threes we strolled along the tree-lined path leading to the Great Hall, exchanging greetings and comparing holiday notes with classmates we had not seen for several weeks. 'Should we tell them what we did on our holidays?' said Frank with a cheery grin as we entered Hall. 'They will all be so envious that I bet no-one will believe we now know the joys of fucking!' I was about to reply when the deep, commanding voice of our headmaster Dr Keeleigh boomed out: 'Folkestone! Mountjoy! I would like to see you in my study at once.' Frank paled and muttered: 'Hells bells! How could the old bugger have heard me?' 'He couldn't have done, don't worry,' I reassured him but nevertheless I was still more than a mite worried as we followed the headmaster through to his large oak-panelled study. As the Bard of Avon has it, conscience makes cowards of us all! In fact, of course, Dr Keeleigh had not heard a single word of Frank's lewd remark. We entered his study and the headmaster must have been reading my mind for he put an avuncular hand on my arm and said: 'Sit down, boys, sit down. Now I don't want to burden either of you this term as it is important that you work and play as hard as you can. The Fifth Form this year is of an exceptionally high calibre and knowing your fathers as I do, if either of you don't finish well up the examination lists at the end of each term, I know you'll be for the high jump.' We smiled weakly as the headmaster added: 'But I've every confidence in you chaps and feel that your shoulders are strong enough to carry a further burden. I want your help in a matter not only important for the school but also for our country.' These dramatic words had us bolt upright in our chairs. What could Dr Keeleigh mean? He saw he had captured our rapt attention and continued: 'Tomorrow, gentlemen, a very special new pupil starts at St Lionel's. Now we are not talking about the usual case of an eleven-year-old boy who would begin his life here in the First Form.
Firstly, this new chap is sixteen years old and will start his schooling in your year. Secondly, this new chap is an Indian. His name is Prince Salman and he is the eldest son of the Rajah of Lockshenstan, a land of vital strategic importance on the North West Frontier. The Prince's father is an important ally in our fight against the Afghan irregulars and those agents of other European powers who would like nothing better than to see our position on the Indian sub-continent destablished. 'I will let you boys into a confidence. Our government has persuaded the Rajah to let Salman be educated in the Mother Country. Previously he was educated privated by British tutors in the Rajah's palace so he speaks English perfectly.
We have been honoured that on the advice of the Viceroy of India himself, the Rajah has chosen to send his son to St Lionel's. I would not be surprised if the Rajah knows of your father, Mountjoy. You lived in Delhi for some years as a young boy, if I remember rightly.
'What I want you boys to do for me is to take Prince Salman under your wing. He has been to England several times and so he will not find life here totally strange. Show him the ropes and keep him out of trouble. This should not pose too many problems because he is a studious boy and I am sure he will fit in well.' 'We'll be happy to help out, sir,' I said. 'May I ask a question though? What do we call him: Your Highness, Prince Salman or what?' The headmaster beamed and said: 'An excellent question, Mountjoy. I think the best solution is that he should be known as “Prince” to staff and boys alike. He will be at the school just before luncheon tomorrow and I will call you up here as soon as he arrives. Any further questions?'
'No, sir!' we chorused and Dr Keeleigh waved us away. 'Good lads, I will rely on you. I've already informed the teaching staff about all this but you must feel free to speak to me in confidence about any problem that might arise.' After tea, our form was ordered into a classroom to hear 'an important address' by the school chaplain, the Reverend Percy Clarke, the contents of which was known to us even before he marched into the room. Looking back, I think it probable that the Reverend Percy was himself a closet arse-bandit for he liked nothing better than to question boys about whether they ever had wet dreams, whether they ever fantasised about naked women, whether they had ever experienced erections and whether they ever played with themselves. Of course, everyone denied everything (though in practice the true answer to any of his queries would have been in the affirmative for almost every boy!). But after a dare, one fifth former confessed to all of these 'sins' and was promptly ordered to dip his cock into cold water first thing in the morning and last thing at night! So we knew what to expect when he cleared his throat and began droning on about the evils of 'the solitary vice'. 'Beware of this insidious disease which is the work of the devil,' he trumpeted.
'It cheats semen getting its full chance of making up the strong, manly chap you would otherwise be. Do not be tempted to throw away the seed that has been handed down to you as a sacred trust instead of keeping it and ripening it for bringing a son to you when you are fully matured. 'My advice to you all is this. Whenever you feel the impure urge coming on, say a prayer such as “Oh God, give me strength to resist the evil afflicting my body.” I also recommend cold baths and long walks to help save yourself from this terrible scourge.' 'A final warning to you all- many of our finest doctors have written that, as surely as night follows day, self-abuse will lead to weak eye-sight, poor hearing and even insanity in later life.
So take heed and make a promise to yourselves that you will resist the forces of darkness.' He burbled on for a few more minutes and Harry Price-Bailey, an athletic fellow and a good friend of both Frank and myself, grunted: 'I suppose that will keep us from pulling our puds for at least five minutes!' For several years after I left St Lionel's I was especially cross with Dr Keeleigh for letting this clerical lunatic fill the minds of ignorant boys with such nonsense-and I don't care who says anything to the contrary, I'm damned sure that a five-knuckle shuffle never harmed anyone. I rest my case on no other grounds that if Reverend Clarke's view was correct, there'd be a bloody big demand for glasses and hearing-trumpets, that's for sure! Any notice that might have been taken of the chaplain's words had gone by the evening, for that night, after lights out in the dormitory, Frank and I told our form-mates all about the excitements of our holiday. As we expounded in graphic detail about the several ways we had fucked Diana, Cecily, Sally and Polly, the lot of us soon sported gigantic hard-ons including Frank and myself!
Within a minute, all the boys brought out their pricks and tossed themselves off, Frank and myself included. The experience was hardly unpleasant but since I had tasted the joys of a genuine fuck, I found that taking oneself in hand is fine as far as it goes but is only the first step on the road to sexual fulfillment. I woke with the dawn the next morning and decided to go for an early morning run round Blodgett's Field, where football and cricket fixtures were played against other schools. Running before breakfast was a practice encouraged by Dr Keeleigh but not to excess for it was banned during the winter months. I rummaged through my locker and put on my athletic vest and shorts and went down the stairs as quietly as possible as I did not wish to wake up others who were still asleep. As I made my way out towards the front door I heard two of the servant girls who came in daily from the nearby village talking. I recognised the dulcet tones of Melanie, perhaps the prettiest and certainly the girl who was most often drooled over by the older boys. It was rumoured that she had gone for a walk with Claridge of the Modern Sixth Senior who had boasted that she had let him slide his hand inside her blouse. But most of us, perhaps from envy, did not believe him! I strained my ears and heard Melanie say: 'Yes, Dolly, so there we were, just the two of us in the changing room. Well, I didn't know at first that Geoffrey had gone in to take a shower, I thought the place was empty.'
'My, my, so it's Geoffrey now, is it,' said Dolly, her companion, with a laugh. 'It's plain Mister Ormondroyd to the likes of me and the rest of the girls!' My heart missed a beat-they were talking about my history master, a young man who had recently joined the school after leaving University. He had obtained his post at St Lionel's because Dr Keeleigh was always keen to keep a balance in the staff between youth and experience. 'Oh, go on with you,' said Melanie. 'Do you want to hear what happened or not? Yes? Well, I went in and heard Geoffrey singing in the shower I decided to stay around, especially when I saw his clothes lying in a heap on the floor. I peeped into the shower room and I saw him standing with his back to me under the shower, turning himself slowly round under the water jets, massaging the soap into his muscular body. What a fine figure of a man he is, Dolly, such a broad chest and such pinchable firm bum cheeks! When he turned round to the front I could take a long hard look at his big cock and it was so exciting when he soaped his shaft and it bounced up in his hand into the stiffest white truncheon you could ever wish to see! I don't mind telling you that my pussey started to dampen and I put down my mop and slipped my hand inside my blouse to rub my titties, which were already tingling unbearably as Geoffrey played with his prick, not knowing that an eager pair of eyes was watching his every move! 'So what did you do about it?' prompted Dolly, laughing lewdly as she sat down on the stairs to hear the end of the anecdote. 'What do you think!' retorted Melanie, sitting down beside her. 'I went back to the changing room and bolted the door. Then I took off my blouse and skirt and stood there with just my knickers on waiting for Geoffrey to come out. I didn't have to wait long and he was even more ready for action than I was, being stark naked except for a towel with which he was wiping his face. His cock looked heavy and juicy, swinging between his thighs so he couldn't have brought himself off in the shower, I thought to myself, which would help things along.
'“My God, Melanie, how did you get in here?” he gasped, hastily draping the towel round his waist. '“I
