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 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.
