Chapter One: Homecoming
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of S. Meyer. The Kama Sutra is part of the public domain. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
Foremost on my mind was the growing pain in my backside. I was bouncing down a rutted highway on the way back home as I suddenly found myself embracing the floor of my family coach. A hail of paper and ink followed me. Books, papers, wrapped parcels, quill pens, and my now empty inkwell were scattered on the floor of the coach with me – all of us underneath my overstuffed traveling valise.
Curses on the road and this coach, I thought… Hell, curses on my damned luck for that matter… and my cursed life! No sense in holding back now that I was cursing. The frown I wore before my tumble deepened as I waited for the stars to clear from my eyes. A quick mental inventory told me I was unharmed – just stunned.
I picked myself up as the carriage lurched back to rights and slowly collected the most treasured remainders of my life as a scholar. I attempted to repair most of the damage to my appearance. I removed my ink stained coat – thankfully from a few Seasons ago, a bit tight across my muscular shoulders and ready to be retired. I ran my long, ink-stained fingers though my ever-present mess of hair trying like usual to smooth the locks into order – unsuccessfully. My newly bespeckled trousers stayed on; I did not relish the thought of my valet or a footman finding me in my underclothes when the coach stopped.
As I bent and continued to restore my surroundings, one particular parcel caught my eye. It was addressed to Edmund Cullen; an error that added to my irritation. My name is Edward, Edward Anthony Cullen. The misappellation had probably delayed the parcel's delivery to me until just before my departure - too late to be shipped with the rest of my library. Just thinking about it brought me a measure of comfort – my library – meticulously accumulated in the years spent avoiding the ancestral home to which I was finally returning.
I had been at school in Oxford for many years pursuing studies in classics, Oriental cultures and finally law, before I had used up all excuses to remain at the University any longer. My mother, Esme, Lady Forksford, was insistent that I return to my family following the completion of my studies, and my father, Carlisle, Lord Forksford, always did everything in his power to see that her wishes became reality. I had finally run out of papers, dissertations and important scholarly gatherings to avoid my inevitable homecoming.
It not that I didn't enjoy my family or home in general; although my sister Alice felt that I tended to over analyze every detail of their individual personalities until I found some small thing to irritate me in any situation. But, this unhappiness was not something I could pick apart because I didn't even know what it was - just a feeling of being adrift - as if all my years of scholarship were pointless because I was just returning home to exist again as if I had never left. Back to being the extraneous nobleman's son and to days filled with endless rounds of entertaining, visiting, amusements, sporting and other idle amusements only to be followed by travelling to London to do more of the same for the Season.
The French had a term for this – ennui – soul-crushing boredom. That was what I envisioned for my future - inexorable as the rising tide. But it wasn't just boredom – it was aimlessness. I was the type of person who needed a goal – a purpose in life. Until now, I had been content to follow my intellectual curiosity from one discipline to the next. I had a passion for books, especially ancient texts on philosophy or the sciences from all cultures. I truly felt that I was living in the wrong time – I should have been a Roman patron of the arts, a Greek scholar or a philosopher from the Orient; and living in a society that held them in high standing.
But now I my life and scholarship was pointless. As the third son of the Baron of Forksford, I would not be expected to inherit my father's position and on my brothers' lives I would not want to. As a member of a noble family and the peerage, I could not really put to use the degrees I had earned either. My father would be an absolute laughingstock if it was known that his son had a profession. Young men of good families did not toil. We idled away time wasting our inheritances on gambling, eating like gluttons, deflowering maidens or any other number of vices – anything but implying we had to work for our living.
And so here I was on a road to nowhere and with a sigh, I returned my attention to the parcel on my lap. Maybe the contents would distract me from the morose direction of my thoughts. I pulled a small knife from my travelling case and cut the string binding the paper parcel. Peeling back the layers, I finally found the contents – two more books to add to my collection from one of my regular booksellers; their new clerk must have misaddressed the parcel.
The first item from the parcel was a volume of tragedies from the Greek playwright Euripides. Generally, I didn't read fiction, but I did have a small selection of classical literature in my library. Satisfied, I set the volume aside to examine more closely when I read and catalogued it for my library.
The second volume looked a bit more promising; covered with a non-descript brown leather cover and a title page that read, Kama Sutra of Vatsyayana. A small thrill shot through me as I recognized the title… I'd finally gotten it. My heart raced as I realized this volume was virtually unavailable in the Western world. It had only been recently translated from a series of manuscripts of famous Indian mystics and was printed privately for limited circulation.
It was purported to contain the secrets of man's sensual nature.
And as I thought the word sensual, an image of an exquisitely beautiful young lady came to mind. Long, pale blondish-pink hued curls, sparkling, bright blue eyes and full, pouty, rose-pink lips to start. Last time I'd seen her, I'd been shocked at how the sweetly pretty schoolgirl I recalled from my youth had matured into a strikingly lovely young woman.
I had been home for the holidays a year and a half ago at the annual Christmas gathering Esme held for our close friends. I was at the doorway greeting our guests when our family friends had arrived and I had not recognized her. In my confusion, I just stared speechless. Esme responded to my confusion with amusement, as she had prompted me, "Now Edward, surely you remember your former playmate, Tanya?" I don't remember how I replied, but I do remember kissing her hand and gazing into those enchanting blue eyes. I must have replied as a gentleman ought… somehow covering my gaff, because Tanya danced with me twice that night.
That, sadly, was the highlight of my sensual experience. It was not that I was unattracted or unattractive to women – quite the opposite I had come to find. I was tall… a couple inches over six feet… had green eyes and dark brown hair highlighted by a color the fashionable females of the family referred to as bronze. My facial features were even and unexceptionable but for one feature – my dratted lips. My older brothers liked to teasingly inquire why I had been out kissing asses – bee asses – due to the "bee-stung" appearance of my full lips. But, my lips also seemed to please females – at least I assumed so due to all the requests I had for "just one kiss" from all the ladies that frequented the University thoroughfares late at night.
But I was not interested in kissing prostitutes or engaging in any other acts with them. I was raised a gentleman – to treat women of all stations with respect. That and the threat of losing my manhood to the vile diseases they carried.
Young ladies of my age and station were carefully chaperoned to protect their virginity, even if I would consider a dalliance with one of them. Again, very much against the gentleman's code. Of course, young ladies of other stations were available, especially if I wished to keep a mistress like many of my fellow students from wealthy families did, but I did not want the scandal that could arise from that type of situation to taint my families' honorable reputation.
But all of these reasons combined were not the true source of my hesitancy with women. Without doubt, the source of my discomfort sprang from the older women.
Windowed, married, or even spinsters, they were shameless. This was one reason I tended to avoid large balls and other crowded social functions. It seemed these mature temptresses could always find a dark room or covert corner to pull me into for their attempted seductions. The disgraceful words that were whispered in my ear usually had the effect of scaring me more than titillating; although I had to admit that I have pictured some of the acts described… later... while alone with myself.
I did want to do those acts - very much - but not as lewd escapades, but as precious acts of love between a man and his wife.
So with a little knowledge imparted from those lusty ladies - however dubiously, I had sought out this reputed "sex manual." Once I had the book nestled on my lap, I had hoped would it teach me some of those sensual acts so I could perform with knowledge once I did have a wife. I wondered if just holding it in proximity to myself…
Stop, Edward, I commanded. I had grown quite erect at just thinking about the idea of sexual acts. You don't want you trousers soiled further.
After imagining the sour face my valet would produce when presented with unusually soiled clothing, I calmed down and gathered the courage to open the volume; guiltily excited to expose myself to the profane images. But I was surprised by the standard title page, preface and table of contents.
I did not want to lose my courage to continue, so I just skimmed the contents listed. The words 'sexual', 'wife, 'courtesans, and 'attracting' drew my eyes and started my heartbeat racing, but I calmed myself again and continued to the introduction.
The text started with history of how it was compiled from the writings of a series of Indian philosophers over time. As a student of ancient texts, I was impressed by how many different teachings had been captured and brought together to create a unified work. As a man, one part of the text spoke directly to my apprehensions.
This work is not to be used merely as an instrument for satisfying our desires. A person acquainted with the true principles of this science, who preserves his Dharma (virtue or religious merit), his Artha (worldly wealth), and his Kama (pleasure or sexual gratification), and who has regard to the customs of the people, is sure to obtain the mastery over his senses. In short, an intelligent and knowing person attending to Dharma and Artha and also to Kama, without becoming the slave of his passions, will obtain success in everything that he may do.
The text seemed to commend the decisions I had previously made in regards to my sensual nature – that virtue, regard for custom and mastery of the senses would lead to success and fulfillment of desire. I had unconsciously worried that I would feel quite inadequate when confronted with a whole book full of practices of the sensual nature of which I knew nothing. But my hesitancy had been unnecessary.
As I noticed the coach slowing on our approach to my family lands, I closed the book without peeking ahead to the next few chapters. It would not do to be caught by my valet – or worse, one of my sisters – in an overexcited condition. No, that would not do for a man of my refined sensual instincts. I took several deep breathes, ran a hand through my hair and prepared for the worst.