About ten years after his death I became her lover. It seems her husband had never fully satisfied her sexually, the facts of countless women who thus suffer simply because of utter ignorance of the marital duties, or in some cases due to squeemishment or false shame, afraid to let themselves go the limit of their natural promptings, afraid that they might give the impression they were not conventional and “modest” before their husbands. I ask you who is to say or dare to say what is conventional in a bedroom? How many married people would be brave enough to tell of their love feasts in their secret, private domain, even to their closest friends? None. So it was she, because most passionately attached to me, and I to her, just because she had learned the rare secret of acting her natural self in an unrestrained way, so that I at once found her the very counterpart of my own passionate nature. – Being like herself, college bred, there were many ideal links of unique interests and sympathy established between us to which we readily gave a hearty response. We were, in addition, both deep thinkers, which is not the usual blessing bestowed on college folks at graduation. Philosophers are born, not manufactured in any school or institution.

She told me of her own boy, now a fine lad of fourteen, who had been in the habit of having intercourse with her, his own mother, for nigh three years. No other but the lad and I had ever had access to her since the death of her husband. I now told her of my desire to know a nice, clean woman who had a girl of about ten or eleven years old, that I preferred a widow, or one left alone somehow, so I could have the girl become acquainted with what the mother and myself were doing, to have her see and play with me, that I yearned to handle a young girl's hairless, pulpy, cunnie before she had yet learned about men.