"But for There, Certainly Not!"

"My daughter!" said the Baroness de Fréval to the eldest of her children, who was going the next day to be married, "you are like an angel! Hardly do you reach your coming of age, yet it is impossible to be fresher and cuter! It almost seems that love itself took pleasure in drawing your features; and yet you are forced, tomorrow, to become the wife of an old bird whose weird madness arouses suspicions!"

"I must confess: it is an arrangement that I greatly dislike, but your father made the decision, not I. He wants, as well as I, to make of you a woman of wealth and influence. Regardless, here you are destined to drag with you all of your life the weighty title of First Lady…

"What still despairs me is that perhaps you will never be it, at least not fully ... modesty prevents me from explaining this to you, my daughter ... but it is because these old rascals, who make a profession of judging others, yet do so out of hypocrisy, unable to examine their own base motives and instincts, all have such baroque fantasies, accustomed to living in indolent luxury and having everything they desire ... these rascals corrupt themselves from birth! They engulf themselves in a dissolute way of life; and, crawling in the impure muck, the laws of Justinian and the obscenities of the capital, as well as slithering like the snake which only raises its head from time to time to swallow insects; I say, one sees them coming out of their sheltered, protected existences only to be censured or to have their doings put a stop to.

"Listen to me, my daughter, and stand up straight… because if you bow your head like this you will certainly please Mr. President; I have no doubt that he will often make you turn it to the wall…

"In short, my child, this is what I need to tell you. On your wedding night, you must deny your husband the first type of fucking he wants from you. Understand? We are sure that this first thing will surely be very dastardly and very nonconforming to religious principles; it will also be painful.

"We know his tastes. His principles deserve ridicule, but we know this rascal from forty-five years ago. Never mind the great, fancy coat he wears, he's a brute beast, nonetheless, and has a habit of never taking things...the way they're most pleasing to nature. You must refuse, therefore, my daughter, do you understand?

" So when he tells you what he wants to do to you, how he wishes to consummate your marriage, you will say to him: 'No, sir, everywhere else as much as you like! But for there, certainly not!'"

That said, Mademoiselle de Fréval was bathed, powdered, perfumed, adjusted accordingly, and dressed divinely.

We can thus aid you, Dear Reader, in picturing the scene:

The president arrives, his hair curly like that of an infant child, reeking of powder, his nasally voice yelping, his intonation practiced from speaking laws and regulating the state.

His wig is tasteful, dressed with an artistry unsurpassed, and his clothing tight; his crotch sausage is a massive bulge beneath his breeches; he would hardly be allowed forty years old, although he was nearly sixty.

The bride appears, and he coaxes her to him, the tender minx! (You can already see in the eyes of the lecher all the depravity of his heart.)

Finally the moment arrives ...

They undress, and, after the quick nuptials-- off to bed! Now, for the first time in his life, the president, thinks he may want to give himself time to educate his student; or, at the very least, fears engendering in her a contemptuous hate that could become the fruit of future indiscretions, the president, I say, for the first time in his days, thinks only of proper missionary sex; he has no intention of taking her up the ass, as is his usual wont.

At least, he decides, he will not do so tonight.

But Mlle de Fréval, well educated, finds herself too intelligent, too prepared, for her husband, Mr. President. Mlle de Fréval remembers that her mother told her to refuse decidedly the first proposals which would be made to her, and so does not fail to say to the president:

"No, sir, it will not be so! Everywhere else as much as you like, but for there, certainly not!"

The president, for the first time in his life, is simply astounded by what the wench has said to him.

"Madam," says the stunned president, "I must protest! I take it upon myself; it's a real effort to say no to the other... in truth, doing it in the way I have suggested, well, it is only virtuous!"

But Mlle de Freval is certain now that she is doing EXACTLY what her mother would, if she were here, instruct her to do. Shaking her head, crossing her arms across her naked breasts, and screwing up her face, she retorts:

"No sir, no matter what, you will never get your way in this!"

"Well, madame, we aims to please, as they say!" says the old lech, seizing his lovely new bride by the delectable twin globes of her farthingaled derriere.

"I would be very sorry to displease you, and especially on our wedding night! But take care, madame, take care: No matter what you may say in future, how you may wail and cry out in protest, you won't make me change my, eh... route!"

"I understand that well, sir!" says the young girl, positioning herself on her hands and knees. Have no fear! I DEMAND IT LIKE THIS!"

"Let's go then, since you want it this way so bad!" exclaims the obliging man, thrusting forward his pickled pig-sticker into the puckered poop-shoot of his betrothed beauty, remembering to do it for Socrates and Ganymede; and doing it as if it was ALL THAT WAS REQUIRED.