Part nine tells, from the cripplingly polite Abigail’s perspective, what happened back at the mansion after a long day of dressage and dangerous flirtation.
I have no idea where this is going, but it’s fun to write. I feel like it is turning into a weird F. Scott Fitzgerald story, but you know… without the talent and the crazy ballerina. The next part should be very interesting to write.
It was a Wednesday when I finished my assignment. I put my diary on Mister McIntyre’s desk with all my dirty secrets open for him. My teenage fumblings and my embarrassing attempts at dating. All of my dirty dreams and forbidden fantasies. All the times I had to go into the bathroom and rub myself while covering my mouth because Mister McIntyre had leaned over me while I typed a letter or chided me for taking too long at lunch. Continue reading
Short, but necessary. Next up? Who can tell.