Pauline

CHAPTER XII

I promised myself that I would be true to Ferry's memory, that I would never allow another man to have me, but how weak we women are.

Then came even sadder news. Both my mother and father had been killed, and this so upset me I decided to travel. I booked passage to Italy. I had always wanted to visit Florence, and there I went. By traveling across Bulgaria, Serbia, and Albania, I gained the coast, and from there, I sailed across the Adriatic Sea.

I had been there but a few days, however, when I was overtaken with an urge to again taste bliss in the arms of another woman, and, since Italy is noted for its tribades, I had little trouble finding a pretty and shapely girl. But this just added to my urge for a man. I left Florence and journeyed south through Italy.

In Rome, during one of my many visits to the coliseum, I was approached by a man. Like myself, he was a stranger, touring about the country. In spite of the fact that the man was nearly fifty years old, I found him handsome and intelligent. Indeed, he didn't look a day over thirty-five, and I found myself delighting in his company.

Perhaps it was due to my thoughts of the coliseum and the wonderful amphitheater, now gone, in which the famous games took place. I love history and I used to dwell for hours at a time on the wonderful things that happened in these historic structures, and many times, I pictured myself walking naked among them.

This man, whose name was Sir Ethelred Merwyn, told me many strange tales about the feasts and other events which took place within the walls of the crumbling edifices, and I was suddenly taken with the idea that I would like to know the man better. Having been so long without a lover, my mind was easily influenced. And so I set about luring this man to my arms. I invited him to my hotel for dinner, and we enjoyed ourselves to repletion.

Every day we went somewhere. Then, when it seemed I could no longer stand it, I invited him to my apartment. I told him I felt dreadfully indisposed and would appreciate it if he would dine with me there. He did this, and I thrilled as I caught him viewing my thinly clad body, for I wore but precious little beneath my lacy dressing gown.

I continued to feign illness, and invited him to have dinner with me the following night. Again I flirted with him, growing less and less careful about hiding my charms. But a peep at my knee, a dexterous swish of my skirt which revealed a patch of white thigh, or a scant view of one nude breast failed to thaw out the man.

This was Saturday night. As he left me, I made him promise to call early the following day. He must have dinner and lunch with me, I said. About noon, he arrived. He suggested a ride, but I declined; I wanted a different sort of ride than the one he proposed.

We spent hours talking, and it was late in the afternoon before I succeeded in getting his mind on something else. I finally turned to the subject of women, and this we discussed at great length. He spoke of the different nationalities, pointing out the good and bad points.

"You are very beautiful,” he said, “though I favor the French women."

"Why?” I asked. It was a direct question.

"Because,” he said, “the French, as a whole, are the most beautiful in the world. Their habits are more correct, and they are best fitted to wear the conventional dress of the country."

He said many more things about the French women, all complimentary.

"You are mistaken about their dress,” I said by way of getting to the point. “I have seen other women wearing dress the French women would never dare to wear; their bodies are hardly suited for the extreme in decollete dresses."

"You speak as though you are well versed on the subject."

"I am,” I said. “I myself have worn dresses no French woman would dare wear. Not only their breasts, but their legs, too, are hardly suited to the extreme in undress."

I saw him give a start at this broad statement. We argued back and forth, and finally I said, “I have many gowns here with me, and I will wager you that a German woman-myself, if you please-can wear the ultra in undress and still look acceptable."

This seemed to have the desired result, for he said, “You are making a rash wager, my dear young lady."

"I am ready to prove my statement,” I said, smiling into his eyes.

For several moments he remained quiet, as though he was trying to gain courage to put the next question. “I am willing to lose considerable money to back up my statement that a French woman is more daring in dress than any other on earth."

"Tell me how you know this, and perhaps I shall take you up on it."

"Very well,” he said. “I called upon on a French girl one time, and, strangely enough, the same conversation came up. Just in a joking way I wagered her that she dare not don a costume consisting of less covering than one I had seen but a few days previous, and the daring girl took me up-and won my wager."

"And what did her costume consist of?” I asked, feeling sure I had him on the right track.

"That,” he said, “would be unfair. I didn't tell her what the other had worn, and it would not be fair were I to tell you. Remember, it was you who started this, and it is I who am willing to back my contention with money.” He was leaning forward now, expectantly.

"You sound sincere,” I said, laughing.

"I was never more so in my life,” he parried.

"I am inclined to take you up,” I said, laughing again, “just to take the conceit out of you.” Inwardly I was thrilled. I had given this man considerable opportunity to enjoy my caresses, but he had failed to rise to the lure. I wondered just what it would take to move him. Instead of answering my jibe, he drew from his pocket a large billfold, and from it he took what appeared to be a considerable amount of money. This he lay upon a small stand. Rising, I went to the stand and picked up the money.

"I am inclined to take your wager,” I said, “but unfortunately I haven't near that amount of money with me. However…"

"Your word is good enough for me,” he interrupted. “You understand the conditions surrounding this wager?"

I smiled. “Your wager, as I understand it, is that I dare not appear here before you in as daring a costume as your French friend-is that correct?” When he nodded, I went on. “As you say, this is most unusual, but I have brought it upon myself. So there's nothing for it but to prove my contention by appearing here before you in what I choose to term ‘ultra undress.’ Is that correct?"

Again he nodded. “There is one condition under which I shall go through with it,” I said. “That is, that you will never mention this affair to anyone. May I have your promise to that?"

Again he nodded. “I am a gentleman in every respect,” he said.

Smiling, I turned and walked from the room. With wildly beating heart I slipped out of my already scant covering. Naked, I sprayed myself with a dainty perfume, turned and walked back to the curtain which separated the two rooms. I peeped between them. Sir Ethelred stood gazing at a picture above the mantle. With a quick movement I swished the curtains apart and stepped into the room.

I saw him gasp. Then, without further ado, he stepped to the tiny table and picked up the money. With a smile on his face he turned and handed me the cash saying, “There isn't the slightest question as to who has won this wager,” he said, “and I take back what I said about women other than French. You are the most beautiful one I have ever seen."

I saw his eyes sweep over me. I turned, allowing him to view me from every angle, scattering the money as I did so. Stopping before him, I said, “Your French friend-was she generous enough to invite you to remain with her, after she had won her wager?"

He came to me and took me in his arms. “What do you mean?” he asked.

For answer, I raised my lips to his in a clinging kiss. Leading me to a broad couch, he kissed my face, neck, shoulders, and titties-and after he fucked me, he dropped to his knees between mine and “Frenched” me. He, my dear, was the first man who ever did that to me; men usually tongue their women only before they fuck them. But Sir Ethelred was different. He was an Epicurean. Leading him to my bedroom, I asked him to strip off his clothes. The sight of his naked body lent further lust to my already overwrought body. I sprang upon him, kissed him all over, and ended by taking his cock into my mouth and sucking him off.

There were no secrets between us after that. He asked me to tell him my story, and I omitted nothing. He, in turn, confessed that he had on several occasions taken good-looking young men to his bed and that he loved it. He remained with me all night and proved in many ways that he was something of a ladies’ man.

The following morning, he insisted upon my keeping my winnings, but I refused. “If I accepted your money,” I told him, “you would always remember me as a whore, and I'm not that. I take my pleasure for the pure love of it."

This so delighted him that he proposed a series of parties, and for one solid week, we indulged in one orgy after the other.

He told me of the shocking orgies which were forever taking place throughout Rome and promised to arrange that I might witness them.

One talks of Paris and the gay and exciting things that happen there, but they are nothing as compared to those of Rome. Through peepholes, one might witness scenes never dreamed of in Paris, but I won't tire you with a description of them here; they are far too shocking for even me to relate.

After a week with Sir Ethelred, I left Italy and crossed back into Hungary, and here I spent a happy month. Here, as I have already told, the elite were vying with each other in every sort of vile and erotic entertainment. A description of one will give you an idea of the sort of entertainment they fostered. During my previous visit to Budapest, I had been acquainted with many members of the “upper set,” and I hadn't been in the city a day before I was being sought by members of this selfsame group. The evening after I arrived in Budapest, I was invited to a great banquet given in the home of one Madam Sylvia Tugwell. Sylvia, though in her early thirties, was the mother of a very beautiful daughter, and was noted for the spectacular parties she was forever giving.

Living, as she did, in a spacious home, and being married to a man of great wealth, Sylvia had had installed in the basement of their home a swimming pool, and the place had held more than one bizarre party. The banquet was to begin at nine o'clock, and I arrived at seven, just in time to partly overhear a quarrel between Sylvia and her vicious daughter.

This girl, though scarcely eighteen, had already been mixed up in one or two scandalous affairs and was known to have carried on a flirtation with a captain of the police, he having caught her in a raid and demanding her favors as the price of silence.

"I don't know what the child will want to do next,” cried Sylvia, wringing her hands and carrying on at a great rate. “Now she wants to bring in a dancer to entertain my guests, and I know it will cause another scandal. What shall I do! What shall I do!"

"Forget it, Sylvia,” I said, patting her cheek. “The child must have her fling, even as you and I."

Whether she got my meaning, I do not know. Nothing more was said about it until the end of the dinner. Then plenty was said, and not by Sylvia alone.

These functions, as one might guess, were the gathering place for rogues and their mistresses and, as in other fashionable centers, the women were forever striving to outdo each other in indecent dress. Sylvia's banquet was no exception. Myself? I wore a gown with little or nothing above my waist. My breasts, like those of every woman and girl present, strutted boldly over my corset. The couples, eighty in number, were from the first families of the city, and the women and their escorts alike boasted of their lovers and mistresses.

Madam Sylvia herself spent but one night each week in her husband's apartment-the other six she spent in the arms of her lovers.

Is it any wonder, then, that her daughter, moving, as she did, among the others of the “younger set,” shouldn't go in for the unusual?

I have, as you know, a pair of full, well-rounded breasts, and long before the dinner was over, more than one gentleman present was viewing them, desire showing in every glance. Much wine had been consumed, and the dinner was rapidly drawing to a close when there came a scuffle. A moment later, a girl was seen to dash through the portieres and run to the table. With a bound she sprang upon it, ran the entire length amid the plaudits of the guests, and finished the performance by doing a most lewd dance in the very center. Does that sound unusual, my friend? No? Well, then, let me tell you something more about it. The beautiful black-haired daughter of Sylvia was stark naked.

Her mother, of course, was horrified, or pretended she was, but the guests, and especially the gentlemen, were delighted, and insisted that she continue her dance. After that, she was handed from one to the other until she had made the round of the table, and the whole affair ended by her mother kissing her and thanking her for making the party a success.

But Sylvia, however, had another treat in store for her guests who were to remain overnight. A dozen couples, having come from distant cities, were supposed to remain all night, and being among these latter I, too, remained.

"You'll enjoy it darling,” Silvia cooed, handing me a “Frenchy” nightgown. “It's so risque. Oh, darling, you'll love it!"

The “party” Sylvia had in mind was to take place in the famous pool in the cellar the following morning. There was a story leading up to this affair which runs something like this: Once, a few years previous, some women of her acquaintance had given a cruising party to several of her guests. A large yacht carried them into the Adriatic. Everything went well until the afternoon of the third day, and then the yacht sprung a leak.

There was little or no danger, but the captain ran the yacht upon a sandy shore for safety sake. The dining room, however, was under several feet of water, and someone in the party suggested what she called a “swim-breakfast” and this was seconded by the entire party. Then, just to give the thing “spice,” they went into the dining room wearing their nightclothes, the ladies wearing their naughtiest night-gowns, the gentlemen wearing theirs.

Sylvia, who had been one of the women, immediately copied the stunt, and once a year she gave her own swim-breakfast in the pool. The pool having been ready since the early hours of dawn, we proceeded into the cellar where we found everything ready and waiting.

It was, I do believe, the most bizarre affair I had ever attended.

The water had been lowered ‘till it came to but the top of the table, and the chairs had been weighted down. We found steaming coffee awaiting us, and it was a gay crowd, indeed, who tripped down into the crystal-clear water. Little “Ohs” and “Ahs” escaped their lips at the contact of the cool water.

Sounds like a very “spicy” party, doesn't it? Well, to me it was the most asinine affair I had ever attended. It was asinine because these fool women were wearing nightgowns of the sheerest possible texture (two or three, more daring than the others, wore gossamer affairs without the slightest trimming) when they should, by every possible right, be naked.

After all, what is the difference between one woman wearing a sheer nightgown, and another in complete nakedness?

Two or three of them hurried down into the water and waded to their place, seemingly unmindful that their thin garments floated about the hips. Others, trying to appear shy, flitted about the edge, their gowns drawn up as they begged the men not to wet them; the men, in the meantime, got a splendid view since they stood directly beneath the squealing women.

At last, however, they all waded in and were directed to their proper place by maids who waded hip-deep, and here again there was considerable squealing when they settled down upon the chairs.

It was Sylvia's daughter who once more turned the drab affair into a real, honest-to-God naughty party, and thus saved it from becoming a flat failure. The little imp seemed to have been waiting until everyone was seated before she burst in upon the crowd and, as she had been the previous night, she was stark naked. Laughing and splashing her way through the water, she rushed directly to her mother's side, kissed her, and splashed water into her face.

Sylvia was furious, of course. She remonstrated, coaxed, and pleaded, but it did not the slightest good. Tillie (that was the daughter's name) was bent on making it an out-and-out nude party and finally succeeded in tearing the gown off her mother, very much against the poor woman's wishes.

This, of course, was wildly applauded by the others, who were only too glad that someone had courage enough to do something to enliven the silly affair. The gentlemen, seeing Sylvia floundering about in absolute nakedness, took it upon themselves to denude their partners, and though the latter made as though to prevent it, it was all too plain that they were doing everything possible to assist the men in the disrobing act. The result was that every woman, myself included, was reduced to complete nakedness, and after the men kindly removed their scant attire, we sat down to enjoy a much-delayed breakfast.

"Isn't it fun!” cried one.

"Isn't it just too naughty for words!” cried another.

"Don't you just love it!"

"Let's do it every Sunday morning!"

Tillie scrambled upon the table and was pouring coffee and making herself useful in a dozen different ways, and more than one male hand reached up and patted or toyed with some charm that was so freely exposed.

Sylvia tried to make one desperate effort to get rid of her daughter, but Tillie wasn't to be put off. “You should talk about me! What were you doing sneaking into your lover's bedroom last night if it wasn't to get a thrill! Oh, don't look so frightened! I saw you in bed together, and you weren't making such a fuss about being naked then!"

And while Sylvia fumed and fussed, the others laughed at her misery, and the whole affair boiled down to what it should have been in the first place-namely, an out-and-out bare-ass romp.

That was rather a long description of a rather tame affair, my friend, but I couldn't help but describe the sort of silliness that was forever taking place in that and other cities at that time.

Being alone (Sir Ethelred having continued his journey into the Orient), I spent several days in the offices of my attorneys, and after what seemed an endless time, my affairs were settled to the extent that I was able to travel again.

With more wealth than I could ever hope to spend, I toured to France and hence to Paris. I had three distinct reasons for this. In the first place, it was necessary to go there as I had affairs of Ferry's to settle; in the second, I had never been to Paris; and in the last but not least, I wanted to replenish my wardrobe.

I had heard a considerable amount about Paris and its gaiety, and as soon as I got settled in a hotel, I went on a shopping tour. Being a stranger in the city, I asked one of the hotel clerks to suggest the best-known places in which to buy dresses. He gave me a card and told me of the high quality of the garments sold there.

I visited this place late the following afternoon, and it was in this shop that I had my first thrilling taste of what went on in this type of store. Having made known my needs to what seemed to be the mistress of the establishment, I was shown into the rear of the place.

Like many other such places, it was fitted out with a small stage-like affair upon which the models displayed various gowns, suits, underthings, and the like. As is always the case in such upscale establishments, the models were live. And while I stood waiting for the “show” to begin, another young woman entered and seated herself close beside me. I noticed that she smiled at me, and I returned the smile. Here, I thought, was a good chance to strike up an acquaintance-I knew no one in the great city and was desirous of company.

I noted among other things that she was unusually pretty, that her carriage was perfect, and that she sported a wonderful shape. This interested me, as you might have already imagined.

There was another thing about her, however, and this was that she was unusually pale. I wondered at that.

The mistress of the establishment had the kindness to introduce me to this handsome woman (I had previously told her I was a stranger in the city) and I found her charming, indeed. I told her something about myself, she told me a little about herself, and all in all, we found each other splendid company. She said that she purchased all her gowns in that particular shop, thus leading me to believe she must be well-to-do, and that being the type I sought, I encouraged her. When she discovered that I had traveled more or less extensively, she asked, “You have been in Russia?"

When I told her I had never been in that country, but that I had had the pleasure of meeting several Russians and that I admired them a great deal, she smiled and said, “I am Russian, as you have undoubtedly noted."

"And I am German,” I laughed. “We should make a good foil for these delightful Parisians.” And so I gained another friend.

I had never cared very much for French people; those I had met seemed to be narrow-minded and distant, but there is one thing to be said in their favor. When a Parisian does something, he or she does it well. And this held true in this shop.

Shortly after we had entered the place, the models began to make their appearance, and it was these very models who gave me my first look into Parisian ideas and the way they did things.

The first model, a beautiful black-haired creature, came out wearing a long black cape and low slippers. Gaining the front of the stage, the girl smiled down at us and dropped off the gown, and there before us, she stood stark naked.

Nudity was no new thing to me, but this, I thought, was about the strangest thing I had ever seen. I called my new friend's attention to this, but she simply shrugged her shapely shoulders, saying, “It is nothing, my friend. One becomes used to so much nudity, and we think nothing of it here."

"You have lived here long?” I asked.

"A year,” she answered. “I like Paris very much."

Wondering what she meant about so much nudity, I said, “You speak as though you were a frequent visitor here. Is that what you meant about the nudity?"

She smiled. “No. You see, I have been a professional woman; I was a member of the ballet, but I injured an ankle and,” she shrugged her shoulders again, “well, I never took it up again."

I found myself liking the woman more and more. I said, “I can quite understand, since you were an actress. It happens that I, too, have been an actress and am used to nudity, but one sees here and there one she likes better than another perhaps.” Pointing toward one of the models who was just coming upon the stage, I continued, “That one, for instance. I am anxious to see her undraped; she must be beautiful."

My friend smiled. My lure had been taken, for she said, “We all have our tastes. For my part, I would prefer the one over there, the little one who came on first. I could just eat her with kisses. I think her the most beautiful of them all."

A thrill passed over me. This business of eating a girl was one that you know interested me. I said, “Strange, isn't it, but I was thinking the same of the golden-haired one."

My Russian friend thawed; my last remark had had its effect. Reaching across and patting my hand, she said, “I do not wish to be misunderstood, but-well, the one you refer to is rather acceptable and can be had."

Taking the bull by the horns, I said: “Passive or active?"

"Both,” came the ready answer. “You will find Madam more than willing to accommodate."

We talked for a few minutes more, made a few selections, and as I was about to leave, my Russian friend said, “If I am understanding correctly that you are quite alone in the city, why not come and have dinner with me. I am quite alone this evening."

I accepted.

I discovered she had her own carriage, and in this we were driven to her apartment. I found it furnished tastefully. Costly furnishings were scattered about everywhere. Rugs, many of them very expensive, covered the floors, while in the center of the front, or parlor room, stood a low, broad couch. Upon this was the largest bearskin I had ever seen. It was perfectly white.

A maid took our wraps, and when she disappeared, I said, “That couch-it looks interesting,” and I looked roguishly at her.

She dropped her eyes and I wondered if I had been too hasty.

"You will undoubtedly think me a dreadful person,” she said, her eyes still cast down, “but, well the gentleman with whom I share this apartment is not my husband."

I laughed. “Naughty,” I said, “I knew it all the time, but do not allow it to worry you. I have had lovers at different times and I wish I had one even now."

"That makes it ever so much easier,” she said. “I was afraid you wouldn't understand."

Her name, I learned, was Camilla. She was in her early twenties and what she had said about being a ballet dancer was true. She was the mistress of a gentleman connected with the Spanish government who held a responsible position in the French capitol.

Summoning her maid, Camilla ordered wine. “Just an appetizer before dinner,” she said, smiling. After two or three glasses, Camilla began talking on life, and soon we were discussing-quite freely I thought-our affairs, previous and present.

Looking longingly at the skin-decked couch, I said, “It must be something of a thrill to entertain a lover while lying in his arms on such a couch."

She laughed. “I'm sorry I cannot furnish you with a desirable man at the moment, but…"

"Then I should have brought that golden-haired beauty with me,” I said, giving a slight rotating motion with my loins. “I could do with her very nicely, at the moment."

"Tomorrow,” she said, “if you have nothing important to do, I shall show you about our famed city, and who knows-perhaps we might find someone for you."

"Indeed! That sounds perfect!"

We enjoyed a delightful dinner, and long before it was time to depart, Camilla was telling me many things about her lover.

"That couch,” she said, nodding toward the other room. “You would hardly believe me when I tell you of the strange part it plays in our affectionate encounters."

"Indeed,” I said, “tell me about it. I am interested."

"Would you believe that my lover, Henri, never receives me unless he is fully dressed? And it is only after I have aroused him by performing strange rites that he undresses me?"

Not wishing to ask a direct question, I said, “Lovers are often strange, so nothing you can tell would surprise me!"

"Just the same,” she continued, bent, it seemed, upon telling me about her Henri, “you have never heard of anything like what I am going to tell you. Would you believe,” she went on, “that before he is able to have me, I must first straddle across his chest-while we are fully dressed-and pee-pee on his shirt front?"

I laughed. “There are many men like that, so your story is in no way unusual.” Then I told her of the strange experience I had had with the old man, and how he made me “pee-pee” all over him.

She laughed at this. “And that is the reason why I am so pale. Henri insists that I take something to increase the desire to pee-pee; it's something he heard of from a friend and he says it's perfectly harmless."

I had my doubts about that, however. I said, “After that I suppose he is quite capable of satisfying you? Most men are, afterward."

"Then I send for my pet at Madam's establishment; the black-haired one, I mean."

"And what does your lover say to that?” I asked.

"He's a dear and doesn't mind a bit. He knows I like a girl, that way, and as long as I remain true to him, I can have anything I like."

"And where is your lover now?"

"At the moment he is off somewhere” she said, and looking naughtily at me, continued. “That's why I suggested seeing the city tomorrow, if the idea appeals to you, of course."

"Must we wait until tomorrow?” I asked. I thought this was sufficient to bring her to time, but again she failed to rise to the lure. Camilla was undoubtedly waiting for me to make the first move, but I fully intended it would be she who did so.

I was doomed to disappointment, though I didn't find out the truth of it until the following day.

True to her word, she took me on a sightseeing tour of the city and, among other places we visited was a “massage parlor” in a secluded section of the city. The “massaging” was done, not on one's back, but chiefly between one's thighs. And it was then I discovered that while Camilla delighted in having a pretty a girl “entertain” her that way, she never did it herself. Upon questioning her as to why she didn't, she said, “I do not know. It's simply that I never desired it that way, I guess."

That ended that. Camilla was not for me; as long as she would not reciprocate there was no further reason why I should look forward to a party with her. I did, however, find her rather helpful in my search for a man. She arranged a dinner party for me and promised to invite a friend. Such affairs were common, she said, and I promised to come.

Camilla had suggested I wear my naughtiest dress, and this I did. Wearing naughty attire was my greatest delight, and since it had been some time since I had had a man, I rather looked forward to meeting this promised Adonis.

I found Henri's friend rather good looking. In fact, he resembled Ferry.

Camilla, it seemed, had written to Henri about making the arrangements for this meeting, and Henri, good soul that he was, had brought the gentleman with him. They both arrived late Saturday afternoon. Dinner had been announced for eight, and I had plenty of opportunity to study my new acquaintance. My dress, as Camilla had suggested, was rather in keeping with such a gathering, and though it was delightfully naughty, Camilla went me one better.

Hers was a white satin affair cut in such a manner as to show both her well-formed breasts and set off the outlines of her splendid figure by its tightness.

The dinner was a success and long before we left the table the wine had gotten in its effects, for all four of us were feeling quite kittenish.

It was Camilla, however, who started things off. I could see from the very start that she intended making it a real party. All through the repast she flirted, and just as her maid placed coffee and cigarettes before us, she said, “Perhaps you gentlemen might help settle a dispute."

Her eyes were dilated, her full lips were even more full and red than usual, and the nipples of her breasts were firm and erect and looked for all the world like tiny strawberries.

"Indeed,” said Henri, “I hope you two beauties haven't quarreled after so short an acquaintance."

Camilla laughed. “Nothing as bad as that, my dear; it's simply that we disagreed about women."

"Sounds interesting,” Phillip (that being my friend's name) offered by way of assisting in what he must have known was to follow. “Go ahead, Camilla, and tell us; perhaps Henri and I can help you settle your dispute."

"Yes, by all means tell us about it,” chirped Henri.

"Well,” began Camilla, selecting and lighting a cigarette, “I insisted that Russia produced the most beautiful women in the world, and my new friend here, being German, insisted that Germany produced the most perfect women."

"What in the world would cause you girls to argue over a thing like that?” asked Henri. “I supposed I had settled that long ago."

"You might have settled it as far as you're concerned,” chimed in Phillip, “but I, too, have my ideas regarding beauty."

"Indeed, and what is your idea on the matter? Tell us."

"Well,” Phillip said, eyeing me naughtily, “I quite agree with my little friend, here. If she is an example of Germany 's women, then I agree with her, although your Camilla, Henri, is quite beautiful."

"Thank you,” I said, patting his hand and smiling sweetly. “I at least have one friend among us."

"Not at all, not at all,” he said. “I am quite sincere about it."

"A man will always stick up for his mistress, and having seen my darling Camilla naked many times…"

"Henri!” cried Camilla, making believe she was dreadfully shocked. “What will our friends think of us, talking like that!"

"But it's true, isn't it?” asked Henri, trying to tease her.

"Just the same, you need not advertise it. Besides, I'm but one woman, you know."

"Don't quarrel, don't quarrel,” cried Phillip, “but tell us what started the argument."

"Well,” began Camilla, “we visited a clothes shop a few days ago, and we got to discussing the models…"

"So,” cried Henri, “You've been cheating again, have you?"

"Not the way you mean, naughty,” answered Camilla. “Remember, my dear, there are none but girls there."

"That may be true, but I happen to know what you passionate women go there for."

"Then you shouldn't go away and leave us alone for so long,” cried Camilla. “Besides, a little kiss never hurt anyone, and if you recall, dear, you said I could go there if I'd promise never to flirt with some man."

The party was getting under way with a bang. The dinner over, we moved from the table and into the front room. The maid brought in champagne and glasses, and Camilla said, “After you have removed the dinner things you may go; we won't need you further tonight."

Camilla looked at me and winked. When she first proposed this affair, she had asked me if I was game for a real party. I told her I would do anything she suggested and that the sky was the limit. She had said something about going a little higher than the sky, and I had readily agreed. And now that she had dismissed her maid I could look forward to anything.

Phillip and I had taken seats, and Camilla had thrown herself down in rather a sprawled position and was waiting for the drinks Henri was preparing for us. This drunk and our glasses filled again, Henri settled down beside Camilla. “Now tell us something more about this argument,” he said.

"Well, as I said, we happened to meet there to select new gowns, and as they began displaying the models, we got to discussing them. They are of all nationalities, as you know, and I happened to say that I thought the Russian women were the most beautiful."

"Well?” Henri said, as though to hurry Camilla.

"Well,” Camilla continued, “we didn't get anywhere in our argument, so we decided to let you boys decide it for us. My contention was that, since the ballet was made up chiefly of Russian women, the world accepted them as the best formed."

"In what way?” asked Phillip.

"Their legs, of course,” said Camilla.

"Nonsense,” I offered in my own defense. “The German women have as well-formed legs as any others."

"I quite agree,” Phillip said.

"And I agree with Camilla,” insisted Henri. “When I chose Camilla as my mistress, I chose her from a hundred women of various nationalities. I know women, and Camilla has the most beautiful legs and thighs of any woman I have ever seen."

Phillip, not to be outdone, said, “Again I dispute with you. I have never had the pleasure of seeing this beautiful woman's legs, but if what I can see is anything like the rest of her, then I am of the opinion that she is far more beautiful than your Camilla."

"Indeed, she is not,” cried Camilla, “and I stand ready to prove it, too."

"Ah, but legs aren't everything,” cried Henri. “A woman may have beautiful legs and be out of proportion otherwise. When an artist paints a nude he has, perhaps, a dozen or more models. He paints the feet of one, the legs of another, and still another's buttocks, while others may provide head or breasts. No,” he continued, sighing, “I'm afraid Camilla's right. You forget that I chose her from hundreds, and have seen her completely nude scores of times."

"Oh, Henri, you're wicked! But thanks for taking my side of the argument,” she said, and she leaned over in his arms offering her half-open mouth to his.

"I'm afraid that lets me out of the argument,” Phillip said with a great sigh. “I have tried to be loyal to you, but I'll have to withdraw now."

Not to be outdone when it was plain that the party was just getting hot, I said, “You're just like all men, Phillip, letting me down like that."

"But, my dear,” he cried, slipping one arm about my waist, “how can I uphold my contention that you're more beautiful when I have never had the pleasure of seeing you nude?"

"Then let us settle it this way,” cried Henri. “Let the girls strip stark naked and we'll compare."

"Henri!” cried Camilla, trying to blush. “What a dreadful thing to suggest! I should die of shame!"

"I agree with Henri,” Phillip said, looking into my eyes and seeing my answer there. “Let both girls strip stark naked. Then we will examine them from head to toe."

"How about it? Are you willing to back your contention by going through with it?” asked Henri.

I shrugged my shoulders. “It's a dreadful thing to do,” I answered, “but I'll do it if Camilla will. I'm that sure of myself!"

"There,” said Henri, hugging his mistress in a tight embrace and kissing her again and again. “Now let's see if you're game, Miss Camilla!"

"You think I won't?” she cried. “You think I'd back out now?"

Rising from the couch beside Henri, she said, “Come on! We'll show these two softies we're not the simple-minded kids they think us!"

Laughing, her breasts heaving, Camilla pulled me into one of the bedrooms and closed the door. “Thanks,” I said, kissing her, “I need it dreadfully bad, and tomorrow I'll pay you back in kind!"

She said not a word to this, and we quickly undressed, even slipping off slippers and stockings. I had seen Camilla naked a few days previous when we visited the massage parlors, but that night she looked like a marble statue. Her skin, lily-white, seemed even more pale to me, and she was, I thought, the most beautiful woman I had ever seen in the altogether. Our wager and brags had been, of course, but a means to an end, and just as we were about to reenter the larger room, she slipped her arms about me and asked, “You still game to make it an out-and-out party, darling? I'm dreadfully hot tonight, and I might shock your pretty eyes with what I do!"

"Lead the way, Camilla, my dear. I said I'd go through with anything you could suggest, and I mean it. I'm game for anything!"

"Anything?” she asked, a naughty twinkle in her eye.

"I'll do anything you do!” I answered.

She gazed into my eyes for a long minute. “May I depend on it, darling?"

"Fix it so I can have Phillip for the entire night and I'll promise anything-and I never break a promise!"

Snatching a single kiss, Camilla turned and ran into the other room. Naked as the day I was born, I followed. I saw Phillip's eyes sweep over me as Camilla and I posed in the center of the room!

"Naughty!” cried Camilla, trying to cover her cunny and breasts with her two hands. “Don't stare at me like that! It's dreadful."

For answer, Henri pulled her down upon his knees, and here Camilla forgot all about covering her charms; from that moment on, the party was a huge success. The promised examination was but a ruse; a means to get their hands upon our charms, a little opportunity Phillip didn't waste much time in doing with me, and it was Camilla's timely remark that saved me from asking Phillip to fuck me then and there.

"Henri, dear, your clothes are so rough,” she complained.

"That's easily remedied,” he cried, dragging Phillip with him into the bedroom, from which they emerged as naked as ourselves!

A warm glow swept over me as I rested my eyes on Phillip's erect prick! And it was erect, if ever I saw one! Fully eight inches long and as large around as my wrist-I couldn't keep my hand from it! “Look,” he whispered, nodding toward the opposite side of the room. I looked, and what I saw convinced me that Camilla had been right in her statement that this was to be a real party!

I had never met a man who wouldn't give me every sort of kiss and caress, but I had met but few who would allow another to see them in this strange position. Henri, however, seemed to have forgotten he had an audience. That or he didn't care, for he was covering Camilla's body and legs with his warmest kisses, every moment or two burying his face between her widely parted thighs and madly kissing her slit!

"Like it?” came the whispered question in my ear.

My answer was a kiss. “I love it!"

That, my friend, was the beginning of one of the most naughty affairs I had ever attended. Like Ferry, Phillip and Henri cared not who knew or saw them. In utter abandon, Phillip buried his face into my willing crotch! Gazing across to the others, I saw Camilla take Henry's crest between her lips and suck it in and out! Not to be outdone, I followed suit, continuing the lovely operation ‘till my handsome fellow spurted into my mouth! Roused now to the highest pitch, I begged him to fuck me.

The following day being Sunday, we continued the affair throughout the day. Camilla and I flirted outrageously with the two men-and I had the pleasure of another night in the arms of my handsome companion. They left us Monday morning, and I was sorry indeed. I remained several days with Camilla.

The evening of the second day, Camilla was lying upon a couch, her only covering being a short, lacy affair between the folds of which I could see the silky hairs on her lower belly. Settling down beside her, I said, “You told me a fib, dear. You told me how you had to pee-pee upon Henri before he could get an erection, but you didn't do it. Why?"

"I guess it was because of you being naked with us-that wasn't the first party like that we've had, and it's always the same; Henri always has a wonderful cock-stand when he sees another nude."

"Nonsense,” I scoffed, pulling her gown open all down the front. “Seeing you naked is enough to arouse any man."

"Just the same, I wish you could remain with us forever, for then I'd get all the fucking I want, and I want it all the time."

"So I noticed,” I said, laughing and sliding my hand up and down her splendid body, which now lay bared before me. “I thought you would kill the poor fellow. I was on the verge of taking him off your hands."

"Why didn't you? Phillip hasn't a bad-looking tool. If he were here now, I believe I would ask him to fuck me, I'm that hot!"

"Then why not get ourselves a couple of men? There must be plenty about, and I could stand a good poking myself."

She stared up at me for several seconds. “I could never bring myself to do that, but, well-if you'll promise never to give me away, I'll let you in on a secret."

Leaning over her and kissing her lips, I said, “Tell me what's on your mind, dear, and I'll promise in the most convincing manner!"

Another short silence, then: “I know a place where we can go, but you must give me your faithful promise you'll never tell!"

I promised, and she went on to tell me of a place she knew of on a certain street. It was run by a woman she knew very well, and she catered to only the highest-class men. The place, she said, was the naughtiest she had ever seen. Ribbons of various colors hung in the front room. For every color there was a girl, and the men, wishing to enjoy the novelty of the thing as well as the woman, chose a ribbon and followed it through the halls and into the room to which it ran. There, she said, the girl, naked, waited for the man. She had been there a number of times, she said, and she wanted to take me there.

I agreed, naturally. The thing held a certain amount of spice, and I wasn't at all sure but what I would take the first man who came along.

Later that day we went to the place. We were assigned two rooms. The following morning, just before daylight, we crept away. I, for one, had had all the men I wanted for one evening.

From that day until I left Camilla, we had dozens of men, and I had the satisfaction of initiating Camilla into that little game known as sixty-nine.

I had planned on going to London, since I had business there, but I left a little sooner than I intended, and my decision to go earlier was brought about in a somewhat unusual manner.

One afternoon Camilla had a caller. This was a beautiful French girl. She, it seemed, she also had business in London, and I suggested that we go together.

She willingly agreed to this arrangement. I noted that she was unusually pretty, well-formed, and sported a pair of the prettiest legs I have ever seen. Bidding adieu to Camilla and promising to spend more time with her, Babette (that being her name) and I left.

We sailed across the channel, and since we had embarked late in the afternoon, and because the weather outside was damp and foggy, we adjourned to our cabin. It contained two beds, and I couldn't help but notice how elated she seemed at the prospect of being so near me.

As I have said, Babette was a very pretty girl, and as you might have guessed, I was looking forward to becoming better acquainted with her. I suggested having dinner in our room, since I was too tired to dress for dinner, and Babette readily agreed.

I said, “Slip out of your clothes, dear, and we'll enjoy our dinner in more comfortable attire. Being something of a nudist, I can't bear much clothing."

Darting into a tiny dressing room, she gave a startled little laugh, and cried, “That's funny; so am I, but I hope I won't shock you."

I heard water running and knew Babette was taking a bath; a very considerate gesture I thought. Most actresses are more or less careless with the exposure of their body and limbs, and I'm sure the deck steward got something of a shock at the gown I was wearing when he brought dinner in.

Dinner placed upon the table and the steward gone, Babette came into the room. The poor kid was a little low on cash and had little or nothing of extra clothing, but I had provided her with certain articles of apparel, two of which she was wearing now: a knee-length dressing gown and a tiny undervest of black georgette crepe.

After our dinner, she said, “I'm sorry I lied to you, dear, but my name isn't Babette, its Sarolta. I had a little trouble in Paris, and used the name Babette."

"Nothing serious, I hope."

"Just a board bill, but in Paris that's serious,” she answered.

"Then forget it,” I said. “I have plenty of money and you're welcome to it. What's more, when we get to London, I'll purchase you a whole new outfit, from head to toe."

"You're awfully good,” she said, “and I can't lie to you. I'm not an actress, at least I haven't worked at it for very long. I'm, well… I guess I'm just a little whore."

"Forget all about it,” I said, seeing a tear in each of her eyes. “We've all made mistakes, and, well-if you must know it, this little thing between my legs is almost screaming aloud for a stiff prick. Anyway,” I continued, “I'm glad you told me that much about it, for now I can feel ever so much more at home.” I slipped the gown from my shoulders-underneath I was naked. The cabin sported a broad couch, and going to this I threw myself down, stretched languidly, and said, “I can't bear a stitch of clothing when I feel like I do now."

|"Then you should go with me to Mrs. Meredith's home; no one ever thinks of wearing a stitch of clothing there,” she offered, throwing herself down beside me after dropping her own gown, but still retaining the tiny undervest.

"Indeed,” I said, patting her smooth, warm thigh, “you interest me, my dear. Tell me about it,” and I continued to stroke the warm flesh of her shapely leg. Sarolta, however, didn't get to describing her friend, Mrs. Meredith. I had already taken note of the profuse, raven black hair that almost buried her little slit, and wishing to hurry what was on my mind, I said, “Naughty, I thought you were a nudist. I feel silly lying here without anything on and you all dressed up in a chemise."

"There,” she said, throwing off the thing and turning about so I could view her splendid body, now completely nude. “Is that the way you want me?"

She moved to the couch again and settled down, raising her hands to toy with her glorious head of hair. Her knees being separated, I was given a view of her delicious little cunt. I wanted it-I never wanted anything more-but I went slowly. Placing my hand on her leg again and feeling her, I said, “Really, dear, I had no idea your skin was so soft and velvety. And this hair… how lovely and black it is,” I continued, running my fingers through it; it ran far up on her belly and its feel quite thrilled me.

"Like it?” she asked, raising one leg, thus allowing me more freedom, which I took by diving my fingers lower down.

"It's lovely,” I said.

Turning, she glanced down at my hairy patch, “But it's not nearly as silky as yours; you must have taken good care of it.” Then the daring girl slid her hand into the patch, feeling and toying with it and running her fingers up and down through it.

"You like mine?” I asked, separating my legs a little, a move which she quickly took advantage of by sliding her fingers into my crotch and gently caressing my slit.

"It's beautiful,” she said in a low voice.

"I'm glad you like it, dear, for your naughty fingers feel lovely, but if you keep it up, I'll have to ask you to finish it for me."

"You really like it?” she asked, smiling into my eyes and probing into the soft flesh. And when I told her I did, she said, “Then perhaps you'll like this better,” and dropping to her knees beside me, she slipped her face between my thighs gave me one of the most delightful gamahuchings I ever had.

"Did you like that?” she asked, raising and leaning over me.

"How did you know I wanted that, you little minx?"

She replied, “Camilla told me you loved to be sucked off, and I love doing it.” She said this in the most matter-of-fact way.

"And do you like having it done to you?” I asked.

"Sometimes,” she answered, “but I'd rather do it anytime than have it done, and that's why I'm going to London. There are any number at Mrs. Meredith's who delight in having it done."

Never in my short life had I ever heard anything like this.

Using her own words, I said, “Do you like to suck my cunt, dear?"

"I love it. Shall I do it again?"

I nodded my approval, and she quickly got her face between my legs, giving me another, far sweeter thrill than before.

A further description of what happened between us is useless here.

In London, I found this Mrs. Meredith a very charming woman. In her early thirties, she was wealthy, single, and lived for the pure love of living. I discovered, too, a very charming lady there whom I had previously met, and who turned out to be a sister-in-law of Ferry, my previous lover. Strangely enough, this woman knew all about my affairs with Ferry, and then I discovered that she, like the other women and girls there, was a strict believer in free-love.

The place enchanted me. Mrs. Meredith was one of the most charming women it has been my good fortune to meet, and her home, besides being spacious, was beautiful and was frequented by the elite of London.

"We have no secrets,” she smilingly told me. “Ferry's sister-in-law has told me all about you, and we welcome you as one of us. We sincerely hope you will make my place of abode your home as long as it is possible for you to remain in London.” With that, she kissed me, told me she thought me beautiful, then said, “Please do not think I presume, but I would keenly enjoy spending the night with you, if you haven't other plans."

"I could think of nothing more charming,” I said. “I greatly delight in entertaining pretty women, and you are very pretty, indeed!"

My story is drawing to a close, my friend. There is little left to tell. I remained with Mrs. Meredith for two years, and after an extended trip through Russia, I returned there, and am there now.

I believe that woman knew everyone of importance in all London.

Every night there were such parties! She kept the most beautiful girls in all London, and while it was a whorehouse in every sense of the word, no one ever paid for the favors shown them by these women. In the rear of her palatial home was a great garden, and here one found tiny love bowers. Need I mention that no one ever dreamed of wearing the slightest covering.

Though one seldom ever heard a smutty word, the greatest freedom was enjoyed. Sarolta was a great favorite with the women and men alike, and is still here.

Would you like to hear a bit of scandal, my friend? Yes? Listen, then. Balls and parties were, as I have said, a frequent occurrence. Once the Prince of Wales (later King Edward) signified his intention to spend the weekend here. When Mrs. Meredith made this known, one very pretty and shapely girl said, “Really, dear! Then I must hurry and undress!"

Think of one undressing for the Prince of Wales! Yet that is exactly what we did do. The night of his arrival, thirty girls sat at table with him. He was the only man, and every girl was stark naked, save for slippers on their feet.

I had the pleasure of dancing with the prince, and even though I was nude, he proved himself a gentleman, and twice before his brief vacation was ended, I felt the weight of his nude body upon mine. I wonder what his royal mother would say were she to know that? But then, perhaps she does. Who knows?

But our pleasures were not confined to the house and garden. We visited everywhere. Vauxhall Gardens, Piccadilly Salon, Holborn Casino, and Portland Rooms were but some of the places we frequented, though we missed none of the lesser spots.

One night after a splendid dinner when Mrs. Meredith was feeling in an unusual mood, she suggested that we walk in street as common whores. Several of our party had already done this and boasted of the good times they had had. We did it. That night I had six sailors in the back room of a common saloon!

Another time someone stole our purses. Mrs. Meredith suggested taking a “handsome” home. “But how shall we pay?” I asked.

She simply smiled at this. “Wait and see,” she said.

At our door, we were obliged to tell the caddy of our plight. He, good soul that he was, offered to take it out in trade, and right there in his cab. Mrs. Meredith and I allowed the caddy to fuck us. Some comedown for an opera singer, isn't it, my friend? But remember, it was only a lark; either of us could have purchased a thousand handsome cabs.

I'll never forget his words as he adjusted his trousers. He said, “Be jabbers, I never had a better put-in thin the two o’ yer, and I'm treatin’ yer ter the ride!"

But Mrs. Meredith wasn't to be outdone by a cab driver. Telling him to wait there for her, she went into the house, returning with a well-filled purse. “Here,” she said, handing it to him. “There are a hundred pounds in it, and it's worth it; you're the best fuck I've had in months!"

A nudist at heart, I've gone naked for days on end, as have many others here, and the longer I do it the greater the thrill.

Ever your libertine,

Pauline