At the back of our house was a longish bit of garden, say something like fifty or sixty feet long, by thirty or forty feet wide. This garden was my mother’s pride, for she raised early potatoes, and all kinds of vegetables in it for our use, besides plenty of pretty and sweet flowers, so that we always had nice vegetables for dinner, and nose-gays for our table and mantelpiece. At the end of the garden was a lane, on the other side of which was a row of stables, where the officers of the cavalry used to keep their private horses. I used to be very fond of leaning against our little wicket, and see those beautiful horses go out for exercise, all bridled and saddled, being taken to their masters. Sometimes the officers themselves came to have a look at the stables, but they paid no attention to me, so I was quite accustomed to looking on without being spoken to. About August, however, when I was a little more than three months older than thirteen, some stables, which had been empty, were taken by an officer who had three beautiful horses. I was curious to see who this officer was, for he was new and so one evening I was watching for him, hoping he would come, when I saw a tall, slight, but a fine and very handsome young officer in undress uniform, stable jacket, breeches, long boots and spurs, and his gold-laced cap well on one side and far back on his head, come walking at a smart pace down the lane, smacking his boot every now and then with his riding whip and looking right and left, as if he were taking a good look at everything and that everything was new to him.
He looked at me, too, and gave me a good stare, and then he looked at the stable beside me, muttered something to himself, looked at me again, and with a little mock salute with his whip he turned into the stable. Then I knew that that was the new officer. There was something about him which took my fancy at once. He seemed so different from the others I had seen. They had always looked so heavy and black about the face, and altogether as if nothing was worth looking at on either side of them; whilst my new officer was so trim and jaunty, so pretty and nice looking, and he had actually smiled at me, and shown me that he had seen me. I felt quite a flutter when he made his little mock salute, and half drew back from the gate I was leaning on, but I did not go away. I wanted to see him again, so I stayed. Presently out he came, talking to the groom, then the groom went back into the stable. The young officer looked up the lane, down the lane whilst he pulled on his glove, then, seeing me, he came playfully towards me, made me a little bow, smiled and saying, “Good evening, Polly. A nice evening this.” He turned and walked rapidly away. A new flutter again came into my bosom. I know I looked wistfully after him, and was delighted when, turning his head, he looked back at me from a little distance, and again waved his whip at me. Poor little fool that I was! I had fallen in love and I did not know it! But so it was!
Well, evening after evening this young officer and I met this way. Nothing more than what I have described passed between us. If an evening came and he did not appear, I used to feel so grieved. I missed him dreadfully. I found out that his name was the Hon. Charles Vincent, and that he was a captain in the Hussars. I heard the groom speak and that was how I knew; besides, all his horses had a big C. V. worked in white letters on their clothing.
Did I tell you that at the end of our garden, in the corner and next the road, was a little old shed without any door? No? Well, there was and I had planted honeysuckle and clematis and a climbing rose against it and as a school girl I used to love to learn my lessons there, when it was fine, warm weather. The honeysuckle and rose and other climbing plants had grown very well, and the dirty old shed was transformed by them into quite an elegant bower.
One evening my handsome officer did not come as usual, and I was vexed and sorry, for I did love seeing him, and he always seemed to look for me. I heard his groom talking to the men in the next stable, saying he wondered the captain did not come, and the bay mare was sick, and he had told his master of it. So I knew my hero was coming, and I went into my bower and sat down, and listened and peeped through the chink into the lane. Soon the grooms all went away but one, and that was Captain Vincent’s. At last he seemed to be altogether out of patience, and I heard him swear, and talk to himself, saying he would be damned if he would stay any longer, but go and get his glass, and then he would come back. So he locked the stable and put the key into his pocket and went off. Well, I waited and waited! At last I heard the footstep I knew so well, and with a heart beating as if I had really expected and ardently wished for a lover, I went out, and stood as usual at the gate. The sun was setting and all the lane was in shadow. Captain Vincent came walking quickly, saw me, smiled as usual, saying, “Good evening, Polly!” and trying the door of his stable. Finding it locked he kicked at it, so as I knew there was no one in there, I called out, “Sir, the groom waited for you, and after a while said that he must get his glass, but that he would come back.”
“Oh! did he, Polly! Thank you my dear!” and then coming near me he went on, “how long ago was it that the groom went?”
“Oh!” said I, guessing, for the time had seemed dreadfully long to me waiting, “about three-quarters of an hour, I should say, sir.”
“Three-quarters of an hour,” the captain exclaimed, looking at his watch, “well, then he should be along soon now, I should think. And how are you Polly! I see you here every day. What a pretty hand! What a lovely girl you are, Polly! I declare I must marry you! Will you marry me, Polly, if I ask you?”
Well, of course I was a little fool, but I could not help being pleased beyond measure at his admiration and question, though it was quite plain to me that his question about marriage was only a joke.
“Oh! sir!” said I, “don’t be making fun of me! You know I cannot marry you sir!”
“Well,” said he, “at any rate you could give me a kiss, child, could you not, Polly?”
I felt my face burning. It was just what I was longing for. Oh! I cannot tell you how I had longed to be taken notice of by him. I looked around carefully, and seeing no one in sight, I said:
“If you are quick, sir, because someone might see and then there would be talk.”
The words were hardly out of my mouth before the gallant and eager captain had his lips to mine, and gave me such a kiss as I had never had before in my life; a kiss which seemed to go right through my body down to my very feet!
“Polly!” said he, in a low voice, “could I come into your Summer House after I have seen my horses and chat with you a little while?”
I knew there might be a little chance of mother seeing him, so I said quickly and with a palpitating heart, “Yes sir! I’ll go in now and wait, and you can come in when you are ready, and please don’t stand there talking to me—for fear—you know!”
“I understand,” said he, his eyes blazing as they looked into mine, and he turned away and walked a little down the lane, in the direction the groom had gone. I went into the “Summer House,” as he called it, and stood watching at the chink. Oh! how my heart beat! Would he kiss me again! How I wished the groom would come, for if I stayed out too long my mother might call for me to come in. At last the groom came, the captain and he had some little talk, but no quarrel. I think I prevented that, for I am sure Captain Vincent was angry, when he found his man had not waited for him, but now he was certainly glad. He did not stay in the stable. He and the groom came out together, and walked away down the lane. Oh! what a pang I felt! Was he not coming then? How cruel! how cruel! I could not help it, I sat down and began to cry and sob, and all of a sudden there was my lover, inside the little house. He had come back as quick as he could, and had only walked the groom out of the lane to get rid of him. I sprang up as he came in, and he saw I had been crying, and he sat down and pulled me on his knee, and with one arm around my waist and his right hand on my bosom, he gave me, oh! hundreds of kisses! He seemed quite excited, and I was simply beside myself with happiness and joy.
“Oh! Polly!” he said, “do you know I’ve been longing to kiss you ever since I first saw
you; you are the very prettiest, loveliest girl I ever saw.”
I could only smile. It was rather dark now in the little house, but I could see him clearly enough. He kissed my face all over, and my neck too, and his hand closed over the bubbie it was nearest. I liked it too much to tell him to take it off, but I knew he ought not to have done that. All the time he was kissing me he called me his pet, his little dove, his lovely little darling, and so forth, and I stroked his hair and gave him sweet kisses too.
At last he said, “How old are you, Polly?”
“My name is not Polly, sir! it’s Lizzie!”
“Well! How old are you Lizzie? Sixteen? Seventeen?”
“Sixteen! Seventeen!” I replied.
“No, sir! I am thirteen! I shan’t be fourteen until next year!”
“Thirteen!” he exclaimed in surprise. “Only thirteen! Why Poll—that is, Lizzie, you must be more than thirteen! Who ever saw so fine a girl as you only thirteen?”
“Well, sir,” I said laughing, “I am really only thirteen!”
He looked at me; he put his hand on my other bubbie and gave it a delightful squeeze, as if feeling it, and then he put it on its old place on the first bubbie.
“Then,” said he, “I expect this, these rather, are only padding!”
“What?” said I.
“Why! these bub—these—what do you call them? Your bosom Poll—that is, Lizzie?”
“Indeed sir;” said I indignantly, “there is no padding about me. I do not require padding! Not I indeed!”
“Oh!” said he, laughing, “but Poll—that is, Lizzie!—I wish I could remember your name, my pet! No girl of thirteen has such fine, well-developed bubbies as these!” and he pressed them again and again. “They are much too fine for a girl of thirteen! You must be older than you think!”
“No indeed, sir! I know I am only thirteen!”
“Well! Then I don’t believe these are real! They must be padding, Poll—that is, Lizzie!”
I was vexed. Why should he be so persistent? Why should he believe that my breasts were not good flesh and blood but only padding? So I said, “If you think I am only made up, sir, please don’t feel them anymore!”
“But,” said he, “Polly—Lizzie, I don’t say that they are not real, the fact is I don’t know what to think. There is a mistake somewhere, but don’t be angry, my pet! Come—kiss!”
Those delicious kisses! Those delightful pressures of his hand!
“Lizzie, let me put my hand inside your dress!”
And so saying he began to pull at the front of my body which was fastened by hooks and eyes. They bothered him and he grew so dreadfully impatient that I, who was quite as anxious that he should be certain that I was not padded as he was to feel my bubbies that he found so nice through my clothes, at last pushed his too eager hands away and undid the obstinate front which opposed him.
“There!” said I laughing, “you can get your hand in now, but there is still a petticoat body inside to unbutton.”
But the petticoat body gave him little trouble, and as if he were snatching for a prize which would escape him if he was not very quick, he thrust his strong but gentle hand between my shift and stays, and closed it over the firm little globe he found there.
“Oh!” he exclaimed, making a kind of sipping noise with his lips as if he were taking something hot to drink, “Oh! Lizzie Polly! Lizzie! what a splendid little bubbie, and what a smooth little nipple! Let me feel the other one now!”
And he reversed his hand and pushed it on to my right breast, which he went mad over like he had the other. The effect on him was wonderful. I cannot describe my sensations to you, Charlie, because you, being a man, cannot understand what a girl feels when hers are so nicely handled by a man as mine were then, but a kind of all-overish feeling came over me. I felt that I wanted to put my arms around my lover and clasp him to me! I felt that there was something more that I wanted from him; a something which I could only get by pressing my body to him as close, close as possible, but in the position I was with his arm raised up and his hand pushing at my bosom, I could not think of folding him in my embrace. All I could do I did. I put my arm round his neck and pulled his face down to mine, and kissed his mouth with a passionate energy which put him into a still greater ferment.
“Undo your collar, Lizzie! Oh! I must see and must kiss those splendid little gems of bubbies.”
O! how his voice thrilled through me! I felt as if I trembled all over and his voice trembled also. It was passion, desire, love which had seized both of us. One knew its meaning well!—the other—myself—was still in a state of ignorance very soon to be cleared away.
I did not hesitate to obey him. I undid my collar, and he, pulling my dress wide open and off my shoulders and bosom, poured a torrent of kisses on my swelling breasts, and I—oh!—I leant back, supported by his strong arm, and gave myself and my thrilling bubbies to him to do with as he liked. It was beyond description. How his mouth flew from mount to mount. How his lips climbed each hill, and his teeth seized each little ticklesome nipple in its turn, and his hot breath descended into the valley between my breasts, and swept down over my body until my waistband stopped its further progress. But oh, whilst his lips were so busy, his right hand, in my lap, pressing between my thighs, was producing ravages in another part of my body. I felt inclined at first to resist, not because I did not like it, but because I felt a feeling of shame rise in me, almost stronger than the intense sensation of pleasure his moving fingers gave me.
“Ah!” said I.
“What, darling!”
How he said that one word, “Darling,” as if his soul breathed it from his heart of hearts.
“Oh! don’t put your hand there, sir!”
“Oh! yes! yes! yes! oh! my delicious Polly! Lizzie! What is your name? I must Oh! Lizzie I shall not be happy now until I have had you! You know what that means, don’t you, darling? Say you will let me have you? Won’t you?”
Well, I didn’t know exactly, but I began to guess that love, marriage and the “putting of his little thing into my little thing,” as the girls said talking of husbands and wives, were all very intimately connected and the pleasure his fingers caused in my melting little mound made me think that the “putting” too must be something heavenly—and I was right!
I don’t know whether I said “yes” or “no,” to his question, but he acted as if I had said “yes” anyhow! For he suddenly put his hand under my dress, and before I could say “Scissors!” he had it as high as it could go between my thighs, at the same time pressing me to him and kissing my mouth. My drawers, that came up to the waist in front, offered a slight obstacle, but his eager and nimble fingers found their way in! Oh! the delicious sensation of those fingers as they caressed my mossy bower! and the ravishing of one which he pushed in deep between its glad lips, I no longer attempted to prevent his doing what he liked. It was much too delicious. I opened my thighs a little more, and whilst he sucked my mouth with long burning kisses, that finger went in and out, in and out, every movement giving me more and more exquisite pleasure until at last a throb, a thrill a kind of jump seemed to pass through slit, moue, belly and all of me, and my lover exclaimed, “Ah! ah! oh! Lizzie darling! I have made you spend!”
Then for a moment he took his hand from between my thighs and I felt him doing something to himself. In a voice shaking with emotion and excitement he said, “Where is your hand, Lizzie? Give me your hand!”
He took it and put it on what felt like a great big thick stick, thicker than a broom handle, and hot and awfully hard, except for the outside, which felt like velvet, and which was loose and moveable. It was so big that I could hardly get my fingers round it. The very feel of it, however, made my brain whirl round. “What is this?” I gasped.
“It is me! Lizzie! it’s me. It is my—my—my manhood! Don’t you k
now darling, darling, Lizzie—that is what fits in here!” He had his finger moving in my cunnie again, setting me wilder still. “Let me put it in, darling Lizzie! It would kill me if you said no!”
“Oh!” I gasped, for I could hardly speak, “you can’t do it sir! It is much, much too big!” and as I spoke I felt the curious, soft and elastic head which crowned his powerful weapon.
For all reply my lover put me off his knee on to the seat, jumped up, undid his braces, pulled down his trousers, pulled up his shirt and I had an astonished glimpse of what looked like an enormous white bar, with a red tip, growing out of a perfect forest of black hair.
Before I could either speak or resist my impatient Charles, as he made me call him, pulled up my dress, petticoats and all, and pulled me on his knees, so that I had one leg on either side, then, whilst he drew the lower part of my body towards him, he made me lean back. I had bend my knees to do so, and stand on the tips of my toes, whilst he was seated on the very edge of the seat. Oh! what a shock of delicious pleasure I received, and how astonished I was when I felt that he had pulled me right on what called his manhood, and that with a little kind of pop it had gone right into my cleft.
Erotic Classics II Page 147
