The Confusion of the Sexes

The lovely sheer grey dress had a thoroughly unexpected outline. Just below where the slight bulge of her tummy should come, right above her sex and where the clinging dress might have shown the slight mounding of her mons with its spring of curly hair was the undoubted shape, revealed in almost graphic detail as it pushed against the thin grey silk, of an erect penis - the firm trunk of the cock with its sinuous veins, the acorn like doming of the glans penis and the egg shaped roundness of the testes. Silene could feel it sliding against the silk in a disconcertingly pleasant way - what had happened to her, why had she sprouted a cock?

Marianne's hand gripped hers, "We are going to have such fun, Silene. Come on George. Time for us all to be in bed."

Harriet looked up. What on earth was she reading? Who had put this by her bedside? It had looked a thoroughly normal paperback - just something to read a few pages before she settled down to sleep. Well, she was not going to read any more of that pornographic tripe; certainly not find out what Silene was going to do with her cock - presumably penetrate Marianne as George fucked her from behind. Despite her disgust she idly turned a few pages. Yes, that was exactly what happened.

"With every thrust George's testes bounced against her own; she could feel the mashing of the wrinkled skin, the tickling of hairy balls. His penis was sliding easily within her sex; she felt wetter than ever before, even with Monsieur Rassiline, and her orgasm was building: but so different from before. Instead of the insistent throbbing of a clitoris there was the thrusting of her own penis within Marianne; what would it feel when the semen came - as surely it would?"

Harriet threw the paperback down - why had she even looked? Why had she ever come to this place? What nonsense. A girl suddenly turned into a complete hermaphrodite. Was this the sort of thing men read but, if so, what was it doing in such an obviously feminine room? What was the awful thing called? It was there on the spine, 'The Confusion of the Sexes.' Even if the front cover had given nothing away about its contents; well at least that was apt. She could guess what would happen next and so improbably - they would all come at exactly the same time. Well, how often did that happen in real life and that was just with two persons!

"She was coming, coming in a way she had never come before, she could feel her own testes pulling up close to her, a pressure building and then an ecstatic release as her semen poured out of her cock into Marianne. And, at the very same moment, she could feel George's semen splashing into her. It was as if George was really fucking Marianne through her. Silene's semen leaving her body only to be replenished by George's own. It was a gorgeous feeling and as her cock pumped she heard Marianne cry out in total pleasure."

Ha! Thought Harriet. Pornography is so predictable. She got out of bed and went in search of another and better book. Her bare feet pattering across the polished floorboards from one rug to another. The rugs so very soft on her bare feet.

She had not really come to the castle on her own volition, a client had been most insistent, indeed one of her firm's best clients had been most insistent though she could not understand why. He had only met her the once at a large meeting but presumably something about her had impressed him. She could remember him, a big man, fair hair turning to grey.

Her boss had been quite flattering in telling her what an opportunity it was. The visit had not been convenient, the castle had not been sensibly located and she had been quietly furious to find the client was not even there when she arrived but he would see her the next day.

"May I take your coat, miss?" The butler had been so formal and polite. So absolutely perfect in the role.

Harriet had not even been permitted to return to her hotel, the client would not have dreamt of allowing it, she must stay as a guest... and the taxi had been sent away. She had protested but the butler had been insistent. All her things were at the hotel. But objection after objection had been set aside. She must stay, toothpaste was available and a new brush. Harriet did not like to mention that a fresh change of underclothing would be nice as well.

Harriet could not fault dinner. When before had she been served by a real butler and maid? But it would have been nice to have had company. Someone to talk to as she sipped the cool Chablis. The butler had been taciturn; the little maid hardly said a word, her eyes under her dark curls downcast and respectful as if conversation with a guest was above her. A pretty little thing in a severe black uniform with white blouse and cap - perhaps eighteen.

The fresh asparagus spears dripping with butter had been delicious but, looking back, she recalled how phallic they had looked on the plate. Thick green and white shoots, almost bulbous at the end, piled on top of each other with the butter dripping onto the plate leaving a pool below each of the nine rounded ends. She had picked up each daintily in her fingers and slipped the spears between her lips all slippery with the melted butter. She had never tasted better.

She had been, initially, delighted with her room and had not minded trooping across and down the corridor to an ancient bathroom. A bathroom lit by candlelight. Harriet had certainly enjoyed placing scented candles around a bath before but never had she been obliged to have candles to see by as she bathed. Never had she seen candles actually used to light a room, never had she seen them flickering from sconces on the wall. The lack of a shower had disappointed her but she had been happy to turn the great big taps and see 'lashings' of hot water simply fall from the taps causing steam to rise and condense on the many mirrors. There seemed an excessive number and Harriet had found it odd seeing herself undressing from so many angles. The steam seemed to miss condensing on one mirror, a full length one and as she sat on the lavatory letting a stream of pee splash from her, reminding her of the wonderful asparagus she had eaten, she had a sudden awful thought. What if it was a two way mirror and at that moment the aged butler was standing, penis exposed, watching her and savouring what he saw. Some men liked to watch girls urinating. Harriet stood, everything revealed to the mirror. She was being stupid. What sort of man would her client be if he allowed that sort of thing to go on?

Harriet turned and bent low over the bath water stirring it knowing her imaginary voyeur would be seeing her from behind, bent over the bath, her legs slightly apart and her bottom cheeks a little splayed and revealing. An erotic sight for a man. Men liked approaching women from behind and, asparagus like, spearing them from the rear. She glanced back at the mirror but there was nothing to suggest it was other than an ordinary mirror. It reflected her as she was, tall, well proportioned, pretty actually - and naked.

Harriet shivered and stepped into her bath. The water steaming, scented with coconut oil, deep and inviting. Carefully she settled down into the water and lay back. Bliss! She could not even really be seen by that mirror now she was in the bath.

She had closed her eyes and luxuriated.

Not having expected to stay, Harriet had not brought a nightie or her pyjamas and so she had padded bare foot back to her room dressed in the old woollen dressing gown (with twisted cord around her waist) she had found in the bedroom. It had seemed at odds with the room's feminine furniture. It was a very male dressing gown. She had then sat on the bed and picked up the first book to hand. A mistake as she found out.

Unsatisfied by the other books she had thought of sleep but when going to sleep she always had a glass of water by her bed. She had the glass certainly, it was to hand, but water was another matter. Harriet was unsure of the water from the bathroom. It would not be fresh mains water. She needed to go in search of the kitchen. Once again, pulling on the old woollen dressing gown, tying the cord around her waist she stepped out into the corridor bringing the candle with her.

It was stupid really, but she turned for the bathroom forgetting the butler had brought her the other way and so Harriet found herself at a different staircase from that she had ascended to bed. A staircase of dark caved oak, a staircase hung with pictures

The first was a strange picture, done in oils and with a fine gilded frame. Harriet paused to admire it in the candlelight. It was difficult to place in style and age. The strong realism gave it a Pre-Raphaelite quality but it was difficult to imagine Rossetti, Burne-Jones or Millais executing quite this subject matter. The girls were, after all, not auburn. There they sat, the pair of them, one dark and one light; quite demurely with their hands in their laps, demure even with their nakedness if it was not for one small detail. The strangeness came not from their nakedness, as such, but from the artist having given them both tails, a very realistic and believable extension of the backbone - as tails are. What upset the apparent innocence of this picture was that the termination of the tails and their length was somewhat hidden by the very clear indication, though not the clear sight, that each of the tail ends was snugly inserted in the other girl's vagina. A companionable picture perhaps.

Harriet frowned. This was worse than the book. It was not the subject matter per se that made her cross. After all people being what people were, if evolution had left people with tails, then it was inevitable they would be involved in sex as was every other part of the human anatomy - even feet in some cases. Had she not read that some men had a fetish for feet and she could easily imagine what would happen with them. Presumably some women had a thing for male, or indeed female, feet. She was not totally sure she fancied a big toe in her vagina but if the feet were on a nice young man who looked after his feet and kept his nails well trimmed then... well toes could certainly wriggle!

What made her cross was the fact of hanging such a painting at all where a guest could see it. Had it been a Surrealist effort it might have been acceptable - just - but this seemed more to be purely pornography - albeit of a highly artistic form.

Despite her displeasure the thought of what would a tail be like, if she had one, did come to her mind. Of course, she reasoned, she was not into girls and playing with another girl's tail would not be her thing but in the painting's world presumably the men also possessed tails. It was easy to know what they would do with them! Harriet's thoughts wandered on to what a woman would do with her own tail with a man. She was not pleased to see the answer in the next picture.

It was, of course, by the same artist though the subjects and settings were different. The same style, the same colour palette, the same attention to detail. Again it was erotic and very well executed. Harriet could see that and could not deny it.

The two subjects were this time a man and a woman, both naked and either engaged or certainly very ready for coitus. The relevant part of the man's genitalia was engorged and frankly large. Harriet could not but note her reaction. She could imagine she would be very happy to spend a night with him and try his simply magnificent cock if, perhaps, it was not for the tail. A tail which was curled around his body, around a plump female thigh and plunged right into her very, very exposed and detailed sex. Even the dark hairs painted separately with their dampness evident. Everything was there, accurate - apart from the tail which was, surprisingly, completely believable.

In turn the woman's tail ran between his opened thighs, curved upwards and went between his bottom cheeks penetrating his anus. The look on his face, the thrusting forward of his hips, the very full and swollen look to the shiny glans of the tumescent penis gave the impression that the prostate stimulation might have been a little too much and rather than enjoying penetration by his superb cock the woman of the picture would now have to content herself with his tail. Poor thing! The painting gave every indication of having caught the man at the moment before ejaculation, at the point it had become involuntary, the man no longer having any control and the semen already travelling up the shaft.

Harriet wet her lips. The painting was very naughty. Very erotic, and should not really have been having such an effect on her. But the more you looked at it the more erotic it became.

Her bare feet padded on. The house silent and seemingly asleep.

As if in sequence the next painting, once again clearly by the same artist, paid less attention to tails, indeed none were present, but to that accompaniment to orgasm in the male: the ejaculation of semen. The painter had clearly decided to demonstrate his prowess in the presentation of liquid. It was almost a study in how to paint the spattering of liquid; even a master class at both the fountaining and the fall of viscous liquid and the resultant spattered droplets. The effect of the meniscus exquisitely done. Harriet paused and enjoyed the painting. It was not the sort of thing she would normally have paid any attention to but now, on her own, there was no need to give attention to form; to what other people might think.

Harriet had expected the ejaculation to be the last of the series but no, the artist had taken up brush again and there once again was the man with his rather large genitalia no longer tumescent but relaxed and soft, yet unmistakeably it was painted just post orgasmic. The seeping of semen could just perhaps have been pre-ejaculate but the whole effect was one of exhaustion; a penis no longer able to perform; sensitive and vulnerable. The other figures were women, painted with their eyes looking wistfully at the penis and clearly in a state of great arousal - the pointing nipples, the flushed cheeks and damp thighs beautifully and so accurately done. It was not the same scene as the previous picture, even if of the same man, and there was no obvious explanation of why or where the man had come or why he had not satisfied the women. Harriet felt like them: excited but unsatisfied. Why was she having to walk around this strange house in the dark of night?

It was very dark beyond the range of her candle's light. She should have brought a second but there on a table was another almost identical candle stick. Carefully she lit it from the first and carried them both one in each hand before her. The lack of electricity seemed to have resulted in a sufficient supply of candles in the castle even if few were lit. A fleeting thought came whether, perhaps, before she went to sleep and after she had filled her glass with water, she might not take advantage and use one as a bit of a penile substitute. If the paintings had got her a little worked up then why not?

Certainly she felt very strange wandering about a castle at night, dressed merely in a flowing woollen dressing gown and carrying two lit candlesticks before her. She felt like the heroine in some gothic melodrama – play, film or book.

Turning to the right at the bottom of the stairs she came upon the gleaming white of a marble statue, a copy of Rodin's 'The Kiss.' It was quite amazing to have a house, well a castle, big enough to house such objects. It was a favourite of hers; she had seen the original in the Musée Rodin in Paris. Harriet had felt its eroticism the first time she had seen it but was surprised on closer inspection with her candles that the modern sculptor had not been exactly faithful to the original – in one respect - the man's penis was clear and upstanding in undoubted response to the woman.

Harriet frowned; the castle was very odd indeed; the book in her room, the paintings on the stair and now this. Pornography as art certainly but why had her client these strange things in his home? It slightly worried her. Why had he been so insistent she stayed the night? But there had been nothing untoward - apart from the book by her bed. Nobody had showed her the pictures or, now, this statue. Had the client ill intent then he would have been present that evening and, in any case, the whole thing was so unlikely - he had met her only the once. Best to get the glass of water quickly and get back to her room - and turn the key.

'The Kiss' or a version of it, though, was not the only statue. Turning the corner, more beautiful work perhaps, or even probably, by the same sculptor. A man standing, right knee forward, torso slightly bent forward, right hand moving to clasp giving the impression of movement as if the marble man was about to walk forward and seize you. It had made Harriet jump as the statue suddenly appeared in the candlelight, as if it was about to grab Harriet. Life sized and nude with a full erection jutting forward. The composition so carefully done to bring more than just the penis within the block of marble, making best use of the stone so the knee, arm, part of the torso and head all came within the same vertical plane as the penis. Beautiful carving and a beautiful penis. It was difficult to believe few could walk past the statute without sliding a hand up its smooth shape to its acorn head and the raised ridge of the corona. Slowing her heartbeat Harriet considered whether it might actually be possible to mount the erection. Probably with a bit of athleticism or being a particularly tall girl it would be possible. The statute looked strong enough and the base substantial. Had anyone? She was certainly not going to try.

Harriet felt a desire to hold the erection and she placed a candlestick down. Well, she could honestly say, or at least think, that she had never held a firmer one: or colder for that matter! Her hand slid upwards running over the raised corona, a finger tip on the perfectly carved slit at the top. She felt embarrassed at her action and at the thrill it gave between her legs.

In balance a naked woman, again beautifully done. If the male was almost matter of fact about the erection this was not the case with the woman. Lying back with legs apart there was no missing the invitation. Possibly she had been depicted in the midst of intercourse, her partner momentarily missing. Despite the crudity of the pose, the composition and execution were anything but crude. Intensely erotic in the woman's vulnerability and abandoned sexuality. The vulva, carefully sculpted, was open as was the vagina. Harriet did not doubt that at least one male had tried to penetrate the statue in real life. Men were like that. Had her host? Indeed had her boss ever visited and come downstairs in the dark and performed such a strange act? It was unsettling and the image of her naked boss engaged in coitus with a statue not pleasing at all. Had his naked body been inside the very dressing gown she was wearing, his erection poking at the material or even parting the gown and brushing against the cold thighs of this very statue? It made her almost minded to take the gown off but she had nothing on underneath.

It was slightly amusing, though, to think of one of the dark little maid's morning tasks being to check the state of the statue and to carefully wash it should she find any evidence of nocturnal emissions!

Other statues, but mostly more modest and not life sized works. Some of copulation in various and surprising positions. Harriet wondered how many couples really tried the various Kama Sutra suggestions beyond missionary, cowgirl and doggy style; really it seemed more pornography than romance.

Some plaques on the wall might have been original, perhaps bought or stolen from India, certainly of lascivious scenes in keeping with the corridor's theme. They were having an effect on her but Harriet hurried on anxious to fetch her water and get back to her bedroom and its unsatisfactory reading material. Dallying and looking at erotic carvings was not really the thing to be doing in a stranger's house. She felt a little vulnerable just in a dressing gown with nothing beneath, conscious of the slight arousal between her legs.