She sat down to piddle, and in doing so seemed to fix her eye on the door. Instantly I felt sure that a suspicion had crossed her mind, and that she would come and peep. Instead of plugging the key hole with paper, a lascivious delight came over me as I thought I would show her my prick, so sat down quickly on a chair fronting the keyhole, pulled my prick and balls well out of my trowsers, and frigging my stiff prick gently, sat still. I felt sure I had seen, soon after, some one at the keyhole, that she had seen my prick, and I was delighted.

After a while I peeped again. She was dressed and moving about, glancing as I fancied at my door as she passed, and felt sure she would peep again, if she had once done so, I pushed a chair to such a spot, that lolling in it I could see light through the keyhole, took up a newspaper, and seeming to read it, held it so that I could look over its edge at the keyhole. Soon the key-hole darkened for some minutes. All that time I kept my prick stiff so that she might see it well, and felt great delight at the idea of her having seen another prick stiff besides her husband's. Would she tell her husband? I wondered, and did she? most likely not. — Did I make her lewed? It was quite possible.

Her husband came in — they went down to dinner as did I, and was placed at the table d'hote not far from the lady, who after dinner did not seem embarrassed when I addressed her some civilities, nor to recognize me. Her observations thro the keyhole, were no doubt mainly directed to my prick. I got also into conversation with him, thinking of his prick and his vigor. Soon after dinner they went out.

I went to my room, and waited the whole evening in expectation. They came in about ten o'clock. Soon after I looked, and the key hole was covered. Mounting a chair, gimlet in hand, I bored a hole in the direction of her bed, and saw him, but in night-gown this time, fuck her — but I could not see so well as I had done through the key hole which was in the exact position to cover the bed. Then the light was put out, and I went to bed.

The desire still on me I awoke early, but they slept late. — When up, and he had opened the blind, again he fucked her. I had pushed out the paper which I found had been put in the hole, and saw the carnal movements well. After her pleasure, she turned her head round as she lay, and I am sure looked at the key hole, but not so he. — One grind sufficed them and they dressed. — I had mounted a chair to get to my gimlet hole, and had plugged up the key hole. — Breathless, I heard her moving there, tho I could not see her, being so close to the door as we both were — but she soon stood a little way off looking at the paper plug in her hand, which she had inserted in the key hole. Then again she came to the keyhole.

Now from my little spy hole, bored tho not in quite the right direction, I saw the wash-hand stand, and she wash her cunt, that pretty sight. Never does a woman look sweeter, than when squatting with clothes well off her thighs, she washes her cunt, yet on the re-verse side, as well as I know, when squatting for a solid evacuation, how ugly does she look. Certainly less beautiful to me.

Then came more than usual disgust at myself for frigging, and directly after breakfast I went to a baudy house, had the women roused from their sleep, and fucked the selected one till neither fingers or cunt would make my prick stand.

I didn't see the couple till dinner time. Went after-wards to my room fucked out it is true yet lustfully waiting for my treat. I heard a gruff male voice — the beds were shifted — strangers were in the room. — The couple had moved to another room. — Did they know I was in the adjoining room to them? — Who can say — did he ever know of the key hole? I think not, but who can tell? Did the young bride keep to herself that she had seen my prick through the key hole? Most likely.

Having spoken to them, I pushed my acquaintance, which seemed very welcome to them, for they had not travelled, whereas I had travelled much, and my experience they seemed glad of. I smoked with him, — wondering how his prick looked as he sat, and felt as if I could see clean through her petticoats as I talked to her, and never did so without a cock-stand. I hazarded one day a little smutty remark. She would not take it, but I saw that she understood it. Then every evening almost, disgusted at the recollection of my masturbation, I assuaged my lust with a gay lady — thinking of the chaste exercises I had witnessed thro the key hole of a bed-room door, for I suppose it is chaste if people are married — and abominably lustful if they are not. This lasted for ten days, when the couple left, and I left the day after.

[I have since seen scores of all sorts of couples at baudy houses, fucking there, and lascivious embraces of modest and immodest, in their maddest lust. But doubt if I ever yet have seen anything, so delicately and exquisitely voluptuous, as this newly married couple doing it. From dozens of gimlet holes in doors, I also have seen since, much variety partially, but no fucking so completely.]

Soon afterwards — tired of Paris and its heat, I left for Switzerland, and passed there many weeks. Women I had not often, but had plenty of exercise, and healthy fatigue, which made me care, or rather think, less about them. But when the want came on, it did so violently. In the mountain villages, it was difficult then to get any women at all, or if any they were of a low class. With one exception I find that I had none of them in those places. The exception was at * * * *, where wandering by myself in a meadow, smoking after dinner towards dusk, I saw a strapping woman washing linen in a brook. She had naked feet, short petticoats, and was rinsing linen by shaking it about in the stream and letting it float down, she holding one end, and squatting as she did so — with her petticoats tucked tightly between her legs, so as to prevent them getting wet.

The attitude, which was nearly that of a woman piddling, her large white calves, and the big bum which showed through slight clothing, roused my prick. In my mind's eye, I saw a red cunt gaping between two large white thighs, with two white globes in the back-ground, as I have often seen them over pot and basin, when lovely women of all colors and sizes, have squatted and pissed to gratify my eye-sight. My prick rose up with a positive jump as I fired with lust at the sight of her, and the thoughts she aroused in me.

I had approached her half from behind, and had, before she squatted, tho but for an instant only, seen her standing a little in the stream, with petticoats still tighter beween her legs, and legs naked above the knees. Then she afterwards squatted as told. She had not noticed me approaching her.

After she saw me, she caught up the linen, wrung it, put it into a basket, and put another piece in the stream. I accosted her, impelled by lust, to say any-thing to begin a conversation. — “It's cold to your legs,” said I in French. — She laughed and answered me in German. — “Nein.” — Then I spoke in bad German, wasn't she cold when up to her knees? — “A little.” — “Don't it make you feel cold higher up in your thighs.” — She laughed louder. — “Nein, nein.” — She was accustomed to it.

I hesitated, fearful that she might be married — but her sturdy form appealed so strongly to my lust, that I hazarded it and said I was sure she was cold there — “I'd like to feel, and would give a Louis to feel if she was hot or cold.” — Now she hung her head on one side away from me, tho she laughed heartily but saying, “no — no.” — I pulled a Louis out of my purse, and held it up in front of one of my eyes, as if I was looking through it, and repeated my offer. — “Look here my love.” — She looked round and laughed more heartily than ever.

Hoisting the wet basket against one of her hips, she turned round, and went towards the village. I kept close to her — speaking in French, and broken German mixed, till we approached a poor looking chalet or cow-house, which stood a little way up a steepish bank, off from the rugged, rocky path up which she trudged with naked feet. — She turned up that way, which I didn't expect — stumbled and dropped her basket. “That's your fault,” said she. — “It's yours for not letting me feel. Is this your way home?” — “Yah, my relatives are there, and I wish you'd go, I suppose you're stop-ping at the Falcon” — all this was said in a breath. — I told her I was.