your hips as much as possible, and, so to say, give him your cunt more freely than ever. When you feel him spending, clasp your thighs round him. Press him to your bubbies and belly, bite and kiss him, and let him feel that you are as much in heaven as he is.'
'Ah, I see!'
'There is another thing you might do which is not bad. When you feel him spending, shake him well, by alternately and quickly drawing up each foot and thrusting it out straight again. Get onto me and I will show you how, darling!'
I got between Lucia's thighs and pressed my cunnie to hers. I could not resist giving her some strokes with mine, so our mutual fury recommenced, but the roles were altered. At first Lucia responded to my thrusts by vigorous pushes; at last she held me tight, so that our cunts exactly covered one another, and our clitorises were side by side, and then, drawing up one knee, she suddenly straightened it again, at the same time drawing up the other and again straightening it. This she continued until we were simply smothered with spend. It was exquisite, for our cunts seemed to open and swallow one another, our clitorises rubbed against one another and when we left off, we found it impossible to lie in such a wet bed. We got up, washed our cunnies, mottes and thighs, and then we walked, naked as we were, to her room, where we got into her cool, clean, dry bed, leaving mine to dry as best it could. Then Lucia said, 'Susan, darling! There is only one serious drawback to fucking, and that is its extreme danger!'
'Danger?' I echoed. 'What danger, Lucia?'
'Babies!' she said.
'Babies!'
'Yes, babies! You see, darling, when a man spends in us, he shoots into us enough stuff to make thousands of babies if, like fishes, we were capable of producing thousands of eggs at one time.'
'Eggs! Lucia! What are you talking of?'
'Facts, Susan! Solid, sober facts, of which I must tell you too, and which you must remember, and be well on your guard always.'
'Oh, Lucia!' I cried. 'Is that really true? Don't humbug me, darling! If there is one thing I have longed to know about, it is how babies are born. I, of course, could not be so entirely ignorant, but that I knew that a baby proceeds from its mother. The Bible tells us that much. I guessed, too, that something mysterious happened between husband and wife whereby a baby was manufactured, but I had really no idea of fucking! I had no idea that my cunnie was anything more than an accident of nature. The truth is that since you have taught me these exquisite pleasures, the real facts have begun to dawn upon me; but even now I am ignorant of why fucking should produce babies, and you astonish me still more by speaking of eggs! Are women hens, then? When do they lay eggs? Tell me! I am dying to know, if only from a scientific point of view. Tell me, darling!' and I kissed Lucia again and again, as if to coax her to tell me a secret she was really quite as anxious to impart to me as I was to hear it; only, in my eagerness, I forgot that one who had been so free from all restraint, both of action and word, with me would not be like my mother, who used to tell me I was too young to understand whenever I approached her as to this thorny, or perhaps I might more appropriately say this 'prickly' subject of creation.
Lucia laughed at my eagerness.
Ah, Susan!' she cried, clasping me in her arms, and kissing me so kindly. 'I can see that it is more from a desire to learn the matter as a science, than to know how to protect your sweet little belly from swelling, that you are so eager about it. Well, darling; though my most particular desire is to teach you how to defend yourself from the deadly effects of an unprotected fuck, however nice it may be at the time, yet, as you wish it, I will give you the history of your womb and ovaries, of what they produce; and of the spend of a man, and what it produces, scientifically, as a doctor, for I know the subject well, having often and often talked it over with doctors, fucking friends and lovers of mine. Don't interrupt me more than you can help, and I will tell you exactly, point by point, what the process is. You know already in theory, and soon, I hope, will know it also by practice, what fucking is- that sweetest, most ravishing of all delights. Fucking is only a means to an end. The real end, in nature, is procreation. Fucking causes the male to part with his fertilising spend. It is wrong to call it “seed,” for the seed is really in the woman, not in the man. The man fertilises it, just as your bees and insects fertilise flowers by shaking the pollen onto the stamens. In every flower there is a cunt, darling.'
'A cunt!' I cried.
'Yes, dearest, a regular, sweet-smelling, beautiful cunt. But most plants have hermaphrodite flowers-i.e., blossoms which contain both the male and the female organs of reproduction. Of these plants, some, however, have male flowers and female flowers quite separate from one another. The bees and other insects go from flower to flower. They accidentally gather pollen from one, and carry it to another. Some of the pollen shakes off them onto the stamens of the second flower, the impregnation takes place-the flower, — the pretty cunt withers and the petals fall off, but the seed swells, ripens and in time is fit for sowing again.'
'But surely a girl's cunt does not wither like that, Lucia?'
'No, darling,' she said, laughing and stroking mine with her slender fingers.'
'Our cunts don't wither, but they certainly are not improved by child bearing. They lose their freshness, and when you consider how much, how greatly they must be expanded by a child, however small, being forced into the world through them, you can imagine such a thing happening as permanent enlargement. But any increase in size-i.e., diameter- materially affects the pleasure of subsequent fucks, and I know that men complain of this enlargement of their wives' cunts. Some get bigger than others; but undoubtedly the best fucks are given by cunts which have never granted the passage of a child into the world. However, I am digressing.'
'Oh, not at all, Lucia! This is most interesting. To think that a rose, for instance, is only another form of a cunt! Oh, fancy talking of a nosegay as a bunch of cunts!'
And I laughed.
'Just so! It is quite true, Susan, and when a gentleman gives you a moss-rose, it is a very direct allusion to your cunt, darling. The flower is the cunt, the moss the bush which grows about it. So if you wore a moss-rose in your bosom, and gave it to a gentleman who is up to sniff, he will at once remember the sweet little mossy cunt, which lies so snug and warm between your lovely thighs.'
'Ah, that is the language of flowers. I see it. Now I know why a moss-rose means love.'
'Just so. Because a woman surrenders her cunt as the gift of love to the man she loves. But we are far from our point, Susan. Let us return to our subject. Men have a pair of balls, as you now know. From these balls proceeds, by a roundabout road, the so-called seed, which, deposited in our cunts, produces babies. But we girls, too, have a pair of balls.'
'Balls! Girls have balls, Lucia?'
'Yes, darling, but inside, deep, somewhere near the backbone. These balls are called ovaries. Once a month a ripe girl has a flow of blood, as it were. It is at this time she is producing eggs.'
'Eggs!'
'Yes, eggs, that are very small indeed, not bigger than a pin's head, but real eggs all the same. There is a tube leading from each ovary to the top of the womb, and down these tubes the eggs travel. It is still a question whether the eggs reach the womb fertilised, or whether they are fertilised in the womb, but that is a question for science to unravel. Our question is, how to prevent them being fertilised? Well, now listen. The womb is an organ about the size of a medium pear. It is pear-shaped. Its broadest part is highest, the stalk end, as it were, which enters our cunts, or vaginas, as doctors call them, at the top. Here there is a small hole in the communication between the womb and the cunt. This hole is very tightly closed, but tight as it is, it can allow the spermatozoids to pass, and there are little filaments, like hairs, extremely small indeed, lining this hole, which continually work, sucking up all they can get to come from the cunt. Well, a man's spend literally swarms with spermatozoids. Hush! I'll tell you what they are, but give me time. They are little microscopic objects, something like tadpoles in shape, having a head and a long tail. They swim, and dart and wriggle about. When a man spends in us, he shoots hundreds of thousands in, which at once dart about in a perfect lake of our spend, corked up in our cunts by the man's big prick. Of course, if the mouth of the womb be left unprotected, all the little reptiles have to do is to walk up the hole and get into the womb, helped by the cilix, which I have spoken of as like little hairs. Even if they don't do it at once, they, or some of them, will remain clinging to the lining of our cunts, and in time they will make for the mouth of the womb and get in. Then somewhere or other, they will meet with our egg, if one is ready. They stick their heads into it, and the mischief is done. The egg is fertilised, and in nine months' time the result will be a fat baby.'
