Juicy Secrets Forbidden Tales of Lesbian Love

By Amanda

Author’s Note: 

Many terms used in this story are believed to be historically accurate though most of those terms are today considered racist, sexist, or homophobic. Phrasing and terminology of the time makes for a difficult read so I chose to use somewhat formal but more contemporary language for readability. It should be understood that the characters in the story would have, if they’d been real, been considered extreme liberals.

Accounts of events are believed to be plausible, however unlikely, though not true. There were, however, as early as the turn of the 19th century, cafes and salons in Paris which catered to lesbians. Historical information may or may not be entirely accurate but the treatment of homosexuality in the places mentioned is believed to be mostly accurate according to my research. Historical information about lesbians is virtually nonexistent. Terms like Boston Marriage had not been coined though accounts of romantic friendships between “dedicated spinsters” appear as early as the 18th century. This story is entirely made up and the characters are not even based loosely on any historical figure. But with that in mind, I recommend reading about post revolutionary war America and post French revolution France. There was a sexual revolution during that time in the U.S. unlike anything before or since. I’m glad I wrote this story for all the information I learned researching it.

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1790 – Harrisburg Pa. 

I am not a special woman I do not think. Or perhaps in my years and my experiences I am. I have lived a most uncommon life indeed. Some women might envy me, others would hate me for I have rejected the traditions of womanhood and opted instead to follow my own star, to live as I would want to. I have oft taken privilege where none was offered, and much of the time have taken what I wanted, without asking and without shame.

In my youth I must say I was quite naive. When I was very young, too young even to remember, I was orphaned in a fire. My mother died in the flames and my father gave his life to get me out of the house. I was three and a constable took pity on me. He took me to a house for girls, rather than an orphanage, run by two very good nuns. They were loving and virtuous women and bestowed such virtue and morality on us. I was raised there and as far as I ever knew, it was my only home.

The nuns taught us skills for the practical world. Sewing, cooking, mending. Everything a wife and mother would need to keep her home. However they insisted that a woman must also understand such things as mathematics and must certainly be able to read. Thus they educated us in many things.

It was when I was sixteen that I left them, going to work as a servant in a Mister William Baker’s home. He was a kind man, unmarried and nearly forty. He had no children and spent most of his days reading and writing. He had gone to university and studied literature, science, astronomy. He was a brilliant man and often regaled us with stories of his travels, his writings and readings, and took a particular delight in pointing out the stars, showing us, the servants, that is, the skies through his telescope.

I know such a relationship with servants is unusual to say the very least. But he was quite eccentric and I eventually came to understand that we were the only people he knew and felt he could talk to. It was while in the employ of this fine man that I met my first love.

For the whole of my youth I was taught that in time I would grow to maturity and a man would court me, then marry me. I assumed such a thing to be inevitable and never questioned its truth. It never even occurred to me that there could be anything else. And so when I felt a deep part of myself railing against such ideas I quashed it.

I was not the only maid in Mister Baker’s home. He had another, and the only other female servant, Molly. She was an Irish girl, young, not perhaps more than fourteen. She had been working for the Master of the house already a year when I came. We were roomed together and shared a bed since the room was too small for a second.

There was something in her green eyes when she looked at me. Something that awakened that rebellious voice I had silenced in my youth.

Now, you must understand, at the time I had no idea that her gaze was deliberate flirting. Such a thing would have never occurred to me. And to the casual observer, her touches, glances and smiles would seem no more than those gestures shared between two close girls.

But something in me understood. Between women such flirting is akin to a secret language. One we are born to, and don’t even know it. But only those women with whom such flirting may garner a reaction understand. I did not know that then, I was but a young girl, and not very worldly.

Molly, I did not know how, knew more than those innocent-looking green eyes told. She at fourteen was more worldly than I. And within my first three months of employment in the Good Mister Baker’s home, she and I had grown quite close.

I could not at the time describe my feelings for her. I knew I loved her but did not fully comprehend the type of love I felt.

The other servants encouraged me toward the stable boy. He was a strong and handsome young man, always hard at work tending the horses. He had taken a fancy to me and we courted shortly. But I simply never felt anything at all for him. No, indeed my feelings were all for Molly. Lovely little Molly.

I shan’t trouble you with the daily account of our growing relationship. Just know that three months we spent speaking this secret and surely forbidden language. A touch, a glance. Every morning it seemed that I awoke to find that in the night she had pressed herself to my back and draped her arm over my waist.

At first I assumed it to be an unconscious act, done in sleep. It was so frequent, though, that I began to wonder if she did not do this deliberately. I can’t exactly describe how awakening in the morn that way felt to me. But I knew I loved it. Feeling her close like that made my heart beat faster. I felt a tightening in my belly that was quite pleasant. I did not know it at the time, but I was falling in love.

It was in the fourth month I worked there that finally I would learn I was not alone in my feelings. We were in our room, sitting at our little table and eating. I had finished and we were talking across the table to one another when Molly took on the strangest look and became quiet. I was suddenly surprised as her hand came into contact with mine. I looked down to see her stroke the back of my hand with her thin fingers. When I looked back up she wore a very definite smile and I think it was then that I understood.

I grew silent and we shared that moment together. She was flirting, she did feel something more for me than friendship. And I her.

Without another word we stood together and began to kiss. She kissed me deeply and held me close. I was exhilarated. There were butterflies in my belly and I felt giddy. We did not need to speak as we moved to the bed and lay down side by side. A moment passed as we caught our breath and she turned to me.

“I love you, Elizabeth,” she whispered.

Like floodwater breaking over the bank my feelings overtook me. Yes, love, that was it, that was what I felt. “I love you too.”

For so long I had thought I was damaged, perhaps broken. I knew that the stable boy should have evoked an emotion in me and he did not. Certainly the problem had to be with me. But now, in the candlelight of our room, Molly showed me that there was nothing wrong at all. I could love, and recklessly so.

She rolled on top of me and began feverishly kissing me. I felt her hands on my sides, on my belly, and at last on my breasts. She unbuttoned my dress and slid it from my body. I lay there in my stockings and bloomers looking up at her, unsure. Even perhaps ashamed.

With a smile Molly removed her own dress and then pressed the warmth of her body against mine. Our breasts rubbed together as we kissed, and such fire was building in me as I had never known.

Molly’s lips left mine and she turned her attention to my young breasts. She lapped at my nipples and it sent shocks of pleasure to my sex. I was growing wet and suddenly became ashamed.

My shame became humiliation when she slid her hand into my bloomers and pressed her fingers inside me. I wanted to cry, but the smile on Molly’s face and in those magical eyes reassured me. She rubbed me in ways I’d never dreamt. I was powerless in her grasp. And then she took the last of my clothing, exposing my shame. I could not look her in the eyes, not at first. I closed my own eyes and perhaps would have stayed like that for the rest of the night if it had not been for the most curious sensation I think I had ever felt.

Molly had pushed her tongue into my sex, and it sent shivers throughout my body.

“What’s this then?” I gasped and pushed myself up on my elbows. She paused only a moment and smiled up at me, then returned to a task she seemed all too eager to finish.

I fell back against the bed and instinctively my knees rose up. Her fingers and her mouth worked together to enslave me to this passion. I wanted so much to be ashamed, but I was not, not any longer. It was overwhelming me. Each wave of pleasure that passed through my body seemed stronger than the last, until finally I became aware of something building with in me. Something new. Something almost frightening.

My body knew what I did not, and I was moving in a specific rhythm. Rocking my hips, my breath short and shallow. Molly conformed to my movements and suddenly it exploded out of me. My first climax. I had never dreamt such a thing. I had never heard of such a thing. But Molly, it seemed, had because her rhythm changed and it seemed that her fingers and tongue were working to draw this out. Such pleasure I had never known before but I would soon be embarrassed for experience.

When at last it had subsided, Molly slid up my body, kissing me as she did and laid atop me a short time before kissing me and rolling to lay on her side.

For a moment I lay fascinated with the new flavor on my lips. Her kiss was different now that she had done this thing to me, and I should have been disgusted, but I realize now that even then I was such a deviant as I loved it.

Molly took my hand in hers and kissed my fingers shortly. “Like this,” she said, pushing my hand into her bloomers and guiding my fingers on her sex. “Yes, there,” she sighed.

I felt it, a knot. I had never touched myself save through a washcloth and knew nothing of my body. But Molly knew. And tonight she would instruct me. With my hand in hers she massaged her sex. I watched fascinated by her as she moaned softly and her breaths became shortened.

I loved the way she felt beneath my fingers. Perhaps I was supposed to be disgusted, but no, indeed I was not. Her wetness on my fingertips. It urged me on, urged me to seek more. I wanted to know what she did, I wanted to return her kiss, but she held my hand fast and quickly manipulated a climax from herself, using my fingers.

When she was done, she pulled my hand from her and suckled my fingers. I could not believe it. I was both ashamed and enticed, and it was I who initiated the kiss that first allowed me to taste her.

Molly had not needed to explain to me how forbidden such a thing as we had done must be. We were sworn to secrecy in an unspoken oath. She was my first love, and for the following year I had her to myself.

During that year I learned that Molly had lived with her mother and father and her mother’s sister. It was this aunt who had taught Molly to appreciate the gentle touch of a woman. Her aunt had instructed her in all the ways of love between women. In turn, Molly taught me.

Of course at the time I could not actually imagine any other girls in the whole of the world that would do such things as Molly and I did. I knew it to be positively indecent, and something only myself and my lovely Molly engaged in.

A year, and all of my heart was in Molly’s hands. I loved her with total abandon. So much so that I did not notice that she did not love me so. It was the best year of my life, and I say that even now having known better lovers, and truer love, but she was my first and nothing ever quite compares to that.

Nor does anything compare to the heartbreak of your first love ending. I awoke on a particular morning. I found myself alone in bed and it was late by the sun through the window. I quickly dressed and went downstairs, then into the main house where I found Molly, Mister Baker, and a young man I did not know.

I did not need to be told who he was, though. The look in Molly’s eyes, it told me that she was leaving. I felt as though my heart had been torn from my body. I ached in every fiber of my being and lost even the ability to cry. She had been working for Mister Baker to save money, and the young man, her fiancée, had been sailing on one of Mister Baker’s ships. They were trying to save money to get married.

I collapsed to my knees and the good Mister had to help me back to my room. Molly and I had remained a secret all this time, but my reaction was not one of a girl losing her best friend. No, my collapse was that of one losing the love of her life.

Molly left that day without a word. I lay in my bed until nightfall when the butler brought up my food. He set it on my table and from the bed it looked so lonely there, knowing Molly would not join me, that I could not bear to eat.

It was late when the good Mister knocked at my door. I grunted his permission to enter and he came in, sitting at the table, in the seat Molly had always taken.

“Elizabeth,” he said, then remained silent for some time. “I knew I should have told you, but I did not know how.”

“And why would you have told me anything?”

“Come now, girl. There are no secrets in this house. We are six hours ride from town and have few visitors. You loved her, you were sweethearts.”

“How could you know that?” I gasped, now afraid. For not only had I lost my Molly, but this may well be the beginning of me losing my home and employment as well.

“Come now. I am a man of the world. I have read the great works of every author for whom I can find a book, and no literary scholar worth their salt does not know of Sappho.”

“Sappho?” My tears paused a moment, and I sat up, interested.

“Long ago in Greece there was a woman, she was a poet and quite good actually. She fell in love with one of her students… a girl… and when the girl did not love her the same, she threw herself from a cliff.”

“Sappho, so I’m not the first.” I was relieved. I had never heard of such a thing as Molly and I nor the things we did and so I assumed we must be the only ones.

He laughed and shook his head. “Of course not, girl. Perhaps alone in Harrisburg. But not in the world today.”

“And you are not disgusted.” I had to know. He spoke so casually. All of this was so unusual to me. I was but a servant and here he was, come to comfort me. Comfort me for the loss of my female lover.

“No, I think I am not. I have read countless books and such a thing is not new or unusual to me.” He patted my back and then left me in the darkness of my room.

I was grateful to him, and that night came to love him as a big brother or perhaps a father figure, but still, I realized in the loneliness of my room that this place no longer held anything for me. I resolved then to leave. I would go to Philadelphia. Perhaps there were women like me there. Perhaps I could meet them and somehow they could save me from this unimaginable heartbreak.

I left the Baker house soon after, with a single bag containing two dresses and a hat I knew I would never wear. The good Mister was flagrant with his wealth and even in his disappointment, he took me to town and saw me to a coach.

In my time in his house I had managed to save two British pounds, the coin with which Mister Baker paid us. He warned me that in Philadelphia I would need to find somewhere to trade them for Spanish dollars, the currency most favored, or even better, gold, a currency one could count on being accepted anywhere.

I left my youth, my innocence and my heart behind that day as we rode on to my new life, the life that I hoped would make me forget the love I had lost.

Continue on to Chapter 2