I restrained myself whilst eating, she sat quietly beside me; when I had
finished she began to remove the things, the food gave me courage, her
moving about stimulated me, I began to feel her breasts, then got my
hands on to her thighs, we had the usual struggles, but it seems to me
as I now think of it, that her resistance was less, and that she prayed
me to desist more lovingly than was usual. We had toyed for an hour,
she had let a dish fall and smashed it, the baker rang, she took in the
bread, and declared she would not shut the door unless I promised to
leave off. I promised, and so soon as she had closed it, pulled her
into the garden parlour, having been thinking when in the kitchen, how
I could get her upstairs. Down tumbled the bread on the floor, on to the
sofa, I pushed her, and after a struggle she was sitting down, I kissing
her, one arm round her waist, one hand between her thighs, close up to
her cunt. Then I told her I wanted to fuck her, said all in favour of it
I knew, half ashamed, half frightened as I said it. She said she did not
know what I meant, resisted less and less as I tried to pull her back on
the sofa, when another ring came: it was the milkman.
I was obliged to let her go, and she ran down stairs with the milk. I
followed, she went out, and slammed the door which led to the garden,
in my face; for the instant, I thought she was going to the privy, but
opened and followed on; she ran up the steps, into the garden, through
the garden parlor, and upstairs to her bed-room just opposite to mine,
closed and locked the door in my face, I begged her to let me in.
She said she would not come out, till she heard the knocker or bell
ring; there was no one called usually after the milkman, so my game was
up, but nothing makes man or woman so crafty as lust. In half an hour
or so, in anger, I said I should go to my aunt's, went downstairs, moved
noisily about, opened and slammed the street-door violently, as if I had
gone out, then pulled off my boots, and crept quietly up to my bed-room.
There I sat expectantly a long time, had almost given up hope, began to
think about consequences if she told my mother, when I heard the door
softly open and she came to the edge of the stairs. "Wattie!" she said
loudly, "Wattie!" much louder, "he has," said she in a subdued tone to
herself, as much as to say that worry is over. I opened my door, she
gave a loud shriek and retreated to her room, I close to her; in a few
minutes more, hugging, kissing, begging, threatening, I know not how;
she was partly on the bed, her clothes up in a heap, I on her with my
prick in my hand, I saw the hair, I felt the slit, and not knowing then
where the hole was or much about it, excepting that it was between her
legs, shoved my prick there with all my might. "Oh! you hurt, I shall be
ill," said she, "pray don't." Had she said she was dying, I should not
have stopped. The next instant a delirium of my senses came, my prick
throbbing and as if hot lead was jetting from it, at each throb;
pleasure mingled with light pain in it, and my whole frame quivering
with emotion; my sperm left me for a virgin cunt, but fell outside it,
though on to it.
How long I was quiet I don't know; probably but a short time; for a
first pleasure does not tranquillize at that age; I became conscious
that she was pushing me off of her, and rose up, she with me, to a
half-sitting posture; she began to laugh, then to cry, and fell back in
hysterics, as I had seen her before.
I had seen my mother attend to her in those fits, but little did I then
know, that sexual excitement causes them in women, and that probably in
her I had been the cause. I got brandy and water, and made her drink a
lot, helping myself at the same time, for I was frightened, and made her
lay on the bed. Then ill as she was, frightened as I was, I yet took
the opportunity her partial insensibility gave me, lifted her clothes
quietly, and saw her cunt and spunk on it. Roused by that, she pushed
her clothes half down feebly and got to the side of the bed. I loving,
begging pardon, kissing her, told her of my pleasure, and asked about
hers, all in snatches, for I thought I had done her. Not a word could I
get, but she looked me in the face beseechingly, begging me to go. I had
no such intention, my prick was again stiffened, I pulled it out, the
sight of her cunt had stimulated me, she looked with languid eyes at me,
her cap was off, her hair hanging about her head, her dress torn near
her breast.
More so than she had ever looked, was she beautiful to me, success
made me bold, on I went insisting, she seemed too weak to withstand me.
"Don't, oh pray, don't," was all she said as pushing her well on the
bed, I threw myself on her, and again put my doodle on to the slit now
wet with my sperm. I was though cooler, stiff as a poker, but my sperm
was not so ready to flow, as it was in after days, at a second poke, for
I was very young; but nature did all for me; my prick went to the proper
channel, there stopped by something it battered furiously. "Oh, you
hurt, oh!" she cried aloud. The next instant something seemed to tighten
round its knob, another furious thrust,--another,--a sharp cry of pain
(resistance was gone), and my prick was buried up her, I felt that it
was done, and that before I had spent outside of her. I looked at her,
she was quiet, her cunt seemed to close on my prick, I put my hand down,
and felt round. What rapture to find my machine buried; nothing but the
balls to be touched, and her cunt hair wetted with my sperm, mingling
and clinging to mine; in another minute nature urged a crisis, and I
spent in a virgin cunt, my prick virgin also. Thus ended my first fuck.
My prick was still up her, when we heard a loud knock; both started up
in terror, I was speechless. "My God; it is your mamma!" Another loud
knock. What a relief, it was the postman. To rush downstairs, and open
the door was the work of a minute. "I thought you were all out," said he
angrily, "I have knocked three times." "We were in the garden," said I.
He looked queerly at me and said, "With your boots off!" and grinning
went away. I went up again, found her sitting on the side of the bed,
and there we sat together. I told her what the postman had said, she
was sure he would tell her mistress. For a short time, there never was
a couple who had just fucked, in more of a foolish funk than we were;
I have often thought of our not hearing the thundering knocks of a
postman, whilst we were fucking, though the bed-room door was wide
open; what engrossing work it is so to deafen people. Then after
unsuccessfully struggling to see her cunt, and kissing, and feeling each
others' genitals, and talking of our doings and our sensations for an
hour, we fucked again.
****
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