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It goes without saying that the Boston Women’s Reading Society was rift with gossip, rumor and inuendo. That wasn’t necessary. Abigail and Gladys couldn’t keep quiet about their “get-togethers.” Not overtly, but to any observer, there was something going on between the two; and it was obviously romantic.

A month later Mrs. Henrietta Horton and Mrs. Priscilla Randolph joined them. Abigail Andress took Priscilla aside. By that I mean to her boudoir where she helped Mrs. Randolph undress. “Priscilla, I’m looking forward to the taste of your treasure.”

“And Abigail, when I was able to surmise what you and Gladys were up to, I couldn’t wait. My pussy cat has been lonely far too long.”

Meanwhile, Gladys Wortham was entertaining Henrietta in the Andress’ Library. Better to say that Henrietta was learning how to entertain Gladys’ honeypot. “Gladys, your poems are so descriptive. They make me feel like I’ve already enjoyed your womanly delights.”

Later that afternoon, Abigail suggested that she needed to get to know Henrietta. “What a wonderful idea. Priscilla, let me tell you, Gladys is the sweetest woman and make sure you allow her tongue to please you.”

Before the afternoon ended, Abigail and Gladys were alone. “Abigail, please let me worship my Goddess’ treasure. Last time wasn’t nearly enough for me.”

Abigail’s legs were spread wide, and Gladys was between those legs. “My honeypot is all yours. Show me how you please your Goddess, Gladys.”

By the end of the year, all eight women were party to this debauchery. That’s when the Boston Women’s Reading Society changed their name to Sappho’s Sisters.

Daisy Jackson’s husband was traveling by train to San Francisco. Her home became their meeting place; not monthly, but weekly.

When Abigail Andress first became intimate with Priscilla Randolph, Priscilla referred to her vagina as her pussy cat. For reasons unknown, pussy cat became the common euphemism, although treasure and honeypot and kitty were frequently heard. Such as, “Daisy, I can’t imagine anything sweeter than your honeypot.”

If there were any Peeping Toms looking in Mrs. Jackson’s windows, they would have seen eight naked mature women in various romantic embraces, but whatever position they were in, you can be sure one woman was pleasing another with her tongue. Sometimes, there would be a woman on all fours with her face in another woman’s pussy cat, while a third woman was behind her licking the juices from her honeypot.

Although every woman had enjoyed the tongue and the treasure of every other woman, there were women who paired off. For example, Henrietta Horton found there was nothing more delightful than Elvira van Wie’s pussy cat. “Elvira, I would leave my husband if you made your pussy cat available all the time,” she whispered as her tongue got busy again.

“Henrietta, I can’t do that, but I will make my pussy cat yours as frequently as possible. My husband never made me feel like you do. Give me your tongue again, please.” Elvira gently pushed the other woman’s head forward.

Gladys Wortham could never get enough of Abigail Andress’ pussycat. “Gladys, you’re so good to me.”

“No, Abigail, thank you for the privilege. I’m here to serve my Goddess’ honeypot. You do indeed taste like honey.”

However, a few women were dissatisfied with the arrangements. Not with the depravity but with the selection of partners. “What we need is new blood.” There were nods of agreement even from Mrs. Horton who at that every moment had Mrs. Van Wie in her arms and was caressing her ample breasts.

“I agree,” said Mrs. Daisy Jackson, “and I wouldn’t mind if that new

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