The Lesser Portal

A Victorian Bagatelle

'That was exactly my objection when dear Reggie first suggested it, Lyddie, but I assure you he was right, as usual. The sensation is not at all what one would expect.'

'Reggie' could only be Reginald Doyle, Esq., my old Cambridge rowing chum, now my colleague in a laboratory venture. The year before, he had won the hand of the captivating Mavis, the eldest of the three Courtenay sisters, each more bewitching than the last. As I told him on his wedding day, he was a lucky dog to have won, not only one of the prettiest and purest girls in all England, but to have got two chastely ornamental sisters thrown in gratis. Their father, though impeccably respectable, is by no means well-off, so Reginald had offered the unwed sisters a place under his roof.

It was the dark and austerely beautiful Mavis's voice that I had heard coming from the other side of a clump of bushes.

'But even so, is it not painful?' This was the flaxen-haired Miss Lydia Courtenay speaking, the middle sister.

'Oh well, at first, you know. But "patient practice bringeth progress". Reggie was patience and gentleness itself. To speak truth, there is still a little... I will not call it pain, exactly, but a stretching, a sort of ache, even now. But somehow it only gives piquancy to the pleasure, like the heat of a good Indian curry.'

Miss Florence, the youngest of the three, asked, 'But do you really prefer it to - to - the regular way?' If the middle sister, Lydia, is a fair birch-nymph, Florence is more of the earth, with her broader, lightly-freckled features and merry brown eyes.

'I dare say we will do it the regular way again, once in a while,' said Mavis thoughtfully, 'for variety, you know. When the time comes to start a family. But I find this other way, far the most delightful sensation I have ever experienced.'

I confess, eavesdropping is a social crime, and I should have walked on. But it has always been a weakness of mine, and I was intrigued. Could they really be discussing - what I thought they were discussing?

There was a silence while the two younger sisters considered all this. Then I heard the sweet voice of flaxen-haired Lydia again. 'Is the action not rather frictive?'

'Well, I dare say it would be,' Mavis replied, 'but Reginald is a scientist, you know. He has made up a lubricious compound that he applies liberally to himself just beforehand.'

'But what about hygiene?' Florence inquired. 'I should have thought...' She left the rest to the imagination.

'Well, there again you see the advantage of marrying a scientist,' Mavis replied triumphantly. 'He uses in his laboratory work, a bulb made of springy India-rubber, a sort of miniature balloon type of a thing. Beforehand, I use one to cleanse myself internally with warm water. It takes a little time, but I find that it adds to the pleasure of anticipation.' She added, 'But in any case, the problem is not so great as one might imagine.'

'When I marry, I shall marry a scientist,' Lydia declared.

Mavis had a smile in her voice as she asked, 'And do you have the handsome Mr Frederic Jaspers in mind, by any chance?'

I could imagine the blushes suffusing fair Lydia's cheeks. I had suspected myself that she had warm feelings for Mr Jaspers - for me, in other words. And I confess I had a special feeling for her.

Lydia was spared replying by young Florence, who remarked teasingly, 'You say you turned to this practice to defer starting a family, Mavis, but I can see another merit in it. Only you will be too strait-laced to own the merit.'

'What "merit" is this, Flo?' Mavis asked suspiciously.

'Why,' the irrepressible girl retorted, laughing, 'it would allow an unmarried Miss to completely enjoy the person of her sweetheart, and yet, if she chose to marry another, on her wedding-night her husband would discover no evidence of her former indiscretion.'

'Florence Courtenay,' said Mavis severely, 'your free thinking has led you astray. Now we must not sit here any longer. Reggie will expect our company for tea on the lawn.'

Since I was due to be present for the selfsame tea, I resumed walking and hastened out of earshot.

*

We were all seated around the tea-table on the sunlit lawn, and the maid was clearing away the tea-things. Reginald's parents were there, and Mavis was listening and nodding agreement as they bemoaned the morals of the young. I had planned to ask fair Lydia to accompany me in a turn about the fernery at such a point. The fernery lies along a red brick path that leads beyond the rose-beds, and has the attraction that it does not screen a couple from view, which might lead to gossip amongst the servants; yet at the same time it extends sufficiently far from the lawn for conversation to be inaudible.

However, Lydia's expression during tea had showed that she was in pain, and soon after, she excused herself and went to her bedroom. The monthly 'indisposition', presumably.

The moment she was gone, young Miss Florence said to me, 'Mr Jaspers, old Cummings has opened up a wonderful vista to the river,' Cummings being the gardener, 'but you really need to go around the fernery to see it. Please, do let me show you.'

One glance at her winning brown eyes and I happily assented.

While we were within earshot of Reginald and the others, Florence spoke innocently enough. 'Mr Jaspers, I have been reading some of our British philosophers. Do you have an opinion of Mr Bentham?'

'Everyone must respect the thoughts of such a mind, even if they do not precisely agree with them.'

Florence would not let me evade the question. 'But do you concur with his Utilitarian axiom?'

I lowered my voice somewhat. 'You mean, "The greatest happiness of the greatest number is the sole measure of right and wrong." It is hard for the scientific mind to disagree.'

'But when it comes to relations between men as individuals, there are certain customs and conventions...' The conversation on the lawn was already a mere murmur.

'Indeed there are.'

'I say "men", but I include of course both the male and the female of the species.'

'Naturally.'

'I confess I do not always see the utility of our customs.' Again that merry glance. Now it had something sly in it. 'Amongst the leading customs of our epoch is marriage.'

'I take your drift.'

'We are almost at the vista.' The brick path was narrowed by overhanging ferns, so she walked ahead of me.

'I must say, your Doodias are very fine,' I remarked.

'My what?'

'These ferns. They are of the Doodia genus.'

She laughed. 'The ferns are Lydia's hobby, not mine. Well, what do you think of the vista?'

The view was delightful: beyond a near strip of wheat-field sprinkled with cornflowers, one saw willows with a glint of golden sunlight off the river between their trunks, and a broad gap in the willows framed far woods and low blue hills.

'Charming,' I said. 'Though I would enjoy it better in other company.'

'You hideous man! What do you mean?'

'I mean, Miss Florence, that the delights of your own person distract me entirely from the merits of the landscape.'

'Mr Jaspers! Let us return to philosophy.' She did not blush - her eyes sparkled.

'We had better look at the view,' I suggested. 'People will talk if they see us gazing at one another.' I turned, and went on, 'Philosophically, I am not a Christian, Miss Florence. If I acknowledge any deity, it is Venus.'

'You express my own religious opinion perfectly. But the free expression of Her worship is limited by practical considerations.'

'You mean that a man's offering in the Temple of Venus may have a highly inconvenient outcome, especially for the lady involved.'

'That is the risk, Mr Jaspers. But only if he completes his pilgrimage into the Temple through the Greater Portal. Consider. There is also a Lesser Portal.'

'Very true. Society may condemn, but on a Utilitarian view, one can have no objection to the Lesser Portal, provided Hygieia is also given due devotion.'

'And, I imagine, the Portal should be well lubricated.'

'Indeed. Though - it is called the Lesser for a reason, Miss Florence. And when the pilgrim is of great size...'

'Is the pilgrim of great size?'

'In this case, yes,' I admitted. Once, amidst the celebrations on the eve of leaving boarding school, a dozen of us chaps had compared the sizes of our excited generative organs. Mine had proved by far the largest.

'Mm.' This fact seemed to interest her. 'Fortunately, the Portal is somewhat elastic.'

'True. And like any muscle it may be educated, so to speak, through exercise. To become still more elastic.'

Florence gave a pious sigh. 'Education is such a blessing. It is too often neglected in girls.'

I laughed. 'Miss Florence, it is never too late to learn. But we have stood here long enough. If your sister should happen to look from her window... By-the-by, I hear a shipment of bonnets is to come into Cambridge from Paris by Tuesday.'

'Three is often a convenient time to inspect Parisian bonnets.'

*

On Tuesday I had business in Cambridge. I happened to be passing the milliner's at three, and so, chanced across Miss Florence. I waited respectfully while she exclaimed at the daintiness of the bonnets in the window. Then, when she had enjoyed teasing my patience long enough, she let me hand her a smallish package wrapped in brown paper tied with string. The package contained: a hollow India-rubber bulb with a stem; an eighth-pint jamjar of Reginald's 'lubricious compound', the formula for which I had discovered in his commonplace-book; and a good length of solid India-rubber about an inch in diameter, rounded at the ends, which we had in the laboratory for some forgotten purpose.

Miss Florence tucked the package into her hand-bag, and mentioned that a bale of new ribbons was expected from Nottingham that day week. Then we went our separate ways.

The next week, outside the city's best haberdasher's she returned the length of rubber to me in its wrapping-paper, with a delighted smile. She smiled also when she showed me a wax candle of rather thicker diameter.

There was to be a display of new stuffs, she confided, at the gown-maker's the next week.

And so it went on week by week - outside the gown-maker's, the whalebone-corset maker's, the importer of lace mantillas, the stockist of novels suitable for genteel ladies... Following the candle, carrots were pressed into service, increasing in thickness as the growing season progressed. Each week she showed me one, with a triumphant look; but I always shook my head. Old Cummings's finest had sometimes the length, but never the all-important girth.

It was outside the ladies' shoemaker's that she said, laughing with a touch of hysteria, 'Really, Mr Jaspers, I don't know what to try next. Old Cummings's cucumbers have got all the sticky-wilt this season. I can scarcely utilise a vegetable marrow or squash.'

'When the vegetable kingdom can do no more, Miss Florence,' I responded, 'we must essay what living flesh and blood can do.'

A slow, mischievous smile spread across her captivating features.

*

We arranged to meet in a glade in a large, dense fox-covert. It was a warm day with the lightest of breezes. I followed a brook, as she had instructed me, turned aside at a huge beech tree, pressed cautiously through a screen of leaves, and found myself in a clearing fringed with bracken and bramble, walled with elder-bushes. In the centre was a carpet of bright green moss not much larger than a double bed. And on the moss reclined Miss Florence, turned three-quarters upon her front, with her skirts and petticoats pulled up to reveal her bare feet and legs - beautifully shaped and sturdy - and the snowy pillows of her buttocks. She appeared to be asleep.

The sun's radiance made the glade more than warm. I swiftly divested myself of all my clothes. For a moment I cursed myself. I had forgotten to bring any of the lubricant compound! Then I noticed, next her elbow, the jar that I had given her, conveniently unlidded. I picked it up. Did I see the merest trembling of her eyelids?

No matter. Needless to say, my membrum virile was in a state of high excitement, jutting from me like a pine-trunk. I positively slathered it with the compound, then wiped my hand clean on the moss.

Then I knelt between her legs. Smitten by the beauty of her rump, I planted a tender kiss on its soft, milky roundness. She sighed, but did not move. With my hands, I parted the luxurious mounds, and inspected the round, puckered Portal thus revealed. My excitement intensified when I saw that anticipation had caused it to open a little. Resting on one elbow, I positioned myself so that my member, steered by my hand around its base, lightly touched the aperture.

Still she showed no sign of waking, but her breathing deepened. I laid my torso against her back and, delicately kissing her cheek, commenced my exertions with a gentle intrusion of half an inch. To my delight the ardent pilgrim met with no sense of constriction.

At last the lovely girl showed that she was awake. She murmured, 'My blouse... unbuttoned.'

I reached around her, and found that it was not only unbuttoned to the waist, but open, with no undergarment.

I seized her breasts with passion, their yielding flesh overflowing my hands. While I rubbed her springy nipples between my thumbs and fingers, I continued my penetrative efforts. After another half inch there was a distinct tightness, though the Portal was opening readily enough - it was my organ's thickness that created all the difficulty. Still, the darling girl showed no sign of discomfort, so I pressed on.

When the head was right within the opening the resistance was strong, and she began to take short, pained breaths. I forced myself to pause my labours. But she urged me on with, 'Don't stop, dear Mr Jaspers. I will be taken utterly, by all your length, no matter what.'

Thus implored, I renewed my efforts. Inch followed inch. After the engorged head of my member passed right through the entrance passageway, I found the inside of the Temple to be more roomy, and also, the passage had begun to relax a little more.

Seizing my hand, Miss Florence moved it down past her skirts and pressed it to her mons veneris, against that pearl of living tissue which is the highest source of physical delight in women. Then she moved my fingers against her.

Now my whole shaft and the head were fully buried in her rear. I commenced a rhythmic in-and-out. Again and again I withdrew almost my full length, and then drove in with steady force. Soon, in my ardour, I increased the tempo. Her breath came in frantic gasps, her eyes were closed, a joyous smile was spread across all her features. I increased the tempo further. Her body bounced at the termination of every thrust, as I drove faster and faster between those twin hillocks that guarded the Shrine of my Bliss.

All too soon I made my offering. Such a wave of heavenly pleasure passed over me that I seemed to be drowning. Miss Florence gasped, 'I feel it! Oh, Mr Jaspers! I feel - your pulsing - your manly fluids!' She fiercely pressed my moving fingers to her, and in the next moment she too was experiencing the holy spasms of physical ecstasy.

Afterwards I dressed, and we lay side-by-side, listening to the drowsy buzzing of bees among the elder-flowers, and comparing the novel sensations we had just enjoyed. We determined that the day's experiment would be repeated whenever we had the opportunity.

And then Miss Florence declared rather sternly, 'But only until we tire of each other, Mr Jaspers. For I have no thought of matrimony yet, and there are many handsome men in the world.'

'Though few as well equipped,' I retorted. 'And many pretty women, besides. Though truth be told, I have been toying with the idea of proposing to Lydia.'

'But how splendid! I should like to keep your magnificent manhood in the family. From what Mavis has said, it must be near twice the size of Reginald's. Only, I wonder what Lyddie will say when I tell her of this afternoon's escapade?'

I sat up as if propelled by compressed air. 'What?'

'We three sisters have a pact, did you not know? We are sworn to have no secrets from one another.'

'But -'

'Hush, silly man. I own there's a chance she'll be angry that I've cut in ahead of her, but I dare say her anger will fall mainly on me.'

'Please, Miss Florence, I beseech you, do no such thing.'

'Fiddlesticks. I have taken a sacred vow. Now, be off with you, as it's almost tea-time, and we must not be seen to approach the house together.'

*

Miss Florence and I continued to meet in the glade once a week or so, and our communions became longer, but no less blissful. Meanwhile, I noticed a change in Miss Lydia's comportment towards me. She still blushed when we spoke, but there was more of pure embarrassment than of a maidenly shyness born of a yearning heart. And the virtuous Mavis often looked at me as if from a great height.

Then, late in the summer, we were all gathered again for one of the regular tea-times at Reginald's. We sat in the drawing-room, the full warmth of summer having passed. The fernery could be clearly seen through the French windows. While others were conversing, I several times noticed Florence nod encouragingly to the flaxen-haired Lydia, and even mouth the words, 'Go on.'

Came a lull in the conversation. Lydia blushed very prettily, until at last she broke the silence with, 'Oh! Mr Jaspers, I almost forgot. Florence told me some while ago, how you remarked upon my ferns. Do come outside with me, and we can discuss my - Doodias.'