My Secret Life (64 page)

The girl, I heard afterwards was in tears when she found I did not come. Sarah told her I had gone abroad — I was sorry for the lass, but Sarah had but little pity. — She thought the girl had done very well. — “When she came, she hadn’t a rag to her back, now she has more good clothing than me.” — I had indeed given the girl lots of good clothes. — “She is set up, and has got a good place as servant, where she will work hard, but what of that. It’s better than stopping at home with a drunken father who half starved and ill-treated her. One of his shop mates would have done her business. — Now she can take care of herself, she knows enough.”

Her place was at a little grocers’ shop in W
^**
d
^**
r Street. — A month afterwards I loitered near the shop curiously, and saw two youths, seventeen or eighteen years old, in it; sons of the woman who kept it I found. Sarah said I was wrong to go near. — “The best thing for you is never to see her again — if any row comes, I’ll swear you never were at my lodgings in your life. — No one has seen you come, it has always been dark.”

I remarked that the youths would get into her. — “I hope they will, that will shut her mouth. — She won’t go long without it being up her, and the sooner she fucks the better,” was Sarah’s opinion. I never either saw the girl afterwards, nor heard of her.

I don’t forget the delight of the girl when her poorliness came on, which it did about a fortnight after I had had her, nor the way she used to burst out into quiet laughter, when she pulled my prick about till stiff, and how she said. — “Oh you do make my legs ache so.” All little girls get the leg ache when I lie long between them. — One of my delights was to turn her on her side with her bum towards me, fuck her from behind, and go to sleep so with my prick well in her. It is easier to do it that way with a small bum, than with big buttocks. But pillows must be put under the side of the young ones, to bring their cunts up to a convenient level. Fucking so was one of my delights with Molly, whom Betsy Johnson got for me. At Sarah F
^**
z
^**
’s I never had anything in my pockets to disclose my name. I used to tail the girl whilst Sarah looked on, and have awakened with my tail still in the girl and Sarah tranquilly working in the room, and singing in a low tone to herself.

But I don’t understand Sarah’s behaviour in the matter; why she wanted to be out of the house when I broached the girl, and so on. — Other women have however acted in peculiar ways under similar circumstances, and the reasons for the dodges of gay women are only known to themselves. Somehow I think that Sarah’s man had something to do with her desire to get rid of the girl, but about him I could glean no information; tho at times I was forbidden to go to her lodgings, because she said
he
was there.

Much as I have abbreviated and omitted, what a quantity of manuscript still remains. — Alas! a casual look through it, reveals the fact that, like much of that written just before this period of my history, it is prolix and copious in detail. — More so even than that preceding it which I shortened with so much trouble. — It is exuberant, because written for my secret pleasure, and I revelled in the detail as I wrote it, for in doing so I almost had my sexual treats over again. — It mattered not to me whether similar pleasure had been mine before or not, whether the erotic whims and fancies, amorous frolics, voluptuous eccentricities, were identical or not. — I described them as they had occurred at the time, and the pleasure of doing so was nearly the same, even had I done them twenty times, and described them twenty times.

But the woman, the partner in my felicity was frequently fresh and new to me, and I to her; and this newness prevents satiety in sexual frolics. There is always a shade of difference in the manners and behaviour of women in sexual preliminaries, and even in final performance. One woman never kisses or sighs, embraces or fucks, in exactly the same manner as another. The broad features from beginning to ending are the same. A coupling of the genitals finishes it all. But there are delicate shades of difference even in fucking which make the variety so charming, and describing them was ever new and amusing to me, when the charmer was new to me.

Yet on glancing through the remaining manuscript, — now in my mature, if not only years — the repetition seems a little wearisome. — What is to be done — abbreviate or destroy — which? — Abbreviation is laborious, and emasculates — the freshness of the writing is gone — nice shades lost. — But destruction saves all future trouble.

Perhaps entire omission of portions will be best, but that will destroy the continuity. In the narrative in its integrity, it is easy to see how in my youth, content with the simplest forms of sexual pleasure, I have gradually with advancing years and experience, been led to strangely erotic whims and devices, and have had the greatest pleasure in acts, and deeds, and thoughts, which in my ignorant youth would have revolted me. — To omit much is to destroy this continuity of idea and action. — No. It must be abbreviation or total destruction. Abbreviation, or else a full stop here, and nearly twenty years’ narrative go to the flames.

Another thing — through the suggestions of women, by pondering over those suggestions — by reading works of erotic philosophers — from pictures, curiosity, and opportunity, — I have once or twice done what I regret, what in fact is almost a remorse to me, tho I really see no harm in it. — What a contradiction this, but thus it is. — Shall I destroy those chapters, erase those parts — or leave them — perhaps (for who knows) for some to cry shame. — To omit them is to sacrifice the narrative, and the illustration it affords to myself of my sexual idiosyncrasy — if such a phrase may be used — I know not what to do with this antagonism of thought and intention.

It must remain — written by
myself
and for
myself,
none probably will ever see it but
myself
— therefore why cheat
myself?
— let it remain.

I wish I had begun this revision earlier, perhaps now I shall never complete it — or complete it only in time to destroy it, before I myself am destroyed. —
Tempus edax rerum.

Recherche eroticisms.
—
An outcome of the brothel spyhole.
—
An abnormal letch.
—
A man for a month.
—
Alone with him.
—
Mutual nervousness.
—
The ice broken.
—
Pricks produced.
—
An exiguous tool.
—
Unavailing masturbation.
—
Sarah’s participation.
—
Cuntal incitation.
—
Prompt rigidity.
—
Onanistic operation.
—
Spermatic ejaculation.
—
Instantaneous copulation.
—
One on and one off.
— A
gorged cunt.
—
Masculine minetting.
—
A gristly mouthful.
—
Sucking cum fucking.
—
After supper.
—
Sarah’s oration.
—
The end of the orgy.

Then took place the crowning act of my eroticism, the most daring fact of my secret life. An abnormal lust of which I have been ashamed and sorry, and the narrative of which I have nearly destroyed, tho according to my philosophy, there was and is no harm in my acts, for in lust all things are natural and proper to those who like them. There can be no more harm in a man feeling another’s prick, nor in a woman feeling another’s cunt, than there is in their shaking hands. — At one time or other all have had these sexual handlings of others, yet a dislike to myself about this sexual whim still lingers Such is the result of early teaching and prejudices.

Twenty-four years had elapsed since my frolics with the first Camille. — Then I had frigged a Frenchman. Then I did the same with the man that big eyed Betsy got me. Then I’d felt the Captain in the dark at Lizzie M***d*n’s. Since that I had not touched a male. What I witnessed through the baudy house partition put new inclinations into my head. The handsome pricks which I had seen women play with, the ease with which their doodles were handled, the ready way a girl brought a rebellious prick to stand and spend by coaxing it up in her mouth, etc., raised again desire to feel and play with a prick myself. Other men’s seemed different to
me,
and at times I said this to Sarah in some such terms as these. — “I should like for once to feel a man’s prick, to see closely his prick standing, see his spunk come out much or little.” And so on.

The baudy house sights always terminated in fucking Sarah, and then for a time the desires which arose during my peeping ended abruptly. I talked about them at times when lewed nevertheless with Sarah, who said, “One man’s prick stands and spends much like another, play with your own, but if you want, I can get one easily enough, and I’ll let him come here for you, if Mr. F
^**
z
^*
r is out of town.”

But I thought she meant a fellow who let out his rump and prick, and of that class I had an insufferable dislike and fear. They were I had heard thieves, their pricks used up, and I wanted nothing to do with an anus [at that time, not having found out the pleasure you both take and give by pressing the bumhole of a woman when fucking her] so for some months, altho she described some men as eligible, I would not see them.

At length in the winter she said, “My old woman (a crone who did her charring, and was in fact her servant altho she did not sleep in her rooms) can get a young man about twenty who’s not a sod — he is a working man who has been without employment for two months and will be glad of a sovereign.” I thought I was going to be sold, but as I had only promised her a sovereign for getting me a man, I came to the conviction that I had really a chance, so arranged that he was to go to her rooms.

But unpleasant notions came. A poor man! he will be dirty and smelling of sweat — be rough — his linen ragged. — To get over that Sarah said, “Give me a sovereign, he shall have a new shirt, and socks, and drawers, I will buy them” — so I gave that money.

The evening came. I felt so nervous and even shocked at myself that I wished I had never undertaken the affair. — It was in vain that I argued with myself, and spite of my conviction that there was no harm in my doing it, when I came to her door I nearly turned back. I had been trying to strengthen my intention by thinking over my former wishes and curiosities, of the various amusements I should have with him, and how much I should learn of the ways of a man, to add to the lot I knew about women. All was useless, I almost trembled at my intention. I entered, saw Sarah. “He is in the bed room — such a nice young man, and quite good looking, I never saw him till I went to buy the things.” I said I felt nervous. “That is stupid, but you are not more nervous than he is, he’s just said you were evidently not coming and he was glad of it, and would go.” Again she assured me that he was all the charwoman had told, a young man out of work, wanting bread, and not a sodomite.

I followed her into the bedroom. Saying, “This is the gentleman,” she shut the door and left me with him. He stood up respectfully and looked at me timidly.

He was a fine young man about five feet seven inches high, rather thin looking as if for want of nourishment, with a nice head of curly brown hair, slight short whiskers, no moustache, bright eyes, and good teeth. He was not much like a working man and looked exceedingly clean. “You are the young man?” “Yes sir.” “Sit down.” Down he sat and I did the same.

Then I could not utter a word more, but felt inclined to say, “There is a sovereign, good night,” and to leave him. All the desires, all the intentions, all expectations of amusement with his prick, all the curiosity I had hoped to satisfy for months left me. My only wish was to escape without seeming a fool.

With the exception of the sodomite whom Betsy Johnson had got me, it was the first time I had been by myself in the room with a male for the clear intention of doing everything with his tool that I had a mind to. My brain now had been long excited by anticipation, and wrought up to the highest when this opportunity came, and every occurrence of that evening is as clear in it now as if it were printed there. Altho the exact order of the various tricks I played may not be kept, yet everything I
did
on this first night, all that took place, I narrate in succession, without filling in anything from fancy or imagination. I could even recall the whole of our conversation, but it would fill quires (and I did fill two or three). — I only now give half of it, and that abbreviated.

I sat looking at him for some minutes — I can frig him, thought I — but I don’t want to now. — What an ass he will think me. — Why does he not unbutton? — I wonder if he is a bugger — or a thief. — What’s
he
thinking about. Is he clean? — How shall I begin — I wish I had not come — I hope he won’t know me if he meets me in the street. — Is his prick large? — These thoughts one after another chased rapidly thro my brain, whilst I sat silent, yet at the same time wishing to escape, and he sat looking at the floor.

Then an idea came. “Would you like something to drink?” “If you like, sir.” “What?” “Whatever you like, sir.” — It was an immense relief to me when I called in Sarah, and told her to get whiskey, hot water, and sugar. — Whilst it was being fetched I went into the sitting room, glad of getting away.

Sarah, in the sitting room, asked, “How do you find him?” — I told her I did not know and was frightened to go on. — “Oh! I would now, as you have had him got for you, then you’ll be satisfied.” — Again she assured me he was not on the town, and I need not be afraid. The whiskey was got, and behold me again alone with him. I made whiskey and water for myself and him and took some into Sarah. I began to ask him about himself. He was a house decorator in fine work, such work was it its worst just then, being a young hand he had not full employment, had been out of work nearly two months, he had pawned everything excepting what he had on. This all seemed consistent. He told me where he lodged, where he was apprenticed, the master he worked for last, the houses he worked at. “If you are a decorator your hands will be hard, and if you kneel your knees will.” “Yes but I have had scarcely anything to do for two months, and but one day’s work last week. Look at my nails.” — They were stained with something he had used. Then he had had one day’s chopping wood which had blistered both his hands, for it was not work he was accustomed to. Blisters I saw. There was evident truth in what he said.