My Secret Life, Volumes I. to III. - The Original Classic Edition. Anonymous Anonymous
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was over; lolling her tongue against mine, and sucking my very breath from me, she quietly
subsided; leaving me to lay in her, until with a kiss, she would gently
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doze off with me in her arms.
A taste had developed as said, which I have retained to the present time. I loved to see a woman piddle, used to make Charlotte do it as often as I could, to place my hand under the stream, and feel its splash on my fingers; and if chance let me hear the rattle in a pot, or see a woman rising up from the attitude, my prick used to stand. I did this with her greatly to her astonishment, she resented it so much that I never repeated it: singular that a woman who would let me lay and kiss her cunt, or put finger and prick up it; should refuse to let me see the water come from it--but so it was.
Charlotte I loved, and used to feel as if she were part and parcel of
me for life, when I was up her, with Mary I thought of thighs, backside, cunt, and her other parts, without much liking her beyond the desire of spending in her. My impression is that I must have fucked that day,
as much as I ever did in my life on one day; my mother remarked that I looked ill and worn out when I got home, and again fell on her favorite belief that I was overstudying. How she could have permitted a young man to be so often in the kitchen, and near to female servants, seems to me
a marvel of stupidity,--but she did.
Nothing opens a man and woman's heart to each other like fucking. A woman laying satisfied by your side, her cunt bedewed with your spunk, with fingers touching your prick, and mouth fresh from contact with yours; will tell you more than she will at any other time. She did that
day. She had thought me a mere boy, getting baudy with coming manhood, and had liked me. My quiet, demure manner, made her imagine that such an
attack from me, was among the most improbable things; when I began
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she made up her mind to leave, but then came the mystery,--there were circumstances which rendered it needful for her to stay where she was, if possible--what they were she would not say. My assault on her in the bedroom and all that followed upset all her ideas, filled her mind
with images of lust and pleasure, and left that undefined sensation and unsatisfied longing which is known as randiness. I suddenly seemed a man to her. My spending in her hand upset her still more. I asked if that
had made her let me have her. She replied, "I gave up the self denial
of years, abandoned my intentions, and let you do it; when you pushed me into the garden parlour I intended to let you as I went in, I had not quite intended before."
There was the greatest difficulty after that day in getting her, for my mother seemed always in my way, and objected to my being in the kitchen. Mary never helped me as Charlotte used, as cook indeed she could not. She ran no risks, and was never in a hurry, so where I had Charlotte
half a dozen times, I could scarcely get Mary once.
She met me out again, and in a fortnight asked for another holiday. It astonished my mother, for more than a year she scarcely had gone out, and never had taken a whole holiday. What another day of ballocking it was, in that old, snug, baudy house--but we had a quarrel there.
Even with my inexperience, I knew she was different from Charlotte at the first poke. I used in my mind to compare the differences. Charlotte's curiosity, the manifest novelty of fucking to her, even for a couple of months after her splitting and bleeding; was so different from the steady, quiet, well satisfied way with which Mary copulated.
Pondering over this, I wondered if she had been done before, how often,
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and by how many, or had I been the first? The idea of asking her was always floating through my brain. That day I said to her as her face was towards mine on the pillow, and I was toying with her bubbies, "I wonder who had you before me." She sat up, looked me steadily in the face, and replied, "You have no right to ask me, you are not my husband." "But
tell me." "I shall not, it is an impertinence; how can a youth like you know anything about first or second." I blurted out, "Because when first I did it to Char--" the name was almost out of my mouth, but I stopped in time, "when I first had a young woman (correcting myself), I could
not easily get into her, it tore my prick, and she bled." "Who was it?"
said she. "Oh! a young woman." "But who was it?" I did not reply. "Was it Charlotte?" and she looked me hard and full in the face. "No," said
I. "Now was it? Tell me," said she bending over, kissing and coaxing me. "No, it was not." "I believe it was, you once said she was young, and
had dark brown hair--it was she." In vain I denied it. "I felt sure it
was, and with a youth like you! Is it possible you can have harmed that nice girl! What a wretched, wicked lot you all are, you will be as bad
as the others." Then she suddenly said, "Mind, you have sworn solemnly never to mention to any living soul about me; oh! once forget yourself, and it's all up with a woman." Then she laid down, again her manner became quiet and voluptuous--another fuck followed. I again tried the question. She settled me by saying, "If ever you ask me that question again, I will not let you have me afterwards," and I never did ask her
that I can recollect until just before she felt us.
But she for some time after asked ME questions about my first woman, "was she tall? were her teeth as good as hers?" and so on. How far she satisfied herself that it was Charlotte, she never said; for I
don't recollect that she mentioned her name again, and I gave wrong
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descriptions; but may have got more information than I meant her to have, as she asked me at odd times when I was off my guard.
A third time, to the still greater surprise of my mother, she took a holiday. We spent it at the house, and she exhausted me and herself. For
a day or two afterwards she gave me every chance at home, and we fucked furiously. She took to calling me a dear fellow, when her tongue was
not against mine, but which was always the case when our mouths got together; and I imagine now, must have been a greater luxury to her than it was then to me. Soon after she received several letters which I said were from her lover. "I wish they were," said she. Then she took ill,
and when better, refused me altogether. I had opportunities, but she would not. I said I wished I had never seen her; she said she wished so too, for she was fond of me, although it was ridiculous at her age
and mine. Afterwards when mother was one evening at the bottom of the garden, Eliza gone out to the library. I seized Mary as she closed the shutters; kissing and begging her. She opened her thighs, my fingers
were on her clitoris; she kissing me at intervals said: "Oh! no, oh! I can't, dear--I dare not--Walter, Walter, you must not; I am a married woman, and am going home to my husband most likely."
Soon afterwards she told me her history. Married seven years previously, her husband became dissipated and unfaithful; and from being a
well-to-do tradesman, brought himself to the condition of a labourer. She forgave him until he gave her a disease, then she left him as she had threatened to do. Nothing he could say would induce her to have anything more to do with him. "Is there anything about me that a man
could not be satisfied with for years?" she asked, as if I were a judge.
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She went home to her mother. He appears to have been fond of her. Love of women was his great fault; but the disease so set her against him,
that all his entreaties were useless. Nevertheless she was his wife, and getting into the mother's house one day, when she was alone (Mary), he fucked her with violence--and violent it must have been, for she was as strong as a horse. Directly afterwards she left and went to service in London, confiding only her address to her mother, taking a false name, and writing him, that if ever he found her out and