I jumped up as soon as my prick had left H.'s inundated quim, finding my toe moist with Def's effusion. The devil had spent copiously. My getting up roused her, and she felt H.'s overflowing quim. “He's spent a lot, how I'd like a fuck, I haven't had one for an age,” quoth she. All three washed, and after a rest I fucked H. again whilst the other handled my balls, delighted with the opportunity of pulling about the testicles, whose juices she so longed to have in her. Then after a glass or two more wine, she asked me to fuck her and H. incited me, — begged me — to “give her a treat” — but I didn't, having no taste for her, and the condition of my toe which I had washed came to my mind and stopped all passion — I have rarely refused a cunt which was new to me; but I did hers.
Early in June, one of the most singular liaisons in my career occurred to me — I have thought other events singular, and perhaps they were as much so but they don't seem like this, for I am at an age which made this unexpected. I don't look my age, I am told, nor do I feel age, and can oftentimes tail an appetizing woman three times in an hour and a half — yet it's nearly forty years since first I fucked a woman.
I was at an afternoon in some grounds near London, and there was a widow with her only daughter who was born in India, her father a colonel. They were in comfortable circumstances, in good society, but there were whispers about the daughter, that her marriage had been broken off mysteriously, that she was a little frisky, had been at a theatre alone with a gentleman, was a bad temper, gave her mother much trouble, — and more obscurely hinted — was fond of a doodle on the sly. I thought nothing about it, it not concerning us, yet it had seemed to me there had been a look in her eye when I conversed with her, which was indicative of desire. I'd found she'd laugh at risky conversations if without frank impropriety, and would egg a man on by questions of assumed ignorance, —then suddenly, “Oh! you're really too bad,” and she'd leave — tho her eye gave no signs of her being shocked. Edith H*r*s*n, — not her name tho phonetically resembling it — knows a lot, some men said, and they suggested the possibility of her having been fucked in India.
She was handsome, well grown, and about seven or eight and twenty, had dark eyes and hair, and a remarkably beautiful foot and ankle, which she displayed as liberally as society permitted. — Tho I didn't then meet her frequently, there was something about her which made my pego tingle when I did. Her eyes used to fix on mine with a stare which gradually softened, and then her face flushed and she turned her eyes away — I thought nothing of that tho at times I wondered if she'd been fucked — dismissing the idea at once.
There had been a cold collation and champagne galore, the company were distributed afterwards, mostly sitting about the grounds, when wanting to piddle, I sought a retired corner and passed a spot where sur-rounded by shrubs was a swing, and she all alone swinging herself as high as she could. She swung for-ward just as I approached her, and her white petticoats floating up showed much of her calves. My voluptuous instincts blazed up at the sight of the legs and pretty feet, I bowed my head and tried to look under, involuntarily saying, — “Oh! what a lovely pair, shouldn't I like ...” — then I broke off recollecting our positions. She tried to stop the swing, I watching till she alighted. All this did not occupy a minute. — She'd taken champagne freeily I think — I too much, and with a swelling prick was risky. — She perhaps excited by wine, had at the moment a warmish cunt. — “What would you like?” — said she laughing and looking full at me. — “To have seen a little more.” — “Ohoo! oh!” — said she — then both laughed heartily. — “What are you laughing at?” — “At what I should have liked.” — “Oh! what a strange man you are, you speak riddles.” — “Don't you understand?” — “No.” “You do” — and we looked in each other's eyes again. She looked voluptuous, I fancied.
“You're alone, are you going to run away like Miss * * *?” — A lady known to both of us. — “Not with a married man.” — “Ah! she was foolish, for she might have seen him on the sly,” — “Oh! what a horrid suggestion.” — “Well — married men are safe flirts, they never tell.” — “No, they daren't,” said she, and smiled, whilst looking me full in the eyes again, and then colouring up. “I must go to Mamma, she'll wonder where I've been.” — “No she won't, she knows, and I guess.”
— Laughing, off she went, I piddled, and went back to the guests.
