THE INTERRUPTED BOSTON.
I first met Mrs. Harcourt at my College Ball, my last term at Oxford. She had come up for "Commem" to chaperon the cousin of one of my chums. Only the blessed ceremony of marriage gave her this right, for she was still well under thirty. I learnt from Harry that she was a widow, having married an elderly and somewhat used-up brewer who most considerately died quite soon after marriage, having, I have every reason to believe, decidedly shortened his life by vain, though praiseworthy, attempts to satisfy his wife's insatiable appetite.
She was a little woman, beautifully made, with magnificent red-brown hair, the fairest possible skin, a bust that was abundant without being aggressively large, a neat waist with splendidly curved hips, and in a ball dress-discreetly yet alluringly cut-she fired my passion at once.
Harry was very epris with his cousin and so was only too glad for me to take Mrs. Harcourt off his hands. We danced one or two dances together. She had the most delightful trick in the Boston of getting her left leg in between mine now and then. At first I thought it was an accident, but it happened so repeatedly that I began to suspect, and my old man began to suggest that more might be intended. At last I felt what seemed a deliberate pressure of her thigh against my left trouser. John Thomas responded at once, and I, looking down at my partner, caught her eye. There was no mistaking the expression. She gave a little self-conscious laugh and suggested that we should sit out the rest of the dance. Now I had helped to superintend the sitting-out arrangement and knew where the cosiest nooks were to be found. After one or two unsuccessful attempts, when we were driven back by varying coughs or the sight of couples already installed (in one case a glimpse of white drawers showed that one couple had come to quite a good understanding), I succeeded in finding an unoccupied Chesterfield in a very quiet corner of the Cloisters. Here we ensconced ourselves, and without further delay I slipped my arm round my partner's back, along the top of the couch, and, bending down, kissed the bare white shoulder.
"You silly boy," she murmured.
"Why silly?" said I, putting my other arm round her in front so that my hand rested on her left breast.
She turned towards me to answer, but before she could speak my lips met hers in a long kiss.
"That's why," she said, with a smile, when I drew back.
"Kisses were meant for lips, it's silly to waste them on shoulders."
I needed no further invitation. I pressed her close in my arms and, finding her lips slightly parted, ventured to explore them just a little with my tongue. To my great joy and delight her tongue met mine. My hand naturally was not idle; I stroked and squeezed her breast, outside her frock first, and then tried to slip it inside, but she would not allow that.
"You'll tumble me too much," she murmured as she gently pushed it away. "I can't have my frock rumpled, people would notice. Take that naughty hand away."
As I didn't obey, she took it herself and placed it with a dainty little pat on my own leg above the knee. "There it can't do any harm," she added with an adorable smile. She was going to take her own hand away, but I held it tight. I drew her still closer to me and kissed her again and again, my tongue this time boldly caressing her own. She gave a little sigh and let herself sink quite freely into my arms. By this time the old proverb that "a standing prick has no conscience" proved its truth. My right hand released hers and I took her in my arms, my right arm this time encircling her below the waist, with the hand clasping the left cheek of her bottom.
Modern dresses do not allow of much underclothing and I could distinctly feel the edge of her drawers through the soft silk of her frock.
"Oh, you darling," I murmured as I kissed her. By my taking her close to me, she naturally had to move the hand which had gently held mine. It slid up my leg and at last met John Thomas, for whom my thin evening-dress trousers proved an altogether inadequate disguise. She gave a little gasp and then her fingers convulsively encircled him and she squeezed him fondly.
That was enough for me, my hand slid down her frock and up again, but this time inside. It found a beautifully moulded leg ensheathed in silk, dainty lace, the smooth skin of her thigh, and at last soft curls and the most delightfully pouting lips possible to imagine. My mouth remained glued to hers, her hand grasped my eager weapon, and I was just about to slip down between her knees and consummate my delight when the lips that I was fondling pouted and contracted, and I felt my hand and fingers soaked with her love, and I realised that her imagination had proved too much for her, and that while I was still unsatisfied, she had reached at least a certain height of bliss.
She pulled herself together at once, and just as I was unbuttoning my trousers she stopped me. "No, not here," she said. "It's too dangerous, and besides, it would be much too hurried and uncomfortable. Come and see me in Town, there's a darling boy. Now we must go back and dance. This naughty fellow," she added, playfully patting my trousers, "must wait." She then got up, arranged her dress, and, giving me a lovely kiss with her tongue, led the way back to the ballroom. I followed, but do the best I might, John Thomas took his revenge on me by weeping with disappointment, which made me extremely sticky and uncomfortable, and but for Mrs. Harcourt's invitation to see her in Town, my evening would have been spoilt.