"Elizabeth, are you quite alright? You seem...unwell." Edward's voice broke what had been a long, awkward silence, in which I had pointedly avoided eye contact with him while I attempted to gain some semblance of composure. I found his tone a little patronizing, giving that he had to have known that I was uncomfortable; he was the reason for my unease. This was the first time I had ever been alone with a man who was not a relative.
I quirked up an eyebrow as Edward Clayton Rochester III sent our chaperones away with a wave of his hand. I was now alone with my fiance, a man who I had met only a handful of times. I had naively agreed to let Edward provide the chaperones instead of bringing my own. It had never crossed my mind that Edward would attempt to get us alone. Even my mother, with her exaggerated sense of propriety, gave her approval to the meeting.
"Mr. Rochester, you know we aren't supposed to be alone until the wedding night. Why then have you sent away our chaperones? I hope you don't presume to think I will be giving you any sort of preview of our wedding night?" I said this with a confidence that I did not really feel, and tried to keep my head held high. Unfortunately, I had the feeling that he could see past my bravado. Did he know that my legs were wobbling under my silk gown? that my heart was beating at what felt like a hundred beats per minute?
As far as I knew, Edward C. Rochester III was a good, fair and honest man... but I didn't really know him all that well, now did I? My parents had introduced me to Edward and his parents, in a scheduled meeting set up to offer me to him in a contractual marriage, and he had accepted my parents offer so after, much to my surprise. He had been pleasant; I had had a nice conversation with him under the watchful eye of our parents; however, I had been quite positive there was no chance he would marry someone so far below his station and with so little family wealth or prestige.
My parents were thrilled. They had bred me from birth to always behave as though I was above my actual station in life, all in the hopes of me making a wealthy match. The birth rate of women had been at a record low on the entire planet of Terrencia for over 100 years, so having a female child almost guaranteed that her parents would be able gain at least a little social status.
Being attractive worked in my favor, according to my mother. Personally, I didn't understand her obsession with beauty and fashion, and being "attractive" had done nothing positive for me; In fact, it seemed to seal my fate and remove any free will I might have had, miniscule though it would have been.By law, a woman did not belong to herself. In the panic that arose when the world realized how just how much the female birth rate had plummeted and infertility had skyrocketed, laws were passed that were meant to protect women and promote procreation. The very legislation that was meant to secure the safety of women had become the charter of their enslavement.
Had I not been quite so "attractive," I would not have likely wed a man above my station and thus, I would not have had to endure being molded into the "perfect young lady" by my parents, my mother in particular, my entire life.
I had to be what a husband would want. This was drilled into me over and over since I was a child. As a female in the lower middle class whose family was actively seeking an elevation in status through my union with someone above my station, I had to be attractive to prospective husbands, and not just physically.
I needed to be academic and intelligent so that my future husband would be able to have conversation with me if he so wished; I needed to know how to hide that intelligence in case my husband did not wish a learned wife. I needed to learn household duties and how to manage a household staff so that I could run a home, if my husband so wished; I should have other menial hobbies in case he desired that the household responsibilities to go to a housekeeper. I had to work hard to keep up a good figure (this was a sore subject for my mother; she always considered it as something she failed at) and always maintain my appearance, cleanliness, fashionable and modest attire, cosmetics and be on top of trends so that my husband would be attracted to me... and so he could have sex whenever he so wished. I needed to know how to shape my appearance to match his preferences.
I was to be a genie, except I didn't stop granting wishes after the third; no, I would be fulfilling his every wish until "Death do us part. " My very existence was to be a stranger's every wish. I had to be adaptable like clay so that I could be easily molded into whatever my future husband considered to be his perfect wife; so I could fulfil his every wish.
My marrying Mr. Rochester would elevate my family's status to one of the highest levels attainable in Terrencia. Men with Mr. Rochester's wealth and power could pretty much choose any woman they wanted, regardless of the limited supply of eligible women. He had first pick of all the well bred and wealthy women in the country, and the surrounding countries... in fact, many people in our soon-to-be-quit sphere of society had laughed when my parents announced they were setting up a prospective union meeting with the infamous Rochester's of the Rochester Estate, in Rochester county with me and Mr. Rochester.
I had no dowry, and while I was pretty I was by no means the prettiest. The feature that usually drew the most attention was my hair - it was an almost white blonde, thick and had a natural wave to it that most women paid a lot of money to fabricate. I also had dark blue eyes that almost looked purple at times. Blonde was not completely uncommon in our country, but usually it was a dark blonde; my white blonde was unique. My mother used to go back and forth between lamenting my hair as a way for me to stand out among other young women in my position, and worry that it would make me stand out too much; what if an eligible bachelor didn't want a wife out outshine him, or to stand out enough to draw attention from other men?
I had an athletic build, but despite how many workout routines my mother put me through, I always had a little extra in the hips and breasts. Stick thin and tight was what most men wanted... or so I was told by my mother practically every single day. Paper thin was the current vogue, and staying on top of popular trends, even if it drained all of one's income and left one ill, should always be one's top priority.
I found my mind fluttering furiously from one topic to the next. Thinking of our upcoming wedding night and being in the room alone with Mr. Rochester had my mind wandering to dark corners that rarely saw light... intercourse. Naturally my mother had made sure to inform me of what was expected in the marriage bed.
I will never forget my mother's version of the sex talk... from the way she spoke of it, sex was a duty that a woman must endure for procreation and the pleasure of her husband. Pleasure was for the man. Women feeling pleasure was shameful and sinful, even in marriage. To deny one's husband access to her body at anytime was not heard of.
I could never rebel against my parents in person; my protests were always performed in solitude. There were little things that I would do, things I knew would never have been allowed, just to make myself feel as though I had some control. It was bittersweet, because I wanted so badly to openly defy my mother on something- anything! ...but it wasn't worth the consequences and I had no desire to shame my father.
So my secret acts of defiance were acted upon when I had time to myself in bed at night, which was the only time I had any sort of freedom; freedom to imagine the worldly "vices" my mother so often preached on and on about and to explore my libidinous thoughts and fantasies. I still remember very clearly the night after my mother had given me her patriarchal views on intercourse between and husband and wife.
I was laying in bed, rolling her words around in my head over and over. I found that when I started to try to imagine what it would be like to be with a man, I felt a pleasant, warm tingling sensation between my legs. I found feel my nipples pebble despite the warmth in the room. I realized that I was feeling arousal, and instead of getting on my knees to pray, I embraced it. I remember the experience vividly:
Closing my eyes, I sought out all the thoughts of sexual "deviancy" that I had always tried to push or pray away when they entered my thoughts at night or the rare occasion that I was alone during the day No more fighting it, I decided. I would not simply be a vessel for a man's pleasure. So I let the fantasy consume me.
I thought of the handsome young man, a few years older than I, who always sat across from me at church. The way he looked me up and down when he thought I wasn't looking... I had always known his thoughts, and had been thrilled by the idea that he fantasized about me while in church. So many times I prayed for forgiveness for such thoughts... no more. He was attractive and I wanted him to touch me..
I imagined him sneaking into my window and coming to my bed. He would undress me, and tell me how much better he liked my curves than the hard, shapeless bodies of all the other young women he knew. I imagined him kissing me and groping my breasts, and then sliding his hand down my stomach to slowly reach that place between my legs.
At this point in the fantasy, my whole body felt alive... my nipples tingled and I felt a throbbing, aching need in my womanhood, inside and out. I could feel my panties grow wet and my core became slick. As I continued with my fantasy, I pretended my hand was his... and I used it to follow along with the fantasy... so I slid my hand down my stomach, past my navel and into my panties... when I reached my destination at gasped at the shock of how good it felt. It was indescribable! Pleasure beyond any I had ever known!
I imagined that he would marvel at the wetness that was waiting for him there. He'd began to rub my bud in circles, because my hand was quickly discovering that that little bud at the apex of my thighs was a source of delectable gratification. I imagined that he would ask me if I liked it. I'd tell him I did... I liked it so much. He would begin to make the circles around my bud faster; the pleasure was getting stronger and more intense. I felt as though I was reaching for something, though I wasn't quite sure what. It was frustrating and spectacular at the same time.
Suddenly, I felt the rising waters force the dam break, it was an explosion of immense pleasure and satisfaction... I felt as though my whole world had been black and white and suddenly, now it had color. I came, gasping and thrusting my hips instinctively into my hand. The orgasm was hard and long and it sent waves of bliss that shot through my entire body... it left me sensitive and further contact made me shudder at the overwhelming sensation. I pulled my hand out from inside my panties and cupped myself from the outside of them. I needed a barrier between my hand and my center while still encouraging the amazing aftershocks. I fought the urge to feel ashamed or to pray for forgiveness. I fell asleep with my hand still cupping myself. I fell asleep that way.
