Snowdrops from a Curate’s Garden

[62] CAPITULUM IX The secret of Leila’s affection for me, said the good old man, withdrawing his dripping jiggling- bone from a six months’ kid spoilt by a sound, and inserting it in the still warm bowels of a still-born baby, was to be found in her fondness for the rapid and accurate repetition of the act of love. This I could supply, as you may imagine from my previ- ous story ; so we lived together in perfect harmony. Every month when her courses came on I revelled with peculiar lust in the miry bloodiness of her dearest bodily part. I would lie all day with her dumb-glutton perched on my aristocratic nose and chew the stringy mucus that issued smeary and glutinous from her bleeding privates : the taste I cannot hope to describe to you : you must taste it to appreciate it — ah ! You sly dog ! I see you have been there already — but it was beyond all praise. Hours flew by in this delightful occupation, she herself licking my beak with her enormous tongue (with which she could lick her nose) and playing over my cream cheeses with her fingers, while now and then her tongue would loose my love-dart and shoot up my brown and wrinkled stink-house, filling me with the most delicious sen- sations. For a change we would occasionally make the beast with two backs, and I would pump my mucky man-mess into her capacious milking-pail or not less accommodating manure-manufactory. Sometimes I got a devil of a clap. My luckless claw-buttock would get twisted up with chordee till it resembled the horns of Ovis Poli rather than the