My Secret Life

There was a cold collation at my aunt's, an apology for a dinner for those who liked to stop, and lots of champagne. — Some guests didn't stop, some, including the two girls, did. — Agatha took champagne freely, so did I, we strolled out with others on to the lawn and as it got cooler, we went further off and gradually to the laurel walk where was the big privy in which I'd fucked Pender. I was so lewed that my tool was on half cock. — I fancy she thought it was a summer house, — for there were two windows in it — and she'd not been in the walk before, I said, “Ah! I've had a love-making there.” — “Where?” she asked. — “There,” I replied laughing. — “Oh! Do tell us about it.” — “I daren't. — “Oh, do.” — “We made each other happy.” — She looked in my eyes. — “Now, do tell me.” — “Give me a kiss then.” She refused but I took it, and was so lewed, so reckless, that whilst kissing I held her, took hold of her left hand with my right, and pressed it hard up against my prick which was standing up in my trowsers like a rolling pin. — “Oh, don't — some one will see us.” — She submitted to kiss after kiss and didn't with-draw her hand. “I'm in love with you I think,” said I, when I ceased holding her hand. Her eyes looked soft, her manner was confused, and I thought that she knew what her hand had been pressed against, and that I knew that she knew what it was.

We walked on talking about love, I getting mad for fucking, without of course having the least idea of her helping me. I'd once before spoken about her garters, — her sister then was present. — “Where do you gar-ter?” said I. — “How rude you are, I shan't tell you.” — “I'll find out.” — “Now don't do that — there,” said she, pointing above her knee. It was coquetteishly done. — “What's it made of?” — “Silk, how rude you are.” — “It isn't.” — “It is.” — “Let me see.” — I stooped and got my hand on to her knee.” — “Oh! Don't now, now I'll leave you,” she said, but in quite a low tone, not a cry escaped her and she looked anxiously round — we were then in a shrubbery. — “Let's sit down.” She unhesitatingly entered with me a summer house which was in the remotest part of the grounds, no one was about, and we sat down.

There she began to lecture me about my rudeness, said she'd never expected it, nor would she walk with me again. She was excited, her face red. — “If you won't again I'll feel your garters now.” — She laughed, again I stooped, in a minute, spite of some weak struggles, my hand was clasped between her thighs — she'd no drawers on. — She cried hysterically, “Oho — oho — it's shameful,” and whimpered. I took my hand away, then saw that she'd shed no tears and that she looked caressingly at me. She didn't attempt to go away from me.

Frightened for a minute at my own temerity and success, the touch of her flesh so close to the hairy lipped entrance of her treasure, left me in a state of frantic, reckless randiness. I'd not had a woman for long, my prick had been stiffening on and off all day. I had drunk much champagne, so had she, and now, as whimpering she sat quite still, talking about what I'd done, instinct I suppose told me she was randy and ready, I forgot she was a lady, thought of nothing but cunt, and attempted again. She resisted but laughed in an anxious tone. “Oh, suppose you're seen now, don't,” and so on. Then without any idea of fucking her, but simply from desire to show her my sex, I pulled out my stiff pego. — “Look,” said I. — “Oh,” said she, “what an insult.” But she laughed as I attempted again to feel her garters, up she got, I caught her by the waist, kissed her, and put her hand round my prick — she'd no gloves on — and she held it murmuring. — “Don't now — let me go, — I'll tell your aunt — oh don't — someone will be coming — oh don't” — as I kept kissing. But still she kept hold of my prick, and her eyes glanced down on it and then at me. Did she quite know what she was doing?