Are You Decent, My Dear?

A famous psychologist of a later age would declare that there are no accidents. But is it true? Surely on that June evening in 1886, when Miss Julia Bannister's bedroom door was left slightly open as she dressed for dinner, surely that was just an accident.

And it was surely an accident that her cousin by marriage, Lewis Wellman, happened to walk down the hallway at that very moment. Mere happenstance that he saw movement through the opening in the door: a glimpse of something pale; so intriguing that he paused and then approached Julia's bedroom.

But when Lewis pushed the door open and silently entered, that was certainly no accident. It was, rather, the act of a man for whom discretion and good manners, inculcated in him since childhood, evaporated in an instant. A man for whom all propriety was now forgotten.

The reason for this was no less than the sight of Julia Bannister's naked derriere.

To his dying day, Lewis would remember the scene. Julia had drawn the lace curtains that covered her window, so that the room was bathed in soft golden light from the setting sun. It reflected off the colored glass shade of the brass lamp beside Julia's four-poster bed. It lit up the marble surface of her washstand.

The room was opulently furnished in drapes and a Brussels carpet, their rich textures and colors epitomizing the luxury of the age. Amid this splendor, the crowning touch as it were, stood the nude woman, standing with her back to Lewis at her mahogany dresser. Having laid out her evening clothes and removed her afternoon attire following a spirited round of lawn croquet, Julia had just finished washing herself.

In the warm light of the room, the woman's bare skin and her reddish blonde hair, massed heavily at the back in the style of the day, seemed to glow with a life of their own. Below her eighteen-inch waist, achieved through years of wearing a tight corset, were two magnificent cream-colored mounds that held Lewis transfixed.

Julia turned slightly, resting her weight on her left leg, so that her left buttock formed a perfectly round hemisphere while the right buttock became now more extended. Thoroughly enchanted by this voluptuous display, the man continued to gaze in wonder.

He let his eyes roam down to the woman's thighs, as sleek as porcelain; then to her well-formed calves. This contrast of soft plump buttocks with firm shapely legs created, in Lewis' mind, a sensuous aesthetic that was greater than each alone. He felt that what he was seeing gave some new, fundamental insight into women in general and Julia in particular.

The woman was holding a pair of white silk drawers in her left hand. Undecided as to what to put on, she bent over to retrieve a pair of pink drawers from the bottom of her dresser. In doing so she revealed a nap of russet pubic hair between her nether cheeks. Also, so faint as to be as much imagined as truly seen, puffy labia separated by a cleavage.

The only sound was the call of mourning doves in the elms outside Julia's window. Lewis himself was as silent as if he were stone. Yet some sixth sense, or perhaps women's intuition, caused Julia to look over her shoulder and see the young man admiring her display.

"Oh great heavens!" she gasped. "Lewis, what are you doing in here! Get out!" With this outcry she turned to face the young man, covering herself with the drawers.

Lewis expected a mantle of shame to cover him; a flood of apologies to come pouring from his lips. But nothing of the sort happened. He felt rather a masculine joy that the world offered such beauty as his eyes had just beheld; feminine charms that before this moment had been vague speculation.

"Cousin," came a voice that was his own, "I must say, you are a most attractive woman."

Julia brushed away the hair from her forehead. Her eyes, normally as blue and serene as the waters of nearby Lake Ontario, were now dark with anger. Cheeks that were always the softest peach had in a trice become a vivid crimson.

"How dare you!" she exclaimed. "I always thought you a gentleman, Lewis Wellman! This is inexcusable! Get out or I will scream!"

Still relishing what he had seen, Lewis spoke again. "I'll leave, cousin Julia. But I wish I could stay. I wish my hands could caress your soft body, and my lips worship the beauty you've shown me. I truly wish I could do that."

Upon hearing this, the woman staggered back, near speechless and gasping for breath. "Oh! Oh you hound!" she cried. "I'll tell Uncle Jesse! Leave my room now, Lewis!" She hesitated, her voice tremulous. "Please?"

The last word finally broke the spell that the young woman's derriere had cast over him. "Yes, Julia, as you wish," Lewis nodded. With that he was out the door and walking briskly down the hall.

He returned to his own guest bedroom at Greenleaf, the summer retreat of his Uncle Jesse Garrison, located on the shores of Lake Ontario near the village of Fair Haven, New York. He, along with his half brother Thomas, had been invited to spend the weekend there with Julia, her mother Alice, and the Garrison family.

Lewis waxed his trim moustache and then donned his waterfall tie and waistcoat for dinner. As he did so, the image of Julia's delightful curves lingered. He smiled as he realized, quite correctly, that he could relive in his mind every second of the incident, and might do so for years to come. Never again would he view a woman in quite the same way; rather now with a new and certain knowledge of the charms that lay beneath her clothing.

So he felt no remorse. Although he was quite fond of Julia, not even the thought of her anger could, in Lewis' mind, erase the pleasure that viewing her nude body had given him.

Lewis joined Thomas and Uncle Jesse's sons Charles and Wallace in the drawing room for an aperitif. Soon he was approached by Newton, Uncle Jesse's butler.

"Sir," the man spoke in his usual dispassionate voice, "Mr. Garrison would like to see you in the study. At once."

A daunting group awaited Lewis when he entered the study. On the left of the brick fireplace stood Julia, her mother Alice, and Jesse's wife, Aunt Lucy. Dressed formally for dinner in their heaviest silk, their faces were grim. They gazed at the young man as if he were a particularly repulsive insect.

To the right of the fireplace stood Uncle Jesse Garrison, who had made his fortune in the flour mills of nearby Rochester, where he and his family lived. In every way he was an imposing figure, tall and robust, with a shock of dark hair and a great spread of mutton chop whiskers. Now the man's face was reddened by anger, with alarming tinges of purple on his cheeks.

He came to the point. "Lewis," he growled in his baritone voice, "I cannot believe what I've just heard. Did you enter Julia's bedchamber unannounced, and observe her in a state of undress?"

Time to pay the piper, Lewis thought. He placed his hands behind his back, as a man facing the firing squad might, and said, "Yes sir, I did."

"Then you will leave Greenleaf at once, young man. But first you will offer your most sincere apologies to Julia. Now."

Lewis turned to the ladies, who were waiting in a state of high dudgeon. He first bowed slightly from the waist to Julia's mother, saying, "Mrs. Bannister?"

Then he turned to Julia. She was, in his eyes, never more elegant and beautiful than at that moment. Her lace-covered blouse, with a raised collar enclosing her long graceful neck, accentuated the rosy blush of her cheeks.

For a few seconds his eyes roamed over her brow from which came her nose in a straight classical line. Lewis gazed into her blue, long-lashed eyes, now harboring within them a smoldering fire. Rather than reducing her in some way, his observation of her nude body had the opposite effect. Julia Bannister seemed more than ever a perfect embodiment of womanly flesh and spirit.

"Julia," Lewis began, "I do truly regret that my behavior caused you such deep embarrassment."

He should have let it go at that. A more circumspect man would have, but Lewis had always been an impetuous youth. At the moment, the image of his cousin's lush round derriere was still fresh in his mind.

"But for myself I feel no remorse," he went on recklessly. "I would view you again that way if I had the chance. Until today I never knew that the part of you concealed by clothing is every bit as lovely as the features you show the world. You are without doubt ..."

"Oh my word!" shrieked Aunt Lucy. "He's a raving lunatic! Jess, do something!"

The eyes of the women were wide with shock at Lewis' bold words. Alice hissed, "Of all the nerve!" At the same time Julia stepped forward and exercised her prerogative as an aggrieved woman. She slapped Lewis soundly, causing his face to jerk to the left. A red weal appeared on his cheek.

Uncle Jesse had in the meantime gone to the corner of the room and returned with a riding crop in his hand. "Now you listen to me, young man!" he snarled. "Many a scoundrel has felt the wrath of this crop across his back. And kin or no, I won't hesitate to use it on you. Get out of my house! Get out, you rascal!"

The air was electric with tension. Still reeling from the force of Julia's blow, Lewis again bowed and hurriedly walked from the room. Uncle Jesse followed, but to the young man's relief he withheld the punishment of the riding crop.

Newton politely held open the front door as Lewis continued his retreat. Uncle Jesse stood on the portico, watching him silently as he made his way to the stables. In a few moments his horse Pegasus was saddled and ready.

Lewis gave him the spur and cantered down the long gravel driveway of Greenleaf and out to the main road. He took a deep breath, enjoying the fresh air. But still the young man felt no remorse. Another treasured memory of the day had been added, one that he now recalled.

After Julia had so thoroughly slapped him, their eyes met for a few seconds. In her flashing blue eyes was anger and distress. But something more as well. Lewis had seen excitement, even to yearning. He realized that his viewing her naked body, and his words of praise for her figure, had aroused in Julia no small amount of passion. It was there in the young woman's eyes.

*******

Lewis enjoyed an easy ride through the summer twilight to the hamlet of Sterling, arriving just after seven in the evening. There he loaded Pegasus onto a horse transport car and bought a first class ticket for himself on the Rome, Watertown, & Ogdensburg Railroad. At nine o'clock he and the horse arrived in Rochester.

From the railroad station, he rode Pegasus to a livery stable near the house where he lived with his mother Wilma and his half brother Thomas. After stabling the animal, he did not go home, but rather took a hansom cab to the edge of the city.

The cab entered Carroll Road, a small but well traveled lane. After indicating his stop, Lewis paid the cab driver and walked to the small raised porch of a nondescript house. On the wall next to the door was mounted a small gaslight. It was enclosed within a glass cover whose hue was the brightest shade of red.

After one knock, a small peephole in the door opened; shortly Lewis was admitted. Dicie O'Malley, proprietor of the establishment, greeted him. The woman was in her late 40s, an ornate satin dress covering her ripe figure. She had a prominent widow's peak, to the point of appearing to be growing bald.

"Well now," she smiled, "Master Wellman. And to what do we owe this pleasure?"

"I've come to read Bible verses to the girls," Lewis said straight-faced.

"Right," said the madam. "Why else would a strapping young man come here?"

Lewis then grinned, saying, "Is Meg available?"

"Let's see," the madam replied. She drew from the cleavage of her great bosom a small pocket watch that was on a chain around her neck. "Give the dear another five minutes. Join me in a brandy?"

Lewis did so. After the brandy, he was handed the key to an upstairs room. Holding a bottle of port and two glasses, he mounted the stairs and walked down a dim hallway. Behind closed doors could be heard moans, grunts, and once, a woman's throaty laugh.

He entered his assigned room and examined the setting. The room was narrow, lit by one flickering gaslight, with a grimy window at the far end. To the right of the door was a rumpled bed, and opposite that a night stand. Beyond the bed stood a rack on which clothes could be hung. In the corner sat a brass spittoon.

A Negro girl, no more than a child, came into the room. A bored expression on her face, she filled a basin on the nightstand with water from a jug that she had been carrying. After placing several hand towels beside the basin, she left, having never glanced at Lewis or made any comment.

Lewis opened the window to allow fresh air into the room, which was redolent with the stale odor of cigars, whisky, human sweat, semen and cheap perfume. It was the odor of sin; of countless hurried sexual unions; of carnal pleasure taken as best as society allowed.

Lewis removed his outer clothing, leaving his undervest, and underdrawers that extended to his knees. He was reclining on the bed when Meg entered. She was in her early 30s, a great horsy Scotswoman whose head was covered with frizzy auburn hair.

"Ay, laddie," she smiled, speaking in a thick Scottish brogue, "so ye've come to see yer Aunt Meg."

Lewis returned her smile, feeling in spite of himself a swell of affection for the whore. Meg was a vivacious woman whom everyone liked because it was impossible to do otherwise. Thomas had brought him to this house and to Meg on his eighteenth birthday, where he yielded up his virginity to the woman. Although he had been tempted to try other girls of the house, Lewis always asked for Meg, faithful in his own way.

A warm amity had grown between the young man and the hooker. To Lewis, Meg was indeed like a jovial aunt, if ever one had an aunt who readily spread her thighs for any man willing to pay for his pleasure.

Meg was wearing a thin camisole and knee-length drawers open in the crotch. Like the woman herself, they were of good quality but now well-worn. She settled onto the bed next to Lewis as he handed her a glass of port.

"Well, Meg," he smiled. "How's tricks?"

"They've been better, me boy," she said as she took a sip of wine and patted him on the thigh. "I'm beginnin' to think I should have chosen some career besides whoring. Time was when I was happy to go all night, but now after half a dozen or so, I just wish they'd leave me to me knitting."

Shaking her head, the woman continued. "Every year the men become fatter and they smell worse. What a shame they ain't all firm young sweetmeats like yourself, laddie."

"Oh, but ye didn't come here to listen to an old doxy's blether now, did ye? You want something more satisfying, I fancy."

"Yes, but not just yet. You know Meg, it occurs to me that I've never seen much of that fine body of yours. Not your tits or even your cunny, although I've been a regular guest there."

The woman smiled. "Ye've never needed that to get yerself up. Why now?"

"Something happened today. I realized for the first time how beautiful is a woman's body." Lewis then related the day's events to Meg, ending with him being unceremoniously ordered off the premises at Greenleaf.

"Ay, the poor little darlin'," Meg laughed after Lewis had finished his story. "How awful she must feel, knowing a man has seen her bum. Tsk." As she spoke she rose from the bed and pulled the camisole over her head and let it fall to the floor. Now Lewis viewed her great pendulous breasts, with wide areolae that were only a shade more pink than the rest of her endowments.

The woman cupped and fondled her breasts. "Pity they've fallen so. But when I was a young lass, same age as you, oh what fine hillocks these were. Was I proud! I would have shown me tits to the vicar if only he'd asked," she chuckled.

"And the drawers?"

With a wry smile Meg untied and then slipped out of the drawers. Hands on hips, she stood before the young man entirely naked. She was more fleshy than shapely, a great mound of a woman. Lewis eyed the thick triangle of hair that covered her sex and extended part way to her navel. It was scarcely different in color or texture from that which covered her head.

Lewis' manhood began to stir. He realized that what had happened earlier in the day had not had this effect. His observation of cousin Julia's nudity had delighted his aesthetic sense, but had scarcely aroused lustful thoughts at all.

"Now turn around," he said quietly.

Meg turned her back to Lewis, showing her wide hips and enormous pillow-like buttocks, each pressing against the other so that her cleavage there was a mere slit.

"Bend forward, please Meg."

The woman did so, revealing to Lewis for the second time that day a woman's nether lips from behind. Meg looked back at the young man and said with a grin, "Will ye be wantin' to look straight up me twat, laddie?"

"No, I don't think so. But may I kiss your ass?"

"If you like. That's Mayor Hibbard's favorite sport; you might as well pucker up too."

Meg stepped backwards as Lewis rose and sat on the edge of the bed. Now her immense derriere filled his view as he planted kisses on the expanse of woman's flesh before him. At the same time he let his hands roam over the lower part of her supple buns, pausing now and then to squeeze them. He then moved his hands down to caress her thighs.

Only now did the young man admit to himself the obvious: he had come here to do to the whore what he could not do to the virgin. Lewis felt a shudder; his mind was of two opposite factions.

He had always admired Julia Bannister as a true lady, and sincerely wanted to respect her as such. Yet today he had seen her luscious body, as well as passion burning in her eyes. There could be no question. Julia was not some ethereal Venus, but a sensual creature, possessed of the same desires as any woman. This thought proved so discomfiting that Lewis quickly drove it from his mind.

The sensation of his lips gliding across Meg's wide buttocks, even to and within her cleavage, brought his cock to full stiffness. He murmured, "I think I'm ready for you now, Meg."

Meg put back on her camisole, uncomfortable at being nude in the presence of a man. She mounted the bed and got on her knees, resting on her elbows. She spread her legs and lowered her back so as to present her cunt to the young man.

Lewis in the meantime had removed his drawers. Now in his undervest only, he refilled his glass of port and moved into position behind the woman. In her current pose, Meg's hips and buttocks seemed as big as a mountain to Lewis.

Holding the port in one hand and his manhood in the other, he found Meg's wide portal, which was slack after years of steady use. He slowly thrust into her cunt, finding it as always warm and inviting.

For Lewis, Meg's cunt was as familiar and comfortable as an old shoe. He was pleased that, despite her years as a whore, Meg's sheath could close around his cock in such a snug fashion, a perfect fit.

A moment passed in silence as he held his wine glass in one hand and her left buttock with the other, gliding his cock slowly back and forth in the woman's cunt. He paused occasionally to take a sip of port.

"So, laddie, how's yer mother?" came Meg's voice from below. "Is her pleurisy any better?"

"Yes, thanks. She always does better in the summer, warm weather and all that." Lewis paused, gave Meg another deep thrust or two, and then went on. "What do you hear from your sister Cate?"

"Ah, the dearie still goes through money like a drunken sailor. She'd never be able to feed her little ones, did I not send her something now and then."

For a while Lewis sipped port and casually fucked the woman, during which time they continued a desultory exchange about their relatives, his studies at Yale, and even the weather.