We both heard the sniffling noise at the same time. 'Who is it?' I called out. There was no answer except more sniffling, then the sound of someone blowing their nose. 'I can see her,' said Perdita, trying to untangle her dress from a broken bough on which it must have got caught earlier when she tossed it away in her cavalier fashion. 'She?' I queried. 'Rosie,' said Perdita.
'Bother, I've ripped it.' Sure enough she had torn her dress so badly that short of a prolonged session with needle and thread it was clearly unwearable. 'Where?' 'Over there, under that beech tree.' 'I don't know what a beech tree looks like,' I said.
'That tree, over there,' said Perdita, mournfully peering at the ruin of her dress. I scrutinised the shrubbery. Sure enough, there was Rosie, tightly bundled up from throat to ankle in what looked like a tablecloth. 'Becky and George did it,' she said. 'They said that I couldn't go on flitting around the countryside without any clothes on. And in particular, I had to be properly wrapped up before we all cycled home. They wound me round in this spare cloth like some horrid Egyptian mummy and put me under strict orders not to take it off again under any circumstances.' 'Very sensible of them,' I said.
'But it's completely spoilt the game for me,' she said. 'I can hardly walk, I'm so hobbled up. I'm so afraid of some mishap that I daren't try to get through the prickly bits and I keep having to clutch hold of the trees to avoid falling over. I didn't catch anyone.
They'd all gone much deeper into the woods or else could get away from me if I did spot them. I nearly got Monty but Gwendolen saw him at the same time and caught him first. And I did so want a fuck with Monty.
Ever since I saw him doing it doggy style on the train here. And he's funny. And besides, I want to broaden my clerical experience.'
'He's not a proper clergyman,' I reminded her. 'I know,' she said, 'But he dresses like one and he talks like one when he wants to.
And he smells like one. Do you not detect an odour of sanctity hanging over him sometimes?' 'I think you will find it is more the result of the occasional over-liberal application of pomade,' I said. 'Or those carnations he seems to have an endless supply of.'
'Anyway,' she said. 'I've had a rotten afternoon.' With that she started to sniffle again. 'There, there,' said Perdita. 'You can dry your eyes on the remains of my dress. I'm sure I'll never be able to wear it again.' She mopped down poor Rosie. Bad though her behaviour had been, I felt a twinge of sympathy for her.
'Come back with us,' I said. 'We really do have to go back to the others and then go home. But I promise you, I'll have a word with Monty this evening. I know he likes you. You'll get your fuck, believe me.' 'On a train?' she sniffed, obviously trying to drive a hard bargain. 'Hardly this evening,' I said. 'You'll have to make do with the house or the garden. No travelling and no wheels.' 'Not even one of the tricycles,' she said. 'No,' I said. 'Rosie, you know perfectly well that you cannot always be in motion when you fuck.
Anyway, you were quite happy at the prospect of fucking Monty behind a tree.' 'All right,' she said. Then she brightened up. 'Maybe we can go on an excursion somewhere next week. We can get a train from Northampton to Leicester I think, and then we could go on one of the Midland expresses to, maybe, Derby.' 'We'll try something, although I would prefer an outing to somewhere more interesting.'
And so we retraced our steps to the picnic glade, Rosie hobbling along in her tablecloth wrapping, me fully dressed except for one missing sock and Perdita with the remains of her dress thrown round her shoulders like a shawl and carrying the rest of her things in a bundle. Most of the others were already there when we eventually stumbled out of the trees. They were sitting about in various states of dishevelment and fatigue. Cecily was looking thoroughly presentable as though butter wouldn't melt in her mouth. Monty and Gwendolen were fully dressed but in each other's clothes. 'If women were ordained,' said Donald, 'I for one would become a regular attender at any service taken by Gwendolen.' She did in fact look most fetching, her generous bosom barely contained in Monty's white shirt, his clerical collar sitting demurely at her throat while his frock coat and trousers accentuated the neatness of her waist and hips.
Monty, an actor to his fingertips, was thoroughly enjoying flaunting himself in Gwendolen's dress, strutting and hip-swinging.
Hannah and Becky were engaged in animated discussion. Donald and Ian were standing shoulder to shoulder, each with his kilt lifted high in front, like a pair of French Can Can dancers. Their stout Scottish staffs were being paraded under orders from the two sisters.
'They are so alike,' said Hannah, lifting up Donald's prick and displaying it to Becky. 'Are you sure you can tell which is which?'
'That's the one that I had,' said Becky firmly, pointing to Ian's member. 'But you said he came at you from behind,' said Hannah.
'I'm sure it was Donald because I know for a fact that Ian was well lodged in me at just the same time that you say your encounter took place. Although, I must admit that he entered me from the rear as well.' 'Who fucked who?' asked Becky to Ian and Donald. 'We must clear up this confusion.' They both looked rather smug. 'I was always brought up not to talk about amorous exploits in front of other people,' said Ian. 'I also,' said Donald. 'But it's most provoking not to know who one has been fucked by,' said Hannah.
'Especially when it was such a pleasurable fuck.' 'The solution must be,' said Donald, 'that when we get back, you should try us both in order to make up your mind which is which.' 'I suppose we will have to do that,' said Becky brightly. 'Don't forget what you promised,' said Rosie to me. 'About asking Monty.' 'I think it had better wait until we're home. Anyway, you'd hardly want to fuck him when he's in the guise of Gwendolen,' I said. 'Besides, you've got to be as good as gold on the return journey in order to make up for all the trouble you've caused today.' 'It might be an interesting surprise,' said Rosie, with a gleam in her eye. 'Imagine the fun of going out together with Monty dressed like that. Everyone would think he was my big sister and we could sit innocently side by side in public and only I would know that under that rather stylish dress there was that enormous prick just waiting to shove its way into me.
But we'd have to fit him out with a big hat,' she went on, 'Otherwise it doesn't look quite right.' I could see that Rosie, with her taste for the unusual in life, was getting thoroughly interested in the proposition and I had a feeling that Monty, to whom all life seemed to be a charade, would be equally interested in the idea.
'Of course, the fun would be in doing it in some public place,' said Rosie. 'We could go to the Opera together. You would have to chaperone us.' 'Where would be the fun for me?' I asked.
'Gwendolen could come as our other male escort,' said Rosie. 'You two could talk about the things that men talk about at the Opera. Like the Funds. Or the state of our North American markets. Gwendolen would have to wear a weskit and a watch on a chain.' As I thought about the scheme it began to have distinct possibilities. 'When we get back to London,' I said. The idea of Gwendolen's lovely titties concealed in Monty's shirt attracted me. Mr. Pego again gave a first warning twitch. I looked at her. We would have to do something about her nipples. They stood out too obviously through the thin cotton. Rosie was right, a waistcoat would be the answer. 'But what about tonight?' said Rosie. 'I can't wait till we get back to London.'