With passages like the following, Charles Devereaux, the author of Venus in india, transforms the reader into
a voyeur : “She had simply put on a petticoat and was lying on her back, with her hands clasped under her shapely head, her arms, bent in a charming position opened out, showing the little growth of hair under the armpit next to me; hair the same in tint, but not so rich in colour, as that magnificent bush I had moistened so liberally, aided by her own offerings this morning; her bosom bare and naked, with its two priceless breasts, so beautifully placed, so round, polished and firm, and her entire body down to her slender waist, quite nude! One knee, that next to me, was bent, the small graceful foot planted on the bed clothes, . . whilst the other leg, bare almost from the groin downwards, was extended at full length, the lovely foot, which terminated it, resting against the edge of the bed, so that her thighs, those lovely, voluptuous and maddening thighs, were parted! . . .The fair broad plain of her belly was still hidden by the upper portion of her petticoats, but the fine lines. . .the wrinkles told a different tale, and I should like to examine them more closely. . .all that I had to do was to lift, gently, so as not to disturb her sleep, the part of her petticoat which still hid her there, and lay the garment back upon her waist.. . As the bird is caught in the snare surrounding the luscious bait exposed for it, so were my eyes entangled in the meshes of that glorious hair, which from the forest-like bush growing on that voluptuous motte, and shading the slit, the like of which for freshness, beauty, and all that excites desire, could not have existed in that to anybody but that of the great Mother of love, Venus herself. . . What grand lips it had. How sweetly it was placed. How pretty did the fine dark hairs, which crossed it look against the whiteness of the skin, whose infoldings formed that deep and perfect line.. . But what is that? What is that little ruby tip I see beginning to protrude, near the upper meeting of those exquisite lips? She moves. See! I think she must be dreaming! She slightly closes her bent leg towards that one outstretched! It is her most sensitive clitoris, as I live! See! It grows more and more! And by the Gods! It actually moves in little jerks, just like an excited stem standing stiff, and mad at the thoughts of hot desire!”
Venus in India is a rich narrative of the sexual experiences, escapades and encounters of Captain Charles Devereaux while he camped on the North West Frontier of India. It is intensely
erotic and immensely readable and takes the reader to an extreme hight of sensuality. It is immaterial whether the author had encountered such intensely erotic encounters, or the descriptions were entirely out of his erotic imaginations. In the words of Ronald Pearsall “Unquestionably Venus in India has a certain distinction in style, and compared with its contemporaries in the genre it might well be termed a classic.”