Bletchley Girls

Despite the widely-held reputation that ATS girls received for being romantically precocious, many of its members were in fact, at the outbreak of war, as innocent as babies. One of these such members was Susan Porter. Her arrival at Bletchley Park in 1942, at the time a spiritly girl of twenty-four who could as easily pass for a schoolgirl as she could a schoolmistress, led not only to a vast increase in the contact she had with boys of a similar age, but with girls also, as she had been homeschooled since she was twelve.

The homeschooling had proved, largely, successful, given a narrow understanding of the requirements of education. She was adept in several living languages, and two dead ones, had a broad understanding of all the sciences, and even dabbled in literature and painting and music. Her mother had not, sadly, instilled in her a love of culture, current or classical. Susan did not enjoy art; neither did her mother; neither of them, it pains me to say, understood that art was something one should enjoy, or even someone one could enjoy: it was to be studied and read and learned, the same as times-tables. This was, one might amusingly point out, a strange variation of l'art pour l'art.

She understood the workings of both the male and female bodies, their similarities and their differences, which she held in equal esteem. To her the workings of the penis, or the womb, or the breasts, were of equal importance to the gut, or the appendix, or the incisors. She understood what sex was, but not what passion was, or pleasure. The orgasm, as it had been described to her, was the giving of a man's DNA into a woman's body for the purposes of reproduction, and thus she knew nothing of its pleasurablity, or that a woman could have one too. Sex, she might have supposed, if she had thought about it, which she didn't often, was something that if one were lucky and fertile one had very little of, and if one were not, one might do away with entirely, forgoing the having of children, for they would not be worth the ordeal of frequent trying.

What this education had done was get to her Bletchley, where she would be afforded a very different education, away from her mother, her father, and the crippling solitary of her upbringing, which she was so ignorant of she didn't even yet know had been so lonely. Here she would spend time with some of the most intelligent people in Britain, people who would fill in the gaping holes in her education, and explain not with words but with actions some of the most important and enjoyable things one could experience on earth.

It was not however, as you might expect, the company of men that she sought out, or even accidentally experienced - not initially anyway. Despite the many myths spread about ATS girls, and their sexual proclivities, few actually spoke to the men, having little to no automatic contact with them, and being naturally afraid of them. The men in turn were afraid of the women, for largely similar reasons. Britain had very carefully created a system in which both sexes were convinced of the other's confidence and superiority, such that they doubted their own social abilities, which I'm sure was very helpful in reducing the spread of sexually transmitted diseases. Naturally the baby boom that followed required people to get over these anxieties causing the sexual revolution that Susan would go on to fully enjoy, having first had her own private sexual revolution within the confines of Bletchley Park.

Susan shared a dormitory with some twenty-nine other girls, in narrow, hospital-like beds, arranged in three rows of ten, with very little space in between. One could easily sit in the middle of one's bed and reach one's left hand to the middle of another, their right to a third, and their feet across to a fourth. Girls do, I hate to tell you this, snore, despite the various myths about them, and Susan would regularly find herself awake at night, worrying about the war, her family - particularly the men in her family that were fighting - and kept up by the general noisiness of the room. She stared into the semi-darkness, and one night, a couple of weeks in, she caught a pair of eyes staring back at her, not from an adjacent bed, but from one three over to her left. Susan was lying down, but Helen, who's glance she caught, was sitting up, and thus visible over the two slumbering bodies in between. Helen beckoned Susan over to her, and Susan, knowing as she did so little about social cues, obeyed, and was soon sitting underneath Helen's covers, bodies forced to be closely touching, though both still partly off the sides of the bed. Helen's thigh felt very warm against Susan's through their thin night-clothes, and

Having sat down, Susan went to introduce herself, but was stopped by Helen's quick acting hand.

'Careful. Anyone could wake up,' she whispered, her mouth so close to Susan's ear that Susan felt Helen's lips touch her flesh.

With that Helen took her left hand out from under the covers, retrieved Susan's hand, that was dangling off the right side of the bed, and held it tightly, resting on Susan's stomach.

'Thank you. I don't really have many friends,' Susan said, this time with her mouth close as possible to Helen's ear. With her right hand, Helen cupped the back of Susan's head as she spoke, and held it there afterwards, before turning her own head towards her, such that their lips were pressed against each other. This was not a kiss, not really, just the touching of flesh against flesh. Helen removed her hand from the back of Susan's head, though as expected Susan did not move back one inch. Susan was happy to be guided, and though Helen's movements were not authoritative they did beg to be followed, and Susan was good at following.

With her left hand Helen then guided Susan's right up to their breasts, and then down under the covers, across to Helen's lap, and down her pajama shorts.

Susan had not, in living memory, felt or even seen between another's legs. The experience she'd had with her own sex was limited. She had inspected it briefly over the years, as the folds on her labia developed, and were then slowly covered by a mass of black hair, though that was all. She felt under her fore- and middle- fingers the very top of the girl's vagina, it was wet to the touch, though not as though she had used the bathroom, it was a thicker wetness. Somewhat instinctively, and for the purposes of investigation, she moved her fingers downwards, pushing as she did so, causing Helen to arch her back and let out the quietest of sighs.

'Sorry, am I hurting you?' Susan whispered, panicking a little.

Helen shook her head, unable to speak, and then smiled, as if to say 'go on'. Susan continued to rub her fingers up and down the woman's vagina, from the top of the clitoris to the perineum. After a minute or so of this, as she began the move back up, she hooked her fingers round so as to enter the vagina, and Helen quickly grabbed her hand and pulled her out.

'You can't. I'm sorry, but you can't. I haven't... and I'll bleed, and, just... I can't.'

'Ok. Want me to carry on as before.'

'Actually, do you think maybe...' - Helen stopped, and went a little red in the face.

'Please, go on,' Susan begged.

'It's just. On my own, what I do...'

'Please...'

Unable to answer due to her embarrassment Helen turned away, and instead felt round to grab Susan's sticky hand and place two fingers of it against her anus. Susan, somewhat confused about this, held her fingers there and didn't move.

'I don't know what you want me to do,' she whispered to the back of Helen's head.

Helen pushed her bottom backwards, such that Susan's middle finger poked at her entrance, but Susan then moved back.

'No. Please.' Helen begged, reaching back around to grab Susan's fingers, and pushing them again at the entrance of her arse.

Susan now understood, or at least comprehended, for she had assumed that what there were doing was somehow sexual, and didn't see what was sexual about an arse. She was happy however to continue, and pushed her two fingers against Susan's arsehole.

'Just one please, baby,' Helen said, wincing - 'to start with.'

Susan was taken aback by 'baby', though she still recoiled all but her forefinger and pushed it again against Helen's anus, which quickly allowed it to enter her. Once the tip was in the whole finger quickly followed, and after five or so minutes of back and forth, in a similar vein to what she had been doing with Helen's cunt, Susan added another finger, assuming this to be what Helen meant by 'to start with'. The same thing again, once the tip was in the rest followed, and soon Susan was ramming two fingers into Helen's arse very quickly, causing her to shake a little, and again to arch her back.

The third and fourth fingers were slower to add, but over the course of the next twenty minutes were added. Helen bit down on her own hand as she felt Susan's knuckle go into her, at which point Susan started to notice a sticky wetness between her own legs, which she investigated with her free hand. She was careful not to enter herself, for the reasons that had been explained to her, but happily slid up and down, paying more and more attention to the top, which she realised was the most sensitive, whilst still moving her own hand (all but the thumb) inside of Helen.

She tried, once, to push her own fingers against her anus, but found herself automatically clenching up to stop them, and ended up abandoning herself entirely for a while, slipping the hand round to hold Helen closer as she tried to add her thumb into the mix.

Helen grabbed Susan's other hand, which was around her stomach, and brought it up to her mouth, sucking the wet stuff that had come from Susan's cunt, and moaning quietly. Her arse was slowly taking more and more of Susan's complete hand, almost reaching the wrist.

'Close your hand,' Helen whispered.

'What?'

'Close your hand, into a fist.'

'Inside you?'

'Yeah.'

So she did, slowly, and found that as a fist it did indeed go to the wrist, and Helen's hole nicely closed in around Susan's wrist, with her entire fist inside her.

'Thank you,' Susan said, though she wasn't sure why.

They just lay there, all movement having stopped, for several minutes, and then Helen asked her to take out her hand, which was, as Susan knew it would be though it hadn't properly occurred to her, rather messy. Helen sat up and eagerly took each finger one-by-one into her mouth, sucking them clean. She then pulled up her pj-bottoms, which had fallen down a little, along with bedcovers that were heaped on the floor, and pulled up Susan's nightie to reveal her wet mound.

'Have you ever had an orgasm before?' she asked her bedfriend.

Susan shook her head. Only men have those, she thought, but didn't wish to say so. She was innocent, very innocent, it would seem. Her mother had told her nothing about having one woman touch another's sex, or anything at all to do with bums. This was all so alien to her and so exciting.

Helen didn't, as Susan expected, place her hand between Susan's legs, but instead got on all fours and turned around, such that her still gaping arse was next to Susan's head and her face was over Susan's pussy. She then brought her mouth down to the mound of flesh, and started to flick at Susan's clit with her tongue.

After a few seconds she pressed her face down further, and pushed her tongue into Susan's cunt, her nose resting against her perineum. And then, she lifted her left leg and reached it over Susan's face, and walked her right leg along a bit, such that her arse and cunt were inches above Susan's eyes and mouth.

The tongue fucking continued, with Susan just staring up at the beauty of this girl's sex, gorgeously dripping, shimmering in the dull light of the evening. She listened to the snores of the girls in the room, and thought about their sexes, and how there were thirty different vaginas are arsehole in this room, each different in their own ways and also each the same, and suddenly she desired to see, touch, lick, and enter all sixty holes. She lifted her head up, and cautiously placed it on Susan's anus, which had closed up again, though it was still quite dirty round the edges from the fisting. She licked it clean, first, and then just started to swirl her tongue clockwise and then anticlockwise around, every so often pushing at the entrance and poking the tip in. Helen moaned into Susan's cunt, though did not relent in flicking violently at the girl's clitoris with her tongue.

Soon Susan started to feel something building up within her, a tingling feeling, that got stronger and stronger, and assumed that she must have been having an orgasm: a female orgasm: which she was furious at her mother for not having told her about, and was sure that girls were taught about such things in ordinary schools, or else how would Helen have known about them.

Thinking that she was experiencing an orgasm, which she immensely enjoyed, meant that she was in no way prepared for when it actually arose, the feeling inside of her breaking like a dam, and her whole body shaking. She let out the beginnings of scream before instantly clamping harder onto Helen's arsehole in the hope of dampening the noises which she could not control. She then, and she had no clue why this could be true, started to piss, violently and sporadically. Helen caught all of it in her mouth, having opened in preparation for it, and swallowed, thus avoiding too much mess. She then dismounted and laid back down next to Susan, who looked incredibly embarrassed.

'I'm so sorry. I don't know why I did that. You must think awfully of me.'

'It's ok, baby. Not at all. It happens.'

'What? You mean it's normal to go to the toilet when you orgasm?'

'No. That wasn't peeing, that was squirting.'

'Oh. What's the difference?'

'I don't know, but there is one.'

'Ok. If you're sure,' Susan paused, and the girls were silent. 'Did you not orgasm then, as you didn't... squirt was it?'

'Oh no. I did. When you had your fist in my arse. I just didn't squirt.'

'And you promise it wasn't pee.'

'I promise.'

After all of that they finally kissed for the first time. Susan could taste her own sex on Helen's lips, and Helen could taste her own behind on Susan's. They pressed their breasts against each other, and easily felt each other's nipples through the paper-thin fabric of their nightclothes.

This might all seem a bit tame after what had just happened, and wildly in the wrong order, but to Susan, who's knowledge of sex was so primitive that she didn't even understand how taboo it was, this was equally thrilling to the fisting and the 69ing of the previous hour.

Eventually she had to return to her bed, awakened to the situation by the increasingly restless noises of the other twenty-eight sleepers. And that was the night Susan lost her virginity, if you can call it that: had sex for the first time, might be a better description, thought of course her definition of sex, as involving a cock and insemination, had not occurred: had lesbian sex might be a better one, though again she had no notion of what this meant: it was not in her mother's education, and thus didn't really exist.

Nothing of similar ilk occurred, at least not with Helen, in fact they did not discuss it, embarrassed perhaps by the events, or both just too scared of what they might mean.

Perhaps the best description of what had happened was that Helen had shown Susan was pleasure was, and given Susan the tools by which she could pleasure herself, as well as other women. She happily pleasured herself, almost every night, and sometimes even in the daytime, and later on in the war she would reperform these skills on other people. She was confident that she knew how to please a man, knowing about the cock and the male orgasm and such, though she had no idea how little she really knew of those things as well.