"Always Catch Me the Same Way," and "The Complacent Spouse"

ALWAYS CATCH ME THE SAME WAY

There are few beings in the world as libertine as the Cardinal of ... whose name you will allow me to conceal, while he still lives, healthy and vigorous. His Eminence has made arrangements in Rome with one of those women whose unofficial trade is to supply the debauched with the necessities to feed their passions: every morning she brings him a new, comely wench to defile; but, like many of his fellow countrymen, he indulges only in bumstuffery; all the better that the prostitute may ply her trade, still daisy-fresh as as a vestal virgin, with a new, more decent, yet still thoroughly debauched old rake hell.

One day, the procuress, perfectly aware of the Cardinal's maxims, and not finding at hand the daily object that she is EVER obliged to provide, imagined hiring a very feminine young man from the church of St Peter, and THEN dressing him as a street-walking, cock sucking, cum-guzzling whore; hair, a cap, petticoats, and all the illusory paraphernalia that was to fool the holy man of God, had been arranged to costume this hustler. (They had not been able to lend him a cunt of course, but this circumstance worried the Madam very little.)

She said to her companions who helped with this deception: "He'll only burn his incense on the altar of Sodom. Thus we have nothing to fear."

The Madam was not joking, no doubt unaware that an Italian cardinal has too delicate and fine a sense of taste to be deceived in such things.

The whore walks through the door.

The high priest pinned what he believed was a her to the mattress; but, at the third thrust :

"Great fuck of God! That bitch has deceived me! This gal is a guy!"

And he examined the forward area of the putative punk.

However, misfortune is never too much to overwhelm an inhabitant of Rome, who must needs always rise to the occasion; and so His Eminence plunged in to the hilt, (perhaps saying, like that peasant who had been served truffles for potatoes: "Catch me always the same way!")

However, when the operation was commenced:

"Madam," he said to the Madam, "I do not blame you for your misunderstanding!"

'My Lord," cried the procuress in fear. "Please, excuse my incompetence!"

"No, no," he said, "I do not blame you, but if it happens again, you must not fail to warn me. For, what I didn't catch in this case, I'll most certainly uncover next time 'round."

THE COMPLACENT SPOUSE

All of France knew that the Prince of Bauffremont had more or less the same tastes as the cardinal we have just been talking about. He had been given in marriage to a very naive wench, and according to custom, she had only been just instructed concerning her "wifely duties."

"Without further explanation," said her mother, "decency preventing me from going into certain details, I have only one thing to recommend to you, my daughter: beware of the, ah, first proposals* that your husband will make to you. These are improper and vile and shame Our Lord. Instead, tell him firmly: "No, sir, that is not the way an honest woman takes herself! Anywhere else as much as you like! But for that, no certainly!"

Not entirely certain as to what part of the female anatomy to which "anywhere else" referred, (actually, completely mixed-up on this point), the young woman nonetheless went to bed that night determined to carry out her mother's parting instructions.

There they lay, her and the Prince, and, to maintain principles of honesty and decency NO ONE would have suspected he even possessed, the Prince, wanting to do things in the traditional manner, at least for the first time, offered his wife only the chaste "pleasures of the hymen."

But the well-educated wench lay as stiff and unyielding as a board, saying with stern, unbending resolution:

"Just what kind of vile, wanton creature do you take me for, sir? Did you imagine I would consent to such things?"

And, as if resigning herself to the attentions of an otherwise implacable old lech, she sighed, turned her face away, and informed him that she would consent to, "Anywhere else as much as you like! But for that, no, certainly not!"

"But, madam..."

"No, sir! No matter how hard you try, you'll never alter my decision!" .

"Well," said the Prince, (in some confusion; for it was not often that those unaccustomed to the libertine pleasures wanted desperately to be violated in that particular bodily orifice), "madam, you must be content. I should be very angry if it were said that I ever meant to displease you!" And, grabbing the twin globes of her farthingaled ass, the lusty young Prince drove his pendulous pikestaff up the craterous cleft, a dead-eye torpedoe betwixt the babe's beautiful buttocks.

And let it be said by us now that it is not necessary to instruct the new wives as to what duty they owe their husbands. The result can only be confusion. And, of course, a bleeding bum.

THE CHESTNUT FLOWER

It is claimed, (I would not assure you of the veracity of said claim, but some scientists present it as fact) that the chestnut flower has positively the same odor as the prolific seed that it pleased nature to place in the kidneys of man; solely, I might add, for the reproduction of his fellow men. In other words, that it smells like jism.

A young woman, who had never left her father's house, was walking one day with her mother and a coquettish abbot, in an alley of chestnut trees whose exhaling flowers perfumed the air in the weird way that we have just taken the liberty of stating.

"Oh my God, Mother, that smell, why, it's so...strange! Such a distinctive odor...but, well, I know that smell!"

Jumping up and down in excitement, she said to her mother, "... But here, Mama, sniff this! It is a smell I know!" And, holding out a chestnut flower to her mother, she made her sniff.

The Abbot looked disturbed.

"Be quiet, foolish girl! Don't say such things!! Please!" At this, the girl looked confused.

"Why, Mother, what does he mean? I don't see any harm in telling you that this smell is not foreign to me! And it certainly is not!

"But, mademoiselle..." protested the Abbot. The spoiled young woman stomped her foot, and crossing her arms across her chest, began to pout.

"But, Mother, I know it! I tell you! Father, tell me, I pray you: what harm can I can do in assuring Mother that I know that smell?"

"Miss," said the Abbot, pinching his crop, the sound of his voice fluttering, "it is certain that the telling in and of itself is of little consequence; but it is that we are here under chestnut trees, and that we naturalists admit in botany that the chestnut blossom..." He trailed off, not wanting to finish. The young woman grew impatient.

"Well, yes? Chestnut blossoms? Go on..."

"Well, miss," said the little fat Abbot, growing red with embarrassment. "They say it smells like...fuck."

*She means sodomy.

Marquis de Sade's "Adelaide of Brunswick" (Click Below)