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.
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 annoyed her, she would go abroad. Her husband made the mother a sort of promise to keep steady for three months, but failed in doing so, went to America, had never ceased to write affectionate letters which came to her through her mother, and had recently written to say he had made a large sum of money, and was coming home. He had sent money home to the mother with instructions to settle it on Mary how she liked, provided she would come back to him. Afterwards she showed me his letters; they were well written, and in a style above a man of his position in life.
She had lived in service ever since; with us she had then been a year and a half, and had had but two other places. One she left because a grown up son began to pay her too much attention. At the other the master—a married man—made love to her, and one day tried to force her. I know the last place, it was about three miles from us.
This news came like a cold bath on me. It suited my taste to have a woman in the house. The idea of losing her was terrible. She refused me my pleasures. I doubted her truth at times, but whenever I did, she would fetch a letter as proof saying, “Now will you believe me?” She refused to say where her home had been, and what her real name was. I used to try to make out the postmark on her letters, but could not. They were negligent in those days in such matters, and postage was dear.
And now I again asked if she had had any other but her husband and me; by all that was holy she declared she had not. “How came you to let me?” “God in heaven knows!” said she, “months ago if anyone had said such a thing was possible, I should have said it was ridiculous; I only thought of you as a tall boy, but that day I felt that my life was passing away without the pleasures of a woman; what you did kneeling down in the kitchen upset me, then I let you; though I thought I should ruin myself by doing so.”
She cared but little for her husband, for he had caused her to lead the life of a widow for years. “Suppose I had done anything wrong,” said she, “and he had found it out, he would have cast me away; but you men can do what you like, and we poor women have to submit.” “But why go back?” “Four months ago I would not have done so, but you have made me find out I am a woman after all; you will understand that better as you grow older. Not many would have kept chaste as I have done until that night. Now I mistrust myself. I am getting fond of you, but what could come of it? And if anything came to the ears of my mother and friends, who are respectable, I should drown myself. I have got plenty of will of my own, although I am quiet.”
“You don’t care much about poking?”
“I have had my wants, but suppressed them,” she replied. “What did you do?” “Oh!” said she in an offhand way, “what other unmarried women do, I suppose.” “Frigged yourself.” She gave a nod and said, “And not often that.” I thought of what Charlotte had told me, but held my tongue.
I tried to get at her at intervals, but it was no use. “It’s caprice,” said I with my prick out, “you let me when I wanted it three weeks ago, why not now?” “I can’t,—I dare not,—it might be certain ruin now.” “What does a fellow care about ruin, when his hand is outside a cunt, and his prick is like an iron rod?” Twice as strong as me, she could at all times have escaped me, unless sexual desire was strong on her; desire gives a man force, but it takes away a woman’s force. She rose up, nor would she continue talking, until I had buttoned up my prick and promised not to touch her; that done, she said, “Would you wish to ruin me? You might if I let you, I have been very ill as you know, was in the family way, my monthlies stopped, and I have brought them on. When I was in trouble that way, I let you do what you like, now I am going home, what would become of me if I were in the family way then?” This explained all.
I had never given her a present, I never gave Charlotte one; having then so little money. I never thought about it. I had now more, and offered to give her some if she wanted any. She showed me a saving-bank’s book. She had got nearly fifty pounds. I bought a pair of gold earrings for her, it was the first present I had even given a woman, and she was much pleased. I had I think some vague notion, that it would induce her to let me have her; but if so, I was deceived.
Mother seemed to be keeping at home to baulk me. My chemicals had been taken back into the garden parlour. I knew she wanted to go to my aunt’s; but one morning it was too hot, then it rained, and so on. How I restrained myself from frigging I don’t know, for I used to walk up and down my bed room with my prick out stiff, and looking at it; at length a chance came—my last.
Mother went to aunt’s, the ugly housemaid said, “As Master Tom won’t be at home, do you mind my going out for a couple of hours?” “No,” said my mother, “when the cook is ready.” “Please will you tell the cook Mamm,” said she, “or she won’t let me go.” I had then a tutor in mathematics who came on that day, but promised to fetch mother home. I had many times broken my promises to do so, to enable me to get at Mary. Mother said, “I hope you mean what you say, you are getting a man, and should never break your word.” Anxious to know when the housemaid would go; I asked her. “I am not going till five o’clock, sir,” said she, “unless you particularly want the books,” “That will be too late, for I am to fetch mamma home,—never mind.”
I finished with my tutor, and out I went. But at about five o’clock came home near to the house, wondering if the housemaid had gone, (Mary I had not spoken a word to), waited in sight of the house, and at last saw a form I guessed to be the housemaid’s, going off fast towards the village; five minutes afterwards I knocked, and Mary opened the door. Said she, “What brings you home?” I said I was unwell, had a bad cold, could not go for my mother, would go to bed, would she fetch me a foot-bath, and went to my bed room. I had been two days planning the thing, an old dodge it was though.
It was hot and quite light, but I drew down the blinds, undressed and put on my nightgown; she brought the bath, we talked. She had not heard from her mother again, it was strange,—was she be
ing played with? It took weeks then to get to America. I kissed and got closer to her, we were on the edge of the bed; I spoke of our meetings and our pleasures, she avoided the subject, said I should take cold, prayed me to have the foot-bath and go to bed. Gradually I got my hand on her thighs, how could she help it?—a woman who had been fucked by me a lot of times. But she was firm in refusing me. I lifted my nightshirt, my prick stood up, the shirt hanging at the back of it like clothes on the hook of a prop,. Finding that useless, I threatened to frig myself and began the operation. She said I ought to be ashamed of myself, that she would leave if I did not desist, and turned to go, when I pulled her on to the bed. Soon my fingers were on her slit, her fingers on my prick. “I dare not let you,—oh! pray!” she said, but she was vanquished, silent, and tranquilly laid down on the bed; nature was too strong for her.
I lifted her chemise, had a glimpse of the lovely plump calves, and large, fleshy thighs, as I threw myself impetuously upon her. My belly closed with hers, and pushing my knuckles through the hairs, I guided my prick towards her cunt, but alas! too late. The long abstinence and the excitement were too much for me; just as my fingers opened the cunt-lips, and my prick touched her cunt, throb—throb—gush—gush, and over my fingers, over her thighs, into the thicket of hair, on to the clitoris, on to the smooth, round bum-cheeks below—anywhere—everywhere excepting the right place, my sperm spurted out: and only the last drop remained just as I buried my prick in her. Then instead of meeting her humid tongue with mine, I sank on her breast kissing, yet damning and cursing like a dragoon, at my spoiled pleasure,—I had spent out of sheer copiousness of spunk, and excitement.
Said she, “It is as well as it is, get off.” I made no reply, hoping my sexual force would return, for my prick was in her sheath. She moved to release herself. Stronger far than me, she could in any other attitude have easily done so; but the most difficult position for a woman to disengage herself from a man, is when he is on the top of her, well between her thighs, and clasping her backside tightly. As she moved there was no strong will in it; how could it be otherwise? She in the prime of life had been without it for weeks, nature was pleading for me, my prick was in her, my spunk all about her. To gain time I promised to get off in a minute. “Kiss me.” Our mouths and tongues met. It was like magic. A voluptuous throb passed through both of us, my prick stiffened to the full, a sympathetic grind of her cunt responded; again we were in the full tide of pleasure, fucking and spending together, the future was forgotten as we sunk quietly down. I had spent twice without uncunting; scarcely was it over than she pushed me off, and washed out her cunt in my foot-bath.
We sat on the side of the bed kissing and feeling each other, it was like the old time, the door wide open to hear the street door knocks. When the housemaid knocked, into bed I got; an hour afterwards home came my mother and into my bed room. She approved of the hot foot-bath, but insisted on my taking a febrifuge. To keep up the sham, I took it, Mary brought it and stood by, whilst my mother gave it to me; my prick was again standing like a prop at the sight of Mary, and as my mother pulled the bedclothes over me, she might, if she had had eyes, seen my prick pushing them almost up.
Next morning she gave notice to leave. I never had her again. On one or two occasions I felt her, and if there had been more time might perhaps have had her. At the end of a fortnight she told me that her monthlies were all right. From that day she resolutely refused to even let me feel her. “I don’t much care about going back,” said she; “I don’t think I shall be happy, but I do it for the best; at all events I shall have a home.” The day before she went she said, “Goodbye, God bless you, you are a good fellow,” but you will play mischief with many a poor girl here before you have done. “I like you very much, and shall always think of you.” I never heard of her after, and with her, passed from me the woman who is still in my recollection as one of the most beautiful, and perfect in form; as one who gave me the greatest sexual pleasure,—but I was of course very young and inexperienced.
My mother remarked that she was the most trustworthy servant she ever had; but that there was a mystery about her. Her boxes were labelled for a place that the coach would not take her to, and her boxes were not like a servant’s. “I think she has been crossed in love and ran away,” said mother. Said I, “Perhaps she had gone off with a bobby,” it was a current joke then, policemen not having been long invented. My mother said in her severe way, “She is a virtuous woman, a youth like you should not utter ignorant jokes about women, especially about the humbler classes, to whom good reputation is everything.” I began to see plainer than ever, that I could humbug mother after that.
Many of our conversations are told here in her very words, others as nearly as I can recollect them. I have often wondered at the way this woman behaved to me, talked to me, and all about her. The circumstances as they occurred, even at the time seemed peculiar; I felt as if I was wicked in getting into her, almost as if I was going to poke my mother; but I cannot attempt to analyze motives or sensations, I simply narrate facts. Certain it is, that I never have had a woman who in behaviour resembled Mary, in manner, conversation, and general behaviour,—I always felt as if she were a superior person to me, as if she were obliging me and not herself, and was putting me under an obligation, by letting me fuck her.
Again lonely, I not only wanted cunt, but also the society of a woman, it was so sweet to see and talk, to someone I fucked; to do so secretly, was an additional charm, and I used to feel quite sad. I was then about in my eighteenth year.
Chapter VII
One aunt as said lived in H—shire, a widow; her son, my cousin Fred, was preparing for the Army. I wanted a change, and went by advice to stay there. Fred was a year older than me, wild and bawdy to the day of his death, he talked from boyhood incessantly about women. I had not seen him for some time, and he told me of his amours, asking me about mine. I let him know all, without disclosing names; he told me in nearly the words, that it was “a lie,” for he had heard my mother say, that I was the steadiest young fellow possible, and she could trust me anywhere. This, coupled with my quiet look, and the care I took not to divulge names, made him disbelieve me; but I disclosed so many facts about women’s nature, that he was somewhat astonished. He told me what he had done, about having had the clap, and what to do if I got it; then he had seduced a cottager’s daughter on the estate; but his description of the taking, did not accord with my limited experience. One day he pointed the girl out to me at the cottage door, and said he now had her whenever he wanted.
She was a great coarse wench, whom he had seen in my aunt’s fields. He had caught her piddling on one side of a hedge; she saw him looking at the operation from a ditch, and abused him roundly for it; it ended in an acquaintance, and his taking her virginity one evening on a hay-cock,—that was his account of it.
Her father was a labourer on my aunt’s estate, the girl lived with him and a younger sister, her name was Sarah; he expatiated on her charm from backside to bubbies, but it was soon evident to me, that with this woman it was no money, no cunt; for he borrowed money of me to give her. I had squeezed money out of my aunt, my guardian and mother, and had about ten pounds,—a very large sum for me then, so I lent him a few shillings.
He had his shove as he called it, and triumphantly gave me again such account of his operations, and the charms of the lady, that I who had been some time without poking, wondered if the girl would let me; arguing to myself, he gives her money—my girls never wanted money,—why should his? He had been dinning into my ears, that all women would let men for money, or presents, or else from lust. “Kiss and grope, and if they don’t cry out, show them your prick and go at them.” These maxims much impressed me.
“Fred,” said my aunt at breakfast, “ride over to Brown about his rent, you will be sure to find him at the corn market,” and she gave him other commissions at the market town. I promised to ride with him, but had been tortured with r
andiness about this great wench of his; so made some excuse, and as soon as he was well off, sauntered towards the cottage, which was about half a mile from the Hall.
It was one of a pair in a lane. Scarcely anyone passed them excepting people on my aunt’s lands. One was empty. The girl was sweeping in front of the cottage, the door was wide open. I gave her a nod, she dropped a respectful curtsey. Looking round and seeing no one, I said, “May I come in and rest, for it is hot and I am tired?” “Yes sir,” said she, and in I went, she giving me a chair; then she finished her sweeping. Meanwhile I had determined to try it on. “Father at home?” “No sir, he be working in the Seven-Acre field.” “Where is your sister?” “At mill, sir”—meaning a paper mill. I thought of Fred. It was my first offer, and scarcely knew how to make it, but chucking her under the chin said, “I wish you would let me—” “What, sir?” “Do it to you,” said I boldly, “and I will give you five shillings,” producing the money; I knew it was what Fred gave her usually.
She looked at me and the five shillings, which was then more than her wages for a week’s work in the fields, burst into laughter and said, “Why, who would have thought a gentleman from the Hall would say that to a poor girl like me.” “Let me do it,” said I hurredly, “if you won’t I must go—I will give you seven and six pence.” “You won’t tell the young squire?” said she—meaning Fred. “Of course not.” She went to the door, looked both ways, then at the clock, shut the door and bolted it without another word.
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