My prick had just left her cunt, when a voice not far off, and as it seemed to me on the land behind the fencing, cried out — “I see you. — I'll tell” — and then laughed. — “Oh! God!” — said she, and rising up
— for she had just squatted to piddle, — took to her heels and ran off as hard as she could, unheeding my, “Stop, stop, it's only a blackguard.” — I lingered to button up my trowsers, saying to the voice, “You go to hell.” — The voice made no reply, all was dead silence.
— In my flurry I buttoned my trowsers somehow on to my coat, then had to undo it, then buttoned my trowsers to my drawers, then couldn't find the button holes, and so lost time, altho whilst arranging my trowsers I walked slowly towards the main road, thinking she'd wait for me there. But I could see nothing of her, and after walking all about the street and side streets for half an hour, went home, never saw her since, and know no more about her.
What a delicious adventure, beginning and ending in an hour and a half. What led up to it — my lust or hers — or did we both want fucking when we met — or did I communicate the lust to her — or she to me? — I know my evolution of desire, beginning with pleasure in looking at her face and form, then guessing at the sort of cunt she had, then desire, then a voluptuous tingling in my tip, then a stiff prick, then an attempt to possess her, then recklessness. — Did she go thro similar phases of lust? — How I should like to experience a woman's sensations as her cunt heats and moistens, and desire for the man gradually rises till it overwhelms her, and she yields. This woman was not a Paphian class, which made fucking her nicer. Yet how delightful is the facile manner, the frank lewedness, the desire to gratify her lust, which marks the Paphian when in rut. Both in their way are charming, the modest and the immodest, the variety is delightful. This woman was, and will ever be, unknown to me, which makes the episode doubly charming now, when I can rarely avail myself of my chances. It is well that I seize them when I can.
[Once or twice in my life I've been scared when in amorous play — more than once have lost my chance thro scares — I have also scared others, tho I've not told of that here. I should not be so cruel now.]
Legs all my life had almost a greater attraction for me than faces — and distinctly so since I was about twenty five years old. I can now pardon an ugly face even, if the body be beautiful in form. Much as I love a beautiful face, I am sure that my prick has risen more quickly, and lust has thrilled thro me more instantaneously, at the sight of a fine leg and good foot, than it has at the sweetest face. A fine face says to me, — “Am I not beautiful?” — Good legs say to me, — “Fuck me.”
One night near Christmas, going along a big, wide, silent street in the suburbs — streets where the houses are detached, with gardens in front and rear — as I passed a gateway, two women — servants evidently — were talking. A tall woman one of them, went off in front of me saying, “Good bye,” just as I approached, and I saw that she had thickish ankles in white stockings, and held her petticoats high up. It's strange what simple things will rouse my amatory passions at times. Those white stockings did, and after following her a few hundred feet, I thought I should like to feel her cunt. I'd not seen her face, didn't know whether she was twenty or forty — but she stepped out briskly and I guessed her thirty, and from what I saw at the gate, that she was a servant.
It was a pitch dark night, muddy, and all of a sudden became foggy, and scarcely a person was out. — I'd allowed her to get about thirty feet in front of me, so that I might see the white stockings, and now owing to the thoughts which following her and looking at them had generated, my prick began to throb. If she's game, I can have a kiss or a baudy chaff, which is agreeable; if she's offended, I can but beg pardon, cross the street and leave her. I have done so when I've made such mistakes. Thinking thus, I hastened my steps, and when by her side said, — “You've a splendid pair of legs, I wish you'd hold up the clothes a little higher, and let me see a bit more of them.” “They are quite high enough to keep off the mud, and it's like your impudence,” said she — laughing heartily tho. — Thought I, she's game, and now knew by voice and manner that she was of the servant class. We just then passed a gas lamp, and I saw that she looked thirty years old if not more. “It's your fault if I'm impudent, for showing your legs so.” — “You need not look at them.” — “I could not help it and it's set me longing for you.” — “Oh in-deed.” — I got a little suggestive now. — “Do you live about here?” — “No,” — I replied, and telling her where I was going. — “It's the other way, not this,” said she. — “I don't exactly know where it is, you come and show me.” — “Oh I can't, I must get back.”
