Hearts Renewed Read online

  She knew how vulnerable you could feel after a particularly powerful orgasm and didn't want Gretchen to feel embarrassed or alone. She spoke soothing words until she realized that Gretchen wasn't listening. She was asleep. With a soft laugh, Carrie withdrew her hands and sat up. "I don't think I ever put anyone to sleep before," she told the river. "I'm not sure what to do."

  Wildflowers across the river caught her eye and she waded over to pick a bouquet. Tying it together with strands of her hair, she placed it where Gretchen would see it, then lay down next to her and followed her into sleep.

  She woke gradually, aware of the smell of sunscreen and Gretchen's hands working the lotion into her legs. She hummed to let Gretchen know she was awake and stretched like a cat. She felt all of her muscles relax under the thorough touch and she smiled when Gretchen turned her over. The sun was not yet high so she knew they had not lost too much of the day and she watched Gretchen's face as she worked. Her tiny bouquet was tucked behind one ear. "Where'd you get the flowers?"

  Gretchen smiled knowingly. "A woodland fairy, I suppose."

  "Awfully nice of her."

  "I thought so, too."

  Gretchen eased her leg over Carrie's hips and settled down. Carrie watched as she squeezed more lotion into her hands and rubbed them together. She was looking forward to those hands on her breasts, but Gretchen saved them for last and then was very careful not to get any lotion on her areolas. "What if my nipples burn?" Carrie asked.

  "I'll kiss them better," Gretchen teased.

  Carrie pushed her a little to one side. "You're blocking my sun."

  Gretchen laughed and pinned her arms. "Maybe a little preventative attention is a good idea."

  Carrie held her breath as Gretchen slowly leaned over to kiss each one. "More," she whispered. She watched, fascinated, as Gretchen's tongue circled her tightening flesh; excited to see how Gretchen was making her feel so good. She watched her nipples disappear into her mouth one at a time and fought the desire to close her eyes and give herself up to it. "Last night…in the truck...I think I came…just from what…you're doing right now."

  "I know," Gretchen said between kisses. "It was very exciting…You were incredible…I could feel how much you enjoyed it…Maybe we'll try it again…"

  Carrie didn't think it was repeatable, but she enjoyed the attempt completely. Gretchen only let her bask in the afterglow for a moment before dragging her to her feet.

  "Come on, Carrie. This is wonderful, but I need to move around a little. Let's go for a walk."

  Dressed in sneakers and smiles, they forded the river and headed into the trees. It did feel good to walk and Carrie's strength returned. "Tell me your coming out story," she prompted.

  Gretchen had a stick in her hand and swung it idly as they slowly strolled. "Like most people it wasn't an event so much as a process. I came out when I was 19, but I started messing around with girls when I was nine."

  "So young?"

  Gretchen's voice took on a hint of fond remembrance. "A neighbor girl and I used to…play. It wasn't sexual at the time, but in retrospect it was extremely sensual. We gave each other massages and slept naked together, but there was no sexual touching or kissing. We were very casual about it, but I remember delighting in the way my body felt when she looked at me."

  "Sounds innocent enough."

  "It was, but it was golden, too." Gretchen smiled to herself and then glanced at Carrie. "Then, in seventh grade, I had every class with a girl named Debbie and we naturally became friends. We were twelve that year and we spent the night at each other's house all the time. We used to practice kissing. We slept in our underpants and we hugged a lot, but aside from kissing, we didn't touch very much. I think we knew it would be crossing a line we weren't quite ready to cross. I'm sure she wanted to as much as I did, but we were so young. In my mind, she was very much my girlfriend, but even so, I didn't really understand what that meant."

  "Whatever happened to her?"

  "Her family moved away. I wonder now and then if she grew up to be gay as well. She was far more aggressive than I was in what she wanted. If not for her, we wouldn't have done anything at all."

  Carrie recognized the far away look in Gretchen's eyes and she waited for it to clear before pressing. "Then what happened?"

  Gretchen laughed without pleasure. "Then I hit puberty. That was such a terrible time for me. I wanted so badly to be happy and loved and I hated everything and everyone so passionately. I can hardly stand to remember how awful I felt. Of course, the root cause was that I hated myself for feeling so different and not being able to identify why. Everyone expected things from me. My family is very image oriented so I ended up being a cheerleader. I hated it. I tried so hard to be straight-I really did. I dated the boys my friends were all excited about. I even slept with some of them, but the more straight I tried to be the more unhappy I got and I couldn't even figure out why I was so miserable. I wasn't even allowed to express any of it."

  Carrie knew that being a teenager was hard on most people, but Gretchen's teen years sounded like a nightmare. "Society, peer pressure and family are very powerful things. It's almost impossible to fight them. It's too bad we don't live in a society geared to helping us through that stage of life. How did you ever get out of it?"

  Gretchen smiled. "I fell in love with a girl I worked in a video store with. I was 19 and she was 20. It was scary and torrid and spine tingling all at once. Pretty typical really."

  "And your family? How did they take it?"

  "Badly." Gretchen looked up at Carrie. ""Are you sure you want to hear about this?"

  "Only if you want to tell it."

  Gretchen sighed. "My mother drank most of a bottle of whiskey in about five minutes flat and cried till she passed out. My father called his campaign manager."

  "Why?"

  "He was up for re-election as a County Supervisor and he was concerned about damage control."

  Carrie was hesitant to be critical, but it seemed the only thing to say. "That seems rather…cold."

  "It was pretty devastating at the time. Here I had finally figured out what was wrong with me and it turned out to be a wonderful thing, but my family went totally berserk. My father frowned at me for two years straight and my mother cried every time she saw me for almost 6 months. My sisters were almost as bad. My oldest sister found God and apparently he told her that I was one of Satan's imps. She still prays for me. My other sister thinks it's a phase and one of these days I'll stop embarrassing the family and come to my senses."

  "You're not kidding, are you?"

  Gretchen shook her head. "No, I'm not. I actually toned it down quite a bit. I moved out here about 10 years ago to get away from them. I call them four times a year just to be annoying and keep my name in the will." She laughed and put her arm around Carrie's waist. "What about you? What's your coming out story?"

  Carrie shook her head to clear it of the appalling story she had just heard. "Unlike you, my coming out was an event. You heard a part of it already, but I'll fill you in on the rest of the story. I was 13 and I was at a slumber party with a couple of girlfriends. Unbeknownst to the parents…"

  "Unbeknownst?"

  Carrie lifted an eyebrow at Gretchen's tone. "It's my story and I'll tell it how I like." She smiled at Gretchen's laugh and went on. "Okay. Like I was saying, we snuck boys into the party sometime after midnight. I didn't care one way or the other, it was just something you did back then. Bruce was one of them, by the way. We ended up playing Spin the Bottle and it was all very funny and weird. Kids kept going into the closet and we would tease them and they'd come out and be embarrassed-it was all very juvenile. Anyhow, it finally landed on me and I jumped up thinking that Susan was my partner. She was sitting directly across from me. I was waiting for her to stand up and the boy next to her, Allen McIntyre, stood up instead." Carrie could see Gretchen trying to place where she had heard that name. "He grabbed my hand and tried to drag me to the closet, but I jerked away f
rom him. To make a long story short, I told him I didn't want to kiss him. I wanted to kiss Susan. In the instant I said it, I knew I only ever wanted to be with girls and I was perfectly fine with it. Allen called me a freak of nature and I blasted him square in the nose."

  "Ah! I remember now."

  "That was the only time in my life that I hit anyone in anger. It was the strangest thing."

  "How so?"

  "He saw it coming," Carrie said with a wry laugh. "I mean, I stepped back with my fist and just zeroed right in on him. I saw his eyes watch it coming. I don't think he believed I was really going to hit him, but he had to know from the beginning that I was winding up for it." Carrie shook her head. "His nose exploded; blood and snot everywhere. I had nightmares about it for months."

  "How bad did you hurt him?"

  "I blacked his eyes and his nose was a swollen mess, but he healed up fine in just a few weeks. It pretty much ruined my high school years though. Every one knew I was gay and that made it hard for me to make friends because everyone was suspect if they spent too much time with me. Poor Bruce had it almost as bad."

  "It must have been hard on you."

  Carrie shrugged. "You get used to what you can't change. I dealt with it by being belligerently proud."

  "So how old were you the first time you were with a girl?"

  "Not a girl," Carrie laughed with some embarrassment. "My first time was my first everything. My 21st birthday, my first gay bar, my first kiss, my first sexual encounter, my first orgasm-everything."

  "What was her name?"

  "Peg. She was 36 and she ate me up. I was scared to death." Carrie blushed remembering that night. "It never even occurred to me to say no. She put me on the back of her motorcycle, took me to a cheap motel and turned me into silly putty. Looking back, the sex really wasn't that memorable, but I had nothing to measure her against and I thought she was wonderful."

  "How do I measure up?"

  Carrie looked at her in surprise. "You can't be serious. I mean, can't you tell how good you are by how…? You aren't like anyone else I've ever been with. It's like comparing…raisins and passion fruit."

  "I just wanted to hear you say it." Gretchen hugged Carrie's arm. "Nice analogy, by the way."

  Carrie chuckled at herself for falling into Gretchen's trap. "I love it when you use big words," she teased. "It makes me feel all gooey inside."

  "Oh!" Gretchen exclaimed. "Speaking of gooey…I can't believe I let you talk me into singing for those cretins."

  "I was wondering how that went," Carrie grinned.

  "It was humiliating! Kirsten actually flinched and Brooke covered her ears. Linda patted me on the head like a dog."

  "Was the cobbler good?"

  "Delicious, but I'm not sure it was worth it. I told you I couldn't sing."

  "You sing fine," Carrie said truthfully. "You just can't carry a tune. Besides, it's not about how good you are; it's about how good you feel when you do it."

  "Well, it makes me feel bad when dogs howl and children cry."

  "What about when it was just you and I? Did it feel good then?"

  "That was different."

  "Why?"

  "I guess because…you didn't seem to mind."

  "I like that you can't sing."

  "That's the first time I've heard that," Gretchen laughed. "How come?"

  "It's easy to share things you're good at, but very hard to share the bad. I know I twisted your arm, but you sang for me and it made me feel closer to you. It had to be hard for you to do, but you did it anyway and I'll never forget that."

  Gretchen gave her a considering look. "What are you bad at?"

  "Nothing obvious," Carrie answered. "Let's see. I can't do that thing with my tongue where you roll it…" Gretchen demonstrated. "That's it. And I can't whistle."

  "Not at all?"

  Carrie shook her head and they stopped walking while she tried anyway. Gretchen tried to explain it, but no matter how she moved her mouth, she just made herself light-headed.

  "You're right," Gretchen said as they gave up. "It does make me feel closer to you knowing that you can't do something so simple."

  "Simple for you, maybe."

  Gretchen squeezed her hand. "Let's go eat lunch. I have plans for you."

  Carrie's nipples hardened to the point they felt brittle and she led the way back to camp.

  ~***~

  Chapter Ten

  Carrie lay with her head in Gretchen's lap watching the stars and listening to the crackle of the fire. She was using a twig to clean her teeth-having forgotten to bring her toothbrush-and Gretchen was leaning back on one hand, stroking Carrie's hair with the other. They were both dressed, at least temporarily, against the chill of the evening.

  "What are you thinking about?" Carrie asked into the silence.

  "Just listening to the frogs and crickets." Gretchen's voice was soft and dreamy. "Enjoying being here with you."

  "You're the best time I've ever had," Carrie ventured. Gretchen smiled, but it seemed obligatory. Her eyes were sad and lonely. Carrie knew in that moment how the future would be and her chest ached. She couldn't bear to let Gretchen see her heart break, so she rolled to her side and faced the fire. With nothing left to lose, she said what she had been waiting to say all day. "I love you, Gretchen."

  "I love you, too."

  Hope flared briefly. "But it doesn't matter, does it?"

  Gretchen was almost whispering. "It matters a great deal."

  "Still," Carrie persisted, "it's almost over, isn't it?" She waited a long agonizing moment for Gretchen's answer.

  "That's how it is with dreams, Carrie. They're beautiful while they last, but they always end."

  Carrie fought the need to cry. She knew it wouldn't help. "Is there someone else?"

  "No," Gretchen said quickly. "I promise…it's nothing like that."

  "Then why?" When she didn't get an immediate answer she began to hope again. "The most important thing is that we love each other. Everything else is geography and finances."

  "Everything else is reality," Gretchen said with tears in her voice. "We have lives and habits and needs that we're going back to. Hearts and bodies aren't enough to build a relationship on."

  This didn't make any sense to Carrie. "But it's the best place to start."

  "It's more likely to be the beginning of the end."

  "That's pretty cynical."

  "Perhaps. But I'm not leaving Edgewater and you need your family."

  "That's for me to decide."

  "True," Gretchen admitted. "But I won't ask you to leave them behind. They're more important to you than you may realize and they need you, too."

  Carrie was feeling a little desperate and angry. "You left your family."

  "My family and yours are nothing alike. Our relationships to our families are completely different. Leaving my family was a matter of emotional survival. Your family completes you." Gretchen sighed. "But it's not just family, Carrie. Are you going to quit your job and start over as a cashier? That's not very realistic."

  "Who's to say what kind of position I could find in Edgewater? It might be a step up, not a step down."

  "What about friends?"

  "I'll make new friends." Gretchen's hand left her hair and Carrie turned to see her face. She had her hand over her mouth and tears were rolling down her cheeks. Carrie sat up and put one hand over Gretchen's legs for balance as she looked into her face. "What is it really, Gretchen? No more excuses. If you don't love me the way I love you, say so. I can understand that. But to just…dismiss the possibility of a future with me without a reason-I need to understand, Gretchen. Don't do this to us without involving me."

  Gretchen closed her eyes and shook her head.

  Carrie looked around as if for help. The only thing she could think of was to explain why understanding was so important to her, so she took a deep, calming breath. "My last lover's name was Tracey. We were together for 12 years. I left her on our twelfth annive
rsary. The last year I was with her was a nightmare because she wouldn't talk to me. One day everything seemed fine and the next day she hated me. I don't know why, but I tried everything."

  It made Carrie feel hopeless all over again just remembering. "She wouldn't go to counseling with me, so I went alone. Of course that did absolutely nothing for her. If I made a special meal, she ate in front of the TV or went to bed without eating. She couldn't bear for me to touch her so I slept on the sofa. If I asked how her day was, she told me it was none of my business. I wasn't folding the clothes right. I wasn't washing the dishes properly. I was running the vacuum over the carpet nap incorrectly. I swear, I couldn't do even one thing to her satisfaction. If I paid the bills I was nagging. If I didn't pay the bills I was selfish. I bought the wrong kind of toilet paper and laundry soap and toothpaste. We had a huge fight once over tomato sauce. I bought her gifts and she either ignored them or pawned them. I would bring her flowers and as soon as I left the room, she would throw them away. And through it all, every single time I tried to talk to her and find out what was wrong, she told me I was imagining things and that there was nothing to talk about. I still don't know why she stopped loving me." Carrie used the backs of her fingers to wipe away Gretchen's tears. "If you don't at least try to make me understand, it would be the cruelest thing you could do to me. Please, baby. Talk to me."

  Gretchen leaned into her with a sob and a nod. Carrie pulled her into her lap and wrapped the blanket about them both. "Take your time, lover. Take all the time you want. You have my undivided attention."

  Gretchen cried for a long while and Carrie rocked her patiently. Gretchen eventually quieted enough to talk, but her words were halting and pained.

  "My last relationship lasted 31 weeks. That's the longest relationship I've ever had. I've only had two last longer than 4 months. They always leave me and they usually do something hateful to say goodbye."

  Carrie wanted to say something to make it all right, but Gretchen wasn't finished.