Howard Longfellow

My experience in a country

My partner had been on the scene of operations in this particular county for some time and had given me most curious accounts of the natives, whom he declared to be extremely hospitable, friendly, but vastly peculiar in their social relations. Owing probably to the sparse population and the wide distances which often separated families from each other, habits had been formed which no attempt was made to conceal, and which if practiced in more civilized districts, are covered up with the greatest cauton.

Whether owing to the climatic or other causes the sexual passions among these natives are strong and precocious; hence the same impulses which would drive a solitary boy or girl to masturbation has impelled these isolated families to all forms of incestuous indulgences. My partner assured me that not only did father and mother engage in copulation unreservedly before their children, but as soon as the children were old enough the father invariably fucked his daughters and the mothers surrendered her cunt to the use of her sons. But even before this the children are taught and encouraged to copulate among themselves-a practice which once formed was never abandoned, so that in all these mountain families, which were invariably large, the parents and children, brothers and sisters, lived in absolute promiscuous incest.

I was thinking over the various stories I had been told in this connection as I toiled up the mountain toward the cabin of Chuck Grannis, the superintendent of the mine, with whom I was to spend the night. Finally the place loomed in sight rather more pretentious than the majority of mountain cabins and consisting of several rooms. When I appeared I saw that the door was open, and I stepped in.

There was no one there but a group of children, seven of them, sturdy bright-eyed little beggars.

The oldest was a girl of fourteen, and the youngest a boy of seven. Their clothing was extremely primitive, the girls having only one garment which scarcely reached the knees. The boys had shirts and pants, though in a state of dilapidation, for the shirts were buttonless and displayed the little bodies, and the pants were torn so that pretty patches of pink skin peeped through.

The littlest boy had on only a shirt, which, pushed up by his rounded buttocks in the back, reached only a little below his waist in the front, there displaying the lower part of his belly, his straight muscular legs and a sweet little pintle resting on its tight smooth bag.

I addressed the oldest girl, whose name I found was Lissa, and asked if this were the cabin of Chuck Grannis.

"Yes," she replied, "but Daddy is at the mine and won't be back till evening. If you're Mr. Ludlow you're please to step in and make yourself at home."

"Yes, my dear," I said, "I am Mr. Ludlow," and I stepped in.

There was no shyness about the children and no fear of a stranger, and we were soon talking together very pleasantly, and I was telling them about my trip up the mountain.

The littlest boy, whom they called Trippy, stood in front of me with his legs spread and began to play with his penis.

"What are you doing, kiddie?" I asked.

"Rubbing up Tom," he replied. "Just watch me skin him," and he pulled down the pliant foreskin and uncovered the pink head.