Anonymous - Gynecocracy

In a few minutes he said: "Again, Julia."

"If-if you like."

He made the attempt, he replaced the weapon, but he was unsuccessful in the accomplishment to the end. It did not throb. He excited me however into a second paroxysm which he appeared to delight in.

He withdrew himself, let me turn round and repose in his arms.

Presently I kissed him.

"Do you think, Alfred, do you think I shall have a-a baby?"

He smiled curiously and enquired whether I should like one.

"Above all things," I promptly answered.

He laughed. "Oh, Julia! What a confession."

"And do you know, Alfred," I continued, "I–I-really thought once-just for a short time, that you might be Lady Alfred Ridlington dressed in your husband's clothes! Wasn't that absurd?"

"Yes; what on earth put such an idea into your silly little head?" he asked, with a look of deep affection.

"Oh! I don't know except that you have such a beautiful well-formed figure which would be a credit to any girl or woman, and because Mademoiselle-"

"Well?"

"Mademoiselle said she would, when I thought I was a boy, get Lady Alfred Ridlington to discipline me because I wanted to make too much love to her. And-"

"And what more?"

"Oh! Because she said that Lady Alfred Ridlington thrashed her husband and-wore his breeches. There!" Looking curiously at him with depreciation of my own credulity.

"Indeed, I am extremely obliged to Mademoiselle," he replied. "Lady Alfred does not thrash me and does not wear my breeches. And I think I have proved to you-"

"Yes, indeed you have, that you are a dear, delicious, naughty man! Would you like to do that again?"

"Not now, dear, thank you-it would be too exhausting for you."

To my surprise before many minutes were over, I felt very "unwell." I at once knew why Mademoiselle had endeavoured to show and to teach me how to contain myself. I felt I was going to be "unwell."

Mademoiselle had injected much more into my womb than Lord Alfred had and I had had to wait twenty minutes, so that I might easily wait a little longer now. But I could not-I had no towel on-the quantity of the injection did not affect the matter. I looked terrified. He saw something was up. What could I say or do?

"Hallo, Ju!" he cried, springing up. "I declare I hear the girls' voices on the lawn, let's have some tennis-you will come and join us presently, won't you?"

"Yes," I said, looking fondly at him as he stood before me; and as, giving and receiving a kiss, he disappeared, I rushed to my room. What a narrow, what a fortunate escape!

I leisurely put my things on before the glass, a hat, a pair of tennis shoes, and changed my skirt for a tennis one. I looked at myself, and thought: "Now, Julia, thank goodness! You know you are a girl, and are, perhaps, going to have a baby."

I recollected my rude, hobbledehoy, hoydenish days, when I believed I was a boy and wondered at the change so surprising, so far reaching, so complete, that had overtaken me.

My former rudeness and roughness and violence positively shocked and astounded me. I felt ashamed of them and blushed deeply. They were so disgraceful in one who all the time should have been in petticoats.

So thorough was this system of discipline that to this day when I know all about it and understand how I was mystified, the impression is still strong upon me and exercises a most wonderfully taming and domesticating effect.

On the way down I met Mademoiselle.

"May I congratulate you, Julia dear?"

"Oh, Mademoiselle!" I cried.

"Am I cut out?" she asked, with that playfulness which she never lost.

"Oh, Mademoiselle, no!" I answered, a little indignantly.

"But how about Alfred? I suppose he is now-?"

I blushed deeply. My wits came to my rescue.

"You know," I said, in very low, hushed tones, "you said I was an hermaphrodite. I belong to you just as much as to him."

"You are a dear boy-girl, I mean, Julia." And she kissed me. "Never mind the tennis. Come with me to my boudoir and tell me all about it. We'll have some tea or chocolate or what you like."

And how delighted I was to obey.

As I returned to my room for the purpose of substituting for my short, tight skirt (fitted for tennis but not for the dalliance of Mademoiselle's boudoir) a loose tea gown and high-heeled shoes, a rush of memories flooded my mind in an unaccountable fashion-memories of that evening, now some days past, when I saw the rich, full bosom of Beatrice, in her low-cut evening dress, hidden by an ugly oblong card suspended by a scarlet ribbon from her radiant neck on which was inscribed, in letters an inch long, the word PROSTITUTE

What thoughts, what notions and ideas, what immorality and profligacy, this single symbol-this single expression-on the swelling bosom of my future wife evoked!

"Oh, Beatrice!" Agnes had cried, clapping her hands, as Beatrice entered the brilliantly lighted drawing room before dinner. "What a-a-charming one-you are! If only I were a man!"

Beatrice's anger, rising at the first half of the sentence, was momentarily diverted by its close. She looked at me full and distinctly betrayed the fact her chief concern was as to how I should take her disgrace. Without being aware of it, I felt flattered.

And I suppose it was the sense conveyed by this assurance of her concern about me, lingering upon my mind, that caused me now to stand and think and wonder instead of hastening to Mademoiselle as I should have done.

Agnes, however, did not escape, for Beatrice, averting her eyes from me, and returning to her first impulse, walked up to her, her teeth clenched and her eyes flashing and hissing the words "You wretch!" gave her two sound boxes, one upon each ear, before Agnes could recover from her surprise at the storm she had raised.

I abandoned myself somewhat inopportunely and somewhat to my own surprise, to a resume in my thoughts of that delicious, eventful evening-delicious, principally, I verily believe, because Beatrice had to undergo then what she was so fond of inflicting. I delighted in the discomfiture and humiliation the proud beauty had suffered.

Agnes looked pretty and girlish in her elegant frock. At the blows she changed colour but appeared more disturbed at the threat with which Beatrice followed them up.

"There, you impudent baggage! Just you wait awhile and I will make you wear a card like this behind and before!"

Agnes dared not reply, but I could see her pretty bosom heave and grow crimson whilst a defiant glance shot from her eyes.

Maud was in the room and watched what went on with quiet amusement; but, as usual, was too careless, too serenely indifferent, to take any active part. She had looked up at Beatrice's entrance and at Agnes' remark, but then, with an impatient kick of her dress, and a disdainful pout, she continued her perusal of the novel she was reading while we waited for Mademoiselle and the gong.

The whole scene returned with surprising vividness to my mind though I was much puzzled why it should do so at that particular moment.

The current was, however, too powerful to resist, and as I stood before my glass, fondling my arms, admiring my breasts, noting my drooping eyelids and their long lashes (I had thrown off my gown) I was forced to abandon myself to it and I may as well relate my reminiscences in the order in which they most impressed me, which was at the time when I most cogitated upon them, although not the time of the actual occurrence of the events.

What then, to be honest, was the significance of that magnificent diamante bracelet, the gift of Lord Alfred Ridlington to me, worth several hundred pounds at least, which now adorned my dressing table and which I had more than once fully appreciated and admired when clasped upon my arm, and had made up my mind to wear that very evening although I felt very uncertain whether or not to tell Mademoiselle beforehand of the gift? One of the articles of her favourite code of love enjoined strict secrecy in love matters. Had it-disquieting hateful thought-been given to me as wages?