Gideon Smith was the talk of all the women in town, the more so because he was single, attractive and seemed entirely immune to the coy smiles and light flirtation my friends had tried on him. With his hair soft and golden, his figure tall and immaculate and his eyes a dark, hypnotizing blue, he was the man we all chose to sigh about. To add to the romance, he was recently returned from Germany where he had studied some dull but impressive-sounding subject with some dull but impressive-sounding German neurologist. Now, he’d come to practice his skills in our neighborhood, with an expensive looking sign outside reading Gideon Smith, Psychoanalyst.
Every afternoon in the garden around the tea table was spent discussing the cool politeness and aloof mystery of the gentleman. But each day, the frustration built as every acquaintance of mine tried and failed to get his attention.
“I wore my newest bonnet, and he didn’t even compliment it when I asked him if he thought it becoming,” Martha bemoaned.
“I invited him for a turn in the park, and he said he had no time to waste,” huffed Catherine.
“It seems like the only way he’ll give you the time of day is if you’re a patient – old Mrs. Pringle was with him for hours, pouring out all her silly old troubles,” Harriet pouted. “If you’re a silly, hysterical old woman with too much time, badly dyed hair and no figure, he has all the time in the world.”
“I don’t doubt it has something to do with her ample purse too,” Catherine said darkly.
“I wonder that you haven’t tried anything though, Alice. You’re the prettiest girl in the neighborhood,” said Martha to me, slightly sourly. I laughed, shrugging off the compliment.
“I have no interest in such things,” I lied.
This conversation, over cake and honey and imported Darjeeling, had given me a brilliant idea, though. If there was something everyone wanted, then I wanted to be the one to have it. And I knew exactly how I could do it. Later that night I sat with my sister and closest confidante, Georgina.
“What if I were to pretend hysteria so he’d see me?” I suggested mischievously.
“Oh, Alice. You’d barely have to pretend – you’re always up to some mischief so it wouldn’t be too hard to imagine you with such a condition,” Georgina teased.
“You’d help me though? Support my story? You can say that I faint all the time and get emotional over the smallest trifle, that I barely eat a thing…”
“If you’re sure. You know I’d do anything to help you. I’ll tell mama I’m worried about you.”
And just like that, my mother, a little on the nervous side herself, had made me an appointment with Dr Gorgeous Gideon.
I was practically bouncing with excitement as Gideon Smith beckoned me into his office to lie down on his couch. His room was dull and academic, with framed certificates on the wall boasting the time he studied under that famous German doctor, can’t remember his name but everyone talks about him. The walls were lined with books, all thick and boring. I was excited though, because Gideon looked absolutely delicious in his long black coat, his golden hair gleaming in the shafts of sunlight pouring through his tall windows.
“Miss Cole,” he said. I nodded. “What seems to be the problem? Your mother wrote to me that you have been experiencing fits of hysteria?”
“Yes, doctor,” I nodded earnestly. “I can barely eat or sleep. Faintness overcomes me, my heart flutters, and when I do sleep, I have such strange dreams!”
“What sort of dreams?” Gideon, stiff and detached, looked unflappable. Well, we’d see about that.
“I’m not sure I should say,” I said artlessly, biting my lip and coaxing myself into a blush. “They were of an improper nature.”
“Everything you say stays inside this room,” Gideon promised. Oh, he was so stoic and lovely! “I want you to feel you can be open.” I’d show him open.
“Last night,” I began, keeping my eyes lowered and my blush high, “I dreamt a man entered my chamber. I tried to rise and scream for help, but he pushed me back onto the bed, bound my hands with his wrists. When I tried to cry out he struck me. I tried to move, but he was too strong. He ripped my nightgown, pulling it clear off my body so I was naked and vulnerable before him.”
I looked up slyly, seeing what effect I was having on him. He was calmly taking notes, completely unmoved. I decided to step it up a notch.
“Suddenly I felt a wicked and terrible desire shoot through me. I let him touch me, taking my breasts in his mouth and stroking his fingers over my naked flesh. It made me feel flushed and feverish, and I found myself moaning and writhing on waking, with such a strange feeling.”
“Did this man penetrate you?” Gideon asked, matter-of-factly.
“What? No!” I said indignantly before I could stop myself. I thought I saw a flash of amusement on Gideon’s face, but it was gone in an instant. I recovered myself. “When I woke though, I felt so strange, the only thing I could do to still my body’s restlessness was to touch, use my fingers, stroking them across my breasts, over my stomach, caressing myself between my legs, sinking them into my hot, wet hole to quiet the throbbing I felt in my loins.”
“I see.” Gideon looked completely uninterested, and I pouted, folding my arms across my chest.
“The whole experience left me quite shaken,” I pointed out.
“How frequent are these dreams?” he asked blandly.
“Almost every night,” I said.
“Well you have pinpointed the exact treatment for this type of female hysteria,” he said practically, closing his notebook and standing up. “I use a method quite similar to what you described to help calm the nerves and promote relaxation. Come.”
A little confused and apprehensive, still irked at his lack of reaction but nevertheless excited and curious, I followed him to where there was a wider bed, white and plain with no cushions or embellishments.
“Lie down,” he said. “Remove your garments.”
“What?” I was shocked, unsure what was happening. Had I succeeded in seducing him? But he was still so… clinical.
“The best treatment for such a condition is pelvic stimulation. It creates a sensation which calms and balances the nerves. Don’t worry – it’s quite professional, I assure you. I derive no pleasure from it.”
Now this just hurt my feelings. But I was often called headstrong, and it was not for nothing. I resolved to make him snap, if I could, to get him to succumb to my charms.
Brazenly I unlaced my bodice, removing my dress, corset and undergarments and standing naked in front of him, making no move to hide my curvaceous figure, full breasts and my smooth, shapely legs.
He surveyed me impartially. “Lie down and make yourself comfortable,” he instructed, looking in a drawer for some device. I lay, stretching sensuously, arching my back, pushing my breasts towards him, accentuating the curve of my waist. I watched him from my seductive position as he brought out a long, thick object and pulled on a pair of white gloves to protect his hands. I felt offended that he did not want to touch me, to feel how smooth my skin was.
“Spread your legs apart,” he instructed, paying no attention to the view I was giving him. “Close your eyes and take deep breaths. This may hurt at first but it will start to feel pleasurable. I don’t want you to feel nervous or embarrassed, just relax and focus on your breathing. Since you’re already accustomed to manual stimulation, we’ll start you off with something stronger.” He indicated the instrument he was holding, a few inches in girth and at least ten inches in length. I didn’t fully understand what he was talking about, but spread my legs readily, feeling myself already excited and wet with the thought of how forward I was being. Gideon didn’t blink though, simply sitting on the bed next to me. With his gloved hands he pushed my thighs wider apart.
I began to feel a little nervous and apprehensive – what exactly was he doing with that instrument? Surely he didn’t mean to –