I'd love to go and see it so that I can lust over the Professor and his Eliza. Sadly one is very gay and one seems to be very heterosexual so it looks as though I might be out of luck.
But wouldn't it have been good if George Bernard Shaw had written about a different type of rescue? Wouldn't it be good if there was a story all about a woman being empowered in her sexuality by a dashing professor who knew just what was wanted to create purpose, excitement and passion in a woman with a redundant libido?
It's a brief story and only a starting point but I hope the reader enjoys the gist.
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Spunkmalion – The Making of a Fair Lady
Like her namesake, Lizzie Dolittle lived in Lisson Grove, only it was certainly more than “fit for a pig to live in”. Eliza lived in poverty. Lizzie didn’t. She lived in one of those delightful Georgian houses just off the main road and not far from the home of cricket. Sitting in her garden, she could hear the crowds or the quiet knock of ball on willow.
Like her namesake, she too sold flowers but not in the markets of New Covent Garden. Hers was a very upmarket little number on the Edgeware Road. The shop was merely an aside for the real work that she did which was to supply and prepare majestic bouquets for conference events at the big hotels in Park Lane. And yet, she would have hated to move into premises that did not enable her to have these links with the public. She was a gregarious and gentle woman and loved to make acquaintances of the repeat customer as well as enjoy general niceties with the passer-by.
Lizzie lived with her husband and her teenage children; a daughter of seventeen and a son of thirteen. It was stable. It was secure. It was probably the same as many other family situations across the capital; comfortable, calm, unconfrontational, staid, unchallenging, unchanged for many years.
Unlike her namesake, Lizzie was not looking for a new life. She was not actively seeking a passer-by to sweep her into a new life but it happened anyway. Retrospectively, she could determine that there were clearly things wrong with her allegedly happy, conformist way of life, because she had the sneaking suspicion that she was more of a free spirit than her lifestyle implied.
Lizzie, if we are being honest, was a little bit of a dreamer.
Lizzie fantasised.
Lizzie watched football on the television and suddenly found her nights consumed with thoughts of getting shagged by the likes of Eric Cantona in a French mansion on the Loire Valley. Lizzie watched a film and imagined being screwed somewhat severely by the likes of Richard Gere on the edge of a cliff with the wind blowing her skirt up to reveal her naked fanny to the awaiting leading man.
Lizzie even watched the news and imagined bouncing up and down on her favourite anchorman’s cock. She fell into frenzied thoughts of fucking the main men in every book she read, whether it was a chick-book or not.
She even had friends that she often thought about fucking and she would push a pillow between her legs to simulate the sensation that she so frequently imagined in these fascinating fantasies.
What she didn’t do was ever imagine wanting to have sex with all of these people. It was just an imagination. Quite frankly, Lizzie couldn’t give a toss whether she ever had sex again. Her libido was in the gutter, where her namesake had come from.
And then he walked into the shop. Her assistant, Jillian, was out at the back and in the middle of preparing an array of red flowers for the Kensington Swimming Club event. She was gathering together some accompanying greenery, and he walked in.
He said nothing at first, just wandered around the shop. He looked at her from time to time but carefully, disguising the fact that he had noticed this woman’s reaction to his presence.
What the fucking hell was happening to her? She couldn’t understand what the hell was going on other than the fact that she felt a sudden desire to find that pillow to stuff between her legs.
Poor Lizzie. She had no idea what was about to happen to her.
Poor Lizzie. Lucky Lizzie.
“I understand you are in the business of preparing decorations for conference events” he eventually said as he walked towards her.
She responded to say that she was indeed in that business and was there something that she could do to assist him.
“I’d like you to come around to my place and see what you can do to liven it up with your expertise”.
Lizzie reached for the diary underneath the counter and shyly responded.
“The 24th is okay. Jillian could be with you at, say, 11.30?”
“I don’t want Jillian” he said veering his gaze towards the scarlet-filled back room. “I want you”.
For goodness sake, he was only asking her to do a professional job on his conference accommodation but she felt as though someone had been pinning their thumbs onto her clitoris for about an hour. And all of this in a instant! What a ridiculously exciting feeling, and suddenly she wanted the 24th to be tomorrow.
“And the name?” she asked
“Mike Higgins. Professor Mike Higgins”.
They giggled.
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The initial meeting at his place was positive. She came along and suggested various changes that he could make to the venue to accommodate her particular area of creative expertise. He smiled, looked on and seemingly noted every movement that she made, every mannerism, every betraying tell-tale sign.
As they talked, did she really notice him looking at her feet and the dark stiletto boots that she was wearing? Was his mind filling with lascivious thoughts or was it just her imagination?
The day arrived when the event was taking place and Lizzie arrived early to fill the room with the sort of collective beauty that Mike had requested. He seemed genuinely delighted with what she had achieved and asked her to join him at the end of the day for a business meeting to discuss further commissions.
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And that was how it all began. A woman who had no intention of embarking on an affair. She had no desire. She thought she had no need and yet she was drawn to this man without reason without comprehending what it was all about.
Oh and she had seriously fucked him, about a week ago. She’d arrived at the event, full of baskets of flowers and garlands ready to drape from the roof. She had tried really hard to make sure the room looked as spectacular as it could be.
Mike walked in and was dazzled by the effect that she had created. He walked towards her, took her hand and they stared around the room together, and then he gently led her into his office and tore her clothes off with a frenzied urgency, sliding his ample cock straight into her cunt; no forethought, no words, just urgent, urgent sex, pounding, orgasmic sex, illicit, daring, delightful sex.
In her fantasy.
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It doesn’t matter how it started. It did. It doesn’t matter where or when. The only thing that Lizzie knew was that she was mesmerised by the sexual excitement that she was feeling despite her natural protestations that she was no longer a libidinous woman. In fact, apart from the fantasies, she wasn’t sure that she ever was!
And yet here she was, holding hands for real with her Professor Higgins, who whispered to her gently. “I’m going to turn you into My Fair Lady!”
She giggled again. “ And how are you going to do that?” she asked.
“I’m going to fuck you and you are going to love it!”
He then reached his arms around her and kissed her in such a way that she felt an inkling of moisture stretching onto her panties.
“What is this all about?” she said, looking at him with unbearable excitement as well as tinge of concern.
“I’m a Professor right?” he asked
“Yes, I had noticed – a professor of anthropology.”
“And more besides” announced Mike.
“The fictional Professor Higgins made his living from mending peoples’ tongues; changing and fine-tuning their accents, touring the country to discuss the linguistic eccentricities of the English language. I make my living from mending peoples’ libidos; changing and fine-tuning their sexuality, touring the country to discuss the functions of the female orgasm, making a significant difference to the wellbeing of women who feel as though they have dried up before they have even started.
Lizzie, I have decided you are going to be a protégé. I am going to reinvigorate your dilapidated libido. I am going to make your pussy come alive. Do you mind me using such words as ‘pussy’ and ‘cunt’?”
Lizzie looked at him in astonishment at his arrogance. Who the fuck did he think he was? What on earth made him think that she was even interested in changing? How much audacity did the man have to think that she needed rescuing from her imposed state of revisited virginity?
Okay, she had slipped into a little bit of passion and fantasy when she met him. Yes, here she was walking down a dimly-lit street on a balmy summer evening, holding hands with a man that was not her husband. Yes, she was excited. Yes, she was sexually stimulated but it didn’t mean that she was going to pursue anything or that she needed to be sexually rescued.
And then he kissed her again, and the dampness between her thighs increased.
She looked at him, deep into his dark eyes and he fixed her gaze on his as his hands as they wandered down her body, tucking themselves into the front of her trousers, desperately seeking the entrance to her vagina with the most subtle of touches.
Lizzie couldn’t believe how much she wanted him to go further, circling his fingers in her cunt. She wanted that now more than she had ever wanted it before. She had no idea what was happening to her body, her mind, her spirit but what she was sure about was that she wanted to experience it again, and soon.
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“Meet me in Richmond, by the bridge, 9pm. x” was the text.
They walked arm in arm, talking about all manner of topics, maintaining a distance from the sex subject.
And then they stopped.
They sat on the bench and she straddled his seat, aware of his rising cock. She felt her arse and knew immediately that she was wearing stockings. Did she want a fuck there and then?
They returned to her car, and he climbed in beside her.
“Relax, enjoy, feel, experience, you fucking gorgeous woman!” he said as he reached over towards her directly towards her cunt, gently yet forcefully pushing his fingers deep inside her towards the spot that he thought had not been properly tampered with for many a year.
She swathe into his embrace, into his mouth, devouring his taste, his kiss, his passion as he went further and deeper into her cunt.
“Relax, enjoy. You need this honey! You’re too good Eliza Dolittle to sit there and ignore the power of your pussy”.
“Lizzie” she eventually managed to force out between the passionate snogging. “Lizzie”
“My Eliza Fair Lady!” he said.
And that point she gasped in apoplexy and delight as she suddenly realised his hands were covered in the most incredible amount of watery substance pouring out of her body. It was as though he had flicked a switch and turned a tap on.
The gear stick was splattered with her cum and she looked in horror at the amount of moisture that had erupted from within her.
“Fuck, I’m so sorry!” she said
“Sorry!” responded Mike “Don’t be sorry – this is what you should be doing. This is what you will be doing every time we make love” he said with such assuredness that she knew it was going to happen.
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She lay down on the floor with her legs wide open.
“Touch yourself” he demanded.
“No, I want you to!” she pleaded. “I want that eruption again!”
“And you shall” he said calmly. “Touch yourself!”
She looked at him expectantly, and he held her hand, and he dragged it towards her cunt and he fed her fingers in and he whispered into her ear to go in deep and feel for her g-spot and he heard her sigh and he felt her relax and he whipped her fingers away, right at the point that she splattered her cunt juices all over his naked chest, through the erection of pink folds of skin that had increased so dramatically at her own fingering.
“Fucking hell!”
She stared at him in astonishment.
“How kind of you to let me cum!” They giggled.
And then he stood above her, knelt down and stuck his cock deep into her juicy cunt and fucked her like she had never been fucked before; deeply, passionately, expertly to the point that her pussy could not stop cascading in multiple orgasms.
At the point of climax, he whipped his cock out and dashed his spunk all over her awaiting face.
She’d never had spunk splashed all over her in that way, and she suddenly realised there was no turning back from this point. She wanted every sexual experience that Mike, and indeed others, was going to offer her.
She realised that her fantasies were merely a prelude of suppression to what she ought to be experiencing. And she was never going to return to being a woman devoid of recognising the needs and desires of her own rather deliciously gregarious cunt.
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Eliza Dolittle lost her life and gained another. Eliza Dolittle lost her way and found another. Eliza Dolittle lost her accent and gained another.
Lizzie Dolittle lost her life and gained another. Lizzie Dolittle lost her way but found another. Lizzie Dolittle lost her accent and gained another; the accent of sex, the accent of stimulation, the act of desire, of lust, of valuing her libido, of wanting sex more than anything else in life, of wanting passion, of being passionate.
And in all of this she lost nothing!
And in all of this she also learned that she was nobody’s Fair Lady. But she did rather like being Mike’s creative protégé.
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“Eliza, where the devil have you put your dildo?!”
“You have no idea how frightfully interesting it is to take a human being and change her into a quite different being by creating a new speech for her. It’s filling up the deepest gulf............” Pygmalion
My “speech” is sex. My voice is Zenpuss and whilst the change was not enforced, it happened nonetheless and there is no return.
No return. You hear?
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