of frothy jism into her mouth which she gulped down whilst she gently squeezed his balls to milk his virgin cock of every drop of sticky seed.
Unfortunately for the eager boy, Gerry had no time to continue this lewd playfulness because we had promised to attend an evening reception at Southard Lodge which my Uncle Lionel and Aunt Rosina had planned for our neighbours and to which Christopher's parents had been invited. And here I must confess that I was slightly miffed when Gerry arranged to meet Christopher at this secluded spot in three days' time when she would complete his first practical lesson in fucking.
Anyhow, enough of such rudery-let me now tell you of the wonderful excursion we made yesterday to Glengariff which must be the most beautiful area in the whole of Ireland. It is set in a deep Alpine valley seldom exceeding a quarter of a mile in breadth and of about three miles in length enclosed by precipitous hills.
At this point I folded the letter and stuffed it back inside the envelope, for to be honest I was far less interested in the beauties of South-west Ireland than in Lady Molly Southard's escapades with her lusty young cousin! In any case, I had no time to read any more or I would be late for my meeting with Lord Philip Pelham whose pet hate is unpunctuality. 'L 'exactitude est la politesse des wis' he would say severely to any errant guests and I had no desire to receive a wigging from my chum.
But, more importantly, Lady Molly's uninhibited epistle had made me feel extremely raunchy and I could hardly wait to be acquainted with the two chorus girls my chum had invited to join us for a drive in his new motor car. I squinted out of the window and, seeing there was hardly a cloud in the sky, I decided to wear my best summer coat, a smart unlined Alpaca which Mr. Motkaievitch had made for me back in April. I made a mental note to send him a cheque at the end of the month because I don't believe in keeping a tailor waiting for more than six months to be paid.
I called out a goodbye to Sally and dashed out into Kendal Street where I hailed a passing taxi to take me to Lord Philip's luxurious apartment in Berkeley Square. Thankfully the traffic was relatively light and the driver was not held up for too long at Marble Arch so it was only ten thirty-five when I knocked on Phil's front door. He opened the door himself and clapped me on the shoulder.
'Morning, Andrew, isn't it a glorious day?' he said cheerfully as I followed him through the hall into his spacious living room. 'Come and have a glass of bubbly. I've just ordered Mutkin to bring a bottle out of the ice-box as the girls arrived only a moment ago and are taking their coats off in one of the bedrooms.'
'How disappointing! I had hoped they would be taking off more than that!' I observed. Phil chortled: 'Have patience, old boy, the day is young. Now take a pew, the girls will be in very shortly. They're both simply terrific fun and I've been wondering which one you will find the most attractive.
'I rather fancy Becky myself but I've no objection to pairing off with Claire instead because I know that you're a real sucker for blondes,' he added generously.
'Aren't we all?' I retorted and rose to my feet as the two girls swept into the room, followed by Mutkin bearing a tray with four glasses of chilled champagne.
Phil swiftly made the introductions and it was clear why he had been bowled over by Becky Fairweather's charms. She was a petite, well-rounded young lady with twinkly blue eyes and a saucy face with a small, slightly retrousse nose and full red lips. Not that Claire Blakemore was any less lovely! She was taller than her friend and her large brown eyes were set in soft, classical features whilst there were deep, natural waves in the long tresses of her shiny hair which reached down to her shoulders.
Mutkin stepped forward. I passed Claire a glass of champagne from his tray and said: 'Phil tells me that you and Becky are in the new revue at the Empire, Leicester Square. You must be jolly good dancers to have been chosen to play at the top music hall theatre in London. I'll wager there were twenty girls battling for every place in the line.'
Claire smiled and exchanged a fleeting smile with Becky as she replied: 'Yes, it's not easy finding work, although Becky and I are both on the books of a leading theatrical agent. As you say, there are lots of girls who can sing and dance well enough and you just have to hope that the director likes the look of your face.'
'And your legs,' chuckled Phil as he clinked glasses with the girls, 'I wouldn't mind being the choreographer at a place like the Empire or the Hippodrome with lots of pretty girls wanting to do their best to attract my attention. Between ourselves, do any of these fellows ask for any special favours, so to speak?'
'Occasionally, but most of them are nancy boys so we don't often get asked for a bit of slap and tickle on the side,' answered Becky with a giggle. 'But there are one or two exceptions like Mike Burge at Drury Lane. He likes girls, all right, doesn't he, Claire?'
'You can say that again!' said Claire with great feeling. 'But he was a real gentleman because he didn't ask me out to dinner until after he chose me as one of the tavern girls in Hallo, Sailor. Mind you, it was a terrible show and closed after only three weeks!'
'I never knew he took you out to dinner, you naughty thing,' said Becky. Phil remarked that the girls could probably write a jolly interesting play about their experiences in the theatre. He winked at me as he continued: 'And it wouldn't be hard to find backers for the production either, though I suppose the best bits couldn't be staged as we would have to tone it down too much because of the Lord Chamberlain's office!'
Becky finished her drink and grinned: 'Not if you could put it on at one of those private theatres a few of those toffs have built in their big country houses. Why, Claire and I could tell you some tales about one or two of the shows the Earl of Hampshire puts on down at his place at Laverstoke Hall near Basingstoke. Why, we had three costumes and if we wore them all at once you could still see our titties!'
'I've never seen anything untoward when I've been in the audience in the theatre at Laverstoke Hall,' I commented ruefully. 'Of course, that may be because I've only been there as a guest of his daughter, Lady Molly Southard. Funnily enough, I received a letter from her only this morning. Did either of you meet Molly, by any chance?'
'No, but I've heard all about her,' laughed Claire, isn't she the lusty tribade the weekly journals call “Madcap Molly”?'
'How did you know she's a tribade? That information was never printed in The Tatler or The Illustrated London News!' I said in some surprise. Claire shrugged her shoulders as she answered: 'Oh, come on, Andrew, don't tell me that you never read any of the “horn” magazines! There was a long article about Molly Southard and her naughty nights at the Arcadian Society for Ladies in The Cremorne!
Phil rubbed his hands together and said: 'I'd love to hear more about these private performances, but let's wait till we get to Putney Heath. Mutkin, will you be good enough to refill the glasses whilst I check with Mrs. Angel that she's packed all the goodies for our picnic'
'M'mm, I adore good bubbly,' said Claire, holding out her goblet which the butler filled to the brim. 'Andrew, have you tried this new drink called Buck's Fizz? It's all the rage in the West End these days. The recipe is simple enough, three-quarters of a glass of champagne to a quarter of fresh orange juice.'
'Yes, and I find it very refreshing although it would be rather wasteful to prepare it with 1902 Moet et Chandon,' I remarked whilst Mutkin emptied the bottle into the remaining three glasses. 'Still, if you're keen on Buck's Fizz, we can stop at a greengrocer on our way to Putney and I'll buy some oranges so you can make up a jar for us.'
'Oh, I don't know whether that would be such a good idea because that particular cocktail makes me feel frisky,' giggled Becky and Phil caught these last words as he came back from the kitchen.
'Whose cock makes you feel frisky, m'dear?' demanded our host with a smile on his face. 'Has the infamous Jerry Fenner been poking you again?'
Phil turned to me and continued: 'I tell you what, old boy, I don't think that there can be any pretty soubrettes left on the London stage who have been able to resist Jerry's charms. My God, don't you wish we had his savoir faire! Why, only a couple of months ago I saw with my own eyes how this years crop of debutantes were actually queuing up to be shagged by Jerry after the Berkeley Square Summer Ball.'
Becky downed her glass and wagged a reproving finger at Phil, 'I said “cocktail” not “cock', your naughty lordship,' she replied lightly. 'Anyhow, I haven't seen Jerry Fenner for ages. The last I heard of him was that he took Lady Daplen's twin eighteen-year-old daughters to Bournemouth at the beginning of the month for a holiday and he won't be returning till next week at the earliest.
'But never mind about Jerry, I'm looking forward to a picnic and a ride in your motor car,' added the perky blonde.
