Gynecocracy

CHAPTER 21

That same afternoon in her boudoir when my transports had become more vehement than Mademoiselle liked she had first threatened and then expressed her intention of handing me over to Lady Alfred Ridlington to tame, and Mademoiselle's laws were like those of the Medes and Persians which alter not.

There had been no question that afternoon of my sex, no allegation then of my hermaphroditism. I was then acknowledged to be a boy and in fact the whole point of placing me in Lady Alfred Ridlington's hand was that I was such. Since then however, my sex appeared to have been evaporated under the potent spell of Mademoiselle's subtle magic, of her rigorous treatment, and of the lady's garments in which I was constantly kept. Certainly the petticoats and the drawers had had a very powerful effect upon my constitution. I really hoped Lady Alfred Ridlington would prove to be that Alfred who had taken me in to dinner and afterwards to the conservatory where he had behaved so gallantly and had so delightfully shocked me-a modest damsel-with his fierce masculine nature.

Besides, of what use could I, a girl, be to his wife; or indeed, she to me?

The long summer days went by, and went by happily. We rode, and sometimes Mademoiselle took me for drives, lashing her ponies and making me pay the penalty in that famous dormeuse of hers, with which I became very well acquainted. Indeed, it was the means of imparting to me a wonderful understanding of Mademoiselle's nature, disposition, and temperament.

Maud had resumed her artistic pursuits in her studio, whither, however, I was now never permitted to penetrate alone, and she had to content herself with modelling my bust and arms while eagerly desiring to mould my legs in clay. I was flattered by this appreciation of my form and by the compliment to it.

Beatrice had found an opportunity of inflicting the whipping she had made me acknowledge I deserved.

It was on an evening of unusual beauty whilst Mademoiselle and Maud were rambling in the grounds after dinner in the summer twilight that she had taken me to her apartment and accomplished her purpose.

She was dressed in underclothing of unusual richness which I regarded, rightly or wrongly, as a special mark of favour to myself.

The dainty things were thrown across my head which was clasped by her ravishing thighs and pressed down by her no less ravishing body. I felt upon me that which was to be my wife and the consciousness thrilled me as I explored its recesses with my tongue while Agnes, excited and amused, whipped me with enjoyment as Beatrice held my limbs across her shoulders. The punishment was sweet, but severe, the more so because she would not remove the ring.

Agnes' pretty girlish form was stamped upon my mind; I can see her now, as in her low white dress and bare arms with a smile upon her lips and tightly compressed little mouth and a laugh in her eyes, she obeyed her sister's behest and birched my naked body exposed in so humiliating and defenceless a posture. For its tenderest parts were laid bare to her rod by the position.

The ring had not been removed. For three days I was compelled to wear it; and afterwards a bandage was put upon me when there was any danger of a manifestation to strangers of what I had shown in the schoolroom. But there, and while with the girls and Mademoiselle, I was usually without it, so that I might learn to restrain my feelings, or at least that expression of them.

The result of the discipline and of the effort, I am convinced was to lessen the force and power of Mons. Priapus, who in connection with all 271

those girls, and above all Mademoiselle, was so dear to me. I therefore upon this account much regretted it.

I felt that time was indeed flying, and being lost, since that May morning in Mademoiselle's bed had passed-the impression upon me that it would never come again was strong. I could now never beget that child which had been summoned and (alas!) dismissed. But these girls, and she too, seemed ignorant of this.

One afternoon we were in the drawing room after lunch in the warmth of the glorious summer's day, too lazy to carry out any of the plans and projects about which we gossiped.

The roses were in full bloom, the breeze made soft music with the heavily leaved beeches and sycamores and elms, played with the frantic aspen trees which tremble at the slightest motion of the air and lose their heads in even a zephyr, and seemed to annoy the stately Wellingtonias and Deiodaras that gave grace and beauty to the pleasure grounds. We heard a carriage dash up to the door. And a few minutes after, as Mademoiselle quizzingly glanced at me, Lord Alfred Ridlington was ushered in.

He could not have appeared at a more opportune or propitious moment as, indeed, he very soon gave many indications that he had quickly perceived. He greeted Mademoiselle with a frank and debonnaire gallantry that was particularly charming. How bright and engaging his manner was, how merry his tone, and how unembarrassed the freedom of his laughing eyes. He had driven himself over and he assured Mademoiselle he had at last come to fulfil his promise of paying her a long visit.

"Ah, Miss Robinson," he cried, grasping my hand, as I blushed, "deeply in love again, I suppose. I am so delighted that the moment of my happiness has arrived at last. Mademoiselle promised my wife some time ago a wild boy to tame; but I have persuaded her to reconsider that matter and to favour me by allowing me to place myself at your 272

disposal; that will be much more agreeable," he calmly asserted, casting a lingering and amorous look at me which caused me an overpowering consciousness of my petticoats.

He had bowed to my cousins and had shaken hands with Maud who appeared perplexed. Beatrice looked as angry and as threatening as the sky before a storm and Agnes seemed provokingly intelligent. It was evident that only Maud and myself were in the dark. They all three soon took themselves off but Beatrice managed to leave a very uncomfortable impression upon me and it was clear that I was in her black books again.

"Ah, Lord Alfred, you naughty man!" exclaimed Mademoiselle, cheerily. "I fear you will find Julia as difficult to deal with as Lady Alfred would have found Julian. I recollect very well that evening when you dined with us and your elopement from the saloon afterwards. Remember it, if you do not."

Lord Alfred glanced at Mademoiselle very meaningly and possessed by an apparently irresistible spirit of mischief, passed his hands down the backs of his thighs in so comical a manner, that I fairly laughed outright, and Mademoiselle smiled, and bit her lip.

She was vexed, I suppose, because she thought he was revealing too much to me; but what Elise had said to Beatrice in my hearing on the same evening, had already informed me of the truth and made guessing, which would have been easy, if necessary, altogether superfluous.

"Oh! We shall get on capitally together, sha'n't we, Julia? Mademoiselle, you know, is a very old friend of mine; and although she looks so stern, she loves a joke."

And he calmly put his arm round my slender waist, and kissed my lips.

"Oh, Lord Alfred!" I cried, flustered and blushing. "How dare you."

While he and Mademoiselle rattled on, I wondered, whether this could possibly be Lady Alfred Ridlington, and then scouted the question as impossible and ridiculous. It must be Lord Alfred. He looked it. His cheeks, lips, and chin, bore signs of the razor. Lady Ridlington would certainly not have shaved, but then his form was wonderfully round, his limbs astonishingly plump for a man's and his breasts too did not look under his swelling waistcoat like the mock mamillae which men possess. On the other hand his closely cropped hair, his gestures, his manners, were, I was secretly delighted to notice, decidedly and emphatically masculine.

"Julia," presently said Mademoiselle to my relief, for I began to feel de trop, when her visitor had taken a chair and seated himself near her and had commenced a low conversation with her alone, "you had better go to my boudoir, amuse yourself there with that passage in the Medea you could not construe this morning or with Aeschylus or Sophocles-"

"Or Sappho," he broke in; "or, better still, Ovid's Art of Love. Mademoiselle has a rariorum edition deluxe, illustrated, and altogether sumptuous, if you can only find it."

"Lord Alfred!" said Mademoiselle, menacingly.

"Mademoiselle!" I heard him retort in a mock-pleading tone, his head a little on one side, as he looked at her. And I left the room.