Neither

Dear Diary, (May 24th)

I have just finished a late breakfast with Miss Manton who insisted that I share every intimate detail that occurred last night in Mr. Thornton's chambers. Not even my mother, who has no shame about the matters of the flesh, ever showed such interest in what my bedmates said, how they performed, or what their reaction was when all was said and done. Priscilla assured me that sharing these details was critical to helping her help me and that if I didn't want to recount the events in the future the only other option would be to let her watch.

I honestly still do not know if that was my cousin's idea of a joke. Perhaps she meant it as a threat to make it clear that although I was the mistress of Havenhall, that I would have to do as she said ... perhaps though she was one of those people who preferred to watch others perform the deed than to actually dirty themselves ... I don't know, I bet Mama would. Often, when it first dawned upon me that what my mother did to keep us living as we did was just an upscale version of the night-walkers that frequented the streets down by the docks, I was deeply embarrassed and angered even though it was her dinner parties and late-night soirees that paid for my schooling and fancy clothes. Even after I took lovers of my own, I prided myself that these were men that I chose based their looks, manner of speaking and deportment, not the size of their bank accounts ... now that I think about it, I cannot help but wonder if these same men would write my mother a check for the privilege of lifting my skirts ...

I find that I was digressing far from the intent of this journal entry. Although neither woman would be flattered by the comparison, there are many striking similarities between my mother and Priscilla: is trading my young body for what Havenhall needs so different from what my mother did? I will have to be careful with both.

I told Miss Manton over breakfast how surprised Mr. Thornton was when he first saw me standing by his side wearing only my night clothes. Although he was at first alarmed and believed something awful had happened, when I slipped the light house coat from my shoulders and stood before him in only the sheerest of gowns, his thin lips curled into a delighted smile.

“I knew it!” Priscilla clapped her hands together in satisfaction, “that young lawyer has wanted you for days now, probably since the very first time he met you.” The contempt in Priscilla's tone was directed at not only Mr. Thornton, but all men who could be led by their emotions and in a way at me too for using my body to achieve the necessary end of maintaining my newly acquired plantation. “Did he kiss you, and whisper how beautiful you were?” Her smile grew a little more predatory, “or did he pull you onto his bed and start rutting on you without so much as a 'by your leave'?”

“He kissed me.” I whispered my answer softly even though it was just my cousin and I in the morning sunroom. Mr. Thornton had already left for the day, although he assured me that he would be back as soon as he had attended to his affairs. “It was nice.”

“Go on,” Priscilla smiled at me knowingly, “A young boy like that is hardly going to stop at a few kisses.”

I told Priscilla how even as his lips explored mine, he lifted my nightgown so his hands could caress my breasts. She wanted to know if my nipples got hard, and if he pinched them or used his tongue and I was **** to describe how good it felt to have him suckling and nibbling on my teats. It had felt good, and I remember pulling his head even closer to my heart as he mouthed me but sharing that detail with my cousin made me blush wildly and I paused to take a sip of coffee. She took my hand and squeezed it softly, but insisted that I continue describing how Mr. Thornton and I got on.

I had to recount every detail. How he lifted my nightgown over my head, and then picked me up in his arms so he could lay me on his bed. When I related that he stripped naked too before lowering himself onto me Priscilla made me stop and describe his manhood and I had to explain that Mr. Thornton's member was longer than what I was used to and how it curved upward like a banana.

By this point Priscilla was hanging on every detail; she wanted to know what Mr. Thornton was like as a lover.

“What is he like as a lover?” She asked with unabashed interest. “Was he tender and caring?” She paused briefly before adding sweetly “Or did he fuck you like a negro breeding sow?”