"Let's put a little speed on there!" she called, glancing quickly around the room. "There'll be another group here to use the showers in a few minutes; let's not keep them waiting."
"Oh, no, let's not keep them waiting!" Roxanne mocked.
Pat's eyes shot quickly in the girl's direction. As they stared at her across the room, she felt an unexpected tingle race down her spine and a sharp tug pull at her stomach. The girl was beautiful; far more so than Pat would have guessed.
Her eyes darted up and down Roxanne's naked body under the shower. The girl was turned sideways from Pat and the profile of her breasts was startling. The two mounds were at least as large as Pat's own, and her breasts were known to make men stop on the street and turn their heads to look after her when she walked past. The nipples at the tips of Roxanne's breasts were the same dark brown color as Pat's own and – although it was difficult for her to tell from that distance – the dark circles that surrounded them seemed even larger than hers were.
"Maybe she is seventeen," she thought with a new-found interest that surprised and frightened her. "Of course she's still a snotty little bitch and not really my type, but…"
As though she'd sensed Pat's eyes were staring at her, the girl suddenly turned in the spray of water and stood full-front with her legs spread far apart. Between her thighs was a dark jungle of hair that at the moment was dripping water in a little puddle below her body. When all that hair was dried and fluffed up, Pat suspected it would be even more thickly tangled and soft to press against one's mouth than even June's was. Her throat bobbed violently as she imagined what it would be like to nuzzle her mouth up against that furry hole and slide her tongue into the warmth of Roxanne's cunt.
"I wonder what she tastes like…?" she found herself thinking, then quickly regretted the thought as she saw a sudden flash of what seemed to be recognition dart across Roxanne's face.
Was it possible, she wondered, that the girl knew the score and had already pegged her as a secret lesbian? If Roxanne was really as worldly and sophisticated as she wanted people to think, it was almost a certainty that she knew there were women in the world who had no use for men and craved only other women's bodies for their lovemaking. Pat herself had made this discovery at fourteen, with her gym teacher in high school, so she knew it wouldn't be a far-fetched conclusion to suppose Roxanne might have had a similar experience by the age of sixteen or seventeen. Perhaps several.
"What's running through that cynical little mind of hers, I wonder?" Pat asked herself, as she kept her eyes on the girl. "Does she know about me? Does she just suspect, maybe, and plans on watching me as closely as I'll be watching her this summer?"
She wondered, but it was impossible to tell by that strange smile on Roxanne's face just what she might be thinking. Unless the girl was a lesbian herself, however, Pat doubted that she'd have picked up on her own sexual preference. She knew well enough that to the average person's eye she was no different from any other good-looking college girl.
It always amused Pat to think of most people's image of what a lesbian looked like. The usual stereotype was a short, squat, extremely masculine-looking woman with close-cropped hair, wearing severely tailored clothes, and possibly with a black eye or two and several missing teeth that had been knocked out in a brawl with a truck driver. The truth of the matter, she knew, was that the description fit only a very few actual lesbians.
Most women who want other women as their bed partners, Pat knew from experience, were extremely feminine in appearance and could hardly ever be picked out of a crowd of women as lesbians. They were college girls like herself, or sultry models whose pictures on magazine covers made both men and women want to take them to bed. They were housewives, too, and teachers. They were nurses, secretaries, professional women in all walks of life. The only thing that Pat had ever noticed to set a lesbian apart from any other woman was a certain hungry searching in the eyes whenever a pretty girl walked past. Like a man would do in such a moment, their desire became openly obvious then as a means of recognition if the girl was interested. It was like an unspoken signal, she'd often thought; that intense, x-ray stare that went beyond the mere meeting of eyes and told their longing to another person.
Of course there were mannish lesbians, Pat knew, but she was as frightened of them as any straight woman might be. Such women were too much like men for Pat's taste. She'd often told herself that if she wanted a man she'd have no trouble getting one, but since it was female love she craved she wanted her partner to be as pretty and desirable in a feminine way as she was herself. She had no use for women who acted like men.
No one had ever accused Pat Fulton of being mannish. Even as a little girl she'd never been a tomboy. She'd always liked frilly clothes and putting on make-up and fixing her incredibly beautiful, long black hair the way girls on television and in the movies wore theirs. For the summer, since it often became unbearably hot in the mountains where the Summer Sisters Girls Camp was located, especially near the end of July and the whole of August, she usually had her hair cut in a shorter style than she wore at college, but it was still a long cry from the dykish look she detested. That year she'd decided on a pageboy cut, with bangs across the front of her forehead and a flip at the back of her neck where the hair turned under. It was an attractive cut and perfectly framed the fragile beauty of Pat's face.
She had always thought her nose was a little too long for the rest of her features, but aside from that she knew she was a very pretty girl. Her eyes were an especially good asset. Set under brows and thick lashes that were as shimmering black as her other hair, Pat's eyes blazed like chunks of midnight coal dropped into pools of white cream. She had learned to use her eyes in a dozen expressions, from intense lust to extreme anger, without shifting the position of any other part of her face. While her lips were still curved up in a bright smile, her eyes could be staring right through someone with the utmost contempt. And, on the other hand, with her face set in an expressionless mask that gave no clue to what she was thinking, her eyes might be making love to a pretty girl across the room.
Her cheeks and facial bone structure could not have been improved upon by a sculptor. With the pale, milk-white complexion she had for most of the year, her profile seemed to be made of the finest white marble. Her sensuous mouth, which always seemed to be glistening as though she'd just run her tongue across her lips, was a surprising contrast of pink to the darkness of her hair and eyes and the smooth whiteness of her complexion. It was a face that made many men give her a second glance when she passed on the street, and quite a few women, too.
At the age of twenty, Pat's body was in the full bloom of it's prime. Her breast size had not increased in the last two years, but her measurements were already of sufficient proportion to stuff a bra to overflowing. Usually she did without one, wearing only a sweater or blouse over her naked tits, and it always amused her to see a stranger's eyes widen in astonishment at how much of herself was revealed through even the most conservative clothes. Her nipples were larger than normal, for one thing, and when a smooth sweater rubbed against them long enough they usually hardened and made it obvious she wasn't wearing a bra.
Although she'd toyed with the idea of not wearing panties, either, she'd found it uncomfortable and, at certain times of the month, embarrassing. She didn't like the thought that anyone sitting across from her on a subway or a bus might be able to look up under her skirt and see the dark shadow of bush that covered her cunt. Although her figure was next to perfect in proportion and she had no cause for embarrassment about the appearance of her most private parts, she felt that her body was a gift to be given only to those she loved and who would love her in return. Handing out free peeks to anyone with the nerve to look was not her idea of sensuality.