"Yes, baby! Yes!" her mind screamed. "You taste so good! That juice of yours is like wine to me! Keep pouring it, baby! Make me drunk on the taste of your cream! Oh, God! Yes! Yes! Yesssssss!"
Weak with exhaustion, but entirely satisfied from her own orgasm and the one her tongue had coaxed out of Mimsy, Roxanne lifted her head from the other girl's cunt a few minutes later and looked up at her face. She'd expected to find a smile of satisfaction there, or at least an acknowledgement that it hadn't been as bad as Mimsy had thought. Instead, she found tears running in steams down both the blonde's cheeks.
"Honey," she said tenderly, reaching her hand up to console the girl. "Hey! Hey, honey, what's the matter? It wasn't as bad as all that, was it?"
Mimsy's eyes flashed with anger and contempt as she looked down at her. "Are you finished with me now? Can I go now?"
"Sure, but…"
Her hand was brushed roughly away as Mimsy scrambled to her feet. Backing off from Roxanne, she set her jaw in a tight grimace, then hissed, "If you ever touch me again…" The rest of her warning was engulfed in another flood of tears and sobs. Turning away, she started to run back to the cabin as fast as her legs would carry her.
"Hey! Hey, wait!" Roxanne cried, but the girl was already far from her. "Fuck you!" she spat angrily, getting up from the ground and brushing off her knees. "I don't need you any more anyway. Not as long as Pat is my Big Sister," she chuckled.
CHAPTER FOUR
"What a strange, sad girl," June Halstead thought to herself, as she studied the faces of the girls sitting around her and noted with particular interest the downcast expression on Mimsy Colberg's. It was part of June's duties as a summer counselor at the camp to teach the girls basket weaving, taking various groups for one hour sessions two days a week. That morning, the first official day of the Summer Sisters program, she was instructing Pat's group in the basics of the skill and had noticed how withdrawn Mimsy seemed. While she'd been a camp counselor long enough to realize that in the first week or so of camp there were bound to be feelings of homesickness and loneliness among the girls, Mimsy seemed disturbed by something else and June wished she could put her finger on what it was so she could try to help.
"I wonder," she thought, "if it has anything to do with that dark-haired girl. What's her name now? Rosanne? No, Roxanne, that's it." Her eyes darted to the girl's face, but she seemed absorbed in the pile of rattan she was sorting in preparation of her first basket work. "I wonder…"
Being a psychology major at college, June was quick to notice and observe inter-actions among people, even if those actions were so subtle as to escape the untrained eye. It seemed to her that ever since the girls had assembled for the class an hour earlier, Mimsy had been at pains to avoid Roxanne. Her eyes never so much as glanced in the dark-haired girl's direction and although she spoke freely with the rest of the girls when they spoke to her, on at least two occasions June had noticed Mimsy ignoring a remark Roxanne had directed to her. She assumed the two girls had had some sort of argument, possibly even a fight, the previous night. Such things were not uncommon at the start of the summer, and she knew that unless something was done to correct bad feelings between the girls at their inception, there would only be further trouble during the months ahead.
Walking through the group, she made comments on what the girls were doing, but when she stopped alongside Mimsy she knelt down and murmured, "I'd like you to stay a few minutes after the other girls leave, if you would. I'd like to talk to you about something."
It seemed as though a flash of fear ran through the girl's eyes as she nodded her head up and down and whispered a quick, "Okay," and this left June feeling even more confused and upset. Why should she be frightened about talking to me, she wondered?
At the end of the hour, she dismissed the girls and began to clean up the basket weaving materials. From the corner of her eye, though, she watched Roxanne with particular interest and noted how she seemed to be waiting for Mimsy to join the others who were leaving. When she didn't, the dark-haired girl went up to her and, with a quick glance toward June, dropped to her knees and whispered something in Mimsy's ear. Her face went white and her eyes darted frantically in June's direction, almost as though crying out for help.
"All right," June thought with determination, "I've had just about enough of this. Time to find out what's going on."
Moving quickly toward the two girls, she leveled her eyes with Roxanne's and was startled by the expression she found staring back at her. It was almost one of mocking contempt. Her back bristled with indignation as she drew herself up and assumed her most efficient counselor's voice.
"Why aren't you going down to the lake with the other girls, Roxanne?" she demanded. "Shirley will be waiting for you to start the swimming class."
"I already know how to swim," Roxanne snapped in reply, her eyes still holding steady to June's.
"Then why don't you go down to the lake and tell Shirley that?" she firmly suggested. "I'm sure we can find another class for you to take."
"I'm waiting for Mimsy," the girl said flatly.
"Mimsy was asked to stay behind for a few minutes," June informed her, "by me. You were not. Now will you please obey me and go down to the lake?"
Once again June felt a strange little shiver run through her as she stared at that mocking look in the girl's eyes, but she held her ground, and in a few moments Roxanne got to her feet.
"All right," she said. "I'll go, but it's not because you tell me to. I'm bored here anyway."
"That one," June thought nervously, staring after Roxanne as she walked away, "is going to be trouble for someone this summer. I can feel it in my bones."
Turning back to Mimsy, she settled onto her haunches beside the girl and put her arm lightly around her shoulders. "You did fine work this morning, Mimsy," she praised. "I'm sure you're going to be as expert at this as I am by the end of the summer. Maybe even better. You seem to have a natural talent."
"Thank you," the girl said softly.
"Have you studied basket weaving before this summer?"
"No, Miss Halstead."
"Call me June, please," she smiled, "like I told all the girls to do."
"Okay… June."
"That's much better. I want us to be friends this summer, Mimsy, and friends don't call each other Miss. June sounds much more friendly, doesn't it?"
The girl nodded her head up and down. It seemed to June that she was ready to break into tears at any second. She could feel the tension in the girl's shoulders as she held her arm around them.
"Is this your first summer away from home, Mimsy?" she asked softly.
"No, Miss – I mean – June. It's not."
"Aren't you happy here at Summer Sisters?"
"Why do you ask that?"
"Oh, I don't know," June smiled. "Sometimes a camp turns out to be different than a girl imagines it's going to be and when she gets here she's unhappy. I wondered if that was true in your case."
"Are you going to send me away if I say I'm unhappy?" she sobbed, and the tears were now brimming in her eyes like liquid diamonds.
"Of course not!" June tightened the pressure of her arm around the girl's shoulders. "Why, that's the last thing I'd want to see happen. I'd like you to stay with us all summer and be happy while you're here. But I can't help if I don't know what's…" She stopped suddenly as a great sob broke from the girl's throat and she flung herself against June's body, clinging as though to a lifeboat.
"Help me!" Mimsy sobbed. "Please? Help me, June?"
"How? What's wrong?" she pleaded. "Please tell me what's upset you, so I'll know how to help."
"I-I can't…"