Anonymous

The Romances Of Blanche La Mare

PART I

CHAPTER ONE

This is an important occasion, this beginning of another volume of a remarkable Memoir; and Gladys seems to appreciate its full significance. She has a new dress, or rather costume, for the draped confection that dots not at all conceal the exquisite curves of her body, undresses rather than dresses her- You must understand what I mean. She would rather have been far less indelicate stark naked, than in this mazy, fluffy cloud which by its half hearted attempt to conceal anything, accentuates the charm of everything.

Delicious arms and legs has Gladys, and the rosy flesh gleams through the transparent drapery; nipples as carmine as her lips, and a waist rounded cleanly as her throat. The gauze ceases at her knees; thence is a dress of black silk stockings and natty patent leather shoes.

Her little fingers, bedecked with costly rings, (we have had more than one wealthy visitor since the beginning of the book) — hover over the keys of the machine. A brimming glass of champagne stands at the elbow of each of us, cigarettes are to hand; in fact, it only needs the word for “Blanche La Mare” to start the second lap of her redoubtable career.

I never expected George Reynolds to come back. I knew I was done, and my chances of seeing him again about as remote as the likelihood of recovering the two five pounds notes he had borrowed. As a matter of fact, I minded losing my husband less than the money; his conduct and letter had shown him up a bit too much. I could only damn my own folly in trusting him at all. I was cold and tired there, and the grey dawn accentuated my loneliness. I had hungered for man's society and protection, a man's arms round inc. and a man's breast to nestle against; also I had been more than a bit curious to discover what the absolute act of love really was. Many girls in my position would have done the same. That I should have wished to get married puzzled me, for the thought of a life-long bondage had always terrified me. I suppose in the depths of every woman's heart there is an elemental store of puritan-ism that leads her at times to covet the plain gold ring that can cover such a multitude of sins. Also there is undoubtedly a fascination in the term of husband; to be able to introduce my husband to a yet unwed friend is a privilege for which I am quite sure many a girl has taken the plunge and risked the cares of a household and the misery of children. Well, I had taken the plunge, and had soused myself beyond any possibility of ever getting dry again. Here I was, wedded and yet unwedded, with the world ahead of me, a big black mark against my name for a start, and no maidenhead.

Meanwhile breakfast made its appearance, and with the warm tea and ham and eggs, confidence came to me, and I began to seriously consider the future and the career I was to adopt. There were very few open to me. I scanned the “Situations Vacant” columns in the Daily Telegraph, but there wasn't a thing that could possibly suit. That first haven of the homeless girl, governessing, was effectually closed to me.

To begin with I had no references, and secondly I should have undoubtedly succumbed to the amatory advances of one or other of the male members of whatever family I found myself in, and so taken the mistress's shameful order and the push out. I canvassed the idea of a lady typewriter, but the probable drudgery terrified me; also I should have to learn to type, and very likely buy a machine, which wouldn't have left much of my 25 pounds. Besides I had heard a typewriter's position in this great metropolis entailed a good deal of sitting on the knees of elderly employers, what time the trousers of the said employers were not at all in their proper decorum. If I was going to lead an immoral career I judged it better to do it on the stage. I had all the advantages of youth and health and one of the best figures in London, so I presumed there ought not be to much difficulty in obtaining a living wage, and so, by the time I had finished a really excellent breakfast, I had decided for the dramatic profession; there were agents I knew who arranged these matters, and these agents I determined to seek out and impress.

My first business was to get my check cashed, and then find a room. I couldn't stay in this hotel as a married lady whose husband had brought her at seven o'clock on a winter's morning and deserted her before the day was five hours older. George had settled the bill, an act of generosity at which, now, I rather wondered. Luckily I had a few shillings in my pocket with which to pay the necessary tips. That done, I put on my hat and set out without further delay for the bank on which Sir Thomas Lothmere had drawn his check. It was pretty close by, in the Piccadilly District, and I walked.

The presentation of that check was really, I think, one of the most trying moments of my life. The cashier, a vulgar bourgeois man, looked me over with the most insulting deliberation, and I was made to feel at once that he supposed I had come by the check in no respectable fashion. I think old Sir Thomas was fairly good and proper; and even if, in former days, he had had occasion to make money presents to young ladies, I don't suppose he was fool enough to do it by check; so, perhaps, the worthy cashier had never before been called upon to hand over a sum of money to a very pretty girl in a smart hat, who presented a check signed by a widely respectable and elderly scientist. At last I got it; three crisp rivers and ten bright jingling sovereigns; and feeling much happier, and on a sounder footing with the world, I set out on quest number two-lodgings.

Theatrical folk, one of whom I now proposed to be, inhabited principally, I had heard, strange and unknown lands across the water, called Kennington and Camberwell and Brixton. I had never been on the Surrey side of the Thames in my life, and had no intention of going there now. So possibly very extravagantly, I determined to set myself up in the West End. My little costumiere, Eloise's friend, who had so kindly given me credit, lived close by in Jermyn Street, and it occurred to me that I might get a room over her shop.

Madame Karl lived in an old fashioned house in Jermyn Street. On the ground floor was her shop, a tiny magasin de robes, and the rest of the house was used for her own living rooms, and one or two sets of apartments, generally let out to bachelors. I found her in the shop, bowing out a plump lady of important mien.

She was genuinely glad to see me, and laughingly enquired how I had managed to get my bill settled so soon. I made belief a few kisses had been all the price paid by me for the check, but I could see she thought I lied. With a laugh she pinched my cheek. “Well, I wish all my customers were pretty girls,” she said. “Then I should get my accounts settled more regularly.” The lady that just went out owes me over 1000 pounds and on the top of that she's just left an order to execute which I shall have to set aside all other work, and spend goodness knows how much on material. Yet I dare not offend her, for she is the Countess of Alminister, and brings many American ladies here-who do pay. But it is a heavy commission,” and the little woman sighed and shrugged her shoulders.

Madame Karl was not exactly a beauty, but she had a figure that sets off to its best advantage by her perfect gowns, set many a man coveting the charms within. And the charms were worth “having, as I discovered the first night I slept in the Jermyn Street House. She must have been thirty-eight or nine, but her flesh was firm and white and unwrinkled. I helped to rub her down with a soft towel before bed, and when I noticed how she wriggled under my fingers, I knew there was still a volcano of love in that pretty little body.

Our pact was soon sealed. I was to have one of the rooms upstairs, and Madame was very objectionable about my paying rent at present. “That can begin when you get an engagement,” she said.

In the meantime I was to make myself generally useful to her, and I soon gathered that many ways of making useful existed in that establishment.

“I let my chambers very easily to gentlemen,” she told me. “It is so convenient, you know, should a lady call, for there to be a dressmaker's establishment on the ground floor; one may suspect a lady who enters a house let in gentlemen's apartments in Jermyn Street, but who shall question the right of a lady, married or single, to visit her dressmaker.”

So it came to pass that I was to be a sort of generally discreet chaperone. Madame used to give her lady clients tea in the upstairs sitting room. When the lady showed signs of being at all timid, I used to be present at the beginning of the tea, and then be suddenly called away, what time the gentleman accomplished his desire. More than a dozen times my errand did not take me further than the keyhole, and from that point of vantage I witnessed some quite amusing performances. I must say that some of Ma-dame's aristocratic lady clients made no bones about haggling over the price of their bodies, just as if they had been ordinary women of the street.

Certainly the profits of the establishment appeared to be considerable; and one day, after a particularly good lunch, Madame Karl surprised me with her tale of the business done for the day.

“You remember the pretty little girl in the blue costume who came in here this morning,” she said, “the one I left upstairs with you?”

I remembered perfectly well.

“She is Lord Wetlon's daughter. They are not at all well off, but naturally she loves pretty clothes. Well, you recollect the dark little gentleman who came in afterwards, whom you left up there with her. He is Christopher Echsstein, the broker. What she did for it, I don't know, but he ordered 250 pounds worth of dresses for her, and, what is more, gave me a check in advance. He's a true Jew, he wanted the discount.”

Madame had four assistants, all pretty girls, and each one of them hot as they make them. She didn't pay them much, but I reckon they had nothing to complain of about the little extra bits they made out of the husbands of some of her customers.

Of course, I attracted the attention, to say nothing of the lustful glances, of more than one of Madame's trouser clad customers. Little Blanche was not the sort of beauty to go many days through her career without causing some masculine head to turn, or some masculine sexual members to press against the confining trousers in dumb protest. But the fools dared no more than a passing glance I think they feared offending Madame Karl. Sometimes I was glad of their reticence, yet often again I so boiled over with desire to be made love to that I could have boxed the ears of several nice young men, who when left alone with me, looked their desire, but mad.',' no attempt to express it in more forceful, to say nothing of more pleasant, form. T honestly believe they thought me a virgin, I had looked so young, for you must remember that I was not yet quite out of short frocks. Thai-is to say, I wore a long gown and put up my hair in the evening, but the day time usually found my red-brown tresses gathered into a loose knot at the back of my neck and my ankles delightfully displaced by a short skirt which only journeyed three parts of the way down my calves. In fact, I was still a flapper.

“What's the meaning of that word?” interrupted Gladys. “I know of course its significance, but what's the actual derivation of the expression?”

“Flapper, why the technical term for little ducks, stupid; haven't you ever heard of men going flapper shooting?”

To continue, “A little duck” I certainly looked, especially when I sat down and showed my pretty, rounded calves well up to the knee.

But, as I was saying, I occasionally felt almost uncontrollable pangs of naughtiness, and I am afraid that the fore-finger of my right hand was sometimes put to most improper uses, how I wished it had been a masculine digit. Once when Madame Karl and I were unusually confident (we were sitting over our tea and cigarettes and the fire), I let drop a hint of this- She was asking me about my seduction, and I told her that, although it was not all roses at the time, I would willingly have another try at fornication to relieve my lascivious feelings.

“And so you shall, dear little girl,” she said, coming over to me and kissing me lovingly. “Why nearly all the men who come here have begged of me to approach you on the subject, but I didn't like to.”

And so it was arranged, I was to go wrong with Lord X-.

“A Lord, Tut! tut!” this from Gladys.

“Oh, I've worked through pretty well and all the grades of the peerage in my time,” I answered, “once I had a Viscount and a Duke in the same day.”

“And that reminds me of a story,” says Gladys. “It concerns itself, does this little yarn, with a parson's wife, who by no means got all the pleasure she wanted out of her husband, the anaemic incumbent of a swagger west end parish. And it seems that it came to pass that one fine day Lord “So and So” visited her in the absence of her husband. Hearing someone coming she bade the Lord conceal himself on the top of the ancient four poster. He did so; but it was not her husband, only Sir C-, who had likewise went under the bed like a rabbit. This time it was her husband, come home randy for once in a way (he had been taking a girl's class) and he wanted it, too; and had it. At the conclusion, he remarked to his better-half, “Ah Mary, I sometimes think you have not always been as good a woman as you should have been, but trust in the Lord above, He will look after you-.”

“Oh, will he?” came a voice from above the canopy. “Then what about that bugger of a baronet underneath?”

It was arranged very artistically. I was not going to have it given away that I was a previously consenting party to the affair. Madame Karl, in the course of a casual conversation with Lord X, mentioned me; he declared his desire; she suggested he should go up to my bedroom, enter as if he had made a mistake (she told him that I would be undressing at the time), and it rested on his own initiative to complete the job.

I was undressing, that is to say I was pretty well in Eve's costume. Madame had warned me by speaking tube when he was nearly at the door, and when he entered he found me all stark naked but my chemise, and that fallen to my feet. Of course I uttered the time honored scream, covered my face with one hand and my mons veneris with the other, ran hither and thither about the room as if seeking cover and murmured, “Oh go away; please!”

But he didn't go; he rushed at me, pulled one hand from my face and kissed me on the lips; pulled the other hand from my cunt and felt it, in fact, in about one moment he had got me down on the bed and his prick was well into me, not one single word did he say till I could feel him coming and the first part of the entertainment was over. As I lay back on the bed, panting, while he rather shamefacedly put back his penis into his trousers, I managed to gasp out: “well! What a funny way to make love to a girl! Don't you ever say anything?”

He laughed, “I'm glad you're not furious,” he said, “but to tell the truth I was awfully nervous.”

“Nervous.” He need not have been, for I don't mind betting I wanted it even more than he that blessed afternoon. “Nervous.” How many a beautiful chance of exquisite sexual intercourse has been wasted by this wretched nervousness on the part of Mankind. I can call to mind a tale concerning a nervous person who asked another young man how he made small talk at parties, declaring himself always dumb on these occasions. “Oh, I don't worry much about frills in my conversation,” was the answer, “I just get the girl in a quiet corner, squeeze her hand and ask her if she likes fucking.”

“But my dear chap,” was the answer, “what an awful thing to say; I should think you would get yourself badly disliked sometimes and get thrown out of some houses.”

“Well,” admitted the candid one, “I do get disliked sometimes and I have been thrown out of houses, but I get a hell of a lot of fucking.”

MORAL-Oh-Mankind, remember that the woman is as often as not, as keen for it as you are-and don't be NERVOUS.

After that we got on splendidly. He undressed, was soon stiff and in again, and we had a long, glorious, slow grind, exquisite pleasure the whole time, and always that delightful feeling that there was much more ahead, not just a few more strokes and the business completed. Twice was all I would allow him, though he wanted more. I made him sponge me all over with hot scented water, rub me down till I glowed deliciously, and dress me. He was no novice at the game, and the teasing little kisses with which he would accompany all the business of drawing on my stockings, fastening my drawers, getting me into my corsets, etc., nearly made me fall again. When dressed at last, we went downstairs. I just found time to whisper to Madame Karl that it was satisfactorily done, and we got a cab and went off to have tea at Claridge's room among all the ambassadors.

Madame Karl seemed thoroughly pleased when I got back home. She was all over me, and gave me a hat lately arrived from Paris which I had coveted muchly. And as my lordling friend had bought me a diamond brooch at Streeter's, I did fairly well.

The secret of what I had done did not remain a secret-I don't know how it got to the ears of the girls, but after dinner, when we had all together that evening, one of them got me alone in a corner of the drawing room and whispered, “So you've been with Lord X-, this afternoon?” My blush was sufficient answer.

“Come out with me this evening,” she whispered, tickling my hand, “I can promise you a lot of fun.”

Her tone, and the gesture with which she accompanied her invitation, gave me full well to understand that something naughty was in the wind-“Must I ask Madame Karl's permission?” I asked.

“Of course.”

“My dear little Nemmy,” said Madame Karl, when I told her, “of course you can go, but I warn you that this will be something quite out of the common. Nelly knows more than a bit.”

Now you mustn't run away with the idea that Madame Kirl kept a bad house in the sense that her assistants were tarts and nothing else. As far as they were concerned, there was precious little wickedness performed on the premises; but Madame gave them a free hand on their off evenings, just as all the swagger dressmaker's establishment in London and Paris do.

“They all have their latch keys at Gay's, and at Madame Marie's, too,” says Gladys, “I was at the latter for a bit myself and I know.”

Nelly was the youngest of Madame Karl's assistants, a little older than myself, and only just promoted to the dignity of long skirts. She was a pretty blonde, very well favored by nature, with a deliciously plump arm and shoulder, and very well developed breasts. Her legs were perfect; she was one of those few girls who could stand upright in an ordinary position, close her legs and keep a three penny bit between her thighs. She was proud of this and often used to show us the trick.

She was delighted when I said I could come, and insisted on lending me a dress. “Your own evening frock is delightful, my dear,” she explained, “but it isn't quite what we want for this evening.”

She put me into a three quarter length gown, extremely decolette, but filled in about the shoulders with lace (which, as a matter of fact, rather added to the suggestiveness of the confection). It was so low at the back that I had to wear a corset which was little more than a band round the waist, and my nipples almost escaped in front. She, too, put on a three quarter dress, I began to see that this looked like a flapper party.

To cut a long story short, Nelly took me to a house in Cadogan Gardens, a swagger enough place to look at, and explained that it was kept by a woman of good family who added to her own rather diminished income by running it as a meeting place for men and girls. “She's quite the best and nicest procuress in London,” Nelly explained, “She's delightful to all the girls who go there, and you can be perfectly certain of your money.”

That there was money in the air, had never occurred to me when I accepted Nelly's invitation, but I didn't shrink on that account, I could do with a little of the root of all evil just then. Then Nelly told me that the parties varied. On one evening, for instance, our hostess would collect a few married women who were prepared to go astray from their titular lords and masters; sometimes quite young married women, and sometimes ladies who had attained the prime of life without losing their good looks-(these were for men who desired a lot of experience from their bedfellows)-and sometimes young girls.

“That'll be us, this evening,” I said.

“Well, not exactly; we come into the kids party. We are for the men who want very young girls.”

I gathered from Nelly also that our hostess was prepared to find anything. She organized coster girl parties, bringing up pretty little East-enders; and even parties at which very depraved young men could exercise their desire on quite elderly women. “These parties,” said Nelly,” are the most paying of all, for she gets money from both sides, since the old women are under the impression that she has to pay the young men-oh, she's very very clever.”

We were taken to Mrs. Cowper in a large room which was a cross between a very elaborate boudoir and a hot house. That is to say, it was lighted by skylights like a studio, carpeted with some soft material into which one's feet sank almost to the ankles-I found out later that a thin mattress lay underneath the carpet-and was full of flowers and ferns of every kind. From the roof of an alcove depended a vine covered with luscious grapes. A table bearing a glittering tea equipment stood in one corner, various small tables bore wine and spirit decanters. We were ushered in by a large page boy, a dark boy, an octoroon I thought, and exquisitely beautiful, with a kind of girlish loveliness. “Surely it's a girl,” I whispered to Nelly, nodding towards the boy.

“Oh, is he,” said our hostess, rising, “Come here, Claude.”

When the boy came to her, she laid her hand on the front of his trousers, slipped down her fingers and showed us a dear little standing prick. The boy laughed and made his escape.

Then Mrs. Cowper noticed me: “Good Heavens, Nelly,” she cried, “I had no idea you'd brought a stranger; whatever must she think of me, my dear?”

I could not do anything but blush, and Mrs. Cowper continued: “After all, I daresay Nelly has told you we're not very proper here,” and she laid her arms on my shoulders, kissing me lovingly on the lips.

Mrs. Cowper was I suppose about thirty-five, and uncommonly beautiful. Her figure was perfection, and the dress she wore showed off all of its delights. The dress was carried out in a design of ferns. Ferns, quite small at the waist, but gathering size as they fell lower, made the skirt; the bodice was one large bunch of ferns, out of which grew her ivory neck and shoulders; she had ferns in her hair, and two little pearl and diamond ferns for earrings.

I sat by her side sipping a liquor while Nelly briefly told her who and what I was.

“You'll do for me very nicely, dear little girl,” she said, “I think you will just suit a man I've got coming this evening; let me see, are you a virgin?”

I had half framed the word yes, when she suddenly ran her hand up my clothes, and felt my trembling little cunt-“Oh no, you're not,” she said, with a laugh, “and you must not pretend to be. I never deceive my patrons HERE.”

“I've only been wrong with two men,” I said, pouting.

“Well, your third will be young Mr. Robinson, of the Stock Exchange. I shall charge him ten pounds for you, and give you five of it; whatever you get out of him on the top of that is of course your own affair. Here is the fiver,” and she handed me a note.

“And me?” said Nelly.

“A Mr. Reichardt, likewise of the Stock Exchange, a friend of his, they will be here in a moment.”

But before those worthies arrived, a number of other girls were shown in. Some arrived singly, but more often they came in twos or threes. I reckoned there were about fifteen present before a single trousered animal put in an appearance. They were pretty and beautiful though I knew myself to be, I felt I had plenty of rivals on this occasion. Some were very young-wicked as I was I could not help feeling it rather a shame when I saw girls who could not have been more than fourteen-and I don't suppose one there was more than nineteen. All were pretty, often very extravagantly dressed, and I have never since, despite all the varied experience of my life seen such a delightful assemblage of dainty childish shoulders, plump little girlish arms, well moulded calves, generally displayed to the knee, and slim attractive little waists.

About a dozen men arrived, and we had music-and a good many drinks. Everything was very decorous; Nelly told me that no impropriety went on coram populo, and I flirted in an amiable manner with my Mr. Robinson. An occasional touch of his hand gave me naughty shivers, to say nothing of the frequent discreet comminglings of his trousers with my stockings, and I had begun to wonder when there was going to be any serious by play, when Nelly took me aside “Mrs. Cowper wants me to ask you a favor, Blanche dear,” she said, “It seems there are not quite enough men to go around.

“Shocking mismanagement-!” interrupts Gladys.

“And she doesn't want any of the girls left over.”

“Prudent woman.” the irrepressible typewriter again.

“Wherefore she wants to know whether you and I will go with the same man-it's that old gentleman over there-(pointing to a lean and lanky old sportsman who was doing prodigies with the spirit decanters in a secluded corner, feasting his eyes on the girls at intervals) it'll be another fiver each, she concluded.

I was rather glad. I liked Nelly, and I hadn't much modesty even then. I felt that I should be much less nervous, with her to aid, than alone, so the bargain was struck.

Mrs. Cowper, first giving me the extra fiver, she was extremely business like-sidled us up to our fare; we went with him into another room and had a little stand up supper against a buffet. Then Mrs. Cowper led the conversation round to art, told our old friend that we were art students, said that we were dying to see the Correggio in the pink boudoir, and left him to take us there-it was so tactful and nice.

“But T doubt me not, we shall hear the old buffer got there just the same, as if it had been a farmer's daughter blocked by a country lout in a barn,” said Gladys, “Continue, most elegant and tactful one.”

But the word “barn” puts me off. It reminds me of a story; the story of the couple who were enjoying each other in a loft, when suddenly the loft gave way. Heavily they fell to earth. “Bill” said the fair one below, “Bill, are you hurt?”

“Hurt,” was the reply, “why those is my cock and balls hanging on that nail!”

Our old friend got us into the boudoir in due course, and all the time I was wondering where I had seen his face before. Then I tumbled to the fact that his beard and mustache were false-(I noted that while he was kissing me)-and got it. He was the senior classical master at Rocton, my father's school. At first, came terror that he was likely to recognize me, but I soon saw that he was quite oblivious to my identity-in fact I had changed a bit since he could have seen me last. Then it occurred to me to frighten him-not that any idea of blackmail had ever crossed my mind-no.

“Well, well what did he do?” Gladys again.

He fucked Nelly first-to be blunt; not, I trust, because he didn't think me the nicest, but because it appeared that he had had Nelly before, and was less nervous. There wasn't much art about it at all. I just sat on the edge of the couch and smoked a cigarette while he stripped her naked, kissed her in many places and generally messed her about, till he finally produced a giant weapon, and shoved it up her. The consummation was short. Nelly, seemed frantically randy, wriggled her arse like a tortured soul, and soon had him spending into her for all he was worth.

By that time I, naturally, was naughty too, but I had to wait a bit; that greedy Nelly had got too much, and we had to aid our friend with much manipulation of his person, tickling his balls, stroking of his little stomach, etc., before he had me on the sofa with his lance in me-the rest was easy, and I kept in till the moment I could feel him swelling with rapidity arriving semen, when I said, very quietly, “Whatever would Michael Hunt say if he saw you doing this?”

The man gave one convulsive wriggle, shot about a gallon of fluid into me, then rolled off, pale to the hair roots-“What do you know of Michael Hunt?” he asked.

“Only that you're his senior master at Roc-ton. I know you very well by sight, even if you have a false beard and mustache on. I do hope you've enjoyed this better than to teach at the boys school.”

Now anyone but a fool would have seen the fun of the thing and laughed with us. Nelly told me afterwards he must have known that Mrs. Cowper was a safe enough place, and felt no fear of blackmail-but that silly old thing whacked up fifty pounds for us two to divide, so that we should be mum. I don't say that he didn't have a bit more fun for his money-but fifty is a lot, and I daresay he had paid Mrs. Cowper quite a tidy little sum already.

Still, this is a little by the way, and I must get back to that first day of mine at Madame Karl's.

She took me out to dinner on the first evening of my stay, we went to a small but extremely smart restaurant in the very heart of inermost St. James. Madame knew most of them-the men and women-by sight, and told me their names. She might have been reciting Debrett by the page. When I noted the price of the food, and especially the wine, I was astounded. Madame must assuredly be very rich to afford this.

We did ourselves well, and drank only the oldest vintages, but when the bill was brought she simply signed it on the back and gave the waiter half a crown. A light began to dawn upon me.

“It's like reverting to the old system of barter, isn't it?” said madame with a laugh. “I dress the manager's wife at a reduction, and the manager feeds me. I don't suppose his directors know anything about it.”

As soon as we had appeared to have settled our bill several men whom madame knew crossed the room to speak to us; but she got rid of them all, suggesting to me that we should go to a music hall.

We had a box at the music hall without paying for it. “More barter,” said madame, “that silly little man's wife would never have reached her present position on the stage without the aid of my frocks.”

I began to think that Madame Karl was an exceeding power in the land, and also to doubt whether there wasn't something in the dressmaking business after all. I determined to make myself useful to her. I think I must have created somewhat of a sensation in that hall, for upon the door of our box beat an endless tattoo, and from the stalls necks were craned upwards, and a variety of male humanity studied me through opera glasses. It must have been me, for Madame Karl sat back in the shadow.

I did not enjoy the performance; few women figured among the turns; it was a carnival of comedians and a hymn of praise to vulgarity. The audience roared at the antics of the various little red nosed men who occupied the stage, but the humors of the enterprising lodger, the confiding landlady, and their illicit amours, and the ever recurring Bacchanal drink chant palled most terribly, and I was intensely relieved when madame recognized a friend and signalled to him to come and see us.

Mr. Runthaler was a gentleman of a comfortable person, and expensive fur coat, a deal of jewelry, and Semitic taint. Madame had forewarned me that he had a great deal of interest in matters theatrical, and I was very nice to him; he was in return very nice to me, in fact, rather too nice, for the semi-publicity of a box at a music hall. I found an early opportunity of broaching the subject of the stage. “Well, little girl,” he answered, “if you want to be an actress, take my advice and don't go to the agents; they'll never get you a London engagement, and I presume you don't want to spend your life tramping the provinces in a second-rate musical comedy company. If you want to play at a West End Theatre, you must get at the managers personally, and for a girl like you I don't think it'll be very hard. If you like, I'll give you an introduction to my friend Lewis, of the Duke's Theatre, he'll see any girl I send. I should advise you to try and catch him to-night; besides, that frock suits you.”

He left us directly, after pencilling a few words of introduction on his card, and soon afterwards I persuaded Madame to come with me to the Duke's Theatre.

The hall porter took the card and handed it to a young gentleman in faultless evening dress, who stood in the hall. The latter examined us at some length, enquired which was Miss La Mare, and then said that Mr. Lewis was not at present in the theatre, but that if I went round to his flat in the next street he might possibly see me. He wrote something on the card in a language which I took to be Yiddish, and handed it back to me. Word came down that Mr. Lewis would see me at once, and, closely followed by Madame Karl, I went up. We were shown into a large apartment extravagantly decorated in the Japanese manner, and so draped about the walls and ceilings with curtains that it had the appearance of a tent. The chief furniture of the place was an enormous divan extending nearly the whole length of the room; a few tables, mostly covered with bottles and glass of rare and antique design, were arranged in deliberate disorder; two large pictures represented classical and, incidentally, indelicate events; and there were a couple of capacious easy chairs; an upright grand piano, and that was all. In the middle of the divan, arrayed in a smoking suit and one that rivalled the storied coat of his ancestor Jacob, squatted, pacha fashion, Mr. Lewis.

He was a little round man, with a straight line of curling black hair across his lip, and a head that was entirely bald. As he sat there he looked like a Hebraic Humpty Dumpty. He made no attempt to rise, but welcomed us with a nod and an expression of annoyance, obviously caused by the presence of my companion.

“You are Miss La Mare, I presume,” he said glancing from the card in his hand to me. “Blanche La Mare-it should look well on a bill. And you want to be an actress. Well, what can you do, Miss La Mare?”

I answered that I could sing and he motioned me to the piano.

“Sing something light,” he said.

I selected a song out of Mirelda which I remembered. After the first verse he stopped me.

“Very nice, very nice, indeed,” he said. “And now, Miss La Mare, I cannot talk business before a third person; would your friend mind leaving us for a while?” Madame made a gesture of dissent, but though I was pretty sure what was coming, I had thought I'd better see it out, so I asked her to go.

When we were alone, Mr. Lewis left his divan and came towards me. “Well, you're a very pretty little lady,” he said. “I think you may suit me, just take your coat off, and let's see your shoulders. Ah, very nice too,” and he patted my neck affectionately. “And what pretty lips, may I?” Without waiting for an answer, he kissed me. I made no resistance; I was quite prepared to pay this sort of tribute.

“Very nice,” he said again, smacking his fat lips, “so far most satisfactory, and now let's see what sort of legs you have got.”

Madame had told me that the usual way adopted by a burlesque manager for making sure of his suitability of a girl's legs was for the girl to draw her legs tight round the members in question, and this I did.

“Ah, yes, but I'm afraid I can hardly tell by that, dear little lady,” he chuckled, “you know my patrons are very particular about legs. Don't be shy now, pull your clothes up and let me see what they really are like.”

I blushed, for I felt ashamed, but I did it. I lifted my clothes well above my knees, and as I was wearing rather short drawers, the perfect contour of my lower leg and a good deal of the upper part was plainly visible.

He asked me to stretch them apart, and I obeyed, blushing the more. He came quite close and leered at my limbs through his glasses.

“I think you'll do, my little dear,” he said. “I'll go and get a contract form. You will be undressed when I get back, won't you?”

“I don't know what you mean.”

“Yes, you do, my dear, you understand me perfectly. If you had been a modest girl you wouldn't have shown me your legs. I like you and I should like to engage you, but before I sign the contract I'm going to enjoy you; what's there to make a fuss about in that?”

It was a bit too cold blooded, and I could not stand it-“Well, you've made a mistake this time,” I said, “I may not be a modest girl, as you put it, but there are limits. So Good-bye.”

He did not seem angry; “Ah, well,” he said, “You're a little fool, engagements with me are good and comfortable and profitable. I like you because you're more than ordinarily pretty, but I'm not going to relax my rule. I always have my chorus girls, once at least, and I can't begin making exceptions now. Perhaps one of these days you'll think it over and come back to me again.”

“No, that I never will, you dirty old mean beast,” I answered, moving towards the door.

He laughed again; “Don't go for a minute,” he said, “I promise you I won't try to force you, but I should like to argue with you. Now, you're not a virgin, I'm certain of that; you do yourself no harm by just lying down on the sofa and letting me hare you, and you'll get an engagement. I shall not want to have you any more.” Then, before I realized what he was up to, he had slipped his hand between his legs, flicked open his fly and was holding out an erect penis for my inspection. With his other hand he grabbed my shoulder and slipped his foot between my legs, tripped me up.

I fell heavily, and if it had not been for the softness of the carpet I think I should have hurt myself. In a moment the little beast was on top of me, holding my shoulders down with his two hands while he tried to force his knee between my legs. I had fallen with one leg a little apart from the other, and he succeeded in that part of his fell purpose. He scraped my dress up somehow, and in fact got as far as banging the end of his panting member against my stomach-but that was all. I had no intention of letting the brute conquer me, and at the moment he thought victory secure, and took one of his hands from my shoulders to help guide his weapon to its grave, I let him have it with my right hand full on the end of the nose. The blow gave him fair hark from the tomb, as my young friend Charley Lothmere would have phrased it in his quaint Pink Un English, and the blood gushed from the damaged proboscis, I only made him think better of his attempt, and he got up, swearing under his breath, bursting into a roar of laughter at the sight of his discomforture.

Oddly enough, as soon as I found myself outside, I felt as randy as hell, and somewhat repented my action.

When I was back in Jermyn Street I told Madame what had happened.

She did not exactly applaud my action; “well, you know, dear, you're not a virgin,” she said, “and I must say that I don't think it would have done much harm.”

“The harm was in your being a virgin for damned near a whole volume of this immortal work,” breaks in the irrepressible Gladys, “and I'd have let the old swine fuck me if he was going to give me an engagement.”

“I would have, perhaps, if he hadn't tried to force me,” I answered.

“Force you!” says Gladys, with a tinge of scorn in her voice, “why I'm damned if I don't think its half the pleasure. Listen- would you like to hear how I was raped?”

“But, you've told me-your uncle in Birmingham.”

“Oh, he seduced me: that wasn't rape exactly, because I let him.”

This is her story:-“It was during my first typewriter's job in London,” she begins.” I was not a virgin, but I was at that time what I should call quite a moral girl, that is to say I stuck to one man. I resisted the daily efforts of my business employer, and used to hurry home in the evenings to my Bloom-bury lodging. Twice a week I met my lover who took me to dinner, and subsequently to a furnished room in one of the good old flea ravaged hotels in the Euston Road. It was there, after my young man, who knew a bit, had plentifully peppered the bed with good old Keating, we enjoyed ourselves to the top of love's young delight. We could not afford a more frequent connection, for Albert lived with his family and drew but three pounds a week for his lusts and living, while the boarding house inhabited by myself drew a strict line at young men visitors.

Well, on one occasion, a dark and dreary winter's evening, just after a happy time with my young man, who at the time I sincerely loved, I was making my way home through foggy bleared streets, when my way was blocked by a tall figure that loomed up through the darkness and grasped me by the arm. “Forgive me for stopping you,” he said, “but there is a woman hard by in sore distress, and we cannot find another of her sex to be with her. Will you come?” His voice seemed so naturally affected that I could not find it in my heart to say nay, and I went.

The man treated me with the greatest consideration and deference, apologizing for the queer route our journey took us. At last we came to a tall, ugly house. After two flights of creaking stairs, a door opened to admit us into a seemingly very comfortable flat. Another man had opened the door, but he was silent as I and my companion passed him. I began to feel a little nervous, but the sound of a woman's voice calling in tones which seemed shaking with pain, “Have you got her, John?”-reassured me.

I followed my guide, whom I now say, in the full light of the flat, to be a powerfully built, strong faced, ugly man with penetrating eyes, into a bed room- Between the sheets lay a woman, whom at first glance I recognized as a singularly beautiful creature. She was quite small and slight, a little thin in the neck perhaps, and pinched great eyes. In those great eyes which seemed to dominate the room, lay her chief cute charm. She did not look particularly ill, and I was surprised to note that she appeared to be quite naked, for the arm which lay on the coverlet was bare, and there was no sign of a garment about her neck and shoulders. Her lingers were covered with rings; it was obviously no poor woman who needed my assistance. In fact I summed her up at once as a well to do prostitute.

I was advancing towards the beu about to speak to her, when I felt my waist surrounded by the man's arms. At the same moment, I noticed a smile on the face on the woman. As I tried to struggle from his embrace it struck me that I was trapped, and the woman's words which immediately followed only too well confirmed my suspicion. “You've collared a pretty one, John she purred,” in a mocking tone. As my glance ran round the room, I saw that now the third man was present, sitting in a chair by the door, smoking a cigar.

“What does this mean?” I cried, in a choking voice.

For answer the big man gripped me again and kissed me violently.

“I implore you, what does it mean?” I said to the woman.

“Only that you must be a good girl and do what you're asked,” she responded with an irritating smile, and the same time the big man forced me back against the bed.

“Oh, tell me what you do want; is it money?” I begged, the tears welling into my eyes.

“No, you little fool,” the man answered savagely,” we want to fuck you!” and he let me go, then continued, “undress yourself quickly-or else we'll make you.”

I screamed at the top of my voice, but was answered by a general laugh. Then I swung round towards the woman and raised my hand, threatening her. In a second I found my legs twitched from under me and I was sprawled upon the floor. One man held my knees down and the other my elbows.

As I lay there quite helpless, the woman slipped from her bed, a beautiful little devil she was too, in her nakedness, superbly well formed, though on the small scale, with a perfect skin. She pressed my waist down with her two hands and looked into my eyes. “Will you be undressed quietly, and let these men do what they like?” she cooed.

I made no answer.

Then they lashed me down, by my ankles and wrists, to the legs of the bed on one side, and to a couple of rings which were also used for some soft of gymnastic appliance, on the other. My legs were stretched wide apart.

“Rather exciting, eh, Gladys?” I interrupt.

“Now perhaps,” she answers, “but at that time, you must remember, I was only eighteen, deeply in love, and had been wrong with two men only. I was mad with rage. They made no further attempts to cajole me, in fact, had I known as much as I do now, I should have seen that the very fact of forcing me was three parts of the pleasure to these sinister people.

The woman took a razor from the toilet table. I shut my eyes, fearing some horrible outrage, but she only used it to rip my dress and petticoats to my waist. The halves of my costume she turned over, laying bare my drawers and a good deal of the naked lower part of my stomach, for I wore no corsets.

She laid her hand on my little mount of Venus, and fingered it affectionately, though she did not succeed in producing the last of a dry feel in me. I was far too angry. But the sight seemed to please the men, for, with a simultaneous action they produced a large and erect prick and balls from their trousers and stood over me.

The woman completed my undressing, ripping off everything completely and destroying my clothes. When I was left naked on the damned floor, there was some affair of tossing up between the men as to which one should get a nice hot fuck out of me. The big one won, and promptly disembarrassed himself of his clothes. I was perfectly helpless, and compelled to lie there awaiting the ravishing of this brute, but he hesitated.

“I don't think I want the girl tied down like a log,” he said, “Let her go and I will try to manage it.”

Well, they did let me go, the woman had no hand in this. I fancy she was rather nervous. She perched herself crosswise on the bed, lit a cigarette and waited. I still lay there when I was freed, but found myself jerked up to my feet, and then the big man grappled with me. I just managed to get my teeth well into his shoulder, and with a right hand to grip him savagely by the balls, and I felt a heavy blow behind the ear and remembered no more.

I came to my senses to find a man on the top of me, his prick deep into me, and the girl bathing my temples with brandy. I felt far too ill then to struggle more the man finished his rape, without extracting the tiniest drop of reciprocal juice from me.

My ravisher lay heavily upon me, seemingly disinclined to remove himself from so pleasant a position, and the thing within me stayed stiff and unyielding in its maimed and bleeding home, but the other man jerked my ravisher's shoulder up.

“Easy, now, don't flatten the girl,” he said, then I felt the weight of the man's stomach relax, and his mighty cock slip in and out of my cunt. It was odd, but the moment his penis slid from me I experienced a thrill of pleasure; not pleasure that the thing had been removed, but real sensual joy, then I burst into tears.

They treated me kindly, lifted me gently on to the bed, and smoothed my limbs with their hands. The woman brought me warm water and bathed my thighs. Why I had bled I can't think; for, as you know, Blanche dear, I wasn't a virgin at that time, far from it. I suppose it must have been my wriggling, and the quite exceptional size of the man's member. But they certainly thought I was a virgin.

“Poor little thing,” said the woman cooingly, “You'll soon get to live it and you will thank us for initiating you in the art of love.”

I did not speak a word, but lay immobile wondering what would happen to me next. The other man's prick was stiff as a ramrod, and I felt certain I was not going to leave that room till he had gratified himself.

Then the woman slipped down on the bed by my side, and folded me in her arms. The delicate softness of her reconciled me to my position. Gently I returned her caress and in another moment our lips met in a loving kiss. She was very, very pretty; her lips were soft, her breath fragrant, and she followed the kiss by a delicate fondling of my clitoris. My position on the bed enabled me to see a mirror on the other side of the room, and the sight of our soft, white bodies thus folded together entranced me. I wriggled in her arms, darted my tongue between her teeth, and coveted that wandering finger of hers. In a flash I realized that for the first time in my life I was consumed with physical desire for the body of another being of my own sex. I abandoned myself entirely to her kisses.”

Here Glady's narrative must suffer a break. The following account she had on pieces of paper which she had typed herself, and wrote. She said she was too modest to allow me to dictate from my written account. I certainly blush myself when I correct the proofs»

Glady's words inflamed me. Ever since I had had the pretty girl as an amanuensis, I had known she was delightful to look at, and more than once I had caught myself regarding her with a feeling which had certainly something more than mere friendship and admiration in it. At last I had to come to the conclusion that I wanted her, but I dared make no attempt till she herself confessed through her story that she had before been enjoyed by a woman.

I made the getting of a drink a pretext to leave my chair, I poured out stiff glasses of whiskey and soda for both of us, and in handing Gladys hers, allowed my hand to stray over her soft shoulder, we were working, as usual, at night, and Gladys still wore her theatre gown, an extremely decollettee confection, that is to say she retained its bodice, but the skirt she had taken off, and sat in her petticoat, a pretty silk thing of dark red color which allowed her legs to be visible almost to the knee; her lace silk stockings were so very open-worked that the little threads seemed traced with a pen on her gleaming white flesh. She was very desirable to look, at and that must be my excuse.

“I don't marvel at the woman, Gladys,” I whispered in her little pink ear.

Then I kissed her just below the ear, and let my free hand wander over her neck down to where the bosom began to swell out of her corsage. She bent her head forward and bit my fingers softly.

We were both nervous, such an affair between us had never been mentioned, perhaps even thought of on her part, and for quite five minutes I remained kissing her cheek softly while she fondled my hand with her lips. Then, emboldened by the mad passion within me, I slipped to my knees, and ran my hand underneath her dress, up, up to her knees, and on, boldly on, to the bare flesh above her stocking, and at last to the opening between her drawers which gave me free ingress to her delicious front door of lust. Her legs were wide apart, and the lips of her vagina seemed red hot. I could feel her kisses covering my neck while my finger penetrated that sweet grotto.

Suddenly she jumped up. “Blanche, darling,” she panted, “Come to the photograph studio.

The photograph studio in my house is a large room (only a few yards from the boudoir where I as a rule dictate this thrilling romance) which we are in the habit of using for taking naked pictures of each one of us.

I followed Gladys and closed the door behind us. In almost less time than it takes to write it, she had freed herself from the underclothes and lay naked, entrancing, voluptuous, on the great couch. All my nervousness was gone in an instant, and my undressing was almost as speedy.

Then I buried my head between her thighs.

I seemed to remain there for hours, although the dear girl told me afterwards that it could not have been more than ten minutes before she freed herself. I could not see her face, but her image was clear in my eyes, and each thrill of her thighs, that told me of enjoyment she extracted from my act, urged my tongue to more passionate embraces. At last she pushed my head from between her legs, my face was covered with love juice. She seized my head between her hands, I had not till then known how strong she was, and kissed the spend from it.

“Now!” she cried, when the last kiss was ended, “it is my turn!”

I lay back on the sofa, opening my legs to their widest extent, and she gently licked. Her tongue seemed like a javelin charged with the electricity of lust. It darted round my clitoris, softly swept the little space between that excrescence and my gaping cunt, and stabbed strongly into me. I seemed to experience nothing but one long, voluptuous spend. When at last she left me, I lay back exhausted.

We were too tired for more of that vigorous sensuality, but for an hour or more we sprawled on the couch in each other's arms, and our lips were very seldom apart.

We got back to work on the immortal memoir very late next morning. Gladys said no word of our overnight frolic, simply giving me a type-written copy of the rest of her rape story, which you shall have directly. I had already sent down, by my maid, my notes of our little affair in the photograph boudoir.

Here is the rest of Gladys' tale.

“The two men did not suffer me to stay long in the arms of the woman. I was forcibly removed and the second man stretched me on the rug- In three strokes he possessed me, but kept his place and worked hard until he came again. I was dripping with spend when at last he left me, but he was no sooner off, than my first ravisher took his place, fucked me heartily, and deluged my sore and tired vagina with more love juice.

I lay panting on the floor while he wiped his dripping cock on the long hair of the woman, rather a pretty little trick, I thought, and wondered what was likely to befall me next, when there came a ring at the bell. I was about to jump up, but was held down at once, you can imagine that I had very little strength of resistance, and had the mortification of seeing two more men, strangers to me of course, come into the room where I lay naked on the floor. One was a tall, splendidly made young fellow; the other an elderly man. Both were in evening dress. Both seemed to take my presence there rather as a matter of fact, and kissed the woman as if nothing unusual was in the wind. In fact I was rather neglected, for the young man began stroking the woman's legs and suddenly took on a fury of passion, flung up her chemise, stretched her on the bed, and was into her in a tick. It was a short and wanton fuck.

My turn however came next, and I fell to the lot of the old man, who did not even take the trouble to remove any of his clothes; but fucked me rather laboriously, though apparently with a great deal of satisfaction to himself. When at last he did spend, he announced the fact with some pride, and received the plaudits of the rest. As soon as he was off me the woman bent down and examined my thighs: “It's true,” she cried, “my congratulations, Sir Richard,” and she fell to licking the sticky stuff from my legs. “It's not often I get a chance of even tasting any of your spend,” she said, as some sort of explanation of her wanton act.

Then commenced an orgy. The young man mounted me; Sir Richard screwed himself into the woman, and I was scandalized to see, by means of the mirror, that the other two proceeded to get into the young man and Sir Richard “per annus” as the classics have it. The weight up on me was considerable, but, whether it was the performance going on in his back door, or whether he really was very much inflamed by my charms the young man fucked me beautifully, and, tired as I was, I enjoyed it. We three were finished long before Sir Richard's party, and the entertainment concluded with my squatting above the woman's mouth, so that she employed her tongue in my arse hole, while Sir Richard licked my cunt, what time I took the young man's prick in my mouth, at the same time that he was being buggered by the last remaining man. It was somewhat of an elaborate set piece.”

“I should think it was indeed,” was my comment, when I had read this amazing confession.

“And that,” concluded Gladys, “is the story of my first rape. I won't bore you with further details of the affair. There was only one other thing of interest about the affair.”

“And what was that?” I asked.

“They gave me ten pounds,” said Gladys, “a sum of money which I could very well do with at the time.”

CHAPTER TWO

“A pretty woman,” (says the inspired Lentory) “robs humanity if she remains a virgin after her sixteenth birthday. As for the twaddly sentiment that men desire to marry virgins, thank heaven I have been able to put a stoper on that on the slope of the Caucasus.”

“Lentory?” says Gladys, pausing in the middle of her toil, “who the old gentleman is Lentory?”

I refrain from chiding her. I know that the divine Lentory is all too ill known in England.

“Listen, Child,” I answer, “Felix Lentory is the greatest poet of the ages. He was a shepherd on the Caucasian slopes and filled his leisure time with writing. After five years of this desultory work he attracted the attention of a touring Viennese nobleman. The personage attracted as much by the extreme beauty of the shepherd boy as by the genius of his writings, took him back to the city, paid his maintenance and had his works published. Few translations exist in the English language, in fact I do not think that any are for sale publicly. But there remains no doubt but that Felix Lentory is the greatest writer on love that the world knows just at present.”

Gladys did not appear particularly impressed: “Bit of a bugger boy, I suppose?” was her only comment, and with that I had to be content.

“I speak in English,” Madame Karl would frequently say, “I write in English, now-a-days I even think a good deal in English, but breakfast in English I never have done, and I never will.”

Wherefore, when in response to a gently graduated series of knocks on my door I woke on the first morning of my stay at Jermyn Street, it was to find Christine the maid, bearing my cafe complet on a silver tray.

Madame, she informed me, would join me presently, then, as she drew aside the curtains, the crisp, clear winters light ran into the room, and swept what was left of the dustman's sleep from my eyes.

I must say I like breakfasting in bed; the meal is a necessity at the best of it, not a luxury; wherefore it should be consumed with the least inconvenience and the most luxurious surroundings possible. I experienced a delightful feeling of ease that bright morning as I lay in my pretty bed and sipped the coffee. I had to get out of bed for a moment, and went to the window and looked down on the street below. I could see through an open space in the houses opposite to where Piccadilly roared in full flood, the sun glittering on the panels of the carriages and the cabs, bright and cheery and genial and good natured; so it all seemed. One could hardly be otherwise than good tempered on that perfect morning, and in that jolly room-Presently Madame Karl slid into the room, a dream of a little woman in a sort of breakfast jacket which was more than principally openwork in its style. It was just nicely calculated to make an otherwise fired out man feel it incumbent on him to have a final fuck in the morning. Her little round pink breasts were glowing under the openwork, with the nipples showing quite plainly. The contour of her body and legs was more suggestive than if they had been seen quite naked. Of course she did not look absolutely fresh; but she was quite carefully prepared.

She sat on the edge of my bed, displaying 12 inches of pretty leg swathed in black silk stocking, and yawned. “The morning sometimes brings regrets to a widow, my dear Blanche,” she sighed.

I kissed her lips, and I am quite sure that at that minute we both of us thought of other kisses presented by beings bearing a distinctive badge of sex between the thighs.

But about breakfast. Even at Lady Ex-well's, where we were supposed to be very smart, the meal did not approach anything like geniality.

There the massive table used to be littered with a profusion of indigestible dishes, and the sideboard groaned beneath the weight of the cold viands. The woman came down shirted and collared and tailor made gowned, and the talk turned inevitably to the slaughter of beasts. I have only one affectionate memory of the early morning habits of that house, and that was when a new footman, mistaking my bedroom for one of the gentlemen's, marched in with a tray bearing a decanter of brandy, a syphon, and a pint of champagne. Seeing his mistake, the worthy fellow would have fled, but I hailed him in no uncertain tones, and put away my small bottle like the best man in the house. I found out afterward that the midshipman had been monkeying with the boots in the passage, and put a pair of old Sir George's easy twelves outside my virgin portal. However, I kept up my habit of the morning bottle till I found out that the liveried idiot had been inventing gallantries on his part to Lady Exwell's maid, whereupon there was a suspicion of a scandal, and the morning pints had to be stopped. At Sir Thomas Lothmere's the breakfasts were the same solemn and elephantine nature aggravated by the preface of family prayers, read by the arch scamp, George Reynolds.

Breakfast undoubtedly is a meal that needs to be tackled in private and in bed. You may say what you will about rosy cheeked, healthy English girls who go flower picking excursions in the garden on an empty stomach, and you may prate about the mushroom that you have plucked yourself, tasting the best-a statement to which I unhesitatingly give the lie-but girls do not look their best at breakfast, and as it is their duty to conceal themselves during the hours when they do not please, let them break their fast in the seclusion of their chambers. Then think of the comfort of it; no horrid clamorous gong to wake one from delightful morning dreams, no enforced appearance at a fixed hour, to be mechanically pleasant to other people who are just as cross as you are yourself; but when you have decided that the right time has come, just a pressure of the bell, and in a few minutes your breakfast, and your letters, which you can read without the suspicion that your next door neighbor is looking over your shoulder.

“I can put in a criticism on the breakfast meal,” interrupts Gladys, “in the shape of a letter from a friend of my brother's addressed to that young gentleman. I found the thing some days afterwards, and her, my dear Blanche, if you want to fill up a bit of the book with no trouble to yourself, it is.'

I naturally allowed the letter: Glady's letters, if they were anything like her usual contributions to the gaiety of nations, ought to be worth publishing in any work.

Here it is: My dear Billy I had a ripe time at the boat race night. We staged, per usual, at the Cri and had the usual stinking dinner. Then of course we made tracks for the Empire. At the Empire I found her. She was but a common trottin of the promenade, but what a trottin. Tall, lissom, sweetly beautiful, and with a development of figure in the breast department, and also in that portion of her just below the end of the tail, which promised great things.

We drank, and I took her away, or rather she took me away, in a cab to some unknown part of Fulham. I was blind, and I remembered little till the morning. Then a frowsy sort of maid of all work brought breakfast. We ate some of it, but I do not care for the feeling of eating buttered toast with cunty fingers.

That, of course, is one way of considering breakfast.

After our little mal in Jermyn Street, we dressed leisurely, each admiring the pretty body of the other. It was strange how firm Madame Karl's skin was, how round her buttocks and her breasts, considering her age and very considerable experience of a gay life. Upon my word, she had nearly as good a figure as I, and at that time I really think that a looking glass seldom reflected more perfect charms than those supplied by Blanche's naked little body. I used to flatter myself, in fact, that if I failed to do any good on the stage, the career of a model in the altogether was always open to me. In fact, once during my stay with Madame, during a period of hard-up-ness and at that time when I was particularly anxious not to touch the dear little Madame for any money, I did put my pride in my pocket and have a round o? the studios. After trying about five I found a man who wanted a model for the figure.

He was very blunt about it. I was consigned behind the screen, and came back naked to the world, to pose before a critical eye, now additionally armed with a pair of glasses. He decided I would do, and I got to work there and then as he had a picture on the stocks. I don't quite know where he intended to exhibit that picture; even the French salon I should have thought, would have shied at it. It represented a pretty girl at her toilet. She was naked, all save her stockings, and she was taking the advice of an elderly man with her, as to which set of underclothes she should select. The flesh tints of the girl were gorgeously done, and the whole thing was full of suggestiveness. The man in the bedroom was fully dressed.

“Still, this is a little apart from the story, isn't it.” interrupted Gladys. “I have been an artist's model myself, but it isn't one of the episodes in my life that I care to dwell on. Still an artist hadn't any of the negative attributes. He was not a mannikin with crinkly skin over him, but a big, bluff young man, fresh from the Slade school, who used to make me pose for an hour or so, then fuck me on the sofa for another hour or so, and finally take me out to a remarkably fine lunch. It was a sweet thing, his penis, a good eight inches long, and perfectly shaped; and the best of it was he knew how to use it so as to give pleasure to the girl as well as to himself. How he could fuck!”

“Talking of penises,” I break in, “what do you consider a really large one?'

“Ten inches, of course, is Brobdlinagian,” answers Gladys, “but I must say that I have met a good many which measured quite eight on the foot rule. Still, after all, the size of a man's weapon is only a matter of curiosity; it is a thing which pleases one to look at, but I don't think at all, the actual length or girth makes any difference to the enjoyment of the fornication. It's the way he uses it.”

I remember a negroe who once-but it's an awful story, and I'll spare you telling- still he had a thing on him which must have measured a good foot. George Reynolds, my seducer, though not a very big man, had a pretty plaything to flatter a girl with.

However, to get back once more to the tale. A few days after my disappointing interview with Lewis, Madame told me she thought it quite time an excursion was made to the agents. To gain that end she first proposed to introduce me to a journalist friend of hers who had some little influence in theatrical circles.

Madame showed me the paper with which her friend was connected, a publication bound in an offensively light green color, and labeled “The Moon” in heavy black lettering. I knew the paper, it was one of Charley Lathmere's favorites. It contained weekly stories, under the heading of “What the Man in the Moon Thinks” that suited Charley's taste exactly. They were very much up to date and frequently improper, wherefore it was with considerable surprise that I subsequently learned that they were all written by an elderly widowed lady, resident in Scotland.

We found the office of the “Moon” at last in a small street running from the Strand, and Madame sent her card in.

The office boy took her card through an inner door and we heard the sound of his voice, but none answering. Some minutes passed, but dead silence reigned in the room within. Then Madame, who was becoming impatient, signed to me to follow, and herself followed the boy through the door. We found ourselves in a large, comfortably furnished room that looked on to a small courtyard and was quite apart from the distracting noises of the outside world. In the center of the room stood a square table of considerable size, bearing a large variety of newspapers, a whiskey bottle, several syphons, and a half dozen glasses or so. In three armchairs in various corners of the room, sat three men all fast asleep. One of them was tall and fair, his face was clean shaven, and he was rather haggard, he was dressed a little elaborately, and wore a large buttonholes in the lapel of his frockcoat I should have guessed his age to be about twenty six. A second was of medium size, and might have been any age. His hair fell in thick masses about the sides of his head, his mustache were twisted upwards with an assumption of ferocity but in his sleep it was easy to see that he was really a very mild man. In the best armchair, and nearest the fire, sat a little man whom I took to at once. He was short, and of a well rounded, comfortable figure, but it was in the extreme youthfulness of his appearance, that lay his charm. His hair was long, and fell in carefully disposed ringlets over his forehead into his blue eyes. His whole chubby countenance was wrapped in a seraphic smile, and in his left hand he still grasped a tumbler. He was snoring somewhat and with each snore the smile broadened across his face; doubtless he was dreaming some happy boyish fancy, and his spirit was wandering in some pure noble land, far away from the worldly turmoil of the Strand.

“The long one is Mr. Annesley,” said Madame, and advancing towards him she prodded him sharply in the ribs with her umbrella. He uncurled like a coiled spring that is suddenly released, and stood bolt upright, his hands instinctively seeking his hair to see if it was neatly brushed.

“My dear Madame Karl,” he ejaculated, “a thousand pardons for the condition of the men in the Moon, but it is the day after publishing day, you see, and we are taking a well deserved rest. Will you come with me into the next room?”

I followed them rather reluctantly, for I was anxious to see what the little man was like when awake. We came into a comfortable little room wherein sat a young lady who was doing her hair before a glass, on the table before her lay several envelopes addressed to the editresses of ladies papers.

“This is Lilly,” said Mr. Annesley, “Lilly of the Valley,” we call her, because she toils not, etc., but it is not quite fair, because, though she does not toil, and probably, if you set her before a spinning wheel she'd think it was sort of a new bicycle, yet she spins the most excellent yarns to undesirable callers.”

“Oh, Mr. Annesley,” said the girl, “you do tell them,” and finishing the tying of her hair with a determined twist, she left the room. Almost immediately we heard the sound of a smart blow on flesh followed by a short boyish cry.

“That's nothing,” said Mr. Annesley, that's only Lilly's way of telling the boy to go and stand outside while she sits in his chair. And now, Madame Karl, I am very much at your service, what can I do for you?”

“First of all,” said Madame, “let me introduce you to Miss Blanche La Mare, a protegee of mine, who wants to go on the stage.”

Mr. Annesley squeezed my hand most affectionately, and then answered. “That is at once a very easy and a very difficult job, as doubtless you know, Madame Karl. Miss La Mare is very pretty and I am sure very clever but unfortunately that is not all that managers want. Has she seen anyone yet?”

I hesitated to speak of Lewis, but Madame took up the tale for me, and moreover told it with some circumstance and just a little exageration. The young man did not seem surprised, but he did not on the other hand seem very confident that I should find the agents much more demurely behaved.

It was suggested that we should lunch first; then I might make my visit to an agent Mr. Annesley knew. The fat little man, Walker Bird, was awakened to make our party a square one, and we hansomed off to a place called Estlakes.

I had Walker Bird for my cab companion. I think the other man would have very much liked to have leered after me, but Madame captured him at once and he had no choice but go gently.

I expected the fat little man to improve the occasion, and he certainly did not disappoint me. The street was too open and the luncheon place so crowded that kissing was out of the question, but he made no bones about squeezing my hand affectionately.

I was glad when Mr. Annesley said after lunch that I should come at once with him to see an agent.

Mr. Rufus, the agent, inhabited the first and second floors of a house in the Strand. The doors on either side of his offices opened into bars, and about them were grouped numbers of shabby men whom no one would have any difficulty in recognizing as actors. They all wore long coats, in some cases decorated about the collar and cuffs with fur of a very dubious origin, but in most cases extremely thin and bare. Within the bars I could see a number of ladies, whose costumes seemed to have been designed by an enthusiast of the kaleidoscope, and whose hats rivalled in their plumed splendor the paradise birds of the tropical regions. Their talk was loud and shrill, and could easily be heard in the street without.

“Chorus girls,” said Mr. Annesley, laconically, “they get thirty-five a week, and are expected to fill one of two stalls every evening, if they don't they get the sack, so you see they have in duty bound to get to know a lot of Johnnies.”

“Now then, Evans,' he said, to the young man in the outer office, “I've brought a young lady who has to see Mr. Rufus at once-at once, do you understand? Cut along in and tell him.”

In a few minutes the clerk returned with the message that Mr. Rufus would see us directly. Presently a door swung open, and the excellent Mr. Rufus appeared in person. For a moment, I thought that the poor man would be torn to pieces, for the attendant nymphs gathering up their skirts with one simultaneous and mighty rustle, like all the brown paper in the world being rolled up into a ball, bore down upon the devoted agent and besieged him with shrilly phrased interrogations.

As soon as we went to his room, he cordially welcomed Mr. Annesley, but of me he took not the slightest notice; he did not even ask me to sit down, though he had comfortably buried himself in a large and well padded armchair. Mr. Annesley began to explain the purport of our visit. It was barely finished, when Mr. Rufus condescended to turn to me.

“Well, my dear,” he said, “Mr. Annesley speaks very highly of you, and your appearance is decidedly in your favor. You can read music at sight, I suppose?”

I nodded.

“And sing?”

I nodded again.

“Well,” he continued, “you've just looked in at an opportune time. I've got to fill the chorus of a company that's just going out, and if you care to have the job, you can. Thirty shilling a week you begin on, but a girl like you ought not to stop long at that. Now, I shall expect you here at 11:30 on Monday to meet Mr. Restall, the manager. Good-bye, Miss La Mar, you'd better get out this way, and if you like, when you come again, you can come up this back staircase; ring the bell at the bottom, and you'll be let in. Mind you, this is a special favor.”

I accepted the offer of the engagement; as a matter of fact, I had come prepared to accept anything, and left Mr. Rufus by his private staircase. And so, in this way, I put my foot on the first rung of the dramatic ladder.

Annesley met me again outside, and asked me to have a drink with him. I wasn't very anxious to go into a public bar, but from what I saw of the ladies who were to be my theatrical companions, I gathered that it was a pretty usual thing to do. What would my reverend father, I wondered, have thought of his little daughter, had he watched her through the threshold of that glittering rendezvous.

We went into a small compartment, which we had to ourselves-in fact there was little room for anyone else there-and after a minute or two Mr. Annesley remembered with a start that he had left his notebook in the agent's office. “God forbid that anyone look into it,” he exclaimed, and then begged me to wait while he went back to Rufus'.

I could scarcely refuse, so sat perched on my high stool, sipping my whiskey and soda, and watching as well as I could the flirtations of the pretty barmaids and the customers in the other little boxes. Suddenly I became aware of a low toned conversation in the next compartment to mine, and by reason of a crack in the dividing wall. I could hardly help hearing it.

The man talking were obviously actors, and their conversation dealt with the theatrical tours they had just returned from. I give it just as it came from their lips, bad language and all. It was a revelation to me; I had not supposed before that any class of men could be so utterly mean in giving away the secrets of favors received from the other sex.

Said actor No. 1: “How did you get on with the girls in your show? Had a pretty warm time, I suppose?”

“My word, they were warm ones,” was the answer. “I started out meaning to live alone, but before two weeks, I had keeping house for me little Dolly Tesser.”

“I know her-pretty girl.”

“You're right; and you should see her with her clothes off, old man! A perfect peach, I can assure you. She was a bit shy at first, but I soon taught her all the tricks. My word, she is a bloody fine fuck!”

“Young, isn't she?”

“Oh, quite a kid, about seventeen-over the legal age though-you don't catch me making any mistake of that sort again. She wasn't a virgin, she'd been wrong with a conductor in the Gay Coquette crowd.”

“What, that syphilitic beast?”

“He hasn't got it really, but talking syph, have you heard the tale of Humphreys and his landlady's daughter?”

“No.”

“Well, he struck a place with an uncommonly pretty girl to wait. She was the landlady's daughter, and he hadn't been in the room three days before he was into her. Then on the fourth day, she didn't show up. He asked the old woman what was the matter.”

“Oh, Mary's very bad,” she said, “we've had to send her to the doctor, he says she's got syphilis.”

“You can bet old Humphreys nipped round to the chemist pretty sharp, bout a bottle of black wash and kept bathing the old man all day. On the next day however, the old girl turns to him as she's taking away his breakfast and says: “Oh, I made a mistake-n what I told you about Mary yesterday, it is erysipelas.”

At that moment Annesley returned, so I was spared any more from the actors on the other side of the bar.

Annesley wanted me to go back to the office with him, but I was too excited at the prospect of my engagement and I wanted to hurry home to tell Madame Karl-but I did not get back.

It happened like this. There was the usual block to the Strand traffic at the bottom corner of the street, and, gazing idly out of my hansom, I saw the long haired poet with whom I had behaved so oddly during the darkness at the musician's flat. He saw me too, and fled recklessly through traffic to gain my side; he asked no invitation, but seating himself murmured: “This is indeed a direct intervention of providence,' and told the cabman an address which I surmised to be that of his flat-it turned out to be so.

We drove rapidly down the Strand, and went down Arundel Street, in which street, the poet said he had a nest that almost touched the sky. It certainly nearly did, and as that particular block of buildings boasted no lift, it was a tired and panting little Blanche that at length gained the sixth floor. The poet apologized for the absence of the elevator, but immediately afterwards congratulated himself on none being there, for having a lift, he said, means also having a porter, and porters are horrid gossipy scandal mongering beings.

The front door passed, we found ourselves in a small hall, almost dark, save for the little light it gained from a heavily shaded electric globe which shed a discreet radiance upon an admirable painting of the Venus. A touch from the poet's fingers caused me to halt before the picture, and, as I gazed on it I felt his arms tighten round my waist, and his lips press gently upon my neck.

Here in this room was decadence indeed; all heavy curtains, little of the light of the day, heavy scents again, and soft cushions everywhere. I sank down on a luxurious couch and waited events. He crouched at my side and began to kiss me; very slowly, but very deliriously and lovingly; his breath was scented with some pleasant Oriental flavor, a flavor which soothed my nostrils. Slowly his hand made its way over my calves and over my drawers; at the some time that he was feeling for the bare flesh of my thigh I was beginning to fumble with his buttons, and almost at the same moment that his fingers touched my clitoris, I had the naked flesh of his penis in my hand. It was very large and stout, a legacy of his north country parentage doubtless-and it throbbed amazingly.

For a few moments we felt each other without a word, overcome by our delicious sensations-and I made the next step toward a nearer intimacy by undoing his braces and buttons and sliding the front part of his trousers down till I could let my hand wander underneath his balls. That stung him into action. He freed himself from me, stood up and began to undress rapidly; in about a moment he stood before me stark naked and another moment saw me in the same condition.

We had only one fuck, but we lay there naked for hours, kissing and talking. I wanted more, and I hinted for it, but he would not. “Another time, little girl,” was all he would vouchsafe. At last the falling shadows warned me that I must get back to Madame Karl, and I let him dress me. He gave me a little miniature on ivory of himself, and made an appointment for that day week, the day which coincided with my first rehearsal with the Restall Company. I made him get me a cab, and gave the Jermyn Street address. I felt full of lust as I sat back on the cushions of the hansom, and suddenly as we came into Trafalgar Square, the remembrance of the woman I had met that night of my first arrival at school, her invitation and her address came back to me. I recollected her promise to find me a dress, should I come to see her. Without a moments further thought I pushed the trap and gave the driver her street and number.

PART II

CHAPTER THREE

I was put down before a plain looking house in the midst of a row of equally plain looking houses. A pretty maid servant answered the bell, and seemed a little doubtful when I asked to see Miss Clarence, the name of my oddly met friend. However, my confident statement that I was expected, coupled, I dare say, with my generally smart appearance, ended in my being shown upstairs. I followed the maid to a large high-ceilinged room and at once recognized Miss Clarence in the lady stretched on an ample sofa.

She was got up in a most calculated negligee. A semi-transparent tea-gown was outer garment, but even that was cut low in on her the shoulders and short in the arms like an evening frock, her knees were drawn up so that I saw her uncovered legs right up to well above her knee, uncovered that is, save for pretty openwork silk stockings of a greenish color. She looked very attractive, her hair was obviously just done up by an artist in the coiffuring business, and she was beautifully made up. She had a cigarette in her lips and her left hand held a half emptied champagne glass. There was a thick, intoxicating odor of scent in the room.

“Goodness Gracious!” she said, after a prolonged stare. “My little friend of two years ago; the little girl just going to school. Well, it's a wonder I recognized you. Christ, you are altered, child!”

I mumbled that I had always remembered her invitation, but that this was the first opportunity I had had of accepting it.

“Well, you've come at quite an opportune moment,” she said, after she had extracted my story from me; how I had been cast off, and what had happened to me-I did not tell her quite all that happened to me. “I can make use of you this afternoon. I remember saying that you should have a dress, you shall have it.”

I didn't know very much of the world at that time, but I knew enough to realize that my hostess was a bad woman; bad, that is, in the sense of a woman who sold her body to a good bidder, and intuition taught me that she wanted me for the same purpose. Curiosity, and natural desire to make a little money, gave me courage. I was ready for pretty well anything.

She went on to tell me that she had arranged to find a virgin for one of her richest clients that very afternoon. The girl she selected had disappointed her. “In fact, my little dear,” she informed me, “I was so much at a loss that I had got myself up as fascinating as possible to see if the old devil couldn't put up with me-now you've come.”

“But-?”

“Exactly; you're not a virgin, but you look a child, and the physical difficulties can be got over. You'll do very well for a first class virgin. First of all, however, that smart frock won't do; my old man expects a poor girl.” A ring at the bell interrupted her talk, and she immediately pressed an electric button at her side. “Marie,” she said to the maid who entered, “If that is General Salis, tell him to wait in the dining room. Give him a drink but don't dare to be loving to him or-.”

“But the General is so impetuous,” answered the pretty girl.

“Well, don't let him put his impetuosity into you,” laughed Miss Clarence, “tell him that I have a little friend waiting for him.”

“Now,” she said when the girl had gone, rising to her feet, and becoming a business woman on the instant, “are you game for this; it's be ten pounds in your pocket; not a bad afternoon's earnings?”

“I'm game,” I replied. “Give me a drink though.”

She poured out a glass of champagne, and while I was drinking it, began to undo my bodice. I was soon disembarrassed of everything but my underclothes, and Miss Clarence looked at me critically. “Your undies are rather too smart,” she said, “but I'll tell him I gave you these for the occasion. Now for the virginity part of the business.”

She led me into an adjoining room, filled a basin with water and dropped the contents of a paper into the water: “That's powdered alum,” she remarked, “that'll dry your little cunt up, my false virgin,” at the same time filling a syringe with the mixture. I obeyed her and injected the alum and water. “You'll have to bleed,” she added, “these old men always look for that. I'll show you how. Here's a little bladder of pigeon's blood, put it under the string of your drawers, or anywhere else where you can hide it. When he's having you, you must wriggle about a lot and scream, and you must find a chance of breaking this. Crack it with your nail and manage to let some run over his cock and balls; get it into his hairy part if you can, but above all get your drawer saturated. If I know the General he'll probably want to take those away as a trophy; of course he'll give extra money for another set for you.”

Then she dressed me in a very plain three quarter length dress of common material and made me let my hair down. “Capital,” was her comment when she surveyed me, “you don't look more than fourteen; the old man'll think he's got a treasure.”

With my little bladder of blood tucked into my drawers and my poor pussy dried up to the closing point with the alum, I followed her back into the drawing-room. She rang again, and presently the General followed the maid into the room.

It was a desperately business like proceeding, and it was not till long afterwards that I recognized how all this straightforward bargaining and arranging appealed to the old rip for whom I made the sacrifice. She had instructed me to be extraordinary coy, and I sat on the couch with my face half covered with my hands, taking care, however, to let the most attractive part of it be visible, and taking care at the same time to stick out my shapely legs as far as possible from under my frock.

The General was a fat man with a double chin and fierce moustache. He came into the room with a military stride, and kissed Miss Clarence on the cheek.

“Lock the door, Marie, and sit down by it,” said Miss Clarence, “General-you trust me, and you must trust Marie-this child may be hurt, and I shall want some one to help me look after her.”

The old devil's eyes twinkled as he looked at me; became fiery lamps as I got up in obedience to Miss Clarence's gesture and suffered him to kiss me.

Miss Clarence was very business like; in fact she was almost like a governess of a class and her manner was strikingly at variance with her alluring appearance, but how well she knew her man. He was boiling with excitement and anticipation.

“Now, General,” she went on, “this little girl is the daughter of a friend of mine. She is doing this for money because she is almost penniless. She has always lived in the country and knows nothing of men. I have told her what you are going to do to her, and it is the first time she has ever heard of any such thing.” The old reprobate, and I recognized him from his pictures in the papers as being a hero of the last ward, was sitting on a couch, puffing a cigar and devouring me with his eyes while his ears followed Miss Clarence introductory lecture. “She is innocent, and has no idea of the value of her charms to mankind. You are going to pluck a very rare flower and you'll have to pay for it. Thirty pounds in all, General. Ten pounds for me, fifteen pounds for my little friend-you see how generous I am-and five pounds for Marie, who is staying here to help in any way she can. Is it a bargain?”

The old man rose to his feet? “No, damn you it isn't,” he cried, “its a damned shame.”

“Well, why do you come here wasting my time?” snapped Miss Clarence.

“Thirty pounds for you, sixty for the girl, and a tenner for Marie,” blustered the General. “I've just won an unexpected hundred pounds on a horse this afternoon, and if the little lady wants money, damn she shall have it!”

The bargain needless to say, was struck at once, and the General laid a roll of five pound notes on the table.

Then came my turn. I had been instructed by Miss Clarence to be perfectly passive and speak as little as possible. At her bidding I had laid myself out on the capacious sofa, and the old man approached. He kissed me lusciously several times, but I gave him no respending lips caress, and he then began feeling my legs. Miss Clarence and the maid were sitting, silent spectators, smoking cigarettes.

I wriggled and crossed my legs as he felt me, and pretended with little pushes, to thrust him away. “Oh, damn it all, Bella,” I heard him say, “I must have her clothes off!”

Bella Clarence pretended to whisper to me and gain my consent, and then disembarrassed me of all my outer clothes. I lay on the couch in my drawers and chemise, my long auburn hair flowing over my shoulders and breasts.

“That's enough off, General,” Miss Clarence said, “You can't expect her to go stark naked the very first time.”

The General was a big, heavily formed man but his white hairs had led me to expect a very different instrument from the gigantic phallus that he produced. It was indeed a stout and powerful thing and reared up till its head almost knocked against his naval-he had stripped himself quite bare.

I gripped my little bladder of blood in my hand-and waited.

I shall never forget the scene at the commencement of the pseudo seduction. Above me towered the big old military man, and I remembered with a certain pride, as I felt him groping a way for his penis to my cunt, that he really was a very distinguished man. Behind him I saw Miss Clarence and the maid, beautiful women both, the eyes of both brightened with lustful curiosity, and the dainty room was a fitting box for its bawdy contents. I noticed my own pretty legs, and I drew then up to let the General get between them, and at last I felt the head of the General's penis trying to force an entrance.

The alum had dried me up, and the screams I gave were by no means all theatrical. I felt real pain until he had got well within me. Then joyous sensuality supervened, and it was with an effort that I remembered to slit the bladder with my nail and release the blood over his member, my legs and underclothes. When it was squeezed dry, I managed, introducing an elaborate fling of my arms, to the accompaniment of a frantic screech, to drop it behind the couch.

The General finished as he had begun, strongly; and filled me with a generous outpouring. I took it in with pleasure, and had some difficulty in raising the crocodile tears with which I was to shame him when he arose.

But my theatrical instinct triumphed, and my whole body shook with a spasm of subbing when at last the old man drew his artificially bloodstained prick from within me and stood up.

“Well,” queried Miss Clarence, while the maid was sponging me between the legs.

“Magnificent!” answered the hero of Cathistan, glaring at his bloody cock and the sea of red fluid on my underclothes.

Miss Clarence gave me the sixty pounds, saying that my performance was worth far more than that to her, inasmuch as the General had been so pleased that he was sure to come again often, and send many friends. “He was completely deceived.” she told me.

We went out to dinner afterwards, and Miss Clarence insisted on taking me to the Majestic music hall.

We had to go through the Promenade at the Majestic to reach our box, and I was astounded at the sight of the women loafing in the place. An atmosphere of lust filled the hall, and seemed especially to descend on the promenade. A set of well dressed, handsome girls, all agog to catch the attention of the men who idled, open eyed, calculating the value of the charmers, along the semi-circular Promenade. I knew of the existence of the women of pleasure, and I had heard the Majestic was a place frequented by them, but I had not expected such beauty, or nearly such numbers.

We spent a quiet evening. Only a brace of men came to chat with us in our box, and about eleven o'clock Miss Clarence decided to go home. I was too full of my new environment to wish to quit in a hurry, besides my sixty pounds burned in my pocket, and I was anxious to know more of a life that could offer such rewards for so little sacrifice. I said as much, rather gaily, to Miss Clarence, as the hansom was spinning westwards.

“Sixty pounds don't drop from the clouds often, my little one,” she said.

We had not gone very far on our journey before Miss Clarence volunteered the information to me that her best boy would be waiting for her at home. “It's a treat I only give myself once a week,” she added, and asked me if I did not mind.

Of course I did not mind, and very soon the hansom brought us back to Mademoiselle Clarence.

My friend's best boy was there, waiting for us, a handsome young animal of the hooligan type. Villainy lurked in his eyes, and the low throw back of his simian like brow; but my hostess was undoubtedly devoted to him, or at any rate to the animal part of him. She embraced him at intervals during supper, and the meal was hardly over before they were at it on the sofa, her costly evening dress thrown up anyhow round her breasts, and his ill cut trousers down to his knees. It was an odd contrast; the silken, scented finery of the smart prostitute mingled with the coarse clothes of the maquereau. Her legs were beautifully shaped, the dear, and her stockings of the finest silk gave their pretty curves every chance to be fascinating. His legs were good, too, what I could see of them, and very white it appeared that he was a prize fighter by trade, and had to keep himself in the pink of condition. The hard, tense sinews of his thighs swelled up under the skin, and his bottom seemed altogether composed of muscles. As for that important weapon which seemed to give my friend so intense pleasure, it was really a formidable organ, long, large, and mightily stiff. The first fuck did not take long, but by the time Madame had spent, with a long drawn out sigh of satisfaction, I could feel something wet between my own little lily white thighs.

Then they stripped and my abhorrence of the hooligan face was quite lost in my admiration of the body. He was splendidly made, and they were a beautiful pair; for she, though no longer in her first youth, had lost none of the contour and roundness of a really fine figure. Over and over they rolled on the big couch, first one on top and then the other, exciting each other to madness with every variety of love's tricks, and poor little Blanche grew very excited indeed. How I longed for that splendid prick in me, and I fancy that the young man longed to put it there too, for after the second bout was complete, he came and sat by my me and laid a caressing hand on my leg. I offered not the slightest opposition, but Madame thought otherwise. She drew him away; “No, no, you are only for me tonight, Billy,' she said.

I sighed: “I think you two'll drive me mad.”

Oh, you poor little dear, we must do something for you, and together they undressed me, and laid me on the couch.

But there was no fucking for me-I was allowed to handle that member, feel it against my breasts, but Madame would not let him fuck me. She sucked me off, and so did he, and I rained kisses all over the two while they were fucking, at last sucking his cock while he kissed her pussy. And last of all, Madame sent for the maid to sleep with us. We were given a dildo, and told to make the best of that. It was something, but both the maid and I wanted that prick. Finally we went to the bathroom, conveniently adjacent to the bedroom, and washed out our hot and tired bodies.

We all slept together. Madame's bed was big enough to have accommodated Henry VIII and all his wives, and fell into a deep, utterly fucked, dreamless slumber.

I awoke first, found the boy next to me- we were all stark naked-and passed my hand over his body. His prick stiffened at the touch, and he awoke. He pressed his lips to mine, and despite the over-night orgies and the commonness of the man, his breath was sweet (that's the best of these athletes who don't smoke or drink, for he had had nothing the night before, through all that fucking)-rolled one leg over mine, and I was just preparing for a gorgeous fuck on the sly, when Madame awoke and pulled him from me.

“You must have thought me a selfish little beast,” she said afterwards, “but he's my only extravagance, and I won't let him fuck another woman, whatever else he may do to them in my presence. I really believe lie's absolutely true to me, as a matter of fact I think he has to be. I pay him well, and keep a damned good watch on him, he'd be a fool to lose me, and he knows well enough that if I found him out, his easy living would go.”

Madame made me promise to come and see her again, and insisted on making me a present of such a pretty night dress, as a souvenir d'amour.

Madame Karl was naturally surprised, and not a little hurt, when I turned up in Jermyn Street looking absolutely washed out. I made a clean breast of it, and she ended by laughing and saying that I hadn't done so badly for myself. Madame Karl, it may here be appropriately mentioned, had in her younger days, when an apprentice at a great Parisian atelier, made a good bit of pocket money on her back.

Rehearsals with Restall, proceeded smoothly enough, he liked me, and though his favoritism gained me a jealous look or two, the other girls did not dare to be openly hostile; besides, though I say it myself, I was a jolly, unaffected little kid, with no side, and ready enough to make friends.

I used to go out in the waits, to a scrappy lunch, or tea, with different male members of the company, but took care, acting on the advice of one of the girls with whom I had palled up, not to allow any familiarity on the part of the comedians-besides they weren't nice enough. The evenings I spent with Madame Karl, and we generally went to some theatre; I was anxious to see every play I could. As often as not Mr. Annesley and little Walker Bird were our cavaliers, and one evening I shall never forget.

We had been, the night before, to a most admirable comedy, beautifully acted, but witnessed by a very meagre house. This night we had attended a popular burlesque, and had had the greatest difficulty in getting seats. We had supper in Jermyn Street and after supper Madame Karl said she would like to go to bed, she did not feel very well-but as she did not want to go to sleep, would we, after she was undressed, come and sit with her and chat.

We did. Madame looked as delightful as usual in bed; beautifully made up, exquisitely night-gowned, and under a becomingly shaded light. Annesley sat by her side, one arm around her dainty little waist, and the other apparently dangling by his side-he was on the blind side of the bed, so we could see what exactly was employing those fingers, but Madame was wriggling every now and then.

The talk turned upon plays-Annesley held it a disgrace that what was really good in London should not attract. “As for that trashy burlesque,” he said.

“Rot, oh rot, my dear fellow,” answered little Walker Bird, settling himself comfortably into an armchair. “You may think it trash, though I know you've been at least a dozen times, but the public love it, and the public deserve to be catered to. Take the men in to-night's audience. They had worked hard during the day, and they had dined heavily when their work was over. They didn't want to think, their tummies were much too full. They wanted to laugh easily, and, above all, to see lots of pretty girls, and feel their old jocks stiffen,”-we four always talked very freely — “and you bet your life they did stiffen tonight. Cunt my dear Annesley, cunt, and lots of it, is what the greater part of this blessed nation wants. There's a certain proportion of the stalls who can take the cunt they see on the stage out to supper afterwards and block it, and a much larger proportion who wish they could, but who go home and block their wives or mistresses, instead. So everybody is satisfied, see?”

Mr. Annesley must have got his finger rather farther than usual up Madame, for she wriggled furiously, then suddenly kissed him all over his face before he could reply- and when he did answer, he agreed with Walker.

Conversation lagged; Annesley was occupied surreptitiously (as he thought) frigging Madame Karl, while I was getting hot as hell watching them, and Walker was getting hotter still, watching me. At last he got up and said he must be going. “Don't hurry,” urged Madame Karl. “I must,” answered Walker, but don't let me hurry you, Annesley, old chap.”

Annesley made no pretense of wishing to hurry, so I saw little Walker to the door.

In the hall he grabbed hold of me, thrust his tongue down my throat till I thought I should have choked, then begged me to let him have a piece.

Well, he got me into the shop, and there, in the darkness, lit only by the furtive street lamp's ray or two that stole over the shutters, the little devil fucked me, on the shop table. He was a good long time about it, he had been drinking, but I quite enjoyed the performance. When it was over he kissed me fervently wiped his cock with his perfumed handkerchief, exacted a promise that I would see him on the morrow, and departed.

I went up to Madame's room, and knocked. No answer. I went in on tip toe. The bed clothes were thrown back, Annesley's trousers were down, Madame Karl's night dress was up, and Annesley's prick was half in her cunt but they were both fast asleep. I switched off the light, and tip-toed off again to my own little bedroom, where I undressed, admired my naked little self in the long glass, read a chapter from one of Madame's naughty books tickled my clitoris a little, though not enough to make semen come, and fell off into the land of dreams.

In the morning I woke up to find Madame by my side. She blushed when my eye met hers. “Of course you know what happened last night, I could not help it. He's gone, got out before the servants were up.”

On the Thursday preceding the Monday we were to open at Oxford. Mr. Restall, in a fit of sweetness towards me, produced I think by the generous effect of some very old, old brandy, asked me if I would care to go with him to a theatrical dance that same evening at the Harmonic theatre.

You bet I accepted. Dances were foreign to my experience, and the theatrical dances promised such gay and unusual experience that I literally jumped at the offer. He bade me look my best, and meet him for supper at the Alcazar Restaurant, opposite the Harmonic, at eleven thirty.

I was there at eleven thirty-five and had fifteen minutes in which to admire the frescoes on the wall.

Then Restall sailed in, to the accompaniment of much bowing and scraping on the part of the attendants, and a considerable addition to the civility shown me. I had been taken, I think, for a lady out on the pick up.

Restall, speaking and behaving in his usual restless, jerky manner, hustled me upstairs and found a table on the balcony.

The supper was a good one; but that is no great matter in the present story. What I want to talk about is that theatrical ball, my first.

Restall likes my dress. I think at first, after he had invited me, he had suffered some doubt as to whether I, being only newly engaged, would turn up in a costume sufficiently worthy of him and the occasion.

But I think that the delicious confection presented me for the ball by Madame Karl not only reassured him, but even astonished him. He kept turning to look at me with obvious pride as we entered the Harmonic theatre.

The Harmonic was delightfully arranged for the occasion. The ballroom was of course the stage, enclosed in a woodland scene. At the back perched on a built up mossy bank, was the orchestra, and the pit usually occupied by the orchestra, was filled for this occasion with flowering ferns, forming a hedge between the stage and auditorium. At intervals in the hedge were gaps, and through these gaps were gangways leading down into the stairs, much used as sitting out places by the dancers.

There were of course other sitting out places, and capital ones. The boxes for instance, the big ones on the pit and dress circle tier, though they were fairly easy to see into. Above them, much more private were the boxes on a level with the upper circle and still more delightful were the little boxes only designed to hold two, or at the most three, at the back of the dress circle. And you obtained a fair amount of privacy if you sat out in the gloom of the upper circle.

Restall was at once surrounded by a big crowd and after introducing me to one or two men, abandoned me at once. I was not destined however to linger as a wall flower; I attracted the attention with a nice big handsome gentleman and I was dancing to my delight.

Hardly a girl there that was not pretty, and nary a man who hadn't come to the theater with the manifest purpose of enjoying himself; there was no duty business. All the girls were all well dressed, and none of them was chary of showing the most of their upper-work charms. I marveled how some of them kept their bubbies within those dangerously decollette corsages; I know that I myself had more than once to lift a guardian hand to keep my own nipples from overflowing on to the dress coat of my partner. Not that he would have minded, I dare say.

One man managed to knock down my fan, and was clever enough to get his hand just on to my stocking in the act of picking it up, but I kicked his errant fingers away, and the boy-he was one of the youngest guardsmen possible-blushed and apologized. I had to wait for my supper partner for anything serious to happen.

Walker Bird, who arrived precisely at the supper hour, brought him up to me, and so fascinated was I by his eyes, his figure, and his generally distinguished appearance, that I threw over the man I really should have supped with, without a second thought, and accepted unhesitatingly his suggestion that it was about time all of us felt a little hungry. Walker left us with a murmured, “Keep a brace of pews for me and mine,” and caught us up at the door of the supper room-the big saloon bar transformed for the nonce into a palm embowered eating place-with a cute little chorister from the Harmonic on his arm. I recognized her in a tick, for were not her photographs in every print seller's window, and did not the evening papers keep stock headlines going for her breach of promise cases? She had on a dress worth at least a hundred pounds, and she greeted me simply, after the introduction, with Lord, I could at least speak a bit.

I supped gaily and well; the wine was exhilarating, the food first rate; the surroundings the gayest, and I had my supper partner's leg entwined round my left, and Walker's left leg round my right. It was a round table, and I have no doubt that the little chorister was being endeared in precisely the same manner. We had a quartette of Tsignnes for a separate supper orchestra, and their strains made my little head swim with naughty thoughts. All at once I felt I was sitting on something wet, and I knew that I had come involuntarily, so much so that I welcomed our little friend's suggestion after supper that we should go and put a puff on.

We were alone in the retiring room-“Gay ain't it old dear?” she said, as she drew a stick of red across her pretty little mouth, and then passed it on to me-“makes me feel hot as hell,” she passed her hand up her dress, “I thought as much,” she pursued, “I've spent-what a bleeding waste.”

In one of the W.C.'s I took the chance of wiping my underclothes as dry as possible, for I was in that stage of full bloodedness that I was absolutely determined to have a man that evening-even if I had to ask for it. And so much were the faces of the men altered since supper that I didn't think that event at all probable.

Near the door I found my supper partner and he led me at once into a valse, a deliciously suggestive thing, admirably rendered by the band. He too, was mad for a woman. There was no disguising that fact, for through my dress I could feel his swollen prick pressing against me, he had arranged it up his trousers, pointing to the navel-and I should say very nearly touching that spot, in the careful manner of the man wearing evening dress who realizes that he is likely to be overcome by the outward and visible sign of his manhood-and I don't deny that my little tummy pressed back.

We both danced well, both recklessly and with abandon, and whether it was that the other couples admired our performance so much that they wanted to witness it, or whether the other girls were nervous of becoming an obstacle to our wild career, at any rate we pretty soon had the floor to our own selves. I heard several complimentary remarks as we whirled by, and once I caught Restall's eye full, it bespoke admiration, and by the motion of his lips as he turned to speak to the man by his side, I had an inkling that he was informing the man of the fact that I was a member of his company, and that he, Restall, intended to sleep with me, he could have had me then and there if he had chosen to come and ask, and provide a place.

The music stopped suddenly, and my partner and I sank exhausted on to the nearest seat. As he fanned me, he whispered: “This is an uncomfortable sitting out place. I know one much better-shall we go?” and I only nodded my answer.

“This is the place I mean,” he said, when we paused before a curtained door, situated near the stage. He drew the curtain aside, and next minute I found myself in a cozy little room, and heard behind me the unmistakable sound of a key being turned in the lock.

The room was furnished mainly with a large sofa, the sort that has the ends made to flop down, and a number of theatrical photographs. I thought it was some sort of private sitting room, had I known more I should have guessed at once that it was a dressing room. The photographs of the celebrities were mostly women, and all signed.

As there was no other place to sit on I flopped on the sofa at once, and a moment later my partner was at my side, his arm tight around my waist, and his lips on my cheek.

I suppose it was the fact of my clerical descent that made me leap to my feet with a little noise of disapproval when I felt his fingers tickle the bare flesh above my petticoats or was it the fear that some one might come in — at any rate he took it for the latter, for he hastened to assure me that the door was locked.

“But,” I replied, still rather coy, “suppose any one should want to come in and sit out in this room, too?”

“That they're not likely to do,” he said, with a delicious smile, “for you see this is my dressing room.”

Then I recognized him, he was the tenor of the Harmonic company, the man I had so much admired that night we all went to the theatre-that fatal night before George Reynold's ill advised attempt on my virginity in Sir Thomas Lathmere's house-but the absence of the small pointed beard he affected on the stage altered him, for the better I think.

“I saw you in a box a little time ago,” he said. “You looked like a little dream, but you were with society people. How do you come to be here, and brought by Restall?”

I didn't care that evening; I was carried away by surroundings, and the man seemed so nice, so I told him a good deal of the story — always mind you, my readers, suppressing the fact that George Reynolds had actually pierced my little bird's nest-as Walker Bird is in the habit of calling those inner temples of Venus in which he from time to time inserts his chubby little prick, and his embrace was so comforting, and I suppose I wanted it so much, that I made not the slightest demure when once more he placed his hand beneath my clothes, slid up my silk stockings and eventually laid it on my Mons Veneris.

He slid quietly to the ground, pulled me gently forward till my little bottom just balanced on the edge of the sofa, all the time lifting up my clothes with his other hand, and then pressed himself against me.

“Half a mo-” interrupted Gladys-she gets shockingly suburban when she's excited- “Do you mean to tell me, you little simpleton that you actually let the man fuck you with your new ball dress on?”

And I had to confess to Gladys that in my innocence I actually did do such a silly thing.

“The man ought to have known better- and a well known actor, you say. Actors I've fucked have been most considerate about my clothes, but go on and get the fucking.”

First fucks with different new men are, I suppose, all more or less the same; unless, of course, the man is some old beast, or ugly, or with a dirty beast you are only doing it for money. With a man you want to fuck, the excitement is so great, and you begin to come so soon, that you really haven't any time to notice whether he does it artistically or not; its seldom, indeed, that you even distinguish any great difference in the size of his penis from the man you had last. At any rate my friend, I did not even know his name, got into me till I could feel his balls hang against my bottom, and spent very quickly. He kept it right in me and fucked me again slowly and deliciously, and I can tell you I was in a bit of funk of having been put in the family way when at last the sense of joy had passed, and I stood up. He was sitting opposite me in a chair, his penis perfectly limp.

“Well, I suppose we'd better be getting back,” he said, after I had arranged my dress as well as I could, “people'll be looking for you.”

I thought at first that he was callous; sufficiently pleased to have had a new girl, and wanted to be rid of me. I was angry-but when I suggested leaving him, he would have nothing of it. He took me into one of the first tier boxes, where we sat and watched the other dancers.

Willie Moorfield knew his way about London, and I spent quite an amusing evening while listening to his running comments on the celebrities present.

Miss Marion Storm, the successful comic opera prima donna of two continents, floated by on the arm of a very nice young man, who looked as near to being made up as any young man I had ever seen before. He was, so said Moorfield, a young gentleman who liked being an actor, and with whom audiences put up because it was general knowledge that he had only four or five consumptive and syphilitic cousins between himself and an Earl's coronet. He loved notoriety, and was at the present moment paving assiduous court to Marion of the nut brown hair, tip-tilted nose, and generally fascinating and devil may care expression, because he knew that a lot of other men in London wanted her; that, in fact, she was the fashion.

“They say he really means to marry her- or rather she's quite determined that he shan't get out of it,” said Moorfield, “I only hope they won't both fall in love with the same man.” Which rather amazing statement left me with the idea that the Honorable Mr. George Danvers, Clarendon, Hope, Travis, Gwyn Iumthait was by way of real inclination-a sod.

“Don't you think you're getting rather vulgar, Blanche?” this from Gladys.

“You mean in my words? Well, I don't agree with you, and anyway, a sod is a much nicer term than bugger, which old Doctor Johnson so delightfully describes in his dictionary as “a term of endearment, common among sailors.”

But I mustn't waste time, Moorfield went on to tell me that Miss Storm had ruined almost as many men as Belero, and was equally proud of the fact. Married originally to a comedian, far, at that time, above her own station, both socially and professionally, she had thrown him over without the slightest compunction when fortune began to smile on her, and a man with a bit of money came her way.

The man with the bit of money took a theatre for her; procured a play for her, and made her in the twinkling of an eye one of the greatest stars of the burlesque stage in England. Her salary went up, she became the rage, but the man with the money lot it over the venture. “It was only the other day,” said Moorfield, “that she met him at Ostend, as she was leaving the boat. He was broke to the world, and the opportunity of the custom house business gave him the chance to ask her if she could lend him a tenner or so. She put half a crown on the douane counter, and turned her back. And that night, too, she slept with an actor who hadn't a sou to his name, and who, more than likely as not, borrowed a cool hundred from her.”

“She has money, and she is an artist to the heels of her little shoes,” continued Moorfield. “But she has the lust of money, and whoever the man may be, provided he can give her any more, she will fuck him for it. She will marry that ennobled descendant of a complacent Stuart prostitute and despite the twenty thousand a year he can give her, she will go on acting, because she likes it, loves it for itself, and like the fame and applause it brings her, and she will go on fucking, because she likes that too, and because, however much money she has, she glories in earning more by her cunt.”

“I gather,” says Gladys, “that you and your new friend had become pretty intimate-to judge from you language.”

Well, gentle readers, we had. A sort of affinity seemed to have sprung up between us- and we glided into using dirty words just as if they had been the ordinary common talk of polite conversation.

Little Annabel Cupid was the next goal of his spiteful tongue: he hadn't much to say of her save that she only slept with Jews, and that she wasn't able to suck the man off because she feared that the enamel on her face would crack.

Of Madame Sydney, the operatic star, he told me that she had an absolute passion for loose life, but that she feared so much to find herself enceinte, that she would only play the sucking game with her lovers, or allow them to make an entrance up her stage door.

“The dirt road, as the Americans call it,” interrupts the conscientious one.

“American are dirty people.” I say.

“And have you ever-?” but at that moment we hear the door open, and our dear old Baron comes in the room.

He enters with that assumption of youth which long experience has taught me to know that the old boy feels like it, salutes first myself and then Gladys with cherry kisses, hands us each a bunch of rare flowers, and squats down contentedly on my big window seat-“You're interrupting, as usual, Baron,” I say.

“If I may only make some trifling compensation?”

“I really begin to think that the only punishment we can inflict, is to put him into the book, right name and all,” this from Gladys.

“I have lunched so well and I feel so nice and I know so well that there is no such company in London as can be found her, may not that be an excuse?”

We try for a little to go on with the work, but the old man is always anxious to put his arm round my waist or to look over Gladys shoulder to see how she is getting on, and the work doesn't go on at all.

“I see you are writing about Sodomites,” he chuckled.

“Yes,” answers Gladys, savagely, “Aren't you one?”

The dear old man wasn't angry, but proceeded there and then to talk volubly about the particular sect of young and old gentlemen who prefer connection with their own sex to the ordinary channels provided in the female kind by wise dispensation of providence.

“You should see the sods as you call them,” he began, “and the word reminds me of a dear old friend who proposed to insult a gentleman who had behaved in that way with his youngest son, my friend's youngest son, that is. He left a card at the bugger's club, with the inscription, “You are a Sodomite.” And it wasn't till a day afterwards that he remembered he had put two “d's” in the middle of sodomite. It upset him terribly.”

“I suppose you know the tale, Baron,” says Gladys, “of the New York young gentleman of that persuasion who walked delicately, like Agag, into a New York saloon and asked, “Is my friend Sweet Evening Breeze here?”

“No,” replied the bartender, “he's locked up.”

“Oh, dear,” said the young man, “what for?”

“Cock sucking.”

“Thank God, it's not for theft.”

The Baron laughed. “After all,” he said, “I suppose it all seems very disgusting to you girls, but sometimes an old roue feels the need of something new, and nice little boy to suck his cock, mind you, I put in no defense of buggery, is rather a pleasing change.”

“That may be,” says Gladys, “but as for what you call buggery, I for my part, don't believe it's possible. I know no man could get up me that way.”

“You remind me rather of the eminent C.O. my dear Gladys,” answers the Baron, “the C.O. who said it was practically impossible to obtain a conviction against a prisoner for that particular offense, because, one half of the jury do it themselves, and the other half don't believe it's possible.”

“I am still a female Didymus,” says Gladys.

“Shall I prove it?” asks the Baron.

“If you like,” says Gladys.

“With your permission, Madame Blanche?” queries the Baron.

I nodded, really thinking that the old man was joking, but he immediately produced a fountain pen, and sat down at the writing table. When he had finished a brief note, he asked me if I could have it sent.

“But Baron?” I murmured, hesitatingly.

“It's all perfectly right, my dear Blanche. Your friend doubted the existence of sodomy, and I am going to prove it to her that it does exist. This note will bring two boys, adepts at the game.”

“But,” I interposed again, “isn't it rather dangerous?”

“Certainly not. The boys are as discreet as the tomb; it pays them to be. They need not know that this is your house; they will probably think that it is a place I have taken.”

“And what sort of boys are they?” asks Gladys.

“Choir boys, both of them.”

“Isn't it bad for the voice?” I asked.

“Actual sodomy perhaps is, but sucking off is wonderful, as I dare say you know, my dear Blanche?”

I did know. Earlier in my career I had the tip from Madame Sydney, the famous soprano. She kept two fine young men for that very purpose, and every night before fulfilling an important engagement, she sucked one or the other, sometimes both, to a finish. She regarded male semen as the finest possible lubricant for the vocal chords. I took her advice with good results. It's much nicer than voice medicines, and I dare say, many of you dear little comic stars and music hall artists who read and get naughty over this immortal work can bear me out. Take my advice, dears, and if, in a pantomime you get jealous because on of the comedians is going too well, suck him off; his performance will lose, while yours will gaining in proportion.

The Baron's boys arrived in about half an hour. Gladys and I had discreetly masked our pretty faces, but masked very little else, for we had both begun to feel very randy, and had employed the waiting interval by making the old man lick our pouting pussies, when the boys were shown in by my confidential maid they found two pretty women lying on their backs on the big rug with bare legs, also bare cunts; temptingly displayed.

They were charmingly pretty boys, both about sixteen, and as sweet and fresh to look at as young girls. The Baron kissed them both on the lips, and told them to begin at once.

They undressed stark naked. Such nicely formed white skinned bodies they had, and firm little pricks, no preliminary dalliance being wanted to make them rise. The entertainment began with sucking, first one pretty boy sucking the other, and then both playing 69. But Gladys was anxious for the sodomy, so boy number one was bent over the back of the sofa, his little anus distended for the reception of the other's weapon.

“We shall want vaseline,” hazarded the second boy.

“Nonsense,” said Gladys, rising to the occasion, “this will do.”

With that she placed her finger in her cunt, which was over-flowing with juice, and anointed first the anus of the recipient, then the prick of the bugger.

It did do, for the prick slid in easily. A few wriggles of pain on the part of the subject, and then the weapon was right inside him and up to the hilt. The subject boy seemed to enjoy is thoroughly, for his prick grew stiff as a ramrod, so beautifully stiff that Gladys could not resist fondling it. A few frantic strokes, a quiver, and the boy withdrew his cock, dripping with spend. It was done; Gladys had seen the act of buggery accomplished which could have cost either of the two-performers imprisonment for life.

The Baron turned to us with the air of a successful showman. “Ladies,” he said, “you once or twice laughed at my inability to complete the act of fornication; if one of you will assist me, I will soon show you now that I do it.”

And this is how he did it; Gladys, her legs apart, was stretched on the big rug, the Baron knelt between her thighs, and the boy whose prick still remained stiff got into the old man's anus from behind. At once his withered cock stiffened, and in two shakes of a ducks arse, as the vulgar proverb has it, he had slipped down on to and into Gladys, the boy's prick still penetrating him. The boy buggered the Baron fucker, and Gladys wriggled. All of them very soon came; but the boy withdrew and the Baron got off the panting Gladys with a little grunt of triumph.

All were satisfied; all that is, save poor me, who had had nothing-but eventually I had the best of it. The boys washed their cocks in rose scented water. I took one dear little cock in my mouth, and the other up my back (it was not my first experience-but that is another story). I made the Baron suck my cunt but let me explain the position-I knelt and lay forward with the boy I was sucking underneath me. The Baron was also underneath me. The boy who was buggering me knelt behind me. With one hand I fingered the Baron's prick and with the other felt Glady's cunt. Gladys had her roving commission. One of her dear, soft little hands wandered over my body, and the other tossed off the boy I was sucking-thus everybody in four distinct ways. I had a cock in my mouth which delightfully stiff, yet not too big. (Big cocks give you cramp in the jaw muscles) I had a cock exactly the right size up my anus, and any girl who has been buggered knows the joys that is. My cunt was being licked by an expert in the art, and a dear girl was feeling my bosom, likewise I had the pleasure of tickling a cock with one hand and a cunt with the other. It was a pretty group. I could see it all in a mirror, and I only wish we could have had it photographed. We continued for about ten minutes, till every one concerned had spent, even including the Baron, it took about a pint of old, old brandy to pull him straight afterwards.

Gladys who had watched the boy buggering me, had noticed that I enjoyed it very much, now had the presumption to express her opinion that she could take a prick up her back door. So she knelt on the rug, and one of the boys placed his weapon at the entrance. He had a hard time of it, and wasted some little time getting into her virgin rosette, but with the aid of some saliva, at last went all the way into her, and I think she enjoyed his buggering immensely.

One of the last acts in the comedy was a more simple one, savoring indeed, somewhat of the diversions of our sailors when far from land. The Baron put up a five pound note as a prize for which boy could come first. My boy, I am pleased to say, won hands down, thus once more exemplifying the old proverb that experience will tell. He spent with a scream of delight, occasioned, no doubt, by the mixed joy of the action and the reflection that his feat had earned him five pounds.

Subsequently we all sat down to a light refreshment of tea, cakes and champagne-all naked as we were, and I encouraged the boys to talk. Those in favor of the disestablishment of the Church of England would have received the confessions of these pretty choir boys as valuable testimony.

They owned up frankly that at the fashionable church where they were employed, not only the curates, who were mostly young Oxford men of good family and some means, but the vicar himself, a cadet of a noble house were addicted to the vice of sodomy. The boys were picked for their good looks, providing of course, that their voices were also good, and were speedily demoralized. Thus the vicar and the curates of St. — ran a sodomic harem in the name of the Almighty. It was a church frequently attacked by John Kesnit. Had that worthy zealot known as much as we did, he might have attacked more than the vestments and the incense.

The boys had no shame; in fact they gloried in their sin, and one of them reeled off a string of distinguished names, the bearers of which had sunk their penises in his little bottom.

Gladys and I, to round off the party, had another go at this sport. She seemed to have taken quite a delight in this form of fornication. While her boy was working away in her rear parlor, Gladys wriggled her arse like a fairy. The old Baron laughed uproariously at her antics, and twitted her about her previous remark anent her tight little arse-hole that no man could get into — offering to bet that even he could get into her now.

After a short rest Gladys let him try it, at the expense of a diamond ring, and he soon succeeded in shoving his big joystick up in her pooper, causing her to squeal with rapture.

CHAPTER FOUR

But to return to the earlier history of Blanche La Mare, so scandalously interrupted by the Baron and his boys.

I will skip all further details of my life in London till the Herbert Restall Company got away on tour. We were to open at Oxford and the “train call” was for Paddington, 11:30 of one memorable Sunday morning. I turned up early, unaccompanied, for Madame Karl had gone out to supper the night before, and had not returned-perhaps as a little revenge for my absences.

Still, I was not the first on the platform, and I soon got to learn that the habit of theatrical companies was to arrive very early at the station, and exhibit their best frocks. I had my best frock on, and I'm certain it was the best in the company. Herbert Restall cast an admiring glance at me when he arrived. He did not speak to me, and I noted the reason, his wife, an angular lady past fifty, and of forbidding and none-conformist type of countenance, followed him everywhere.

We had a special train from platform number three, and I was engaged in looking for it, when Annesley appeared.

“Madame Karl is so sorry she couldn't get back,” he apologized, “but her cousin was ill, and-.”

“Never mind the explanations,” I cut him short. “I hope you both enjoyed yourselves.”

To judge from the lines under his eyes, he had.

He found me the train, and he found me also the acting manager, who was engaged in gumming labels on the carriage windows; labels indicative of the compartments to be occupied by various members of the company. Thanks also to Annesley's introduction, I was not put to travel with the chorus ladies, but with the two “Sisters Knock,” the dancers, to whom also Annesley introduced me, and we all repaired to the bar together, in which pleasant spot were assembled the majority of the company, some seventy all told.

To Annesley's introduction I owed a pleasant journey, for the two sisters Knock turned out jolly companions, and very soon threw off any reserve. We stelled into our corners; I produced my cigarette case, and conversation very soon became not only general, but free.

They were neither of them girls who made the slightest pretence of being moral; they took it for granted that I was the same. They were pretty girls, hopelessly uneducated and common, but possessing a certain subtle gaminerie that gave them an odd charm of manner. They were dancers, wherefore it is not necessary to do more than state that their figures were excellent. They were absurdly alike, in face, figure, eyes, hair and everything and by dressing alike, down to the very smallest detail, they made it very difficult for anyone but their most intimate friends to tell the difference. Once, when I knew them better, I ventured to remonstrate with them on this point.

“You must at least make a point of helping people to decide between you.” I said. But the eldest Miss Knock, who was generally the spokeswoman of the two, was not at all of my way of thinking. “My dear stupid little darling,” she opined, “That's exactly why we keep the deception up. We don't want people to know the difference. Now, barring that Maud's got a bit of a mole on her left hip which I haven't, we're just about as alike as two peas.”

She helped herself out of a generously sized flask, passed it round, and settled down to be confidential.

Then she went on to tell me how useful it was when either she or her sister had an engagement with a man that they couldn't keep. It appeared that no man could tell them apart, even in bed, and even, when quite undressed, and in a strong light. All that Maud had to do when her sister sent her in her place was to put a bit of gold beater's skin over the tell tale mole, and things were all Sir Garnet. In fact Maud once went to Paris for a week with a new mash of Mabel's, while Mabel stopped at home to see after a rich American whom she had just picked up. If it hadn't been for that convenient sister she would have had to forego either the American or the other boy, which would have meant a loss of money. Mabel was the best talker of the two, and it was generally she who first attracted the men, but which sister the men got afterwards, when matters had been arranged, was simply a matter of chance. The girls went shares in all they got, and they did very well. Likewise to mention a very intimate matter, it came in particularly useful when one of two happened to be incapacitated from love by the presence of her monthly periods. The other simply filled the vacancy Mabel collared quite a sum of money on one occasion, it appeared, by wagering with a rich young sportsman that she would take fifteen men twice each, during a night of eight hours, and come every time. Now she was game for fifteen, being a girl of exceptionally amorous and capable temperament, but double that amount was naturally beyond her. So the arrangement was made that the tourney was to take place in her own flat, and that she was to be left alone for a while between each insertion.

Of course you can guess that sister Maud, of the existence of whom the men where unaware, stepped into the gap on alternate occasions, and the deed was triumphantly accomplished and the money won, two hundred and fifty pounds, quiet a nice little doucer for the two.

I believe it was a delightful ceremony. The young man who made the bet brought fourteen of his friends, and they was Sandhurst boys in the very pink of health and physical strength, and right lustily they accomplished their task.

The whole affair was very well managed, I gathered from Mabel's narrative. The boy who proposed the bet was rich, and he presented the performers with a supper amply calculated to in every way feed their lust. Likewise a sideboard groaned with good things to eat and drink to sustain the men and the greatly daring girl during the night.

The first supper was decorous enough, for Mabel refused any early advances on the part of the men. A few bawdy toasts were drank, and Mabel was made to swear a solemn oath that she would not lie about coming. Supper over, the devoted girl retired to her room, which led out of the dining room, and returned stark naked. And a pretty sight she must have been, exciting indeed to the eyes of those randy young men. I have often seen her naked in the dressing room, for she was one of those girls who have no scruples about exposing herself naked to the gaze of others of the same sex, and I always admired her.

The men drew lots for order of performing, the proposer of the bet, however, reserving to himself the third turn, which he reckoned would be the best. That settled, Mabel let the way in to the bedroom, arranged herself on the luxurious bed, and called to the first man to come on and do his damndest. He stripped, a muscular young giant of nineteen, blushing a little at the unaccustomed publicity of his act, and was into her without further ado. He had given but three or four vigorous thrusts when the dear girl cried out that she had come and forced him to get off her. There was no doubt about the coming; the hero of the wager introduced his finger into the well greased aperture, and abundantly satisfied himself. Then arose a difficulty. Mabel asserted that the act of her coming constituted the completion of the fuck, but the only half satisfied young man naturally asserted that he had an equal right to finish his share of the business. After some argument the poor girl had to agree that he had, and, though she offered to suck him instead, he remounted, and finished, making her come once more before it was done.

The assembly filed out into the next room, leaving Mabel alone. She was to ring a handbell when next prepared.

Of course Maud, her patch of gold beater's skin concealing the mole, was produced out of a cupboard, whence she had viewed the proceedings and gathered all the conversation, so that she should not be found forgetful of any subject that might have been broached. The men were not a little astonished to hear the bell go almost immediately after their departure, and then were still more astonished to witness the vigorous lust that the pseudo-Mabel displayed.

It was only a question of a few frantic strokes and the second hero and Maud united their spending and obviously completed the fuck.

She went back into the dining room with them to take a little refreshment. “Maud,” so Mabel told me, “was ever the drinking one of the two.” She then retired, and in five more minutes the bell rang for the third man who quite unexpecting so speedy a gratification of his lusts had not begun to undress.

And so the game went on, first Mabel and then Maud rising to the occasion, till all the men had had their first go within less than two hours from the start.

After that Mabel-she did practically all the talking-bargained for a couple of hours sleep, which was granted her. At the end of the two hours, she was awakened- Maud, poor thing, had had to put up with the narrow limits of an armchair in the cupboard all that time, and the contest began anew. The girls worked so well that there were but two fucks to be completed when there still remained two hours of the allotted time to run. At that juncture Maud nearly failed. Instead of profiting by the time limit to have a good rest, she pronounced herself ready directly after Mabel had taken the twenty-eighth cock.

When her young man had finished, and he was not unreasonably quick about it, he asked her if she had complied with the regulations. She, being a straight-forward girl, was bound to reply that she had not. The question then arose whether the man who just finished, being incapable of immediate continuance, another might take his place. Maud protested that she could do it, if only the man was not in such a hurry. Eventually it took four of them, one after the other, each working their hardest, while Maud herself made herself naughty by imagining the depraved things, before the blessed dew anointed the lips of her cunt.

It was perhaps bad policy, but Mabel could not resist the opportunity for working a considerable surprise. Almost directly after the fatigued Maud had washed herself and retired into the cupboard, she walked out into the sitting room, quaffed a glass of champagne, and announced herself ready for the last man. He mounted her there and then in the room and they came together in about two minutes.

Then the check was handed over, and so ended a surprising evening.

When we arrived at Oxford I was undecided where to stay; being quite in ignorance of theatrical tours and living arrangements, I had intended to go to a hotel. Certainly my salary was only thirty-five shillings a week, but I had a little spare cash. The genial sisters Knock, however, quickly disabused me of that. “Come and stop with us, old dear,” they said, “don't go putting up at hotels and making folks think you're a tart before they can prove it.”-and I went.

The rooms were rather a shock. Small and meanly furnished-the mural decorations consisted of a religious tract and lithographs, and the landlady was as dirty as she was familiar. But the sisters seemed to think they were in clover. “Old Ma Osborne's a bit of all right,” explained one of the, “doesn't mind who we have in, or what we do, and that's saying something in a place like Oxford.”

When the question of dinner was mooted, old Ma Osborne grinned, “Well me dears,” she said, “I haven't worried about getting you any dinners, because knowing you like and your habits, I've took the liberty of telling Lord Hingley of the house, which is Christ Church College; me dear, that he might be at liberty to call. And Lord Hingley, me dears, will see as how you have a better dinner than I might be able to offer to you her.”

I was inclined to be annoyed, but held my peace.

Maud Knock (the one with the mole) became business-like at once.

“Many thanks, I'm sure Mrs. Osborne,” she said, “but who is Lord Hingley, he's not on my visiting list?”

“Is he all right?” chipped in the moleless sister, “none of your courtesy title paupers, eh, what?”

“All right; that I would say he is. Ten thousand a year he has, as I should know, dearies, my husband being his scout for night on two years in college, and as generous a gentleman as ever was.”

The sisters Knock nodded assent, and Ma Osborne retired beaming.

The highly recommended Lord Hingley presently made his appearance accompanied by his friend, Mrs. Charles Latimer; apparently they had only reckoned on two, and I saw breakers ahead, for, without conceit, I knew well enough that neither of the sisters could hold a candle to me in looks, or in any sort of attraction.

We were conveyed in cabs to Mr. Latimer's room. Mr. Latimer was a rich young gentleman, son of the famous brewer of that name, and he occupied the most elegant apartments. He was plain but well groomed, and very well dressed. Despite his origin he was a gentleman. Lord Hingley was nice looking, if rather stupid, and obviously rather too fond of drink. They were both scrupulously polite to us girls. We had a most admirable dinner, cooked and served in a style which would not have disgraced a smart west end restaurant, and we all of us drank rather too much champagne, to say nothing of subsequent liquors.

Still nothing happened, and the men made no attempt at love-making. The sisters obliged at the piano, so did I, and after I had done so, Lard Hingley contrived to get me alone in a corner.

“I say,” he stammered, “you're a lady, aren't you?”

“I'm certainly not a man.”

“But, don't joke; you aren't like the others how did you come to be living with Maud and Mabel?”

“Because they are my friends.”

The poor boy became very nervous, so I explained.

“I am a lady by birth, but who I am and how I came to be here, I don't care to have anybody know. If I told you my father's name, you would probably know,” that was a good bluff, considering the name was the same as my stage name-poor old Pop La Mare- “so don't ask.”

But he squeezed my hand; not as a man would squeeze the hand of a chorus girl tart, and I knew that he was in love, the first young man or title who had loved me. He likewise made an appointment for the following day, to meet at the Queen's Restaurant for lunch, subsequently a drive, and a hasty little dinner at his own rooms to follow-(he lived out of college).

I went down to the theatre on the following morning-the first time I had entered a theatre as a member of a theatrical company, and that early as I was, several of the girls were there before me, and the best places in the dressing room, which was to contain six of us girls, were taken.

There were the twin sisters Knock, Lily Legrand, a show lady of more of less mature age, but undeniable charm of figure, and little Bertha Vere, Restalal's mistress, who was not, however, allowed any special privileges in the company because of her relationship to the “Guvnor.” I had to hang my clothes up in the middle of the room, and do without a looking glass. My brand new make up box occasioned great joy among the other girls, who all appeared to have come with the tiniest remnants of the necessary powders and pigments.

My first day in Oxford, also my first day on tour was fairly uneventful. I went out to lunch with my lordling friend, but he treated me with extreme courtesy, to say nothing of a very good lunch. I found out afterwards that Oxford boys, while always delighted to get to know any actress on the road, yet expect little in return for their hospitality. My young man did not even attempt to kiss me, though we sat for a long time in his rooms after lunch-I think that he was even rather shocked that I smoked.

When I got back to my lodging I found the sisters Knock there, back also from a luncheon party. They had brought on my letters from the theatre. One of them was from the poet, and a distinctly improper nature. Its pretty indelicate imagery, and a most sensual drawing by an artist friend which was enclosed, brought so much moisture on my legs that I had to get upstairs and wash before I dared face the semi-public undressing of the theatre dressing room.

As the majority of the company had appeared in “The Drum Major” before, we had no dress rehearsal, and I had not even seen my costumes till I got to the theatre than night. “The Drum Major” was a tights play and all the girls in our room wore those fascinating garments. I was rather anxious to see how the legs of the other girls looked. Mine I knew, were all right, a little on the small side perhaps, but quite perfectly modelled. I could submit to the difficult task of inserting a three penny piece between my naked thighs when placed together, and keeping it there. I had also silk tights, a present from Mr. Annesley, who had informed me that the management considered cotton good enough for the chorus. He had found out the color of my dresses, and had these made for me.

The girls in the room displayed little delicacy. Maud undressed stark naked, and walked about the room rubbing herself down with a towel. Pier figure was good. Shapely legs, if perhaps a little too muscular to satisfy the artist who takes his ideal from the ancient Greek statues, but that was the fault of her dancing training. A firm, rather brownish skin, but without wrinkles, she wore no corsets, and round breasts with scarlet nipples. Her arms were also muscular, and she had the hair under her armpits shaved off, though a great abundance of dark luxurious curled round the lips of her cunt and blossomed up on to her stomach.

Lilly Legrand kept her vest on while putting on her tights, not omitting, however, to show the hair on the lower portion of her body, and the sexual organ underneath. Mabel Knocked stripped boldly to the buff, and displayed a figure which was almost an exact counterpart of her sister's, but she was more modest, and turned her back on us while she hurriedly slipped into her tights. Little Bertha, Restall's mistress, was far more discreet, and got into her leg attire under cover of other garments. The reason for that was, I afterward discovered, that she padded. I was also as modest as might be, and immediately aroused the suspicion of the eldest Knock girl that I had come to the theatre with my pads on, a common enough practice with some chorus girls who are ashamed of letting their companion tarts know that nature had not been altogether kind to them. She took me by surprise, and ran her hand all over my legs. “Genuine,” she pronounced, with a laugh, and Bertha looked envious.

I was one of the officers. It was a military play, and I had practically to open the show with five others, headed by our captain, a very dapper little lady who was the principal boy of the play. When I first walked on to the stage, I could hardly see for fear (luckily I was placed last). I felt practically naked and the music surged in my ears and it was only when I heard the other girls break into the surging melody of the song that I regained enough self-possession to join them. However, in half an hour I was all right, and got the brace of lines allotted to me off swimmingly.

The piece went well; Restall was in great form, and was ably backed up by his leading lady, a well known exponent of soubrette parts. In the third act he was at his very best, but I had an awkward moment when he selected me as the other half of an impromptu gag scene. To his great surprise, I answered him back and got a big laugh for myself. When the show was over, and he had taken numerous calls, he stopped me on the stage. “Clever little girl,” was the comment, “we'll do that again tomorrow. Come up to my room when your dressed, and we'll have a little drink and a little rehearsal.”

I was naturally elated, but the other girls laughed and more than hinted that I was wanted for something very different from a business chat.

However, he began in a business like manner enough, complimented me on the way I had made his gag go, and in his quiet, incisive, clever way, suggested the necessary outlines of the working up.

Then he asked me to sit down, gave me a whiskey and soda, and I noticed that his eye was devouring my charms with a hungry gleam. He began to let his conversation get rather frisky, and then boldly praised various portions of my body, my legs, my waist, and my breasts even. I finished my drink quickly and got up to go, but as I rose he followed me and clasped me in his arms before I had moved a step. I felt a passionate kiss on my throat, and his hand pressed roughly against the lower part of my stomach.

I protested and struggled for I had no wish to make myself cheap in his eyes by an easy surrender. However, nothing was of any avail. He did not prolong the struggle, but calmly locked the door and proceeded to talk the matter over.

His arguments were pretty matter of fact. He was altogether carried away by my beauty he said, and was mad to enjoy me. What harm was done, he argued, and he added that he could be a very good friend to me.

Of course, in the end I surrendered, and then came a very improper piece of business. Restall's costume necessitated skin tights, without any trunks, and, in case of any untoward swelling, he had his penis bound down to his stomach. So, when he had slipped off his tights, this curious arrangement met my astonished eyes-and he made me undo the wrapping till a fine stalwart member sprang from its bounds. I was surprised at its size, and condition, for Kestall was a man of over fifty who had lived every day of his life. His position had brought him into contact with thousands of girls who were only too ready to submit to overtures, and, if rumor was to be trusted, he had availed himself of every opportunity. Also he was a drunkard; I don't suppose he had gone to bed sober any night for the last twenty-five years.

When once we got to business I was randy enough. There was no sofa, and the floor looked rather dirty, so he had me straddle-wise across his knees, forcing me down on to him till I had his penis within me right up to its hairy hilt. He grabbed me frightfully tight to him and fucked me quite brutally, but there was something in his savagery which delighted me. When it was over he drained a tremendously stiff whiskey and soda and then sat back in the only big chair in the room. “Well, you'd better be back to your room,” he said after a minute, “the girl's will be suspicious.”

“I thought as much,” I answered rather angrily, “you've had all you want from me, and want to get rid of me.”

He became quite tender on the instant, and assured me that he meant nothing of the kind, only was nervous lest I should be suspected of over familiarity with him. In fact he became so tenderly solicitous that he took me in his arms and kissed me-became naughty again, and the dirty beast fucked me again.

Nothing much of great interest happened during our three day's stay at Oxford-we were only allowed half a week by the University authorities, in accordance with the wise regulation that more than three days of the society of any particular set of musical comedy sirens is bad for the peace of mind of the undergraduates. I went out to all meals, some with my lordling, and some with the friends of Miss Sarel, the leading lady, who had graciously deigned to take me up. She was a bright, pretty little thing, quite passably clever, of a naughty temperament, and very much on the make as the theatrical saying goes; she came out of Oxford with one or two valuable presents in the jewelry line.

I was always stared at in the street, but the stare was not the sensual glance of the man about town who feels his cock raised at the appearance of an attractive female, but the simple admiration of a healthy young mind. Not that everything of a sensual nature was absent from our little stay, to say nothing of that already recounted scene in Restall's dressing room, for I experienced the beginning of a love affair. One night the Sisters Knock brought home the tenor of the company to supper. Jean Messel was a strikingly handsome man, about thirty-five or so, I supposed, whose dark features betrayed a foreign origin. He had often eyed me at the theatre, but we had never spoken till this party. On this occasion, however, he found courage to press my hand, and, later, to snatch a kiss. That kiss set me on fire. I had known well enough before, the delights of a sensual feeling, but never a sensual feeling coupled with love. I dreamed of him all night, and the next morning when we met at the station, and exchanged some common-place greeting, I experienced the sensation known as blushing all over, and was almost too timid to speak I did not continue in lodgings with Sisters Knock. Some little unpleasantness over my intimacy with the young Lord had arisen, to say nothing of my obvious attraction for Jean Messel; so at our next stop, which was Manchester, I chummed with a Miss Letty Ross, who played the third principal part. Miss Ross had many acquaintances among the wealthy manufacturers of the north, fat, jolly, middle-aged men, with any amount of money, which they enjoyed spending, and a great deal of which found its way into the pockets of the pretty little tarts of the various wandering companies. They wanted very little for their money, and I was glad of it, for my passion for the tenor produced a longing in my heart to remain quite chaste. Still one cannot exactly accept a diamond bangle for nothing, and more than once little Blanche suffered herself to be extended on the sofa of a hotel private room, and her dainty clothes elevated till the exposure of her naked charms caused some great Lancashire cock to crow lustily with anticipation. How hard they fucked, those north country merchants, and what quantities of sperm they spent, but they enlarged hearts. At that time I grew very ^pent quantities of money, too, bless their frightened of getting in the family way; those lusty devils were just the sort of men to get me caught, and I could not help a reciprocal spend when they came. However, Letty gave me some pills to take before my courses became due, and I escaped.

At Edinburgh, we boldly went to one of the best hotels, trusting to our fortune to find a mug to settle our bills, and sure enough we did find one, in the guise of a well known whiskey distiller. He was staying in the same hotel and took on- the two of us, first Letty and then myself. I was not jealous, for it gave me a rest, and I was really sweet to him on my nights. He swore his cock had never, never felt such pleasure. He was nearly sixty, but he had never been sucked off, so I cleaned his cock up one night, and taught him that. He nearly went off his head with joy.

On the Saturday night after an uncommonly good supper, and too many liquors, the old man falteringly asked if we two would mind his coming to bed with both of us. He had done so well during the week that we had not the heart to say no. We arranged for him to come to our bedroom in half an hour, when we should be undressed, but our door was barely closed behind us when in he slipped blushing like a school boy detected in a fault, and begging that he might be allowed to undress us himself.

He went for me first; I was wearing a three quarter length frock that night, and the dear old gentleman got excited over it. I didn't raise a hand to help him myself, and he stripped me right to the buff. After he got out of my bodice, and the skirt, his frenzied cock was nearly bursting his trousers, and when he had got me down to my drawers and vest, the poor panting things had to be released. I gave it just one pat with my hand and the spend flew all over me, covering my body right up to my neck, some of it even struck me in the face. He was disconsolate, and Letty was angry, said it was unfair to start so soon. But Blanche was equal to the occasion. I sponged my face clean, did the same to his cock, told Letty to tongue his mouth, and we very soon had him stiff. Then he finished my undressing, till I sat in all my naked beauty on the bed before him. He was so randy again that he would have liked to fuck me again, then and there, but Letty naturally interfered. There was such a beautiful fire in the room that we both lay naked on the bed while our old friend tore off his clothes as if he was undressing for a swimming race against time. Funnily enough though I often slept with Letty, not till that moment had I the least physical desire for her, but the filthiness of the whole scene overpowered me. I rolled over on the top of her, feverishly fingered her pretty body and covered her lips with hot kisses which she returned in no half hearted spirit. In a trice I had a finger up her cunt, so that ingress was barred to the old man. Next moment, however he was up me from behind, his arms gripping both our bodies, and he came in me while my lips were glued to Letty's and all my lust was for her. Still he must have had a good fuck, for I was wriggling my stomach against hers like a fury. Even when he had finished I was filthily randy that I drew my finger, all covered with spend from Letty's cunt and made him lick it clean, an innovation in sin which he thoroughly enjoyed.

Subsequently he fucked Letty and myself once more and that finished him. He shambled back to his bedroom, while Letty and I, after a hot bath together had one delicious bout of mutual cunt sucking, and then fell asleep in each other's arms.

Next morning when the bill was presented, our old friend had something of a shock, but he could not, after the events of the previous night, make any complaint.

I fancy the one hundred and two whiskies and sodas worried him. Of course, we didn't give it away that we had had all our friends in during the day time, while he was at his business, and he thoroughly believed we had slipped all that intolerable deal of liquor down our own fairy throats. He paid us the compliment of remarking that there wasn't a bonnie lassie from Maidenkirk to John of Groats could have done the like.

All this time I barely had an opportunity of seeing my dark-eyed Jean Messel. His wife, who figured in the bills as Miss Henden, became suspicious and never let him out of her sight. She wasn't a bad little woman, and on the stage she looked very nice, but what a fake. To begin with, she wore lifters to give her an added inch in height. Then she wore low cut shoes displaying a nice curved pad where her instep should have been. When she went on the stage her legs were entirely encased in shapes, and even in ordinary walking dress, she sported hip pads. Her bust, well, one night I got wet coming to the theatre and wanted a change of stockings, every available stocking had that woman stuffed into her bodice. She even padded her arms, for she wore tightly fitting, transparent sleeves, and the flesh colored pads, that showed through, had the appearance of the most fascinating rounded arms. Her neck and shoulders she enameled. She wore yards of false hair, and what she had of her own was dyed. Her teeth, I need scarcely add, were removable at desire. Some of the girls used to question whether she had a false cunt or not.

One night Jean and I got a chance of a walk home from the theatre together, while she was at home ill. We came by a short cut through a mean street, lit only by an occasional lamp, and towered over my gaunt, stark walls. We were quite alone, for it was late and very dark, and the neighborhood had a dangerous reputation. There was no noise, save a faint flip flop of water and presently we came to a place where the rives was lazily licking a flight of stone steps. It was an eerie place, and I started nervously, brushing my shoulder against my companion. The next moment his arms were gripping me to him, and my lips had sought his. I was willing enough to have let him have me, there and then, but presently he pushed me from him.

“Little Darling,” he said, “next week my wife will not be with us. Shall we live in the same house?”

I said, “Yes,” with a kiss; and he saw me to my hotel door, and we parted.

Content

Anonymous
The Romances Of Blanche La Mare

PART I CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

PART II CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR