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1970

It was a shock when unintentionally an invitation was sent to eighteen-year-old Geraldine Johnson, and she sent back her RSVP. Arriving by carriage, Miss Johnson was invited in and the other women stared.

Geraldine Johnson was black. The North End Academy for Women was recently integrated, but no one thought that would impact Sappho’s Sisters.

The women of the sisterhood were too polite to say anything; too liberal to overtly reject her. They were standoffish but were intrigued by her poetry which openly praised womanly love. Not black womanly love and not white womanly love. Just womanly love.

The current matriarch, sixty-two-year-old Lillian Fletcher, who could trace her ancestry back to the first arrivals in Boston, was the first to welcome Geraldine. By that I mean, privately welcome her.

“Miss Johnstone, are you aware of the ideals and ideas Sappho’s Sisters share?”

“I think so, ma’am. Some of the girls at school talk about it in whispers. I’m not eavesdropping, but I’ve heard them. I’m not interested in boys, and I am curious.”

“Would you be curious enough to undress for me?”

“Ummmm, I’ve never undressed in front of anyone, but for you Mrs. Fletcher I will, but I’m so embarrassed.”

“I understand, Miss Johnson. I was the same way when I first came here.”

“You were?”

“Oh yes, I was so shy. I was hesitant until Miss Parker took me aside, like I’m doing with you, It took a while, but she finally made me feel comfortable. I hope you’ll allow me to make you feel comfortable.”

By this time, Geraldine was down to her bra and panties while Mrs. Fletcher sat in front of her. “Why don’t you come sit next to me?”

Geraldine did and soon the older woman engaged her in a kiss. Just a kiss. Mrs. Fletcher was confident in herself but had never kissed black lips before. Geraldine Johnson, not so much. She’d never kissed anyone. Not romantically anyhow. “You are a lovely young woman. Relax, you don’t know me very well, but I don’t bite,” she laughed.

That helped, Geraldine laughed with her. This time she didn’t hesitate when Mrs. Fletcher kissed her. However, when the older woman used her tongue, Miss Johnson was a little unsure of herself. It took a few minutes, but once her own tongue started, she snuggled into Mrs. Fletcher’s arms.

That was like a signal. Mrs. Fletcher’s arms were around her and she started to unhook the black girl’s bra. “Miss Johnson, it’s going to be okay.”

She didn’t resist as her bra came off.

“They are lovely,” she said, but only saw them for a moment as Geraldine crossed her arms.

In fact, those breasts were small; the smallest Mrs. Fletcher had seen on an adult woman.

The truth was that Geraldine, although she’d gone through puberty, was still not completely developed. Yes, she had her period, but there wasn’t much hair under her arms or in her pubic area. She rarely had to shave her legs, and as I’ve noted her breasts were tiny. All the women in her family were large breasted. Her mother told her not to worry, “it’ll happen, just give it time.”

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