“Mademoiselle Sappho is engaged, shall she come in after,” said the chambermaid entering the room. I re- fused, being in no hurry, not being yet tired of the woman with whom I was amusing myself — besides my erectile power seemed in abeyance, the young lady having been frigging my tool uselessly. — Then after a minute's reflection “I'll see her, before she meets the man.” — Just then the sous-maitresse appeared at the door, beckoned me, and on my going to her, whispered, there was a young man a “beau garcon” there, awaiting a monsieur who had never come, would I have him, all was quite safe. — With a spurt of lustful curiosity roused on the moment, I accepted, dismissed my companion, and was for a few minutes alone in a curiously excited state of expectation.
Whilst waiting in a feverish state of mind, one minute regretting, the next wishing him, and scarcely knowing what I should do when he appeared, wondering what sort of animal he was, whether if I should ask him to undress or to show me his genitals, how he would be-have, and so on, all thoughts tumultuous, the door opened, the sous-maitresse appeared smiling, followed by Hylas as naked as he was born, who came in with a skipping, springy step, and a smile on his face like that of a ballet girl. I never was more astonished in my life.
He was a shortish, square built, well set up man, looking about twenty-one or -two years old, and had dark, crisp, curly hair, and dark eyes. His body was well-fleshed, well shaped, plump indeed and as white as a woman's. It had not a vestige of hair upon it. He had no moustache, or whiskers, or hair anywhere, excepting on his head, in his armpits, and round his prick, which was set in a neat little, crisp bush. I had expected to be shocked, I scarcely knew what, but had changed, and I felt as pleased in contemplating his nude figure, as I have at seeing the Apollo Belvedere, and other glorious examples of Grecian skill in portraying the naked male. — Nor had I the slightest feeling of any other sort, all erotic notions had for the moment vanished. That soon changed, he stood for a minute staring at me, then without word or summons ad-dressed to him, came and sat on the divan by the side of me, and put his arm round my neck. That instantly I dislodged and moved away, and for a minute we sat looking at each other.
Gradually, all sorts of lewed ideas arose in me. — Many a prick had I seen of late years, some of which I had longed to handle — a fugitive desire, gone as soon as formed — but then there were no opportunities. — Here one was. — Within a few feet of me sat a man of perfect form, indeed every way “beau garcon” and hanging out from the crisp little hairy thicket a nearly white, thickish prick about three inches long, with a “leetle” bit of red tip shewing.
Then desires rushed tumultuously through my brain — I longed to feel it, to frig it, stiffen it, see it spend, watch the sperm flow, see his vibrations of pleasure, hear his murmurs, watch his face as the ecstatic crisis overwhelmed him—and at once I grasped his prick, uncovered the tip and squeezed his balls. — Yet not a word had been spoken till he said, “Won't you take your clothes off like me?” Obeying his suggestion, rapidly I put my-self as naked as he was, eying him all the time whilst undressing but not speaking. — He laid himself along the divan, and gently puffing his prepuce up and down, smilingly watched me till I sat myself naked by his side, and seized again his prick. Then he seized mine — all dislike, all repulsion had gone for the minute, I seemed to be doing the most commonplace thing in the world — curiosity had me.
“Let's go on the bed,” said he. Obeying, we placed ourselves side by side — our flesh touching every-where — feeling each other's cods — with seeming curiosity he mine — I his with curiosity mingled now with strange voluptuous wants. Then I mounted him as reminiscences rose up in my brain of doings with the young man at F**r*rs years ago. — Belly to belly, breast to breast we were, I clasped his buttocks, laying between his thighs as if fucking a woman — our pricks and balls touching, laying in a heap together, neither prick stiff — then I moved with a fucking motion. “Look in the glass,” said he. Turning both side ways, our genitals in a heap, the sight overwhelmed me, yet lust, a desire to Socratize him — as nearly as I can de-fine my sensations — scarcely entered into the con-fused and lustful combinations, caused by my clasping him as if he were a woman.
Then I recovered my senses, had clear intentions of doing things, and by his side I played with his prick, frigging it gently, lifting up his thigh to look at his balls, and then again went on frigging, but his prick remained limp. Then at my command he frigged him-self — and seemingly to stimulate himself felt my pego — but all was of no avail, there it lay like a sausage.
