The Fire Tower

Fire tower

It was the end of the school year 1952 in central Maine. She pulled up in front of the dorm in a rusted-out war surplus jeep with state license plates. A petite woman in her forties, she wore a park services uniform. I was twenty and had taken a job for the summer, working as an observer in a fire tower, and she'd been assigned to the same one.

"Gladys Letourneau, you must be Sheila Burke, right?" She asked. Everything about her was perky. It was infectious, and I couldn't help but feel at ease with her within minutes of meeting her.

"Forestry Major." I said.

I'd thrown my backpack and a small suitcase in the back of the jeep and climbed in. Now some of the fire towers were near towns and cities. This wasn't one of them. This one was out in the middle of godforsaken nowhere. About an hour and a half from the last paved road, the jeep wended its way up logging roads towards the hilltop summit.

The steel frame of the fire tower rested on cement pads anchored to the ledge. A metal staircase led upwards toward the observation deck and living area. An outhouse and hand pumped well were tucked off to one side. A bunch of jerry cans labeled Kerosene were over near some garbage containers.

Gladys was married. Wally, her husband, worked at Bath in the shipyard. Her daughter was married and lived down in Waterville, and her son was still home, but old enough to fend for himself. This was her fourth year doing this, third at this particular fire tower. It was her favorite.

She pulled a couple of jerry cans of kero off the rear bumper of the jeep and set them down next to the others. Taking my suitcase, she started up the endless steel treads. I followed with my backpack slung over my shoulders. I was huffing and puffing pretty good by the time we came up into the structure emerging out onto a walkway that went 360 degrees around the shelter/office. We made our way into the cab.

Wooden and rustic with heavy windows. The construction was simple but robust. Inside, three free standing closets. A wooden desk and chair, camp kitchen in one corner with a cupboard, a small wooden table and chairs, and two cots against adjacent walls. The sun was going down and there was a twilight haze over the forest.

Gladys filled and lit a couple of kerosene lamps, sat down and made note in the log book before it got too dark.. Beside the logbook, there was the radio, and what appeared to be a sketch book and a pencil box.

"Here, let me show you how the shift schedule works. I'll take the next hitch, starting after dinner, and then you can get some sleep until it's time to relieve me. Use the binoculars and scan the surrounding woods slowly, in grids. Anything unusual you note. Anything looks like fire you get me, and we call it in. Questions?" Gladys instructed.

"Sounds pretty straightforward," I replied.

"Good. Franks and beans okay for dinner? I don't really have time to do a proper meal." Gladys said.

"Fine with me." I replied.

It was dark. Dinner had been hearty, and I'd gotten some sleep per Gladys' suggestion. It was late when she woke me. Out in the cool summer night air I looked up and saw the Milky Way. Every star popping in the black void of the night sky. I settled in with my binoculars and a compass.

The eastern sky had gradually brightened and the sun was just beginning to peek over the eastern horizon. Gladys had asked me to wake her once the sun was up. I was glad I did. Bacon, eggs, and bread toasted in bacon fat. Yum. Someday the word cholesterol would creep into our vocabulary, but thankfully that day was still decades off.

Gladys had taken one of the chairs out onto the walkway. Sketchbook in hand she took some colored pencils and was drawing the woods with the rising sun shining off of them. She worked quickly and effortlessly. The results were amazingly realistic.

"Used to take classes. There was an art school in downtown Portland when I was a girl. I used to save up all my mad money for classes, and then Mom and Dad would usually sign me up for birthday or Christmas. I still like to keep limber." She said, smiling at me.

We hit a nice schedule. It was low threat still, and we'd had a wet spring, so mostly we did our observations and allowed for some overlap. getting to know each other better. If we hit a dry spell, or lightning was forecast, that could change in a heartbeat, so we tried to make the most of our downtime.

I'd been down by the well where we had a little wash basin set up. I'd washed my hair and rung it out. and was just getting back to the cab, when I heard her.

"Gladys, you okay?" I poked my head through the cab door.

Gladys was on her cot, her pants kicked off, she was rubbing herself rhythmically between the legs.

"I'm... pleasuring... my... self... Sheila." Gladys groaned lewdly as whatever effect she was going for must have just happened.

I tried not to, but found myself looking at Gladys. She had two of her fingers up inside and was using her other hand to rub her nub. It was really dirty. The dirtiest thing I'd ever seen another person do. But in another way, I found myself vaguely curious.

The center closet was for supplies. We had a small mirror on the inside of the door. I began brushing my hair trying to make like nothing had happened. In the reflective background I saw Gladys had her pants back on, but she was looking at me just a little differently. I came to learn that although she was usually more than discreet about doing it. I could usually tell when she had, and that was pretty much daily.

Admittedly, I was intrigued, every time I saw the signs.

Gladys had taken the jeep down the mountain for supplies and to get rid of our garbage. More out of boredom than curiosity, I'd picked up her sketch pad. The early subjects were predictably nature oriented. Birds, A fox. Landscapes and then a few pages after her more recent ones. Me. She'd done sketches of me. Nude sketches of me... posing like a pinup girl.

I was both shocked and flattered. Something tingled between my legs. I put the pad away and grabbed my binoculars. Time for observations.

I gave it a couple days before I confronted Gladys about the drawings. She just laughed.

"How'd I do? Did I get you right?" She chuckled.

"I look like a pinup girl." I said.

"As intended." Gladys replied.

"It's just, I don't know how I feel about them." I began.

"I do. I think about them when I pleasure myself, and they make it that much more exciting." She admitted.

"But you're a married woman. You have kids. How do you square those things with looking at dirty pictures of me in the middle of whatever it is you're doing to yourself." I wondered.

"I don't need to square anything. I think that if you find something stimulating, and nobody gets hurt, then why not? If you find someone attractive, and you find a benign way to enjoy that attraction, then it's perfectly healthy." She explained.

"Are you saying you find me attractive?" I gasped.

"Very much so. Yes." Gladys said.

"Oh. I'm confused then." I said.

"Look. Let's not talk about this right now. I should probably start dinner. and you look like your head's about to blow up." Gladys suggested.

"Oh, I guess you're right. Especially that last part." I admitted.

It was getting to be the hot part of Summer. Both Gladys and I had taken to omitting the forest service blouses, and opted for just the wifebeater t-shirts sans bras. We still sweated through them by mid morning most days. We both lost a few pounds and gained an appreciation for each other's figures.

I blurted it out one afternoon. "What do you do, when you pleasure yourself? How does it feel. I'm so darned bored, Gladys."

"I can't say for sure. I know what works for me. I've heard it's a little different for every woman." She said. "I could try a few things?"

"I don't know." I said, suddenly shy again.

"It's up to you, Sheila. It would just be between us." Gladys said solemnly.

"What do I need to do?" I asked hopefully.

"Sit next to me, here." Gladys patted the cot next to her.

I sat down nervously. This was way more daring than I'd ever been before. I thought about how hot the drawings she did of me were. They were, I had to admit, remarkably accurate. I thought about playing truth or dare in high school. This was the biggest dare of all.

"The doctor. Has touched you.... there?" She asked.

"Yes." I acknowledged.

"I'm going to do the same thing. Now I need you to take your pants and panties off, just like you do for the doctor. Okay?" Gladys said.

"This is crazy. Okay..." I replied, blushing, and pushing my pants down.

"If I do anything that makes you upset, I want you to tell me to stop. You don't need to be brave, you need to occupy the moment. Are you ready?" Gladys asked.

"Show me." I begged.

There was something. Some simple mystery that was awaiting resolution. Her fingertips touched above my pubic hair. It felt odd to have someone else's hand on me there. I waited until the butterflies settled down a bit.

"I'm okay, Gladys. I'm fine." I managed. Then her fingers found my clit.

Had I touched myself there? Of course I had. Had it felt like this? Most certainly not.

Being touched by hands that weren't attached to my own brain was novel, to say the least. That Gladys knew where and how to touch, I still can't tell you what that did to me. We were in the middle of the woods. It didn't matter if I made animal noises or shouted at the top of my lungs, but suddenly the universe was pared down to the two of us, and the burning desire between my thighs that she was setting free.

She made me collapse into myself. Hanging on to her in that forbidden moment. 130 feet from the forest floor. I felt the universe pause because of her. The little white cloud who cried. I was that, as she gave me the gift of my first ever orgasm, shaking as she touched me, and then her lips met mine.

If it had felt forbidden before, it was now doubly so. French kissing another woman was something I was sure wasn't an expectation I had of myself. But it had happened so naturally that I couldn't imagine stopping. She was delicious, and having tasted her, I found that I wanted more.

There was something in our isolation that became permissive. As if we existed in our own envelope of reality. Making out with Gladys didn't need explanation to anyone else, because nobody was around. Gradually, sex became our pastime. It progressed slowly but profoundly.

At first, Gladys would make me cum with her hand, and we'd make out, and then she'd make herself cum and I'd watch. But I found myself wanting to touch her, and she'd brushed against my breasts with thrilling results. I knew we both wanted more. We soon got what we wanted.

It was mid-morning, and Gladys was kissing my ear from behind when her hands found their way up my t-shirt. Between the kissing and the squeezing, I felt the wetness starting up again between my legs. Dripping. It was a familiar feeling now. One I looked forward to. But when Gladys found my nipples it electrified the feeling.

It was as if she was touching my clit, only she wasn't. It was a different sensation in a way, but no less evocative. She was aware of the effect she was having on me and I turned my head to kiss her as the sensations grew stronger. And then, with my pussy untouched I felt my climax begin. I don't know which one of us was more surprised.

It had been windy of late. There were roads on the far side of the hills to the North. She'd spotted the smoke, and I'd called it in on the radio. We'd listened as tanker trucks were called in from a couple of nearby towns. A power line had gone down from a falling branch. They had the situation under control in a couple of hours.

That night there was a fire of a different type. We'd pushed our cots together and Gladys was spooning me from behind, lazily playing with my clit.

"Sheila?" She asked.

"What, baby? Oooooh that's good." I groaned.

"I want to try something. Something a little different. Okay?" She softly teased.

"I don't know. What are you thinking of?" I asked curiously.

"The things I do with my fingers? I want to do them with my lips and tongue." She confessed.

"It sounds dirty." I replied.

"It's all I've been able to think of the last couple days." Gladys admitted. "Please? Humor me."

"Okay but if I don't like it, then we go back to this." I said, aware of how turned on this was making me, despite my protests and concerns.

Gladys had me pull myself to the top of the bed and I could feel her breath on my pubes. It sent little shivers up my spine. I felt her arms wrapped around my thighs directing my hips to tilt ever so slightly. And then I felt her tongue, so soft and gentle, exploring my pussy, tasting my arousal. I was instantly in heaven. Then she found my clit.

I doubt it took her ten seconds before I exploded into her mouth. I felt my juices shooting from my pussy and I felt my body overload with pleasure. Gladys didn't stop. In fact, she was just getting started. She kept licking and sucking me and I just kept cumming. By the time she came up for air the bed was drenched and smelled like my pussy.

She kissed me hard, her pussy flavored tongue in my mouth. I came again as her fingers merely brushed my overstimulated clit. It was life changing. I couldn't wait to return the favor.

She was truly delicious, and although she didn't squirt, she came a lot and often. I ate her until we both had lost the will to continue. Exhausted, for now, we just lay there kissing.

"Where did you get the idea for that?" I finally managed.

"My husband, Wally. When he was in the war, they'd gotten leave in Paris. In some of the more Bohemian clubs there would be little shows. At one such, he'd seen two show girls doing what we just did. Men were throwing coins up on stage as they went at it with each other end to end pleasing each other with their mouths." Gladys said.

"Why now?" I asked.

"I don't know. I hadn't really thought about it until just the other day. You were asleep and I'd finished the rounds, and then I just looked at you curled up in bed and it just popped into my head. I wanted to taste you." Gladys said.

"That was something, I must admit." I smiled, knowing it was going to be a daily activity if I had my say.

We'd almost gotten caught when the Chief Fire Warden had dropped by. We got cleaned up just in time as his jeep pulled up. We both got commendations for the brushfire incident, for professional conduct in heading off what would have likely been a much bigger problem.

We'd chatted for a while, had some sun tea brewing out on the deck, and within minutes of his departure we were naked in a 69 on the beds, which got as hastily shoved back together as they had been separated.

To say that sex got us through the summer with our sanity intact, wouldn't be overstating anything. In fact, by the time the leaves were starting to turn, I felt an inner confidence that hadn't been there before. Both on professional and personal levels I felt more courageous, and I don't think any of that would have been possible without Gladys.

'My first sapphic summer' I came to refer to it as.

Gladys dropped me off at the Dorm. Same as where she'd first picked me up. It was a couple of weeks before class was slated to begin, but I'd asked for, and gotten permission to move in early. In my heart, I wanted Gladys to stay with me one more night, but I knew she had to get home. The last I saw of her was when she blew me one last kiss and put the jeep in gear.

When I was unpacking my suitcase I found a selection of sketched nudes. Most of them were of me. A few were her self-portraits. I knew she'd kept some for herself, as well. I couldn't help but smile and cry at the same time. Treasures beyond estimation.

I had started the summer barely aware of sexuality in general. It was now my fascination. I was in the school library, in the psychology section. Trying to learn more. Sure, there had always been rumors of women who preferred women, but more often than not they were famous people and celebrities who kept things under cover or at the very least intentionally vague.

"Can I help you find something?" She said.

Turning, I saw the librarian, an attractive woman in her mid-thirties. Pretty, conservative, dark hair pulled back into a ponytail.

"I... um... am working on a psych project. I read about Sappho last semester, and it got me wondering if there are women like her now. In our society." I blurted unconvincingly.

"I think maybe some of the periodicals might have some references. But honestly, honey, I don't think you're going to like what you find." She said, suddenly touching the back of my hand. "Most studies on the subject are squarely in the milieu of cranky old men who've read too much Freud."

"Oh. I suppose..." I began.

"Which isn't to say that there aren't women in our society who prefer the company of other women. Just that most of them prefer to keep private matters private. Understand?" She smiled sweetly and nodded at me. Her fingers were still resting on my hand, lingering there gently.

"Yes. I do understand." I said quietly.

"Outstanding." She said pulling out a small spiral bound notebook and a pen from the pocket of her dress and scrawling something down, tearing the page out and handing it to me. "Now, I have to attend to my duties, but this is my home address. I have a little place off campus, and if you'd like to talk more about the... umm... subject at hand, we can delve deeper into it there, say around 7:00 tonight?"

I'd just gotten hit on by the cute librarian. "Umm... yes... that would be good. 7:00 it is." I blurted out.

"Good, honey. Oh, and wear something pretty." She winked at me before turning and heading toward the checkout desk.

I had on a clingy sweater, skirt and saddle shoes with knee socks. The house was cute. Just a few blocks from campus. An easy walk. She'd written her name and address. I double checked the scrap of paper. Magdelene St. Pierre. I knocked on the door. It seemed like forever until it opened.

Magdelene was dressed in a long sheer satin nightgown. She clearly had nothing on underneath it. In back of her was the unmistakable glow of candle light.

"Come in dear. Sheila, am I right?" She said.

I could smell the floral trace and spice scent of her perfume. She led me to the living room. Seated on an overstuffed couch was a woman I recognized from the bursar's office. A grad student, blond, I'd seen her at the tennis courts. She had quite the figure. Even more apparent as she was sitting there without so much as a stitch of clothing on.

"Sheila. I'd like to introduce you to Ellen. Ellen and I are intimately acquainted with the subject of your curiosity. You don't seem at all shocked by the sight of a naked woman, so I assume this is not the first time you've seen one." Magdalene said, handing me a glass of wine.

"I... ummm... I guess you're right about that." I admitted.

"Good. Glad we got that out of the way." Magdalene said. "Ellen... has a boyfriend. Sadly, he doesn't make her cum... but I do. Isn't that right, sweetheart?"

Ellen nodded affirmatively looking at the floor, embarrassed at the revelation of her dilemma.

"Ellen is still trying to figure this out for herself, and in the meantime she's over here more often than not. But you, darling. I watched you take sweet Ellen's curves in as if you were doing inventory in a grocery store. I dare say you know a trick or two yourself." Magdalene challenged.

"If you mean, have I been with another woman. The answer is yes. All summer long." I replied, determined not to let Magdelene get too much of an upper hand.

"Ellen, tell Sheila all about Edgar." She smiled.

"He's one of the football captains. Treats me real swell. I even let him go all the way with me sometimes when I know I'm safe. It's just... Magdelene is magical compared to his groping. She knows just what to do. I need that." Ellen confessed.

"See, darling. It simply isn't that complicated. Some people are proficient in the sexual arts, some are found eternally wanting. It has less to do with gender than you'd think." Magdalene said. "More to do with the skill sets and how they're applied."

I had to admit that she made a solid point.

"Take Ellen here. Edgar might not get her fire started, but getting a mouthful of pussy, never fails. Ellen, do you want a treat?" Magdalene asked.

"Oh...." She managed.

"I'll take that as a yes. Crawl over to me and I'll let you have something sweet. Sheila, you're wearing far too many clothes for this." Magdalene said.

I looked at Ellen. Her eyes were drilling into my crotch. I knew that look. I remember having that look with Gladys. I took all my clothes off, and let her in.

Her mouth felt so good on my pussy. It had been a few weeks since Gladys had dropped me off. Ellen was beyond hungry. I squirted in her face and it surprised her for a couple of seconds, but she was all in overdrive after that, wanting to push the button again. It felt great to let go like that again. Oh Gladys.

Magdelene and I were in bed. Ellen was frantic and needed to come over.

"See, sometimes it's the one's you don't expect get it the hardest. Edgar just proposed and she said yes. She's going to want enough pussy to eat all week to make up for selling her soul. A match made in heaven." Magdalene laughed.

Magdelene taught me a lot in the following years up through my Master's degree. There was always an Ellen or two, and Magdalene knew just how to ensnare them. Nature would always provide. You just had to know what to look for.

It was 1969. I was in Bethel NY. Everything smelled like piss and mud and more piss. I had a tripped out college cheerleader dropout that I was leading around on a leash and collar. Barefoot in ripped nylon shorts and a mud encrusted tank top. I'd rescued her from a raving band of roadies. She was hot, but she was tripping her ass off, and so out of it.

"Dr. Burke there you are." Carlos had finally found me. "We got a ride out of here. Who's the zombie chick?"

"I don't really know her name. All she can manage is Mayflower. I think she's trapped in the 1500's mother fucking discovering America trip. Let's just get the fuck out of here." I managed.

Carlos got us to a Ford Fairlane with three quarters of a tank of gas, and a couple of hours later Mayflower was puking out the passenger rear window as we crossed over into Massachusetts. God she was hot, even under all that... Maybe it had just been too long for me. We had pulled over in the Berkshires. There was a stream beside the road. Carlos left us with the camping gear saying he had to go for gas.

I was reminded of my Sapphic summer. The hand pump and wash basin at the fire tower. I cleaned her up as best I could, another bout of barfing initiated a re-do.

"I'm sorry. I'm a mess." She was coming down. She cried for a solid twelve hours. We'd tried to move on but she was in no shape to travel. I had a small tent pitched and she pooped into the river as I watched. Sexy.

Carlos had taken off again to circle back around. He was doing the good work, good old Carlos.

"Mayflounder isn't my real name." She'd managed. "I'm sorry. I'm still a little wasted."

"No kidding?" I said dryly.

"I'm Sue. Pleased to meet you." She barfed again. It had been a good try.

"What did you do?" I ask. Clinically curious now as well.

"I don't know. Whatever anyone gave me." She said.

She sounded a bit like Ellen had those last few times. Both Magdelene and I bore the brunt of guilt on that score. After the wedding... she just couldn't stop... at all.

"Sweetheart. We're stuck here until Carlos gets back, okay?" I asked.

"I'm sorry. It seemed cool. I was lonely. I wanted to see some of the bands." She cried.

"What do your remember?" I asked.

"I got in the gate and was trying to get closer to the stage. Somebody gave me something to eat and suddenly things were spinning, out of focus and my body was just floating there, waiting... people touching me... and then I felt a collar and leash, and suddenly it made sense. I had to wait it out, but at least I had some sense of direction. Thanks. I like the collar. And I loved your fingers inside me." She blushed.

"You're still pretty fucked up." I commented.

"I know that. But I still like the collar and you... saving me. And cumming for you." She mumbled.

"No charge." I said.

"Really. Nobody's done anything like that for me before. You're my hero..." She passed out. Cute.

I'd found a cow pond over the hill, away from the prying eyes of the staties that were patrolling the highways in the wake of the apocalypse that was Woodstock. Cleaned up she wasn't half bad. Quite pretty, in fact.

"You're really a doctor?" She boggled.

"I'm a PhD, not like a physician. You okay?" I asked, figuring that taking her to a local clinic might be our best bet.

"I'm a mess. I know." She looked so cute trying to get it together.

"I cleaned you." I said.

"I know. I needed it." She replied.

"I touched you everywhere." I continued.

"I know. Can you give me the collar again?" She asked.

"It won't ever come off if I do." I admitted.

"I know." She moaned. "Please... I need it... and touch me some more, okay?"

Seemed like Pretty Cheerleader Sue was full of surprises.

"I never been with a girl before you, only guys. You gave my pussy such a workout, I can't imagine anything else making me happy, now." She said, taking my hand and kissing it.

Carlos was back. Just one look and he had the whole situation size up dead to rights. Carlos gave me dick whenever I was in the mood for some, but he knew what I was. We were definitely in the FWB zone. I think he was hoping for Sue as a little side-piece, but he saw her reactions to me and just shook his head.

Ellen had been my first experience with submissive women. Gladys and I had been equals, probably the closest I'd come to a proper partnership. Magdelene was just a force of nature in bed, but always emotionally mercenary. An alpha predator, she'd struck an alliance with me, but she always had an Ellen on the line. A woman who would die of embarrassment if she'd been outed, yet couldn't stay her desire for Magdalene's pussy for very long.

Ellen was submissive, but she fought it every step of the way. That's what Magdelene wanted. Take down and capture. Sue, on the other hand, embraced it with every fiber of her being. If I wanted my pussy eaten for three straight hours, she was the girl for the job. On it like a marathon runner who'd just finished carbo-loading. Not that I really took advantage of her that way. Indeed, I tested. But I was always fair to her.

My little cheerleader worshipped me, and I cherished her beyond measure. We got a little place outside of Albany and she finished off her degree at my behest. Eventually both tenured professors at SUNY until she was diagnosed with late-stage ovarian cancer. A couple of rounds of chemo didn't really slow things down.

We made the most of the time she had left, but the whole process took its toll on me. I officially retired four years ago, having turned seventy, sold the house and bought a cabin up by where the fire tower stood. It's all electrified and the roads are paved, but it's still the Maine woods.

Carlos still checks in on me from time to time, the old coot. There's a ladies book club in town that meets every week. I pull out Gladys' sketches sometimes and try to remember the young woman in them. I like to drive out to the pond near where the fire tower was and do some fishing now and again, and think about all the women I've had the privilege to love.