Connie, my cousin, can you keep a secret? Oh, I know you can! Ever since last summer when you came to stay and we had to share a bed for lack of space. You will remember how we talked of what a man and wife would do when they were abed, and showed each other our private spots. And the stickiness which grew there when we allowed our fingers to linger too long? Well, Connie, as I examined my bottom for damage I began to feel the strangest sensation in my spot. The slightest touch of my forefinger, on lifting my nightdress, revealed a moistness far greater than any you witnessed!
What has caused these strange feelings, Connie? As I write to you I am awaiting Miss Prior’s arrival for my afternoon lesson. She gave me this morning to myself as she wanted to fetch a parcel from the village post office, but at the conclusion of our class yesterday she promised me three strokes of the cane at the commencement of our work today, one for each of my mistakes yesterday. Yet in my heart there is nothing like the fear I know I should have.
I know not what Miss Prior has planned for me over the coming weeks, but will continue to write to you so that you may share my adventures and feelings. I long for the day when we will meet again. Until then, adieu.
From your dearest friend and cousin, Catherine.
‘I don’t care what you did at university, that is not real!’ Rachel was the first to break the silence. ‘Even today I wouldn’t tell you if I got my kicks from something as kinky as being caned. And I certainly wouldn’t put it in a letter where anyone could read it.’
‘No, you’d text me on your mobile, email me, Twitter me, or post it on your blog. Not all Victorians were clichés from a Gothic novel. It rings true to me. Besides, if someone went to all the trouble of faking this stuff, why hide it in the writing case?’
Rachel snorted. ‘To make some gullible idiot like you believe it’s genuine?’
‘And since when were you an expert on Victorian literature? This speaks to me. It tells me about a girl just coming to terms with being a woman, and a woman ahead of her time.’
‘And a woman who seems to have a thing for other women, if it is true. Lesbianism doesn’t sound like the kind of thing respectable 19th-century girls got up to. Had they even invented it by then?’
‘Come on, Rachel, our generation didn’t invent weird sex!’
‘I just don’t think she’d have written so explicitly about being a lezzy. She’d have been ashamed, surely?’
‘Maybe she didn’t think she was a lesbian. She thought she and Connie were just playing.’
‘They were. With each other. Very naughty. If you ask me, they both deserved to be thrashed. Anyway, I’ve got to go. What are you going to do with all this stuff? Hold on to it till The Antiques Road Show hits town?’
‘I don’t think they’d consider these suitable for teatime broadcasting. No, I’m going to read them, of course. Then I’ll decide what to do.’
‘Mind if I pop round for a look every now and then, babe?’
‘Of course you can, even if you don’t think they’re real. But where are you off to in such a hurry?’
‘Last-minute shopping, something for the date I’ve got tonight.’
‘Who’s this with? I thought you weren’t going to see Numbers One and Two again?’
‘I’m not. This is a date I made last week. A chap called Mike; I met him in the bar of the sports club after my aerobics class. He’d been playing squash. Come to think of it, his partner was pretty tasty too. Shall I ask …?’
‘No!’ said Adrienne emphatically.
‘OK, I’ll leave you to your bodice ripper. I’m not sure I’d give up a night out with a real man for a night in with a kinky Victorian pussy-licker, but each to her own.’
‘It’s called educating yourself. I’ll call tomorrow,’ said Adrienne, following Rachel into the hall. ‘Good hunting.’
‘He’s as good as fucked!’ Rachel giggled, giving her friend a kiss on each cheek before she disappeared. ‘Bye, babe!’
After closing the door on her hyperactive best friend, Adrienne returned to her lounge and picked up the next letter.
My dearest Connie,
Having promised to keep writing to you I am now at something of a loss as to where I should begin. The events of yesterday are still fresh in my memory, as are the strange feelings my caning inspired in me. Vivid as they are, I shall not describe them again: Today has given me enough to write about.
I arrived in the school room before Miss Prior. I shudder when I think of what might happen if I am ever late for a lesson. She was carrying the cane I knew would be used on me before long, and I could not suppress the fluttering in my belly as I laid eyes on it. She set it down on her desk, then ordered me to stand.
I rose to unsteady feet, my hands clutched desperately in front of me. Miss Prior gave me a short lecture about how she regretted having to use such extreme measures to teach me, but that if I refused to learn my verbs properly I would feel the results on my bottom. By the time she told me to turn around and gather up my skirts, tears were prickling my eyes.
I bared my drawers to her satisfaction and was told to bend forward. As I did so I felt my cheeks poking through the slit. I flushed with embarrassment as I felt the cold air tickle my spot. But I also felt a tinge of excitement as I realised Miss Prior would certainly be looking at me down there. I wondered what she would see. A few of the hairs which nature provides for my womanly modesty? Or perhaps even the slight pouting of my nether lips?
My reverie was interrupted by her hands. I felt them first on my drawers, then they rudely pulled the garment further apart. I wriggled and gasped but made no attempt to stand as Miss Prior told me to keep still and not make a fuss. Evidently she intended to make sure the cane landed on far more of my naked flesh than it had last time. My fear and trepidation rose, but so, in equal measure, did my anticipation.
The cane was laid across my bottom and I gripped the edge of the desk, tensing my muscles. Miss Prior spoke again. Three verbs incorrectly conjugated, she said, meant three strokes of the cane. She drew her arm back. The first stroke landed, a line of fire across my seat, eliciting a fierce yell from me. I sniffed back my tears and waited for the second. It was not long in coming. My bottom was scorched again, slightly below the first stroke. I screamed my agony, the very act of doing so a release for all the emotions trapped within me. Then the third stroke was delivered and I cried again as it crossed skin already damaged by the first two.
My tears flowed fast as I realised my punishment was over, for today at least. As she had done yesterday, Miss Prior put down the cane and ran her fingers over my behind. My head was still a maelstrom of pain, but I could swear she lingered just a little longer today, before telling me to stand and make myself decent. Our lesson resumed, today with some success – tonight, Connie, as I sit here writing this letter I need have no fear of tomorrow. My diction and conjugation were perfect and invoked no penalties. Even so I feel somewhat empty at that prospect, and wonder if I shall perform as well in class without the sting of the cane on my bottom. I shall write again soon and tell you of any further adventures.
Until then I remain your loving and loyal cousin, Catherine.
Adrienne looked up from the letter. Her heart was pounding, her breathing heavy. Just the effect of making such an important historical discovery, she told herself. But still she could not get the images conjured up by the writing out of her head.
She had already given the author a face. A pretty one, with shining green eyes and a delicate button nose. Her hair hung in brown ringlets and her trim figure was hidden under the voluminous layers of her Victorian costume. Adrienne imagined it being exposed at the orders of Miss Prior, a prim but handsome woman with her hair in a bun and a simple black dress. She could even imagine the sadistic smile on the older woman’s face as she humiliated her young victim. And those feelings Catherine described – what a strange reaction to such a dreadful experience!
Adrienne walked to the window. Looking out into the darkening streets,
she wondered whether life was easier for women then. Your family more or less chose your husband, so there was no playing the dating game, which sometimes felt like a war of attrition. Women did not have careers, so there was no pressure to succeed. Now you were expected to do something with your life, and because it was still a man’s world, succeeding was twice as hard. If you do, she reflected, it’s at the expense of any kind of home life, yet you are still considered weird if you don’t have a husband and babies by your mid-30s.
But at least I have the freedom to microwave myself a meal, she thought. She plodded into the kitchen and selected a “serves one” lasagne from the freezer.
An hour and a half later she was still feeling low. Saturday night television on all 40 channels was dreadful; surely a conspiracy between breweries and TV executives to drive people to drink. Once that thought was in her head there was no shifting it.
There was a small pub a couple of streets away. She had been there once or twice with Rachel. For a moment, she baulked at the idea of going alone, but she thought of Catherine and how it would have been impossible for her to contemplate even leaving her father’s house without a chaperone. Over a hundred years later, Adrienne was not going to bind herself with the same restrictions.
She went to her bedroom and pulled out what she called her “sloppy sweater”. Baggy, long, and red, with blue and white stripes across the middle, she normally just wore it around the flat. It would be perfect for tonight when all she wanted was a quiet drink. It hid her figure completely, coming below her bottom and almost big enough to fit double her bust size inside. Slipping it on, she looked at herself in the mirror, decided against even the slightest trace of make-up. She gathered a pair of ankle boots, her three-quarter length leather jacket, and her bag, and she was off.
Ten minutes later, she walked into the pub. It was quiet for a Saturday night, even in a backstreet boozer like this. Most of the customers seemed to be couples, and that suited Adrienne just fine. She went to the bar and ordered a glass of white wine. She thought about getting a pint too, to make it look as if she was waiting for a man, but dismissed the idea when she saw how unlikely it was she would get any unwelcome chat-ups.
She took her drink and chose a seat in an alcove, the darkest and most remote part of the bar she could find unoccupied. For half an hour she sipped self-consciously, thinking she should have brought a book or a newspaper, before realising just how sad that would have made her look. When she could no longer eke out her wine she went to the bar for a refill. She had barely sat down again when she felt the light in front of her being blocked.
‘Hello. Do you mind if I join you?’ Adrienne was startled to hear a female voice coming out with the line. She looked up to see a pretty brunette. She had wavy brown hair tied in pigtails, and one of those faces that reminds you of a mischievous cat. Her minimal make-up, T-shirt, trainers, baggy combat trousers, and black bomber jacket seemed to reflect Adrienne’s own dress-down mood this evening. Adrienne had been startled by the stranger’s approach, but soon recovered her wits.
‘No, no, of course not. Please sit down.’ She could think of no reason to send the girl away. And besides, she looked harmless enough. The brunette took the vacant seat on the opposite side of the small table and placed her drink, some lemonade and spirit combination, down in front of her.
‘Sorry to butt in like this,’ the girl said. ‘You’re not waiting for someone are you?’
‘No, not at all,’ replied Adrienne, trying not to sound too pathetic.
‘I’m on my own too. My name’s Maria.’
‘Do you live round here?’
‘Not far. A short bus ride. I was at a loose end so I thought I’d play a little game I’ve come up with. I get on a bus near my flat and get off at the first pub I see that seems OK and where I haven’t been before. I wound up here tonight.’
‘Sounds risky,’ said Adrienne.
‘I usually do it with a couple of friends, other girls mainly. Tonight’s the first time I’ve tried it alone and I think I see what you mean. There’s a guy round the other side of the bar – no, don’t look, he’ll come over – who’s got interested in me, and he’s a little too persistent for comfort. I told him I was waiting for a friend who really wanted a heart-to-heart about something important. Then I saw you. Thanks for bailing me out – I don’t think he believed me.’
‘Don’t mention it.’ Adrienne genuinely sympathised, knowing how the word “no” did not seem to exist in the male vocabulary.
They continued chatting. Adrienne discovered her new friend was 22, a receptionist for a big PR firm, liked pop and jazz, and was a big believer in female empowerment. Maria showed as much interest in her background, asking the kind of intelligent questions men never seemed to think of when they were getting to know her.
Adrienne swigged back the last of her wine between sentences. ‘Oh please, let me get you another one. It’s the least I can do,’ said Maria.
‘No, there’s really no need,’ Adrienne told her. ‘I was only going to have a couple, then go home.’
‘Oh, OK. I may as well hit the road myself. I can’t hang around here alone with Lover Boy on the prowl.’
The women put on their jackets and walked out of the pub. As they reached the door, Adrienne found Maria’s arm slipping through hers. ‘For effect,’ the little brunette whispered in her ear. She was surprised but did not resist. Instead she wondered at the subtle aroma of the other girl’s perfume.
Adrienne shivered as they hit the chilly night air. They had taken a few steps and Maria had begun to relax her grip when the door opened and closed behind them. Maria looked over her shoulder and drew in a sharp breath. Suddenly, Adrienne found herself being tightly clasped, Maria’s lips locked onto hers.
‘Hmmm,’ Adrienne moaned. The very last thing she expected from another girl, especially one she had only just met, was a passionate kiss. But she was too stunned to fight and Maria was holding her too tight for her to escape. She heard heavy male steps passing, slowing a little, then speeding up and heading into the distance. Only then did Maria release her.
‘Sorry,’ she whispered. ‘He came out of the pub. I think he followed us. I thought he’d piss off if he saw we weren’t just friends.’
‘You mean you want him to think we’re lesbians?’ Adrienne was beginning to get concerned about the company she’d found herself in.
‘Hopefully.’ Maria’s arms were still around her, even though her grip was beginning to relax. ‘Look, I don’t feel right with him hanging around. Can I come back to your place for a bit, maybe ring for a taxi?’ The girl looked pleadingly into Adrienne’s eyes.
It would not have been right to turn her down. ‘OK,’ she said, ‘come with me.’
They walked the short distance to the flat, Maria keeping her arm looped through Adrienne’s. Only once they were inside did Maria release her and head for the lounge. ‘The phone’s in there,’ Adrienne called from the hall. ‘Would you like a drink while you’re waiting?’
‘Love one. Anything you’ve got going.’
Adrienne went to the kitchen and slipped her boots off, then reached into the fridge for the half-bottle of white wine left over from dinner. As she poured two glasses she heard Maria talking to a taxi firm. Talking quite loudly, it seemed, as though it was for her benefit.
She brought the glasses in just as Maria was setting the handset down. ‘About half an hour,’ she said. ‘South of the river, and all that. You’re stuck with me for a while.’
‘Not to worry,’ said Adrienne brightly, handing Maria a glass and sitting next to her on the sofa. ‘We can chat some more.’
The conversation picked up where it had stopped in the pub, with the pretty but tomboyish brunette making the odd compliment about Adrienne’s decorating and how big the flat was compared to hers. Then she threw a curveball.
‘How am I as a kisser?’
Blushing, Adrienne stammered the first response that came into her head. ‘Oh, er,
you were fine, just fine.’ Then she found herself adding, ‘You’re certainly the best woman I’ve ever kissed.’ Even as she said it she imagined the look of horror that would surely appear on Maria’s face.
But it did not. Instead, there was a broad smile. ‘Wow! You’ve kissed other girls before?’
‘No! No, I was… That is, it was a joke,’ said Adrienne quickly, her embarrassment pounding through her veins and charging to her face.
‘Oh right,’ said Maria, sounding almost disappointed. ‘So haven’t you ever wondered what it would be like – with another woman?’
Adrienne gaped at her. Exactly what was this girl suggesting? The answer came straight away.
‘Look, I have a confession to make,’ Maria began. ‘That bloke I said was hassling me in the pub? He never existed. It was a lame excuse to chat you up.’
‘So who followed us when we left?’ Adrienne’s head was spinning.
‘I’ve no idea. He just happened to leave at the same time and I grabbed the chance to give you a quick snog. When you’re a girl who likes girls you have to take your opportunities when they come,’ she added with a giggle.
‘And now you – want to go to bed with me?’ Adrienne asked slowly.
‘Yes, please. But –’ Maria adopted a very serious tone ‘– only if you’re really curious and think you’ll enjoy it. Look,’ she said, seeing the shock on Adrienne’s face, ‘I can’t pretend lesbianism isn’t a big thing, especially if you’ve never tried it. And there’s not much I can say to sell you the idea, but it’s nothing like being with a man. For a start, I’m not just worried about getting my own end away. I can guarantee you’ll come. And,’ she added with some feeling, ‘you know I’m not lying when I say I’m not married, and I’ll still be here when you wake up.’
Adrienne looked deep into the soft, brown eyes which smiled up at her. She thought about how upset she had been at James’s deception. She remembered what she’d read in Charlotte’s letter, about sharing a bed with her cousin Connie. All of a sudden, the idea did not seem so bizarre. Maybe it was meant to happen, a way for her to get closer to the woman in the letters. ‘What about your taxi?’ she whispered.
Catherine's Letters Page 3