A letch for her came on strongly. — All the hair-dresser had said pointed to his belief in her having been fucked, or being as he said not better than she ought. No woman who's had a fucking will ever be long with-out having it again. Before tasting it they can resist long and oftentimes successfully, but after the feel of the semi-elastic, warm, smooth, red-tipped prober up their cunts, it so upsets and vanquishes them, they think so of the delicious sensations of the conjunction just as a man does — that at all risk they will have it up them again. — I made sure she'd been fucked from the sly downcast look, and guessed she was sexually hot — I have made mistakes about women having been fucked, but rarely if ever have I been wrong about the voluptuousness of their natures.

I could scarcely wait to have my hair finished, so anxious was I to waylay her when going out, as I have many a servant before — even my own servants. — I feared to miss my chance. — “Shall I trim your whiskers, sir?” “No, next time, I'm in a hurry” — and away I went.

I planted myself in the street just in sight of the shop, and there had plenty of time for reflection. — I thought I was embarking in a risky affair, but my letch overpowered me. I had come to the conclusion that she had gone out whilst my hair was being cut, when I saw her coming in my direction. I moved out of sight round the angle of a street, and in a minute we met. — “I'm sorry to hear you've been dismissed,” said I, accosting her. — Astonished she looked. — “Who told you, sir?”

— “Your master.” — “Yes, and I'm glad to get away.”

— “Where are you going?” — “To get lodging,” and she told me where. — “I'll drive you there — I fell in love with you the first time I saw you.” — “I don't believe you.” — Our eyes met and she laughed, a few minutes more flattery and she got into a cab with me. Driving along I learnt that she supposed she'd soon get a place and so on. — “Why don't you go home?” “Oh, it's a long way off.” — “Where?” — She said that she knew where but avoided all information about herself.

The lodging was got. She was to leave the hair-dresser's at half past six, and with little persuasion agreed to dine with me afterwards. We got on very happily, she asked my age, I told her one younger than I was, but she thought me ten years younger than that. No — she wouldn't disappoint me, she'd be glad enough of a dinner, for they almost starved her, and would be in a cab where I'd first spoken to her. I ordered a dinner in a private room at * * * and paid half the cost down, then went home and reflected on my risks, thought she was a determined wench, that such resolute ones often got men into trouble. But I was cunt struck, was in sexual love — my prick stood when I thought of her, and resolved to have her at any risk, thinking that her coldness was assumed, and that she was one who kept in situations if it suited her for a time, and took money and a prick when out of it. — There are many such servants.

At the time agreed on she in the cab was there, we drove to the lodgings, deposited her box, then in an-other cab we drove to the restaurant. In the dark going there I kissed her but she didn't return it, was taciturn, sullen and pushed away my hand which I'd placed on her lap to be near her cunt. In the dining room she re-marked it was very comfortable — sat down, and in an easy way at my request removed her bonnet. She looked lovely. I couldn't quite make her out — was she, or was she not virtuous? — My first instincts about women have generally proved to be right, yet in the intermediate stage of courtship I've frequently hesitated and doubted my beliefs. Women are so capricious and cunning, can so hide their sexual wants and habits, and have nothing to show when lust is on them, as a stiff prick does a man — that unmistakable indicator.

She eat as if she'd never had a good dinner before and drank wine sparingly, but unaccustomed to liquor, took enough to warm her up. We were close together, and so placed that I could touch her legs with mine. I joked about her lovers. — Wouldn't she write to one to keep her company till she got another situation — keep her warm in bed, and so on? — “Why no.” — Freer and freer I got and when dinner was removed and wine on table, we sat on the sofa together. I gave and got kisses then. — “Don't you want to piddle, dear.” — “Lord, no” — said she startled. — “You do. I'll call the maid.” — She didn't say no again, went out with the maid and returned. — “Have you dried it properly?” “Mind your own business” — Her face grew scarlet when I repeated the question and she made no further reply until, — “Now, let me dry it.” — “Oh how you do go on.” I let the subject drop then, knowing that she was thinking of her cunt, and knew that I was as well. Once set a woman thinking thus and lust begin to ferment and fucking results.

We chatted on, she close as an oyster about her past life, anxious about a situation and the money question — I offering to befriend her and kissing her at intervals. She wasn't ticklish she said, but trying her, in a minute she was wriggling like an eel and begging me to desist. — “Oh — I can't bear it — leave off.” — Then I pulled her suddenly back on the sofa, got my hand up her petticoats, and my fingers touched a napkin instead of her cunt. — She had her courses on.

She cried out loudly— “Oh, don't, you beast” and dislodged my hand easily enough, for indeed surprized, I had desisted, not liking women when with their monthlies on. — She was scarlet in face again and un-mistakably angry. The ice was broken and I went on talking about menstruation in medical fashion. — She tossing her head, and not replying — until. “I'm sorry I've offended you — I wouldn't have tried to feel your cunt if I'd known, you'll let me another day.” — “I won't, you beast — I must go” — said she rising up.

I went on talking. — It was only nine o'clock and re-fused to let her go, told her that gin and water was good for her etc. etc., till on promise not to do “anything of that sort again,” she sat down. Again I kissed, but she was now reserved, so soon after we left. In the cab I felt to her knees spite of her struggles, declaring I'd not go a bit higher which I didn't, not liking to feel a cunt in that condition. Finally exposing my genitals completely I forced her hand on to them. — “Oh you beast” and off her hand went, but I knew she'd think about that when she was alone.

She jumped out of the cab when near her lodgings, wouldn't kiss me, and repulsed me. No, she wouldn't dine with me again. — “I won't, I won't — there — never” and she rushed into the house. — I was sur-prized at this termination, but I'd touched her thighs, she my pego, I knew that lewed thoughts must arise from that, and her cunt heat and moisten when they did. — Such is human nautre male and female. “He wants to fuck me” — must have been in her mind many a time afterwards. Oh that I could for a week change my sex, be a woman, and have their thoughts and sensations.

I waited three days then telegraphed an assignation, but she never came. A second time the same result. I had been too hasty, too impetuous. Then I thought she'd perhaps a sweetheart who was enjoying her, then of the insinuation of the hair dresser, and felt sure that some-one fucked that sweet sylphlike beauty. — Yet she'd been so nice and soft in manner with me at first, — and her eyes had that downcast, half knowing, half modest look which women have when they incline to a man — that I was bewildered. If she has been fucked why couldn't she let me have a pleasure? Perhaps she has got a situation I thought. One evening, randy to my bumhole and risking all, I went to the house and asked if she had left. She had not. “Tell her the gentleman is here about the situation she's been after.” The girl appeared, she'd been unwell thro taking cold, couldn't get a situation, thought she'd go home again, and at length agreed to dine with me the next night, on my solemn promise that I'd “have none of those games again.” Did she believe my promise?