THE ALTAR OF VENUS: The Making of a Victorian Rake Read online

  "Come here, little one. I want to talk to you a minute before I go."

  Hesitatingly she approached the chair in which I was sitting. I put an arm about her naked waist and taking one of her hands in mine, said:

  "You're far too sweet a little girl to be mixed up in such games as this. The police know all about it and they're just waiting to surprise you. Get out of it, honey, before they have a chance. Tell your husband to find some way to make a living without exposing you to such danger."

  "Are you a policeman?" she gasped in a frightful whisper

  "No, honey, I'm not a policeman. But I have a friend who is, and he told me all about it. I knew right from the start."

  To my consternation she began to weep in earnest. The tears streaked down her cheeks and fell on my hand. Touched and embarrassed I drew her down on my lap and tried to console her.

  "Now don't cry little one. There's no great harm done. There's still time to fix things up."

  "Is my husband in jail?" she asked tremulously.

  "Don't worry about him. He'll be back in the morning. Maybe I can fix it so he'll be back tonight."

  "Oh, will you, surely?"

  "I will if I can, but if I do, you must promise me you won't let him put you in such a situation as this again."

  "I promise! I promise!" she exclaimed heartfully and then as an afterthought struck her, she asked timidly:

  "Will he know what you … what … I mean, we did?"

  "Not unless you tell him, honey. He was no way of knowing just what happened. You can tell him you sent me away when he didn't come. Heaven knows," I added smiling, "you certainly tried hard enough!"

  "Oh, you are a good man! I'm sorry I tried to fool you!" – and again she burst into tears. "The others (sob) weren't … (sob) like you; they were just (sob) fresh old men!"

  "I expected maybe they had it coming to them all right, but they will make trouble for you sooner or later, baby," and as the tears continued to flow, I took my handkerchief and endeavored to dry her cheeks, soothing her with what reassurances I could.

  Suddenly she threw her arms about my neck and began to kiss me.

  "You're a good man," she repeated, and then, lowering her eyes, she whispered: "If you want me to, I'll do it with you again before you go!"

  Surprised and pleased I glanced at my watch. It was getting later and every minute my stay was prolonged would increase my friend's anxiety. He might even, if I failed to appear soon, show up at the apartment. At the same time, the virginal aspect of that nude, shaven little cleft awakened powerful temptations. I placed the palm of my hand over it tentatively. Little electric-like shivers chased themselves up and down my spine at the touch, and my cock stiffened out in anticipation.

  "Come on, if you want to. One more won't make any difference now, anyway."

  "What do you know about psychic stimulation?" I asked, my thought reverting to Irma and her theories.

  "Psychic stimulation?" she repeated, wonderingly. "What do you mean by psychic stimulation?"

  "Oh, nothing much," I replied. "Baby, I'm British but I like France and I like some of the French customs. I haven't much time left, but if you're really willing, I'd like to do you with my tongue."

  "All right!" she answered tensely, "I'd rather have it that way. I'm terribly afraid of getting a baby!" and she slipped off my knees.

  Placing herself on the bed she put a pillow under her hips, separated her legs and in less time that it takes to tell, my face was down between her thighs, and my lips united with another pair of lips, which ran up and down instead of crosswise. Two soft little hands clasped my cheeks as my tongue penetrated and explored the secret depths. And when its activities were transferred to the tiny little protuberance in the upper extremity of the naked incision, she writhed and moaned with ecstasy, and the little hands gripped my cheeks convulsively.

  "Oh!" she gasped, "you're making me come again!"

  The warm flesh against my mouth began to exude moisture. Her body stiffened out, maintaining its rigidity for a moment and then relaxed.

  I got up and with the towel she had cast aside, wiped off my lips.

  "Before I go, tell me your name, honey. Your real name, I mean!"

  She flushed at the recollection of the false name previously given me, and replied:

  "Georgina."

  "Georgina," I said, "if your number wasn't already drawn it would be easy to fall for you in a big way." And my words were sincere.

  "It looks like I already have fallen for you," she responded pensively.

  "Thank you, honey. I'll go now, and see about your husband."

  A feeling of sadness, almost of regret, that I would never see her again enveloped me as I walked rapidly down the street.

  "Sentimental foo1" I said to myself, endeavoring to shake off the gloomy sentiments which had invaded my thoughts. I had gotten what I went after, but in my heart I knew I was taking something away with me which I had not calculated on, and that the memory of a little figure, with its disordered curls and wet cheeks against my face, its breasts firm and white pressed to my heart while I looked down over her shoulder at the softly rounded curve of a naked bottom, and the lissom swell of daintily sculptured legs, glistening through the black sheen of her hose, would haunt me through the years to come.

  Fifteen minutes later I wsa at a telephone, and when the call was effected, the uneasy voice of my detective friend inquired:

  "What in the world happened? I was about to take a man and go out there. Thought maybe that little witch had stuck a knife in your ribs. She stalled you off, didn't she?"

  "No, she didn't stall me off. I'll tell you later."

  "Well … I'll be … did you really…?"

  "Yes, yes; I'll tell you all about it when I see you. But that fellow … where is he?"

  "Detained for investigation."

  "Could you get him out tonight, if you wanted to?"

  "Tonight! Why … I could, I guess, but what's the rush?"

  "Get him out, if you want to do me a favor. It's important to me. I've given my word, and I want to make it good. I'll get a cab and be down soon. Try and have him loose by the time I get there."

  And I hung up the receiver.

  The following week I was back in England.

  But instead of going home, I took a room in London and in accordance with previously formulated plans, began looking around for an opportunity to invest what remained of the money grandmother had left me in some manner which would yield me a living.

  After investigating many solicitations which came to me as the result of a small advertisement in the Daily Mail, I finally decided upon one that would also provide me with employment at a nominal salary.

  Once located, I applied myself diligently to the task of learning the fundamentals of the business and at the end of the first year, was made assistant manager. During this period I had dedicated my time and interest almost exclusively to the business, and such amorous expansion as I permitted myself was confined to that class which usually paid for by the hour or by the night. Fastidious tastes stood in the way of any extended relationships with the girls or women which I encountered as purely physical necessities. I remained heart whole and fancy free for something like a year and a half.

  And then I met Edyth.

  I found her in the unromantic and prosaic atmosphere of a big department store – a sweet faced, modest, lovable girl of attractive personality. Her voice immediately set up in my heart that mysterious vibration which is a prelude to what we call love.

  On the wiles of strategems I employed and the prolonged courtship I paid her, before she finally surrendered her affections and something else to me, I shall not dwell. Suffice it to say that eventually she gave up her employment, and we established ourselves in a pretty little flat in Kensington Gardens.

  Of ardent and passionate nature, she unfolded like an exotic tropical blossom and enshrined with her memory are the recollections of many happy hours.

  She ha
d no vices, no eccentricities; she was just a wholesome, normal, adorable girl, whose heart, starved for affection, responded with passionate ardor to my caresses, a harp which had but waited the touch of a master to give forth its sweetest strains

  Edyth had been married, but had left her husband after a series of heartbreaking disillusions. Because of the peculiarly hard divorce laws of Great Britain, and the unique circumstances under which she had separated from her husband, she had never attempted to secure a divorce and presumed herself to be still legally bound to a man she had not seen in over two years.

  The events which preceded her separation from this man as she related them to me were so startling that despite the fact that this biography was intended to refer only to my experiences, I cannot bring myself to deprive my readers of their telling. I shall therefore, step out of the picture for an interval, to transcribe the story, exactly as Edyth, with dramatic realism, averted eyes and frequent blushes as some of the succulent details were recounted, told it to em. And may I observe that in the telling, she employed a few words which I never previously, or afterward either for that matter, heard fall from her lips.

  EDYTH'S STORY

  I was eighteen years old when Vernon began to pay me attention. He was five years older than I, and in my inexperience he seemed to me the epitome of masculine perfection. Nice looking, well groomed, gallant and attentive, he quickly captured my youthful affections. When he proposed marriage to me, my parents, solicitous for my welfare, interposed some objections, for Vernon had nothing but an unimportant clerkship, and evidently had not impressed them as favorably as he had me. But this being the only tangible objection they could present against our marriage, I laughed it to scorn, and when they realized that my heart was set, they withdrew their opposition, and we were married.

  I was deeply in love with my handsome husband and for a short time was ideally happy.

  My first shock came when I discovered that a beautiful diamond engagement ring he had slipped on my finger was unpaid for, and that the installments due on it were sadly in arrears. The small salary which he received had, before our marriage, sufficed for his own necessities but as he had saved nothing we were compelled to adopt methods of strictest economy. Before marriage I had been accustomed to a comfortable living, and generous parents had always provided me with money to purchase the little luxuries of dress and toilet so dear to the feminine heart. After marriage, my father continued to give me small sums destined to my own personal use, but the pressure of domestic obligations was such that I was obliged to use this money for household expenses. The former luxuries were sadly missed, but still deeply enamored with my husband, I would not give him up for all the treasures of India.

  But, alas, the sweetest illusions of life are those most prone to rapid destruction.

  The installments due on the ring had mounted to a figure which in our actual finances was appalling, and to save Vernon from the embarrassment of constant dunning threats, I silently withdrew it from my finger, and handed it to him with a request that it be returned.

  This was but the beginning, and before we had been married half a year, I began to see life through less rosy spectacles. The sad realization that the idol of my girlish affections was far from being all I had so confidently assumed, was forced upon me.

  Vernon was of weak character and lacked the manly aggressive qualities which women require in the men they love, and without which respect and admiration are impossible. Marriage, instead of developing these latent if at all existent qualities was having just the contrary effect upon him and day by day he was becoming accustomed to lean more on me. The money given me by my father was now accepted as a matter of course as being our main dependence in household finances, and his own salary was devoted almost entirely to personal expenditures.

  I still loved Vernon – but instead of loving him with respect and admiration, it was a pitying love – more as a mother might love a weak and petulant child.

  When we had been married about a year, Vernon lost his position, and as the weeks went by, without a serious effort on his part to find another, I was obliged to seek employment. In this I was successful and thought the pay was small between it and what my father gave me we managed to live.

  Vernon spent most of the time lying around the house, smoking innumerable cigarettes and reviling his "rotten luck" as he called it. If I reproved him for his failure to make a more determined effort to improve his circumstances he became cross and irritable, and would leave the house, to return at a late hour of the night.

  Now appeared on the scene a Mr. George Tucker.

  This individual came home one evening with Vernon, and was introduced to me as an old friend of my husband's. Mr. Tucker, though not of displeasing appearance, was an uncultured man several years older than Vernon, addicted to flashy clothing, and apparently well supplied with money. From the moment I saw this man I felt an instinctive dislike for him. His conversation was in bad taste, and the first evening he spent with us, he eyed me incessantly, assuring my husband that he had known what a "topping little woman" he had, he would not have delayed so long in paying his respects.

  After this Mr. Tucker's visits came in rapid succession. Occasionally he invited us out to cafes, cinematographic shows and cabarets, always with a vulgar, and ostentatious display of money. I would gladly have avoided his hospitality but Vernon insisted that I accompany them and reprimanded me for any display of coolness toward the man.

  He assured me that Mr. Tucker was a person of wealth and influence engaged in many prosperous enterprises and that the cultivation of his friendship was bound to result in a solution of his own difficulties, and that I was therefore to treat him with the greatest consideration. I could not imagine what kind of business the man was engaged in – and doubted whether it could be anything of a very respectable nature, but when I questioned Vernon on this score, his answers were evasive – Mr. Tucker's interests were many and varied. Horse racing I found out later. Within a short space of time his visits were of nightly occurrence, and when we did not go to a show or a café, he sat around until eleven or twelve o'clock, listening to Vernon and looking at me. My intuition coupled with the many more or less frank attentions Mr. Tucker paid me told me that he was more interested in me than in my husband. There are things which a woman instinctively knows and though I was innocent and unsuspecting to a fault I simply "felt" the things this man was thinking as he sat in our little parlor, his eyes devouring my every movement, and I was astonished that Vernon did not perceive what was to me so obvious.

  Soon Mr. Tucker was bringing huge boxes of candy tied with flaming red ribbons and other gifts which, in order not to give my husband further reason to chide me for lack of cordiality I reluctantly accepted. About this time I observed that Vernon was never without spending money, which I did not doubt was being supplied by this mysterious and accommodation friend whose attention to me was likewise becoming more and more pronounced. Vernon's slight preoccupation with the interest the man was now openly displaying in me, filled me with amazement. I could not understand it.

  One night after I had shaken Mr. Tucker's hand off my arm several times in succession, I said to him:

  "Vernon, I simply can't stand that man. He is too fresh. What in the world do you see in him to have him hanging around here all the time?"

  "Listen, Eedy!" replied my husband, "George is the best friend I've got and it's a damned shame you're so stand-offish with him. If you had any real interest in seeing me get on my feet, you wouldn't treat him so cold!"

  "But, Vernon, what has that got to do with his having his hands on me all the time? I don't like it!"

  "Aw, hell! What do you want to do? Make him sore at us?"

  I subsided although I was inwardly much perturbed at my husband's singular attitude. It seemed as though each day was bringing some new disillusion.

  A few nights later Mr. Tucker suggested that instead of going out for the evening we send for beer and sandwiches at h
is expense and enjoy ourselves at home. Vernon seconded the idea with enthusiasm and immediately volunteered to go after the necessary ingredients. Supplied with money by the always accommodating Mr. Tucker he put on his hat and coat and went out.

  "Girlie," said Mr. Tucker as soon as we were alone, "there's nothing I wouldn't do for you."

  "Thank you, Mr. Tucker."

  "You know, I think a lot of Vernie, but I think a lot of you, too."

  "Yes, I know you are a good friend to Vernon, Mr. Tucker."

  He arose, drew his chair closer to mine, placed his hand on my knee familiarly, and continued:

  "I know you're kind of up against it here. A sweet little girl like you ought not to be working. What Vernie needs is somebody to back him up, and I'm the chappie that's going to do it."

  He patted my knee affectionately.

  "I'm sure my husband will appreciate anything you do for him."

  "And you…?" he whispered sentimentally, and at the same time his hand dropped down over the calf of my leg and began to squeeze it.

  There was an implication in his words I didn't like. Also his act in feeling my leg in such a familiar manner aroused my anger. Moving my chair sufficiently to dislodge his hands, I said coldly:

  "I am Vernon's wife, Mr. Tucker."

  After a long delay Vernon returned with bottled stout, sandwiches, cheese and other comestibles.

  "Well, how did you folks get along while I was gone?" he exclaimed breezily. "You know, George," he continued, shaking his finger with a waggish gesture, "I wouldn't trust Eedy alone with anybody but you!"

  "Damned if I didn't think you'd be safe in trusting her with pretty near anyone," responded Mr. Tucker sourly, whereupon my husband cast a sharp glance in my direction.

  "You two haven't been quarreling, have you?"

  "Of course, we haven't been quarreling, Vernon! Mr. Tucker has been telling me how much he thinks of you."

  The bottles were opened, and under the mellow influence of the liquid contents the momentary tension relaxed and Mr. Tucker and Vernon were soon in a good humor again. Before the evening was over I received another shock for my husband told a story which although it convulsed Mr. Tucker with laughter, suffused my face with shame at hearing it in his presence.