Some husbands treat their wives with a satisfactory erotic technique from the first, and a few continue it through their entire married life. Others err from the first, through ignorance, and still others are backsliders in the pursuit of the erotic art; and true love departs from these.
There have been others who by accident have found after years of wedded life the key to marital happiness, or have been instructed by some erotologist—some physician who knows or some intimate friend.
The story of one husband who happened to discover for himself a secret that had escaped him for years is here given:
It was in the twentieth year of their marriage. Their son was eighteen and their daughter sixteen. Another daughter was not yet born.
They were off for a week in the month of August in the Adirondacks. All the morning they had tramped over the hills until they came to a lake, solitary, shut in by forests, a mountain overtowering the side opposite them—reflected green and blue in the waters that met their eyes as they approached a beach of fine white sand.
Sitting awhile they rejoiced in having found so fine a place to eat their lunch. They were miles from any human habitation. A heron floated majestically through the air. A kingfisher hurried noisily athwart their view. A fish jumped out of the water a dozen rods away and made a circle of waves which slowly enlarged until it became lost to sight.
Instinctively they both threw off their clothes and stepped down to the water’s edge hand in hand.
“I’ll beat you in!”
“Let’s swim to that little island.”
In they splashed and swam the first few yards under water, he leading the way, she following, but his eyes closely watching for any indication on her part of fatigue.