Fanny Hill. John Cleland
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who, he only judged, in gross, might not care to part with one he thought so fit to draw custom to the house.
I then just hinted to him not to mention in the house his having seen such a person as me, for reasons I would explain to him more at leisure. And then, for fear of miscarrying, by being seen together, I tore myself from him with a bleeding heart, and stole up softly to my room, where I found Phoebe still fast asleep, and hurring off my few clothes, lay down by her, with a mixture of joy and anxiety that may be easier conceived than express’d.
The risks of Mrs Brown’s discovering my purpose, of disappointments, misery, ruin, all vanish’d before this new-kindl’d flame. The seeing, the touching, the being, if but for a night, with this idol of my fond virgin-heart, appeared to me a happiness above the purchase of my liberty of life. He might use me ill, let him! he was the master; happy, too happy, even to receive death at so dear a hand.
To this purpose were the reflections of the whole day, of which every minute seem’d to me a little eternity. How often did I visit the clock! nay, was tempted to advance the tedious hand, as if that would have advanc’d the time with it! Had those of the house made the least observations on me, they must have remark’d something extraordinary from the discomposure I could not help betraying; especially when at dinner mention was made of the charmingest youth having been there, and stay’d for breakfast. ‘Oh! he was such a beauty!…I should have died for him!…they would pull caps for him!…’ and the like fooleries, which, however, was throwing oil on a fire I was sorely put to it to smother the blaze of.
The fluctuations of my mind, the whole day, produc’d one good effect: which was that, through mere fatigue, I slept tolerably well till five in the morning, when I got up, and having dress’d myself, waited under the double tortures of fear and impatience, for the appointed hour. It came at last, the dear, critical, dangerous hour came; and now, supported only by the courage love lent me, I ventured, on tiptoe, downstairs, leaving my box behind, for fear of being surpris’d with it in going out.
I got to the street door, the key whereof was always laid on the chair by our bedside, in trust with Phoebe, who, having not the least suspicion of my entertaining any design to go from them (nor indeed had I but the day before), made no reserve or concealment of it from me. I open’d the door with great ease; love, that embolden’d, protected me too: and now, got safe into the street, I saw my new guardian-angel waiting at a coach-door, ready open. How I got to him I know not: I suppose I flew; but I was in the coach in a trice, and he by the side of me, with his arms clasp’d round me, and giving me the kiss of welcome. The coachman had his orders, and drove to them.
My eyes were instantly fill’d with tears, but tears of the most delicious delight; to find myself in the arms of that beauteous youth was a rapture that my little heart swam in. Past or future were equally out of the question with me. The present was as much as all my powers of life were sufficient to bear the transport of, without fainting. Nor were the most tender embraces, the most soothing expressions wanting on his side, to assure me of his love, and of never giving me cause to repent the bold step I had taken in throwing myself thus entirely upon his honour and generosity. But, alas! this was no merit in me, for I was driven to it by a passion too impetuous for me to resist, and I did what I did because I could not help it.
In an instant, for time was now annihilated with me, we landed at a public house in Chelsea, hospitably commodious for the reception of duet-parties of pleasure, where a breakfast of chocolate was prepared for us.
An old jolly stager, who kept it, and understood life perfectly well, breakfasted with us, and leering archly at me, gave us both joy, and said we were well paired, i’ faith! that a great many gentlemen and ladies used his house, but he had never seen a handsomer couple…he was sure I was a fresh piece…I look’d so country, so innocent! well my spouse was a lucky man!…all which common landlord’s cant not only pleas’d and sooth’d me, but help’d to divert my confusion at being with my new sovereign, whom, now the minute approach’d, I began to fear to be alone with: a timidity which true love had a greater share in than even maiden bashfulness.
I wish’d, I doat’d, I could have died for him; and yet, I know not how or why, I dreaded the point which had been the object of my fiercest wishes; my pulses beat fears, amidst a flush of the warmest desires. This struggle of the passions, however, this conflict betwixt modesty and lovesick longings, made me burst again into tears! which he took, as he had done before, only for the remains of concern and emotion at the suddenness of my change of condition in committing myself to his care; and, in consequence of that idea, did and said all that he thought would most comfort and reinspirit me.
After breakfast, Charles (the dear familiar name I must take the liberty henceforward to distinguish my Adonis by), with a smile full of meaning, took me gently by the hand, and said: ‘Come, my dear, I will show you a room that commands a fine prospect over some gardens’; and without waiting for an answer, in which he relieved me extremely, he led me up into a chamber, airy and lightsome, where all seeing of prospects was out of the question, except that of a bed, which had all the air of having recommended the room to him.
Charles had scarce slipp’d the bolt of the door before, running, he caught me in his arms and, lifting me from the ground, with his lips glew’d to mine, bore me, trembling, panting, dying, with soft fears and tender wishes, to the bed; where his impatience would not suffer him to undress me, more than just unpinning my handkerchief and gown, and unlacing my stays.
My bosom was now bare, and, rising in the warmest throbs, presented to his sight and feeling the firm hard swell of a pair of young breasts, such as may be imagin’d of a girl not sixteen, fresh out of the country, and never before handled; but even their pride, whiteness, fashion, pleasing resistance to the touch, could not bribe his restless hands from roving; but, giving them the loose, my petticoats and shift were soon taken up, and their stronger centre of attraction laid open to their tender invasion. My fears, however, made me mechanically close my thighs; but the very touch of his hand, insinuated between them, disclosed them and opened a way for the main attack.
In the meantime, I lay fairly exposed to the examination of his eyes and hands, quiet and unresisting; which confirm’d him in the opinion he proceeded so cavalierly upon, that I was no novice in these matters, since he had taken me out of a common bawdy-house, nor had I said one thing to prepossess him of my virginity; and if I had, he would sooner have believ’d that I took him for a cully that would swallow such an improbability, than that I was still mistress of that darling treasure, that hidden mine, so eagerly sought after by the men, and which they never dig for but to destroy.
Being now too high wound up to bear a delay, he unbutton’d, and drawing out the engine of love-assaults, drove it currently, as at a ready-made breach…Then! then! for the first time, did I feel that stiff horn-hard gristle battering against the tender part; but imagine to yourself his surprise, when he found, after several vigorous pushes, which hurt me extremely, that he made not the least impression.
I complain’d, but tenderly complain’d that I could not bear it…indeed he hurt me!…Still he thought no more than that being so young, the largeness of his machine (for few men could dispute size with him) made all the difficulty; and that possibly I had not been enjoy’d by any so advantageously made in that part as himself: for still, that my virgin flower was yet uncrop’d never enter’d into his head, and he would have thought it idling with time and words to have question’d me upon it.
He tries again, still no admittances, still no penetration, but he had hurt me yet more, whilst my extreme love made me bear extreme pain, almost without a groan. At length, after repeated fruitless trials, he lay down panting by me, kiss’d my falling tears, and ask’d me tenderly what was the meaning of so much complaining? and if I had not borne it better from others than I did from him? I answered, with a simplicity fram’d to persuade, that he was the first man that ever serv’d me so. Truth is powerful, and it is not always that we do not believe what we eagerly wish.
Charles, already dispos’d by the evidence of his senses to think my pretences to virginity not entirely apocryphal, smothers me with kisses, begs me, in the name of love, to have a little patience, and that he will be as tender of hurting me as he would be of himself.
Alas!