Elizabeth 05: Christmas Troubles

"Well...I mean...you spend so much time at the baths with the other naked women...I assumed you preferred women, is all."

She couldn't be certain now that he had actually said that...was it her imagination running wild over years of recitations of that alcohol-addled conversation? Likely as not he had, Elizabeth concluded. She also had little doubt that she had thrown herself brazenly at him at that point to demonstrate just how much she preferred men, and him in particular at that moment.

The silver and green and red decorations on every tree and lamppost outside, and the heavy snow that was still falling as they raced together through the deserted streets to the boarding house where she'd been staying, and the thrilling slides on the thin ice and the satisfying crunch when her boots had broken through it to the concrete, and the joyful clutch of her arm through his, and the nervous laughter that always preceded sex for her in those days, and his mystified pontifications on just what she was laughing about, and the delicious intimacy when he asked if she wasn't awfully cold in a dress and she explained that she was wearing tights...all those memories certainly were real. Elizabeth exulted in the lovely imagery as she finished off her drink and sprawled in her armchair to get down to business on conjuring up the truly juicy part of the memory. The chill from the glass was a pleasant jolt to her clitoris as her right hand brushed it for the first time, and then it was back down memory lane...

The lady of the house had her rules, but she also had a back door. "All the girls know she never keeps an eye out there," Elizabeth explained as they trudged together through the deep snow around the house. Her aforementioned tights were drenched by the time they reached the kitchen door, a condition that would make it all the more delightful when Roger would peel them off her shortly!

"So you've done this before, have you?" he needled her.

"Don't be absurd, I've been holding out for you!"

"Guess I ought to be honoured, then." That fairly nasty line jolted Elizabeth now; but surely he had not actually said it...had he?

Whether he had or not, his disposition had sweetened greatly once she had ushered him into the dark kitchen and up the back steps, both of them giggling in their inebriated nervousness at the taboo of his being there. Next, Elizabeth remembered a plain, drab room for just a moment, quickly superseded by the vision of a palatial chamber with ornate wallpaper and thick, lush carpeting and a king-sized bed with a ruffled canopy, and Roger undressing her slowly and elegantly before he laid her back gently upon the satin bedspread, gazing adoringly upon her body as he tore off his own clothes...

Elizabeth closed her eyes and intensified her rubbing, trying to recall just what it was Roger had said that had made the moment so wonderfully magical.

"Oh, good heavens, Elizabeth. I'm sorry...I can't."

That wasn't it; but as the image of her real room crowded out the idealized one, Elizabeth recalled all too clearly that that was indeed what he had said.

The encounter had started off promisingly enough. As soon as she had the door shut behind them and the lamp lit on the dresser, she turned to Roger and gathered up her skirt with a smile. "Help me off with my tights? They're absolutely soaking after the walk through the yard out there."

"My pleasure!" As he reached underneath and pulled them down gently, and her short pants with them, Elizabeth was certain her pussy was already delightfully wet with anticipation. She shivered in pleasure as his hands pulled the fabric down past her knees, and she sat back on the bed to let him pull the damp undergarments all the way off. "I hope you'll let me warm you up again where the snow got to you," he cooed.

"I hope so too," Elizabeth whispered, and enticingly she leaned back on the mattress and pulled her skirt all the way up to reveal her unique lush ladygarden.

"Oh, good heavens, Elizabeth. I'm sorry...I can't."

Tears came to Elizabeth's eyes, and she sat up and yanked her skirt back down. "Excuse me?!"

Roger looked as though he had seen a ghost, and he stood up uncertainly at the foot of the bed. "I'm sorry. I guess I should have asked you if it was true."

"If what was true?"

"About you being as hairy as they say. I'm sorry, Elizabeth, but word gets around at the pubs, you know, and I'd heard you had a big bush, and I didn't think that would be a problem, really. But I figured the guys were exaggerating, about just how big it was, you know, they hadn't actually seen it or anything. But that...I'm sorry, it's just...too much."

Elizabeth was weeping openly by the time he stammered to a close "Get out!" she shrieked through her tears, as the horrors of the school gymnasium washed afresh over her.

"Elizabeth, I –"

"GET OUT! Or I will scream, and if the landlady finds you here, you'll be spending the night in gaol, Roger, is that what you want?!"

And he had left, never to return.

Elizabeth had not thought of the real outcome of that evening in years, yet of a sudden she recalled all too well exactly what had really transpired: an absolutely miserable ending to what had been a lovely term in the city. Fortunately, Elizabeth had already discovered by then that there were men out there who appreciated her unique intimate ornamentation – a fling with her French tutor the summer before had endowed her with a great deal of flattery in both languages – and so the old despair so long inspired by her former nemeses at school had not been allowed to regain a hold over her restored spirit. But such a harsh reaction to her natural beauty had never become less painful, nor would it ever. Little wonder, she realized now, that she had created the lovely fiction that had taken over her memory.

Feeling frustrated rather than aroused now, Elizabeth stood up and poured another drink. Just what had inspired the terrible reality to bubble up in her memory tonight? She had no idea. She did recall all too well what had followed: a melancholy final day in the office, in which she resisted the temptation to educate her boss as to the mystery of why Roger had failed to appear, and a depressing train ride home, rather earlier than she had planned. (A telegram to her parents explaining that she had changed her mind about being on her own in the city at Christmas had raised no suspicions; they were only too happy to have her home after all.) Once she was safe and sober back in the cocoon of her childhood bedroom, there had been some deeply reluctant consideration of resorting to the same failed efforts of years before to tame her bush and "look like a woman was supposed to look underneath" (as her arch-nemesis Tamara had once encouraged her to do). It had taken every ounce of resolve – and the memory of the miserable discomfort that had come with every round of shaving or any other remedy, coupled with the many admiring looks she had received that autumn in the baths – to once again embrace her natural body. She had succeeded, but it had still been a fairly bittersweet Christmas.

Then perhaps the good old days weren't all that good, Elizabeth conceded now. Of course, some of them really were as lovely as she recalled. Like the first time Jonathan had seen her in the nude, just over a year before; the way he had gazed almost reverently upon her full bush as if he were unworthy of it, then the first tentative, gentle caresses of his fingers, growing in confidence and tenderness as he played merrily in her hair, and the deeply satisfying intimacy that had ensued right there in that very bed, where she now lay back and once again set about rubbing herself to joyful oblivion as she exulted in the bond she and Jonathan had formed that night, and which remained with them to this day.

Bobbing just below the point of no return, Elizabeth replayed again and again the look of awe and wonder on Jonathan's face the first time he had touched her down below, and the gentle caresses that had followed. Soon the recurring memory of his finger stroking so pleasantly within her was irresistible, and Elizabeth came with a husky, satisfied grunt.

She exhaled triumphantly and pulled back the covers, and switched off the light. Though she remained a bit upset about the harsh parting with Jonathan, the nasty memory of Roger did not keep her awake that night.

The next morning, a Saturday, found Elizabeth and myself lingering over a second and then a third pot of tea in the parlour until it was nearly time for luncheon. Alexandria's imminent return was on both our minds; but we spoke of nearly everything save that, for we both feared what we might find of the little beast upon her entry. The talk was mostly of Jonathan, of course, and I welcomed the opportunity to comfort Elizabeth as she had so often done for me. After a lengthy silence on that topic, marked by Elizabeth looking out the window at the snow-covered meadow and the cloudy sky beyond, she turned to admire the majestic Christmas tree that was partially visible out in the foyer from our perch by the window. "Isn't it queer, Agnes, how we are told to be joyous and happy throughout December when the weather inspires the opposite emotion?"

"Indeed!" I agreed. "Nearly every Christmas I can remember has inspired just that contradiction in me. But I have learned never to say so in public lest I be called a Scrooge."

"Perhaps all that oppressive cheer is for the benefit of us all in coping with the dead of winter," Elizabeth mused. "I must confess, though, it all has a way of exacerbating any unhappiness I do feel at this time of year. If last night's spat with Jonathan had occurred in spring or summer, it would have seemed but a minor unpleasantness. But with all the calls for joy and love and giving..." her voice trailed away and she curled her legs up under her on the sofa, and once again she gazed out at the frozen landscape.

"I know," I said. "I'm afraid I have no answer to that problem, though."

Elizabeth looked at me and her eyes brightened. "You know, that is exactly what caused the dispute with Jonathan last night. I wanted to help Irene and I came down awfully hard on him for having no idea as to how we could help her. But I had no ideas either. Sometimes commiseration is all we can offer our friends, is it not?"

"Sad but true," I told her, and was rewarded with her first smile in some time.

"Thank you, Agnes!" Elizabeth leaned over and squeezed my hand, and for a wonderful moment I thought we might be on our way to a reprise of our lovely tryst at the seaside the previous summer. But that moment was burst by the report of the big front door of the mansion opening, followed by the unmistakeable prattle of none other than Alexandria. To both Elizabeth's and my surprise, she sounded unreservedly happy as she finished relating a story to her parents about some adventure she and her friends had enjoyed just before examination week. "Emily will surely have some explaining to do with her mother, but she'll still be the hero of the hour when we return in January!" she declared just as the party turned into the parlour to find Elizabeth and myself scrambling to our feet.

"Agnes! Auntie Elizabeth!"

Alexandria looked the slightest bit older and bigger as she appeared in the doorway. But Elizabeth and I had little time to assess that before she set off towards us in a most unladylike manner and threw her arms around us both. Her mother's disapproving cluck notwithstanding, the moment offered me the first true sense of the Christmas spirit of the season. A glance at Elizabeth confirmed that she was as surprised and delighted as I was.

"Daddy, Mother, may I have some time alone with them for some girl talk?" Alexandria asked. "We have ever so much to catch up on!"

"Certainly, dear," Uncle said with a knowing smile. Aunt gave but a curt nod, but did not argue the matter. Uncle had the presence of mind to close the door behind him, and we were alone in the pale electric light with the roaring fire.

Alexandria lost no time in getting to the point as soon as the door was closed. "I'm sorry," she said, looking back and forth at Elizabeth and me with a contrite smile.

"Sorry for what, Alex?" I asked.

"Alexandria, please. 'Alex' is so boyish now that I'm out of the nursery, isn't it? And I meant I'm sorry for the horrid way I treated you both last summer. Eavesdropping on you and Father and making you think I knew all your business and needling you about it all. You told me I was a bully, and you were all too correct. I thought about it constantly on the train to school, even as I met up with some of the other girls who were also bound there, and I saw if I brought that attitude to school then I would be very lonely there."

"Oh, Alexandria," Elizabeth began.

"Wait, please," Alexandria said, now looking at the floor as if in shame, which perhaps she was. "I also realized if I saw any of the other girls treating each other that way and I didn't let them know it was wrong, I would be allowing someone else to be miserable for no reason. I would be the bully in a way, even if I wasn't, if you understand what I mean."

"I believe we do," I said.

"I know I do," Elizabeth added. "I cannot even tell you how many times I wished someone else had stood up for me when I was being teased and tormented."

"I thought of exactly that!" Alexandria said, now looking only at Elizabeth. "I thought again and again of what you told Father – I'm sorry I eavesdropped on you, but now that you know I did, you know what I heard – and how you were bullied when you were my age. And all I could recall was how I had loved you when I was younger, how I looked forward to your days in the nursery and the games and the stories and your hugs; and I hated knowing someone I loved so much had been abused. But what I hated most of all was that she now expected me to do the same to other girls! And so I resolved – I swore up and down, Elizabeth – I would prove you wrong. I suppose I cannot prove to you that I have done that, but I sincerely hope you believe me."

"I do," Elizabeth said, and she gathered Alexandria into a conciliatory embrace which the younger girl returned most eagerly.

"Thank you, but I feel I must tell you just how I have lived up to that promise, if you don't mind."

"That's really not necessary, Alexandria."

"Begging your pardon, Auntie Elizabeth, but I feel it is. One girl in my suite, Caroline, has the most pungent working-class accent I have ever heard, and within the first week I heard Katherine – that's the big girl in our suite, the one everyone looks up to, I'm sure you know the type – well, she was mimicking Caroline's accent while the poor dear was in the toilet, and encouraging all her minions to try it as well and goading them about how they couldn't ape it nearly as well as she could, and I stood up and told her to knock it off! I said we should all try to be friends and not pick on one another like that. Katherine shoved me into the wall and I had the worst headache that evening, but the next time she picked on Caroline, the others all told her to leave her alone! Caroline even heard all about it afterward and thanked me."

"That's lovely," Elizabeth told her while I nodded my silent concurrence.

"Some of the others have even thanked me as well for other reasons. Sophia was getting funny looks in the gymnasium because she has the biggest breasts, Ellen was getting pitiful looks because she has the smallest, tall Joyce was getting jokes about how no one could see over her in class...but once word got out about me standing up to Katherine, some of the others have done the same. It's wonderful!"

"It certainly is, Alexandria," I said.

"I do wonder if Katherine and her friends had something about me that they were picking on behind my back, though," Alexandria mused.

"That hardly matters now, does it?" Elizabeth asked.

"Oh, I know. Only curious is all. Speaking of curious, Elizabeth, there is one thing I never gleaned from all I heard last summer. What did the girls pick on you for?"

I looked nervously at Elizabeth, but I could see she was prepared. "Alexandria, we're impressed with your transformation, but that is still none of your business."

"I suppose it isn't," Alexandria conceded. "It is only that I am growing older and I hope we can be friends now..."

"We can," Elizabeth said. "And when that day comes – when you are ready – I shall tell you."

"It might help me if I see someone who is vulnerable to bullying for the same reason," Alexandria pointed out.

"I assure you, Alexandria, if you do see someone who shares my...unusual trait, you shall be aware of it. You will also surely be aware of any bullying that results from it, and I now trust you completely to put a stop to it."

Alexandria nodded and smiled, conceding the matter. But I am quite sure I saw her look Elizabeth up and down, scrutinizing her body for clues. In truth there were clues, in the form of her thick and prominent eyebrows, which never ceased to amuse me when I saw Elizabeth fully clothed in the presence of others who did not know her secret; but so far as I could see, Alexandria failed to put two and two together.

"Will you be joining Mother and the others for afternoon tea?" the poor girl asked, finally giving up on Elizabeth's secret.

"Oh, I don't know that your mother wants a crowd for her reunion with you," Elizabeth pointed out.

"She most likely doesn't, but I do!" Alexandria had a pleading look in her eyes, and neither Elizabeth nor I could blame her.

With few other options for the afternoon, we did join her. During a detour to the water closet beforehand (we had both had a great deal of tea already prior to Alexandria's arrival), we did share an awkward laugh from our side-by-side stalls. "Good heavens, I guess your secret is perfectly safe from her after all!" I said with relief.

"I don't know that I would say 'perfectly' safe," Elizabeth said. "The cynic in me wonders if she does in fact know and only wished to see if I would entrust her with the information."

"But you don't really care who knows, do you?" I asked.

"Not at all," Elizabeth said. "Those days are over, thank heavens!"

Elizabeth had been correct that Aunt did not welcome her company; and for that matter it appeared that she cared little for mine either. But Alexandria smiled gratefully when she saw us appear in the sitting room to share her burden. Though neither Elizabeth nor I had much tolerance for more tea by then, we did enjoy the delightful gingerbread biscuits and assorted other treats that appeared from the kitchen. We also enjoyed Alexandria's happy prattle about her adventures at school, particularly in contrast to her mother's vague but pervasive disapproval of it all over the rim of her teacup. Elizabeth nearly glowed with pride and relief at her former charge's transformation, though her consternation over the spat with Jonathan was still palpable in her eyes.

We only found ourselves subjected to two or three of Alexandria's earnest but dull tales of life on her own before the doorman appeared over my shoulder and announced that Elizabeth and I had a visitor. Elizabeth's eyes lit up in hope that it was Jonathan; there was no need for me to confirm that with her. Quickly we excused ourselves, exchanging knowing and apologetic looks with Alexandria, and followed the doorman out to the foyer.

There by the tree, looking gay as Christmas itself in a red frock, was Irene.

Elizabeth hid her disappointment remarkably well as she swept our friend up in her arms. "So good to see you out and about, darling!" she said.

"And it's great to be out, too," Irene agreed as I followed suit in embracing her. "I've come to apologize for my horrible behaviour last night. I woke up this morning feeling absolutely wretched, and feeling as though I deserved it besides."