Chloe in Prison Ch. 16

"Can I talk with you?" she asked.

"Of course," I said.

There was a long silence: then Fatima said:

"I watch the things you do. With the Indian girl; with the girl who was with you just now. They are wrong."

I sighed.

"You might think so Fatima, but I don't."

"Please listen to me Chloe. I believe they are wrong. I have always been taught they are wrong. But I watch you, and I see all the pleasure you and the other girls have, and I don't understand. If these things are wicked, why do they give so much pleasure? Why are you not punished? Why are you not suffering?

"I have been thinking a lot about this. I do not do these things, and yet I am very unhappy. Even before I was put in here I never did these things. All my life I have been told: These things are wicked; Allah will punish you if you do these things. So I never did them. But I am being punished anyway. So I do not understand."

"I don't understand either, Fatima," I said. "Why were you told these things were wicked?"

"Because they are dirty," said Fatima. "Because our bodies are a gift from Allah which we must keep pure."

"This makes no sense to me Fatima," I said. "Even if you believe you were given your body by Allah, why would he give you something capable of giving you pleasure, and then not expect you to use it? Surely that's like throwing a gift back in somebody's face?"

"I've never heard anybody put it like that before," said Fatima. "But I am starting to think, why should I try to be pure when I am so unhappy, when I am being punished like this?"

"It isn't impure to enjoy your body," I said. "You wouldn't deny yourself food or other pleasures because they are impure: sex is just the same."

Fatima went quiet, and I thought perhaps I had said too much. I wondered if I should leave her, but even though I had no watch I knew Exercise must be nearly over, and that making my peace with Rose would have to be done in my cell. I started shifting: it was quite uncomfortable sitting hunched like that, and the damp was getting through to my knickers. Then Fatima said, almost inaudibly:

"Chloe: will you show me what to do?"

"What?" I said.

"What you and your friends do: I don't know how to do it: will you show me?"

"You want me to rub you?" I said in total amazement.

"No, no," said Fatima. "Not that, I cannot do that."

"You mean masturbate?" I asked. Fatima nodded her head, as though unable to speak the word.

"Well, you just play around," I said. "Surely you've done it before?"

"No Chloe," said Fatima. "Never. I told you."

"I thought you meant you'd never done it with anybody else," I said.

"Not by myself either."

I found that almost impossible to believe. Fatima was about my age, and the notion of a girl of nineteen or twenty who had never masturbated, never even tried to discover the sources of her own sexual pleasure, was beyond anything in my experience. I thought back to secondary school, where the girls talked of little else, comparing notes and discussing techniques.

"Well, you just - rub yourself," I said. "Just go by feeling: when something feels nice, just keep doing it."

"I tried this Chloe: last night and the night before. But I cannot make it happen like it happens for you and your friends."

"You mean you can't have an orgasm?"

Again Fatima nodded, as though afraid to use the word.

"The best way is to stimulate your clitoris," I said. "Flick it, stroke it, rotate it, whatever feels best: keep on doing it, and you'll feel an orgasm building up. It's hard to give instructions: you just know by feel, by what feels right."

Then Fatima turned her face towards me for the first time, and said:

Chloe: I don't know what a clitoris is. Is it something inside me?"

Once again I was staggered: staggered and angry, that somebody could be allowed to grow up in such ignorance of their own body.

"No, it's not inside you," I said. "It's - oh for God's sake Fatima, it would be much easier if I showed you."

I felt her shy away, so I said:

"Look, I'll show you mine if you like."

She didn't voice any objection, so I hitched up my skirt, and tried to pull down the front of my knickers.

"It would be easier in the showers," I said.

"There are too many people too close," said Fatima, who was looking out anxiously lest somebody was paying us too much attention. At last I wriggled my knickers down sufficiently to open my legs a little way. Then I put my hand over my mound and spread myself as wide as I could.

"You see that little bean-shaped lump hidden away in all that pink flesh," I said. Fatima nodded. "Well that's my clitoris."

She nodded again, though looking puzzled. I hitched my knickers back up before any of the Wardens could come and complain - then suddenly had a terrible thought.

"Fatima," I said. "You have got a clitoris haven't you? They didn't - mutilate you when you were a baby?"

"Mutilate? I don't think so - I don't know what you mean."

"It's called Cliterodectomy," I said. "Some evil people do it to baby girls. Fatima, this is very, very important. I know you don't want me to touch you, but we have to find out."

Fatima nodded solemnly:

"All right Chloe: you tell me what to do."

"You need to get your knickers down Fatima."

"But this is not allowed: we may be punished."

"No-one noticed me," I said. "Don't take them right off: just down far enough for me to get at you."

"All right," she said. She leaned back and drew her knees up: by wriggling she managed to slip her knickers down over her bottom: her skirt rode up high.

"Can I touch you?" I asked. Fatima nodded. I eased her knickers down a bit more, and pushed her strong legs apart as far as I could. I was trembling as I touched her, dreading to see some terrible scar or wound where her clitoris should have been.

"Who shaves you?" I asked, wondering if she allowed her cell mate to touch her.

"I shave myself," she said.

She flinched when I touched her mound. I resisted the temptation to stroke it, though part of me wanted to put off making whatever discovery there was to be made. Instead I braced myself, and very gently, for fear of hurting, of disturbing whatever grotesque surgery lay beneath, I started to open her. Her flesh was very pink, the contrast with her olive-dark skin striking. There were lots of folds: I teased them apart, holding my breath: and breathed a sigh of relief as I saw, revealed in its bed of pink infolded flesh, a small but perfectly intact clitoris.

"This is your clitoris," I said, giving it a tiny wobble with my finger, which caused Fatima to flinch again. "Its fine: no-one has tried to mutilate you."

"So I am not damaged?" said Fatima.

"No," I said. Then: "Look Fatima: why don't you let me try to bring you off - I mean, give you an orgasm? It often happens faster when somebody else is doing it."

"No, Chloe, no," said Fatima, hastily pulling her knickers up again. "Thank you Chloe, but I will try by myself. You must understand: until I came here I was always covered up: no-one outside the house was allowed to see my face or my arms let alone my private parts."

"It sounds like you've been in prison all your life," I said.

"Sometimes I think so too Chloe."

"OK," I said. "But let me know if ever I can help you. And Fatima:"

"Yes Chloe?"

"I'm glad you talked to me. I've been worried about you. A lot of us have you know."

"Thank you Chloe: you are a good person, I have always known this."

"Even when I did wicked things?" I joked.

"Maybe not so wicked," said Fatima. "But in any case often good people do bad things, and I knew you were not a wicked person."

I stood up to go. The women had already untied their improvised skipping rope, and I knew Exercise was nearly over. I wanted to leave Fatima to reflect, and I also wanted to catch Prana, to tell her I was sorry and would apologise to Rose. Having helped Fatima I was feeling much better about myself, and even though once again I had been forced to go through Exercise without a rub, I felt the hour had not been wasted. I crossed the concrete with more of a spring in my step and, expecting everyone else to read in my face the change in my attitude, I was taken by surprise when a woman accosted me, and planted herself angrily in front of me.

It was Margaret: in an environment where most prisoners were pale through lack of sunlight, her florid complexion was instantly recognisable.

"What is it?" I asked.

"You can well ask!" she said. "Do you realise what you've done to Rose?"

"I - " I began, but she would not let me get a word in:

"You ought to be ashamed of yourself. After the way Rose has treated you. Talk about biting the hand that feeds you. Have you seen the bruise on her bottom? Well? And have you any idea how much you've upset her? No, you haven't have you? Because you're a selfish little bitch who only cares about getting her knickers off with that Indian tart."

"Margaret," I said, as she finally ran out of steam: "I know I've upset Rose. I know I was wrong. As soon as we get back to our cell I'm going to apologise."

Margaret eyed me, not favourably but with slightly less hostility.

"You'd better had," she said. "Because if you don't, next time we're out here I'll have you over my knee with your knickers down in front of everybody, and I'll smack your bottom so hard you won't sit down for a week. Got it?"

"You don't need to threaten me Margaret," I said. "I'm upset too. Like I said I'm going to apologise."

"Make sure you do," she said, as the whistle blew for the end of Exercise. With that she started to walk away, but stopped and turned back after a few paces.

"If you'd bitten my bottom," she said, "they'd still be trying to get my fist out of your snatch."

All the equanimity I'd regained after talking to Fatima was gone: Margaret's hostility had shaken me badly. I knew she was Rose's oldest friend, and I could understand her being angry on Rose's behalf, but she had always seemed a benign person. Even if I managed to put things right with Rose it was hard to see how Margaret could ever be friendly towards me again.

Still shaken, I joined the throng of prisoners forming into a line. I saw the two new girls again, Dianne looking angry, and Lisa, with the stupid nappy bulging out over her bottom, looking the picture of woe. The air had become chill again, and her legs were mottled with gooseflesh. The idea of a cold wet soggy nappy between the legs was anything but erotic.

I caught sight of Prana, standing on her own in the line. It was risky: almost everyone else was now in line: but I had to speak to her. I ran to her side:

"Prana," I said hurriedly. "I'm going to apologise to Rose. I'm sorry."

"You must go," said Prana: "You'll get into trouble."

Then she gave my hand a squeeze. It was a fleeting gesture, almost imperceptible to anyone else, but it meant the world to me. I squeezed back, then hurried to my place just in time to avoid the wrath of Clark, who was pacing about looking for somebody to castigate.

Side by side Rose and I walked back into the prison in silence.

Once the cell door had closed behind us I wasted no time.

"Rose," I said. "I'm really, really sorry."

"Are you?" she asked.

"Yes," I said. "I was wrong and I'm sorry."

"So you should be. You hurt me you know. And I don't just mean my bottom."

"I know," I said.

"Did you tell Prana what you did?"

"Yes."

"What did she have to say about it?"

"She told me I was stupid."

"So this is because of her?"

"No Rose, it's coming from me. I - I realise now how stupid it was."

"I can't go on protecting you from yourself - how many times is that now?"

"I know Rose: I'll listen to you in future. I was just so obsessed with trying to help Prana."

"I've warned you, she'll get you into trouble Chloe."

"This wasn't her fault," I said. "It was mine. As I said, she told me I was stupid."

"I gather Margaret had a few choice words with you."

"Yes," I said: "but she didn't need to: I'd already decided to apologise."

"She cares about me you know," said Rose.

"I know that," I said. "I don't blame her for speaking to me. She was very hostile though."

"She doesn't mince her words."

Rose had been lying propped on her elbow, looking solemn, looking from me to the floor and to me again. I don't know whether she had been fighting the urge to make up, unwilling to come round too easily, or whether she had genuinely found it hard to forgive me, but suddenly she sat up on the bed, stretched out her arms and said:

"Come here Chloe."

I practically flung myself into her arms, and hugged her as though we were long lost sisters.

"I'm so, so sorry," I said.

"I'm sorry too Chloe, sorry I spanked you: only my blood was up after you bit my bottom."

"Does it still hurt?" I asked.

"It's bruised, that's all, forget it Chloe. Let's have a proper hug."

She lay down on her bed, and I lay beside her. We cuddled and mussed each other's hair, and shed a few tears.

"I couldn't bear it if we fell out," I said.

"Neither could I," said Rose.

"This has been a horrible twenty-four hours."

"It's behind us now - let's make sure it never happens again."

"Yes," I said.

"Shall we have some chocolate?" I said, for I could still feel in my sock the chocolate I had intended for Prana.

"I've got a better idea," said Rose.

We took our clothes off hurriedly, and lay together on the narrow bed. Rose's heavy breasts all-but enveloped my own. When she put her hand between my legs, it was like rain on parched earth. I slid my own hand over her thighs, and quickly found her mound. It was difficult to arrange our legs so that we could give each other access at the same time. I was dying to give myself up to her manipulations, could barely concentrate on anything but getting my legs open wide and my pussy into contact with her fingers; at the same time, it seemed wrong to be taking from Rose, when I was the one who should be making up to her. So heroically I restrained myself, lay at Rose's side, eased open her legs and set to work. Soon she was wet and moaning, her arms had gone slack and her eyes closed. I rubbed and fingered and tweaked and tugged, putting all my heart and skill into manipulating her, sliding my free hand under her bottom, and down the crack in her cheeks, reaching for her pussy from behind until my two middle fingers met. With one I worked her clitoris, with the other I worked my way into her sopping vagina. She flexed and groaned, her breath came rapidly, and in no time at all I wrought her into a heaving, panting orgasm.

She lay back, sighing. I wanted to give her time to recover, but my pussy was driving me on. I had to get some flesh between my legs, so I draped one leg over Rose's thigh. The warmth was electric: I worked myself against her until, making an effort she wriggled onto her side and slipped her hand where her thigh had been. I felt the orgasm welling up in me: days of tension and frustration all concentrated themselves in my pussy. Rose rotated her hand, expertly manipulating all my fleshy folds and convolutions, sliding her middle finger inside me, opening me up, until I could bear it no longer: throwing my legs as wide as they could possibly go, I thrust up against her hand, and let myself go. It was like a scream between my legs: a screaming orgasm that went on and on: I flexed and gripped and thrust, and came and came, until at last the screaming in my pussy subsided, and all the accumulated lust and tension and desire were spent.

Afterwards we played with each other, stroking and rubbing each other in turn until dinner arrived. After which we had to summon up the energy to shave; and this was done lovingly, tenderly, with no more biting or forcing, but rather a happy ending for each of us.