'Madame,' gasped my as yet nameless companion, 'this is Mr.

White. He has an appointment for eleven o'clock.' I should perhaps at this point explain to my readers exactly how I came to be present at that time and in that place. The story had started some days before. 'Andrew, you really must come and pay a visit to the dildo manufactory,' said Hannah. I had been unable to reply coherently on the instant since my head was buried between her wide-spread thighs and I was in the act of licking her to a state of ecstasy. 'Oooflll, wufflll, gluppp,' was all I could manage to say. Hannah, as I have explained in an earlier chapter of these memoirs, was the elder of the two daughters of the widow, Mrs. P-, at whose house I had lodgings. She was employed by Messrs Doulton in their art pottery in Lambeth as a painter and an expert in the application of glazes. She was also, on her own account, a student of the erotic decorative arts of the Orient and had a growing reputation in sophisticated circles for her very original urns and vases.

Privately commissioned, these depicted usually in great detail, the more abandoned activities of Antiquity. Readers may remember how she had been banished from the Bristol house of Colonel and Mrs. Moore when surprised trying to recreate, with the help of her friends, a classic Greek frieze. When I had finished my labours between her legs and withdrawn to a more conventional position-one where I could both hear and speak-she explained what she was talking about. It appeared that Hannah, along with a number of her more adventurous fellow artists, had been instrumental in setting up a discreet but now thriving business in the manufacture of dildoes. These were produced both on the potter's wheel and from wood. Many were decorated using the full range of the ceramic artist's or woodcarver's techniques.