Steamy Dorm

by Kristine Robinson

  I must look frightened because she quickly adds, “we will not be enjoying each other as husband and wife just yet. Certain things will be denied until the month is completed and each of us freely and willingly declares agreement to the marriage. However, we will spend our nights becoming…intimately acquainted.” She’s watching me like a falcon sighting prey and I realize that, up until now, she has maintained a polite distance, trying not to alarm me. I see now that she has been carefully restraining herself around me. Now, she is letting her appreciative gaze travel down my body, signifying the full intensity of her desire for me. This is suddenly very real; I feel hot and cold at the same time, chills down my spine and flaming cheeks. I drop my gaze.

  She takes a step towards me, effectively closing the space between us. She is tall for a woman. She’s standing too close, making me choose between taking a step back and thereby giving up ground and admitting that I am afraid, or lifting my face to her. I raise my eyes and find her face just inches from my own. It’s suddenly hard to breathe and when I manage to suck in a breath, my breasts rise as though of their own accord. I’ve never been so aware of my own body before. My skin is tingling, my lips are parted, and I can feel the space between my lips and hers as though an electrical current traveled between us. I want…What do I want? Whit lowers her face towards mine and I think she will kiss me. Yes, that’s what I want!

  But instead, she places her lips beside my ear and murmurs, “I think you’ll be just fine tonight.” Her breath in my ear and the soft brush of her cheek against mine sends delicious shivers down my spine and I’m left thrumming as she steps back, deliberately breaking the tension.

  “Go ahead and get dressed. One of the other wives will be along shortly to help you; she has a dress that you can borrow until we can get materials to sew you a new one. I’ll see you tonight.” And with that, she leaves, closing the door behind her.

  My cheeks are still flushed when there is another knock at the door. I open it to a pretty, auburn haired woman a few years older than I. Folded neatly under her arm is the promised clothing and, in her hands, she carries a covered bowl. When the lid is removed, I find cornmeal mush. There is steam rising from it and I tuck in, feeling better once I’ve eaten. She introduces herself as “Abigail” and seems genuinely pleased by my company as I follow her on her morning chores and pepper her with questions about life at the ranch, the men, and the oddity of my female husbands. She takes it all in stride and seems quite happy with her unconventional life here.

  I learn that Abigail has two little children by her husbands. They can’t know for certain which man fathered each child, but the little boy takes particularly after one of the men in his mild disposition and green eyes while her daughter’s serious little face reflects her other father’s dark intensity. Regardless, the children are raised together with their three parents and minded during the morning hours by another wife here who is particularly patient with small children. As Whit had explained; people play to their strengths!

  It occurs to me that, married to two women, I’ll not bear any children at all. Thinking this, a cloud passes over me and Abigail, sensing my sadness, asks the cause. When I share my thoughts, she smiles and points out that there is no shortage of children here. Perhaps I might like to help in caring for the children of other families. That way, I might get my fill of babies and be of service to the community. Her words comfort me and I see how a community like this can be both strong and adaptable. The day proceeds with many revelations and insights as I learn my way around Bridgewater Ranch and the community that makes its home here.

  By the time I reunite with Whit and Ann for supper, I feel like I have my bearings. They ask how my day progressed, what I learned and saw, and seem satisfied by my adjustment to life here. When Ann asks if I’ve thought about what my unique contribution to the community might be, I feel shy again.

  She reassures me, saying “don’t worry, Emma, there’s no rush. You have plenty of time to think about it.” I surprise her by sharing pieces of my earlier conversation with Abigail.

  “I thought I might help raise children, since I’ll not be having any of my own.”

  Ann looks startled but happy in her quiet, reserved way. Her eyes soften as she thinks about my words. Slowly, I’m learning to read her. She’s so understated, I have to watch for very subtle responses. But I can tell that she is surprised and heartened by the fact that, not only have I thought about my contribution to the community, I’ve understood the larger ramifications of an unconventional marriage between women and adjusted smoothly.

  When our meal is finished, Ann returns to her cabin alone and I accompany Whit, who takes my hand in hers as we approach her door. I am nervous but also excited. I like the feel of my hand encircled by her strong, callused fingers. The door closes behind us and, when she reaches for me, I go to her willingly, ready to learn all that she has to teach me.

  The following day is much like the first, except that sundown sees me following Ann, instead of Whit, to her bed. Where Whit is open and charismatic, Ann is serious and intensely passionate. The month progresses in this way. I settle into life at Bridgewater and at night, I settle into bed with either Whit or Ann where we talk with our hands in whispers, comfort and caress each other, but do not consummate. At the end of the month, Ann and Whit come to me and formally asked me to be their wife. I gladly accept.

  Chapter 5

  Today we marry. It has been one month since Whit and Ann purchased me from that horrible brothel but the course of my life has changed so drastically in that time that it feels as though it’s been years. I spent the past night alone in the little cabin in which I began my stay here, cloistered for my last night a virgin. I wake refreshed and eager to greet the day. I open the door to find a parcel on my step and look up just in time to see two of the young wives that I have befriended scurrying out of sight and giggling. Lifting the little ivory bundle, I see that it is a wedding gown, the stitches small and even, and I know that my new friends have been working in secret so that I might feel beautiful on my wedding day. Some of the other women help me to dress and weave violets into my thick, blond hair. I feel resplendent in my simple finery and wonder what Whit and Ann will think. Will they find me beautiful? I hope they do.

  A few of the women I’ve become close to in the past month gather around and escort me, ceremoniously, to my waiting grooms. All of Bridgewater community is present to witness our marriage. I recognize most people now and most of the men, seeing me coiffed and gowned, grin and shake their heads at the good fortune of their unusual “brothers-in-arms.” Peering through the throng, I finally see my future husbands standing like sentinels at the front of the crowd. They are wearing their uniforms, which have been cleaned and mended. The leather on their belts and scabbards has been oiled and the brass buttons on their lapels shine. They look so beautiful, for a moment I cannot breathe. When I hesitate, the bevy of women usher me onward like a gentle wave pushing me towards the waiting shore of matrimony. I arrive, full stop, between my two soldiers.

  The man officiating our union has the look of a retired colonel, with deep concentration lines between his eyes, but he seems to be in fine spirits on this day. We face him, hand in hand, as he intones the sanctity of marriage and the vows we are making to each other to love and care for one another always. We promise, before the assembled community, to uphold these vows. He then pronounces us married. Whit kisses me deeply, and, no sooner has she released me, then Ann pulls me to her. I feel drunk with happiness. The crowd cheers and begins carrying out platters of meat, fruits and bread for a day of feasting and revelry.

  As the afternoon wears on, somebody begins passing around spirits and I become light headed very quickly. Ann materializes at my side, as though she had been keeping an eye on me from across the room. She guides me to a seat and feeds me small pieces of bread to soak up the liquor. She holds a piece between her fingers and I lean forward and slowly take it into my mouth. Once I have swallowed, I t
ake her now empty hand in mine and kiss her fingertips and palm. I lay her palm on my cheek, then move it down to rest on my bosom. I’ve never initiated contact before. I know that I’m being brazen, but the liquor has washed my caution away, revealing desire underneath.

  Ann shifts so that she is sitting behind me and pulls me close so that I am leaning back into her. Her hand is still on my bosom where I hold it to my heart. Now her whole body encircles me and she lets her intelligent hand move on my breast. She cups, squeezes gently, and allows her thumb to just ever so slightly graze my nipple. I feel something ecstatic course from my nipple down to my groin and I think I might die if she does not finish what she started. I still don’t even know what it means to finish such a thing, I only know that I need it.

  Sensing my readiness, Ann pulls me to my feet. We find Whit nearby, a little unsteady from spirits but still alert. She takes one look at me and seems to know that it’s time. They support me on either side and we weave towards the Honeymoon House, a cabin designated for this very purpose and set a discreet distance from all other dwellings. We will be ensconced there for a full week. But right now, I can think no further than tonight and the strong, handsome, confident women supporting me like bookends as we approach our marital bed. We must be quite the picture; two female soldiers, one fair and one dark, with their arms around a young woman in a bridal gown.

  We totter up the steps and gain access to the space beyond. Ann closes the door behind us and we find ourselves alone but all together for the first time. I have kissed each of them, separately. And We have held each other close, talking, caressing, then sleeping. But I have never kissed one in the other’s presence. They hesitate, each one clearly respectful of the other’s claim on me.

  I approach Ann, who had thrilled me earlier, so unexpectedly, surrounded by people, with her discerning touch. I take her face between my hands and kiss her passionately, letting myself drink her in without restraint in a way that I had not allowed myself before tonight. I break our kiss just long enough to find Whit’s hand and pull her into our embrace. She closes the space between us, no longer hanging back, and begins kissing the back of my neck. I feel drunk with sex and power, as well as spirits. Their body language is telling me that I am in charge tonight; these magnificent women are here to pleasure me.

  Ann is holding my face in her hands while she kisses me and I gently take them in mine and place them on my bosom. She begins to untie the knots holding my dress together in the front. Meanwhile, Whit is untying knots in the back, working magic down my spine. I am surrounded by hands and kissing as they work; only the cooler air hitting my bare skin tells me of their progress. Each inch of skin won is like ground gained in battle. They prowl their territory, their rough hands roaming victorious over my virgin fields. Soon, I am standing half naked in the cabin’s dim light with my two soldiers still in uniform. I whimper with desire, not knowing what to do with these feelings. My dress still clings around my hips.

  “More” I whisper urgently. “I want more. Please.”

  Ann looks at Whit and glances significantly at the floor. Whit understand and without a word, guides me down to lean my back against her. She continues to kiss my shoulders and neck. Her hands find my breasts while Ann kneels in front of my outstretched legs. Ann lifts the hem of my dress above my knees and slides her hands up my thighs. I think I might die of pleasure right then but there’s more, so much more.

  As Ann removes my sodden drawers and leans forward to put her mouth on me, Whit gently tilts my head up and sideways, finding my mouth with hers and covering my breasts with her warm, competent hands. Devoured from all sides, I submit completely to their hands and mouths.

  Chapter 6

  For a full week, we honeymoon in bliss, exploring each other inside and out. Nothing is off limits. I learn their tastes and textures, the feel of cheeks on inner thighs and lips on lips. We shed the last of our shyness and inhibition and share our innermost fears and longings.

  I tell them of my childhood, the deaths of my parents at the hands of my half-brother, and the end of childhood with his cruel decision to sell me to the brothel. Their own childhoods ended at twelve years old, when they went to war and learned the realities of frostbite, deprivation and moral ambiguity that attend armed conflict. They reveal their scars, literally and figuratively; in the light of day, with their male guise removed, I see that their rounded, womanly bodies are marred by violence. The evidence of brutality upon their tender flesh evokes a feeling of protectiveness in me that I had not expected. I gently kiss their scars and tell them how grateful I am that the blade went no further. In that week, I plumb the depths of their characters and rejoice in my good fortune.

  At the end of the week, we reintegrate into the fabric of life at the ranch. I feel sated and happy to be reunited with my new friends. I help mind the young children and, with the help of the other women, I am learning to sew. Whit and Ann have joined the men in erecting a new barn down by the creek. I can hear their boisterous conversation from my perch by the cookfire. Listening to the men teasing my unconventional husbands about their “lazy” week in bed, I can’t help but smile.

  Movement in my peripheral vision causes me to glance up, expecting to see Abigail coming to check on my progress, but I don’t recognize the young woman walking towards us. Conversation stops completely as all eyes turn to the stranger approaching. She is strikingly beautiful, with pale, creamy skin and wide, almond eyes. The woman is hugely pregnant and seems uncertain to whom her message should be directed.

  “Hello, my name is Elizabeth Edmond. I’m looking for Ian Stewart…Or Ann, whichever she goes by here.”

  I stand up and she turns to me expectantly. I walk a distance apart from the group and Elizabeth follows me. “And why do you seek her?”

  “I seek her help and protection. I know it must sound odd, us being two women, but we were once married. She dressed as a man and lived as one too, for all intents and purposes. I knew her secret, of course, before we wed. When others learned of her true identity, they were not so open minded. They threated her life, most earnestly, and she fled. I really don’t blame her. She sent me a monthly stipend for a long time afterwards, seeming to feel some responsibility towards me despite our separation. That is why I knew I could come to her if I needed help.”

  My heart is pounding, my world caving in, but I calmly inquire, “how long ago were you married?”

  “It was three years ago we were wed, and a short marriage it was, too, before she was rousted from our nest.” I breathe a sigh of relief but she continues, “if we hadn’t come together again by chance two months ago, I wouldn’t have had the confidence to come looking for her out here in the brush.” Something of my distress must show on my face, because she asks, “are you quite alright?”

  “Yes, thank you. And you must be tired from your journey, and in your condition. Go and find Abigail there by the fire, she’ll get you some food and water. I will go get Ann for you.”

  I turn from her before the tears begin flowing. How could Ann have kept this from me? And surely Whit knew, as well, them being as close as they are. They lied to me. I thought that we were all being honest with each other. I thought I knew them, could trust them. Not only was Ann married, but she was intimate with this woman, Elizabeth, just before bidding for my hand in marriage. They must still have feelings for each other. I feel as though I am unraveling as I walk, leaving spools of my insides behind me on the dirt path to my husbands so that I arrive empty.

  Seeing me approach, the men call out to Whit and Ann, who look up. Seeing my face, their smiles turn to concern and they immediately put down their tools to come speak with me. Facing Ann directly, I tell her, “your wife is here.” Seeing her confusion, I amend, “no, your other wife.” Dawning comprehension turns to alarm and she glances behind me, as though expecting to see Elizabeth appear out of thin air. Ann’s reaction confirms Elizabeth’s story and the tears begin again.

  Moving to comfort me, Ann fin
ds my eyes and says, “It will be okay, you’ll see. I will explain everything later. But right now, I must speak with Elizabeth. Please believe me and don’t cry anymore.” She kisses my forehead and then starts up the path to find Elizabeth.

  When Whit turns to follow, their unspoken solidarity undermines their long history together and the strength of their connection. The fact that I’ve only known them for a few weeks seems like the only relevant truth about our bonds to each other. I am left to trudge back alone and confused, suddenly plunged into uncertainty about my life at the ranch. Elizabeth represents Ann’s past in a way that I can never compete with. But more than that, she represents Ann’s future; she is technically still Ann’s wife and she is pregnant. The biological father must not be involved, or Elizabeth would have turned to him for support. That means that, with Elizabeth, Ann could have a family of her own. And, unlike the town where they first met, the ranch would welcome their unusual family. The more time that I have to think about the ramifications of Elizabeth’s arrival, the more certain I am that I have lost Ann. Will Whit join them in a new configuration of three, as is the custom here? Or will Whit remain my husband? Nothing is certain anymore.

  Chapter 7

  In the evening, feeling displaced at the ranch, I retire to the one-room cabin to sleep. It isn’t “my” cabin exactly, but it feels safe. My first night here, when I was frightened and unsure, I slept here and the next day dawned fair. Perhaps it’s a superstition, or just instinct, that causes me to seek out the same place again. Ann has been sequestered with Elizabeth all afternoon. I don’t know whether Whit is with them, or simply avoiding me until she knows what to say; I suspect the latter. They present a united front, always. I thought, at first, to sleep with Whit tonight in her cabin, and waited for her there for a long time before conceding that she might not come. It felt too strange and sad to lay down there alone.