ackside,
cunt, and her other parts, without much liking her beyond the desire of
spending in her. My impression is that I must have fucked that day,
as much as I ever did in my life on one day; my mother remarked that I
looked ill and worn out when I got home, and again fell on her favorite
belief that I was overstudying. How she could have permitted a young man
to be so often in the kitchen, and near to female servants, seems to me
a marvel of stupidity,--but she did.

Nothing opens a man and woman's heart to each other like fucking. A
woman laying satisfied by your side, her cunt bedewed with your spunk,
with fingers touching your prick, and mouth fresh from contact with
yours; will tell you more than she will at any other time. She did that
day. She had thought me a mere boy, getting baudy with coming manhood,
and had liked me. My quiet, demure manner, made her imagine that such an
attack from me, was among the most improbable things; when I began
she made up her mind to leave, but then came the mystery,--there were
circumstances which rendered it needful for her to stay where she was,
if possible--what they were she would not say. My assault on her in the
bed-room and all that followed upset all her ideas, filled her mind
with images of lust and pleasure, and left that undefined sensation and
unsatisfied longing which is known as randiness. I suddenly seemed a man
to her. My spending in her hand upset her still more. I asked if that
had made her let me have her. She replied, "I gave up the self denial
of years, abandoned my intentions, and let you do it; when you pushed
me into the garden parlour I intended to let you as I went in, I had not
quite intended before."

There was the greatest difficulty after that day in getting her, for my
mother seemed always in my way, and objected to my being in the kitchen.
Mary never helped me as Charlotte used, as cook indeed she could not.
She ran no risks, and was never in a hurry, so where I had Charlotte
half a dozen times, I could scarcely get Mary once.

She met me out again, and in a fortnight asked for another holiday. It
astonished my mother, for more than a year she scarcely had gone out,
and never had taken a whole holiday. What another day of ballock-ing it
was, in that old, snug, baudy house--but we had a quarrel there.

Even with my inexperience, I knew she was different from Charlotte
at the first poke. I used in my mind to compare the differences.
Charlotte's