ceased whatever I
was doing. "Go on, go on," said she, moving her belly up. I could not,
said nothing, but sat down by her side, she rose up, "You're not man
enough," said she, laying hold of my prick. It was not stiff, I put my
hand down, and again the great size--as it seemed to me--of her cunt,
made me wonder.

What then she did with me, I know not, she may have frigged it, I think
she did, but can't say, a sense of disgrace had come over me, as she
said I was not man enough, disgrace mixed with fear of disease. "Let
me try," said I; again she laid back, I have a faint recollection of my
finger going in somewhere deep, again of my prick touching her thighs
and rubbing in something smooth, but nothing more. "You're not man
enough" said she again. A ring... "Hark! it's your aunt, go!" and it
was.

I went into the adjoining room, where my books were and a lamp, she went
to the street-door. My aunt and cousin came in, and went up to their
bed-rooms, I sat smelling my fingers; the full smell of cunt that I
had for the first time. I smelt and smelt almost out of my senses, sat
pouring over a book, seeming to read, but with my fingers to my nose and
thinking of cunt, its wonderful size and smell. Aunt came down. "Have
you got a cold, Wattie?" "No, aunt." "Your eyes look quite inflamed,
child." Soon after again, she said: "You have a cold." "No, aunt." "Why
are you sniffing so, and holding your hand to your mouth?" Suddenly
the fear of the pox came over me, I went up to the bedroom, soaped and
washed my prick, and had a terrible fear on me.

I was overwhelmed with a mixed feeling of pride, at having had my prick
either touch or go up a cunt, fear that I had caught disease, and shame
at not being man enough. Instinct told me, I had lost, in the eyes of
the woman; and my pride was hurt in a woeful manner. I tried to avoid
seeing her, instead of as before getting excitedly into a room, where
she was likely to be alone for a minute. I did that for three days, then
fear of disease vanished, and my hopes of feeling her cunt again, or of
poking--I don't know which--impelled me towards her.

During those three days, I washed my prick at every possible
opportunity, and thought of nothing else but the incident; all seemed to
me hurry, confusion, impossible, I wondered, and wonder still, whether
my prick went into her or not; but above all, the largeness of the cunt
filled me with wonder; for though I had had rapid glimpses of cun