"Go on, go on. No one's looking."
Betty quiveringly drew in a deep breath and held it in her lungs. Why was her friend asking her to do this? Was it part of some kind of game? It seemed so weird, but she couldn't bring it upon herself to protest. It was hard to say no to Eugenia.
She exhaled, then clutched the sides of her skirt and began to lift it up. A gust of March air brushed her ankles, flapping the hosiery cuffed around them. As she pulled further, she felt the wind on her calves. Her wide eyes darted furtively around the garden.
"Go on," the girl urged again from behind her. She stared down, watching the crucifix around her neck dangle. Her bare feet sunk more deeply into the soil as she bent forward and lifted her skirt all the way up.
Following the rustle of the trees, another gust of air swept over her, causing small goosebumps to rise on her bare and now fully exposed bottom.
"Gosh, you really have a magnificent bum," Eugenia cooed behind her. "It's so awfully plump for a girl so slender as you. And perfectly round."
"Um. Yeah...listen, Eugenia—"
"Kind of unusual, really. It reminds me of those big bouncy rumps I've seen on some of those negress cocottes down in the quarter, only yours is as white as the moon. Haha."
Betty gulped, unsure of what to say. She simply watched her little golden cross bob back and forth, wondering if what she was doing was sinful.
It certainly felt so, even though she couldn't figure exactly how. What would her father think? Her mother? They were only a few yards away. She could hardly bear to imagine what they'd say if they caught her.
"Show me," Eugenia ordered quite tersely. "I wanna see it."
"I...you are seeing it, aren't you?" Betty asked, flustered. "You said you wanted to see my backside."
"That's not what I said. I said I want to see your bum hole. That means I want to see what's between those chubby cheeks of yours, love. Got it?"
"Eugenia!" Betty said, shivering. "That's filthy. Why would you want me to do that?"
"God! Don't be such a prude. I'm just curious, is all. It's not every day you see someone's bum hole, is it? Unless you're one of those arse doctors, what you call 'em. Proctors?"
"Proctologists," Betty corrected, finding her friend's unrefined and perverse manner increasingly difficult to tolerate. "Eugenia...this feels wrong. Maybe you can just find a book on the subject if you're so curious about—"
"Oh, hush. Just spread those big bum cheeks of yours already, before someone catches us."
With a deep sigh, Betty finally complied, hoping to resolve this as quickly as possible. Shutting her eyes tightly, she reached back and spread her ample buttocks by a quarter inch.
"Tsk-tsk! Come on, Betty. I still can't see it, your crack is so bloody deep. Spread it wider," she heard from behind her. Betty pushed her tongue between her teeth and bit down anxiously. She then pulled her fleshy globes apart a few notches farther, hoping this was satisfactory.
She blinked her eyes and paused, waiting for a reaction. Her legs wobbled the minute she heard a suppressed snigger, and her face went almost crimson. She could feel the cold air fanning her exposed anus, and she felt incredibly foolish.
"My word, Betty. It's lovely!" Eugenia tittered. "It looks like a tiny pink star."
"Oh...thank you, I suppose," Betty said, her long dark hair blowing into her eyes. "So we're done now, right? You've seen it, so—"
"You ever wonder how all those poofters do it?"
"What?"
"You know, queers. They all take it in the arse, don't they?"
"I wouldn't know," Betty said, grimacing. She reflexively tightened her anus, and her buttocks tensed against her grasping fingers, but she remained in place.
She had never considered what queer men do with one another in any great detail. All she knew was that her father said it was sinful, and she was inclined to believe him, if only in the most passive and vague of senses.
"Come on, Betty. You know they're all buggering one another like mad down in the parks and alleyways. Not that I care. I only asked because I just wonder how one would go about openin' up such a small hole like that. For buggery, I mean."
"I don't know. I think...we should stop," Betty said. To her chagrin, she found that her anus flexed uncontrollably as she spoke. She knew Eugenia was deriving joy from seeing every twitch.
"We'll stop soon. Hold still. I just wanna try something first," Eugenia said, dropping to a crouch and fishing around the soil with her fingers. "Y'know, I wish I had a nice garden like this one. My father won't even let me keep a potted plant, he won't. You've got lots of tasty veggies here, don't you?"
Betty nodded silently. She glanced up a moment. Although the slatted garden gate had greenery wreathed around it, disconnected specks of her house were still visible past it, and something there caught her eye.
There on the sill of her distant bedroom window, she hazily glimpsed the pewter angel she'd received one Christmas. It was the last gift she'd ever received from her grandmother.
An upsetting mental image suddenly materialized from her subconscious. She imagined her grandmother's spectral face frowning down at her from the heavens, shaking her head in stern disapproval.
In that moment, Betty felt profoundly unworthy of that simple gift. There was nothing angelic about her participation in this symbolic desecration of her childhood garden. And yet for some reason, she could not stop.
