by Lisa Young
Smiling to reveal a large gap between her yellowed front teeth, she leaned into Lottie. “Minge, love, we’ve all got one!”
Lottie felt the heat of the woman’s breath on her now glowing cheeks. Slowly she turned to re-examine the picture closest to her which suddenly seemed to come into focus with alarming speed to reveal an angry red vagina.
“Vaginas!” Pru shrieked, making Lottie jump out of her skin. The rest of the room let out a nervous giggle. “Let’s all say it together…vaginas!” she bellowed with gusto.
With some reluctance, the voice of the group sent back a feeble echo of vagina and Pru harrumphed with displeasure. Lowering herself onto a stool, she spread her legs wide and pointed towards her own modesty. “Fannies, minge, vagina, lady garden, so many names for our most precious area. All of the names come from men, they have claimed our vaginas for their own, but we want them back!”
Mim jumped up and grabbed her crotch, making a grotesque grinding motion. “Back, back, back,” she chanted, with alarming regularity.
Pru leapt down from the stage area and prowled around the group, some of whom sheepishly returned her stare, awaiting enlightenment about how they could redeem their privates. While Pru swept around the room updating the women on the disastrous journey their vaginas had undertaken since the emergence of pornography, Mel turned to give Lottie a stare that would shrivel grapes.
Lottie gave a half-hearted smile and an apologetic shrug. Grappling with her handbag, she retrieved the hip flask she had stashed there, and stealthily slung it through the gap underneath the seats towards Mel’s eagerly awaiting hands. Lottie tried to remain calm and turned her attention back to Pru. She really was starting to worry about her mental health.
Where on earth had it said on the e-mail that she needed to reclaim her vagina tonight? A cold sweat pricked at the base of her neck as she contemplated the possible progression of the group to the inevitable circle of women with mirrors exploring their own lady gardens.
As it turned out and much to the group’s relief, Pru wasn’t intending on revealing her vagina or anyone else’s for that matter, instead she offered the women a relatively comfortable space on the floor prepared with yoga matting and invited them to create their own artwork. Breathing a loud sigh of relief that her panties would remain in place, Lottie took the time to examine the hangings adorning the walls and concluded that every one of them was a representation of a variety of tuppences that she hoped didn’t actual belong to anyone she knew.
Trying to shake that image from her mind, she determined that each picture displayed could easily be interpreted for something else, an exotic flower maybe or some more like a garden slug. On closer examination one of the more impressionist interpretations contained, what she was pretty sure was the face of the Dali Lama, grinning broadly out of the delicate folds. Lottie shook her head in disbelief, pretty sure that this was some type of religious defamation. Taking her place in the circle on the floor she passively accepted a piece of drawing paper and grabbed a charcoal pencil from the jar in from of her. She was fairly confident that her vagina would only want to be represented in black and white at this stage.
To her surprise, the majority of the group were bent intently above their creative masterpieces. On finishing, women would hand their work to Pru who would hold it aloft and chant, “Vagina, vagina, vagina!” The group would rouse to a cheer before returning to their own creations.
Egged on by Mel, who had greedily consumed the contents of the bribery hip flask, Lottie reluctantly held aloft her black and white depiction of her own delicate folds, minus the Dali Lama. Bracing herself as the group all cheered and the inevitable raucous shout of Vagina! echoed around the hall.
Slightly out of time, due to her inebriated state, Mel shrieked out. “Cunt!”
The group fell silent, all eyes on Pru, who rose slowly. Dramatically she made her way to Mel, who was chuckling uncontrollably at her own variation on the group chant. Oblivious to the approach of Pru, Mel leaned to Lottie who was studiously avoiding eye contact, as she attempted to disassociate herself from her pissed friend.
Oblivious, Mel leaned across saying loudly and speaking to no one in particular “C U next Thursday, cunt!” she pronounced proudly, as she fell back onto her heels.
Pru towered above her, and Mel suddenly became aware of her presence, shushing herself before disintegrating into hysteria once again.
Pru swooped down decisively and grasped Mel’s wrist, dragging her to her feet. Lottie gasped in shock. Christ, she’s going to throw her out, or hit her! Lottie jumped to her feet, ready to rescue Mel, who was grinning inanely in spite of Pru’s intense gaze.
Mel stood unsteadily beside Pru, who spun her around and around in front of the group, who were silent and spellbound by the unexpected events that were unfolding before them.
Taking a deep tremulous breath, Pru slowly raised Mel’s arm skyward, and bowing her head she breathed noisily and muttered something incoherent to herself, before she raised her head to follow the stretch of Mel’s arm. “Women and spirits!” she commanded. “Behold the bravery of one woman amongst so many!”
Legs spread akimbo, she shook Mel’s arm, causing it to wobble with some irregularity. Mel was grinning inanely at Lottie. “The spirit has entered Melanie, and her grounded sense of self-assurance and kinship to womankind has allowed her to recognise the importance of reclaiming our essence!”
Lottie looked at Pru and noted a single tear slipping almost unnoticed down her furrowed cheek, “Cunts are ours! They do not belong to men! They should not be depicted on the top shelves of our newsagents or used by men who want to dominate and control us! No! I say no more shall we allow the use of our cunts by others. They are ours forever more! Join me as we claim our cunts!”
Rising noisily and somewhat uncomfortably to their feet, the group tentatively joined hands, simultaneously mumbling cunt, cunt, cunt in a rhythmic chant.
Lottie remained speechless staring at Mel who was nodding in inebriated approval at the chorus of profanity that she had instigated.
With her energy seeming to be suddenly depleted, Pru sank onto a chair that had appeared beneath her at that behest of Mim.
Looking towards the group, Pru smiled weakly. “The spirit is gone now, my dears, I am weary. Your homework for this evening is to go home and reclaim your moist cavities in whichever way you feel the need to. Claim the language as our own, speak the words aloud for all to hear and live in the knowledge that we are the masters of our own pleasure!”
Not waiting for further instruction, Lottie grabbed the tipsy Mel roughly by the arm and headed for the car park and escaped to the safety of her car and home.
LATER THAT NIGHT, Lottie woke up with a start and sat bolt upright in the bed. Undisturbed, Alice breathed softly at the side of her. As she had drifted to sleep, the memory of the earlier group had lingered, unwelcome in her mind and had infiltrated her dreams where, bizarrely, she had volunteered to do a chalk drawing of Prudence’s vagina with Mim grinning like the proverbial Cheshire cat as she encouraged the group towards them for a closer look.
“Holy shit!” Lottie mumbled, shaking her head to try and dispel the unpleasant images that still crowded her mind. Bloody Pru and her crazy groups. Lottie tried to unpick what kept her going, when every time it seemed like the subject matter bordered on the insane.
Glancing at the clock, she registered two oh four. Groaning, she gently slipped from under the heavy duvet, tiptoed out of the room and headed downstairs to the dimly lit kitchen. Leaning her head under the tap, she slurped the cool water greedily as it trickled into her mouth and ran down her cheek. She was pretty sure that the original allure of group had been the thought of bonding with other gay women who she wouldn’t ordinarily encounter in her daily life. She was certainly the only gay in the village at work, apart from Virginia, of course, although the make-up of her small home village of Pennan was slightly more gay-friendly. Lottie took pride in
her ability to blend into largely heterosexual environments although this didn’t lessen the craving for a life which held more gay friends. Despite this, she was rapidly reaching the conclusion that Pru’s ensemble of spirit-friendly hippies was probably not going to be a source of long lasting friendships for her.
She made her way cautiously back upstairs, then decided to visit the bathroom. Sitting on the toilet she noted with a mild
sense of irritation that Alice’s expensive brand of body wash was out and proud on the bath side. Since Alice had moved in, a silent battle had ensued as Lottie tried to passively train Alice to put away her bathroom accessories.
Long ago, Lottie had learned that the various needs of her small household, in terms of an assortment of shower gels and shampoos, could not be easily housed on the bath edge. After some prompting, the boys had accepted the inevitable fact that all showering accessories would need to live in the drawers beneath the sink. However, since Alice had joined them, a somewhat rebellious bottle of shower gel had reappeared on the bath side despite Lottie’s persistent attempts to put it out of sight. Wanting Alice to feel completely at home, Lottie hadn’t quite been brave enough to tackle the matter head on, instead she had adopted a somewhat passive aggressive approach by removing the shower gel after each post-shower visitation to the bathroom. At some point later in the day, the shower gel usually would make a reappearance, and today was clearly no exception. Almost without thought, Lottie swiped it up from the bath side and popped it back into the drawer, before she made her way back to the bedroom where Alice was still sleeping soundly.
Burrowing back down underneath the duvet, she found herself thinking about Pru’s rationale for shouting vulgar obscenities with her friends. It was true that Lottie did not approve any more than the next self-respecting lesbian about the continuing existence of page-three girls in newspapers or hard-core pornography solely designed to get men off on the use and abuse of women. Despite this, however, saying the words out loud felt less like reclaiming them and more like a crudity that invoked extreme discomfort.
Despite now feeling somewhat more confident in her own sexual prowess, Lottie had never conquered the art of dirty talk. Occasionally, in the midst of passion, Alice would murmur a few words of encouragement which always spurred Lottie on in a sexual capacity. Somehow though, despite her train of passionate thought Lottie had, thus far, been unable to verbalise this and reciprocate towards Alice in that way. She reached beneath the cover and slipped her arm underneath that of the sleeping Alice and pulled her gently towards her. Alice partially roused and caught Lottie’s free hand with her own pulling it towards her breast. As Lottie touched the softness of Alice’s skin she noted the small pinprick of goose bumps rise up her back as she felt the response of Alice’s nipple as it hardened to meet the palm of her hand. Lottie gave an involuntary groan, and Alice turned towards her wearing a deeply sensual and sleepy half smile. Without speaking she raised an eyebrow at Lottie who smiled in return. She reached towards Lottie and pulled her into a deep kiss, probing her mouth lazily with her tongue. Lottie gave a louder groan as she shifted her body weight and moulded herself between Alice’s parted legs. Pulling playfully at Alice’s top, and with no resistance she tugged it up fully to expose her fiancée’s full breasts. Reaching forward to nuzzle into Alice’s inviting warmth, Pru’s words echoed in her mind, reclaim the words…
Could she?
Tracing a pattern of delicate kisses upward towards Alice’s neck she heard her breath catch. Teasing her ear lobe, she breathed heavily into her ear. “Baby?”
Alice paused, arching towards Lottie. “Uh huh?” she muttered huskily.
Lottie pulled back and breathed across Alice’s mouth. “Can I touch your cunt?”
As she said the word cunt with slightly too much venom, a small amount of spittle flew out of her mouth and hit Alice in the eye.
Blinking rapidly, Alice rose up on her elbows. “Excuse me?” she bellowed.
Lottie’s smile faltered. “Perhaps that was a little clumsy. What I was trying to say was, can I finger your vag?” Satisfied that she’d explained herself more clearly, she slipped her hand down towards Alice’s parted legs.
Alice spluttered in complete surprise. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me, Lots! What on earth has got into you? Have you been drinking?”
Lottie froze.
“Oh crap, I think that may have come out wrong, I was trying to reclaim my vagina, well, yours actually. Well, you know, reclaim the word. Pru said,” she finished lamely.
Alice was now in a full sitting position and grabbing a pillow, she placed it between her and the eager Lottie. “Excuse me!” she repeated. “That crazy old bag told you to reclaim my vagina?”
Lottie felt stuck. She was sure that she’d used the right terminology and hoped it would have enhanced the moment rather than destroy it. She was confused. Should she have used the word cunt instead? Perhaps the word vagina was too clinical.
Deciding to give it one final go, she firmly grasped Alice’s breast and shouted assertively. “Cunt!”
Alice snorted loudly and laughed from her very core. Tears rolled down her face as she bit into the duvet in an attempt to try and stem her hysterical mirth.
Lottie leaned back quietly against the headboard and was thankful for the darkness which masked her glowing red cheeks.
She chuckled, but with less conviction than Alice who was literally beside herself with the humour of the situation.
Fuck! Lottie acknowledged how clumsy her attempt at seductive talk had been.
“Oh Christ, Lottie. You really are totally priceless! Tell me you planned this. It’s not possible to be this funny off the cuff!”
Smiling brightly at the unexpected compliment, in what was none other than a significant fail on the sexual expression front, she playfully slapped Alice’s thigh.
“Cup of tea?” she asked.
This galvanised Alice into a renewed hysterical outburst and so, without waiting for a reply, she grabbed her robe and disappeared back down into the kitchen, hoping to redeem herself with the delivery of a steaming brew.
“Bloody Pru!” she muttered murderously.
Part Three
Pondweed Archie
AS THE SUMMER drew to a lazy close, Alice was aware that Lottie was preparing herself for an inevitable but terrifying fact of life. Archie was about to go to senior school. Much to Alice’s amusement, Lottie had studiously avoided any discussion of this, despite the imminent start date of the following Monday.
Alice had decided to play down the progression of Archie from Lottie’s little darling into a tween with occasional mood swings and more than a passing interest in the female of the species. She was well aware that Lottie viewed Archie as a reflection of her youth and that the loss of the annual school nativity play, and that the constant need for boxes for abstract art projects, was going to inevitably take its toll on Lottie. Alice had a great fondness for the boys, but she was cautious in adopting a full hands-on parenting role, knowing that Lottie had prided herself on doing a half-decent job of single-parenting them through to their teenage years.
Not having a biological connection with the children, however, did not detract from Alice’s desire to facilitate a harmonious transition for Archie, who she felt was going to need a lot of support in becoming a young man from his currently entrenched position as the baby of the family. Alice couldn’t help but feel some frustration towards Lottie’s inability to recognise that she was not helping Archie by colluding with the immature behaviour that Archie sometimes demonstrated. She concluded that the situation had largely arisen more from Lottie’s need to remain a useful parent than from Archie’s need to remain the baby of the family.
A FEW DAYS before the fateful Monday, Lottie had reluctantly entered the uniform department of John Lewis and Archie had stared in dismay at the array of acrylic football shirts and the rugby tops.
“I don’t like sport, Mum,�
� he mumbled, while the eager shop assistant disappeared to find a tape measure.
Lottie looked at Archie with what she hoped was reassurance rather than a reflection of her own sense of impending doom.
“Look love, we all had to do sports. It’s not fun, God knows, but you’ll be fine!” Lottie could hear the insincere undertone in her comment.
Archie clung to her arm, miserably casting a wary eye of doubt over the sombre navy blazers and the stiff tailored trousers. Desperate to engage Archie in the process, Lottie tried to help him focus on the rather more colourful selection of pencil cases and accessories.
ROBBIE HUNG BACK, observing the pair. He was proud to have got them both to the uniform shop where he hoped that they would actually get on and buy the requisite uniform. The last thing that Archie needed was to be going to school in the wrong clothes. It was Robbie’s opinion that Archie was potentially a prime target for the bullies, and although he cared about his brother, he also wanted to avoid any reflected embarrassment on his own rather more street cool image—which he liked to think he still had, despite his swift eviction from the school into another secondary, where he was determined to keep a low profile.
He intended to guide his brother through the intricacies of social interaction at senior school, in an attempt to make Archie a survivor of the Scottish comprehensive system, rather than a casualty of his mother’s mollycoddling.
Both Archie and his mum glanced across anxiously at him, so he gave them a reassuring nod and pointed in the direction of the trousers with no elasticated waists. His mum grabbed them from the rack and gave him a look of gratitude before subconsciously pulling Archie closer to her.
Robbie shook his head in despair and slunk out of the shop to have a roll-up before the inevitable post-shopping autopsy began on the long car journey home.
