My Sister, My Lesbian Love

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Chapter 1. Oxfordshire, 1924.

When did it start? There’s no easy answer to that one. We had always been close, being less than a year apart in age and growing up together in a strict household. The house, our parents’ old pile of dark brick in the backwaters of England, was run under what are now called ‘Victorian Values’ the one’s so beloved of the right-wing newspapers. Back then, before the war, it was common to be so restricted and emotionally distant from one’s family.

Among other things those insidious values meant was rarely seeing our parents; perhaps an hour between tea and dinner if they were home. We would be dressed in clean clothes and put on our best behaviour by whichever nanny currently reigned supreme in the nursery. It was still called the nursery even though we were then 12 and 13 years old.

The day room was high, dark and stuffy even in summer, but it was here we suffered the parental inquisition about our lessons and the day’s activities. I don’t remember either of my parents ever really embracing us or using any warm diminutive of our names Charlotte or Elizabeth. We called each other ‘Lotte’ and ‘Liz’ but never in front of our parents. We were dutiful offspring being educated ‘correctly’, prepared for lives as companions and wives of some middle-aged dullard of a civil servant or district officer in one of the Empire’s farther reaches. A man established in his chosen career and looking for a young wife. That’s the way it was for many people in the first quarter of the 20th century.

But the world was changing. Queen Victoria was long dead. The first cracks were appearing in the fragile political structure of Empire. The First World War was over but it had left England devastated. So many eligible young men had given their lives in the ‘war to end wars’ it was apparent that many of our generation of women would be unable to find suitable husbands. Many women had worked during the war showing them the way out of their domestic prisons. The middle classes were expanding. Socialism was waking from its long sleep, blinking in the light of its new-found confidence and contemplating the writing on the wall with knowing interest.

Now there was a perpetual and much discussed servant crisis because young girls preferred fixed hours in shops and factories to unending days labouring for a pittance in large houses. Industrial and social unrest was rife and a few years hence a general strike would be called and then put down, on Churchill’s orders, by troops.

It was against this background that our parents tried to isolate us fro sneak down to the forbidden library and secretly read the newspapers left lying around by our father. We’d hide and listen to the kitchen staff gossiping and flirting. In our own naive way we worked things out for ourselves. We had already agreed in our childish way that we’d always stay together. We agreed to live together when we were old enough and could find jobs. We knew that education was the key to our escape and to our future.

We learned voraciously as we grew older, as we became young women. Our bodies developed and our periods started within a few weeks of each other. And that I suppose is where this story might truly be said to start. We had come face to face with the fact that we were designed by nature to reproduce our species. We knew this was unlikely to happen but we were still curious. We studied the books in the library and gradually picked up an idea of physical love and its importance to a good relationship. Then two things happened to accelerate our ascent along the learning curve

It was my logical older sister Lotte who suggested it first. We were then maybe 18 and 19 and discussing bedrooms in the house we would have together when we left our parent’s home.

“Don’t be silly” she exclaimed. “We’ll only need two bedrooms, one for us and one for our guests if they come to stay. And we’ll only need one bed if we are to live like other couples do.” I contemplated what this might mean. At that stage we had not so much as touched each other in any sexual way and had, like the proper young ladies we were, not shared a bed or a bath even in childhood innocence. But that was all to change. I didn’t know why but the thought of being in the same bed, so intimately close to Lotte was both comforting and in a way I didn’t then understand, exciting.

The second thing was the scandal caused by the sudden dismissal and departure of Caitlyn, an Irish servant girl who suddenly began to show a bump under her apron. We heard the whispered condemnations all around the house. Quiet conversations ended suddenly as we approached. An early morning trip to the station with her bags. We never saw her again and I often wonder what became of that poor girl, pregnant and alone in a Catholic country. The household professed shock, but it wasn’t a surprise to Lotte and me. We knew why a baby was growing in her belly and who had caused it.

It was the suddenly suppressed giggle that drew us to the linen room one Saturday kurtuluş escort morning a few months earlier. We were roaming the basement, a part of the house we were not supposed to visit, when we heard it. Lotte put her finger to her lips and motioned me to follow. We crept toward the half-open door from where strange rustling noises issued. Through the crack in the door we saw them. Caitlyn and a young man we knew as John, the milkman’s son. She was half sitting with her bottom on a long, low table with her legs apart, her skirts pulled up to her knees and her upper clothing around her waist. Her large breasts were being fondled enthusiastically by the young man standing between her spread legs and it was evident that she was enjoying the experience as much as the young man. As we watched he kissed her full on the lips and then lifted one of her breasts to his mouth and suckled her large brown nipple. I was transfixed. Only afterwards did I realise that what excited me wasn’t the thought of having a young man suckling my nipple but of what it would feel like to be that young man fondling and sucking on those fulsome breasts. I glanced at Lotte; she too was entranced by the sight of these two lovers at play.

What happened next was one of those things one never forgets. As clearly as if it happened yesterday I can see Caitlyn unbuckling his belt, reaching into his trousers and lifting his erect penis out of his underwear. With a smile she lay back on the table, lifted her legs up and exposed herself to his erect penis, inviting him. For long, tense erotic seconds the dark bush of pubic hair and her open vagina glistening with expectation was clearly visible to us. I suppressed a little moan and found my hand between my own thighs where a sudden and unexpected wetness had made itself felt. Lotte looked at me at first with shared amazement at what we were witnessing and then with that strange intensity I later came to know as lust. Caitlyn’s young man stepped into her breach and was suddenly pushing himself against her, into her. His trousers fell around his knees exposing his young backside, all tensing muscle and powerful thrusting, but it was on Caitlyn’s breasts that my eyes lingered. They were full and firm and standing proud as they bounced in time to the young man’s ministrations. I was mesmerised and found myself squeezing myself between my legs through my dress. I noticed that Lotte was unconsciously caressing her own breast and that too added to my excitement.

The thrusting continued for some minutes. He held her hips while he drove his penis hard into her; she was now fondling her own breasts much as Lotte was doing. During those minutes my underwear became very wet indeed – I could feel a trickle down my inner thigh – and Lotte caressed both her breasts at the same time. It all ended in a frantic rush with Caitlyn’s legs and bottom drumming on the table and her young man grunting like a pig. At the end Caitlyn grabbed a pillow case from the table to stifle her cries of ecstasy. The young man collapsed on top of her and they lay there panting.

We sensed it was over and crept quietly away to our room on the second floor. It was some time before either of us spoke. I suddenly giggled and Lotte soon joined in. It wasn’t that we found anything funny but that we needed laughter to release the tension. Later when we’d calmed down a bit we discussed the secret intimacy we had observed so closely..

Only much later did we both realise that all we talked about then was Caitlyn and her body. Slowly we admitted to each other that looking at Caitlyn’s nubile body had made us feel funny. ‘Funny’ turned to ‘excited’ and with ‘excited’ realisation dawned and our innocence evaporated forever. Knowledge and expectation hung in the air between us; we both knew the other had been sexually excited by watching Caitlyn’s body; there was a pause filled with a palpable sexual tension.

Something had to happen, we both knew, but we didn’t know what. I can’t say now who made the first move, maybe we both did if that makes sense, but suddenly I was kneeling on the floor next to Lotte tentatively touching her breasts. At the same time she kissed me passionately on the lips. It seemed like ages as we kissed and fondled each other. I became wetter still, something that happens even now, 50 years later, when she kisses me.

It’s amazing when I think back, that nothing else happened for weeks. Yes, we kissed and touched each other’s breasts several times a day becoming more confident with our new-found play as time passed, but it must have been nearly a month later that Lotte slipped my dress from my shoulders and exposed my breasts. As she caressed them I fumbled with her dress and then we were both naked to the waist.

More kissing and fondling ensued as we enjoyed the feeling of our nude breasts against each other. It was a few days before either of us had enough courage to actually kiss the other’s breasts. I know it seems crazy now but we were so innocent and levent escort what we were doing was so stimulating and enjoyable it didn’t occur to us to rush to the next stage. I’d taken to putting a special pad of soft material between my legs to soak up the wetness she produced in me, but it also felt nice to have something to squeeze while we kissed.

It occurred to me one day that things would be easier if we didn’t wear so many clothes during our kissing and touching sessions which so far had always taken place during daytime. That night when the house was quiet and my parents were away I crept into Lotte’s room. She sat up in bed, swung her legs so she was sitting and held her hands out for me to enter her warm embrace. I knelt between her legs feeling the warmth of her thighs around my waist. Automatically we pushed each other’s nightdresses down to expose our beasts. Mine fell to my waist and then as Lotte opened her legs wider it slipped to the floor. I giggled as I knelt there naked in front of her for the first time.

‘Now you’ I whispered between kisses. She lifted her bottom and I helped her pull her night dress down so she was naked too. Now our kisses became more passionate than ever. We rubbed our bodies against each other, breast to breast, nipple to hard nipple and now something different. I could feel the soft, warm wetness between her legs against my tummy. It was incredibly stimulating and my own juices soaked my inner thighs. She was squeezing her legs round my waist and rubbing herself against me. I really didn’t know what to do next but Lotte solved that problem. To break the almost intolerable sexual tension between us she threw herself back on the bed and giggled “I’m Caitlyn.”

I giggled too and said in a deep voice “I’m John.” and then I was pretending to do what John had done to Caitlyn, thrusting my groin against her wetness, against her soft pubic mound. The giggling stopped as we both realised we’d crossed another threshold into a new world of love and pleasure. A world with no boundaries, physical or mental. We had no idea what the limits of this new world would be back then but we knew we were going to explore it. That exploration is still taking place.

The woman/child I was then lifted herself up so her pubic mound rubbed directly on her sister’s vagina and started moving it around, thrusting, stimulating… Lotte began to moan like she had never done before. Her breathing became short and now her body was reacting to mine, pushing and rubbing against my mound. l felt her hands between her legs and then a softer, wetter feeling as she parted her labia and exposed what I now know is her clitoris. The rubbing began again with renewed urgency and before long she delighted and surprised us both with her first orgasm. It was contained, subtle, but deeply satisfying for both of us. When it was over she pulled me on top of her wrapped her legs round me and kissed me with the deepest and most sincere passion.

“Lizzy, I love you.” she said simply. I luxuriated in her warmth.

“I want to stay like this forever.” I replied. I had never been happier. She moved her body against mine caressing my mouth with hers, my breasts with hers and the mound between my legs. This exquisite kiss went on for ages.

When she sensed I was becoming very much aroused she whispered “Your turn now.” and lay me gently on my back, lifting my knees and parting my thighs to expose my vagina. She knelt between my legs and as she moved up over me, intending to kiss me, one of her breasts brushed my vagina and a nipple flicked over a particularly sensitive spot just above my wetness. I jumped and automatically opened my legs further. Lotte was never one to miss an opportunity. She smiled at me lying beneath her then rocked backwards and forward caressing my vagina and what I know is my clitoris with her firm breasts and erect nipples. To say I was in heaven just doesn’t describe it.

My mind floated off to some other place, a whole universe that shrank to Lotte and me, naked on the bed, and then further still to two warm breasts and one extremely aroused vagina being stimulated beyond belief. Feelings more intense and passionate than any before were arising deep between my legs and in my breasts. I thought I would die if this didn’t stop. I moaned and cried aloud as the feelings rose up and up, and then higher still until they burst into a climax of pleasure and pain, the ‘little death’ that released me from my sexual bondage only to find me captive in Lotte’s arms as she kissed and stroked me, reassuring me all was well. After a few minutes I asked what had happened.

“I don’t know what it’s called.” she said, “but it was just the best feeling. I wanted… I don’t know what… I just wanted you.”

I kissed her gently and nodded agreement. Snuggling closer to my naked sister, I whispered “Lotte, I love you.” There was nothing else to say really.

And that was where the bitter, humourless and small-minded woman we knew as governess, maçka escort found us the following morning. That morning when all hell broke loose, our innocence ended and our family was sundered forever.

Chapter 2. Yorkshire, 1931.

It was my birthday but ostensibly it was the same as any other day. I washed in the cold water, shivering in the dawn chill. Outside the wind howled over the high empty moorland, bleak under a heavy sky. I pulled on the thick black stockings, slipped into the course grey underskirt and white top-skirt. My hair I hid under the beret-like cap and put on the black shoes I’d polished the night before. I waited by the door for the voice that would let me and all the other girls at St Agnes know it was time to leave their rooms.

We were not allowed to leave our rooms without permission and were heavily supervised during the day. It was an absolute rule that two girls were never to be alone in the same room. Why this was so, was never clearly spelled out, but we all knew why. It was to prevent ‘moral delinquency’ as it was referred to in the school’s literature. St. Agnes specialised in taking ‘problem girls’. Over the last few years I’d found out this normally meant sexual behaviour – behaviour society, or the parents who sent their children there, did not approve of.

It was difficult to find out why many of my fellows where there. The regime was calculated to make us feel guilty and to atone for our past sins and to become morally ‘normal’. A few of us were confident enough to overcome this hurdle, although I will admit it took me a year of self-doubt to realise there was nothing wrong with me and this place was a monstrous institution designed to hide and squash the problem rather than to assist it’s pupils in any way . In the end it was Lotte’s love for me and my love for her that brought me though the crisis. Love that endured our enforced separation that had now lasted seven years.

There were some sad cases there. One girl I knew was found in bed with a servant’s son. Another girl who burned with anger was seduced by her father and then sent away by him for the ‘sin’ of becoming pregnant with his child. Two others I knew had been having regular sex with an uncle or a cousin and didn’t see what the problem was. “They all do it in our village,” one said to me.

One girl of seventeen, Lucille, told me straight out that she liked to ‘fuck’ her three brothers. Listening to Lucille was a window into another world, a world of more basic values and fouler language, but her heart was big and she was friendly.

That was the first time I heard the word ‘fuck’. She couldn’t wait to turn 21 so she could leave this place and resume their relationships. She also told me that her brothers would be ‘OK for sex’ while she was away because they ‘sucked each other’s cocks’ and ‘fucked’ each other ‘up the bum’ and that was the first time I was aware of male homosexual love. Then she giggled and wiggled her bottom, “and they fuck my arse too” she said and regaled us with a description of how sexy it was having one of her brothers “fucking my cunt, the other up my arse and the third with his big cock in my mouth and squeezing my tits, all coming at the same time and me having the best orgasm ever.” I felt quite elated. St Agnes would never beat the joy of incestuous sex out of her and it wouldn’t out of me either.

My best friend, as much as one could have a close friend in such a prison, was a quiet girl called Mary who like me was a ‘lesbian’. The object of her desire was the daughter of the local vicar. She’d been caught naked, bottom in the air, with her tongue buried deep in her lover’s vagina by the girl’s father, alerted when he heard strange cries coming from a barn. At first he’d seemed to be understanding, but later in a private interview he’d given Mary a choice. Bend over and spread her cheeks so he could lubricate her anus and bugger her whenever he wanted or be sent away.

Mary and I were definitely attracted to each other. I suppose we were both feeling very unloved and at the same time sexually frustrated. A year before, after we had made our feelings known to each other, we stole a quick lusty kiss and a brief but satisfying squeeze of firm breasts while passing in a corridor. Those few seconds made us determined to find a way to have more, even if it was only to snub our noses at St. Agnes and her draconian staff.

I was lying on my bed one evening after light’s out gently caressing my wetness thinking of how we could arrange it. We both needed to be able to disappear for at least an hour without arousing suspicion. My mind roamed around the building looking for places to meet in private, openings and ways to other openings. Then I had it — the laundry room at the school had a huge storage room attached which was only used on Mondays to hold the fresh linen from the wash.

Now we had to find a way to get there together. What was near the laundry? The toilets and the sick room were on the same floor and the library was above it. Yes! I had it. Mary would report sick and be in the sick room for a day with ‘stomach cramps’ and I’d disappear behind the book stacks, open a window and lower myself down to the ground. Mary would go to the laundry room and open a window and we’d have at least an hour together.

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