My Goddesses: A Memoir of the 70s


Part I

September 14,1977

Davi Bekke

In June of 1975, I was in graduate school in California, partway through a three-year course of studies in environmental science. As I was preparing to assemble my field work into a paper and oral presentation that would earn my degree, my personal, non-academic, life became…… interesting and wonderful. I use the word ‘wonderful’ here not so much to convey that it was just one hell of a great time, but to barely hint at the sense of wonder I felt being caught up in events and situations that were beyond my experience, control, or ability to analyze; and me the notorious analyzer of the unknown and uncertain. Who once boasted in a moment of intoxication that the three words no one would ever hear him say were: “I don’t know”. Always an opinion, often right – sometimes wrong; but never in doubt.

That year, the second of my marriage to the blond and lovely Cherie, two things happened that forever changed my life; my view of myself of a male and you as women – of whatever sexual persuasion. The most significant, I suppose, was that our friend Kayla returned to the west coast from the Women’s Studies Center, in upstate New York. Affiliated with NYU-Stony Brook, the WSC is an institute of nurturing for lesbian women with writing ambitions. Kayla ’emigrated’ there after a disastrous affair with a man I didn’t know; a drag racer, beer drinker, and girlie calendar guy. It’s only now that I am beginning to learn the ways in which he hurt her, and I accept that they would be enough to forever ruin lovemaking, sex, or any contact with members of the male half of society. He was cruel to her from the time she told him that she’d had sex with women, and liked it. Since she’d asked him to help her achieve an orgasm before mentioning her Sapphic experiences, I suspect that his manhood was threatened: Women ALWAYS had powerful – usually multiple – orgasms with him, he told her. Later he made her the butt of a particularly offensive prank at the raceway. A dyke joke with a cruel point, meant to shame her publicly. I couldn’t believe Kayla had spent even a night with a jerk like that, but she had a history of painful and incomprehensible choices where men were concerned.

Anyway, Kayla left U.C.L.A., Los Angeles, and Gary; not in that order, but that’s the order I learned about her flight across country. A year at the Women’s Studies Center, a couple of months in Northampton Massachusetts at Smith College, and one day Kayla called from Eugene, Oregon, with an exciting tale about her gypsy wandering across the United States, into my childhood and ancestral homeland in Oregon on her way to see her former lover who was here, married to another friend: me. So, the background here is that my wife and I were being asked to make up the spare bed, or make a place in our bed for Kayla to visit. The latter was what I heard, or hoped I’d heard.

And I thought this is GREAT! The expectation of the fulfillment of every American male’s most heated, most masturbatory fantasy. Maybe if I can prevent myself from becoming overexcited, something wonderful might actually come off.

Something I didn’t know then: BE CAREFUL WHAT YOU WISH FOR.

My wife and Kayla – and me. A kind of theoretical fantasy. While I liked Kayla a lot as a dear and intimate friend, I’d never slept with her, touched her other than just affectionately, or actually fantasized about her sexually. And I had not once believed I’d missed something. Honest. Besides, as a lesbian, I guess I assumed she was off-limits, for practical purposes. My interest in Kayla as a potential bed partner heated considerably, though, when she told me that she was driving down to see us; hoped to be close; to stay a while. I thought she meant close with Cherie. I’m open-minded, but I’m not going to let my wife Cherie’s childhood best girlfriend – and former lover – sleep with Cherie alone, without me. Not because I’d be jealous, but because I’d be afraid of missing something.

The other of the two big things that happened that year: our accidental discovery of a women’s commune near our house. We blundered upon it attempting a shortcut back from our favorite Feather River swimming hole, off on a side road from the cutoff, up in the blue oak and grassland about ten miles out of town. They had a small farm; really just a huge garden, nicely maintained. Also some goats, a couple of broken down pickup trucks, an assortment of small cars with license plates from all over the U.S., and lots of women. Only women. No men. When we pulled in unannounced, somewhat lost, some of the women were out working in the garden. They weren’t that friendly to me, but warmed up to Cherie immediately. She is bright blond, 5′ 8″ or so, of a willowy build. Clear blue eyes and a thick, glossy mane of loosely curly blond hair give one the impression of a post-pubescent angel. Her walk is eye-catching; a swaying gait that emphasizes her long legs, and draws one’s eye to her hips. She’s etiler escort beautiful, sexy, and soulful. Those qualities caught my eyes initially, but her artistry, kindness, compassion, and commitment to helping others – her simple goodness – were the catch for me. I still love her; same love.

Anyway, we visited at the commune, which was called the Retreat, had a cup of weak tea, admired the goats and the corn, then took our leave. We decided on the way home that they were nice people; interesting; that we’d try to become friendly with them.

Two days later, driving most of the way in one night, Kayla arrived at our house in the forest above town. Cherie squealed when she saw Kayla’s car pull into our driveway. They hugged, and Kayla and I hugged. I held her at arms’ length just to look at her for a moment.

I hadn’t seen her in a year, and she was both thinner and paler than I remembered her. Like Cherie, a Swedish princess, but taller; straight blond hair, a clear peach complexion. Still with the smile that lit up a room, a hall, or a heart. Large and limpid frank gray eyes. A charming little downy place on each cheekbone where her hair stopped at the temples. Her hair longer than before. A soft and low-pitched voice and a wonderful laugh: a delightful chortle. Still the luxurious long body, but her younger softness gone; in its place a spare and lean beauty. Kayla is stunning.

That night, we cooked, we drank wine. I played the guitar. Kayla regaled us with tales of her life and travels. After we’d drunk most of two bottles of wine, she came to the part about her conversion – or reversion – to lesbian love and sexuality. She read some of her poetry; love odes to a woman she’d parted from to come west. They were pretty graphic, and I became a little aroused. But I was driving up to the northern mountains the following day to examine a plant collection in the hands of a retired Forest Service employee who has stories about a meadow full of Darlingtonia – insectivorous pitcher plants – on the west flank of the Eddys. I wanted that information both for personal reasons, and to investigate as a study of a relict population for my work. It was important to get an early start.

Kayla had drunk more than she liked and was sleepy, and Cherie suggested that we go to bed.

Which we did, without any embarrassment or squeamishness on anyone’s part. It became obvious while Kayla was unpacking her toothbrush that she was in no shape for an exercise in fulfilling her part of a male fantasy, and I was tired, too. So we went to bed, in our bed, me in the middle, Cherie naked with her head cradled on my shoulder, my arm around her sexy, soft body. Kayla undressed in our room while the lamp was still on, and climbed in wearing a just a t-shirt, not cuddled up to me, but close and warm. I had a good look at her; she was very white, and slim. Elegant and beautiful.

I wasn’t going to sleep without at least a token attempt at some affection, and I guess I still entertained a hope that something sexy might be salvaged from the night. I kissed Cherie, and brushed a finger across her nipple, which often aroused at least a sigh, and another kiss, followed by more exploration of now-familiar but still extremely exciting terrainae feminae. No go, though. Cherie was not going to be made love to by me while her childhood friend was in the bed alongside me. So she leaned across me to kiss Kayla goodnight, and to tell her how happy we were to have her with us. Kayla put her arms around Cherie’s back, and they held one another closely, across me. A very intimate embrace; I could feel it. I was reminded from that hug that they were the oldest of friends. Also that they had been lovers, and knew one another’s bodies, voices, thoughts, secrets and silences as well or better than I did.

Sleep overcame me pretty quickly. I was aware of being between two centers of warmth in the night, and Kayla’s scent, her hair, her soft breathing, and her length were part of my sleep. I awakened once in the night with my leg over hers, and my hand on her stomach underneath her t-shirt. I also felt Cherie’s pubic hair and mound pressed against my backside; her soft breathing on my neck. Surrounded by feminine warmth, I slept well.

I did NOT want to get out of bed in the morning, but I had to. Cherie also got up to have coffee with me. I ate, kissed her, went in and kissed the still-sleeping Kayla, and drove off for my weekend in Mt Shasta.

You’re already thinking that I came home to find Cherie and Kayla in bed together, their faces and hands daubed with one another’s sweet juices, a couple of empty wine bottles, the bedcovers twisted into knots from their lovemaking. You see toys of various colors and shapes scattered around the bed, still glistening with flavored body oils and natural secretions. But you’d be wrong, at least this time. Actually, I arrived home to find Cherie in the eve gelen escort bath and Kayla nowhere. After shedding my clothes and getting into the bath with my lady, we exercised our affection for one another in the Tantra fashion, facing each other, eyes open and looking into one another’s, only our genitals connected. The object was to prolong the moment of “The Clouds and Rain” beyond just having a simultaneous orgasm, which we’d found to be not that difficult. The G-Spot and all. Our lovemaking had gotten pretty expert, I guess you could say. It was always joyful, and each encounter seemed more intimate and loving than the one before. We studied the Kama Sutra, bought and used scented and flavored oils, admitted to no thing we were unwilling to try. I even endured a Yogic self-improvement course, learning to pleasurably divert my own orgasm until Cherie was also ready, so our combined peak would be near-infinitely prolonged. It worked, too. Sometimes our coming together was almost painful, and once I had been alarmed when I just kept coming and coming and coming, until it felt as though ALL my juices: semen, blood, brain stem fluids, saliva, urine, lymph, neural liquids, and eyeball gelatin would be expelled, then my viscera extruded, my organs liquified and ejaculated. I remember anxiously touching my prostate gland after that, just making sure it hadn’t burst, or melted down.

The most special thing about making love with Cherie has been the intimacy, the knowledge we have of each other. That’s why our lovemaking often ends in tears and whispered endearments. It’s intense, the feeling that we generate together. Sometimes I feel that I am shooting my soul into her, and she has told me that she feels herself opened and impaled; physically and emotionally.

After a few weeks with us, Kayla sometimes in our bed, sometimes sleeping in the other bedroom, the immediate prospect of a sexual payoff had waned, although Cherie and I sometimes made love somewhat self-consciously with Kayla next to us. I know it’s not a tribute to anything about me to admit that I had at least one ulterior motive for liking to have Kayla in our household. She’s a shitty cook: I have no great love for seaweed, tofu, or brown rice. But her company is gracious; she’s an extremely gentle person; sensitive, generous, artistic; sometimes moody, but always kind and sweet. Affectionate without clinging or neediness. When Kayla loves, she loves completely and without reservation. Hugging her is like hugging a warm cloud; her long body molds and melts against yours. She is beautiful, innocent, sweet, and lovely. And I believed that we all wanted to make love together; we just didn’t yet know how to initiate it the first time.

She applied for a post at the university, was offered a teaching assistance in women’s literature immediately. Not a lot of money, but enough to pay her way and keep her old Volvo running, and then some. We introduced Kayla at the Retreat. It seemed her natural element, and a few of the women began to show up at our house fairly often. Women came to stay with Kayla in the spare bedroom, and they weren’t shy about their sexuality. Only two of them stayed around for more than a month, and both of them; Sarah, and ultimately Saliyeh, became part of our family, beloved and intimate. We’re still dear friends and soulmates, and always will be, I hope.

And then late on a Friday afternoon maybe a month and a half after Kayla arrived, I drove in, noted both Kayla’s Volvo and our Honda sedan in our drive. Inside, I dropped my briefcase and racquetball gear down on the sofa in the living room. Went to the bathroom, came out, heard faint muffled sounds from our bedroom (I was by then accustomed to hearing “noises” from Kayla’s bedroom, and was not discouraged from sitting in the doorway talking to Kayla and whomever her squeeze was at the time even if the occupants were obviously “occupied”). Two bodies on our bed, both female, both familiar; both naked. Cherie, with her back to me at the door, cloud of curly blond locks propped up by one elbow, facing Kayla. Whose slightly caught-in-the-cookiejar glance at me over Cherie’s shoulder was both shy, and, well, seductive. They’ve been making love, or are about to.

My heart jumped into my throat. This wasn’t what I’d envisioned in my male fantasy. It’s already out of control (MY control, obviously).

I’m sure I blushed, and I know I muttered “Oh, sorry”, because Kayla told me later that’s what I said. I went back to the bathroom, lowered the toilet seat, and sat wondering what to do. It seemed a little studied and artificial to just go outside and split firewood nonchalantly, and besides, the mountain of unsplit wood was right outside our bedroom windows. A walk was always good, or a trail ride on my BSA motocrosser, but I wanted to be near home. Maybe I should just go into my music study and play guitar. Low volume so I can hear what’s fatih escort going on in…..momentarily, though, Cherie is kneeling beside me with her hand on my forearm and head against my shoulder, and her scent, mingled with the scent of Kayla on her, is so intoxicating that I just breathe and hug her as she whispers that it would be nice for them if I come in, undress and lie down with them. She apologizes for surprising me, and says Kayla is sorry, too – which strikes a false note; I don’t believe Kayla is at all sorry; she’s the one to whom I’d said this morning when I expected to be home, and I was within ten minutes of that time. She knew.

It sounds pathetic, but Cherie led me into our bedroom, and started me getting my clothes off. Kayla lay naked, sprawled on the bed in an attitude of complete comfort and relaxation, like a contented long white cat. She smiled shyly at me and asked in a small voice if I wanted to “get into” two Swedish beauties like them, and I said lamely “Well, sure, I’d like to oblige a couple of horny blonds, but you know? I’m really tired.”, and we all giggled nervously. At least, I was a little nervous. But I lay down beside them; kissed first Cherie, then Kayla, and it was NICE immediately. We began to explore one another’s bodies; gently, slowly, affectionately, hesitantly at first; then with increasing passion and arousal. Thighs opened, genitals began to beg to be touched; kissed.

From those first kisses, my memories are a kaleidoscope of intertwined arms and legs; kissing, licking, touching, stroking. I smile now as I remember thinking in one part of my brain while all this is going on: “This CAN’T be happening to ME!”. At one point, Kayla kneels behind me, reaching around and holding the shaft of my hard erect penis; teasing Cherie’s clitoris with it; using it like a vibrator or toy. Kayla knows exactly what she’s doing to Cherie, too. She knows how hard to press; in which direction to circle; when to leave Cherie’s clit alone for a moment to push me into her vagina. I feel huge (I’m not), swollen to at least thrice my ordinary size, and proud. Proud of Cherie’s obvious high arousal; proud that with my right hand I am reaching around behind me to explore Kayla’s wet, swollen and satiny pussy – as I gently squeeze her clit with thumb and forefinger, she grips me hard, moans softly against my back, and pushes herself onto my fingers. We are all at the very brink of orgasm; trembling and breathing hard. I feel myself pulsing and dribbling, and a couple of times both women have to pull away to prevent themselves going off like skyrockets. We are prolonging the inevitable denouement; at one point, I look down at myself as Kayla circles and nudges Cherie’s swollen clitoris. The sight of me, glistening and ripe-plum purple, rubbing over my wife’s engorged pink, satiny vagina almost does me. I have to beg Kayla: “Oh, God, please STOP”.

Another frame in a jumbled sequence: I am poised above Kayla, not touching her except that my erection is at the very opening of her vagina, just inside her. Her eyes are closed and her body rigid; she is tensed on the brink of some cataclysm of her own; I was sure she’d balk at this from a man’s touch, but she is beyond herself, completely in the grip of her own body, trembling on the brink. And Cherie is at my side, with her soft hand and clever fingers gently kneading Kayla’s clitoris with clove oil; kissing her lips and nipples. She’s watching, playing Kayla’s body like a virtuoso. And most erotic of all; Cherie, obviously also highly aroused, is stroking my back and whispering to me, encouraging me to go into Kayla all the way; whispering to Kayla, in her horny baby voice, how beautiful she is, how soft, wet, and swollen K’s little pussy, how ready. “Ooh, Kale, do you want Davi to make you come? Oh baby, you’re SOOOOO wet and ready. Can you feel that? – how hard and hot he is? Do you like me touching you? You’re both soooo ready. I love your little baby; she’s so sweet; she wants to come so badly. You’re ready to come, aren’t you, baby? It’s okay; you can let go, Kale; we love you, we’re holding you”.

It drives both of us wild: at the instant that Kayla expels a moaning breath as her clitoris ignites her entire body, I groan and lower myself onto and into her completely, her hot, silky, spongy grip that just holds me and won’t let me go, or retreat, or do anything but just burst. Cherie and I each take one of her erect nipples, to suck and flick with our tongues. I hear my own AAAAHHH, and Kayla is panting convulsively. Her slim abdomen and hips heave upward, her thighs tighten hard against me, and finally, her hands pushing against my chest, she is KEENING. Then she raises her head to my breast as deep, almost painful spasms clutch us both. No longer fighting, her arms enfold me tightly, convulsively; her entire body locks to mine to impale herself; have me deeper.

After that, both Kayla and I take over Cherie’s body, and Cherie, flushed and on the utter brink for at least an hour anyway, comes to an instant, searing climax in her lovely way; holding herself open for us with her fingers, the side of her face pressed into a pillow; her little cries muffled as her body, like a coiled spring suddenly released, nearly leaps off the bed. Kayla’s head is against mine as we each suck on one of Cherie’s nipples.

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