FANNY SELWYN

I sent back a little note accepting, feeling a strange beating of my heart, for Fanny had grown much too dear to me and the reader knows why I did not cultivate her love more ardently than I did.

Meanwhile honest Jack Stone had been to see me and told me that the unfortunate Searle had died of cholera on his way to Bombay.

Stone was dreadfully anxious that I should not add fuel to the flames as regards reports about Mrs Searle and her establishment at Honeysuckle Lodge and the reason for this became apparent to me some years later, when I met him and a lady whom he introduced to me at Brighton as Mrs Stone. This lady's features struck me as being somehow familiar to me, and on racking my brains I remembered they were extremely like those of the naked lady in the photograph he had shown me on that eventful night when Searle had tried to ravish Lizzie Wilson. The gallant Jack had made Mrs Searle an honest woman again in the sight of the world, and had gained an equally honest right for himself to fuck her whenever he liked without having to pay five hundred rupees for that grand pleasure. She seemed a fine voluptuous creature with decidedly large, well-formed bubbies, and I dare say old Jack had many goloptious nights between her goloptious thighs, fucking her goloptious cunt, as he had expressed it.

It was not without still further heart stirrings that I found the Selwyns occupying my old room in the bungalow as their sitting room and using what had been Lizzie Wilson's room as a bedroom for the girls and children. The door which communicated between the two rooms was open, and there, as I sat beside Fanny at dinner, I saw the very bedstead on which I had so often fucked the beautiful Lizzie with rapture indescribable. As I looked at it and revolved past scenes in my mind, Fanny caught the direction of my eyes.

'That is my bed,' said she innocently.

'Is it?' I replied mechanically.

Oh! What had come over me that the sight of that bedstead did not make my prick rage? I am sure I was dull and stupid at dinner. The colonel, however, was in high glee and I knew why.

The poor man had at last outwitted his careful wife and obtained the much-longed-for fuckable cunt. So he was beaming and overflowing with anecdote. I let him talk and behaved as a respectful listener, only occasionally replying to some question Fanny put from time to time, hoping to bring on one of our old free and unconstrained conversations. The way she stuck to me all that evening touched me. Instead of being offended at my obstinate silence she came and sat next to me on the verandah, where I smoked cheroot after cheroot, listening to the colonel's continual chatter until at last Mrs Selwyn, with a warning that it was growing late, carried him off to bed, leaving me with Fanny alone.

'What is the matter with you, dear Captain Devereaux?' at last she said, laying her gentle little hand on mine. 'You have hardly spoken one word to me since you came. I am afraid the march is too much for you and you feel done up.'

'Well! Fanny, I do but I don't know that it is exactly the march. I can't quite tell you what it is, but I have never been myself since that fierce night of the Afghan.'

'Ah! Mama says she is sure that has something to do with you being so gloomy. Why should you be? If I had killed an Afghan under such circumstances I should be so proud there would be no holding me.'

'Ah! Fanny dear, before that night I was a man. I had power, force, strength, but ever since I have felt that I have none left – no power – do you understand?'

'Power? What do you mean by power?'

'That which makes a man acceptable to his wife, dear!'

'Oh!'

Did Fanny understand? I fancied she did; after a little silence she said, 'Do you know I had such a funny – such a nice dream about you last night! I dreamt it three times – but I am afraid – that is, I don't believe it can ever come true for all that.'

'What was it?'

'I dreamt that you came whilst I was asleep in that room and woke me just like the Afghan did – only more gently – you woke me in the same manner as he did and you asked me to let you warm yourself in my arms and you did plead so very earnestly that I said you might and then -'

'And then?' said I eagerly.

'Well! I don't quite know how to tell you! However, you got into bed and right on to me and folded me to you so tight – Oh! so tight! and – I don't know what you did exactly – but Oh! – it was so delightful and you were so happy – but I awoke – all of a sudden – and you were not there. I positively cried for – Oh, Captain Devereaux – you know we all love you!'

If this was not straight talk I don't know what it was but the effect on me was magical. In a moment my weakness seemed to leave me and my long dead and useless prick sprang up in all pristine might and stood as it had stood for Lizzie Wilson. The whole atmosphere seemed redolent of fucking; desire as strong as ever assailed me. Fanny's bosom, I could see, was rising and falling rapidly. It seemed to me that she was then and there offering herself to me if I would but have her. Her hand tightened on mine and I gently drew it forward intending to lay it on my now rigid prick and to show her that I understood and was quite ready if she was so willing. A standing prick, dear reader, has no conscience! All my fine resolutions not to take advantage of Fanny had flown to the four winds of heaven! I could remember nothing but the sweet vision I had had of her dear little cunt, spoiled as its beauty was by the unclean blood of the menses but tempting all the same. Whether she actually felt my prick or not I did not then know for at that moment Mabel came quickly out of the bedroom and said, 'Fanny, mama says you must not stay up any longer and that you are to come to bed.'

Without even saying good-night but with a firm squeeze of her hand on mine Fanny jumped up and ran.

Excited as I was with the tumult of joy and passionate desire in my heart and the stream of luxurious wine, I jumped up too and, taking Mabel round the waist, I kissed her again and again, pressing her two nice young little bubbies as I did so to her vast delight.

'What a regular woman you are growing, Mabel! What a fine bosom you have! What perfect little bubbies! I suppose you have plenty of hair here,' and I slipped my hand down to her motte and pressed my itching finger between the thighs to her little cunt.

'Oh! Captain Devereaux!' she exclaimed in a low tone. 'You bad naughty man!' but she made no defence; I sat down and pulled her to my knee and had my hand under her petticoats like a shot and my finger buried in her little warm and virgin cunt before she knew what I was up to!

'Mabel! Mabel! You are a woman!' I exclaimed, quite beside myself with excitement. 'Don't you think you want a husband?'

'Yes,' she whispered, hotly returning my burning kisses. 'I often feel I should like a man.'

God only knows what I should have done, but I think I might say that Mabel's maidenhead would have been done for there and then had it not been for Fanny's voice ringing angrily out of the room, 'Mabel. Come to bed!'

With a last feel of the sweet little cunt which alas! I had not had time to make spend and with a last kiss, fully returned by the gratified girl who at only twelve was precocious indeed, I let Mabel go, whispering to her 'not to tell' and rejoicing over my fully regained power and 'standing'. I went home to my tent and quickly undressed and viewed with delight that fine stalwart Johnnie who had so often stood to me so well in my encounters with the lovely foe.

I had ravishing dreams I fucked I don't know how many of my former lady loves but neither Fanny nor Amy came in for their share. In the morning I woke and found not only my dear old prick to my joy and delight standing as full as in days of yore but also unmistakable signs of a most prolific wet dream – a sure sign that my balls had recovered their power of secreting the essence of man.