"Why, you're not old at all, Mr. Heely!"
He raised my hand, which he was still holding, to his lips and kissed it. I was not so hardened as to be unmoved by his pathetic words, and I understood now for the first time with some degree of clarity, the exact situation.
Mr. Heely's interest in me was unselfish in that it was not actuated by the desire to play any fantastic sexual game, but rather by the promptings of the vague and unsatisfied longings of a man who has lived a repressed and virtuous life, and who, in the eventide of his days, realizing that something vital has been missed, gropes belatedly and blindly for that intangible sense of fulfilment which can only come through bodily and spiritual union with the opposite sex. Too late he had found a compliment which could have satisfied the longings he himself would probably have refused to recognize as merely physical, he must now warm the fibres of his being with the dying embers of a fire disguised as paternal. This he could do without suffering the loss of self-respect or at the sacrifice of dignity.
If I chose to continue accepting his bounty indefinitely without thought of compensating him in any way other than by dressing to suit his fancy and playing maidenly innocence, I could do so. He would never make any sexual advances toward me except those of the mildest and most indirect nature.
But I was not without conscience, nor did I lack an elemental spirit of gratitude. The man had been both kind and generous to me, and without hesitating long I made up my mind to find ways to provide this gentle soul with an occasional moment of happiness flavoured with just that degree of lubricity which would find an echo in his being, and leave him with a few soft memories with which to dispel the loneliness of his heart.
During the week which elapsed before his next visit I gave considerable thought to the subject, casting about in my mind for some formula which would fit the peculiar circumstances. Various ideas were entertained and discarded as unsuitable. But one afternoon there chanced to cross my thoughts the recollection of Mr. Peters, the watchmaker who had boarded with us when I was a child. In a vague way, Mr. Heely reminded me of Mr. Peters. He was far more cultured and refined, but there was a certain similarity of characters which might have been much more pronounced had their social and educational status been parallel.
Submerged in memories of the past which the thought evoked I saw myself again a child of eleven, slipping surreptitiously into Mr. Peters' room to be masturbated while I stood between his knees holding my little dress up. Again I saw his congested face and the tiny beads of perspiration which testified to the vibrant emotions he must have experienced vicariously through manual stimulation of my body. Had he not actually paid me to let him masturbate me and given other evidences of pleasure in realizing the act? And it had certainly caused me more pleasure than annoyance.
And mentally I began setting the stage for Mr. Heely's next visit.
So it came to pass that after the customary exchange of banalities had been effected, I set about immediately to warm the atmosphere preparatory to the course I had elected to follow with Mr. Heely.
"Mr. Heely," I began diffidently, "you never have seen all the pretty things you had Madame Lafronde buy for me. They're so pretty they make my heart beat faster every time I look at them, and then I think of you."
His face glowed with pleasure.
"I thought I'd seen all of them, my dear," he answered, fingering the hem of my dress. "I was just thinking today that perhaps you needed some new frocks. Madame Lafronde exercised very good taste in her selections and these black silk dresses become you wonderfully."
"I don't mean the dresses alone," I murmured, essaying a bit of bashful confusion. "There were other things, beautiful things; you've never seen them at all, Mr. Heely."
"Ah, you mean underthings, my dear. Quite true, I didn't see them, but if they pleased you that is all that is necessary."
"I never had such beautiful things in all my life, Mr. Heely. Some of them have got the prettiest lace trimming, it looks just like handwork.
Hester, my friend, says it's machine-made lace, but I want to show you, Mr. Heely, and see if you don't think it's handmade."
Without waiting for his answer I slipped from his knees and went to my clothes chest, extracted from among the garments stored herein a pair of dainty cambric panties, around the legs of which were attached narrow bands of expensive lace. Thrusting the intimate garment into his hands, I continued to expiate on the quality and beauty of the material.
"Don't you think that's handmade lace, Mr. Heely?"
"Really, I'm hardly qualified to say, my dear," he replied, as he gingerly fingered the garment. "All I can say is that it seems to be well made, but whether by hand or machine I cannot say."
"The ones I've got on are even prettier, Mr. Heely. I don't mind if you see them on me. I want you to see how pretty they are and how well they fit me."
So saying, I raised my dress until a goodly portion of lace filigree and cambric panty leg, to say nothing of quite a bit of flesh, was revealed.
Slowly I pivoted around on my toes so that Mr. Heely might judge both the dainty workmanship of the garment, and in addition such physical allurements as might catch his eye.
His face flushed slightly, and he half-averted his gaze, but his next words assured me that I had not missed the mark at which I had aimed.
"My child, it is your pretty limbs which lend beauty to the garment. I have never seen a more charming picture."
Visibly affected, he extended his arms and drew me again upon his lap.
His arm prevented my dress from falling into place, and as I made no effort to adjust it I found myself seated across his knees with my legs exposed to the tops of my stockings and higher. I laid an arm over his shoulder and cuddled against him.
Soon I felt a hand lightly caressing my knee. It moved tenderly back and forth over the silken surface of my hose. I lay quietly with my head against his shoulder, my eyes half-closed. The hand moved higher and I sensed the tremor of its touch in a timid caress which dwelt a moment upon the bare flesh above the stocking. It receded downward to the knee, and after a brief hesitation again advanced until finally the palm lay cupped over the rounded curve of bare flesh. His other hand meanwhile passed under my arm, lay quietly and unobtrusively over one of my breasts.
Seated thus, with nothing but the thin material of my panties and his own garments between the sensitive areas of our respective bodies I would have easily perceived anything in the nature of a muscular reaction to the erotic incitation to which Mr. Heely was now being subjected.
That there was none confirmed my suspicion that either through physical weakness or possibly a purely mental inhibition he was incapacitated sexually in the more material sense of the word. For him naught remained but such secondary exultations as might have their birth in psychic stimulation, the last dispensation of benevolent old Mother Nature who, tempering the wind to the shorn lamb, concedes that minor consolation, a measure of bliss in the mere presence of contemplation of pleasure through the awakening of an echo, or the touching of a responsive chord in our sensibilities.