something to look forward to.' 'There's a thin bit in the hedge here,' said Jack. 'I think I can see something pale moving about just behind it.' We all joined him. If indeed the activities of the three of them were visible from the verge of the road, then it would be only prudent if we stood protectively in front of the thin patch to avoid upsetting any more passers-by. 'It would be wrong to watch uninvited,' I said. 'Judging by the sounds, I doubt if they will notice,' said Catherine. 'Anyway, you can't see properly. One of them seems to have taken all her clothes off.' 'That will be Perdita,'
I said. 'She makes a habit of losing everything she has on. Gwendolen is more used to being fucked and remaining apparently more or less fully clothed. She knows how to behave in Society. Perdita I suspect moves in more artistic and abandoned circles.' As I spoke there came the unmistakable sounds of a woman coming. The cries rose to a crescendo followed by a long-drawn-out moan of ecstasy. From Ian, though, nothing was heard. We all realised that he had to keep himself in check in order to satisfy his second Sociable cunney.
'Gwendolen can be relied on to help Perdita afterwards, if she has indeed mislaid anything,' said George. 'I have noticed that she has a practical streak. I have escorted her to several formal balls and she has always managed to remain a model of seeming modesty and decorum even when, if I may speak bluntly, we have only moments before fucked ourselves silly.' 'Such social graces,' I said. 'To think that she attended the same school as Rosie.' 'She was taken in hand by her aunt, the Dowager Duchess when she came to London for the Season,' said George. 'The Duchess is famous for her exploits among the hunting set in Gloucestershire yet always insists on the strictest attention to propriety when in Town. Although in the Country she is known as the Dowager Quim of Quorn.' 'I thought the Quorn is hunted in Leicestershire?' I said. 'Her Grace spreads her presence widely,' said George. 'She has ridden with most of the more prestigious hunts in England. She has even engaged in following the beagles on foot. She is a formidable woman, especially when laying about her with her crop.' 'I wonder if she has ever been introduced to the chaplain at her niece's school?' I said. 'Rosie tells me that he was known as “Spanker” Paddlebottom. A Cambridge man.' 'I suspect that Her Grace's vigour in these matters would prove altogether too overwhelming for the average school chaplain,' said George. 'His experience must of necessity be restricted to the tender bottoms of his young charges. Her Grace is a dominating figure, well hardened in the saddle and accustomed to command.' Suddenly, up the road, there came a faint cry of 'Halfooo!' In the distance we could see a bicycling Monty, swerving slightly while gravely doffing his panama hat as though in greeting to an imaginary audience. Behind him, Donald was briskly pedalling away on the Sociable with an empty seat beside him. 'We have been making our peace with the local inhabitants,' said Monty when he reached us. 'I actually think they are completely bemused,' said Donald as he joined him. 'First they will have been presented with the sight of a young woman, stark naked, flashing past them on a man's bicycle, perched above the huge wheel like a demented wood sprite. Shortly afterwards they will have seen a runaway gig with no driver but an upturned woman struggling in the back. This will have been followed by a Sociable tricycle with a clergyman pedalling for all he was worth, while his fellow traveller waved his arms in the air and cried out “Filth and Depravity!” No wonder that our return, though puzzling, was quite unremarkable after all they had witnessed earlier.' 'We must gather up our party and set off as soon as the group behind the hedge have finished,' I said.
'I wonder how things are going?' We listened. All we could hear were the sounds of a warm summer's afternoon. Bees buzzed. There was a general hum of insect life. Birds were twittering. 'A sky lark,' said George. 'Bastard toadflax!' said Hannah. 'What?' I said, startled. 'It's a flower,' said Hannah. 'Look, it's growing along the verge.' Suddenly there was a yelp followed by something crashing against the hedge and a bellow. 'Ian and Gwendolen?' said Becky. 'I think not,' said Ian. 'At least I have never heard my brother make such an extraordinary noise.' 'Look!' said Monty.
Something was on the point of bursting through the thin patch. A large face was looming through the sparse twigs. 'A bull!' shrieked Becky. 'It must have trampled them to death.' 'A cow,'
George corrected her. 'But we'd better see what has happened.' We rushed over to the gate and spilled out on to the meadow beyond. We looked around. 'There's Cecily,' said Becky. 'She is all doubled up. Something dreadful must have happened.' Cecily, her bodice still undone, was indeed crouched in the grass. Her shoulders were heaving but the cries she was making were not of distress but of helpless laughter. 'What's happened? Where are the others?' we asked. Unable to speak, she extended a shaking arm and pointed. A few yards away Gwendolen and Ian were frantically adjusting their dress while Perdita was gathering up scattered articles of clothing.
'Ian had his bum licked,' said Cecily, still choking with laughter. 'He was having his wicked way with Gwendolen with his kilt flipped up so that his bottom was exposed and raised up. This cow which had been watching with interest, came ambling over and stood over them. Ian of course never noticed it until too late. It bent its head down and gave him a great slapping lick. He just carried on but when it did it again, he said, “Cecily or Perdita stop it!” He reached an arm round behind him to push away the interruption and inadvertently stuck a finger up the cow's nostril. The cow bellowed and ran into the hedge. Gwendolen yelped. Perdita dropped some Of her clothing in surprise and I fell about laughing. If you could have seen the look on his face!' 'It's the salt,' said Donald. 'Cows always lick anything that is salty. A perspiring bum in a field is something that no cow could resist.' 'They hadn't actually quite come,'
Cecily went on, 'Although they were very close. However I doubt if they would want to carry on for the moment, particularly as the cow is still close at hand.' Together we picked everything up. Gwendolen and Ian picked the grass off themselves. Perdita, assisted by Cecily was made to look presentable if still somewhat dishevelled. I buttoned Cecily up remembering with lively anticipation on the part of Mr. Pego the promise of strawberries and cream. Gwendolen and Cecily decided to take one Sociable together while Monty joined me. Perdita stayed with Ian. Everyone else remounted and we pedalled off in a stately convoy up the road. Most of the reported excitement that had been lining the road had disappeared. We had one or two questioning looks but we rode decorously on. After not much more than a mile, Donald, who knew where we were going, turned right up a rough track into a wood. This in turn soon opened out into a large glade, well grassed and sun-dappled. There, spread out before us, was a truly splendid picnic.
Cook and the housekeeper had done us proud. Game pie, a large ham, cold cutlets, tomatoes from the greenhouse and an array of salads, cheese, fresh fruit and bread. Several bottles of a white wine had been wrapped in damp cloths and set down in the shade to keep them cool. A hamper contained the plates and silver. Finally, propped up against a tree, was a gentleman's bicycle. 'Wonderful,' came a chorus of voices as we looked at our feast. 'But where's Rosie?' said Cecily. 'There's her bicycle but I can't see her.' 'She can't be far,' said Donald. 'She's probably in the woods.'
'Keeping out of the way,' I suggested. 'And rightly so. She will have to be severely spoken to. She nearly caused a bad accident with her waywardness. I suppose we'd better go and find her.' 'Let's eat first,' said Gwendolen. 'I'm starving after all my exercise, even if I didn't quite finish it.' Everyone agreed that this was the correct order of priorities and we fell upon the food.
'I'm ready for my next course,' said Cecily some while later. We were surrounded by the remains of our meal. Obviously the country air had had a great effect on our appetites. Almost everything had been finished. Cecily and Gwendolen had been engaged in a low conversation for the last few minutes. 'I want all the men to go for a short walk in the woods. We will get everything properly laid out and we'll call you back when we're ready.' We did as we were told, taking the opportunity to answer the calls of nature. All at once I heard a very odd call of nature. There came a high-pitched squeal, a rustling* a crash of branches and a thump. Rosie had fallen out of a tree.
George and Monty were closest. Indeed Monty only just avoided being dropped on by her naked falling form. They hurried to pick her up. She was covered with twigs and leaves but did not seem to have come to any great harm. As they brushed the foliage off her, she gave a little cry of distress. 'My bum is all scratched! Horrid Nature!' She turned her neat little bottom towards us. Sure enough, there were a couple of scratch marks as well as an angry red patch where she must have made contact with the ground. We crowded round in interest. 'Soothe it someone, please,' said Rosie. 'It stings.' 'You've got the most experience in handling Rosie,' said Donald to me. As so often with Rosie, I was torn between being very annoyed with her and with the enticing sight of her unclothed body. However I decided that I really must reprimand her first for all the trouble she had caused. 'Rosalind,' I began sternly, 'You have behaved very badly indeed -' She burst into tears.
'Don't be unkind to me, Andrew. I have a hurt bum. Make it better.' She snuggled up against me. I struggled to continue my reproving speech on the nature of responsibility and the need for order in society but to no avail. 'Of course,' said George later, 'we all realised that you would not be able to hold out long against her wiles. She was the picture of contrition and her poor little bum was staring you in the face. You kissed her most solicitously and lingeringly. You also licked her most soothingly. I must admit though that I had not noticed she had sustained that
