My Secret Life (37 page)

The girl got upright, I could now only see half her legs. “Hish! did you hear?” said she. Both were silent. “It must be the woman in the next place.” “It sounded like a man.” Then she spoke in a whisper. “No it can’t be.” She squatted again laughing. “It’s no one.” Her evacuations dropped and off she got. “You go, Mary,” said the other. “I only want to pee, and I’ll do it on the floor.” “The dirty creatures, why don’t they keep the place clean?” Squatting I watched her face. It was all I could see then, and suppose she pissed. I only saw her hitch up her clothes, but nothing more.

Then the closet-woman came, and wiped the seat grumbling, women opened the door whilst she was doing so, then others came in, and for half an hour or so, I saw a succession of buttocks, fat and thin, clean and dirty, and cunts of all colours. I have told of all worth noting. The train went off, and all was quiet. I had again diarrhoea, and what with evacuating, the belly-ache, and frigging excitement, felt so fatigued that I was going away. As I opened the door the woman was just putting the key in. She started back as she saw me.

“Are you ill?” she said. “Yes.” “What a time you have staid, — why did you not go?” Then all at once, as if suspecting something, she began looking at the backs of the women’s closets, and found the hole, and looking half smiling, half angry, “You made that,” said she. “No.” “Yes you did.” I declared I had not. “Ah! méchant,
—
méchant,” said she (looking through the hole), and something about the chef de la gare. “You have been peeping through.” “Certainly.” I was so excited, so full of the adventure, that I had been bursting to tell some one, and talk the incident over. So in discreet words I told her about the man, and the woman, and her letters, and other incidents, till she was amused, and laughed. Then spite of my illness my lust got strong as I looked at her, for she had a cunt. She was a coarse sun-tanned, but fine stout sort of tall peasant woman about thirty-five years old. So I told her of the pretty little splits, and nice bums I had seen, all in select language. And I so longed, Madame. “Oh! if I had had them in here.” “Ah! no doubt.” “Or if you had been here, for I wished for you.” “For me? — ah! ah!” — and she slapped both her thighs and laughed. “Mais je suis mariée, moi, — ah! méchant, — méchant.” “Here is another five francs, but I must have a kiss.” She gave it seemingly much flattered. I said I should come the next day. “Ah! non!” she must tell the Chef, it was her duty, — it would be useless if I came for that hole.

We talked on. She was the wife of a workman who it seems travelled up and down the line almost continually with officers of the railway, and only came home about once a week, or ten days. She had no children. Whilst talking my diarrhœa came on. My paper was gone, she produced some from her pocket, and simply turned her back whilst I eased myself (the enclosure had no door), as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Finally after saying that she would not dare to let me in the next day, yet on a promise of ten francs she said she would, and volunteered the information, that by an early train many farmers’ wives would probably arrive for the market, that many would come by the line just opened. She must report the hole to the Chef, — it might cost her her place if she did not, and it would be stopped. I kissed her again, and whispered in her ear, “I wish I had seen you sitting, and that you had come in here afterwards.” “Ah! mon Dieu que vous êtes méchant,” she replied laughing, and looking lewedly in my eyes — and I went off. I had been there hours.

 

At the time I speak of I was travelling easily from place to place, without trouble or worry, eating, drinking, and living in the open air, and getting the chance of women every three or four days only. Then I could fuck them every two hours comfortably, and even five times in a night, but never more. Three times was my usual number, twice at night, and if I slept with them, once again in the morning. I did nothing, or but rarely anything to exhaust myself, and was always ready for a woman. What a delightful time it was. Soon after I returned to England.

Camille the second. — Stripping. — The divan. — Cock-washing. — Camille’s antecedents. — Face, form, and cunt. — Mode of copulating. — Avaricious. - Free fucking offered. — Gabrielle.
—
Cunt, form, and face. — Minette.

Since I had finished with Camille, her sister Louise, and the French artistes in letchery whom she introduced to me when I was twenty-one years old, I do not recollect having gone with a French woman excepting when abroad, my tastes ran on my own countrywomen. Now in the year 18
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, a year of national importance, and one in which strangers came from all parts of the world to London, I was to have a French woman again.

Was it for the sake of change only, or because they were more willing, salacious, enterprising, and artistic in Paphian exercises? — was it my recollection of having that when I did not want it? — I cannot say.

At quite the beginning of the month of June, about four o’clock in the afternoon, I saw a woman walking slowly along Pall-Mall dressed in the nicest and neatest way. I could scarcely make up my mind whether she was gay or not, but at length saw the quiet invitation in her eye, and slightly nodding in reply, followed her to a house in B**y Street, St. James. She was a French woman named Camille.

I named my fee, it was accepted, and in a quiet, even ladylike way she began undressing. With a neatness unusual in gay women, one by one each garment was folded up, and placed on a chair, pins stuck in a pin-cushion, &c., with the greatest composure, and almost without speaking. I liked her even for that, and felt she would suit my taste. As each part of her flesh came into view, I saw that her form was lovely. When in her chemise, I began undressing, she sitting looking at me. When in my shirt, I began those exquisite preliminaries with this well-made, pretty woman, feeling her all over, and kissing her; but my pego was impatient, and I could not go on at this long. Smiling she laid hold of my prick. “Shall we make love?” this was in the bed-room. “Yes.” “Here, or in the salon?” “I don’t like a sofa.” “Mais ici,” said she pushing the door open wide, and pointing to a piece of furniture which I had not noticed, though noticeable enough.

In the room was a sort of settee or divan, as long, and nearly as wide as a good-sized bed; so wide that two people could lie on it side by side. It had neither head nor feet, but presented one level surface, covered with a red silky material, and a valance hanging down the sides. At one end were two pillows, also red, and made flat like two bed-pillows. “There, on that,” said I at once.

I never saw any divan or piece of furniture like it in my life since, neither in brothel, nor in private house, here or on the Continent, excepting once when quite in the extreme East of Europe.

It was a blazing hot day. “Shall I take off my chemise?” “Yes.” Off she took it, folded it up, and took it into the bedroom. “Take off your shirt.” Off I drew it, and we both stood naked. She laid hold of my stiff prick, gave it a gentle shake, laughed, fetched two towels, spread one on the divan for her bum, laid the other on a pillow for me, went back to the bedroom, poured out water in the basin, then laid herself down naked on the divan with her bum on the towel. I kissed her belly and thighs, and she opened them wide for me to see her notch without my having asked her to do so. To pull it open, have a moment’s glance at the red, kiss and feel her rapidly over, mount her, fuck and spend, was only an affair of two or three minutes, so strongly had she stirred my lust for her.

I laid long up her, raising myself on my elbow to talk with her whilst my prick was still in her sheath. At length it slipped out. Gently she put her hand down, and caught it, taking off the excess of moisture. Delicately she raised the towel, and put her hand on her cunt, and saying with a smile, “Mon Dieu, il y en a assez,” went to the bed-room, I following her.

She wiped her cunt with the towel, half squatting to do so, then rose up quickly saying, “Shall I wash you?” I had begun, but the offer pleased me. I have no recollection as I write this, of any gay woman having made such an offer since the first French Camille, and one or two of her set, excepting yellow-haired Kitty, who liked doing that to me. “Yes wash it.” “Hold the basin then,” — and talking it up she placed it under me, so that my testicles hung into it whilst I held it. She washed me. “Soap?” “Yes.” “Inglis sop” (laughing), — the first English words I heard her speak. My prick washed, she performed a similar operation on herself. All was done so nicely, cleanly, and delicately that I have never seen it excelled by any woman.

“Causons-nous?” said she leading the way to the divan. Then both laying down naked we gossiped. She was from Aries, in France, eighteen years ago, had been in London a fortnight, had been tailed six months and lived with her father most of the time. A month ago had been persuaded to go to Lyons by an old woman who there sold her pleasures, and kept her money. Another old one snapped her up there, and brought her to London, to a house in B
^**
n
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s Street, where a young French woman more experienced than Camille induced her to work on her own account. They two got away, Camille set up in B
^**
y Street, her friend elsewhere. That was told me laying naked with her on the divan.

[She was alone in London, and still exercising her occupation the other day, thirty-one years after I first had her. I have known her, and had her occasionally during all that time, though sometimes two or three years have elapsed between my visits to her. She has been in poor circumstances for years past, and oftentimes I have gone out of my way purposely to meet her, and give her a bit of gold, out of regard for her.]

We lay during her narration (which was soon told) naked. Hot as it was I felt a slight coolness, and drawing myself closer up to her, “It’s cool,” I said. Without reply, she put one hand over me to help my embrace of her, with the other handled gently my prick, the next instant kissed me, and I felt her tongue peeping out of her pretty lips, seeking my tongue. My fingers naturally had been playing gently about her cunt all the time of our talk, and her hand rubbing gently over my naked flesh. So for a minute in silence our tongues played with each other, and then without a word and with one consent, and like one body we moved together gently, she on to her back, I on to her belly, my prick went up her, and with slow probing thrusts, with now and then a nestle and a pause, till the rapid clip-clip of her cunt drove me into more rapid action, to the rapid in and out and the final short thrusts and wriggle against her womb, till my prick with strong pulsations sent my sperm up her again. “Ah! chéri, — mon Dieu, — a — h — a!” she sighed as she had spent with me. “You fuck divinely,” said she, but in chaste words, afterwards.

A wash as before, and then with chemise and shirt on, we talked about France, London, beer, wine, and other topics. “Let me look at your cunt.” I had scarcely looked at it. Without reply she fell back, opened her thighs, and then I saw all, all, — and so for two hours we went on, till it was time for me to dine, and with a parting fuck which we both enjoyed, we parted. I added another piece of gold to what I had already put on the mantel piece before she began to undress. A custom of mine then, and always followed since, is putting down my fee, — it prevents mistakes, and quarrels. When paid, if a woman will not let me have her, be it so, — she has some reason, — perhaps a good one for me. If she be a cheat, and only uses the money to extort more, be it so. — I know my woman, and have done with her henceforth.

Camille was a woman of perfect height, above five foot seven, and beautifully formed, had full, hard, exquisite breasts, and lovely legs and haunches, though not too fat or heavy. The hair on her cunt, soft and of a very dark chestnut colour, was not then large in quantity, but corresponded with her years. Her cunt was small, with small inner lips, and a pretty nubbly clitoris like a little button. The split of her cunt lay between the thighs with scarcely any swell of outer-lips, but had a good mons, and was altogether one of the prettiest cunts I have ever seen. I am now beginning, after having seen many hundreds of them, to appreciate beauty in cunts, to be conscious that there is a special, a superior beauty in the cunts of some women as compared with others, just as there is in other parts of their body. She had pretty hands and feet.

Her skin had the slightly brown gipsy tint found in many women in the South of Europe. I never saw a woman in whom the colour was so uniform as in her. From her face to her ankles it was the same unvarying tint without a mottle, even in any cranny. It had also the most exquisite smoothness, but it neither felt like ivory, satin, nor velvet, it seemed a compound of them all. I have scarcely felt the same in any other woman yet. That smoothness attracted me at first I expect, but it was only after I had had her several times, that I began to appreciate it, and to compare it with the skin of other women. She had with that, a great delicacy of touch with her hands.

Her face was scarcely equal to her form. The nose was more then
retroussé,
it bordered on the snub. She had small, dark, softly twinkling eyes, and dark hair; the mouth was ordinary, but with a set of very small, and beautifully white, regular, teeth. The general effect of her face was piquante rather than beautiful, but it pleased me. Her voice was small and soft, — an excellent thing in a woman.

[Such was the woman I have known for thirty-one years, but of whom there is scarcely anything to be told. No intrigue, nothing exciting is connected with her and myself. I cannot tell all the incidents of our acquaintance right off as I do those of many of my women, who appeared, pleased me, and disappeared; but she will be noticed from time to time as I had her, or sought her help in different erotic whims and fancies, which took hold of me at various periods. I write this now finding that her name appears in my manuscript a long way further on. She was moreover a most intelligent creature, clean, sober, and economical, and saving with a good purpose and object, to end alas! for her in failure.]