CHAPTER V
One fine, sunny afternoon, I determined to begin my visit to the “specialty masseuses”. “Miss Nelly” came first at the top of the advertisement column in the leading Chicago daily, so I boarded a car, and soon reached the street where she lived.
I found myself in a fine, new house where a magnificent elevator, guilt like a Chinese pagoda, landed me at bewildering speed on the fourth floor.
A tall, stout negress, dressed in blue silk with yellow trimmings-a laughing black girl with a fine figure-led me into a large drawing-room. The ceiling was supported with stucco columns, standing on golden pedestals. This saloon was furnished with striking luxury, being full of artistic furniture, statuary, and rare curiosities.
Soon I saw appear between the pillars a dazzling creature, remarkably handsome-Venus incarnate, half naked in a white peplum. Quite fascinated, I admired the pure contours of her beautiful arms, seemingly fashioned out of pink marble; her big, melting, intelligent blue eyes; and her wealth of hair of the hue of ripe corn. Her locks were twisted into a heavy knot, resting low down on the nape of her rounded straight neck.
“Come, friend,” she said with affable familiarity, drawing me near to her on a soft couch, “and tell me all your troubles.”
I was delighted at such an affable welcome and painted my admiration for he loveliness in glowing colours.
The blue and yellow coon-girl then brought in a tray full of splendid crystal glasses and flagons of liqueurs; sweets, cakes and Turkish cigarettes.
“Friend,” said my adorable blonde hostess, “do you know the duties a fervent lover owes his mistress?” And she added: “He should be the originator of a thousand delights and imagine new tricks of voluptuous joy-all for her! He must surround her with an atmosphere of immense sensuality; pay her refined, detailed delicate attention, besides being willing, submissive, caressing and inventive. His mistress will be all in all to him. She will embody the whole universe, becoming his unique idol. He respects her like the holy Madonna; and adores her as of divine essence. Every inch of her sweet body will be known to him. For each spot of her fame he will inaugurate special worship and magical caresses, forcing her to laugh until she weeps for very excess of sensuous joy. Her lovely limbs will be covered by him with fragrant flowers. He will kiss her darling feet, kneeling to her as to a statue of the Virgin Mary. Ardent lover and attentive slave, he will always bow to her commands. Ever ready with compliments; never tired of praising her beauty, grace and condescension, he will sing to her songs of passion describing the adoration that burns his blood; charming her, too, by, scientific tender kisses and touches. Prostrate at her feet, he will be curbed beneath the yoke of her caprice, to accept and endure any pain she may be pleased to force him to endure. Tell me, friend, do you know greater happiness than to die and resuscitate in sensuous enjoyment by the aid of the birch's burning caress, while you are captive at the knee of a charming and implacable mistress, who shatters your resistance by the crushing weight of her powerful domination?”
For a long time she spoke in similar strains, with fiery words, the sound of he mellow voice lulling my senses as in a delicious soothing dream.
Then her tiny, girlish fingers, with their pink nails, squeezed my hand. Under the softness of her satin skin, great strength laid dormant, and I felt my digits gripped as in a vice.
“Come, friend,” she sighed. “Come quickly, and taste the delights with which you have cradled your thought s in visions of desire.”
Unable to move, I was as one possessed. I wished to hear her melodious voice continue singing her hymns of love.
“Let us remain her, divinity,” I replied. “I enjoy by the brain, and love to evoke a golden chimera in the flames of my musing daydreams.”
“Now come with me,” she murmured, “and I will show thee the altar of mystic torture.”
She forced me to follow her into an adjoining room, full of freshly-cut flowers giving out intoxicating fragrance. The walls of this chamber were completely hidden by red velvet hangings. In the middle of the vast hall was a long padded bench, on which, in the center, were two cushions, one on top of the other, held in this position by ropes of twisted gold thread.
There was no doubt but what this piece of furniture was destined for flagellating purposes. Several straps, nailed to its sculptured frame, were evidently intended to keep the lucky victim fixed in one position, when his body would be obliged to affect an arched shape, by reason of the cushions forced under his stomach. The posteriors would thus jut out, advantageously exposed to the descending rod.
Not far from the bench of torment was a small table, covered with a white cloth, trimmed with lace. On the spotless damask were a dozen birch-rods, slender and well-selected, the handles ornamented with bunches of multi-coloured ribbon.
“see,” said my adorable goddess, “the supple implements whence I cause heavy sparks to fly, electrifying the man who begs for the beneficent application of the miraculous twigs. Never do I use whips or martinets. Their action is brutish and uncouth-devoid of the slightest charm. But rods are my resounding harps. They chant the lilting lay of passive submission and impotent rebellion; their resonant strings are stretched to breaking-point. And then they are still, tuneless through excess of melting voluptuousness.”
There was a pause.
“Come!” she cooed.
“No, divinity,” I responded, retreating. “Let your grand words live in my brain and sink deeply into my thoughts for many days. Soon will I be here and throw myself at your feet, beseeching you to let me harken to the mystic melody of your harp-strings.”
She led me back to the hall of pillars and stretched herself on the sofa.
I knelt at her feet, where lost in silence, I contemplated for some time this sphinx-like, supernatural apparition.
In our time, the goddesses, formerly immortalised by Phidias and Praxiteles, have taken up their abode in the United States and thus do I explain this fact, which at first sight seems absurd.
In the balmy days of the Grecian Empire, that nation held the first rank. Its galleys ploughed the sea, and from all parts of the known world brought back the most courageous men and the finest of women. Numerous colonies gave up to the Greeks the pick of their populations, and these varied races, by breeding and mixing many strains of blood, engendered and brought forth the type of mortal perfection.
Nowadays, the Greeks are a decadent race. The harbours of their lovely land are deserted or choked up and its people are feeble and degenerate. The Greece of our epoch is in America. The heroes who have conquered the New World were also the choicest flowers of heroism in the old continents. Only bold and robust travellers dared affront the perils of the unknown country. Bold weaklings died off rapidly on a foreign soil. Thus was formed a selected set of inhabitants, to whom the United States owe their splendid women, admirably proportioned, and haughty bearing; whose perfectly-moulded figures are aesthetically equal to the most ancient Grecian ideal standard. The same causes have led to the production of a race of enterprising robust men, brimming over with vital energy.
“What do they call you, divinity?” I asked the sorceress.
“Nelly Lamb,” she answered. “My father was a Kansas farmer.”
“How did a goddess, such as you are, grow up on a farm in the wilds of North America?”
“We were eleven children in all,” she graciously rejoined, “all proud, herculean men, and tall, noble-minded women.”
I took my leave, delighted with my charming conquest. Leaving her a roll of bills, I swore I would soon return.
My solemn promise was needless; we both knew full well the invincible attraction we felt toward each other; bound by fate to meet again.
CHAPTER VI
