That's how Professor Cohen delivered his verdict on my work and I wasn't too disappointed because the truth is that it wasn't very different to my tutor's back here in Britain.' The head waiter came up to us and after we ordered our meal Henry continued, 'His verdict doesn't mean that I can't be involved in the world of art.
I've written some critiques for the New York papers and I'd like to do the same in London. I feel I have something to say after spending a year away. God, it was refreshing to leave that dreadful insular resistance to modern painting which one finds here in England. People have told me that third-rate British pictures are still preferred to the new, exciting paintings shown in Paris, Rome and Madrid. I want to help change this head-in-the-sand attitude. 'What's really exciting though, Rupert, is that Professor Cohen, whose influence is very substantial in the New York art world, generously gave my name to Clive Labovitch, the wealthy owner of a leading gallery on Fifth Avenue who wants to set up an exhibition of the most promising, exciting young artists from all over the world. The Professor suggested that I act as his agent in England when I return to London.
After discussing the project with me, Mr. Labovitch agreed to the proposal, and has transferred five thousand dollars to a bank account over here to be spent on buying for this event which will be staged in New York next Spring.' Well, naturally, even before Henry had finished speaking I was wondering whether this information would be of use to the lovely Diana Wigmore. I explained to Henry how my closest girl friend was a talented artist who was living in Paris but who would be coming to Britain shortly. An idea struck me-if I could only persuade Henry to come up to York for the grand Royal reception, he would be able to meet Diana and see some of her pictures there, as she was bringing a selection over from France so that Nancy Carrington could have the opportunity to purchase a painting or two for her father's collection. The only problem was how to interest Henry enough in Diana's work to travel up North so soon after returning to London. Surprisingly, for he showed little interest in politics except to support the radical Liberals, Henry was a staunch Republican and unlike Nancy Carrington, for instance, had no desire whatsoever to hob-nob with the King, so partying with all the swells would have no appeal for him. But the promise of a good fuck-now that was another matter! I leaned across the table and told him all about Diana, Nancy and the whole business of my going up to see my folks and attending the reception for the King. I invited him to join Nancy and myself and stay a few days with my family at Albion Towers. 'You really must come up with us,' I urged him. 'My parents would be delighted to see you again and you know how interested my mother is in art. She would so enjoy hearing all your news about any up and coming American artists. And talking of up and corning, old boy, Nancy Carrington is a very attractive young lady who simply adores fucking, as does Diana, who particularly liked taking part in a whoresome foursome. I guarantee that you'd be dipping your brush into a fresh pot of paint every night if you take up my invitation.' Henry's eyes lit up and he said, 'Gosh, you certainly make them sound extremely tempting. But I really have a tremendous amount of work to do in London and I hadn't planned on spending any time out of town. On the other hand, all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy, eh? When do you plan to go?' 'In just over a couple of weeks time,' I replied promptly. “The big party is on November 15 so Nancy and I thought we'd go up on the previous day. We hadn't decided exactly when we'd-go back, but I might stay a few days and visit my Uncle Humphrey and look up some old friends.' 'And you say that I might get the chance to look up some new ones?' Henry quipped wittily. 'I don't think I can pass up such an opportunity, Rupert, so I'll take up your invitation with grateful thanks. I don't mind telling you that I'm in desperate need of a good fuck. Whilst I can't grumble too much about the availability of willing girls in New York, though they are probably a little more inhibited than in London, I've been forced to live like a monk for the month or so. Both the girls I was fucking in Manhattan were unavailable during the last three weeks of my stay and to make matters worse there were no available women on board ship on my journey home.' 'Poor you,' I sympathised, as I refilled his glass with the excellent Club claret. 'Yet I was given to understand that on Atlantic crossings, except during the winter months, there are always a number of unattached females on board eager for masculine company.' 'Maybe, but I was unlucky enough to be a passenger on a ship which was an exception to the rule. The only consolation was that I struck up a friendship with a girl named Jenny Cameron, the Scottish governess of an American family coming to live in London for six months whilst the pater familias travelled around Europe on business.
'Jenny was very happy to be coming home to her native Scotland after working for a year in Washington. She was a bonny Scottish lass of twenty-two whose light freckled skin and long reddish hair set off her well-made young body. Perhaps her best attributes were her large breasts which jutted out proudly like two firm spheres. 'Well, on the fourth evening, I engaged her in conversation after dinner and we talked over a lemon squash in one of the lounges (for she was tee-total and I had already put away a bottle of wine during the evening meal). I gazed longingly at these two beauties as we walked back along the deck to our cabins which happened to be very close to each other. Naturally, she slept in the same first class suite as the two children in her charge. After formally shaking hands and parting company at her cabin door, I wished Jenny good-night and I walked back alone very disconsolately to my own quarters. 'I undressed quickly and as it was rather warm in the cabin I lay on the bed naked as I reached over to thumb my way through a copy of The Oyster, a “horn” magazine which Frank Folkestone had posted to me every so often. As I thumbed my way through the magazine, the randy stories soon made my shaft stiffen up and demand to be exercised. I took my rock-hard cock in my hand and slowly rubbed it up and down as I closed my eyes and fantasised about running my hands across Jenny's magnificent breasts, of handling her delicious, ripe titties and then placing my hot, throbbing prick in her cunt… 'I was on the very verge of spunking when my reverie was disturbed by a gentle knock on my door. I jumped up and called out, “Who's that?” and my heart began to pound when I heard the soft reply, “It's me, Jenny Cameron. Henry, can I come in for a moment?” 'I slipped on a dressing gown and rushed across to open the door where Jenny stood clad in a blue silk night-robe. “Hello, Henry, I hope I haven't disturbed you,” she said with a slightly worried look. '“Not in the slightest, it's lovely to see you again so soon. Is all well though? Are the children all right?” '“Oh yes, they're sound asleep and won't wake up till morning, so I thought I might join you in a wee night-cap,” she said, and then impishly added as she looked slightly downwards, “but I think you had something else on your mind when I knocked on the door.” 'I followed her amused gaze downwards and with horror saw that my still erect truncheon was poking out between the folds of my dressing gown. I was so flustered that I sat down heavily on the side of the bed, my face burning and my rock quickly shrank back into its normal flaccid state. But to my overwhelming relief, Jenny had not been offended at all by the unintentional exposure of my stiff cock. Far from it, for the sweet girl giggled, sat down next to me and said in her pleasing Midlothian burr, “Dear oh dear, I didn't mean to upset your poor little cockie. Let's bring the shy fellow out again and have a proper look at him.” '“By all means,” I said, opening my robe and she reached out and clasped my shrunken shaft in her fingers. As if by magic, it began to swell up again, rapidly returning to its former length and strength as the lovely lass slowly tossed me off, squeezing and rubbing my prick so deliriously that I was almost ready to spend within seconds. 'Then she let her fist stay still as she murmured, “If I let you fuck me, will you promise not to tell anyone?