It was already late in the afternoon as I passed the entrance to the mews by our house. A thought occurred to me. I had not ridden my beautiful horse which papa had just bought for me. I would try him tomorrow. I turned towards our stables.
I put my hand on the latch of the door. As I did so, I heard the sound of conversation. A woman's voice-a low and smothered exclamation. I am a woman. I am endowed, I suppose, with the curiosity natural to my sex. I dropped the latch noiselessly. I looked around. There was one window. Under it stood an empty barrow. The piece of muslin that served for a sort of blind had come off the nail. One end hung down. I mounted into the barrow. I looked into the stable. There was just sufficient light for me to see the groom standing at the foot of an empty stall. With him was Mary, the under- housemaid. They were close together. His arm was round her waist, while she held in her right hand-yes, I was right-the man's privates! A huge, erect, and solid male organ! Such as one dreams of, as large, or even larger and longer, than that of my first friend, 'Teapot.'
The thing seemingly trembled in the air when Mary paused to admire it, as though sheepish at such exposure. But when she returned to her ministrations, the bulbous purple nut would emerge hungrily from her fist. Like a carnivore after its prey. How I longed to sit before them at that moment! To take this thick thing from her hand into my mouth, to swirl my tongue around the head as it slipped forward. But alas, I would want to suck more of it. She would have to let go so I could get the entire shaft down to the balls until I should feel the thing swell there deep inside me. And as I would want to milk the jism with my lips until the last spasm subsided, there could truly be no such intervention. I continued to gaze, fascinated by the lewd sight, for fully a minute. Then, fearful of discovery, I stole back to the house trembling in every limb, with a mad desire to be in Mary's place-a fearfully jealous longing to get her out of the way.
Chapter 6
'Eveline, will you go to the opera tonight? There is Lohengrin at Covent Garden. Your mother declines to go.'
'I shall be delighted, dear Papa. I have just time to dress before dinner. We can dine half an hour earlier.'
Papa was pleased. He looked young and handsome that day. He really was young for his years. Hale and stout-vigorous, active, he commanded respect. He had the air and carriage of a great soldier. I was as charmed in his society as he evidently was in mine. When we were quite alone he would sit with my hand in his. Frequently he would slip a new ring furtively on my finger. When I discovered the little device, he would ask me to kiss him for it. At such times his voice would sink almost to a whisper; his eyes suffused with sudden passion. His breath would come in great sobs of delight.
I knew well enough why my mother had refused to go. She had been indulging again in champagne and soda all the afternoon.
The spirit of jealousy and mischief possessed me. I dressed with extraordinary care. I put on exactly what I knew Papa liked best. Beautiful long white gloves fitting like my own skin, softly glowing in the sparkling light from the huge chandelier. My low dress, the bodice covered with the finest Brussels lace. My jewels selected for their simplicity and their rarity, were confined to bracelets and earrings. A small bouquet of the choicest flowers rested on my corsage. He gazed upon me with an admiration that only I understood. His inordinate sensual instincts were aroused. Like the bloodhound who scents the vital fluid, so he, in his innate sensibility, scented the perfume of my being. Desire shone in his large eyes. He was in a condition of extreme excitement. It was my purpose and my intention to fan the flame.
I know I am beautiful. Do you suppose that any woman does not know the exact merit of her own attractions? I know a beautiful face when I behold one. I am capable of the same artistic admiration for a beautiful statue, a lovely picture, which is shared by all who are even novices in art. I am not usually taken for a fool. I look in my glass. I see there reflected a face, a bust, a figure and a personality which is not only beautiful-unusually beautiful-but graceful and elegant, endowed with such power to please (when I choose), gifted with such rare possession of a power to charm (when I desire to put it forth) that Eveline could have the world at her feet-did she desire it.
I am not going to indulge you with a vulgar list of my perfections- you must take the fact from me. Or, if you prefer it, close these pages. I do not want your admiration. I am not open to your flattery. Every woman, young even to childhood, or matronly enough to be the mother of a family, can readily dissect your mere flattery, if they have only the sense to pause-to think; you want something, if only to gain the attention of her you flatter. In flattering me you are flattering yourself-voila tout!
'My darling Eveline, you never looked more beautiful than you do tonight.'
It was no flattery. He felt it. It came straight from his inner consciousness. From his brain to mine.
'I am always happy when I please my dear papa. You are inclined to enjoy yourself tonight. You are free, and alone with your little Eveline beside you.'
I leaned towards him. I caressed his hand in mine. Under pretext that his white dress tie required arrangement, I put my gloved fingers under his nose. I could see his nostrils dilate as he sucked in the perfume of my glove.
'Darling girl!'
'I do not care much for the music tonight, Papa. The instrumentation is too much for me. It gets on my brain. It makes me nervous. Let us sit back in the box. My head aches.'
'Dear child! Let me kiss it-so-on the temples-on the cheek. Now say if it is not better? Give me again your dear little hand to hold in mine.'
'Kiss me again, Papa. I love your kisses.'
In the shadow of the box he kissed me long and voluptuously on the lips. He took my hand. He pressed it. He laid it on his left thigh. He must surely have counted on my inclination for pleasure. I felt a something which throbbed beneath the soft impression of my hand.
'You are not quite in spirits tonight, Eveline. I think the music, as you say, is too much for you.'
'It is too bad to blame Wagner for my nervousness, dear papa, yet I know I am a little distraught.'
I leaned my head on his shoulder. I pressed more firmly on his thigh. I felt the throbbing mass increase in volume. I turned my eyes up to his. We read each other's thoughts.
I felt his hand, trembling with passion, pass round my satin-robed bust. I even moved that the action might be facilitated. He sighed with pleasure-with longing-undeveloped, but to become realized.
'Poor papa! You are out of sorts also.'
'No, Eveline, not out of sorts, but this atmosphere is not agreeable. I am half suffocated. I want air. Suppose we leave and go to a restaurant and have some supper? You hardly dined at all.'
'Oh, Papa, that would be lovely!'
We descended-called a cab. Sir Edward ordered the driver to go to a certain well-known but somewhat retired restaurant.
We were easily installed. A little charming boudoir on the first floor-what they would call in Paris a cabinet particulier.
The obsequious waiter, having deposited a sumptuous supper on the table with champagne of approved mark, left us to ourselves.
'How good of you, Papa! This is fun!'
I perched myself upon his knee. My seat was not altogether a comfortable one. He shifted about. There was something terribly hard and unyielding beneath me.
We supped well. I had an appetite. The champagne warmed our blood. I laughed. I was gay.
I put a daintily booted little foot upon a chair. In so doing, I let him see well up my calf to my knee.
'How clumsy I am! I must have had too much champagne.'
'My darling, let me try. See, I can fasten it at once.'
'Oh, but you tickle, you naughty, dear papa! It has come undone again!'
His hand trembled with excitement. He was in no mood to draw back. His fine eyes looked imploringly upon me, alternately fierce and loving.
