Camille again. • The philosophy of fornication. • My plentitude of sperm. • A discharge on writing pa-per. • A woman in a hurry. • Light haired and veiled. • “Mind my chemise.” • A crop of crabs. • The effects of a good dinner. • The Haymarket at 1:30 a.m. • A cab fare asked for. • Half a crown for a hick. A frig for love in the street. • A fuck to follow. • A big Irishwoman. • Hairy as a King Charles. • A free examination. • A cunt of wondrous hirsuteness. • The Irishwoman is a riddle.

Again I sought Camille’s society, who helped further to destroy any lingering prejudices I still had about the ways in which the sexes may use their genitals, either in giving pleasure to each other, or men with men, or women with women, and she told me so many erotic incidents of which she had heard or known, that I feel certain now that whatever men and women may say in public about this and that being immoral, dirty, abominable, and so on — that by themselves, they give free reins to their lusts, and gratify their sensuality in any way which they find gives them pleasure. Who can object to this. Your body is your own, and you may use it as you like. Its usage concerns no one else but its owner, and whether the individual reaps pain or pleasure, is his affair alone.

I was much out at parties just then, which diverted me in a degree from sexual vagaries, and for perhaps a month saw Camille only, and but twice a week, so was in fine condition when I had her. To make sure, I used to write to say when I should call, and always found her ready awaiting me. I used to fuck her with great delight in which she participated, for she undeniably is still fond of me, and that I must have been in fine condition, I am sure from the quantity of sperm I shed in her — she used to remark it. — “Ah mon Dieu, what sperm, there is enough for two men.” — She several times said this and I verified it by inspection of her cunt occasionally, for it pleased me to think of my strength and health. — For all that, one day I frigged myself over a sheet of writing paper to see how much sperm issued, and its quality.

But I could not keep to her alone, and one night going to Camille’s somewhat early after a club dinner, I saw a full grown woman, with her veil down, walking along quickly. She indeed passed me as I was walking leisurely. — I saw that she was light haired — but what really attracted me I can’t say, whether the mystery of the veil, or her quick walking, or her light coloured hair, but quickening my pace I walked by the side of her. “You’re in a hurry to night my love,” said I, to which she made no reply, but looking at me went on.

Not quite able to make out whether she was gay or not, her manner stirred my lust. I forgot all about Camille, to whom I was going, and asked her to come with me. Then she slackened her pace, “No” — she was in a hurry. I laid hold of her arm which felt nice. “Stop a minute, let’s talk.” — She stopped, then lifted her veil, she seemed to me pretty, and my prick stood. — “My God, you’ve made my prick so stiff I think it will burst.” — She laughed and said, “Tell me the exact time.” — I did — “Is it far from here?” It was not my usual quarter, but I knew a house not far off. — “I can’t stop long then,” said she, dropping her veil. — Taking her arm, we were soon in a house known by the name afterwards of a celebrated battle, a nice quiet handsome house it then was.

She wouldn’t take off her clothes, tho she did her bonnet — she was in such a hurry, but pressed, she hurriedly took her gown off. — She was a tall fleshy woman, and the sight of the light hair on her motte, and nearly a week’s abstinence — put me into such a state of lustful impatience, that I could not allow my-self those delicious preliminaries of copulation, which are nearly as delightful as the carnal conjunction itself. — It was increased by the way she grasped my prick and kissed me — so in a minute my prick pierced her. She met me with ardor, and far too soon my sexual spasm came on, five or six throbs each sending a spat of sperm into her, finished my voluptuous crisis, just as she said, “Oh — don’t be so quick, wait for me.” It was too late, nor could the energetic action of her own cunt and backside — coupled with my efforts, avail her. “Oh — why were you so quick,” said she in a dissatisfied tone.

I told her as I lay up her, that I had had no woman for a week — “What a lot you’ve spent (as Camille had said), pull it out and give me a towel, I don’t want my chemise in a mess.” “No keep it in, and I’ll fuck you again.” “No give me a towel, I can’t wait.” “You must. — There, I’m getting stiff again — lay still and I’ll give you my pocket handkerchief.” — In our joint impatience, I had only taken my great coat off, and was on her with my other coat on. In it was a pocket handkerchief, which I managed to get out with one hand, whilst I clasped her still to me with the other. She lifted one thigh high, I pushed the handkerchief under her bum, my prick had never left her, we recommenced fucking, she spent almost directly, and again spent when I had my second emission.

“Now you really must let me go,” said she, uncunting me. Then she washed her cunt, had her bonnet on in a second, put the sovereign I offered her without a remark into her purse, and went off. — She agreed to meet me the next night, “Close by.” I named a time — no, it must be her time, or not at all — so I acceded, left, and did not go on to Camille.

The next night she met me veiled as before, stripped to her chemise, and seemed to like it. She had fine big breasts, large arms and thighs, and her motte was covered with thick sandy coloured hair, her cunt was fat lipped and I guessed her twenty-eight. — Yes, her exact age, she said. — She didn’t much like my looking at her cunt, and refused altogether to turn bum up-wards. — She was very poorly dressed, and had common stockings and boots on. — Was she often about here — “No.” — “Where then?” “Nowhere.” “I’ll meet you if you write,” and she told me where to, — it was two or three miles off. — I could not make her out but risked a question. “You’re gay?” “No,” said she laughing. “You don’t want money then.” “I shouldn’t be here if I didn’t,” and still she laughed. — This was after our fuck, and I was lying by her side on the bed.

Whatever she might have met me for, she was deter-mined to have fucking enough, and didn’t want to talk. We had been quick about the first spend, — lust allayed, I wanted a look at her cunt. — “No it’s nasty.” “But wash it, I want to look, it’s a lovely yellow haired cunt.” “Yellow haired cunt,” she repeated, laughing as if I had made a good joke.

Altho the same in the essentials, tho the end of it must be the insertion of the prick in the cunt, how varied are the manners and words of different women on the approach to that end. It is that variety which so charms me. — “Well — wash it — do.” “Presently, you’ll do it again to me soon, I’ll wash after.” — And putting her mouth to mine, she put out her tongue, and clutched my prick with vivacity, and evident intention to make me stroke her again, as soon as she could. She was one of those who do not rely on words to excite a man, but did it by kissing, tonguing and squeezing my prick and handling my balls, and soon was successful.

She had put a towel under her backside at the first fuck, but I had not spent as much as on the night previously, when my spermatic accumulators were full. After fucking her a third time we parted, but not till I had had a better look at her cunt, and found the lip lining and clitoris pink rather than red, which I don’t recollect having seen in the cunt of a woman of her age and size, before.

Lust for the sandy haired, pink tinted cunt still was on me, and one day I had her again, about which there is nothing unusual to narrate. On the following morning I had an irritable, uncomfortable feeling round my prick, the next day an itching, and then found I had a crop of crabs. I could not get rid of them for some days, and actually went to a doctor about them, so infested was my prick. Then a disgust at the woman came over me, for I knew it must have been she who gave them me. I wrote to her no more, have never seen her since, and don’t know whether she was a whore or not. I have a notion she was a widow. Certainly she wanted fucking badly. Why did she so scrupulously keep her veil on — it was not that she was ugly, for she was really hand-some.

I had some sort of idea that the brothel keeper knew the woman, and I asked. — She said that she didn’t, but looked so long at me before she answered the question, that I half think she lied.

A week or two after this I went to dine with a friend at K**b**n. He was a married man, childless, extravagant to a degree in expenditure generally, and particularly in fine food, and wines [he has since ruined himself]. A dozen or so of us men had every thing of the choicest which money could buy, and after sitting, eating, drinking, and smoking for four hours, we left him. It had turned out a pouring night, I had no carriage, his house was d quarter of an hour’s walk from a cab stand, and his footman could procure me no cab. One of the guests kindly offered me a seat in his carriage for part of my way home — and at half past one in the morning, set me down at the top of R*g**t Street.

The deluge of rain had just ceased, and tho pitch dark, it was clearing up. Never in my life have I seen R*g**t St. so deserted. The rain had long driven every one home, and I don’t think I met six people on its whole length as I walked down it, pleased with the novelty of its absence of life, and glad to walk off the effects in a degree, of my heavy gorging.

There was not even a gay woman to be seen until I got to the Haymarket. There, one or two only shewed, and one asked me to pay her cab fare home, and a well dressed woman she was — cleaned out, without a farthing, the Argyle had been empty, not a friend had she got, she must walk home if some one did not give her half a crown, and she told me where she lived at West Brampton.

A dinner such as I had had always heats my testicles in two or three hours, and as I stood looking and listening to the young woman, a wave of lust rushed thro my genitals, and I began to want a cunt. Yet I had no intention not to have her — for I had other views about the lodging of my penis next day. Then came on one of those baudy inspirations I am subject to, and spite of the evident absurdity of the offer (looking at the dress and style of the woman tho she was not quite a first class), — jokingly I said, “I’ll give you a half crown if you’ll let me fuck you.”

I rarely accosted a female with such frank baudiness, but I was a little elevated, tho not in the least intoxicated. She seemed in a similar state, and laughing much replied. — “Oh! Lord, I haven’t come to half a crown yet, you are liberal, but I’d sooner walk home if I get wet to my skin.” — I laughed about it. — “Ah you don’t want fucking.” — “That’s just what I do want, for I haven’t had a man for four days.” “You’ve been poorly.” “Just what I have been or I shouldn’t want half a crown.” — After a minute’s more talk, I gave it her, and had intended to do so from the first. “Here it is, and a shilling for a glass of wine, and now if you won’t let me fuck you for half a crown, let me do it for love.”

“Thank you,” said she not moving, but, looking at me, and clapping the money with a chink from one hand to the other, and then back again. — “Did you expect I’d let you for half a crown?” “No my dear, but for love.” “Well I’ll let you for love. Where shall we go?” “What, to fuck you?” “Yes for love,” said she quite seriously.

Taken quite aback, I thought she was up to some trick, the empty streets and the time of night made me suddenly suspicious. — “I was joking, I’m in a hurry, let me feel your cunt. That’s all.” “Very well, and all for love, mind.” There was a narrow court leading into a wider one than (it still exists tho better lighted) which looked dark enough, and in a second we were in it, her back against a house, my finger on her cunt. — “You’ve got drawers on.” “Well I can’t pull them off here, let us go to O*e*d*n St.” —I would not but between the loose linen I plied my fingers. — “I’ll frig you.” “No, fuck me — no one will pass —I want it — let me feel your prick.”

I wouldn’t let her—I got coy, began to want her—but didn’t like a strange woman in the dark. — “No I’ll frig you,” and I commenced, putting my left arm round her waist and my stick against the wall. — She let me. — “Oh fuck me do, I want it so—oh I shall spend — you shan’t feel me, unless you let me feel you;” and her hand sought my trousers. But before she could unbutton me — her bum shivered, she caught me round the head, pulled me to her, kissed me and my hat tumbled off as she murmured, “Oh — oh — you beast — oh — you’ve made me spend,” — and she was silent, whilst I picked up my hat.

“You haven’t spent — I have tho.” “You haven’t,” I said, tho I felt pretty sure she had done so. Then again I put my hand on her cunt, and after a broad handed fingering under the prick receiver, I satisfied myself that she had. “Why didn’t you fuck me, I’ve never been frigged in a street before.” “But you’ve frigged a man.” “Only one or two — why don’t you fuck me — come — fuck me for love mind, let’s go to O*e*d*n St. or come home and sleep with me — I want you.”

I had dropped her petticoats, but I was so lewed now, that I could scarcely restrain myself, and when holding me she began feeling at my trousers again, my resolution gave way. — “We can’t do it here.” “Yes we can, no one will come through here — if any one’s coming we can hear them, do it to me — oh what a big one.” — She had got hold of my prick, and then with-out another word, she lifted up her petticoats. — “Damn my drawers,” said she. — The next instant my prick was in her cunt — and against the wall we fucked, the affair was short — and she spent with me.

“I hope you are all right,” said I when my prick had left her. “Quite — don’t be frightened, come and see me,” — and she repeated her name and address — and that every night she was at the Argyle rooms. —

“Is it likely I should have made you do it to me if I was ill — come with me to a house and see me undressed, I’m beautifully made.” — She tried hard to induce me but it was all useless. — She squatted, piddled, and I expect washed her cunt with that liquid as she did so. Slight rain began to fall. “I’d best get back,” said she, and in the Haymarket she hailed a cab, and was going off — “Stop my dear you must have a little bit of gold.” “I haven’t asked for any,” said she, “and now you won’t come to see me, tho you’ve just promised — I want you to have me for love.”

I had promised that I would go to see her, and repeated her name and address over again as she wished me, but certainly had no intention of doing so. She had a superstition that I should not after I had paid her, — but she took a half sovereign which I pushed into her hand — “I’ll call on you soon.” — “No you won’t.” “Yes I will.” “No you won’t,” and the cab drove off as the “won’t” died away in the noise. I never did call on her — or see her afterwards. She was a nice bright looking dark eyed woman, of one or two and twenty years of age perhaps.

I walked then down to the colonnade of the Opera house, when a smart shower came on. — I intended to go to my Club which had not closed, to get some soda water — but being without an umbrella, waited two or three minutes. Just as I was about to hail a cab, a tall, full grown, portly looking woman, whom I had seen standing at the angle by Pall Mall, came up to me, addressed me with a broad Irish accent, and asked me to go with her. The accent was so broad, and it was such a novelty to hear anything like it out of Ireland, and she looked so portly, so like a respectable trades-woman — and so unlike a Paphian — that being in a baudy mood, far baudier than when the other woman had asked me for a half crown, I stopped, talked, and then chaffed her.

Yes, she was Irish, and not ashamed of that, and had not long been in London. — I’d just had a woman had I? By her soul, I’d never had a woman like she was, nor seen a cunt like hers, she’d swear she’d more hair on it than was on any two women’s cunts. — If I’d go and see it, and she hadn’t told me God’s truth, I should not pay her anything. — She was a married woman, but the times were so bad with them, that she must get her bread some how, would I come? — No she would not pull up her petticoats to show me in the streets — not for five shillings (which I offered). — “Yer a big baste to be after asking me to do it. — Divil a bit if I will tho, — but you may put your hand up and feel a bit.”

I accepted the offer, put my hand between her thighs, but long before I reached her cunt as it seemed to me, I felt long hair. Then she jerked her rump back, and pushed down my hand from beneath the clothes. — She had roused my curiosity, I chaffed on, she got angry, and extolled her own charms, and said there wasn’t a finer woman in London than she was. After telling her where I’d just fucked — and she refusing still to do anything in the streets, to satisfy my curiosity — it ended with her saying — “Never — never in the street, I’d just sooner be dead — no — not for the half sovereign (which at last I offered) but I’ll strip to ye, and ye may do what you like with me in a house, for half a sovereign, and glad I’ll be to get it.” — No, she was a stranger about there, and knew no house. — I took her to a convenient brothel in * * * * St.

“Give me the half sovereign,” said she so soon as we were in the bed room. — A bilk thought I, but not caring whether I was bilked or not, for I had only taken her out of curiosity, I got the money ready. “Then if you haven’t got a hairy cunt as you say, I suppose you’ll give me it back” — said I laughing — “Sure God — there’s no chance of your getting it back for it’s hairy as a King Charles” (dog she meant). – “Catch” — and I threw it to her. She caught it — spat upon it, and put it in her pocket. — “Sure and ye’ll say ye niver seed such a pussy as moine — ye’ll be airfter giving me another bit of gould when you have seen it. — Shall I take all my things off?” — I nodded, and she began divesting herself of her clothing.

As she did so, she went on demanding my admiration of her charms, in a very singular manner. -I have known women very proud of their form, and who have shewn great vexation if I made any remark even inferentially disparaging them. I have known some who drew my attention to some particular part of their form, and which in most cases justified their self praise, but this Irish woman extolled herself from head to foot as she undressed — “Isn’t that a foine arm? — look — here’s breasts I needn’t be ashamed of. — My foot’s not big for my size is it? I’ve a splendid leg haven’t I?” — and so on, and certainly she’d a good deal to be proud of. Looking at her under the colonnade, seemingly in a heap, she gave no promise of what was underneath, she looked what may be called a homely, motherly woman, and one I should never have lusted for.

“Let me see your cunt,” said I impatiently. — “Wait a bit” — she drew off her chemise. “There — did you ever see anything like that?” — and indeed I never had, for I could not see the cunt at all, — but only a long pendant mass of darkish brown hair, which seeming to be rooted in her mons, hung down some inches below her cunt, and hid it entirely from view. It reminded me of a patriarchal beard, and I laughed, which much offended her.

Astonished curiosity at once made me serious, for a cunt is never a thing to be laughed at, its view is too absorbing and stimulating. Quickly I got her on to the bed side. She opened her thighs quite wide, and pulling aside the shaggy covering, I saw a cunt of the usual mature type but with long hair (tho not so long as that from the motte) surrounding it. The hairs every-where had but slight signs of curling, the shorter ones at the upper part had perhaps a little curl, but the rest was long, and nearly straight and in large quantity. To please her I said it was fine, but I thought it ugly, yet the novelty stiffened me — “I’ll fuck you,” said I. — “Sure an yer may” — and she moved on to the bed. — “No, here, I want to see the hair round my prick,” and bringing her to a proper position — up it went into her. — The hair mingled with mine, and hid every vestige of my balls as I looked down. — Then I pushed her thigh high up over my shoulder with my left hand, and held her to me with it, whilst I buried my other fingers in the shaggy thicket and spent very soon up her.

“You’ve not spent,” said I still up her. — “Sure and I haven’t, and I ought wid such a poker,” she replied in the strongest brogue — and we went on talking till I found myself nearly out of her. — “Lift up both your legs,” said I, and she complied. — I meant to do it when I asked her, and laying hold of the cunt beard (the best name for it) I drew it right across the orifice, which shewed, when my prick was out of it, my semen issuing, and wiped it with the hair. “I never saw a cunt which could be wiped with its own hair before.” — “No and I dare say never will, and it’s a baste that you be for adoing it.” Yet she laughed as she washed her cunt. I felt it as she rose from the basin, and it was just like a wet mop. — It must always have been so after she piddled.

She dried it and again I looked. There was hair, and thick, near her bum hole, yet not in very unusual quantity — but all round the cunt it was long and ragged. It was about the ugliest cunt I have ever seen. — Straight hair on a cunt is always ugly. It usually curls, tho I have seen several with straight hair, and that on one or two very nice women. But this woman was proud as a peacock of her hirsute gap.

“Lay still,” said I, as I sat contemplating it — for I now began to be curious about the woman, whom in all my midnight prowling I had never seen before. “Sure and you’ll give me a trifle more if you keep me long” — I promised that. Then I lay feeling my prick whilst I pulled her about in various ways. She had only the usual quantity of hair in her armpits, and on her head; had a round, pleasantish Irish face, and not a bad form, tho too thick at the joints to be handsome. She however evidently thought herself a beauty from head to foot. She must have been between thirty- five and forty years old.

“You’ve had children?” — “Yes and three alive worse luck,” — or she would not be at that kind of work, she’d got plenty to do with all she got, and ever would get she supposed — she had no regular friends — she wouldn’t mind meeting me again — but she couldn’t do it before half past eleven — no never — she wouldn’t say why — no — what did it matter to me, whether she was married or not. Then I put down another half sovereign. — Then she, “Are you going to do me again?” —”I dont’ think I can.” — “Try — get on the bed and on top of me properly.” — “Do you want it?” — “May be I shall,” — and tho I didn’t like either her, or her cunt, on to the bed, and on top of her I got, had another fuck, and hard work I found it. “Haven’t I a nice pussy?” — said she, as I lay up her.

That finished the business, and we left together. Should she meet me — but not before half past eleven — I made no assignation, — said I should take my chance some night of seeing her after the theatres were closed, but I never did and didn’t want.

Next day I wondered how I had ever tailed her, so ugly did her cunt seem to me when I thought of it.

The woman no doubt was gay — but she was for all that not much like a gay woman in manners — not that she had any modesty. AM no — yet she seemed to show her nakedness out of conceit, not baudiness.