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MY SECRET LIFE spending, what if I ask her again? What an age she seemed putting Tommy to bed, at last I heard her say, “Go to sleep, mamma will be home soon,” and she went up to her bed-room. She is going thought I to sit there till Eliza knocks, and did not dare go up, but stood listening in the hall, feeling my prick and longing; at last I heard her coming down with slow, measured steps. In the hall, I flung my arms around her, kissing and begging her to forgive me. “I could not help it,” said I in a whisper, “you do not know how I longed for you.” “Let me go downstairs,” said she.

The garden parlour door was open. “Come in here and talk.” I pulled her in with but little difficulty, pushed her down on the sofa, and put both arms round her. The door closed, leaving a small opening; there was no light, but the gleam which shot from the hall-lamp through the door ajar; I could barely see her face, and sat by her begging forgiveness and kissing, but got no reply. My prick was more than stiff, I put my hand down on her lap, on to her knees, then down to her feet, waiting a second at each advance—no movement. My hand slipped up bit by bit, it passed her ankle, her garter, and was on the ﬂesh above—still no movement. I hesitated and begged—no reply. Up further went my hand, the thighs were not closed, but let my hand slip between them, a long drawn sigh came from her as my fingers buried themselves in a fat, warm quim. I pushed her back gently, and put her hand on to my prick; she held it tight, and in a whisper said, “Will you never tell anyone?” By my body and soul I swore it; the thighs opened wider, her body fell back and disposed itself on the sofa, my —137—