A snippet into the History of the Vibrator
Just be thankful yours fits inside your bedside draw!
Female Hysteria – Post #2
Perhaps I am simply as naive as those youthful girls in the historical novels I write, but when I think of the ‘vibrator’, ‘Rampant Rabbit’, ‘B.O.B’ (Battery Operated Boyfriend) or whatever you choose to call it, I envisage its creation to come out of the ‘flower-power generation’ or perhaps the early fifties at a stretch. History on the other hand has its creation a fair time earlier.
I hesitated prior to writing this post, the main reason being it sent me into a giggling frenzy and had me blushing like the green schoolgirl of my youth at the simple thought of it. Even now, as I type this, I peer around the room wondering when my husband will walk in, then stare in either outrage or interest as he notices the pictures on my computer screen as I study the first ‘vibrator’.
It really did surprise me to learn that while the first vibrator did differ a great deal from what we women hold in our hot little hands today, the idea of it came around some time ago.
The first vibrator actually came about in 1734, but as you would assume, it was hardly diminutive and, like the first model in any appliance or machine, it needed some ‘tweaking’. In 1869, the first steam-powered vibrator was born, but it was basically a loud, rattly machine that was hidden in the other room with the ‘penetration device’ emerging out through a hole in the wall. I find myself attempting to envisage what the women would have heard and seen when walking into the room with ‘it’ bobbing back and forth through the wall. Think about it… an old steam-powered engine, let’s say a train, the hissing of steam as it was released, the ‘chugger, chugger’ perhaps of the engine itself, let alone the clang of the gears and whine of the belts as they whizzed around, gaining momentum. There would also be an ‘operator’ on the other side of the wall, checking the power output and making sure it didn’t slow down or speed up… or perhaps that was the point? *shakes head* Either way, I’m not sure, and I’m not certain I need to know that much information anyway. But it does pose the question: How could a woman focus on anything like the ‘task at hand’ with all that going on?
In THE ROSES BLOOM, my first historical erotic novel, the heroine has been informed by a dear friend that a woman requires a husband for nothing more than his seed to sire an heir, as a woman can find pleasure herself with nothing more than her fingers. As this first instalment of the ROGUES OF DECEPTION series takes place in 1803, there was little access to such ‘devices’ as we have just talked about above. She therefore takes her friends advice and attempts to take matters into ‘her own hands’. However, doing so by a river might not have been the wisest idea, especially as the neighbouring lord just happened to be out hunting alone at the time and comes across her appearing to have a difficult time following her friend’s instructions. He saw it as his duty to assist the poor damsel in distress… he was a gentleman after all. *cheeky grin*
THE ROSES BLOOM is available now from my publisher TOTAL-E-BOUND!
You can also follow me on my blog, Twitter or Facebook to find out where my follow-up post on ‘The Fainting Room’ will appear or to read the previous post on ‘Female Hysteria’.
A big thank you to the girls for allowing me to talk to you all today about this ‘interesting’ topic.
Excerpt From: The Rose’s Bloom
Northern Dorset Forest, England, 1803.
A clear blue sky was a rarity at this time of year. England had the worst weather, apart from Scotland, perhaps, where it rained no matter what the season.
Damon knew he shouldn’t complain, especially on a day as grand as this. The birds were singing, the wind whispered softly as it passed him, and the wildlife rustled in the underbrush. He was not after a small creature. No, he had his sights on a mighty stag. His man of business had mentioned seeing one in the area when he had recently journeyed from London. How prized would the animal look hanging on his wall? Of course, his study was already filled with the heads of other beasts, but Damon would make sure his staff found room for this creature’s massive antlers.
Approaching the large, winding river where he hoped his prey would stop to drink, Damon was surprised to notice a white mare tethered to a fallen tree. The mare raised her head as he approached, though she paid him and his black stallion little mind, finding the greenery below more appealing. He noticed the horse wore a sidesaddle and Damon’s eyebrows drew down as he looked for another steed. The mare was a fine horse, her saddle also of noble quality, yet it was unlikely a lady of nobility would have ridden out alone. A lady would never be found unchaperoned. It could ruin her reputation.
Scanning the tree line along the wide river, he became more puzzled as time progressed. Had the lady come to some harm? Where was she?
A sudden ripple in the water caught his attention. A woman rose, gasping for breath, taking the air deep into her lungs before she laughed, flipping onto her back, floating around as she gazed up at the blue sky.
It took Damon a moment to overcome his shock at the woman’s sudden appearance before he noticed she wore nothing but her slip. A very sheer slip. His eyes moved hungrily over the wet material, which clung to the vibrant curves underneath. The round softness of her breasts and the darker shadow at the apex of her sex intrigued him, as it would any hot-blooded male. His cock hardened as he sat upon his steed, conflicted between twin desires—to watch, or to make the girl aware of his presence? The former won out, and he encouraged his steed backwards, into the thickness of the forest along the river, concealing their presence. He was thankful for the soft splatter of water falling from the small waterfall upstream, masking his steed’s hoof falls.
Unable to bear not viewing her for long, Damon dismounted and tethered his stallion to a branch before hurrying back towards the river, where he perched himself against a tree like a hunter stalking his prey.
The girl, who he could now see clearly to be about eight and ten, perhaps, still floated carelessly on top of the water. She kicked her legs gracefully and ever so slightly, to keep herself from drifting downriver. Upon each movement, as a leg bent, the wet material of her slip clung to her sex, teasing him with glimpses of the hidden treasure.
His cock pulsed in his breeches, reminding Damon it had been too long since he had bedded a woman. Shifting his stance to release the tension behind the fabric, Damon groaned. Instead of easing his discomfort, it seemed to have advanced it. How divine it would feel to sink into the warmth of a woman’s sheath at that moment, pounding into her heavenly softness with the sun’s heat at his back. He shifted his stance again. Blast it!
I was asked recently to join in a discussion about writing novellas, as I have a few novellas under my belt.
