Reproduction of 'THE OYSTER' erotic magazine published in London in 1883 ch-01 for all erotica lovers. Part of the treasure I found in London containing classic, Age-old, Erotic books, Novels, and Magazines probably collected by my Ancestors. They are all timeless and precious. They are a must-read for all erotica lovers.
PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION
What is it that causes my lord to smack his chops in that wanton, lecherous manner, as he is sauntering up and down Bond Street, with his glass in hand, to watch the ladies getting in and out of their carriages? And what is it that draws together such vast crowds of the holiday gentry at Easter and Whitsuntide to see the merry rose-faced lassies running down the hill in Greenwich Park? What is it that causes such a roar of laughter when a merry girl happens to overset in her career and kick her heels in the air? Lastly, as the parsons all say, what is it that makes the theatrical ballet so popular?
There is a magic in the sight of a female leg, which is hardly in the power of mere language to describe, to be conceived it must be felt.
Most of my readers will be acquainted with experience with that magic which emanates from the sight of a pretty leg, a delicate ankle, and a well-proportioned calf.
Your editor never sees a pretty leg but feels certain unutterable emotions within him, which as the poet puts it:
‘Should some fair youth, the charming sight explore,
In rapture, he’ll gaze, and wish for something more!’
The Editor of The Oyster
Thus in the zenith of my lust I reign;
I eat to swive, and swive to eat again;
Let other monarchs, who their scepters bear
To keep their subjects less in love than fear
Be salves to crowns, my nation shall be free;
My pintle only shall my scepter be,
My laws shall act more pleasure than command,
And with my prick, I’ll govern all the land.
Bolloxinion, King of Sodom or The Quintessence of Debauchery
The Earl of Rochester (1647-1680)
WHEN EVEN now I awaken in the still darkness of the night with a sudden start that appears to possess no apparent physical origin, when I am driven mad with passion and feel my hands stealing down to caress my ramrod-hard pego, then I know that the sweet dreams fast vanishing, alas, into the shelter of oblivion must have contained at least a fragment of fantasy about my darling Lucy, or one of the other young ladies who helped make my formative years so pleasurable during those dear days almost beyond recall.
I refer, my friendly reader, to the times spent as a schoolboy at the Nottsgrove Academy for Young Gentlemen situated near the pleasant hamlet of Arkley, deep in the wilds of rural Hertfordshire. Perhaps my first essay upon the delights of studying at that most progressive academy, penned for a previous issue of our esteemed journal, is not unknown to you. (See The Pearl, Volume 3.) Though the years have passed by, the pictures of Lucy will never vanish from my brain: her dear face next to mine, close enough for me to see her lips parting with desire; her ripe body touching mine, setting me on fire with carnal yearnings, clasping me with pleading urgency.
Ah, sweet recollections of lying naked on crushed and rumpled sheets, watching the early morning sunlight caress my sated, sleeping lover, listening to the muted sounds beyond the boudoir as the countryside wakes to another morn. Alas, often when old men meet together, many are full of woes. They hanker still for the joys of youth, remembering how in their spring years they would be sport themselves with wine, women and song, all hours of the day and night. Now, in the autumn of their time upon this planet, they think it is a great deprivation that those times are way behind them. Life was good then, they moan, whereas now they feel that they hardly live at all. I do not agree with this pessimistic outlook, for old age has the advantage of offering more time for contemplation and relaxation. I look back with much enjoyment upon my memories of a boisterous youth and utterly refuse to allow my old age to be crabbed, for my recollections are to me as a fine summer’s day of much sunshine and few clouds.
One further word before I open my store of the times that have passed. Hopefully, we shall see the day when science and not theology will become the arbiter of personal morality; when pure reason, unfettered by the bumbling antics of well-meaning but ignorant clergymen, bound and limited by the dogmas of preconception, will seek and find sane and sensible standards of civilized conduct between the sexes.
For I hold that there is no distinction to be found between the sexual needs of the married and unmarried, as a young man’s passion does not suddenly awaken at the moment of his betrothal. Nor are the desires of a widow permanently extinguished upon the death of her spouse. The number of predatory widows in London Society is proof enough, and the names of such ladies may be omitted here as they are well-known to all the many gentlemen who frequent the salons of Belgravia and Mayfair. So Lady Cecilia A-and Mrs. Hester S-may, with others of their ilk, rest easy, as I do not propose revealing their secret lives in this manu***********.
Fortunately, our century has produced, an abundance of publications proclaiming the delights of the body in all its forms. And now I offer my own journey down the lane of memory as a humble addition to those other memoirs penned by that group of lusty scribes who have built up such a fine stock of gallant literature.
Finally, I would add only this-no apology will be forthcoming from me for putting into print this highly charged erotic narrative, as I feel assured that every devotee of voluptuous reading will derive as much, or hopefully, even more, pleasure than that afforded your humble author in the writing of this epistle. I would like to thank my old friend and mentor Sir Lionel T-, himself an Old Nottsgrovian, for allowing me the use of his fine library to compose this work, and I end this prologue with the wise words of Boccaccio:
‘If in my tales there are a few words rather freer than suits the prudes, who weigh words more than deeds and take more pains to appear than to be good, I say I should no more be reproved for having written them than other folks are daily reproved for saying ‘hole’. ‘peg’. ‘mortar’. sausage and like things.
‘No corrupt mind ever understands words healthily. And just as such people do not enjoy virtuous words, so the well-disposed cannot be harmed by words somewhat less virtuous, any more than mud can sully sunlight or earthly filth the beauty of the skies.’
Those of us fortunate enough to have studied under the wise and caring guidance of Doctor Simon White will always salute the achievements of this remarkable scholar whose main educational aim was to break the shackles that bind us to a false morality. He showed his pupils that in his learned opinion, throughout man’s past, throughout all known civilizations of both East and West, there have always been conflicts between the desires of some and the imposed wills of others. Sometimes, one class has been in a minority, sometimes it has been the other; but the rule holds good and indeed, it seems but only yesterday that I was back in my favorite chair in the prefects’ room at Nottsgrove Academy, listening with the other senior boys to our dear old headmaster espousing his theories of philosophy with that characteristic passion and lucidity that were hallmarks of his delivery of a lecture to us. I should say that he encouraged argument and never attempted to indoctrinate us against our wills. But I digress, so I shall take up again the Wands of memory to a day of excitement at Nottsgrove.
It was a lazy summer afternoon during my last term at Nottsgrove. The day’s classes had ended and I was busily engaged in deciding what news to pen in my obligatory letter home (no excuses for the absence of such an epistle were ever allowed) when Doctor White entered the hallowed portals of the prefects’ common room to pin up a notice of forthcoming sports fixtures upon the wallboard.
After a moment or two, my old friend Pelham Forbes-Mackenzie asked the good doctor some trifling question about a paper on modern philosophy that he was preparing for the summer examination-and of course, this was more than enough to set our much loved and respected old pedagogue on course for yet another lecture about the faults of present-day civilization.
‘My dear old chap,’ he boomed, ‘never forget how we are unchained in body yet still shackled mentally to grossly outdated ideas that make our lives unnecessarily worrisome. But soon, Forbes-Mackenzie, very soon we shall face a climax in this continual struggle between, upon one hand, established authority with its clutch of beliefs and rituals and, upon the other, the soon-to-be-awakened intelligence of the until now uninformed, ignorant masses!’
All conversation in the room ceased, as we knew that the Doctor always enjoyed as large an audience as possible for his little speeches, and I sat back to hear him continue.
‘To deflect the attack on these taboos which will be made when the general education of the common people is completed,’ he announced, ‘I believe that our so-called masters and betters will attempt to reinforce all those rules and regulations (which they themselves often ignore!) in an attempt to hold back the natural flow of self-understanding and enlightenment that mass education will surely bring.
‘It is up to you all, the new leaders of the Empire, to resist these oppressive inroads before they are firmly established as the laws of the land, as unchangeable as those of the Medes and Persians!’ he thundered.
‘Above all, it is in your interests to fight the good fight! I know that you boys think of little else in your hours of free time except for the desirability of fucking a pretty girl. Well, if the new barbarians achieve their ends, all you will ever be able to do is think about it until the time that you may marry!’
When our headmaster was firmly mounted upon his hobbyhorse, it took a great deal of energy to persuade him to dismount! Of course, those readers who have perused my previous recollections of life at Nottsgrove will recall that we fortunate boys who studied under his care were given a most pleasing row across the sexual Rubicon by the doctor’s young niece, Lucy, and by other young ladies of her acquaintance all, of course, to further Doctor White’s belief in freedom in all social and personal relationships.
However, to return to that particular afternoon, Pelham turned to me after the Doctor had finally swept out of the room after finishing his oration and said: ‘Andrew, my old chap, I believe that in your case, our headmaster has translated principle into practice as far as relations with the fair sex are concerned?’
‘This is so,’ I replied carefully. ‘I received my first lesson from Lucy some ten days ago.’
‘That’s damned unfair,’ complained my friend. ‘I have yet to fuck my first girl and I am only three months younger than you.’
‘Well, that is something you should perhaps speak about to a higher authority than I, for it is up to Doctor White to decide when a fellow is ready to lose his virginity,’ I said, trying very hard to keep any note of gloating or superiority from my voice. Pelham was a hot-tempered chap and easily angered, but his temper was short and not malignant. His name, of course, may not be totally unfamiliar to readers of this chronicle as he later made a great name for himself in the 13th Hussars in India and later in Canada. A very striking and commanding figure-even as a youth, he possessed a strong, determined face-and as we will later find out, an equally determined pego! But while he had a fierce exterior, there lay behind it a warm and kindly heart, and I never knew a better friend, so I had no desire to upset his injured sensibilities any further as he furrowed his brow in anger.
‘I do think it is time for my turn now!’ he said crossly.
I urged him to speak to Doctor White whose administration, it must be admitted, could be a little slipshod if truth be told, as his memory was cluttered with so many matters to which he had to give his fullest attention. Thankfully, he accepted my advice and marched off directly to tackle the headmaster directly as to why he was still waiting for his first encounter in Part defaire Vamour.
Later that evening, only half an hour or so before lights-out, one of the doctor’s house-servants knocked upon the door of my study and announced that the headmaster wished to see me immediately. It was a warm July night and I was dressed only in a shirt and trousers and, as the matter seemed of such prime urgency, I slipped on a jacket and followed the man to the door of Dr. White’s private domain. I knew he would forgive my omission of a waistcoat and tie, as punctuality was a virtue he prized highly.
It occurred to me that in all probability my call was in connection with the truly heartfelt plea Pelham had made to Doctor White to be allowed to cross the Rubicon-and indeed, my premonition was soon to be proved absolutely correct. For when I knocked smartly on the door of the headmaster’s private chambers, instead of a deep, somewhat gruff voice commanding me to enter, there was a soft sound of a muffled little giggle. Instantly I knew that the little minx Lucy was behind the door waiting for me-possibly alone, but more probably with Pelham, as she had used my services before to demonstrate the art of fucking to newcomers to the sport.
Without further ado I opened the door and, as I had expected, there was the pretty little filly attired simply in a light blue cotton robe that she was very fond of wearing, especially as it had been a birthday gift from Doctor White. It was a wide, sweeping garment with ruffles, held together only by a blue sash of the same material. From underneath, the intoxicating aroma of her luscious young body poured out, mingling subtly with the French perfume I knew that she had dabbed between her bare breasts. And there, standing forlornly, without a stitch of clothing to his name, was poor Pelham looking a trifle shamefacedly down at the floor.
‘My dear Andrew,’ smiled Lucy. ‘As you can see from the droop of his little pego, your friend is rather nervous. Perhaps he is a little frightened of me. Will you help me put him at his ease?’
‘We can easily cure this malady, my sweet Lucy, by showing him how to fuck like a gentleman!’ I said, already fired by the stunning beauty of this delicious girl.
‘Those are my sentiments exactly,’ she agreed, and as if by a prearranged mutual signal, we both stepped forward and engaged in a hearty embrace. As we kissed and our mouths opened to receive each other’s tongues, Lucy tugged at the sash of her gown to untie the simple knot. The sash fell to the ground, the gown opened and she stepped out in all her naked glory. She stood before me like a statue crafted by a master sculptor come magically to life. Below the roots of her golden blonde hair, her creamy white skin was of incredible softness. Her beautiful full breasts were as firm and round as two globes; her well-rounded shoulders tapered down into a small waist; her small feet, with delicate ankles, expanded upwards into fine calves, her thighs were full and proportionately made, whilst hanging down between them, forming a perfect veil over the pouting little slit, was a mass of silky blonde hair that contrasted so well with the snowy whiteness of her belly. As we writhed about in each other’s arms, I managed to disengage myself of my clothes and my prick began to leap and prance about between her thighs, seeking an entrance into the hospitable retreat that awaited him. Her breasts rose and fell with the quickening pace of her breathing but I realized that I had to instruct Pelham in the full range of lovemaking. I, therefore, disengaged my mouth from her burning kiss and sank down to my knees, pushing her down onto the carpet. I squeezed those gorgeous orbs and ran my fingers over the stiff, engorged nipples that stood out like taps waiting to be drawn upon, then, as I heard her gasp with pleasure, I buried my face in the thick brush of fluffy pubic hair. I grasped her lovely bottom cheeks as I flashed my tongue round the damp motte. She whimpered as her pussy opened wide and I slipped my probing tongue between the pink sex lips. I felt myself flicking against her stiffening clitty as I licked and licked in long thrusting strokes. Her cunny was now gushing love-juice and as you may well imagine, my young pego was straining at the leash.
Lucy moaned with desire and I knew that such a sound heralded her wish to receive me fully. I raised my head and Lucy lay flat on her back on the lush green carpet with her legs spread wide to await the arrival of Mr. Pego. She reached out and grasped my swollen rod, which was now in its prime state of erection. She caressed the throbbing shaft and I knew the time had come to conclude the overture and begin the performance in earnest.
I knelt between her sturdy white legs as she handled my prick so gently that I was concerned that I might come in her hands before I had tasted the full delights of her juicy quim.
‘Come now, Andrew,’ she murmured. ‘Let’s show Pelham how to do this exercise properly.’
As she guided my throbbing cock into her moist crack I noticed that Pelham’s thick prick was now swollen upward as he watched Lucy guide my cock into her warm, moist love channel. To hold her creamy buttocks was a sheer delight and to suck her stiff little pink nipples was just too much for me. As soon as Lucy began to massage the underside of my balls I pumped wildly into her eager cunt and she groaned with delight as the gush of my juices sent wave upon wave of erotic energy passing through our bodies.
I knew that the delicious girl needed more fucking and that I had to be unselfish and let Pelham have his way with her. I heaved myself off Lucy and, after a questioning glance, Pelham gently lowered himself upon her, his body quivering with anticipation of the joys to come. There was a brief moment before his tight little arse was lowered and Lucy moaned when he finally managed to guide his excited cock into her. Although this was his first fuck, Pelham had a natural understanding of what was required and he did not rush in and out in a mad frenzy but thrust home slowly, then withdrawing and re-entering further. This had the desired effect upon Lucy, who was now in a state of high excitement. Her entire body quivered as she gasped: ‘Oh, lovely, really lovely Pelham, ah, those long powerful strokes and-oh, yes-now, Pelham, now. Make me come! Ram your darling cock into me! Shoot your sperm! Ah!’
Her bottom ground and rolled violently as she clawed Pelham’s back and he grasped her shoulders and began to ride her like a bucking bronco. Her legs slid down, her heels digging into the carpet as she arched her back, working her cunt back and forth against the ramming of Pelham’s thick, glistening tool. The moment was nigh and Pelham sheathed his cock so fully within her that his balls nestled against her chubby bum cheeks. ‘Now, Lucy my little pet,’ he said huskily, ‘Suck it out with your darling slit-every drop.’ He shuddered as powerful squirts of creamy spunk exploded in her, on and on, until the last faint dribblings oozed out as he sank fully down, his weight pinning her to the floor with the last weak pulsings.
My own rod was now standing as straight and erect as any Guardsman on duty, and Lucy could see that I was game for a third bout. She smiled at me and motioned me closer. ‘I know what you want, Andrew,’ she whispered. ‘But Pelham’s big prick has made me somewhat sore. Just stay where you are and I will relieve your agony.’ She pulled my aching prick towards her gorgeous lips which opened to receive my red knob. Lucy squirmed away to leave Pelham lying on his own as her lips enveloped my shaft and sank down its length, making me shudder with pleasure. She quickened the movements of her mouth and her right hand snaked down and busily frigged away at her still juicy cunt. All too soon I was forced to whisper to Lucy that I was about to come. She craned her neck forward and forced the entire length of my tool into her throat, her lips almost touching my balls. As I shot off my cream into her hot mouth she cupped my balls in her hand, her buttocks bucking up and down as she transported herself to the very pinnacle of delight. I spent copiously into her mouth and she greedily sucked every last creamy drop from my now shrinking affair.
Calm now being restored, I awarded the sweetly flushed girl a loving kiss, caressing her everywhere. Of course, it was now Pelham’s turn to be ready for more fun and games, but Lucy said she was exhausted and needed to rest. ‘Doctor White is dining with Reverend Shackleton tomorrow night,’ she giggled, ‘and I have invited my good friend Amelia Fenland to spend the evening with me. I have a splendid idea. Let us all meet in Doctor White’s bedroom after supper. Shall we say at half-past eight?
‘That sounds wonderful, my darling. That’s all right with you, isn’t it, old man?’ I said, glancing across to Pelham.
‘Oh, yes, most certainly. I would love to-ah-but-ah-does Amelia-” he stammered.
‘Of course, she does, you silly boy,’ laughed Lucy. ‘Amelia hardly has the chance to have a good fucking more than once a month as she lives with her Uncle Jonathan in Totteridge Village, and he is terribly strict and rarely lets her leave the house. So she will be more than ready for the fray. Go to bed now and don’t be tempted to play with yourselves as I want you both in tip-top fettle tomorrow night!’
And with this stern injunction, she kissed us both lightly and stole away back to her rooms. Although she was the good Doctor’s niece, she spent few days in idleness, as she spoke both French and German with great fluency and marked all the foreign language essays of the fourth and fifth form boys.
We walked back slowly to our studies, but outside the door of the small sanitarium, I heard a rhythmic creaking of bedsprings. I looked across to Pelham who had also heard the noise and we tiptoed to the door which I opened slowly and with care. I held up my hand and motioned Pelham to stay still. The room was dark except for the light of two small candles. Sitting on one of the beds, quite nude, was the gardener’s boy, Jack, a fair-haired youth of about fou***en.
And also naked was his companion who was lying on the bed slowly frigging his standing prick as if keeping it in a state ready for use. I peered forward and saw that it was Gilbert Bell, a third-form boy who was supposedly ill with a severe cold. He too was fourteen or fifteen years of age, a tall slender boy whose girlish features had caused him to bear the brunt of much teasing by his classmates.
Jack lay down on the bed and began to rub his own prick up and down until it too was in a fine state of erection. He slipped the skin of the shaft down from the red mushroomed head and said to Gilbert, ‘Well, shall we see who can come quicker you or me? Mind you, it would not be a fair contest as you’ve been frigging your prick for at least five minutes already.’
‘Alright, Jack, on the count of three. One, two, three, go!’ And to my surprise, they began fondling each other’s cocks (fortunately Gilbert was left-handed) and, sure enough, within moments they both began to spend with the first spurtings of white juice shooting out of their pricks like miniature fountains.
Pelham was about to speak and no doubt halts the proceedings, but I put my finger to my mouth and motioned him towards the door. When we were back in the corridor and I had shut the sanitarium door, he exclaimed: ‘Why didn’t you let me stop those two dirty beasts?’
‘Look, we’ve had a jolly time and those two will forget the pleasures of solitary vice once Doctor White introduces them to nice girls like Lucy!’ I said, feeling generous to one and all in anticipation of frolics the next night.
‘Well, I don’t know about that,’ said Pelham with a dubious note to his voice.
‘Live and let live!’ I said cheerily as we strolled back to our studies.
‘Plato believed that punishment brought wisdom,’ remarked Pelham somewhat pompously.
‘Ah yes, and Aristotle viewed it as a kind of medicine,’ I replied gaily.
‘But then Oscar Wilde has written that punishment is often more brutalizing than the crime-which I find difficult to believe,’ said Pelham.
‘I’m not so sure,’ I said thoughtfully. ‘Would it have made any difference if you had swished young Bell! I have grave doubts about that and you remember what Doctor White is always telling us. Mankind’s efforts to enforce conformity in social morality have had a truly disastrous record of failure.’
‘l suppose so, for it is true that no-one has yet devised a system of punishment that immunizes society from evil or revolt.’
‘So there you are. Good night, Pelham. I’ve just remembered that there are only morning’s lessons to be slept through tomorrow, as in the afternoon we are playing cricket against the Savages from High Barnet.’
‘Good night, Andrew. Yes, we can sit and snooze whilst our team thrashes those yokels, and then there is the evening to look forward to. My, I have only one regret.’
‘What’s that?’ I asked.
‘That Doctor White did not let Lucy initiate me into the arts of love the last term!’ he laughed. I joined in his merriment and we both undressed quickly and prepared for bed. Tomorrow would be a day worth waiting for!
I will pass over much of the happenings of that day, though I recall well how we eyed the clock frequently, waiting for the tedious hours to pass till the time appointed to meet our partners for the evening’s frolics. Suffice it to say that somehow we managed to pay sufficient attention to our lessons in the morning to escape detention or extra evening preparation. We spent most of the afternoon lolling in the grass watching, as I had forecast, Nottsgrove’s senior cricketers easily vanquish the team of gentlemen farmers from neighboring High Barnet.
After a light meal, Pelham and I decided to take a short stroll through nearby Arkley Woods.
‘We should have some fun tonight, old boy,’ I said to Pelham, who looked somewhat thoughtful as we walked towards the quiet of Oaklands Lane.
‘Yes, Andrew, I am looking forward to it tremendously,’ he replied. ‘I am just a little worried that Mr. Priapus will fail me as he did with Lucy.’
I laughed and reassured him that he had little about which to worry. ‘My dear old chap,’ I said, ‘The first time or two you will naturally be nervous, but once you become accomplished, all will be well.’ I could see by the bulge in his breeches that he was already thinking about the joys to come that evening, and I laid my hand on the pulsating swelling. ‘My goodness, Pelham,’ I said. ‘I am sure that your prick is even bigger than mine. Let us compare and see who has the larger.’
Without ado, I opened his trousers and let out his naked red-headed cock which stood in all its manly glory, stiff and hard as marble with the hot blood looking ready to burst from his distended veins. He then pulled out my own not inconsiderable affair which was, as it happened, fractionally shorter in length, which must have given Pelham further confidence for the evening’s entertainment. We handled each other’s tools in an orgy of delight during which I spunked creamy jets of froth onto his hand. I then dropped to my knees and played and sucked his delicious prick till he spent in my mouth with an exclamation of rapture, as I eagerly swallowed every last drop of his copious emission.
When we had recovered our serenity we walked back to the school, still pulsating with unsatisfied desire, to await with scarcely concealed impatience the appointed time of half-past eight o’clock. And who could find it in his heart to blame us for wanting to speed the passage of time as the hands of the clock seemed to move so slowly! Ah, the fire of passion that coursed through our youthful bodies is now but an ember, though my torch is still capable of fighting a fire or two! Many a good tune is played upon an old fiddle!
1. During my visit to London for studies where we had an Old Ancestral Home, I stumbled on a family treasure. Apart from other things I also found a hump of books, diaries, and notes in the treasure which contained classic, Age-old, Erotic books, Novels, and Magazines probably collected by my Ancestors. They are all timeless and precious. They are a must-read for all erotica lovers.
2. The Original Authors of most of these Stories/Letters or Articles are long dead or Anonymous.
3. The "Other" Classic Victorian Magazine of Erotica. No one wrote erotica better than the Victorians. Classic celebrations of the senses like Fanny Hill, My Secret Life, and Venus in Furs just flowed from their pens. The most celebrated erotic journal of the Victorian era was the justly famous, The Pearl, whose once banned pages introduced many an erotic masterpiece to the world. The Pearl's fame is rivaled only by that of its successor. For, according to the apparently authoritative and comprehensive Introduction by Antoinette Hillman-Straus, when The Pearl went out of business, a new publication rose to fill the gap, The Oyster. Displaying a totally uninhibited and delightfully erotic style, the Oyster was written anonymously and privately distributed. The Oyster was largely forgotten until an obscure edition was rediscovered in the 1980s, in the wake of the success of revived editions of The Pearl. Like its predecessor, the revive Oyster went on to become a bestseller in our time, a classic work whose style and de***********ions are so frank they still have the power to shock and compel 21st-century readers.
4. Out of the aforesaid collection, presenting 'The Oyster: The Scandalous Victorian Magazine of Erotica Volume 1.'