For Research Purposes Only 1

On the evening of Wednesday the 15th of January, 1823, the Reverend Dr Thomas Quigley delivered a paper to the Royal Society. The title of his paper was

On the Possibilities of Artificial Insemination as a Means to Improving the Quality of Rural Populations

.

Dr Quigley was concerned that the quality of the breeding stock of many of Britain's rural villages was declining at an alarming rate. Men and women who were both stupid and lazy were producing offspring of even lesser quality. Just as herds of sheep and cattle needed to be revitalised from time to time, Dr Quigley believed that village populations also needed an injection of fresh blood.

The answer, as outlined in Dr Quigley's paper, would be a troupe of eager, fit, intelligent young men whose semen could be introduced into village women. As a man of the cloth, Dr Quigley could, of course, not countenance adultery. And suitable young men would be unlikely to want to marry the lazy, stupid, (and often ugly) women who needed what the chosen few had to offer. But artificial insemination? Now that might be an altogether different matter.

At almost the exact moment that Dr Quigley was stepping up to the podium to deliver his address, his daughter, Miss Emmeline Quigley, an aspiring novelist, who had accompanied her father to London, was admitting a man into the sitting room of their temporary accommodation in Covent Garden, just a short walk away from the Royal Society's rooms.

'Thank you for making yourself available at such short notice, Mr Cockman,' she said.

'The pleasure is entirely mine, Miss Quigley,' the man said.

'I believe Mrs Herbertson said that your fee will be half a guinea. Is that correct?'

'It is, Miss,' the man said. 'I trust that that is acceptable.'

Miss Quigley went into the adjoining room and returned, almost immediately, with some coins. 'Half a guinea,' she said. 'I shall put it here. On the sideboard.'

The man bowed slightly. 'Thank you, Miss.'

'Our time is somewhat limited,' Miss Quigley said. 'It would not be good if my father should return from his meeting at the Royal Society before we had completed our business. So I think that we should begin without delay.' Miss Quigley picked up a notebook and a pencil, and rearranged one of the side chairs so that it was facing the man. 'I think that I shall observe from here,' she said. 'And if you remain ... well, where you are presently standing ... I think that you will benefit from the light from the lamp.'

The man nodded.

Miss Quigley opened the notebook at a fresh page. 'I shall be taking notes,' she said, tapping her pencil on the notebook. 'When I come to use the, umm,

information

, I wish to be as reliable a witness as possible. My characters may be fictional; but I want their actions to have a certain verisimilitude.' And she smiled. 'Now ... I am ready when you are, sir.'

Mr Cockman looked to be about 30 years of age. Not too young. But by no means old. He was perhaps a little taller than average, with a pleasant countenance, and a handsome shock of dark brown hair. He had already removed his top hat and frock coat, and he was standing before Miss Quigley dressed in tan-coloured breeches, a white shirt (with exaggerated cuffs), a white cravat, and a black waistcoat that barely reached to his waist.

With his eyes fixed firmly on Miss Quigley, he unbuttoned his breeches and slowly lowered them. He was not wearing any undergarments. It was as though everything had been designed to get to the object of Miss Quigley's curiosity and inquiry with the least possible delay.

'My word,' Miss Quigley said. 'It is ... well ... somewhat larger than I expected. If I am honest. My expectation - based on stone and marble statues, et cetera - was of something slightly smaller, something a little less ... well ... substantial.'

Mr Cockman nodded. 'It may be a little in excess of average, Miss. Penises vary a good deal. Or so I am given to believe. Some men get by with but two or three inches in length overall. On the other hand, the prize fighter Black Jack Horntree was said to have a penis that exceeded ten-and-three-quarter inches when fully aroused. It must have been quite a sight.'

Miss Quigley nodded and wrote something in her notebook. 'I am not in any way suggesting that your ...' she made a rolling motion with the forefinger of her right hand, 'I am not suggesting that your ... should be compared to that of a horse,' she said. 'But it is still ...' And she made another note in her notebook.

'Shall I continue, Miss?'

Miss Quigley glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. 'Yes. Thank you.' But then she said: 'However, perhaps - with your consent - I might first test its weight?'

'By all means, Miss,' the man said.

Miss Quigley stood up, placed her notebook and pencil on her chair, and moved to within a foot or so of the man. At first, she didn't seem to be sure what to do next. But then she reached out and took the weight of his penis in the upturned fingers of her right hand. She tested its weight a couple of times and, almost immediately, the penis began to grow.

To say that Miss Quigley was alarmed would be to over-state her response. But she was a little surprised. 'Oh! Is this normal?' she asked.

'Normal?'

'I perceive that it just, well, grew. In every direction.'

'In my experience, Miss Quigley, yes, that is totally normal.'

'Oh. Good.' And she nodded slightly. 'Good.'

Miss Quigley allowed the 'growing' penis to revert to supporting its own weight and she returned to her chair. 'Interesting,' she said. 'Yes. Interesting.' And she made another note in her notebook.

'Shall I precede, Miss?'

'Oh, yes. Yes. Of course.'

Mr Cockman took his growing penis in the upturned fingers of his right hand, rather in the way in which Miss Quigley had. His right thumb he placed on top of his penis. And then he moved his whole hand towards his penis's purple-pink helmet-shaped head.

Miss Quigley watched - carefully - and then made a further note in her notebook.

For the next minute or so, Mr Cockman continued to slide his hand up and down his gradually growing organ.

'Your, umm, breathing ...,' Miss Quigley said, sounding just a touch concerned. 'It is becoming noticeably shallower. Are you all right? Do you need me to get you something? Some water perhaps?'

'Thank you, Miss. But I am perfectly all right. It is just a normal part of what happens.'

Miss Quigley nodded and made yet another note in her notebook. 'Are you sure that there is nothing I can do? Nothing that I can get you?'

For a moment or two the man said nothing. And then he said: 'You could - if you wanted to, Miss - raise your skirt and let me gaze upon your parts.'

'My parts?' Miss Quigley said. 'You mean my ...?' And she waved a hand in that region of her lap.

'I do, Miss,' the man said.

'Oh?' Miss Quigley frowned. 'And what ... will that achieve?'

'Excitement, Miss.'

'Excitement? How is that so, sir?'

'What the eye sees, the cock does feel, Miss.'

'The cock?'

Mr Cockman tapped his erect member with his forefinger.

'Oh. Yes. Of course. The cock. Yes.'

'Especially the stiff cock, Miss.'

Miss Quigley made a few more notes in her notebook. And then, still frowning slightly, she said: 'But surely, the, umm, parts - that is to say even my, umm, parts - cannot be especially exciting.'

The man smiled. 'I think that you will find, Miss, to a stiff cock, the parts of a member of the fairer sex can be

very

exciting.'

'I see.'

For half a minute - perhaps longer - Miss Quigley made notes in her notebook, while her guest continued to slowly stroke his erect penis (of possibly greater than average dimensions). And then Miss Quigley put down her notebook and pencil, pulled her skirt up around her waist, lowered her drawers, and spread her thighs slightly.

'Is this the sight that excites, sir?'

Mr Cockman smiled, nodded, and massaged the head of his penis with the ball of his thumb. 'Almost perfect, Miss.'

'Almost, sir? Pray tell how it could be more perfect.'

'Perhaps if it was possible to view your, umm, entrance, Miss Quigley.'

Miss Quigley frowned. 'My entrance, sir?'

'Yes, Miss.'

Miss Quigley continued to frown, but, nevertheless, she spread her labia and exposed the entrance to her vagina. 'Like this?'

'Perfect, Miss.'

'And can you explain

why

it is more perfect now that it was previously?'

'Now, Miss, I can more easily imagine my cock entering into you.'

A look of surprise crossed Miss Quigley's face. 'Gracious,' she said. 'But surely, a, umm, cock (as you say) as big as yours could not enter such a small opening.'

'I think you would be surprised, Miss.'

Miss Quigley frowned.

'Perhaps I could demonstrate, Miss.' And, before Miss Quigley could say anything, the man said: 'Oh, not with my cock. No. With my fingers. May I?'

Miss Quigley continued to frown. 'With your fingers?'

'Yes, Miss.'

'Well, I

suppose

that would be all right,' she said. 'What would you need me to do?'

'Just slide forward a little on the chair.'

Miss Quigley did as she was bid.

'And perhaps you could assume responsibility for the management of my cock - although, at this stage, not

too

vigorously.' And then Mr Cockman positioned himself so that he had access to Miss Quigley's quim and she had access to his throbbing cock.

Mr Cockman began by separating Miss Quigley's labia, smearing the juices that were beginning to appear along the length of the valley from her little nubby clitoris almost all of the way to her puckered anus and then back again.

'Oh!' Miss Quigley exclaimed. 'Oh! Gracious!'

After tracing the length of her increasingly-slippery valley six of seven times, Mr Cockman entered her warm and waiting vagina with his juice-slicked finger.

'Oh, gracious, gracious!' Miss Quigley exclaimed.

And then Mr Cockman allowed a second finger to join the first.

'Oh, dear God in heaven!' Miss Quigley said.

But Mr Cockman was not done. A third finger soon joined the other two. For a minute or so, Mr Cockman allowed his fingers to remain inside Miss Quigley while he massaged her now groundnut-sized clitoris with his thumb. And then he gently withdrew - keeping his three fingers together. With his other hand, he made an open circle with his thumb and forefinger, and then thrust the three glistening fingers that had so recently been inside Miss Quigley into the circle. 'There,' he said. 'And I do believe that my cock will fit into that same space.' And he demonstrated that it did. (Although, to be honest, it only just fitted.)

'You are right, sir. I would not have believed it had I not seen it with my own eyes. Quite remarkable!'

Mr Cockman smiled and resumed control of his rampant cock. He held the head just an inch or so away from the entrance to Miss Quigley's vagina. 'One thrust now,' he said, 'and my cock would be inside you.'

'Then thrust, sir,' Miss Quigley said. 'Thrust, by all means.'

Mr Cockman eased forward.

'Oh, oh, oh! Dear God in heaven!' Miss Quigley exclaimed.

Mr Cockman let his cock rest without further movement deep inside Miss Quigley. But he worked her clitoris with his fingers and, in no time at all, she was shaking and shuddering and softly whimpering like a puppy.

'Remarkable,' Miss Quigley said, once she had managed to regain her composure. 'Quite, quite remarkable.'

'Indeed, Miss. But I believe that it was the actual spunking that you were desirous of observing,' Mr Cockman said.

Miss Quigley smiled and nodded. 'Oh, yes. Yes, of course. I had almost forgotten,' she said.

Mr Cockman took his cock in hand once more and began to pump it with renewed vigour. 'And now,' he said, his breath beginning to desert him. 'And now ... Oh, yes. Fuck, yes.' And ropes of silvery-white cum shot from his (perhaps larger than average) cock and fell upon Miss Quigley's milky white thighs.

'Yes,' Miss Quigley said. 'Yes. I think I shall be able to remember that. But I shall just make a few notes nevertheless.'

Half an hour later, when the Reverend Doctor Thomas Quigley returned and stepped into the sitting room to wish his daughter goodnight, Mr Cockman had gone.

'Was your paper well received, Father?' Miss Quigley enquired.

'Umm ... by some quarters,' Dr Quigley said. 'Yes. By some quarters. And how was your evening, Emmy? How did you occupy yourself?'

'Research,' Miss Quigley said. 'I have arrived at the view that, even in fiction, it is important to get the facts right.' And she formed her thumb and forefinger into a circle. 'You might be surprised what can fit through an apparently small opening.'

Her father looked confused. 'Well ... umm ... yes,' he said. 'But then ... many things surprise me, Emmy. Perhaps I will ... umm ... wish you goodnight and God bless.'