'How wonderful! Lucia, you darling! You can't tell how glad, how delighted I am to learn this. Now I understand why what Martha calls love-children come into the world. I thought that only married women could have babies, yet I knew that some unmarried girls had some too, and I wondered how they got them, as they had no husbands. I can't tell you all the absurd ideas I used to have on this subject. I wish I had a book to read all about it in, with pictures, so that I might be sure I thoroughly understood it all. It would give me great delight. And to think of those marvellous tadpole things! I suppose, then, that the reason some women never have families must be either because their husband shoots no tadpoles into them, or they have no eggs ready?'
'Ah, Susan! That is a subject of which I am ignorant, and I don't think doctors even are agreed about it. But I can only tell you that I would never trust to luck, and go without protection from probable evil results, when I have a man. As to eggs not being ready, why, the worst is that these horrible little tadpoles only ask for a snug, warm, moist place to live in, and there they will remain alive; so that, as the egg is bound to come sooner or later in a healthy woman, the tadpole is equally bound to get at it. Say that one of my lovers was here now, and first fucked me, and then fucked you, first one each: it is now ten or twelve days since I had my monthlies-when did you last have yours?'
'Last week, darling.'
'Very well. You would almost certainly have a baby this day in nine months. I might escape but only if the tadpoles in me all perish from perhaps want of some ailment, which a man has, but I have not. But if a tadpole, one only, happened to live until I was next ill, I too should have a baby, a few days after yours. Oh, fucking is heavenly; but it is terribly dangerous when the wedding-ring does not make it the right thing in the eyes of the world.'
'But, Lucia,' I said, an uneasy feeling coming over me, making all the life seem to leave my hitherto hot little cunt, 'if fucking be so terribly dangerous, how is it you care to run such fearful risks? I should imagine that fear would take almost all the sense of pleasure away. I know I should think of nothing but the tadpoles. I don't think I will let any man fuck me, now I have heard what you have told me.'
'Oh dear, yes, you will, Susan,' cried Lucia, laughing. 'I am glad I have scared you so well, because you must always bear in mind what I have told you, that, unless you are fully protected, you can't have a more dangerous thing in you than a man's prick.'
'But how do you get this protection, Lucia?' I asked anxiously. 'And how have you escaped? To hear you, one would imagine that you do hardly anything else than fuck, and you appear to have a perfect armoury of pricks and balls at your disposal.'
'So I have, darling,' said Lucia, kissing me and reviving my crestfallen cunnie with her soothing hand. 'I should have to reckon all my lovers, and it would take more than the fingers on your two hands and the toes on your feet, and mine too, to be able to count all the darling pricks that have been up my cunnie, and as to the number of times they have given me the full delight, I really could not, at the moment, tell you, though I have all recorded at home, names, dates, numbers of fucks and all. But then I protected myself. It is extremely easy'
'But how? But how?' I cried.
'Well, all one has to do is to prevent the tadpoles from getting into our womb, and that can be easily done by means of a piece of sponge.'
'Sponge!'
'Yes, sponge! Look, I will show you, and she jumped out of bed, her lovely white nakedness shining in the light of the candles as she walked to her chest of drawers. She took a little ivory box off it and returned towards me.
How lovely she looked. Her elegant figure, her round, polished shoulders, her beautiful limbs, her broad, gracefully shaped hips, and the brilliant whiteness of her belly and thighs brought out vividly by the rich, dark, thick bush which covered her swelling motte, whilst her exquisite, rosy-tipped bubbies stood out firm, like those of a statue in marble; these all flashed on me, and were all enhanced by the natural elegance of her movements. Oh! I felt that were I a man, I should forget all about possible danger to her, and should desire of all things to clasp that lovely body to mine, and thrust my fervent, burning prick in, up to my balls, in the sweet little cunt I could see half hidden under the dark brown hair, in its snug retreat between her beautiful thighs. Should I then, when naked before a man equally naked, forget my danger in his manly beauty? Suppose, instead of being a girl, Lucia had been a handsome youth? Suppose, instead of that lovely, pouting little cunt before my eyes, I saw a pair of splendid balls, surmounted by a magnificent big, big, big prick, all stiff and standing, such as she had described, would I not be very likely to forget that all that splendour covered a deep danger? That those glorious pendants might originate irretrievable disaster, and that prick, so handsome, so alluring, so desire-compelling, might leave behind it unutterable woe, if I admitted it within my burning and randy little cunt. I felt grateful then to Lucia, that before any such terrible temptations to indulge my passions were likely to assail me, she had opened my eyes to the sense of danger, but I resolved to do as she said and to indulge myself, so soon as I found the lover, and so soon as I quite knew all about the protection, of which she had so eloquently praised the merits. These thoughts flashed through me in a much, much shorter time than it has taken me to jot them down, sweet girl-reader. Ah, dear girls, read these pages attentively, and profit by the experience you will gain. Then lie with your lover, then fuck with your lover, gain all the pleasures, and avoid all the dangers of fruitful, delicious love!
Lucia sat on the bed, and unscrewing the top of the ivory box, drew out of it a fat, little glass bottle, having a wide mouth securely fastened with a ground glass-stopper. Putting in her tapering finger, she fished up a little ivory bar, in the centre of which was fastened a rose-coloured silken thread. This she pulled out until it lifted up a sponge of very fine texture, about as big as a large walnut. The sponge was full of moisture, which she squeezed out into the bottle, and then she held it out to me.
'See!' she said. 'This sponge, Susan, is my shield and buckler! When I am going to fuck, I first put it into my cunnie, so,' doing it as she spoke, 'I push it in with my finger as far as I can, and my lover rams it home with his stiff prick When it is home it covers the mouth of my womb, and when my lover spends, it comes between my womb and his prick. No spend can possibly pass through it, and even if any did, the tadpoles would be all killed by the liquid with which this sponge is filled. It is a mixture of carbonised oil, glycerine and a little rose water to give it a pleasant smell. The carbonic acid, small though it be in quantity, is sufficient for the purpose, and no tadpole can stand its effects. Well, this little piece of ivory prevents the up-and-down movements of my lover's prick from rucking up the cord, and pushing it, too, up to the top of my cunnie; and after every fuck I make it the practice, not only to pull out the sponge, which of course brings out most of my lover's spend, and mine too with it, but I syringe my cunnie well with a mixture of the same lotion as was in the sponge and soft, warm water. Every atom of spend must thus be removed, and I can't possibly run any danger. The syringing if done soon enough, would do equally well; but then good-bye to the delicious, quiet lying with the sweet prick in me, because, my womb being unprotected, a tadpole might, even in that short time, get in! Also good-bye to alfresco fucks, in the green fields, or in the train, or in a drawing-room, or anywhere where it would be impossible to use a syringe; unless, indeed, my lover had any letters about him. But I don't like letters. I like a naked prick. I always fancy I feel the dead skin of the letter when my lovers use them.'
'What do you mean by letters, Lucia?'
'Oh! they are not real letters. I do not know why they are so called, Susan; but they are little coverings of skin, or thin india rubber, which men put on their pricks, and which either fit them tight, being elastic, or are tied close to their balls with little ribbons. Then, of course, not a drop of spend can get into me, because it is all caught by the letter.'
'But that seems very convenient.'
'Well, it is! but I prefer my sponge, which is quite as safe, and does not interpose itself between my lover's prick and the lining of my cunt.'
'And what is the syringe like, Lucia? Is it like those that gardeners use?'
'Bless you, no, girl! It is-but I have one! Ah, happy thought, I have some warm water here; we will syringe our cunts out now! Jump up, dear!'
I did so. Lucia put the basin on the floor, and getting a tumbler, she filled it with warm water. Then she got a long box, about eight inches long, by two wide, and two deep. Out of this she took a long, flexible tube, about eighteen inches long, with an ivory nozzle, and also, in the middle, a kind of large bellows swelling. To the ivory nozzle she fixed another slightly curved, but rigid tube, rounded at the end and pierced there with holes. This passed through a piece of polished ebony, or stiff leather, shaped like an oval, and big enough to quite cover a cunt, which indeed was the object of it. Seating herself over the basin, she put one end of the tube into the
