Reclaiming Diane


The story is written in Standard British English, as used in Australia at the time.


We sit together, hand in hand, on a rustic wooden seat in The Fern Glade, known to Hobart’s residents as an idyllic beauty spot. Without saying anything our minds wander back to our glory days of 45 years ago. Surprisingly little has changed in the environment except us. We are now a “Darby and Joan” couple in our 70’s. What little hair I have is white, while Diane’s is a more subtle grey. She retained her slim figure into maturity whereas I express my family’s tendency to put on weight around the middle. That’s okay as otherwise we are healthy in mind, body and spirit.

We watch the occasional jogger, or a young mother with children walk by, giving a nod of acknowledgement or a cheery “hello”. What happened years ago, and not far from this spot, changed our lives for the better.

We have been married for 62 years. Yes, you read correctly, 62 years!! It was a childhood game, but heartfelt all the same, when we were in the same class at Gepps Cross Primary School as 8 year old students. On our way home from school we crossed the major arterial road that defined the edge of the city and entered the wastelands on the urban fringe by skirting around the dreaded Gepps Cross Migrant Hostel. There in the thickets of boxthorn bushes we walked down the aisle, made our vows “until death do us part”, and exchanged plastic Phantom rings. To complete the ceremony we threw wild white daisy petals over each other. It is a marriage that has stood the test of time.

Diane and I are first cousins. Our mothers are monozygous twins, so identical that we children could not tell them apart. Our respective fathers were veterans from the Second World War who came home with a taste for beer, and undiagnosed mental illness. Their lives spiralled out of control as the issues of family responsibility and poverty began to bite. One escape was to drink even more beer, the other was to lose themselves in sexual flings. One avenue that presented itself was wife swapping; boozed husbands and hyper-sexed women and the ready explanation that they didn’t know which woman it was. Thereafter came the daughters, Diane and her two sisters, and my younger sister were all abused in time, forced to be “kind” to miscellaneous “uncles” to boot.

On alcohol sodden Sunday nights we were put to bed early in the same room, two to a bed for us elders, four topped and tailed for the younger. Our childish chatter dimmed and died like candle light in contrast to the increasingly raucous carouse in the kitchen.

One fearful night I sensed someone was in the room. I was aware of Diane being lifted away from me. I was dimly aware of her protestation, a long silence, then her being returned sobbing to the bed. I did not understand and she could not explain coherently. I soothed her as much as possible before falling back into a strangely troubled sleep.

You may think at this point that I was going to take some advantage of my cousin. That never happened. As puberty struck we were left behind at our own home for the Sunday night drinking bouts, but we still retained a familial contact with our cousins. Diane’s life ran off the rails, she became quite promiscuous as a teenager. (note to editor – within the laws of age of consent in force at that time). I followed another path after being introduced to male/male sex by a neighbour in my sexually formative years. A gift that I relished and have maintained throughout my life.

The inevitable happened, Diane fell pregnant to an anonymous sperm donor. When this became apparent she was dispatched with all haste to a religious order in Melbourne on the fictional “working holiday”. It was widely believed, but likely an urban myth, that the South Australian Railways scheduled a weekly “Maternity Express” to Melbourne, passing its counterpart from the Victorian Railways going in the other direction. To be an unmarried mother, as it was then, having a baby out of wedlock was a disgrace to the family and was surrounded with much hypocrisy. The unreliable contraceptive knowledge, methods and appliances were unavailable to the very people who needed them most. Many were the abuses as a result.

I met Diane at the railways station as arranged. The good nuns censored all mail, incoming and outgoing, there were no phone calls to the Convent in those days. We had created a cover story and artifice, where I, as her cousin, was by chance in that city and would chaperone her back to her family in Adelaide. Minors could not travel alone in those days. A minor was anyone under the age of 21 years. The inevitable check would show this to be true, right down to the train ticket she received in the mail!!

The deception was that we met on Station Pier in Port Melbourne shortly before the Bass Strait Ferry “Princess of Tasmania”, un-affectionately known as the “P.O.T.” for it had the sea keeping qualities of one, was due to sail for the island State of Tasmania. I had not seen Diane for some years so our meeting bursa escort was a little awkward. It was the first sea voyage for us both and we were very nervous. A sympathetic passenger advised us to go to the cafeteria and eat before the hordes descended after the ship cast-off. We took this advice and went up to the top deck of the ship to the small and uninspiring dining room mostly staffed by ex-convicts on their first job out of Pentridge Gaol. We ate a meal of greasy fish and chips in almost complete silence. The passage for the first two hours was a doddle, sailing on a millpond. But once outside Port Phillip Heads our world went crazy. The ship plunged and bucked like a bronco, creaking and groaning as it faced the full force of a front crashing through Bass Strait. Both Diane and I felt so sick, as did most of the passengers and indeed some of the crew. Our accommodation was sit-up chairs akin to the aircraft seats of today. We made ourselves as comfortable as possible and settled in for a long and miserable night. There was no sleep for us, just catnaps snatched between particularly vicious rolls and plunges. It gave us time to re-establish what we felt so many years before. By the time the ship approached the shores of Tasmania the sun was shining, the sea had moderated and we were ‘partners for life’!!

At our destination of Hobart we presented ourselves as a married couple. Diane had a ring that was used to deflect curious eyes when she was pregnant, cheap nine carat gold but it sufficed. We rented a flat and lived together ostensibly as a man and wife. OK, we had sex as a man and wife, but it was vanilla sex, mediocre and very forgettable sex always overshadowed by her past experiences and the fear of another pregnancy. The 60’s was a shameful time. Males had the upper hand. Social conformity and peer pressure meant that naïve young women eagerly accepted a date and its consequences. For the first time in human history young men could afford cars, and the power it bestowed. Cars were mobile bedrooms, and fitted out as such, “Shaggin Waggins” as popularly known here. Girls were dependent on the male driver to get to and from a dance or picture theatre. The inventiveness to get the girl to a secluded parking spot knew no bounds. Sometimes it was a stark choice, “give in or walk home”. In the urban jungle of Adelaide the latter choice held the greater fear. And to be fair some girls were into “slap and tickle” big time, too.

The would be lotharios were inept and clumsy at best. Who had heard of female orgasm? Who cared? Certainly Diane was ignorant of it, but did admit to enjoying physical contact with the opposite sex. Even the rough hand up beneath her bra, or a hand down into her panties had some, very limited, pleasurable sensations before the often brutal penetration that was to follow. Rapid thrusts and animal grunts followed and then it was all over. The “stud” wiped himself clean, flung the detritus from the window and drove his conquest home, often in total silence. As she was now an “easy lay” in his eyes he wasn’t interested in her any more. God help her if she needed to urinate as she could be abandoned after stepping from the car. Only a minority used condoms simply because you could not obtain them easily. Self delusion and urban myth passed for sex education, and the girls believed it ardently too, what is more!!. Childhood mumps made males infertile, her period was the time when most likely to conceive, only kissing while having sex would lead to conception. I kid you not!! I worked with teenage mothers.

We both got jobs for there was full employment in that era. It was not a matter of “If” but of “Which” would I accept!! Ah, 20th century fairy tale I hear you say, but it was true, – jobs aplenty for the taking.

Now I want to explore our relationship further. We only knew the mechanics of sex, and were totally ignorant of its potential but as an enterprise together we were learning. Our emotional connection was stronger than a married couple, we are cousins and will be to the day we die, we had shared a grievously troubled childhood, and now we faced a new life together, she and I together in a strange new world.

I was the first to stray. I mentioned that my early sexual experimentation was with males, I was very savvy about “beats” and the way they worked even before arriving in Tasmania. There was something about the time and place in Tasmania. Beats “rocked” to an extraordinary degree. Any public toilet had a score potential of about 10 minutes. If you hadn’t scored in that time it was “dead”. And this was the most conservative, religion dominated state in Australia. Maybe that is the reason why? Anytime I felt that “itch”, the need to drop a load, I could drive to the car park at Cornellian Bay and wait a few minutes, meet and suck or be sucked off in the nearby bushes, then sit back in the car ready for another anonymous caller. Day and night, it was full on. It was said to be a protected area because many influential people were partakers, including high ranked police.

My bursa escort bayan epiphany came on a rainy Sunday afternoon in 1970. The beat was dead. I ventured into a dilapidated wooden toilet block to masturbate in disappointed loneliness. To my international readers, for whom the term “beat” is unfamiliar I shall elucidate. Briefly: a public toilet used as a meeting place by males wanting casual and anonymous sex. Sometimes referred to as “Tea Houses”, “Trade” or “Blow and Go” venues.

This particular edifice was on the periphery of the huge Cornellian Bay cemetery where it was set into and overgrown by a massive Cypress boundary hedge. It probably was provided for the convenience of a squad of grave diggers and hearse drivers for there was also a water trough for horses. It dated to the 1920’s or 30’s. For nefarious purposes it was perfect, a public but not desirable location, easy car parking that drew no comment any hour of the day or night, acres of soft bedding discreetly hidden under extensive low boughs of the pines. The detritus of hanky-panky lay everywhere. Inside the male only, wooden structure were two stalls facing each other and at the dark end was a rusted sheet iron urinal that just ran to ground outside. Without artificial lighting it didn’t attract graffiti artists. The gloom took minutes to grow used to, and the place stank.

This was my first foray through the dank and foreboding entrance, to my surprise there was another person inside. I saw his rigid cock protruding from a glory hole chopped into the thin floor board door. What a wonderful member he had, rock hard, no, steel hard!. Later I heard that he was a well known and twice convicted paedophile nicknamed Stalin – Man of Steel! I could not resist, I joined the historic throng who had used the facility, the door was stained with a dramatic patina of saliva and semen drippings accumulated over the years. I gagged getting him into my mouth, then started to suck him with relish.

I heard his mature voice say “Oooh, you do that so well! I want to fuck you!”.

“With that?” I gasped in disbelief. Foreplay was not his forte.

I didn’t answer decisively so he took it as acquiescence. I was still an anal virgin but I wasn’t letting this cock go. He slowly pulled it out of my mouth, then out of the door which swung open to reveal a heavy built middle aged man with a bald head. He tried to pull me inside the stall, but I resisted as the stench from the disgusting shit encrusted bowl made me retch.

“Outside, outside,” I pleaded. I still wanted to suck the most wonderful manhood I had seen in my life. He gave in and half pulled, and half pushed me outside beneath the canopy of pine fragrant branches still dripping from the summer rain shower. So much more appealing than inside. It was reminiscent of that marriage glade of so many years before. In the soft daylight I saw him drop his Khaki shorts and then had his shirt off in a flash. A stocky, well muscled man, both intimidating and appealing too. All the time his erection remained rock hard and he was ready to use it. Before I had time to run he pulled down my green woollen army trousers and knelt before me, taking my much less impressive cock into his mouth. The draw of his mouth was sending little fingers of delight down my cock and into my balls. His technique was magnificent, sucking, licking and teasing. His hand went up between my legs and he began to tease my anus, withdrawing it to squirt a liberal quantity of KY jelly onto his fingers.

I was totally under his spell. I was there to cum and could do nothing else.

He drew circles around my ring while sucking me ever closer to my orgasm, then he backed off lest I ejaculate. Now he was penetrating me, finger fucking me, I clenched my buttocks to stop him but he slid his tongue under my knob which made me back away from him, and relaxed my muscles as he did so. Repeating this action he soon had his index finger deep in me. I know he was massaging my prostate gland, an un-bloody believable sensation!! I wanted to piss and I wanted to ejaculate simultaneously. I was gone, his plaything, and with his vast experience he knew it!

Two fingers I took without hesitation. There was a problem with three. He was kneeling on our clothes and slowly turned me to face away from him. To do so he had to withdraw his fingers. My anal sphincter muscles clutched and sought the fullness they had grown used to and ached for. Pulling me down on to his lap I felt a great deal more cold KJ slathered around my puckering hole. Then I felt the heat of his knob as he guided it against the tender but wanting flesh. To my surprise he stopped there and fiddled around with something while I tried to swivel myself down on to his member.

His left hand came across my nose and mouth as if to suffocate me. I had to breathe deeply as I was fighting for air. As I panted it in a wonderful feeling came over me; my whole body relaxed, my tight ring turned to ice cream and he slid effortlessly into me, all the way down to the escort bursa base of his bald but veined shaft. Reflexively I put my hand down to his hairless ball bag which was both large and straining tight. He was intent on creaming me just as I was intent on taking his macho power into me. Another in his string of conquests, I met his ideal, small, immature and inexperienced.

His defence at his later trial was that he was educating young men in the mysteries, arts and ways of being real men. That didn’t cut much ice with that judge and he got 7 years. The charge sheet said 70 “victims” but that was reputed to be the tip of the iceberg. I, along with others would never have given evidence against him.

Bending me forward, while holding my cock firmly, he now had me in the perfect position to fuck me. And fuck he did!! And FUCK, did I enjoy it? It was the biggest cock I was to feel inside me and I had taken it willingly, eagerly.

His cock lay over the top of my prostate, the most perfect trigger for a massive orgasm. He was rooting me hard and I was fully possessed. I felt a great heat surge up towards my navel, I knew he had cum and my belly was convulsing in its quest for yet more spunk at the very instant my cock was jetting mine over the bed of pine needles. Even as he withdrew his limp cock I was begging for more, no, pleading for more. I was becoming an embarrassment; his need assuaged he only wanted out. For me too much would not be enough. He left me curled up, sobbing, semen dripping from an arsehole turned inside out. I just couldn’t get enough cock. I dressed and made myself presentable and made my way back to my car. Murphy’s Law decreed that no player would come to my rescue at the very time I needed it most.

How does this relate to Diane? Simply! I could talk to her about anything and told her what I had experienced. In our relationship there was no moral judgements but a lot of experience sharing. Unlike a husband I did not have to fear the consequences of what I might reveal. We would always be kissing cousins.

She had told me of her experience in St Joseph’s Convent, think Victorian Workhouse, forbidding two story grey buildings with no garden, housing sixty girls in the later stages of pregnancy. The nuns had strict rules to suppress any semblance of sensuality. Short cropped hair, shapeless uniforms and no make-up. Diane had been strictly heterosexual simply because she was unaware of any alternative. Most were knocked up because of ignorance, truly a lack of carnal knowledge.

Judy was a petite, pretty, dark haired and dark eyed girl of Russian Jewish parentage. She had been impregnated by her father, a top government official. Judy sought her solace in the arms and beds of women. She also took a liking to Diane.

A feature of the living hell of these homes for unmarried mothers was that the girls were desperate to get out of the prison like environment, and some were hungry for more cock. The authorities had removed all sharp instruments that could be used to break a woman’s waters and so induce labour.

Except for Judy’s fingernail!!

She was in demand, and she was experienced at fisting lesbian women. She was too small to take a fist herself but she possessed particularly dainty hands, “Missy Fist”, they called her.

Diane’s turn came about two weeks before she was due. There was no privacy in the home. Toilets had no doors and showers had no stalls. A nun slept each of the dormitories of about 12 girls. But where there is a will there is a way. Sister Josephine was a heavy sleeper and snored loudly.

The girls knew it was to be Diane’s turn. They celebrated her forthcoming abrupt removal by ambulance the following morning with biscuits and smuggled chocolate. Chocolate was deemed a carnal indulgence and food of the devil. Sister Josephine was not the sharpest chisel in the tool box and some of the residents kept her distracted at shower time to allow for discrete “pashing”. Both Judy and Diane showered excessively this night. Diane’s engorged bluish vaginal lips, and her now painfully enlarged breasts with their big brown areole showed how close she was. The magical fingernail was scrapped and washed and cleaned thoroughly.

Lights out was at 9.00pm and soon the familiar snores hung noisily in the room, along with miscellaneous grunts and farts. Giving enough time for the complex to settle into somnambulance Judy slipped from beneath her covers and crawled between the beds. Not an easy task with a belly full of baby. Another girl, bisexually inclined Christine, did the same from across the aisle. Diane was waiting. Not a word was said. Christine slid carefully over Diane’s body for the best way to stifle a cry of pain was to kiss. As Judy prepared for the procedure Christine gently massaged Diane’s breasts. Within 24 hours they would be streaming milk, but sadly not for her baby. Mothers did not get to see or hold their own child, it was whisked away immediately upon delivery. A lucky few were kept as human milch cows to be milked with breast pumps to feed all the babies. The rest cried themselves to sleep on rubber sheets with bandaged breasts leaking in torrents, to be dried off as quickly as possible as their cot was needed for another unfortunate soul.

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