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This story is for mature audiences only and contains adult language, adult situations and many references to, and semi-graphic descriptions of, sexual activity. Please keep in mind the time frame in which this story takes place (post Civil War) and that women had a different status in the world than men - inferior, on the whole. Don't blame me for history! ;-) The story is meant just as a fun read, so if you do read, please approach it in that frame of mind. And I don't expect it to be very long either.
The Surrender of Sibella
ONE
There's a Chinese proverb that states a new wife brought into the house is like a new horse in the stable; both should be mounted often and beaten regularly. Wise words. And although the saying refers to ancient attitudes, I think Sibella would have benefited from a sound thrashing on a regular basis—perhaps right before being mounted or during the act itself. Unfortunately, I never applied the advice, or my hand, early enough to avoid trouble; I should have listened to the sage advice given by those who lived centuries before me on how to keep a wife in line.
Marrying a woman much younger than I was something I would never have considered under usual circumstances - and a virgin to boot. I have to admit that the thought of tender flesh is always tempting, of delving deeply into the pink hidden parts of a lovely young thing, As one of my favorite poets once wrote, "License my roving hands, and let them go before, behind, between, above, below…How blest am I in this discovering thee!" My thoughts exactly but more poetically phrased; somehow it seems less lustful that way.
But to be honest, I actually preferred women my own age socially; there is something rewarding in talking with an intelligent woman who is knowledgeable and worldly as that alone makes a woman beautiful in my eyes. And as for an actual bedding, well, virgins never appealed to me. I have no patience with someone coy or reserved. Give me a woman who knows what to expect from a man and what he needs to secure his pleasure. And if she finds any delight in the sexual act, so much the better for both of us as I prefer an enthusiastic partner. That was why, since I kept a mistress for my physical needs but attended important social events with clever, intelligent, although not necessarily beautiful women, I never felt the need of a wife. Unfortunately, my father saw things differently and often asked if I was ever going to marry – and rid myself of Donna, the woman I kept in a fine suite in the Carson City Hotel.
My father and my brothers found the whole "mistress" situation embarrassing. I found it convenient. I didn't love Donna and if she loved me, she had yet to mention it. But she did enjoy me and I enjoyed her and we both enjoyed sex, so we were well-met for the situation. If she lay with other men, I never knew and didn't really care as long as she didn't infect me with the clap or syphilis. I had made clear to her that I would brook no health consequences. As Donna had been an 'actress', sadly not a particularly good one, forcing her to fall on her back many a time during her unheralded career just to get a part onstage, she knew the medical consequences of promiscuity. She had seen a few actors with their partially eaten-away syphilitic noses who were eventually reduced to street beggars, and once-lovely actresses with skin sores that spoke of advancing syphilis. I think it was fear of being back on the streets and probably having to turn to prostitution, that kept Donna 'monogamous' more than any great love for me. But she was happy with our agreement and so was I, although, as I said, should I find myself with a chancre on my cock, pain while I pissed, or my balls swollen to the size of a stud bull's, well, she was out on her ass.
It was an evening in June and I was packing to go on a business trip to San Francisco. It was after the war and the south was in the midst of rebuilding what we, that is the Union Army in which I had been a captain, had destroyed. I knew that during the war, a part of me had been destroyed as well, but I tried not to dwell on it. That would just lead to greater melancholia and the urge to unload a gun into my open mouth. As it was, I fought the urge to rid myself of the memories of the horrors of war and the many enemy corpses that haunted my sleep, by drinking and visiting Donna. But of late, I had found myself feeling dull and empty after one of our nights together no matter what she did to add a bit of variety, whether it be revealing lingerie or allowing me to use her as I chose for my pleasure. I found I wasn't even looking forward to our nights and began to visit Donna less and less. And like all women, she noticed and questioned me about it: Didn't I desire her anymore? I was inclined to be truthful and tell her, "Not really," but why start more trouble? Besides, she would want to discuss the matter, talk about what was wrong and how she could make things better, and that was the last thing I cared to do. So, since it is a ready excuse, I used work and being tired for my lack of enthusiasm. But being a woman afraid of losing her patron, I suppose, Donna would drop to her knees, deftly free my cock from my trousers, and please me with her mouth and highly talented tongue which was always pleasant and required no effort on my part. I didn't even need to undress.
But I digress. I was going to San Francisco to secure a ship to take our milled timber to New Orleans to be dispersed among the waiting contractors. Had it been antebellum, the orders would have been sent by rail but thanks to mile upon mile of "Sherman's neckties," track needed to be repaired or, in most cases, completely rebuilt, before anything could be sent via the railway.
Therefore, I looked at the trip to San Francisco as a nice diversion; not only would I be in new surroundings, but I would be absent while Joe, who was courting Miss Jessamyn Moritz, talked nonstop about wanting to marry her. Earlier on the evening I was to leave, I asked Joe if he had yet proposed and when he said no, I told him to ask and get it the fuck over with. Talking to us accomplished nothing – he should be talking to Jessamyn and then, her father. Joe was silent for once and Hoss and my father looked a bit taken aback. After all, my father's hopes of having grandchildren seemed to rest on his youngest progeny, my brother Joseph who was always as randy as a bull in spring. He did not want Joe discouraged.
So, as I said, I was packing when my father came into my room after first giving the obligatory knock on the open bedroom door before entering.
"You come to make sure I'm taking enough clean underclothes, Pa?" I was packing the freshly starched and folded dress shirts, courtesy of Hop Sing's Uncle Tan's laundry.
"Adam, I came up here to ask a favor."
"Oh? What?" That stopped my packing and I looked at my father who held a small paper-wrapped box. It was secured with packing twine.
"I was wondering if, on your way home, you'd stop and see an old friend of mine, Francis Atherton, in Sacramento City. You might remember him?"
"No, no, can't say I do."
"They stopped by, he and his wife Beatrice, on their way to Sacramento City where he had a job with the Overland Transit Company which was later bought by the railroad. I wired him you'd be in the area and I'd be pleased if you would visit and take this."
I found many of my father's friends interesting and they often shared stories about my father, some scandalous, some amusing, and some about acts of bravery or integrity. I related the stories to my brothers, much to their delight, and our father's embarrassment. All in all, my father was a humble man which made others admire him even more.
"Of course. I'd be glad too." I reached for the box and saw it was already addressed to Miss Sibella Atherton of Sacramento City, California. "Things so bad we have to save on postage?" I joked.
"No, I just thought as long as you were going to be in that area, that you could just take it. It's a little birthday gift for his daughter – Sibella. A necklace. A jade necklace. I don't know that she'll be knowledgeable about jade and thought you might inform her of its value in Chinese culture. You know how young girls put store in things like that, a little anecdote with each piece of jewelry."
"Oh. Mr. Atherton has a daughter?" My suspicions were aroused.
"Yes. Late in life he became a father. He and his wife, well, they wanted children but it seemed not to be in the cards. He used to bemoan the fact, you know, with my having three sons and all, and then, later in life, well, they had a daughter. She is, as the Bible says, the apple of his eye."
"Um, Pa, you don't have any designs for me and this young woman, do you?" I looked askance at his motives; my father was a crafty one and he was talking far too much.
"What?" He appeared shocked that I would even suggest such a thing. "Of course not, Adam. Why, she's…she's only turning 21. At her age, she's far more suited to Hoss than you."
"Maybe then you should send Hoss bearing gifts."
"No, no. Just drop it off at the Atherton's. There's a little card inside wishing her a happy birthday and such."
So, I agreed but was still suspicious; I believed my father had an ulterior motive and I wasn't wrong.
The next morning, I left for my trip, my family seeing me off on the stage. I quickly concluded my business in San Francisco and then took the stage for Sacramento.
Once in Sacramento, it wasn't difficult to find the Atherton house; it seemed the first person I asked knew where it was and since it was a beautiful day, I walked; I would take a room in the hotel later and catch the stage in the morning. I'd be home in a few days and perhaps, perhaps even stop first in Carson City to indulge myself with Donna's body.
The Atherton house was grand, three stories with dormered windows and a paved winding walkway and a huge green lawn surrounded by wrought iron fencing. Roses and various types of flowering plants and shrubs grew in beds and on the day I arrived, a Chinese gardener was working on them, pulling weeds and watering the plants. He vaguely smiled and nodded at me, then continued his work uprooting any encroaching weeds.
TBC