It was an unusually hot summer, 1856. Shortly after my arrival at the McGill place, Maighread and I set off on horseback to ride along the river as she suggested the previous night. At one point, we picked out a spot in the shade where we sat for a spell. Maighread had packed a picnic lunch, which she put inside an enormous leather bag.
“Let’s go swimming,” she said.
“Water’s too swift. We’ll get washed away.”
“Oh, c’mon, you must know a place around here where we can go swimming. Don’t tell me that you’ve lived here all this time and you’ve never gone swimming.”
We rode a bit further, took a few turns and detours, before stopping to tie the horse to a tree. I then led Maighread through a maze of brush to come out at one of my secret places, a spot where I had come countless times to swim, take a bath and then do the deed. The deep rocky pool there was fed by a small stream, the outflow of which flowed into the river about a mile away. The area was well hidden.
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I stood in awe at the sight of her as she swam to the far shore. This was no school girl for sure. This was a grown woman, with a grown woman’s body, completely developed. Of course, I sort of figured as much anyway, but to see the stark reality left me with indefinable, even somewhat uncomfortable feelings. I believe I was actually envious, envious that this mature developed body of hers, this prize that only women possess, was something that I didn’t have, something that was all hers, to share or not. I wanted her to want me as much as I wanted her, and as crazy as it sounds, I saw her body as some wonderful exclusive thing that she owned, something that separated her and me, something that put a distance between her and me. Women are different in this respect I thought to myself. They do not have these same sorts of thoughts and feelings about men, that men have about