The Cordless Diaries

Breakfast

As fortune would have it, our visit to London a few weeks later coincided with one of Mr `Daker’s rare attendances upon his clients in Bath. Father had obliged by driving us in the dog cart to the splendid station that sits at the southern side of the city. Elevated as it is, it affords a splendid view of the Abbey and the crescents of Mr Nash. I had never travelled by the new railway before and was, I confess, somewhat trepidatious. Felicity had no misgivings and, as we waited for the train to arrive, a porter standing with our bags upon a handcart, we stood in companionable silence. The steam locomotive was a magnificent sight as it drew alongside the platform Smoke billowed from it everywhere as fire from a dragon’s nose and, as the driver’s station passed me, I saw three men, faces besmirched, one of whom leant out, his arm resting on the metal, apparently engaged in controlling the beast as it slowed to a halt. The porter, with sudden alacrity, led us to our first class carriage and we entered as he stowed our luggage. Felicity handed him a small pourboire and we sat, facing each other, excitement certainly apparent in her face and I suspect reflected in my own.

‘Our adventure begins, Emm.’

The carriage lurched alarmingly and then began a somewhat smoother passage out of the station and on into the countryside. We passed through a long, dark tunnel and smoke seeped in through the carriage windows. The smell was new and exciting. As we emerged into the grey day again, I could see farm workers and animals in the fields, small hamlets and a blur of trees beside the line as the train hurtled us towards London. Never before had I travelled at such speed and, without conscious thought, I let a small whoop of exhilaration escape my lips.

Gentle reader, pray allow me to share an intimacy with you. An opportunity for Felicity and me to share the delights of ‘Hungerford’ had not presented itself to us thus far in our relationship. That is to say, not the sort of opportunity Felicity and I wanted. We did not want to be furtive or hasty, but to take our time and to indulge our mutual and as yet unconsummated attraction without haste or pressure of time or fear of discovery.

‘It shall be a wedding night, Emm. We shall wait until all is right.’ I confess my impatience was manifest but I knew she was right and, accepting her wisdom, agreed with her. But now before me lay the prospect of that delicious coming together and my excitement was almost too much to bear. Summer was turning to autumn and the nearer we drew to the Capital, the more the leaves on the trees assumed her colours: gold, reds and yellows adorned the branches and those nearer to the train created a sight such as I had only seen in the painting by Mr Turner that Father so disliked.

Puffing and panting, the train drew into that palace that is Paddington Station. I had been to London but once before and had quite forgot the bustle of a large city. The numerous, noisy trains, the noisome crowd and the porters, smart but indifferent, took me by surprise. Felicity gripped my hand and led me to the platform. She summonsed a porter somewhat imperiously and arranged for our impedimenta to be carried to the rank set for cabs beside one of the platforms. We settled into a hansom and, for the first time since we had arrived, it seemed, I drew breath.

‘You must think me such a bumpkin, Flick.’

‘Not at all, my dear, you are accustomed to the more placid pace of time and person in Bath. Here in the great City of London we find ourselves, together and without our normal society. She kissed me. Not like that kiss on the road to Cordless, it was a caress of her lips on my cheeks. But oh, dear friends, what it said to me.
Our hotel was the Great Eastern, a considerable ride across the Metropolis. She had said that we needed to be there to be more convenient for Mr Cook’s offices and so it was. Our cab deposited us at the imposing front door and our bags followed us to the grand foyer and, after that, to the room we had arranged. The porter left us. Our luggage was set to one side, two beds with silk counterpanes, heavy curtains, an over plump sofa and, joy of joys, a bathroom with a modern, flushing toilet constituted our room. I felt a certain breathlessness as I removed my coat, my hat and deposited them, somewhat carelessly. I unpinned my hair and shook it loose. I watched as Felicity performed similar actions. It seemed as if neither of us wanted to move on, as if we wanted merely to stay in this moment.

Felicity took a step towards me, I one toward her. I do not know how it happened. I found myself in her embrace, her lips upon mine, her hands in my hair. My mouth opened to her and, oh heavens can I survive this, of a sudden her hand was cupping my breast through my dress. Were I able to detail every movement, believe me I should do so. Alas, I cannot. But what I may tell you, and I hope you will agree I have been frank thus far, is that my next recollection is of standing with my dress pooled round my feet, my camisole lifted and Felicity suckling upon my breast. I removed her dress and found, to my huge joy, that she was virtually naked beneath it: delicious silk knickers and a long slip was all I had to contend with. It was but a moment, or so it seemed, before we were both open to the other’s eye. What did I see? A pale, insubstantial triangle of soft, blonde curls; hard, surprisingly dark brown nipples which seemed to stand out unnaturally from beautifully full breasts. I do not remember feeling ridiculous in my bloomers. I do remember a moment of comic hilarity between us as one foot refused to emerge from their silk embrace and I nearly fell but was caught in her arms. And then, there we are, for the first time our intimate flesh touching, our breasts nuzzling together, our mouths alternately exploring together, then roaming apart. I see it as a magic lantern show, one slide and then the next. The next in this sequence is of our being prone upon one of the beds, I on my back, Felicity above me, her breasts hanging, her knee between my thighs. And then, oh stars, her thigh is pressed hard against me and mine against her. Eyes open now and locked upon each other we start to rock. Her mouth is open and small, short sounds emerge between her lovely lips, gasps of a sort. She held herself above me, her arms extended and the entire world was between our thighs. Her unflinching gaze held mine. I wanted to say that it was good, that it was beautiful, that she was welcome to take her pleasure but I could not speak. Oh, dear reader, that moment when the volcano erupted. To that moment the sensation had been between my thighs but this was my entire body. My back arched and arched again, my hips lifted off the bed, lifted Felicity with me and I was no longer in this world.

I did not faint but I did lose consciousness of a sort in that I was unaware of anything but our conjunction. As I recovered from the climax, the ‘petit mort’ that had overwhelmed me, I realised Felicity was looking at me but now with the weight of her body upon mine. Hitherto I had imagined a long, almost courtly progress toward our first union but the urgency of this, the sheer earthiness of our need transcended everything. We rolled so that we were lying face to face, each on her side, legs still entwined. We kissed, slowly, gently at first and then with ever increasing intimacy. We caressed each other. Her hair stroked my face.

‘Oh, my dear, dear Emm.’ She said.