Memories & Moonlight

I even looked at the taxi driver in a new light. Of course, I rejected the possibility out of hand. But it was an exquisite pleasure to view the world with my new womanly and sexual eyes. I gloried as he hovered while I emerged at my cousin's house. I was probably too generous with the tip.

I think the moon was full that night but I couldn't see it from the little guest room on the North side of the house.

IV. Finding a Lover

Back at home, life didn't change very much on the surface. I continued volunteering at the library and at church. I attended at the rummage sales and I served punch and cookies at our little social occasions. But below the surface, the difference was profound.

I examined every available man in our town with my new eyes informed by my new sexual freedom. I decided that several of my friends' husbands were available but I quickly pushed them out of consideration. The single men that came to the library and to church were all flawed in little ways that probably explained why they were still unmarried.

At home, I experimented with my new diaphragm. After some trial and error, I learned to insert it quickly and easily. Knowing that it was inside me made my imaginary lovers even more real than they were before. However, the problem of finding a real lover remained.

Then the new pastor came to town. He wasn't really a full-fledged clergyman. Our church was too poor to afford a real full time preacher. Instead we got an intern from the seminary who was to be with us for a year. Our only obligation was to house and feed him when he spent the weekends with us.

At the church meeting where the plan for an intern minister was considered, Gran volunteered that we could accommodate him in our spare bedroom and provide his meals. Of course, she did not consult me. I worried about the added expense for food and about the extra work for Mrs. Fogg. Of course, I did not object and I began planning to draw on our savings to meet the costs of buying more food and of a small bonus to placate Mrs. Fogg.

The pastor was with us for nine months of his school year. He arrived in town every Friday and stayed until late Sunday afternoon. Occasionally for reasons of weather (or for other reasons that I am about to relate) he stayed until dawn on Monday morning. Mrs. Fogg, with her pay augmented, only grumbled a little bit about the added work. Gran enjoyed her new higher status in the church as the provider for the minister. I was intrigued with the possibilities suggested by having a man staying in the bedroom next to mine.

He was young and affected an earnest and serious mein. Something about him suggested that he was not very pious but he made up for it by his seriousness and his black suit and dark neckties. He was quite handsome if you looked deeply and I did.

As soon as he arrived, the mothers of all the unwed girls a bit younger than me were atwitter about him and the possibilities he posed for their daughters. Some of the daughters were interested, too. Others were more skeptical and only seemed to see his black suit and studied pose of piety. I do not believe that Gran ever entertained the possibility that I would be with him.

Of course, he was inundated with invitations to dinner by the mothers. I was amazed and amused by the stratagems he used to escape most of them. In the first place, he pleaded that his Saturday evenings were reserved for the final revisions for his sermon for the next morning. Sunday afternoons were committed to visiting the sick and elderly who had not been able to attend the service. That only left Friday evenings and some of the invitations were unavoidable. Still, he seemed to prefer to dine at our place and to talk about the town and the church with Gran and me.

It was a challenge to get him to respond to me on a physical level. Sometimes I put my hand on his as I was making a point in our discussion but he didn't seem to react. He never pulled away but he didn't seem to respond, either. I clearly was not repelling him but I wasn't drawing him closer, either. I was perplexed.

I thought long and hard about how to attract him. Finally in late October I formulated a plan and put it into action. He had bathed and was in his bedroom reviewing his sermon for the next day. Now I made my way to the bathroom slowly and carefully without my braces.

Settling on the high stool in front of the lavatory I shed my robe and sat naked in front of the mirror. I admired the reflection of my body. My legs were out of range of the mirror. I imagined what we would do if my plan succeeded. I filled the lavatory and began to sponge myself. I liked the high stool and preferred to avoid the precarious gymnastics that using the tub required.

Washed and with my hair combed and tied back with a ribbon, I applied just a bit of the cologne that I had bought in the city. It had the scent of apple blossoms. I closed my robe and tied its sash. Then I untied it again and loosened it. I retied it with a firm knot but left a degree of looseness in the sash. I looked in the mirror again and made the final decision to proceed with my plan.

I lifted myself from the stool with my crutches and steadied my right knee to support me. I made my way slowly and carefully into the hallway and to the railing of the stairwell. The moon was full and its light through the bay window of the hall bathed everything in its pale light. I could see the brighter light that came from under his closed door. I leaned my crutches on the rail and supported myself by grasping it. Then, I carefully lowered myself to the floor.

Once there, I arranged my legs and my robe. Then I took my crutches from the rail and tumbled them onto the floor to make a sharp noise. At the same time I uttered a cry loud enough, I hoped, to get his attention.

He came from his room to find me on the floor. He wore powder blue pajamas "I've fallen," I said, trying to put a plaintive quaver in my voice. I let my eyes beseechingly meet his for a moment. He looked as if he didn't know what to do next. I let my gaze fall to the floor and said, "You'll need to help me. But let me catch my breath first."

"What can I do?" he asked with a quaver in his voice that sounded real. I did not meet his eyes. I sensed his attention to my loosely tied robe. I turned a little to let the moonlight fall on the exposed skin between my breasts. I sat quietly for a long moment.

Finally I broke the silence. "Please put your hands under my arms and lift me," I told him. He complied and I was surprised at his strength. I came upright and put one hand on the rail for support. "Please hold me until I get my leg steady under me," I asked. Then I lingered a bit to let the moment last. His hands were next to my breasts and I could sense that he was excited by touching me. I could also sense some reluctance.

I told him that he could let go and then retrieve my crutches. He handed me one of them and I tucked it under my right arm. As he handed me the other, I didn't take it. "No," I said, "Let me lean on you. I'm really afraid of falling again." I slipped my left arm under his right and reached up to grasp his shoulder. That left him no choice but to put his right arm around my waist. My body clung close to his as he held my unused crutch in his free hand.

I took a tentative step. Then, linked together, we slowly made our way to my bedroom door. I did not hurry as I reveled in the contact of our bodies separated by only a few layers of fabric. I longed for the fabric to be gone.

At the door, we discovered that it was not wide enough to accommodate both of us head on. After a bit of fumbling and giggling, I went in sort of sideways and he followed, close as ever. Of course the giggling was mostly mine as he was obviously still conflicted.

Then it was only a few short steps to my bed. The white coverlet glowed with the light of the harvest moon. I still held to him as I said, "Help me sit down." Awkwardly I swivelled around as he followed. I put all my weight on my crutch and his shoulder, and flexed my knee. Than I abruptly sat and, still clinging, drew him down with me.

He attempted to untangle himself but I resisted. "No, please," I said, "Stay with me for a while. I'm still shaken up from falling. You make me feel safe."

He stopped trying to escape but said, "It's not appropriate for a man to be in a woman's bedroom."

"That's the rule for most people," I told him, "But, surely, it doesn't hold for cripples."

"It most assuredly does," he replied, "Or at least it should." His manner was stiff, but I felt him relax a bit.

After a few moments of savoring his closeness, I reached down to lift my legs. With the same motion I lay down and pulled him with me. He was no longer reluctant. Now my robe had fallen even more open and my free hand untied the knot in the sash. Through his pajamas I felt his arousal and responded with the heightening of my own

I pulled him to me and kissed him. His response was nervous, even frantic. In a moment he was inside me and pumping with the same frantic energy. He climaxed quickly with a still frantic groan but we continued to cling to each other for a long time.

We said nothing and even pretended to sleep. A half hour must have passed when I drew his mouth to mine and kissed him gently. "Thank you," I told him. "Now you should go to bed. You have to preach in the morning. We'll talk tomorrow." I kissed him again and then he drew himself away and closed my door behind him.

I lay awake for a long time. I finally slept when the moon had moved on and the room was dark.

V. Growing Together

He was out of the house especially early the next morning and I did not see him until the church service began. I was tired, of course, but he looked as if he had not slept at all. He went through the familiar ritual by rote until he came to the sermon.

He preached about sin and temptation. The major thrust of it seemed to be that one should not succumb but that we were all miserable sinners anyway. He was not organized. He rambled and repeated himself. The whole congregation seemed to be squirming in their seats. Even old Deacon Grimsby, usually very keen about sin and long sermons, could be seen surreptitiously consulting his old-fashioned pocket watch.

Eventually he stopped. As we sang the closing hymn, I felt sorry for him. I knew that the whole disorganized sermon was my fault. If sin was involved, it had been mine. However, I could not convince myself that it was really sin. Perhaps I was beyond redemption.I didn't know. I didn't mind.

I did not see him again until late that afternoon. He came back to the house after he had made his pastoral rounds. He collected his things for the trip back to the seminary. Our eyes met often but we said nothing while Gran bustled about packing him a sandwich for the journey.

We were alone together for a brief moment before he went through the front door. He finally spoke. "I'm sorry," he told me, "I'm so sorry."

"Don't be silly," I answered, "You have nothing to be sorry about. If anyone should be sorry, it's me. I shamelessly seduced you." I gently touched his hand with mine. "And I'm not sorry a bit." As Gran returned, I only had time to say, "We'll talk when you come next week." Then he was on his way.

Of course, I thought of little else in the following days. I admitted to myself that as a sexual encounter it had not been really satisfactory. He had climaxed almost instantly and I had no orgasm at all. But the bright side was that I had actually had a lover, a real one and not the old and vague imaginary one. The image and feel and scent of him filled my nightly explorations of myself. I knew I could help him find the parts of me that I thrilled to and that I could explore his body, too.

The following Friday evening we all had a light supper and Gran was off to bed earlier than usual. He and I sat alone after the table had been cleared. I spoke first. "I'm glad to see you. I missed you."

After a long pause he said in a kind of stuffy and pompous way, "We can't do that again."

He didn't specify what he was referring to but we both understood. "Why," I asked.

"It's just not right," he responded in a plaintive voice.

"Why not. We are both adults and both single. I'm not cheating on another lover and I believe that you're not as well. Am I right?" I did not mean to sound querulous.

"That's right," he said and paused. "I worry about pregnancy. Don't you?"

"Of course," I told him in a softer voice. "I used a diaphragm. I got it just a short time after I met you," I lied. "I hoped we would get to use it."

He seemed to melt in front of my eyes. He was clearly relieved. "Now please come here and kiss me," I said primly. We were in his bed until the first light of dawn when he helped me walk back to my room. Of course I could have done it without assistance but it seemed to recapture the magic of our first night together.

After that we fell into a routine of sorts. We spent Friday night in my bed or his. Usually we slept alone on Saturdays so he could prepare for the next day. Once in a while he stayed over on Sunday evening and left before dawn the next day. I don't think that Gran ever suspected what was going on in her house. I still wonder what her reaction would have been.

As lovers, we grew together. By subtle reactions and by direct requests I taught him about my body. I learned about his body too, mostly from his reactions as he seemed unable to articulate his needs directly. Soon we seemed to fit perfectly together and to work like a seamless whole.

I have especially vivid memories of some of our love making. There was a night in winter. There was cold rain and a gusty wind. We sat with Gran by the fireplace until late in the evening. She stayed up unusually late and was regaling us with old stories about doings in our town. She even had tales that I had never heard before about some youthful indiscretions of Deacon Grimsby.

He encouraged her to talk on and on. I was impatient to be with him alone. My diaphragm had been in for hours in anticipation of his arrival. He had not come the week before because he had attended a regional church meeting. Moreover, it was the time of the full moon. I had learned that my body followed the lunar cycle. Of course, the moon didn't shine through the storm but my body was acutely aware that it was there.

As Gran talked on, I watched the colors of the moon in the crackling fire. It aroused me further until I could barely make out Gran's words. I didn't learn the word "horny" until some years later. Of course it is vulgar and I would never use it in speaking. But it might convey my state to the reader. I was consumed by simple lust.

At last Gran excused herself and headed to her room. Neither of us spoke as she left. She was hardly out of sight up the stairs when I put my hands on the edge of my chair and lowered myself to the floor. I slid myself closer to him and to the fire.

As soon as the sound of the closing door came from upstairs I looked directly at him and said simply, "Come here. I need you, now." At the same time I pulled my dress up as high as I could. Then he was on his knees with his trousers open. He lifted me by the buttocks and without shame I pulled my dress even higher. He lowered my panties to the upper cuffs of my braces and was in me.

His finger played around my anus. It was a trick we had discovered together and it always drove my passion to delirious heights. The moon colors of the firelight played on the walls. The sight of my braced legs lifted and splayed transformed into an image of the gynecologists stirrups. Then without warning his finger was in my rectum and I was filled and fulfilled and violated and safe and in danger all at the same time.

Then I was pushing and accepting, rebelling and submitting. There was a shout. I vaguely wondered whether Gran's hearing aid was off. Then I was lost to pure carnal lust. It was my first vaginal orgasm.

We slept until late the next morning. By the time we awakened, Gran was busy dusting and tending the plants in the hallway outside my room. We waited what seemed an endlessly long time for her to finish and to go downstairs. All the time, we struggled to muffle our giggles. We were like naughty children. At last I went to the hall to distract Gran so that he could escape unnoticed from my room to his.

We went on like this for the next several months. Once in a while he had hinted at marriage but I always shut him off. I made clear several times that I was not interested in marriage to anyone. Although I didn't tell him, I was especially uninterested being a minister's wife with an unending routine of rummage sales, women's groups and church suppers. He soon accepted what I said and we settled into a routine of lovers' trysts.

Once in a while we broke our Saturday night rule. It didn't seem to make much difference in his sermons. But it certainly seemed to make a difference once. It was in late Spring shortly before his internship ended and just a few weeks before the picnic pictured in my album.

It was the first really pleasant evening of the season. The air was warm and the breeze was still. The peep frogs from the nearby pond sang to the night. Of course, the moon was full. We watched it as we lingered together on the swing that hung from the rafters of the back porch. Gran had retired early.

Inevitably, we began to kiss and pet. He had sensed my weakness (or was it strength?) for the moon and liked to enjoy it. Saturday night or not, I did not want to stop.

With my left leg sprawled across his lap, he removed the brace and shoe. He had learned all the nuances of straps, buckles and fasteners. It was a very special kind of intimacy which never failed to arouse me. He stroked the place I had showed him inside my thigh. For a while I had thought that perhaps my withered leg had the same number of nerve endings as a normal one but distributed more densely on the smaller surface. I soon decided that was absurd. It was the easy intimacy of being accepted for the way I am that was so erotic.

I felt an orgasm approaching but it waned as the moon moved slowly out of sight above the roof of the porch. I gently pushed his hand away and kissed him. "Be a dear and get my diaphragm from my nightstand." I didn't need to mention the jelly, he knew the routine. He complied without comment and as he got up to go I added, "And bring the big blanket from the shelf in my closet."

While he was gone, I removed my remaining brace and shoe. Then as quickly as I could, I slipped out of my clothes. He returned with his arms full with the large blanket. The flat pink case of the diaphragm was clutched in one hand. I couldn't see the tube of jelly but I knew it was there.

He started with surprise when he found me naked. Then a sly smile began to spread across his face. "Spread the blanket under the apple tree behind the shed," I ordered him. "We should be able to see the moon from there." Again he complied without comment. As he turned to go, I added, "Don't forget to come back for me. You know how much I am afraid of being abandoned."

He was back in a moment and standing by me as if he did not know what to do next. "You'll have to carry me," I told him, "I can't possibly walk over that rough ground." He lifted me from the swing and I clung to him as he took me down the steps. Over his shoulder I saw my cluttered pile of braces, crutches and clothes.

Under the blossoming apple tree, the moon shone brightly. He laid me naked on the outspread blanket and stood their watching me. "You have the advantage of me, sir," I said primly. "If you disrobe, we will be equals in this encounter." Slowly and deliberately he began to take off his clothes and drop each item on the blanket. I watched his naked skin reflecting the moonlight. Finally, completely nude, he was like a young and shining god.