Don't Judge Me

"You're teasing me", I pouted playfully, not wanting my objection to be taken as a discouragement, as I gingerly sat back down.

Miss Havisham, with mock sternness, responded, "You scarcely require any encouragement, young lady. You're a scandalous little thing."

Fuck. That hit the tuning fork of my arousal like a gong. I didn't know how much more I could play this game. She wins every time. I wouldn't have it any other way, but a girl has to breathe once in a while.

Chastened, and admitting defeat, I sat back around to face my partially eaten meal, but I wasn't really hungry, I was awkwardly horny. I allowed Miss Havisham to see that I had capitulated, surrendered, acknowledged her win. She had bested me. It made me warm to surrender to her.

She chuckled, "My dear, these little games are amusing enough, but if you recall, there are important matters at hand. There are skills you must acquire. Now, what did you learn from Angelo?"

I shoved my arousal downwards and attempted to regain some control of my faculties. I sighed deeply. "Ah, well. Ok, so I could see that he was enjoying himself."

"Hmm," she responded, encouraging me to continue.

"I mean, he was turned on for real, but he was in control of it," I hadn't really thought about it at the time, but I was processing in real time what I had witnessed earlier. "In fact, he was throttling it, feeding it or cutting it back, depending what he wanted to achieve".

I had her attention. "How so?" she genuinely inquired, taking her wine glass in hand.

"Well he had all these images flashing across his mind. At first I thought they were just randomly occurring, but I'm sure he was generating them, and using them to control his... urgency?" I spoke on as the thought was forming in my mind.

"So...", she paused, wine glass mere millimeters from her lips. "You could see these images? What were they?"

"Oh, you know, like snapshots of womens' bodies. Not like a whole woman at a time, but bits. Like breasts, or legs, or bottoms, even eyes, lips, and everything. It wasn't creepy. It was like a celebration of the beauty of the female form, if anything. Do you see?" I finally looked across at her.

She was rooted in place, glass perilously close to her lips, with a stunned look on her face. She was staring at me. I wasn't sure what to do, so I went on. "Some of them were imagined, but some were memories. There were memories of specific... err... female bits, if you see what I mean, that he has, um... enjoyed... ah, with his mouth... in the past".

The wine glass ever so slowly retraced its path, untasted, back towards its spot on the table. Miss Havisham's customary blankness was wavering. I could see hints, shadows, of swirling questions, concerns, and fears, but I couldn't see any detail. It was only there for a moment, before her shielding regained full strength and I was excluded from it.

"Miss Havisham?" I was genuinely concerned. "Are you alright?"

Locking me in her gaze, and looking straight through me with her Sight in an invasive, uncomfortable way, which she had not ever done before, she demanded, "Did you see faces? Did he reveal any faces? Or places?"

For a moment she was frightening. The room seemed to darken, and her visage seemed illuminated in terrible relief. She was irresistible. Her voice shook at my foundations, her eyes saw all of my naked little soul, but took no pleasure there. She was seeking, hunting, interrogating, demanding.

"No, no faces," I suddenly wept. I was frightened. I didn't know what was happening. "Please. You're hurting me."

Immediately, it was over. The room returned to its normal appearance, as did Miss Havisham's face, except that she now wore an expression of pain, grief, and apology. "Oh, my precious dear. Oh, I have treated you terribly. I'm so sorry. I should never... I didn't intend..." She placed her hands over her mouth in shock. A tear formed in her eye. "There's no excuse for this. I've failed you. My poor child. I am to raise you into the Sight? I cannot even maintain may own faculties!. How did this fall to me? I am so weak." She muttered, started staring into middle distance, "and the time is short."

I now had absolutely no idea what was happening. I sobbed my crying to a halt, wiping my cheeks clear of the trail of telltale tears. No longer frightened by her, but now troubled by her mysterious comments, I tried to reassure her, "It's ok, Miss. I'm sorry if I said something wrong. I'm ok now. It's fine." I sniffled.

"It's not fine," she pronounced with stern finality. She turned tenderly towards me, "But you're sweet for saying so. I failed you, but I hope I can serve you better from now on."

Her? Serve me? What was happening?

"Come, I think we've had enough lunch. It's time you came to my office. I need to... bring you up to speed." She dabbed her lips with the napkin and stood. I couldn't find my napkin, clearly having dropped it at some point. She didn't care. She started moving towards the door, slowly enough that I might catch up, but without pausing, clearly intending that I not dally about.

I scooched around in my chair in a most ungainly way, being unable to push the heaviness of it backwards, jumped up and scampered around the corner of the table to follow her.

"You might like to bring your shopping, dear." It was comforting that she dropped back into her customary efficient bustle, and her soothingly authoritative tone, as she started striding towards the door. I was still scampering around behind like a puppy with oversized feet, and barely managed to fetch the shopping bag and reach the door before she had proceeded through it and it was swinging shut. "Come along", she chided.

In that moment I forgot all the gloomy remarks she had made, and the invasive interrogation she had inflicted on me without warning. I was just happy to be trailing along in my favorite place in the world, half a pace behind and a little to the right hand side of this most remarkable woman.

I followed her across the entry hall and up the grand staircase, feeling very small amid the enormous high ceilings and oversized banisters. The stairs were generously deep in the bottom third of the staircase, so that I had to take almost a full pace across each one before climbing to the next, whereas Miss Havisham strode confidently up them, one stair to a stride. When we reached the top we turned right to proceed along the balcony. I was able to admire the vast chandelier, if only briefly, as we swept along beside it. I had the sensation of being a doll in a doll house, so beautiful and ornate were the surroundings. Miss Havisham seemed simply to accept them, taking them for granted, and didn't give them a thought. But I was mesmerized by it all.

At the end of the wide hallway, easily as wide as my living room in fact, after passing several doors spaced apart generously as if the rooms behind them must be very large, a single door stood at the opposing wall. Miss Havisham didn't hesitate to admire the ornate wallpaper of the hallway, the large decorative vases with fresh flowers, the ancient-looking braziers, and the over-wide doors with their exquisite detailing. She simply proceeded into the room, and I obediently followed, anticipating what I wondered Miss Havisham's office might be like.

I imagined a wall of dusty books might line one wall, a large wooden desk, perhaps, with an ornate chair, and a soft lamp. Some occasional seating, with over-plump upholstery. That sort of thing.

Much of what I imagined was there, but my word, the view!

Huge, almost floor-to-ceiling windows offered an expansive appreciation of the artistically maintained grounds of the estate. From this vantage point, themes of symmetry and color were apparent in the design of the grounds, which would be more difficult to appreciate from ground level. Drawn to the vast window immediately, I absentmindedly dropped the shopping bag and allowed myself to be hypnotized toward the expansive opening. My heart soared with joy at the colors of the flowers, the effortlessly beautiful meandering of the pathways, seemingly at random, but from this vantage point, clearly choreographed, all lit with the soft yellowing of the afternoon sun. I marveled at the fountains, the hedge rows, the shade trees, all inviting a lazy afternoon of picnicing and rolling in the velvety grass. Even the garden walls were pleasing to the eye, with climbing vines softening their architectural lines and completing the overall picture of an ages-long contented space, which could only remember quiet peace and gentle nourishment.

I felt her behind my shoulder. For the first time, her presence was warm, human, even sensual, rather than her brisk authoritativeness. "Beautiful, isn't it?" She purred, in an unexpectedly personal tone.

I sensed that she had dropped her guard somewhat. That I should speak freely. "It's beautiful", I responded breathlessly, unable to conjure my own adjective, resorting to repeating hers, literally lost, in this wonderful space, for words. "Beautiful".

I felt her breath at my left ear, and her warmth close to my back, "My favorite place in all the world. I've been looking forward to it to showing it to you. I'm so glad you like it."

"It's beautiful", I now sounded like an idiot. I mean, I could have said, "magical", or "lovely", or "breathtaking". Literally anything, but no, I just repeated the same thing. Again! I kept doing this kind of stuff. I felt awkward and small, inexperienced and inadequate, naive and immature.

Then I felt her hand rest on my left shoulder. Then her other on my right waist, as she stood closely behind me. "Beautiful", she repeated, as if to cover over my faux pas. We stood there for a long moment together, admiring, appreciating it. Separate from it, but together with one another, up on the first floor, behind a glass window, but observing its beauty, vicariously enjoying it hypothetically through imagined walks, picnics, and games. We were objectifying it, idealizing it, as we voyeuristicly drew pleasure from watching the bird life, the sunshine, the light breeze, and the curated order of its shapes and patterns. We, together as one, were the watcher of this beautiful, living experience, its admirer.

Presently, I turned to ask whether we might go into the garden again some day, perhaps to picnic this time. But as I turned, I saw with dismay that Miss Havisham had streams of tears running down her flushed cheeks. On one side it the tears had found the side of her mouth, but on the other they dripped from her cheek onto her jacket. Her eye makeup was starting to run. She was gazing, not at the garden, but at me.

"Miss? Are you alright?" I was genuinely concerned.

She sniffed. She produced a handkerchief and began dabbing at her eyes. Sniffing again, she quickly responded, "Oh yes. Yes, my dear. All's well. Oh, my goodness."

I looked at her face. Her shields were down. I saw her there. This magnificent woman. My heroine. I saw it so clearly, and she was allowing me to see: She was lonely.

How could I not have expected this? The whole manor house revolved around her. She had responsibility for everything, and as far as I had seen, no companions. She was dreadfully alone. And she wanted to connect with me. She wanted a friend, a companion. In truth, I also didn't have any really close friends either. Perhaps because of the Sight, and the way it made really close friendships kind of awkward.

Oh! Of course! Miss Havisham had nobody who shared her gift. I recalled our conversation where she had warned about how painful that might be. I had thought of it as a message about me and for me, but, stupid, blind, selfish girl, of course it also meant her!

Trying to overcome my clumsy inexperience, and attempting some measure of control over my gift, I indicated to her, in my own sensual messaging that she was so adept at reading, that I value her, that I admire her, but also that I like her, and I also wanted to become friends. These were all concepts, not sentences. The Sight doesn't work as words, but as ideas. I was projecting these ideas so that she could understand, with precise nuance, what I was feeling.

Now we were both crying. But it was ok. We were becoming friends. We both understood, in our wordless exchange, that we were going to be trusting one another. Growing closer. Befriending.

We hugged. It was warm, and each of us needed it equally. Despite our age difference, and all the worldliness and experience the older woman possessed, ours was a hug between friends. Equals. It lasted over a minute, before we reluctantly released. We each had fresh tears, wide smiles, and sniffles.

"There's one condition," I said as we pulled apart, daring to be so forward, and hoping not to cross a boundary, as I sniffed and snuffled.

"Indeed?" she theatrically raised an eyebrow, willing to enter the game in good humor, dabbing at her face with her handkerchief.

"This doesn't mean you're going to stop teasing me, does it?" I made a cheeky face as I looked up at her now softened, caring and intimate visage.

At that she suddenly laughed freely, which was not like her, but a sound of sheer joy, so I giggled as well. "What an impudent question, you wicked little scamp", she responded, smacking me on my bare bottom, easily accessed under my scandalously short dress, and none too softly! I squealed in delight, skipping forwards in response, my hands redundantly meeting behind my bottom as if to protect it while it tingled and stung.

Bam! There it was. She had sent me into orbit again, just effortlessly plucking my strings. I was awash in excitement that she was so adept at provoking. Don't judge me.