Forbidden Romance

A Story by Mira Windsor

This story is set during the early around the early 1950s maybe earlier. It is about a queer couple Beatrice and Addison who have separated and met again. Where Addison falls in love to someone else.

There is a path through the willows and remarkable sycamores that leads to a breathtakingly clear body of water, where rays of the sun glisten on my skin and warm me like a touch. The vivid flowers growing around the clear blue lake produce a pleasant aroma of lavender mixed with jasmine. I frequently stop to ponder here, staring at my reflection, thinking about the concept of love and romance as I reminisce about past adventures. This is an ideal meditation area and source of inspiration at The University of Sydney where I study art.

That was until one day, feeling at peace, something familiar, yet unexpected seized my attention. Sauntering down my favourite path, I staggered upon my colleague and former lover seated upon a copper bench. I recognised her long, cream-coloured hair and brown eyes when sudden guilt overwhelmed my being as we, unfortunately, grew apart and separated. It was Beatrice Evans.

I recalled my envy towards her appearance as I disliked my own, uniquely my knotted, honey-coloured hair, blue eyes and unfeminine body. However, The pearl chiffon blouse, an everyday article of clothing, looked spectacular hugging Beatrice's curves as her red hair fell gently in waves atop it. The hourglass-like body she owned was, unfortunately, what everyone saw as "beautiful."

With my heart pounding and my lips dry, I found my legs had a mind of their own as they steered me quickly towards Beatrice. Belatedly I noticed that another woman was seated alongside her, and as I neared, I noticed Beatrice's eyes were red and puffy. The single tear caressing her soft, delicate cheek said everything.

"Hello, Beatrice." I began to utter, hesitating. "I haven't spoken to you in a while. I'm sorry, but may I ask? What is bothering you?"

Anticipating her response, the sorrowful cry of Beatrice's sweet and soulful voice truly softened my spirit.

"Oh Addison, thank you for your concern but do not worry about me. I am just frustrated with someone. You don't need to worry."

Beatrice makes a furtive glance towards the other women.

Beatrice had previously confessed to having romantic acquaintances with women and her eyes used to emit similar emotions. Myself included. My skin writhed with pain as I vividly recall her soft lips when they pressed onto mine, and the touch of her skin, so smooth. My chest ached as I remember our grievous separation.

The words barely formed through her afflicted cries as I leaned in and pulled her into my embrace. I whispered that it would be okay.

Beatrice began to breathe and looked calmly and deeply into my eyes, the way she did when she was my lover, and warmly smiled. Speaking in her melodious voice. She replied,

"Thanks, Addison, your presence soothes me, as it always does."

Stillness lulled our ears as the wind blew a single flower from a willow tree, a heart full of contentment. At that moment, I finally took notice of the woman seated alongside Beatrice. I felt my heartbeat at the sight of her dark red, voluminous hair matching her majestically shaded bluish-green eyes and slender body.

Only this time, I repressed what I was feeling, forcing myself to concentrate on Beatrice, I denied any attraction, as it was a mystery. Nobody except Beatrice knew about my quirk.

I did yearn for people who would not refer to me as the devils' child or that I would be damned to hell whenever I divulged. Frustrated towards myself, I mumbled under my breath.

"Stop it, Addison, you do not understand what you are feeling. It cannot be true."

My thoughts confounded me when Beatrice's voice startled and seized the torturous mindset I was in.

"I'm sorry, I have to get going, my mum is expecting me to run a few errands for her. I want to thank you, for remembering that a hug is all I need."

Startled, I managed to mumble a few words. "I missed you a lot, Beatrice, I still have the same number, contact me at any time when you get the opportunity, and I wish you the best." I pleaded.

Beatrice travelled home as I was now left with this unknown woman. A deafening

Silence lingered as I, at last, obtained the confidence to converse.

"Hello, I am Addison Windsor. I assume you know Beatrice?"

"Why, yes. And I am Melissa Carter. Sorry for my quietness." She replied.

Suddenly a single, lusty thought was clear in my head,

"You cannot be queer."

Agonising silence soon followed. I once again attempted to initiate a conversation. But I was too late.

"Sorry again. I must go. My studies await." Melissa's voice, so sweet and tender like a bird's chirp on the low horizontal limb of a giant sycamore branch in the evening. I was captivated by her appeal until the realisation of Melissa's departure disheartened me.

Out of sheer panic, I requested.

"I know we only met, but it would be an honour to continue our friendship. Would you provide me with your telephone number?

"I would love to, Addison," she cheerfully replied.

Melissa obtained a piece of paper and a pencil when she began to write for what seemed like an eternity. As she lay the crumpled note into my palm, I felt an electrical sensation that made me jump in excitement.

"Bless you, sweetheart," I said, attempting to show my gratitude.

Within seconds, I felt my cheeks burn with passion and slight remorse. I caught myself gazing at Melissa as she gracefully glided out of view with a quick

"I'll see you later."

Standing there, dumbfounded, I eagerly uncrumpled the small piece of paper to find a series of numbers scrawled with something at the bottom. The note read,

“Thank you for being so kind to Beatrice. I must confess that she was my romantic partner, and we are separating. I will talk to you soon. Love Melissa."

Contentment and delight flooded my soul as I saw an opportunity to have more intimate relations with Melissa when it abruptly eluded me with the frightening thought.

"Am I falling for her?"

The guilt of being attracted to other women grew and soon began to howl.

"Maybe I am the devils' child." I thought. Past comments filled my head when I eventually gave up.

All I aspire to is for individuals to be accepting of who we are. Possibly then I would not feel so ashamed.

© 2022 Mira Windsor

Author's Note

I do not normally write short stories like this, however, I decided to come out of my comfort zone and attempt to write one. I apologise if this is not my best writing. This story is what I wrote years ago for a high school assignment, I have not pursued it Please don't be too harsh, haha.