Erotic Classics II

by Various Authors

  “What a bore,” said I squeezing my belly close up to hers, “I hate to be quick.” I heard her laugh, but could not see her face. She did not hurry me out of her, but at length nature caused me to withdraw, and we got the candle lighted.

  Washing herself whilst I stood talking and regretting my haste, holding my unwashed prick in front of her, she laughing and saying I must take my time another day, emptied the basin, and turning round asked if she should wash me. Years had elapsed I think since a woman had done so to me, then it was by a French woman. The offer comes to me now as having been an unusual one. Delighted I let her. Delicately handling my doodle she soaped and washed it, making complimentary remarks about it as she did so.

  The operation excited me, I stiffened. “Oh! I do so want you again,—let me.” “No its late,—if I don’t make money before twelve I never do afterwards,—see me another night,—besides you can’t do it again yet.” “Let me feel you then only for a minute.” She approached me, one hand I put to her cunt, the other thrusting between her fat bum-cheeks met the tip of the fingers on the other hand. “My prick’s standing so.” “It’s not.” “Feel it.” She put her hand down and felt, I stiff to the utmost kept asking her to let me again. “Well get on the bed then,” said she after feeling me quietly for a minute,—“see the candle has burnt down, it won’t last long.” By the time she had said this she was lying down with her clothes up above her navel.

  We were fucking with intensity, the candle went out, I felt her kisses. “Oh! what a lovely cunt you have.” “You’ve a nice prick,—who taught you to poke so nicely?” Our tongues met,—silence, sighs, short shoves, spunk,—and all was over. “Let me wash your cunt.” “Very well.” “You wash my prick.” “Yes.” The mutual washing over we separated, I promising to see her again. We had washed by the fire-light alone.

  Next night at the same time we fucked again. I stripped her, and was enamored of her body if not of herself. She made no sign of wanting to leave me, but rather wanted to keep me. I had not since I lost Mary tasted a woman’s mouth, with this woman I was delighted in doing so, though with the ordinary gay women I could not bear their tongues. Whilst we were fucking they knocked at the door saying they wanted the room. Bessie swore, “Damn her,” said she, “for interrupting us,—and the money I have brought her.” This increased my pleasure, and Bessie participated in it. After fucking her twice we sat by the fire and talked, she warming her bum, her petticoats up to her knees, my hand on her quim, and airing my balls. “If you want me another night, and can’t see me, ask the woman about,—ask for Brighton Bessie,—there are two Bessies, so mind,—Brighton Bessie,” said she as we parted.

  I found I could talk to this woman. Whilst doing so she would sit on my knees and feel my prick, and I feel her privates. I had long wanted such a free-and-easy acquaintance, for nothing annoyed me like the sham modesty of doxies, their shuffling out of showing me their cunts, their hurry to get me up them, and away afterwards. Bessie had none of this. Like Camille, Mary, and all women I ever kept to long, she let me do absolutely as I pleased, and without hurry would copulate, then sit and talk till we were ready again for the exercise. But they did not at the house in———

  Street fancy our staying so long at their busy time; so she arranged to meet me at B. w Street one night, and took me to a house there which was dearer, but where she said they rarely interrupted couples.

  It was nearly opposite to the Opera-House, since built. It had a very large frontage, six or seven windows of a row I think, a dingy-looking building that most people would have passed without noticing, or would have thought it a dwelling-house of poorish people. The knowing ones would have guessed that it meant something hidden and convenient. There was no light outside, but if you pushed the door by night or by day, it opened into a darkish lobby, then passing through a glass door with a glimmer of light at the back, a woman met you, and conducted you to a chamber, big or small, handsomely or poorly furnished according to price. In it there must have been twenty rooms, and there was more bum-wagging, more seed spent, more sighs of pleasure in that house nightly, than in any other house in London I should think.

  It was dearer; but if you stayed for hours no one ever interrupted you. There were in Winter good large fires, the rooms were a good size, there was no gas, two candles were given, if you wanted more you paid extra. Wine and liquor of fair quality was got for you. The furniture was somewhat dingy, but all the rooms had sofas on which two could lie, and beds large enough for three with clean linen always. It was one of the most quiet, comfortable accommodation-shops I ever was in, and with Brighton Bessie, I passed there many voluptuous evenings.

  I took a bottle of champagne with me there one night, the first time I ever did so to a bawdy house when I met a gay woman; but I wanted that night a long, quiet evening with a free woman, and had one with her quite after my own fashion.

  I had Bessie often for about two years, and at intervals for two or three years after that, the last was about ten years after I had first met her. I never had a passion for her, nor did I keep only to her; but through the Winter of this year, as nearly as I can recollect, I had few but her. After next hot weather my lust ran riot, I got also better off, and treated my pego to variety, but we then frequently met at B—w Street. Poor Bessie fell in love with me, and was fond of liquor as I shall tell, now will only tell of the way our evenings, and at times afternoons were passed together.

  If warm enough we used to strip, and lay outside the bed; if not got into bed. As she was beautifully shaped I first took my delight in contemplating her, then I laid along the bed, my head near her knees, she the reverse way, and again I inspected. Sometimes she twiddled my cock, and I her clitoris, but generally the time was spent in putting her in every voluptuous posture, and fucking in all sorts of positions. She liked it. “It’s all my eye,” she used to remark when we talked on the subject saying, “I don’t like it,—I like fucking and bawdiness, it’s the best thing in life,—a short life and lots of fucking is my motto,—women who say they never spend with men are liars,—they all like it as much as I do.” She was but twenty-one years old, although her stoutness made her look older. And now I leave her for a time.

  Chapter III

  I don’t know why my erotic fancies took the desire for a young lass, but they did. My taste had for the most part run upon the big, fleshy, fat-cunted, and large-arsed; now perhaps for contrast, perhaps from sheer curiosity, the letch took possession of me. A small cunt, tight and hairless perhaps,—I wondered how it looked, felt, and if pleasure would be increased by it, and though my prick swelled when spending until I have groaned under the grip, even of a large cunt, I longed for quite a little one. I had never had a very young girl,—excepting the little child,—Nelly and Sophy had both a little hair on their mottes, so I would try for a youthful quim and one if possible with no hair on it.

  I was not versed in the walks and ways of little ones, and looking about at night saw none. Talking about it at my Club, I heard they were to be seen mostly in the day-time, so I looked out in the Strand for what I wanted, and during day-light.

  On a blazing hot afternoon in June I walked about a long time thinking of youthful harlots, but saw none, or if I did could not distinguish them. At length I saw two young girls idling about, looking in at the shop windows on the other side of the way. One was dressed all in black, and was taller and stouter than the other. They were not got up in any showy way, but looked like the children of decent mechanics.

  They took no notice of anyone, nor anyone of them, they stopped at a shop, and I noticed that the biggest had the largest legs. A plump form had as said attractions to me almost superior to face. Crossing to the other side of the way I passed them, looking them full in the face. The taller one was good-looking, white-faced, and had goldenish hair, a colour I could not bear. They looked at me, but there was nothing to indicate fastness. Returning I met them again, the same stare
, the same indifference. Thinking of their little cunts, and getting randy and reckless I determined to try. They stopped at a sweetmeat-shop; going to the side of them, and looking into the shop, not at them, so as to prevent my being noticed, “I’ll buy you whatever you want if you will come with me,” I said. The bigger of the two edged away from me, after looking up in my face, whispered something to her companion, and they both moved along the street without noticing me further.

  I was disconcerted, and went over to the opposite side of the way again watching them, they went to a print-shop, and looked in; the big one looked in the direction of a lollypop shop, and up and down the street. She was looking after me evidently, so I crossed over, met them full-face, and as I passed said without stopping, “Come with me, and I’ll give you money.”

  I turned a corner, and looked, they were at another shop, the bigger girl with her arm round the smaller one’s neck. I again passed them, going back to do so, and saying, “I’ll give you three and sixpence.” That was the exact sum, and then turned up a street which led to bawdy houses, and waited at the turning into the street.

  The two girls turned the corner, stopped, and talked, the bigger laid hold of, and slightly pulled the smaller, and seemed to be persuading her. Failing apparently she left her, but turned back, spoke to her again, and both came on together. Then I turned into the back-street, the two girls appeared at the corner of that, and then stopped and talked for a minute. Tired of waiting I thought I had made a mistake, and going slowly back heard the bigger one say, “You are a foule.” “Oh! you foule.” “Come he wants us.” “You foule.”

  “I don’t want her,” said I, “but you,—come,”—and returning entered a bawdy house, the outer-door of which stood open, thinking the bigger one would follow, and sure now that she was a harlot. I then passed through the inner door which as usual then had a glass window covered with a red curtain.

  A minute elapsed, the bawdy housekeeper had been spoken to, but the girl not coming, I opened the door to look out. The bigger girl was just inside the outer door, and was pulling in the other one. “Come you foule,—you said you would,—he’ll give you money as well as me, and I’ll give you some of mine too,—well you are a foule,” quite bawling it out. There was not much secrecy needed in such things at those times, in those streets.

  “I don’t want her,” said I hurriedly, “it’s you,—come in, or I won’t wait.” She came in, the other girl disappeared, and we were soon in a bed room together.

  It was the first house at that end of the street, had been newly opened, and was furnished in a style not like a bawdy house; no show, neat and clean, but cheaply; no bed-hangings (and in those days most bawdy houses had bed-hangings), the blinds were new and white, the beds quite clean. The top-floor room where I went for economy was two shillings and sixpence. The woman of the house was tall, comely, and middle-aged. As I paid her I noticed she had fat red cheeks. How curious that I should recollect those red cheeks. She had a white apron on, and was a civil sort of creature.

  The girl stood still staring at me. Sitting on the edge of the bed I stared at her, filled with bawdy curiosity and the appreciation of novelty. “Why won’t you have the other gal?” said she. “I don’t want her, nor want two,—and she is a dirty little imp.” “No she ain’t dirty, she washes herself like me,—let her come up.” “No,—come you here.” “She is quite clean,—I wash her myself sometimes.” “No, come here I tell you.”

  The girl came to me dawling. I put my hands up her clothes. A fleshy little bum met my hand, then in the front a smooth belly, a motte almost hairless as it seemed. She said not a word, but gave a sort of jerk of her body, and as my hand touched her bum it jutted forwards, and as I drew my hand round to her belly she drew her belly back. It did not seem like shame. She did not utter a word. “Take off your things,” said I.

  She drew away from me, and took off her bonnet, then stood still. “Off with your things,” I said throwing off some of mine. “I can’t take them off,—if I do I can’t fasten them again, they are in a knot.” “Take them off.” “If I do you will have to fasten me.” “So I will.” Slowly she stripped to her chemise. “Take that off.” “I won’t.” “Come here then.” She came. Laying hold of her I lifted her bodily, and threw her with her back on the bed, throwing up her chemise and stretching open her legs quickly. She gave a suppressed “hoh!” put her hand down to her cunt, and felt her mons nervously.

  “Take away your hand dear.” She took it away, then I pulled open her little thing. Such a delicious little gap it was, with the smallest possible quantity of golden hair just showing on it; such a smooth white belly and thighs, and all so plump, that I was wonder-struck at a young girl being so round and fine. I had not expected under that shabby black clothing anything so nice. I was charmed with her head also; in a big black and shabby bonnet I had seen nothing but a white face and large blue eyes. Her hair was golden in tone, bright and flowing.

  Whilst pulling off my trousers she sat up and asked, “Is it big?” For the instant I did not quite know what she meant. “What’s big?” “Your thing,—measure it.” I went up to her pulling out my pego. “It is big,” said she. “It’s little,” said I. “It ain’t,—it’s big.” “No.” “Yes,—don’t push hard sir,—will you now?” “No my dear I won’t,—Is it bigger than other men’s pricks?” “I shan’t tell you.” “Well lay down and open your thighs,”—again I lifted her on to the bed. “Don’t you do it hard,” said she getting up again, “or I won’t let you.” “Then I won’t pay you.” Back she fell, I wetted my prick, put it to the notch, and with a shove or two was well up her. She gave a “oh,—oooh!” and then laid quiet. Grasping her fat little bum I fucked, then stopping pulled out my prick, and looked at her cunt. “What are you a going to do?” said she in an astonished way.

  “Get quite on to the bed dear.” Slow at obeying I helped her into the posture, and got on to her, and brought my pleasure to an end, lying on the top of the pretty little girl.

  I lay on her long afterwards, and tried by the muscular contraction of my arse-cheeks and ballock-roots to stiffen my pego again. She laid quiet all the time with my prick up her, but I could not manage it, my prick shrunk.

  A second erection without uncunting being impossible, I got into a kneeling posture between her open legs, and checked a slight movement on her part saying, “Now lie quiet,—don’t move.” There was I kneeling between her thighs; looking down I saw her half-opened cunt with the gruelly tide issuing from it, took my prick in hand half its potential size, flabby and wet, pulled back the skin, and out rolled a large drop of sperm on to her thigh. She lay quite quiet, looking at me, her yellow hair falling all around her head as it lay on the pillow. Now I was astonished at her beauty, I had not noticed it fully before.

  “You are very handsome,—how old are you?” “Fifteen and a little.” “You must be more.” “I don’t know, but mother says so.” I looked at her cunt, the hair on it was not an eighth of an inch long, scarcely any of it, and of course showing no intention of curling, but her form was so round that I could not believe she was so young. “Fifteen and a little,” she repeated, her aunt and her mother had been disputing the day of her birth; her mother was out of her mind when she gave birth to her. “Aunt says I ain’t fifteen.”

  “Give the other gal a shilling,—do,” she broke in whilst I was questioning her about age, and kneeling between her thighs. “What are you so anxious about the other girl for?” “She lives over us, and is my friend,—will you give her a shilling?—do.” “Why?” “Do,—if you don’t I shall give her a shilling of mine, and give her some of mine anyhow,—you said you’d give me three and sixpence, didn’t you?”

  Curiously amused I laughed. “I’ll give you a shilling for her, if you let me do it to you again.” “Oh! do,” said she.

  It was hot, I had not reposed after my pleasure, so quitting my kneeling position I laid down
besides her, and began feeling her breasts. She turned her head towards me. “You have not washed yourself,” said I after a minute’s amusement with her bubbles. “It ain’t no good if yer ar going to make a mess in it again,—when you’ve done it I’ll wash it all out together.” I thought from that speech she was not an old one at the game, yet after all she only behaved as every young girl I have had usually behaved, they have mostly objected to washing their cunts directly after a poke, I think they rarely wash it until requested. There must be some sweet tranquillizing pleasure which a man’s sperm gives to a woman’s cunt, and makes her undesirous of washing it out. It is only when a woman knows it is good for her health if she be gay, that she ever does it. No married woman washes the sperm out of her cunt, yet in the morning after a night’s fucking you never find the sperm if you feel in the cunt for it,—where does it go?—it is absorbed I suppose.

  We lay thus and talked. “How old are you really?” “Fifteen and two months, as I told yer,—I always was fat, but ain’t so fat as I was though,—father used to say I should get fat on gruel.” I should have guessed her full sixteen had it not been for the little hair there was on her motte, and the delicate pink small cut, and tight prick-hole. “How long have you been gay?” “I ain’t gay,” said she astonished. “Yes you are.” “No I ain’t.” “You let men fuck you, don’t you?” “Yes, but I ain’t gay.” “What do you call gay?” “Why the gals who come out regular of a night dressed up, and gets their livings by it.” I was amused.