My Secret Life

With quaking I said to the chemist, that I had something the matter with my thing. “What” said he. “I don *t know.” “Let me see it.” I began to beg him not to mention it to my mother, or any one. “Don't waste my time,” said he, “show it to me, if you want my advice.” Out I pulled it as small as could be, but still with the skin over it. “Have you been with a woman?” said he. “Yes.” He looked at my shirt, there was no discharge, then be laid hold of my prick with both hands, and with force pulled the skin right down, I howled. He told me there was nothing the matter with me, that the skin was too tight, that a snip would set me to rights, and advised me soon to have it done, saying, “It will save you trouble and money if you do, and add to your pleasure.” I declined. “Another day, then.” “No.” He laughed and said, “Well, time will cure you, if you go on as you have begun,” gave me a lotion, and in three days I was pretty right: warm water I expect would have had the same effect. I had simply torn the skin in taking the virginity.

Of course I wanted Charlotte again, she seemed in no way to help me, and used to cry, still there was a wonderful difference between then and before the happy consummation: she tried to pre vent my hands going up her petticoats, but, once up, objection ceased, and my hands would rove about on the outside and inside of all, we stood and kissed at every opportunity. “When shall we do it again?” She replied, “Never!” for she was sure it would bring punishment on us both.

I neglected my studies absolutely, all I thought about was her, and how to get at her, it must have been a week or more before I did. Ready for any risk, that day my mother was out, I came home, had the early dinner; the cook after that always went up to dress, or, as she said, clean herself, and there she always was an hour, waiting till I heard her go up, I went into the garden parlour, where as usual Charlotte was with my little brother. Going at her directly, I was refused, but now how different, once she would not rest until my hand was altogether away from her. Now I begged and besought her, with my hand up her clothes, my fingers on her quim. No, if we had not been found out, we were fortunate, but never, never, would she do it again; was I mad, did I wish to ruin her, was not the cook upstairs, might she not come down, whilst we did it? How light the room was, the sun was coming in. I dropped the blinds, her resistance grew less, as her cunt felt my twiddling. “No — now no - oh, what a plague you are; hush! it is the cook.” I open the door, listen, there is no one stirring. “What will she think if she finds you here?” “What does it matter? Now do - let me, - I'll bolt the door, if she comes I will get under the sofa, you say you, don't know how it got bolted.” Such was my innocent device, but it sufficed, for both were hot in lust. I bolted it. My prick is out, I pull her reluctant hand on to it, my hands are groping now, but too impatient for dallying, I push her down on the sofa-that dear emit. “Don't hurt me so much again, oh, don't push so hard.” Oh! what delight! in a minute we are spending, together this time.

I unlock the door, go back to the dining-room, she strolls out into the garden, cook speaks to her out of the window. “Where is master Wattie?” “In the dining-room, I suppose.” Soon out I stroll into the garden, play with Tommy of course, she can scarcely look me in the face, she is blushing like a rose. “Was it not lovely, Charlotte, is not your thing wet?” In she rushes with Tom, soon I follow, cook is still upstairs. “Come, be quick.” Again the bolt, again we fuck, she walks off into the garden with Tommy, her cunt full, and cook and she chat from the window. How we laughed about it afterwards.