Oh when I shall behold, my love, Your merry eyes, your fair-skinned face I cannot wait until my arms Enclose you in my tight embrace Yet though I've sworn so many times The world no sight can show, To match your locks, your lips divine, Your bosoms' hills of snow. For sweeter now is what I have seen, Two lips have I beheld And lovelier on a happy day, A mound which does excel. Your breasts can boast no swell as fair, No teats that these eclipse; Your lovely face can scarce compete With such enchanting lips. For now I've seen your hairy mount Where all your favours centre, Yes! I have fucked your juicy cunt And wish again to enter! 'Well, it might not stand up to a Shakespearean sonnet, but then neither should it be thrown back in my face,' I muttered to myself as I then jotted down the draft of a covering letter: Dearest Diana, I dedicate these verses to you – I can think of no better way to express my heartfelt love and gratitude for the way you initiated me into the joys of coition. I will never forget our glorious love-making as long as I live.
Your ever affectionate friend, Rupert I put the exercise book safely away (or so I thought at the time!) in my bedside drawer, resolving to copy out the poem carefully in my best writing and give it to Diana with a bunch of flowers which I could obtain from Stamford, our ancient head gardener, who had been employed at Albion Hall for the last thirty-five years. I then ran a refreshing cool bath. Doubtless because I could not clear my mind of the promised joys to come, my prick refused to lie down until my soapy face flannel had travelled up and down the shaft to provide the necessary manual relief. My father had already taken an early breakfast and left the house when I arrived downstairs, for the local petty sessions began today and he had sat on the bench as a senior magistrate since the family had returned home from India. My mother was also preparing to leave as she had a committee meeting of the Liberal Association to attend that morning. (Much to my father's chagrin, I should add, for he was a crusty old Tory. To his credit, though, it must be added that he simply accepted the fact that Mama and later myself were both wedded to a progressive political philosophy, even when we both staunchly supported the Suffragette Movement which demanded the right of women to vote.) 'Would you please pass my apologies to Frank, dear, as I doubt if I shall be here to greet him when he arrives,' said my Mama as she passed me the morning newspaper. This meeting will probably drag on until mid-afternoon as we have to choose our candidates for the forthcoming county council elections and for some reason there are more budding politicians than ever. Now your Papa has commandeered the motor car to drive to court and I shall need the Brougham so I suggest you go with Wallace in the landaulet to the station and meet your friend there. His train arrives at Ripley Valley station just before a quarter past eleven. Remember to leave in good time as it's market day and the roads are likely to be congested.'
If anything, it was even warmer than the previous day and I closed the folding hood over the passenger compartment as Wallace, our second coachman, drove at a steady pace through Ripley, a pretty village whose main street is prettily shaded with trees. Its fifteenth century church has marks on the outside of the east wall that are attributed to bullets fired by Cromwell's soldiers-some say, when shooting prisoners taken at Marston Moor during the English Civil War.
I made a mental note to take Frank on a walking trip round these parts as history is his favourite subject and he would be fascinated to see the house in the village of Scotton where Guy Fawkes lived as a young man. We arrived ten minutes before Frank's train was due so Wallace and I sat sunning ourselves on the platform whilst we waited for the train. It arrived punctually and Frank jumped out eagerly to greet me. 'Hullo, Rupert, how smashing to see you,' he said, heartily shaking my hand. 'My mother gated me until I was over this poxy chill but I'm fighting fit now and ready for anything. I know that you're not that keen on cricket but tennis is all the rage in town these days. I've brought up a couple of rackets and some balls so we could have a game-it'll be great fun especially in this weather. Your neighbour, Doctor Wigmore, laid out a court if I remember rightly-if you haven't fallen out with him perhaps he would let us play on it.'
I grinned as Wallace collected Frank's cases and we walked over to the exit. 'I haven't seen Doctor Wigmore since the Easter vacation but I met his daughter Diana yesterday,' I said with a grin.
'Fine, perhaps she would also be keen to play? How about this afternoon if the weather stays fine?' I was sorely tempted to reply: 'I'll say, but at a much better game than tennis!' But I held my tongue until we were seated in the coach and Wallace had driven us out of the station yard. Once we were on our way I turned to him and said: 'Frank, I like playing tennis and though you'll probably beat me hollow I'll do my best to give you some sort of a game. But I've already made other plans for us this afternoon which, as it happens, involve Diana and one of her girl friends.' 'Well, that's all right, we could play doubles.' I gestured impatiently.
'Listen, old boy, forget tennis for a moment. How would you like to play a game you've dreamed about since you've had hair growing round your cock?' As I expected, this startled him into an astonished silence! 'You heard,' I repeated. 'I'm not joking, no really I wouldn't jape about something so important. Just play your cards right, young Folkestone, and you'll be fucking a pretty girl this afternoon just like I did yesterday! It beats tossing off any day of the week, I can tell you!' 'I don't believe it, Rupert, you're having me on, aren't you?' he said, half-afraid perhaps to accept such wonderful news and then be brought down to earth with a hefty bump when he learned that I was only teasing him. 'Honestly, I'm not joshing, Frank, I swear I'm not,' I earnestly assured my pal. I went on to tell him of my great adventure into manhood and how Diana and her friend Cecily would meet us at the old barn that very afternoon for some further frolics. “This sounds too good to be true,' he breathed. 'Why, the very thought is already making me feel terribly randy!' He wriggled uncomfortably in his seat and I could clearly see the bulge in his lap. 'Ha! Ha! Ha! That's made you forget all about tennis, hasn't it?' I laughed. 'Well, Diana wanted to know if you were ready for your first fuck and, from the size of your stiffstander, I don't think she and Cecily will be too disappointed!'
They won't be disappointed at all,' he said with mock indignation. 'Haven't I got the thickest prick in our dormitory? Look, I'll show you, I bet you can't match this for size!' He ripped open his fly buttons, releasing his big red-headed cock, which stood up stiffly as he frigged it up to its fullest measure. He then helped me pull out my own stiff truncheon which, though not so massive an instrument, was still substantial enough to have satisfied Diana Windsor-as I hastened to remind him. We were now so fired up that we handled each other's tools in an ecstasy of anticipatory delight, and the proceeding ended by a mutual tossing off, aiming each other's emissions of gluey white jism onto the newspaper which luckily I had brought with me to read on the way to the station. 'Well, I hope no-one wants to read The Times any more today,' I quipped as we entered our carriage drive. 'I'll hide it in my jacket and chuck it in a bin when we get indoors and if anybody asks for the paper, I'll say I left it on the platform by mistake whilst helping you down with your luggage.' Goldhill, the new butler Mama had persuaded to our household from Lord Mozer's establishment, was ready to greet us at the front door. As instructed I dutifully passed on Mama's message to Frank and Goldhill asked me at what time Mrs. Randall should serve luncheon. 'Oh, one o'clock will suit well enough, only do tell her that we will require only a very light meal-I would suggest perhaps one of her famous cheese omelettes with fried potatoes and a green salad with a fruit compote to follow. 'Would that suit you?' I asked, turning to Frank. 'Absolutely spot-on,' he replied with a grin.