My Secret Life

We dawdled, I pressed her to fuck. She feared, said it was impossible, and we turned to another field gate. In the field it opened onto there was pasturages and cows about tho not in that field. A little way back by a hedge in the field was a wooden shed half open but with a gate, a rough place looking as if built for sheep by laborers, not by carpenters. Thinking it might suit our amatory wants, I got over the gate — for this gate also was locked — and opened the gate of the shed which was fastened by a rough latch. In it was a grindstone and a huge roller. An inner gate shewed straw. I opened that and out rushed a calf nearly knocking me over, which limped far away, for it was lame and quickly went towards a hedge where were cows in a field beyond. It startled me as I opened the door. Seeing that we could fuck there unobserved, I stepped out and beckoned her. With the agility of a boy she climbed the gate, shewing her plump legs and dirty petticoats, and in a minute was in the shed. Fearing the animal had soiled its bed, I threw down some clean straw which was in a corner in the entrance division, she laid down at once quite ready, and I threw up her petticoats — the only thing she objected to and wouldn't have but saw fat thighs, a little light hair on a fat motte, and the ever adorable split in her belly. Then I pulled open her legs. — “Now don't do that.” — I insisted and felt her cunt still soft and lubricated with my spendm, and next minute we were fucking, I with the pleasure which novelty and a pretty young randy cunt gives me. — “Listen,” said she stopping my thrusts and nearly uncunting me. But there was no one, we had left the doors open purposely — I was just spending. “Be quick, I'm so frightened.” — “Do you want it?” — “Yes, be quick, I'll do it soon” — and in another minute her cunt stood (as some French women say) gave grind and suction to my prick, out throbbed its mucilage, and her cunt gripping exuded its juices. Two minutes after she was back over the gate, and after having closed the shed door I followed her. — “Don't let us go to * * * * together,” said she. — “Dad's there.” — “All right, here are two sovereigns.” She looked at them wistfully, then angrily, — “I know what yer thinks me but I ain't.” — “I know that but take it.” — “Thank you,” — taking it she spat on it. — “How old are you?”

— “Just turned seventeen,” she'd said it before. — “How long has Jack fucked you?” — She colored up.

— “Just a year ago on my birthday.” “He won't marry you.” — “Yes he will at Christmas, and I hope you ain't filled me.” After our first coupling she let me say anything baudy, and I revelled in it but she wasn't a bit baudy herself. — I would feel her cunt again. — “Don't, my thighs are wet.” — Then she started off alone.

I loitered till she was well out of sight, then started on to the village where were the show vans, and Dad smoking a pipe outside a public house. He stared at me, as I sat myself besides him after ordering a glass of ale. Then I entered into conversation with him about shows and fairs. — “Was you the gent at ****?” asked he. — I said I was, he took some ale with me, and for three quarters of an hour told me the habits of his class. I saw Kit go in and out of a show dwelling, and into the public house, and once on an opportunity winked at her, which she returned with a half smile. Finally the vans with all of them went off. Kit walked by the side of the second and nodded to me as she left. I wondered if she'd washed her cunt, whether my sperm had been absorbed into her, whether I'd filled her. — A most delicous day I'd spent. I'd walked seven miles, felt hungry, got some very tough beef at the public house, felt pleased with my morning's work, then thought of getting back. The landlord said there was a trap, but a man looking a compound of potboy, groom, and coachman, said that it couldn't go. — “As I'm to take Mrs. * * * * to station.”

The fly — old, dusty, and discovered, was to call at some gentleman's house — I hadn't seen such a house on the road I'd walked — to a station on a branch line. Time was no object to me, so said I go by it as far as he could take me, and did at three o'clock. — “Go along that lane past the mill, turn to your right and straight on is your station, Sir,” said coachman as I got out of the fly. Following his direction I was soon away from the high road, and in a cart road lane went leisurely along, smoking, thinking much of the hard rumped, tight cunted lass I'd fucked, till my prick stood again, and I lapsed into a state of general lewedness.