She looked at me, then conscious that she was naked, clawed up the sheet; in a minute I was close to her. She went across to her own room to piddle, then into bed again she got, and in spite of her I put it into her. I felt the cunt tightening, looked at her: her manner was different, I felt her clasping me, she was doing it involuntarily, her breath came quickly, she was spending as my spunk came, her first pleasure with me; all before had been pain, — I knew that.

Then was more fucking, then she made coffee, we had eggs, bread and butter, again to bed, and more fucking. We went without luncheon, spending the entire day in bed, feeling, kissing, cuddling, fucking, and sleeping. We were both worn out, and perhaps might not have got up, excepting that I had to dress, to go downstairs, and then felt hungry, so we both dressed, went to the same place as the day previously, had a jolly good dinner as fast as we could and directly it was over went back. I kept my finger on her cunt when in the cab, both going and coming; the instant we re-turned we went to bed (it had not been made), and fucked, and fucked, and fucked, and then slept a dozen hours without awaking. A lovely time it was.

Next day I was used up, I never could accomplish the wonderful fucking bouts I have heard men brag about, but dare say in those thirty hours I had fucked her twelve times. She was very tired with it, and was so sore; I was also sore, my prick had slightly bled, the foreskin was torn, and through that fucking bout my prepuce was easier ever afterwards, I could pull it down better than I could before I had torn open her virginity.

The difference between the ways of a woman and man towards each other after they have fucked is wonderful. On a previous night a woman may have refused his kisses, and his embraces, and revolted at his hands touching her quim. He although longing for her, eager to join his body to hers, may have been timid, cautious in his language, hesitating in action, and until passion got full sway, might as soon of thought of putting out his doodle, and attempting to force it up her, as of trying it on his aunt. But what a change a night has made: they sit at breakfast he with satisfaction on his face as he looks at her and thinks, that her most secret parts have not been strangers to him, has felt between her thighs, the lips hitherto untouched by man, has been up her cunt, and spent inside it the essence of his blood. “She has given me pleasure, I have given her pleasure.” She looks at him wondering how she came to allow it, how she forgot her resolves, there need be no more disguise, nor hindrance in the way of their pleasures, of the pleasures she first tasted with him; all that she has beer taught to hold most sacred from man he has seen, felt, kissed, pierced, violated, and wetted in. The virginity she prided herself on he has destroyed, she no longer shuns him, but is ready to comply with all his wishes, hopes he will compel her soon to yield again. This is the work of a few hours, and as she sits drinking her coffee opposite to him she thinks with him, what a change has taken place.

That was my state of mind with Louise. I had had virgins before without pride in having them, they came in my way, but never had I sought them. Two certainly had never been breached before, but it gave me no pride nor special gratification. This woman I had thought and thought about for months, coveted and paid for the sole pleasure of piercing her hymen. I had now the delight of experience, of leaving my sperm where man had never left it before. This girl of sufficient age, growth and form, I had bored with difficulty and pain, to her and myself, she had bled, I had bled, I had torn up her cuntal diaphram, had given her sexual pleasure, had revelled in her body. Shirt, and chemise, spunk and blood slobbered lay there. I was rested, she was fresh, and I sat at breakfast with as much complacency and jollity as a man could; yet- beyond fucking, I felt that I did not care one damn about her, and even felt sorry. I cannot explain why I felt that, but recollect it.

We had seven days before Camille would return, in those days I more than fulfilled my word to the girl, bought dresses, a ring, brooch, umbrella, parasol, in fact I don't know what I did not give, and must have paid fifty pounds; we dined out, went to theatres, ate, drank, and fucked like blazes.

French women when they have given themselves up to a man, do so with all their heart and soul. One day as luncheon began to operate on her, she nothing loth, she strong, healthy, and with passions roused, feeding daily in a way she had been unaccustomed to, yielded freely to my wishes. I placed her on the bed-side, threw up her chemise, kissed the dark crisp hair of her motte; her thighs separated, her limbs went up, and I saw the adorable vermillion gap, the ragged tear my penis had made. It was a small cunt for so fine a woman. What enticed, and incited me I don't know, I never shall know why dozens of women I have had I never have done it to, but I was taken with the feeling now. I looked, fingered, tittillated, kissed it, out went my tongue; it played lightly over the clitoris, then baudy frenzy seized me, and I licked and sucked her cunt. She wriggled, scarce knowing what I was about, when pushing my head away she cried out, “oh! mon Dieu, ah! quelle bete! aho l”

I had never done it willingly but to Martha, now the letch seized me furiously, every day afterwards I had my mouth to her, and when I was so fucked out, that I could come no more, would lay and lick her till she was worn out too with spending.

We had indeed no other amusement than fucking, talking about it, eating, drinking, and sleeping, which was to us all the charm of a honey-moon. I think I see her now, making my cock stiff under my direction, her amusement at pulling the prepuce up and down was great, I almost feel her bum now as she used to sit on my knee, looking at the pictures in the baudy book; we used to talk it over until we went to bed, and eased our passions, what fun when we did not mind washing each other's privates, as we did.

We used to lay on the bed with my head between her thighs, licking her quim, she playing with my prick, but I never put my pege into her mouth, nor did she ever do more than kiss it.

On the day but one before Camille returned, we went to bed, had a fuck, then a second, her cunt felt funny, and I found her courses had come on, or as she called them, her periods. There was an end of my fun, nor was I sorry. Not having left her day or night, nor been to my lodgings, nor to my mother's, I was fucked out, and so was she, — so that her reds came on most opportunely.

Next day we were duller, there was nothing in her to make her a companion when not in amorous amusements. She became tiresome, and annoyed me by putting on her things one after the other, all day long, and asking me, how she looked in them, if she did not look better than Madame. Then how to tell her mistress she had got the things? what to do, if her mistress refused to let her wear them? how was I to see her again? At length we resolved to tell rousing lies about everything, — my behaviour was in fact most absurd.

The following day, a letter came to say Camille would be home that night. I took away my trunk and clothes, went to my virtuous lodgings; it was a relief to be away from cunt for twenty-four hours, and I could not bear a woman with her courses on.