A day or two after as she went upstairs to the parlour, I stopped, saw her legs, and told her she had jolly fat legs. She wished I would go upstairs, for I was in the way with my chemicals, and after that ceased talking to me. But it was difficult to avoid me, I got rude, would tuck my coat between my legs, laugh and make believe to stoop down to see her ankles, but she took no notice. Begging her to kiss me one day; she gave me two or three at once saying, “There now, go on with your chemicals,” in such a motherly way, that it mortified me excessively; making me feel the difference in our ages, as a barrier to my hopes.
But if discouraged one day, I got courage the next; impelled by a cock-stand, and my mother being out, I said, “Should I not like to see your legs.” For a wonder she answered, “Look at your own.” “Oh!” I replied, “they are not the same, you have got a slit between them, I have got something hanging, and ready to put into the slit.” “I wish you would go upstairs,” said she, “you are always down here now.” Then she told mother I was in her way,—I promised only to go to the back kitchen when it suited the cook, but did not keep my word.
She was alone one evening, I went home and downstairs, kissed and fondled, and would not be repulsed. At some time every woman is more yielding than at others, they always are if randy. Getting my courage up I said I wished she would let me feel her thing, then said, “Let me do you,” in a whisper. It was quite dusk down there when I said it. She was speechless for a full minute, whilst I kept repeating my demand. At length she replied, “How dare a boy like you, speak like that to a woman like me.” “I—am not a boy,” said I in anger; “I have had many women, I know all about a woman’s pleasure, I know where your thing is; I know why you tuck your hand outside your clothes after you have piddled.” Then she pushed me out of the kitchen, but I thought she smiled.
Our family habits were much as they had been, but the weather getting finer, mother often took both Tom and the housemaid with her out for a walk; but not until the cook had dressed herself after our early dinner. Unless she took the housemaid out, I was worse off than ever. Yet my chances came.
Cook one day was alone in the kitchen darning a stocking; it was cold—the beginning of March—her feet were on the old fashioned iron fender, I sat myself down on the fender, and we talked, I laid my hand on her lap, and tried quietly without letting her know it, to feel where she gartered. I felt the knot distinctly above her knee, thought how near it was to the cunt I was burning to feel, then put my hand up her clothes, and felt her naked leg under the knee.
She told me to leave off, my prick was standing, “Have you not jolly big white thighs, I have heard of them,” said I. “Heard?” said she. “Yes, and a good lot of hair between them.” “Who, to look at you would believe you were such a liar, such a young monkey; get out of the kitchen.” She arose, drew some water, took it in one hand, some clean clothes in the other, and went upstairs, taking no further notice of me. I followed her a few steps up, then pushed my hands up her clothes on to her thighs, just beneath her backslide; round she swung facing me, and sat down on the stairs; in swinging round my hand came just into contact with the hair of her cunt; then with a push she sent me downstairs tumbling. As I got up she said quite quietly, “It’s your fault if you are hurt; if you follow me, I will push you down again,” “I am stronger than you.” I sung out,. “I don’t care, so long as I can feel you.” “If I was not so comfortable here in many ways, I would leave to-morrow,” said she, continuing to go upstairs, and thinking she had settled me; but I followed, tried again, and she threw the whole jug of water over me. “Now tell your mamma,” said she, “and I’ll surprise her, she don’t know her son,” and again she pushed me down. That did not stop my tongue, for I had now got angry and reckless, sang out my wants, bawling out about her cunt, and said, “Did you ever sit on the little privy seat Mary, tell me.” She went up, and locked herself in her bed-room, till I was tired of waiting.
I had been a month at this fun, and as in Charlotte’s case seemed not getting on at all, my experience was confined to one woman, and naturally I used to compare everything taking place, with what had taken place with her. To my inexperienced mind, there was a difference between the two women which I could not understand: when I first got my hand up Charlotte’s clothes, she was as quick as me, struggled, screeched, and got my hand away, seemed in dread and astonished. When I got my hand on Mary’s flesh, which I did repeatedly afterwards, she would turn round quite quietly, remove my hand with force, look at me as if she were collecting her thoughts, did not seem at all alarmed, but gave me a lecture. When she kissed me afterwards, it seemed to be upon reflection, but she did it with force, looked me full in the face, then turned away. One day she said, “I would not leave a sister of mine here, if she were young, for five times my wages, but I am old enough to keep you in your place.”
Soon after mother was one day out, I at home, housemaid and Tom in the garden; it was a clear, bright day, there was a fire in the garden parlour, the garden window-door was shut, and I bolted it; it was about half-past three o’clock, the cook was dressing, I burning with lust, went to my bed-room, opposite then to her door and listened. I heard the rattle of piddle, excitement got the better of my fears, I knocked. “It’s not locked,” she called out, thinking it was the housemaid; I opened the door, went in and closed it.
She was standing before the glass brushing her hair, with but stays on; over her chemise, I saw at a glance big white breasts, and big white legs up to her knees. She turned round, and seeing me, put her hands up to cover her breasts, stepped backwards till the bedstead stopped her, and said, “Go out, mister Walter,” but I threw my arms round her, clasping her tightly and kissing her on her breasts before she could repeat her request, and said, “Oh! do Mary, do let me.”
She did not answer, but disengaged herself from my arms. Crafty with lust and doubtless thinking of former experience, I dropped on my knees, in an instant had her chemise up, both hands round her great bum, and my mouth buried in the hair, kissing the outside of her cunt; she sat down nearly crushing my hands, between her bum and the bedstead, I withdrew them with a cry of pain.
She pushed me away; being on my knees, back I tumbled; as I did so, caught her chemise and lifted it; she put her hands down to prevent it; I kept my hold tightly, and it tore up with a noise, to where her stays stopped it from going further; but the rent disclosed thighs belly and motte simultaneously. She rose, tried to hide her nakedness, and stop the chemise going further, her legs got somehow entangled with mine, I fell back, and she fell clean over me. As I fell, my head struck the pot and overturned it, I felt the warm piddle round my neck and head, and at the same instant a heavy sort of blow on my nose, and hair on my lips—it was her naked belly and motte which struck me as she fell on me. We rolled over, and struggled for a second, I saw white thighs a huge bum, and then we were both up. She opened the window and shouted out, “Eliza, Eliza, I want you.”
Then she turned to me with her eyes wide open, her bosom palpitating, and said, “Get out, you are a nice young blackguard, I would not have believed it, had I not found you out.” And in the same breath hurriedly, “Oh! my God, Wattie, what is the matter?” I felt a funny trickling sensation on my upper lip, and putting my hand up to feel, removed it covered with blood, the result of the blow of her motte on my nose, which was pouring down blood copiously, and dropping on to my shirt. The sight of blood always made me furious, “It’s a blow from your belly,” said I, “you did it purposely.” She saw by that time it was not serious and said, “it serves you right, and directly your mamma comes in I will tell her.” “Do,” said I. She repeated, “You are a young blackguard.”
In the excitement of opening the window, calling out, and seeing my nose bleeding, she had forgotten her torn chemise; and I had thought about nothing but my bleeding nose. Standing by the table to open the window, her form had been hidden, but she moved, disclosed the torn chemise, partly one of her hips, thigh, leg, and partially the hair of her cunt. “I can see your cunt,” said I staunching my nose. She snatched up the torn chemise, hiding herself with it. “Oh! go,