The Altar of Venus E-Book

Andrew F. Hornby

• Herausgeber: Erotic eBooks
• Kategorie: Erotik
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2012

Beschreibung

"The Altar of Venus" is a classic Victorian erotic novel written by James Jennings, published in 1890. It contains graphic sexual descriptions and themes.

Leseprobe

The Altar of Venus

Andrew F. Hornby

The Altar of Venus 1890Andrew F. HornbyThis ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with.If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should purchase your own copy.First edition 2012

Chapter I

Children! Are they the same the world over–does sexual precocity break out amongst them in certain localities at certain periods, something like an epidemic of measles from which few are immune, while in other places and at other times, they escape unscathed? Certain it is that my own childhood was lived in an atmosphere redolent with sexuality and this despite the fact that my home environment was the best. My parents, indeed, held to the most Puritanical notions and doubtless would have been literally dumbfounded with horror had they ever gotten the slightest hint as to what was taking place almost under their very noses.

Either their own lives had matured under conditions quite different from mine or the passing years had obliterated all remembrance of juvenile deviltry, for assuredly no suspicion as to what was transpiring about them, almost, as I have suggested, close enough to be smelled, ever arose to preoccupy their well-ordered lives during my childhood days.

Confidences exchanged in later years with adult friends indicate that while many went through experiences similar to mine, the lives of others were singularly barren of juvenile romance or precocity. To the lips of the former, therefore, my stories may bring a smile as old memories stir, and they are carried back over the highway of years by the narration of some incident which had a counterpart in their own lives, and to the latter, a sigh of regret at something missed in life.

I do not propose to fill up space with the narration of incidents other than those in which some curious, unique or laughable element justifies their telling. With this brief prelude, I begin my story.

I was born in the year 1900. My birthplace, an English city, with some thirty thousand population. My parents, though not rich, were moderately well off and we lived in the comfortable fashion of the middle class English family. I was an only child and as such was humored to a certain extent, but I was also ruled with disciplinarian firmness, for my father, a grave, silent man, was quick enough to take note of juvenile insubordination, and as quick to chastise it. I held him in great respect, with which was mingled a certain degree of awe.

I place the age at which I experienced my first sexual excitation definitely identified with a female at somewhere between five and six. I say definitely identified with a female because I had observed a periodic hardening and expansion of that curious little appendage that hung between my legs, which phenomenon generally occurred in the early morning, or when I was being bathed. More than once I had been on the point of asking my mother for an explanation of its peculiar conduct, but some instinctive reticence always sealed my lips just as the question was mentally formulated. Certainly, up until almost my eighth year I was entirely unaware of the differences between the sexes and blissfully ignorant of all things pertaining thereto. But about the time I was six years old the association of a female was for the first time linked up with erotic sensations. It was of a rather insignificant nature and transpired under the following circumstances: For a year or more my mother, failing in health, had been confined to her room. There was in the domestic employ, an elderly woman who acted in the capacity of general housekeeper, and amongst whose varied and multiple obligations devolved that of watching over and endeavoring to keep me out of mischief. When I was about six years old, she retired from our service and in her place came a maid of seventeen or eighteen. Her appearance was attractive, her manner genial, and I soon developed a strong liking for her.

This girl had been duly authorized to punish me for disobedience, or other infractions of the household piece, corporal punishment being the prescribed remedy. But she was a good-natured, kindhearted damsel and it wasn’t until I had committed a particularly malevolent piece of mischief one day that she lost her temper momentarily, turned me across her knee, and gave me a paddling. The blows were not of sufficient severity to cause me any real discomfort, and something about the position in which she held me across her knees, or perhaps some dormant instinct awakened by the contact of her hand on my bottom, began to work on my sexual nerve centers and resulted in a muscular reaction similar to that which I had observed on other occasions already referred to. In addition, I now became aware of a decidedly pleasurable sensation which was stealing through my body, a sensation which seemed to be forming in and radiating from the regions about my groin. The condition I was in must have become apparent to her through the pressure of a hard little cock against her thigh for she abruptly discontinued the chastisement, and I perceived a smile on her lips as she stood me back on the floor.

From that time on I sought ways and means of securing repetitions of this pleasant punishment, and the obliging damsel, entering into the spirit of things, accommodated me generously. But the method first employed was improved upon. Subsequent spankings were not administered without first lowering or removing my trousers, and while the spanking was in progress the amiable girl held me in such a position that while one hand was dealing blows of just enough vim to warm my naked bottom, the other could be insinuated under my groin, and cupped my cock and testicles. The soft pressure and contact of her hand upon these organs caused me such exquisite tremors as to motivate constant efforts on my part to provide her with pretexts, which I instinctively sensed to be necessary, for more and better spankings.

Now, it might reasonably have been expected that these little incursions into the realms of concupiscence would have paved the way to others of more advanced nature. But such was not the case; she never ventured to extend the simple repertoire nor did it ever occur to me to so much as wonder what she might have between her own legs. For upward of a year the spankings continued and then, much to my regret, she took her departure from our midst. And though it concerned me not the slightest at the time, I often speculated in the years as to precisely what there had been for her in all this and what pleasure she could have derived from the performance. Possibly the mere handling and fingering of my small but eminently masculine attributes in their state of sexual excitation reacted upon her own sensibilities, provoking a species of reciprocal echo. At any rate, I remember her with the kindliest feelings of appreciation.

I was seven years old when I made an important discovery. In the yard which surrounded our home were a number of trees. Among them was one of the eucalyptus variety, slim and straight as an arrow. Some six or seven inches in diameter at the base, its verdant bark as smooth as silk and not a branch or twig to mar its lissom symmetry for thirty or forty feet above the ground. There was something distinctly feminine about this young tree. Perhaps it was the smooth, beautiful bark and its slender gracefulness which set it apart in vivid contrast with its gnarled and rugged companions.

One afternoon, having nothing better to do, I endeavored to climb this tree by the “shinning” process. As you may not know just what the term means I will explain that, having no limbs or protuberances within reach which would provide footholds, the only way to climb such a tree was to wrap one’s arms and legs tightly about the trunk, and by virtue of much wriggling and squirming, work one’s way upward inch by inch. I had succeeded in hunching myself upward a short distance in this fashion when I began to feel again that delicious tremor which the hand of our erstwhile maid had formerly provoked. It was being produced by the friction and rubbing of my cock against the tree. When I realized this I clamped my legs tighter and wriggled, the more pronounced became that teasingly, pleasant sensation. I redoubled my efforts, and abruptly something seemed to burst down there inside, and as it burst, a wave of delicious sensations was radiated through my body from head to foot. I had experienced my first orgasm. Half dazed, forgetting that I was at some elevation, I relaxed my grip on the tree, and half slid, half fell to the ground, where for some moments I lay in a state of amazed wonder. When my wits returned, I essayed another climb, but the nice feeling refuse to repeat itself. Another effort the next day was more successful and, needless to state, that tree was for some time hence the object of my most fervent adoration. So I may say with all truthfulness that my first sweetheart was a slender young tree. I remained faithful to this love until in the due course of time, I fount that the nice feeling could be reproduced in a far simpler and much less arduous manner, namely, a little manual manipulation, and then the tree went into discard.

At nine I was in my second year of school and was being initiated (in theory) in the mechanism of love by well-informed young companions. An intriguing word of four letters was being constantly brought to my attention as it appeared mysteriously chalked on the walls of toilets, sometimes in more public places. The little girls snickered, giggled, or blushed at covertly whispered words, or signs and motions. Or with simulated indignation threatened to “tell the teacher.” I knew now that these little girls had something between their legs entirely different from what boys had; something in the nature of an opening, provided for the express purpose of having a boy’s cock inserted therein, and that when so inserted both parties to the transaction enjoyed ineffable delights. And my heart hungered for practical demonstrations. But, alas, I was not of a bold and forward disposition, and could not bolster up my courage to the point of asking a girl to “do it” with me, the proper formula, according to my more venturesome comrades. And so, I had to content myself with listening to their tales of conquests, while my heart was consumed with envy. I would have blushed with shame to have been obliged to confess it, but up to this period I had never so much as glimpsed a single instance that mysterious region between a little girl’s legs. True, they played and disported themselves at times with careless abandon, in which short dresses were well elevated, but they invariably had on panties which effectually concealed the salient point of interest. With what enthusiasm would I have hailed a law prohibiting the use of panties by girls.

There was one for whom I eventually came to feel an overwhelming passion, but my love was mixed with awe; I guarded it a close secret, nor ventured by word or act to convey any indication of its existence to the object of my adoration. Her name was Flora. A golden haired little fairy who wore her hair in long curls. Flora’s age was about that of my own or possibly a little younger. I watched and admired from the distance, and was filled with rage when one boy, a coarse, displeasing fellow in my opinion, calmly observed that he had “done it" with Flora. It was a lie, I felt certain, a bit of bragging designed to awaken the envy of his hearers, but I hated him cordially from that moment and on the slightest provocation would have picked a fight with him.

I passed my waking hours in daydreams of Flora. Before falling to sleep at night I imagined delicious situations in which she and I were thrown together under circumstances which forced us to sleep together. We were marooned on tropical islands, or lost in the wilds. In fancy I hugged her naked body to mine, touched and caressed her limbs, fondled her to my heart’s content and delighted my eyes with the vision of her nude loveliness, to fall asleep at last with my cock sticking straight up while Flora danced through fantastic dreams.

’Tis said that all things come to him who waits. And one Saturday afternoon I passed by a vacant lot in which a group of youngsters from my neighborhood were playing. Flora was amongst them. Somebody shouted my name, calling me to join them. Not having business elsewhere of sufficient importance to offset the pleasure of being near Flora, I immediately accepted the invitation. Little did I suspect it at the moment, but wonderful things were in store for me that sunny June afternoon. It is thus that Fortune favors us when we least expect her grace.

After a while the charming little mistress of my heart approached me, and with a friendly smile on her face, whispered:

“Let’s you and I run off somewhere and play by ourselves.”

Had the sun suddenly turned green I could not have been more surprised. It was the first time she had ever addressed me except in the most impersonal manner. Furthermore, the secretive way in which she had communicated the little message, the furtive look she cast toward the others as she whispered it, were pregnant with romance. My heart leaped with pleasure as I nodded my conformity.

“All right! Come on!” she answered in a low voice, and together we slipped away unobserved by the rest. When we had rounded a corner, and were out of their range of vision, she again placed her lips close to my ear and shielding her mouth with her hand whispered:

“Let’s go to the park and play married.”

The surprise I had received when she first addressed me was nothing compared to the electrical effect of this second communication, for the expression “playing married” had a very concise, and unmistakable meaning in our little world–a meaning which admitted of no misinterpretations.

The park she referred to was an extension of land which traversed the northern section of the city and which was destined some day to become a public part, having been purchased by the municipality for this purpose. At this time however, it was nothing but an uncultivated tract of ground, overgrown with weeds and wild shrubbery. Through the center of this terrain ran a deep gulch in which water had sometime flowed. It was dry now and there were occasional deposits of clean, white sand in the boulder-strewn bed. Its precipitate banks were overhung with vines and wild vegetation.

This so-called park enjoyed a peculiar reputation among the young folks. It was referred with sly looks and smiles, for it was supposed to be the scene of most of the amorous adventures which took place between juvenile gallants and accommodating misses. Certainly, the secluded nooks and refuges available amidst its verdant shrubbery lent themselves admirably to the game of “playing married.”

So off we trotted and five minutes later, breathless and flushed, we were at the outskirts of the park described. We slipped under a wire fence, and were soon scurrying through the underbrush toward the gulch itself. When we reached it we followed its bank until we found a place which afforded a safe descent, and then, jumping, slipping and sliding we reached the bottom.

From the beginning Flora had taken the initiative. I accepted her leadership, and acquiesced to each suggestion she offered. I was still tongue-tied with timidity. Truly, the female of the species is, at certain ages, more venturesome than the male! After a short exploration we found a cozy little nook almost entirely concealed behind a curtain of green foliage, and ideal little love nest requiring no alterations except the clearing away from its sandy floor of an accumulation of rubbish and dead leaves. We set to work and quickly cleaned out this refuse until nothing remained but clean sand. Satisfied with the results of our labors, we sat down to rest for a moment. The position in which Flora was sitting afforded a generous glimpse of her tight little panties and between this and other anticipated revelations my nerves were tingling with excitement. After a short silence, during which she eyed me expectantly, she suddenly arose and exclaimed:

“Well, if we’re going to play married, you have to take your pants off! I’ll take mine off!”

And suiting action to word, with perfect sangfroid and without the least embarrassment she raised her dress and unfastened the garment to which she had referred. It slid down her legs and was kicked off to one side. I got up and began fumbling with my own buttons. My fingers were numb and torpid and it was an interminable length of time before I got my trousers and underwear off. And now I became aware of an embarrassing condition which further contributed to my confusion. One which two or three subsequent occasions in my life made itself apparent much to my mortification and disgust.

Something which on countless occasions had risen valiantly at the mere thought of seeing Flora naked and which had been standing up manfully while we were arranging the nest, now failed me treacherously and was hanging with its head down in the most listless and dejected attitude possible to imagine. Flora gazed at it a moment and exclaimed:

“Why, your dickie isn’t stiff yet!”

There was no denying this allegation, and I remained silent. However, she evidently regarded the condition as amenable to correction, and with worldly wisdom, added:

“Look at me between the legs and it will get stiff!”

So saying, she lifted her dress and separating her thighs, arched her body outward to that her little cleft was exposed in all its juvenile nudity.

What were my emotions, as I stared wide-eyed at that tiny portion of feminine anatomy which had so long intrigued my imagination, and on which I was now gazing for the first time in actually? Too mixed and confused to render description possible. My fascinated eyes perceived that what I had supposed to be something in the nature of a hole or a round opening was instead a narrow cleft–a cleft resembling a tiny valley between two plump little hills. A valley that, starting from a little dimple, coursed downward, and curved inward between her thighs. It was like the letter “V” with a straight line down through the center! Surely a boy’s thing couldn’t be pushed very far into that tight, narrow little place. Probably it was only supposed to be rubbed along the length of the valley, between the fat little hills.

Meanwhile the efficacy of Flora’s homeopathic remedy for impotency was making itself apparent, and my cock began to straighten out. It lifted itself upward with little jerks, and before many moments it was standing out horizontally, as form and hard as it had been before.

As soon as she was satisfied that its condition was favorable to her purpose, a condition she verified by extending her hand and testing its rigidity with her fingers, she twisted her dress around her waist, and lay down on the sand. I knew enough to place myself on my knees between her open legs. Inclining my body over hers, I managed to get the head of my cock between the plump little lips and commenced to bob up and down, pressing and rubbing against her.

She stood this curious treatment for a few moments and then pushing me away from her, she sat up.

“Silly! That isn’t the way! You have to make it go in!”

Without waiting for apologies, she extended her body out again on the sand, took my cock between her fingers, got the tip of it inserted and started in the right direction, and with a sudden upward heave secured its complete intromission. Guided by instinct I raised and lowered my hips in unison with the undulating movements she imparted on her own. The friction of her hot little genitals and their moist embrace as they clung to and sucked at my cock brought the natural reaction, and as the preliminary tremors of ecstasy began to make themselves felt, I accelerated my movements. And with the acceleration the pleasure intensified. Frantically I worked my cock in and out of the tight, wet little lips which clung on it so caressingly.

Ah, if I could live them over again I would draw those happy moments into hours of delight, extending and prolonging each precious, celestial second into indefinite lengths. But alas, I knew nothing of the principles of conserving energy or scientific methods of prolonging to its utmost the all too fleeting pleasure and thought only to reach culmination, divine instant as quickly as possible.

Just as I was trembling on the verge of a sterile but sweet deliciously sweet orgasm, her legs flashed up and engaged themselves tightly about my body, and from her lips emerged a series of exclamations which testified to the measure of her own sensations. She clung to me for a moment then her arms relaxed their grip about my neck. She disengaged her legs from my body and lay back upon the sand. There was an expression on her face, as she eyed me covertly from under half-closed lids, which denoted something of surprise as well as satisfaction.

We got up a few minutes later and I took a final look at the little bisected “V” at the base of her stomach which had provided me with what would probably be the tenderest memory of my life. In silence she replaced her panties, smoothed out her clothes and stood waiting for me to finish dressing. Then, when we were ready to leave, she snuggled her hand into mine, glanced shyly at me and murmured:

“Gee, it felt nice, didn’t it?”

That night as I lay awake reviewing the momentous event I suddenly remembered that despite all the castles in the air I had built up in my imagination around just such an occasion, I had not kissed her when the opportunity was at hand. No, not a single kiss or caress of any nature aside from the copulation itself. Nor had I scarcely more than touched with my fingers that seductive and mysterious little cleft. And part of my complacency changed to chagrin as I realized all I had missed by my silly bashfulness.

From that day on my character began to undergo a change. My shyness and reticence fell away and while at certain times it returned to plague me temporarily, I was generally bold and venturesome whenever I had the slightest reason to think I knew my ground.

My next rendezvous with Flora was effected through my own initiative. Our relative positions changed and it was I who assumed leadership. Her manner toward me was respectful, submissive, as if in a certain sense she belonged to me, and this time I put into execution every fancy my inexperienced mind could conceive. I petted, caressed, fondled and handled her to my heart’s content. I made a close ocular examination of the mysterious domain between her plump, white little thighs. I even ventured to explore the interior depths with an inquisitive finger. To all this manipulation she submitted patiently, apparently gratified at my interest. When I had looked, handled and caressed my fill, I placed myself between her outstretched thighs, and without any false movements this time, got my cock into her, and handled it to such good effect that were both soon gasping with pleasure.

After this I progressed rapidly. Not to be outdone by other boys who boasted of many conquests I began to make advances to other little girls, and was amazed at the facility with which I obtained their complaisance. Some indeed repulsed me–there were girls like that–foolish little things, who wouldn’t know what was good for them–but there were plenty of others, and so I mentally consigned the obstinate ones to the dark regions, and devoted my attentions to those who were amenable to reason. Flora herself presented a little friend who blushingly confessed to desire to “try it” once. To my mystification, an intact hymen in this instance obstructed a successful demonstration and in my ignorance of feminine physiology I attributed the failure to a sad defect in her little body–she had been born without a hole! I had yet to learn that maidenheads were at a premium.

A boy friend confided that he had “done it” with his sister, aged twelve.

“We got playing up in the hay loft in the barn and I got down and looked at her cunny. Then she wanted to look at mine, and so I let her. Then I told her she had to do it with me. She didn’t want to, but I made her. Now we sneak up there and do it lots.”

The girl in question was such a sedate quiet miss that I was astonished and really doubted the truth of the story, but it aroused my lubricity and I asked him if he would get her to do it with me too. He said he would, and his efforts as an “ambassador” of love in my behalf were so successful that an agreement was promptly arrived at. Upon an alter of sweet scented hay, under the dusty rafters of the old barn, the blushing, but willing victim of this libidinous sacrifice to Venus was offered up. Sans panties, and with dress up she permitted me to take my place between her outstretched legs and drain the cup of love while her young brother looked on complacently. When I had finished he quickly took my place, and without undue embarrassment at my presence, inserted his small cigar shaped cock in her and gave her a second work out.

The next day she communicated to me by means of a note surreptitiously slipped into my hand at recess that if I would wait for her after school at a certain place we could “do that again that we did yesterday.”

Another little youngster of nine or ten, a veritable Messalina in the budding, conceded her favors to four of us en masse. In the basement of the deserted schoolhouse, to which we gained access through an unlatched window one Saturday afternoon, she stripped off both panties and dress for our edification, and one by one, untroubled by an excess of spectators or hygienic considerations, we took turns in prodding her with our small but rigid little cocks.

According to orthodox theories these little girls were all on the road to inevitable ruin if not already there. Yet to my personal knowledge with respect to several of them, they grew up, married and lived normal and respectable lives. One indeed who had been particularly liberal with her favors–I doubt if there was a boy in the entire neighborhood for whom she hadn’t removed her panties at least once–I met some sixteen years later. At first I failed to recognize in the modest, well-dressed young matron and mother of a beautiful child of two, a former youthful partner in fornication. But something stirred in my and without stopping to think that perhaps she would prefer not to have the past recalled, I asked her if she hadn’t lived in such and such a neighborhood in her childhood. She nodded assent. “Don’t you remember me?” I asked impulsively, repeating my first name. “No, I don’t recall you!” she replied. “Why I–” and then I saw that her cheeks were blazing. Belatedly, my own face burning with the sudden comprehension of my tactless interrogation, I changed the subject.

At thirteen I was growing rapidly, was quite tall and well developed, this also contrary to certain other accepted theories, for according to all authorities on the subject, such excesses as I was indulging in should irrevocably have undermined my health. For in addition to fucking every little girl I could wheedle into removing her panties I also masturbated myself with more or less frequency. One day I ran across an old medical book containing drawings and diagrams of the human form in various stages of revelation. The book intrigued my prurient interest, and while searching it for more illustrations, I came upon a chapter on masturbation which, hastily read, chilled the blood in my veins and sent me flying to the mirror to see how many of the visible signs, so luridly described, were visible in my own countenance. According to this book, boys who practiced the destructive vice were recognizable under a cursory examination. Their eyes were dull and lifeless, the lids discolored and swollen. Their faces were sallow, and even their self-conscious and nervous demeanor was sufficient to betray their guilty secret. All unfortunate boys addicted to this vicious habit were doomed. Insanity, consumption, premature old age were all lurking close at their elbows. A rapid calculation as I rushed to a mirror told me that I had been at it for four years or more, and it was indeed with a sigh of relief that I scrutinized the reflection which gazed back into my anxious eyes. No signs of senile decay were visible. My complexion was clear and rosy, my eyes bright and limpid. And I certainly was not undersized, for my physique was such that I was generally taken to be at least two years older than I really was. A prolonged examination dissipated my fright, but I had received a shock, and thereafter I indulged in masturbation only on special occasions. As the book said nothing about anything disagreeable happening to boys who fucked little girls, I assumed that no evil consequences need be anticipated from this direction.

At fourteen, I was associating with boys several years older than myself, some of whom had had experiences with adult females, some even with prostitutes. In the light of their revelations, my own little adventures seemed insipid and infantile. I learned of mysterious houses where one could go and have his choice from among a number of luscious females on display in the nude. There was a certain section of the city allotted to their special occupancy, whole blocks of buildings devoted to the traffic of commercialized sexual pleasures.

Grown women! It must feel much nicer to do it with an adult woman than with an immature, inexperienced little girl! The thought grew, obsessed me, set my fancy on fire. And still I dared not think of trying to enter one of these palaces of delight, for though I knew where they were located, boys under eighteen were not supposed to be admitted. I could pass for sixteen easy enough, but hardly eighteen.

One of my friends became the envied owner of a packet of pictures of nude women. They were passed from hand to hand. I persuaded the fortunate owner to let me take them home with me overnight. I wanted to enjoy them in private, at leisure, in the seclusion of my room. One by one I examined them with my cock sticking up and threatening to go off by mere force of mental stimulation. What took my eye was the fascinating triangle of curly hair which stood out so prominently on the pubic regions of the models. None of the little girls I had dealings with had hair down there, or at least more than a soft, incipient, almost imperceptible growth. The thick, curly profusion which adorned the sexual regions of the ladies in these pictures held my eyes in fascination. What an exquisite sensation those crisp curls would provoke as they tickled one’s cock and testicles. And their breasts, full, round and luscious, projecting outward like snowy hills! Not a girl I knew had anything to compare with what these pictures revealed.

As I studied them, my hand unconsciously dropped downward over an erected cock which was fairly bristling with fury. And, unable to resist the urge, I jacked myself off with rapid strokes. As orgasm took place several jets of milky fluid spurted outward. My testicles were secreting semen and I now constituted a first-class risk to damsels of twelve and upward who were indiscreet enough to let me squirt that hot starchy looking stuff between their legs. When the last drop had been squeezed out, I sighed, hid the pictures under my mattress, and turned out the light.

I wanted a mature woman, one who had hair around her cunt and big breasts and I wanted her with all the ardor of my being. But there was no woman I dared approach. Then, as unexpectedly as golden haired little Flora had entered my life, Fortune led me, or I might say, actually shoved me, right into circumstances which culminated in the fulfillment of my ambition.

Among my acquaintances was a boy by the name of Gerald. Having interests in common we formed a species of alliance although he was somewhat younger than I. He invited me to his home and thus I came to meet his mother. One look and I was head over heels in love. She was everything imaginable in feminine pulchritude. Around thirty but still conserving a youthful beauty which might well have been the envy of women much younger, small and petite of figure, with a pair of bubbies which projected her blouse out in front in the most amazing manner, she fairly made my mouth water. I could hardly take my eyes off of her during the time I was in the house. She was a widow, Gerald’s father having died years previously. Evidently she had married at a very tender age. It was apparent that Gerald was the pride of her life, and any of Gerald’s friends were treated with royal consideration. My visits became frequent, and I was invariably regaled with cake, mince pie, plum pudding or some other gastric delicacy. But it wasn’t the cake, or the pie, or the pudding which drew me. I came to look, and long, and sigh. Presumably my passion was unsuspected, but at times she seemed to be eyeing me with a quizzical, understanding expression on her face.

One afternoon Gerald and I decided to entertain ourselves by making and flying a pair of kites. We secured paper, twine, sticks, and other essentials. While engaged in this for once entirely innocent occupation, Gerald’s mother brought us two big glasses of lemonade, and some chocolate cake. She was going to town, she said, and was serving us this luncheon so we wouldn’t get hungry meanwhile.

Gerald and I finished out kites, and carried them to the square six blocks distant. He soon had his floating in the sky, but mine, solicitously guided by the finger of Destiny tried to argue the right of way with an electric light wire and before I could extricate it, it was badly damaged. Repairs necessitated both paper and paste, so while Gerald remained, I returned with the intention of getting these essentials from his mother. When I ascended the front steps, and rang the bell, there was no response. As I waited, I suddenly remembered that she had, presumably, gone to town. In a tentative way, I tried the door and found somewhat to my surprise that it was unlocked. Knowing exactly where to find the things I desired, I opened the door and walked in. From the parlor a hall led to the kitchen and in this direction I turned my steps. I was exactly half way through this long hall, when the door to the bath room, just ahead of me, swung open and Gerald’s mother stepped out into the hall, fresh from the tub and stripped stark naked except for her hose and slippers.

It would have been difficult to say which of us was the most astounded. We both froze in our tracks gazing at each other, wordless with surprise. I opened my mouth to make some explanation, but a correct formula of apology to offer a lady under such circumstances was beyond me and I closed it again without having uttered a word. There seemed to be a haze in the air which partially obscured my sight and through it I perceived a black triangle which gradually resolved into a glossy silky profusion of tight little ri [...]