My Secret Life

On a little sofa by the table we sat side by side. She took champagne, tho she rarely drank wine, and I showed the first photo. — “I won't show you any more unless you let me explain.” — “I don't want it.” — “But I will.” — “No.” — “He's ready to fuck her, isn't his prick stiff? How I envy them — let us do what they are going to do.” She made no reply. — “Have you ever been licked so?” said I showing the next. — “Of course not.” — But she looked confused, there was something in her manner what made me fancy that that was her letch. I went on exhibiting and commenting and explaining in the baudiest words, whilst she kept silence. At length she began to drink champagne as if not conscious of what she was doing, got excited and began to laugh and question. — “Mind, I'm your father” and I kissed her and she kissed me. — “A pretty sort of parent.” — “A pretty daughter.” — “Look at papa's prick,” — said I unable to restrain myself any longer, and pulled it out. “Feel it.” — “I'm going to Mamma.” — “Feel it.” — “I must go to Mamma.” She tried to rise, I stooped, fearing to miss my opportunity, and got my hand up her clothes to her motte. “Oh! my God! — leave off,” — she squealed out, and our joint movements turned over the slight table with the champagne, the glasses, and photos, on to the floor. I held her tightly, insinuating my fingers between her thighs and begging her to be quiet. “They'll hear in the next room.” — She struggled silently. — “Oh, you hurt.” — I'd got a finger on to her clitoris.

“You wretch to do that, I wouldn't have believed it.” — “I'm madly in love with you. — Look.” — Out came my pego. She looked me full in the face as I rose and flourished my erection. Again she rose to go as I showed it. I pushed her down and sat by her side, hugging her, begging, praying, endearing. — “What nonsense, dear.” All was now confusion. — “I won't let you out,” — and going to the door took the key out. “It's a shame to behave so.” — “My love, no one will know but you and I, let- me.” — She shook her head. — “Well let me gamahuche you.” “What's that?” — said she quickly. — “You know, lick your cunt to give you pleasure, make you spend with my tongue as women do to you.” — “They don't, it's a story,” said she fiercely. — “Hish dear, be quiet.”

Swearing my love, holding her round the waist to me, kissing her and she once or twice kissing me, she pacified, tho still so excited as I'd never before seen her. She helped me to pick up the things, my tumbler and broken glass, wiped some wetted photos, looking at each carefully as she did so without remark; ever and anon staring at me for an instant. What was passing thro her mind? — Again I hugged and kissed. “Why don't you kiss me Edith?” — “There then.” The table d'hote was early for theatre goers and it was light all this time, but dusk now was coming on. One glass remained in the bottle spite of its tumble. I poured it out into the glass and she drank if off at once. “Have more wine?” — “I don't care,” — she replied in a reckless tone. — “Get behind the bed whilst it comes.” She did, and I took in the wine without her being seen. Then sitting on the sofa she again looked at the photos rapidly, one after the other. I now pulled down the blind and lighted one candle on the mantel shelf (a feeble light). Again she gulped down champagne, but there was not the slightest signs of her being elevated by it, and we talked whilst still she looked at the photos, and listened to my plain remarks about them. Was she lewed, and controlling her sexual wants?