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    Anne versus The Medievalists

    dawn

    It’s early morning, and the sun streams through my bedroom windows, and I wonder if all people who have eastern-facing windows are early risers? They’d have to be, wouldn’t they? The kind who bounce up out of bed at first light ready for anything.

    Ordinarily, that is me, but today, only one of my eyes makes it all the way open. I lean in closer to the mirror and carefully prise open my left lid. Through the lightning-like pattern of a bloodshot hemorrhage, my eye looks back with a singular message: Get even.

    Downstairs, beginning with my family at breakfast, I’ll tell them plausible lies and dismiss their prying —this time to explain away my brutalized face. However, I’m likely to be interrupted from further deception by the inevitable arrival of a note from Miss Walker, probably appearing around nine, inquiring about the Rev. Ainsworth’s departure and did I, perhaps, know anything about it?

    Should I tell her yes after deceiving her about so many things? Would she like to know how many former lovers I have from here to Spain? Or perhaps, she’d rather hear how many women before her I’ve asked to marry me? Should I tell her that toying with me —like she’s been doing in this hellish back and forth —has eaten away at my heart whole because only a broken aching thing would satisfy its ghoulish appetites?

    Should I tell her how insane it makes me that my love life resembles a battlefield because I’m at war with surrender? I cannot lose another woman I love to yet, another man. So, yes! For the love of God, yes! I horsewhipped him because he forced himself upon her, and it was mine and mine alone to do it. Might she say thank you for protecting her from filth? Might any of her idiotic relations?

    Is there any way back with Ann or have I failed to catch her? I stifle a cry of pain while removing my dressing gown to splash water on my face. I know the minds of the medievalists in Miss Walker’s family —they are jealous of me. I should have seen it before now.

    Better Lap Kiss

    For miles and miles in any direction, I’m the only one in this valley having sex. Miss Walker, of course, is also having sex, and until very recently I could walk over there, and twenty minutes later she’d be on my lap for the afternoon. However, that seems in grave jeopardy now that the medievalists are controlling her mind with witches and demons and hangman’s ropes.

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    Comments

    1. skydancer says

      Luv this.

      “In Paris, I had the best sex of my life…”

      Was just thinking, “Wait til she takes Ann to the beautiful Lake District.” Some distance from her native Halifax, yes, and she probably didn’t, in real life. But can you see it? That setting, your two romantic leading ladies, riding or walking that spectacular land, perhaps conversing with Wordsworth, a fellow Tory, and founder of English Romanticism.

      I think she’d do it.

      Meanwhile, sorry about not answering right away — you asked some weeks back about what to read. I recently finished “Three Women” and haven’t stopped thinking about it. The loneliness of female desire. Not for the faint of heart.

      • Blackbird says

        .Skydancer,

        To learn more about Anne Lister, I’m looking into the books, novels, and poetry she read during the period I’m writing about her. Wordsworth was one as was Byron. Whether it was an idea Byron had that excited Anne Lister, too, or whether this was an erotic custom known on the fringes, I have not discovered that answer yet, but both Anne Lister and Lord Byron had the unusual desire to keep clippings of their lover’s pubic hair. Anne Lister wore Miss Walker’s in a locket around her neck.

        Good Lord, there are so many parts of the historical period during which they lived and their own lives. I’m delighted to keep writing them. My thanks for your comment. I skipped over purchasing Lisa Tardoe’s book and instead got the newest novel “City of Girls” by Elizabeth Gilbert and “Educated” by Tara Westover. I shall look for Lisa’s book once I’ve finished those above two.

      • Blackbird says

        K12foru,

        My great thanks for your comment. In the opening scene of this story, it was vital, while Anne was in agony to show her irritation and how frustrated and furious she’d become with the prospect of losing yet another woman to marriage with another man.

        When it came time to write her anger, and these lines came into my mind, “Should I tell her that toying with me —like she’s been doing in this hellish back and forth —has eaten away at my heart whole because only a broken aching thing would satisfy its ghoulish appetites?

        Should I tell her how insane it makes me that my love life resembles a battlefield because I’m at war with surrender?” I felt I had captured her a depth of her lover’s angst.

        Thank you for reading, and I’m delighted you enjoyed the story.

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