Sapphic Voices Romance

When the Tide Turned

Robyn stood at her window and watched the solitary figure walk past thoughtfully. This mysterious stranger had piqued her interest as she always took the same path at the same time every day. Robyn was intrigued and had invented a tragic history for the stranger - for she did indeed look the very picture of tragedy as she trudged along with her hands tucked into her coat pockets and her eyes downcast. Robyn imagined that she was fleeing a violent partner or had a terminal disease as she carried a black cloud of gloom that was obvious even to the causal observer.

Any stranger in this tiny wind-swept, fishing village on the northern tip of Scotland was sure to raise questions when they visited outside the normal tourist season and Robyn had asked some questions with feigned nonchalance whilst in the village store. All she had been able to find out was that she had arrived in a car with Edinburgh registration plates late one evening about a week ago with one small suitcase and had booked into the only hotel in town for an indefinite period of time.

Not much to go on mused Robyn as she craned her neck to watch the other woman as she rounded the bluff before disappearing from sight.

Robyn checked her watch but continued to stand by the window watching the scene without really seeing it. She knew that she would be back this way within thirty minutes. She must climb the outcrop of rocks at the west end of the bluff as that was all that was up that way. There was absolutely nothing of interest to see there except a endless expanse of sea and perhaps a few sea birds wheeling and calling raucously to each other as they scavenged for lunch.

She knew every inch of this beach intimately as her old house overlooked it. She had been born in the master bedroom of this very house and lived in it all her life, except for a short period spent at the Edinburgh School of Fine Arts when she was in her early twenties. She never finished her studies as her mother had died unexpectedly during her second year in the city and she had returned for the funereal. Her father needed her so she had never gone back. The villagers had praised the dutiful daughter who had sacrificed the glamour and sophistication of an artist's life to nurse an ailing parent but secretly she was relieved that she had found a way to remain in the village without losing face as the bustle and anonymity of the city had frightened her.

Shortly after her mother's death her father had gone into a serious decline and within a year he had also passed away. The death of both parents in such quick succession had left her bereft and reeling from shock and grief. She had no siblings so had borne her pain alone. Her father had died believing that he was preventing his beloved daughter from following her chosen career, torn between remorse at this and an overpowering love for her at her willing sacrifice. She had allowed him to think it and stifled the guilt mercilessly.

She loved this house and every room was full of memories of an idyllic childhood spent with an indulgent daddy and a fun-loving mother. Every piece of furniture was precious to her and she regarded it as a sanctuary, a safe haven where she could retreat when the harsh realities of life intruded into her carefully preserved routine. Here she did not have to make any decisions, participate fully in life or risk her emotions in a cold world which frightened and confused her. She was happiest ensconced within these old walls which she felt sure would always provide her shelter and comfort.

Robyn was jerked sharply back to the present as suddenly the lonely figure of the stranger reappeared at the extreme western tip of the bay. She traversed back across the sand, looking neither left nor right or out to sea, as Robyn knew she would, and headed in the direction of the hotel. Robyn watched her until she started to climb the rickety old wooden stairs which led to the road and with a sigh, turned from the window and made her way into the hall.

She gathered her paints and easel together and tucked them into her bag as she left the house. She had decided to paint the breathtaking view from the eastern cliff as the sky had a peculiar silvery hue shot through with angry black streaks today and she wanted to try and capture it on canvas. The brooding savagery of the leaden sky filled her with meloncholy but to her artistic eye, it would provide a dramatic backdrop for the returning fishing trawlers which would make for the bay in the face of the impending storm.

The steep climb up the cliff had made her breathless so she stopped to rest on the summit before setting up her painting paraphernalia. She sat down heavily to watch the familiar scene of sand, sea, gulls and the tiny specks on the horizon which were the fishing vessels. The smell of salt water was invigorating but made her strangely disconsolate. There was something missing from her life but she baulked at giving it a name. The stranger had stirred vague feelings of restlessness and discontent which were strongest when she lay in her bed alone whilst the wind howled under the eaves of the house and the rain battered on the roof. She was very lonely but had allowed herself to drift into a solitary, celibate life without really meaning too. She wanted a change but she was afraid of the challenge. She wanted a partner to come to her but she would have to fit in with her ways, fall in with her needs and desires whilst remaining separate and undemanding.

Did such a creature exist?

In her imagination she did. She closed her eyes the better to conjured up her perfect partner again - this was a game she often played but it had become more frequent of late. The image of this fantasy woman which she had amended and refined over the years to her complete satisfaction, arose in her mind and she smiled at the comforting familiarity of the lover who was totally committed to Robyn but demanded nothing in return. She would fulfil all her emotional and sexual needs and when she had served her purpose she would just fade into the background to become a shadow, ready to be used again and again as the, now, ever-increasing, need arose.

Without warning the imaginary woman's face was replaced with that of the stranger on the beach and Robyn's stomach turned to water as she felt a tingling sensation between her legs.

She rose quickly but her hands trembled as she busied herself with her paints trying to ignore the flush of arousal which had quickly spread through her entire body at the thought of the mysterious stranger. She was blushing furiously although she was alone.

As she settled on the small folding stool which she always carried with her, she made a controlled effort to banish the stranger from her thoughts and instead her mind wandered back to her student days. She had met a woman in Edinburgh once who had made it obvious, even to Robyn, that she was interested in a sexual relationship with her. A fellow student who had been very attractive but far too forthright for the shy and retiring Robyn. Impatient with Robyn's inability to commit to a lesbian lifestyle as she had, they had drifted apart.

The love affair that never was Robyn thought ruefully.

There had been some physical contact but Robyn had always stopped short of actual sex. She still regretted her cowardice even after more than fifteen years, but she had been terrified of the deep secret desires that the woman had evoked with just a kiss and in an agony of confusion and guilt she had fled back to her village where she could hide from the reality of her own feelings. It all seemed so very long ago and her so very, very young. She idly wondered how she would react in such a situation today and decided that she would be more amenable as the regret she harboured at the lost opportunity had tortured her without mercy ever since.

All she needed was another chance, but believed that she would not find it here.

She had tried to bury her lesbian tendencies in solitary pursuits and provincial life but her basic nature would rise to mock her at her weakest moments. Often she would wake in the morning with the dishevelled state of the bedclothes ample evidence of the disturbed night spent in the feverish throes of unfulfilled sexual need. Vague feelings of frustration would shadow her throughout the day as half-remembered dreams hovered in the periphery of her consciousness. Always tantalisingly vague. She would never examine them too closely. Confrontation was simply too uncomfortable.
There had been the odd date with one of the men from the village over the years but she felt sure that their main attraction was the substantial fortune left to her by her father rather than her personal attributes. She had accepted these dates simply to ally any suspicions that anyone may be harbouring about her sexual orientation but, she had eventually reached the point where she had found the experiences to be too emotionally exhausting and declined all further invitations.

She was startled out of her reverie by the first large drop of rain which splashed onto her canvas making the vague outline sketches blur into each other rapidly. She hurriedly collapsed her easel and started to screw the lids back onto the paint tubes in a vain attempt to beat the rain which was quickly turning the sandy clay around her into a quagmire.

She slipped and stumbled down the cliff with her bags impeding her descent until she eventually reached the slightly more even path which led back to her car. She dumped her stuff in the boot and slammed it closed as she rushed round to open the door.

She could have sheltered in the near-ruined beach-house which nestled like a relic from a bygone age about halfway down the cliff but she remembered stories from her childhood about hauntings and had hurried past with her head down instead. Ridiculous she knew, but old habits die hard.

She slumped over the steering wheel with water dripping unnoticed from her hair and soaking into the immaculate upholstery. The rain beat a tattoo on the roof in a steady rhythm and streamed down the windows as the glass started to mist over. She remained with her head bowed and her hands clenched for several long minutes.

Eventually she slotted the key into the ignition with a heavy sigh and the car sluggishly came to life. These powerful urges were becoming more and more intrusive and she felt as if a great millstone hung round her neck trying to drag her onto her knees. She knew that she was suffering from sexual frustration but was unwilling to seek a remedy outside herself. She had masturbated on several occasions but the experience had been distasteful in the extreme. The memory of furtive fumblings under the bedclothes in the dark caused her considerable embarrassment. A dirty shameful secret which she preferred not to think about too often. The eventual release would allow her to find sleep but was never very satisfying.

She pulled into her driveway but remained in the car with the engine running. She was reluctant to go back into the lonely house as she knew that she would settle in front of the television for the evening again.

Stultifying. Restrictive. Boring. Her mind was screaming but her lips were set in a stoic line of uncompromising silence.
She briefly considered driving into Aberdeen to visit a gay bar that she had heard about with the intention of picking up a stranger to help her through the loneliness of night, but she dismissed the thought almost as soon as it presented itself. She knew that she would never have the nerve to go through with it.

She did need a distraction though and yearned to break out of her own character and do something totally bizarre. Perhaps she should take off all her clothes and run along the beach in the rain completely naked. The sudden image of this, and the stir it would cause in this backwater, made her giggles. Although the thought of such freedom was very attractive.

She felt slightly better as she entered the house through the back door, even a bit rebellious at leaving her painting equipment in the car instead of bringing it into the kitchen to carefully clean and replace every used item in readiness for tomorrow. She suddenly wanted to upset her self- imposed routine so carelessly threw her wet coat onto the floor. This was closely followed by the rest of her clothes until she stood naked in the middle of her immaculate kitchen dripping water onto the perfectly shined tiles. She took a perverse delight in this uncharacteristic untidiness and wandered up to her bedroom ignoring the insistent ringing of the 'phone in the hall.

She drew the curtains and switched on the light before standing in front of the full-length mirror. Silent and immobile, she regarded her reflection gravely. Her first reaction was to hide her nudity from her own gaze but forced herself to look, really look at her body for the first time in her life.

Criticisms were all that sprung to mind - her bottom was too large and her breasts were not as firm as she would have liked, her skin was not perfectly smooth and she had a small mole high on her left thigh. And...and...and...

She ruthlessly stifled the comments which were crowding her mind along with the urge to cover herself and looked hard for some positive points as she slowly and self-consciously began to examine her body in minute detail.

Her thighs and calves were slim she decided hesitantly.

She paused to think.

Her stomach was flat and her upper arms were firm.

She began to get into the swing of it.

Her hands were slender with long tapering artistic fingers which gave an impression of sensitivity. Her hair was a rich chestnut colour and her lips were full and sensual.

For the first time in her life she began to feel comfortable with her own nakedness so she dragged the quilt off the bed and lay back on the satin sheets. The first touch of the silky smooth material made her aware of how sensitive the skin on her back was. She shivered and then moved slightly as she began to concentrate on each part of her body in turn. She ran her hands slowly over her shoulders and down her chest to her stomach savouring the feel of skin on skin. She continued to caress her body lightly as she stared at the ceiling and marvelled at the different sensations which different types of strokes could produce. She sighed contentedly.

Her entire body tingled as her movements became faster and more intimate and the orgasm which suddenly jerked her body taut seemed to come from nowhere and took her by surprise. The release of tension made her feel better than she had for ages and she crawled under the quilt and drifted slowly into a deep sleep.

She slept right through until morning and felt completely refreshed as she faced the new day and made tentative plans over a leisurely breakfast. Today she would finish her painting of the view from the eastern cliff. She felt revitalised and wanted her work to reflect this. She felt sure that she would paint better than she ever had. She thought about her situation and wondered what she could do to fill this aching void in her life.

Perhaps she should enquire about joining a woman's group in the largest nearby town - she needed some new friends. She could also stop painting purely for her own amusement and find out once and for all if her artistic talents were exceptional or if she was merely a gifted amateur. The idea of exploring the boundaries of her own potential was exhilarating and she was anxious to make a start.

She left her breakfast dishes unwashed in the sink and swept the clothes from the previous night into a heap in the corner before leaving the house.

She waved cheerily to a neighbour as she pulled from the drive onto the road and headed east humming tunelessly as she drove.

Within thirty minutes she was positioned in front of her easel with her face a mask of concentration. She worked steadily throughout the day and when she finally sat back she was more than satisfied with her work.

She glanced up at the rapidly darkening sky in surprise, then at her watch. It was gone five and her stomach was starting to growl with hunger. She began to clear away her stuff at a leisurely pace, stopping every few minutes to admire the painting still clipped to the easel. It was definitely the best work she had ever produced and her pulse quickened as she suddenly considered the possibility of an exhibition. Her natural caution and lack of confidence immediately dashed cold water on this idea but a spark of optimism burned defiantly, despite herself.

Nature had been replicated to perfection on the canvas and the whole picture seemed to convey a barely-supressed savagery which had never been present in her work before. She was delighted with the finished result and could not resist one more long, lingering look before covering it over.

She resolved to dig out all the other paintings from the attic and have a good look at them the minute she got home. Perhaps take some into Aberdeen and get some advice from a gallery owner friend of her father's. The prospect was exciting. Together they could decide on the direction her future work should take.

It was now raining steadily so she quickly finished packing up and started the long walk back to her car.

She stopped frequently to check that no water was seeping under the cover onto her picture and became concerned at the tell-tale sign of dampness round the edges on her third look. She was passing the old beach house and decided to take shelter there until the downpour had abated a little. She thought nervously about the stories of the old crone dressed all in black who was supposed to haunt the building and which the village children had used to scare themselves with, but quickly dismissed the notion. She was angry at herself for being so infantile and, as an antidote to this, she marched resolutely along the front path. She hesitated only momentarily, then gathering her nerve impatiently, passed through the doorway into the dusty old hall.

She felt as if she had crossed a forbidden boundary and shivered.

She stood for a few seconds before walking to the opposite side of the room to place her painting carefully against the wall. She propped it up with her bag and then checked that the roof was fairly intact at this spot. When she was satisfied that her picture would be safe there, she looked around her curiously. She had passed this building hundreds of times but had never actually been inside until now.

This room must have been a reception area she decided as she saw what looked like an old refectory table against the opposite wall. She went over to the table and run her hand lightly over the grime-encrusted surface. The wood was fairly rotten but it had once been a handsome piece of furniture and the faintly discernible carvings on the legs were very elaborate.

She straightened up and looked around her. There were signs that the windows had been boarded up once but most of the wood had either been pulled down or simply rotted away with a few remaining boards hanging by one nail only.

She could see that it was still raining outside with no sign of stopping, so she walked through a doorless frame into the next room as her footsteps echoed hollowly after her. This room was empty but she saw another door leading from it and approached curiously. As she door swung back on well-oiled hinges the stench of excrement and mould assailed her nostrils making her stop abruptly, she gagged and backed out of the room hurriedly. That had probably been some kind of store cupboard once as it was windowless. It looked like some old drunk had made his home there though as she saw a pile of newspapers in one corner and a lot of empty vodka bottles and beer cans scattered about the floor. She was thankful that the occupant was not there now but it would account for the state of the door hinges.

She was bored of exploring and decided to return to the first room where her paintings were and wait for the rain to stop.

She stood by the window watching the rain as it bounced off the ground. She had never seen it this heavy in September and wondered if it boded ill for the winter. She noticed a small puddle beginning to form just outside the front door and realised that the drains must be clogged up with leaves or mud. Even as she watched the water was beginning to creep towards the front step.

Watching the rain fall incessantly was tedious so she went over to pull her painting out again. The leaden sky offered little light and she could not make out any of the picture's details in the gloom so she put it away again carefully.

She went back over to the window impatiently and was surprised that the weather seemed to be getting worse. She shrugged and returned to the corner where she spread her coat over the floor and sat down. There was nothing for it but to wait.

Her mind wandered aimlessly as she sat staring at the gathering gloom outside the front door. She thought about the drudgery her life had become and the ambitions she'd had as a girl. She had once dreamed of being a world famous artist with galleries in Rome and Milan and New York, exhibitions every spring with art-lovers bidding excitedly for her work and of being recognised everywhere she went. She had not thought about these things for years and wondered what had happened to change everything.

Suddenly she heard footsteps. Her first thought was of the ancient woman who was reputed to haunt the place and she put her hand over her mouth to stifle the scream which had sprung to her lips. She quickly realised that it was more likely that the tramp was coming back. A shadow fell across the doorway and she pressed her back against the wall as she desperately stretched out her hand towards the bag at her feet. If she could only reach her palette knife she would have at least some protection. She looked up as a figure filled the doorway and cried out as she scrambled to her feet holding the knife out threateningly. Her fear was palpable.

"Don't come any closer," she squeaked in terror. "I have a knife."

The figure stepped into the room and a low female voice said huskily, "It's all right I won't hurt you. I was just looking for shelter from this dreadful rain."

Robyn squinted in the half light and felt relief wash over her as she realised that it was the woman who always walked on the beach.

"Oh! It's you," she said. "For a minute I thought it was the tramp who lives here coming back. I've seen you walking on the beach. My house is the big white one which overlooks the sea. I'm an artist and I was painting the scene from the cliff when I got caught in the rain." She suddenly trailed off lamely realising that she was gibbering inanely and that the other woman was regarding her with ill-disguised amusement.

"Is it safe for me to come in then?" she regarded the knife still clutched in Robyn's hand archly.

"Yes. Yes of course," Robyn said hastily stuffing the knife back into her bag. She felt like a fool.

She cast around for something to say. "Is it still raining as hard as it was?" she asked finally.

"Worse if anything, I think," said the stranger.

Robyn thrilled at the sound of her voice. It was low and husky with a faint hint of an Eastern European accent which she could not quite place.

She sat back down on her coat then as an afterthought, indicated that the other woman could join her.

Robyn hugged her knees as the woman settled down and regarded her through half-closed eyes. She was very attractive and her nearness stirred something deep within Robyn as they sat together in companionable silence.

"I've seen you watching me from your house every day," she said suddenly.

The silence was heavy. Robyn blushed as if caught in a voyeuristic act.

"I was only curious," she mumbled. "This is a small town and you're a stranger," she qualified.

The room was silent again.

Robyn shifted uncomfortably in the small space and the other woman suggested that she stretch her legs out properly. To do this Robyn would have to rest against her and was about to decline when the stranger placed her hand on Robyn's thigh and began to massage the cramped muscle with strong able fingers.

The swiftly gathering gloom, together with the rain drumming monotonously on the roof, was creating an intimate ambience and the atmosphere was electrically charged with sexual portent.

"Does that feel a bit better?" the stranger asked after a while.

Robyn did not trust her voice not to quaver so nodded mutely.

The stranger chuckled deep in her throat and Robyn blushed furiously. She knew that the twilight was covering her embarrassment so forced herself to relax a little.

"In my country, if you find someone attractive you simply tell them. No little pretences or games like here."

Robyn held her breath.

"I find you very attractive."

The words hung between them and Robyn did not know how to answer.

The stranger stood and held out her hand to Robyn who automatically reached out as if in a daze, as she also stood. They were inches away from each other and Robyn could smell the slight mintiness of the other woman's breath.

Their lips met and she felt herself falling into a bottomless pit and there was a wild rushing sound in her ears as the other woman thrust her tongue into Robyn's mouth. Robyn was trembling uncontrollable as she felt the other woman's arms tighten around her waist.

They stood locked together exploring each others mouths and bodies for a long time. Robyn wanted to make love properly but she would not take the initiative for fear of revealing her inexperience.
She waited impatiently.

Slowly the stranger unbuttoned Robyn's blouse and slipped it off then ran her fingers lightly over her shoulders and down her back until she reached the clip of her bra. Without fumbling, she opened it with one hand and let it fall to join the blouse on the floor. She stood back slightly to admire her breasts which made Robyn instinctively move her hands to cover her nakedness, but the stranger stilled the movement whispering, "Don't hide yourself from me. You are beautiful." Robyn let her arms fall to her sides as she felt the other woman's hands caress her breasts with a touch as soft as a butterfly's wings. Her nipples hardened and the stranger bent her head to take each one into her mouth in turn. As she licked and nibbled at her breasts her hands stroked her back and Robyn felt as if she would explode with desire. Her legs had turned to water and she leaned heavily against the other woman for support.

She felt herself being gently pulled towards the table by the opposite wall and allowed herself to be led without dissent. Like a child. Once there, the other woman disrobed quickly and without ceremony, she then knelt down in front of Robyn. Her hot mouth was tracing a slow jagged line across Robyn's stomach as her hands were busily tugging at her jeans and underwear. Finally they were both naked and melted into each other in a frenzy of darting tongues and probing fingers. The first feel of skin on skin was electrifying and Robyn swayed as if intoxicated.

The other woman placed her hands gently under her buttocks to lift her until she was balanced on the edge of the table and as Robyn lent back she placed herself between her open legs and gently parted her lips stroking her all the time. Robyn gasped with pleasure as she felt a finger plunge into her. The finger withdrew and caressed her clitoris and lips then returned to probe her once more. Her head was spinning as her body became a pulsating mass of sexual arousal and she whimpered involuntary as she felt two fingers slip inside her and ground her hips down to wring every little bit of pleasure from the sensation.

The other woman was a master musician playing her body like a finely-tuned priceless instrument.

She groped towards the stranger blindly and found her as open as wet as she herself was. She emulated the other woman's movements as she felt a mouth fasten onto her nipple. She groaned and pushed. Moving her hand faster as her hips started to buck and she felt the movement being returned in equal measure.

The climax rose as a throbbing tidal wave and swamped all conscious thought as they plummeted over the cliff together. Spinning and turning until the world became a kaleidoscope of colours and flashing lights and soul-nurturing orgasmic release.

Suddenly they were both still.
The rasp of Robyn's breathing as she gulped for air was the only sound in the room as they maintained their positions like statues. Robyn was in awe of the phenomena which she had just experienced and wished that they could stay this way forever.

Slowly her surroundings began to penetrate the haze as she drifted back to reality. I really must ask her name she thought languidly but it didn't seem to be that important now. "I have just had anonymous, meaningless sex with a stranger", she thought, amazed at her own daring. "Is that bizarre enough?" she questioned herself then smiled.

Both women dressed and Robyn saw that it had stopped raining. She had not noticed at the time.

She gathered up her things and turned to her new lover to find herself completely alone in the room. Robyn ran to the doorway and squinted down the path straining her eyes for any sign of her. There was none. She called out but only the sound of her own voice echoed back to her mockingly. This is very strange Robyn thought with more than a trace of annoyance. She had slipped away when her back was turned without a word. Wearily she left the building and made her way back to the car by the dim light of a cloud-obscured moon.

When she eventually reached her own house she sat in the car with the lights off staring towards the hotel pensively. She was beginning to wonder if she had dreamt the whole episode but knew that was impossible.

When she eventually went into the house it was with a heavy heart.

She was mystified by the day's events but couldn't resist a secret smile as she turned on the shower. She went into the bedroom to stand in front of the mirror after she had undressed, looking for some physical evidence of what had happened. Something tangible she could hold on to for a little while, but found nothing.

She had her shower and went to bed but sleep would not come and she tossed and turned until the first pale fingers of dawn pushed their way into the room.

After breakfast she sat by the window to wait for the stranger to take her usual morning walk but by lunch-time she had still not appeared. The next day was the same and the one after that until a week had passed without any sign of her.

On the Friday evening she decided to go down to the hotel bar.
She was greeted warmly by the barman as it had been several months since she had last been in and as she bought a drink she noticed several acquaintances beckoning her over from a table by the fire so she joined them.

The conversation was general and Robyn waited about a hour before bringing up the subject of the stranger in town with a studied casualness she was far from feeling. The group fell to speculating about the woman but no one knew any more than she did and it was the manager who told them that she had booked out about a week ago. She was a queer one he commented going on to say that she had given her name as Jayne Gasket in the hotel register but her one piece of luggage was monogrammed with the initials HHH. She had always paid in cash so there were no credit cards or cheques to give her real identity away.

"Take's all sorts I suppose," he said philosophically as he rose to leave.

No one had noticed the stricken look on Robyn's face when she heard that the woman was gone but she felt like someone had just kicked her in the stomach.

She feigned a headache to escape the pub and trudged wearily back to her house. She sat in the chair by the window watching the sea. Snippets of the day in the old house came and went like shadows in her head as she sat on through the night without moving. The irony was not lost on her as she had wished for just such a lover - a woman who would satisfy her sexually but make no demands. Now that she had tasted the fantasy it lay like cold ashes in her mouth.

Beware what you wish for - it may come true. She wondered where she had heard that before.

About ten miles further down the coast a woman stood at her window and watched a solitary figure walk past thoughtfully. The mysterious stranger was obviously a creature of habit as she always took the same path at the same time every day. She looked the very picture of tragedy as she trudged along with her hands tucked into her coat pockets and her eyes downcast. The watching woman wondered what she was running from for she carried a black cloud of gloom like a status symbol.

The local gossip mongers said that she had arrived in a car with Edinburgh registration plates late one evening about a week ago with one small suitcase and had booked into the only hotel in town for an indefinite period of time.

The woman shivered as she turned quickly from the window - although she wasn't sure why that should be.

Lorna Wilson's e-mail address is unavailable.

Click here for a list of all of Lorna Wilson's  Stories and Poetry at  Sapphic Voices Authoresses.