by our English master Mr.
Bresslaw, the task being to write a poem of not less than twelve lines, a task which I had not yet completed. 'I wonder whether Frank has remembered either,' I muttered to myself as I took out the exercise book from my bedside drawer in which I had scribbled the verse to Diana which I have reproduced earlier in this narrative.
Perhaps it was because we had been studying Romeo and Juliet and I had been much moved by the plight of the star-crossed lovers that I decided to try and pen some lines on the joyousness of love-making. I took off my jacket and sat down on my bed, willing the muse to assist me. The first few lines came quickly:
Tell me where are there such blisses When lips are joined in heavenly kisses When lovers both convulsive start The passion only love imparts Then, just as I was racking my brains thinking of how to continue, there was a demure knock on my door. 'Come in,' I called and Sally, our sensual servant, came in. 'What do you want, Sally, my room seems to have already been cleaned?' I said. 'I know, Master Rupert, it's been ready for you since noon,' said the blonde temptress. 'But Mr. Goldhill told me to refill all the water jugs in the bedrooms-I'm sorry if I interrupted anything important.'
She set down the tray she was carrying with the jug on it and said: 'Are you writing another poem?' I was shocked-how the devil did she know? As if reading my mind, she said: 'I read the verses you wrote to Miss Diana in that notebook. Well, don't be cross. You shouldn't have left it around if you didn't want anyone to see it. I'm good at rhyming, perhaps I can help you with your poem.' Before I could reply, she was sitting besides me. To be honest, I did not believe for a moment that Sally would be able to complete my work. But I was wrong, dear reader, for Sally was blessed with an aptitude for versifying that put me to shame. It would bring a blush to all those of a reactionary disposition who insist that the labouring classes are incapable of anything but the most basic speech, thoughts and deeds.
For Sally helped me greatly as I put together the following ode:
Mutual keeping to one tether, Sweet it is to join together Throbbing, heaving, Never grieving; Thrusting, bursting, Sighing, dying! Decrepit age may beckon, teasing, Shrivelled up bodies well not abide, Vigorous youth, oh, that is pleasing, It is worth the world beside. Craving, wanting, Sobbing, panting, Throbbing, heaving, Never grieving, Thrusting, bursting, Sighing, dying! 'Sally, you have hidden talents.' I laughed but she shrugged off what I now realise was an unintentionally patronising comment. 'Oh, we are quite capable downstairs of other things besides cleaning and cooking, you know. Mr. Goldhill, for example, is a serious student of the art of ancient Greece and on his summer vacation last year went down to London to see the Elgin Marbles.'
'You surprise me, Sally, I suppose you'll tell me next that Wallace the coachman is a learned authority on the art of the Dutch masters.' 'No, Master Rupert,' she grinned. 'He doesn't even know much about Dutch caps. All that interests him is cricket, football, ale and fucking-which reminds me, as I've helped you with your homework, how about a farewell fuck before you go back to school?'
My eyes lit up. 'Now you're talking, Sally. Blow poetry and the Elgin Marbles.' 'Let me blow you instead!' she cried as she knelt before me and unbuttoned my trousers and peeled down my pants to allow my thickening bare cockshaft to emerge. My tool sprang out eagerly from its squashed state, stiffening up quickly as she cupped my balls in one hand. Coyly playing with my truncheon with the other, sliding her fingers up and down the hot, sturdy shaft, first played with my prick, then gobbled almost the whole length of my shaft inside her mouth. Her tongue played lightly at the swollen uncapped helmet of my prick as she gently but insistently squeezed my throbbing balls. Her mouth sucked hungrily up and down my rigid rod, sliding her lips up and down my rock-hard shaft, gulping noisily as my knob smoothed its way across the roof of her mouth and down towards the back of her throat. I managed to unbutton her blouse and took her proud young breasts in my hands, flicking her titties between my fingers as I thrust my cock in and out of her mouth until very soon I pumped a stream of creamy spunk between her lips which she swallowed with the same sweet urgency with which we began this encounter. Gad, is there anything more thrilling than having a pretty girl suck your cock? It adds that indefinable extra dimension to a good fuck best expressed perhaps by my old friend, Sir Loring Sayers, who commented in The Cremorne recently: 'Sucking a man's cock is the deepest, most sensitive way in which a woman can acknowledge her lover's masculinity.' I am sure this was so with Sally, who now had me in thrall. 'Now it's your turn to taste me,' she said, quickly stripping off the rest of her clothes. She lay back on my bed and the sight of her exquisitely fashioned quim with the two pink cunney lips peeping delicately through the mass of blonde hair of her pussey simply carried me away. With a hoarse cry I leaped up to join her and parted her thighs even wider. In an instant I was licking and lapping her around her dripping treasure-trove. My tongue slipped deep inside her and I could feel her clitty swell as I probed even further. There was a refreshing tang of our mixed love juices as with a soft moan of pleasure she wrapped her thighs around my neck, forcing her splendid silky bush into my face. I nipped at her clitty with the top of my tongue until she reached a delighted peak. 'I want you inside me,' she moaned, releasing my head from between her legs. I let her flop back on the bed, threshing and writhing in her own secret world of pleasure. When she had regained her composure she told me to lie on my back and she knelt over my prick which was still semi-erect. She brushed her perky titties over my knob, and this had the desired effect of making my shaft stand up to attention straightaway. She grasped my slippery shaft and rubbed it up and down until it was more than ready. Then she squatted over my twitching knob and guided it between her squishy cunney lips. My cock slid all the way up her sopping slit as I reached up to squeeze her creamy breasts. Sally began to ride me with long steady movements of her supple thighs. I began to move with her and played with her luscious red-stalked titties whilst she rode me faster and faster. This was no slow, lingering fuck. We were both so urgent in our needs that with every thrust downwards upon my prick, I rose upwards to meet her with equal vigour. Great gasps shuddered through our bodies and the tingling in my cock became stronger and stronger and I felt that first gush of spunk forcing its way up from my bollocks. My prick twitched and I jetted my first wedges of cream as her cunney quivered all round my shaft and she began to spend with me. The muscular contractions of her cunt increased my pleasure even more and I shot a tremendous flow of sperm into her gorgeous love box as she fell forwards into my arms, shaking and yelping in delight as her pussey milked my pulsing prick of every drop of spunk. We lay entwined, exhausted, sucking in great gulps of air. Neither of us could speak but she smiled up at me and puckered up her lips in a little kiss. Still inside her, I felt her cunney relax and I took out my now deflated cock. I looked sadly down at it but Sally said: 'Your tadger has worked very hard. I give him nine and a half marks out of ten which is half a mark more than I have ever awarded.' 'How about Mr. Goldhill?' I asked. 'Oh, Stanley usually scores seven or eight but I've yet to give out a ten.
Perhaps we'll see if you can hit the jackpot during the Christmas vacation,' she teased. Now the flush that had suffused our bodies began to subside and we pulled on our clothes. I took my bath and changed and knocked on Frank's door. 'Frank, are you ready for dinner?' I called out. He came to the door, looking very spruce. That was well-timed,' he said. 'I've just said goodbye to Polly who came up to my room for a last fuck before I go home. I say, Rupert, this has been the jolliest vacation we've ever spent together, hasn't it?'
'We've certainly spent a lot, old chap.' I commented and we burst out laughing as we made our way downstairs to the dining room.
CHAPTER FIVE. Back To School
I have always looked with pity on the man who says that 'his schooldays were the happiest days of his life'. It is an undeniable fact that, when older men meet, they tend to hanker for the joys of youth, remembering the roistering of their salad days when they would besport themselves with wine, women and song. Yet whilst I enjoy ruminating over the fun of times gone by, it is not in my nature to sigh wistfully over past pleasures. I far prefer to look forward to the opportunities afforded by the future. However, let me stress that I count myself extremely fortunate that my formative years were spent at St Lionel's Academy for the Sons of Gentlefolk, an educational establishment run on more liberal principles than the usual public school of its class. Great men have been scholars there and many sportsmen of renown have graced its playing fields. The majesty of the ancient grey buildings, set just south of the Ashdown Forest near the village of Maresfield, makes its pupils appear in their imagination to see themselves as heirs to a great tradition.
Many, I regret to admit, were tempted to hold an unwarranted aloof sense of social superiority but Frank Folkestone and myself were amongst those who simply had a genuine love and pride for our old school. In twos and
