Legacy: William's Story
By YodaandLumiere
1748
My family had lived in the north for generations beyond memory. We had as many Scots in our family as English, living so close to the border. We lived in a tiny village known as Silverton. It was near the springs of Gilsland, on the border. I spent many nights of my youth, camped next to Hadrian's wall.
I had spent most summers helping old Mr. Turnbull with his sheep and crops on the Scottish side of the wall. I grew up alongside his children. His daughter Liza was my age. Matthew was next, he was a handful of years younger than us. And then there were two younger sisters, Margaret and Frances.
Farmer Turnbull, Matthew and myself worked well together and I enjoyed the labor.
I was eighteen that summer and restless. More restless than ever before. I wanted everything a young man wanted. I craved adventure, independence, companionship. I was ready to find my destiny. My mother and grandmother lived in the village. They both called me a dreamer. And maybe I was. What's the harm in dreaming?
My dreams stretched beyond the borderlands of my youth. I imagined myself in London or even further south in Cornwall, on the far southern coast. I had even bigger dreams of heading across the seas to the colonies and starting my own life, anew, in a new place. I always felt restless.
I had confided in my cousin Thomas, that I was restless and craving adventure. He informed me that that meant it was time to marry and settle down. He was sure a wife and family would knock that craziness out of my mind. I needed to support my mother and grandmother. It was time to be practical.
I asked Liza to marry me. We had not courted. We were not interested in each other, really. But young women and men were not in abundance, so many people around here married someone of a similar age and in close proximity. Liza accepted my proposal. That winter, during the holiday festivities, we were wed. I was nineteen and she was eighteen.
At nineteen, I was just over six feet tall, broad shouldered, muscular and lean from hard work. I had dark hair and dark eyes. I looked like many of the Medford men in my family had. Most of my father's side of the family was gone now. Almost all my surviving relatives were Reeds, my mother's side of the family.
Liza was fair, with light red hair and blue eyes. She was a beauty, to be sure. She was a strong girl, both of body and of will. She would make an ideal wife and mother. I really should have counted myself lucky. But unlike what my cousin Thomas Reed had said, I now felt more trapped than ever.
And so it was, I, William Medford, took Liza Turnbull to be my lawfully wedded wife just as 1748 ended and the new year began.
Liza and I were friends. We never were in love. It took a full year for us to become with child. Liza was worried that everyone would blame her for being infertile. But truthfully, we nearly never laid together, as man and wife. I was to blame for our lack of children.
I was relieved when she finally fell pregnant. I had nearly a year ahead of me where I wouldn't need to lay with her again.
During those months of her pregnancy, I was spending time away, hunting, fishing, trading. Anything really, to stay away. I had met a landed Lord in my travels to trade in the bigger, distant villages along the border. He had taken an immediate liking to me. It made me nervous and oddly aroused.
I had seen my cousin Thomas getting his cock sucked by his wife's mother, behind the barn one day. I watched. The nature of the encounter had made me excited. But more than anything, I found myself watching Thomas. The way his body moved. The look of pleasure on his face. His cock was smaller than mine, but I wished it was me on my knees in front of him instead of his mother-in-the-law. This memory flashed into my mind when I met the Lord.
His name was Eric, he looked like a Viking, much like his ancestors had been. He was larger than me, very fair of hair and eyes. His skin was tan from spending all his time working outside. He was in his mid 30's. He was married and had seven children. But that night, he wanted me in his bed. I was terrified at first, at the thought. But that memory of Thomas's cock entered my mind, unbidden, and my body reacted and betrayed my innermost thoughts and desires.
Eric took me to his bed and when I resisted, out of fear, not lack of desire, he forced me. It was incredible. I enjoyed every part of it, even the fear and the forceful submission. I had sucked his large, pale cock, as it jutted from the curly red gold hair that covered his chest and crotch. He would force my face down into that hair with his shaft down my throat. I gagged and he would just push harder.
I thought about our encounter constantly, for weeks. I would pleasure myself while thinking about Eric, behind my house every night while my pregnant wife slept inside. She was close to giving birth, otherwise I would have traveled to see Eric again. My whole body throbbed with want for him.
The last few weeks of her pregnancy, Liza was very ill. She couldn't keep her meals down. She would have a fever on and off. The doctor had no answers other than advanced pregnancy. I prayed she would feel better soon as the birth became imminent in the evening after her worst fever yet. She labored for close to 30 hours. She was so weak before it started, I was in awe that she had survived the ordeal thus far.
It was afternoon when the baby finally came. It was a boy. He was born deceased. Liza became a ghost of herself and stayed abed for several months. The doctor thought the illness must have been caused by our son's death. She must have carried his dead body for several weeks before she delivered him. The doctor was surprised Liza had survived, too.
Liza's body had survived, but she had not. She had lasting effects from the fevers and her mind was broken, beyond repair by the sorrow.
We never attempted another pregnancy. We never shared a bed again. I had been back to see Eric several times as another year went by. The times with him were what I lived for. I didn't care deeply for Eric, I just needed him. I needed him to use me, to order me to my knees. I would feel complete joy in those moments.
When he first bent me over in his chamber and forced his manhood inside me, I tried to pull away and he wouldn't let me. He overpowered me and forced himself inside, deeply, repeatedly. It burned, it hurt and I loved it. The harder he used me and abused me, the more I wanted. I wanted this everyday. I wept as I made my way back to Silverton after that visit.
A few months later, Liza went to visit her parents at the Turnbull farm. After two days at her childhood home, she wandered off in the night while her parents and sisters slept. In the morning, her father found her drowned in the creek almost a mile from the house. No one knew if she had fallen and hit her head, sleepwalked or drowned herself purposefully.
It was late in 1752, I was 23 now. I was a widower and the father of a son who had never taken a living breath. I had been having sexual relations with a married man and I was deeply unhappy. I went through my daily chores like a shadow. I visited my mother and my grandmother. I had the same conversations. I would go to the tavern with Thomas, but most nights, I would cry in my bed.
I never wanted Liza, but I felt guilt over her death. I missed her in my home. She had been my closest friend. I hated this house more everyday. I felt trapped. That dream I'd had about heading south or across the ocean, became my obsession. When I became incapable of visiting my family, Thomas finally shook me back to my senses.
He told me I needed to go south. I should look for work. He would take care of my mother and our grandmother. He wanted me to go before I ended up in a creek, like Liza had. He was right and I agreed. In the spring of 1753 I left my mother and grandmother in his capable hands and with many tears I started to make my way south.
I made it to Sheffield. I needed coin, so I looked for work. There was a great deal of expansion going on in certain parts of the city, so I found work in building. Several of the men I worked alongside were also here just to work. We bunked together in a large canvas tent that summer and into the autumn.
One young man, by the name of Anthony, wanted to pleasure me. He made no secret about it when we were alone. I would let him suck my cock. I didn't even want to suck his. He was too passive. Too submissive.
That winter I worked for a farmer and I helped him slaughter his cattle and run his butchery until the spring. I could have stayed and worked for him. He paid well and the work was honest and plentiful, but coming home, covered in blood every night isn't what I'd dreamt about. So I gathered my savings and my belongings and I headed south again in the spring of 1754.
My next stop was in Leicester. I had twisted my knee right before I had arrived, so I decided to stay here for a while instead of traveling further for now. I got work at the stables of a large inn. I kept to myself mostly, as the people around me changed quickly and often. I felt like a stranger here. I couldn't warm up to people that quickly.
The one thing about this new solitary life that
I found improved compared to before, was men, passing through the inn, were often looking for something different for the night. I took my fill of their darkest desires.
I found ways to approach the interested men, that clearly showed my sexual submissiveness. Most men felt better about using a man if they could be the conqueror. They would willing use a man, where they wouldn't willingly be used by a man. That worked to my advantage as I wanted to be used. Always.
