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Emptiness	By : Josephine1881 Category: M through R > The Phantom of the Opera > Slash Views: 8257 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own The Phantom of the Opera, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 6
- 7
- 8
Disclaimer: See chapter one!

Chapter Seven

For a few moments I stood in front of the set of shelves a little helplessly, not sure where to start looking. There were more than a hundred books, some thick volumes and others with barely more than a couple of dozen pages. My task was made even harder by the fact that just a few of them had a title engraved in the spine. I could only guess it was like that to make them look innocent in case someone came in here unauthorised.

Assuming it didn’t matter where I began, I pulled out a bright red book. Somehow the colour seemed promising. Opening it I spotted the title, written in big letters: The Fine Art of Love. That sounded rather good. I turned the page and started reading the preface:

This book is meant to give basic instructions to those grooms willing to make their wedding night a moderately pleasurable experience for themselves. Furthermore it tells of those techniques which will result in the production of a child most quickly.

I didn’t have to continue to know this wasn’t the right kind of book for me. I was neither a groom nor worried about a wedding night or a child. Moreover, I didn’t like the style of those first few sentences. Moderately pleasurable? If that was the most I could get, I could as well try it without such advice. I wanted to achieve something very, very pleasurable, just like the way Erik had made me feel.

Giving a little sigh I picked another book, telling myself that it would have been too good to be true if I had found the right one on the first attempt. This one was blue. Since it didn’t have an introduction, I simply opened it somewhere in the middle.

Lady Hélène looked up at Lord Albert, her chest heaving in the tightly laced corset. “You are my saviour,” she breathed, her full red lips shining in the light of the full moon coming through the window. “Without you I would have never escaped from the dreadful fate of having to marry my despicable fiancé. How can I ever repay you, my Lord?” Lord Albert chuckled his deep, sensual chuckle and ran a hand through his thick blond hair. “Looking at this delectable bosom of yours I can think of quite a few things,” he replied, picking her up in his strong arms and carrying her to the bed.

At this point I couldn’t go on. Looking up from the page I didn’t know whether to laugh or to cry. Did anyone actually want to read such nonsense? It certainly hadn’t been a help for me. The thought of making a more or less charming remark about Erik’s appearance and carrying him to his coffin finally made me burst into laughter. This couldn’t be taken seriously. I was tempted to continue reading, just to enjoy myself. But then, I still had an important task. I could always go on in case I wouldn’t find the right book and needed something to cheer me up with.

Placing the volume on the table, so that I’d find it again, I noticed something was already lying there. It wasn’t a book, at least not in the stricter sense of the word, for it wasn’t bound. It was more like a manuscript. The front page was spotlessly clean, which probably meant it hadn’t lain here long enough to gather dust. It wasn’t even printed, but hand-written… in a terrible scrawl, as I soon realised. It occurred to me that the printing system must have been invented because of such hand-writings.

Still there was something fascinating about that manuscript. Skimming the index I found it very well-structured. At least there would be no tedious searching here. The contents seemed to be sexuality as well as courting and marriage, but I figured I could simply skip the latter parts. Or maybe I should read a little on courting. After all, it was important when dealing with men as well, wasn’t it? It definitely was the first book worth sitting down with, and that was what I did.

The title told me it didn’t come from a French author, but from someone in a different country, possibly India. It sounded exotic, far more interesting than The Fine Art of Love. I didn’t read the first part, which was dealing with society, assuming it would contain nothing useful. Instead, I started with the second one, which had the promising title On Sexual Union.

I hadn’t even finished the first page when the urge to laugh overwhelmed me. Which author had had the glorious idea to divide men and women into animal groups judged by the size of their genitals, which had the strange names lingam and yoni? Stifling giggles with my hand I couldn’t help thinking about which category I belonged to. Was I a bull or a horse? I could only hope I wasn’t a hare…

Before I had the chance to start pondering, I quickly continued. I realised in surprise that there were chapters on anything remotely sexual, from embracing and kissing to scratching and biting. Somehow I couldn’t imagine Erik would approve of me doing the latter things with him. Besides, even I didn’t think one had to read about kissing. I also skipped the part on beating one’s partner, suspecting he’d rather kill me than let me do something like that.

A few chapters later I found what I had been looking for: On the Auparishtaka or Mouth Congress. I was a little irritated as I learned that in that society such things were done by eunuchs, preferably with men they were shampooing. By some parts of society it even seemed to be considered unhealthy and dangerous, for the eunuch’s teeth could hurt his master’s manhood. This was a worry I had had before, and of course I wasn’t pleased to find it confirmed.

Yet there also were parts of the chapter I enjoyed reading, namely the description of the things the eunuch could do with his mouth.

“When, holding the lingam in his hand, the eunuch kisses it as if he were kissing the lower lip, it is called ´pressing´,” I read to myself. “ When, after kissing it, he touches it with his tongue everywhere, and passes his tongue over the end of it, it is called ´rubbing´. When, in the same way, he puts the half of it into his mouth, and forcibly kisses and sucks it, this is called ´sucking a mango fruit´.”

Although the latter name made me chuckle, it was impossible to ignore the physical effect reading such things had on me. Involuntarily my hand wandered to my crotch. I had to remind myself forcefully that I was not at home, but in a bookshop. If I started pleasuring myself in here, the elderly man who had let me in would probably come in to check whether I needed anything.

So I tried to focus on something else than my semi-hard member, which was easier said than done while doing research about such delicious a topic. I wanted every single of those things performed on my body. Yet I also wanted to do them myself. I wanted to kiss Erik’s manhood, I wanted to lick it and put it into my mouth. I knew I had to be careful with my teeth, but after all, last night it had been his first time doing it, and he hadn’t hurt me either. So I allowed myself to be confident.

There was just one things I didn’t agree with. Why should this only be an act performed by eunuchs and female servants? Erik had done it with me, and I’d never call him inferior to me. I had once thought so, and it had nearly cost my life. I recalled the moments when his mouth had worked on my member. I hadn’t felt superior at that time. On the contrary: I had been reduced to a throbbing mass of flesh, completely dependent on him.

With a start I realised that this was one of the reasons why I was so keen on doing this with him: I wanted to melt Erik’s often cold and reserved exterior to reveal the real person behind it. I was desperate to make him moan my name and urge me to go on. The thought made me shiver pleasantly, and I could barely keep my hand from trailing downwards again. Would I really be able to do it as well as he had?

Why not? I felt a fresh wave of energy surge through me. Erik himself hadn’t had anything but books either, and his attempt at pleasuring me had been brilliant. So why shouldn’t I do the same? After all, it was not as if I were particularly clumsy, and he hadn’t complained about the way I had kissed and touched him. Maybe he’d enjoy the next step just as much.

Determined to make the most of this rare burst of self-confidence, I threw a glance at my pocket watch, delighted to see it already was half past seven. By the time I’d arrive at the opera, the performance would have begun, and it would be safe to go in there. Admittedly I didn’t know what Erik was doing at that time, whether he sat somewhere, waiting for the right moment to disturb everyone, or was at home, waiting… for me?

This thought made me positively elated. Erik, waiting for me… it almost sounded too good to be true. Almost. I glided to the door rather than walking there. Opening it I saw the man standing right in front of it. Briefly I wondered whether he had heard the sound of me getting up from the chair or had been there all the time.

“Did you find something, Monsieur?” he asked with something he probably considered a friendly smile. It was only then that I realised I still held the manuscript in my hand. I had been too absorbed in reading it to think about whether I wanted to take it home with me. Yet I didn’t hesitate for long.

“Yes, I’d like to have this one,” I told the man, showing it to him.

Taking it from me he walked a few steps towards the nearest source of light. He scanned the manuscript for a few moments, then shook his head, frowning.

“That’s not one of my books,” he muttered dismissively. “It’s not even bound. I don’t buy things like that for my customers.”

“But it was lying on the table in your back room,” I argued, feeling puzzled. If it wasn’t his book, whose was it?

The man shrugged.

“Then someone must have left it there,” he said. “Sometimes people bring me books they’ve written or translated themselves and leave them in the back room for others to read.”

“So I can’t buy it?” I wanted to know. I could have kicked myself. The only book I would have liked to possess belonged to somebody else.

Yet the man told me: “Of course you can buy it. If those things lie around here in my shop, they belong to me. So I can sell them. For one Franc it’s yours.”.

Assuming that I approved of his attitude would have been far from the truth. Still I took out my purse and gave him the necessary amount of money, receiving the manuscript in return. I was too keen on having it to ask many question. It had made me self-confident once, which was more than could be said about most books. The man pocketed the coin hastily and ushered me to the entrance door, probably sensing that I had no intention to buy anything else today. Moreover, another customer was just entering the back room.

“Come back soon!” the man called, nearly pushing me out into the street.

I was still shaking my head incredulously as I walked down the street, holding the sheets of paper in an unobtrusive way at my side. This man wasn’t exactly the friendliest person I had ever met, and his shop was not a place I’d have usually entered. Still I knew that maybe I’d come back there, and it didn’t even make me worried. It was just one of the things that had started changing about me in the last few days.

A little while later I reached the opera. I strolled to the main entrance, pretending to be nothing but a visitor who was late for the performance. No one noticed me. The only people still in the street were a few coachmen, and they were busy talking. I slipped inside quickly, my heart beating excitedly. In just a few minutes’ time I’d see Erik, smell him, feel him… Marching down a corridor I couldn’t help chuckling softly, thinking that only a few months ago the idea of me going to see Erik had been completely absurd.

My joy came to an abrupt end as I arrived at the door leading down to his world. It was locked, and it stubbornly remained locked, no matter how often I pushed down the handle. What was I to do now? I was aware that there were several other entrances. The problem was that I didn’t know where they could be found, and I doubted I’d simply stumbled across one of them. They surely were very well-hidden.

So all I could do was wander around in the opera, hoping I’d find him… or rather, hoping he’d find me. Turning around I walked back the way I had come from, then down a corridor, through a door, down another corridor… After a few minutes I noticed my feet had carried me in the direction of the dressing rooms. ´Old habits die hard,´ I thought with a wry smile, asking myself whether I should dare cast a glance into Christine’s old room. Mme.Giry had told me before the funeral that they hadn’t removed her things yet. Would it be so terrible to have a brief look inside before continuing to search for Erik?

The door wasn’t locked. I opened it slowly, as if I were doing something forbidden. All things were indeed still exactly the way I remembered them: the wardrobe, the dressing table, the huge mirror, her beloved little sofa… The breath caught in my throat as I realised something was wrong. Why could I see all that in the dark room? The answer was simple: It wasn’t dark at all. There was a small lantern on the floor, the light casting shadows on the furniture.

A man was kneeling next to the lantern, his back facing me. Yet one look at the fedora told me who it was. In his hands he was holding a dress – the costume Christine had worn as Aminta in “Don Juan Triumphant”. He lifted it to his face, inhaled deeply and let it sink again.

“Christine…” he whispered. “Christine, I’m so sorry… I didn’t mean for any of it to happen between him and me… Forgive me, please…”

I watched the scene with baited breath, feeling a little part of my heart die.

Author's note: The book Raoul is so fascinated with is the Kama Sutra, which I do not own, of course. I've taken over chapter titles, several terms and the one quote. The other two books are my own invention.
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Emptiness