Prologue
London, England
September 1857
We each have our reasons.
Daniel is engaged—but unable yet to marry.
Bram fears getting a woman with child.
Theodore is merely shy.
Henry can’t stomach the risk to his career in parliament.
And then there is me. Alfred.
My reason is perhaps the most noble. Or the most pathetic. It depends how you view the matter.
I am a clergyman. I have to set an example for my parishioners. And having been raised by a clergyman myself, it was drummed into me from a young age to always choose the path of virtue.
Even when I burn.
And burn I very much do.
Lastly, there is Peter.
Peter has not revealed his reasons. And no one has asked. But he has made clear that he belongs with us.
Because, in the end, despite our differences, we are all in the same position.
We are six men in the prime of life—between eight-and-twenty and four-and-thirty—and each of us is still a virgin.
We met at our club in London and slowly discovered this commonality.
“To the virgin gentlemen’s club,” Henry said our first night together after we finally acknowledged what we all share. He took a sip of whiskey after he said the words.
Now he says it again, another dram of whiskey before him. It is, with him, a toast that has become customary.
“Dear God, must you always say that? It sounds so…” responds Daniel from his perch on the billiards table.
“Humiliating?” Theodore offers.
“Itisthe virtuous path,” I feel honor bound to remind them.
“Oh come now, Alfred, do you actually see anything wrong with bedding a woman outside of matrimony?” Henry says.
Henry intends to be prime minister one day. And he claims that the only way a half-Indian Englishman aligned with the Radicals can become prime minister is with an absolutely spotless reputation. And I suppose my friend has a point. From a moral perspective, as it pertains to the marital relation outside of wedlock, Henry has not a scruple.
I consider the question. “The Bible forbids it.”
“Thatis a matter of ecclesiastical debate,” Theodore interjects.
“Are you really saying that if there were no society, no consequences, you wouldn’t plunge between a beautiful woman’s thighs and?—”
“Point taken,” I blurt out, unable to endure Henry going any further. I am not sure whether Iwouldtake such an opportunity. I have been strong enough to resist overtures from women in the past. But I have to admit that those women weren’t to my tastes. I don’t know what I would do if a woman truly tempted me. And there are plenty of women walking the streets of London every day who do exactly that.
We may confidently assert that no man is entitled to the character of being chaste who by any unnatural means causes expulsion of semen.
