“And so we see that it is not only possible that the human female is not only capable of a sensual enjoyment of the sexual act on a par with the male’s, but that such enjoyment may be vital to her own health and physical well-being. My own research has demonstrated that the female orgasm is no myth, ladies and gentlemen, but a new and hitherto unknown territory, and one which my work will continue to chart and explore.”
The gaslights in the auditorium were now turned up, and as light flooded the darkened hall so did the low undercurrent of murmured voices rise and crest like an ocean wave, then crash on the shore into an eruption of confused talk, shouts and objections.
The Doctor picked up his notes and tapped the edges together. He had been waiting for this. Indeed, he’d been expecting it, and now he regarded the sea of excited faces beneath the flickering gaslights with a certain equanimity and quiet disdain. The most eminent physicians had left long before, muttering aloud about scientific heresy and insults to the sanctity of womanhood, but those who were left were no less vociferous. The volume of talk grew, a riot waiting to happen.
“I will entertain questions from the floor,” he said into the growing din, but the audience was already too far out of control to make that feasible. There were shouts and arguments, even some threats and pushing and shoving from the back of the stuffy lecture hall where the local clergy had staged a now not so silent demonstration in protest of his thesis of the existence of the female orgasm.
He ignored the fracas. He really had no desire to field a bunch of ignorant comments from an angry and outraged mob, and his invitation for questions had been a mere formality. Already the chairman was gesturing for him to hurry off the dais before things grew ugly, and as he prepared to leave, his eye was caught by the form of an astonishingly lovely young lady who sat some five rows back, her eyes shining with wonder and admiration. She would have caught his eye anywhere, but sitting there calmly amidst the hubbub, her eyes glowing under the shadow of her hat with a look somewhere between rapt interest and adoration, she held him eye as an oasis of placid female beauty amidst a sea of madness. He took a moment to smile at her and nod his head, and after a moment of recognition, she nodded back, her eyes still rapt.
He gathered his notes, took one last look at the young beauty, then allowed the chairman to take him arm and lead him towards the side door. He moved deliberately, refusing to be bundled about, calmly sliding his notes into his valise.
“This way, Doctor, please. A carriage is waiting.”
The side door was already open, a closed carriage standing by, no doubt so the Doctor wouldn’t be recognized by the angry crowd that was already gathering by the front door. The chairman held the side door open, muttering nervous apologies and thanks for the most stimulating lecture, although it was obvious he was eager to be rid of his controversial guest. The Doctor slid into his cape and stepped out into the cool mist of the cobbled alleyway.
“Oh Doctor? Doctor? A word with you, if you please.”
It was the young lady from the audience, hurrying out the side door after him. She was now fully recovered, though her eyes still shone with that radiant excitement.
“Do hurry miss,” the chairman said. “The crowd is getting restive. It’s best that the Doctor leave as soon as possible.”
Mabeuse looked at the young woman. Her blonde hair was gathered up beneath her hat, revealing a long and graceful neck. Her gown beneath her dark blue traveling cloak was white, simple yet elegant, and did little to conceal the proud thrust of her young breasts and her other obvious womanly charms. But it was her face that stopped the Doctor: beautiful and intelligent with flawless skin, a mouth open in a kind of expectant sensuality and large, questioning hazel-green eyes of an almost startling purity. The look on her face was one he had seen before on the faces of the young women who surreptitiously came to him for help with problems of their own sexuality: the fear, the embarrassment, the desperate longing. It was a look he could never refuse.
“Come,” he said. “Into the coach. We can talk there.”
The crowd was spilling over into the street as he helped her into the carriage and called out the address of his institute to the driver. The coachman flicked his whip and the carriage pulled out into the street, the crowd parting before them.
The young lady sat up straight opposite him, holding onto a strap on the inside of the coach. The crowd apparently made her nervous, but the Doctor was used to it. He said nothing, just stared at her from beneath lowered brows as they left the lights and confusion of the lecture hall behind. The sounds faded rapidly until there was nothing but the clop of the horses’ hoofs against the cobblestones and the soft creak on the coach. The girl let out an audible sound of relief.
“I’m afraid it’s always like that when I speak,” he said apologetically. ‘The public is not ready for the truth.” He smiled. “I am Doctor Elliot Mabeuse. How may I be of service to you, my dear?”
“I had no idea,” she said. “But please, I must beg your pardon for intruding myself upon you like this, Doctor. My name is April Carnovan.” She smiled apologetically, then seemed to be at a loss as to how to continue. She brought her hand to her chest and played nervously with a small gold crucifix. “I hardly know where to begin.”
“Perhaps we could start with your telling me where it is you’d like to go,” he said with an indulgent smile. “The coachman is taking us back to my institute.”
“Yes. Certainly. That is… “ She drew in a deep breath and looked at him directly. “Doctor, the things you said in your lecture: are they true?”
He stared at her for a moment, watching the flickering shadows from the street lights play against her young features.
“Yes. Of course they’re true. I’m a scientist, my dear. I only deal in the truth. Why do you ask?”
She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. Her eyes darted nervously about the inside of the cab.
The Doctor smiled. “Perhaps I could venture a guess. You’re not a physician or trained physiologist, probably not a trained scientist. You came to my lecture out of a deep curiosity, because your own experiences have led you to certain feelings and emotions that medical science does not understand nor choose to even recognize.”
She lifted her big eyes to him in surprise but she said nothing. She nodded her head.
“You have no ring on your hand, therefore you’re not married. You’re obviously a young lady of some breeding and refinement and I would say a fair bit of education too. Possibly even some university training to be broad-minded enough to attend one of my lectures. Intelligent, sensitive, and so these feelings cause you great concern and some worry. I daresay you might even be in fear for your health and sanity.”
“Yes, Doctor,” she said eagerly. “Exactly. These feelings, they’re very difficult to manage. I’ve even consulted with some physicians, Dr. Lewis, Dr. Montmoracy…”
“And they found nothing,” he said complacently.
She nodded vigorously. “Female hysteria, they said. They prescribed gentian root and cold baths. A firmer corset and woolen drawers, that sort of thing.”
“They’re both of them fools,” he snapped. “I’m surprised the didn’t send you to a barber to have yourself bled.”
“But Doctor, these things I feel. They’re real. They torment me. Shortness of breath, flushing and weakness; faintness and palpitations and aches and pains within me. And oh, the most horrid dreams at night.”
“And so you came to hear my lecture on the female sexual response.”
Even in the darkness of the coach he could see her blush.
“Yes,” she said. “I had to take the chance. I heard them discussing your theories at university. They said you were mad.”
The coach hit a pothole, and both of them swayed in concert.
“Are you feeling these things now?” he asked softly.
There was quiet moment as she gathered her courage. “Yes. Yes they torment me constantly these days despite the cold baths. I carry salts with me at all times. I must.”
“Come here, child,” the Doctor said, drawing himself up. “Sit beside me. Let me have a look at you.”
April gathered up her skirts and shifted her seat so that she was sitting next to the Doctor against the back wall of the coach. The light from the outside candle-lanterns fell through the glass windows and the coach rocked softly as the Doctor took her wrist in his hand and felt for her pulse.
He frowned. her skin was wonderfully soft but very warm. Accelerated heart beat, pulse thin and thready. The pulse of a strong and healthy but highly agitated young animal.
“Forgive me, my dear,” he said in his professional voice, “But I must check your throat. Your carotid artery.”
“Of course,” she said. She unpinned her hat and removed it. Her hair was as clean and golden as the candlelight and gave off a faint hint of some exotic perfume.
The Doctor placed his hand on her throat, his fingers against the artery on one side, his thumb against the other. Her skin was soft and remarkably smooth, warm to his touch. Animal vitality and the feeling of raw female sexuality flooded into his senses as he touched her, and he worked to control his own breathing and maintain his medical demeanor. His loins were already filling with blood.
April’s eyes were closed, her lips parted as he felt her throat. After several moments he slowly removed his hand so that he just brushed against her breast as he did so. Even through her dress he could feel the turgid peak of her nipple seem to twitch beneath his brief touch. The girl was on fire, and her body gave a little jerk when he touched her. Her nerves were stretched to the breaking point.
She looked at him apprehensively. If she’d noticed his sneaking little touch, she didn’t show it, but her body’s response to his surreptitious caress told him more about her condition that either of her pulses did. This was a woman in the grip of advanced inorgasmic neuropathy: what his unenlightened colleagues called female hysteria
He sat back against the side of the cab, dropping his hand into his lap to hide his erection.
“I can help you,” he said. “I can help you this very night, if that’s what you want.”
“Oh Doctor! Could you? Could you really? I don’t think I could face another night of tossing and turning. I haven’t slept in weeks.”
“You must do exactly as I say.” He looked at her levelly. “You must give me your full confidence, and you must tell no one of what we do. As you know, I am not licensed to practice medicine in this state, and this must be under the guise of research. Do you understand?”
“I can pay,” she said eagerly, scrambling for her bag. “I don’t have much, but what I have is yours.”
He smiled and refrained from making a wicked little joke. “Payment is not necessary, my dear. It’s your co-operation and trust that I need. Will you give me that?”
“With all my heart, Doctor. With all my heart.”
