She was handsome, well grown, and about seven or eight and twenty, had dark eyes and hair, and a remarkably beautiful foot and ankle, which she displayed as liberally as society permitted. — Tho I didn't then meet her frequently, there was something about her which made my pego tingle when I did. Her eyes used to fix on mine with a stare which gradually softened, and then her face flushed and she turned her eyes away — I thought nothing of that tho at times I wondered if she'd been fucked — dismissing the idea at once.

There had been a cold collation and champagne galore, the company were distributed afterwards, mostly sitting about the grounds, when wanting to piddle, I sought a retired corner and passed a spot where sur-rounded by shrubs was a swing, and she all alone swinging herself as high as she could. She swung for-ward just as I approached her, and her white petticoats floating up showed much of her calves. My voluptuous instincts blazed up at the sight of the legs and pretty feet, I bowed my head and tried to look under, involuntarily saying, — “Oh! what a lovely pair, shouldn't I like ...” — then I broke off recollecting our positions. She tried to stop the swing, I watching till she alighted. All this did not occupy a minute. — She'd taken champagne freeily I think — I too much, and with a swelling prick was risky. — She perhaps excited by wine, had at the moment a warmish cunt. — “What would you like?” — said she laughing and looking full at me. — “To have seen a little more.” — “Ohoo! oh!” — said she — then both laughed heartily. — “What are you laughing at?” — “At what I should have liked.” — “Oh! what a strange man you are, you speak riddles.” — “Don't you understand?” — “No.” “You do” — and we looked in each other's eyes again. She looked voluptuous, I fancied.

“You're alone, are you going to run away like Miss * * *?” — A lady known to both of us. — “Not with a married man.” — “Ah! she was foolish, for she might have seen him on the sly,” — “Oh! what a horrid suggestion.” — “Well — married men are safe flirts, they never tell.” — “No, they daren't,” said she, and smiled, whilst looking me full in the eyes again, and then colouring up. “I must go to Mamma, she'll wonder where I've been.” — “No she won't, she knows, and I guess.”

— Laughing, off she went, I piddled, and went back to the guests.

Soon after I was walking with her and talking about the young lady, she wasn't surprised, the girl was always flirting with him and had been caught reading objectionable books, and I asked Edith to describe them. — She'd be very sorry to do so. — “Oh — you've seen them then.” — No she hadn't, she said in a startled manner, but knew she'd trapped herself — I harped on the subject. “If I lend you a book will you tell me if it's objectionable or not,” She would, and wouldn't tell her mother, nor show it. — “It's all about love — un-disguised love — and pictures some might call naughty

— objectionable.” — “Oh, lend it me.” — “I'm frightened — if you're found with it, it will be serious — if not, only you and I will know it, and oldish men know how to hold their tongues.” — “Do lend it me — no one shall see it.” “It's all about lovers amusing them-selves, — but I mustn't lend it you.” — “Oh you're joking I know, — but do lend it me.” — This is only a summary of a long conversation — for I was cautious, fearing she might shy. Now she was wild to see the book, and must have guessed it was a baudy one. — “I can't send it and can't take it to you” (I didn't visit them).

— “I'll meet you out.” — She's game thought I, and concluded she'd have her avenue frictionized by the male apparatus. — Then she agreed to meet me two days after, she was going shopping without her mother.

The party was over, her mother had a carriage, and a seat in it was offered me — in the carriage in the dusk I squeezed her hand, she I thought returned it, I pressed my legs against hers and she didn't move hers away — mine were between the two women. — I went on talking to Mamma and taking no notice of the daughter — Mamma asked me in when they alighted, but I declined, and as I handed Edith out pressed her hand saying, “I wish the swing had shown more.” — She only said “Thursday” and we parted.

I was at the place, but didn't expect her. — Flirts with their cunts telling them they are neglected — as they do to spinsters approaching thirty — are some-times after food, champagne, and suggestive gossip, apt to get lustful thrills, and listen to talk, and to say things which next day they regret — I took a Fanny Hill with me. — Punctual, there she was, saying she'd not expected me. “I've got the book, don't be angry afterwards with me.” — “I won't.” — “But I want a word with you first, get into a cab, for five minutes, we can't talk in the street.” — Into a four wheeler we got, I told her more about the book, avoiding baudy words, that the pictures showed “people making love.” She put it into her pocket rapidly, I got a kiss, said “Oh that swing, it's made me want” and we parted naming a day to meet for her to return it. — After-wards I thought of the risks and wondered at myself — for I'd no defined intentions. The pleasure of lending a real lady a baudy book was my delight — the idea of she and I reading books on sexualities in common — such of course would be the case — delighted me.

She met me and returned the book carefully sealed up. — “What do you think of it?” — “It's disgraceful, you'd no business to lend me such a book.” — “You asked me.” — “I didn't expect it was one like that. — What must you think of me?” — “Nothing, you've seen such before.” — “I'm sure I haven't.” — This sham of hers went on a little time in the street. — “I won't lend you any others.” — “Oh!” she said eagerly, “have you any more?” — I asked her to meet me somewhere where we could see them privately, but she wouldn't answer, I got her into a cab, kissed her, and I tried a feel unsuccessfully. Would I assure her it was not so improper as the other — a precious transparent sham. — I told her it was not, but was baudier. She took it and another day returned it.

I was on reflexion staggered with what had occurred, so unlooked for, so unpremeditated. The secret baudiness of the affair, my perpetual wondering whether she'd had the doodle up her, kept up my excitement and the lady's also, I suppose. She remarked that she could talk to me as a father, tho few fathers I apprehend have talked to daughters so. Within a few weeks I'd spoken of the pleasure of frigging and gamahuching and offered to instruct her. She said she didn't believe it, but should wait til she was married, and so on. — She steadily refused to go to a house with me. Then I left town in the belief that she was a cunning bitch, who'd been fucked, frigged and gamahuched, was trying to entrap me into some compromising action, and resolved never to meet her again. For a couple of months abroad I was nearly chaste, and then returned to London.

When I returned to H** I found the poor lover still absent. — She and her protector had been in the country and he was still. — Donkey prick then frequently had H*l*n, then he having also been away, she ran short of her delight. I hadn't been in the house five minutes before she said, “Come upstairs” and began undoing her clothes before she reached the room. Afterwards she named many times for me to be there, when she could have Priapus also, but with difficulty arrangements could be made to suit all. “I like to know you're looking at us.” — “Yes and you like me to fuck after him.” — “Yes I do — ain't we beasts?”

The man was cunning and often shut the door. He was whimsical — wouldn't often undress — and she loving his prick let him have his way. — One day I was there, he as usual in the kitchen — for she cooked for him there and from that place he could more easily escape by a back way. — But the fellow wouldn't come upstairs, and fucked her on the kitchen table — she was so long away that I wondered. — When she came up, she had just got him out of the house, and the sperm was abundant in her quim, tho a quarter of an hour since she'd fucked. She was dressed, and I fucked her from behind against the bed, the only time I think I had then done so on these double fucking occasions — tho I've tailed her in every possible attitude — I delighted usually to see her face as I fucked her whilst we talked. — “Ah! — isn't his prick a big one?” — “Yes I should like to feel it.” — “I should like to feel both your pricks at once. — Aha — beast — fuck harder — Ahar.” — “His sperm's thick today.” — “Yes isn't it lovely, smooth? — ahaa — don't stop — fuck — I'm coming.” The angelic smile came over her face, her cunt gripping and we spent together. This is typical. We never fucked without talking about pricks and sperm and making all sorts of lewed suggestions to each other, till pleasure stopped utterances. There was a garret where sometimes the little servant — when she had one — slept. It contained scarcely any furniture but a bed. One day when there was no fear of surprise, she said she'd make him go up there and get him naked. It was in the afternoon of a warm autumn day, he'd had a feast of rumpsteak and had tippled enough whiskey and water, when I heard him going up the stairs, and in time out I stepped and listened. He was jovial and incautious, yet I was fearful of going up until I heard, “Ahem” — for the carpetless stairs creaked. Then I heard every word as plainly as if I'd been in the room. — He wanted to go to sleep first. — “Fuck and sleep afterwards. — Piss first.” — “I don't want” — but I heard the water rattle, and laughter as they got on to the bed, and then, “Ahem.”