Ladies of Pleasure

The women in my life are breathtakingly marvellous. Beautiful, accomplished, independent, opinionated, fiesty, fashionable, sweet natured but strong, and with a hedonistic streak of mischief. And, quite deliciously, there’s not a bitchy bone among us. Of course, this doesn’t preclude the odd piss-taking audible mutter or practical joke. To be a truly good girl you need to allow yourself a few small evils.

With the advent of summer we’re all starting to dust off our frocks, deciding a few weeks back that we’d go for a pleasure ride one weekend. It’s a simple premise: girls with tousled hair, pretty sundresses and adorable high heels, cycling blithley around the lakeside, ringing bells and waving to all and sundry. Thus, the Pleasure Society was born.

Until recently I’ve had an ambivalent relationship with the word ‘pleasure’ and I blame Jean M Auel, she of the “Clan of The Cave Bear” series of novels. As a euphemism for sex, ‘pleasure’ is at once a bit gross (it’s the lingering ‘l’ and ‘zh’ sounds, I think) and also completely lame and bland.

I’ve also felt a bit guilty about the induglence of partaking in pleasureable, luxurious activities, as if the fact that most of the world’s population is struggling to get by means I should suffer as much as possible, too, in solidarity. As I grow into being a woman, however, I’ve come to realise that making time for pleasure is not only necessary – it’s sensible!

One is much more able to deal calmly and rationally with the demands of others if one has taken the time to revel in the delights of being alive.

To that end, we of the Pleasure Society have decided, sometime in the summer months, to hold a Pleasure Picnic. To attend one must wear one’s most frivolous and delightful frock, the prettiest heels, with hair and makeup of sweet party best. We will meet by the lakeside and spread picnic blankets. We shall eat ridiculous dainties (cucumber sandwiches, cake, scones and cream, terrine) from a motely collection of fine china saucers, and drink champagne out of teacups. We shall flirt outrageously from behind fans, parasols or bonnets with the dapper menfolk whose picnic rugs will be spread a seemly distance from ours. We will celebrate in girlish style our intoxicating femininity!

Of course we will encourage all to cycle to the as-yet-unchosen spot. We are not without social conscience. It is much more environmentally friendly to ride bicycles, and past outings have proven that the sight of a gaggle of happy girls meandering by in pretty dresses brings joy to all who behold them: man, woman and child alike.

As aforementioned, gentlemen who wish to join the Pleasure Picnic must be dapper. And in this particular instance I am voting for segregation. This is a good thing, as gentlemen will have an uninterrupted view of fields of ladies…And just think of the opportunities for silly, semi-romantic intrigue! The passing of love notes! The retrieving of the cricket ball! The invitations to join one on the paddle-boat! (Of course, there HAVE to be paddle-boats).

Yes, this summer I plan to practically wallow in pleasure. Do join me.

One Response to “Ladies of Pleasure”

  1. Date/place?