SECRET AGENT

by Holly Rennick

AUTHOR'S NOTES

This piece stems from a 1938 booklet, "Marjorie May's 12th Birthday" by Mary Pauline Callender.  The Kotex-sponsored mother-to-daughter conversation seems ludicrous by today's standards.  Some excerpts:

     "Come dear, let's go up to my room where we can have a chat without being disturbed...  Up until a very few years ago, mothers and daughters did not share their secrets and companionship as we do now...  Indeed, you have noticed that Daddy and I often speak of you as our 'young lady,' for that is what you have grown to be...  I have not told you about it before because you have been too young to be interested...  Not long ago one of these harmful superstitions advised against bathing during menstruation, but doctors assure us that there is no harm in bathing...  But doctors think it is harmful during this time to play hard games where there is much excitement and competition."

     Delighted to have these new mysteries so thoroughly explained, Marjorie May fairly flew into her room, and in what seemed to be less than a second, returned with a calendar.

     "Yes, dear, and one day soon I must tell you the purpose which menstruation has in Nature's creative plan -- but not today."

I've posted the booklet's cover at http://www.asstr.org/files/Authors/Holly_Rennick/Marjorie_Mays_12th.jpg.

We've come a long way, girls!  But really, the booklet's about something difficult for 12-year-olds of any era.  Do today's pre-teens who watch prime time Emmy-award orgasms make better decisions?  Button my mouth.

Coming of age is pretty challenging.

As Mother says in the booklet, menstruation's about becoming "young lady".  Becoming a "young woman" today would be about losing your virginity.

But what's the rite of passage for just becoming your sexual self?  Approximately 18 percent of girls 10 years of age do it and another 55 percent discover how by age 15.  (Isn't the Internet something?)

MARJORIE MAY'S 12TH BIRTHDAY

Your 12th birthday is rather special.  Everything needs to be picture perfect for the party: your dress, the cake, the decorations, the favors, the games.  You're now very close to being a teenager.

Marjorie May knew she was getting a pleated skirt because Mother had but one hiding place, under her sweaters in her third drawer.  Marjorie May's present was tartan plaid and was coming with a crinoline petticoat.  Marjorie May would of course feign total surprise.

Steven, her brother older by four years, had bought a tennis-racket charm for her bracelet.  That present had been harder to uncover because Steven's drawers were always a mess.

Marjorie May considered herself rather observant for a girl of 12, a rather clever spy, actually.  When she grew up, there might be a chance to use it if she were a G-man, but she'd be a G-woman.  A lady secret agent can sneak into places a man couldn't.

This birthday might be special for another reason.  Mother had a booklet from the Kotex Company also hidden.  Marjorie May of course already knew about the curse from girls at school, but Mother wouldn't know that.  So the little maternal chat was coming.  Everybody's mother used the same book.  Marjorie May would act "delighted to have these new mysteries so thoroughly explained", per the script.

A subsequent topic, Marjorie May prophesized, would be the little chat about the birds and the bees, though Marjorie May hadn't yet unearthed Mother's reference as to how to present such information.  The Kotex booklet's "One day soon I must tell you the purpose which menstruation has in Nature's creative plan -- but not today" didn't impart much information.

The question in Marjorie May's mind was why Mother would think she didn't already have a fairly good idea.  Dogs run around town stuck together, for goodness sakes.

Actually, Marjorie May had a very good sense of "Nature's creative plan".  From the nail hole in the back of her closet she could see into her parents' room.  She knew exactly what Mother looked like naked, how her breasts swayed and how the auburn hair veed into her crotch.  Marjorie May's was auburn too, but only a fuzz.  Marjorie May knew exactly what Father's penis looked like, fat and stubby in a shrubbery of black.

Regarding making more birds and bees, there was enough night light from the street for Marjorie May to know how Father mounted Mother and pumped beneath the bedcover until grunting in completion.  Mother would exhale a moan so predictably that it sounded almost rehearsed.  Marjorie May presumed that they were hoping to make a third child, but when she discovered the condoms in Father's bedside stand, she realized that maybe they were just doing it for fun.  "Making love" was a much better name than what some girls called it.

Mother also had a diaphragm hidden in her secret place.  Marjorie May had no idea of what it was (other than it was a secret) until she asked her friends who themselves were somewhat confused, but all agreed it was to prevent babies.  Marjorie May could tell that the item wasn't often removed from its plastic box, and not on the nights that her parents made love.

A third topic related to Marjorie May's private parts, Mother would never broach.  Some girls in gym giggled about it, usually applying some silly name, but Marjorie May looked it up in Webster's.  Masturbation.  Marjorie May figured that if there weren't something to it, it wouldn't be so secretive.

Steven's Boy Scout Handbook reference to self-abuse suggested that it was a topic of boy interest, as well.  The warning about unhealthiness probably didn't apply to girls, she figured.  Steven was a Scout and Marjorie May rather liked his uniform with all the badges.  She wished she could go camping.  She'd learned Morse code from his book, but didn't tell her brother, as he'd not want her messing with his things.  Morse code would be very useful for an Agent.

Marjorie May had a wonderful 12th birthday.  Waffles for breakfast, birthday girl's choice.  It being Sunday, Mother sent cupcakes for Marjorie May's Sunday School class.  Rev. Walters embarrassed Marjorie May to death by having the whole congregation sing "Happy Birthday", but actually she was quite pleased with the attention.  Rev. Walters gave her a dime afterwards to spend on ice cream.  A banana split came to mind.

The party was from 2:00 to 4:00.  Angel-food cake with strawberry frosting.  The event was lots of fun, even if the boys were a little awkward in their ties.  They played dodge ball in the back yard and as soon as the grownups wandered to the living room, played spin-the-bottle.  Marjorie May got kissed three times!

Supper was as always on Sunday: popcorn, apples and dinner leftovers for anyone still hungry.  Mother always said it was her favorite meal of the week.  The family all ate cake left over from the party.  As Father had to catch the Union Starlight for Chicago, the birthday girl got her goodnight kiss a half-hour early.

Mother didn't follow the Kotex booklet's directions, however, and just sent Marjorie May to bed with best wishes for her next year.  No modern mothering from Mother, Marjorie May decided.  Marjorie May was in no hurry for the onset.  Her friend Carol Lee was having her period and couldn't move fast enough to escape the dodge ball.

Marjorie May again tried on her birthday skirt before going to bed.  She'd wear her white blouse with it tomorrow.  She used the pliers from Father's toolbox to attach the tennis racket charm to her bracelet, but she'd not wear that tomorrow so she'd have something to show around on Tuesday.

It's hard to wind down after a birthday day, Marjorie May realized after readjusting her pillow for the tenth time.  Too many things to ponder.  Maybe she should finish "Nancy Drew and the Mystery of the Ivory Charm".  If Mother's already asleep, Marjorie May could just switch on her bed-light.  If Mother's still up, she'd use her flashlight.

Anyway, she needed to pee.  Hopping up and heading to the bathroom, Marjorie May noted that it was dark in Mother's room, so she needn't waste her batteries.  Good.

Returning, however, Marjorie May caught the tell-tell beam of a flashlight illuminating the crack under Mother's door.  Marjorie May was never so haphazard when she read late, she reflected with some professionalism; a careless light beam could doom your operation if you were an Agent.

But why on earth would Mother be using a flashlight?  Grownups can read as late as they like.

Marjorie May thought about rapping on the door, but realized that if Mother were using a flashlight, it must involve some sort of secret.  Mother wasn't some sort of spy herself, was she?  Not Mother.

Well, it would be easy enough to use the nail-hole in the back of her closet.  Marjorie May made not a sound pushing aside her winter-wear and lifting the tape placed to mask the opening.

Peering through, Marjorie May could see the floorboards lit by a flashlight, but when the beam angled outward, it fleetingly caught a bare foot.  You don't aim a flashlight away and hit your own feet, Marjorie May realized.  Someone was in there with Mother!

Then the beam passed over a torso too quickly to simultaneously illuminate all of the body, but recordable in the way an eye can pass a cracked door and picture the whole room.

Marjorie May was startled, but not enough to doubt what her eye registered.

It was Steven!  And what made no sense was that he was stark naked.  And what was more amazing was his penis.

While Marjorie May had never seen Father's penis stick out, she knew they could.  Her friends had names for it, even if none had actually seen one.  The word in Webster's was "erection", and even that was somewhat disguised in definition.  But Marjorie May knew to what it referred.

Steven was in there with an erection.  It was really long!  He had the same color hair as did Mother and Marjorie May.

Why would Steven be in there with an erection?

The light went off, but Marjorie May could tell that her bother was climbing onto Mother's bed.  Mother wasn't even under the covers and as Steven lay beside her, she sat up, breasts and hips bare.

She's naked, too!

Was he going to sleep with her?  Was he going to...?

Steven?

But Mother wasn't supine as she was under Father.  And unlike with Father, she and Steven and were on top of the spread.  The light from the window made Steven's penis white, upward on his belly.

Marjorie May couldn't believe it when Mother held it.  Maybe her brother was embarrassed; maybe he wasn't; Marjorie May couldn't tell that.  What she could tell, though, was that as soon as Mother's hand started pushing up and down, Steven bounced his hips.

Marjorie May immediately thought of his Boy Scout Handbook.  The book made it sound as if boys do it by themselves, but maybe they do it in pairs.  Nonetheless, it didn't seem like an activity for which you'd want your mother, especially a naked mother.

When Steven began to thrust almost recklessly (through the wall, Marjorie May could hear the bedsprings) Mother crawled above and knelt above his straight penis, still in her hand.  Mother's mouth was open and, as best Marjorie May could tell, she was looking straight into Steven's face.

Steven reached up to cup Mother's breasts.

Marjorie May knew from her own body, how Mother was constructed.  When Mother lowered herself, Marjorie May had no doubt about what happened to her brother's penis.  Mother was smiling, so it wasn't hurting her.  It looked as if she were talking to Steven, but Marjorie May couldn't hear the words.

For a fleeting moment, mother and son were motionless and then Mother leaned forward, pinned Steven's shoulders and began rocking against him in what, to Marjorie May, seemed slow motion.  With each rock, Mother's face assumed a more-distant focus.

As Mother began to drive herself with more determination, her demeanor became more immediate, a hungry intensity, not at all the mother that Marjorie May knew.

Several times Mother slowed to her earlier, less-frenzied pace.  At last, however, Mother didn't back off.  Her eyes were shut and head thrown back.

Steven's eyes were likewise shut and his mouth grimaced.  Maybe it hurt the guy, Marjorie May wondered.  But he was grinning as well.

Suddenly Mother gasped and pounded down on Steven so hard that Marjorie May feared for the bed.  Marjorie May could almost feel her shaking, nothing akin to what Marjorie May saw happen under Father.

In a few parting thrusts, it was largely over.  Mother fell forward onto Steven and he wrapped his arms around her shoulders.  Her hips were still rotating as if she didn't want to quit, but eventually even that stopped.

When Mother rolled off, Steven's penis was just a lump of flab, not that big at all.

This is how to make a baby, Marjorie May knew for certain, but then why would they want to do that?  It wouldn't even be Father's child!

Mother's diaphragm, of course!  Marjorie May had never understood why she hid one, but Father would notice if his condoms disappeared.  Plus probably Steven couldn't be trusted to wear one right.  She'd check the plastic box tomorrow; the tube of jelly would be a little more squeezed.

No more to spy on, Marjorie May re-inspected her private parts by mirror and flashlight under her sheet.  Obviously it wasn't going to work on her, what Mother did to Steven before they practiced making a baby, but rubbing her front part did indeed feel tingly.

Marjorie May's 12th birthday, she decided under the covers, hadn't at all gone by Mother's booklet.  But that was okay; she'd figure out the Kotex thing at gym.

And Marjorie May would have Carol Lee spend the night to see if they could figure out masturbation.  After her friend's period was done, for course.

KENT STATE

"My God!  Can you believe it?  They shot students at Kent State!"

"Oh, Lord!  Shot them?"

Marge, Cliff and Sara had just pulled in to Steven's.  As the two families hardly ever saw each other, Marge and Cliff living in Virginia, Steven and Barb in Arizona, they worked to cross paths for summer vacations.  It's important that the cousins, Sara and Ronnie, know each other.

Maybe it was because their kids were approaching the ages of the ones at Kent State that brought the shooting closer to home.

"They don't like the frigging war, so we shoot them?"  Steven was almost ballistic.

Cliff had a cardiology conference in Phoenix, so spouse and daughter had come along for the price of an air ticket.  Family-in-the-car trips were things of the past.  The Scottsdale hotel bill Cliff would charge to his office.  They'd rented a car, photographed some saguaro and had two days to visit Steven's family.

Steven pointed out that pretty much everyone out here had a pool, but Marge was impressed.  It wasn't the money.  Between Cliff's practice and her job with the FBI, they had tons of income.  They'd just never find the time to swim if they had a pool.

Marge had never made it into the overseas side of the business.  Marrying a cardiologist precluded the postings.

On the other hand, what could be better than spying?  Catching the other side's spies.

And one better.  What could be better than catching the other side's spies?  Manipulating the other side's secret doings so adroitly that they don't realize you're doing it.  Maybe subterfuge is something's a woman's better at, Marge figured.  Her title was "Communications Specialist", Bureau nomenclature somewhat to the point for those who'd understand that it referred to Russian communications.  Her pronunciation wasn't perfect, but that made no difference.  You didn't talk it.

Marge had always gotten along well with her brother.  The fact that he'd slept with Mother was dicey, Marge realized, but that's just how it was.  If Mother hadn't wanted it, it wouldn't have happened.  Marge had seen enough to know that Mother wanted it.  Really wanted it.

Spying on Mother and Steven was like her job outfoxing the Soviets.  If they know that you know, pretty soon you'll know nothing.

Barb had retired for the day and Cliff was calling his staff.  You can't really leave a practice, he'd explained to his brother-in-law.  The two cousins were off to wherever teens in Arizona go to escape.  A movie?  Smoke pot?  Marge had noted her daughter's nipples under her tie-dye as the two drove off.

The siblings sat by the pool, measuring the Southwestern evening horizon.

Thus she was caught off-guard.

"How come you never said anything?" Steven asked without preamble.

"'Bout what?"

"Me and Mother," as if referring to mixed doubles.

"You and Mother?" with a stifle of unease.

"I'm just curious, is all."

Oh Lord, realized Marge.  Maybe he knows!

"About what?" hoping the topic would change directions.

"Sleeping together," answered her brother, finally faltering.

He knows!

Marge recognized that he probably didn't want to know, but at the same time she realized he needed to tell.  She paused way too long.  "You think...?"

"I'm just curious why you never told Father," Steven clarified.

Marge tried to gather her thoughts.  She could deny she knew.  Or maybe allude to some sort of vague memory of once hearing a bumping sound?  How could she admit she'd watched, even gone to bed early so the two could more quickly make love?  So long ago.  Why's he even asking?

"He didn't need to know," opting for an honest answer.

"Thanks."

Maybe that's where Steven wanted to leave it.  Admitted and unexplained.

The siblings dangled their feet in the water, letting the ripples intersect.

"Steven?"

"You can ask."

"You knew that I knew?"

"Not then.  When the folks moved, Mother had her sewing boxes in your closet and I saw the hole.  The tape had curled."

"Oh."

"You're the spook.  You saw."

Marge's lack of confirmation confirmed the worst.  "Does Barb know?"

"Are you kidding?"

Marge pictured the scenario.  "So maybe I don't bring it up, I guess."

Her brother smiled in return.  "Maybe not."

Marge thought some more.  You can't just ex out a chapter of your life.  He wouldn't have brought it up if it weren't a chapter of his life, too.

"Know what, Steven?"

"What?"

"It wasn't your fault.  Mother really got into it.  You were just a boy."

"Maybe that's why."

"At least she wasn't weird or anything," Marge added a bit defensively.

Marge thought some more.  "You don't have to tell me this.  Did she make you, at first, I mean?"

"Not really.  She kind of got me to think that it was my own idea, I guess."

Marge scooted beside her brother and interlocked his fingers.  "Not the mother we saw in the kitchen."

"You think she had other lovers?"

Marge could tell that he cared.  "Nope.  Just Father."  Of that she was sure.

The siblings side-by-side absorbed the desert twilight.

"So how come you're telling me now?" Marge ventured.

"Those kids who got shot in Ohio.  Make love, not war, you know.  I was in one at their age.  They're right."

"We prayed for you every dinner.  They're right about the love part."

"I loved Mother," Steven wanted his sister to know.  "We started out maybe for the wrong reasons, but we were making love."

Marge squeezed his hand.  "I knew that.  I thought Mother was going to explain about periods, but seeing you in there got me into something fun."

"You were just a kid!"

"I was 12.  Exactly 12.  You got me interested in dash dash, dot dash, dot dot dot, dash, dot dot dash, dot dash dot, dash dot dot dot, dot dash, dash, dot dot, dash dash dash, dash dot."

"What's that?"

"Masturbation."

With that, Marge pushed her brother into the pool and whooping at his surprise, jumped in after him.

***

At the dark end of the deck, Marge was still catching her breath.

"Mother's way," acknowledged Steven, pulling a towel to cover her breast.

"Spies pay attention," noted his sister.  "I can hear your heartbeat."

"You okay?  Maybe I wasn't thinking too well," Steven admitted.

"You were thinking what I was thinking.  Leave it in as long as you can."

"You even sound like her."

"I came like her, too," Marge judged.

By the time they'd dogpaddled to the shallow end they'd forgotten that the water was cold.  They'd kissed, left their sopping clothes wadded on the tile and Marge had lain back in expectation.  He'd entered before both realized how they wanted it.  Already coupled, they'd rolled a half turn and Marge had risen, pushing down his shoulders.  He'd cupped her breasts.

They'd watched each other's face until the very end.  Only when she threw her head upward did she feel the spew of seed.  She'd held motionless long enough for the only communication to be the pulse of his planting.  Then she'd climaxed above him until her elbows could no longer sustain the distance between their chests.  As their orgasm waned, the two cradled the small of one another's back.

"So I'm really good?"  Steven grinned, tracing her vertebrae.

"Who knows?  I did all the work."

"Geesh!"

"I'm terrible, aren't I?  You're super.  For a brother, anyway."

The siblings, well-mated, found the evening star.

"I always felt bad about Father," admitted Steven.  "He was doing his best."

"He got better," advised the Agent.

"He did?"

"After your day.  It's need-to-know classification.  Sorry."

"Oh."

The siblings, warm in the cool of the desert night, watched the emerging jumble of stars.

"You suppose that Ronnie and Sara are out there, you know...?" wondered Steven.

"Maybe.  Her bra's in her suitcase and she hid a rubber in her purse lining."

Steven weighed the pros and cons.  "I just don't know, though, about all this free love stuff."

"Me neither.  It needs to be special."

"You're special," reflected Steven.  "Suppose it's legal?"

"No problem on my side.  The Bureau will spring me," flipping her brother's organ for inspection.  "Don't know about your school district, though," she added for good measure.

After dodging his pinch, she again turned reflective.  "It's weird after all these years to finally do it."

"Does it make us lovers?" asked the brother.

"Guess so," agreed the sister.  "Kind of special ones, maybe."

The siblings, siblings forever, peered into the galaxy.

SECRET AGENT

Within a year of Steven joining the Army, Mother and Father each discovered that the other was capable of more than procedural copulation.  Behind the nail hole, Marjorie May cheered them forward.  She could almost feel their tentative proddings, each positive of the other's ignorance, each unwilling to reveal experience.

When Mother finally didn't pull the covers over them, Father didn't object, his excitement throbbing in the window light.  When Mother took it in her hand, Marjorie May wondered if she'd ever inspected it before?  Father likewise stroked her in full view, Mother parting so he'd discover.

Marjorie May stroked herself the same way.  It wasn't the same as being on the bed, she knew, but what the occasion allowed.

When Father unexpectedly lay beside Mother, she tossed a tentative leg over his.  Every little surreptitious snuggle moved Mother higher until she'd nowhere to go but to straddle.  Marjorie May could almost feel Father's penis pushed against Mother's abdomen.  Every little snuggle now moved Mother higher onto Father until proximity had nowhere to go but inward, both yet pretending that mating woman above man was accidental.

Two bodies pressed, one finding its way within the other by mutually ill-disguised design.

When Mother pinned Father's shoulders to the mattress and he cupped her breasts, Marjorie May knew that both were meeting a spouse they'd not yet known.

Marjorie May ceased touching herself.  This wasn't her moment; it was theirs.

The subsequent lovemaking was far too mutually skillful to pass for beginner's luck, but Marjorie May recognized that neither was assessing.

When Mother shoved in culmination, Father matching, Marjorie May shuddered with them.  A girl can do it with just her mind, she realized.

Marjorie May doubted that Father would later wonder if Mother had a libertine lover at the garden club.  Or that Mother would think he'd met an unabashed mistress on a business trip.  The daughter realized that each knew that the other wouldn't.  They were too married, the way it should be.

Each would breathe silent thanks that the other attributed the newfound vitality to unexpected discovery.  That sex can be wonderful even without one's secret lover.  That the secret lover can be trusted forever.

The breadth of a covert operation should be recognized by no one but the secret agent.

THE END

Holly on the Web

Wherever you found this story on the web, thank you to the server.  My problem is that I've no systematic way to update the various servers.  As literary errors (or just poor word usages) are made known to me, I'll repair that which is salvageable on http://www.asstr.org/~Holly_Rennick/.  My website's not much graphically, I admit, but HTML isn't my native language.  If you take the time to read me, don't wade through an earlier version.

You can contact me via the site's message form, that HTML code by the smart people at ASSTR.

Holly
