“I shouldn’t have said anything.” Pascale lowered her eyes to the floor.
“Oh, no, Sweetheart, of course you should. I’m sorry, it was just a surprise, that’s all.”
“You are not angry with me?” she asked, looking at me with relief in her eyes.
“No,” I replied gently, smiling. “I am not angry. There is nothing to be angry for.”
There was a brief pause before I continued. “I don’t really understand how you felt, though. What made you feel that way?”
Pascale frowned and her cute nose wrinkled as she replied. “It is hard to explain but I will try.” She waited, gathering her thoughts, putting words to what she was feeling. “When your hand whacked across my bottom it stung, as you would expect with my slacks being so tight but as I turned away, I began to tingle, like tiny contractions in the small of my back. The heat that remained seemed to spread out and it was such a lovely feeling that it made me clench my bottom as I could feel it there too. I could feel it at the front also and when I was out of your sight I pressed my fingers there, through my slacks and it felt wonderful. I can still feel it now, in my mind.” She stopped momentarily, “Does that make any sense to you or am I just strange?”
“Pascale, you are not strange at all. What you describe makes perfect sense only…” I paused.
“Only?” she repeated.
“Only that I have never experienced it. No-one has ever smacked me before.”
I thought for a moment before I enquired of her, “Do you mind if I ask you something very personal?”
She cocked to head to one side. “Not at all,” she replied.
“Have you had sex, Pascale, ever before?”
Once again she lowered her eyes and slowly shook her head. “I have let boys touch my breasts, when I was younger but I didn’t like it much. They were rough and hurt me. Other than that, no, unless you include what I do on my own…”
Once again I could see her face glowing brightly in the dim, artificial light. “Do you have much experience, Karen?”
I thought carefully. Much experience? Oh yes, far too much and I didn’t know whether to tell her. I didn’t want her to think badly of me, that I was some kind of harlot. I had come to love Françoise and the girls as the only family I had and I was petrified of what they might think of me.
I looked across at her, looking expectantly for an answer. In that moment I decided. “Yes, Pascale, I have.” I nodded as I spoke and my heart began to beat heavily inside my rib cage.
“You sound apologetic,” she replied, “Are you ashamed of something?”
“In a way, yes,” I replied. “Please don’t be disappointed in me, Pascale but I have done many things I now wish I hadn’t.”
“What kind of things?” she asked.
I didn’t want to say any more, I felt scared that I had said too much already but she pressed me. “Karen, I am not disappointed in you, I promise. I would just love to hear about your experiences. I have had none but sometimes I get so hot and the things I imagine happening to me are, well, you know…”
“ All right,” I replied,”But just between you and me, yes?”
“I promise,” she agreed, “But I don’t think you have realised, Maman, as was Papa when he was with us, is very open minded. There is nothing that is not spoken about in my family.”
“Hmm, all right,” I agreed, “But just for now. Promise?”
“Yes, I promise,” she replied.
I thought for a minute.
“I didn’t have a very nice childhood,” I began. “I am sure you know already that my father was a drunk and very violent towards my mother. He hit me only once and I swore that no man would ever hit me again.”
“Oh my goodness! No, I didn’t know about that,” she said, visibly shocked. “I thought he was so nice!”
“I told your mum. Anyway, he is changed now,” I continued,” He had suffered terribly during the Great War but he had no-one he could turn to. In those days, nobody understood the horrors in the way they do now. I didn’t understand what made him the way he was, especially after what my mum had said about him when they first met. The only way he thought he could cope was to be drunk, to try to deaden the memories. It is a long story.”
I saw that she was listening intently.
“The thing is, I thought he didn’t love me and as I became older I began to search for love, I thought that by giving myself to the men who wanted me was the answer but I was wrong, so very wrong. My first time was when I was just eighteen. Just before the last war started. I went out with a young man from the same street that I lived in. He was so attentive and he took me to the cinema.
He was the first boy who had been so nice to me and I loved every minute of being with him.
Whilst we watched the movie, I felt his arm around my shoulders so I moved closer to him and put my head upon his shoulder. I felt safe and, for the first time, loved.”
I stopped, the memories of that night flooding back. Pascale waited patiently as I collected my thoughts and went on with my story.
“After the film, we walked home, a short stroll which passed by the cemetery. As we approached the gates he stopped and said, ‘Dare you enter after dark?’ I laughed and told him not to be so stupid. Dead people are just that, dead!” I stopped suddenly. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…”
Pascale smiled.
“Don’t worry, I agree and Papa would understand. Go on, please.”
“All right, well, I was young and stupid then and I dived through the open gate and dared him to follow me.”
“And did he?” she asked.
“Oh yes,” I continued, “He followed me all right. He chased me through the graves and, when we were a long way inside, he caught me around the waist and stopped me. Like the silly girl I was, I giggled but then I felt his hands pawing my breasts through my thin summer dress. It was a warm evening and over my shoulders I had a thin cardigan. ‘Hey!’ I said to him, ‘stop it!’ but he didn’t. He kept his hands where they were and I heard his voice say, ‘Don’t you love me , Karen?’ Of course I told him I did because I really believed it and he just said that I can’t love him because I didn’t want to give myself to him.”
I looked at Pascale. Her eyes were open wide and she was taking in every word.
“What did you say to that?” she asked, innocently.
“Being the naïve girl that I was I thought that maybe that was why my dad was the way he was with my mum so I let him continue touching me. He unfastened the buttons of my dress and slipped his hand inside, squeezing and pawing me through the satin fabric of my underslip. It felt sort of nice and when he found my erect nipple and squeezed it I felt a shock pass through my breast, the like of which I had not experienced before. It seemed to shoot right through me, down to my… well, you know, between my legs.”
Suddenly I felt self concious. Normally I would have used the word ‘Vagina’ but the word felt naughty, somehow and I didn’t want to feel that way with Pascale. I had never heard any coarse words of any severity pass the lips of any of this family since the day I met them.
“Mmm, I like that feeling,” Pascale said and then gasped and covered her mouth stifling a giggle.
I giggled too.
“Me too,” I laughed.”And the way it tingles in your tummy button?”
“Hehe, yes, especially that!” She giggled again. “Go on,” she urged me.
“Well, I was beginning to enjoy those feelings and the longer he fondled me I discovered something happening down there, a kind of moisture forming. By this time he had unfastened the rest of my buttons and he slipped my cardigan and dress off me then pushed the thin straps of my slip down so that it too fell to the ground around my ankles. I just stood stock still and covered my now naked breasts. No-one had ever seen them and I didn’t know what, exactly, he wanted from me.
He turned me to face him, gently pulling my arms away to reveal them, my nipples straining outwards, aching, throbbing. He looked at them. ‘Small ain’t they?’ was all he said. I just assumed he didn’t like them and felt so disappointed but he bent his head and took my engorged nipple into his mouth. My head was spinning and the blood pounding as it rushed through my ears. I gasped audibly the feeling was so wonderful.”
Again, I looked across at Pascale sitting upright in the armchair, a blanket now pulled around her. Was it my imagination or was she breathing a little heavily? Certainly her face was flushed and her eyes were bright, sparkling, in the subdued light.
“Are you all right, Pascale?” I asked her.
“Oh yes, fine. Please, carry on,” she replied.
“He put his hand between my legs, inside my pants. His finger slipped easily into my narrow entrance and I gasped once again. ‘My, my,’ he said, ‘you are excited ain’t yer!’ because I was so wet now. I had never experienced these things and I was scared and excited at the same time.
I paused in my narrative and swallowed. The memories were coming back as clearly as though it had just happened, not almost thirteen years ago
Pascale waited for a moment.
“Karen, are you all right? Stop if you want to, I don’t mind,” she said eventually.
I smiled.
“No, I will go on, if you want me too. I have never told this to anyone and I think it is time I did.”
She nodded eagerly.
“Yes, please, do go on. I want to know what happened.”
I lay back against the big soft pillows and just stared up at the ceiling.
“All right, well, I was naked then, apart from my shoes. The cemetery was very dark so there was no likelihood of being discovered and, if I am honest, the cool night air on my flesh felt delicious and very, very naughty! ‘Well?’ he said, suddenly, ‘Wot abaht me?’ I didn’t know what he meant at first until I looked down and saw he was holding something in his hand, his penis. It was solid and stood straight out from his trousers. I had no idea what to do with it so I asked him. ‘Well, yer could try suckin’ it!’ he said testily. ‘Blimey, you really ain’t done this before, ‘ave yer?’ I told him no, that I never had and I knelt in front of him and took his hardness tentatively. It twitched as my hands wrapped around it and I could feel the blood pumping through it, making it stiffen even more.
As I moved my lips nearer I caught the aroma. It was horrible, like a rotten fish but I wanted him, I wanted his approval so I held my breath, closed my eyes and opened my mouth. I wrapped my lips around it. It made me heave at first and it tasted bitter, sour almost but he put his hand against the back of my head and pulled me on to him. His thick shaft hit the back of my throat and I choked and coughed violently. He told me I had a lot to learn but not to worry because he would teach me. Next to where we were was a grave which had a kind of monument rather than a stone. Like a low stone table. He raised me to my feet then picked up my dress and laid it out on top of the slab and guided me to lie down on it. It was cool but not cold and the touch of my flesh against it made my nipples strain to harden even more than they already were.
I was trembling violently inside. I knew what to expect, I had heard stories but I couldn’t begin to imagine how it would feel. I closed my eyes as he climbed on top of me and I felt the tip of his penis rubbing between my lower lips, searching for the entrance. I felt it push slowly inside and then stop as it was prevented from going any further. He nudged a little harder and it hurt a little but not so much that it spoiled what we were doing then suddenly and without any warning, he pushed hard, ramming himself past the barrier and deep inside me. I screamed loudly, the pain was sudden and intense but he didn’t stop, he just began ramming himself against me, in and out.”
Once again, I stopped because I had heard a sound, almost imperceptible, like a mewing, from the armchair.
“Pascale, are you…? I frowned.
“Oh!, I’m sorry, Karen, I couldn’t help myself!” Pascale hung her head.
“Did you just have an orgasm?” I demanded.
“ Please don’t be angry with me. You made it sound so exciting and the memory of of your slap was still with me. I have been on the edge all day,” she replied apologetically.
“I was trying to explain my life to you, not excite you!” I felt a little disappointed that she had found my story so arousing but I could not be angry with her. One look at her beautiful but sad face made me feel sorry I had questioned her. She was young after all and hadn’t experienced the sadness and rejections that I had. I hoped that she never would.
“Please finish your story, Karen. I won’t do it again I promise,” she pleaded with me.
“Hmm, all right then…” I feigned annoyance and couldn’t help but smile inwardly at her ‘innocence’.
“I began to cry,” I continued, “I didn’t like it and it hurt like hell. I just wanted it to be over but he continued to pound into me for a few more minutes and then, suddenly, he did stop, and listened carefully. I heard voices approaching and saw the faint glow of a lamp swinging. ‘Shit!’ he cursed, ‘The warden!’ and jumped up, leaving me sprawled across the grave. He quickly pulled up his trousers and ran off, cursing under his breath as he disappeared into the darkness. I lept off the slab and ran behind a large, upright headstone, grabbing my clothes as I ran, naked. I pulled my dress around me and fastened the buttons as quickly and quietly as I could, barely breathing for fear of discovery. I could hear the men talking as they approached. ‘I ‘eard a scream from over ‘ere,’ one of them said. When the other replied I was mortified by what he said. ‘It’ll be that ‘arry Simmonds, I bet, screwin’ one of ‘is floosies again. I’ll catch ’em at it one day, then see ‘oo screams!’ the other answered him then and my blood ran cold. ‘Yer just mad cos yer never catch ‘im. If yer do yer’ll only want t’ join in!’ I shivered as the two of them guffawed at whatever it was they were thinking and as they walked away, I dressed properly and crept away home.”
Pascale sat upright.
“He ran away and left you alone? Didn’t he care if you were caught?” Her mouth was wide open in disbelief. “I thought he liked you!”
“No Pascale, he didn’t like me, not as a person or a friend. He just wanted to use me, use my body, for his own selfish pleasure,” I said, sadly.
“So what did you do, afterwards, I mean, when you got home. Did you tell your mum?”
“No, I didn’t dare! I went straight to the bathroom to wash because I felt sticky and dirty. I wanted to get clean again so I asked if I could have a bath. My mum put a large kettle on the stove and I went up and half filled the bath tub with cold water. When she brought the hot water up to the bathroom I had already undressed and put my dressing gown on. My clothes were on the bed and she saw them as she passed the open door. She paused and frowned, looked at me then back at the screwed up clothes on the bed. As she poured the hot water into the tub she said nothing right away but waited. I didn’t want to get into the tub whilst she was there. I felt as though what I had done was so obvious that she would notice right away so I stood by the door and waited for her to leave only…” I stopped.
“Only?” she repeated, “Only what, Karen?”
“Only… she didn’t leave. She just stood and waited. My heart was pounding with fear. I was sure she knew, somehow. She looked at me and her eyes seemed to burn into my very soul. She asked me, straight out, if something was wrong, if I was all right.”
“And of course, you said it was?” Pascale interrupted.
“Yes, I did. I lied to her and hated it. I had never lied to my mum about anything in my life but she knew. She just stood and looked at me, not a word, but she knew.”
I took a deep breath, the moment vivid in my mind, my mum’s worried look crystal clear.
“Very gently she reached out and untied the bow on my robe. I wanted to stop her but I could not. I could not lie to her again. She opened my robe and looked down at me and she saw, clearly, the blood that had dried on my inner thighs. She still didn’t speak but, just as lovingly, she closed the robe about me and wrapped her arms around me, holding me close to her. I burst into tears and buried my head in her shoulder. She comforted me whilst I sobbed, soothing me until I calmed down and collected my senses once more.”
“Your mum sounds nice, Karen, like my mum,” Pascale said.
I nodded.
“She was. I should not have been afraid to tell her. I didn’t want her to be disappointed with me.”
“ I understand that,” she reassured me, “I think I may have been the same under those circumstances.”
“Oh, I don’t think you need worry, Pascale. You have a loving home and you are not so naïve as I was.”
“No, perhaps not,” she agreed. “So what happened then, with your mum?”
“She looked after me like only a mother can. After I had soaked for a while, we sat down together and talked. When I told her what I just told you she breathed a sigh of relief that it was not likely that I would be pregnant as he had not ‘finished’, as she described it. She also said that it would be best not to let my father find out as he could possible do serious harm to the boy. I was surprised at that and asked why she thought he would even give a damn. You know what she said?”
Pascale shook her head.
“She said that, regardless of what I may think of him, he loved me and would probably kill anyone who hurt me. I said he had a funny way of showing it but it seems she was right, judging by these last few weeks.”
“Yes,” she agreed, “So it would seem.” She sat quietly for a moment and then asked:
“So, were you all right after that?”
“No. not really. Physically I was. I wasn’t pregnant and luckily I didn’t catch any unpleasant infection from him but emotionally he just made me worse. All I wanted was to find love, to look after me, to enjoy being with me. Harry Simmonds was just the first of so many men who disappointed me.”
To be Continued…
