Chapter 1

My name is James of Colchester.

I must confess that I am a jester of sorts but not amusing enough to be considered first rate by the educated upper-classes.

The paths of the astonishing Friar Harold and I crossed on a cold and blustery day when my garments were fair covered with snow and ice and I must have looked like an icicle ready to drop into the ditch at the side of the road. Please trust that I will not try to embellish my importance in this meeting which was both benign and insignificant and totally of a random nature.

At that particular juncture of my life, I was but a sprite of a lad, only eighteen and filled to my silly brim with excesses of spunk in need of safe harbor. Of course, I was focused on the hope that it would be inside some comely personage of the female gender with ample storage capacity in her trio of openings to absorb the flooding of my forceful juices. In all honesty, I must admit I would be willing to accept a female lacking some degree of charm and good looks providing she was sincerely appreciative of my efforts in stuffing her to her maximum limit. I was not a virgin by any stretch of the imagination having already acquainted my inquisitive pecker with sundry holes of opportunistic consummation. I can assure you that the young ladies in question were all of the age of majority and quite willing and of a submissive nature pleasing me beyond belief.

I am ashamed to admit that I was also accustomed to trading the use of my unsheathed sword to several married ladies of unhappy marital unions seeking the comfort of a younger lad with weakness of moral character and in need of funds to keep him in ample supply of vittles and drink. I have always found that the discovery of many nocturnal secrets was derived from concert with females of a more mature age with years of experience under their clothing. I am the first to state definitively that my reputed skills in bedroom sports and my vast variety of carnal pleasuring was learned from such age-challenged females and I was most attentive to their spirited tutoring.

A case in point would be the Duchess of Cambridge who was to be sure not blessed with facial perfection and somewhat long in tooth for youthful frolic. She was more rotund than curved and her curls were for daytime show and removed at night for safekeeping. I was invited to entertain the Duchess in her private bedrooms on a soft summer night with the windows thrown open to attract a hint of a cooling breeze to reduce the sheen of shiny sweat from all human bodies both male and female with little thought to appropriate behavior or rules of propriety.

I must apologize to you readers of my convoluted tale to have digressed into this discussion of the Duchess when I wanted to tell you about Friar Harold.

Please bear with me for the nonce and I will explain my verbal detour as quickly as possible.

Where was I?

Oh, yes, the Duchess was not much to look at in her thin nightshift on top of the luxurious bed that dated back several generations to more temptingly endowed maidens losing their cherries on their wedding night. There was no danger of the Duchess losing her cherry as she had been well exercised by most of the male staff of the castle and a goodly number of the military guard as well. In truth, she was a bit jaded what with sampling the familiar poking tools of the males under her authority and the sight of the fresh eighteen year old in front of her (me) was enough to bring the juices back to her well-worn slit and make her nipples stand upright once again.

I was in my tights that showed my masculine assembly in great detail and I in turn was able to see the dark patch of hair between the Duchess's legs that promised great fun with her legs perched high on my shoulders.

My original thought was modified when she turned over and presented me with her huge backside that was more a magnificent and imposing edifice than a normal shapely heart-shaped garden of paradise. Right away, I surmised she preferred to take her cock from the rear rather than in the traditional missionary style which was universally thought best for male control of the female copulation activities.

It was relatively simple to fling her flimsy nightshift to the side and address her flanks with serious intent. She was so accommodating that she reached around behind and pulled her great flabby slabs to the side allowing me ready access to both her brown tinged crinkle hole and her black haired slit of feminine delight. I could see the wetness and the pink readiness of her female folds and aimed with my customary skill for the vaginal entryway expecting that it would be loose and ready. Unfortunately, she had moved somewhat and my rock-hard member defeated her unmotivated sphincter instead and slid home inside her posterior portal with a squishing sound that struck concern into my youthful heart.

I was instantly fearful of her reaction expecting that she might consider parting my head from my body for my terrible mistake.

I remember distinctly that she began to quiver and shake like a mad-woman possessed and I was forced to hang on for dear life to keep from being flung off the bed and onto the hard stone floor. I did have some instant gratification because her back door of love making was unusually tight for a woman of her age and I assumed she had not used that entryway often. I desperately wanted to apologize for my poor aim but the poor woman was making a series of animal-like grunts and groans that was in perfect rhythm with the way she was thrusting her entire lower body back into my groin for deeper penetration. I was not certain if I should just stay there like a complicit wall of flesh for her to impale her flesh upon or to meet her halfway and try to ride her sturdy body to ultimate orgasm with some degree of comfortable fit and a modicum of dignity.

The Duchess and I became fast friends after that mishap because she had taken a liking to me and my obliging ways. It was because of her that I met the good Friar Harold because she had sent me on a silly errand into the market to find some hair brushes that could easily serve for the brushing of hair and the administering of corrections to her maids in waiting who were often clumsy in their work and not attentive to orders. I had already become friendly with a pair of them who were uncommon familiar with my anatomy despite never having met me before. I often mixed them up because they had the same color hair and sounded quite alike because they came from the same village and their accents were identical. I must admit I only remember one of their names because it was several years past. I know for a fact that the one with the lovely big boobs was called Emma and the one with the air of a person far above her station was called Jane. I tended to like Emma better because she was generous with her favors but Jane had that certain air of mystery that I found irresistible from an intellectual point of view not that I was above average in intelligence. I felt certain that Miss Jane was quite intelligent because she used words most unfamiliar and I spent a great deal of time thumbing through the family book of words to discover its true meaning. Sometimes I could guess at the meaning because of the way she used it in a sentence or just the look in her flashing eyes but I wanted to be certain about things and I was more often wrong than right.