Miss Mabel, a story in six parts Part 4. Playing at kittens, part one. North London, September 1858. ‘Arthur dearest, what does ‘playing at kitt...ns’ mean?’ It was in one of our snatched moments together. Mabel was on my lap, and her hand was creeping softly inside my trousers, seeking for the instrument that, once she had encountered it, seemed seldom far from her thoughts. In that position the hoops of her semi-crinoline gave me easy access and my hand, likewise, had found its way to. She still comes around to get it on with me. She calls it 'scratching her lesbian itch, ' and it's always a pleasant surprise. I'll come into the showers after a shift, and she'll be waiting for me, naked and wet, all ready to get it on for an hour or so. Then she dries off, and goes home, satisfied for another while. If you keep coming around, you may even get to see her. So, what about you? Did you just come in to swim, or were you looking for a little something on the side?"While they were. More

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