The De Flowering of William Thomas Compton
Young William Thomas Compton is only a lad of seventeen when he accompanies his father on a business trip to New Orleans. It is a trip that Bill will never forget and he will return home a different person.
Chapter One
New Orleans in the eighteen fifties was a thriving and bustling port. It was already old, even by American terms, the area having been inhabited by Native Americans for thousands of years before the French then the Spanish then the French yet again and then finally it was sold to the United States as part of the Louisiana Purchase. It had always been an important city in the history of the South and it was to become an important part in the history of William Thomas Compton.
Long after the French explorers, fur trappers and traders had arrived in the sixteen nineties to make their settlement amongst the Native American village of thatched huts, William and his father visited the environs and William's life changed forever.
The city had survived the deluge inflicted by the flood of eighteen forty nine when a levee up river had breached and the city had the worst flooding it had ever experienced up to that point in time, leaving twelve thousand souls homeless but bold and sassy, it had bounced back, it was that kind of city, one that could never be kept down and now, here was William, Bill he preferred to be called by all but his father, here he was in the midst of it all and he was enthralled. It was eighteen fifty two and the New Orleans and Jackson Railway had already been built and everything about the town was exciting.
Bill had just turned seventeen when his father had bought him on his first business trip, 'It's time for you to become a man' he had told him, as they packed and made ready to leave the sleepy little village of Bon Temps. For Bill this was to be the first real trip away from home, the farthest he had ever been. He had mixed feelings about leaving. While he was excited to be going on a real trip, seeing new things and experiencing all that was to offer in the historical port, he did have his reservations. He would miss his friends and miss the quiet serenity of his beloved farm and miss one very special person that he had given his heart to.
His father had said little about the nature of the business that they would be doing, their farm, although small in comparison to the large plantations of some neighbours such as the Bellefleurs, was larger and substantially more successful than that of their immediate neighbours the Stackhouse's smaller holdings and much more affluent than the poorer cracker families that seemed to subsist on their meagre few acres of land, supplementing their incomes by fishing the bayous and even trapping gators for their skins.
No, Bill had no complaints as far as his place in life. He was young, respected amongst his peers, looked up to by the church elders as an example of a fine young god fearing lad and he had the heart of more than one of the local girls in the parish who giggled and blushed when he looked their way with the finest pair of blue eyes in the county. He was strong of body, being lean and tanned from the work on the farm, learned, for there was nothing that he enjoyed more than sitting in some quiet place reading one of his many historical or mythological tomes and he was gently spoken, courteous and humble. There were very few families in the area that did not have their hopes set on snaring him for their unmarried daughters.
Bill and his father had arrived late on the previous night so he had not seen much of the city on their way to their hotel and the following day had been taken up with an appointment in a dusty and dry solicitor's office, his father engaged in setting up a trust for Bill and his sister and, in the making of a will. The day had been long and boring, the young man had been a little perplexed that his father had seen it necessary to bring him along only to be kept sitting in an outer office for hours and excluded from any of the formalities. It was getting on for evening before finally, his father emerged smiling to tell his son they would be going back to the hotel to bathe before having some dinner then going to yet another appointment.
Bill sighed and wondered what kind of business could be accomplished so late in the evening but he knew better than to question his father, he had learnt at an early age that an enquiring mind was not necessarily something that his father respected and at times it could lead to a whooping of the extremes, the lesson being learnt the hard way when, after being inspired by reading Dickens Oliver Twist and the poverty that the children experienced, he decided that hen and his gang of cronies should all only eat gruel to experience what it is like to be poor.
His father, misunderstanding his motives and thinking that he was playing at mocking the unfortunates of the world, promptly gave him a sound thrashing and sent him to bed without supper and without asking for an explanation. Bill's father was mortified when he later learnt of his young sons motives and was proud of the fact that he had such a thoughtful and compassionate offspring but the lesson had been learnt as far as Bill was concerned and it stayed with him all his adult human life and beyond; compassion comes with a price and you have to really believe in what you think is right to endure the consequences of your actions.
Returning to the hotel they bathed then adjourned to the dining room for dinner. Sitting at a table for two in the large formal room, Bill was interested by the other patrons also dining there. Men in rich broadcloth jackets, tailored to perfection, accompanying ladies in watered down silks of all colours and styles, their tiny waists shown off to perfection by the current mode of fashion, their ample bosoms not going unnoticed to the young man's eyes. He had never seen so many beautiful people in any one room in his whole life.
Had he known it he would not have believed it, but he cut quite a figure of dashing manhood him self. One thing that his father had always made sure of was that the Compton family were always well turned out and on this particular trip he had made sure that Bill was immaculate. Dressed in a black well cut jacket that fitted the young Bill's lean muscular body to perfection, the white silk embroidered waist coat over the delicately ruffled silk shirt emphasised his deep tan and set his blue eyes sparkling. His tightly fitted fashionable breaches made many a woman blush as they left nothing to the imagination and although Bill knew that he was larger than the other boys in his gang, he was not ashamed of nature's blessings but at times he was embarrassed by it.
Yes, he was the perfect example of Southern manhood and on this particular night his father was more than proud to have such a fine son. Only his father knew just what an important night in the young Bill's life this would be and his mind wandered off to a similar night, many years ago now, when his own father had embarked him on a course that had set him up for life. It was time, he sat thinking, yes Bill was ready he nodded to himself.
Hailing a carriage outside the hotel, Bill and his father sat back and enjoyed the warm night air as they journeyed through the streets full of the life and lustre of the city. Bill had noticed that the carriage driver had given his father a nod and wink towards him when he had quietly spoken the address of their destination but as he did not have any idea of where they were going, he just sat back and enjoyed the ride through the bustling streets as they twisted and turned here and there, leaving the uptown precincts and making their way through the French quarters until finally arriving at the door of an brightly coloured building, lace work gleaming in the lamp light.
Bills father uncharacteristically patted his son's back as they walked up to the door and waited to gain admittance. Bill was not prepared for the sight that greeted him when the door was opened by a large ornately dressed Creole gentleman, resplendent in an out fit that could quite easily have been straight out of one of the stories of his One Thousand and One Tales of the Arabian Nights book that he had loved reading secretly as a child while sitting hidden away in the attic.
Flowing with purple, crimson and emerald green silks, feathered plumes waving from a golden turban, the door man ushered them in nodding and smiling, his thick golden earring swinging against his rouged cheek. 'Gentlemen, if you will follow me' he lisped, his French accent thick and unmistakeable as he waved his hand towards a set of double doors. 'Madame will be here shortly.'
Bill had glanced askance at his father when he had been stunned by the appearance of the doorman and now, upon entering the room they had been shown into, his young face had been a picture of questions. He had never seen such a place as this. The room was a visual extravagance of extreme proportions, filled with furniture that seemed to belong to another world, plush expensive and rich, all complementing the ruby red and gold embossed wall paper. Potted palms were scattered about in clusters affording the deep velvet lounges privacy for a tête-à-tête between clients and their hosts. Lit by carved figures of men and women in the throes of love making love, holding cleverly sculptured candles replicating flames, as if their very act had set them on fire, the subtle light only added to the atmosphere. The ambience of the room overwhelmed the young man.
'Sit down lad' his father had said breaking the silence as Bill sank down into one of the many sofas and looked around the room in amazement. Oil paintings hung around the room, each one themed to show a particular scene from history but this was not the kind of history that Bill had ever studied when reading his books. Ancient Rome with its nightly groupings of nakedness on one wall hung opposite a depiction of a Salome and her dance of the seven veils. There was a painting of a masked ball at the Carnival of Venice that made Bill blush with its explicit portrayals of acts that in his naïveté, he was not even sure what he was seeing and as for the scene from Ancient Egypt, he could not bare to look at it in the presence of his father, although inwardly his excitement was aroused. He sat blushing in an agony of embarrassment.
The door opened quietly as all this passed through his mind, along with many other thoughts such as why had his father bought him here and what were they doing in such a place as this. Bill was naïve but he did live on a farm and was surrounded by nature. From a youngster he had been used to seeing the farm animals coupling and he had read a lot of books plus some of the other lads had told him of their experiences, but he had never experienced laying with a girl in the biblical sense.
He had always thought that he would remain unsullied until the marital bed where he had hoped that he would know what to do. His thoughts were the normal thoughts of every boy that grows into a man, the stirring of his loins coming to him from an early age. He had thought that perhaps as he had been blessed as he called it with such a man hood, that somehow he would be able to overcome his lack of experience when he took the love of his life Caroline to be his wife. No one knew of his hopes and dreams other than the other party mentioned for they had secretly been courting since they were children really, he had never had the courage to make his feelings known to his Papa so his secret for his future was his and Caroline's alone.
Bill had watched the pigtailed tom boy turn from one of the annoying giggling girls that followed the boys around out of spite just to aggravate them, into a beautiful and graceful young lady. The first real inkling that he had of her newly developed woman hood he had discovered the day he had accidentally seen her skinny dipping in the local watering hole. It was a day he would never forget for it was the first time his real desires became apparent, the first truly meaningful arousal had led him to perform an act that he felt nothing but shame for. When later he learnt from his closest friends that it was normal, the relief that he felt was enormous and for quiet some time after that, books and his reading were abandoned for other interests that he found more fulfilling.
Now here he was sitting in this place with its tantalising visions and with his father and wondering why, as he watched a small diminutive well dressed lady enter and immediately greet Papa with a kiss to both cheeks. 'Oh la, Monsieur Compton' she beamed, genuinely pleased to see him. 'And oh, who do we have here?' she asked as she made her way over to where Bill was standing upon her entrance. 'No, let me guess. La Pere he brings his son, there can be no mistaking the likeness' she enthused as her eyes ran over Bill's body, stopping for just one fleeting moment on his groin as though sizing up more than the facial likeness between the father and son. Bill turned a beet red.
'William, I want you to meet an old friend of mine, Madame Michelle. Michelle this is my boy William.' he said with pride. Bill bowed over her extended hand and kissed it politely, noticing how very soft her skin was and the faint fragrance of lemon verbena wafting from her reminded him comfortingly of his late Mother and how she smelt on Sundays on their way to church in her best finery. 'Madame, pleased to meet you' he responded politely.
'Enchante Guillaume' she said breaking into French before turning to address his father. 'So la Pere brings me his son, I am touched at your trust' she spoke warmly, her eyes glittering with tears. 'You remember' she said softly, the years seeming to fall away from her face and Bill noticed for the first time since she had come into the room that really when younger, she would have been an extraordinarily good looking woman, she was still beautiful now he was thinking as he watched her and it seemed to him that his father too looked younger and less worn by time.
'Come, tell me' she said as she took his father's arm and walked him towards the other end of the large room leaving Bill to ponder how his father came to know such an exotic creature. Lowering their voices as they joined in conversation, Bill's father began. 'He is ready Michelle. He is a good lad and will be a fine man. I want him to have the best, I do not want….' she interrupted him 'You do not want his experience to taint him? I understand' she said knowingly. 'No one too harsh' he went on but at the same time not someone just come from the farm, it must be someone who can teach him, someone with experience but also with a heart. If you were only…' 'If I was but twenty years younger?' she laughed 'ah but they were the good times my friend' she smiled nostalgically at him.
He looked at her. 'You taught me and I would have someone like you for my William, someone with a heart as big as yours.' He leant over and kissed her hand. 'You make me feel young again' and she gently touched his cheek. 'I have just the girl to show your William the ways to a woman's heart. How long are you in town?' she asked. 'I am here for as long as it takes.' She nodded 'that will depend on how quick a learner he is. You my friend' she smirked, 'now you, you were a very quick learner.'
Bill could not hear what was being said but he saw his father kiss Michelle's hand and watched amazed as she brushed his cheek now. As he watched his father he raised his eye brows at the sight of him blushing. Never in his whole life had he seen his father act like this however he did not have long to think this over because the two of them then walked back to where he was sitting. 'If you will excuse me for one moment, William there is someone that your father and I would like you to meet. I will only be one moment.'
Unbeknown to Bill, it was quiet common in those times for the wealthier and more sophisticated families to take their sons to certain houses for an education that was not available in school. The men of the families new the importance of keeping their women folk happy for it was left up to the women to see to the day to day running of the large farms and plantation households so anything that could be done to help a successful marriage along the way was looked at as being purely sensible and that included instruction in the pleasuring of a woman's needs so consequently, there were discrete establishments that catered for just this kind of tuition. The women there were of a better class than the sleazy run of the mill bordellos and whore houses that were in every major city, no these establishments catered for the genteel sons of the landed gentry and often a father would bring a son only to return years later with a grandson in tow. It was not talked of in polite circles and it was unknown to most women folk but it was a fact of life.
Michelle was true to her word and she returned with the most beautiful girl that Bill had ever seen. 'William this is Fleur, Fleur this is William and he would like to become better acquainted with you' she said placing Fleur's delicately small hand in his. Bill looked at his father, his mouth opening to speak but before he could say a word his father patted him on the back again and gave him a slight push towards the door as Fleur led Bill hand in hand through the room.
Reaching the door, Bill looked over his shoulder at his father standing watching him. Much to his surprise he saw tears in his eyes but also a look of hope and pride. Bill swallowed hard as he began to have a suspicion of what was a foot. He had never felt as scared or excited in his whole short life as he walked out that door and, hand in hand, Fleur led him up stairs to a bed room.
To Be Continued ….