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  EROTICON 1

  Introduced and edited by

  J-P SPENCER

  Eroticon 1 published in 1985 & 2001 by Nexus. Published as an eBook in 2011 by Chimera eBooks.

  ePub ISBN 9781780800370

  mobi ISBN 9781780800387

  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

  Pauline the Prima Donna

  The Amatory Experiences of a Surgeon

  The Lions of Amon

  Memoirs of a Young Don Juan

  Sarah

  Confessions of an English Maid

  The English Governess

  Flossie

  The Diary of Mata Hari

  Teleny

  The House of Borgia

  My Secret Life

  Introduction

  Eroticon is an anthology of excerpts from nineteenth century texts whose specific intention is to titillate the sexual imagination. Whether this is a worthy aim is not the principal issue here, but all of us have our moments of passion and most of us would admit there are times when the flesh must have its due. It was the purpose of the writers whose work is enclosed - most of them anonymous, most of them long dead - to capture the earthy magic of erotic frenzy and bottle it, as it were, for wider consumption. This is not an easy task and in erotica, more than in any other genre, success is in the mind of the reader - one man's wildly stimulating encounter is another's squalid pantomime. Yet it is a tribute to the peculiar power of this material that no matter how puerile, or how monomaniacal, erotic writing exerts considerable fascination for many readers. In an era when photographs, videos and movies are readily available why should anyone want to read prolix, quaint, silly, sexual fantasies written generations ago? Yet people do. Underground pornography of any claim to literacy - as opposed to rank illiteracy - lives on, and it is a bet that many of the works included in this collection outlive today's bestsellers, just as they did those of our grandparents' era.

  Few of the authors whose work is collected here can be precisely identified. Memoirs of a Young Don Juan is undoubtedly the work of the poet Guillaume Apollinaire (1880-1918) who, like many other French literary figures such as Theophile Gautier and Alfred de Musset, wrote erotic work. The novel is a tender and honest account of a man's sexual awakening and is generally considered to have an autobiographical basis. Apollinaire also translated Pauline the Prima Donna into French from its original German. Though purportedly the memoirs of a famous German diva, Wilhelmine Schroeder-Devrient, it is not accepted that the singer beloved of Beethoven, Wagner and Goethe was herself responsible for this salacious account of her life.

  The only other author who can be identified here is James Campbell Reddie, a Scots bibliophile and translator whose Amatory Experiences of a Surgeon was first published in 1881, years after his death. Though Teleny or The Reverse of the Medal has often been credited to Oscar Wilde, authorities such as Patrick J. Kearney discount the assertion. Nevertheless, according to Kearney's excellent account, A History of Erotic Literature, Wilde was familiar with the novel and was also instrumental in circulating the manuscript in London in 1890. Given the nature of the work - it describes a passionate liaison between two men, driven by obsessive lust and dogged by guilt and jealousy - it is not surprising that its creation should be credited to the Irish dramatist.

  An obsessive relationship is also at the heart of The English Governess but of a very different nature to that described in Teleny. The point of the novel is not the description of conventional sexual activity but its scenes of flagellation, the application of pain being an integral part of the growing bond between the beautiful but stern governess and the adolescent boy in her charge. It may be of some comfort to readers who see no place for the birch and the martinet in romance to learn that the two protagonists finish the novel by getting married!

  Of the twentieth century selections included here, two are by the same hand - the pseudonymous Marcus Van Heller, who is responsible for The Loins of Amon and The House of Borgia. The settings, however, are in no sense contemporary. This is costume drama at its steamiest and though no great literary claims can be made for it the effect is as compulsive as a TV soap opera.

  Undoubtedly the most extraordinary work quoted amongst this miscellany of extracts is Walter's My Secret Life. Unlike the other source material - excepting possibly Teleny and The English Governess - it was not written for money. Unlike the others it is not a work of fiction. Here is the most complete, the most exhaustive, sexual autobiography one would ever wish to encounter, first published around 1890 in eleven volumes (including a bizarre index which runs from 'Abortion' and 'Abstinence from women, mine' to 'Zora, French harlot' - it is a remarkable piece of work in its own right). The precise identity of the Victorian author is unknown, though the authorities on the subject have their theories and, indeed, much has been written on all aspects of this unique book (see below for suggested further reading). Whoever Walter may have been, the secret sex diary he began to write in his mid-twenties, and which he continued throughout a full life, is now perceived as 'a document of the most profound importance' (Kearney). In the United Kingdom and what are known as the traditional Commonwealth publishing territories it is only available in a severely abbreviated one volume edition. The extracts quoted here from that part of the work which is unavailable in the British publishing territories and follow the course of Walter's encounters with the young and beautiful Helen whom he meets towards the end of his epic amatory career. Their relationship progresses from that of prostitute and client to a lustful friendship in which both parties are keen to plumb the depths of each other's sexual curiosity.

  Readers must bear in mind that this anthology is simply a selection of excerpts from texts which exist in their own right and it cannot hope to give more than a flavour of the work in question. By its nature, however, erotic writing is inevitably episodic and lends itself to treatment in this way. Eroticon presents a necklace of literary jewels, some flawed, some gaudy and vulgar, some achingly beautiful, yet each glittering with the power of its own sensual character.

  J-P Spencer

  Pauline the Prima Donna

  You must have found me very serious as you read the end of my last letter, but that is just another trait of my character. I always seem to be able to foresee the way a chain of events will unroll, and take into account the various impressions, feelings and experiences that go to make it up. Even the most violent intoxication of the senses has never been able to make me lose my critical facilities, and today, in fact, I am beginning a chapter of my confessions which will prove this statement.

  My affair with Franz continued. I was always very prudent and so my aunt suspected nothing, and our rendezvous were secret
from all those around us. In addition, I refused to be alone with Franz more than once a week. The day of my debut was drawing near and Franz was becoming more and more rash. He thought he had obtained some rights over me, and he was becoming too domineering, like all men who believe themselves sure of an undisputed possession, but this was not how I intended it to be, and I immediately conceived a plan. At the beginning of a brilliant career was I to connect myself with a man of no importance, one to whom I was, on all points, superior? To leave him on bad terms, however, would have been dangerous, for I would then be at the mercy of his indiscretion. It was necessary to be very clever, which I was, for I succeeded in ending our liaison so opportunely and so deceptively that Franz still believes today that if chance had not separated us I would certainly have married him.

  The 'chance' was my doing. I had informed my professor that my accompanist had pursued me with his declarations and that I was ready to break off the course of my artistic career in exchange for love in a cottage. However, the good man, who was extremely proud of his pupil and who was counting heavily on my debut, grew very angry. I begged him not to make Franz miserable, and so I reached my goal while Franz reached the Budapest Theatre Orchestra by special engagement. We bade each other a tender farewell; I had broken off my relations without anything to fear.

  Shortly after our separation I gave my first performance at the Theatre of the Karntnertor, and you know how successful it was. I was more than happy. I was surrounded and besieged. Applause, money and celebrity poured my way and I had plenty of suitors, admirers and enthusiasts. Some thought to reach their aim with poems and some with valuable presents, but I had already observed that an artist cannot give in to his vanity or his feeling without risking everything in the game. This is why I pretended to be indifferent. I discouraged all those who came near me and soon acquired the reputation of a woman of unassailable virtue. Nobody had any idea that after Franz's departure I turned again to my solitary joys on Sunday evenings and to the delights of the hot bath. However, I never yielded more than once a week to the call of my senses, although they demanded much more. A thousand eyes were upon me and so I was extremely prudent in my relationships. My aunt had to go everywhere with me and nobody could accuse me of a single indiscretion.

  This lasted all winter long. I had a steady income, and I installed myself in a very comfortable and well-furnished apartment. I was accepted in the best society and found myself very happy with my new life. I only regretted rarely Franz's departure, and fortunate circumstances compensated me for it the following summer.

  I had been introduced into the house of one of the richest bankers in Vienna, and I received from his wife all of the marks of the truest friendship. Her husband had paid court to me, hoping with his huge fortune to easily conquer a popular actress. When he had been driven away like all the others, he introduced me to his household, thinking to win me that way. Thus it came about that I could come and go there as I pleased. I consistently repulsed his advances and, perhaps because of that, his wife soon became my most intimate friend. Roudolphine, for that was her name, was about twenty-seven years old, a piquant brunette, very vivacious, lively, tender and very much a woman. She had no children and was quite indifferent to her husband, of whose misdemeanours she was painfully aware. The relationship between them was friendly, and they did not refuse themselves from time to time the joys of marriage. Yet, in spite of all, it was not a happy union. Her husband probably did not realise that she was a very warm-blooded woman, a fact she most likely concealed very skilfully.

  At the approach of the fine weather, Roudolphine went to live in a charming villa at Baden where her husband used to visit her regularly every Sunday, bringing a few friends with him. She invited me to spend the summer there with her at the end of the theatre season. This stay in the country was to do me a lot of good. Until then we had only talked about clothes, music and art, but now our conversation began to assume a different character. The court that her husband paid to me provided her the opportunity for this. I noticed that she measured her husband's misbehaviour according to the privations which he imposed upon her. Her complaints were so sincere, and she hid so little the object of her regret, that I immediately concluded that I had been chosen as her confidant and decided to act like a simple and inexperienced friend. I had played my cards right and touched upon her weakness; she at once began to explain things to me, and the more innocent I pretended to be and the more I seemed astounded by what she told me, the more she insisted on fully informing me of what filled her heart.

  In addition, she took great pleasure in revealing certain physical matters to me. She was utterly astounded at the surprise I showed at discovering these things. She could not believe that a young artist who was always playing with fire could be so unaware of everything. It was only the fourth day after my arrival when we took a bath together - practical instruction could hardly be left out after so many fine speeches - and the more I appeared clumsy and self- conscious, the more amusement she derived from exercising a novice. The• more difficulties I made, the more passionate she grew. However, in the bath and during the day she did not dare go beyond certain familiarities, and I realised that she was going to employ all of her cunning to persuade me to spend the night with her. The memory of the first night spent in Marguerite's bed obsessed me in such a way that I was quite ready to yield to her wish. I did this with such a show of ingenuousness that she was more and more convinced of my innocence. She thought she was seducing me, but it was I who was getting my way.

  She had the most charming bedroom, furnished with all the luxuries that only a wealthy banker can afford, and with all the taste of a room arranged for a wedding night. It was there that Roudolphine had become a woman. She recounted in detail her experience and what had been her feeling when the flower of her innocence had been taken. She made no secret of the fact that she was very sensual. She also told me that until her second confinement she had never found any pleasure in her husband's embraces, which were then very frequent. Her pleasures, which developed only gradually, had suddenly become very intense. For a long time I could not believe that, having been very ardent myself ever since my youth, but I believe it now. In most cases this situation is the husband's fault; he is in too much of a hurry to finish as soon as he enters, and does not know how to excite his wife's sensuality first, or else he gives up half way.

  Roudolphine had compensations; she was charming and avid and only bore her husband's negligence with all the more bad humour. I shall not bother to tell you all the sports in which we engaged in her big English bed. Our revels were delightful, lascivious, and Roudolphine was insatiable in the pleasure she took in kisses and the contact of our two naked bodies. She enjoyed herself for two hours and hardly suspected that these hours were still too short for me, so much did I desire and so much did I pretend to yield only with difficulty and shame.

  Our relationship soon became much more interesting, for Roudolphine consoled herself in secret for her husband's pranks. In the neighbouring town lived an Italian prince who usually stayed in Vienna where Roudolphine's husband looked after his financial affairs. The banker was the humble servant of the prince's huge fortune. The latter, about thirty years old, was outwardly a very severe and a very proud man with a scientific education and turn of mind; inwardly, however, he was dominated by the most intense sensuality. Nature had gifted him with exceptional physical strength. In addition, he was the most complete egotist I have ever met. He had but one aim in life, pleasure at all costs, and but one law, to preserve himself by dint of subterfuge from all the troublesome consequences of his affairs. When the banker was there, the prince often came to dine or to tea.

  I had never noticed, however, that there was any affair between him and Roudolphine. I learned about it entirely by chance, for she was very careful never to breathe a word of it to me. The gardens of their two villas were adjacent, and one day when I was picking flowers behind a hedge I saw Roudolphine pluck a note from unde
rneath a stone, conceal it quickly in her blouse and hurry away to her room. Suspecting some little intrigue, I peeped through her window and saw her hastily read and burn it. Then she sat own at her desk, I supposed, to compose the answer. So that she would suspect nothing, I hastened to my room and began to sing at the top of my voice, at the same time carefully watching the place in the garden where the note had been left. Soon Roudolphine appeared, walked along the hedge toying with the branches, then so swiftly and adroitly did she hide her reply that I did not catch it. However, I had noticed the spot where she had paused longest, and as soon as she had returned to the house, and I was certain that she was busy, I dashed into the garden. I easily found the message hidden under a stone. Back in my room with the door locked I read, 'Not today! Pauline is sleeping with me. I will tell her tomorrow that I am indisposed. For you, of course, I am not. Come tomorrow, then, as usual, at eleven o'clock.'

  The note was in Italian and in disguised handwriting. You can well imagine that everything was at once clear to me. I had already made up my mind what to do. I did not return the note to where I had found it, for I wanted the prince to come that night and surprise us both in bed. I, the engènue, was in possession of Roudolphine's secret and I felt sure I would not come out of the situation empty handed. Of course, I still did not know how the prince would manage to get to Roudolphine's bedroom.

  At lunch we had agreed to spend the night together, which is why she had refused the prince's visit. Over tea she explained to me that we could not sleep together for about a week, for she felt that her period was approaching. She thought this would delude me, but I had already woven my net around her. Above all, I had to get her to bed before eleven o'clock, so that she could find no means of avoiding, at the last minute, the surprise I had prepared for her.