A Pretty Mouth by Molly Tanzer

some of what he learned about the voluptuous peculiarities of the human body,” I read, or rather, recited half from memory. “Given that I am soon to die of a wasting sickness that has claimed my beauty, rendering me unfit to engage in any amorous sport, I have decided to spend my remaining days writing down some of the most exotic techniques he taught me, techniques to induce to sensual erotic pleasure in man or woman … Orlando! ”
    He had begun to weep, and I set aside the volume, feeling rather rotten indeed.
    “Whatever is the matter?” I asked him.
    “I am a disgusting creature,” said he, “to own such wicked books—and to ask a young lady to read them! Here I have you debasing yourself before me, and—”
    “None of that,” I said sternly. “It is no debasement to read these words, pornography is not a wicked art! Oh, Orlando, I apologize. I was only so very amused. You see, I am Rosa Birchbottom. It tickled me last night when you implied I should read pornography—I write it for my living!”
    “You?” he sat up straight and looked at me with fresh, adoring eyes. “You wouldn’t tease me, cousin?”
    “Never, I assure you. I told you I worked for a periodical, did I not? I authored ‘What My Brother Learned in India,’ ‘The Personal Papers of Lady Strokinpoke,’ ‘A Penny Spent,’ and ‘A Sporting Attitude Indeed.’ I had to take a nom de plume or risk all sort of unpleasantness if our publication is ever shut down on obscenity charges. It is a bad pun, I know, but my very first story was a Mrs. Lechworthy tale, you see.”
    “I have it in my collection,” said he, placing his hand upon my knee in an endearingly familiar manner. “I really think ‘Le Vice Anglese’ is one of the very best stories ever written.”
    “Flatterer,” I said.
    “Not at all—but …” He blushed again.
    “What?”
    “I am sorry, I was about to trouble you with an impertinence …”
    “What could be impertinent between us, cousin?”
    “Do you … ever … do you write from experience? Or is it all … imagination?”
    The dear young man! “I know why you ask, Orlando, but fear not. Though I have in the past used my experiences to inform my writings, I never do so directly. And I never name names.”
    “I see … so you are not, oh, how did you put it so delightfully in ‘A Penny Spent’? Burdened by an exasperating virginity ?”
    I laughed. “Is that a question you needed to ask me? Could you not tell?”
    Orlando’s lip twitched and then his face lit up in the most handsome smile I had ever seen on a man’s face. “Oh, Chelone, I am feeling ever so much better now, you have raised my spirits to the point I think I could manage a bit of supper! Would you like to dress and come down with me?”
    “Very much so, my dear Orlando,” said I.
    “I am ever so glad you came to Calipash Manor,” he said. “Why—I feel as though I’ve known you my whole life. It is funny, before you arrived my father was speaking of twins, twins born into this family—do you not think we could be siblings? Look in the mirror, there—are not our faces quite alike?”
    “I hope we are not twins,” said I, though it gave me quite a start to see how alike we were. “Are not Calipash twins always supposed to be cursed? Evil?”
    “That was what my father told me, at least. Well, well, it seems an unlikely coincidence, does it not? But we shall talk more about it over dinner, eh, cousin?”
    And thus I must hurry—he will be awaiting me! Oh, I am ever so glad I came home again. It is rare, when one writes under a false name, to meet one’s public in person! Very enjoyable, as is Orlando himself. I do think I shall have another go with him after our meal, if he is willing and able …
     
    ***
     
    The dress I wore that night was not expensive, and though it had been turned once, I thought it looked well enough when I gazed at my reflection in the glass. My only regret was how high the neckline, for though