"Mary is my favourite sister, she lived with us for a year after I
married, but mother wanted her and she went home. She grew tired of
being at home, went to service, did not like it and went home again;
again grew weary; and to my astonishment, the last time I went to see
the old people, found she had gone to live with your mother. I was
frightened for her sake, for I love her dearly." "Why frightened?" I
asked. "Why frightened? don't I know you, do you think I have forgotten
all?" "I never thought of doing her harm." "Perhaps not," she replied,
"but I would not trust my sister near you, if she had the least liking
for you, or you for her." I protested I was indifferent to her. "Why
kiss her and squeeze her so?" I began denying it, and she stopped me
saying vehemently, "Now don't tell stories, you never did to me, I know
all, I know you do, you mean her harm, or if you don't, harm will come
of it. Look, here is her letter," and she put it into my hands. To
my astonishment I found Mary had told her sister all, mixed with warm
encomiums of me. I was shut up, and could only say I meant no harm.
"Perhaps! but harm must come of it. It nearly brought me to ruin, for
I would have done anything, lived anyhow to keep near you; but I have
escaped it. Poor Mary may not, for you are older now and may do more
harm! she is a different temper from me, and in despair will go wrong
altogether; so I pray you if you loved me, not to injure her for my
sake. If she came to harm, I should break my heart," and she broke again
into tears, getting up at the same time to go.
I pulled her back and kissed her tears away. "Charlotte, we cannot meet
and part like this, I love you still, I have never ceased to love and
think of you, oh! let me." I could say no more, for in my eyes then
there was a sanctity about a married woman which stilled my tongue. "Oh!
let me," was all I could say.
She understood what I wanted, and replied, "I am married and cannot,
let me go." At my entreaties she kissed me freely, yet all the time
struggled to get up.
I thought to myself, "You have had her. She loves you still. Think of
the pleasure you have had with her. Here she is in your power, and
cannot escape without a riot, which she will fear." Kissing her fiercely,
stifling her voice with my mouth, "I must, I will have you again," I
pulled her violently back on the sofa, and had my hand on her thighs in
an instant.
"Oh! don't, for the love of God, think I am married, don't make me
afraid of myself; oh! take care, you crush my bonnet, what shall I do,
how shall I get home?" Holding her tight, I dragged the bonnet off her
head, and recommenced. We made such a noise, that the old pew-opener
knocked at the door and asked if anything was the matter.
"By God," said I, "either I will have you, or you shant go out of this
house this night," and so I struggled on through tears and entreaties,
threats, kissings and promises, till with broken voice her head sunk
back, her struggles ceased, her legs opened, my hand slipped over her
smooth thighs, and nestled in the warm moist slit it had so often toyed
with in time gone by. It is nigh fifteen years since that delicious
afternoon, but I recollect my sensations as I touched her cunt, as well
as if it had been but yesterday.
Resistance had ceased, for a moment in silent enjoyment I laid with my
fingers in their warm lodging, then too impatient to get to the bed, or
take the full luxury of my fortune, I arranged her on the sofa as well
as its size permitted, with her petticoats up in a heap, and with my
trowsers half unbuttoned, flung myself upon her, and entered the
smooth channel in which I first had spent my virginity. Frantic with
excitement, the pleasure came on ere I was in full up her. She, excited
and loving, clutched me tightly in her arms, whilst her cunt and belly
moved sympathetically. In too short a time we spent together.
My position was a fatiguing one, I was half on, half off the sofa; hers
was but little less so, yet as long as our privates would keep together,
we kept them so. I poured out my love to her, and joyed to hear from
her that she loved me still. But our position could not last for ever;
gradually I slipped off. My prolonged embrace, my sensuous imagination,
and my love for her had told so upon me; that I was already
contemplating the pleasure of another poke, a desire to see her charms
came over me, I went on to my knees and had a glimpse between the open
thighs, of the half open cunt, from which a love-drop was rolling. She
pushed down her clothes, and sat up, looking at me, and blushing like
the most modest of maidens.
It is extraordinary what objection so many women have to a man's looking
closely at their cunts. A woman will stand naked, lay naked on her
belly, or bum, stand with one leg on a chair, kneel with one leg on the
bed, be looked at frontways, backways, sideways, and be pleased with the
admiration. You may lay and kiss the outside, put your fingers up and
probe it, rub your knuckles into it, tickle or frig it; but directly
you want to pull the lips open, to see the hole which lays hidden by the
hairy outer lips, to see where your prick is longing to hide its head;
they object, put their thighs together, say, "No, it is not to be looked
at." Or if angrily pressed, reluctantly half yield, throw themselves
down, so as to put their back to the light, lifting one leg so as to
hide the light, and using every manoeuvre to prevent you looking closely
at it; and if you desire to look when it's laden with the efforts of
your love, they will struggle to prevent you. Gay or modest, it is the
same among the English; although a gay lady will yield to please her
friend. With the French the objection is less, a French gay woman
will pull open her cunt with her own hands, and let you pull open her
arse-hole if you can and like it. I have known a few women of other
nations and even of my own as free and easy, but the rule is as I say.
This cannot be modesty. I rather imagine it results from a fear that
some discharge will show itself, and sicken the man's appetite.
Up jumped Charlotte, and went into the adjoining room. I heard her
splashing away a long time at her cunt, and went to her. I had no desire
to wash away from my person, anything which had come from hers. She
pushed me back. I had a glimpse of her, naked to her waist, washing
something. She said, "My linen is in such a mess I have been obliged to
wash it." She had found much spunk upon it, and washed it for fear of
being found out. She put a petticoat over her neck to hide her charms,
the chemise was so wet that it was almost impossible for her to put it
on, and she did not know what to do.