“If you wish, James.” We found Angela Cleves quite solidly asleep, her thin cotton nightgown bunched up over her belly… Both James and I clambered into her bed and began to play with her…
If the reader will indulge me, I should like with his permission to insert at this point-before I go on to my adolescence -a most astonishing account of the episode above by Ange Cleves herself from her otherwise rather tedious journal, which I have in my possession to this day. James and I found the journal before the Cornwall constabulary ransacked her quarters at Quistern House, and secreted it in her own rooms. What had transpired was that, several days after the episode she recounts -which, as she writes it, has so poignant and pathetic a beginning-Angela Cleves vanished from Quistern House. To this day, too, her disappearance has never been satisfactorily explained. Cleves, wherever she had gone, had taken nothing with her. Her modest suite had been in perfect order. Her valises had been untouched. No valuables had been missing from Quistern House, and the precious gems in my father's collection had been undisturbed. It is possible, of course, that in her distracted state -a state none of us had been in the slightest aware of-she might have ended her life by her own hand. But no evidence was turned up to form the basis for such conjecture-unless this excerpt from her journal could be construed to indicate that Cleves had had suicide on her mind. A pall settled over Quistern House for the remainder of the summer, and for the first and only time the staff of Quistern House, the Marquis and Marchioness, and James and myself-were distinctly relieved when we made our summer-end move back to London. In any case, here follows the relevant excerpt from the journal of Angela Cleves. I'm helpless! helpless! helpless! I can't go on like this. I would never have dreamed it possible… really… that I should be the captive of my exquisite charges, my exquisite Clarissa and my elegant James. And I am their willing captive.
I cannot go on in this fashion. I am obsessed with them- with Clarissa and James. Is it possible for one of my years-I am twenty-seven-to be so enraptured with a mere boy and girl? Is it all bestial of me? I wonder… I wonder… I have been reading of late of a man named Charles Darwin, and about his book called Origin of Species. I haven't read the book, it is terribly difficult to obtain. Perhaps when we return to London-if ever I do return-I shall make it my business to purchase a copy. But the point is, the book has occasioned a deal of controversy, much of it distorted, I'm sure. What seems to have alarmed our curates and bishops is Mr. Darwin's theory that man descends from the apes. I talked with Oliver Harwell about this and he was most amused. He told me many of the newspaper and magazine accounts have got it all wrong.
It is not, he said, that Darwin contends we have descended from the apes but that the apes and man are collateral descendants from some common but as yet missing link. I write the above in this journal because it seems relevant to a dream I had and what I awakened to-I awakened again to my helplessness: I awakened to be entwined in the arms of James and Clarissa Quist-Hagen, who were having their will of me, and I was most sensually cooperative-but it is shameful, it is horrible-I cannot go on like this. The boy and the girl are so young-I must be a beast, some monstrous and corrupting influence-but I have never been so obscenely disturbed… This was the dream… I am wandering through a boulder-strewn forest, much like the Cornwall coast, except that the network of trees is so thick that the sunlight is obscured… There is a sort of twilight… My brow is furrowed. I look along the ground and occasionally pick up furze and heather, again typical of the Cornish countryside… Strangely, I feel very powerful and very sensual. I feel myself. I am horrified. I rush through the boulder-strewn forest to a pool of water where I bend and stare at myself. I am hideous. The reflection that stares back at me is that of a giantess of a gorilla with matted red hair and dugs the size of small boulders. A strange female gorilla with red hair all over her except for the small smooth part of the face… I am miserable. I weep. But as I weep a terrible longing overcomes me.
There is a fire under the matted red hair in the groin… I tumble over backwards-away from the pool of water. I rub my hair-matted fist into my hair-matted groin. I make all kinds of grunts and animal cries. I jump up and down in my burning arousal…
Then, at the foot of a tree, I see something very striking- very young-phenomenal. It is a kind of boy-girl, with skin the color of a muted moon-with the barely formed breasts of a girl and the nipples of a mature female human being. And this creature is holding something between its thighs. I growl. The creature looks up at me. It seems human but what sort of human has the breasts of a girl and-and? Yes, between its thighs is the human male organ, but it is not very large-it seems immature. I jump up and down in impatience-is it possible, I ask myself, to make any kind of conjoining with this creature at the foot of the tree? Is it possible to satisfy this red- hairy itch between my own lower limbs? Because this itch in my “fucking-hole,” as I call it, is driving me out of my sanity. The boy-girl does not seem to be afraid of me… On the contrary, it beckons to me… Wagging my head, I go toward the creature.
Suddenly, the boy-girl produces a silver chain and collar and, still lying there at the foot of the tree, casts the collar over my head and about my neck and loosely holds on to the chain. I shake my head. I growl. I try to remove the chain, but the collar, or noose, has tightened, and it will not come off over my head…
I ask myself, what shall I do? I could easily wrest away the chain from the boy-girl creature, but the silver of the chain delights me. It glitters in the twilight. It is steel, of course, but it feels infinitely soft, and the collar about my neck feels like velvet, but infinitely powerful-I am a captive forever, but an unprotesting one…
I play with the chain now. The boy-girl smiles softly.
I cannot smile. Gorillas cannot smile. God will not let them, and God made certain creatures as gorillas so they could neither smile nor weep… The burning itch between my thighs is still there. In my own strange gorilla way, I look askance at the boy-girl and I put four fingers into my fucking-hole. The boy-girl nods and starts to pull me by the silver chain to it at the foot of the tree. Oh, I pray to God, do not let the boy-girl torment me. That creature is such a slip of a thing, I could molest it so easily… hurt it so easily… kill it so easily… I am there, then, at the foot of the tree.
With the boy-girl of the childlike teats and the big nipples- and that recumbent slim cylinder between its thighs, like a small snake… to pet… to fondle… to kiss… And I feel as if all my flesh under its red matted hair is alive with fireflies, darting here and there… The boy-girl lets go the leash. But I do not run away. I stay… I stare down at the quivering, twitching slim thing between the boy-girl's thighs… Ah, I tell myself, there is the fountain of youth-if I put it in me, or drink it, or bathe in it, I will live forever-and, perhaps, I shall turn beautiful-I will no longer be a gorilla with matted red hair all over me… monstrous…
I will be beautiful, forever… And I fall in love with the boy-girl creature, because it will give me eternal beauty and youth…
Smiling, the boy-girl slides down into a completely supine position… I crouch. I reach down. The backs of my hands are matted with red hair. But not my palms. My palms are smooth, and now they have something between them, a small cylinder, the live flesh shaped like a cylinder between the boy-girl's thighs…
The fireflies are darting in and around and through my matted flesh. My head is burning… The boy-girl's eyes close, an expression of bliss on its face. I fondle this packet of warmth between its thighs. It humps a little. It grows. Longer. But not too long. It is a young thing. Will I kill it if I engulf it with my enormous yoni? I don't know. Instead of crouching now, I squat. Directly over the boy-girl's-dare I say it?-over the boy-girl's cock. Ah. Ah. Cock. That's good for a gorilla, for a beast, for a dirty animal. I am a dirty animal. Always. And now crackling and booming with a fucking-hole lust. I take the boy-girl's cock in one of my palm-smooth hands and guide it into my yoni… I cry from the bliss of it. But there are no tears on my face. I can Only cry in my gorilla-soul because God made our faces so that we could neither cry nor laugh… And the cock is not killed. On the contrary, it is harder than before. And the muscles of my yoni can toss the cock about like something with feathers on it-ah, my fucking-hole has a shuttlecock in it-and the muscles of the yoni strike it first this way, then that-the feathers tickling the walls of my yoni-and it was then that I awoke- I was entwined in my bed with James and Clarissa-and James had four fingers of his hand contracting and expanding within me-and Clarissa's mouth was fastened to one of the nipples of my succulent breasts and sucking… sucking… sucking… I writhed in their arms. I was their plaything… James rolled me over in the bed and, as he glided his fingers into me once again he bent down and nibbled at my buttocks… while Clarissa positioned herself so that my head rested between her thighs and she opened herself up to me… and my tongue slid out to flicker at the folds behind her aperture which she widened for me…
I went mad. I bucked and thrashed. I was all cream and lava and ready once again to erupt… I begged James to he on his back. He consented. Then I squatted above him and introduced his slim prick into me. Clarissa looked glazed and then reached out to revolve my teats, round and round, round and round, so that my torso was dizzy and my hips were in a vertigo… James suddenly arched, and the liquids of his prick spurted within me… I quickly disengaged and took his lingam into my mouth for the rest of his hot steaming flow while Clarissa lapped at me from behind… In a few minutes I was exhausted and once again lying on my back. I wanted to sleep, but
