A monograph concerning the strange sexual customs found in modern day Britain
By Maximilian Cummings
What else might interest you in the strange exotica of sexual custom? What other traditions have I perverted for my amusement? What about the charming and apparently innocent dance around the Maypole? Oh, that worries you, the thought of children, freshly pubescent children, engaged in what they should not know about at all. Visions of the ‘Wicker Man’ come to mind, I suspect. Please, please, I am not that corrupt. Imagine more the young maidens of the village, yes probably eighteen, and the young men of a similar, and certainly not younger, age. What is it about the maypole, the gaily decorated pole, that so enticed our forebears? It is obvious, quite clear to the most unobservant that it is a fertility symbol—a pole rising upwards: come, come surely you realised it is nothing but a gaily decorated penis—albeit a very big one? Remember that line from ‘Fanny Hill,’
‘... and now disengag’d from the shirt, I saw, with wonder and surprise, what? not the play-thing of a boy, nor the weapon of a man, but a maypole of so enormous a standard, that had proportions been observ’d, it must have belong’d to a young giant.’
I do so like the practice of the intertwining ribbons; pairs of young men and women standing all around the pole, each holding a ribbon and then weaving in and out of each other, the ribbons gradually woven to the pole drawing the participants ever closer until they meet. You can imagine I like the participants naked, enjoy seeing the lithe young bodies dance, the soft movement of female breasts, the hint of wobble to buttocks, the flop of penises and balls—but only at the commencement of the dance for, as the dance becomes more energetic, the ritualistic intertwining of the weaving ever closer, the fine young bodies begin brushing against each other; it is a fine sight to see the penises rise one after another until all are erect as they follow the pattern of the dance. Closer and closer come the dancers to the maypole until they can dance no more, the ribbons tight to the pole, boy and girl intertwined with their hands still holding the ribbon ends and then they fuck; fuck standing like that, each pair beside the maypole. A jollier, more rustic sight is not to be seen in all of Old England.
Perhaps there may be Morris for the men to follow, with jangling bells, clashing sticks and dangling balls; the girls may perhaps decorate themselves with flowers and garlands as they watch—do you not remember Lady Chatterley and the garlanding of the maypole at the wedding of John Thomas to Lady Jane?
“...and in her maiden-hair were forget-me-nots and woodruff... And he stuck flowers in the hair of his own body, and wound a bit of creeping jenny round his penis, and stuck a single bell of a hyacinth in his navel.”
A bucolic, Arcadian scene of young people enjoying the fresh air wonderfully naked; so pleasant to walk amongst and admire; to watch some energetic fucking, the slippery sliding of penis in girl; admire a pretty lass all decorated with flowers looking virgin like and pure with a demur, embarrassed downward set of the eyes as you pass, but with the tell tale trickle of semen creeping down her inner thigh revealing knowledge; watch the giggling girls as the men dance with their maleness all bounding and slapping around; watch the girls breasts bouncing as they too dance; drink a foaming tankard of ale perhaps with a lassie on your knee, talking, giggling and tickling your cock (of course). There is much to enjoy—a happy Bacchanalia.
You will remember childhood games, childhood parties and the customary games; but what fun it is to take all of that and play it modified, just a bit, for young adults. The party goers arriving all unsuspecting in their pretty dresses and fine clothes, finding instead of a disco that they are to play Blind Man in the Buff (they look at each other, did they hear right?); or Pin the Cock on the Donkey (sorry, shouldn’t that be tail? Blushes at the thought from some of the sweet young girls); Musical cocks (what?) and Sardines (ah yes, that sounds normal enough but, you can imagine, it is not).
I am the master of ceremonies, my Amulet on display, hanging from a chain across my exposed chest making me look like someone thinking this is a 1970s retro party; they can certainly feel its power though they do not know it yet, a certain tingle in hidden places and a careful attendance to anything I say. I pour the white wine—these are not children—and begin the first game. It is innocent enough to start with, it is the picture of the donkey complete with tail but with a large penis to pin on the picture. It amuses, there are giggles and perhaps a ribald comment about size. I choose a sweet young girl in a dress to be blindfolded; she is guided to the picture and tries to pin the penis in the right place; but it is wrong and there is a lot of laughter. All the while the Amulet is taking effect. More girls and boys try mostly pinning the penis in quite inappropriate places until I judge the game has run its course. I give a prize for the best effort and move to the next game.
“First person naked wins,” I shout, holding aloft a prize. There is a stunned silence—there always is. They look nervously at each other, then at the prize and they desire it, want the prize and it is that desire, fuelled by the Amulet that takes over. One, maybe boy or maybe girl, starts at a button and it is like a catalyst spreading the reaction across the room; all at once they are all stripping, clothes dropping to the floor, discarded in a heap; I have to watch carefully to ensure I spot the winner. The prize is awarded and there is sudden embarrassment. Furtive looks, boys seeing what they have only imagined before, girls they have ogled before, mentally undressed but now, right before them, is the real thing; thighs coyly pushed in front of other thighs but there is no hiding the mounds of Venus with their profusion or tufts of soft hair, the start of amused smiles as a girl is noticed to be completely shaved; the variety of breasts examined; some girl always thought sadly flat chested, discovered to have the most enormous areolae, another found to be not as well endowed as had appeared when clothed (the cleverness of the brassiere maker’s art), others found to be as favoured as had always been thought, another displaying the most charming upturned points to her mounded breasts – all of these, of course, a delight to the boys and, naturally, myself. But it is not just the boys who look; there are peeks by the girls as well; fine bodies examined; tight buttocks admired and the funny little man appendages noted; surprise at the variety exhibited: a difference in size (but does that in any way relate to size when erect?), the variation in hang from balls to balls, circumcised or not (how rude the circumcised look, the girls comment), foreskins long and pointed or short and half retracted.
I bring out the blindfold again and announce ‘Blind Man in the Buff,’ there are nods of understanding. They now know what I meant. I blindfold a girl and then spin her around so her orientation is lost. With arms outstretched she goes to touch a fellow and identify him or her. There is laughter, the girl is trying to be so careful not to touch anyone in a ‘naughty’ place but it is not easy, outstretched hands are likely to touch chests, find she has a friend’s breast under her fingers. It is always the face and hair she will go for to avoid this, though some of the participants will be shorter than others, as will the second person to try. Again always a girl but by the third attempt things get a bit more interesting. The boy, I choose a boy for the third person to be blindfolded; he is not so fastidious; it is reasonably clear his aim is not to avoid touching but rather to touch the girls’ breasts and, often enough, he does identify a girl from a careful examination. The laughter from the party and the embarrassment of the girl as she stands there with a boy’s fingers running over her nipples and breasts is a delight.
The girls are not to be outdone and sooner or later one will be bolder and her hand will drop to feel a penis. There is usually a gasp and sudden silence but the thoughtful, blindfolded girl can tell a lot from a penis, just a light touch on the head will rule out many of the boys—is the foreskin intact or not? More potential for embarrassment and party laughter if the cock rises to half mast—or further! The boy may be mortified to have that happen in front of his friends but he need not worry, particularly if he is well endowed and able to put on a show, because he will not be the only one flaccid for long and, you can imagine, I do not leave a cock measuring contest out of the fun. The winner a prize for a lucky girl.
A few more sessions of Blind Man’s Buff with the two sexes getting bolder each time and then I announce a change of game. It is time for the music to start; the young men are seated, yes it is very like musical chairs, all in a ring and the girls dance around the ring; dance with the grace and agility of young girls and so much better naked—until the music stops. Can you imagine what they have to do then? I think you can! There is shock as I explain; explain the girls need to, as fast as they can, suck a cock into their mouths, erect or limp it does not matter—just take possession between the lips. There is one for each at first, a penis for each girl, but then I shall take a boy away and they will have to scrabble for a penis with one losing out when the music stops. The girl is out and then I will take another boy away and so on. You can imagine the rush of the girls for the cocks, hands grabbing, mouths descending, perhaps faces banging together as they each try to get the penis; pretty eyes looking right and left to see which of their friends has been lucky and which girl is out, all with their lips firmly clamped around a boy’s cock; girls who have never sucked a cock before losing any inhibition or reticence in the competition.
The happy sight of the naked girls dancing around a ring of boys, a circle of boys all sporting erections—can you imagine any will not be erect once the game is in full flow?
You can imagine the variant with the girl’s seated or perhaps better kneeling on the chairs with their bottoms facing out and the boys circling as the music starts. The object is clear to you, I should think, to plunge, to penetrate, to lodge their cocks within the girls before their fellow has the opportunity. You can imagine the squeals from the girls on the first round; imagine their anticipation as the music starts; just waiting there as the music plays on and on (I let the music play on for a long time at first), their bottoms turned outwards, the anticipation of rough penetration going through their minds as they watch the boys circle: and then the music stops; the sudden grabbing of hips and the quick in thrust; the quick, perhaps unfamiliar feel of firmness against their sex and then the invasion; will it be easy; will it require a repeated pushing to gain full ingress? It cannot be imagined that the boys will wish to be other than full lodged.
Then the music starts again, a sudden loss and all the boys now parade around, cocks displayed but now rather wet, as I remove both a chair and a girl; the tension building as I let the music play on; the girls giggling as they look to their friends and then back at the boys; then the music stops and the boys grab the girls; two of them vying for possession of a girl but one will lose, will not be quite quick enough to get his cock in first; the squeals of the girls now penetrated a second time probably by a different cock.
Gradually the chairs and girls removed until there is one chair, one girl but two boys circling around and around as the music plays. The music stops, a bit of a tussle, laughter from the onlookers as the cocks knock against each other and then one boy is lodged—the winner. Sometimes I have let ejaculation be the prize. The boy winner allowed to be the first to come and, moreover within the girl, watched and cheered on by all, but it loses him from the next game; a game to play before the party tea.
Sardines is another game, I thought, ripe for my amusement. Given the nakedness of my participants really no change was needed to the traditional rules of the game whatsoever. Imagine, if you will, all those naked young persons crammed together in a hiding place—what will go on? The game requires a darkened house, one person hides while the remainder all count to twenty or perhaps one hundred; they spread out in search of the person who has hidden; as each finds the hider, perhaps in a wardrobe, perhaps under a bed, perhaps in a cupboard, he or she must join the hider in the hiding place. As the game progresses fewer and fewer people are blundering around in the dark until just one is left—the loser. He or she hides the next time around.
Imagine being the hider, you choose a wardrobe and wait. You can hear the sounds of the searchers; then somebody opens the door and feels in; a touch from your sex or the other and the person joins you; perhaps you touch rather more; perhaps become very friendly and then another joins and another; it becomes difficult to keep track of who was there first or second or third; it is difficult to know who is touching whom; is that your friend with hand between your legs or stroking your cock; is he/she the opposite sex or your own? The naughtiness inevitable. The naughtiness extreme. More people enter; it is all becoming very cramped indeed; whose cock is that in your bottom crack or subtly slipped into your vagina; will you ever know? It is hot and sweaty, arousal permeates the air and somebody else tries to get into the wardrobe; there really is not room! Truly the game is properly named.
I did once pack a wardrobe just like a sardine can, pairing the sexes spoon like, girl bottom to boy’s erection, and requiring penetration as each pair was packed away inside. A pleasant thing to assist with! There was hardly room for the last girl, so squashed did it become, I say last girl because, most unfortunately I had misjudged numbers and was a boy short, but was able to remedy that deficiency, easing my own erection between her cheeks as we stepped into the wardrobe, far tighter than the tube train in rush hour, and pulled the door closed. What a press! I waited savouring the closeness of so much naked flesh and then, on my command, the motion of intercourse began; so closely packed that when one moved all had to move as one animalistic mass—a beast of many backs indeed. The heat, the scent, the groanings were, I can assure you, most erotic; there was no control, once started there was no stopping the motion; it was not a frenzied rut—there was no room for that, just a slow heaving, a wave passing gently through the confined space. One by one the men came, a gasping as they filled the girl before them; a gasp of pleasure, a delicious spurting; but it was not over, the heaving of the mass went on, there was no let up in the sliding movement and many a girl came riding an already spent cock, softening but still fucking her, her breasts squashed and stroked by the moving male back in front of her. It was only with the last ejaculatory groan did the movement finally cease and the beast with, what was it, a dozen cocks, finally came to rest after the communal fuck.
Is ‘strip poker’ a custom? Is it a rite of passage amongst young people, a customary way for them to learn of the bodies of the other sex? Perhaps not in your country or town but it may be in others? It does not need to lead to sex, to intercourse; mutual masturbation or the consumption of fluids but it will be a temptation. It does not need to lead to all players being naked. It may be just the loser who is revealed, exposed and examined. It can have two players or a group, it does not even have to have a match of the sexes though you can see the danger for the single girl with perhaps four boys, safer by far for her to be with her friends and a single boy; a single boy they can control and keep his urges in check. Imagine that they win and he is the naked one, think what fun they can have with his cock; safe from any risk of him getting out of hand and penetrating them without their real consent; able to touch and play with the cock, erect it—if not already—and even instigate an ejaculation and see what the cock can do: the sudden sticky spurting onto their hands accompanied by squeals and laughter from the surprised young girls.
You can imagine that I have placed myself in such interesting situations and played a good hand; you can imagine that win or lose my satisfaction is guaranteed; you can imagine the rules of the game are my own and the play goes way beyond the mere removal of clothes, delightful though that is to watch. Particularly with the shy and nervous who take so long about removing just the one garment—especially the more important ones; the blushes spreading across pretty bodies; the girls prepared to do so much more so as not to lose and finding themselves sucking me or even the moist snatches of the other girls and accepting intercourse, lowering themselves in turn on my upstanding cock..
I have mentioned party games but what of the apparently prosaic games of yesteryear—what of draughts, backgammon and chess? Games that have been played for centuries, the happy pastime of so many—you can imagine women in the harem playing, or men sitting in the shade and drinking coffee, their custom to bring out the backgammon board. How have I used this and brought sex into such a thing? The happy winner given the run of the Sultan’s harem like Baron Munchausen or perhaps the ladies of the harem playing naked and being naughty with each other whilst the eunuchs look on in puzzlement?
I imagine more the human chess game from ‘The Prisoner’ but played naked, my opponent and myself directing the movements of the pieces. A slow game perhaps but cerebral and pleasing but what of those old games still played in varying ways around the world—Fox and Geese or Fox and Hounds. Altogether livelier games with great potential for fun and sex. The former where one player is the fox and tries to capture or eat, the geese; the latter, reversing the roles, has one player as the fox who tries to evade the hounds. I have played this for real using an outdoor chequerboard of gravel and brick squares in a garden of a friend, played delightfully with young naked people under the spell of my Amulet. It can be played with either sex as the geese, fox or hounds: one young man as the fox with four women as the hounds or thirteen women (or 15) as geese; or one woman as the fox chased by four men as the hounds, or one woman trying to capture the thirteen men ‘geese.’ All is fun for me and my opponent to watch and play. You really must look up the rules of these games and try them if you do not already know them.
The variations add to the amusement. What fun for the hound, if a girl, to find herself on the board with thirteen naked erect young men; her task to capture the geese; my task to ensure the geese pen her in; as she captures each goose she takes his erection, her hand works or, perhaps, her lips or does she choose to slip it between her legs; whichever way it spurts leaving the goose drooping and out of the game. But what if she loses, what if the geese pen her in? Can you imagine the repeated fucking as one after another the vixen is taken by the geese and finally left for me?
I do so like seeing, indeed setting up, the other board, the board with the thirteen young women and one young man. So pleasing to help them, ever so slightly bewildered but under my control, remove their clothes and to arrange the girls on the sunny board; admire the variation in bodies: some tall, some short; some generously endowed with breasts bouncing as they move, some rather flat with sweet little budding mounds; some dark haired, some fair, some brown, some auburn; some pale skinned, another deliciously, exotically dark, another the colour of coffee; pony tails, curly hair, long flowing locks—so much variation as I position them on the board, my hands free to pat, stroke, touch and encourage. A different game of course, it would not do for my young male opponent to fuck the first goose he catches and use up his erection; no I imagine the girls standing almost statue like on the board until caught; a quick smack on the bottom, the girl bends down and the young man leapfrogs over her into the next square; she is out and has to go and sit on the sidelines awaiting the game’s end but no longer statue like, there is a creeping feeling of arousal and soon her hands are touching herself—how charming it is to watch young girls masturbate and perhaps help another. Will the geese win and one by one fuck the young man or will he win and fuck the goose or geese he chooses?
And what of the many rituals of intercourse? I do not mean ritualistic intercourse; something perhaps too associated with the dark arts—and I do not go there—or a thing undertaken in ancient societies: but I am meaning rituals involved in intercourse. Not real ones of course but rituals I have made up for a few people I know, rituals they find themselves obliged, indeed believe they must follow.
A charming Indian couple I know believe it is their custom for the first three years of marriage that sexual intercourse has to be overseen by a favoured and benevolent uncle to ensure all is going well. You can imagine I am the uncle and often receive a ‘phone call or text requesting my kind permission for them to engage in intercourse that evening. Often I am too busy to attend and send my permission or special advice or instruction. Imagine that, a short text, ‘oral only 2nite’ or ‘try anal’ and that is just what they will do. They believe attendance is required on occasion and not simply to observe, oh no, instruction and participation is expected and welcomed. It is such a delight to be greeted at the door, welcomed and fed, conscious all the time of the sexual tension; the young couple anxious to fuck but will they be permitted straight intercourse or a more complex activity but no doubt equally enjoyable?
I have to mention how pleasurable it is to stop the young couple mid fuck and suggest they are not doing it correctly and instead show them how. The dark haired girl lying perhaps on the bed, legs lolling apart and her sex almost steaming from the work the young man has been doing, the young man listening intently and nodding, his erect, wet penis seemingly nodding in unison as I remove my own clothes and take his place, by way of demonstration. My fingers casually indicating, perhaps by touching, what I mean. The young man watching intently, happily and with great interest as my own member replaces his and I demonstrate. Or explaining the finer points of fellatio to the young couple as the husband and I sit side by side in the lounge with trousers removed and matching erections and the girl’s pretty dusky brown skinned face and ample lips bending first to one and then the other as the finer points of lip and tongue work are explained and she attempts the deep lodgement. The discussion and practice can go on for an hour or more before the girl practises the importance of rapid tongue work at the moment of her husband’s crisis and, listening to my carefully chosen words, the erotic dribbling of semen back onto the penis after ejaculation together with its re-absorption into the mouth again. There is art to all this and it is best learnt properly. I ask detailed questions and then let the girl practise again on me, allowing her the full demonstration in drawing my own ejaculation into her mouth. They are pleased at my generosity. It is so nice to be thanked for all of one’s hard work.
You would no doubt think of undressing for intercourse but what about dressing for intercourse? A requirement for particular and special garments. Now what would they be? Garters and suspender belts—hardly—they are not designed for intercourse but to support hosiery. A ridiculous idea, of course, to have special clothing but. as so many of my ersatz customs are, they are designed for amusement nothing more. Of course there are fetishes about clothing particularly rubber and leather though often with carefully missing sections allowing access to erogenous zones, for the egress of the penis or carefully positioned holes for its ingress.
My idea was for softer clothing and I do favour linen, such a soft and luxurious material. Imagine the young people coming to my shop to be fitted with their linen intercourse clothing, the most surprising measurements being taken by my efficient staff. The young people bemused at having to remove all their clothing, the young men even more surprised as my staff erect them. The clothes tried on, the laces tied, the costumes admired with breasts and penises boldly displayed through openings or only just hidden by flaps with the most charming ribbon closures, nimble fingers demonstrating how the laces or buttons (but never Velcro) are undone around the vagina and anus; different colours and styles tried on. The young people admiring the garments in mirrors as their friends watch. The giggles as laces or ribbons are loosened and a flap falls open and a penis springs out.
Pyjama parties: what a strange custom amongst the young. The suggestion almost seeming an invitation for sex. Imagine what I can do with them! Perhaps with my range of luxury intercourse clothing – the advertisements I had made were more than amusing – or simply with the normal range of sleepwear. Imagine the party goers arriving, men in striped cotton pyjamas, perhaps winceyette; many of the girls in the same attire, though others in nightgowns but all modest with underclothes—except one. A girl with very large breasts and a fine shock of curls between her thighs seemingly oblivious to the near transparency of her nightie and the essentiality of wearing undergarments. The shock, embarrassment and fascination resulting from this – her friends amazed but no one liking to say anything; the boys unable to take their eyes away. The developing problem, as the evening progresses, of penises popping out of pyjamas – the boys had not thought of underclothes – had not expected the stimulating sight of the girl made worse when they all decide to dance. The descent to an orgy inevitable with my presence; the dance loosening pyjama cords, some of the girls preferring to dance just in their pyjama tops affording tantalising glimpses below the hem and the gradual shedding of clothing by all and the unlikely decision that it is time to go to sleep – there will not be much of that for a while, rather a general pairing and communal fuck.
You can understand why those New Guinea tribesmen walk around stark bollock naked but for those long curving pointy gourds over their penises looking like permanent erections. An unusual custom but not, I suppose that different from the codpiece of Europeans in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries. A very strange custom of the time indeed; when gentlemen wore increasingly elaborate and prominent codpieces even having them fashioned in metal for their armour. Perhaps it is just for modesty in New Guinea but it does not look like that to my eyes. It is an exaggeration of the male genitalia, an attempt to impress. Of course there is no need for the artificial, the mock penis when the real thing is present. Would it not be pleasant to walk around with your penis at attention conversing with the girls or just out for a walk? You think not? It perhaps depends on the size of your genitalia; whether you feel the confidence a large organ gives you and can maintain your erection in the circumstance. You must try it—when the weather is fine.