Epilogue

Paul was thirty-five. For seven or eight years he had indulged in every possible sexual perversion from bestiality to homosexuality, fetishism to boy-screwing. He had had the pleasure of being a member of th Anomalies Club, though the somewhat tarnished personnel that had made up its membership had never really appealed to him. He had committed incest with his sister Ursula on a number of occasions, and he had enjoyed the bodies of young girls such as Gina, Angelique and Rosalind. In recent months he had found new avenues for his lust, taking crippled women back to his flat, an old woman of seventy, young girls of ten and eleven, negro boys, and even a one-legged midget. There seemed to be no end to his perversity, no depths of depravity to which he would not sink, there was simply nothing in the whole realm of sex he wouldn't try ... And yet when Paul had been married to Lavinia he had been perfectly happy with her and had never dreamed of taking another woman, old or young, still less in indulging in the sado-masochistic perversions that had filled his recent years.

It was when Paul, sick at heart, sick and tired of the search for new sensations, decided to take a long rest that he met the woman who was to save him — the woman who was to be his second wife.

He travelled abroad to Paris, Milan, Rome, Florence, Belgrade and Bucharest. Although he was taking a rest he was still seeking and everywhere he went he was looking out for someone who could save him, a woman he could love and who would love him. But everywhere he found life flat, stale and unprofitable. In Turkey he fell for a young girl and enjoyed himself for a short week or two; in Greece he slept and screwed with a young boy of fourteen; in Egypt he witnessed new scenes of bestiality when he watched a donkey rape a young teenager brought in from the streets for the purpose. Despairing of finding any real happiness, he returned to London.

It was autumn, September. The days were golden and Paul Snow, a sadder though perhaps wiser man, was back at his work in Whitehall. Even his loneliness did not any longer drive him into coffee-bars or on long walks through districts where he thought he might find a young girl or some other sexual adventure. He went home almost every night to work on a book he was writing on the history of the twelfth century, and also to work on an autobiographical novel.

And then he met Celia Faulkner.

It was a wet night in Whitehall and Paul stood in the rain trying to get a taxi. But he had almost given up the idea when he caught sight of one moving in the middle of the road, half-hidden by other oncoming traffic. As he waved the taxi to the side a young woman dashed forward and was just about to claim it when Paul stepped up to the cabbie and said "Gainsborough Gardens."

"Yes, sir."

"Oh, I'm sorry," said the young woman, "I didn't know you had the cab first."

Paul looked at her and his heart jumped. She was undoubtedly the most attractive woman he had ever seen — with her dark eyes, long black hair and smiling mouth. "Oh," said Paul, "let me give you a lift. I don't think you'll ever get a taxi tonight. Where are you going?"

"Oh, no, please don't let me delay you. I'll manage."

"No, come on, I'm going to Hampstead. Is that the way you are going?"

"Yes, more or less. I'm going to Regent's Park, not far from Chalk Farm. Do you go up Haverstock Hill?"

"Yes, that's my usual route, so you're hardly a few yards off my way. I'll drop you."

All this had happened in the rain and both of them were thankful when they could get into the taxi out of the driving wet. Paul stepped aside and held the door as the girl got in and sat at the far side of the cab. He followed her, slammed the door and they were off.

"Where shall I tell him?" asked Paul.

"Chalcott Square, number 17." Paul gave the instructions and told the cabbie to continue to Hampstead afterwards.

"Oh, it was very kind of you to give me a lift," the girl said smiling at him.

"Not at all, it's a pleasure." Paul was suddenly aware of the fuck-potentialities of the girl. She was a striking beauty, obviously intelligent, and with a hardon producing figure of the utmost in voluptuousness. She was, he supposed, about twenty-two, and in his heart he felt she was just the kind of woman he had been looking for ever since Lavinia died.

"Do you live in Chalk Farm," He asked her.

"Yes, I have a flat there. I share it with another girl. We work for the Design Center."

"Oh, that's interesting," said Paul, and he was now convinced that she was the sort of woman he should get to know slowly, that she was much more than just a casual fuck, even though he would have given anything to fuck her that night.

"And yourself?" she asked him.

"Oh, well that's a disappointing story. I ended up in the civil service, but I'm not quite as bad as that. I'm interested in history, music and — well, you know, good living ..."

"Wine, women and song?" she laughed.

"In a sense, yes. But not women in general. Though I have been guilty of all kinds of promiscuity in my time. But I think I'm changing — looking for a wife I can truly love."

The girl was silent for a time. And then they were at Chalk Farm and the driver was leaning back to ask exactly where Chalcott Crescent was. The girl directed him and within a few minutes she was getting out of the taxi.

"Look," said Paul. "It would be very nice if we could meet again sometime. Can we?"

"Yes." Looking at him quizzically the girl said, "Why not come in for a drink now?" And when she added that her friend was out, Paul did not know whether it was to be taken as an invitation or not.

He stayed at her flat for a couple of hours and they talked about London, the theatre and the latest novels as they drank a bottle of Beaujolais. Paul was fascinated with her and he ended by inviting her to dinner on the following Saturday. She accepted.

Saturday came and the girl duly arrived at the time arranged.

They dined and eventually retired to Paul's study-sitting-room that had witnessed so many hump-adventures in the previous few years.

The girl sat on the divan. She wore a long white dress, with a narrow black belt, dark but not black nylon stockings, and flat shoes with a single strap. Her long black hair was flared out on the cushions.

It was obvious that there was a mutual attraction between them, but they were both waiting for the spark that would set it alight. It came about half-an-hour after they had finished dinner.

"So you were married, but haven't found the right woman for a second marriage?" she asked.

"Well, I think I have found her as a matter of fact," said Paul his heart beginning to beat faster.

"Oh, what's she like, nice?"

"I think so. She's dark and tall. I think that she's probably a very wonderful person indeed."

"And I suppose you've been to bed with her. What's she like when you fucked her?" she asked with a shocking bluntness.

"No I haven't. I'd like to ... " and as he spoke Paul looked her straight in the eyes and he continued to look at her until she dropped her eye-lids. It looks as though she has guessed, thought Paul. He got up from his chair and went over to her. Taking her head between his hands he lifted it and spoke to her as he once again searched her eyes: "I would like to very much, but only if she wanted to very much herself."

The girl smiled and, lowering her eyelashes again she said, "She's not sure, but she's inclined to take a chance — oh, darling," and she flung her arms round his neck.

"Oh, God, Celia, I never thought you would. But I'll not let you down. It'll be the best fuck in the world, come let's go to bed."

He took her hand and led the lovely woman to his bedroom. And then he began to undress her as she stood there with her lovely candid eyes full of a new wonder and admiration for him. He undid the belt and then began to unbutton the twenty or more buttons that ran from the top of the dress to the bottom. When he had finished he took the dress from her arms and shoulders and she stood there in a wispy slip, white bra and panties underneath, and a slender garter-belt holding up her stockings. The slip he raised over her head and then he began to unclasp the brassiere. As he took it away from her shoulders and threw it onto the bed he saw her wonderfully firm and lovely titties for the first time. Reverently he bent down and kissed them lightly in turn. Now he pushed her panties down her legs, to reveal her massive bush of pubic hair running down to her glistening, moist pink cuntlips.

"Let us get on the bed now," he said as he flung off his coat, trousers and shirt. She kicked off her shoes and they jumped on the bed together and Paul took her in his arms. She panted as he felt for her cunt and began to moan quietly as his hand wandered down her legs and between her thighs, then to touch her luscious cuntlips.

She felt for his prick under his white briefs and pulled the shorts down to reveal his big hard-on. And then she pushed her hand down to cup his balls at the very moment that he began to part the lovely cuntlips.

"Oh, you're lovely," he said. "I can't believe it. It drives me mad to look at you and touch you like this. I must fuck you at once, love. Come."

He pushed his shorts completely off his legs and lying between the girl's legs he found her cunt with his avid pulsating penis and his excited throbbing cock and her vagina came into contact for the first time. He felt his dick-head slide into the moist and inviting cunt and then he lowered himself onto her body, taking her under the arms as he brought his lips down to hers and urged his prick up her clinging, vaginal walls. He knew at that moment that she was the woman for him.

She put her arms around his neck and kept his lips close to hers as she moved her cunt to meet his gentle thrusts. And gradually they attained a rapid rhythmic motion, her asscheeks lifting from the bed to meet his dick's thrusts. And soon they were on the edge of their first, orgasm together.

When they finally came together explosively it was as if the world had been born anew for both of them. Paul's boiling, creamy sperm spurted into her lovely vagina as he sought her lips again and as she clung to him, releasing her cunt-juices to bathe his throbbing, thrusting cock.

After their glorious come was over they lay there for an hour before either of them moved.

"Oh, darling, it was lovely," she said.

"The very best fuck I have ever had," was all Paul could murmur. And then suddenly he asked her: "Will you marry me? I don't think I could go on without you after experiencing that wonderful cunt of yours!"

"Nor I. I have had one or two affairs but it's never been very satisfactory. I guess you are the man for me, though at one point I doubted it. Yes, I'll marry you."

And so Paul's sex tribulations came to an end. Now he is happily married to his lovely Celia and she has borne him three children. He has been able at last to find his place in life. And it was achieved only after he found the proper combination of character, personality — and most important of all a truly compatible cunt!

PART TWO