Memoranda From Mr. P

Mr. Reddie used to call me Petro, as a short familiar name; his sly friendly way of reminding the two of us of my thick lengthy cock. Mr. Reddie maintained, when it was hard and erect, my cock looked and felt as lovely as Italian marble, hence the contraction of the Italian for stone: Petro.

Whilst he lodged with me at my house, Brecknock Crescent, Camden Town (N.B.– This is where I first was introduced to Mr. Reddie), I was continually afraid our lascivious ways, especially with young men and boys, would bring himself or both of us into serious trouble.

Once, I remember, we went to Margate for a few weeks at the seaside, and the landlady of the house where we stopped had a very good-looking son, Frank, a slim beautiful youth not over fifteen, if even quite that old. Mr. Reddie was in love at once, but how to win the boy over was the difficulty.

“Petro,” he would say, “I must fuck that boy or go out of my mind from frigging myself as I lie in bed and think of him. How can we manage it, old boy?

I recommended patience, and an opportunity would be sure to turn up. “Treat him well, and let’s take him out for a bathe or a walk with us whenever he will go,” I said.

My advice was taken. Young Frank was soon quite at home in our rooms and evidently pleased at being made such a favourite of the lodgers; we were always treating him to cakes, wine, or fruit. We took several promenades with him as companion.

Both of us gradually introduced Young Frank to seemingly casual sensuous caresses; brief stroking the hairline at the back of his neck, caressing his cheek and outlining his lips as we brushed away crumbs, circling the opening of his ears with a feather-light fingertip. We could both see the caressing was having the desired effects. Frank became quite friendly and eager to be caressed, hugged, and kissed, while more caresses confirmed that our ministrations were making his little boy-cock firmly erect under his knee-length trousers.