Having Sally thus on the sly and in a hurry nearly always, did not suit me who liked enjoying a woman tranquilly, and playing with her, looking her all over, and feeling her. I had taken also a fancy for putting my middle-finger up Sally's cunt, and keeping it there on account of its tightness, and comparing it with the full-sized vulvas of Sarah Mavis and Louisa Fisher. I can't tell why I took to this trick with her; as for years I had not cared about feeling the inside of women's machines, and rarely if ever did so with casuals. I could not have this enjoyment well in our hurried em- braces. Besides Sally's linen was not invitingly white, though she seemed unconscious of it, and pulled it up to her navel unhesitatingly when she saw my prick. “She won't be five minutes gone, — be quick,” was a frequent remark, wise and unavoidable, but not pleasant.

I tried for another Saturday, but for three weeks it was unsuccessful. Sally told me the remarks her Missus made from time to time, and as a draw I once said to the mistress, I thought I should go to London, but nothing came of it. Then I did go to London. After that on a Friday the good woman asked if I was going to stop at * * * on Sunday. Why? She told me frankly that she could not leave unless there was no cooking to do. Then I said I was going away till Monday, and at eight p.m. that Saturday night Sally and I were again in the house alone with the children.

Instead of sleeping in Sally's bed, we this time slept in mine, and a fine fucking bout we had, after putting a towel under her fat little bum to save the sheets. She was very curious about the altered condition of her cunt, had been so ever since her hymen was ruptured, and had not disguised her curiosity from me. We talked about it; it felt different she said. She described it accurately from touch, and I described the difference from look. She had tried to look at it, but could not manage it. On the Sunday morning I got the hand-glass out of my dressing-case, and what with that, and putting the table-glass on the floor, then on to a chair, then holding it in front of her cunt for her to see; her natural curiosity was gratified, and so was mine. The investigation was a great treat, and the conversation which ensued equally so. Sally said she had felt five men's cocks on the beach, but had not seen one of them, all was done in the dark. She had frigged none as far as she knew. All the men had felt her, or tried, but she always shut her thighs tightly to stop their fingers going far. The second man had not paid her. She told her friend, who, evidently more experienced, advised her to ask for the shilling first, which she did. “None on em felt so large as yourn.” Was she sure? Quite. She was inexperenced, but my belief in the size of my persuader improved. She looked at her cunt by my aid three or four times on the Sunday, saying each time she had had for-gotten how it looked. At the last look, I insisted on seeing the piddle come out of it, if I helped her. Point blank she refused that, and I could not persuade her.

I took in on that night bread and sausages, and that is all we had to eat. I cooked them. I had my own tea and wine there, and was sorry when Monday came. I went off quite early, and then came back, as if I had just re-turned from London, but Mrs. Harris had not re-turned, so Sally and I had another poke. Then I went to lunch, came back, and professed annoyance at having had to go out, because the landlady was not at home. There never was the slightest suspicion of my game.

Sally was a charming little fuckster. Very soon after I had had her all her modesty went. She was short, and had a girlish face; excepting for that and the small quantity of hair on her quim, she seemed over seventeen. Her form was full and round, her limbs strong and thick. She had largish firm breasts, and a solid backside. She was come of a big family she said, and had had her monthlies two years. She had a small, tight, elastic cunt, and wagged her arse when fucking, after the first week or so, as if she had fucked for twelve months, and had an immense undisguised enjoyment in the operation. She was quite artless, and delighted to talk about the sensations which the prick gave her. That was one of the charms of knowing her.

No lodgers were to be had, so the landlady transferred herself and children to the ground-floor. Being then just under me she could have heard, and caught me had she thought of looking out for my games. This diminished my chances of fucking with ease of mind. It affected Sally worse than me, for she was always in a state of anxiety, and directly I had had her, and her “ah! — er — ha!” which usually accompanied her spending was over, it was, “Oh! let me go, — she'll be a hearing on us,” — and she would uncunt me, and set to work cleaning the grate noisily, or removing my breakfast-things, or doing any other work she happened to be engaged on.

My money was running short, my friends had left, and it was dull. I told Sally I must soon leave. She cried. I tried to inculcate morality into her; but it was of very little use. She asked me every day when I was going, — could I not get her a situation in London? — why not let her be one of our servants? — perhaps my Missus would take her, for she had said she was a hard-working girl, — was it difficult to get a place in London? — if she did, would she see me there? She talked much nonsense, and used to cry and mope. The girl who had been ravished on the beach, she told me, had gone to London, turned whore, had written to Sally to go to her, and not be a fool, and stop working hard at a lodging-house. Sally showed me the letter. I would not give it back, and kept it for years, till one day in a fit of virtue I burnt it. Sally was in a bad way about the letter, for her friend begged her particularly to show it to no one, to burn it, and only to keep the address.

It was a funny, ill-spelt letter, and began by asking her how she was, and would she tell her something about the old people, particularly the old man. Did he ever ask about her? — what did they say? — not that she cared, but she'd like to know how her old daddy was. Then she said she had lots of friends, “real gents mind, not shop young men,” — she went to the plays, and had lots of what they two wanted, and used to talk about. “Why don't you come? — I'll give you a place with me, — you'll have lots of good grub, and perhaps a gent will take a fancy to you, and make your for-tune, — it will be better than scrubbing and cleaning all the winter.” — “Why,” she went on, “I gets more in one week than your father and mine gets in a whole year atween em.” There was a concluding line in a postscript which I laugh over, and shall recollect to my dying day; it was, “Oh! the lots of cocks I've seed since I seed you at home.”

I saw through the whole. The London harlot would have in Sally a friend, or a servant faithful to her; or who knows, perhaps had promised a man to get him a girl who was unbroached. Sally had replied. “You did not tell her you had been fucked,” said I. “Oh! of course not,” — she never would tell any one that, if they pulled her tongue out. I told her all that was commonly thought to be dreadful about the life of a gay woman; but as I had begun to disbelieve the nonsense which the world said on that subject, don't expect I made much impression on Sally. She didn't reply to my advice. I asked her what she meant to do. This was on a day or two after I had read the letter.

“Why,” said Sally, “she says she gets as much money in a week as father does in a whole year, — do you believe it?” I said I did not. “She wears nothing but silks.” “But she'll die in a hospital,” said I. “So did my sister,” said Sally, “but she was very comfortable there.” Many of Sally's relatives had died in a work-house, so Sally saw nothing dreadful in that.

Sally was very fond of frigging me. She was not con-tent with witnessing the ejaculation of my semen once, but seemed to love the operation. “I likes to see it come,” said she, — but I did not, and would not gratify her. “How old must a man be,” she said to me one day, “before the stuff will come out of his thing?” “Why?” “Cause I've seed a boy over the hedge next to us rubbing his thing up and down hard sometimes, as if he were doing it, and he can't be more than twelve years old, — I seed him sitting on a washing-tub one day a doin it, and his mother came out and knocked him off the tub, and said she would tell his father.”