She was a slim, well-formed girl, with a small quantity of darkish brown hair on a pretty little cunt. — I thought her a delicious fuck at first, but somehow ceased to care much about it soon after, whilst she seemed more eager for my prick at each meeting. She wasn't altogether a pleasant girl either — something in the background was, I think, shadowing her, there was such a strange look in her eyes at times. — Her face was lovely, she had the loveliest hazel eyes.

[Among many pieces of good fortune with women, this was one of the most singular and was due largely to boldness and opportunity. Boldness is one of the most essential qualities in getting women. Not much harm can result from it, if not good. A man can but be refused, and women don't tell of sexual requests to them. Not one virtuous woman in a hundred would tell anyone but a confidential female friend, if a man said to her. “Oh! I'm dying to fuck you,” and she'd feel in her heart complimented by his desires, — tho she wouldn't tell that.]

Chapter XIII

Fucking on chairs. • Condoms tried. • Blowpipe, condom, and cunt. • My ill health. • H.'s sexual strength. • Cunts felt in the streets. • A peculiar piddling performance. • L**l*e again. • A sweet seventeen harlot. • A sea voyage. • A young plain-faced widow. • Masturbation of a circumcized. • A harlot's naked street antics. • Fucking against bamboo. • A comedy of donkies. • Lewed effect on the widow. • An aperient applied to her pouters.

The two little episodes last narrated, tho shortened, took a long time to write, but are worth preserving, yet how short a time they really occupied me in the performance. The railway lass but one evening only — the hairdresser's servant, but eight evenings in six weeks. They are charming reminiscences, particularly that of Phoebe, whom I had the pleasure of teaching the art of love, and in the very few meetings, fucked her in half a dozen different attitudes, and both gamahuched and frigged her. She used to submit to my suggestions at once after our marriage night, and without a word but, “oh!” — when she heard my proposals.

For sometimes I hadn't seen H. at all, and when I did told her all. She said she didn't care but was evidently angry. We had champagne. Neither Donkey prick nor her protector had had her for about ten days (so she said when sitting on my knee, feeling my prick and I her vulva). She said she'd contented herself with digital movements on her cuntal bud, — which wasn't all she needed — and before I'd been in the house a quarter of an hour she was manipulating my love staff. This shows how the recital of any amorous trick affects those whose lust is rampant. — I'd said that I'd fucked Phoebe whilst sitting on a chair, she sitting on my prick with bum against my belly. — “Fuck me so,” said H. Next minute I did. — She put a glass on the floor with lights by its side — as L**l*e used, — so that both could see the movement of my prick in her cunt, as she fucked me by rise and fall. We were delighted, she enraptured. — “Do you see your balls?” “Yes dear — frig your clitoris.” — She obeyed. Then sobbing out our carnal chorus, looking in the glass whilst fucking and frigging, we got repose in concupiscent Elysium. — Afterwards we varied it by fucking whilst sitting face to face and tongue to tongue, — that luscious lingual junction, a delicious addition. — It pleased her to know I had fucked Phoebe in that posture. — Said she as we began, “I can't see your prick moving when face to face, you can,” — then she put the glass at the back of our chair, and looking over my shoulders was gratified, tho she could only see herself moving.

A day or two after, there again, meretricious inventiveness was on us both. It was an age since I'd had a condom on my prick, and she long since one so sheathed and been put up her. We had talked of that before. I took condoms with me, we began operations with one on, but not liking the sensation — which cheats the sexual pleasure of both, — I took my prick out, well greased the condom outside, put it on and up her again. We compared sensations, but both agreeing that pleasure was largely lessened by the intervening skin between prick and cunt, I took it off and fucked without one.

I took another day with me a condom tied on to a little bone tube, which I took out from an india rubber bottle or injector, and with that could inflate the con-dom. — Wetting the condom she pushed it — a gutty little string — up her cunt as far as she could with her fingers, leaving the mouthpiece hanging out, and laid herself at the edge of the bed. Then taking it in my mouth, I tried to inflate the condom by blowing into it, but with all the force of my lungs failed to do so effectually. It might have been done perhaps with a pair of bellows, but with my mouth I could do nothing more than inflate it a little. Directly I ceased blowing, the squeeze of her cunt drove all the wind out again. She could feel the dilation, which gave her cunt what she called “a tickling squeeze out” but nothing more. We both thought it good fun, which shows what infinite variety of amusements reside in cock and cunt. A trial on another day, when the condom was pushed up her dry, was equally unsuccessful.

Then I blew up her cunt thro an india rubber tube — my breath blew against her womb, which we thought at the time good fun. — Indeed any absurdity (as it may be seen afterwards) will amuse a meretricious couple fond of playing with each other's genitals. Then as she had a pretty bum hole, I introduced the india rubber tube up that and blew up it — “I'll put a fresh fart into you,” said I — “Beast,” — but she liked the fun. Inventions multiplied. I blew a condom out, tied the end to keep up the inflation, then pushed it up her cunt. It was larger in circumference than any prick I have seen — so far as I can judge, — but up it went, and I moved it very gently whilst she frigged herself. There were pleasant chats about this, and we agreed that a cunt full grown would take a much larger than ever man yet had.

Then I fell out of health and was ordered to a warmer climate for the winter. — Before departing, H. and I had a frolicksome evening, in which we invented postures and modes of pleasure, in which we both got tight, and her lasciviousness had full play. With great regret we parted, as much exhausted with lecherous amusements as a couple could be. Her wonderful strength showed itself that night, for under my prick, finger, and tongue, she spent eleven times, and at that last gamahuche, during which I added to her pleasure by inserting my middle finger just through her sphincter, she gave such a long, loud screech as she spent, that it must have been heard throughout the house, and she nearly tore the hair off my head. — “Aha — my God — suck — bugger — quicker — haa — spunk,” she screeched in ejaculations, pausing between each word. — I wrote an account of all next day, this is but an abbreviation.

A week afterwards returning home late, reminiscences of the fun I'd had in cunt hunting in that neighbourhood filled my mind. I walked along the harlot's promenade, met N**l*e L*l*e and went home with her, having a desire to see again that large-mouthed dark-haired vulva, which had spite of its size given me much pleasure. She looked older, seemed poorer, but had good apartments with newish furniture, given to her by her septuagenarian friend, up whose anus she worked a dildo whilst she gamahuched him — as I think has already been narrated. — After amusing myself with her cunt, I paid her a full fee and departed without tailing her, much to her astonishment and regret seemingly.

Then in an erotic state of mind and body, I went to the quiet streets where I have felt scores of cunts — thus does lust lead men on — and thought I'd feel others. It was now just past midnight, the public houses were closed, and Cyprians who had been taking their fill of liquor wanted relief. A French woman said, “Come home with me, cheri.” — “No, I'll give you a shilling to piddle over my fingers whilst I feel your cunt.” — “Mais, oui,” and without a word the act and deed were done, and payment made in three minutes.