We had satisfied our lusts in simple variety, but I, never put my
tongue in her mouth, nor do I know that I had heard of that form of
lovemaking--but more of that hereafter. I did her on her belly, and
some-thing incited me to do it to her dog fashion, but it was never
repeated; we examined as said each others appendages, but once
satisfied, having seen mine get from flaccid to stiff, the piddle
issue, the spunk squirt, she never wanted to see it again, and could
not understand my insatiable curiosity about hers. She knew I think less
than most girls of her age about the males, having never I recollect
nursed male children, and I don't think she had brothers.
How is it that scarcely any woman will let you willingly look at her
cunt after fucking, till it is washed; most say it is beastly, gay or
quiet, it is the same. Is it more beastly to have it spurted up, to
turn and go to sleep with the spunk oosing on to a thigh, or an hour
afterwards to let a man paddle in what has not dried? They don't
mind that, but won't let you look at it after your operations,
willingly--why?
A modest girl lays quietly after fucking, and does not wash till you are
away. A young girl who has let you see her cunt and take her virginity,
won't wash it at all, until you point out the necessity. A gay woman
often tries to shove back her bum just as you spend, gets the discharge
near the outlet, uncunts you quickly and at once washes and pisses at
the same time. A quiet young girl wipes her cunt on the outside only.
A working man's wife does the same. I have fucked several, and not one
washed before me. I incline to the opinion that poor women rarely wash
their cunts inside, their piddle does all the washing. "What's the good
of washing it?" said a poor, but not a gay girl to me, "it's always
clean, and feels just the same an hour afterwards, whether washed
or not." Is the unwashed cunt less healthy than one often soaped and
syringed? I doubt it. An old _roue_ said to me he would not give a damn
to fuck a cunt at night, which has been washed since the morning.
About sexual matters each of us knew about as much as the other, and
we had much to learn. A girl however in the sphere of life of Charlotte
usually knows more about a man's sex, than a youth of the same age does
of a woman's; they have nursed children, and know what a cock is; a girl
is never thought too young to nurse a male child, no one would trust a
boy after ten years of age to nurse a female child; but she had never
nursed. From Charlotte I had my first knowledge of menstruation, and of
other mysteries of her sex. Ah! that menstruation was a wonder to me, it
was marvellous, but all was really a wonder to me then.
After Christmas my sister went back to school, our chances seemed
improving, we spent another holiday at the pew-opener's. I had got
money, and we were indiscreet enough to go to see some wax-works. Next
day her father came to see her; he ordered her to tell where she had
been. She refused, he got angry, and made such a noise, that mother
rang to know what it was. He asked to see her, apologized, and said his
daughter had been out several holidays, without his knowing where she
had been. My mother said it was very improper, and that he ought. A
friend was with us in the room, and I sat there reading and trembling.
My mother remarked to the lady, "I hope that girl is not going wrong,
she is very good looking." Mother asked me to go out of the room, then
had Charlotte up, and lectured her; afterwards Charlotte told me for the
first time, that her father was annoyed because she would not marry a
young man.
A young man had called at our house several times to see her; she saw
him once and evaded doing so afterwards. He was the son of a well-to-do
baker, a few miles from Charlotte's home, and wished to marry her; his
father was not expected to live, and the young man said he would marry
her directly the father died. Her mother was mad at her refusing such
a chance. Charlotte showed me his letters, which then came, and we
arranged together the replies.
She went home, and came back with eyes swollen with crying, some one
had written anonymously, to say she had been seen at the wax-works with
a young man, evidently of position above her, and had been seen walking
with a young man. The mother threatened to have a doctor examine her
to see if she had been doing anything wrong, no one seemed to have
suspected me; her father would have her home, her mother had had
suspicion of her for some time, "The sooner you marry young Brown the
better, he will have a good business, and keeps a horse and chaise,
you will never have such a chance again, and it will prevent you going
wrong, even if you have not already gone wrong," said her mother.
It was a rainy night, I had met her on her return, and we both stood an
hour under an umbrella, talking and crying, she saying, "I knew I should
be ruined; if I marry he will find me out, if I don't they will lead me
such a life; oh! what shall I do!" We fucked twice in the rain against
a wall, putting down the umbrella to do it. Afterwards we met at the
dressmaker's, talked over our misery and cried, and fucked, and cried
again. Then it was nothing but worry, she crying at her future, I
wondering if I should be found out; still with all our misery, we never
failed to fuck if there was a clear five minutes before us. Then her
mother wrote to say that old Brown was dead, and her father meant to
take her away directly; she refused, the father came, saw my mother, and
settled the affair by taking back Charlotte's box of clothes. I had not
a farthing; at her age a father had absolute control, and nothing short
of running away would have been of use. We talked of drowning ourselves,
or of her taking work in the fields. I projected things equally absurd
for myself. It ended in her agreeing to go home,--she could not help
that,--but refusing to marry.
Charlotte wrote me almost directly after her return. My mother had
reserved the right of opening my letters, although she had ceased to do
That morning seeing she had one addressed to me, in fear I snatched
it out of her hand. She insisted on having it back, I refused, and we
had a row. "How dare you sir? give it me." "I won't, you shant open my
letter." "I will, a boy like you!" "I am not a boy, I am a man, if you
ever open a letter of mine, I will go for a common soldier, instead of
being an officer." "I will tell your guardian." "I mean to tell him how
shamefully short of money I am, uncle says it's a shame, so does aunt."
my mother sunk down in tears, it was my first rebellion; she spoke to
my guardian, never touched my letters again, and gave me five times
the money I used to have; but to make sure, I had letters enclosed to a
friend, and fetched them.
****
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