MY SECRET LIFE
ment, whilst she leaning over the pillows on the sofa, kept breathing hard and half snorting like a pig, still frigging herself with my fingers.
As my sense returned, I could scarcely believe where my prick was, excitement still kept it stiff, but desire had left me. I pulled it out with an indescribable horror of myself.
“Wasn’t it delicious?” said she. “I like it, don’t you? You may always do it so.” What I replied I know not; I washed, dressed and got out of the house as soon as I could. When in the street, I was sick. I ran off fearing some one would see me, got into a Hackney-coach and drove in the wrong direction; then got out and went a round-about way home, fearing some one was following to upbraid or expose me. I scarcely slept that night for horror of myself, never went up the street again for years, and never passed its end without shuddering, have no recollection of having had pleasure, or of any sensation whatever; all was dread to me. And so ended that debauch; one I was deliberately let into by that woman, having never thought of such doings before as possible, or at all, as far as I can recollect.
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