Anonymous: The Oyster, Volume III

The Private and Unexpurgated Memoirs of a Medical Gentleman in Great Britain and the New World

Part I

Author's Introduction

Dear reader, I earnestly hope you derive pleasure from this set of memoirs culled from my memories of many glorious years spent in perfecting l'art de faire l'amour. Many readers of this distinguished journal are members of Society, so my name will not be unknown to them. After all, Doctor Edward Marmaduke DuCane Parsifal, Member of the Royal College of Physicians, Fellow of the Royal College of Surgeons and Sometime Visiting Professor at the Universities of Washington and Bombay, is a name with whom the very highest in the land have been well acquainted. Not that I am one to stand upon ceremony, you understand. I far prefer the simple sobriquet of Doctor Teddy than any other mode of address. I hope to entertain you with the recall of some of the bizarre, intimate incidents of my younger days, already recorded in a secret journal, but which the editor of The Oyster, whose name must never be mentioned for fear of police informants, and my dear old friends Doctor Jonathan Arkley and Sir Clive Freedman, have persuaded me are worthy of a wider readership amongst the cognoscenti. So the time has come to share my most exciting experiences of a personal nature, and I must warn readers of a delicate disposition that, unfashionable though it be in this age of euphemism, I insist on calling a spade a spade and refuse to mince words for the benefit of mealy-mouthed hypocrites who wish to bowdlerise our good old-fashioned Anglo-Saxon vulgarities. I doubt, however, that there are many such personages amongst the readership of this robust journal! So settle down and enjoy my jottings, and may I take this opportunity of wishing you all, ladies and gentlemen, a Happy New Year of licking and lapping, sucking and fucking in 1887.

Doctor Teddy Parsifal Ford Manor Sussex, December 1886 My Early Days As my old friend Lady Pokingham has written, the natural instinct of the ancients was that copulation was the direct and most acceptable form of worship they could offer to their deities.

I am convinced that there cannot be any great sin in giving way to natural desires and enjoying to the utmost those delicious sensations with which the Creator has endowed us. So no apology will be forthcoming for the unashamed voluptuousness of this memoir and without further ado, let me begin my narrative. My earliest years were spent in Canada and India as my Papa was attached to the Diplomatic Service. I shall not bore you with the details but until the age of ten I had hardly lived in this sceptred isle of Albion more than six months or so. But on my eleventh birthday I was sent to school in England where my elder brother, Cecil (more of him will appear later in this tale), was already a student, though we returned home to Mama and Papa in the holidays wherever they happened to be living at the time. Even at this tender age I evinced a taste for the fair sex and I will never forget our governess, Mrs. Radlett, who proudly displayed what appeared to my young eyes an enormous pair of breasts in the tightest of bodices, creating a cleavage that caused many a visitor to make excuses to visit the nursery, the avowed purpose being to see the youngsters, but in reality to see Mrs.

Radlett bending forward. I recall that in Toronto (Mrs. Radlett travelled with us wherever Papa was sent on command of the government) one visitor, Doctor Dunn, always managed to drop his handkerchief or some other trifle so that Mrs. Radlett bent down to retrieve it. I realise now that the good doctor was not as clumsy as he seemed!

I recall that often at night, Mrs. Radlett would undress in front of Cecil and myself and as those magnificent breasts cascaded from their cramped confines, she would sigh with relief and gently massage them to restore lost circulation. If we had been good boys that day, our kind governess would allow us each to massage a breast for her. We enjoyed this small chore as did Mrs. Radlett, who whimpered with pleasure as we performed the task with vigour. She asked us to roll her stalky red titties on the palms of our hands and after a minute or so she would breathe more rapidly, squeeze her thighs together and emit a strange grunt and shudder all over in what to us was a rather alarming fashion. She would then thank Cecil and I for our labours, asking us to promise not to tell anyone of our little game. On one occasion I recall passing by Mrs. Radlett's bedroom and the door was slightly ajar. I peeped round and saw our governess naked on the bed, completely oblivious to the world, making those strange noises of pleasure she emitted whilst Cecil and I were rubbing her teats. But this time, she was engaged in self-gratification of her own. So massive were her titties that she had been able to place one erect nipple in her mouth and she was busy sucking it to great effect. This breast was supported by one hand whilst the other was plunged inside the hairy black bush of hair between her legs, and I looked on with interest as she plunged her fingers in and out of this mound. I watched, mesmerised by this act as again she squeezed her thighs and with a little scream, shuddered violently and then lay back exhausted, withdrawing her hand from her mossy growth, a hand that I noticed was strangely moist (had she wet herself, I wondered in my innocence) which she wiped across her great breasts, smearing them with what, of course, was her cunney juice. This strange experience led to my first footsteps across the Rubicon to complete sexual happiness. For whilst I had been gawping at this handsome naked woman, my little cock had begun to swell inside my trousers. I unbuttoned my trousers and felt for the stiff little shaft inside my underpants, enjoying a sensation of a somewhat uncomfortable pleasure. This feeling was further heightened when Mrs. Radlett heaved herself off the bed and I saw the massively hairy black bush of hair between her legs. She picked up a small towel and rubbed it between her legs, threw it down onto the bed and then sauntered into her bathroom to soak in her tub.

When she closed the door behind her I sneaked into the room, my cock still as hard as a rock, picked up the towel and instantly caught the aroma of her most intimate parts. This aroma was to haunt me for the rest of my life and prove to be an instant stimulant for sexual arousal. I pulled the towel down to my cock which was pulsating with excitement. I rubbed the shaft furiously whereupon a glistening of white fluid appeared on the tip, and as the surge of pleasure coursed through my body, I felt a jet of liquid squirt out-fortunately it soaked into the towel or I would have been forced to make a confession as to how Mrs. Radlett's carpet came to be stained! I was both alarmed and excited at this happening. Luckily my dear Papa had decided that it was time for my sexual education to begin, so (as he had done with my brothers) he had left by my bedside only weeks before a copy of Human Procreation Explained For Boys and Girls by the celebrated Doctor Roy Stevenson, the well known authority on sexuality. So fortunately, unlike so many of my unhappy contemporaries, I had no great fear of guilt about tossing off. As Sir Andrew Scott has rightly pointed out in previous editions of The Oyster, several misguided physicians hold that wanking can produce the most dreadful physical and mental ailments. But I hold to the view of Doctor Stevenson who ridicules this view. After all, he argues, all boys play with themselves and this practice has no bearing upon the ability to reach a ripe old age. What harm can there be in self-stimulation of the prick-or, come to that, the cunney? Certainly, no-one ever caught an unwanted infection through tossing off, and no lady ever suffered an unwanted swollen belly through finger fucking.