I did not intend staying there, and knew that else-where I should not have them, so once arranged the glasses and sofa, so that she could see our frolics most fully in them, but she seemed not much delighted with the exhibition. When fucking she always put her face as close to mine, or to my neck as she could, and didn't seem to be looking at anything. She was a very quiet fuckstress under action — and I thought not of lustful temperament. — Perhaps as she grows older her lust may be stronger, yet there is something in her eye which looks cold.
After my first fuck in bed with her that night, I put her hand down between our bellies to feel how my prick lay in her. — She didn't want much pressing to do that. With all women of whom I have had the firsts, I have an intense desire to know if they have enjoyed my prick. Some women new at the amorous play and quite young, spend so quietly, that unless their cunts tighten (and some cunts don't) it is difficult to know if they have spent or not. Directly I felt her hand between our bellies, I began asking her, “Did you like it? — did you spend? — tell me — do, love” — but not a word could I get from her. Wearied by her silence, at length I said — “Shall I fuck you again.” — “If you like,” — said she slowly. — “Then it gave you pleasure.” — “Yes.”
I was delighted, and kissed her rapturously. “Put your fingers well around my prick,” for she had kept her hand there, and my prick was still largish and up her cunt. As I said it, I eased my belly slightly from her to let her do so. Then when she held it, I withdrew my prick thro her fingers, covering them with the sperm which came off of it. I have odd, lewed fancies with women, they come over me involuntarily when with them. They are rarely premeditated, nor was this one, but I felt a subtle delight in knowing my sperm would be on her fingers, as well as in her cunt, and said, “Feel it love, that's my spunk mixed with yours.”
— She answered not. — Then I felt her cunt overflowing with the libation from my balls, and made her feel her cunt. “Did you ever feel your cunt full like that.”
— “No,” said she. “You've been fucked tho, I'll swear
— Haven't you?” — “Yes,” — said she, after much pressing, “but only last night,” — and she began to cry. — I overwhelmed her with questions, but only got an obstinate, — “I won't now, what's the good.” But her history has already been told.
We left next day. I hired two rooms for a week for two pounds, at a fairly respectable eating house, and paid down. — They didn't seem to like my companion when they saw her. I got decent food there, and the girl was out of harm's way. My difficulty now was to know what to do with her. She said resolutely that she would never go home again, but at last she told me she had a relative at A*i**d*n and she would go there if they would let her. If not she would go on the streets, or drown herself, and she certainly meant one or the other. I suggested writing to the female friend, with whom she went to the music hall, to get her to induce the young man who had pierced her first, to marry her. — She refused positively, and said her friend had no business to have left her with the young man. She wondered if it was to go with her own young man some-where on the sly. — “To fuck, you mean.” — “Yes,” — she replied, not minding now my lewed words. “Be-sides, he's downright ugly, and I hate him, if I get near him, I'll stick a knife in him, kill him,” — said she savagely and with a look in her eyes, which made me think that she would if she got the chance. She seemed vindictive against the whole lot, her parents included.
About the third day, I became uneasy about the ending of this affair. I could go out more freely from this house than from the baudy house, and went to my club for letters, but did not wish to be seen much, for I was supposed to be in the country with a friend, and there-fore kept mostly at the lodgings with her. I could not walk out with her either, and did not like her to go out alone, thinking she might disappear, for she was evidently a determined creature. But she didn't seem to care at all about going out.
She would read, suddenly put down the paper, and looking at me, say, — “Was I dead drunk — or did he give me something else?” She said this ten times a day. Then she would talk over the matter if I replied. — “If I was drunk, how could I have walked to the house, and how can I recollect at all what he did to me. Father, when drunk, never recollects anything.” — “Do you recollect his prick hurting you?” — “Yes, and something heavy, but not him on top of me, — and I was stupid all next day, and when mother punched me in the streets, I didn't seem to care. If she'd punched me at any other time, I'd have punched her.” — So we talked over the incident perpetually. Whether drunk or stupefied, she seems to have had momentary flashes of lucidity during the time she was with the man, but no sensation of pleasure when he was up her, nor even knowledge of the number of times she had been fucked. “I'm trying to think, but can't recollect more, I wish I could, and he a stranger to me, to do it. If it had been any one that I'd known, it wouldn't have been so black-guard, would it?”
She told me how young she was, when she first knew, or heard, that a man's prick went up a woman's cunt. She was only about ten years old, and used then to talk about it with other girls. She, like every other young girl I have known, I think without exception, knew that a cock got stiff, had seen boys' cocks so, and had tried to make them stiff. Every girl I have fucked has told me nearly the same. A nursemaid once said that she had made a boy's cock stiffen who was not three years old. The humbler class of girls know and see all this. — Young ladies have never the chance of seeing, and only know such things when their maids (who are of the lower classes) tell them. I think from confidences made me by ladies whom I have had, and by ladies' maids as well, that they frequently ask their maids to tell about such matters, or lead them on to tell. Prick is instinctively a subject of curiosity to the female, just as the cunt is to the male. She told me all about her conversations with other girls about copulation.
I got her a novel to read, a love story — and she devoured it. I got writing paper, and amused myself by writing down the incidents of this piece of my luck. I noted down what she said — not at the moment, but directly after, when she was reading. But my writing made her suspicious. Was I writing to her father, was her first anxiety. I told her I was only writing about my affairs. But after a while — “You're writing some-thing about me I'm sure, now do tell me.” — “What makes you think that?” — “Because you keep looking at me so.” I suppose I did, but was not conscious of doing so. However I set her mind at rest by some bouncing lies.
It was certainly a rare chance to be with a nice young girl under such circumstances, and I got confidences which perhaps in her life she will never give to any other man. She would drink now, tho at first frightened of liquor. She never had cared about drink, had seen too much of it at home, she said, but now it seemed to make her, “feel jolly, and forget things.” — She in fact was inclined to be reckless, and I pointed out what that would lead to. She didn't care she said. “What does it matter now? When are you going to leave me, what shall I do then?” — “Go home my dear, I'll see that they behave well.” — She stared hard in her usual manner. “Then I won't, whatever you may try to make me.” — Tho a girl, she seemed on this point to have the will of a woman.
I took her out in a cab, and gave her a change of linen right through, for washing was needful. It was of the simplest kind, and quite suited to her condition of life. She'd not asked for it, and when I told her my intention, she named the prices of such articles, and did not seem to desire anything showy or better. I gave her a secondhand and rather used bag to put them in, in thinking it better when she left me, that she should not seem to have all things new, for I had been resolving in my mind, all sorts of ways of doing her good, all sorts of mendacity for hiding what she had been doing. I felt really sorry for the young lass, and again began to think, that had I not met her, she might have gone home. But who can say?