My Secret Life, Volumes I. to III. - The Original Classic Edition. Anonymous Anonymous
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and saw couples go in, as my knowing friend who had told said I should. The next day instead of going to college, and risking discovery, I waited till Charlotte joined me, took a hackney coach to the street, and
telling Charlotte it was a tavern walked to the door with her, to my astonishment it was closed. Disconcerted I nearly turned back, but rang the bell. Charlotte said she would not go in. The door opened, a woman said, "Why did you not push the door?" Oh! the shame I felt as I went into that baudy house with Charlotte; the woman seemed to hesitate, or so I fancied, before she gave us a room.
It was a gentleman's house, although the room cost but five shillings: red curtains, looking-glasses, wax lights, clean linen, a huge chair, a large bed, and a cheval-glass, large enough for the biggest couple to be reflected in, were all there. I examined all with the greatest curiosity, but my curiosity was greater for other things, of all the
delicious voluptuous recollections, that day stands among the brightest; for the first time in my life I saw all a womans' charms, and exposed my own manhood to one; both of us knew but little of the opposite sex. With
difficulty I got her to undress to her chemise, then with but my shirt
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on, how I revelled in her nakedness, feeling from her neck to her
ankles, lingering with my fingers in every crack and cranny of her body; from armpits to cunt, all was new to me. With what fierce eyes after modest struggles, and objections to prevent, and I had forced open her reluctant thighs, did I gloat on her cunt; wondering at its hairy outer covering and lips, its red inner flaps, at the hole so closed up, and
so much lower down and hidden, then I thought it to be; soon at its look and feel, impatience got the better of me; hurredly I covered it with
my body and shed my sperm in it. Then with what curiosity I paddled my
fingers in it afterwards, again to stiffen, thrust, wriggle, and spend.
All this I recollect as if it occurred but yesterday, I shall recollect
it to the last day of my life, for it was a honeymoon of novelty, years afterwards I often thought of it when fucking other women.
We fell asleep, and must have been in the room some hours, when we awakened about 3 o'clock. We had eaten nothing that day, and both were hungry; she objected to wash before me, or to piddle; how charming it was to overcome that needless modesty, what a treat to me to see that simple operation. We dressed and left, went to a quietish public-house, and had some simple food and beer, which set me up, I was ready to do all over again, and so was she. We went back to the house and again
to bed, the woman smiled when she saw us, the feeling, looking, tittillating, baudy inciting and kissing recommenced. With what pleasure she felt and handled my prick, nor did she make objection to
my investigations into her privates, though saying she would not let me. Her thighs opened, showing the red-lipped, hairy slit, I kissed it, she kissed my cock, nature taught us both what to do. Again we fucked,
I found it a longish operation, and when I tried later again, was
surprised to find that it would not stiffen for more than a minute, and
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an insertion failed. I found out that day that there were limits to
my powers. Both tired out, our day's pleasure over, we rose and took a hackney coach towards home, I went in first, she a quarter of an hour afterwards, and everything passed off as I could have wished.
From that day lust seized us both; we laid our plans to have each other
frequently, but it was difficult: my mother was mostly at home, the
cook nearly always at home if mother was out; but quite twice a week we managed to copulate, and sometimes oftener. We arranged signals. If when she opened the door, she gave a shake of the head, I knew mother was
in; if she smiled and pointed down with her fingers, mother was out, but cook downstairs; if it pointed up, cook was upstairs; in the latter case, to go into the garden parlour and fuck, all this was done off
hand. If cook was known to be going out, Charlotte told me beforehand, and if mother was to be out, I got home, letting college and tutors
go to the devil. Then there was lip kissing, cunt kissing, feeling and looking, tickling and rubbing each others articles, all the preliminary delights of copulation, and but one danger in the way: my little brother could talk in a broken way, we used to give him some favorite toy, and put him on the floor, whilst we indulged voluptuously. On the sofa one day, I had just spent in her, when I felt a little hand tickling between
our bellies, and Tommy who had tottered up to us said, "Don'ty hurt Lotty, der's a good Wattie." We settled that Tom was too young to notice or recollect, what he saw, but I now think differently.
Winter was coming on, she used to be sent to a circulating library to fetch books, the shop was some distance off, a few houses, long garden-walls and hedges were on the road. I used to keep out, or go out just before she went, and we fucked up against the walls. I took
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to going to church in the evening also, to the intense delight of my mother, but it was to fuck on the road home. One day hot in lust, we fucked standing on the lobby near my bedroom, my mother being in the room below, the cook in the kitchen. We got bold, reckless, and whenever we met alone, if only for an instant, we felt each others genitals.
At last we found the servant's privy one of the best places. I have
described its situation near to a flight of steps, at the end of a
covered passage, which could be seen from one point only in the garden;
down there, anyone standing was out of sight. If all was clear I used to ring the parlour bell, ask for something, and make a sign; when she thought it safe, there she would go, I into the garden, to where I could see into the passage by the side of the garden stairs. If I saw her,
or heard "ahem," down I went into the privy, and was up her cunt in a second, standing against the wall, and shoving to get our spent over, as if my life depended on it; this was uncomfortable, but it had its charm. We left off doing it in the privy, being nearly caught one day there.
We thought cook was upstairs mother was out, I was fucking her, when the cook knocked saying, "make haste Charlotte, I want to come." We had just spent, she was so frightened I thought she was fainting, but she
managed to say "I cannot." "Do," said cook, "I am ill." "So am I," said
Charlotte. Said cook, "I can sit on the little seat." "Go to misses's
closet, she's out." Off cook went, out we came, and never fucked in that
place again; one day I did her on the kitchen table, and several times on the dining-room table.
We in fact did it everywhere else, and often enough for my health, for I
was young, weak and growing, and it was the same with her. The risks we
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ran were awful, but we loved each other with all our souls. Both young, both new at the work, both liking it, it was rarely we got more than
just time to get our fucking over, and clothes arranged before we had to separate, for her to get to her duties. Many times I have seen her about the house, cunt full and with the heightened colour, and brilliant
eyes, of a woman who had just been satisfied. I used to feel pleasure
in knowing she was bringing in the dinner, or tea, with my spunk in her cunt; not having had the opportunity to wash, or piddle it out.
When she had another holiday, we went to the baudy house, and stayed so long in it, that we had a scare; just asleep, we heard a knocking at the
door. My first idea was that my mother had found me out, and although I
ruled her in one way, I way in great subjection to her, from not having any money. She thought her father was after her. What a relief it was to hear a voice say: "Shall you be long sir, we want the room."