MY SECRET LIFE
up, “You’re not man enough”, said she, laying hold of my prick. It was not stiff, I put my hand down, and again the great size—as it seemed to me—of her cunt, made me wonder.
What then she did with me, I know not, she may have frigged it, I think she did, but can’t say, a sense of disgrace had come over me, as she said I was not man enough, disgrace mixed with fear of disease. “Let me try”, said I; again she laid back, I have a faint recollection of my finger going in somewhere deep, again of my prick touching her thighs and rubbing in something smooth, but nothing more. “You’re not man enough” said she again. A ring. . . “Hark! it’s your aunt, go!” and it was.
I went into the adjoining room, where my books were and a lamp, she went to the street-door. My aunt and cousin came in, and went up to their bed-rooms, I sat smelling my fingers; the full smell of cunt that I had for the first time. I smelt and smelt almost out of my senses, sat pouring over a book, seeming to read, but with my fingers to my nose and thinking of cunt, its wonderful size and smell. Aunt came down. “Have you got a cold, Wattie?” “No, aunt.” “Your eyes look quite inflamed, child.” Soon after again, she said: “You have a cold.” “No, aunt.” “Why are you sniffing so, and holding your hand to your mouth?” Suddenly the fear of the pox came over me, I went up to the bedroom, soaped and washed my prick, and had a terrible fear on me.
I was overwhelmed with a mixed feeling of pride, at having had my prick either touch or go up a cunt, fear that I had caught disease, and shame at not being man enough. Instinct told me, I had lost, in the eyes
—74—
