Rupert Mountjoy: The Intimate Memoirs of an Edwardian Dandy, vol.II

'I bet you've already found some posh tart from one of the women's colleges. These girls are supposed to arrive here all sweet and innocent but it doesn't take them long to snap up any young boy who has had some experience and knows how to fuck like a gentleman,' sighed Nancy. 'Rupert, don't forget now, any time you want your cock sucked, please let me know.'

I smiled my goodbyes and with difficulty turned my mind to such stimulating legal matters as the rights of landlords and tenants and the ramifications of the judgement in the case of The Attorney General versus The Borough of Fulham in the High Court fifteen years ago. It was devilishly hard to concentrate upon such affairs. When I banished Nancy and Rosa from my mind, Beth and Esme stepped up smartly to take their place and when I finally forced them out of my brain, a picture of the beautiful Gillian Headleigh formed itself every time I tried to focus my eyes on the page. My heart began to pound as I remembered her words: 'meet me at this time tomorrow and you may fuck me for as long as you can keep your cock stiff!' The old, familiar tingling began to make itself felt in my groin. My hand wandered down to smooth itself over my shaft, but I had no need of the five-fingered widow after tonight's fun and games, and anyhow I needed to keep up my strength for Gillian tomorrow morning. So I cleared my mind of everything except the need to prepare for Professor Webb's tutorial and doggedly read six more pages from my textbook, scribbling some notes and memorising some important points before slamming the book shut, and after a refreshing warm bath I settled down in bed, as happy as a sandboy. As is still my custom, I picked up a newspaper to read for a few minutes before turning off the light and in the Oxford Mail my attention was captured by a report of the speech made at the Empire Club by Dr Whibley of Merton College attacking 'the monstrous encroachment of women upon the University' and how a mixed University- 'the dream of the farcemonger'-will lose its unique distinction. 'The university will be destroyed because once more the patent truth has been ignored that men are men and women women.' For how long will such reactionary views be propounded in this new twentieth century, I thought to myself as I chucked the newspaper on the floor in disgust, because no force on earth can turn back the clock once a sizeable proportion of the population (for better or worse) refuse to accept the old established order. By and large, women will never again be content with a subservient role in society despite the rantings of Dr Whibley and his ilk, and will rightly demand the same privileges and duties as men. As far as I was concerned, it was a most pleasant discovery to find out that inside the ivy-covered college walls, away from the prying gaze of the outside world, the opportunity arose for many girls to shed a cloak of modesty which could be safely stripped away. My first days in Oxford, alone and apprehensive as to whether I would be happy spending three years here, were miserable indeed-but after meeting these jolly girls who revelled in their new-found freedom, there was now no doubt in my mind that the student life had much to commend itself to a red-blooded young man who enjoyed the taste of forbidden fruit!

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

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

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

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