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

I'm only going to have half an hour or so to change before dinner and then I'm going to a reception at Professor Webb's house. Believe me, it's not that I don't want to fuck you but I'm not really free till after dinner tomorrow evening at the earliest and then only briefly because I'm going out again to an art class.' 'I can't meet you till Friday then because I'm going out myself tomorrow night,' she complained crossly. 'My friend Rosa and I have been given tickets to see The Taming Of The Shrew at the New Theatre.' 'Really? I do hope you enjoy it-who was the kind gentleman who provided your tickets?' This question put her back into a good humour for she giggled and replied: 'Mike Beattie, of course. Why do you think I gobbled his cock under the table last night? Actually, I came in this morning to apologise if what I did during dinner upset you.' 'No, of course it didn't,' I hastened to assure her, 'although I must say I was very worried in case you were discovered.' It wouldn't have mattered too much, I would have just said that I was cleaning up some spilt food,' she said coolly, 'and I'm sure that none of you would have given me away! I had only planned to suck off Michael but I'm particularly fond of your prick, Rupert, and I couldn't resist it.'

Thank you, Nancy, I'm always very pleased to hear a girl say nice things about my prick because at school we were all a little jealous of Frank Folkestone's gigantic tool.' Her remark at hearing this confession well illustrates why, as I have just written when recounting the anecdote about Professor Cumberland's snobbery, I detest this particular vice. More often that not, I was to discover that several college servants like Nancy possessed far more common sense than many of the fellows of the college including those who sat at the High Table. She laughed openly at this confession and exclaimed: 'For heaven's sake, don't disappoint me now, Master Rupert.

Surely you're not one of those silly boys who measure themselves against what they see in the changing rooms and worry that their own pricks seem smaller than those dangling around them.' I coloured slightly at her well chosen words which you may well recall, dear reader, gave further credence to Chrissie Nayland-Hunt's rebuke to Gillian Headleigh when the latter made an appreciative remark about the size of Salman Marrari's member. Nancy continued:*My last boyfriend, Billy Bucknall, who still works down the road in Blackwell's bookshop, had such a tremendous tadger that at school his form-mates used to whistle and cheer whenever they saw him take a shower. And of course he enjoyed basking in their approval and admiration, but this proud self-confidence soon vanished when he first had the opportunity to spoon seriously with the maid-of-all-work back in his parents' house. 'At first all was well and she allowed him to caress her breasts through her blouse and she rubbed her hand against the huge bulge in his lap-but when she unbuttoned his trousers and took out his prick she was so startled that she began to giggle.

Now you can imagine what effect this had on a shy boy who had never even gone further than a furtive kiss before. His cock shrivelled down in double quick time and he couldn't coax it back up again for love or money. Still, I helped him to forget about his problem by explaining to him that a girl's cunney expands or contracts to take in whatever size cock is being placed inside it.' 'You must have had great fun giving Mr. Bucknall a practical lesson,' I said dryly.

“Yes, I taught Billy all he knows about fucking,' said Nancy with justifiable pride in her voice. 'We went out together for almost a year but neither of us want to settle down yet so we have agreed to go our separate ways for now, although you never know how things might turn out, do you?'

I gave Nancy a kiss as I stripped off and as I marched into the bathroom I called out: 'Nancy, thank you once again for waking me up this morning. Look, there's half a crown on my bedside table.

Please take it and buy yourself and Rosa a nice box of chocolates for the theatre tomorrow night.' That's not necessary, Master Rupert, really it isn't,' she protested as she followed me inside the bathroom and turned on the bath-taps while I rummaged around in the cupboard for my razor and shaving cream. 'I know it's not necessary but I'd like to show my gratitude to you, so please accept my gift as a sincere token of appreciation not as a fee for a service,' I said grandly and this pompous little speech made us both smile. Anyhow, Nancy finally accepted my little present and I just managed to get downstairs before the kitchen closed. After breakfast I left my essay in Professor Cumberland's pigeon-hole and spent the rest of the day hard at work. Nevertheless, I made sure to post two notes, one to the gorgeous Chrissie telling her that I would attend her art class the next night when she could give me further details about when and where we would meet my old pal Salman Marrari, and the other to the equally lovely Beth Randall, apologising for not having contacted her before but that I hoped she would be free to see me one day next week.

My crowded social calendar would certainly keep me busy, I thought, as I changed for dinner and Professor Webb's evening party.

Still, we work to live, not live to work as our wealthy village squire and family friend Mr. Buckingham was fond of saying when he called round in the morning to pick up my father for a day's fishing. Mind, my mother, who holds radical views upon what she calls the shockingly unfair distribution of wealth in our society, once asked the squire with some irritability how he would know this to be true as he had never done a day's work in his life! 'It's becoming quite difficult to fit everything in-as the maidservant said to the chauffeur!' I said to Frank Folkestone as we met as arranged after dinner. 'Don't complain.' advised Frank as we walked briskly out of the college gates. 'Despite the many opportunities to enjoy oneself here, there are very many first year students who are still lonely and homesick.' 'Very true, I have no right at all to grumble,' I sighed. 'And you seem to be getting on nicely, Frank. I can't believe that you really miss our life at St Lionel's.' 'Good God, I should say not, although I must admit that occasionally I do miss the friendship you and I shared with Prince Salman. We had some great times together, didn't we?' This reminded me to tell Frank the good news about Salman coming to Oxford for the weekend. 'I'm sure you could join us for dinner tomorrow night,' I said but Frank shook his head. 'Damn, I've already arranged to dine with the Matthew Arnold Society, but try and bring him over for coffee on Saturday morning,' he said, a sensible suggestion with which I was happy to comply, though I speculated that Salman had planned to spend the morning in bed with the delectable Chrissie! Professor Simon Webb's party turned out to be a fine affair- frankly, I had expected to mix in a small, exclusive gathering but there must have been at least fifty young people present. Frank and I were delighted to see that like Doctor Blayers, the good Professor believed in letting young people of both sexes engage in social intercourse and as I scanned the room looking to see if I knew any of the other guests besides Frank, I wondered whether Gillian Headleigh might be present. 'Are you looking for someone?' said a sweet feminine voice and I turned round and saw a truly ravishing girl standing beside me. She was a most beautiful creature, rather above medium height with shining bright brown hair, a fresh complexion and a pretty face which was set off by a merry smile that played upon her rich, red lips. Furthermore, this exquisite young lady was wearing a low cut crimson dress which revealed a goodly amount of her firmly-rounded breasts. “Yes, I was looking to see whether Gillian Headleigh or her chum Chrissie Nayland-Hunt were here. Would you happen to know these girls by any chance?' She looked at me closely and then with a lilting laugh in her voice she said with a fine theatrical flourish. I am acquainted with both of them and your question leads me to believe that your name la Rupert Mountjoy from Balliol College. Am I right or wrong, my dear sir?' With a chuckle I raised my hands in surrender. 'The prisoner pleads guilty as charged. But we have not been introduced, so I can't imagine how on earth you come to know my name.'