A famous psychologist of a later age would declare that there are no accidents. But is it true? Surely on that June evening in 1886, when Miss Julia Bannister's bedroom door was left slightly open as she dressed for dinner, surely that was just an accident.
And it was surely an accident that her cousin by marriage, Lewis Wellman, happened to walk down the hallway at that very moment. Mere happenstance that he saw movement through the opening in the door: a glimpse of something pale; so intriguing that he paused and then approached Julia's bedroom.
But when Lewis pushed the door open and silently entered, that was certainly no accident. It was, rather, the act of a man for whom discretion and good manners, inculcated in him since childhood, evaporated in an instant. A man for whom all propriety was now forgotten.
The reason for this was no less than the sight of Julia Bannister's naked derriere.
To his dying day, Lewis would remember the scene. Julia had drawn the lace curtains that covered her window, so that the room was bathed in soft golden light from the setting sun. It reflected off the colored glass shade of the brass lamp beside Julia's four-poster bed. It lit up the marble surface of her washstand.
The room was opulently furnished in drapes and a Brussels carpet, their rich textures and colors epitomizing the luxury of the age. Amid this splendor, the crowning touch as it were, stood the nude woman, standing with her back to Lewis at her mahogany dresser. Having laid out her evening clothes and removed her afternoon attire following a spirited round of lawn croquet, Julia had just finished washing herself.
In the warm light of the room, the woman's bare skin and her reddish blonde hair, massed heavily at the back in the style of the day, seemed to glow with a life of their own. Below her eighteen-inch waist, achieved through years of wearing a tight corset, were two magnificent cream-colored mounds that held Lewis transfixed.
Julia turned slightly, resting her weight on her left leg, so that her left buttock formed a perfectly round hemisphere while the right buttock became now more extended. Thoroughly enchanted by this voluptuous display, the man continued to gaze in wonder.
He let his eyes roam down to the woman's thighs, as sleek as porcelain; then to her well-formed calves. This contrast of soft plump buttocks with firm shapely legs created, in Lewis' mind, a sensuous aesthetic that was greater than each alone. He felt that what he was seeing gave some new, fundamental insight into women in general and Julia in particular.
The woman was holding a pair of white silk drawers in her left hand. Undecided as to what to put on, she bent over to retrieve a pair of pink drawers from the bottom of her dresser. In doing so she revealed a nap of russet pubic hair between her nether cheeks. Also, so faint as to be as much imagined as truly seen, puffy labia separated by a cleavage.
The only sound was the call of mourning doves in the elms outside Julia's window. Lewis himself was as silent as if he were stone. Yet some sixth sense, or perhaps women's intuition, caused Julia to look over her shoulder and see the young man admiring her display.
"Oh great heavens!" she gasped. "Lewis, what are you doing in here! Get out!" With this outcry she turned to face the young man, covering herself with the drawers.
Lewis expected a mantle of shame to cover him; a flood of apologies to come pouring from his lips. But nothing of the sort happened. He felt rather a masculine joy that the world offered such beauty as his eyes had just beheld; feminine charms that before this moment had been vague speculation.
"Cousin," came a voice that was his own, "I must say, you are a most attractive woman."
Julia brushed away the hair from her forehead. Her eyes, normally as blue and serene as the waters of nearby Lake Ontario, were now dark with anger. Cheeks that were always the softest peach had in a trice become a vivid crimson.
"How dare you!" she exclaimed. "I always thought you a gentleman, Lewis Wellman! This is inexcusable! Get out or I will scream!"
Still relishing what he had seen, Lewis spoke again. "I'll leave, cousin Julia. But I wish I could stay. I wish my hands could caress your soft body, and my lips worship the beauty you've shown me. I truly wish I could do that."
Upon hearing this, the woman staggered back, near speechless and gasping for breath. "Oh! Oh you hound!" she cried. "I'll tell Uncle Jesse! Leave my room now, Lewis!" She hesitated, her voice tremulous. "Please?"
The last word finally broke the spell that the young woman's derriere had cast over him. "Yes, Julia, as you wish," Lewis nodded. With that he was out the door and walking briskly down the hall.
He returned to his own guest bedroom at Greenleaf, the summer retreat of his Uncle Jesse Garrison, located on the shores of Lake Ontario near the village of Fair Haven, New York. He, along with his half brother Thomas, had been invited to spend the weekend there with Julia, her mother Alice, and the Garrison family.
Lewis waxed his trim moustache and then donned his waterfall tie and waistcoat for dinner. As he did so, the image of Julia's delightful curves lingered. He smiled as he realized, quite correctly, that he could relive in his mind every second of the incident, and might do so for years to come. Never again would he view a woman in quite the same way; rather now with a new and certain knowledge of the charms that lay beneath her clothing.
So he felt no remorse. Although he was quite fond of Julia, not even the thought of her anger could, in Lewis' mind, erase the pleasure that viewing her nude body had given him.
Lewis joined Thomas and Uncle Jesse's sons Charles and Wallace in the drawing room for an aperitif. Soon he was approached by Newton, Uncle Jesse's butler.
"Sir," the man spoke in his usual dispassionate voice, "Mr. Garrison would like to see you in the study. At once."
A daunting group awaited Lewis when he entered the study. On the left of the brick fireplace stood Julia, her mother Alice, and Jesse's wife, Aunt Lucy. Dressed formally for dinner in their heaviest silk, their faces were grim. They gazed at the young man as if he were a particularly repulsive insect.
To the right of the fireplace stood Uncle Jesse Garrison, who had made his fortune in the flour mills of nearby Rochester, where he and his family lived. In every way he was an imposing figure, tall and robust, with a shock of dark hair and a great spread of mutton chop whiskers. Now the man's face was reddened by anger, with alarming tinges of purple on his cheeks.
He came to the point. "Lewis," he growled in his baritone voice, "I cannot believe what I've just heard. Did you enter Julia's bedchamber unannounced, and observe her in a state of undress?"
Time to pay the piper, Lewis thought. He placed his hands behind his back, as a man facing the firing squad might, and said, "Yes sir, I did."
"Then you will leave Greenleaf at once, young man. But first you will offer your most sincere apologies to Julia. Now."
Lewis turned to the ladies, who were waiting in a state of high dudgeon. He first bowed slightly from the waist to Julia's mother, saying, "Mrs. Bannister?"
