The tale

There was a time. A time when my sordid fantasies manifested themselves in various weird and wonderful ways. There was also a time when Desdemona and decided to write an erotic tale together. This is the beginning I wrote. I wonder if Desdemona has something to add a year down the line...

Ten years ago, Sister Beatrice, the nun whose convent I was raised in, took me aside after having caught me with my fingers dug deeply inside my panties, and told me that the pleasure I sought to consume was dirty, a sin, something that good little catholic girls would never do. More than her words, it was the look in her eyes that made me question whether in fact she right.

Despite this, I remember turning greedily, night after night, in my bed and gently invading the maze between my legs, pressing down firmly. I remember those moments fondly, I remember it feeling good, and for those few moments every night I was lost, and happily so.

As time moved on, I came to realise that what I felt wasn’t in fact strange or wrong as I had been led to believe, in fact, I came to learn that most of the girls in the convent had found a way of manifesting their desires. One girl would in fact find love in a priest and divulged the details of what went on beneath his robe as we lay in our dorms at night. At first I remember feeling shocked and repulsed. But really, there was no difference between Mary Jane and myself. We were both exploring our desire, doing what makes us happy. In fact I came to admire Mary Jane for grabbing her desire by the bollocks and allowing it to fill her to the brim with lust, quite literally.

It was perhaps this realisation that desire was in fact a desirable thing, these many years ago that led me to accept an invitation, ten years later, to a blind date whilst I was a student in London.
And it was this longing for excitement that kept my lips closed as my date, a handsome banker with the most addictive eyes I had ever seen, wrapped a silk scarf tightly around my eyes and led me into the back of his sleek black Lexus.

I have little idea why I obliged the way I did, but I did and my lips remained closed as he locked the door to his car. Nor did my lips open as he begun to drive the car, or as it slowly came to a halt twenty minutes later, or even as I stepped outside of the car, his firm hand pressed against the base of my spine. I could feel his breath wash against my ear as he told me we had ‘arrived’. That this, he hoped, would be a night to remember.

Slowly, he undid the blindfold and ran his finger over my eyelids until I had opened my eyes fully. I recall being surprised by what seemed an acre of moist green lawn which grew beneath my feet, the wet blades working their way between my exposed toes. I wondered how we had managed to get so far from central London in what seemed such a short space of time…

Only once I’d been standing for five minutes did I fully absorb that we were in fact at the foot of a mansion lit by a number of floodlights. Taking my hand, James guided me to the front door where he pressed a button on the intercom machine. There was a slight crackle at which he leaned forward and whispered the word ‘blackcurrant’. As soon as the word had escaped his lips the front door opened and we were welcomed into what was perhaps the most astonishing house I had ever seen. People were walking with their flutes filled with champagne in and around the various rooms, making their way up the vast spiral staircase. The butler came and took my coat and handing me a glass of champagne, left James and I to explore. It was only once we’d climbed the stairs to the first floor of this mansion that I begun to realise what this place was. At the time I had no idea, but that night would become a part of my life, and what a night it would turn out to be….