Fanny by Erica Jong Read Free Book Online

that tender Virginal Opening which had been unattempted till that very Day (when ’twas visited first by a Finger belonging to Lord Bellars and then one belonging to the Poet himself!), and by wiggling and squirming it and at the same Time intermittently sucking, with renew’d Determination, upon both Nipples, he had made fair Headway against my Maidenhead, whilst speaking of God’s Great Plan and the Mighty Laws of Nature.
    “But Sir,” I said, above the growing Pounding of my Blood in my Ears, like Waves upon the Shore, “cannot this Plan be alter’d? Cannot a Great Female Poet rise up who will give the Lye to these immutable Theories?”
    “No,” said the Poet, “a thousand Times NO. For whate’er exists in Nature is but an Expression of God’s Will, and if He hath placed Women below Men, you can be sure ’tis for a Noble Purpose. In short, whate’er is, IS RIGHT.”
    Whereupon he loosen’d his Breeches, fumbl’d neath his Waistcoat and curious Doublet for his tiny pink Member, threw my Petticoats above my Head, and stood ready to assault my Maidenhead, with the very Weapon made for the Purpose. But my Guardian Angel must have been attending me at that Moment, for just as he drew near my tender Virgin Cunnikin, his own Eagerness brought on the Ultimate Period of his Hot Fit of Lust, of which my firm young Thighs and clean Petticoats receiv’d the egregious Effusion.
    “O, Ohhh,” he groan’d, part in relief, part in disappointment. And he buried his Head betwixt my Breasts, where his Eyes let fall a few hot Tears of Distress.
    “O, my Fanny, you are all the Inspiration I shall e’er wish. Come away with me to Twickenham. You shall be Mistress of my House and my Heart, Queen of the Muses, first amongst Women. I shall dress you in Sattens and gold Lace, cover you with Jewels, adorn you as I adorn my Grotto….”
    “O Sir,” said I, “I cannot leave the tender Parents who have taken me in and rais’d me to Womanhood. Lady Bellars would be heartbroken. Please, Sir, do not tempt me so.” But his Offer put me suddenly in mind of a Plan for leaving Lymeworth and making my Way to London. Consequently, I did not tell the Poet what I thought of his miserable Form and his loathsome Avowals of Passion. I wip’d the sticky Substance from my Thighs with a fine cambrick Handkerchief and begg’d my Admirer to take leave of me so that I might consider his Proposal till the Morrow.

CHAPTER VI
    Some Reflections upon Harmony, Order, and Reason, together with many surprising Adventures which follow one upon the other, in rapid Succession.
    B Y THE TIME THE Poet took leave of me, ’twas nearing Eleven o’ the Clock; for I could hear the large House Clock, which we had standing upon the Back-Stairs Head, ring its eleven Bells shortly after his Departure. Nor did he leave without putting almost a Handful of Gold into my trembling Palm and making a thousand Protestations of his Passion for me.
    I must say I found all these Events (together with the Events preceding them) puzzling in the extream. I could not make the Poet’s Behaviour jibe with his profess’d Philosophies; for, if as he said, Women were below Men yet above Dogs and Children, why then did he press Guineas into my Hand and promise me Riches? How is it possible that he could be at once so lofty and so low—first discoursing upon his Grotto and the Cave of the Muses, upon Nature and Art, then pissing into a Pott at a Grape, then finally expiring in a Hot Fit of Lust into my Petticoats? ’Twas not at all how I had fancied the Author of those Divine Verses! Where was Harmony? Where was Order? Where was Reason? All I could see was Discord, Chance, and Self-Love, in the very Places where I would have most fervently wisht to see their Opposites.
    Alas, Belinda, I was Seventeen; and in spite of my womanly Height and Bearing (and my firm tho’ foolish Conviction that Life had no more to teach me than I already knew), I was but a Child in my Wish for