her shoulders as her head bobbed to and fro as she gobbled with unashamed gusto on my throbbing tool. As my climax approached I leaned forward to flick her titties between my fingers while she continued her lusty sucking.
Very soon I pumped a stream of creamy spunk down her throat which she swallowed with the same lip- smacking urgency with which she began this lascivious encounter. Gad, what thrilling waves of ecstasy crashed through my body as Maggie milked my cock! As Lizzie Dickerson, the Matron at Albion Academy and my first teacher in l'arte de faire l'amour used to say to me: 'Most females soon discover that sucking a boy's cock is the deepest, most sensitive way in which a girl can acknowledge her lover's masculinity.' Maggie asked me to stay the evening as her guest but I had to decline this kind invitation for I recalled that Julian had promised the nubile chambermaid who was fucked last night by Fletcher the butler, that he and I would both shag her this evening. Nevertheless, I copied Maggie's details into my address book and faithfully promised that I would keep in contact with her as soon as I had settled down in my 'digs' in Oxford. As fate would have it, when I returned to Clayton Towers this evening, I was mortified to learn that it would not be possible to fuck the girl.
Rightly, Julian had given her compassionate leave to travel to the nearby town of Winchcomb after she had received a letter from home saying that her grandfather was very poorly and not expected to last out the week. 'She was most upset that the old boy was about to croak,' explained Julian gloomily. I clicked my teeth and said: 'What a deuced shame! I was looking forward to tonight and comparing this girl's pussey with Harriets. Oh well, what did Robbie Burns say – “the best laid schemes of mice and men gang aft a-gley”. Still, one shouldn't be selfish and, we still have one of Mrs. Sawyer's delicious dinners to look forward to and then we can concentrate on a real game of snooker,' I said as we settled down in our chairs for a snooze for which I was more than ready after my afternoon's exertions with Maggie Crompton!
PART II. Amorous Appetites
Brasenose College, Oxford, October 3rd, 1901 (Before breakfast) Julian and I arrived here yesterday for the start of the new University year. I shall not see him for at least another fortnight because his course in natural history began this afternoon with a two-week field trip to the Northumbrian coast. I am starting Varsity life in earnest tomorrow, albeit with some trepidation as the first seminar of my course is to be led by none other than the infamous Dr Keith Barnes, the controversial lecturer in political philosophy whose radical ideas as expressed in his book The Progress Of Democracy In England have unleashed storms of protest and calls for his dismissal in the Morning Post. As to more mundane matters, this morning a local carrier brought round from the railway station the trunks containing my clothes and books. Now that I have unpacked the box and put out some of personal possessions, my room feels more homely. Even better, I have already made the acquaintance of a nice chap named Charles Farleigh-Windsor who was educated at Bedinghurst, Albion Academy's fiercest rivals on the sports fields.
At the freshers' reception last night Charles recognised me as the centre half of the Academy football team who had vanquished the Bedinghurst first eleven the previous year and we soon found that we were both, studying classics with an extra course in philosophy and political history. 'Isn't there a great deal of reading to plough through this year?' I said to Charles. He shrugged his shoulders and replied: 'Oh, I wouldn't worry too much about work, old boy, our tutors won't expect too much of us. Honestly, Henry, coming up to Oxford is like being let out of jail. I understand that the regime at your school was relatively liberal, but I can tell you that if Albion Academy followed the ancient Athenian ideals, life at Bedinghurst was positively Spartan. Cold showers every morning, rotten food, and an atmosphere in which anything remotely aesthetic was looked on with horror. For instance, we would have to cram in hours of Latin but reading poetry for fun was only for wimps. The only other thing the school really cared about was how many laps you had run round the quadrangle, how many wickets you had taken, or how many goals you had scored.' Then he lowered his voice and added: 'Mind you, although I enjoy a game of footer, I would far rather score with that gorgeous creature with the long reddish hair over by the window talking to that Greek chap, Professor Pachnos. Gosh, she really is a corker. Now the question is to how I can best effect an introduction.' 'Well, this is a getting-to-know-you affair, is it not, so why not simply join them,' I observed as I turned my head to gain sight of the girl whose appearance had attracted Charles' attention. 'Come to think of it, how is it that there are females here this evening?' 'A good point, Henry. Who the heck can she be?' Charles replied. I was now also highly interested in this mysterious pretty girl and murmured to Charles: 'I've no idea, but could she be one of these new bluestocking types who are getting places at Somerville college? We don't know anyone to introduce us to her, so frankly the only way to find out her identity is to ask her ourselves.' 'Let's hope that she doesn't take offence,' said Charles doubtfully. 'No matter, though it would be a pity if she did so,' I said, straightening my neck tie. 'Let's face it, if this girl is foolish enough to cut two decent looking chaps simply because they haven't been formally introduced to her, as pretty as she is, I for one would forget all about her.' 'H'm, I take your point, and I would probably feel the same way,' concurred Charles. 'So let's cross our fingers and hope that she isn't such a silly snob and doesn't give us the cold shoulder. Anyhow, faint heart never won fair lady so let's give it a go.' 'Hold on, Charles, you saw her first,' I protested with a grin. 'You hardly need me to accompany you, I'll feel like a spare prick on a wedding night.' He shook his head and said: 'Don't be daft, we're not going to fight over her. If she prefers the cut of someone else's jib, it might as well be yours. Anyhow, there's always a chance that she has a friend for whichever one of us draws the short straw.' 'Yes, that's true,' I agreed as we made our way across the crowded room. 'Girls often prefer going out in foursomes. I daresay they believe there is safety in numbers.' 'Well, I hope that I will always behave like a gentleman,' sighed Charles. 'Although I'll confess to you that I'm dying for the chance to get my leg over some luscious lady. There was no chance of any nookie at Bedinghurst, that's for sure.' As we approached Professor Pachnos and the unknown beauty, it crossed my mind that poor Charles might be in a state of virgo intacto. However, more important was the task in hand and so when we reached our quarry, I screwed up my courage to the sticking point and said boldly to the Greek gentleman: 'Professor Pachnos, I'm Henry Dashwood. Pleased to meet you. You must find this damp weather rather discomforting after the sunshine of a Greek summer.' Naturally, not knowing me from Adam, the professor was somewhat startled by my interruption, but no doubt thinking that I must be one of the many students to whom he had been introduced that evening and that he was guilty of forgetting my name, he replied politely:' 'Kalishera, Mr. Dashwood. How do you do?' And to our great joy turned to his charming companion and said: 'I don't suppose either of you gentlemen have had the opportunity of meeting Miss Miranda Franklin. Miss Franklin is Dr Barnes's stepsister.' I smiled at the lovely girl and said lightly: 'A pleasure to meet you, Miss Franklin. I must admit that Charles and I were curious as to how you managed to breach the gates of this male bastion of learning.'
She brushed a lock of chestnut hair away off her forehead and I marvelled at the beauty of this girl who could be no more than twenty.
Her countenance displayed a clear skin, exquisite cornflower-blue eyes, a tiny nose and shapely red lips which parted in a wide smile showing rows of pearly white teeth. She replied: 'It wasn't difficult as I am here as a guest of my stepbrother, but so many people have been staring at me that it's as well that I'm used to being looked at.' A pink blush suffused Charles's cheeks as he cleared his throat and said in a husky voice: 'Are you, Miss Franklin? May I ask the reason why?' 'I have been sitting for Elisha Withington, the famous, or should I say infamous artist who has been painting my portrait for his exhibition at the Gewirtz Galleries in New York next month,' she said sweetly. At this answer my eyes widened for the popular newspapers have hinted that this talented young gentleman leads an extremely Bohemian lifestyle. The 'horn books' have been less reticent and a writer in Cremorne Scandals has gleefully recounted how Withington makes it a practice to make love to all his models before he makes even the first preliminary sketches. Furthermore, the artist is known to be a member of the ultra-fast South Hampstead set led by the erotic bibliographer Sir Lionel Trapes whose parties in St John's Wood have also been commented on with undisguised relish in the pages of The Oyster. However, at this stage of our acquaintance I could hardly question Miss Franklin about her activities with Elisha Withington, so I changed the conversation and asked her if she was interested in Greek antiquities. She said: 'Oh yes, very much so.
Indeed, Professor Pachnos and I were just discussing the vexed question as to whether the British Museum should return the Elgin Marbles to Athens. Are you familiar with the sculptures, Mr.
Dashwood?' 'Of course, and I remember what an impression they made on me when I first saw them,' I said, though this was being somewhat economical with the truth for I was only twelve years old at the time and was
