Anonymous - The altar of VVenus - The Making of a Victorian Rake

Gradually, the realization stole over me that I had experienced a fantastic, but weirdly realistic dream. I opened my eyes and recognized the familiar surroundings. Irma was lying beside me, propped up on her elbow, watching my face intently. Her right hand was holding my cock still wet and dripping, and just beginning to wilt down. When she saw that I was awake, she broke into hysterical laughter.

" What in the world are you trying to do with my finger?": she exclaimed between spasms of laughter. " You' ve been squeezing and pulling at it until it' s nearly disjointed!"

Dazedly, I glanced downward. I was still gripping the index finger of her left hand.

" You little devil!" I answered, releasing it, " what was that stuff you gave me to smoke?"

I was really indignant and she resented my failure to consider her act a favor, she remained silent. And to this day I have no knowledge of the exact nature of the drug which was responsible for my visit to artificial realms of magnificence and eroticism.

The parting of the ways drew near. In recognition of Irma' s generosity, splendid hospitality, and the many favors she had shown me, I did everything possible to make myself agreeable to her during the remainder of my stay, and we separated the best of friends.

I passed several days wandering about the streets, or comfortably lying on my bed reading naughty French novels and magazines, collected by the score from newstands and kiosks. One afternoon as I was lazily debating the advisability of commencing preparations for my return, my detective friend presented himself. We chatted a bit and then, putting on my hat and coat, I accompanied him downstairs, intending to have a parting drink with him before saying good- bye. We seated ourselves at a table in front of a little cafe, and ordered our favorite liquors. In the process of consuming these, my companion suddenly leaned toward me and whispered:

" Glance over your left shoulder in a moment at the girl sitting at the table just behind you. I' ll tell you something about her after we get away from here."

A moment later I glanced casually around. Sitting by herself sipping some colored concoction through a straw was as neat a little Parisienne as I had seen during my stay in France. Apparently eighteen or nineteen years old, dressed in a very short skirt, her shapely legs clad in black silk hose, and wearing a blouse of white crepe de Chine, so diaphanous that the pink, lace edged brassiere shielding her exuberant bubbies was plainly visible, she formed a picture whose details registered themselves with lightning rapidity in one brief glance.

Not wishing to be caught staring I turned away, and a few minutes later looked around again, this time concentrating my gaze on her face. It was entirely at variance with the extreme coquetry of her apparel, and the careless elevation of her skirt, for her features were demure, modest, almost angelic in their pure beauty.

She was altogether too pretty not to awaken my instant admiration and after I had paid the account and we were out of earshot I exclaimed:

" The cutest little trick I' ve seen since I' ve been here!"

My companion smiled cynically.

" Cute is right! Entirely too cute. She' s a crook."

" A crook?" I repeated incredulously.

" Yes, a crook. And a darn clever one."

It seemed incredible and I could scarcely reconcile the facts as he related them with that demure sweet face and the modest downcast eyes I had seen at the little sidewalk cafe.

" And she' d have cleaned you out of every franc you possess," he answered with a dry smile.

" I' m not so sure it wouldn' t be worth it at that," I added, as I recalled the multiple and diverse charms of the exquisite little houri which were visible to the eyes, and mentally conjured up naked visions of others hidden beneath silken trappings.

" Ha!" retorted my companion. " That' s the funny part of it. None of the birds she snares ever gets as much as a feel of it. She' s really married to this fellow she works with, and completely infatuated with him. All the suckers get for their money is to see her half naked for a few moments before her husband shows up. He' s always right on time."

" How do they manage that?"

" Some system of signals probably. We' ll get them sooner or later."

After I retired that night I lay awake for some time thinking of the girl. There was something about her which touched a responsive chord in my being, and it was not to be suppressed even by the undisputable charges of my detective friend. And the more I thought about her, the stronger became my desire. I even studied the possibility of making her acquaintance and endeavoring to win her affection, but the idea was discarded with the recollection of my friend' s statement to the effect that she was deeply enamored with her accomplice. Finally just as I was dropping off to sleep, the germ of an idea came to me.

The next day I called on my friend and told him that I had decided to remain in Paris a week or two longer.

" What' s happened? Something new in skirts?" he asked, astutely.

" No: that is: well, I' ll tell you: that girl we saw yesterday:"

" What!" he broke in. " A waste of time, son. You couldn' t open her legs with five thousand francs. And it wouldn' t be worth it, even if you could," he added, laughing.

" Wait a minute, now, before you start laughing. I' ve got a plan. It may open her legs, as you so crudely put it, without costing a single franc!"

" What is this plan?" he asked cynically.

" Before I explain it, I want a little information."

" What do you want to know?"

" She takes them to the apartment she and her husband occupy. They move right after each operation. We know their present location."

" Do you know whether there are other people involved, that is, have they any confederates who participate in any way?"

" No; they work by themselves. They don' t need any help the way they handle it."

" You said yesterday they probably have some system of signals that enables the man to know the exact moment to come in. Do you think he is already in the building, or does he come in from the outside?"

" I can' t answer that, but one of the men who talked to us after deciding that he had been ' framed' said that the fellow stepped into the room with an overcoat on and a traveling bag in his hand, as though he had just returned from a journey."

" Do you know where she can be found, in case I wanted to get her attention as a prospective victim?"

" At any given moment, no, but she frequents cafes in the neighborhood we were in yesterday. But why waste your time and risk your money on a wild goose chase? Aren' t there enough pretty girls on the streets of Paris without wasting time on this particular little crook?"

" I' m not interested in street chippies. See if you can' t find out whether the husband secrets himself on the premises during the preliminaries or whether he comes in from outside. The practicability of the plan I have in mind depends mostly on this one detail. After you find out about it I' ll explain everything."

" All right, I' ll try, but you' re just wasting your time, son. Don' t do anything foolish."

" I' ll not make any move without consulting you first. If you think it imprudent I' ll drop it. I' d have to have your co- operation anyway."

" Well, I' ll be in to see you tomorrow evening, and let you know if I' ve been able to dig up anything."

I was waiting impatiently in the lobby the following evening when he arrived, and as we seated ourselves in a secluded corner, I handed him a cigar, lit one myself, and waited expectantly.

" I' ve go the information you wanted, son. The man comes in from the street. They either have their operation nicely timed, or else a signal of some kind is passed from the window, which, by the way, fronts the street. Their rooms are on the third floor."