This, a true story, has been gleaned from the private diaries of a lesbian woman living in London in 1932, and they have only recently come to my attention. Julia began to write down her experiences in order to try and come to terms with what she endured. She was then, and very unusually for that time, involved in early investigations into what was then called, ‘crimes of perversion’. The irony was that she would have been herself condemned as ‘perverted’ had anyone know of her own homosexual tendencies, and this was not lost upon her. One reason amongst many others, for why they have remained secret for so long. Now, with the full permission of the surviving members of her family, I can tell her story. I have, necessarily, taken the liberty of expanding on her writings and modernising the terms used to allow the reader a better understanding of her unfolding tale. And, of course, the names are changed. Nevertheless, the essence of the tale is, chillingly, fact.
Julia’s Story.
The sounds held me there, binding me with their noise as if made of rope, holding me transfixed. They were obscenely wet, penetrating, slapping sounds. Other, harsher sounds clashed and mixed together, course grunts, yells, groans and cries. A rising cacophony of confused cries - cries of mercy, cries of delight, cries of hunger and hate – then final cries of orgasm and release.
I found that I was completely unable to turn my head and avert my eyes from the awful spectacle, from the source of these penetrating waves of sound. What made it worse, far worse for me, was the awful knowledge that I was actually enjoying it, enjoying this view and sound of crude and horrible barbarism being played out before me. I fought feebly the erotic and unbidden excitement that leapt deep inside my being, and I wondered again how could this be? How could I be aroused by such a display?
I fought this losing battle against my better sensibility and of my disgust. I really, truly, tried to resist. But, desire, lust, instinct – call it what you will- finally won out; my upbringing and my morals were as dust, the desire to slip my hand down towards the source of my heat, to satisfy and fulfil my body’s treacherous demands was overwhelming. It would not be denied. It could not be denied.
And so, I gave in, I let my hand wander eagerly down to the seat of my excitement, my fingers rapidly tracing the swollen sensitive lips of my pussy through the soft linen of my panties, sending further wild fire into the already overheated interior. My reservations faded as the pleasure increased. I continued to watch the appalling scene, stroking myself, supposedly safe in my hiding place. My breath coming now in short dry gasps; my lips dry, as I bit my tongue with building excitement.
The dreadful viciousness of the base savagery I witnessed was animalistic. Rape performed by men hardly more human than the object of their lust. Though lust is perhaps, in this context, the wrong word. Hate might be better. Punishment another. And it was not a woman who suffered from their attention. It was a man. Though once again, ‘man’ might not be the right word either here. ‘Beast’ would be far more appropriate. And yes, finally, it was. He was ‘The Beast’. That’s what they had called him, accused him. They were taking revenge for what he had done.
He was already a dead man. He knew it. They knew it. They knew his crimes and were now handing out their own special punishment. Tomorrow he would be hung. That would be the end of him. But it was not good enough for him. He had to suffer. Officials simply turned a blind eye. Even, I suspect, actually encouraged it, and really, nobody cared.
And the truly horrible thing, the appalling thing, was that his punishment, what was happening to him, excited me. But I knew that it was not simply what I witnessed, not the acts I watched, that aroused me. No. It was what had been previously revealed to me, what I had been told, and what he had done. You see, it was my job to understand this man, this predator, this… this beast. And now, it was finally the turn of the predator as victim. And that merely added to the mix of my already confused emotions.
My fluttering fingers worked silently upon my cleft, provoked the climax I desired. It swept over me, and I shuddered, but it was not enough. Not nearly enough. But it did release me from my trance, enough for me to escape the vision of violence and sex.
The sounds faded behind me as I turned and almost ran from my secret room where I had watched with a combination of disgust and lust. But still the sounds lingered inside my head, and they would never leave. It would be a long night for the beast, but at least he would have his release with the hangman tomorrow. I had to live with his knowledge, and with what he did, inside of me for much, much longer. And more importantly, with the disconcerting self-knowledge that it had revealed of myself.
The corridors were dark and gloomy as I negotiated my way out of the foreboding prison. I felt claustrophobic, trapped, almost like a prisoner myself. My mind was elsewhere, my body on automatic. I looked around me, trying to orient myself. My eye’s took in my surroundings as though for the first time. Then the realisation hit me. I was lost.
I stopped, rooted now to the spot. Confused, I tried to recognise where I was. I could feel a sick, rising panic form within me. Everything seemed odd, unreal, inside the half-light of this old, and now deserted prison.
As the noise of my footsteps echoed down the corridors and faded, my senses, on high alert, spotted a new sound. My heart jumped. Someone else was here! The distinct and unmistakable sound of a heavy boot, scrapping on concrete made my skin crawl. I listened, straining to hear more, but a dead silence followed, but for the noise of my heart pounding in my head.
I swallowed, my throat suddenly dry. Fear took hold of me. I had to get out, get away from this evil place. I turned and began walking, my steps clattering on the stone of the floor. I turned into another long and empty corridor, lined with the closed sockets of dark heavy doors, all of them bolted against me, all that is, except for one.
Something made me glance inside this one dark room as I passed, and I paused, peering inside. It was a mistake. I should have walked on, I knew it then, I know it now. But I paused.
Something inside moved, I drew back instantly as if scalded, but not fast enough, as an arm snaked out from within the gloomy darkness, taking my arm in a vice like grip, and pulled me inside.
I felt myself twisted around as another strong arm clamped itself over my mouth, stifling the emerging scream that was fighting to escape my lips. I was dragged into the darkness like a doll, unable to resist.
The hand remained clamped itself hard over my mouth, I was now struggling to breath as I felt the other hand release my arm and wrap itself around my waist. I was lifted off my feet and taken further into the dark room. I could feel hot breath against my neck as the hand held me hard against my assailant.
“Shhh…don’t scream Julia..” The sound startled me, hissed into my ear. A woman’s voice! The shock of that immediately made me stop struggling.
“That’s better…good, very good.” The woman’s voice murmured softly into my ear, trying to sooth me. It was a dark and husky voice, almost male, but it was definitely that of a woman.
Then another shock. A cold hand touched my cheek, tracing the features of my face, languidly stroking, feeling. There were two of them here! I started struggling again, trying to twist free from the arms that held me. It was no use. As I struggled, the hand continued on its lazy exploration, down my neck, down to the rise of my heaving breasts. It traced over the shape of my mounds, finding each of my nipples through the covering fabric, teasing them with a light touch, before beginning to unbutton the front of my blouse.
