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.

"Stop," I cried, "that hurts."

"I won't hurt you bye-and-bye," he said, with his sly look.

"How, what do you mean?"

"I'll tell you, but mind, it's a great secret. You know Jim who has the cat and flogs the slaves when they misbehave.