"No!" says Phoebe, "you must not, my sweet girl, think
to hide all these treasures from me. My sight must be
feasted as well as my touch . . . I must devour with my
eyes this springing BOSOM . . . Suffer me to kiss it . . .
I have not seen it enough . . . Let me kiss it once more
. . . What firm, smooth, white flesh is here! . . . How
delicately shaped! . . . Then this delicious down! Oh!
let me view the small, dear, tender cleft! . . . This is
too much, I cannot bear it! . . . I must . . . I must . . ."
Here she took my hand, and in a transport carried it where
you will easily guess. But what a difference in the state
of the same thing! . . . A spreading thicket of bushy curls
marked the full-grown, complete woman. Then the cavity to
which she guided my hand easily received it; and as soon as
she felt it within her, she moved herself to and fro, with
so rapid a friction that I presently withdrew it, wet and
clammy, when instantly Phoebe grew more composed, after two
or three sighs, and heart-fetched Oh's! and giving me a
kiss that seemed to exhale her soul through her lips, she
replaced the bed-cloaths over us. What pleasure she had
found I will not say; but this I know, that the first sparks
of kindling nature, the first ideas of pollution, were
caught by me that night; and that the acquaintance and
communication with the bad of our own sex, is often as fatal
to innocence as all the seductions of the other.
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