We had indeed no other amusement than fucking, talking about it, eating, drinking, and sleeping, which was to us all the charm of a honey-moon. I think I see her now, making my cock stiff under my direction, her amusement at pulling the prepuce up and down was great, I almost feel her bum now as she used to sit on my knee, looking at the pictures in the bawdy book; we used to talk it over until we went to bed, and eased our passions, what fun when we did not mind washing each other’s privates, as we did.
We used to lay on the bed with my head between her thighs, licking her quim, she playing with my prick, but I never put my pego into her mouth, nor did she ever do more than kiss it.
On the day but one before Camille returned, we went to bed, had a fuck, then a second, her cunt felt funny, and I found her courses had come on, or as she called them, her periods. There was an end of my fun, nor was I sorry. Not having left her day or night, nor been to my lodgings, nor to my mother’s, I was fucked out, and so was she,—so that her reds came on most opportunely.
Next day we were duller, there was nothing in her to make her a companion when not in amorous amusements. She became tiresome, and annoyed me by putting on her things one after the other, all day long, and asking me, how she looked in them, if she did not look better than Madame. Then how to tell her mistress she had got the things? what to do, if her mistress refused to let her wear them? how was I to see her again? At length we resolved to tell rousing lies about everything,—my behaviour was in fact most absurd.
The following day, a letter came to say Camille would be home that night. I took away my trunk and clothes, went to my virtuous lodgings; it was a relief to be away from cunt for twenty-four hours, and I could not bear a woman with her courses on.
Chapter III
A day or two recruited me, I wrote to Camille who met me in the street, she had sent the girl to the theatre with a friend, so I went indoors with her. “Have you done it to her?” was the first question, as if she did not know, I told her all. She questioned me with strong interest. I gave her the fifty pounds. Then she asked me if Louise had told me where she came from, and other questions, which I saw were put to see, if Louise had told about their relationship. As we talked I looked at her, comparing her with Louise, and saw the likeness stronger than ever. “Why stare so?” she asked. When she had heard of all our bum frolics she gave a sigh and said, “Well, if I had not brought her to London, she would have gone to Paris with A———(mentioning some French name), and have had it done to her there,—so it comes to the same thing.”
Then suddenly, “Are you never going to have me again?” “No,” I had promised Louise. She looked amorously fascinating. “She won’t know it, I have never had it since I left.” She was half reclining on the sofa, by intention or chance her legs raised up on the sofa, one flat, the other foot on its heel, exposing the recumbent limbs from foot to knee. “Do now,” said she. “No,” but I moved from the chair to the end of the sofa, and began stroking her leg with my hand.
She lifted the clothes just above the knee. I saw the large thigh nearly up to her quim, my hand involuntarily slipped higher, and began smoothing the flesh just above the garter. “Do it now,” said she falling right on to her back.
I thought of Louise, of my promise; I knew the look of both their cunts,—of Camille’s the best,—desired to see, to compare it. I had been feeling Louise’s cunt eight days, now thought I should like to feel Camille’s to feel the difference, I knew her cunt was looser, and more hairy, her bum and thighs bigger, yet was I right in my comparison? my cock got uneasy, I helped it to rise in my trousers by giving it a push outside.
“I won’t have her,” I thought, “but there is no harm in feeling,” and began playing with the hair of her motte. “Your hair is longer than Louise’s.” She laughed, “Do it, baisez-moi,” said she.
My fingers touched the slippery cunt, it was irresistible, the next instant they were groping and feeling. “Your bum is bigger than Louise’s,” I said. She laughed again.
Sitting where I was, and playing at stink-finger, my position was inconvenient. “Come up closer,” said she. Then I sat by her hips, on the sofa-edge, she lifted her clothes right up: there was the quim, the jet-black bush, the fine round thighs, my cock was restive, my hands wandering, she unbuttoned my trousers, gave my prick a squeeze, sending up the blood and completed my randiness.
“Louise won’t know, you shall kiss me,” and she raised herself to throw her arm over my shoulder. Like a young virgin who says, “no, no,” whilst she yields, I kept repeating “no, no.” The thighs had opened, I was pulling open the lips and trying to see the red inside; and still saying “no,” slid on to her, on to it, up it, and spent before I well knew what I was about. “Oh! you are so quick,” said she, “you have spoiled me, I was just coming.”
She did not mean to be spoiled, trying her most bawdy endearments, she held me tight, caressed me, as a French woman knows how,—better than any other. Forgetting Louise, my mind fell into its bawdy dreams, I fucked her again, and then she let me get up.
And then to business. “What are you going to do for the girl?” she asked. “Nothing, I have given her money and things worth about a hundred pounds, and have paid you, when I have her again I shall give her money.” “You promised to do something more, if not what will become of her?” I did then recollect, that she had made me promise, but had attached no definite ideas to it.
“I relied on you, or would never have brought her; are you going to keep her, or let her be gay like me?”
I did not like either; to keep her I had no intention, did not even like the girl, though I liked plugging her. Said Camille, “We have had a row already, she won’t work, and says she will wear the clothes she has got, although I have only seen a few of them.” “What do you expect?” I asked. “Set her up in business, selling gloves or perfumes, a small shop somewhere.”
Not liking the aspect of affairs, I left, it was the first time such propositions had been made to me. I felt inclined never to go near the house again, but had promised Louise to be with her soon, and always kept my word, so thought over the matter.
Keeping her was out of the question, I had heard that men who kept women, did so for other men; besides I had no idea of tying myself up that way. I was not pleased with her: a fine girl, a fine fuck, a fresh woman who shivered with delight the instant the prick entered her, who was randy-arsed enough to learn anything in the way of copulation; she had been delightful to me eight days, and might for more; but she was coarse, vulgar, and had not two ideas in her head, was evidently violent tempered, and excessively vain. Set her up in business! why she had cost me hundreds to get her, why should I?
I could not make up my mind, and resolved never to go near her again; but two days afterwards, that funny sense of fullness came over my cock-knob, then the tingling, then the desire for cunt, then for Louise’s cunt, the ragged slit made by my cock was before my eyes, and instead of quenching my wants in the channel of some other woman, I went there. Camille was just outside the door, and we conversed together in G—dn Sq—.
She suggested my seeing Louise alone, and paying her (Camille) as I had done before. I did not mean to submit to that restraint, nor to keep her, but let her go her own way. “What does it matter, she must know you will find it all out, so why not at once?” I said.
“If she knows that I know it, I must turn her out” (“I don’t think you would turn your sister out,” I thought), “then I must put her into lodgings, and she will be gay.” “I can’t help that.” We came to no conclusion, I left her, went to the door, rang, and Louise opened it. She kissed and hugged me in the passage, a minute afterwards she was on my knee grasping my prick, my fingers were on her cunt, our lips together; in another with tongues lapping together I was up her; in two or three minutes more we were quiet.
(I should so like to experience the feeling a woman has as she sits and ta
lks with her cunt full of sperm, does it feel so very pleasant sitting so?) She poured out her griefs, Camille had asked questions, who had been there? how did she get the bonnet, the new boots? she had refused to tell anything, Camille had said she had better go. “Why not tell Camille?” I said, “if she did not like it she might lump it, as far as I was concerned;” but the girl was evidently afraid,—or was it sham?
Next day I wrote to Louise who met me, and I took her to a house into which I had never been before. For three weeks I met her on writing to her, and we spent hours together. She now had frequent rows with Camille, each time she came to meet me she put on more of her new things; at first she only came with a dress, then with the bonnet and something else, and at last with all the finery; she looked a handsome swell, but a vulgar one. I ceased paying Camille.
One night she said Madame had had no one visit her for a long time, nor was she much out but often was all night, where she went she did not know; there was one man who came, a gentleman, she thought he was a lover of Camille’s.
We came out of the house in————street one night after a surfeit of voluptuous pleasures, when a woman stepped across the road, and lifted up her veil. “Oh! my God, it’s Madame,” said Louise, and she got right at the back of me where I stood. “So,” said Camille, “I have found you out, you have been in a bawdy house with my old friend.” She burst into a laugh, turned, and went away without saying another word.
I don’t know what actuated me in my course of conduct, at that time I knew well what I did, but my reasons are not so clear, I cared nothing whether Louise knew that her mistress or sister knew I had had her, yet I did not go to the house, firstly because Camille wished me not, unless she was out, and it did not suit me to be waiting for a girl who was burning to let me have her, and also because Louise was in a funk when I was with her in the house, and Camille was out. I was convinced they were sisters, and had a glimmering, that Camille would not like Louise to know she had been got for me by her; yet I thought that it must be found out.
As Camille walked away Louise began to cry, I could not get a word from her; we walked up and down A— Street, she was frightened to go home, we went back to the bawdy house, and there we slept. The next day we stopped there, and I went home with her,—Camille was within.
“So you have been to a bawdy house?” said she, “so you have been fucked, fucked by my friend; you are a nice one to speak ill of other people.” “I am not a whore,” said Louise taking cheek. “Ain’t you?” said Camille, “I don’t know that.” “Say I am a whore, and I’ll hit you,” said Louise going up to her. “Have it out by yourselves, I am not going to stop for a row,” said I, “Camille be good to the girl.” “If I had not brought her from France she would not be what she is.” What was I going to do with her? “Nothing.” “Then the sooner Louise went out the better.”
Louise sat down, and began silently crying. I hate to see a woman cry, and always had one remedy,—could champagne be fetched? Mother Boileau condescended to fetch some. We drank, I got communicative, and began to tell Camille. She cut me short, wanted to know nothing, we had been in a bawdy house together, it was enough. What was I going to do? the girl would no longer work, and she was going into other lodgings, I might take hers for Louise if I liked.
It gradually shaped itself to this: I was to take the lodgings, Camille to stay rent free, a servant to be got, but one particular friend only was ever to visit Camille there; Louise took Camille’s bed room, Camille Louise’s, I had in fact the pleasure of keeping both. The next night I slept with Louise in Camille’s bed, slept there several times, and one morning Camille said, “You have got the girl with child, I quite expected it.”
This annoyed me. I had been getting tired for some time, did not like the girl, who became so jealous of Camille, wanted so much admiration, that she quite fatigued me. She wanted to walk in the streets to be admired. I had given her more clothes, she got careless, wanted to go to theatres, and I took her. The Argyle was just opened, and I took her there, she wanted me to go there often. I had seen one or two other women I lusted for, but above all wanted to go to France with Fred who had returned from India; so her being in the family way bothered me. I got it into my head, that it was a plant, and took her to my friend the doctor who said it was a fact.
Camille asked me to meet her in G—d—n Sq—e, for convenience I took her to the bawdy house; she had got mighty particular, made me go in first, and came in afterwards with her veil down,—she always now wore a veil. She again asked me what I was going to do. She had got the girl, and was sorry for it, at length she said, “I am going to be married, go into business, and will take her with me, if you will help, or I will get her home again to France, if you will give her money.” I agreed to think of it.
We sat on a sofa. As I looked at her I began to feel a desire for her. “Let us have a kiss,” said I, “for old acquaintance sake.” “No,” said she, “I am going to be married, am perhaps watched, am frightened of being here. I expect my friend back from abroad daily, he may have come back now. Madame Boileau knows him, I must be careful.”
But how can a woman resist a man who has had her often, who knows every crack and cranny of her body, has looked at her motte long enough to count every hair on it, a few rubs on her clitoris, and back she fell on the sofa. We were both dressed, but plunging up her, and grasping her ample rump, I was soon enjoying her; when thinking of Louise, and I suppose comparing her mentally, I said in the height of my pleasure, “Oh! I like fucking you better than your sister after all,” or something to that effect.
“What?” said she with a start as her cunt clipped, and jerked my prick out. Cursing, and damning at my interruption I drove it up again, and consummated.
“What did you say about being like my sister?” said she as I still lay with my doodle up her, “what sister?” I replied she looked so like Louise, that she must be her sister. “But she is not, although she is like me.” Then the matter dropped, and she slopped her cunt clean. I used to like a woman whom I knew not to wash it, when I was going to fuck her again, Camille had humored me in this, and as my lust came on for my second poke, used to bring my amatory pastime by looking at the cunt with my pleasure signs on it. So Camille washing astonished me. “I am going to be married, and must,” said she.
We had more fucking before we left. She was all anxiety about Louise, for I would say nothing. “You will never see me here again,” said she, “nor have me again, and may do with Louise what you like, I shan’t be here, you will throw her on the town.” Then she veiled closely, and made me go out first. I waited at the top of the street ten minutes, out she came, veil down, and shot off in the direction of G—d—n sq—e like an arrow.
I now with perversity longed for Camille, instead of Louise, but never had her afterwards, never sent my tallow up her, although I tried once or twice.
I began going about elsewhere, sleeping with Louise at times; but she was always pestering me about being in the family way, which annoyed me; and wanted such a lot of ballocking, that that annoyed me also. My cousin Fred wanted me to go to Paris with him, Louise said I was going to forsake her. One night after dining with her, coming out we met my cousin Fred, nothing put him off, and he would walk with us. The next day he said in his old unchaste way, which some years in India had not improved, “So that is the woman your mother says she fears has got hold of you.” It was the first time I had heard, that my mother had any such suspicion, for although she had spoken to me about my wildness, she had never referred to a woman; but she had told my aunt, who told my cousin my mother was awfully astonished. For that six years I had shagged all our servants under her very nose, yet she had not the faintest suspicion of it, my pranks now coming to her ears, shocked her extremely. I told Fred, that I had had Louise’s first, to which he replied, that he should like to rattle his stones against her arse. “Is she a good fuck? where does she live?” I did not
mean his stones to knock against her arse as long as mine did, I replied, “Oh! you are fond of her then?” “No, but I preferred her to myself.” “Lord, what does it matter?” said he, “white women are scarce in India, there was one that all in my regiment were fond of, there was not an officer who did not stroke her, none of us minded; we say ‘the more a cunt’s buttered, the better it grinds.’” I did not see it in that light, so with the remark from him, that she was a damned fine piece, we parted.
Two or three days afterwards he spoke of her again, said he knew where she lived, so I thought he was hunting after her which annoyed me; not seeing that if he had got into her, I could have left her with good excuse.
I had tried to learn from Louise if she knew where Camille went all day, but could learn nothing, one night in bed with her however, whilst handling each other’s privates, and under the sympathy generated by the rub of my fingers on her clitoris; she on my solemn promise of secrecy, told me that an old friend of Camille’s had opened a glove and lace shop in O—f—d Street. I saw a small shop, there was a Frenchman in it whose face I seemed to know. I waited near it one night, and saw Camille leave the shop closely veiled, and take the best way towards G—dn Sq—e. Madame Boileau was like an oyster I could get nothing out of her, although she took my money. I was sure that Camille went to the shop daily, or nearly so, and as no man came to the house, suppose she got her cunt plugged in the shop parlour.
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