“I’ve a good mind not to let you,—you’ve been so long,—but you may do it.” She got on to the bedside. “Oh! for God’s sake don’t move,—that attitude is exquisite.” One leg was well on the bed, the petticoats were squeezed up, and the leg on the ground from the boot-heel to about four inches above her garter was visible. She was half turning round, her lovely breasts, or rather one of them showed half-front, and with her head looking round at me as she was moving, it altogether made a ravishingly luscious picture. I put my hands up from behind between her thighs. That broke the spell, she moved on to the bed directly,—I on to her.
“Oh! God you are heavenly, lovely,—oh! God my darling,—oh!” I was spending and kissing her too quickly again; lust almost deprived me of my pleasure. In a dozen shoves I was empty. It was all over.
“How quietly you stood in that attitude,” said I. “I can stand in an attitude nearly five minutes without moving, almost without showing that I am breathing, without winking an eye.” I thought nothing of this at the time, excepting that it was brag.
“Give me five shillings, for I have been a long time with you,—I’ve a reason,—I won’t ask you again.” I gave it her. “Shall you be in Regent Street tomorrow morning?” “Yes.”
I was in Regent Street, met her, and had her you may be sure, and repeated these meetings for a week daily, and sometimes twice a day; but got no more than the shortest time with her, the quickest fuck, a rapid uncunting. She did not spend with me, and showed no signs of pleasure, scarcely took the trouble to move her bum, would not undress, would not let me look at her cunt. I submitted to it, for I was caught, but did not know that then,—she did. That is she knew that I was damnably lewd upon her, and used that knowledge to suit her convenience. I had no right to grumble at it. I need not have had her, had I not liked upon those terms. But I did. At length I grumbled, and at last almost had a quarrel. “I won’t see you again,” said I. “No one asks you,” said she.
As my means were not large, and my purse grew rather empty, I was glad to keep away a few days. Then again I saw her in Regent Street; and after giving her the wink followed her. She walked on, but instead of going to the house, passed the end of the street. On she went, I went close to her, it was the second time I had spoken to her in the street. “Oh! I did not understand you,” she said, “besides I’m in a hurry.” “Oh! do come.” “Well I can’t stop five minutes.” “Nonsense.” “Well then I can’t,”—and she went on walking. My prick got the better of my temper. “Well come back.” She turned round, and bent her way to J—s Street, saying, “Don’t let us go in together.”
When in the house she got on to the bed without a moment’s delay. I had her, and she was out of the house again in less than ten minutes, leaving me in a very angry state of mind; but she promised to meet me the following night if she could, and to stay longer with me.
She came an hour late, and found me fretting and fuming in the bed room. They did not hurry me now at that house, I being already known there, and gave me whenever they could the same chamber. “I’m in a great hurry,” were the first words Sarah said. “Why you told me you would stay longer.” “Yes,—I am sorry, but I can’t.” “You never can,—but take off your gown.” “I really can’t,—have me at the side of the bed,—you wanted it so the other day.” “No I won’t.” “Then I’ll get on the bed,”—and on she got.
I tried to open her legs, to turn her round to see her bum (I had never seen it yet properly). No she would not undress, she would do nothing,—I might have it her way, or leave it alone and go. How green it was to submit to all this.
I lost my temper, for my delight I saw was in her lovely form, in her physical beauty; whilst she seemed to think that the only joy I could have was to spend in her cunt as fast as I could. “I won’t have you at all,” said I getting resolute at last. “All right,” said she getting off the bed, “I’m really in a hurry,—another night I will.” “Another night be damned—you are nearly a bilk,—there,”—and I threw the sovereign on a table, and put on my hat. “Are you going?” “Yes, I’m going to get some woman who is not ashamed of her cunt.” “Go along then.” Off I went. When halfway down the stairs I heard her calling to me to come back, but savage I went off.
I walked up Regent Street savage with her, and with myself too, for not having had my fuck, even if she had gone away a minute afterwards. Randy as the devil I saw a woman at the corner of the Circus, and accosted her, she turned away, I accosted her again. “Will you come with me?” “Yes if you like.” “Do you know a house about here?” “No I’m a stranger.” Then I took her to J—s Street, had her two or three times and toyed with her a long time, stopping till she would stop no longer, saying she should be locked out if she was not off. She was only half-gay I think, and wanted a fuck. I had just offered myself in time. She was a biggish woman of about thirty years of age. After I had fucked her the first time, we laid on the bed together; she played with my prick till it was stiff again, and then turning on to her back said, “Come on,—let’s have it again.”
I thought much of my fine-limbed Sarah Mavis, but it was with anger. A fuck for ten shillings was all very well when randy, but even when in a hurry I never was satisfied till I had pulled the cunt open, and given it a general inspection, although it was generally but a rapid one in those days. If I had the same woman again another day, it was because I liked her and liked to talk to her, for I always found them more complaisant the longer I knew them. But here had I been having a woman daily, and sometimes twice a day, mainly because she was so exquisite in form (for I had some idea even then that her cunt was not a good fit to my prick;) yet I had never seen her cunt; nor her backside, nor her bubbies, nor her arm-pits,’ nor her navel, nor anything properly, and so I determined not to have her again, and to dismiss her from my mind. But I was hooked.
To economize I again went with cheap women, and seemed to get just as nice women for ten shillings as I did for twenty; but I had taken a liking for the house in J—s Street, which was an expensive one, and liked the best room, and took my cheap women to my dear room. One woman said, “Well you might give me a little more, and have a cheaper room,—the room gets nearly as much as you give me.” And I saw a woman there one night pocket the comb, and a piece of soap,—she stole them. I heard in pleasant conversation afterwards, that soap and combs were often stolen by women,—especially soap.
About a fortnight afterwards I saw my Venus again, and again was closeted with her. I could resist my desire for her no longer, for having never ceased thinking of her even when fucking other women. She was just as calm, but there was a little, quiet spite about her. When she had taken off her bonnet, and looked at me for a minute with her mouth open as usual, she said, “I suppose you have been having other women.” I can’t tell why it was, but I lied, and said “no.” “What did you go upstairs with one for?” said she, “the night after you left me,—I was in the parlour, and peeping through the door saw you and the woman who stumbled at the foot of the stairs” (which was the fact). “Well I did,” I replied, “and saw her cunt,—and that’s more than I ever saw of yours.” “You’ve seen as much as you will.” Putting on my hat in rage, “Then I may as well go,—here is your money,”—and I turned towards the door. “Don’t be a fool,” said she, “what do you want?—what do all you men want?—you are all beasts alike,—you’re never satisfied.” She was angry. “Don’t be in a hurry, and let’s see your precious cunt.” I recollect saying that very distinctly, being angry,—and that up to that time I had been chaste in my remarks. I was at that time of my life not at all lewd or strong in word with women when we first met, but was somewhat less so so soon as I warmed, and only when randy to the highest degree or by fits and starts, spiced my conversation highly with lewd expressions.
Chapter XIII
She laughed. “Well I will,—but don’t make me undress,—I’m in a hurry.” “Of course,—you always are.” She laid
on the sofa, and pulled up her clothes,—she was yielding. “No,—come here.” She came, and laid on the side of the bed. At length I saw those glorious thighs open wider, the dark-shaded crack with the swelling lips showed itself more freely than I had ever seen it before. I dropped on my knees, and propping up one of her feet with my hand, lifted the leg so that the thighs distended, and a large bit of crimson nymphae began to show, the faint but delicious odour of her cunt stole up my nostrils, my lips closed on her gap, and kissed it lecherously, my brain whirled as my nose rubbed in the thicket of dark hair, and my lip touched her clitoris. I know nothing more excepting that I was up her as she laid there, and spending as quickly as ever, before I had in fact well plugged her. “Are you satisfied?” said she as she looked up from washing her cunt by the side of me. “No, it’s so quick,—you fetch me so quickly.” “That is no fault of mine.” She had said so often before. I recollect all these apparently trivial, these various feelings and circumstances, as well as if it were yesterday, for she had made her mark on me.
I had partly conquered, and saw my victory. “I like seeing you so,” said I, “but won’t see you, or any other woman who won’t let me see her charms, and who is always in such a hurry,—it would be all very well if I saw you for the first time—(why you have a new black silk dress on.” “Yes, I bought it with your money,” said she),—“but for a regular friend as I am, it is unsupportable.” I conquered more, and subsequently, told her that I might be in Regent Street one day, but I did not go there (I had made no promise). She said she went out against her will to see me,—could I write to say when she was to meet me? No,—but I could write to the bawdy house, and they would send on the letter. I called there one morning, and left a letter. The Mistress was a shortish sandy-haired woman about thirty years old, with a white face; she looked very fixedly at me, and smiled. She would send on the letter to Miss Sarah Mavis which I found was the name she went by; but Sarah never came to my letter, and I paid for the room for nothing. Then I sent for the Mistress; had a bottle of champagne with her, and she opened her heart a little, she was soon a little screwed, and this was what she told me. Her name was Hannah.
She had not known Miss Mavis long,—only a month or so before she had come in with me,—did not often see her now excepting with me. Mavis had been asking if I had been seen in the house with any other woman, “and of course I did not tell her,” said Sandyhead. She thought her a nice woman, and had struck up acquaintance with her. Now she often came into the parlour to chat with her when I had left, or before she came upstairs to me, when I was at the house before my appointed time.
Things went on thus for a little time longer, Sarah doing much as she liked, but certainly becoming more complaisant. She stopped longer, we began to talk; I was of course curious about her, she about me, I dare say she got much out of me, I but little out of her. What I mainly learned was that she only came on the streets occasionally, and from about eleven to one o’clock in the day,—never afterwards; and when she had sufficient money to “go on with,” as she said, she came not out at all. “I hate it,” said she, “hate you men,—you are all beasts,—you’re never satisfied unless you are pulling a woman about in all manner of ways.” “It pleases us,” said I, “we admire you so.” “Well it does not please me,—I want them to do what they have to do, and let me go.” “Why don’t you go out in the afternoon or evening?” “No, I get my money in the morning, and have other things to do the rest of the day.”
She had not been gay long,—not more than a month before I had met her,—was taken to the house in J—s Street by the first man who met her in the streets, and had been there often since. No she never had been gay before, she would swear, and often wished she were dead rather than have to come out, and let men pull her about, and put their nasty muck into her,—“nasty muck” was always the pleasant way in which she spoke of a man’s sperm.
“One would think you never cared about a poke,—I wonder how often you spend.” “Oh! it’s all the same to me whether I have it, or whether I don’t,—if I do it once a fortnight it’s as much as I care about,—you beasts of men seem to think of nothing else, and you leave us poor women all the trouble that comes from putting your muck into us.” “What the devil do you care about?” said I after a chat with her one day, in which she had just said what I have narrated. “Oh! I don’t care about anything much.”
Another day she said, “I like a nice dinner, and then a read in an arm-chair, till I go to sleep, or a nice bit of supper, and to get into bed,—I’m so tired of a night, I like to get to bed early if I can.” We went on talking about eating and drinking; she told me what she liked, and what she disliked with much gusto and earnestness. “I’ll give you a good dinner,” said I, “and we will come here afterwards.” “Will you?” “Yes,—but I won’t unless I have you three hours here.” “Impossible,—I dare not be out after half-past ten.” “Come early.” “I can’t come very early, for I must be home in the afternoon.” There were all sorts of obstacles,—so many that I gave it up, not going to be humbugged. But she would not give it up, and it was arranged that if she might name the evening, she would be with me at six o’clock, and stay with me till ten,—an immense concession,—it was the dinner that did it. I saw she was fond of her stomach, and that made me offer the dinner as a bait.
She would not come in after me to the restaurant, I was to meet her at the corner of St. Martin’s lane in a cab, and go with her,—and so it came off. We went to the Café de P—v—e in Leicester square, I had already ordered a private room, and a nice dinner. My God how she enjoyed it! “It’s a long time since I’ve had such a good dinner,” said she, “but never mind, better times are coming again for me, I feel sure.” She ate largely, she drank well, and to my astonishment when I got up to kiss her, she kissed me in return, and gave my piercer the slightest possible pinch outside my trousers. “Let’s feel you,” said I. Equally astonished was I when she said, “Bolt the door, the waiter may be in,”—and then I had a grope, and she felt my prick. “Let’s go—let’s go,—I am dying for you.” Off we went arm in arm. Directly we were well away from the Café she let go my arm. “You go first, and I will follow.” I thought she was going to cheat me. “I dare not be seen walking arm in arm with a man,—but I will follow.” In five minutes we were in the room together. Sarah Mavis was just in the slightest degree elevated, and perhaps more than slightly lewd.
To pull off my things, to help her off with hers partially was the work of a minute. “I must piddle first,—champagne always makes me want to piddle so.” “Does it make you randy?” “Oh! Lord it does sometimes; but it’s such a time since I tasted it before tonight, I almost forget.” “Are you so now?” “Oh! I don’t know,—come on the bed,” said she. She opened her thighs wide, she let me grope and smell, and kiss, and see. “Come on,—do.” Instinct told me she wanted it, I embraced her, and was enjoying her, when she clasped me firmly, sought my mouth. “Oh! my darling, I’m co—com—h—hing,” said she spending as she cried out, and fetched me at the same instant. It was the first time she had ever spent with me.
We laid in heavenly quietness, prick and cunt in holy junction, distilling, slobbering, and bedewing each other’s mouths and privates, whilst the soft voluptuous pleasure was creeping through our limbs, bodies, and senses. She was in no hurry to wash out the muck. “Oh! I’m chocking,” said she after a time, “get off.” “I won’t.” “Oh! do,—my stays choke me when I lie down after food,—I’m almost suffocated.” I held fast. “If I get off, you won’t let me do it again.” “Yes,—yes I will.” She jerked my prick out of her cunt, I got to the side of the bed, she sat up, and was about to get off, when I stopped her, and together we undid her stays, and took them off. “Let me wash now.” “No you shan’t,—I’ve never yet fucked with my first sperm in you,—let me now, there is a darling.” She laughed, and fell back; then for a few minutes we kissed and toyed. Her magnificent breasts were now free, I buried
my face between them, and kissed them rapturously; her moistened quim I felt, and it drove me wild with desire; so gluing my mouth to hers I mounted her, and we were soon in Elysium again, Sarah enjoying her fuck in a way I thought from her cold-blooded manner previously she was quite incapable of,—and there we laid, nestling cock and cunt together, till a slight sleep or doze overtook both of us.
In a minute or two Sarah sprang up, and rushed to the basin. I lay still, contemplating her, and saying I would not wash my prick for a week, so that I might retain in the roots and its moistened fringe our mixed juices, the remnants of our first spend together. When she had washed she laid down by the side of me. “Let’s have a nap,” said she. The wine seemed to be getting into her head more and more, though she was but in the slightest degree fuddled.
I could not sleep. The sight of her breasts relieved from her stays, the free manner in which she let her petticoats lay half up her thighs, the delight at finding her take pleasure in my embraces, exulted me beyond measure. I joked and tickled her. “Let’s see you naked.” “You shan’t.” “Well stand up, and let me see your limbs naked,—take off your petticoats, even if you keep your chemise on.” She was yielding, took petticoats off, but would do no more. I had seen more than any other man, and she would do no more, she said. The wine had evaporated, and she was herself again, quiet, composed.
Maddened with desire. “I’ll give you a sovereign,” I said, “to take the chemise off.” “Will you!” “Yes.” “No I won’t.” “I’ll give you two.” “What can you want to see more for?” “Hang it, take the money, and let me, or I’ll rip it off without paying.” I closed with her, and struggled, pulled the chemise up above her haunches, pulled it down below her breasts, tore it. “Now don’t,—I won’t have it,” said she getting angry, “it won’t please you if I do,—you will not like to see me half as well afterwards, I tell you.” “Yes I shall,—here is the money,—now let me see you naked, I’ll give you three sovereigns.”
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