She got a holiday, we had food at a tavern, went to the house to which I
first took Charlotte, and into the same room; what a reminiscence! As I
got to the door, she looked nervously round and said, "I may as well
be hung for a sheep as a lamb." It was a joyous day for me. Once in the
house she became gay and amatory, threw off all restraint, and abandoned
herself to sexual enjoyment in a way she never did but twice again.
She was simply dressed as was customary with servants in those days.
Soon I had her standing naked before me with but boots and stockings on.
And what a sight she was. Quite five feet eight high, stout, yet as it
seemed to me then, without a single part of her body either flabby
or shapeless, her skin was of such dazzling whiteness that her white
stockings looked dull by contrast, very light brown hair, which when
pulled out nearly hung to her waist, the hair of her cunt and arm-pits
in quantity of a lighter golden brown; all looked much darker than their
true colour, against the dazzling whiteness of the skin. Ample calves
and thighs, breasts firm as ivory, her arms to match in plumpness and
whiteness, her hands alone discoloured by work, looked dark against the
rest of her glorious person. I recollect this all well, and that at that
time I disliked light-haired women: but in her suddenly, the light hair
appeared to me lovely.
She changed in manner that day from a condescending matron, to a
lover of my own age; had the complacency of a gay woman, tempered with
modesty. I had no notion of baudily posturing women which I learned
in after life, but had an innate love and perception of all that
was beautiful, and began placing her in attitudes favorable to the
contemplation of her charms. She complied with all; from belly to side,
from side to back I turned her; she smiled as if pleased, curious, and
astonished; and when I turned to quench my passion in her, she met me
with an ardour less demonstrative, but more stifling and satisfying
than Charlotte; it was a worry to think that I had twice fucked her, and
seemed to have finished each time before I had began fucking.
The firmness of her flesh impressed me, whether I put my finger between
the cheeks of her arse or between her thighs, I could with difficulty
get it away; she could have cracked a nut between either. The next
wonder was the hair of her cunt, which was long but curly; I now see
that she could not have pissed without wetting it, which accounted
for her always what we youths used to call mopping it, after she had
piddled. The cunt looked twice as big as Charlotte's, but the prick-hole
seemed to me smaller; and whether my finger or my prick was in it,
seemed to grasp it tightly. My prepuce used to give me then at times
pain just before, or when I spent in Charlotte; in Mary I scarcely
seemed to feel it, and afterwards a quiet sort of grinding of her cunt,
prolonged my pleasure until my penis left it. I was so new to the work,
that all those differences impressed me, I compared and thought of them
constantly.
She gave no violent writhes, nor twists, nor jerked her arse, nor
wriggled as she spent, but just as my short thrusts came on, her belly
used gradually to heave up and grow into mine; her cunt almost seemed to
be sucking my prick, whilst it throbbed and jetted its sperm into her;
my hardest thrusts never hurt; Charlotte used to complain if my prick
was too vigorous in her. Then when her pleasure was over; lolling her
tongue against mine, and sucking my very breath from me, she quietly
subsided; leaving me to lay in her, until with a kiss, she would gently
doze off with me in her arms.
A taste had developed as said, which I have retained to the present
time. I loved to see a woman piddle, used to make Charlotte do it as
often as I could, to place my hand under the stream, and feel its splash
on my fingers; and if chance let me hear the rattle in a pot, or see a
woman rising up from the attitude, my prick used to stand. I did this
with her greatly to her astonishment, she resented it so much that I
never repeated it: singular that a woman who would let me lay and kiss
her cunt, or put finger and prick up it; should refuse to let me see the
water come from it--but so it was.
Charlotte I loved, and used to feel as if she were part and parcel of
me for life, when I was up her, with Mary I thought of thighs, backside,
cunt, and her other parts, without much liking her beyond the desire of
spending in her. My impression is that I must have fucked that day,
as much as I ever did in my life on one day; my mother remarked that I
looked ill and worn out when I got home, and again fell on her favorite
belief that I was overstudying. How she could have permitted a young man
to be so often in the kitchen, and near to female servants, seems to me
a marvel of stupidity,--but she did.
Nothing opens a man and woman's heart to each other like fucking. A
woman laying satisfied by your side, her cunt bedewed with your spunk,
with fingers touching your prick, and mouth fresh from contact with
yours; will tell you more than she will at any other time. She did that
day. She had thought me a mere boy, getting baudy with coming manhood,
and had liked me. My quiet, demure manner, made her imagine that such an
attack from me, was among the most improbable things; when I began
she made up her mind to leave, but then came the mystery,--there were
circumstances which rendered it needful for her to stay where she was,
if possible--what they were she would not say. My assault on her in the
bed-room and all that followed upset all her ideas, filled her mind
with images of lust and pleasure, and left that undefined sensation and
unsatisfied longing which is known as randiness. I suddenly seemed a man
to her. My spending in her hand upset her still more. I asked if that
had made her let me have her. She replied, "I gave up the self denial
of years, abandoned my intentions, and let you do it; when you pushed
me into the garden parlour I intended to let you as I went in, I had not
quite intended before."
There was the greatest difficulty after that day in getting her, for my
mother seemed always in my way, and objected to my being in the kitchen.
Mary never helped me as Charlotte used, as cook indeed she could not.
She ran no risks, and was never in a hurry, so where I had Charlotte
half a dozen times, I could scarcely get Mary once.
She met me out again, and in a fortnight asked for another holiday. It
astonished my mother, for more than a year she scarcely had gone out,
and never had taken a whole holiday. What another day of ballock-ing it
was, in that old, snug, baudy house--but we had a quarrel there.
****
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