Tales of 1911: the Weekend

So, I have no way of knowing whether this really happened; it didn't happen to me and if it did happen, it was in 1911 or so. I've been going through some old letters my great-great(-great?) uncle received between 1908, when he left Oxford, and his death in 1919 (dude survived WW1 and died when he fell downstairs drunk.) Anyway. This is from one of those letters, from a friend I'll call Fitz. A FWB of my uncle's and a number of other guys besides. Names have been changed because my family would shoot me if they found out.

Dear Oscar,

[yada yada yada, hunting in Scotland, yada yada, visiting friends at their big-ass country home in England somewhere...]

Now I think I mentioned in my last note that there is here a very nice boy named Hawkins. His brother was at Ox. in our year or the one ahead, but I for one don't remember him. You might - he rowed, I think, or was it football? I wasn't paying close attention. More your sort than mine, certainly. Hawkins Minor is about 20, a fine-looking fellow, not to tall, broad through the chest and narrow in the shanks, fair-haired, brown eyes. I'd go on to say face like a Greek statue but you wouldn't believe me and in any case his nose was broken in a bout at school. He has a boxer's eyebrows, too, but a sweet-natured chap all the same, none too bright. Moneyed, of course; I don't think my hosts care to acknowledge anyone with less than a small baronetcy behind them.

But this Hawkins. I had dismissed him as a poor prospect and set my sights on that footman, but last night as I was undressing Hawkins came and knocked at my door. At dinner he had mentioned an acquaintance with our Mr Guest, but I didn't think much of it - everyone knows Guest. And it's true that not all of us who know Guest have known Guest, if you take my meaning. Now Hawkins stood at my door in trousers and a pyjama jacket. I asked him what I could do for him. He said that he believed a rat was in his room and as he had a horror of rats, would I help him remove it?

I thought that was rather transparent and nearly said as much, but then, it has been a while since I saw anyone's copper's helmet but my own, so I shut my door and followed him to his room. He locked the door behind us and when I asked where this rat was, he said straight out there was no rat. I said I had guessed that. I have always found the preliminaries tiresome past a certain point. The front of his trousers had tented up and he was breathing tensely. He took off the pyjama jacket and his chest was astonishing, smooth and pale and with pink nipples that stood straight and hard. I asked him what the hell he was playing at coming straight to me like this, being unsubtle, etc. He said he was desperate; he had been at his mother's house for weeks and there was no chance of anything there, except himself, and he was tired of that. He knew of me by reputation (via Guest, of course) and thought perhaps, etc.

He was beautiful, and I never miss a chance, so I asked him again what it was he wanted me to do. He put his hand to me and gripped me, stroking me through the cloth and keeping his eyes on mine until I was standing. His other hand he kept on himself, frigging and tugging until he came in his pyjamas. I saw the wet spread through the cloth. He kissed me then. I bit his lip and pushed him to his knees. I was clumsy with my flies but he undid them and brought me out, and took me into his mouth. He was warm and rough, spitting on my cock and shoving it far into his throat. I had been without for so long that I came far earlier than I wanted to, but it was good. He sucked every drop out of me. Afterwards he stood up and spat it into his hand, then rubbed it onto my cock until I was hard again. He dropped his pyjamas, and lay on the bed.

How perfectly formed. His cock was 8", cut, straight and rosy. I have always had a thing for these ruddy English boys. I can't resist a moonlike arse and a tulip-tip cock. He opened his legs to me but I caught his hand and dragged him upright, then bent him over the desk. I was raging, my own shaft slick with my fluids. He was tight but practiced, and in minutes I was in him deeply, feeling his arse against my thighs and balls. He reached between his legs to frig himself but I slapped his hand away and told him not to touch himself until I said to. He bit back groans through clenched teeth. I fear I fucked him harder than maybe I should have. I used those hard, short, fast strokes you do when it's your pleasure you're after, not his. Writing this I am hard again, I feel my head pressing the underside of the desk.

After a minute or two I slowed down and tempered my strokes, getting him to lick my fingers so I could rub spit onto myself. I reached round to see his state; he yelped when I touched him. His legs were trembling. The desk was moving across the floor so I pulled out and moved him against the wall and was in him again, driving slow and deep. He came then, he couldn't stop himself. I wasn't quite done. I fucked him against the wall and then on the floor, then turned him onto his back and took him that way, feeling his cock stiffen between our bellies. I had him sit on me, instructed him to clench and release in rhythm with me, took him against the wall again.

It was rampant. He was so young and strong, so taut, smooth in the chest and belly and thighs. I do wonder how no word of him had reached me before, if he had done this before, and he seemed to have. I would say he had.

I spent inside him at last, against the wall, and bit my lip fearfully keeping back my groan. He felt it and grabbed my hand and put it to him to frig him, and it came hurtling out of him, in long streaks down the wallpaper. I fear we left the room in an awful state. I stayed in him until I was soft. Then without much further ceremony I bid him good night and went back to my own bedroom.

You might think me cold, Oscar, to do that but you know I prefer these sudden things to go as quickly as they come. In any case at breakfast this morning we were cordial and no sign passed of what we did last night. It is now teatime and I wonder what tonight will bring, if anything.

[afternoon activities, etc.]

Now you kind of have to wonder what this dude would have done these days! He'd be all over Grindr etc like a rash. He'd have got some, too: I've seen a photo and he was a stud himself: tall, long arms and legs, muscular, chiseled face. I can't see that much detail in the photo, which is of his cricket team, but I'd swear he was hung too.

I'm not done with the letters so I'll put up anything else I find.