The hair on her cunt, which was thick-lipped and pouting, was also of a lightish auburn, not by any means a colour to my taste when between the thighs,—so many women’s cunts are furnished with that colour. It was thick, longish, soft in feel, large in quantity, and spread half-way up to her navel, and square across her belly to the line of her thighs. I guessed it a thirty year old cunt from that. She was a lovely fucker, and though her cunt was a large one inside and out; the prick was well clipped by it, and kept in when its business was done. There was such room to lie on her between her thighs, and all seemed so well placed to hold a man, that I often thought of her in after time when fucking Sarah, who was the very reverse; who always made me bend my back when fucking, and from whose quim my prick would always slip, unless we both made some effort to retain it after I had spent. Sarah rarely did that, hating the muck. Indeed when Sarah was randy, and wagged her arse as she did violently, all of a sudden just before she spent, she often threw my stiff prick out, which set me off damning and cursing till it was up her again.
The oysters came, and champagne with them, we went to bed again, and sat in chemise and shirt to eat them, said I, “let’s have another fuck naked again,” for the touch of her large fleshy body to mine had entranced me, and thus we fucked. Another doze. “Ulloh! why it’s three o’clock,—I must be off.” “Don’t go dear,—stop all night.” “I can’t,—they will think I am ill.” “So they will me, but I can’t go home, I live too far off,—do stop all night with me, there’s a darling,” said she.
Instead of a doze we had slept two hours. I at times stopped out all night, and never without saying I intended to do so, but I was tired and sleepy. “Oh! don’t go.” I put on my shirt. “Well let’s have another poke before you go,—the champagne has made me so randy.” It had also operated on me. I looked, there were her breasts naked just peeping above the bedclothes, one arm out, the hand under her head, the big white fleshy arm, and the thick sandy brown hair in the armpits. “Come,” said she uncovering to her knees. Off went my shirt, and jumping into bed the thighs received me, the voluptuous tongue and round, soft, wet lips glued themselves on to mine again, and heaving gently we were already on the way to another spend. My God what work, what prolonged pleasure!—I forgot Sarah Mavis, and every other woman that night in the arms of Louisa. In bawdy amusement we passed the whole night together, and I awakened at ten the next morning with the need of going as fast as I could to shit.
I came back, washed, and we fucked again; then she went as she said to speak to Hannah, whom I knew was a bed at that time; she went I knew to empty herself, but I asked no questions. We had ham and coffee in bed, and more fucking, and about one o’clock we rose and left. My finger must have smelt of cunt I should think for twenty-four hours afterwards, for I had scarcely left Louisa’s cunt for eighteen hours; if my prick was not up her my fingers were, when not asleep. Whether spunk was in it or not was all the same, there was no objecting, she gave way to my insistence, and we lay at intervals, she feeling my prick, one of her legs placed over mine, and my hand between her thighs, both of us kissing, tongue-sucking, and scarcely talking. I barely recollect our talk at all,—it was one long bawdy night; how many times we fucked I can’t say, but it was one of my great exercises. She was tired, and so was I, yet at the last moment, “Let’s try it again,” I said: “No, I’m sore, and in pain,” said she. I sometimes think my prick must have been nearly a dozen times up her, and when ramming stiff for a long time without spending she murmured, “Oh! pray dear leave off.”
We fucked in no other fashion than belly to belly, we were naked the whole night, and did nothing outside the bed. When I had paid for the room, supper and breakfast, I only had a few shillings left. I told her. “Never mind,” said she, “you shall give me some money some day when I am hard up;” so I paid her nothing then.
I recollect all this distinctly, I always do the incidents of a first night with a female. When I am accustomed to them, the more striking circumstances of our acquaintance remain in my memory. It seems to me that first night’s incidents will always remain fresh in my recollection, excepting the number of fucks; I recollect up to about half-a-dozen, then I lose count, there my memory of a first night alone fails me.
I took a liking for Louisa. For nearly a year I had borne with the frigidity of Sarah and her tyranny, “You shall only do it once,—I won’t,—I can’t wait,—well go,” were commands I had got accustomed to obey, had bowed to refusals to allow her secret charms to be looked at time after time, to have my prick ejected before the last injecting throb had been given. I liked the woman, doted on her exquisite form, liked the domesticity of sitting and reading to her, and at the same time just feeling her cunt whilst she laid on the sofa, because I liked her conversation, and because I was at times rewarded by rapturous delight when she abandoned herself body and soul to me, I submitted to all this. But I often rebelled, wished it was otherwise, and made up my mind to leave her for other women, yet did not. I have said all this before.
Now to have a splendidly made woman, who had as much pleasure with me as I had with her, was overwhelming. I forgot Sarah for a time, and longed for the repetition of the bawdy, voluptuous hours I had had with the big-armed, big-thighed Louisa, and counted the days till we met again. The instant I set eyes upon her we went upstairs. “Let’s get into bed.” Then it was a race who undressed the first. “Naked?” “Yes naked.” She laughed. “Look at your thing,” said she as sitting down she pissed. It was stiff as a poker; the next minute I was laying bedded on that soft fleshy form, and we were spending. What a fat, luscious, and grand cunt she had, though three fingers went up it easily.
Then to my delight she threw up her limbs a little, and crossing them over me pressed her cunt close up to my willing cock-roots; and there we lay, my prick in her, my balls covering her arse-hole; whilst now and then she gripped my prick by muscular cuntal action. When her tongue touched mine, she sometimes ran her lithesome tongue over my teeth, or under my lips, and along my gums,—it was a peculiarity of hers. Then she would glue her wet lips to my wet lips, till our salivas mingled, and ran profusely, stimulating our lusts. Thus we enjoyed each other’s bodies, till another fuck dissolved us, and separated our spunk-soaked genitals; and she got up, washed, and went away sometimes in a great hurry.
Soon I grumbled at her going so, and she promised to stop a longer time. “Have a shoulder of mutton,” said she, “and onion sauce,—I love it,—Hannah will cook it beautifully,—we will dine at two o’clock, Hannah with us.” So it came about; we three sat down to a shoulder. Louisa liked sherry, Hannah brandy; I brought both of fine quality, we gorged, Hannah got slightly tight, observing Louisa and I caressing. “Ah!” said she, “I envy you, you two going to bed.” “Why where is Jack?” “Oh! at Windsor, and I shan’t have a bit for a month at least.” “You’ll have to frig yourself,” said I joking. “That’s better than nothing, but I like the wetting best.” Louisa laughed, and used afterwards to say to Hannah, “Has Jack given you a wetting?” Later on some other free ladies took up the joke, and Hannah’s “wetting” became a bye-word among the circle of free, mercenary lovers.
Dinner over we hurried upstairs, and we went naked to bed. This was about half-past three; there we lay till eleven o’clock at night, and had an oyster supper in bed. Hannah came up, and ate oysters with us whilst we were in bed together. We ate them out of the shells, and drank champagne, heard happy couples overhead, and joked about it, talked about fine limbs, about Sarah’s fine legs. “Show us yours Hannah,” said Louisa. Hannah without a word cocked one leg up against the bed, and drew up her petticoats to the top of one thigh. “There,” said she, “I am not ashamed of it.” She had a fine leg, but was a very plain woman. She had shown her leg to me on the day of the leg-show, when I had spent involuntarily, as I have already told. We laughed and praised her leg. “Oh! I’m ashamed of you both,” said Hannah dropping her petticoats, laughing, and hurryin
g out of the room. “I know where his fingers are.” She was right, Louisa was sitting up in bed, her legs half up, but covered, I half reclining by the side of her, had thrust my hand under the thighs, and was feeling her cunt.
Hannah left the room. We began fucking, I was on the top operating when the door opened, and a couple showed themselves. We heard a voice crying out, “Not there Ma’am, it’s occupied,” and Hannah’s sister rushing in ejected a man and woman who had entered before they saw a couple were in the bed. We were too far advanced to mind, I uncunted with the object of closing the door, but the servants having done so, we consummated and dozed off; nor was it till the servant came to say we ought to be careful, that I got up and bolted the door.
Then began a regular meeting once a week, and sometimes twice. Money seemed no object to Louisa, she took what I gave, and never asked for more; once or twice she said, “I want a bonnet dear,—give me one,”—or a new pair of boots, or was hard up for a trifle, and then I gave her all I could; but she had not in a couple of months as much as at the last period of my acquaintance with her, Sarah had from me in three days. But she let me spend money in oysters and champagne suppers, and early dinners, Guardsman Jack who had come back from Windsor, used often to get his fill. I once saw Jack in bed with Hannah, and his scarlet uniform on the chair; he turned himself round with his face to the wall when I entered. He had a thick head of black hair, which is all I saw.
Louisa was a voluptuous poke, and enjoyed the fun as much as a woman could. I think, (but recollection on that point is not clear, when I come to comparison), that she was the nicest woman to lay on I ever had. I was slim, though far from a skeleton, and as I laid naked on her between her large breasts, and between her thighs slightly elevated (for she usually raised her legs, after we had fucked and she had recovered from her pleasure, or when I mounted her for preliminary dalliance), I could scarcely roll off of her without an effort. She had also when her pleasure was increasing, a movement of her whole body, and not of her cunt and backside alone; her breasts quivered with a gentle, perfectly natural motion, and I could feel her flesh moving and rubbing against mine from belly to neck in a way which stirred lust in me from the hair of my head to the soles of my feet; I seemed to feel all over her body at once, and it was most delicious. She had a lovely lasciviousness with her tongue. If my tongue was in her mouth when she spent, she almost sucked it out of me, and the clipping of her cunt after my prick had been relieved from its stiffness I have already mentioned. Her length of arm enabled her to squeeze my balls when in various positions, and no woman ever let me pull her about and look at her cunt, whether it was clean or spunky, more freely than she did. With many it is evidently business, with her it seemed pleasure. She took a delight in all I did, even when I washed her cunt.
(My pleasures however with her were of a simple kind. I had none of the varied erotic pleasures that I now know, the bum-hole and mouth were reserved for the enjoyment of my more matured years.) I should have seen her more frequently, but she would only come at the outside twice a week. No it was impossible,—she lived too far off. I tried to get out of Hannah some knowledge about her, but could not. One day only when fuddled she asked if I had heard she was married. “You mean,” said I, “living with a man.” “No really married, and been so for years,—oh! don’t you tell her,—she’ll cut the house if you do.”
At the end of perhaps three months I was in bed with her; we had poked, reposed, and were in amorous dalliance, lying face to face, she with one limb over my haunch, so that I could feel her cunt well, she twiddling my somewhat exhausted prick. “I have a surprise for you,” she said. “For me,—what?” “I’m in the family way.” “The devil,—whose fault is that?” “No one’s fault, and perhaps no misfortune,—would you like a child?” “I?—why?” (I had a presentiment of what was coming.) “Because it is yours.” “Nonsense.” “It is my dear,—I have felt certain of it for some time past, but waited to be quite sure before telling you.” “Are you quite sure?” “As certain as I am that I shall die.”
I was flabbergasted, felt distressed, as if I had done her some harm that I could not repair, that I had injured her, and should cause her pain and annoyance. It was succeeded by a fear that I should have trouble through it, and expense that I could not afford. Then came the idea that she was selling me, putting a plant on me; that if she were with child it was another man’s, not mine. Then came a belief over me that what she said was true, that her pleasure in my embraces was so real, so unlike that of the ordinary gay women, that the result might be due to me. Overwhelmed I lay quiet, confused with the tumultuous thoughts and feelings which rushed through my brain.
At length I said, “Are you sure?” “Yes.” “It may be your husband’s” (for Hannah’s hints came to my mind). “He!—he!—the miserable, contemptible little wretch!—he?” She left off feeling my cock, raised herself on her elbow, and looking at me said, “Who told you I was married?” “No one.” “Someone has.” “No one,—but I have more than once fancied you were married by the difficulty I have in getting you to come to meet me when I want.” “Someone has told you.” “No one has.” “I’m a damned fool,” said she, “I dare say you know more than you say,—what do you know?” “Nothing.” “It’s your child, and no one else’s,—I’m sorry I have told you,—say nothing more about it,”—and she turned on her back. “Are you married?” “Of course not, or I should not be in bed with you.” “Some man is keeping you perhaps.” “No one is keeping me either,” said she.
I could not keep quiet, so much was I excited, and thought of the man she met at J—s Street still, although she tried to hide that. I did not like to suggest it, for I had found out that any reference to him annoyed her, and I always avoided giving pain to any woman I had connection with; but the matter seemed so grave that I could not keep what was on my mind to myself, and as delicately as I could suggested him.
“It’s not,” said she fiercely, “it can’t be.” “Why?” “You are the only man who has spent in me for years.” “What,” said I incredulously, “no one had you?” “No one has spent in me but you for years,—no one.” I was staggered, but returned to the subject. “Nonsense Louisa,—how can you tell?” “I’ve told you why.” “Why if you’ve a husband, and if you have a friend who meets you, how can you be sure it’s me?”
“I have no husband, and it’s no friend,—if you don’t believe it, I tell you on my oath, on my body and soul, and may I go to hell when I die, if it be not true, that no man has spent in me for years but you.” “No man has fucked you!—what do they do then?” “That’s no concern of yours,—but no man’s stuff has ever been up me for quite two years but yours,—I’m not going to say any more about it,—my business is not yours,—nobody has asked you to keep the child,—you need not trouble yourself,—I’m sorry I told you.” She turned her bum to me, and began to cry; I tried to comfort her.
“That will do,” said she, “give me some oysters and champagne.” I ordered them, then wanted another fuck. “No you shan’t have it,”—nor would she let me. The oysters and champagne made her more complaisant, but she was angry and snappish. After another fuck she got up and left me before her usual time, and I went away wondering at this, and at the number of women who had been, or who said they had been with child by me.
Soon after she was loving, sad, and serious, was sorry I would not have liked the child, for it was certainly mine, but she would get rid of it. Then in the familiarity of a lewd man and woman naked in bed together, she told me a lot about herself.
She was married, she lived with him and her mother, but loathed her husband. “He,—he the miserable wretch,—he touch me, the dirty beast!—I’d sooner die than let him,” she cried, “if he wanted even,—but he does not want me,—what he wants he gets elsewhere, not with me,” said she with strong emphasis. If she left him, she would have to support her mother alone,—perhaps it would come to that someday,—she was qu
ite prepared for it. They ate and drank together when he was at home, but had not slept together for years. He kept the house comfortably enough,—perhaps he would so long as she took trouble about it, for he did not care so long as he got his food good. Yes she did meet a friend. It got her luxuries she could not get any other way; her husband knew she got money elsewhere, for she dressed in a way he must know his money would not enable her to do. He asked no questions, and did not care nor heed, nor seem to notice. That was pretty well all I ever got out of her. Hannah drunk, and talking to me one day said he was a very little man, and a brewer’s clerk, “a hop o’ my thumb,” she called him. “Never mind what my friend does,” said Louisa, “I’ve known him some years,—he does something of course, he does not meet me for nothing, but I tell you he has never spent in me,—no man has spent in me for years but you.” “Do you frig your friend?” “If you like, anything else you like, it’s all the same,—I’m not going to say; but neither he nor anyone else has spent in me,—no man’s seed has been up me for two years or more. The first night you had me I spent first, you spent after; the next time as your seed touched me, I felt a shiver run right through me, and I got in the family way at that very instant, I’m sure.” Louisa was particular in her language, she never said “spunk,”—thought it a nasty word,—she always said “seed,” or “stuff” when she spoke of my sperm,—Sarah called it “muck.”
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