My Secret Life

I attempted it the next day and at every opportunity in the house and out of it, till new servants came. She felt my prick, would look at it, squeeze the balls, talk about fucking and baudiness to any extent, tell me what she had seen and what she had heard about such matters. She at length scarcely resisted my feeling her bum, belly, and legs, yet I never got my finger on to her slit, so as to feel the moisture; for she closed her little legs and wriggled, or got away from me somehow. Once or twice when I got a little rough, she set up a squeal, and I desisted. I offered her money. She replied, “No thank you, I am not going to spoil my chance that way.” Our conversation used to begin by my saying, “How is your duff?” “Oh! nicely, thank you; how is your jock?” “All right, and stiff, waiting for your duff.” “Then it will wait a long time,” and so on. It always ending in my trying to feel her, and getting no further. At length they left, new servants coming.

I frequently saw her afterwards, and always began the same game. My mother was told I had been seen talking to her, so after that I only spoke to her at dusk. Some time afterwards she married a gardener, and I occasionally saw her, but recognition came to a knowing nod and smile, which she always returned. Meanwhile I had got my fortune, as I shall tell, had no end of women, and had forgotten her when, walking across a field not far from our house, I overtook a short woman with a little child, and it was she. A shower came on, and we went into a barn, no one was in it. She told me I was said to be a “dreadful chap after the gals.” 'You know all about that now,” said I. “Yes,” she replied with a grin, and gradually talking baudier, we went on, until in a few minutes I had laid her down and fucked her on the hay. “I told you I would do it,” said I. “But you didn't when you said you would, now it won't matter.” That was her notion. The rain continuing, she said she must go, whether wet or dry. Neither of us had an umbrella. She pulled her gown over her head, and saying, “You won't tell anyone, will you?” took the child by the hand and was going, when my appetite came again. I pulled her back, and with little persuasion, again went up her. She enjoyed the fuck greatly. As I lay on the top of her we heard a bang, and the barn grew dark; a man was shutting the door. “UllOh!” said he, “I didn't know any one was there; I hope I ain't disturbed you. We made no reply, but out we went “You will have a boy out of this,” said I. “I hope I shall,” said she. That was the end of my adventure, for I never had her again, and she soon left the neighborhood. It was her own little child that was with her.

Though I have (as I shall in other cases) told all I had to do with her consecutively, yet between the time when she was in our house and the time of meeting her at the barn, three or four years must have elapsed; and didn't we talk baudy in the barn before I got into her. That may have warmed her up, yet I believe she wanted me, as soon as she found herself alone with me. Her little child witnessed the business.

Just at this time or a little later, an adventure of a serious kind occurred to me. The streets leading out of the Waterloo Road were then occupied much by gay women. Some were absolutely full of them; they were mostly of a class to be had for a few shillings If they could not get more, but many a swell I have noticed lingering about there. My mother now took nearly all my money for my board, but with the little remaining I had a knock off occasionally. It was one of my pleasures to walk up these streets when dark and talk with the women at the windows, which were always open whatever the weather, unless some one was within engaged with the ladies.

Each woman had generally but one room, but two or three used to sit together in the front room in their chemises. There was the bed, wash-stand, chamber-pot and all complete, Perhaps one lolled out of the window, showing her breasts, and if you gave such a one a shilling, she would stoop so that you could see right down past her belly to her knees, and have a glimpse of her cunt-fringe. Sometimes one would pull up her garter, or another sit down and piddle, or pretend to do so, or have recourse to other exciting devices when men peeped in.

I used to look in and long. Sometimes had a shilling peep and then bashfully asked for a feel of the cunt for it. I so often succeeded that, ever since when I wanted that amusement, have offered a shilling for a feel and met with but few refusals in any part of London, Sometimes it ended in a fuck. Once or twice to my astonishment they took mere trifles, and, as I think of it, there is wonderfully little difference between the woman you have for five shillings, and the one you pay five pounds, excepting in the silk, linen, and manners.