'Anyhow, whilst I am sorry that Gillian and Chrissie aren't here, I'm delighted that their absence has brought us together. Miss, ah, now you have the advantage of me as you know my name but I don't know yours!' 'I'm Marianne Dawson and I'm pleased to meet you, Rupert, and please don't worry, Gillian said only the nicest things about you!' This chance meeting was indeed fortuitous for me. Marianne and I chatted animatedly especially when I discovered that we shared an interest in photography. I told her of how Frederick Nolan, the American cinematographer, had come to my family's home and I was saying how popular moving pictures had become with the general public, when Professor Webb himself joined in the conversation. 'Moving pictures, young Mountjoy?' he snorted. 'Can't abide them, to be frank with you-all that jerky flickering gives me a headache after a time but I suppose they'll form an interesting library of material for future historians to complement the newspapers and official records. I grant you that now people are flocking to see cinematograph shows but these only have novelty value and won't pose any threat against the music halls and the theatre.' Marianne took issue immediately with this view. 'I can't agree with you, sir. The film offers a new entertainment to an international audience. A film-maker such as Frederick Nolan makes his film and can have copies shown all over the world. All Frenchmen, Spaniards, Italians or what have you need do is to insert title slides in their own language where needed. I grant you that the actors cannot be heard but against this, the action is more realistic, being able to switch at will from inside to outdoors and from the past to the present and if necessary even to the future. Of course, whilst the film remains without the power of speech, the theatre remains unchallenged but I would wager that sooner rather than later, some clever inventor will marry sound and colour to film and there will be machines available that we can buy so that we can view these films in the comfort of our own homes.' 'Oh, I think you are now entering the realms of fantasy, my dear,' said the Professor doubtfully although I strongly backed up Marianne's prophecy.
'Well, one matter upon which we can surely all agree is that the moving picture will never replace the art of painting, although like the majority of my friends, I was most disappointed at this summer's Royal Academy Exhibition,' I declared roundly. Professor Webb beamed and said: I am pleased to hear you say so, young Mountjoy. I looked in vain for evidence of new genius coming to the fore but was castigated for my criticism by my young brother who sits on the Hanging Committee. He had the cheek to call me an old fogey! Well, he could hardly level the same charge at you and your chums!' 'I was not able to see this year's Exhibition as I spent the summer with my family in America,' confessed Marianne, 'but I don't think we should judge the newer artists too hastily. The language of art varies -what may have been expressive yesterday may be regarded as merely commonplace today. But from what I've seen at previous exhibitions, I would say that the danger comes in that once an artist is admitted into the Academy, he often becomes too contented with himself to care to do anything that he had not done before.' There we are most certainly in agreement,' said the Professor, running a hand through his bushy red beard. 'I've been collecting landscapes by Stanley Brendah for the last ten years and I would have to agree with you that since he was given the imprimateur of an Academician, his work has suffered. The bold, dashing style seems to have become muted, as if he were afraid of experimentation in case his admirers might turn away, just as I must turn away from this interesting debate, dear Miss Marianne, for I must circulate amongst my guests and make some introductions where necessary. Many young people are terribly shy and stand around all by themselves, lonely in the thronging crowd, and I consider it my bounden duty as host to help them break into a friendly circle.' As Professor Webb plunged through the crowd, I said to Marianne: 'What a decent old stick! It's very thoughtful of him to make sure that his more reticent guests enjoy themselves. Mind, I never knew he was a connoisseur of landscape pictures.' 'Ah, there's probably quite a lot you don't know about our host,' said Marianne brightly. Tie specialises in other artistic fields too.'
'Really? In poetry perhaps, or in sculpture?' 'Neither, Rupert, and I doubt if you would ever guess the answer. You see, the Professor's chosen speciality is in sucking pussey.' I looked at her blankly for I could hardly believe my ears. 'Yes, it's true, I do assure you,' she said, trying hard to suppress a giggle. 'How do you think he came to have a nickname such as “Beaver”?' 'Well, blow me down, I would never have suspected it,' I said, taking a large gulp from my glass of the excellent fruit punch. 'My, this also has quite a bite to it.' We looked at each other and spontaneously collapsed into roars of laughter at this unintentional witticism. Frank strolled over to see what all the fun was about but we could hardly repeat the story and he retired muttering that we must have been pouring the punch down our throats too quickly for our own good. 'I say, Marianne, you're not having me on about “Beaver” Webb, are you?' I asked when we finally recovered our composure. 'No, of course not, Rupert,' she replied indignantly. 'Why, I myself had the pleasure of being brought off by his brilliant oral skills earlier this evening. I came here an hour before the party was due to begin because I had heard of his reputation as a cunnilinguist from my cousin Lucinda, who studied under Simon Webb last year. I was attracted to the idea of having my pussey pleasured in this fashion by an expert for the art is alas not practised as widely in this country as it is on the Continent and in America. 'As I had arrived so early, I was shown into a small sitting-room to wait until the Professor had finished dressing though it was not long before he came bursting in, saying that he was sorry not to have received me before but he had not expected such an early arrival. He opened a bottle of fizz whilst I told him that I knew I was early but that I shared his interest in art and wondered if he would be interested in an early Stanley Brendan picture I had uncovered, as my cousin Lucinda had told me of his interest in this artist. It was an unusual painting for it was a nude study and I had always thought of Brendah as a landscape specialist. Simon's face lit up and he explained: “Ah, well you see, Stanley was quite a ladies' man in his early days and every time, how shall I say, he sowed some wild oats, he made figure studies of the girls concerned.” '“How fascinating! So his lovers have been immortalised on canvas! I would have loved to have been one of his models but I don't think I have quite the figure for it.” '“Stuff and nonsense, my dear Miss Dawson, I am sure that any artist worth his salt would be honoured to have you pose for him,” he replied. I looked at him with a wide-eyed innocence and said: “Do you really think so, Professor?” '“Oh come now, let's not be so formal, we're not in the lecture hall now.
My name is Simon,” he said. “Very well, Simon, thank you, but then you must call me Marianne,” I replied as I hitched my skirts up to my knees. I stretched out my legs and enquired: “Tell me truthfully, Simon, don't you think my calves are a little too plump for someone like Stanley Brendah to paint me?” '“No, no, not at all, they are quite beautiful in my judgement,” he said, swallowing hard as I crossed and uncrossed my legs. Then I stood up and moved forwards towards him. When I reached his chair I deliberately leaned forward so that my bosom almost spilled out of this low-cut dress. Now false modesty is as foolish and vulgar as overweaning pride, so I have no hesitation in telling you that like all men, Simon Webb was overwhelmed by the nearness of my soft, rounded breasts. He gulped again as I said seductively: “What I would really appreciate is for you to give me your opinion on perhaps my best attributes.” He gaped in silence, his mouth hanging open in amazement as I fiddled with the hook behind my back to loosen the top of my gown and he stood up and helped me unbutton my dress so I was able to step out of it without creasing the material too badly. With a graceful movement I pulled off my chemise so that my bare breasts were exposed to his excited gaze and then I took his trembling hands and pressed them to my titties which made the nipples pop up like two little bullets. 'It was time for me to display the piece de resistance so with a deliberately accentuated wriggle I pulled down my frilly lace knickers. As I stepped out of them I bent down and picked them up from the floor. I held my knickers in my hand as I stroked my sides sensuously before placing my knickers on the silky mound of hair between my legs and rubbing them against it. Now the merest touch of my fingers against my pussey is always enough to get me going, so throwing all modesty aside I tossed them to Simon as I teasingly purred: “Sniff them and tell me if you like the aroma of my pussey. Then if you wish to sample what you see on display, I would very much like you to suck my pussey.