' Mademoiselle ' herself is astonished to find that the sight of other girls, to whose bed-rooms 'she ' is of course Ireely admitted, when in a state of undress and seminudity, causes her ' prick ' to throb and stiffen, in a way 'she ' cannot understand.
This naturally ends in the lady's-maid revealing to ' Her ' the use for which the pretty little 'rammer' is intended; and after experimenting with the maid, it is not hard to guess that ' she ' very soon tries playing the same game with some of 'her ' girlfriends. These naturally find something deliciously spicy in the contrast between the daintily feminine appearance of this elegant ' girl,' who nevertheless possesses the ' one thing needful ' to enable ' her ' to play the part of a man.
There are also some charmingly suggestive scenes in which the young men, with whom ' she ' is always coquettishly flirting, try to persuadeiaer to let them come to ' her ' bed-room and 'poke',an offer which ' she ' always laughingly declines.
It is certainly, my idea, a delightfully ' upside-down ' conception to have a man, who believes himself to be a girl, dressed always in the height ot ieminine fashion, and wearing the daintiest chemises, corsets, gloves and stockings that Paris can produce.
The climax comes when one day one of the lovers, growing bolder that the rest forces his way into ' her ' bedroom, and there finds ' his sweetheart ' on top of his own sister ' poking ' her in the heartiest way imaginable. At first he is horrified, as he fancies that it is case of ' Lesbianism,' but when he sees that the dainty little ' prick ' is a real one and not a dildoe, he is more and more astonished, and cannot make it out at all.
Then follows an explanation which ends in the 'lover ' promising to keep the secret, and offering to take this feminine boy round Paris, to enjoy some of the numerous lascivious pleasures, which are easily to be found by those who know how to enjoy them.
The ' boy ' remains far too feminine in all his tastes to give up wearing his female dress, especially as it causes him the spiciest enjoyment to find himself still made ardent love to by men who still imagine him to be a girl.
He next forms, what is supposed to be a ' literary society,' among his girl friends, who arrange to meet once a week at one another's houses. The real object of the Society however is ' fucking,' to use rather a coarse, but descriptive word; and he soon proves to them that if he is a girl in dress and tastes, his manly instrument is at any rate a most substantial one which it would need to be, to satisfy the eager lusts of a dozen or more eager girls, who had just reached the age when the gratification of their sensual desires is almost a matter of necessity; for a girl of that age is like a bitch ' on heat,' and if she cannot have a, man or a dildoe to satisfy the clamouring of her fleshly lusts, it is very apt seriously to affect her health.
The 'Literary Society ' soon formed itself into a Qlub, and took comfortable premises, most luxuriously furnished, with a library of the bawdiest and most immoral books in several languages, while the walls were covered with paintings of the most lascivious scenes imaginable, And among these wa§ a wr^ole series dealing with ' bestiality,' niany of which, my dear Ethel, were reproduced in the book itself.
There was one of a lovely girl being crammed by the 'cock ' of a huge St. Bernard dog; while another girl, lying on a very narrow couch, had a donkey standing over her, 'poking ' her with a gigantic instrument as big as a rolling-pin.
This has been a very long letter, my dear Ethel, and I hope I have not shocked you too much in describing to you so many lascivious scenes.
By the way, when you try tickling yourself, be sure and take up a position in front of a big looking-glass, so that you can watch the action of the fingers in the ' cunt,' as well as the motions of the body. You will find this add greatly to the spiciness of a solitary 'frig ' and if you can read a naughty book at the same time, so much the better, as it will make you feel nice and 'randy ' and will ensure your 'coming ' properly.
Ever your loving
Blanche.
LETTER VI
My dearest Ethel,
I am afraid it is a long time since I written you one of my long letters, which is all the more disgraceful of me, as I know there are several jolly letters of yours unanswered.
In a very little while now, however, I shall be back for the holidays, and then we can have a really good time together.
I was very much interested in your account; of your first attempts to ' tickle ' yourself, and I am not at all surprised that you describe your sensations as ' perfectly lovely' as you say that you had no difficulty in finding the ' little button ' in your pussie, the fondling of which causes such exquisite pleasure, and that it stood up firm and stiff under the touch of your fingers, almost like the point of one of your ' tities.' That is good news, dearest, for it means that you have a disposition specially inclined to all the pleasures of sensuality, and I am certain that, when I am there to teach you all about it, you will get the same heavenly enjoyment that I have been experiencing ever since my first 'initiation'.
Do you remember my telling you of the little thirteen-year-old girl, who was so delighted at my promise to let her sleep with me one night? Her name is Suzette, and she is the dearest little girl imaginable.
When she is in bed with one, her soft kisses and tiny tickling fingers go all over ones body in the most delicious way, and when her dear little right hand at last finds the centra of delight, the effect is perfectly indescribable, for she has such a baby hand, that all four fingers go in at once, and she knows how to cause a separate and special pleasure with each one of them. Her own little nest is so small, that I have to return the compliment with my little finger, and even that is rather a tight fit. I am hoping that I shall be allowed by her parents to bring her to England to spend part, at any rate, of the holiday with me.
It is a funny thing how different girls are!
Suzette is as naughty as ever she can be in act, and yet in word, she is the most perfectly modest and innocent child imaginable! Edith-the Countess's niece-on the other hand, is just the opposite, and at the last ' Lesbian ' meeting, she kept us all in fits of laughter with some of her droll stories, which are not exactly smutty, but are generally awfully suggestive, which for my part I think much nicer. I can only remember one or two of them, but these I may as well try and tell you.
Some people were trying table-turning, but were only able to find a rather heavy, clumsy table, with several drawers in it, which is not of course a very suitable one for the purpose.
One of the party, who was a spiritualist, stood by, interpreting the meaning of the table's movements.
At last one of the table-turners put the question to the table: ' What is my wife doing at the present moment? '
At this the table gave a tremendous heave and finally tumbled right over on the floor, dragging some of the party with it,
' And what is the interpretation of that?' asked the husband, picking himself up from the floor, The spiritualist looked very embarrassed, and said nothing. The question was repeated, and then he said, pointing to the table: ' I really must leave you to judge of the meaning for yourself.'
The table was lying on its back, with its drawers open, and one ot the men was lying right on top of it, in between its legs, As this fact dawned upon the company, it can easily be imagined that they were soon in fits of laughter, with the exception of the husband, who seemed to fail to see the joke.
Another story of hers is of a pretty girl, who, for the sake of a very good-looking curate, was won't to fulfil the office of Sunday-school teacher, in spite of the risk of damage to her beautiful Sunday clothes.
One day she found herself in the middle of the story Joseph and Putiphar's wife.
Taking for granted that the children did not understand it, she rashly asked one of the boys what he would have done, if he had been in Joseph's place?
' Please, Teacher, I'd have been hup'er like a knife ' was the unexpected reply; whereupon the whole class rose, and began to sing the following hymn;
' Father's got the cricket-ball
And mother's got the wicket;
