AUTHOR’S NOTE. Obviously, no Mythical Creatures were harmed in the writing of this story.

Strange are the passions that grip a man. Cedric Lennox studied Theology, Philosophy and Classics at Corpus Christi College Oxford. Theology because as the youngest son of a landed family his only career options were the Military or the Church. The thought of fighting anyone, let alone killing them, filled him with horror. His interest in Christian theological matters was lukewarm at best but it fitted well with his study of the Classics as did, to a certain extent, Philosophy.

While Greek and Latin were always a chore to be endured, the myths of Ancient Greece and Rome sent his heart racing. But even more than the exploits of gods and heroes, his great love was mythical beasts.

He was intrigued by them all but Cedric was particularly fascinated by the ability of the writers and artists of old to combine animal with animal and often human with animal to produce fantastic yet believable creatures.

From his earliest boyhood, he had scoured secondhand bookshops looking for old illustrated tomes containing engravings of Gryphon, Harpies, Chimera and the like. By the time that he went up to Oxford, Cedric had amassed an impressive collection.

From then on, the generous allowance from his father permitted him to purchase rarer items from antiquarian booksellers.

That is how Cedric met Phyllida.

Phyllida Boyd too had a desire to study Classics. She had passed the entrance exam for St Hilda’s College Oxford. Unfortunately, her parents’ financial circumstances changed suddenly and her hopes were dashed.

Phyllida became a librarian instead.

After two years of stamping and handing out Barbara Cartlands, Agatha Christies and Enid Blytons, stamping them back in and replacing them in the correct place on the correct shelf in the correct section, she left the library and got a job in Sanders’ Bookshop in High Street, Oxford.

Phyllida thought it the next best thing to a University education. She got to handle rare books on Classical subjects on a daily basis. Mr Sanders, old Mr Sanders that is, very quickly began to value her knowledge of the Ancient World.

Mostly, only grey-bearded gentlemen actually purchased the most expensive volumes but there was one young undergraduate who had a taste for and could afford to buy these books.

Cedric Lennox would discuss his potential acquisitions with Phyllida before committing himself. Very soon he came to trust her opinion and she started to hold back items that she really should have put up for general sale. She always gave Cedric ‘first refusal’ and he rarely failed to take her advice.

Not many months passed before his love of rare books was surpassed by his passion for Phyllida. It may have been her petite figure or her fresh complexion but it could have been her acute mind or subtle wit, yet again there is a chance that he was drawn to Phyllida’s short dark curls and thick black-rimmed spectacles. What could have had some bearing on the matter was the smart but academic way she dressed. But, if you ask my opinion, I feel that the principal appeal, for Cedric, was the young lady’s small but perfectly rounded tits.

Regardless, his weekly visits to Sanders’ evolved into twice weekly affairs.

Eventually, Cedric nearly summoned the courage to ask Phyllida if she would care to have lunch with him. Nearly, but not quite.

Fortune intervened when, as the pair were poring over a facsimile copy of a much older illustrated Arabic book called ‘On the Usefulness of Animals’, old Mr Sanders wandered into the shop.

“Are you two young people a couple, now?” he asked, casually.

“No!” they replied in unison.

“Whyever not?”

Before either of them could think of a reason, he went on, “Put that volume under the counter, it will keep it for you. I will mind the shop while you both go around the corner to that new Italian Coffee place.

“Don’t come back until you have come to some arrangement.”

“But...” was the joint response.

“But me no buts, just go,” insisted the old gentleman.

They went.

The couple saw each other regularly, kissed, held hands, went so far but no further, met each other’s parents and when Cedric was ordained and became the Curate at a large church in Devizes in Wiltshire the two of them were engaged to be married.

By 1956, when Phyllida was 26 and Cedric a year older, they wed at her parish church in Oxford.

In the way of a honeymoon the happy couple planned to spend a fortnight hiking in the Lake District.

They travelled up by train and signed the hotel register as ‘The Reverend and Mrs Cedric Lennox’.

The first night was everything that Phyllida had hoped it would be. Cedric agreed that the wait had been worth it. Every day they trudged the tracks and byways around the lakes. Each night they couldn’t get enough of each other.

And not just the nights. During one morning, the newlyweds were walking through a wooded glade when they came across a swath of golden daffodils upon a trackside bank.

“Oh look!” cried Phyllida, “How poetic!”

Cedric pulled her into his embrace and as they kissed passionately, she could feel the prominent bulge in his hiking shorts.

“Quickly,” said the new wife, as she climbed onto the grassy verge, “take me amongst the daffodils!”

Looking around to reassure himself that they were alone, Cedric followed her off the track. By the time that he had caught up, his wife had pulled up her skirt, slipped off her knickers, and was lying legs apart surrounded by gold.

Getting his shorts to half-mast, the obedient husband climbed between her raised knees. After six days of practice, he had no trouble finding his target.

Phyllida gasped as he slipped into her, “Mr Wordsworth would have been horrified.”

“Yes, what a limerick he would have written, if indeed he ever wrote such a thing,” laughed Cedric, commencing his thrusting.

Lost in nature and mutual ecstasy, the couple did their best to synchronize their movements; Phyllida lifting her hips slightly with each of his downward thrusts.

“Yes!” she cried, as he unloaded into her.

At that moment they became aware of boisterous singing some way down the track that they had arrived by.

“ ... with a knapsack on my back.

“Val-deri, val-dera...”

The couple jumped to their feet, adjusted their clothing and made off away from the sound. Cedric and Phyllida were in fits of laughter as they rounded the next bend without being seen.

“That was nearly awkward, old girl.”

“Still, we got away with it, didn’t we, darling?” she replied.

They walked on a few paces further, when Phyllida said, “Oh blast, my drawers! I left them on top of the flowers.”

Cedric chuckled, “Not to worry, I’m sure you have others.”

“No, you don’t understand, they were the very expensive powder blue ones that go with this brassiere. I bought them especially for the honeymoon.”

“Still, never mind,” said her husband, “they were very nice but it can’t be helped.”

“We will have to go back for them!”

“If you insist,” said Cedric, good-naturedly, “Let’s have a look to see if there is anybody still about. I don’t want you to be embarrassed.”

“It all sounds quiet now,” he whispered, as they cautiously retraced their steps and peered around a large bush.

Several yards away, seated on the same daffodil bank that had witnessed their passion, were a group of six or seven young men all dressed in light olive-green short-sleeved shirts and darker green shorts.

“I recognise those maroon berets and red neckerchiefs, they are senior scouts,” said Cedric, rather pleased with himself for remembering.

Phyllida hissed, “Never mind that, look what they’re doing!”

It then became apparent to Cedric that the young men were passing something pale blue between themselves. Each one took a turn to sniff the gusset of his wife’s discarded knickers before handing them on.

A few of the scouts had a hand up the leg of their shorts and were pulling on something contained within. As the pants were handed back to a rather tall spotty lad, he got out his penis and started to use Phyllida’s undergarment to masturbate himself with.