Thursday, June 2, 2011

Erotic Return of Ambrose Horne


Armed with only his relentless curiosity for the darkest recesses of human sexuality, Ambrose Horne is the enterprising eroticist for whom no puzzle is too perplexing, no secret is too scandalous, and no position is too impolite. Now, gathered together for your reading pleasure, 'The Memoirs Of Ambrose Horne' reveals the Carnal Casebook of the Idiosyncratic Inquisitor, the one-and-only Ambrose Horne

Far more fascinating, Lady H_____ discovered, was his account of his marriage to the daughter of a local Squire, a fiery, passionate woman who filled his every need bar one. They had made love just once in five years, and that was only because convention and the law demanded that they consummate their union.

Since that time, Millicent had made it plain that sex had no part to play in their life together, either for pleasure or procreation, and her husband had meekly acceded to her wishes; so meekly that, after a time, he hadn’t simply stopped missing sex, he didn’t even think about it any longer. In fact, he admitted, his penis had already been absent several weeks before he even thought of contacting Ambrose Horne, so little attention did it demand.

Lady H_____ was tempted to ask him what all the fuss was about, then? If he didn’t use it and didn’t need it, then surely he could scarcely be missing it; rather, she mused, he should regard its absence as though it were a once-troublesome appendix. Such levity, however, scarcely seemed appropriate, even though Goffman’s temper markedly lightened as the evening wore on; until, by the time they retired to their separate beds, Lady H_____ was actually enjoying his company. Now, however, it was time to discover to what extent he might enjoy hers.

By the light filtering in through the undrawn curtains of his room (she really needed to speak to the footman about that), she could see Goffman asleep on his side. Slipping off her dressing gown, she slid naked beneath the blankets alongside him and, moving stealthily so as not to disturb him, angled her arm towards the man’s loins.

A set of Lord H_____’s pyjamas had been laid out for Goffman; he had chosen, for whatever reason, to sleep in the jacket alone. (Perhaps because he has nothing to hide, the mischievous thought leaped unbidden to mind.) Extending the palm of her hand, she encountered the coarse scrape of his pubic hair. But nothing else. It felt so strange to place one’s hand in such an intimate spot, and encounter nothing more than if she were inspecting his back, but that was the case. Just as her eyes had told her the previous afternoon, the man’s body remained featureless from stomach to scrotum.

She withdrew her arm. In her mind, as she schemed this moment through the evening, she imagined that somehow, the missing member would miraculously return, perhaps while he slept, perhaps through the proximity of another human body. She was wrong and, temporarily bemused, lay on her back, thinking back to her conversation with Bessie this afternoon. ‘Awaken him in the night, keep the lights out ....’ She wondered if the woman had taken her advice, if – perhaps at this very moment – Randolph was discovering the delights of the tenderest kiss of them all. Whereas she, Lady H_____ ... oh, the whole affair really was so confounding.

She moved back onto her side, and allowed her fingertips once again to graze in the wiry fuzz between Goffman’s legs. Did he feel no sensations there whatsoever? No stirrings at all? He was sleeping deeply; her fingers drifted down a little, to stroke at the flesh where his flesh should have been. Even in a sleeper, such actions were guaranteed to provoke some kind of physical stirring, but she aroused nothing. Her hand cupped his balls. They, too, hung loose and relaxed, as though nothing on earth could interrupt their libido-less slumber.

Goffman shifted in his sleep. For a moment, Lady H_____ thought he was going to roll over onto his stomach, and put an end to all her explorations. Instead, he moved in the other direction, onto his back.

She thought again of Bessie. ‘Take him gently between your lips.’ The night was warm, the bedclothes were few. Inching slowly down the bed, turning herself around as she did so, Lady H_____ positioned herself carefully and comfortably. Then raising Goffman’s scrotum gently in one hand, she slipped a single egg into her mouth.

Local author, Chrissie Bentley, goes back in time across three books of short stories featuring everyone’s favorite erotic detective, Ambrose Horne!

The Erotic Adventures of Ambrose Horne
The Erotic Memoirs of Ambrose Horne
The Erotic Return of Ambrose Horne

With Guy Ritchie’s Sherlock Holmes movie going gangbusters on the DVD circuit, there could be no better time to step back in time with another of Victorian England’s greatest detectives – although you will quickly discover that Ambrose Horne had a penchant for somewhat earthier pursuits than Holmes.

The brilliant creation of Philadelphia author Chrissie Bentley, Ambrose Horne is the sleuth that society calls upon to unravel the mysteries that delicacy and discretion dare not discuss with anybody else. Three volumes of his adventures – each containing five full-length stories – include such seemingly unfathomable puzzles as a mysteriously damaged stamp collection (“The Coagulated Conundrum”), a lost book of the Bible (“the Rediscovered Heresy”), a plague of ginger-haired children (“The Midnight Succubus”), and more. But behind those simple descriptions, and the deductive process that solves them, there lurk secrets and situations at which Holmes would have blanched before he even picked up his deerstalker.

Each of the stories is genuinely gripping, littered with both arcane historical observations and fascinating period trivia, and all pose genuine mysteries for the reader to attempt to solve alongside Horne. Where Bentley steps away from the detecting norm is in the sheer eroticism of her storytelling – anybody familiar with her other writings will already be aware of the full XXX impact that she brings to every tale, and Ambrose marches proudly to the same delirious drum.

From the genuinely idiosyncratic manner in which he contemplates the matter at hand, to the distinctly unconventional means by which he concludes every case, Horne’s adventures are exhilarating excursions into a world that is as far removed from the typical view of Victorian England as it is possible to journey. At the same time, however, it is very easy to believe that both Horne and his memoirs really are genuine survivors of an age in which the merest glimpse of a lady’s bare ankle was sufficient to morally bankrupt a passing gentleman, suppressed for so long that society itself had forgotten him. Now he is back and, needless to say, he discusses a lot more than mere ankles.

These three fantastic books are all available at : Xcite Books

Amy Hanson, Wilmington Examiner

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