's okay,” “She's a little shy,” Annette heard her mother say to Mrs. Sullivan. “It's fine,” Dr. Sullivan's gregarious baritone resonated through the dining room. “I think we have to subjected these young girls to enough of our stuffiness," "Indeed," Dr. Hoffman condemned his daughter with a thoughtful nod. "Annette, why don't you show Cherry around our little town?” “Can we borrow the car?” Cherry said. “I promise I'll be careful!” “That sounds like a wonderful idea," Cherry's father smiled, "If Annette doesn't mind, that is,” “Oh, I'd love to,” the young Ms. Hoffman said too quickly. She looked up to see Cherry smiling at her and immediately dropped her eyes again, staring at her plate as if she could divine her strange feelings in the puddle of au jus slowly creeping towards her mashed potatoes. *
* *
While she had helped peel spuds for the evening's dinner, Annette
had heard her mother remark that Professor Sullivan came from a
significantly wealthy Boston family. For reasons her daughter
couldn't understand, this meant that there could be absolutely no
specks of skin in the mashed potatoes. What she did
understand, however, was the brand new Chevrolet parked next to her
father's Depression-era rust collection."You have a radio in your car?" Annette wondered out loud as she slid into the spacious front seat. "AM and FM," Cherry flipped a switch and Pat Boone began serenading the two young women as they sat in a car in Annette's driveway. Cherry wrinkled her freckled nose and twisted a bulky knob violently, shattering the teen idol's voice into a cacophony of static. Tuning the device like it was a musical instrument, she stopped at a frequency Annette recognized as the college's eclectic, student-run studio. "Do you like jazz?" "I don't know," Annette listened to the odd arraignment of drums and horns as Cherry put the car in reverse and pulled onto the street. She kept waiting for someone to start singing. "I think it's very hip, very cool," For the first time, Annette noticed a small flame ignite in Cherry's pupil, as bright and vibrant as her scarlet curls. "Are their any juke joints in this town?" "I don't think so," Annette shook her head. There wasn't much in Jeffersonville, except the college and the businesses catering the its students. As Cherry drove them down Main street, Annette pointed out the one screen movie theater and the VFW hall that held dances on Saturday nights, but she got the impression that Cherry wasn't interested in those things. "What do people do for fun?" She said, turning around for a second trip through downtown. "Well," Annette thought. The town's few teenagers didn't really do much, except hang out at the drugstore and neck in the backseat of cars up at Watch Point. Realizing her options were severely limited, Annette looked down at her feet. "We could get some soda pops," Mr. Silas' drugstore was the hub of social and commercial activity in Jeffersonville. Even on a school night, there were three football players sitting at the soda counter in their letter jackets, drinking Cokes. All three turned around to ogle Cherry as she walked in. “So, do you have a boyfriend?” Cherry asked as they walked passed the boys. “Well, no,” Annette mumbled, which, in her mind, was about everything that could be said on the subject. There was more uncomfortable silence as the girls ordered their drinks, Annette had her usual chocolate malt and Cherry got a root beer float. Annette wished she had something to say. “That’s okay,” Cherry shrugged and smiled, as they sat down at a table near the corner, far away from the greedy eyes across the room. “I’m probably going to have a hard time finding anyone in this town, too,” “Are you kidding? If I were a boy, I’d be all over you,” Annette joked to everyone but herself. “That’s too bad,” Cherry grinned, “If you were a boy, I wouldn’t want you,” “Oh,” In her eyes, Annette was genuinely hurt. Not knowing what else to do, and terrified that her burning ears might betray her secret, the heartbroken girl cast her eyes down and sipped her malt “Oh, no," Cherry shook her head decisively, "I'd much rather you be my girlfriend,” “Excuse me!?” Chocolate malted milk almost shot out Annette’s nose as she looked up at the new girl, “What did you say?” “I want you to be my girlfriend,” “I don’t understand,” The fire was back in Cherry's eyes, a burning madness in her irises that threatened to ignite Annette. "How?" “There’s not much to it,” As suddenly as it appeared, the flame was gone and new girl winked, stirring her float with the straw. “I figure we’ll go to a few movies, occasionally neck... maybe more, if you play your cards right,” “But,” How could Annette explain something so obvious as the impossibility of this ever happening? “So, what do you think?” Cherry sipped her float and raised her delicate eyebrows. “Do you want to go and park somewhere after this?” *
* *
Annette had never been to Watch Point, but like every teenager in Jeffersonville she knew which roads to take to get there. Cherry drove like a madwoman down the dirt paths, tossing a cloud of dust up into the night behind them. Except for terse directions, Annette said nothing as they drove, wondering what was going to happen when they got to the infamous ridge. "Is this it?" Cherry brought the Chevy to a sliding stop in the small clearing overlooking the town. Below them, the lights of Jeffersonville flickered in the dark valley. Above them, the stars glittered, indifferent. "Yes," Annette's heart was beating as fast as the crazy percussion coming through Cherry's radio. Her body was responding in strange ways. Crossing her legs, she wished that her mother hadn't forced her to wear a skirt. “Don’t be afraid,” Cherry said, that terrifying spark of madness flickering in her eyes as she slid across the front seat, closing the distance between her and Annette. “I knew you were in love with me the first time I saw you looking at me,” “I…I…I’m not!” “Of course you are,” Cherry had the other girl pinned against the passenger side door. “Close your eyes and I’ll prove it,” Annette did, so did Cherry. She felt, in the darkness, Cherry’s lips pressing against her own lips, her own girl-lips. When Annette opened her eyes, she felt drunk, as though Cherry had passed her own strange intoxication into her with her breath. Lunging forward, she kissed the new girl back, just like she had practiced with her magazines late at night. Pushing Cherry back across the bench seat with her lips even as her arms sought to pull the fire haired goddess into her, Annette was overwhelmed by her frantic pulse. Through the AM/FM radio, a saxophone moaned, then wailed. Annette pressed herself into Cherry's lip, drunk by her own infatuation. Parting her lips as if by instinct, she was surprised to find the other girl's tongue inviting itself into her mouth. Reciprocating, Annette felt something warm filling her palms and realized that she was squeezing Cherry's shoulder blades as their tongues twisted around each other. "Mmm- Arms up, beautiful," When Cherry pulled back, Annette whined involuntarily. Seeing that the strange fire was still burning in the new girl's eyes, Annette complied. Without bothering to unbutton it, Cherry pulled Annette's blouse right over her head. The red haired girl leaned in close and kissed Annette right where her overgrown breasts began to spill out of her brassier. "What are you doing?" Cherry's right hand had wormed its way between Annette's legs and she squeezed it between her thighs as her insides clenched curiously. Cherry was still kissing her chest, and Annette ran her fingers through her fiery hair. "Don't stop," Annette's first orgasm crept up her spine in the front seat of a Chevy parked on the precipise of Watch Point. At first the young woman didn't know what was happening, only that she didn't want Cherry to remove her thumb from her girl parts. As the flame haired goddess' fingertips pushed the fabric of her underwear into her body, however, Annette's body began to spasm and shake, leaving her mind to wonder if this is how one died of happiness. *
* *
“You’re a very queer girl,” Annette said
with her
head in Cherry’s lap. It was late and a little cold,
especially as both
girls
were naked from the waist up. “You
don’t like Pat Boone, you listen to negro music,
you…”“…like kissing girls,” Cherry laughed, delicately brushing Annette’s hair with her fingers. “Yes, there’s that…” Annette smiled and took hold of Cherry’s hand, held it against her cheek. “Overall, very queer,” “It’s 1959, Annette,” Cherry explained. “Big things are going to happen, and soon. Jazz and Rock and Roll- we're a brand new generation, the rules need to be rewritten and we’re the ones who will get to do it,” “But, still,” Annette sat up and noticed an irresistible fire burning in Cherry’s eyes. “Things are changing, society is changing, men and women are changing,” Seized by a sudden fever, Cherry grabbed her new friend’s shoulders, desperate to pour her soul into the other girl’s skull. “In ten years, there won’t be boys and girls anymore, just people, and I want you to be there with me when it happens,” “What!?” “I’m moving to California, Annette,” Cherry was at the height of her madness. “And I want you to come with me, we could get an apartment together in San Francisco, we would spend every night together,” At this point Cherry pulled Annette into a hungry embrace. “You’d be my girl and I’d be yours,” And for a second, as Annette felt Cherry’s heart beat, as they breathed heavily into each other’s ear, it sounded like a really good idea. “I don’t know…” “It’s okay,” Cherry’s madness had passed like a dark cloud obscuring the bejeweled firmament. “I understand,” “I... I like the part... I like the part about you being my girl, though,” “That's good,” the two girls embraced in silence, watching the stars that slowly spun above the world of petty mortals below. Still, Annette could feel the heat from Cherry's body warming her to the bone. The queer new girl kissed her again. “That's good,” THE END |
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