Fanny by Erica Jong Read Free Book Online Page A

Consistency. I had yet to learn that the Lives of Great Men are more oft’ at variance with their profess’d Philosophies than consistent with ’em; that their Habits in private mock their Statements in publick; that their bestial Behaviour in the Boudoir makes a Mockery of their Angelick Arguments in their Ethick Epistles, their Lofty Logick in their Epicks; or their Tragick Pronouncements in their Treatises.
    Moreo’er, how can I convey to you my Perplexity about the Spectacle of Masculine Lust I had just witness’d? At Seventeen, I was a Virgin, and my Knowledge of Venus’ Hot Fires was slight indeed. O, I had struggl’d with the Demon of Onania (ere I e’en knew the Meaning of the Term), but i’faith before I read Lady Bellars’ fateful Pamphlet, I thought myself the first Wench in the whole World’s wicked History e’er to give way to such Desires! After reading the Pamphlet, to be sure, I forbade myself that Vice (tho’ one of the Housemaids earnestly claim’d it preserv’d Virginity). But I was determin’d to shun all Lustful Practices until Heaven should provide me with a Mate. Thus, I gave myself to Horsemanship instead, exercising Lustre ev’ry Day until I was too weak for Venery.
    I’faith, I had witness’d Swiving in my Time—Dogs, Horses, Chickens, Servants, and Daniel did it—that I knew. I had come upon him with the Dairymaid in the Dairy (where they were doubtless curdling Cream), but to think so Great a Bard as Mr. Pope should have such low and bestial Proclivities—’twas puzzling, puzzling in the extream.
    Thus was I reflecting when once again came a Knock upon the Door of my Bedchamber, and without waiting to be invited, who should appear, but my Step-Brother, Daniel himself, drunk with Port and slobb’ring into his Shirt Front like an elderly Spaniel. (I could not but note with Amusement and Disdain that he had unbutton’d his Waistcoat most rakishly to show the copious Ruffles of his fine Holland linen Shirt, which he presum’d would have a most killing Effect upon the Fair Sex!)
    “’Tis a Shame you miss’d the Party, Fannikins, my Lamb,” says he, advancing towards the Bed, and looking Goats and Monkies at me. “We scarce miss’d Mary’s Concert at all—so merry were we with Drink and Conversation.”
    “Pray, who bade you enter?” I demanded, leaping up from the Bed, so as to better defend my Person from his intended Assaults.
    “Oho,” says Daniel drunkenly, picking at his Pustules with one Hand, “do you not wish for my Company?”
    “Certainly not,” say I. “When I wish for the Company of a drunken Lout, I shall find a prettier one than you at The Bear &. Dragon.” (The Bear &. Dragon, as you may guess, was our local Village Tavern, and a dirtier, more scurvy Hole, fill’d with more drunken country Hobnails, could not be found in all of England.)
    “Oho! Do you insult me then?” says Daniel, turning red behind all his Pimples and Pockmarks.
    “Call it what you will,” I said, haughtily, “so long as you quit this Place at once.”
    “Oho,” says Daniel, “I will not suffer gladly such Insults to my Person and my Parts,” and he makes bold to approach me and breathe his pestilential Breath full into my Face (as if ’twould fell me quite—like a Dragon’s Breath of Fire!). Whereupon, without further Ceremony or Preamble, he flings his Arms about my Neck, plants his loathsome Kisses upon my Bosom, and attempts to lay me down upon the Bed again and to unlock my Thighs. In a trice, I gather all my Force against his tott’ring Drunkenness, heave myself up with the Puissance which the Goddess of Anger alone makes possible, and kick, with one pointed satten Slipper, straight into his Breech.
    “O Jesus, I am kill’d!” he shouts. “O, my poor Pillicock, my poor Peewee!” And he reels backwards, holding his Hands to his Breech, and then falls o’er the Washstand, landing in a great Crash and Clatter, with the Wash Pitcher scatter’d in Pieces