The only man I knew in Bombay was a man called Taylor. He had some kind of position with the railways. Here I find my memory at fault. In a long life lived energetically over three parts of the globe, this lapse is perhaps excusable. I shall go straight to the things which most concerned me, for they, like certain pages of Virgil and like certain immortal lines of Meredith, will remain with me always.
It was late afternoon when Taylor conducted me through the bazaar. There is nothing so picturesque as the bazaars of India, and nothing so chaotic. The men, women, and the skinny brown children are as thick as flies in the midst of the gaudy bales and bundles of their colorful wares. I couldn't help noticing how, when they saw us, they seemed to make way for us and to impede us at the same time. Taylor called my attention to the Chinese silks, the Tibetan shawls, and to the large drums of brown and yellow spices. I feigned interest, but to tell the truth, I was interested in the people more than in the gaudy merchandise which they held up for us to see. It seemed to me significant that Taylor, who was, after all, a man of no breadth of mind, a man who missed alike the joys of the spirit and the sweetest of the body's delights, should barge his way like a railway porter through the crowd. He typified for me the worst aspect of the British Raj, the kind of man who, like Lord Milner, was devoid of the sense of justice and fair play when he was confronted by the subject races. I allowed him to walk ahead, like a bad-mannered guide. Thoughtfully, taking everything in, I followed in his wake.
It occurred to me immediately that Taylor was not the kind of man I could trust to advise me in the matter which was closest to my heart. I decided, therefore, to take Mrs. Redfern at her word, and to accept her offer to be my guide and friend in sexual matters during my sojourn in India. Walking behind Taylor, I could not help feeling very anti-English. That this in general should have been the type of man they sent out to bring Western civilization to the East made me boil with rage. What kind of future could we expect when we showed such little wisdom in the choice of our emissaries? I remembered suddenly what I had said to Molly, the beautiful daughter of the innkeeper at Ballinasloe: “I am not ambitious, Molly, of place or power or riches; but of knowledge and wisdom I'm the lover and priest. I don't want happiness even, Molly, nor comfort, though I'll take all I can get of both. I'm wedded to that one quest for knowledge like a knight in search of the Holy Grail and my whole life will go to that achievement.” When I'd said that, I had been thinking of Smith, my friend and professor in Lawrence, Kansas. Now, for the thousandth time in my life, I was thinking of him again. If only our western governments would be sensible enough to use the fine qualities of men like Smith! There are true Empire Builders, the men in whom moral courage is leavened by wisdom, the men who, in their wisdom, despise not the body in its pleasures nor are insensitive to it in its afflictions. That kind of man, more than those who learn their manners on the cricket field of Eton, is the one who will build the only true empirethe everlasting Empire of Love!
All around me was a strange peoplemen, passionate in their poverty; women, tender as flowers in their travail; children, graceful in their filth; a strange people, a people whose natural right it was to know kindness and love but who had for centuries known nothing but ugliness and the whip! I decided that very moment to bid good-bye to Taylor as soon as we left the bazaar and to avoid wherever possible contact with his type during the rest of my stay in India. He was not, as you can well imagine, unsurprised at my sudden decision to part company with him, laughing first, and then, when he saw that I was in earnest, becoming cool and not a little angry toward me. But I have never had any time to waste on fools. I bade him good day politely and was lucky enough not to run into him again while I was in Bombay. I considered myself very lucky to have got off so lightly and so soon.
Mrs. Redfern, the stewardess, was not satisfied with failure. She was an extremely practical and capable woman, the widow of a noncommissioned officer, as I have said before. Perhaps it was that failures did not bring her in any money. In any case, she was resolved to win my vagrant fancy and I had confidence in her. Soon after her first unfortunate introductions in Bombay, she began talking to me of a wonderful girl who was quite independent but who, at eighteen, would soon have to choose a lover or a husband.
“Some go much longer,” I objected.
“Not in this climate,” she corrected me. “When a girl of eighteen sees a girl of fourteen already given up to love, as is often the case here, her chastity begins to trouble her, I can assure you. But I want to be certain that you will give this girl the best reception, for she is a peach.”
It was precisely her peach that interested me. We soon decided on an afternoon upon which to bring about the meeting. When it arrived, I arranged the sitting room with flowers and fruit and wine. When Mrs. Redfern came in with her protege, I was astonished. Her skin was a very pale brown color, too dark to be English, but she spoke English with no accent. She wore high-heeled slippers, but the rest of her costume was native, a large transparent veil hanging down from her head and being fastened between the knees. It was all in all an exceedingly gracious costume. Her pure accent caused me to ask her: “Are you English?”
“Half-English,” she replied, and I learned that her father was an English officer while her mother was an Indian of good family. Her name was May and she deserved it. She was certainly very pretty and her gentle and sympathetic manners increased the effect of her beauty.
Mrs. Redfern stripped the girl in front of my eyes and made me notice that the hairs on her mount had been taken off. Indeed, she seemed quite in love with the girl herself; she kissed her soft skin passionately and ran her hands over the softly rounded curves while the girl stood like a young sylph in her nudity.
Mrs. Redfern told me that the girl was a Padmini, or lotus-girl, and when I asked what that meant, told me that the girl's Yoniher pussywas like the bud of a lotus flower, and her Kama-salila, or love-juice, had the perfume of a lily that was just opening. She became lyrical in her praise as if she had been the lover, and indeed the girl's body deserved her eulogy. Her hips were smooth and rounded and swept downward to a pair of soft and shapely thighs on which the hairless mound, naked of hair between their roundnesses, jutted outward like a soft beak. I must say I found that rather ugly. It is a fallacy to think that a woman's cunt is less prominent when it is shaven of its hair. The hair, rising as it does outward and away from the lower belly, has a tendency to obscure the sharpness of the line of the mound, thus rendering the mound itself less prominent, more subtle in its provocativeness and more modest to a man's lips. Hair is the grass of the human body, the verdure and the beauty of the carnal meadow. But that was the only imperfection. Her breasts were round and rosy like small pomegranates and capped with nipples like ripe cherries. Her belly was like the heap of brown-flecked wheat on which Solomon must have showered passionate kisses to have written of it in the immortal lines of his Songs. The soft indention of her perfectly formed navel had all my attention. Her neck was almost yellow, not the offensive saffron color of the Turkish trousers she wore, but a softer, browner yellow with a touch of hazel in it. Her lips were generous and young, perhaps cold in their sensuousness, but I could have been mistaken. Her eyes, glory of glories, were almost an amethyst color and glimmered suggestively from behind dark, oriental-lashed lids. The beauties of the East and West had combined to make this perfectly charming child, a widow at eighteen, one of the most prototypic of the fair tribe of Venus. She was seated on a round stool of gaily decorated leather and when she moved on her haunches there was a light tearing sound as the skin of her warm, damp buttocks pulled away from the shining leather and readjusted itself in a more comfortable position. Mrs. Redfern had been sitting at her feet, like a courtier at the feet of one of Shakespeare's princesses. I felt a passion for her mounting in me.
I soon said “Good-bye” to Mrs. Redfern and a little later convinced myself that May, though not a virgin, was well disposed to me through the extravagant efforts of Mrs. Redfern. I resolved to do my best to please her. Quickly, though not, I hope, without dignity, I removed my clothes and, taking one of her hands, lifted the graceful girl to her feet beside me. Then, with my hand at the cleft of her smooth buttocks, I drew her against me, belly to belly, until her hairless pussy was against my throbbing erection. At the same time I kissed her on the lips. She responded at once, searching to enclose one of my thighs between hers to bring pressure to bear on her little love-knot. I allowed myself to be her confederate, feeling the soft urgent thrust of her mound against my thigh, her dark head, with its coils of raven-black hair, splashing a scintillating web on the pale flesh of my shoulders and chest.
After a moment, I lifted her off her feet and carried her in my arms to the divan where I laid her down at full length. Her eyes were closed and she was breathing heavily. I began to stroke her and examine her at the same time. The suffusion of a darker color which beneath the skin made the almost fair skin dusky, was most attractive, especially at the breasts on which the pink nipples, as big as small thimbles, were set as coral gems in tarnished brass. It was on these delightful flowers that I bestowed my first kisses, gently, and at the same time, drawing apart the lips of her cleft with the fingers of my left hand. I agitated the little bud of her love until her hips arched upward in passion and a long sigh of content escaped from her lips. I was pleased to find that her slit was comparatively small and tight, the sexual badge of women in warm climes being usually more obvious than that of the women of northern Europe and, in spite of the fact that it is truly the melting pot of nations, of the women of America.
I moved down to her, inserting the head of my cock in her wet tightness. A small hissing sound came from her lips, as though the sound at her throat slaked the terrible thirst at her loins. Then, when I had sunk in to the hilt, I felt my own hips carried into a rhythm by a small rotatory movement of hers. I slid easily in the smooth love-juiced trough, her Yoni with its crystal varnish of Kama-salila, as Mrs. Redfern would have called it. I used long, slow strokes to kindle the flame in her, my hands, forefingers together, nestling under the soft oscillation of her buttocks, and my knees, slightly apart, locking her legs in an open position. I fucked her long and hard, varying my motion so as to give us both the maximum amount of pleasure. I would draw back until the tip of my throbbing ramrod was just within her moistening slit, then dig forward slowly, allowing her to feel every inch of the turgid flesh as it penetrated deeper and deeper. She seemed dedicated to finding new ways to please me, urging me to assume a variety of positions. When she'd tired of resting compliantly beneath me, she suddenly pushed me back and assumed the dominant position, riding me so that my cock was buried more firmly and deeply than I ever thought possible.
But even this did not fully satisfy her. She made me withdraw from her and sit on a chair, my tumescent lance upright and aching. Then she crawled to me on hands and knees and dove between my thighs, taking me down her throat. She sucked my prick with determination, pausing only to lick my balls.
She tried to insist that the favor didn't need returning, but I would hear nothing of it. I turned her on her back and spread her wide, absorbing the sight of her gasping cunt with my hungry eyes. Then I began to work and knead her silky thighs. When she began to writhe and gasp with just the intimation of the pleasure to come, I slipped my middle finger deep inside her pussy.
“Oh, this feels so good,” I said out loud as I started to massage her desperate cunt lips. The soft tissues were hot like fire, but wet with rich, sweet-tasting juices. I had to sample her, so I took my finger out, brought it up to both our lips and we hungrily sucked off the cream.
I returned to her with two fingers now and worked her quickly. She seemed to love it, encouraging me to go faster and faster and harder. Her pussy began to open wide in orgasmic contractions.
She whimpered when I suddenly stopped my ministrations, but I smiled and told her it was time for a good licking. I lowered my head and breathed in her fragrance. It was deliciously exciting, as was the sight of her pussy, pink and swollen.
I began by kissing her thighs and stomach, then rewarded myself by starting at the lowest point of her valleylicking right up to her clitoris. I told her how much I loved sucking her cunt and she responded by grabbing the back of my head and mashing my face against her dripping orifice.
I was ready for the final moment and positioned myself between her parted legs. My prick found its way into her easily and filled her side-to-side and end-to-end. I began to grind in and out, in and out, more forcefully than before. I delayed as long as I could, bringing her to the brink of uncontrollable ecstasy again and again until my torrent could no longer be restrained.
I brought her to one climax after another, and then, when she had lost all fear of me and I felt her give her whole being over to love, I allowed my own passion to ride upward into her.
When it was over, I drew her out about her life. I found it had been a lonely one. A noncommissioned officer, an Indian and his wife, had been given charge of her by her father who had settled a small pension on her. She had lived between the two contrasting civilizations, so to speak, understanding both but not loving either. The Indian, she said, had no notion of sex morality. I found out that she had been brought up in a temple as a bride of the god Brahma and had been taught all love's ways and arts by the priests. In fact, she had only given ear to Mrs. Redfern hoping that I would take care of her or at least free her from the temple service. Of course, I promised to do what I could and set out to find out about it the very next day.
With Mrs. Redfern's help, I found that the task was not very difficult. The English father had put the pension in the girl's control after her sixteenth year. By applying to the proper authorities, I soon got her out of the hands of the priests and into that of a person who, I knew, had real affection for herMrs. Redfern.
Naturally, I was inquisitive about the kind of treatment she had received at the hands of the priests. I questioned her about it but she was always very reticent. She admitted once that on one occasion she had been forced to submit to the attentions of two priests, simultaneously. She had not been a willing participant, but there was truly little she could do. She described how the priests had torn the clothes from her until she cowered nude before them. One of them pulled her in front of him and began to bite her nipples and roll the pouting buds between his lips. The other one shed his robe and came behind her. She could feel his hardness poking at her buttocks, then the heat and pain as he forced his way into her tight little endhole. He drew her down atop him, pushing her up and down at the hips and digging his enormous cock more and more deeply into her ass, while the first priest eagerly laid aside his garments. His tool was long and thick and bobbed as he kneeled between the two pairs of spread legs. Then he rammed himself into her tight cavern and they fucked her in unison until they'd filled her with torrents of come. On another occasion she had been stripped naked and flogged in front of a number of priests for what she considered a trifling offense.
For over a month I lived between Winnie and May and was more than content with my lot. Winnie was much stronger and more resolute, but May was more sensuous and her yielding and gentleness were infinitely touching. When I disappointed her in love, the big, dark eyes filled with tears. Winnie, on the other hand, would get angry and tear her passion to tatters. Still, they both gave me intense pleasure, and of a new kind, for it must be remembered that I was forty-five at the time and my young mistresses were both in the late teens.
I had often thought of bringing them together. I consulted Mrs. Redfern, making sure to bring up the subject casually. To my instant delight, she responded favorably to the idea.
“Winnie is such a dear,” she said, “and fortunately she already knows and trusts me. I really think you ought to let me put it to her.”
I asked her why.
“Oh, women have ways of talking about such things!” she said with a merry laugh, and I supposed they had!
“And what about May? Do you think you'll be able to persuade her?” I was not sure about May's reaction either.
“You just leave it to me, sir!”
I was only too glad to. Our upbringing has made it difficult for us to engineer romantic situations whereas, with the aid of one other person only, how easily most love trysts are arranged! A few days later, the cunning lady came to me and announced that her entreaties had been successful. The meeting was arranged for the following day.
Only one thing had disturbed her, she said. It was the fact that Winnie was white and May a half-caste. She thought Winnie might have been put off by it. I laughed at her fears.
“To think that a girl like Winnie, so forthright and honest,” I protested, “would entertain such contemptible notions as race prejudice and at the same time, in her inner self, give way to the desire to indulge in illicit pleasures, is not to know how beautiful her soul really is! I see that in some ways I know her better than you do, Mrs. Redfern!”
She laughed and exclaimed almost with a blush: “Oh, I suppose that sometimes I must appear very old-fashioned as compared with you and the girls!”
“Not at all, Mrs. Redfern,” I replied. “You have, like I do, the very heart of Youth!”
Truly, as I was to find out, she had. Indeed, as she walked out of the room after that very conversation, I couldn't help noticing how full and resilient were her buttocks and how shapely were her legs in spite of her forty-two years. Here, under my nose all the time, had been a woman without doubt both passionate and imaginative. I laughed at my discovery. How relative is one's vision to one's situation!
As on the previous occasionon the “wedding night,” so to speakI arranged the room with flowers, fruit and wine, strewed cushions about the floor, bathed, put on my bathrobe and prepared for a pleasant afternoon.
Winnie arrived first, alone. She seemed a little nervous. I did my utmost to calm her anxieties.
“Tell me, Winnie,” I said, “are you afraid of me?”
“Oh, no! Not of you, Frank, darling,” cried the sweet child passionately. “I'm just nervous because it is the first time, with anyone else, I mean.”
I told her not to be afraid, that nothing would take place against her will, and asked her if she didn't know me well enough to know that I would stoop to nothing debasing or hurtful. She said that of course she did and that it would give her pleasure to do just what I wanted her to do. I kissed her sweet forehead.
Then I poured her a glass of wine.
“If you are old enough to have your sense of touch delighted,” I said with a smile, “you are old enough to have your sense of taste delighted.”
Winnie laughed merrily.
“Oh, that's all right!” she said. “Father lets me drink wine at dinner!”
“Then perhaps he wouldn't mind your having breakfast with me?” I said jestingly.
Winnie giggled and then said soberly: “Sometimes I think you're the cleverest man in the world, Frank.”
I bowed in mock-acceptance of the compliment. At that moment the bell rang.
“That will be our other guest!” I said with a laugh and went immediately to the door and opened it. Sure enough, it was May in the company of Mrs. Redfern. “If you don't mind, sir,” the good lady said at once, “I'll just attend to the undressing of May while you attend to the disrobing of the other young lady.”
“Just as you think best, Mrs. Redfern.”
“Come, May. Sit down over here with me,” the lady said. May did as she was bid.
Winnie, the soul of sweetness and understanding, came right across to me and said: “You undress me, Frank. It wouldn't be fair to May if I wasn't undressed at the same time.”
May shot her a grateful glance and the two delightful girls smiled at each other. If I had had any compunctions about this meeting, they were gone now, like a dandelion in the wind. I kissed Winnie on the lips and acted the part of her doting valet. Mrs. Redfern did the same for the duskier of my playmates and soon the two houris confronted one another across the room, as stark naked as the first day they were born.
The first words spoken were by Winnie.
“Oh, look at her pussy!” she cried in a shrill voice. “It's been shaved off!”
Mrs. Redfern and I laughed and May blushed prettily.
“It's the custom where she comes from, my dear,” I said, when the humor of the situation allowed.
“Do you like it that way?” Winnie said to May in a friendly, earnest tone of voice.
“I haven't tried the other way!” said May cleverly, and the two of them ran into one another's arms. How pretty they looked, like two little ballet dancers in Swan Lake, only much more beautiful, for the smooth glimmer of their naked flesh made them even more beautiful still.
“And now, you take your clothes off, Frank!” Winnie called out, laughing at me over her shoulder.
I laughed as well. Without delay, and heedless of the fact that Mrs. Redfern was still in the room, I threw off my bathrobe and stood naked in their sight. I was already aroused and the women burst out laughing when they saw me and the way my enraged manhood bobbed in front of my belly.
“Oh really! Mr. Harris!” Mrs. Redfern said.
But without paying attention to her, I moved swiftly across the room and encircled the girls with my arms. We stood in a group, smiling at one another.
“Well really!” Mrs. Redfern said. “If that's going to be the way of it!” And without another word she, too, began to strip. Indeed, I don't think one of us had any desire to make her desist. The girls already had me on the floor and were teasing me by biting me all over. A moment later, Mrs. Redfern, heavily built but very well made and neat in her movements, had thrown herself into the fray. We all rolled over on the carpet and a moment later, with a feeling almost of shock, which soon gave way to delight, I realized that all three of them were seeking to pinion me in erotic clasps to the floor. Mrs. Redfern had taken my cock in her mouth and she lay with the weight of her breasts and upper torso on my thighs, prohibiting the movement of my legs. MayI was able to feel rather than see herwas seated astride my belly and urging me as she would a horse, while Winnie, the devil of the warren, squatted above my head, her taut cunt a sword of Damocles suspended above my face. I laughed merrily and, with a supple twist of my body, unsaddled all three on the rich Indian carpet. They rolled aside, like three impertinent Bacchantes, in a flurry of laughter and naked limbs.
Mrs. Redfern wasted no time. In a trice, she had pinioned her darling May to the floor and began to caress her passionately with tongue and lips. May laughed delightedly as the older woman crushed down on her bald pussy.
But when Mrs. Redfern's darting tongue found the center of her love notch, May's laughter turned to moans of delight. The older woman played her expertly, licking all around the smooth skin of her mount, plunging inside the pouting slit with forceful strokes, while working the girl's clit with an attentive finger. Finally she abandoned the outskirts of May's budding womanhood and devoted herself solely to scouring the tender pink inner membranes with the tip of her tongue. This sent the girl into a paroxysm of ecstasy which threatened to render her unconscious.
Winnie, meanwhile, stood with her hands on her slim hips and surveyed her rival's helplessness with interest and delight. I was reminded at once of some of the legend of Sappho on the fair isle of Lesbos and I couldn't help noticing how superbly the skin colors blended. The skin of Mrs. Redfern was a ruddy pink-white, the shoulders and breasts of her protegee were the color of honey swimming below an untidy tress of raven-black hair, while Winnie, standing slim and independent, was all over a smooth creamy-white.
“Wait a moment,” said Mrs. Redfern suddenly, “I'm going to light a joss stick!” She searched for her handbag, found it, stirred up the contents with her hand and produced a small green box from which she took an incense stick the color of dung and the shape of a stub of pencil. This she stood upright in an ash tray, and she set light to it. Soon a long feather-like plume of sweet smoke rose upward from the glowing tip. The two girls, captivated by it, attempted, by beating their hands in the air, to direct the smoke against their skin.
“It's nice to smell, not to touch,” Mrs. Redfern said dryly.
It was at that moment that Winnie suggested a game of leapfrog. Immediately upon saying it, she bent downward and exhibited one of the most pretty bottoms it has ever been my good fortune to see, lobes as smooth and as compact as large melons gathered prettily about her little rosebud beneath which a wisp of her silky hairs peeped like a goat's beard.
May went first, skipping forward on her bare feet across the carpet and then upward as she cleared the obstacle successfully. She landed about a yard clear, ran forward two steps, and stooped into position herself. Mrs. Redfern went next, clearing both obstacles in spite of her plumpness, without apparent effort. I hesitated long enough only to allow her to settle in position and then hopped twice to pass with my legs astride the girls and take up a position from where I could run to make a leap clear across the fleshy posterior of Mrs. Redfern. SomethingI do not know what until this daymade me hesitate. I found myself making the approach-run too slowly and before I realized what had happened I felt my ramrod fit softly against the warm split in Mrs. Redfern's buttocks. Of course, she thought that my action was intentional and so she raised herself on tiptoes, thrusting out with her warm pulpy buttocks at the same time, so that my cock, distended from so much anticipation, ran sure as a plummet between the thickly-haired flanges of her pussy and did not meet any resistance until it was sunk to the hilt in one of the warmest and juiciest sheaths imaginable. As soon as she felt the meeting of my belly tight against her buttocks, she seemed to knit her lower torso into a knotan amorous clasp I don't doubt she had from a great deal of experienceand I discovered at once that I was stuck fast and firm without the slightest possibility of escape.
At that moment I heard the laughter of the girls. Then Winnie cried: “Go on, dear, give it to her! If I were a man, I would!” Fuck her! We want to see your cock plunging in and out of her.”
Indeed I had little choice. I grasped her by her thick white waist and with short, jabbing strokes began to drill her. She arched up to meet me at each plunge of my cock and fairly threatened to break my poor staff in two with her gyrations and contortions. Her insistent cunt worked me like a stud horse and sucked the sperm from me within moments. I had never experienced anything like itand I'm not sure I'd care to again, so frenzied and enervating was the experience.
I withdrew almost at once. Mrs. Redfern straightened up with a laugh.
“There's life in an old dog yet!” she said gaily. “I hope, Mr. Harris, I won't have to wait so long for your next favor.”
With some misgivings, but as gently as possible, I assured her that she would not have to wait long, that I should certainly not wait until I had been invited.
“I've only known one other man who loved it as much as you do, sir,” she cried, “and that was my late husband. He was tarred with the same black brush!”
“Black indeed!” I cried. “Why black?”
“Oh, Mr. Harris, you're terrible!” said the pretty and ecstatic Mrs. Redfern. She meant it. Truly it is only the bohemian who can be free, not the proletarian. Poor Mrs. Redfern, in spite of the delight which she took in all amorous affairs, was unable to scale off that irritating and essentially ignorant sense of Original Sin. The girls, thank God, were not thus tainted. They enjoyed the whole affair immensely as was obvious from their merry giggles and happy faces, both at the time and afterward.
Our session ended late. Winnie had to hurry so as not to arrive too late for the evening meal at her parents' house. Shortly afterward, Mrs. Redfern left with her pretty May.
When they had gone and I had a moment to relax after my endeavors, it occurred to me that there must have been one time in history, pre-history perhaps, when the full possibilities of a game like leapfrog were not only understood but exploited. The game was certainly known to the Greeks. To what end they played it, apart from its being a species of physical exercise, is unhappily nowhere recorded. Even were it a fact, as some recent historians assert, that the Greek youth indulged in the practice of homosexuality, I would not wish the truth buried in the remote past from which it can never rise up and be good ground for caution in our attitudes, self-control in our behavior, and wisdom in our judgment. The Truth, I have always believed, was never so detrimental to human affairs as was falsity; it should be remembered that if we had all truth, we should be possessed of all understanding. I felt that I had nothing to reproach myself with for the afternoon's pleasures; obviously, we had come together because each of us in his or her heart desired that it should be so. Would it have any effect on the future? Human love is in many ways delicate. Had I transgressed against the inviolable laws of subtlety? I didn't think so and I proved to be right, for the gambol destroyed neither the intimacy between Winnie and me, nor that between myself and dear May. Not a bit of it!
A week later, Mrs. Redfern was all aflame with a new project. The woman was indefatigable in her pursuit of the god Eros. Again, in reference to that lady, I must admit I sensed the taint of an ulterior motive, but I didn't blame her. Everybody is naturally eager to earn all the money he can get. Why then should I have blamed the poor woman? She made a great to-do of something she hoped to bring that would astonish me.
“It's only to be had in the best houses,” she declared.
“What is it?” I wanted to know.
“They call it the hedge-hog,” she replied, “but that tells you nothing. If I can get it for you, you will have to admit that India has taught you one thing worth knowing.”
A few days later she drew out the object she'd named and showed it to me; it was a silver ring with a number of very fine tiny feathers brought in all around it. The ring was not closed, and Mrs. Redfern slipped it over my thumb and said:
“There! If you use that you will make all the girls crazy for you.”
“Really,” I exclaimed, “you mean if I put it on it will give them more pleasure?”
“Try it!” she returned. “Don't tell them, but try and you will soon see that I've made you a wonder worker.”
“All right,” I said, “I'm much obliged to you, and if you turn out to be a good prophet, I'll be liberal with my rewards.”
“I'm sure you will,” she smiled, “but if you would try it the second time instead of the first, I'd feel even surer.”
“Why the second time?” I asked.
“You know perfectly well,” she exclaimed laughing. “You know that nine girls out of ten feel more the second time than they do the first, and if you use my tickler when they are already thrilling, you will have wonderful results. You wait and see!”
“I'll try it this very evening,” I said, “and tomorrow I shall let you know all about it.”
“All right,” she replied, “that will suit me. Meantime, I'm after another instrument that will surprise you still more and make every girl crazy for you.”
“Thanks to you, I laughed, “I think I shall indeed learn something memorable from India.”
“The greatest country in the world,” she said solemnly, “for love-tools, or foods, or excitants; they know more here about sex sensations and how to vivify and intensify them than anywhere else. Try my tickler and you'll see.”
That evening Winnie came to spend a couple of hours with me. At first she seemed less passionate than usualI inserted my fingers, then my cock into her pussy, to little availbut after half an hour or so of love's dalliance, when I thought she had reached the height of feeling, I slipped the ring onto my shaft and penetrated her once again.
In a moment I knew that Mrs. Redfern was justified. Almost at once Winnie spread her thighs feverishly and soon, for the first time, began to move her body uncontrollably and utter strange sounds, now whimpering, now gasping: “Oh! I can't stand it. Oh! Stop, please, or I shall go mad. Oh! Oh! Oh!”
Of course, I didn't stop. Her cries and pleas raised my level of excitation until I pistoned into her uncontrollably. All thought was driven from my head except for the overwhelming need to bury my enormous swollen cock in her tight little cunt.
The tickler had something to do with it, I dare say. The feathers all around the edge stimulated each and every nerve of Winnie's tender flesh as I fucked her. To her it must have seemed as though she were incredibly full of cock that touched her innermost recesses in new and exciting ways.
She was unable to resist the ring, and my lust, for long. I drove into her again and again, feeling the head of my instrument butting the walls of her womb, while she let down of flood of pearly nectar that inundated my candystick. As she did so, she clamped her legs around my back and drew me more deeply into her. This was the final straw, and I began to spurt into her.
When I had finished, I withdrew and removed the tickler and soon Winnie was all questions: “Why did you never make me feel so intensely before? I didn't feel particularly naughty tonight, but you made me lose all self-control. I never enjoyed it so keenly. Oh, you're wonderful, Frank. I'm all yours, you know, but now you've made me crazy. How did you do it so wonderfully?”
Of course, I kept my secret. For Winnie and me it led to an astonishing series of experiences. Passion provokes passion and when one gives intense pleasure, one is summoned to repeat the event. Again and again I used the tickler; varying the motions, the tempo of my pressures and their soft oscillation, and each time with some new thrill of delight. I often heard her cry: “Oh, you are in me and that is Paradise for me! My cunt opens to you, and at the same time you excite me, tease me so that I could bite you. When I am all yours, you make me feel most intensely: I cannot explain.”
At the same time I noticed that as her passion increased, so too did her love; she became radiant, more and more devoted to me and would wait for hours for me to see her. Indeed, it was this trait of absolute devotion which eventually led to our separation.
I resolved now to try the tickler as soon as possible with May. Somehow or other, I felt sure that May's response would be extraordinary, for though I had not yet caused her to lose control, I knew she was passionately endowed; her kisses promised much and after a few kisses she used to tremble from head to foot. It was as though her honey-colored flesh became alive. I could never forget it. So I resolved to use the hedgehog at the proper time. I would beg her to come soon and have a memorable night.
Next day, I gave Mrs. Redfern fifty pounds and asked her to bring May that night. She could not, she told me. She would have to give the girl a couple of days' notice if I wanted her for the whole night. And so it was arranged.
On the appointed evening I made everything ready, down to a divan with a rough tiger skin thrown over it. Such was to be the bower of our bliss. We would make love on the tough hide of the old jungle beast. May delighted with our couchshe couldn't withhold from fingering it with her slender brown fingers.
“I'm glad it's not alive!” she said with a laugh which was all the more attractive for its slightly Oriental quality.
I invited her to get undressed. She did so with alacrity. Once again, the sight of her naked beauty set my blood afire. She must have felt similarly, for the tips of her pert breasts were fiercely erect and the look in her eyes was one of passionate anticipation and submission. Then I lifted her warm body and laid it on top of the harshly striped tiger skin. I bent down over her pale loins and began to excite her with the tip of my tongue. By this time, the hair had grown thinly over the mound and I must say I welcomed the faint and silky chevron which did something at least to lessen the effect of the stubborn, almost unwomanly sex.
Soon she responded with an agitated movement of her haunches, breathing deeply the while and articulating soundless words with her lips. When she was quite excited, I mounted her in the normal way. I fucked her in slow, luxurious fashion, allowing the full length of my cock to enter and withdraw from her while my belly slid along hers. Our pubic bones ground together on the down stroke, and I rotated my hips and mashed myself against her so as to spread the lips of her pussy. The heat rose within me almost at once and I was hard put not to explode within her delightful grotto before we experienced greater pleasure, though I am sure she would have been just as accepting had I selfishly tended to my own needs, for that was her gracious way.
Only then, remembering the advice of Mrs. Redfern, did I attempt to use love's instrument. A few minutes later we were again thrusting passionately against one another, only this time I was armed with the feathered silver ring. She did not respond to its use as quickly as Winnie, nor as passionately. Yet, to my astonishment, she guessed what the instrument was; the priests had educated her sexually to complete understanding. Of course, when I offered her a new dress and a new hat, and a pair of gloves, I found enthusiastic response in her. May was much more susceptible to a financial manifestation of gratitude than to passion.
What curious differences there are in women. Winnie took all such gifts as a matter of course, but responded to a new touch of sensuality as a violin to the bow. Of course, it probably had something to do with the difference in station between the two girls. Passion among the Indians flows free. A gift is more appreciated in the Orient. Naturally, because of the heights of passion and abandon to which I could arouse the dear girl, I often preferred Winnie to May. I have always said that Winnie won me so completely that I never learned India thoroughly; she so obsessed me that I could spare no time for anyone else or any other thing. For those hours that we lay together entwined, I shall be forever grateful to her.
But alas! Her devotion made her family think. Her father had her followed once to my hotel and at length her mother came to me and begged me for the girl's sake to go away and leave her, or she would never be able to get married. It nearly broke my heart to give my consent, but finally I did so and went on to Burma.
Mrs. Redfern was greatly put out by my decision. She advised me not to go to Burma. “It's a filthy place, sir!” she said. If you must go, take my advice and have nothing to do with women while you're there.”
I thanked her for her advice and reiterated my decision to quit Bombay for the sake of Winnie's future. Finally, I think Mrs. Redfern almost came to agree with me that it was the only thing to be done.
In Rangoon there began for me a series of adventures which forced me to the conclusion that the Burmese half-caste girl is one of the most fascinating creatures in God's world, and she is certainly one of the prettiest and best-formed; she is cheap, too. Many are sold at age fifteen to eighteenand even youngerby their parents and seldom cost even twenty pounds. I would have bought many had I known what to do with them afterward, but I hadn't the heart to use them for a short time and then leave them penniless and free in a big city. I was thus limited by a dictate of conscience to buy only those few for whom I could provide after my eventual leave-taking. I hesitated a long time between the numbers of two and three, but finally discretion had the better part of greed and lust, and I decided to content myself with two.
Their names? I forget their original names because I heard them only at the beginning. I decided to call them Rose and Lily. Burning my boats behind me as I do, I had no need of their names, for I had no intention of writing them through the intermediary of a missionary once I was gone. It was unfortunate that we couldn't speak each other's language, but the girls seemed to have a sixth sense of knowing what it was I wanted of them, and they were ever at my side with fruit and other refreshments at the very moment when the desire overtook me. Had I a longer writing life, I would certainly spend one year writing the detailed history of my short marriage to these two Burmese maidens, both barely past their eighteenth year, but I have still much to record and daily, in spite of my will, my sight fails the more. I shall have to content myself with describing one or two of their antics.
Perhaps the strangest was the way they used to love to make a “fur collar” for me with their thighs. This was really a delightful procedure. Literally, they would twine their thighs into a kind of collar for me, my neck clamped between their soft mounds, and my head the only part of me to protrude upward between their dark bellies. The idea was that I should tickle them with my tongue until they allowed me to break free. Without exaggeration I sometimes was forced to struggle with themso tight was their holdfor as much as fifteen minutes.
Another of their favorite tricks was to smear themselves all over with a sweet-smelling oil and then to wrestle with me until the oil from their bodies covered my own. Finally, there is the trick that some Burmese women have of smearing the male member with honey at every opportunity so that it and the female lips it penetrates are always sweet and tasty.
But this was not what I was looking for. I had wearied of passion, with Winnie, with May, with Rose and Lilythe old wanderlust was awake in me. This time it was Japan and China that called. My time for traveling was limited, so I resolved to move on.
One thing I might make mention of: The custom of living with native women and having half-breed children is practiced by Englishmen and Americans throughout the East. The children are superb. The Eurasian girl or boy in Burma is often an excellent specimen, both physically and mentally. It is unfortunate that the girl's lot is almost always unhappy and often tragic. This leads me to say that the complete understanding given by the Oriental mind to the act of love is in my opinion connected with the depths of spirit attained by certain of the eastern Holy Men. The Westerner is often shallow beside the Easterner. Which only goes to show the truth of one of my lifelong thesesthat a healthy sexual life is the prerequisite of a healthy spirit. What do I mean by “spirit”? To that question I shall offer at least part answer in the next chapter.
I shall end here by saying that I believe Keats could be called as a witness for the defense of my point of view. Who can recall the lines of Ode on a Grecian Urn, an ode to the beauty of Greek youth, and still disagree?
O Attic shape! Fair attitude! with breed
Of marble men and maidens overwrought,
With forest branches and the trodden weed:
Thou, silent form, dost tease us out of thought
As doth eternity
And he ends rightly with:
Beauty is truth, truth beautythat is all
Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know.
I thought of Keats quite frequently while on my travels. Burma struck me at once as a country whose gorgeous vegetation would have held magnificence for this most lush of English poets.