Another year brought new students to the ageing institution that was Connell University. Much like the institution, the Gender Studies department I worked within was full of ageing old lesbians like myself.
I co-ordinated the Gender Studies masters programme which was usually full of young women who had just finished university and wanted to widen their horizons.
That’s how I met Morven.
She had long brown hair, blue eyes and skin the colour of a milk bottle. She had large breasts and a vast bottom. Some of her stomach hung over her jeans and I could detect an overhang when she turned to the side. She was captivating. She sat down in the second row and got out a notebook and pen. Whilst waiting on the lecture to start, I noted she was reading a book – “The Beauty Myth” by Naomi Wolf. She was clearly interested in feminist theory.
As the room filled, I paced the room waiting for the students to take their seats. This year, there were two men on the course which was the most I had ever had. I started the lecture and welcomed the students along to the course and outlined what they would be studying and what would be expected of them.
After the lecture, she was the last to leave. “I noted you are already very acquainted with Ms Wolf, then?” I asked her as she was leaving. “Oh yes, I read it when I was an undergraduate, but I thought it might be good to read it again.”
“It is an important book and probably scores you brownie points in my eyes.” I told her, as I wiped the notes off of the board. She laughed and put the book in her bag. It was important particularly because neither of us were conventionally attractive. Whilst I found her attractive in my eyes with her voluptuous figure, she would be considered too fat to be beautiful.
I was much the same. I was tall, with short ginger hair and I am rather fat, too. I wore glasses in a classic 50s style like Dame Edna and bright red lipstick to make the best of a bad bunch. “I like your glasses.” She told me. I felt quite flattered – I did love my glasses, but I had never had a woman as young as she was pointing them out to me.
We walked out of the lecture theatre together and went our separate ways. “See you at the seminar next week, Serena!” She called, cheerily as she went off for a coffee.
The following week, she wore a skater style skirt with a red and white gingham shirt and red lipstick. She sat closer to the escort izmit front and joined in with the discussion about the history of the feminist movement. She disagreed with my portrayal of the movement in Britain. “I just feel that this glosses over and doesn’t say very much about the contribution from working class women in Scotland, for example. You don’t really mention their role in the rent strikes and securing fairer conditions for housing in Glasgow and beyond.”
Whilst it is easy for academics to say things like this are deliberate, it was entirely deliberate because the students should have knowledge of the Red Clydeside Women’s movement. I was heartened to see at least one student knew about it.
After this interjection, Morven started hanging back after lectures and seminars to discuss the topics more with me and some of the other students. Her contributions were often radical and, for the most part, based on good reading. I began building a good raport with her.
At Christmas time, the students decided to throw a Gender Studies party and invited me along, with a few other staff members. Morven was there with a small group of other women that she had become friendly with over the course of the first semester. They had all scored at the top of the class on their main assignment of the year, with Morven scoring the best. To celebrate, I bought them a round of drinks.
Staff members and students began trailing off until Morven and I were the last women standing. We were quite merry and had had very little to eat, so, I asked if she wanted to come to dinner with me. She looked at me the way a fawn would look at a deer, with wonder and astonishment. “We could go into town.” I added, looking at her directly in the eye.
We hailed a taxi into town and went to Giovanni’s, a well known and expensive Italian restaurant which was the best restaurant in town. ?
“Oh, Serena. I could never afford this. We should go somewhere else.” She protested. ?”Oh what a nonsense. Please let it be my treat for doing so well in your first semester.” I replied, patting the small of her back and leading her in.
When we sat down, Morven began to talk about work and the course. Encouraged by the cheap wine I had consumed at the Christmas party, I put my hand on hers and told her that I wasn’t here to talk about the course, or work.
Taking a sip of wine that was actually good, she shot me a flirty izmit escort smile.
“Tell me about yourself.” I encouraged her.
Her first degree was in History from Glasgow University, which I had gathered, due to her mainly historical interjections she had made throughout the course so far. She wanted to go on and do her PhD after this course, but had always been interested in feminism and gender theory. She lived on her own and worked part time in the Waterstones in town at the weekend. She was 25 years old and had never really found the right man and as such, she was single for the time being.
“So, you’re not a lesbian?” I asked, very brazenly.
Morven gulped into her wine glass, almost shocked by the question.
“You know Serena, I’ve never really thought about it. I think women are wonderful. I’ve never really felt a physical attraction to men in the way I do towards women.”
I was intrigued by her clear confusion over her sexuality. “I’ve never really been with a woman properly, so I can’t really say.”
I sipped my wine pensively, looking at her and sizing her up.
“Well, I think looking at me, it’s fairly obvious I’m an out and proud dyke.” Morven nodded.
“Yeah, I kind of gathered that. You focus quite a lot on lesbian analyses of feminist theory.”
Now that I had planted a seed of interest, Morven’s body language changed. She sat up straighter, but relaxed. Under her blouse, her breasts were thrust forward suggestively.
We went on to discuss music, books and films.
After finishing a bottle of wine, Morven was completely relaxed. I really did not want the night to end – but as we ordered coffee, it was quite clear it was going to have to, or I would have to make a most inappropriate suggestion.
“I’m intrigued about you.” Morven said, like it was a confession. “Like, quite intrigued.”
She leaned further across the table. “When I look at porn, which as a feminist I probably shouldn’t do, but I look at pictures of women who look like you and me.” She leaned back and wiggled her eyebrows at me flirtatiously, biting her lip.
I wanted her, I wanted to take her home with me and show her an evening she would never forget.
I signalled to the server for the bill and we put our coats on to leave. As we left, I put a hand on Morven’s bottom as I led her out of the door. We walked along the pavement a izmit kendi evi olan escort little, out of sight of the restaurant. I threw her against a wall and kissed her. She melted into my arms as I ran my hands through her hair. She tasted like coffee and wine. Her perfume intoxicated me as I kissed her and grabbed her. It was difficult to tell where my body ended and hers began.
“Oi you fat dykes, get a room!” A young man in a tracksuit shouted over at us. ?Morven broke off the kiss to retort “Yeah, fat dyke and proud!” She said, wiping the lipstick from her mouth, panting, smiling and flushed. ??”Come home with me.” I asked, breathlessly.
We flagged down a taxi and got into it. I was twenty years older than her, old enough to be her mother, but I needed her. I needed to taste her, look after her and show her what the love of a woman could do.
I had darker desires for her in mind.
We arrived at my flat and I fumbled for my keys as she kissed me. “God I’ve wanted you Serena.” She said, placing her hands on my face and looking into my eyes. “Like you can’t believe.” Knowing this emboldened me somewhat. ?”Yes, baby girl, I’ve wanted you too since the moment you walked into my class.” ?I led her into my living room.
“Sit down.” I told her, sternly.
She shot a puzzled look at me as she sat on the couch. She began taking her shoes off, which were lovely black patent high heels. “Don’t take your shoes off.”
I handed her a gin and tonic and sat back looking at her.
“So, Morven, as you might be aware, I am fast approaching fifty. I’m forty seven, and I’m your lecturer. Isn’t that filthy of me?”
“Yes, I suppose it is.” Morven said, sipping her drink with a degree of uncertainty.
I took a deep breath. If she was really interested, she would try it. If not, she was free to leave.
“You’ll have heard of BDSM?” I asked her. If she consumed porn on the internet, then I was willing to bet that she most definitely had. ?
“Oh god, I knew it.” Morven said, as a wild look took over her eyes. She looked wanton. I wanted to take her and put her over my knee right now.
“Well Morven, it isn’t quite as simple as whips and chains now, is it? As I’m sure you well know.”?
She shook her head.
“That’s right. There is a lot more to it than tying you up and spanking your big beautiful arse – as fun as that is going to be, now I’ve got you here.”
Her breathing was becoming more rapid and shallow.
“I don’t want to be called mistress, madame or ma’am though, if you’re up for this.”
I told her, preparing her for the bombshell. ??
“I want you to call me Mama.”