Emily: Or, the voluptuous delights of a once-innocent young lady

CHAPTER 1

'You will marry soon', was often said to me at twenty, and so often that I began to think of marriage as a far-off country, or rather an island whereon the inhabitants would be vaguely strange to me-having other manners, other attitudes-and where mirrors (in rooms that I had not visited but knew I must encounter) would reflect different images of me to those with which I was the more familiar. Sometimes I thought of marriage as a chair, a high chair, high with a straight back, and having ornaments of pearls and plumes, and having crested arms, in which I would forever sit.

Such curious fancies often took me then, and still possess me of many other things, of customs, attitudes, and fancies eaten as one eats a small, sweet cake. When I was young, was very young, in my eleventh year and still in bud, an old lady stopped me close by Shotter's Wood into which a meadow rises and disappears as if it had loped forward in a long, green wave and then had changed its mind, not wishing to disturb the saplings as they were then, long ago. 'Are there dreams to be had here, dear, my little dear?' she asked of me.

'Yes', I said-said 'Yes' in my simplicity, for I knew there were dreams in the myriad leaves, wound in among the stunted hedges, surging in the loam that flows like a dark sea among the aspens and the elder trees. My aunt came hastening to me then, bidding a neighbour adieu, her footsteps purposeful along the lane. I felt her frown fall like a small cloud on my back. 'What is it that you want?', she asked the old lady who mumbled something, turned, and went the way that she had come. I felt a sadness for her-black dress fading into horrid grey, perhaps a penny only in her purse. 'There are dreams to be had here, Aunty, are there not?', I asked. 'What nonsense! Is that what she told you, pray? Downcast are those who live in dreams, for few are ever realised. Examine your mind for practicalities. Absorb your five-times table, Emily.' I did not, nor have done so since. Tradesmen count money; I do not. I count the pearls of precious moments, yes, small drops of sunlight that I keep among dried shells, old coins and broken necklaces. I count the kisses, quick, impassioned, I have known. Such are not practicalities, but needs. Mama was not as my Aunt Mathilda was. When I spoke to her of dreams, she answered me in kind. Her lorgnettes would rise and she would peer at me with twinkling eyes. 'Absorb your dreams as earth absorbs the rain, and let them nourish you', Mama would say. My sister, Eveline, would use me as an echo-chamber at such times and afterwards would absorb the words from me. I was senior to her by three years and much her monitor in our beginnings. We have been fortunate that our thoughts breathe together, as the thoughts of sisters sometimes do. Our brother, James, was more independent in his ways at first, sought butterflies where we sought petticoats and thought himself a wild explorer with a telescope through which he would peer at other houses far away, across the valley where the sunlight drew long shadows on the grass. 'What do you see?' I asked him once, for I had tried it and the aperture seemed far too small for my quick eyes. 'He looks at the milkmaids', Eveline said. They were known to piddle in the grass sometimes, and James had seen them do and said rude words of it, that he had seen their bottoms all a-gleam, that some wore stockings, some did not, but none had drawers they needed to pull down. We were heard to speak of drawers and such by Mama, but she did not mind. At this time I was near eighteen, and more in blossom than I knew myself to be in such male eyes as cast themselves upon my form. Guests came and went like shadows then. They came from other worlds, I thought. The women all were pretty-some much younger than the men. I recall one, Adelaide, who was scarce much older than myself and sat with Papa and he touched her thighs. Her waist was wasplike, but no more than was my own. Her tutor, guardian-I know not who he was-sat next to me that evening. It was not our custom that the ladies should disperse from table that the gentlemen might smoke. Mama said this was a nonsense since the ladies then smoked, too, their gentle, perfumed cigarettes. James, Eveline, and my elder sister, Jane, had gone to bed. I was the favoured one that night. Mama had a slight flush upon her cheeks at my continued presence, yet she let me stay. We having passed the stage of port and wine, I took to a liqueur, and found it creamy, heady-a delight. Across the table from me sat a girl of my own age. Her companion had a look I thought of then as saturnine. He held his arm about her waist and made her lean to him and kissed her neck. She stared up at the ceiling, blushed. I expected her to squeal, but she did not. Papa coughed-Mama made a clucking sound. I felt a hand upon my knee, and fingers groped my garters through my dress. 'We shall retire', Papa said, 'Let us to the drawing room'. I made to rise. The hand up on my thigh prevented me. Adelaide's guardian conveyed to me a winsome look. Chairs sounded in their scrapings and the others rose. In rising, others float when one is still. I felt transfixed. The hand soothed, found my stocking top, the nascent, glowing flesh above. 'Mama!', I wished to speak, but she had gone, the others in her train. The dining room enlarged itself, then shrank.

'Have you not been tutored?', I was asked. I strained my neck and stared at scattered plates, the debris of the feast, the wine stains on the otherwise clean cloth. 'Sir?' I spoke but did not look at him. His beard would graze my face, I thought. I moved my legs a trifle, felt his hand like a warm toad slide-slither down to feel my knees, then fall from me. 'Later, perhaps', said he, and rose.

His hand extended to me. I was led into the drawing room. Mama gave a look, quick look, then motioned me to sit beside her which I gladly did. A couple sat upon the floor and kissed. Papa and Adelaide perched on a sofa a full foot apart like birds uncertain as to whether to roost or fly. Her corsage was undone. Her white chemise emitted spills of lace. Another couple were together in a chair, the female full upon his lap, a glass uncertain in her hand. There are times for dreams', Mama said, looked at me, then laughed self-consciously and looked away. Pamela, companion of the saturnine and older man, rose at a prod from him and came to me. 'We have nice things to show you in our room- my room', she said, correcting herself so quickly that the others laughed. 'I may to bed', I answered. 'No', Mama said, 'You may go and see, my pet- and then you may to bed. 'Tis early yet; you are allowed to stay up longer now'. 'I, too', the man said whose companion nestled the more deeply in his lap and whispered something in his ear. The laughter there on bubbled all around, and Papa shifted close to Adelaide who gave me such a perky look and showed half of her titties, swollen, pale. I did not look, I did not wish to look. I thought them all inebriated at the least, yet knew upon the very birth of that quick thought that it was false. There was a waiting for me to depart. I felt it like the chiming of church bells that come to one with vagueness on the wind and then retreat and fade and are not heard again. The hall seemed hollow as we entered it.

For the first time I had not kissed Mama, Papa, goodnight. I had my waist enfolded by the man. The girl preceded us. Her bottom swayed.

Taller than I, she had long legs and showed a flash of patterned stockings, bootees black. Upon the landing, as we turned along the corridor, Eveline's door chinked open and she peeped, her nightgown swirling close around her thighs. Our eyes met, then she closed the door again. I knew exactly how she would lean against it, lean.

'A pretty girl', the man said, and he touched my bottom as he spoke. I felt myself urged forward to a further room, passing my own.

The girl opened the door. As though I were in another house, I thought- as though I did not know the rooms that waited for their guests the long weekends. The bedclothes were drawn down; the sheet showed white, a waiting plateau, though I knew it not. 'We have time', the man said. There was awkwardness. I felt the awkwardness, but knew not what to say, but finally said 'Yes', I knew not why. The girl smiled, grateful for the word, and took my hand and led me to the bed. I felt as panicky as must a bird whose feathers are first clawed at by a cat. 'What is it you have?', I asked. I thought of ivory, of lace, of long and painted feathers, fans, some furbelows-I knew not what-and even so I knew they were not there. 'I shall to the water closet', said the man. The girl's grip tightened as he spoke.

The door opened again and then was closed. I stood alone with her.

I turned, found myself turned, our faces close together.

'Kiss me', the girl said. There was urgency in that small voice.

I had not kissed with lips to lips before and thought it strange a girl should want to do. I let her lips touch mine. How soft they were!-'No, more, you silly'. Her hands took my neck. Her mouth slurred the more closely into mine. Hands, arms, were twisted and I fell, fell falling on my back and she upon me with a little laugh, hands tight upon my shoulders so I could not move. 'Don't', I said feebly, but my mouth was smothered underneath her own. She groped my gown, began to draw it up.-'No, no-what do you do?' I blurted, felt her feel my thighs. She snapped my garters playfully and kissed my neck, forcing my legs apart to roll between, was heavy on me, breasts upon my own. 'He will birch me if I don't, and may birch you. Are you not birched?' she asked me. Her words spluttered on my lips. 'No please, get off. If Mama knows…' 'Your Mama knows'. The door re-opened and I heard his voice and saw the looming form above. Tell her that her Mama knows', he said. 'Of course, of course she knows. They are all busy downstairs, anyway', the girl said, mouth warm on my own. 'Let me get up!' I strained to force her off. At that, he fell beside us both and placed his stronger grip upon my arms. 'Take off her drawers and pleasure her', I heard. I squeaked, I kicked, I shook my head, hearing my own squeals-and yet I muffled them. Laughter and cries came faintly from below. I thought of Eveline and how she often leaned against the bedroom door to hear the sounds that floated up on long weekends and how I wished that she would not. My clothes thrown up, my bottom bumped. Ties of my drawers were loosed. I shrieked, whereat his hand clamped firm over my mouth. My drawers descended and were pulled right off, her shoulders forced between my thighs, knees on the floor as then she was. Tip of her tongue-a stamen seeking me between my pouting lovelips.

'GOOO!' I choked. Legs quivering, I felt her find my spot and titillate it, tongue-tip swirling, moist. My tummy tightened and grew warm. 'Descending into pits of love'. His voice was husky to my ear. Oh, I remember, I remember, yes, the curling shadows and the single lamp, the silence save for the warm hissing through my nose as her tongue lapped. My head sank back-his hand slipped from my lips.

Unwanted were his lips upon my own, invasion of his tongue within my mouth. He held my chin to hold my mouth beneath. Oh yes-remembering how my legs strained, strained forward then, knees limp upon her shoulders and my toes a-curl in the first onrush of my spilling spurts. 'She is coming-coming on?' Raising his hungry mouth from mine, he held my shoulders down and turned his head. 'Mmmm…', came her murmur. 'HAAAR!', I gasped. I arched my back. Her lips clamped to me suavely and her tongue still lapped, I spurting on-a fine rain in her mouth, and then, and then, my legs hung still and limp. Half closed as were my eyes, I saw the ceiling as a cloud. The house was not my own, no longer real. 'A fire will be lit in here in winter', the girl said. She rose and wiped her lips, then loosed her dress and drew it off. Beneath, she wore only a chemise and stockings tightly gartered. The hem of the chemise swayed and flirted and I saw her bush. Placing his hands beneath my arms, limp arms, the man drew me up and sideways on the bed, my head upon a pillow, my dress rucked up the more, my belly shown. 'Remain so, for you look so sweet in disarray', he said. 'Me, too?', the girl laughed and she clambered over us and lay on the other side of me so that I then lay in between the pair. 'Mama…', I began. My mouth felt very soft. It was not a cry, but the beginning of an expression of belief that she might mount the stairs and intervene. 'Fires will be lit in many rooms tonight', the man said. Then he took my mouth.

The girl caressed my thighs and fluffed my pubic hairs. Once, I recall, when our carriage toppled, one wheel in a ditch and Mama screamed, I knew only the little world of the dust-hazed coach and its lopsidedness- knew only panic, fear. The world beyond had vanished. So it was within that bedroom then. The drawing room was part then of some otherness, as were the other rooms about the house. The gardens, dark with night, became a bog or a morass, perhaps. Fingertips soothed the innerness of both my thighs-eased them apart again. 'Make her come again', the man said, 'Let me watch her eyes'. I bleated 'No'. Her mouth came over mine and then she slithered on to me again.

'No', I said 'No' again, but clutched her arms. Her stockings rasped to mine and then her bush purred moistly, stickily, to mine, and she began to move her hips and rub. I heard my breath hurr deep into her mouth and clutched her arms. The bed bounced softly as we bumped.

'Do not!', my mind said, but I could not stop. Squirming of oily lovelips to my own, her belly warm and sleek to mine. 'Give me your tongue', the man said, and he took my face, brought it from under hers to gaze into his own. His hands cupped underneath my head. The breath kissed from my nostrils to his own. My knees pressed sideways, opened by the girl. Her breathing came as hurriedly as mine. The seconds passed; I stared into his eyes and through his eyes, my lips apart. He made me stay so, made me stay, watching the hidden flames behind my eyes. My belly tingled warmly and I felt her spurt her little rills of liquid round my quim. 'Emily-extend your tongue.

Into my mouth. Now, do it, girl', he said. 'WHOO-AAAR!', I moaned. The white flames, small flames, 'flickers' (as I called them since) expanded in my honeypot, then held themselves as if within a ball, a sphere, that waits to burst. My corsage was unbuttoned as our mouths met in a sudden fury of desire, tongue long to tongue and wet and whirling round. My hand was taken, drawn down, grasped the root of him, thick root. I squeezed naively and I rubbed him there and felt him throbbing even more than I, his hand insurgent in my dress, my thorn-hard nipples stark against his palm… 'He would have done it to me sooner if you had not brought him on', the girl said in our limpness afterwards. My hand was sticky from the stain that showed upon his trousercloth. The man lay still and sighed and stretched his legs. 'Mama may come', I said. 'She will not, but you seem to have a fear of it. How pleasant it was, though, was it not?', the girl said, warm thigh to my own, two pillows shared between the three of us. 'There will be fires lit in the rooms in winter', said the man. He moved his hand, his knuckles to the wetness of my bush. I felt my tummy ripple to his touch. The girl moved slowly off the bed and slipped off her chemise. Her titties bobbled as she moved. 'You may watch us. Do you want to watch?', she asked. 'She cannot stay', the man said. He sat up, rubbed his face, then turned his body, kissed me on the lips. 'Already you have learned to wriggle and to kiss', he said. 'I cannot stay', I echoed, and my voice was like a piece of paper that lies blank, waits to be written on. Partly to my relief the girl moved round the bed and flung herself beside him. A possessive look was clear upon her face. I found… I found it difficult to move. They knew I found it difficult to move. The man lay back again. Both closed their eyes. The stain upon his trousers was a map of nowhere-nothingness, and yet was stark. 'Goodnight', I said. My voice rang hollow in the large, high-ceilinged room. The door seemed heavier than I remembered all the doors. I heard them say 'Goodnight' and there was honey in the satisfaction of their tones.

Along the corridor I stopped at Eveline's room, soothing my hair with fussy, trembling hands. Her lamp was lit still, underneath the door I saw its gleam and turned the knob. Naked she lay, one arm across her eyes. Her nipples glistened, quivered on their crests, were moist. 'Eveline?' 'Emily? Someone came and kissed me, took my nightdress off. And it was dark. I know not who it was', she said.