My Secret Life (46 page)

Big-eyed Betsy Johnson.
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Early acquaintance.
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Brothels closed.
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Ten years later.
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It’s you Betsy!
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Her huge nymphœ.
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Protuberant eyes.
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Witty baudiness.
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My erotic requests.
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Her help.
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With Betsy and a man.
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Hesitations.
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His offers.
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I frig him.
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His arsehole offered.
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No erection available.
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Pestles and bumholes.
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Spunk and a toothpick.
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I poke Betsy.
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His thumb on my
bum.

 

[Before I tell about my acquaintance with this woman, — I must recall some facts to explain how that acquaintance was first made.

The London public had a fit of virtue to which it is subject periodically. It commenced a crusade against gay women, and principally those frequenting Regent and Coventry Streets, and others in that neighbourhood. Many nice, quiet accommodation houses were closed, and several nice gay women whom I frequented disappeared. Indeed, for a time, the police were set on with all their brutality. Women by dozens were taken before magistrates ruthlessly, and altho mostly cautioned and set at liberty, some were imprisoned; and the effect was, that for a short time the streets named, and a few others, were all but cleared of gay women.

Among the women who disappeared was one named Betsy Johnson, a lovely little creature under twenty, and in the perfection of her youth. Just before she disappeared, she said one night to me in her jocular way — “Fucking is done for here except for love, so I shall take to washing for my living.” — She disappeared, and I was now to meet her again some nine or ten years after.]

It was in the middle of November, and but about a month only after I had said good bye to Rosa W***e. — I was walking along the Strand, one very nasty, muddy, dank, dark night. The whores were lifting up their petticoats, partly to escape the mud, but more I expect to show their legs, as high as they dare, and I was gazing on them with pleasure, my wind wandering from their legs to their backsides. I passed a female nearly, then stopped — as I seemed to recognize an old carnal acquaintance.

“Why, it’s you Betsy.” — I turned round, and passed into a side street, followed by the female. “I don’t recollect you, yet I know the voice,” said she. — I made myself known. Several years had passed since I had seen her. It was Betsy Johnson, whom I had fucked just after she had turned gay, and at about the time I was in love with Sarah Mavis, and had quarrelled with her.

Betsy was a middle-sized female, but her plumpness and roundness were delicious. Her form was lovely then. She had a delicious skin, as smooth as ivory, fine chestnut hair, the same color on her cunt hair, of which she hadn’t much. She had two defects. Her eyes were excessively prominent, the clitoris was large, and the nymphæ very large. They hung out when first I knew her, and when she was not twenty years old, full half an inch below the outer lips, and for the entire length of the split. — I did not like that, yet I used to have her, for she was so beautiful in form, so smooth in skin, and fucked so divinely and her cunt fitted me heavenly. She was the wittiest woman of her class I ever met — it was good neat wit — and baudy wit as well at times, for she was fond of baudiness — She enjoyed it. She at that time took a fancy to me, but I did not return it — tho I saw her once or so, when I quarrelled with Sarah, as to the best of my recollection I have already narrated.

We went to a house and she stripped. She was as beautifully shaped as ever — but her genital deformity had increased. — The nymphæ hung down outside the cunt lips, I am sure one inch and a half along her whole split. — We had a long conversation about it and I told her of women having them cut off, I had read of that being done. — She was immensely interested in that, and also had heard of its being done. — She must muster up courage to have them cut, she said. — Men, she was sure, didn’t like those flaps — tell her, “Did they?” — Since she had been back in London, she could not secure any regular friends, and kept very poor. “These precious nymphæ must be the cause, they do not please I expect.”

She was always lascivious. — “Your fucking is delicious, me dear. You still do it well.” — On my preparing to leave. “Why sure, and you’re not going after doing it once, and all these years since I’ve seen you? — I recollect you, when I had to tell you you had done enough for your money. — Ah, I’m older, but sugar me if you go yet,” — said she, clutching hold of my prick. So we fucked again, and again, for I could not resist her. — “You’ll go home straight me dear tonight, won’t you, a fresh cunt won’t make it stand again, till you’ve laid on your back a little, and filled your belly with grub, me dear.” — “Won’t you see me again?” “Perhaps.” — “Ah,” said she reflectingly. “You don’t like me, I’ll go back to S***b**ry. I’m not getting on here — whoring is not my game now.” — She was one of those who boldly spoke of whoring for her living — I did not like that. — “Why, it’s what it is, isn’t it?” she had said when I checked her for her plain speaking.

I did see her again, but her large flapping nymphæ rather turned my lust off. I wanted to go to her rooms. — “You can’t, it would horrify you,” said the poor woman. — “You see, I’ve only a gown and chemise on — it’s all I’ve got, but I must show my legs nice.” — “My legs are my fortune sir,” she said. — She had a lovely leg still, and had silk stockings on, and nice boots, tho almost without under-clothing. “I sleep on the floor on a mattress, there is no bedstead, only a mattress, a table, and a jerry in the room, that’s all. I’ve not even a blind, me darling.” — She was not Irish, but affected the brogue.

When we were parting, “Can I do anything for you?” — she asked — what she meant I didn’t exactly know, but chaffingly I replied. — “Yes, Betsy. Get me a nice young cunt without a bit of hair on it — and a man to frig.” “Och, yer baste, is it a young cunt yer wants, — not for Joseph. But I’ll get you a man easy enough if you mean it.” — “I do,” said I — suddenly thinking I should. — “Well, there are plenty of them.” — “But in your room.” — “Impossible, you and the sod too, would not stop in it five minutes.” When I told her those wants, I didn’t mean what I said, but at a subsequent meeting she suggested them, and it ended in my arranging to meet her with a man, and we were to go to his rooms together two or three days after, for she had stimulated my curiosity.

I met them in S**o S****e. — He took off his hat respectfully. — “Go ahead, and I’ll follow,” said I, and on they both went. — She then fell back — I was nervous and told her so. “If I go with you and him is all square?” — “It’s all safe, but mind he shan’t touch me, he shan’t fuck me if that’s what you mean — I can’t bear the beasts.” — “All right, go on, I only want to see what a man of this sort is like.” — On the two went, crossed O
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f
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d St., to a long street, out of which turning up a paved court, he opened with a latch key a door and up we all well went to a first floor over a shop, and into a well furnished sitting-room, and bedroom. As we entered she again fell back, and whispered, — “Mind he don’t touch me.” — “All right, but no plant Betsy, eh?” — “All square, my pet.” — It was a dark night, and I was awfully nervous, but an extraordinary curiosity was on me. I wondered if it was great pleasure to bugger — Betsy had said that men had told her it was.

At last then, the erotic caprice, which I been thinking of at intervals for years, a caprice which had subsided, been forgotten, but from time to time been roused by the sights through key holes, and peep holes, of couples fucking: a caprice which had got strength, by each succeeding prick I had seen, and specially by the big furnished young man, whom I last saw (poking his wife at Paris) was to be gratified — I had overcome all scruples, and satisfied myself that there was no more harm in feeling another’s prick, than in feeling my own. — There was the man before me, on whom I might satisfy all my curiosity — and yet I began to tremble. — Once indeed on the road I stopped Betsy, and said I should not go home with them — but on her laughing at me, I persevered.

Indeed my heart had palpitated so violently as I followed them, and I felt so afraid of what I was doing, that once I thought of running away — (I have, since that time, had a similar fear) — Pride, bravado, and the curiosity of handling another man’s prick, of seeing his emotions in spending, kept me going. — It was nothing but curiosity, for I never liked a man even about me. — But to frig one! — Ah! So many years had elapsed since I had done that, that I seemed to have forgotten all about it.

We went into the bed-room together. She stayed in the sitting-room. — “She is better there,” said he. — “Let’s see your prick,” I said as soon as I had a little overcome my tremor. — He pulled it out, it looked small. I touched it with a sort of dislike. — “Are you fond of a bit of brown?” — he asked. — I did not understand and he explained. — “We always say a bit of brown among ourselves, and a cunt’s a bit of red.” — I had a feeling of nausea, but went on. — “Let’s frig you.” — He took off all but his shirt, and seating him on my knee I began to frig him. He questioned me whilst doing so — had I been up a man? — “No.” — Then there was no pleasure like it. — I frigged violently but his prick would not stand, I talked baudy and about women. He said “A bit of brown is worth a hundred cunts.” I felt quite disconcerted, for his cock remained small and flabby. I had thought that talking about cunts would stiffen it.

The conversation, then led by him, took an arsehole turn. — He asked me to let him feel my bumhole. — I consented. — In for a penny, in for a pound, I began to think. Taking down my trowsers, he looked at my bum, and his prick stood at the sight. “Is it virgin?” said he, and felt it. — Then, standing by my side, my left arm round his waist to steady me, I frigged him, and the little bugger spent, but a very little. I rushed to wash my hand.

When he had composed himself, he washed his tool, and became very curious about me, and most energetically felt my prick. — “Put it up me,” — said he. — “I can’t, my prick won’t stand.” — “Shall I suck it?” — “You?” — “Yes.” — “Do you do so?” — “Lord yes, I have had it so thick in my mouth, that I’ve had to pit it out of my teeth with a toothpick.” — I turned sick, but after a time I turned his arse towards me, and got my prick stiff by hard frigging, determined to try what buggery was like. But the moment I put it against his arsehole down it drooped — He was kneeling at the side of the bed. — “Wet it well with your spittle,” said he, wetting his own hole. — It was useless, and I desisted. — “You will presently,” he remarked. — But tho I tried again and again, determined to know everything, and to do everything once in my life, it was useless.

Then he went to a drawer, and produced a small marble pestle such as chemists use, and asked me to let him put it up my bum, extolling the pleasure I should have. — “It must hurt,” I said. — “Oh dear no, look.” — Going to the side of the bed, he laid down, and cocking up his legs, shoved it up his own arsehole a little way. — That only made me feel more sick, I was so unsophisticated in such matters. I expect he saw that, for he took it out. But then he produced two more of different sizes, one quite a large one, and told me there was a friend he visited every week, who met him in his stables, and he put the larger one up his fundament. — That man said it was not large enough to give him pleasure. “I put it up him to there” said the sodomite marking with his thumb the spot on the pestle. But the description made me feel more modest. — “You should have the small one up first, I will do it for you, and I know such a sweet young man who would suck your prick at the same time if you would like.” — “Oh, no.” — “Do let me sod you,” — said he all at once and quite affectionally, “I should so like to do it to you and take your virginity,” and he shook his prick, and frigged it a little. — It was not stiff, and was very sharp pointed, but not at all a large one.

I was now quite flabbergasted. His coolness and his tale of picking his teeth free of semen, made me actually shudder. — Then the pestles. — Fancy two men together in a stable, one shoving a pestle up the other’s bum. — How curious I thought, yet how abominable — it’s incredible. Yet still I felt curious. — “Does it make him spend?” I asked — “His prick stands after I have worked it up and down in the brown for a while, then I go on gently, and suck his prick, till he spends,” — he replied coolly.

Again I frigged him, curious to see his emotions, and watched his face when with difficulty he spent slightly. — But my cock would not stand. — So I went into the room to Betsy, determined to try her cunt. — She had been, she told me afterwards, looking thro, and listening at the door all the time. “Don’t come near me,” said she to to the sod. — After much ado she made my cock stand, I mounted her, and fucked, feeling his prick whilst I did so — that either suggested itself to me, or he suggested it — and it seemed to increase my pleasure.

Then as I rammed up Betsy’s cunt, I became conscious he was feeling me behind, and that his thumb or finger was intruding into my bum hole. — “Feel her brown,” said he. — I was in the height of my pleasure. “You beast,” said Betsy. — Whether I obeyed his advice or not, I can’t say. I spent, and fetched her, and then we quickly parted. — I gave him a sovereign, no more, and her two, before each other. — They made no remark. — I promised to see him again, but had no intention of doing so, and never did.

I met her soon afterwards, and she was curious. “Did his arse-hole seem large?” I was unable to tell her, disliked even to refer to it, yet my curiosity seemed unsatisfied and I had a sort of desire to learn more, yet a dislike to myself for desiring it. — When she asked me if she should get him again, I refused point blank, yet all the time longing to try, and dissatisfied at not having put my prick up him, to see if it gave some unknown pleasure or not.

A little virgin wanted. — One found.
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At J***s St. with her.
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Another Molly. — Betsy’s baudy antics.
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Molly modest, stripped, and liquored up.
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Pitching shillings at cunts.
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Molly refuses my amatory advances.
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Betsy’s threats.
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Molly’s virginity verified.
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All three on the bed.
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Molly refuses me.
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Betsy’s rage.
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My prick up Betsy temporarily.
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Molly convinced.
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I mount her. — A wriggler and screecher.
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The bed pillow employed. — Stroke number one.
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The bloody sequel.