Read Online The Life of Hope by Paul Quarrington - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Paul Quarrington
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we ought rather to ridicule those who do not.”
Joseph Benton Hope was momentarily distracted by the bulge in his lap. He scowled at it, then looked again to the stage. The Veiled Lady had been introduced and stood in Joseph’s sight.
She was covered with silver drapery, all of her, from the crown of her head to the tips of her toes. Poyen explained that this was to separate her from the material world. Benton Hope was reminded of a cocoon he’d found as a boy, and some part of his mind envisioned a glorious springtime emergence, even though the cocoon from his childhood had dried up and turned to dust. The Veiled Lady moved then, at least her mantle danced as if touched by a breeze. Joseph sat forward in his seat. He was certain that light was cutting through the veil, illuminating the woman within. He had the distinct impression of nakedness. The head of his penis pressed painfully against his trouser stays.
The Veiled Lady’s voice was soft, often unable to break free of the silver hood, forcing Poyen to repeat her words. “Ze Veiled Lady,” he announced, “needs an assistawnt!”
A young woman was propelled (by a crude type, Joseph thought, a well-dressed puttyhead with a braying laugh) toward the stage. The young woman was plump and golden-haired. Hope’s body was wracked with a strange sort of pain, one that emanated from his groin and tied his stomach in complicated knots.
The Veiled Lady raised an arm (Hope thought he spied breasts through the draperies) and touched the volunteer upon the forehead, immediately inducing human hibernation. Then she announced her intention of demonstrating the empathic relationship now established between the two sensibilities. This intentionwas repeated by Dr. Poyen, although Benton Hope didn’t know why. (Benton Hope likewise didn’t know that his hearing had become preternaturally sensitive.)
The Veiled Lady drifted down to one end of the stage, and the young woman was placed at the opposite. Dr. Poyen, standing between them, produced the following objects: a glass ball, a pin and a piece of tree bark. He held them aloft, in the view of everyone (everyone except the young woman, who slumbered in peaceful human hibernation). The esteemed professor (of mathematics, by the way—J. B. Hope therefore assumed that this new world made some sort of arithmetical sense) explained that the volunteer was to enunciate any sensations she might have. Poyen handed the Veiled Lady the glass ball.
Her hand, emerging from within the shroud, was enough to start Hope’s poor netherparts screaming. The hand was so pale that it seemed to glow. The other hand appeared, and Joseph doubled over.
The Veiled Lady caressed the sphere gently. After a few moments the volunteer, her eyes closed, her words soft and dreamy, said, “Smooth. Round.” There was a smattering of applause. The Veiled Lady was next handed the pin. She pricked her finger with it, producing a small crimson dewbead. The volunteer and Joseph said “Ouch” simultaneously. Then the treebark was touched. The young woman whispered, “Rough. Hard.”
Then the Veiled Lady reached within her own silver cocoon and touched something. The subject said, “Soft. Warm.”
Joseph Benton Hope’s crotch exploded with pyrotechnical fury. His lower half was immediately soaking wet, so wet that he imagined rivers of jism flowing down his legs and collecting in his boots. This ebullition was so intense that it drained the whole of Hope’s body.
Having worked at being pure in all things, Joseph had never before consciously experienced orgasm. He avoided his nagging erections with a deep-seated fear that they were not good things—being, as they were, wildly uncontrollable. Yet when he came, for the first time wide awake and aware,
more
aware, it seemed, than he’d ever been before, the feeling was an old one, recognizable. It seemed to recall times and lives he had no present awareness of. It linked him strongly to somethinghe could
Joseph Benton Hope was momentarily distracted by the bulge in his lap. He scowled at it, then looked again to the stage. The Veiled Lady had been introduced and stood in Joseph’s sight.
She was covered with silver drapery, all of her, from the crown of her head to the tips of her toes. Poyen explained that this was to separate her from the material world. Benton Hope was reminded of a cocoon he’d found as a boy, and some part of his mind envisioned a glorious springtime emergence, even though the cocoon from his childhood had dried up and turned to dust. The Veiled Lady moved then, at least her mantle danced as if touched by a breeze. Joseph sat forward in his seat. He was certain that light was cutting through the veil, illuminating the woman within. He had the distinct impression of nakedness. The head of his penis pressed painfully against his trouser stays.
The Veiled Lady’s voice was soft, often unable to break free of the silver hood, forcing Poyen to repeat her words. “Ze Veiled Lady,” he announced, “needs an assistawnt!”
A young woman was propelled (by a crude type, Joseph thought, a well-dressed puttyhead with a braying laugh) toward the stage. The young woman was plump and golden-haired. Hope’s body was wracked with a strange sort of pain, one that emanated from his groin and tied his stomach in complicated knots.
The Veiled Lady raised an arm (Hope thought he spied breasts through the draperies) and touched the volunteer upon the forehead, immediately inducing human hibernation. Then she announced her intention of demonstrating the empathic relationship now established between the two sensibilities. This intentionwas repeated by Dr. Poyen, although Benton Hope didn’t know why. (Benton Hope likewise didn’t know that his hearing had become preternaturally sensitive.)
The Veiled Lady drifted down to one end of the stage, and the young woman was placed at the opposite. Dr. Poyen, standing between them, produced the following objects: a glass ball, a pin and a piece of tree bark. He held them aloft, in the view of everyone (everyone except the young woman, who slumbered in peaceful human hibernation). The esteemed professor (of mathematics, by the way—J. B. Hope therefore assumed that this new world made some sort of arithmetical sense) explained that the volunteer was to enunciate any sensations she might have. Poyen handed the Veiled Lady the glass ball.
Her hand, emerging from within the shroud, was enough to start Hope’s poor netherparts screaming. The hand was so pale that it seemed to glow. The other hand appeared, and Joseph doubled over.
The Veiled Lady caressed the sphere gently. After a few moments the volunteer, her eyes closed, her words soft and dreamy, said, “Smooth. Round.” There was a smattering of applause. The Veiled Lady was next handed the pin. She pricked her finger with it, producing a small crimson dewbead. The volunteer and Joseph said “Ouch” simultaneously. Then the treebark was touched. The young woman whispered, “Rough. Hard.”
Then the Veiled Lady reached within her own silver cocoon and touched something. The subject said, “Soft. Warm.”
Joseph Benton Hope’s crotch exploded with pyrotechnical fury. His lower half was immediately soaking wet, so wet that he imagined rivers of jism flowing down his legs and collecting in his boots. This ebullition was so intense that it drained the whole of Hope’s body.
Having worked at being pure in all things, Joseph had never before consciously experienced orgasm. He avoided his nagging erections with a deep-seated fear that they were not good things—being, as they were, wildly uncontrollable. Yet when he came, for the first time wide awake and aware,
more
aware, it seemed, than he’d ever been before, the feeling was an old one, recognizable. It seemed to recall times and lives he had no present awareness of. It linked him strongly to somethinghe could
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