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It wasn't until American soldiers came over during World War II and started using a variation of cunny as a slur that there was a change. It wasn't a one-way trip across the pond. American troops introduced ‘pussy' to the Brits, as in ‘have you thought about eating my pussy?' Yes, eating, not tasting or feasting: eating.

Miss Henrietta Coldridge, the headmistress of the Wilkinson School was in her late fifties. On the outside, everyone thought she was an upstanding Christian woman. Of course, she was, this was post-WW II England.

The boys who graduated from Wilkinson went on to the finest universities in England and on the continent.

All was not as it appeared. For thirty years she'd been nurturing young men. Not the way you might think. If you're thinking that perhaps she spied on them when they were showering; you'd be wrong. If you thought that she seduced those impressionable boys, you'd also be wrong. She nurtured them the same way her predecessors had for over a century.

Miss Coldridge had a female friend who was the nurse at the Cavendish School, the near-by all-girls school: Miss Beatrice Farnsworth. When I say friend, I mean just that they were friends. They weren't Lesbian lovers.

When a young woman came to Nurse Farnsworth worried that she might be pregnant, the concerned medical professional asked her a series of questions including who was the young man responsible?

Invariably the boy was a Wilkinson student. Nurse Farnsworth passed this information on to Henrietta.

It was not in Miss Coldridge's nature to confront the boy. Rather she invited him to her quarters and they had a quiet conversation. Was he happy at Wilkinson? Had he courted any of the young women from Cavendish? If he had, which she knew he had, was he making sure that the girl's reputation wasn't sullied?

By that she meant, did he take precautions to make sure the girl did not become pregnant. "Mr. Eckland are you aware that there are ways to be intimate with a young lady without the fear of pregnancy? Regardless of his answer, the next question was always: "have you thought of eating pussy?"

Miss Coldridge, neither in private nor public ever used language that would offend anyone. Even words like penis or vagina never crossed her lips. When she was younger, if she mentioned her menstrual cycle, if at all, even to her closest female friends, was "I'm having a little visitor this week."

So, when she asked the eighteen-year-old student, "have you thought of eating pussy?" There was stunned silence; just as she expected.

"Of course you haven't, Paul. You've been intimate with a young lady for your own pleasure, but not hers. I hope you'd be interested in her happiness." She didn't wait for an answer. "Come with me, young man."

She led him to her bedroom. "Since you've already enjoyed the pleasure of a woman, you know that what we have doesn't bite." She sat in a chair, lady-like. "Kneel down, Paul. I'm certain you'll like what you're about to learn."

Her dress was flared and stylish; coming to mid-calf. Slowly she lifted it above her knees. After the rationing of silk during the war, now, Miss Coldridge pampered herself by wearing silk stockings. Paul watched in awe.

Sure, on the four or five occasions. Five, exactly five, Paul remembered each encounter with Susan Milstead, the girl at the Cavendish School, who undressed for him. But this wasn't a girl; this was a woman.

Miss Coldridge had done this before. In fact, Paul Eckland was perhaps the tenth or was it eleventh boy she'd chosen to entertain her pussy over the years. Would he be as good as the last one? Hmmmmm, Desmond Jones' tongue had been like a magic wand as it massaged her fifty-plus

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