Erotic Classics II

by Various Authors

  Knocks at the door aroused me, and a shrill voice cried out, “Kate, Kate.” I listened, “Are you alone?” said the voice. I shook Kate, and awakened her a little. “Someone is knocking at your door,” said I. “Oh! damn,—arse-holes,” said she turning on her side, and dozing again.

  “Kate,—knock, knock,—Kate, are you alone?—I’m going to bolt the door,—they are all in,” said the voice.

  Kate made no reply, I was dressing, so opened the door. “I’m here, and am going directly.” “Is she drunk?” said the woman. “I think she is.” “Do you know her?” “No.” “Well I will leave the door open.” “I’m going,—wait.” There lay Kate dozing. When dressed I said, “I have left five shillings on the table.” “Awake her,” said the woman (for I heard and saw it was one). “You had better.” “Kate, Kate,” sung out the woman. I shook Kate, who turned, opened her eyes, and said, “Oh I damn,—don’t.” “Come in,” said I to the woman. She did, and shook Kate. “Oh! arse-holes. She’s been lushing for three days,” said the woman. “Mind there are five shillings,” said I, and disgusted I left, resolving never to go near the drunken beast again.

  But the woman had made a great impression on me. I was always, even quite early in life, taken with a crummy woman, quite as much as with a pretty face; and although so low a woman, I longed for her again, and before many days sought her. It was on a blazing hot afternoon of a summer’s day, the sun shone brightly on the front of the houses on one side of the street, the other was in shade. A street with perhaps a dozen carts and wheel-barrows through it in a day, where children played in the roadway, and women sat on the footways. I went along slouching on the shady side, slowly looking, and not quite recollecting the number of the house, and saw Kate sitting on a chair on the footway by her door.

  She looked up vacantly as I got close to the house, with that look which a low-class woman has who thinks the man above her, and not likely to take her. “Come in,” I said turning into the open door, and she followed me, bringing her chair. “I’ll give you five shillings,” said I. “All right.” “Take off your dress.” “All right, but give me the five shillings first.” I gave it her. She began undressing, her gown off left but her chemise. “You don’t want my chemise off?” “No,—lay at the side of the bed.” She laid herself down, threw up her chemise, and the loveliest pair of thighs, belly, and cunt that ever man saw were disclosed. To look, to open its lips, and thrust my prick up her were the work of a minute. I roared as I touched her. I am told by women that at that time of my life, when thoroughly randy and I saw the cunt I liked that I gave a low roar as I closed on it with my pego. Kate told me that I did so this time, when my prick first neared her thighs. I did not then talk when in a woman’s embraces; but fucked in silence.

  I pulled out my prick, “Lay still,—keep your thighs open,—let’s see your cunt,” said I trying to keep her in her position. “Oh! Arse-holes,” said she closing her thighs, and getting up, and looking at me.

  “Did you get your five shillings the other night?” said I, “you were drunk.” “Lor! are you the gent?” said she breaking out in a laugh, “I didn’t know you,—now I see you are like him,—yes I was lushy,—so you’ve come agin.—Lor!” and she laughed. “How often did you fuck me?” I told her. “Sit down, and talk,” said she, and we both sat down on her little cane-bottomed chairs.

  “So you fucked me four or five times,—I don’t know if I spent or not, damned if I do,—think of your lying there, and being bitten by the fleas,—the room was washed out yesterday, there ain’t no fleas now. So you pulled me about,—what a beast, rubbing your spunk about on my cunt.—but Lor! a cunt’s the proper place for it.” After a few minutes similar conversation she suddenly said, “Let’s fuck agin.” “Well let’s strip,” Off went her chemise without reply. Gloating over her I stripped naked, and was soon on her, and up her. She had not washed. She enjoyed it. How we hugged each other’s nakedness! The first words she uttered afterwards were, “You are a bloody fine fucker,—where did you learn to fuck so well?” giving me a vigorous kiss, and squeezing her cunt up to me as she said it.

  I washed, and wanting soap (she had none), she went to the door, and called out for some. The woman brought it. Then there was no towel, and again standing naked at the half-opened door, she called out to the landlady to lend her one “I shan’t,” said a voice, “you have now got two of mine.” “Oh! arse-holes,” bawled out Kate slamming the door, “the bugger won’t let me have one,—here dry your prick with my chemise, it’s quite clean.”

  Kate stood naked looking at me as I rubbed myself dry with her chemise, bending slightly forward, holding her fingers under her cunt. “What a lot you’ve spent,” said she putting down the basin with my water in it, and beginning to wash. “That’s not clean,” I remarked. “Oh! it’s all the same spunk,” she replied, and afterwards, “You may look at my cunt if you like,” and she threw herself on the side of the bed, thighs wide open. She was faultless. I pulled a chair to the side of the bed, and contemplated her cunt at my leisure. The dirty white blind down in the window only just mellowed the light, it was as light as day, I could have hunted crabs, had there been any in her motte-thatch.

  She asked me to give her gin. Some was sent for, then we sat drinking, she taking it neat, I mixed with water. “Let’s fuck,” said she again, and we fucked. More gin, more fucking, she was quicker to want fucking than I was. It was getting dusk, then she said, “You’re going, ain’t you? I want to make a few shillings tonight,—my rent’s due tomorrow.” I gave her another five shillings, made her piss in the basin, and we fucked again. I was fucked out, and at last she spent twice to my once, our bodies were sticking together with sweat as we fucked. Then for a few minutes we went to sleep. “You are a gent,” said she, “I likes you,—I hopes you’ll come agin, and see me,—I likes a real gent.”

  As I went out I saw a man standing on the other side of the road looking like a bricklayer. Turning back after I had gone a hundred feet or so, I saw him cross the road, and go into the house. I went back, the street-door was as it always was, open. Stepping inside I heard a male voice through Kate’s door, a woman came out from the back. “Who do you want?” said she. “Kate.” “Oh! she has got a friend with her,—shall I knock?” “No,” I replied, and went my way. I didn’t like the idea of her having a working-man after me, or before me. I was not then a philosopher, “But what does it matter?” said I, “a man’s a man.”

  I saw Kate next day, and told her she had had a man after me. “Yes directly,—a chap I knows had been awaitin’ an hour, and he come in in a hurry. ‘I’m done,’ says I, but he would,—he’s a rough un, and he’d fucked me before you was at the end of the street.” “Why you had not washed your cunt.” “No,” she laughed, “the bugger went right into your spendings,—he never knowed, and I had a good un of a cove after him,—you brought me luck. I’ve got two new chemises, and four towels,—let’s fuck,—let’s fuck,” said she laying hold of me, and unbuttoning my trousers. My balls hung over her bum in no time.

  I visited her at intervals for about a year. She had the whitest flesh I ever saw, and was very beautiful in face; the hair grew exceedingly low on her forehead, yet it did not disfigure her, from her neck to her calves her form was perfectly voluptuous, but she had big feet, and her hands were large. I could not bear to see her feet in great boots, and when looking at her lovely form used to keep my eyes from them. Her cunt was perfectly beautiful and small; black, white, and carmine were never more exquisitely blended.

  She was revoltingly coarse in her talk, and even when sober her voice was rough. That I did not like, but her language disgusted me. To anything she did not like she said “arse-holes,” said it more frequently than any other word until I stopped her. “Give me some gin,” she would say. “No you have had enough.” “Oh! arse-holes.” Everybody also was a bloody bugger, or a bloody shit. She was lewd on me for a time, and made me fuck her mor
e than I wanted, but as I checked her foul language she became indifferent to me. “Oh! I’m obliged to hold my tongue I suppose,” then she would sulk, and then, “Well let’s have another fuck,” and all would be right till I stopped her foul tongue again.

  Half her time she was drunk. I would go there, not see her at the door, then call out to the woman, “Is Kate in?” “Yes she’s drunk, I ain’t seen her since the morning.” Sometimes her door was locked, nothing then roused her, and away I went. At other times she was in the bed, or on it, and all but insensible. Several times I fucked her, put five shillings in her pocket, and left without her knowing I had had her until afterwards.

  I had now fits of timidity, and used French letters at times, even when she was quite sure she was all right. One day when she was very drunk, I had her with a letter on, and as my cock dwindled out I eased the letter off it, and with my finger pushed it well up her cunt, and went away without paying her. I should like to have known what she thought when she found the French letter up her. I never alluded to it, and she never did. Why I behaved so I don’t know, it is a wonder to myself. That night I had entered her room, and left unobserved by anyone.

  When she was a little drunk only, she got spoony, and I could not get away from her, she would lay hold of my prick, and keep to it. “I can’t do it again Kate.” “Get on me, and I’ll make you,”—and she usually did. Then as liquor overtook her she ceased to wash her cunt after fucking, would turn on her side, and go to sleep. I left her often snoring with her cunt full, the money on the table.

  It always was a wonder that she kept such a beautiful skin and look, but she did; and always was cool, fresh, and healthy-looking, even if she had been drunk for twenty-four hours previously. Her breath and body were as sweet as milk, yet she never had a bath as far as I know, but performed all her ablutions in a little basin, throwing the water into the street when she had done with it. I have seen her wash from head to foot that way in a quart of water, and a wet rag, and when done she looked like ivory.

  She was called Irish Kate, why?—I never knew, nor did she. She was not Irish.

  I had words with her one day, having lost a diamond pin. She had been pulling me about that night, but the same night I had been into a house with two women, and had felt their quims. I offered more than the value of the pin, but never got it back. After that I did not go near her again for a long time, but at length so longed for her that I did. She cried with joy, and kept me fucking till my back was well nigh broken.

  Then I was for some time out of England. On my return, burning with desire, I went one night to her house. She had died of cholera, which was then raging.

  Chapter XVIII

  Close by Kate’s was a street with a carriage way, at one end narrowing to a footway only. On one side a row of small houses, on the other a very high blank wall. Costermongers’ barrows and carts stood in the carriage way at night; clothes-lines with ragged garments hung across the street in the day. One dark night prowling about, cunt-feeling young girls and bawdying generally, I went up this street. I had been up it before, and loved to hear the boys and girls chivying each other among the carts, hinting bawdiness as they caught the girls, and kissed them, the girls squealing when liberties were taken with them. Occasionally standing in the shadow of the carts, I listened whilst a man would stealthily go up against the blank wall, a woman follow him. I would stand feeling my prick till I saw them come away (in two or three minutes usually), and rush into Mary Davis’ or Kate’s to get a relief for my excited ballocks. There was but a feeblish light in the street, and in one part of it none.

  As I passed I saw a small girl standing inside the door of a house, and thought I would like the little one. Sometimes I wanted the biggest woman I could get, sometimes the smallest. She took no notice of me, I re-passed, and there she still stood. “Is she gay?” I wondered, “she does not look it.” Lots of girls and women not gay stood in a similar manner in those streets. Again I passed, and stopped. “Will you let me come in, and give you a kiss?” “Yes sir,” said she stepping back.

  I stepped in after her, one or two steps down. The room was below, and entered direct from the street. A miserable place; on one side a mangle, on another a poor dirty bed, a tile floor, dirty walls, wooden furniture, all miserable. Had I known, I should have been horrified at entering such a hole, but in my lust I thought of nothing but the young girl, of the probable hairless cunt, of her little bum, her smallness and freshness. She looked fifteen years of age, and was quite short.

  She closed the door, and looked. I looked at her. “I’ll give you five shillings.” “All right sir.” “Let me look at your quim.” “All right sir,” said she getting on the bed. I pulled up her clothes, and saw the little thighs, and the little cunt with a very small quantity of lightish brown hair on it. How tight it was to my finger! I took the guttering candle. “I’d like to fuck, but am frightened,—let me look well at your cunt.” “I’m all right,” said she putting her fingers down, and stretching open the lips, “quite clean indeed sir.” “When were you fucked last?” “It must be a week.” “Arn’t you every night?” “I don’t get the chance,” still laying on her back, and stretching her cunt-lips open, “I only go to the door quite late, when the neighbours have gone in, cause they ain’t gay close here.” The house was the last in the street where it narrowed to a footway.

  I raised her up, laid her lengthways on the bed, and put my pego into her hand, but fear came over me, and it would not stand. “I must do it to you, but play with it a little.” She laid hold of my prick. “It’s not stiff.” “No my dear, frig it.” She began. “Do you like feeling a prick?” “I likes feeling men’s things,” she replied, “they are such funny things, first little, then big, then little again.”

  “How old are you?” “Over fifteen, mother says.” “Where is your mother?” “In the back room,—look it’s getting bigger, I did not think it would be so big,—don’t hurt me with your nail sir please,” said she frigging away clumsily, and when it was stiff leaving off, but looking earnestly at my pego. I kept probing her cunt with my fingers, wondering at its smallness.

  A desire came to make her youthful mouth utter bawdiness. “Say cunt dear.” “Cunt.” “Say fuck.” “Fuck.” “You know what fucking is?” “Putting that into this,” said she with a chuckle, “ain’t you going to do it?—I’m quite clean.” “Let me look again.” Again the little hand down, and stretched the lips. I prepared for action, again fear seized me, and down my doodle drooped. “No dear, lay still, and I’ll frig myself over you,—turn on your belly,—let me see your bum,—there that will do.” I put some spittle on her bum, and rubbed my prick against it, but longed for the hole between her thighs. “Have you got a French letter?” “I’ll ask mother,” said she going into the adjoining room.

  In came a woman of middle age suckling a baby. “She will fetch one, give her the money,—make haste now,—never mind your bonnet,—run,—run. She won’t be long,” said the woman to me.

  “Your daughter?” I said to the woman who stood suckling her baby, and staring at me. “Yes sir.” The baby took to howling. Swinging it about to quiet it, she went on in a whining tone, “We are so poor, we are almost starved, we are,—what was I to do for a living?—I’ve nearly lost all since my husband’s left me, and can’t afford to keep a big gal like that; if she will go wrong I can’t help it, I can’t send her out,—I catched her with a young Gallows, and the mischief were done, it were, I knowed it, and I knowed it would be, so I did,—I could not keep her in, and the chap were allus arter her,—she must live, and she’s better at home doing that, than doing it away from me,”—and much of the same sort in a whining, apologetic tone without stopping, without my asking.

  “Has she been gay long?” “Bless you sir, it ain’t more nor two months since I catched her with young Gallows,—he is in qued,—serve him right; but he’ll be after her agin when he is out, he will.” “W
here is your husband?” “Oh! the vagabond’s gone off with a hussey, and left me with three children,—this here’s the last. Drat you,” said she shaking the infant which would not leave off howling. “Oh! here she is.” The girl entered the house with the condom, and the mother and baby disappeared.

  The affair was not enticing, my cock was flabby again, but the little wench’s naked belly stirred and stiffened me. I prepared the letter. “Did you ever see one before?” “Yes a gent had one here one night, but he did not put his thing into it.” “What did he do then?” “He blew it out, and popped it off,” said the girl. “Oh! you wet it,—let me see how you do it,—does it not feel cold?—it’s a nasty thing. Indeed I’m all right,—gals has diseases from doing it I know, but I ain’t,—look,”—and again the girl distended her cunt-lips without any modesty or affectation.

  Fearful, but (as often was the case with me and French letters), my cock and the letter would not agree. My cock stiff without it, drooped its head directly the wet flabby sheep’s-gut touched its tip. At length it was over my doodle, and shoved up the little cunt after much trouble. “It don’t feel nice,” said the girl. A few shoves more, and I lost all prudence, pulled it off, and drove my naked prick with such a thrust up her little quim, that she cried out. Her cry of pain gave me pleasure, and fetched me.