VOLUME 4 CHAPTER 19
Clapped, and reflexions thereon. • Change in taste for condition of pudenda. • Change again. • Later on in life. • On bricks in a hail-shower. • An unknown quarter. • A little lady. • “You can’t come home.” • The bricks. • The hail-stone • A canny policeman • A servant for a change. • Sexual charms of servants. • Catherine. • A stumble on the stairs. • A well-timed visit. • Unchaste questions, and chaste replies • Preliminaries. • Con-summation. • Ugly stockings. • The dining-room table.
Then I again took the ladies’ fever, and was again obliged to have recourse to surgical appliances to keep my urethra open. This suggested some serious re-flexions, and in a degree modified my habits with women in one particular.
I had delighted in a cunt with its natural juices in it, and disliked one recently washed. I could find out one when too clean, though I could not detect one which had been recently washed and rinsed with astringents as well. I did not know much about the chemical aids ladies used, though I had heard of such things, indeed had heard of most things, and have put into cunts which felt to me like a nutmeg grater, though I then did not know the cause. The extreme delicacy and sensitiveness of my prick- tip made me I expect discriminating, and susceptible of sexual pleasure in the highest degree; and I had found that it was greater in a cunt in its natural state of slimy lubricity. Hence my choice of that condition.
Now thinking it would give me greater immunity from clap, I became very careful in investigating, and insisted on the ample washing of every cunt before I took cock-exercise. I began to look at cunts carefully, even after washing, and before I would put into them; but either my gland had become less sensitive, or what is more likely looking at my age, that my lust was so strong and impetuous, that I did not after the washing mark the difference in the lubricity, excepting at times.
About this time also, I cannot tell why, I became in-different to looking at the cunts, and especially at the overflow of what I had left in coition up those paphian chambers. I had even at times a dislike to looking, and would withdraw my prick from her into my hand, roll off the lady, and turn my head away from her quickly. All this was so entirely contrary to what had been my custom, that it is worth noting as illustrative of my character and taste in sexual matters, from time to time during my life.
[After some years my sensitiveness returned. I had really never lost it, and I reverted to my former taste in this particular of copulation. Lubrication, and even an excess of lubrication, of the right sort, became absolutely needful to my pleasure. I add this now before it goes to press, and many years after the foregoing was written.]
The next thing which happened to me and is worth telling, was quite early in spring. I was going home from a party just at midnight. At the junction of two streets I saw a very little woman, bidding a man good night, and kissing him in the street. It was done quite in a modest, affectionate way. I passed them. A few seconds afterwards I heard the feet of the lady coming quickly after me. She seemed to be pretty as she passed me by a street-lamp. She took no notice of me, but I hailed her, for I was lewed. “My dear I wish you would give me a kiss like the other man.” She looked round and laughed, but walked on. I saw she was game. “I’ll give you a glass of wine for a kiss.” “How much is that?” said she. “A shilling.” “Give it,” said she stopping. “Then you will let me have a feel,” said I. “You want enough for a shilling,” — and she went off quickly. “Stop, — don’t run off, — half-a-crown.” She laughed, hesitated, and then we turned down a side-street, and up against a wall I felt her cunt. I had to stoop to get at it, she was so short.
I was just in the mood for a woman, and enjoyed the feel. It was a tight little cunt, and a young one I knew from the small quantity of hair on it. I felt it for two or three minutes, whilst she remained quite quiet. “I’ll frig you,” said I, “here is the money.” She took it. “Let me feel your cock then,” said she. So I turned half round, took her round the waist conveniently and began frigging, and she laid hold of my prick which had got quite stiff, and which I had just extruded from my trousers. “I shall come soon,” said she, “do it to me, — let’s go to some house, and do me properly, — oho! leave off! — I shall spend, — let’s go somewhere,” — and she pushed my hand away. Just then came near to us a policeman. I dropped my great-coat over my cock, and let fall her petticoats. He must have known what we were about, but took no notice. “A preciously cold night,” said I to him. “Aye it is, sir.” “Here is a shilling for a glass when you’re off duty.” He thanked me, and was soon out of sight round the corner, never looking back.
It was a bitterly cold night, though not freezing. The wind was blowing a gale and dark clouds most of the time hid what moon there was; but it showed every two or three minutes for half a second, and then all was quite dark again. The streets were deserted, the public-houses closed. I began frigging her again, again she felt my prick unasked by me, again she suggested my having her. “I don’t want a poke,” I said. “and I’ve no more money.” “Never mind the money, — let’s fuck,” said she randily. I began to want to put my prick up her, but didn’t much like risking it, so I ceased frigging her, and with resolution drew my cock away from her fingers, for she was manipulating it very rapidly, and dropped my great- coat over my open trousers. “Why won’t you?” said she. It was all she said.
I walked on with her to a lamp-post, stopped under it, and looked well at her. She I then saw was very pretty, and I began to long for her. “I’ll go home with you, — is it far?” “Oh! you can’t go home with me.” “Go to a house then.” “I don’t know one, I have only just come to live at this side of the water, — don’t you know one?” I was out of my beat, and did not know a house. The more I talked and looked at her, the more randy I got. “I’ll bet the man you kissed has been home with you.” She laughed out. “Well that’s true enough, but he is my brother.” It had struck me from the manner in which it was done, that it was not a fucking-friend she had kissed. Nearly close by where we were standing they were rebuilding the front garden-wall of an empty house. Bricks were stacked against it in the street, a heap of rubbish was close by the bricks. “Let’s fuck here,” said I. We were both a little timid, but the place seemed deserted, so we tried. Her back was against the wall, but so short was she; that though I bent my knees, and she almost tiptoed, I could not get into her. My prick when I bent it down ran past her cunt towards her bum-furrow.
Then I moved her nearer to the empty house, pulled down three or four bricks from the edge of the stack, and placed others, so as to leave a good footing and level, and which stood her up six inches or so (a convenient height), and we fucked with much gratification. She was very randy, so was I, and we were soon in sexual ecstasy.
Whilst fucking, huge hail-stones, as big as filberts, began to fall. They rattled on my hat, hitting hard, and bounding off on to the pavement. Suddenly I felt a chill at the root of my prick-stem. “Oh!” said I as we both felt its chill. A hail-stone had got between our bodies, and stopped us for an instant, but we both guessed what it was, and finished our pleasure. The hail-stone must have just lodged between her motte and my belly; it was chilly and melting, and still held in the mingled hair of our privates when I pulled my prick out of her. A hundred thousand people might have been fucking in the open that night, without such a thing happening to them. It amused both of us mightily. “Nobody would believe it if I told them,” said she. “Nor if I do,” said I, “but I shall tell some one.” “So shall I,” she remarked laughing. Still we talked together. She had been gay she said, but had been kept by a commercial traveller for a year — a good fellow. They had only just come to live up there. The landlady thought they were married. Of course she could not take me home, besides her friend might return. He was in the woollen trade, and was often away a week or ten days, she never knew when he might return. He knew her brother well. He had now been away ten days, and she hadn’t been fucked for that time. She was lewed, and she wanted it, but if any body had told her half an hour ago, that she was going to do it with me, she would have said they were mad. She could not tell what made her let me feel her, it certainly was not for half a crown. My voice and manner was nice, and when I felt her it made her randy at once. She had never been felt in a public street before.
Just then the policeman came round again, took no notice of us, and passed out of sight. One solitary man passed us walking rapidly. I was getting cold standing, I kissed her. “Here is another glass of wine,” said I giving her another hall-crown (she had not asked me). “Thank you,” said she, “every little is useful.” I turned to go, and then turned back. “I should like to do you again,” said I. “I’m ready,” said she, “come on, — let me piddle first, — you have made me so wet.” “No don’t do that.” “But it’s all running down my thighs.” “I like that.” The idea stiffened me. She mounted on the bricks again, and we had another most lovely fuck, — she was at the exact height for me. “You’ve enjoyed the fucking,” I said. “Yes, I haven’t had it for ten days.” “But you have frigged yourself?” “Not once,” she said, “though I sometimes do when my friend’s away.”
Again we talked of fucking. She seemed to like talking as much as I did. Her friend was a strong man, and did it as often to her as any woman could want. She would not give me her name or address, or say where I could meet her. She pissed, and with her hand washed her cunt with her piddle. It was possible her friend might be home when she returned, though not likely, she said. “Aren’t you just a lewed man,” said she as we kissed and parted. She would have let me do it again if I could. When we parted she ran off like mad, and I saw her no more. She was very nicely and quietly dressed in silk, and seemed a superior sort of person of her class. It was a most pleasing, most gratifying incident. Such accidental copulation I have always found most delicious, — and I have had scores.
Then I had had so many gay women, that I wanted a change in the class. I enjoyed their lubricity, their skilled embraces, their passionate fucking when they wanted it themselves, and liked me (I had had many such). Yet I was tired of their lies, tricks, and dissatisfied, money-grabbing, money-begging style. I wanted a change, and began to look out for a nice fresh servant. I have now had many servants in my time, and know no better companions in amorous amusements. They have rarely lost all modesty, a new lover is a treat and a fresh experience to them, even when they have had several, and few have had that. They only get the chance of copulating once a week or so, they are clean, well-fed, full- blooded, and when they come out to meet their friend, or give way with a chance man on the sly, are ready, yielding, hot-arsed, lewd, and lubricious. Their cunts throb at the first touch of a finger, and moisten, and they spend freely and copiously. No women’s cunts are wetter, than a young healthy servant’s is after the first fuck on her night out. No one will take more spunk out of a man, and give more herself than the lass who says, “I couldn’t get out before, — I’m sorry you had to wait, — I must really get back by ten.” How they kiss in silence, — how they feel the first lunge of the prick up them, — what pleasure they quietly show, — how they love you, and die as your hot spunk spurts, and their cunt liquidises. So I longed for a servant, and soon found my chance. I suppose all men do if they set their mind upon women, for there are thousands of cunts waiting to be fed, and ready to open to opportunity and male importunity.
We were very friendly with a nice family, a widow with three daughters, living in quiet comfort at R*****. They only kept two servants. The parlour-maid was a well-grown wench about twenty-one years old, fleshy and round, dark-eyed, dark-haired, fresh-coloured and healthy-looking. She opened the street-door. She had not been there long before I tipped her a shilling occasionally, and one night kissed her at the street-door, which she took quietly. Next time I pinched her bum, she gave a suppressed squeal, and then my letch for her came on. As usual I had luck. Calling a day or two after, I made a smutty remark, and pinched her thigh outside her clothes. It was day-time, and risky.
She was flurried by it, but made no noise, and running upstairs to deliver my message to the lady in the drawing-room, her foot slipped on a loose stair-carpet, and she fell on her knees on the stairs, the carpet slipping with her, and a stair-rod rattling down. The calf of one of her legs was exposed by this nearly to her knee. This was at the bottom of the flight and close to where I was standing. I put my hand on her calf and pinched it. Recovering herself she shook her head at me, went upstairs, and came down with, “Will you walk up, sir.” Up I went, whispering as I neared her, “I saw your thigh” (which was a lie). She gave me such a look as she closed the drawing-room door. On leaving I said, “I wish I had put my hand higher.” She gave me a sulky look as she closed the street-door.
To get at her I took to calling frequently on my friends, and often saw Catherine, and tipped and kissed her whenever she opened the door. If sure that no one was near, I whispered smutty double entendres to set her thinking about cock and cunt, and rubbed my belly up against hers when I caught and kissed her. At length I got her to take a walk with me one Sunday night. Then being near gardens, at a quiet place I put my hands up her clothes, felt her thighs, but missed her cunt. She ran off home, I after her, but without catching her, and thinking from her manner that I had made a muddle of it.
A day after, I called at the house in the afternoon, a time the family would usually be out, taking some Devonshire cream with me as a present to the lady, but really as an excuse for calling. “Out, — are they? — this must be kept in the cool, or it will soon turn sour.” “Give it me, sir,” said Catherine. “No, I’ll give it to the cook myself.” “She’s out,” said Kit. Here was an unexpected chance.
“I’ll write a line to Mrs. * * *,” said I, stepping in, and I began a note. The girl waited. When I had written it, I asked if Miss Lucy (a daughter) was in a hurry to get married (she was engaged). Kitty didn’t know. “What do they marry for, Kitty?” “To be husband and wife,” said she. “But what do they go to bed together for.” She didn’t know. “Yes you do.” “Oh! don’t bother.” I had begun kissing, and had got her to kiss me. “They kiss, Kit, like this, and feel each other all over, and then — what do they do then?” “I don’t know. “I’ll tell you.” “Don’t want to know.” “Well I won’t tell, — sit down.” I pulled her on to the sofa, for she had got familiar, — a woman soon does if you talk smut. We sat and chatted till my randiness made me reckless. “I’ll tell you what they do when they are married, and in bed.” “I won’t hear.” “You shall, — they fuck.” I had her by the waist, and she could not escape me. She made a very slight attempt to do so, but I held her tightly whilst I let out my baudy talk.
What else I said exactly God only knows, but it was all about newly married couples. “He pulls up her night-gown, feels her cunt, rubs his prick against her thigh, puts it in her cunt, &c.” Kit kept saying, “I won’t hear, — I won’t hear,” put both hands up to her ears, but did not move away from me. I pulled out my prick red hot, “That’s what he shoves up her cunt, — and oh! God, don’t they have pleasure, — let’s put this up your cunt, Kit.”
“Now don’t,” said she, starting up, but not moving away. I pulled her down to a sitting posture again, and with a dash got my hand up her clothes. She cried out, and put both hands down (they all do that) on to her thighs on my hand, wriggled to get away and for some minutes struggled, and cried. “It’s a shame, — you shan’t.” “Let’s fuck.” “I won’t now, — I won’t, — oh! dear,” — but I exhausted her. She was half sitting, half leaning on me with fingers pinched tightly between her thighs, so that I could not get a good feel of her cunt; but my forefinger was well between its lips and on her clitoris titillating, and making her randy. She seriously, now begging me to leave her alone, I swearing I would fuck her, give her pleasure, promising bonnets, clothes, money, and everything else, and uttering all the voluptuous words my imagination could muster.
Nature helped me. She could hear no longer the friction on her clitoris, her voice fell to a whining tone, she breathed short, “Oh! — do — now — leave off — do,” she whined out in broken utterances. “Kiss me,” said I, “and I will.” She put her mouth to me, and kissed me excitedly. I held her head to mine, shoved my tongue in her mouth and frigged harder. With a sigh and a sob, “Oh! I c — hant — b — hear it,” her thighs opened. “Oh!” she howled loudly and sharply as my finger slipped on to the prick-hole entrance. But now quite overcome with voluptuous sensations, she was nearly spending. I pressed her back on the sofa, pulling up her clothes. “Oh! don’t,” she said faintly. I pulled up her legs on to the sofa. “Oh! don’t,” but with excitement and lewedness she made no further resistance. I covered her rapidly, and with one strong lunge buried my prick up her, fucked her for a minute, and spouted a deluge of hot spunk into her cunt. Just as I finished I heard her sighs of pleasure, and felt her sympathetic bum-movements.
Under the excitement of fresh cunt, I kept up Catherine a long time, laying on her, kissing, endearing, and enjoying her. At length it began to shrink, I put my fingers down to feel between our coupled genitals, and cunningly I looked at them to see if there were signs of a virginity, — there were none. “Let me get up, — oh! do.” I got off her quickly, she pulled her clothes down, and sat up, I by the side of her. Both were quite quiet, I quite surprised with the quickness and ease with which I had won her person.
“Wasn’t it nice? — didn’t you like it?” “No,” said she, “it was a shame,” and she was going away, but I caught hold of her. “Let’s do it again.” “No, no, — oh! let me go,” she cried, but she let my hands go up her clothes. I felt the sperm all over her thighs, as I thrust my hand up between them. “I must go,” said she; but fiercely pushing her down without her struggling, I was soon up her, and again we fucked. She took my prick up her with the greatest pleasure. Thought I as I pulled out, she had had more than one prick there, I felt sure of that.
Nothing is so delicious as the intimacy established between man and woman by a fuck. When once he has moistened a woman’s cunt with his sperm, they seem to have known each other for years. You may know a woman socially, closely; live under the same roof for years with her, know her habits, when she eats, drinks, sleeps, and piddles, and she may know as much about you; but if you are caught looking up her petticoats as she goes upstairs, there will be a row; and a hint about the make, shape, &c., of any part of her body between her ankles and armpits, must not be referred to. You really know nothing about her that is vital, and you and she are virtually strangers. A quarter of an hour before I could not feel Kitty’s knee without a struggle, now I lay smoothing her backside with my hands, wriggling my shrinking prick in her, talking soft baudiness, and she lay listening to it, kissing me in return, her arse as quiet as if it were a lump of lead.
There is an end of all things. “Oh! if the cook should come back,” said she, “she’s no business out, and won’t be long.” “Damn the cook, — isn’t feeling nice?” “Yes, — but let me get up.” “Feel how my prick’s in you, and I’ll get off.” She felt it. “You’ve got black stockings,” said I, noticing them for the first time, as I once did with Mabel years ago. “Yes, — don’t you like them?” “No.” On the narrow sofa I could not lay by her side, so I dropped outwards, and off of her, but lewd still I put my hand on her cunt just as my prick came out of it. It was gruelly, but there was no blood. “Wash,” said I. “I’m going,” — and she left.
I wished to see her cunt when she had come back, I had not even had a glimpse of it. She let me feel it, still wet from the washing. I saw her thighs, her motte, but the crack she kept her thighs closed on. Then re- turning to the sofa, kissing, and feeling her cunt, the time passed. We talked about the family, but talked much more about fucking, that eternal subject, until I had twiddled her quim into a fever. Then tonguing her, “Let’s do it again,” said I. “Let me go and see to the kitchen-fire first,” said she.
This took place in the dining-room. She wasn’t gone long. When she came up she was a little coy. “No not again,” — as she stood with her bum against the dining-table, with my hands round her thighs. “No, no, the cook may come in at any moment.” But I put my hands round her bum, and lifted her up with some effort suddenly on to the table. I have done so with other women. She fell back on it. I looked at her thighs, and in a jiffy my prick was into her. I saw the dear girl’s face as she spent. “You will think of this as you lay the cloth for dinner,” said I still holding her thighs over my arms, my prick still up her. The bell rang. “Oh! good gracious, it’s cook.” Out came my prick. “Oh! how do I look? — will she notice anything? — is my hair all right behind?” She was all right, and down-stairs she ran to let the cook in.
I buttoned up, and directly almost rang the bell, and up she came. “Cook’s not noticed anything,” said she in a whisper. Then with the cream downstairs she went, and returned. I had a rapid feel, and went off, agreeing to meet her out on Sunday.