cunt, of her little bum, her smallness
and freshness. She looked fifteen years of age, and was quite short.

She closed the door, and looked. I looked at her. "I'll give you five
shillings." "All right sir." "Let me look at your quim." "All right
sir," said she getting on the bed. I pulled up her clothes, and saw
the little thighs, and the little cunt with a very small quantity of
lightish brown hair on it. How tight it was to my finger! I took the
guttering candle. "I'd like to fuck, but am frightened,--let me look
well at your cunt." "I'm all right," said she putting her fingers down,
and stretching open the lips, "quite clean indeed sir." "When were you
fucked last?" "It must be a week." "Arn't you every night?" "I don't
get the chance," still laying on her back, and stretching her cunt-lips
open, "I only go to the door quite late, when the neighbours have gone
in, cause they ain't gay close here." The house was the last in the
street where it narrowed to a footway.

I raised her up, laid her lengthways on the bed, and put my pego into
her hand, but fear came over me, and it would not stand. "I must do it
to you, but play with it a little." She laid hold of my prick. "It's not
stiff." "No my dear, frig it." She began. "Do you like feeling a prick?"
"I likes feeling men's things," she replied, "they are such funny
things, first little, then big, then little again."

"How old are you?" "Over fifteen, mother says." "Where is your mother?"
"In the back room,--look it's getting bigger, I did not think it would
be so big,--don't hurt me with your nail sir please," said she frigging
away clumsily, and when it was stiff leaving off, but looking earnestly
at my pego. I kept probing her cunt with my fingers, wondering at its
smallness.

A desire came to make her youthful mouth utter baudiness. "Say cunt
dear." "Cunt." "Say fuck." "Fuck." "You know what fucking is?" "Putting
that into this," said she with a chuckle, "ain't you going to do
it?--I'm quite clean." "Let me look again." Again the little hand down,
and stretched the lips. I prepared for action, again fear seized me, and
down my doodle drooped. "No dear, lay still, and I'll frig myself over
you,--turn on your belly,--let me see your bum,--there that will do." I
put some spittle on her bum, and rubbed my prick against it, but longed
for the hole between her thighs. "Have you got a French letter?" "I'll
ask mother," said she going into the adjoining room.

In came