a woman never stopped there, I told her I loved her,
which she said was nonsense. We now used regularly to kiss each other
when we got the chance; little by little I grasped her closer to me, put
my hands round her waist, then cunningly round to her bum, then my prick
used to stand and I was mad to say more to her, but had not the courage.
I knew not how to set to work, indeed scarce knew what my desires lead
me to hope, and think at that time, putting my hand on to her cunt, and
seeing it, was perhaps the utmost; fucking her seemed a hopelessly mad
idea, if I had the expectation of doing so at all very clearly.

I told a friend one or two years older than myself how matters stood,
carefully avoiding telling him who the girl was. His advice was short.
Tell her you have seen her cunt, and make a snatch up her petticoats
when no one is near; keep at it, and you will be sure to get a feel, and
some day, pull out your prick, say straight you want to fuck her, girls
like to see a prick, she will look, even if she turns her head away.
This advice he dinned into my ears continually, but for a long time, I
was not bold enough to put it into practice.

One day, my mother was out, the cook upstairs dressing, we had kissed
in the garden parlour, I put my hand round her bum, and sliding my face
over her shoulder half ashamed, said, "I wish my prick was against
your naked belly, instead of outside your clothes." She with an effort
disengaged herself, stood amazed, and said, "I never will speak to you
again."

I had committed myself, but went on, though in fear, prompted by love
or lust. My friend's advice was in my ears. "I saw your cunt as you got
down from your father's cart," said I, "look at my prick (pulling it
out), how stiff it is, it's longing to go into you, 'cock and cunt will
come together'." It was part of a smutty chorus the fellows sang at my
college; she stared, turned round, went out of the room, through the
garden, and down to the kitchen by the garden stairs, without uttering a
word.

The cook was at the top of the house, I went into the kitchen reckless,
and repeated all I had said. She threatened to call the cook. "She must
have seen your cunt, as well as me," said I; then she began to cry. Just
as I was begging pardon, my friend's advice again rang in my ears, I
stooped and swiftly ran both hands up her clothes, got one full on to
her bum, the other on her motte; she gave a loud scream, and I rushed
off ups