Tableaux Vivants

PREFACE

How will you have your little jewel treated to-day, Duchess? Shall I simply make the tip of my agile tongue frisk about this fresh clitoris perfumed with violet water? Do you wish me to take it between my lips, where I shall roll it like a crisp almond made by a confectioner a la mode? I will make it feel the shuddering touch of my teeth ready to devour this sensitive flesh. Or would you prefer this libertine tongue to entirely enter your slit? Will you hold open the red lips yourself, and whilst my finger is gently rubbing the button of love, it will seek a rose-drop at the bottom of the chalice?”

“None of these,” my mistress said to me. “Simply recite your poem on our Mother Eve, and relate to me your old amours.”

I am a poet, you see, my dear lady reader. I am also a man without prejudices. You will see this equally, very soon. I am called Richard de la Brulaye. Twenty-eight years old, rich, a handsome cavalier, a sharp blade and one who knows his way about, ready to love many women and caress all those whom I do not love and who are good-looking.

At your service and always ready-I close this parenthesis.

Seated at the feet of my Duchess, my head on her knees, I commenced the chant which she had desired to hear.