“Tell me, Hester!” I begged.
She began to giggle.
“Well, there really wasn't much to it, but it was so… so… crazy, I nearly went into hysterics the first few times, until I got used to it. He'd lie down on the bed and make me get on my knees, straddling him, right over his face. Then I had to jack myself off with my fingers, and just when I started to cream, put my cunny down on his mouth. And will you believe it, right then he'd start to squirt without my even touching his cock, and the stuff would fly all over my bare back.”
“My heavens!” I breathed.
“I couldn't sleep last night,” she continued, changing the subject. “I laid awake the longest time, just imagining things, and thinking what I'd like to have the first night after I get out of here.”
“I can guess,” I said dryly, “a stiff cock.”
“No; five of them, all at the same time.”
“Five? At one time?”
“Yes; one in my cunny, one in my mouth, one in my bottom, and…” she burst into laughter, ”…one in each hand!”
“Hester, you're the limit!” I exploded.
“I get so darn tired of jacking myself off I've half a mind to go in the linen-room with Frenchy. She's crazy about that new shoulder scarf I have, and it's no good to me in here, anyway.”
“Well, why don't you?” I suggested. “You can tell me all about it afterwards. But be careful! I'd faint if I ever heard you getting the strap.”
“Maybe I will. There isn't any danger. They don't watch the linen-rooms much. Besides, I thought of a dandy way to fix things so they couldn't catch us. I saw Amy and that new girl she chums around with sneaking out of the linen room in ward five this afternoon. I had a suspicion that's what Amy was up to when she started being so nice to that little kid.”
“Jessie! Jessie!” I heard someone calling softly as I was sitting on a bench in the exercise yard reading the next afternoon. I glanced up, and saw Hester hurrying toward me. “Frenchy and I are going in the linen room. You come up and stand in the corridor where you can watch the stairs! If any of the matrons come, you signal the linen-room girl before they get upstairs, and she'll have time to get us out before they reach the dormitory!”
“All right!” I agreed, rising to follow her.
This was a very practical plan. The ward was far enough from the top of the stairway to allow ample time for them to get out of the linen room should the girl on watch in the doorway receive a signal from me. The only risk they ran was that of being abruptly interrupted in their affair.
I followed Hester up to the corridor and stationed myself where I could watch the stairs and at the same time be seen by the linen-room girl in the doorway of the dormitory who, in the event that I suddenly started to walk toward her, would quickly warn Heater and Frenchy.
But there were no interruptions. I stood there twenty or twenty-five minutes, watching the stairs and picturing in my mind what was taking place within the linen-room. The girl finally disappeared from the entrance and I knew she had gone to unlock the door.
A few moments later Hester and Frenchy appeared in the corridor. There was nothing in Frenchy's calm demeanor to indicate anything unusual, but Hester's face was scarlet and she was holding her handkerchief over it. Frenchy sauntered coolly into another dormitory and Hester went on downstairs with me and out into the yard.
“Well…?” I invited, after waiting for her to say something. “How was it?”
“Oh, Jessie! It… I… she… wait till I get my breath…” and she began to laugh hysterically. When she recovered her composure and her face had resumed its natural hue, she said: “I can't talk about it yet; I'll tell you tonight. Look: my hands are still shaking, I'm so nervous!”
“Oh, all right,” I answered disgustedly, “but I don't see what you have to be nervous about now.”
“It's the reaction. Don't be sore; I'll tell you all about it tonight, honey!”
And, that night, sitting close together on the edge of my bed before lights out, at my insistent urging, Hester told me in whispers what there was to tell.
“Well, we got inside, and as soon as we heard the door lock we turned on the light and took our panties off and hid them under some sheets on a shelf so in case we had to come out quick we could just leave them there and get them later. Then we put a blanket on the floor and I laid down on it. Frenchy wanted to do 69 but I told her I didn't want to do it that way because I couldn't get my nerve up to do that to a girl. So she said all right, she'd just do it to me. It was the funniest thing, Jessie, all last night and today, while I was thinking about it, I felt hot, but no sooner did I get inside that room with her than my passion all left me. I felt like telling her I had changed my mind and letting her keep the scarf anyway. But then I thought, what a silly thing to do after going to so much bother, and why not let her go through with it. When she pulled my dress up I started to giggle, I couldn't help it, I felt so funny, not passionate, just silly. Well, she squeezed in between my legs, and stuck her tongue right up inside. When I felt it go in I wanted to push her away, but I didn't and after she put it in and out a while, she began to lick me all around down there, and then she started to suck my bottom. I thought I'd go crazy, really. I couldn't stop laughing. It didn't make me feel passionate, but the sensation started to come anyway, and sure enough, she did make me cream something fierce. If she'd have stopped then it wouldn't have been so bad, but she stuck to me like a little leech and it set my nerves on edge so, I felt like scratching her. I almost had to yell at her to make her let go. She wanted to know when I'd let her do it again; I told her 'someday' but I don't think I ever will. It isn't so hot. I don't see how some girls can go batty over that kind of stuff.”
CHAPTER FOUR
The time dragged on. With the exception of such little momentary distractions as those I have described, there was little to break the monotony. During the first year and a half I received occasional visits from Mamma Agnes, and sometimes from Rene. How I would have enjoyed an hour or two with him in privacy, but such was not to be, for visiting was confined to the reception room and there was always a matron present to see that no contraband gifts were passed to inmates. Even the letters written to us were opened and read before being placed in our hands. Often, letters written to girls by male friends were destroyed without being seen by those to whom they were addressed.
Through some artful maneuver, a seventeen-year-old girl in our ward named Georgette succeeded in getting some little pictures of men and women doing everything imaginable. They were not drawings like the one in the little book Rene had found, but real photographs.
Georgette had these pictures about two weeks when apparently some word of their presence, either accidentally or through malicious tattling, reached the ears of the superintendent.
Accompanied by two matrons she entered our ward one night just after lock-up, and proceeded to search it thoroughly. One of the matrons found the little packet of pictures under Georgette's mattress and we knew it was the pictures they were looking for because they stopped searching as soon as they found them.
They took poor little Georgette out, downstairs to the superintendent's office. As soon as they had gone a profound silence fell over the ward. Nobody said anything. We were all waiting with strained nerves to hear certain sounds which would cause some of us to tremble, others to murmur curses, and others to giggle with callow indifference or maybe hysterical nervousness.
Moment by moment we waited but the expected sounds did not materialize. The minutes dragged on, ten, fifteen, twenty, a half an hour. Maybe they were not going to whip Georgette after all. But suddenly the tense silence was broken by a distant but sharply audible thwack. It was followed by another, and another, and with the third blow an agonized scream reached our ears. Four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten. Mechanically we counted the strokes as the blood-chilling cadence of strap and shrieks rent the air. With the tenth stroke it stopped, and those of us who were inspired with sentiments of pity and sympathy breathed a sigh of relief.