My Secret Life (33 page)

I pattered out all my lust, my desire to have her, incitements, and baudy compliments on her form. “Let me fuck you.” “You shan’t.” “You know what it means.” “I know what you mean.” “What harm could I do? — who would know?” And then the old, old trick. Taking her great fist in mine, I put my stiff prick into it. What a persuader! Though she kept up a show of struggling she did not get it away from that article instantly.

I suppose unless utterly distasteful to each other, that a man and woman cannot feel each other’s privates, without experiencing reciprocal baudy emotions. They get tender to each other. The woman always does, after she has got over the first shock to her modesty, and her temporary anger. If after a man has felt her, a thermometer could be applied to her split, I believe it would be found to have risen considerably in temperature. After struggling and kissing, trying to feel her quim, trying to keep my hand on her thighs, it ended in our having our mouths together and my hand being pinched between her two great thighs, whilst the knuckles of one of her hands, with sham reluctance touched my doodle, just as the cab reached her dwelling, and there we parted. All the rest of our conversation was about her soldier, her being dismissed, and is not worth writing.

The next
day. — At
the
Tower. — In
tears.
—
“The
wretch is married.” — At T
^***
f
^***
d Street. — After dinner.
—
On the chamberpot.
—
My wishes refused.
—
An attack.
—
Against the bed.
—
A stout resistance.
—
I threaten to leave her.
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Tears and supplications.
—
On the sofa. - Reluctant consent. — A half-virgin.

Next day she met me early, and we drove to the Tower. On the road I instructed her what to do when there (it was full six miles off). I tried my best to get her passions up in a delicate way, but amatory fingerings I avoided whilst the poor woman was in search of her lover. The feeling of each other’s privates on the previous night, had opened her heart to me. She let out a little more of the history of her escapade with the soldier, and asked my advice how to act in certain eventualities, which could only be applicable to a woman who had been rogered. She was painfully anxious as she approached the Tower. I stopped in the cab just in sight of the entrance, and after instructing her carefully again who to ask for, and what to do, in she went.

In half an hour she came back with wet swollen eyes, got into the cab, and began to bellow loudly. The cabman had opened the door for her, and stood waiting for orders. For a few seconds I could get nothing out of her, then told the cabman to drive to a public house near. There I gave her gin, but still could learn nothing. All she said was, “Oh! such a vagabond!” Into the cab again. I told the man where to drive to, for I had laid my plans. “Tell me,
—
it’s not fair after all the trouble I’ve taken not to tell me,”
—
sob
—
sob
—
sob. Soon after it all came in a gush. “Yes he was there, that is, he was two days ago,” but the regiment had gone to Dublin, and would not be back for eighteen months,
—
a letter would be sent him of course, but his wife would be there in a day, for,
—
“Oh! - hoh!
—
hoh!
—
the wretch is a married man, and he’s deceived me.” “You should not have let him do it.” “I didn’t mean to.” “You let him do it more than once I’ll swear.” “He did it twice to me, when in the house, — he swore he’d marry me three days after, if I let him, — and so I d — did, — ho! — her — ho!”

Thus I heard in snatches the whole history, which she told me more plainly afterwards. She had been fucked twice on the eventful night, once on the ground in a lane, and once in a bed-room.

I drove to T***f***d Street. It was not much more than mid-day. I got a comfortable little sitting-room, out of which was a large bed-room. A dinner was sent in by an Italian restaurant close by. After her first grief had subsided, the wine cheered her, and she made a good dinner, talking all the time of her “misfortun.” When we had finished for a while I sat caressing her. Then I said, “I want to piddle,” — and pulling my prick out before her went into the bed-room and pissed.

“Don’t you want to?” “No.” “Nonsense, — do you suppose I don’t know? — now go.” She went into the bed-room. I quietly opened the door ajar directly she had closed it. There was she sitting on the pot, one leg naked, adjusting her garter, and pissing hard.

Then raising her clothes that side she scratched her backside in a dreamy fashion, looking up at the walls. The rattle of her piddle went on. She had been out all the morning, had had gin and champagne, and her bladder must have been full. The side she scratched was towards me. She finished piddling, but still she sat scratching her rump. Then rising she turned round, looked in the pot, put it under the bed, pushed her clothes between her thighs, and looking round saw me at the half-opened door. She gave a start, I rushed up to her.

“What lovely thighs, - what a splendid bum” (though I hadn’t seen it). “What a shame, — you’ve been looking at me.” “Yes my darling, — what a lot you have pissed, — what a bum, — I saw you scratch it, - let’s feel it, as I did last night, and you know what you felt.” I got my hands on to her naked thighs, pushing her bum up against the bedside.

“What a shame to think you have been looking, — leave me alone, — pray do, — now you shan’t, — no — you sh — han’t.”

I closed with her. I had pulled my stiff-stander out. I shook it at her. “Look at this my darling, — let me put it in you, — up your cunt.” “No, — leave off, — I won’t, — I have had enough of you men, — you shan’t.”

For a long time the game went on, I begging her to let me have her, she refusing. We struggled and almost fought. Twenty times I got her clothes up to her belly, my hand between her thighs. I groped all round her firm buttocks, and pinched them, grasped her cunt-wig, and pulled it till she cried out. All the devices I had used with others, all I could think of, I tried in vain. Then I ceased pulling up her clothes; but hugging her to me besought her, kissing and coaxing, keeping one. of her hands down against my prick, which she would not feel, — but it was useless. Then stooping and again pulling up her petticoats, letting loose every baudy word that came into my mind, — and I dare say the choicest words, — I threw myself on my knees, and butting my head like a goat up her petticoats, got my mouth on to her cunt, and felt her clitoris in my lips; but I could not move her. She was far stronger than me. Then rising I tried to lift and shove her on to the bed. I might as well have tried to lift the bed itself. I tried to drag her towards a large sofa, big enough for two big people to lay side by side, and made for easy fucking. All was useless. Her weight and her strength were such that I could not move her. There she stood with her backside against the edge of the bed, her hair getting loose, one of her stockings pulled by me down to her ankle, and the upper part of her dress torn open, but no, she would not let me. She was frightened, — she would not, — I was as bad as the soldier. In the excitement she no longer cared about her legs showing to her knees, but her cunt she fought for, and get my prick against it I could not.

So we struggled I don’t know how long, and then breathless, fatigued, I got into a violent rage, — a natural rage, not an artificial one, — and it told as brutality often tells with a woman.

We stood looking at each other. She kept one hand on her clothes just outside her quim, as if to defend it. I with my prick out, felt defeated and mortified. I had been so successful with women, that I could not understand not getting my way now. “You damned fool,” I said, “I dare say fifty have fucked you, and you make a sham about your damned cunt, and your fears, — what did you come here for?” She opened her eyes with astonishment at my temper. “I didn’t know I was coming here, — didn’t know you meant me to do that, — you said you’d be kind to me, and give me something to eat, sir, — I’d not eaten since last night, — you said you would be kind to me, sir.” It was said in the deferential tone of a servant.

“So I will, but if I’m kind, you must be kind to me, — why should it be all on one side?” “I’m sure I don’t know,” she whimpered. “You know he fucked you, and I dare say a dozen others have.” “No one’s ever done it but he, and he only did it twice,” said she blubbering. “Let me.” “No I won’t, — I’m frightened to.” “Go and be damned.” I put in my prick which had drooped, went into the adjoining room, put on my hat and coat, took up my stick, and returning to the bed-room, there was she still with her arse against the bed, crying. She started up when she saw me dressed to go out.

“Oh! don’t leave me here alone sir, — you won‘t, will you?” “Yes I shall, — you can find your way out.” “Oh! let me go with you sir.” “I shan’t, nor see you again, — why should I? — you won’t let me have you, not even feel you!”

“I would let you, but I’m frightened. — I’ve got my living to get, and I’ve been ill-treated enough by that vagabond, — I didn’t think you brought me here for that.” “What did you think then?” “I didn’t think about it at all, — I was all along thinking of him.” “You didn’t think of him when I felt your cunt in the cab last night, — good-bye.”

“Oh! stay only a minute, — do stay sir, — don’t leave me here.” She still stood against the bed. “Will you let me? — what a fool you are.” “Oh! don’t call me names, - I would, but I’m frightened, — I’ve got my living to get.” “Haven’t you been fucked?” “Y — hes, — y — hes,” she sobbed out, “but it wasn’t no fault of mine, — I was — aho! — fud — died,” — and she blubbered as loud as a bull roaring.

A sentiment of compassion came over me, for I never could bear to see a woman cry. I threw off my hat and coat, and going up to her as she stood, kissed her. “There then, — let me feel your cunt, — that can’t hurt you.”

She did not struggle any more. I lifted her clothes, and placed my fingers on her quim. I frigged hard at the right spot, but could get my fingers no further towards the sacred hole. Her massive thighs shut me off from the prick-tube as closely as if it had been a closed door — I could not get my hand between them.

But my fingers were between the cunt-lips, twiddling and rubbing. “Don’t cry, — you’ll let me I know, — who will know but we?” I fetched a tumbler of champagne from the sitting-room, and she took it like a draught of water. Up went my hand again, and with fingers rubbing her clitoris we talked and kissed side by side. Then turning myself more towards her, up went my other hand round her big bum, which felt as hard, and smooth, and cold as marble.

This went on a long time. She began gradually to yield when she felt the effects of titillation. She then grasped my fiery doodle. Then frigging her harder, her head dropped over my shoulder, and I got my fingers under the clitoris, and there to the hole. “Oh! (a start) you are scratching me, — you’re hurting me there.”

Taking away my had. “Come here, — don’t be foolish,” said I, “let us do it, — you will enjoy it, — come,” — and I pulled her. Her big form left the bed, and slowly she came with me to the sofa. “Sit down, — there, dear — kiss me, — put up your legs, there’s a darling.” Slowly, but with much pushing and begging there at last she lay, and the instant she was down I threw her petticoats up, and myself on to her.

I saw the great limbs white as snow. A dark hairy mass up in her thigh-tops. “Oh! don’t hurt.” “Nonsense I don’t.” “You do indeed, — oh!” My hands are roving, my arse oscillating. I’m up a cunt, — all is over, — she is fucked.

“Did you have pleasure (I always asked that if I had doubt), — answer me, — did you? — do say, — what nonsense to hold your tongue, — tell me.” “Yes I did, after you had done hurting me.” “Did I really hurt you?” “Yes.” “Impossible.” “You did.” What a sham, I thought to myself, a woman always is, — a Grenadier has fucked her twice, yet she says my prick hurts her.

I turned off on my side, the sofa being large enough. We had done the trick, and the recklessness of the woman who has tasted the pleasure, and feels the man’s spunk in her quim, had come over her. The champagne added its softening influence. She pulled her dress half-down, we laid and talked. I felt her quim. “Don’t.” “What is it?” “I’m sore.” “Why, you are bleeding.” “You’ve hurt me.” Out stood my prick, then rose upright again in a moment. Her blood on my finger and her pain gave me a voluptuous shiver. My trowsers were in my way. I tore them off, and stood by her side. “Let me see your cunt.” She resisted, but I saw her big thighs closed, and the dark-haired ornamentation. Then getting between her thighs kneeling, I pulled open the lips from which blood-stained sperm was oozing; then I dropped on to her, and again drove my prick up her. A glorious fuck it seemed as I clutched her huge, firm buttocks, and felt her grasping me round my arse. All women, and even girls without any instruction put their arms round the men who are tailing them, the first time they feel the pleasure, but not before. Then we dozed in each other’s arms. Then we got up, she confused, I joyous and filled with curious baudiness. “Wash, — won’t you?” “You go then.” I did, but back I went soon. She had just sluiced it. “You are not bleeding.” “I am a little.” “You are poorly.” “I am not.”

I brought her back into the sitting-room. We drank more wine, she got fuddled, not drunk, or frisky, or noisy, but dull, stupid, and obedient. We fucked again and again, and stayed at the baudy house, drinking and amusing ourselves till nine at night. How that big woman enjoyed the prick up her! And the opening of her cunt opened her heart and mouth to me as well.

The big servant’s history. — The soldier at the railway station.
—
Courting.
—
In the village lane.
—
On the grass. — At the pot-house.
—
Broached partially.
— Inspection of her privates refused. — Lewed
abandonment.
—
Her first spend. — A night with her. — Her form. — Sudden effects of a looking-glass. — The baud solicits her.
—
Sexual force and enjoyment.
—
She gets a situation.
—
We cease meeting.
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The butcher’s wife.
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An accidental meeting. — She was Sarah by name.