married several weeks
afore he did it at all, so I told mother, and that's why he don't like
her."

She was warmed with wine, we were on the bed cuddling, my fingers at
work on her clitoris, we were enjoying each other's nakedness. I pressed
her to tell me more, and now narrate briefly what I heard of her first
fuck, her grievances and troubles.

"After I spoke to mother, mother said to him, 'You don't want a wife
much Mr. Pender, I think.' 'Why of course I do, I should not have
married had I not.' 'Well it don't seem like it', said mother. Then
Pender said, 'You mind your own business mother, or you'll make it hot
for your daughter', and with that he went out, and slammed the door.
Mother did not like to say any more, for fear he would ill-treat
me. Soon after he said, 'What have you been saying to your mother?'
'Nothing', I answered. He looked queer, and still he did not do anything
to me for some time.'

"When I was in bed I used to lay and cry, he'd say, 'What are you crying
about woman?' but I never told.

"After that one night he took my hand, put it on his thing and said,
'Feel that lass.' Then he felt all round me you know', said Mrs. P.
laughing, 'and he had never done that before,--and with no more ado
he got atop and said, 'Not don't be a fool', and then he did it,--and
that's all," said Mrs. Pender describing her first marital poke,--the
real beginning of her married life,--as she laid side by side by me,
with my prick in her hand.

I was curious,--a man always is in such matters. "Did it hurt you?--did
he get up you quick?" "I'm sure it was pretty quick, I cried out, and it
hurt. I was all in a tremble; then he said, 'Well you were all right and
tight five minutes ago.' I bled a lot."

"Perhaps your old sweetheart had done it before?" "He never laid hand on
me, but to kiss me." "Nor any one?" "Oh! yes, they have tried all round
I think," said she laughing, "you have,--so has the squire, and lots of
'em, you can't help that,--if a girl's taken unawares a man can get his
hand on her thighs, but he won't get more; and I always slapped their
heads, and there was an end of it." I recollect certainly her slapping
at mine hard enough.

Then she relieved her mind. "He's not a bad man,. he don't get drunk,
and we don't quarrel; but I don't care for him, and never did." "Ah! you
lost your young man, and thought you would be fucked by some one." "I
did not think at all about it, but in a sort of spiteful fit,