Moving Finger

I was 22 when I discovered I wanted to make love with women, as much as, or even more than, I wanted to make love with men. This was in the 1970s, while the second, or third, feminist movement was under way, and there was an element of the political about my attitudes in regard to actual sex. I was wary of men in all contexts, not least the sexual, because of their sense of entitlement. Conceal it as they would, they seemed to regard me, all women, as provided in the world for their sexual enjoyment, to which they had the right of access any time they wanted. Anyway, how I found that I was at least bi-sexual happened without my actually being physically initiated fully into lesbianism, as you will see.

I was in my first teaching post, in a girls' grammar school, and one of my science colleagues badly injured her hands tackling an accident in her laboratory and needed several operations. Hence, she was in hospital. She had been friendly and supportive, as an older and senior staff member. I also admired her greatly for her forthright, no-nonsense manner and outspokenness. She carried this to the point of mocking euphemisms and all over-refined language, often by using with a sarcastic tone. I will call her Pamela.

When I went to visit her, I found she was managing, with her bandaged hands, to read a novel, though turning the pages took time. She could drink, but handling a knife and fork was impossible, so either someone had to feed her or she subsisted on sandwiches. She was glad to see me, and I suspected that this was partly because she wanted me to help her in some way.

She announced the service she wanted from me after some conversation about school. 'Auntie is shortly coming to visit,' she said with an ironic intonation. For a moment, I thought she was expecting her aunt to come to the hospital. Then I realised she was using the circumlocution used by some of the girls for their periods. She laughed when she noticed it had taken a moment for me to understand, and continued, 'Obviously I can't manage the necessary, and I don't want to bleed all over the sheet. Sister wouldn't like that. I asked the young nurse, but she doesn't use tampons, and said she couldn't help. I'm sure sister could do it, but I daren't ask her. So, will you oblige? There's a box in the cupboard.'

This was a reasonable request, one woman helping another with an intimate female situation, and I was striving not to let my slight shock show. But she noticed the hesitation and said, 'Don't say you don't use them, either? Or are you squeamish about approaching someone else's tuppence?' She used one of the many comical evasions of the word 'vagina.'

I was determined to carry this off with casual grace and said, 'Oh, I am a tampon girl, and I wouldn't be squeamish if you had a sixpence.'

'Draw the curtain, then,' she said. 'No need to show the whole ward. Well, the male visitors might be interested.'

'Oh, sister wouldn't like that,' I said, whisking the curtains round the bed before seeking the box in the cupboard.

Pamela pushed back the covers and pulled up her nightdress. This was the first time any woman had ever bared her pussy to me. I tried not to stare, and busied myself with the tampon. But I was, to my surprise, finding the sight rather touching, even exciting. Her untrimmed pubic hair was dark, in tight curls, and her vulva was slightly open, showing a thin pink line.

'Don't worry,' she said, 'It won't bite.'

She drew up and opened her legs. 'Missionary position,' she said, 'Though I've never had a missionary in there. Mind you, some blokes treat it as a religion. Point is, if a bloke can get in to worship, one of those should go in, at the same angle.'

Holding the tampon between fingers and thumb at what I hoped was the right angle I aimed its rounded end at her vulva. 'Might help if I lift my bum,' she said, 'And you could open it up with the other hand.'

So, if I had thought I would complete the insertion without touching her, I was now doing something I had never dreamed of doing, putting my thumb on one side of another woman's labia and my fingers on the others and moving them apart to draw those crinkly curtains. Then, emboldened by this manoeuvre I inserted the tampon tip, gave it a little twist to settle it in, and triumphantly pushed it all the way in.

'Good work,' Pamela said. 'Probably a bit whiffy, as washing's not been easy lately. The young nurse is a bit hesitant about bathing the puss.'

There was, indeed, a vaginal scent, similar to my own, of course, but, as they all are, I was to learn, a little different. And I realised that I liked it, that it was even exciting.

I withdrew my hands, drew down the nightdress and pulled up the covers, to find she was looking at me intently. 'You could do something else for me while you're there,' she said.

What more could I do? Did she mean I should wash her? Well, I could do that. But she was smiling meaningfully, lips a little apart and running her tongue along them. She said, 'Obviously my fingers aren't capable, but yours are handy. I'm always extra randy when it's the time of the month [said with a grin] and if I don't get off I'll go crazy.'

Was she really asking me to -? Any doubts were dispelled when she said, 'Keep the curtains round, but we'd better not disturb the bedclothes too much. You could send your hand in. You won't need a map. The man in the boat is waiting, ready to rock and row.'

This was, I guessed, a clitoris idiom. This uninhibited woman really did expect me to - did I think 'masturbate' to myself at the time? If not, what did I think? Probably I didn't bother to think about vocabulary. I was wondering whether I could refuse. Did I want to refuse? Would anyone else oblige? Why was she asking me particularly? Was it because she knew I had what the girls called 'a crush' on her? Well, I didn't want to refuse, it seemed, because I wanted to do it, never mind if anyone else would do it, because I did have a crush on her and would do anything she wanted.

Perhaps I should describe her a little. She was very tall and slim, with a pale complexion and long, chestnut hair, normally gathered into a French pleat the back of her head but now spread loosely across the pillow. She wore tortoiseshell spectacles, which didn't hide her clear blue eyes, and the broad smile on her thin lips showed up the crow's feet at their corners. At first sight, she looked like the stereotypical schoolmarm, but to me she was beautiful, and I was ready to do anything she asked.

'You do know what to do, don't you?' she asked. 'You do it for yourself, don't you?

No-one had ever asked me that before and I was, for a moment, embarrassed, but then nodded, before she said, 'Nothing to be ashamed of. It's better if someone else does it, but if there isn't anyone you have to help yourself. I do, once or twice a day usually.'

I slid my hand under the top sheet and blanket and quickly found a smooth thigh. As my hand travelled onwards over it she tensed and gave a little grunt. 'Over the hill and down into the forest,' she said. 'Not too long a trek, and it's quite a big target. Ah, you've arrived. First one you've felt other than your own, I suspect.'

Of course, I had no idea of the size of anyone else's clitoris. I had seen other women naked a few times, but they were not inviting me to touch their erections. This one was probably larger than mine, I thought. Forty years of further investigation confirms that hers was at the larger end of the spectrum

As my forefinger rested beneath the downward pointing tip, I realised I was becoming more and more excited, partly because I was responding to her excitement. This had turned from a sort of medical intervention into something warmly intimate, inducing a deeply emotional response. She at once understood, for her voice softened as she said, 'It's a labour of love now, isn't it? Just leave your finger there a moment. Take off my specs and kiss me.'

That was my first woman-kiss. It began with lips just touching and progressed through licking and nibbling of lips into all-out striving and sucking of tongues. During which, without conscious intention, my finger came to life and began gently to rub alongside her little fleshy ridge, and she began to push her bottom back and forth on the lower sheet.

As our lips separated at last, she said, 'Twang it harder. Go faster. That's right! It's had so much bashing it has to be roughed up a bit. Get your thumb the other side. Yes. Pincers. Toss it off like a man's. That's the way. It's going to go. On the way. Press hard. That's it!'

As she writhed and wriggled, uttering little squeaks of pleasure, I almost came myself, though what I experienced was more an emotional climax than a purely sexual one. Then, as her orgasm faded I clamped my lips on hers again. We both shed a few tears.

'Don't move your hand,' she said quietly. 'I can go again in a minute, if you're not in a hurry.'

'No hurry,' I said. 'I'd love to do that again. It was wonderful.'

'Sorry I can't do the same for you. I will, given half a chance, when I've got my hands back, if you'd like that. Of course, I could use my tongue, but you'd need to sit on my chest, and -'

'Sister wouldn't like that.'

We laughed and kissed again, and then I said, 'What would you have done if I hadn't turned up? Would someone else oblige?'

'Well, Janet's due to drop by. She might be willing, since she's saphisticated.'

This was a nice coinage, tipping me off that our physical education colleague was lesbian, and emboldening me to ask, 'Are you and she -' Should I say 'lovers.'

'Heavens no! I'm not her type at all. She likes 'em busty and bottomy, like sister.'

'But she'd probably -?'

'Probably keener on getting the bloomers off sister.'

'Sister would like that,' I said.

'So long as she put 'em back on afterwards.'

We laughed and kissed again and the kissing intensified, and my finger began to move again, and she said after a while, 'It's usually better the second time. I can feel it will be. You're good at this, you know. You wait till I'm out of here and we can do each other.'

'That will be marvellous,' I said, realising that in the space of forty minutes or so I had learned something profound about myself. I wanted to make love with a woman. With this woman, anyway.

'Keep going, honey-bum,' she said, 'Mash it a bit. Oh, it's coming. Kiss me!'

And for the first time in my life my tongue swirled round a woman's mouth as she shook and gasped in orgasm.

'Thank you, dear colleague,' she said. 'You didn't realise when you came to teach here that you'd be working quite so closely with your fellow teachers, did you? Well, not all of them. Just me, I hope, though Janet may get after you. You've got enough bosom and bottom.'

'Too hairy for me,' I said. 'I think I like my lovers to be smooth.'

'That's me all right, then. Smooth, except in the pussy department, as you now know.'

I opened the curtains and we talked on about nothing very much and were contented with each other. But visiting time ended and I got up to go, when she said, 'You might be a bit gushy in the gusset. Turn round and let me see. No, you're all right.'

As I left the ward, sister came out of her office and stopped me. She said, 'Without her hands, your friend is having some problems with her personal hygiene. Nurse Stephens can give her blanket baths, of course, but I think there's something I need to do, which would enable me to teach Nurse Stephens a little more about the needs of her patients.'

'That would be very kind,' I said.

'But there may be other personal needs which only a friend can help with, and I'll leave those to you.' And she gave me a knowing smile.

Pamela was as good as her word, and took my second virginity. But that will have to be another story.