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

She had written: Try Votes For Women, so I pocketed the scrap of paper and tackled Adrienne again. “What do you think of Mrs. Pankhurst and the suffragettes?” I asked and voila! instantly into her lovely brown eyes leapt a bright gleam of genuine interest. 'Philippa had noticed how I was struggling and her kind message certainly did the trick for me. Adrienne was an ardent supporter of the emancipation of women and as I have never understood why women should be treated as second class citizens I could honestly put my hand on my heart and tell her that I agreed with every word she said. I told her of my father's letter on the subject which had been published a few weeks back in The Daily Chronicle. He had argued that women's suffrage would come once the present social, educational and economic changes now taking place had worked themselves through the system. The choice is not between going on and standing still, it is between advancing and retreating, he had written in his forceful conclusion. '“Oh, so it was your Papa who wrote that letter,” said Adrienne, now flashing a luscious smile at me. “How silly of me not to have realised that Leonard Jacobs was your Papa. I know of his reputation as a generous philanthropist and I am glad to hear that he holds progressive social views.” '“Like his son,” I added with a twinkle in my eye and she squeezed my hand as she said: “I'm very glad to hear it.” Well, from an unpromising start the evening could hardly have gone better. After dinner we sat and chatted and she even accepted a lift home in my hansom, sending her parents' carriage back, telling the coachman that she had made other arrangements. I escorted her to her front door and she invited me in for a night-cap.' He paused and I said: 'Well go on, old boy, don't stop there. This sounds like a story with a jolly interesting ending!' Barry laughed and said: 'Well, it does get a little spicy, Rupert, and I wouldn't want to offend your aesthetic sensibilities. Are you sure you want me to continue?'

'You'd better watch out for your own aesthetic sensibilities if you don't carry on!' I retorted, and so with a grin he continued the tale. 'Well, it was well past midnight when we arrived at her parents' house in Allendale Avenue. Everyone had retired and she told the footman who had waited up for her that he too could now go to bed.

She poured out large cognacs which we sipped as we sat together on the sofa. “You know, Barry, it's funny that I did not realise that Leonard Jacobs was your father,” she said thoughtfully, “but then we don't always know everything about our parents, do we? Why, only last week I discovered that my own Papa has a collection of sketches by poor Aubrey Beardsley. He has kept them under lock and key in the library but by chance I picked them up the other day. Would you like to see them?” '“I certainly would, Adrienne,” I said, and she brought over a folder from a bureau in the corner of the room. I opened it and the first picture was of two plump nuns lying naked on a bed working dildoes into their open cunnies. They were being watched by two monks peeping round the door who had thrown up their cassocks and pulled out their pricks, each tossing off the other as they looked upon the lascivious women playing with themselves. The next drawing really made my cock swell up. It showed a beautiful dark-haired girl seated on the lap of her lover. Both were nude and between her thighs you could see that her pussey was engorged with his swollen cockshaft. She had one hand round his neck and in the other she was cupping his hairy ballsack.

'It became quite obvious that Adrienne's blood had also been fired by sight of these erotic drawings. She pressed her thighs together and made no objection when my arm stole round her shoulders and she cuddled into my body as we looked at another illustration of this same couple, only this time the girl was kneeling between his legs, her bottom well stuck out and the furrow in between shown in loving detail. She was shown opening her lips in order to take the shiny knob of the young fellow's stiff lovestick inside her mouth. The next sketch showed her flat on her back with her legs wide open. Her handsome lover was balancing on his forearms above her and this time her cunney was engorged with the thick prick of her lover who had inserted his staff in to the very roots of his pubic hair. 'I could no longer contain my feelings and I burst out: “My God! Wouldn't I give anything to be in his place.” I bit my lip as soon as I had uttered this heartfelt but uncouth plea. Surely she would recoil away in disgust! But to my surprise and absolute joy, Adrienne placed her hand directly on my straining cock. She unbuttoned my trousers and brought out my throbbing tool which she stroked gently with her hand, saying with a mischievous chuckle: “Yes, Barry, your pego confirms the truth of your last remark.” 'Well, you don't look a gift horse in the mouth! I covered her lips with my own and instantly we were exchanging the most passionate, burning kiss. Our tongues fluttered in each other's mouths as I raised her dress and petticoats and she arched her back upwards to allow me to pull down her knickers as she tugged down my trousers and drawers to the floor. She continued to rub my cock in her hand as I played with her moistening pussey which was daintily fringed with light brown hair and her cunney lips opened immediately when I inserted my finger between them. We continued to pet and I frigged her juicy cunt with two and then three fingers, faster and faster as I knew that the warm touch of her soft hand would very soon bring me off. 'I could now simply no longer control the tidal flow of jism which was boiling up in my balls. Adrienne sensed that I was about to spend, for with her other hand she quickly pulled down an antimacassar from the top of the sofa and placed the linen cloth on my thighs as she slicked her hand up and down my rigid rod. I began to pant and she felt my cock contract before I squirted my spout of spunk all over her hand. She came too, clenching my fingers with her love juices, but we used her knickers and the antimacassar to wipe up the traces of our escapade before I left shortly afterwards.'

'So you didn't get further than that?' I said, and the disappointment must have shown in my voice for Barry turned round and replied: 'Well, surely you don't think she'd let me fuck her, do you?'

'Why not? You'd be surprised how many girls are just as keen as you on fucking. Don't you listen to anyone who says they don't enjoy it as much as us.' Barry looked at me and frowned. 'Are you telling me you've already had a woman, young Mountjoy? You lucky so-and-so. I've come pretty close on several occasions and we once employed a Welsh chambermaid named Gladys who sucked me off but I've never actually gone all the way. Damn it, here am I telling you how to talk to girls and all the time you're way ahead of me!' 'I've just been very lucky,' I replied modestly and I swiftly recounted how I had surrendered my virginity to Diana Wigmore and of my subsequent successes with my pal Frank Folkestone, who Barry had already met at a Liberal Club reception for college freshmen. Took, Barry, I know how frustrated you must feel, never having been able to complete the journey, so to speak. Look, I've a splendid idea. Come with me to Doctor Blayers' party tonight. You'll be more than welcome, I'm sure, especially as Frank won't be able to come as he is suffering from a rotten head cold-and you'll make up the numbers.' At first he demurred. That's very kind of you, Rupert, but I just can't barge into a party without being asked. I'm as shy as you when it comes to gate-crashing!' 'Look, if it will make you feel any better I'll ask Jackson to run over with a note to Doctor Blayers asking if you can come in Frank's place.' He looked gratefully at me. Thanks, old boy, I'd much rather go with a proper invite.' As soon as we arrived back at College I scribbled a quick letter and told the College messenger boy to wait for the reply. Then I strode across to Frank Folkestone's room to see if the poor chap was feeling any better. I didn't knock on the door in case he had fallen asleep and I opened the door very slowly and carefully so as not to disturb him.