Anonymous
The Oyster Volume V
LETTERS TO THE EDITOR
From Colonel Leon Standlake
Sir,
Being a shareholder in the Mersey Railway Company, last week I accepted an invitation from the joint contractors of the Mersey Tunnel, Major Isaac of London and Waddells of Edinburgh, to descend the shafts of the tunnel and inspect the works beneath the river now that they have been practically completed. Readers may care to note that the excavations have amounted to more than twenty thousand cubic yards, all got out by hand.
The project was first mooted twenty-five years ago but the excavations have been dogged by many difficulties. However, since Professor William Bucknall's famous boring machine got to work three years ago, progress has been swift and very shortly the tunnel will be opened to the public.
Afterwards, along with a group of other major shareholders, I was invited to dine with the Lord Mayor of Liverpool at the Adelphi Hotel and stay the night at that august establishment as a guest of the Company. Naturally, after descending into the bowels of the earth, so to speak, I decided to run myself a bath before dinner. I began to undress but whilst pulling out my bathrobe from my valise I noticed that a handsomely bound book had been placed at the bottom of the bag. This was most curious as I had not instructed my valet, Stanley, to pack any reading material for me. I picked up the book and opened it to find that a card had been clipped onto the first pages.
Who could have sent this to me? I unclipped the plain white card which read: 'Leon, in case you get bored in Liverpool, I thought you may care to see the latest selection of French photographs just published by Monsieur Pierre Breslau of Paris. All best wishes- Rodney.' Now all was clear! You see, just a few days beforehand I had invited Sir Rodney Burbeck and his current amorata to spend a few days in London as my house guests, and the wealthy baronet must have surreptitiously smuggled this much-sought-after new book over from France. How kind of Rodney to give me a copy, I mused, as Monsieur Breslau's books are highly prized by the cognoscenti.
I sat down on the bed and browsed through the pages which were full of coloured photographs of the most lascivious evolutions of l'arte de faire l'amour. There were naked youths and girls with their cocks, pussies and bottoms displayed as they frigged, sucked and fucked in all kinds of varied positions. Perhaps my favourite was one of a most beautiful dark-skinned girl seated on the lap of her lover. Between her voluptuous thighs her cunt is seen delightedly engorged with his thick standing prick. Her arms are round his neck and her face is turned up, beaming with the satisfaction she is experiencing in her well-filled cunney.
Another showed a handsome couple dancing together, the boy pressing the soft bum cheeks of his partner who is holding his stiff prick in a tender, loving grasp. In the next plate the buxom beauty is shown lying nude on a bed, her legs apart with her splendid cunney protruding its full rounded lips from the midst of a covering of crisp curly hair, Whilst the crimson crack between gives promise of a warm reception to his stiff standing prick which she has in her hand.
'I wouldn't mind taking his place for an hour or two,' I murmured to myself. And then I almost jumped out in shock! For a sweet feminine voice chimed out: 'And I wouldn't mind changing places with the girl either.'