Lady Chatterley's Lover

opposite end to your toes. 53

    He turned, showing his nose to Constance. ‘Does it look terrible?’ he said.
    ‘Yes, terrible,’ she said. ‘And even worse now it’s burnt.’
    Should he strangle her? He made some more of the tea she liked very much. He poked the fire, another poke nearer her. The dog Fred, exhausted by coughing up feathers, lay on his bed surrounded by them.
    ‘We are a couple of battered warriors,’ she laughed.
    Warriors? He had no idea what she was talking about, whatever she meant it went over his head and hit the damp patch on the wall above him. Then he went outside awhile with the dog. She heard him kick its arse then come back in. He took the empty wooden frame of the photograph, broke it up and threw it on the fire. How much would that photo have cost in 1920?
    She slipped over to him by the fire, sitting at his feet she looked up and could see right up his nose. She saw the devastation. She shuddered.
    ‘Cold?’ he said.
    ‘No, horrified,’ she replied.
    He held her close in the running warmth of the fire. He could feel his one-eyed trouser snake activating. Suddenly without warning she flung her arms around his neck clinging to him.
    Through the embrace came his muffled voice, ‘For God’s sake you’re suffocating me!’
    ‘I just wanted to hold you,’ she said.
    ‘I want you to forget all those women in your past.’
    ‘I’ll try, I’ll start by forgetting Bertha Coutts,’ he said, then for some reason he said, ‘There’s black days ahead.’
    He went on, ‘Aye there’re black days coming for all of us.’
    ‘Is this a weather forecast?’ she queried.
    She looked at him. He was pale, his brows were sullen, yes his ears, nose and teeth were sullen too. There were traces of sullen on his trousers, it was the most intense concentration of sullen in Derbyshire.
    It was getting late, so to activate him she said, ‘You know I can’t go home till morning. Clifford thinks I’m out playing floodlit tennis.’
    They don’t make husbands as stupid as that any more, thought Mellors. He put his arms around her and started an intense search of her body, down below he felt what appeared to be a crow’s nest. He felt her breast, it was soft and warm, he estimated about seventy-two degrees Fahrenheit. They went quickly to bed for it was growing very chilly, already his were all shrunk up. They fell asleep doing it. They awoke at first light. Sunshine touched the curtain.
    ‘Oh, do let’s draw the curtain,’ she twittered. ‘The birds are singing. Do let the sun in.’
    He slipped out of bed, his back to her. She saw his back was fine, the small buttocks beautiful bar a few pimples, the back of the neck was fine too, supporting a boil with a plaster.
    ‘You are beautiful,’ she said. Long overdue for glances, she held out her arms to him.
    He was ashamed to turn to her, because of his aroused manhood, which stood out like a fifteen-inch gun on a battleship. He caught his shirt off the floor and draped it over his willy, it now looked like a washing line.
    ‘No,’ said Constance. ‘Let me see it.’
    He dropped the shirt and revealed this steaming ‘pork sword’. 54
    She nearly fainted with joy. ‘Oh! Oh!’ was all she could say, then, ‘Bring it here.’ By the size of it, it was almost already there. ‘How strange!’ she said slowly. ‘So big and so dark!’ There was something wrong with her sense of colour, this thing wasn’t dark, it was bright pink with purple veins, like a circular map of England’s inland waterways.
    The man looked in silence down at the tense phallos. ‘Ay!’ he said at last, ‘Ay ma lad! tha’re theer right enough. Yi, tha mun rear thy head. Theer on thy own, eh? an ta’es no count o’nob’dy! Tha ma’es nowt o’me, John Thomas. Art boss? of me? Eh well, tha’re more cocky than me an’ tha says less. John Thomas! Dost want her? Dost want my Lady Jane. Tha’s dipped me in again, tha hast. Ay, an’ tha comes up smilin’ — Ax’er then! Ax Lady Jane! Ay, th’ cheek on thee! Cunt, that’s what tha’re after. Tell Lady Jane tha wants cunt. John Thomas an’ th’cunt o’Lady Jane!’ 55
    Not in the history of man has a man spent so much time talking to his own prick.
    ‘Oh, don’t tease him,’ said Constance crawling on her knees on the bed towards him. 56
    Suddenly in a sergeant-major’s voice he barked out ‘Lie down! You hear me? Lie down!’
    Did he mean his prick or Constance? She took it as her. Soon