Frank Harris - My Life And Loves, vol 5

“The Chinese,” she said, “are far larger than the Japanese.” But passion, she always insisted, was a question of temperament and not of bodily organs. In time I came to agree with her. “Often,” she said, “you make me feel so intensely that my womb comes down to meet you and the inside of my thighs quivers and is sensitive for hours afterwards. I shall be so unhappy when you go away. I would rather die than live and yet I know that you will not, cannot stay here much longer. What am I to do when I can see you no more?”

What was I to say or do? To the best of my ability I consoled her. But before I went, she introduced me to her friend, one of the most charming girls I have ever met. She was not one of the prettiest, though her figure was superb, and her face was hardly more than piquant and interesting. But she was full of tricks and whimsies of all sorts. The first time we met she told me she thought it “disgusting” when I kissed her. Kissing was a dirty Western custom, she said, but she had no other reservations and showed an individuality of feeling that fascinated me.

She told me curious things: She never wished to give herself to a man until he said or did something that won her. After that there was no resistance. “For instance,' she said, “I saw you kiss my friend's hand, and the courtesy and gentleness of it woke desire in me.”

Shortly afterwards, I took her into the bedroom. She stripped without a word, but when I had kissed her a little while she grew wild.

“I want everything,” she said, but when she got it she came back to the kissing. I fucked her hard. Perhaps this was a response to the revulsion she said she had when I kissed her. Interestingly, she had no such reservation when it came to having my cock buried in her pussy. She accepted all of me graciously, acting to heighten my pleasure as I plowed her by raising herself up to me so that I penetrated more deeply and slapped her upturned buttocks with my balls. She continued to adamantly turn her face away as I lowered mine to kiss her, even when she seemed in the throes of debilitating passion. But I did manage to clamp my lips to hers during one particularly forceful down stroke, after which she relaxed in my arms and seemed to capitulate.

“I had no idea,” she cried, “that kissing means more to girls, excites us more than anything else. You have no idea what it means to me. I feel as if I were going mad! Have you done it to any other girl?”

“To many,” I replied. “Some respond as you do, but the majority are comparatively cold.”

“Oh pshaw!” she exclaimed, “you kiss them and let them touch you at the same time and they won't want anything better in life.”

I said to her: “I want you to feel as much as you can. You are beautifully made. I want you to reach the ultimate. Tell me how.”

“Begin slowly,” she said, “and keep on till I tell you to stop.”

And so I did. After a quarter of an hour kissing her pussy and licking inside the pink lips, she began to sigh and squirm and at length she cried: “Stop, stop. I can't stand any more. I'm getting hysterical now and that frightens me!”

My chief pleasure has always been in giving pleasure to girls, for the spasm of delight of a man is too quickly over and brings with it an extraordinary weakness and tiredness that does not disappear for some time. A woman however, feels little exhaustion.

When I think of the devotion of my beautiful attendant, I am always astonished. She loved me, yet never showed any sexual jealousy. On one of the first occasions she brought a pretty geisha to me she said: “She is pretty but I don't think you'll care for her.” Then she got her to lie down and exposed her pussy. “You see,” she said, parting the moist lips, “she's not very small and she takes a long time to excite.”

“How do you know that?” I asked.

“Because I tried with my tongue before bothering you with her. But she wanted to come anyway, thinking, I suppose, her eyes would win you.” The girl's eyes were indeed very pretty.

Barring exact detail, I think I have said enough to show the extent of my debt to my little Oriental angel. It remains only for me to describe one heavenly night which I spent in her company.

To be precise, there was another girl present, another friend whom she had selected carefully for our night of love. “Look!” she said when she produced this friend. “She is really worth love! Her cunt is tighter than mine and with one touch it is all aflame!”

As I stood gazing at these two adorable creatures, each one nude, each perfect in her own way, I felt a tremendous desire stir in my loins.

“And don't think I'm going to leave you alone with her!” my lover laughed merrily. “Who knows? Both of us together may be able to keep you here in Kyoto! For I know you love me, Frank, and if what you say about your Western women is true, I don't understand why you wish to return to them. Now, use us, dear, just as you please!”

For a moment I was too dumbfounded to move! These two superb creatures with their pale, lemon-yellow skins, their neat hips, their perfect breasts, and their almost identical heads, set high on smooth, proud necks and capped by neat bells of blue-black hair. I had never before been offered so much and so delightfully! As I say, I was for a moment incapable of the slightest movement. But at last I said: “Stand where you are, close together, facing me!”

They laughed prettily and did as they were bid. Quickly, I removed my own clothes so that I stood naked before them, my cock standing out straight. My eyes were hypnotized by the twin cunts, by the neat chevrons of silky dark hairs which clung close to their lower bellies and disappeared in a neat point at the junction of their thighs, and even more perhaps by the beautiful ivory smoothness of the bellies themselves, indented neatly at their centers by the prettiest of navels. I moved over to them, and, falling on my knees in front of them, I encircled the smooth buttocks of each with either arm. The choice was before metwo pretty pussies, delicately scented after a manner in which only Japanese women know how, at the level of my doting lips!

“Taste us in turn!” my own sweet lover laughed delightedly. “Her firstshe is the guest!”

With my forehead against the warm belly of the other woman, I allowed my lips to mingle with her silky hairs, parting them with my tongue to find her sweet-smelling little clitoris.

Both girls laughed prettily and spoke in Japanese.

“What are you saying?” I said, faintly annoyed.

“Only that you will have to dig deep to find the gold!” exclaimed my friend in her lilting voice.

At that very moment my tongue, moving tentatively between the delicately fringed lips of the girl's sex, tasted an indescribable sweetness. I allowed it to slide into the slit and into the soft depths. Imagine my astonishment when a perfectly delightful ichor spread about my taste buds! The nearest I can come to the description of it is to say that it had the consistency of honey and tasted of violet and rose-leaves. At the same time I was conscious of the girl's quiver under my caress.

“You darlings!” I cried. “What have you done to yourselves?”

“An old love secret,” my lover explained. Then she added: “Why don't you take us both to the divan where we can be comfortable and relax. If my guess is correct, you will want to explore us both in this way for a long time!”

How right she was! The divan was a broad one. I lay between them with my feet towards their heads, or rather, so that my prick, rampant now with the urgency of the situation, was on a level with their mouths. I tasted first one and then the other, exploring, sucking, savoring, while they, darling lovers that they were, moved about my loins with their soft mouths, teasing my body into ecstasy. Soon both pussies became sticky and wet under my mouth, four lovely thighs rose upwards to allow deeper and more intimate penetration, and the coral lips of the young and small bushes opened like wet and loving mouths, much as flowers might, to exude the sweetest of ichors. If I had to say what liquid came nearest in my imagination to the mythical ambrosia, I would say that the natural liquid distilled in those warm ruby sheathes, mingling with the potion they had secreted there to lure me on, was undoubtedly the one. My lips were afire with lust to taste more deeply, more urgently, spreading the love juice amongst the shining hairs and onto the soft, delicately female-scented thighs.