Between you and me, the thought of lots of young fellows wanking over my pictures makes me really excited.'” Before he could continue, I burst out laughing for by this time, I had guessed what was going through Joshua's mind and I chuckled: 'Carry on. I'll volunteer to develop the prints. “Thanks, Henry,' he replied gratefully. 'I'll take up your kind offer if we can persuade Rosamund to co-operate and get the scheme off the ground.' Charlie scratched his head and said: 'Joshua, I'm sorry if I appear dense, but I'm still not clear exactly what you have in mind.' 'Well, very simply we're going to inveigle Mr. FitzAllen into having his photograph taken without his knowledge,' explained Paul. 'And the snapshots won't be of the kind he would want to send home to his parents for they will show him in flagrante delicto with the lovely Rosamund – and the kind of photograph I have in mind won't show him as a rampaging stud. One doesn't always look one's best during rumpy-pumpy. As the old song goes:
Fucking is a silly thing, It makes a man a fool, It takes away his appetite And wears away his tool!'
'We had better not go too far, as if by chance they fall into the wrong hands, we don't want to get the poor fellow rusticated,'
Charles commented. Of course Joshua and I both agreed that we would only circulate pictures which made Maurice look ridiculous as opposed to any which could get him into trouble with the University authorities. 'Heaven help him if his bum's as spotty as his face,' said Joshua thoughtfully. 'I almost feel sorry for the poor bugger. On the other hand, he'll be getting laid for his pains and he does deserve to have the bumptiousness extracted from him.'
Brasenose College, Oxford, October 10th, 1901
As Joshua forecast, it was not difficult to persuade Rosamund to fall in with his scheme to bring about the downfall of Maurice FitzAllen, especially when he promised her that should he not be able to sell the photographs to The Cremorne or The Oyster, he would himself give her the five pounds which these spicy magazines paid for photographs published in them. Nevertheless, it took the best part of a week before we were ready to set the trap. The setting was to be Maurice FitzAllen's room which luckily happened to be south facing and was thus flooded by natural light on a bright day. To ensure success, we waited until the weather was right and then on the Tuesday the sun came out and both Joshua and I were deputed to hide in Charles's room, myself on top of his wardrobe armed with a Kodak box camera and Joshua wedged behind the curtains with a Gewirtz Waistcoat camera on a chain round his neck. Charles was somewhat sceptical about our ability to pull it off, but I had little doubt that the plan would succeed. The mechanics were simple enough – Rosamund would collar Maurice when he returned to his room after breakfast (Joshua and I would rise early and leave the dining-hall soon after Maurice appeared there) and proceed to seduce him whilst Joshua and I snapped away. So this is how I came to find myself perched precariously on top of a wardrobe waiting for the arrival of the unsuspecting Maurice and the saucy chambermaid. At least I did not have too long to think about any injuries I might sustain if I fell to the floor. For within five minutes of my clambering up to my eyrie, I heard voices in the corridor outside and Joshua whispered: 'Here we go, Henry, action stations!' Seconds later the door was flung open and Rosamund came in with Maurice in tow. They both appeared to he agitated and I noticed she was holding a magazine in her hand whilst I listened to her complain: 'I'm not fibbing, Mr. FitzAllen, I found this rude magazine under your bed!' She unrolled it and I craned forward to see the title page of The Chameleon before she opened it out and said disparagingly: 'I wouldn't mind, but this is a paper for nancy boys.
What's the matter with you, sir, isn't a cunt good enough for you?'
At first I had thought that Rosamund was making up a story but Maurice FitzAllen's face had now coloured up a bright red and there was not a trace of the usual aggressive bluster in his voice when he answered humbly: 'I don't really know, Rosamund, I've never actually done anything more than spoon with a girl at a party.' The chambermaid rolled her eyes and groaned: 'Oh Gawd, not another poor refugee from one of those awful schools where the masters will flog you for looking at a photo of a ballet girl but look the other way at what goes on in the dormitory after lights out.' 'I'm not a woofter,' protested Maurice heatedly. 'Although what you say was definitely true of St Cuthbert's College. In fact, that magazine was sent to me by the school chaplain Reverend Herbert Fotheringay who used to come into the dormitory every night and inspect our pricks to make sure we weren't playing with ourselves off under the bedclothes.
Anyone who he caught tossing off he marched off to the chapel where the fellow had to dip his cock into a bowl of holy water and occasionally the chaplain would-' 'There's no need for you to go on,' Rosamund interrupted with a shudder of disgust and she went on: 'Obviously it's high time that you were given the opportunity to appreciate the delights of the female form.' She tore up the copy of The Chameleon and began to undo the buttons at the front of her dress. 'Now let's see which way the wind is blowing,' she said throatily as she pulled off her blouse. Seconds later Rosamund's skirt and knickers were on the floor, and after she had pulled her chemise over her head, she stood before Maurice in all her naked glory. I had felt some pity for Maurice when he had confessed his inexperience in l'arte de faire l'amour, but now these feelings were rapidly supplanted by those of envy as I peered at Rosamund's delicious nude body through the viewfinder of my camera. She stood before me like a statue crafted by a master sculptor that had come magically to life. Below her mop of tousled brown hair and pretty face, her creamy white skin looked to be of an incredible smoothness and her beautiful breasts stood out proudly. As Paul had said when he described his telling, the furry mass of curls between Rosamund's thighs contrasted perfectly with the snowy whiteness of her belly and formed a perfect veil over her long, pouting slit. Maurice gaped at the nubile, naked girl, standing stock still as if bound in a hypnotic trance. A lascivious smile formed upon Rosamund's lips and then she said softly: 'Well, as the poker player said to his opponent: “I've shown you mine, so you show me yours.'” But Maurice remained rooted to the spot, to she moved towards him and, slipping his jacket off his shoulders, kissed him on his lips. This broke the spell. Realising that he was being given a golden opportunity to lose his virginity, Maurice began to undress himself at record speed. I was so intrigued by what was happening that I had quite forgotten to take any photographs until I heard a faint-dick of a shutter from Paul Adler's direction. I adjusted the focus and when Maurice tugged down his drawers I took Kodak's advice: 'You press the button, we do the rest.' My first shot was of Maurice standing bollock naked with his cock standing stiffly upwards pointing to the ceiling. I had thought this first click would be enough for him to cotton on to the trick but he was obviously too preoccupied to notice. Frankly, his member was thick enough but was definitely on the shortish size and at best could not have measured more than five inches in length. His shaft appeared to be in fine working order but his lack of inches was clearly on his mind for he said to Rosamund in a self-pitying whine: 'This is all I have to offer, I'm afraid, go on, you can laugh at my little prick, I don't care.' She frowned as she slid her fingers round his tool and carefully inspected his stiffie. 'What's so funny about your tadger? There's nothing unusual about it as far as I can make out.'