omachs full of good food, than when they are empty. A gentle heat, a
sense of fullness, a gentle swelling, creeps up the stem of the man's
prick, the knob feels tender and voluptuous; a gentle moisture distills
in the woman's cunt, heat and an alloverish feeling, from clitoris
to arse-hole overcomes her. Both are then ready for fucking, and only
restrained from going at it by various social reasons, which determine
our actions in every-day life. Such was our state when kissing and
laughing we put away the things. Then we sat side by side on the sofa,
with my arm round her waist.

I produced the book, which I had brought with me. I recollected how,
pouring over it with Sarah or Susan, the pictures in my "Fanny Hill"
used to throw them into a state of randiness which it was left me to
appease. Susan used to say, that she only had to look at the pictures
for a minute, to make her want "to forget herself." I took the book out
of the paper; it was a large square book, which immediately attracted
her attention. "What is that?" she asked. "Pictures." "Oh! show me."
"Come on then." She sat on my knee, I put my left arm round her waist.
"Give me a kiss." She gave it. "Now let me look." I had placed my right
hand on her thigh outside her clothes, and was thinking, what a nice
chance I had for throwing her back on the sofa, but I opened the first
page. It was a fine, large coloured print (how well I remember it) of
a bed-room. On the bed knelt two young women side by side, their
petticoats thrown over their backs, and showing their backsides to their
waists. Close by stood a middle-aged woman looking at them; through the
door were the heads of two men peeping at the posterings, lust was on
their faces. One of the girls had a much fatter bum than the other, both
cunts were visible, the hair of one black, the other, light. It was
a bet as to who had the handsomest posterior, the woman to decide was
saying, "Marie a gagne, ell a la plus vonde et la plus belle."

Louise gave a loud "oh!" as if taken by surprise, her face changed
blood-red, she turned the cover over and burst into a fit of laughter,
tried to get away from me, but I held her fast, so she put her head over
my shoulder and laughed, I laughing with her. "You have as nice a bum
as the dark one," said I. "There is nothing more like that, look through
it." I opened the book again; under her eyes was a picture of a woman
undressed, laying at the edge of the bed, her legs open,