“Nonsense,” said I, laying hold of her arm and praising its plumpness. — “I'm mad for you.” — She let me feel and rub it gently up and down. — “I dunno how he came to let you in,” said she standing quite still and staring. — I saw she was waiting for my advances and tried to get my hand up her clothes. — She resisted, struggled, squealed, but my fingers got well between her thighs, and then she escaped. — I pursued her round the room, caught and kissed her, jogged my belly against hers. — “Let us.” — “What?” — “Fuck — look,” said I pulling out my cunt plugger, never in handsomer or more inviting condition to a woman. — She looked hard at it, and chuckled. — “Oh for shame,” said she still eyeing it — I don't recollect clearly what next passed through my mind, but felt sure she was lewed and had already been fucked, tho now was fear- ful. Again I caught her, pushed her bum against the table, got my fingers on to her cunt. — “Oh — no — pray don't — not here. — I'll meet you tonight.” — cried she excitedly.

“Don't be foolish — we are alone — no one can get in — here are two sovereigns for you,” and I put them on the table — my prick still standing out. “I don't want your money.” — Many have said that to me, tho they mostly took it when they'd been tailed. — “Not here. — No — no — I will tonight — no — oho” — My hand was up her petticoats, she stooped pushing them down but I persisted, gave her a strong push, and she fell on the floor, I with her, for a minute we struggled and I pulled up her clothes. “Oh! If they come back.” — Then in a second my fingers were well within the lips of her moist warm slit, I caught at it as we rolled together.

“You mustn't here,” were her last words, as if she thought there was impiety in the act I contemplated. But the struggle was over, both meant fucking, modesty and fears were conquered as I mounted her, clutched her solid haunches and plunged my prick up her and very soon, too soon, sighing our pleasure we spent. Her cunt was overflowing with my libation and her contribution, whilst silent and coupled we lay on the Turkey carpet of the robing room — a glorious fuck it was.

I lay on her in blissful silence clasping the sides of her smooth cool buttocks. — “I'm a feared that he'll come back,” murmured she uncunting me. “He can't, the door is locked.” We got up and her petticoats falling hid the charms which I'd never even seen at all. — We talked quietly, and she eyed the sovereigns. — Fucking opens a woman's mouth as well as her cunt. The sexton's duty was not to leave the church, but he often did and locked her mother in on Saturdays, and went away to drink. — He was a toper. The Rector never came there on Saturdays, it was cleaning up day. “He writes his sermons then — I'm told.” — Much more talk was of the same sort mixed with baudy suggestions. — “Then you like fucking, don't you?” — “Oh, not at all,” said she smiling. — “Hush — he's knocking at the entrance.” — “It's nothing, let him wait, say you didn't hear him.”

Looking full in each other's eyes and sitting, touching each other, I knew that the libation must have been wetting her thighs, and the idea of that began to stiffen me. I'd never seen her cunt, for as I pulled up her petticoats I rolled on to her. “Let's look at it, and we'll fuck again.” — “Oh no — he'll be back — tell me the time.” — I looked at my watch and told. — “Oh, he won't be back yet if he's gone for a booze, but I can't — I can't wash here.” — “There is water in the pail.” — “I shan't — I can't — no — I won't.” A long resistance more baudy talk and the incitement of a stiff prick again. “Oh — oh — now, if he comes back.” — A struggle, but I fingered her gluey orifice, and in a few minutes had her laying on her back on the table, fucking her, my hands, holding up her fat thighs, every now and then glancing down at my tool as it worked up and down in her well haired split, and so again we con-summated. — “He'll sure be back soon — oh — do go — what will he think of your being here so long?” — I kissed her and departed through the Rector's door to the churchyard. I gave her a parting kiss. — “Your cunt's wet.” “It's not dry, go along,” said she laughing. Delighted with my afternoon's amusement, I lingered near the church and walked round the churchyard, which was at that point some feet below the level of the Rector's room; no one could have looked at our tricks through the windows. I met the sexton soon after at the entrance porch, he was groggy and talkative. Then he knocked hard at the door with a stick, then rang a bell. I stopped, the woman opened it. How she opened her eyes when she saw me. I winked at her over the sexton's shoulders, and left. — It was the sex-ton's daughter I heard later on. — She also was a Mary she told me. What a lot of Marys I've tailed. — How fine and firm and fuckable are these country wenches, what juicy cunts.

One dark Saturday night in spring at about ten o'clock, when passing along a main metropolitan throughfare, — three women turned down a short street, ill lighted and with blank walls on each side. At about fifty feet from the main road this street turned at right angles, and for a long distance then went at the backs of houses in the main thoroughfare. On the other side where there was no footway were big warehouses without occupants at night, and against them were empty carts left there till the morrow. There was little or no traffic in the street, for there was [and is] no gain in going that way. This part of the street also was still more dimly lighted than the short branch, strumpets often pissed and fucked there freely. Many a cunt I'd felt there in times gone by. Others at times — not strumpets — wanting a pee wee badly, found in it an out of the way quiet spot to do that splashing business. I saw that the three were not gay women. As I passed, one with a chuckle said, “Just round the corner,” and they went there quickly looking round anxiously to see if they were noticed. — They were respectably dressed like the wives of artizans, and I believed they were so from their manner, and that they'd been having a Saturday night's drop, as artizans' wives at Saturday marketings do; a drop enough to make them frisky, randy, and rollicksome, yet not tight. My balls were full that night — sudden letches depend much on the fullness of that reservoir — and my enduring letch seized me. I followed them, feeling mechanically in my pocket to ascertain if I'd enough to pay for my amusement, if it could be had, and forgetting I'd a pocket full, for I had changed gold purposely that day to get silver. They stopped at a hundred feet or so from the angle, as I approached noticed me, and went further. So did I and close up to them, as in a group they stopped and hesitated. “What do you want, young man?” I wasn't young — said a tall woman whom I guessed to be forty. “To see you all piddle.” — “Ho, ho,” they all burst out together as if astonished, yet amused not shocked. “Well I'm sure — then you won't.” — “I'm going to piddle too.” — “Ho, ho, — he, he,” they burst out again, and then were quiet and went without a word a few feet further. They in fact moved and quietly to a much darker spot. I wonder they didn't cross to the dark wall and empty carts.

One woman then burst out loudly laughing, then the others did — quite a chorus. “We're respectable women, go away now,” said the tall one. — I felt sure they were so tho poor, and hesitated. But I'd felt the cunts of their class before, knew that money tempts, that women like erotic tricks, so persisted. — Many work-men's wives have been free and easy with their cunts before marriage, which weakens their morals; but it's a mistake to suppose “once a whore always a whore.” There are 'many whores married among the lower classes — and indeed in every rank of life — who are chaste enough then, they forget and eschew past habits, and are content with the prick of the bread winner, yet at times some yearn for a fresh bit of cock, and a baudy trick or two. I've always had the faculty of making women lewed, and felt sure from their hesitation that lust was coming on the three.