1924 Bright Young Things

Everyone of us carries a heavy weight. It is not a burden of our own choosing. It is something made for us by others. The weight of expectation.

You may feel that you are immune from this. You may say, "No, not me. I'm a free agent." But think back. From the day you were born things were expected of you. At school, at work, family gatherings, medical appointments, byelaws, taxes, the list is endless.

Now, before you all make your way to the nearest high building or suspension bridge let me lighten your load by telling you that there is a group of people far worse off than yourself. They are the English Aristocracy. These unfortunate individuals have an unbearable weight of expectation placed upon them. They are expected to marry well and produce an heir. Those that are not in the direct line to inherit titles are expected to marry well in order for other titles and land to be inherited by the right people.

Agreed, if you are the first born son then the burden is greatest. The seventh son carries a lighter load. A daughter shoulders very little baggage.

That is unless you are Lady Estelle Hightower. At a single moment in time her weight of expectation went from from a small handbag to the Great Pyramid of Giza. She had two older brothers. Life was a bed of roses for Estelle. She was expected at family gatherings, social occasions and the like but apart from these her life was just a line of parties and drunkenness.

She was petite and very pretty, intelligent and witty. As a counterpoint to these qualities she was also very unpleasant. Her quick wit meant that she could belittle the strongest of characters with a phrase. She had no regard for other people's feelings. Why should she? Estelle had been brought up in a world of privilege. Her father was a Lord.

As far as Lady Estelle Hightower was concerned her only duty in life was to have a good time.

The London Season was one long round of events. Usually, she had little recollection of much of it. Alcohol flowed.

Intoxication did nothing to make Estelle any more pleasant. It simply removed any remaining inhibitions that she had. Consequently she had lots of friends but nobody actually liked her.

Drunken men had occasionally seduced her. But even in her semi-conscious state she had had the wherewithal to let them know that she thought that they were pathetic. She would announce at the top of her voice that they had left her far from satisfied.

Estelle wasn't surprised at the failings of her partners. She had realised years before that she found nothing attractive in the male body.

On the other hand, the curve of a breast or a delicate ankle or the fine hairs at the nape of a slender neck or Cupid's Bow lips or the transition from the female back to the feminine buttocks always sent a thrill through her.

At Roedean School, High Tea, as she was nicknamed, wasn't sexual at all. She was just timid. While some girls kissed other girls she was just bullied by them. In that world her father's wealth counted for nothing. As soon as she left school Estelle made it her life's work to be unpleasant to anyone she considered her social inferior and many who would believe themselves to be her superior. Waiters, cloak room attendants, hackney cab drivers, policemen, and any grade of servant all suffered from her wicked tongue. At one point she had reduced a cousin of the King to tears with just a word.

Even during the war she could be seen spending lavishly and getting drunk at the best London nightspots. Of course, she knew that there was a conflict going on but she tried not to worry about it.

Passchendaele lies to the east of Ypres in Flanders. In one second in October of 1917 Lady Estelle Hightower changed from being the youngest of three children to her father's sole heir. Both of her brothers died together as the result of a single mortar shell. To say that Lord and Lady Hightower were devastated would be the gravest of understatements.

The Great War changed so much. Many people questioned their place in society. Fewer men meant that there was a high demand for those workers that returned. Agricultural Labourers and Domestic Servants drifted into better paid jobs in the towns and cities. This meant that those that remained could demand higher wages.

Women could no longer be denied the vote. They started to challenge so much of their former lives. From their role in the workplace to the restrictive underwear that they wore. Don't misunderstand me, it wasn't a revolution, more of a steady movement.

As far as Estelle Hightower was concerned, she didn't want change. She wanted to carry on just as she had before. But yet, what had simply been a group of over privileged young people being outrageous now developed into what the press called 'The Bright Young Things'. Which was basically a group of over privileged young people being outrageous but this time they dressed it up as a reaction to the horrors of the Great War.

Estelle's parents regularly sat her down and reminded her of the weight of expectation that she now carried. If she didn't produce a male heir, the title and most of the Hightower lands would pass to some far distant cousin of his Lordship. That is, in fact, how Lord Hightower's great-grandfather had gained the title.

"Yes Pater, yes Mama. I understand. I will give it my urgent consideration," she would promise, without any intentions of giving it the slightest consideration.

Before the war, her father had received suggestions of marriage concerning the third or fourth sons of minor aristocrats. It hadn't bothered anybody that these gentlemen had never met Estelle.

Now, the first born sons were queuing to pay suit to her. They knew that her father's title and land would someday pass to their offspring.

As you know Estelle's proclivities lay elsewhere. Some would call her Lesbian but she preferred to say that she was Sapphic.

All of her congresses with other women had occurred while she was drunk. They were brief and unfulfilling. Sometimes those concerned were actually Lesbians, some simply felt like they may be. Some were married women looking for novelty and a few had been too drunk to express a preference.

The one thing that each encounter had in common was that Lady Estelle Hightower went much too far. What started out as clumsy french kissing developed into nipple licking and sucking. This would lead to mutual fingering and oral stimulation. And then, invariably, some unnatural drunken lust would engulf Estelle. Nipples would be pulled painfully or even be bitten. A hand and then a fist would be forced into a space not prepared for it. Even though Estelle's hands were small this was not an act that went down well on a first date, particularly with women who had had little or no experience of such things.

Consequently, she had never been with the same partner more than once.

A veil had been drawn over the 1923 London Season. As was usual, this was followed by the Country Seat Season. This involved Shooting Parties, and the like, at various Stately Homes. The guests included all ages but invariably, once installed, they divided into two groups. The elders did the shooting etc, while the youngsters danced and got drunk.

As with most young aristocrats, it had always been Estelle's practice to take care of herself with only the occasional services of a maid. Lady Hightower had explained to her that Estelle's station in life made it unseemly for her not to have a lady's maid of her own. Much to her mother's surprise, Estelle had agreed. This had been the first season when Phoebe had been with her, not just in London but now on the Country Circuit.

Of course, it wasn't just a matter of her mother selecting a suitable young lady for her. Estelle had to choose.

Phoebe was local to their Dorset Estate. From school she had joined the house as an under scullery maid. She had slowly worked her way through the ranks of housemaids. The Housekeeper, Mrs Cooper, felt that she had potential so, of late, Phoebe had been receiving training as a lady's maid from her Ladyship's maid.

For Estelle, Phoebe's aptitude as a domestic servant was secondary to the fact that she was very pretty with long eyelashes and full lips.

Much to Estelle's surprise, her maid's physical attributes were only part of her charm. She was also extremely amusing. Rarely a bath time went by without the two of them in fits of laughter. The maid had the gift of joking at her mistresses expense without causing offence. Phoebe found Estelle's fashionable bob hairstyle hilarious. Strangely, Estelle just took it all in good part. She never felt the need to say anything cruel or unkind to her personal servant.

And then it was all spoiled.

While staying with a notable family in the Cotswolds, Estelle returned to her room late and extremely intoxicated. Phoebe wasn't an expert but she believed that more than just alcohol had been taken.

She had helped Estelle out of her dress. The lady was seated precariously at the dressing table in just her under things.

"One of the chaps was saying this evening that any maid could be fucked for five shillings. Can I fuck you for five shillings? What do you reckon?"

Phoebe was quiet for a few seconds before answering, "I don't understand what you are saying m'lady."

"What I am saying is, if I give you a crown coin, can I lay you in that bed and fuck you? It's simple enough, you stupid girl."

A long silence ensued.

"I may be stupid but I don't understand how it is possible for one woman to do that to another woman. Even more, I don't understand why you are saying it to me in that nasty way.

"If you don't need me anymore, I would like to go to my bed now," said Phoebe, holding back the rage and the tears.

Estelle waved her hand dismissively and said, "Oh go, go!"

Phoebe went to her cot which was made up in Estelle's dressing room.

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The next morning Phoebe helped her mistress bathe and dress. It was all done in silence, neither woman knowing how to break open the first words.

When the time had come to dress for dinner they had progressed to frosty pleases and thank yous.

Estelle returned at the end of the evening, stone cold sober. As she helped her out of her clothes, Phoebe managed a half smile. Her mistress returned it.

No more was said that day.

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They were civil to each other the next morning as Estelle took her bath. Phoebe checked her appearance once she was dressed. Just as Estelle was about to go down for breakfast, Phoebe said softly, "I have informed Mrs Cooper that I will be leaving at the end of the month."

"Oh!" replied Estelle as she left the room.

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"Why are you leaving me?" asked Estelle as soon as they were alone together again.

"You don't know?"

"No, I know that I'm difficult sometimes."

Phoebe looked dumbfounded as she said, "You called me a five bob whore."

"I know, but I wanted you so much. I didn't have any idea how to ask you nicely. I am in love with you. Please don't go. I won't speak to you like that again.

"Please can't we go back to the way we were?" asked Estelle.

"No, we can't do that. From the first time I saw you step out of your bath, I knew that I loved you as well.

"I felt that you may have some feelings for me too but I knew that if either one of us mentioned it, the genie would be out of the bottle.

"You could have me but I could never have you, not in the way that I long to," said Phoebe.

Just then there was a knock at the door and one of the Housemaids poked her head into sight. "Begging your pardon m'lady but Her Ladyship says that she is waiting for you to walk with her."

Estelle reverted to the caricature of herself that the world saw and said to the girl, "Tell my mother that I said I would be there at three and it's only two minutes to."

The maid started, "Oh, I coul............................"

"Just tell her that I'm coming."

"We will have to talk later, I must go," Estelle said softly to Phoebe.

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There was no opportunity to talk before dinner. A cousin of Estelle's, Lydia Jeroboam, was also staying for the weekend and insisted on dressing that evening with her.

Phoebe would never be able to put into words the combination of jealousy and envy as the two young women shared either end of the same bathtub. As Phoebe washed Miss Jeroboam's back Lydia said to Estelle, "Oh my, how things have changed since we were eight years old and used to put the soles of our feet together in the bath. Now it's all we can do to avoid tangling our toes in each other's pubic hair."

"Lydie, you are incorrigible. I'm sure you say these things just to shock. We are not alone, you know."

"I forgot that your maid was here. I do believe that she is a little red.

"It'll be a sad day when we have to care what the servants think," said Lydia.

Estelle tutted and said, "Well, I care very much what Phoebe thinks. I really wouldn't want to lose her."

"Oh have it your own way," said Lydia as she stood up and, defying convention, faced Phoebe directly as she stood holding the bath towel. She looked straight into her eyes and only at the last second did she turn so that it could be wrapped around her.

...............................................................

At long last the day came to an end.

Estelle returned to her room and Phoebe walked towards her, ready to help with her undressing.

"No, let me undress you," asked Estelle. Her maid did not resist. She turned her back to allow access to the buttons that ran down her black uniform dress. Slowly, Estelle unfastened each one, well aware of the bird-like trembling beneath the plain material.

She kissed Phoebe tenderly on the nape of her neck, just above the spine, before letting the garment drop. Deftly, it was stepped out of, as Estelle untied the bow at the back of the simple white slip. This went the way of the dress.

Nervously, Phoebe stood in just her underwear and shoes.

She was turned around. Estelle looked down into her eyes and placing both hands behind the maid's head she placed her soft lips upon hers. Phoebe gently encircled Estelle's waist and pulled her against her. She felt the pleasure of her breasts brushing just beneath Estelle's.

The spell wasn't broken, it was just altered as Estelle freed herself from the embrace and turned away to allow Phoebe to release the fastening at the neck of her dress. As it sank to the floor, Phoebe lowered herself onto her knees. Gripping Estelle's hips she kissed her ever so lightly at the base of her spine. Dropping Estelle's drawers, she repeated the kiss slightly lower down.

"Tonight, I will be the mistress," announced Phoebe, gently.

"And I shall be the maid," said Estelle, with enthusiasm.

"No, no, you will be the pupil."

"As you wish, I am yours."

Phoebe stood and took the pupil by the hand and led her to the bed. As they lay alongside each other, Phoebe commanded, "Relax, breathe deeply and surrender yourself completely to me.

"There are no other people in the Universe, only we two."

With one finger, she circled one of Estelle's dark brown areolas. She did not touch it.

She stopped.

Then she recommenced the circling. Still avoiding the raised zone.

At the point when the only thing that Estelle desired in life was to feel the touch of a woman's delicate finger on her nipple; Phoebe brushed from one side to the other. No more than that.

Estelle shuddered with pleasure.

Phoebe started the whole process over again. This time with the tip of her tongue.

As Estelle felt the wetness against her firmness, Phoebe covered the nipple with her lips and sucked so very very gently.

In the past sex had been a fevered brutish thing for Estelle, an excuse to dominate, to shed her bitter bile. Now it was a tender creature infused with joy.

Phoebe released the benign vacuum. Estelle was sad to feel it leave but her spirit rose again when she felt a soft hand between her knees. Not forcing but merely inviting them to part. It remained stroking the inner surface and showed no sign that it wanted or needed to go further. The pleasure was entirely held within the delay. It was to come, of that there was no doubt, but exactly when caused a tension that filled the room.

Suddenly, the hand grew bored with the hardness of the knee and travelled up a few inches, no more than that. Here it discovered a softer, more giving recipient of its attention. The satin smooth skin was its new Shangri-la.

Now, softness became its fixation.

And what softer place was there but Estelle's inner thigh. Phoebe used all of her finger tips to increase the surface that she could explore with each stroke.

Estelle was conflicted. She found the stroking devine but a part of her cried out for more. But she was learning that love meant surrender. Surrender to the belief that your lover only wanted to bring you pleasure. Phoebe wanted to bring her pleasure but also suspense.

Her hand moved upwards but not to where Estelle expected. It brushed over her pubic hair and rested on her stomach. Still caressing, still stroking.

There was Lady Estelle Hightower, legs as wide as they would go, silently begging to be fingered. As if she had received some telepathic message, Phoebe did just that. Not directly but by stealth. Gently resting the back of her thumb against the divide between Estelle's buttocks and then slowly drifting upwards.

At the natural point where no force was needed she slipped into Estelle. And then she did nothing. She waited.

She waited until Estelle twitched slightly. Only at that point did Phoebe press downwards.

Slowly she rotated her thumb on the back of Estelle's vagina.

Estelle purred with pleasure. For the first time she felt what love and lust could do.

Round and round. And then back the other way. Random circles of pure joy that confirmed that wealth and power were nothing in this world of love freely given. The hedonism that she sought with the Bright Young Things dropped into a pit of meaninglessness.

Phoebe stopped.

Her thumb was withdrawn. Something like a bereavement passed over Estelle.

Phoebe tenderly pushed two fingers into her and her joy returned. Once again, the stillness. But this time Estelle knew enough to embrace the expectation.

The circles returned. This time caressing the frontal areas.

It came as a blinding revelation to Estelle. Women had no need to mimic the phallic thrusting of men. Their sensuality came not from invasion alone but from sensitivity.

Sometimes the fingertips circled alongside each other. Sometimes they separated. Clockwise or anticlockwise but never cockwise.

All the while the pleasure increased until it unexpectedly reached a kind of plateau. There it stayed. Held steady like a tethered hot air balloon. High and warm and safely secured. Free of the earth yet still grounded.

Estelle felt that she could stay this way forever. Phoebe had other plans. She withdrew the two fingers and stroked them upwards. They passed either side of Estelle's engorged clitoris. Not actually touching but still stretching it sideways. Estelle gasped.

They made the return journey. Again the gasp.

The fingers briefly re-entered Estelle's vagina, paused, and then were drawn upwards again. This time they landed, oh so softly, on the centre of Estelle's universe. They waited and then circled.

They may have made one circuit but no more.

At that instant, years of bitterness were exorcised from Estelle. She threw back her head on the pillow and let out an animal cry as the orgasm passed over and through her.

Two more circles of ecstatic joy and then Phoebe pulled Estelle into her embrace.