Eroticon 3

  EROTICON 3

  Introduced and edited by

  J-P SPENCER

  Eroticon 3 published in 1989 & 2001 by Nexus. Published as an eBook in 2011 by Chimera eBooks.

  ePub ISBN 9781780800431

  mobi ISBN 9781780800448

  www.chimerabooks.co.uk

  Chimera (ki-mir'a, ki-) a creation of the imagination, a wild fantasy.

  New authors are always welcome, or if you're already a published author and have existing work, the eBook rights of which remain with or have reverted to you, we would love to hear from you.

  This novel is fiction - in real life practice safe sex.

  This work is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher's prior written consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published, and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser. The author asserts that all characters depicted in this work of fiction are eighteen years of age or older, and that all characters and situations are entirely imaginary and bear no relation to any real person or actual happening.

  Copyright J-P Spencer. The right of J-P Spencer to be identified as author of this book has been asserted in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyrights Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  Contents

  Introduction

  Eveline

  A Gallery of Nudes

  The Lustful Turk

  The Lifted Curtain

  Three Times a Woman

  With Open Mouth

  The Altar of Venus

  The Devil's Advocate

  A Night in a Moorish Harem

  The Pleasures of Lolotte

  The Diary of Mata Hari

  Secret Talents

  My Secret Life

  Introduction

  Readers of the previous two books in this series of erotic anthologies will be familiar with the format of this present volume. Eroticon III presents a further sample of titillating writings composed by a variety of hands. However, the profile of the average pornographer does not change .and it is reasonable to assume that all the authors whose work is included here are male mercenaries whose identities have been deliberately obscured. Followers of the series and readers knowledgeable in this field will recognise the obvious exceptions: Andrea de Nerciat the frustrated soldier/dramatist, author of The Pleasures of Lolotte and other erotic novels, who died miserably at the dawn of the nineteenth century after a period of incarceration in Rome's notorious Castel Saint Angelo; the Comte de Mirabeau, the great orator of the French Revolution and a hero of the people, who relieved the boredom of his own imprisonment by writing, among other erotic masterpieces, The Lifted Curtain; and, of course, the enigmatic 'Walter', Victorian England's most notorious libertine by virtue of his My Secret Life, the most exhaustive and exhausting sex diary in the canon of erotic writing. (The selections from My Secret Life that are given here, as in previous volumes, are from that portion of the work not available in the traditional British publishing territories.)

  The pieces selected have been written exclusively to sexually arouse the reader (and assessment of their worth, like that of sexual activity itself, is a purely personal judgement) but if one cares to look beyond the breathless coupling of the protagonists in the foreground, it is interesting to note the background settings that have been chosen. With one exception here those settings are European - from an eighteenth century French convent to a Turkish harem, from a sun-soaked Spanish beach to, inevitably and frequently, the boudoirs of Paris. Though the origins of many of these excerpts are American, only one selection is set in the New World - obviously the old one is considered to be more erotically inspiring!

  This American selection is taken from The Devil's Advocate - also published in the United States under the title The Sign of the Scorpion - a novel with a mystery theme and a hard-boiled style that echoes Raymond Chandler. The central relationship in the book, between a cynical lawyer and the naive young beauty who involves him in her search for her missing sister, is a fascinating example of a classic theme of erotic writing - the corruption of an innocence that secretly desires such corruption. The excerpt chosen here, however, is a set piece sexual encounter in the lawyer's fly-blown office - and innocence definitely does not come into it! For that the inquisitive reader must turn to the full-length novel - a course of action recommended, where possible, in every case. It is worth remembering that the excerpts chosen are simply samples of whole works and it is to be hoped that they will whet rather than satiate the literary appetite.

  J-P Spencer

  Eveline

  After breakfast I wandered along the Parade. I watched the sea and the boats. One old boatman interested me.

  'Go for a row, miss? Beautiful mornin', miss. Sea like ile. Launch her down in half a jiffy, miss. Pull alongshore and see the bathin'.'

  The loveliness of the day tempted me.

  'Which is your boat, my friend?'

  'That's she, miss. Yon white one, with the red streak.'

  'She looks a safe craft. Does she rock about much?'

  'Lor' bless your sweet soul! No, miss! Why look at her grand flat bottom, and her fine run aft! She can travel too. She's got legs on her! You should have seen her at the regatta. Better have an hour's row, miss.'

  I got into the boat. The Locket, David Jones of Eastbourne, was painted on the board against which I leaned. It was a nice big boat with good cushions in clean white covers. The old man pushed off and jumped in.

  'You'll go past the machines, miss, o' coorse?'

  'Anywhere you like, Mr David Jones. I have confidence in you. It is quite warm on the water.'

  'Yes, miss. These are the ladies' machines. The gents' is further hup. We shall have to pass the ladies fust, but it won't take long.'

  'Where are you going then, Mr Jones?'

  'Why, o' coorse - past the gents. All the ladies goes past in my boat. 'Tis what they likes best - as is nat'ral. That's what they takes the row for.'

  The old fellow grinned. He screwed up his face into a comical expression. He actually winked.

  The boat did travel well, as the poor old fellow said. It only took ten minutes to pass the line of gaudily arrayed, tall, angular female figures, of squalling children and shouting girls bobbing about knee-deep with their 'flat bottoms and fine runs aft' presented seawards.

  'What a number of people on the beach, Mr Jones!'

  'Yes, miss. They allus comes there to look at the ladies.'

  'I don't see very much to admire, but then perhaps it's because I'm a woman.'

  'Jus' so, miss. You wait a bit. It's all right, I knows what the ladies like.'

  Presently we passed the first of the men's bathing machines. Old Jones had pulled in closer.

  'There we are, miss! Fine 'uns too among 'em today!'

  I laughed - the idea was so crudely expressed. The fact was so evident that this was only an ordinary exercise on the part of the girls that I shook off the awkward feeling of restraint which troubled me. I looked boldly enough now. The men stood upon the machines with the door open. They seemed to be employed principally in sawing their backs in a painful manner with bath towels. They were absolutely naked; their figures entirely and unblushingly exposed. Indeed when they saw me pass along with the old fellow they took special pains to exhibit themselves, their privates wagging proudly about in front.

  'That's a fine 'un; ain't he, miss?'

  I gazed in the direction in which the old man nodded his head as the boat glided by. I thought he even seemed to row slower as we passed. It was a tall man - white, handsome, well-developed - a patch of dark hair on his belly - a huge instrument of pleasure dangling between his thighs.


  I held my breath. I noted the man well. I also observed the number of the machine - it was 33.

  'Ah, he's a fine man, he is, miss, but he ain't half as fine a made man as what my son is. He's a sailor, miss, aboard of a big four-masted ship, he is, and comin' home tomorrow. He's been round the Horn to Valparaiso and he's been took very bad along of the Horn and the weather. He's been paid off today, and he's comin' down here to see his old dad again. I 'spects him by the first train. He's been ten months away, but he's bound straight here, for he's a good lad and nothing wouldn't stop him in Lunnon.'

  'Dear me, Mr Jones, you quite interest me. And you think he would not stay to spend any of his money among the pleasures of London? He must be quite a model young man. I'm sure you must be proud of him.'

  'I am that, miss. Not that he's much of a muddle either - he's fond of his old father, but he's fond of a pretty gal too. He'll be here tomorrow, then you can tell me if I'm right or not. Lor', miss, you should just see him pull these oars about. He used to make The Locket fly, he did! I fear I won't keep him here long. Not that he wouldn't go to sea again, but he'll get rid of his money among the gals here. They'll all be after him like they was afore.'

  'What a sad thing, Mr Jones. Don't you give him good advice?'

  'So I used to do, miss. But Lor' luv yer, what's the good; lions wouldn't hold him, miss, he's that hot when he gets ashore. I got the missionary to reason with him, but it wasn't no good. He went about just the same again. No, miss, wild helephants couldn't hold him.'

  'I think, perhaps, if you removed him from such temptations; if you kept him to your boat-letting business now, under your own eye, you know, Mr Jones, don't you think that might tame him down a bit?'

  'P'raps it might, miss, if he'd anyone to read and talk serious to him, but I don't know no one; and he's that quick and impatient—'

  'You make me feel very much for your poor son, Mr Jones. I shall come round in the morning, and if he's there then I should be pleased to talk to him on his duty to his parents.'

  'I've been a widderer these twenty year come Michaelmas, so there's only me to look after the lad. He's more fit to look after me now. There's one thing I likes about him. He don't drink.'

  I had one of my headaches next morning. I have not always the remedy for them at hand. On this occasion I had left it in London. I thought the air along the sea front might do me good. After breakfast I strolled along the Parade to the far corner where Mr Jones - who, by the by, was not a Welshman but a native of Sussex - had his boat.

  'Good morning, Mr Jones. I see you are an advocate of cleanliness. Your Locket looks splendid, after the scrubbing you are giving her.'

  A fine, tall, young fellow, fair and freckled, with his short curly hair shaded his broad forehead, wielded a mop which belaboured the bottom and sides of the upturned skiff. His legs were bare to the knees. He stood like an old Northern Viking, a splendid specimen of the Anglo-Saxon race. The heavy bucket might have contained only waste paper from the manner in which he shifted it about, charged to the brim with sea water. He almost dropped it, however, as he turned and saw me. His mouth opened. He stood stupidly staring at me from behind his old father. I recognised the youth at once.

  'Good mornin', miss. I don't know nothin' about no advocates, miss, but my son Bill is just a givin' her a rub round as we was a thinkin', the mornin' being so fine, I might see a young lady down for a row.'

  He had a twinkle in his eye which conveyed silent hope that the liberal fee he had received the previous day might be repeated.

  'So this is your son, is it, Mr Jones? He must be of great service to you now you have got him.'

  'Oh, yes, miss - he's a main stronger nor me. You should see him capsize that there butt all alone by hisself. Why a rhinersorous couldn't do it!'

  The old boatman was brimming over with pride - satisfaction at recovering his long-absent son betrayed itself in every feature.

  'You must be very glad to see your father again.'

  'Yes, so I am, miss, and to find him so well and hearty. You see, miss, he's getting on now. It ain't as I'm so awful strong - it's that my old dad is gettin' a bit shaky in his timbers, miss.'

  There was something charming in the kindly smile, and the rough, yet tender, manner of the blunt young sailor towards the old man which made me look him over more attentively. He was certainly a superbly built young fellow. His bare arms and legs were furnished with a muscular development which is rare in these days of effeminacy. A vigorous, healthy life upon the ocean had served to enhance all his natural advantages. He was a man to my mind. My headache increased - I wanted him badly to cure it.

  Between them, they turned the boat over again. It was a good substantial skiff. I had been used to boating with Percy as a child. I knew something about rowing. I used to astonish the girls at the pensionnat near Paris when we all went in a formal party down the Seine from Suresnes. It suited me now to pretend ignorance.

  'I hope you will stop with your dad, and - and be a good boy. He tells me you are too fond of - of pleasure.'

  My manner was demure. I flashed him one of my glances. He seemed struck. There is - they say - a Freemasonry in love. I say there is more. There is a magnetism in love which is conveyed from mind to mind - from brain to brain - from heart to heart, if you will - but there is a power, subtle and irresistible, which speaks more powerfully than words. 'I love you, I want you.' Such was the influence which flashed between us now.

  'We sailors don't get too much pleasuring, miss - but I've been ten months at sea, shut up in an old box of a ship all the time, four hours out and four hours in - and that's about the size of it. My dad ain't the man to deny me a fair run ashore now I'm home again. I know how to take care of the rhino all the same, but I mean to stay some time with him now and I shan't trouble about shipping again yet awhile.'

  There was a half serious, half comical air about the young fellow which showed he only partly believed in me. His keen blue eye followed me. He was noting me well from head to foot. He was distinctly struck with my appearance. Admiration was plainly, visibly written in his look. I read him like a book. I was a revelation to the young sailor. No doubt his appetite was sharp after ten long months at sea. I inwardly rejoiced. Meanwhile the boat was ready, the cushions in their places.

  'If you've a mind for a row, miss, my son. Bill will go with you and pull you about in the butt anywhere you likes.'

  I got into the boat. They launched her down. Bill swung himself in over the bow. He backed her out from the smooth beach. Then he sat himself down facing me and began to row steadily away from the shore.

  'I really don't know if I ought to trust myself all alone with such a gay young man as your dad describes you, Mr William, but after all he does not give you a bad character, though he does say you are somewhat - somewhat - what shall I say?'

  'Oh, I know, he's a larky old customer, is my dad, and he thinks I'm not much steadier than he was when he was a young 'un. Which course shall we steer, miss - go along the Pevensey shore, or keep on out of the Bay a bit?'

  'Let us get into deep water and right away from the sound of the noisy people ashore. How fast you row!'

  He was pulling as if for a wager. We were already half a mile away, heading straight out to sea. He slacked a little as I spoke. All this time his gaze never left my person or my face. He was trying to sum me up. Speculating, probably, as to what sort of bedfellow I should make. He was very good-looking certainly. As he bent forward to his paddles, his loose shirt disclosed his broad chest covered with a fine sandy down. I felt impatient as I sat on the broad seat with a back to it. I faced him all the time. I sat cross-legged, my right knee over the left. As Bill pulled away at the paddles, my leg was jerked backwards and forwards. I took care he should have a good view of my feet and my stockings as well. I soon fascinated him. The black silk seemed a new sensation. He commenced to row still more unevenly. My leg moved in cadence. He could see at times up to my knee as the light breeze assisted his des
ign. He was evidently getting excited. A strong lascivious expression extended itself over his features.

  'So you have been shut up ten months on board ship, Bill? That must have been trying to a fine young man like you?'

  I could not beat about the bush. I wanted him. I meant to indulge my inclination - to have him. It was no time to waste in mere sentiment - in childish trifling.

  'I guess it was, miss. Never saw a petticoat for over four months. We were not allowed ashore at Valparaiso, only in the daytime. It's a queer hole for British seamen, miss; nothing but rows and robbery.'

  'Poor fellow! But of course you have a sweetheart here?'

  'Not I, miss. I only came home last night, or rather early this morning. I couldn't stop in London with the poor old dad here and he so old and feeble-like, so I jumped into the first train I could.'

  'You are a good fellow, Bill. I like you very much.

  What a long way we are from the shore now! I can't see the pier any more.'

  'We're over two miles from Eastbourne now. See that light-ship there - that's the Royal Sovereign shoal.'

  'How lovely it seems - how calm the sea is! We need not go any further out. You might not be able to get back, Bill.'

  'I only wish I couldn't!'

  'Why so, Bill?'

  'Because I haven't had the chance to see a face like yours in all my life, miss! There - now it's out!'

  'Oh, Bill! You don't mean that? Come and sit here and tell me all about it.'

  I made room for him beside me on the broad seat with the backboard. The words 'David Jones' were quite obliterated by our figures. Bill took up a rope and began undoing the end into four separate cords. Then he got the other end of the same rope, and served it the same. I watched him. Then he put two ends together, the four cords of each end interlacing.