Good living heats the body and stimulates randiness; there is fifty times as much danger in leaving a young couple together with their stomachs full of good food, than when they are empty. A gentle heat, a sense of fullness, a gentle swelling, creeps up the stem of the man's prick, the knob feels tender and voluptuous; a gentle moisture distills in the woman's cunt, heat and an alloverish feeling, from clitoris to arse-hole overcomes her. Both are then ready for fucking, and only restrained from going at it by various social reasons, which determine our actions in every-day life. Such was our state when kissing and laughing we put away the things. Then we sat side by side on the sofa, with my arm round her waist.

I produced the book, which I had brought with me. I recollected how, pouring over it with Sarah or Susan, the pictures in my “Fanny Hill” used to throw them into a state of randiness which it was left me to appease. Susan used to say, that she only had to look at the pictures for a minute, to make her want “to forget herself.” I took the book out of the paper; it was a large square book, which immediately attracted her attention. “What is that?” she asked. “Pictures.” “Oh! show me.” “Come on then.” She sat on my knee, I put my left arm round her waist. “Give me a kiss.” She gave it. “Now let me look.” I had placed my right hand on her thigh outside her clothes, and was thinking, what a nice chance I had for throwing her back on the sofa, but I opened the first page. It was a fine, large coloured print (how well I remember it) of a bed-room. On the bed knelt two young women side by side, their petticoats thrown over their backs, and showing their backsides to their waists. Close by stood a middle-aged woman looking at them; through the door were the heads of two men peeping at the posterings, lust was on their faces. One of the girls had a much fatter bum than the other, both cunts were visible, the hair of one black, the other, light. It was a bet as to who had the handsomest posterior, the woman to decide was saying, “Marie a gagne, ell a la plus vonde et la plus belle.”

Louise gave a loud “oh!” as if taken by surprise, her face changed blood-red, she turned the cover over and burst into a fit of laughter, tried to get away from me, but I held her fast, so she put her head over my shoulder and laughed, I laughing with her. “You have as nice a bum as the dark one”, said I. “There is nothing more like that, look through it.” I opened the book again; under her eyes was a picture of a woman undressed, laying at the edge of the bed, her legs open, her middle finger on her cunt; by her side a man with trowsers down, his prick out stiff and crimson-tipped, one hand on the woman's thigh, and intensely looking at her cunt.

“I want to do that with you”, I said. “Fi done! c'est villain”, said she, and pushed the book violently away. It fell on the floor, and at the same instant she at-tempted to rise. I held her tightly, and pulling her back on to the big sofa, her legs flying up, I threw up her clothes in front, showing her fine pair of thighs, and the next minute I had my mouth and nose buried in the hair, kissing and sniffing it, my hands roving about wherever I could feel warm flesh.

With a shriek, — then another, — she twisted round

(in doing so my nose rubbed on her clitoris), her petticoats fell down, she got across the room to her bed-room, and bolted the door.

I stood shouting, “What a beautiful form, what thighs, how dark the hair on your cunt, how lovely my nose has rubbed on it; let me see it again, let me fuck you, have pity on me.” All that suggested itself to a man whose prick was ready to discharge in his breeches did I say, but fruitlessly, she made no reply. I went back to the sofa and considered what to do. Soon I heard her moving, crept to the door, and heard the rattle of piddle. “You're piddling out of that dear cunt”, said I, “how I wish I could feel it.” The rattle stopped, and again I went back to the sofa.

I had told her that I would take her out, and called to her to get ready, she never answered. A few minutes afterwards I wanted to shit; it was needful to go down-stairs into a yard. Thought I, “If she hears me go down she will come out;—ah! if she does, there is the book, I wonder if she will look at it. I opened it at a picture she had not seen, tearing up little bits of newspaper, I placed them between adjoining pages, so that if opened the bits must fall out, then said, “I am going downstairs; if you won't go out, I will go without you.”

I stayed at the shit-house some time, went up quietly, and heard her door close as I went up the stairs. When I entered the room I looked at the book; it was just as I had placed it, but two of the bits of paper had dropped out. “Louise, Louise, you have been looking at the book.” “You lie”, said she quickly. “You have, I put bits of paper in, and they have fallen out, so you must have.” “I have not”, said she.

“I wanted to take you to see the shops, to the theatre, if you won't answer I shall go alone, and dine alone.” “I shan't come then.” “Don't”, said I in a huff, then went to Camille's bed-room and washed. “I am going, will you come? In another minute I shall be gone without you”.

“Will you promise not to be mechant” (the French term). “I have not been wicked”, said I. She was yielding; I knew she was wild to go out with me. “Will you promise to leave off talking so.” “Not for ever; how can I when I have seen what I have.” “I have no boots, only my thick shoes.” “Come in those.” “Camille has left a pair they are too big, and there is a hole in them.” But it ended in her putting them on. Dressed, she looked an odd mixture of a peasant and a servant, who had got on some of her mistress' things. I was ashamed to walk out with her; she saw something in the expression of my face which wounded her pride. “You don't like walking out with me”, she said, and sitting down big tears came into her eyes, “but I am handsomer than Madame, my feet are smaller al-though my leg is bigger; my shoes are shameful, she would not let me have boots like hers, she said she would send me home; she won't go home again, if I tell them about her.” Thus she jabbered on in a fume, till she had exhausted herself, her pride wounded, excited much by feasting, by the baudy book and my kiss on her cunt. She talked so fast in her provincial French, that I could scarcely understand what she said.

I did not care what I spent, so that I could spend up Louise. “I am proud to walk with you, and I will buy you a pair of boots.” She jumped up with delight. “But you shall let me do one thing.” “What?” “Let me feel your leg, which you say is so big.” “Volontiers”, said she, “there is no harm in feeling a leg; in my country our clothes only just come below our knees”, and so with joking, kissing, and a promise to let me put the boots on, out we went in a cab.

I took her to a boot-maker's, and fitted her to perfection; she was delighted, and in the cab did nothing but put up her feet to look at them. She let me feel her Iegs, after she had pulled her petticoats tight round the knee; I wanted to go higher, “No, no”, she said; but I pushed up, on to her thighs.

I bought her a bonnet, but it had to be altered and was to be sent home in the evening; I got out of the cab and going into a shop without her, bought (guessing the size) white silk stockings and showy garters, without telling her. Then I bought her gloves, a collar, and one or two other things, and then we went to dine.

As I bought each successive article I told my wants coarsely enough. I felt her in the cab, and got so excited, that I pulled my cock out, keeping it covered with my handkerchief, removing it from time to time as I thought the sight of the cock would excite her. “The omnibus, the omnibus” she cried out suddenly. Forgetting myself and all but my wants, I had exposed my randy doodle just as an omnibus passed, and as I looked up, there was the conductor laughing at me. I went to the N....n hotel, then just opened, and ordered a dinner; there the collars, cuffs, gloves, and other things, she fitted on and looked at, and laid them down, so that she could see them when dining. Gloves she had never put on in her life before. The anticipation of the bonnet filled her with delight; it was hand- somer she was sure, than any one she ever saw Ma-dame wear; did I not think she would be handsomer than Madame, if as well dressed? she was wild with conceit, and told me again how Madame had refused to buy her things she wished; saying, that a servant could not be allowed to wear them. This grievance had sunk deeply into her mind. Meanwhile talking, laughing, joking, sometimes saying, “fi! fi! donc”, some-times, “oh! villain!” sometimes giving me a kiss, some-times saying, “be quiet”, she ate a good dinner, drank more champagne than she was aware of, got more and more talkative, whilst I got more and more lewd.