Melancholic

Being the account of one Mathilde Williamson, in her pursuits both scholarly and practical, of treatments for hysteria and all things pertaining thereto, including practical application of paroxysm under tutelage of Doctor Cornelius Wright.

~

I have been appointed the coveted position of assistant to one Doctor Cornelius Wright, expert in the field of women's health and hysteria.

Having studied medicine, and passionate as I am toward the health of young women, I approached Doctor Wright as a student would approach a tutor, requesting he bestow upon me his erudition in the matters of women's health. Fortuitously, the good doctor was in need of an assistant. He confessed that as he advanced in years, the strength and dexterity of his fingers and forearms had declined, and certain duties were thus arduous to perform. He required an aide to take some more routine patients off his hands, so to speak. I, young and in good health, of strong and sturdy build, elicit confidence in Doctor Wright. I hope to prove capable of performing the duties he cannot.

He was sceptical at first, being that I am of the gentler sex, however after measuring my skull (for Doctor Wright, not only being adept at women's anatomy and hysteria, is also a highly qualified phrenologist) determined that I would be an advantage to his practice. The bumps and ridges of my skull proved to him that I have the mental fortitude for a profession of this nature, such that I will not faint in the face of medical maladies. A boon, also, is my enlarged organ of affection, located in the upper back portion of the skull. This may assist in putting the patients' minds at ease, soothing them in the face of upsetting medical woes.

Doctor Wright is also adept at physiognomy, and he explained that, though my features are plain and unremarkable, my consistency of countenance would prove me to be a reliable assistant to him. He did warn, however, that I must be wary of my indulgent nature, and not give in to animal instincts (as characterised by the bulbous tip of my nose).

At the time, I solemnly agreed with Doctor Wright's assessment of me, and pronounced that I am bound by duty to perform remedies to the best of my abilities. Though I am a woman, I am sure Doctor Wright shall not regret taking me on as his apprentice.

In light of the events that transpired today, however, I do wonder how truly well equipped I am for such a position. What follows is my account of my first day in practice.

The first patient I was introduced to was Miss Adelaide Clarke, soon to be Mrs Walter Wood. She was accompanied by her father, Sir Henry Clarke, who spoke with all the elegance of a slab of granite. I thought him quite a displeasing fellow, and so turned my attentions upon his daughter.

Upon first inspection of the girl, I found her to be deeply distressed. The poor girl walked like an apology: her shoulders slumped forward and her eyes flitted about the room nervously, as if, at any moment, the doctor and myself were bound to perform all manner of horrendous medical offences upon her delicate, quivering body.

Despite her agitation, she was beautiful. Her face was fair as a lily, clear of complexion, and exquisitely formed. Her wide eyes shone with the colour of forget-me-nots. How it distressed me so to see the fear upon her face! I felt sorry for the poor creature, and assured her that we meant her no harm, but rather were here to avail her of her illness. I ushered her to the examination chair in which she was to sit, and clutched her trembling white hand in mine.

Adelaide did not talk overmuch, perhaps because her father interrupted every time she tried. According to him, his cherished daughter had withdrawn into herself these past few months, becoming melancholic in the face of her wedding. She should be celebrating, so why was she out of sorts? It distressed her father to see her humours out of balance so.

Doctor Wright then instructed me to feel the girl's skull, and speak aloud my findings.

Although I was not as well-versed in phrenology as my experienced mentor, I did manage to find my way about the divots and bumps of the patient's skull. A finely shaped skull, to be sure--well developed in agreeableness, conscientiousness, and so forth. I could find nothing that could be the cause of such melancholia and distress, until I approached the organ behind her ear.

'Conjugality is quite pronounced,' I declared, fingering the gentle knob behind her ear.

Doctor Wright nodded. 'How old are you, my dear?' he asked of Miss Adelaide.

'But six and twenty, sir,' replied she.

'Ah, to be expected of a woman your age. What do you make of this, Miss Mathilde?'

'I believe she may have waited too long to embrace her feminine duty of bearing a husband's children,' I replied. 'According to the current literature, it is likely the fluids of this region have been building up without a husband to relieve them, leading to nervous disorders such as melancholy and hysteria.'

'Quite right, quite right,' said Doctor Wright. 'There is a clear solution here, although it will require appointments weekly, up until the date of your nuptials.' Turning to Adelaide's father, he addressed him thus: 'You shall be quite glad to hear of this, sir. This is positively curable.'

Doctor Wright then sent Adelaide's father out of the room so we could perform our next examination: that of Miss Adelaide's feminine organs. I directed Miss Adelaide behind a privacy curtain, and begun the task of undressing her as Doctor Wright prepared the tools of the examination.

The poor creature shook from nerves as I unlaced her stays. I took note of the layers of fine silk and muslin, the hems masterfully embroidered with silver thread; Miss Adelaide must come from wealth, indeed. I made a comment on the beauty of her day gown, and she replied that it was she who was the embroideress.

'You are exquisitely talented with the needle,' I said.

'Oh, thank you ever so much,' said she. Her cheeks coloured at the compliment, and her blue eyes met mine. 'I do love embroidery so. It is my favourite past time.' I perceived a faint smile upon her lips, and my heart stuttered.

'You shall make a wonderful wife,' I said softly, but the words sank from my lips, heavy as a stone.

By this time she was completely bare before me. She was everything imaginable in feminine pulchritude: the charming swell of her breasts, the pleasant plumpness of her hips, the profusion of delicate hair betwixt her thighs.

'You are ready for Doctor Wright,' I said, but at my words she curled in on herself further. My heart ached for her--such a beautiful young creature, so plagued with melancholy. 'You'll be fine,' I assured her. 'You mustn't fret. Doctor Wright is the best there is, and we shall have you cured before you know it.'

I guided the nude Adelaide to the examination table, and set her feet upon the stirrups, ensuring her legs were spread wide. I am ashamed to say the sight of her feminine organ excited me terribly; I found I could not tear my gaze from it. The pink slit of her entrance was perfect: damp petals of a rose, teasingly hidden behind a modest tuft of soft golden curls. I was overcome by the urge to touch it, to feel the warm slipperiness of her quim beneath the pads of my fingers. I knew I must, in time, service her. This was the reason of my employment, after all. I tamped down my impatience and the odd impropriety of my thoughts. How bizarre, to seek pleasure from a task such as this.

Doctor Wright began his examination of the breasts. It troubled me to see his wizened hands palm her without care or grace, pressing and prodding firmly at her doughy mounds. Miss Adelaide writhed and squirmed beneath his workings, the crease of a frown between her brows--but Doctor Wright seemed to hold no concern for the discomfort of his patient.

Turning to me, he said, 'What a shame to see a woman with such a fine a form as this succumb to nervous disorders.'

He then spread Miss Adelaide's legs--which had clamped together during the breast examination--to begin the genital inspection.

'Mrs Williamson, the oils, if you would please,' he instructed, and I supplied just that. He drizzled some oils onto her entrance, then all at once probed his fingers deep inside Miss Adelaide.

'Good heavens!' gasped the distressed patient, for Doctor Wright was not gentle in his penetration.

(Not to disparage the good doctor's years of experience, but it seemed clear to me now that he had no concern or care for the comfort of the poor girl. A sickly sheen of sweat slicked across her brow, and I was troubled at the sight.)

The doctor continued blithely. 'Hmm, yes. Just as we suspected. Write this down, Mrs Williamson: the patient has waited too long to enjoy the delights of the marital bed, and thus has disrupted her own natural feminine appetite, leading to faulty reproductive tracts.'

Adelaide whimpered. 'Faulty?'

Doctor Wright shushed her. 'Now, now, nothing that cannot be fixed, my dear. We can do our best to reverse the disease, but truly the only true cure is amorous congress with one's husband. I'm sure within a year of proper marital activity all will be working as God intended, and you shall be completely cured of your unfortunate malady.' He removed himself from her feminine organ, and sprung from his seat with the vim and vigour of a man half his age. 'Perhaps I shall have a word with your father about moving the wedding date closer. But! In the meantime!' He ushered me forth, encouraging me to perform the exam myself. 'Mrs Williamson, if you please.'

I took more care in lubricating my hands before softly sliding one oiled finger inside Miss Adelaide. The walls of her quim were tense and tight, gripping my index with a fervent intensity.

'What do you find?' Doctor Wright asked me. 'You agree with my diagnosis, yes?' I could feel him over my shoulder, his breath in my ear, and I repressed the impulse to shiver with disgust. I could not look at poor Adelaide, as uncomfortable as she was. I reminded myself that this was strictly professional--my only ambition to release her of the illness from which she suffered. Even still, heat pooled where it ought not to, and I wondered why. Why was I so affected?

'Mrs Williamson?'

I pulled myself together to answer the Doctor's question. 'I quite agree, doctor. She is congested with fluid, and with no appropriate outlet, the feminine essence is blocked, leading to her melancholic state.' I paused. 'But you are otherwise quite healthy, Miss Adelaide. Congestion of the reproductive tracts is quite rectifiable. You are prime for childbearing.'

The constriction around my finger eased ever so slightly as Adelaide breathed a sigh of relief.

Doctor Wright nodded, evidently impressed with my examination. I made to remove my hand from her, but he stopped me.

'We shall now begin our first round of treatment,' he said. 'Mrs Williamson, I would like you to begin the genital massage. Begin slowly--I shall fetch more oils for you.'

Doctor Wright limped away. I heard him pottering about behind me, as he ruffled through notes on his desk, and rummaged through glass jars that clinked together. I looked at Miss Adelaide, who was staring down at me with those curious, big blue eyes. The tight warmth around my finger continued to slowly relax, and I noticed Miss Adelaide's demeanour had calmed infinitesimally.

'Miss Adelaide?' I hedged. 'Would it be agreeable to you if I begun the massage?'

A tiny nod from her was the answer I needed. Incrementally, I removed my fingers from her, and begun to gently caress the soft folds of her sex. My fingertips slipped delicately upon the little protuberance above her slit, and I heard her emit a small sound from her lips: a dainty whimper.

'I am not hurting you, am I? This ought to be pleasurable. Of course, when your... husband attends to you, it will be moreso, of course, but--'

'It is,' Adelaide replied in a small voice. 'It is only, I am relieved that it is you, and not...' She glanced behind me, at no doubt recalling the wrinkled and gnarled fingers of Doctor Wright.

I bit back my response. Secretly, I believed I would agree with her, if were I in her position. I certainly would not appreciate those wrinkled and gnarled hands inside my most delicate organ.

'It feels much better, with you,' Adelaide continued, 'Your hands are much better.' I felt my countenance colour with pride, and I determined to show her how good my hands could be. I skimmed them over the soft white flesh of her inner thighs, and she let out a small sigh.

At that point, Doctor Wright returned with a larger bottle of oil, this one scented with the relaxing fragrance of jasmine and lavender. He deposited the bottle at the table to my right, then informed me of some urgent matters he must attend to.

'I trust you will perform the remedies to our patient to the best of your abilities. 'Tisn't much to it,' said he, 'There is minimal finesse required, rather the repetitious thrusting of the arms. As you know my strength has diminished over the years; you are young, and quite sturdy for one of your sex, and thusly I believe you to be quite capable.'

Off he shuffled, leaving me with my patient.

Upon reflection, I believe I performed more than adequately, despite, or perhaps because of, my trepidation. Rather than heeding my mentor's advice, I surmised a gentler touch would be the more favourable approach. I moved slowly, so as not to startle her, and kept the habit of encouraging her through soft murmurs.

Truthfully, I don't believe her reproductive organs where as blocked or faulty as Doctor Wright made them out to be: she seemed to perform perfectly. Her organ pulsed around my fingers, and produced copious amounts of her own delicate juices, the musky smell of them mingling with the jasmine and lavender. (Though, I will admit, the oils did assist in this manner).

Yes, her body seemed to me to be in perfect harmony, working as one would expect. And, more to the point, were the responses of Miss Adelaide.

Her organ was hypnotising, to be sure, but what captivated me the most was Miss Adelaide herself. Now relaxed and well-moistened, her small whimpers transformed into tender gasps of pleasure as I stroked her. She quivered beneath my touch in a way that inspired the most lascivious excitement in me.

I know I must remain impartial, for a strictly scientific curiosity, however I could not help myself. Miss Adelaide was beautiful like this: spread beneath me, shaking, not with nerves, now, but anticipation. The lovely rose blush over her soft face crept down her neck, even the peaks of her breasts were a beautiful rosy pink. Before this morning, I could not have guessed what rapturous bliss would come about from observing such a perfect specimen.

I nearly gasped aloud when she caught my eye. Such lusty delight in those big, blue eyes! I continued the pumping of fingers, and, hearing the wet sloshing and feeling the tightening of her quim around me, ascertained she was close to paroxysm.

I know the signs of hysterical paroxysm. I have read the textbooks, studied Doctor Wright's notes. However, I was unprepared for seeing Miss Adelaide's rapture so close. The way her perfect plump lips parted as her passions awakened--a mad urge stirred within me to kiss her!--how I imagined her lips would feel upon my own, soft and warm and wet--the slide of our tongues together. So entranced by the image, so vivid in my mind, I uttered aloud, 'Oh!'

With shortened breath and great heavings of her body, Miss Adelaide cried out most lustily. Her spine arched off the examination table, and she shook with a mighty and vigorous tremor. From her mouth she emitted such an erotic moan, the likes of which I had never heard before. The dear girl continued to cry screams of delight at the pleasure received by my hands. It filled my with such pleasure and pride, I found my own passions alarmingly excited.

Even now, the sound of her sweet screams of pleasure echo in my head. It rattles between my ears.

That afternoon, I saw several other women, and performed the same routine upon their sexes, however I continued to ruminate over Miss Adelaide al the while. Her soft beauty, her melancholia, the way her quim pulsed and squeezed around me. For a moment, I wondered if the nervous disorder was catching, that in coating the bare skin of my fingers with her womanly emissions, I may have fallen ill with the same ailment. For what other reason could there be for the way she has bewitched me?

My mind is consumed by thoughts of Miss Adelaide at the edge of paroxysm, and how terribly she excited me. Even after--the way she relaxed so completely, and smiled so sweetly once the procedure had concluded. What beauty! What passions this has elicited in me! She has set my fancy on fire!

I have attempted my own remedy with the aid of my husband, but even our amorous congress did not expel the thoughts that so plagued me. I must confess, as these notes are for myself and myself alone, that while we were thus engaged, my thoughts were otherwise occupied. Occupied... with Miss Adelaide. As my husband rutted into me most indelicately, in my mind's eye, it was I in his position, and Miss Adelaide in mine. Would that I could fondle her, embrace her as my husband did me, kiss and tongue her with abandon.

(Afterwards, my husband commented on my unusual enthusiasm and vigour for the deed, and I did feel a twinge of guilt. He shall never know that vigour was not for him, but for my patient.)

But these matters are trifling. There is much good I am contributing, assisting Doctor Wright as I am, and I cannot be overly concerned with my own foibles. I must steel myself for tomorrow's work.

For the way Miss Adelaide left, with a far straighter posture than when she first arrived! Her limbs now relaxed and loose, the smile upon her face! This convinced me that my work is what matters.

Before she left, she took my hand.

'Thank you,' she said. What earnestness in her voice! Her blue eyes, so clear and unburdened now... And my remedy is what eased her of her melancholy. 'I feel immensely better. I can't tell what I would have done without you.'

My ego swelled, and I'm sure my pleasure at such a compliment was obvious in my beaming smile and the deep blush upon my cheeks. After clearing my throat, I replied, 'Soon you will no longer have to rely upon me, for your husband will be able to service you much better than I ever could.' Just hearing the words from my own mouth, I felt a cold stone settle in my stomach.

Miss Adelaide must have felt it also, for her face fell immediately. 'Oh, I rather doubt that.' She looked off into the distance, suddenly cold. 'In the meantime, I should look forward to our weekly appointments.'

I, too, await our next appointment, one week hence.

~

Author's note:

I've been reading some 19th century erotica lately, and I wanted to challenge myself to write in a similar style. This was pretty fun, and the exercise has blessed me with a litter of plot bunnies I may pursue in the future.

As you may know, the idea that women diagnosed with hysteria were treated with manual stimulation to orgasm is a myth. This is in no way meant to be realistic!

Constructive criticism always welcome. Thank you for reading, love you <3