She'd a nice small mouth and golden hair and a fine full open cunny.
Being so, I introduced myself to her so gentle,
She said, she'd come there for an hour with something instrumental.
I gently sat down by her side while glowing like a fire;
The smile she gave I must admit I really did admire.
Said she: "The band is going to play." Said I: " Twill shake the walls."
"Oh, no," said she, "that's only when great Julien shakes his ball—
My bunch of rosy locks, his staff so well displayed is,
He knows full well a good long piece is sure to please the ladies."
The names of all the instruments she then enquired about
Especially of that long brass-thing that kept sliding in and out.
The fingering of the double-bass she thought was rather slack,
And wondered Julien should engage a man who'd got the clap—
Pers they were an awful bore, and still she would insist on
Me telling her who'd get the horn, and who the cornet а piston.
She said she liked the clarinet, likewise the German flute—
You know all well such instruments the ladies always suit;
The forty parts they were so off they almost made us start,
And the ophicleide would come in just like a thundering fart
Or peal of thunder, but not so far as India;
And the French horn would pop in, to join those things so windy
The place got overpowering; our ears were tired of drumming;
Said she: "I feel I'm going, you'd better be a-coming."
She took my arm, we left the place, I acted as conductor;
I called a cab, and on the road I freely furnished her with my ideas of Julien's improvements,
And so wound up with a grand duet with many pleasing movements.
MY GRANDMOTHER'S TALE
or MAY'S ACCOUNT OF HER INTRODUCTION TO THE ART OF LOVE.
From an unsophisticated Manuscript, found amongst the old lady's papers, after her death, supposed to have been written about A.D. 1797.
chapter III.
kate's narrative.
You know I am a native of the West Indies. I was born in Santa Cruz, where my father had a plantation, and lots of slaves.
The little boys and girls were naked until they were eight or nine years old: I remember being greatly struck with the fine little cocks of the boys, and wondered why they differed so from girls.
The son of our overseer was just my age, about ten. He was a smart intelligent boy, and we used to play together. His name was Joe.
One day I caught him piddling and looking at his cock. I laughed and told him he ought to cut it off, it was so ugly.
He said he would be sorry for he would much rather be a man than a woman, "and when I grow to be a man," he said, "this will grow big."
"How do you know?" I said, putting my hand on it.
"Because I have often seen men naked. Do you know what a man calls it?"
"No. What?"
"He calls it a prick."
"Oh?"
"And do you know what he does with it?"
"He piddles with it, I suppose, like yourself."
"Ah!" he said, looking very sly, "he does more than that with it."
"What?"
"He can put it into a woman between her legs, in that queer little slit you girls have."
"There's no room for it there," I said.
"Yes there is; I'll show you if you'll let me, may I?" he said, lifting my frock.
"You may, just for a minute."
He put his fingers into my cunt and felt about for the opening. At last he found it, and, to my surprise, pushed his forefinger up.