(It was 1885 and, as a nineteen year old boy, I was staying with family friends at their large house in the English Midlands. I was there to learn French conversation under the tutelage of Miss. Marie; the family had two 18 year old twins, Anna and Sarah who were also learning French with me, this is part six of my tale)
Another storm seemed to be brewing. Evidently two weather fronts were crossing the county in close procession. Sarah washed off my emissions using tepid water from her washstand bowl and a face flannel. Outside it was becoming gloomy again although it was only 6 o'clock in the afternoon. Anna assisted her sister in sponging off my semen from her hair, face and dress and I observed the scene with relish, in a self-satisfied and somewhat smug manner.
I thought about my long, restricted boarding school days and the many times I had masturbated at night, alone in my study bedroom. I imagined women, many women, any women, and all women. My thoughts used to dwell on the headmaster's daughter, Rowena.
She was of a thin fragile creature with mouse coloured tousled hair. For a small woman, turned twenty, she had disproportionate high opinions and imagined herself to enjoy the same power and privileges as her father, Dr. Octavius Armstrong M.A. (Cantab).
Many were the times she admonished boys for running in school or talking loudly. Her curt screech could be heard echoing along the corridors or across the quadrangle.
"Mr. Shaw, a little less haste please." were often her words addressed to me to slow down my progress along the passageways.
Many times in my dreams I would be riding Miss Rowena Armstrong, pushing myself onwards towards violent orgasm. She would be writhing pleasingly beneath me in her petticoats, screaming into my ears "Mr. Shaw a little less haste please. Please Mr.Shaw a little less haste, Please Mr. Shaw" as I forcefully emptied myself into the thick bedsheets.
From the girls' bedroom window the rain appeared as a solid veil attacking the valley. In the distance thunder rumbled and lightning flashes illuminated hillsides, woodlands and the Old Priory. I was aware that Sarah and Anna were becoming noticeably ill at ease. The thunderclouds again had darkened the sky so it was almost pitch black. A massive thunderclap reverberated throughout the house and was succeeded by more lightning.
Continuous high winds murmured across the house like banshees, creating ghostly moans from unexpected corners. The girls ordered each other not to be silly and stared around them hysterically. It reminded me of a Horace Walpole novel.
I returned to my room and from the staircase below heard an insistent but faint thudding. Downstairs I followed the sound from the hallway into the vestibule where it became a loud metallic knock against the heavy outer oak doors. I pulled the huge doors open and there before me was a windswept, wild-eyed Benjamin, the gardener's son. His coat, mackintosh cape and cap were drenched.
"Thank goodness you heard me sir," he yelled,"Bridge Lane is flooded and part of the bridge has been washed away. My father's had word from Cook and she says it's impossible for her and Miss. Marie to get back here tonight. He says that they'll both be staying at the village inn until tomorrow." He shouted above the storm.
I invited him in to dry himself, and offered Benjamin some of my clothes because we were of similar stature, but he insisted on returning to the gardener's cottage on Hall Lane. Off he went, weaving, striding and jumping over puddles in his large boots.
Slamming the doors shut and bolting them, the old house became quiet except for the spectral groaning from roof timbers and fireplaces. Having lit an oil lamp I collected food from the larder, including an opened bottle of wine. I took these up to the girls' room where I found the two beautiful eighteen year olds again clinging to each other on the bed. I set up the oil lamp on a table and lit several candles. The room began to look cheery and welcoming. Much against their pleadings I returned to the kitchen and collected various other items including glass tumblers, plates, apples, water, matches and additional candles.
On my return the girls were sitting on their large double bed, no longer frightened but obviously still very troubled.
"Cheer up you two; anyone would think you had just experienced another thunderstorm," said I, in a light-hearted off-hand way as thunder rumbled, this time having retreated from the immediate area and heading further east.
I poured Anna, Sarah and I a glass of red wine while we tucked into the food. We made a friendly looking tableau. There was me sitting on the carpet leaning against the foot of the bed, wearing a pair of baggy Indian, Bengal-striped cotton underpants. Sarah sat on the bedroom chair with her cold meats and bread.
Anna sat near the fire which I had previously lit, warming herself drinking wine and eating sausages, cheese and an apple. I felt pleasantly relaxed. The storm appeared to pass and I explained the problem with the bridge and mentioned Cook and Miss. Marie not being able to return until the morning. The girls looked distraught.
They made me swear that I would not leave them alone, on their own, and that I would remain in their room with them the whole night.
I willingly agreed as I intimated to them that I felt duty bound to 'protect them and their reputation' from any wretch who dared to forcibly enter the house and threaten them physically or to plunder their virginity. There was a look of trust and confidence as I vowed to be their protector.
I smiled inwardly as I thought about what we could do to each other until dawn. I was very much aware that whatever happened between us I could not permit myself to 'deflower' these healthy young sisters, as I would be ostracised by polite society, disinherited by my parents and hunted down.
I carried the girl's full chamber pots to the chambermaids store cupboard and collected two clean ones, and some flannel face cloths.
Once back in their bedroom Anna locked the door and the three of us prepared for a long night.
I sat on the carpet leaning back against the foot of the bed, my second glass of wine in hand. Anna sat next to me, our bodies and knees touching. Sarah sat on the bedroom chair brushing her hair. Her knees were apart and her skirt and petticoat layers draped in a big arc between her legs. She looked delicious.
