experiments in the garden parlour, burnt a table cover. My
mother angry, said I had better experiment in the back kitchen again, so
under that pretence, I managed to be downstairs frequently.

I used to watch Mary, slipping out into the outside passage leading
to the servant's privy, and take pleasure in the idea of her piddling
there. One day, I watched her coming back, she gave her clothes a tuck
between her legs, and I knew it was to dry her cunt; opened the door
just as she did it, she knew that I saw the action by my grin, and her
face turned scarlet. I kissed her that day, asked her timidly if she had
dried it properly that morning. "Dried what?" said she innocently. "What
I saw you drying when you came from the closet." She turned away without
saying a word.

A day or two after as she went upstairs to the parlour, I stopped, saw
her legs, and told her she had jolly fat legs. She wished I would go
upstairs, for I was in the way with my chemicals, and after that ceased
talking to me. But it was difficult to avoid me, I got rude, would tuck
my coat between my legs, laugh and make believe to stoop down to see her
ankles, but she took no notice. Begging her to kiss me one day; she gave
me two or three at once saying, "There now, go on with your chemicals,"
in such a motherly way, that it mortified me excessively; making me feel
the difference in our ages, as a barrier to my hopes.

But if discouraged one day, I got courage the next; impelled by a
cock-stand, and my mother being out, I said, "Should I not like to see
your legs." For a wonder she answered, "Look at your own." "Oh!" I
replied, "they are not the same, you have got a slit between them, I have
got something hanging, and ready to put into the slit." "I wish you
would go upstairs," said she, "you are always down here now." Then she
told mother I was in her way,--I promised only to go to the back kitchen
when it suited the cook, but did not keep my word.

She was alone one evening, I went home and downstairs, kissed and
fondled, and would not be repulsed. At some time every woman is more
yielding than at others, they always are if randy. Getting my courage up
I said I wished she would let me feel her thing, then said, "Let me do
you," in a whisper. It was quite dusk down there when I said it. She
was speechless for a full minute, whilst I kept repeating my demand. At
length she replied, "How dare a boy like you, speak like that to a woman
like me." "I--am