The next patron to whom my companionship was pledged by the astute Madame Lafronde was Mr. Heely. Mr. Heely had been until now what was termed an occasional parlor visitor. He drank little and had never taken a girl upstairs, but he was very liberal with gratuities and it was suspected that he was more than well-to-do. He was a man somewhat between fifty-five and sixty, very courtly and dignified, a gentleman of the old school.
Until my advent in the bordello he had, on the occasion of his rather infrequent visits, confined himself to sitting quietly in a corner, a silent onlooker as a rule, sipping an occasional peculiar combination of liquor which was mixed in accordance with his own instructions. Sometimes he would engage a girl in conversation and after he had departed the subject of the conversation would be reported with considerable amusement. The nice old gentleman could find nothing more interesting to discuss with a half-naked girl than politics, economics and postwar social problems!
Nevertheless, the rewards which were falling to girls who were alert enough to accord him courteous hearing were sufficiently generous to have attracted Madame Lafronde's unerring eye, and she had him tabulated for future attention.
Now I had observed a more than casual interest in Mr. Heely's attitude toward me in the course of my ambulations about the salon, and had perceived the covert squeeze he always gave my hand as he pressed a liberal tip into it after selecting the single cigar he invariably tucked away in his pocket. Consequently, it was with no great surprise that on being called downstairs early one evening to the little private room which Madame Lafronde reserved for confidential business, I found Mr. Heely with her and learned that I was the subject of the interview.
“Dear Mr. Heely has taken a fancy to you, child. If it were anyone but him, I would positively not consider the matter for a moment. But Mr. Heely is an honorable gentleman, my child. He knows your… ah… untarnished condition, my dear, and he will be quite contented to… ah… enjoy your companionship without encroaching on your… ah… virginal integrity. In fact, my dear, Mr. Heely doesn't care for the sophisticated type, and it was exactly your… ah… so apparent maidenly innocence which intrigued his… ah… admiration. Hereafter, my dear, you will be at liberty to receive Mr. Heely any evening he wishes to call on you. You may let him select one night each week.”
Mr. Heely bowed courteously.
“But I hope my attentions will not be distasteful to Miss Jessie,” he interposed gently. “Perhaps we should consult her first before coming to any definite understanding. I assure her, and you also, Madame, that I will be most considerate in my demands, and will endeavor to reward each of you in a suitable manner for your kindness. Do you think you could care for me as a good friend?” he added anxiously, turning to me.
Madame Lafronde's peculiar words had filled me with amazement. I did not know what to make of the conversation. Mr. Heely was watching me with an intent, almost supplicating look on his face. I glanced uncertainly at Madame Lafronde. As I did so, the lid of her left eye descended slowly. Her face was solemn, impassive.
“Yes, Sir,” I answered, “I'm sure I could care for you. Very much indeed, Sir.”
The alliance was pledged over three tiny glasses of wine and it was agreed that the following evening I was to be at Mr. Heely's disposition and thereafter the same night each week.
As soon as the interview was concluded I rushed upstairs to find Hester. Into her attentive ear I poured the details of the mysterious contract. My mystification was so genuine that she nearly burst with laughter.
“But what does he want with me, what does he expect me to do?” I begged.
“The old fool has taken it for gospel truth that you're only fifteen years old and that you've never had a cock in you,” she answered finally, wiping her eyes. “He'll be a regular gold mine. I had one like that once. He preached religion to me and sucked me off between sermons. I'll bet all you'll have to do with that man will be to let him go down on you. Those old fellows always want to do that. You'll have to pretend it's the first time, act ashamed, take on, cry about it afterwards a little and, baby, will he fill your stocking with bank notes!”
How different people were in real life to what they seemed, I reflected, as the picture which Hester's words evoked passed before my mind's eye. That dignified, cultured, respectable, elderly gentleman going down on me! It was too bizarre, too preposterous. It didn't seem possible.
Hester broke in on the train of thoughts which were passing through my head.
“Really, darling, you're lucky. Imagine having something like that supposed Italian count wished on you.”
“I heard Lafronde tell Rhoda she could chase him if he got too rough with her.”
This count, real or alleged, constituted something of a house scandal. He had the whipping mania, and though Rhoda submitted to him voluntarily, the pain he inflicted on her caused her to shriek in a way which alarmed everyone within hearing.
“I think she's half in love with the crazy brute. Do you know what he does to her? He puts her across his knees just like a baby, and whips her on the bare bottom with one of her slippers. He keeps her bottom black and blue.”
“What in the world does he do it for? What possible pleasure can he possibly get from hurting her?”
“Oh, what do any of them do funny things for? It gives him a hard-on, I suppose. Imagine having a man whip you like that and then wanting to fuck you afterwards.”
Madame Lafronde opened the door and came in.
“You'll have to get up early tomorrow morning and go shopping with me,” she said. “Mr. Heely has given some very specific instructions about your wearing apparel. Your present mode of dress is not in keeping with his ideas as to what nice girls should wear. And…” she continued dryly, glancing at a penciled list in her hand, “he has provided the funds necessary to renovate your wardrobe.”
As a result of the shopping expedition which was duly effected the following day, I found myself in possession of some new clothes which, though of the finest and most expensive material, were so incongruously at variance with the ambient in which they were to be worn that I could only look at them with amazement.
There were three black silk dresses with cream-colored lace cuffs and bodices, all of the same general type, but varying in minor details of style and trimming. They were very beautiful, but of a style suitable for extremely young misses, and reached barely to my knees. Underwear there was in profusion, but instead of the slithery, diaphanous tinted silk I would have selected, it was of the finest English linen and cambric; slips, petticoats, and panties with little bands of lace around their edges, and all snow-white. There were two pair of little, round-toed, low-heeled patent leather pumps, and a long narrow box filled with black silk hose.
As we unpacked the purchases Madame Lafronde said:
“Ah, yes, I nearly forgot to tell you, my dear, that your new gentleman has a special abhorrence of rouge, lipstick and face powder. He prefers nature in the raw. So you may abstain from employing your usual artifices on the occasion of his visits.”
I nodded my head in assent. My mind was still floundering in a maze of contradictory whys and wherefores.
“Can you tell me, please, just what that man expects of me?”
“My girl, I haven't the slightest idea. But I don't doubt he'll treat you kindly. Men of his age often have very curious whims and ideas. My experience is that it's profitable to cater to them. Use your brains; find what pleases him, and act accordingly. If the screwy old fool thinks he has found a fifteen-year-old innocent running around naked in a whorehouse don't destroy his illusion. It will pay dividends. But remember this: he made the proposition himself that he would respect your alleged purity and right now he intends to live up to it. But if he runs true to form, before very long he'll be itching to get his pecker between your legs. And after he's fucked you two or three times it will be good-bye Mr. Heely. Now I'm only speaking in the light of experience. There are exceptions to every rule, and he might be one of them. So use your brains, girl, use your brains. This is your chance to show what you can do.”
At eight o'clock I bathed preparatory to dressing for the evening. One of the pretty little black frocks was laid out on the bed waiting for me, together with the childish underwear, the silk hose and the patent leather pumps.
Having a little time to spare I decided to get out a jar of depilatory cream I had bought that day with the idea of using it in preference to a razor. To my great satisfaction it removed the hair thoroughly and easily without leaving the suggestion of a stubble which, try as I might, I had not been able to eliminate entirely with a safety razor.
The pubic mound and the sides of my cunny felt as smooth and velvety to the touch as a baby's skin. According to the information which accompanied the preparation, hair would not reappear for some time as it was destroyed clear down to the roots. This would be a great convenience, as the task of shaving frequently was growing irksome.
When Mr. Heely appeared promptly at the specified hour of ten, I was all ready for him, waiting demurely in my room, dressed in a little girl's silk frock which barely reached my knees, my hair neatly combed back and tied with a ribbon, and my face sedately free of any artificial coloring or embellishment. There had been much giggling and laughter when earlier in the evening I had paraded this ensemble before the eyes of my companions. Even Madame Lafronde had laughed.
In one hand Mr. Heely carried a large bouquet of beautiful hothouse flowers, in the other a square package containing a box of delicious candied fruit confections. I thanked him for his gifts, took his hat and coat, and arranged the flowers on my little table.
What should I say to him? What should I do? The thoughts buzzed in my head as I toyed with the flowers to gain time to decide, and ended by doing nothing except sitting down before him to wait for him to begin a conversation.
Considering our previous speculations and Hester's suppositions the visit simmered down to what constituted almost ludicrous simplicity and naivete. Mr. Heely did absolutely nothing more than sit in my room and talk, for the most part on generalized subjects, departing from these orthodox themes only now and then to pass compliments upon my appearance and conduct in his dignified, courtly way. He manifested pleasure at the good taste with which my wardrobe had been selected, and seemed to feel that I was now dressed in a seemly and befitting manner. He stayed for about two hours.
When he arose to go, he took my hand and pressed a kiss lightly upon the back of it. As he lowered it a folded bank note was resting in my palm. I did not want to look at it in his presence, so did not know until after he had gone the value of it. Before bidding me good-night he said:
“May I have the pleasure of calling upon you again next Friday, my dear?”
“Certainly, Mr. Heely, I'll be very happy to have you,” I replied.
Not until the door had closed behind him did I straighten out the folded piece of currency. Before my surprised sight was a five-pound note. I could hardly believe my eyes. Surely the good old man was out of his mind.
Straightway I rushed to find Madame Lafronde, laid the money before her and told her exactly what had transpired. She listened, smiling cynically, and pushed it back toward me.
“It's yours, girl. I've already gotten mine. Take it if you want to spend it. If you don't I'll put it away for you.”
“All of it?” I gasped.
“Certainly. Now just use your head, girl, and there'll be plenty more where that comes from. I'll get my share, and you may keep all you get from him. Wait a moment…” she called, as I turned to leave after thanking her, “here's some more advice for you. Don't brag about your good fortune to the other girls. Keep it to yourself. That old green-eyed monster is always lurking around, waiting for a chance to make trouble. Don't tell others things that will make them envy you.”
How deeply these words struck home could only be guessed by one familiar with the circumstances of my past disgrace which had come about under the very conditions against which she was now warning me. Then and there I resolved to keep such good fortune as might come my way carefully hidden from envious eyes in the future.
As far as Mr. Heely was concerned, I ceased for the moment to bother my head with trying to fathom his purposes. If he was willing to pay me five pounds for dressing up like a doll and listening to him for a couple of hours I had no reason for complaint. Both Hester and Madame Lafronde were of the opinion that he would eventually want to do something besides talk, and in this they were right in a sense, but his conduct never degenerated into anything of an obnoxious nature.
Indeed, his ingeniousness was almost pathetic, and I often felt a twingle of conscience at the imposition which was being practiced upon him. But I salved it with the thought that it would be more painful to him to be disillusioned than to be deceived. He derived a certain happiness from the strange association, and it doubtless filled some lonely space in his heart.
On his second visit he asked permission to sit on a cushion at my feet, a request which was of course granted, although for the moment I was mystified. A bit later the circumstance of the extremely short dress flashed over me and the suspicion which it engendered was verified when I observed an occasional covert glance being directed between my legs.
From this time on I was more careless as to how I sat, but even in this the kindly old gentleman had frustrated his own wishes by having provided me with panties which were so substantially made as to constitute an effectual barrier to the eye.
Slowly but progressively his familiarities advanced as the visits continued. The sitting on a cushion before my knees reminded me of Hester's predictions. It brought his face conveniently close, and I wondered… but nothing came of it. Later, he came to seating me on his lap. This provided me with an opportunity to satisfy my curiosity on another point which I had not been able to determine.
Masculine wearing apparel of present times is deficient in one particular. It is prone to reveal in a rather frank manner a certain physical condition to which men are at times subject, one which does not, on such occasions, escape the observant feminine eye. I had never noticed this condition in Mr. Heely, a circumstance which intrigued my curiosity.
Furthermore, his continued liberality was beginning to inspire me with a desire to show my gratitude in some form. It stood to reason there was something he wanted, some inner wish which perhaps he himself had not fully defined, or else was too timid and reticent to express.
And so, partly to satisfy my own curiosity, and partly actuated by a really unselfish wish to give him something in return for his generosity, I decided to encourage him a little more actively, even though this was contrary to Madame Lafronde's counsel.
It was very difficult to convince myself that he was taking this farcical “make-believe-lady” comedy seriously. How could he possibly think I was chaste and innocent, living as I was in a house of prostitution and associating with harlots? It hardly seemed possible that a man of his age and experience could be so credulous.
Surely he was, like myself, just pretending, and finding in the pretense some peculiar psychic compensation beyond my comprehension.
Surely he must know in his heart that it was all sham and fraud.
I had observed that his gaze was frequently on my legs. There are men to whom the feminine leg is almost a fetish. Also, I had not forgotten the floor-sitting inclinations. The next time he came after I had made my resolution I sat on his lap, and as he talked I worked and fumbled through the texture of my dress at my garter which I had purposely tightened until it compressed my leg unduly.
“Mr. Heely,” I murmured plaintively, “I wonder if you could fix my garter for me. The buckle is so stiff I can't loosen it and the garter is almost cutting my leg in two.” So saying, I drew my skirt up in the most casual manner, exposing the garter, the top of my hose and a tiny bit of flesh above. “Look,” I continued, “it's making a regular ring around my leg!” I pulled the garter toward my knee and turned down the upper part of my hose. There was a purple indentation around the leg.
Mr. Heely was instantly all compassion.
“My dear little girl,” he exclaimed, “why didn't you speak of it before, Why, this thing is so tight it's cutting off the blood circulation. We must open the buckle and lengthen the elastic.”
As he spoke, his fingers tenderly caressed the puckered flesh. He slipped the garter down over my knee and off my leg. It took him but a moment to pry open the buckle and lengthen the band, whereupon he replaced the garter and smoothed my hose back into place.
“How about the other one? Is it tight? Perhaps we'd better fix it, too.”
“I wish you would,” I replied. “It hurts my fingers to open those buckles.”
My other leg was laid bare above the knee and the second garter received his attention. He spent several minutes rubbing the flesh to restore the impeded circulation, adjusted the garter and put my dress down over my knees.
“You're so kind to me, Mr. Heely, I fear I shall never be able to repay you.”
“Why, Jessie, dear,” he answered, obviously pleased, “just being near you is quite payment enough. I have lived a very lonely life, my dear, and these are happy hours for me. I only wish they were half as pleasant for you as they are for me.”
What could I do with a man so ingenious and innocent that he refused to rise to such bait? It was not sufficient that I sit on his lap and let him play with my garters. Either he was the world's prize simpleton or he didn't, in truth, want anything from me. I decided to make a bolder effort.
“Indeed they are pleasant for me, Mr. Heely! I feel so comfortable with you. I like to sit on your lap this way. Sometimes… sometimes, though, I get feelings when I'm sitting on your lap that I don't understand myself…”
I felt him start slightly.
“What kind of feelings, my dear?”
“Oh, I don't know… they're hard to describe… kind of trembly, warm feelings that go all through me. Like just now, when you were rubbing my leg…”
“Are they pleasant feelings, dear?” he asked huskily.
“Oh, yes! Sometimes I think they are naughty feelings, and then again I think they can't be bad when they're so nice. Do you think they are bad feelings, Mr. Heely?” I continued, watching him covertly for his reactions.
“My dear child,” he replied finally, taking one of my hands between his and squeezing it, “I hardly know how to answer you. Madame Lafronde told me, if I remember correctly, that you are fifteen years old. At that age the promptings of Nature are to be accepted as an entirely normal manifestation of a healthy body, I would imagine. I have, I must confess, often doubted the prudency of Madame Lafronde's course in bringing you into surroundings and influences which I fear will tend to corrupt your thoughts. I wish…” he continued sadly, “that it were possible for me to remove you from this questionable atmosphere, but if I were to suggest such a thing my motives would undoubtedly be questioned. So all I can do, my dear, is to offer you such counsel and advice as my more mature years may qualify me to give. I have never had any daughters of my own, and though I was once married, my wife was taken from me while we were both quite young. So now, in my old age, I have no one to hold on my knee but little Jessie.”
“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 fulfillment 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 fibers 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 flavored 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.
Certain now of my ground, I advanced boldly.
Snuggling closer to him, and tightening my clasp about his shoulder, I murmured in a low voice:
“Mr. Heely, you have been so good to me, there is something I must tell you. I'm awfully ashamed to, but I think you should know, so you can tell me what to do. There is no one else I can ask, I just couldn't speak of it to anyone else but you…”
His hand clenched about the flesh of my leg.
“What is it, Jessie, dear? I can't imagine anything you could tell me which should cause you to feel ashamed. As you know, I want you to feel perfectly free to tell me anything that troubles you.”
“Oh, Mr. Heely, when you know what it is, you may be terribly shocked, and not care for me anymore. I'm so ashamed to tell you I don't know whether I can get up the courage or not…”
I dabbed at my eyes with a tearful gesture.
“But, my little Jessie!” exclaimed the now quite perturbed Mr. Heely, “I assure you from the depths of my heart that there is nothing, absolutely nothing which would lessen my regard for you. It hurts me that you can even entertain such a thought!”
“Oh, Mr. Heely!” And here my sobs must have been quite convincing in their rendition. “You think I'm a nice girl, and I'm not! I have the most terrible longings when I'm with you, sometimes I can't sleep at all after you've gone, and other times I have dreams, oh, such dreams, they wake me up and I lie in the dark thinking, and it gets worse until, finally, well, I just have to… have to…!”
I paused, and after waiting a long moment for me to continue, Mr. Heely whispered tensely:
“Have to… have to what, dear?”
“Oh, don't make me say it! You must guess… without my putting it in words… I don't want to do it… they say it ruins a girl's health… but I just can't sleep until I make that feeling go away! Now, don't you hate me, Mr. Heely?”
The tension of his hand on my leg relaxed, and the hand moved gently back and forth over the flesh. I peeped at him through my eyelashes; his face was flushed.
“My dear little baby,” he murmured in a strained voice, “and you thought telling me this would lessen my regard for you? Don't you remember that I told you the other night that certain emotions and impulses in healthy young bodies were quite natural? Of course, I never dreamed that I was unintentionally contributing to them, but I still don't think it is serious enough to upset yourself about, except insofar as your rest and sleep is concerned. That…” he added in a troubled voice, “is something we'll have to think about.”
“Then you don't think I'm bad for having those feelings, Mr. Heely?”
“Nonsense, child! Every normal person has gone through the same experience in the period of adolescence. But you must exercise self-control and not fall into habits which will undermine your health.”
“But… but… Mr. Heely, if I don't do that, it happens anyway while I'm asleep! When I wake up, it's too late to stop it from happening!
“Oh, Mr. Heely there is something… I think… I know… would be good for me. It would sooth my nerves and take that feeling away… if only… but how can I ask you such a thing!”
“How can you continue to question my willingness to do anything in my power for you, my little Jessie?” the poor man insisted reproachfully. “If I am in any way to blame for a condition which can only be relieved by discontinuing my visits I'll have to make the sacrifice. Do you think it would be better for you if I didn't come?” he asked anxiously.
“Oh, no, no, Mr. Heely. That wouldn't keep me from thinking of you; it would only make things a hundred times worse!”
“What did you have in mind then, my dear?” he asked, vastly relieved. “Speak frankly; I'll not be offended!”
“Oh, Mr. Heely, it's something… it really happened in a dream once. I felt so much better that way than when I… you know what I mean… and the bad feeling didn't come back for a long time, but…” and I hid my face against his shoulder, “it's dreadful to ask you such a thing!”
“Let's consider that after we know what it is!” he urged tensely.
“If you… if you… oh, Mr. Heely… it sounds so terrible… but if you would… if you would just put your hand there where the feeling starts… if you would just put your hand there for a moment each night before you leave… I know the feelings would finish and go away and I wouldn't have to do that in the night!”
A tremor passed through his body, his arms gripped me convulsively, and though he spoke with forced calmness, I knew he was in exquisite torment.
“You think that would calm your nerves?” he asked in an unsteady voice.
“I feel sure it would… I know it would… if you wouldn't mind doing it!”
“Shall we try it tonight?”
“Yes, yes!” I whispered.
“Now?”
“Yes!”
So realistically had I enacted my self-imposed role of ingenuous impudicity that, unconsciously, it had quite taken hold of my own imagination, and for the moment I was actually living the part I had assumed.
As I slipped from his lap I distinctly felt a tremor in my own knees, and the warm glow of sexual excitation was permeating my body. I had “acted” myself into a real heat.
With trembling fingers I undid my panties and without troubling to remove my dress lay down on my back upon the bed. Shielding my eyes with a forearm and in a fever of anticipation I awaited his approach.
He rose from his chair and sat down on the edge of the bed by my side. He hesitated uncertainly for a moment and then slowly inserted his hand up under my dress. Seeing that he had not the assurance or temerity to throw the dress back and expose my body, and having succeeded in working myself up to a degree in which my own organism was now imperatively demanding satisfaction, I reached down and pulled up the dress myself, revealing my cunny which just that morning had received fresh depilatory attentions.
Just as an electric current is transmitted from one metal object to another by contact so does that mysterious force called sexual exultation communicate itself from one body to another under favorable circumstances. I had deliberately induced an erotic tension in this man such as he probably had not experienced in years. I had been actuated by kindly rather than lewd motives for, as a matter of fact, I had never felt the slightest sexual inclination toward him. Now, having succeeded by my artifices in exciting his sterile passions to an exquisite pitch, I found myself caught in my own trap.
A moment or two after I pulled up my dress I felt his hand on my cunny. I separated my legs a bit wider, lay back, closed my eyes, and prepared to yield myself up to the pleasurable sacrifice. I sensed my clitoris, now excited and swollen, pulsing impatiently in anticipation. It wanted to be rubbed and rubbed vigorously. But as I waited expectantly there came no motion in the hand which lay firmly, but inactively pressed against it. I waited a long minute and then moved my hips suggestively once or twice. The hand still lay motionless over the pubic mound with the fingers, likewise motionless, resting lightly along the extension of the crevice below.
It was tantalizing. Didn't this man know anything at all? I wriggled my hips again, once, twice, several times. I squeezed my thighs together, compressing his fingers between them, and still that hand remained impassively quiet.
The tension in my nerves was now such as to render further delay unendurable. I seized his hand in mine and forcibly imparted a rubbing motion as I pressed it harder against my clitoris. Under this friction and pressure the current of erotic sensation began to generate swiftly.
Having set his hand on the proper frictional course I released it and lay back again to savour the ravishing caress until the mounting sensations attained their maximum and, like a bursting rocket, exploded and hurled their melting fires through my body.
Mr. Heely was all tenderness and solicitude as he hovered over me, nor was it difficult to assure him that I now felt immensely relieved and was certain of a peaceful sleep and rest.
Needless to say, the “treatments” were incorporated regularly as a preventative of further nocturnal disquiet, and thus, by the simple expedient of inducing the kindhearted man to think he was safeguarding my health and morals by masturbating me once a week, I found a way to warm the blood in his aged veins and recompense him in a small way for his generosity.