I revelled in the contact of her undergarments and in the warm atmosphere and pungent scent of the locality. I gloried in the discovery of what petticoats actually did conceal and I swallowed the liquid in my mouth with a voluptuous thrill.
Mademoiselle was evidently reading, and I had opportunity for moralizing. I began to wonder whether there was anything wicked in all this-whether it was impure? Was it adultery, fornication, or lasciviousness to be beneath a maid's legs, kissing them and gratifying her and myself by dalliance with my lips and tongue with her "mouth with a moustache," simply because that mouth was between her legs and usually hidden? The concealment was conventional as dress, founded on the decorum and decencies of life. Was it wicked to kiss the mouth of an Eastern woman because, when walking abroad, it was covered by a Sash-mak? Brushing aside the conventionalities in the shape of skirts and drawers gave a poignant relish to the embrace that seemed perfectly legitimate. So I hugged Mademoiselle closer and kissed her legs again.
In a few minutes any further disposition on my part for reflection and analysis was cut short by a firm but gentle pressure of her dainty leg and little heel on my back. Again I glued my mouth to what seemed the compendium, the embodiment, the full divine revelation of Mademoiselle herself in her most intimate soul, and, on this occasion, with fewer scruples and with more avidity, with greater knowledge and keener skill. I bit the tender succulent lips, I inserted my tongue further and tickled the little protuberance more persistently, absorbing the yielding flesh more greedily. Mademoiselle's motions were in proportion more violent, her transport, her loss of self-control completer. All our efforts were directed to bring about a repetition of that convulsive and spasmodic agitation of her being which seemed to delight her and affected me. It took much longer this time and required more effort; her legs were thrown wider apart and she exerted herself (and I also) more vigorously. At last it came! The spasm took place more slowly and endured longer. She lay back with a sigh or gasp of relief and satisfaction, and I was becoming a little weary; no ethical questions this time presenting themselves for analysis and solution. The novelty of the situation was wearing off. Besides I felt the need of a repetition of the operation upon myself and was anxious to communicate my idea to her. However, I was not allowed to rise.
Mademoiselle read on. She moved and adjusted herself, giving me pleasure by the fresh and unavoidable contact of her flesh, each time she did so. But it seemed as though I were never to be released, and it appeared an interminable time before I again felt the signal on my back, and, on this occasion by the exercise of a little compulsion, was forced a third time to repeat the delicious process.
A few minutes later Mademoiselle threw down her book, lifted her leg off my shoulder, and told me to get up.
What a delicious flutter she was in! And how proud I felt at having been permitted to become so intimately acquainted with the secrets of her being!
"You may get up now, Julian, you dear boy, and we will have some tea. I want it, I can tell you."
I got up and stretched myself. I glanced at the Sevres clock, leisurely ticking away the hours as though it controlled Time with its fat and lazy motion.
For two hours had I been under Mademoiselle's petticoats in close communion with her!
CHAPTER 8
"Well, Julian," said Mademoiselle Hortense, looking at me with eyes full of kindness. "Well, Julian!"
How can I express the coyness, the solicitude, the tenderness with which these two words were uttered? They meant so much after all I had been permitted to learn. I was encouraged to believe that nothing could now be denied to me.
"Oh, Mademoiselle! Oh, Mademoiselle, how I love you! How I thank you!"
"Do you really? Well, you have been very good and you discharged your duty admirably. And now that you know what ladies have under their petticoats, as well as what they can do to you, are you satisfied?"
"Ah, Mademoiselle, alas, no! A bright idea has struck me which I implore you to consent to. I am sure if you would only try it, it would be Paradise."
"You greedy youth! What more can you want?"
"I want-I want you to let me put-put what I-have-got into what you have, where my tongue was; and-perhaps what happened to you and what happened to me on the sofa might occur at once, at one and the same time. And that-that would be ecstasy. Oh, Mademoiselle, do let me!"
"No, Julian, I cannot. The idea is not new; it is as old as the world. That idea brought you and me and every one into existence. It is, I admit, the sole remnant of the joys of Paradise which Adam and Eve left us; but I cannot allow you now-not for years-not under other than entirely altered circumstances. You must be content with what you can have; had I not been fond of you I should not have given you so much.
However much I should like it, I cannot give you that. It might result in-in a baby."
"In a baby?" I shouted in utter surprise. "Do you mean to say that is how babies are made?"
"Yes," she answered, "it is."
For some minutes utter silence fell upon me whilst I considered the rapture it must be to make a baby and to reproduce in a little pink and white crying thing, endowed with life and form, all the exquisite and inexpressible emotions and sensations with which one has been inspired and affected by the woman, to whom they have been communicated in that perfect mode, when beyond one's self and carried away by one's sense of all her charms, of all her loveliness-communicated at the instant of the culmination of passion with all its force.
"Oh, Mademoiselle," I exclaimed, in rapture, "what can be greater happiness, what can be holier, what can be more exquisite than-than-?"
"Than the consummation of love," she suggested, chillingly.
"Love," I exclaimed, "is not immoral."
"Exactly," said Mademoiselle. "But, my dear Julian, you cannot go about begetting babies on every girl who takes your fancy."
How these words desecrated what I held holier than religion.
"Certainly not. I have these feelings, these longings for you alone. It is but to one woman that a man ought so to reveal himself. I should live for you alone and devote myself to you only."
Mademoiselle smiled amusedly. But there was a little incredulity, or perhaps a tincture of contempt, mingled with this smile, which was certainly cynical.
"You must learn the lessons of the world you live in and solve the problems they suggest as you can. I have given you a necessary part of your education and I see you have already derived much benefit from it. In France ladies afford many favours and many harmless privileges, but they draw the line at what you ask for. I shall tease you as much as I like, and when I like, and make you please me frequently; perhaps for the remainder I shall put you into another lady's hands-Lady Ridlington's for example. She is very fond of breaking in amorous youths. But you must be content with what I have allowed you, Julian, as far as I am concerned, and the discipline will be wholesome."
"Oh, Mademoiselle, how cruel!"
"Not so cruel as I should be if I laid you across my knee, turned your petticoats over your head, and smacked your bottom, which must still be sore from your birching, for daring to propose such a thing to me; and yet, if you continue refractory, I shall certainly do so! You must learn self-control-it is the foundation of good breeding. Come! I am going to ring for tea. Put on your bodice, Miss. What is all this," looking reproachfully at me, "on your chemise?"
What Mademoiselle had said and her entrancing manner of saying it, only made me feel worse. The notion of being laid across that lap of hers in the position she had suggested could have no other effect; but the necessity of replying to her question, which I felt to be an awkward one, diverted my attention from the pleasant idea.