The Secret Chronicles of Henry Dashwood, Vol. 1

PART III. Comings and Goings

Monday, November 12th, 1895 (After Supper)

When I met Lizzie Dickerson as I was coming out of the dining hall after luncheon, I could hardly wait till we found ourselves alone in a quiet corner of the quadrangle. 'Did everything go to plan last night?' I asked. She gave a merry little chuckle and replied: 'Yes, I'm pleased to report complete success, Henry, and you may claim no small credit for your part in this affair which shows again that amor vincit omni.' (I remembered the translation from Latin class: 'love conquers all'.) 'General Bulstrode is at last now prepared to talk to the young couple about their future instead of shouting abuse at his daughter and her lover,' she continued. 'I am sure that once he gets to know Beresford better, his opposition to their marriage will gradually wither away. 'And Freda Prestwich enjoyed a good poke from the General, which she gets far too infrequently although I understand he always leaves her a present of a guinea which is more than two weeks' wages for a school housemaid anywhere in the country. 'Mr. Hutchinson and I also had a fizzing time. Unlike most Englishmen, he is a dextrous exponent of the art of cunnilingus and we spent twenty minutes in a divine soixante neuf.' Lizzie noticed the envious look on my face for she giggled and said: 'Don't be jealous, Henry, it doesn't suit you.

Now, you be a good boy and I'll show you, George and Johnny Bridges just how delicious a mutual sucking can be when I see you on Thursday afternoon.' This cheered me up and I said that I was glad to have been of service. 'So was I,' said Lizzie as we walked back to the main building where the bell was ringing to warn of the start of afternoon classes. 'Generally speaking, I think it wrong to interfere in other people's love lives, but General Bulstrode was being so unfair. It isn't as if the Tagholm family is in any way inferior to his own, although, as landed gentry in Shropshire, I suppose that Beresford's people may be living in straitened financial circumstances due to the current agricultural depression. 'As far as I can tell, his only objection is to what he calls Beresford's 'communist' politics. Frankly, I think this is an unwarrantable calumny. To the best of my knowledge, Beresford does not preach bloody revolution but only a gospel of social reform to give the poorer classes more opportunity to lead happier and more fulfiling lives. Good heavens, don't I sound like a politician! Mind, it is true that dear Dr Muttley believes me to be a wild woman because of my belief in female suffrage.' 'My father also supports the idea of votes for women,'

I told her as I spied Addington walking towards us. 'However, I very much doubt if this chap does,' I added as I swiftly told her of my contretemps with the prefect last night. 'I don't have time to bandy words with him though because your friend Mr. Hutchinson has said he is fed-up with people coming in late after luncheon and that he will swish anyone who isn't at their desk when he comes in to take the first afternoon lesson. But I'll wager this so-and-so tries something on with me.' 'Who, Addington? Leave him to me if he causes any trouble,' said Lizzie with a sigh. 'I know he can sometimes be most unpleasant but I don't think he will bother you whilst I am in earshot.' However, Lizzie was proved wrong, for as she walked away, the prefect called out to me: 'Dashwood, go to my study and bring down my History of the Punic Wars which you'll find on the table. I'll wait here for you.' 'I'm not your fag, and even if I wanted to, I wouldn't go now because the task would make me late for class,' I replied, noticing that he was carrying an ash-plant under his arm. 'Up to you Dashwood, either you get whopped by me for not doing what I say or by Mr. Hutchinson for being late,' he sniggered. I would have been caught between the devil and the deep blue sea if it had not been for the timely intervention of Lizzie Dickerson. Wisely, she did not attempt to take my side but simply said: 'Ah, I'm glad to see you, Addington, please come with me.

Sixth-form classes do not begin for another ten minutes, do they? And, being Monday, you will be studying Latin with the headmaster, if my memory serves me correctly. I have an important message for Dr Muttley that I want you to pass to him. 'I'm rather busy just now, Mrs.

Dickerson,' he stammered. I took the opportunity to walk briskly away and managed to be sitting at my desk relating the above incident to Johnny Bridges and Billy Goodall when Mr. Hutchinson swept into the room. 'Good afternoon, gentlemen, I am pleased to see that you have heeded my warning to observe strict punctuality in returning here after luncheon,' he said. I noticed there was a twinkle in his eye as he paused for a moment and then went on: 'And your good behaviour is now to be rewarded.' Now, my form-master is not like some schoolmasters who may be clever yet lack insight into young minds. To these teachers, all boys are wild dogs who have to be cowed into submission, but Mr. Hutchinson knows that soft words and a pleasant manner carry more weight with us pupils – especially when we know that, in the last resort, he does not shirk from using his cane!

So, when he held up his hand to quell the little buzz of excitement that went round the classroom, we fell silent immediately and he continued: 'The Mayor of Ashford is coming to the school this afternoon to discuss our participation in the forthcoming ceremonies next month which will accompany the granting of the freedom of the town to Mr. Alfred Austin, our local distinguished man of letters who was created Poet Laureate three years ago. I have been asked to join in the discussion in the headmaster's study. 'I'm sure you will be dreadfully disappointed to miss a double-period of French,' he added dryly and then he himself joined in the laughter which broke out at his words. 'Well, the weather is dry and less chilly than we might have expected at this time of year, so Mr. Hare has kindly agreed to referee a game of football in which you can all take part. Um, I appoint Nugent-Bull and Harvill as the two captains and I suggest that the boys sitting on my left make up one side and those on my right the other. Billy Goodall raised his hand and said: 'Sir, there are twenty-three of us in this class, so someone won't get a game.'

'That can be me sir. Mrs. Dickerson has told me I should rest my leg,' I said, for whilst I love playing footer, my shin is still bruised from the encounter with Beddinghurst College and I want to be fully fit for our next big match against St Lionel's in a fortnight's time. Mr. Hutchinson nodded and said: 'Yes, of course, Dashwood, that works out splendidly. I will think of something less strenuous to keep you occupied. Right, now will everyone else please file out quietly to your studies, collect your football kit and go straight down to Fletcher's Fields where Mr. Hare awaits you.' 'Bad luck, old man,' said George as he stood up and gathered up his books under his arm. 'See you in the study after the game.' After my form mates had left the room, Mr. Hutchinson said to me: 'Dashwood, I understand from Mr. Reynolds that you are showing some real talent as a water-colourist. If the art room is free this afternoon, you could do far worse than paint a small picture for the classroom wall – though I would have no objections if perhaps you would prefer to sit on the touchline at Fletcher's Fields and sketch some of your chums in action. I am content to leave the choice to you.' “Thank you, sir, but I'll pass up the idea of sketching a football scene. Frankly, I find that humans and animals are far harder to draw than still-life subjects,' I remarked as I collected my books together in a pile and then followed him outside. 'Well practice makes perfect, you know,' replied Mr. Hutchinson, as he glanced at his pocket-watch. 'I must be on my way or I'll be late – don't forget to show me the result of your artistic endeavours after assembly tomorrow morning.' 'Of course sir,' I called out as he hurried down the corridor. However, I was in no rush and took my time in sauntering across to my study and from there up the stairs to the art room. This is small in size, but being situated on a corner of the second floor of the building, has the benefit of excellent natural light which pours in through the enlarged windows, constructed on two adjoining walls. Few schools such as ours can boast any facilities for budding artists, but Dr Muttley is an enlightened educator who insists that the Albion Academy should offer the widest possible curriculum to broaden the minds of its students. Any artistic capabilities I possess, have certainly blossomed from the skills of the excellent teacher engaged by Dr Muttley, Mr. Michael Reynolds R.A., a critically acclaimed, young Kentish artist whose home and studio are only a few miles away near Wye. I rather enjoy our weekly hour-long period on Tuesday afternoons with Mr. Reynolds who infects us with his enthusiasm for good paintings and especially for the works of Dante, Gabriel Rossetti and the Pre-Raphaelites. Mr. Reynolds usually works in his own studio on Monday afternoons so I did not expect to see him after I had climbed up the two flights of stairs and carelessly swung open the door of the art room. However, on this particular Monday afternoon, Mr. Reynolds had chosen to work here, at school and he was engaged in a nude study of Louisa, one of our scullery maids, who was standing in front of him, leaning forward with her hands resting upon the back of an upright, wooden chair. Louisa let out a frightened little scream and Mr. Reynolds growled out angrily: 'What the blue blazes are you doing up here, Dash wood? I don't teach your class on Mondays.' I expressed my apologies for the interruption and hastily explained to him that Mr. Hutchinson had proposed that I spend the afternoon in the art room. His brow cleared, and, with perhaps a somewhat cavalier disregard for Louisa's feelings, he invited me to set up a board and easel and begin making a charcoal sketch of the pretty girl who was standing there, wearing not a stitch of clothing, no more than a couple of yards away from me. 'Thank you, sir, er, so long as that meets with Louisa's approval,' I said, hesitantly. But Mr. Reynolds waved away my concern. 'Tush, she doesn't mind at all, do you my poppet?' he grunted and, to my astonishment, he gave her bare bottom a friendly slap. 'After all, you don't have to do anything extra for your ten shillings an hour modelling fee. Simply keep standing there and look beautiful, a very easy task for such a pretty girl.' 'Flattery will get you nowhere,' she replied pertly. She smiled at me, with no apparent concern that I was unable to prevent myself from ogling her luscious, naked body. 'So, you would like to sketch me, Master Henry? Do you think I will make a suitable subject?' she teased. I gulped hard as I looked with awe at the brazen girl, who cannot have been more than seventeen years old, although she was tall for her age. She was blessed with long tresses of light, auburn hair, slightly golden in tint, and a very pretty face with deep brown eyes, set off by long, dark eyelashes, a full mouth with rich, pouting, cherry lips and a brilliant set of pearly-white teeth. And what magnificent, proud young breasts Louisa possessed, so round and firm, and what a lovely whiteness of belly contrasted by the glistening silky, reddish hair between her thighs. The idea of flaunting her naked charms before me must have appealed to her for the rise and fall of her delectable, bared breasts showed her breathing to have quickened. I noticed that her nostrils flared out slightly when she smoothed her hands across her pussey hair before placing them back on the chair in front of her.

I set up my easel and looked hard at Louisa's enticing curves, wondering how best I could capture her sensual charms. After a while she sighed and pouted: 'Come on, you two slowcoaches, why it's an insult that you still have your clothes on! Michael, aren't you going to make love to me like you always do before you start work in earnest? Surely you're not too shy to fuck in front of Master Henry.'

Mr. Reynolds laid down his brush and palette as he grinned at the cheeky girl and said in a genial voice: 'Louisa, I am well rebuked and offer my humble apologies. Dashwood, would you please be a good fellow and kindly help Louisa pull out the mattress from the wall-cupboard on your right whilst I get undressed?' 'Of course, sir, it will be my pleasure,' I stuttered. I watched the art master sit down, remove his shoes and socks, slip off his jacket and unbuckle his belt. He wriggled out of his trousers and drawers and stood up, his body covered solely by a flapping, blue shirt which he proceeded to unbutton before sliding it off his shoulders. His thickening prick was dangling down, but when he flexed his muscles, his shaft started to rise and his foreskin snapped back to reveal the wide, purple helmet of his knob. Louisa and I pulled the small mattress, which was covered by a clean, if rumpled, white sheet, into the centre of the room. As we passed by Mr. Reynolds, Louisa clasped her fingers around his stiff cock, rubbing her hand up and down the hard, fleshy bar.

This had the desired effect of setting a match to the tinder. The art master pulled Louisa towards him and their lips mashed together in the most fiery, passionate kiss. They sank to their knees upon the mattress and, disentangling herself from the embrace, Louisa climbed on to his lap, facing him, and squeezed her knees along his muscular thighs. Louisa put one arm round Mr. Reynold's neck and with the other she felt for his iron-hard chopper, adjusting her position as she placed his knob at the gateway to her juicy cunney. 'Ready, steady, go!' she cried as she slid down his thick tool until it was fully engulfed inside the warm, wet sheath of her love channel. As soon as it was lodged snugly inside her quim, she swayed back and forth, letting his pulsating prick ream out the furthest recesses of her honey pot. When Louisa was satisfied that she had every last inch of his cock inside her, she hugged him tightly in her arms, kissing the corners of his mouth before whispering in his ear: 'Push your hips up, Michael, harder, that's the way, you don't have to be afraid of hurting me.' She worked her own hips in rhythm with his upward thrusts, riding slowly but firmly upon his pulsing shaft, letting it sink all the way into her juicy snatch and holding it there. His eyes closed in blissful ecstasy. Mr. Reynolds was now in his own private heaven and too far gone, I am sure, to remember that he was fucking this lovely girl in front of one of his pupils. My own cock was now throbbing unbearably as the randy pair panted their way towards a finish. Louisa bounced up and down on my art master's truncheon, grinding her bottom round in tiny circles. Mr. Reynolds shuddered and thrust upwards as his prick spurted its creamy tribute inside her tingling cunney. This was too soon though for Louisa who shot out her right hand and gripped hold of me, pulling at my trousers. 'Michael, you don't mind if Master Henry fucks me, do you?' she enquired as she clambered off his gleaming wet cock which was still semi-erect but obviously losing its stiffness. 'No, of course not, I'm sure that he would be absolutely delighted to poke you,' said Mr. Reynolds generously. 'But be gentle with him, my dear, because Dashwood is probably a virgin.' I corrected him instantly and said: 'Actually I have enjoyed quite a number of experiences, sir.' 'Is that so?' he replied with some surprise. 'Have you really found a willing lass here at the school? No don't answer that question, it is a matter about which I should not have asked. Always remember that a gentleman never discloses the names of his amorata unless he discovers she has bequeathed him a pox, in which case it is his bounden duty to immediately inform all his friends of the danger.

Whilst I digested this wise counsel, Louisa said brightly: 'Oh never mind all that palaver, how would you like it if I sucked your nice big cock before you stick it in my cunt?' Without waiting for my answer (which in any case would have been in the affirmative), she slid her rich lips around my knob. I felt my shaft slide into her throat and she gobbled so lustily that I was reluctantly forced to removed my prick from its sweet prison or I would have very soon spent inside her mouth. I said nothing, but the salacious girl understood and cast herself back on the mattress, spreading her legs wide apart. 'Come now, Master Henry, show me if you really do know what to do with your thick stiffie,' she said teasingly. With my cock waggling in excited anticipation, I clambered upon Louisa's soft body without further delay and I let out a husky sigh when she took hold of my cock and positioned it at the entrance to her love funnel.

Slowly I pushed forward and my knob eased between her yielding love lips and into the haven of her juicy cunt. 'Ahhh, that's divine,' she breathed as I moved gently back and forth to enjoy the feel of the silky grip of her cunney muscles. 'Now keep still and let me fuck your cock.' I did as I was told, holding myself perfectly still whilst Louisa moved her body in a sinuous rhythm, working her clinging cunney up and down my shaft. Then I joined in, pumping my hips up and down whilst my balls smacked against her bottom with every thrust. 'Go on then, Master Henry, ram away!' Louisa cried out as I slewed my shaft in and out of her sopping slit. I pounded to and fro at an ever greater pace, my hands clasping her beautiful bum cheeks as I felt the spunk boiling up in my balls. Sensing that Louisa was somewhat behind me in the final sprint towards the pinnacle of pleasure, by a great mental effort I managed to delay the moment of truth for another half-minute. But as my cock continued to slide against the sleek walls of Louisa's cunney, I knew that my spend could not be denied any longer. With an almighty groan I flooded her crack with a foaming spray of spunk. Jets of jism spouted out from my sated prick and mixed with Louisa's own love juices which now poured from her pussey as she climaxed with me in a wonderful mutual spend.

'Gad, the lad certainly does know how to fuck!' she panted happily. Mr. Reynolds agreed and gave me a curious look as he commented: 'You have certainly benefited from a line tutoress in the sensual arts, Dashwood. Be for ever grateful, my lad, because first love can be either idyllic or an unmitigated disaster, and you have had the good fortune to have had a partner who has obviously helped to make your passage into manhood an extremely pleasant experience.

'Now, we had best get back to work. I have to finish this picture of Louisa for Lord Bresslaw and you had better produce a couple of sketches of her for Mr. Hutchinson. Incidentally, I would suggest that you draw only her face or he might become suspicious!' he added with a chuckle. We dressed ourselves, but frankly, I was still too excited to concentrate on my work. Mr. Reynolds kindly added a few well-judged lines to my own poor efforts before I left to take tea with George Nugent-Bull, Johnny Bridges and some other chaps in my study. As it was George's birthday, Johnny and I had planned a slap-up spread. Dusk was falling rapidly and the football match should have finished. The boys must have still been in the showers for no-one had yet returned from Fletcher's Fields. I opened the cupboard and carefully coaxed a tempting plum cake from its packing. Then I filled our biscuit barrel with a mixture of coconut and shortbread biscuits and set out the meringues and jam tarts we had selected from the tuck-shop along with the other goodies. Then I reached up and brought out the present Johnny and I had purchased for George from a shop in Ashford. It was a travelling chess set with pegged men in a polished mahogany box which cost us half a guinea. But George is a true friend and neither Johnny nor myself begrudge the cash, although after buying the grub for the birthday tea, I shall have to beg some extra funds from Mama to see me through the rest of the term! It was now almost half past four. I completed the feast by preparing two large jugs of lemonade and I remembered to take out the small extra present for George which I had bought from a novelties shop for sixpence and which I thought he would find amusing. As I laid out the glasses, I heard the noise of footsteps and excited chatter in the corridor outside and Johnny Bridges burst in with George, Billy Goodall, Stephen Harvill and Bob Fowkes. 'Hello, Henry, I hope every thing is ready for the birthday boy, it's been a marvellous day so far, a soccer match instead of afternoon school and our team winning a splendid game by five goals to two,' George cried.

When he saw that I had laid out the splendid tea he clapped me on the back and said: 'Gosh, what a feast! Just as well you and Johnny bought so much grub from the old tuck shop, I'm starving after the footer! Come on, chaps, dig in and help me make the most of my birthday.' I was as hungry as the others after my own indoor feats and we fell upon the food like a pack of hungry wolves. Then, after we had assuaged our hunger, we toasted George in lemonade, and on behalf of Johnny and myself, I presented George with his chess set.

He thanked us warmly and I smiled at the puzzled frown on Billy Goodall's face when George mentioned how grateful he was to me 'for the set of extra tutorials.' Not wishing for Billy to pursue this matter further, I gave George my personal extra present of the 'Seebackroscope' which he thought was a most amusing gift. 'With the aid of this instrument, the possessor can see behind him,' he read out from the leaflet which accompanied the small rubber periscope.

'Observe who is following you without attracting attention by turning around, simply by placing the Seebackroscope to your eye. 'Thanks a lot, Henry, this could turn out to be jolly useful,' he said.

Johnny laughed and said that George could also have great fun with the Seebackroscope next year when he stayed with his parents at their summer house in nearby Felpham, standing outside the bathing machines on the beach at Bognor Regis! 'Ha, Ha, Ha! What a jolly idea! And, before then, I'll practise standing with my back to Mr.

Hutchinson and see if I can note down the answers to our maths homework,' suggested George. We demolished the rest of the plum cake and spent the remaining time till 'prep' in a merry mood, swapping ribald jokes. The best of these came from Billy Goodall who recounted an anecdote about a gentleman of the Romish persuasion who went to Confession one morning and informed the priest that he had been fucking one of the servant girls for the previous month. The priest admonished him and warned him that if he did not desist indulging in such carnal sin, upon his demise he would be consigned to the fiery depths. Much chastened, the gentleman left the church but, a mere week later, was back again in the confession box with an agitated expression on his face. 'Father, I tried tremendously hard not to fuck Matilda, but this morning, when I saw her bending over as she filled a shopping basket, I simply could not refrain from throwing up her petticoats and poking her.' 'My son, my son,' cried the horrified priest. 'Think of your immortal soul which will be barred from the doors of heaven!' To which the gentleman smiled wanly and replied: 'Perhaps so, and in the meantime I am also barred from the doors of Mrs. Estelle Cohn's Emporium in Kensington High Street!'

We roared with laughter at this comical tale and Johnny said: 'That joke reminds me of a little “Nursery Rhyme”: “From the depths of the crypt in St Giles, Came a scream which resounded for miles, Said the vicar, 'Good gracious, Has Father Ignatious Forgotten the Bishop has piles?'” This set off a round of rude rhymes of which I can only recall Stephen Harvill's: 'A comely young lady named Ransom, Was ravished five times in a Hansom, When she cried out for more, A voice from the floor Groaned “Madam, I'm Simpson, not Sampson!'” I enjoy a smutty story or poem which possesses genuine wit, but alas, I can never remember even the best of them.

Hopefully I shall now be able to rectify this situation by writing in this diary which will act as a repository for the most amusing jests which I wish to recall. Because of Mr. Hutchinson's absence, there were only some Latin verbs to mug up for 'prep' and George and I had plenty of time to take a short stroll down to the gymnasium to return the referee's whistle to Bunny Hare which George had absent-mindedly left in his shorts whilst changing into his ordinary clothes after the match. No-one was training in the gymnasium when we entered but in the far corner there was a light and a low murmur of voices coming from Mr. Hare's office. 'Why on earth is old Bunny sitting in his office when he has turned off the gas jets in the gym?'

I murmured as I closed the door quietly behind us. 'What the blue blazes can he be up to?' George grinned as he pulled the Seebackroscope out of his pocket. 'Stay here for a moment, Henry and I'll find out,' he said. He padded noiselessly across the wooden floor and climbed silently up the stairs to the changing area. At first, I wondered what he was about, but then I remembered that last week, at morning assembly, Dr Muttley informed us that some wood was found to be infested with dry-rot in the gymnasium and that for a few days there would be a gap of about ten inches between the planks of the upstairs floor, almost directly above the gymnasium office. 'Be careful to avoid this area, there is no danger of the floor collapsing underneath your weight, but we don't want anyone catching their feet in the hole,' the headmaster had warned. I realised that George would have no need of his Seebackroscope for he would be able to peer downwards for a bird's eye view of Bunny Hare's room. I waited for a minute or so and then made my way upstairs to join him, taking care to move as quietly as possible on the boards. Luckily, they were sturdy and didn't creak. When I reached George, he was down on his knees with his eyes glued to the gap and he beckoned me over to see for myself what was happening directly beneath him. As I took up position next to him, he mouthed: 'Just take a quick gander at that, Henry, the dirty beast.' I looked quizzically at George for a moment before squinting through the hole to gaze down at Mr. Hare who was standing by the treatment table talking to Gordon Harding, a good-looking third form boy, who was lying on the table with his head propped up against a pillow. 'I hardly breathed as I saw Bunny unbutton Harding's trousers and slide his hand down the stiff little shaft which he extracted from the vent of the fly. I bent closer to hear what the sports master was whispering to the boy as he slipped his foreskin down from the purple domed head. Harding continued to lie with his eyes closed whilst Bunny fondled his twitching tool.

'Does that feel nice, Gordon?' he enquired. Harding replied: 'Oh yes, sir, please rub faster as I think I'm about to spend.'

Bunny obliged him by working his hand to and fro at a greater pace until, with a sudden spurt, an eruption of white seed burst out of the boy's cock like a miniature fountain. 'This isn't playing the game,' muttered George under his breath. I nodded my head and whispered: 'Let's go downstairs quietly and then make a noise as if we've just come in. That will frighten the balls off them both.'

This is precisely what we did and the result was exactly as I had forecast. By the time we reached the office, Harding was standing fully dressed besides Mr. Hare who was breathing hard but who otherwise looked relatively composed. 'Ah Nugent-Bull and Dashwood – what can I do for you, boys?' he enquired cordially. I frowned at George who I sensed was about to make a tart retort about not needing Bunny's fingers on his cock, and I prevented him from doing so by answering quickly and before my chum could open his mouth.

'We've come to return your whistle to you, sir. Nugent-Bull took it back with his kit by mistake after the footer this afternoon.' I explained. George threw the whistle on to the treatment table and with a steely glint in his eye he said to Harding: 'Hello there, Gordon, are you doing some extra training for the match against Rookwood juniors on Thursday?' Mr. Hare replied for the third former. 'No, no, Harding simply twisted his foot and I invited him here so that I could give his ankle a massage,' he said as he patted the youngster on the head. 'Off you go now, and try to rest the foot as much as you can. With any luck, you'll be fighting fit for the game.' Despite his advice, Harding scuttled out and I pulled George's sleeve as I politely wished the sports master good evening.

'Good evening to you, chaps, and thank you for giving me back my whistle,' he said, as he stuffed it into his pocket. 'The great South African athlete, Laurence Nathan, gave me this whistle whilst we were at Oxford. I used to time his sprints, you know, and next Spring, he's off to represent the Orange Free State at these new Olympic Games some obscure French Baron is staging in Athens.' As we walked back to our study, George argued strongly that we should have confronted the sports master about how we had seen him fiddling with young Harding, but I shook my head and said: 'Look, for what it's worth, I would think that our arrival gave Bunny quite a fright and he won't try and seduce any other boy in a hurry – but if he does, it's odds-on he'll be discovered, just like we caught him out this evening. 'And let me ask you this, old boy. Hand on your heart, would you have got so hot under the collar if it had been Freda or one of the other servant girls whacking off young Harding?' George wrinkled his brow as he reflected upon how best to answer my question and finally said: 'Well, I suppose not, though I would still have considered it to have been a misdemeanour on her part.' 'So would most other people, including myself,' I agreed as we turned the comer into the fifth-form corridor.

'Certainly, no-one has the right to interfere with a fourteen-year-old kid like Harding, not even a well-intentioned lady like Lizzie Dickerson. I think we should have a quiet word with Harding and tell him to inform the headmaster if Bunny Hare attempts to interfere with him again.' 'Very well, Henry, if you insist then I'll go along with what you say,' said George. 'But I still think we should report the matter to Dr Muttley ourselves. After all, Harding didn't seem to need much persuasion to let Bunny toss him off. How do we know if Bunny has pressured other boys who might not be so compliant?'

This was a good point which forced me to reconsider my position.

'Yes, that's true and I must say that I hadn't thought about that,' I confessed. 'Yet, I still wonder whether making a meal out of this incident might not do more harm than good. In all probability, left to his own devices, Harding will forget about this business, especially when it's time for someone like Lizzie to instruct him in the joys of fucking a woman. 'However, perhaps you are right and we should warn Bunny to pick on a playmate of his own size,' I commented.

George nodded and said: 'Yes, I really do believe we should speak to him about curbing his proclivities, on pain of being reported to Dr Muttley. I know you're a tolerant chap, Henry, who likes to live and let live, but Bunny's behaviour is beyond the pale. If he had been having it away with say, Mr. Hutchinson or Smeeth the groundsman…'

The very idea of these gentlemen being involved in such activities made us both burst into laughter and we agreed not to mention the matter to anyone-not even Johnny Bridges-and that we would speak to our sports master after supper.

Tuesday, November 13th, 1895 (During Prep) Last night was so hectic that I did not have time to record all that happened until this evening. What luck that Mr. Hutchinson has gone down with a heavy cold and has not set us any homework. I can use the hour set aside for 'prep' to finish writing up my diary whilst my pals play Ludo with Mabb and Osbourne in the next study.

During supper last night, George and I worked out what we would say to Bunny Hare when we went round to his quarters after the meal.

Neither of us was looking forward to this encounter, but in the end it did not turn out as badly as we had feared. When we knocked on his door he ushered us in and immediately invited us to sit down. Then he sat down himself, and with his elbows on the table and holding his head in his hands, he said quietly: 'Boys, I know why you have come to see me. Unless I am greatly mistaken, you are aware that I committed a senseless, foolish and criminal act this evening in the gymnasium. I deserve no mercy, but for the sake of my parents, I still beg you not to make public what you saw. Be assured, though, I am about to write my letter of resignation to Dr Muttley. I looked across at George who cleared his throat and slowly replied: 'Perhaps that would be best sir, but I want you to know that Dashwood and myself had no intention of telling anyone about what happened between you and Harding except perhaps the headmaster, and if you are leaving us, I don't see why we need to say anything to him.' 'Indeed not,' I said quietly.

Trying not to sound too pompous, I added: 'And it gives me no joy to see you leave. I'm sure that most other chaps in the school will agree that you have been a superb sports master. But, if you really are a follower of this lifestyle, perhaps it would be best if you followed some other career?' 'You may be right Dashwood,' he said unhappily. 'Yet I am far from being a fully-fledged homosexual. If only there were opportunities here to enjoy sex with suitable young females, I would be the first to take them. But the sad fact is that I have never sampled such joys.' 'Good heavens, sir. Have you never fucked a – I mean, never had intercourse?' George blurted out.

Poor Bunny Hare shook his head and said: 'No, I have never had the chance to do so. You see, Nugent-Bull, I was brought up in a very stern environment. No mention was ever made of sexual matters and my mother would never even use such harmless words as trousers – she would call them “unmentionables”. Even the legs of our piano were covered for the so-called sake of decency. At the age of thirteen I was sent to an equally strict school where, in the dormitories, a senior boy introduced me to the joys of masturbation. 'When I reached Oxford I thought at last I would be able to meet some girls, but the Dean of my college was almost as puritanical as my father and I never managed to progress further than a quick kiss or two under the mistletoe with one of the servant girls at Christmas. Since then my only outlet has been onanism'. This was a term neither George nor I had heard of before and George repeated blankly: 'Onanism, sir, what's that?' Bunny gave a ghost of a smile as he explained: 'What is vulgarly known as pulling your pud. Anyway, I have tried to sublimate my sexual desires, but the sight of naked boys playing with themselves in the showers after a game of football brings back memories of the games of mutual masturbation I indulged in at school.

'Somehow, Harding divined my interest when I came across him and four other boys fondling each other's cocks and threatened to report them to their form master. He came round to the gymnasium tonight and complained about twisting his ankle and then, when I was going to manipulate it for him, he said he would prefer me – and I quote verbatim “to massage my cock, for we would both enjoy that more.”

He heaved a deep sight and concluded: 'That is about the long and short of it, my boys. I must thank you both for listening to me, I have never told anyone about all this before and I must say that I'm damned glad to have got it off my chest.' Whilst he was speaking, an idea was slowly forming in my brain. Dr Muttley had taught us that ancient Greek philosophers such as Plato and Aristotle held that punishment brought wisdom. However, when I mentioned this to my father, he shook his head and disagreed. He said that after visiting inmates in Gloucester gaol, he opined to the belief that the punishment meted out was often more brutal than the crime. His words echoed in my mind as I thought to myself that little good would come of Bunny Hare simply resigning and taking up a post at another school. Far better, surely, to find a cure for (again to quote my father) the maladjustment which has led him to offend in the first place. So, I held up my hand and said: 'Sir, before you give the headmaster your letter of resignation, would you permit Nugent-Bull and myself to tell one member of the staff of your affliction? I believe that she can help you. Even if you still feel it would be best to leave the Albion Academy, after her treatment, I'm sure you will never again feel tempted to indulge in shirt-lifting activities with little cock-teasers like Gordon Harding.' The sports master was nonplussed by my request and he stuttered: 'She could help me, you say? Who is it you have in mind, Dashwood?' 'I would rather not say at this stage, sir,' I replied slowly. 'For, in the unlikely event that I am mistaken and she feels she cannot be of assistance in this matter, it might cause her great embarrassment if her identity was made known to you.' By now George had cottoned on to my train of thought and urged Bunny to comply with my request. 'I know what Dashwood has in mind, sir and I give you my word of honour that there is no way that the lady in question would reveal a word of anything told to her in confidence,' he said. I followed up these words by adding: 'In all honesty, sir, you have everything to gain and nothing to lose.' Bunny lifted his head from his hands and looked me straight in the eye. 'Well, I dare say that's true enough-but tell me, Dashwood, why are you taking so much trouble about all this? Wouldn't it be easier all round if I simply resigned and left at the end of term? How do I know that you boys can be relied upon to keep your silence?' 'Of course we can, sir, you have our word, but I do urge you to place your fate in this lady's hands,' I said stoutly.

He shrugged his shoulders and said: 'Very well, Dashwood, as you say, what have I to lose?' I suggested that he should stay in his study whilst George accompanied me to make an appointment. (With Lizzie Dickerson, of course, although I took care not to mention her name in from of Mr. Hare.) 'We will be back with her decision very soon,' I said. George and I raced up to the sick bay where, by good fortune, Lizzie happened to be still on duty, dispensing some medicine to a second form boy who was complaining of a stomach ache.

'There, swallow this down, Thomson,' she said to the reluctant junior. 'Yes, it does taste rather foul but you're bound to feel better in the morning, especially after a good night's sleep – and next time don't scoff Mrs. Mimble's jam roly-poly so quickly. I'm sure that's the reason why you've had to come and see me this evening!'

She shooed him out and wagged a reproving finger at us as she said: 'Now what brings you two scallywags here? You aren't due for another lesson until Thursday afternoon. You have very quickly forgotten my philosophy that I should help the needy, not the greedy!'

'No, Lizzie, you have the wrong end of the stick,' I replied.

When I explained to Lizzie the circumstances which had brought George and I to the sick bay – i.e. to ask if she might be able to help Bunny Hare back on to the straight and narrow, she soon understood that we were not simply there to beg for an extra session of fucking. We went into Lizzie's office and sat down whilst she questioned us more closely about what our sports master had said to us. Then she declared: 'Well, from what you tell me, I'm sure that losing his unwanted virginity would do wonders for Mr. Hare.

'Now, don't think I am terribly 'down' per se on homosexuals. As the famous actress, Mrs. Patrick Campbell recently commented, mankind's efforts to enforce conformity and social morality has a truly disastrous record. Consenting adults should be free to do what they like to each other sexually, so long as they don't do it in the streets and frighten the horses. But, from what you tell me, I think that once dear Bunny has tasted the joys of straight fucking, he will have no further desire to continue with these foolish fumblings.'

'Yes, he needs the opportunity to release himself from his inhibitions as quickly as possible,' I said. 'Oh yes, the sooner the better.' Lizzie: enthused. 'Send him up here without further delay. George, in about twenty minutes time, would you be kind enough to escort Mr. Hare to my private bedroom whilst Henry assists me in preparing for his treatment.' 'By all means Lizzie,' said George, rising from his chair. 'Will you need me for anything else? If not, I'll go off afterwards to write a thank-you letter to my Aunt Mary and Uncle Martin for the postal order they kindly sent me for my birthday.' 'No thank you, my dear,' said Lizzie. When George was out of earshot, she also stood up and asked me to go with her into the bedroom. I followed her in, sat down on the bed and, in all innocence, asked what she now wanted me to do. Lizzie laughed aloud and said: 'Well, as I said to you, it is vital that Mr. Hare sheds all his inhibitions. Normally, I would suggest a gradual leading up to the moment of truth. When teaching someone to swim, one begins with exercises in shallow water, but in this case, we shall have to throw our student in at the deep end, so to speak. The best way to do this is to excite him to boiling point by a kind of instructional poses plastiques exhibition.' I understood the drift of her remark at once and said: 'With you and I as the performers, I presume?' She nodded and, with a mischevious grin, she set about unbuttoning her blouse. In no time at all, she had shrugged off all her clothes except for her knickers. My shaft soon thickened as I gazed up at the swell of her beautiful bosoms. She sat next to me on the bed and, when she kissed me and her probing tongue filled my mouth, my stiff cock began to throb in expectation of the delights to come. Lizzie slid her hands to the front of my trousers and wrenched off the belt as I fumbled with the buttons of my fly. Once I had torn off my trousers and pulled down my drawers, she grasped my hot prick with both hands, rubbing my shaft with such urgency that, almost immediately, I shuddered to a delicious climax and creamy white jism gushed out of my purple dome. 'Oh dear, that's rather a pity, I wanted a dress rehearsal as opposed to a proper performance,' she murmured as she looked down upon my limp prick. I reassured her that my cock would be in fine fettle again by the time Bunny Hare arrived. Whilst I recovered my strength I asked Lizzie if she cared to hear an amusing joke which Billy Goodall had told me a few days before. 'Please do, I always enjoy a funny story,' she said.

So I continued: 'Well, it appears that Lady Farnes-Harnes caught her old butler Jorrocks in flagrante delicto with a pretty housemaid and she sacked the girl on the spot. However, as she did not wish to lose her butler she warned him that he had better turn over a new leaf or he too would be dismissed from her service. But, later in the week, she discovered him in the conservatory buggering the page-boy: “Jorrocks! I thought you promised me that you would turn over a new leaf.” “And so I did your Ladyship,” he retorted. “Only I have begun at the bottom of the page!” This droll tale made Lizzie laugh and she said as she rolled down her knickers: 'Now, why don't you undress completely, Henry, it's so much nicer to make love in the nude.' I readily complied with her request and, within a minute, I was sitting stark naked on the bed and Lizzie was gently stroking my swelling shaft with her long, skillful fingers. Naturally, my love truncheon quickly regained all its former stiffness and then, suddenly, her tousled hair was between my thighs. I felt her tongue swirl wetly over the smooth surface of my uncapped helmet and then she opened her mouth wide and encircled my knob with her lips.

Instinctively my hips jerked upwards to force my yearning prick even further inside her mouth as her wicked tongue washed all around my throbbing tool. Savouring my juices, she drew me in fully between her luscious lips initiating me to fresh heights of sensual pleasure.

I felt I would swoon with delight, but Lizzie ensured that I did not again spend too quickly by easing the suction each time she rightly guessed that I was on the verge of an ejaculation. This successfully prolonged our mutual enjoyment. But Lizzie's blood was up and she pulled me down with her upon the bed, lying on her back with her thighs apart, her fingers stroking her hairy notch. She beckoned me to put my hand there too. I needed no second invitation and thrilled to the feel of the soft, warm lips of her cunney which moistened at my touch. 'That's very nice, Henry. Now suck my nipples,' she breathed. My head sank to her breast and I began to lick each of the aroused red titties in turn. I continued to explore the silky muff of pussey hair between Lizzie's thighs and she clamped her legs together, trapping my hand between them as I inserted my forefinger inside her juicy slit. For a while, she was satisfied to be finger-fucked, but then she released my hand and gasped: 'Now, Henry, now! Stick your big prick inside me! I want it all inside my cunt, you sweet, big-cocked boy!' 'And you shall have it,' I panted as I rolled on top of her and pushed my prick towards the pink, pouting pussey lips. But, in my eagerness, I could not find the gateway to her love channel. So Lizzie took hold of my throbbing tool and guided it home herself, inserting my knob into the welcoming embrace of her cunney. 'Ohhhh!' I gasped with delight, enjoying to the full the delectable sensation as we began our fuck. Lizzie possesses the marvellous gift of being able to contract the muscles of her cunney and she clung to my cock like a tight-fitting glove as I pistoned my sinewy shaft. Faster and faster I pumped, to and fro, and Lizzie bucked and twisted under me, urging me all the while to thrust deeper as she raised her legs high in the air and wrapped them round my shoulders. How tightly her cunt clasped my cock as my balls banged against her bottom! Her kisses rained upon my neck and her tight bum cheeks rotated in my hands as my lusty todger rammed in and out of her juicy crack. For us both, the coup de grace could no longer be delayed and, arching my body upwards, I plunged down one final time, crushing Lizzie's breasts beneath me. My copious emission poured into her and her cuntal juices coated my cock as her clever cunney milked my prick until the last drop of sperm trickled out my shaft. I rolled off Lizzie's heaving body and we lay together in silence for a couple of minutes. Then Lizzie turned her flushed face to me and said: 'Oh Henry, I must compliment you. Without doubt, you are fast becoming my star pupil! I shall miss you when you leave the Albion Academy and will envy those lucky young girls who will thrill to the feel of your cock when you fuck them. Just as some fortunate people can play the piano with the minimum of instruction, so you are a “natural” when it comes to l'arte de faire l'amour.' Now who could fail to be displeased at such a handsome compliment! 'Thank you very much Lizzie,' I said with as much modesty as I could muster. 'But I am sure any credit for my ability in fucking must also be shared with my wonderful teacher.' There was a knock on the door and Lizzie called out: 'Just a moment, if you please,' as she slipped on her dressing-gown and walked over to the door. 'Who is that?'

'It's George Nugent-Bull here, Mrs. Dickerson,' I heard my chum call out. 'Er, I have Mr. Hare with me as you asked.' 'Oh, very good, George. Thank you for your help, you may go now,' Lizzie replied. 'Mr. Hare, I will be with you very shortly,' she added.

Then she swung round and said to me: 'Henry, may I suggest that you take a book and read in the bathroom until I call you.' 'Very well, I know when I'm not wanted,' I grinned as I heaved myself off the bed and, picking up one of the journals on her bedside table, I scurried off to the bathroom, closing the door behind me. But then I realised that I might enjoy watching Lizzie pluck Bunny Hare's cherry, so I gently opened the door and left it slightly ajar so that I could see what was happening in the bedroom. I saw Lizzie open the bedroom door to Mr. Hare and she swiftly put him at ease, offering him a glass of malt whisky which he nervously accepted. 'I think I'll join you,' said Lizzie as she poured the drinks directly from a bottle of Glenlivet on her dressing table. 'I sometimes take a glass of whisky at night with Dr Muttley, especially during the winter months.

'An occasional sip is most beneficial for the circulation, you know, as my elderly uncle Angus up in Banff will readily testify. He takes “a wee dram” of Glenlivet every night without fail and last month celebrated his seventy-fourth birthday and has never had a day's illness in his life! He sends me a bottle of Glenlivet every year at Christmas.' Then Lizzie proceeded to question Bunny Hare with great tact about his lack of opportunity to enjoy any physical relationships with members of the opposite sex. As I had already listened to the sports master's personal history, I did not even try to listen to their low voices but looked down at the magazine I had picked up from Lizzie's bedside table. I discovered, to my pleasant surprise, that I was holding the November edition of The Cremorne.

Opening the journal at random, to my amazement, I found myself reading a letter by a lady of the same name as my father's unmarried cousin, Lady Gwendolen Gaymen of Worcester, which had been sent to the readers' questions column, edited by the club's medical adviser, Doctor Jonathan Letchmore. (Lizzie has kindly loaned me her copy of this randy publication so that I can copy the letter into my diary.) The letter reads as follows:

Dear Doctor Jonathan, A gentleman friend of mine, a lieutenant with the Coldstream Guards, sports a splendid, eight and a half inch cock, with which I can find no fault. Yet, despite my protestations, he is convinced that nature has not endowed him with a large enough tool with which to satisfy me. I know he is an avid reader of this saucy magazine and I would be grateful if you would reassure him that size has little to do with the quality of a man's performance as far as fucking is concerned. Miss Gwendolen Gayman.

I read Doctor Letchmore's trenchant reply with great interest: Dear Miss Gayman, Let me reassure your friend that, to use the pithy colloquial homily of our American cousins, it isn't the size of the ship that counts, what matters is the motion of the ocean. Many girls of my acquaintance who have been fucked by Prince Kochanski of Poland (Who is generally reckoned to possess the largest prick in London Society) tell me that, whilst the Prince is an expert cocksman, after a night's romp in his bed, they tend to suffer from painfully sore cunnies the next morning.

Frankly, I am surprised that any reader of this publication needs to be reminded of this, although note the witty words of the essayist and poet, Miss Elizabeth Thomson; 'Alas, most men believe that penises come only one size – too small!' In any case, eight and a half inches is a very respectable sized cock. If he cares to make an inspection of his fellow officers' pricks, I would wager he will find that at least half have weapons of a lesser size than himself.

Incidentally, may I take this opportunity to remind our readers that the old country saw about being able to gauge the size of a man's shaft by the size of his nose is utter rubbish! It is an accepted medical fact that neither size, weight or bone structure can ever indicate the dimensions of a cock – nor of a cunt, I should add. May the gentleman take note. Doctor Jonathan Letchmore. I quietly placed The Cremorne on the floor and peeped into Lizzie's bedroom. With some difficulty I suppressed a chuckle as I saw Bunny nervously fumble with his shoe laces. Lizzie, having discarded her robe, knelt naked at his feet and I leaned forward to hear her give the novice tome much needed words of encouragement. 'Don't be nervous, Cuthbert,' she said, planting a light kiss on his flaccid tool. (Cuthbert indeed! No wonder Mr. Hare never objects when he hears his nickname bandied across the dressing room!) Lizzie continued: 'This problem must be solved, my dear man. You said yourself that it has vexed you for longer than you care to remember. At your age, virginity must be a terrible burden and it will be my pleasure to lift this yolk from your shoulders.' Bunny's hands clasped hers as he muttered: 'Will you really let me fuck you, Lizzie? You aren't just teasing me, are you?' 'No, I would be delighted if you would slide that line-looking cock in my cunney.' 'At this moment, I want to fuck you more than anything else in the world!' 'Then you shall, Cuthbert,' cooed Lizzie. She slipped her fingers around his now stiffening shaft and began massaging his cock, drawing back his foreskin to make the blunt, fleshy helmet swell and bound in her hand.

Then she jumped and lay back on the bed and told Bunny to lower himself over her. She guided his prick on its first journey through the slippery entrance to paradise and spread her legs further to enable him to push his throbbing tool further inside her cunney.

His whole body trembled, doubtless over come by the elation of finally crossing the Rubicon, but after he had slid his shaft into Lizzie's cunt, he lay motionless. She looked at him in surprise. 'Doesn't that feel nice, Cuthbert? Do be a good man and fuck me,' she urged.

Poor Bunny knew so little about how to make love that he asked in a timid voice what exactly he was supposed to do. I am sure he has since thanked his lucky stars that he was initiated into fucking by such a thoughtful and kindly teacher as Lizzie Dickerson, for some girls might have burst into laughter and teased him about his ignorance.

Lizzie simply murmured: 'It's very easy, my love. Just push in and pull out and let nature take its course until you feel the spunk rushing through your cock.' Her hands slipped down to clasp his taut arse and, despite his long period of enforced virginity, Bunny proved himself to be a quick learner. What he lacked in experience he made up for in enthusiasm, bouncing vigorously on Lizzie's soft body.

She clawed at his jerking bum cheeks and heaved herself upwards to pull him further into her. 'A-h-h-h! A-h-h-h! A-h-h-h!' he groaned, plunging his cock deeper and deeper inside Lizzie's juicy cunt so his cock was caressed to the hilt by the slippery membrane of her love tunnel. Lizzie too was obviously enjoying plucking Mr.

Hare's cherry for I could see her lifting her bottom and rotating her hips to time with his rhythmic strokes. Then, with a little shout, the ecstatic sports master flooded her cunny. After two or three final, frantic thrusts, he removed his shrunken shaft and rolled over, panting, just like myself only a few short days ago. 'Jolly good, Cuthbert,' said Lizzie as she gently patted his limp tool which was lying across his thigh. 'I thoroughly enjoyed myself as well. But you must try to fuck more slowly as it takes longer for a lady to achieve a climax. A considerate lover will always try to hold back and wait for his lover to spend.' His face fell and he groaned: 'Oh dear, I didn't do very well, because I came to quickly for you,' 'Oh tush! You mustn't mind about that. In all honesty I never expect to climax with a novice lover,' she said, as she toyed with his slowly stiffening shaft. 'Think on this though – when you want to prolong love making, you may find it possible to stop the spunk rising from your balls by clearing your mind of sensual thoughts. Try reciting to yourself a passage from Shakespeare like Mr. Hutch- does, or even something as mundane as a list of English counties. Often, this will cool your ardour and enable you to keep fucking for at least another five minutes which can make all the difference to the girl you are pleasuring at the time.' Bunny Hare was too exhausted mentally to catch Lizzie's slip of the tongue but I immediately noted her unguarded remark about 'Mr. 'Hutch-'. I wager half a guinea that she was referring to my form master, Mr. Hutchinson. Lizzie had no intention of letting Bunny off lightly and she was now kissing his chest and slowly lowering her mouth down across his tummy. He writhed and gasped when her mouth reached his navel. She looked up and instructed: 'Cuthbert, just lie back and enjoy yourself. I presume that no girl has ever sucked your cock?' 'No never,' he gasped with barely suppressed excitement. 'Goodness, I have only read about such things – is it as pleasant as fucking?' Lizzie could not resist giving a little chuckle as she replied: 'Oh yes, very much so. Gentlemen love being sucked, and some would say they prefer a good gobble to a fuck. Let's see what you think of it.' Without further ado, Lizzie began to lick his scrotum, flicking her tongue around the hairy, pink sack. Then, she opened her lips wide and took in both of his balls, somehow managing to get them inside her mouth.

As Bunny gasped with delight, she grabbed his now fully erect truncheon in her hands and, after releasing his balls from her mouth, she started to nibble on his wide, mushroom helmet. 'Oh God, that's exquisite!' he cried out as she stuffed the purple knob inside her mouth and began to bob her head back and forth. Her lips worked furiously to capture as much of Bunny's cock as possible, until she had eased almost all of his shaft down her throat. He was in seventh heaven as Lizzie's moist tongue worked up and down, licking and lapping at every last inch of his length. Her hand held his cock steady at the base as she pumped her head up and down, her lips taut as she kissed and sucked on her fleshy sweetmeat. Suddenly, she pulled her lips away and her darting tongue lapped up the juices which were oozing out of the tiny eye of his knob. Then she jammed her mouth over his uncapped bell-end and slurped greedily as she gently massaged his balls. With a hoarse yell, Mr. Hare spunked his load down her throat and Lizzie sucked and swallowed every last drain of it until his glistening, flaccid shaft slipped out of her mouth. I was sorely tempted to toss myself off, my own cock being as tall as a flagpole, but there remained a chance that Lizzie might agree to let me fuck her again, a task for which my prick needed to be at its best, so I resisted the urge. I then heard Lizzie say: 'Now, if you would like to make further progress in l'arte de faire l'amour, come back here on Friday night and I will teach you how to suck pussey, a sadly neglected skill in this country, although it is widely practised on the continent. However, you had better leave now before we are discovered,' she concluded as she jumped out of the bed and slipped on her dressing gown. Bunny thanked her profusely whilst she dressed and was about to open the door when Lizzie said: 'Cuthbert, tell me truthfully – isn't fucking far better than playing with little boys' tools?' His face flushed as he said in a low voice: 'Ah, I was not sure if you knew about that unfortunate business. But I can honestly say that the two experiences are like chalk and cheese and any desires I have had in that quarter have been banished for good.'

'Splendid, I am sure that your sexual development will advance nicely now,' she said with satisfaction. After he left, I came out of the bathroom with my prick standing high up against my tummy as I walked towards the bed. Alas, although Lizzie said she should love to have one final fuck, she told me to get dressed and leave as I would soon have to be in my dormitory. Unfortunately, 'lights-out' is half an hour earlier tonight than during the rest of the week.

Piqued, I began to pull on my clothes whilst Lizzie remonstrated: 'Now, now, don't feel hard done by, Henry! You did the right thing by bringing Cuthbert to see me, for I am sure he will be a new man now he has finally expressed his sexual needs. Yet, you have been well rewarded and I will try to think up something special for our next tryst on Thursday afternoon with George and the new boy, your friend Johnny Bridges.' I smiled as I bent down to tie my shoe laces and said 'Fair enough, Lizzie, but you can't blame a chap for being disappointed.'

Wednesday, November 14th, 1895 (Before tea)

I must note some details of the heated discussion on the status of women in society led by Mr. Hutchinson in our civics class this morning. He asked us our opinion of the current agitation by many females to be freed from the ties of hearth and home, with specific reference to the recent clamour for political rights. I regret that most of the chaps took the side of Cheetham who declared that, in his opinion, the desire of the wild women for equality was as impossible as that of the moth for the star. In his words: 'They repudiate marriage as a one-sided tyranny, willfully neglecting the fact that the normal relationship between husband and wife must be one of control and decision on the husband's side, and of deference and submission on that of the wife. For, where two ride on a horse, one must needs rides behind.' Mr. Hutchinson asked if anyone was prepared to stand up and put forward a contrary view, and without hesitation, I raised my hand and was invited to state my case. I stood up and said: 'Most people would agree on the desirability of free trade, for if artificial restrictions on trade are removed, each country will be able to occupy itself with that industry for which it has the greatest natural advantages. 'Once we emancipate women by removing the artificial restrictions which debar them from higher education and remunerative employment, we will have granted them a fair field and no favour. There is no reason to suppose that, in any respect, women will show themselves either superior or inferior to men. Genius is a patent of individuality and the country cannot afford to let half its citizens hide their true values. I then shamelessly repeated word for word a passage from one of my father's sermons which had angered certain members of his congregation and thundered it out with gusto. I sat down to a noisy mixture of cheers and hisses and the discussion raged on with only a core of fellows-to be precise, George, Johnny, Billy Goodall and the Honourable Gerard Home – taking my side. Thus we lost the vote by a heavy margin. The bell sounded for luncheon and Mr. Hutchinson asked me stop behind a moment after he had dismissed the class. I was concerned that he might speak to me about matters appertaining to Lizzie Dickerson, but my fears were unfounded for all he did was to compliment me on my debating skills. He said with a smile: 'Keep up your attendance at the Debating Society meeting Dashwood. However, unless there is a reason to inflame those who disagree with you on a particular issue into foolish bluster, try to conciliate rather than confront your opponents. Don't forget the dagger kills just as effectively as the cutlass. It isn't wise to make enemies unnecessarily.' Of course I did not wish to embarrass my form master by asking him whether he personally supported my point of view, although I am certain that he had some sympathy with my arguments. So I thanked him for his advice and left the classroom. After depositing my books in my study, instead of going straight to the dining-hall, I thought I would stroll round to the office of Mr.

Walsall, the school secretary, who sorts the mail and leaves any letters and parcels addressed to pupils on a small table outside in the corridor. As I turned the corner, I bumped into Addington, the tyrannical prefect with whom I had the run in whilst I was speaking to Lizzie Dickerson in the quadrangle. 'Watch where you're going,' he snarled, even though he had his head in a book and it was his fault that we collided. When he looked up and saw that it was my head that had butted his chest, he threw a roundhouse swipe at me which I easily dodged and I skipped out of the way. There were two other chaps walking towards him so he could hardly take the matter further but he still bawled: Dashwood, I'll get you later, you see if I don't!' What did he have against me? I wracked my brains to think how I might have offended him as I walked up to the letter table. A letter was waiting for me, addressed in writing that was unfamiliar. I tore open the (lap of the envelope and pulled out a long letter – which I saw had the headed notepaper of Sparsit's School for Young Ladies. My heart leapt as I realised this epistle was from the gorgeous Charlotte Harley. I stuffed the letter into my jacket pocket to read when I had time to pursue it unhurriedly. After luncheon, I shamelessly used the injury to my shin (although it has now completely healed) as an excuse to skip the sixty minute period of physical training. Bunny Hare, doubtless as a reward for my sterling service the previous evening, agreed to let me leave instead of watching the other chaps go through their exercises, and so I had a chance to sit down quietly by myself in my study and read Charlotte's long letter. It reads as follows:

Dear Henry,

I did so enjoy meeting you yesterday – the lecture was interesting but the high spot of my visit to the Albion Academy was the lovely fuck we enjoyed in your study! I am writing this letter in the library on Sunday afternoon when we are all supposed to write to our parents – I wrote to mine yesterday to give it to Mrs.

Osbourne so I shan't be hauled over the coals for writing to you instead. We are not supposed to write to boys but Newman, the under-gardener, will post any letters we give to him for a small financial fee. Oh, Henry, what I would only give to have your hands freely roaming across my naked body, sliding your palms slowly over my breasts, cupping my firm bosoms and rolling your fingers along my red nipples. I have taken the liberty of telling my close friends about our liaison and they are madly jealous! Well this is readily understandable, for here we are, two hundred and twenty healthy, high-spirited girls shut up in the heart of Kent without hardly a single member of the male sex to be found anywhere on the premises. It can hardly be a matter of surprise that many intimate and emotional friendships flourish amongst us. Presumably, at the Albion Academy, you are also subject to a similarly repressive regime and, deprived of any contact with the female species, corresponding passions freely abound. There is also a plethora of whispered gossip about you-know-who and so-and-so. To an extent we have lessened the mortfication of rejection and the resulting ribald comments made in scornful notes passed between desks during lessons. This has been done through a convention which has grown up at Sparsit's that, if the object of one's desire is bending over a basin having a before-lights-out wash, it is permissible to approach her from behind and gently run a finger down her spine or smooth one's hand over her bottom. If these advances are not checked, one might slowly rub one's pussey against the swelling cheeks of her bum. Often these caresses are accepted without a word being said or a head being turned!

Many times, whilst busily splashing my face with water, I have sensed a warm presence behind me and felt the delicate touch of soft hands lifting my nightdress and massaging the cheeks of my backside. I have waited in thrilling anticipation for those same hands to reach around and cup my soft breasts, squeezing and rubbing the stalky titties until they stand proudly erect with growing excitement.

And I will not deny that I have often been the instigator and quivered with delight as the pretty girl in question shyly raises her delicious bum to signal that the road ahead is clear. Then comes the magic moment when the nightdress is raised and the rosey delight of her tight, little dimpled buttocks are laid bare, first for an admiring glance and then to be kissed, stroked and perhaps lightly slapped. It is not unknown for others to join in, in a kind of 'daisy-chain' so that one finds oneself to be simultaneously both the instigator and the recipient, frigging the titties of the girl in front whilst your own cunney is being fondled by a girl behind you!

But I can hear the sound of approaching voices and must continue writing this billet doux later this evening.

It is now eight o'clock and I have taken an early bath and am sitting alone on my bed in the dormitory in my nightdress. Oh, Henry, if only you were here with me now, we could roll around on the bed with our bodies glued together as we enjoyed a wonderful luck!

Instead, I must make do with playing with my own titties and close my eyes and imagine that it is not my own forefinger but your delightful, big cock which is slowly dipping into my cunny! I sincerely hope you feel the same way and would like to be with me, watching me lie back with a blissful smile whilst you thrust your thick shaft into my juicy crack. As I slip two fingers between my pussey lips, I think of how you would plunge your prick in and out of my welcoming cunt, slowly at first and then harder and faster just like I am moving my fingers now. Then I would wrap my legs around your waist and beg you to fuck me until your cock begins to twitch and the creamy spunk shoots out of your knob and splashes against the tingling walls of my love tunnel. Oooh, my cuntal juices are beginning to flow as my fingers speed in and out of my cunney and I can feel the waves of a climax overwhelming me. Is your cock stiffening up in your drawers as you read this lewd letter? I know that most boys enjoy hearing about our encounters so I will tell you of a lovely time I had with my closest chum Caroline last night. She is a lovely little wriggler of sixteen with the neatest young breasts, a slim waist and a delicious fluffy-haired pussey. We arranged to sneak upstairs to the dormitory after dinner and I locked the door behind us. Then we swiftly undressed until we were completely naked. Caroline lay down with an open jar of cream beside her on the bed. She smeared some cream on her fingers and then, turning her back to display her graceful round bum cheeks, she parted her legs and ran her fingertips along the lips of her pussey. She looked up at me with a wicked little smile upon her face and said: 'Charlotte, I hope you realise that I am only rubbing my pussey with cold cream to keep the skin soft in this area of my body.' I felt my own pussey moisten as I gazed upon Caroline while she smoothed her long fingers up and down the yielding slit of her pussey. Her breathing became more rapid as she drew up her knees and squeezed her legs together against her hand. Her eyes closed and she gurgled with delight as she began to frig herself to a spend. The sight of this was to much to bear and flinging myself down beside her, I hugged her soft, sensuous body to my own. In a trice, we were snuggled in each other's arms, softly nuzzling and cooing little endearments as we pressed our titties together and rubbed our stiff nipples against each other's flesh. As our lips met and opened, we lost ourselves in deep kisses, our tongues entwining and probing the deepest recesses of each other's mouths. I swiftly replaced Caroline's hand which was jammed between her thighs with my own. My long fingers reached out to stroke and tickle her warm, wet pussey before I moved my hand upwards to squeeze one luscious breast. I fed the other into my mouth, sucking her red, rubbery tittie and nipping the stiffened nipple lightly with my teeth.

In turn, Caroline now massaged my own yearning cunney, her fingertips gently running back and forth along the length of my juicy crack, manipulating the erect nub of my clitty so expertly, that in no time at all the clever minx brought me off- I gasped as I felt my climax approach and my body bucked and twisted as, lost in the sheer ecstasy of the moment, I gave myself up to the delicious waves of erotic abandonment which coursed through every fibre of my being.

'Darling Caro, may I lick out your sweet honeypot?' I murmured.

She kissed me and whispered: 'Of course you may, you silly girl, I would love that more than anything in the world.' The sweet girl lay down on the bed and invitingly parted her thighs as I buried my head into her fluffy fleece of pussey hair which was already fragrantly moist with her musky love juice. I slid my tongue between cunney lips and, as I licked and lapped at her aromatic cunt, I could hear her trembling sighs and her breath catching in ragged gasps of pleasure. I nibbled and kissed Caroline's delectable quim, inhaling the musky aroma of her cunt whilst my hands clasped her tight, rounded bum cheeks, and, after a minute or two, I felt her body quiver, tensing with the onset of her orgasm. Then, with a great groan of ecstatic delight, she spent over my face and I gulped down her tangy love juice. We rested for a while but the evening air was beginning to chill out naked bodies so we dressed and went downstairs to join her friends for a cup of cocoa and a chat. Henry, dearest, I must stop here as the other girls will soon he coming in to settle down for the night. So goodbye for now and write to me soon.

Lots of love, Charlotte What a wonderful, uninhibited letter! My hands trembled as I folded the sheets of notepaper and then pulled at the front of my trousers to try to accommodate my stiffstander. For, reading Charlotte's letter had caused my cock to swell up to bursting point. Indeed, I was just about to unbutton my flies and relieve myself when there was a knock at the door. 'Come in,' I called out as I stood up and to my surprise, the school secretary, came in.

He was a most unexpected visitor for there is rarely any cause for him to venture into the boy's quarters. He said: 'Good afternoon, Dash wood, I have an urgent message for you from Dr Muttley. He has just received an important letter from your father and he would like to see you at once in his study. 'There is no need to be distressed, I understand the letter is about you taking an extra little holiday,' he added kindly when he saw a frown of concern form on my brow. However, the matter must be of some urgency for the headmaster asked me to find you as soon as possible.' 'An extra little holiday?' I repeated with surprise. 'How very strange! Still, I can think of a great many worse reasons for being called to see Dr Muttley!' I thanked Mr. Walsall and walked back with him to the headmaster's study. 'Ah, young Dashwood, just who I wanted to see,' he boomed after I had knocked on the door and entered his private domain. 'My boy, your father has written to me about a recital which the great pianist Prince Kochanski of Poland is giving tomorrow afternoon, in aid of a most worthy, charitable cause, at the home of Lord and Lady Laversham at Laversham Hall which, as you know, is only eight miles from us. 'It appears that your uncle, Sir Robert Bacon, has purchased two tickets to hear this great maestro perform in person, but unfortunately, your Aunt Jennifer has gone down with a severe head cold and is unable to accompany him. So, being aware of your love of music, your uncle has graciously offered to take you to the concert in her place, if I give my permission for you to miss school for this purpose. Sir Robert also wishes to take you out to dine and he will return you here by ten o'clock. 'Well, I know you must be delighted to hear this news, my boy, and whilst it is not my policy to encourage activities which take boys out of school during term-time, Mr. Hutchinson tells me you have been working diligently at your studies and I will not stand in your way on this occasion.

Therefore, I have sent a telegram to Sir Robert and your father informing them that I have no objection to their plans. 'My word, I envy you, for I read only recently in The Times that a leading American promoter asked Prince Kochanski to name his fee for a series of concerts in New York. Naturally this offer was refused as the Prince does not need to get himself involved in any commercial undertaking. 'So enjoy yourself, my boy, Sir Robert's carriage will be here to collect you tomorrow afternoon and I look forward to hearing all about the concert.' concluded my headmaster in a genial voice. He rose from his chair and walked across to pat me on the shoulder. 'Off you go now, and, if necessary, ask one of the servants to iron your best suit, for you'll be mixing with people from the highest echelons of Society at Laversham Hall. Of course, I was overjoyed at this news and thanked the headmaster warmly as I left his study. It was only as I was making my way to our common room to tell my chums of my good fortune that I suddenly realised that I will now miss the promised romp with Lizzie Dickerson! However, the die is now cast because I could hardly go back to Dr Muttley and say that I did not want to go with Uncle Robert to hear Prince Kochanski play.

Even if this were possible, what reason could I give? Anyhow, hopefully I have rearranged the assignment with Lizzie who understood my predicament. Certainly George and Johnny will hardly be concerned at my absence! When I went to inform Lizzie of the situation, I was just about to raise my hand and knock on her door, when it was flung open and out strode a dishevelled looking Addington! His face was flushed and he strode past me without a word, perhaps fortunately for me, not looking up to see who he was pushing out of his path.

Lizzie followed him out and looked up in surprise when she saw me standing there and said: 'Hello, Henry, what can I do for you?' I explained my predicament and, as I expected, she waved aside my apologies and remarked: 'Good heavens, if I had the opportunity to hear Prince Kochanski play, I would also be off like a shot!'

'I'm so glad you understand, Lizzie, I wouldn't want you to think I didn't fancy any more fucking,' I said with a grin. I was about to leave when I had an idea and added: 'Before I go there is one thing I would like to ask you. It's about that bounder, Addington. Why is he being so beastly to me? It's not that I've interrupted his pleasure like I did with Julian Clayton. Can you shed some light on the matter?' Lizzie puffed out her cheeks and thought carefully for a few moments before she replied: 'I think in this case I will break my rule of never discussing any boys personal problems with another, though, as ever, Henry, I will have to trust you to be completely discreet. 'To put it in a nut shell, Addington suffers from an inability to maintain an erection. His prick stays hard while he plays with my titties and even when I rub it, but he has an erectile difficulty when we attempt to fuck. I am sure that this has a great deal to do with the emphasis placed upon the immorality of sexual pleasures outside marriage at his last school. He really must rid himself of his worries about the evil consequences he will suffer unless he remains chaste until he finds a bride. 'I have told him many times that for many men, their cocks reflect the state of their emotional lives. When a man is relatively relaxed and happy, the odds are that his shaft will swell up without a problem. But if he is tense or depressed and is carrying the burden of feelings of guilt like Roger Addington, his prick will register these negative thoughts by failing to rise to the occasion. 'Alas, we haven't yet succeeded in keeping his cock up for a fuck, and I am forced to wonder whether he may, if you will forgive the pun, be more attracted to members of his own sex. In which case, he is much to be pitied for it is difficult in this country for those of that persuasion to live comfortable lives. I would have advised poor Oscar Wilde to leave these shores for France before his trial then he would not have found himself in prison.' 'Anyhow, whatever the reason, when Roger saw you talking to me he must have speculated that you had succeeded where he has so far failed and the thought that a younger boy has managed such a feat has made him angry and jealous.' 'Well I'm sorry for him but he doesn't have the right to take out his frustrations on me,'

I exclaimed warmly. Lizzie nodded her head in agreement. 'You're quite right, Henry,' she replied with a wry smile. 'And, in the circumstances, I think a simple white lie is called for – the next time I see Roger I will mention to him that I have told you that boys must wait until they reach the giddy heights of the Lower Sixth before I allow them to join my little circle.' Now that I am aware of the reason why Addington took such an instant dislike to me, I feel far easier in my mind, especially as Lizzie is taking pains to focus his anger elsewhere. I thanked her for her frank remarks, which I assured her I would not repeat to any one else at school. I took my farewell, promising Lizzie that I would attempt to secure Prince Kochanski's signature for her autograph collection.