Thanks to purple-roses-words-and-love for being my beta.
Lesson number one
Shelagh had desired Patrick so much she had practically ached with need when he'd brought her back to her lodgings. She hadn't acted on those feelings right away, though, not in the least because the walls of her room were thin and her landlady a devout, rather conservative woman. Instead, she had waited for a moment when she was alone and could put Patrick's theory into practice. That moment came two days later, when the landlady went out to do some shopping.
"I'll be back in an hour or two, love," Mrs Baker said. "Do you need anything?"
"No, thank you," Shelagh said, giving her a nod and a small smile before returning to her copy of Jane Eyre. Her thoughts, however, had turned almost immediately away from Mr Rochester and to Doctor Turner. She thought of his broad, rough hands with a smattering of dark hair on each knuckle, of his smooth forearms, and his broad shoulders. He was so much taller than she, yet she never felt dwarfed by him. Instead, there was only the feeling of safety when he took her in his arms, and dark desire when he loomed over her before kissing her.
Shelagh crossed and uncrossed her legs, then rubbed them together as heat pooled in her belly. Her breathing had sped up a little. If she were to look in a mirror, she was sure she'd find that her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were luminous.
There'll never be a better moment than now, she thought. Part of her wanted to jump up from the couch and half-run half-walk to her bedroom.
She decided to heed the part of her that wanted to relish every sensation instead, and carefully marked the page in her book before rising and smoothing her skirt. She clenched and unclenched her hands as she strolled to her bedroom, doing it casually, even though there was no one to watch her.
There's time, she thought, but she wasn't entirely sure whether that was true. How long did these things take?
Time to find out.
She closed the bedroom door behind her with a soft snick, and locked it. Her hand trembled. She slipped out of her shoes and put them underneath the chair at the desk, adjusting them so they stood perfectly straight. Next, she pulled the curtains closed. When someone asked why, she'd claim a headache.
She put a towel over the mattress so the linen wouldn't be soiled by whatever she was about to do.
Patrick said to take your time. Explore your body in detail, she thought as she undid the buttons of her jacket and slung it over the chair. Underneath, she wore a silk blouse, and her slip. She placed the palm of her hand over her chest to feel her heartbeat. It was a little fast, but also hard and steady. She smiled.
All because of you, Patrick.
She put her glasses and watch away, then unzipped her skirt, folded it, and put it on the chair. Her blouse followed. She stood only in her slip now, and shivered. It was spring, but the weather was still cold, and the heating here wasn't very good. It was better than at Nonnatus, but the chill made the hairs on her arms and legs rise nonetheless.
She hesitated, then touched her breasts through her slip and brassiere. Her nipples had hardened; she could feel them through the layers of fabric. What would it feel like if Patrick pushed his hand underneath her clothing and rubbed her soft flesh till her nipple stood out?
She blushed at such a sinful thought and almost dropped her hand again. "But it isn't sin, Shelagh," she said out loud, and to banish the thought that it was she placed her other hand on her other breast, massaging the flesh till her breath came in little pants and her legs felt weak. She pulled her slip over her head and folded it neatly, then unclasped her brassiere and hung it over the chair before sitting down on the edge of the bed.
Her stockings came next. She needed several tries to unclasp her garters; her fingers had become numb from the cold, and she was shivering from the temperature and anticipation both.
Patrick had whispered in her ear once that he loved her legs. He could only have seen the outline of them, so she wondered what he'd think once he'd see all of them. Shelagh put her fingertips on her ankle and stroked upwards. Her skin was very pale; these parts of her hadn't seen sunlight in years. The freckles that speckled her since her childhood were still there, though. Shelagh tapped them in surprise.
I have ignored my body for so long… Nuns were supposed to be spiritual creatures first and foremost, denying and ignoring the flesh to feel closer to God. She had tried to get into tune with her body more during her months in the sanatorium, but then, she had mainly looked for signs of illness and healing.
There are so many secrets my body holds for me, she thought a little sadly. Then, and Patrick and I will discover them together. That cheered her up.
She pulled her knickers down and slipped underneath the covers, waiting a few minutes for her body to grow warm again, thinking of Patrick. When he laughed, a myriad of wrinkles fanned out from the corners of his eyes, the opposite of tears. She loved it when he laughed. It was a dear sound, hard-won even though it sounded carefree. When he laughed, his belly shook. He always breathed from his belly. She had tried to match him once, but had quickly become breathless. His proximity was partly to blame for that, she was sure. Would he breathe so deeply when they lay entwined? She didn't think so. His belly would be soft then. She thought of tracing the arrow of hair that grew there, and shivered in anticipation.
She twisted on her back and pulled her legs up, rubbing her own belly, following the line from her bellybutton down to her pubic hair. She hesitated again, then touched the hair there. It was somewhat coarse, curly, and darker than the hair that grew from her head.
She stroked her thighs next, drawing small circles that grew into bigger ones, like water rippling. With both hands she took hold of her hips, following the sharp blade of bones underneath the skin. She imagined Patrick holding her there as he drove into her. She wanted their first time to be tender above all, but surely there would be times when it wasn't tender, but passionate or even wild? The idea of driving him so wild with want that he would take her a little roughly made her breathing hitch.
She touched her breast again. Her own hand was small. Would Patrick be able to cup her breast in its entirety? She'd like him to. A picture of him sucking one nipple rose in her mind unbidden. It made her moan. The sound was loud and unexpected, and for a few seconds shame took over. She lowered her legs and sat up, her heart beating wildly, one leg already slung over the edge of the bed.
"No," she said, and made herself lie down again. There was nothing to be ashamed about, nothing to feel guilty about. Every married couple she had seen in clinic had engaged in acts such as the one she had just imagined, and plenty of unwed couples, too. She was not the only one to imagine these things, and she'd certainly not be the last.
It took a while to get going again, but she managed it by caressing her thighs and breasts and by putting a hand over her vagina and applying light pressure. By then, her breathing was coming in little pants, and her belly was clenched with desire.
"There's a little bud between your legs. If you touch it, it causes a sensation of pleasure," she remembered, and smiled a little as she used a finger to part her labia and stroke up and down to get a sense of what that felt like. She shivered as her fingertip came back glistening. It was a good thing she was lying on a towel. She spread the wetness, feeling her swollen flesh grow soft as velvet. Would Patrick's sex feel soft, too? His manhood would be hard when they'd make love, but what would the skin feel like?
She moaned at the idea of holding him in her hand, and stroked her folds a little faster before letting her finger travel upwards to feel around for the bundle of nerves Patrick had described. She found it almost immediately, and cried out as she touched it. Pleasure coursed through her already, and she hadn't even started caressing it properly. She skirted around it, trying to decide what felt best. She was throbbing with want now. It felt as if her heartbeat was echoed down there.
Here we go, she thought, and touched the bundle again. Was there a name for it? She'd have to ask Patrick. At this moment, she couldn't care less what doctors named it. There was only a building pressure between her legs, a heat that grew and grew with each stroke. She squeezed her breast with her free hand, rolling the nipple between her fingers, twisting it a little till she gasped.
The pressure broke unexpectedly. She cried out at the force of it, her hips surging off the bed. She rocked against her own hand, desperately trying to drag out her pleasure. When her hips came down, she lay very still, her chest rising and falling rapidly. She opened her eyes, and stared at the ceiling, a smile playing around her lips.
She was damp with sweat. Were she to look in the mirror now, the roots of her hair would be dark with it. Beads of perspiration had gathered in the hollows of her knees. When she stretched her legs, they rolled down, making her shiver. She knew that women birthed babies whilst being bathed in sweat. She hadn't realised that those babies were conceived in sweat, too.
When Patrick and I do this in a few days' time, we'll be slick as selkies, she thought. Their damp skins would stick together as they lay together. It was that image that made her happier than anything else.
When she was sure her legs could carry her, she towelled herself dry, then used a flannel and a bowl of water to wash herself. She dressed slowly, caressing her body as she did so. When all of that was done, she went to the telephone, and called the surgery.
"Doctor Turner speaking."
She smiled against the horn.
"Hello," she whispered.
"Shelagh?" His voice softened instantly.
"I wanted to let you know I took your advice," she said. Was her voice always this deep, purring thing? Surely not. Surely, this was only for him.
"My advice?"
"Your first lesson."
He swallowed thickly. "And?" The word was low, almost a growl.
"It has made me look forward to our wedding night more than ever."
"Good."
She wished it was tomorrow, no, today. How could she wait more than a week longer before doing the things she had just imagined experiencing with him?
"And?" she whispered.
"And?"
"When will we talk about lesson number two?"
She could practically hear him smile. "Why don't I pick you up after surgery? When Tim has gone to bed we can discuss the results of your first lesson in more detail, and decide together upon a subject for your second lesson."
Her belly clenched again. She was sure she'd washed between her legs, but that strange place already felt moist once more. She put a hand on her knee and dug her nails in her skin. "That would be… very appropriate," she said.
She couldn't wait.
