My Secret Life

“Get quite on to the bed dear.” Slow at obeying I helped her into the posture, and got on to her, and brought my pleasure to an end, lying on the top of the pretty little girl.

I lay on her long afterwards, and tried by the muscular contraction of my arse-cheeks and ballock-roots to stiffen my pego again. She laid quiet all the time with my prick up her, but I could not manage it, my prick shrunk.

A second erection without uncunting being impossible, I got into a kneeling posture between her open legs, and checked a slight movement on her part saying, “Now lie quiet, — don't move.” There was I kneeling between her thighs; looking down I saw her half-opened cunt with the gruelly tide issuing from it, took my prick in hand half its potential size, flabby and wet, pulled back the skin, and out rolled a large drop of sperm on to her thigh. She lay quite quiet, looking at me, her yellow hair falling all around her head as it lay on the pillow. Now I was astonished at her beauty, I had not noticed it fully before.

“You are very handsome, — how old are you?” “Fifteen and a little.” “You must be more.” “I don't know, but mother says so.” I looked at her cunt, the hair on it was not an eighth of an inch long,, scarcely any of it, and of course showing no intention of curling, but her form was so round that I could not believe she was so young. “Fifteen and a little”, she repeated, her aunt and her mother had been disputing the day of her birth; her mother was out of her mind when she gave birth to her. “Aunt says I ain't fifteen.”

“Give the other gal a shilling, — do”, she broke in whilst I was questioning her about age, and kneeling between her thighs. “What are you so anxious about the other girl for?” “She lives over us, and is my friend, — will you give her a shilling? — do.” “Why?” “Do, — if you don't I shall give her a shilling of mine, and give her some of mine anyhow, — you said you'd give me three and sixpence, didn't you?”

Curiously amused I laughed. “I'll give you a shilling for her, if you let me do it to you again.” “Oh! do”, said she.

It was hot, I had not reposed after my pleasure, so quitting my kneeling position I laid down besides her, and began feeling her breasts. She turned her head towards me. “You have not washed yourself”, said I after a minute's amusement with her bubbies. “It ain't no good if yer ar going to make a mess in it agin, — when you've done it I'll wash it all out together.” I thought from that speech she was not an old one at the game, yet after all she only behaved as every young girl I have had usually behaved, they have mostly objected to washing their cunts directly after a poke, I think they rarely wash it until requested. There must be some sweet tranquillizing pleasure which a man's sperm gives to a woman's cunt, and makes her undesirous of washing it out. It is only when a woman knows it is good for her health if she be gay, that she ever does it. No married woman washes the sperm out of her cunt, yet in the morning after a night's fucking you never find the sperm if you feel in the cunt for it, — where does it go? — it is absorbed I sup-pose.

We lay thus and talked. “How old are you really?” “Fifteen and two months, as I told yer, — I always was fat, but ain't so fat as I was though, — father used to say I should get fat on gruel.” I should have guessed her full sixteen had it not been for the little hair there was on her motte, and the delicate pink small cut, and tight prick-hole. “How long have you been gay?” “I ain't gay”, said she astonished. “Yes you are.” “No I ain't.” “You let men fuck you, don't you?” “Yes, but I ain't gay.” “What do you call gay?” “Why the gals who come out regular of a night dressed up, and gets their livings by it.” I was amused.

“Don't you?” “No, mother keeps me.” “What is your father?” “Got none, he's dead three months back, —mother works, and keeps us. — she is a charwoman, and goes out on odd jobs.” “Don't you work?” “Not now”, said she in a confused way”, “mother does not want me to, I takes care of the others.” “What others?” “The young ones.” “How many?” “Two, —one's a boy, and one's a gal.” “How old?” “Sister's about six, and brother's nearly eight, — but what do you ask me all this for?” “Only for amusement, — then you are in mourning for your father?” “Yes, it's shabby, ain't it? — I wish I could have nice clothes, I've got nice boots, — ain't they?” — cocking up one leg, “a lady gived em me when father died, — they are my best.”