Esther Smiths Confessions

Meet Me in St. Louie, Louie

I can't believe how fast time goes by. Here it is, 1965 already. When I was young, I guess I knew that I could still be alive in this year, but I couldn't grasp it on an emotional level.

Recently -- well, I wouldn't say I celebrated but rather noted my eightieth birthday. Yes, me, Esther Milner, née Smith -- I'm a granny now. If this keeps going on the same course, I'll soon be a great-grandmother.

I want to reminisce a bit about my life, in this case, the summer of 1903 when I was eighteen. My family lived in a very nice brick house on Kensington Avenue in St. Louis.

Nowadays, young people think they invented sex. Sometimes, they will say, without really thinking, "Did they really have sex in 1903?" Well of course they did; we're all here now, aren't we?

Things have definitely changed, say, what with Helen Gurley Brown and that slightly silly magazine she publishes. True, women nowadays will drop their panties for just about anybody.

But we got around too, back in those days, although maybe not to that level. People certainly didn't talk about sex openly, in public venues, but now they can't seem to shut up about it.

****

That summer, after graduating from high school, I had a job as a sales clerk at the big Stix, Baer, and Fuller department store downtown.

I'm on the short side at five-foot-one. Back then I had thick auburn hair. Maybe I wasn't gorgeous, but I accepted myself as I was.

One thing I should make clear. Women always talk to each other about nearly everything but we keep most of it among ourselves. It was through the women I met at work and in my neighborhood that I found out how to deal with my own sexual desires. Even now, you might be surprised at what girls discuss in private.

Some of those ladies were quite sophisticated, and they read erotic novels or even obtained erotic photos. They would sometimes let me borrow those materials. The pictures may have been in black and white, but they showed just about everything worth seeing in sexual acts.

Even today, there are people who don't believe women have a true interest in sex. They would be surprised to learn that even "good girls" masturbated back then, often quite a lot.

I know I certainly did. That was my first tactic to handle my growing lustiness. Some of it I figured out on my own because it's so instinctual. Other techniques came to me through the female grapevine I mentioned above.

A tip I got was about objects to insert into myself for a pleasurable experience. I was already using my hairbrush for that, but I was told that cucumbers and carrots were among the produce items that would work well too. Yes, simple products one could buy at a grocery store. However, I never attempted to peel and eat any of those vegetables later.

One hint I got was from a lady who had seen an anatomy textbook. God has been good to us females because there is a whole group of, let's call them erectile organs, hidden inside our bodies down there. The clitoris, for example, is actually much bigger than the little "joy button" I had discovered myself.

Some creativity helped me when I thought about the old sofa my parents had stowed in the basement. With my newly acquired knowledge of the female body, I tried an experiment. That was to remove my bloomers, mount an arm of the sofa, and rub my bare crotch back and forth on the rough cloth.

For the first attempt, I sat backwards and held on to the rear panel. That worked perfectly, and I had my strongest climax to date.

Regarding my parents: I'm sure they never considered that their good daughter would be stimulating herself in any fashion. Thus I had to be cagey about when and where I did those activities. In my bed at night with the door closed was one of the best locations, but I used the basement too as I described above. Also, I had to keep my voice down even though my urge was to make a lot of noise.

Fortunately, I never got caught. If I ever had, I'm sure that my backside would have gotten a sound paddling. Now that I think about it, that might have been an interesting experience that I missed.

******

Yet I was craving an experience with another person, and I found that through my best friend, Grace Burnett. She was also eighteen, and she lived down the street from my home.

So were we lesbians? That wasn't quite it, although we did engage in sexual acts with each other. I had heard the term bisexual, which seems like an accurate label if one had to be applied to us.

Decades later, I was intrigued by the theories that Alfred Kinsey wrote about. His view was that sexual orientation should be looked at as a continuous spectrum, not neat categories lined up like boxcars. Thus his argument was that most people are at least a little bisexual, although many of them won't admit to it, even to themselves.

Once I read an account by a man describing his youth in the rural Virginia of the 1930's. With their access to girls severely restricted, guys there would have sex with each other. And no, he didn't specify exactly which acts they did together.

When they grew up and got married, they put their boyhood romps behind them. They never considered themselves to be homosexuals.

That story resonated with me because it was much like my relationship with Grace thirty years earlier. (Except, as I will describe later, it went on for quite a long time.)

She was also a short girl, but she had dark hair and she was on the plump side. Also, she was rather quiet, but she was one of the sweetest people I have ever met. That summer, I was having some very naughty thoughts about Gracie. Her dad was often at work, even on weekends, and her mother seemed to be out shopping a lot. Thus, on some days we had the run of her house for ourselves.

One Saturday, we were alone together for an afternoon. We were sitting together on a sofa in her living room. It seemed like a completely innocent gesture, but we were holding hands as we talked. Yet I was intrigued and wanted to try yet another experiment.

"Grace, have you ever kissed a girl?"

"Not yet, I haven't."

That seemed promising, so I took the next step, "Well, would you like to, I mean with me?"

She didn't look down in embarrassment, but she gazed straight at me. "Sure, if that's what you want, I'm ready for it."

"I admit, I've never done it either."

"Don't worry, I'm sure it will work out fine." I was surprised that she was reassuring

me.

This can't be too complicated.

I held her upper arms and pulled her towards me. At the first touch of her lips on mine, a charge went through my body. One must have gone through hers too, because she kissed back, quite passionately.

It's called a "make-out" session nowadays, but we got deeply into it, wrapping our arms around each other and kissing all over our faces. At one point, she murmured into my ear, "Esther, I love you."

That was unexpected, and then I was embarrassed. Yet I expressed my true feelings about her. "I love you too, you know that."

I was inspired to push it further and rub my hands over her body. That must have been okay with Grace because she reciprocated on mine. My fondling grew bolder, and I pressed my hands against her breasts, then I dropped them down to feel her thighs and then her round behind.

My heartstrings were definitely thumping at that point. The infelicitous expression now is, petting above and below the waist but over the clothes. I'm not sure when that was coined, but I don't remember hearing anything like it in 1903.

When her mother came home later, we were sitting there on the couch. "Why Esther, it's so good to see you. Would you like some lemonade?"

"Yes, Mrs. Burnett, I'd like that very much."

Later, we found out that she'd be out on Sunday too. Grace and I just looked at each other, but we knew what that implied.

That night I imagined being with Grace as I lay in my bed. I inserted my trusty hairbrush with one hand while I used the other one to rub around the opening. The result was soon intense, and my body lifted off the bed as I struggled not to yell out in pleasure. Some squeaks and gasps come out of my mouth anyway.

As I got my breath back, my thoughts about Grace were strong yet unsettling too. I was going to take a big step forward, and I knew we'd have to make up my own rules about how to proceed.

*****

The next day, I was over there by ten o'clock. We had all afternoon for ourselves, so we started where we had left off the day before. By then I knew how I wanted things to go, assuming that Grace would go along with me. And oh yes, she did, in a really big way.

As we held each other, I remember asking her, "Have you ever, you know, touched yourself? You must know what I mean."

"Of course I do, but it's far beyond mere touching I'd say." She was moving faster than I had expected. I fumbled around for my next line.

"I was thinking that we could -- I'm not sure how to put this -- ah, touch each other, that's a way to say it."

Grace smiled at me and said, "Esther, you must fondle yourself to get a climax. I certainly do. It's quite normal, you know."

I was blushing for sure; I could feel my face warming up. "So I think we could do it to each other, I suppose."

"Sure, you mean our private parts. That sounds lovely." She winked at me. "Let's open up our blouses and start there."

Oh, she's practically reading my mind.

But I went ahead and unbuttoned her blouse, and she did to the same to mine. When we pulled our chemises down, I saw her round breasts and she saw my smaller ones. I felt awe in looking at a woman's bare body for the first time.

We rubbed each other's breasts, and she took the initiative of putting her mouth on me. I had heard of that, but I didn't expect Grace to know about it. She had a lot of surprises for me that day.

The sensation was so strong that I leaned back a bit, moaned, and ran my fingers through her hair. "God, that feels so good."

She stopped for a second. "You'll note how stiff our nipples are getting."

"I've seen that often enough with myself."

Grace giggled, "I bet you have! I've done that too, plenty of times." She lectured me a bit. "It's a key female pleasure zone." Perhaps she didn't know what erogenous meant.

I wasn't sure how far we'd take it that day, but Grace was ready for more. "This is so nice, but we should go to the next step,"

I knew what she was talking about, but I still asked in order to confirm it. "And what would that be?"

"I'm sure you know. But, just to be safe, we should go up to my room."

"Would your mother catch on if she knows we're up there?"

"No, she'll just think we're just having some 'girl talk' "

Right, I knew what girls talked about. And we were definitely going to be having a girl something. Once up there, she closed the door. I was standing there feeling quite awkward. "I'm not sure how to do this."

"Don't worry, sweetie, I know what to do."

"I thought you hadn't done this before."

"Absolutely, I haven't, but it's pretty obvious, I think. Here, first, let's take our bloomers off. Our shoes too, because we're going to be on my bed."

We left our discarded items on the floor, and we sat on the edge and kissed for a while. Then she said, "Let's show ourselves to each other. We should know what we look like."

She sat against her headboard, lifted her skirts, and spread her legs. I got my courage together.

If she can do this, then I can do it too.

I sat at the opposite end and faced her with my legs apart.

For a few moments, we stared at each other. Her pubic hair was dark and springy; mine was straighter. She teased me. "So you are a natural redhead! You're so beautiful, you know."

I felt warm all over, and there was a tightness in my throat. "I don't know what to say right now."

"You don't have to say anything. Just come on over here."

It was pretty clear what we were going to do. We kissed and hugged, rubbing our bare thighs on each other. Then her hand went between my legs, and mine went between hers.

"Esther, you're all wet down there."

"Well, so are you."

"You know what that's all about, don't you?"

"I suppose so."

She teased me again. "That's so a hairbrushes can slip in more easily! Just kidding. Here, I got mine." She took a brush out of her nightstand drawer. "I've got one for you too. But as you can see, mine is bigger."

It was an impressive piece of wood, that was for sure. I must have looked confused because she explained the details. "We'll take turns. I'll be first because, well, it is my house. Sit next to me and move this around inside of me. Stroke me all around the sides with your other hand."

I didn't know the correct terms yet, but it was going to be mutual but not simultaneous masturbation.

"Let me get my pillow under my behind so you'll have a good angle."

It was easier than I had expected, and the benefits were well worth it. As I thrust her brush back and forth, she lifted her legs up and out. Our faces were close, and we spoke into each other's ears.

I said, "You really like this, don't you?"

"Oh yes, it's even better than what I could do to myself."

It was fascinating to watch her approach her peak and listen to the noises she was making. When she climaxed, she made a very big fuss about it. Her legs clamped around my arm, and she leveraged a hold on my shoulders to lift herself up and sideways. The sounds she made were extremely loud.

We sat for a moment gathering our wits, then we kissed and cuddled. She said, "Esther, it's your turn. And don't forget to put the pillow under yourself."

I got into position near the head of the bed, and she used the other brush on me. Maybe it was only in my mind, but it did feel stronger than my own actions on myself. Grace cooed endearments into my ear.

As I reached my orgasm, I grabbed her hand holding the brush and moved it in the way I wished. I also put my other hand down to assist her in stroking me. It was amusing to briefly look over and see our bloomers on the floor.

I was glad we were alone in the house because I could make all the noise I wanted to. Somehow I was flat on my back after it was over.

For a short while, we lay there and exchanged confidences. I told her about the woman with the anatomy textbook and how I had mounted a sofa arm.

She said, "That's an interesting technique. I've sometimes held my pillow on the bed and gotten on top of it. That works very well."

"I've never tried that, but now I'm sure I will."

Afterwards, we lay there with our arms around each other. Without planning it, we both fell asleep. When we woke up about fifteen minutes later, it took me a moment to remember where my bloomers were. They were on the floor, not on my body. Grace noted her watch. "My mother is supposed to be home in an hour or so, but I'd like to go out for a walk with you right now."

I agreed. She also noticed our discarded underwear and said. "It would be fun to walk around without our bloomers on, but even I'm not that uninhibited! I almost forgot; sniff your fingers."

Her scent was on mine, and I knew mine was on hers. She laughed. "We should wash up first!"

When we were out walking, my gait was a bit unsteady yet jaunty at the same time. Probably Grace felt the same way. I wanted to hold her hand, but I figured that wasn't a good idea. We smiled at each other instead. We were two young women facing a big world.

On that Sunday afternoon, people out for their own walks noted us and smiled too.

Two nice girls who are friends.

I thought,

if they only knew that we are lovers now.

We wandered around for a while until we settled down on a bench in Fountain Park. Once there, we didn't say anything because it didn't seem we had to.

******

There are some of aspects about that time that are worth digressing about.

The first was the general attitudes that people had about same-gender relations. Some probably had never heard of that or believed only the most wicked indulged in it. I don't know exactly what my parents or Grace's parents thought, but I'd guess they assumed that their daughters were incapable or ignorant about such matters.

That actually helped our affair quite a bit. Had I tried to be alone with a man in those days, that might have aroused some suspicions. I wasn't chaperoned as closely as some girls were, but it was a common practice among all social classes.

However, Grace and I could get away with quite a lot because no one worried about what we did together. In the eyes of others, we just had a friendship, nothing more.

Also, I loved the clothing we wore back then. Never mind short-shorts; I really did feel sexy because of the outfits we had on. I looked so prim on the outside, but I was humming with desires inside my own body.

Our underthings were also modest by today's standards. Yet I miss those ample white bloomers I owned. Those garments also opened up in the back, which facilitated all kinds of naughtiness.

To add to that, we also usually had black stockings going above our knees plus high-topped shoes. And hats; we have lost the appeal of those hats from that era. I suppose the whole look could be called "Edwardian," even if that referred to the British king across the Atlantic.

In many ways, those clothes were more flattering for a woman's looks than the skimpier outfits of today. For example, Grace's plush backside and round thighs looked much better than they would have with a mini-skirt or shorts.

****

I was interested in male companionship too, Of course, the long-term goal was marriage, but there was an interim try-out period before that. The term dating wasn't used much as far as I recall. In the present, dating is almost synonymous with having sexual relations of some sort, and everyone knows it.

Back then, one was seeing or going with or courting someone else. By the way, unlike that guy in Virginia I mentioned earlier, I fully intended to continue with Grace even if a man came into my life. Grace would think the same way about herself.

So you may say,

isn't there something wrong, dishonest about being involved with two people at the same time?

The way I saw it, what happened between Grace and me was completely distinct from whatever I might do with a man.

In fact, I knew that I'd confide everything to my female friend, but any boyfriend would not have the same amount of knowledge about what was going on with her. I felt no guilt about that. So, please, spare me your judgments. Life gets complicated at times.

*******

An interesting male prospect arrived on Kensington Avenue that summer. The Truett family purchased their house just to the east of ours, and their son John was nineteen at that time. Yep, he was literally the boy next door to my house, 5133 to my 5135.

Yet progress was initially non-existent. He had to know where I lived, but a couple of times he passed me on the sidewalk without acknowledging me at all.

I was miffed that he didn't seem to notice me. I figured that some more dramatic action was necessary on my part. Here's another thing you may judge me on.

Esther, it's not fair to use your sexual wiles to land a man. And it's just not romantic.

Well, what's wrong with it? I was completely honest with John about what I wanted and what we were doing. He was always free to do as he thought best. I made it very clear that I wanted to be his girl. I didn't use trickery, but I could be quite blunt.

Also, not romantic? If one is honest about it, love and lust are inextricably entwined. It's been that way for millennia.

Now my older sister Rose had said, "When you get to be my age, you'll realize that there are more important things than boys." She could be quite annoying indeed. I should have responded, "Really? So what are your priorities then?"