Erotic Classics II

by Various Authors

  Savagely I got up. “Don’t be a fool; if you mean to let me do it come to the bed.” She hesitated. “Give me the money first.” “Oh!” thought I, “she is a whore diseased, and a bilk,” so I refused. “You really will give it to me, won’t you?” “Of course, but I’m not to be done that way.” Then I got her on to the bed, and threw up her clothes. She resisted. “What do you take me for?” “Why a whore,” said I savagely. It was a word I rarely used of a woman, still rarer to a woman. She pushed my hand angrily away and sat up.

  “I am not, and wish I had not come here, and would not, only I want money for my poor mother, I thought you a gentleman,—I’m not the sort of a woman you say, I’m a servant, I am indeed.” “Well if you are, you have been fucked.” “That’s neither here nor there, but I’m not what you call me,”—and she pouted. “Lay down dear,—let’s fuck if you mean it, if not let’s go,—let me feel you, and you feel me.” I pulled her back on to the bed, laying down by the side of her, and put my prick into her hand. It was persuasive, for soon I was having that delicious rub, probe, and twiddle. Then I got a sight of all but the cunt itself, the inspection of that she resisted. A fine pair of limbs, a fat backside, lots of hair on her split I could feel. My friction told, she began grasping my prick like a vise,—she was going to spend.

  Nice to her that, but I wanted my pleasure. Again I got savage. At length quietly, and feeling my prick all the time she said, “Promise me something.” “What?” “Don’t you wet inside if I let you.” I promised, and turning on to her belly fucked her, and forgot my promise, even if I ever meant to keep it. We were soon near the crisis. “Don’t—now,—oh!—wet.”

  “No dear.” “T—aake—care.” “I’ll pull it out just as it comes dear.” “Don’t—we—wet, oh!—ah!—wet,” she gasped out as clutching her arse my prick went fiercely up her, and spent every drop against her womb-tube, my spend made doubly pleasurable, because she did not wish it in her cunt.

  Said she with a long-drawn sigh, “You’ve done it all inside,—you should not.” “I could not help it, you are so charming, I could not pull it out and make your clothes or bum wet,” said I ramming on, and keeping my prick tight up her lubricated cunt, “Let me get up.” “Not yet.” “Oh! do, I’m in a hurry.” “Lay still dear.” “No, I’m in such a hurry,—what o’clock is it?—do tell me what o’clock it is,—it will make me lose my place if I’m very late.”

  I uncunted, told her the time, and she washed her cunt. “Let us do it again.” She was wanting it. “I’ve such a long way to go.” “Where?” She told me, and it was on my way home. “I will take you home in a cab.” On the bed she got, I overcame her scruples, kissed her knees, her thighs, all the way up to her cunt. The thighs opened widely, a second’s inspection of a cunt at that time of my life made me think of immediate pleasure, and after promising not to wet in her again, she reminding me of that, till she lost all care or heed in her pleasures. I spent up her as before.

  We went home in a cab, and felt each other all the way, she said she was keeping her mother who was poor, she feared dying. At the end of the road she got out begging me not to follow her. I did not, and never saw her again. She had hazel eyes, spoke with a country accent, and I quite believe was a servant.

  Although soon after this a little better off, I had difficulty in keeping out of debt, and the cost of amatory amusements prevented my having women as often as I otherwise should have done. I used to try the cheap women at times, and often successfully. Would walk backwards and forwards between Temple-Bar and Charing Cross for hours, looking at the women, thinking which I should like, and whether I could afford one. Sometimes I would follow the same woman, stop when she stopped if a man spoke to her, cross over, and wait till she moved off by herself, or if with the man, would follow them to a brothel, return to watch for her coming out, and wait ‘till she did so. This pleased me much.

  Then I began to feel women in the streets; they frequently came out of the E—t—r Street-houses, and round by the side-entrance to Exeter-Hall. That end of the street then was all but dark.

  Stopping a woman. This was a frequent dialogue. “A nice night dear.” “Yes.” “Been taking a walk?” “Yes.” “Been to piddle?” “Yes.” They usually when I knew they had come out of a house, said they had been to piddle if I asked them. “A shilling to feel your cunt.” “All right, give it me.” With the left hand I gave the shilling with the right I fingered their quims. “Open your legs dear,—a little wider,—let me feel up,—have you been fucked tonight?” “No.” It was always no. I delighted in hearing them tell that lie. “Come with me.” “How much?” “Give me a sovereign.” “No.” “Ten shillings then.” “I can’t afford more than five shillings.” “No, not for that”; but they more often said yes. Sometimes I went with them, more frequently not. The lesson I learned was that most woman denied that they had fucked more recently than the day before, (it was always the day before), and that a little bargaining reduced the price of their pleasures.

  If intending to have a poke I waited for a girl known by sight, and then often could not find her, then I saw those so dressed that I could not offer them a small sum. On other nights I went up to the girl with the fattest legs, and made advances. In this way I shagged many of all sorts and sizes, many of them poor creatures, others plump, fine, strong, healthy women, whom I was surprised took the small sum for their professional exertions. The end of this promiscuity was that again I took the clap, which laid me up some weeks, and made it again needful to open my piss-pipe by surgical tubes.

  Then I was timid, used French letters, and took to carrying them in my purse again, but always hated them. Often my cock stiff as a boring-iron would shrink directly the wet gut touched it, and compelled me to frig up to near the crisis before I could insert it in the skin. Sometimes it would not stiffen completely till up the women. I used to drop my tool in a state of partial rigidity into the letter, then thumb it slowly up the lady’s orifice; then the warmth, the clip, the buttocks wagging, and the look at the belly and thighs between which I was working brought it to the proper stiffness. I usually had the ladies at the side of the bed, when wearing these condoms.

  Sometimes my passions overcame my prudence, and a fair lady for her favors got her price. Then I was filled with regrets, and had to content myself with a feel for some time, or wait days till I could afford the full gratification of my senses with another woman, because I had not the money. Then I fell again on my five shilling offers. About this cunt-feeling there was something very peculiar in me: unless I liked the look of the woman I did not like to feel up her cunt, and after I had been groping used to spit on my fingers, and rub them dry, and the smell off of them on to my handkerchief.

  Some little time after my clap however I came into a better income through the death of a relative. It was small, but made a difference to me of great importance. I spent it all on myself, that is to say on cunt, and although some of my country relatives must have known I had come into the property, those most interested in knowing it I believe never did. I now longed for nice women whom I could talk and spend the money with. The rapid business-like fucking in the bawdy houses was not to my taste, I had scarcely gone to the Argyle Rooms, then not many years opened, for fear that my taste for nicety of manner and something more than mere cunt might lead me into an expenditure still far beyond my means.

  It used to wound my pride to hear a woman jeer at my offer, or say, “What the devil do you take me for,” or walk away wagging her rump with offended dignity when she heard five shillings named, or say she would frig me for the money. Now I could offer more I was more happy in my mind; but there are a few adventures to be told before the time when an easier pocket enabled me to have better female companions.

  The angle of the street named as leading out of the Strand was dark of a night and a favorite place for doxies to go to relieve their bladders. The police took no notice of such trifles, provi
ded it was not done in the greater thoroughfares (although I have seen at night women do it openly in the gutters in the Strand), in the particular street I have seen them pissing almost in rows, yet they mostly went in twos to do that job, for a woman likes a screen, one usually standing up till the other has finished, and then taking her turn. Indeed the pissing in all bye-streets of the Strand was continuous, for although the population of London was only half what it now is, the number of gay ladies seemed double there. The theatre-side of the street from Trafalgar-Square to Temple-Bar was nightly for some hours one large flock of them, and there was not a street or court on the whole line named, and on both sides of the Strand in which there was not a bawdy house. I have been in a dozen.

  I used to prowl about to see the girls pissing, and when I had cheek enough, stand and piss by the side of them. That delighted me much. One night I saw two women go up a court, one directly squatted, and I followed. When one had done I asked her to let me feel her. She did. Randy but poor that night the feel of her wet cunt made me reckless. As I gave her a shilling I remarked how I should like to have her, but that I had but five shillings to give.

  “You won’t have me for five shillings, but you will get someone who will,—you have lots of cheek to offer it.” “I am sorry, but I can’t help it if I have not more.” Had I not ten shillings? No, only enough for the room. All this time I was feeling her. Then her hand went outside my trousers, feeling at my cock. I slipped it out, she took it in her hand. “Have you not been a long time in the Strand tonight?” said she. I had, and wanted a woman, only I had so little money. I did not know the form or face of this woman, for we were in the darkest place, and the night was dark and cold, but I felt that she had a silk dress on, lots of hair on her cunt, and a large arse. “You may do it here for five shillings,” said she. I had never done it in the open in such a place, but consented. Groping in my pocket I found and gave the money, and then she stepped away from me,—a bilk I thought.

  It was not so. She went up to the other woman who was standing at the corner, and telling her to look out for the police, came back to me, and again placing her back up against the wall, I fucked her. “Wasn’t it nice!” said she dropping her petticoats. And then we stood and talked.

  “Stand a drink,” said she, “you’ve got some silver.” I did not mind, and was curious to see her. She called her friend, and all three went to a public-house, the lady with all my emission in her cunt. I found she was a full-grown woman of about thirty with dark hair, dark eyes, and with a bold expression in them. We had mulled port-wine, then something else, and stood drinking till all my money was gone. Her companion left us saying she had not gained a farthing that night, and must do so.

  My woman then got pleasanter, and wanted more liquor, my money was gone, but I had a pencil-case, and asked the bar-man if he would lend me a few shillings on it. He did, and I then spent more on liquor, then we went out together again into the cold street; she pissed, saying the cold and the liquor had made her leaky. “I wish you would let me again,” said I. Well she would, and up against a wall again we fucked heartily. With my spunk in her we walked together into the Strand. She said she would like to see me again, but I never did. Whilst fucking her the second time she shoved her tongue almost down my throat, and breathed so hard. I never fucked a woman in the street who did so, either before or since. A few nights after I got my pencil-case back from the beer-man.

  One night a nice, strong-built woman about thirty years of age seemingly, took my five shillings, and went to a house with me. She was dressed in black silk, neat but shabby. She sat down on a chair, and pulling up her clothes rearranged both her garters, showing what I expected, and what I had engaged her for; a pair of fat legs. Then down went her clothes. I began feeling her, she pushed her bum back on the chair, but her thighs and the hairy ornaments I could feel. I was awfully randy, my prick was raging. “Let’s feel you,” said she. Willingly I let her grasp it, then she moved her arse forward, and I had the pleasure of just feeling a moist clitoris from which I was diverted by a painful squeeze she gave my prick. She was squeezing no doubt to see if I had any ailment. The effect of the squeeze, which made me call out, was to make me mad with randiness. “Take off your things, and let me do it.” “Where is the five shillings?” I placed them in her hands, she pocketed them, and got up. Lifting her petticoats I pressed her towards the bed where she was standing when she had spoken, but she pushed down her petticoats, and moved away.

  “Not likely I’m going to take off my things for five shillings,” said she as the money slipped down into her pocket, “give me fifteen shillings more, and I will,—I’m a fine-built woman,”—and she pulled her clothes clean up to her waist, turned round like a tetotum, and after showing both arse and belly, slowly dropped her clothes again.

  “Come to the side of the bed.” “No I shan’t, you’ve had a feel for five shillings, give me fifteen shillings more, and I’ll give you pleasure I know,—I’ll do all you want me.”

  “I can’t.” “Then I can’t.” I had not a pound in my pocket, but if I had, am sure indeed I should have given it to her, but I could not. “Give me ten shillings, and I’ll pay for the room then,” said she. “I didn’t know what house I was at, but generally they asked at those places the price of the room first.

  “Just as you like,” though I was dying for a fuck. “Then I will go.” “I have paid you,—if you choose to bilk me I can’t help it.” “I don’t want to bilk you, but I never let a man have me for five shillings, and I never will,—give me five shillings more.”

  “Let me feel you, if you won’t let me poke you.” “You may do that.” Leaning her bum against the side of the bed, I began groping; she complaisantly moving one leg up on to a chair, so as to open her thighs well, got hold of my prick, and began frigging it. “Give me another five shillings,” said she coaxingly, and under the influence of the masturbating process I gave it to her. She gave my penis the most delicate titillation whilst I was searching in my pocket for the money, but she would not let me after she had got the five shillings. She went on frigging me, repeating that she never let anyone have her unless she had a pound given her.

  I was annoyed, and hated frigging. Here was a well-formed woman, a cunt at hand, and yet I was to spunk out on to the floor, was being made a fool of. Stopping I said, “You don’t mean to let me, whatever I give you.” “Yes I do, for a sovereign.” “Frig me then.” She took my tool in her hand, and frigged. “Let me spend against your cunt.” “No.” “Against your thighs.” “No.” “Oh!—ah!” Finding it was coming she left off. “Give me five shillings, and I will,” said she, but I would not, began frigging myself, and spite of her pushed one hand up on to her thighs, and frigged away with the other. “Take care of my dress,” said she. The savage delight of doing what she wished me not, came over me. Turning my prick I shot my sperm copiously over her silk dress, and finished by flinging from my fingers what remained of it towards her face. “You damned dirty beast, you did it on purpose.” “Serve you right, you cheating whore,” said I putting on my hat, and leaving her with a towel wiping off my sperm, and cursing me as she did it. I don’t know when I felt so spiteful against a woman as I did against her. My discharge was quick and copious, I saw it on her waist downwards. I have been bilked before and since, but have mostly pardoned the woman, for sometimes I have thought the poor things had their courses on, or some ailment or deformity; but I still seem to hate this one.

  I may add that at the time these doings took place there were but three theatres in the Strand.

  Chapter II

  I have read through the two volumes in print. There are typographical errors, the names of women and places are once or twice wrongly given or spelt, but the context corrects that, and it matters not. What is important is; that owing to the brevity with which some occurrences are told, they almost seem improbable; this is the result of not printing my narrative all through exactl
y as I wrote it. In the manuscript, items of conversation, and numerous details of the behaviour of myself and female partners in my amours, were written down just as they occurred, and showed how the climax was reached; how little by little man and woman inclined to each other, how one pressed, and the other yielded, how from modest talk and chaste kisses our chastity gradually was lost, how by touch and sighs and yielding to the swooning lust which coursed stronger and stronger through our veins, our genitals inflamed, swollen, and sweating, drove us to contact with each other, till the carnal coupling ensued, and prick and cunt reveling and wallowing in each other’s juices, drowned both wants and senses in voluptuous oblivion.

  These details also gave studies of character, and specially of my own character, and as I now read the narratives in print after the lapse of so many years they seem to me to be needed to explain myself, even to myself. It is too late. The manuscript is burnt, that printed in its stead must be taken as truth or not, as skepticism or faith prevails in the reader, if ever there be one but myself.

  Nor can I less abbreviate even now and in the future I fear, for the full narrative would entail too much expense in printing, and prolong the time of completion. Yet what pleasure I had in the wordy veracities as I wrote them, childish, fantastic, ludicrous, as some of the doings and sayings now seem! How unlike the doings of the couples in erotic books which I since have read, books written with no other object but to stimulate the passions,—no object that of mine in writing this.