The Mammoth Book of International Erotica

by Maxim Jakubowski

  “My heart, my liver!” he sighed with delight. “At last! And now – why bother moving to the bed? This chair will do the trick, it will take the place of the rock by the pond, and we shall imitate the lovers in Picture No. 1. What do you say?”

  Noble Scent with affected indignation:

  “Impossible. It’s not a fit occupation for human beings. . . .”

  “There you are perfectly right. It is an occupation and pastime more fit for the gods. Come, let us play at being gods.” So saying, he stretched out his hand and began to fiddle with the knot of her sash. And despite her grimace of disapproval, she cooperated, letting him draw her close and permitting him to strip off her undermost covering. As he did so, he made a discovery that fanned his excitement into a bright flame. Aha, he thought, just looking at those pictures has sprinkled her little meadow with the dew of desire. He undid himself and set her down in the chair in such a way that her legs hung over his shoulders. Cautiously he guided his bellwether through the gates of her pleasure house, and then began to remove the rest of her clothes.

  Why only now?, you will ask. Why did he begin at the bottom? Let me explain: This Before Midnight Scholar was an experienced old hand. He said to himself that if he tried to remove her upper garments first, she would feel ashamed and intimidated, her resistance would make things unnecessarily difficult. That is why he daringly aimed his first offensive at her most sensitive spot, figuring that once she surrendered there she would easily surrender on all other fronts. Herein his strategy was that of the commander who defeats an enemy army by taking its general prisoner. And the truth is that she now quite willingly let him undress her from head to foot – no, not quite – with the exception of a single article of apparel which he himself tactfully spared: her little silk stockings.

  After their three-inch long (or short) “golden lilies” have been bound up, our women customarily draw stockings over the bandages. Only then do their toes and ankles feel at ease. Otherwise their feet, like flowers without leaves, are unlovely to behold.

  Now he too cast off his last coverings and flung himself into the fray with uplifted spear. Already his bellwether was in her pleasure house. Groping its way to left and right, slipping and sliding, it sought a passage to the secret chamber where the “flower heart,” the privy seal, lies hidden. She helped him in his search by propping up her hands on the arms of the chair and, in tune with his movements, lithely twisting and bending her middle parts toward him. Thus they carried on for a time, exactly in accordance with Figure 2 of their textbook

  Suddenly, way down deep, she had a strange feeling of a kind that was utterly new to her; it did not hurt, no, it was more like a sensation of itching or tickling, almost unendurable and yet very very pleasant.

  “Stop,” she cried, bewildered by the strangeness of the thing. “That’s enough for today. You are hurting me.” And she tried to wrest herself free.

  Thoroughly experienced in these matters, he realized that he had touched her most intimate spot, her flower-heart. Considerately acceding to her wishes, he moved away from the ticklish spot and contented himself with moving his bellwether slowly back and forth several dozen times through her pleasure house with its narrow passages and spacious halls. The intruder made himself thoroughly at home on her property, and she was overcome by an irresistible desire to punish him for his insolence. Choking would be a fair punishment she thought.

  Removing her hands from the arms of the chair, she let his back slip down and dug her hands into his buttocks. This enabled her to press closer to him, an operation in which he helped by clasping her slender waist in his hands and holding her as tightly as he could. Thanks to the intimate conjunction thus achieved – they were now exactly in the position illustrated in Figure 3 – she held his stiff thick bellwether firmly enough to start slowly strangling it. While sparing no effort and answering pressure with pressure, he saw that her eyes were clouding over and the stately edifice of her hair was becoming undone.

  “Hsin-kan, my heart, my liver,” he panted. “You seem to be on the verge – but it is very uncomfortable in this chair; shall we not continue on the bed?”

  This suggestion did not appeal to her. She had the rascally intruder just where she wanted him; just a little longer, and she would choke the life out of him. At this late stage, she was quite unwilling to be cheated of her pleasure. If they were to move to the bed now, he would slip away from her. No, this was no time for interruptions! She shook her head resolutely. Then closing her eyes as though she were already half asleep, she said – this was her pretext – that she was much too tired to move.

  He decided on a compromise: leaving her position unchanged, he placed his hands beneath her seat in such a way that she could not slip down, bade her throw her arms round his neck. Pressing his mouth to hers, he lifted her up carefully and thus enlaced carried her into the bedroom where they went on with the game.

  Suddenly she let out a scream: “Dearest, ah! ah! . . .”

  She pressed closer and closer to him and the sounds that issued from her mouth were like the moans and groans of one dying. It was clear to him that she was on the threshold. And he too at the same time! With his last strength he pressed his nephrite proboscis into the sanctum of her flower-temple. Then for a time they lay enlaced as though in a deathlike sleep. She was first to stir; she heaved a deep sigh and said:

  “Did you notice? I was dead just now.”

  “Of course I noticed. But we don’t call it ‘death.’ We call it ‘giving off an extract.’ ”

  “What do you mean by ‘giving off an extract’?”

  “Both in man and woman a subtle essence of all the bodily humors is at all times secreted. At the peak of amorous pleasure one of the body’s vessels overflows and gives off some of this extract. Just before the flow, the whole body, skin and flesh and bones, falls into a deep, unconscious sleep. Our physical state before, during, and after the flow is called tiu ‘a giving off of extract.’ It is depicted in Figure 5.”

  “Then I was not dead?”

  “Of course not. You gave off an extract.”

  “If that is so, I hope I may do it day after day and night after night.”

  He burst into a resounding laugh.

  “Well, was I not right to recommend the picture book as an adviser? Is it not priceless?”

  “Yes, indeed. A priceless treasure. We must consult it over and over again. A pity that the friend you borrowed it from will want it back again.”

  “Don’t you worry about that. It was I myself who bought it. The whole story about the friend was just made up.”

  “Oh, that is good news.”

  From then on the two of them were one heart and one soul. Noble Scent became an assiduous reader of The Vernal Palace and from that day on she could not praise it too highly. Like a diligent pupil, she made every effort to put her learning into practice, and never grew weary of experimenting with the new forms and variations of the wind-and-moon game. The prim “little saint” grew to be a past mistress at the arts of love. Determined to keep her vernal fires supplied with fuel, the Before Midnight Scholar ran untiringly from bookshop to bookshop, buying more books of the same kind, such as the Hsiu-t’a yehshih, “The Fantastic Tale of the Silk-Embroidered Pillows,” or the Ju-yi-ch’ün chuan, “The Tale of the Perfect Gallant,” or the Ch’ip’o-tzu chuan, “The Tale of the Love-Maddened Women,” and so on. In all he bought some twenty such books and piled them up on his desk.

  Together they devoured each of the new acquisitions and then put it away in the bookcase to make place for new reading matter. Both of them were so insatiable in their thirst for discovery that three hundred and sixty pictures of vernal positions could not have stilled their appetite. They were like the lovers we encounter in novels: an orchestra of lutes and guitars, a whole concert of bells and drums would not have sufficed to express the harmony and happiness of their hearts.

  So far all was for the best between them. And yet something was amiss; somet
hing that injected a discordant note into the harmony of their young marriage.

  The relations between father-in-law and son-in-law left much to be desired. As the reader already knows, Dr Iron Door was a crotchety, old-fashioned gentleman, an eccentric if ever there was one. He looked back fondly on the good old times, cherished the honesty and simplicity of our forebears, and abhorred the empty affectations of the profane crowd. Licentious talk was strictly taboo in his presence. What he liked best was earnest discussion on themes drawn from the teachings of Confucius.

  The very first evening after the Before Midnight Scholar came to live under his roof, Dr Iron Door looked askance at his fashionable clothing and his smooth, ingratiating ways which the old man judged to be quite superficial. From the very first moment, he took a dislike to this smooth, excessively handsome young man.

  “Plenty of fine leaves,” he grumbled in secret, “but no fruit, no solid kernel; from his kind my daughter will get little support in her old age and affliction. However,” he continued with a sigh of resignation, “the forms of this marriage have been observed; he has punctiliously provided his betrothal and wedding presents, and we have draped our house in the traditional red; the mistake has been made and cannot be unmade. Let us wait until the wedding is over; then I will take him under my strict paternal discipline and teach him to be an honest and in every respect scrupulous man.” Such was his plan.

  And he put it into execution. From morning to night he brooked no misconduct. The least mistake, whether of commission or omission, brought the young man a sound paternal scolding. Even the slightest incorrectness in walking, standing, sitting, or reclining called forth severe criticism and long-drawn-out commentaries.

  But as the only son and heir of parents who had died while he was still a boy, our Before Midnight Scholar had long been accustomed to a good deal of independence. He could hardly have put up for long with all this tedious discipline and pedantic backbiting.

  Several times he was on the point of giving his father-in-law a piece of his mind, of telling him in no uncertain terms that he had had enough of his schoolmasterly ways. But then he thought of Noble Scent. A serious dispute with the old gentleman might upset her and introduce an unwelcome dissonance into the hitherto so admirable harmony of their conjugal lyres. Accordingly he controlled himself and swallowed his indignation. But when there seemed to be no end to his swallowing, the effort became too much for him and one day, after long deliberation, his mind was made up.

  “From the very first,” he said to himself, “it was his daughter I was interested in. But because he was so attached to her and the thought of her leaving home was so distasteful to him, I did him a favor and moved in with him. His only thanks was to subject me to the crushing weight of his T’ai-shan authority, to tyrannize me in every way he could. By what right? What entitles a worm-eaten old pedant and doctrinaire like him to lord it over me? Do I have to stand for it? He should be grateful to me for putting up with his nonsense and not telling him what I think of his antiquated ways. But instead of that, he goes on scolding and bickering and trying to make me over in his image. Let him practice his pedagogic arts on someone else, not on a dashing young genius like me. And besides, who says that his daughter is the only pebble on the beach? I was planning all along to go out into the world sooner or later, to ‘steal perfumes’ and ‘fish for pearls’ and do some writing on the side. Who says that I have to be chained to a single woman all my life?

  “I’m good and sick of being nagged at all day, of being taken to task every time I say a word. Well, it’s a good thing I haven’t stirred up any scandals outside the house; why, the old tyrant would be quite capable of condemning me to death. What is to be done in such a situation? Would an open quarrel help? Nonsense, it wouldn’t change him a bit. Should I be patient and keep swallowing my grievances? No, enough is enough. There is only one possibility: to go away and leave Noble Scent to his care. I shall simply tell him that I must withdraw somewhere to continue my studies undisturbed and prepare for the next examination. That sounds innocent enough, the idea will surely appeal to him. If in the course of my travels chance should favor me and cause another beauty, a love predestined me from another existence, to cross my path, so much the better, Of course I shall not be able to marry her, but to pass a few pleasant hours with a ‘cloud sprite on the magic mountain’ will be very nice too.”

  His decision was made.

  His original idea was to speak first with Noble Scent and then to take leave of her father. But then he told himself that she would no doubt be dismayed at the thought of foregoing her accustomed bedtime pleasures, that she would stir up a tearful scene and possibly talk him out of his plan. To forestall this eventuality, he modified his tactics and unbeknownst to her spoke first to his father-in-law:

  “Your submissive son-in-law is beginning to feel rather lonely and cut off from the world in this remote mountain town. He feels the need of the inspiration that comes of association with eminent professors and with students of his own age. He is wasting his time and making no real progress in his studies. In view of all this he begs leave of his revered father-in-law to set out on a journey; he wishes to visit the big cities in the plains, to look around him and extend his horizons. His aim is to seek out a worthy citadel of cultural life, where he will meet inspired teachers and form valuable friendships among fellow students. There he will pitch his tent. Then when it comes time for the great autumn examinations, he aspires to betake himself to the provincial capital and show his mettle on the intellectual battlefield. He will do his best to carry off first or at least second place, so proving that he was worthy to be received into so honored a family.

  “What is your treasured opinion? Are you inclined to grant your permission?”

  The stern father-in-law was obviously surprised and pleased.

  “At last a sensible word. In the six months since my esteemed son-in-law came to dwell beneath my roof, these are the first words worthy to strike my eardrums. I can only commend your wish to depart with a view to continuing your studies. Excellent, excellent! What possible objection could I have to your plan?”

  The Before Midnight Scholar continued:

  “You have given me your paternal consent, but there is still a difficulty: I am very much afraid that your ling-ai, your ‘commanding darling,’ will accuse me of heartlessness if I leave her now, so soon after our marriage. In my modest opinion, it might be best to put it to her as though the decision had originated with you, my estimable father-in-law, and not with me, your insignificant son-in-law. Then she is unlikely to create difficulties, and I shall be able to go my way with a clear conscience.”

  “Very true! I am entirely of your opinion,” said Dr Iron Door. Soon afterward, within hearing of his daughter, he suggested to his son-in-law that it was high time for him to bestir himself into the world and prepare to win a meritorious place in the second state examination. At first the Before Midnight Scholar showed little enthusiasm for the idea; now the old man adopted a tone of severity and repeated his suggestion in the form of a command, to which his son-in-law could only incline.

  Poor Noble Scent was at the very height of her newly discovered conjugal transports. When she heard of the impending departure and separation, she felt like a baby torn suddenly from its mother’s breast. At first she was quite inconsolable. But at length, since it was her father’s will, she inclined like a good, obedient daughter. As compensation, to be sure, she demanded, during the last days and nights, as much advance payment as was humanly possible, on the love debts that would accrue during his absence. He for his part was well aware of the lonely nights ahead of him on his long journey, and did his very best to fortify himself against the impending period of continence. Thus the couple’s last nights built up to a veritable orgy; the young people clung together like glue and lacquer, drinking their fill of the delights which are ordinarily kept secret and of which lovers are reluctant to speak in the presence of outsiders. Then at last the tim
e had come. After taking leave of his father-in-law and wife, the Before Midnight Scholar set out, accompanied by his two personal servants.

  My esteemed readers will learn in the next chapter of the extraordinary adventures he was to meet with on his way.

  WATCHING

  J. P. Kansas

  I Brian

  I’D ALWAYS WONDERED if my wife ever masturbated when she was alone. Since Lois worked at home, she had plenty of opportunity, but we had never discussed it.

  I was almost certain she knew that I did. I subscribed to the most respectable of the so-called men’s magazines. My collection of erotic videotapes, begun during my bachelor days, now residing on the top shelf in the den, was an open secret. And she sometimes made half-joking allusions to the practice of masturbation, when she wasn’t in the mood for sex and declined my advances.

  She played with herself sometimes when we made love, and I found that extremely exciting, but that was different, because I was there, because she knew that I was watching, because I was inside her as she did it.

  But did she do it when she was alone? I had no idea.

  That day at lunch I started to feel like I was coming down with something. Although by the time I got back from lunch, I felt all right again, I decided to go home early. It was a Friday in July and things were slow. I put a few things in my brief case and told my secretary that I was taking some work home.

  Thinking it would be fun to surprise her, I unlocked the door and came into the apartment as quietly as I could. We’re lucky enough to have one of those apartments that go on forever in a pre-War building facing Prospect Park. The room she uses as her office is separated from the rest of the apartment, in what was once the maid’s quarters. When I went down the hall to her room, I found that she wasn’t there. She hadn’t mentioned that she was going out when I’d spoken to her just before lunch. Puzzled, I returned to the entrance foyer and saw that her keys were sitting on the side table, so I knew that she was home.