Fanny by Erica Jong Read Free Book Online Page B

’round him.
    “Now, then,” say I, standing o’er him and pressing my Advantage like Athena the Warrior Goddess herself, “out!”
    “O cruel Fanny,” slobbers Daniel, “cruel, cruel Fanny. Dost thou not know I love thee?”
    “Go make Love to Mrs. Betty the Chambermaid, who is already Great with Child by thee. Or Mrs. Polly the Milkmaid, who soon will be! I have no Use for a brawling drunken Lout who is my own Step-Brother, to boot.”
    “But not Blood-Brother, Fanny. Come, what’s the Harm in it?”
    “The Harm is the next Kick I shall give thee, which shall finish thine am’rous Tricks fore’ermore!” said I, savouring my Rage.
    “O please,” he whimper’d, “please, please,” and he commenced to crawl upon his Belly like a Snake towards the Door of my Chamber, whimp’ring and mewling and slobb’ring, until, having reach’d the Doorjamb, he rais’d himself by the brass Door Pull and, with a reproachful, simp’ring backward Glance, let himself out of the Chamber. E’en as he departed, one idle Hand pinch’d a Pustule upon his Cheak. (If such a Complexion was the Result of Lust, ’twas well indeed I scotch’d it in myself!)
    He had scarce been gone ten Minutes when once again the Door open’d, and Lord Bellars enter’d my Virgin Chamber.
    My Thoughts were in such a great Turmoil from the divers Events of the Ev’ning, and my Body so weary from my Exertions ’gainst Daniel, that I could do no more than sigh when Lord Bellars came to me, tow’ring o’er my Bed, and looking down at me with those fine sparkling brown Eyes.
    “You are so beautiful, my Fanny,” he said. “All this Night I have thought of nothing but your Beauty.”
    “Pray, do not flatter me, Milord. It makes me blush.”
    And ’twas true, the Blood came as readily to my Face as Moths to a Candle Flame on a hot Summer Night. As their Wings quiver and flutter, so I trembl’d ’neath Lord Bellars’ Gaze. My Hands grew cold, my Cheaks hot; the Blood drain’d, it seem’d, from my Feet and Hands, and sped up into my patch’d and painted Visage.
    “Nay. Do not forbid me Speech, for if I can possess you only with Words, I will speak, despite your Alarms. You are so inimitably fair and lovely. Your Limbs are fine-turn’d and your Eyes run o’er with Liquid Amber. Your Breasts are whiter than Alpine Snow and your Hair flames like a thousand Autumns past, and a thousand Autumns yet to come. You are like a Daughter to me and yet, do I dare dream an Intimacy betwixt us e’en greater than that of Filial Duty and an Orphan’s Gratitude?”
    He clasp’d me in his strong Arms, and I almost fainted away like one drugg’d.
    “O, no, Milord, pray, please refrain. Consider me, I beg you, for I am a Creature who hath no Protection but you, no Defence but your Honour. I conjure you not to make me abhor myself!—not to make me vile in my own Eyes!”
    He then fell to his knees at the edge of the Bed and exclaim’d, “I make an Oath at your Feet, to possess you or dye!” Whereupon he removes the tiny pointed satten Slipper from my right Foot and presses his Lips to the Sole of my Foot.
    “I beseech you, Milord…” I stammer’d. For, had he kiss’d my Breasts directly ’twould have provok’d less Rapture than when he thus abas’d himself to kiss my Foot. How unworthy was that coarse Foot against his fine Lips!
    “Please, Milord,” I protested.
    “My Angel,” he sigh’d, now flinging away the other Slipper and kissing the other Sole. “Please forgive, if e’er you can, my Coarseness upon that earlier Occasion, for until Supper I did not truly credit what a fine delicate Creature you had become, despite your lusty Beauty. O, for my Presumption, a thousand Pardons! But after hearing you discourse with Mr. Pope upon his Grotto, upon Nature and Art, I knew I had treated you most scurvily. And for that I would sooner drive this Sword…” (and here he drew it and it twinkl’d evilly in the dim Candlelight) “…into my