The worst afternoon of Dr Baxter's life.

Dear Sir Williard,

My mother is right. I am a fool! A fool in more ways than one I’m **** to admit. Furthermore your friend Dr. Miller may not be the man you once knew. I cannot remember a worse afternoon in my entire life except perhaps for the day my father died.
I do at least have a better understanding of the some parts of the ignoble garden encounter. After enjoying a delicious luncheon including several glasses of a very fine Earth chardonnay I found the courage to outline part of what I had seen in the night before, although I greatly discounted my own shameful role in the events, focusing instead on the reaction of the Gurkhas discovering the the naked daughter of the colonial touching herself her so shamelessly even while she lay bound to the bench. I was ready for angry denials of stunned disbelief from the cultured man, instead Dr. Miller laughed at my obvious confusion and explained some of the customs of this planet. The first of which is the societal acceptance of voyeurism. It seems that where on Earth, we have been trained to avert our eyes from any scandalous matter, on Rajah the excepted norm is to watch and enjoy with no public shame associated for any of the parties involved.

I was as stunned as I expect you are as you are reading this letter. To the point where I am afraid that I was less than polite when I challenged Dr. Miller about the effect of these customs on the colonists’ morality. If there is no shame in being discovered, then doesn’t that increase the number of these encounters? The man smiled gently at me and nodded his head ‘yes’ with no apparent shame or remorse. Rajah-4 it seems is a society of contradictions, there is rampant promiscuity between colonials and their Hindu servants, and even amongst each other. Yet the rules regarding this copulation are strictly adhered to. The reputations of the daughters of the wealthy families are as fiercely defended as those of the lovely young maidens of Earth, but no one really expects any of the brides to actually be deflowered on their wedding night. All sorts of excuses are devised to explain the condition of these not so pure ladies. Some of these, we are familiar with on Earth, the rupture of a hymen while riding in the hunt, or a fall in the stairwell, but Sir Williard these are just the most mundane of the stories. It seems on Rajah-4 to be a matter of pride that the virtues of the wealthy teens are lost in far more exotic fashion.

Dr. Miller explained that the gambits even have names, but all seem to involve the young woman losing her virtue due to no fault of her own and the patriarch of the family arriving too late to defend his daughter, but in enough time to assure the future husband that his bride may have been breached, but had not had the chance to discover the joyful wonders of the joining of man and woman. He detailed several of these fictions, ‘Red Riding and the Wolf’ the ‘Randy Chaperone’ and even the more improbable ‘Webbed Abduction’ where the blossoming young women are carried off from their own bed by spiderlike apes. Apparently these adolescent arachnirillas have a lustful appetite for the pale white skin of English maidens. Then he described one of these fictions that I found more disturbing of all these lost hymen explanations. It is called on Rajah ‘Medical Mistreatment.’

I cannot convey to you my incredulous reaction when Dr. Miller told me with complete lack of regret that over a dozen of New Delhi’s debutants claimed to have lost their maidenheads at his very practice - either through his own careless examination or far worse, an **** by one of his staff who could not resist the beauty of the **** young lady on the examination table. Dr. Miller blithely assured me that most of these young ladies had already been sexually active well before their unfortunate Doctor’s visit, so they were not actually deflowered by him, he merely provided a convenient explanation for their current condition.

Sir Williard, I do not know what to think. He believes that his actions were both ethical and necessary, but the gleam in his eye as he said the word ‘most’ and the fact that he regularly treats many of these same young victims with aversion therapy treatments has me uncertain. It appears that most of his private patients are either suffering from ‘The Blush’ as he calls the unnatural libido of wealthy young women or the difficulties in the marital relations of these citizens once they are married and trying to produce the next generation.

I was still reeling from the uncomfortable revelations when the next blow to my ego came. “Sami says you have a big dick.” I choked on the chilled chardonnay. “What?” I was finally able to gasp. Dr. Miller chuckled as he handed me a napkin.
“Saminya is one of my special tools for diagnosing male sexual inability. I leave the husband in her capable hands while I interview the wife.” I still remember the chill that ran up my back as he spoke. “Her adoring ingénue act gets them just about every time; and if that doesn’t work there’s always the **** virgin.” I wanted to strangle him with my bare hands as his voice climbed to a sweet falsetto “Oh please Sir, my family is very old fashioned, I want to, but I just can’t let you!” I hated him, and her! To think Sir Williard, I was considering (if ever so slightly) making a future with that teasing nymph. Perhaps I owe my mother an apology. I finished the glass of wine and filled it again myself, not even waiting for Dr. Miller’s manservant to move around the table. I still remember his words clearly; I think I’ll remember them for as long as I live.

“So Dr. Baxter” my host asked me with a knowing smirk “do you still want me to accompany you to the Company Office and make your position official? I need a fine Englishman like you to solve the infertility problems of families whose husbands are too interested in watching their neighbors hump than doing the real thing with their own wives.”

I didn’t know what to say or do. I vaguely remember excusing myself and making my way back to the Edwardian Royal. Dr. Miller wants to use me as a breeding stud to impregnate this planet’s gentlewomen. If these liaisons were something that I had worked for myself they might have been happy to share these lady’s beds, but to have that smirking Miller as my pimp makes me feel as dirty as a Singapore street whore. On the other hand I have fewer than 70 lbs left in my account, enough for three more nights at the hotel. Several weeks’ worth if I head out to one of the independent mining towns like Kingstown. I could maybe apply to the Company without Miller’s endorsement, or find one of the wealthy colonial families that wants their own personal physician.