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| Sarah Miles, actress |
The Lusty Beanstalk |
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Willy Fox was perfect. The absolute answer to any young maiden's prayers. Tall, pale and handsome, he had such a way with him, such natural grace and inborn elegance, that I was immediately transported to seventh heaven. He also danced like a dream. I knew one day soon we'd end up in bed together, and falling in love first was the only proper thing to do.
I got myself into a ball of yearning. My heart was racing, my pulse a continual pitter-patter, my Jack's beanstalk bursting with ripeness . . . My beautiful aching beanstalk was getting too heavy to carry around — it might burst through the top of my head.
We both knew the time had come. Willy bought me a record of Ella Fitzgerald singing Cole Porter, and one evening, I turned the lights down low, Willy arrived, we put on "Love for Sale."
The once jagged edges of Jack's lusty beanstalk were slowly smoothing out, not into anything tangible but into a new and terrible hunger.
I took all the time in the world with my surrendering. How succulent it is, the slow surrender . . . All that I had been waiting for — posing in cafés, licking my lips, exposing my thighs, wiggling my bum in silk stockings and sexy suspenders — all those blind naive blunders that had been my love life up till that moment were about to find reason.
As we made love, all the feminine part of me, the unformed sexy thoughts, the lusty leaves of curiosity that made up Jack's beanstalk began melting within an inner sunshine. Gradually, through every sweet new experience of our rhythmic sacred togetherness, all yearnings crashed into clarity, culminating in an abundant feeling of womanliness. (London, late 1950s)
from A Right Royal Bastard by Sarah Miles (Macmillan, ©1993)
© 2000 Nerve.com, Inc.
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