Doctor Coslow's Miraculous Steam-Powered Pleasure Machine
By Wynne Burroughs
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2012 Wynne Burroughs
Cover Image © Can Stock Photo Inc. / prometeus
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Doctor Coslow's Miraculous Steam-Powered Pleasure Machine
Doctor Coslow's Miraculous Steam-Powered Pleasure Machine
The steam carriage bumped and slid as we rolled through the wet, raining streets. My husband, the Colonel sat on the opposite side of the carriage, but I daresay he was more interested in watching the slimy rain drain out of the dark, foreboding clouds and form oily rainbow puddles upon the floor.
“This is taking too long,” said my husband, “Our appointment is in a mere quarter hour, boy.”
Geoffery, our driver, thrust another log into the stove and slammed it shut.
Our carriage ran through the streets as fast as it could, given the weather and soon we reached Doctor Coslow's office.
My husband and I worked the straps to our protective smocks, heavy leather garments reinforced with sheets of metal. Now the viscous oily rain could never reach our bodies and we made our way into the office.
Once we left our protective garments in the foyer we continued into the waiting room. My husband immediately stepped up to the secretary.
“My dear,” he said, “I am Colonel Josiah Witherby and I have an appointment with the doctor at two o'clock.”
The secretary said, “Through that door, sir. The Doctor's waiting for you. His appointment before this canceled on account of the weather.”
“Bah!” said my husband, “A trifling matter.”
We continued into the examination room. Pipes extended out of the ceiling and down to the floor. A metal framed bed on casters sat on the opposite wall. The Doctor sat at a desk beside it, going through his files. A large stove sat on the opposite side of the room with
He was surprisingly young for a doctor, perhaps only a decade or so older than myself and a few good years younger than my husband. His body was solid yet thing, his bulk coming from muscle and not girth. He kept himself clean shaven and his hair tightly cropped. A small measure of gray had worked their way into that, but for the most part his hair remained a dark taupe.
This contrasted quite strongly with my husband. He was a head shorter than the Doctor at least and, I'm sad to say, a fair bit more stout. His hair was a big longer than the Doctor's as well as being the light shade of a lion's coat, though streaked with much gray. I never much liked his mustache, but it was the fashion with The Officers, so no matter hat I said my husband would keep it no matter what.
“Colonel Witherby,” the Doctor said, “I'm afraid I couldn't fully understand your problems through the tele-phonic sonic device. What are the issues you're having with my wife?”
“Well,” said my husband, “When we were first wed she acted as the perfect wife. She'd make sure the servants knew their place and made sure their jobs were completed. Didn't complain about me spending so much time with my fellow officers. However that has all changed. Now she harps on about me spending too much time away from the house. She doesn't keep close enough watch on our lazy servants. And she's leaving the house less and less, even when I need her to fulfill important business. Why, I've even caught her crying a couple of times. Quite abnormal.”
The Doctor said, “Interesting. What have you got to say... Marion?”
“The estate is stifling,” I said, “The servants are always complaining. Why—you should hear the sorts of things they say. I don't deny that I haven't found matrimony as pleasant as I did at the beginning. But it's hard to be married to an officer of the engine corps... It's so lonely at the estate, sometimes I can't help but cry—”