The Innocent Whore

Georgina's face was beetroot red with anger.

"There are many, including me, who have stopped blindly believing that you are able to earn living from singing, no matter how beautiful your voice is. Not everybody is a fool, you see." I said and pounded my fist against the small table that stood between us. "Very few of us are foolish enough to believe you to be a sweet little lady, you are trying to portray yourself as." I said.

A solitary tear slid down Georgina's blushed face.

I sighed. "I am not a poet, my dear." I said softly, wearily. "Not a tortured artist who would be satisfied with your mere presence to inspire him enough to create a masterpiece." I eyed the chair in the corner and wondered if I could chance to sit down and thus try to calm her, appearing non-threatening. I decided against it. "I am but a simple man with simple needs. I have been asking for your affection far too long. If you won't give it to me, I shall leave you alone."

"Don't you get what you want from your wife?" she asked scornfully, her face turning ugly with wickedness, unconsciously slipping into an East End drawl, which she so carefully kept out of her speech on other occasions.

"My wife gives me what a husband needs. You," I said and extended my arm to her, "You can give me what a man desires. And you know exactly what I mean. No need for sarcasm."

Georgina seemed to have realized the game was over. She rolled her eyes towards the ceiling, wiped the tears off her face and very unceremoniously sniffed loudly, wiping her nose with the palm of her hand, a kerchief on the dressing room table ignored.

"I shall leave now." I said and as if to show her how serious I was, I began buttoning up my coat. "I have business to attend to," I lied. "I shall come to your house in about an hour, Georgina. If you're not there to receive me, I shall know what your answer is."

"An hour?" she almost screeched.

"That is enough time, I should imagine. You needn't beautify yourself for me; I already think you look like an angel. I will take you any way you care to give yourself to me. No matter what, you can't appear ugly to me, you know that." That was not quite true. Many a time I had peeked inside her manipulative little heart and the sight of it was anything but appealing. I cared not. Or was I simply trying to repair the damage, which so foolishly I might have created in a moment of anger?

"And now, my dear," I said and tipped my hat to her, "Goodbye or farewell, whichever you choose." I said and took one last look at the woman standing in the middle of the dressing room, looking very small and vulnerable. So much so, that I almost changed my mind. I wanted to run back to her, take her in my arms and cover her face with kisses, wipe away her tears with my lips. I did none of those things. I simply opened the door and walked out, noting that my arms trembled almost uncontrollably, the burning fire in my stomach causing a sensation of nausea.

I hurried through the corridor with wobbly knees, half expecting Georgina to come running after me, yelling obscenities, and throwing things at my person, loudly announcing to anyone who would listen what a vile old man I were. No such thing happened. The door remained closed and apart from hushed conversation in the other dressing rooms, no sound was to be heard. Undoubtedly, some heard us arguing, but I couldn't be bothered with worry over it. I had put down my ultimatum and thus exposed myself to Georgina's mercy. Whether she would call my bluff or accept me, as I wanted to be accepted remained to be seen and I feared my heart could not stand another hour of uncertainty. As much as I wanted to keep seeing her, I couldn't stand any more of her rejection. She would give herself to me or that would be the end of it, I decided. I had been heartbroken before, and I had survived. Undoubtedly, I could survive it again.

I found my loyal Norbert waiting for me; despite the chill in the air he appeared patient and unaffected by it. Under different circumstance, I would have loved to call him my friend, but life decided to deal the cards differently and I had accepted him as a faithful servant, awarding his devotion in any way I possibly could. "Home, my Lord?" he asked and I shook my head. "Why don't we simply ride around for an hour or so? I need time to think, you see." I said and gratefully accepted the offered hand, which helped me inside the calash.

"Perhaps we should stop at a tavern, my Lord." Offered Norbert carefully. "You might want to have a bite to eat, or a glass of whiskey to warm you up." He looked around uneasily, whether afraid of reprimand from me or fearful that anybody would have heard us, I could not tell.

Of course, he was right. We were mere weeks away from the latest and most horrible butchery of a young prostitute, attributed to the infamous fiend of East End. Despite the fact that police had greatly reduced nightly patrols and there were whispers that the case had been solved, people were still edgy and to be seen riding aimlessly about London would not be a smart thing to do. Anybody was a suspect and in the eyes of the East Enders, it was the aristocracy who had bestowed such evil upon the unfortunate whores.

"Indeed, Norbert." I said and smiled. "I think I shall call upon Sir Merrick. I know it's a late hour, but you know Merrick," we both smiled as if Norbert was just as intimate of a friend to the old scientist as I had been. "He works until all hours of the morning. I have some business to take care of with him before I leave for France. I might as well do it now, mightn't I?"

Norbert nodded and closed the door of the calash. As we pulled away from the theatre, I felt a distant throbbing of an oncoming headache. I had practically spilled my heart out to Georgina, even though it was done in a metaphoric sense. I hoped she understood it, I wished I hadn't been quite so harsh and cruel, but at the same time, I realized it had to be done exactly like that or I would have been nothing but a toy in her hands forever. Even though I had glimpses of her own cruelty before, I still felt the greatest affection for her and to say that I would simply walk away and forget about her would have been a lie. Survive her, yes I would. Forget however, I would never be able to do that.

After a good hour with my friend Merrick, who managed to pour a couple of stiff ones down my throat, I was on my way again. Pleasantly tipsy and for the moment managing to keep the headache at bay, I was strangely torn between the excitement of seeing Georgina and fear over the possible rejection.

A wealthy, married, older man, not the handsomest in London, but then again far from ugly is what many young women seemed to look for. Actresses and performers seemed especially enthralled with men like me. The attraction of wealth itself probably needn't be explained at all. Married meant that there are only occasional visits and the lady is left to her own devices to entertain herself or others whenever and however she pleases when one is not available. Older - mature and beyond games, I should think is what was sought after. Someone who knows what one wants and strives to achieve it without the drama. Life is so simple if one wants it to be, alas, only in our later years we learn to cherish that simplicity and abandon the complexity of the emotional. Despite all that, I felt the emotions were knocking at my heart, banging against it really. I had a feeling I was headed for trouble, but knew not what to make of it.

The more we approached Georgina's beautiful house in the West London, the more I became uncertain of my own self. Had I finally crossed the line with her? Had I finally given her the reason to turn away from me and let me be?

She was never the one who showed any affection for me beyond calling medarling. If she sensed I was annoyed with her, she would allow me to hold her hand for a while, even kiss it. She would smile at me gently and bat her pretty eyes in the most innocent of ways. Sometimes, when I sat in her dressing room quietly, she would pretend she had forgotten that I was there, raising her skirt to her knee and gently massaging her small calves, exposing her beautiful milky white skin to my longing eyes. Then, as if remembering the presence of a man, she would blush and drop them quickly, smoothing the wrinkles on her dress hurriedly, all the while looking at me in the mirror, and I have to say, those were the moments that I cherished the most. There was a smoky look to her eyes then, seductiveness so thick with sexuality that sometimes I found myself gasping for breath and wiping away the first signs of perspiration off my forehead.

Would she look at me like that now? Would she play the great seductress or would there be a struggle? Would I finally be able to touch her soft skin, kiss her neck, smell her sex? I felt the stirring in my loins just thinking about the woman. The wretched wench! She had me reduced to the level of a schoolboy, salivating at the mere thought of a naked calf let alone anything beyond that.

For a moment after the calash had stopped in front of Georgina's house, I was struck by an unreasonable panic, having a good mind to order Norbert to keep going and take me home. It was all good and dandy to be brave earlier in Georgina's dressing room. Now, however, my anger having subsided, I felt unprepared. If she was to tell me to leave, I would have done so, unable to hold it against her. I was a coward and I knew it.

"I will be waiting at the end of the street for you, my Lord." Said Norbert and pointed to a lonely stretch of bushes a few houses over. "Just wave when you're ready." He added and nodded gratefully. It had struck me just how much I will miss Norbert while in France. Nobody there to take care of me like he does. No one to make sure I was warm, fed and helped to my bed safely if I had one drink too many. I made a mental note to thank Norbert before I left London, but as soon as my hand touched the black steel gate of the house, those thoughts evaporated and the discomfort punched me in the stomach, reminding me of my earlier fears.

As the calash pulled away from the house, I climbed the stairs with heavy feet, my heart beating violently inside my throat. Is this what a condemned man feels like when ascending the gallows? As unreasonable as it might sound, that is exactly how I felt.

As I reached the top of the stairs and balled my hand into a fist to knock on the door, it opened up before my fingers touched it and nearly startled me. To my great surprise, it wasn't a servant or a butler who answered, but rather Georgina herself. And she looked more beautiful than I had ever remembered her before.

A moment of uneasiness turned into pure exhilaration once I realized she must have mentally given herself to me already. There was no anger on her face; it was free of any playfulness or mysticism. It was simply - Georgina. A beautiful girl, or rather a woman, who was awaiting her lover. Her blond hair was loose, reaching almost to her waist, no trace of make up on her face, unless she had applied it so discreetly that I wouldn't have noticed it unless I searched carefully. She was dressed in a simple, red dress with buttons on the front, running from the collar all the way down to the hem, which was brushing against her bare feet. But for a pair of small ruby earrings, which I had given her a few weeks earlier, she wore no jewellery. The effect was astounding. Here was the proof that a truly beautiful woman can be even more beautiful when she is nothing but her true self.

She stepped aside, carefully peering out into the street to see if anyone had observed my arrival. I entered and with great difficulty resisted the temptation to take her in my arms right there and then. Doors closed, Georgina helped me to take off my coat and scarf, top hat and the always-present walking cane, which was more for a show than out of the real need. I realized the house must have been empty of any other persons, even animals. It was just the two of us. That knowledge itself had me excited.

Without a word, she led me up the staircase where I had not been before, at my previous visit she only allowed me into the den, where she usually entertained her lady friends, drinking tea and gossiping.

Apart from a candle in Georgina's hand, the house was almost pitch dark and I stumbled more than once while following her. She appeared like a ghost, ascending the stairs in front of me, her silhouette emanating the feeble glare of the small light in her hand. Ever so gracefully, her free hand held up the skirts of her dress so that she wouldn't trip and fall. I would have closed my eyes in an attempt to impress the image into my mind forever, but I couldn't afford being careless. The climb was hard enough in the darkness and with my soul on fire with desire, I couldn't afford the displays of romanticism in the most foolish of ways.

As, to my great relief, we finally reached the top of the stairs without me tumbling down like a fool, she opened the door and let me inside her bedroom, or so I believed it was. The room flickered in the light of numerous candles, giving it a seductive atmosphere, which I had hoped for and was foolishly surprised to actually see. What else but elegance could I have expected from Georgina?

The room was gigantic, appearing even more so as it was almost completely devoid of any furniture. A big four-poster bed sat in the middle of it, rich tapestries decorating the walls, heavy curtains hiding the windows and thick carpet covering the floor. Apart from some twenty tall candleholders, nothing the room was empty. Despite of it all, it looked graceful and seductive, although thinking about it now, perhaps it simply projected the radiance of its mistress.

Heavy, wine red velvet covered the bed with matching pillows, which were, very curiously, lying on the floor around the legs, rather than on top of it. As Georgina closed the door behind us, I noticed a small table, which was invisible to me before entering completely. It held a bottle of honey-coloured whiskey and two glasses. Obviously, Georgina had prepared herself for me.

She pointed to the bed and uncertain of what to do next, I walked over and sat on it, feeling very uncomfortable, as if I was a giant in a dollhouse. I barely noticed that we haven't spoken a word as of yet. She placed the candle, which illuminated our way up the stairs on the table next to the bottle of whiskey and poured us both a large drink. I accepted the offered gladly and was quite surprised when I saw her bottom hers in one swift gulp. I had never seen Georgina touch a drink beyond a careful sip of sherry in her dressing room, never a whole glass; certainly not anything as strong as she had drank now. "Bottoms up!" she declared and let out a tiny hiccup.

The situation called for a roar of laughter, but I was beyond the comical. I wanted her so much and having her this near me, practically in my grip, I felt my throat tighten with nervousness.

I sat on the bed, holding and not touching my drink and after a few uncomfortable moments, Georgina approached me, gently prying the glass out of my hands and downing its contents.

I could have slapped myself on the forehead had I had enough presence of mind to realize that she must have been used to the heavy drinking from her East End days, where many drink to keep warm or simply to get over their troubles in a haze of the alcohol fumes, making things appear better for a while, but inevitably making it all even harder than it had been in the first place.

"I say!" I mumbled, unable to hide my shock. Georgina giggled and the playfulness, which I was so accustomed to, was back. She was obviously tipsy, but not outright drunk. Her heavy eyelids half hid the beautiful greyness of her big eyes, her lips slightly apart, tongue slowly running over the upper lip and then in the other direction across the bottom one.

I swallowed hard. I was ready to pounce and tear her clothes off, make love to her right there on the floor. I didn't care where it happened, but happen it would. That I had decided as I was climbing the stairs and nothing would stop me now. She looked exactly like the hot-blooded woman I always searched for, the kind that makes your head spin and cry out in ecstasy.

"Take off your clothes," I said, my voice strangely weak and hoarse.

Georgina extended the arm that held the glass and dropped it to the floor, which in turn gently bounced off the carpet and then rolled away. Her eyes firmly held my gaze, her face a smug grin, while she ever so slowly undid button after button, starting at the top, working her way over the chest, stomach and waist. Once she reached to buttons that held the fabric over her legs, she opened the dress wide and let it slide off her shoulders, down her body and legs, and then crumple to the floor in a rich heap around her legs. She wore a simple white nightgown, so thin I could see right through it, the candles emphasizing her silhouette through the delicate material.

I gasped at the sight, which was even more beautiful than I had expected it to be. She was a tiny woman, but when seeing her almost naked, I noted wide hips and heavy breasts, which in contrast to her slim neck and narrow waist made her figure appear stunning. Her legs were thin but strong, her arms long and elegant, as if they belonged to a ballerina. The material of her nightgown was so thin I had no trouble seeing the dark areolas and erect nipples, whether in arousal or from a slight cold which hung over the room, I couldn't quite say. The sight of the delicate, blond muff between her legs almost drove me mad and I couldn't help myself but to gulp loudly and longingly wet my lips.

Again, like a beautiful dancer, she stepped out of the heap at her feet and approached me cautiously, as if sensing my struggle to remain sitting.

"All of it..." was all I could say, feeling the tie in my throat restraining my vocal cords and breathing. She was beautiful, I had always known that, but I hadn't expected her to be this stunning. Perhaps it had only been my imagination, but at that particular moment in time, I couldn't have imagined a more attractive creature in the entire world.

As if to tease me for a moment longer, Georgina ran her hands around her own neck, lifted the heavy hair slightly in the air and let it drop over her breasts, the gold shimmer of it creating an aura around her head.

"Georgina..." I whispered and tore at my clothes, kicking off the shoes, pulling the jacket and pants off, still sitting down, probably creating a comical if not pathetic image. In a hurry to take off my shirt, I clumsily tore off a button, which flew through the air and bounced off the carpet, exactly as the whiskey glass had before.

"Here..." she said and stepped in front of me. "Let me do it." When her long fingers touched my body I felt like my chest was ready to explode, I could hardly wait for her to lie underneath me and I would enter her. I was afraid I'd climax right there, sitting on the bed, still in my underclothes. Wouldn't I feel a fool then?

She undid my shirt, each button carefully released of its restrains, the pace so slow, I was afraid I would go mad before she was done. I reached over and put my hands on her hips, running them around her firm buttocks and squeezed them firmly. "No!" she exclaimed, but I could see that she had trouble restraining herself from pleasure. "Not yet..." she whispered and brushed my hands off her body. I could smell her skin, a sweet and delicate scent of lavender creating an invisible cloud around her.

She wouldn't allow me to touch her body, so I gently ran my fingers against her nightgown, careful not to press them against her skin. I couldn't wait much longer, I decided. Teasing was all good and dandy, but I was so hot with desire, I simply could not stand this for much longer.