Your loving cousin, Maude
IV. Augustus to Lady Maude
Wight, 8 June
My dear Maude, Your two letters arrived together by this morning's post. I do assure you, dearest cousin, that you would never write as you do were you ever to fall truly in love. Such is my case. To you the girl upon whom all my hope is fixed appears no more than a shopkeeper's hireling. How mistaken you are, for you do not know her as I do. She does not haunt your waking dreams as she does mine. Not an hour of the day passes but I see in that mind's eye the slim elfin figure with her blond hair and moody little face-and I breathe the name of Julie. I do not doubt, my dearest, that you would take my family's part against me.
Would you not revert to the topic of my neurasthenia and suggest that I am not fit to control my life in such matters? As soon as your letters arrived, I went into town to search out my beloved image-to whom I had never addressed a single word. How my heart sprang up as I saw her at her work, just as you promised. With far more decency and devotion than the Italian lad in your letter, I gazed through the glass upon the beauty which is all the world to me. She was modestly attired in black dress and coquettish little red shoes. Yet as she stood behind the counter that fine blond hair was spread loose like a veil upon her shoulders. All the primness and knowing-ness of her previous appearance was changed to simple innocence by this alteration. What is the worst one can say of Julie? She has, perhaps, an indifferent and unsmiling air for her customers. Yet I must be more to her than they. There is a hint of sulkiness in the weaker lines of mouth and chin. The nose is perhaps rather sharp and prominent-but is that not the case with your golden-skinned Miss Jones? So you see, Maude, I am not unaware of her blemishes. To me she is beautiful despite them. I stood there and adored her at a distance until I dared do so no longer. I am loath to attract attention to myself and my feelings for this girl. As the patrons of the shop kept her busy, it was impossible for me to enter and engage her in conversation. How then was I to advance my cause? I walked away and took luncheon alone at the Grand Hotel. When it was over, I returned and walked past that window, which is to me almost the gate of paradise. Julie sat on a stool behind the counter, her head bowed as she read one of the books and the fine gold of her hair spilling loose round her face. You see? She is a young person of attainments.
She reads books. How many “shopgirls,” as you term them, indulge in such distractions? Yet still there were too many people in the room to permit me access to her. What then? I must wait until the time came for her to leave. Perhaps I would waylay her. Fall on my knees!
Beg a moment of her attention! But what if she should be escorted from the premises by some duenna? What if a young man who already aspired to remove Julie's knickers for her had a prior claim? The thought overcame me with misery. How could I, with my tormented sensibilities, set up in competition with a hobbledehoy whose brawny lust was to be vented upon this delicious creature? I withdrew and refreshed myself by a glass of Vichy water at the cafe next door. Much of the day was passed in this fashion until the premises closed their door to the public. I had great hopes. Julie would emerge in a moment and, so far as I could see, there was neither duenna nor hobbledehoy lying in wait for her. Still she did not appear. Then, a moment later, I saw her in the shop itself. Though the doors were closed, her day's work had by no means ended. Now she reappeared to stock the shelves with more books after the sales of the previous hours. You may be sure she did not risk ruin to her black dress and red shoes by wearing them as she carried the boxes and the piles of books. Julie was more conveniently dressed in the white blouse and the tight denim breeches of her working-costume. Do you suppose, Maude, that my admiration was blighted by seeing her in such utilitarian garb? Quite the reverse, I assure you! There is nothing like tight denim for revealing such figures as hers. Julie must be eighteen or nineteen years old and yet her legs and thighs are almost as slender as a child's. She has the flat curve of the belly and the backward jut of the hips which would be more common in a nymph of fourteen, scarcely on the threshold of womanhood. Combined with the way she wore her golden blond hair loose upon her shoulder blades this gives the air of a girl-child to her appearance. How could you doubt her charming innocence, my dear Maude? She turned to contemplate the depleted shelves, the jeans-denim tight and smooth over her slim fragile-looking thighs, though drawn into little sheaves of creases behind her knees. Petite and narrow-hipped though she is, there is almost an impudent little fatness to the cheeks of Julie's bottom!
I gazed through the bookshop window, enraptured by such views of her. How I adored the veil of golden blond hair which sweeps from her high crown to her shoulders! What beauty I saw in the slope of her hazel eyes, seeming all the darker for a touch of the mascara brush to their lashes. Julie, too, has a tall sloping forehead and such a sharp, rather crude young nose. Yet if there is an ugliness in any of this, it is of the kind which provokes rather than repels. She is petite, I suppose. Indeed, only her habit of choosing shoes with spiked heels makes one overlook this. With all her imperfections, I adore her. I find no fault in her at all when I observe that the cheeks of Julie's backside are such fatly rounded little globes. How I longed to feel them smacked and fondled under my hands. Just then, she bent to pick up a box of books and presented her buttocks as neatly and tautly rounded, as deeply separated as any admirer could wish. I will not weary you, my dear Maude, but I stood there a full hour in contemplation, under the pretext of waiting for some companion with whom I had made a rendezvous. Indeed, it was more man an hour before Julie emerged, locked the door behind her, and set off homeward, still in her blouse and denim pants stretched smooth on her lower limbs. How was I to accost her? Upon what pretext could I begin a conversation which was to lead to passionate romance? Of course, I dared not lose sight of her and therefore began to walk in the same direction at a discreet distance behind her, trying to think of the mot juste while my heart seemed ready to burst within me.
Do not think that I complain, dearest cousin. To walk behind Julie forever was a torment of exquisite delight. Slim and lithe, for all her lack of height, she moves with long and easy strides, the sweep of her golden blond hair rising and falling a little upon her shoulders with the motion of her steps. To see her tightly clad thighs, so slim and agile, moving in this youthful manner makes one long for her. Her buttocks are high and pert, lasciviously displayed under the pale blue of the denim seat. I may tell you from mere observation that Julie's panties are scandalously brief and tight.
Indeed, all those who have watched her at work in the bookshop while she wears the tight jeans-denim can vouch for this. The tight seat shows the outline of Julie's knickers, which are nothing more than a twist of thin cotton between her legs and a narrow rear triangle, which does little more than cover the cleavage of her hind cheeks.
So I followed the object of my desire, up the long slope of the streets and across the Queen's own square, along the upper toad, past the park and towards the new bridge. Once or twice I thought she seemed to glance round slightly, as if suspecting that she had an admirer in tow. Yet for the life of me, my dear, I could not think how to approach her. There is, you understand, a considerable gulf between our social ranks. How hard it is for one of my rank to be accepted by a girl in her situation. She had crossed by the park lane and was walking along by the shops, when inspiration came to me. I felt in my pocket and found a gold sovereign. Holding this firmly in my hand, I strode forward, determined to overtake her. Almost gasping with apprehension, I drew level and flourished the coin. “I beg your pardon,” I said, hearing the tremor in my own voice, “I believe you have dropped this!” Was I not cunning, dear cousin? Had I not found the ideal pretext? It might cost me a pound and yet I had purchased a rare opportunity. Julie stopped and turned to me. Yes there is sulkiness in that mouth and chin, a certain hardness in the hazel eyes and the wide cheekbones. The young face may be a little pale and wan, the nose somewhat crude. But she is adorable. “Oh, yes,” she said, taking the coin and allowing me to feel her warm hand, “I think I must have done.” Her voice! Dearest Maude, I have heard her voice for the first time. To be sure it is a little flat and common. Its tone suggests that Julie may whine with displeasure when the mood takes her. Yet I love her for what she is, Maudie, and not for what a pattern-maker would require. She slipped the coin into her pocket and turned to flounce on her way. “I hope,” said I, “that we may be better acquainted in a while. You were at the recital the other evening, I believe, and I should value your opinion as to the performance.” “As to that,” she said, “I have no opinion. I went only as a companion.” “In that case,” I murmured, “it would give me the greatest pleasure to escort you there on some other occasion.”