This ended my intrigues with servants for some time, for my fucking took quite another direction. Harlots of small degrees amused me till I came into what was a pretty fortune in those days.
Chapter XIII
Of age. • Camille my first French woman. • Lascivious delights. • Harlots by the dozen. • Baudy books. • Tribades. • A grey-haired cunt.
I came into my property, and to the great horror of my mother and family, soon gave up my post at the and my intended career and determined to live and enjoy myself. I had been all but posted to a regiment, that commission I resigned, though all my youth desiring it. I lost much money by doing so. What I did between the time that I had the two sisters, until I went regularly to the town, is not worth telling of more than already done. Frig myself, I did not, gay women since my last clap I was shy of, but I used to shag a servant of a family close by, and rather think one of our own servants; but if so, all circumstances made small impression on me, and nearly escaped my mind, excepting those of a comely woman of about thirty with black curls, of a wall not far from a church, and of fucking her up against it, of her being so anxious to get indoors by nine o'clock, and scuffling off with her wetted cunt directly she had finished with me. Her name or who she was I quite forget.
This I know, that I had no other woman at home, and had no liking for gay women, nor is it to be wondered at, since my experience with them was confined to one I had with my cousin Fred, women by the road-side who would take a shilling, and others of a queer class in the confines of the Waterloo road (two de- bauches there told of) then filled me with horror, and three claps; yet I was to leave off giving my passion to quiet women, and bestow all my attention for a time on gay women.
Walking up Waterloo place one evening, with plenty of money in my purse, and lust in my body, I met a fine, clear complexioned woman, full twenty-five years of age, who addressed me in French, and then in broken English. She had an eye, and manner which fascinated me, her dress was quite elegant, as unlike the French women of Regen street of the present day, as a duchess is to a milkmaid; but she was the ordinary French whore of the day, of whom there were but few in London (there was no railway to Paris) ; and who were exclusively supported by gentlemen at the West-End. I went home with her to a house at the corner of G-I-n square, after fearing and hesitating.
As I got to the door my fear returned, and but for shame I would not have gone in. “I have but little money”, said I, “Have you not a Victoria?” said she. “No.” “You will find one, I am sure.” By that time the door was opened, and in I went. “You will find one Victoria”, said she in broken English as she closed the room-door, but if not, shall you not give me what you shall find.” The room was nicely furnished, out of it was a nice large bed-room and a smaller one (she paid twenty shillings a week for all, as you will soon hear). Four wax candles were lighted, down she sat, so did I, and we looked at each other. I could say nothing.
“Shall I undress?” said she at length. “Yes”, I replied, and she began. Never had I seen a woman take off such fine linen before, never such legs in handsome silk stockings, and beautiful boots. I had had the cleanest, nicest women, but they were servants, with the dress and manners of servants. This woman seemed elegance itself to them. A nice pair of arms were disclosed, a big pair of breasts flashed out, a glimpse of a fine thigh was shown, and as her things dropped off, and she stopped to pick them up, with her face towards me; her laced chemise dropped, opened, and I saw darkness at the end of the vista between her two breasts.
A pull up of the stockings and garters, disclosed other glimpses of the thighs and surroundings. Then she sat on the pot, pissed and looked at me, whilst I sat in fear, saying nothing, doing nothing, my cock shrivelled to the size of a gooseberry, and longing to go away. The whole affair was unlike anything I had seen or dreamed of, a quiet business-like, yet voluptuous air was about it, which confused me; it affected my senses deliciously in one way, but all the horrors about gay women were conjured up in my imagination at the same time. I was intensely nervous.
She seeing me so quiet, sat herself on my knee, and began unbuttoning my trowsers. I declined it. “Are you ill ?” said she. I told her no, scarcely knowing what she meant. Then she unbuttoned me in spite of my objection, laid hold of my little doodle, and satisfied herself that it was all right I suppose; for she hurt me; I could not tell why she squeezed it, for I did not know then the ways of gay women. The squeeze gave me a voluptuous sensation, although fear had still hold of me; then she kissed, and fondled me, but it was useless. Then she said, “You have never had a woman before I see.” My pride was wounded, and I told her I had many. “Are always you like this with them?” she asked. “No, but I really did not want it.” “Oh! yes you shall. Come to the bed.” She got off my knee, went to the bed, laid down on one side, one leg on, one dropping down to the floor, drew up her chemise above her navel, and lay with beautiful large limbs clad in stainless stockings and boots, her thighs of the slightly brown color seen in Southern women, between them a wide thicket of jet-black hair, through which a carmine streak just showed. She raised one of her naked arms above her head, and under a laced chemise showed the jet-black hair in the arm-pit. I had never seen such a luscious sight, nor any woman put herself unasked into such a seductive attitude.
“Come”, she said. I obeyed and went to the side of the bed, my prick not yet standing. She took my hand and put the finger on to her clitoris, pulled my prick towards her and kissed it, and at the double touch up it rose like a horn. “Ah!” said she moving on to the middle of the bed, “take off your clothes.” I was on to her without uttering a word and had plugged her almost before I had said “no”, which I had meant to say.
What a cunt! what movement! what manner! I had till then never known what a high-class, well practised professional fucker could do. How well they under-stand the nature and wants of the man who is up them; hers was the manner of a quiet woman, who had been some time without a prick, it was so like baudy nature in a lady, that I was in the seventh Heaven, “don't hurry”; but the wriggle and heave, and the tightening of the cunt kept hurrying me, as well she knew.
I had scarcely finished my spend, when curiosity took possession of me. She yielded in the way a French woman does to all a man wishes; almost anticipating them. The black hair under her arm-pits first came in for my admiration, then her eyes, her bubbies came in for their share, as raising myself on an elbow, my prick still up her, I looked and felt all over her, I even opened her mouth and felt her teeth which were splendid. Then rising on my knees, I looked between her legs, at the splendid thicket of black hair. Far from attempting to get up, or prevent me, she opened her thighs wider, I pulled aside the cunt-lips, there rolling out from a dark carmine orifice was my essence. At the sight of it, up came my prick, still dripping, and up it went into the sperm-lined passage.
My second fuck over, she washed. No sooner was that done, than I wanted to see it all over again. “You are very fond of women”, she said, “I thought you had never had a woman before.” Then I explained, gave her the Victoria, and scarcely daring said (for she was dressed again), “How I should like to do it again.” “You take up much time of me, but you may, if you like, at side of de bed.” Out came my prick, up it went, her duff and belly in sight now, till I spent in her, and promising to see her again I left. One does not get silk stockings, laced chemise, four wax lights and three fucks for a pound now, if rooms be well furnished, or not.
I saw her the next day, then saw her almost daily. Little by little I took to calling at all times, and sleeping with her. The more I had her, the more I liked her. She was a very nice woman in most ways, I scarcely ever found her untidy, dirty, or slammerkin. If not dressed, she had a clean wrapper on, had nearly always silk stockings on, and a clean chemise; and therefore call when I might she was ready to be fucked at a minute's notice. She was a good cook, and would kook omlettes and nice things in her room. I used to fuck, get out of bed, eat, and fuck again with the food al-most in my mouth. I used to have little dinners in her room, sent in by a French cook, which were excellent, and then with stomach full and with nice wine, would spend the evening in baudy joys.