Chapter 7

Letters written by Benjamin and Sarah, June to July 1861

14th June, 1861

Dearest Benjamin,

If, as you say, you will shortly be enlisting for the war, then this may be the very last letter of mine that will reach you for a long time. As I write this, I feel the need to make this missive matter as much as possible. But how can I make it so? What can I say here that will sustain our friendship over the course of months or years or however long this conflict lasts between the Union and the Confederacy?

I could tell you that your letters are my most treasured possession. That I keep them in a box under my bed, and that I often take them out to re-read. I could tell you also that it is through you that I experience a world beyond the small village in which I live. It is you who tells me things nobody else would consider speaking to me about. Why, who else would have taught me those wicked words—clitoris, cunt, cock and fuck? Words that I am sure will now become part of my nightly imaginings. I could also tell you about what I did last night.

I received your letter yesterday, and as is my wont, I waited until I was alone in my room in the evening to read it at my leisure. And what a letter it was! There was so much for me to take in, chief of which was the knowledge that my dearest friend was soon to go to war. I had, of course, already learned from reading the papers that hostilities had broken out between the Union and the Confederacy, and I had half expected that you would feel duty bound to join the war effort, so your revelation did not come as a great surprise to me. However, the news still hit me hard. I could not sleep for worry, so I went to see Ambrose and had a talk with him about it.

There was not much he could say, though, to allay my fears. Only that I should keep you in my prayers, which I will. Every morning and every night, and probably several times a day in between, you will be in my prayers. Promise me something, Benjamin. Promise me you will come back safe and sound from this war. Promise it even though it is not something within your gift to promise. And once you have made this promise, keep it within you as a good luck charm to ward off any evil.

I apologise, dear friend, if I am coming across as overwrought and emotional. I shall try to hold myself in hand for the remainder of this letter. Let me continue with my recount of what happened last night. I returned to my room, yet still could not get to sleep. The words of your letter kept going round and round in my mind, including your question: "Have you ever stroked yourself with your fingers down below?" The answer to that question was no, I had never thought to do so—until now.

Emboldened, I let my hand slide down slowly to the juncture of my legs. I tangled my fingers through the small tuft of hair that resides there and burrowed deeper until I reached the soft flesh below. There I rested my hand, my attention directed to the sensation of my touch. I do not know what instinct propelled me to do so, but I started to thrust my hip upwards into my hand. It was a pleasing sensation, and the more I did so, the more I felt that familiar throb of my core, only much stronger. And here, I confess I did another bold and shocking thing.

As I felt the friction of my hand to my core, I imagined it was your hand that was there touching me, and that I was Chastity, lying on a bed of straw in the barn. Your lips were on mine and you were whispering sweet words of praise to me. "That's my sweet girl," you said in a voice laced with passion. "Rub yourself against my hand. Get yourself wet and ready for me." And so I rubbed myself frantically against your hand, and oh my, how good it felt! I could feel how wet I had become for you and could sense your satisfaction. Soon, your cock would be inside my cunt, and you would lose yourself in the pleasure of sinking into the softness of my flesh.

The throbbing in my core by this time had become so intense. Each touch of your hand to me was sweet agony. I needed you so! "Take me," I whimpered. "Plunge yourself deep inside me and join your body to mine."

"Oh Chastity," was your ragged reply, though in my head, I think I heard you say my name. Then your cock was entering me and oh Benjamin, it was as if I felt it for real. A deep convulsion came over me and I shuddered in sweet ecstasy. I knew then what it was to experience an orgasm. It took some time for the shudders to stop and for my breath to return to an even rhythm. A wonderful feeling of contentment washed over me and I could feel myself sink into blessed slumber.

But before I did, I had one last thought. Was it right that I had imagined myself with my dear friend in such a wicked way? On the back of that thought came another. I would have to keep this a secret, for what I did was too shocking to reveal even to you. But then, I realised what a mistake that would be. What has marked our friendship is this searing honesty between us. I would be doing you, and our friendship, a disservice by withholding this knowledge. And so, even though it may paint me in an unfavourable light, I have written in detail of what occurred last night. I hope this will not make you throw up your hands and think, "Oh no, that wretched girl has crossed a line that should not be crossed."

Please write and tell me that I have not, in my wicked lewdness, destroyed the fabric of our friendship. And Benjamin, do keep writing, no matter what. I promise to read all your letters, even if I am unable to reply. Take care of yourself, dear friend, and do not forget that promise. I pray to God this war shall be short and that you will soon return victorious.

Your loving friend,

Sarah

July 28th, 1861

Dear Sarah,

Thank God your letter finally reached me. I had almost despaired of hearing from you before I leave for the war. It is decided. In a week or at most two, I shall leave for Camp Chase, a Union military training camp newly set up on the outskirts of Columbus. Jimmy, our stable boy whom I have known all my life, will accompany me. That way, I shall have someone from home on this new journey I am taking.

As you might expect, my family did not take this decision well. Papa was near hissing with fury, although as Ma explained, it was fear for me and pain that induced it. She says in time, he will come round. He was so mad with me tonight that he left the dinner table, his meal half eaten. I hope he does come round, for I would not wish to leave him on a cloud of anger.

I read and re-read your letter, not least because I know it will be the last one I receive from you in a very long time. And here I will confess: your letters are my most valued possession too. I keep them safe in a hidden compartment of my desk drawer, but I shall be taking this last missive of yours with me to war and keep it close at all times. Once you receive this, I shall be gone, either at training camp or elsewhere I know not.

I was more grateful than you know that you wish me to continue to write to you even though you will be unable to respond. I cannot promise correspondence with any degree of regularity, but whenever it is possible to send you a missive, I will. Of course, I shall write to my family too, but yours will be the letter in which I speak the honest, unvarnished truth. With Pa, Ma and Bella, I shall be forced to write with cheer so as to allay their worries about me. With Daniel, I shall have to inflate my glorious achievements and present my war effort in the most positive light—for such is the burden of inferiority I carry when it comes to my brother. But with you, I will be truthful. Brace yourself, my friend, for the picture I will paint will not often be a pretty one. War is a nasty business, or so I hear.

I do not know how well I will take to military life. I will be exchanging one set of constraints for another, for I will need to take orders from my superiors, but I hope at least to be given some independence out in the field. I do believe joining the army is the right thing to do. Some part of me views the coming days with great hope and enthusiasm—it will be a break from the tedium of overseeing grain consignments, and I feel a sense of righteousness at fighting for a worthy cause. Another part of me views the future with dread. I have never before killed a fellow man. In the heat of battle, when I have to shoot my gun or wield my sabre, will I be able to do it or will I hesitate?

Enough of this sombre talk. I want to talk about you and the tantalising revelations you shared. Congratulations, by the by, on your first orgasm. The first of many, I hope. I cannot tell you how pleased and grateful I was that you were willing to share this most personal experience with me, writing it all with your usual candour. Dear Sarah, I am honoured. Doubly so as I was with you in your mind as you experienced this first bliss.

Do not feel ashamed or worried for our friendship that you imagined me with you as you touched yourself intimately. Your knowledge of such things came from me, for it was I that told you about seducing Chastity in an empty barn and how I stroke a lady's nether regions to get her wet and ready for me before the act of penetration. It was only natural therefore that you took that knowledge and used it in your imaginings to bring yourself to a pleasurable peak. Our friendship is of a special sort, one in which we are unsparingly honest about what we do and feel. The product of such searing honesty is intimacy—for now you and I know things about each other that nobody else in the world knows.

So, in this same spirit of intimacy, I will tell you something. As I read of your first orgasm, I became lustfully aroused. My male organ swelled, and I was obliged to put your letter down so as to undo the fastenings of my pants and release it from its confines. When I had it in my hand, I began to stroke myself, thinking of you in your bed, a hand on your mound, your hips thrusting up as you imagined yourself in the barn with me. The thought of you pleasuring yourself to thoughts of me was intoxicating. I could not help myself. I urgently needed to reach my own orgasm by stroking myself repeatedly with a hand wrapped tightly around my cock. To help with this, I took out from a drawer in my desk a bottle of castor oil and poured a few drops into my palm. I keep that bottle there for this very purpose. With a lubricated hand, I can rub up and down my engorged shaft in a fast motion that brings me intense pleasure.

Before long, I reached my peak. Do you know, Sarah, what happens to a man when he reaches an orgasm? I will tell you. My cock swelled even more until it was red and stiff and angry-looking. And in that moment of intense bliss, a stream of pearly liquid shot forth from the tip. As you may have read about it, this is the fluid in which lies my seed, were I to impregnate a lady with a child.

When it was over, I closed my eyes and laid my head back, feeling immeasurably content. What a contrast to how I had felt only a half hour before, telling Papa of my decision and receiving his blazing anger in return. I had come up to my room despondent and weary. But reading your letter and its aftermath (one of the finest orgasms I have ever experienced) had me all mellow once more. You cannot know how much it fills my heart to think that I will be in your prayers night and day. Keep me safe through your prayers, Sarah, and in return, I will make that promise to you. I will come back safe and sound from this war. I shall wear this promise like an amulet around my neck.

Afterwards, I roused myself to clean the mess I had made and to read your letter once more—only to get aroused all over again and to stroke myself to orgasm a second time.

So you see, now we are even. You thought of me as you pleasured yourself, and I thought of you as I did the same. What wicked things we do in the privacy of our rooms at night! I hope you won't mind knowing that I will take your letter with me as a precious memento of home and will be sure to read it again whenever the need for comfort is upon me. Farewell, dear friend. You have my unequivocal permission to continue imagining me touching you whenever you touch yourself at night. In fact, it is my express wish that you do so. Keep pleasuring yourself, dear Sarah, for there is little enough joy to be had in life otherwise. And keep me in your thoughts.

Your true friend,

Benjamin Stanton

July 28th, 1861

Dear Daniel,

I spoke to Papa today, and as expected, he did not take news of my decision well. I hate to be the cause of his pain, but my mind is unchanged. I shall be leaving for Camp Chase early next month to volunteer for the first Ohio cavalry regiment. Jimmy goes with me too.

I think, were you here in my shoes, that you would do the same. That does not mean I want you to rush over here and volunteer alongside me. Please, please stay in England, for to have both his sons embroiled in this war may be too much for Papa to bear, or Mama.

I shall write whenever I can and keep you apprised of my progress, though I do not know how often that will be. I leave in positive spirits, and in the knowledge that I am giving my services to fight for a worthy cause.

Take care of yourself, dear brother, and of our sister. May I also, as a special favour, commend you to keep a watchful eye on my dear friend, Sarah Cranshaw. She has come to mean a great deal to me. Be there in my stead should she ever be in need of help in any way. Goodbye for now.

With love always from your brother,

Benjamin Stanton