The Syntax of Seduction

by Carlos Malenkov

  Excellent advice . . . for driving said husband straight into the embrace of strumpets and paramours. It is a perfect recipe for conjugal unhappiness, marital discord, domestic disaster, and a broken home.

  At first, I considered this malignant little screed evidence of a budding sense of humor, a quality she evinced all too little of while Horatio and I were bringing her up. Unfortunately, I can give only scant credence to that possibility. She is in deadly earnest, I fear.

  I suppose it was preordained. She had to marry that loathsome Lothar Livingston, a depraved wretch hiding behind a priestly collar. If there is but one woman in his parish, single or married, who has not had her bottom pinched by that pious lecher, I have yet to meet her. Ruth, too, has had her little dalliances if there is any substance to what I hear. Let her then invent her mendacious little concoctions in a vain attempt to maintain her respectability. It will come to no good in the end.

  Your kindred soul,

  Pauline

  October 6, 1894

  Good Friend Pauline,

  Let me say first of all that it would be rather presumptuous of me to advise you on such matters. I am not, after all, one of that exalted tribe of Yellow Press scribblers who have attained a measure of notoriety by dispensing soothing bromides and shopworn nostrums to care-burdened readers. Moreover, we van Burens are in the habit of keeping our own counsel. You, however, have grown so very dear to me over the years that I cannot withhold comfort.

  Perchance I did find that particular issue of the Journal lying about. A member of my domestic staff evidently receives it by subscription through the mails.

  My dear, I do believe this matter weighs all too heavily upon you. I recall very well Ruth's misadventures as a young maiden; how she would prefer the company of young ruffians to that of her feminine contemporaries. I recollect, too, the sorry circumstances of her marriage to the not so very Reverend Livingston. Forgive me, dear, for being excessively blunt, but she had gotten in a delicate condition as a consequence of unseemly behavior with one or more of her unsavory associates, and was thus certainly in no position to pick and choose a more seemly companion for the voyage of holy matrimony.

  The wife should lie perfectly still during the conjugal act and in no case evince that she is obtaining enjoyment from same.

  Ha! I do believe this is referred to as "dead arse" in less exalted circles. It would be quite effective in convincing the husband to seek his pleasures elsewhere.

  Sex is at best distressingly animal-like and an affront to one's dignity and injurious to the higher sensibilities.

  I find very interesting her word choice in the article. In an attempt to avoid what she doubtlessly considers coarse and unsuitable language, she substitutes the baroque usage "sex" for conjugal relations.

  The bride, arrayed in her sleeping gown and having turned off the lights (blessed darkness hides all!), will lie passively upon the marriage bed awaiting the entrance of her lawfully wedded husband.

  Likewise, I cannot imagine what she connotes by "turning off the lights," unless that refers to the process of putting out electrical lanterns. Not having those newfangled contraptions in my own home (this electrification frenzy will pass none too soon for me!), I am quite ignorant of such esoterica.

  Should he lift her gown and attempt to caress her thereunder, the bride must pull the covering quickly back in place, extricated herself from his clutches, and give him to understand that she must immediately attend to a call of nature.

  I am tempted to laughter. Imagine a reader perusing her article 100 years hence. He might well think it falsified, if not meanwhile overcome by disgust at the sheer and utter hypocrisy expressed within.

  Yours as ever,

  Abby

  October 9, 1894

  Dear Abby,

  Had it not been for my own grandmother, born to the enlightened Eastchester Eastheimers in a more forgiving century than ours, I myself might well have been hoodwinked by such invidious trumpery. Prior to my wedding day, dear old Grannie Ruth (after whom we were to name our ill-starred progeny) took me under her wing and instructed me in all those matters in which a bride-to-be needs to be guided. Fortunate indeed was I, as poor, bumbling Horatio (despite his tendency to blow his own horn), had not an inkling of how to conduct himself on that most blissful of nights after we were wed.

  Subsequent to his first fumbling attempts, I was able to impart to Horry an appreciation of those various portions of a woman's anatomy that have need to be stimulated in order to facilitate her arousal. Indeed, in a matter of a few days we were both in a state suitable to take our pleasure from those most sweet of relations, which our Ruthie so vulgarly calls "sex." If, as a result, I am to assume the mantle of shame for indulging in an "orgy of sexual lust," then so be it.

  As an antitoxin to the nonsense of The Hamilton Foundation Journal, I would recommend to you the writings of Miss Victoria Woodhull, and in particular back numbers of "Woodhull and Claflin's Weekly." You might be aware that Mistress Woodhull appeared on the presidential ballot some years previous, together with the well-known journalist and orator Frederick Douglass.

  Your bosom friend,

  Pauline

  November 13, 1894

  Dear Abby,

  You must surely have been shocked and surprised to hear of our detention. No more shocked and surprised than were we when the sheriff's bailiffs rapped on our door Thursday last with a warrant for the arrest of myself and poor Horry. Imagine, we were spirited away in irons from our afternoon tea!

  It seems that our very own spiteful daughter, Ruth, and that misbegotten Reverend of hers preferred charges against us. The bill of particulars accused us of sodomy and unnatural acts.

  I must confide to you that Horry and I have indeed violated the spirit of the law, if not the letter. Following our wedding (lo, these many years ago!), we endeavored to keep our family to a manageable size, in a sense to control the frequency of childbirth. To this end, Horry obtained a quantity of the sausage maker Mr. Julius Schmidt's prophylactic "sheaths," with which to enclose his member during our conjugal relations. These did seem effective in prevention of getting me with child, but at the cost of decreased enjoyment of the procreative act for both participants. The passage of a federal anti-obscenity statute outlawed all such devices, and we had to perforce seek a different remedy.

  I did consult with wise Granny Ruth concerning this, and she suggested a rather eccentric expedient. In other times and places, certain libertines practiced a mode of embracing that did seem to greatly diminish their female consort's childbearing frequency. This involved intromission of the man's generative organ into the the woman's aperture of elimination, in lieu of the more usual locus. Unexpectedly, after we had transcended initial feelings of revulsion, this very measure brought both to Horry and myself pleasure, indeed rapture, much greater than that from the more common usage. To this day, therefore, we have continued this very practice, even long past the time when my menses ceased and we no longer had need take measures against life quickening within me.

  Apparently Ruth had been stealthily observing us in our bedchamber, and indeed she, her sniveling Reverend, and several police inspectors did burst in upon us while we were taking our pleasure in our special modality. They thus contrived to snare us in flagrante dilecto, so to speak. I believed at the time that this small spiteful victory would suffice my vengeful daughter and her oleaginous husband, but that turned out not to be the case.

  Most fortuitously, the intercession of a dear family friend on our behalf has liberated us from the immediate prospect of confinement in a penal institute. Civil Service Commissioner Roosevelt, he of the Oyster Bay Roosevelts, not the lesser Hyde Park branch, vouched for our good character. This by itself sufficed to obtain our release.

  I shall resume this narrative when my nervous condition has abated somewhat.

  Yours, in exaltation over delivery from misfortune,

  Pauline

  November 27, 1894


  Dear Abby,

  We have spent the most marvelous Thanksgiving holiday at the Roosevelts. Truly we had much to be thankful for, as young Theodore, Teddy as he is known to his friends, informed us that the charges for our allegedly iniquitous offenses had been withdrawn at his behest. He does have considerable influence in certain circles, it seems.

  Jolly, good-natured Teddy, natty and distinguished in his equestrian regalia and pince nez spectacles, does somewhat resemble a stuffed bear toy of the sort one might purchase at a Fifth Avenue emporium. How very handsome and cuddlesome he is!

  He is outspoken, strongly opinionated, and does have some considerable tendency to ride rough-shod over those with whom he does not agree. Yet, his boundless ambition argues that he shall go far in life. Perhaps even the very presidency of this great nation of ours does not exceed his grasp.

  I inquired regarding his recent travels, and he replied that he remembers Maine fondly, but opined he should like to see Cuba some day soon.

  All in all, this very pleasant repast helped dispell certain less than pleasant memories of recent days.

  Yours, restored in heart and spirit,

  Pauline

  -*-

  November 1, 1911

  Dear Abby,

  I have long since forgiven Ruth that most unfortunate incident some years back. We have for some time been once more mother and daughter.

  Since my darling Horry passed on in '04, Ruthie and her children are all the family I have remaining. She and her lothario Reverend Lothar had become estranged after one too many scandals involving parish wives, but they are venturing one final attempt to reconcile their differences. Endeavoring to be of aid in this, I have sent them on a round-trip voyage to Europe. They shall see the glories of the Continent -- Paris, Berlin, Vienna, Rome. Next month they depart on the White Star liner Olympic and return in the early spring on her newly-built sister ship, the Teutonic I believe she is called. Pardon me, Abby, my memory has been failing of late.

  In a sudden fit of both despondency and hope, Ruth confided in me, "If this voyage does not rescue our marriage, then I fear Lothie and I are well and truly sunk."

  Let us hope for a favorable outcome.

  Yours,

  Pauline

  * * *

  BIGGER

  From: MagicPanaceas To: undisclosed recipients Subject: BIGGER IS BETTER

  SIZE MATTERS! More Than You Think! She's just trying to spare your feelings by telling you otherwise!

  DON'T WAIT TIL SHE'S GONE TO FIND OUT YOU COULDN'T SATISFY HER!

  Here Are Some FACTS:

  1. 96.3% of men are unhappy with their current penis size. 2. 80.7% of women are unhappy with their partner's penis size. 3. Most men would like to enlarge their penis. 4. Most men don't believe they can really increase their penis size. 5. Secret translations of cuneiform etchings on Hamurabi's tomb prove the ancient Babylonians knew the magic formula for penis enlargement.

  Our tested and proven PENIS ENLARGEMENT PROGRAM will enable YOU to increase your penis size. Your enhanced, enlarged organ will attract women like a magnet!

  Just click on REPLY for details.

  Peter was out $40. Spammed and scammed -- screwed, blued, and tattoed -- that's what he was. He must have been out of his mind to tranfer the funds on-line to that spammer. Out of his mind and desperate. Just because his new girlfriend had complained about lack of sensation was no reason to blow his hard-earned money on what had to be one of the world's oldest swindles. Penis enlargement! Yeah.

  Well, it was over and done. The money was gone. And he had just received the package in the mail. Inside was a vial of pills, a small jar of cream, and a tape cassette. And, oh yes, a couple of xeroxed instruction sheets. Some program. Take one Growth Pill in the morning. Just before going to bed, apply a small amount of Growth Cream to the penis and take one more pill. At your bedside, insert the Subliminal Growth Cassette into a player set on low volume, then retire as you would normally. The tape plays for 45 minutes on each side, but the first half hour of it is blank, to allow time for you to fall asleep. The last 15 minutes on each side of the tape contains special subliminal instruction that primes your subconscious to accelerate the penile growth process. IMPORTANT: TWO PILLS DAILY IS THE MAXIMUM DOSAGE. EXCEEDING THIS MAY CAUSE RUNAWAY AND UNCONTROLLED PENIS ENLARGEMENT.

  Out of curiosity, he fast-forwarded the tape to hear the "special subliminal instruction." He couldn't believe how stupid it was. "Every day in every way I'm getting bigger." This repeated in cadence every few seconds. Dumb!!!

  Well, the money was gone. Nothing to lose by trying the Program. Damn, that cream was greasy. And it smelled like rancid yak butter.

  Two weeks later his penis was exactly the same, except maybe for a faint scent of rancid yak butter. And his girlfriend had asked whether he minded if she continued to read while he made love to her. Not a pretty picture.

  He'd give it one last try. Double the dosage of Growth Pills. Use an extra glob of greasy Growth Cream. Turn up the volume on the tape player. Oh, and just for good measure, take a megadose of vitamin C. If that didn't work, he'd file a fraud complaint against Magic Alchemy Labs and kiss his money goodbye.

  The next morning his penis was sensitive and a little swollen. It hurt to urinate. A few hours later, though, the discomfort had largely disappeared. He did his daily measurement. Was it a sixteenth of an inch longer? Hard to tell. He'd give the Program one more night.

  The day after that the soreness was barely perceptible. Urination was normal. And, yes, YES, he had grown an eighth of an inch in erect length. Definitely! He increased the pill dosage once more.

  A week later his penis was a full inch longer. He swaggered down the street with unaccustomed confidence. He asked his boss for a raise . . . and got it. His girlfriend laid aside her book when he made love to her. Life was good.

  A month later his penis was four inches longer. All his pants were tight at the crotch. He was a bit embarrassed to walk the streets. Women stared at him and giggled when he sunbathed at the beach. Because of grievances filed by female co-workers, his boss transferred him to an all-male section, with a reduction in pay. His girlfriend compained that it hurt when he made love to her, then left him for a guy with a smaller, "friendlier" penis. He discontinued the Program, threw away the remaining pills and cream, and recorded "Papa Loves Mambo" over the Subliminal Growth Cassette. It didn't help. His penis continued to grow. And grow.

  He called the 800-number listed on the Program instruction sheets. "I'm sorry, but that number is not in service." Desperate now, he ran an Internet search for Magic Alchemy Labs . . . and found out that its president was serving a prison sentence for multiple counts of fraud. Fraud, hell! The Penis Enlargement Program worked all right. The trouble was that it worked too well.

  A month after that he was even more desperate. The good news was that the growth of his penis seemed to have slowed. The bad news was that he now had an 18" penis.

  He had to wear a custom-made "athletic supporter" under his pants. The pants themselves were custom-tailored, with extra bagginess at the crotch (A shame codpieces were out of style, he thought). That extra weight down there was making it awkward to walk, and running was out of the question.

  His boss had fired him for "lewd public display," although his behavior had been impeccable. He couldn't help that damn bulge down there. He tried getting a part in a porn film. They laughed at him. "Eight inches is okay, ten even better, even a footlong is fine. But a foot and a half? We make erotic films here, fellow, not comedies. Try a circus sideshow."

  The urologist wasn't much help.

  "Penis reduction surgery? Yes, we could try that, but the cure might be worse than the disease. Side-effects, you know. For one thing, you'd probably be impotent. And you might have to use a catheter to urinate. For how long? Perhaps the rest of your life."

  He'd just have to live with it. Well, considering how many handicapped persons there were out there, most with more severe infirmities
than his, he should be grateful. He wasn't. He was bitter and disallusioned. A dream come true had become a nightmare. "Be careful what you wish for . . . you just might get it."

  In the end, things worked out quite nicely for Peter. He found well-paying work acting in commercials. He's now the spokesman for a leading condom manufacturer. You've seen him in their television ads. He's the one saying, "BIG protection for BIG men." And he's a hit in the demo booths at the annual Urinal Manufacturers' Association convention.

  Oh, yes. His sex life is just fine now, thank you. He found a fellow victim of Magic Alchemy Labs. She had purchased the Breast Enhancement Program. The end result was a 70-inch bust, with corresponding enlargement in the lower regions. This resulted in the world's largest and loosest vagina. She and Peter are a perfect fit.