The Intimate Memoirs of an Edwardian Dandy, vol.III Read online

  Rupert Mountjoy

  The Intimate Memoirs of an Edwardian Dandy, vol.III

  'I am not over-fond of resisting temptation.'

  William Beckford [1759-1844]: Vathek

  CHAPTER ONE. A Menu To Savour

  I well remember standing in front of the fire in the drawing-room after breakfast on the morning of October 28 1905.

  Outside in Bedford Square the weather looked distinctly chilly and a brisk wind was winnowing the last big harvest of leaves from the trees. It was a good morning to stay indoors, I reflected, as a sudden squall briefly rattled the windows, though I would have to go out at about half past twelve, as I had accepted a luncheon invitation from a new acquaintance, Miss Nancy Carrington. Of course, I could have always telephoned and pleaded that a trifling indisposition would prevent my presence at her table, but on the other hand, Miss Carrington only lived across the road and, even more important, she was a good-looking, young American lady from Boston whose wealthy family had rented a house for her in Bloomsbury to enable her to continue her studies in the nearby British Museum during the six months she planned to stay in London. Nancy Carrington had called round last Thursday, which happened to be my twenty-second birthday, 'to meet my new English neighbours' and I had been very much taken by the sensual beauty of this lovely rose cheeked girl, whose long blonde hair cascaded down in ringlets to her shoulders and in whose bright blue eyes appeared a merry twinkle when she smiled. She had been wearing a figure hugging dress nipped in at the waist which accentuated not only her slender frame but also her pert, uptilted breasts which thrust saucily against an exquisitely fine silk blouse.

  When, during the course of our conversation, I happened to mention that I was celebrating my birthday, she immediately invited me over to her house for a celebratory luncheon. At first I demurred, but she insisted, saying that her cook had just completed a cordon bleu course at Mrs. Bidder's Academy of Domestic Science and that she would welcome the excuse to make a small party which would give her cook the chance to show off her newly learned prowess. I rang the bell and my footman Edwards promptly appeared with a sheaf of letters on a silver salver. The second post has just arrived, sir,' he said, passing the tray to me. Thank you, Edwards, I'll read these in the library. Meanwhile, would you please telephone Harrods and ask them to deliver by noon a large bouquet of flowers suitable for a gentleman to take as a gift to a lady who has invited him for luncheon.'

  'Certainly, sir,' said Edwards, bowing slightly. 'May I presume that the bouquet is for Miss Carrington at number forty-seven? If so, may I recommend chrysanthemums as the lady is particularly fond of them.' It never fails to surprise me how servants glean their information but it is a fact that nothing went on at Albion Towers-our family home near the sleepy little Yorkshire village of Wharton-which was not known by Goldhill, our old butler, and his staff, and which was doubtless discussed in detail in the servants' hall! But in this case, as will shortly be shown, I soon found out how Edwards knew about Nancy Carrington's taste in flowers, it being the result of a romantic liaison my young footman had formed with Nancy's personal maid. After telling Edwards that I would be dining at my club that evening, I went into the library to open the post. The first letter was from my tailor, Mr. Rabinowitz, thanking me for the prompt payment I had made for my new suit and offering to make me an overcoat, at a very moderate cost, out of a beautiful eighteen ounce grey tweed cloth which he had bought directly from the mill. I filed the letter away for future reference and then opened the envelope postmarked Knaresborough which suggested that the letter inside came from my parents. It was indeed a short note from my father, informing me that His Majesty King Edward VII would be visiting Yorkshire in three weeks time and that we had been invited to a reception in York on November 15 given in honour of the visit by the Deputy Lord Lieutenant of Yorkshire. Would I please let him know as soon as possible whether I wanted to attend? My mother had also scribbled a short note to add that our neighbours Dr and Mrs. Wigmore had also been invited and would attend as would their daughter Diana, the lovely girl who readers of my first book will recall, was my guide and partner on that never to be forgotten summer's afternoon seven years before when I first sheathed my cock in a wet and welcoming cunney. Whether wonderful or disastrous, one never forgets one's first fuck: I was a naive schoolboy of fifteen and at first, frankly, bewildered by my maiden voyage along the highway of love; but I was fortunate enough to be shown the ropes by a sophisticated girl who took the trouble to explain how best I could please us both and thus cater for our joint needs. Diana is a talented artist and is working in Paris at present but whenever we see each other we usually end up in bed. If for no other reason, this was a good enough bait to make me accept the invitation to go up to York, though I would probably have agreed to do so in any case, because I wanted to pay my respects to my old Uncle Humphrey who lived in Harrogate. It was Uncle Humphrey, my mother's eldest brother, who had persuaded my parents that I should spend a year sampling the delights of London after having gained (God knows how!) an upper second-class degree in law at Oxford University. He had taken me to one side at a family party during the summer for what he called a man-to-man talk and from his opening remarks I gathered that during his youth he had been something of a young gay blade about town. After much clutching at the lapels of his dinner jacket and marching and countermarching across the drawing-room carpet, he confessed how he had conjoined, as he put it, with many attractive young ladies who may not have been thought suitable companions by his parents but whose company he very much enjoyed-especially during the wee, small hours, if I took his meaning! 'Marriage is an excellent and most proper institution, my boy,'

  Uncle Humphrey had intoned solemnly, 'and I trust that when your time comes to settle down, you have as satisfying and comfortable relationship as has been granted to me with your Aunt Maud. But let us not beat about the bush. Just as it is important for your bride to come to you unsullied, it is of equal import that you too gain experience in ah, “intimate relationships” between the sexes. The best place to do this is preferably far from one's home and in the anonymity of a big city. So if you agree, I propose that you spend the next twelve months in London. You can stay rent free at my old friend Colonel Wright's house in Bedford Square, Bloomsbury, where all your domestic needs will be looked after by Mrs. Harrow, the housekeeper.

  There you will be able to entertain with total discretion any friends of the opposite sex. Furthermore, I will make you an annual allowance to enable you to live at a decent standard of comfort.' He waved away my effusive words of gratitude. 'No thanks needed, my boy, it's my very real pleasure,' he continued, placing his hand on my shoulder.

  'I've already settled fifty thousand pounds on both my daughters and your Aunt will never be able to spend what's left in the bank even if I kick the bucket tomorrow. And in any case, I'd far rather enjoy spending my money now whilst I'm alive than give the damned Government the satisfaction of mopping up thousands of pounds in death duties from my estate.' It took a while for my parents to be won round to his freewheeling point of view, but in the end they consented, on the strict understanding that I would take up articles with Godfrey, Alan and Colin, the family firm of solicitors, immediately after the year was up. So I owed a great deal to Uncle Humphrey and though I wrote to the old chap occasionally, I knew how much he thoroughly enjoyed the visits I paid him and Aunt Maud (especially as his two daughters had married and lived far away, cousin Beth in Cornwall and cousin Sarah in the Highlands of Scotland. So I sat down then and there and wrote back, first to my father, telling him that I would return home to Albion Towers two days befor
e the party in York and secondly to Uncle Humphrey, asking him if it would be convenient if I came to see him in Harrogate whilst I was up in Yorkshire for a few days. When I looked closely at the third and final letter Edwards had given me I saw that it had been posted in France. And yes, the name of the sender. Miss Diana Wigmore, was written on the back of the envelope- what a coincidence! I'll wager she's writing about this party for the King, I thought to myself, and sure enough that is what had made Diana put pen to paper. For the record, diary, I will copy her letter in your pages: 69 Rue General Olivier Norman, Paris Darling Rupert, My Mama has just written to me about a grand reception being given in honour of the King on November 15 in York. I gather that your people have also been invited and if you are going to accept then I will go back home as well for a few days. Write, or better still send me a telegram at the above address (trust me to find an apartment in a house numbered soixante-neuf!) as soon as possible to let me know your plans.

  Have you been keeping well? I suppose your prick has been well-exercised since we last exchanged letters three months ago. You must either write and tell me all about what you have been doing with yourself or tell me all the juicy details if we are to meet back home next month. Meanwhile, I have been enjoying myself too though I am working hard and not living the Sybaritic life of a lounge lizard like some I could mention! You remember I told you about my affair with Alain. Well, that fizzled out and for more than three weeks I was without a bed-mate for though I had many offers, including several from fellow artists and my landlord Monsieur Cantona, I am choosy as to whose cock I want sheathed in my cunt. Relief came yesterday with the arrival of a new lodger, an American lad of about our age named Wilson who has come to stay for a month in Paris to perfect his French. He is a handsome young man with a craggy face, a strong nose, well-pronounced cheekbones, a firm mouth and a square jaw. We met on the stairway as I was carrying a kettle of hot water up to my room to make some coffee. I introduced myself to him and I was pleased by the feel of his firm handshake. Will you join me for a cup of coffee?' I asked and he thanked me warmly. 'Just let me put some papers in my desk before I forget and I'll be down in three minutes,' he said and I watched with appreciation his muscular, tight backside move quickly up the stairs. In fact, I was so busy fantasizing about Wilson's bum whilst I was preparing the coffee that I spilled some milk all over the front of my blouse. Hell's bells, I said to myself, and without giving it another thought, unbuttoned the garment and threw it in the direction of my laundry basket. There was a muffled cough behind me and there was Wilson, looking rather embarrassed as I turned round and faced him wearing only a thin transparent silk camisole.

  'Oh-sorry-I-uh…' he stammered. 'No, please don't apologise,' I pleaded, as I watched a slight bulge form in the crotch of his trousers. 'I just spilled some milk over my blouse and had to change it.' 'I can't say I'm sorry,' he said wistfully and it struck me that the yearning expression on his face deserved to be captured on canvas. So I asked Wilson if he would sit for me and to my joy he agreed. 'You'll have to sit quite still for about an hour,' I warned him but he said he would be honoured to be sketched by such a talented artist. 'How do you know I'm talented?' I teased and he replied that the pictures on the wall testified to my abilities. Well, Wilson proved to be a marvellous model, keeping stock still whilst I worked and when I had finished he came round and looked critically at my drawing. 'I only wish our roles could be reversed and that I could be the artist and you the model,' he commented. Why is that?' I asked, slightly puzzled by his remark. 'Because you have such a lovely figure, Diana. I can hardly take my eyes off your beautiful breasts,' he whispered hoarsely, running his hands up the sides of my arms, and I swiftly realised why I had so excited him. Of course, in my haste I had neglected to put on another blouse and all the while Wilson had been gazing intently at my breasts which were only covered by a transparent silk camisole. My titties fairly tingled with anticipation and I felt my nipples pucker with delight as he looked down my body. I took hold of his hands and boldly put them full on my heaving breasts and he sharply exhaled a long drawn out breath as he felt the rigid and upright titties against his palms. I could see the bulge in his trousers getting bigger which made my pussey moisten and I started to walk backwards, pulling Wilson along with me. It took only three or four steps to reach my bed and we collapsed down upon the sheets as our mouths met in a burning, passionate kiss. His lips were very wet and soft and I could feel his tongue exploring every inch of my mouth whilst his hands roamed across my breasts, squeezing, nipping, and gently caressing the soft white globes, which drove me wild with desire for him. He unzipped my skirt and pulled it down as at the same time I pulled the camisole over my head so that I was now naked except for a pair of frilly white briefs and my stockings which were held up by two red garters. 'Now it's my turn to see more of you,' I said and I quickly unbuttoned his cream flannels and plunged my hand inside his flies to free his bursting, erect cock as he hastily discarded his shoes and socks. His trousers and drawers soon followed and my eyes fastened upon his thick prick which was standing nicely to attention, a stiff staff up against his flat tummy. I grasped hold of the throbbing tube and ran my fingers down the blue vein which ran down the length of the smooth, warm shaft. Wilson groaned and put his mouth on my titties, nibbling my nips which rose up like two red bullets. I lifted my bottom to allow him to pull down my knickers and a thrilling wave of pleasure flowed through me as his fingers massaged my hairy pussey and he slid his forefinger inside my oozing cunt whilst I played with his bare cock, slowly rubbing my clenched fingers up and down the hot, pulsing pole. Our two nude bodies rolled in ecstasy on the bed. His hands were never still, and as he looked lovingly at each part of me, he stroked my breasts, my bottom and my pussey and whispered how gorgeous, how sensual and how desirable I was. Then fuck me, please, Wilson,' I murmured, and the dear lad was more than ready to oblige. He climbed on top of me and I spread my legs, eagerly awaiting the arrival of his cock which I still held tightly in my grasp. I guided his knob between my cunney lips and his rock hard prick filled my cunt as we wriggled round until we were both in the most comfortable position for some truly wonderful fucking. I wrapped my feet around his neck as he began to thrust his truncheon in and out of my juicy love channel and I quivered with delight as he began to pump faster and faster, his balls fairly banging against my bum. 'Deeper, Wilson, deeper,' I purred and he pressed his buttocks together and rammed his tool into me as far as it would go. 'Aaah! Aaah! Keep going, you randy big-cocked boy!' I shrieked, and I shuddered with delight as his prick massaged my ditty and I could feel my cunney sucking at him and I squeezed every time he pulled his cock back for another huge thrust. Now I arched my back, willing the lovely lad on as I pushed my pussey up against him, forcing his cock even deeper inside me and I screamed out my joy as we came together, Wilson shooting a fierce fountain of creamy sperm inside my cunt as my own love juices flowed out of my sated honeypot.

  We threshed like wild animals, oblivious to everything except the breathtaking currents of the electric force which we had generated between us surging through our bodies. He rolled off me and lay on his back, his chest heaving up and down as he sought to recover his senses, but his cock, which was glistening with a coating of my pussey juice, was still standing up stiffly and I leaned forward and crammed as much of the silky wet shaft into my mouth as possible. My head bobbed up and down as I greedily gobbled as much of his prick as I could, massaging the sensitive underside with my tongue. I could hear Wilson almost crying with pleasure. Soon I felt his prick go rigid and he spurted jets of sticky semen inside my mouth which I eagerly swallowed until I had milked every last drain of spunk from his trembling tool. His jism had a salty flavour, pleasant enough, but not as tasty as yours, Rupert, so there is no call for you to be jealous!

  The grateful boy kissed my lips again and again and thanked me profusely for sucking him off, as, believe it or not, this was the first time he had ever enjoyed the delights of this grand
sport.

  Unbelievably, the poor lad had till now missed out completely on an activity which all men adore. I am sure you will agree that there is not a red-blooded man in the world who can control his excitement once a pair of female lips have fastened themselves upon his knob. But as far as Wilson was concerned, the very idea of girls and boys sucking each other off was alien to him. He had been brought up in a very strict environment and even the mechanics of oral sex were totally unknown to him until he was sixteen when his wise brother-in-law gave him a copy of Dr Nigel Andrews' excellent book Fucking For Beginners.

  Unfortunately, he was never given a chance to put into practice what he had learned from Dr Andrews' tome and if we had not been pressed for time I would have shown him how to eat pussey. Hopefully, I will give him his first lesson tomorrow.

  But for now I could only stay for another hour or so as I had to leave for a seminar (you would be amazed at how well I can now converse in French) so we spent the next sixty minutes in fucking until poor Wilson was totally exhausted. Twice more he came inside me and twice I sucked his cock back up to a fine stiffness. We finished this torrid session of love-making by my swallowing the by now understandably diminished quantity of spermy essence from his trembling prick. Rupert darling, I must close now-but I do hope you will be able to go to York next month. We should have some great fun if old Tum Tum is on form. All my love, Diana I folded the sheets of this billet doux back in its envelope and resolved to keep it to copy into the pages of my journal at a later date. So I strode upstairs into my bedroom and locked the letter away in my escritoire. As I did so, I heard a slight noise coming from inside my bathroom. The door was slightly ajar and I peered inside to see that Mary, one of the prettiest maids in the house, was humming a tune whilst she was bending over the bath, polishing the enamel. Although she had her back to me I could tell it was Mary from the colour of her dark, almost black hair and the lissome shape of her body. I passed my tongue over my lips as I surveyed the contours of her ripe backside which, undisguised by a too-tight skirt, stuck out in an extremely provocative fashion.