Gynecocracy

I was satisfied with my posture and my appearance and saw that it had produced all the effect that I could wish. A certain light came into his eyes as I unconsciously made room for him to sit himself beside me. His eyes, I noticed, rested on my ankles and seemed to travel up my legs. I knew intuitively he longed to see more than was exposed.

Approval of what he did see, however, was plainly expressed in his looks. He seated himself beside me and was very careful, I observed with secret amusement, not to terrify my obvious timidity. He instilled a wonderful gentleness and softness into his manner as for a few moments he silently sat at my side.

If I had done what I wanted, what I should have liked to do, I should have thrown myself upon him. I, however, let my eyes serve as the mirrors of a human form-his. But one man then existed for me in the universe. Many girls, I doubt not, have to make this confession.

Yes, I honestly avow and confess, that if I had done what I longed to do, what all the fierce passion surging in my breast prompted, I should have thrown myself upon him, gathered him in my arms, and scattered our clothing to the winds.

But something-my maiden coyness, my virginal modesty (your virginal modesty! Oh, Julia!)-withheld me. He was still silent but not from want of feeling. I was sensible of the passion radiating from him like the heat from a furnace. How could I encourage him?

He must make the first advance. Suppose (terrible idea!) he did not do so! What would become of me in that case? Suppose he had merely intended to propose a saunter or a ramble in the grounds?

He took my hand, jewelled with lady's rings.

I involuntarily glanced at the door.

"Oh!" he cried, in a reassuring way. "Mademoiselle has gone out-gone out in her phaeton, I think. She told me she was going to sketch some ruin or other, miles away. No one will disturb us."

I looked relieved.

He took my hand, and approached me more closely. His hot breath, which began to come with more rapidity, played about my cheeks.

I did not draw myself away. Why should I not take what the Gods provided? Why should I deprive myself of what I desired above all things? I did not draw myself away, nor did I repel him.

Now this is strange; for what I myself like in a woman is boldness, and an entire, imperious disregard of all les convenances; and how I enjoyed that embrace of Mademoiselle's after whipping Beatrice, because she had given the violence of her passion full scope, and had thrown herself upon me in headlong fury.

And I know, too, there are some women who love to be outraged, who care only for "the ponderous weight of the steer, rushing to enjoyment." However, with Lord Alfred Ridlington, I felt it would be the greatest blunder I could commit and so I made no advances.

He held my hand imprisoned in both his. What soft, plump hands they were, for a man's! He looked at me.

"Julia," he said, tenderly, "you remember that happy evening in the conservatory?"

"Yes," I answered, affecting to wonder what was coming next.

I suppose there was a tell-tale tone about the monosyllable, for he bent over and warmly kissed my lips-a very different kind of kiss from that which he had in sport given me in the drawing room.

"Oh!" cried I. "Lord Alfred, you really must not."

And I grew hot all over, and red in the face.

"I love to make the roses bloom," said he.

And he gave me a second kiss.

How warm, how soft, how clinging his lips were! Their contact was like nectar to a thirsty soul! They thrilled me through and through. I felt a disturbance about the centre of my lap. Good gracious, if he should observe anything there!

"Julia," he pleaded, "kiss me back!"

I looked at him coyly and archly.

"Will you not love me one little bit?" he added. "I love you so much!"

His eyes rested on mine and shone with the strong but soft and subdued light of one in love; they were moist, and their lids drooped over them.

"Do you?" I said, innocently. "Well, then, if I must."

And I put my mouth up.

"You dear girl!" he cried, in a transport, throwing his arms about me and raining a perfect shower of kisses upon my lips, my eyes, my brow, my cheeks, and my lips again.

I yielded to the embrace. I was glad I had made no blunder.

I kissed his lips in return; and I must acknowledge that, catching fire from him, I inserted my dainty little tongue into his mouth in search of-

"Oh! Oh! Oh!" he cried, in ecstasy.

"Does that give you pleasure?" I asked, coquettishly, my maidenly reserve fast thawing and vanishing like a patch of snow that has lingered too long on some Alp below the snow line when the surprised sun espies it.

His hand slipped down to my feet.

A terrible dread came over me. Suppose, after all, Mademoiselle was wrong; suppose I was not an hermaphrodite; suppose I was altogether a boy!