immorality. I have often wondered if her 103
husband found out that she was not a virgin, and if not whether it was owing to some skill of hers, or to his ignorance; I heard afterwards
that they lived happily.
CHAPTER VI.
Mary the cook.--A bloody nose and broken pisspot.--An involuntary spend.--A feel and a poke.--A new sensation.--At a baudy house.--Mary's history.--She leaves.
As the certainty that all was finished between us came to me, I
got better, my grief moderated, my prick expected occupation, I was
horrified at having frigged myself, and ceased doing it. Then naturally
I looked at the servants. The new housemaid was ugly as sin, so I turned to Mary the cook. I was then about seventeen years old.
She was now I think twenty-six or eight years old, big, stout, but as it seemed to me then, symmetrical; she had exquisite teeth, blue eyes, and a fine complexion--so fine that my mother remarked it. She was quiet in
a remarkable degree, and treated me as a boy. Nine months before this
I should as soon have dared to think of fucking my aunt, but experience had altered me. I thought of the light hair on her cunt, and of all I
could not see, which Charlotte had innocently described to me; and the conclusions we had arrived at, that she frigged herself. Then I thought that after all, old as she was, and young as I was, she might like
Charlotte, let me do her. I had once kissed her when Charlotte was with
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us, and she had taken it as if she was letting a child kiss her; I now tried it again, and got a quiet kiss in return; it was done with the air
and manner of "There, there, you troublesome boy," which mortified me
much.
I had now special tutors at home, and was at home when I liked, yet
my chances with the cook were fewer than they had been with Charlotte, owing to her occupations. I was studying elementary chemistry, and when making some experiments in the garden parlour, burnt a table cover. My mother angry, said I had better experiment in the back kitchen again, so under that pretence, I managed to be downstairs frequently.
I used to watch Mary, slipping out into the outside passage leading to the servant's privy, and take pleasure in the idea of her piddling there. One day, I watched her coming back, she gave her clothes a tuck between her legs, and I knew it was to dry her cunt; opened the door just as she did it, she knew that I saw the action by my grin, and her face turned scarlet. I kissed her that day, asked her timidly if she had
dried it properly that morning. "Dried what?" said she innocently. "What
I saw you drying when you came from the closet." She turned away without
saying a word.
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,"
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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
cockstand, 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.
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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
