Whistle Bait

Whistle Bait

M. King

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 Betty Shaw’s best friend, Lois, is the type of girl Betty’s always envied—not that she wants to admit it. By turns flirtatious, controlling, and downright manipulative. When Lois drags her to a double date at the movies, Betty can’t say no, and she ends up in a whole world of humiliation. Yet, just as she thinks the night can’t get much worse, Betty meets Paula, and everything starts to change. 

 
PUBLISHED BY: loveyoudivine Alterotica
ISBN: 978-1-60054-393-7
PUBLICATION DATE: 2009
WORD COUNT: 15505
SEXUAL CONTENT RATING: 2 2
EBOOK READER RATING:
CATEGORIES: WomanLove
KEYWORDS: f/f, lesbian, femme, 1950s, kitsch, rockabilly,
 

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EXCERPT
COPYRIGHT M. King/2009

 Her shoes sank into the boggy ground, so much softer now than it had been when they arrived, and she knew Ricky must be getting out of his side, too, but she couldn’t see anything except the rain and the black-and-white ghosts of the movie flashing back off row after row of parked, wet cars. For a moment, Betty thought to go to where Hank’s Buick was parked and hammer on the window for Lois, but—like almost every other couple here tonight—she knew Lois probably wouldn’t even hear her, and besides, right now the thought couldn’t cut through Betty’s gut-deep fury. This was all Lois’ fault anyway, and she would never, ever forgive her.

 Ricky was out of the car now, making his way toward her, his hand gliding along the hood as he used it to keep his balance. The rain slicked his skin, the silvered light of the screen flickering over him.

“Betty! Come here…don’t be stupid!”

 A defiant, ragged noise—not quite a scream, not quite a cuss—broke from her mouth, and she ducked back between the rows of cars, running as fast as she could with the mud and puddles splashing up her legs, pulling her back down with every movement. Betty yelped at the feel of her garter belt snapping, one of the clasps giving way under the strain. She pushed on, past the oblivious shadows in the faceless cars, and she was vaguely aware of the blurred flash of neon that must have been the concessions stand, and that must mean she was close to the way out. Betty had no idea what she’d do or where she’d go once she did get out, but that didn’t seem to matter, because she was just running and running, and she barely noticed the figure she collided with until it was almost too late.

 She hit at speed, and the other person cried out, and then before she knew what had happened, Betty had hit the ground, her ankle turning out awkwardly and her hand grazing painfully on a sharp stone. The shock of the impact winded her for a minute, and she sat there, dumb and blind, shallow breaths coming fast, high in her chest.

 “Are you all right? Hello? Can you hear me?”

 She looked up, blinking into the rain. Somewhere, a low rumble of thunder rolled, the yellow underbelly of steel-gray clouds painting the evening sky. A faintly familiar face frowned down at her in concern, and then the girl from the concessions stand was kneeling at Betty’s side. One warm, gentle hand came to smooth back the escaped tendrils of her hair, and Betty felt all the makeup Lois had so lovingly applied sliding in the rain. It stung her eyes, but all she could see was Paula, her mouth moving and odd, disjointed words coming out.

“Come on. You come with me. I’ll get you cleaned up. Can you stand? Oh, that’s right…there you go. It’s not so bad. Come along, honey, this way.”

 Betty stood, wincing at the flare of pain in her ankle, wiping her palm on her borrowed dress before she realized she’d left a smear of blood behind. A torn garbage bag—Paula must have been carrying it when Betty cannoned into her—had disgorged its load of crumpled paper cups, soiled napkins and old food onto the muddy ground, and Betty thought for a moment she ought to stop and try to help tidy up.

 Paula tugged at her hand. “Don’t be silly. Leave that. Come on…that’s right, you lean on me. We’ll take a look at that ankle, too.”

Obediently, Betty limped where Paula led her, around the back of the concessions stand. She pulled back the already dislodged chain link and ushered Betty through, into the alley that lay beyond.

“Go on, it’s all right.”

 Betty ducked nervously beneath the wire and glanced around. Though a little glad she hadn’t had to walk past all the cars, she had no idea where this dank, dim place opened out to, nor how she was supposed to get back to the bus stop. Just follow the road, she guessed, though the thought of trying to walk anywhere right now made Betty feel sick.

 A set of steps led up to a brick wall—the back of the diner they’d passed on the way in—and an old wooden door. Confused, Betty just stood there, hugging her arms to her cold, wet dress, her whole being useless and stupid.

 Paula took a key from her pocket and unlocked the door. She glanced at Betty and smiled. The rain had flattened that glossy high ponytail considerably, damp rat-tails framing her face.

 “It’s okay, I’m not kidnapping you. This is the diner I work at during the week…you might have seen it on your way in. I’m always telling Mr. Menkin he could make more money staying open on weekends, but he’s a stickler for Shabbat. Come on.”

 
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