My Secret Life

Was the ale good? “Ain't it just. We drinks four-penny. — Dad drinks beer.” — She was delighted at talking to a gentleman and fed herself with freedom and the utter absence of that ill at ease, which I've so often found with servants whom I have taken to dine or sup. She told me all about the show, she slept in the last wagon with her sister. — “Mother and Dad in the other. — It's the biggest.” — “And don't brother Jack sleep with you?” — Her ruddy face grew ruddier, she was confused. — “Course not, — there ain't no room till we are at fairs.” — Then I heard that Jack wasn't her brother. Another bottle of ale opened her mouth more, and made me think how I could manage to open her lower mouth. I heard that Jack was a sort of partner, was her cousin — looked after the horses — went away the day before to buy a donkey. They wondered why he hadn't arrived, but sometimes he was away nearly a week when they'd business. — “Jack's your sweetheart.” — “Well what if he be?” “He sleeps with you when you're at fairs. — “He don't” — “He does — “He don't” — “He does. — “Well what if he do, we're agoin to marry and Dad known on it?” At length she said, bursting out laughing.

Generally if alone with a woman I get some facts from her. “I wish I was Jack, I'd marry you.” — “Oh ain't yer a lying stiff,” said she laughing heartily. “Where's your next fair I'll come and sleep with you.” — “Oh ain't yer a chaffing, I must go.” — “No, give me a kiss.” — “Shan't, I must go.” — “Damned if I wouldn't give a sovereign to sleep with you,” I blurted out, ready almost to ravish her. — “No, none a that sir please” as I attempted a feel, after a kiss which she let me take. Then she gave me a sudden push — A very strong one — and laughing got out the door. — “Look,” said I, randy mad and puffing out my flaming stiff pego. — “Oh — ain't you one.” — She walked to the bar, but looked at my cunt rammer long, and laughed before she went. I felt sure I'd made her lewed.

Refreshed and meaning to have a look at the country, I paid and departed, winking at the girl, she smiling in return, in the way women do when gratified by lewed talk and sight of a stiff prick. — Every woman is really gratified by a man's desiring to fuck her, whether the desire be delicately implied, or quite coarsely ex-pressed. — “Good morning Miss,” said I most politely. “Good morning Sir,” and I passed out.

I strolled along a country road, flat fields with large ditches and big uncut hedges in each side, enclosing large spaces of naked arable land with occasional pasturage as far as I could see. At long distances apart, was a poor cottage or two together, at places here and there a shabby farm house or barn. Scarcely a laborer on the road and a cart visible about every five minutes. A duller district I have rarely seen, it was dullness itself. Not a breath of wind, made a rustle in tree or hedge, all was silent, mournful, yet the novelty pleased me, and on I strolled smoking, sometimes singing and stopping every now and then. At last I asked of a chance laborer the distance to * * * *.

A quick tramp and heavy footsteps in the distance struck my ear; footsteps as of some one walking much quicker than myself. Nearer and nearer they came and on turning round, there was the showman's daughter.

She smiled all over her face and so did I — “What you, Miss, where's Jack?” were my first words. — “Oh — he ain't turned up.” — “You'll have no bed-fellow — you'll be cold.” — “Shan't,” — she replied laughing. — “I'll sleep with you.” — “Will you now, ain't yer kind?” with a good humoured sneer. “Yes, and I'll give you a new dress.” — “Oh — lor — who'd a thought it?” and she laughed heartily, as I did. There was a joking, yet voluptuous twinkle in her eyes which made me feel sure she felt lewed. — “Yes and would give it to have you ten minutes alone.” — “Oh ain't yer generous.” — “Yes and I'll give you this for nothing,” pointing to my prick — at which she roared. “Don't walk so quick I shall lose that pretty face too soon.” — “I must catch em up.” — “You'll wear your boots out and it's going to rain. How I wish I were your boots.” — “My boots?” looking quite astonished. — “Yes, then I look up and see what I'm dying to see, let me.” — “Shan't, you beast” — and again she laughed, repeating “my boots — ha — ha — ha my — boots.” — Two or three minutes more baudy chaff, and I'd taken half a dozen kisses.