I was put down before a plain looking house in the midst of a row of equally plain looking houses. A pretty maid servant answered the bell, and seemed a little doubtful when I asked to see Miss Clarence, the name of my oddly met friend. However, my confident statement that I was expected, coupled, I dare say, with my generally smart appearance, ended in my being shown upstairs. I followed the maid to a large high-ceilinged room and at once recognized Miss Clarence in the lady stretched on an ample sofa.
She was got up in a most calculated negligee. A semi-transparent tea-gown was outer garment, but even that was cut low in on her the shoulders and short in the arms like an evening frock, her knees were drawn up so that I saw her uncovered legs right up to well above her knee, uncovered that is, save for pretty openwork silk stockings of a greenish color. She looked very attractive, her hair was obviously just done up by an artist in the coiffuring business, and she was beautifully made up. She had a cigarette in her lips and her left hand held a half emptied champagne glass. There was a thick, intoxicating odor of scent in the room.
“Goodness Gracious!” she said, after a prolonged stare. “My little friend of two years ago; the little girl just going to school. Well, it's a wonder I recognized you. Christ, you are altered, child!”
I mumbled that I had always remembered her invitation, but that this was the first opportunity I had had of accepting it.
“Well, you've come at quite an opportune moment,” she said, after she had extracted my story from me; how I had been cast off, and what had happened to me-I did not tell her quite all that happened to me. “I can make use of you this afternoon. I remember saying that you should have a dress, you shall have it.”
I didn't know very much of the world at that time, but I knew enough to realize that my hostess was a bad woman; bad, that is, in the sense of a woman who sold her body to a good bidder, and intuition taught me that she wanted me for the same purpose. Curiosity, and natural desire to make a little money, gave me courage. I was ready for pretty well anything.
She went on to tell me that she had arranged to find a virgin for one of her richest clients that very afternoon. The girl she selected had disappointed her. “In fact, my little dear,” she informed me, “I was so much at a loss that I had got myself up as fascinating as possible to see if the old devil couldn't put up with me-now you've come.”
“But-?”
“Exactly; you're not a virgin, but you look a child, and the physical difficulties can be got over. You'll do very well for a first class virgin. First of all, however, that smart frock won't do; my old man expects a poor girl.” A ring at the bell interrupted her talk, and she immediately pressed an electric button at her side. “Marie,” she said to the maid who entered, “If that is General Salis, tell him to wait in the dining room. Give him a drink but don't dare to be loving to him or-.”
“But the General is so impetuous,” answered the pretty girl.
“Well, don't let him put his impetuosity into you,” laughed Miss Clarence, “tell him that I have a little friend waiting for him.”
“Now,” she said when the girl had gone, rising to her feet, and becoming a business woman on the instant, “are you game for this; it's be ten pounds in your pocket; not a bad afternoon's earnings?”
“I'm game,” I replied. “Give me a drink though.”
She poured out a glass of champagne, and while I was drinking it, began to undo my bodice. I was soon disembarrassed of everything but my underclothes, and Miss Clarence looked at me critically. “Your undies are rather too smart,” she said, “but I'll tell him I gave you these for the occasion. Now for the virginity part of the business.”
She led me into an adjoining room, filled a basin with water and dropped the contents of a paper into the water: “That's powdered alum,” she remarked, “that'll dry your little cunt up, my false virgin,” at the same time filling a syringe with the mixture. I obeyed her and injected the alum and water. “You'll have to bleed,” she added, “these old men always look for that. I'll show you how. Here's a little bladder of pigeon's blood, put it under the string of your drawers, or anywhere else where you can hide it. When he's having you, you must wriggle about a lot and scream, and you must find a chance of breaking this. Crack it with your nail and manage to let some run over his cock and balls; get it into his hairy part if you can, but above all get your drawer saturated. If I know the General he'll probably want to take those away as a trophy; of course he'll give extra money for another set for you.”
Then she dressed me in a very plain three quarter length dress of common material and made me let my hair down. “Capital,” was her comment when she surveyed me, “you don't look more than fourteen; the old man'll think he's got a treasure.”
With my little bladder of blood tucked into my drawers and my poor pussy dried up to the closing point with the alum, I followed her back into the drawing-room. She rang again, and presently the General followed the maid into the room.
It was a desperately business like proceeding, and it was not till long afterwards that I recognized how all this straightforward bargaining and arranging appealed to the old rip for whom I made the sacrifice. She had instructed me to be extraordinary coy, and I sat on the couch with my face half covered with my hands, taking care, however, to let the most attractive part of it be visible, and taking care at the same time to stick out my shapely legs as far as possible from under my frock.
The General was a fat man with a double chin and fierce moustache. He came into the room with a military stride, and kissed Miss Clarence on the cheek.
“Lock the door, Marie, and sit down by it,” said Miss Clarence, “General-you trust me, and you must trust Marie-this child may be hurt, and I shall want some one to help me look after her.”
The old devil's eyes twinkled as he looked at me; became fiery lamps as I got up in obedience to Miss Clarence's gesture and suffered him to kiss me.
Miss Clarence was very business like; in fact she was almost like a governess of a class and her manner was strikingly at variance with her alluring appearance, but how well she knew her man. He was boiling with excitement and anticipation.
“Now, General,” she went on, “this little girl is the daughter of a friend of mine. She is doing this for money because she is almost penniless. She has always lived in the country and knows nothing of men. I have told her what you are going to do to her, and it is the first time she has ever heard of any such thing.” The old reprobate, and I recognized him from his pictures in the papers as being a hero of the last ward, was sitting on a couch, puffing a cigar and devouring me with his eyes while his ears followed Miss Clarence introductory lecture. “She is innocent, and has no idea of the value of her charms to mankind. You are going to pluck a very rare flower and you'll have to pay for it. Thirty pounds in all, General. Ten pounds for me, fifteen pounds for my little friend-you see how generous I am-and five pounds for Marie, who is staying here to help in any way she can. Is it a bargain?”
The old man rose to his feet? “No, damn you it isn't,” he cried, “its a damned shame.”
“Well, why do you come here wasting my time?” snapped Miss Clarence.
“Thirty pounds for you, sixty for the girl, and a tenner for Marie,” blustered the General. “I've just won an unexpected hundred pounds on a horse this afternoon, and if the little lady wants money, damn she shall have it!”
The bargain needless to say, was struck at once, and the General laid a roll of five pound notes on the table.
Then came my turn. I had been instructed by Miss Clarence to be perfectly passive and speak as little as possible. At her bidding I had laid myself out on the capacious sofa, and the old man approached. He kissed me lusciously several times, but I gave him no respending lips caress, and he then began feeling my legs. Miss Clarence and the maid were sitting, silent spectators, smoking cigarettes.
I wriggled and crossed my legs as he felt me, and pretended with little pushes, to thrust him away. “Oh, damn it all, Bella,” I heard him say, “I must have her clothes off!”
Bella Clarence pretended to whisper to me and gain my consent, and then disembarrassed me of all my outer clothes. I lay on the couch in my drawers and chemise, my long auburn hair flowing over my shoulders and breasts.
“That's enough off, General,” Miss Clarence said, “You can't expect her to go stark naked the very first time.”
The General was a big, heavily formed man but his white hairs had led me to expect a very different instrument from the gigantic phallus that he produced. It was indeed a stout and powerful thing and reared up till its head almost knocked against his naval-he had stripped himself quite bare.
I gripped my little bladder of blood in my hand-and waited.
I shall never forget the scene at the commencement of the pseudo seduction. Above me towered the big old military man, and I remembered with a certain pride, as I felt him groping a way for his penis to my cunt, that he really was a very distinguished man. Behind him I saw Miss Clarence and the maid, beautiful women both, the eyes of both brightened with lustful curiosity, and the dainty room was a fitting box for its bawdy contents. I noticed my own pretty legs, and I drew then up to let the General get between them, and at last I felt the head of the General's penis trying to force an entrance.
The alum had dried me up, and the screams I gave were by no means all theatrical. I felt real pain until he had got well within me. Then joyous sensuality supervened, and it was with an effort that I remembered to slit the bladder with my nail and release the blood over his member, my legs and underclothes. When it was squeezed dry, I managed, introducing an elaborate fling of my arms, to the accompaniment of a frantic screech, to drop it behind the couch.
The General finished as he had begun, strongly; and filled me with a generous outpouring. I took it in with pleasure, and had some difficulty in raising the crocodile tears with which I was to shame him when he arose.
But my theatrical instinct triumphed, and my whole body shook with a spasm of subbing when at last the old man drew his artificially bloodstained prick from within me and stood up.
“Well,” queried Miss Clarence, while the maid was sponging me between the legs.
“Magnificent!” answered the hero of Cathistan, glaring at his bloody cock and the sea of red fluid on my underclothes.
Miss Clarence gave me the sixty pounds, saying that my performance was worth far more than that to her, inasmuch as the General had been so pleased that he was sure to come again often, and send many friends. “He was completely deceived.” she told me.
We went out to dinner afterwards, and Miss Clarence insisted on taking me to the Majestic music hall.
We had to go through the Promenade at the Majestic to reach our box, and I was astounded at the sight of the women loafing in the place. An atmosphere of lust filled the hall, and seemed especially to descend on the promenade. A set of well dressed, handsome girls, all agog to catch the attention of the men who idled, open eyed, calculating the value of the charmers, along the semi-circular Promenade. I knew of the existence of the women of pleasure, and I had heard the Majestic was a place frequented by them, but I had not expected such beauty, or nearly such numbers.
We spent a quiet evening. Only a brace of men came to chat with us in our box, and about eleven o'clock Miss Clarence decided to go home. I was too full of my new environment to wish to quit in a hurry, besides my sixty pounds burned in my pocket, and I was anxious to know more of a life that could offer such rewards for so little sacrifice. I said as much, rather gaily, to Miss Clarence, as the hansom was spinning westwards.
“Sixty pounds don't drop from the clouds often, my little one,” she said.
We had not gone very far on our journey before Miss Clarence volunteered the information to me that her best boy would be waiting for her at home. “It's a treat I only give myself once a week,” she added, and asked me if I did not mind.
Of course I did not mind, and very soon the hansom brought us back to Mademoiselle Clarence.
My friend's best boy was there, waiting for us, a handsome young animal of the hooligan type. Villainy lurked in his eyes, and the low throw back of his simian like brow; but my hostess was undoubtedly devoted to him, or at any rate to the animal part of him. She embraced him at intervals during supper, and the meal was hardly over before they were at it on the sofa, her costly evening dress thrown up anyhow round her breasts, and his ill cut trousers down to his knees. It was an odd contrast; the silken, scented finery of the smart prostitute mingled with the coarse clothes of the maquereau. Her legs were beautifully shaped, the dear, and her stockings of the finest silk gave their pretty curves every chance to be fascinating. His legs were good, too, what I could see of them, and very white it appeared that he was a prize fighter by trade, and had to keep himself in the pink of condition. The hard, tense sinews of his thighs swelled up under the skin, and his bottom seemed altogether composed of muscles. As for that important weapon which seemed to give my friend so intense pleasure, it was really a formidable organ, long, large, and mightily stiff. The first fuck did not take long, but by the time Madame had spent, with a long drawn out sigh of satisfaction, I could feel something wet between my own little lily white thighs.
Then they stripped and my abhorrence of the hooligan face was quite lost in my admiration of the body. He was splendidly made, and they were a beautiful pair; for she, though no longer in her first youth, had lost none of the contour and roundness of a really fine figure. Over and over they rolled on the big couch, first one on top and then the other, exciting each other to madness with every variety of love's tricks, and poor little Blanche grew very excited indeed. How I longed for that splendid prick in me, and I fancy that the young man longed to put it there too, for after the second bout was complete, he came and sat by my me and laid a caressing hand on my leg. I offered not the slightest opposition, but Madame thought otherwise. She drew him away; “No, no, you are only for me tonight, Billy,' she said.
I sighed: “I think you two'll drive me mad.”
Oh, you poor little dear, we must do something for you, and together they undressed me, and laid me on the couch.
But there was no fucking for me-I was allowed to handle that member, feel it against my breasts, but Madame would not let him fuck me. She sucked me off, and so did he, and I rained kisses all over the two while they were fucking, at last sucking his cock while he kissed her pussy. And last of all, Madame sent for the maid to sleep with us. We were given a dildo, and told to make the best of that. It was something, but both the maid and I wanted that prick. Finally we went to the bathroom, conveniently adjacent to the bedroom, and washed out our hot and tired bodies.
We all slept together. Madame's bed was big enough to have accommodated Henry VIII and all his wives, and fell into a deep, utterly fucked, dreamless slumber.
I awoke first, found the boy next to me- we were all stark naked-and passed my hand over his body. His prick stiffened at the touch, and he awoke. He pressed his lips to mine, and despite the over-night orgies and the commonness of the man, his breath was sweet (that's the best of these athletes who don't smoke or drink, for he had had nothing the night before, through all that fucking)-rolled one leg over mine, and I was just preparing for a gorgeous fuck on the sly, when Madame awoke and pulled him from me.
“You must have thought me a selfish little beast,” she said afterwards, “but he's my only extravagance, and I won't let him fuck another woman, whatever else he may do to them in my presence. I really believe lie's absolutely true to me, as a matter of fact I think he has to be. I pay him well, and keep a damned good watch on him, he'd be a fool to lose me, and he knows well enough that if I found him out, his easy living would go.”
Madame made me promise to come and see her again, and insisted on making me a present of such a pretty night dress, as a souvenir d'amour.
Madame Karl was naturally surprised, and not a little hurt, when I turned up in Jermyn Street looking absolutely washed out. I made a clean breast of it, and she ended by laughing and saying that I hadn't done so badly for myself. Madame Karl, it may here be appropriately mentioned, had in her younger days, when an apprentice at a great Parisian atelier, made a good bit of pocket money on her back.
Rehearsals with Restall, proceeded smoothly enough, he liked me, and though his favoritism gained me a jealous look or two, the other girls did not dare to be openly hostile; besides, though I say it myself, I was a jolly, unaffected little kid, with no side, and ready enough to make friends.
I used to go out in the waits, to a scrappy lunch, or tea, with different male members of the company, but took care, acting on the advice of one of the girls with whom I had palled up, not to allow any familiarity on the part of the comedians-besides they weren't nice enough. The evenings I spent with Madame Karl, and we generally went to some theatre; I was anxious to see every play I could. As often as not Mr. Annesley and little Walker Bird were our cavaliers, and one evening I shall never forget.
We had been, the night before, to a most admirable comedy, beautifully acted, but witnessed by a very meagre house. This night we had attended a popular burlesque, and had had the greatest difficulty in getting seats. We had supper in Jermyn Street and after supper Madame Karl said she would like to go to bed, she did not feel very well-but as she did not want to go to sleep, would we, after she was undressed, come and sit with her and chat.
We did. Madame looked as delightful as usual in bed; beautifully made up, exquisitely night-gowned, and under a becomingly shaded light. Annesley sat by her side, one arm around her dainty little waist, and the other apparently dangling by his side-he was on the blind side of the bed, so we could see what exactly was employing those fingers, but Madame was wriggling every now and then.
The talk turned upon plays-Annesley held it a disgrace that what was really good in London should not attract. “As for that trashy burlesque,” he said.
“Rot, oh rot, my dear fellow,” answered little Walker Bird, settling himself comfortably into an armchair. “You may think it trash, though I know you've been at least a dozen times, but the public love it, and the public deserve to be catered to. Take the men in to-night's audience. They had worked hard during the day, and they had dined heavily when their work was over. They didn't want to think, their tummies were much too full. They wanted to laugh easily, and, above all, to see lots of pretty girls, and feel their old jocks stiffen,”-we four always talked very freely — “and you bet your life they did stiffen tonight. Cunt my dear Annesley, cunt, and lots of it, is what the greater part of this blessed nation wants. There's a certain proportion of the stalls who can take the cunt they see on the stage out to supper afterwards and block it, and a much larger proportion who wish they could, but who go home and block their wives or mistresses, instead. So everybody is satisfied, see?”
Mr. Annesley must have got his finger rather farther than usual up Madame, for she wriggled furiously, then suddenly kissed him all over his face before he could reply- and when he did answer, he agreed with Walker.
Conversation lagged; Annesley was occupied surreptitiously (as he thought) frigging Madame Karl, while I was getting hot as hell watching them, and Walker was getting hotter still, watching me. At last he got up and said he must be going. “Don't hurry,” urged Madame Karl. “I must,” answered Walker, but don't let me hurry you, Annesley, old chap.”
Annesley made no pretense of wishing to hurry, so I saw little Walker to the door.
In the hall he grabbed hold of me, thrust his tongue down my throat till I thought I should have choked, then begged me to let him have a piece.
Well, he got me into the shop, and there, in the darkness, lit only by the furtive street lamp's ray or two that stole over the shutters, the little devil fucked me, on the shop table. He was a good long time about it, he had been drinking, but I quite enjoyed the performance. When it was over he kissed me fervently wiped his cock with his perfumed handkerchief, exacted a promise that I would see him on the morrow, and departed.
I went up to Madame's room, and knocked. No answer. I went in on tip toe. The bed clothes were thrown back, Annesley's trousers were down, Madame Karl's night dress was up, and Annesley's prick was half in her cunt but they were both fast asleep. I switched off the light, and tip-toed off again to my own little bedroom, where I undressed, admired my naked little self in the long glass, read a chapter from one of Madame's naughty books tickled my clitoris a little, though not enough to make semen come, and fell off into the land of dreams.
In the morning I woke up to find Madame by my side. She blushed when my eye met hers. “Of course you know what happened last night, I could not help it. He's gone, got out before the servants were up.”
On the Thursday preceding the Monday we were to open at Oxford. Mr. Restall, in a fit of sweetness towards me, produced I think by the generous effect of some very old, old brandy, asked me if I would care to go with him to a theatrical dance that same evening at the Harmonic theatre.
You bet I accepted. Dances were foreign to my experience, and the theatrical dances promised such gay and unusual experience that I literally jumped at the offer. He bade me look my best, and meet him for supper at the Alcazar Restaurant, opposite the Harmonic, at eleven thirty.
I was there at eleven thirty-five and had fifteen minutes in which to admire the frescoes on the wall.
Then Restall sailed in, to the accompaniment of much bowing and scraping on the part of the attendants, and a considerable addition to the civility shown me. I had been taken, I think, for a lady out on the pick up.
Restall, speaking and behaving in his usual restless, jerky manner, hustled me upstairs and found a table on the balcony.
The supper was a good one; but that is no great matter in the present story. What I want to talk about is that theatrical ball, my first.
Restall likes my dress. I think at first, after he had invited me, he had suffered some doubt as to whether I, being only newly engaged, would turn up in a costume sufficiently worthy of him and the occasion.
But I think that the delicious confection presented me for the ball by Madame Karl not only reassured him, but even astonished him. He kept turning to look at me with obvious pride as we entered the Harmonic theatre.
The Harmonic was delightfully arranged for the occasion. The ballroom was of course the stage, enclosed in a woodland scene. At the back perched on a built up mossy bank, was the orchestra, and the pit usually occupied by the orchestra, was filled for this occasion with flowering ferns, forming a hedge between the stage and auditorium. At intervals in the hedge were gaps, and through these gaps were gangways leading down into the stairs, much used as sitting out places by the dancers.
There were of course other sitting out places, and capital ones. The boxes for instance, the big ones on the pit and dress circle tier, though they were fairly easy to see into. Above them, much more private were the boxes on a level with the upper circle and still more delightful were the little boxes only designed to hold two, or at the most three, at the back of the dress circle. And you obtained a fair amount of privacy if you sat out in the gloom of the upper circle.
Restall was at once surrounded by a big crowd and after introducing me to one or two men, abandoned me at once. I was not destined however to linger as a wall flower; I attracted the attention with a nice big handsome gentleman and I was dancing to my delight.
Hardly a girl there that was not pretty, and nary a man who hadn't come to the theater with the manifest purpose of enjoying himself; there was no duty business. All the girls were all well dressed, and none of them was chary of showing the most of their upper-work charms. I marveled how some of them kept their bubbies within those dangerously decollette corsages; I know that I myself had more than once to lift a guardian hand to keep my own nipples from overflowing on to the dress coat of my partner. Not that he would have minded, I dare say.
One man managed to knock down my fan, and was clever enough to get his hand just on to my stocking in the act of picking it up, but I kicked his errant fingers away, and the boy-he was one of the youngest guardsmen possible-blushed and apologized. I had to wait for my supper partner for anything serious to happen.
Walker Bird, who arrived precisely at the supper hour, brought him up to me, and so fascinated was I by his eyes, his figure, and his generally distinguished appearance, that I threw over the man I really should have supped with, without a second thought, and accepted unhesitatingly his suggestion that it was about time all of us felt a little hungry. Walker left us with a murmured, “Keep a brace of pews for me and mine,” and caught us up at the door of the supper room-the big saloon bar transformed for the nonce into a palm embowered eating place-with a cute little chorister from the Harmonic on his arm. I recognized her in a tick, for were not her photographs in every print seller's window, and did not the evening papers keep stock headlines going for her breach of promise cases? She had on a dress worth at least a hundred pounds, and she greeted me simply, after the introduction, with Lord, I could at least speak a bit.
I supped gaily and well; the wine was exhilarating, the food first rate; the surroundings the gayest, and I had my supper partner's leg entwined round my left, and Walker's left leg round my right. It was a round table, and I have no doubt that the little chorister was being endeared in precisely the same manner. We had a quartette of Tsignnes for a separate supper orchestra, and their strains made my little head swim with naughty thoughts. All at once I felt I was sitting on something wet, and I knew that I had come involuntarily, so much so that I welcomed our little friend's suggestion after supper that we should go and put a puff on.
We were alone in the retiring room-“Gay ain't it old dear?” she said, as she drew a stick of red across her pretty little mouth, and then passed it on to me-“makes me feel hot as hell,” she passed her hand up her dress, “I thought as much,” she pursued, “I've spent-what a bleeding waste.”
In one of the W.C.'s I took the chance of wiping my underclothes as dry as possible, for I was in that stage of full bloodedness that I was absolutely determined to have a man that evening-even if I had to ask for it. And so much were the faces of the men altered since supper that I didn't think that event at all probable.
Near the door I found my supper partner and he led me at once into a valse, a deliciously suggestive thing, admirably rendered by the band. He too, was mad for a woman. There was no disguising that fact, for through my dress I could feel his swollen prick pressing against me, he had arranged it up his trousers, pointing to the navel-and I should say very nearly touching that spot, in the careful manner of the man wearing evening dress who realizes that he is likely to be overcome by the outward and visible sign of his manhood-and I don't deny that my little tummy pressed back.
We both danced well, both recklessly and with abandon, and whether it was that the other couples admired our performance so much that they wanted to witness it, or whether the other girls were nervous of becoming an obstacle to our wild career, at any rate we pretty soon had the floor to our own selves. I heard several complimentary remarks as we whirled by, and once I caught Restall's eye full, it bespoke admiration, and by the motion of his lips as he turned to speak to the man by his side, I had an inkling that he was informing the man of the fact that I was a member of his company, and that he, Restall, intended to sleep with me, he could have had me then and there if he had chosen to come and ask, and provide a place.
The music stopped suddenly, and my partner and I sank exhausted on to the nearest seat. As he fanned me, he whispered: “This is an uncomfortable sitting out place. I know one much better-shall we go?” and I only nodded my answer.
“This is the place I mean,” he said, when we paused before a curtained door, situated near the stage. He drew the curtain aside, and next minute I found myself in a cozy little room, and heard behind me the unmistakable sound of a key being turned in the lock.
The room was furnished mainly with a large sofa, the sort that has the ends made to flop down, and a number of theatrical photographs. I thought it was some sort of private sitting room, had I known more I should have guessed at once that it was a dressing room. The photographs of the celebrities were mostly women, and all signed.
As there was no other place to sit on I flopped on the sofa at once, and a moment later my partner was at my side, his arm tight around my waist, and his lips on my cheek.
I suppose it was the fact of my clerical descent that made me leap to my feet with a little noise of disapproval when I felt his fingers tickle the bare flesh above my petticoats or was it the fear that some one might come in — at any rate he took it for the latter, for he hastened to assure me that the door was locked.
“But,” I replied, still rather coy, “suppose any one should want to come in and sit out in this room, too?”
“That they're not likely to do,” he said, with a delicious smile, “for you see this is my dressing room.”
Then I recognized him, he was the tenor of the Harmonic company, the man I had so much admired that night we all went to the theatre-that fatal night before George Reynold's ill advised attempt on my virginity in Sir Thomas Lathmere's house-but the absence of the small pointed beard he affected on the stage altered him, for the better I think.
“I saw you in a box a little time ago,” he said. “You looked like a little dream, but you were with society people. How do you come to be here, and brought by Restall?”
I didn't care that evening; I was carried away by surroundings, and the man seemed so nice, so I told him a good deal of the story — always mind you, my readers, suppressing the fact that George Reynolds had actually pierced my little bird's nest-as Walker Bird is in the habit of calling those inner temples of Venus in which he from time to time inserts his chubby little prick, and his embrace was so comforting, and I suppose I wanted it so much, that I made not the slightest demure when once more he placed his hand beneath my clothes, slid up my silk stockings and eventually laid it on my Mons Veneris.
He slid quietly to the ground, pulled me gently forward till my little bottom just balanced on the edge of the sofa, all the time lifting up my clothes with his other hand, and then pressed himself against me.
“Half a mo-” interrupted Gladys-she gets shockingly suburban when she's excited- “Do you mean to tell me, you little simpleton that you actually let the man fuck you with your new ball dress on?”
And I had to confess to Gladys that in my innocence I actually did do such a silly thing.
“The man ought to have known better- and a well known actor, you say. Actors I've fucked have been most considerate about my clothes, but go on and get the fucking.”
First fucks with different new men are, I suppose, all more or less the same; unless, of course, the man is some old beast, or ugly, or with a dirty beast you are only doing it for money. With a man you want to fuck, the excitement is so great, and you begin to come so soon, that you really haven't any time to notice whether he does it artistically or not; its seldom, indeed, that you even distinguish any great difference in the size of his penis from the man you had last. At any rate my friend, I did not even know his name, got into me till I could feel his balls hang against my bottom, and spent very quickly. He kept it right in me and fucked me again slowly and deliciously, and I can tell you I was in a bit of funk of having been put in the family way when at last the sense of joy had passed, and I stood up. He was sitting opposite me in a chair, his penis perfectly limp.
“Well, I suppose we'd better be getting back,” he said, after I had arranged my dress as well as I could, “people'll be looking for you.”
I thought at first that he was callous; sufficiently pleased to have had a new girl, and wanted to be rid of me. I was angry-but when I suggested leaving him, he would have nothing of it. He took me into one of the first tier boxes, where we sat and watched the other dancers.
Willie Moorfield knew his way about London, and I spent quite an amusing evening while listening to his running comments on the celebrities present.
Miss Marion Storm, the successful comic opera prima donna of two continents, floated by on the arm of a very nice young man, who looked as near to being made up as any young man I had ever seen before. He was, so said Moorfield, a young gentleman who liked being an actor, and with whom audiences put up because it was general knowledge that he had only four or five consumptive and syphilitic cousins between himself and an Earl's coronet. He loved notoriety, and was at the present moment paving assiduous court to Marion of the nut brown hair, tip-tilted nose, and generally fascinating and devil may care expression, because he knew that a lot of other men in London wanted her; that, in fact, she was the fashion.
“They say he really means to marry her- or rather she's quite determined that he shan't get out of it,” said Moorfield, “I only hope they won't both fall in love with the same man.” Which rather amazing statement left me with the idea that the Honorable Mr. George Danvers, Clarendon, Hope, Travis, Gwyn Iumthait was by way of real inclination-a sod.
“Don't you think you're getting rather vulgar, Blanche?” this from Gladys.
“You mean in my words? Well, I don't agree with you, and anyway, a sod is a much nicer term than bugger, which old Doctor Johnson so delightfully describes in his dictionary as “a term of endearment, common among sailors.”
But I mustn't waste time, Moorfield went on to tell me that Miss Storm had ruined almost as many men as Belero, and was equally proud of the fact. Married originally to a comedian, far, at that time, above her own station, both socially and professionally, she had thrown him over without the slightest compunction when fortune began to smile on her, and a man with a bit of money came her way.
The man with the bit of money took a theatre for her; procured a play for her, and made her in the twinkling of an eye one of the greatest stars of the burlesque stage in England. Her salary went up, she became the rage, but the man with the money lot it over the venture. “It was only the other day,” said Moorfield, “that she met him at Ostend, as she was leaving the boat. He was broke to the world, and the opportunity of the custom house business gave him the chance to ask her if she could lend him a tenner or so. She put half a crown on the douane counter, and turned her back. And that night, too, she slept with an actor who hadn't a sou to his name, and who, more than likely as not, borrowed a cool hundred from her.”
“She has money, and she is an artist to the heels of her little shoes,” continued Moorfield. “But she has the lust of money, and whoever the man may be, provided he can give her any more, she will fuck him for it. She will marry that ennobled descendant of a complacent Stuart prostitute and despite the twenty thousand a year he can give her, she will go on acting, because she likes it, loves it for itself, and like the fame and applause it brings her, and she will go on fucking, because she likes that too, and because, however much money she has, she glories in earning more by her cunt.”
“I gather,” says Gladys, “that you and your new friend had become pretty intimate-to judge from you language.”
Well, gentle readers, we had. A sort of affinity seemed to have sprung up between us- and we glided into using dirty words just as if they had been the ordinary common talk of polite conversation.
Little Annabel Cupid was the next goal of his spiteful tongue: he hadn't much to say of her save that she only slept with Jews, and that she wasn't able to suck the man off because she feared that the enamel on her face would crack.
Of Madame Sydney, the operatic star, he told me that she had an absolute passion for loose life, but that she feared so much to find herself enceinte, that she would only play the sucking game with her lovers, or allow them to make an entrance up her stage door.
“The dirt road, as the Americans call it,” interrupts the conscientious one.
“American are dirty people.” I say.
“And have you ever-?” but at that moment we hear the door open, and our dear old Baron comes in the room.
He enters with that assumption of youth which long experience has taught me to know that the old boy feels like it, salutes first myself and then Gladys with cherry kisses, hands us each a bunch of rare flowers, and squats down contentedly on my big window seat-“You're interrupting, as usual, Baron,” I say.
“If I may only make some trifling compensation?”
“I really begin to think that the only punishment we can inflict, is to put him into the book, right name and all,” this from Gladys.
“I have lunched so well and I feel so nice and I know so well that there is no such company in London as can be found her, may not that be an excuse?”
We try for a little to go on with the work, but the old man is always anxious to put his arm round my waist or to look over Gladys shoulder to see how she is getting on, and the work doesn't go on at all.
“I see you are writing about Sodomites,” he chuckled.
“Yes,” answers Gladys, savagely, “Aren't you one?”
The dear old man wasn't angry, but proceeded there and then to talk volubly about the particular sect of young and old gentlemen who prefer connection with their own sex to the ordinary channels provided in the female kind by wise dispensation of providence.
“You should see the sods as you call them,” he began, “and the word reminds me of a dear old friend who proposed to insult a gentleman who had behaved in that way with his youngest son, my friend's youngest son, that is. He left a card at the bugger's club, with the inscription, “You are a Sodomite.” And it wasn't till a day afterwards that he remembered he had put two “d's” in the middle of sodomite. It upset him terribly.”
“I suppose you know the tale, Baron,” says Gladys, “of the New York young gentleman of that persuasion who walked delicately, like Agag, into a New York saloon and asked, “Is my friend Sweet Evening Breeze here?”
“No,” replied the bartender, “he's locked up.”
“Oh, dear,” said the young man, “what for?”
“Cock sucking.”
“Thank God, it's not for theft.”
The Baron laughed. “After all,” he said, “I suppose it all seems very disgusting to you girls, but sometimes an old roue feels the need of something new, and nice little boy to suck his cock, mind you, I put in no defense of buggery, is rather a pleasing change.”
“That may be,” says Gladys, “but as for what you call buggery, I for my part, don't believe it's possible. I know no man could get up me that way.”
“You remind me rather of the eminent C.O. my dear Gladys,” answers the Baron, “the C.O. who said it was practically impossible to obtain a conviction against a prisoner for that particular offense, because, one half of the jury do it themselves, and the other half don't believe it's possible.”
“I am still a female Didymus,” says Gladys.
“Shall I prove it?” asks the Baron.
“If you like,” says Gladys.
“With your permission, Madame Blanche?” queries the Baron.
I nodded, really thinking that the old man was joking, but he immediately produced a fountain pen, and sat down at the writing table. When he had finished a brief note, he asked me if I could have it sent.
“But Baron?” I murmured, hesitatingly.
“It's all perfectly right, my dear Blanche. Your friend doubted the existence of sodomy, and I am going to prove it to her that it does exist. This note will bring two boys, adepts at the game.”
“But,” I interposed again, “isn't it rather dangerous?”
“Certainly not. The boys are as discreet as the tomb; it pays them to be. They need not know that this is your house; they will probably think that it is a place I have taken.”
“And what sort of boys are they?” asks Gladys.
“Choir boys, both of them.”
“Isn't it bad for the voice?” I asked.
“Actual sodomy perhaps is, but sucking off is wonderful, as I dare say you know, my dear Blanche?”
I did know. Earlier in my career I had the tip from Madame Sydney, the famous soprano. She kept two fine young men for that very purpose, and every night before fulfilling an important engagement, she sucked one or the other, sometimes both, to a finish. She regarded male semen as the finest possible lubricant for the vocal chords. I took her advice with good results. It's much nicer than voice medicines, and I dare say, many of you dear little comic stars and music hall artists who read and get naughty over this immortal work can bear me out. Take my advice, dears, and if, in a pantomime you get jealous because on of the comedians is going too well, suck him off; his performance will lose, while yours will gaining in proportion.
The Baron's boys arrived in about half an hour. Gladys and I had discreetly masked our pretty faces, but masked very little else, for we had both begun to feel very randy, and had employed the waiting interval by making the old man lick our pouting pussies, when the boys were shown in by my confidential maid they found two pretty women lying on their backs on the big rug with bare legs, also bare cunts; temptingly displayed.
They were charmingly pretty boys, both about sixteen, and as sweet and fresh to look at as young girls. The Baron kissed them both on the lips, and told them to begin at once.
They undressed stark naked. Such nicely formed white skinned bodies they had, and firm little pricks, no preliminary dalliance being wanted to make them rise. The entertainment began with sucking, first one pretty boy sucking the other, and then both playing 69. But Gladys was anxious for the sodomy, so boy number one was bent over the back of the sofa, his little anus distended for the reception of the other's weapon.
“We shall want vaseline,” hazarded the second boy.
“Nonsense,” said Gladys, rising to the occasion, “this will do.”
With that she placed her finger in her cunt, which was over-flowing with juice, and anointed first the anus of the recipient, then the prick of the bugger.
It did do, for the prick slid in easily. A few wriggles of pain on the part of the subject, and then the weapon was right inside him and up to the hilt. The subject boy seemed to enjoy is thoroughly, for his prick grew stiff as a ramrod, so beautifully stiff that Gladys could not resist fondling it. A few frantic strokes, a quiver, and the boy withdrew his cock, dripping with spend. It was done; Gladys had seen the act of buggery accomplished which could have cost either of the two-performers imprisonment for life.
The Baron turned to us with the air of a successful showman. “Ladies,” he said, “you once or twice laughed at my inability to complete the act of fornication; if one of you will assist me, I will soon show you now that I do it.”
And this is how he did it; Gladys, her legs apart, was stretched on the big rug, the Baron knelt between her thighs, and the boy whose prick still remained stiff got into the old man's anus from behind. At once his withered cock stiffened, and in two shakes of a ducks arse, as the vulgar proverb has it, he had slipped down on to and into Gladys, the boy's prick still penetrating him. The boy buggered the Baron fucker, and Gladys wriggled. All of them very soon came; but the boy withdrew and the Baron got off the panting Gladys with a little grunt of triumph.
All were satisfied; all that is, save poor me, who had had nothing-but eventually I had the best of it. The boys washed their cocks in rose scented water. I took one dear little cock in my mouth, and the other up my back (it was not my first experience-but that is another story). I made the Baron suck my cunt but let me explain the position-I knelt and lay forward with the boy I was sucking underneath me. The Baron was also underneath me. The boy who was buggering me knelt behind me. With one hand I fingered the Baron's prick and with the other felt Glady's cunt. Gladys had her roving commission. One of her dear, soft little hands wandered over my body, and the other tossed off the boy I was sucking-thus everybody in four distinct ways. I had a cock in my mouth which delightfully stiff, yet not too big. (Big cocks give you cramp in the jaw muscles) I had a cock exactly the right size up my anus, and any girl who has been buggered knows the joys that is. My cunt was being licked by an expert in the art, and a dear girl was feeling my bosom, likewise I had the pleasure of tickling a cock with one hand and a cunt with the other. It was a pretty group. I could see it all in a mirror, and I only wish we could have had it photographed. We continued for about ten minutes, till every one concerned had spent, even including the Baron, it took about a pint of old, old brandy to pull him straight afterwards.
Gladys who had watched the boy buggering me, had noticed that I enjoyed it very much, now had the presumption to express her opinion that she could take a prick up her back door. So she knelt on the rug, and one of the boys placed his weapon at the entrance. He had a hard time of it, and wasted some little time getting into her virgin rosette, but with the aid of some saliva, at last went all the way into her, and I think she enjoyed his buggering immensely.
One of the last acts in the comedy was a more simple one, savoring indeed, somewhat of the diversions of our sailors when far from land. The Baron put up a five pound note as a prize for which boy could come first. My boy, I am pleased to say, won hands down, thus once more exemplifying the old proverb that experience will tell. He spent with a scream of delight, occasioned, no doubt, by the mixed joy of the action and the reflection that his feat had earned him five pounds.
Subsequently we all sat down to a light refreshment of tea, cakes and champagne-all naked as we were, and I encouraged the boys to talk. Those in favor of the disestablishment of the Church of England would have received the confessions of these pretty choir boys as valuable testimony.
They owned up frankly that at the fashionable church where they were employed, not only the curates, who were mostly young Oxford men of good family and some means, but the vicar himself, a cadet of a noble house were addicted to the vice of sodomy. The boys were picked for their good looks, providing of course, that their voices were also good, and were speedily demoralized. Thus the vicar and the curates of St. — ran a sodomic harem in the name of the Almighty. It was a church frequently attacked by John Kesnit. Had that worthy zealot known as much as we did, he might have attacked more than the vestments and the incense.
The boys had no shame; in fact they gloried in their sin, and one of them reeled off a string of distinguished names, the bearers of which had sunk their penises in his little bottom.
Gladys and I, to round off the party, had another go at this sport. She seemed to have taken quite a delight in this form of fornication. While her boy was working away in her rear parlor, Gladys wriggled her arse like a fairy. The old Baron laughed uproariously at her antics, and twitted her about her previous remark anent her tight little arse-hole that no man could get into — offering to bet that even he could get into her now.
After a short rest Gladys let him try it, at the expense of a diamond ring, and he soon succeeded in shoving his big joystick up in her pooper, causing her to squeal with rapture.