MY SECRET LIFE
of the woman; and my pride was hurt in a woeful manner. I tried to avoid seeing her, instead of as before getting excitedly into a room, where she was likely to be alone for a minute. I did that for three days, then fear of disease vanished, and my hopes of feeling her cunt again, or of poking—I don’t know which—impelled me towards her.
During those three days, I washed my prick at every possible opportunity, and thought of nothing else but the incident; all seemed to me hurry, confusion, impossible, I wondered, and wonder still, whether my prick went into her or not; but above all, the largeness of the cunt filled me with wonder; for though I had had rapid glimpses of cunts as told, and had now seen a few pictures of the long slit, I never could realise that that was only the outside of the cunt, until I had had a woman. My fingers had no doubt slipped over the surface of hers, from clitoris to arse-hole; the space my hand covered filled me with astonishment, as well as the smell it left on my fingers, I thought of that more than anything else. This seems to me now laughable, but it was a marvel to me then.
When I sneaked into the kitchen again, I was ashamed to look at her, and left almost directly, but one day I felt her again, laughing she put her hand outside my trousers, gave my doodle a gentle pinch and kissed me. “Let’s do it” I said. “Lor! you ain’t man enough,” and again I slunk away ashamed.
—75—
