Message-ID: <17966eli$9812120430@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: From: Caroline Ashbee Subject: Evidence of survival Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d MIME-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=us-ascii X-Posting-Agent: RISC OS Newsbase 0.60m X-Organization: Chaos Path: qz!not-for-mail Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam Approved: X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded X-Story-Submission: X-Original-Message-ID: <8135f7b248%Caroline@ardgrain.demon.co.uk> Evidence of survival Caroline Ashbee ' "The jewel found in the dunghill", that's what it is, the jewel found in the dunghill.' The phrase turned itself over and over in Sir William Cruickshank's mind as he sat, glad of his Inverness cape, listening to the rain battering the roof of the Hansom, and the clip-clop of the hooves, and the jingling of the bells on the harness. Had the old alchemists been right? he wondered fancifully: Was there really a method to transform the elements? Of course there was no alchemical solution to the transmutation, but in 1884, there were new and amazing mysteries to investigate, mysteries as profound as any in the physical world, mysteries at the very interface between the living and the spiritual world, that a man of science could explore; and who more qualified to explore them than Sir William Cruickshank, FRS, the inventor of Cruickshank's torus, and the discoverer of Cruickshank's kathodic emanations? The cab slowed down and came to a stop. 'I suppose that Holloway is not really a dunghill', he thought, but it very nearly was; and then suddenly an unarticulated question resolved itself: the reason that the material phenomena of spiritualism were manifested by people of the lower class was not that they possessed abilities that were advanced beyond the ordinary, it was because they were more primitive than the ordinary, and retained talents that the more highly evolved human beings, the members of the upper classes, no longer had any need for, and had therefore lost through the process of evolution. 'We solve our problems with reason, and despise the visceral: they lack the refinement for reason and converse with spirits.' Perhaps they had always done so and kept it secret. Perhaps all the stories about shape-changers were literally true. He knew, of course, that the notion was nothing more than a caprice, a thought for teasing children with, and he didn't believe it; but despite that, he was about to take part in a seance. The cabman opened the door and touched his cap. 'Here we are, Sir, 37, Brickfield Terrace, Holloway. That'll be ninepence.' Sir William took out his purse and picked out a sixpence and four pennies and handed them to the cabman who touched his cap again and said 'It's dreadful night isn't it, Sir? Rain like stair-rods.' 'Yes, yes, my man, so it is.' 'Long drive back up west, Sir, and not much chance of a fare in a place like this.' 'No . . . Oh, I see what you mean.' He sorted out another sixpence from his change and said to the man, 'Mind you don't spend it on beer.' 'God bless you, Sir. You're a scholar and a gentleman.' 'How did he know I was a scholar?' he wondered as he walked across the street to number 37, a mean semi-detached villa, standing behind the broken cast-iron railings that fenced off the subterranean area and the servants' entrance. Sir William walked up the steps feeling tense with foreboding. Once or twice in his life he had felt that tension before, in the laboratory, when he had been sure that something unusual was going to happen; and once he had experienced the triumphant resolution when it had happened: by chance the torus had been evacuated, and by chance, Tankerton had spilled a solution of something or other on to the bench and had mopped it up with a piece of cotton waste, which by chance, at least not actually by chance, all too predictably in fact, he had failed to dispose of properly, and by chance the switch to the high-tension supply to the torus had been thrown just when, by chance, he had been looking with irritation at the scrap of cotton; also by chance there was a thunderstorm impending and the sky was dark and the colour of slate, enabling him to make out the faint, pale, apple-green luminescence shining from the cotton. 'Come here, Tankerton and look at this.' 'Oh, that, I've seen it before. It's the barium on the cotton, that's all. Some sort of electrical influence comes out of the tube and makes the barium glow. That's why I was messing about with solutions of barium salts in the first place. I spilled some, and mopped it up with that cotton. I thought it was quite intriguing.' Sir William, having experienced the elation of being the first, experienced the dejection of being the second person to discover the kathodic emanations. He had sat down and had thought what to do. He wrote a paper on the subject and circulated it among his friends in the Royal Society, and they urged him to publish it in the _Proceedings_ of the Society, '. . . and, well, after all, Tankerton _is_ your employee, his father's a shopkeeper. Give him a bonus, and acknowledge his assistance at the end of the paper and that is _more_ than he deserves.' Thus the world came to know them as Cruickhank's kathodic emanations, but the world ought to have known them as the Tankerton-Cruickhank emanations, or even the Tankerton emanations. Part of the excitement about the new field of research was that it was his alone. Tankerton, a disciple also of Professor Huxley, continued to be derisive about spiritualism and would soon be having to search for another position unless he learned to keep his scepticism to himself. He knocked at the door and waited. It was opened by the parlourmaid, Gertrude, a blowsy young woman with a pert manner, verging on the familiar. 'Good evening, Sir 'Enry.' she said, 'You are expected.' He didn't bother to correct her. She took his cape, hat, gloves, and umbrella, and then led him down the narrow lobby, matchboarded and painted chocolate brown to the dado, with, above, wall-paper heavily embossed with a floral pattern that had been overpainted in glossy dark maroon. The air stank of boiled mutton and coal-gas. She paused beside the hall-stand where the salver was placed to receive the 'contributions'. He dropped three pounds in gold on to the salver and looked towards Gertrude who stared back at him insolently. He dropped another sovereign and looked at her, and still she stared stonily back. He dropped one more and she pressed her lips tightly together and nodded. He was shown into a small, hot parlour and was assailed with air thickened with face-powder and cheap scent. There were three people sitting in armchairs: two women, one short and fat, the other large and statuesque, both strictly constrained in taut, black, bombasine, and a thin boy of about 15 in a tight, bright, checked suit, short at the wrists and ankles. The smaller of the women, Mrs Mortimer, stood up to greet him. 'Oh, Sir William. How nice of you to come. Permit me to introduce Mrs Gudgeon, the famous materialising medium.' Mrs Gudgeon stood up. She must have been six feet tall, a fine figure of a woman, with broad shoulders, a very full bosom, and an hourglass waist. In her late forties perhaps, or even older, her hair, very black, surprisingly, artificially, black, long, done up in a heavy chignon. She had large, dark brown eyes in a white, fleshy, face, with deep lines from the wings of her nostrils to the corners of her lips, and beyond to her jawline, where jowls were just beginning to break on either side, as if somebody had placed a finger in each corner of her mouth and stretched her face downwards a little; but for all that she was a striking, handsome woman, though a little painted on the lips and about the eyes. 'How do you do, Sir William.' she said. 'I'd like to introduce my son, Ronald.' and turning towards him said, 'Say how-do-you-do to Sir William.' 'How-de-do, Sir William. Call me Ronnie, everybody does.' Squirming with distaste and embarrassment Sir William said 'How do you do, Ron . . . ald.' 'After all, there is a limit', he thought and he reminded himself of the jewel in the dunghill. 'Pleasetermeetcher.' Ronnie replied cheerfully. Ronnie resembled his mother in his facial features, especially in the down-turned mouth and the lines from the nose to its corners; but in contrast with his mother's glossy black abundance, his hair was mousy, but short and stiff, and though amply brilliantined, it stood away from his head in places. They stood looking at one another. They all knew what was going to happen, but each was waiting for one of the others to say something. They all knew that there were disagreeable preliminaries to be endured before the seance proper could begin. 'Will there be other participants in the circle tonight?' Sir William asked, trying to hold the tremor down. 'No, Sir William, not tonight. There will just be you, I, and Mrs. Gudgeon. Ronnie will amuse himself with the stereoscope in here, won't you, Ronnie?' 'Rather, Mrs Mortimer.' he replied with well-drilled promptness, 'Like I always do', he added, smirking. 'Well, we'd best make a start.' said Sir William. 'If you're ready?' Mrs Gudgeon nodded and they left the stuffy parlour and went through the mutton-coal-gas of the lobby, upstairs, and into one of the rooms on the second floor. This room was a kind of sparsely furnished ante-chamber that opened directly on to the seance room beyond it. There was a chaise-longue in the centre of the room and Mrs Gudgeon sat down on it. Mrs Mortimer passed her a button-hook and she began to unbutton her boots. 'If the experiment is to be evidential, I must watch, I'm afraid.' said Sir William, feeling his blood pounding in his head. Mrs Gudgeon nodded. 'Of course you must', she said leering up at him. She slipped off her boots and said to Mrs Mortimer, 'Come on Gladys, give me a hand with the dress.' It was very hot in the room, Sir William thought, running his finger inside his collar. Mrs Mortimer noticed, 'Make yourself at home, dearie,' she said, 'No-one will tell tales, so you can take your collar off if you like.' But Sir William did not reply. The buttons down the back having been undone, Mrs Mortimer, drew the dress apart, and standing up, Mrs Gudgeon withdrew her arms from the sleeves, the dress transformed by this action into the black spathe of some fantastic night-blossoming lily. Her shoulders were white and creamy; there was a brown birthmark the size of a shilling beside her collarbone. Sir William felt as he always did, uneasy, but prepared to put up with his unease and his excitement for the benefit of science. He looked at her avidly. Mrs Gudgeon looked at him obliquely and smiled. The word 'marmoreal' popped into Sir William's mind to be replaced almost immediately by 'orchidaceous'. 'Enjoying it, dearie?' 'Certainly not.' he replied. 'If there is any more of this I'll have to conclude the experiment immediately.' 'Sorry, I'm sure. I can't always make out you men of science.' 'Come on, Gladys, help me.' Mrs Mortimer slipped the dress downwards to her feet and Mrs Gudgeon stepped out of it. Then she sat down again, quite composed, on the chaise-longue, in corset and chemise, her legs apart, her drawers open on the glimpse of darkness. 'It must be a real imposition, having to go through this for the sake of science.' she said. Sir William was watching her. He knew that fake mediums, particularly the women, would use their sexuality to distract investigators, making it all the more essential that he watch every movement attentively. He knew too, that genuine mediums were sometimes, despite apparent physical vigour, sick-sensitives, in Von Reichenbach's terminology, and as such found it difficult to restrain their animal appetites. Mrs Gudgeon undid her garters and slipped down her stockings. Her legs were thick and strong, the colour of curds in sour milk, but marbled with blue. The toes on both her feet were overlapping and twisted from wearing boots that were too small. 'Check me feet quickly, Professor. I can't hardly bear to look at them.' She lounged back on the chaise-longue, still with her legs wide apart, still with her drawers open. Sir William convinced himself that it was his duty to look into the opening and looked into the opening, but could make out only the darkness of her hair. He transferred his attention to her feet taking each foot in his hands, and checked that there was nothing between the toes, nothing hidden. The feet were warm and moist and slightly ammoniacal. When he had checked her toes he put the stockings back, drawing each up a calf and tying them firmly with the garters. 'Remember your objectivity', he kept saying to himself. 'Remember your objectivity.' 'Now me laces, please Gladys.' She half-turned her back, and Sir William saw that the pink corset had bright mauve laces. Mrs Mortimer undid the laces, lifted the corset over her head leaving her just her chemise and drawers. Crossing her arms around her body, cradling her breasts, Mrs Gudgeon scratched herself. 'Gawd, that's better.' she said to Sir William. 'Makes a bit of a change really. You looking so hard and not enjoying yourself one little bit are you, Sir?' Then she whisked the chemise over her head and sat back, legs apart, looking at him. Her breasts were large, lolling almost to her waist. They had wide areoles and dark red nipples slack in the warmth of the room. She sat up, and they fell forward; she hunched her shoulders and supported a breast on the the palm of each hand. 'Still not enjoying yourself, Professor?' She lifted her left breast to her mouth and licked, and then sucked the nipple. 'Never seen anything like this before, I'll bet.' 'If there's any more of this nonsense I will bring the seance to an end.' 'So what's the next thing then?' 'I have to search to make sure that you have nothing concealed about your . . . er . . . bosom.' 'You're a real martyr ain't you, Professor? Well search away.' She leant further forward, her breasts coming to touch each other, forming a deep cleft between them. He knelt down beside her and ran his fingers into the cleft, parting the breasts, reaching to her breastbone with his fingertips: and then taking each breast in turn he lifted it and probed into the deep fold beneath. The flesh was heavy, very soft, and slightly damp. He smelt fresh sweat and violets. He tried hard to control his breathing. It was difficult. He didn't find anything. 'Now the mouth.' 'Blimey.' 'Open your mouth.' 'It'll be all right, dear.' said Mrs Mortimer. 'I know that you have the gift, but these men of science, these scientists, have to take the precautions.' 'Well make him wash his hands then.' 'If you would, Sir.' Sir William nodded. 'There's a wash-basin and jug in the next room.' 'Bring it in here. I can't stop the search now.' 'Well, I can't leave you alone with Mrs Gudgeon. She's a respectable widow who must be chaperoned.' 'Get the boy to fetch it, or Gertrude.' 'Oh, very well.' Mrs Mortimer rang the bell, and stood by the door waiting for the maid. 'Don't come in.' she said. 'Fetch the jug and wash basin from next door and put them outside this door. When you have done that, you may go downstairs.' 'Yes, Ma'am.' 'Oh yes, and bring a towel.' 'Very good, Ma'am.' When they heard Gertrude going downstairs, Mrs Mortimer opened the door and quickly dragged the jug and the the basin and the towel into the room. He washed his hands and said 'Open your mouth wide.' 'You sure you ain't a dentist?' but she opened her mouth. 'Take out the plate.' 'Gawd, I don't believe this.' but she took out the plate with two incisors and one canine tooth. He ran his finger round the gums but could find nothing. 'Now the . . . er . . . drawers.' She stood up and looking him in the eyes undid the drawstrings and pulled the drawers down and off, and sat, naked except for her stockings. Her pubic hair extended almost to her navel, black, streaked with grey. 'And here.' she pointed, 'I suppose you want to stick your fingers in here. I can't believe this.' she said turning to Mrs Mortimer. 'No,' he said. 'That's a mercy.' '. . . but I have an instrument that I would like to use to inspect the interior. Lie on the chaise-longue and draw your knees up to your chest. Now relax.' 'Gawd, it's freezing . . . Ow, that hurts.' 'Just a little more.' 'You believe in getting your money's worth.' He regarded her opened body, happy that he was not in the least aroused, or excited by what he was seeing. He observed that her genitals were unusually well developed, with particularly succulent, no, not 'succulent', rather, 'well-developed' was the proper description, labia minora. He adjusted his trousers casually. 'And now the . . . er . . . back passage.' 'No, not that. I'm not having that.' 'Oh, but you must, unless you are properly inspected nothing that takes place could possibly be evidential.' 'Don't you think you are being a little unreasonable, Sir William? Mrs Mortimer asked, 'If conditions are right the spirit of a French marquise will be materialised, as in life, in the flesh, in the seance room, and Mrs Gudgeon could hardly have her---Pardon me, but I have to say it---hidden up her back passage. 'I don't enjoy this,' Sir William said anxiously, adjusting his trousers, again. 'No, I can see that.' said Mrs Mortimer glancing in the direction of his crutch. 'But I can see that if the spirit is materialised your point will have been made. So, on this occasion,' he said, curiously disappointed, unfulfilled somehow, 'I think we can dispense with the inspection of the back passage.' 'Let's get on.' said Mrs Mortimer and they went into the adjoining room where there was a small table, with three dining chairs arranged round it, and some distance away, there was a two-seater sofa with a second small table beside it. Sir William closed the door, turned the key in the lock, and tried to open the door. Satisfied that the door was locked he put the key into his waistcoat pocket. Then from his wallet he took out several star-shaped wafers of red, gummed, paper, and after moistening them with his tongue he stuck them over the gaps between the door and its frame in a number of places. He also stuck one over the keyhole. Then he sat down at the table with Mrs Gudgeon on his left and Mrs Mortimer on his right. He took off his shoes and Mrs Mortimer unbuttoned her boots and slipped them off. Then she lit the candle in a little lantern with a dark-slide and deep ruby glass. She left the table and took the lantern to the other table beside the sofa, and closed the slide, then she turned off the gas, and as the mantles cooled she hurried back to the table. Each one held one hand of each of the others; each foot of each one touched one foot of each of the others closing the circle both above the table and beneath it. Mrs Gudgeon's hand was hard and dry, Mrs Mortimer's, hot, soft and very moist indeed. At first the darkness seemed total, but after a minute or so Sir William could just make out the faintest crimson glow from the lantern. Mrs Mortimer said 'Let us begin.' and in a faint voice with wavering intonation began to sing _Lead kindly light_. Sir William joined in surprisingly timidly, and then Mrs Gudgeon with a strong, coarse voice followed. Then they sang _Abide with me_, and then, while they were singing _Onward, Christian soldiers_, Mrs Gudgeon began to convulse. Sir William had to hold her hand tightly, and it became difficult to keep contact with her foot under the table. Her body jerked left to right and he felt her twisting, and leaning forwards and backwards, the weight of her right breast coming to rest, from time to time, on his forearm or even on his hand. Suddenly the convulsions stopped. Mrs Mortimer said 'Look, Sir William, to your left.' He turned his head and made out a bluish phophorescence. A deep voice said 'Me Red Cloud. Me come from the Happy Hunting Ground to give the good news that there is no death.' 'Why have we got to go through this?' he wondered, 'Phosphorescent paint, and a disguised voice. What will happen will be mysterious enough without this.' 'Spirit strong tonight.' the voice said. Mrs Mortimer asked 'Would you like to ask Red Cloud a question?' 'Will the French lady come tonight?' 'Me only simple Indian. Me not sure. Spirit is strong tonight. She could come.' There was a rustle of clothing and a voice whispered in his ear. it said 'I am La Marquise. Leave the circle and come and sit with me.' 'D'accord, Madame,' he replied 'je suis enchante...' 'Speak English, my lord. We all speak English now.' He stood up carefully and felt the woman place her arm round his shoulders and lead him towards the faint point of crimson. They arrived at the sofa and after groping in the dark for a moment sat down side by side. 'What's your name, my lord?' 'Sir William Cruickshank.' 'But what should I call you, Sir Cruickshank, we can't be friendly like if I have to call you Sir Cruickshank all the time.' 'You may call me William.' 'You can call me Louise.' 'When did you pass over, Louise?' 'Shush, William, whisper. I don't want those old crones to hear what we are saying. I passed over', she whispered, 'in the French Revolution, by the guillotine, I remember that. Such a bang when the blade fell and such a shock to my poor head, and now I can't remember the rest of my name, but I'm real, you know, and it's exciting to be brought back to meet you. I am real. Touch me.' She took his hand and touched it to her lips, 'Feel,' she said, 'just like an ordinary girl. I was sixteen when . . .', she shook and said 'Hold me.' He put his arms round her and held her. 'That's better', she said, taking his hand and placing it inside the neck of her gown on her breast. He felt firmness and the stiffened, almost rigid nipple against his palm, a contrast to the soft, humid, mobility of Mrs Gudgeon's flesh. 'Just a little secret between the two of us.' she whispered, and he felt her fingers at his fly-buttons, into his pants, and his penis, as if it were an ectoplasmic pseudopod, thrusting out into the darkness of the seance room. 'My governess taught me about pleasing men', she said, holding him with just her forefinger and thumb, delicately rolling and unrolling the foreskin, to and fro, upon the mitre, moving it gently, almost with a tremor, by minute fractions of an inch over the shoulder. 'And on the other side, it's so lovely, but we don't have no bodies, just pure spirit, but passing over so young, a girl like me never has the chance to find out about anything, not really. And I do so want to learn. And I am real, all of me. Feel here.' She took his hand and touched it between her legs parting succulent, deliquescent lips. 'And I'm a virgin too. So unless you help me I'll never know what it is like. Her hand went back to his rigid penis and continued its tiny rhythmic movements. 'Please help me.' Then he felt her fingers searching under his waistcoat for his braces, and unbuttoning them, she whispered 'Stand up.' he stood, and felt her pulling his trousers, his underpants down his thighs. 'Now sit down.' He sat down, forgetting that he was ever Sir William Cruickshank, FRS, passive, waiting for her to move his mannequin body into the next posture. He felt her hands on his shoulders as she knelt with his legs between hers, and her gown gathered up around her waist, and whispered, 'You will have to guide it', and she lowered herself, as he guided himself and she engulfed him. She bucked vigourously 'Like this?' she whispered into his ear, 'Is this right?' and uneasy though he was, soon the knot slipped, his hips heaved forward and as he came with a great gusting sigh, it seemed to him that she did also. She leant towards him, and lay, warm and heavy against his body for a moment, and then she raised herself away from him and he heard the rustle of her robe. She was kneeling on the floor beside him. He touched her head at the same time feeling her fingers on his thighs, searching for his groin. She found his now softening penis and he felt her little sharp teeth as, slightly clumsy in the pitch darkness, she engulfed him a second time, bobbing her head slowly over his lap. The arousal was gradual once again, as she coaxed the refractory penis to erect itself a second time, and then later, almost at the cusp, she stopped and whispered 'It's extra if I swallow.' 'Yes, yes.' he gasped, 'Anything, anything.' For a moment, as she was taking him into her mouth again he could feel the wide gap where a few of her front teeth were missing, but in that same moment he was tormented with the second, sharper, pleasure, and cried out as he filled her mouth and felt her swallowing. 'Are you all right, Sir William?' Mrs Mortimer called, 'I think the force is weakening, I think the materialisation is coming to an end. 'Goodbye, William. Thank you. Perhaps we will meet again on this side.' 'Are you ready, Sir William?' 'Just a moment', he called, easing, with difficulty, his still erect penis into his pants, and quickly closing his trousers, buttoning up his fly and doing up his braces. She disappeared soundlessly, leaving him wondering what it was that he had experienced. Mrs Mortimer waited a moment or two before walking hesitantly to the table beside the sofa and drawing back the slide of the lantern. Then, in the now-dazzling candle-light, she walked across the room and lit the gas. Mrs Gudgeon looked across at him grinning, and with her left hand she lifted up her left breast to her mouth and sucked the nipple vigorously, closing her eyes and slurping her lips. When she took it out of her mouth it was scarlet, and erect. She slowly lowered the breast and when it was hanging unsupported, she reached across and touched it, circling it with the tip of the index finger of her right hand. He looked away quickly. 'Well, I will say this:' she said looking him in the eye, as he turned back to face her,'our professor's a cold fish. Don't you think so, Gladys? 'Well, Professor,' she continued, 'was it evidential?' 'I think it might have been.' he replied. ------------------------------------------------------------ Copyright Caroline Ashbee (c) 1998 ------------------------------------------------------------ -- Caroline Ashbee ps _Caroline Ashbee_ is a pseudonym -- +----------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `--------------+ | | | | Archive site +----------------------+--------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ | ----