The Intimate Memoirs of an Edwardian Dandy, vol.II

CHAPTER TWO. Extramural Studies

My heart sank when during breakfast the following morning a college servant presented me with a letter which had been hand-delivered by a young lady just half an hour beforehand. 'Damn and blast!' I muttered as I gave myself the mental odds of a pound to a penny that the envelope contained a note from Gillian canceling our mid-day tryst. At first glance my pessimism seemed to have been well-founded for indeed the letter was from this pretty girl and as I had forecast, she could not meet me as planned. But as I read on-my face broke into a smile for this was no mere cold cancellation but a hot-blooded billet-doux which I still have in my possession and so can reproduce it in full:

Dearest Rupert, First, the bad news; I cannot meet you as planned this morning because I have to attend a lecture which has been brought forward from four o'clock this afternoon. But this leaves me free from one o'clock and at the risk of sounding over-forward I would like to suggest that we meet for a late luncheon at Carlo's Restaurant which is in Woodstock Road just before the junction with Little Clarendon Street. If the weather is good we could take a bus or train to Woodstock and see Blenheim Palace. On the other hand, if it's raining, we could go back to my house as, like yesterday, my room-mates will be away until at least six o'clock.

Somehow, even if the sun is shining brightly, I think I can speculate what you would prefer to do and oh, Rupert, to be honest, I wouldn't be too disappointed if we went to Blenheim Palace on another day!

For if I were forced to make a choice between viewing the marvellous Blenheim gardens laid out by Capability Brown and sucking your cock, I would always plump for the latter. I do love sucking a fat juicy prick, caressing the red mushroomed crown with my lips and then washing it with my tongue. It is so thrilling when the shaft trembles in my mouth and so exciting when the frothy cream shoots out of the tiny hole and I can spread the sticky jism all around the knob with my tongue. I love swallowing mouthfuls of tangy spunk too and cannot think of anything that tastes so fine and clean. Enough now, for writing this frank confession is making my pussey damp and soon it will be crying out for relief which I can only partially satisfy by frigging myself. Only a proud, throbbing stiffstander like yours will be able to quench my voracious sensual desires… If you aren't free this, afternoon, leave a note at my house. Otherwise, I'll be at Carlo's restaurant at around twenty past one this afternoon and look forward to seeing you there. Love, Gillian Well, dear reader, I doubt whether you would have to ponder for more than a second about a choice between walking round Blenheim Palace or fucking Gillian Headleigh! The only problem facing me now was how to collect my thoughts for Professor Simon Webb's tutorial which would begin in ten minutes' time. Somehow I managed to concentrate upon my work and after what seemed an eternity the hands of the clock finally came together at noon. I gathered my books up in a rush and was about to fly out the room when the Professor beckoned me. 'Mr. Mountjoy, a quick word if you have a moment,' he said and though I could hardly wait to get back to my room to change I could hardly refuse to listen to a senior lecturer. 'I am inviting a few undergraduates over for an after dinner soiree in my quarters tomorrow night and I wonder whether you would care to join us at about half past eight?' This was an honour indeed and I accepted his invitation with sincere pleasure, especially as he had not, as I had reared, engaged in further discussion upon our work, which was just as well because already I had little time to spruce myself up before my appointment with the lovely Gillian at Carlo's Restaurant. In fact I arrived at Carlo's in good time and was welcomed effusively by the eponymous owner, Signor Carlo Justini, who has of course since found fame and fortune as the proprietor of the Trattoria d'Argento in Piccadilly which is patronised by the creme de la creme of London Society. 'Come this way, sir. Miss 'Eadleigh has booked a table in a private room upstairs. Perhaps you would like a glass of wine whilst you wait for her?' he suggested, but before I could even answer him Gillian had entered the restaurant and I greeted her. In front of Carlo we exchanged a formal handshake, though once he had brought us a bottle of chilled white wine and taken our order, I leaned over the table and kissed her firmly on the lips. Thank you for your lovely letter,' I said as I resumed my seat, 'but you win no prizes for guessing what I prefer to do after luncheon.' 'You mean then that I shall have to wait for another occasion to walk round Blenheim Palace,' she said, returning my smile. 'Well, I think I can live with this disappointment so long as you can provide me with an equally pleasurable entertainment this afternoon.' 'Gillian, I promise you that will prove to be no problem,' I assured her as our eyes met in a knowing glance and, when I felt her foot rub sinuously against my ankle, I knew that this sensuous girl was feeling just as randy as me!

But there was no huge hurry for we had until six o'clock to ourselves and we first enjoyed a delicious luncheon, the highlight of which was grilled chicken with a panzanella bread salad of plum tomatoes and parsley. We both ate sparingly for we knew that fucking on a full stomach is not a practice to be recommended. As we sipped our grappa, the little minx must have slipped off her shoes for I felt her silk-clad foot move up between my legs under the cover of the sparkling white linen tablecloth. Gillian giggled as Signor Justini bustled in with a fresh pot of coffee and she stroked the stiff length of my shaft with her toes. Have you ever fucked in a restaurant, Rupert?' she whispered throatily as her toes continued to stroke my stiffstander. 'No, but I'm more than willing to try out the experience,' I replied. Gillian leaned forward and as she was wearing a jacket with a low neckline, I was given a clear view of her firm, ripe breasts. 'Well, it's very nice to repair to a couch immediately after leaving the table, but as there is a nice, comfortable bed waiting round the corner, perhaps it would be as well to wait until another time. I do have a fondness for such sport you see, because it was in a private dining-room such as this at the Cafe Clive that I became a woman. 'Yes, Rupert,' she continued. I was first fucked by Sir Andrew Stuck, perhaps the randiest rogue in all London.' 'I hope he did not take advantage of you,' I commented, for even then I knew that an extra bottle of champagne often led to a remorseful morning. 'Oh no, I was more than willing to surrender my virginity to him. I was like the Lady of Kent in the limerick:

There was a young Lady of Kent, Who said that she knew what it meant When men asked her to dine And also to wine, She knew what it meant-but she went!'

I was keenly interested to hear more but Signor Justini knocked on the door and presented us with the bill. As I busied myself writing out a cheque, Gillian muttered: 'I'll tell you more about it when we get home, although you must fuck me first.'

'Your wish is my command,' I replied quietly as Signor Justini and his staff ushered us out into the street. It was less than five minutes' walk to Gillian's rooms and, as she had promised in her letter, none of the other girls in the house were present. We ran straight up to the bedroom and in an inkling we had shucked off our clothes and embraced each other's naked body as we rolled around on the soft mattress. 'My darling boy! Tell me how you are going to fuck me,' she cried. I thought for a moment and said: 'How am I going to fuck you, Gillian? Well, first I am going to roll you over on your back and then I shall mount you as I decide which way we shall first take our pleasure. To begin with, perhaps I shall simply lie on your belly and slowly insert my long, thick cock into your inviting little wet snatch. Then I'll push forward until my shaft is fully inside your velvety sheath before I pull it out and then tease the lips of your pussey with my knob. Then I'll crash my cock back inside your cunney and pump away, increasing the tempo gradually until I'm pistoning such hard, deep thrusts that my balls crack against your thighs. Then we'll come together, my throbbing tool spewing out a sea of sperm whilst your pussey creams itself with the sweet love juices from your hairy honeypot.' 'What a magnificent fuck that sounds!

But let me first salute your proud prick.' She dived down to brush my iron-hard member with her cheek as she licked my heavy, hanging balls with her wet tongue. I writhed in delicious agony as she transferred her attentions to my cock, licking the shaft from base to tip in long, languorous strokes. She moved round to make herself comfortable as she played with my prick, pressing it to each of her smallish but beautifully rounded breasts, squeezing it between them and then softly biting and tickling my purple knob with the end of her wicked little tongue. Then suddenly she thrust her mouth down and took my entire eight inches into her mouth and her salacious sucking almost brought me off there and then. It was far too early to shoot my load so I placed my hands gently under her shoulders and heaved her back onto the bed until she was lying down and she whispered: 'Suck on my titties, please, Rupert, this really makes me feel very randy.' She spoke the truth for she started to squirm as soon as my lips touched her stalky nip. As I sucked it into my mouth I ran my hands all over her body, lingering on her inner thighs whilst I took one and then the other rubbery red tittle between my lips, licking and lapping at the succulent flesh as Gillian's hand now circled and slid up and down my raging staff. Then it was her turn to pull my body upwards as she parted her long, slim legs and as I entered her I paused to savour the sensation as my mushroom helmet squelched its way inside her damp, soft-walled tunnel. She raised her legs high as our loins locked together, our hips bucking wildly as we thrashed around and I pounded in and out, my hands clasping the firm white globes of her backside as the spunk boiled up in my balls and thrust upwards through my pulsating penis. Alas, I simply could not wait for Gillian to climax and with a mighty groan I flooded her cunt with a torrent of warm sperm as jets of jism poured out of my prick so abundantly that her thighs were well lubricated. I withdrew my tingling truncheon, rubbing it amorously against the sticky lips of her pussey. 'Oh dear, I am so sorry,' I apologised as I rolled over to cuddle her in my arms, 'But I just could not hold back any longer.' 'There is absolutely no need to apologise, you sweet boy. You fucked me delightfully and I don't have to spend every time, you know,' she said generously. 'But surely it does matter,' I persisted. 'If you don't manage to climax then I must be doing something wrong.'

Gillian sat up and put a finger against my mouth. 'Let me give you some good advice, Rupert. You really must not become obsessed with timing your spend or you will be in danger of forgetting everything else! Although I grant you that some men do have a problem about spending too quickly, I assure you there is very little to be gained in holding back or forcing forward merely to achieve a simultaneous spend. 'Of course it can be great fun to climax together but this is but one joy of love-making which need never interfere with any other pleasures. Why, I've often found that spending at different times allows the partner who comes first to concentrate on exciting the other which can be very, very nice for them both.' Maybe I still looked doubtful for she added: 'Rupert, if you don't believe me, I'll gladly lend you my copy of that marvellous textbook Fucking For Beginners by Nigel Andrews and you'll read for yourself that what I am telling you is plain, simple fact.' Of course as I matured I soon realised the complete truth of Gillian's words though at the time they were spoken I did believe that she was perhaps slightly gilding the lily for my benefit. Anyway, I nodded my head in agreement and quickly changed the subject. 'What about telling me instead the story of how you were fucked by Sir Andrew Stuck?' I demanded as I threw my arm around her shoulders. She giggled and said: 'Oh yes, I mentioned something about my first poking by young randy Andy at the restaurant, didn't I? It was quite an adventure really as naturally I was still at Trippett's Academy. I had come home for the Easter holidays and I decided to visit my friend Estelle Kenton, who happens to be Andrew's cousin. I'd never met Andrew although like most girls of our class living in London I had heard of his reputation as a ladies' man. As luck would have it, Andrew had also decided to visit Estelle that fateful afternoon and when I was introduced to him I could see why so many young women (as rumour had it) offered themselves for his delectation. There's no getting away from the fact that he's a handsome chap with a friendly face and a witty turn of speech.

'Andrew is one of those chaps who is so blessed with the gift of the gab that if fate had placed him in a different strata of society he would have made an excellent career as a salesman in one of these new huge emporiums in the West End. To cut short a long story, before he left us, Andrew asked me to dine with him the following evening. Normally I would have had to ask permission from my parents but they were spending a few days away in the country with some friends so I was free to accept Andrew's invitation without any hindrance. He called for me punctually at eight o'clock in his new motor vehicle and as Grahame, his chauffeur, drove through Oxford Street Andrew told me that he had booked a table at the Cafe Clive in Museum Street, Bloomsbury. Now I had read about this establishment in the illustrated papers and knew it to be a favourite haunt of the smart 'fast' set, and this already added an extra spice to the evening. 'When we arrived there was already quite a gathering at the restaurant as Lord George Lucas had booked a table to celebrate his birthday. Along with a clutch of other young men his party consisted of chorus girls from the musical comedy at the Alhambra Theatre which was due to open in three days' time. This merry throng dominated the atmosphere but I found it all terribly exciting, especially when the handsome Lord George himself came up to our table.

“Hello, Andrew, you lucky so-and-so. How in heaven's name did you manage to persuade this gorgeous young lady to dine with you tonight? “I don't think I've had the pleasure,” he added as he turned to me, his sensuous grey eyes locked into mine, and I smiled demurely, trying hard to act the part of a shy, blushing maiden.

'“Yes you have, George, but not with that pretty girl,” called out one of his friends from his table. “At least, not yet!” 'Andrew was not overpleased by Lord George's intervention especially when the young peer invited us to join his party, and he murmured his thanks after I had politely declined and Lord George returned to his guests, where his jolly friend Mr. Stockman was regaling the company with a risque story about how he had recently encountered a pretty young woman who turned out to be a witch whilst driving his carriage along a country lane. He knew she was a witch for when she put her hand on the front of his trousers he turned into a lay-by! 'We enjoyed a splendid meal and then Andrew suggested that we took our coffee and liqueurs in one of the small private rooms upstairs. Monsieur c live himself ushered us into the room which was richly decorated with fine furnishings. I noticed immediately that what appeared to be suspiciously like a bed frame and mattress stood in a corner, covered in cream linen sheets along with two big matching pillows plumped up against the wall. I said nothing but sat across the table from Andrew who poured out two steaming cups of black coffee as he asked me whether I would care to join him in a glass of cognac or some other liqueur from the clutch of bottles on the small sideboard.

I accepted his offer of coffee and chose a kummel to accompany it.

'We held hands as we talked and Andrew must have slipped off a shoe for I felt his foot insinuate itself between my ankles and I was so aroused as his toes moved higher and higher that my silk knickers were soon damp even before his foot had reached my thighs! 'I shall spare us both further blushes except to admit that I was no match for Andrew Stuck's polished technique of seduction. In my defence I shall simply say that few girls could resist the charms of this handsome, wealthy young baronet and very shortly afterwards he moved round to sit next to me and we exchanged a passionate kiss. As his tongue probed inside my mouth I felt his hand fondling my breasts.

“What divine bosoms, Gillian. I am sure your titties will be as beautiful to the eye as they are to the touch.” 'After this sweet compliment Andrew unbuttoned my dress and gently eased off the front of my chemise so that my naked breasts lay in his hands. We kissed again and he squeezed my nipples so wonderfully that they became hard and pointed. He rubbed them between his fingers and as he stroked them he put his head down and began to kiss and suck my erect little red soldiers. 'Soon I was lying naked and trembling on the bed watching him undress and admiring his wiry, athletic body-and no doubt like so many girls before and after this experience, I gasped with wonderment when he pulled down his drawers to reveal his astonishingly thick prick which sprang upwards from the mass of black hair at the base of his belly. Although technically I was still a virgin (though I had often used the ladies' comforter I had purchased by mail-order from Madame Nettleton's -you must have seen their advertisements in Society News with their famous guarantee that “all purchases are sent in discreet plain parcels”-and had previously frigged and sucked a certain number of cocks) I knew that Andrew would want to fuck me, but I was worried that I could never accommodate that enormous shaft inside my little cunney. 'Andrew took me in his arms as he knelt down and laid down beside me. His French cologne smelled beautifully and I revelled in the sensation of his abundant chest hair tickling my so sensitive nipples. Our bodies pressed even closer together and he put his hands around my bum cheeks which pushed his huge cock against my soft tummy. At first I didn't hold it as I had no desire to appear a wanton but I could not resist letting my hand wander across the enormous shaft when his right hand slithered around from my bottom and the palm of his hand rubbed itself against my pussey, which was by now moistening like a dew-drenched flower in eager anticipation of what was to come. 'But before we proceeded any further down the path of passion, Sir Andrew Stuck showed himself to be a true aristocrat.

“I would love to fuck you, dearest Gillian,” he whispered quietly, “but you are only seventeen years old and may well be a virgin. I do not want you to regret this evening so even now if you decide to hold back, I will respect your wishes.” These kind and caring words made my heart warm even more towards this considerate young man and looking steadily into his sensual dark eyes I said softly: “Andrew, I very much want you to fuck me. Yes, I am a virgin in that no cock has ever actually entered my love-tunnel, but I lost my hymen some time back thanks to all the frigging and the joys of Madame Nettleton's famous dildoes!” 'With a smile he nodded his head but still asked again: “So you are absolutely certain that you want to be fucked, Gillian?” '“Yes, oh yes, very, very much-and right now!” I answered with some vehemence and I grasped his meaty tool, making a fist around the pulsating shaft with my fingers and I gently masturbated this tremendous love-truncheon as his fingertips slid their way into my juicy cunney. He now raised himself over me and plunged his head down to wash his tongue for a second time over my titties and I arched my back upwards as he licked so thoroughly that when I passed a hand over my tittie it felt as hard as an unripe red berry. For a split second our hot eyes locked together as I took his bursting cock in both hands and placed the purple domed helmet against the pouting cunney lips which were more than ready to receive it. He carefully inserted an inch or so of his tremendous tadger as he moved forward to lay on top of me. I spread my legs as wide as possible and wrapped my legs around his waist as our lips collided and meshed together.

'I had been concerned that I would be unable to accommodate Andrew's monster chopper but I discovered that by wriggling my bottom to and fro I could embed even more of this thick bell-end inside my cunt. As if by magic, further and further inches of pulsing prick disappeared into my creamy cunney as my pussey lips engulfed more and more of his great boner until, with a convulsive jerk of his loins, his cock was fully inserted to the very root and I cried out with glee as our bodies moved up and down in unison. What a glorious first fuck this turned out to be! How tightly my saturated slit held on to Andrew's throbbing tool! We gloried in each other's thrusts as my love juices dripped against his balls as they slapped against my bum. I implored him to drive deeper by twirling my tongue in his mouth and my buttocks rotated almost savagely in his broad palms as his lusty, gleaming joystick drove furiously into my soft depths.

'“Fill me with your spunky cream!” I urged Andrew, who for answer plunged his face between my breasts, sucking furiously at my right nipple whilst the friction in my cunney reached new heights. His wonderful prick slicked in and out of my wet crack at an even faster rate, making us both breathless with excitement. I was finding out what the glorious pleasures of a good fucking could be as my fingers now dug into the flesh of his back and my bucking torso wildly sought more and more of his magnificent prick as our pubic hairs crashed together. All the time I squirmed lasciviously and I began to shudder uncontrollably as I felt my inner depths exploding into the most delicious waves of ecstasy which bathed me in a marvellous glowing release which flowed across every fibre of my body. Each spasm racked through me and I bit poor Andrew's shoulder, which made him pump even harder. Very soon I screamed with joy as he shot powerful spurts of spunk inside my receptive cunt, his rigid prick jetting its jism into my innermost cavities with such vigour that dribblings of our mingled love juices dribbled down my thighs. 'Slowly he pulled out his gleaming penis which was still hard and when I lovingly squeezed the shaft it throbbed with latent energy. I lowered my pouting lips and flicked my pink tongue across the massive dome, juicing his shaft with my saliva as I forced the ripe plum between my lips. He trembled as I moved one hand to massage the insides of his thighs and let the other cradle his heavy, hairy ballsack. Andrew moaned as I sucked on my splendid sweetmeat, until my mouth was full and I began to move my head forwards and backwards, slurping noisily on this monster rod which tasted so tasty with that unique masculine tang. His hands clutched at my hair as I closed my lips around it as tightly as possible and worked on his knob with my tongue, easing forward gradually to take in a little more of the shaft. I circled the base with my fingers and worked my hand up and down the shaft, sucking Andrew's delicious cock until the tip almost touched the back of my throat and I cupped his balls, feeling them harden until the frothy white sperm rushed up his shaft and my mouth was filled with gorgeous gushes of sticky foam as his prick bucked wildly while I held it lightly between my teeth. I gulped down his copious emission, gratefully swallowing every last milky drop of spunk. 'Not till his delicious prick had fully shrunk back to its normal flaccidity did I withdraw my lips and then we returned to the table to partake of some more coffee which was bubbling away on a tiny gas burner and Andrew and I toasted each other before we returned to the makeshift bed where he finger-fucked me to another delicious orgasm. We finished this lewd encounter with a final soixante-neuf before making our way downstairs where members of Lord George Lucas's party were also set to leave. '“Hey there, Andrew,” shouted out the good-looking young son of Viscount Sevenoaks. “We're going to continue celebrating my birthday at Matthew Cosgrave's house in Grosvenor Street-why don't you and your lovely companion join us there?” Andrew looked at me and murmured: “It's up to you, Gillian, I don't mind whether we join them or go straight back home. In all fairness, though, I must warn you that Charlie's parties have been known to, shall we say, get a little out of hand if what they tell me at the Jim Jam Club is to be believed.” '“Well, unless you are too tired, why don't we find out for ourselves?” I suggested. “We can leave at any time so long as your chauffeur is capable of getting us home.” '“Oh, there's no worry on that score, Grahame never drinks and drives,” replied Andrew and so we agreed to join Lord George's gathering which was to mean, dear Rupert, that although I had only just an hour before enjoyed my very first fuck, I was now to be introduced to the wild Bacchanalian revels of the fastest set in London.' At this stage she paused and giggled: 'I'll wager this lewd story has given you a big stiffie, you naughty boy.' She reached down to feel my throbbing prick which as she had correctly surmised was now at bursting point and I kissed her warm, soft lips and played with her hard titties which instantly aroused the sensuous girl. 'We need some exercise, Rupert, all this lying in bed is fine as far as it goes but we must put other muscles to use besides those in your cock and my cunney,' she said as she jumped out of bed. 'Come on, darling, you can fuck me in the Irish style, that'll be good exercise for us both.' I looked at her with a puzzled expression until she added: 'Some people call this method “the wheelbarrow position”. Does that mean anything to you?'

'Yes, I've read about this way of fucking in The Intimate Memoir Of Dame Jenny Everleigh but I've never actually tried it out. Still, experientia docet, so if you're willing, by all means, let's see for ourselves what it's like.' Gillian turned away from me and dropped to her hands and knees on the floor. I picked up her legs and supported much of her weight by holding her spread thighs so her arms could be fully extended and her lithe body was in a slanting position with her bottom on the same level as my cock. As soon as we were comfortable I pushed my knob forward between her bum cheeks-the only question now, as the snooker player might ask, was whether to go for the pink or the brown! I decided to slide my cock into her cunney and slipped in my length quite easily. It took a little while to achieve a satisfactory rhythm as she matched my movements with her own and I managed to 'steer' her into a position where my shaft slid very nicely in and out of her clinging sheath. I plunged in hard and in time the boiling spunk rose and, with a woosh, it surged out of my pulsating prick in a spend that seemed to last and last as I loosed a stream of sticky spunk into her dark, squelchy love-box. I withdrew and creamy drops of sperm dribbled down her thighs as I gently eased her body down onto the floor. She scrambled to her feet and kissed me, saying: 'Well, for a novice, you managed very nicely, though I must admit that I would only like to fuck this way very occasionally as it isn't the most comfortable position-it makes all the blood run into one's head.'

I was hardly surprised that Gillian was not too keen on this position for I was not that enamoured with it either-perhaps I'm old-fashioned but there's a minimum of physical contact involved and a lack of the emotional intimacy which I believe adds that little extra something to a good fucking. Mind, I'd rather take exercise in this fashion than run a mile before breakfast or in summer swim a similar distance along the River Windrush like my old pal Colonel Goldstone of the West Gordshire Rifles! And may I pass on a tip, dear reader, should you or your partner wish to try 'the wheelbarrow position' for yourselves? If the woman supports herself on a bed or chair, the man can place his arm round her middle and fondle her titties or pussey and she can turn her head and look at him, both of which allow a closer contact between the two of you. I find this variation preferable but as they say in that haven of devotion to the pleasures of the flesh, the Cock and Crop Club in Manhattan, 'diffrnt strokes for diffrnt folks'! We climbed back into bed and Gillian lay her head on my shoulder and toyed with my still damp shaft which was in a state of half limber resting on my thigh. She said: 'I suppose you would like me to continue this tale of debauchery, wouldn't you?'

'Yes, please go on, your words are so much more interesting than anything I've heard in my lectures!' She laughed and gave my balls a playful squeeze. 'Very well then- where was I now? Oh yes, we followed Lord George Lucas's party back to Matthew Cosgrave's house and there must have been about a dozen or so of us in the lounge toasting the birthday boy with a Jeroboam of Mr. Cosgrave's best champagne. We were all certainly a little worse for wear when one of the girls (who were all very friendly but remember, they were all from the chorus line at the Alhambra and, like most theatrical people, had few inhibitions) beckoned me to a corner where her friends had gathered. '“We're going to give Lord George a very special birthday present,” she giggled. “Do come and join the fun.” She signalled to Matthew Cosgrave who called for silence and announced: “George, my dear old fellow, in honour of your birthday, we would like to present you with a little something that you'll never forget.” '“How kind of you all,” murmured the dashing young peer who allowed himself to be led to a superbly made Chesterfield in the centre of the room as Carrie, the girl who had told me about the plan, explained what she and the others-Pippa, Lucy and Suzanne-had in mind.

I don't mind telling you that I was a little shocked but as I said just before, we were all quite riddley from the champagne which was flowing like water. 'Anyhow, Lord George sat on the Chesterfield and as quick as a flash he had the four girls piled on top of him.

Pippa and Lucy held down his legs whilst Carrie and Suzanne pinioned his arms, though to be truthful I can't say that our birthday boy struggled overmuch against the overpowering odds! “Gillian, I need your help,” cried out Carrie, who was a real stunning girl of no more than twenty at the most blessed with an exquisitely rounded figure and an extremely pretty face with deep blue eyes set off by long dark lashes, a full mouth and a brilliant set of pearly teeth. I hurried across and took her place, holding down Lord George's left arm against the soft leather upholstery. '“Are you going to feed him some birthday cake, girls?” laughed Roland Phillips, one of the other gay young blades who along with my escort Sir Andrew Stuck and the other men, was watching this little game unfold from the comfort of an armchair. “In good time he might be given something to eat,” replied Carrie, unpinning her long tresses of light, gold-tinted auburn hair, “but first I want to find out how hungry he is.” And to my astonishment she pulled open the flap of Lord George's trousers and proceeded to unbutton his flies! '“I say, steady on, Carrie, old girl,” he protested but I noticed that he did not struggle overmuch when the lovely girl tugged down his trousers and Pippa and Lucy (two lissome blonde beauties) had only to hold his legs steady whilst in one dextrous movement Carrie removed the offending garment. Along with the other girls I looked with great interest at the wisps of black pubic hair which were showing over the waistband of his drawers which had been slightly pulled down in the Melee and I could see his erect boner practically tearing through the fine monogrammed silk material of his aristocratic underpants! Carrie yanked these off with a whoop of joy. His rigid rod sprang up to attention and Pippa grabbed it in her fist and pumped her hand up and down with a squeal of delight.

'“Hold on there, you'll make him spend if you're not careful,” warned Carrie who was now on her feet and busy unhooking her dress.

“Oh, I'm terribly sorry,” said Pippa, removing her hand immediately.

“George, you be a good boy and wait for Carrie, do you hear?” Carrie shucked off her clothes very quickly and she flaunted her gorgeous naked body in front of us. She smoothed her hands across her magnificent swelling breasts which were round and firm and topped with large, stubby nipples. The pure whiteness of her belly was accentuated by a bushy mound of curly auburn hair through which I could just perceive the outline of her crack. Her luscious charms appealed to the other men too and I could see Roland and Andrew's trouser fronts bulge as they gawped in awe at this delicious nude apparition. But it was poor Lord George who was given the most tantalising view as Carrie began to writhe sensuously in front of him. She knelt down and let her bare breasts dangle in front of his face and then straddled him so that the tip of his straining shaft just touched her soft pussey hair.

She leaned down and gave a swift series of butterfly kisses upon his blue-veined length and by now the perspiration was pouring down his forehead as he frantically tried to free himself from his captors.

However, he was no match for four strapping girls and soon he was almost weeping with frustration. '“I think he's hungry enough for you now, Carrie,” smiled Suzanne and our prisoner spluttered: “Hungry enough? I'm bloody starving!” '“Come on Carrie, it is his birthday,” shouted Andrew and the gorgeous girl nodded as she climbed over George, rolling all over him and rubbing her superb titties in his face before taking hold of his enormous erection in her hand. Then she lifted herself up and sticking her bum up in the air she sat down hard on his stiffstander which slid all the way into her slit as her buttocks bounced against his thighs. She purred contentedly as she screwed herself from side to side on his bursting cock and then she began to ride her mount like a jockey on a thoroughbred. I could see his rigid rod flash in and out of her juicy cunney and then George arched his back and jetted a copious gush of spunk as she enjoyed her own climax, uninhibitedly screaming out her delight. 'She nimbly swung her legs round and jumped off her exhausted lover and Pippa piped up: “Who's next to give George a birthday present?” Andrew heaved himself up from his chair and looking at Lord George's limp prick he suggested that some girl might like to bring back this exhausted tool to life. Well, Rupert, my blood was up from watching Carrie in action and so I must admit to you that I volunteered for the job. Carrie took my place, although we hardly needed to keep hold of our victim who appeared a little hors de combat after his vigorous fuck, even though Carrie had done much of the work. 'I began by running my tongue along his hairy ballsack and then slowly I licked the soft length which was still wet from Carrie's spendings. This soon had the desired effect and his prick gradually swelled up until I found it difficult to accommodate its throbbing thickness between my lips. So I went back to his scrotum and kissed his sweet nuts whilst I gently rubbed his strong, sinewy shaft with my hand. I took my time and his cock and balls received a prolonged salivating which made him groan in ecstasy. When I had sucked up his sabre-curved cock to its fullest erection, I reached behind him and inserted a moistened fingertip into his bottom hole. With my other hand I cupped his tightening ballsack and set up a rhythmic motion, bobbing my head up and down in time with my finger. As I now know, there is not a man in the whole wide world who can resist a good gobble and I only had to squeeze his balls two or three times before he rolled his hips and sent thick wads of creamy, hot spunk down my throat. To the applause of the other guests, I eagerly swallowed his spend which tasted slightly sweeter than Andrew's sperm.' 'Did you then let him fuck your dear little cunt?' I asked breathlessly, reaching down to stroke her damp pussey. 'Certainly not,' she retorted sharply, 'don't forget it was only an hour or two earlier that evening I had first had any prick penetrate my pussey. If I was to be fucked again, it would only be by Andrew Stuck, the man who had so carefully and considerately taken my unwanted virginity.' I apologised profusely for my hasty remark which Gillian gracefully accepted in the nicest way possible-by opening her legs and letting me rub her dampening slit whilst she took hold of my burgeoning boner and the next thing I knew I was looking down at her and my sturdy prick was being guided between Gillian's welcoming pussey lips. She whimpered and closed her legs around my waist to hold me tight as she began that rapid rippling contraction of her cunney muscles which so excited me.

This was to be no slow, lingering fuck for we were both urgent in our needs and as I thrust into her again and again she rose to meet me with equal vigour. Great gasps swept through our bodies and she cried out: 'Rupert, Rupert, I'm spending, you big cocked boy! I'm spending, shoot your spunk inside me!'. It was an easy command to obey for already I could feel the first spurt of milky cream forcing its way along my pulsing prick. This was shortly followed by another as I discharged a powerful stream of sperm and Gillian's own juices flowed liberally in response. She seized tight hold of me and we fucked away quite uncontrollably, writhing and twisting on the bed until we were both totally drained. As we lay there entwined in each other's arms, panting and sucking in great gulps of air, we were so overcome that neither of us could speak for a while as we shared our post-fuck fatigue. Gillian was the first to recover her senses and she said: 'What a simply marvellous bout of love-making. I came at least three times, Rupert, you have such a clever cock.' Thank you very much,' I said modestly, though like all men I was delighted to be complimented upon my performance. 'But any credit must be equally shared with your divine cunney and I suppose the wonderfully lewd account of your rite of passage also helped stir my imagination.'

She smiled and continued: 'Oh, I am pleased you enjoyed it. Don't think too badly of me because I sucked Lord George Lucas's cock after Sir Andrew Stuck had fucked me.' 'Good grief, of course not, Gillian, why, so long as you had no objection I must confess here and now that if a lovely girl came into the room and asked me to fuck her, I would have no compunction about obliging her.' 'Really, Rupert?

You are not just saying that to make me feel less guilty after telling you how free I was with my favours that night?' 'No, honestly, darling, I'm doing nothing of the kind,' I assured her in all truthfulness, though I wondered why she wanted to lead the conversation in this very personal direction. 'Why on earth shouldn't a girl let herself go once in a while just in the same way a man can without being labelled as anything but a chip off the old block.'

'Why indeed, Rupert, but there is such an overwhelming prejudice against women enjoying themselves in bed that even though I surmised you were not so blockheadedly chauvinistic about this matter, I wanted to make sure before imparting any information about a party being held at the aptly named Oxford Playhouse on Saturday night. I've been invited and told I may bring a friend but I didn't want to mention any thing to you until I was sure that you wouldn't be stuffy about it.'

'Who's throwing the party? Is it town or gown?' I asked, more than a mite puzzled by this little speech. She smiled and replied: 'Neither really, my love, it's for the cast of A Nice Little Stroll Does You Good which has been running at the theatre for the last two weeks before it transfers to Birmingham and then on to the Holborn Empire In London. The show is one of Mrs. Susan Moser's lush musical comedies and the impressario, Mr. Louis Segal, is so pleased with the reviews it's attracted in the provincial papers so far that he is putting on this party for the cast and some friends. You might know that he often tries out his productions in out of town theatres before spending a lot of money putting on a show in the West End.

'But you see, I've been invited because one of Sir Andrew Stuck's hobbies is to invest in theatrical productions, and he is one of the major backers of A Nice Little Stroll Does You Good, and all four of the girls who were at Lord George Lucas's birthday party are in the chorus and naturally they will also be at the party. But if their presence or Andrew being there would bother you, then I'm quite happy to go on my own.' 'For heaven's sake, that won't be necessary, you silly goose. We are both free agents and can live our lives as we alone wish to live them.' She puckered up her lips and planted a kiss on my cheek. As she snuggled up to me I felt her relax, but moments later we were disturbed by a soft knocking on the door.

'Who is it?' asked Gillian with an unconcerned yawn. It's Chrissie,' came the whispered reply. 'May I come in, please?' I looked questioningly at Gillian's naked body. Hadn't we better make ourselves decent?' There is no need, Chrissie is a very close friend and to be frank I've discovered her in a similar position more than once so it hardly matters one way or the other if she now sees me in a state of undress in bed with my lover.' 'Come in, Chrissie,' she called out and the door opened to reveal a tall, dark-haired girl dressed in a short tennis dress. Her willowy figure was capped by an attractively pert face with bright brown eyes which matched her long tresses of soft hair falling down in ringlets to her shoulders.

'Chrissie, meet Rupert Mountjoy; Rupert, this is Miss Chrissie Nayland-Hunt, one of the three girls who shares this house with me.'

I heaved myself to a more upright position, but our visitor said with a twinkle in her eye: 'A pleasure to meet you, Rupert. Please don't get up, it looks as if you have had a tiring afternoon.'

'He has performed splendidly, Chrissie, and it is truly a serendipitous coincidence that you have joined us at this time. We were just discussing some intimate matters and I don't think it's more than five minutes ago that Rupert declared that so long as I have no objection-and I have none as far as you are concerned-he would happily oblige any pretty girl who desired the thrill of his stiff cock in her cunney ' 'Is this true, Rupert?' enquired this scrumptious lass as she came in and sat on the bed. 'Let me see for myself what exactly you have to offer.' And before I could say or do anything more she pulled the covers off my side of the bed and exposed my dormant but still swollen shaft which was in a state of half limber. She took hold of my prick and commented: 'Gillian, you must have really extracted great pleasure from this fine instrument.' 'I have indeed, Chrissie, along with a copious amount of hot, frothy, masculine seed,' agreed my pretty bedmate. 'Would you care to take your pleasure with Rupert? He is a true gentleman and though his cock must be somewhat fatigued after our strenuous exertions, I am sure that with a little assistance this fine organ will be capable of rising to the occasion.' Perhaps I should have been angered by Gillian's cool suggestion to her friend which took no account of my feelings about whether or not I wanted to fuck Chrissie, though to be fair I had been hoist by my own petard through my rash remark about happily obliging any girl etc, etc, the words of which Gillian had glibly repeated to the newcomer. Anyhow, Chrissie looked simply ravishing in her skimpy white tennis dress which set off her long dark tresses and large brown eyes and only a confirmed homosexualist would have failed to have been aroused by her sensuous pulchritude. So I raised no objection when Chrissie leaned forward and proceeded to take my penis in her smooth, soft hands, resting her forearms on my belly and thighs. As Gillian had forecast, it needed little further encouragement for it immediately began to swell to its fullest extent under her warm touch. She cupped my ballsack in one hand and lightly ran the fingers of the other along the bright blue veins of my distended love truncheon. 'Master John Thomas looks to be well on the road to recovery, but to make sure I'd best give him the kiss of life,' she murmured and I gave a huge grin of approval as she leaned forward and took my throbbing tool between her ruby lips, teasing my knob against the roof of her, mouth. Ripples of ecstasy flowed out from my delighted stiffstander as her darting tongue moved to and fro along the thick shaft and I closed my eyes and lay back, totally engulfed in the exquisite sensations which were now washing all over my body. Frankly, I sometimes wonder whether being sucked off isn't even more pleasurable than actually fucking though I suppose it depends upon one's mood and the skills of one's partner. Certainly Chrissie was a fellatrix par excellence and as she licked the tip of my cock I felt my balls begin to tighten and fill with jism. Chrissie sensed this and for a moment took her sweet lips away. Then with a wicked smile she returned to the fray, stroking her tongue along the underside of my cock, making it ache with excitement as I jerked my body upwards and thrust frenziedly into her oral orifice. She squeezed her hand around the base of my prick, sucking it even harder and this exquisite sensation sent me to paradise. But I could contain myself for only a short while longer and I let out a short, sharp cry of despair as my lusty young prick pulsed in her mouth and I jetted spurt after spurt of creamy white semen full into her adorable mouth. She managed to suck in and swallow every last drop of my libation, licking all round my knob to take up the final sticky dribbles of jism.

She raised her head and looking me squarely in the eye said mischievously: 'Well, that was a truly delicious hors d'oeuvre, Rupert, but now how about the main course? I'm glad to see that your cock's still quite hard, can you keep it up whilst I undress?'

'I'll help to keep his organ on song,' said Gillian brightly, taking hold of my moist length and rubbing it gaily between her hands.

This had the desired effect of keeping my shaft stiff as Chrissie slipped out of her clothes. For a girl with such a slim, almost boyish figure, Chrissie had a suprisingly full bosom with rounded, firmly shaped breasts tipped with pert raspberry nipples surrounded by large red aureolae. I watched closely as she ran her hands along the smooth skin of her flat, unwrinkled belly and into a luxuriant fleece of dark, almost black hair which extended between her thighs and completely covered her pussey. She leaped into bed beside me and straightaway took a pillow and placed it under her bottom as she spread her legs to wait for the arrival of my twitching tool which under Gillian's continuing rhythmic ministrations was now standing proudly upright in all its glory, the purple helmet uncapped and glowing as she worked my shaft up and down in her hands.

'Chrissie, are you ready to receive His Majesty, King Cock?' she gaily enquired. The darling girl replied: 'Yes, dear, please put Rupert's tool in my cunt, I have a great fancy for it just now. I want to feel his knob nudge between my pussey lips and drive straight through into my cunney.' Gillian moved a hand across to delve into Chrissie's thick growth of pubic hair. Her clever fingers spread her friend's pussey lips and exposed the pink chink where my pulsating prick was now yearning to enter. With Gillian's hand still firmly clasped on my tadger, I rolled over on top of the trembling girl and she opened the lips of Chrissie's cunt and placed the tip of my helmet between them. 'Push on, Rupert,' she hissed in my ear. 'Chrissie has a marvellously tight little cunney and she wants to feel every inch of your big cock inside her!' I needed no further urging and planting my lips on hers, I plunged forward, embedding my knob and just an inch or so of my shaft inside her delicious, velvet-walled cunt. Quickly, we established a fine rhythm with Chrissie pushing her hips upward to meet every push forward of my prick into her already sopping cunney. We enjoyed an excellent fuck (though is there such a thing as a bad one!) with her rapid jerking spurring me to further fast plunges into this delectable cunt which held my member in its warm, silky embrace. Her juices lubricated her little love-channel so that my cock slid in and out of her pussey with consummate ease though it was tight enough for me to feel my foreskin being drawn backwards and forwards with every lascivious shove. I fucked away with surprising energy considering how Gillian had emptied my balls before Chrissie had sucked me off just before. But the throbbing contractions of her cunney muscles spurred me on and we shared a truly memorable experience. 'Ah, you lovely boy, ram home that fat joystick!' she urged me as her eyes sparkled and she writhed in delicious agitations as within us the pent-up waves of ecstatic bliss rose to tidal proportions. A few more rapid, impetuous thrusts together with one last straining of her body to mine and her fingers clawed up and down my back as she reached the highest pinnacle of pleasure. Very shortly afterwards I joined her and I spouted a stream of milky seed inside Chrissie's cunney which mingled deliciously with her own copious rivulets of nectar that overflowed down onto her thighs. I pounded my spurting shaft until I was spent and I collapsed on top of her soft body, and the two of us were almost fainting with fatigue after this torrid fuck. Both Chrissie and I had been so highly involved with each other's bodies that neither of us had noticed Gillian slip out of bed whilst we had been fucking ourselves into a stupor. But the kind girl had busied herself whilst my love trunk was battering its way into Chrissie's cunt and she had set up a table upon which she had placed a selection of fruits and a jug of lemonade from the ice-box.

The clever girl knew full well that a prolonged bout of fucking uses a great deal of energy and that even our strong, youthful bodies required refreshment to regain our strength. We were so warm from our fun and games that we stayed quite naked as we enjoyed our informal tea, during which I asked Chrissie what she was studying at Oxford.

'I'm reading for a degree in the history of art,' she explained as she sat up in bed munching an apple, 'and as I enjoy painting, for my own amusement, I am also studying watercolour techniques in an informal weekly class under the tuition of Professor. Tim Titchfield of All Souls, who offers his kind guidance to any budding artists among the first year students.' Now I had dabbled a little in painting since my first encounter with art which had led directly to my crossing the Rubicon with the divine Diana Wigmore that in turn had given me the unexpected but highly delightful chance to lose my unwanted virginity. Sadly, my efforts with the brush and palette were so far undistinguished, though I was told by Diana that I would do far better once I had been taught to harness my technical skills to create my own personal style. So I asked Chrissie if any student could avail himself of Professor Titchfield's classes. 'Most certainly,' she replied. 'Why, would you like to come along? We meet on Thursday evenings at eight o'clock in the small lecture hall just next to the Playhouse Theatre.' 'I'll be there,' I promised and, turning to Gillian, I said: Talking of the Playhouse, will Chrissie be invited to this party on Saturday night? I'm sure you could wangle her onto the guest list.' 'Of course, but unless I'm much mistaken, she'll be wining and dining with her new special boyfriend who's corning all the way over from Cambridge for the weekend just to be with her.'

Chrissie blushed and said: 'Now you know full well, Gillian, that Salman is just a boyfriend, and there is nothing special about him- except of course that he is a very charming young man-' '- who has pots and pots of money and a very, very big cock!' finished Gillian with a giggle. 'Wash your mouth out, you bad girl!' scolded Chrissie although she was not really offended by the jest.

'Salman's cock is certainly sizeable but it is not the very biggest I have ever entertained in my pussey. That honour would go to “Donkey Dick” Dinchley, the gardener's boy at my Uncle Rodney's country house in Buckinghamshire whose erect tool measured almost twelve and a half inches, though he was by no means the most satisfying fuck. I mean, we both had that good-looking chap Harry Barr at your birthday party in May and he was superb in bed even though his member was if anything smaller than the average cock. Don't you agree that this obsession with the size of their penises makes many men almost neurotic? And it's all so unnecessary because as an American girl in my college says, it isn't the size of the ship that counts, it's the motion of the ocean!' 'Yes, although I suppose it is a similar problem that we women have in never being quite satisfied with our weight!' said Gillian thoughtfully, but before she could continue airing her views on this admittedly interesting subject, I suddenly woke up to the fact that Chrissie's boyfriend could be none other than my old school chum Salman Marrari, the eldest son of the Maharajah of Lockshenstan who had, as I noted at the very beginning of these memoirs, spurned a place at University College, Oxford to take up a place at Trinity College, Cambridge as he wanted to continue his scientific studies with some noted group of physicists who were based there. He was also a great cocksman and very popular with the servant girls at St Lionel's amongst whom he distributed a generous number of twenty pound notes for favours great and small! So I asked her excitedly: 'Are you talking about Salman Marrari who went up to Cambridge from St Lionel's? He shared a study with me at school and it would be marvellous to see him if he is coming to Oxford this weekend. Is this the chap who you are seeing, Chrissie?' 'Yes indeed, what a lovely coincidence,' she said, clapping her hands together. 'Oh, Rupert, you must join us for dinner on Friday night.' 'That's very kind but surely you two prefer to dine a deux.' 'No, really, you must come along – I won't tell Salman so it will be a lovely surprise for him to see his old school chum again,' she insisted.

It was time for us to take our leave but Chrissie assured me that she would send round a note about where I should meet her and Salman on Friday night. After kissing the two girls goodbye I walked back briskly to my college, making a mental note as I looked at my watch that I would need to employ a social secretary if invitations were to keep flowing so freely into my diary. When I reached my rooms I jotted down my immediate engagements-this evening I had planned to see Beth Randall after dinner and take her for a walk and perhaps visit one of the quaint old Oxford inns frequented (though much frowned upon) by students of the University. Tomorrow I had to attend two lectures and write a long essay which had to be given in the next morning, but time would be at a premium as I had already accepted Professor Webb's invitation to his soiree. I had some reading to do as well but the weekend was already filling up for on Friday I was to dine with Salman and Chrissie, whilst on Saturday night I would squire Gillian to the party at the Oxford Playhouse. I gnawed my lip in a gesture of irritation as I suddenly remembered that on Saturday afternoon I was due to play soccer for Balliol against Merton College and I really should fit in at least a couple of hours of training before the match.

Of course, I could always cut a lecture or two, but at his specific request, I had promised my godfather. Major Fulham, that I would never allow this to happen during my first year and since my earliest years I have always maintained that a promise is a promise-and especially when you have just been handed a cheque for fifty pounds 'to be spent on enjoying yourself, my boy; your father can look after the college fees and your account at Blackwell's bookshop'! This left Sunday as the only day free to work and though my family have never been strict observers of the Sabbath, I knew full well that if the Saturday party turned out to be the kind of affair I hopefully expected, I would be in no fit state to study the day afterwards! Still, these were pleasant problems to solve and I resolved to lighten my load by postponing my tryst with Beth until the following week and instead making a start on my essay after dinner, even though Frank and Barry would do their best to inveigle me into playing a few rubbers of bridge. I would be very tempted as I much enjoyed the game, but however hard it would be, their blandishments would have to be resisted, I said to myself as I made my way downstairs to spend half an hour reading the newspapers in the library before going into the dining hall. In the library I picked up a copy of The Times and coincidentally one of the first reports to catch my eye was a review of A Nice Little Stroll Does You Good. Under the heading 'A Jolly Evening Well Spent,' the critic had written: 'As several friends in the profession have told me about the rousing reception A Nice Little Stroll Does You Good has been given in the provincial theatres before opening in two weeks' time in London, I ventured out to Oxford to see Mr. Louis Segal's latest musical comedy for myself, and am pleased to report that this latest offering is about as good and as clever as any play in this genre. The songs are jolly and the story, though of the sort we have seen more often than not, is at least well paced and, though relying on mishaps and misunderstandings for its dramatic effects, all ends happily with the hero and heroine reaping their rewards and the villains getting their just deserts. It is conceived as a downright, rollicking, noisy comedy and the humour and praiseworthy characterisations evinced by the principals, Mr. Michael Bailey, Mr. Frederick Shackleton and Miss Deborah Paxford undoubtedly caught the imagination of the audience. They are abetted by one of the prettiest chorus lines, whose shapely forms are clothed perhaps in too scanty a fashion for the older generation, but all can act and sing as well as they can dance. From first to last, all on stage appear to revel in the fun and the company complied with repeated requests for encores without displaying any symptom of weariness.' Then and there I decided to check with Gillian as to whether she already possessed tickets for Saturday night, because after such a review the playgoers of Oxford and the surrounding villages would flock to see the show. I scribbled a note and found a young college servant who for sixpence was willing to deliver the message that evening and (so long as Gillian was at home) wait and bring back her reply. The gong sounded as I gave the lad my note and made him repeat the address I had just given him (for the matter was important and I did not want my note to go astray) and Frank Folkestone ambled up and accompanied me into the dining-hall. 'Hello there, old boy, I haven't seen much of you since Len Letchmore regaled us with his lewd tale about his uncle and the chorus girl. 'Talking of chorus girls,' he added, 'how about coming along with me to see the show at the Playhouse one night?

I've spoken to a few chaps who have already seen it and they all say that it's great fun with some cracking chorus girls. Do you know that Malcolm Ross, the fellow from Winchester who rowed for Oxford in the Boat Race this year-well, he went backstage with a bunch of flowers and a note for one of the girls and she accepted his invitation to dine at Carlo's Restaurant after the performance the following evening,' 'You think she sang for her supper?* I said with a grin.

'I don't honestly know, but the newspapers say the chorus line is well worth watching especially as some of the costumes are rather naughty,' said Frank with undisguised relish. 'So how about it, old boy?'

Trying hard not to sound conceited, I explained to Frank (and to Barry Jacobs who had just joined us) that I already had an invitation to meet the cast on Saturday night at a private party after the show, but that if I could smuggle my pals in, I'd let them know as soon as possible. 'Gosh, you're a fast worker, Rupert,' said Frank admiringly. Talk about being quick off the mark. If this gathering is anything like the theatrical revels I've read about in the Jenny Everleigh books, it's just as well you're playing football before and not after the party!' 'Yes, especially as I'm playing with you in the team on Saturday afternoon and Esme Dyotte is coming to watch the game. I want to be on the winning side, Rupert, so be a good chap and keep your mind off your cock and on the match until we've beaten Merton by at least six goals!' Frank shook his head in warning.

'You'll be lucky if you manage to scrape a draw, Barry. Merton plan to field four Corinthians in their line-up.' 'Gosh, we'll have a real fight on our hands,' said Barry gloomily. It jolly well serves me right for wanting to show off in front of Esme'.' 'Cheer up, old lad-at least you aren't playing in goal so she won't have to see you bending down every ten minutes to pick the ball out of the net,' said Frank, though perhaps not surprisingly these words of comfort elicited only a glare from Barry. 'I think I'll take up golf instead,' he muttered. 'At least I can only let myself down on the course. Still, I'm sure that win or lose Esme will keep to our arrangement on Sunday.

She can't see me after the match because she's going with your friend Beth Randall to see The Taming Of The Shrew at the New Theatre on Saturday night along with some other girls. But I'm planning to take her out to Standlake for luncheon on Sunday.' 'I didn't know there were any public houses serving meals on Sunday round there, though it's a pretty part of the county,' I commented. 'You're right, Rupert, there aren't any but Mr. and Mrs. Greenacre, some old friends of my parents, live there and yesterday Mr. Greenacre called and asked me to join them for lunch on Sunday. He said that I should bring a friend if I would like to, so I've asked Esme.' 'And has she accepted?' asked Frank. 'I'm waiting for her reply as I only left a message at her rooms this morning. I wrote to her after what happened at Doctor Blayers' party, and I do hope that she will come to Standlake with me. To be frank, I'm a bit worried as I went over the top a bit when I wrote to her.' 'Oh, don't worry at all about that,' I said with all the assurance of an eighteen-year-old man of the world. I don't think you can over-flatter a woman. Remember what Ovid said: Quae dant, quaeque negant, gaudent tamen esse roatae.'

'Whether they give or refuse, women are pleased to have been asked,' translated Frank and Barry's face brightened.*You think so?' he said as we stood up to greet the dons who marched their way through to the High Table. 'I wrote her a little poem,' he added as we resumed our seats.*Would you like to hear it?* 'Why not?' said Frank and as Nancy (of all people!) plonked brimming plates of oxtail soup in front of us Barry fumbled in his pocket and brought out a piece of paper and began to read his Ode to Esme: 'I care not what other men may say, The maid that suits my mind, Is the girl who meets me on the way And while she is free, she is kind. With her beauties never could I be cloyed Such pleasures I find by her side; I don't love her less because she's enjoyed By many another beside. She opens her thighs without fear or dread, And points to her dear little crack, Its lips are so red, and all overspread With hair of the glossiest black.

Reclined on her breasts or clasped in her arms, With her my best moments I spend, And revel the more in her sweet melting charms, Because they are shared with a friend.' 'A splendid effort, old chum,' I said, although I wondered how Esme would take to Barry's emphasis on the fact that Beth and I had also romped with her during that wild night at The Cat and Pigeons hotel.

Frank also congratulated the poet and Nancy whispered a 'well done' in Barry's ear as she waited for us to finish our soup. The fish course was a rather undistinguished piece of grilled cod but when this had been cleared away Nancy brought a fine roast joint of beef to the table and placed it before me to carve for the eight of us who were sitting at our table. My father had taught me to carve at an early age so I had no worries as I rose, knife and fork in hand, to make the first incision into the mouthwatering piece of beef in front of me. But as I looked up the table to the students furthest away from me and asked whether they preferred their meat rare or well-done, I was startled by what appeared to be a small hand grabbing my ankle underneath the table. I cast a glance down but could see nothing as the overhanging white tablecloth concealed all. Saying nothing except to enquire as to how the other diners wished to have their beef prepared, I manfully carried on carving as the mysterious but determined hand started to stroke first my ankle and then the upper part of my calf. I wondered whether it was Nancy playing a practical joke and looked around for her, but she was nowhere to be seen and another maid brought bowls of roast potatoes and green vegetables to our table. Now I enjoy a good joke as much as the next man but there was a time and place for this admittedly agreeable massage. However, right now I wanted to tuck in to my dinner so I simply ignored the wandering fingers which by now had reached my knees. What should I do? I had no wish to call over a steward for certainly poor Nancy would face instant dismissal without a reference.

So I just sat down and savoured the first delicious mouthful as Nancy's hand moved speedily along my thigh and reached into my lap.

There it thankfully rested for a moment as Humphrey Price, the broad-shouldered captain of our football team, called across from an adjoining table: 'Rupert, I hope you will be able to score goals on Saturday afternoon with the same facility as the way you carved that hunk of beef.' 'I'll do my best, Humphrey,' I responded as burrowing beneath my napkin, Nancy's hand felt for and grasped my cock. Now in normal circumstances, such behaviour would have caused Mr. Priapus to swell up in greeting but even when she undid my fly buttons, my prick stayed quiescent-but when she slid her hand inside my drawers and started to caress my naked shaft it now began to stir perceptibly with a swelling excitement, especially when she pulled hark my foreskin and washed the exposed smooth-skinned knob with long, lingering licks of her tongue as she coaxed my shaft up into life by sliding her hand up and down its expanding length. Nevertheless, I was determined not to allow this strange turn of events get out of hand, but the mundane task of passing the salt to Frank Folkestone almost shattered my mask of calm as Nancy's hand had now won the battle and my prick stood high, erect and throbbing. Her firm lingers now pulled it towards her soft lips which kissed my knob lightly before opening wide to admit my twitching tool inside the deliriously wet tavern of her mouth. I took my glass and swallowed down a draught of wine as, drawing a deep breath and making a supreme effort to relax, I impaled a piece of beef on my fork. At the same time, inch by inch, Nancy was fucking my cock with her mouth, bobbing her head backwards and forwards as I chewed on the equally tender food on my plate. For a short while I managed to continue eating without showing any outward signs of agitation but soon I became aware of the first rising spasm of sperm starting its journey up from my balls and along my distended staff. I tried to hold back but the insistent pressure from Nancy's lashing tongue was too much and with an involuntary jerk of my hips, I sent a stream of hot spunk crashing into her mouth. This sudden movement caused me to choke on a barely chewed wedge of cabbage as the wicked girl gobbled furiously on my spurting prick. Barry Jacobs shifted his chair to move closer to me and slapped me on the back. 'Are you all right, Rupert?' he asked anxiously. Has something gone down the wrong way?**Not exactly,' I spluttered, drawing in fresh gulps of air whilst Nancy hungrily continued to suck and swallow the last drains of spunk from my now thankfully deflating shaft. 'I'll be all right once everything has gone down,' I could have sworn that I heard Nancy giggle at this and I looked around sharply but fortunately no-one else had heard her. As we finished our main course I deliberately dropped a spoon on to the floor and bent down ostensibly to pick it up but in reality to catch a glimpse of the tousled mop of hair still nestling between my thighs. Nancy looked up at me and winked as she gave my flaccid cock a final lick before pulling her head away, which allowed me to hastily button up my gaping flies.

The plates were now cleared away and Frank said: There's apple and blackberry tart to follow, gentlemen, the perfect finish to an old-fashioned English dinner, don't you think?' As I nodded my agreement, however, I noticed with a smile that another diner at our table, a jolly, gregarious Scot from Stirlingshire named Michael Beattie who had this evening donned his traditional Scottish dress, was sitting bolt upright in his chair with a startled expression on his face. One didn't need to be the winner of a scholarship to guess that Nancy had lifted his kilt and in her own inimitable way was cementing the Act of Union! Wicked though it was, I just could not restrain myself from leaning forward and asking Michael (who was a great theatregoer and a leading light in the Oxford University Dramatic Society) whether he planned to see the show at the Playhouse this week. There are supposed to be some sparkling songs which could be considered for the Christmas revue. 'And you could always use some new jokes, couldn't you? I mean, we all know the good old stories from the music hall like the girl asking you what's worn under the kilt and your answer being, nothing's worn, Miss Jones, everything is in perfect working order,' I added mischievously. He seemed unable to reply but instead threw me a glassy smile and I surmised that Nancy had now taken his claymore out of its scabbard and was, so to speak, busy Tossing the Saber. It would have been cruel to carry on teasing poor Michael but so not to arouse suspicion, I steered the conversation along a tangent to the Dramatic Society's current presentation of The Taming Of The Shrew, of which Michael was the stage manager. 'But we mustn't neglect the OUDS offering at the New Theatre,' I said, turning to the other side of the table. Everyone who has seen the play has praised the production to the skies, not least the performance of Lily Brayton in the title role. I would imagine that our amateur players must have been in awe at treading the boards with such a distinguished Shakespearean actress. 'You went to see the play last night, Roger,' I said to the Honourable Roger Tagholm, the younger son of Viscount Bloomsbury and a polite young man who was sitting across from Michael Beattie, whose face was now screwed up in a contortion which suggested he was suffering from indigestion though I speculated that Nancy was about to draw a large dram of Highland Cream from Michael's Caledonian cock. Tell us frankly whether you enjoyed it. Michael and his friends would want your honest opinion on the matter.' 'I enjoyed it very much and that's a fact,' said Roger warmly, 'Lily Brayton plays her part as Katharine so well that I could believe she is a real shrew off the stage as well as on it, though I'm sure that is not really the case at all. She brought out the best in Fred Newman who I think hit on the right method of playing his difficult role. Petruchio is after all a gentleman who pretends to be a ruffian and Fred realised this, blustering through his lines as a noisy bully yet showing that he is only acting the part, yet not so clearly that Katharine will see through the pretence. I also thought the quieter scenes between Bianca and Vincentio were very well played by Gwendolen Bunbury and Arthur Cuthbertson, who made a very handsome couple indeed.' This generous critique was interrupted by a long drawn-out sigh of release from Michael Beattie whose balls had obviously been relieved of a copious discharge of uisge beatha via Nancy's unseen palating of his prick under the table. I'm so pleased you enjoyed the play,' he said, his voice croaking with emotion which the others may have believed was brought on by Roger's praise but which I guessed was caused by Nancy nipping his sticky knob with her teeth as she licked up the remains of his spend, 'and I'm especially glad that you thought Gwendolen and Arthur played their love scenes so convincingly, as they had a little problem last night and I had a hand in solving it.' But when we pressed him to say more he declined and we rose to take our coffee outside the dining-hall. Nevertheless, after Frank, Barry and myself had settled down with Michael in a quiet corner of the large, high-ceilinged common-room, we asked him again to enlarge upon his curious remark. At first he declined but men his face crinkled into a broad grin and he said: 'Look, if you will all promise me faithfully that none of you will spread this story to anyone else, I'll tell you what actually happened backstage last night between Gwen and Arthur because looking back, it was really rather funny-though I didn't find it all that amusing at the time!' 'Of course, we promise that we won't tell a soul,' we chorused and it is only now, some years after the events here described took place and after I have received the written permission to record the facts of the matter from both Arthur and Gwendolen (now Lady Royce-Mainwaring), that I am setting down Michael's secret story for a far wider audience than when it was first recounted to me. 'All right then,' said Michael, as we took up Barry's usual generous offer to buy a bottle of port for the table. 'I'll start at the beginning. Perhaps you won't be surprised to learn that since women have been allowed to join OUDS there has been a marked increase in the number of fellows willing not just to tread the boards but to take on such work as set construction, scene-shifting, prompting and all the many other jobs necessary to mount a successful production. After all, you might not be paid for your time but there's usually a good chance of meeting any number of pretty girls during the rehearsals, and afterwards, when we invariably go out for a drink, there's usually time to try and form a closer relationship. And working backstage, especially when you're putting on a historical play, there are often several quick changes of costume to be made, and I've never found it a bother to help scantily dressed girls to change into their clothes. 'Now it was clear to all of us involved in putting on The Taming Of The Shrew that Arthur and Gwendolen were clearly enjoying their love scenes on stage-so much so in fact that during the dress rehearsal, after a farewell kiss lasted more than a minute, the director, Sidney Smyth, had to shout out: “Hey, that's enough, you two, this is Shakespeare not a Victor Pudendum show at the Jim Jam Club!” This admonition worked only as far as the first night and since then their on-stage kisses have been becoming longer and longer and a few days ago Sidney Smyth threatened to throw a bucket of water over them if they embraced for longer than ten seconds! Well, last night he deputed me to ensure that Gwendolen and Arthur behaved themselves. Now there is a thirty-five minute break between when the pair leave the stage to when they have to make their next entrance so I thought I would keep a close eye on them during this interval. 'I made my way to Gwendolen's dressing room, which was at the far end of a small, badly lit corridor. There was a light shining through the door which was only slightly ajar and I could hear the soft murmur of voices as I approached. As I had guessed, Gwen was talking to Arthur, but I was shocked and faced with a difficult dilemma when I heard her whisper throatily: “Suck my titties, darling, you know how that excites me!” Should I or should I not make my presence known and break up their spooning? I peered in through the gap left by the half-shut door. Gwendolen looked simply stunning-if you've never met her, let me tell you that she is a most attractive girl, well-built with long curly strawberry-blonde hair and a curvey figure. She had taken off the dress she was wearing in Act One and was lying in Arthur's arms on a pile of clothes heaped on the floor wearing only a silk camisole which had ridden up to reveal her frilly white knickers. She had let the shoulder straps fall down and Arthur had cupped her large creamy white breasts in his hands. He had taken off his shirt and vest but had kept on his tights which bulged so much between his legs I thought that the material would soon give way! Gwendolen stroked this enormous bulge as she repeated her request for Arthur to suck her titties. She made herself comfortable on his lap, put her arm around his neck and pulled his face to her naked nipples. '“Oooh! Oooh! How lovely,” she moaned as he nibbled gently away, tweaking one erect red tittie between the fingers of his left hand as he twisted his tongue around the other, and Gwendolen moaned with delight, holding him in a vicelike grip as with his right hand he lifted her camisole even higher to rub his palm against her pussey. She arched her back upwards to allow him to pull down her knickers and I don't mind telling you that this sight made my own cock swell up so much that I was forced to unbutton my flies and let my stiff shaft spring out of my trousers. My hand flew to my rigid rod but somehow I managed to resist the temptation to toss myself off.

Instead, I squeezed my bursting prick as I watched Arthur's fingers burying themselves in Gwendolen's furry mound, which made her shake in a series of spasms before she gasped: “Arthur, let me do something for you.” He pulled away for a moment and attempted to take off his tights. He pushed them over the protuberance made by his swollen prick and let them down together with his underpants down to his ankles.

'Gwendolen reached out and grasped his tumescent tool, sliding her hand up and down the thick veiny shaft and they frigged each other frenziedly as they exchanged a long, deep French kiss. I could no longer contain myself and indulged in a rapid five knuckle shuffle.

Gwendolen lay back and spread her legs and the sight of Arthur's fingers sliding in and out of her hairy crack brought me to the boil very quickly and turning aside I ejaculated a stream of creamy jism all over the wall behind me. In double quick time I mopped it up with a handkerchief as best as I could. Then as I dried my knob I looked back again at the frenetic couple in the room in front of me who by now were about to progress to an actual fuck. Gwendolen was now on her back with her head resting on a plump cushion and Arthur was on his knees between her legs. He grabbed a second cushion and slid it under her backside and then he nudged her knees further apart as he took his thick prick in his hand and carefully inserted the uncapped bulbous helmet into her cunney. I swear I could hear the squelchy sound of his shaft parting her love lips and entering her cunt as she clasped her legs around his waist and he fucked her in a slow yet steady rhythm, his hands cupping her breasts as he pumped in and out of her juicy love channel. '“Go on big boy, fuck my pussey with that big fat dick. Ram your cock into my crack you dear lad!” she cried out as she drummed her feet against the small of his back to force every inch of his pulsating tool inside her. Arthur was now panting from his exertions as he pounded away, his body rocking backwards and forwards between her spread fleshy thighs. Gwendolen was obviously spending as she raked his back with her fingernails as she thrilled to the sweet sensations of her spend, but as he trembled on the brink of his climax she gasped: “Best not come inside me tonight, Arthur, it's not a good time of the month.” “Oh, damnation!” he grunted, clearly disappointed but gallantly and wisely, he jerked his hips upward and withdrawing his gleaming, throbbing penis, proceeded to shoot a flood of milky white semen all over her belly. Gwendolen wriggled out from underneath him and wiped her pussey with the corner of one of the discarded old costumes upon which they had been lying. 'Time for another quick one?” she asked and before he could answer she leaned forwards on her hands and knees and presented the full moons of her soft rounded buttocks to Arthur's (and my own!) delighted gaze. His cock was still meaty looking but it swelled up again to a full erection after he slicked his hand up and down his wet shaft. Then when his prick was ready again for action he pulled open her rounded bottom-cheeks and, after wetting his knob with spittle, inserted the tip of his chopper inside the wrinkled brown rosette of her rear-dimple. She writhed with the pleasure and the shock afforded by this new sensation and Arthur had his work cut out to keep his cock in place. 'Her plump bum slapped nicely against the back of Arthur's thighs as he pounded away and reaching behind her she caressed his heavy ballsack as she rocked to and fro in time with Arthur's piston thrusts. My own cock had swollen up again but before I could even think of frigging myself for a second time, Arthur's torso suddenly went rigid and he spurted spasm after spasm of spunk into Gwendolen's arse-hole. 'But now came the disaster that nearly led to the abandonment of last night's performance of the play! For as Arthur emptied his balls he cried out not in ecstasy but in agony: “Ow! Ow! Ow! My back! My back!” as he fell forward on top of her, his prick still embedded in Gwendolen's back passage as they collapsed in an untidy heap. Poor Arthur was in obvious pain, his back muscles having seized up so badly that he was unable to move his body by even an inch. “Arthur, what's the matter?-please get off me!” cried Gwendolen in vain. They were joined together by Arthur's prick but she managed to wriggle free from this tender trap, leaving Arthur moaning in agony on the carpet of old costumes. '“For God's sake get help, Gwen, I'm in terrible pain,” moaned Arthur and hearing his plea I decided to make my presence known. I quickly walked back a few yards and then walked briskly towards the room, knocked on the door and threw it wide open. I feasted my eyes on Gwendolen's delicious naked charms for she was so agitated she made no attempt to cover her titties or her silky pubic muff of light brown curb. '“Oh Michael, thank goodness you're here,” she said with undisguised relief. I pretended to look shocked as I replied: “Good God, what's been going on here, Gwendolen? Did Arthur attack you?” 'Despite the desperate situation, she smiled briefly before replying: “Not in the way your question suggests; we were, er, urn, doing some indoor exercise when suddenly Arthur keeled over and now he can't move!” '“You'd better change, Gwendolen, your next scene opens in just over ten minutes' time,” I said crisply, picking up Arthur's tights from the floor. “I'll go next door to Arthur's room and slip these on, pronto. Luckily we're near enough of the same build so I'll be able to change into his shirt and doublet as well. I'll take your boots as well, Arthur, if you don't mind. You know the first rule of all thespians- no matter what, the show must go on.” 'Gwendolen clapped her hands together and looked admiringly at me. “Oh, Michael, I didn't realise what a masterful chap you are-but do you know Arthur's part?” '“I've heard you rehearse often enough and we studied the play at school, but if I lose my place, young Sheena Walshaw is an excellent prompter and she'll help me out. Luckily the action takes place when the set won't be lit too brightly so hopefully the substitution won't be too glaring even for those people in the front stalls.” 'I promised Arthur that I would send someone to help him as soon as possible and then went next door and changed into his costume.

I grabbed Gwendolen's hand and pulled her along the corridor and upstairs to the side of the stage, where Sidney Smyth glared at her and whispered: “I was just about ready to send out a search party.”

Then when he saw me dressed as Vincentio his eyes bulged but he only had time to gurgle an imprecation before Gwendolen and I sailed onto the stage. The Gods were with me and I managed to get through my lines without once having to take recourse of a prompt. In the wings, the rest of the cast gathered to find out what was happening, and as Gwendolen and I finished our scene to a storm of applause we were almost mobbed when the curtain came down at the end of the Act. I hastily explained what had befallen the stricken Arthur, tactfully omitting the prurient details of his unfortunate accident. Sidney went in front of the curtains and asked if there were a doctor in the house and fortunately Dr Fulham of the John Radcliffe Infirmary was in the audience and he kindly offered his services to us. During the interval, we managed to get Arthur up on his feet but I continued to play the role for the rest of the evening and Sidney made a further announcement to the audience explaining that the actor playing Vincentio had been taken ill and that I would act as understudy for the remainder of the play.

'Gwendolen was very grateful. Not only had I saved the day as far as the play was concerned but also that I had not breathed a word about how Arthur came to strain his back so badly! By the time we went back to our dressing rooms, Arthur had been helped back to his college and Gwendolen turned to me and suggested that I brought my clothes into her room so that we could change together. When I returned with my clothes she said: “I do so admire the way you solved our problem, Michael. But do you know, all this stress has given me all kinds of aches and pains. Would you care to massage my back for me?” '“Certainly I would,” I replied, “although I had better tell you that I have never tried to massage anybody before.” '“Oh, I'm sure that a clever chap like you will have no difficulties,” she replied and before my very eyes she slipped out of her costume and gave me full view again of her delectable naked body. She lay face downwards on the small sofa and I licked my lips when Gwendolen wriggled her luscious bum cheeks. I moved over and put my hand on her shoulder. “Start from the top and work down,” she suggested and nothing loath, I gently rubbed the smooth, warm skin of her neck with my fingertips. '“M'mmm, you have a wonderful touch, Mr. Beattie,” she purred in a soft voice, “are you sure you have never before given any girl a massage?” For reply, I began kissing her, starting at the nape of her neck and then my kisses followed my hands which were soon clutching her glowing, rounded buttocks. As I frantically tore at the buttons of my doublet I rained rapid kisses down her backbone and over her bum cheeks down the backs of her thighs which made her body quiver all over. 'When I had managed to shuck off my tights, she turned round to lie on her back and her beautiful body lay sprawled before me, her legs flung invitingly apart and the white globes of her breasts acting as magnets to my hands which roved freely across them to feel the elongated red nipples. I kissed her pretty ankles and began travelling ever upwards. Gwendolen trembled with lustful anticipation when my hot lips reached the curly hair of her cunney and she moaned with desire when I sucked the pouting love lips into my mouth. She grabbed my hair and pulled me even closer as my tongue inserted itself into the damp crevice of her cunt. My tongue soon found her stiffening clitty and she gasped: “Yes, Michael, finish me off as quickly as you can!” So I gave her clitty my full attention, nibbling the hard flesh as her body jerked from side to side as I tongued her cunney and played with her titties until she threw back her head and in a paroxysm of erotic fervour cried out: “I'm coming, Michael, I'm going to come! Push your tongue in further! That's the way!” With a huge shudder she gained her release, mewing happily as her love juices dribbled over my lips and I swallowed as much of her pungent nectar as the flow ran over my face. 'When she had recovered she sat up and took my bursting prick in her hands. I tried to move on top of her, but she gently pushed me back and rising to her knees she said: “No, Michael, I don't want to go further now. Apart from anything else, it would hardly be fair to Arthur if I let you fuck me. But I tell you what, I'll relieve your feelings in a way which I think you'll like!” 'She slid her hand up and down my straining shaft as she lasciviously ran her tongue round her upper lip before stooping her head and kissing my uncapped helmet which sent a current of delicious sweetness flowing throughout my body. She played with my prick for some moments, slipping the crown in and out of her mouth whilst her tongue glided slowly up and down my pulsing pecker.

She bobbed her head up and down so that I could fuck her mouth in a most delightful manner. Indeed, she sucked me off so beautifully that all too soon I could feel the rush of sperm hurtling up from my balls and with a cry I pumped out a stream of hot spunk between her rich, red lips. Gwendolen enjoyed this and she sucked up and swallowed every drop of my vital essence, milking my cock until it wilted under the frenetic urgency that it had encountered. There was no time for further petting even if we had wanted to continue as the theatre staff wanted to close up for the night. We dressed ourselves and made our way out and joined up with the other players at The Cat and Pigeons for a nightcap-but as you can all appreciate, I didn't stay too long for I was exhausted both physically and mentally by all that had happened earlier!' Now Michael Beattie had told his stirring story so clearly that Frank, Barry and myself had listened with such rapt attention that none of us had noticed that several other fellows had quietly ended their conversations and had gathered round to listen to him. So at the conclusion of his colourful narrative, we were startled by the sound of a number of chaps who suddenly burst into a spontaneous round of applause. Poor Michael was dreadfully embarrassed and appealed to all those who had listened in to his tale to swear that they would not repeat his yarn to anyone else. Everyone readily agreed that to spread the story would be a caddish act-'though in return I think Mike Beattie must tell us all the details when he finally fucks Gwendolen!' called out a fruity voice from behind me.

Michael raised his hands in surrender and said: 'We'll cross that bridge when we come to it-though I wouldn't be surprised if Gwendolen and I never actually go any further. Our snogging was spur-of-the-moment stuff and tonight when I'm playing Vincentio, as although Arthur's making a swift recovery he won't be able to resume his role until Friday's performance, I don't expect Gwendolen and I will do anything more than kiss each other on the stage.' Frank called over the waiter and asked whether anyone would care to help him finish a second bottle of port. 'Not for me, thank you. I've really enjoyed listening to Michael's saga, but I must retire to my room as I've an essay to finish for tomorrow,' I said, rising to my feet.

'Oh come on, my friend, all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy, you know,' protested Barry. 'I was looking forward to a few rubbers of bridge this evening.' 'Get thee behind me, Satan,' I warned him with a smile. 'You know how much I enjoy a game of bridge, but please don't tempt me any further. I've a hellish day tomorrow though I'm quite looking forward to Professor Webb's party in the evening.' 'Have you also been invited to old Beaver's get-together?' drawled Frank. 'He asked me to come too but I didn't want to mention it before in case you hadn't been favoured with an offer to attend, what does he call it, his conversazione. It could be fun and I've been told that he owns the best cellar in the whole University.' 'Jolly good, Frank, I'm sure we'll have a fine time.

Knock on my door at eight o'clock tomorrow night and we'll go to the bunfight together.' And before anything else could draw my attention, I waved a goodbye to my friends and made my way up to my room, resolving to burn the midnight oil until I had finished my essay.