When my mother died in my arms I experienced a breakdown. During counselling I was advised to keep a journal, recording all the incidents in my life, and the resulting subsequent thoughts and feelings. The following stories are based on extracts from my journal concerning my experience of sexual relationships in later life
Chapter 11
Exhausted both physically and mentally by the previous day’s activity, I woke late. I was disconcerted to find my panties, despite the liner, were slightly stained. The problem was of course solved by my usual morning bathroom habit. I threw the dirty washing into the machine, had a shower, a light breakfast, and called for a cab to take me shopping,
I decided not to go to my usual supermarket,in case Michael was working there. I couldn’t bring myself to speak to him, until I had sorted the conflict in my mind. I knew this couldn’t be a permanent relationship and was punishing myself for allowing my feelings to get out of control. Feelings I knew he didn’t share. As long as it lasted I could be happy with him, anxious to please him, and enjoying the joy and pleasure he gave me.
His anxious behaviour if he stayed with me too long, his ability only to see me midweek during a break in his employment, in my new language, ‘a fuck and go situation’, a very degrading experience which I found very enjoyable.
I was convinced I was sharing him with someone in a permanent relationship with him. Someone who saw him every evening and at weekends and was taken to family gatherings. I wasn’t at all jealous.
Perhaps he was doing things with me that she couldn't or wouldn’t do. I know he was surprised when I first swallowed his semen, thinking every woman did that for her man.
I knew if she found out, it would be the end for me and perhaps her. Something I wanted to avoid at all cost. His obvious guilty behaviour if he thought he had done something wrong meant he could be read like a book, I’m sure she was a good reader.
I started to worry about the visit to Uncle’s restaurant, obviously people there knew him, perhaps they also knew her. He was an idiot if that was the case.
I was so engrossed in my thoughts, that the cab driver had to more or less shout at me.
“Miss, we're here.”
“Miss”
“Oh, sorry”
“Are you OK, miss.”
“Yes thank you”.
I wasn’t OK though. I could feel a black pit opening under me.
As soon as I got home, I phoned the lovely counsellor I had spoken to before and left a message. She called me back later that afternoon. I explained my fear of being the other woman, my need to be just used, my feelings of love, and my strange pleasure in being left abandoned. She advised me that this cluster of feelings was not uncommon amongst the women she spoke to. She advised that I should challenge Michael about any other relationships, putting the danger and consequences of disclosure firmly onto his shoulders, but really it was up to me to end the relationship if I became unhappy. My need to be dominated, even degraded was not uncommon, but if I was worried about it, or it began to affect my mental health, or if I felt it lead to accepting violence I should see my doctor and ask for a referral to a mental health practitioner.
She of course had told me what I already knew, but it was cathartic to discuss my current situation with her.
Challenge Michael? Definitely! The thought made me smile, he was such an easy target. The downcast eyes and general hang dog look when he knew he had been naughty. I knew my silly sense of humour would intervene even in a quite serious conversation.
That night I lay in bed worrying about whether I should refuse any future anal play. As much as I wanted to please Michael in any way I really couldn’t deal with the subsequent hygiene problems.
The thought of insisting he wore a condom did cross my mind, but that would deny me glorious afterglow contact with his semen in my vagina, and as I had just found out my rectum, triggered. The only pleasure would be the knowledge I was pleasing him.
I had discovered with both Paul and Michael that taking semen orally did not have this effect. Perhaps whatever was active in semen was destroyed by my digestive juices before it could work it’s magic. The only pleasure was in the knowledge I was submitting to and pleasing my partner. There were no negatives to swallowing, the taste was acceptable, and there were no side effects. With anal penetration I had experienced some pain and overall mild discomfort, and again the only pleasure, without the stimulation of my clitoris, was knowing he enjoyed taking me that way.
Abstinence, not condoms, seemed the only way forward.
Laying there, my mind so busy that sleep escaped me, I suddenly remembered the vibrator. That worked sensationally, and I slept like a log.
A couple of mornings later I was doing some weeding in the garden when I remembered Dr. Higgins.
When I was a child, regular bathroom habits were almost a second religion.
Every evening mother would ask,
“Have you had a movement today?”
“Yes mummy.”
A “No mummy” resulted in a spoonful of Syrup of Figs, guaranteed to encourage some movement.
Two “No mummy” days in a row and Dr Higgins came out.
Dr Higgins was a red rubber bulb with two pipes that was kept in an oval black shiny cardboard box. One pipe had a hard ebonite end that with some Vaseline went up one's bottom, the other into an enamelled dish of warm water, which pumping the rubber bulb sent squirting into one's rectum. This was followed by sitting on the lavatory until the required movement occurred.
This seemed like the very thing for my problem. I could clean myself both before or after Michael had used me.
After lunch I went to a branch of a nationwide pharmacy in the local high street. The young girl assistant didn’t recognise my account of Dr Higgins and went off to consult the pharmacist. She came back apologetic, the pharmacist knew what I wanted but it wasn’t stocked. She referred me to a number of treatments for constipation available on the open shelves.
Checking the yellow pages in the library I found an independent pharmacy in nearby Leytonstone.
A bus ride later, I found the pharmacy, an old fashioned single windowed shop with the doorway set back with a black and white tiled entrance.
The assistant was serving so I sat down on one of the chairs.
The woman being served walked towards the door, the assistant, probably in her middle 70s, called out “Next please.”
As I was the only other person in the shop, I approached and explained about Dr Higgins.
“I will have to ask the pharmacist dear.”
“John !”
John, who I presumed to be her husband, appeared from behind a partition at the back of the shop and they had a conversation.
Addressing me, he guided me to the consulting room.
“I understand you suffer from constipation. We have several modern treatments that are quite effective.”
“We’ve always used Dr Higgins.”
“I understand. What you are asking for is a Higginson syringe, a popular Victorian method not recommended today.”
“Mother always called it Dr. Higgins.”
“I can sell you one. But you must understand I do not recommend its use.”
He left the room and came back a few minutes later and placed a shiny black oval box onto the table. Inside was the red rubber bulb and tubes I had become familiar with as a child, covered in talc.
“You must give it a good wash in clean water when you get home, this is french chalk you don’t want any of that inside you.”
I nodded, just wanting to leave.
“Every time you use it, pump a couple of cups of a mild disinfectant through it. I suggest Dettol. Then wash the Dettol out with another couple of cups of clean water. To use it ,use only clean boiled and cooled water. Then clean it again with Dettol several times. The bulb is a warm moist place, a five star hotel for some nasty bacteria.”
I nodded again.
“Thank you.”
He looked at me for several seconds.
“If I may give some advice?”
“Please.”
“Avoid having constipation more than once every four weeks. If you must, once every two weeks at the maximum. There is some very delicate tissue in that area, and nasty buds abound”
He looked at me again.
I’m sure I blushed from my head to my heels.
I followed him out of the room as he had a conversation with his wife and handed her the box.
Mrs Pharmacist took my money, put the box in a white paper bag, and smiled at me
“Be careful my dear.”
I’ve never left a shop so fast, vowing I would never return.
In fact I decided to avoid the whole of Leytonstone for the rest of my life.
The next morning, having performed as usual in the bathroom, I decided to trial the Higginson. I went through the suggested cleaning procedure, with Dettol and clean water. A small bowl of cooled water from the kettle, a smear of Vaseline and the hard tip of one of the tubes slid into me easily. Six pumps of the bulb seemed enough. I sat back down on the toilet and pushed. I was surprised to find that, although I felt empty, a lot of small particles were floating in the bowl. I repeated the procedure and this time the bowl was clean, so the first attempt had worked.
I wondered if Michael would appreciate the things I went through just to please him,
The following Wednesday I prepared myself for Michael, clean inside and out. I hadn’t shaved my pubis for a few weeks and now it was a little puff of light gold. Michel hadn’t commented, I wondered if he had even noticed.
I found a dress I had never worn in the wardrobe. I think Valerie had bought it for me to wear at the swapping party we never went to. Thin white plain cotton with a mid-thigh skirt, a tight bodice which accentuated my cleavage, pushing my breasts together and a low neckline. Looking in the long mirror I could clearly see my nipples pushing against the fabric.
Micheal arrived about 11am, once again with his bag over his shoulder, I wondered what delights he had brought with him this time. I quickly closed the front door behind him, then on tip toes I put my arms round his neck and kissed him. He looked a trifle wary, wondering what I was up to, but his hands wandered over my body, quickly finding there were no panties under my dress.
I took hold of his tie and led him into the dining room.
Taking off his jacket I hung over the back of a chair and followed suit with his shirt and tie. Kneeling down before him I untied his shoes and took off his socks, setting them neatly on the seat of the chair, followed by his trousers. I looked up at him as I slid his underpants down, his penis, suddenly released, sprung out at me. I kissed it and stood up.
“Sit down Michael.”
He pulled a chair from the table and sat.
I perched on the edge of the table, for once I was taller than him.
“Michael, why did you take me to Uncle’s place?”
"I thought you would enjoy it there.”
“I did, it was lovely, but there were quite a few people there who seemed to know you.”
“I know lots of people.”
“Suppose one of them tells your girlfriend Michael!”
“Oh she doesn’t ……”
He just stared at me.
He was so easy, almost childlike, no side, no intrigue.
“Oh Michael, if she finds out that will be the end for us, and probably also for you two. She would be so unhappy. Please be careful, no public meetings. You just come here, do what we both enjoy, you tell no-one do you understand?”
“Yes Linda.”
“Do you promise, if not you can leave now!”
He looked towards the door.
“Idiot, put your clothes on first”
“Linda, please”
I slid off the table and walked over to the patio doors, I knew the light streaming in would make my dress semi-transparent.
“Michael, do you promise to be careful.”
“Yes, promise”.
“Where are the photos of me?”.
“In my drawer in my room”.
“In your room! suppose she finds them?”
“She doesn’t come to my room”.
”Never?”
“She’s religious.”
“Michael, I was brought up very religious, I still am inside I suppose, but you fucked my arse last week.”
I was enjoying this dirty language, He just stared at me.
“She wants you to marry before … “.
He nodded.
“Oh Michael, if you promise to be careful you can stay”.
“I promise.”
He looked so woeful, I just wanted to hug him.
I twirled, “Michael, do you like this dress?”
“Yes, you look good.”
Look good, look good? I wanted to shake him.
I stood between him and the door.
“Michael, I going to run upstairs, I want you to chase me, rip this dress off me, and fuck my cunt hard and fast, hard and fast.”
He goggled at me, I sprinted for the door
As I reached the foot of the stairs I heard the chair fall over,
He caught me as I reached the bedroom door, grabbed my hair, forced me to my knees and pushed his penis into my mouth. He stood still, just pushing my head backwards and forwards. I was trying to hold on to his thighs, but he brushed my hands away. I realised he was so strong that he could do anything he wished with me, and I couldn’t stop him. My only option was total submission, it was if I had entered a room and closed the door behind me. A glorious feeling of here I am, use me.
Michael pushed me down onto the carpet, stood over me and grabbed the neckline of my dress, ripping it from top to bottom, so there I lay, naked with only my right arm through the sleeve. Grabbing my ankles he pushed my knees against my breasts and pushed into me. Little Miss Cervix made her usual objection, but that passed. Hard and fast was what I had asked for, and hard and fast was what he was delivering. The feelings I was experiencing were different and unexpected. Suddenly he changed position. With one arm behind my neck and the other behind my knee he bundled me up, and was lifting me towards him as he thrust forward. I had my arms round him gripping as best I could with my face pressed against his chest. I know I was calling his name over and over again. Usually, an orgasm is a slow build up of emotions and feelings, this time it arrived unannounced a sudden intense explosion. I was in a frenzy pushing myself against him, I am pretty sure I fainted momentarily, Then Michael was making his little sounds and was ejaculating inside me somewhere just south of my navel.
The post ejaculation euphoria washed over me.
I wriggled free and clasped my legs and arms around him.
“Oh, Micheal”
He kissed me.
Despite the carpet, the floor was hard and was becoming uncomfortable.
“Get off me you big lummox”.
He stood up, I held out my hand and he helped me to my feet, my knees still trembling.
I took his hand, led him into the bedroom and pushed him onto the bed and sat down beside him.
“You like me to call my vagina my cunt. What is he called?”
I held his penis, still quite firm, between my finger and thumb, and waggled it.
“Buddy”.
“Buddy?”
“Yes!”
“So sweet”.
“Look Michael, Buddy is so shiny with my juices and your cum.”
I ran my hand up from the base and a little bead of semen appeared at the tip. I looked at Michael and licked it off. I took Buddy in my mouth and gave a long hard suck.
“There was more Michael, I can taste it.”
He lay there silent just looking at me as I ran my tongue up and down his penis, licking it clean.
Then I straddled him, rubbing my vulva up and down his belly and chest.
“You filled my tummy full of cum Michael, my cunt wants to share it with you.”
He grabbed my hips and pushed and pulled me, my vagina gliding along his belly and chest. His hands slid up to my breasts and tugging on my nipples he pulled me down so I was laying completely on him. The pain in my nipples was sharp, but mellowed almost immediately to become almost pleasurable… almost.
“Kiss me.”
He hesitated.
“Kiss me!”
He put his arm around me, and we kissed. I pushed my tongue into his mouth.
Can you taste our juices Michael”
“Yes,”
“The taste of love”
He said nothing.
I lay there for a little while,his arms around me, my face nestled into his shoulder. listening to his heart beat.
“Michael?”
“Linda?”
“Am I a good fuck?”
“You're amazing.”
“If I took a cab to Uncles’s place, chatted to one of your friends and brought them home so they could fuck me any way as they wished. Would that be OK?”
“If you want to, you could do that, but I think of you as mine Linda. I know what you mean, I shouldn’t have taken you to Uncle’s. I promise that you will always be my special secret”.
“Thank you.”
After a while he gently rolled me off him.
“Have you got to go?”
“I think we both need a shower.”
In the shower as usual he just stood there while I slid my soapy hand over every inch of him. I remembered the little reaction he had if I sprayed the shower head between his legs behind his testicles. There it was again, taking Buddy in my mouth, I looked up at him,, but he took my hands and pulled me up.
“Don't do that Linda, it's uncomfortable if I’m empty.”
I rinsed him off, and as he was towelling himself I showered, and wrapping a towel around myself followed him downstairs and sat on a chair watching him get dressed.
“I’ve had a wonderful time with you Michael.”
He kissed me, slung his bag over his shoulder, and left.
I sat there for a few minutes before going upstairs, tidying up the bathroom, throwing wet towels in the wash basket, and the torn dress in the rubbish bin.
The next morning my vagina felt quite sore. With one foot on the edge of the bath, my makeup mirror and my garden torch, I could see I was red inside, then I noticed four small bruises on the back of my right thigh from his fingers where he had gripped me.
He had left his mark on me.
Obviously ‘hard and fast’ , like anal, would have to be an occasional pleasure.