Philosophy in the Bedroom

DIALOGUE THE THIRD -2

DOLMANCE — Scoundrel! It's your jealousy… Very well.Pass me yours and I'll pay it a similar homage. (He raises Madamede Saint-Ange's negligee and caresses her behind.) Ah, 'tis lovely,my angel, 'tis delicious too! Let me compare them both… I'dsee them one next to the otherGanymede beside Venus! (He lavisheskisses upon each.) In order to have the bewitching spectacle of somuch beauty constantly before my eyes, Madame, could you not, byinterlacing yourselves, uninterruptedly offer my gaze thesecharming asses I worship?

MADAME DE SAINT-ANGE — Perfectly well! There… areyou satisfied?… (They intertwine their bodies in such amanner that both asses confront Dolmancé.)

DOLMANCE — It could not be better: 'tis precisely what Iasked for. And now agitate those superb asses with all the fire oflubricity; let them sink and rise in cadence; let them obey theproddings whereby pleasure is going to stir them… Oh,splendid, splendid, 'tis delicious!…

EUGENIE — Ah, my dearest one, what pleasures you giveme… What is it you call what you are doing now?

MADAME DE SAINT-ANGE — Frigging, my pet, giving oneselfpleasure. Stop a moment; we'll alter our positions. Examine mycunt… thus is named the temple of Venus. Look sharply at thatcoign your hand covers, examine it well. I am going to open it alittle. This elevation you notice above it is called the mound,which is garnished with hair, generally, when one reaches the ageof fourteen or fifteen, when, that is, a girl begins to haveperiods. Here above is a little tongue-shaped thing—that isthe c******s, and there lies all a woman's power of sensation. Itis the center of all mine; it would be impossible to tickle thispart of me without seeing me swoon with delight… Tryit… Ah, sweet little b***h, how well you do it! One wouldthink you've done nothing else all your life!… enough!…stop!…No, I tell you, no, I do not wish to surrender myself… Oh, Dolmancé, stop me!… under the enchantedfingers of this pretty child, I am about to go out of my mind.

DOLMANCE — You might be able to lower the temperature ofyour ideas by varying them: frig her in your turn; keep a grip onyourself, and let her go to work… There, yes, in thisposition, in this manner her pretty little ass is between my hands,I'll pollute it ever so lightly with a finger… Let yourselfgo Eugénie, abandon all your senses to pleasure, let it be theone object, the one god of your existence; it is to this god a girlought to sacrifice everything, and in her eyes, nothing must be asholy as pleasure.

EUGENIE — Nothing in the world is so delightful, I do feelthat… I am beside myself… I no longer know what I amsaying, nor what I am doing… What a drunkenness stealsthrough all my being!

DOLMANCE — Look at the little rascal discharge! Andsqueeze!… Her anus nearly nipped off the end of myfinger… how splendid it would be to bugger her at such amoment! (He stands and claps his prick to the girl's ass.)

MADAME DE SAINT-ANGE — Yet another moment's patience. Thedear girl's education must be our sole occupation!… Howpleasant it is to enlighten her!

DOLMANCE — Well then, Eugénie, you observe that aftera more or less prolonged pollution, the seminal glands swell,enlarge, and finally exhale a liquid whose release hurls the womaninto the most intense rapture. This is known as discharging. Whenit pleases your good friend here, I'll show you, but in a moreenergetic and more imperious manner, how the same operation occursin a man.

MADAME DE SAINT-ANGE — Wait, Eugénie, now I'm goingto teach you a new way to drown a woman in joy. Spread yourthighs… Dolmancé, you see how I am adjusting her, herass is all yours. Suck it for her while my tongue licks her cunt,and between the two of us let's see if we can get her to swoonthree or four times. Your little mound is charming, Eugénie,how I adore kissing this downy flesh!… I see your clitorismore clearly now; 'tis but somewhat formed, yet mostsensitive… How you do quiver and squirm!… Let me spreadyou… Ah! you're a virgin indeed!… Describe what youfeel when our two tongues run at once into your two apertures.(They do as they have said.)

EUGENIE — Ah, my dear, it thrills me so; it is a sensationimpossible to depict! I'd be hard put to say which of your tonguesplunges me further into my delirium.

DOLMANCE — In this posture, Madame, my prick is wellwithin your reach. Condescend to frig it, I beg of you, while Isuck this heavenly ass. Thrust your tongue yet further, Madame;don't be content to suck her c******s; make your voluptuous tonguepenetrate into her womb: 'tis the surest way to hasten theejaculation.

EUGENIE, stiffening — I cannot bear it any more! oh, I'mdying! Don't abandon me, dear friends, I am about to swoon. (Shedischarges between her two initiators.)

MADAME DE SAINT-ANGE — Well, My pet! What think you of thepleasure we have given you?

EUGENIE — I am dead, exhausted… but I beg you toexplain two words you pronounced and which I do not understand.First of all, what does womb signify?

MADAME DE SAINT-ANGE — 'Tis a kind of vessel muchresembling a bottle whose neck embraces the male's member, andwhich receives the f**k produced in the woman by glandular seepageand in the man by the ejaculation we will exhibit for you; and ofthe commingling of these liquors is born the germ whereof resultnow boys, now girls.

EUGENIE — Oh, I see; this definition simultaneouslyexplains the word f**k whose meaning I did not thoroughly graspuntil now. And is the union of the seeds necessary to the formationof the fetus?

MADAME DE SAINT-ANGE — Assuredly; although it is proventhat the fetus owes its existence only to the man's sperm, thislatter, by itself, unmixed with the woman's, would come to naught.But that which we women furnish has a merely elaborative function;it does not create, it furthers creation without being its cause.Indeed, there are several contemporary naturalists who claim it isuseless; whence the moralists, always guided by science'sdiscoveries, have decided—and the conclusion has a degree ofplausibility—that, such being the case, the child born of thefather's blood owes filial tenderness to him alone, an assertionnot without its appealing qualities and one which, even though awoman, I should not be inclined to contest.

EUGENIE — It is in my heart I find confirmation of whatyou tell me, my dear; for I love my father to distraction, and Ifeel a loathing for my mother.

DOLMANCE — But there is nothing unusual about thatpredilection; I have always thought as you. I still lament myfather's death; when I lost my mother, I lit a perfect bonfire fromjoy… I detested her. Be unafraid, Eugénie, and adoptthese same sentiments; they are natural: uniquely formed of oursires' blood, we owe absolutely nothing to our mothers. What,furthermore, did they do but cooperate in the act which ourfathers, on the contrary, solicited? Thus, it was the father whodesired our birth, whereas the mother merely consented thereto. Asregards sentiment, what a difference!

MADAME DE SAINT-ANGE — Yet a thousand more reasons inyour

favor, Eugénie, if it is a mother still alive. If in allthe world there is a mother who ought to be abhorred she iscertainly yours! Superstitious, pious, a shrew, a scold… andwhat with her revolting prudery I dare wager the fool has never inher life committed a faux pas. Ah, my dear, how I hate virtuouswomen!… But we'll return to that question.

DOLMANCE — And now would it not be fitting forEugénie, directed by me, to learn to pay back what you havejust done in her behalf? I think she might frig you before me.

MADAME DE SAINT-ANGE — I applaud the suggestion—andwhile she frigs me, would not you, Dolmancé, relish the sightof my ass?

DOLMANCE — Are you able to doubt, Madame, of the pleasurewith which I will render it my gentlest homages?

MADAME DE SAINT-ANGE, presenting her buttocks to him — Doyou find me suitable thus?

DOLMANCE — Wonderfully! I should never find a bettermanner to render you all the services Eugénie found soenormously to her liking. And now, my little wildcat, stationyourself for a moment between your friend's legs, so, and with thatpretty little tongue of yours, care for her as she has for you.Why, bless me! This way I shall be able to manage both your asses:I'll fondle Eugénie's while sucking her lovely friend's…There, admirable… How agreeably we are all together.

MADAME DE SAINT-ANGE, swooning — Good God, I'mdying…

Dolmancé, how I love to handle your prick while Idischarge… I'd have it drown me in f**k, so frig it! Suck me!Oh, heavenly f**k! How I love to play the w***e when my sperm flowsthis way!… It's done, finished, I cannot go on… You'veruined me, both of you… I think I have never had so muchpleasure in my life.

EUGENIE — And how happy I am to be its cause! But, dearfriend, you have just uttered another unfamiliar word. What do youunderstand this expression w***e to mean? Forgive me, but you knowI'm here to learn.

MADAME DE SAINT-ANGE — My most lovely one, in such wiseare called the public victims of the debauchery of men, creaturesprepared at all times to surrender their persons, whether fromtemperament or for reward; happy and deserving creatures commonopinion assails but whom license crowns and who, far more necessaryto the society which they strive to serve than are prudes, forgothe esteem an unjust society denies them. All hail to those inwhose eyes this title is an honor! Such are truly lovable women,the only authentic philosophers! As for myself, dear heart, I, whofor twelve years have endeavored to merit the laurel, I assure youthat if I do not work as a w***e, I always play as one. Betterstill, I love thus to be named when I am f****d: 'tis avilification that fires my brain. EUGENIE — My dear, I fancyI too should not be sorry to be called a w***e, though 'tis true Iscarcely merit the name; but is not virtue opposed to suchmisconduct, and does it not reproach us for behaving as we do?

DOLMANCE — Ah, Eugénie, have done with virtues! Amongthe sacrifices that can be made to those counterfeit divinities, isthere one worth an instant of the pleasures one tastes in outragingthem? Come, my sweet, virtue is but a chimera whose worshipconsists exclusively in perpetual immolations, in unnumberedrebellions against the temperament's inspirations. Can suchimpulses be natural? Does Nature recommend what offends her?Eugénie, be not the dupe of those women you hear calledvirtuous. Theirs are not, if you wish, the same passions as ours;but they hearken to others, and often more contemptible…There is ambition, there pride, there you find self-seeking, andoften, again, it is a question of mere situational numbness, oftorpor: there are beings who have no urges. Are we, I ask, torevere such as them? No; the virtuous woman acts, or is inactive,from pure selfishness. Is it then better, wiser, more just toperform sacrifices to egoism than to one's passions? As for me, Ibelieve the one far worthier than the other, and who heeds but thislatter voice is far better advised, no question of it, since itonly is the organ of Nature, while the former is simply that ofstupidity and prejudice. One single drop of f**k shed from thismember, Eugénie, is more precious to me than the most sublimedeeds of a virtue I scorn.

EUGENIE — (Calm being to some degree reestablished duringthese expositions, the women, clad again in their negligees, arereclining upon a couch, and Dolmancé, seated in an armchair,is close by.) But there is more than one species of virtue. Whatthink you of, for example, pity?

DOLMANCE — What can it be for whosoever has no belief inreligion? And who is able to have religious beliefs? Come now,Eugénie, let's reason systematically. Do you not call religionthe pact that binds man to his Creator and which obliges him togive his Creator evidence, by means of worship, of his gratitudefor the existence received from this sublime author?

EUGENIE — It could not be better defined.

DOLMANCE — Excellent! If it is demonstrated that man oweshis existence to nothing but Nature's irresistible schemes; if manis thus proven as ancient in this world as is ancient the globeitself, he is but as the oak, as grain, as the minerals to be foundin the earth's entrails, who are bound only to reproduce,reproduction being necessitated by the globe's existence, whichowes its own to nothing whatsoever; if it is demonstrated that thisGod, whom fools behold as the author and maker of all we know thereto be, is simply the ne plus ultra of human reason, merely thephantom created at the moment this reason can advance itsoperations no further; if it is proven that this God's existence isimpossible, and that Nature, forever in action, forever moving, hasof herself what it pleases idiots to award God gratuitously; if itis certain that this inert being's existence, once supposed, hewould be of all things the most ridiculous, since he would havebeen useful only one single time and, thereafter and throughoutmillions of centuries, fixed in a contemptible stillness andinactivity; that, supposing him to exist as religions portray himto us, this would be the most detestable of creatures, since itwould be God who permits evil to be on earth while his omnipotencecould prevent it; if, I say, all that is admitted to be proven, asincontestably it is, do you believe, Eugénie, that it is avery necessary virtue, this piety which binds man to an idiotic,insufficient, atrocious, and contemptible Creator?