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Strictly Business	By : Nastyzak Category: +G through L > Gravity Falls Views: 4073 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: Fandom is Gravity Falls. I don't own it or the characters and don't get any money for my writing.

Chapter List
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1
Mabel was coming out of the Ten-Pan-Knittery with a tote jammed with yarns, needles, and embroidery supplies when she did a double take. A convertible had just slowly cruised past, top down, a gorgeous blonde girl in dark shades at the wheel. “Pacifica?” Mabel asked.
But then she caught sight of the vanity plate: RICHERNU, and she was sure. She jogged along the sidewalk, saw the convertible turn down Trembly Street, and cornered just as the blonde engaged the automatic-parking feature and parallel-parked.
A panting Mabel got to the car just as the blonde stepped onto the sidewalk. “Hey!” Mabel yelled. “Pacifica! It’s me, Mabel!”
Startled, the girl turned and peeked over her sunglasses. It was Pacifica, in a tight half-sleeved lavender sweater and tight white stretchy jeans that together showed off two D-cup breasts, a slim waist, and a definite camel toe. “Mabel?” she asked, her eyebrows rising. “What are you doing back in Gravity Falls after all these years?”
“I live here now!” Mabel said. “Why are you here, now?”
They had the ritual hug that even life-long enemies exchange when meeting for the first time in four or more years. “I’m moving back here,” Pacifica said.
Mabel juggled her purchases to offer her a high-five. “Cool! Where?”
“I’ve bought a house up on Lumber Ridge Road,” Pacifica said, passing on the high-five.
“Up top!” Mabel said. “You might as well, ‘cause this hand’s going nowhere!”
Reluctantly, Pacifica slapped her hand. “Don’t drop all that junk.”
Mabel got control of her packages. “You bought a house? Get out of town! Your dad bought it for you, I bet!”
“No,” Pacifica said. “It’s a long story.”
Mabel actually hopped up and down. “Tell me! Hey, wait, why don’t we have lunch together? We can catch up!”
“Stop, people are looking!” But despite herself, Pacifica smiled. “Your smile’s cute without braces. Well—I was in town to get some lunch—”
“I accept!” Mabel said. “I know, let’s go to The Club! You can drive.”
“Are you sure you can even afford that?” Pacifica asked.
“I,” said Mabel, “have my own business. I’ll put it on the card and count this is a business-lunch deduction!”
Pacifica gave up and smiled. “All right,’ she said. “I have been kind of lonely. Get in.”
“Ooh, pretty car! Can I drive it?”
Already behind the steering wheel, Pacifica said firmly, “No. I’ve popped the trunk for your bags. Put them in and then get in the passenger seat. Final answer.”
“Boo.” But Mabel packed her stuff and got in, and few minutes later they were reading menus at the snooty restaurant. “What’s a creepy crab?” Mabel asked, her eyebrows contracting.
Without even looking up from her own menu, Pacifica said, “That’s not creep, it’s crepe. It’s kind of a thin pancake with crabmeat, cheese, and bechamel rolled up in it. I’m ordering—I won’t even read the French—the stuffed quail with mushrooms and broccolini.”
“Does it taste like--?”
“Chicken,” Pacifica said with a sigh.
Mabel slammed down her menu. “Make that double!”
“And I’ll get a bottle of Chardonnay. The third one on the wine list is from an Oregon winery, and I remember my parents always said it was acceptable.”
“And two straws!”
“They’ll bring wine glasses,” Pacifica said. She set her sunglasses down on the table. “You haven’t changed a bit, have you?”
Mabel leaned back, displaying her bosom. “Think again, sister! These puppies aren’t as big as yours, but they’re nice!” She wiggled her shoulders, making her breasts bounce. “I’ve got a sports bra on, but it feels like they’re free-range.”
Despite herself, Pacifica giggled. “You,” she said, “are silly. Garcon! We’re ready to order.”
The waiter, in black trousers, blousy white peasant shirt, and floofy lavender cravat, shimmered over and did a double-take. “Mees Northwest! Alors, eet ees so good to see you again!”
“Thanks, Emil, and you don’t have to do the phony accent for us. We’re ready to order, and we want a bottle of Tilamookery Chardonnay. Do you need to card me?”
Sounding every inch the not-Frenchman, Emil bowed and said, “Not you, Miss Northwest! We have a very nice salmon mousse—”
Pacifica gently cut him off: “We’ve made our choices.” They began with salads, and as they ate, Mabel said, “I thought your family moved away right after you finished high school.”
“We did, to Wyoming,” Pacifica said, as if she were saying they’d moved to one of the cooler neighborhoods of hell.
“I—can’t understand what’s wrong with that,” Mabel said, blinking.
Pacifica shrugged. “Dad used to be the richest man in Oregon. After all that shit happened, you know, with the rearranged face and the turning to stone and all, he lost so much of his money that he dropped down to seventy-fifth on the list. Wyoming has just a few more people than Oakland and lots fewer rich people than Oregon, so Dad’s number one out there.”
Mabel paused with a cherry tomato halfway to her mouth. “Wait, what? How could Wyoming not have more people than that? I mean, Oakland doesn’t even have a million. By the way, this is good wine, this Chardonnay.”
Pacifica said patiently, “Wyoming has about 500,000 people in the whole state, Oakland has about 400,000 in one city. In Wyoming, we know about five families we socialize with, and all the boys, even the rich ones, dress like farmhands and have the manners of a wild boar. I hated it there! The minute I was twenty-one—”
“You’re twenty-one? I’m twenty-one!” Mabel said. “What a coincidence!”
“Happy birthday,” Pacifica said.
Mabel raised her glass. “You too! Oh, when was it?”
Pacifica clinked. “Back in February. I know yours was just a couple weeks ago. Last day in August, right?”
Mabel took a slug of wine and refilled her own glass. “Aw, you remembered! What happened when you turned twenty-one?”
“I received a legacy from my grandfather,” Pacifica said. “It was in a trust fund I couldn’t touch until I was twenty-one. The day after my birthday, I got myself a lawyer, took care of some bank transfers, and by the next day I had $24,000,000 in the bank. Drink some water.”
A choking Mabel gulped from the wine glass instead. When she could talk again, she gasped, “You’re a millionaire?”
“Multi,” Pacifica said. “And I knew if I stayed in Wyoming, my dad would start finding ways to siphon off some of my money, or looking for some rich hick to marry me, so I packed up and moved back to Oregon.” She turned a little pink. “I canlt believe I'm admitting it, but I loved living in Gravity Falls. So anyway, I stayed up in The Dalles for months while I looked for a property, until my real-estate agents learned that the old Findlestone house was for sale, pretty cheap. I bought it and the ten acres around it, hired a contractor and decorator, and for four months the crew repaired and renovated and modernized it. My decorator’s just finished, and I moved in last weekend. What about you?”
“Me? I’m the owner, president, and CFO of Mabel Lebam’s Creations!” Mabel said. “We make cute clothing for teen girls, mostly. I design the goods, we have a factory that makes ‘em, we sell over the Internet, no brick-and-mortar stores yet, and last year after expenses and taxes, I cleared $160,000. I’m not in your league, but I’m happy.”
“Congratulations,” Pacifica said.
Mabel raised her glass. "We know what girls want!" They clinked and sipped.
The entrees arrived. When the waiter left, Pacifica casually asked, “What about your brother? Is he still in graduate school or whatever?”
Mabel, her mouth full of quail, shook her head and then swallowed. “No, he’s living up in the attic of the Mystery Shack. Soos lets him stay there rent-free. He’s trying to start his own business, like me, but it’s tough going.”
Pacifica set her wineglass down. “Really? What is he doing?”
“He’s got kind of a start-up ghost-busting service,” Mabel said. “He’s had a few jobs, but he doesn’t charge very much, and ghost-busting requests just trickle in every now and then. Hey, we ought to call him—“
“No, don’t,” Pacifica said quickly. “I remember when he came to our house and helped with a haunting—you know, I might just have a job for him. But don’t call him or say anything about it! He’d think it was charity or something and turn it down. He once told me I was the worst.”
“Yeah, when you were like twelve!” Mabel said. “He liked you later on, though. Heh, my nose feels tingly. Oh, are we out of wine?”
“I’ll get another bottle,” Pacifica said.

2
The year was 1897. That year an engineering journal first used the word “computer” to describe a calculating device. William McKinley decisively won election to the Presidency of the United States. A band played the “Stars and Stripes Forever” Sousa march for the first time. Thomas Edison patented a movie projector.
And way out in Oregon, Jeremiah Findlestone, at that time the richest man in Oregon, though the Northwests were gaining on him, had a spur line extended from Gravity Falls to the grand three-story house he had built out in the woods for his extended family. Now he, his wife Sarah Joan, his son Abner, Abner’s wife Louisa, Jeremiah’s two grandchildren, Lina and Manfred (eleven years younger than his sister), could travel in style on a train of exactly one locomotive, one coal car, one parlor car, one sleeping car, one restaurant car, and a caboose, from their front yard to anywhere in the United States. The train backed into the miniature station near the Findlestone mansion, and from there on the family rode forwards to anywhere they damned well pleased. The railway spur opened in May.
In July of the same year, his granddaughter, Lina, then eighteen, nearly nineteen, got caught. She and a boy were discovered doing what two people of different genders oughtn’t to be caught doing, by Jeremiah’s lights. His lights would have gone out entirely if someone even suggested two people of the same gender could do pretty much the same things. That was too outrageous for him to believe, so he didn’t, and it did not exist.
The mere suspicion of unnatural female-female love was the reason why Jermiah's youngest daughter, Flora, had been exiled to a Shaker community in Pennsylvania, the ward of a distant and dour cousin of Jeremiah's. When she had been eighteen, fourteen years earlier, Jeremiah had witnessed her kiss a favorite female teacher on the mouth. Since then Flora lived among men and women who were celibate, had celibacy thrust upon her, too, and her name was spoken no longer in the Findlestone house, and she did not exist. For the family, anyway.
Flora's behaviror had been shameful. Lina's case was too much for her to bear. Oh, her grandfather bore it with a vengeance. The girl, however, was different. Later, Jeremiah sent her mother and father away so his son could take charge of a major railway link between Virginia and the Missisiipi. He kept the rebellious Lina in the big house in the woods and promised he would break her of her morbid interest in carnal matters. But that is getting ahead of Lina's story...
A story as old as Eden. Though instead of Paradise, Lina and her Adam (his name was really Eddie Dunsford, and in addition to being a year younger than Lina, he wasn’t remotely rich but was nearly a pauper) had decided that a sunny clearing in the woods with a clear, pure stream running through it and a nice inviting natural pool interrupting the stream’s flow, was an excellent place to be natural. And it did happen to have a few straggling wild apple trees, though the fruit was too sour to eat.
The Findlestones came from strait-laced New England stock. They only grudgingly admitted that sex, as an activity, existed. A married couple might reluctantly and regretfully have relations in order to be fruitful and multiply, but they disliked the sensations and immediately went back to cold politeness to each other, and after a passionate session (during which neither would shout or demonstrate any action that a mechanical pump could not perform), neither would say even so much as “that was not terrible.” Their creed consisted mainly of “Thou shalt not do anything that feeleth good.”
By contrast, all the loggers and tavern owners and waitresses and schoolmarms and mule-drivers and miners of Gravity Falls disagreed with that creed, and when thier sort of people of opposite or mostly opposite genders met, these lower levels of society held a philosophy that roughly equated to “Let ‘er rip!”
Eddie Dunsford’s father owned a quarter-interest in a saloon, and his forefathers, as far back as anybody could remember, were bastards. Literally. A preacher whom a Dunsford requested to perform a marriage ceremony would probably say, "Damn your worthless lying hide, you fornicating son of a bitch!"
Among the common folk of Gravity Falls, “Do whatever you want, but don’t get married” about summed up their outlook.
Eddie was an only child, his momma had been dead for most of his life, he was strange in his ways, and he had very few friends his age (schoolin’ wuz fer fools, his dad thought). However, from the age of ten on, he helped out in the saloon doing simple things, fetching mugs of beer, emptying spittoons, and scrubbing up pools of blood on the floor and similar, and he heard a great many off-color and downright dirty stories from the bar patrons. They made him wonder, but nobody ever offered to explain to him why the one about the naked wife, the early husband, and the drummer in the closet was funny.
Maybe Eddie wouldn’t have understood anyway. He was a loner, a shy kid, a stutterer and a fumbler, and the oil lamp in his attic might be turned way low, and anyhow he was too a-scared of girls to do much exploration.
For her part, Lina, soon to be nineteen, had been educated at an all-girls’ boarding school, where she learned quite a lot, really, about sex, but not in the classroom and not of the heterosexual variety, in which she none the less felt a deep interest. Once while she and three of her schoolmates were practicing self-stimulation—an older girl was the teacher, and the students in such secret classes learned much faster about where to put their fingers and how to move them than they ever learned how to perform well in Deportment, Elocution, or Music.
Whispering late at night, one of her older friends had once confided to her, “Linny, believe me, there is nothing like a man’s rampant member to quench a girl’s desires.”
Member, her foot. Her desires kept her awake at night and hot even on a snowy day, and sometimes she felt as though quenching them wouldn’t require a member, but the entire club!
Anyway, she had met Eddie by chance one warm, dry morning in June 1897. Making her way through the dusty streets of Gravity Falls, she had asked him nicely to help her carry her big wicker basket of delicacies (the Findlestones were having a party that weekend) to the railway station for her.
He did and after half a dozen false starts finally spluttered out, “My name’s Eddie.”
He was no great shakes as a conversationalist, but he had broad shoulders, a not-bad face, interestingly tousled brown hair, and an obvious interest. He was shirtless but wore blue and white pinstriped overalls, leaving his arms bare and his muscles fascinatingly visible.
Just before boarding the short-run train, Lina confided, “If you want to meet me again, just follow the tracks through the woods. I live in that big house at the end of the run, but if you like, I will meet you at ten on Saturday morning where the trestle crosses the creek before you can even see the house. My family will be busy with a party and won't notice if I slip away. Will you come?”
He had nodded like a doll whose head was on a spring.
She had even leaned out the window of the parlor car to smile and wave at Eddie as the train backed its way toward her house. Jeremiah had been too stingy to pay for a roundhouse, so the trains backed in, then returned moving forward.
“Saturday,” Lina whispered to herself, and the clacking of the rails seemed to encourage her “do it, do it, do it.”
And sure enough, at ten the next Saturday morning, from where she sat on the big boulder beside the tracks, she saw Eddie trudging along, having at that point already walked seven miles from town. She smiled. He had dressed up for the occasion. He was wearing a shirt under his overalls and on his feet, shoes. And he carried a fistful of daisies.
“Come with me,” Lina had told him after accepting the daisies. “I want to show you my special place.”
For the next ten minutes Eddie couldn't even speak. He had never seen a girl’s special place before. He hoped it wouldn’t be scary. One gray-bearded old drunk had once assured him that girls had teeth in their special places.
Anyway, she led him down the hill, then for a long way along the bank of the meandering creek, and to a grassy clearing beside a pretty pool. The inflowing creek slowed so that the pool made a mirror reflecting the pines that surrounded it and the blue sky hung overhead. On the brilliant green grass someone had spread a brightly-woven brown, white, red, and orange Mexican blanket. “This is my special place,” she said.
He stuttered out that he had thought she meant something else.
They sat on the blanket, cushioned by the soft grass beneath, and listened to the rippling stream and the sound of birds twittering. She wove a necklace of daisies and put it around her neck. “Is it becoming?” she asked him.
He nodded and turned red.
More efforts at conversation died when his tongue refused to make the right sounds. She gave him a sympathetic smile. “Poor Eddie. Is—is your member rampant?”
He tried five times to ask what that meant and couldn’t get it out.
“Never mind, I’ll show you.” She sat beside him and reached for his private possessions. “This,” she said, touching the bulge in his overalls, “is your member.” She squeezed. “Is it always so hard?”
“Nuh-nuh,” he managed.
“Would you show it to me?” she asked coyly. “Only I’ve never seen one, and I’d so like to.”
He swallowed as though trying to force a golf ball down his gullet.
She shyly whispered, “I will show you my—my paps.” When he looked confused, possibly wondering what possession of her father’s she was about to reveal, she smiled in a more friendly way and said, “I mean these, you know.” She gently took his hand and clasped it to her left breast. Not that that was much a thrill for either of them, since seven layers of cloth lay between his palm and her skin.
Eddie was not the brightest match in the haystack nor the sharpest strike-anywhere needle in the box, but he had the sense to nod.
They both stood. He began to unbutton his fly. She began to loosen her bodice. He undid all seven buttons and then politely waited for her. Lina carefully laid her bodice down on the blanket. Then, smiling, she undid her jabot, collar, and cuffs. Her sweet smile became apologetic. "I am such a pokey thing,” she said. “Just a few more bits, dear Eddie.”
Next came her blouse, which she folded carefully And then her corset lurked.
“You will have to help me with the laces,” she said, turning to present her back to him. She felt him undoing the knots, then pulling, loosening the laces. “Ahh. Now I can breathe,” she said. She tugged off the corset. She turned. By that point the only garment concealing her paps was her under-gorge, the direct ancestor of the item that later generations of American boys would struggle to unhook, sometimes successfully. “Are you ready? Shall we both reveal at once? Then let me count. One, two, three, go! Oh, my!”
It was a curious feeling, having her breasts bare in the warm sunshine, feeling the breezes toy with her nipples, consciously holding her shoulders back to make them look more prominent. At the same moment, his member sprang out, like a tiger from some leafy glade, fully stiff, the shaft interestingly curved, the head a gleaming reddish-purple with the dearest little dark slit oozing something that looked oily. It stood proudly like one of the flagpoles on the second floors of the shops downtown, at a forty-five degree angle, but within Lina it stirred a feeling even deeper than patriotism.
“Oh, my,” she whispered, staring down at his while he stared straight across at hers. “This is wicked, but if I am very gentle, may I touch it?”
“Muh muh,” he said.
“May you touch mine? Yes, let us agree. Fair is fair.”
He reached around and his big hand cupped her breast as she delicately ran her fingers over his shaft. “So springy! This is dreadfully naughty,” she whispered.
He nodded.
“Let us be even naughtier.” Her fingers left his rampant what-do-you-call-it and instead unbuckled the galluses that held up the front of his overalls. He hastily kicked off his shoes, hand-me-downs from his father, that were too big for him anyway. Under the overalls he wore only a homespun shirt and himself. No underwear, no socks. When she pulled off the shirt, he might have been one of the models for Michaelangelo’s David, young, strong, handsome and possibly as dumb as the hunk of marble the master sculptor was working on.
Eddie was too bewildered by the complexities of women's fashion to help her take off skirt, petticoat, garters, shoes, silk stockings, and unmentionables, so she did it delicately but with some haste. And soon they had not a stitch on between them. Lina felt giddy. She had been told about a rampant member, but it looked so glorious to her! Though the girl who had confided its secrets to her had not mentioned the two round things like walnuts dangling in a hairy, bulging flesh bag beneath it.
Indeed, so strong was her interest in closely inspecting Eddie’s equipment that she felt a keen desire to recompense him for the view. “Would you like to see my honey-flower?”
He confused that with the daisies for a moment, but then she giggled and lay back on the blanket, spreading her knees. “This is it,” she said, touching herself. Her skin was very white (young ladies did not disport themselves mostly bare in the sunshine or on a beach), which made her pink nipples show up like tulips shyly emerging from two shapely snow mounds. At the confluence of her thighs, a dark patch of curly hair made an inverted triangle, but the apex was bifurcated by a salmon-colored rift.
“Look closer,” she urged.
“Wooga,” he said.
That first time, they did not introduce his member into her honey flower, but instead contented themselves with half an hour of touching, exchanging kisses, vigorous stroking and—eventually she gasped in surprise and delight as his flesh musket fired, scoring a direct and oddly hot hit on her perky breasts. And then she told him how to touch her, and even aided him, and finally she moaned and trembled. And then—
“Oh, my, it’s getting late!” she exclaimed in her breathless way. "My mother may miss me if I don't hurry back." She hugged him close, skin to skin. “Eddie, dear, do you mind—would you care to continue these explorations next Saturday, at the same time and place? I should love it so if you would.”
“I'll be here, dear Lina,” he said, and for the first time since he was only four and a mule had trod on his head, he did not stutter at all.
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