The True Confessions of Jane Eyre

Chapter Two-1

Chapter Two

I soon picked up the routine of the school. The regulations were often onerous, the food was poor, and much of the daily round was tedious. But at least now I had companions of my own age, and was no longer subject to the insults of the odious Desmond. Furthermore, some of the lessons were stimulating. I soon began to make excellent progress in French, Mathematics was never my strong suit, but my English composition improved markedly. I do not think it would have been possible never to have fallen foul of the system of marks for minor offences. Several times in the year I was called to Matron’s room, having amassed thirty points or more. She administered punishments sometimes with a leather slipper, but more often with a heavy wooden paddle, which she applied with vigor, having first raised my skirt and pulled down my knickers. It was painful and undignified. The first time she stopped in the middle of the punishment, pausing to touch my bottom with her hands, smoothing and caressing, then squeezing. I disliked this intensely. I said to her, in a voice heavy with sarcasm, “Is this part of the punishment, Matron?”

“How dare you speak to me like that,” she retorted, and recommenced the punishment with renewed vigor. At the time, I believed that I had an aversion to any thought of s****l contact with a person of my own s*x, but as the reader will discover, that was not really the case. Instead, I was merely reacting against an advance from a person who had no appeal for me physically. Subsequent punishments were administered in a more straightforward manner, without any unwelcome touches, though I had the impression that Matron wielded the paddle with extra power when I was bent over in front of her, doubtless as revenge for my scorning what I now perceive to have been her advances.

I soon realized, from listening to the conversation of my fellow pupils, that s****l attraction between girls was common enough. Several of the girls had what they called “crushes” on each other, or on female teachers. It would be some time before I came to experience how such feelings could go beyond the merely fanciful and find actual physical expression. But my mind henceforth allowed for the possibility.

Though I was to witness further demonstrations of the headmaster’s prowess with the cane, with the same sense of unhealthy fascination tinged with fear that I first experienced, I managed to avoid this punishment myself. In truth, it seemed to be applied almost exclusively for offences of a s****l nature, and my life up until the end of my first year, no matter what I learned of which things might be possible, was entirely blameless in that respect (apart, of course, from the frequent and furtive m**********n I practiced under the bedcovers). That state of affairs, however, was soon to change.

Shortly before my nineteenth birthday the headmaster called me to his study. I was terrified that I was going to suffer a caning, perhaps a private one, even though I had committed no crime. However, his expression was genial as he bade me to sit down.

“You have done well in your time here, Jane,” he said. “Your class work is good, in some cases excellent, and your general conduct satisfactory. It has been arranged that you will stay one more year at Birchwood. In that time we shall endeavor to fit you for a position in the outside world, so that you may earn your living. You will have extra classes in maths and be taught the rudiments of book-keeping, as well as the skills of letter-writing, filing and household management. Also, as befits your age now, you will no longer sleep in a dormitory but in a room with just one other bed. You will also be allowed to wear your own clothes. And you will gain experience of teaching by assisting in some classes for the younger girls.”

Most of this sounded like good news, except maybe for the extra maths. In particular, it would be good to have a modicum of privacy, sharing a room with just one other girl, as well as being able to substitute my own clothes for the dreary school uniform. I thanked the headmaster and left the room. Later, Matron showed me where I was to sleep. Another girl’s things were already there, but I had no idea whose. I hoped my companion would be Anne, who had become my best friend.

It was to be otherwise. When it came to bedtime, I went up to the room. I found a girl named Helen seated on the bed. I knew her of course, though I had not had much communication with her. We greeted each other, and sat down to talk a while. It seemed as if our bedtime was no longer supervised, and so there was no ban on talking.

Helen was my age, a pretty girl with jet-black hair and brown eyes. She was slim and graceful, and had a pleasing voice. I soon warmed to her. But there was one thing I knew about her which I was exceedingly curious about, even though I was too polite to mention it straight away. I had once seen her beaten by the headmaster, and I remembered that it had not been made clear what her offence was. The headmaster has said something about a practice which he called “unnatural” and which was too shocking to be mentioned in public. Of course this set all our minds racing, and there had been some discussion about it later. I heard a rumor that Helen had been punished for something she did with another girl, though no one seemed to know exactly what.

I resolved that at some point I would try to satisfy what I admit was prurient curiosity, but for the moment I said nothing. Helen’s attitude towards me seemed perfectly normal. We each undressed for bed. I admit I sneaked a quick look at her as she stood partly naked, pulling on her nightdress. I was curious about other bodies. Doubtless, had I had a chance I would have been especially curious about a man, but apart from the loathsome Desmond I had seen no man’s body unclothed. I had nevertheless frequently observed with interest the appearance of my fellow pupils, and had remarked how, despite the obvious similarities, girls did vary a lot in their persons. I shall have more to say of this later.

Things went on in a friendly way for a week or so, Helen and I having several conversations about our lives up to this point, about the school, and about our hopes for when we should leave.

And then one night, after we had blown out our candles, Helen asked me whether I was in the habit of pleasuring myself.

“I ask, dear Jane,” she said, “because I believe that most girls do this, that it is nothing to be ashamed of, and we should not feel inhibited with one another. If either of us should do this, the other will probably hear some sounds, and I should not like either of us to be embarrassed.”

Even in the darkness I could feel myself blushing, despite what she said. As it happened, my hand was between my legs, touching very gently, hardly daring to move for fear that Helen should notice. For this reason, I felt it would be hypocritical to deny that I ever did such a thing, but I did not know how to admit it.

“I like to do such a thing often,” Helen continued, “and I am in the mood for it tonight. I think if I went ahead you would undoubtedly notice, and so I thought it best to be open and frank.”

I hesitated some more, but at last found the courage to speak. “I have done the thing you speak of,” I said in a low voice. “I feel the need sometimes.”

“I feel so pleased that you are able to be honest with me,” Helen said. “Should you like to do it now? If so, we might each of us perform the act without shame or fear of discovery.”

I was aware that this was the first time at the school I had ever been tempted to do something that was likely if discovered to incur the maximum punishment, the dreaded cane. But there was surely no risk, unless one of us should tell on the other, which seemed unlikely.

“Very well,” I said. “But please let us not speak while we do it, nor afterwards. I would be too ashamed.”

“As you wish,” said Helen. There was a pause before each of us began. I tried to make as little sound as possible, but I heard a faint rustling from the other bed. I think I finished first. I lay there scarcely daring to breath, then fell fast asleep. The next morning I hoped that would be the last of it, at least for a while. I realized that having once crossed this threshold the situation would recur, but I did not want to think about that. Yet only two nights later, Helen whispered to me in the darkness.

“Jane,” she hissed, “tell me, when you are doing it, what do you think of?”

I did not know how to reply. My hand was once again between my legs. I had been wondering if Helen would want to do it again, and if so whether I should do it too.

“I wonder whether,” Helen went on, “as you touch, delicious images come into your mind, images of things that are forbidden. I am sure that is the case for me.”

“What do you think of?” I asked quietly. Despite my reserve, I was curious.

Helen giggled. “Sometimes I think of pretty girls, with flowing locks and rose-red mouths, who kiss me. But sometimes my thoughts run to boys.”

I touched myself with more deliberate intent now. I was wet. “What about boys?” I asked.

“Have you ever seen a boy’s c**k?” she asked.

It was the first time I had ever heard this word, though I had no trouble divining its meaning. I was silent. I had no wish to speak of Desmond.

“I have to confess it is a rather scary thing when observed up close, in its erect condition,” Helen said.

I contemplated this, trying hard to imagine such a thing that did not belong to Desmond.

“Have you touched one?” I asked, wondering at my daring.

“Once,” Helen answered. “I hope to do it again soon.”

“Whose?” I demanded. My curiosity knew no bounds now.

Helen giggled again. “That would be telling.”

We continued with our pleasures in silence, while I thought about which boy she could be talking of. There were two boys who worked in the school garden, growing vegetables, and one in the kitchen. Plus various boys came on occasion to the school: butcher’s boys, and the boy who helped deliver the coal. And then there were the male teachers, three of them in all: M. Poiret, the French teacher, a very young man named Brighton who taught drawing and painting, and an older man, Jenkins, who taught history. Plus the headmaster, of course. Which one could Helen be talking about?

Over the next two or three weeks we had several conversations lying in our beds at night, each touching ourselves for pleasure. But Helen gave me no clues as to the identity of the person who had exposed himself to her. One night she got out of bed and came across to stand by me. She stood silently for a while, then greatly to my surprise bent over and kissed me on the mouth. This was such a novel experience that I did not know how to respond, though I was aware that the sensation was not displeasing. She pressed her lips against mine, gently at first then with more pressure. Suddenly I felt her tongue slide its way into my mouth. At the same time she seized my hand and pulled it up under her nightgown, pressing my fingers in between her legs.

She pulled her mouth away from mine. “Touch me, dear Jane,” she said. “Oh, please touch me.”

I was too shy to co-operate yet too curious to resist. She moved my fingers against herself. I could feel how soft, how warm and how wet she was. She managed to manipulate my hand until one of my fingers penetrated her.

“Oh god,” she said, evidently in transports of delight. She rubbed herself against my fingers with increasing force and speed, and in no time at all she groaned in ecstasy and her hips shook.

“Oh god,” she said again, as her passion slowly subsided. She kissed me lightly on the lips once more, then crept back to her bed. I was too embarrassed to say anything, but greatly stirred. I could still taste her lips on mine, and then I brought my hand up to my face and inhaled her odor. The smell excited me so much that I touched myself until spasms of pleasure overtook me.