At other times we throw a dark green coverlid over the bed, and all three, stark naked, lie thereon, in the most tempting attitudes. This in our allegorical language, we call, "the garden," the velvet coverlid is the lawn, and we are the flowers, while Evelyn, in his character of "the bee" flies from one cunny to the other sipping with his tongue the sweets. "The garden" terminates with a regular fucking and gamahuching match, in which all take part.
At other times we divert ourselves with a masquerade, each person dressing in their own rooms. As soon as, by a preconcerted signal, we know that all have finished their several toilets, we mass ourselves, put ont all the lights, and feel our way to the room selected for that evening. So soon as all are assembled, a light is brought, and fifty wax candles soon shed their lustre on the scene. Let me describe it to you.
First, there is a gay gallant attired in a rich pompadour suit, diamond hilted sword, bag, and solitaire. His plumed hat under his arm, and his jewelled hand on hip, the beau ideal of one of the young bloods on town. This gallant is myself.
Next there is an elderly stout gentleman attired in black, with shovel hat, like a village parson. This personage is my cousin, Lady B.
Close by is a blooming girl, with spotted gown, scarlet boddice, short petticoats, hobnailed shoes, broad brimmed straw hat, and chesnut curls down her back. This lovely lass is Evelyn.
Next is a charming shepherd boy, with pipe and crook, a la Watteau.
These were the dramatis personoe, all being masked, and none of us knowing, except from conjecture, who the other was. Herein lay the sport.
To make the transformation the more complete,each of the male characters was furnished with a dildoe, the gallant and the parson with big ones, the little shepherd boy with one of smaller dimensions, so that the country girl stood a poor chance.
All being ready, the gallant made his approaches to the country lass.
The parson tackled the shepherd, and the fail commenced.
"Pon honour," began the gallant, "you are a vastly pretty creature, my dear, and have the finest face I ever saw, damme! How old are ye my dear?"
"Seventeen years and a quarter come Martinmas, an't please ye, sir," replied the girl, dropping a curtsey.
"And you've some pretty little bubs here, I'll warrant," cried the gallant, thrusting his hand into her breast.
"Oh, la! fie Sir! doant, doant!"
"Yes, but I mast and will, damme! Don't think I'in to be put off that way!" and he thrust his hand up her clothes.
"Oh lord! marcy! what are you arter? Oh my!now you've been and pulled all my clothes up behind. Well, I never! what is that? what is that?" for the gallant had displayed his prick (otherwise dildoe) and was thrusting it in the rear of the country girl.
While this scene was enacting between these two, the parson became very loving with the shepherd boy, caressing him in a manner not at all clerical. At length unbuttoning his flap, he let out an enormous cock (dildoe again) and letting down the boy's breeches, menaced him in a manner truly alarming; then passing his hand in front, he began to toy with a stiff little affair (i. e. dildoe № 3) as he shot in behind.
Meanwhile the country girl (Eyelyn) and the gallant (myself), not finding much satisfaction in the attitude they had taken up, shifted it. The country lass lay on the bed, I dropped off dildoe, his long,erect prick entered me, and a fuck long and rapturous ensued.
A double dildoe also enabled the parson (lady B) and the shepherd boy (Julia) to gratify their mutual inclinations, and yet maintain the delusion of the masque.
At length, as the clock chimed twelve, the masks were flung aside, and each recognised their companion.
"Well, I declare," exclaimed Evelyn, "I really thought you were aunty."
"And I," cried Julia, "imagined that in his reverence I had recognised dear Lady Gower! See how one may be deceived."
Then we sat down to a delicious collation, and whiled away an hour at quadrille, or lasquenette; both games you used to like, dear Phoebe.
Then we had a few songs, accompanied by the lute, and after that to bed. Another amusement is the bath, and my house contains a large one, worthy the name, in which twenty people could all bathe at once commodiously.
This bath, which is entirely of marble, was constructed for me by an Italian architect. It is circular, and the exact model of a small temple of Venus at Nola. It is in the Cornithian style, and lighted from the centre of the dome by an ceil de boeuf.
All round the piscina in the centre of the chamber, is a platform for the accommodation of the bathers, and marble statues representing water nymphs the size of life, and the marble slightly tinted resembles life; so that when we were all splashing about in the water, if a stranger had entered, he would have taken those reclining statues for some of our party, so life-like did they appear.
There are many worse things than a fuck in the water. I have, as a child, often watched the ducks at this fun, and most amusing it was. I little thought then that I should ever be "duck fucked," as we call it.
We swim about in all directions, imitating ducks.
"Quack, quack!" Then follows the old drake, repeating the cry, and presently jumps upon one of us (the drake of course being Evelyn), then the duck attacked, dives, and the stiff tool of Mr Drake is foiled for that turn.
You have no idea of the excitement and fun of this game, only it is necessary that both the men and women who play at it should be good swimmers, as there is no sport at all unless the water is at least seven feet deep.
Many a hot summer's afternoon have I passed at this game, since my cousin and her proteges came up to town, and believe me there are few things like it.
Here we are, then, a united happy family, and here I hope my fair guests may long remain.
The two children — who are of course, dressed in the extremity of the mode — really appear most bewitching. They are made so much of by my friends and acquaintances, that I almost fear they will become conceited and spoiled.
But I think I have now told you all I have to tell, so adieu, my old friend.
Your own
Lesbia
Letter VII
CAPTAIN SHIVERMYTIMBERS TO PHOEBE.
My dear Phoebe,
Yon always were a tight craft, and a ticlar favorite of mine. I will, therefore, tell you an adventure I met with at Ranelagh the other night.
I had just been to splice the mainbraee at one of those alcoves where the lush is sold, and was moving off on a bowline, when a smart, saucy looking frigate, with all her pennants flying, bore down on my starboard quarter, and raising her bow-ports-which you landlubbers call eyelids-she fired two. such well aimed shots at me from her bow chasers, that brought me up all standing.
"Ship ahoy!" says she.
"Ahoy!" says I.
"What ship's that?" says she.
"The Tollyrouser!" says I.
"Where are you bound?" says she.
"To Cunnyport," says I.
"Come on board," says she.
" Aye, aye!" says I.
So ranging up alongside, I doused my quid, and putting it in my pocket, I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, and saluted the saucy frigate.
"Come, captain," says she, "will you take me in tow?"
"With the greatest pleasure in the world," says I. "Hook on with your grappling irons, miss;" and I offered her my arm.
"The cockpit is all ready," says she; "let's get out of the crowd and go under the trees, where there's not so much light."
"Heave ahead!" says I, and we made for a dark shrubbery; but before leaving the blaze of the light from the lamps, I stole a good squint at the prize, and a prettier young girl I never saw in my life.