Surely you're not one of those silly boys who measure themselves against what they see in the changing rooms and worry that their own pricks seem smaller than those dangling around them.' I coloured slightly at her well chosen words which you may well recall, dear reader, gave further credence to Chrissie Nayland-Hunt's rebuke to Gillian Headleigh when the latter made an appreciative remark about the size of Salman Marrari's member. Nancy continued:*My last boyfriend, Billy Bucknall, who still works down the road in Blackwell's bookshop, had such a tremendous tadger that at school his form-mates used to whistle and cheer whenever they saw him take a shower. And of course he enjoyed basking in their approval and admiration, but this proud self-confidence soon vanished when he first had the opportunity to spoon seriously with the maid-of-all-work back in his parents' house. 'At first all was well and she allowed him to caress her breasts through her blouse and she rubbed her hand against the huge bulge in his lap-but when she unbuttoned his trousers and took out his prick she was so startled that she began to giggle.
Now you can imagine what effect this had on a shy boy who had never even gone further than a furtive kiss before. His cock shrivelled down in double quick time and he couldn't coax it back up again for love or money. Still, I helped him to forget about his problem by explaining to him that a girl's cunney expands or contracts to take in whatever size cock is being placed inside it.' 'You must have had great fun giving Mr. Bucknall a practical lesson,' I said dryly.
“Yes, I taught Billy all he knows about fucking,' said Nancy with justifiable pride in her voice. 'We went out together for almost a year but neither of us want to settle down yet so we have agreed to go our separate ways for now, although you never know how things might turn out, do you?'
I gave Nancy a kiss as I stripped off and as I marched into the bathroom I called out: 'Nancy, thank you once again for waking me up this morning. Look, there's half a crown on my bedside table.
Please take it and buy yourself and Rosa a nice box of chocolates for the theatre tomorrow night.' That's not necessary, Master Rupert, really it isn't,' she protested as she followed me inside the bathroom and turned on the bath-taps while I rummaged around in the cupboard for my razor and shaving cream. 'I know it's not necessary but I'd like to show my gratitude to you, so please accept my gift as a sincere token of appreciation not as a fee for a service,' I said grandly and this pompous little speech made us both smile. Anyhow, Nancy finally accepted my little present and I just managed to get downstairs before the kitchen closed. After breakfast I left my essay in Professor Cumberland's pigeon-hole and spent the rest of the day hard at work. Nevertheless, I made sure to post two notes, one to the gorgeous Chrissie telling her that I would attend her art class the next night when she could give me further details about when and where we would meet my old pal Salman Marrari, and the other to the equally lovely Beth Randall, apologising for not having contacted her before but that I hoped she would be free to see me one day next week.
My crowded social calendar would certainly keep me busy, I thought, as I changed for dinner and Professor Webb's evening party.
Still, we work to live, not live to work as our wealthy village squire and family friend Mr. Buckingham was fond of saying when he called round in the morning to pick up my father for a day's fishing. Mind, my mother, who holds radical views upon what she calls the shockingly unfair distribution of wealth in our society, once asked the squire with some irritability how he would know this to be true as he had never done a day's work in his life! 'It's becoming quite difficult to fit everything in-as the maidservant said to the chauffeur!' I said to Frank Folkestone as we met as arranged after dinner. 'Don't complain.' advised Frank as we walked briskly out of the college gates. 'Despite the many opportunities to enjoy oneself here, there are very many first year students who are still lonely and homesick.' 'Very true, I have no right at all to grumble,' I sighed. 'And you seem to be getting on nicely, Frank. I can't believe that you really miss our life at St Lionel's.' 'Good God, I should say not, although I must admit that occasionally I do miss the friendship you and I shared with Prince Salman. We had some great times together, didn't we?' This reminded me to tell Frank the good news about Salman coming to Oxford for the weekend. 'I'm sure you could join us for dinner tomorrow night,' I said but Frank shook his head. 'Damn, I've already arranged to dine with the Matthew Arnold Society, but try and bring him over for coffee on Saturday morning,' he said, a sensible suggestion with which I was happy to comply, though I speculated that Salman had planned to spend the morning in bed with the delectable Chrissie! Professor Simon Webb's party turned out to be a fine affair- frankly, I had expected to mix in a small, exclusive gathering but there must have been at least fifty young people present. Frank and I were delighted to see that like Doctor Blayers, the good Professor believed in letting young people of both sexes engage in social intercourse and as I scanned the room looking to see if I knew any of the other guests besides Frank, I wondered whether Gillian Headleigh might be present. 'Are you looking for someone?' said a sweet feminine voice and I turned round and saw a truly ravishing girl standing beside me. She was a most beautiful creature, rather above medium height with shining bright brown hair, a fresh complexion and a pretty face which was set off by a merry smile that played upon her rich, red lips. Furthermore, this exquisite young lady was wearing a low cut crimson dress which revealed a goodly amount of her firmly-rounded breasts. “Yes, I was looking to see whether Gillian Headleigh or her chum Chrissie Nayland-Hunt were here. Would you happen to know these girls by any chance?' She looked at me closely and then with a lilting laugh in her voice she said with a fine theatrical flourish. I am acquainted with both of them and your question leads me to believe that your name la Rupert Mountjoy from Balliol College. Am I right or wrong, my dear sir?' With a chuckle I raised my hands in surrender. 'The prisoner pleads guilty as charged. But we have not been introduced, so I can't imagine how on earth you come to know my name.'
'Elementary, my dear Watson,' she replied, wagging a finger at me. 'Indeed so elementary that we hardly need employ the services of Sherlock Holmes or Sexton Blake. I am sharing lodgings with Gillian in Pusey Street whilst we are in Oxford and she has told me all about you, you naughty fellow.' 'Goodness me, I hope you don't believe everything that you are told.' 'It depends upon who is doing the telling and as you would-be lawyers might say, cui bono? As far as Gillian is concerned, I am sure that I can believe every word she has said about you, especially about your abilities to please members of the female sex.' I blushed at the thought of what Gillian had told this gorgeous girl about our escapades. 'Of course you can, I didn't mean to even hint that Gillian would ever deliberately utter an untruth.' 'Of course you didn't,' she agreed.*But alas, neither she nor Chrissie are here to defend themselves even if you did.
They've gone to see the Dramatic Society's production of The Taming Of The Shrew at the New Theatre this evening.' Well, dear reader, this led me on to mention my friend Michael Beanie's involvement in the play, though naturally I did not breathe a word about the truth of just how he came to take over the part except to say that Arthur Cuthbertson had suddenly taken ill during a performance and that at very short notice, Michael had bravely stepped into the breach.