Yilo Minneapolis' life was like a regency romance. He was the Beau of the London social season; everything English nobility respected; clever but vapid, wealthy but lazy, and drop dead gorgeous. Yilo Minneapolis was the apple of every debutante's eye despite his queerness. Yilo was a Man's Man who knew just how to butter up and devour male flesh - especially the ebony type.
"Pish-posh Figgy, you would understand but your heteronormative mongoloid brain couldn't appreciate good old jolly buggery." Sighed Yilo
"Maybe so, but why is it specifically big black cock?" Figgy said lightly
"Because degeneracy is the essence of pleasure; beyond the bounds of propriety, to naughtily break the taboo." Exclaimed Yilo
"One would think when one is queer one is already going beyond the bounds," stated Figgy
"One would think, but when there are old Queens like Her Majesty Figgymumpous imposing the old order on the new man, there are new frontiers of buggery. New provinces of sin with which to disappoint God and your parents." Retorted Yilo
Yilo Minneapolish lights a cigarette, and despite the adversarial reparteé, Figgy reached into Yilo's trousers. Yilo's mind wanders between puffs of a cigarette as Figgy wanks him off while he contemplates how to import big black cocks into 1820 Regency England.
The day is long but the night is short. There are so many hours when one must be at balls, or billiards, or croquet, or salons, and so few taken in the bedroom in the euphoric furories of sexual excitement. The more ample my sex life the more absent my social life. So I had a very clever idea, why not combine the two? And thus I discovered the fine art of Swinging which occupied the life of many of the good and old of England. Lord Eavesham, little old Figgy's Papa, was the one who first turned me onto it noticing I and Figgy's reclusion in Figgy's bedchamber the months Figgy was in London. He reviled the musk penetrating into the halls where he walked everyday. Eavesham who was sexually enlightened had not a problem with the activity, but the fermentation of love vapours ruined his enjoyment of his townhouse. What I and Figgy learned of was the Hidden Social Season.
The London Social Season was, of course, the English aristocracy descending on the capital for a summer of pomp and festivity - this is the time to be known for anybody who's anybody. The Hidden Social Season was akin to a secret society. An esoteric club for sexually enlightened aristocrats to indulge their illegal delights and curiosities. No man speaks of what happens in the coven. If the public knew, God save us.
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