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From the first electric moment when Carson had pulled her into the garage and finally admitted that she wasn’t ‘normal’, Greta had known that she would need to be the one to keep her sanity in check. Carson, dear country girl Carson, had probably only had societally blessed encounters with her husband in some remote farmhouse in Idaho. She had clearly never been entangled with someone in a dark closet or shadowy alleyway or any other number of rendezvous points where discretion was absolutely vital to prevent discovery.
Greta remembered what that thrill of kissing another woman for the first time was like. It made a person reckless. It made a person careless. And in Carson’s case, it made her moan and growl and pant with abandon in ways that tore Greta to shreds. Because every sound rumbling up from Carson’s heaving chest was dangerous. And if she was like this while kissing, good heavens, what noises would she make if Greta took her by hand or tongue? Greta woke up sweaty sometimes just thinking about it. But this temptation, this danger, was exactly why she had to be the one to keep the rules. There were some things it was not okay to let herself want.
I can only be with them if I keep quiet and in control at all times.
So, Greta was the one to muffle Carson’s moans into kisses and angle her hips away to prevent friction and slow things down when she felt her mind start to get fuzzy from arousal. Were Carson a more seasoned queer, she’d likely have cottoned on to Greta’s avoidance of any escalation of their encounters. As it was, she eagerly kissed and kissed and kissed and didn’t complain when Greta told her it was time to go back inside the boarding house.
Some nights, it was all Greta could do to wait until Jess was asleep and she could finally, silently, slip one hand down her pajama pants in the dead of night under the covers to relieve the ache stoked by Carson’s swollen lips and breasts pressed against hers through their shirts. From years of sharing a room with Jo, Greta was well practiced at peaking without so much as a hitch in her breathing. The remembered sensation of Carson pushing her up against the wall of the bar that first night always got her there. She was safe. She was in control. She wasn’t allowed to want another hand.
Sometimes, when Greta had had a few drinks and had spent a day watching her cute little catcher’s thighs behind home plate without so much as a chance for a quick hug, she got weak and her mind wandered into forbidden territory. Her encounters with Carson had been getting more and more heated, and she could tell Carson was slowly losing her mind if the intense press of her hips was anything to go by. Did Carson find her own relief late at night like Greta did? Or, and this was even more impossibly arousing, was Carson left wanting and wet each time without the knowledge of how to quench her desire?
Greta had been with many women, even married ones, for whom the secrets of female pleasure had been a mystery. If that were the case… holy hell did Greta want to be the one to bring Carson to a fever pitch. She wanted to see the shock and ecstasy on Carson’s face. But more than anything, she wanted to hear Carson cry out as she convulsed around Greta’s fingers or tongue. The mornings after Greta had these forbidden, impossible, pointless thoughts, she would rein herself in and harden her resolve. She could not afford to slip up here, in Rockport, where she was no longer anonymous and neither was Jo. Because the second she let her guard down, terrible things could happen again.
They were totally alone. Dana’s parents were going to be out at Sunday dinner for hours, with Dana having feigned mild illness to get out of it. And finally finally finally, they had a bed, in the afternoon sunlight rather than the shadows of night. And finally finally finally, Dana had done what Greta had begged her to do after feverish kissing and rubbing. She had slipped two fingers inside of Greta. The angle was a little off at first, but after a moment’s fumbling, Dana had curled the tips of her fingers in a place Greta didn’t even know she had. Greta had thrown her head back and **howled**, not thinking, not caring, not knowing anything but the completion of her love’s fingers filling her up so good. And it was that split second loss of control that led to pounding footsteps, a thrown open door, screams of horror, and then… loss, the likes of which she could never have fathomed.
***
Carson was not like Greta. She was so innocent and free in her affection, losing herself in kisses, losing track of their surroundings, growing bolder and more assertive with every furtive kiss. As she did, it became harder and harder for Greta to remain in control. Perhaps she should have known from that first encounter when Carson had surged up and pressed her back against the wall that Carson would not be a pliant, submissive housewife. For all of her adorable social awkwardness, she had a fierceness on the baseball diamond, all of this wild energy that no amount of base running or swinging or catching could exhaust. She came to Greta each night like she was starving after a long day of carefully pretending not to be too close around the team. Carson didn’t flinch at every little noise while in Greta’s arms. She didn’t instinctively wait to make sure they went back into the house a few minutes apart. She was unafraid, because she had never had to hide her feelings before. And so Greta would have to be vigilant for the both of them. Because she could not bear for Carson to be hurt because of her.
***
One night mid season, Carson had Greta up against a tree out in the woods. The tension had been especially difficult to bear during the day. Greta had woken up sweaty and had promptly realized that she was in the part of her monthly cycle where a stray breeze could set her off. Carson, sneaking looks at breakfast when she thought Greta wasn’t looking, had somehow surmised Greta’s physical state despite her best attempts to maintain her usual public composure. Throughout the full day of practice, she had deliberately teased Greta with a hundred little glancing touches and looks. By the suppertime, Greta was in a permanent flush and barely able to keep up normal conversation. Carson too had gone uncharacteristically quiet and was just staring at Greta without subtlety, her pupils dark and lips slightly parted. Jo had finally nudged Greta and whispered in her ear “Jesus Christ, you’ve gotta take Shaw somewhere else before the whole team knows, Bird.”
So, Greta had made her excuses and had waited outside in the dark, heart pounding and palms sweaty. As expected, Carson had followed her soon after and it was all Greta could do to half drag her by the wrist into the woods before Carson practically threw her up against the tree with a punishing kiss. And that night, under the starry sky, with a day’s week’s month’s worth of pent up frustration boiling within her, Greta’s control slipped. Before she consciously made the decision, she had pressed her leg forward between Carson’s and pressed her down onto her thigh.
Carson growled into Greta’s mouth. She was so hot even through her dress and underclothes and her nails clawed at the back of Greta’s shirt as she began to grind down immediately. Greta’s heart was racing and she was throbbing wildly between her legs. She didn’t want her first time with Carson to be like this, before she’d even been able to take off her shirt or properly seduce her - but she was feeling almost feral and Carson was so needy and it wouldn’t take much at all to just let her ride her thigh until…
The sound of a snapping twig assaulted Greta’s ears like a gunshot. In an instant, her body went cold and her arousal turned to terror as she whipped around away from Carson.
“What was that?”
“I think it was probably just an… owl whose tree we’re against?”
“We gotta go.”
As they hustled back to the house, Carson’s little frustrated mutter of “damn it” barely even registered. Greta chastised herself. She had been careless. They could have been caught. She could not let herself want this woman so much that she lost all reason. She could not.
She could feel Carson’s frustration emanating from her loud footsteps and still heavy breathing as they approached the back door.
“So what, we can’t even have the woods now?”
And Greta knew she had to play it cool, pretend that all of the heat and fire had been coming from Carson, pretend that the day’s worth of teasing hadn’t really happened at all. And so she cocked her hip and put on the teasing grin she used with men and tucked every little bit of lingering panic and disappointment and emotional investment deep down inside.
“Hey, so first you just want to be friends, and now you can’t keep your hands off of me? What’s the rush?”
And all at once, Greta saw fiery hungry Carson revert back into bashful, socially awkward babbling Carson. She watched Carson fold her arms to keep from reaching out to Greta, bounce on her heels, and literally thrust her hips forward a little bit as she tried and failed to find the words to explain that she wanted Greta to be able to finish what they had started in the woods. And good God if that wasn’t the sexiest thing Greta had ever seen in her life - this bold, salt of the earth woman, standing before her, begging in body and fumbling words for Greta to give her everything. She ached, ached to grab her wrist again and find somewhere, anywhere… but that was just it. There was nowhere safe to do anything more than kiss fully clothed, and even then it was already such an enormous risk. And it was already late. Jess wouldn’t care that Greta was missing - as an experienced butch, she’d clocked Greta as femme pretty much immediately and had let her know indirectly that she wouldn’t say shit about Greta’s comings and goings. Shirley, however, was not only ‘normal’ but a huge worrywart. She’d be the first person to run to Sarge if she noticed Carson out after curfew.
So Greta had simply smiled, nodded her head, and then told Carson to go inside first, adding a little final flirtation to reassure the other woman that everything was fine. She watched, keeping her face impassive, as Carson clumsily walked inside, still vibrating with all of that unreleased tension. Greta exhaled and finally let her face crumble once she was alone. They were at an impasse. If she and Carson couldn’t be alone enough to fuck, perhaps she could rein this back in. Perhaps she could fucking stop these impossible butterflies for this cute, athletic, hungry farm girl.
I can only be with them as flings. I can’t let myself fall in love again. It’ll never be safe.
***
She underestimated Carson’s determination. Carson used the excuse of an away game to cook up an elaborate manipulation involving multiple Peaches to ensure that she and Greta would get to room together on the road without anyone being aware that she had instigated the temporary reassignment.
It was in that convent of all places, when they finally had a room with a bed behind a locked door, when Carson was named coach and was no longer nervous, when she pushed Greta onto the bed and began unbuttoning her shirt, that Greta gave into the inevitable. She could give Carson this. A soft, sensual, trembling first time. She could make love to her, and even let herself feel it a little bit, because then at least she could ensure that they would be quiet, with nothing more than heavy breathing and swallowed gasps. She rubbed Carson to release and let her do the same (because she was only human and good God it had been so long), but she didn’t take her. And Greta certainly did not beg Carson to fuck her hard with two and then three fingers, or suck and tongue her, or bite her nipples, or grind down on her ass. She was not allowed to want any of those things.
It was in the afterglow, when Carson was cuddled in her arms, that her farm girl spoke up.
“Greta?”
“Mmm?”
“I… this is really hard to explain, so please hear me out, okay?”
Greta sat up a little straighter, ready to withdraw, but Carson keep a firm grip on her arms.
“You know that before tonight, I’d only ever been with Charlie. And I wasn’t lying yesterday - I wasn’t thinking about him. Only, I am a little now… because… I miss… gah this is impossible to say!”
Greta continued to struggle to pull away, feeling herself start to panic that Carson would tell her that making love had been a mistake. She hated how choked her voice came out.
“Carson, just let me go. If you didn’t enjoy it, we don’t have to do it ever again, okay?”
Carson held her fast with all of the strength of a catcher and turned around to look her in the eye. “No, damn it, that’s not what I’m trying to say at all. I want to be with you and I’m done denying that.”
Greta stopped struggling and stared at her in confusion. “Then, what the fuck are you trying to say right now, Shaw?”
Carson looked at the ceiling as if praying for strength and then dropped her eyes to Greta’s lap. Her cheeks flushed and her next words came out in a frustrated whisper. “I’m saying that I miss having something go inside me, okay? And I’m not saying that I wish you were Charlie or even a man! I just… I miss being close like that.”
At that, Greta did scramble up and Carson let her. She stood up, crossed her arms, and began pacing the room, not looking at her lover. Hearing Carson say it explicitly had snapped something in her, and she realized she was angry at Carson for naming what she had been trying so hard to avoid.
“You still don’t get it, do you Carson? We can’t do that.”
Carson frowned at her, taken aback by Greta’s harsh whispers. “Well geez, if you don’t want to, you could say so much nicer than that.”
At that, Greta whipped around and got right up in Carson’s face, grabbing her by the shoulders and continuing to whisper harshly. “Are you kidding me? Are you fucking kidding me? Of course I want to! God, if you knew… but we can’t, because neither one of us will be able to keep quiet enough. We may be behind a locked door here, but the walls have ears, Carson. I told you about Dana. What I didn’t tell you… what I’ve never told anyone… is that we got caught because she was inside me and I was too loud. I can’t let that happen to you, do you understand?”
Carson stared up at her, mouth agape. Then her right hand came up to cup Greta’s cheek. Greta was mortified to realize that she had started crying.
“Greta… oh my God, Greta, I didn’t know. I’m so sorry. Shit. Please c’mere.”
Greta all but collapsed at Carson’s feet and sobbed into her lap. She stayed like that, with Carson stroking her back and head, for a good long while, trying not to feel anything or think of anything other than the tender reassurance for Carson’s warm embrace.
***
In the morning, as they were packing up to leave their room with no guarantee they’d ever get this much privacy again, Carson turned to Greta with a determined look on her face.
“I promise you, Greta Gill, that someday, I’m going to find a safe place for us. Because I want to know you in every possible way and I want you to know me. I’m going to find us somewhere with no neighbors, no owls, no spiders… because I want to hear you howl when I make you mine.”
Greta shivered. Carson’s eyes were fierce like a tomcat, full of dark promise. She stared back at her, in speechless, helpless aroused agony, before Carson leaned in, gave her a final possessive kiss, and left the room.
***
I can’t control this anymore. I’m falling in love with Carson Shaw. And God help me, I can’t help but hope that she’ll find a way for us to break the rules. Please… let me be allowed to want her. Let my love, my want, my voice, not be too much for once in my life.