I sleep fitfully, waking many times during the night to rediscover my solitude. After a week of sensual abundance, my aloneness feels stark and significant. I reach for them in my sleep, my lovers, my husbands, and when I find them gone, my heart sinks further and further. In the morning, I am puffy eyed and dour, steeling myself for a dissolution of the marriage so newly consummated and a long journey into the unknown.
There is a sharp rapping on my door at first light. I jump up to unlock the door and pull it open to find Ann ready to barge right through me if I don’t get out of the way fast enough. I close the door behind her and can barely look her in the eyes, I feel so low.
“Emma, I am so sorry! Please look at me. You must realize that I had no idea that Elizabeth would find me here. But I’m glad she did.” I look up, startled, but she rushes on. “Hold on, I’m not glad for the reasons that you’re thinking. I can see how worried you are, but you don’t have to be. She isn’t going to replace you! You are my wife. The union between Elizabeth and I is of the past.”
“Why is she here if not to ensnare you?” I hate how jealous I sound, but I can’t help it. I am jealous.
“She is not well.”
“You mean she’s pregnant.”
“No” Ann insists, “she is not well. That’s an understatement; the doctors do not believe that she will survive the birth of her child.”
I look up, shocked. I attributed her pallor to the long journey to find Ann. I feel terrible, now, for how self-pitying I’ve been. Ann continues to relate all that she learned talking with Elizabeth yesterday. She looks stricken and it’s clear that Ann loved Elizabeth once. She probably still does, for all that she was forced to move on. Elizabeth is extremely ill. She risked a long journey solely to ensure the safety of her unborn child. Should she die in childbirth, she believes that Ann will raise the child; this is her dying wish.
Ann would surely grant her this wish but not without the blessing of her new, young wife. She does not want this woman from her past with her tragic story and unborn babe to come between us and so she has not yet given Elizabeth her final answer. I almost weep with relief. She still considers me her wife! But in the next instant I remember the hurt and betrayal I felt yesterday, realizing that Ann had kept this secret from me.
“Why did you never tell me that you had been married before? We had so much time for revelation during our week of love.”
Ann looks down, considering my question. When she looks up again, there are tears in her eyes. I understand completely, even before she can articulate her thoughts and feelings. I have never before seen her cry. She does not like to cry in front of others. Her love for this woman and failure to protect her, the shame of being driven out of town: she cannot speak of these things without tremendous pain and she was not ready to bring that into our marriage bed. I know that it is difficult for her to be so vulnerable, even with me, but she holds my gaze and lets me see her messy, tender heart and for that I love her all the more.
I take her hands in both of mine and, without hesitation, tell her, “of course Elizabeth can stay and deliver her baby. And if she does not survive, we will love and care for that babe as though it were our own.” Relief floods Ann’s tear streaked face and she gives my hands an answering squeeze. I had been mistaken to see Elizabeth as a threat; she is an ally, a sister. She, too, has loved and been loved by my Ann. And she is a woman enduring one of the many perils of being a woman in this world. It would please me to be a sister to her now, when she so needs one. I will do it for Ann, for Elizabeth herself, and for myself. I will do it gladly.
“I have to know, though; where has Whit been? She knew about Elizabeth, didn’t she? It seems like she’s avoiding me!” I can’t help sounding indignant at this last point.
Ann looks slightly embarrassed. She shifts from foot to foot, avoiding my eyes for a moment before admitting, “we do everything together, have since we were kids. When I went off and courted Elizabeth, it created a rift between me and Whit. It’s like, we didn’t know how to be friends anymore. Elizabeth threw everything off between us. We got in a fight about it, at the time. But then I had to leave town in a hurry and I needed help and Whit was right there being my right hand like she always has been. We put aside our hurt and resentments and high tailed it out of there! I know that she’ll always be there for me but that was a dark era in the history of our friendship. Neither of us will voluntarily bring it up. Why upset something that’s working just fine?”
The thought of these two reasonable, sensitive women bickering over a pretty girl and refusing to talk openly about their feelings strikes me as very funny. I start giggling uncontrollably. Ann seems quite irked by my response. I’m clearly not giving her dramatic tale its due. As she watches me chortling and trying to compose myself, the corners of her mouth start lifting in an irrepressible smile.
“Fine! You win. We acted like a couple of knuckle-headed boys fighting over a girl. I get it. It’s hilarious. Now, would you please stop laughing at me?”
“I’m just glad to see that you’ve learned to share!” I tell her archly.
Chapter 8
When I finally track Whit down, she looks sheepish and apologizes for avoiding me. She confirms Ann’s account of the upheaval in their friendship caused by Ann’s pursuit of Elizabeth. She did not want to pick sides, should Ann lose sight of her present-day commitments. So, she decided to steer clear until this matter was settled. I reassure her that Ann and I reached a satisfactory understanding of the situation. We will care for Elizabeth until she delivers her baby. And, should it become necessary, we will care for the baby as well. Whit peers at me closely.
“You’re okay with that?”
“Yes. What I am not okay with is secrecy and lies. If you both had just been honest about the fact that Ann had been married before, Elizabeth’s appearance would have been unexpected but it would not have made me rethink my trust in you both.”
Whit ducks her head, looking like a scolded child. As she should, I think to myself. She acted like a child, being evasive and not knowing how to talk about uncomfortable feelings. She mumbles another apology which I accept, mollified.
Over the next few days, we settle into a rhythm of doing chores and checking on Elizabeth. The time must be approaching, for each day she appears more drawn. Today, there is sweat on her upper lip and brow. I lean down to place a cool hand on her hot, distended belly and she grips my hand in hers, grimacing in pain. I notice that there is fluid in the bed. Her water broke! Alarmed, I call for the midwife who is already trotting briskly in our direction with towels and a pail of warm, clean water. Elizabeth finds my hand and squeezes it in hers.
I send a helper to fetch Ann. As soon as Ann arrives, out of breath, Elizabeth transfers her iron grip to Ann, releasing my bruised fingers. I remain by Elizabeth’s side, however, for several hours as she struggles to birth the baby. I bathe her brow and offer sips of water in between her screams and sobs of pain. We take turns holding her and talking to her while the midwife tirelessly cajoles, and maneuvers Elizabeth in the hopes of easing the infant out.
As the sun dips below the horizon, turning day to night, it becomes evident that Elizabeth is very weak. Her body is giving up. We all fear that she will not be able to birth the babe and that they will both perish. We light the lamps and maintain our vigil, sick with worry for the mother and her child. Finally, near the middle of this dark night, the midwife reaches her hand inside of Elizabeth and determines that the time is now or never. She tells the wearied mother to push, just once more. The baby is ready to be born. With an agonized cry from Elizabeth and the midwife’s competent, guiding hands on her shoulders, the baby at last slips from the womb to arrive into the warm lantern glow of her waiting family.
The midwife cleans the baby’s nostrils and mouth with a damp cloth and the baby lets out an angry wail. Elizabeth opens her eyes when she hears the baby cry, and then lets them drift closed again. The midwife prepares to hand the baby to her exhauste
d mother. Approaching the bed, she tells Elizabeth what a wonderful job she did and that her baby is a fat, healthy girl with brown hair. Elizabeth has a faint smile upon her waxen lips, but does not respond beyond that small effort. I think perhaps she has fallen asleep, since she cannot rouse herself to extend her arms for her baby for even a moment.
I take the child and kneel at Elizabeth’s side. I notice that Ann is already kneeling, head bowed. She knew the moment that Elizabeth’s soul departed her body. It was the moment that Elizabeth knew that her baby lived. I hand the baby to Ann, who holds her close; they sit vigil beside Elizabeth for the rest of the night.
At daybreak, a grave is dug for Elizabeth. Ann escapes from the press of people and sorrow into the fields surrounding the ranch, still cradling the little baby. I start to follow her but, when I see her crumple to the ground, crying but still tenderly holding the baby, rocking on her heels, I turn back. Though we experienced Elizabeth’s death together, we occupy different plains of grief now. She needs to be alone, unencumbered by my feelings and expectations. We hold a funeral service for the brave woman who found us only to deliver her child to our safekeeping; halfway through, Ann finds Whit and I, as well as the larger community, ready to rejoin the group.
The baby seems so fragile, I’m afraid to touch her for fear of damaging her translucent skin. I’m full of wonder that this tiny, delicate human could survive such an ordeal; that we all could. I stand shoulder to shoulder with my husbands and we all marvel at the perfection of this tiny human.
“What should we call her?” Whit asks us both.
“How about Mary?” Ann suggests.
“Or Ida” Whit offers.
“Let’s call her Grace.” They both nod and repeat the name. “Grace.”
Menage a Trois
~ Bonus Story ~
A Lesbian Menage Romance
Sonya Franco never thought she would become a call girl. She stumbled upon the profession really. It was one of those fluke things that seemed almost too good to be true at the time. Luckily it was something that she quickly picked up.
But, every job has its disadvantages. For her things can get a bit dangerous. When you are faced with trying to do your job and trying to hide for your safety you don’t make much money. Luckily she seems to have someone watching over her.
A new contract with brand new clients is just the thing for her. Are these clients going to end up like the John before or will she finally find her place? Sonya wants to find out. She wants to take the chance. It can’t be worse than her current situation, can it?
* * *
Sonya Franco never thought she would become a call girl. She stumbled upon the profession really. It was one of those fluke things that seemed almost too good to be true at the time. Luckily it was something that she quickly picked up.
But, every job has its disadvantages. For her things can get a bit dangerous. When you are faced with trying to do your job and trying to hide for your safety you don’t make much money. Luckily she seems to have someone watching over her.
A new contract with brand new clients is just the thing for her. Are these clients going to end up like the John before or will she finally find her place? Sonya wants to find out. She wants to take the chance. It can’t be worse than her current situation, can it?
Growing up was not always easy for me in the Big Apple. As a kid I had braces and the big coke bottle glasses. I was teased for my pigtails constantly and once puberty hit, well that was a whole slew of new nicknames. I would come home crying to Mama and she would just tell me to suck it up because I was going to blossom into a gorgeous flower. The other kids have already bloomed which means they will be withering while I shine. Mama always knew how to make me smile.
Once I hit high school my boobs popped, I got my waist, and my body definitely blossomed. I became one of the pretty, popular girls. Of course that didn’t stop the teasing, it just changed. I went from “nerd” to “slut”. I listened to Mama and I didn’t let it get me down. In fact I embraced it.
Out of high school I decided to take time off and make some money before getting into college. I tried retail but that was not for me. Neither was fast food, waitressing, or babysitting. It took a little while for me to find my niche but I found it in the most unlikely of places.
I was out with some friends for a bachelorette party and for some reason they all wanted to go to a strip club. We didn’t go to a club with hunky men in banana-hammocks. We went to a fully nude titty bar where the girls let their thongs and tassels fly. Really it was a fun night.
The bride had a lovely woman giving her a lap dance. The dancer had nothing but a pink G-string that everyone was shoving one dollar bills into. She had her gigantic breasts shoved right against the bride’s face and shimmied them around. I think the bride copped a feel even though she wasn’t supposed to.
One of the bartenders took a liking to me and we started talking about jobs. She brought up how some of the dancers make a little extra money on the side. I asked her how because now I was curious.
She told me that she ran a brothel on the side that most of the girls worked out of. Some of them worked as the baseline prostitutes, some were professional submissives and professional dominants, while others made their money as high end escorts and call girls. I asked her about the various positions, no pun intended, and she asked me how interested I was.
I looked at my friends then back at her with as much of a serious face as I could muster, having already had at least four drinks by that time. She laughed and explained it all to me. That was my last day in the general work force. I immediately started working for her and honestly I couldn’t be happier.
Sure, we get the odd John every now and then but nothing we can’t handle. At least that is what I originally thought. I took a John that was looking for a submissive. I thought it would be a usual day, get spanked a bit, have an orgasm or two denied. No, not this John.
We negotiated terms and started the scene. He had me on my knees with his cock in my mouth. I did what I was taught and bobbed my head over his shaft. He seemed to like it so I kept going. Then he pulled my hair and I faked a moan. Then his yanking got a bit hard. He pulled me up and tossed me on the bed.
Without wasting any time he handcuffed me to the bed frame, put a ball gag in my mouth, and tied a silk scarf around my eyes. This was not in the negotiations. I tried to scream but the rubber ball in my mouth prevented it. I heard him flicking a lighter then I heard the flame crackle on the wick of a candle.
I’m not quite sure what happened next. All I know is the Madam came bursting through the doors, freed me, and had two of the guards holding the John. I managed to get a quick look at a ring on his finger that he was heating with the flame to brand me. That was the beginning of it.
I started getting letters and flowers and all sorts of cheap knick-knacks sent to me at the brothel. I asked the Madam for help and she put me up in a hotel nearby. The gifts started coming there. Another hotel farther away, but they kept coming.
Seeing just how desperate I was the Madam offered me a job that she normally reserves for the more experienced girls. She told me that I could take a long contract to be a live-in girl for a well-off person by the name of Hawthorne. I had heard the name before but couldn’t place it. I took the job since it was farther upstate and at least a three hours drive out of the city.
She helped me get my things together and sent me on my way to a bus station where I was to wait for Hawthorne’s driver to pick me up. I only had to wait at the station for about an hour before a lovely black BMW pulled up. A man dressed in a tailcoat and white gloves gets out of the car and approaches me.
“Sonya Franco?”
I nod.
“The Lady Hawthorne is waiting for you. Allow me to drive you.”
I am utterly speechless as he grabs my luggage, loads the car, then he proceeds to hold the back door open for me. I get in the car and then it hits me. Lady Hawthorne. I never thought that a woman w
ould hold the contract.
I try to stay awake in the back seat but to no avail. Once the car reaches the bumpy dirt roads I wake up. The driver informs me that we still have a little ways to go before we reach the estate. I nod, forgetting that he likely isn’t paying attention to me.
After about twenty minutes the car stops and out the window I see a grand mansion. The driveway it paved with large grey flagstones. The house itself has lovely white walls and stone steps up to the doorway. There are large windows with large curtains drawn shut. Large, pruned rose bushes line the walkway and the front underneath the windows.
It looks absolutely extravagant. The driver opens the door for me and I step out, completely flabbergasted by the view. He grabs my luggage out of the trunk and walks me up to the front door. It opens and there stands a lovely woman barely older than myself with flowing brunette hair and chocolaty eyes. I can’t help but notice her amazing bosom only barely covered by a purple bikini top.
She pulls the white sarong around her waist tight before opening her arms to hug me. “You must Miss Sonya Franco!”
I nod as she hugs me and kisses each of my cheeks. Her breasts are pressed right up against me, I can’t help but blush.
She orders the driver to take my luggage into the house then turns back to me. She steps back with a smile and looks me up and down. “I’m Angeline. You’ve traveled a while. Come in and have a drink.”
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