Bottled memories….

February 1, 2015


If only there could be an invention that bottled up a memory, like scent. And it never faded, and it never got stale. And then, when one wanted it, the bottle could be uncorked, and it would be like living the moment all over again.

Daphne du Maurier


February 1, 2015


Dee told us she’d been violated in her teens by an older girl.

‘I think I blotted it out,’ she said. ‘Wiped it from my memory. I know that probably sounds weird, to you. But it’s what happened.’

During her early teens she and her best friend, Diane would often sleep over at each other’s homes at weekends. One evening Dee was talking about one of the boys at school. Diane wondered what it’d be like to have him kiss one of them?

‘He’d probably kiss like this…’ Dee demonstrated by kissing Diane on the mouth, a quick, butterfly touching of lips. Very chaste. The girls were in Diane’s bedroom in their PJs.

‘No, I think it’d be more like this…’ Diane kissed Dee on the mouth, only this time she probed with her tongue. The two girls clung to each other kissing in this way for some time.

Then, flushed, slightly breathless, they parted. ‘What about X,’ Dee asked quickly. ‘How would he kiss?’

‘He’d feel you up as he did it,’ Diane decided. She kissed Dee again but this time felt between her legs. Dee slipped her own hand inside Diane’s pajama bottoms…

This became a game the two played each time they were alone together. It was innocent enough. And the sensations they both experienced, kissing and touching each other, were so very pleasant.

‘I remember,’ Dee said to us. ‘Wondering if I was a lesbian around that time. But somehow I knew I wasn’t. I just liked boys too much. The thought of kissing them, touching them. You know? It was a big turn on. I hadn’t heard of bisexuality at that point in my education. I was still exploring boundaries; still naive.’

Dee and Diane had arranged to spend a Saturday night together around another girl’s house, a friend of Diane’s, named Millicent. Dee turned up that evening but Diane didn’t.

‘Later she telephoned, or rather her mum did. Diane had chicken pox. Can you believe that? She wouldn’t be coming. So there I was, with this Millicent, who I didn’t know, and it was too late in the evening to return home.

‘So, I tried to make the best of a bad situation. We sat in Millie’s bedroom watching TV and then playing music. Later Millie fixed me a drink…it was vodka and orange. Millie’s parents weren’t home. Apparently they were at some party in town. So I drank my drink and it went straight to my head. Then Millie fixed us both another…’

Millicent was seventeen going on eighteen, so a year older than Dee. She was also, to use Dee’s term, ‘a bit butch’. A tall, sporty-looking girl, with a short, stubbly haircut like a boy’s.

‘Anyway. She says to me, “I know about you and Diane. What you get up to. She told me.” Well, you could have knocked me down with the proverbial feather. I was gobsmacked. I felt totally betrayed by Diane. How could she have said anything to this girl about us?

‘I was really embarrassed. I felt sooooo humiliated. I was more than a little drunk too, which exacerbated my feelings…

‘I think I started getting tearful. Then Millie had me by the right arm and was twisting it up my back. “Shut it, bitch,” she said to me. I was face down across her bed. ‘You’re disgusting. You finger other girls. That’s not normal…”

‘And that’s where my recollection of the evening ended. Everything became a blur. Probably due to the vodka. I wasn’t used to alcohol, and as you both know I rarely drink even now. But then a year, maybe two, later, I was with a group of friends talking. One of them, a girl named Fiona Roberts was saying how much she loved to be physically dominated by a male. You know? The whole me Tarzan, you Jane thing. Held down and fucked hard…

‘And I experienced this incredible epiphany. Like sudden and shocking déjà vu. My memory of that night returned to me in terrible close-up detail. Just like that. Flash, and there it all was, playing over in my head like a loop of film in slow-mo.

‘Millie’s hand in my panties. She was strong…I mean really, really strong. I tried to get up, but she forced me down. And the worst of it was, I felt so damned turned-on by it. She had a long, lean body like a boy. She had me face down and was finger fucking me like there was no tomorrow.

‘I begged her. “Please, please, stop this…” But deep down I was loving every minute of it. I didn’t want it to stop.

‘Millie called me a dirty cow. Said my disgusting little quim was leaking all over her bed. Then, with her face pressed so close to my ear I could smell the toothpaste on her breath, she told me: “Tonight’s the night, bitch. I’m going to pop your cherry. I’m going to leave your dirty hole gapping like a tunnel mouth…”

‘I knew, just knew, she was trying to get her whole hand inside me. She’d jammed three fingers up me. She was on top of me. I couldn’t move. I was sopping wet. Then out of nowhere, I came…

‘I mean, I came like an express train. Every muscle in my body spasmed in spastic motion. It was an orgasm to end all orgasms, and I didn’t want it to ever end. I lost control of my bladder. Of my senses. Maybe I passed out from it…I’m not sure. But as I came down, descended from that insane plateau, Millie was pounding between my spread legs with her hand like some sex-crazed boxer.

‘It was hurting and I cried out. But as crazy as it may sound, I returned abruptly to that effin’ plateau, my whole body shaking…like I was fitting, or something. I mean I’d really effin’ lost it. And Millie kept yelling and cursing me, calling me a whore and a slut and a cow, all the while fingering me.

‘I begged her to stop…And I meant it now. I felt pretty beat-up down there. Millie pulled her small hand free of my panties and rolled me over. “If you don’t want me to do that more,” she said. “You better get your face between my legs and start licking. Lick me out, you worthless cow.”

‘And that’s exactly what I did…’

Dee went on to explain how Millie’s parents rolled home drunk as coots around half-two in the AM. By that time Dee was in the guest bedroom, and Millicent fast asleep in her own.

‘Maybe it was the vodka. I don’t know. But Millie went a little mad that night. She was off on one, and I guess I was lucky she didn’t hurt me more than she did. I couldn’t believe what a foul mouth she had on her. She frightened the crap out of me, to be honest.

‘I blotted out the memory of what had happen for over a year. And when my memory returned it was like a slap in the face. For the first time I realised I was more than a little submissive in nature. Deep down, I wanted to be used…It was a revelation, I don’t mind telling you.’

Dee told us that some years later Millicent got in trouble with the police. Apparently she had a live in girlfriend who she beat hell out of one Friday evening after a row.

‘Broke the girl’s nose, fractured her eyesocket. Terrible. When Millie appeared in court, there was a lot of talk of anger issues and problem drinking. Crap self-esteem. She was a lesbian who wished she wasn’t. All very sad…’

And that was that. Dee having experienced her déjà vu moment went on to experiment with situations where she could act submissively for and with Dom lesbians.

‘I bloody loved it,’ Dee said. ‘Every second of it. It was okay being dominated by a man, but I much preferred having a woman in charge of me, using me however they wanted.’

‘Do you think it was because of this Millicent, then?’ Gabriella asked her. ‘Did she make you sub?’

‘No, she just woke in me what I wanted; what I needed. I think the revelation of who I was – who I really was – became too much for me then, and I closed my mind to it. Buried it deep, away from the cold light of day.’

‘She took your virginity then, in a way?’

‘No, I’d been with two or three boys by then, which was okay, I guess. Millie hurt me, filled me in a way that frightened me half-to-death; she forced me to come my brains out on her bed…A more memorable experience, ultimately, than any of those boys.’

‘But one you forgot,’ I said.

‘But not for long,’ said Dee. ‘Not for long, I didn’t.’

Stepmother’s Tale

February 1, 2015


He was a banded offer:
want him, get her too.
She grizzled for her sainted mother.

Three’s a crowd. God knows I tried.
He didn’t want the bother.
I took a course in parenting. She cried.

Drove me quite demented,
with her snow white, black and red.
I heard the rumours: squatting in
a house with seven men.
He blamed me, slept in the spare bed.

Even the mirror lied. The fairest! She!
You bet I wished her ill.
The rest you know about: the fatal fruit,
the glass box on the hill.

Ann Alexander

Good Advice….

February 1, 2015



‘She did not write down gossip (though she liked gossip), and wrote little about her friends. She specialised in lyrical natural description and in dark anecdote. She noted that the Danish astronomer Tycho Brahe had died of a burst bladder because he had not dared to get up from a banquet to have a pee. She observed that the pork pies favoured by her mother’s family for wakes “possess a semiotic connection with the corpse in the coffin – the meat in the pastry”, and added, referring to Beatrix Potter’s most chilling tale of fluffy life: “Tell that to Tom Kitten.”

‘The revelation for me in the journals was that, in her 20s, Angela had written poems – verses that strikingly prefigured her novels in richness of expression, in their salty relish, in their feminism and in their use of fable. At the same time she produced a statement of intent which came startlingly close to prophesy: “I want to make images that are personal, sensuous, tender and funny… I may not be very good yet but I’m young and I work very hard – or fairly hard.”‘

Susannah Clapp
A Card From Angela Carter

Essential every morning….

February 1, 2015



Her body….

February 1, 2015


Her body wasn’t perfect. A sag here, a scar there. She worried what he would think, but when he opened her robe, he saw only beauty. And desire.

It’s cold, cold, cold…

February 1, 2015


This morning the snow lay all about, not so deep perhaps, but certainly crisp and even…