Anonymous - The Oyster, Volume IV

As I said, you will have a jolly time there. Ah, wait a moment, perhaps I have worried you by telling you about Colonel Neil's niece.'

'How sagacious of you, sir! I will admit it, I am deucedly shy when it comes to meeting girls. I have had so little experience, you see, and frankly, I am terrified that I will make an ass of myself.'

So it was with some foreboding that I ordered Perrick to lay out our white ties and tails for seven o'clock sharp. In fact, John looked quite splendid in his evening attire. His curly hair, his handsome face and winning smile would surely not disappoint Colonel Neil's niece who I had heard was an extremely pretty young lady. I am a stickler for punctuality, so my coachman deposited us just seven minutes after eight o'clock at Sir Trelford's magnificent house. We were ushered into the morning room where some earlier arrivals were drinking champagne. Sir Trelford pulled us over to a rather stout Scottish gentleman and said: 'I don't think you gentlemen have met each other before. Colonel Neil, this is my old friend the Reverend Horace Bent-Organ, and the young man is John Walsh who I had the pleasure of giving the Victor Ludorum Award for English Literature at the annual Grey friars School prizegiving some time back. Horace, young Walsh, meet Colonel Neil who I believe is about to make one further introduction.' 'Indeed I am,' said the plump gentleman, gently pulling round a blonde-haired girl who had her back to us as she put down an empty glass on the tray proferred by a waiter. He continued: 'This is my niece, Miss Patricia Hiller of Kensington.

Patricia, may I present the Reverend Bent-Organ and Mr. John Walsh.'

Well, the Colonel may have been rather stout and plain of countenance, but Miss Hiller was a truly lovely girl, perhaps just a year or two older than my own protege. Her pretty face was set off by a mop of blonde hair, a pair of large, merry blue eyes and a generous mouth. And her low-cut peach gown set off admirably the snowy prominence of her large bosoms. Both John and myself were momentarily tongue-tied as we drank in her beauty, and it was fortunate that Miss Hiller herself broke the brief silence by saying in a sweet voice: 'Are you still a pupil at Greyfriars Academy, Mr. Walsh? I once met Clive Wingate who I believe was Captain of the School.' 'Oh yes, Miss Hiller, Wingate was a capital fellow, but I have not seen him since he went up to Oxford in September. He was also captain of football and I played with him in the school team.' 'Offer her a drink,' I hissed quietly at John, who was still somewhat ill at ease, 'and then ask her about how she likes living in London, which is something you have always wanted to do.' He took my advice to heart, perhaps over-enthusiastically, for I saw him make several trips to the champagne bar. In fact, Sir Trelford had arranged a buffet supper which I have always enjoyed for its informality. I noticed the young couple deep in conversation and, whilst waiting for my own paramour to arrive (this is, of course, Lady Jacques who had told Sir Trelford that she would not be able to arrive until ten o'clock as her husband was catching the sleeper train to Aberdeen that evening-I mention her name as our liaison is hardly unknown to readers of this magazine), I decided to eavesdrop on the two young people who were sitting side by side on the couch in Sir Trelford's drawing room.

'So you won the Victor Ludorum?' said Patricia gaily. 'Is that anything like the Victor Pudendum award given at the special shows at the Jim Jam Club?' Good heavens! How could this sweet young girl (who I found out from Colonel Neil was only eighteen years old) know about the orgiastic affairs at the Jim Jam! Could my ears be deceiving me? 'The Victor Pudendum,' stammered John, 'I don't know anything about that.' 'Silly boy, it is only the most sought-after trophy in London. Members of the Jim Jam Club award it monthly for the best exhibition of fucking,' laughed Patricia gaily. 'It is hardly an event advertised in the columns of The Times, but I assure you that some of the very best people in town can be seen there as either spectators or participants.' 'I've never been to a show myself, but I know Sir Trelford rarely misses a performance,' she continued. 'And as for my dear uncle, Colonel Neil, he managed to wangle himself a place on the judges table last month. May fair gossip has it that it was he who ensured that Sir Antony Mulliken and Mrs. Robert Wapping won the golden goblet that is given to the winners. Yet most people who were present opined that the trophy should have been awarded to Mr. Denis Le Baigue and Lady Roberta Cripps who fucked blindfolded with their hands tied behind their backs.' At this juncture, I must state that I fully agreed with Patricia's assessment, for I must confess that I was at that affair as a guest of Lord Pokingham and, like others, believed that Colonel Neil may have made a prior arrangement with Mrs. Wapping as she is commonly reckoned to be extremely accommodating whilst her husband is in Australia. 'Perhaps we could go together to the Jim Jam for the next Victor Pudendum,'

Patricia murmured, snuggling up close to John and placing her hand on his knee. 'Meanwhile, John, I suggest we leave the party until the dancing begins in about an hour or so. 'Let us retire upstairs to one of the bedrooms. I am sure we will not be missed,' added the forward little golden-haired minx with an undisguised gleam of lust in her eyes. What should I do in this awkward situation? After all, I was acting in loco parentis as far as Master Walsh, was concerned, and perhaps some of your readers are of the opinion that I should have barred the way to the couple at the foot of the staircase by delivering a well-chosen sermon on lust. But it seemed to me that Miss Hiller was a girl of no little experience and would only enjoy the supreme pleasure of the flesh is she were protected against any unwanted consequences. Just in case there were any problems, however, I decided to follow the couple upstairs and, if necessary, view the proceedings through the keyhole. If Miss Hiller wanted John to spunk outside her cunney, I would at least be on hand to advise him-and anyhow, I am always keen to watch a happy young couple disporting themselves. Indeed, the very thought of that night's adventures is making my old pego stand at this very moment. It happened that my task was made easier when I heard Patricia tell John to go into the third bedroom on the left, and that she would follow him a minute or two later. Now I knew (do not inquire as to how this knowledge came into my possession!) that this room, which also enjoyed an en suite bathroom, was connected by a door to the adjacent smaller guest room into which I slipped whilst no one was looking. I locked the door behind me and scuttled across to the connecting door. I found it was already slightly ajar, so I switched off the electric light and brought up a chair so that I could view the proceedings next door in comfort. I guessed correctly that Patricia and John would be too involved with each others' bodies to even notice the fractionally open door into my darkened room. John was sitting on the bed when Patricia came in just moments after I had settled down in my chair.

She locked the door behind her and placed the key on a side table before taking out her hairclips, allowing her golden locks to fall freely down to her shoulders. 'My, my, John, haven't you even taken your shoes and socks off yet?' she teased my shy lad. He blushed to the roots of his curly hair and said: 'I never thought about removing even my jacket. You see, I have never been alone with a girl before and I don't really know the form.' 'You mean you've never kissed a girl before?' she said incredulously. 'Not ever, John? Can that really be true?' 'I'm afraid so-except for a peck under the mistletoe at Christmas and last term at Greyfriars, Julie, one of the kitchen maids, one afternoon let me touch her titties for two shillings whilst she rubbed my cock behind the sports pavilion. But we had all our clothes on, of course. So I will confess to you that I have never seen a naked girl before in the flesh, though together with my form-mates I had a jolly good look at some prints young Vernon-Smith brought back from Hotten's Bookshop in Piccadilly on his last half-holiday.' 'Your honesty does you credit,' said the delicious girl slowly. 'However, I think it is high time that your education was taken further than Hotten's photographs or the pages of The Oyster. Take off your jacket, waistcoat, shoes and socks and lie down on the bed, John. Let's see what you make of the real thing.'