Saturday.

It was Rhonda’s mouth on mine. How could I have foreseen that? Her blonde hair fell across me, caressing me as her mouth covered mine and her tongue entered me. It seemed so long, so sinuous. I felt it might go down my throat. One hand was on my breast, lightly stroking my nipple. The other was between my legs. How did this happen? I hadn’t seen Rhonda since the night in the club when she kissed me and I’d run away. Fuck, that tongue. And, oh God, that finger.

Have you ever had a dream that seems to continue after you have woken up? For a few moments, I felt I was still there with Rhonda, the blonde trombonist who’d fucked my ex, Val (Bitch 5 as she was now known in my mind – there having been 4 bitches before who’d hurt me) and of whom Bitch 5 had sent me a picture showing herself, Bitch 5, between Rhonda’s legs. It’s true all I could see was her hair but since that was, at the time, blue, it wasn’t going to be anyone else and Rhonda later confirmed it during a confrontation in a wine bar.

I opened my eyes. There she was, the butch Asian, Sue. She’d taken me very roughly and a few times the night before and we’d fallen asleep, post orgasms, with her still wearing the strappy and me wearing the broad grin of the well-fucked.

We were side by side. She had her limbs spread, her hair tight to her scalp and she snored lightly. I nestled against her, stroking her and decided it was time to show a bit of spirit. Reaching down I began to undo the straps of her harness, admiring the quality of the leather.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

I kissed her mouth softly. “I know exactly what I am doing.”

“Who is in charge here?”

“You are, so shut up and let me get on.”

She gave a muted growl and I continued until I could take the harness off. I raised myself beside her and lifted the bit of the dildo that had been inside her to my lips and kissed it slowly and eased it, short as it was, between my lips. Another growl. Excellent! Sue spread her legs and I knew I’d been right. I leant across her and let my hair trace her thighs and belly as I placed light kisses on her flesh. I lowered myself until my lips were almost, but not quite, in contact with her cunt. I felt a hand gripping my hair.

“If you start, be sure you finish.” The hand pushed me hard into her cunt and I got to work. My tongue curled, lapped, probed and I could tell she was getting there. I shuffled round, never losing contact until I was able to kneel between her feet and get all the access I needed. She lifted her legs and held my hair firmly but not guiding, trusting, I think, my experience to do that. It was a good call on her part.

She looked gorgeous, her pubic hair tightly trimmed, her lips full, her core pink, pinker because of the Asian skin tones. She smelt good too. All I wanted was for her to cum, to make my face shine, to give her something approaching the pleasure she had given me. I knew she’d cum when she fucked me but this was me giving it to her.

And cum she did. It was calm, serene almost. She tensed, I could feel that but the noise she made was more contented sigh than bellow. She bucked a little and tightened her grip on my hair but I knew it was good, satisfying.

She lay back, contentedly stroking my hair.

“Who is Rhonda?”

“What?”

“You were talking in your sleep. You said something about Rhonda.”

“She was the bitch who fucked my ex, Val.” I’d mentioned her over dinner but not by name.

“Ah. You going to get me some tea?”

I got out of bed and wandered, naked, downstairs to her kitchen. I made tea, found mugs and carried two back upstairs to find her sitting up, unselfconsciously exposed. I handed her the tea and slipped back between the sheets beside her.

“Thanks. Your ex, Val, right?” I nodded. “She fucked other people but you thought you were in a relationship?” I nodded again, words seemed pointless. “I told you that the first time we met I’d broken up with a woman who cheated on me, didn’t I?”

“You did.”

“Well, the thing is that since then I haven’t wanted a relationship, at least not one where I am tied to one person. Promiscuity works for me. That doesn’t mean I am saying, right so long and thanks, but it does mean I’m not going to be exclusively your woman. If you cant live with that it’s fine. It’s up to you.”

Up to you. My fucking earworm was back. Val often said it. “Trust me or leave me, it’s up to you.” So I had trusted her and she’d betrayed that trust. You think you’ve got over something then it comes back to bite you in the arse when you least expect it.

I got out of bed and tried to remember where I had left my clothes. “They’re downstairs.” Okay, so now she reads minds. “You’re leaving?”

“The cat.”

“Right. Look, it was fun, really, really good fun. Let’s do it again?”

I kissed her goodbye and went home. It had been fun. It had actually been amazingly good fun. Was I bothered by her promiscuity warning? At the time, yes. Later, I developed a sense of perspective.

~~

I had made quite a lot of progress in the archives. I was closing down one evening when I came upon a large and rather ornate box, wooden with brass corners and a lock with a key in it. I opened it and found the contents obscured by a large Chinese silk shawl which I removed. I wasn’t then to realise what I had discovered but over the next few weeks, I uncovered a truly amazing story.

Florence July 4th 1846

My Darling Alicia

I am in Florence and, oh my darling, how I wish you were here with me to see the wonders. The ancient sits beside the modern. It is a populous city with bustling crowds. It is hot, swelteringly hot…

The letter was passionate, expressing love and desire for Alicia and signed Sheldon Granger. How immodest he seems for a man of that era, I thought.

Alicia Rochester was the older daughter of the founder of the cidermakers and she lived from 1820 to 1892. I discovered her grave in the local churchyard. She never married. I also discovered Sheldon Granger’s grave in the same churchyard. But I found out more about the pair of them from Alicia’s diary.

Late in July 1846, Alicia wrote:

A letter today from my darling Sheldon. How I miss her.

The word ‘her’ leapt out from the page.

She is, or was at the time of writing, in Florence and she wished I could have seen it with her. She can have no idea of how devoutly I wish the same. Her wanderlust is a passion and she needs to feed her curiosity about the world but I am sad that it keeps her from me. How I long to feel her touch again.

Sheldon was the daughter of a mine owner in the North Somerset coalfield. He had become extremely rich and, like Susan Lister in ‘Gentleman Jack,’ Sheldon had inherited a large fortune on her parents’ deaths. Unlike Liste,r she did not run the family business but used her wealth to educate herself, maintain her household and pursue her passion for travel. Their story began to reveal itself to me and I became enthralled as I read their sometimes very explicit words.

This passage is from Alicia’s diary, a short while after Sheldon left for the continent:

My Sheldon left for France yesterday, Friday. On Thursday we walked together with three of her dogs and later dined together. I had advised Papa that I was intending to stay with her that night to avoid returning home in the dark and he approved. He would not have approved of our behaviour, however.

Sheldon took me to her bed soon after the servants had gone. Now, sitting here in my room in my night attire I am reminded how naïve I was when first she and I met and how experienced she seemed to me. She taught me to be without shame in enjoying my body and hers. She showed me the joy that is congress with another woman.

Imagine my shock the first time I experienced ‘le petit mort’(as she assures me the French say of the climax). I was genuinely frightened and startled by it but she held me and reassured me. Now, whenever we have the opportunity, I want to feel her inside me, on me, around me and to give her the same ecstasy. If only I could have gone with her.

I find my hands wandering as I think of her; one teasing my breasts, the other lifting my nightdress and touching myself, my cunt as she insists I call that part of me, as her dear fingers touched me until a semblance of the climax she gives me overwhelms me but, when subsided, leaves me longing the more for her.

I found myself having to drag myself away from Alicia and Sheldon to focus on other matters archival. I took the box home with me (having recorded the fact appropriately) and spent many happy hours reading and recording at home.

I decided, one Friday evening, to go to the pub not far from my flat before going home for supper. It was the pub I’d met Sue in and I wondered if she might show up. I ordered a glass of white and took a chair at my usual corner table.

“Cass?”

I don’t think I actually said, ‘bloody hell,’ out loud but I may have done. Rhonda. All 5’ 10” of her and wearing a long, floaty skirt and a tight, very tight top that gave a stunning view of her tits. Her long, blonde hair was tied back. She looked fabulous.

“Close your mouth!” She grinned. “You’ll catch flies. Let me get you a drink?”

“It’s fine, honestly, I haven’t finished this one and…”

“Shh. I’ll get you one.”

A few moments later she returned with two glasses. She sat facing me across the table and just smiled at me. “How have you been.”

“I’m fine, thanks. What about you?”

“I’m great. I just landed a teaching job at the Uni, well, more a coaching job for the brass players while I do my masters.” So, I thought, no ghastly lodgings in provincial towns, sharing with and shagging other members of the band. “So, I’m sort of semi-permanent here in town now. I still do a bit of band stuff but nothing like I used to do. What about you?”

I told her about Rochesters and she seemed interested. By the time I needed to go we’d had a few and talked a lot.

“Listen, Cass. Why don’t we, well, have a date sometime?”

“That would be fine. Give me a call?”

“I will.” She stood as I stood and there was a slightly embarrassing shuffle as I went to kiss her cheek and she went to kiss my lips. I won.

I walked home. Why the fuck do you let her get to you? I mean, look at her. She’s fucking gorgeous and she wasn’t the real bitch of the piece.

“Cass.” I stopped but didn’t turn. I knew it was Rhonda. “You didn’t give me your number.”

I turned then and looked at her. “Is this a good idea?”

She hesitated and looked a bit angry. “Okay, it’s entirely up to you.” ‘Up to you!’ – my earworm again. So, she was a bit angry. “If you don’t want to see me, just say so. I’ve tried.”

After Sheldon left, I wished I had gone with her. Of course, I did. I knew Papa would have refused to let me go but why did I not just defy him?

I had asked Sheldon if, during her travels, she met other women. “How could I not?” She knew what I meant though and was toying with me. I refused myself permission to ask the question more directly.

“Are you asking if I do this with other women?” As she said these words, so she slid a finger deep inside me and stroked. I said, yes, that was exactly what I was asking. She smiled and leant down to kiss me. It was a beautiful kiss that made me press myself against her and our lovemaking resumed until she brought me to a powerful climax that made me, to my shame, make a mess in the bed. She held me and comforted me telling me that it was good, it was normal, it proved how much I had enjoyed. It was not until later that I realised she had never answered my question.

I moved closer to Rhonda, took out my phone and asked her to give me her number. She did. I called it and, when she answered, I asked her, “Are you doing anything tomorrow evening?”

We met up in the same pub and we sat and talked. I’d liked her the night before and I wasn’t surprised to find myself liking her more the longer we talked. She’d turned up a few minutes after me. She was wearing a long, cream linen dress with sandals. Her hair was loose and shining. She was wearing no jewellery except for two huge hooped earrings and a watch.

I decided I did not care if Sheldon had other women while we were apart. Perhaps it was not that I didn’t care, more that I could not know and therefore to torment myself would serve no purpose.

I re-read her letter that had arrived that morning from Paris.

My dearest Alicia,

Paris in spring is stunning. I do so wish you’d come with me. To walk beside the Seine, to visit Notre Dame and the galleries. Doing such things with you would be to see them with your eyes as well as my own.

I do not, however, wish merely to be a tourist with you. I want to take you to my bed and continue your education in the ways of love we may enjoy. To feel the heat inside you, the delightful moisture that you create. Do you remember your embarrassment at moistening my bed? Did you know just how much that delighted me? I think not but it did.

“Can we mention the elephant in the room?”

“She wasn’t that fat; unlike the drummer.”

Rhonda laughed. “That was Bella. Her parents named her before she showed her true potential, clearly.”

“We can mention Val, but she’s history for me and I don’t care about her anymore.”

Rhonda took my hand and held it. “Why don’t we go back to my place?”

“Do you mind if we go to mine?”

“Why.”

"Astrophe.” She raised a questioning eyebrow. “My cat. He needs feeding.”

“Astrophe? Really?” She smiled. “I’m getting to like you.”

“Good.”