3 comments/ 45209 views/ 10 favorites Dear Thaddeus By: earlbrowder (This is a somewhat new direction for me. I kept searching for a different kind of voice to narrate my story and stumbled onto this late 19th century idiom. I'm pleased with the results. Let me know if you are as well.) July 12, 1899 Dear Thaddeus, I hope this finds you well. I write to you because you are my brother in faith, and we have been constant companions on the great prairies of Kansas since childhood. I still recall fondly the first day we met, outside Thayer's Dry Goods on the dusty streets of Salina. You welcomed me as a newcomer and have remained my steadfast friend, even through my recent difficulties. As you know, I am forbidden to write to Elizabeth. My father has made it clear that any communication might place her reputation in jeopardy and foreshorten my future. (The old man is still a steady shot with his trusty Remington!) I will admit that young love often exceeds the fences laid down by elders. I will confess that I was foolish, but only because I was driven by a deep and sincere love. Onward. I arrived in San Francisco four days ago after a long but none too arduous rail trip. I tell you - - the vast plains of Colorado and the snowy peaks of the Sierras are wonders to behold. They are evident proof of our nation's special place within god's plan. San Francisco itself is gray and chilly. I stepped off the train into a morning fog of supernatural thickness with the sounds of the city's bustle ringing like the clatter of ghosts in my ears. It was strange indeed, especially for one so acclimated to the open spaces and grand skies of Kansas. My grandmother, to whose care I have been exiled, lives in a rather ornate mansion on Stockton Street, only a half dozen blocks from the infamous Barbary Coast. The house is, by Kansas standards, imposing and ornate, with several hidden staircases, tall windows covered over in damask, velvet furniture, and complicated gas chandeliers. Its exterior is gothic in the extreme; elaborate scrolling and carvings decorate its front like icing on a demented wedding cake. My room is spacious and I write to you now with a view across the flickering street lamps of the city. There are several servants to attend grandmother and myself and there appear to be other persons in regular visitation of the house. I hear their boots upon the hallway late at night, but have yet to discern their identities. Of my grandmother, I will say that I was surprised to my boot heels when I met her after being delivered from the ferry building. She is rather tall and buxom with silver white hair and a pair of dark black eyes. She greeted me warmly with a kiss on each cheek in the continental style. Her fingers and wrists tinkle with silver bracelets, gold rings, and jewels. She is given to luxury, as is evident from the interior of her house, her thick, rich silk skirts, and her jewelry. I recall from my first night here that as I studied a gallery of daguerreotypes lining the front hall I was arrested by the likeness of a comely woman, of our age, seated in a garden beneath palm fronds. Thinking she might be a cousin, I asked grandmother her identity. With a light laugh, she informed me that it was indeed a likeness of herself, taken in Egypt when she was an actress. Perhaps she played Cleopatra en vivant? In any case, I hope to continue to write to you as I settle in here. I cannot expect any news of Elizabeth, though if you happen to pass her on the street or sit next to her on Sundays, I am sure you will communicate my deep, unerring affection for her. Yours, James G. Phelan July 22, 1899 Dear Thaddeus, I hope this finds you well. And, I hope you will accept my deepest thanks for your recent, brief correspondence. You are a true friend, indeed. As for Elizabeth, I am sure she will respond to your delicate inquiries when the fog of parental displeasure lifts from her. I am sure you wonder, residing as I do in such close proximity: No, I have not visited the Barbary Coast. It is quite dangerous and excepting that you are a sailor in search of "grog" or immoral company, there is no necessity to traipse through its gin mills, saloons, and gentleman's parlors. I assure you. San Francisco, I must admit, is none too hospitable to me. The weather is disagreeable - - continuously foggy and wet with perhaps an hour of sunshine in the afternoon. The people are by and large uncouth and loud. I confess that I find Chinatown to be quite fascinating. And, I have taken up regular visits to a delightful tea house only five blocks away. The Chinese are industrious and polite people who seem to revel in respect for tradition and duty. I quite like them. Grandmother and I continue our cordial and warm relationship. She is really quite elegant, more elegant than one would expect from the humble home and character of her son, my father. We typically dine together and retire afterwards to the salon where I drink a cup of hot tea and lemon while she sips on an aperitif of thick rubied liqueur. Some nights we converse into the long hours. She compliments me in ways that I am unaccustomed to, frequently noting how handsome and hale I am or my refined comportment. I am happy to demonstrate a higher order of culture to her. Though I usually prepare for sleep well before midnight, I know that grandmother is a night bird for I often hear her talking to others and traversing the stairs as I lie in bed reading or wakefully dreaming of sunshine and Elizabeth's delicate, pale hands. I must convey to you a rather unsettling series of events that has transpired recently. When I reflect upon them, I am fearful. Who knows that this alien place might not harbor equally alien sentiments and forces. A week ago, the damp and heavy Bay atmosphere - - which mingles damp fog, coal smoke, and sundry noxious aromas into a regular witch's brew - - seeped into my bones in a kind of rheumatism. One morning, I was overtaken by lethargy and dull pains populated my joints. My pulse seemed to tighten across my temples and I could barely raise my head from the pillow. Around noon, perhaps surprised by my absence from breakfast and the morning's activities, Wen Chan, grandmother's servant, entered my chamber after knocking. I begged him for a glass of cold water and he ran his papery hand across my forehead and retreated from the room. A rustle of skirts announced grandmother's arrival. She sat on the edge of my bed and also rubbed her palm across my forehead. "Dear child," she intoned sweetly. "You have taken the San Francisco ague. All newcomers suffer from it. It only signifies that you are acclimatizing to our fair city." She left and some time later a rather curious man entered my chamber. To be honest, my fevered brain may have exaggerated his oddness. He wore long sideburns and a large pair of spectacles perched on his beak of a nose. His hair was pomaded into a kind of tower of ginger extravagance. He appeared to wear a black frock coat and green corduroy trousers. Across the lapels of his coat were stitched obscure and esoteric designs in thick gold filament. They appeared like runes from some ancient and forgotten civilization. He gazed at me and wrapped his fingers around my wrist. After several minutes, he huffed, poked my eyes wide open and felt with his forefinger around my chin and neck. He huffed again and left. An hour or so later, Wen Chan returned. He bathed my forehead with a cold cloth and then produced from within his folds a narrow vial no more than three inches in length. He withdrew a spoon from the vial. Several drops of a bright green tincture glowed upon the spoon. I gazed at him in surprise. He nodded and pushed the spoon to my lips. The liquid seemed to expand and thicken as it passed my lips until it felt like I had swallowed a whole cup of the infernal chemical. Wen Chan smiled and patted me on the shoulder, then left. Needless to say, this strange tincture induced a deep sleep, yet a sleep crowded with shadowy figures and movements. I felt as if I were watching some distant world through the curling, dark smoke of an oil fire. At one point, I felt as if my body were lifted and carried out of the room and down the hall. Candle flames glowed about me and dim, shapeless figures chanted words of indecipherable origin or meaning. I woke in my own bed early in the evening. Again, grandmother sat by my side, gently stroking my cheeks and forehead. "Feeling better?" She asked in her silvery voice. I nodded and she trailed her long, warm fingers down my neck. The sensation was marvelous and extraordinarily curative. As her hand gently brushed my skin, I felt the fever ebb away from my mind and a sense of clarity and well-being suffuse my body. I opened my eyes to meet her gaze. "Thank you," I whispered hoarsely. She nodded sweetly and produced the medicine bottle that Wen Chan had used earlier. Drawing out the spoon, she laid several drops of the strange green liquid on my lips. Again, as the tincture passed across my tongue, I felt it expand in volume and density. Its taste, I could discern now, was bitter but enveloped in a musky, earthy flavor. I swallowed and this time I felt the liquid work through my entire body. It seemed to spread a kind of vitality from my throat to my stomach and down across my groin where it gathered force. Grandmother rested her hand on my brow and I grew uncomfortable as a surge of excitement coursed through my manhood. I fell asleep under her smile, beaming down at me like the gift of some silver-haired madonna. I tell you this only because it seemed such a marvellous and novel experience. Today, though still lethargic, I feel a new man. So, no worries. Please say hello to your brothers and, again, if perchance you can slip Elizabeth the enclosed note, I would be extremely grateful. Yours, James G. Phelan July 27, 1899 Dear Thaddeus, I hope this finds you well. I know that the long distance between myself and Salina prevents me from reading your latest epistle. Perhaps, it will arrive tomorrow. But, indulge me, as I must communicate to you the most recent shocking and horrid developments in this devilish house in a diabolical city. I wrote to you earlier of my suffering with San Francisco ague. That ague has largely passed and I am now feeling as fit and right as the day I left dear Salina. Yet, events here are not consonant with my restored health. Indeed, I may be physically healthy but I fear that I have contracted some moral contagion. Pray for me. Within a few days of taking Wen Chan's tincture, my fever subsided completely and I felt as vital and strong as an Angus bull. I rose one morning and dressed for breakfast. The maid served me plate after plate of eggs, bacon, sausage, and grits. My hunger was interminable. Grandmother entered the room as I was wiping every last bit of egg from my third plate. She pulled a dining chair next to me and rested her hand on my knee. "You're feeling better, child," she said, bowing her head toward me. I replied that indeed I was feeling about as good as a man could. She smiled brightly and congratulated me on my speedy recovery. Then, from within the folds of her dress, she drew out the medicine bottle. I gazed at it - - the liquid contents seeming to radiate and caste a green glow on grandmother's hand. And equally suddenly, I was seized with an urgent, violent need to taste the tincture again. I looked at grandmother who, as if understanding, quickly drew the tiny spoon from the cylinder and proffered it to me. Greedily, indeed I could almost hear myself grunting with insatiable appetite, I pulled her hand toward my lips. The liquid worked its strange magic again and I felt my body fortified with new strength and vitality. My groin seemed to churn with insistent energy. I sat back in my chair and closed my eyes. It seemed that I had only blinked. Yet, when I woke, I was lying on a divan in a foreign room. Three gas lights glowed above me, shedding a soft light on the rich tapestry of wallpaper that surrounded me. I blinked and sat up. As my eyes focused, I saw that the dark crimson of the wallpaper was populated with figures in silhouette. And these figures, my friend, were represented in the most obscene poses - - male and female bodies twisted together, huge, exaggerated genitalia thrusting upward toward the heavens, mouths and heads gaped in agony or ecstasy. I could not tell which. A chill ran across my shoulders, even as my nethers seemed to twitch in excitement. The dark mahogany door opened and grandmother entered. She smiled at me and turned to a figure behind her. They entered and I saw that the second figure was a woman of grandmother's age yet not so well preserved or, rather, more ravaged by time. She sported wrinkles around her eyes and her flesh while taut in some parts of her face in others seemed to droop. The crone smiled at me and grandmother took her hand. They seated themselves next to me. "This is Widow Douglas," Grandmother said to me sweetly. "She is your new friend." Evidently registering my surprise and unhappiness, Grandmother patted Widow Douglas's hand gently. From within the folds of her skirt, she again withdrew the vial. I stared at it, transfixed with need. "Do you wish for more tincture?" Grandmother asked me. I nodded hungrily, my rational and moral senses overwhelmed by my appetite for that strange green liquid. Grandmother smiled and withdrew the spoon. I opened my mouth greedily. Grandmother disbursed more than the usual amount - - four or five drops fled the tip of the spoon onto my tongue. I felt then, dear friend, like a locomotive was pounding through my body. My heart raced. My muscles seemed to swell. And, more horrible still, my manhood ballooned within my trousers. But under the influence of grandmother's magic potion, I cared not. All of my moral sense had fled and I reveled in the feeling and gasped with delight. Grandmother put her arm around Widow Douglas and squeezed her shoulder. She pulled the widow down onto the divan and pushed her skirt and petticoats up over her hips. The harridan's withered shanks appeared - - gray and mottled. Grandmother pulled her knees up to reveal the woman's pale liverish pudenda. Paradoxically, as I gazed at it, my cock swelled to unimaginable proportions. Without thinking, driven by the need to relieve my restlessness, I unbuttoned my trousers and my manhood shot out like a tiger escaping from its cage. I gasped in surprise. It had doubled in size and in girth. Its bulbous head gleamed under the gaslight like a polished apple. It was a monstrous and alien appendage, yet I was transfixed by it. The rustle of silk woke me from my reverie and I glanced at Widow Douglas's exposed organ. Suddenly the crone's withered, defeated legs were transformed into smooth, pearlescent flesh. Her voluptuous thighs, swelling with life and health, trembled. Her tiny ankles, encased in boots, led to upward to firm, strong calves. I gulped and gazed down again at my significantly enhanced phallus. When I looked up, grandmother had disappeared from the room. The widow's pudenda now glowed with ruddy health. Growling, I approached the old woman on the divan. She looked up at me fearfully. I parted her legs and grasped my cock. The woman whimpered and turned her head away from me. Driven forward by the strange energies swirling through my body, I kneeled on the divan and thrust my manhood deep into her quim in one savage motion. The widow gasped and her body froze. Her female cave was like a warm, velvet trap and, like a beast, I began hurling my monstrous appendage in and out of her. She groaned and twisted her body back and forth vigorously. And still, I savagely attacked her with my magnificent cock. The widow raised her legs higher and began to shout filthy words. These only goaded me onward. The tip of my cock began to pulsate, throbbing with a life of its own. It had become, in truth, my insane but benevolent master. With a final jungle growl, I plunged it back into the widow and buried it deep. My whole lower body seemed then to dissolve into waves of bliss and rapture. I wagged my hips in ecstasy as the old woman beneath me grasped at the couch with her hands and shrieked through her parted lips. My own shriek of animal pleasure joined hers and as the waves of carnal satisfaction washed through me, I collapsed on top of her, exhausted. I remember the wench's hands clawing through my hair and then I fell into a dark, whirling abyss. When I awoke, I was in my bedroom and the strange man with ginger hair was once again peering at me through his spectacles. He huffed once or twice and rose from his seat on the edge of the bed. With a final, dismissive glance at me, he left the room. From the jug next to the bed, I poured a glass of water to slake my thirst. The cold water felt like heaven's sweetest rain on my tongue. Grandmother entered the room and seated herself on the bed. She drew her cool, soft hands across my brow and smiled. "What has happened to me?" I asked. She grasped my hand in hers. "A relapse." "But that woman. And, that room. And that ungodly beast between my legs." I blushed and looked away from grandmother. Grandmother squeezed my hand. "A fever dream and nothing more. You can forget it if you wish." I sighed and squeezed my eyes shut. "I do wish to." Images of Widow Douglas in the throes of pleasure flashed across my brain. I fought against memories of my engorged manhood sliding in and out of her wet, tight quim. I was seized with panic as I felt my cock once again stirring. I rolled fitfully on the bed until grandmother's comforting hands grasped my cheeks. "Shhhhhh," she murmured. "Be still, my love. Dreams are the doorways into things you cannot speak, but wish you might." I groaned. Grandmother bent down. Her dark eyes gleamed in the dim light. Her pale skin glowed like marble under moonlight. She delivered a soft kiss to my cheeks. Calmness suddenly flooded my palpitating heart. Peace diffused itself through my body like a river pouring onto sere, barren plains. I sighed. Grandmother patted my forehead and I fell into a deep, restful sleep. I know, dear Thaddeus, that what you read here is shocking in the extreme. It outrages me as well and seems to insult the very ink that I scratch into this paper. I cannot truthfully tell you why I write it down for your pious eyes to read. Yet, I feel compelled to record it. I am worried. I cannot seem to distinguish where reality ends and delusion begins. Will I once again be plunged back into the dizzying, dark currents that seem to lie beneath my waking thoughts? Is there a world, more savage and primitive, that lurks beneath this placid globe upon which we dwell? Pray for me. I beg you. Yours, James G. Phelan August 4, 1899 Dear Thaddeus, No word from you. And yet, I must again chronicle my descent into an inferno of confusion and chaos. I no longer ask for your prayers. I dwell now in a place far from god's benevolence and alienated from any grace. In short, I am a slave to the tincture. I cannot breathe without thinking about it - - its color, its taste, its capacity to transport me into another universe. I crave it constantly. Even in sleep, or what passes for sleep in this hellish abode, I feel its siren call filtering through my blood and muscle. It must be the devil's own liquor. And yet, what truths it has revealed to me. Most importantly, it has revealed my grandmother's true nature and avocation. She is the infernal queen of the Barbary Coast! The foundations of her grand mansion rest on the venal corruptions and perversions that transpire daily and nightly only five blocks away. How, you ask, have I discovered this horrifying truth? I tremble to commit these words to paper, but I must. Whether you shall ever read them, I cannot know. Salina is lost to me forever. Whither my fate draws me, only the devil and my grandmother can say with any authority. Dear Thaddeus You will recall my fever dream of carnal union with the Widow Douglas. Only the next day, the widow herself visited grandmother's house in the late morning. Wen Chan entered my room, where I sat reading my favorite volume of Swinburne under gaslight. I paled when he notified me that Widow Douglas awaited me in the sitting room. I gathered myself together and descended the stairs. From the sofa where she sat next to grandmother, she beamed up at me with a bright smile. I froze for a moment. She was no crone or harridan. In fact, she appeared a rather pleasant-looking woman of advancing years with bright green eyes and a small pert nose. I coughed to cover my surprise and sat opposite the two women. We chatted amiably and drank the dark, aromatic tea favored by Wen Chan and the other asian domestics. Mrs. Douglas departed around noon. "You improve measurably," grandmother noted as we sat down for lunch. "Indeed," I answered. "I am physically restored. But, these fever dreams continue." Grandmother nodded and continued eating in her delicate, attractive manner. As the kitchen staff cleared the table, grandmother reached into the folds of her lustrous silk dress and withdrew the vial. My heart seemed to stop and I felt powerful emotions swell across my chest. She looked at me with a sugared smile. I nodded eagerly. Again, she dropped four or five jots of the green liquid onto my tongue. And, again, I blinked and woke in that strange, dim room with the obscene wallpaper. The door opened and grandmother led two young women into the room. One was asian, with delicate cheekbones and wide, captivating eyes. The other was negro, shorter and broader, with broad hips and prominent bosom. The room seemed to shift and grow vague as I stood, overcome with a carnal desire so powerful that I felt the last vestiges of my rational self flee down rushing waters. Grandmother gently pushed the two women before me. Without prompting, I unbuttoned my trousers to bare my supernaturally enhanced manhood. Both women gasped, the negress in evident pleasure. I leapt upon them, ripping away at their dresses and petticoats. Soon, we had become the living incarnations of the demonic couples on the wallpaper. Our bodies twisted and twined together and my cock plowed into every orifice the women made so freely available to me. Hours later, or so it seemed, I collapsed onto the women and lay there, satiated and proud, in a bower of yellow and black flesh. I awoke back in my room. Someone had evidently bathed and perfumed me. I rose with a ravenous hunger and rang the brocaded bell rope next to the bed. Wen Chan entered shortly after with a maid and a mountain of steaming plates. That evening, after dinner, the same events repeated themselves. Grandmother delivered the tincture to my beseeching lips and I once again woke in the dim room. This time, I shared the divan with the negress alone. She was already stripped to her corset and stockings when grandmother led her into the room. I used her with abandon and our orchestra of moans and shouts echoed through the chamber for hours. In the morning, grandmother greeted my awakening with her cool hands. Again, I was ravenous with hunger. This time, however, the effects of the tincture seemed not so dulled or eclipsed. My body still radiated energy and desire. Indeed, when grandmother leaned down to bless me with her full, warm lips, my passions overcame me and I pulled her face to mine and attacked her lips and tongue with my own mouth. She resisted this indeceny slightly at first but then submitted to my unclean desires. She played her tongue against mine and ran her hands excitedly along my neck and cheeks. Needless to say, my satyr's cock aspired vertically beneath the bed sheets. I confess, Thaddeus, I felt no shame in this atrocious and evil behavior. I experienced only an alien desire gripping me and prodding me forward, more and more insistently. After several minutes of this amorous play, grandmother suddenly sat upright. Her silver hair hung in gorgeous confusion down along her collar. Her eyes shone with stellar brilliance. Her cheeks were flushed. As I rose continue my attack, she pushed me back down onto the bed with her hand and held me there. Obviously, the years of work in Salina endowed me with strength and that, plus my age, should have allowed me further mischief. But grandmother's hand seemed to emanate her will deep into my chest and torso. "No, darling," she whispered hoarsely. "This is not the hour." I moaned with hunger and struggled against her hand. She continued to obstruct my desires. "My darling," she whispered, regaining her dulcet voice. "You have struggled too much against that which you desire. I understand this. Soon, your struggles will end. But not yet. There are only a few more revelations you must endure." I fell back onto the bed, suddenly exhausted. Grandmother stroked my forehead until I drifted back into slumber. I woke later in the day. Again, the thick, ponderous fog clotted the windows of my bedchamber. Who knew, I mused to myself, if the world really existed out there? Perhaps, as de Fronde writes in his magnificent poem: "Only by submitting to the maelstrom within can the cuffed and manacled soul escape its ribbed sepulchre." I pondered this until Wen Chan entered my room. He gestured for me to dress and I did. The Chinaman waited outside my bedroom door. He motioned to me and I followed him down the hallway. We descended the main staircase of the house. All was silent. The gas jets had been turned low. Through the front parlor, I could see the midday sun struggling to penetrate the miasma of fog. The tiny, bent figure proceeded to a bookcase in the parlor. He withdrew a volume from a low shelf and the bookcase swung open to reveal a dark passageway. Again, Wen Chan motioned to me and we descended a narrow staircase. The staircase debouched onto a wider hallway. The flickering gas lamps along the walls projected dancing shadows up and down the length of the corridor. We proceeded for more than a dozen feet when the servant held his hand up to halt me. He twisted a slight convex knob in the wall and pushed. The hidden door opened onto a darkened room. Two rows of red velveteen chairs faced away from the ingress we had just crossed. Wen Chan again raised his palm toward me. He proceeded alone to the far wall. A single brocade rope hung on the right side of the wall. He tugged on it. A tall panel that stretched across from end-to-end of the room slowly rose from the middle of the wall. I gasped. The secret panel opened to reveal a smaller room with a divan at its center above which hung three unlit gas globes. I rushed to the what was now discovered to be a long single pane of glass. Pressing my hands and face to the window, I spied the obscene wall paper that marked this as my chamber of savage pleasure. Obviously, I had been the unwitting spectacle for the dozens who had gathered in this room. I gasped again and turned to Wen Chan. He had disappeared. I rushed to the door, knocking over chairs as I stumbled to the egress. I paused, panting and clinging to the door frame. Shame doused my mind like an icy deluge. Then, outrage stirred my limbs and I raced back up the hallway to the stairs, bellowing for my grandmother. I raced about the house, shouting and cursing. It was empty. Driven by the need to escape, I assaulted the front door but the heavy brass knob remained impervious to my frantic efforts. I began pounding against the door, alternately sobbing and shouting. Finally, I collapsed there in a whimpering heap. Some time later, two pairs of hands pulled me slowly to my feet. I was turned around to encounter the man with the ginger hair. He opened his mouth in a wicked grin, revealing a row of teeth that had been scrimshawed with the same runes that decorated his lapels. He brusquely pushed my head backward. With his other hand, he withdrew a vial from his coat pocket and flicked it open. I could not struggle. I was trapped. I had surrendered. He poured the contents of the vial into my mouth. This time, I awoke on the sofa in the parlor. My shirt and shoes had been removed and I wore nothing but my chemise and trousers. My head felt sluggish and my body barely stirred when I commanded it to rise. My grandmother entered the room. I lazily rallied myself to a sitting position. She was dressed in a silver, satin robe with rich lace trimming along the lapels. She seated herself next to me and drew my hand into hers. "We are prisoners," she murmured to me. "Prisoners within our own bodies. Entombed there by rule and law and custom. We struggle day and night to find freedom. But, our struggles only push us further, deeper into the dungeons of our selves." She sighed and squeezed my hand. "All of this you see - - my house, my furnishings, my jewelry - - these are merely the just rewards for my efforts." She gazed down at me with her dark eyes. "I am the emancipator." She raised her hand to my cheek. "I come to deliver the innocent from their unjust imprisonment. I show them the way of their true desires. Do you understand?" My eyes widened in horror and I swatted, ineffectually, at her arm. "No, darling," she purred and gently grasped my wrist. "You too have struggled. I read it in your face when you arrived here. You have carried a burden for too long. And, now I have eased that burden. I have lifted the heavy stones from your back." I swallowed and recalled my episodes with Mrs. Douglas and the other women. I had blamed my bestial behavior on the tincture. But as grandmother's sweet voice uncoiled in my ears, I recognized my own complicity and identity with these depravities. I relaxed back onto the couch. Yes, deep within me there had always been dark, murky forces, currents of some stygian river that pushed me onward without my conscious knowledge. That night in Salina that had forever broached my connection to family and friends. That night when Elizabeth had disrobed for me and uttered her execrable words, the words dripping with slime and guilt that I had obeyed. I looked deep into grandmothers ebon orbs. There was truth there. She smiled and, weakly, I returned that smile. "The spectacle in which you have participated is eleemosynary. You have given your witnesses a glimpse of freedom. Of a life lived beyond the bars of their cells. This is the truth of the Barbary Coast, the truth of vice, and the truth that I have offered you." She paused and raised both her hands to my cheeks. "Do you accept my truth?" I screwed my eyes shut and then opened them. She had withdrawn her hands from my face and now held the vial clasped in them like a holy sacrament. I glanced at her eyes and then the vial. I nodded affirmatively. She bussed me gently on the brow and then withdrew the spoon from the vial. "Soon," she murmured. "You will no longer need this aid. Soon, you will be able to fly on your own wings." She emptied the vial into my upturned lips. I drank it down until I felt its mysterious power grasp my soul and animate my body. Grandmother dropped the vial and wrapped her arms around my neck. Our mouths met in a deep, blissful kiss and our tongues twined together like happy and hungry serpents. Grandmother rose, our mouths still fastened to each other. She folded my hand in hers and tugged me forward into the parlor. There, she pulled her lips from mine and removed the secret volume from the bookcase. The concealed door slid open and we proceeded downward, jostling together hungrily. My arms around her waist, hers around my neck. Our lips mumbling together passionately, our tongues lashing and spinning together. At the bottom of the stairs, I slid my hand over grandmother's and pulled her eagerly toward the door to the chamber of pleasure. We practically ran together, our feet slapping against the hard floor, as we made our way to the entrance. I twisted the knob and shoved the door open. I swept grandmother off her feet into my arms and her lips met mine again. As we entered the room, I glanced to the wall to see that the window panel had been withdrawn. Though I could not see them, the presence of our witnesses drove me to even deeper passions. I bestowed grandmother gently onto the sofa and stood with my chest thrust forward. I ripped off my chemise and popped the buttons on my trousers with one rough yank of my hand. My extraordinary cock stood at full mast. The massive, rounded head mounted atop a thick, adamantine shaft. I stood there - - resplendent, naked, proud - - like some savage but royal beast. Grandmother trilled on the divan and parted her silk robe. Her pale voluptuous body revealed itself to my hungry eyes. Her large, heavy breasts arched heavenward surmounted by wide, dark-colored nipples. She ran a hand down along her deliciously swelling belly and into the valley between her pale, abundantly-fleshed thighs. She spread her legs to allow her slender, ringed fingers access to her swollen pudenda. She stroked her quim and gazed into my eyes as I approached her. As I neared, she rose slightly to wrap her fingers around my hard manhood. Smiling rapturously, she guided it to her lips. I groaned as her tender, moist lips parted and she sequestered my cock with unabashed exuberance into her juicy mouth. The sensations of this, my first experience of the ancient Roman art of fellatio, were indescribable, both for the pleasure that throbbed up and down my shaft and for the sight of my grandmother, her silver hair spread in a nimbus around her beautiful face, gorging herself on my rampant cock. I stood above her as she lay on the divan, feeding my cock into her mouth and inhaling it deeply into her throat. Her light delicate hands fluttered over my scrota like butterfly wings. She drew my cock out of her mouth and licked its bulbous head. Saliva glistened along the flanks of my beautiful monster. Grandmother pushed my cock downward, toward her breasts, and began playing the tip of it across her wine-colored nipples. She was gasping and panting with pleasure. I circled my fingers around the base of my manhood and aided her efforts. She released me and drove her fingers downward, back into her pudenda. Soon she was writhing below me as I smacked my cock against her luxurious breasts and she wiggled her hands deep into her quim. With a savage shout, I pushed her muscled thighs wider apart, crouched between her legs, and divided the silky lips of her quim with the head of my cock. Grandmother groaned. I sailed my monster deep into her thoroughly moistened cavern. We began rocking together on the divan as my cock sawed in and out of her. She reached up with her hands and pulled my face close to hers. Her deep, rapid respirations mingled with my own. Her tongue flicked out of her mouth with wanton abandon and I darted my own tongue against hers. Our tongues danced together faster and faster as I thrust my cock into her more and more insistently. Grandmother's fingers tightened in my hair and drew my mouth ontoto hers. Her throat and lips vibrated with words from some ancient, primitive language of carnal delight and, like a star bursting deep within my groin, my cock vomited forth a river of hot semination. I felt my groin pumping dram after dram of masculine fluid deep into grandmother, who was madly guzzling my tongue and lips. Echoing the figures silhouetted on the wallpaper, I raised my head from grandmother's lips and howled a final exclamation of joy to the four walls of the room. Grandmother's fingers dug into my shoulders and she heaved her hips upward, attempting to retain my manhood within her velvety walls. I exhaled and collapsed onto grandmother, my body floating atop her pendulous breasts. Her lips found my cheek. And, her hands roamed without license up and down my back and buttocks. Recovering my senses, I rolled onto my side and nestled on the divan next to her plush body, now mottled with crimson blushes. She cuddled me in her arms and kissed me sweetly along my cheeks and neck. Yes, Thaddeus. I had descended well past the most atavistic and barbarian sanctions. Millenia of proscriptions and taboos lay like shattered wreckage along the path which led to this moment - - my head resting on my grandmother's breasts, my now-soft and beslimed cock draped atop her thigh, the taste of her lips and tongue lingering on mine. I felt no shame, no remorse, no perturbations of guilt. Grandmother was right. I had been released, emancipated, freed, liberated. Nor did the occasion of my moral destruction end there. For that day continued into the night, refreshed and reinvigorated at intervals by Wen Chan's appearance with food and drink. Like a stallion roaming a verdant pasture, I sampled every square inch of grandmother's soft, snowy flesh . . . and she mine. Like some puzzle of the physical sciences, we united our bodies in every position amenable to pleasure and human anatomy. Quiet moments of sleep overcame us until my hand crept to grandmother's breast or hers advanced to my cock. At some point near midnight, exhausted and bathed in sweat and the body's solutions, we retreated from the chamber to bathe and sleep. I woke the next morning under the gauze canopy of grandmother's four-poster bed. Her luscious, ripe body was flung atop mine. I suffered no more dreams. Nor any doubts. Confident in my actions and trusting in grandmother's wisdom, I woke her with a long kiss upon her tender lips. I am consigned to damnation, but I shall make a heaven of this hell! August 15, 1899 Dear Thaddeus, I hope this finds you well. I would have invited you to the wedding, but that of course would be impossible. You no longer exist. You see, grandmother's ministrations have finally resolved the paradox of my fragmented, confused memories of those final days in Salina. Elizabeth tempting me. My submission. And your discovery of your wife's infidelity. Of that final night and the moonlit confrontation in front of Thayer's. My return home and your retreat to your office where you were discovered the next morning - - a slug of iron delivered by your very own hand and pistol to your temple. The note found on the desk next to your shattered cranium. My father's imprecations. My mother's weeping. My acceptance of the need to flee Salina to salvage what honor I could for my family. I remember it all now. I pray for you now. I pray that you have found ultimate release from guilt and indignity. As for me, I have found that release, and without the necessity of pistol or lead. Grandmother has served as my guide from purgatory to paradise. After our rapturous sojourn in the secret chamber, we clung to each other through days and nights. We ascended from grandmother's bed only to bathe, change the linens, and exercise our eliminatory functions. Wen Chan and the maids served us meals and drinks there, resting the trays of meat and bread and wine on the bed and then retreating solemnly from the room. After three days of residence in heaven, and at the end of a long afternoon of amorous play, grandmother rolled on top of me and kissed my eyes, my nose, and my lips. "I want you for eternity," she whispered to me, dampness gathering at the corner of her eyes. I smiled and returned her kisses. "But you have me for eternity," I replied sleepily. Grandmother tugged my earlobes playfully. "Even in the world of limitless pleasures, there are rituals." Sensing my puzzlement, she continued. "Silly. If there is holy matrimony, then according to the moral physics of the world, there must be unholy matrimony!" Realization swept through me. I smiled. "I request . . ." I cleared my throat sanctimoniously. "I request your hand in marriage. Will you marry me?" Grandmother giggled and wrapped her hand around my cock. Dear Thaddeus "I will." She cooed. "I accept my grandson's hand in unholy matrimony." We kissed. Over the next few days, the household exploded in a burst of joyous activity. Grandmother giggled and blushed like a young girl as she fussed over the details of the ceremony and her wardrobe. Wen Chan and the maids joined in the laughter and smiles. Everywhere in the house, happiness perfumed our moments. The grumpy old sun even managed to shake off the shrouds of San Francisco fog and blare the good news of sunlight through our windows. On an unusually temperate Friday evening, a group of grandmother's oldest friends, including Mrs. Douglas, gathered in the garden at the back of her mansion. I draped myself in a fine, tailored tuxedo. Doctor Ignatius, for that is the name of the cantankerous but charming sage with ginger hair, rapped lightly at my chamber door. "Are you ready, son?" He inquired garrulously as he stood in my opened door. "You look damn ready." I nodded and straightened my bow tie. "I don't you envy you, kid," he continued, looping his arm in mine and leading me down the hallway. "Eveline is a damn fine woman." I laughed in agreement. The Doctor and I proceeded downstairs to the back patio. Below us, grandmother's friends sat in rows of chairs aligned along a central path carpeted in the petals of black roses. The lustrous path led to a bower overladen with orchids and dark crimson roses. The ginger-haired man and I paused and then began to walk slowly down the aisle, greeted at every step by the happy upturned faces of sailors, whores, dancers, and priests and devotees of a dozen ancient, antediluvian sects. Doctor Ignatius deposited me under the bower and withdrew to its side. I looked up to the patio to behold my grandmother. I drew my breath in sharply. She wore a glittering red satin gown with sweeping hems. Two bright ivory sashes crossed her ample chest. A bevy of pearl necklaces fell from her long, shapely neck. Her lustrous silver hair was sculpted into a tower above her head. She proceeded towards me, arm in arm with Wen Chan, casting smiles on her friends like gold doubloons. I beamed at her as she approached. Wen Chan guided her next to me and I grasped her soft, silky hand in mine. Father Astrubal, the head priest of one of San Francisco's oldest and most storied pagan congregations, emerged from the seated crowd and stood before us. He smiled and raised his hand. "We are gathered here on this most propitious sabbath to join these two lovers together as man and wife in unholiest of matrimonies." The crowd sighed in unison. Father Astrubal rested a hand on my shoulder. "Do you, James Phelan, take this woman, your grandmother, to be your unlawfully wedded wife?" He paused. "To enjoy in carnal pleasure. To debase with unspoken desire. To explore the limits of man's moral and carnal laws." "I do," I uttered solemnly, gazing into the priest's eyes. "And you, Eveline Phelan." He turned to grandmother. "Do you take this man, your grandson, to be your unlawfully wedded husband? Again, he paused. "To share the most corrupt and blasphemous relations. To follow your passions beyond the limits of human law and order. To defile all that is sacred with your body and your desires." Grandmother turned to me with glowing eyes. "I do." I took her hands in mine. "I now pronounce you grandson and grandmother united as husband and wife." The crowd cheered lustily. Father Astrubal raised his hands to quiet them. "You may now kiss the bride." I bent my lips to grandmother's and she parted hers. Our tongues fluttered together as we bathed in each others' gazes. "And now," Father Astrubal intoned. "You may fuck the bride." The crowd erupted into huzzahs and grandmother and I broke our kiss. As we had rehearsed, many times over the preceding days, I turned grandmother around and pulled loose the ties that bound her wedding gown together. It dropped to the ground in a blazing, scintillating puddle of silk and lace at her feet. She was naked except for the long strings of pearls around her neck. Her broad, fleshy posterior and wide shoulders gleamed like alabaster. I doffed my jacket, slipped off my tie, and began to slowly unbutton my shirt. The crowd was now chanting words from some other language. Grandmother peered over her shoulder at me with a wicked, lascivious grin. I unclasped my trousers and stepped out of them. My wondrously enhanced cock sprang into view and the crowd's chanting grew into a frenzied murmur. I placed one hand on grandmother's hip and grasped my phallus with the other. I ran my cock head up and down the deep canyon that separated her plump ass cheeks. She wiggled her hips as I positioned the tip of my manhood at her miraculous, silken nether lips. With a shout, I plunged my long, hard cock deep into her quim. She squealed with delight and commenced to pump her stout posterior back and forth along my manhood. I grasped her hips in my hands and plowed into her with force and energy. We quickly reached a pitch of animal-like, frenzied copulation, our bodies shaking and shuddering together. The voices of our assembled friends crowded into my ears, surpassed only by the deep and hearty groans of grandmother. Sensing the finale approaching, I thrust my straining cock to its ultimate depth and slid my hands onto grandmother's voluminous breasts, squeezing them as she turned her face to mine and plunged her tongue into my mouth. Our bodies paused, consumed by the jolting energies that sparked across my cock, the bridge that joined us. With a mutual shout of joy, my manhood erupted into grandmother's quim and her body was wracked by tremors of bliss. We held our mouths open and mashed together as our bodies dissolved into ecstasy. Later, as our orgasm ebbed away, I turned grandmother around to face me. We hugged and kissed. And I witnessed the crowd below melting into a general tangle of arms, legs, and sex organs. A communal moaning and shouting quickly supplanted our own. Later, every one of us revelling our nakedness, we drank champagne. And so, Thaddeus, here I am on the Barbary Coast with my new wife, while you float in peace somewhere above us. I'm certain of this. Connubial bliss has much to recommend it and I have much more of my account to scribble. But, I have an appointment below now. Grandmother, her breasts bedecked in sheer silk and lace, is urgent in her ambition to demonstrate our conjugal duties to the small but select crowd seated on their upholstered chairs. Au revoir, mon copain.