'Charlie, how lovely to see you,' she cried as she threw her arms around him and gave him a huge welcoming hug before she turned to me and held out her hand. 'And you must be Henry Dashwood, I've heard so much about you from Charlie that I feel like I'm meeting an old acquaintance.' 'You're very kind, Miss Morley,' I replied as I shook her hand but she immediately said: 'Do call me Cassie, Henry, all my friends do and you will be my friend, won't you?' 'Oh yes, I would be honoured to be counted in that company,' I exclaimed and the lovely girl escorted us into the house whilst the footman took down our cases from the dog-cart. 'Polgrave, put Charles's case in the blue guest room and Henry's in the bedroom next to it,' Cassie instructed the footman as we followed her into the drawing room where a maid was standing behind two polished cake-stands, waiting to serve tea. Then she turned to us and added: 'Papa has had to go up to London on business and won't be back until tomorrow afternoon, but Mama will be here shortly. This summer she has been attending an art class in Brixham and hopes to bring back her latest picture with her when she returns in about half an hour.' As it happened, Mrs.
Morley arrived only fifteen minutes later as she had been driven home by another artist manque in his new motor car. When she came into the drawing room, I thought at first that she was Cassie's sister, for this attractive lady was certainly no more than forty, and has retained much of her youthful beauty. Her smouldering dark eyes were doubtless the result of her Italian ancestry and her flashing smile must have captured the hearts of many suitors before she married Cassandra's father. 'Aunt Elena, how nice to see you again,' said Charles, rising from his chair and striding forward to kiss his aunt on both cheeks a la francaise. 'Let me introduce my very good friend, Henry Dashwood. Henry, this is my aunt, Mrs. Elena Morley.' I bowed slightly as Elena Morley smiled at me and said in a pleasing, slightly husky voice: 'How do you do, Mr. Dashwood? Welcome to Morley Hall.' 'Thank you, it's a pleasure to be here, ma'am,' I said, and was it merely a figment of my imagination that a mutual spark was lit when our eyes met, and when we shook hands, Elena Morley caressed my fingers for a few seconds longer than was strictly necessary? Only time will tell… Whilst I pondered on this matter, Cassie insisted that her Mama showed us her painting. It is a panoramic view of Brixham. To my (admittedly inexpert) eye, her canvas shows to perfection the picturesque view of the town, with the rows of houses irregularly terraced on the sides of the steep hills of the valley leading down to the harbour. Cassandra cocked her head to one side and said: 'This is your best picture yet, Mama. Perhaps you should send a selection of your work to your art dealer friend in London to see what they might fetch at auction. If they take the fancy of some passing connoisseur, all our financial problems will be solved!' 'My dear, I doubt if even the most amateur of collectors would be interested in my daubings,' laughed Elena. 'But nevertheless, I'm grateful for the compliment.' I cleared my throat and said: 'You must permit me to disagree, Mrs. Morley. 'I would be proud to have this picture on the walls of my living room. The brushwork is bold and clear and I find the use of bright, unshaded colour most pleasing.' 'So do I, Aunt,' chipped in Charles. 'And in my opinion, Cassie is quite right and you should send some samples of your work to a London dealer. What harm could it do? If he does not believe your pictures have any value, all he has to do is write a brief note and return them to you.' Elena frowned and looked hard at us. 'Do you really think so?' she asked doubtfully. 'Mr. Geogliegan is a very busy man, he's always travelling across Europe in search of good paintings, and I wouldn't want to waste his time.' Then Elena threw out her hands and said: 'Very well, I will go to the study and write to Mr.
Geogliegan this very minute. I will send him this picture and you can all help me select another two or three for Polgrave to pack up into a wooden box which the carrier can pick up early tomorrow morning and put on the London train.' 'That's the way, Aunt Elena,' said Charles, rubbing his hands gleefully. 'Strike whilst the iron's hot!'
As I was standing nearest the door, I moved quickly to open it for Elena as she walked out to write her letter. 'Thank you, Henry,' she murmured as she passed by. 'I will really value your opinion as to which pictures I should send to London.' After I shut the door, Cassie grinned at me and said: 'Charles has just told me your uncle has connections with Robey and Peck. This is the company which published a book Mama left wrapped in brown paper in my bedroom on my thirteenth birthday.' 'Oh, a copy of Alice in Wonderland or perhaps a calf leather bound edition of Tennyson's Idylls of the King!' I enquired, But Cassie shook her head and giggled: 'Not exactly, Henry, this was a plainly bound edition of The Mechanics of Human Sexuality by Dr Paul Evans.' 'I'll wager that Robey and Peck bring out a new edition of that book every year,' added Cassie mischievously. 'Even if the title page has a printed warning of “For Private Reading. Not To Be Left About”.' 'H'mm, have you kept your copy by any chance?' asked Charles carelessly. 'I've brought nothing to read and I wouldn't mind giving it a glance before turning off the bedside lamp tonight.' 'Sorry, Charles, I'm afraid I gave it to Reverend Ainsworth last year for a Church jumble sale in aid of the Deserving Poor,' she answered, but then she clicked her fingers and said: 'But I have another book which only arrived the other day which I know you will want to read very carefully. Wait here for a moment whilst I bring it down from my room.' 'Why don't I ring for a servant to fetch it?' asked Charles. But Cassie gave a little chuckle and said: 'I keep the book so well-hidden that it would take five minutes just to explain where it can be found.' She gaily skipped out into the hall and Charles looked at me with a puzzled expression on his face. 'What can be so special about this tome, Henry? I simply can't believe that Cassie has purchased a 'horn book,' he muttered. I shrugged my shoulders and said nothing for truthfully my mind was still turning over the question of whether it was only coincidental that Elena Morley's hand had brushed against my thigh when she had left the drawing room. However, Charles had only to wait a couple of minutes for his question to be answered, for Cassie now reappeared, carrying a large book bound in olive green Russia leather under her arm. She placed it on a side table and said: 'Here we are, gentlemen, I know that you'll enjoy browsing through these pages.' Cassie and I stood on either side of Charles as he opened the book and my chum let out a shocked gasp when he read out: 'Fucking For Fun by Major William Goodall. D.S.O., late of the Ninth Calcutta Lancers, Published Privately in Manchester. Heavens above, Cassie, where on earth did you buy this book?' 'More's to the point, why should an officer in the Indian Army offer himself as an authority on shagging?' I asked, a question which Cassie answered first, by explaining that Major Goodall was for many years the Chief Medical Officer of his regiment and during his stay in India he learned Hindi and helped Sir Richard Burton translate an ancient text on erotic pleasure into English. She continued: 'I bought this volume for three guineas at a second hand bookshop in Newton Abbot.
Frankly, I don't believe the owner realised its true value because only a limited number of the de luxe editions were ever printed back in 1898 and I know that copies are keenly sought after by bibliophiles and collectors of gallant literature.' Charles flicked open a page and a wide grin spread over his face as we looked at a photograph of a handsome young man fucking a girl from behind, sliding his thick prick between her peachy bum cheeks as she stood upright with her hands spread against a wall, a position which allowed her to thrust out her peachy bottom. 'The models look as though they are having fun,' said Cassie. Charles grunted: 'Nice work if you can get it, I'd much rather take part in a session of fucking than read some of our mind-numbing books on philosophy – even if I were being photographed during the performance!' 'Almost anything is better than that,' I agreed. I then proceeded to read out the text underneath the plate.
'The position of rear entry is frowned upon by some as being animalistic, although anatomically it is the most natural position for sexual contact. If she is on her hands and knees, the woman can support her partner's weight without difficulty since this entails the use of back and thigh muscles, the strongest in the human body. On the man's side, he is free to fondle the woman's breasts and buttocks whilst he can also manually stimulate the clitoris whilst his penis is sheathed inside the vagina.'
Charles turned the page and we now looked at a photograph of the lucky rogue lying on his back whilst the girl sat poised on top of him, his cock in her hands ready to be inserted into her love funnel. Now Cassie read out the caption: 'Another interesting position is for the man to lie prone and the woman to sit on top of him. Despite its comfort, there are some men who dislike this mode of fucking because they feel their masculinity is somehow threatened by a feminine dominance – an attitude which others find strange as they believe the position allows their women to cater to their every demand.'
'The lazy man's fuck,' mused Charles to which I said defensively: 'Maybe so, but I enjoy making love in this fashion, don't you?' He gave a non-committal answer, but Cassie took up the cudgels on my behalf and said: 'Well, it must be nice for you to lie back and let the girl do most of the work. Actually, I rather like the position myself, because it's easy for your partner to rub your titties whilst his cock's in your cunt.' 'Cassie! What would Aunt Elena say if she heard you use such earthy language!' scolded Charles.
She wagged a reproving finger at her cousin and rejoined: 'Oh, don't be such a prude, Charlie! As the great Italian writer Boccaccio told his critics, no corrupt mind ever understands words healthily, and just as such people do not enjoy virtuous words, so the well-disposed cannot be harmed by words somewhat less virtuous.'
She swivelled round to me and there was a lusty glint in her eyes as she said: 'So you admit you enjoy having a pretty girl on top of you, Henry, with your prick deep inside her pussey. Oh yes, I can just imagine the scene, the
