My Secret Life

She usually breakfasted with her mother, but next morning appeared early on a terrace overlooking the sea. I determined to tell her I was going but hadn't the heart. She was going out with some ladies and I was to go to see her mother. I did, and found she was getting her leg well, quicker than the doctor had thought. Her brother was coming, etc. etc. This quite suited my intentions, and on leaving whispered “I shall be in my room at half past ten, the door will be open,” — intending to inform her. Then I went to breakfast, had my tobacco, went to my room, and there she was.

My intentions vanished directly I saw her, my only thought was of her secret charms. What puts letches into my head I can't tell, but suddenly I wanted to gamahuche her. I had explained to her the meaning of the word the night before, and she'd admitted that her cunt had been licked by her Ayah in India, when he was not fourteen years old. She refused to let me, was in a hurry to dress to go out with some ladies, etc. etc. We were standing close together and I was feeling her cunt. “What have you put those damned drawers on for?” (She'd not had them on before.) “It's coldish this morning.” — It was. — “I 'hate them.” — But I felt her quim thro them, not wishing to fuck, hating to be hurried in that delicious friction. — “Let me kiss it.” — “No.” Yet in a minute she was on the bedside, her bum on my hands, thighs over my, arms, my nose buried in her silky motte, my tongue searching for her clitoris between the large nymphae, and found easily for it was full sized. I kissed her thighs, held them up that my lips might kiss and rub over her satiny buttocks, then her belly, then I nibbled at her love bud, licked all over the vulva, shot my tongue up the avenue, then played it on the clitoris, sucking it in at times, then nibbling it gently, till I felt- her thighs begin to twitch, her cunt slightly jerk up. Quicker went my tongue. — “Aherr.” — “Feel my head love,” at once her hands grasped it, on went my tongue — “Ahrr — ehha” — her thighs for an instant stiffened, then quivering relaxed, a flush of cuntal juices met my tongue whilst still it lingered playing gently on her clitoris, giving the fullest pleasure, letting her lose none. Raising my head, looking at the moistened vulva, opening its red lips wider, again to see and glory in the cocks-comb edges of her lost hymen, I rose up. She was lying with eyes closed enervated by her spend. — Ah the luscious tranquility in mind and body which a spend gives both man and woman. Then she quickly got off the bed pushing down her clothes, and for the first time showed signs of modesty. She looked ashamed and away from me with flushed face as I said, “That's what gamahuching is.” — “I must go — what will they think of seeing me come out of your room so often?” (I wondered too, for she hadn't before seemed to care.) “Shall I buy some more photographs?” — “Oh, do, do,” with vivacity. — “Wash your quim, dear — let me wash it.” — Without a word she left the room, chancing whom might be in the corridor.

All the remainder of the day I did nothing but think of fucking her, of looking at her lovely thighs and buttocks, at her secret charms again — and of the position I'd fuck her in. Then I resolved to stay a day or two longer, yet knew that I must tell her, and leave at some time. Her manner was quite like one who expected the liaison to be permanent. What really passed in her mind about that I know not, for when together, our entire time was employed in talking about copulation, its preliminaries, and looking at photographs. Of photos I went out and bought another collection, met her in the hotel with the ladies she'd been out with, arranged that she should come to my room as before, soon after table d'hote dinner — at which I wasn't to dine — and she was to humbug her mother. I heard that Mamma always asked about me, and I began to fear suspiciously.