Venus in India

Enraptured by the lavish, but not unmerited, praise of her beauty, she threw herself, with a cry of delight, on top of me, and my prick found a sweet resting place between our respective bellies. She took and gave me the sweetest kisses, murmuring little words of love and passion like a cat purring, until I was just going to propose that she should put her thighs outside mine, and let me have her à la St George, when a sudden idea seemed to strike her. She raised herself on her hand and asked me: ‘I say! Have you reported your arrival to the station staff officer?’

What an idea! Fancy talking of such commonplace things just as I was about to propose the most delicious thing a woman can have from a man, the very poetry of life and love! I could not but think of Mrs Shandy asking her husband, when he was in the middle of that operation which resulted in Tristram nine months later, whether he had wound up the clock.

‘My dear girl!’ I cried. ‘Bother the station staff officer and all his reports. Come! I am hungry for another sweet go! I want this cunt!’ and I slipped my hand under her belly and between her thighs, and my middle finger into her palpitating cunnie.

‘No!’ she said, forcefully pushing my invading hand away. ‘No! Not one more fuck until you have gone and reported yourself! Ah! you don’t know the regulations, I see! But I do! I have not been in India all these years without learning what they are, and Major Searle, the brigade major here, is a perfect beast and devil! You may depend upon it, he knows you are here, and he would be only too delighted to get a chance of sitting on you, and he will be able to do so if you don’t report yourself before dark. Remember you got here early this morning!’

I tried to convince her that I did not care a fig for Major Searle and all the Bengal regulations to boot! I said I was on duty, the post of honour being between her lovely thighs and my Johnnie anxious to go his rounds of her darling cunnie, and I did not think I could properly quit my duty in her body to go and perform another which would do quite well enough tomorrow, by which time, in all probability, Johnnie would have come off guard and would require a rest from his labours! But it was of no use; she declared I did not know my man, she told me a great deal more, from which it was very plain that something unpleasant had occurred between herself and Major Searle, and that it really did matter very much, to herself if not to me, that I should report my arrival, and do so at once.

Never did man more unwillingly do anything than I did, when, in obedience to my lovely tyrant’s commands, I dressed and walked out to find the house of the brigade major. I know other men will not believe me or give me credit when I say that I felt as if I had not had one single fuck since I left England. That my balls and groin ached and I had all the sensations of a man who is soon about to have the fuck he has most looked forward to, for which he has lived chastely and kept himself in reserve in order to enjoy more that for which he burns, I can only state as a fact, and let others believe or not as they like. Certain it is, that there are times when either from length of abstinence, or the way in which a woman affects him, a man exhibits far greater power in the fields of Venus than at other times. Let me imitate Théophile Gautier, and request my readers, male and female, to remember that special time, when the former had that splendid night, and the latter had the active, big, strong lover, the best of all she ever had as far as fucking goes.

In this state I walked over to the bungalow which was pointed out to me as that of the brigade major. I was so far fortunate that I met him just as he was going out for a walk before dinner with his smooth English terrier.

‘May I ask whether you are Major Searle, the brigade major, sir?’

‘Yes, I am!’

‘I should have come earlier to report my arrival, sir, but I have travelled so far in dak gharries that I have been lying down all day, and it was so very hot when I got up that I have deferred my coming to report myself until now.’

‘And who may you be, sir?’

‘I am Captain Charles Devereaux, of the First East Folk Regiment of Infantry, and I am on my way to Cherat to join my battalion on promotion.’

‘Oh! indeed! How do you do, Captain Devereaux! I am sorry that I did not know you at first! Will you come in or are you inclined for a little stroll? Will you come over to the mess of the 130th and let me introduce you to the officers? I am afraid you won’t get to Cherat quite so soon as you may wish; every blessed machine with wheels has been ordered for a week to come, so that if I were offered lakhs [thousands] of rupees I could not get you a conveyance here — besides which the road from Publi to Shakkote, at the foot of the hill, is rutted and bad for anything heavier than an ekka [one-horse native carriage], and you would have to go up the hill to Cherat either on foot or on horseback when you got there.’

The whole manner of the man changed when he found I was an officer, and what was more a captain, i.e. just one grade below himself in rank. Had I been a subaltern, he might have kept up a higher degree of hauteur.

At first I thought my new acquaintance rather an agreeable man. He spoke affably and pleasantly. He asked me about my voyage, my stay in Bombay and journey up country. He spoke about the war which would practically come to an end when the Khandahar expedition had blown Ayub Khan and the conquerors of the ill-fated Marwand to the four winds of heaven; then he returned to the subject of Nowshera, the dak bungalow and its inmates. He spoke of my well-known (as far as her most secret charms were concerned but otherwise perfectly unknown) mistress and commenced a series of very subtle questions, which, from their very guardedness, showed me that there was one person, and one circumstance, which he was approaching like a cunning cat stalking a sparrow, taking every cover as a guard as he crept up to it. I remembered the evident repugnance my new love had shown when speaking of Major Searle, and I fenced his questions until at last he asked me openly: ‘Have you seen a woman, a rather lady-like person, in the bungalow?’

‘I have seen one lady,’ I replied, ‘but there may be more than that for all I know in the house; I have not been over it, so I cannot tell if the one I have seen is the person you refer to.’

‘Well!’ said he, ‘let me warn you that the woman I refer to is the wife of a non-commissioned officer — she is very pretty, and, I regret to say, about the most abandoned woman in India, if not in the whole world. She must be suffering from nymphomania, for she cannot see a man without she asks him to have her, and as she is really lovely to look at it is quite on the cards that if she asks a young man, fresh out from England like you, he might accept the proposition, and think that he had fallen in with a very good thing indeed — but — pardon me — let me finish — the penalty for adultery with a European woman in India is two years’ imprisonment and a fine of two thousand rupees, and expulsion from India of the woman herself. Already the woman I speak of has rendered herself liable to expulsion hundreds of times; no one has as yet informed against her, but her conduct at Peshawar has been so scandalous and indecent that proceedings will most likely be taken against her. A strict watch — of which she is not aware — is being kept on her, and some unfortunate fellow, say yourself, for you are young and no doubt do not dislike the ladies — ha! ha! ha! — might find himself a victim of her lust, for lust it is and nothing else.’

‘Well! Major Searle,’ I replied, ‘I am a married man and so I hope less liable to temptation from the path of duty than the unfortunate bachelor. Many thanks, however, for your timely warning, for of course I know that, married or single, a man may become the victim of his passions, especially when taken off his guard by a pretty woman!’

‘Ah! You speak truly!’ he replied, ‘and I can tell you that this wretched creature is as lovely as a houri, and as lustful as the most able whore in Babylon.’

I had not lived so long a life in the worship of Venus without having seen a good deal of the hidden springs of men’s minds, and I came to the conclusion that this tirade of friend Major Searle’s was not altogether spoken on the side of virtue, or caution, but that it was a kind of warning, ‘Don’t you touch that woman, she is my preserve, and no one hunts in the forest between her thighs but myself!’

Our arrival at the mess brought the conversation to a close. Like most messes of regiments which have been some time in India, this one was composed of a nice set of generally hospitable officers, all more or less languid from a long residence in a hot and unhealthy climate. They were also too much accustomed to seeing new faces, through the men going to or returning from Afghanistan, to be very greatly interested in me, but they were cordial and kind, made me drink a couple of pegs, asked me to dinner the next night, which happened to be their guest night, and begged me to consider myself an honorary member of their mess so long as I should remain in Nowshera.

I would willingly have excused myself from accepting their kind invitation to dinner, because I was so infatuated with my charming girl in the dak bungalow that the thought of being out of reach of her brilliant charms was purgatory to me, and my senses, but Major Searle was there, and his eyes were on me, and I felt that if my surmises as to the relations between himself and my lovely woman were correct, I had better ward off any suspicion on his part by cordially accepting the invitation, which I accordingly did with all the warmth I could muster. This seemed to relieve the major, for he turned and chatted with another officer. They asked Searle whether he would come and meet me at dinner, but he said he had some work to do tomorrow evening, but if he could find time he would gladly come and rattle the balls about at a game of billiards later in the evening.

After waiting a decent time I said I would go and have a look about whilst daylight lasted, and Searle proposed to accompany me. The man bored and bothered me and I wished him in hell, for my ideas about him began to become very jealous. I thought it extremely likely that he had fucked my charmer, indeed I was certain he had, but I could not suffer him to continue to do so whilst I was in Nowshera. I meant to keep her delicious cunt for myself, she had offered it to me, and I was its present master and entitled to remain so! I knew of the law and of the fine of which he had spoken, and they did not frighten me (as like all Draconian laws, it was seldom it was put in force), but I could not hide from myself that a jealous man, especially one who was something of a brute, would be able to interfere very sadly with such a liaison as I had now on hand, and make it very uncomfortable for the woman too. I had the sense, however, to try and keep my feelings under control and be as agreeable as possible. Our walk was a very simple and short one, for it was straight from the mess to the dak bungalow, whither Searle, as if unconsciously, led the way. I offered him a peg but he declined, as he said the liquor in the bungalow was vile, which was true, and they had no ice. Neither had the mess, then. Ice was unknown beyond Jhelum. But the mess had the simple means, so easily used whilst the hot, dry winds last, of cooling liquids by placing bottles in baskets of wet straw, in a position where the wind blows upon them. The rapid evaporation soon causes the temperature of the bottles to fall very low, and ice is not wanted. I did not know or had forgotten this, but I very soon had it put into practice by the khansama, and that very night and every day following I had cool drinks.

We sat on the verandah until it was dark. The gallant major never referred to my connection, whose brilliant and piercing eyes I felt darting their rays at us from behind the chick, and whose ears I was sure were drinking in every word. Then Searle went, only referring to his important conversation with the warning words: ‘Don’t forget what I told you!’

‘All right, major. Many thanks. Good-night.’

When it was certain that he was gone, my lady glided on to the verandah and occupied the chair that Searle had sat in.

‘What has that brute been telling you about me?’ she asked, her voice quivering with passion.

I gave her an exact account of all that had passed between us, and when I told her, though in much softened language, about the way he had spoken of her, she rose to her feet and walked up and down the verandah in a towering rage — like an infuriated tiger.

‘The black-livered blackguard!’ she exclaimed. ‘Oh! truly a nice man to preach continence and virtue! I should like to know who drove his wife to the hills to become the real whore she is! Yes! she is a whore if you like! She asks money from her men! It’s five hundred rupees a night to have her, it is! I never yet asked a man for a pice, and I would not take one, or a million, as payment! If I do fuck, I fuck for pleasure, and because I like my lover! But I hate a cad! and if ever there was a cad in this world, it is Major Searle,’ and she spat on the floor in token of her disgust for him!

I used all my arts of gentle persuasion to try and calm her down, and at length succeeded. She told me that Searle had never had her with her permission.

I propose, but not just at present, to take you, my patient readers, into my confidence, and tell you what were the adventures of her amorous life, but before doing so I must explain how the abhorred attentions of Major Searle were put a complete end to and how Lizzie Wilson rid herself of a man who had been her plague for some years.

I had hired a native servant as my factotum when I stayed in Lahore en route for my destination at Cherat; a capable man he was, and one who had an eye to business, for whether he was married or not I do not know, but he brought a very fine young native woman with him and, as the reader will hear, her talents were not thrown away at Cherat — although for myself I had far finer game to follow than was afforded by Mrs Soubratie’s brown skin and somewhat mellow charms. Though no more than twenty she had gone the way of almost all Indian women and her bosom had begun to flow so that her bubbies, otherwise fine and plump, hung in a despondent manner. Such defects, however, are so common that they are little heeded by the British officers or soldiers, who whet their appetite on the fine, juicy cunt, rather than on other personal graces of the dame who affords them pleasure.

Soubratie, hearing I was going to mess, got out my nice, new, clean, white mess clothes, and himself gorgeously adorned and armed with a lantern, saw me safely across the compound, ankle deep in dust, to the mess of the regiment, there to partake of the generous hospitality of the glorious 130th. Is it any use to describe the ante-room, with its swinging punkahs, chairs, tables and pictures, carpets, books, newspapers, trophies of the chase, etc., etc. Shall I tell how the staff and self-important adjutant welcomed me in a proper and decent style; how the colonel seemed to inspect me; how the other officers, whom I had not yet met, greeted me with a polite ‘glad to see you’ from their lips, and ‘I wonder what the devil kind of a fellow you are’ glance from their eyes. Most regiments are alike; when you have seen one you have seen all. The English officer is undoubtedly a fearful ‘stick’ and of all weary humdrum lives, mess life is the most dreary. Along with the air of ennui and lassitude, however, there is a wicked, devil-may-care current, which forms the pith of an officer’s life, and I knew well that when a good dinner had been eaten, a good share of fairly good wine drunk, and cigars and pegs had become the evening fare, I should hear a great deal more than I was likely to at the dinner table, where propriety and stiffness more or less ruled the roost. Accordingly, I was now regaled with old stories of the war, tales of savagery and cowardly cruelty on the part of the Afghans, with an occasional growl at the generals and authorities who, it seemed, must have been incompetent to a degree or far more significant results would have accrued from the valour of the British troops. I knew how to discount all this, and listened with interest, more or less affected, to my new friends’ views.

But the ‘cloth off the table’, brought a subject which is always congenial to the fore. Woman, lovely woman, began to be discussed. My young acquaintance J.C.’s statement as to the complete absence of women from Tommy Atkins’ quarters in Afghanistan and the consequent immense demand for cunts on his return to civilisation and comfort was immediately confirmed. In those days (it has been very recently altered) the regulations obliged a certain number of native girls to be especially engaged for the services of each regiment, and these ladies of the camp accompanied their regiment wherever it marched in India, just as much a part and parcel of it as the colonel, adjutant and quartermaster. But Tommy likes variety as well as other people, and in every place where there is a bazaar or shops there are establishments for ladies of pleasure and these latter earn a good many four-anna bits which should by rights find their way into the pockets of the proper regimental whores. The recent influx of troops into Peshawar from Afghanistan had created an enormous demand for cunts, and Nowshera, Attock, even Rawalpindi, Umballa and other places had been denuded of ‘polls’ who gathered like birds of carrion where the carcass lay. This was a great grievance for the officers of the gallant 130th, who were almost as badly off for women as they had been when they had been at Lellabad and at Lundi Kotal, at which latter place a Gurkha soldier who had got a bad case of clap from some native woman was universally spoken of as the ‘Lucky Gurkha!’ Not because of the clap, bien entendre, but because, though he suffered afterwards, he had managed to secure for himself a pleasure so uncommon, under the circumstances, that it seemed like water a thousand miles distant to a traveller lost in the great Sahara!

Once the subject of love and women was started rolling the tongues of those who had been most reticent during dinner were set wagging, and I found a most entertaining host in the fat, pudgy, double-chinned major, who seemed to take a fancy to me. He proposed that we should adjourn outside where the band of the regiment was performing some operatic airs and lively dance music, and there we sat, in those voluptuous Madras long armchairs, enjoying whatever coolness there was in the air, the sounds of the suggestive music and the brilliancy of the myriad bright stars which glittered overhead, literally like ‘diamonds in the sky’.

‘Searle, our brigade major, said he would come later this evening,’ said the major, ‘but I rather think he won’t.’

‘Why?’ I asked.

‘Because he is cunt-struck with a very pretty little woman in the dak bungalow.’

This I guessed was a shot to me.

‘Indeed! Well! I hope he will succeed and get his greens! Poor chap!’

‘Oh! Do you! Well! We were all saying that it was a dammed shame, because we had made up our minds that you were surely in her good graces yourself, and we thought it mean of Searle to try and cut in whilst you were out! ha! ha! ha!’

‘Oh!’ I said quietly, ‘but I am a married man, major, and have just left my wife, and do not go in for that sort of thing! So, as far as I am concerned, Major Searle is welcome to the lady if he can persuade her to grant him her favours.’

‘Well! But Searle is a married man himself, Devereaux!’

‘Oh! I dare say! I don’t mean to imply that a married man is impervious to the charms of other women because he is married. I am not straitlaced, and I dare say should be quite as liable as anybody else to have a woman who was not my wife, but you know I have not been married long enough to be tired of my wife, and I have not been long enough away from her to feel any inclination to commit adultery yet!’

‘Well! Searle is married — but he’s a brute! Yet I somehow pity the poor devil too! I don’t know how it is, but he and his wife, a devilish fine woman, a perfect Venus in her way, don’t get on altogether well; in fact she has left him!’

‘Oh! my! do you say so?’

‘Yes! Now mind you, Devereaux, you must not give me as your authority, but I can tell you that he treated that poor woman like hell, half killing her with a blow from the side of his hairbrush; devilish nearly smashed her skull, you know, and after that she left him, and went and set up on her own account at Ramsket.’

I am sure my dear readers are amused at my assuming the air of a thoroughly moral young husband still contented with the breasts of his spouse, as Solomon, I think it is, tells us we ought to be, but of course I was not going to amuse my new friend, or indeed any others, with tales which somehow spread so wonderfully quickly, and in rapidly widening circles, until they reach the ears of those we would least wish to hear them. Really and truly, my heart and conscience pricked me when this conversation brought to mind my beloved little Louie, and I thought of her in her lovely bed, perhaps weeping in sad silence as she prayed for the safety, welfare and quick return home of one whom she loved so dearly, who made her joyous by day and gave her rapturous fun at night, her husband, and the darling father of her angel baby girl. But alas! the spirit is willing and the flesh weak, as I have remarked before, and the weakness of the flesh exceeds the strength of the spirit all too often.

But the conversation was bearing directly on a subject which was becoming interesting to me since I had seen Searle and heard Lizzie’s indignant remark that his wife was a regular whore, whose price for her charms was, however, uncommonly high. I did not mind what my fat major said about Searle’s designs on Lizzie that evening, because Lizzie would have to have been a most unaccountably stupid deceiver if she had merely expressed abhorrence of him to blind me! No, I felt certain the abhorrence was real and true, and I had no fear that I should find that she had afforded him a retreat, either hospitable or the reverse, in her sweet cunt when I got home to her again.

‘How do you mean “set up on her own account,” major?’ said I.

‘Oh! hum! well! look here, bend your head a little nearer to me! I don’t want to talk too loudly! Well! she is — that is, any fellow almost, who cares to give her a cool five hundred rupees, can have her.’

‘What!’ said I in well-affected incredulous tones, ‘you want to persuade me that an officer’s wife, a lady like Mrs Searle must be, has actually done such a monstrous, not to say such an idiotic thing, as not only to leave her husband, a thing I cannot understand, but to set up as a whore, and in such a place as Ramsket? Surely, major, you are mistaken! Remember! we are told to believe nothing we hear and only half of what we see!’

‘I know! I know!’ said he, still as calmly as if he were Moses laying down the law, ‘but look here, Devereaux, you won’t tell me I am a liar if I say the proof of the pudding is in the eating, and that my proof of what I say is that I, Jack Stone, have had Mrs Searle, and paid for my game! Yes, sir! Rupees five hundred did Jack Stone pay Mrs Searle for a night in Mrs Searle’s bed.’

‘Goodness, and you have actually –’

‘I have actually fucked her, sir! and fucked her well! and a damned fine poke she is too, I can tell you, and well worth the five hundred she asks for the fun. Such a damned fine poke is she that Jack Stone, who is not a rich man but must lay up for a rainy day, has put three times five hundred rupees away in the bank of Simla, and means to lodge them some day soon in the bank of Ramsket, of which the banker and sole proprietress is Mrs Searle, the bank itself being her goloptious cunt, between her goloptious thighs. Did you mark that, young man!’

‘And does Searle know this?’ I asked, still incredulous.

‘What? that I have had his wife?’

‘No, not that you in particular have had her, but that she is had by other men, and for money paid down on the nail.’