The Romance of Violette (vintage erotica), Page 2

  I entered the room noiselessly. Not only was Violette fast asleep, but she had not even moved.

  However, the blankets were partly drawn back, and, as her chemise was half opened, one of her breasts was exposed to my view.

  She was charming thus, with her head thrown back and nearly hidden by her luxuriant locks; then she looked like a picture by Giorgione.

  Her bosom was marvellously plump and as white as snow. Though a brunette, the nipples of her breasts were rose and like strawberries. I leaned over and applied my lips lightly to one of them; it stiffened instantly, whilst a slight shudder ran through her frame. Had I only chosen to pull off the sheets, I am sure she would not have opened her eyes.

  But I preferred awaiting the close of her slumbers. I took a seat near the bed and held one of her hands in mine.

  By the light of the night lamp I examined that hand; it was small, of a comely shape, rather short like the hands of Spaniards, and the nails were rosy, pointed, but the forefinger bore evidence of needlework. While I was thus employed she suddenly opened her eyes and uttered a joyful exclamation.

  “Oh!” she said, “you are here, how happy I am! If I had not seen you on waking up I should have thought it was all a dream. Did you never leave me then?”

  “I did,” I replied, “I left you for four or five hours, which seemed like ages, but I returned, hoping to be the first object on which you should set eyes on waking up.”

  “And how long have you been here?”

  “For half an hour.”

  “You should have woke me.”

  “I should never have thought of doing so.”

  “You did not even kiss me!”

  “Yes, I did, I kissed one of your pretty little rosebuds.”

  “Which?”

  “The one on the left.”

  She uncovered it with a genuine air of innocence and tried to touch it with her lips.

  “Oh, how tiresome!” said she. “I cannot kiss it in my turn.”

  “And why should you like to kiss it in your turn?”

  “To place my lips where your's have lain.”

  She renewed the attempt.

  “I can do it! Well,” she said, “you gave it a kiss just now for your own sake, let your lips touch it now for my sake.”

  Thereupon I leant over her and taking the rosebud between my lips I caressed it with the tip of my tongue.

  She gave a little cry of pleasure:

  “Oh, how nice!”

  “As nice as yesterday's kiss?”

  “Oh! yesterday's kiss. It is so long since, I cannot remember.”

  “Shall I begin again?”

  “You know I should like you to, since you told me that was the proper way to kiss people you loved.”

  “But I don't know yet whether I love you.”

  “As for me, I am quite sure that I do love you dearly. So do not kiss me if you don't like to do it, but I shall kiss you all the same.”

  And as on the previous day she glued her lips to mine, with this difference, that this time her tongue touched my teeth.

  I could not have got away had I wished to do so, she hugged me so tightly.

  Her head fell back and with half closed eyes she murmured:

  “Oh, how I love you!”

  The kiss made me mad; I snatched her, so to speak, from the bed, and pressing her closely to my heart I covered her bosom with kisses.

  “Oh, what are you doing, I feel quite faint?”

  These words brought me to my senses, for it was not thus, by surprise, that I wished to possess her.

  “Dear girl,” said I, “I have had a bath got ready for you in the dressing room.” With these words I carried her there in my arms.

  “Ah!” said she, sighing, “how comfortable I feel in your arms.”

  The bath was just warm enough, I put her into it after having poured in half a bottle of eau-de-Cologne. I then lit the fire and placed the bearskin rug in front of it.

  Then I brought out a dressing gown of white cashmere and put before an armchair a pair of small red Turkish slippers with gold embroidery.

  After a quarter of an hour, my little bather came out quite shivering and ran to the fire.

  “Oh, how nice and warm!” she said, and she sat on the (bearskin at my feet.

  She was charming in her cambric peignoir of such transparent texture that the skin could be seen through it. She looked round and said:

  “Dear me, how pretty everything is here. Am I to live in this place?”

  “Yes, if you like, but we must have somebody's permission.”

  “Whose?”

  “Your father's.”

  “My father's! But will he not be glad when he knows I have a beautiful room and plenty of leisure time for study?”

  “To study what?”

  “Ah! I had forgotten. I must explain.”

  “Do, my dear girl, by all means. You know you must tell me all,” said I, kissing her.

  “You remember one day you gave me a ticket for a play?”

  “Yes, I do remember.”

  “It was for the Porte-Saint-Martin theatre, where they played Antony, by M. Dumas.”

  “It is an immoral play, not at all fit for young girls to see.”

  “I did not think so at all. I was quite taken up with it, and ever since that day, I told my sister and Monsieur Ernest that I wished to appear on the stage.”

  “You don't say so?”

  “Then Monsieur Ernest and my sister exchanged glances. 'Well,' said my sister, 'if she has any taste at all for it, it would be preferable to the milliner's business.”

  “'And then,' said Monsieur Ernest, With my journal, the Gazette des Theatres, I can give her a lift.”

  “'Well, that will be just the thing for her.'“

  “Madame Beruchet was told that I should sleep at my sister's and that I should not return until next day. After the play we returned to the Rue Ghaptal and I began to repeat the principal scenes which I remembered, and I set to acting all the while moving my arms about like this-”

  But meanwhile Violette unconsciously had opened her peignoir and disclosed some lovely treasures to my view.

  I took her in my arms, set her on my knee, and she nestled lovingly against me.

  “What next?” I asked.

  “Monsieur Ernest then said that if my mind was made up, as two or three years must elapse before I made my debut, I must let my father know of the plan.”

  “'And during these two or three years, how will she live?' asked Marguerite.

  “'What a question to ask!' replied Monsieur Ernest. 'She is pretty and a pretty girl need not want for anything. From fifteen to eighteen she will find a protector. Besides she eats no more than a little bird. What does she require? A nest and a little seed.' “

  I shrugged my shoulders while casting a glance at the poor little creature nestling in my arms as in a cradle.

  “Then,” resumed Violette, “the next day they wrote to Papa.”

  “And what did Papa reply?”

  “He replied: 'You are two poor orphans thrown upon the world without any other protector than an old man of sixty-seven who may at any moment be taken away from you. Therefore, do the best you can, but never do anything which would make the poor old soldier ashamed of you.'“

  “Did you keep that letter?”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “Where is it?”

  “In the pocket of one of my gowns. Then I thought of you. I said: 'Since he gave me tickets for the play, he must be acquainted with the managers of theatres.' I always put it off till the next day. But the affair with Monsieur Beruchet decided it all. Will you do all you can to help me in studying for the stage?”

  “I will indeed, I promise you.”

  “How good you are.” And Violette threw her arms round my neck, and so doing laid bare the treasures of her bosom.

  This time, I confess, I lost my head; my hand glided down her body and rested upon a spot covered with hair as sof
t and as fine as silk.

  When Violette felt my hand her whole body seemed to vibrate; her head fell back, her mouth was half opened, while her eyes were nearly closed. And yet, I had hardly touched her.

  I was mad with passion and carrying her to the bed, I knelt before her and placed my mouth where my hand had been. I experienced then the supreme pleasure of one's lips in contact with virginity.

  From this moment, Violette uttered inarticulate words, till a spasm of pleasure thrilled through her whole body.

  I got up and gazed on her while she was recovering. She opened her eyes, tried to sit up, and murmured:

  “Oh, how delicious it was! Can we begin again?”

  Suddenly she got up and looking intently at me, she asked:

  “Is it not very wicked?”

  I sat near her on the bed.

  “Has anybody ever spoken to you seriously?”

  “Yes, sometimes father did, when I was a child, to scold me.”

  “I don't mean that. I mean to ask you whether you could understand anyone who should talk to you seriously?”

  “Not perhaps if it were a stranger. But I believe I can understand anything you say to me.”

  “Well then, listen.”

  She clasped her arms round my neck, fixed her eyes on mine and with an attentive air, said: “Now speak, I listen.”

  “Woman, when created, certainly received the same rights as a man, that is, the right of obeying one's natural instincts.

  “Well, society being ruled by men, who are stronger than women, certain laws have been forced on women. Chastity is imposed on girls, and fidelity on married women.

  “Men, in framing these laws, have reserved for themselves the right of satisfying their passions, without thinking that in order to indulge them they must cause women to break the laws they laid down for them.

  “These women give them happiness, but shame is their own lot.”

  “That is very unjust!” remarked Violette.

  “Yes, my dear, truly so. Therefore have certain women risen up and said: “What does society offer me in exchange for the bondage in which she keeps me? Marriage with a man I shall not probably love, who will take me at eighteen years of age, who will enjoy me and make me unhappy all my life. I had rather remain outside of society, follow my own inclinations and love whom I please. I shall be a woman of nature, not of society.

  “From society's conventional point of view, what we have done was wrong. From nature's point of view, we have only given satisfaction to our legitimate desires.”

  “Did you understand?”

  “Quite well.”

  “Well, think of this all day. This evening you can let me know whether you want to be nature's woman or that of society.”

  I rang the bell and the maid came. Violette was in her bed, showing only her head. “Madame Leonie,” I said, “you will please attend to all this young lady's wants; you will have her food sent by Chevet, her pastry from Julien's. There is Bordeaux wine in the cupboard and 300 francs in this drawer.

  “Ah! I forgot. Send for a dressmaker to measure the young lady for two simple but tasteful dresses, with bonnets to match.”

  When I returned in the evening, Violette ran up to me, and, throwing herself into my arms, she said:

  “I thought of what you told me.”

  “All day?”

  “No, for five minutes, and I prefer to be nature's woman.”

  “You do not wish to return to Monsieur Beruchet?”

  “Oh, no!”

  “You wish to return to your sister's?”

  Violette made no reply.

  “Do you think it inconvenient to return to your sister's?”

  “I am afraid it may not please Monsieur Ernest.”

  “Who is that Monsieur Ernest?”

  “A young man who visits my sister and who is a journalist.”

  “What makes you think that he would not like to see you with your sister?”

  “Because, when by chance Madame Beruchet sent me for an errand, and I quickly ran to kiss my sister when M. Ernest was there, he looked quite sulky. He went into the other room with Marguerite and locked the door. One day I remained because the lady had told me to wait for an answer and that seemed to put them both out of temper.”

  “Well, then there is an end of it, you shall be the woman of nature.”

  CHAPTER III

  Dear girl! It was indeed nature, but a delightful nature which inspired her.

  I had some excellent books in my library. She had been reading all day.

  “Did you feel dull?” I asked.

  “Yes, on account of your absence, but not otherwise.”

  “What did you read?”

  “I read Valentine.”

  “Then I am not surprised,” I replied. “That book is a masterpiece.”

  “I do not know. But what I do know is that it made me cry all the time.”

  I rang the bell for Madame Leonie.

  “Get tea ready,” I said. Then I asked Violette: “Do you like tea?”

  “I don't know. I never tasted it.”

  When tea was ready, I asked Violette whether she required the service of Leonie any longer. She said, “No” so I shut the door and locked it.

  “Are you going to remain here?”

  “If you will allow me.”

  “All night?”

  “All night!”

  “Oh, won't that be nice! Then we can go to bed like two good little friends.”

  “Just so. Have you ever slept with any of your girl friends?”

  “At school, when I was quite little; but not since then, except when I slept with my sister.”

  “What did you do then?”

  “I used to say good night; I kissed her, and we both went to sleep.

  “That is all.”

  “And if we slept together, do you think that would be all?”

  “I hardly know; but it seems to me there should be something else.”

  “But then, what could we do together?”

  She shrugged her shoulders. “Perhaps what you did to me this morning,” she said, embracing me.

  I took her in my arms and put her on my knees. She was silent for some time; then she smiled and said:

  “Can you guess what I should like?”

  “No.”

  “I should like to be learned.”

  “Learned! Why would you like to be learned, of all things in the world?”

  “To understand what I do not understand.”

  “What is it you do not understand?”

  “A good many things. For instance you asked me whether I was a virgin.”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, I replied, I did not know, and you burst out laughing.”

  “That is correct.”

  “Well, what is it to be a virgin?”

  “A virgin is a young lady who has never been caressed by a man.”

  “Then I am no longer a virgin now?”

  “How's that?”

  “Why, it seems to me that you caressed me this morning.”

  “But there are different ways of caressing, my dear girl. The kisses I gave you this morning, though very sweet…”

  “Oh, yes, they were sweet! They were indeed!”

  “However sweet, they do not destroy virginity.”

  “And what are those that do take away one's virginity?”

  “I should first explain to you what is virginity.”

  “Do explain it to me, then.”

  “It is no easy matter.”

  “Oh no, you are so clever!”

  “Well, virginity is the physical and moral state of a girl who, like you, has not had a lover.”

  “But what is having a lover?”

  “It is doing with a man certain things by which children are begotten and brought into the world.”

  “Did we not do these things?”

  “No!”

  “Then you are not my lover?”

  “I am o
nly as yet your sweetheart.”

  “When will you be my lover?”

  “In as long a time as possible.”

  “I suppose it is because you would dislike it?”

  “Not at all, just the reverse. It is the thing that I should like above all things in the world.”

  “Oh dear! how tiresome! I no longer understand you.”

  “To be the lover of a woman, pretty little Violette, is to be, in the alphabet of love's pleasures, at the letter Z of the ordinary alphabet. There are twenty-four letters to learn before you come to the end of that series whose first letter, the letter A, is a kiss on the hand.”

  I took her little hand and kissed it.

  “And what you did to me this morning-what letter was it?”

  I was fain to confess that it stood very close to letter Z, and that I had omitted many vowels and consonants to get to that stage.

  “You are chaffing me!”

  “No, indeed I am not, sweet darling. I should like to make this alphabet last as long as possible-this charming alphabet of love, of which each letter is a caress and each caress is bliss. I should wish to take off little by little that robe of innocence, just as I shall pluck one by one all the different articles of your apparel from your person.

  “If you were dressed, each portion that I should take off would disclose something new to me-something unknown, something charming; the neck, the shoulder, the bosom, and, by degrees, all the rest. Like a brute, I divested you of all in a moment. You did not know the value of all that you gave away.”

  “Then I have done wrong?”

  “No, no! I loved you too much, too passionately, to proceed otherwise.”

  I slipped off her gown, and then she sat on my knee clad only in her chemise.

  “You wish to know what is virginity,” I said, losing all control of myself. “Well, I wall tell you; but draw near-nearer still-your lips on mine.”

  I pressed her to my breast; she clasped her arms round my neck, sighing and panting with amorous excitement.

  “Do you feel my hand?” I asked.

  “Oh, yes!” said she, with a shiver through her whole frame.

  “And my finger, do you feel it too?”

  “Yes… Yes!…”

  “I am now touching what they call the maidenhead. When once this is broken through you cease to be a virgin, and you become a woman. Well, what I wish is to caress you only in such a way that you shall keep that maidenhead as long as possible. Do you understand?”