Confessions Of An English Maid And Other Delights
by Anonymous


CHAPTER ONE 

During the course of the years in which I have been more or less closely 
associated with other prostitutes, I have frequently listened to 
explanations as to just what this one or that owed her degradation; the 
particular villainy to which she attributed her advent into a life of shame. 
The usual story is one of seduction by a lover under the inevitable 
extenuating circumstance of "before I really knew anything," with the 
occasional variation, "he put something in my drink, and when I came to . . 
. "or, "he was stronger than I was and I couldn't do anything." In these 
glib stories, in which none but the inconsequential details vary, the man is 
always to blame and the girl is never a willing accomplice. She is always, 
by artifice, force or deception, and subsequent abandonment, the victim of 
some man's depravity. 

I confess that I have listened to these tales and even witnessed a few tears 
of self-pity, with a certain amount of skepticism. In thinking back over my 
own life I can find nothing which would serve as a valid excuse to shift 
upon somebody else the responsibility of my own condition, nor can I in 
justice accuse any man of having instigated my moral degradation, although 
the number of those who have taken advantage of my voluntary delinquency is 
legion. True, were I to hypocritically search for some contributing factor 
with which to justify myself in my own mind or in the minds of others, I 
might place some blame upon the environment under which I was raised as a 
child, yet, a conscientious analysis of my subsequent life leads me to no 
other conclusion than that had these conditions been entirely normal I would 
still, just as water seeks its level, have drifted into a life analogous to 
that in which you find me. 

I do not believe that character is made by environment or training. I am 
something of a fatalist and it is my conviction that the seeds of goodness 
or badness, kindness or malevolence, virtue or viciousness, are implanted in 
the soul right from the beginning, and while some slight modifications 
either for better or for worse may be possible under varying circumstances, 
the net result will not be greatly changed. 

In my childhood days I knew two brothers, sons of affluent parents highly 
respected in the community. These two boys were raised under the most 
favorable home and moral environment possible to imagine. The elder, always 
the personification of honor and circumspection, occupies a position of 
trust high in the affairs of the nation. The younger child of the same 
parents, raised under exactly the same conditions and influences, early in 
life manifested all the characteristics of an irresponsible nature and is 
today being sought for his participation in a robbery which culminated in 
murder. I know of other such instances. 

I was seduced by no man, but I managed to get rid of my maidenhead before I 
was twelve years old. By the time I was fourteen I had been fucked by a 
dozen young fellows and several older men. I wasn't infatuated or deceived 
or coerced. I let them fuck me because it felt nice, because I liked it, and 
even the fact that shillings and even larger sums of money could be easily 
and pleasantly acquired didn't play any very important part in my 
complacency. 

I was eight and Rene, my foster brother, ten when mutual curiosity about 
each other's little sexual attributes first began to take the form of 
childish efforts to unravel Nature's mysteries. These efforts, which at 
first did not pass much beyond the observational stage, with an occasional 
touching and fingering, were inspired more by curiosity than sexual 
promptings; nevertheless, we sensed more elements of forbidden fruit and 
exercised considerable caution in hiding ourselves when the impulse was upon 
us to gratify our curiosity. 

Under the roof of our home was an attic which was used as a sort of 
storeroom for discarded furniture and other odds and ends. Rene and I 
converted it into a species of playhouse. Access to this attic was gained by 
a steep and narrow stairway enclosed between dark walls, and our parents 
rarely climbed these stairs, and would have given us ample warning by their 
footsteps had it occurred to them to do so; we felt reasonably secure, and 
always repaired to this obscure hideaway when the mood to do something 
naughty was upon us. 

Mamma Agnes was not my real mother. My own mother had died when I was four 
years old. With the practical philosophy of a widower left with a small 
child on his hands, Papa lost no time in acquiring a new wife, and in less 
than six months I had a mamma and a stepbrother two years older than myself. 

I lay neither censure nor praise at the feet of Mamma Agnes. She was kind to 
me in an indifferent way and I believe she cared as much for me as she did 
for her own child, Rene. She was simply not the maternal type, and though 
she accepted the material obligations which our presence represented 
uncomplainingly and kept us clean and well fed, there existed an almost 
complete absence of anything in the nature of moral or spiritual upbringing. 
We were punished occasionally, but only when our misbehavior constituted an 
annoyance to others. 

For two years Rene and I slept in the same bed. When I was about six I 
remember hearing Papa tell Mamma Agnes that we were too big to be sleeping 
together. Mamma Agnes made some protest which I didn't understand, but the 
next night a bed was arranged for Rene in another room and thereafter we 
slept apart. I missed feeling Rene's warm little body close to mine in the 
night and wanted to know why we were not to sleep together anymore. Mamma 
Agnes made an evasive explanation. "It isn't nice for boys and girls to 
sleep together," was the tactless reply which only served to kindle the 
restless fires of curiosity. During the next year or two some light, still 
of an obscure nature, was thrown on the subject by other children who were 
not adverse to sharing their knowledge with us. 

I was not supposed to see Rene's dickey, and he likewise was not supposed to 
see my cunny. This was the sum and substance, apparently, of the 
incomprehensible order of things which had abruptly terminated our bed 
fellowship. And immediately we both began to feel the itch to see what we 
were not supposed to see, and to which we had paid but scant attention when 
the opportunity had been freely at hand and unforbidden. 

The juvenile soul thirsts for knowledge-of a certain kind. What was the real 
basis of all this sly mystery about little boys' dickies and little girls' 
cunnies? "A boy puts his dickey in a girl's cunny," said one. "That's the 
way you get babies, only you can't have a baby until you're married." 

"When you rub your cunny it gives you a nice feeling," said another. 

In the security of our attic hideaway Rene and I diligently sought the 
answer to the mystery. The erstwhile playroom was converted into a juvenile 
brothel. We dragged an ancient mattress from behind an accumulation of 
wrecked furniture and laid it out on the floor. I straddled out on this 
mattress with my legs apart while Rene looked and fingered until his 
curiosity was temporarily satisfied and I was compensated by being permitted 
to look at and squeeze his little dickey. It was a source of never-ending 
wonder to watch it go through its erotic evolutions, expanding, swelling, 
hardening, until it projected stiffly and rigidly forward. I tried to see 
whether, by holding it tightly in my fist, I could prevent it from getting 
big, but in my grasp it seemed to grow even faster, easily displacing my 
clenched fingers and causing me curious, shivery sensations. 

Time and time again we tried to effect actual copulation, but there was 
something amiss, and the failure puzzled us. The playing, looking and 
fingering were pleasant, but there was something lacking, something sweet, 
something elusive which we sensed was close at hand but which still eluded 
us. 

Picture to yourself a group of twenty happy, carefree youngsters of both 
sexes, ages ranging from eight to twelve, their strident little voices 
ringing out in careless abandon as they pursue their innocent amusements, 
converting a refuse-strewn lot into an enchanted fairyland. Even the bloated 
loafers and derelicts of the street who cast a casual glance at the little 
innocents must not fail to feel a twinge of sentimentality. 

London Bridge is falling down, Falling down, falling down, London Bridge is 
falling down, My fair lay-dee. 

But, hark! There is more to the song. The shriller masculine voices take the 
ascendancy, and little girls are heard only in a confusion of laughter and 
giggling. 

Madge and Jerry are having a suck, Having a suck, having a suck, Madge and 
Jerry are having a suck, My fair lay-dee. 

After the suck they'll have a fuck, Oh, what luck, oh, what luck, After the 
suck, they'll have a fuck, My fair lay-dee 

Out of a house whose open windows are in close proximity to the merrymakers 
bursts an old Irish woman, brandishing a broom, her wrinkled face suffused 
with rage. 

"Git out o'here ye narsty little spalpeens or I'll swab yer dirty, stinkin' 
mouths fer ye, Worsted little imps o'Satan!" she screams as twenty pair of 
feet fly in twenty different directions under the menace of the broom in the 
hands of the scandalized old beldame. 

When I was about eleven, Pap's earning capacity was so reduced by 
drunkenness that Mamma Agnes was obliged to take in a boarder. The best room 
of the house, the one which had formerly served as a parlor, was converted 
to the purpose and rented to a Mr. Peters. 

Mr. Peters, a watchmaker by occupation, was a gentleman of forty-five or 
thereabouts who radiated jollity and good nature and who professed a great 
love for children. He took an immediate imagine to me and soon pennies and 
farthings began coming my way in an abundance I had never before known. Mr. 
Peters constantly called on me to run trifling errands for him, a package of 
fags, a penny paper, a bottle of ale, and these small services were 
invariably rewarded with some fulsome compliment, an affectionate pat on the 
cheek and a coin of modest denomination. 

As our friendship progressed, his amiable affection took the form of playful 
caresses, squeezings, and pettings. This did not trouble me and I was 
observant enough to note that the affectionate overtures were more 
pronounced and subsequently more remunerative when we were alone. So I was 
soon watching for opportunities to be near him when no one else was around, 
especially when Mamma Agnes was out with her shopping basket. 

On such occasions he took me in his lap and as his hands roved ceaselessly 
over my body he filled my ears with a running fire of pleasant flattery. My 
legs seemed to be the principal objects of his admiration and as he pinched 
and squeezed them playfully to emphasize his words, his good-natured, florid 
face would become still more florid and little beads of perspiration would 
appear on his forehead. 

One day Mr. Peters surprised me with the following observation: 

"Well, bless me, if our little Jessie isn't getting prettier and prettier 
ever day. Such legs . . . such legs. Do you know," he continued, as he 
passed his hands appraisingly down over my hips and thighs, "I have a 
suspicion that you aren't really a girl at all. Girls don't have such fine 
legs as these. I'll bet you're a boy instead of a girl." 

"Boys don't wear dresses or have long hair," I exclaimed. 

"A-a-a-h!" he answered, with a knowing look, shaking his finger skeptically 
in my face, "that could be just to fool people! A boy could wear dresses and 
let his hair grow long. Yes . . . "he mused abstractedly, "the more I think 
about it, the more I believe you're really a boy dressed in girl's clothes." 

"I am so a girl!" I protested indignantly. 

"I've had my suspicions for along time," he continued, ignoring my 
protestations. "Tell you what," he added confidentially, "I'll lay you a 
shilling you're really a boy!" 

"Very well!" I exclaimed, excitedly. "You can ask Mamma Agnes!" 

"Oh, no!" he objected hastily. "She's not here now and besides she might be 
on your side and say you're a girl anyway." 

"Well, who are you going to ask?" 

"Hum-m-m-m-m," he murmured, pausing in thoughtful meditation. "There ought 
to be some way we could settle the bet without asking anybody." I waited 
expectantly. 

"Ha! I've got it!" he exclaimed, as a happy solution of the perplexing 
problem suddenly occurred to him. "But remember now, if I win you must pay 
me the next shilling you get! I've got mine right here now to pay you if I 
lose!" And he fished a shiny new shilling from his pocket and displayed it 
before my eyes. 

"Yes, yes!" I answered eagerly. "I'll pay you if I lose! The very next 
shilling I get! How are you going to tell?" 

"Why, that's easy," he replied. "Funny we didn't think of it at first. Boys 
have a . . . ah . . . a little sort of dangle between this legs . . . right 
there . . . and girls haven't any. Now all you have to do is just unfasten 
your panties and we'll take a peek. And remember, if you've got a dangle, 
like I think you have, you must pay me the next shilling you get. I'll trust 
you for it!" 

Although I was momentarily confounded by this bizarre but quite obvious 
method of resolving the question, my eagerness to prove the injustice of his 
accusation, coupled with the prospect of so easily gaining a shilling, 
outweighed any small scruples I may have felt about exposing my cunny to 
him, and without a word I raised my short dress, unfastened my panties and 
pulled them down low enough to reveal the deciding factor between femininity 
and masculinity. 

Somewhat to my surprise Mr. Peters' doubts were not immediately dispelled. 
His flushed face took on a deeper hue and he seemed to be having some 
difficulty in speaking. He suggested that I remove my panties entirely so he 
could see better and when this was done it was necessary for him to make a 
most thorough inspection before he was finally convinced that I didn't have 
a dangle hidden between my thighs. 

After quite a lengthy examination, during which he seemed almost on the 
point of suffocation as his fingers lingered about my cunny, pressing, 
feeling, exploring, he sighed deeply and reluctantly conceded his defeat, 
confessing himself in error. My sex was vindicated, established and proved 
beyond any reasonable question and his repentant sorrow at having doubted it 
resulted in an extra shilling in addition to the one originally posted. 

When Rene came home I jubilantly displayed the two pieces of silver, 
explained their origin and told him how Mr. Peters had even thought I might 
have a dangle tucked up inside my cunny. My account of the incident seemed 
to make him restive and a few minutes later he suggested that we go up to 
the attic to play. 

The truth was that Mr. Peters' insistent feeling and fingering had left me 
with an odd sort of itching in my cunny. It felt excessively moist and hot, 
and I agreed to Rene's suggestion with alacrity. We slipped upstairs and, 
following our usual routine, I took off my panties and lay down on my back 
on the old mattress with my knees up and widely apart while Rene nudged and 
punched at me with his stiff little pintle. 

His erratic movements frequently brought the tip against the upper part of 
my cunny and each time it pressed or rubbed against a certain spot I felt an 
agreeable tremor. To capture this elusive sweetness I reached down and, 
taking his dickey in my fingers, I held it against the sensitive spot. There 
was a little bump of flesh there which swelled and twitched and 
instinctively I rubbed the end of his dickey against it. The pleasant 
feeling again permeated the whole lower part of my body, sending such a 
delicious radiation surging through my nerves that I trembled violently. The 
sensation culminated with a sudden burst of delight which caused me to moan 
and gasp in ecstasy. I had experienced my first real orgasm. 

I had always loved and admired my foster brother Rene. He was handsomer than 
most boys. He had beautiful dark brown curly hair and his skin was white and 
smooth. When he effected my first orgasm something was awakened in me which 
changed the affection to complete adoration. I do not think I have ever 
loved anyone more, or even as much as I loved Rene. 

I gave him one of the shillings I had won so easily, and as I continued to 
expiate on Mr. Peters' supreme ignorance, he threw me a pitying look and 
exclaimed: 

"Are you balmy? He knew you were a girl! He just wanted to get to look at 
your cunny." 

The light dawned on me, but the two shillings dimmed any feeling of chagrin, 
and even a hazy thought of future exploitation half-formed itself in my 
mind. I had long since sensed the fact that Mr. Peters' interest in me was 
rather more than casual. If he had given me the two shillings just to look 
at my cunny, maybe he might want to look at it again sometime. 

There was probably something in my eyes which betrayed this expectation to 
Mr. Peters, for when I again had an opportunity to slip into his room, he 
arose hastily and snapped the catch on the door. Returning to his chair he 
drew me between his knees and as I stood there he passed his hands 
caressingly down over my body from my armpits to my knees, and when they 
ascended they were under my dress instead of outside. He stroked my bare 
thighs above the tops of my stockings and all the while a ceaseless flow of 
words fell from his lips as though with this he sought to distract my 
attention from the movement of his hands. 

"Well, well, well, who's here but pretty little Jessie, come to cheer up 
poor old lonely Peters. My sweet little cabbage. She's lonely, too. Mamma 
Agnes is gone and Jessie's all alone in the big house . . . isn't she . . . 
? " He paused, waiting for my nodded confirmation. "Well, well, well. We'll 
have a nice little chat in here all by ourselves." 

His hands had worked up inside the loose legs of my panties and his fingers 
were squeezing the cheeks of my bottom. 

"Such a pretty, clever little girl . . . such legs . . . " 

He withdrew his hands after a final affectionate squeeze and raised them to 
the elastic band which sustained my panties about my waist, and in a moment 
I felt them being slipped down over my hips. 

I waited expectantly. 

When the panties were down and hanging loosely about my knees, Mr. Peters 
put an arm around me, drew me closer, and the next instant his hand was 
cupped over my cunny. This maneuver surprised me somewhat, for I supposed he 
intended to look at it again. But no, something different was going to 
happen. The hand pressed over my cunny began to move with a gentle grinding 
motion, and almost at once those delicious feelings which the tip of Rene's 
dickey had previously evoked began again. Involuntarily, I glanced toward 
Mr. Peters' lap. Along the inside length of his trouser leg was an enormous 
swelling. 

As I fixed my astonished gaze on it I could see the cloth jerking under the 
spasmodic expansions and contractions underneath. But the rapidly increasing 
intensity of the pleasurable sensations which were now tingling through my 
body under Mr. Peters' manipulations soon caused me to forget everything 
else. As the climax approached my knees began to tremble and when it reached 
its zenith, releasing those indescribably delicious thrills to go shooting 
through my body, I swayed dizzily. Mr. Peters was still talking, but I no 
longer knew what he was saying. 

When Rene came home I had another shilling to show him. He listened 
attentively to my account of just what had happened and wanted me to show 
him exactly what Mr. Peters had done to me. I took off my panties and placed 
his hand in the same position in which Mr. Peters had held his. Although the 
contact of Rene's soft little hand was much more agreeable than Mr. Peters' 
hard and calloused palm, my sexual orgasm, probably exhausted by the 
thorough masturbating I had undergone, refused to respond to Rene's efforts. 

However, his own emotions were aroused by the pantomime and, yielding to his 
command, I lay down on the mattress and let him straddle me while he nuzzled 
and poked at my cunny with his little cock. I took it in my fingers to press 
it against the spot which was most responsive to its touch and it was while 
holding it thus that Rene's movements suddenly became more precipitate. 

"Squeeze it tight!" he gasped. 

I turned my eyes toward his face. It was strained and tense and his breath 
was short and panting. Something of his emotion infected me and prompted 
quite by instinct, I clutched his stiff little dickey tighter and began to 
work it with my fingers. It was no longer even in contact with my cunny but 
sliding in and out of my clenched fist. 

His legs stiffened rigidly and his movements, except for a final convulsive 
shudder, ceased. At the same instant I sensed the presence of some warm, 
moist substance in my hand. I looked at it wonderingly and found my palm and 
fingers sticky with a milky, viscid fluid. 

One night, a week or so later, Rene and I were alone in the house. Papa 
rarely came in before midnight and was generally so tipsy that Mamma Agnes 
would have to put him to bed. On this occasion she had gone to visit a sick 
friend and did not expect to return until quite late. Mr. Peters had heard 
something of this and had whispered to me that I should not go to bed until 
he returned as he was sure he would want me to go on an errand for him. 

He came in about nine o'clock and after confirming Mamma Agnes' absence, 
sent me to the corner to get a paper with instructions to bring it to his 
room when I came back. I had already communicated to Rene my suspicion that 
Mr. Peters would "do something" to me when I took the paper into his room, 
and Rene was going to peek through the keyhole. It even occurred to me to 
take off my panties before going in. 

My juvenile intuition was quite correct and Mr. Peters masturbated me again 
while I stood between his knees holding my dress up and my foster brother 
Rene crouched outside the door watching through the keyhole. 

Poor Mr. Peters. He never attempted to do anything except play with me in 
this fashion and whether it was in his mind to venture further as my sexual 
instincts unfolded will never be known, for one day, less than three months 
after his first tentative overture, he was knocked down by an omnibus and 
carried to a hospital where he died without ever regaining consciousness. I 
cried heartily when it was known that we would never see him again and his 
simple effects were packed up for removal. In my estimation he was a kindly 
and generous soul who had been the fount of many blessings. 

A short time after Mr. Peters' departure, a neighborhood scandal was bruited 
about among the residents of the vicinity. Down the street, in the big house 
on the corner, lived a retired sea captain and his rather large family. They 
were rated as well-to-do and employed a maid-servant, a cute little thing 
whose trim, silk-clad legs, black uniform and lace-edged apron I had always 
secretly envied. 

Among the younger children of his household was a boy named Leonard and a 
girl named Maisie. Leonard was about the same age as Rene, but was 
undersized and wore glasses which gave his wizened countenance a peculiarly 
owlish aspect. Maisie was very pretty. She was two years younger than I. 
Both these children were precocious. It was said that Maisie would show her 
cunny to any boy who wanted to see it and Leonard bragged that he fucked the 
maidservant whenever he felt like it. There was some doubt as to the 
veracity of this, but the doubt was dispelled abruptly when the maidservant 
suddenly disappeared and the older children of the household whispered into 
the ears of their special confidants that she had been summarily dismissed 
after having been caught in the very act of sucking Leonard's dickey while 
supposed to be supervising his bath. 

"She had it right in her mouth when Mamma caught her!" they whispered 
impressively. 

Rene pressed Leonard for details when the opportunity later presented 
itself, and listened to an entirely frank exposition of the affair, which he 
then communicated to me. 

The liaison with the maidservant had been started several months previously 
by the versatile little maid herself. Each night, on tucking him into bed, 
she had been in the habit of putting her hand under the covers to see 
whether he had a hard-on. Inasmuch as such was almost invariably the case, 
and the condition not being favorable in her opinion to sound sleep, her 
remedy was to reduce the rigidity by means of a hand message to make it "lie 
down and go to sleep." 

One night she told Leonard that her efforts to make him sleepy were having a 
contrary effect on her and that she couldn't go to sleep for hours after 
having put him to sleep. There was a way both could have their sleeplessness 
cured. She would slip into his room later that night after everybody was in 
bed and explain it to him. She squeezed his dickey to make sure it was in 
its usual state of erection but refrained from taking the customary measures 
to make it lie down. 

When all was quiet in the household she slipped into his room like a little 
ghost in her white nightgown, threw the covers back and lay down by him. 
Taking his dickey in one hand she worked it until it was in its maximum 
state of rigidity. With the other she guided his fingers between her legs 
and with various motions and whispered instructions showed him how to 
reciprocate the massage. 

"Her cunny has hair all around it, just like a grown-up person," confided 
Leonard. 

After a while she stopped the rubbing and told him to get on top of her. 
When he was in the proper position she started his dickey in the right 
direction and, poppo! It went, inside, just like that. 

At this juncture in the recital, Rene interrupted to clear up a confusing 
point. Had Leonard's dickey gone clear in, or had it just sort of rubbed 
along her cunny? 

Emphatically, it had gone in, entirely and completely, not a bit stayed 
outside. He was sure and specific on this point. It was dark that time, but 
they had done it subsequently in the daytime when he could even look down 
and see it while it was going in and out, and it absolutely went clear in. 

The story of Leonard's relation with the maidservant progressed from 
frigging to fucking and finally to the last act, in which the unexpected 
entry of his mother into the bathroom while he was enjoying, and not for the 
first time, the delights of being sucked off by the versatile maid had 
brought an end to the fun. 

Now the maid was gone and he was obliged to massage his dickey for himself 
at night in order to make it lie down and go to sleep. 

The sucking part was rather incomprehensible to Rene and me. We were still 
rank novices in the arts of love and had much to learn. It was a cause of 
preoccupation to us that we hadn't been able to approximate anything like 
the success Leonard and the maidservant had achieved. Rene's dickey simply 
couldn't find its way in. We knew in theory that it should, and we had both 
peered and looked and fingered in an effort to find a hole big enough. There 
didn't seem to be any, or if there was, it was closed up very tightly. 

With the candidness of youth Rene confided the difficulty to Leonard and 
Leonard promptly offered to show him how to do it. I never objected to 
anything Rene proposed, and submitted myself obediently to the 
demonstration. Leonard knew no more about maidenheads than Rene but he had 
the confidence which comes with experience and when I took off my panties 
and lay down on the mattress he placed himself between my knees and got his 
dickey which, despite his slighter stature, was fully as big as Rene's, 
against my cunny. He gave a lunge, and a shriek escaped my lips which, had 
there been anyone else in the house at the time, would have brought an 
investigation. His dickey had gone in all right, but the sensation I 
experienced was far from being conducive to further experimentation. After 
the first shriek of pain I began to cry, the tears rolled down my cheeks and 
I struggled to release myself. 

Panic-stricken at the unexpected results, Leonard jerked away from me and 
his dickey came out stained with a reddish fluid and a few drops trickled 
down the inside of my thighs. Leonard was so frightened that he fled from 
the scene, leaving Rene and me alone. 

The pain was only momentary and as it died away I stopped crying, but gazed 
with fright at the spots of blood which stained the white flesh between my 
thighs. Rene dabbed at them nervously with his handkerchief, and when no 
more appeared some of our assurance returned, but I was aggrieved because of 
the stab of pain I had suffered. When I stood up a feeling of soreness in my 
sexual parts was very pronounced. Fortunately, Mamma Agnes made no 
embarrassing inquiries when she found me in bed at an hour much earlier than 
my accustomed one, and by the following day the soreness had mostly passed 
away. 

Thus I lost my maidenhead with pleasure neither to myself nor to my 
violator. 

Having my hymen punched out in so disagreeable a manner without knowing 
exactly what had happened except that it was something decidedly unpleasant 
resulted in a reluctance on my part to lend myself to further exploitations 
which lasted for some weeks and might have endured longer had not my 
emotions been stimulated anew by a curious incident. 

While rummaging through a pile of trash, old newspapers and discarded 
magazines which had been swept out of a long-vacant house nearby, Rene found 
a little green-covered book which, on being opened, disclosed to his 
startled eyes a picture which confirmed the basic theory of love. It was a 
rather neatly executed sketch showing a beautiful young lady reclining upon 
a grassy mound under a tree. Her dresses were drawn up, she had no parties 
on, and above the edge of her disordered and half-open bodice peeped a pair 
of bubbies of most astonishing proportions. 

Between her thighs, half-lying, half-kneeling, with one of her silk clad 
legs thrown over his hips, was a young boy. From his middle projected a 
dickey which penetrated and was lost to sight for half its length in her 
cunny, the protruding lips of which were plainly indicated just below a 
profusion of curly black hair. 

As soon as he recovered from the shock this picture caused him, Rene 
streaked for home and excitedly signaled for me to follow him to the attic. 
Breathlessly we gazed at the picture, then turned our attention to the text 
which accompanied it. As we devoured the printed pages I became aware of 
that moist, swollen, itchy feeling in my cunny. The desire to experience 
anew the delicious sensations the tip of Rene's dickey had afforded me began 
to surge through me and grow more and more insistent as we slowly digested 
the revelations contained in the booklet and which were phrased quite within 
our powers of comprehension. 

The title which graced the story was: "The Passionate Governess, or Hubert's 
First Fuck." Before that book finally left our possession we had read it so 
many times either of us could have recited it word for word by memory. 

It was about a beautiful young governess in a wealthy home who entered into 
amorous adventures with one of her charges, Hubert, a boy of fifteen. After 
a number of tantalizing episodes, in one of which she catches Hubert peeking 
through the keyhole and masturbating himself while she is bathing, she 
decided to gratify his curiosity and save him from the vice of masturbation 
by letting him have sexual intercourse with her. 

The scene chosen for the sweet lesson in love is a beautiful sylvan glade 
reached by crossing a lake in a rowboat. As the pretty governess sits in the 
prow of the boat with Hubert at the oars facing her, she carelessly permits 
her skirts to become so elevated above her knees that Hubert is afforded a 
delightful opportunity to peek between her legs and get teasing glimpses of 
the charms only half concealed under the frilly lace of her panties. Under 
the stimulation of this enticing sight he is in a suitable condition for his 
initiation in the rites of love. 

After exciting preliminaries in which passionate kisses, caresses and 
fondling of each other's sexual parts are indulged in, and during which 
Hubert's curiosity regarding the more intimate aspects of feminine anatomy 
is completely satisfied, the real initiation takes place as shown in the 
illustration, and Hubert learns that the delights attendant to plunging his 
dickey into the mossy glen between a pretty girl's legs are far superior to 
those he had formerly experienced in masturbation. 

It was a story with a moral, as you will have observed, intended to 
discourage young people from practicing self-abuse. 

When we had finished the last page I felt moist and sticky and it seemed to 
me that my panties were wet. Rene's trousers were jutted out in front in a 
way which showed what effect the story had had on him. 

He looked at me, and I looked at him. "Shall we?" he whispered. 

"Yes!" I answered, all recollection of the pain I had suffered the last time 
this attic had been used for purposes of fornication completely obliterated. 

While Rene was unfastening his trousers I kicked off my panties and lay down 
on the soft mattress. My emotions had been greatly excited by the vivid 
little story and the first touches of Rene's dickey against the moist flesh 
of my cunny were indescribably sweet. For a few moments I lay there 
languidly thrilling to the soft friction and pressure as the tip of his 
dickey roved about over the sensitive area like a person groping for a door 
in the dark. But suddenly I stiffened in alarm for I distinctly felt the 
constriction which accompanied an actual penetration and which brought back 
to my consciousness what had happened before. 

With muscles tensed in readiness to free myself with the first indication of 
pain I held my breath and waited. But there was no pain. To the contrary, 
the sensations I felt as Rene's dickey slipped further into the tight little 
hole were more agreeable than anything I had yet experienced. 

I moaned, not with pain this time, but with delight, and the next moment, 
actuated by those natural instincts which need no previous experience nor 
teacher to guide, we were both frantically heaving our bottoms up and down 
in an effort to taste without delay the supreme delight of which the 
intoxicating thrills now tantalizing us were but the forerunners. 

It comes but once in a lifetime, that indescribable, celestial glow which 
suffuses the souls and blends the bodies of lovers in unforgettable rapture, 
the first perfect sexual union of two beings who feel toward each other the 
tender passion of youth unmarred as yet by maturity's grosser complexities, 
and I affirm that those who have not tasted the fruit of love under these 
conditions have missed what is probably life's sweetest experience. 

Rene and I had finally succeeded in unlocking the door which had hitherto 
obstructed our progress and with the unlocking, the latent germs of 
sensuousness, undoubtedly implanted in my very soul, sprang rapidly to full 
bloom. My ardor exceeded his, and it was I who now suggested and even begged 
frequent visits to the dusty attic where, with my panties off and my dress 
up or entirely removed, I writhed and suspired ecstatically in response to 
his vigorous thrusts. And, after a delicious orgasm had rewarded our 
efforts, I sighed inwardly with regret at the inevitable transformation his 
little cock underwent, dropping slowly but surely downward, its virile 
rigidity degenerating into a flaccid inertia which incapacitated it from 
further immediate use. 

 CHAPTER TWO 

We now had plenty of time to be alone. There was no tenant for the extra 
room and Mamma Agnes was working out, with the result that we had several 
hours at our disposal between the time school was over and the hour at which 
she returned. 

One day while we were standing on the sidewalk in front of the house Leonard 
appeared. Leonard, being entirely in Rene's confidence, had been appraised 
of the new state of affairs. He had intimated that he would like to try it 
again with me, which intimation I had listened to with no great enthusiasm, 
not through chaste reluctance, but because of the still lingering 
recollection of what had happened the first time. 

I was still in ignorance of the exact physical facts and blamed him for the 
pain I had suffered. After some desultory conversation the enterprising 
Leonard suggested that the three of us proceed to the attic and have a 
hoochy dance. If you are familiar with juvenile parlance you may know that a 
hoochy dance is a simple but interesting form of entertainment in which the 
participants take off their clothes or "get naked" as they express it, and 
either with hands joined or independently, will jump and cavort in a circle 
in a sort of primitive dance. 

The element of attraction in this otherwise inspired diversion being that 
the boys can look at the girl's cunny and the girl can look at the boys' 
dickies. "And . . . " continued Leonard, after contributing this suggestion 
for a pleasant manner in which to pass the afternoon ". . . afterwards, you 
can fuck Jessie and I'll look, and then I'll fuck her and you can look." 

As for me I was entirely agreeable to the first part of the program, and 
open to acceptance on the latter. It was Rene who interposed the logical 
objection that three of us weren't enough to properly stage a hoochy dance 
and we set to speculating as to the possibility of getting additional 
recruits. A hurried inventory of acceptable prospects only brought to light 
that this one was not at home, that one was sick, and another being "kept 
in" as a disciplinary measure, etc. It seemed there was little hope of 
rounding out the party on short notice and as a last recourse, Leonard 
rather apologetically suggested that maybe we'd be satisfied with Maisie. 

This was a thought. Maisie had never participated in any of our doings 
because being younger than the rest of us we looked down upon her from the 
vantage of our maturity and wisdom as being just a kid. Nevertheless, Maisie 
had earned quite a reputation of her own and Leonard made no secret of the 
fact that before his ideas had been broadened by the vanished maidservant he 
had often diddled his little sister. He looked on hopefully while Rene 
studied the suggestion. 

"Can you find her?" queried Rene. 

"Sure I can, if you'll wait for me!" responded Leonard. 

"Well, all right, then. Hurry up!" 

In less than five minutes Leonard was back with Maisie in tow. She was a 
beautiful little thing and her eyes were shining with elation at the idea of 
being permitted to participate in older children's secrets. 

"Now we're going to have a hoochy dance in our attic," explained Rene, 
addressing her. "If we let you come, you won't tell, will you?" 

"No, no! I won't tell, ever!" she exclaimed vehemently. "I'm not a 
tattletale, am I, Lenny?" she added, turning to her brother for 
corroboration. 

"No, she won't tell. She knows bloody well we'll knock her block off if she 
does!" responded Leonard with menacing emphasis. 

Up to the attic we trooped and with much giggling and laughter began to 
undress. True to the usual formula of feminine hypocrisy, Maisie and I both 
made a great show of being concerned about the boys seeing us before we were 
"ready" and chided them hysterically for peeking while we were undressing. 

This incitation had its natural effect upon the two boys and when we finally 
faced them, every stitch of clothing removed from our white little bodies, 
their cocks were standing out in stiff and rigid excitation. 

We dragged the mattress to one side and, joining hands, began our hoochy 
dance, which consisted of nothing more complicated than swinging around in a 
circle and jumping up and down to the accompaniment of some ribald verses 
which we repeated over and over while the feminine eyes of the contiguity 
were fixed on jiggling dickies which bounced up and down with the violent 
movements of their owners, and the masculine ones on fat-lipped, hairless 
little cunnies. 

When we had finally exhausted our acrobatic and musical repertoire we sat 
down, breathless, to rest and devise further exploits. Leonard wanted to 
fuck me while Rene and Maisie looked on, and then have the arrangement 
reversed with him and me the spectators while Rene fucked Maisie. 

I protested that it hurt with him and expressed a preference to do it with 
Rene. My protest was partly actuated by something akin to jealousy. Somehow, 
I didn't exactly relish the idea of Rene fucking Maisie. But Rene 
intervened, and his word was law. It wouldn't hurt me now if I did it with 
Leonard. I was used to it now. 

And so, with Leonard crouched on one side and I on the other, both watching 
with wide eyes, my foster brother Rene straddled Maisie's naked body, got 
his cock into a crevice which fitted around it like a tight little ring of 
flesh and, without a mishap or indication of discomfort on her part, fucked 
her until he had an orgasm. 

Maisie never stirred or made a sound. She just lay there quietly, looking up 
into his face with her big, wondering eyes until he had finished and then 
calmly wriggled out from under him, sat up and murmured: 

"Now it's our turn to watch!" 

"Didn't it make you feel nice, Maisie?" I asked in some astonishment at her 
placidity. "When Rene and I do it, I just tremble all over, it makes me feel 
so good!" 

"Sure, it makes me feel nice. I like to do it!" affirmed Maisie, but it was 
apparent that she had not yet experienced a real orgasm, even though Leonard 
had long since gotten her maidenhead out of the way. 

With some inward misgivings I submitted to Leonard's ministrations and, of 
course, quickly discovered that my fears were groundless, for his dickey was 
in almost before I knew it, and this time without causing me any pain. Not 
counting Leonard's previous attempt, this was the first time I had been 
really fucked by any boy except Rene and, despite my affection for him, the 
novelty of a new cock had its emotional reaction and very quickly brought my 
quivering organism to that delicious borderland wherein for a few seconds 
the senses vibrate in ecstatic anticipation before definitely rendering 
their delicious offering. Another wiggle or two served to precipitate the 
ejaculation. 

I was about twelve years old when what I have just related occurred. A few 
days later, on the way home from school, a boy named Bryan sidled up to me 
and rather timidly asked me if I would do it with him. 

Bryan was a boy I would have described as nice. He was fourteen or fifteen, 
always dressed very neatly, had a pleasing personality and agreeable 
features. To say that I was not surprised at the overture would be an 
exaggeration, yet I was not displeased. If I had any doubts as to precisely 
what he meant by "do it" with him, the doubt was dispelled with one look 
into his flushed face and averted eyes and the uneasy, furtive glances he 
cast about as though to assure himself that there was no one else within 
hearing. Nevertheless, to delay an answer until I could gather my confused 
thoughts, I murmured innocently: 

"Do what with you?" 

"Aw, you know what I mean, Jessie!" 

"No, I don't!" 

"Something nice . . . like you did with Lenny Connors!" 

His reference to Leonard caused me a slight chill of apprehension, but did 
not entirely prejudice me against him. He continued to coax, and I, 
beginning to enjoy the thrill of being begged for something with such 
humility, neither definitely denied nor promised my complacency. 

"Where could we go to do it?" I asked evasively. 

His answer to this revealed the fact that he was well informed regarding my 
private life and affairs. 

"Couldn't we go up to your attic before your mamma comes home?" he suggested 
hopefully. 

This was something Rene would have to be consulted on, so I evaded a direct 
answer by saying I'd tell him the next day, and with that I skipped off. 

"Bryan wants to do it with me. Shall I let him?" I asked Rene. 

"Bryan? Bryan who?" 

"Bryan Thompson, that boy that lives over on Little Goose Neck Road." 

Rene considered the matter for a moment and deciding apparently that it was 
of insufficient importance to trouble his head over, disclaimed 
responsibility with an indifferent shrug. 

"Oh, I don't know. Do what you want. What do I care?" 

"He knows about Leonard and me. I bet Maisie . . . " 

"Gee! You better do it with him so he won't tell. I got to go now and see a 
chap. Goodbye." 

And so it came about that Bryan's name was added to my now growing list of 
youthful paramours. He was bigger than Rene or Leonard, and had something 
which neither of the other two possessed, a growth of dark, crisp hair on 
his pubic regions. He hurt me a little, but he was careful and despite the 
slightly painful distension I soon began to feel the warm, sensuous tremors 
which precede orgasm. His slow, cautious thrusts brought my organism to a 
pitch of excitation such as I had not yet experienced, and when the climax 
came I almost fainted with the intensity of the ecstasy. Afterwards, he 
showed me where my fingernails had actually cut into his flesh while I was 
hugging him in the crisis. He was a very gentlemanly little fellow and 
thanked me in the most courteous and serious manner imaginable for having 
let him do it to me. In addition, he made me glow happily by telling me that 
I had the prettiest legs of any girl he had ever seen. Bryan had the makings 
of a real courtier. 

Before long my popularity was spreading and new suitors for my favors were 
appearing almost magically. Sometimes even boys and young men I did not know 
accosted me in the streets, some humbly and supplicatingly, and others quite 
impertinently. 

Instead of being alarmed at this situation I took it as a flattering 
indication of my popularity. And, inevitably, I discovered that the soft 
nest between my legs, upon which a filmy growth of silky hair was beginning 
to grow, could be made to hatch financial rewards as well as genetic 
pleasures. 

That some horrible fate did not overtake me as the result of my complacency 
with utter strangers is only proof of the old, old theory that guardian 
angels look after the safety of children and fools, sometimes, at least. 

Once I made an appointment with a man to meet him at a certain corner after 
dark, expecting to be taken to a room. He led me into an alley of such 
sinister and abandoned aspects that I did indeed become alarmed and refused 
to go any further. For a while he tried to persuade me with flattering words 
and promises of generous compensation, but the more he talked, the more 
uneasy I became, and finally, cursing me viciously, he turned away and 
quickly disappeared. 

One night a young man of genteel but delicate physical features accosted me 
in terms so respectful and courteous that I listened to his insinuations and 
consented to accompany him to his room which, though far from pretentious, 
was neatly and comfortably furnished. 

I had long since discovered that men's first thoughts were to see me naked 
as quickly as possible; they seemed literally burning to gorge their eyes 
with the spectacle of my nudity, so as soon as I was in the privacy of a 
room I always undressed down to my hose and slippers without waiting to be 
asked. 

No sooner was the door closed behind us in this instance than I started to 
take off my clothes. But the young man stopped me with a gesture. 

"No, no!" he exclaimed, "don't undress!" 

I paused uncertainly. 

"I've got to take off my clothes . . . my panties anyway . . . don't you 
want to see me naked." 

"No, no! Don't take off anything! I'll tell you what to do, don't do 
anything except just what I tell you. You'll get your money." 

"But . . . but what do you want me to do?" 

"I'll show you. Just sit down and wait. I'll be back in a minute." 

I sat down in the chair he indicated and he disappeared into an adjoining 
room, closing the door behind him. I heard him moving about, and five 
minutes later he appeared again, strip, stark naked. He was rather thin, but 
his skin was white and clean. His cock, entirely indifferent to the 
proximity of a feminine spectator, hung down inert and listless. 

Crossing the room he unlocked a cabinet and took from it a bundle of thin, 
pliant switches. Selecting one of these he extended it toward me and 
murmured in a voice which was both low and supplicating: 

"Take this switch and whip me as hard as you can." 

I gazed at him mute with stupefaction. 

"Come!" he urged, putting the switch in my hand." 

"You're joking!" I managed to exclaim. "What do you want me to whip you 
for?" 

"Oh, don't waste time asking questions! Do as I ask and you'll get your 
money!" 

I saw that he was in earnest and, thinking that I had to deal with a crazy 
man whom it would be best to humor, dazedly got to my feet clutching the 
switch which he had placed in my hand. 

"Whip me as hard as you can!" he whispered huskily, indicating the cheeks of 
his bottom with a gesture. 

Fearfully, I drew back the slender birch and brought it forward against his 
flesh with a smart thwack. 

"Harder!" he said, "as hard as you can!" 

I repeated the blow, with greater force. 

"Keep on! Don't stop! Don't be afraid!" 

In obedience to this exhortation I struck him several more blows in 
succession. 

"That's the way . . . only harder!" he exclaimed. 

Again I drew the birch back and this time it fairly whistled through the air 
as it rained stinging cuts over his thighs and buttocks. In its wake livid 
crisscross lines began to appear on the white flesh. As I saw these marks 
developing under my blows a curious sensation began creeping up through my 
own body. A sort of fury took possession of me and instead of feeling sorry 
for the pain I was inflicting I felt an urge to increase his torment. My 
face was hot and my heart beat violently. I clenched my teeth and put all 
the strength I possessed behind the swishing birch. 

He stood there rigidly, his eyes glassy, distended, an ecstatic expression 
on his face. And then I noticed something else. His cock, which had at first 
been hanging lifelessly down, was coming into a slow erection. It was 
expanding in size and jerking convulsively at short intervals and with each 
jerk it lifted itself upward a little higher. 

I watched it with fascinated eyes and as it slowly assumed its maximum of 
rigidity and erection the first shiver of something akin to lewd 
voluptuousness kindled within me. I comprehended that in some manner there 
was a relation between the whipping I was inflicting on him and my own 
obscure, erotic reaction, and I tried to increase the severity of my blows. 

"Enough!" he gasped suddenly, and snatching the whip from me he flung it 
across the room. "Now! Frig me quick!" And he seized my hand and placed it 
upon his cock. 

I was now in a state in which I would have welcomed a reciprocal caress, 
even masturbation, but I dared not disobey him. Supporting his testicles 
with one hand I pumped his cock frenziedly with the other and before I had 
made a dozen passes his seminal fluid was spurting from my fist in copious 
jets. 

For this service, my first experience in the realms of abnormal sexual 
practices, the young man presented me with ten shillings and I went home 
marveling, not only at his curious eccentricity, but at the peculiar 
sensations I myself had experienced while occupied with the weird business. 

My moral status was now pretty well established in the neighborhood in which 
I had lived since imagine. The echoes from shrewish tongues to the effect 
that "something should be done" had reached my ears on more than one 
occasion. I had not been able to conceal my occasional financial affluence 
from Mamma Agnes who had taken note of mysteriously acquired bits of finery 
and articles of personal adornment which could not be readily accounted for. 
Her comments, at first veiled, became more cynical as time went on. Her 
well-founded suspicions were justified when, returning one afternoon at an 
hour much earlier than the usual one, she opened a door which Rene and I, 
grown careless with respect to elementary precautions, had left unlocked. 

When we first saw her she was swaying tipsily in the open door. Tipsy, yes, 
but not too tipsy to realize the significance of the picture which 
confronted her. I, my breasts still heaving under the stimulation of an 
orgasm just effected, lying on the bed with my panties off and the rest of 
my clothing in guilty disarray, and Rene, his pants unbuttoned in front and 
his still rigid cock projecting therefrom as he reached for a towel to wipe 
it off in the precise moment in which the movement of the door attracted our 
attention. 

There was a dull minute of silence; silence frozen and absolute except for 
the imperturbable ticking of the small china clock on the dresser. Raising 
her hands in front of her with the palms outward in a gesture of 
renunciation, Mamma Agnes murmured thickly: 

"I war-r-shh me hands of the pair of ye!" 

And she closed the door upon us, leaving Rene and me to stare at each other 
in blank dismay. 

"Gee, Sis! Why didn't you latch the door?" exclaimed Rene when the sound of 
her footsteps had died away. 

"Why didn't you?" I countered weakly. 

From this time on Mamma Agnes maintained a stony indifference toward me, 
speaking only when unavoidable, and then with caustic brevity. 

One Saturday evening about a month later, as I was returning to the house 
after having spent the afternoon with a girl friend, a young man passed me 
in the street. His glance, as it appraisingly flitted over my face and body, 
conveyed the message I had learned to recognize and in a brief moment of 
passing I was able to observe that in addition to a handsome appearance, he 
was more than commonly well-dressed. The immaculate linen and modish cut of 
his clothes, together with an expensive topcoat, suggested money, of which 
at that moment I had none, and I had seen in a store that very day a pair of 
high-heeled slippers of irresistible appeal. 

I slowed my steps and paused before a shop window. I was not mistaken in my 
anticipations, for he was quickly at my side, murmuring seductive 
blandishments in my ear. 

Up to a certain point my knowledge of what transpired subsequently is quite 
clear, but beyond that only incoherent and fragmentary recollection remains. 

There was a long ride in a cab which took us into a distant section of the 
city unfamiliar to me, a luxurious residence into which we were received by 
a uniformed domestic who bowed servilely to each curt order from the young 
man who accompanied me. I had made a conquest this time which far outshone 
any previous adventure. All this stands out vividly in my memory, together 
with the beautiful and costly furnishings of the rooms to which I was 
conducted, the rich, red wine I drank from a sparkling crystal goblet and 
which sent the blood coursing through my veins, filling me with a delicious 
languor as I sat naked on my companion's knees while his hands and lips 
caressed my body, lips which tugged and sucked at the little nipples of my 
breasts causing them to puff up excitedly and send delicious radiations 
vibrating through me, soft, well-kept hands with delicate fingers whose 
exquisite titillations between my yielding legs evoked other delicious 
ecstasies. 

Another goblet of ruby-red wine, two, maybe three, and the recollection 
begins to dim, with only an occasional flash reacting upon my memory; a bed, 
wonderfully soft and warm and yielding, silken covers which caressed my 
naked body like the touch of feathers, oblivion, and then a return to semi 
consciousness and an indifferent realization of the fact that I was being 
fucked, another period of darkness and again the awareness of a warm, 
throbbing cock stirring inside my body. 

And so on, throughout what seemed interminable hours, I alternated between 
moments of lucidity and long periods of oblivion. Whether it was one fuck 
which lasted all night, or a dozen repeated at intervals I do not know. I 
had never been drunk before, and it was more like some incoherent dream than 
a reality. 

When I awoke I could not at first remember the circumstances which accounted 
for my presence in such unfamiliar surroundings. I sat up among the 
disordered coverings and looked about. I was alone. My clothes were draped 
over a settee where I had placed them on disrobing the previous night. I was 
entirely naked and had a splitting headache, the explanation of which was 
apparent in the form of empty bottles and wine-stained goblets on a small 
taboret near the bed. 

As my glance roved about the room it encountered a clock sustained in the 
uplifted arms of a porcelain shepherdess, and I saw with a start that it was 
past the hour of eleven. I had never been absent from home all night before. 

In this moment there was a rap at the door and hardly had I time to snatch a 
sheet up over my bubbles than it opened and a servant, the same one who had 
admitted us the previous evening, entered, bearing a tray with a pot of tea, 
some buttered toast and marmalade. 

"The marster's horders, Miss, to serve you breakfast, and get a cab for you 
when you're ready." 

With the sheet still clutched over my breasts I watched him as he drew up a 
small table which, pivoting on an iron base, swung directly over my lap as I 
sat there in bed. After placing the tray on the table he indicated a silver 
bell. 

"You may ring that, Miss, after you're dressed, when you're ready to go." 

I sipped the tea and nibbled at the toast after he had gone, immersed in 
uneasy meditations which the situation naturally inspired. When I had eaten 
as much as I could with an appetite impaired by a throbbing headache, I 
slipped out of bed and began to dress. 

When I picked up my stocking I felt some lumpy article inside of it. With 
the thought that a garter had gotten inside I ran my hand down within the 
silken sheath but instead of a garter I retrieved a crumpled five pound 
note. I smoothed it out and gazed at it incredulously. I had never possessed 
that much money at one time in my entire life. And yet, when I picked up the 
second stocking there was another note of the same denomination in that one 
also. 

Ten pounds! A veritable fortune. 

I forgot both my headache and the uneasiness as to what the consequences of 
my all-night absence might be. I hurried through my dressing, tarried but a 
moment in the beautiful bathroom, and rang the bell. 

The domestic appeared immediately and led me downstairs and out to the 
street where a cab, already summoned, was waiting. In answer to the driver's 
query, I mentioned a comer a few blocks from where I lived, and when we 
reached this destination I got out and walked the rest of the way. 

Mamma Agnes listened to my unconvincing story of having spent the night in 
the home of a girl friend in frigid silence, except for an observation to 
the effect that she only hoped the girl hadn't given me a dose of clap or 
perhaps gotten me in a family way. 

I was not discreet enough to hide the harvest of this adventure and my 
sudden acquisition of riches, flaunted in the form of resplendent new 
dresses, silk hose, modish slippers, a new hat and other articles of 
adornment, in the face of envious and resentful females of the neighborhood, 
brought a reprisal. 

Upon information gratuitously submitted by a committee of righteous ladies I 
was taken into custody as a delinquent minor, and as a result of the 
investigation which transpired, I was first subjected to a physical 
examination of a most embarrassing nature, and then committed to a 
reformatory for wayward girls, destined to remain there until I became of 
age. 

 CHAPTER THREE 

Three drab and dreary years I passed in this institution, submerged in an 
atmosphere of repression and humiliation which was fairly soul suffocating. 

My complete lack of adaptability to the manual work assigned to new arrivals 
made me the special target of persecution by the female warders. My delicate 
physique and small hands and tiny, pointed fingers, so patently incapable of 
performing scullery work, laundering, and floor scrubbing with any degree of 
efficiency seemed to kindle their resentment. 

Quick enough to show fight at first to these manifest injustices, I soon 
learned that, right or wrong, I was always on the losing end and that the 
slightest indication of insubordination brought punishment of a 
heartbreaking nature to say nothing of the loss of certain prerogatives and 
so called privileges which were greatly prized in this barren place and 
which were accorded only to those who accepted their fate with the proper 
show of humility and servility. 

The first two or three months were a perfect nightmare of horror. Let me 
make myself clear, the sufferings were more mental than physical, for there 
was little or no actual physical brutality. Corporal punishment, though 
authorized for incorrigibles, was rarely resorted to. I do not think there 
were more than half a dozen whippings inflicted on girls during the entire 
period I was in the institution. These whippings though, when they were 
administered, were something not to be forgotten. 

In addition to the humiliation of being forced to lie face down across a 
massive table with her panties removed, the blows inflicted on the victim's 
naked bottom were of such severity as to cause her to shriek with anguish. 
Five or six or seven times during my incarceration my face blanched at the 
sound of those shrill cries, intermingled with the dull slap, slap, slap of 
heavy leather against naked flesh. 

However, time reconciles us to any misfortune and we become hardened to the 
inevitable. 

As this institution admitted only minors, many of whom were girls not over 
fifteen, educational facilities were provided and there were four hours of 
classes daily, except Saturdays and Sundays. I discovered that in study 
there was a surcease from the deadly monotony. I had never been very 
studious; in fact, during the year proceeding my commitment my interest in 
learning had waned almost to the vanishing point. 

Now, however, I found that time devoted to study passed very quickly. It was 
something like a mental narcotic which kept one's thoughts from useless 
repining. My application impressed the teachers and matrons favorably, and 
gradually they became friendly and treated me with greater consideration. 
And, if it be true that every cloud has its silver lining, the silver lining 
in this one was that I received an education which I would otherwise never 
have possessed. 

I passed the probation period and was relieved from further scullery work. 
It would be carried on by new unfortunates, two or three of whom appeared 
each week. 

We slept in dormitories or wards, each ward a long room with from twenty or 
thirty narrow iron beds in a row. These wards were locked at night, and a 
matron slept in each one, locked in with her charges. In addition, there was 
always a night superintendent on duty, who could be called in any emergency. 

At nine o'clock each night all lights excepting a dim one near the ward 
matron's bed were turned out and no conversation was permitted between girls 
after that hour. Our movements during the day, except in school or work 
hours, were fairly unrestricted within the confines of the building and 
grounds, but at seven o'clock we entered our respective wards and were 
allowed to talk, read, and attend to our toilet necessities. At nine we had 
to be in bed and cease all conversation. As it was impossible to fall asleep 
immediately, the hour which followed was probably the most disagreeable of 
the deadly routine. By ten o'clock most of us had found peace in slumber. 

But there was a variation to this feature to which we always looked forward. 
The ward matrons were rotated weekly between dormitories. And, as is 
sometimes the case in correctional institutions, there are occasional kindly 
hearted individuals who, instead of exercising the last ounce of their 
authority to make life as miserable as possible for their unfortunate 
charges, are disposed to mitigate their wretchedness when possible to do so 
at no great cost. 

A certain matron who slept in our ward one week in every five condoned 
whispered conversations after nine o'clock, even though it was against the 
rules. Another, also with us one week in every five, was a very sound 
sleeper and snored so loudly we were never in doubt as to when she was 
asleep. So, during the weeks when either of these two matrons were on duty 
we were fairly safe in exchanging whispered conversations as late as we 
wished. When the snoring matron was on duty we told naughty stories or 
exchanged venal confidences. 

Occupying the bed on my left side, with a space of about four feet between 
us, was a girl named Hester. She was but a few months older than I, but much 
more so in experience. She was taller than I and very pretty. Her hair, 
which almost reached to her knees when unbound, was that beautiful shade of 
auburn which just misses being black by the narrowest margin. She had been 
very nice to me from the start and had given me much kind and useful advice. 
She was philosophical in her attitude and possessed of an extremely likeable 
personality. Nearly all the girls in this reformatory owed their commitment 
to delinquencies of a sexual nature. Hester had been taken out of a house of 
prostitution. 

She questioned me as to how much money I had been accustomed to get for the 
bestowal of my favors and when I told her, ruefully, that though my last and 
fatal adventure had brought me ten pounds, I had rarely gotten over ten 
shillings, frequently far less, and sometimes nothing at all, she exclaimed: 

"Why, you little fool! With your form and baby face you could earn fifteen 
or twenty pounds a week. In the place I was last I got a pound every time I 
did it beside what the madam got, and lots of times I got more than that! 
Why, you were just a little charity chippy!" 

One night, taking advantage of the snoring matron's somnolence, we whispered 
stories and experiences until eleven o'clock. The ward lights were out at 
this hour, but the shaded lamp near the matron's bed gave just enough light 
to break the darkness. Hester suddenly kicked off the bed coverings and, 
stretching her legs out lasciviously, exclaimed: 

"Oh, Lord! For a good stiff cock!" 

I murmured some sympathetic rejoinder as, lying on my side facing her, I 
observed her pretty round legs dimly visible in the half darkness. 

"Gee, don't you ever get that way, Jessie? Sometimes I want to fuck so darn 
bad I nearly go crazy!" 

"Who wouldn't, locked up in this miserable place month after month?" I 
answered gloomily. She sighed, and after a moment of silence, whispered: 
"Did you ever kiss the baby in the boat, Jessie." 

"Did I ever what?" 

"Kiss the baby . . . suck another woman." 

"No!" 

"I never did, either. But there are girls here that do. I sucked a guy's 
cock once. I didn't like it much, but if I had one now I could eat it 
alive." She giggled faintly. 

"Well, I don't know what you're going to do. Go hungry, I guess." 

"I darned well know what I'm going to do. It's better than nothing!" she 
exclaimed, and arching her legs she placed a hand over her cunny and began 
to rub it vigorously. 

From around us came the sound of suppressed giggles, sighs, and the 
movements of other listeners as they stirred uneasily in their own narrow 
beds. 

I watched the rapid movement of her hand, dimly visible in the partial 
darkness. And when, with a groan of satisfaction, the movements ceased, my 
own hand edged down between my legs and under discreet cover sought to 
quench in like form the fires her frank words and franker actions had 
aroused. 

What she had said about girls who did certain things was true. To be caught 
in another girl's bed or in any other compromising circumstance indicating 
that something of this kind was going on was one of the things that girls 
could be whipped for, and two or three of the whippings which took place 
while I was there were for exactly this cause. 

Nevertheless, something of this kind was going on most of the time without 
the matrons knowing about it. Sometimes the girls would take a chance in the 
nighttime while the ward matron was asleep and get two in a bed, but this 
was very dangerous because the switch which controlled the lights was right 
near the matron's hand, and she could flood the room with light instantly 
should she hear any suspicious sound. 

There was a safer way. In each ward there was a linen-room where clean 
sheets, pillowcases, towels, and extra blankets were kept. It was a very 
small room, mostly filled with shelves, but there was a little extra space. 
The doors to these closets were kept locked, but the keys were in the 
possession of linen room girls, or trusties, assigned to distribute towels, 
sheets, pillowcases, etc., as needed in their respective wards. 

If satisfactory arrangements could be made with a linen-room girl, the door 
would be left unlocked, and when two lovers had slipped inside unobserved by 
matrons, she would lock the door, leaving them inside for half an hour or 
so, and when the coast was clear, let them out and lock the door again. 

Some weeks before my entry in the reformatory, there had been a linen-room 
rendezvous of this kind in another ward and the lovers had been caught. It 
came about through a peculiar accident. A matron, coming down the long 
corridor between wards, saw a girl she wished to speak to entering a certain 
ward. She followed her, but when she got inside the ward the girl she had 
seen was not visible, which mystified her, and with good reason. The girl 
she was following and a companion were already locked inside the linen 
closet. Seeing the linen-room girl standing nearby, the matron asked her if 
such and such a girl had not come in a few moments before. 

"No, ma'am," was the reply. "She isn't in here. She must be out in the yard, 
or downstairs." 

"But I'm positive I saw her come in here not half a minute ago!" 

"It must have been someone else, ma'm!" answered the frightened girl. 

"Someone else? There's no one else in here but you! What's going on here, 
anyway?" 

The puzzled matron glanced around the empty dormitory. Her eyes fell on the 
door to the linen room. She went to it and tried it. The door was locked. 

"Give me the key to this door," she requested. 

"I . . . ah, I've lost it, ma'm!" stammered the poor girl. 

"Give me that key!" 

Inside the linen room two trembling lovebirds were listening to the ominous 
conversation. Naturally, when the matron opened the door and found not only 
one girl but two, she grasped the situation and both the lovers and the 
linen-room girl were strapped over the table in the superintendent's office 
and whipped on their bare bottoms. 

For a while after this a watch was kept on the linen rooms, but the 
vigilance gradually relaxed and now they were being used again with 
considerable frequency. 

There was Heloise, whom everyone called Frenchy, who would suck another girl 
off for any trifling payment. And several others who were known or suspected 
of similar complacencies. 

Hester, who had become my special pal and confident, used to joke with me in 
her dry, half comical, half serious way, as we sat on the edges of our beds 
at night before lights out. 

"Dam you, Jessie, you give me a hard-on every time I see you undressed. I 
believe I'll sneak into your bed some night and give you a good fucking." 

"I don't think you've got what's needed!" I replied, snickering. 

"Well, I could gamahuche you, anyway. Do you think you'd like that?" 

"Gosh, I don't know. Two different fellows I went with did it to me that 
way. I don't know how it would be with a girl." 

"Must give one a funny sensation to have another girl do that to you. There 
are women who pay for it that way. And maybe you don't believe it, but there 
are even some that will pay you just for letting them do that to you, 
without you doing a thing. Some people have the funniest ideas." 

I told her about the fellow who had paid me to whip him. 

"That's nothing," she replied, "there are lots of men like that. The ones 
you have to be careful about are the ones that want to whip you. Some of 
them go crazy and whip you so hard the blood comes. They don't care how much 
they hurt you." 

"Why, I wouldn't let them whip me!" I exclaimed, horrified. 

"Well, when you're in a sporting house you have to do everything and pretend 
to like it. Those fellows who do funny things are generally the best 
spenders. They're always springing something new on you, too," she 
continued, "the best paying regular I had was one of the funny kind; you'd 
never guess what I had to do with him." 

"Tell me, Hester!" I begged. 

She began to giggle. 

"Well, there really wasn't much to it, but it was so . . . so . . . crazy, I 
nearly went into hysterics the first few times, until I got used to it. He'd 
lie down on the bed and make me get on my knees, straddling him, right over 
his face. Then I had to jack myself off with my fingers, and just when I 
started to cream, put my cunny down on his mouth. And will you believe it, 
right then he'd start to squirt without my even touching his cock, and the 
stuff would fly all over my bare back." 

"My heavens!" I breathed. 

"I couldn't sleep last night," she continued, changing the subject. "I laid 
awake the longest time, just imagining things, and thinking what I'd like to 
have the first night after I get out of here." 

"I can guess," I said dryly, "a stiff cock." 

"No; five of them, all at the same time." 

"Five? At one time?" 

"Yes; one in my cunny, one in my mouth, one in my bottom, and . . . " she 
burst into laughter, ". . . one in each hand!" 

"Hester, you're the limit!" I exploded. 

"I get so darn tired of jacking myself off I've half a mind to go in the 
linen-room with Frenchy. She's crazy about that new shoulder scarf I have, 
and it's no good to me in here, anyway." 

"Why, why don't you?" I suggested. "You can tell me all about it afterwards. 
But be careful! I'd faint if I ever heard you getting the strap." 

"Maybe I will. There isn't any danger. They don't watch the linen-rooms 
much. Besides, I thought of a dandy way to fix things so they couldn't catch 
us. I saw Amy and that new girl she chums around with sneaking out of the 
linen room in ward five this afternoon. I had a suspicion that's what Amy 
was up to when she started being so nice to that little kid." 

"Jessie! Jessie!" I heard someone calling softly as I was sitting on a bench 
in the exercise yard reading the next afternoon. I glanced up, and saw 
Hester hurrying toward me. "Frenchy and I are going in the linen room. You 
come up and stand in the corridor where you can watch the stairs! If any of 
the matrons come, you signal the linen-room girl before they get upstairs, 
and she'll have time to get us out before they reach the dormitory!" 

"All right!" I agreed, rising to follow her. 

This was a very practical plan. The ward was far enough from the top of the 
stairway to allow ample time for them to get out of the linen room should 
the girl on watch in the doorway receive a signal from me. The only risk 
they ran was that of being abruptly interrupted in their affair. 

I followed Hester up to the corridor and stationed myself where I could 
watch the stairs and at the same time be seen by the linen-room girl in the 
doorway of the dormitory who, in the event that I suddenly started to walk 
toward her, would quickly warn Hester and Frenchy. 

But there were no interruptions." I stood there twenty or twenty-five 
minutes, watching the stairs and picturing in my mind what was taking place 
within the linen-room. The girl finally disappeared from the entrance and I 
knew she had gone to unlock the door. 

A few moments later Hester and Frenchy appeared in the corridor. There was 
nothing in Frenchy's calm demeanor to indicate anything unusual, but 
Hester's face was scarlet and she was holding her handkerchief over it. 
Frenchy sauntered coolly into another dormitory and Hester went on 
downstairs with me and out into the yard. 

"Well . . . ? " I invited, after waiting for her to say something. "How was 
it?" 

"Oh, Jessie! It . . . I . . . she . . . wait till I get my breath . . . " 
and she began to laugh hysterically. When she recovered her composure and 
her face had resumed its natural hue, she said: "I can't talk about it yet; 
I'll tell you tonight. Look: my hands are still shaking, I'm so nervous!" 

"Oh, all right," I answered disgustedly, "but I don't see what you have to 
be nervous about now." 

"It's the reaction. Don't be sore; I'll tell you all about it tonight, 
honey!" 

And, that night, sitting close together on the edge of my bed before lights 
out, at my insistent urging, Hester told me in whispers what there was to 
tell. 

"Well, we got inside, and as soon as we heard the door lock we turned on the 
light and took our panties off and hid them under some sheets on a shelf so 
in case we had to come out quickly we could just leave them there and get 
them later. Then we put a blanket on the floor and I laid down on it. 
Frenchy wanted to do but I told her I didn't want to do it that way because 
I couldn't get my nerve up to do that to a girl. So she said all right, 
she'd just do it to me. It was the funniest thing, Jessie, all last night 
and today, while I was thinking about it, I felt hot, but no sooner did I 
get inside that room with her than my passion all left me. I felt like 
telling her I had changed my mind and letting her keep the scarf anyway. But 
then I thought, what a silly thing to do after going to so much bother, and 
why not let her go through with it. When she pulled my dress up I started to 
giggle, I couldn't help it, I felt so funny, not passionate, just silly. 
Well, she squeezed in between my legs, and stuck her tongue right up inside. 
When I felt it go in I wanted to push her away, but I didn't and after she 
put it in and out a while, she began to lick me all around down there, and 
then she started to suck my bottom. I thought I'd go crazy, really. I 
couldn't stop laughing. It didn't make me feel passionate, but the sensation 
started to come anyway, and sure enough, she did make me cream something 
fierce. If she'd have stopped then it wouldn't have been so bad, but she 
stuck to me like a little leech and it set my nerves on edge so, I felt like 
scratching her. I almost had to yell at her to make her let go. She wanted 
to know when I'd let her do it again; I told her 'someday' but I don't think 
I ever will. It isn't so hot. I don't see how some girls can go batty over 
that kind of stuff." 

 CHAPTER FOUR 

The time dragged on. With the exception of such little momentary 
distractions as those I have described, there was little to break the 
monotony. During the first year and a half I received occasional visits from 
Mamma Agnes, and sometimes from Rene. How would have enjoyed an hour or two 
with him in privacy, but such was not to be, for visiting was confined to 
the reception room and there was always a matron present to see that no 
contraband gifts were passed to inmates. Even the letters written to us were 
opened and read before being placed in our hands. Often, letters written to 
girls by male friends were destroyed without being seen by those to whom 
they were addressed. 

Through some artful maneuver, a seventeen-year-old girl in our ward named 
Georgette succeeded in getting some little pictures of men and women doing 
everything imaginable. They were not drawings like the one in the little 
book Rene had found, but real photographs. 

Georgette had these pictures about two weeks when apparently some word of 
their presence, either accidentally or through malicious tattling, reached 
the ears of the superintendent. 

Accompanied by two matrons she entered our ward one night just after 
lock-up, and proceeded to search it thoroughly. One of the matrons found the 
little packet of pictures under Georgette's mattress and we knew it was the 
pictures they were looking for because they stopped searching as soon as 
they found them. 

They took poor little Georgette out, downstairs to the superintendent's 
office. As soon as they had gone a profound silence fell over the ward. 
Nobody said anything. We were all waiting with strained nerves to hear 
certain sounds which would cause some of us to tremble, others to murmur 
curses, and others to giggle with callow indifference or maybe hysterical 
nervousness. 

Moment by moment we waited but the expected sounds did not materialize. The 
minutes dragged on, ten, fifteen, twenty, a half an hour. Maybe they were 
not going to whip Georgette after all. But suddenly the tense silence was 
broken by a distant but sharply audible thwack. It was followed by another, 
and another, and with the third blow an agonized scream reached our ears. 
Four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten. Mechanically we counted the 
strokes as the blood-chilling cadence of strap and shrieks rent the air. 
With the tenth stroke it stopped, and those of us who were inspired with 
sentiments of pity and sympathy breathed a sigh of relief. 

Five minutes elapsed, and to our surprise, the woeful dirge with its horrid 
slap, slap, slap accompaniment began again. From one up to ten it again ran 
its ominous course. This was something unusual; we recalled of no previous 
instance in which the punishment had been inflicted twice in succession. 

At the tenth blow, as before, came silence. Unconsciously I had clenched my 
hands so tightly that they were numb with the pressure. I glanced at Hester. 
She was sitting on the edge of her bed, her chin cupped in her hands, gazing 
morosely downward. After the second whipping there was a long period of 
silence. Momentarily we expected to see Georgette being brought back into 
the dormitory, and were fairly paralyzed with horror when the dolorous 
refrain commenced anew. Even the face of Mrs. Barrows, our ward matron, was 
pale as she sat at the little desk near her bed, nervously twisting a pencil 
in her fingers. 

"If they whip me like that I'll come back here and kill them if I never do 
another thing in life!" whispered Hester. 

A few minutes after the echos of the tenth and last blow of the triple 
inquisition had died away we heard the door of the superintendent's office 
open, and the sound of slow steps on the stairs and in the corridor 
followed. Finally, there was Georgette, sobbing huskily and supported by the 
arms of the two matrons. Mrs. Barrows unlocked the door and helped Georgette 
to her bed. 

Kindly hands undressed her and laid her face down on her cot. When her 
bottom was uncovered we gasped with horror. It was a mass of purple welts, 
each welt puffed up and swollen terribly. Even Mrs. Barrows expressed 
surprise as she hastened to get a jar of cold cream with which to allay the 
inflammation. 

"Why did they whip you three times, Georgette?" we whispered in sympathetic 
wonder. 

"They were trying to make me tell how I got the pictures," answered 
Georgette, her voice broken with intermittent sobs. 

"Did you tell them?" 

"No!" 

All things must end and the time of my release was near at hand. Mamma Agnes 
was dead. She had passed away during the second year of my imprisonment, and 
Rene had shortly thereafter come to bid me good-bye. He was going to Canada, 
and would send me money to join him when I was free, he said. For a while my 
thoughts were brightened with his hope. But his letters, coming at first 
with regularity and sometimes containing small sums of money, gradually 
became less frequent and were less definite in tone with regard to our 
original plans. They finally ceased altogether and the walls of oblivion 
closed about my foster brother Rene. 

It was destined, seemingly, that the day of my liberation would find me 
homeless, the last tie which linked me to my former life cut off, and with 
no provision for the future. It was in this extremity that Hester, whose 
freedom was due several months in advance of mine, and who had confided to 
me that a place was arranged for and awaiting her in the atelier of a 
certain Madame Lafronde, suggested that I also place myself at the 
disposition of this lady in whom she had the utmost confidence. 

She painted a glowing picture of the comfortable life and financial rewards 
to be enjoyed in the high-class establishment operated by this Madame 
Lafronde. It catered to a very select clientele recruited among the 
gentility and nobility. She was certain that Madame Lafronde would welcome 
me with open arms and so eloquent was she that I did not long hesitate in 
accepting her offer to intercede for me. 

Before Hester passed through the big front doors to freedom it had been 
arranged that I was to have a visitor, ostensibly an aunt, who would call on 
me a few days before my own release was due. This aunt would be no other 
than Madame Lafronde herself, and the purpose of her visit would be to 
decide whether I was an acceptable candidate for her atelier. 

The tight pressure of Hester's hand, and the soft kiss she left on my cheek 
as she bid me farewell filled my eyes with tears. I had come to regard her 
with great affection, and her absence would weigh heavily on my heart. 

"Don't cry, Jessie darling," she whispered, "we'll soon be together again. I 
won't forget you. Remember now, when Madame Lafronde comes, call her Aunt 
Mary, and act as though you knew her or else . . . " 

Further conversation was interrupted by a matron, and with a last hug and 
kiss we separated. 

The four months which followed were the longest and dreariest of all the 
long months I spent in the reformatory. The fact that a new life was close 
at hand actually seemed to retard the passage of time rather than hurry it. 

But there were moments of happiness occasioned by the arrival of little 
packages containing candies, cakes and other gifts of a nature permitted by 
the regulations. There were also letters which, despite their discreet 
wording and the mysterious signature "your loving cousin, Frances," conveyed 
to me their messages of cheer and the certainty that Hester had indeed not 
forgotten me. And, true to her promise, a week before my liberty was to be 
restored, I was called to the reception room to receive a visitor. 

As I entered, my surprised gaze fell upon the only occupant, aside from the 
ever alert and watchful matron on duty, an elderly lady of most respectable, 
even pious aspect, gowned in somber black silk. So contrary was her 
appearance to that of the visitor I expected that I hesitated, momentarily 
forgetting Hester's parting admonition as I gazed on the grandmotherly 
picture. As I stood hesitantly, she arose from her chair, and coming toward 
me with outstretched arms, exclaimed: 

"Jessie, my darling child!" 

The sharp eyes of the matron were on me. 

"Hello, Aunt Mary," I murmured as I mechanically returned her embrace. 

And so, under these curious circumstances, the Madame of a house of 
prostitution interviewed a prospective inmate. Her eyes roved incessantly 
over my body as we carried on our aimless conversation, designed to fool the 
matron who sat idly watching us. I felt from the first that I had found 
favor with my visitor, and her comments as to how I had changed for the 
better since she "last saw" me and how nice I looked, and how happy she was 
sure I would be when she took me to live with her now that my dear, dear 
mama had passed away, gave me the clue to my future and assured me that for 
the time being at least, it was assured. "Cousin Francis" was eagerly 
awaiting my homecoming, she said, and sent me her most affectionate regards. 

Before leaving, she advised the superintendent that she would be at the 
institution the morning of my release to see me safely home. I went back to 
my ward in a regular daze, my thoughts in a confused whirl. It was very 
difficult to imagine that nice old lady in the role of mistress of a house 
of prostitution. 

The long awaited day arrived at last. 

At nine o'clock I was summoned to the superintendent's office and the usual 
formalities related to the discharge of inmates were fulfilled. 

"Your aunt said that she would call for you at ten o'clock, Jessie. You may 
go to your dormitory and pack your things," she said kindly, after 
concluding the customary harangue on the folly of a life of sin and the 
rewards of virtue. 

As I spread my few effects upon the narrow cot in the dormitory, preparatory 
to wrapping them up in a bundle, a small group of friends and companions 
gathered around, some to bid me an envious farewell and others to extract 
promises from me to send them this or that from the outside. 

The hour sped by and almost before I realized it I was going down the long 
stairway which led to the outer offices and freedom. 

My benefactress was waiting in the superintendent's office and greeted me 
with a motherly embrace in keeping with our reserved relationship. The 
superintendent conducted us to the outer door and as it closed behind us I 
paused to glance back, hardly able to believe that my freedom was an actual 
fact. As I did so, Madame Lafronde shook my arm. 

"Come on, girl! This damn place gives me the willies!" she exclaimed as she 
hurried me down the steps to the street. She signaled a taxi and within a 
few moments the institution which had been my home for nearly three years 
receded in the distance and became at last only a disagreeable memory. 

Within the taxi, Madame Lafronde relaxed, and leaning back against the 
cushions she extracted a packet of cigarettes from her purse. After 
proffering me a cigarette which, unaccustomed to their use, I declined, she 
lit one and puffed away abstractedly. 

The taxi, in accordance with her indications, after traveling a dozen 
blocks, slowed up and came to a stop. But we had not reached our ultimate 
destination. A few steps away, waiting near the curb, was a large black 
limousine. As we approached it on foot, a chauffeur sprang out and opened 
the rear compartment and to my surprise and delight, Hester stepped out and 
flung her arms about me. She was beautifully gowned and her face was radiant 
with sincere joy at seeing me. I had always thought Hester pretty, but I was 
hardly prepared for the change a splendid wardrobe wrought in her 
appearance. 

We did not tarry long and soon, ensconced in the luxurious privacy of the 
big car, were again winding rapidly through the streets, Hester and I 
babbling excitedly while Lafronde placidly blew long streamers of smoke 
through her nostrils, interrupting us occasionally with some questions or 
observation. 

"Let's see your legs, my dear." 

I giggled nervously as she coolly raised my skirts and eyed my legs 
appraisingly. 

"Um-m, very good, my dear, very nice legs, indeed,. I was afraid Hester 
might have exaggerated a little . . . and how about your bubbies, let's see 
what they're like . . . " and an inquisitive and bejeweled hand passed over 
my chest and after a brief exploration was withdrawn. "Ah, yes; very nice 
legs and very nice bubbies. A fortune in them, my dear, if you are wise." 

The ride ended before the portals of a large brownstone mansion in a quiet 
street and shortly thereafter I was ushered into my new home. It was a place 
of quiet elegance, soft plush carpets and tapestried walls. I gazed about in 
wonder. There was nothing visible to the eye to mark these circumspectly 
luxurious premises as an atelier of prostitution, but I was soon to learn 
that things are not always as they seem, and that within these sedate walls 
dramas of licentiousness such as I had never seen were of nightly 
occurrence. 

And thus did I cross the threshold of a new life, and the doors of the past 
closed behind me. 

 CHAPTER FIVE 

A small but furnished alcove with a tiled bath in connection was waiting for 
me, and after I had examined it Madame Lafronde left Hester and me together, 
saying that she would have a talk with me later in the afternoon. 

A maid appeared with a luncheon tray and as I ate, plying Hester with 
questions between bites, I learned that Madame Lafronde's "family" comprised 
eight other girls in addition to Hester and myself. I would meet them later; 
they did not get up until after twelve, which accounted for the silence and 
absence of movement I had already noted. 

When Madame Lafronde returned, her first request was that I strip myself 
entirely so that she could examine my body. I did so with some 
embarrassment, for though I had often enough exposed myself to boys and men, 
the impersonal, appraising eyes of this strange old lady filled me with a 
nervous dread that I might be found wanting in some essential. 

I was small of stature and feared that the absence of clothing might 
accentuate the possible defect. However, to my vast relief, she gave every 
evidence of satisfaction and nodded her head approvingly as I turned around 
and around in obedience to her indications. When I had replaced my clothing 
she shot question after question at me, until every phase of my early and 
subsequent sexual life had been revealed. To her questions I endeavored to 
give frank and truthful answers, regardless of the embarrassment which some 
of them evoked. 

"Now, my dear," she said, when the interrogating had been concluded, "I want 
you to know what we're all one big, happy family here. There must be no 
jealousy or friction or petty animosities between girls. Our gentlemen are 
very nice, but men are men, and a pretty, new face always distracts their 
attention from older ones. I have a plan in mind which fits you as though 
you were made for it. If you handle it rightly you'll be helping the other 
girls as well as yourself, and instead of being jealous of you they'll all 
have reason to be grateful. We're all here to make money and as it must come 
from the gentlemen our aim is to get them to spend it and then come back and 
spend some more. Never forget that." 

And Madame Lafronde explained the unique role I was to play, a role which to 
a more mature mind than mine would have at once revealed the astuteness and 
subtlety of the guiding genius behind this lucrative business and which 
accounted for its success, measured in terms of gold. Madame Lafronde was 
nobody's fool. 

In brief, she proposed to dangle my youthful prettiness before the jaded 
eyes of the clientele as a sort of visual aperitif, much as water was placed 
before the thirsting Tantalus, in view, but just beyond reach, the 
psychological effect of which would be to so whet their passions that they 
would in the end, perforce, satisfy themselves with such feminine fruit as 
was within their reach. 

I was to tantalize masculine passion while leaving to others the duty of 
satisfying them. This with respect to the regular "parlor" clientele. 
Exceptions would be made privately with certain special patrons who were 
always able and disposed to pay well for favoritism. 

Things were not as they had been before the war, explained Madame Lafronde. 
Even this profitable business had suffered from the falling economic 
barometer, and too many of the gentlemen who dropped in were inclined to 
pass the evening sociably in the parlor. Of course, between liquors 
consumed, tips to the girls, and various other sources of minor revenues, 
their presence was desirable, but the real profits of the business were 
garnered in the bedrooms, not in the parlor. It was a case of a bird in a 
bedroom being worth five in the parlor. 

As a sort of stimulant designed to inspire blase gentlemen with an 
irresistible urge to make use of the bedroom service, I was to be rigged up 
in an enticingly juvenile fashion and paraded constantly before their eyes 
in a semi-nude state. Various pretexts and artifices would ostensibly 
account for my presence and movements. I would carry a tray of cigars and 
cigarettes, serve drinks, and be available for general services and 
accommodations with but one single exception. I would joke and chat with 
patrons, tell a naughty story now and then, even permit them to fondle me 
within certain limits, but, because of my youth (I was to be only fifteen 
years old!) my services were not to be expected in a professional capacity. 

I gasped at hearing that I was to play the part of a fifteen-year-old, but 
Madame Lafronde insisted that it would not be difficult in view of my small 
body and the fact that certain artifices in costume, hairdressing and other 
details would be employed to help out the illusion. 

The first step was to call in a barber who trimmed my hair so that it hung 
just below my ears. It was naturally wavy, and when the work was finished it 
was quite apparent that Madame Lafronde had not erred in assuming that short 
curls would lend a peculiarly childish effect to my face. I gazed in the 
mirror with genuine surprise at the transfiguration. 

When the barber had gone Madame Lafronde ordered me to undress again, and 
after taking certain measurements left the room to return later with several 
garments and a box which on being opened revealed a safety razor, soap and 
brush. 

"We could have let the barber do this, too," she commented dryly, indicating 
the razor, "but maybe you'd rather do it yourself." 

"Do what?" I asked, looking at the razor in perplexity. 

"Shave the pretty little curls off your peek-a-boo," she answered, with a 
gesture toward the dark shadow which was visible through the texture of my 
single garment. 

"What!" I expostulated. "Why . . . even girls fifteen years old have . . . ! 
" 

"Shave it off," she interrupted. "If you don't know how, I'll do it for 
you." 

"I can, I can!" I responded hastily. "I've shaved the hair under my arms 
lots of times . . . only . . . " and I glanced around in confusion for, in 
addition to Madame Lafronde and Hester, several girls had appeared and were 
standing in the door watching me curiously. 

"Go over by the window with your back to us and stand up, or sit down, 
whichever you wish, if you're afraid someone will see your love trap. You'll 
get over that before you've been here long." 

Without further protest I took the shaving equipment, turned my back on the 
smiling assembly and sitting on the edge of a chair with my legs apart I 
lathered and soaped the hair and shaved it off the best I could. I had to go 
over the ground several times before the last prickly stubs were finally 
removed, and when I stood up, much embarrassed, to let Madame Lafronde view 
the results she expressed her approval and suggested that I dust the denuded 
flesh with talcum powder. 

The absence of the hair from its accustomed place caused me to feel 
peculiarly naked, and I turned my gaze downward. The two sides of my cunny 
stood out prominently like fat little hills, the crease between them tightly 
closed as I stood with my legs pressed together. 

I was now to don black hose of sheerest silk and a pair of tiny slippers 
with exaggerated high Spanish heels. Around my legs, just above the knees, 
fitted narrow scarlet garters, each adorned with a little silk rosette. Next 
came an exquisite brocade coat or jacket of black velvet into which was 
worked fantastic designs in gold thread. 

"What about my bubbies?" I asked, as Madame Lafronde handed me the garment. 
"Will I have to cut them off, too?" 

A gust of laughter followed and I slipped on the loose-fitting coat. It 
terminated at a point about halfway down my thighs, leaving a few inches of 
naked flesh between its lower edge and the tops of my hose. Fastening just 
below the breasts with three braided loops, it covered my stomach all right, 
but from there down the folds hung loose and a naked, hairless cunny would 
be exposed with any careless movement. 

The last item of this bizarre costume was a tall, military style cap of 
astrakhan, fitted with a small brim of shiny black leather and a strap which 
passed under my chin. Madame Lafronde adjusted the cap on my head at a 
rakish angle and stood back to view the effect. 

I glanced at my reflection in the wardrobe mirror. Without undue conceit I 
realized that I presented a chic picture, one which undoubtedly fulfilled 
Madame Lafronde's expectations, as was attested to by the satisfied gleam in 
her shrewd old eyes, by Hester's enthusiastic felicitations, and by the 
half-admiring, half-envious looks of the other girls who were watching 
silently. 

From beneath the edge of the black astrakhan cap my hair hung loose in 
short, crisp curls. The low bodice of the brocade jacket teasingly revealed 
the upper halves of my breasts, while its wide and ample sleeves displayed 
my arms to good advantage with every movement. The jacket itself, fitting 
snugly around my waist, flared out sufficiently to show my hips to good 
advantage. Further down, the sheen of glossy silk with the brief variation 
in color provided by the scarlet garters gave just the right touch to my 
legs, and the high-heeled slippers completed the exotic ensemble. 

The rest of the afternoon and evening Madame Lafronde devoted to coaching 
and instructing me. The doors were open to visitors at nine o'clock, but it 
was never until after eleven or twelve that gentlemen returning from their 
clubs or other nocturnal entertainment began to drop in in any considerable 
number, and from then on patrons came and went, singly or in small groups, 
some to linger briefly, others to pass an hour or two, or to remain all 
night. 

I made my debut at eleven o'clock. With inward nervousness at first, but 
with growing confidence as I observed the electrical effect my entry made 
upon the half-dozen gentlemen who were lounging about the salon in various 
attitudes of interest or indifference to the wiles of the feminine sirens 
about them. As I crossed the room with my tray of cigars and cigarettes and 
matches supported by a strap over my shoulders the hum of conversation 
ceased as if by magic and every eye was on me. 

I approached a tall, well-dressed gentleman who was sitting on a sofa with a 
girl on either side of him, and proffered my wares in a timid voice. His 
startled gaze took in the picture before him and lingered a moment on my 
legs. Shaking himself free from the arms of his companions, he sat up. 

"My dear, I never smoked a cigar in my life, but I'll take all you have, if 
you go with them!" 

This was Madame Lafronde's cue. Entering the room from a side door where she 
had been waiting, she said: 

"Dear gentlemen, I want to present a new member of our family to you. This 
is Jessie. Jessie is here under peculiar circumstances. She is an orphan 
and, strictly speaking, not old enough to be here in a professional 
capacity. Though as you see, she is nicely developed, she is in fact only 
fifteen years old and I am sheltering her here only because of her orphaned 
condition. She is to make her living selling you cigars and cigarettes, 
gentlemen, and serving you in all other possible ways . . . except one." 
Madame Lafronde paused. 

"In other words," interrupted a tall, thin young man with a tiny moustache 
who was indifferently stroking the silk-clad legs of a damsel on his lap, 
"she can be only a sister to us. I knew she was too good to be true the 
moment she came into this room." 

A burst of laughter followed and Madame Lafronde, smiling, answered: 

"A sister . . . well . . . maybe just a bit more than a sister, gentlemen, 
but not too much more!" 

From across the room Hester beckoned to me. 

"This is my friend Mr. Hayden, Jessie. He wants to know you," she said, 
indicating her companion. 

I acknowledged the introduction. 

"Bring us two Scotch and sodas, will you, honey?" added Hester. 

Mr. Hayden spoke to me pleasantly and took a packet of cigarettes from my 
tray, courteously declining the change I tendered him. As I turned to 
execute Hester's order, the man had first addressed detained me. 

"Wait a moment. Sister. I've decided to take up smoking." 

I might add that the nickname "Sister" was unanimously adopted and clung to 
me during the time I was in Madame Lafronde's house. 

The gentleman took a handful of cigars and reached toward his pocket. As he 
did so, his eyes drifted down below the edge of the tray. 

"Hold on! I'm making a tactical error!" he exclaimed, replacing all the 
cigars but one. "I see right now that cigars should be purchased one by one. 
You may bring me another when you come back!" 

Nothing else was needed to start the ball of my popularity rolling and soon 
the salon was echoing with hilarity and laughter as all called for cigars 
and cigarettes at once, each trying to keep me standing in front of him as 
long as possible. 

If this kept up there would be substantial returns on the tobacco 
concession, for half the profits were to be mine, according to Madame 
Lafronde's promise, and this in addition to whatever was given to me in the 
nature of tips or gratuities. Flushed and happy, I ran from one to another, 
replying to jokes and quips in a half-innocent, half-cynical manner, 
calculated to fit the role of a fifteen-year-old ingenue. 

As the evening wore on new arrivals appeared and I was instantly the first 
object of their attention. Before long the pockets of my brocade jacket were 
heavy with silver, I had replenished my tobacco stock several times and 
received several generous tips for bringing in liquor, and in addition, a 
gentleman had given me four shillings for being permitted to feel my 
bubbies, "just in a brotherly way," as he expressed it. 

What the effect of my presence was on the regular revenues of the house I 
could not judge, for though there was a constant movement of couples in and 
out of bedrooms I had no way to knowing whether this was a normal or an 
increased activity. 

With the advancing hours the movement gradually diminished and by four 
o'clock the last guest had departed. The door was locked, the girls ate a 
light luncheon and prepared to retire. It was then that Madame Lafronde 
informed me that the bedroom service had showed a decided increase, which 
increase she was fair enough to attribute to my presence. 

She was well satisfied and I surely had reason to be, for when the money was 
counted up and the tobacco sales checked there remained for me the sum of 
two pounds and eight shillings, which was duly credited to me and would be 
at my disposition on request. 

I was tired out; I had hardly slept the previous night, yet such was my 
excitement that I did not feel sleepy and preferred to gossip with Hester 
for an hour in my room. I had a hundred questions to ask. I wanted to know 
about the nice-looking, gentlemanly Mr. Hayden, and learned that he was one 
of Hester's regular and most favored friends. 

He had been much interested in me, and Hester had unselfishly confided to 
him that I might reservedly be at his disposition on some later occasion, to 
which he had gallantly responded that in such an event he would insist on 
having the two of us together. How good Hester was, I thought, to be willing 
to share this nice man with me and maybe risk my supplanting her in his 
affections. He had appealed to me greatly, and there had been several others 
whom would not have been averse to doing something with. 

"You made a tremendous sensation, darling," said Hester. "You could have a 
dozen room calls. I heard what everybody said. But Lafronde is right. The 
other girls would have been ready to scratch your eyes out. There's nothing 
makes them so mad as to have a new girl take their regulars away from them. 
Did you notice that fellow who went with me? He comes here every three or 
four nights. I guess every girl here has had him, but now he always takes 
me. He's got lots of money and he's kind of nice, but, gee, he never has a 
hard-on and it takes about half an hour of work to give him a stand. 
Sometimes I even have to put the buzzer on him, but tonight, oh, baby, it 
was as stiff as a poker. I jollied him about it and told him I bet it was 
thinking about you instead of me. 'My word,' he said, 'you're a deucedly 
clevah mind reader. That little tart did have a most extraordinary effect on 
me. Wonder what the chawnces would be to secure her company for an hour or 
two? I think that's all bally rot about her virginal estate, don't you 
know!' I told him to talk to Madame Lafronde and maybe it could be arranged. 
That's two of my regulars that have fallen for you already, but I'm not 
jealous. You can have Bumpy if you want him. It takes too long to make his 
cock stand up." I laughed. 

"What did you mean, putting the buzzer on him." 

"The juice, the electric massage machine." 

"Electric massage machine?" 

"Yes, electric massage machine. Don't you know what an electric massage 
machine is?" 

"Of course I do. They use them for facials. But how . . . what . . . ? " 

"Facials! Oh, baby, you don't know the half. Wait . . . you're tired out . . 
. I'll fix your bath water for you and after you're bathed I'll give you a 
massage that will make you sleep like an infant." 

Hester ran into the bathroom and turned on the water. Then she went to her 
room and came back with an entrancing little pink silk nightgown, face 
cream, perfume, and a large leather-covered box. 

While I lay splashing lazily in the tub, soaking in the pleasant warmth of 
the foamy, scented water, she laid out the nightgowns and opened the box to 
show the apparatus it contained and which was, in effect, an electric 
vibratory massage machine fitted with a long cord for attachment to an 
electricity outlet. There were several assorted pieces in the box and from 
these Hester selected one fitted with rubber lips which turned out in the 
form of a small cup. 

When I had gotten out of the tub and dried myself I lay down naked on the 
bed. Hester dipped her fingers in the jar of cream and passed them lightly 
over my face, neck, breasts and limbs. 

I thought suddenly of the peculiar aspect the shaving had given me in a 
certain place and flipped a comer of the sheet over it. Without a word 
Hester flipped it back and her hands were between my thighs, softly 
spreading the cold cream over them and down my legs. 

"You're awful good to go to so much trouble for me, Hester," I murmured. 

"It's nothing. You can do as much for me sometime," she replied. 

When she had finished anointing my body she connected the massage machine. 
It began to hum and the next instant the rubber cup was buzzing over my 
forehead, cheeks and neck. My flesh thrilled to the refreshing stimulation 
and I lay still, enjoying it to the full. Gradually the rubber moved down 
over my chest, between my breasts, then up over one of them right on the 
nipple. I came out of my languid rest with a bound. That bubbling, vibrating 
cup over the nipple of my breast was awakening sensations quite remote to 
those of mere physical refreshment. 

Both my nipples stiffened up, the sensitive area around them puffed out and 
radiations of sexual excitation began to flow through my body. Laughing 
hysterically, I sat up and pushed the tantalizing device away. 

"Be still, will you? Lie back down!" expostulated Hester, giving me a shove 
which tumbled me back over the pillow. 

"But, Hester! That thing . . . it's positively distracting! Don't put it on 
my bubbies again . . . I can't stand it!" 

Hester smiled. 

"You'll think it's distracting before I finish with you. Keep quiet or 
you'll wake the girls in the next room." 

Down over my stomach, in widening circles, around and around, and then back 
and forth moved the diabolical apparatus guided by Hester's hand. I had a 
premonition now of what was coming, and as it slowly but surely crept 
downward until it reached the upper part of the rounded elevation of my 
cunny, I clenched my fists and held my breath. 

No sooner was it close enough to impart its infernal vibration to my 
clitoris than tremors of sexual agitation began to shake my body. It was 
simply irresistible; I could not have forestalled its action by any 
conceivable exercise of willpower. 

But I did not try. The fulminating intensity of the sensations which now had 
me in their grip nullified any will or desire to thwart them. I threw my 
head back, closed my eyes, and surrendered supinely. My legs parted 
shamelessly beneath the insinuating pressure of Hester's fingers, and the 
humming, buzzing cup slid between them. Up and down it moved, three, four, 
maybe half a dozen times, pressing lightly against the flesh. 

My orgasim, wrought up to the final pitch of excitation and unable to 
withstand the infernal provocation longer, yielded, and in a second I was 
gasping in the throes of sexual ecstasy. 

When I recovered my breath, and in part my composure, I exclaimed: 

"Hester! You . . . you . . . I could murder you! Fooling me with that 
thing!" 

"Make you sleep good, honey, and keep you from having naughty dreams," she 
answered complacently, and she disconnected the device and restored it to 
its container. 

"Does that work on men like that, too?" 

"Yes; we use it on them sometimes to give them a stand when they either 
can't get one or are too slow." 

"Well," I commented, "I'll say it gave me a stand I wasn't expecting." 

She giggled, tucked the covers around me, kissed me on the cheek, and turned 
out the lights. 

"Sleep tight, honey. I'll wake you in the afternoon." 

She departed, leaving me alone to drowsily review the stupendous transition 
which twenty-four hours had wrought in my life. Last night, a hard, narrow 
cot in the drab and comfortless ward of a reformatory. Tonight, the soft 
luxury of a beautiful bed with the seductive caress of silk and fine linen 
about my body and all around me the material evidences of a life of ease, 
gaiety, and luxury. Gradually my thoughts became hazy and I drifted off into 
a pleasant, dreamless slumber from which I did not awaken until nine or ten 
hours later. 

 CHAPTER SIX 

A week slipped by quickly, each night a pleasant repetition, without any 
notable variations, of the one I have described. This was time enough to 
assure Madame Lafronde that the experiment was a success. The continued 
approval with which my seminude appearance was received by patrons, together 
with certain other indications, was proof that I really constituted an 
attraction which was imparting a new popularity to the resort. 

But it was not Madame Lafronde's intention to limit my activities to 
exhibitional purposes. She was already being importuned by gentlemen whose 
interest in me was not to be resigned to mere optical satisfaction and the 
subtle old procuress was but biding the time necessary for these gentlemen's 
inflamed fancies to get the best of their financial perspectives. I was 
being reserved for the sensual delectation of a half-dozen or so of her most 
exacting and best-paying customers. To the rest, including the general run 
of parlor guests, I was to remain only a visual aphrodisiac. 

Into the ample pockets of my brocade jacket these more or less credulous 
victims of my enticements and beguilings poured their silver, eagerly taking 
advantage of such opportunities as I permitted them to fondle me tentatively 
or superficially, bought my cigars and cigarettes, tipped me generously for 
every trifling service, sighed, and generally visited a bedroom with one of 
my companions where, doubtless, evoking visions of my naked legs and other 
presumed charms, they ravished me by proxy. 

Of the patrons I subsequently served in a more intimate fashion, five 
developed into "steadies," that is, became exclusively mine, and came with 
more or less regularity. A sixth, no other than the gentlemanly Mr. Hayden, 
kept his promise to Hester and either by virtue of genuine affection for her 
or actuated by a kindly sentiment to avoid wounded feelings, insisted upon 
having both of us with him at the same time and maintained an attitude of 
strict impartiality. 

I think Hester's generous spirit would not have resented a surrender of her 
priority to me, but though Mr. Hayden was one of the nicest men I ever met, 
I was glad that his instincts of gallantry saved me from being placed in the 
light of having distracted his attention from one who was beyond doubt my 
best and sincerest friend. I have never found another such. 

Patrons like Mr. Hayden, unfortunately always in a minority, were the bright 
and redeeming features of a life otherwise vicious and degrading. They were 
the ones who, regardless of a girl's lost social status, always treated her 
with respectful consideration. Generous in recompensing the efforts which 
were made to please them, they never exacted arduous or debasing services, 
nor were they addicted to unnatural vices which went beyond the pale of 
those sexual practices ordinarily considered acceptable and legitimate. 

To my lot fell the patronage of a Mr. Heeley, a gentleman of this desirable 
category though with the minor disadvantage of being much older and less 
attractive physically than Mr. Hayden. There was a Mr. Thomas, middle-aged 
and wealthy, who had garnered his fortune in Ceylon and who always had some 
interesting story to tell. There was Mr. Castle and Mr. Wainwright, both of 
whom were addicted to eccentricities of a peculiar and disagreeable nature. 
At first I protested to Madame Lafronde that these two gentlemen were 
personages non grata with me and insinuated that I would not be loathe to 
dispense with their attentions. It was unequivocally impressed upon me that 
my inclinations were quite secondary to those of wealthy patrons. "Do 
whatever they want within the limits of endurance. Satisfy their whims, 
fancies, even their aberrations if possible as long as they are willing to 
pay accordingly. Humor them, please them, get the money and keep them coming 
back as long as you can!" This was the unwritten law in the world of 
prostitution. 

Mr. Hayden was, I think, about thirty years old. I could easily have become 
really infatuated with this pleasant-spoken, educated, and cultured 
gentleman. We never knew exactly who he was with reference to his place in 
the outside world, nor even indeed that his name was really Hayden, for it 
was not unusual that gentlemen frequenting such places of entertainment as 
that provided by Madame Lafronde prudently concealed their identities under 
fictitious names. Nevertheless, there was no doubt that he was of the real 
gentility. 

I liked him very much and I think the affection was reciprocated to an even 
greater extent than was ever manifested, but he was of that conscientious, 
kindhearted type, disposed to go out of the way even at personal 
inconvenience to avoid causing pain to others and he knew that Hester adored 
him. 

To Mr. Hayden fell the honor, if such it might be styled, of initiating me 
into the real service of which I was now a recruit. My absence from the 
salon accounted for the numerous inquiries with the old alibi "a bad time of 
the month, don't you know." Hester and I and Mr. Hayden enjoyed a little 
dinner by ourselves and thereafter repaired to Hester's room where we 
disported ourselves lightheartedly for an hour, romping and tumbling over 
the bed in good-natured abandon as the wine we had imbibed warmed our blood 
and attuned our receptive senses to lecherous ideas. 

Mr. Hayden was a healthy, vigorous young man, a splendid example of physical 
perfection. The sight of his clean-cut, well-kept body, and the 
magnificently rigid and well-formed member which was disclosed when he 
undressed sent the blood surging through my veins. I did not know by what 
procedure he intended to make use of two women at the same time, but 
imagined that he would probably take us in turn, maybe changing from one to 
the other at intervals. 

I waited expectantly for Hester to take the initiative. Inside, I was fairly 
burning up. Though I had bathed most carefully but a short while before, my 
cunny was wet with anticipation, my clitoris swollen and pulsing. In excuse 
of this ardor was the fact that I had not been with a man for three long 
years and during this sterile period there had been no outlet for my 
passions except the one provided by my own nimble fingers, an occasional wet 
dream and, as I have related, the orgasm effected by Hester's so-called 
massage. 

We lay down on the bed on either side of our male companion, Hester and I 
both naked except for our slips, hose and shoes, which we intended to leave 
on until done with our play and ready for sleep. Mr. Hayden caressed us 
impartially for awhile, passing his hands over our breasts, fingering the 
nipples until they stood up stiffly, and finally a hand drifted down over 
each of the two cunnies. The contact of his warm hand as it lay over mine 
with one of the fingers pressed lightly within the cleft produced in me an 
effect which was almost sufficient to put my orgastic mechanism into 
immediate action. I literally had to "clench" my nerves and strain my 
willpower to keep from coming. Had he let his finger linger there a bit 
longer, or had he imparted the slightest friction, my efforts to restrain 
orgasm would have failed then and there. 

But he removed it after a short interval without apparently having observed 
my delicate condition, and straightening out on his back he drew Hester 
across his body where, by urging her forward bit by bit, he eventually got 
her straddled across his chest with her knees doubled beneath her on either 
side of him. Her dark auburn curls were right at his chin and it required no 
great imagination to divine that her cunny was going to be licked French 
fashion. 

"If he does that to her before my eyes I'll cream despite anything I can do 
to hold it back. I know I shall!" I thought to myself. 

In the light of experience throughout subsequent years I confess this: that 
the sight of another woman being Frenched by a man, or a woman Frenching a 
man, reacts upon me more violently than any other spectacle of a lewd 
nature. My senses are excited to a frenzy at the sight of this act, and if I 
let myself go I can have an orgasm without even touching myself, but simply 
through the impulse conveyed to the genital system through the trajectory of 
the eye. 

Having accommodated Hester comfortably on his strong chest, Mr. Hayden 
reached over and took me by the arm, manifesting by his motions that I was 
to seat myself across his middle, impaled upon the turgid emblem of 
masculinity, behind Hester. Obeying his wordless indications I crouched over 
him, passing my arm around Hester and clasping her plump bubbies in my hand. 
Then, gently, breathlessly, I sank down until I felt the entire length of 
that glorious member throbbing within the living sheath I was providing for 
it. 

But, alas, to my consternation, barely had I perceived the contact of his 
crisp hair on my naked cunny than my emotions, overriding all powers of 
resistance, as though deriding my futile efforts to hold them in abeyance, 
rebelling incontinently, loosed themselves and in a second was gasping, 
writhing and suspiring in a regular paroxysm of passionate ecstasy. 

As the reverberations gradually died away and my thoughts took on a 
semblance of coherency, I was filled with mortification. What would Mr. 
Hayden think of such amazing lubricity and precipitation? Hester, surprised 
at first, had twisted around, and now burst into laughter. 

"What happened?" she gasped. 

"I don't know!! I did it . . . I couldn't help it!" I answered, shamefaced. 

Mr. Hayden was also laughing. 

"You're a fast worker, Sister," he said, his sides shaking, and realizing 
that I was momentarily, at least, exhausted by the orgasm, he added 
compassionately: "Better get off and rest a moment while Hester and I catch 
up with you!" 

I discharged myself and threw my still trembling body on the bed beside 
them. With his hands against Hester's knees Mr. Hayden pushed her backward 
to take the place I had vacated and a moment later his cock slid in between 
her legs. Crouching over him, supporting herself on her hands, Hester worked 
gently up and down on the glistening shaft, alternating from time to time 
with a twisting, rolling movement of her hips as she sank down upon his 
member, completely hiding it from view. 

As I watched this sensuous play the tide of my own passions began to gather 
anew. Yielding to sudden impulse I inserted my hand between Hester's thigh 
and got my fingers around the base of the white column which was transfixing 
her. With each of her downward lunges my hand was compressed between the two 
bodies, and each time it was compressed my own clitoris throbbed in 
sympathy. 

Hester began to moan softly. A delicate color crept into her pretty cheeks, 
and her movements became more vigorous. As I perceived the more powerful 
pressure of her moist cunny crushing down upon my fist, and the strong, 
regular pulsations in the hard flesh about which my fingers were clenched, 
the fires of reawakened lust again blazed within me. My sexual potency was 
back in full force. 

In this opportune moment Mr. Hayden murmured something to Hester. Instantly 
she ceded the post of honor, slipped forward, and again crouched over his 
face. A second later I was on the throne she had vacated, and with my arms 
embracing her from behind, was quivering in response to the throbbing of the 
rigid shaft which penetrated me and filled me with its soul-stirring warmth. 

To the accompaniment of Hester's, low moans as a vigorous and active tongue 
teased her organism into expression I gasped out my own ecstasy and clung to 
her, half-fainting, while jet after jet of the hot balsam of life flung 
itself against my womb. 

I was no longer a novice. I had graduated from the chippy stage of harlotry 
and was a full-fledged practitioner of the oldest profession. I was now a 
professional prostitute. 

Mr. Hayden came regularly, adhering faithfully to his program of 
impartiality, and his visits were interludes in which both Hester and I 
forgot the sordid, commercialized circumstances under which we were 
prostituting our bodies and enjoyed ourselves like healthy, robust young 
animals. 

 CHAPTER SEVEN 

The next patron to whom my companionship was pledged by the astute Madame 
Lafronde was Mr. Heely. Mr. Heely had been until now what was termed an 
occasional parlor visitor. He drank little and had never taken a girl 
upstairs, but he was very liberal with gratuities and it was suspected that 
he was more than well-to-do. He was a man somewhat between fifty-five and 
sixty, very courtly and dignified, a gentleman of the old school. 

Until my advent in the bordello he had, on the occasion of his rather 
infrequent visits, confined himself to sitting quietly in a comer, a silent 
onlooker as a rule, sipping an occasional peculiar combination of liquor 
which was mixed in accordance with his own instructions. Sometimes he would 
engage a girl in conversation and after he had departed the subject of the 
conversation would be reported with considerable amusement. The nice old 
gentleman could find nothing more interesting to discuss with a half-naked 
girl than politics, economics and postwar social problems! 

Nevertheless, the rewards which were falling to girls who were alert enough 
to accord him courteous hearing were sufficiently generous to have attracted 
Madame 

Lafronde's unerring eye, and she had him tabulated for future attention. 

Now I had observed a more than casual interest in Mr. Heely's attitude 
toward me in the course of my ambulations about the salon, and had perceived 
the covert squeeze he always gave my hand as he pressed a liberal tip into 
it after selecting the single cigar he invariably tucked away in his pocket. 
Consequently, it was with no great surprise that on being called downstairs 
early one evening to the little private room which Madame Lafronde reserved 
for confidential business, I found Mr. Heely with her and learned that I was 
the subject of the interview. 

"Dear Mr. Heely has taken a imagine to you, child. If it were anyone but 
him, I would positively not consider the matter for a moment. But Mr. Heely 
is an honorable gentleman, my child. He knows your . . . ah . . . 
untarnished condition, my dear, and he will be quite contented to . . . ah . 
. . enjoy your companionship without encroaching on your . . . ah . . . 
virginal integrity. In fact, my dear, Mr. Heely doesn't care for the 
sophisticated type, and it was exactly your . . . ah . . . so apparent 
maidenly innocence which intrigued his . . . ah . . . admiration. Hereafter, 
my dear, you will be at liberty to receive Mr. Heely any evening he wishes 
to call on you. You may let him select one night each week." 

Mr. Heely bowed courteously. 

"But I hope my attentions will not be distasteful to Miss Jessie," he 
interposed gently. "Perhaps we should consult her first before coming to any 
definite understanding. I assure her, and you also, Madame, that I will be 
most considerate in my demands, and will endeavor to reward each of you in a 
suitable manner for your kindness. Do you think you could care for me as a 
good friend?" he added anxiously, turning to me. 

Madame Lafronde's peculiar words had filled me with amazement. I did not 
know what to make of the conversation. Mr. Heely was watching me with an 
intent, almost supplicating look on his face. I glanced uncertainly at 
Madame Lafronde. As I did so, the lid of her left eye descended slowly. Her 
face was solemn, impassive. 

"Yes, Sir," I answered, "I'm sure I could care for you. Very much indeed, 
Sir." 

The alliance was pledged over three tiny glasses of wine and it was agreed 
that the following evening I was to be at Mr. Heely's disposition and 
thereafter the same night each week. 

As soon as the interview was concluded I rushed upstairs to find Hester. 
Into her attentive ear I poured the details of the mysterious contract. My 
mystification was so genuine that she nearly burst with laughter. 

"But what does he want with me, what does he expect me to do?" I begged. 

"The old fool has taken it for gospel truth that you're only fifteen years 
old and that you've never had a cock in you," she answered finally, wiping 
her eyes. "He'll be a regular gold mine. I had one like that once. He 
preached religion to me and sucked me off between sermons. I'll bet all 
you'll have to do with that man will be to let him go down on you. Those old 
fellows always want to do that. You'll have to pretend it's the first time, 
act ashamed, take on, cry about it afterwards a little and, baby, will he 
fill your stocking with bank notes!" 

How different people were in real life to what they seemed, I reflected, as 
the picture which Hester's words evoked passed before my mind's eye. That 
dignified, cultured, respectable, elderly gentleman going down on me! It was 
too bizarre, too preposterous. It didn't seem possible. 

Hester broke in on the train of thoughts which were passing through my head. 

"Really, darling, you're lucky. Imagine having something like that supposed 
Italian count wished on you." 

"I heard Lafronde tell Rhoda she could chase him if he got too rough with 
her." 

This count, real or alleged, constituted something of a house scandal. He 
had the whipping mania, and though Rhoda submitted to him voluntarily, the 
pain he inflicted on her caused her to shriek in a way which alarmed 
everyone within hearing. 

"I think she's half in love with the crazy brute. Do you know what he does 
to her? He puts her across his knees just like a baby, and whips her on the 
bare bottom with one of her slippers. He keeps her bottom black and blue." 

"What in the world does he do it for? What possible pleasure can he possibly 
get from hurting her?" 

"Oh, what do any of them do funny things for? It gives him a hard-on, I 
suppose. Imagine having a man whip you like that and then wanting to fuck 
you afterwards." 

Madame Lafronde opened the door and came in. 

"You'll have to get up early tomorrow morning and go shopping with me," she 
said. "Mr. Heely has given some very specific instructions about your 
wearing apparel. Your present mode of dress is not in keeping with his ideas 
as to what nice girls should wear. And . . . " she continued dryly, glancing 
at a penciled list in her hand, "he has provided the funds necessary to 
renovate your wardrobe." 

As a result of the shopping expedition which was duly effected the following 
day, I found myself in possession of some new clothes which, though of the 
finest and most expensive material, were so incongruously at variance with 
the ambience in which they were to be worn that I could only look at them 
with amazement. 

There were three black silk dresses with cream-colored lace cuffs and 
bodices, all of the same general type, but varying in minor details of style 
and trimming. They were very beautiful, but of a style suitable for 
extremely young misses, and reached barely to my knees. Underwear there was 
in profusion, but instead of the slithery, diaphanous tinted silk I would 
have selected, it was of the finest English linen and cambric; slips, 
petticoats, and panties with little bands of lace around their edges, and 
all snow-white. There were two pair of little, round-toed, low-heeled patent 
leather pumps, and a long narrow box filled with black silk hose. 

As we unpacked the purchases Madame Lafronde said: 

"Ah, yes, I nearly forgot to tell you, my dear, that your new gentleman has 
a special abhorrence of rouge, lipstick and face powder. He prefers nature 
in the raw. So you may abstain from employing your usual artifices on the 
occasion of his visits." 

I nodded my head in assent. My mind was still floundering in a maze of 
contradictory whys and wherefores. 

"Can you tell me, please, just what that man expects of me?" 

"My girl, I haven't the slightest idea. But I don't doubt he'll treat you 
kindly. Men of his age often have very curious whims and ideas. My 
experience is that it's profitable to cater to them. Use your brains; find 
what pleases him, and act accordingly. If the screwy old fool thinks he has 
found a fifteen-year-old innocent running around naked in a whorehouse don't 
destroy his illusion. It will pay dividends. But remember this: he made the 
proposition himself that he would respect your alleged purity and right now 
he intends to live up to it. But if he runs true to form, before very long 
he'll be itching to get his pecker between your legs. And after he's fucked 
you two or three times it will be good-bye Mr. Heely. Now I'm only speaking 
in the light of experience. There are exceptions to every rule, and he might 
be one of them. So use your brains, girl, use your brains. This is your 
chance to show what you can do." 

At eight o'clock I bathed preparatory to dressing for the evening. One of 
the pretty little black frocks was laid out on the bed waiting for me, 
together with the childish underwear, the silk hose and the patent leather 
pumps. 

Having a little time to spare I decided to get out a jar of depilatory cream 
I had bought that day with the idea of using it in preference to a razor. To 
my great satisfaction it removed the hair thoroughly and easily without 
leaving the suggestion of a stubble which, try as I might, I had not been 
able to eliminate entirely with a safety razor. 

The pubic mound and the sides of my cunny felt as smooth and velvety to the 
touch as a baby's skin. According to the information which accompanied the 
preparation, hair would not reappear for some time as it was destroyed clear 
down to the roots. This would be a great convenience, as the task of shaving 
frequently was growing irksome. 

When Mr. Heely appeared promptly at the specified hour of ten, I was all 
ready for him, waiting demurely in my room, dressed in a little girl's silk 
frock which barely reached my knees, my hair neatly combed back and tied 
with a ribbon, and my face sedately free of any artificial coloring or 
embellishment. There had been much giggling and laughter when earlier in the 
evening I had paraded this ensemble before the eyes of my companions. Even 
Madame Lafronde had laughed. 

In one hand Mr. Heely carried a large bouquet of beautiful hothouse flowers, 
in the other a square package containing a box of delicious candied fruit 
confections. I thanked him for his gifts, took his hat and coat, and 
arranged the flowers on my little table. 

What should I say to him? What should I do? The thoughts buzzed in my head 
as I toyed with the flowers to gain time to decide, and ended by doing 
nothing except sitting down before him to wait for him to begin a 
conversation. 

Considering our previous speculations and Hester's suppositions the visit 
simmered down to what constituted almost ludicrous simplicity and naivete. 
Mr. Heely did absolutely nothing more than sit in my room and talk, for the 
most part on generalized subjects, departing from these orthodox themes only 
now and then to pass compliments upon my appearance and conduct in his 
dignified, courtly way. He manifested pleasure at the good taste with which 
my wardrobe had been selected, and seemed to feel that I was now dressed in 
a seemly and befitting manner. He stayed for about two hours. 

When he arose to go, he took my hand and pressed a kiss lightly upon the 
back of it. As he lowered it a folded bank note was resting in my palm. I 
did not want to look at it in his presence, so did not know until after he 
had gone the value of it. Before bidding me good-night he said: 

"May I have the pleasure of calling upon you again next Friday, my dear?" 

"Certainly, Mr. Heely, I'll be very happy to have you," I replied. 

Not until the door had closed behind him did I straighten out the folded 
piece of currency. Before my surprised sight was a five-pound note. I could 
hardly believe my eyes. Surely the good old man was out of his mind. 

Straightway I rushed to find Madame Lafronde, laid the money before her and 
told her exactly what had transpired. She listened, smiling cynically, and 
pushed it back toward me. 

"It's yours, girl. I've already gotten mine. Take it if you want to spend 
it. If you don't I'll put it away for you." 

"All of it?" I gasped. 

"Certainly. Now just use your head, girl, and there'll be plenty more where 
that comes from. I'll get my share, and you may keep all you get from him. 
Wait a moment . . . " she called, as I turned to leave after thanking her, 
"here's some more advice for you. Don't brag about your good fortune to the 
other girls. Keep it to yourself. That old green-eyed monster is always 
lurking around, waiting for a chance to make trouble. Don't tell others 
things that will make them envy you." 

How deeply these words struck home could only be guessed by one familiar 
with the circumstances of my past disgrace which had come about under the 
very conditions against which she was now warning me. Then and there I 
resolved to keep such good fortune as might come my way carefully hidden 
from envious eyes in the future. 

As far as Mr. Heely was concerned, I ceased for the moment to bother my head 
with trying to fathom his purposes. If he was willing to pay me five pounds 
for dressing up like a doll and listening to him for a couple of hours I had 
no reason for complaint. Both Hester and Madame Lafronde were of the opinion 
that he would eventually want to do something besides talk, and in this way 
they were right in a sense, but his conduct never degenerated into anything 
of an obnoxious nature. 

Indeed, his ingenuousness was almost pathetic, and I often felt a twinge of 
conscience at the imposition which was being practiced upon him. But I 
salved it with the thought that it would be more painful to him to be 
disillusioned than to be deceived. He derived a certain happiness from the 
strange association, and it doubtless filled some lonely space in his heart. 

On his second visit he asked permission to sit on a cushion at my feet, a 
request which was of course granted, although for the moment I was 
mystified. A bit later the circumstance of the extremely short dress flashed 
over me and the suspicion which it engendered was verified when I observed 
an occasional covert glance being directed between my legs. 

From this time on I was more careless as to how I sat, but even in this the 
kindly old gentleman had frustrated his own wishes by having provided me 
with panties which were so substantially made as to constitute an effectual 
barrier to the eye. 

Slowly but progressively his familiarities advanced as the visits continued. 
The sitting on a cushion before my knees reminded me of Hester's 
predictions. It brought his face conveniently close, and I wondered . . . 
but nothing came of it. Later, he came to seating me on his lap. This 
provided me with an opportunity to satisfy my curiosity on another point 
which I had not been able to determine. 

Masculine wearing apparel of present times is deficient in one particular. 
It is prone to reveal in a rather frank manner a certain physical condition 
to which men are at times subject, one which does not, on such occasions, 
escape the observant feminine eye. I had never noticed this condition in Mr. 
Heely, a circumstance which intrigued my curiosity. 

Furthermore, his continued liberality was beginning to inspire me with a 
desire to show my gratitude in some form. It stood to reason there was 
something he wanted, some inner wish which perhaps he himself had not fully 
defined, or else was too timid and reticent to express. 

And so, partly to satisfy my own curiosity, and partly actuated by a really 
unselfish wish to give him something in return for his generosity, I decided 
to encourage him a little more actively, even though this was contrary to 
Madame Lafronde's counsel. 

It was very difficult to convince myself that he was taking this farcical 
"make-believe-lady" comedy seriously. How could he possibly think I was 
chaste and innocent, living as I was in a house of prostitution and 
associating with harlots? It hardly seemed possible that a man of his age 
and experience could be so credulous. 

Surely he was, like myself, just pretending, and finding in the pretense 
some peculiar psychic compensation beyond my comprehension. Surely he must 
know in his heart that it was all sham and fraud. 

I had observed that his gaze was frequently on my legs. There are men to 
whom the feminine leg is almost a fetish. 

Also, I had not forgotten the floor-sitting inclinations. The next time he 
came after I had made my resolution I sat on his lap, and as he talked I 
worked and fumbled through the texture of my dress at my garter which I had 
purposely tightened until it compressed my leg unduly. 

"Mr. Heely," I murmured plaintively, "I wonder if you could fix my garter 
for me. The buckle is so stiff I can't loosen it and the garter is almost 
cutting my leg in two." So saying, I drew my skirt up in the most casual 
manner, exposing the garter, the top of my hose and a tiny bit of flesh 
above. "Look," I continued, "it's making a regular ring around my leg!" I 
pulled the garter toward my knee and turned down the upper part of my hose. 
There was a purple indentation around the leg. 

Mr. Heely was instantly all compassion. 

"My dear little girl," he exclaimed, "why didn't you speak of it before? 
Why, this thing is so tight it's cutting off the blood circulation. We must 
open the buckle and lengthen the elastic." 

As he spoke, his fingers tenderly caressed the puckered flesh. He slipped 
the garter down over my knee and off my leg. It took him but a moment to pry 
open the buckle and lengthen the band, whereupon he replaced the garter and 
smoothed my hose back into place. 

"How about the other one? Is it tight? Perhaps we'd better fix it, too." 

"I wish you would," I replied. "It hurts my fingers to open those buckles." 

My other leg was laid bare above the knee and the second garter received his 
attention. He spent several minutes rubbing the flesh to restore the impeded 
circulation, adjusted the garter and put my dress down over my knees. 

"You're so kind to me, Mr. Heely, fear I shall never be able to repay you." 

"Why, Jessie, dear," he answered, obviously pleased, "just being near you is 
quite payment enough. I have lived a very lonely life, my dear, and these 
are happy hours for me. I only wish they were half as pleasant for you as 
they are for me." 

What could I do with a man so ingenuous and innocent that he refused to rise 
to such bait? It was not sufficient that I sit on his lap and let him play 
with my garters. Either he was the world's prize simpleton or he didn't, in 
truth, want anything from me. I decided to make a bolder effort. 

"Indeed they are pleasant for me, Mr. Heely! I feel so comfortable with you. 
I like to sit on your lap this way. Sometimes . . . sometimes, though, I get 
feelings when I'm sitting on your lap that I don't understand myself . . . " 

I felt him start slightly. 

"What kind of feelings, my dear?" 

"Oh, I don't know . . . they're hard to describe . . . kind of trembling, 
warm feelings that go all through me. Like just now, when you were rubbing 
my leg . . . " 

"Are they pleasant feelings, dear?" he asked huskily. 

"Oh, yes! Sometimes I think they are naughty feelings, and then again I 
think they can't be bad when they're so nice. Do you think they are bad 
feelings, Mr. Heely?" I continued, watching him covertly for his reactions. 

"My dear child," he replied finally, taking one of my hands between his and 
squeezing it, "I hardly know how to answer you. Madame Lafronde told me, if 
I remember correctly, that you are fifteen years old. At that age the 
promptings of Nature are to be accepted as an entirely normal manifestation 
of a healthy body, I would imagine. I have, I must confess, often doubted 
the prudencey of Madame Lafronde's course in bringing you into surroundings 
and influences which I fear will tend to corrupt your thoughts. I wish . . . 
" he continued sadly, "that it were possible for me to remove you from this 
questionable atmosphere, but if I were to suggest such a thing my motives 
would undoubtedly be questioned. So all I can do, my dear, is to offer you 
such counsel and advice as my more mature years may qualify me to give. I 
have never had any daughters of my own, and though I was once married, my 
wife was taken from me while we were both quite young. So now, in my old 
age, I have no one to hold on my knee but little Jessie." 

"Why, you're not old at all, Mr. Heely!" 

He raised my hand, which he was still holding, to his lips and kissed it. I 
was not so hardened as to be unmoved by his pathetic words, and I understood 
now for the first time with some degree of clarity, the exact situation. 

Mr. Heely's interest in me was unselfish in that it was not actuated by the 
desire to play any fantastic sexual game, but rather by the promptings of 
the vague and unsatisfied longings of a man who has lived a repressed and 
virtuous life, and who, in the eventide of his days, realizing that 
something vital has been missed, gropes belatedly and blindly for that 
intangible sense of fulfillment which can only come through bodily and 
spiritual union with the opposite sex. Too late he had found a compliment 
which could have satisfied the longings he himself would probably have 
refused to recognize as merely physical; he must now warm the fibers of his 
being with the dying embers of a fire disguised as paternal. This he could 
do without suffering the loss of self-respect or the sacrifice of dignity. 

If I chose to continue accepting his bounty indefinitely without thought of 
compensating him in any way other than by dressing to suit his imagine and 
playing maidenly innocence, I could do so. He would never make any sexual 
advances toward me except those of the mildest and most indirect nature. 

But I was not without conscience, nor did I lack an elemental spirit of 
gratitude. The man had been both kind and generous to me, and without 
hesitating long I made up my mind to find ways to provide this gentle soul 
with an occasional moment of happiness flavored with just that degree of 
lubricity which would find an echo in his being, and leave him with a few 
soft memories with which to dispel the loneliness of his heart. 

During the week which elapsed before his next visit I gave considerable 
thought to the subject, casting about in my mind for some formula which 
would fit the peculiar circumstances. Various ideas were entertained and 
discarded as unsuitable. But one afternoon there chanced to cross my 
thoughts the recollection of Mr. Peters, the watchmaker who had boarded with 
us when I was a child. In a vague way, Mr. Heely reminded me of Mr. Peters. 
He was far more cultured and refined, but there was a certain similarity of 
characters which might have been much more pronounced had their social and 
educational status been parallel. 

Submerged in memories of the past which the thought evoked I saw myself 
again a child of eleven, slipping surreptitiously into Mr. Peters' room to 
be masturbated while I stood between his knees holding my little dress up. 
Again I saw his congested face and the tiny beads of perspiration which 
testified to the vibrant emotions he must have experienced vicariously 
through manual stimulation of my body. Had he not actually paid me to let 
him masturbate me and given other evidences of pleasure in realizing the 
act? And it had certainly caused me more pleasure than annoyance. 

And mentally I began setting the stage for Mr. Heely's next visit. 

So it came to pass that after the customary exchange of banalities had been 
effected, I set about immediately to warm the atmosphere preparatory to the 
course I had elected to follow with Mr. Heely. 

"Mr. Heely," I began diffidently, "you never have seen all the pretty things 
you had Madame Lafronde buy for me. They're so pretty they make my heart 
beat faster every time I look at them, and then I think of you." His face 
glowed with pleasure. 

"I thought I'd seen all of them, my dear," he answered, fingering the hem of 
my dress. "I was just thinking today that perhaps you needed some new 
frocks. Madame Lafronde exercised very good taste in her selections and 
these black silk dresses become you wonderfully." 

"I don't mean the dresses alone," I murmured, essaying a bit of bashful 
confusion. "There were other things, beautiful things; you've never seen 
them at all, Mr. Heely." 

"Ah, you mean under things, my dear. Quite true, I didn't see them, but if 
they pleased you that is all that is necessary." 

"I never had such beautiful things in all my life, Mr. Heely. Some of them 
have got the prettiest lace trimming, it looks just like handwork. Hester, 
my friend, says it's machine-made lace, but I want to show you, Mr. Heely, 
and see if you don't think it's handmade." 

Without waiting for his answer I slipped from his knees and went to my 
clothes chest, extracted from among the garments stored herein a pair of 
dainty cambric panties, around the legs of which were attached narrow bands 
of expensive lace. Thrusting the intimate garment into his hands, I 
continued to expiate on the quality and beauty of the material. 

"Don't you think that's handmade lace, Mr. Heely?" 

"Really, I'm hardly qualified to say, my dear," he replied, as he gingerly 
fingered the garment. "All I can say is that it seems to be well made, but 
whether by hand or machine I cannot say." 

"The ones I've got on are even prettier, Mr. Heely. I don't mind if you see 
them on me. I want you to see how pretty they are and how well they fit me." 

So saying, I raised my dress until a goodly portion of lace filigree and 
cambric panty leg, to say nothing of quite a bit of flesh, was revealed. 
Slowly I pivoted around on my toes so that Mr. Heely might judge both the 
dainty workmanship of the garment, and in addition such physical allurements 
as might catch his eye. 

His face flushed slightly, and he half-averted his gaze, but his next words 
assured me that I had not missed the mark at which I had aimed. 

"My child, it is your pretty limbs which lend beauty to the garment. I have 
never seen a more charming picture." 

Visibly affected, he extended his arms and drew me again upon his lap. His 
arm prevented my dress from falling into place, and as I made no effort to 
adjust it I found myself seated across his knees with my legs exposed to the 
tops of my stockings and higher. I laid an arm over his shoulder and cuddled 
against him. 

Soon I felt a hand lightly caressing my knee. It moved tenderly back and 
forth over the silken surface of my hose. I lay quietly with my head against 
his shoulder, my eyes half-closed. The hand moved higher and I sensed the 
tremor of its touch in a timid caress which dwelt a moment upon the bare 
flesh above the stocking. It receded downward to the knee, and after a brief 
hesitation again advanced until finally the palm lay cupped over the rounded 
curve of bare flesh. His other hand meanwhile passed under my arm, lay 
quietly and unobtrusively over one of my breasts. 

Seated thus with nothing but the thin material of my panties and his own 
garments between the sensitive areas of our respective bodies I would have 
easily perceived anything in the nature of a muscular reaction to the erotic 
incitation to which Mr. Heely was now being subjected. 

That there was none confirmed my suspicion that either through physical 
weakness or possibly a purely mental inhibition he was incapacitated 
sexually in the more material sense of the word. For him naught remained but 
such secondary exultations as might have their birth in psychic stimulation, 
the last dispensation of benevolent old Mother Nature who, tempering the 
wind to the shorn lamb, concedes that minor consolation, a measure of bliss 
in the mere presence of contemplation of pleasure through the awakening of 
an echo, or the touching of a responsive chord in our sensibilities. 

Certain now of my ground, I advanced boldly. 

Snuggling closer to him, and tightening my clasp about his shoulder, I 
murmured in a low voice: 

"Mr. Heely, you have been so good to me, there is something I must tell you. 
I'm awfully ashamed to, but I think you should know, so you can tell me what 
to do. There is no one else I can ask, I just couldn't speak of it to anyone 
else but you . . . " 

His hand clenched about the flesh of my leg. 

"What is it, Jessie, dear? I can't imagine anything you could tell me which 
should cause you to feel ashamed. As you know, I want you to feel perfectly 
free to tell me anything that troubles you." 

"Oh, Mr. Heely, when you know what it is, you may be terribly shocked, and 
not care for me anymore. I'm so ashamed to tell you I don't know whether I 
can get up the courage or not . . . " 

I dabbed at my eyes with a tearful gesture. 

"But, my little Jessie!" exclaimed the now quite perturbed Mr. Heely, "I 
assure you from the depths of my heart that there is nothing, absolutely 
nothing which would lessen my regard for you. It hurts me that you can even 
entertain such a thought!" 

"Oh, Mr. Heely!" And here my sobs must have been quite convincing in their 
rendition. "You think I'm a nice girl, and I'm not! I have the most terrible 
longings when I'm with you, sometimes I can't sleep at all after you've 
gone, and other times I have dreams, oh, such dreams, they wake me up and I 
lie in the dark thinking, and it gets worse until, finally, well, I just 
have to . . . have to . . . ! " 

I paused, and after waiting a long moment for me to continue, Mr. Heely 
whispered tensely: 

"Have to . . . have to what, dear?" 

"Oh, don't make me say it! You must guess . . . without my putting it in 
words . . . I don't want to do it . . . they say it ruins a girl's health . 
. . but I just can't sleep until I make that feeling go away! Now, don't you 
hate me, Mr. Heely?" 

The tension of his hand on my leg relaxed, and the hand moved gently back 
and forth over the flesh. I peeped at him through my eyelashes; his face was 
flushed. 

"My dear little baby," he murmured in a strained voice, "and you thought 
telling me this would lessen my regard for you? Don't you remember that I 
told you the other night that certain emotions and impulses in healthy young 
bodies were quite natural? Of course, I never dreamed that I was 
unintentionally contributing to them, but I still don't think it serious 
enough to upset yourself about, except insofar as your rest and sleep is 
concerned. That . . . "he added in a troubled voice, "is something we'll 
have to think about." 

"Then you don't think I'm bad for having those feelings, Mr. Heely?" 

"Nonsense, child! Every normal person has gone through the same experience 
in the period of adolescence. But you must exercise self-control and not 
fall into habits which will undermine your health." 

"But . . . but . . . Mr. Heely, if I don't do that, it happens anyway while 
I'm asleep! When I wake up, it's too late to stop it from happening! 

"Oh, Mr. Heely there is something . . . I think . . . I know . . . would be 
good for me. It would smooth my nerves and take that feeling away . . . if 
only . . . but how can I ask you such a thing!" 

"How can you continue to question my willingness to do anything in my power 
for you, my little Jessie?" the poor man insisted reproachfully. "If I am in 
any way to blame for a condition which can only be relieved by discontinuing 
my visits I'll have to make the sacrifice. Do you think it would be better 
for you if I didn't come?" he asked anxiously. 

"Oh, no, no, Mr. Heely. That wouldn't keep me from thinking of you; it would 
only make things a hundred times worse!" 

"What did you have in mind then, my dear?" he asked, vastly relieved. "Speak 
frankly; I'll not be offended!" 

"Oh, Mr. Heely, it's something . . . it really happened in a dream once. I 
felt so much better that way than when I . . . you know what I mean . . . 
and the bad feeling didn't come back for a long time, but . . . " and I hid 
my face against his shoulder, "it's dreadful to ask you such a thing!" 

"Let's consider that after we know what it is!" he urged tensely. 

"If you . . . if you . . . oh, Mr. Heely . . . it sounds so terrible . . . 
but if you would . . . if you would just put your hand there where the 
feeling starts . . . if you would just put your hand there for a moment each 
night before you leave . . . I know the feelings would finish and go away 
and I wouldn't have to do that in the night!" 

A tremor passed through his body, his arms gripped me convulsively, and 
though he spoke with forced calmness, I knew he was in exquisite torment. 

"You think that would calm your nerves?" he asked in an unsteady voice. 

"I feel sure it would . . . I know it would . . . if you wouldn't mind doing 
it!" 

"Shall we try it tonight?" 

"Yes, yes!" I whispered. 

"Now?" 

"Yes!" 

So realistically had I enacted my self-imposed role of ingenuous impudicity 
that, unconsciously, it had quite taken hold of my own imagination, and for 
the moment I was actually living the part I had assumed. 

As I slipped from his lap I distinctly felt a tremor in my own knees, and 
the warm glow of sexual excitation was permeating my body. I had "acted" 
myself into a real heat. 

With trembling fingers I undid my panties and without troubling to remove my 
dress lay down on my back upon the bed. Shielding my eyes with a forearm and 
in a fever of anticipation I awaited his approach. 

He rose from his chair and sat down on the edge of the bed by my side. He 
hesitated uncertainly for a moment and then slowly inserted his hand up 
under my dress. Seeing that he had not the assurance or temerity to throw 
the dress back and expose my body, and having succeeded in working myself up 
to a degree in which my own organism was now imperatively demanding 
satisfaction, I reached down and pulled up the dress myself, revealing my 
cunny which just that morning had received fresh depilatory attentions. 

Just as an electric current is transmitted from one metal object to another 
by contact so does that mysterious force called sexual exultation 
communicate itself from one body to another under favorable circumstances. I 
had deliberately induced an erotic tension in this man such as he probably 
had not experienced in years. I had been actuated by kindly rather than lewd 
motives for, as a matter-of-fact, I had never felt the slightest sexual 
inclination toward him. Now, having succeeded by my sacrifices in exciting 
his sterile passions to an exquisite pitch, I found myself caught in my own 
trap. 

A moment or two after I pulled up my dress I felt his hand on my cunny. I 
separated my legs a bit wider, lay back, closed my eyes, and prepared to 
yield myself up to the pleasurable sacrifice. I sensed my clitoris, now 
excited and swollen, pulsing impatiently in anticipation. It wanted to be 
rubbed and rubbed vigorously. But as I waited expectantly there came no 
motion in the hand which lay firmly, but inactively pressed against it. I 
waited a long minute and then moved my hips suggestively once or twice. The 
hand still lay motionless over the pubic mound with the fingers, likewise 
motionless, resting lightly along the extension of the crevice below. 

It was tantalizing. Didn't this man know anything at all? I wriggled my hips 
again, once, twice, several times. I squeezed my thighs together, 
compressing his fingers between them, and still that hand remained 
impassively quiet. 

The tension in my nerves was now such as to render further delay 
unendurable. I seized his hand in mine and forcibly imparted a rubbing 
motion as I pressed it harder against my clitoris. Under this friction and 
pressure the current of erotic sensation began to generate swiftly. 

Having set his hand on the proper frictional course I released it and lay 
back again to savor the ravishing caress until the mounting sensations 
attained their maximum and, like a bursting rocket, exploded and hurled 
their melting fires through my body. 

Mr. Heely was all tenderness and solicitude as he hovered over me, nor was 
it difficult to assure him that I now felt immensely relieved and was 
certain of a peaceful sleep and rest. 

Needless to say, the "treatments" were incorporated regularly as a 
preventative of further nocturnal disquiet, and thus, by the simple 
expedient of inducing the kind-hearted man to think he was safeguarding my 
health and morals by masturbating me once a week, I found a way to warm the 
blood in his aged veins and recompense him in a small way for his 
generosity. 

N 

 CHAPTER EIGHT 

I had been with Madame Lafronde about three months when the patronage of Mr. 
Thomas, another well-to-do but also middle-aged gentleman was steered my way 
by the astute old lady. 

Things had run along in a pleasant manner; I had gotten along very well with 
Madame Lafronde. She seemed to take a genuine interest in my welfare, and 
some of the girls who had at first treated me with a certain coolness, 
doubtless inspired by the fear that patrons might be tempted from them by my 
juvenile coquetteries, had been won over and were now cordial and friendly. 

Mr. Thomas was too much a man of the world to be at all deceived on the 
matter of my alleged innocence, but beyond passing a few half-comical, 
half-cynical observations, he did not dwell on the subject. 

Although this gentleman was fairly well along in years, he was hale and 
robust and had no physical deficiencies. My relations with Mr. Thomas were 
so entirely normal, or so purely ethical, if I may use the term, that there 
is little to tell which would be of interest. 

Like Mr. Heely, he was a single man, but there the similarity ended. He had 
engaged my companionship for one quite specific purpose, and between times 
regaled me with piquant accounts of amorous adventures during his younger 
days in Ceylon. With apparently no qualms of conscience to disturb him, he 
told me of having fucked little native girls of eight, nine and ten years of 
age, of having two or three of them in bed with him at the same time, and of 
other salacious combinations. 

I say he regaled me with these stories "between times" because it was his 
regular and unvarying procedure to do it to me twice on each of his visits. 
He was entitled, by virtue of an exorbitant fee paid for my companionship, 
to pass the entire night, but he never stayed after the termination of the 
second act. He arrived generally around ten o'clock, spent an hour amusing 
himself in the parlor, and then came upstairs, where I was waiting for him. 
He was always prepared for an immediate encounter with a hard-on which 
belied his years, the potency of which was probably contributed to by 
aphrodisiacal sights, conversations, and liquor in the parlor. 

When the first episode was concluded an hour would be passed in 
conversation, stories and banter while I sat on his lap naked. As he talked, 
his hands roved over my body, caressing my legs, thighs, and breasts, and 
lingering on my hairless cunny where the tantalizing touches kindled fevers 
in my organism while his own recovered its original potency. When he was 
ready for the second round we repaired again to the bed and I lay on my back 
with legs clamped around his middle and wriggled my bottom until I coaxed 
his second spend from him, whereupon he was ready to cry quits, and I was 
free for the rest of the night. 

This man frequently disconcerted me with some outlandish story, told so 
seriously that I never failed to be taken in. While in charge of a 
plantation he had taken a baby, left to the vicissitudes of life through 
orphanage, and with no facilities other than those available in isolated 
bachelor quarters, had endeavored to care for it and attend to its 
requirements. 

What a kindhearted man, I thought, much impressed with the patience and 
benevolence the act implied, and passed some observation to this effect. 

"She was a pretty little thing," he concluded, puffing meditatively at his 
cigar. 

"Ah . . . it was a girl," I murmured. 

"Yes. She had the most beautiful skin, a soft, olive tint. It was like silk 
to the touch. And her bubbies, not any bigger than orange halves, but as 
firm and . . . " 

"How old was that baby?" I interrupted. 

"Oh, she was eleven or twelve, I guess." 

"It was indeed noble of you to have cared for her so tenderly, Mr. Thomas," 
I answered with heavy sarcasm. "I presume dressing and undressing her, 
bathing her and so on must have signified quite a sacrifice of time and 
labor for you. Possibly you even had to share your bed with her?" 

"Unfortunately, there was only one bed in the place. And I couldn't let the 
poor little thing sleep on the floor, of course." 

"Of course not!" 

Next on the list came Mr. Castle. This gentleman had a complex for strange 
and unusual postures in sexual intercourse, and also an itch to experiment 
along lines somewhat contrary to the plans of Nature. Only the fact that he 
was both liberal and possessed of unfailing good humor made association with 
him supportable. Had it been possible to offend him, my angry reactions to 
some of his droll impudences would quickly have terminated our relationship. 

No sooner was the door closed behind us on the occasion of his first bedroom 
visit than I was startled to find myself suddenly seized from behind and 
tumbled forward so that while the weight of my body fell upon my hands and 
wrists, my legs were caught and held under his arms. 

In this undignified position, with my short skirts fluttering about my face 
and head, and with my bare bottom and all there was between my legs exposed, 
I struggled and protested angrily, but to no avail, for with imperturbable 
aplomb, while still imprisoning my kicking legs under his strong arms, he 
unfastened the front of his trousers and in an instant I felt his cock 
poking against my inverted cunny. 

I tried to evade its thrusts as I sputtered angry protests, but he had me in 
such a position that I was quite helpless and in another moment I felt it 
going in, in this upside down fashion. The whole thing was finished and over 
almost before I was conscious of the pain which his cock, pressing against 
the side of my womb in this unnatural position, caused me. 

He was what is termed in professional circles a "fast shooter," one of those 
men whose orgastic reaction is so rapid as to require but a few thrusts. In 
the midst of my kicking and squealing I felt the hot gushes followed by the 
wet, sticky trickle of semen down over my stomach. A second later he 
released me and sank down on the bed, shaking with laughter while I, after 
regaining my feet, stood before him, my face flushed with indignation, 
protesting such cavalier treatment. 

"Excuse me, Sister," he gasped finally between gusts of laughter. "I'm sorry 
I was so rude. It's a weakness I have . . . I just can't resist temptation!" 

"Well, why are you laughing about it, then?" I demanded, only half-appeased 
by the doubtful apology. 

"Ha, ha, ha! If you only knew how funny you looked, standing on your head, 
with your cute little cunny upside down!" 

"Oh!" I gasped, my indignation mounting anew, but before I could formulate a 
sufficiently withering retort, he continued: 

"There was something . . . something . . . ah, yes; how is it your cunny 
hasn't any fur? I've seen them shaved off before, but they're like a man's 
chin, you can feel the bristles even after a close shave. Your pussy felt as 
smooth as silk. Let's take a peek at it Sister!" 

I was still palpitating with anger, but under such ludicrous circumstances 
it could not last long and finally I smiled in spite of myself. 

"You're a very abrupt person," I said. "Since you believe in caveman 
tactics, it's a wonder you bother about asking me to let you see it." 

No sooner were the words out of my mouth than he acted on the suggestion. 
His hand closed over my wrist and I was jerked none too gently to the bed 
and tumbled over on my back. Again I raged helplessly while, shaking with 
irrepressible laughter, he adroitly subjected my wrists by holding them in 
one hand, and with the other pulled up my dress. 

Apparently unfamiliar with the properties of depilatory agents, his visual 
and tactile examination seemed to convince him that the denuded condition 
was a natural one, which greatly intrigued his interest. While I continued 
to rage futilely, he felt and squeezed the naked lips and surrounding parts, 
and still not content, decided to have some more fun with me. 

No one except a woman who has suffered the indignity can comprehend the 
conflict of emotions undergone in being jacked-off forcibly against her 
wishes. It is quite one thing to submit to the manipulation when it is 
desired, and another to be forced. 

As the ball of the clown's finger rotated against my clitoris the 
treacherous little organ stiffened up in response, contrary to my wishes and 
despite all the mental influence I could bring to bear on it. When I 
breathed curses and demands for instant release it pulsed with increasing 
vigor under the friction, with the inevitable result that my resistance was 
suddenly stifled and my angry exclamations quite involuntarily changed into 
surprising moans. 

The orgasm diminished my anger somewhat but I still felt resentful and 
complained bitterly of having been treated in such an outrageous manner. 

"It was just the same as a rape!" I protested. 

"Rape? Rape?" And again he burst into laughter. "That's a new one on me, 
Sister! I never knew before that a girl could be raped by a finger!" 

"Well," I answered, my natural good humor beginning to assert itself, "it 
amounts to the same thing. When you make a girl do something against her 
wishes, it's rape, even if you do it with your finger!" 

It was impossible to stay angry with this comical buffoon, and being further 
mollified by a gift of respectable denomination, I found myself looking 
forward to his next call, if not with longing, at least with curiosity. 

The next eccentricity he manifested was a desire to try an inexhaustible 
number of unusual and strange positions. Because of the rapidity with which 
orgasm overtook him, the only way he could avoid ejaculation and prolong 
these experiments was to take his cock out of me after making a few quick 
movements. Naturally, this was very tantalizing, for it made me hot without 
satisfying me, but I had to stand it as best I could. 

Obligingly following his instructions I stood on the floor, bent over, my 
hands resting on my knees, and let him do it to me from behind. I lay 
doubled up in a ball on the bed with my knees crooked forward against my 
chest while he knelt in front of me, I sat spiked on his lap in a rocking 
chair, I lay on my back on a table with my legs over his shoulders and went 
through other equally strained and arduous exercises wondering all the while 
why a man should want to take such roundabout and complicated roads to reach 
a place which was accessible by shorter and easier routes. All these 
strenuous gymnastics just to make a few drops of semen come out of his 
testicles, a result I could have attained for him in ten seconds if left to 
my own devices. 

But it wasn't until a subsequent visit that I found I had more objectionable 
things still to contend with. 

This time he had me on my hands and knees on the bed and was kneeling behind 
me. This is the position known as "dog fashion" in the social circles of 
prostitution, and inasmuch as it projects a woman's cunt out quite 
prominently, she has to be careful that the man does not injure her by too 
deep a penetration, especially if he has a large cock. 

I felt his cock pushing against me, but it was aimed too high, and was 
prodding my bottom instead of my cunny. At first I thought that this was 
just an accident and putting my hand behind me I shoved it downward and got 
it headed in the right direction. But after two or three vague pushes, it 
slipped out and again I felt it punching against my bottom, this time in 
such a determined manner that it almost got its head inside. 

Again I reached behind me to push it away, but he resisted the effort, and 
leaning over my back, whispered: 

"Don't push it away. Let it go in for just a moment!" 

"I will not!" I exclaimed, and jerked free from his embrace. 

"There, there!" he answered, soothingly, "I was just teasing you, Sis! Come 
on and let's finish. I have to get away early tonight." 

Rather reluctantly, and on the alert for a new attack on the unguarded spot, 
I again braced myself on my hands and knees, but this time he let Nature 
take her course in normal channels. 

From this time on the man was unable to resist the temptation to try to do 
it to me in the bottom on every occasion which presented itself. 
Determinedly I resisted blandishments, coaxings, and even treacherous 
efforts to catch me unawares, but it got on my nerves and brought choleric 
protestations to my lips. In justice to Mr. Castle, I must say that he took 
my angry rebuffs and blunt refusals to gratify his unnatural whim in good 
spirit and unfailing pleasant humor. 

It was then I intimated to Madame Lafronde that it would not hurt my 
feelings were his affections tactfully transferred to some other girl, but I 
was ashamed to tell her the exact reason. 

"Why don't you want him?" she insisted. 

"Well, I finally said, "he has crazy ideas. The first night I had an 
appointment with him he stood me on my head and did it to me upside down!" 

"What!" she expostulated. "Is that the only reason you dislike him?" 

Abashed, I made a clean breast. 

"No, it isn't! If you must know, I'll tell you! He never gives me a moment's 
peace from wanting to do it to me in the bottom!" 

I expected that this revelation would bring a decided expression of 
indignation from Madame Lafronde and that she would now be willing to 
concede that Mr. Castle was indeed a most objectionable client. 

But, after gazing at me a moment, she began to laugh heartily. 

"And is that all that is wrong with him?" 

"Isn't that enough?" I responded stiffly. 

"My word, girl," answered the old lady, "there is no pleasant road to 
success in anything, not even in whoring. You're going to meet men far more 
difficult to deal with than this Mr. Castle, so you must now learn how to 
get what you want from them and how to evade what you don't want by using 
diplomacy. They say the way to a man's heart is through his stomach. I don't 
know about that, I never did much cooking, but you can take my word for it 
that the way to his purse is through his cock. And his purse will stay open 
just as long as you keep his cock in a good humor and no longer!" 

I was not too dense nor too stubborn to comprehend the wisdom of her 
philosophy and I did indeed learn eventually that more could be accomplished 
by cunning and diplomacy than by angry words. 

"Sometime," I murmured to Mr. Castle one night as I deftly evaded a sly 
attempt on my bottom, "sometime, I'm going to let you do that, just to see 
what it feels like . . . but not tonight!" 

 CHAPTER NINE 

When Mr. Wainwright was added to my list of regulars I found need of all the 
philosophy I could muster. He was a suave, dapper little man, rather 
handsome in an effeminate way, but very nervous and emotional. He was not, I 
think, over twenty-eight or thirty. 

There was nothing special in his appearance to suggest the possibility of 
any weird abnormality, yet here is what happened: As soon as we were alone 
in the seclusion of my room he went through a pantomime of courting me in 
the most exaggerated manner. Words of gallantry, adoration, and vows of 
eternal loyalty poured from his lips as he knelt before me, kissing first my 
hands, then my feet and legs. 

In accordance with my usual custom when receiving new admirers for the first 
time, I was fully clothed, excepting one single garment which for 
convenience sake I left off, inasmuch as its absence would not be noted 
until the moment when its presence would be of no moment. Taken aback by 
this man's strange performance, and indeed not being sure that he wasn't 
simply trying to be funny, I remained silent. 

Murmuring words of endearment and adoration his lips gradually ascended to 
my knees, whereupon he turned his face upward and begged in supplicating 
words: 

"Oh, my Fairy Princess! Give me your permission to raise the hem of this 
robe so that your slave may cool his burning lips on the sweet freshness of 
your divine limbs." 

This was too much for me. 

"Go ahead and cool them, Sweetie!" I giggled with a democratic sociability 
quite out of keeping with the regal estate he had delegated to me. 

Ignoring the flippancy of my answer, he turned the edge of my dress up, not 
high enough to reveal the absence of the interior garment already referred 
to, but just high enough to expose two or three inches of bare flesh above 
the tops of my hose. Upon this isolated flesh he pressed more moist kisses 
clasping my knee meanwhile to his breast. 

"Beautiful Princess!" he sighed ecstatically, and then in humble, imploring 
tones, "will Your Highness deign to repose upon the couch and let this 
faithful slave quench his thirst at the sweet spring of life?" 

It was too ridiculous and I laughed hysterically, but supposing that he was 
now ready to "quench his thirst" in the customary manner, I let him lead me 
to the bed and lay down, still laughing. 

Disregarding my risibility he slowly and with exaggerated deference, raised 
my dress and folded it back. He gazed for a long moment at my denuded cunny 
which was now in plain sight, and then, before I guessed his intention, 
leaned down and placed his mouth on it. 

Whether this was just a little frisking preparatory to an orthodox fuck I 
had no means of knowing at the moment, but in any event it was a pleasant 
variation, and I was agreeably surprised. I have been "Frenched" on a few 
occasions even before entering Madame Lafronde's bordello, and sometimes Mr. 
Hayden would tickle my clitoris with the tip of his tongue for a few moments 
when Hester and were with him. I was peculiarly sensitive to the caress and 
sometimes felt an inordinate longing for it, but with the exception of Mr. 
Hayden, none of my clients had ever taken the notion, and I, naturally, 
would never suggest it. 

Consequently, when I felt this man's mouth on my cunny, and perceived the 
play of his tongue over the sensitive parts, I shivered delightedly, my 
clitoris stiffened up, and I relaxed my body to better enjoy the enervating 
caress. 

It continued, actively, expertly. I felt my clitoris, now swollen and 
erected, clenched between his lips. A ravishing suction was being applied to 
it, and my sexual organism responded by throbbing excitedly with a mounting 
fever of lascivious ebullition. Heavens, it did feel good. If it were kept 
up a moment or two longer, something would surely happen. 

I tensed my body, lifted myself up slightly on my elbows, and glanced 
downward to my companion. Unobserved by me he had opened the front of his 
trousers, and was frigging himself violently. I sank back with a groan, my 
ovaries yielded to the intoxicating incitation, and in a second I was 
suspiring in the ecstasy of orgasm. 

No sooner had my sexual forces expended themselves than a feeling of 
revulsion came over me. I do not know to just what extent other women are 
similarly affected in this particular, but for several moments following 
ejaculation, the slightest touch upon my cunny causes me a disagreeable 
sensation. It passes quickly, but during those few moments I cannot stand 
even the softest touch or caress. As the last tremors of orgasm died away I 
put my hand on his head and gently but firmly pushed him away. 

Yielding to the gesture, he released my clitoris from between his clenched 
lips. His face slid down a little and his lips attached themselves to the 
flesh on the inside of one of my thighs just below my cunny. This did not 
bother me, though I expected a discoloration would result from the strong 
suction he applied to the flesh as he continued meanwhile to masturbate 
himself vigorously. 

The orgasm I had just experienced left me too languid to pay much attention 
to just what he was doing, though I was watching him through half-closed 
eyes. Suddenly, through his own lively handling, the jets of semen began 
streaking from his cock and flew all over my legs. And in the same moment, 
his teeth penetrated the flesh of my thigh where he had been sucking it. 

Between pain and surprise I let out a shriek and sprang from the bed in a 
single bound. With mixed emotions of fright and anger I looked at him, 
uncertain as to whether I should fly from the room or demand an explanation 
of his brutality. He was lying on the bed, gasping and weltering in his own 
pollution, seemingly indifferent to my outraged feelings. 

I raised my dress to examine the wound. It was less serious than I had first 
imagined, being quite superficial in character. He had bitten into a tiny 
fold of flesh, just deep enough to draw blood, which fact was attested to by 
several ruby drops which were slowly trickling down the inside of my thigh. 
When I saw that I was not wounded as badly as I had first supposed, anger 
dissipated fright, and I turned on him wrathfully. 

"What kind of a crazy fool are you, biting me like that?" 

He looked at me stupidly for a moment and then his gaze traveled downward to 
where the little red drops were visible between my legs. A look of 
contrition passed over his face. He flung himself at my feet, and clasping 
my knees to his breast, begged me piteously to forgive him. To my amazement 
his eyes were filled with tears. 

"But why did you do that to me?" I insisted reproachfully. 

"Sweet Princess," he moaned, "I did it unconsciously. 

Strike me, beat me, kick me, do what you will with me in punishment, but do 
not be angry with your slave!" 

What could one do with such a lunatic? 

"Well," I said, finally, "I'll forgive you, but don't ever do that again!" 

When he had departed I gazed wide-eyed at the material evidence of Madame 
Lafronde's sage philosophy, for without bothering to count them, he had 
flung upon my dresser a little sheaf of bank notes which totaled an amount 
in excess of anything I had previously received. 

After I had counted the money, I examined again the tiny laceration in the 
white flesh of my thigh. It had stopped bleeding and no longer pained. Money 
can indeed cure many ails and ills. It was an obsession the man was prey to, 
but lured on by the irresistible magic of gold, I risked further 
mistreatment and got it, and today, on the inner surfaces of my thighs just 
below my cunny, are several tiny white scars, each punctuating a moment of 
insanity during which the teeth of a sadist bit into my flesh while with his 
own hand he lashed his sexual fury into its final torment of expression. 

During the later period of my incarceration in the reformatory, and for over 
five months of the time I was on Madame Lafronde's staff, I had no word of 
my foster brother Rene. Letters sent to the last address he had given me in 
Canada came back unclaimed. His silence worried me greatly. I did not know 
but what some grave misfortune had overtaken him, but I suspected that, 
unable to send me any money, he was ashamed to write. 

While thinking about him one day I recalled that in our old neighborhood 
dwelt a boyfriend to whom Rene was greatly attached, and it occurred to me 
to write this boy, or young man as he now was, if still alive, on the chance 
that he might have had some news of Rene. 

I acted on this impulse, but the response, which came by return post was 
negative. He had not received any letters from Rene since the period which 
embraced that in which I had been in communication with him, and he likewise 
commented on the fact that a letter he had sent to the address last supplied 
him by Rene had come back to him unclaimed. Thus, my contentment and 
material success were marred by the preoccupation that something had 
happened to Rene, whose image was deeply impressed in my heart. 

Accustomed to sleep until around midday or later, I was surprised one 
morning to be aroused from my slumbers by Madame Lafronde at the unusual 
hour of nine. When I was sufficiently awake to sit up in bed and ask what 
was wanted, she rather grumpily informed me that there was a visitor waiting 
for me in the parlor. 

This was an unprecedented variation of the house regime, and I stared at her 
in surprise. 

"Who is it?" I asked wonderingly. 

"Don't sit there asking questions. Get up; comb your hair, put on a dressing 
gown and go downstairs." 

Plainly, Madame was not in the best of humor at having been obliged to get 
out of bed at this hour. There was something ominously mysterious about this 
matter. In my mind I endeavored to find an explanation. With chilling 
apprehension there came across my thoughts the suspicion that it was in some 
way connected with the reformatory. Maybe they had discovered how I was 
living and had come to get me! My face paled and I glanced toward Madame 
Lafronde. Her expression told me nothing. 

"Is there anything wrong?" I whispered. 

"You'll think there's something wrong if you ever have anyone call here 
again at this hour!" 

"But . . . " I protested, "I have never made any morning appointments with 
anyone!" 

"Oh, it's nothing serious. Here, slip this on," she answered, holding my 
dressing gown for me. "Tidy yourself a bit and hurry up so I can get back to 
sleep." 

Nervously, I tied my short curls with a ribbon, dabbed a little powder on my 
face and followed her downstairs where, after motioning toward the parlor, 
she left me and retired in the direction of her own sleeping quarters. 

Still wondering who in the world could have had the temerity to upset the 
house traditions by calling at this hour, I pushed aside the curtains and 
entered the room. 

Standing with his back toward me, looking out of the window, was the figure 
of a man I did not at first recognize. I approached hesitatingly, and as he 
heard my footsteps, he turned and faced me. 

For a moment I stood paralyzed, unable to move or utter a word. It was Rene. 

The letter I had written to his friend with seemingly fruitless results had 
in the end been the instrument of our reunion, for through the address I had 
given in the letter Rene had been able to locate me without loss of time or 
difficulty. 

He had come directly to the house, and Madame, on being informed that I was 
his sister, had consented to call me without delay. 

In a flash we were in each other's arms, both talking at once. For an hour I 
sat on his lap, listening to the story of his adventures and misadventures. 
Shamefacedly, he confessed that, as I had divined, a long period of 
hardship, during which he had suffered many vicissitudes and 
disappointments, had been the cause of his silence. 

"But, darling!" I interposed reproachfully, "I could have helped you so 
easily. I have lots of money saved, if I had only known how to reach you I 
could have sent you some!" 

Our conversation was interrupted by the maid, who had come in to clean the 
parlor. 

"Come on up to my room, darling, we can talk there, and I'll have the girl 
send us up some coffee and cakes!" 

With his arm about my waist we ascended the carpeted and padded stairs. 
Within my room I hastily gathered up such pieces of clothing as were lying 
carelessly about and straightened out my disordered bed while Rene gazed 
about in evident wonderment. 

"Gee, this is a regular palace you're in, Sis," he mused. "Just what kind of 
a place is it? That old dame wasn't going to let me see you until I told her 
you were my sister." 

"Oh, Rene, don't you know what kind of a place it is?" I asked, in surprise. 

"Well . . . I've got an idea. It's a kind of sporting house, isn't it?" 

"Yes, it is, Rene." 

"Gee, Sis, I'm sorry. I'll find some kind of work and get you out of it." 

"But I don't want to get out! I'm getting along fine; its easy, and I don't 
mind it at all! Really, I don't! Madame Lafronde is awfully good to me, 
Rene, and you'll be surprised when you see how much money I've got!" 

"It's supposed to be a tough life for a girl, but gee, Sis, you look 
absolutely topping. Word of honor," he added, standing in front of me and 
holding my arms, "you don't look a day older than you did when I went away. 
In fact. . . "he continued, eyeing me in a puzzled way, "you actually look 
younger!" 

I laughed contentedly as he continued to look at me, perplexed. 

"It's your hair, for one thing. Why did you cut it short? It's cute that 
way, but it makes you look like a kid!" 

"That's what it's supposed to do," I replied, giggling. "Some of our most 
valued patrons are freaks that can't get a hard-on unless they think they're 
fucking an infant. Look . . . "I added, raising the short crepe-de-chine 
slip I had on under my dressing gown so that he could see my hairless cunny, 
"more of my disguise!" 

"Gosh!" exclaimed Rene, breathing harder, "it gives me a funny feeling to 
see it like that, Sis! Reminds me of when it really was that way. But how 
did you get the hair off so smooth?" he continued, touching me gingerly with 
his fingers. 

"It's some paste I put on it. It makes the hair come out clear down to the 
roots. Do you like it that way?" I asked, eyeing him mischievously. "You 
used to think one wasn't much good until it had hair on it." 

"Gee, Sis, it looks good enough to eat! And your legs, why, Sis, you always 
did have pretty legs, but honest, they're perfect now; you're the 
best-looking girl I ever saw!" 

What feminine heart wouldn't have thrilled at such sincere tribute as this? 

"Oh, Rene, you old darling!" I murmured, half crying, half laughing as I put 
my arms around him and squeezed up to him. "I missed you so much! I never 
have had a fellow half as good as you! I've just lain awake nights 
remembering all the things we used to do! Sometimes when fellows were doing 
it to me I closed my eyes and made believe it was you, but nobody could ever 
make me feel the same as you did!" 

Against my stomach as I clung to him I could feel the warm pressure of 
something hard and rigid which was pulsing with enough vigor to make its 
movements perceptible through our respective clothing. I slipped my hand 
down inside the waistband of his trousers and sought out the disturbing 
element. A shiver passed through me as my fingers closed around the turgid 
object and a vertigo of longing which demanded immediate satisfaction 
overwhelmed me. 

"Oh, Rene, darling, it feels so good to have this in my hand again! I'll bet 
it's been up inside lots of girls since I had it last, though. Are those 
Canadian girls very pretty, Rene?" I asked, the eternal feminine rising to 
the surface as in my imagination I pictured Rene with other girls. 

"Some of them aren't so bad, but I never saw one that could hold a candle to 
you, Sis!" Rene replied uncomfortably. 

"Come on, Rene!" I panted, "let's do it quick! Nobody is up yet, but as soon 
as the girls are awake, I'll have to introduce you to them!" 

I flung myself on the bed, and in a jiffy the object for which I was 
palpitating with burning ardor was buried in my trembling flesh. With my 
arms entwined about Rene's neck I fluttered and moaned and received his 
thrusts in a regular frenzy of emotion. In it went, until I could feel his 
crisp hair pressed against my naked parts, and as if this penetration were 
not enough I hurled myself up against it and pressed with all my might so 
that it might reach the innermost depths of my being. Moaning, gasping, 
suspiring, and murmuring hysterical endearments, I clung to him, my arms 
clasped about his neck and my legs clenched over his strong back while my 
flanks quivered and strained to draw from his as quickly as possible the 
satisfying balm my body craved. 

Hardly had I recovered from my first orgasm when there was a discreet knock 
at the door. While Rene hastily buttoned up his clothing I took from the 
maid a tray with coffee and toast. My hands were still trembling from the 
recent exhilaration, and my face was flushed and hot. 

We lingered over our coffee for another hour, talking, laughing, reminding 
each other of little incidents which stood out prominently in our memories 
of the past. 

"Do you remember when that little Marshall girl's mother caught you trying 
to do it with her in the coal shed?" 

"I'll say I remember it! She gave me such a lacing with an old belt that I 
couldn't walk straight for a week. Do you remember how Mr. Peters used to 
send me out on fake errands so he could have you alone in the house and 
diddle you with his fingers?" 

And so, immersed in reminiscences of the past, some laughable, some 
pathetic, some tragic, the time flew by, and the sound of movement and 
conversation elsewhere in the house reminded me that it was high noon. 

"I'm going to call Hester to introduce you to her. She's the girl that was 
with me in that darned old reformatory. She's my best friend; if it hadn't 
been for her, I don't know what would have happened to me." 

I jumped up and went directly to Hester's room. Finding her awake and 
languidly engaged in combing her luxuriant hair I danced up to her. 

"Oh, Hester, I've got the grandest surprise for you! Powder your nose and 
come quick to my room. There's somebody there waiting to see you! It's my 
brother Rene, come back from Canada! He came at nine o'clock this morning 
and Lafronde woke me up! I bet you'll fall in love with him when you see 
him; he's the handsomest fellow you ever saw!" 

My excitement was contagious, and Hester rushed to make herself presentable. 
As soon as she was ready I led her to my room where Rene was waiting. 

"This is Hester, my very dearest friend, Rene. Next to you, I love her more 
than anyone in the world!" 

"Gee, I don't blame you for loving her, Sis!" exclaimed Rene, as he jumped 
to his feet and admiringly appraised Hester's dark beauty. "I could love her 
myself without half trying!" 

"Well," I said, judiciously, "she's the only girl in the world that would be 
good enough for you, and you're the only fellow in the world that would be 
good enough for her, so that leads to only one logical conclusion." 

Hester stayed with us until, despite my protestations to the contrary, she 
felt that we might wish to be alone, and with a promise to see Rene again 
before he left, she slipped out, closing the door behind her. 

Rene wished to leave around one-thirty, and anxious to be as close to him as 
possible during the remainder of his visit, I again sat on his lap. Before 
long, new temptation began to assail me. Tentatively, I felt around inside 
his clothing with my hand until I found what I was searching for. It 
stiffened out magically under my fingers. For a few minutes I squeezed it, 
thrilling to the quick transformation and the significant throbbing which my 
touch had evoked. 

"Once more . . . before you go?" I whispered, squeezing it tightly. 

"Just what I was thinking myself!" he answered huskily. "You lie underneath 
and let me get on top, like we used to do in the attic!" I suggested. "Suits 
me, absolutely." 

And this is how it happened that Hester, returning to bid Rene good-bye as 
she had promised, on opening the door was confronted by a most poetic sight. 

I, for greater freedom of movement, had thrown off the dressing gown and, 
crouched over Rene with my bottom in the air, was working frantically up and 
down on the pivotal point which projected from his middle. 

"T-a-a-h!" she gasped, ". . . I didn't think . . . excuse me . . . ! " and 
she closed the door and fled precipitately. 

"I forgot to lock the door!" I murmured, guiltily. 

"Not the first time, Sis!" he retorted. 

"Well, it doesn't make any difference here," I answered, resuming my efforts 
to attain the objective which had been uppermost in my mind up to the moment 
of interruption. 

After Nature had taken her pleasant and satisfying course and the inward 
fires which consumed me had again been temporarily lulled with a copious 
shower of masculine sperm, Rene departed. 

Hester had not returned, and so as soon as I had bidden him good-bye at the 
door, I returned to her room upstairs. 

"Jessie!" she exclaimed, "you could have knocked me down with a feather!" 

"Oh, that was nothing," I answered lightly, thinking she had reference to 
opening the door without knocking. "It didn't startle your modesty, did it?" 

"But . . . but . . . your own brother!" she whispered, in low, shocked 
tones. 

For a moment I failed to grasp the import of her words. When comprehension 
dawned on me, I burst into laughter. 

"Didn't you know, ha! ha! ha! Didn't I tell you, Rene isn't my real brother, 
he isn't any blood relation to me at all, he's only a stepbrother!" 

A look of relief passed over Hester's face. 

"Jesse, no! You never told me that before! You used to talk about him in the 
reformatory, but you never said he wasn't your real brother. Gosh! I never 
was so surprised in all my life as when I opened that door and saw you on 
top of him, naked! I could hardly believe my eyes!" 

"We were just renewing an old love affair that started when he was eight and 
I was six!" I answered, laughing. "What did you think of him?" 

"Well," she replied, smiling, "let's go downstairs right now and tell 
Lafronde that we've just discovered we're lost sisters, so the next time he 
comes, he can be a brother to both of us!" 

 CHAPTER TEN 

The days slipped into weeks, the weeks imperceptibly, into months, and 
almost before I realized it, a year had gone by. Barring the few 
disagreeable incidents of a minor nature such as those I have described, the 
time had been passed on the whole both pleasantly and profitably. 

Miraculously, I had escaped all three of the afflictions whose menacing 
shadows are ever close at the heels of those who traffic with their sexual 
favors: syphilis, gonorrhea and pregnancy, the Three Horsemen of the 
Prostitute's Apocalypse. 

My health was good, and I had gained in weight, having added several pounds 
of flesh which improved my figure even though at the cost of some of the 
juvenile slimness which in the beginning had been such a valuable asset. 
Nevertheless, I had for some time been observing a gradual change in my 
physical orgasm which was becoming more and more pronounced, and the 
condition was one which is not common in the walk of life I frequented. 

I will speak plainly. Sexual sensibility, which is that capacity to respond 
easily and actively to erotic excitation, diminishes rapidly in the majority 
of professional prostitutes who are obliged to exercise their sexual 
functions with a frequency far in excess of the provisions of Nature. The 
sexual act becomes a mere routine in which pleasure or orgasm is only 
simulated to satisfy the customer's ego. 

They moan and sigh and murmur passionate endearments, but if their minds 
could be read, the hollow mockery would be apparent, for one thought only 
occupies them: a wish to be finished and rid of the man as quickly as 
possible. 

This is the rule which should have applied to me, but didn't. 

Desires which should have been appeased by all too frequent gratification 
were quieted but for a moment, and almost at once flamed anew with increased 
insistence. And the tendency was growing. Strange as it may seem, sometimes 
after having had orgasm effected as many as half a dozen times in a single 
afternoon and evening, I was obliged to masturbate before being able to 
sleep. Pathologically and physically, I was oversexed, designed, seemingly, 
by Mother Nature herself, to be a whore. 

Now in this propitious moment there entered into the horizon of my life, for 
the first time, a really sinister influence. And though in that influence I 
myself sensed a spirit of perversity, I was drawn toward it like a moth to 
the candle. Knowing that the destiny it signified was evil, I had no wish to 
resist it. 

Montague Austin-what memories that name evokes. Memories of passion, 
cruelty, horror, blended with the cloying and intoxicating poison of a 
transcendental lust which knew no law other than that of gratifying its own 
frenzy. 

I was supposed to have been infatuated with the man, but I never loved him, 
nor thought I did. No, I did not love him, but I did love the mad 
transports, the exquisite torment of lust which he, as no other man before 
or since, had the power to awaken in me. As an addict to the scented dreams 
of opium, so did I become an addict to 

Montague Austin. He was to me a fatal drug which held me a willing victim in 
its embrace. 

For the first time, in broaching the subject cf a new patron to me, Madame 
Lafronde manifested a doubt as to the expediency of putting my youth and 
inexperience to the test which she clearly thought an alliance with Montague 
Austin would signify. 

I had seen the man but once; he was not a regular habituate of Madame 
Lafronde's house, but her facilities for gathering information were such 
that within less than twenty-four hours his social position, resources, and 
such portions of his history as were available on such inquiry were known to 
her. All the information, excepting that which related to his economic 
situation, was unfavorable. She summed up her opinion in the one expressive 
word-rotter. But he had money, and money covers an otherwise inexcusable 
number of objectionable qualities. Possibly by the exercise of tact and 
vigilance I could handle him. 

As for myself, was the last person in the world to doubt my own 
capabilities, so Madame Lafronde finally and with patent misgivings, yielded 
to my complacent and optimistic self-assurance. 

Now let us glance briefly at the man himself. 

He was, at the time our paths crossed, thirty-four years of age. The younger 
son of a titled British aristocrat, he had inherited both money and social 
position. The social position had been forfeited by dissolute escapades, the 
money dissipated in part, but enough remained to qualify him still as a rich 
man. He was married, but according to rumor his profligate ways had brought 
about an irreconcilable estrangement with his consort. 

At first glance one would have marked Montague Austin as an extremely 
good-looking man. But a less cursory observation would not have failed to 
disclose signs of a cynical and somewhat cruel character in his darkly 
handsome face and narrow mouth. A little above average height and signally 
favored with regard to other physical characteristics, he was in truth a 
figure to intrigue feminine imagination. 

In my brocade jacket, high-heeled slippers, and with my grenadier's cap 
tilted at a jaunty angle I was going through my customary antics one night 
when I suddenly felt myself clasped from behind, and turning, looked into 
the cynically smiling face of a man I had not previously seen among our 
parlor guests. I paused, waiting for him to release me, but instead, he 
swung me around, dropped an arm under my hips, and hoisted me, cigarette 
tray and all, into the air. 

"There is a tide in the affairs of men," he quoted, "which, taken at the 
flood, leads on to fortune. Baby, you're my tidal wave, the one I've been 
waiting for all my life!" 

He got off this declaration with such well-simulated solemnity and 
impressiveness that all within hearing laughed, nor could I myself restrain 
a smile. 

"I think you're the tidal wave," I retorted, "since I find myself quite 
swept off my feet. If you'll be so kind as to set me down, maybe I'll let 
you buy a packet of fags from me!" 

"Lord love me!" he exclaimed tragically, "she peddles fags while Rome is 
burning! I perish for a kiss, and she offers nicotine!" 

"Oh, all right!" I giggled, and kissed him lightly on the cheek. "Now be a 
nice man and let me down!" 

He set me down on the floor, but still held me a prisoner with an arm under 
mine. 

Yielding to his solicitation I unhooked the cigarette tray, placed it on a 
table, accompanied him to a secluded comer of the room, and let him take me 
upon his knee. 

Dropping his bantering attitude he immediately became serious and asked for 
a room appointment. A shiver passed over me as his fingers boldly played 
with the nipples of my breasts. I glanced into his eyes but hastily lowered 
my gaze as something of the lustful obsession which was later to dominate me 
came into being. Sensing the absurdity of telling this man any fairy 
stories, I explained frankly that I was not permitted to make any 
appointments except through the intervention of Madame Lafronde. 

"Ah, I see," he answered, taking in the situation instantly, "you're a 
special attraction. So much the better, I'll see her immediately, and I 
suppose there's no use of taking up any of your time until I do." 

"Any of the other girls can make room appointments." I preferred. 

"Thanks for the information," he answered dryly, "but you've wrecked their 
chances. I couldn't even get a hard-on with any of them now." 

"I've got a friend here," I murmured, looking around for Hester. "That's her 
over there by the door, the girl with the dark hair. She can give any man a 
hard-on. Shall I introduce you to her?" 

"No thanks," he answered with but a brief glance in the direction I had 
indicated. "It's you or nobody now. When can I talk to your madame?" 

"I'll tell her you want to speak to her, but I'm afraid it won't do any 
good." 

"Possibly she can be persuaded. What's your name, baby?" 

"Jessie," I replied. 

"That's a nice name. Mine is Austin, Montague Austin, Monty to you. Skip 
along and tell the old lady I want to speak to her privately." 

The result of his interview with Madame Lafronde I have already made known. 
Inasmuch as I had now become quite a parlor attraction, having in addition 
to my earlier accomplishments learned a number of naughty songs and 
suggestive dances, she was loathe to concede any of the earlier hours of the 
night, but an understanding was reached where Montague Austin, or Monty as I 
shall henceforth refer to him, was to enjoy exclusive prerogatives over my 
person one night each week after the hour of twelve. 

A feeling of lascivious exhilaration was welling within me as I groomed 
myself for our first rendezvous. I had lately noticed that the craving for 
more frequently repeated orgasm was growing on me. It seemed that no matter 
how often I had it, the longing was never completely satisfied. Even the two 
or three patrons I had who were sexually potent now left me with the 
irritated feelings of a woman whose passions have been inflamed and then 
abandoned in a smoldering state. 

The effeminate Wainwright, who still came regularly, caused me almost 
frantic torture with his licking, and sucking, and despite the preoccupation 
and the watchfulness I was obliged to observe to keep him from biting my 
legs, he left me in such a state that I nearly always masturbated as soon as 
he had gone. 

It was a little after eleven-thirty. I had slipped out of the parlor, 
abandoning for the night my role of cigarette girl, and was making my 
toilette, preparatory to Mr. Austin's promised call. 

"How nice it would be," I thought, as I fluffed violet talc over my body, 
"if this Austin would suck me French style and then fuck me about three 
times afterwards." My nerves tingled at the luscious vision thus evoked and 
a warm feeling crept through my body. The little scarlet tips of my bubbies 
swelled up and in the upper part of my cunny I could feel something else 
getting hard, too. 

A few moments after twelve there was a discreet knock at my door and the 
maid appeared, inquiring whether I was ready to receive Mr. Austin. At this 
moment I was standing before the mirror considering the dress I had 
tentatively chosen for the occasion, having yielded to an impulse to use one 
of the short black silk frocks which Daddy Heeley had bought me. Just why it 
had occurred to me to put on this juvenile costume on the present occasion I 
could not say; some vague intuition probably, but as it turned out, a 
fortunate one as far as the effect on my new patron was concerned, though 
until the arrival of the maid I was still debating, undecided whether to 
wear it or change to something else more in keeping with the circumstances. 

"All right, Maggie," I answered, "you may bring him up." 

I tied my short curls back in a cluster with a band of ribbon, sprayed them 
lightly with my favorite perfume, and was just adding a final touch of 
powder to my face when footsteps at the door announced the presence of my 
caller. 

The door opened to admit him, closed again, and the steps of the maid 
receded down the hallway. 

Mr. Austin paused in evident surprise as he took in the scene which 
confronted him, then his face lit up approvingly. 

"Are you the same girl I was talking to downstairs last night?" 

"You mean that bold little hussy who runs around with a cigarette tray, 
showing her legs to everyone?" I answered jocularly. "No, I'm her twin 
sister. She's off tonight, and asked me to entertain you in her place." 

"Well! I'm quite pleased with the substitution. You're much more attractive 
than your twin sister!" 

"I'm glad you're not disappointed, Mr. Austin!" 

"Not Mr. Austin; just Monty from now on, if you please!" 

"Very well, Mr. Austin . . . I mean . . . Monty!" I agreed demurely. 

After a brief exchange of pleasantries Mr. Austin proved again, as he had 
done previously, that he was a man who went promptly and without any 
unnecessary circumlocutions after whatever he wanted. With just the same 
directness as that employed to overcome Madame Lafronde's reluctance, he 
proceeded to take immediate advantage of the opportunity which was now his. 

Abruptly he gathered me up in his arms and carried me to the bed. Seating 
himself on the edge he bent over me and his hand began to rummage under my 
clothing. With just the proper simultation of embarrassment I offered to 
undress. 

"Not yet," he answered, "you're too pretty a picture just as you are." But a 
moment later his questing hand encountered panties which, if not exactly 
finger-proof, were at least something of an obstacle to easy exploration. He 
fumbled with them for a moment, then flipped my dress up and on his own 
initiative set about to unfasten and remove the panties. 

I laughed nervously as he pulled them down over my legs. Already I was on 
fire. My sensibilities were reacting to the brutally frank sexual influence 
which the man exerted, and covertly I glanced toward his lap. The cloth down 
the inside of one of his trouser legs was distended over an elongated 
swelling. It looked enormous. As though drawn by some inner force I placed 
my hand upon it. It throbbed to my touch and I squeezed it through the 
clothing which concealed it. 

Whether the thoughts that occupied my mind while I had been preparing for 
his visit were due to a premonition or mere coincidence I cannot say, but 
the wish I had expressed in thought was converted into a reality. 

My dress was up, my cambric panties had been pulled down over my legs and 
cast aside. 

Monty, on the side of the bed, leaning over my knees and supporting his 
weight on a hand which rested on the bed between my open legs had caught his 
first glimpse of my naked cunny. His eyes glistened and a faint flush crept 
over his cheeks. With one sudden movement his face was between my thighs and 
his mouth nuzzling my cunny. A warm, soft tongue penetrated it, tapping, 
touching, caressing, and then moved upward. The hot glow of the caress 
thrilled my senses and I relaxed in languorous abandon to the delicious 
ravishment. 

His lips clenched my clitoris; it pulsed in response to the tugging 
incitation so vigorously that I was obliged to draw away to avoid orgasm 
then and mere. I was torn between two impulses; I wanted to let it "come" 
and at the same time I wanted the delightful ecstasy to last as long as 
possible. 

The problem was not resolved by me, however, but by Monty, who raised up, 
ripped his trousers open and sprang upon the bed between my trembling legs. 

Hard, rigid and hot I could feel it in there, distending my flesh to the 
limit of endurance, inspiring me with a wild desire to work on it rapidly, 
violently, until it poured out the balm which the fever within me craved. 
For an interval he remained poised above me, motionless, looking down into 
my face. His body did not move but within me I could feel the muscular 
contractions of the turgid thing which penetrated me. They followed each 
other with regular precision and each time I perceived that tantalizing 
twitch my ovaries threatened to release their own flood of pleasure tears. 

"Oh!" I moaned finally, and unable to resist the urge, moved my hips in 
pleading incitation. "You've got me in such a state! Please do something!" 

"All right! Come on!" 

And in a second that rigid shaft was plunging in and out in a mad dance of 
lust. 

"Oh! Oh! Oh!" I gasped, and as though incited by my fervor, the turgid arm 
drove home in shorter, harder strokes. 

Higher and higher mounted the swirling tides, lifting me upon their crest, 
no longer resisting, but an eager, willing sacrifice, panting to yield up 
the store of passion with which I was surcharged. 

I perceived the approach of the crisis, that delicious prelude in which one 
trembles on the brink of ecstasy, in which the senses seem to hesitate for 
one sweet moment before the breathless plunge. 

And in that critical moment the throbbing weapon which was working such 
havoc within my body suddenly ceased its movement and was held in rigid 
inactivity. 

Above me I saw a face which smiled sardonically down into mine and vaguely I 
comprehended that he had stopped his movements with the deliberate intention 
of forestalling my orgasm in the last moment. But he had stopped too late, 
the tide had risen too high to recede and with but a momentary hesitation, 
it swept onward and carried me, gasping, writhing and swooning in its 
embrace. 

When the languid spell which always overcomes me after a hard orgasm had 
passed, I found him still crouched above me and his cock, as stiff and rigid 
as it had been at first, still inside me. 

"Why did you stop just as I was coming?" I complained weakly. "You nearly 
made it go back on me!" 

"That's what I was trying to do," he replied cynically, "but you put it over 
anyway. You know the old saying, baby, you can't eat your cake and have it, 
too. I like to enjoy the cake awhile before eating it." 

"That's all very well," I rejoined, "but when there's plenty more cake in 
the pantry, there's no use being stingy with it." 

"So!" he said, smiling, "there's plenty more in the pantry, is there? I'm 
glad to hear it. But tell me this, does the second piece ever taste as good 
as the first?" 

"And how!" I exclaimed fervently. "The second piece tastes better than the 
first, and the third better than the second. The more I eat, the better I 
like it!" 

He burst into laughter. 

"You sound like you really mean it. I'd imagine that after a few months in a 
place like this you'd be so fed up on cake it would almost choke you. You're 
a cute youngster. 

You're wasting your talents here. What's the story? Innocence and 
inexperience taken advantage of by some bounder, I suppose?" he added 
quizzically. 

"I'm here for two reasons," I answered calmly. "The first one is to earn 
money and the second one is because I like to do what I have to do to earn 
it." 

"Well, bless my soul!" he gasped. "What refreshing frankness! And you really 
weren't seduced by a villain?" 

"Seduced, nothing! I was the one that did the seducing." 

"Good for you! You're a girl after my own heart! You and I are going to get 
along famously, Tessie!" 

"Not Tessie . . . Jessie!" 

"Ah, yes; Jessie. Pardon me. Well, since you really like cake, how about 
another piece." 

"I'm ready whenever you are!" 

"What do you say we get undressed, and really make a night of it? I didn't 
expect to stay all night, but I've changed my mind." 

"That suits me, Mr. Austin. I'm yours . . . till tomorrow do us part!" 

"Not Mr. Austin . . . Monty, if you please." 

"All right . . . Monty!" I repeated, giggling. 

Whereupon we untangled our respective anatomies, scrambled off the bed, and 
proceeded to disrobe. 

That is, Monty stripped, but when I had gotten down to my hose and slippers 
he suggested that I retain these last articles of apparel for the moment. 
Odd, I thought, how so many men who get pleasure from the sight of a girl's 
otherwise naked body were so alike in preferring that she keep on the hose 
and slippers, and I murmured something to this effect to my new playmate. 

"Very easily explained, my dear little girl," he replied. "Complete nudity 
may be as suggestive of cold chastity as obscenity, whereas, nudity 
supplemented by a pretty pair of silk clad legs and neat slippers is the 
perfectly balanced picture of esthetic lewdness." 

"But suppose one's legs and feet are pretty enough to look good without 
stockings? Everybody says have pretty legs!" 

"It's not a question of beauty, but of eroticism. I'll make a clearer 
illustration. Suppose we take two girls, each equally pretty. One of them 
stands before us entirely naked. The other is dressed, but she raises her 
dress and holds it up so we can see her pussy. Which of the two is the most 
exciting sexually?" 

"The one holding up her dress," I answered without hesitation. 

"Right. And that's the answer to your question. You look naughtier with your 
hose and slippers than you would completely nude." 

My attention was now distracted from the matter of my own nudity to that of 
my companion. His body was well formed and in admirable athletic trim. 
Smooth, round muscles rippled under the clear white skin, a pleasing 
contrast indeed to some of my other paunchy, flabby patrons. But most 
impressive of all was the rigid weapon which, during the conversation and 
undressing, continued to maintain its virile integrity, standing out 
straight and proud from his middle. I glanced at it admiringly. 

"How did you ever get that big thing into me without hurting me?" I 
commented, as I considered its formidable proportions. 

"It carries its own anesthetic, baby." 

"It looks strong enough to hold me up without bending." 

"Baby, it's invincible. I could put you on it and whirl you around like a 
pin wheel." 

"I'll take the starch out of it and make it melt down fast enough." 

"That's a big order. You may lose a lot of starch yourself trying." 

"Ha!" I scoffed, "I wager it will be curled up fast asleep in an hour's 
time." 

A prediction which, as things transpired, turned out to be about one hundred 
percent wrong. 

I returned to the bed and Monty, following me, placed himself on his knees 
between my outstretched legs. Gripping the cheeks of my bottom in his strong 
hands as he sank down upon me, he pushed home the lethal shaft. 

Our previous encounter had hardly more than whetted my appetite, so, as soon 
as I felt his cock well inside, I raised my legs, hooked them over his back, 
and without loss of time began to work against him. Apparently satisfied 
with my initiative, he remained still and let me proceed unhindered. 

Grinding my loins against him I could feel his pubic hair compressed against 
my cunny. Moving my bottom from side to side, then shifting into undulating, 
circular movements, I sought to capture a second installment of the cloying 
sweetness with which Mother Nature rewards the efforts of those who labor 
diligently in her garden. 

The first warning of the approaching crisis was manifested by the muscular 
quivering of my thighs, and Monty, still squeezing the cheeks of my bottom, 
commenced to raise and lower himself upon me with slow, deliberate thrusts. 
Now the length of the hot thing was entirely buried within me, distending my 
flesh to the utmost; I could feel it pressing my womb. Now, it was coming 
out, slowly, slowly, out until naught but the very tip lay cuddled against 
the quivering lips of my cunny. 

A pause, a teasing agony of expectation, and it was going in again, in, in, 
until the crisp hair at the base was again pressed against my clitoris. 
Orgasm was creeping upon me, I could feel it coming, and in a frenzy of 
impatience, I launched my hips upward to meet the thrusts, but, instead of 
continuing its trajectory, it remained poised midway in its course. My 
orgasm was trembling in the balance. In desperation I brought it to its 
fulfillment with a supreme effort and fell back, half fainting. 

"What is that, Mister, a system?" I panted when I could speak. "You played 
that same trick on me the other time!" 

An hour later the suspicion was beginning to dawn on me that, in the realms 
of erotic prowess, I had met my master. Two hours later, I knew it for a 
certainty. I had experienced nearly a dozen orgasms while my partner's cock 
was still stiff and rigid as it had been at the start. On each occasion he 
had succeeded in making me have an ejaculation without himself rendering any 
accounting to Nature. It lacked but a few minutes to three. 

"You look a bit fagged, baby," he said smiling quizzically. "Think you can 
stand one more piece of cake?" 

"Yes!" I replied valiantly, although in truth I was beginning to feel like a 
squeezed-out sponge. For once in my life I had about had my fill. 

This time he rolled me over on my side and with his stomach against my back 
and his legs pressed against mine, he put it into me from behind, spoon 
fashion. 

I thought to turn the tables on him and, by lying perfectly still, oblige 
him to work himself into a spending heat. But it was unnecessary. He was 
done playing with me and went right to work on his own accord. Before long 
the pressure of his arms tightened about me and I tensed by body against the 
harder plunges as a hot flood was loosed inside me with such force that I 
could distinguish each separate gush as it flung itself against my womb. 

I held rigid for a moment in my determination not to let myself go, but the 
feel of that hot stuff spurting inside me worked havoc with my intentions 
and about the time the fourth or fifth jet hit me, the brake slipped and I 
was off again! 

The aftermath of this last orgasm was a feeling of extreme lassitude and I 
was entirely agreeable when my companion, having apparently no further 
immediate designs upon my person, suggested that we turn out the light and 
sleep. I dragged myself from the bed, attended to the customary hygienic 
requirements, divested myself of my slippers, and hose, put on a silk shift, 
slipped back into bed beside him, and in probably less than ten minutes was 
deep in sleep. 

 CHAPTER ELEVEN 

I slept profoundly, dreamlessly, but not for long. 

Something was pressing against my face, brushing my lips, with an irritating 
persistence which defied my mechanical, sleep-drugged efforts to shake away. 
I endeavored to turn my face on the pillow away from it, and the knowledge 
that it was imprisoned so I could not turn it gradually crystallized in my 
mind. 

As one coming out of a bad dream tries to dispel the lingering shadows, so 
did I try to free myself of something which seemed to be oppressing me, 
weighting me down, hindering my movements. I could not do it, and awoke to 
complete consciousness with a frightened start. 

In the dim light which filtered through the curtains from the street 
illumination was revealed the fact that my erstwhile sleeping companion was 
now straddled over me, a knee on either side of my body. His hands were 
under my head, which he had raised slightly, and against my lips, punching, 
prodding, trying to effect an entrance, was that invincible cock. 

I struggled to raise my arms to push him away, and at the same time tried to 
twist my head sidewise. I could do neither. My arms were pinioned down by 
his knees, and his hands prevented me from moving my head. At my movements 
their pressure tightened, a sinister reminder of my helplessness. 

Of course I realized what he was doing. He was trying to fuck me in the 
mouth, something I had never permitted any man to do. 

In prostitution, just as in other circles of life, there are social 
distinctions. The cocksucker is at the low end of the scale and is looked 
down upon with considerable scorn by those of her sisters who have not yet 
descended to this level. If among the entertainers in a high-class bordello 
one is discovered to be guilty of accommodating patrons with her mouth she 
not only loses caste but stands convicted of "unfair" practice which makes 
it difficult for other girls to compete with her without also resorting to 
the same procedure. 

This does not, of course, apply to those places known as French houses where 
cocksucking is the accepted practice, or to other places of a low and 
degenerate character wherein nothing is too debasing to be frowned upon. 

These, together with the fact that I was both sleepy and exhausted sexually, 
were the considerations which inspired my efforts to escape the inverted 
caress which now threatened me rather than those of a strictly moral nature. 
The man appealed to me greatly in a physical way; I had reacted to his 
sexual advances with more passion and enjoyment than I had done before with 
any other patron. Had he endeavored earlier in the night to seduce me, with 
a little gallantry and coaxing, into sucking his cock, I might, under the 
influence of my exhalted passions, have yielded. But I have always been 
quick to resent anything smacking of impudence or effrontery and, as I have 
mentioned, I wanted at that moment but to be permitted to sleep undisturbed. 

"I won't do that!" I hissed angrily, as I struggled to free myself from his 
embraces. 

"Oh yes you will, baby!" was the confident and surprising rejoinder. 

His legs pressed tighter against my sides, constricting my arms so that I 
could not move them. He lifted my head higher. The end of his cock, with the 
foreskin drawn back, was right against my mouth. 

"You . . . you . . . " I gasped, inarticulate with rage, as I was forced to 
clench my teeth to keep out the invader. 

"Open your mouth, baby!" he ordered coolly, and gave my head a shake to 
emphasize his words. 

When I comprehended that my wishes were to be ignored and that my efforts to 
dislodge him were useless, full rage took possession of me. For a moment I 
was on the point of screaming, but sudden recollection of the penalty 
exacted of girls who permitted scandals or disturbances to arise in their 
rooms at night stifled the cry in its inception. 

We were expected, and presumed to be qualified, to meet unusual situations 
and resolve them with tact and discretion. Nocturnal disorders were 
unpardonable calamities and justified by nothing short of attempted murder. 

"Open your mouth, baby!" he repeated, and shook my head again, this time 
with more force. 

"All right!" I hissed, "you asked for it!" 

I opened my mouth. His cock pushed in immediately, and as it did so I sank 
my teeth into it. The intent was vicious enough, but the tough, resilient 
flesh resisted any actual laceration. Nevertheless, the pain inflicted by my 
small, sharp teeth must have been considerable. 

He jerked it out of my mouth and simultaneously, withdrawing one of his 
hands from under my head, he dealt me a stinging blow on the side of the 
face with his open palm. 

"Open your mouth, baby!" he repeated, undaunted, "and if you bite me again 
I'll knock you unconscious!" 

The tears started to my eyes. 

"Damn you . . . ! " I choked. "I'll . . . I'll . . . " 

The hands subjecting my head were again holding it in a viselike grip. His 
thumbs were pressing into my cheeks, against the comers of my mouth, forcing 
it open. 

There was nothing to do but yield or scream such an alarm as would arouse 
the entire household. 

I chose the more discreet course and, though almost suffocated with rage, 
opened my mouth in surrender to the assault which was being launched upon 
it. The big, plum-shaped head slipped in, filling the cavity with its 
throbbing bulk. 

For a moment I tried to keep my tongue away from it, but there was no space 
in which to hide. His cock was so big I had to open my jaws to their widest, 
and my lips were stretched in a round, tight ring. 

Further resistance was futile and anymore biting would bring a swift 
retaliation. So, still boiling inwardly, I relaxed, and let him go ahead. 

A faintly pungent taste filled my mouth; the head of his cock, from which I 
could not keep my tongue, was wet and slippery. Every few seconds it jerked 
convulsively, forcing my jaws further apart. Pretty soon he began to move 
it, a short in and out movement. The foreskin closed over it as it receded, 
leaving only the tip inside my mouth, allowing me to relax my distended jaws 
momentarily. As it went in, the foreskin slipped back and the naked head 
filled my mouth again, forcing my jaws apart. 

This went on for several minutes, and all the time he held my head with his 
hands. His cock seemed to be getting wetter but whether from its own dew or 
the saliva of my mouth I did not know. wanted to spit, but he would not 
release me and I was obliged to swallow the excess moisture. 

Finally, with the head just inside my lips, he paused, and after holding it 
still for a few moments, shook my face and whispered: 

"Come on, baby! What's the matter with you? Are you going to suck it, or do 
I have to get rough again?" 

I knew nothing of the exact technique of this business, though of course the 
very title by which the art was known indicated that sucking was in order. 
Choking, gulping, I tried to suck as it advanced into my mouth. Taking 
cognizance of my awkward efforts he paused again, and as though for the 
first time taking into account the possibility that I was in truth a rank 
novice, queried: 

"What's the matter with you? Haven't you really done this before?" 

Mutely, I managed to convey a negative by shaking my head. 

"Lord love me!" he ejaculated, and then in slightly apologetic tones, "I 
shouldn't have been so rough. I thought you were just stalling, my dear! 
However, it's something every young girl should know, and I'm glad to have 
the opportunity to be your teacher. Now listen: don't try to strangle 
yourself! You can't suck while the whole thing is inside! Wait . . . " 

He withdrew it until just the head was encircled by my lips. 

"Now suck while it's like that, and run your tongue over it!" 

"Well," I thought in disgusted resignation "the sooner finished the better," 
and submissively I followed his indications. Vigorously, if not 
enthusiastically, I sucked the big round knob and rolled my tongue over its 
slippery surface. 

"That's the way, baby!" he whispered tensely after a few moments. "That's 
great! Now . . . hold everything!" 

And while I remained passive, he worked in and out in short, quick thrusts. 
Thus, alternating from one to the other, sucking one moment, submitting to 
having it rammed down my throat the next, my first lesson in cocksucking 
continued. 

I was still filled with resentment, but the first fury of anger had spent 
itself, and my thoughts were now concentrated on bringing the ordeal to a 
conclusion as quickly as possible. To this end I now tried to make the 
caress as exciting and fulminating as I could. I sucked the throbbing glans, 
curled my tongue around it, licking, sucking coaxing . . . and the effect 
upon my companion was soon apparent. He groaned with ecstasy and from time 
to time jerked away from me so that the sensitive glans receded within the 
shelter of its elastic covering of flesh. 

Perceiving that this maneuver was designed to delay an orgasm, I redoubled 
my efforts and when he again tried to withdraw I followed him by raising my 
head and with my lips firmly compressed around the neck of the palpitating 
knob, I sucked and licked without pausing. 

The muscles of his thighs and legs, pressing against my sides, were 
quivering. Suddenly he withdrew his right hand from under my head and 
twisting sidewise reached behind him, groping with his fingers for my cunny. 
This was insult added to injury in my estimation and I tried to clench my 
legs against the invading hand. The effort was useless; he forced it between 
my legs and with the tips of his fore and index fingers he found my clitoris 
and began to titillate it. 

Now began a new conflict. With every atom of mental influence I could bring 
to bear I tried to force that little nerve to ignore the incitation, to 
remain impassive to the friction which was being applied to it, to stay 
inert and lifeless. 

I may as well have tried to stay the tides of the sea in their course. The 
traitorous, disloyal little thing cared not a whit for my humiliation and 
refused to heed the mental commands I was hurling at it. Despite the fact 
that it should have been as sleepy as I had been, it came almost instantly 
awake, hardened, and stood up stiffly. 

He rubbed it in a peculiarly maddening way, a soft, twirling movement with 
the erected button lightly compressed between the tips of his two fingers. 
The little thrills began to generate, and communicated themselves to the 
surrounding area, up into my ovaries, down, seemingly into the very marrow 
of the bones in my thighs and legs. 

Why say more? There was only one possible ending. 

When the ultimate capacity of resistance was reached and passed, and in the 
very moment in which my organism was yielding to the diabolical incitation, 
my tormentor, waiting apparently for this precise moment, loosed within my 
mouth a flood of hot sperm. I choked, gurgling and gasping, as part of it 
gushed down my throat and the rest, escaping my lips, ran in hot, sticky 
rivulets down the sides of my cheeks, over my chin . . . 

No sooner had the torrent subsided than he flung himself from me and lay 
panting on the bed by my side. 

With the viscid stuff still dripping from my lips and its peculiar starchy 
flavor filling my mouth, I sprang from the bed and fled precipitately to the 
bathroom. First with water, then with tooth powder and brush and finally 
with repeated rinsings I endeavored to purify my mouth. 

When this was accomplished I went back into the room, turned on the light, 
and flung myself into a chair where, for a few moments I sat silently 
glaring at my tormentor who, with drowsy indifference, contemplated me 
through half-closed eyes. 

"Well," I said frigidly, breaking the silence. "Aren't you going to 
congratulate me on my graduation into the cocksucking class?" 

He smiled dryly. 

"Regular little powder magazine, aren't you, baby? Come on, kid, don't be a 
spoilsport. I'll admit I was a little rough, but that was a keen nip you 
gave me. I'll make things right with you. I like you, baby, you've shown me 
the best time I've had in a long while, and I'm not pulling your leg, 
either." 

"A nice time you showed me," I observed bitterly, "trying to fuck me in the 
mouth while I was asleep and nearly choking me to death. You know girls 
aren't supposed to do that! Why don't you go to a French house?" 

This plaint seemed to afford him considerable amusement. He sat up in bed, 
laughing. 

"Don't rate me so low socially, baby! I'm a sort of high-class chap with 
ecstatic inclinations!" 

"I see; a special honor conferred on me. Quite a distinction, I must say." 

"Ha, ha, ha! Forgive me, baby. Word of honor, I'll behave quite properly in 
the future. Anyway, it wasn't so terrible, was it? Listen, I'll tell you a 
funny story. There was a young French girl just married and her mother was 
giving her some confidential advice. 'Daughter,' she said, 'the ultimate 
object of marriage is to have babies. Without the little dears no home is 
complete. However, the bearing and rearing of children is a confining task 
which imposes arduous and continuous obligations. It is my advise to you, 
daughter, that you do not have any babies during the first two or three 
years. You will then, in after life, not be deprived of the memories of a 
few years of happiness and freedom from care to which youth is justly 
entitled.' 'Ah, mother dear,' answered the blushing maiden, 'you need 
preoccupy yourself no further on that score, I shall never have any babies!' 

'Never?' gasped the mother, 'why do you say that you will never have any 
babies, darling?' 'Oh, mother,' answered the girl, hiding her blushing face 
in the maternal bosom, 'I shall never have any babies because I simply can't 
force myself to swallow the horrid stuff! I always have to spit it out!' " 

"And, so what?" I asked caustically, refusing to unbend at the ridiculous 
story. 

"Don't you see, ha, ha, ha, don't you get the point? She didn't even know 
there was any other way of doing it. She thought she had to swallow the 
stuff to get a baby!" 

Despite my efforts to remain haughty, my better humor was returning. I have 
always been like that, quick to anger, quick to forget. There was something 
about this man which was irresistible. Even his impudence had a saving 
grace, aningenuous, disarming quality. Only the memory of the slap he had 
given me remained to irritate me. He sat there in bed, smiling, a sheet 
draped carelessly about him, half-concealing, half-revealing the smooth 
white muscles of his torso. His hair in its ruffled disorder gave him a 
boyish aspect, throwing a well-formed white forehead into relief against the 
background of bluish-black curls. 

After all, what harm had really been done? And, I suddenly recalled, had he 
not earlier in the night given me a most delightful ten minutes by putting 
his tongue in my cunny? The service he had required of me was no less 
intimate. I shivered involuntarily at the recollection of the short but 
delicious episode. The last remnants of my resentment faded away. I began to 
feel slightly ashamed of myself for having made such a commotion. 

"Still peeved at me, baby?" he inquired quizzically. 

"No," I answered, my lips twitching into a smile, "only it was kind of . . . 
well, startling to be waked up that way from a sound sleep. I suppose you 
don't believe me, but I never did that before." 

"Of course I believe you, baby," he interrupted, "it was easy to see you 
hadn't any experience. Honestly, I don't know what came over me. You gave me 
such a stand tonight it came right back on me after I'd been asleep a short 
time. I woke up, and lay there looking at your pretty little mouth in the 
dim light, and the first thing I knew I got into a fierce argument with 
myself about it." 

"What on earth do you mean, an argument with yourself about my mouth?" 

"Well, it was like this. At first I said to myself, it's too small, and then 
I said, no, it might be a tight fit, but it could be done. And the argument 
went on, until finally it got so hot it had to be decided definitely one way 
or the other, and so . . . and so . . . " 

"And so I got fucked in the mouth to settle it. Very well, Your Highness, 
shall we retire now, or is there any other way I can serve you?" 

"Well, if it's not putting too much of a strain on your hospitality, I'd 
greatly appreciate a shot of brandy!" 

I rang for the maid. After a long wait, she shuffled to the door 
half-asleep, took the order, and was back again in five minutes with the 
liquor. When this was consumed, we turned out the light and again composed 
ourselves for sleep. 

The tumultuous events of the night, abetted perhaps by the brandy of which I 
also partook, were reflected throughout the remaining hours in a regular 
phantasmagoria of distorted dreams. In all these dreams, I was sucking 
somebody's cock. Strangely enough, in them I felt no inhibitions, no 
reluctance. On the contrary, I seemed to be doing something quite natural, 
and which caused me the most delightful erotic reactions. 

At first it was Rene as I had last seen him, but with an incongruous 
discrepancy in time which took us back to our old attic playroom days. "I'm 
going to do something nice to you," I whispered, and placing myself on my 
knees before him I unbuttoned his trousers and releasing his erected cock, 
took it in my mouth. "No, no, Sis!" he protested, but he made no effort to 
escape the seductive caress. The thrill of vicarious delight was trembling 
through me when I suddenly observed that Hester was standing nearby, looking 
at me reproachfully. I paused for a moment to tell her that it was all 
right, that Rene was only a foster brother, but even as I spoke, saw that it 
was not Rene but Mr. Hayden to whom I was ministering. From this confusing 
tangle of composite personalities, I drifted into another ambience. The 
effeminate Wainwright was licking my cunny deliciously, and as he paused for 
a moment to masturbate, I twisted around and cried: "Wait! I'll show you a 
better way!" With my thighs across his face I took his small but rigid 
member in my mouth and sucked it until he had an emission. 

When I finally awoke it was late noon and the echoes of some of these lurid 
dreams were still reverberating through my brain. I felt wet and sticky 
between the legs and my clitoris was in erection. When I had gotten my 
confused thoughts in order and separated the real from the unreal, I sat up 
in bed and glanced at my companion. 

He was sleeping soundly and quietly on his back, his curly head high on the 
pillow, lips slightly parted over white even teeth. He had thrown the 
blankets aside and was covered only by a sheet. I glanced downward over the 
recumbent form. Halfway down its length the sheet rose sharply, projected 
upward in the form of a little tent. As I fixed my eyes on this significant 
pinnacle-like projection, I saw that it was jerking sharply at short 
intervals. 

I lifted the sheet without disturbing him. That indefatigable, tireless cock 
was standing upright, as firm and rigid as a bar of iron. White and graceful 
the stout column rose from the profusion of dark and tangled curls at its 
base, its plum-colored head half-hidden, half-revealed under its natural 
envelope of satiny skin. 

Still holding the sheet up, I looked at his face. It was in the peaceful 
repose of sound sleep. I thought of my curious dreams and wondered if he too 
was experiencing rare delights with some nebulous shadow land houri; maybe, 
even he was dreaming of me! 

The thought set me aquiver. Softly I drew the sheet aside. I extended my 
hand, my fingers closed cautiously around the pulsing column. For a moment I 
was content to hold it thus, then, watching his face carefully for signs of 
awakening, I moved my hand up and down, slowly, gently, so that the silken 
foreskin closed over the scarlet head and then, receding downward, revealed 
it in its stark-nakedness. 

Twice, thrice, moved it so, pausing after each movement to see whether it 
was going to awaken him. At the fourth and fifth movement he stirred 
uneasily, murmuring some incoherent word. I waited, motionless, until his 
even breathing assured me that he was still deep in slumber, and began 
again. 

"When he wakes up," I thought, "I'll make him tell me what he was dreaming 
about that made his thing hard this way." 

My wrist slid downward, the white elastic skin descended, and again the 
scarlet head protruded nakedly. As I paused, holding it in this position, I 
saw a round, glistening drop of limpid transparency emerged slowly from the 
orfice at the tip. 

As I observed this natural reaction to my manipulations a wave of lewdness 
swept over me, and in an instant I was in a state of passion bordering on 
nymphomania, dominated by but one thought, one driving desire, and that was 
to feel the rigid, pulsating thing plunging in my mouth, to suck it and lick 
it until the spurting essence brought relief to the frenzy which now 
possessed me. 

I literally flung myself upon it, indifferent now as to whether he was awake 
or asleep, and engulfed the ruby head within the circle of my lips. In a 
regular fury of lust I sucked and licked and bobbed my head up and down to 
approximate the motions of ordinary fucking. 

Of course, this violent disturbance aroused my companion instantly, but I 
was too engrossed in my own passion to be hardly more than aware that he was 
sitting up in bed, and that his hands were clasping my face as though to 
guide the movements of my bobbing head. 

Indifferent to all else I sought only to force the living fountain between 
my lips to pour out its elixir as quickly as possible. Instinctively I knew 
that when it spurted fourth, my own organism would yield in harmony. It was 
trembling now in that delicious boreder land of anticipation, and needed but 
the final inspiration to precipitate its own shower of lust. 

Between my thrusting, encircled lips the muscular flesh seemed suddenly to 
grow more taut. It held so for a second, and then with mighty convulsions 
poured out its tribute, wave on wave of hot, pungent ambrosia. Gasping, 
choking with the deluge which threatened to strangle me, I writhed in the 
ecstasies of orgasm which came upon me in the same moment. 

The reaction to this furious excess was a spell of enervating lassitude. As 
I came out of it and my chaotic thoughts took on a semblance of order, I was 
filled with amazement at the demoniacal frenzy which had taken possession of 
me. Next came the thought of what had become of the spurting jets that 
indomitable geyser had poured out. The odd, pungent taste was still in my 
mouth, but I recalled that I had almost choked with the quantity that had 
flooded it. When he had assaulted me the night before I had spit most of it 
out, though I had been forced to swallow some. I glanced at the bed to see 
if, unconsciously, I had ejected it. The bed was dry and clean. Seemingly, 
it had all gone down my throat. 

I remembered the absurd story he had told me about the French girl. 

"Well," I observed, "if it's true a girl can get a baby by swallowing that 
stuff, I guess I'm going to have one." 

"Kid, that was great!" he exclaimed. "The first time in my life that I can 
recall that I really enjoyed being waked up." 

"I don't know whatever possessed me," I murmured in some embarrassment. "It 
came on me all of a sudden. I woke up and saw your thing sticking up. I knew 
you were dreaming something nice, or it wouldn't be that way. I thought, I'd 
tease you by frigging it while you were asleep, and then, all of a sudden I 
just got a regular fit to do that and I couldn't stop myself!" 

"It was wonderful, kid, wonderful! I always get a hard-on when I sleep late 
in the morning and there was something, oh, more than ordinarily thrilling 
in being waked up that way. I've had lots of women, but it never occurred to 
any of them to do that, I mean, while I was still asleep. It's something new 
to put in the book." 

"What book?" I asked. 

"Oh, I was speaking figuratively. Something new to remember." 

"Did you really enjoy it so much?" 

"Well, rather! If the old pego could talk it would say: 'thank you, a 
thousand times, Miss!' " 

"What were you dreaming about that was making it hard like that?" 

"Well now, that's difficult to answer. Whatever it was it couldn't have been 
half as good as what really happened. I have funny dreams, but I can't seem 
to remember them clearly after I wake up. About all ever recall is that 
there was a girl in them. I must have been dreaming about you this time. Do 
you have dreams . . . I mean, naughty ones?" 

"I had some fierce ones last night," I confessed. "I guess they were mostly 
the cause of me doing that!" 

"What were they about, baby?" he asked curiously. 

"Oh, mostly about you," I lied, not wanting to say that I had dreamed of 
other men while sleeping at his side. 

"Were they pleasant dreams?" he insinuated. 

"Well, you saw what they made me do! I'll bet you think now for sure that 
I'm accustomed to doing that!" 

"No, honestly, I don't, kid. I didn't give it a thought at first, but later 
I saw you weren't up to it. I felt kind of ashamed afterwards for having 
made you do it." 

"Oh, I was mad at first, but I don't care now. It gave me a thrill, too. 
It's the truth, though, I'd never done it before. But I'll wager you've done 
it that way to plenty of other girls." 

"You'd know I was lying if I denied it. And you wouldn't like me any better, 
even if I hadn't ever done it before, would you?" 

"No," I answered slowly, "I don't blame a man for having all the fun he can. 
If I were a man, I'd do everything there is that's naughty. I'd do that to 
girls, and the other way, too." 

"What other way?" 

"The way you did first last night. . . with your tongue." 

"Oh, you like it that way, do you." 

"It just sets me crazy." 

"Kid, I like your style. I made a deal with the old lady to have you once a 
week, but to tell you the truth I wasn't sure that I'd care about coming 
back even a second time. You couldn't shake me now if you tried. I like a 
girl who hasn't the silly idea of trying to fool a man with mock modesty." 

"You're married . . . aren't you?" I inquired tentatively, though I knew he 
was. 

"Yes, I am, unfortunately." 

"Why unfortunately? Isn't she nice?" 

"That's it, exactly. Too damned nice. She's the answer to why men like your 
kind of girl. She's an iceberg, a frigid monument to chastity in its most 
exaggerated conception. Everything related to sex is immoral. The only 
justification for a man getting into his wife's bed is when its for the 
purpose of creating offspring, and even then it's a nasty, degrading 
business." 

In my mind's eye there formed a picture of a pious, dour-faced female, 
embittered perhaps through the lack of physical attractions, whose life was 
dedicated to the suppression of all those natural instincts and longings of 
the flesh which contribute to make living worthwhile. I had heard of such. 

"Good heavens!" I gasped. "Why did you marry a woman like that?" 

"Reasons of family," he replied gloomily. 

Of a naturally credulous and ingenuous disposition, my heart immediately 
swelled with sympathy for my companion's misfortune. I had yet to learn that 
there are always two sides to every story, and that one must know both to 
properly judge their respective merits. 

"I'm sorry to know of that," I said sincerely. "When you come here I'll try 
to make you forget your unhappiness. I'm not cold-blooded, but I guess you 
know that already!" 

"You're a fine kid, and I won't forget you. Wish I could stay longer but I 
have an appointment at two o'clock and it's an important one. I'd better 
dress and toddle along before I weaken." 

With further desultory conversation we dressed and Monty prepared to leave. 
He held me for a moment in his arms at the door, lingering just long enough 
to lift my dress, slide his hand inside my panties and give my bottom a few 
lascivious squeezes. 

"I'll see you next Wednesday night without fail." And he was gone. 

 CHAPTER TWELVE 

I stood for a moment thinking pensively of all that had transpired and then 
turned my eyes toward the dressing table upon which he had unobtrusively 
laid a bank note. It was for five pounds. I folded it up and tucked it in my 
stocking. 

That afternoon I sat on Hester's bed, telling her about my new patron. She 
listened attentively, asked a few questions, and in a burst of confidence, I 
told her all that had happened. 

"Oh, Jessie!" she exclaimed in genuine distress. "You shouldn't have done 
that! I had a presentiment against that man the first time I saw him talking 
to you. I just had a feeling that he'd get the best of you some way! 
Lafronde shouldn't have given him any appointments with you!" 

"What's the harm?" I answered lightly. "He gave me five pounds!" 

"What's the harm? There's plenty of harm! When a girl starts that, she's 
finished!" 

"What do you mean . . . finished?" I rejoined skeptically. 

"Why . . . why . . . it grows on you! You shouldn't have let him do that! 
You should have screamed!" 

"Wouldn't that have made a hit with Lafronde, me screaming at four o'clock 
in the morning that a man was trying to do it to me in the mouth!" 

"I don't care whether it would have made a hit with her or not! You 
shouldn't have let him get away with it! And then you did it again in the 
morning, of your own accord? Oh, Jessie!" 

"Yes, I did! It wasn't bad . . . I like him. Anyway, what are you talking 
about? You've done the same thing with Mr. Hayden. I've seen you!" 

"Oh, Jessie, that's different. I never really did it with him. I just put it 
in my mouth for a moment to wet it. He never actually fucked me in the mouth 
and never wanted to. He's too much of a gentleman, and you know it!" 

"Well, I don't see much difference." 

"Well, I see plenty, and I wish you had never met that man!" 

"You're so funny, Hester. When I knew you in the reformatory I used to think 
there wasn't anything you were shy of. Now here you are preaching to me!" 

"I'm not preaching, honey. It's just that I've had more experience than you, 
and I know what you have to watch out for!" 

She smiled at me affectionately. 

"Remember Heloise?" I asked teasingly. 

"Yes; she was an example of exactly what I mean now. Fooling with some 
perverted idea until it takes a hold on you, and the First thing you know, 
you're a regular slave to it ! " 

"You did something with her and you didn't get to be a slave to it!" 

"I just let her out of deviltry and curiosity, and it disgusted me more than 
anything else. Just before you came here I had some more of that same stuff, 
too. Lafronde sent me out on a call from a woman." 

"You never told me that! Who was she?" 

"Oh, some man-hating female with crazy ideas. I've forgotten her name. She 
lived in a hotel. She telephoned here to have a girl sent to her rooms and 
Lafronde picked me. I needed some extra money or I wouldn't have gone." 

"What did she want?" 

"She didn't want much of anything except to lick another woman's cunt. It 
was perfectly disgusting, but I lay down and let her do it. She called back 
twice after that, and then she told Lafronde not to send me anymore because 
I wasn't 'responsive' enough. Lafronde asked her if she could send a 
different girl and she said yes, if she had one with a little life in her. 
Imagine that! There was a cute little witch here named Yolanda, very shy and 
quiet, but she was supposed to be one of those kind that like other girls. 
Lafronde asked her if she wanted to go out on the call and she said yes. A 
few days after that, early one morning, she sneaked her things out without 
saying a word to anyone and disappeared. So everybody supposed she had gone 
with this woman. Poor kid, if she did, she's probably on the streets now. 
Those kind of women are more exacting and harder to get along with than a 
man. They get tired of a girl quick and want new ones all the time. You see, 
Jessie, I know all about these things, and that's why I'm not in danger from 
them as you would be. You're an innocent little fool, and you'll fall for 
anything anyone wants to put over on you." 

"Well thanks, you sweet old thing, for your compliments, and for being so 
concerned about me. If I was a man, I'd do something nice to you right now 
for being so good to me." 

Hester laughed. 

"I read in the papers that some doctor in Vienna has discovered how to 
change people's sex. If you'll let him change yours, I'll save my money to 
pay for it, and when you've got a nice cock we'll get married and live 
happily forever and afterwards!" 

"O-o-o-h Hester!" I breathed in mock seriousness. "If that doctor can make 
me have a six-inch cock and we get married, will you suck if for me every 
night?" 

"You nasty little pervert!" she exploded, bursting into laughter. "You take 
a suck of this!" She pressed her hand between her kimono-covered legs and 
rubbed two or three times. "Since you've developed into a cocksucker you 
might as well suck cunts, too!" 

"No, I won't suck your cunny, but I will suck your titties!" exclaimed, and 
before she could defend herself I had tumbled her backward on the bed, 
pulled her kimono open, and gotten my mouth on the nipple of one of her 
bubbies. 

"Stop! Stop! You're tickling me!" she cried, hysterical with laughter. 
"Jessie, stop! You're making me have goose flesh all over my body! Stop it, 
will you!" 

Resisting her efforts to dislodge me for a few moments, I clung to her titty 
and then releasing it, raised up to look triumphantly into her flushed face. 
She was still shaking hysterically, both her plump, round breasts protruding 
from the disordered kimono. 

"Let's see if we can fuck each other!" I whispered teasingly. 

"You crazy little fool! Get off me!" she gasped. "Let me up! I can't 
breathe! You're pressing down on my stomach!" 

"Come on . . . just for fun . . . to see if we can do it!" I persisted, now 
overcome with laughter myself at her comic, half-serious expostulations, and 
despite her efforts to stop me, I succeeded in pulling her kimono open 
entirely. 

She had no panties on, but I, unfortunately did. To get them off, and 
prevent her from escaping while I was doing so would probably have been an 
impossibility. However, she suddenly relaxed. 

"All right, you nasty little cocksucker! Let's see just how far you will 
go!" 

This was a challenge which brooked no compromise, and though it was all in 
fun, I wasn't going to be the one to back down. 

Raising up on one arm, I slipped my panties down and wriggled my legs free 
of them. When I nestled down again, our bare breasts and stomachs were 
together, and against my cunny I could feel the soft pressure of Hester's 
silky pubic hair. 

"Now do you still want to see how far I'll go?" 

"Yes, I do!" 

"Very well; when you've had enough, you can say so!" 

Whereupon I slid down a bit and got my legs between hers. This maneuver 
brought our respective cunnies into still more intimate contact, and I 
rubbed mine against hers, pressing in as deeply as I could. 

But I abruptly discovered that this was apt to be more devastating to me 
than to her because my clitoris and the sensitive parts of my cunny were 
exposed to the friction while hers were covered with hair. Furthermore, 
despite the fact that this had all started in fun, I was beginning to get 
hot. 

Shifting away from her sufficiently to get my hand down to the source of the 
obstruction. I parted the soft hair with my fingers, separated the lips of 
her cunny, and then quickly pressed mine against the exposed membranes. She 
submitted to these manipulations without resistance, but flinched 
perceptibly as the moist flesh of our cunnies came together. 

As for myself, I was almost instantly aware that this hot, moist contact of 
sensitive parts was capable of producing some erotic reactions I had not in 
the least suspected. I realized that they were not the normal ones which 
come through contact of opposite sexes in response to the laws of Nature, 
but rather the forced surrender of the senses to a purely mechanical 
stimulation, as in masturbation. 

Nevertheless, a delicious sensation was the immediate result and it felt 
nicer than when I masturbated. I rubbed my cunny against hers as best I 
could. It was an awkward proceeding and her hair kept getting in the way, 
obliging me to stop repeatedly to draw it aside. Had hers been free of hair 
as mine was, the contact would have been much more satisfactory. Even so, I 
was soon trembling, and Hester was moaning audibly. 

In an effort to maintain a comical aspect to what had now ceased to be a 
joke, I managed to gasp: 

"Do you . . . still want to . . . see how far . . I'll. . . go?" 

Her arms tightened about my shoulders. 

"Don't talk! Oh! You're making me . . . ah . . . ah . . . a-a-a-ah!" 

"Oh! You're making me, too! Press . . . right there . . . o-o-o-oh!" 

A few minutes later, flushed and disheveled, we were looking at each other 
in comical and guilty confusion. 

Hester jerked her kimono over the glistening curls between her legs, and 
very red in the face, exclaimed: 

"I never dreamed you'd have the nerve to really do that or I wouldn't have 
let you start it!" 

"Oh, shut up, you darned preacher. You wanted it as much as I did!" 

"If anyone had seen us, we'd never have heard the last of it," she murmured, 
glancing toward the door. "Yes! That door was unlatched! Anyone could have 
walked in!" she added in consternation. 

I giggled, recalling other doors which had been left unlatched. 

"Like you did when Rene and I were saying good-bye." 

"Why don't you think of such things?" she asked reprovingly. 

"Well, for heaven's sake! Am I the only one who's supposed to do any 
thinking? Anyway, nobody came in, so why worry about it now? And even if 
they did, this place isn't supposed to be a Sunday school exactly, you 
know!" 

"Listen, you! Don't you ever dare tell anyone! It's something I never did 
before and I'm never going to do it again, either!" 

"Don't be silly! You know I won't tell anyone!" 

 CHAPTER THIRTEEN 

The week passed by and I was waiting for Monty's second visit. He had sent 
me a note, couched in affectionate terms, assuring me that he would be in 
without fail. 

Of my earlier patrons but two continued to call on me with faithful 
regularity; Mr. Thomas, and the effeminate Wainwright. Poor Daddy Heely was 
in a hospital, a nervous breakdown, according to reports. I wondered 
guiltily whether maybe the excitation my antics caused him had something to 
do with his condition. I had become quite fascinated with the Miss Innocence 
role I had built up for his edification, and had gone to extremes in 
thinking up erotic situations which could be presented to him in the guise 
of "maidenly" confidences. He was physically unable to savor the more 
material delights of concupiscence, and I had supplanted the lack with 
artfully designed mental and visual extravaganzas. Probably I had 
overstepped the mark in my enthusiasm, and st nt him into a psychopathic 
ward. 

Mr. Castle had simply disappeared. In addition to Monty I had another new 
patron of several weeks standing and indifferent qualities who had so far 
not distinguished himself by any eccentricities worth mentioning except one: 
he required that I be fully dressed on the occasion of his visits, and that 
I permit him to undress me. With ceremonial dignity by me, he divested me of 
my garments one by one until I stood before him, a modem Eve sans fig leaf. 
Thereafter, what took place was of orthodox regularity, a proceeding 
sanctioned by custom dating back into the most remote of prehistoric times 
as far as I know. In other words, he did just what men have been doing to 
girls since the dawn of time. 

Monty had asked me to have a substantial supply of liquor available on his 
future visits and I had complied with the request. On a little taboret near 
the bed was a quart bottle of Scotch whiskey of a mark he had indicated, 
together with a siphon of seltzer and glasses. 

I hummed a song as I stood before the mirror for a last minute inspection to 
be sure that my hair was just right and that my face was properly powdered 
and my lips the correct shade of red. But my thoughts were not on the song, 
nor more than casually on the face that was reflected from the depths of the 
big mirror. I was thinking, with delicious little quivers of anticipation, 
of the several hours of unchastity which were in the immediate perspective. 
I was sure he would "French" me again, for had I not confessed to him my 
predilection for the delicate caress? And if he did, and if he were nice to 
me in other ways, well, maybe I would repay him by doing again what I had 
done when I woke him up. 

Hester said that after a girl started she was finished, because it grew on 
her. Nonsense. That might be true in some instances, and not in others. 
Hester meant well, but she didn't know me as well as she thought she did. 
She had a room engagement herself tonight, but had slipped away for a few 
minutes to speak to me. 

"You be careful with that man Austin, Jessie! He's not your type!" 

Not my type, indeed! What kind of a man did she think my type was? A senile 
old innocent like Daddy Heely, or a perverted fool like Mr. Castle whose one 
ambition in life was to do it to a girl in her bottom, or a semi-lunatic 
like Wainwright, who paid a girl to let him masturbate all over her legs? 

From all of which it will be seen that I was pretty well convinced I knew 
better what I wanted than Hester did. 

Reflected in the mirror, I saw the door opening gently and the face of the 
man I was thinking about appeared. I pretended not to have observed his 
entrance, and a second later he had clasped me from behind. With my knees 
hanging over his arm he lifted me into the air and buried his face in my 
bosom. I felt his hot breath on my breasts as he forced it through the 
texture of the scant garments which covered them. 

"That's a nice way to come into a young lady's room, without even knocking," 
I scolded playfully. "Suppose I had been doing something I didn't want you 
to see?" 

"In that case, I'd have shut my eyes!" he responded. "But what would you be 
doing that you wouldn't want me to see?" 

"Sometimes girls play with themselves when they feel naughty, and they 
wouldn't want a man to see that!" 

"Ha!" he laughed, as he set me back on my feet and drew off his gloves. 
"You're not confessing that you practice self-abuse, are you?" 

"If I do, do you think I'd tell you?" 

"Of course not! That's something no woman ever confesses to a man." 

"Well, prepare for a shock them. I do it often." 

"Amazing! I've known scores of girls and women and you're the only one that 
ever abused herself!" 

"How do you know the others didn't?" 

"Because I asked them and they said they didn't. Congratulations to you! 
Your score goes up another ten points!" 

"Because I play with myself?" 

"No! Because you admit it! Baby, you've given me an idea! I've . . . but 
wait . . . I'll speak of it later." 

"Tell me now!" 

"No; let's get comfortable and have a drink first. I've got lots of things I 
want to tell you." 

"All right, but it's cruel to arouse a woman's curiosity and then make her 
wait." 

"Let your curiosity suffer for a few minutes. I'll dispel it pretty soon." 

"Well, then, let me hang up your things. Now sit down in this chair and make 
yourself comfortable. And here's that Scotch and seltzer you told me to get 
for you." 

"It's for you, too. You like it, don't you?" 

"Yes, but the trouble is, after I've had about three glasses I lose all my 
maidenly modesty." 

"So much the better! Have three glasses right now!" 

I laughed. 

"Here goes number one. My modesty is now one third dissipated. What is it 
you've got to tell me first? I hope it's something nice." 

"First, I want to tell you how absolutely topping you look. You're a 
good-looking girl no matter what you've got on, or haven't got on, of 
course, but those dresses, there's a sort of sophisticated childisliness, 
about them that's irresistible. They're devilishlyingenious. Are they your 
own idea, or did somebody else think them up?" 

The dress referred to, as you may have guessed, was another of the 
little-girl frocks Daddy Heely had paid for. I had worn one the previous 
week and as it seemed to have taken Monty's imagine, I had selected another 
on the present occasion. It was a single-piece frock of black silk with a 
white belt, and long, tight sleeves. The cuffs, neck and breasts were lined 
with pleated ruffles and under laid with cream-colored lace. 

To go with these dresses I had some dainty high-heeled Spanish slippers and 
black silk hose which I rolled just above my knees and fastened with elastic 
band garters. Except for one detail the costume was eminently respectable. 
That detail was the extreme shortness of the dress. It barely reached to my 
knees when I was standing, and when I sat in a normal posture there was no 
surplus material to be pulled down in a ladylike fashion. The dress was 
juvenile, but my legs were not. When I observed Daddy Heely's liking to sit 
on the floor at my feet I easily guessed the reason, and you can too. 

Tonight, for certain optimistic reasons related to what Monty had first done 
on his previous visit, I had not put on any panties, and under the black 
silk frock was nothing except a diaphanous silk chemise, undervest, and 
brassiere. 

I hesitated at this last question, not wanting to tell him the exact origin 
of the dresses, and as he did not press the query, I let it pass unanswered. 

"What else have you to tell me?" 

"Well, I must also tell you I've passed this whole blessed week positively 
thinking of nothing but you. I had such a ripping good time when I was here 
before that you've been on my mind ever since. The old pego has been in a 
continuous state of perturbation. Embarrassing at times, don't you know. 
Night before last I thought something really ought to be done about it. I 
tried the wife's door and it was unlocked, so I went in. She was asleep, or 
what I thought more likely, pretending to be asleep. The time is now, I 
thought, as I pulled the covers off her; the girl is here, and so is the 
place right there in the center of her bird's nest. If I hadn't been well 
soused, I'd have known better. This is what I got?" 

And turning his face sidewise he indicated something I had not yet observed; 
three long, partially healed scratches down the length of his cheek. 

"My heavens!" I exclaimed. "If she's like that, and you don't care for her, 
why do you want to do it with her?" 

"Any port in a time of storm," he answered ruefully, shrugging his 
shoulders. "A man can't always make his cock behave." 

"Well, I think that's strange! If I were a man and I didn't like a woman, 
I'm sure I wouldn't want to fuck her!" 

"That's what you think, baby. When a man gets in a certain state, he has to 
do something. When I was in South Africa I even fucked kinky-headed Kaffir 
girls. A half a loaf, or even a black loaf, is better than none!" 

"And so, you got your pretty face scratched. It served you right. Is that 
all you got?" 

"To all intents and purposes, yes. There were quite a few commentaries and 
observations of an interesting nature thrown in for good measure." 

I couldn't help laughing but at the same time, deep inside me, a little 
canker of jealousy that he should have wanted to do it with her began to 
form. 

"Is your wife pretty?" I asked suddenly. 

"About as pretty compared to you as a moth is in comparison to a beautiful, 
exotic butterfly." 

His words relieved the vague foreboding which had come over me, and for the 
moment I forgot the matter. 

"What else have you to tell me?" 

"I want to ask you something. Suppose I should want to take you out some 
night to a show, a cabaret, a party, or maybe pass the night in a hotel, 
could you get away?" 

"I guess so, I'd have to ask Madame Lafronde. She doesn't like to have the 
girls go out, but sometimes she lets them. I've never been away all night. I 
suppose if you gave her something extra you could get her to let me, maybe." 

"All right; that's that. She can't hold you in captivity. If she gets 
rambunctious I'll take care of things. And now that the incidentals are 
disposed of, the momentous questions is: how shall we pass the night to get 
the most fun possible out of it!" 

I leaned over close to him and, cupping my hands around my lips, slowly 
spelled out my recommendation, in his ear; "F-u-c-k-i-n-g!" 

"Moved, seconded, and unanimously adopted! Let's start!" 

"Shall I get undressed now?" 

"No, I want to enjoy that dress awhile first, if you don't mind rumpling it. 
Let's lie down on the bed and just tease for a little while." 

"All right! But wait. . . you forgot something . . . you were going to tell 
me something else, you started to tell me and then you said you'd tell me 
later!" 

"Ah, yes!" he exclaimed, laughing, sinking back into his chair. "Before I 
mention that, I think you'd better take those other two drinks!" 

"Oh! It's something that's going to put a strain on my modesty, is it?" 

"Better not ask any questions until after you've had the drinks." 

"You're torturing me with curiosity! All right, here goes one . . . and . . 
. here goes the other. That makes three altogether. My modesty is now in a 
dormant state!" 

"Well," he said, still laughing, "you put the idea in my head with your 
nonsense about playing with yourself. You made me think of something odd, a 
blank void in my life. I've been all over the world, I've lived with a dozen 
women more or less and enjoyed the transitory favors of hundreds of others. 
I've seen all kinds of naughty shows and exhibitions, and if anyone had 
asked me, I'd have sworn there wasn't a single act in the whole encyclopedia 
of sexual arts I hadn't witnessed. I've even seen actual rapes of young 
girls in show bagnios in Cairo. But while you were joking about abusing 
yourself it came over me that I never actually saw a girl masturbating 
herself. I mean, really by herself, just as though she were alone and nobody 
watching her." 

"Oh, heavens! I know what's coming! Give me another drink, quick! My modesty 
never lived through three before, but it's squirming and twitching now!" 

"Listen, baby!" he exclaimed between convulsions of laughter, "I've had 
something squirming and twitching all week on account of you! I had it 
pretty well under control the last time, but it's ready to go off on the 
slightest provocation now, and I think I'd better not expose it to any 
direct heat, that is, if I want to keep it in a playful humor for a few 
hours!" 

"What a lovely way of saying you want to keep a hard-on! All right, where do 
I fit into the picture?" 

"Well, with the idea you put in my head, and having in mind your 
inexhaustible resources, I thought possibly you might be kind enough to 
stage a little entertainment, enjoy yourself voluptuously, and at the same 
time gratify my prurient curiosity. Kill two birds with one stone, as the 
saying goes!" 

I could not, of course, restrain my laughter, but at the same time the 
erotic titillations which the lewd suggestion evoked were vibrating through 
me and my face felt like it was on fire. 

"I guessed it. In plain words, you want to see me masturbate myself! Well, 
I've done it when there was no man around, but it will be the first time I 
ever did it with one right by me!" 

"Then you'll be accommodating?" 

"Excellency, I'm yours, body and soul, and your slightest wish is my 
command! How . . . how . . . " I exclaimed, again gasping with laughter, ". 
. . how am I supposed to do it?" 

"Don't ask me! I don't know how girls do it! I'm not even supposed to be 
here! You're doing it just as though you were alone!" 

"Very well! But I'd better take another drink to make sure my modesty stays 
unconscious. It was never put to such a test before! Well, first, oh, ha, 
ha, ha, do I have to tell you what I'm thinking about while I'm doing it, 
too?" 

"That would add greatly to the realism!" 

"Well, first, I'm all alone, like you said, and I'm thinking about something 
I did with a man I liked . . . I'm thinking about what you and I did when 
you were here before . . . " 

"Just a moment! I'm not supposed to be here, but you oblige me to obtrude 
for a second. What you and I did when I was here before . . . we did a 
number of things. Be more specific in the interests of lucidity and 
realism!" 

"Well, ha, ha, ha, I'm thinking of everything we did, and especially what 
you did to me first, while I was lying on the bed here, before I undressed!" 

"Proceed. I'm withdrawn from the room again." 

"I'm thinking about how you licked me down there, and it makes me feel hot. 
My little thing in the top of my cunny gets hard and I'm wishing you were 
here to do that again. And the more I think of it, the worse it gets, and 
pretty soon I think I'd better do something to relieve the feeling. 

"I can't decide at first whether I will or not, and I walk over to my bureau 
and get these pictures and take this one out and look at it . . . " 

"Excuse me for coming in again, let's see that picture . . . u-um!" 

"As I was saying when I was interrupted by a phantom voice, I look at the 
picture. It's a very nice picture of a naked man and a naked woman, and the 
man has got his face down between the woman's legs and he's doing something 
to her with his mouth. I think to myself I wish that woman were me and the 
man Monty. But they aren't, so after I've looked at it awhile I put it back 
with the rest of the pictures and hide them under the clothes in my bureau. 

"I think, what's the harm, I might as well do it, a little, anyway. So I 
come back to the bed and lie down on my back, like this, with my knees up 
and kind of apart, and pull my dress up out of the way. 

"Then I put my hand down like this, with my two fingers, oh, ha, ha, ha, and 
shut my eyes, and, ha, ha, ha, rub this little hard thing, kind of slow and 
easy, with just the tips of my fingers, and it feels awful good, and the 
more rub it . . . " 

At this point the realism I had injected into the pantomime threatened to 
overcome me, and I paused, hysterical with laughter. 

". . . and the more I rub . . . the more I rub . . . " I gasped . . . "the 
nicer it feels . . . until . . . until . . . the nice feeling . . . just 
seems to . . . burst inside me . . . OH! . . . like it's . . . DOING NOW!" 

I wiped away the tears which hysterical laughter had brought to my eyes. My 
face was burning as I turned toward my companion. His face, too, was a dull 
red; his reaction to the lewd portrayal had not been much less than my own. 
He sprang toward me, and I knew what he intended to do. 

"No, no!" I panted. "Not now! Wait for me a moment! I'm dead down there now! 
Let me go wash myself and then I'll be all right!" 

On unsteady feet I went to the bathroom and laved myself with tepid, scented 
water. Before had finished my vitality was returning and the warm glow of 
voluptuous desire was beginning to reestablish itself. 

"Well, Excellency, is your naughty curiosity satisfied? Now you know a 
girl's last secret!" 

"Baby!" he answered in a tense voice, "that affected me more than it did 
you, I think. I was so near going off I couldn't have held it another 
second! Look at this . . . " 

Unbuttoning the front of his trousers he took his cock out and displayed it, 
turgid and throbbing, to my eyes; he slipped the foreskin down and the 
plum-colored head appeared, dripping with limpid moisture. 

"Just sympathetic tears," he murmured, "I didn't come, but I was very close 
to it." 

I went again to the bathroom and brought a small wet towel and wiped away 
the tears. "Careful! Careful!" he cautioned, as I fingered the palpitating 
column. "It won't take much to release the trigger! I'll have to let the 
fire die down a little before I put it in you, baby, and meanwhile . . . " 
he smiled understandingly, ". . . and meanwhile, you can lie down on the bed 
and take it easy while I pay you back for entertaining me in such a 
realistic way!" 

"Shall I get undressed?" 

"No, just lie down like you were a minute ago. You were really entrancing 
with your little dress up and the white of your bottom and thighs against 
the black background of dress and hose. That's it . . . just like you were 
before . . . with your knees up and your legs apart!" 

He sat down on the edge of the bed, passed his fingers over the crevice 
between my legs in a lingering caress, and then his mouth descended on it. 

What havoc an ardent, enthusiastic tongue can work in a girl's cunny! I 
tried to steel my nerves against it to prolong the exquisite sensation, but 
it was no use, I couldn't hold it back long and all too soon was melting in 
his mouth. As the echoes died away, I pushed him from me to lie for a while 
in fainting languor. 

It would take too long to relate all that transpired during those mad, 
sensuous hours, even if I could remember every act in all its lewd details. 
Suffice it to draw the curtain with the final scene wherein, hours later, 
intoxicated both with liquor and lust, I perceived that Monty's face was 
again between my thighs, his hot lips pressed against my cunny. My dress, 
now displaced and rumpled, partly hid his face as he sucked and licked the 
avid flesh. 

He himself had long since disrobed and was completely naked. 

As he crouched over me I could see his cock, still enticingly rigid, as it 
projected its muscular length outward. 

"Turn this direction, Monty!" I whispered, "so we can do it the way!" 

He reversed his position and the next moment it was touching my lips in a 
moist kiss as he knelt over my face and again buried his own between my 
trembling thighs. My lips shaped themselves in a tight ring around its mouth 
and neck and took the visitor in. 

The odd, indescribable savor again filled my mouth, breeding within me, not 
distaste or disgust, but a wild hunger to feel it spurting like a hot 
fountain in my mouth and throat. So imperious was the urge that I scarcely 
now heeded the penetrating tongue which but a moment before had evoked such 
exquisite torment. I thought of nothing but to drain the nectar from the 
living flesh about which my lips were pursed, to receive its hot gushes in 
my mouth. 

It would give me an orgasm even quicker than having my clitoris sucked. I 
felt it, I knew it, the poison had entered my soul, this, this was the 
supreme act of voluptuous delight, and nothing hereafter would ever give me 
the same thrill. All else would be incidental, superficial, this was the 
ultimate caress by the side of which all others receded into nothingness. 

 CHAPTER FOURTEEN 

When I awoke, it must have been around noon. My head was aching dully and in 
my mouth was a queer, pungent taste which puzzled me for a moment, and then 
I remembered. I sat up in bed. I was stark naked, and I was alone. On the 
little taboret near the bed was an empty whiskey bottle which accounted, in 
part at least, for the headache. 

Draped carelessly over a chair were my clothes-dress, camisole, brassiere, 
and stockings. I had no recollection of having undressed nor did I know when 
or under what circumstances I had fallen asleep. Monty must have taken off 
my clothes and subsequently departed without awakening me. At what hour he 
had gone I had not the faintest idea. 

Painfully I dragged myself from bed and went to my mirror. My hair was a 
tangle and there were violet shadows under my eyes. I shivered and pressed 
my hands to my throbbing temples. What a night! Monty had gone without 
awakening me. This reminded me of something, and I turned toward my dressing 
table. There were some bank notes there, weighted down with one of my 
perfume flasks, and under them a slip of paper with some penciled 
scribbling: 

"The next time, don't have on any lipstick. You left red rings all around 
it. 

See you next Wednesday night. Love and Kisses. Monty." 

I rubbed my fingers over my lips and smiled involuntarily as I viewed the 
result. Then I tore the note into shreds and threw the pieces into the 
wastebasket. 

I did not feel like dressing so I merely bathed my face, brushed out my 
hair, and went back to bed after ringing for the maid. She brought me some 
coffee and toast, and I asked her to tell Madame Lafronde that I had a 
headache and would not be down until later. 

About three o'clock Madame Lafronde came up to see me. 

"What's the matter, Jessie? Anything wrong?" 

"No; my sleeper kept me awake all night, and I've a headache, that's all." 

"You can rest up tonight. You needn't come downstairs if you don't feel like 
it. How are you getting on with Austin?" 

"All right. He's not so bad, I like him. He gave me another five pounds." 

"Well, be smart, and keep him in a giving humor. I was rather doubtful about 
him at first. He's got a bad reputation." 

I stayed in my room the rest of the afternoon and evening, but along about 
ten o'clock I got restless, and hearing a great deal of laughter floating up 
from the parlor I decided to dress and go down. 

Under the genial guidance of a gentleman who had just come from America, a 
game of "strip poker" was in hilarious progress. Five girls were seated 
around a small table, cards were dealt to them, and the penalty of a losing 
hand was the removal of one of the few pieces of apparel the loser wore. To 
keep up the morale of the players, a grand prize to the winner, and 
consolation prizes to the losers were being offered. 

Already one of the girls was down to her panties, and another to panties, 
brassiere and one stocking. Even as I stood there trying to grasp the 
intricacies of the game, a shout went up, and the unfortunate in panties 
threw down her cards in disgust. 

"Come on, Bobby! No welching! Take them off!" 

Now it is one thing to take your panties off in the presence of a man in the 
privacy of a room, and quite another to take them off in front of a crowd of 
laughing people, and I smiled faintly as I watched the victim's flushed 
face. 

But welching is an unforgivable sin in sporting circles, and she was game. 
Off came the little silk panties and the spectators, or the masculine 
element of them at least, had the pleasure of grazing on the patch of dark, 
twisted little curls that rose from the apex of her legs and spread fan-wise 
over her pubic mount. 

"Now can I put my clothes on again?" 

"No, no, no! Not until the game is finished!" 

And so it continued, to the immense delight of the onlookers, until all but 
one of the scarlet-faced players were sitting around naked, some pretending 
a brazen insouciance, others trying to cover their cunnies and breasts with 
hands and arms. 

"An insipid idea of fun," I thought to myself as I looked on indifferently. 
"Why are men so crazy to look at a girl's cunt? One would think it was the 
prettiest thing in the world. Whatever they find pretty about one must be in 
their imaginations. But . . . " I thought, continuing my moody philosophy, 
"if men didn't think they were pretty, it would be just too sad for us." 

And an involuntary smile crossed my lips as there came to my mind the story 
about the orator for women's suffrage who shouted from the platform: "After 
all, ladies and gentlemen, women are only slightly different from men . . . 
" Whereupon a voice from the gallery interrupted: "Hurrah for the slight 
difference!" 

I lingered long enough to pick up some small silver in the form of a 
gratuity from a pleasantly inebriated gentleman who attached himself to me 
and could not be dislodged until I permitted him to put his hand down the 
front of my dress and feel my bubbies. He wanted very badly to go to a room 
with me, but I managed to divert his attentions to Hester and made my 
escape. 

The next night was Wainwright's. He came punctually as always and went 
through his customary nonsense. Generally I extracted some amusement from my 
exalted status of Fairy Princess, and although I had always to be on the 
alert to keep him from biting me in the moment of ecstasy, there was 
something about the fantastic proceeding that left me in an excited 
condition. 

He sucked me deliciously, but rarely continued it long enough to quench the 
fires the caress started. Before I could have an orgasm he would jerk away 
from me and masturbate. 

This night I was in a particularly restless mood. The exhaustion following 
my orgy with Monty had passed away with a day and night of rest, and I was 
again charged with voluptuous longings. 

Wainwright had concluded his preliminary gallantries and was crouched over 
his Fairy Princess on his knees, his head and shoulders inclined downward 
and his face between her open legs. His tongue had started its tantalizing 
maneuvers, and the first shivers of lewd excitation were beginning to 
generate. 

With languorous, half-closed eyes, observed his cock sticking out from his 
middle. It was small and slender, much smaller than the average, but it was 
turgidly erect. It was like a child's in comparison to Monty's. 

This association of ideas put into my mind the thought of how much easier I 
could manipulate so small a cock in my mouth. The thought took root and sent 
a hot glow through me, and in a moment it was no longer a thought, but a 
desire. 

Without a word of explanation to the puzzled Wainwright I wriggled away from 
him, turned around on the bed, and got on top of him, straddling his face 
with my thighs. After a momentary hesitation, and with a clumsiness which 
betrayed his unfamiliarity with this classic position, his tongue again 
sought out my clitoris. 

As soon as I perceived that its activities were in progress anew, I put my 
head down and took his little cock in my mouth. The mere fact that it 
contrasted so in size with the only other one I had dallied with in like 
manner inspired me with a sort of fascination, and I set to work on it with 
all my recently acquired skill. 

But, alas, I suffered a deception which chilled and disgusted me. Like 
nectar turning to vinegar in the mouth, that erstwhile stiff little cock 
which I was so voluptuously sucking almost immediately began to wilt. From 
its former state of virile rigidity it degenerated into a flaccid, 
spineless, lifeless little worm, and the harder I tried to inspire it with a 
bit of manliness, the more fulminating was the disaster. 

I released it from my mouth, disappointed, and emulating his own tactics, 
worked it patiently with my fingers in an effort to resuscitate it, but 
there was nothing substantial to grasp; it was like trying to make a piece 
of string stand up, so limp and flaccid had it become. 

I could do nothing with it, and disgusted. I got up from the bed. 
Wainwright's abasement was pitiful to behold. 

"Oh, Princess!" he moaned. "Beat me if you wish!" 

He sounded as though he actually did want me to beat him. It came over me 
that if he left under humiliating circumstances he might not return again. 
He was too valuable a patron to lose. It had always been profitable to humor 
him; it might be wise to do so in this instance. As he groveled on the floor 
at my feet I came to a sudden decision. 

"I will beat you, you vile creature!" I cried. 

Glancing hastily around the room I spied his own belt partly visible under 
the clothing he had placed on a chair. Snatching loose the strip of pliant 
leather I flew at him and began to belabor him across the thighs and 
buttocks. 

"Take that . . . and that . . . and that . . . ! " I cried, "you evil, 
depraved beast! If you ever do that again I'll . . . I'll . . . " and I 
paused to think of a sufficiently ominous threat. 

"Oh, Princess! Oh, Princess!" he moaned, and turned over on his back 
apparently indifferent as to whether the blows fell on his cock and 
testicles. 

Careful not to strike him in these susceptible parts I continued to rain 
blows on him. He groveled, squirmed, and moaned, and suddenly to my great 
astonishment I saw that his cock was getting hard again. And there before my 
eyes was realized one of those strange, weird manifestations of sexual 
aberration such as delights the hearts of psychoanalysts and psychiatrists. 

His hand descended to the reviving member which was now lifted upward in a 
half-erected state. His fingers closed around it, and while I continued to 
shower blows upon his naked body he masturbated himself to exhaustion. 

A sight fit for a cabinet in Dante's Inferno would have been revealed had 
anyone unexpectedly intruded in those moments. The man, groveling naked upon 
the floor, furiously masturbating, while I, with nothing on but shoes and 
stockings, my hair disheveled, my face flushed, panting and crying 
imprecations, danced around him belaboring him frenziedly from all sides. 

When it was all over and he was dressed and gone, I sank down on my bed. My 
heart was thumping and I felt half-suffocated. On the bed beside me was a 
heap of money. I figured it indifferently, and came to with a start. 

The man had literally emptied his pockets! There were bank notes, shillings, 
pence and even pennies, a total in excess of anything he had given me 
before. Surely the man was a lunatic! 

There came an insistent tapping at the door, and Hester entered. She looked 
at me in astonishment. I was still naked, my face flushed, my hair in 
disorder. 

"Jessie! What's the matter! Did you have trouble with Wainwright?" 

"No; no trouble." 

"We heard you whipping him and I was uneasy. You never did that before!" 

"Oh, the damned fool," I ejaculated, "I think he's crazy." And I related 
what had happened, omitting only the real cause of his having lost his 
erection. "He couldn't get a hard-on without my whipping him and I did . . . 
with his own belt!" 

"Did he give you all that?" she gasped, observing the pile of money which 
still lay on the bed. 

"Yes," I answered shortly. 

"Gee! You have all the luck! I wish I had a regular who was crazy the way 
that fellow is! I'd even let him whip me for that much!" 

"Well, he makes me dizzy. I'm still trembling." 

"I see you are. You scared me when I first came in, you looked so . . . so 
strange!" 

"What time is it, Hester?" 

"It's about two o'clock." 

"Are you going downstairs again?" 

"No; there's nothing doing. I'm going to turn in." 

"Listen, Hester, I'm nervous. Sleep in here with me tonight." 

"All right, I'll get my . . . no! I won't either! I know what you're 
thinking about, you nasty little pervert." 

"Please, Hester!" 

"I will not! Get the electric massage machine or jack yourself off if you're 
so hot." 

"Please, Hester!" 

"What in the world is the matter with you, Jessie? Don't you ever get 
enough? You ought to have yourself castrated!" 

"Please, Hester!" 

"Oh, all right, all right, you disgusting little degenerate!" 

 CHAPTER FIFTEEN 

Six weeks went by with Monty visiting me regularly, and week by week I found 
myself sinking deeper into the fatal fascination of the sexual perversion 
into which he had initiated me. I do not think he was responsible for the 
unnatural desire which was now dominating me, I think he was merely the 
casual and accidental medium through which existing but dormant instincts 
were aroused. 

Like the Succubus of ancient Rome my sexual desires were now almost entirely 
concentrated in this one act. My inclinations for other forms of 
gratification were diminishing. Normal intercourse was only an aphrodisiacal 
irritant if it were not followed by cocksucking. I still masturbated to calm 
my nerves, but it was always with fellatio pictured in my mind as I realized 
the act. 

In my hours of passion I felt an actual physical hunger for the spermatic 
nectar. It was as though it contained some vital, sustaining element 
necessary to my health and well-being, and the first taste as I perceived 
its saline presence in my mouth precipitated the wildest sexual frenzy. When 
it came pouring into my throat my own organism responded instantly, without 
mechanical stimulation of any kind. I no longer tried to spit it out as the 
hot waves laved my tongue; I drank it avidly, hungrily. 

It is said that the cocksucking instinct is the heritage of children whose 
mothers, while in an advanced stage of pregnancy, and because of the 
discomfort or danger of normal intercourse while in this condition, have 
themselves resorted to fellatio, thereby afflicting the unborn child with 
the unnatural desire. Whether there is any scientific foundation for this 
theory, or whether it is mere superstition I do not know, but I feel 
certain, with respect to myself, that the instinct was inherent and not 
artificially created. 

Without any special guidance, refinements and perfections of the art 
constitute in part its irresistible allure and enravish the masculine 
senses. Gently, softly and slowly realized, an orgasm effected in this 
manner sent the recipient, with few exceptions, into the seventh heaven of 
rapture. A soft, even suction, alternated with the teasing caress of an 
active tongue playing over the head and around the neck of the pulsing 
glans, supplemented with a slight up and down movement of the mouth soon had 
the object of these felicities groaning with erotic ecstasy. 

If the subject was slow to reach orgasm, a more intense excitation could be 
induced by the use of the hand in addition. No normal man in a healthy 
sexual condition could long resist the luscious combination of gentle 
fingers and warm, wet, sucking lips. 

As the untouched chords of a harp vibrate in harmony with those which are 
giving forth their tremulous melody, so did my own organism yield up its 
store of passion, an echo to the very paroxysm I provoked in another. 

To Monty's manifest satisfaction the unique method of awakening him in the 
morning which I have previously related became a definite part of our erotic 
program. I looked forward to it with a pleasant glow of anticipation, and 
the thought, implanted in my mind, caused me to wake earlier than I would 
otherwise have done. 

He was a man of unusual virile potency whose sexual vigor reestablished 
itself quickly, even after the most enervating exhaustion, and he always had 
an erection when I woke up. Slyly, cautiously, inspired with a prurient 
imagine to see how far I could get with it before he woke up, I bent my head 
over the succulent fruit. But in a few minutes my cautious, discreet 
restraint gave way to more energetic movements as my own passions took the 
ascendancy. And as soon as this happened, instead of a sleeping subject, I 
had one who was very much awake indeed. 

Week by week I looked forward to Monty's visits with increasing impatience. 
My other patrons I simply tolerated. The lack of interest in them, which I 
could not entirely conceal, became apparent and before long I lost Mr. 
Thomas. Madame Lafronde commented on my petulant humor, and I told her I was 
tired of being merely an ornament and wanted as many men as I could get, 
like the other girls. Some of these, the more attractive, often had three or 
four different men in a single night. She was reluctant to change the 
existing order and evaded my request by telling me she would think it over. 

I knew she felt that I was more valuable as an "inspirational" attraction, 
and that she feared the complications and ill-humor which would inevitably 
arise when my younger and fresher charms were used to lure the fish from 
less attractive bait. Maybe, too, she was aware of or suspected my recently 
developed cocksucking proclivities, for little escaped her shrewd old eyes 
and if so, no one better than she knew what this would do to the peace and 
tranquility of the house once the girls whose clientele I usurped discovered 
my technique. 

In fairness to my sisters in vice, I will say that to most of them fellatio 
is abhorrent and practiced only under duress or the pressure of necessity 
when fading physical attractions render them unfit to compete on an even 
basis with younger rivals. Sacrifices must be made to compensate for 
advancing years and shrunken breasts. 

Girls who are alert, good-looking, and possessed of attractive bodies do not 
need to practice fellatio to hold a clientele. But men are quick to take 
advantage of any weakness and if the caress be obtained once, either by 
duress or persuasion or voluntary indulgence, it is extremely difficult to 
evade further demands. 

Monty's confidence to me regarding his conjugal unhappiness and differences 
became more and more candid. Wrapped up in the lewd fascination which the 
man held for me I gave no thought to the fact that only a bounder and a cad 
would have made his wife the subject of such intimate confidence to a whore, 
regardless of what personal differences may have existed between them. 

He had explained the origin and significance of some long scratches down the 
side of his face, administered by his wife's agile fingers when he had tried 
to force her. And subsequently, there was a big, blue lump on one of his 
shins, the result of a well-placed kick received while trying to impose 
unwanted attention on her. 

"Wait till she's undressed next time," I commented viciously, "or did you 
have her like me, with just her shoes and stockings on?" 

He laughed cynically. 

"I'd have to chloroform her first to see her naked!" 

Apparently, some disagreement of two or three years' standing had arisen 
between them and she had consistently and determinedly repulsed all amorous 
advances since then. Picturing her in my mind as I did, an embittered, 
shrewish woman, I could not for the life of me understand how he was able to 
feel any desire toward her. But men are contrary brutes, and to make them 
want something desperately you have only to prohibit it. She didn't want him 
to fuck her, and presto, the wish to do so was never out of his mind. 

These confidences affected me in a peculiar way. I wasn't in love with Monty 
in the true sense of the word, but when he told me such things I felt 
twinges of jealousy. It annoyed me that he should perversely want to do it 
with her. So distorted can one's perspective become that his inordinate 
desire to fuck the unfortunate woman inspired me with a feeling of personal 
animosity against her. 

At first he had seemed to accept the situation with good-natured 
indifference, but lately I had perceived an undercurrent of bitterness and 
vindictiveness. 

"Have you ever read De Maupassant?" he asked one night, after having told me 
of some domestic disagreement. 

"No," I answered, "I've heard of him, but I have never read his stories. 
Why?" 

"Well, among them is one with an idea I'd like to apply to her, with certain 
variations." 

"Tell me about it." 

"The story is a long one to repeat, but the essence of it is this: A young 
French noblewoman discovers that her husband is unfaithful to her. She 
decides to revenge his disloyalty in a manner as startling as it is unique. 
She hires some ruffians to enter the house and bind and gag him securely. 
When this is done she has him placed behind some curtains in her boudoir 
where he will, perforce, be obliged to witness all that transpires within 
the room, but without being able to move or interfere. 

"Then she calls an old servant who has served her all her life and gives her 
some instructions. Following these instructions the old woman, after 
wandering about the streets for a time, accosts a young man of genteel 
appearance, and getting his ear, asks him whether he would appreciate an 
amorous rendezvous with a young and beautiful woman of nobility sufficiently 
to bind himself to certain simple conditions, viz: that he permit himself to 
be blindfolded while being conducted to and from the assignation; that 
during the amorous engagement he lend himself unreservedly to all the 
delicate refinements of eroticism for which the French people are noted. 

"The first condition being one of no great consideration, and the second one 
which could be easily complied with if the lady were as young and fair and 
lascivious as the servant claimed, the youth, who was of a naturally 
adventurous and romantic disposition, did not hesitate long in accepting the 
mysterious assignation. 

"Whereupon the old woman signaled a hack, and when he was inside blindfolded 
him and conveyed him to the lady's boudoir. Here the blindfold was removed 
and the young gallant found himself in the presence of a vision of nude 
loveliness which far surpassed his expectations. 

"For an hour the youthful pair disported themselves with voluptuous abandon, 
neglecting none of the more delicate and refined artifices in which mouth 
and tongue play an important part. 

"When the cup of love was finally drained to the last drop, the lady sprang 
from the bed and jerking some curtains aside revealed to the horrified gaze 
of the youth the securely bound figure of a man who glared at him with 
baleful eyes. 

"What transpired later when the outraged husband was liberated is left to 
the imagination." 

"A very interesting story," observed. "Get me the book so I can read it 
someday. But what has it to do with your wife? Do you want her to have you 
tied up and make you watch from behind a curtain while she Frenches with 
some fellow?" 

"Heavens, no!" he exploded, "I'd tear her limb from limb if she were to play 
such a game on me. But there's no danger. She's too prudish. I was tickling 
my face with quite the reverse of the plot in the story, thinking what fun 
it would be to tie her up and then have some girl come in, you for instance, 
and do just what that French couple did, right before her eyes. Maybe strip 
her clothes off first, so she'd enjoy it more." 

"What a horrible idea!" I gasped. "Why do you want to torment and aggravate 
her? Why don't you leave her alone?" 

"She's tormented and aggravated me plenty," he growled vindictively. "I'll 
get even with her, though. Do you know what I'd like?" 

"Yes, I do! It's not a bit hard to guess! You'd like to fuck her, and you 
won't rest until you do!" 

"Wrong, you little spitfire. I'd like to find some way to make her so hot 
she'd go down on her knees and beg for it, and when she did, I'd tell her 
exactly where to go." 

"Feed her some Spanish fly then," I suggested dryly. 

"By Jove! That's a dashed good idea! Wonder where one can get the bally 
stuff?" 

"You'd better be careful. I heard a funny story once about a fellow who 
sneaked some into his wife's tea to make her passionate. He thought he'd 
better keep out of sight until it took effect so he went out and walked 
around the block a couple of times. When he came back he didn't see her 
around, so he looked in her bedroom. And there she was, on the bed, with her 
clothes up, and the butler on top of her. And the pantryman, the coachman 
and the gardener were all standing around holding their cocks, waiting their 
turn." 

"The moral being, that a chappie had better stick around after feeding his 
wife Spanish fly," he laughed. "I'll keep that in mind." 

"Well, come on, let's get started. I don't need any Spanish fly to make me 
passionate, I'm that way all the time." 

 CHAPTER SIXTEEN 

Through the damp London night a luxurious car sped swiftly and surely, the 
soft purr of its powerful motors hardly distinguishable above the swish, 
swish, swish of rubber-shod wheels upon the wet pavement as they flew onward 
toward their destinations. 

Outside of the curtained windows a macabre fog eddied and drifted, at times 
dimming the street lights with its wispy, ghostly vapors. Within was snug 
comfort, warmth, life and color. 

Had curious eyes been permitted to peek inside the glass and 
curtain-shielded tonneau, a scene of revelry, profanely at variance with the 
dismal exterior of the night, would have been revealed. 

Outside, the interminable procession of half suffocated lights vainly trying 
to pierce the gray shroud which drew ever closer and closer about them; 
inside, the ribald levity of alcohol-inspired abandon, the sheen of silken 
hose on diaphanous garments fluttered in careless disarray above the 
silk-clad knees. 

There were four occupants in the seclusion of the cozy, glassed-in, and 
softly lighted tonneau. Two of them were gentlemen, modishly attired in the 
habiliments dictated by the fashions of the times for evening wear, and two 
of them were young girls, whose apparel, if not exactly that which would 
have been considered in the best of taste by social arbiters, was at least 
beautiful and colorful. The gentlemen, regardless of their half-inebriated 
condition, were patently at home in the atmosphere of luxury which both the 
car and their apparel suggested. The girls, had the imaginary observer 
surveyed them with a critical eyes and taken note of the extreme shortness 
of their dresses, the rouge upon their cheeks, the exaggerated scarlet of 
their lips and their indifference to the indiscreet disarray of their 
clothing, would have been catalogued instantly as ladies of that vast 
assembly politely described as "not nice!" 

One of the gentlemen was Monty and one of the girls myself. The second 
gentleman was another scion of aristocracy known only to me by the nickname 
Zippy, and his companion was a young Spanish girl of saturnine but piquantly 
beautiful features named Carlota. 

This was not the first nocturnal outing I had participated in. Yielding to 
the influence of the magic wand of gold which Monty had waved before her 
eyes, Madame Lafronde had consented to this departure from the accustomed 
routine. 

"I don't want to stand in the way of your doing the best you can for 
yourself, but watch your step, girl, watch your step!" were her final words 
on the subject. 

Tonight we were to be present at the clandestine showing of some naughty 
moving pictures which Zippy had arranged for with an exhibitor at some 
obscure point far over on the East Side of London. After the show we would 
dine in the seclusion of a private room in a popular resort. 

Zippy was a genial chap of very likable personality. He was possessed of a 
humorous and witty disposition. His droll witticisms and antics kept one 
constantly laughing, and when he was half under the influence of liquor, he 
kept those around him fairly convulsed. 

Carlota, whom i had met a few hours before, constituted something of an 
enigma. Her attitude toward me was perplexing; I had always been able to 
make friends easily, but my overtures to her left her unresponsive and 
sensed some coldness, the reason for which I could not imagine. At times I 
found her looking at me covertly and imagined there was something baleful in 
the glint of her dark eyes. 

Thinking that maybe she regarded my acquaintance with Zippy as a possible 
menace to the security of her domains in his affection, I was scrupulously 
careful not to presume upon the bon-homme spirit of the four-cornered 
friendship, and still this explanation did not seem to fit the circumstances 
exactly, for she seemed peculiarly tepid in her demonstrations of affection 
for the good-looking young aristocrat. 

Tonight, however, she had apparently cast off her moody lack of animation 
and had entered into the festive spirit of the occasion. A silver-covered 
flask was being passed from hand to hand as the smoothly humming motor 
carried us onward toward our destination. Ensconced in one comer of the 
luxuriously upholstered seat, Monty leaned back with me on his lap. At the 
other end of the seat, Zippy held Carlota in a similar fashion. A supple, 
beautiful arm was curved lightly about his neck, and a small, piquant face 
was snuggled against his. 

In the pleasant spell of a mild alcoholic languor, I watched them dreamily. 
I felt happy, contented, and was looking forward to a night of joyous 
abandon with no premonition or presentiment of evil to mar my 
light-heartedness. 

Carlota's skirts were up over her knees, revealing a brief extension of 
flesh which glinted ivory-like in the soft light and was accentuated by the 
black sheen of her silk-clad legs. The metallic clasps which engaged the 
tops of her hose, holding them smooth and tight about her legs by means of 
elastic garters which ascended upward and disappeared under filmy garments, 
sparkled like jewels as the movement of the car caused the light to vibrate 
against them. 

An inquisitive hand, lured on, no doubt, by the seductive disarray of 
garments, fell upon her knee and began an insidious exploration upward, its 
movements contributing further to the disorder of her clothing and the 
revealment of more ivory thighs. Of the hand itself soon nothing was visible 
but portions of a white cuff, the rest of it being lost to sight among the 
filmy undergarments. 

Carlota giggled nervously and pressed her legs together, by virtue of which 
maneuver the invading hand was firmly imprisoned between walls of warm, 
living flesh. 

With my head resting on Monty's shoulder, I watched this lascivious play 
with half-closed eyes. What a pity, I thought, that Carlota was not always 
great and happy. When she was like this, she was really beautiful. What 
pretty legs she had, too, so slim and graceful and softly curved. When girls 
had legs like hers no wonder men admired them. Mine had been like that when 
I was younger, but during the last year or two they had filled out, become 
more solid, more suggestive of maturity. 

I straightened my own legs out and contemplated them pensively. 

"What are you doing, baby? Admiring your legs?" murmured Monty. 

"No; I was admiring Carlota's, and comparing mine with them." 

"Oh, envy! Thy name is Woman! Do you think Carlota's legs are prettier than 
yours?" 

"Yes," I said, candidly. "I do. Mine are getting too matronly." 

"Bosh," answered Monty, and he plunged his face between my breasts and set 
me to giggling by blowing hot, whiskey-scented breath through the cloth over 
my bubbies. "You're just fishing for compliments, and out of pure obstinacy, 
I refuse to bite." 

"The only time to properly judge a lady's legs," expounded Zippy solemnly 
from his corner, "is when they're around your neck. I maintain that Carlota 
has the nicest legs in the world." 

Monty and I burst out laughing and Carlota jerked upright in pretended 
indignation. 

"Oh! What an insolent inference! I never had my legs around his neck in my 
life." 

"In my dreams, my dear, in dreams! A man has a right to dream anything he 
wants to, hasn't he?" 

"No! Not such defamatory dreams as that! If you want to dream about me, 
dream something decent! And . . . o-o-oh! . . . take your hand away from 
there! Stop! . . . stop! . . . you're going to make me wet my panties!" 

The sudden slowing of the car, followed by two long and two short blasts of 
the siren warned us that we had reached our destination and Carlota, 
escaping from the fervid embrace, straightened out her clothing preparatory 
to leaving the car. 

As it rolled to a stop, apparently in accordance with prearranged plans and 
in answer to the signals of the siren, the figure of a man materialized from 
the fog-enshrouded night to guide us to the rendezvous where the 
entertainment was to take place. 

We were conducted to a room improvised to represent a theater in a crude 
way; a few chairs, a small platform elevated two or three feet above the 
floor, and back of this a white curtain. The projection machine and operator 
were hidden from our view in an adjacent room whence the pictures would be 
flashed through a small round hole cut in the intervening wall. There were 
no other spectators present as Zippy had arranged for an entirely private 
showing. 

The exhibition lasted for about an hour and a half and consisted of several 
different films, some of them allegedly taken from real life among the 
apaches of Paris and which ran the gamut of every imaginable sexual 
indulgence and perversion. Another, based superficially on the question of 
whether or not it is a physical possibility for a man to be raped against 
his wishes, had as its theme the sequestering of a young man on his wedding 
day by a group of great, fun-loving friends. 

Snatched from the side of his bride of a few minutes, he is carried away, 
stripped of his clothing, and chained against a wall in an upright position 
with his arms elevated and his legs separated. 

Under these undignified circumstances he is turned over to the mercies of a 
bevy of girls who, with lewd acts, dances and other artifices, endeavor to 
make him have an erection. For a while this modem St. Anthony is able to 
subjugate any erotic reactions and successfully resists the wiles of the 
sirens. But alas, the flesh is weak, and despite his determination to 
withstand the impure temptations, Satan, in the guise of a beautiful young 
girl with nimble fingers, forces his cock to awaken from its lethargic 
slumber and raise its head in obeisance to the powers of Evil. 

With this disaster, the battle is practically lost, for once a man's cock is 
turgidly erect not even the chaste determination of a Galahad can control 
its subsequent actions nor stay the course of lascivious Nature. 

Raising her dress, the temptress turn around and stooping over, with her 
hands on her knees, backs her round, white bottom up against the rigid 
spike. Closer and closer she presses, until the treacherous obelisk, 
following the narrow road downward between the plump cheeks, reaches and 
penetrates the natural haven between her thighs, and naught remains to 
complete the victory of sin but the slow, weaving circular movement of her 
bottom. 

By hand frigging, by sucking, and by other lascivious arts the unfortunate 
victim is subjected to further depletions of his sexual vitality as the 
sirens, one after another, drain him to exhaustion, until at last his cock 
is reduced to a state of unconsciousness and inertia from which no seductive 
feminine enticements on earth could arouse it, and when this is apparent, 
the luckless (? ) groom is released and permitted to go on his honeymoon. 

The entertainment terminated with a horrific exposition of a girl and a 
diminutive Shetland pony. It was incredible, unbelievable, but the evidence 
was there, clear, distinct and indisputable in the moving photographic 
reproduction upon the screen. 

When the show was over we returned to the car and half an hour later were at 
a restaurant where a small private dining room had been reserved for us. We 
enjoyed a nice dinner, followed with exquisite wines, over which we 
lingered, joking, teasing, and otherwise enjoying ourselves. After the 
dinner, we would part company. Monty and I going our way and Zippy and 
Carlota another. 

But it was very pleasant and comfortable in the little dining room. We were 
all in the roseate state of semi-intoxication in which everything is just 
right and everything that is said excruciatingly funny. So we dallied, 
telling naughty stories, rumpling each other's clothing, and indulging in 
all kinds of lascivious nonsense, while Monty and Zippy continued to drink 
until they had passed the half-way stage of intoxication. 

"On an occasion of thish nashure," declaimed Zippy, taking advantage of a 
lull in the conversation, "ish an invariable, not to shay an inviolable 
cuslitom for each guesh to relate in hish own crude way the chircumstances 
and detailsh of hish or her firsh sexual experiensh." 

"What he meansh," interrupted Monty, condescendingly, "ish: everybody tell 
about their firsh fuck!" 

"I believe I . . . hie . . . made myself clear without . . . hie . . . the 
necesshity . . . of an . . . interpreter!" protested Zippy with great 
dignity. 

"You're half intoxshicated!" 

"I resent that inshinuation! I insist that I'm not half intoxshicated. On 
the contrary, I'm half sho . . . sho . . . sober!" 

"Shut up, both of you! You're both intoxicated! If you start any arguments, 
Carlota and I are going to beat it!" 

"What wosh thish argument about in the firsh playsh?" interrogated Monty, 
scratching his head in perplexity. 

"Oh, Zippy had an idea for each of us to tell about our first sex 
experience, and you interrupted him." 

"That wosh a good idea. I mosh humbly beg hish pardon for my intrushion. It 
would be mosh interestin' to learn under what unforshunate chircumstances 
you two young ladish losh your maidenheadsh. I nominate you to tell the 
firsh story." 

"Oh, no!" I protested, laughing, "it happened so long ago I can hardly 
recall the circumstances. Let Carlota tell hers first. While she's telling 
hers, I'll try to remember mine! That is, if you two men will stop drinking. 
There's no fun telling stories to people who are too drunk to listen." 

"I shecond the movement," interposed Zippy solemnly. "Everybody lishen now, 
while Carlota tells ush about her firsh romansh." 

"Ah," murmured Carlota dreamily. "Until now I have kept the secret of my 
misfortune and the circumstances under which my ruin was accomplished locked 
in the innermost recesses of my heart, nor did I think ever to reveal them." 

She paused and remained pensively silent for a long time. 

We waited expectantly. 

"I was the only child of wealthy parents who showered upon me every care and 
blessing which loving hearts could devise," she began. "We lived on a 
beautiful estate in the country where the art and handiwork of man was 
supplemented by every beautiful and exotic creation of Nature. Close to our 
home was a charming wooded fairyland in which wild flowers abounded in 
bounteous profusion, and through which a little brook of clear, limpid water 
rippled on its way to the distant sea. 

"From my earliest days I recall with what delight I wandered through this 
miniature forest, listening enraptured to the lilting songs of the birds 
which lived in its green boughs, gathering a scented flower here and there, 
watching the big black and gold bees as they skimmed the blossoms in their 
eternal quest . . . " 

"Thersh too many birdsh and beesh and flowersh and not enough fucking in 
thish story . . . " growled Zippy discontentedly. 

"Hush up, Zippy! Let her tell the story in her own way!" 

"Up until the time I was fifteen years old," continued Carlota, unabashed by 
the interruption, "I was as pure and innocent as driven snow. My parents had 
carefully shielded me from every contaminating influence; I knew nothing; I 
was ignorant of all the true facts of life . . . " 

"Terrible mislitake parentsh make," observed Zippy sadly. 

"To that lack of knowledge, which was old enough to rightfully possess, I 
ascribe the fact that my pure innocence was trampled in the mire of lust and 
my fresh young girlhood blighted forever," continued Carlota, her voice 
husky with emotion. 

Monty wiped away a tear and Zippy turned his head to cough suspiciously. 

"I shall never forget the day; it is burned into my soul with letters of 
fire. I had just passed my fifteenth birthday; I was a woman in body, but an 
innocent, unsuspecting child in all else. I thought that babies were brought 
by fairies who left them upon the doorstep in baskets woven from flowers and 
vines." 

Monty was sniffling audibly. Zippy reached surreptitiously for a bottle and 
succeeded in pouring himself a stiff drink before I could wrest it from him. 

"Got to have some kind of stimulation," he protested aggrievedly, "thish 
story ish breaking my heart." 

"I had discovered a limpid pool among the rocks into which the water eddies 
so gently that the sandy bottom could be seen through the crystal-like 
depths. Several fish inhabited this little pool and it was my delight to lie 
on my stomach and watch them swimming lazily about, with the sunlight, which 
penetrated the translucent water, causing their iridescent scales to shine 
with all the colors of the rainbow. 

"It was to this pool I hurried that fateful day, eager to see my little 
pets, each of which I had endowed with an affectionate name. I had brought 
some bread with me, and as I lay there watching them dart at the slowly 
sinking crumbs, I was startled to hear a voice close by me, 'Ah, little Miss 
Narcissus,' it said, 'does your pretty face enchant you so that you linger 
over its reflection in the water?' 

"I looked up into the smiling countenance of a handsome young man who was 
standing there regarding me curiously. I was startled, but not frightened. I 
knew nothing to be frightened of. 'No, Sir,' I replied, 'I was looking at 
some fish that live in this pool. They are really very beautiful. Their 
scales shine like rubies and emeralds and sapphires in the sunlight.' 'So?' 
he answered, peering into the pool. 'You have to lie down and put your face 
close to the water to see them,' I explained. 

"Whereupon the young man, who was an entire stranger to me, accommodated 
himself upon the rocks in a position similar to my own, and together we 
gazed into the limpid pool while I identified the various members of my 
adopted family. 

"His interest in the fish waned quickly and he began asking me questions 
which I, candidly and ingenuously, answered without hesitation, thereby 
revealing to him by childish simplicity as well as my identity. 

"I thought I had never seen so handsome a young man. He was much older than 
I, five or six years, at least. 'Do you come here often?' he asked. 'Every 
day,' I replied, 'unless it rains.' And then, my curiosity overcoming my 
diffidence, I asked: 'Who are you? You don't live near here, do you?' 'No,' 
he replied slowly, 'I come from a far-off city. It is a secret, but I will 
confide in you for I see you can be trusted. You must never tell anyone I 
listened with breathless interest. 'I am an emissary of the king. I am sent 
here to see that the animals and birds and flowers are not molested. When 
the little birds fall out of their nests I put them back, and when the 
chipmunks can't find enough acorns, I feed them.' 'Oh, how wonderful!' I 
breathed ecstatically. 'May I help you sometimes? Some wicked boys place 
traps to catch little bunnies, but whenever I find the traps I throw rocks 
on them and break them up!' 'Quite right, my dear little Carlota (he now 
knew my name), I will be very happy to have you assist me in my search for 
hungry chipmunks, and if we find any bunny traps we will assuredly destroy 
them. You may meet me here at this pool tomorrow, but remember, not a word 
to anyone, not even to your parents. The king would be very angry.' 

"And thus, with a joyous secret clutched to my trusting heart, and in the 
happy anticipation of accompanying this wonderful young man in his search 
for little birds which had fallen from their nests, I ran home . . . " 

"Mosh touchin' story I ever heard," mumbled Zippy, "but . . . " 

"Hush up!" I hissed. "I want to hear the rest of this story without anymore 
interruptions!" 

"Sure enough, he was there waiting for me the next day, and what a 
delightful time I had, wandering through the woods with him, exploring 
little glens and shady bosques where the vines and leaves were so thick I 
had never attempted to penetrate them alone. But it was easy with someone to 
hold the vines back, to lift you over fallen logs, and carry you across wet 
places where little green snakes might be hiding. 

"There was a place where the brook spreads out, standing several inches deep 
in the lush water grass. Across this swampy terrain was a leafy hummock 
which I had seen from a distance but had never approached, not knowing how 
deep the bog might be around it. I pointed it out to my companion and 
without a word he picked me up in his strong arms and started across the 
intervening swamp. 

"There was a strange, sweet sensation in being carried this way, one which I 
had never experienced before. It filled me with a soft, melting languor, 
impossible to describe. As he strode along, he shifted his hold to ease my 
weight and his hand, under my swinging knees, came in contact with bare 
flesh where disarranged clothing left it exposed. 

"A gentle, tingling warmth began to generate there where his hand was 
supporting my legs, and an overpowering emotion gradually stole over me. I 
closed my eyes and abandoned myself to the unknown but delicious sensations, 
languishing, half-fainting, oblivious to everything else in the world. 

"My subsequent recollection of what transpired was dim and vague. In a 
half-unconscious state I was dreamily aware that we had reached the hummock, 
and that he had laid me down on the soft grass and was doing something with 
my clothing. Indescribable ecstasies were being provoked by some mysterious 
caresses between my legs, right there where they came together, caresses 
productive of sensations so overpoweringly sweet that I neither questioned 
their propriety nor even wondered how they were being effected. 

"Suddenly the delicious spell was broken by a short, quick stab of pain. An 
involuntary shriek of anguish escaped my lips, but the pain passed almost 
before the sound had died away, and again a flood of warm delight permeated 
my being and seemed now to be projected clear up inside my body. So intense 
were the sensations which we now being provoked that I fainted dead away. 

"When I recovered consciousness with all that had occurred impressed on my 
memory only as a vague and indefinite, but delicious dream, I found myself 
in a peculiar situation. I was lying upon the grass with my head resting on 
my companion's folded coat. My dress was up and my panties had been removed. 
My companion was engaged in sponging my thighs with a handkerchief he had 
apparently moistened in the brook. As he squeezed the water from it, I 
perceived that it was stained with a dull red. 

"I sat up and felt a twinge of pain and an odd, swollen sensation between my 
legs. I tried to stand up, but I was dizzy and weak. What had happened? Ah, 
my friends, there is no need to tell you what had happened. In that 
unguarded moment the heritage of purity had been snatched from an innocent 
trusting maiden; she had been robbed of that priceless jewel which once 
taken can never be replaced; her virginal chastity was gone forever." 

Carlota choked, overcome with emotion. 

"Dislipicable, unprinshapled scoundrel," groaned Zippy, "robbing a young 
girlsh pryshless jewel . . . " 

"Misherable king's emishary ough to be imprishoned for life!" exclaimed 
Monty, bursting anew into tears. 

I was the only one whose heart remained untouched. As the narrative seemed 
to have come to an end, I murmured: 

"That was a beautiful story, Carlota. Now tell us the real one." 

"The real one isn't nearly as beautiful as the one I told you," answered 
Carlota, who had now regained her composure. 

"Wosh the idea?" growled Zippy, sitting up suddenly. "Imposhing on our 
shimpathies in such a . . . hie . . . inexcushable manner?" 

"Thash what I shay!" echoed Monty, with an aggrieved expression on his face. 
"Wosh the idea?" 

"Shut up, you two! We'll make her start all over again, and if she doesn't 
tell the truth this time, we'll do something to her!" 

"Oh, well, if you insist on the truth you can have it, but I warn you, the 
circumstance was quite devoid of romantic interest. Fiction is always more 
interesting than truth!" 

"Thash what we want, the truth," exclaimed Zippy with renewed enthusiasm. 

"Never mind the romantic interesh!" recommended Monty. 

"Well, let's see . . . I guess I was twelve, or very close to it. My Aunt 
Carmen and my little cousin Ferdinand were staying with us for the summer. 
One afternoon Mamma and Aunt Carmen went to the city, leaving Ferdinand in 
my care. It was just such an opportunity as I had been wishing for. A girl 
playmate had whispered some interesting facts to me confirming pretty 
well-defined suspicions I had already formed regarding certain phenomena of 
nature." 

"I hope there ishn't going to be any birsh and beesh in thish story," 
murmured Zippy uneasily. 

"Before Mamma and Aunt Carmen were out of sight I had made up my mind that I 
was going to find out all about it. Ferdinand was nine, just young enough to 
accept my leadership in everything, and just old enough to keep a secret 
when warned that its disclosure would bring parental vengeance. 

"He could be trusted, and so as soon as Mamma and Aunt Carmen were at a safe 
distance, I locked the doors, invited him to come with me to my bedroom, and 
under the pretext of teaching him a new game, got him to undress and did 
likewise. The game wasn't exactly a new one, but it was the first time 
either he or I had ever tried to play it, and we were a little awkward. 

"By working his little dangle with my fingers, a process I had to repeat 
several times, for it persisted in going soft on me, I managed finally to 
get it stiff enough to fulfill its proper functions, and after a few erratic 
efforts, it suddenly slipped into the hole between my legs with an ease 
which rather surprised me. 

"And this, dear friends, was the simple and unromantic circumstances under 
which I was fucked for the first time, though in truth it should be put the 
other way around, for it could more properly be said that I was the one who 
did the fucking. I hope you're satisfied. As a matter-of-fact, the first 
story I told you was also true, except in some minor details." 

"What were those minor details, if I may ask?" I inquired politely. 

"Well, in the first place, wasn't entirely unaware of what was going to 
happen when he laid me down on the grass and took my panties off. In fact, I 
was rather hopefully anticipating it, for I had felt something hard rubbing 
against my thigh all the time he was carrying me. In the second place, I 
wasn't by any means unconscious while he was doing it to me, though I 
pretended to be. And in the third place, as I have just related, it wasn't 
my first fuck, or my second either for that matter, even though he did make 
me bleed a little because of his size." 

Carlota tossed off a pony of brandy while Monty and Zippy remained pensively 
silent. 

"Now," she observed, clasping her hands behind her head and leaning back in 
her chair, "let's hear yours!" 

"Mine," I answered, "parallels yours . . . I mean your true one . . . so 
closely that I would only have to reverse the ages of the participants, for 
I was the younger, by several years. Which reminds me of something I 
intended to ask you in view of your experience . . . can you get any juice 
out of a nine-year-old cock?" 

"Gosh, I don't know," confessed Carlota. "It always seemed to be wet when it 
came out, but whether it was boy-juice or girl-juice I don't know because I 
was twelve years old at the time, the hair was beginning to grow on my 
cunny, and the juice might have been all mine. But don't fool yourself, a 
kid nine years old can have an orgasm, whether he squirts anything or not." 

At that moment a waiter, after knocking discreetly, opened the door to 
murmur apologetically that it was well past closing time. A hasty glance at 
the timepiece on the wall showed that it was indeed two o'clock in the 
morning. 

We gathered up our effects and prepared to depart. Both Monty and Zippy were 
tipsy. Carlota walked in the peculiar fashion of one who is not quite sure 
of the footing, and I myself found when I stood up that I was far from 
steady on my feet. 

Monty's chauffeur, who was huddled up in his seat half-asleep, came to life, 
jumped out, opened the door for us, and stood patiently awaiting 
instructions. 

For several minutes we stood there debating further exploits. For my part I 
was in favor of going directly to my room with Monty. My blood was heated 
and in my fevered, half-inebriated state I pictured several hours of 
delicious sexual abandon. But I was overruled by the others, who were still 
in an adventuresome mood. They wanted to go somewhere else to pass another 
hour or two before separating, and each had different ideas. 

"Listen, everybody!" finally announced Monty with drunken determination. 
"We'll go to my housh! I've got a nish, comfortable room where everybody can 
relaxsh and enjoy themselves!" 

"Oh, no, we can't do that!" I protested hastily. "Your wife will have us 
thrown out!" 

I could not have voiced a more ill-advised objection. Monty instantly became 
stubbornly resolute. 

"Lishen!" he said with injured dignity, "a mansh housh ish hish cashel! When 
he wansh to entertain dish in hish cashel thash hish . . . hie . . . ina . . 
. inalienable right!" 

Nobody could offer a valid contradiction to this time-honored philosophy, 
and though the chauffeur looked startled when he received his instructions, 
we were soon the way. Though even in my beclouded state I could not repress 
certain misgivings, I lulled them with the thought that his wife would 
undoubtedly be asleep at this hour, and I would think up some pretext to get 
them to leave as quickly as possible. 

But, alas, under the effects of the silver flask and other stimulants which 
were drawn forth from hidden recesses in the car, the warning sense of 
caution diminished and before long I hardly remembered where we were going 
and by the time we got there I was nearly as drunk as the rest and but dimly 
aware of the surroundings. 

The next thing I knew we were within the beautiful room which Monty had 
modestly described as "nish and comfortable." The feel of rich, thick 
carpets was underfoot, and about us every luxurious comfort and adornment 
which money could command. The soft nightlight which was burning gave way to 
a brighter illumination as crystal chandeliers burst into life. In an 
immense open chimney firewood was laid to light, and in an instant this 
stately, beautiful room became the scene of riotous revelry. 

Carlota and I flung ourselves upon gorgeous divans while Money and Zippy 
divested themselves of their hats and top-coats and placed upon an inland 
table the several bottles, some full, some partially depleted, which they 
had carried up from the car. 

A sleepy butler appeared unsolicited, and stood with gaping mouth in the 
doorway. 

"Go 'way! Go on back to bed!" ordered Monty. "Thish ish a private party, we 
don't want any intrushions!" The man retired hastily. 

There was an interlude during which events remained only in my mind in a 
nebulous blur. Here and there were incidents which stood out in relief, 
surviving the chaos of the night. Of course, it was inevitable under the 
circumstances that Carlota and I should be wheedled into disrobing, for no 
drunken orgy is complete until the women have exhibited themselves naked, 
and when the cataclysmic hour struck, she was down to her slippers, hose and 
a short undervest, while I, more circumspect, had removed only my panties. 

Across the room where the shaded glow of a rose-tinted light fell softly on 
her naked thighs and pointed, cone-shaped breasts, her head on Zippy's lap, 
Carlota lay, alternately shrieking hysterically and moaning as he realized 
some occult operation between her legs with his finger. 

Upon the velvet cushions of another divan an equally exotic scene was 
revealed. Cuddled in Monty's arms I rested my head languidly on his shoulder 
while he fingered and played with one of my bubbies which he had succeeded 
in exposing by the simple expedient of tearing open the front of my dress. 

My own fingers were clutched around something stiff and round and hot which 
projected upward from his unbuttoned trousers. I slid the satiny skin slowly 
up and down, and each time the rosy head emerged from its shelter of flesh 
the rigid column jerked like a live thing. I squeezed it tighter, gripping 
it with all the strength of my fist, and still the spasmodic throb was 
strong enough to break my grasp as the plum-colored head was forced through 
the tight ring formed by my thumb and index finger. 

Each mighty convulsion awakened a corresponding throb in my own sexual 
organs, and an inordinate longing began to assail me. I wanted to feel that 
luscious, throbbing thing in my mouth, to run my tongue over its wet 
surface, to lick it and suck it until it burst. 

What difference did it make that Carlota and Zippy were there? They were too 
immersed in their own pastimes to pay much attention to what I was doing. 
Very likely, too, they already knew I was a cocksucker, for Monty was very 
indiscreet with his talk when under the influence of liquor. 

In another moment, doubtless, the luscious fruit for which I was panting 
would have been between my lips had it not been for an interruption. 

That interruption was the quiet opening of the door which gave access to the 
beautiful but now disordered and bottle-strewn lounge. I was the only one 
directly facing the door and I was the first to perceive a new arrival. 

I froze in rigid attention. 

In the doorway, surveying us gravely and silently, stood a woman. Inasmuch 
as this woman was the direct opposite of the mental picture I had formed of 
Monty's wife I did not for a moment or two even consider the possibility 
that it was she. I simply wondered who she was. 

The woman who stood there regarding us with a calm, almost expressionless 
face was young, not much older than I, probably. An embroidered robe of 
rich, wine-colored material was drawn about her and fastened with a loosely 
knotted, tasseled rope of silk. Under its lower hem, the lacy edge of a 
white garment, a nightgown, without doubt, peeked. She wore no hose, but on 
her feet were dainty, high-heeled bedroom sandals. 

She was superbly, radiantly beautiful, a blonde of perfect type whose skin 
was suggestive of peaches and cream, and whose loosely coiled hair glinted 
in the light like spun gold. 

So silent had been her entry and so quietly did she stand that for several 
moments no one but myself was aware of her presence. Monty, his attention 
finally attracted by my tense attitude, turned his eyes in the direction I 
was looking. Zippy in turn glanced casually toward the door, and started 
abruptly. Carlota, facing the opposite direction was still moaning and 
suspiring audibly. Zippy shook her significantly and murmured a 
warning"S-h-h-h!" She looked at him in surprise, and then turned her head to 
see what was holding his attention. When she saw, she sat up hastily, 
drawing her one diaphanous garment down over her hips as far as she could. 

It must have been three-thirty or later. Monty was the first to break the 
silence. 

"Wosh the idea of thish intrushion?" he demanded thickly. 

For a long moment there was no answer from the immobile figure. She 
continued to regard us, coolly, unemotionally. Then: 

"Take your disreptutable associates out of this house immediately." 

The words were spoken in a quiet, dignified voice, low and musical, but 
firmly resolute. 

By this time realization of the intruder's identity had dawned upon me and 
surprise gave way to a rapidly growing feeling of resentment and anger. In a 
confused, startled way, I comprehended that I had been cheated and imposed 
upon. So firmly rooted was the conception I had formed of this woman, a 
conception in which she appeared as a flat-chested, sour-faced misanthrope, 
devoid of seductive feminine charms, that to find her in every respect the 
exact antithesis of all I had been led to believe, or permitted to believe, 
was at first a shock, and as this was assimilated, cause for rage which grew 
quickly to consuming proportions. 

In some way, not yet clearly defined in my mind, I had been misled and 
hoodwinked. I had been permitted to assume that I had a rival unworthy of 
serious consideration, much less to be jealous of. Once, impelled by some 
vague uneasiness, I had asked Monty whether she was pretty. His answer 
leaped into my memory. "About as pretty, compared to you, as a moth is in 
comparison to a beautiful, exotic butterfly!" The recollection brought a new 
surge of anger, for it suggested that I had not only been deceived but 
likewise made the victim of my own ridiculous vanity. This woman was regal 
with a loveliness which made mine look like cheap tinsel, and I had the 
sense to realize it. 

In the baffled, frustrated, angry grouping of my thoughts, I included her as 
well as Monty in my resentment. I had pitied her before, but I hated her now 
with all the bitter venom which jealousy can brew in the heart of a woman 
confronted by the superior and invincible charms of a rival. I could have 
sunk my fingernails in the soft bloom of her cheeks with vicious delight, I 
could have clawed the full, voluptuous breasts which swelled the dressing 
gown outward in twin globes with infinite satisfaction. I fairly suspired to 
hurl myself on her and disfigure every inch of her golden beauty. 

Dimly, I was aware that Monty had lurched to his feet and was advancing 
toward her angrily. 

"Lishen! Thesh ladiesh are my guesh! Wosh the idea of inshulting my guesh? 
Wosh the idea calling my guesh dish . . . dish . . . reputable?" 

She stood her ground, receding not an inch before the menacing gesture of an 
upraised hand. No emotion was visible in her face except that of cool 
disdain. 

"Remove these people from here instantly," she repeated. "I will not 
tolerate their presence here." 

"Shay! Wosh housh ish thish? I refush to be embar-rasshed in the presensh of 
my friensh!" 

He made an unsteady lurch, and the sharp sound of a hand in contact with 
flesh was heard. He had slapped her in the face with considerable force. 

A wave of cruel pleasure swept over me with the sound of the impact and the 
hot blood tingled in my cheeks. 

Across one of hers a dappled, reddish outline appeared to mar the white 
purity of her skin. But she did not flinch. With outward calm and dignity 
she remained motionless. There was a moment of deadly silence, and the low 
voice spoke again. 

"Take your degenerate friends with you and leave this house or I will go 
myself." 

What followed can only be told in a summary fashion. My own emotions were so 
violent that I saw everything through a sort of red haze and the details 
were blended in a confused blur of movement and action. 

Monty had seized her in his arms. They were tussling and swaying in the 
doorway, she trying to escape his grasp and he apparently intent on dragging 
her into the room. No words were spoken; there was no sound except the heavy 
breathing, the swish of garments, and the scuffle of moving feet deadened in 
part by the thick carpets. 

The pallor of her face had given way to a vivid flush which burned in either 
cheek. One of her bronze slippers had been dislodged in the scuffle and she 
was panting audibly. With a violent effort she succeeded in wrestling an arm 
free from his clasp, and placing his palm of her hand against his chin she 
forced his head back. For a moment it seemed that she was about to free 
herself from his drunken embrace. 

As she strained to loosen his grasp, the sound of ripping cloth was heard 
and the neck and upper part of her robe and nightgown were torn open. The 
folds sagged down over her shoulders and arms, and one white breast was 
exposed. 

I can see it yet, that proud, round breast of alabaster whiteness protruding 
from the ravished garments, its rosy nipple standing out prominently. 

The sudden yielding of the garment caused her to lose her balance and the 
temporary advantage she had gained. She tottered backward and before she 
could recover herself she was again helpless in his arms. But she did not 
cease to struggle as she was dragged toward the center of the room. 

The blood was singing in my head. I felt choked, suffocated, and was 
breathing in short, dry gasps. Zippy and Carlota sat stiffly erect, watching 
with bulging eyes, but I gave them hardly a thought. Remembrance of his 
cynical admission of attempts to fuck her was simmering in my brain. Well, 
he would never lay hands on me again. Let him fuck her if he could, and let 
her claw him to shreds while he was doing it if she wanted to. That was what 
he had on his mind now. I knew he was going to try to fuck her right there 
in our presence. 

The sound of more ripping cloth bore out the supposition and testified to 
his lust for the woman who had spurned him as he tried drunkenly to disrobe 
her. The kaleidoscopic, shifting blur of movement now revealed her half-nude 
as the entire front of her dressing gown was ripped open and the torn 
fragments of the nightgown underneath tangled about her legs. 

I clenched my fists and bit my lips. My face was burning hot and my head 
felt light and dizzy. 

As the torn fragments fluttered about her shapely limbs, he lifted her up. 
She managed to slip from his arms and regained her feet, but as she did so 
what remained of the garments was stripped upward and for a moment, not only 
her legs, but her bottom as well was left naked. As she twisted about the 
light shone full on the patch of little bronze ringlets of hair at the base 
of her stomach. Another violent movement and pieces of her torn garments 
again covered the exotic sight. 

She was panting, choked, inarticulate, but as if aware of her half-naked 
condition she gathered herself for a supreme effort and placing both hands 
against his chest she shoved with desperate strength. Doubtless, divining 
what was in his mind, she put every ounce of her failing energies into a 
superhuman effort to escape the humiliation. She succeeded in pushing him 
from her. He clutched at her in an effort to regain his balance, tottered 
uncertainly for a moment, and fell backward. His head struck the edge of the 
iron grating in front of the fireplace. His body twisted once or twice, 
straightened out, and remained motionless. 

There was a momentary silence, broken only by a faint, peculiar whistling 
sound from the lips of the fallen man, a sound which I, and probably both my 
companions, assumed to be more an indication of drunken stupor than anything 
more serious. 

But the woman standing there panting beside him, looking down into his face, 
suddenly began to scream. It an instant the servants, who had probably been 
hovering around close at hand but loathe to interfere, rushed precipitately 
into the room. 

"Call a physician! Call a physician! Call the police! Get these people out 
of here!" she screamed, repeating the words over and over. 

While two servants lifted Monty from the floor to lay him upon a sofa, 
another scurried to telephone a doctor, and another addressed himself to us. 

"I'd advise you to retire as quickly as possible. The Marster appears to be 
in a very bad condition. He's not responsible under the circumstances, and 
you'd better be off, seein' as the Mistress is quite 'isterical!" 

It was a sober and quiet little procession that filed down the stairs and 
out into the night air. Monty's faithful chauffeur, aroused by the sudden 
movement and lights about the house, inquired anxiously: 

"What's happened?" 

"Oh, Monty staged a row with his wife. He fell down and hit his head on the 
fireplace grating," Zippy answered gloomily. 

"Is he hurt?" 

"I don't think so. Get us away from here as quickly as you can." 

The uneasy chauffeur hesitated a moment but finally decided that the best 
course was to do as suggested. He put the motor into movement and the car 
slid off down the quiet street. 

As my thoughts cleared I became aware that Carlota was putting on her 
clothes, and for the first time realized that she had left the house clad in 
nothing but a silken shift, though she had retained sufficient presence of 
mind to grab her clothes and bring them with her, which reminded me that my 
own panties were still decorating a chair back there in the house. 

I was not tempted to return for them. The wild emotions of the past 
half-hour were passing and I felt weak and faint. A fit of trembling seized 
me and I began to cry. 

Carlota turned suddenly on me and I was electrified to hear her hiss: 

"Damn you! If it hadn't been for you this would never have happened!" 

"What on earth do you mean?" I gasped, hardly able to believe my ears. "What 
did you have to do with it?" 

The only answer was a string of curses and maledictions that left me 
petrified with astonishment. 

Zippy tried in vain to quiet her. She began to shriek. 

"Let me out!" she cried hysterically, "let me out!" 

Thinking that the excitement and liquor had thrown her into some kind of a 
fit, I put my arms around her and tried to soothe her. She shoved me away 
with a violent gesture and screamed: 

"Keep your hands off me, you damned little cocksucker, keep your hands off 
of me!" 

The chauffeur, who of course could hear the clamor, slowed up the car, and 
opening the glass window at his back, peered in. 

"Here! Here! What's going on?" he exclaimed anxiously. 

"I want to get out! Let me out!" cried Carlota. 

"Certainly, you can get out if you want to!" answered the man with alacrity, 
and he jumped from his seat to open the door for her. 

Carlota literally hurled herself from the car, and sobbing brokenly, ran off 
and disappeared in the darkness. 

"What . . . what in the world came over her?" I whispered dazedly, turning 
to Zippy. "What will happen to her, running around in the dark in a drunken 
fit?" 

"Don't worry about her, Jessie. She can take care of herself." 

"But . . . but why did she say such awful things to me? Why doesn't she like 
me? I've never offended her or done her any harm!" 

"Don't you know, really?" he asked. 

"No, I don't! Do you?" 

"Why, she's jealous of you. That's what's the matter with her." 

"Jealous of me? Why should she be jealous of me?" 

"Well, you see, Jessie, she was Monty's girl before he met you." 

"Why! I thought she was your girl!" 

"No," he answered with a resigned gesture. "Monty shoved her off onto me to 
keep her pacified. I did the best could, but I wasn't up to it." 

"Oh!" I gasped weakly, "Oh!" 

Zippy placed an arm over my shoulder and patted me sympathetically. "Monty 
is a good scout but he takes some wild chances. We all must have been crazy 
to let him take us to his house tonight." 

"I didn't want to go; I tried to talk him out of it, but I'm glad now I 
went. I found out several things I didn't know before. I never want to see 
him again." 

Unable to control my feelings, I began to cry again. 

"Cheer up, kid. Don't let yourself get upset. You have to take things as 
they come in this life, the bitter with the sweet!" 

His arm tightened about me and unresisting I let him draw my head over 
against his shoulder where I continued to sob until I was able to restrain 
myself. This Zippy was a nice chap. I had always liked him but had never 
permitted myself to be more than discreetly friendly with him on Carlota's 
account. There was comfort and consolation in the sympathetic pressure of 
his arm, and soon I felt better. 

"Will you come to see me sometime?" I murmured. "I'm not going to have 
anything more to do with Monty." 

"Of course I will, if you want me. I couldn't ask you before because, well, 
it just isn't cricket to poach on another man's preserves." 

"That's how I felt about Carlota. What a dummy I was! I knew from the way 
she acted there was something wrong, but I didn't have sense enough to 
suspect what it was. No wonder she didn't like me!" 

The big automobile was rolling along smoothly and quietly and within another 
twenty-five minutes or so I would be back in my room. 

Dawn was not far off, but it was still dark outside. 

 CHAPTER SEVENTEEN 

So quickly does the heart respond to kindly words in moments of distress 
that already a tender feeling for Zippy was taking root. He was really nice 
and he was good-looking too. I put my feet up under me on the car seat, and 
cuddled down against him with my head resting on his lap. The soft vibration 
of the car was soothing to the nerves and soon I felt quite comfortable. 

Under the pressure of my shoulders on his lap I became aware of a disturbing 
element which started a new train of thoughts. I moved my body so that I 
could lay my hand on the disturbance, even squeeze it softly. It immediately 
became more pronounced and grew into a small riot. For several minutes 
nothing was said. 

The next thing I knew his trousers were unbuttoned, the cause of the 
agitation was out in the open and my head was being impelled down over it by 
hands which exerted a firm pressure. 

I was surprised at such directness, but not displeased. 

"The chauffeur?" I whispered questioningly. 

For answer Zippy reached over me, manipulated a switch, and darkness equal 
to that outside descended upon the interior of the car. 

Some fifteen or twenty minutes later two discreet notes of the siren advised 
us that my destination was near. When the car stopped and I stepped out, the 
sky was tinted in the east. The night was lifting. Dawn was at hand. 

I ran up the steps, rang the bell, and after a long wait the door was opened 
by the night maid. Within less than ten minutes all told, I was in bed and 
sound asleep. 

I slept for at least five hours, but I would have sworn that it was not over 
five minutes before I was dragged from my lethargic slumber by a violent 
shaking and insistent voices which continued relentlessly until I finally 
sat up to protest the commotion. 

"Wake up, Jessie! Wake up!" 

It was Hester who was repeating the disagreeable phrase and shaking me 
insistently, but as my vision cleared I saw Madame Lafronde standing nearby, 
and several girls besides. 

There was something in their faces which dispelled the last vestige of 
sleep, and I now saw that Madame Lafronde was holding a newspaper. 

"Wake up, Jessie! Wake up!" pleaded Hester. "Are you awake?" 

"Yes! I'm awake! What's the matter?" 

"Oh, Jessie, were you with Montague Austin last night? Something dreadful 
has happened!" 

The blood drained from my face. 

"What is it?" I whispered. 

"He's dead, Jessie, he's dead! There was some kind of trouble in his home 
last night or early this morning; there were some girls there, the police 
are trying to find them! We thought . . . we were afraid . . . maybe you 
were mixed up in it! You were out with him last night, weren't you? The 
paper says there were two girls!" 

"Let me see the paper!" I gasped, without answering her questions. 

Silently, Madame Lafronde placed it in my hands. 

Big black headlines screamed at me from across the top of a column on the 
front page: 

MONTAGUE AUSTIN DIES UNDER MYSTERIOUS CIRCUMSTANCES. 

I clutched the paper with trembling fingers and tried to read the smaller 
print, but my mind refused to concentrate upon the long drawn-out recital 
and only blazing fragments detached themselves here and there to impinge on 
my consciousness. 

"Youngest son of late Sir Weatherford Austin died at an early hour this 
morning as the result of injuries sustained in his own home. Wife in 
hysterical collapse unable to give coherent account of tragedy . . . not 
known whether fall was accidental or whether he was knocked down . . . died 
without regaining consciousness . . . conflicting stories told by domestics 
suggestive of bacchanalian revelries motivate investigation by Scotland Yard 
. . . empty bottles and whiskey flasks . . . intimate garments left behind . 
. . half-naked girls flee with male companion . . . identity of man unknown 
. . . chauffeur to be interrogated today . . . victim has figured in many 
sensational escapades . . . " 

"Now, Jessie," said Madame Lafronde not unkindly, seating herself on the 
edge of the bed, "for the good of all concerned, let's get the truth so 
we'll know what to do. Just answer my questions. Were you there?" 

"Yes, I was! But I didn't . . . none of us . . . even dreamed he was badly 
hurt!" 

"What happened exactly?" 

"He was fighting with his wife. He was drunk and he slipped and fell and his 
head struck against the fireplace grating." 

"What were you doing in his house while his wife was there?" 

"Well, I . . . we were all of us half-drunk and he insisted on taking us 
there! I didn't want to go." 

"Who are these other people?" 

"A girl, named Carlota, and a fellow, a friend of Monty's, everybody calls 
him Zippy . . . I don't know his right name." 

"Who is this Carlota?" 

"I don't know her full name, either. I'd met her two or three times before 
when I was out with Monty and Zippy. I didn't know it until last night, but 
she used to be Monty's sweetheart." 

"Do either of these people know your name and where you live?" 

"Zippy does. Carlota . . . I don't know. Monty might have told her." 

"How did you get here this morning?" 

"Zippy brought me . . . in Monty's car." 

"In Monty's car? With his chauffeur?" 

"Yes; you see the chauffeur . . . none of us . . . knew there was anything 
seriously wrong when we left." 

"Then the chauffeur knows this address too?" 

"I guess he does now, all right." 

"All right, kid. If you step fast maybe you can be out of here before the 
doorbell starts ringing, and maybe you can't. There's no hard feelings, but 
you know how it is, I can't afford to have any of my girls mixed up in 
anything like this." 

"I understand. I don't blame you," I answered dully, and got out of bed to 
dress. 

"I'll have your money ready for you as soon as you're dressed and we'll slip 
you out the back way . . . just in case. I'll give you some address where 
you can get on easy if you want to get a new place, but use a different name 
and don't mention having worked here. If you do, there's a good chance 
you'll be picked up. The police are going to find out all they can about 
this affair, and if they get you, there's no telling what you'll have to go 
through." 

Hester went with me to carry some of my things and to help find a room where 
I would be safe from annoyance. We found one which appeared to be suitable, 
and though the landlady looked askance when she heard I was to occupy it 
alone, her misgivings were calmed by the sight of sufficient money to pay a 
month's rent in advance, and my assurance that I would be receiving no 
"visitors" other than Hester. 

The room was cozy and comfortable, but after Hester had gone, such a feeling 
of loneliness and wretchedness welled up in my heart that I threw myself on 
the little bed and had a long cry. 

The next afternoon Hester returned to tell me excitedly that within less 
than fifteen minutes after our departure the police, who had extracted the 
address from Monty's chauffeur just as Madame Lafronde had anticipated, were 
there looking for me, and in addition two barristers had called repeatedly 
in a vain effort to see me. I shuddered and from then on the little room 
seemed more like a haven of refuge than a lonely exile, for I entertained a 
profound horror of police and jails, the long months of deadly monotony in 
the reform school never having been forgotten. 

"They found that girl Carlota, too. She used to be a dancer in a music hall. 
And who do you suppose your mysterious friend Zippy turned out to be?" 

"I don't know," I answered. "Who?" 

"No less a personage than that polo-playing Lord Beaverbrook! I've seen his 
picture in the papers lots of times. I think the whole thing will be hushed 
up soon. They know it was an accident and that nobody was much to blame but 
Austin himself." 

True to Hester's prediction, references to the scandal disappeared quickly 
from the press and no great efforts were made to locate the missing witness. 
For a time I entertained the hope that Madame Lafronde would relent and call 
me back. But the hope was dissipated when Hester sadly informed me that it 
was futile. She herself had tried to pave the way for my return only to be 
told by Madame Lafronde that though she liked me, I was a "firebrand" and in 
the best interests of the business its doors must remain closed to me. 

Hester came faithfully to visit me for an hour or two every afternoon. 

"Did the papers ever hint what Austin and his wife were quarreling about?" I 
asked her. 

"Yes; she objected to his having you and those other people drinking and 
carousing in the house. Wasn't that it?" 

"Partly, but there was something else . . . something lots worse than that." 

"What was it, Jessie?" 

"He had her half-stripped. He was going to fuck her right there in front of 
all of us." 

"Oh, Jessie! What did I tell you about that man? Why wouldn't you listen to 
me?" 

She was on the point of tears again and I hastily endeavored to turn the 
conversation into a lighter vein. 

"Don't worry so about me, you sweet old thing! I'll listen to your advice in 
the future. But it's fierce to be here all alone. Maybe I'll pay you to come 
and sleep with me some night. I've got lots of money. I'll telephone 
Lafronde and disguise my voice and ask for a girl, and you can volunteer." 

"No! I won't sleep with you, you perverted little woman-fucker!" 

"Not even if I pay you?" 

"No! Not even if you pay me!" 

"That's nice! You'd go to a hotel with some woman you don't even know and do 
things with her, but you won't sleep with me!" 

"Jessie, how can you even think of such things after what's happened?" 

"Let's get undressed and lie down for a little while. You haven't anything 
to do this afternoon." 

"Are you in your right senses?" 

"Listen; if you'll stay, I'll do it like Heloise did . . . only nicer!" 

"Oh! You're one of those, too, are you? Well, thanks, I don't want any 
today. When I do, I'll let you know. How much do you charge?" 

"I'll bet I could make it last you a whole hour!" 

"No!" 

"Please, darling, sweet Hester! Think of me, locked up here alone in this 
room by myself day after day!" 

"No! And if I did, you'd be sure to leave the door unfastened so anyone 
could open it and walk right in!" 

"Look!" I exclaimed, and jumping up I twisted the key in the lock and held 
it up before her. "I'll even hang up a towel over the keyhole so nobody can 
peek at us!" 

"Well, come on, then! I just want to see if you're really capable of doing 
that, too!" 

I had paid a month's rent, but by the time two weeks had passed I found the 
loneliness and inactivity intolerable. Hester had brought a list with 
several addresses which Madame Lafronde had prepared, and feeling now that 
there was little likelihood of being bothered by the police, I set out one 
afternoon to see if I could find a place. 

With one swift glance of appraisal the madam of the first house on the list 
invited me to a room, had me undress for a survey of my physical assets, and 
immediately began to ply me with flattering and enticing inducements to join 
her manage. I was rather taken aback by such unexpected eagerness and the 
assurance of profitable earnings, but anxious to settle the matter of 
immediate occupation I accepted her offer without delving into promises 
which seemed somewhat exaggerated. 

The bargain was struck. I was shown the room which would be at my 
disposition and introduced to several of the young ladies who would be my 
future companions. They were a slightly faded lot, considerably below Madame 
Lafronde's standards, and the depressing thought came over me that my entry 
into this second-rate bagnio signaled another step downward towards the 
abyss. But I shrugged the thought aside; I could always leave it if I didn't 
like it, and told the woman I would bring my effects in the morning. 

Before opening the door for me to leave, she detained me a moment in the 
hall. 

"Listen dearie," she murmured in low, wheedling tones, "I forgot to mention 
. . . I don't suppose it will make any difference . . . but I've got a 
special class of trade here . . . this isn't a French house exactly, but you 
know how it is . . most of my best paying regulars like it a little out of 
the ordinary . . . you understand. All the other girls here do it. You won't 
mind that, will you dearie?" 

Ah! As I digested this bizarre announcement, which fully explained the 
cajolements and flattery and alluring promises, the woman watched my face 
anxiously, as though to read therein some sign which would tell her whether 
the bird was going to fly off affrighted or remain in the trap. 

For a long moment I stood pensively silent. I knew from the dejected aspect 
of the place, the sallow-faced girls, the tarnished furniture, that the type 
of men who frequented it would be far, far different from those I was 
accustomed to dealing with. Up to the present, my cocksucking inclinations 
had been exercised voluntarily, to satisfy my own sexual cravings. Here, I 
would be obliged to do it, whether felt so inclined or not. I hesitated 
uncertainly, and then, with a gesture of indifference, replied: 

"I'll give them what they want." 

And thus, with six short words, did I seal my pact with hell, and bind 
myself henceforward to madden the brains of men and corrode their souls with 
the bittersweet poison of my sucking lips. 

Madeleine 

 CHAPTER ONE 

Why do I write these memoirs? Seated here in afternoon leisure in my 
luxurious boudoir at . . . Boulevard Haussmann, with my faithful Fleurette 
pouring me a petite vere de I'ab-sintke, a feeling of exuberant 
self-satisfaction so overwhelms me that I must find some expression for it 
other than sensual. Last night, in this very room, I entertained no less 
than a president. He was elderly and broken by many cares, and I enjoyed his 
conversation at dinner much more than his prowess in bed; yet I, who have 
scorned blood princes, stood-or rather lay-in awe of him. 

But I am way ahead of my story. Just why do I write? Is it because I feel 
that in the account of my love-life lies the salvation of womankind? Is 
there any tocsin that I wish to sound to warn my sisters off any 
metaphorical rocks? No; scarcely that. Rather it is that I wish to record 
the experiences of my senses while their tinglings are yet echoing through 
my veins, and if any uncertainty of detail arises in the course of my 
analyses, I can still re-experience and reexamine those subjective states. 
To depend on memory alone for other than the mere external web of 
circumstances, as my good friend Frank Harris does in his autobiography, is 
a sad delusion. A slight gesture from me and my cherry-lipped little 
Fleurette yonder slips hither between my thighs, even as I sit, pen in hand. 
Worshipfully she slips her pretty head beneath my light silk peignoir, and 
brushing aside the ribbon of my chemise, with her soft coral tongue 
stimulates in me such warm delicious tremors as again assure Kie of the 
worthiness of this, my project. And if there are more vigorous amusements 
that I desire, know, reader, that my Maison is the best in all Paris-which 
is no mean boast-and I harbor beneath my hospitable roof, not only fourteen 
selected maidens of varying types and nationalities, but also three handsome 
red-cheeked boys and a great blond Finlandish giant of massive 
proportions-thus qualifying my household to administer every variety of 
libidinous pleasure of whatsoever sex. 

But I have digressed considerably-r-and" before I can well launch upon the 
story of my life, there are certain justifications I wish to indicate, 
certain misunderstandings that I wish to negate or correct. 

First of all, I make no pretense about the deathly secrecy of these 
memoirs-and there would be no one more disappointed than my ghost if ever I 
should peep down from over the edge of a bed in heaven (or more conveniently 
still, look up from a supine position in hell) and see these notes cast into 
an ash can, or used to start a fire, or perhaps hung up in the uncivilized 
backhouse of some illiterate to do vulgar service. I have never been so 
completely preoccupied with the study of the opposite sex that I have 
ignored the foibles of my own, and I would wager a season pass for the 
privileges of my establishment that there never was a woman who kept a diary 
of her love adventure who was not without hope that some day it would be 
discovered and exploited, that men far and wide might read and stand to her 
appeal, that women would read and be confounded with envy by the variety of 
her amorous exploits. True, women who marry, at least with the intention of 
permanency and not with the purpose of performing a Lucrezia Borgia, are 
known to destroy the diaries and letters of their youth; but so too does 
marriage entail the denouncement of all idealism and individualism, and this 
is a matter of mere expediency. Women contemplating the fatal step do not 
keep diaries. And so I am frank to admit that my purpose is to someday 
publish these memories for distribution to my friends and patrons. Not in 
the immediate future, of course, for I am still young-but years of age-and 
though I am already turning overly plump, due to the lazy luxury of my 
present existence, and I can scarcely recognize these voluptuous breasts of 
mine when I remember what a sylph-like figure I once possessed-yet I feel 
certain that there is plenty more living ahead of me, and there will be 
correspondingly much to write about. 

If then the present is not to be the last page why do I write now? It is 
because that handsome little doctor who comes to look in on us every now and 
then (and sometimes follows into the objects of his inspection himself) 
tells me that I have a slight aneurysm of the heart, and unless I slow down 
on the unendurable pleasures that are frequently mine, I may develop serious 
endocarditis. Admitting its possibility, I am yet but little troubled-for 
personally I suspect that monsieur le docteur tells me this that he may come 
to see me more often and coming more frequently, collect more fees-and 
judging from the currency in which he collects his fees and the fact that 
the dear boy would never be particeps criminis to my death (though an 
unobjectionable manner of dying it would be), I need have no fear. And so 
someday, when I have long since retired gracefully from my last encounter 
and the girls carry on the show in my stead, I shall distribute copies of 
these memoirs to those who ignore me, and knowing my past, they will kneel 
admiringly before me even as the maidens flocked worshipfully about the 
chair of the Chevalier de Seingalt in his old age. 

That consequently my private life may fall into the hands of the so-called 
morally minded, I know too, and for their eyes I wish to pen this challenge. 
Apart from some maladjustments in my adolescence, I have never for one 
moment had cause to regret the method of life chose. The punishment for 
sexual promiscuity, to employ the terminology that is the best our 
puritanical forebears afford us, is mainly imaginary. I have had the 
advantage of attending an American medical school for two years and the 
reader may accept my assurance that if (and I emphasize this if) conditions 
afforded legitimate medical attention, the avoidance of both venereal 
disease and unwelcome offspring could be insured beyond doubt. And I who 
have never permitted a rubber capot (i.e., condom) to be used upon me, say 
this. Far be it from my purpose to mislead some little miss into getting 
herself under double misfortune. There is no kind nature that takes care of 
such matters, as you who are more experienced no doubt ruefully know, and it 
is only because I must not insult the intelligence of the more enlightened, 
nor transform the character of these notes from a book of memoirs to a 
textbook on contraception and prophylaxis, that I refrain from giving to all 
who need it the meed of information that is mine. 

I know how criminally misleading many books are on this point. Having 
adopted sex as my lifework from the moment of the full maturing of my reason 
I have pursued its science and lore into every cranny of literature. Thanks 
to the kind aid of my many patrons and admirers, and to some extent due to 
my personal efforts, I have gathered an unusually fine collection of erotic 
books to me. Hence I feel justified in making the observation that through 
some unfathomably perverted sense of propriety, writers will cover their 
pages with the most unmitigated licentiousness and yet fear to violate the 
law or convention against the spread of contraceptive and abortive 
information. It is bitterly amusing too, to note further, that the books 
that sin worst in this direction are those written by men. Torrents of the 
male ejaculate are poured into us, our thirsty wombs are supposed to suck it 
up, and yet our heroines invariably remain untouched by consequences. How 
preposterous this is, only those of my own sex .can realize. The avoidance 
of impregnation and its dire physical and social consequences is the primary 
and major issue in every woman's life. It was in my case particularly. No 
woman can settle herself completely to enjoy the embraces of her lover-or 
even husband-no matter how overpoweringly delicious his rhythmic contacts 
may be, if in her mind there is any fear of this kind. And yet this is 
something that these women-created by brutal men who do in writing what they 
dare not do in fact-never tell. Other glaring disparities that many works 
delight in making continued use of are the insertion of fabulous ten-inch 
members, invariably compared to an ox's leg, into the virginal vagina of a 
-year-old girl. That such an effort would tear through the perineum of even 
a tried woman and inflict fatal internal injuries is never considered. I 
hope to be more sincere and accurate in my accounts, for the truth of my 
life has been sufficiently strange and interesting to discourage any use of 
fiction. 

Another justification-though doubtless the reader is getting impatient-for I 
can't just dive into my tale until I have made my position clear. I chose 
the life of a prostitute. Worse than that, according to the moralist, I have 
become a panderess, proxinete, a "whorehouse mistress." There are many other 
ugly words that could be used, but so too there are more just and beautiful 
terms that have been applied to us in periods like the ancient Roman and 
Grecian, when our profession was regarded as on a vastly higher plane than 
many another-say that of the wife. Prostitution! Pray ask your moralist 
whether all men and women who work with their bodies do not prostitute 
themselves far more meanly than we, whose toil, if such it be, is of all 
forms the most lovable, seeing that it receives, even as it gives, pleasure. 
And those who are artists and sell the innermost thoughts of their souls, do 
they not prostitute themselves the basest of all? More pertinently still, 
take your smug married woman: her smugness comes only from the delusive 
safety-certainly not happiness-that comes with a compliance with her 
conventions. Basically, she is the worst prostitute of all-sexually, in her 
manual toil, in the shackling of her mind and will, in the degradation of 
living lies that are the very backbone of this institution. She knows well 
that if she had originally been honest with her husband-if she had given him 
what he was entitled to as lover-he would not have married her. But no, she 
has the questionable comfort of knowing that she used her sex, an 
intrinsically temporary appeal, to lure him into the marital trap. 

As to the accusations that our relations are insincere, unnatural or too 
frequent, little reply is necessary. Nothing is more wearying than to crawl 
into the same familiar hole, night in and night out, knowing in advance 
every move, every gunt, of one's partner-and yet, just such a hypocrisy does 
the marital status breed. Wives must submit to their husbands out of duty or 
fear. Husbands serve their wives frequently with no inclination at all other 
than duty or perhaps a jealous fear that she will seek outside relief if he 
does not assuage her. A wife is of frigid temperament and is brutally forced 
to submit, or a wife is of a more ardent turn and rides her husband to an 
early grave-for veritably it is no one man's task to quench an ardent woman. 
Both monandry and monogamy are sadly unworkable hypotheses. Though every 
spouse may think that his or hers is the only unfaithful union, yet icemen 
and bill collectors leave other than their commodities or receipts behind 
them in more cases than one may want to admit-and that cuckold husbands grow 
horns outside the uxorial bed that do not come in pairs and do not stay 
erect indefinitely, is proven by reference to the statistics of our 
profession. 

Again, let what wife that will, deny that she does with her mouth what she 
cannot otherwise do at such phases of the moon as she is incapacitated 
below. We will not believe her. And how many married women are there-sans 
hemorrhoids-who have not had their pretty bottoms broken into from behind ? 
-provided of course that their bottoms are charming enough to inspire that 
flattering toughness in their husbands that is essential to the execution of 
this difficult task! 

Your so-called "saving sense of sin" can save you only from suspecting your 
neighbor of the things you do. Everyone believes that he or she is the only 
one that sinks to these secret doings, and it is well for this that the law 
protects to some extent the privacy of the marital chamber. I affirm again 
that there is more vice inside the married state than there is without. A 
vice with few or none of the thrilling recompenses that should normally go 
with them. 

And what does a married woman get out of all this? A home and food, yes; but 
for this she pays with perpetual labors, household and other wise, that 
would earn her untold luxuries if she were her own mistress. At this point 
one may object, indicating in refutation that the majority of my sisters and 
colleagues in the lightening of men's burdens never attain the riches and 
fortunes that I have. To this I reply that for them I have but scant 
sympathy. In most cases it is the fault of no one but themselves. True, it 
may be some comfort to consider that there are failures in all walks and 
professions of life. There are as many poor preachers as prostitutes-only 
the latter do not cite the former as evidencing the wages of righteousness. 
But I believe-and my own life will further demonstrate my belief 
considerably-that any woman who is at all equipped to give pleasure to man 
can climb to the level where she can command the worth of herself-that is to 
say at the very least a comfortable living. In our field as in no other is 
it our privilege to ourselves determine the price of our commodity. It is as 
easy to get a two thousand franc check from a man with one million a year as 
it is to get francs from a poor dirty laborer-easier and more 
justifiable-for a stiff prick has neither conscience nor discretion, and the 
price may be raised at the same rate as the temperature of one's pursuer. 
The casual debauchee of tonight, haughtily turned away, becomes the ardent 
and generous admirer of tomorrow-and there is nothing that so whets the 
appetite as the illusion of unattainability. I do not say that all can 
achieve to the beds of dukes and princes-though judging from the amount of 
fucking these worthies do, there is room for a considerable number yet; but 
there are many intermediate stags, all preferable to the gutter or the 
bondage of marriage. Consider too that over per cent of the world's wealth 
is in the hands of the aristocracy and the capitalists-and it is this 
leisure class who require amusement most-who, if they do not support more 
than three mistresses at a time, at least change them frequently-and it is 
not inconceivable that for a night or two, not of work but of pleasure, a 
shrewd dame may get enough to put her by comfortably for life. In this 
profession as in any other that is better recognized, there is plenty of 
opportunity for the employment of initiative and the projection of 
individual personalities. In all, I wish only to impress the reader into 
whose hands these memoirs may chance, that our profession is not 
inconsistent with the possession of intellect and refined sensibility of a 
sort. In evidence, I submit myself and these my writings in negation of the 
base generalizations that have been leveled against us. The day of the 
hetaera, with her esteemed position in society, is at hand again. The false 
morality that ousted her, that was necessary to the establishment of vicious 
ecclesiastical powers, that same religious degradation of woman is passing 
with the decline of the institutions that plotted it. A new and more 
beautiful paganism blossoms forth in the seats of our highest civilization. 
That the economic factor casts a shadow of aspersion on devotees of the art 
of pleasure is doubtless lamentable; but until the same reflection is 
removed from all the arts, pursuits and professions of our modern world, my 
audience who sits in judgment of me ought not to consider this in the 
evaluation of my life. 

 CHAPTER TWO 

Disillusioning as it may be to those who have found an added lascivious 
fillip in my Parisienne name ("Madeleine!" How often have I heard it 
murmured as I gazed up into the face of some lover, flushed with ecstasy!) 
yet my real name is Louise-and I am not French at all. For I was born in the 
prosaic enough locale of Plattsburg, in the State of New York, U.S.A., in 
the year . 

My parents-and this too is commonplace-were stern, straight-laced people who 
subscribed to all the externalities of middle-class morality, and my early 
upbringing was of that dull, spirit-killing kind that is, alas, still 
typical of the average American home. 

Whether fortunately or unfortunately, there were no boys in our family-only 
a sister, some twenty months older than I. I say fortunately, because my 
parents, disappointed at their lack of male offspring, had decided to give 
me an education that otherwise might have been limited to the technique of 
household drudgery. Unfortunately, because my sister and I, deprived of the 
natural and free male companionship that only brothers can afford, were 
brought up in a peculiar ignorance of things sexual. Somehow the things we 
learned in later childhood from our companions possessed a vague 
impersonality that failed to relieve the drabness of our sexless lives. When 
the mysteries of creation were first explained to me by an older girl friend 
of mine, I refused to believe her. That my parents begot me by fucking was 
too inconceivable. After some days and nights of childishly morbid 
pondering, I dismissed the subject from my mind-and carefully avoided any 
supplementary discussion with her who had made this disagreeable disclosure. 

All circumstances, as I review them hastily in my own mind-and it is 
needless to bore the reader with facts outside the pale of his 
interests-point to the fact that, my early life being so entirely sexless, 
my adolescence was abnormally delayed and it was not until my sixteenth year 
that I ever began to be a woman. Only one incident during this period do I 
wish to mention-and I leave its importance to the evaluation of the 
scientifically bent. It was when I was about nine years old. The dreariness 
of a rainy day had forbade even reading, my usual pastime, and I was 
rummaging through one of my mother's bureau drawers, unearthing silly old 
family tin-types and portraits, when I came upon an odd disk of brown 
rubber, much like a miniature automobile tire, only its internal area was 
covered with a thin membrane. My keen curiosity, coupled with my natural 
astuteness and precocity, served me but little in the assignment of some 
purpose or identity to this object. Climbing upon my parents' bed and 
spreading my dress about me, I proceeded to examine further, unrolling it 
only to become more mystified by its full cylindrical length, and inflating 
it with my breath as if it were a toy balloon. At this point, my mother, 
wondering about my long silence, came upstairs to see whether or not I was 
up to some mischief, and finding me with that article in my hands and at my 
lips, administered to me a beating the severity of which I could never 
forgive, and even now cannot reconcile with the offense. It must have been 
the hypocritical prudery of my parents, frightened in its apprehension even 
by one so innocent as I, for in those days the use of contraceptives was 
limited for the most part to the route classes. My mother's sense of sin was 
great. This contretemps served to sink me trebly deep in morbidity. I hated 
my parents bitterly for this punishment that I could not comprehend. And 
when some months later I learned the function of that criminal article, far 
from dissipating them, it but renewed all my hatreds. To this very day, 
despite all my intellectual emancipation, I cannot see or even think of a 
condom without a vague sensation of nervous nausea. 

But to get on with my story-it is a beautiful warm June day-the kind that 
makes poets of us all. At her seat, gazing disconsolately out of the window 
of a classroom in the Plattsburg High School, sits a maturing girl of with 
chestnut hair and a promising figure. A gorgeous day, she thinks. The girls 
are all going for a swim down at the lake after school. But a sticky oozy 
feeling-high up between her thighs, that chafing elastic about her waist, 
and that soft bulky thing she is wearing, tells her that this time she 
cannot be one of the party. Disgusting . . . if only I were a man, she 
thinks bitterly. Or-as Mamie Smith says-there's one sure cure to stop these 
hemorrhages . . She shrugs away the silly thought and writhes uncomfortably 
on the hot bench as she feels the perspiration running down the small of her 
back. The afternoon is getting quite hot. The class has been reading 
Ivanhoe. A certain phrase keeps reiterating itself in her mind. "Front de 
Boeuf put the great key in the lock . . . and turned it." 

"-and turned it!" The words repeat themselves in her mind with an almost 
vicious rhythm. Biting her lips abstractedly, she chips tiny bits of wood 
off the edge of the desk with her sharp well-kept nails. Now the increasing 
discomfort of the heat seems merely to augment the unfathomable delight that 
she feels. 

Then suddenly she relaxes into flaccid passivity and chides herself for her 
mad reverie; she squirms about again, and raising her hand weakly to the 
teacher at the front of the room, is excused with a nod. 

As she enters the damp shadowy girls' lavatory in the basement, with its 
cool gratifying odor of blended disinfectants and urine, two girls' voices 
are suddenly hushed, and then she is recognized. 

"Oh, hello Louise. Has teacher noticed our absence yet? You won't tell on 
us, will you?" It was Miriam Smith, hastily readjusting her frilly lace 
drawers and trying to appear undisturbed. 

"We were just talking about Ruthie-" put in the other, Sylvia Watson, 
nervously rubbing the fingers of her right hand in the palm of her left. 
"You know-her mother's made her leave home-because, did you hear?-she's in 
trouble-and of course, the fellow that done it is one of the military 
reserve men and can't marry her." 

Louise shrugs her shoulders and turns her back to attend to some detail of 
personal hygiene. Another case, she thinks disgustedly. But I wonder what it 
can be between Sylvia and Miriam? Oh, it can't be! What could they do to 
each other? She glances up briefly from her occupation at one of the many 
pencilled legends on the slate walls of the lavatory. 

"Cock sure is a wonder 

It makes a girl a fool: 

It puts her in the family way 

And gets her thrown out of school." 

She smiles cynically and-her dress and petticoat held up at her waist by the 
pressure of her elbows and her legs held somewhat apart -she attaches a 
fresh pad of muslin, noting with a rueful moue the two little red welts high 
up on the soft flesh of her thighs that the chafing had caused. 

Sylvia and Miriam are lounging about, their arms twined around each other's 
waists tenderly. She glances at them quizzically and returns to the 
classroom, pondering. Little chills and fevers alternately race up and down 
her spine. An intermittent nervousness that is now delightful and now 
unbearable overcomes her. The remaining minutes of school drag 
excruciatingly. Front de Boeuf put the great key in the lock -and? And 
turned it. 

Such are the pains and fantasies of adolescence. 

At last classes are over. Louise trundles out her bicycle from the shed 
behind the school. She has a hot dusty mile and a half to traverse before 
she is home. Wheeling wearily through the environs of the small town, she 
passes a detachment of soldiers from the nearby military encampment coming 
in from a hike. They gaze hungrily at the graceful girl-figure, at her 
shapely silk-clad limbs. Some respectfully, some insolently. "Hello, cunt!" 
one of the men leers at her as she passes closely on the narrow road. "Would 
you like to have something better 'n a bike between yer laigs now?" She 
hurries on, blushing furiously, hating. "Cunt! If they only knew what it is 
to . . . if they only had to . . " she blusters helplessly to herself and 
bursts into tears as soon as she is out of sight 

A proper contempt for the rough mob of soldiery had been bred into her. The 
permanent military encampment "vas the bane of Platts-burg's respectable 
populace. Seductions were common. Rapes were not infrequent. Louise's own 
sister Mary was at present carrying on an affair with one of the 
lieutenants-and almost daily Louise had to listen to her mother's loud 
warnings and upbraidings. For all the constitutional guarantees, Plattsburg 
was at the time sadly under the nailed heel of militarism, and the 
maidenheads of the vicinity were no more respected than the pasture stiles 
when the men were a-march. 

At the top of the hill and beyond the town limits, a cool breeze dries her 
tears and blows away her resentment. Now she yields to the exhilaration of 
speeding downhill. The rhythmic pedaling and the snug contact of the saddle 
are decidedly pleasant, while the passing clumps of bushes and the wooded, 
shady dells fill her with an exaltation that she would have found difficult 
to explain. 

Arrived at home though, all brightness vanishes. A hundred yards away from 
the kitchen she can already hear mother's shrill hysterical tones Derating 
Sister Mary who now and then tries in vain to answer in a tearful, crushed 
voice. 

"That a child of mine should bring down such disgrace and sorrow on my head! 
Oh, how I curse the day when first you stirred in my womb! Why did the Lord 
see fit to test me with two accursed lazy daughters; that you should yield 
your honor to the first stranger. Didn't I warn you again and again? And 
now, as a living reminder to all the world of your sin, you are to have a 
child-a child without a name! And who is to suffer by all this but me?" 

There was much more to this same effect-the whole punctuated by Mary's 
remorseful sobs. Frozen by the realization of what it meant, I crept away to 
the barn to be alone. Horror-stricken I was, and yet, I must admit that it 
was less sympathy for my sister that I felt than hatred of my mother's 
attitude. 

Alone in the loft, I unearthed a novel that I had been reading, McTeague by 
Frank Norris as I remember, and in a few minutes the sufferings of the 
heroine Trina at the hands of the brutal Mac had me so enwrapped that my own 
troubles seemed remote and unreal. 

The afternoon wore away until, from the rattle of dishes that came to me 
across the field from the house, I could judge that the family was at 
supper. But I remained on, reading till the very last rays of the setting 
sun had vanished, leaving my page a blurred uniform gray. As I could read no 
more, I lay back and shut my eyes to rest them. Before I had time to realize 
my tiredness, I was asleep and dreaming. 

In my dream it seemed that I was imprisoned in a medieval castle dungeon. 
Sylvia and Miriam were there too; but while I was in a panic of fear, they 
seemed quite happy, petting each other in absurd ways that I could not 
understand, but which, even in my dream, reminded me of their conduct in the 
school lavatory. Wearing only lace drawers, they were embracing and kissing 
with increasing fervor. Sylvia was dark-haired and dark-skinned-also 
somewhat undeveloped about the bosom; but as if to compensate herself for 
her lack, she was caressing and molding the full young breasts with which 
the milky-white-skinned Miriam was generously blessed, as if she would like 
to wrest their soft yielding substance from her. 

Seating themselves on a chaise lounge, completely oblivious to my presence, 
Sylvia slipped a seeking hand between the thighs of the other and inside her 
sole garment, titillating her with a strange effectiveness that soon had 
Miriam writhing in what seemed a very pleasurable agony. Murmuring endearing 
terms she threw her arms about her friend's neck, gasping, "Faster! Faster! 
my darling Sylvia! You are but teasing me. Come!" And feverishly tearing 
from herself her last bit of clothing, she cast her beautiful nude body upon 
the couch, her thighs thrown with abandon wide apart-disclosing to my 
curious gaze the soft pink secret place where thighs become something else, 
and the tiny surmounting hillock covered with the most lovable light brown 
hair. 

Sylvia, her face flushed with I-know-not-what urgent emotion, followed suit, 
impatiently ripping her pretty drawers to shreds when they failed to come 
open at her first attempt. Hers was a deep coral and black center of 
interest. Her loins were lithe and strong in a boyish way, but the cheeks of 
her buttocks seemed soft and well-shaped. There was a strikingly beautiful 
contrast of olive and snow-white flesh as she threw herself upon the 
prostrate form of her companion. What a tense tangling and gripping of 
thighs and legs, what mad writhing and spasmodic sobs ensued! In a wild 
frenzy they rubbed their soft bellies against each other, twining their legs 
so as to bring their silky mounts together. They filled the air with cries 
now of ecstasy and now of frustration, thrashing all their limbs about, 
assuming new positions, only to continue baffled. 

And what of me? The mad fever that filled the place communicated itself to 
me, stifling me with its utter strangeness. My mouth became hot and dry. My 
body seemed racked by the same unbridled sensations and emotions that 
convulsed the two female combatants before me. 

Suddenly there was a great knocking on the heavy iron-studded door. 

"Who knocks there?" I felt compelled to say in archaic accents. "If thou be 
friend, enter. If thou be foe, I cannot prevent thee." 

A key ground in the massive ancient lock, the door opened, and there entered 
a huge man, clad in breeches and doublet that were nearly bursting with his 
bulk. Instinctively I knew he was the villainous Front de Boeuf. Fearfully I 
followed him with my eyes as he placed the key upon a sideboard; but passing 
me by with a sneer, he approached the pair struggling on the chaise and, 
stationing himself beside them with legs astride and arms akimbo, watched 
their procedures with monstrous glee. Then, suddenly wearying of this 
performance, he took up a long thin bundle of birch rods that had been 
hanging at his belt, and raising it high in the air, brought it down with a 
loud swish full upon the dark backside of Sylvia, who was then uppermost. 

With a startled scream, still flushed and panting, she sprang to her feet 
and wheeled to face the intruder, her hand leaping with awakened modesty to 
hide her private spot. Smack came the rods across her fingers and the 
fortress was abandoned while her hand went to her mouth. Swish! went the 
birch again, and there was a cross-welt of bloody red across her pretty 
cherry cleft, while tiny black pubic hairs floated lazily off the rods. The 
monster roared triumphantly, and pinching the tender spot that had just 
suffered his inhuman onslaught, tore away another tuft of hair, which he 
laughingly blew from his fingers into the air. 

But Sylvia, to my amazement, instead of fleeing her tormentor, with a look 
of insane adoration in her eyes threw her arms and legs about him, further 
irritating her lacerated cunny by rubbing it up and down against his 
buckler. Losing interest in this torture by reason of the evidence that it 
was not unwillingly received, he hurled her arms from him. But she continued 
to cling to him with her thighs about his waist and with a strength and 
temerity that only madness could beget. 

Angrily he beat her off, slashing mercilessly at her neck and arms until she 
was forced to release her hold. Then, kicking her aside, he made for the 
corner where the frightened, weeping Miriam cowered-and his cruel eyes 
lighted up at the sight of this daintier morsel. 

Dragging her to her feet, he admired for a moment the lily contours of her 
body, then, his savagery once more ascendant, he grasped in his large 
bestial paws her full maiden breasts -two of the choicest and most adorable 
little hills of flesh that ever gods had bestowed upon woman-and crushed 
them against each other till a tiny drop of blood appeared upon each of the 
rosette buds that crowned their soft elastic heights. 

I could but bite my lips in despair as I witnessed this sight that would 
have made even the devil weep. Unappeased, however, our inquisitor carried 
her across the room, and placing her backside up upon the edge of the couch, 
summoned Sylvia also to the slaughter and placed her similarly. Then indeed 
did he employ those wicked birch rods to grievous purpose, for that double 
pair of beautiful buttocks-those of Sylvia comparable to a rosy dusk and 
those of Miriam light and dazzling as high noon-were soon streaked with 
sprays and sprigs of bloody welts, showing purple-brown on the lovely 
Rachelle flesh of the one and brightest carmine on the white expanses of the 
other. 

"Come hither, my darling Rebecca!" the villain addressed me, without abating 
his lashings. "All this is to whet my appetite for thy cold beauty!" I added 
my screams to those of my poor friends; but this only made him relish his 
task all the more fiendishly, and before long first one and then the other 
of his victims was blessed with the oblivion of unconsciousness. 

Then Front de Boeuf turned upon me. Verily, his was the face of an ox. I 
tried to plead for mercy, though I knew nothing in heaven or earth would 
induce him to stay his hand; but my breath caught in my throat, my tongue 
cleaved to the roof of my mouth. What new torture awaited me? 

For some endless moments he held me transfixed with his gaze. Then, as if 
tentatively, he rudely felt my breasts, my thighs, my buttocks. My clothes 
he took as a deliberate affront. A tiny crucifix caught on his brutal hand 
as he explored within my bodice caused him to become convulsed with 
blasphemous laughter. He tore it sharply from my neck and trod it under 
foot. Then, with one downward motion, he ripped my dress from my back, 
leaving me shivering in my shift. Once more he caressed me through the soft, 
thin linen of my underclothes-then that fell away too and I stood before him 
naked and unprotected. 

Gathering me up in his brawny arms, he bore me to the wall, and pressing his 
beastly bulk against me, crushed me and crushed me till there was neither 
breath nor strength left in me. The while his hands sought out my very 
secret place, squeezing and pinching them until they were numb with pain. 
When he released me, I crumbled weakly to the floor. 

Once more he took me up-this time depositing my fainting form upon a strange 
execution block shaped like a monstrous tooth, with the four prongs of a 
molar made of gold. Once more his cruel hand pried into my feverish slit, 
in, in, until it seemed entirely engulfed. 

I gave myself up as lost. I would die certainly. But I could feel no more 
pain. And in this last moment of my life, I wanted, not to escape, but to 
savor fully in all its supreme agony the martyred ecstasy of conscious 
violence and death. He could tear me asunder now but I would feel only the 
maddest joy at the seeming indestructibility of my super-carnal self. 

Front de Boeuf, leaving me for a moment, returned with the great key lying 
across his two palms. It held a fearful fascination for me. It was the key 
that seemed to control all the mysteries of life and death. Over a foot 
long, its immensity was unimaginable. As he passed its full length close 
before my eyes, I gasped-for I knew, I knew! 

Front de Boeuf, holding my thighs wide apart with his knees, plunged the 
great key into my throbbing center, insinuating it deeper and deeper. This 
was the end. I felt myself approaching the very climax of delirious 
dissolution. Front de Boeuf pushed the great key in to its hilt-and turned 
it! 

I awoke. It was dark. For whole minutes I did not know where I was. My heart 
was beating with terrific rapidity. Gradually I reconstructed the present; 
it came to me that it was all an awful dream that I had just experienced, a 
garbling of my voracious reading. How relieved I felt. A peculiar congestion 
of my vagina seemed to have carried over from the dream; but on 
investigation it proved to be only my pad, which somehow had been wedged 
inward. My menses had ceased too, a day before its time. 

Recollecting how I came to the loft, I was still unwilling to go home and 
face my parents. It was already night. The sibilant music of the crickets, 
the croaking of bullfrogs, and the cool damp night air calmed and reassured 
me. The distant sound of mother washing dishes at the sink told me too that 
though I had missed supper, it could not be very late. 

I analyzed my dream and stored it away in my waking memory, deciding that 
nothing in real life could be so grotesque and cruel. Also, I thought up 
some excuse to give to mother that would permit me to go straight to bed 
without having any family conferences inflicted on me. I started to leave. 

Just as I was feeling my way to the ladder that led down from the loft, 
however, I was frightened by a series of sounds. I held still. It was 
someone coming into the barn. There were whisperings. 

"Oh, please! Bill"-I recognized my sister's agitated voice-"if father should 
catch you on the grounds, he would shoot you, sure!" 

"Oh no, honey," came a masculine voice in reassurance, "I can take care of 
myself. Just let's not make any noise and everything will be all right." 

"But won't you please go away! Haven't you put me into enough trouble 
already?" 

"Oh, can that, baby! Didn't I offer you the money to have it fixed up? Who 
the hell asked you to go and tell your old man anyway? But come on now, 
let's be nice to each other. Just this once, and I'll go away and won't 
bother you anymore. Just this once." And he must have taken her in his arms, 
for her next words came as if smothered by an embrace and punctuated with 
his forcible kisses. 

"But Bill-please-some other time then. The folks are watching me closely. I 
told them was just going out for a moment to-" 

There was a crunching sound as of two bodies falling to the piled hay. I 
peered anxiously down the loft-trap, but it was too dark to see a thing. 

"Don't, Bill! Please let me go! They'll kill me if I stay out much longer." 
Sis sounded pitifully frightened, but the lieutenant's mutterings were not 
in response to her pleadings. 

"For Chris' sake, Mary!" he was saying, "why the hell must you wear these 
goddam corsets? Open it for me. I don't know how the damned thing works." 

"No, no, Bill. Not now, please! I'll do anything, but not now. They'll be 
out here looking for me any minute." 

"Ouch! That blasted whalebone. Wait Where's that flashlight? Here we are. 
Now we'll see what we can do." 

An unsteady wavering beam of light partially illuminated the scene. I could 
see only the prostrate form of my sister Mary, her skirts thrown back to her 
bosom, her pretty thighs bared and glistening pink above her stockings. She 
was still protesting tearfully; but the lieutenant, laying down the light so 
as to throw its rays on the field of operations and leave his hand free, was 
cheerfully engaged in unhooking her stays. In another moment there was laid 
bare to his delighted gaze the wide expanse of her soft belly, and. the dark 
full-grown mossy hill shading the generous rosy lips and even rosier chuck 
beneath. 

I, up in my balcony vantage place, was growing tremendously excited. At 
first, in sympathy for my poor sister, I had felt impelled to make my 
presence known and thus to save her. But now, my temperature and curiosity 
rising to a furious pitch, I believe I would have sooner helped in her 
subjugation rather than miss the sight that was promised. 

But the lieutenant needed no help. He was now fumbling at his own clothes, 
in front, where his trousers bulged menacingly. I could scarcely wait. I had 
heard described but had never actually before seen the magnificent male 
instrument of female undoing that was uncovered. 

I shall not lie and describe it in detail, for closely as I was watching, I 
ceuld discern only that it was large and stiff and cylindrically shaped, in 
a moment it was lost to my view as he brought his body over that of my 
weeping sister. Spreading her unwilling thighs as she weakly resisted, he 
opened the lips, and planting his member between, pushed it steadily home. 

Then triumphantly relishing his position, he folded back her clothes to her 
very neck and fondled and kissed her maturing titties. Mary's continued 
protests were taxing my patience. 

"Oh, you brute!" she was saying, "don't you ever think of anything but this? 
Please! Let me go, Bill-and I'll meet you tomorrow night." 

The lieutenant made no answer except to slip his hands securely under her 
soft buttocks, arid raising himself at the waist a few inches, came down 
into her again with a short firm push. This motion he repeated at intervals 
while Mary squirmed as if to get away. 

"Oh, Bill! You hurt me awfully! Please, please, please stop! Please go away! 
Oh! ohyou hurt me oh!-oh!-oh!-ah ! 'V-her cries of irritation were becoming 
choked sobs of submission-even of pleasure. 

"Oh-slowly Bill, slowly-no! faster, faster!" she gasped-and as if 
electrified into life, her buttocks began moving frantically up and down to 
meet his thrusts, now sideways and circularly, spurred on by some madness 
which seemed incomprehensible to me. Feverishly I watched, imagining myself 
so far as I could, in the position of my sister. 

What a sight it was-there within the orb of the flashlight-the frantically 
moving buttocks, my sister's legs wrapped tightly about her partner's 
loins-and, as if in the spotlight of Fate, the impenetrable darkness around 
them, and there in the circle of light, blurred slightly by the dancing dust 
motes, the age-old symbol of life being enacted for my education. 

On the calcimined wall of the barn, opposite the flashlight, could be seen a 
grotesque shadow-play of huge heaving thighs, now and again completely 
blotting out the circle of light. A symphony of ecstatic sighs from my 
sister accentuated each motion and put me in a veritable frenzy. Madly I 
rubbed my cunny against the end of the ladder where I lay. I would have 
forced it into me if I could. 

"More-more-give me more, my lover!" Mary was gasping-and her lover, himself 
already beginning to breathe heavily, plunged fiercely back and forth into 
her. 

"Now! Now!" she sobbed. "Love me now! oh-oh-o-o-oh-" and she subsided with a 
little scream and a low, long drawn-out moan-her buttocks quivering 
spasmodically and her movements becoming less and less until she was 
quiescent. 

Scarcely a moment later, her lover, whose breathing had become hoarse and 
rasping, made one final master plunge as if to go through her, and crumpled 
up upon her, twitching in the last throes of some tremendous passion and 
murmuring, "Mary, Mary!" 

There they lay, locked in each other's embrace for long minutes, while the 
flashlight burned dimmer and dimmer, and finally, the battery exhausted, 
went out altogether. 

Instinctively I knew it was over-and at the same time my own emotional 
tension seemed to relax. I slipped back on a heap of straw. My cunny was 
swimming with a pleasant moisture and I thought that my period had resumed, 
but it was not that. 

When I arose again, Sis and the lieutenant had gone. Back to the house I 
went, straightening my dress as if it were I who had a guilty conscience and 
cooling my still burning cheeks and forehead with a handful of fragrant damp 
elm leaves. 

On each side of the lamp-lit living-room table sat father and mother, both 
asleep, the one over his Bible, the other over her knitting. Mother's 
eyelids were red from weeping; the harsh lines of her face were softened in 
repose. For a moment I allowed myself to pity her. But Sister's cautious 
steps overhead as she prepared for bed brought back before my mind's eye a 
mad picture of nude young flesh writhing in divine ecstasy, and my 
sympathies were solely with her. 

I felt no inclination for food. I wanted only to be abed, reviewing the 
events of this eventful day. But first, I went to the bathhouse behind the 
kitchen, heated a boiler of water, and filled our old zinc tub for my bath. 

Slowly I undressed, my mind full of vague dreams and longings. I admired the 
soft white contours of my body with a new appreciation as I let my petticoat 
slip down off my hips to settle about my feet on the floor. A more luxurious 
bathroom would have made a nicer setting; but well-to-do as my people were, 
they were more interested in saving money than in spending it-and, in their 
frugal severity, if they were alive today to see my gorgeous "Chambre de 
bain" in my Boulevard Haussmann home, done all in orchid and pearl tile, 
they would consider it worse than sinful. 

Despite the surroundings, though, the warm water, as it received my white 
limbs and body, filled me with a soft luxurious feeling, kissing my lazy 
blood to the surface and turning my skin an adorable pale pink. Languidly I 
covered my form with the smooth, creamy lather of a perfumed soap, 
delighting to caress, through the enhancing slipperiness of the bubbly suds, 
my luscious young breasts and the indescribably soft yielding flesh of the 
inner thighs where they approached the center. 

I lay back in the shallow, tepid water, looking down the outstretched 
expanse of my body: beyond the lush hills of my breasts, the undulating 
plain of my satiny belly, the tiny kissable depression of the coquettish 
navel and the slightly rising mount of Venus, its silky shrubbery lifted 
lazily back and forth on the surface of the caressing water. Beneath, the 
mossy little cavern of love and mystery-and beyond that the well-rounded 
promontories of my thighs, two lovely dimpled knees, a pair of shapely legs 
in perfect alignment, and then, far away, my little toes. I was just 
beginning to discover my body. 

Long and languorously I fondled myself. With light, subtle touches that 
seemed to come instinctively to me, my hands glided everywhere, now pressing 
my glistening flanks, now lightly titillating the strawberry nipples that 
crowned the apex of my ivory-smooth breasts. Again I lightly twisted my 
fingers in the dark curly silk that marked the meeting place of my thighs, 
pulling gently upon it with a pleasing effect-and soaping the spot with 
thick, white, creamy lather. 

During all this, I experienced a gathering impulse to steal within the 
pouting slit; but whether from vestigial modesty or from an unconscious 
appreciation of the part that suspense plays in the art of pleasure, I 
withheld my hand as long as I could. Finally, whether by accident or on 
purpose, I allowed my soapy hand to press firmly inside my cunny. The effect 
was electrifying. My already considerable nervous tension was instantly 
doubled and I felt more aroused than I had been at the wildest moment in the 
barn. 

Coming hastily to a sitting position, and drawing up my knees, thus lowering 
the water level in the tub, I spread my thighs, and gently separating the 
fine, tangled hairs, parted the hot ruby lips with my two hands. For the 
very first time in my life I revealed to myself the fine, moist, velvety 
consistency of the soft crimson lining of my slit. So enticing was it that I 
would have kissed it if I could have reached it with my mouth; but as that 
was impossible, I stroked the now gaping scarlet lips with my fingers. Every 
touch brought me indescribable delight. 

With bolder strokes now, I ventured deeper and lower down in my newly 
awakened organ; but this part was protected by a sensitive membrane as yet 
unfledged to the touch and I returned to the narrower upper region, where, 
just below the point at which the two clinging lips melted together, a tiny 
hard nodule made known its presence by rising to meet my passing fingers. 

This was my first introduction to that marvelous electric key to woman's 
sensual illumination-the clitoris-and were anyone to ask me to indicate the 
most important event in my life, I would unhesitantly say it was the 
discovery of the existence and potentialities this wonderful little 
instrument, which now, joyancing at its rescue from oblivion, bounded up 
bravely again and again to consummate every contact, and seemingly raised up 
with it my whole pelvic parts, even my loins and belly, for this purpose. 

That nature saw fit to bring together all the strings of nervous pleasure 
and tie them in a little knot tucked away in this warm and secret (but not 
inaccessible) place is, of all things, a blessing that womankind can never 
be too grateful for. A miracle indeed, this tiny Multum in parvo which, 
given the merest infinitesimal caress, can bestow over the whole body's area 
and to its innermost depths sensual ecstasies more intense and widespread 
than could a thousand artful hands fondling everywhere else simultaneously. 

Up to now, my contacts with that supreme spot had been almost unwitting. By 
elimination, by trial and error, I had found it. But if I thought I was 
experiencing pleasure-ah, I had not felt the fraction of what lay in store 
for me. 

Divine enough it would have been to continue on and on, bathed in the warm 
sensuous glow that spread through my veins and radiated through my flesh. 
But now, as I caressed the tiny knob with light, increasingly rapid strokes 
of my middle finger (How instinctively we learn!), I felt gathering in me a 
tremendous climax. Like an ascending rocket it shot suddenly, sizzling up 
through my veins and nerves towards my brain, a sensation so incomparably 
new and strange, a pleasure so immense as to be painful. It seemed to me 
certain that if I should continue and permit that fiery joy to reach my 
brain, I would faint away or else perish. I stopped in fright. Like the 
rocket returning to its point of origin; like the movie film of an explosion 
projected backwards, like a partially opened fan sharply closed, like a 
glimpse of heaven suddenly shut off, the ecstasy faded and was reabsorbed by 
the place of its beginning. 

But now, though my body was at a feverish heat, I was shivering with 
desire-and the violence of the sensation, incomplete though it had been, had 
left me gasping breathlessly. My limbs and buttocks, no longer subject to my 
control, were writhing and twisting with mad intensity. How well now I 
understood the wild movements my sister had performed. 

My hand still lay over, though not within, that magic center for which no 
name, whether amorous or scientific (cunny, cunt, vulva and vagina), could 
now suffice. But now, by no conscious effort of my will, my buttocks raised 
themselves upward of their own accord to press more closely against my 
curved fingers, moved themselves by their own motivation sideways to fumble 
for and find the stiff middle finger, writhed back and forth till my burning 
slit had swallowed it in-and continued moving in that selfsame manner. 

More quickly now the temporarily-banked fires blazed up, spreading through 
the tautened muscles of my belly, putting all chill to route before it, 
pouring down as far as the calves of my legs and up to my bosom a flood of 
warmth and tenseness. 

My eyes shut, my head fell backwards, my breath came ever in shorter and 
quicker pants, my hips meanwhile lashing up and back with desperate lunges. 

Electric thrills were mounting me at all points,-by my spine and down my 
sides, by a thousand distinct paths-rapidly now, as if seeking to complete 
the circuit in my brain and overpower me with unbearable voluptuousness. My 
cunny was swimming with soft sticky exudations. The local pleasure around my 
fervid clitty was being swallowed up by the more extreme general sensation. 
I felt approaching a terrible crescendo of rending pleasure. If my life had 
depended oh it, I could not now have ceased, could not have stopped that 
fierce writhing of my thighs. Then suddenly with a last lunge of my hips, it 
came. 

A scalding fire of ecstasy mundated me. My whole body stiffened to steely 
rigidity as the candescent waves swept through my every nerve fiber with a 
perceptible, palpable hiss as of molten metal poured into a mold. Flashes of 
color impinged upon my closed eyelids like sparkling pinwheels and flaring 
rush lights. Then, topping the crest of the supreme agony of gratification, 
I came tumbling as if through eons of time and illimitable worlds of soft 
fleecy substance, and I lay quivering and sobbing in the last paroxysms of 
pleasure, delicious warm tinglings in all my extremities. 

Thus I lay as the delightful sensations faded slowly. As if to call them 
back, my finger again sought my clitty. A little spurt of after-pleasure 
shot through me, tickling my now extra sensitive nerves, contracting my 
tummy sharply and convulsing all my frame in a spasm so violent that I 
desisted, shivering with its unendurable sensual titillations, and gasping a 
long aspirated "ah!" that left me in weak, breathless collapse. 

I was almost crying with joy at the new happiness I had discovered. How 
could I ever revert to my old gloomy moods again when there was this to live 
for? And to think that all this magic was literally at my fingertips! 

The water in the tub was getting cold by the time I ceased dawdling and 
finished my bath. I dried myself lovingly. Where formerly I had hated my 
body with morbid perversity, I now pressed the moisture from my dear cunny 
with a new tenderness. I went to bed unnoticed and that night I slept with 
unwonted coziness and refreshment. 

Friendly reader, I have given quite some space and time to the description 
of something that in actuality took much less temporal space, but you must 
consider how wonderful and important this fresh miracle was to me. And in 
retrospect I must say that though in later years the thrills I experienced 
may have attained greater heights of passion, yet in terms of pure sensual 
enjoyment they could not compare with this first orgasm, with its 
soul-shaking initiation into the violence of a carnal pleasure that has 
neither parallel nor precedent, with its utter newness and dazzling crisp 
sharpness as the current of lascivious sensation completes its first circuit 
in brain and body, blazing a new trail through nerves and muscles never 
alive before, and setting the pattern for all later libidinous reactions. 
Treasure well the memory of your "good-feeling," reader, for it was at that 
high moment that you became even like the gods. 

 CHAPTER THREE 

In the weeks and months that followed, I found myself blessed with a new and 
delightful awareness of life. Where once I had been dully and almost 
entirely oblivious to my immediate surroundings, finding romance only in the 
distant periods and places described in books, I now discovered in myself 
and in nature undreamt of reciprocal responses. 

There was love and sex everywhere. The birds, the farmyard beasts and 
fowls-even the flowers. My eyes were at last opened to the beauty of things. 
I felt a new sympathy for all living creatures. When our dog Swede rubbed 
himself affectionately against my legs, I caressed him with a new 
understanding-evoking yelps of joy. 

I developed a new interest in animal life, in botany and in physiology, and 
completed my last year of high school in a flare of scholarly brilliance. 

During this time, I did not abuse the wonderful power over my body that I 
had blundered upon. Introverted and self-directed as this pleasure was in 
its origins, yet, as I am trying to express, it resulted in a gradual 
outward turning or externalization of my feelings. From solitary 
self-worship orgies in bathtub or in bed, I turned, and utilized this 
thrilling manner of relief only at long intervals, in the woods, after long 
hours in the outdoors, when, filled to overflowing with the beauties that 
had poured into me through my senses, I felt compelled to relax my 
surcharged nerves by this method. It became as much a marvelous sensual 
communion with nature as any mere mode of self-gratification. 

It was on one such occasion that something dreadfully important happened. I 
was lying back on a heap of dried grass in a deep woodland clearing, my 
skirts drawn back almost to my waist and my hand at my cunny. I was still 
quivering in the last throes of my self-induced pleasure, my eyes shut, my 
head rolling sideways ecstatically. As the wild fantasies of my concentrated 
imagination faded, I was made suddenly aware by a slight crackling of the 
underbrush that someone was standing nearby-perhaps watching me. It was a 
man-coming forward to me now! I screamed in fright and hastily attempted to 
readjust my dress. 

It was all up with me now, I was certain. I had heard tales enough of 
wandering soldiers coming upon a girl alone in the woods, bestially working 
their separate wills upon her, and even murdering her to prevent complaint 
and identification. Why had I trusted myself thus, led on by the 
harmlessness of nature, when nature was presided over by brute men? 

But it was only one man-and he was not a soldier. Instead, it was a very 
young and mild-appearing fellow, betraying by his clothes that he was from 
the city. He was blushing as confusedly and apologetically as I, as he 
approached, and my panic decreased considerably. Moreover, he was carrying a 
book, and to me that was a sign of refinement and a common meeting ground. 

"Forgive me!" he exclaimed in a nicely modulated voice which, however, did 
not entirely conceal his own great perturbation. "I could not help but see 
you. I was lying just the other side of those bushes, immersed in my 
Thoreau, when I was startled by some noises. At first I thought it might be 
a bear. (I smiled) You do have bears in these woods, don't you? No? Well, 
anyway, when I mustered sufficient courage to investigate, I saw you. And 
you were in the midst of-well, anyway, I didn't want to disturb you. But I 
was too excited myself, and too fascinated to go away. You would have heard 
me anyhow if I had moved. So I waited-and here I am . . . 

"No-don't be afraid of me. I shan't hurt you. I guessed from what you were 
doing that you are a good girl-a virgin-else you wouldn't be doing that. I 
wouldn't harm you for the world. I know how you felt. You looked so 
beautiful and innocently happy lying there, I almost fell in love with you. 
Only I did feel like a cad, standing there and intruding on your privacy. 
And now you must hate me. I would if I were you-and yet, please try not to 
be angry with me. . . " 

His manner was boyishly impetuous and disarming-ardent even, as he looked 
down on me. He couldn't have been more than years old. Then suddenly: 

"Would you be frightened, miss, if I sat down beside you?" and as I did not 
reply, he dropped to the ground at my feet with awkward but charming 
friendliness. "My name's Bob. What is yours?" 

I did not answer. 

We were both silent for a time. He looked a bit feverish and was breathing 
with strange intensity. Then, though I had spoken no word to him, he 
unexpectedly seized my right hand and avidly kissed the tips of the very 
fingers I had just thrilled myself with. 

"Oh, don't!" I exclaimed in dismay-not on my account, but on his. He dropped 
my hand and buried his head in my lap. I could feel his hot moist breath on 
my thigh, through the thin material of my dress-and something impelled me to 
caress his silky brown hair maternally. Somehow, by a sort of transference, 
I felt as if the orgasm I had enjoyed a minute before was due entirely to 
his efforts. I felt grateful-and at the same time I pitied him-for strangers 
though we were I knew enough about men to recognize that he desired me. 

If he had proceeded then and there to force me, I would have considered it 
no less than justified, and would perhaps have even submitted passively. How 
much more thankful though was I when he continued lying there quietly by 
me-there in the peaceful woods, making no demand and taking no further 
liberties with my body other than to bury his face deeper in my lap till his 
breath caressed my cunny with its pleasing warmth. 

When finally he raised his head, there was a wild, infinitely appealing look 
in his soft brown eyes. His hand made as if to raise my skirts-then 
restrained itself. A great battle seemed to be raging within his mind. 

"Come here, Bob," I whispered. "You may lie here beside me." I was a little 
awed, a little afraid that if my dress were to be raised, it would be the 
end of my innocence for sure-and somehow I felt that I should like to 
consider more and be wooed more before I could yield my maidenhead to a man. 

He slipped down beside me and lay facing me. If I put my arms about him, 
that would of course restrain his hands from the temptation of my skirts. I 
did so. He returned my embrace fiercely, pressing his body tightly against 
mine, his eyes narrowing in a way that frightened me not a little. 

"Gods!" He broke the silence with a gasp. "What is there to prevent me from 
raping you here and now, if I so wish? We are alone-and God knows I want 
you!" He pressed me closer still. I could feel a hard steely bulge beneath 
his trousers, hurting my thighs as he held me. I struggled to get away, now 
frightened indeed. I didn't like him at all with that hateful determined 
look in his eyes. And that stiff metallic thing pressing against me-what 
painful havoc it would work with my now tender cunny if he were to put it in 
me as the lieutenant had done to sister. And then, if I were to have a 
baby-I struggled more desperately, kicking and writhing in his embrace. But 
he continued to hold me firmly, his hands restraining my buttocks as I 
heaved to get away. 

"Stop! Stop struggling!" he suddenly whispered in a strange tone that was 
almost a whine. "I won't hurt you-only lie still a moment-oh-a 
moment-please" and he lunged against me two or three times more, his leg 
thrown over my thigh, his stiff trouser bulge rubbing against me. His 
glittering eyes shut, his body suddenly withdrew itself from me and he lay 
on his back in the grass, shuddering violently while a great streak of white 
became visible seeping through his blue serge trousers. 

Thus he lay for some moments, until I became deeply alarmed, thinking 
perhaps he had taken sick with the excitement. But no. In another moment he 
opened his eyes, from which all violence had gone, and smiled to me, 
breathing a deep sigh, as if of relief. 

"All over now," he said cheerfully, "and I'm sure glad I didn't do what I 
was going to. It was just as nice anyway. And now you're perfectly safe from 
me-at least for the time." And he plucked ruefully at his wet clothes. 

I was still considerably bewildered, but his bubbling talk reassured me. 
"I'm sorry if I was beastly," he went on, "but a man is entirely 
irresponsible when aroused-and if you could only have seen what a maddening 
picture you made here before, you would forgive me for becoming" a little 
the way I did. But now that we've weathered that storm, we'll be very proper 
and become really acquainted. Somehow I feel as if we just have to become 
friends." 

And he went on to tell me all about himself. He lived in New York City, it 
seems, and was vacationing at nearby Port Kent on the lake, having just 
completed his first year at one of the metropolitan medical universities. 
Despite the fact that he persistently denied any real interest in medicine 
and confided that he hoped to go in for painting as soon as he came into his 
own, yet his speech bristled with anatomical terms and anecdotes of the 
dissecting room. I listened, fascinated-for, as I have said, my own 
interests had been of late tending in just this direction. 

He professed a great disdain for "women," allowing of course for occasional, 
and insuperable weaknesses of the flesh (I blushed furiously at the 
unaccustomed freedom of his speech, but blamed only my own narrow rural 
upbringing); however, beneath his cynicism I could detect a decided 
sentimentality lurking. Even though he was my senior by perhaps two years 
and no doubt had considerably more contacts with life, I felt that my female 
intuitional sense made me competent to judge him and consider myself his 
equal. If this had not been so, we could not have become so sincerely 
friendly as we did-for I have never been quite the type of woman to sit 
worship-fully at the feet of any man, overawed by his superior 
accomplishments. 

Perhaps too, the fact that he did all the talking enabled me to judge more 
objectively, unclouded as my mind was by any effort to myself make an 
impression. His obvious boyish desire to dazzle his listener with a 
concentrated display of all of his knowledge and experience -a 
characteristic shared by all men, as I learned later in life-permitted me to 
feel just enough condescension to like him awfully and to benefit greatly by 
his friendship-but at the same time prevented me from falling in love. 
Similarly, I have never since been able, even if I had wished, to succumb to 
that form of physical, mental and emotional entanglement known as the 
aforementioned sentiment. Men to me have always remained either intellectual 
comrades or fellows in passionate amusement. Perhaps I have even employed 
them in the same manner that men are so notoriously supposed to use women, 
viz: as the highly desirable but not quite divine implements of sensual 
pleasure or material promotion. If this be treason, let's have more of it. 

For fully three hours Bob poured into my attentive ears his views on poetry, 
marriage, the family, the state, and the hierarchy of heaven. Suffice it to 
say that when the downing sun and the bedtime chatter of myriad birds 
reminded me of the two miles I had between myself and home, we were deep 
friends-though he knew not even my name as yet. 

The embarrassing circumstances of our meeting seemed happily forgotten. 
Moreover, he gave me repeated assurances of the platonicity of his 
affection-which was easy, considering that the joy of talking had 
overshadowed all earlier pleasures. Yet, as he left me at my gate with a 
hearty handshake, his aspect suddenly changed and he made as if to caress my 
bosom. Perhaps it was the rosy-streaked skies that put him in mind of 
another rosy streak-but, coquettishly, I warded him off, quoting him 
teasingly to the effect that he would have innumerable other opportunities 
to study female anatomy in his school clinics. 

Promising to meet him again "some day" at the same place in the woods, I 
bade him good-night and ran laughingly to the house, leaving him staring 
after me. His last gesture had redeemed my femininity from the impersonal 
tone of his harangue. 

 CHAPTER FOUR 

How important to me this chance meeting was to become, I leave to the 
subsequent ages of these memoirs to unfold. Its immediate effect was to 
crystallize my heretofore vague intention of studying medicine-also it made 
me conclude that men were not such villainous intractable creatures after 
all. 

That same evening at the supper table I broached the subject of my further 
education. Mother was dead set against it-and not without some reason, for 
it must be remembered that this was the year , and there were then few 
precedents to overcome the conventional repugnance to the idea of women in 
the professions. 

On the other hand, there was father's unsatisfied desire for a son to 
realize his own thwarted ambitions. And my prize-winning graduation from 
high school was a great factor in recommending me for the life academic. 
Mother countered to the effect that we could not afford the expenditure; 
but, of course, sister and I knew better-while father admitted that he could 
raise the money for my board and tuition by foreclosing one of his 
mortgages. 

The battle raged to an unheard-of hour of the night, but though mother's 
consent could be neither wheedled nor wrested from her, the issue was 
substantially decided in my favor. I would attend school in New York City. 

I lay awake in bed till nearly dawn, picturing my future life, devoted to 
the conquest of knowledge. A life of freedom, of books, of scientific 
investigation; what strange desires for a young girl at an age when most of 
the female of the species are forming their lives to the ideals of early 
marriage, babies and church membership! To this very day I often question 
the influences that made me thus. A complete list of all the books I 
absorbed in the course of my very eclectic and voracious reading would be 
the only explanation-and that is, perhaps fortunately, impossible. 

To me, then as now, all of life was contained within the limitations of the 
body-and it was that latter, the physical organism, that embraced the 
infinity of the universe. External things, since they could be known only 
through ourselves, could be of interest only insofar as they affected us 
directly. 

That people suffered continually from ignorance of their own workings-as for 
example in the case of my poor sister Mary-was obvious all around me. That I 
too should suffer similarly if I permitted myself to remain in darkness, 
followed without doubt. What then was more logical than that I should wish 
to go to the sources of physiological learning for my knowledge of life and 
the control of happiness? 

I met Bob in the woods next day and told him of my determination. In the 
ensuing weeks we saw a great deal of each other-and yet the better we came 
to know each other, the less we indulged in physical liberties. I did not 
know at the time whether this was due to lack of inclination or to the added 
restraint of mutual respect; but somehow, when my as yet unpronounced sex 
desires came to mind, I felt as if I could sooner give myself to a stranger 
than to him. 

Whether or not this schism between my sensuality and my more cultured 
intellectual responses was due to the ridiculous Victorian ideals 
unconsciously acquired from my reading, I do not know; but I can say that 
many women run to this division. It is either complete shameless 
licentiousness, untrammeled by any rag of respectability that we experience, 
or else our feeling of responsibility throttles any vestige of sensuality at 
its birth. Women are either very hot or very cold. True, both possibilities 
may coexist at any particular time-only a hair's breadth may divide the one 
from the other-a slight circumstance, a word, a caress, opportune or inept, 
may determine whether M'lady is to be the chaste Lucrece or the desolate 
Lucrezia-but the violence of the contrast remains. 

Romantic writers, when they admit sex in women at all, usually insist that 
her passions are tempered by loftier emotions. Only men would assert such 
stupidities-possibly because they attribute their own idealistic-amoral 
fusion to us; but every intelligent woman knows that her passions must put 
to route all "lofty emotions" or be doused by them. Don't dispense talk of 
the soul or of the superiority of mind over body to your lady love if you 
would have her more responsive than a recumbent cigar-store Indian. Fucking 
is fucking and politics is politics, as Lord K. once rebuked me. So talk 
cunt and prick to your daring baby, and don't be afraid to employ the words 
and things they stand for-and though she be a nun from an Icelandic convent, 
she may surprise you by figuratively bouncing your ass to the ceiling and 
shouting "Fuck me! Fuck me faster!" A strange mass of contradictions, 
Woman-but rarely a compromise. So permit us to be our close-to-nature, 
primitive selves, or else suffer the hollow celluloid dolls that your 
civilization would make us. 

Bob and I were "intellectual"-and I managed to make him quite ashamed of 
himself whenever his mere manhood broke through for a moment. The only part 
his being male played in my thoughts was that I considered he might be 
marriageable some day. His intelligence would then be more important: he 
would be able to provide for me. The wealth of his family would be another 
important factor. His sex? Well, that was a requisite of the law in the case 
of a woman marrying-no more. 

The idea of marriage, vague and unprepossessing as it was, yet sufficed to 
drag up with it all my acquired ideas of respectability, propriety and 
chastity. If, that first time we met in the woods, Bob had said to me, 
expressly or by implication, "Girl, I'm going to fuck you and make you like 
it. And if you won't lay now, I'll hang around till you will," our 
acquaintance would no doubt have, resolved itself differently. But, no, his 
first words had been to the effect that I was a "good girl" and that he 
wouldn't "hurt me" for the world. Today I would consider that a deadly 
insult; but at that time I was aware, or thought that I was aware, that 
physical liberties were "hurts" and that girls who didn't bring such "hurts" 
upon themselves were "good girls" consequently I had to accept it as 
flattery and pattern my conduct, consciously and unconsciously, to the ideal 
he had signaled for. When some minutes later he abandoned his platonic 
attitude, I might have yielded, had not this been utterly inconsistent with 
the concept of "good girl" he had set up for me. 

Therefore, to the aspiring or would-be Don Juan, I tender this advice: don't 
commence a conquest by respecting the very conventions you hope to overcome. 
Don't remind a woman of self-control if self-abandonment is what you seek. 
Why praise her church activities if it's the swing of her hips that enchants 
you and that you wish to enlist for your pleasure? In brief, eschew 
hypocrisy and be yourself. My dear friend Frank Harris puts it more bluntly. 
"Place a stiff prick in her hand," he says, "and shed tears." The tears are, 
of course, rarely necessary. I would recommend instead that you go for her 
clitty, either actually and forcibly, or indirectly by proper word-picture 
stimulation. Of course, you may be slapped occasionally-but then again, 
you'll get a lot of fucking. And to say the least, either way you'll save 
lots of time and scores of futile erections. 

Poor Bob! If he had only known! What incalculable suffering he would have 
spared himself! But he didn't know and I couldn't have told him-for my 
understanding was not so clearly defined then as now. 

My little affair with him then, while it acted to free me in many ways, must 
be set down as drawing in a contrary direction so far as sexual emancipation 
was concerned. In fact, for a time, I became set in a damnable hypocritical 
prudishness-all due to his initial mistake, as I have just explained. 
Iron-clad virginity was to be my policy henceforth. Of course, if little 
concessions were to become necessary to keep his friendship, I might 
consider them; but meanwhile I was to hold them off as long as possible. 

Thus, after we had been together some twenty times in as many days, he began 
making approaches to me anew-and as by now the wells of conversation had 
been pumped dry, I found increased difficulty in long diverting him from the 
goal of his intentions. On this particular occasion, he was begging 
permission to caress my bare bosom. 

"Oh, why the devil doesn't he throw me down and do it without asking me!" I 
thought to myself in irritation. But since he insisted on placing the moral 
responsibility of the decision with me, and since I could imagine no 
especial benefit to myself to be derived from yielding, I refused him, 
indicating such a multiplicity of untenable reasons as makes me blush to 
think of them today, when I bestow my whole self so generously on many less 
worthy than he. 

With elaborate logic, convincing enough, since my arguments of propriety had 
no leg to stand upon at the outset, and yet unavailing since my mind had 
been made up logic apart, he proceeded to prove to me just why there was no 
harm in his caressing my bubbies. I remained unmoved and untouched. He then 
quoted to me some lines from a poet, Walt Whitman, whom we had read at 
school, but which lines I did not recollect as being in the books, to the 
effect that all parts of the body are equal in beauty and unashamed-ness. 
This was convincing in another way-not by logic, but by flattery. It seemed 
like a poem written especially for the situation, and for me alone. I 
softened and gave him permission to touch my bosom, but only from the 
outside of my dress. He entered into possession of his new grant eagerly, 
but with an all too law-abiding respect for the specified conditions. 

Tenderly, again and again, he fondled my young budding breasts through the 
thin fabric of my dress, nipping between his fingers in passing, with 
apologetic indirectness, the tiny sensitive nipples that marked their apex. 
How I wished that he would override my restrictions and caress me as if he 
really meant it! But no-there was the role of innocence I had to play up to. 

Not to seem too miserly in the holding of his new property however, he 
forsook it for a time, to wander with restrained impatience over the bare 
glowing skin of my neck, above my dress. I challenged even his harmless 
trespass-as a matter of disciplinary policy; but he claimed it was a common 
appurtenant to the lower freehold, so I gave way. 

"To think," he was saying ruefully, as his fingers loitered jealously at the 
point where soft swells began only to hide away within the shelter of my 
bodice, "to think that I should be foiled by the imaginary deadline of your 
clothes-to think that I should be limited to such stingy privileges after 
all the time we've known each other! Why I've had more freedom than this 
with any number of girls the first time I met them . . . oh well, perhaps 
that's just the reason I like you so much better than those girls." 

I proffered my lips in assuagement. In the midst of the kiss, he tried to 
introduce his tongue into my mouth. As if this were to violate my chastity, 
I resisted him, keeping my lips tightly compressed with a primness I did not 
feel. 

Maddened by this one rebuff too many, he suddenly plunged his full hand deep 
inside the bosom of my dress. Over-shooting his mark in his impetuous 
eagerness, however, his fingers glided rapidly down the smooth valley 
between and came to rest beneath my titties on the soft plain of my belly, 
now wrinkled into velvety little folds by reason of my sitting position. 

A shivery little thrill went through me, but on general principles this 
would never do. Should he be permitted to over-ride my authority once, there 
would be no limit to what he could do to me-and since I had set out to be 
obeyed, I must continue the enforcement of law and order without regard for 
my own transient weaknesses. 

Imprisoning his hand between my dress and my warm flesh by expanding my 
diaphragm, I prevented him for the time from further marauding. Then, 
assuming my blackest and most threatening expression, I proceeded to beat 
him into submission-by sheer power of will as it were. 

His assertiveness collapsed. He apologized plaintively. "Don't be angry with 
me, Louise," he pleaded, "I couldn't help it. I was just carried away. You 
are so wonderful-Your skin is like the softest, finest warm vellum, like-" 
and his fingers began groping again-for further similes no doubt. 

"Don't you dare move your hand again-if you know what's good for you!" I 
pronounced with fearful ominousness-but still holding back my breath to 
allow him no leeway. "You may get rough with me once, but I'm not one of 
your hussies to stand for it again!" (What if he should reach down further 
and touch the hairs that were so dangerously close, I thought. That would be 
embarrassing. And compromising too.) 

There was a silent deadlock for some moments. The combined heat of my body 
and the palm of his hand in such close contact was sending tiny spurts of 
fire inward to my very womb. I liked it. The slight perspiration resulting 
seemed to make us of one flesh. His thumb moved ever so imperceptibly to 
press into my belly button. I wiggled aside and spoke one word. "Don't!" 

"Well, what am I to do?" Bob demanded, beginning to realize the advantage he 
held, and relishing in advance the knowledge that he would be able to remedy 
his first oversight on withdrawing his hand. 

"You must take your hand out when I tell you to," I instructed him, "and you 
must do it quickly and mustn't touch my breasts at all." My 
self-consciousness and unpracticed pronunciation gave to the word "breasts" 
a pretty lisp. How unfortunate today that the word "prick" and "cunt" 
present no such opportunity for prettifying. 

"Oh please, Louise," he begged me, "can't I feel the wonderful texture of 
your dear little breasts just this once? As long as I already have my hand 
there-and I promise not to do it again-can't I just caress their tiny cherry 
tips for a minute? I will stop at once if you don't like it." 

I yielded his request in part. "All right, Bob, but you must only touch them 
for a second as you withdraw your hand. If you stop for more than a moment, 
I shall be very, very angry with you." 

"Here goes then!" he said, holding his breath with expectancy and gazing 
deep into my eyes with an intensity that made my eyelids flutter. I relaxed 
the tension against my dress, granting him the freedom of my bare flesh. 

"Only for a moment?" he repeated. I nodded my head impatiently. Fearfully, 
lightly, and all too quickly, his hand passed up from where it had been 
resting on my belly, swept sideways up over the curve of my left breast and 
brushed past the hard, erect little nipple which veritably clamored for 
attention-but without pausing. 

His hand emerged from my bosom. It was all over. Bob drew me close to him 
and started to kiss me passionately. I pushed him from me impatiently. 

"What are you angry with me for now, Louise?" he pleaded. "Didn't I do it 
just as you said I should? Why, here I scarcely touched you at all and now 
you're angry at me!" 

"That's just it!" I exclaimed furiously, "You scarcely touched me at all! 
Why you caressed me with as much passion as a-as a-as if I were the plague 
and you were afraid of me!" And I burst into tears. 

"But Louise dear-didn't I want to really fondle you-and didn't you order me 
not to?" 

"I don't care!" I sobbed. "I thought you loved me enough to disregard what I 
said. You should have known I wanted you to act more-more real than that." 

Slowly it dawned upon him. Smiling now, almost condescendingly, he made as 
if to repair his late neglect of my titties; but the "moment psychologique" 
was irretrievably lost. I hated him now-and pushing him from me violently, 
left him sprawling on the grass while I hurried home alone. 

 CHAPTER FIVE 

Life on the farm, contrary to the usual character of such things, was not 
entirely uninteresting that summer. Perhaps the fact that it was to be the 
last I should spend there, the fact that it no longer occupied the entire 
horizon of my future, help make it quite bearable. 

I have already recorded how, my eyes opened to the division of nature into 
male and female, I found a new appreciation for life. From the rooster's 
fluttering momentary contact with the cloaca of the hen to the prolonged 
connection of a male and a female dog, intense pleasure seemed to be 
nature's main if not sole motivation. 

What I could not understand, however, was why, if connection was so 
obviously pleasant, creatures were not more continually engaged in the 
delightful pastime. I was aware that the heat of animals was seasonal; yet I 
wondered at its short duration. It never occurred to me that there was such 
a thing as a limit to the capacity of the male. 

With the vividness of an appropriate allegory, a little incident comes to 
mind. I have comforted many a male, chagrined by his inability to reach his 
determined score, with a recounting of just this tale. 

It was early that same summer, if I remember correctly, and father had just 
purchased four beautiful sleek brown cows to add to the herd. At dinner 
table one day shortly after, there was some talk of borrowing from the 
Jordan's of the adjoining farm the fine pedigreed bull that they kept. 
Immediately I guessed that the bull's visit had something to do with the 
fresh young lady cows we had recently acquired. I had gathered on other 
occasions that old Jordan made quite a bit of money merely by hiring his 
bull out all around the county to sire the next year's crop of calves. 

Wickedly I determined to see the process, and later in the afternoon when 
Mr. Jordan led his famous beast into the barnyard, I was ensconced 
comfortably up in the loft of the barn, that same academy of my earlier 
education. 

No sooner did Mr. Bull spy the four cows than he snorted-I was about to say 
"like a bull"-and started for them. It was with difficulty that, old Jordan, 
father and our two hired men prevented him from running into the fence by 
twisting his tether about a firm post-and with equal difficulty that the 
four frightened cows were rounded up again. Taking three of them out of 
sight behind the barn to spare their virgin sensibilities perhaps-the first 
lucky maiden, very attractive as cows go, was brought up and anchored within 
reach of His Masculine Majesty, who, as soon as he was released, made for 
her, roaring with delight. 

Only for a moment did I catch sight of his royal sex parts. But what a 
sight! Not a whit less than a foot long, dear reader-and four inches in 
diameter would be but a conservative estimate. I gave thanks in my heart and 
in my cunny that, to the best of my knowledge and belief, the male of the 
human species was less terribly accoutered. And at the base of this apogee 
of virile members, overawing as it was in its stiff, reddish-brown dignity, 
clung a pair of to me then unknown organs, resembling in color, size, and 
apparent tautness and texture, nothing other than a pair of leather boxing 
gloves. 

With scarce a howdy-do to his new playmate, the bull mounted with his 
forelegs upon her back, and with an infallible instinct, superior to all 
fumbling, plunged the part so intended into the corresponding but 
diametrical dissimilar part of the female, who now lowed with fear and pain 
at the assault upon her probably unaccustomed organs. 

With fierce rapid thrusts the bull now proceeded to consummate his act, 
adroitly keeping close step behind the cow as she waltzed away from him the 
length of her tether-the slap of his belly against her flank resounding 
again and again like the vigorous beating of rugs. 

Father and Mr. Jordan were watching this procedure with calm, impersonal 
approval. I, in my secret place, looked on with not a little trepidation, 
and even with sisterly sympathy for the cow, who seemed to be getting 
considerably the worst of the arrangement. Only father's two hired men 
below, great vulgar fellows with whom I had never any dealings, seemed to be 
having fine sport of the goings on, even to the point of cheering on their 
brother beast with lewd expressions which happily were drowned by the now 
earsplitting snorts and roars of the bull. 

Then suddenly, just as the loud reverberations of their hooves upon the 
ground were beginning to make me fear for the very foundations of the barn, 
the lord of the herd let out one last unbelievable bellow that seemed to 
threaten the very skies. He had reached his crisis. 

At this point he began slipping off the back of his amourette, but the two 
hired men rushed into the melee, and for reasons which became clear to me 
only afterwards, held the two beasts together as long as they could. Even as 
it was, when the bull's monstrous machine emerged from the place of its so 
recent and heated reception, it dripped a veritable puddle of white creamy 
fluid upon the ground-for all the world resembling the contents of an 
overturned milk pail. And from the cow bubbled more of the same pearly 
liquid, trickling generously down her hind legs. 

But indeed the greatest miracle was yet in store for me. For that terrible 
engine, a moment ago comparable only to a long section of summer bologna, 
was now, before my very eyes, shrinking inward, both in length and in girth, 
to a mere three flabby inches by one that melted from view. 

The recent bride was hustled off the scene, and heifer number two, a more 
comely beast still, if there be such things as standards of beauty in cow 
society, was brought on and hitched to the epithalamia post. But if I 
expected an immediate repetition of the earlier performance, I was doomed to 
disappointment, for the bull, instead of rushing in to partake of this 
daintier morsel, indifferently turned his back on her and walked away. 

Mild consternation reigned among the entremeteurs de marriage in the 
barnyard. A pail of fresh water was brought, into which Mr. Jordan dropped a 
quantity of a white powder from a large cloth sack, and of this love-portion 
the groom was induced to partake; but no noticeable results ensued. Father 
then fetched a number of steaming hot towels which were applied to the lax 
genitals of the duty-shirking bull. This effort was crowned with some 
success, for the member emerged from its massage with some reasonable 
resemblance to stiffness and bulk. But yet, when he was led up to his bovine 
bride, who had been standing by meekly during this whole performance, 
blinking her brown eyes with coy expectancy, he did no more than sniff 
curiously at her charms, and no doubt deciding that she was not sufficiently 
different from his earlier experience to justify a repetition of those 
extraordinary exertions, he wheeled away from her once more, flicking her 
patient features contemptuously with his tail. Miss Bess-for that was her 
name-and surely she has by now earned sufficient of the reader's sympathy to 
be designated by her proper appellation-Miss Bess mooed disconsolately and 
to my indignation began following after her indifferent lord; but then, 
recalled, whether by her sense of ladylike dignity or by the limit of her 
tether, she returned to her station by the post and pretendedto be absorbed 
in nibbling a bit of grass. I say pretended because the barnyard was utterly 
devoid of vegetation. 

Meanwhile father and old Jordan had gone into heated consultation. 

"I done warned ye-" old Jordan was drawling in his high-pitched voice, made 
even more unpleasant by passage between his toothless gums, "that thar' bull 
'as 'ad a 'ard season of it. Now I ain't reckonin' thar' be no better sire 
in the state; but jes' yesterday we ad 'im over to Keesville to the Widder 
Jones's an' 'e served six 'ead o' cow afore sundown. Ahm afeared Charley 
ain't goin' ta be much good no more today. But ef you wants me ter fetch 'im 
over here agin tomorrer, why that'll jes' cost ye ten dollars more." 

"Ten dollars, ay?" father was saying wrath-fully. "Ten dollars a day, you 
say, Ebenezer for a bull that can hardly serve one heifer and with calves 
bringing only eight dollars on the market. Why it ain't worth the time and 
labor to my cows and me." 

While this dispute was going on, our two hired men, on their own initiative 
now, were still matching their none too sharp wits against the bull's tardy 
instincts. Leading the beast forcibly back into the vicinity of the female, 
the one of them took a handful of lard and, applying it to the bull's semi 
erect member, proceeded to mold and rub it into a less pliable and more 
adventurous shape. At the same time the other made Bess approach, and 
introducing the bull's muzzle against her hindquarters, rubbed it against 
those areas whose perfumes should remind him of the sex thereof, and by 
association, of their true and proper usage. 

It was indeed a humorous sight: the hired men vigorously rubbing and pulling 
on the bull's recalcitrant tool, and the bull himself being forced to nuzzle 
into the privates of the cow. The sum total of these efforts was, however, 
no more than this: that when at last the part had been restored to its 
previous majesty and the bull had mounted diffidently upon the back of the 
eagerly submissive Bess, that same part, displaying a temperament 
inexplicable to me at the time, began giving up in disgust-and Bess had to 
be dragged away perforce from the altar at which she had been so sadly 
disappointed. 

I shall leave it to the reader to draw any of the obvious morals from this 
situation. 

 CHAPTER SIX 

I have just mentioned our two hired men. One of them must enter into my 
memoirs for some further treatment in that he was another unwitting factor 
in my home education. 

To describe either or both of them in any detail would be a task too 
distasteful to undertake. I have referred to them as vulgar. They were worse 
than that. Gross, hulking, leering brutes they were of a low order that-I 
must admit it with shame for my native land-can be found nowhere among the 
peasants or serfs of Europe, but only among the pseudo-republicans of 
America. I made it an unqualified rule to always keep as far away from them 
as possible, and I thanked my stars that father had not adopted the 
democratic practice of allowing them to eat with us at the same table. To 
merely pass within view of them was for me an ordeal. 

One of them particularly betrayed by his features that he was of an 
especially sub-criminal or idiotic type. It gives me the shivers still when 
I picture him, puttering about the barnyard, always with a wisp of dirty 
straw between his teeth, and generally taking a cruel pleasure in setting 
the animals against each other. It was he who had manipulated the under part 
of the bull in such gross fashion that day. 

I was wandering down through our orchard early one hot afternoon, 
immediately after the noondav meal, when, coming to the point where the 
orchard ended and our pasturage began, I spied him-Jock, I think he was 
called-partially hidden by the vine-grown fence, and behaving in a very 
strange manner. 

The sun was stupefying hot; most everyone else was indoors. The loud droning 
of the bees in the clover must have drowned out the slight sound of my 
footsteps. Coming closer, with mixed curiosity and fear, I could see him, 
queerly enough, engaging in wrestling with our prize sheep Nan. 

My first impulse was to run and fetch father -for I would not have put it 
beyond him to murder our cattle out of sheer malicious brutality. But the 
fact that he seemed to be employing no visible weapon, and might indeed be 
merely playing with her in plain exuberant idiocy, deterred me from the 
childish role of tale-bearer and led me instead to tiptoe up close to the 
fence, over which I could discover more particularly what in heaven's name 
he was doing. 

What was my unspeakable disgust then, to find that, whatever the game, the 
beastly lout was playing it with his trousers down! His hand wrapped tightly 
in the thick wool of the sheep's back to steady himself, he was on his knees 
behind and somewhat under her, lunging back and forth against her viciously, 
his ugly hairy butt protruding in my direction at every rebound. 

Already I had learned just enough about animals to have it slowly dawn on me 
that this male beast, no doubt unacceptable to any female of his own 
species, was imposing himself sexually upon a lower and more helpless order. 
Boiling with indignation at this outrage of nature's laws and man's rules of 
decency, I was about to pick up a rock with which to strike him 
unconscious-even as if I were executing the punishment of death by stoning 
prescribed by the Bible for such unnatural vices. I had in mind also to 
release our poor sheep from his abominable brutishness. But the sudden 
realization that I was wrong in attributing my angry sentiments to the 
sheep, made me pause in my impetuous resolve. For Nan was baaing in tones of 
unmistakable pleasure and was now and then wriggling her soft woolly bottom 
against the belly of her intruder. With that innate sympathy for all 
feminine-kind that I have referred to before, I abandoned all thought of 
violence, and soon my resentment vanished, even as against Jock, whom for 
the time I now regarded as a poor pitiable instrument of impulses more 
powerful than he. 

Perhaps because of the very unnaturalness of his situation, it was a very 
long time before Jock attained his ultimate goal, orgasm. During this 
lengthy period Nan seemed to win no less than three complete 
climaxes-showing her appreciation by quivering and gestures almost human, 
and essaying to reach back and kiss her lover with her tongue. 

Silently, except for an occasional grunt, or a growl of, "Hold still thar', 
sheep!" he worked tirelessly and desperately on. 

At last he finished-and mine was the spectacle of a huge truncheon 
withdrawn, still fiery red and tumescent, glistening and actually steaming 
in the sun as the last gobs of the thick white fluid that seemed the 
inevitable concomitant of sexual satisfaction in the male, spread over its 
head and shaft, accentuating its dark crimson. It was the first human male 
engine I had ever witnessed at such close quarters-and in justice to all 
later ones I have experienced, I might have hoped that my first close-up 
should be of a less abnormally monstrous one. For indeed, so 
indistinguishable was this in size and bulk from the member of the bull I 
had so recently seen, that for years after I was repeatedly disappointed by 
the merely normal and therefore considerably smaller ones I met with. Of 
course, as the old adage has it, "short and thick will do the trick" and 
"long and thin goes further in" and the matter of size is not nearly so 
important to a woman as is the deftness with which the tool is maneuvered. 
Yet it is but natural in us women to want a great deal of and to want to 
gorge ourselves with the things we like. 

Pausing only to hastily wipe his dripping weapon upon the woolly back of the 
sheepas handkerchiefs were then and probably are still unknown accessories 
in rural America- 

Jock slunk away over the pasture without having discovered my presence. 

I jumped over the intervening fence, and silly though it seems. I was 
bursting to put to Nan the one great question that to me was yet 
substantially unanswered: "How was it?" Of course she couldn't have told 
me-and so I had to content myself with a reading of the external 
manifestations of her body. Prompted by my burning curiosity, I made so bold 
as to examine her sex organs, and was surprised to find them, though still 
in a turmoil of red blood-gorged membrane and white sticky ejaculate, very 
similar in shape and structure to my own unfledged vagina. 

I stepped around to her other end, and caressed her head as if I would read 
the secret in her eyes; but she switched herself around so as to bring her 
rear against me, and then disported her hindquarters in a manner that was 
plainly an invitation to repeat for her the good offices she had just 
sustained. 

"Sorry, old Nan," I whispered, "I know you'd like more of it. But I can't do 
a thing for you. Perhaps I would if I could." And realizing that I had just 
admitted to a moral capacity for that selfsame heinous act that I had so 
recently censured, I left her, heartily ashamed of myself. 

 CHAPTER SEVEN 

One day late in August Bob showed me a letter he had received from home, 
requiring his presence shortly and ending his vacation. With the cruel 
immutability of time, our last opportunity to be together arrived. I don't 
know how I ever obtained the permission of my parents-perhaps my own 
approaching departure helped-but we spent the earlier part of that last 
evening down to town as I remember. 

It was a Saturday night, the big time in every small American town. The 
streets were crowded with farmers and their families, in from the outlying 
districts, and promenading with much noise and the frequent purchase of 
soda-pop. Groups of rowdy drunken soldiers also contributed to the general 
excitement. After the two-mile walk from home on the dark road, the many 
gas-lit shops were especially dazzling. Already I felt a presaging thrill of 
what metropolitan life would be like. 

The town hall was the goal of most that evening. Plattsburg's first 
moving-picture performance was slated. I think it was called a bioscope 
exhibition then. I felt quite proud of Bob in his neat city clothes, and 
almost swooningly subservient when he bought the tickets from his 
well-filled wallet. It was my first experience of the power of money to 
purchase other than drab necessities. The ticket seller hadn't enough cash 
to make Bob's change and he had to bring it to him after we were seated 
inside and when more admissions had been paid for. I blushed with pleasure 
at the unctuous respect with which my escort was treated and unconsciously I 
became polarized to another new magnetic goal in life: money. 

The show-my first-was a shoddy enough affair. First some cheap variety 
performances came on the stage and danced, sang and interrogated each other 
with insane catechisms that irritated me immeasurably in that all were 
laughing boisterously while I could find nothing to even smile about. Then, 
to my relief, the lights were turned out and Bob felt for my hand in the 
dark. There were loud snickers and cries of "Kiss me quick." 

"Let go of my leg!" and so on from the oafs in the audience, and on a large 
white sheet suspended on the platform, the newest marvel of the age 
flickered its jerky uneven shadow pictures. A disgustingly fat comedian 
sustained the usual clownish misfortunes of torn trousers, intercepted 
custard pies, etc. There were more film breaks, mechanical interruptions and 
failings of lights than the few minutes entertainment justified. And 
whenever the projection would seem to be really clicking smoothly, the film 
would suddenly end and a slide with the crude lettering "End of Reel One. 
Reel Two Will Follow Immediately" would be flashed on the screen. How 
different from the polished performance at any of the Boulevard cinemas 
today! I was glad enough when it was all over and we carefully wended our 
way out through the riotously overturned benches, the peanut shells, and the 
omnipresent pools of expectorated tobacco juice on the rough wooden floor. 
What memories for a lady of refined and luxurious sensibilities! But my 
memoirs none the less, dear reader, even if I am, alas, an ungrateful 
daughter to my native land to thus betray its culture. 

It is the remembrance of the rest of that evening, though, that I indeed 
wish to treasure. We left the crude town behind us. Soon even the sound of 
the mechanical piano in Leary's Saloon at the railroad crossing ceased to 
march with us. 

Nature alone was its own beautiful self. The cool refreshing night air was 
made fragrant by the odors of sweet newly-mown hay and fresh breathing 
grasses. I rank that perfume still as not inferior to my favorite Shalimar 
or 'L'Origon. And the sky-clear except for a few wispy ghosts of clouds 
scudding before a crescent quarter moon that was tipped up like a tiny 
silver cradle. 

We walked slowly, Bob's arm about my waist-slowly, as if to make the two 
short miles last an eternity. There was a soft poignancy in my heart at his 
impending departure. True, I told myself, I did not love him; yet he was my 
dearest friend. He had opened new and brighter horizons to me. He had been a 
considerate companion. If I did not love him, it was no fault but my own. I 
ought to love him. And this night was meant for love. 

About halfway home, he gently led me unresisting off the road. Unhurriedly, 
but with awakening pulse, we traversed a field of lush thick grasses that 
caressed our feet. We spoke no word; but we each knew that the road we had 
followed was a path of Heretofore, and that path we were leaving forever 
behind us. 

A little incline suggested a halt. Silently Bob slipped off his coat, and 
spreading it for me, drew me to the ground. The earth was still warm from 
the day-long hot kiss of the sun. I lay back. The star-bejeweled sky seemed 
to come down to blanket us in a two-dimensional world. Bob did not touch me, 
and yet I could feel that he was shivering, despite the mildness of the 
temperature, in the throes of that same questioning: To fuck or not to fuck. 
For myself, I refused to confront the problems. 

At last, as if to divert himself from that internal conflict, he broke the 
silence, speaking softly. 

"The stars, Louise. Do you know their names ? " 

Timidly I pointed out the Great Dipper, the Milky Way. Supplementing my 
limited knowledge, he introduced me to Orion the Mighty Hunter, to Arcturus 
the Pole-star, to the bright flaming Sirius, the inseparable Castor and 
Pollux, to Betelgeuse and Cassiopeia and Aldeboran and the Pleiades. 

Again we lapsed into silence-for a long time, during which his mind was 
again torn by following rough thorny paths of doubt-during which time I, 
lulled by singing crickets and the strange silver light of the moon, dreamt 
vague untenable, sensual dreams, which, when I tried to grasp them, vanished 
like magic moonbeams that we would imprison with our hands. 

What worlds apart we seemed to be. Only the great expanse of the heavens 
held us in common. But suddenly I was recalled to him, hurtling through dark 
voids, past orbs of silvery sheen. 

"Louise!" 

How sweetly my name sounded on his lips. We turned to meet; our arms 
enfolded each other with one accord. His breath was hot and spasmodic on my 
neck; yet, beneath his silk shirt I could feel him shivering still. I 
pressed him closer, granting him the warmth of my body. His lips sought mine 
in a long kiss. My eyes shut. All the wide universe was wiped out, leaving 
only us two, and joined by that kiss we were but one. 

For measureless minutes during which we both existed out at the juncture of 
our lips, we lay thus. Then, becoming again aware of the rest of my body 
that clung to him so hungrily, his hand wandered down my back to my 
buttocks, crushed me closer to him, till breathless I began passing into 
happy oblivion. 

For a moment he drew back to admire my recumbent figure in the moonlight, 
then his hands sought my breasts, first through my clothes, and then, 
discovering the secret of the little clasps that held my dress together in 
front, he undid them gently, one by one, placing a hot moist kiss in turn 
upon each little area of my soft flesh as it was uncovered. 

I made not the least resistance. What a different woman I now was from the 
haughty nay-saying Louise of the past. I was his now entirely, his to do 
with me as he would. I refused to poison the precious moments by words or 
thought or fears or scruples. I prayed only for his hands and his lips, and 
for the unbroken silence. 

By now he had unhooked my dress to its limit, down to my very waist. I lay 
still, existing only for his pleasure, for his worship. He folded back the 
lappets of my dress, and baring both my breasts at last in their entirety, 
gasped with joy at their strange white beauty under the moon, broke down in 
tears of passion, and sobbing, buried his face in their soft warm expanse 
and passed his cheeks lovingly again and again over their yielding 
smoothness. Blindly his mouth kissed its seeking way to each of the tiny 
erect little nipples-and having found them, sucked and tongued these 
wondrous fountains, spreading thrills to my innermost being till my very 
bowels were knotted and contracted with intense pleasure. 

His hands, hot organs of delicious contact, now ran down the sides of my 
body, found the edge of my dress and came up again over my silk stockinged 
knees to my bare thighs. Because of the heat, I was wearing no underwear. 
Hotly his hands fumbled for obstacles. Grateful he was to find none. 
Nestling his fingers between the soft warm flesh of my close-meeting thighs, 
he forced them gently apart. Up and on his hand slid, caressing the 
ineffably smooth skin, and as the distance to my secret parts decreased, 
that center of feeling came suddenly to life, tingling with suspense and 
anticipation. 

Undeterred by me, and all the time kissing and biting my breasts with 
overwhelming passion, he at last reached the sacred juncture of my thighs, 
played about and around it, caressing the rich adjoining creases of flesh, 
smoothing my lower belly, combining with his fingers the tangled silky hairs 
of the luscious mount-withal working me up to such a pitch of desire that my 
cunny, burning with the teasing outer caresses, all but shouted for him to 
come within and work a consummation. From then on, adieu all fears of what 
he might do to me! Adieu, too, all modesty and restraint! Unashamedly I 
wriggled my cunny against his hand. At last his fingers parting the soft 
lips, entered, to my great relief-first the narrow upper part of the slit, 
and then lower down where it was swimming with the lubrications of pleasure. 
This delightful moisture he spread about to facilitate whatever operation he 
might be intending. Instinctively I threw my legs apart to aid him further, 
and my whole virgin fortress, with all its delicate warm membranes, lay 
fairly open to his mercy. Let him draw and attack now! 

But no-his fingers continued to caress my burning part, found the sensitive 
clitty, and played upon it a gorgeous symphony of rhythmic sensuality. What 
unbearably pleasurable titillations! What waves of fire spreading through my 
veins! So this was the method he had chosen to thrill me; but I had no time 
to regret the substitute instrument he was employing: I knew only that it 
was incomparably divine. 

Assured by my irregular breathing that he was working in the proper groove, 
he drew the lower part of his body close to me once more. Midway against my 
thighs (his head still at my bosom) I could feel through his trousers the 
hard pulsing bulge of himself. Yet despite this conclusive proof of his 
intense desire for me, he was not taking me for himself. It could only be 
because of his deep consideration for me, his unwillingness to hurt or 
endanger me or to take advantage of my obvious weakness, that he so 
restrained himself. His main care it seemed, was my happiness, my safety, my 
pleasure. 

Realizing my selfisliness suddenly, and in the full gratefulness of my 
passion, my hand crept to his middle, fumbled at his buttons, reached 
within, and with a boldness that only this moment could have begotten, 
disentangled his stiff throbbing part from his underclothes, grasped it in 
the soft perspiring palm of my hand and brought it forth. His breath caught 
with expectant excitement. 

Never had I held in my hand such hot living flesh, that was yet not as any 
flesh I had known, in its paradoxical smoothness and hardness. Not nearly as 
large as I had expected was that cylinder of pulsing ivory, but its firm 
circumference filled my hand neatly, and the smooth velvety skin that 
sheathed it was pleasing to the touch. 

Tenderly I drew back the soft fold of foreskin that rimmed it, caressed the 
sensitive spongy head, tickling the delicate groove of the underside with my 
fingertips, and squeezing the whole with my hand in a crushing agony of 
desire and pleasure. 

With a tense back-and-forth movement of his hips, causing his blood-gorged 
member to slide in and out of my tightly clasping fist, he conveyed to me 
unconsciously the proper manner of handling the beloved organ. Learning 
quickly the dear lesson of love, I now stroked the whole length and surface 
of it with my full palm and fingers, in the same varying rhythm with which 
he was still stimulating my bursting clitty-now slowly and vigorously, now 
lightly and rapidly. 

Suddenly Bob spoke his first words. 

"Stop, Louise!" he gasped. "I want to come only when you do." Instinctively 
I understood his vague expression. Despite the handicap of a later start, he 
was approaching his climax more rapidly than I and he wished to wait for me. 
I complied, holding his tense quivering part still in my hand, resisting the 
impulse to caress it more actively again, while Bob continued to stroke my 
hot moist vulva with blind fury. Violently my whole body was now jerking 
back and forth to meet his caressing fingers. 

The electrical sensations gathered. Rippling thrills of increasing warmth 
and intensity bubbled up from the wells of my being, filling me, 
overwhelming me with that incomparable ecstasy. 

"Now!" I whispered, panting, as I felt the delicious limit of sensual 
endurance approaching-"Now!"-and again I added the stroking of his hot bar 
of flesh to my other movements, which, as the dams of my feelings broke, 
inundating me with delirious pleasure, became so irregular and spasmodic 
that it was essentially his own vigorous motion within my fist that brought 
his crisis up to join mine. 

How infinitely was the sensuous joy of that approaching climax increased by 
the knowledge of his sharing it with me simultaneously! Every thought of his 
imminent pleasure redoubled mine. Every thought and evidence of my ecstasy 
must have doubled his. And so, on and on,-just as two facing mirrors will 
reflect each within the other indefinitely. 

The two separate whirlpools of our sensations spread, spread out and met, 
met and melted together-together in one common overpowering frenzy of 
ecstasy. And just as the heavenly rending sensations passed their uttermost 
peak, contracting my womb within me and flooding my parts with my internal 
secretions, the same agony of pleasure in him was evidenced by a series of 
spurts of thick scalding fluid which shot against my quivering bare thighs 
and filled my hand as it still held and jerked his member in the last spasms 
of my own breathless joy. 

For long minutes during the die-away after-pleasures, we lay in each other's 
arms, I sobbing and moaning with the immensity of my gratification and 
happiness, he still gasping with the violence of his enjoyment; both of us 
for the time oblivious to the general sticky liquid dripping between my 
fingers and down my thighs. 

In the distance a dog barked, recalling us from our delicious dreaming. The 
moon shone again. All the world came into existence once more. A gentle 
breeze stirred the leaves of the trees behind us with a crisp, little 
rustling that whispered, "It is over. It is late!" It brushed lightly the 
surface of my bare breasts too and cooled the warm love-essence spread over 
my uncovered thighs. 

Tenderly Bob placed two last kisses upon my bosom-in a little glow of 
passion cupped my young yielding breasts in his separate hands, then gently 
and slowly, with great reluctance, he drew together the front of my dress 
and re-hooked it clasp by clasp. Which, when he had painstakingly finished, 
and regretting his work, he suddenly made as if to undo again; but I 
dissuaded him with a few soft words. 

Lovingly, with a large pocket handkerchief, he wiped from my thighs the 
prolific sacrifice of his passion, which in its peculiar lubricating 
quality, made even of this procedure a delightful caress. 

"It was as wonderful as if I had possessed you altogether," he said, "and 
better too, because now that I must go away, I can do so without any burden 
on my conscience." He began pulling down my dress; but raised it further 
instead to sink his face in my belly in a long kiss just above the mount of 
my grateful cunny. Embarrassed, I pushed him gently from me. 

A freshening wind with a suggestion of rain on its breath hastened us 
homeward. For the last time he left me at the gate, promising to write to me 
and to meet me soon in New York. For the last time he took me in his arms 
and kissed me-and, his desires reawakening, begged me to stay awhile longer. 
But there was a light on in the house, someone would still be up. I reminded 
him that it was very late and that he had a number of miles to walk to Port 
Kent. Another kiss, a whispered farewell, and he vanished into the dark. 

Mother was waiting up for me in the kitchen. Angrily she pointed to the 
Dutch clock which read A.M. and demanded to know what mischief I had been up 
to and whether I was following in my sister's footsteps to complete the 
undoing of the family. 

"Would you like me to show you my maidenhead, mother?" I said simply if a 
bit sarcastically, confident in my completeness. 

"You insolent girl! Go right to bed!" mother exclaimed, exasperated beyond 
words for once. I obeyed, anxious to be abed with myself. Undressed, I found 
a fine smooth coating as of enamel on the soft flesh on my thighs, where Bob 
had thrilled. I did not wash away this patina of love, but slept amid 
delicious sensuous dreams, my body curled up in self-caress, my hands buried 
between my thighs. 

 CHAPTER EIGHT 

New York! Mecca toward which every country girl in America turns her face or 
her heart! City of fabulous wealth and untold poverty. City of exquisite 
refinements and gross depravities, of churches and bawdyhouses, of wide 
streets and narrow souls. In brief, a city of contrasts and contradictions. 
Anyway, this was the year -a long time ago. Perhaps things have changed 
since then. 

My sister Mary and I emerged from the old New York Central Station into a 
strange, noisy, bustling world. Electric tramcars clanged by at breakneck 
speed. Carriages, cabs, and many of the awkward automobiles of that period 
crowded the curbs. Heavy wagons and drays clattered and rattled over the 
cobblestones of the wide streets, while underfoot could be heard the deep 
rumblings of passing subway trains. Every other building seemed to be a 
theater, cafe, or other place of amusement. Gigantic posters hung across the 
streets announced a play with Clyde Fitch in the star role, another with 
Trixie Friganza and Jefferson de Angelis. 

And people-thousands of them, everywhere. The women, heartbreakingly 
beautiful in their large picture hats, modishly corseted figures and long 
trailing skirts. The men, neat and debonair, with their brown bowler hats 
and imagine vests. And the policemen, impressive and handsome in their tall 
gray helmets. 

Mrs. Murray, an old friend of the family, formerly of Plattsburg and now of 
Brooklyn, to whose care we had been consigned, met us at the station. She 
was a buxom, good-natured, typically Irish woman of about forty with whom I 
felt we would have little difficulty getting along. She seemed not at all 
scandalized by sister's interesting condition, and even tried to put us at 
ease with some remarks to the effect that pregnancies among unmarried women 
were quite the fashionable thing in the metropolis just then. Ordinarily I 
would have resented her vulgar familiarity, but I was so relieved to be 
spared the embarrassment of the usual sanctimonious small-town attitude that 
I was deeply grateful. 

From the station we rode in a fine two-horse hackney downtown as far as the 
Brooklyn Bridge, Mrs. Murray proudly pointing out many of the points of 
interest intervening but, urged by reasons of economy, she dismissed the 
carriage at the bridge and bundled us onto a three-cent trolley car that 
carried us the rest of our journey in short order. 

Mary had been rather weepy all day on the train, her errand to the city 
being a more serious one than mine. Truth to tell, the prescribed term of 
her embarrassment drawing near, and none of those misfeasances of nature 
prayed for by mother and father having occurred, the folks had in effect 
disowned her, sending her off to bear her child among strangers. Again and 
again I had advised her to do something to avoid the impending disgrace; 
abortionists would no doubt be plentiful in the city. But with a damned 
perversity that exasperated me on more than one occasion, she insisted on 
going through with it. I have often wondered how much effect the accident of 
her name, Mary, had in the development of this Madonna complex. 

Sure enough, to anticipate a bit in point of time, two months after our 
arrival in New York, she brought forth, under the beneficent care of the 
Sisters of Mercy, the fruit of her love: a lusty little brat with hair as 
blond as its mother's and with noisy desires as pronounced as its father's. 
The lieutenant, incidentally, had been sustaining her with infrequent 
letters containing the stereotyped promises, lies and excuses that all men 
can generally stew up under such circumstances; but after her successful 
accouchement-and perhaps because of its very success-his letters ceased, and 
Mary, tiring of her role of neither maid, wife nor widow, lost interest in 
her offspring and, recovering from her earlier sentimentality with a 
rapidity for which I could credit only the atmosphere of the city, turned 
the child over to the orphan asylum of the same kind Sisters of Mercy and 
went out to meet life afresh. The further development of my dear sister is a 
matter even more astounding than any aspect of my own history; but this I 
shall sketch briefly in due time and on later pages. 

After we were duly settled at Mrs. Murray's, my first act was to register 
for the October opening of the Medical School of University. No entrance 
examinations were required, my high school references being considered 
sufficient for matriculation. True, the dean of the medical department, in a 
long, helpful conference in his office, tested the strength of my 
determination by trying to dissuade me from undertaking that subject, 
pointing out its many difficulties and hardships; but when once he realized 
that my purpose was no mere feminine whim, he was just as emphatic in his 
encouragement. 

I next wrote to Bob, in care of the college club address he had given me, 
and he responded with gratifying promptness by calling upon me in a 
luxurious motor car on the very evening which he received my note. 

In the few remaining weeks before school commenced, Bob was of untold 
service to me, taking me to see most of the interesting sights of the city 
and introducing me to scores of his well-to-do friends, many of whom would 
be attending the same college as I, though in higher classes, and might be 
of great aid to me. And modesty must not restrain me from recording that I 
made a most favorable impression upon them, as was evidenced by the 
profusion of offers I received from them to attend parties, theaters and 
other functions. Bob, of course, was tireless in warning me that 

I must not allow social engagements to interfere with my scholastic work, 
else I would not last through the semester. Perhaps he was jealous. But 
anyway, I proceeded at once to augment and urbanize my slim wardrobe from 
the extra allowance that father sent me secretly every week. 

On many of these pleasant fall evenings Bob would drive with me far out of 
the city on the Westchester road. Here, under the same stars, and amid 
surroundings reminiscent of that beautiful Saturday night, we would stop the 
car and sit talking for hours. Or perhaps we would walk from the road to lie 
upon the grass-on which occasions serious problems would arise. Now that he 
and I were reunited, my problem was to keep his affection simmering without 
allowing it to boil away. But there could be no question of going backward: 
the privileges he had so far attained were substantial conquests that could 
neither be expunged nor denied. 

And so on many of these evenings, despite my weak resistances, his hands 
would follow in the paths of their earlier explorations and discoveries and 
seek out my breasts, my thighs and my secret charms, destroying all vestige 
of my personal privacy. No matter how many petticoats I wore, he would lift 
them all. No matter how involved the combination of my silk drawers and 
garter belt, he would find his way through. If they were loose, he would 
insinuate his hand up my thighs and under them. If they were tight, he would 
pull them down and off altogether. And it seemed I was always repairing torn 
shoulder straps and ripped silken brassieres after an evening alone with 
him. 

Of course, it was all very nice and exciting for the most part, and with 
practice Bob became even more expert and satisfying in the subtlety of his 
titillations-in the way he was able to slowly work up my clitty, charging me 
with the delicious forepleasure almost but just short of the limit, then 
slowing down to avoid that consummation which is alas also an ending-then 
recharging me with the electrical sensations anew-and finally bringing it on 
with a breathtaking suddenness that set ajar for me the radiant gates of 
ecstasy and left me quivering meek and vanquished in that indescribable 
afterglow of pleasure. 

Naturally, I would not shirk my part of it. I would grope for his rampant 
member in the dark; sometimes he would already have it out for me, and then, 
no matter how moonless the night, I could recognize it by its lovely white 
luminosity-and grasping the dear warm flesh, I would reciprocate delights in 
the same measure as he had bestowed upon me or was then simultaneously 
bestowing. Sometimes I would envy him what I mistakenly concluded was the 
greater violence of his enjoyment from the more prolific love sacrifice that 
always accompanied the height of his pleasure. I did not long labor under 
this fallacy. The only fluids necessary in a woman are those for 
lubrication: hence its lesser generosity. But so far as actual enjoyment is 
concerned, the woman's organism being more sensitive than that of the man, 
the probabilities are that she is, if anything, more extremely affected by 
the pleasurable reactions. And since whatever substances within her cause 
the ecstatic climax are not ejaculated but remain, her delicious feelings 
must continue for a longer time. I have observed this again and again 
in-actuality. My male partners in love may come more quickly than I, but 
then their good feeling is over almost immediately, while I, more slowly 
stirred to the crisis, enjoy ecstasies that linger for a considerable time 
after. 

Delightful, however, as these interludes were for the both of us, there was 
sometimes a serious qualification, and one that I would find it hard to 
explain. My inhibitions were not yet then so completely annihilated that I 
could yield myself even partially on every occasion. Somehow it seemed that 
to permit a man to thrill me, even if only with his hand, to reduce me to a 
quivering frantic bit of femininity, was a form of subjugation that required 
justifications other than that of mere pleasure. Perhaps it was the age-old 
expectation of woman to be worthy of a price, to demand marriage, to be 
compensated for her submission to man, that so cropped up in me. Anyway, I 
do recollect that on such evenings as Bob brought me a gift of flowers or of 
some trinket, I experienced no such compunction or reluctance, and on the 
contrary, gave myself up wholeheartedly to his dominance. The primitive 
bargaining old prostitute in Woman! And yet this subconscious requirement of 
a consideration did not oust the sincerity of my participation when once I 
yielded, nor did it negate the coexistence of my finer feelings. It merely 
added an additional gratification, as of the creative satisfaction of a man 
who has worked well and has something to show for it. 

That I was not a conscious bargainer, however, was proven by the fact that 
no matter how indisposed I was myself, I never refused Bob his pleasurable 
relief when the circumstances called for it. Naturally, it was not so 
psychically satisfying to him when I forbade him to fondle my cunny 
specifically and did for him alone; but I daresay, for him to lie back while 
an attractive young lady stroked and molded his sensitive joy-stick with her 
satiny palms and dexterous fingers, and finally coaxed it to a not-reluctant 
gush of the tears of happiness, was not exactly the most unpleasant thing in 
the world. 

On one such occasion, Bob insisted on telling me a rather off-color story. 
It was about a circus midget who applied for a marriage license. "You-want 
to get married?" asked the astounded clerk. "Sure-I'm twenty-nine years 
old," answered the mite. "Who do you want to marry then?" pursued the clerk. 
"Here she is," replied the applicant, indicating an even tinier person of 
the opposite sex, who had been till now completely hidden by the desk. "But 
she's no bigger than your fist!" exclaimed th clerk in surprise. "Yes, no 
bigger-but much better," explained the midget. 

I did not admit at the time how much I enjoyed this story-nor could I 
pretend not to understand it. But I did playfully strike his lips with my 
fingers in reprimand-and proceeded to question myself whether or not this 
story might have been prompted by an incipient discontent with that 
instrument, "the fist," than which there was avowedly something "much 
better." 

Surely enough, only two days later, when we were alone on a dark country 
road, sitting in the broad tonneau of his car, and I had just reached for 
his John Thomas in order to forestall what threatened to be a dangerous 
attack of amorousness, he took my hand away and spoke in a troubled voice: 

"You know, Louise, what I'm going to tell you will sound awfully ungrateful, 
but I must say it just the same. I think you've been just as nice as nice 
could be; but-that way you satisfy me-oh, I'm not denying that it's the most 
wonderful thing I've ever experienced in my life-but somehow it doesn't 
satisfy me, you know, internally. I don't like to sit back while you bring 
on my orgasm without any aid from me. It's not like a man to take his 
pleasures passively. And then perhaps it's because what you do is so much 
like-mechanically at least-what every boy can do for himself. Forgive me, 
honey, for seeming to minimize your kindness; but it's only natural for me 
to want something more distinct, something more peculiarly personal of 
you-something that would completely transcend myself in every way." 

I was deeply troubled. 

"But Bob," I said, "what would you have me do? It's not at all clear in my 
mind that I could yet bring myself to follow the unconventional way of life 
that you've so often spoken of. And it would be altogether unfair to urge me 
to something that could never be undone. Why, I'm scarcely grown up enough 
to realize what it all means. I give you my word, Bob, that if I were 
considering anything like that, you would be the one person in the world 
whom I would think of. But I'm not. At least, not yet. Why can't we be happy 
just as we are? If you only knew how my conscience troubles me, even for the 
things we do do. How wrong it all is! And now you are asking-oh no, Bob, it 
just can't be. Now be a good boy and let's not talk about that anymore. And 
if you won't think about it, you won't want it. So there!" 

"If only it could be dismissed as easily as that, Louise! But perhaps you 
misunderstand me. I still don't wish to do you any harm. It's nothing like 
what you think-nothing irreparable. What I want is just to be a bit closer 
to you, to be able to delude myself that I am possessing you altogether-but 
not really. How can I explain it? I got the idea from reading 
Petronius-inter femores between the thighs-I haven't been able to sleep for 
nights, revolving the thought in my mind. Why not?" He was speaking 
passionately. "You no longer shrink from touching me-so why not between your 
soft lily thighs? I would not impair your virginity-wouldn't even come near 
your dear cunny-there wouldn't be the least danger. All I beg is that you 
trust me-" 

For once he was astute enough to accept my silence as assent. Stretching me 
across the wide, luxuriously upholstered back seat of the car, his hands ran 
quickly, like lambent flames, up my stockings, over the little stretch of 
bare flesh and over the soft expanse of my silk drawers, to my waist. Here 
his fingers engaged the yielding elastic band that held up my under things, 
and drew it down over my hips, raising my buttocks with both his hands to 
give clearance to the dainty bit of silk protection he was stripping me of. 
The widest part passed, it was but a moment before he had whisked it down 
over my knees and off my legs altogether, burying his face in its perfumed 
silk intimacy. 

Only for a moment. Again his hands returned to my body, this time in a 
reverse direction to pull up my remaining clothes, my dress and my 
petticoat, upward above my buttocks, and upward still, past the wide plain 
of my belly, and past the full tight swell of my bosom, till I was entirely 
nude, except for my stockinged legs and the clothes rolled and crumpled up 
under my chin. 

Falling upon me, his lips proceeded to reassure my flesh with a thousand 
kisses, distributed everywhere, from the peeks of my breasts and the valley 
between to the deep dimple that marked the center of my white belly, to the 
jeweled meetings of my thighs-bringing to the places of his visitation the 
hot flush of my blood as well as of his fevered lips. 

Once even his hungry mouth sought through the soft tendrils of my mount of 
love to the very entrance of my tender cleft and his teeth bit savagely, 
though restrainedly, into the juncture of the fleshy lips, compressing my 
clitty within till it stiffened in rigid self-defense. A tremor of 
trepidation racked my whole frame at this deep worship. I shivered in an 
agony of desire-of despair too, when I realized that I must not yield myself 
entirely to the complete possession of pleasure. How nearly abject and 
forlorn I felt when his teeth forsook that central point. I blushed to admit 
it to myself. Now his lips resumed their generous distribution of warm 
caresses; but alas, a kiss in each spot is a neglect of every other part, 
whereas that momentary abandon in which he bit me so deliciously was a 
homage felt in my every nerve and organ. 

Now he produced his own dear part, which I saw, in the moment before I shut 
my eyes tightly, was more upstanding than ever before -not at a mere right 
angle to his body, but up, almost touching his waist. 

Gently he lowered himself upon me, already panting with the violence of his 
passion. As he nestled his stiff burning member between my soft fleshy 
thighs, which, hot as they were, must have seemed cold in contrast with his 
own excessive heat, I would have thrown my legs wide apart and wrapped them 
tightly about his waist, to allow him to enter, to break in and take all. It 
was at moments like this that I regretted the burden of my virginity and 
prayed fiercely for its abatement. But, perhaps for the best, it suited my 
lover's present purpose to himself keep my thighs between his, thus to have 
his part more closely gripped between my soft generous flesh, close-meeting 
enough as it was. Now he commenced that movement in regular cadence which is 
the rhythm of love, his smooth organ slipping between my close-pressed 
thighs in the pleasant groove formed by their well-rounded plumpness. Like 
velvet on velvet it was-yet there was just that sufficient clinging 
difficulty of motion to spur on his desire and pleasure. Dangerously close 
to my fervid cunny he came on his inward thrusts, the padded head of his 
steely bar pounding against my pubis like a battering ram, as if to force 
admittance, its master willy-nilly. 

Soon from the hot frictioning member came a few drops of aluminous fluid 
that is nature's avant courier and love-lubricant, though but the merest 
sample of the full generous sweets to come. The back-and-forth thrusting of 
his now fully-oiled member between my thighs became so deliciously slippery, 
so wonderfully and insidiously caressing, that I could scarcely refrain from 
screaming out to have that magic piston operate within and not without my 
burning slit-which was by now prepared to furnish a lubrication all its own. 
And now the miracle! Unanticipating as I had been of any pleasure for myself 
in the arrangement I had conceded, the gods rewarded my generosity. "Give 
and thou shalt receive." Even as I was supplementing his pleasurable 
movements by wrigglings and rebounds of my own in response to some inner 
urge, that strange-familiar ecstasy heralded itself within me. For the 
forcible contact of mount against mount and part against part, external to 
my hungry grotto though it was, yet sufficed to create a friction of a sort 
within that center of all my senses. And my clitty, avid and raring for 
every caress, strained itself to snatch the benefit of every touch and 
pressure. This same straining anxiety and uncertainty only increased my 
intensity and susceptibility to pleasure. 

Each time that he came down upon me, I heaved up to meet him, grinding my 
part against his with a fury that would have inflicted pain under ordinary 
circumstances but now gave me agonies only of delirious delight. I lost all 
restraint, moving my bottom madly up and down or sideways to prolong a 
rubbing contact, with fully as much vigor as he. Soon I was stirred to a 
keen pleasure, violent beyond bearing. What if he should finish now and 
leave me thus? The critical ecstasy seemed to have reached in me an 
unendurable height; but, due no doubt to the indirectness of those needed 
contacts, it seemed to be arrested, paralyzed, neither subsiding nor passing 
on to the melting flow of relief. Wildly I lashed my body about as if it 
were a matter of life and death. And indeed, so killingly extreme was that 
static state of being spitted on the peak of pleasure that I thought I would 
die if it did not subside. 

Bob's breath was coming short and fast. It was for me now or never! My sighs 
and moans were overheating my lover in a manner that threatened the imminent 
end of this indescribably wonderful combat. My motions were becoming mad as 
to displace his tantalizing engine altogether for whole precious moments! 

But oh! Just as I would have expired from excess of pleasure, I caught and 
held him in a crushing part-to-part embrace that ground my turgid clitty 
downward and wrested from it its till now supreme dominance. 

With what exquisite dissolving joys did I pass that fearful height of 
ecstasy-and none too soon, for my lover, breathing with the raucous ardor of 
a forge, suddenly withdrew his member a safe distance from my gasping cunny 
and with that one final plunge upward along the groove of my hot thighs that 
announces the beginning of that oh-so-delightful end, spurted a copious 
flood of the thick warm liquor of love with such impetuous violence that it 
struck first high on my belly just beneath my breasts, with a perceptible 
little thud, and then in ever shortening jets left warm streaks across my 
navel, in the thick silk of my bush, and along my thighs. 

Only a few moments separated our respective effusions of pleasure. But we 
were reunited in the final agonies of delight and we shared the melting 
floods of bliss together, lips locked. When we came to, Bob slipped from me 
and lay nearby, inert, panting softly, exhausted by his dear labors. As for 
me, when my hysterical sobbing had subsided, I realized that I had learned 
what I deem the most important lesson in love: that the greater the 
difficulties and obstacles to be overcome, the more insane and impossible 
the manner of loving and the more prolonged and violent the effort necessary 
to bring on the consummation, just in that ratio will the ineffable joys be 
increased to soul-wracking ecstasies. To have a facile and quickly rendered 
finale is to enjoy, yes; but not to experience. One must strive and strain 
in order to live life to the extremist limitations of our wonderful bodies. 

 CHAPTER NINE 

The medical school opened early in October. I was on hand, keen with 
ambition, at last about to grapple with the many-tentacled octopus of 
science. I was disappointed at the outset; but my disappointment did partake 
somewhat of the nature of a postponement of my expectations. Instead of 
diving forthwith into obstetrics and learning all about sex-connection, 
pregnancy and its avoidance, and abortion-things which, naturally enough, 
would interest a member of my sex above all other subjects we were launched 
upon the drab mathematical affinities of chemistry and the remote embryology 
of the pig. Instead of the ghastly thrill of exploring human corpses that I 
had steeled myself for, we diddled at the minute dissection of bugs, frogs 
and rats. In brief, I found the knowledge I yearned for was still exactly a 
year ahead of me in the second term of college. 

My being the only female in the medical department was, at first, a source 
of considerable embarrassment to me. My classmates, all strangers to me as 
yet, ranging from beardless youths to bearded oldsters, treated me with 
every degree of respect, shameless admiration or contempt, according to 
their personal idiosyncrasies and respective ages. And many of the 
instructors, too, unaccustomed to the distraction or pleasure, as it might 
be, of having an attractive young lady in their classes, added to my 
discomfort by playing up to me with foolish simpering compliments in the 
course of their lectures. 

All in all, though, after a few weeks I became accustomed to my conspicuous 
position and soon learned even to enjoy it, allowing myself to be spurred on 
to extra scholastic effort by the mere fact of my being the lone 
representative of my sex. During those earlier trying times, however, it was 
a great relief, at the end of the day, to be joined by Bob and to go to some 
quiet dining place where he would spend most of the time consoling and 
reassuring me. I don't know whether I'd have had the courage to go on if it 
had not been for him. 

And then the long evenings of study in my room or at the college library, 
pouring over the pages of an atlas of anatomy, memorizing the location of 
the red lines that were arteries, the blue ones that were veins, and the 
miscellaneous shadings that represented muscles, glands and what-nots. Soon, 
to my mind's eye, every person appeared as a skeleton oora-chart or a figure 
from which the skin is lifted to show the organs and blood vessels. When Bob 
caressed me, I would find myself unconsciously rehearsing the names of the 
bones of hand, wrist, arm, shoulder, leg or thigh, as he traversed them. 

The effect of this temporary dehumanization was to make me the encyclopedic 
heroine of the class. "Miss -, " the seedy anatomy teacher once said to me, 
taking my arm and looking at me just a wee bit lickerish, "you may yet make 
history as the first great woman anatomist." Of course, I thanked him, but 
to myself I thought that I would much prefer to be Cleopatra or Catherine of 
Russia or Lucrezia Borgia. Women will always go down in history, just as 
they go down in bed, as women, and not as the tillers of some arid, joyless 
field of learning. 

Nevertheless, during the whole of my first year at school, with but one or 
two deviations, as this record will bear out, I attended strictly to my 
work, and again and again turned down the most attractive social proposals 
of my acquaintances and classmates. But during November of that year came a 
catastrophic event -utterly unexpected and demoralizing. 

Bob, my main refuge and support, was torn from my life. His father, of 
German birth, who had amassed a fortune in America, had, in view of the 
current financial panic, suddenly decided to wind up his affairs and remove 
with his family to Berlin. And now, in less than a week from the time he 
advised me of the fact, Bob would be gone. 

Not at all strangely, Bob's regret at leaving me was tempered with decided 
satisfaction at the interruption of his medical studies and his pending 
proximation to Europe, the goal of his dreams. As for me, I was cast to the 
depths of despondency and it took all of his power to cheer me up even a 
little. Thus it is always when one person allows his or her happiness to 
become dependent on the presence of another. 

It was during that same week of leave-taking that sister went to the 
hospital-fortunately enough, because on Bob's strong urging, we two were 
able to take advantage of the opportunity to spend a whole delicious night 
together . . . at a small quiet hotel with uninquisitive management. Unused 
as I was to such escapades, it was with a great deal of nervousness that I 
announced to Mrs. Murray that I was going to spend the night at the hospital 
at Mary's bedside, and with even more fearful-ness that I watched Bob sign 
as Mr. and Mrs. something-or-other in the hotel register. 

My first night abed with a man! What a historic occasion over which to 
rhapsodize-I, who have since, all in all, spent more nights of my life with 
men than without. 

Oh, that blushing virginal trepidation, that shivering delight of first 
undressing in full light before a worshipful lover, who, hastening to have 
you nude, yet hinders and delays each step with his impetuous kisses and 
greedy caresses! With what ardor did he toy with my provoking breasts, now 
widespread as I stood before him, with their pert little nipples pointing in 
nearly opposite directions. But even these soft contours could not for long 
bribe his hands from wandering farther in search of my various other charms: 
my full curving buttocks, my shapely close-meeting thighs. 

At last however he forsook the patting and squeezing of my yielding womanly 
flesh enough to slip hastily out of his own encumbering clothes-which he did 
with scarcely less modesty than I. 

Then followed that supreme delight of delights, to seek refuge from the 
chill of the November-cooled room and find it between the warm clean sheets 
of a bed, against the hot glowing flesh of a lover. Oh, that breathtaking 
ecstasy of bare flesh against bare flesh! We glued ourselves together in 
every fold we could make the parts of our bodies meet in-the only obstacle 
to our coalescence being that stiff bar of flesh that stood out in front on 
him-but this he tucked away for the time being between my quivering thighs. 
Then, resuming, he caressed me with a mad passion, a passion as mad as if he 
feared that some part of me might go uncaressed and unpressed, and being 
thus unclaimed by his hands, so be forfeited by him. 

Once more he assured me that he would do me no harm and begged only that I 
trust myself to him entirely and implicitly. Thrilling with fear and desire, 
I whispered my assent, giving him carte blanche for the night. 

In satisfaction of a strange whimsy, he left off his hot dallying, and 
slipping to a superior position in the bed, caressed the soft cherry-tipped 
hillocks of my bosom, not with his hand, as he had done so many countless 
times before, but with the satiny head of his pulsing member. Each ruby 
nipple in turn vibrated and came to erect quivering attention at this 
deliriously intimate salute. 

Then, turning me about on my sides, he slipped that warm bulky instrument of 
his, of whose fine smooth texture any woman might be proud, beneath my 
armpits from behind me. Lodging here for a time to relish the delightful 
tropical humidity of this silk-be-grown station, he next plunged further the 
bulging head of his member till it emerged from my armpit just beneath my 
shoulder, beside the full, soft, yielding luxury of my breast. 

At this point-forgive me reader-I could not resist the impulse to lower my 
lips to that so conveniently near part and place upon its beaming crimson 
countenance a full, moist, luscious kiss. But so instantaneously with the 
caress of my mouth did that ever wondrous organ swell-to double what had 
already seemed its maximum size and thickness, so violently and suddenly did 
it throw back its shoulder as it were and expand in length and girth, that I 
desisted, afraid lest I really cause it to burst through its skin. And Bob, 
dear Bob, did not dare to allay my fear, did not venture to ask for a 
continuance of that oral caress which since then I have learned is the 
supreme refinement of pleasure for both men and women. 

For a time he tarried in this high perch between my arm and ripe white 
breasts, then, bethinking himself of me perhaps, and how my own organs of 
delight lay further south, he removed his tool from the warm nest, now 
perspiring with the addition of heat to heat, and directed himself to an 
even warmer clime. 

Lying in my latitude now, and upon me, he lodged his stiff, now madly 
rampant part between my soft hot thighs, just below my own equatorial 
region, which I so designate not in mere figure-making, but because that 
area, in close sympathy and intimate connection with my titties, as in every 
sensitive woman, was so extremely excited by the titillation of my nipples 
(those analogues of the clitty) that it was indeed a torrid zone. 

With uncanny instinct now his bursting penis so determined its every motion 
as to bring it closer to the goal intended by nature, and soon it was full 
up against the entire length of the outer gates, our mounts pressed 
together, their respective foliage intertwining and veritably crackling with 
the electric currents of positive and negative polar magnetism, and the 
valley of love itself almost steaming with the excess of heat and already 
exuding thick, nearly simmering fluids for lubrication of the ultimate 
connection. 

Then were the frontiers of my virginity extended, though not annihilated, in 
a most delicious and satisfactory manner. Bringing his hands from behind me, 
where they had been pressing and molding the cheeks of my buttocks and 
holding my whole form passionately close to him, his fingers found their way 
to the moist lips of my cunny, and separating them over their full length 
(ah, Gods! What suspense!), he introduced his member, not heading inward to 
rend and destroy me, but downward, to lie in the full tight groove formed by 
the soft fleshy lips of my vagina. With a muscular action independent of the 
contraction of my thighs, these lips closed hungrily about the dear organ 
that distended them and gripped it tensely. Nevertheless, as a guarantee 
that he had no designs of blood and pain upon my maidenhead, my lover 
instructed me to bring my legs together and keep them thus, though my urge 
as always was to throw them wide apart. 

So delightfully and cozily settled at last, he commenced now those divine 
up-and-down motions of love that spring from the deepest-rooted rhythmic 
impulses in man. As for me, already I was writhing breathlessly about, to 
bring in closer, to hug in its entirety that wonderful morsel-and, oh joy of 
joys, as the dear piston rose and fell, traversing for the first time the 
well-oiled groove, a full sweeping stroke fell generously to the shore of my 
anxious clitty. My heart sang with happiness within me, as by my own 
instinctively-timed movements I kept the vital little projection in the 
longest possible contact with the broad back of his organ, meeting his every 
stroke with mine and sending those sparks and tongues of pleasurable flame 
through me. 

With those vigorous frictions of voluptuousness, even more directly upon the 
essential spot than in the normal manner of intercourse I have learned, how 
long could nature hold out? One, two, three, four divine welding strokes and 
already I felt coming on that ecstasy to which no description can do 
justice. Five. Six. Each plunge, as I raised my hips to meet it squarely, 
catapulted me in great arcs to higher levels of pleasure. Seven! My eyes 
rolled back, beyond voluntary control. I wanted to wait for my lover's 
corresponding ecstasy, but oh the eighth! His quick down movement hurtled me 
sharply to the high point which I knew was just short of the supreme crisis 
of delight! It was too late to withhold. I gave myself-and as his stiff part 
drew upward once more, more slowly, like the bow of a master musician drawn 
firmly to crescendo over the strings of the instrument of pleasure, sounding 
almost simultaneously the deepest vibrating chords as well as the highest 
trills in the register, the great orgasm rushed, burst upon all my sense 
with a long singing "mmrnmmm." I gasped and moaned with delight in unison 
with the sweeping music within me, as I came tumbling softly through the 
various orbs of the lesser degrees of pleasure. 

All this took place in the time that may be but a fractional moment in the 
outer world and yet a divine eternity within the senses. And Bob, like the 
musician who has played his concerto well but has not yet completed his 
program and therefore plunges too soon into his next selection, unaware that 
his audience would like some time first in which to savor and relish the 
delightful tunes still echoing in their ears, came down upon me once more 
with fully tautened bow. I screamed-actually screamed out-at the unendurable 
agony of a new stimulation upon the not yet subsided one. He stopped and 
hushed my little cries with hot, imperious kisses. 

Then, again, but now very slowly, he commenced his movement, and this time 
the delight was not so agonizing. Instead, his gentle motion seemed merely 
to wring out of my innermost nerves the final little spurts and drippings of 
the effusions of pleasure just past. And soon my clitty, recovering" from 
its recent frenzy of extra sensitivity, remembering how nice it all was, 
nobly rose again as if to say, "I don't mind if I have another." 

Gradually, as he noted that I no longer winced at his contacts, Bob 
increased the speed and length of his thrusts, until he was fucking me 
vigorously once more. And from passivity I soon passed to active 
participation. Now we were writhing and heaving with full steam ahead, his 
member slipping with almost too great a facility in my now fully-flooded 
parts. The first eddyings of ecstasy again began within me; but my companion 
was now panting with the intensity of a railroad engine taking off-and the 
violence and speed of his panting increased so rapidly that soon I knew the 
locomotive of love was in danger of shooting off its cylinder head. 

And sure enough, a moment later, his separate gasps came so close together 
as to pass for one explosive exhalation. At the same time, his turgid part, 
exalting at the climax of its labors at last at hand, took a last tense 
plunge through the hot clinging lips of my cunny, ending up of necessity, 
however, not within me, as that way was by nature still effectively closed, 
but with its swelling head emerging below and beneath the vital parts and 
wedged into the alternate intimate crack formed by the close-pressed cheeks 
of my buttocks. Here, with a last violent pulsation of its own, it 
ejaculated an almost continuous stream of thick, hot love-liquor that lasted 
for nearly half a minute and flooded the full groove of my underside with 
its soothing warmth. 

For a time he remained there motionless, resisting the impulse to continue 
moving back and forth lest he thereby bring some of the generous life-saving 
but danger-dealing fluid within my vulva whence it might be sucked up by my 
avid vagina and womb. Eventually my own excitement died down somewhat and I 
accepted my disappointment in good grace, considering my earlier 
gratification and my shameless but delicious precipitancy in coming before 
my lover. 

When at last he withdrew, he was careful to have me spread my thighs first 
and move awav from his still dripping organ. Then, with a soft hand towel, 
he gently wiped and blotted away the vital sticky moisture that covered my 
anus and buttocks. 

Turning my back to him now, not in anger by any chance, be it understood, 
but only to better snuggle the fullest curves of my body into the 
corresponding parts of the front of his body, we rested, while his hands, 
circling me from behind, toyed lazily with my soft breasts and his knee 
crept between my thighs to better relish their smooth texture. Thus 
intertwined, in scarcely a moment it seemed, and unintentionally perhaps, we 
were both fast asleep, no doubt overcome by the delicious languor that so 
aptly follows the arduous ardors of love. 

When I awakened some hours later, it was to find that Bob, still behind me, 
had slipped his organ, which I could feel was entirely recuperated from its 
late efforts, up between the full soft hemispheres of my buttocks, in the 
deep cozy valley so nicely formed by their contiguity. He was gently rubbing 
it back and forth with restrained bodily movements. For a time I did not 
disclose that I was awake, relishing the little breathless anxiety I felt as 
to just what he intended executing now that he thought me unconscious and at 
his mercy. Perhaps his purpose was to break into my pretty, tightly puckered 
little ass-hole-in which case (I confess to a strong curiosity at the time 
as to whether or not it could be done) I would let him essay it just so long 
as he didn't hurt me too badly. At the stimulation of this nefarious 
thought, my dormant clitty suddenly awoke and perked up. But just as earlier 
in the evening he had eschewed any direction that led inward to my secret 
vitals, so again, his part, ordained by nature for perpendicular usage, 
traveled merely horizontally to and parallel with the surface of my body, 
brushing over again and again, but not accepting the challenge to enter the 
strong-muscled little love-alternate beneath. 

Tiring finally of my implausible role of sleeper, I announced my 
consciousness-and approval -by adding my own motions in cooperation. Noting 
with joy that I was awake and not unwilling, his member, moving up and down 
through the full luxurious groove of my behind, slipped lower down to the 
tangled silk of my grotto. Now his deft fingers sought and easily found the 
narrow love-cleft, still moist from its recent sacrifice. Parting the ruby 
lips, his middle finger entered and met the tip of my erect clitty, and by 
that light contact I was brought into complete communion with him and made 
to share his own delicious titillations as by his vigorous movements he 
simultaneously stroked both his own essential part against me and my 
essential spot with his finger. 

Picture our delicious attitude, dear reader, and require no assurances that 
it was indescribably wonderful. And knowing that one may tire of 
descriptions (though never of the magic specific), I shall not weary you 
with further exposition of the "same thing" for this night-except to remark 
that it was not at all the "same thing." The second time that we came-and we 
came together to the moment -the sensual climax was a thrill of a deeper and 
keener sort, by very reason of it being a second and greater call upon our 
nervous forces. 

Bob ejaculated with even greater intensity than before, though somewhat less 
generously, and his love substance, as it sprang from his blood-gorged 
member couched between the soft swelling mounds of my buttocks, shot so 
forcibly as to streak all the way up my back, between my shoulder blades and 
almost to the nape of my neck. 

And then, later, as the dawn crept into our chamber and we were aroused to 
snatch a last joy from love before parting, we tenderly manipulated each 
other to a final ecstatic climax, lying face to face, our hands crossing to 
the other's pleasure zone. And when at last we came, our lips and tongues 
interlocked, the thrill was of such sharp and burning violence that our 
transports were indeed the tremors and twitching of hysteria rather than the 
mere quivering of passion. That the greatness of the apex of pleasure bore, 
if at all, only an inverse relationship to the freshness and fullness of the 
instruments of pleasure, was proven by the fact that though Bob (me too, for 
that matter) was writhing in the delirium of his most supreme ecstasy, yet 
his turgid penis gave forth this third time the merest exudation of a few 
thin drops of crystalline moisture. If in the general single-rounded love 
act the volume of ejaculation represents an intensity of pleasure, it is 
only in the degree that it drains the participant to capacity for the time. 
How triply then, how infinitely, were we experiencing the agonies of 
unendurable pleasure by thus bravely draining dry life's cup of joy! 

I slept late, as I was not to attend classes that day. When I awoke, it was 
past ten o'clock of a bright sunny autumn morning. Bob was gone. On his 
pillow was a tender note, telling me that he could not bear to awaken me, 
could not sustain the torture of a personal farewell, and begged me to see 
him off at p.m. on the Cunard pier. I dressed sadly, yet convinced that it 
was best he left me thus. Perhaps his sense of remorse, that slightly 
puritanical characteristic I could not quite fathom, made him afraid to 
confront me after what he might consider the abandoned orgy of the night. I 
too might have found it difficult to keep from blushing. 

I left the hotel in a daze that screened me from embarrassment. The rest of 
the morning I spent shopping for some things for sister and for a number of 
well-chosen books for Bob. I was on time at the pier, but our farewell, 
apart from our interchange of significant glances, was the merest formality, 
for there were more than a score of his friends and relations about. 

Thus heartbreakingly came to a close one of the major episodes of my life. 

 CHAPTER TEN 

Enter Charley. Close upon the heels of the receding Bob he came, and how 
refreshingly did he breeze into my life. 

The gangplank had been withdrawn and the great liner that carried my lover 
away from me was just moving out from its Hoboken dock when a bright, 
handsome young man whom I had noticed among the sending-off party, accosted 
me. 

"Hello! Do I know you?" he queried with an impertinence that was entirely 
becoming to his lively eyes and light golden hair. Gracefully, I made a 
quarter turn away from him, anxious to make some fractional concession to 
the requirements of conventional respectability and at the same time not to 
appear too offended. Though my back was thus turned upon him, I rejoiced 
that my profile-and a not unbeautiful one it is, dear reader, let me admit 
in all due modesty-was yet visible to him. And I was glad that the brisk 
autumn wind was so prettily whisking my skirts about my ankles, and 
piquantly disclosing the form (if not the substance, as in the modes of 
Paris today) of my calves and thighs. So too, the ringlets of my chestnut 
hair, bursting from under my hat, played about my ears and cheeks, lending 
to them an additional lively charm. 

My stranger did not allow me to remain long in doubt, if in doubt I had 
been, as to the cumulative effectiveness of these attractions, for he 
emitted a long whistle of the most awed and ardent admiration. 

"What a beaut!" he exclaimed most audibly, stepping around to confront me 
face to face. To hide my happy blushes now, if for no other reason, I once 
more turned my back to him. 

"Lady," he spoke close behind me, "I'm not denying that your back is pretty 
enough to look at all day. But even at the risk of being handed over to a 
policeman for mashing, I'm going to make your acquaintance." 

Once more he stood in front of me. I raised my head haughtily, but the icy 
look I would have assumed was melted almost instantly under the warmth of 
his earnest, handsome countenance and I burst into rippling laughter. 

"That's better," he pronounced in relief. 

From that point onward, we proceeded rapidly to weld a fast friendship. 
Standing beside him on the windy deck of the ferry that carried us back 
across the Hudson, I had my first opportunity of really examining my new 
acquaintance. Charley was without doubt the most handsome man I had ever 
met. Bob, for all of his sufficiency of maleness, had possessed an 
indefinable sensitivity that was essentially effeminate-and I could think of 
him only as a bright boy whose emotional and intellectual intensity far 
outweighed any consideration of physical attractiveness. I might indeed say 
that in the case of Bob, I was flattered into love by his superior cultural 
attainments-his conquest being completed by my own sensuousness and 
susceptibility rather than by any compelling power of his own. 

Charley, however, was my first hones t-to-goodness, flesh-and-blood man. 
Handsome, I have already said. Of medium height and a bit stockily built, he 
radiated a frank, blunt, unqualified masculinity that made me shiver 
internally with soft fears whenever I pictured to myself what it would be 
like to have his full male weight upon my tender body. 

It would sound awfully silly-perhaps uncomplimentary too-if I were to say 
that somehow he seemed to bring to mind vividly that bull scene I have 
earlier described. But I must repeat to the reader that what impressed me in 
that barnyard incident was not its bestiality, or even its obvious humor, 
but only the majestic sex symbolism presented. And so I do not mean to infer 
that dear Charley was at all comparable to a bull, except that just as the 
bull is the most masculine of the members of the animal kingdom, so was 
Charley one of the finest representatives of his own race and sex. 

I would need only to exhibit to the reader a contemporary photograph of him 
to correct any misunderstanding caused by my excessive verbosity. With the 
head and gracious locks of the Apollo Belvedere himself, he had a high 
forehead that proclaimed a long line of noble ancestors, a narrow-bridged 
faultlessly carven Grecian nose, and a determined chin like that of the 
later American movie idol, Bert Lytell. His eyes-alas, I have no 
recollection of their color-and though it would be the simplest thing in the 
world to fill in at random either brown or blue, I shall not thus depart 
from the complete veracity of my account even for so harmless and 
indifferent a matter. 

His shoulders were broad, even massive; his hands, with their wide palms, 
expressive of great generosity. In his whole bearing there was that pleasant 
threat which seemed to say to me, "I would fuck you and hurt you-but I would 
make you like it!" 

There was a similar directness in his general attitude that I feared, but 
which at the same time delighted me. Though we were not yet friends of 
half-an-hour, already he was addressing me only with the most audacious 
double entendres. Up to a certain point, I did not mind the excision of 
conventional hypocrisies. I even told myself that I would not object to 
having him for a lover-his physical attractiveness was indisputable. From 
his aristocratic dress I rightly concluded that he was of the wealthy. (I 
later learned indeed that his father was president of one of the great 
American railway systems.) But when, in unmistakable terms, he proceeded to 
paint himself as a most prodigious roue, commenting on a famous actress, 
"Oh, she snores," of another, "she has a weak bladder and gives me 
insomnia," I determined to be on guard against him. Not for me the role of 
Easy Conquest Number 

! Not for me to become just another of his clever anecdotes or epigrams, to 
flatter his enormous vanity, be he no matter how handsome, by serving as his 
mistress for a fleeting day! 

And yet I was immensely fond of him notwithstanding. At least, in between 
the times when he said such nasty things as, "If there's a virgin over 
sixteen in this whole damned city, I'd like to have it proved to me. And 
there's only one way, I suppose you know, to establish a girl's virginity 
and that's to destroy it." At such times I hated him. Such statements made 
me ashamed of him and of myself. Anyway, if I was still a virgin, it was 
through no fault of mine. 

Something else he said filled me with conflicting sentiments. He had seen me 
in the company of Bob a number of times in the past few weeks, and had been 
much smitten by me; but, he went on to explain, his code forbade him to "cut 
in on his friend's piece." A very creditable sentiment, but his use of the 
colloquial "piece," taking for granted as it did that I had been Bob's 
mistress and hence a sure thing for him, made me wonder whether Bob had told 
or whether it was just Charley's natural evil-mindedness. I dismissed the 
first hypothesis as inconceivable. As for the second, I was glad that I 
still had it in my power to prove that he was wrong. "Prove?" No, not his 
kind of proof! 

It was already night when we reached Manhattan. Charley insisted that I have 
an early dinner with him at Delmonico's that very evening. I tried to beg 
off on the plea that I was not properly dressed for the occasion, but he 
countered by saying that he would get a private dining room, and to this, of 
course, I could say nothing. 

What a thrill I experienced as we entered this world-famous dining place! 
The manager himself came forward to greet my companion; he seemed to know 
him well. But my enthusiasm was just a trifle dampened when he suggested to 
Charley, with an appraising glance toward me, "Will you have the Orchid 
Room, as usual?" So I was not the first he had taken to a private room. 

And sure enough, the elaborate appointments of the isolated upstairs chamber 
we were led to betokened possible uses other than that of dining. For, 
beside the gorgeous white napery and dazzling silver accouterments of 
eating, there was a sumptuously cushioned divan that bespoke too much the 
seraglio to have any legitimate business there. 

After a sense-stimulating meal that included caviar, lobster and champagne, 
our waiter cleared the table and discreetly withdrew, leaving us alone. 
Already both of us were a trifle flushed, if not tipsy, and Charley, leading 
me to the luxurious sofa, continued to ply me with more of the bubbly 
alcohol. 

Contrary to the accepted belief that such indulgences deprive a girl of all 
moral judgment and make her unfit to defend her virtue, I found that though 
the champagne made me feel exuberant and more sensuously alive, yet my mind 
and will seemed equally sharpened. No doubt if I had been at all so-minded 
originally, the liquor would have helped my surrender. But as it is, any 
little wench who assigns the loss of her cherry exclusively to the grape is 
concealing the fact that she was anxious to be seduced at the outset and 
seized upon her partial intoxication as the fine pretext to release her from 
moral responsibility. 

Comfortably settled by my side on the divan, Charley proceeded with 
breathtaking rapidity to become more thoroughly and tangibly acquainted with 
me. Accompanying his manual exploration with delightful little kisses on my 
cheeks and neck and the lobes of my ears, his hands took possession of my 
soft bosom with deliberate and practiced artistry. I protested-but verbally 
only; in truth, I was most anxious to have him progress to the climax I had 
planned. 

Deftly he caressed the upstanding strawberry heights of my breasts. One of 
the clasps that held to my form my low-necked dress burst apart. Instantly, 
to avoid a further repetition of this disaster, his fingers undid the rest 
of the hooks. Then, slipping down from off my bared shoulders the ribbons 
that supported my flimsy brassiere, he laid to light the full expanding 
treasures of my bosom. 

I continued to protest in the time-honored formula: "Stop, Charley-I'm not 
that kind of a girl." But I took care that my meekness belied my words. Now 
he is placing hot kisses on every inch of the ivory surface of my breasts, 
now he seizes with his mouth one of the ruby nipples, sucking it in 
passionately until his lips encompass all its surrounding delightfully 
puckered aureole. He slipped to his knees on the floor to bring himself 
opposite these inflaming charms-and now his eager hands sought my ankles, 
crept up under the hem of my skirt and stole lightly over my silk-stockinged 
calves to my knees. A bit further and the silk of my hose gave way to the 
warm satin of my bare thighs. This he could not pass over so lightly-for his 
hot hands gripped and fondled the yielding polished flesh as a miser his 
gold-only with more passionate desire. 

Now he encounters and avoids successfully the slight obstacle that my 
tangled hose-suspensory and silk chemise present by allowing his hands to 
detour my buttocks. Then, brushing under the silk edge of that most intimate 
piece of my under things, his burning fingers slip-all too skillfully-up and 
around to the place high between my thighs whose texture is the finest to 
caress, where it converges toward that central point which requires no 
mariner's compass to be found. 

As the Mecca of his pilgrimage approaches, he finds it necessary to stifle 
my objections with overruling kisses. I lock my thighs close together, but 
his strong hands force them apart. Already his fingers are attacking the 
moss-grown gates of the sanctuary of love, demanding admittance. 

"No! no! no! You mustn't. You will hurt me, Charley!" I manage to cry 
between his kisses. More gently, he goes. His fingers feel for and find the 
outer groove, stroking it up and down to part the tangled silky hairs before 
entering. Now my blushes become more expressive of desire than modesty. But 
a woman's vanity, if anything, is greater than her desire. I could afford to 
wait. The moment of my triumph approached. If only nothing went wrong- 

His impatient fingers enter between the lips of the cloven spot-despite my 
protestations. A moment he caresses the familiar zone of my clitty, 
eliciting from me little gasps of pleasure, which, however, I disguised as 
cries of pain. But now his fingers venture lower and deeper, to a territory 
heretofore untouched even by himself. Here the membranes were softer and 
fuller and more generously inundated in rich moisture. But so unfledged and 
sensitive were they to his avid touch, that I uttered a loud cry of now 
genuine pain at his first contact. 

He pauses-moves his finger again. I scream. He stops in astonishment-demands 
to know what sort of fraud I'm trying to work on him by thus pretending to 
be so easily hurt. 

"I don't have to commit rape, you know," he says angrily. "There are plenty 
of women who don't find me so unattractive. You're not sick, are you?" 

"No, Charley," I succeeded in stammering tearfully, "I'm not sick. I've just 
never had this done to me. I-I'm a virgin-" 

"Virgin?" he laughed incredulously. "So's the mother of Christ!" and 
brutally proceeding to plunge his finger inward, inflicted upon me such 
cruel torture that I nearly choked genuinely enough now. What carried more 
weight than my shrieks, however, in bringing him to a stop, was the decided 
obstacle of a strong, though sensitive membrane that closely guarded the 
entrance to the inner temple and effectually blocked his further progress. 

Perplexed, and even somewhat awed, he desists from his painful probing, 
though he cannot resist the temptation to once more, but very gently, run 
the tip of his finger from the top of the delicate groove down to its very 
bottom-as if to reassure himself of something whose existence he did not yet 
believe in. Everywhere it was sealed over. At no point could he penetrate 
more than a scanty inch, and this depth was made possible by the full 
outward plumpness of my cunny's lips. 

Charley's whole demeanor, which a moment ago had frightened me so dreadfully 
that I had contemplated making a rush for the bell-rope to summon aid, now 
changed almost miraculously. Removing his marauding hand, he respectfully 
helped me to readjust my clothing, and sitting beside me, wiped away my 
tears, begging me to forgive him. 

"You poor child!" he was saying remorsefully. "What an injustice I've done 
you! But hell! Who'd guess that a beautiful piece like you could last long 
in this damned city? I admit I was wrong. You're the first virgin I've ever 
run across-and probably the last. 

"As for me-well, I've done a lot of rounding in my day-but no seductions. 
Not that I wouldn't like to-in this particular case." His arm tightened 
about me almost threateningly. "But I realize that her maidenhead may be a 
girl's sole stock in trade-and there's too much stuff around that can be 
legitimately acquired for me to stoop to robbery. 

"Well, you delicious piece," he concluded after an awkward silence, "we'd 
better be going while I'm still feeling so virtuous. The best of us may 
change our minds if we wait around long enough. I'll wager I'll regret 
plenty this passing you up. But let's go. There's still time for me to meet 
one of my professional girl friends and take it out on her-and I don't mind 
telling you." 

"Oh, don't, Charley!" I spoke with deep sincerity. "I'm so sorry for you-so 
sorry this had to happen. Can't we be just good friends anyway?" 

"Why certainly, baby," he said with an assumed jauntiness that was now 
pitifully transparent. "I'll stick around till a less squeamish friend of 
yours does the trick and then I'll step in for the seconds I've always had 
to be satisfied with." 

"Oh, Charley!" was all that I could exclaim in pity and despair. My hands 
were anxiously and vainly engaged in the task of trying to remedy the gap in 
my bodice where the torn clasp permitted the all too enchanting swell of one 
of my breasts to show through. For a moment he watched me with an impatient 
cynical smile that flustered me so completely that a second clasp came open 
under my nervous fingers. He blanched, swallowed hard, then overcome, 
gathered me into his arms and buried his mouth and face on the bared 
luscious swell of my elastic bosom. 

"Christ, you are wonderful!" he gasped intensely, looking up. "Why, I'd give 
a thousand -two thousand dollars for a night with you. I'd murder my best 
friend . . . but what's the use!" he went on, calming himself with an 
effort, "I can see that you're the kind that can't be bought. And I wouldn't 
know how to go about getting you any other way. You see-ever since I've been 
scarcely thirteen years old, women have always made a play for me -for my 
money, I guess. It's only now that I begin to see how meaningless all that 
is." 

He sat twirling his watch chain and looking dismally at the floor. Suddenly 
he brightened. 

"Say Louise-you may think I'm crazy; but will you marry me? Now? At once?" 
His eyes sparkled with earnestness. 

I laughed heartily. This high flattery and the fact that I once more 
controlled the situation made me feel quite exuberant and gave me back my 
poise. 

"Oh, you great big silly, Charley," I said, mussing his hair playfully. "You 
are a dear. I'm almost in love with you right now. But you shouldn't propose 
to strange women, else, God knows, one of them is likely to take you up. You 
are a temptation. Now if I were a woof-woof adventuress, I'd march you right 
down to City Hall, and at the point of a gun, force the night watchman to 
make you mine. But I have other ambitious plans for myself, and a rich 
husband might make me lazy. 

"I will say this though," I continued, rising and reaching for my wraps, 
"I'm just a poor girl, subject to the whim of her parents, and if ever I'm 
hard up for money and your earlier offer is still open, you may have first 
option on my-my sole stock-in-trade, as you called it." 

Poor Charley was dumb-struck at this sudden transformation of the weeping 
girl begging for mercy to the laughing woman puppeteer. He sprang up and 
strode toward me. 

"Why not now?" he whispered fiercely, grasping me by both my shoulders and 
breathing hotly on my cheek, "Yes, five thousand dollars is nothing for a 
magnificent woman like you! Make it now!" 

"Oh no, Charley. That wouldn't be fair to either of us. I have no particular 
use for five thousand right now. The very sound of it frightens me. And then 
again, you'd better think it over. After taking it out, as you put it, on 
perhaps the five dollar kind, you may conclude that I'm not worth the 
difference. At any rate, I'll be glad to have you call for me anytime after 
hours at the medical school-that is, if you promise to be good." 

Charley was waiting for me outside the college portico the very next 
afternoon. He hadn't changed his mind. Nor had I. 

 CHAPTER ELEVEN 

Another month speeds by. Sister, home from the hospital with her bouncing 
buster, is already chafing under the burdens of motherhood. Charley is still 
my most ardent admirer and accepts his enforced platonicity good-naturedly 
but not finally. I give him no further opportunity alone, however, in which 
to really match the strength of his purpose against mine. Whenever we go 
out, oddly enough, it is always with a number of his male acquaintances-and 
soon I am considered one of the "gang." Perhaps he has in mind to overwhelm 
my stubborn virginity and exclusive femininity by a combined front of 
maleness. Or perhaps he still hopes that, since I would not fall for him, I 
might still succumb to one of his many handsome friends, in which case he 
would get his come-in as I made the communal rounds. At any rate, I was 
wholly skeptical of his ability to really love in the conventional 
monogamous way. 

What talk-feats our group would have together of a late afternoon or evening 
at some rathskeller or private club! At times my differing sex was 
forgotten, and mine was the privilege of sharing their complete confidences 
and partaking of uncensored masculine conversations. What a lot I learned 
about men-and women too, of course-on such occasions. Even my vocabulary was 
gradually broadened, and the stock of erotic stories that I acquired from 
them would have enabled me to match talents with a cardinal. 

Through all this, I preserved myself intact. And for those who may doubt the 
logic of this, may I interpose a little theory? An erotic picture, kept in 
one's mind, will no doubt be arousing. So too, such a picture acquired from 
another's account may result likewise. But the very act of expressing an 
erotic thought or vision is a form of vicarious relief which leaves the 
raconteur far less amorous than if he had held silent. Conversely, the 
listeners must be stimulated, especially if their reception is of a fresh or 
unfamiliar erotic scene; but so long as they are stimulated only to "tell 
another," there will be very little of the original emotional or sensual 
content left to their memory: consequently they are not apt to commit rape 
as a result. 

Only Charley was becoming less and less talkative. He would sit, silently 
watching the effect of all this frankness on me. Later, at my doorstep, he 
would naively flash his checkbook, and with eyes glittering ask, "How about 
it, baby? How about it?" And I, who had engaged in the refreshing talk and 
felt no less than purged and aerated thereby, would kiss his nose blithely 
and say, "Not tonight, Charleykins, not tonight." 

New Year's Eve Charley and a number of the boys were going on what they 
designated a "slumming cruise" and I was invited to come along. As the party 
contemplated touching on some rather rough places, and the company of a 
woman might cause embarrassment, it was devised that I should masquerade as 
a man. Each had some bit of masculine haberdashery to contribute. 

All in all, I made up rather successfully as an attractive, though slightly 
hothouse-grown young man. The greatest problem was the disposal of my long, 
thick hair, which I thought I could conceal but temporarily beneath a soft 
checkered cap. I was assured, however, that at the places we were going to 
visit, gentlemen did not remove their hats-or rather, there would be no 
gentlemen. 

I even spent some time practicing to speak in a lower register. My voice 
being naturally somewhat strong, this was not difficult. Yet at times I 
struck tones that were much too musical to pass for other than those of a 
Priscilla or a "pansy." 

That evening was a haze of tobacco smoke and alcoholic fumes, a succession 
of imagine and cheap cabarets, with their corresponding demi-mondaine 
habitues, a medley of shouts, songs and tooting horns, with sex stories 
presenting a continual obligato. 

At about A.M. we were encamped in a somewhat quieter type of rendezvous, 
where the great number of unescorted ladies-and more particularly their 
boudoir costumes-made it obvious that drinks and music were not the only 
commodities for sale here. 

No sooner were we all seated at a large corner table than a number of these 
ladies gathered about us. I was surprised to note that many of them were 
astonishingly good-looking and all had some considerable fund of bodily 
charm. The slight contempt that I had had for men who patronized prostitutes 
vanished immediately. Somehow I had always felt that only those women who 
were insufficiently attractive to ensnare permanent mates ever resorted to 
this profession. But now, with this proof positive before me, it seemed more 
likely that only those whose charms were too slight to insure numerous 
successive admirers would steer for the safe harbor of marriage with its 
stagnant waters. True, some of them seemed rather hard, vulgar specimens. 
But marriage is more likely to contain great numbers of viragos than this 
profession whose purpose is to please-and I was beginning to learn that 
there are degrees of refinement even among the votaries of Venus Pandemos. 

One of their number, the youngest by appearance, singled me out for her 
especial attention. My embarrassment could be better imagined than 
described-particularly, when my companions, realizing the humor of the 
situation, urged her on to overcome my "bashfulness." 

The lady in question was a delightful young thing of about my age and size, 
with titian-red hair and eyes of a strange dark blue that bordered on green. 
Beneath the diaphanous black silk combination, that was all that she wore, 
could be discerned the pink-white prominences of her pretty form, the firm 
tract of her belly, and a pair of pert, luscious breasts that seemed so 
deliciously edible that even I, who should have felt a minimum of response 
to such charms, experienced a deep impulse to bite into them-just to feel 
those tiny cherry nipples upon the back of my tongue with the surrounding 
ivory flesh caressing my lips. Her thighs and legs, though they demanded 
less attention by very reason of the fact that they were entirely bare 
except for the uppermost segments, were as shapely as any I had seen. A 
string of jade beads and a pair of tiny scarlet slippers completed her 
clothed protection-and little enough it was. 

Sitting beside me on the wall-seat, she made herself agreeable to me in what 
I supposed was the conventional manner. 

"You are a very handsome boy," she said, with a slight accent that I 
immediately surmised as French, running her fingertips in a peculiarly 
subtle manner up my thighs. "You would make a very pretty girl." I winced, 
but smiled to her in lieu of the words I dared not speak. 

"But I like you," she went on. "Do you wish to kiss me?" I shook my head. 
"No? You're afraid of me? Come now, I won't bite you. Give me your arm. 
Now-put it around my waist, so. And your hand-here. Like that? Nice, isn't 
it? Make you feel like doing anything? No? Then your other hand." She pursed 
her pretty red lips patiently. "Put it here on my thigh, so. You like that? 
Nice and warm, isn't it? Well, do something!" This time with a tiny trace of 
exasperation. "I'm not your maiden aunt. You can move your hands a little 
bit. I won't slap you." 

Complying, I closed one hand over the firm little hillock of one of her 
bosoms, while with the fingers of the other hand that lay in her lap, I felt 
timidly about, sensing, through the silk of her combination, the crisp tiny 
clump of pubic hairs that rustled at my touch. Simultaneously, her deft, 
naughty little hand crept up my trousered thigh again to my corresponding 
part, feeling about for the expected result in vain. Of necessity, the 
phenomenon she desired was impossible; but little did she suspect that the 
strangeness of the situation was arousing me more than her caresses alone 
could affect any mere man. And if a penis had been the indicator of my 
suppressed excitement, I am certain it would have burst every last button on 
those borrowed trousers I wore. 

But finding no index to my state, and therefore, reasonably deeming it a 
mark of her insufficiency, Nanette (for that was her name) pushed my hands 
from her, much to my regret, and spoke petulantly. 

"You don't like me! I am too ugly for you perhaps. You want me to leave you 
and send one of the other girls?" 

"No, no! I like you," I ventured to say in low tones that were fortunately 
made hoarse by my sensual commotion. Whether the assumption of male clothes 
had worked a sexual transformation within me and my feelings were those of a 
man for a woman, or whether I had brought to light a heretofore concealed 
homosexual tendency or not, I cannot say. A simpler explanation would be 
that the presence of anything associated with sexual pleasure-and lord knows 
this creature's every curve and fold spoke only of the extremest sensual 
ecstasies -would stimulate male or female alike, by being interpreted 
associatively either actively or passively, as the case might be. "I would 
like to fuck her" or "I would like to be her when she gets fucked" is the 
idea. 

Whatsoever the reason though-and too much reasoning is inimical to joy, I 
must remind myself again and again-I was anxious lest I lose the company of 
this luscious girlie, and forgetting myself completely, threw my arms about 
her neck and placed on her mouth a fierce, salacious kiss. I was pleased to 
find that her ripe moist lips were fresh and sweet, with that vague 
ambrosial perfume that women can give but cannot receive in kissing a 
man-and I was not averse when she prolonged the delicious contact by 
introducing the scarlet tip of her tiny tongue into my mouth. I am not idly 
employing metaphors when I write that during those few fervid moments my 
very heart sprang to my lips. 

It was only after this compromising admission that I became aware that my 
companions, though they had been occupying only the periphery of my 
consciousness, had focused on me at least half their entire attention. They 
were nudging each other and laughing delightedly at my performance, not for 
a moment dreaming that it had not been entirely unwilling. 

"Would you like to come upstairs with me, dearie?" Nanette whispered when 
she noted how discomfited I was by the onlookers. I shook my head 
negatively. 

"Would you like to take me home with you then?" I shook my head again. 

"Then we can spend the night together at a hotel. I will be so very nice to 
you. Everything. Yes?" 

Again I shook my head. By this time the boys gathered from my repeated 
"no's" the way the land lay, and considering it a rare joke, boisterously 
gave aid to her cause, urging me to go upstairs with her. 

"Go ahead, Lou. She'll make a man of you!" Such were the jibes cast at me. 
At last, to put a stop to this roistering, which already was attracting the 
attention of all present, and to spare the little lady the public insult 
that my continued refusal would now be, I nodded my head in assent. She took 
my hand happily and led me away; but not without my turning back to give my 
blackest look to my companions for subjecting me to this unspeakable 
embarrassment. 

At a sort of office in the rear, Nanette was thrown a towel and a key-much 
like the procedure of renting a ba house at our beaches -and I was handed, 
imagine, a rubber sheath. Instantly falling out of role, I threw the condom 
back and continued on. My petulance drew only a polite smile from the madame 
and an "As you will, sir." 

On the stairs, I decided it was time to disclose my real sex and bring to a 
close this comedy of errors. I tapped Nanette on the shoulder and stopped 
halfway up; but somehow, the words I would have spoken did not come. Perhaps 
the strange excitement, or fear of an emotional outbreak on her part, or 
perhaps curiosity as to the outcome, inhibited me. She merely took me by the 
hand once more and dragged me on, saying, "Don't be afraid, child. It'll do 
you a lot of good. And you'll be glad you came. I like it too. For my sake 
you will do it; because you are a very nice boy and already I love you." 

We entered a brightly lit but plainly furnished room and the key was turned 
in the lock. Against the wall was a large heavy bed with fresh white linens. 
Over the lowermost part of the sheets, however, was spread a strip of dark 
blanketing-probably as a footrest for those who didn't stay long enough to 
remove their shoes. 

"Now we are alone, honey," Nanette addressed me as I continued to stand near 
the door. She approached, embraced me tightly, and rolling her waist and 
hips against my middle with a tense, slow movement that once more made me 
regret that I possessed no more projectible antenna with which to savor this 
contact, she placed a long hot kiss upon my mouth. I returned it with 
sudden, abandoned fervor. 

She stepped away from me. A slight shake of her body, and the flimsy black 
silk undergarment that had been her sole costume slipped down from off her 
shoulders till only the upstanding heights of her breasts sustained it; 
another motion, and it slipped down to the station of her full wide hips; 
another, and the cloud of silk glided shyly down her thighs and settled 
slowly about her tiny slippered feet. 

There she stood before me, nude-an apparition of beauty that not even 
Chrysis of old could have surpassed when she disrobed for some burning, 
handsome lover in the moonlit groves behind the temple of Aphrodite. 

What devine flesh! How lovely a form! I would have envied her inconsolably, 
had not the thought flashed upon me that I could not have loved that 
gorgeous body one half so passionately, so desirously, if it had been my 
own. From her gracious neck to her swelling, rounded young breasts my gaze 
went to the snowy valley between that widened downward to the broad 
delicious plain of her belly; the dimpled navel; the well-shaded triangular 
patch, overspread with curling silken hair of the richest sable-beneath 
which began a scarcely discernible rift that shaded modestly down and inward 
to seek shelter between two plump fleshy thighs of just that proportion 
which is not too much for grace and yet enough for love's luscious demands. 

A moment she stood for my admiration, then turning away, presented to my 
intoxicated view less consciously, another side that put me in deep quandary 
as to which, front or back, was the more beautiful. The rear of her thighs, 
more curved, more fleshy, more lascivious than the front, where, in close 
conjunction they plumped out in a pair of the most delicious white buttocks 
conceivable, would have stricken dead with desire any sodomist worshiper of 
Venus Callipyge. 

Briskly, and to reassure the fearful young man that I still was to her, she 
bent over a sort of bidet pour abolutions in times, and with an apologetic 
smile to me, proceeded to quickly soap and wash her private parts. Grotesque 
as this action may have been in reality, yet it in no way interrupted or 
dispelled the tense atmosphere of desire that enwrapped me. On the contrary, 
if I had been a man with all that belongs to a man, so inflamed by her 
suggestive squatting position would I have been, that I would have rushed 
upon her and impaled her soap and all, then and there! 

Humming a little tune and watching me intently, she gently dried herself 
with the towel, leaving her pubic hairs more silky, more curly and 
delightfully tousled than ever. Then, throwing herself on her back across 
the bed, she drew up her legs, spread wide her thighs and awaited me. 

Irresistibly I was drawn near. The fascination of the vista spread before me 
held me breathless with a strange wild pleasure. Through the dark silky 
curls of her mount of Venus could be seen, like the setting sun through 
foliage, the merest suggestion of vermilion. And beneath that, the veritable 
red-centered velvety cleft of flesh itself, with its soft lovely little 
lips, shading gradually inward from palest pink through intermediate 
delicate tones of red to deepest carmine-expressing a harmony of line and 
color, of softness and vividness, that Renoir at his best has never 
attained. 

But alas! I could do no more than gaze upon it. Nature had sadly failed to 
bless me with the wherewithal! to give that darling cunny that which it 
pouted for. 

For a while the adorable creature continued in her expectant attitude. At 
last, seeing that not only had I not made proper application of the 
essential specific, but had not yet even disclosed it, she sat up on the 
edge of the bed and sighed patiently. 

"Still bashful, eh? Well, come sit beside me. Either you've had too much of 
women or none at all. Which is it? Are you a virgin?" 

I nodded affirmatively. All too truly. 

"Well, well. I should feel honored. You are my first beginner. But I thought 
nature would take care of herself and tell you what to do. Come closer. Put 
your arms around me. Now play with me while I get you ready." 

She bit her lower lip, and with a pretty little frown of earnestness, began 
studiously to attack the front buttons of my trousers. I was mortified 
beyond words. What could I say, after leading her on so far? I could only 
await the inevitable. 

The last button was opened. Her pretty little hand insinuated itself into 
the gap with becoming awkwardness, felt about with increasing anxiety for 
the stiff bar of flesh, the male ne plus ultra, that should have sprung to 
her grasp, but was not there. 

Instead she encountered only the soft silk of the feminine under things I 
had retained despite my disguise. Grope as she might, there was not even the 
meagerest suspicion of the affirmative instrument she was no doubt 
sufficiently acquainted with to certify the absence of. 

"Mother of God!" she exclaimed in horror, rapidly making the sign of the 
cross over her nude bosom. "What kind of man are you? Have you been 
castrated? Were you born this way? And those silk underclothes-Ugh!" 

I could only hang my head in shame. 

"Why don't you answer me?" she went on. "Are you deaf and dumb too? Why do 
you come here to waste a poor girl's time, you-you dirty catamite!" And she 
slapped me sharply across the cheek. 

Still I could not articulate a sound. Bursting into tears of discomfiture 
and shame, my head still hung low, I pulled off the cap that till now I had 
kept jealously on my head. The loosely piled up tresses of my hair tumbled 
about my face and bosom like a shower of autumn leaves. 

"Good Jesus, help me!" exclaimed the pious Nanette in amazement at this 
denouement. "A woman! Or can it be a further deception of the devil?" 

"No-a woman." I spoke for the first time. Still skeptical, the good Nanette, 
with native directness, whipped down my already fully opened trousers, and 
searched through the tangle of my silk chemise till she found the conclusive 
proof of my statement. 

Laughing delightfully now, with relief and appreciation for the jest, she 
placed a kiss on the bare smooth skin of my thigh, a quick little kiss that 
set us both blushing furiously. 

"And a very pretty woman, too. My faith-but you surely fooled me." She was 
looking me up and down, her eyes ever glistening and dancing with interest. 
"But I don't care. I'd rather you were a woman anyway. I don't like men. 
They're just my business. But you-there was something about you that I liked 
from the beginning" 

Her bright smile was irresistible. "You too, Nanette; there was something 
about you that made me really almost fall in love with you. Even now I wish 
I were a man." 

For the first time in that whole hectic evening I felt happy and released 
from the strain of carrying on my pretense. Kicking the trousers off from my 
ankles, I lay back upon the soft bed. 

"Why don't you take those stiff ugly clothes off, dearie?" Nanette 
suggested. "You've only been up here a few minutes. Your friends are 
probably busy with the other women and have forgotten all about you." 

I complied, while she considerately helped me off with the now hateful coat, 
vest, shirt and heavy shoes. In a moment I was lying comfortably on the bed 
with nothing on but a pale green silk chemise. 

"You are built beautifully," Nanette said in low, admiring tones. I returned 
a similar compliment, but she ignored it, engrossed only in me. 

"Your breasts are so full and rounded," she went on. "How did you ever keep 
them out of sight without a corset? They must be much softer and more 
compressible than mine. Mine are hard and firm. Feel." And she led my hand 
to one of her globes of ivory, which may have been firm, but hard, never. 

"Do you care if I touch yours?" she asked now, rather anxiously. I assented. 

To complete her comparison, she gently slipped my chemise down off my bosom 
to my very hips-and then, suddenly abandoning the pretext of polite 
conversation, she threw herself upon me, fondling, kissing and biting my 
breasts with the fierce ardor of a lover and murmuring, "I love you! I love 
you!" 

The strange, perhaps abnormal, emotion, the merest suggestions of which I 
had felt before, now flamed forth in an overwhelming fever that must have 
out-temperatured Nanette's hot lips at every point where they met my flesh. 
My will melted away. I lay, grateful and passive to her caresses. Vaguely, I 
wondered at the forceful affirmativeness of her passion; as for myself, I 
still felt only deliciously feminine -although in my consciousness a 
gathering undertone insisted on mad, wild pleasures, the more forbidden, the 
more perverted, the more blasphemous to codes of man or God, the better! 

My Nanette was leaning over my outstretched form at right angles to it, thus 
giving herself access to every part of me. Using her hands no more than if 
she had had none, she continued covering me with hot kisses. Now she leaves 
off sucking my nipples to tongue the tiny ticklish depression of my navel, 
leaving a path of deliciously wet kisses in her wake. 

On every exposed part of my body her lips worship. Now she is venturing 
lower to my hips. At this extra sensitive zone her kisses cause my abdomen 
to contract sharply, spasmodically, again and again. 

All over my belly again and down toward my thighs her kisses trail 
delightfully, setting off little titillating explosions of sensation through 
my whole body. As she goes lower, and lower still, she pushes before her 
with her head the loose silk chemise that lies lightly in her path-still not 
deigning to use her hands. I aid her by slightly raising my hips and 
buttocks from the bed, and thus she drives this last flimsy garment down 
before her with her kisses, down every fought-for inch to my thighs, and to 
my very knees. 

Now up my thighs, and as deeply between them as she can reach, her lips and 
tongue run their delicious way. Gradually, I allow her to force my legs 
apart. Unceasingly she kisses and bites the inviting soft white flesh of my 
between-thighs, closer, closer to my awakening center. 

Panting with passion, she arrives at the edge of the very spot; then, 
exhausted by her continual kissing, she rests, burying her face deep in that 
strategic area where thighs at their most luscious meet belly and mossy 
mound and velvety cunt. . 

Full upon the sensitive seat of all my sensations her hot breath comes, in 
panting blasts like the scalding draft of a blacksmith's bellows. Up from my 
vulva to my very womb the heat spreads, firing further my already burning 
senses to a white unendurable heat, bringing down generous vaginal 
secretions and lubricants that are but oil to the flames. Uncontrollable as 
a nervous tic, my cunny is shaken by little spasms, and my hips begin 
writhing about in upward spirals. I cannot long endure her inaction. I am a 
soul in torment 

At last my exquisite female lover resumes. Boldly her mouth seizes upon the 
lips of my tender cunny and places full upon it a long luscious kiss. My 
clitty is galvanized into quivering erectness, and I almost scream with 
delight. Now I know my torment is past, that this way lies ecstasy and 
relief-that Nanette is not simply engaging in fruitless caresses and 
abortive titillations. 

But no. Her dear mouth abandons the vital spot that so deeply craves her 
attention, and goes a' wandering again. Heavens! Why does she torture me so? 
Has she found that part distasteful? Or is she merely teasing my senses with 
prolonged suspense? 

Happily it is the latter-else surely I would have died from that excessive, 
stinging desire. 

Her pretty ruby lips once more make the circuit of my body, everywhere 
stirring up nervous reactions and reflexes that I had never before so much 
as dreamt of. 

I open my eyes, which till now have been closed, to more fully concentrate 
upon the universe of sensual delights within and upon the surface of my 
body. Nanette too, it appears, is sustaining the full lash of desire. Her 
whole form, though flushed with internal heat, is shivering and vibrating 
with a strange nervousness. 

Up till now her attention is all to me. But now, as her lips once more steal 
downward to the home base, she brings her whole perfect nude body around and 
upon me, in a reverse position, not for one moment abandoning the 
stimulating, titillating aggravation of her mouth. 

The wondrous treasure of her glowing form is now suspended over me as she 
supports herself, her hands on each side of my thighs, her knees 
bestraddling my head. For a moment I glimpse down the vista made by the 
quickly narrowing space between our parallel naked forms-above my quivering 
abdomen. And overhead, her plump white thighs, crowned at their juncture 
with her now widespread pouting cunny, ripe, luscious and scarlet as a 
freshly severed pomegranate, and padded for protection of its delicate 
membranes with soft, curly hairs. 

Our bodies at last in contact, flesh to flesh, our breathing now becomes 
synchronized with the rise and fall of breasts against diaphragm and 
diaphragm against breasts. Nor do her lips relinquish their activity for one 
moment during this transaction. 

Her arms now slip under and embrace my thighs to bring my middle the closer 
to her. A moment she reaches down to whisk my chemise from off its last post 
on my lower legs, and now I am free to throw my limbs wide apart. Awhile 
longer she circles my anxious center with a barrage of kisses. Now her face 
burrows deep between my fleshy thighs, and then-good God, what ecstatic 
relief-her mouth seeks and finds unerringly my palpitating cunny! 

A sucking kiss upon the very clitty itself makes me nearly swoon with joy. 
Now her tongue softly but firmly plows down through the whole groove of my 
cunt, gently parting the adhering lips and laying open new sensitive zones, 
new nerve cells, for her ineffably wonderful lingual caresses. What an 
exquisite feeling pervades all my senses! Oh, gods and men, how I pity you 
for not having such a deep membranous organ as a cunt with which to 
experience this superheavenly exquisite delight. For no prick, be it ever so 
large and sensitive, can have that quantity of mucous nerve-netted surface 
that a woman's cunt is blessed with, and that makes possible such subtle 
sensations as the sacred ritual of the cunnilingus alone can give! Oh gods 
and men, I exclaim again, I would not have accepted all the wealth of 
ancient Carthage in exchange for that one first lapping stroke of joy-giving 
tongue in my cunt! 

Up to this moment, though Nanette's exquisite little quim was directly 
overhead, the inertia of modesty had restrained me from making any overtures 
comparable to hers, and I had kept my head slightly averted. But now, as 
more rapidly her agile tongue stirs up my boiling passions below, I, in 
gratefulness and in plain unadulterated lasciviousness, reach up with my 
arms, encircle her buttocks so conveniently near, and draw her quivering 
coral cunt down, down toward my face, to my panting mouth, to my waiting, 
lolling tongue. Her soft velvety thighs settle close about my cheeks. 
Immediately before my eyes are the lovely swelling prominences of her 
buttocks, the skin, even at this close range, whiter and more flawless than 
I had deemed possible. Between them, her pretty little ass, puckered 
delightfully, of a sepia tinge that faded to pink, to white, as its 
harmonious ridges melted into the gracious snowdrifts of her bottom. Below, 
separated from it only by a narrow little partition of pink flesh, the 
mystic grotto of love itself, leading in, inward, to woman's most vital 
organs and the wondrous womb of life; but more immediately showing a perfect 
ellipse of the most luscious vermilion that gaped invitingly at its widest, 
and melted together, just the other side of a small but inescapable 
projection, the clitty, in a little rift that lost itself in the abundant 
silky shrubbery of the Hill of Venus. 

I raised my mouth to this delightful valley of love. If ever I had imagined 
qualms or compunctions about what I was on the verge of doing, they vanished 
instantly. Was it Juvenal, that old smart-acre, who insinuated, "The breath 
of pederasts is foul; but what of those who lick the vulva?" If so, it is 
because his country was bathless and his women unwashed. No doubt his own 
mouth, unacquainted with the toothbrush, was nothing to write odes about. 
But in this modern day, a woman's personal hygiene is an accepted fact, and 
the vaginal cavity may be as clean or cleaner than the oral. 

Nanette's delicious quim possessed only the faint wholesome, personal odor 
of a young and healthy woman. This was subtly blended with the artificial 
perfume of her adjoining parts, and the whole gave a delicate local aroma 
that was stimulating and indescribably pleasing to my senses. Avidly I 
breathed it in, as I plunged my tongue into the exquisite crimson cavern. 
The warm, moist membranes, ineffably smooth and soft, gave as much caress to 
my lips and mouth as I in turn gave them. 

In the meantime, my beloved Nanette is by no means idle. Now deftly and 
rhythmically, now with the uncontrolled fury of passion, her tongue weaves 
in and out among the folds of my inner, cunt, now straight up and down 
through the full length of the tender cleft, now across, now in zigzags that 
run from end to end, now in little circles that concentrate on my clitty and 
put me wholly out of my mind with unendurable pleasure, now in sweeping 
ovals that stir up wide rippling waves of divine ecstasy, waves that somehow 
spread, not in circles, but in ever-widening ellipses that take in more of 
my entire being. 

Unconsciously, at the other end, I adopt the rhythm and actions that she 
employs-and all that I describe as one doing was done and felt by each and 
both of us. In tense pleasure, she tightens her thighs against my cheeks. 
Instinctively I draw up my knees from the supine position and wrap my thighs 
tightly about her head, thus enabling me to bring her whole beloved face in 
closer to my tender parts. 

Now dear Nanette is moving her whole body to the rhythm of lapping tongue, 
rising and falling to meet every caressing stroke. Soon I am adopting the 
same tempo, my hips and ass writhing madly up and down to follow the fullest 
presence and pressure of her tongue. 

Demonically inspired by passion, my teeth seize fiercely, though 
restrainedly, the erect palpitating little bulb of her clitoris and press 
firmly into it. Nanette gasps with the extremity of her pleasure; as I 
gently nibble the sensitive projection, I can hear her murmur in a muffled 
manner: 

"Ah! Mon Dieu! Que je t'aime!" In her excitement she lapses into her native 
language. 

The sound waves, spoken directly into my cunny, send peculiar vibrations 
through all my bone structure. 

Recovering, Nanette reciprocates in even finer measure. Opening wide her 
hungry mouth to encompass the whole, she sucks in with her lips and breath 
all the succulent folds of my cunt. Already blood-gorged and sensitive to 
the utmost, this action overcharges the blood vessels and nerve cells almost 
to the bursting point. At the same time, the vacuum made by her delicious 
sucking suddenly causes my whole vagina and womb to contract with a strange 
tingling that wrenches and cramps my entire being in an agony of delight and 
brings down an inundation of the sweet secretions of love as if this were 
already my climax. I would have screamed if I could, but Nanette's dear part 
hushes me with its luscious caress. 

For long, deliciously agonizing moments she holds that strange 
mouth-suction, during which I am in no less than a state of suspended 
animation. Then, having wrought in that part the maximum of hypersensitivity 
possible, she suddenly releases her magic oral grip and proceeds as if to 
devour me with mouth, lips, tongue and teeth. A series of deep tremors shake 
me, so surcharged is my whole nervous system with all these kissings and 
teasings and bitings and suckings. 

But relief is at hand: dear, desirable, delicious relief from those tortures 
of love, which are no sooner ended when we wish only to renew them again and 
again. She now ceases her hungry random attack, and with scarcely an 
interval, takes up with her tongue a hand to hand duel with my bounding 
clitoris. And with what magnificent swordsmanship! Back and forth with light 
but firm and ever-quickening little strokes, the sensitive tip of her tongue 
does battle with the even more sensitive little sentinel of my Palace of 
Pleasure. Not the fraction of a moment's respite does she give him. Scarcely 
has he rebounded, much less recovered, from one stroke than another and 
another and another falls to his share. 

Doughty little clitty, who often enough in more common battles can vanquish 
and out-stand in fight many a strong penis five hundred times his size-we 
cannot hold you to blame for your quick surrender! For what prick or 
clitoris, be it ever so stubborn, could long withstand that steady rain of 
caresses given by the moist tip of Nanette's deft, subtle tongue? 

More and more rapidly the little strokes come, till the electrifying 
sensations that follow each come so close together as to blend into one 
continuous, ever-increasing, candescent ecstasy that wafts me softly 
skyward, as if on the magic rug of an Arabian Night's tale. 

Try as I will, my own unpracticed tongue cannot meet the pace she sets. And 
now, as the dear climax heralds its approach in my deep, violent gasps, my 
tongue strikes blindly, jerkily, missing strokes with every panting 
exhalation that is torn in sharp blasts from my writhing body. Only dear 
Nanette continues steadily and unflinchingly, though she too proclaims by 
the desperately irregular wrigglings of her buttocks that her dissolution is 
near. 

Together now! Oh, to come together! To weld our ecstasies into one! My 
tongue and lips and teeth lap and kiss and bite wildly with every current of 
delicious pleasure that shoots through me! With difficulty I hold her madly 
writhing cunt to my mouth. All our universe becomes a tangle of dripping 
tongues and soft, warm cunt-flesh, of legs and thighs and buttocks-the whole 
mad scene illuminated by more and more frequent flashes of red-glowing 
sensation. 

Suddenly, in this welter of pleasure, already superlative beyond conception, 
comes that infinitely superior, super-superlative of the climax! 

Oh! What mortal pen can describe those divine orgasmic transports for which 
kingdom, life and honor are well lost? Only from the violent external 
manifestations can the inner turmoil be surmised. My whole body twitches in 
the supreme agonizing pleasure-and as the apex is reached, my thighs close 
so stiffly and tensely about my dear Nanette's head that I would have hurt 
her sadly, had not her face been cushioned by my own well-padded cunt and 
soft parts. As is, I crush her mouth inward to me and hold her as in a vise 
to put a stop to those unendurable titillations-for already my orgasm has 
sufficient momentum to finish of itself. But she manages to continue the 
fierce motion of her tongue. I am completely out of my mind! My alarmed 
senses scream out and struggle to retain consciousness in this turmoil of 
stimulations and new sensations; but despite all this, there is one 
obsession-to continue my own active part and to drag my companion down after 
me into this maelstrom of intense pleasure, to drown with me in all these 
swirling joys. 

Madly my tongue continues lashing away, while I grip her form to me in every 
part. As one being now, we writhe in our embrace. Another moment, and I can 
tell from the sudden stiffening of her body and the sharp contraction of her 
cunt that she is with me! Then, and not till then, do I feel that the real 
apex of my own crisis is at hand. 

Two long low moans go up from our tensely tangled form. First blinded, then 
entirely overcome, by the tremendous conflagration of sensations, I faint 
dead away-for long sublime moments of which, alas, I can give no report. 

My joy-clouded brain begins to clear. We lie quivering and twitching in each 
other's arms like persons mortally stricken; but in truth we are still 
swimming in head-over seas of bliss. We have survived the delicious danger, 
and the delirium and tumult of our senses subside. 

For a time we lie thus, breathless and happy, more languorously savoring the 
delightful after-pleasures of love. Our bodies relax, my thighs fall away 
from her head; Nanette's white naked form now rests upon me softly, her 
belly upon my breasts, a welcome blanket of gently palpitating flesh. Her 
cunt still lies upon my lips, but my tongue is withdrawn. As I open my eyes, 
till now closed in ecstasy, I can see that its folds are glowing with a more 
flaming vermilion than ever; but its so recently irritated membranes are now 
bathed and soothed by a generous flood of fine mucous. Through the vista of 
her still-widespread thighs and buttocks, I see the gas chandelier on the 
ceiling burning with what seems a dimmer flame. It is not my passion that is 
dimmer, however, for my mind is yet full of memories and desires for what is 
so recent; it is only that my eyes, their pupils contracting with languor, 
present the outer world thus dully in contrast to the brightness of 
sensation within. Oh, to lie with her forever! To sleep perhaps awhile, and 
then to awake to renewals of this subtle ecstasy! 

Nanette is the first to stir. Much to my regret she removes her beloved body 
from over me and automatically resumes her dress of shoes and black silk 
chemise. I proceed to follow suit, but she halts my progress, covering my 
breasts with a round of tender kisses. 

Then, full upon my mouth, still full of the dear moisture of her cunny, she 
places a luscious kiss. Alternately we suck each other's lips and tongues, 
exchanging the sweet secretions of our mouths. As for myself, I find a 
deliciously wicked erotic stimulant in the thought that I am thus drinking 
from her lips the joint lubrications of our secret parts. 

Reluctantly she begins to help me on with my clothes. Then suddenly, in a 
little flurry of passion, she falls to her knees as I sit on the edge of the 
bed and parting my thighs, she places upon the lips of my cunny what is 
meant as a grateful farewell kiss. Then, noting that it is still very wet, 
she compresses the lips together with her fingers, and leaning over it 
again, sucks away the moisture that she thus squeezes from it. Next, 
regretting the early completion of this pleasing task, she impulsively 
undoes her work by inserting her tongue and kissing it more moistly than 
ever. 

Still unable to tear herself away from this most delicious part of me, she 
lingers on, saying good-bye again and again, fondling, kissing, admiring it, 
on her knees before me. 

"A pure sweet virgin cunt! How long it is since I've seen one of those! To 
think-it has never been touched by man. That dear velvety maiden 
membrane-let me run my tongue once more across its delicious smooth surface 
-while it's still there! And those unfledged, unstretched lips, how nicely 
they kiss me back! And your lovely little joy-button, so small and sensitive 
and undeveloped. Oh, I must nibble it off!" 

She suits the action to the word. It does not take a great deal of such 
delightful toying to reawaken my desires. My clitty stands up when spoken of 
with so much flattery. Nor does the gentle nibbling of her small regular 
teeth tend to lessen its self-consciousness. Little ripples of pleasure 
begin spreading from my cunny to my spine-But why worry the patient reader 
with a new recounting of what has just gone before? Only the delicious act 
itself bears repetition, and not with my inadequate words of attempted 
description. Suffice it to say that whether she had originally so intended 
or not, she accepts my gentle invitation to continue when I place my hands 
about the back of her pretty head and hold her more snugly to my reawakened 
cunt. 

Scarcely a minute after she has begun, I come deliciously. But this climax I 
recognize as being just a part of my first thrill-a sort of warm wringing 
out of the remains of the earlier bacchanalia of pleasure-and so with 
continued importunities of my writhing hips, I wrap my thighs about her neck 
and shoulders and imprison her to a continuation of this delightful 
stimulation. Not at all unwilling, darling Nanette goes on, centering her 
dear labors of love exclusively upon my spongy little clitty for efficiency. 
I lie back on the bed and experience again her divine gamahuching. This time 
it takes a longer time for me to come-perhaps all of ten minutes-but oh, 
dear reader, so delightful is the process of going to that "come" that I am 
almost sorry when I arrive and it is all over. No-I lie. That third 
thrilling orgasm, though thinner, as it were, and less pervading (perhaps 
because of the familiarity with the paths over which the sensation has so 
recently blazed its way) was even sharper and more violently enjoyable than 
both those that went before. It left me sobbing and moaning in an 
overwhelming agony of bliss that-well, I am glad that I promised not to 
describe it, so completely would it defy my pen. 

As I dressed, we exchanged our full names and became better acquainted in 
the more usual sense of the words. Also, we agreed to meet again in the 
early future. 

Downstairs, I found that my marvelous adventure had occupied scarcely 
half-an-hour by the clock. Charley was sitting about disconsolately, 
consuming scores of cigarettes, alone except for a woman of the house who 
was wooing him in vain. All the other boys had retired with their respective 
choices and had not yet come down. 

His eyes brightened when he spied me; but he was gloomy and sullen again 
when I sat down beside him. 

"What kept you up there so long? A joke's a joke; but not when it's carried 
too far. One would think you were really up to something. What were you 
doing?" 

"Oh-just chatting, to waste time. I didn't want to be the killjoy of the 
party and keep you from getting yourself a woman." 

"But don't you see, Louise?" he said earnestly, covering my hand with his 
and looking at me intensely with his handsome, pleading eyes, now seemingly 
shadowed by deep anguish, "don't you see that I want no woman but you? I'm 
waiting for you. And damn it, I've been faithful to you for more than this 
half-hour that you've been gone." 

I blushed violently. My conscience was not clear. 

"Charley," I said, "I'm afraid I'm scarcely worthy of this, your deep 
affection and unshaken faithfulness." 

He must have thought that he detected a note of sarcasm in my words, for he 
saiu roughly: 

"Never mind, baby. I'm waiting." 

 CHAPTER TWELVE 

Months passed. Charley waited, becoming almost haggard with thwarted desire. 
What grand passion was this that my spoiled rich boy had developed for me? 
None whatever, dear reader. I did not delude myself even then. Mine was the 
first refusal that an excessively kind fortune had ever served up to him. He 
was stubborn-it was a hard dish for him to swallow. Immediately, all his 
complacent mistresses, who I dare say may have been at least as attractive 
as I, became worthless and unappetizing to him. He wanted only the poor 
little country girl whom he had so nearly possessed, and who dared to refuse 
him. 

"Believe me or not, Louise," he said bitterly to me once, "but you've driven 
me to masturbation-something I've never had occasion to practice before. 
Someday I'll do it before your very face, just to show you what a worm 
you've made of me." 

If I had loved him, if he had really loved me, I would not have allowed him 
to suffer so long. And perhaps if it had not been for my happy meeting with 
Nanette and my initiation into the harmless joys of the lesbian rite, I 
might not have been able to hold out against him as long as I did. 

As it was, if ever his desire communicated itself to me, I had only to send 
a little note to Nanette and we would arrange to spend a Saturday or Sunday 
afternoon together-which could be done without arousing the least suspicion, 
since we were both of the same sex. Delicious hours we would thus spend 
together, experiencing again and again those divine titillations and 
delirious panting orgasms that defy all descriptions. Sometimes we would 
read to each other from an erotic book, Gamiani, that Nanette presented to 
me and which I treasure to this very day. Then, our imaginations and senses 
fired by the lustful tribadistic scenes between the Countess and Gamiani, we 
would duplicate in every manner possible the mad caresses and rubbings and 
tonguings described in that priceless volume. 

Once, during a lull in our exquisite orgy, Nanette gave me a detailed 
account of her earliest sex experiences and defloration. More interesting a 
story even than mine it was, and I would recount it here were it not for the 
undue prolongation of these memoirs it would require, and the fact that I 
deem it an illegitimate device to put a story within a story and so annex 
the glamour of another. So far as she affected my own destiny however, I 
must record that, born in la belle France nineteen years ago, she had been 
only four years in this country. Nanette explained to me, displaying a 
delicacy of sentiment that is rare indeed, that though she disliked men 
heartily for their sexual selfishness and inadequacy, and rarely got the 
deep satisfaction from a fuck that love in the lesbian manner afforded her, 
she had nevertheless insisted on entering her mother's profession for no 
other reason than to keep her mother, a successful madam, from ever having 
to consider herself on a level lower than her daughter. 

From her, I caught my first visions of the country which soon I was to adopt 
as my own: France-with its mellow, easygoing civilization. More particularly 
it was she who first turned my heart toward Paris, world's metropolis of 
pleasure. 

In our hours together, she helped me to perfect my poor high-school 
French-while I reciprocated by aiding her with her already creditable 
English. Confusion of tongues, it will now appear, is a doubly significant 
expression in describing our entrancing tete-a-tetes-or tete-ctr-pieds if 
the reader has our delicious "sixty-nines" in mind. 

All in all, no one will marvel at my Spartan restraint and ascetic conduct 
toward Charley, now that I have explained my enchanting relationship with 
Nanette. It was an unfortunate mischance, for which he paid heavily, that he 
had himself connived in our initial meeting. As it was, I felt quite 
self-sufficient in my femaleness, and taking Nanette's word for it that 
there was nothing nicer than what we did, I experienced only a tolerable 
curiosity toward what lay beneath Charley's ever-bulging trouser front. 

If his state of affairs had continued much longer, who knows but that I 
might have become permanently and irrevocably homosexual. The sex or 
pleasure instinct is plastic up to a certain point only, and during that 
time we may sexually relate to any or all things, male, female or neuter, 
that give us delight. It may be one or more members of the same or opposite 
sex; it may be some other species of the animal kingdom; it may be a 
favorite fruit -banana or orange, as your sex may be. But after a while the 
thin strands of association become the chains and cables of habit-and then 
we have the so-called abnormal types, whom scientists attempt to explain by 
their ridiculous theories of heredity. There would be no such creatures as 
perverts if, at the first definite sexual awakening, the youth of both sexes 
could have normal assuagement for their normal desires. There would be no 
incurable masturbators. There would be no buggery with beasts if poor 
country swains could have access to some passable public woman. But again I 
digress. No such fate was in store for me. My senses were to remain 
eclectic-open to all further kinds of stimulation 

Here is how it was. April or May was at hand. Sister Mary had outgrown her 
madonna-complex with the first pangs of childbirth. Nursing babies was not 
nearly the fun of making them. Scarcely two months after it nosed its way 
out of the spot where, nine months before, something else had nosed its way 
in, her child was consigned to one of those charitable institutions that 
make a specialty of bringing up little Jesuses, and mother proceeded to 
recapture her freedom. Already she was spending her time with a most dubious 
set of young men and women. One day, on returning home unexpectedly, I found 
her coming out of her bedroom in a singularly ruffled condition with an 
insolent young man who looked at me as if he'd like to take me in next. Soon 
after she began to remain away for whole nights-and before long she 
announced to me that she had obtained a job in the chorus of a cheap 
burlesque theater on Fourteenth Street. No doubt she had fucked her way to 
the manager, and through him to the job. But that was her affair, not mine. 

Once I consented to go to the theater and watch her performance from the 
wings. I did not mind the vulgarity and suggestiveness of the comedians, nor 
the virtual undress and lascivious dancing of the girls; but what angered me 
was the free promiscuousness reigning backstage, by which every dirty 
scene-shifter considered it his privilege to make a grab for any breasts or 
posteriors that passed his way. Between numbers, the "straight" man nuzzled 
sister, the newest member of the chorus, up against a heap of scenery and 
proceeded, before my very eyes, to administer what I later learned is 
designated a "dry fuck." And later some fat, detestable individual in shirt 
sleeves, puffing a great cigar, actually had the temerity to accost me and 
put his arm about my waist. I slapped him peremptorily and he left me. At 
the first opportunity I asked Mary who he was. 

"Oh-that greasy, cock-sucking, whore-mon-gering, hermaphrodite bastard 
there-excuse my pointing-he's the stage manager." 

What a difference a little environment makes! I left sister to her tender 
influences and took no further interest in her theatrical career. 

But events have their far-sounding echoes. Within the next few weeks, a 
yokel from our home town comes to the Big City. Naturally, he gravitates to 
Fourteenth Street. And he would have to see that very burlesque show, 
recognize sister from a front seat, and carry the great news to the eager 
inhabitants of Plattsburg. 

Soon an indignant father comes to investigate. "Your sister is dead to us," 
he tells me in the classic manner of fathers, "but there is still a chance 
for you. But you must leave this wicked place, abandon your studies and come 
home with me immediately. Otherwise, I disown you and wash my hands of all 
responsibility." I refused unconditionally. He left in a great huff. I 
pitied him and hoped that he didn't mean his threat. But my next remittance 
day came without a word or a check from father. Sister packed up her 
chemises and left me to take up her abode in some theatrical boarding house 
or bawdyhouse. I was stranded on my own. 

For days I made no mention of my predicament to Charley, but went on with my 
college work more diligently than ever. When I had been so rashly dropped by 
father, I had in mind, not so much Charley's standing offer as a confidence 
in my general ability to get along. If necessary, I thought I would fuck my 
way through college. But now that I was really confronted with the necessity 
for some action, it was not so easy. 

Before long, however, Charley came out of his own engrossing misery long 
enough to note my serious preoccupation. He questioned me. I confessed 
everything. His face lit up. 

"I don't want to be gloating over your misfortune, Louise," he said, "but 
this looks pretty much as though, in the words of the villain of the 
melodrama, my time has come." 

"Oh, not yet, smarty!" I retorted, reassured to find his interest unabated. 
"I still have about fifty dollars, and with a little economizing I can make 
it last about ten more weeks, to the end of the term." 

"Oh no you won't!" he broke in, grasping my shoulder desperately. "You're 
meant for better things than starving on five dollars a week. I'll put you 
up in the finest apartment that money can buy-and there's the five thousand 
that I promised you. Where's all your former broad-mindedness? I'll kill you 
if you say no after keeping me waiting so long!" 

To prevent tragedy, I had to yield in the end. With magical rapidity, my 
wonderful Alladin obtained a sumptuous ready-furnished apartment facing 
Central Park West within hours of my decision. It gave me food for thought: 
the happy anxiety with which he put the last touches of luxury to his 
love-nest, the lengths to which man will go for a little physical privilege 
that I would have given away gratis and without thought, if my vanity had 
not been brushed the wrong way. But that is just the mysterious thing about 
sex: it is worth to man whatever woman demands, everything or nothing. 
Because it is so completely un-measurable by monetary standards, it is the 
one commodity that a clever woman can deal in profitably. I was learning my 
most important lesson-inconceivable though the whole situation still was to 
me whenever I considered the small significance of those few membranes that 
formed what Charley sought so ardently in me, my unpracticed cunt. 

I had little expectation of physical pleasure-what with the example of 
Nanette-and awaited the fatal hour with some trepidation. My valise was 
packed with a supply of toilet articles, the most prominent among them being 
a douching syringe and some antiseptic fluid. I was going to take no 
unnecessary chances. 

Charley calls for me in a cab. His attitude is tense to the point of 
cracking. 

"Wait till I fuck you!" he exclaims huskily while his eyes gleam with 
combined love and murderousness and his hands clench and unclench. "I'll 
take all my months of suffering out of it at once!" But his smile allays the 
threat. 

There is little opportunity for caresses in the carriage, though the drive 
is interminably long. Sometimes he slips a hand to my knee or grasps my 
thigh convulsively, but that is all. The afternoon is still too young to 
admit of more. 

As we are driving up Fifth Avenue, the alignment of expensive shops reminds 
him of something. He reaches for his wallet and fans out ten crisp dollar 
bills upon my lap. 

"After you've spent that," he says, "there's plenty more. I needn't hurt 
your conscience. I lose that much sometimes in a day at the races." 

I burst suddenly into tears. 

"What is it now, Louise?" he asks anxiously. 

"Oh. nothing!" I sob. "Bought and paid for-just like that! Do you think I'm 
a common prostitute to accept your money? I'd sooner die. Take it back. I 
won't accept a penny of it. Take it back at once or I'll get out at the next 
street! The idea of your thinking you can buy me, even with all the money in 
the world! If ever I give myself to a man, it will be because he loves 
me-not because he's rich. Have this cab stopped at once. I'm going home!" 

"But Louise!" he expostulates earnestly, "dear, darling, sweet Louise! What 
have I done? You yourself accepted my proposition when I made it in my first 
enthusiasm. Do you think I would have waited so long and have lived only for 
this approaching moment-and now you go back on your word. Oh, believe me, 
Louise! I want you more than I've ever wanted anything on earth. It must be 
love. Yes-I love you! I love you! Now will you come with me?" And daring all 
the passing traffic, he takes me in his arms and comforts me with kisses. 
This is more like what a woman wants. I consent to go with him, I only 
insist that he return the money to his pocket and make no further mention of 
it. I could trust more to his generosity as protector than as purchaser. 

At last we arrive at the gorgeous apartment-hotel that is to witness the 
next great adventure of my life. As we enter our own suite, breathtaking in 
the luxuriousness of its appointments, he says, "It is all yours Louise, for 
as long as you like." 

Then, as the page retires, discreetly transferring the key from the outside 
to the inside of the door, Charley crushes me in his arms whispering hotly, 
"At last we are alone!" 

So many times since that memorable moment have I heard this same formula 
pronounced by men, dear reader, that it has ceased to arouse any trepidation 
on my part. But that occasion was substantially my first. Charley was quite 
a brute of a fellow, and there was that dangerous gleam in his eyes. I was 
filled with terror. 

What he did next did not serve in any way to allay my girlish fears, for 
sweeping me off my feet, he carries me in his strong arms through two 
intervening rooms to a richly furnished boudoir where, without ceremony, he 
drops me over the edge of a huge silk-counterpaned bed, where he leaves me 
lying. 

Then, without so much as pausing to remove my cloak or shoes or any apparel 
of his own, he impatiently throws my skirts and petticoat up toward my face, 
uncovering my stockinged legs, bare thighs, and the lace edged white satin 
drawers which I had put on especially for this occasion. I would have 
demurred, but his passion-flushed countenance, the veins of his forehead 
standing out as if to burst, advocated nonresistance. Perhaps I had gone a 
bit too far in keeping him waiting so long. 

No much-needed wooing does he employ to reassure me, but fumbling 
impatiently at my dainty close-fitting panties, he suddenly, without the 
least regard for the fact that they are my beat pair, rips them off my 
waist. The frail material gives and my most intimate charms lie at his 
mercy. 

Only for the briefest moment do his eyes light up in recognition of their 
beauty. Then, resuming in the fierce impatience of his desire, he proceeds 
at once to unstable his own part. In a flash, as if of their own accord, his 
trouser buttons are open. Another moment and I can see, through the tempting 
disorder of my clothes, his overstrained, blood-gorged bar of flesh. This 
burning object he rests for a moment against the soft cool flesh of my 
thighs, just above my garter, and still brooking no delay, he forces my legs 
apart, raises them about his waist, and placing my thighs about his hips, 
proceeds to an immediate assault. 

Scarcely troubling to part the tangled silky down that protects the outposts 
of my unprepared cunny, he forces apart the tender lips of the cleft with 
the throbbing head of his fierce engine, and presses inward to the very 
quick. Trembling, I shut my eyes and clench my teeth, bracing myself for the 
rending impact to come. But no. Whether because in his lustful haste he has 
badly directed his battering ram, or whether because of the unusual 
tougliness and slipperiness of my maiden membrane-certainly not because of 
any lack of strength, size or thickness on his part-his engine skids down 
through the groove and out behind me. 

With a panting oath he retrieves and redirects his blind tool. Again it 
slides through the moist resilient lips of my part, more easily even than 
the first time. Perhaps this whole position, efficient enough for use on a 
practiced woman, would not suffice for a defloration. A third and a fourth 
time he repeats this unsuccessful maneuver, each time more and more confused 
with passion, each time more futilely. 

Then suddenly, just as he entrenches for a fifth attack, ungovernable nature 
gets the best of him, boils over, and he reaches the ultimate fitful period 
of his lust. Great spurts of his scalding thick love balsam are projected 
into my cunny, but finding shallow reception there, splash and splatter and 
overflow from my vulva, leaving streaks of pearly albumen shot through my 
dark pubic bush, and giving most of the benefit of that generous effusion to 
my thighs and petticoat, which are left drenched, wet and sticky. But I am 
still a virgin. 

Laughing almost idiotically with the extremity of his relief and pleasure, 
as well as at the humor of his contretemps, he releases my thighs, and 
falling to the bed beside me, embraces me happily. 

"Serves me right for being such an impetuous beast. But you can't expect a 
starving man to use his best table manners, can you? Well, I'm glad it 
didn't work. Now I still have it before me to do." He dries his still 
dripping member on a silk pocket handkerchief. Out of the corner of my eye I 
watch fearfully, and I can see that it is still stiff and upstanding-only 
its excessive redness has vanished with the partial subsidence of his blood, 
and now its column is white as polished ivory-only the full rounded head 
retaining its ruby sensitive shade. 

Reaching for a fine soft linen towel, he next gently mops up from my thighs 
the vital liquid that is still purling in little rills down to the valley of 
my buttocks. 

Then, immediate urgency postponed by his so recent little snack, he 
leisurely does the many little things he had before in his desperate haste 
omitted. 

Temporarily sacrificing the view of my bare thighs and center, he helps me 
to my feet and removes my street-cloak. On his knees, he reaches up beneath 
my perfumed petticoat, and disentangling my garters from my silk stockings, 
draws the latter slowly downward, relishing with his hands each inch of my 
smooth bare skin as it is uncovered. 

I seat myself on the edge of the bed while he embraces my legs and places 
repeated kisses upon my satiny dimpled knees. For its added piquancy, he 
decides to let me retain a short enchanting white silk slip that I wear next 
to my body; but this is little protection for me or impediment to him: his 
hands take added delight in violating its territory, now reaching up under 
it to judge of the texture of my thighs, now forcing a hand down its bosom 
to weigh or admire a full blooming luscious breast. Withal though, he is now 
so kind and tender to me that I would needs be inhuman to long withhold 
forgiveness of his earlier flattering brutality. 

Having me thus undressed to the precise extent of his taste, he forsakes me 
a moment to remove his own clothes, which he does with that quick expectant 
impatience which only the win' of love can lend. He returns, entirely nude, 
and I forget myself in admiration of his glowing manly form. 

Imagine, all you my female readers, a handsome broad-shouldered Apollo, his 
whole body of that healthy suntanned hue which proclaims that boudoir sports 
are not the only pastimes he engages in. A magnificent chest, rippling with 
little muscles here and there, its wide expanse rescued from monotony by two 
delightful little pink-brown paps of which our own too generous breasts, 
though beloved of the opposite sex, are but a travesty. Then the strong 
downward sweep of his spare, well-exercised manly abdomen, this in turn 
relieved by the depression of the navel: below which trails a path of fine 
tendrils, leading the eye irresistibly downward to that meeting place of his 
strong athletic thighs where a thick growth of light golden pubic hairs 
marks the root of that important male equipment which I must now take 
another breath to describe. 

Rising proudly from its cozy nest, a relentless column of what might just as 
well be bone as flesh, so hard and unbending does it appear, is that 
terrible engine for my undoing, the male reaper that is soon to crop my 
maiden flower, balanced at its base by a full tightly puckered bag, which I 
know is the reservoir of those liquid sweets he will soon pour into me. The 
ruby knob that crowns its outstanding length curves slightly upward, as if 
in additional assurance of its undrooping power, and as its stiff majesty 
vibrates with excitement, it seems to shake its head fiercely toward me as 
if to say, "Let me at her!" 

He approaches and clears the ground for action by stripping the luxurious 
bed of all superfluous covering, leaving only the sheets and pillows. He 
throws himself beside me, and trusses my silk slip up to my very chin; but 
before he can take me in his arms, he must needs tuck away that insolent bar 
that wards me off by levering it up with sheer force and laying it between 
my soft belly and his, where, by its heavy pressure, it keeps me continually 
reminded of the sore operation awaiting me. Now he diverts me, like a 
dentist who will say, "That tooth doesn't need extraction. Let me see it," 
and before you know it, he exhibits your molar between the forceps that he 
has concealed in his sleeve with that intention all the time; only Charley 
employs for that purpose the blandishment of hot tonguing kisses, first on 
my mouth, then on my breasts. 

Now his burning hands wander afield, over my sensitive back and posteriors 
and velvety thighs. He massages my mount with a vigorous caress of his hot 
palm, his fingers comb through the silky hairs and set up a funny little 
tingling in that area. He is restraining his impatience admirably-and 
impatient he is, as is evidenced by the throbbing of his member against my 
abdomen. At last his fingers gravitate to my Arcadian valley, find the 
little hairy spot, and dance upon it a delightful rhythm that instantly 
electrifies all my senses. It is characteristic of the omnipotence of this 
little thing that rules woman's destiny that soon my terrors are mixed with 
soft desires-and as my desires increase, my fears become less acute and soon 
I pant for food more solid than his fingers. I throw my legs apart, inviting 
him to do his worst. 

He does not delay, but coming between my thighs and spreading them wider, 
immediately applies the point of his instrument to the narrow slit, parting 
the lips with one hand, and guiding his bar with the other into the rosy 
chink. Then, with unrestrained vigor, he employs the entire weight of his 
body to hammer up his entering wedge. But again stubborn nature-or faulty 
technique-intervenes. He slips. His baffled engine flies up from my cunny 
and lays panting with exertion on my heaving belly. 

A moment he considers, his face, already flushed with passion, turning a 
deeper red with shame for his repeated failures. Apparently this is a case 
calling for a surgeon or an engineer, not for an impetuous lover. 

The next time he proceeds more carefully. Placing a pillow beneath me to 
obtain an elevation more favorable than the natural plumpness of my buttocks 
afford, he once more brings his weapon to bear upon the target. Now he opens 
the pouting lips of my moist slit, still lubricated by his recent emission 
as well as by involuntary secretions of its own. He plants the head of his 
ram within, looks, feels, is not yet satisfied with my position, has me draw 
up my thighs higher, retrenches lower down in the softest, moistest part of 
my fortress, and then, lunges fiercely inward. 

For a tense, fearful moment, the membrane of my brave maidenhead strains and 
tautens, but holds him back. Then suddenly it gives beneath the furious 
pressure of that bone-hard gristle, collapsing, tearing, rending the 
heretofore lifelong faithful closure of those parts, and causing me, like 
many another bride, to cram my upturned silk slip into my mouth to keep from 
screaming out with the sharp, unendurable agony. 

All thoughts of pleasure flee my mind, all vestiges of it leave my body. I 
am just a poor miserable mistreated little girl. I wish I had never met a 
man. Would that I were home with mother. My eyes fill with anguished tears. 

The cruel torture is not yet over. He has gained only the partial insertion 
of his thick member. Scarcely the whole of its throbbing head is within the 
wound. But Charley is too far gone, too inflamed with passion and with his 
partial triumph, to have regard for my tearful entreaties to desist. There 
is nothing to do but stifle my sobs and set myself to endure more. 

With glistening eyes and determined mien, he scarcely troubles to conceal 
his exaltation, but resumes the onslaught, following up his advantage with 
another ferocious stroke. Inch by inch, thrust by thrust, he forcibly 
deepens the gap which till now has never seen light of day or part of man. 
Every bit of the way is blocked by the close adherence of the sides of the 
soft passage-while his member, stubbornly or with excessive pride, only 
seems to swell thicker and harder at the proximity of the close tight 
membranes, thus increasing even further the difficulty of progress. 

My dear murderer-what could I expect-is blind to my sufferings and deaf to 
my prayers. If he pauses now, it is to relish the warm constriction that 
closely grasps the half of his weapon, and not to alleviate my unbearable 
pain. 

Then suddenly, lashed on by passion to end all dallying and strike to the 
root of things, he throws his whole force into one tremendous shove. The 
last chaste resistance of those parts is overcome, and as the final union of 
those membranes is split apart, his hard thick instrument crashes home to 
the hilt and I faint dead away. 

When I come to a moment later, he is moving back and forth within me-more 
easily now, for though the sheath is still tight and painful, my kind womb 
has welcomed the bulky intruder with a gush of soft mucous fluid that oils 
and smoothes the tender passage and enables him to slip in and out without 
inflicting further injury. I sigh with relief that the worst is past, that 
the "gem for which men dig but to destroy" is no longer mine to excite their 
envy and assaults. Like a patient recovering from serious surgery, I do not 
mind the minor after-pains-as now, oh how I wince as he pushes his point 
vigorously homeward till his very pubic bone presses against the so recently 
taken gates of my tender citadel. Thank God-he now lets up that forceful 
pressure to draw out again. But oh-how empty and forlorn I feel inside, as 
that substantial cylinder of flesh leaves me-and how glad I am now when he 
returns and fills that aching void within me! 

In terms of such successive contradictions do my thoughts run as he 
continues his teasing game of come and go. A strange warm tingling begins at 
those places and at such times as his part is in contact with me. Soon I 
find myself unconsciously raising my hips to meet his thrusts, or following 
up to baffle his withdrawals, my cunt clinging to him to prolong the 
increasingly pleasant meeting. 

Suddenly my clitty, till now prostrate, springs into action-and what my 
vagina loses temporarily, he makes certain to get. So this is nature's 
divine plan, this delicious rhythmic alternation of happy sensations till 
they coalesce or blend together in one overpowering ecstasy. 

With this goal in mind, I wrap my legs tightly about his loins and exert all 
my powers to speed up the tempo of this ineffable in-and-out motion-to make 
of the kiss of the vagina and the kiss of the clitoris one melting gorgeous 
experience. I learn quickly. Charley's eyes dilate with unspeakable love and 
gratefulness for my quick responsiveness. 

Now we work together in delightful unison, my heave meeting his every 
thrust, each sweet cadenced collision being marked by the deep sharp 
exhalations of our breath as if by a metronome. But soon our divine 
transports become too violent to observe any such measured order, and now, 
sobbing and moaning, I writhe about in all directions, madly wishing only to 
retain within me that dear object which could not now be too large for my 
taste or endurance were it to fill every orifice and cavity in my body 
simultaneously. 

With desperate fury Charley continues his plunging motion howsoever he can, 
grasping my buttocks with his hands and straining me closer to steady me, to 
restrain me-but in vain. I sob,. I cry, "Oh! Oh! I can't stand this! Oh! 
Stop! No-keep on! Faster-or I die!" I throw my hands wildly about, now 
fitfully brushing my hair back from my fevered face, now futilely trying to 
push him away from me, now drawing him madly closer. I am utterly beside 
myself with the unbearable fires running through my veins, with the stinging 
spur of pleasure, when suddenly, Charley, who has himself been falling 
considerably out of step with his own exertions and bed-quaking gasps of 
approaching dissolution, drives forcibly up my burning quivering cunt with a 
final dispatching thrust as if he would wedge his whole dear body up into 
me, or as if it were necessary to pass entirely through that way to gain 
access to that kingdom of heaven which is now about to be his. 

At the same time, torrents of his warm elixir pour into me with such 
explosive hydraulic violence as to cause him to recoil. My so recently 
ravished membranes are bathed and flooded, soothed and titillated by this 
tremendous inspersion of hot ejaculate as it pours into me. Convulsively my 
cunny closes about its soul-stirring visitor and bids him stay, while with 
frenzied anxious thrusts of my own upon the beloved bar that impales me, I 
hurry on to that dear crucial joy, that excess of pleasure which was delayed 
in me by the earlier excess of pain. A moment later I add my delicious 
return to his. All my body and soul, melted into a fluidescent state by all 
these insupportable firings and frictionings, pours down to that one vital 
part which of all of me alone remains. My eyes roll back in ecstasy. I pass 
away into that delirious momentary death caused by unendurable agonies of 
supreme pleasure, by floods of unbearable bliss. 

In rapturous transports of indescribable delight I writhe and cry 
hysterically. I must have fainted away with the violent joy, for the next 
thing I remember is Charley, withdrawn from my body, comforting me and 
hushing my little sobs with kind assurances, with a look of unutterable love 
in his eyes. I move my still involuntarily quivering form just to prove to 
myself that I have lived through the delightful danger, then fall into the 
delicious languor that follows the honest exertions of love. 

When at last I arose and examined myself, I found my part, the gash that 
never heals, glowing a deeper red than ever it had been. As I stood, a tiny 
stream of thick pearly drops trickled down the inner side of my thighs, 
streaked here and there, like opals, with the pink of my virgin blood. I had 
indeed lost forever the jewel that cannot be lost twice. 

Excusing myself, I went off to the bathroom adjoining, to tend to a little 
personal need as well as to wash away the various marks of the fray. The 
fittings of this place exceeded in luxury and sumptuousness my most colored 
imaginings, and I would have been willing to live the rest of my life in 
that room alone. Carefully I douched my newly accessible vagina with the 
chemical solution I had brought-in order to plasmolyze any of the semen left 
within me and render harmless the millions of reproductive germs with which 
it was teeming. For the benefit of the curious let me report that although 
this method of avoiding conception is not a hundred percent certain, and if 
relied on solely over a great number of intercourses may fail in time, as 
the avid womb frequently sucks up the warm streaming love balsam immediately 
as it is injected-yet, as time showed, I was not "caught." Later, I 
exercised the additional precaution of employing a so-called French pessary, 
a little soft rubber cap which blocks the tiny mouth of the womb and 
altogether avoids the possible mishap I have just referred to. However, 
since girls and women who have never given birth to offspring possess very 
minute openings into the womb, the douche alone is substantially 
efficacious. 

After attending to this essential detail of protective hygiene, and feeling 
greatly refreshed thereby, I decided to take a hurried bath in the luxurious 
inlaid bathtub-if only to linger in this delightful place awhile longer. 
Anyway, as I discovered on peeping through the door, Charley, in dressing 
gown, was engaged in delivering a complicated dinner order to a liveried 
attendant whom he had rung for. 

I had scarcely filled the tub with water from the silvered faucets and 
stepped into its soothing warmth, when Charley, impatient of my return, 
violates all conventional rights to privacy and comes in after me. And 
noting what I am engaged in, he suddenly becomes interested and laughingly 
offers to wash my back. 

Of course, I ordered him out; but my indignation was not great-although, 
indeed, my male readers may not believe me when I say that I still retained 
a considerable vestige of modesty, even after what had taken place. I had 
worn a slip, you will remember, in the bedroom. And anyway, a woman will do 
things and overlook things during the moments of passion that she will 
shrink from and deny at all other times. 

He washed my back. And, though I really blushed to let him do it, he washed 
my front too, soaping and fondling my breasts till the tiny rosebuds that 
crowned them sprang into erectness-and declaring that portion of me the 
divinest part of the divinest woman he had ever seen. Then, suddenly 
deciding that he would like to be closer to me, he throws off his dressing 
gown and slips into the capacious bath beside me. 

Oh, what rapture was ours in that double warmth of ourselves and of the hot 
water-as we rubbed our generously lathered bodies together and experienced 
that dreamy, creamy contact of skin against skin. With gentle compulsion he 
leads my hand to his center part, now, of course, fine and upstanding with 
the excitement of our singular embraces. I can just barely make my fingers 
meet about its thick majestic column. And to think that had just been in me! 
A delightful little shiver of wonder and awe goes up my spine. 

From here, to complete my acquaintance with that manly equipment which is to 
figure so largely in these memoirs, he directs my fearful fingers lower. 
Here I cannot help but find the capacious treasure-bag that is the source of 
love's generous liquid sweets. Its skin is flexible and tender as fine 
chamoisand within there play about two firm but elusive balls, each the size 
of a small egg, that evade all but the lightest pressure from without. These 
are the parts that correspond to the ovaries in woman. The scrotum or bag is 
merely analogous to a womb turned inside out. 

With boyish pride, Charley parts the hairs from the root of his instrument 
to display its full unhidden length. This he makes me measure by spanning 
with my outstretched hand-then he asks me to mark off the equivalent 
distance up from my cunny, to show how far into me he must get. A span and a 
half, if you must know, dear reader-and that reached so high between my 
breasts, that I must warn you that all this was inaccurate anatomy, in that 
no internal curves are taken into consideration. 

It is only a short step from exhibition to demonstration, dear reader. What 
with our mutual toyings and dairyings and fondlings, what with his 
insistence that I soap his standing staff and see how easily it slides 
through my clenched fist-and what with his own little investigations into my 
personal topography, it was not long before we were confronted with the 
necessity for choosing between the hard bathtub or the soft bed again. It 
was with difficulty that I was able to postpone him enough to make it the 
latter. With my own hurried impatience scarcely less than his now, we dry 
ourselves quickly. Then, still in a boasting mood, Charley, stopping only to 
anoint his part with some sweet smelling pomade, crouches a moment before me 
as I stand, and bringing the head of his glistening member to the lips of my 
cunny, sends it home with a single continuous motion as he raises himself. 
Then, clasping me tightly in his arms, and instructing me to wrap my legs 
about his waist, he bears me triumphantly thus spitted upon his cock, into 
the bedroom and lays me down upon the couch of our recent consummation 
without losing his advantage for a moment. 

Then follows a reengagement in that sweet conflict which of all battles men 
fear the least and women soon come to love the most. For such a delicious 
eternity is he this time able to keep up in the divine duel, that I come 
twice to his once, putting myself thus irrevocably in his indebtedness. Oh 
how I worshiped his strong maleness, when, as I recovered from the exquisite 
spasms of my first thrill, I found him still moving vigorously within me, 
slowing down his firm piston-plunging only for a moment, as during the 
height of the crisis the muscles of my cunny tightened about him with steely 
deathlike rigidity-and then picking up speed till my cries of protest 
against the unendurability of these supreme titillations changed to 
delighted moans for more! 

And then, what an incomparable experience when, as finally I could judge by 
his irregular breathing, his own time was approaching, I tensed and strained 
my nerves and senses and employed every instinctive subtlety of movement to 
keep up with him! The rippling of our respective sensations spread and 
gathered force, spread and overlapped till we both were sucked into the 
resulting whirlpool of frenzied pleasure. 

"Do you love me, Louise?" he gasped with his last slow, subsiding thrust. 
Did I love him? When" my whole body was quivering and my womb melting in 
helpless abject adoration for him? I told him so-in a small tremulous voice. 
He hushed my last moans of pleasure with a deep soul-imbibing kiss. 

"Oh, that was great!" he tells me, still breathless, as he removes his 
tongue from my mouth, but not his wagon-tongue from my lower mouth. "I could 
go on loving you forever. Over and over again, and nothing else. Again, 
Louise darling, may I?" My wide adoring eyes granted him permission. I was 
his, I could refuse him nothing. And I was not averse even to dying if from 
an excess of this blissful godlike communion. 

He begins again; but now I am witness to a phenomenon since then more 
familiar to me. His rampant stalwart soldier, even as he moves and spurs him 
on to action, begins shrinking within me, my whole dripping vagina 
collapsing upon it with the removal of its distention. He pushes desperately 
inward. It curls up in quiet rebellion. He pulls back for another charge. 
His man tumbles out of the trench altogether. 

Shamefacedly he pinches and prods and massages his infantryman to wake him 
to a realization of his duty. He shoulders him toward the scene of battle 
and concentrates all the weight of his forces to shove him on. But he 
crumples underfoot, and much as Charley sweats and grinds against him, there 
is nothing tangible between us. The once valiant, blood-gorged part is now a 
soft shriveled little bud-"a cold, bloodless worm," as Charley perhaps too 
unkindly calls it. 

I laughed and laughed at Charley's humored chagrin. "Da! da! da!" I said to 
his shrinking coward, supporting him on the palm of on the hand and striking 
him lightly across the face with the forefinger of my other hand. In dull 
resentment, it started up from its lethargy at this taunt by a lady. 
Fitfully, and pulsating with the reawakened beat of his blood it thickened 
and rose to a still somewhat drooping state of semi-erection. Playfully I 
pressed open its red little mouth. "It's sick," I said. "Don't you see, it's 
tongue is white"-for sure enough, it was dribbling a bit of whitish fluid. 
But at this insult-or perhaps because of my naive handling, it suddenly 
springs to full attention, as if to belie my words. 

"There you are!" Charley exclaims exultantly, "I didn't think he'd lay down 
on the job so soon-especially after waiting so long for a peck at you. Come, 
Louise." 

But his triumph is short-lived. No sooner do I withdraw my supporting hand 
than the subject under discussion doubles up and retires once more. 

"He's all tired out," I say softly. "Let him rest awhile-and perhaps later-" 

Yes, later, dear reader. After a refreshing, not to say stimulating meal, 
served to us in our room, we retired together for the night. Not to sleep 
however, until twice more we had successfully wooed and won the delights of 
Eros. 

When I awoke next day, it was nearly noon. Charley had gone out to buy me 
some clothes. 

On my pillow was pinned a sweet little note, advising me that he would 
return soon. I lay abed lazilyr deliriously reviewing the ecstasies of the 
preceding night, not at all regretting the new estate of real womanhood that 
was at last mine. 

A knock on the boudoir door, and a pretty, neat young mulatto maid entered 
with a dainty breakfast tray for me. She had been engaged for Madame's 
personal service, she told me in a refined, sweet voice. Soon we were 
acquainted. As she helped me out of bed for my morning bath, she noticed 
some bloodstains on the sheets. I blushed at these telltale traces; but 
Clementine immediately burst into tears. It reminded her of her own similar 
downfall, she confessed, sobbing. And I wondered whether I would shed tears 
at the recollection of the loss of this much wept-for virginity. To date, 
not yet, dear reader. 

 CHAPTER THIRTEEN 

Time passed. Apart from school hours, when I still affected simplicity, I 
became a grand lady. As I guessed, Charley made a generous protector. His 
resources were unlimited. And being sprung from a father who has gone down 
in history not only as a financier but also as a woman fancier, he had 
little need to hide me away or relegate our meetings to back rooms. In fact, 
our liaison took on as much of a social as a personal aspect, and many a 
theater party, cotillion and society hunt did we attend together. Of course, 
I was not accepted without some qualifications. Most of the young women 
missed no opportunity to display their dislike for me in their usual catty 
manner-flattering me, as it were, by considering me a dangerous rival for 
the possession, legal or illegal, of the highly desirable Charley. Needless 
to say, however, I was immensely popular with the opposite and less 
prejudiced sex. 

Charley showed very little jealousy. On the contrary, he seemed to take a 
definite pleasure in having me dress as attractively and suggestively as 
possible, thus arousing the admiration and envy of his friends. Then, my 
value reenhanced by such factors and a new luster cast upon me by the 
gleaming eyes of other men, he would rush me home to our apartment and love 
me with an ardor renewed to better than new. This is the only way I can 
explain the phenomenon of our affair enduring as long as it did. Permanence 
of love is the one thing I disbelieve in most. If Cleopatra herself had 
given her love unstintedly to Marc Antony for from two to five times a 
night-and that, almost every night of the week-even she, queen among women 
as she was, would soon have been tired of him. The certainty that, should he 
drop me, I could now succeed him with almost any male out of his circle-for 
even his dad, a naughty widower whom I met, would have gladly taken his 
son's place by my side-must have put him doubly on his mettle. 

I finished my first year of college successfully, but not on the merit of 
any work I had done in these last six weeks or so. The summer vacation 
luckily intervened to relieve me for a time of the increasing burden of my 
double life. 

I resided at the apartment all alone, except for my maid Clementine, and 
except for the evenings or nights that Charley spent with me. Yes-"spent" 
with me. A number of times I received visits during the day from my darling 
Nanette, and that relieved me of any strain it might have been to live 
continently till the evening brought Charley and more solid satisfaction. 
What with visits to modistes and milliners, what with the reading of exotic 
literature which already had captured my interest, my days passed pleasantly 
enough. Already I was savoring the life of the deluxe courtesan-days spent 
leisurely preparing and priming oneself for the night's more delirious joys. 

The month of August, which is far hotter in New York than here in Paris, 
Charley and I spent at Newport, an exclusive summer rendezvous of wealthy 
society. That month was one endless, breathless round of pleasure: fetes and 
functions, boat races and yacht parties. During this time I added 
continually to my poise and sophistication, learned to drink exhilarating 
liquors like a lady, and made many valuable friends that I was to profit 
from later on in life. 

Nor were the more tender joys omitted. The bracing salt sea air was a 
continual aphrodisiac. Also, a change of background for one's fucking is 
almost as piquant as a change of partner-and Charley was refreshingly 
original in picking various unusual places to indulge our desires in. 
Besides the privacy of his or my hotel room-we engaged two just for 
appearances-besides a few times in the woods and once in a canoe, he had the 
daring once to tousle me deliciously while we lay under a blanket in two 
adjacent deck chairs one moonlit night at a friend's yacht party, for all 
that there were scores of other couples seated around, singing, playing 
string instruments, and mildly fondling each other. The danger of discovery, 
the utter unprecedented madness and wickedness .of it, made this one of the 
keenest, most poignant and thrilling sex experiences I have ever had. The 
people around merely served to accentuate our sense of aloneness together, 
while at the same time our sense of propriety lashed us on to a more furious 
and concentrated consummation by reminding us of the actual risk. How 
fortunate that the sweet romantic accompaniment of the music burst into 
louder tones in time to disguise Charley's gasp and my own little moans, 
which, clench my teeth as I would, I could not entirely stifle. 

Another similarly precarious and delicious adventure took place one time at 
a imagine dress ball when he asked me to sit through a dance with him out on 
the lawn. Here in a little garden bower, with guests promenading not ten 
feet away, he raised my skirts and had me sit upon his lap while he entered 
my vagina from behind. Another couple, in search of privacy, perhaps for the 
same purpose, came upon us without warning; but our attitudes seemed 
harmless enough, my dress was down in front, and kind shadows concealed any 
incriminating detail. They went away apologizing. Bending forward a trifle 
to bring my clitoris in closer contact with his part we finished off 
together, to the tune of a delicious, dreamy waltz that was wafted to us 
from the house. 

To all you readers who cannot understand the exquisite joy of such things, I 
can only say, "try it." The summertime is the time for all lovers, amateur 
or professional, to come out of their stuffy, cowardly little bedrooms and 
make for nature's open places. Sensual love and nature's beauties are too 
closely related to be kept apart. In the winter, your dwelling and your 
fireplace attempt to duplicate the summer ; but when that blessed season 
comes, why continue with your out seasoned makeshift? To the wood and the 
fields and the parks, I say, all you lovers! The police? Oh, fuck the 
police! 

Our maddest lark of all however, was one afternoon when, while bathing in 
the sea at low tide, Charley suddenly developed the desire to possess me 
then and there, underwater. He confessed that all his life he had been 
curious to find whether it could be done, but heretofore had not met a girl 
with spirit enough to attempt it with him. I was not loathe. My own tastes 
were becoming more and more exotic, more and more strongly developed. I was 
always ready for it-and unlike men, always able. Furthermore, my own natural 
desire for knowledge, if not experience, made me wonder too what it would be 
like. Drawing off some distance from the rest of the bathers, and standing 
in water up to our armpits, he untied the string that upheld the lower part 
of my bathing suit, in order to put himself to me. Some difficulty was 
encountered in that the water, though not actually cold, was yet too cool to 
allow of his retaining full stiffness easily. By rubbing it between my 
thighs for a moment however he soon restored its full stature for long 
enough to hasten it into a warmer place. On being spread open, my vagina 
immediately filled with water, the displaced air breaking to the surface in 
little bubbles. His member looked humorously fat and distorted as seen 
through the intervening water, seeming to bend in one crazy angle, now in 
another, with the slight wash of the waves and the consequent refraction of 
light. Its entry into me was not easily accomplished, for the water washed 
away the more external lubricants of my cunt and shrank the flesh of the 
outer lips. Then again, there was the water within that part that had to be 
gently displaced. I must confess, it felt rather cold and clammy at first 
and a chill that was not quite pleasant went through my innards. But soon 
the addition of his bodily heat to mine thawed out that area and with arms 
clasped about each other's waists we proceeded to a vigorous execution of 
the requisite movements that soon made things warmer still. 

It seems that I had the best of the arrangement, for my own sexual organs 
being most internal, and only indirectly affected by the water, it was not 
long before I came. A sharp, rather brief thrill it was-very nice, but 
mostly localized. Charley however, his love reservoir being entirely 
exposed, was considerably retarded. When after over half an hour's 
exhausting work, he told me his own climax was coming, I had had no less 
than three separate little shooting thrills. I tensed myself to join him at 
the end-both of us writhing so vigorously as to churn the water about us 
into froth. As it was, I reached my orgasm just a moment before him and he, 
coming at last, collapsed with the delicious relief, lost his footing and 
slipped out of me into the water. Laughingly I dragged him up to the 
surface, else he might casually have drowned 'in all that prostrating 
pleasure. His thick love-juices, plentified by their lengthy generation, 
shot into the water and rose to-the surface in a sort of coagulated mass 
that resembled, must I say it, a great sprawling sea-nettle. It took an hour 
of rest on the sunny sand beach before Charley was at all recovered, and he 
ruefully complained of a stiff back for days after. All in all, it was one 
of those experiences, nice enough while it lasted, and certainly worth 
trying once; but more pleasant and stimulating in retrospect than in the 
actuality. 

With such disporting and broadening experiences, the summer flew by. "Did 
all this dissipation affect my health?" the anxious reader asks. Yes, dear 
friends, most favorably. I gained weight. The last slight angularities of 
adolescence passed away. I blossomed forth with increased vigor of mind and 
body. From an attractive girl I became a beautiful woman. 

And I never said no to Charley-just as I have said no so very few times to 
men since him. Realizing that the relations between the sex organs and the 
mind or nervous center can awaken the sex parts, I acknowledged no period of 
necessary quiescence. I knew that just around the corner from the most 
indifferent lassitude and satiation lay awaiting the unceasing possibilities 
for more body-rousing, nerve-electrifying, and soul-stirring delights. The 
fact that I feel sex-surfeited at any particular moment does not dictate how 
I will feel after a few kisses and fondlings, a caress of my clitty, or the 
slow invasion of my cunny by some staunch masculine charmer. "All right 
then, we'll try it once more." Now surely I have had enough. But' now I am 
turning the pages of my Perfumed Garden or my Horn 

Book, and here is a new position we have never tried. I wonder how it works 
out, what it feels like. I try to visualize it. My clitty becomes 
interested, concerned, anxious. We take to the bed and go down for another 
round! In this manner is life lived to the fullest. There is only one 
life-and there is no joy comparable to the delights of love. For those women 
who are not so fortunate as I in being sensually matured at so early an age, 
I can only say that even if it takes years, awakening will come quickest 
with persistent utilization of the sexual faculties. And in the meanwhile, a 
comforting thought-if such extra compensation should be necessary-would be 
these words that I quote from the letters of Mile. Gaussen, a French 
actress: "It costs us so little, and gives so much pleasure to men . . . " 

I repeat: I never said no to Charley. Strangely perhaps, though he was a 
lion for varying postures to exercise the age-old connecting passion, his 
grammar of love was limited to the conjugation of "cock" and "cunt." If he 
had asked for more, I am sure I would not have refused him. The requirement 
for some degree of modesty alone restrained me from myself suggesting other 
innovations that occurred to me once in awhile. 

Even during my monthly disabilities, I did not discourage his advances. 
Taking only added care in my personal cleanliness, I allowed him to love me 
even in that slight blood which he had deigned himself to draw on that night 
he took my virgin flower. I enjoyed intercourse as much at such times as at 
any. Even more so-because of the added sensitivity of my feminine organs; 
and by removing the major conventional disability of my periods, I 
eliminated that depressed sexless feeling which all women feel during their 
monthlies because their parts are all packed away and hors de combat. When 
fucking is so delicious, can any woman afford to throw away one-sixth of her 
life by respecting a useless outgrown taboo? And if she loves a man and 
wants his faithfulness, can she reasonably hope to check his hot 
ungovernable desires for four or five full days and nights of every month? 
Most certainly not. 

But to get on with my account. In September school reopened. Of course, my 
tuition was taken care of-Charley insisting on opening a small bank account 
to my credit-and I got down to the serious work of the second term. Human 
dissection, much as I had looked forward to it, turned out to be a form of 
butchery that I could go through with only with the greatest difficulty. We 
are all accustomed to seeing, and perhaps handling or eating the dead bodies 
of rabbits, fish and fowl. But when it came to maiming and slicing the 
remains of my own humankind, it was quite different. The hand of even a 
corpse is a human hand-associated with the hands of living persons-and I 
just couldn't develop the impersonal attitude necessary for the pursuit of 
this work. It was beyond my comprehension how my careless classmates could 
snatch up a half-mangled corpse and do a lightsome jig with it around the 
laboratory. And the attendant who had charge of the "stiffs," a peculiar 
pasty-faced young fellow of about who appeared to have himself absorbed all 
the characteristics of a corpse except immobility, guessing my 
squeamishness, seemed to take especial grim pains to arrange revolting 
tableaux for my benefit-placing the stiff in the most horrible and grotesque 
attitudes, or nosing through a scrap bucket to find some revolting gross 
specimen to display. And then, when at the end of a long day's work I went 
home, I found myself so completely pervaded by the pungent odor of the 
formaldehyde that the stiffs were preserved in that three successive baths 
and a complete change of lingerie would not get rid of it and I had to 
resort to the most arrant perfumery. 

October-November-December-I gritted my teeth and held on. Once or twice 
Charley was compelled to suggest to me, gently of course, that I was not so 
loving to him as I had been, that my morbid work was killing my spirit and 
that I ought to drop medicine and accept womanhood as a sufficient career in 
itself. I was sorely tempted; his argument was unanswerable, but my pride 
would not allow me to quit so easily. 

Early one evening during the Christmas adjournment, I received a message 
from the medical school hospital. During the year thus far, though I had 
been anxious to get a female stiff to dissect, only male subjects had been 
available. I had, however, put in a standing application for the purchase of 
a female, whenever obtainable, and had forgotten all about it. Now, it 
seems, they had for me the body of a young female nullipara (one who had 
never given birth to a child) who had died the day before in the free ward 
from self-administered poisoning. It had been sent down to our dissecting 
room prior to autopsy, awaiting my inspection. 

Knowing how careless the authorities were in such matters and anxious to 
arrange at once for the proper embalmment of the subject, I excused myself 
from an unimportant theater date with Charley, telling him what turned up 
and advising that I would probably have to spend the whole evening 
supervising the preservation of the cadaver. He shrugged his shoulders 
disgustedly. 

"You're beginning to give me the willies, Louise," he said. "If you don't 
cut out that graveyard work soon and resign, I'll just have to see your dean 
and have you expelled for some cause or another-say immoral conduct." 

I hastened to the school. Except for a few charwomen cleaning the main 
hallway, the building was deserted. Down to the basement dissecting rooms I 
went, feeling little shivers of fear that somehow reminded me of the similar 
nocturnal excursion of the heroine in Mark Twain's The Gilded Age. Luckily, 
there were some dim lights on in all the corridors and the janitor or 
watchman, I thought, ought to be around someplace. Surely enough, there was 
a light on at the end of the hallway in our laboratory. But all was deathly 
silent, except for the low humming of some dynamos in the cellar. 

It was all so eerie-this same building which during class hours was so 
bustling and noisy. I approached the doorway and peered in. Thank God, there 
was someone in there. Only it was the detestable caretaker. I held back. 

There was a stiff on my dissecting table and he was in the act of removing 
the canvas sheet that enwrapped it. Something stealthy in his manner 
compelled me to slip behind the door that stood ajar to see what he was 
about. The powerful droplight that hung over the table illuminated 
everything in vivid detail. 

The figure was entirely uncovered. It was that of a girl of about twenty, 
beautifully proportioned as a Phidias statue of Venus, and of a stark 
whiteness, accentuated by the glare of the light, which alone belied her 
aliveness. Immediately all thought of the horror of death left me. There was 
a peace and repose in that form that sleep alone could never give to one who 
labored still in life's fitful fever. Only her hair contradicted the 
perfection of this impression, for, uncut and in the original disarray of 
her recent death, it hung loosely about her cheeks and shoulders and lay 
scattered behind her like that of a nymph captured and dragged forcibly 
through the woods by a satyr on rapine bent. 

Even the crude caretaker stands for a moment in awe of this cold, beautiful 
spectacle; then, to my deep surprise, he passes his hands caressingly down 
her flanks and thighs, leans over and kisses her breasts! But a far more 
violent shock is in store for me. He draws down the lower half of the 
unresisting figure till her thighs project over the edge of the table, then, 
forcibly separates her legs, rigid in her demise. Even at this point I could 
not believe that he was really intending that which he was then about. 
Perhaps only a morbid curiosity led him to examine the anatomy of this 
statuesque corpse-legitimate enough, since I myself attended school for just 
that purpose But a moment later, with a nervous, furtive glance about him, 
he whips out his sex organ and applies it to the cold insensate slit. . . 

I was frozen with horror. Surely this was some mad hallucination I was 
suffering from; certainly, no such vile desecration could find expression 
anywhere other than in my imagination ! He had forced his ingress-and now as 
he shoved violently in and out in his demonic possession, the white body 
vibrated with a grotesque mechanical stiffness. I turned and fled. 

"Ghoul! Corpse violator!" I wanted to scream at him-but one who would commit 
such a revolting crime as I had witnessed would not stop at the murder of 
his discoverer. Breathlessly I ran up the stairs and out of the building. 
The pervading smell of formaldehyde that was always present in the 
laboratory and that in the past months I had been getting slowly accustomed 
to, now seemed to pursue me into the street with a renewed nauseating 
vividness. For two blocks I continued running to get away from it, filling 
my lungs again and again with the crisp, frosty night air to revive myself. 
Only when I regained control of my nerves and felt assured that I would not 
be seized with a vomiting spell did I venture to take a cab back to the 
apartment. 

"Misfortunes never come singly," is an old saw that I would much like to see 
retired from the body of man's platitudinous knowledge. They're twice as 
likely to come singly as doubly. However, it is true to a certain extent 
that sustaining one stroke of ill fortune makes one extra susceptible to the 
recognition of a second which otherwise might have been overlooked entirely. 
But wait . . . 

Riding home in the cab, I revolved the horrors of the past few minutes in my 
mind. I was sick to death of the whole ill-smelling graveyard of medical 
science. I had wanted to learn life, but not from corpses. Rather would I 
pry with my bare hands in the bowels of a living sensate person, and hurt 
and pity, then touch my scalpel to the empty mockery of a dead person's 
shell. One thing was now certain: I could not go back to that dissecting 
room, to that table, and work under that same cruel leering light, perhaps 
on the same dead girl. 

Wearily I climbed up the stairs to our apartment, unwilling to be seen even 
by the elevator boy in my present disturbed condition. I had to rest my head 
against the doorpost to collect sufficient strength and steadiness to insert 
my key in the lock. I entered the sitting room. There was no one there. The 
lights were out. I was just about to call Clementine to help me off with my 
things when her voice, coming from my boudoir, arrested me. 

"No-please sir-not here-not now! Mistress may return at any moment and catch 
us. Won't you wait and come around in the afternoon sometime again when 
mistress is at school? It would mean my discharge if she found us here." 

"Discharge, hell! Who do you think pays the bills around here?" I blanched. 
Was this another hallucination? It was Charley's voice. 

He went on. "Come on kid. Let's knock it off now. Your mistress won't be 
back for hours yet. Here, have some champagne. Now, to the bed with you, and 
do your stuff!" 

I could not believe my ears. If Charley had been lying to me every time he 
told me so earnestly that I was the only woman on earth that he wanted, I 
would simply-well, I would simply lose all faith in men. 

Silently I trod over the heavily-rugged floors and approached my room, to 
verify, to disclose myself and sever all relations with him immediately. 
With no intention of eavesdropping, I stood boldly in the open doorway; but 
unable to master any words to express my indignation, I merely remained 
stationed there, waiting for them to see me. Clementine was on her back on 
the bed-my bed-her eyes closed and her hips wriggling expectantly, or 
perhaps in preliminary practice. Charley had his back toward me, and was so 
busy uncovering the mulatto wench that even if he had been facing my way he 
would not have seen me. Up went her white apronette and skirt, disclosing 
her lithe but substantial thighs, encased in black silk stockings up to the 
garter, and above that bare flesh that would easily pass for white. 

Not satisfied with unveiling her to the waist (the little hussy wore no 
underwear) he rolls up her dress to her very chin. Reluctantly, I had to 
admit to myself that her figure was not bad. Her breasts, if anything, 
appeared firmer and more outstanding than mine, more conical than round, 
coming to two sharp pointed peaks that betokened unusually good pectoral 
muscles and lent a sort of fetching impertinence. Except for the region 
around her nipples, which was of a typically Negroid shade, her skin was 
only a trifle more tanned than that of the average white woman. Her pubic 
hair too, seemed thicker and darker and less silky than that of a Caucasian. 

But my faithful Charley does not give me much time for either reflection or 
observation. Drawing his weapon forthwith, not wasting time for fondling or 
kissing (somewhat to my relief), he takes up his position at the breach. 
Then, with a tremendous shove, as if thinking perhaps of the difficulty he 
had with my maidenhead, he charges fiercely inward. But if he flattered 
himself that there were obstacles to overcome, he must have been sadly 
disappointed-for he falls in as suddenly and completely as if he had stepped 
into a bear pit. Generous as was the size of his engine, yet it was not 
comparable to those that the members of her own race are credited to 
possess-and it was no doubt with huskier and more gigantic engines that her 
cavern had been explored and exploited-and now he is floundering helplessly 
about inside her, seeking no doubt in vain to reach bottom or touch sides. 

To offset this over-spaciousness however, Clementine launches upon a 
campaign of concentrated movement that I watch with growing envy. Wrapping 
her legs tightly about his back, and throwing her arms wildly about his neck 
-a familiarity which I hoped he would resent with a "Here now! This fuck is 
off!" but which brought no such interruption-she thus suspends herself 
entirely from his body. When, with his knees and hands upon the bed, he 
raises himself for another dive into the abyss, she comes, up clinging to 
him, much like an agile ape hanging to the bottom of a strong bough. With 
her whole underside thus unimpeded by pressure upon the bed, she proceeds to 
perform a series of furious gyrations with her buttocks and the hollow 
vagina! cylinder that surrounds her visitor's piston, which actually set me 
dizzy. With quick circular and spiral motions, she manages to keep all sides 
of her mortar in rapid successive contact with his pestle, thus compensating 
with artful vaginal counterfeits for what she lacks in snugness and 
tightness and overcoming the disparity of size and spaciousness. 

I could not imagine a woman of our own less-primitive race performing the 
love act with such unabashed eagerness and furious affirmative activity as 
she. At best, we can be responsive or abandoned-rarely so aggressive in 
movement. But that we might well emulate, witness the effect on Charley, who 
is soon gasping in admiration, "God! But you can do it!" His own attempts at 
movement are ridiculously futile alongside the mad grinding and pumping of 
the female wildcat hanging to him. 

Now, the climax of her efforts approaching, she suddenly changes from her 
rotating centrifugal tactics to a quick direct up-and-down motion, rubbing 
her joy-button upon his member with a frank directness that must have 
exceeded in effectiveness anything that man's blundering motion could do in 
dispensing pleasure. 

"Fuck me hot!" she pants in ecstatic elation, but Charley's ensuing efforts 
are an insignificant sideshow compared with the magnificent main, circus of 
rapid acrobatics that she performs. 

Soon she brings on for him that divine discharge which without her active 
help he could not have engineered for himself in less than an hour. Gasping 
with the supreme paroxysm of pleasure, he collapses upon her, and as he 
shoots his white man's sperm into her hybrid body, betraying his racial 
duty, he murmurs, perhaps from habit, perhaps irresistibly, "I love you!" 

Since that dark moment, dear reader, I have heard these words spoken on so 
many frivolous occasions that they have become meaningless to me. What a man 
or a woman says at the moment of sexual orgasm is no more to be held against 
him or her than what is said when one is doubly drunk. I have had men gasp 
to me at such times everything from "God." 

"Mother." 

"My sister." 

"My wife!" to "Oh! You darling bitch!" or "I will love you forever!" or "I 
could rip you apart!" every form of endearment, the wildest promises, the 
most murderous threats-all to be forgotten immediately. Perhaps Charley had 
his eyes closed and was thinking of me at the time. Who knows? But at that 
moment, his words added insult to injury. Blind with rage, I wanted to rush 
upon him and strike him with my fists, to break furniture and mirrors, to 
denounce him and, tell him I had seen all. But suddenly it occurred to me 
that to do so would be to admit that I had been eavesdropping. I backed away 
from the open door. I was stifling with hate and anger, with the heat of the 
lustful scene I had just witnessed, with the still lingering malodor of my 
earlier miserable experience. I must get into the air and think! I left the 
apartment quietly. 

It was after ten o'clock. I sat on a bench in the nearby park and tried to 
straighten out the tangle of my thoughts and emotions. I was not jealous. If 
I had been in love with Charley, no doubt I would now have been bent on 
murder; but I had looked too objectively upon him-upon all of life, for that 
matter. Faithfulness? Well, he had never made concealment of the fact that 
there had been many women before me. I could scarcely read an agreement for 
chastity into our relations. Vanity? Yes, that was it. Hurt pride. That he 
should resort to a little nigger wench, so far beneath him in every way, 
when was available to him. That my favors should be of insufficient strength 
to bind him to me, if not forever, at least for the duration of our affair. 
The piquancy that a man finds in a change of cunt was a principle that I 
would not recognize. I knew only that, in all modesty, I was more attractive 
than that nigger, and a better piece all around. Consequently his action was 
an insult that merited punishment or vengeance. 

Revenge-to throw myself into the arms of the first man that came along! That 
would be the only way to even accounts. It did not occur to me at the time 
that Charley had paid generously for my virginity and chastity, not I for 
his. I was just a woman whose vanity had been hurt. Too much reason could 
not be expected of me under the circumstances. Yet, even as I revolved my 
plan for vengeance in my mind, I decided that it might be best, after all, 
to postpone action for a while. I was in no mood for men anyway, what with 
the two examples of the indiscriminate nature of their lust that had just 
been presented to me. 

I walked down to Broadway and found a public telephone, called Nanette and 
asked her to meet me downtown at midnight, called Charley and told him 
hurriedly that I would work late and he needn't wait for me. I did not 
return to the apartment at all that evening. Nanette and I spent a delicious 
solacing night together at a hotel for women only. I told her everything. We 
agreed that men were detestable. 

When I saw Charley next day, I gave him no inkling that I knew of his 
escapade, and of course, he volunteered no information. There was, however, 
in his appearance, or at least so it seemed to my knowing eye, something 
remorseful and chastened. He even seemed a bit ashamed of himself, as if to 
make amends, treated me more tenderly, impersonally; but as a woman I could 
not quite forgive him. When in the evening he took me to bed earlier than 
was his practice, I could not help but feel that he did this deliberately to 
avert suspicion of his recent infidelity. When he had entered me, I 
cooperated with him to bring on his own ecstasy; but I held myself back 
entirely. I might lend him my body, but I could not give myself to him. 

There was a deep reproach in his eyes as he finished alone. This had never 
happened before. It hurt his male vanity. Not to wound him too deeply 
however, I took up my movement anew for the sole purpose of bringing on my 
own discharge. He remained stiff within me. Like the Grecian women of old, 
who would spit themselves on the artificial phallus of a statue of Iachus 
their satyr god, I worked myself up and down with an economical maximum of 
movement and thus brought on my own critical orgasm. He didn't like my 
impersonality. It flattered him so little. And it wasn't much fun for him, 
having me wriggling on his sensitive penis just after he had come and when a 
little intermission is generally necessary before a man can enjoy further 
friction. 

With such little subtleties did I vent my woman's Wrath upon him-indirectly, 
without committing myself. Our affair, which till recently had filled me 
only with a conviction of its permanence, now seemed a thing drawing to a 
close. Charley was pained. He guessed that some intuition had made me 
vaguely wise to his little African interlude. He tried to bribe my 
forgiveness with prodigious gifts of clothes and jewels. I did not 
discourage him. Jewels had an easy money value. Looming in the offing was 
the time when I would be on my own again. With the vanishment of love, a 
woman becomes as shrewd and calculating as before she has been generously 
naive and sincere. 

"I don't think I'll go back to school this year," I told him offhandedly 
toward the end of the holiday recess. "I just don't feel like it." He was 
surprised, but pleased. Perhaps with the burden of my work lifted, we could 
once more become the blithesome companions we had been. 

I tendered my resignation and went for a round of visits to my instructors 
to bid them farewell. My favorite was the young professor of psychiatry. I 
had been most promising in his subject. He called me into his private office 
and asked me to tell him frankly why I was quitting. I confessed my deep 
aversion for dissection. Very few men liked it, he told me -hence the small 
number that go in for surgery after graduation. But it was a necessary part 
of the curriculum. 

He led me on. In a burst of confidence, but stumblingly and with halting 
words, I told him of that horrible laboratory scene that had been to me the 
last straw. He laughed reassuredly. Abnormalities were, of course, his 
"pie." 

"Necrophilia, eh? Not exactly to my tastes, but not against my conscience. I 
know about that attendant Jones. I've made a study of him. This is not his 
first offense. However, so very few female cadavers pass through the school 
laboratories that we didn't deem it urgent to discharge or prosecute him. He 
has an interesting history. At the age of twenty-three, normal and healthy, 
he married a sickly girl somewhat older than he. On the very nuptial night, 
as he was about to consummate his marriage, his bride was taken with a heart 
attack in bed. As he confessed to me, he knew at the time that he should 
call a doctor; but unwilling to further postpone his possession of her, he 
went ahead. She died in the midst of the love act and he, though 
horror-stricken, was yet unwilling to leave his long-desired mate. He 
remained beside her all night, having connection again and again before he 
called in aid. Since then he has been slightly deranged. The sight of a dead 
female can arouse him-and when it does, his passion is more the compulsion 
of horror than that of desire. You must pity all creatures, Miss Louise, and 
condemn none. Of course, I will have that female cadaver removed from his 
custody. And let me say again how sorry I am that you are leaving us." 

The ensuing days were idle days. And the devil finds work for idle hands to 
do. There was a handsome little page boy of about fifteen who was employed 
by the house to render odd services to the occupants. He was from upstate, 
just as I, and his fresh, rosy-cheeked brightness reminded me of the days 
preceding my own loss of innocence. Lots of times I would call him to get me 
some postage stamps or some toilet article from the drugstore, and he would 
gaze at me with that open worshipful admiration that so eloquently proved 
that women were to him a still unfathomed mystery. It was just this clean, 
wide-eyed innocence that captured my interest. Sometimes I would send for 
him on some pretext, just to see how prettily he blushed when I complimented 
him on his light golden hair, his perfect complexion, or his graceful 
gentlemanly bearing. 

On one such idle afternoon, I was lying about in a negligee, reading a copy 
of The Memoirs of Fanny Hill which a bookseller had just picked up for me at 
rather a preposterous price. Charley was at the races. It was Clementine's 
afternoon off. It was indeed an inflaming situation. I, a young lady of 
healthy erotic tastes-alone-with the greatest pornographic masterpiece of 
all time-and my imagination. Soon I found myself writhing about voluptuously 
as the vividly drawn erotic pictures writhed before my mind. My hand 
unconsciously caressed my body and came to rest in that sensitive slough 
whither most things gravitate in a woman's life. I would have thrilled 
myself with my hand, something I hadn't had occasion to do in ever so long a 
time, had not the passionate scene I was following come suddenly to an 
end-as such things will. 

Hurriedly I read on, anxious to join in on the very next arousing passage. 
Fanny comes home one day unexpectedly to find her worthy master betraying 
her with a slovenly servant wench-the similarity between her and my own 
recent misfortune-and I suppose something like this happens in every woman's 
life, whether she discovers it or not-awoke all my former resentment. I read 
on. Yes, Fanny seeks revenge-as what woman would not? She seduces a handsome 
young boy who is in her master's service. What could be more logical? Except 
for that tremendous oversized penis the page, despite his youth, possesses, 
and that is merely part of the author's dramatic scheme of making every 
prick she encounters larger than the one before (and even the first one is 
the largest of all when she meets it again toward the end of her career). My 
own adventures showed no such perfect architectural design. But I am ahead 
of myself. My amorous state, my aroused resentment against Charley, and most 
of all the utterly delicious wickedness of seducing a spotless virginal boy, 
of giving him first glimpse of heaven and his first knowledge of the wonder 
of woman-all this appealed to some deep submerged desire within and set my 
pulse beating wildly. 

The book fell from my lap-its insidious work done. The young page Tommy was 
just the thing. Desire alone would never have brought me to what I was 
about-nor would revenge alone; but the two motives together were 
irresistible. 

I rang for the page. He was not long in making his appearance. I received 
him as I was, in my intoxicating dishabille, lying on the bed. 

"Tommy," I said, "come closer. You see, your friend is ill." 

"You look fine to me, ma'am." 

"Oh ho! What a cavalier! Come here. What do you know about women?" 

"Nothing much, ma'am-except you are the prettiest woman I've ever seen." 

"Thank you, Tommy. Already I feel better. I was going to send you for some 
headache powders; but perhaps if you keep me company a bit, I'll get well 
without. Here, sit by me on the bed." And in settling him beside me, I made 
as if carelessly to give him a little glimpse of my luscious breasts. His 
eyes were riveted upon my bosom and he was blushing furiously. I took his 
hands. "Oh, how nice and cool your hands are, Tommy. Do you mind if I put 
them to my forehead?" He was as in a trance still gazing at my bosom, where 
the flimsy half-transparent lace and silk of my negligee drooped down to 
allow a tantalizing view of part of two round, swelling globes, with a soft 
valley between leading the eye and the imagination down and down. 

"What are you staring at so?" I went on. "Don't you know what these are?" 
and I led his hands to the soft-contoured objects of his inspection. "Don't 
be afraid. Your mama had these, did she not? And your sister? Now tell me, 
are mine as nice?" 

Timidly and still childishly he handled the exquisite flesh of my breasts; 
but at every attempt to speak he choked in his throat, so overcome was he. 
The innocence of his touch served only to inflame me doubly. Was I 
experiencing the incestuous desire of a mother to take her child into her 
and so perpetuate herself by the seed of her own body? Or was it just a 
lasciviousness to which innocence lent a stirring fillip? I only knew that 
my own countenance was beginning to burn as hotly as the boy's. 

I drew his face down to my scented bosom. His soft hot lips kissed me there. 
"Do you like to play with me, Tommy?" I murmured. "Then go and lock that 
door." He sprang up, turned the key and came back at once. While he was 
away, I quickly opened my negligee a little in front, leaving uncovered all 
of my legs and part of my thighs. He was by my side, now torn between the 
two sets of views open to him. "Will you remove my slippers, Tommy, please?" 
I asked, extending my bare legs. 

He hastened to obey-gently removed them-and kissed the arches of my feet 
with uncontrolled ardor. Encouragingly, I played with his hair, then, 
reaching for one of his hands, placed it high up on my bare thigh. 

"Oh, how nice and smooth you are!" he gasped, "and so beautiful!" His 
fingers moved tremulously, back and forth above my knee". 

"Am I smooth all over?" I asked, my voice a little cracked by the intensity 
and diabolical lasciviousness of my feelings. He looked into my eyes 
worshipfully, questioning. I nodded my head. 

"I don't mind a bit, Tommy-you're such a dear boy. Go ahead." 

More boldly his hands now weave their caressing way around and upward. The 
suspense becomes unendurable as he approaches my burning center spot, and to 
bring the moment of contact nearer, I wriggle my whole body downward to meet 
his blundering childish hand. At last his fingers reach the tangled silky 
outposts; but startled, he quickly glides over the hill of love and caresses 
my lower abdomen, looking extremely abashed. I sighed with disappointment; 
but, to say the least, I could easily forgive this further proof of the 
innocence of which I so relished the destruction. 

"Tommy," I said softly, "am I so hideous that you refuse to look at me?" 

"Oh no!" he expostulated, and guardedly, he let his hand run down my body to 
that mysteriously shaded meeting place that, when all is said, remained the 
region of greatest fascination for him. 

"If you're afraid to look at it," I laughed, "you might hide it with your 
hand." With a combination of anxiety and hesitancy he did so-finally 
mustering enough courage to insert a finger in the slit as I slowly edged my 
thighs apart to aid him. 

I drew him up beside me on the bed, and with my lips slightly parted, 
invited his awkward but ardent kisses. Then, opening my negligee all the way 
down the front, I brought him in close to my naked, glowing form. As his 
hands caressed blindly about my bosom and belly, my own fingers went softly 
to his trousers, where a bulge, not too phenomenal but yet interesting, 
merited my investigation. Undetected by him, I opened all his buttons -then 
softly inserted a finger. He sprung back in affright, then, seeing that my 
entire front was nude, he buried his face for shame between my breasts. 

I laughed delightedly at this youthful compliment. "Have you ever had a 
woman before?" I asked. He did not seem to comprehend. "Have you ever played 
this way with a girl or a woman before?" 

"Oh no!" he reassured me earnestly, blushing anew. 

"Well, then, since you are in love with me, Tommy, and since I'm very fond 
of you, we're going to do something very nice-" I was beginning to breathe 
heavily with the weight of gathering desire, "and you mustn't fear anything 
I do." 

With these words, unable to brook further delay, I reached into his trousers 
and brought out his part. It was scarcely half as large as Charley's, dear 
reader, but when will people abandon the fallacy that size is the only 
criterion of pleasure? It was only about four inches long and an inch 
thick-all that could be expected of the untried and unused plaything of a 
boy; but it was stiff-and that is what counts most to a woman. 

His eyes closed in grateful pleasure as I gently stroked his white pulsating 
part. Hugging him close to me, I slowly turned onto my back, bringing him 
over me. Then, with our bodies in the proper position relative to each 
other, I spread wide my thighs, and myself coupled his throbbing pego to my 
anxious, hungry cunt. His utter awkwardness made this process not an easy 
one; but at the same time it delighted and keened me, for it was yet further 
evidence of his innocence. With the little muscle that guards the entrance 
to my cunny, I clasped the head of his penis, then giving him the motion by 
the rhythmic rise and fall of my hips, I asked him to emulate. Fitfully and 
irregularly he did so, but on his first really vigorous move, his member was 
torn from my cunny's grasp. 

Once more I placed it in position, this time, however, bringing my thighs 
together and clasping his penis tightly between the lips of my vulva, which, 
moist and overflowing with the exudations of my own unbearable excitement, 
gave him sufficient play without danger of losing him again. 

So tensed was I for pleasure, so maddening was this wicked situation, and so 
delicious his irregular, unexpected little motions within me, that my climax 
came on almost immediately. As I began writhing and moaning in the extremity 
of my ecstasy, Tommy suddenly stopped and asked solicitously, "Do I hurt 
you, ma'am?" 

"Oh no, dear boy!" I gasped, crushing him closer to me. "Keep on! I love it! 
Only faster!" 

He complied. At once I was bathed in bliss. He kept on with his delightful 
pressures and frictioningg of my clitoris and vulva. I had expected him to 
go off almost immediately, and here he was outlasting me. 

"Do you like it, Tommy?" I asked, as with my motions I now regulated the 
rhythm which mother nature was teaching him quickly enough. His 
speechlessness was the most eloquent possible answer. His pretty blue eyes 
were clouding over, dim and misty with pleasure. For a moment I felt like a 
goddess bestowing beneficences ; but then my rearoused clitty demanded my 
attention and cooperation. As if my life depended on it, I squirmed and 
strained to get the utmost from every contact, to myself join in the boy's 
approaching orgasm. My efforts, as all such dear attempts, were crowned with 
success. Just as he collapsed upon my soft generous body, quivering and 
pouring a remarkable torrent of hot, stinging sperm into my vulva, I brought 
myself up to him with a last thrust, sending down my corresponding internal 
secretions and causing my drenched cunt to twitch spasmodically around his 
organ. 

Voluptuously we lay thus for a time, then, drying and replacing his part, I 
pledged him to secrecy, promising to let him come and see me again. So 
overwhelmingly grateful was he to me for his initiation into the secret 
rites of Venus that I had difficulty wresting his arms from about my neck 
and sending him away. 

Charley, of course, suspected nothing that evening when he entered into 
possession of what he still deemed his exclusive private territory. 

"Ah," I thought to myself as he fucked me, "if you think that yours alone is 
the delight of possessing-many, of comparing partners, the satisfaction of 
concealing a wicked secret, you are wrong." And stimulated by such thoughts, 
I enjoyed the connection much more than I would show. 

In the following weeks, I saw increasingly more of Nanette. Freezing out 
Charley as I was, yielding but not often giving myself, I had need of some 
reliable satisfaction, and there is nothing so dependable in this respect as 
a delicious mouth to cunt soxiante-neuf. As for Tommy, I lost interest as 
quickly as he lost his innocence. Handsome as he was, his unsophisticated 
mentality could not long bear me company. I was very kind to him and tipped 
him generously at every opportunity; but as for the rest, I told him that 
what we had done was very wicked and could not be repeated. Imagine! 
Nanette, on the other hand, was always ready with some intriguing story of 
the goings-on at her place, and with such stimulations our practices were 
made ever more enjoyable. 

More important still was the data I was avidly gathering from her on 
Paris-for, dear reader, with the waning of the last bond that held me to 
crude Yankee-land, my intention of moving to France became definitely 
crystal-ized. I confided my intentions to her. Though sorry to lose me, she 
was glad for my sake. Perhaps she would be able to join me there some day 
soon. Meanwhile, she aided me with information of every conceivable sort, 
with concentrated lessons in her language, and with numerous references and 
addresses of friends. 

Before long, I felt as if I could find my way about Paris blindfolded. 

Secretly, I made reservations for a future trip to Europe. In those days, a 
first-class passage on the Cunard liners was only about eighty dollars-and 
of course, this amount was an insignificant part of the few thousand I was 
able to realize on my jewels. Unknown to any but Nanette, too, I bought a 
trunk which I filled with such of my gowns and possessions as I wished to 
take with me, and stored it at the steamship company's piers. There remained 
only to affect a satisfactory final break with my protector-and that was not 
difficult. 

As the springtime approached, with its renewal of sexual urges in mankind, I 
made no effort to come up to Charley's requirements. I never told him 
nay-and yet at the same time I managed things so that he rarely asked for 
another. Soon he made no attempt to conceal his dissatisfaction, though 
unwilling to give me up he was still. 

After starving him as much as possible, I set the stage for my finale. To 
Clementine, from whose attitude I gathered there had been resumption of 
engagements, I made a gift of a number of my dresses, stockings and 
unmentionables, insisting that she appear at all times clothed only in the 
most alluring manner. From the standpoint of flaunting, outright 
provocativeness, she soon had me far outdistanced. 

At length my day arrived. Charley was spending the afternoon with me. I kept 
Clementine much in evidence. My clothes and her natural attractiveness did 
the rest. Soon most of his glances were for her alone. He watched the 
lascivious motions of her hips in a manner that I would have resented 
ordinarily, but which now made me quite glad. 

When I felt sufficiently assured of his interest in her, I pretended 
suddenly to remember that I had some important shopping to do. Charley made 
no effort to dissuade me. In fact, he could scarcely conceal his eagerness 
to have me go. 

"How long will you be gone?" he asked. 

"Oh, for quite a long time," I said. 

I left; but went only as far as the street, then, timing before my mind's 
eye the preced-ure for overcoming the chaste objections of even the most 
bashful maid, of leading her to the bedroom and maneuvering her unwilling 
fall-allowing even time for engineering the entrance into the tightest 
conceivable cunt-I returned to the apartment, admitting myself quietly. 

"Fuck me hot!" were the first, now familiar words that met my ears. I 
presumed that things were nearing the proper crisis. Humming aloud, I walked 
ostentatiously into the boudoir. This time Charley was at the bottom of the 
amorous heap, lying on his back, his trousers down. Upon him, her clothes 
high above her hips, uncovering her splendid thighs and buttocks, rode 
Clementine, with a fury equaled only by the charioteers in the days of Ben 
Hur. 

He saw me enter and made as if to rise. But Clementine in the complete 
savagery of her lust would not let him up, but glancing around for a moment, 
continued her passionate pumping contortions. Hers was the right idea after 
all. As long as she was caught, she might as well get the full benefit of 
her misdemeanor. 

"Don't mind me"-I made my speech clearly, indifferently-"and don't stop on 
my account by any means. I have merely returned for my traveling bag and 
some clothes. I am sailing for Europe this very evening. Now, children, just 
go ahead and have a nice time while I get my things." And playfully, I 
slapped Clementine's heaving posterior. 

By the time I had hurriedly thrown my remaining possessions into my valise, 
Charley stood before me, nervously readjusting his trousers. Whether he had 
finished or not, I did not know. 

"What does this mean, Louise?" he demanded piteously. 

"A fine question for you to ask me, indeed -while you stand there buttoning 
yourself! It means merely that I have known all along what you two were 
doing. I don't blame you a bit. But you can't expect me to enjoy it. I have 
my pride, you know-and rather than wait till you cast me out into the 
gutter, I am leaving you. My ship sails tonight, and all my arrangements 
have been made. No ill feelings, I want you to understand. Just good common 
sense. I'm grateful for everything you've done for me, Charley-and if ever 
you think of me in the future, you will concede that you have had your 
money's worth. Now let's shake hands and part as good friends as we met." 

Tears came to his eyes. He fell to his knees abjectly, kissing my hand again 
and again. In a broken voice he succeeded in murmuring, "I've acted, like a 
cad, Louise. I deserve the worst, I know. But won't you give me another 
chance?" 

My heart went out to him. Our delicious months of intimacy could not pass, 
surely, without leaving some residue, no matter how small, of genuine 
affection. For a moment I was tempted to abandon all my plans and stay. But 
a greater wisdom reminded me of the futility of trying to revive dying 
embers. The end must come sooner or later. 

Gently I released myself from his embrace. "Good-bye, Charley," I whispered. 
"Best of luck to you! I'll write you from Paris." And then, ashamed of the 
utter sentimentality of this tearful leave-taking, I allowed my beastly 
cynicism to come to the fore. 

"Oh, by the way, Clementine," I addressed the cowering mulatto, as I made my 
exit, "your master needs cheering badly. So be sure to fuck him hot." 


 THE END
