CHAPTER TWO. On The Town
Mary and I arrived in good time for the first house at the Alhambra. Truthfully, I always preferred the second house which was usually noisier and jollier, but this evening, even the first house was crowded, though I did manage to buy two good seats in the fourth row of the fauteuils as the front stalls were grandly known.
'I've never sat in the posh half a crown seats before,' said Mary, as she looked up admiringly at the plush velvet curtains which would soon be raised for the first of the evening performances.
We both enjoyed the deft juggling of the talented David Kent (though I inadvertently made Mary choke with giggling when I whispered, 'How on earth does he keep his balls in the air like that?') and we 'oohed' and 'aahed' in amazement at the clever conjuring of the Continental illusionist Simon Barber who produced rabbits out of a hat and white doves out of his inside jacket pockets.
Yet whilst I appreciated the surprisingly clear voice of Seamus O'Toole, a bibulous Irish tenor whose staggering gait convinced me of my initial impression that he was definitely performing in a semi-drunken state, the cloying sentimentality of his songs about lost sweethearts and poor old mothers way back home bored me. But I did perk up after the interval when a twinkling little 'naughty but nice' soubrette named Suzanne Moserre came on and sang Roly Poly For Mr.
Moley and You Can't Give Mother Any Cockles and I joined in the choruses with gusto. Fred Karno's troupe acted out a hilariously funny series of sketches and Mary and I laughed till the tears ran down our faces. After we applauded the company off the stage, I suggested to Mary that we skip the Bioscope and leave before the crush. She agreed and we walked the short distance up through Piccadilly Circus to the Jim Jam Club in Great Windmill Street. I signed Mary in as my guest at the Jim Jam, though I could not help thinking to myself that bringing a girl to the Jim Jam was like bringing coals to Newcastle, for a chap who could not find a female companion at the Club had to be soft in the head-and for good measure, soft in the cock as well! But the reason why I wanted to take Mary to the Jim Jam-though I still feel slightly ashamed about it- was that despite its louche reputation, the Club had a strict code of conduct by which its patrons had to abide. For example, all male members who wore a red pocket handkerchief in the top pocket of their jackets or female members who wore a red rose on their dress or in their hair, signified their wish to remain totally incognito and would thus not be acknowledged or approached even by their best friends. Needless to say, I was sporting a handkerchief of the brightest red! 'Shall we dine in the restaurant or shall we have supper in one of the private dining-rooms?' I asked Mary, and she immediately plumped for taking our meal in one of the salles arrivee. I ordered whitebait, mulligatawny soup, roast chicken and the chef's fruit compote and whilst we waited for our room to be prepared, we drank glasses of ice-cold white wine. Mary revelled in seeing in person such 'toffs' as Sir Roger Tagholm, Bernard Osborne-Stott, Louis Highgate and all the other men-about-town about whom she had read in the weekly illustrated magazines. Do the men only come here to play cards or billiards? They are all walking about unaccompanied,' she remarked, but even before I could answer, her face broke into a sweet, dimpled grin and she said, 'I suppose this is a place where they can meet their sweethearts and make mad passionate love in the upstairs bedrooms.' I returned her laugh and said, 'You may not be far from the truth, Mary but how did you know there are bedrooms at the Jim Jam?' 'I just guessed as much,' she retorted gaily, 'and Sir Roger Tagholm looks as if he will need one unless the lady he is talking to so intently is a known cock-teaser.' Looking across the hall I saw Sir Roger engaged in deep conversation with Lady Elizabeth Stompson who was wearing a blue dress with one of the most daring decolletage I have ever seen. Sir Roger, who was a foot taller than Lady Elizabeth, was peering down at the ripe swell of her breasts with undisguised lust as he whispered something in her ear which made her shriek with laughter. 'This is a really ritzy place, Rupert,' said Mary (I had earlier asked her only to address me as 'sir' in the house). 'But what goes on at the Victor Pudendum contest I see advertised on the noticeboard?'
After she had promised not to reveal what I was about to tell her, I explained to Mary that the Victor Pudendum is a contest of elegant fucking that is held monthly in aid of a deserving cause. In this current year, all monies raised would be donated for the Society for Providing Comforts for Poor Families in the East End of London and the total could be quite a substantial sum, the highest being in 1906 when the Club collected?12,500 to send hundreds of slum children to the seaside for a summer holiday. Quite simply, entrants (who are restricted to Club members or nominated guests at the discretion of the Victor Pudendum Committee) are required to fuck their lovers in front of a specially invited audience. An entrance fee of one hundred guineas per pair was payable together with an extra twenty five guineas if a gentleman preferred to partner a demimonde from Mrs.
Wickley's establishment in Macclesfield Street or Mr. Baum's bar just off Soho Square. The couples were awarded marks for style, grace and originality by a distinguished panel of judges and a gold cup and a purse of two hundred gold sovereigns was presented to the winner of each monthly contest. The entrance fee to watch (which included a bottle of champagne and light refreshments) was twenty pounds for a double ticket and reservations usually had to be made at least two months in advance to ensure getting a table. 'How wonderful,' breathed Mary, who had listened with ever widening eyes to my explanation. If you ever fancy entering, do let me be your partner.
I'm sure we would do very well and I could certainly make good use of the money if we won!' A uniformed flunkey sidled up and murmured to me that our room was ready so I escorted Mary up the stairs, nodding to the Prince of Mitten-Derinen who had beaten me in the second round of the Club lawn tennis tournament held at Hurlingham in July, but who was now coming downstairs with his arm linked with that of a young, buxom blonde who I recognised from the Daily Mirror as the winner of the recent national swimming contests held at the Crystal Palace. The room was tastefully furnished with a table and chairs and also in the darkened corner was a bed with beckoning fluffed up pillows and the sheet invitingly turned back. But we were now quite hungry and we ate a tasty meal washed down with the fashionable new Buck's Fizz. After the waiter had cleared the table, set down a bubbling pot of coffee under a spirit lamp and finally retired, Mary stood up and said, Thank you for my lovely supper, Rupert. I've had a splendid time. The only slight problem is that I'm feeling rather warm-would it bother you very much if I took off some of my clothes?'
'Not in the slightest, my dear,' I said, also rising to walk across to the door and lock it. 'As it so happens, I'm also feeling very hot, so if you don't mind I think I'll join you.' We swiftly stripped to our underclothes and I was clad only in my underpants when, dressed only in her knickers and a slip, Mary sat down next to me on the side of the bed. 'I do hope that Miss Carrington didn't tire you out at lunch-time,' she giggled as she slid her hand in the slit of my drawers to bring out my fast-stiffening cock. 'I've heard what goes on at that house what with the black man and his gigantic prick.
Is it really as huge as they say?' It has always been a source of wonderment to me how one's staff pick up all the gossip which circulates around one's friends and acquaintances. I rather suspect that much of the material one reads about in the columns of the popular newspapers is furnished from paid informants in some of the wealthiest and influential houses-but heaven forbid, if a change in fortune meant that I had to wait upon some of the nincompoops who treat their servants like a lower species of homo sapiens.
Nevertheless, I chose my words carefully as I did not want to spread any rumours about Nancy Carrington. 'I did hear that the chap does possess a tremendous whanger,' I said carelessly, 'but size isn't everything, you know.' 'Oh I do agree,' said Mary, running her fingers up and down my now rampant rod which was sticking up like a flagpole out of my undershorts. 'Within reason, my cunney has no problem adjusting to any thickness so long as
the cock concerned is hard and stiff. But you men all think that a great big prick will make a girl weak at the knees- and honestly, it ain't necessarily so.'
She cradled my cock in her hand and added, 'Now look at your tadger, Rupert. It isn't the biggest I've ever seen but it's got a nice shape and I like the way it cheekily curves slightly to the left.
Mmm, let's see if you've any spunk left in your balls since your lunch, because, despite what you may say, I'm sure that you had a jolly good fuck at Miss Carrington's!' Her directness acted as a spur and we threw off our remaining clothes in an ecstasy of abandonment. Our lips met in a passionate kiss which shook us both by its probing, violent tonguing as we explored each other's mouths. Then suddenly she wrenched her lips away and pulled me by my cock onto the bed. Obediently I lay down and then, with a quick smile, Mary's head was between my legs and her hands were clenched around the root of my straining staff. She kissed my knob and washed around it with long swirls of her pink tongue and then the sensual girl brought her mouth down and ran the length of her tongue along the width and length of my shaft, salaciously sucking my throbbing tool, sending waves of sheer, ecstatic pleasure throughout my entire body. Mary sucked my cock with great relish, cleverly moving her pretty head so that the thrilling sensations ran throughout every last inch of my palpitating prick. At the same time, she smoothed her hand gently underneath my ballsack, lightly grazing the wrinkled, hairy skin with her fingernails. These movements were so exciting that very soon I was trembling with the approach of a searing wave of pleasure which was building up inexorably inside me and my shaft started to shiver uncontrollably as the sweet girl's warm, wet lips continued to encircle my swollen stiffstander. 'I'm coming, Mary, I'm going to shoot my sticky spunk down your throat,' I cried out hoarsely, and this lewd warning seemed to make her suck even more frantically on my quivering cock. The fire flared in my loins and globs of frothy jism spurted out into her receptive mouth. She licked and lapped up my spend, gobbling down my copious emission until I was milked dry.
To our joint delight, my trusty tool was still semi-stiff as I kissed Mary, sinking my tongue inside her mouth and tasting the salty tang of my own spend. I now stroked her cool thighs and she continued to manipulate my shaft which shot back up into a smart erection, pulsating with pleasure at her soft, sensual touch. Now my fingers strayed through her thick auburn curls, tracing their way down the length of her moist crack as she pressed her wet lips even more firmly against mine, clinging to me as tightly as she could, sighing with delight as she soaked up the electric thrills as our melting kisses stimulated us to a fresh round of fucking. I let my tongue wash over her lips and trace a wet path down to her breasts which I suckled in turn until her rosy nipples were as hard as little red bullets.
Mary moaned as we lay writhing naked on the bed and she parted her legs to allow me to run the palm of my hand over the crisp wetness of her open, naked pussey. I raised myself above her and she positioned my cock with her hand, guiding the knob in between the welcoming folds of her cunt. But then I suddenly remembered what she had told me earlier in the bathroom about this being a bad day for fucking and asking me to go up her bum instead. 'Mary, wait a minute, don't you recall that you said I shouldn't fuck you today?' I gasped, willing myself not to slide my knob home between her cunney lips. 'Yes, but don't worry, when I checked the calendar, I found I had added up the days wrongly. Now's a good time and in any case, I've brought my linseed oil douche with me.' Her reply put my mind to rest and so I plunged forward until my cock was embedded to the root in her tingling love sheath. All my senses were now in thrall to her passionate pussey as I pounded my proud prick in and out of her juicy cunt, pushing my cock in as Mary lifted her rear to receive her injection and my ballsack fairly cracked against her arse. She wriggled from side to side as my prick jerked inside her, stimulating every minute part of her tight little honeypot and I could see from the seraphic smile on her face how much she was enjoying this glorious fuck as we rocked furiously towards nirvana. 'Oooh! Oooh! I'm ready, Rupert! I'm ready for your sticky spunk. Fill me up, I want it all!' she hissed through clenched teeth. I jerked my hips as I crashed my cock inside her wonderful cunt one last time before shooting wad after wad of creamy white sperm deep inside her. As my jism splashed against the walls of her womb, Mary's fingernails clawed my back as she spent simultaneously with me and our bodies slapped together as she met each of my violent thrusts with an equally convulsive one of her own and we both screamed aloud with joy as we swam in our mutual love juices, our bodies threshing around wildly until the flow finally slowed and my chastened, shrinking shaft slipped out from the sopping embrace of Mary's love channel. Gad, what a truly wonderful fuck, though as Mary had to get back to the house before midnight, we had to finish our frolicking after a short rest to recover our composure.
The Intimate Memoirs of an Edwardian Dandy, vol.III Page 6
