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Total literary tour de force, totally out there, most outrageous book ever written

Chapter 1


“Les belles fesses, me dit-il en embrassant mon derriere; mais mon enfant, continua-t-il, ce n’est pas tout que d’avoir un beau cul, il faut encore que ce beau cul-la chie.”

— le marquis de Sade, Les Cent Vingt Journees de Sodome

A man’s perfect food is Truth. This is literally so.

— Adi Da Samraj, The Method of the Siddhas

As yet, however, the sperm whale, scientific or poetic, lives not complete in any literature. Far above all other hunted whales, his is an unwritten life.

— Herman Melville, Moby-Dick


Before and after it was a place of beauty, the ice was a mile thick upon the land. Solid weight bearing down on earth, frozen yet moving. From the heavens the ice appeared as a reflection below, infinite and white. Or like a vast desert upon which dunes shift imperceptibly. Yet deep beneath, under the blue of its solid sea, the bottom was a turbulence, as the glacial base became the surface of an earth ocean. Rocks and boulders revolved slowly between the ancient bed and its thick blanket. The power of her body turning in sleep produced a flux of mud and slush that was sluiced into crevices, cracks and caves far beneath the sunny dome. The cold fluid flowed like warmth in giant ice arteries, continually gushing in the deep inside.
All this long while the dance of cold weight made earthen carvings and formations that would remain after the ice retreated. Scratched grooves, smooth granite, and swirled pots of stone. And the smothered clay that built up under the slow-sliding glacial thickness scraped off in lumps upon the future land, left behind as teardrop-shaped hills that would be called drumlins.
And the mingled slurry of cold melt and dirt moved in rivers that flowed upside down, carving skyward into the mineral ice that was softer than the rock shield below, and the roiled dirt it carried deposited as a river bottom in the ceiling of white. Then the long time hence when the glacier retreated let the silt settle like damp dust back onto the earth in serpentine meanders, and these are known as eskers.
The tears of clay from the Ice Mother and the riverbed of her blue blood then lay like deep-slept whales and hibernating reptiles for so long, vast ages, until the eternally recurring spring rains let the green life hidden take hold. They became lovely treed hills and ridges among the native land, that the pioneers left natural even while they felled the wood of the level ground and plowed fields of rows between.
And on some of the wider hills Manors could be built, for lords to observe this new land.



In order for great beauty and delight to be created—the ultimate delight of one’s entire mind fulfilled—there must be the comfort of great riches, riches it would be difficult to exhaust. It is said that in the ancient times the riches of the land were given to the gods and For the Glory of God. And the Marquis Armand de Langis had been given now as the gods were, and as he looked out on his lands he felt the awesome responsibility to fulfill a glory.
He had often walked his estate alone in thought, and now standing here he whispered, “Everything must be proper to its position.” Every detail had been thought to like a book and was perfect, and the means to enact established. And it was now to create.


The manor house had been constructed from the very signs of that forming time. The walls were built of pink granite rounds, red blocks crumbled by giant ice fingers from the hard cake that was the base of this new world. The rocks had tumbled in raging rivers beneath the white until the edges softened to sensual spheres. Then they were strewn across future farm fields by the retreating ice, to be harvested continually after. The settlers assembled jumbled stone fences, in search of good earth to till, while later Masons artfully positioned chosen stones into mortared walls for the country Mansion.
The stones constructed into these walls stored heat and light from the sunny day then slowly released it through the late afternoon as the manor face glowed rosy in setting sun and the Gentlemen reposed in wicker chairs on the wide and white-columned porch that gazed out on the green. (There was a balcony immediately above, leading from the master suite on the second floor, and corresponding simpler galleries at the back which looked out on the environs concerned with the Project of Delight centering around the certain secret of the young women who were to be nurtured and conditioned in the manner of beauty, poise and vigor.)
A long drive lined with elms led to Langis’ home. From the porch some visual effect made the driveway seem to dip downwards in the middle like a rope bridge before rising back up to the large roundabout of the front lawn, so that the approaching sedan seemed suspended over a rich verdure which had completely filled the precipitous gulf.


The low hills of the land surrounding were covered with maple, oak and occasional white-papered birch, all light green with just-appearing leaves. Around these hillocks (and a certain land formation which snaked on through the park) traced the routed earth of new-plowed fields curving like the raked whorls of sand in a Japanese garden of dry waves, the squaring practical thought of the farmer yielding to the sensuous turns of Nature. He wants yield but must yield to Her body, which thus cultivated will yield her Bounty.
The manor-house of pink-glowing eve was on a rise, so the morning sun greeted it early on the other side, where the rise fell away gradually, down to a curling streamlet. Beyond this was lying the tail of the green serpent, wound down from higher humps of the long past and deeper coursing (upside-down) ice river. From the back of the manor one can look to the top of this ridge some forty paces across the lawn, beyond the stream which Langis could hear bubble from there on the back step where he stood imagining.


The Gentlemen were seated on the porch in glow. They sipped swirled brandies and cigar smoke lines rose vertically, forgotten in ashtrays or fingers as they discoursed, then a summary puff would cloud a Gentleman who had suddenly understood and glowed the thick coal as they watched the sun set.
“Gentlemen,” Langis announced, “our perfect girls are here.”


Of Gentlemen there are three besides Langis, making four, and the examples of lovely young women are eight. “…beautiful in face and flowing hair and form, and their secret source in youth and health which we shall cultivate in aspiration to our higher goal.”
“And Doctor Doctor Crellis has examined?”
“And I have, the girls are indeed in perfection. Four are at the beginning stage to womanhood and four are partway along. Yet all are still in the forming moment.”
“Our criteria are satisfied?”
“The girls are of appropriate diminuitive proportion, from of course the immature stage yet which they are in—and which anticipates a certain amount of growth in the time we have—but also from constitution none are of largeness in bone, frame or any aspect to impede our relation.”
“Now, Peter, tell us of the faces, since I know you will have looked.”
“Uncle, they are pretty! Sweet in every type of expression, of beauties, and in a kind of rainbow of skin of the world’s suns on its daughters’ smooth beams. And they have the charm of the girl in each face, with the promise of the woman’s beauty. I must admit to an eagerness!”
“But patience.” A gesture from Langis indicated to calm the younger Gentleman. Langis looked across at the assembled men; his nephew Peter Marquand, the Doctor Doctor, and Adrian Westchester, also a man of Science albeit of a layman’s credentials, yet possessed of a clever power of invention.
Langis’ gathering of Gentlemen for the purpose of the project amounted to this small league of four, which in turn indicated the number of eight of the girls. And as there is a purpose for the constituent slightness of the females, so also are the Gentlemen not overlarge in frame or phrenological girths and such, and this aside from their inclinations and predilections and curiosities (the latter particularly in case of the younger), which also may be of a correspondence by design with their physical attributes. Langis himself is of middle height and build and even this general structure of himself that could not have been other was of causation in his particular mind’s inclination, then paralleled by these friends in common he is standing among as they ponder what delective reflections of their thoughts may be found amongst the double counterpart of girl procured for each for their Project.
“Everything must be proper to its position,” he reflected again.


Armand de Langis wears a full but very trim beard, his hair swept back with Macassar and revealing strands of grey and greying from the original near-to-black, producing a spectrum from dark to light. His nose has a full Gallic profile and was shaped in the sharper mode and slightly pinched at the sides. His skin tone was hued to something darker than the higher European and that gave a shade of the rugged or the effect of an out-of-doors man to his otherwise uncommanding stature. His eyes are bright black at center, with a pupil that also appeared black at a glance—or as he glanced—but in close conversation revealed as a softer shade.
His look was keen, though distracted by the mind behind, so that a little diamond of white absently danced on the small, round black velvet base. Yet when he spoke the voice was gentle, as if he was so satisfied with the thought process within that he only bothered to speak the most practical result of it in the simplest way.
Langis was fortunate in having a nephew, just eleven years his junior, who was an eager support for his Uncle and of an aspiring disposition of the conceiving mind. This Peter Marquand is the son of the elder sister of Langis, with hair tending like his mother to a tow shade and falling forward from the crown. His eyes are medium blue which somehow evade the lightening effect of sunlight shining on them and as a result give him a depth to counter his often mirthful demeanor. But his hair would blanch almost instantly as a child at summer’s outset, and still today the grown boy’s shock was like a clump of grass hanging over his forehead that had yellowed in the summer’s sun.
If accurately noticed, the nephew was a half inch taller than the uncle, but the uncle always saw Peter as yet the young nephew, who would always be smaller.
Of beard, Peter only produced a few chin whiskers, and these were whisked away but monthly.

“And the young charges are in the stalls?” asked Westchester. Adrian Westchester, amateur chemist, biologiste, and student of Naturism. Sturdy of frame due to vigorous knee bends and arm thrusts upon arising and deep-breathing techniques learned on a tour through the Orient. Taller over Peter by an additional half inch, Westchester wore odd muttonchops of his own fashion, fiercely combed thick hair with an oil dressing of his own concoction, and carrying an ornate cane which he tapped regularly on the floor for emphasis yet appeared not to rely on for support despite a mysterious injury acquired on a botanical expedition to the southern hemisphere some years back. He occasionally made reference to a “dratted centipede” and then tapped the cane twice hard and straightened up firmly, as if in defiance to the acquired hindrance.
“Yes, they are installed in the barn,” Langis replied.

The girls of loveliness Langis had announced as arrived had been procured from unfortunate circumstances and orphanings and brought to the Estate through various channels for the purpose of work-living but would be retained rather for the endeavours of the Project, towards which they would be guided and given education.
It had been communicated that the girls must be of the top drawer of prettiness and handsomest visage, with the most lovely and endearing smiles, of pleasant temperaments, of cooperative dispositions, of well-composed bodies with no birth flaws or injuries—and above all in ascendancy just to the sweet moment of growing from girl to woman. Thus had Crellis smiled in having had confirmed all this. The girls are indeed perfect.
Doctor Doctor Francis Crellis, double-doctoraled by virtue of medical degree and in the Logic, is the eldest of our Gentlemen. Most trim in build, spectacled, of voice high-pitched and speech precise, elaboratory, compounding theory upon a theory in authorative manner. A thin moustache and pointed beard, along with precise brows and combed hair.
Westchester takes advantage to observe Doctor Doctor Crellis in his doctored manners, for his own learning, while himself an avid compounder of powders of leaf and petal, seed and root. Langis will oversee these various activities as they pertain to the Project. And as for the nephew, Peter is kept busy as possible in preparations for the plans, so as to occupy his still-youthful energies.


It was necessary in order to find Beauty to have the girls be brought to bonding, and broken from their past, such as we do with certain wild creatures and even with animals which are our pets. We might remember that domestic animals do not mind being trained but expect it, like children, and in fact it is necessary, and people are for the most part domestically inclined rather than wild. Thus, like our dogs and cats, our girls can be brought to appreciate their masters—those who feed and care for them. And they will offer service and loyalty in return.
Each of the eight was in a stall of the old barn, on the ground level of the stone foundation of a barn disused and fallen by winds and seasons but to be re-erected, in part, for a greater purpose. That is, the board walls of the structure had collapsed and had been cleared away. But the rock foundation was solid and now over this had been put strong planks to serve as ceiling to the stalls below, and floor for a future plan.
The stalls were then re-walled fully, floor to ceiling, and it was each separately in one of these that the procured girls were bedded in straw. As brought in from the carriage the girls were still bound and wrapped, otherwise unclothed, in coarse cloth that made them resemble sacks of potatoes as well as by how they were carried over the shoulder of the hired man. Then, when they were deposited the cloth was cut down its length so it fell away and became a thin blanket. The rope on the ankles was cut, and it was at this point that Crellis made his confirming exam (and Peter to peek at their faces.)
There were no windows in the stone walls along that side where the stalls are—indeed the barn had been built abutted to the esker’s ridge (further along from the house)—and thus when the doors were closed there was no light at all inside.

Each of our Gentlemen in separate shifts came to the barn at intervals, opening the door to a stall and a shaft of light thrown by the lantern would cast across the revealed girl’s scared and sad countenance, her eyes flashing desperation, entreaty, or perhaps defiance as determined by her constitution. Then the Gentleman would hang the lantern on a hook on the wall and kneel down close to her so that her face would be seen closely, creased with tear-stains which ran through the straw dust that clung to her young face as she looked at him with fear, need, supplication—or perhaps anger. Then the Gentleman fed her. He gave her a soup of boiled peas, feeding her with a wooden spoon (she was still bound at wrists) so that there was an excess which dribbled down the sides of her mouth like a baby being fed. But the girl was hungry and had to eat, and so a gratitude, grudging or not, to the man was created.
The girl would have had to pass a rivulet of her water in the interval which found its way down her thigh and into the straw and like her soft, teared face this lower skin was stuck with dust and lined through by her trickles so that patterns were formed as the water dried, like miniature deltas left by abandoned rivers.
And then at a further interval the girl would have had to function like selfsame farm animals in the stall, manuring messily, and the Gentleman who came would, with whisperings like to a babe not at fault, wash the girl and put down fresh straw. He gently smoothed her skin with a wet cloth from a basin of warm water (a bucketful having been brought along), shifting and moving her carefully but with the practical purpose foremost.
In this way the girls came to be not shy in their helpless and naked state, and to rely on a Gentleman and look forward to the visit by him. Until one day the girl might finally murmur words of thank you and please, in her own language or in English if she knew it or had learned those simple words of it.

Elles Sont Plus Fraiches

“Gentlemen, there are certain necessities for our subjects to contain in order for us to undertake this perfecting project. Foremost, the female must still be in qualities of the girl yet have begun her growing into woman. The Logic approached from both sides of the fine balance is thus: necessity of the womanly qualities, both visible and invisible, to have inititated. It is from the female humours inwardly occurring—and that only bloom upon onset of the outward maturing—that the transformance occurs from which the prized manifestations derive.”
“You are suggesting, then, Langis, that that which we seek is not in sole context of the obvious woman developments but begins from inherent qualities which ensue from development of her…inner shape?” enquired Crellis.
“But the expanding outer shape is purposed for the male’s attraction, and thus any corresponding quality–” Westchester had interjected with some incredulity and now even sputtered slightly before voicing the conclusion, “Then are you not saying we are by specification linked to a reproductive urge?!”
“Not at all,” replied Langis in a solacing tone. “These developments are simply physical steps to the womanly maturation—and so also the as-you-say reproductive urge in man. Their necessity or not as linked to her procreative ability—for example the shape of hips may be said to attract male interest but that interest is not necessarily of his urge, while the pelvic width is of necessity for the practical ability to give birth—does not imply necessity of male procreative facility to correspond. What is important to the present topic is that prior to her development the female does not have such qualities—subtle or manifested—as adult males have a correspondence of vital appreciation toward, of whatever sort.”
“While yet we do appreciate those qualities most in their nascency,” added the mollified Naturist.
“Of necessity in our Project,” returned Crellis, explaining thusly; “The Scientific shows us that the corpus of the matured female exhibits humours pertaining to her temperment; as the female mind is bereft of the clear steps of Logic, so her humours contain this confusement (and the older is more set) and when the man puts himself into over-close contact by the urges towards her, then his own proper sense may be clouded by that, as by the coarse fumes of an unrefined drug.”
Westchester swirled his brandy, “Ah, so the younger humours are also lighter.”
“But it is within the intelligence of a Gentleman to orient himself in his association with the female in such way as to utilize his contact with her attractive humours (however they are manifest) for higher purposes than as you referred, Westchester. We Gentlemen here embark on an entire Project of such higher Purpose—the focus of our mental faculty, along with acuity of the particular sense faculties, to respond to these female qualities and our cultivated refinement of their manifesting so that they are as a fine distillate medicine to our emotion and we are elevated to aesthetic delight, and such else as we may discover as we proceed.”
“Here, here!” rose enthusiastic response amongst the Gentlemen.
Once the hurrahs had settled into the grander feeling of mission amongst the liquor and cigar tastes, which somehow now contained a rueful note, then nephew Peter piped up:
“So, Uncle, aren’t you saying the younger of the female at the onset of her woman humours is…more pure? The humours have not collected im-purities…?”
“Ah, yes. You do have a perceptivity, nephew. The feminine humours are of by Nature’s spark pure, and as they manifest outwards from the generative then it is a question of purity of that body, and the more younger of that female body while still having begun the generation of those humours is undoubtedly more pure. In the case of corporal disease, then the humours themselves become corrupted.”
“Granted, Langis…” Westchester shifted himself on the wicker seat and tapped his cane tentatively, towards moving on with the topic. Yet the Doctor Doctor sought to make his own comment first; “And so with improper diet, customary ailments of childhood and such; these constitutional imbalances result in dispurity of humour–”
“Yes!” cut in Westchester, seeing opportunity for segue which would then create terminus of the discussion, as he sought to retire his cane. “For our particular requirements of purity of a most refined state, then as discussed I have arranged the prepatory regime which shall certainly grant a purifying effect upon these humours as per your indication, Doctor Doctor, to whatever degree they may have been compromised previous to our possession.”


On the boarded upper of the foundation of the old barn was prepared a wonderful pastoral expanse, in model, as planned by Mr. Westchester and according to those purposes of purity as discussed. It was as though a gentle field of the softest most tender grazing land had been cut of a large square and lifted up by giant hands, then set down gently on this base so it became a miniature of all the native lea, perched on the stone walls precisely.
To create it, the strong planks were covered to a depth of several inches with the best topsoil of the region, moved by wagon, barrow, shovel and men. The ramp had been rebuilt to the side of the stone structure, leading from the esker up against which the barn had been built to allow direct access to ground from both the foundation bottom and the floor level. The soil was then spread out evenly and the field sown with seeds—wheat, rye, barley, oats. Soon the spring rains had soaked the dirt and plumped the grains. Then, like bright green bristles in an ebony brush the tiny blades rose from the dark earth. From these first sproutings it became a green carpet of thickest Persian weave, and when the soil could no longer be seen at all it was ready.
As the model pasture was created above, below the girls in darkness (even the cracks between boards of their roof which had scintillated assuringly at noon were now covered) like seeds themselves waited, wondered and worried. All the tears had been cried, broken pitiful helpless crying as of abandoned infants. They cried to sleep and they cried awake (almost all) until there were just shudders, dry and uncomforting. Thus the shadowed entrance of the Gentleman was welcomed. This man provided warm food and the feeling of security. He showed no harm but was caring and gave comfort. He unbound her hands for the duration of his visit and chafed her wrists. Soon he began to speak to her in soft endearments and concerns and she began to cling to him before he tied her once more and left. But he gave assurances through words and sounds that he would return. He promised her that soon there would be freedom and so she looked forward expectantly to his next visit (seeing only a single Gentleman each time though all four appeared to all the different girls in shifts) and even dreamed of him appearing thus.
Then one day each girl in turn was carried out of the stall. She was brought into the open part of the basement, sun shining through two windows in the stone foundation, and set on her feet in a large metal basin. She clasped her hands naturally in front of her for covering, though she had been set facing away from the Gentleman anyway, who sat in a hardback chair and gazed upon her complete nether profile for the first time, appraisingly yet with immediate approval. He saw the new and old dust clinging to skin where her rivulettes had run and—darker, thicker—the soiled markings of interest. Then he poured many buckets of heated water over her and she shivered warmly as steam rose from her like departing spirits of fear into the thin air. Then she was wrapped up once more to be carried above.

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Dimitrios Otis

Peterborough, Canada

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