“They will sack us both,” said Betty. Kitty began to cry. “You are a fool, there are lots of places. I hope old Vinegar-Chops liked the look of it,” said Betty lifting up the towel (there were the drippings from Betty’s cunt on it),—“I dare say the sour-faced beast knows what it is,—-don’t you cry, you will get a living if your father does turn you out, any girl can so long as she has a good face, and something warm between her thighs.” That was Betty’s comfort to Kitty.
After breakfast the Master put Betty outside the door, Kitty’s mother was sent for, who boxed her ears all the way home, and the father knocked her down when he came home. “If I thought you’d turn a whore,” said he, “I’d murder you.” She told her mother the truth entirely, but only got her ears boxed still more,—she should have told her Master, the mother said. After this she was again kept at home, a short time after her father died, her mother changed her quarters, keeping her indoors to take care of the children, and had no idea that her daughter was getting fucked to enable her to buy sausage-rolls, as well as for the pleasure of having a male.
Chapter VI
One day I took some sausage-rolls to the bawdy house, she clawed hold of one directly. “Ain’t they prime!” said she, and never ceased till she had finished them all—such a lot,—then she turned pale. “I must go home,” she said. “Why?” She began putting on her things. “What is your hurry?” “I can’t wait.” “Are you ill?” “Yes,—yes,—I must go.” “Then I won’t pay you.” “I’m not well.” “How,—you want to go to the privy!” “I do,” said the girl hanging her head. I rang the bell, told the woman to show the lass where to ease herself. When she came back I could not get her to look me in the face, and thinking of her operation gave me a distaste for her that day, so I let her go without doing anything. Ridiculous that of course, but I tell things just as they occurred.
When it rained, and she could not meet me, how angry she was. “If I buy an umbrella mother will wonder where I got it.” Once she nearly got wet through, and I did not see her that time, because I did not expect her to be out.
She told me where she lived, and I arranged that if it rained I would go to the front of the house in a cab. I did that once only, and the cabman insolently demanded about five times his fare when I got down at E——r Street, saying I had enticed a young girl into the cab. “Yer haught to be glad to be let orf with ten bob,” said cabby, “think yerself lucky a peeler don’t drop on you for taking a young gal like that,—yah! you’re a swell, ain’t yer?—yah!—yah!—poop!”—and off he drove.
She began to deplore her poor dress, bought a pair of white stockings, and I kept them for her, because she was afraid of taking them home. “Oh! ain’t I kept under,” said she, “I hate it,—I have a good mind to bolt.” “Then you will turn gay.” “Well I would like to dress nice, and do as I like, instead of minding children and working.” I persuaded her not.
“Have you had no other man but me for the last two months?” “Only one,” she said, “but I’m never out if it rains, and I can’t get out of nights cause of mother, and I wash and mend,—so how can I?” “I’ll go and ask for someone else at your room, to see if you’re in or not.” “Do,—if I don’t open the door, mother will, on Monday I’ll take the brats into the Waterloo road for a walk.” She did, and I saw her. How short her clothes were! a carman as he passed stooped down, and gave her legs a pinch. Her mother was at home.
The girl grew fast, each week she seemed bigger than the week previously, the sausage-rolls agreed with her, the hair on her cunt lengthened,—she was so pleased when I remarked it,—her desire was to have as much hair on her quim as Betty had. Then she began to get heavy, dull, and drooping. One day I had her on the side of the bed, just for variety sake, for sometimes I found it delightful to see my prick up to its roots in her, and the next instant its tip. Her cunt felt very wet, looking at my half-uncunted prick it was covered with blood. I pulled it out, a red stream followed running all over her chemise. I had never seen such a sight before when fucking, and only once I think since, though I have poked women in that state.
“What is the matter?” said I startled for the moment, “you’re poorly?”
“Oh!” cried out the girl, “I must go to mother,—oh! let me go.” I tried to comfort her, she took no notice of me, but dressed and ran out of the house quickly, white with terror and without her money. That night I had Brighton Bessie, and told her about it. Bessie said the dirty little bitch ought to be flogged by the hangman; if she had her way all such young bitches should be sent to prison, and the men who had them ought to be punished as well.
Kit’s first poorliness had come on, that accounted for her dullness, she had no idea of what was taking place in her, her mother had not warned her. Of course, the girl knew of the ailment common to her sex, but her monthlies had taken her by surprise. I never knew a girl more unaffectedly modest than Kitty was the next time she met me after her accident, as we called it.
Said she one day, “Give me a sovereign for this silver (savings out of the money I had given her), I don’t know where to put it, it jingles in my pocket,—I am afraid of dropping it, and mother finding it out.”
She had put it in a crack between the skirting and the inside of a cupboard lining as near as I could make out, until it was a pound’s worth. “What a pity I can’t buy some nice clothes, is it not?” said she. Poor Kitty was amusing, but I saw she was brewing mischief after she had had her monthlies, or was what she called “a full woman.” Several times as she took my money she said it was no good to her, as she could only buy things to eat. She was getting restless. When I told her I should be in the Strand one day, if it were not wet. “Oh! do come, if it’s wet or not,—I will meet you.” “But your mother?” “Don’t care,—if she says anything I’ll tell her I’ll run away.”
Said she one day, “Hasn’t Pol got it? her mother has nearly murdered her,—oh! Lor she is bruised all over.” Then she told me that the little dark girl I had had was caught in the privy with a man,—“oh! such a big un, he is much taller than you,—she was standing on the privy-seat with her legs wide open, and he was trying to do it to her.” The mother had suspected, had the little imp watched, and caught the man in the act. “How he could do it I don’t know,” said Kit, “but he is a bargeman,—such a big man!—and the little beast stood on the privy-seat too.” Kitty was scandalized at that.
It was some days before I saw her again, then she was slovenly and had a black eye, and began to cry. “It’s mother,” she sobbed, “look here.” She pulled off her things, and showed me wales and bruises. “Mother did it,” said she sobbing, “my bottom’s bruised,—she held me down, and hit me with a brush,—look,” said Kitty turning up her lily-white arse for me to see.
Her young friend who had not long before had my prick up her cunt, and then the bargeman’s, had sought to excuse herself by saying Kitty was as bad. Mother told mother, Kitty was battered by her mother, and had been locked up, there had been row after row, till Kitty would not eat, nor wash, nor mend,—she fought her mother, she threatened to run away, and to turn gay. Said the mother, “Your father always said you would, he would turn round in his grave if he knew what you are saying.
“I made my brother’s cock stiff,” said she one day as she was playing what we called cherry-bob with my prick, i.e. taking the tip in her mouth when it was limp, and shooting it out again, just as you see children do with cherries. “Your little brother?” “Yes,—I washed him, pulled it backwards and forwards, as if I were washing him, so that he should not know what I was about.” “Did it get stiff?” “Quite, and he seemed to like it,” said she, “he asked me to go on doing it.”
During all this time I had occasionally seen Bessie, for a youthful cunt never did give me full physical enjoyment, nor fetch me like a full-grown one, although as an occasional letch it was delicious. After her monthlies had arranged themselves I fancied Kitty was more l
uscious, and her discharge more copious, yet I often used to think of the spanking posteriors and full crisp-haired cunt of Bessie whilst operating on Kit. A light-haired quim I also never liked, it was the artlessness, frankness, and freshness of Kitty which kept me to her so long.
I was going abroad. When I told Kitty this she broke into tears. “Oh! what shall I do!—don’t go,” said she. The little lass was fond of me; a thing I never had dreamed of. She promised me to go to service, and leave off fucking; but she never did.
Then I told Bessie, and she began to cry, and said, “It’s always the way,—directly I like a man I lose him.” I thought she was shamming, but the last night I had her, she would take no money, said if I gave it to her, she would throw it into the streets.
Glad to be from England, alone,—alone, I hoped to be sent to———, but got no further than———. There I had women enough. All women there were examined by medical men weekly, just as they are at———, and many a fine Spanish woman, and coarse but well-built English woman I had for half-a-crown a piece. I was recalled after seven months, and within a few days was in the Strand, but saw no Kitty until one night in early Summer. “Oh! it’s you,—I’m so glad,” said a female. It was Kitty, delighted. I did not know her for the instant, but in ten minutes we were fucking. How glad she was to see me; she was a well grown young woman, and lovely, her breasts were well developed, her calves and bum as well, although she was not seventeen.
She had quarreled with her mother, left, and set up as harlot. It was wonderful what harlotry had done in giving her taste in dress, deportment, style of walking, and even in language. She had learned the value of her cunt, it was no longer three and six, but twenty shillings. “I don’t want your money,” said she, “let’s talk of old times.” We spent several evenings together. One man almost kept her, she thought he was going to keep her altogether, and hoped so.
I had taken her to the house in B—w Street, quietly there we talked all things over; we laughed over the affair of Pol and the coal-heaver, the sausage-rolls, the lost ten shillings, the afternoon her poorliness came on. “So you are gay,—do you like the life?” She really did, got lots of money, and now kept her mother who had been disabled by rheumatic fever. I saw her daily for a week or two afterwards, and we fucked to our hearts’ content. Her motte was delicately hairy now, and of dark golden colour, slightly brownish. Then I went to the sea-side. When I came back to London, looking for her everywhere, I could not find her, and though I longed for her very much, was obliged to render myself happy with others.
To complete her history I must go forward two or three years when I had been madly in love with a gay woman as I shall tell, but had quarreled with her for presuming on my love, and resolutely abstained from seeing her, doing however great violence to my affection and inclination. I used to go to the bawdy house in J—s Street (not yet mentioned), and cry to its Mistress who would ask me to let her send to the lady of my affection (Miss M—s),—but of this more presently.
After reading over this part of my narrative relating to Kitty written full thirty years ago, I add these few words.
My secret life was written for my own pleasure, and to be a narrative of what I myself saw and did, and nothing else. I have pretty well adhered to that, but my fun with Kitty took place within a few years after I began to write, and describe the amatory episodes as leisure inclined me, and as they seemed to me unusually amusing or illustrative. I arranged them in order afterwards. Nothing at that time had been so piquant in my acquaintance with harlots as Kitty’s had been. I had not then had much to do with lasses as young as she was, the novelty therefore I suppose made me write out her narrative intermixed with my own, at the length it has reached.
Besides Kitty was really quite original, her freshness, frankness, and truthfulness impressed me much, and after much experience since in the ways of frail ones, I believe now that what she told me was mainly true, and am sure she was delighted to get a confident in me, to whom she could unbosom herself unreservedly.
Chapter VII
I met in the Strand one night Bessie, who put her arms round me. I repulsed her, she saw her mistake, and followed me to a bawdy house. Inside she began kissing me excitedly, and said she was so glad to see me back, that she did not know what she was about. It was not our usual house, I was in a hurry, so after I had fucked her was going away. “What one fuck only!—you have not had me for a year nearly,—I’m damned if you go till you have given me another,—that dear old prick, I’ve thought of it fifty times when I have been poked.” So I fucked her again, and afterwards resumed seeing her, for she was much to my taste sexually. I had many voluptuous amusements with her which she liked and invited, although I have no recollection of playing any of those curious erotic tricks which gratified me later on in life, nice attitudes being then for the most part enough for me. My balls were running over with sperm in those days, and if I could control myself for a few minutes when my prick was stiff, it was as much as I could do. Bessie was full-blooded, and loved to take her fucking with me, kissing me furiously as her pleasure came on. We used again to pass hours at the house in B—w Street, reading, drinking, talking, and copulating at intervals.
Yet I went after other women for all that, for fresh cunt was irresistible. Once when I had been away I missed her for a few days, then I saw her coming out of a public-house. “Oh! I’m so glad,—I’ve been locked up,—it’s a damned shame,” she cried out, “I was marched off without having said a word by a police-man,—blast him!—and all because I would not let the bugger fuck me one night up in———Street,—I’d never let a policeman touch me,—damn them all.” She spoke loud to a man and two or three sympathizing women, a mob began to gather round her, so noisy was she.
I turned as quickly as I could up a side-street, she following me. “Oh! come my dear, come,—how glad I am to see you,—I did nothing but think of you whilst I was locked up,—oh! God I’m dying for a fuck,—a whole fortnight I’ve not had it, and I did nothing but think of you when I frigged myself.” There was a roar of laughter from half-a-dozen women who had followed her. “Shut up,” said someone. “Ain’t she a letting out!” said another. “Ain’t you ashamed of yourself?” said a third. “It’s one of her men,” said another. “She is a nice woman,” said someone else. “It was a damned shame,” said another. “I know him,” said a voice, “he wants every woman in the Strand, and if he don’t get them he walks them off.” “Yes the bugger.” “She is just out.” “Yes, and he quoted Mary Summers last night.” “And he is a married man with a large family,”—and so on. I felt overwhelmed, and inclined to run away. She turned into the first house which had a door open, and I was glad when the friendly red-curtained door closed behind me, she galloping upstairs in front of me, showing her fat calves. I followed Bessie into a bed room.
“Five shillings,” said the woman to me. “It’s all right,—you go,—he’s an old friend of mine,—don’t bother,” said Bessie pushing the servant out of the room, and slamming tie door, then throwing her bonnet on a chair she caught hold of me, gluing her lips to mine, feeling at my trousers front she cried out, “Let’s fuck,—come and fuck me,—I’m dying for you,—a fuck from you,—oh! put your prick up.” She had got it out, threw herself on the bed opening her thighs wide, and showing her cuntal beauties, calling on me to fuck her. I mounted her immediately, it was impossible to withstand her randy impetuosity; contagious lewdness coursed through my veins.
“Oh! my God,” said she as my prick drove home, “I’m coming,—oh! my God,—fuck,—fuck,—oh! I’m spending,—oh! my darling,—fuck,—spend,—oh!—oooh!” I never had a woman in a higher state of randiness, she would not let me go till I had fully eased her passions, she lavished expressions of love and tenderness on me. “Don’t pull it out,—there dear, there,—lay still on me, I’ll keep it up, it will be stiff again,—there it’s stiff now.” I stopped with her some hours. A policeman on the beat she
said, had taken a fancy to her, had asked her to let him do it to her up against the dark wall at the back of E—r H—l. She would not, he threatened, still she refused, so he took her to the station one night on the plea of her annoying gentlemen, and the magistrate gave her a fortnight in prison. She had come out that very day, and was rather tight.
In a few weeks Bessie got more and more friendly. I was the first to leave, and she to ask what was my hurry. When I thought I had been detaining her too long for my moderate compliment, she would say, “Oh! never mind, I’ll make ten shillings do,—I’m not in debt,—before the theatres are over I dare say I’ll get engaged.” It was impossible to avoid seeing she was getting affectionate. She would sit or lay talking, feeling, or kissing me for hours, whilst her expressions of pleasure when I was stirring up her vitals equaled those of any woman who has ever loved me or enjoyed my embraces.
One night I was charged twice for the room, for stopping long, and said something about not being able to afford it. That brought forth a proposition, one of the most curious I ever had in my life.
Said she, “It’s a lot of money to spend on the rooms,—come to my rooms; they would be too humble for you, but they are clean and nice,—drop me a line, and I will always be at home,—and you would be more comfortable than at these houses, and have nothing to pay.” Then after hesitation, and as if reflecting, she said she lived in the New North road where she had either a small house or rooms in one, I don’t quite recollect which. “It’s paid for by a friend of mine, he gives me ten shillings a week. Now don’t think little of me because I tell you this,—he is only a cabman, he sleeps with me nearly always, he’s a nice clean, steady man, and behaves well to me; but I don’t like him since I’ve known you. You can come when you like, and sleep with me when you like,—I’ll give him up, he shall never come near me again, and I’ll always be there for you,—you will see what a large comfortable bed I’ve got,—but you must pay for the rooms, I must feel sure of a roof over me,—I don’t care about anything else,—then you can see me when you like, give me what you like,—nothing if you have not got it,—I don’t want your money, I’ll get that as I now do.”
Erotic Classics II Page 122
