That Saturday was so strange. I went out to pick up some groceries for the both of us, and thought about the recent events in my life. This was not what love was supposed to be about. Love was supposed to be about a man and a woman, and they would go live in a house together and have children. I, a woman, was in love with an older woman, who had seduced me.. by sticking an enema nozzle and a thermometer in my backside. And now I was licking her vulva, an act I would have been expected to considered disgusting. I did not dwell on such thoughts for too long. Carpe diem, I thought, walking back to Frau Beyer’s house.

Ulrike and I would acted like a married couple on honeymoon, or at least like what I think a married couple would do on honeymoon. We would exchange kisses or caresses when coming close to each other, we would smile at each other, we would hug. Lunch together was delightful. I blushed when Ulrike patted my hindquarters when I was washing the dishes; and I think I got moist. However, that was not the time to play. I had homework to do!

When I was sick, I had had to cancel a sitting appointment with the Kreckels. Herr Kreckel wanted to make up for the lost time by dining out with his wife prior to taking her to the theater that evening. This meant that I would have to make the kids eat the dinner that Frau Kreckel had prepared for them, prepare them for bed, and get them to bed. This was financially advantageous for me, as I was paid by the hour. Dinner was good (Frau Kreckel had been kind enough to make food for me as well), then I did the dishes.

Frau Kreckel was a stickler for cleanliness and hygiene. I was supposed to bathe young Hans and make sure that young but older Peter had washed everywhere properly. I could not help thinking about this morning’s shared shower with Frau Beyer, and made sure the “dirty bits” were clean, though I admit I lacked experience with the male body and was a bit embarrassed. I came back late.

When I came back from my morning pee, Ulrike invited me to join me in her bedroom. Her hands and her lips were all over my body, mine over hers. She brought me to climax with her fingers on my little knob, after probing my opening. When it was her turn, after some more caressing, I pushed two fingers in her and massaged in the direction of her navel, and after a while she climaxed too.

We then had breakfast, and then prepared for Church. Dear reader, you may wonder how and why I could, in the same morning, frolick in bed in a way that the Church would consider “against nature” and disorderly, and then go to Mass. Well, I was used to going to Church every Sunday. Frau Beyer was keen on maintaining the appearances of a respectable middle-aged Catholic single woman. Before we left, Frau Beyer again briefed me: she loved me, but under no circumstance should we allow demonstrations of affection, or anything that would seem unbecoming or even just unusual as part of a relationship between a landlady and a young tenant. She just could not afford to be once more suspected. And thus, throughout my stay at Frau Beyer’s house, we would go to Church every Sunday (except of course on those weekends when I was staying with my parents).

That evening, after dinner, Frau Beyer asked me if I planned to work late. Since I had to go to class early on Mondays, I answered by the negative. She then invited me to change into my nightgown, go to the toilet, brush my teeth and call her to the bathroom when I was done. I was a bit taken aback by this micro-management; surely I did not need her to tell me to brush my teeth!

“Why, Ulrike?

— Because, my dear Maria, I’m going to wash you down there.

— What? I’m old enough to do that, thank you very much.

— Then why did you, yesterday morning, say that you thought you were dirty?”

I had nothing to respond. And so, I did as told. I called her back. She had me raise my nightgown and stand legs apart in the tub, then washed my genitals with water, and the surrounding area with soap, before rinsing. Then she had me turn around and washed my behind. “Nice and clean, front and back!”, she announced.

I felt like a little girl… she was treating me like I had treated little Hans yesterday. And yet, I enjoyed it. I enjoyed the embarrassment, the regression. I enjoyed the slight intrusion of a soapy fingertip in my anus. I enjoyed feeling “cleansed”. I wanted her to lick me. But, first, the ever cautious and careful Ulrike dried me, feet included. She took me to her bedroom and we snuggled under the covers. Did she do all that not to lick me? She must have been playing with me, she was just caressing me everywhere except my vulva. I ached for her to touch me there. Oh, what had I become?

“Ulrike… could you please… use your tongue?

— There, between your legs? You dirty place?

— Oh please Ulrike stop teasing me you washed me yourself.”

And indeed she stopped teasing me. She knelt on the cushion and kissed me “where it smelled funny”, as in the title of a much later novelty song of ill taste (I may be an old lady but I know how to browse YouTube). Well, since I had just been washed, it did not smell funny, but you get my idea. And, yes, I did have a climax. And yes, she had me reciprocate (and had obviously washed as a precaution). That night, I slept with her in her double bed.

I henceforth was living a double life. On the outside, I was a conservative, shy, maybe even uptight, church-going girl that did not go to parties. Once at Ulrike’s home, I was her lover. We made love every night. In the day, we exchanged kisses, and she petted me, especially my behind; I soon started to reciprocate. The only thing was that we had to be careful not to do anything untoward when we could be seen.

There were a few incidents that you, dear reader, may find amusing. One evening I was looking for the bottle of paraffin oil, since I felt I was a bit late in my bowel movements (again the product of a squeezed timetable and lack of drinking during the day, probably), but could not find it in the pharmacy cupboard. I had to ask Ulrike. Instead of handing me the bottle, which was in a cupboard in the living room, she prepared a spoonful for me. “Open wide!”. I was given medicine like a little girl! And not just any medicine, but one that would help me make “poo poo” and would slightly grease my anus (a somewhat embarrasing but harmless side effect). I received once spoonful from Ulrike in the few next meals taken together, unless I was able to report normal bowel movements.

On another day, I mentioned a headache. I ended up on my stomach on my bed, skirt up, panties down and Ulrike holding a greased thermometer in my behind. No fever, though.

At some point, Ulrike had her periods. That did not prevent her from playing in bed with me; she just had the tampon string hanging out; I did not penetrate her vagina but played with her clitoris. In contrast, when I had my periods, I had my panties on with a pad. I was not yet liberated enough to let her play with my little knob

My side job as a baby sitter had expanded, and a second family, the Merkels, sought my services. I was taking care of young Jan and Helga when I had to make a bathroom break. Unfortunately, I discovered too late that the toilet paper roll was finished. I pushed aside a curtain, hoping to find some more behind it, and indeed I did, but I also found Frau Merkel’s stash of menstrual products. Next to them were a cardboard box labeled “diaphragm”, and a tube of a medical product which I made out to be spermicide. I closed the curtain in haste, ashamed of having seen such personal items.

This however gave me food for thought. I had heard of contraceptives, but most of them were only vaguely described in the books I had perused. I had no idea which ones the women around me used, if they did, except for some “liberated” girls whom I knew used the Pill. This gave me food for thought, and a few days later, while cuddling in bed, I asked Ulrike what women in her generation used as contraceptives, that is, before the Pill was made legal.

Ulrike had a little laugh, and explained that some used condoms, that is, some pouch worn over the penis (again, I had heard about them, but it was a rather theoretical view), some used diaphragms, as I had seen (though in practice, it was often impossible to have one fitted unless one was married, physicians would refuse collaborating with “vice”), some used natural methods. “Natural methods?”, I inquired. “Well, there are methods based on not having vaginal sex following the menstrual cycle, or detecting ovulation and thus fertility by slight change in body temperature… Hilde had read about that.”. And then she had a little laugh. “And do you know how men and women avoid vaginal sex?”. My knowledge of men and women having sex was schematic and based on the idea that the man would ream the woman with his penis, so my only answer was that they would just avoid making love, or maybe just rub each other, as we were doing (I knew men masturbated, I was not that naive; the young joked about boys “wanking”).

“Well, there are other methods. You say, many males tend to insist on shoving their penis inside, so the hand won’t do it. Any idea?

— “ Inside, but not the vagina?” I blushed. “You don’t mean… in the behind? Like homosexuals?

— Well if a penis can enter a man’s behind, it can enter a woman’s behind.”

I had never thought about that. Homosexuals and their supposed habit of one, being “male”, stuffing his penis up the behind of another, playing the “female”, were the topic of many uncouth jokes. I however had never thought that a man could do this with a woman, as though sodomy, a travesty of true sex, would only happen for want of the appropriate orifice. Well, one learns.

“But it must hurt!

— I heard it often does indeed. It’s not like we women, when dealing with men sexually (…or not!), only do things we find pleasant. But it seems it can be done in enjoyable ways. And it does not get the woman pregnant… childbirth is not piece of cake either. And it would not damage your precious hymen.”

Recall that my hymen was quite tight, to the point that inserting a finger was uncomfortable, even though it was pleasurable at the same time. Ulrike would gently do so when we were making love, and I was gradually learning to relax myself. Still, I was not ready for a full-blown “fingering”, as would say, with a vulgar gesture, some girls I knew back in highschool who were boasting about their male relationships. The idea that if I was with a boy, he could propose me, for lack of possibility to penetrate my vagina, to go through the other hole, disgusted me. (I would much later read a memoir from a writer called Vanessa Springora who explains how, as a young teenager, she had been seduced by an older man, who would, at first at least, sodomize her, vaginal intercourse being impossible due to her very strong and tight hymen, which would eventually be surgically removed.)

I must have looked shocked, for Ulrike giggled again. “Come on, come on. So now I suppose you can guess what other place they can use?”. The number of orifices in the body being limited…

“The mouth?

— Indeed, my dear.

— My, I never… I mean, do women suck on that?

— Yes they do.

— Seems disgusting.

— Don’t you like licking me? How is it different?”

This was so new to me. But they I wondered—how come Ulrike was so informed of relationships with men?

“Ulrike, have you ever been with a man?

— Well, no.

— Then how do you know all these things?

— Girls chat. Girls give each other tips not to get pregnant. Even in front of girls who are not into men.”

I must have been kept outside all interesting conversations!

The next evening, Ulrike told me to go to the toilet and brush my teeth, then washed me as usual (yes, dear reader, I know, I know…).

“Tonight, I would like to try something new. Are you game?

— What is it?

— Don’t you want a little surprise?”

I accepted the surprise and climbed to her room. She brought the little bag that she had used when taking my temperature when sick. I wondered what was inside, but did not ask. We kissed, cuddled and caressed. She had me on my stomach and massaged my back. Then, she went to her bag. I could not help looking, and I saw her putting a rubber glove on! She had the jar of Vaseline.

A friend of mine, when we were young teenagers, had endured a gloved and greasy finger up her anus for appendicitis diagnosis. She had told me the intrusion in itself did not hurt, quite the contrary, until the physician pressed on the appendix. Well, I was about to experience that myself. A greasy finger was soon at my rear opening.

“Bear down, dear.”

I obeyed. Her finger penetrated me. It was thicker than the nozzle or thermometer, and not unpleasant. It slid in.

“How do you feel?

— It’s strange but not bad.”

It was indeed strange. My anus tolerated her finger, but would contract itself if she made the slightest move. She then began feeling my insides. This was a very unexpected sensation. She pressed towards my navel. I felt something weird inside me. The slight movements of her finger would trigger contractions.

Then her other hand went under my stomach and her fingertips rested on my clitoris. She began masturbating me, while her finger was playing with my insides. She pressed somewhere that gave me some feeling both of pleasure and an urge to pee. Some more of this dual action, and I climaxed with a little cry. “Did I hurt you?”. I was catching my breath. “No, it was just so unusual.”. Her finger withdrew. I had felt pleasure in the wrong hole, so to speak. Maybe that’s why some women welcome a penis there if they can get over the pain?

I thought again about this the next days. The gesture she had used in my rectum was, I think, similar to the one she had me used in her vagina. Could it be she was pressing onto something from the rectum, through the vagina, that was meant to be pressed from inside the vagina? Could this be one reason why some women like feeling a penis there? I did not dare ask her.

Ulrike and I however reverted to the usual play of caresses, finger and tongue. My vagina was becoming used to fingering, but Ulrike was cautious in not hurrying things up. And then it was time for me to go back to my family for the Christmas break.