The Romances Of Blanche La Mare

PART I
CHAPTER ONE

This is an important occasion, this beginning of another volume of a remarkable Memoir; and Gladys seems to appreciate its full significance. She has a new dress, or rather costume, for the draped confection that dots not at all conceal the exquisite curves of her body, undresses rather than dresses her- You must understand what I mean. She would rather have been far less indelicate stark naked, than in this mazy, fluffy cloud which by its half hearted attempt to conceal anything, accentuates the charm of everything.

Delicious arms and legs has Gladys, and the rosy flesh gleams through the transparent drapery; nipples as carmine as her lips, and a waist rounded cleanly as her throat. The gauze ceases at her knees; thence is a dress of black silk stockings and natty patent leather shoes.

Her little fingers, bedecked with costly rings, (we have had more than one wealthy visitor since the beginning of the book) — hover over the keys of the machine. A brimming glass of champagne stands at the elbow of each of us, cigarettes are to hand; in fact, it only needs the word for “Blanche La Mare” to start the second lap of her redoubtable career.

I never expected George Reynolds to come back. I knew I was done, and my chances of seeing him again about as remote as the likelihood of recovering the two five pounds notes he had borrowed. As a matter of fact, I minded losing my husband less than the money; his conduct and letter had shown him up a bit too much. I could only damn my own folly in trusting him at all. I was cold and tired there, and the grey dawn accentuated my loneliness. I had hungered for man's society and protection, a man's arms round inc. and a man's breast to nestle against; also I had been more than a bit curious to discover what the absolute act of love really was. Many girls in my position would have done the same. That I should have wished to get married puzzled me, for the thought of a life-long bondage had always terrified me. I suppose in the depths of every woman's heart there is an elemental store of puritan-ism that leads her at times to covet the plain gold ring that can cover such a multitude of sins. Also there is undoubtedly a fascination in the term of husband; to be able to introduce my husband to a yet unwed friend is a privilege for which I am quite sure many a girl has taken the plunge and risked the cares of a household and the misery of children. Well, I had taken the plunge, and had soused myself beyond any possibility of ever getting dry again. Here I was, wedded and yet unwedded, with the world ahead of me, a big black mark against my name for a start, and no maidenhead.

Meanwhile breakfast made its appearance, and with the warm tea and ham and eggs, confidence came to me, and I began to seriously consider the future and the career I was to adopt. There were very few open to me. I scanned the “Situations Vacant” columns in the Daily Telegraph, but there wasn't a thing that could possibly suit. That first haven of the homeless girl, governessing, was effectually closed to me.

To begin with I had no references, and secondly I should have undoubtedly succumbed to the amatory advances of one or other of the male members of whatever family I found myself in, and so taken the mistress's shameful order and the push out. I canvassed the idea of a lady typewriter, but the probable drudgery terrified me; also I should have to learn to type, and very likely buy a machine, which wouldn't have left much of my 25 pounds. Besides I had heard a typewriter's position in this great metropolis entailed a good deal of sitting on the knees of elderly employers, what time the trousers of the said employers were not at all in their proper decorum. If I was going to lead an immoral career I judged it better to do it on the stage. I had all the advantages of youth and health and one of the best figures in London, so I presumed there ought not be to much difficulty in obtaining a living wage, and so, by the time I had finished a really excellent breakfast, I had decided for the dramatic profession; there were agents I knew who arranged these matters, and these agents I determined to seek out and impress.

My first business was to get my check cashed, and then find a room. I couldn't stay in this hotel as a married lady whose husband had brought her at seven o'clock on a winter's morning and deserted her before the day was five hours older. George had settled the bill, an act of generosity at which, now, I rather wondered. Luckily I had a few shillings in my pocket with which to pay the necessary tips. That done, I put on my hat and set out without further delay for the bank on which Sir Thomas Lothmere had drawn his check. It was pretty close by, in the Piccadilly District, and I walked.

The presentation of that check was really, I think, one of the most trying moments of my life. The cashier, a vulgar bourgeois man, looked me over with the most insulting deliberation, and I was made to feel at once that he supposed I had come by the check in no respectable fashion. I think old Sir Thomas was fairly good and proper; and even if, in former days, he had had occasion to make money presents to young ladies, I don't suppose he was fool enough to do it by check; so, perhaps, the worthy cashier had never before been called upon to hand over a sum of money to a very pretty girl in a smart hat, who presented a check signed by a widely respectable and elderly scientist. At last I got it; three crisp rivers and ten bright jingling sovereigns; and feeling much happier, and on a sounder footing with the world, I set out on quest number two-lodgings.

Theatrical folk, one of whom I now proposed to be, inhabited principally, I had heard, strange and unknown lands across the water, called Kennington and Camberwell and Brixton. I had never been on the Surrey side of the Thames in my life, and had no intention of going there now. So possibly very extravagantly, I determined to set myself up in the West End. My little costumiere, Eloise's friend, who had so kindly given me credit, lived close by in Jermyn Street, and it occurred to me that I might get a room over her shop.

Madame Karl lived in an old fashioned house in Jermyn Street. On the ground floor was her shop, a tiny magasin de robes, and the rest of the house was used for her own living rooms, and one or two sets of apartments, generally let out to bachelors. I found her in the shop, bowing out a plump lady of important mien.

She was genuinely glad to see me, and laughingly enquired how I had managed to get my bill settled so soon. I made belief a few kisses had been all the price paid by me for the check, but I could see she thought I lied. With a laugh she pinched my cheek. “Well, I wish all my customers were pretty girls,” she said. “Then I should get my accounts settled more regularly.” The lady that just went out owes me over 1000 pounds and on the top of that she's just left an order to execute which I shall have to set aside all other work, and spend goodness knows how much on material. Yet I dare not offend her, for she is the Countess of Alminister, and brings many American ladies here-who do pay. But it is a heavy commission,” and the little woman sighed and shrugged her shoulders.

Madame Karl was not exactly a beauty, but she had a figure that sets off to its best advantage by her perfect gowns, set many a man coveting the charms within. And the charms were worth “having, as I discovered the first night I slept in the Jermyn Street House. She must have been thirty-eight or nine, but her flesh was firm and white and unwrinkled. I helped to rub her down with a soft towel before bed, and when I noticed how she wriggled under my fingers, I knew there was still a volcano of love in that pretty little body.

Our pact was soon sealed. I was to have one of the rooms upstairs, and Madame was very objectionable about my paying rent at present. “That can begin when you get an engagement,” she said.

In the meantime I was to make myself generally useful to her, and I soon gathered that many ways of making useful existed in that establishment.

“I let my chambers very easily to gentlemen,” she told me. “It is so convenient, you know, should a lady call, for there to be a dressmaker's establishment on the ground floor; one may suspect a lady who enters a house let in gentlemen's apartments in Jermyn Street, but who shall question the right of a lady, married or single, to visit her dressmaker.”

So it came to pass that I was to be a sort of generally discreet chaperone. Madame used to give her lady clients tea in the upstairs sitting room. When the lady showed signs of being at all timid, I used to be present at the beginning of the tea, and then be suddenly called away, what time the gentleman accomplished his desire. More than a dozen times my errand did not take me further than the keyhole, and from that point of vantage I witnessed some quite amusing performances. I must say that some of Ma-dame's aristocratic lady clients made no bones about haggling over the price of their bodies, just as if they had been ordinary women of the street.

Certainly the profits of the establishment appeared to be considerable; and one day, after a particularly good lunch, Madame Karl surprised me with her tale of the business done for the day.

“You remember the pretty little girl in the blue costume who came in here this morning,” she said, “the one I left upstairs with you?”

I remembered perfectly well.

“She is Lord Wetlon's daughter. They are not at all well off, but naturally she loves pretty clothes. Well, you recollect the dark little gentleman who came in afterwards, whom you left up there with her. He is Christopher Echsstein, the broker. What she did for it, I don't know, but he ordered 250 pounds worth of dresses for her, and, what is more, gave me a check in advance. He's a true Jew, he wanted the discount.”

Madame had four assistants, all pretty girls, and each one of them hot as they make them. She didn't pay them much, but I reckon they had nothing to complain of about the little extra bits they made out of the husbands of some of her customers.

Of course, I attracted the attention, to say nothing of the lustful glances, of more than one of Madame's trouser clad customers. Little Blanche was not the sort of beauty to go many days through her career without causing some masculine head to turn, or some masculine sexual members to press against the confining trousers in dumb protest. But the fools dared no more than a passing glance I think they feared offending Madame Karl. Sometimes I was glad of their reticence, yet often again I so boiled over with desire to be made love to that I could have boxed the ears of several nice young men, who when left alone with me, looked their desire, but mad.',' no attempt to express it in more forceful, to say nothing of more pleasant, form. T honestly believe they thought me a virgin, I had looked so young, for you must remember that I was not yet quite out of short frocks. Thai-is to say, I wore a long gown and put up my hair in the evening, but the day time usually found my red-brown tresses gathered into a loose knot at the back of my neck and my ankles delightfully displaced by a short skirt which only journeyed three parts of the way down my calves. In fact, I was still a flapper.

“What's the meaning of that word?” interrupted Gladys. “I know of course its significance, but what's the actual derivation of the expression?”

“Flapper, why the technical term for little ducks, stupid; haven't you ever heard of men going flapper shooting?”

To continue, “A little duck” I certainly looked, especially when I sat down and showed my pretty, rounded calves well up to the knee.

But, as I was saying, I occasionally felt almost uncontrollable pangs of naughtiness, and I am afraid that the fore-finger of my right hand was sometimes put to most improper uses, how I wished it had been a masculine digit. Once when Madame Karl and I were unusually confident (we were sitting over our tea and cigarettes and the fire), I let drop a hint of this- She was asking me about my seduction, and I told her that, although it was not all roses at the time, I would willingly have another try at fornication to relieve my lascivious feelings.

“And so you shall, dear little girl,” she said, coming over to me and kissing me lovingly. “Why nearly all the men who come here have begged of me to approach you on the subject, but I didn't like to.”

And so it was arranged, I was to go wrong with Lord X-.

“A Lord, Tut! tut!” this from Gladys.

“Oh, I've worked through pretty well and all the grades of the peerage in my time,” I answered, “once I had a Viscount and a Duke in the same day.”

“And that reminds me of a story,” says Gladys. “It concerns itself, does this little yarn, with a parson's wife, who by no means got all the pleasure she wanted out of her husband, the anaemic incumbent of a swagger west end parish. And it seems that it came to pass that one fine day Lord “So and So” visited her in the absence of her husband. Hearing someone coming she bade the Lord conceal himself on the top of the ancient four poster. He did so; but it was not her husband, only Sir C-, who had likewise went under the bed like a rabbit. This time it was her husband, come home randy for once in a way (he had been taking a girl's class) and he wanted it, too; and had it. At the conclusion, he remarked to his better-half, “Ah Mary, I sometimes think you have not always been as good a woman as you should have been, but trust in the Lord above, He will look after you-.”

“Oh, will he?” came a voice from above the canopy. “Then what about that bugger of a baronet underneath?”

It was arranged very artistically. I was not going to have it given away that I was a previously consenting party to the affair. Madame Karl, in the course of a casual conversation with Lord X, mentioned me; he declared his desire; she suggested he should go up to my bedroom, enter as if he had made a mistake (she told him that I would be undressing at the time), and it rested on his own initiative to complete the job.

I was undressing, that is to say I was pretty well in Eve's costume. Madame had warned me by speaking tube when he was nearly at the door, and when he entered he found me all stark naked but my chemise, and that fallen to my feet. Of course I uttered the time honored scream, covered my face with one hand and my mons veneris with the other, ran hither and thither about the room as if seeking cover and murmured, “Oh go away; please!”

But he didn't go; he rushed at me, pulled one hand from my face and kissed me on the lips; pulled the other hand from my cunt and felt it, in fact, in about one moment he had got me down on the bed and his prick was well into me, not one single word did he say till I could feel him coming and the first part of the entertainment was over. As I lay back on the bed, panting, while he rather shamefacedly put back his penis into his trousers, I managed to gasp out: “well! What a funny way to make love to a girl! Don't you ever say anything?”

He laughed, “I'm glad you're not furious,” he said, “but to tell the truth I was awfully nervous.”

“Nervous.” He need not have been, for I don't mind betting I wanted it even more than he that blessed afternoon. “Nervous.” How many a beautiful chance of exquisite sexual intercourse has been wasted by this wretched nervousness on the part of Mankind. I can call to mind a tale concerning a nervous person who asked another young man how he made small talk at parties, declaring himself always dumb on these occasions. “Oh, I don't worry much about frills in my conversation,” was the answer, “I just get the girl in a quiet corner, squeeze her hand and ask her if she likes fucking.”

“But my dear chap,” was the answer, “what an awful thing to say; I should think you would get yourself badly disliked sometimes and get thrown out of some houses.”

“Well,” admitted the candid one, “I do get disliked sometimes and I have been thrown out of houses, but I get a hell of a lot of fucking.”

MORAL-Oh-Mankind, remember that the woman is as often as not, as keen for it as you are-and don't be NERVOUS.

After that we got on splendidly. He undressed, was soon stiff and in again, and we had a long, glorious, slow grind, exquisite pleasure the whole time, and always that delightful feeling that there was much more ahead, not just a few more strokes and the business completed. Twice was all I would allow him, though he wanted more. I made him sponge me all over with hot scented water, rub me down till I glowed deliciously, and dress me. He was no novice at the game, and the teasing little kisses with which he would accompany all the business of drawing on my stockings, fastening my drawers, getting me into my corsets, etc., nearly made me fall again. When dressed at last, we went downstairs. I just found time to whisper to Madame Karl that it was satisfactorily done, and we got a cab and went off to have tea at Claridge's room among all the ambassadors.

Madame Karl seemed thoroughly pleased when I got back home. She was all over me, and gave me a hat lately arrived from Paris which I had coveted muchly. And as my lordling friend had bought me a diamond brooch at Streeter's, I did fairly well.

The secret of what I had done did not remain a secret-I don't know how it got to the ears of the girls, but after dinner, when we had all together that evening, one of them got me alone in a corner of the drawing room and whispered, “So you've been with Lord X-, this afternoon?” My blush was sufficient answer.

“Come out with me this evening,” she whispered, tickling my hand, “I can promise you a lot of fun.”

Her tone, and the gesture with which she accompanied her invitation, gave me full well to understand that something naughty was in the wind-“Must I ask Madame Karl's permission?” I asked.

“Of course.”

“My dear little Nemmy,” said Madame Karl, when I told her, “of course you can go, but I warn you that this will be something quite out of the common. Nelly knows more than a bit.”

Now you mustn't run away with the idea that Madame Kirl kept a bad house in the sense that her assistants were tarts and nothing else. As far as they were concerned, there was precious little wickedness performed on the premises; but Madame gave them a free hand on their off evenings, just as all the swagger dressmaker's establishment in London and Paris do.

“They all have their latch keys at Gay's, and at Madame Marie's, too,” says Gladys, “I was at the latter for a bit myself and I know.”

Nelly was the youngest of Madame Karl's assistants, a little older than myself, and only just promoted to the dignity of long skirts. She was a pretty blonde, very well favored by nature, with a deliciously plump arm and shoulder, and very well developed breasts. Her legs were perfect; she was one of those few girls who could stand upright in an ordinary position, close her legs and keep a three penny bit between her thighs. She was proud of this and often used to show us the trick.

She was delighted when I said I could come, and insisted on lending me a dress. “Your own evening frock is delightful, my dear,” she explained, “but it isn't quite what we want for this evening.”

She put me into a three quarter length gown, extremely decolette, but filled in about the shoulders with lace (which, as a matter of fact, rather added to the suggestiveness of the confection). It was so low at the back that I had to wear a corset which was little more than a band round the waist, and my nipples almost escaped in front. She, too, put on a three quarter dress, I began to see that this looked like a flapper party.

To cut a long story short, Nelly took me to a house in Cadogan Gardens, a swagger enough place to look at, and explained that it was kept by a woman of good family who added to her own rather diminished income by running it as a meeting place for men and girls. “She's quite the best and nicest procuress in London,” Nelly explained, “She's delightful to all the girls who go there, and you can be perfectly certain of your money.”

That there was money in the air, had never occurred to me when I accepted Nelly's invitation, but I didn't shrink on that account, I could do with a little of the root of all evil just then. Then Nelly told me that the parties varied. On one evening, for instance, our hostess would collect a few married women who were prepared to go astray from their titular lords and masters; sometimes quite young married women, and sometimes ladies who had attained the prime of life without losing their good looks-(these were for men who desired a lot of experience from their bedfellows)-and sometimes young girls.

“That'll be us, this evening,” I said.

“Well, not exactly; we come into the kids party. We are for the men who want very young girls.”

I gathered from Nelly also that our hostess was prepared to find anything. She organized coster girl parties, bringing up pretty little East-enders; and even parties at which very depraved young men could exercise their desire on quite elderly women. “These parties,” said Nelly,” are the most paying of all, for she gets money from both sides, since the old women are under the impression that she has to pay the young men-oh, she's very very clever.”

We were taken to Mrs. Cowper in a large room which was a cross between a very elaborate boudoir and a hot house. That is to say, it was lighted by skylights like a studio, carpeted with some soft material into which one's feet sank almost to the ankles-I found out later that a thin mattress lay underneath the carpet-and was full of flowers and ferns of every kind. From the roof of an alcove depended a vine covered with luscious grapes. A table bearing a glittering tea equipment stood in one corner, various small tables bore wine and spirit decanters. We were ushered in by a large page boy, a dark boy, an octoroon I thought, and exquisitely beautiful, with a kind of girlish loveliness. “Surely it's a girl,” I whispered to Nelly, nodding towards the boy.

“Oh, is he,” said our hostess, rising, “Come here, Claude.”

When the boy came to her, she laid her hand on the front of his trousers, slipped down her fingers and showed us a dear little standing prick. The boy laughed and made his escape.

Then Mrs. Cowper noticed me: “Good Heavens, Nelly,” she cried, “I had no idea you'd brought a stranger; whatever must she think of me, my dear?”

I could not do anything but blush, and Mrs. Cowper continued: “After all, I daresay Nelly has told you we're not very proper here,” and she laid her arms on my shoulders, kissing me lovingly on the lips.

Mrs. Cowper was I suppose about thirty-five, and uncommonly beautiful. Her figure was perfection, and the dress she wore showed off all of its delights. The dress was carried out in a design of ferns. Ferns, quite small at the waist, but gathering size as they fell lower, made the skirt; the bodice was one large bunch of ferns, out of which grew her ivory neck and shoulders; she had ferns in her hair, and two little pearl and diamond ferns for earrings.

I sat by her side sipping a liquor while Nelly briefly told her who and what I was.

“You'll do for me very nicely, dear little girl,” she said, “I think you will just suit a man I've got coming this evening; let me see, are you a virgin?”

I had half framed the word yes, when she suddenly ran her hand up my clothes, and felt my trembling little cunt-“Oh no, you're not,” she said, with a laugh, “and you must not pretend to be. I never deceive my patrons HERE.”

“I've only been wrong with two men,” I said, pouting.

“Well, your third will be young Mr. Robinson, of the Stock Exchange. I shall charge him ten pounds for you, and give you five of it; whatever you get out of him on the top of that is of course your own affair. Here is the fiver,” and she handed me a note.

“And me?” said Nelly.

“A Mr. Reichardt, likewise of the Stock Exchange, a friend of his, they will be here in a moment.”

But before those worthies arrived, a number of other girls were shown in. Some arrived singly, but more often they came in twos or threes. I reckoned there were about fifteen present before a single trousered animal put in an appearance. They were pretty and beautiful though I knew myself to be, I felt I had plenty of rivals on this occasion. Some were very young-wicked as I was I could not help feeling it rather a shame when I saw girls who could not have been more than fourteen-and I don't suppose one there was more than nineteen. All were pretty, often very extravagantly dressed, and I have never since, despite all the varied experience of my life seen such a delightful assemblage of dainty childish shoulders, plump little girlish arms, well moulded calves, generally displayed to the knee, and slim attractive little waists.

About a dozen men arrived, and we had music-and a good many drinks. Everything was very decorous; Nelly told me that no impropriety went on coram populo, and I flirted in an amiable manner with my Mr. Robinson. An occasional touch of his hand gave me naughty shivers, to say nothing of the frequent discreet comminglings of his trousers with my stockings, and I had begun to wonder when there was going to be any serious by play, when Nelly took me aside “Mrs. Cowper wants me to ask you a favor, Blanche dear,” she said, “It seems there are not quite enough men to go around.

“Shocking mismanagement-!” interrupts Gladys.

“And she doesn't want any of the girls left over.”

“Prudent woman.” the irrepressible typewriter again.

“Wherefore she wants to know whether you and I will go with the same man-it's that old gentleman over there-(pointing to a lean and lanky old sportsman who was doing prodigies with the spirit decanters in a secluded corner, feasting his eyes on the girls at intervals) it'll be another fiver each, she concluded.

I was rather glad. I liked Nelly, and I hadn't much modesty even then. I felt that I should be much less nervous, with her to aid, than alone, so the bargain was struck.

Mrs. Cowper, first giving me the extra fiver, she was extremely business like-sidled us up to our fare; we went with him into another room and had a little stand up supper against a buffet. Then Mrs. Cowper led the conversation round to art, told our old friend that we were art students, said that we were dying to see the Correggio in the pink boudoir, and left him to take us there-it was so tactful and nice.

“But T doubt me not, we shall hear the old buffer got there just the same, as if it had been a farmer's daughter blocked by a country lout in a barn,” said Gladys, “Continue, most elegant and tactful one.”

But the word “barn” puts me off. It reminds me of a story; the story of the couple who were enjoying each other in a loft, when suddenly the loft gave way. Heavily they fell to earth. “Bill” said the fair one below, “Bill, are you hurt?”

“Hurt,” was the reply, “why those is my cock and balls hanging on that nail!”

Our old friend got us into the boudoir in due course, and all the time I was wondering where I had seen his face before. Then I tumbled to the fact that his beard and mustache were false-(I noted that while he was kissing me)-and got it. He was the senior classical master at Rocton, my father's school. At first, came terror that he was likely to recognize me, but I soon saw that he was quite oblivious to my identity-in fact I had changed a bit since he could have seen me last. Then it occurred to me to frighten him-not that any idea of blackmail had ever crossed my mind-no.

“Well, well what did he do?” Gladys again.

He fucked Nelly first-to be blunt; not, I trust, because he didn't think me the nicest, but because it appeared that he had had Nelly before, and was less nervous. There wasn't much art about it at all. I just sat on the edge of the couch and smoked a cigarette while he stripped her naked, kissed her in many places and generally messed her about, till he finally produced a giant weapon, and shoved it up her. The consummation was short. Nelly, seemed frantically randy, wriggled her arse like a tortured soul, and soon had him spending into her for all he was worth.

By that time I, naturally, was naughty too, but I had to wait a bit; that greedy Nelly had got too much, and we had to aid our friend with much manipulation of his person, tickling his balls, stroking of his little stomach, etc., before he had me on the sofa with his lance in me-the rest was easy, and I kept in till the moment I could feel him swelling with rapidity arriving semen, when I said, very quietly, “Whatever would Michael Hunt say if he saw you doing this?”

The man gave one convulsive wriggle, shot about a gallon of fluid into me, then rolled off, pale to the hair roots-“What do you know of Michael Hunt?” he asked.

“Only that you're his senior master at Roc-ton. I know you very well by sight, even if you have a false beard and mustache on. I do hope you've enjoyed this better than to teach at the boys school.”

Now anyone but a fool would have seen the fun of the thing and laughed with us. Nelly told me afterwards he must have known that Mrs. Cowper was a safe enough place, and felt no fear of blackmail-but that silly old thing whacked up fifty pounds for us two to divide, so that we should be mum. I don't say that he didn't have a bit more fun for his money-but fifty is a lot, and I daresay he had paid Mrs. Cowper quite a tidy little sum already.

Still, this is a little by the way, and I must get back to that first day of mine at Madame Karl's.

She took me out to dinner on the first evening of my stay, we went to a small but extremely smart restaurant in the very heart of inermost St. James. Madame knew most of them-the men and women-by sight, and told me their names. She might have been reciting Debrett by the page. When I noted the price of the food, and especially the wine, I was astounded. Madame must assuredly be very rich to afford this.

We did ourselves well, and drank only the oldest vintages, but when the bill was brought she simply signed it on the back and gave the waiter half a crown. A light began to dawn upon me.

“It's like reverting to the old system of barter, isn't it?” said madame with a laugh. “I dress the manager's wife at a reduction, and the manager feeds me. I don't suppose his directors know anything about it.”

As soon as we had appeared to have settled our bill several men whom madame knew crossed the room to speak to us; but she got rid of them all, suggesting to me that we should go to a music hall.

We had a box at the music hall without paying for it. “More barter,” said madame, “that silly little man's wife would never have reached her present position on the stage without the aid of my frocks.”

I began to think that Madame Karl was an exceeding power in the land, and also to doubt whether there wasn't something in the dressmaking business after all. I determined to make myself useful to her. I think I must have created somewhat of a sensation in that hall, for upon the door of our box beat an endless tattoo, and from the stalls necks were craned upwards, and a variety of male humanity studied me through opera glasses. It must have been me, for Madame Karl sat back in the shadow.

I did not enjoy the performance; few women figured among the turns; it was a carnival of comedians and a hymn of praise to vulgarity. The audience roared at the antics of the various little red nosed men who occupied the stage, but the humors of the enterprising lodger, the confiding landlady, and their illicit amours, and the ever recurring Bacchanal drink chant palled most terribly, and I was intensely relieved when madame recognized a friend and signalled to him to come and see us.

Mr. Runthaler was a gentleman of a comfortable person, and expensive fur coat, a deal of jewelry, and Semitic taint. Madame had forewarned me that he had a great deal of interest in matters theatrical, and I was very nice to him; he was in return very nice to me, in fact, rather too nice, for the semi-publicity of a box at a music hall. I found an early opportunity of broaching the subject of the stage. “Well, little girl,” he answered, “if you want to be an actress, take my advice and don't go to the agents; they'll never get you a London engagement, and I presume you don't want to spend your life tramping the provinces in a second-rate musical comedy company. If you want to play at a West End Theatre, you must get at the managers personally, and for a girl like you I don't think it'll be very hard. If you like, I'll give you an introduction to my friend Lewis, of the Duke's Theatre, he'll see any girl I send. I should advise you to try and catch him to-night; besides, that frock suits you.”

He left us directly, after pencilling a few words of introduction on his card, and soon afterwards I persuaded Madame to come with me to the Duke's Theatre.

The hall porter took the card and handed it to a young gentleman in faultless evening dress, who stood in the hall. The latter examined us at some length, enquired which was Miss La Mare, and then said that Mr. Lewis was not at present in the theatre, but that if I went round to his flat in the next street he might possibly see me. He wrote something on the card in a language which I took to be Yiddish, and handed it back to me. Word came down that Mr. Lewis would see me at once, and, closely followed by Madame Karl, I went up. We were shown into a large apartment extravagantly decorated in the Japanese manner, and so draped about the walls and ceilings with curtains that it had the appearance of a tent. The chief furniture of the place was an enormous divan extending nearly the whole length of the room; a few tables, mostly covered with bottles and glass of rare and antique design, were arranged in deliberate disorder; two large pictures represented classical and, incidentally, indelicate events; and there were a couple of capacious easy chairs; an upright grand piano, and that was all. In the middle of the divan, arrayed in a smoking suit and one that rivalled the storied coat of his ancestor Jacob, squatted, pacha fashion, Mr. Lewis.

He was a little round man, with a straight line of curling black hair across his lip, and a head that was entirely bald. As he sat there he looked like a Hebraic Humpty Dumpty. He made no attempt to rise, but welcomed us with a nod and an expression of annoyance, obviously caused by the presence of my companion.

“You are Miss La Mare, I presume,” he said glancing from the card in his hand to me. “Blanche La Mare-it should look well on a bill. And you want to be an actress. Well, what can you do, Miss La Mare?”

I answered that I could sing and he motioned me to the piano.

“Sing something light,” he said.

I selected a song out of Mirelda which I remembered. After the first verse he stopped me.

“Very nice, very nice, indeed,” he said. “And now, Miss La Mare, I cannot talk business before a third person; would your friend mind leaving us for a while?” Madame made a gesture of dissent, but though I was pretty sure what was coming, I had thought I'd better see it out, so I asked her to go.

When we were alone, Mr. Lewis left his divan and came towards me. “Well, you're a very pretty little lady,” he said. “I think you may suit me, just take your coat off, and let's see your shoulders. Ah, very nice too,” and he patted my neck affectionately. “And what pretty lips, may I?” Without waiting for an answer, he kissed me. I made no resistance; I was quite prepared to pay this sort of tribute.

“Very nice,” he said again, smacking his fat lips, “so far most satisfactory, and now let's see what sort of legs you have got.”

Madame had told me that the usual way adopted by a burlesque manager for making sure of his suitability of a girl's legs was for the girl to draw her legs tight round the members in question, and this I did.

“Ah, yes, but I'm afraid I can hardly tell by that, dear little lady,” he chuckled, “you know my patrons are very particular about legs. Don't be shy now, pull your clothes up and let me see what they really are like.”

I blushed, for I felt ashamed, but I did it. I lifted my clothes well above my knees, and as I was wearing rather short drawers, the perfect contour of my lower leg and a good deal of the upper part was plainly visible.

He asked me to stretch them apart, and I obeyed, blushing the more. He came quite close and leered at my limbs through his glasses.

“I think you'll do, my little dear,” he said. “I'll go and get a contract form. You will be undressed when I get back, won't you?”

“I don't know what you mean.”

“Yes, you do, my dear, you understand me perfectly. If you had been a modest girl you wouldn't have shown me your legs. I like you and I should like to engage you, but before I sign the contract I'm going to enjoy you; what's there to make a fuss about in that?”

It was a bit too cold blooded, and I could not stand it-“Well, you've made a mistake this time,” I said, “I may not be a modest girl, as you put it, but there are limits. So Good-bye.”

He did not seem angry; “Ah, well,” he said, “You're a little fool, engagements with me are good and comfortable and profitable. I like you because you're more than ordinarily pretty, but I'm not going to relax my rule. I always have my chorus girls, once at least, and I can't begin making exceptions now. Perhaps one of these days you'll think it over and come back to me again.”

“No, that I never will, you dirty old mean beast,” I answered, moving towards the door.

He laughed again; “Don't go for a minute,” he said, “I promise you I won't try to force you, but I should like to argue with you. Now, you're not a virgin, I'm certain of that; you do yourself no harm by just lying down on the sofa and letting me hare you, and you'll get an engagement. I shall not want to have you any more.” Then, before I realized what he was up to, he had slipped his hand between his legs, flicked open his fly and was holding out an erect penis for my inspection. With his other hand he grabbed my shoulder and slipped his foot between my legs, tripped me up.

I fell heavily, and if it had not been for the softness of the carpet I think I should have hurt myself. In a moment the little beast was on top of me, holding my shoulders down with his two hands while he tried to force his knee between my legs. I had fallen with one leg a little apart from the other, and he succeeded in that part of his fell purpose. He scraped my dress up somehow, and in fact got as far as banging the end of his panting member against my stomach-but that was all. I had no intention of letting the brute conquer me, and at the moment he thought victory secure, and took one of his hands from my shoulders to help guide his weapon to its grave, I let him have it with my right hand full on the end of the nose. The blow gave him fair hark from the tomb, as my young friend Charley Lothmere would have phrased it in his quaint Pink Un English, and the blood gushed from the damaged proboscis, I only made him think better of his attempt, and he got up, swearing under his breath, bursting into a roar of laughter at the sight of his discomforture.

Oddly enough, as soon as I found myself outside, I felt as randy as hell, and somewhat repented my action.

When I was back in Jermyn Street I told Madame what had happened.

She did not exactly applaud my action; “well, you know, dear, you're not a virgin,” she said, “and I must say that I don't think it would have done much harm.”

“The harm was in your being a virgin for damned near a whole volume of this immortal work,” breaks in the irrepressible Gladys, “and I'd have let the old swine fuck me if he was going to give me an engagement.”

“I would have, perhaps, if he hadn't tried to force me,” I answered.

“Force you!” says Gladys, with a tinge of scorn in her voice, “why I'm damned if I don't think its half the pleasure. Listen- would you like to hear how I was raped?”

“But, you've told me-your uncle in Birmingham.”

“Oh, he seduced me: that wasn't rape exactly, because I let him.”

This is her story:-“It was during my first typewriter's job in London,” she begins.” I was not a virgin, but I was at that time what I should call quite a moral girl, that is to say I stuck to one man. I resisted the daily efforts of my business employer, and used to hurry home in the evenings to my Bloom-bury lodging. Twice a week I met my lover who took me to dinner, and subsequently to a furnished room in one of the good old flea ravaged hotels in the Euston Road. It was there, after my young man, who knew a bit, had plentifully peppered the bed with good old Keating, we enjoyed ourselves to the top of love's young delight. We could not afford a more frequent connection, for Albert lived with his family and drew but three pounds a week for his lusts and living, while the boarding house inhabited by myself drew a strict line at young men visitors.

Well, on one occasion, a dark and dreary winter's evening, just after a happy time with my young man, who at the time I sincerely loved, I was making my way home through foggy bleared streets, when my way was blocked by a tall figure that loomed up through the darkness and grasped me by the arm. “Forgive me for stopping you,” he said, “but there is a woman hard by in sore distress, and we cannot find another of her sex to be with her. Will you come?” His voice seemed so naturally affected that I could not find it in my heart to say nay, and I went.

The man treated me with the greatest consideration and deference, apologizing for the queer route our journey took us. At last we came to a tall, ugly house. After two flights of creaking stairs, a door opened to admit us into a seemingly very comfortable flat. Another man had opened the door, but he was silent as I and my companion passed him. I began to feel a little nervous, but the sound of a woman's voice calling in tones which seemed shaking with pain, “Have you got her, John?”-reassured me.

I followed my guide, whom I now say, in the full light of the flat, to be a powerfully built, strong faced, ugly man with penetrating eyes, into a bed room- Between the sheets lay a woman, whom at first glance I recognized as a singularly beautiful creature. She was quite small and slight, a little thin in the neck perhaps, and pinched great eyes. In those great eyes which seemed to dominate the room, lay her chief cute charm. She did not look particularly ill, and I was surprised to note that she appeared to be quite naked, for the arm which lay on the coverlet was bare, and there was no sign of a garment about her neck and shoulders. Her lingers were covered with rings; it was obviously no poor woman who needed my assistance. In fact I summed her up at once as a well to do prostitute.

I was advancing towards the beu about to speak to her, when I felt my waist surrounded by the man's arms. At the same moment, I noticed a smile on the face on the woman. As I tried to struggle from his embrace it struck me that I was trapped, and the woman's words which immediately followed only too well confirmed my suspicion. “You've collared a pretty one, John she purred,” in a mocking tone. As my glance ran round the room, I saw that now the third man was present, sitting in a chair by the door, smoking a cigar.

“What does this mean?” I cried, in a choking voice.

For answer the big man gripped me again and kissed me violently.

“I implore you, what does it mean?” I said to the woman.

“Only that you must be a good girl and do what you're asked,” she responded with an irritating smile, and the same time the big man forced me back against the bed.

“Oh, tell me what you do want; is it money?” I begged, the tears welling into my eyes.

“No, you little fool,” the man answered savagely,” we want to fuck you!” and he let me go, then continued, “undress yourself quickly-or else we'll make you.”

I screamed at the top of my voice, but was answered by a general laugh. Then I swung round towards the woman and raised my hand, threatening her. In a second I found my legs twitched from under me and I was sprawled upon the floor. One man held my knees down and the other my elbows.

As I lay there quite helpless, the woman slipped from her bed, a beautiful little devil she was too, in her nakedness, superbly well formed, though on the small scale, with a perfect skin. She pressed my waist down with her two hands and looked into my eyes. “Will you be undressed quietly, and let these men do what they like?” she cooed.

I made no answer.

Then they lashed me down, by my ankles and wrists, to the legs of the bed on one side, and to a couple of rings which were also used for some soft of gymnastic appliance, on the other. My legs were stretched wide apart.

“Rather exciting, eh, Gladys?” I interrupt.

“Now perhaps,” she answers, “but at that time, you must remember, I was only eighteen, deeply in love, and had been wrong with two men only. I was mad with rage. They made no further attempts to cajole me, in fact, had I known as much as I do now, I should have seen that the very fact of forcing me was three parts of the pleasure to these sinister people.

The woman took a razor from the toilet table. I shut my eyes, fearing some horrible outrage, but she only used it to rip my dress and petticoats to my waist. The halves of my costume she turned over, laying bare my drawers and a good deal of the naked lower part of my stomach, for I wore no corsets.

She laid her hand on my little mount of Venus, and fingered it affectionately, though she did not succeed in producing the last of a dry feel in me. I was far too angry. But the sight seemed to please the men, for, with a simultaneous action they produced a large and erect prick and balls from their trousers and stood over me.

The woman completed my undressing, ripping off everything completely and destroying my clothes. When I was left naked on the damned floor, there was some affair of tossing up between the men as to which one should get a nice hot fuck out of me. The big one won, and promptly disembarrassed himself of his clothes. I was perfectly helpless, and compelled to lie there awaiting the ravishing of this brute, but he hesitated.

“I don't think I want the girl tied down like a log,” he said, “Let her go and I will try to manage it.”

Well, they did let me go, the woman had no hand in this. I fancy she was rather nervous. She perched herself crosswise on the bed, lit a cigarette and waited. I still lay there when I was freed, but found myself jerked up to my feet, and then the big man grappled with me. I just managed to get my teeth well into his shoulder, and with a right hand to grip him savagely by the balls, and I felt a heavy blow behind the ear and remembered no more.

I came to my senses to find a man on the top of me, his prick deep into me, and the girl bathing my temples with brandy. I felt far too ill then to struggle more the man finished his rape, without extracting the tiniest drop of reciprocal juice from me.

My ravisher lay heavily upon me, seemingly disinclined to remove himself from so pleasant a position, and the thing within me stayed stiff and unyielding in its maimed and bleeding home, but the other man jerked my ravisher's shoulder up.

“Easy, now, don't flatten the girl,” he said, then I felt the weight of the man's stomach relax, and his mighty cock slip in and out of my cunt. It was odd, but the moment his penis slid from me I experienced a thrill of pleasure; not pleasure that the thing had been removed, but real sensual joy, then I burst into tears.

They treated me kindly, lifted me gently on to the bed, and smoothed my limbs with their hands. The woman brought me warm water and bathed my thighs. Why I had bled I can't think; for, as you know, Blanche dear, I wasn't a virgin at that time, far from it. I suppose it must have been my wriggling, and the quite exceptional size of the man's member. But they certainly thought I was a virgin.

“Poor little thing,” said the woman cooingly, “You'll soon get to live it and you will thank us for initiating you in the art of love.”

I did not speak a word, but lay immobile wondering what would happen to me next. The other man's prick was stiff as a ramrod, and I felt certain I was not going to leave that room till he had gratified himself.

Then the woman slipped down on the bed by my side, and folded me in her arms. The delicate softness of her reconciled me to my position. Gently I returned her caress and in another moment our lips met in a loving kiss. She was very, very pretty; her lips were soft, her breath fragrant, and she followed the kiss by a delicate fondling of my clitoris. My position on the bed enabled me to see a mirror on the other side of the room, and the sight of our soft, white bodies thus folded together entranced me. I wriggled in her arms, darted my tongue between her teeth, and coveted that wandering finger of hers. In a flash I realized that for the first time in my life I was consumed with physical desire for the body of another being of my own sex. I abandoned myself entirely to her kisses.”

Here Glady's narrative must suffer a break. The following account she had on pieces of paper which she had typed herself, and wrote. She said she was too modest to allow me to dictate from my written account. I certainly blush myself when I correct the proofs»

Glady's words inflamed me. Ever since I had had the pretty girl as an amanuensis, I had known she was delightful to look at, and more than once I had caught myself regarding her with a feeling which had certainly something more than mere friendship and admiration in it. At last I had to come to the conclusion that I wanted her, but I dared make no attempt till she herself confessed through her story that she had before been enjoyed by a woman.

I made the getting of a drink a pretext to leave my chair, I poured out stiff glasses of whiskey and soda for both of us, and in handing Gladys hers, allowed my hand to stray over her soft shoulder, we were working, as usual, at night, and Gladys still wore her theatre gown, an extremely decollettee confection, that is to say she retained its bodice, but the skirt she had taken off, and sat in her petticoat, a pretty silk thing of dark red color which allowed her legs to be visible almost to the knee; her lace silk stockings were so very open-worked that the little threads seemed traced with a pen on her gleaming white flesh. She was very desirable to look, at and that must be my excuse.

“I don't marvel at the woman, Gladys,” I whispered in her little pink ear.

Then I kissed her just below the ear, and let my free hand wander over her neck down to where the bosom began to swell out of her corsage. She bent her head forward and bit my fingers softly.

We were both nervous, such an affair between us had never been mentioned, perhaps even thought of on her part, and for quite five minutes I remained kissing her cheek softly while she fondled my hand with her lips. Then, emboldened by the mad passion within me, I slipped to my knees, and ran my hand underneath her dress, up, up to her knees, and on, boldly on, to the bare flesh above her stocking, and at last to the opening between her drawers which gave me free ingress to her delicious front door of lust. Her legs were wide apart, and the lips of her vagina seemed red hot. I could feel her kisses covering my neck while my finger penetrated that sweet grotto.

Suddenly she jumped up. “Blanche, darling,” she panted, “Come to the photograph studio.

The photograph studio in my house is a large room (only a few yards from the boudoir where I as a rule dictate this thrilling romance) which we are in the habit of using for taking naked pictures of each one of us.

I followed Gladys and closed the door behind us. In almost less time than it takes to write it, she had freed herself from the underclothes and lay naked, entrancing, voluptuous, on the great couch. All my nervousness was gone in an instant, and my undressing was almost as speedy.

Then I buried my head between her thighs.

I seemed to remain there for hours, although the dear girl told me afterwards that it could not have been more than ten minutes before she freed herself. I could not see her face, but her image was clear in my eyes, and each thrill of her thighs, that told me of enjoyment she extracted from my act, urged my tongue to more passionate embraces. At last she pushed my head from between her legs, my face was covered with love juice. She seized my head between her hands, I had not till then known how strong she was, and kissed the spend from it.

“Now!” she cried, when the last kiss was ended, “it is my turn!”

I lay back on the sofa, opening my legs to their widest extent, and she gently licked. Her tongue seemed like a javelin charged with the electricity of lust. It darted round my clitoris, softly swept the little space between that excrescence and my gaping cunt, and stabbed strongly into me. I seemed to experience nothing but one long, voluptuous spend. When at last she left me, I lay back exhausted.

We were too tired for more of that vigorous sensuality, but for an hour or more we sprawled on the couch in each other's arms, and our lips were very seldom apart.

We got back to work on the immortal memoir very late next morning. Gladys said no word of our overnight frolic, simply giving me a type-written copy of the rest of her rape story, which you shall have directly. I had already sent down, by my maid, my notes of our little affair in the photograph boudoir.

Here is the rest of Gladys' tale.

“The two men did not suffer me to stay long in the arms of the woman. I was forcibly removed and the second man stretched me on the rug- In three strokes he possessed me, but kept his place and worked hard until he came again. I was dripping with spend when at last he left me, but he was no sooner off, than my first ravisher took his place, fucked me heartily, and deluged my sore and tired vagina with more love juice.

I lay panting on the floor while he wiped his dripping cock on the long hair of the woman, rather a pretty little trick, I thought, and wondered what was likely to befall me next, when there came a ring at the bell. I was about to jump up, but was held down at once, you can imagine that I had very little strength of resistance, and had the mortification of seeing two more men, strangers to me of course, come into the room where I lay naked on the floor. One was a tall, splendidly made young fellow; the other an elderly man. Both were in evening dress. Both seemed to take my presence there rather as a matter of fact, and kissed the woman as if nothing unusual was in the wind. In fact I was rather neglected, for the young man began stroking the woman's legs and suddenly took on a fury of passion, flung up her chemise, stretched her on the bed, and was into her in a tick. It was a short and wanton fuck.

My turn however came next, and I fell to the lot of the old man, who did not even take the trouble to remove any of his clothes; but fucked me rather laboriously, though apparently with a great deal of satisfaction to himself. When at last he did spend, he announced the fact with some pride, and received the plaudits of the rest. As soon as he was off me the woman bent down and examined my thighs: “It's true,” she cried, “my congratulations, Sir Richard,” and she fell to licking the sticky stuff from my legs. “It's not often I get a chance of even tasting any of your spend,” she said, as some sort of explanation of her wanton act.

Then commenced an orgy. The young man mounted me; Sir Richard screwed himself into the woman, and I was scandalized to see, by means of the mirror, that the other two proceeded to get into the young man and Sir Richard “per annus” as the classics have it. The weight up on me was considerable, but, whether it was the performance going on in his back door, or whether he really was very much inflamed by my charms the young man fucked me beautifully, and, tired as I was, I enjoyed it. We three were finished long before Sir Richard's party, and the entertainment concluded with my squatting above the woman's mouth, so that she employed her tongue in my arse hole, while Sir Richard licked my cunt, what time I took the young man's prick in my mouth, at the same time that he was being buggered by the last remaining man. It was somewhat of an elaborate set piece.”

“I should think it was indeed,” was my comment, when I had read this amazing confession.

“And that,” concluded Gladys, “is the story of my first rape. I won't bore you with further details of the affair. There was only one other thing of interest about the affair.”

“And what was that?” I asked.

“They gave me ten pounds,” said Gladys, “a sum of money which I could very well do with at the time.”