What a fantastic fuck this was-and it was the first time I had been fucked “doggie style” (if you will pardon the popular description of the act). But as Arthur explained to me later, despite the mendacious warnings from the pulpits and elsewhere, a fuck from behind is often extremely pleasing for the woman as it enables her clitty to be more stimulated than when a shaft enters the cunt from the front.
Enough now, for all these lewd memories are making me eager for immediate relief and I must wait until eleven o'clock when I hope that both of you will be able to satisfy my voracious sensual desires. If either of you can perform even half as well as your Uncle, I shall not have waited in vain! Kitty Easthouse Cecil breathed heavily as I passed the letter back to him. 'Well, young Teddy, no tossing off for you tonight!' he exclaimed. 'You will enjoy a grand fuck with Kitty and I. Let's first have a bite of supper and then on to the theatre. 'But do not drink too much for you remember what the Porter in Macbeth says of the effects of drink to Macduff: “Lechery, sir, it provokes and unprovokes; it provokes the desire, but it takes away the performance: therefore much drink may be said to be an equivocator with lechery: it makes him and it mars him; it sets him on and it takes him off; it persuades him and disheartens him; makes him stand to, and not stand to; in conclusion, equivocates him in a sleep, and giving him the life, leaves him.”' Although I well realise that those reading my memoirs in The Oyster (long may it flourish!) are perhaps more interested in my exploits in flagrante delicto, I am sure there are many in a minority, perhaps, who will readily forgive my noting down in some detail now my remembrances of that magnificent production of the Scottish play staged at the Lyceum by the company lead by Mr. Irving. Cecil and I sat transfixed by the power of his performance and the quality of the entertainment. In the foyer beforehand we listened to the rumours on the cost of the production-on the costumes and on the scenery. Sir Arthur Sullivan's music was known only to a select few; people whispered of a golden dinner service for the banqueting scene; the three witches were to be such as never been before beheld. We were not to be disappointed;
Mr. Irving is a tragedian of the finest rank. In the latter part of the play especially, he rose in awesome power as the toils gather round Macbeth. All through the scenes up to the final struggle nothing could well be better than Mr. Irving's picture of the man. His courage is undaunted and he will fight against any odds until he finds on Macduff's avowal that he was from his mother's womb 'untimely torn' that the weird sisters have paltered him in a double sense. Then his arm falls powerless, he reels like one smitten with disease, he seeks to avoid the encounter until, stung by Macduff's taunts, the old courage flashes up-'before my body I throw my warlike shield'-and the noblest part of him is his death. Miss Ellen Terry's presence as Lady Macbeth added an extra lustre to this admirable coup de theatre.
Our senses were spellbound as that enchanting being in gorgeous robes reads her husband's letter and determines that nothing can come between the new Thane of Cawdor and the throne of Scotland. Yet soon afterwards we suspend our disbelief that this glorious looking woman is capable of calling upon the spirits to unsex her and fill her with the direst cruelties, a woman capable of urging her consort onwards to deeds of unspeakable horror. One last word on this magnificent spectacle. The scene in which the weird sisters appear for the final time is admirably managed. The, cauldron-work and the procession of grisly kings, even the witches disappear; and Sir Arthur Sullivan's lovely music breaks upon the audience as the gloom and darkness of witchcraft melt into space whilst a glorious dawn is greeted by white-robed spirits who sing 'Come away, come away.'-a surpassingly beautiful scene as gradually the sky changes from rosy dawn to noontide light, the curtain falls on a picture which precipitates Mr.
Irving's appearance. And as Cecil and I heard Sir Richard Segal say afterwards, this Lyceum Macbeth was about the grandest revival that, in this age of theatrical art, the present generation has seen. Mr. Irving, Miss Terry and the entire company well deserved all the praise and honours lavished upon them by the critics. Now I return to my narrative proper and again crave the indulgence of those readers uninterested in the theatre (of which I myself have always been extremely fond) but they have naught to fear for there are many further stories, all true, of my own and several other people's intimate affairs. And so, as Pepys nightly commented, to bed. But what a bedroom frolic my brother Cecil and I enjoyed with Kitty Easthouse, one of the most enthusiastic girls with whom I have ever cavorted. Beforehand, Cecil and I had little knowledge of her expertise in l'arte de fair l'amour although her spectacularly rude letter to us boded well for the hours ahead. We were shown into Kitty's opulently furnished drawing room by a silver haired old butler and after just a few moments, an enchanting creature entered the room-no wonder my Uncle Arthur had offered to shield her from the rain regardless as to whether his own clothes would be left without protection from however hard a downpour! Kitty could not have been more than twenty-eight years of age (I found out later that in fact she was only twenty-five) and she looked ravishing in an emerald green dress cut low in the front which accentuated her exquisitely large, well-proportioned breasts. Kitty was head-turningly pretty, being of dark complexion with large, languid hazel eyes. Her full lips were a succulent shade of red, earlier moistened by a sip or two of claret and when she smiled a welcome to us she showed pearl white teeth which sparkled through even the muted electric light of her tastefully fashioned home. 'Hello boys,' she said in a soft sensual voice, 'you must be Cecil being the taller and this is obviously young Teddy of whom I have heard so much from your Uncle Arthur.' For some moments Cecil and I stood transfixed by the beauty of this delicious girl. Kitty smiled at our shyness and said; 'Come now, you two, there is no need to be bashful. Sit down on this couch and let us see if you two are really chips off the old block as Uncle Arthur has intimated to me.' We did as we were bid and she sat between us, her hands touching each of our thighs in turn. 'You know,' she murmured, 'my breasts are so sensitive. Why, I can spend just by having my titties played with. Would you two nice boys like to see that?' We nodded our assent and Kitty unbuttoned the French silk blouse that Uncle Arthur had purchased for her at Madame Adrienne's famous Mayfair establishment. She shrugged the garment from her shoulders and (for as we were to discover very soon she was wearing no underclothes that evening) her splendidly round succulent breasts were naked to our delighted view. Kitty's fingers deftly unbuttoned our trousers and our two naked stiff cocks were soon in her sweet grasp. I thought that I would spunk just by drinking in the beauty of Kitty's beautiful breasts which were as big as those I had seen in the picture book of poses plastiques one of the boys in school had smuggled in from Paris last term. Her brown nipples were as hard as little rocks, sticking out at least a whole inch in length.