My Secret Life (19 page)

Then came other suggestions. “I know such a little girl, not above this high,” she said. I ballocked that little girl. Then she knew one six feet high. She also I had. Then she knew one with an immense duff of hair on her cunt. Of course I had her. Then one with none at all; and mightily pleased was I, as my doodle rubbed in and out of that hairless cunt, the owner laying at the side of the bed, I standing up, and Camille holding a candle over the hairless quim, to enable me fully to see and enjoy the novelty, I was pushing up.

At intervals, when worn out with spending, or disinclined to find the money needed for this endless variety of women and cunt-hunting, I frequently spent evenings quietly in Camille’s society. I got from her information about habits of women in a way which is not often given to young men by gay women; learned that women thrust sponges up their cunts, to prevent men finding out they had their courses on. For the first time with her, I understood that women could, and did, frig themselves; and on her own cunt, placing herself my finger there, I first knew the exact spot where a woman rubs for her solitary pleasure. She told me of women rubbing their clitorises together so as to spend, — what the French call tribadism, — and two women of her acquaintance did this. All of us half spoony with champagne after a jolly little supper; she set the two girls rubbing their cunts together. The two girls on the top of each other I thought a baudy amusement, and did not believe until after years that flat fucking was practicable, and practised, with sexual pleasure.

Then should I like to see a man? Now it was not many years since I had frigged two or three, and seen a frigging match, which did not please me, so I declined it. Yet one night she expatiated so much about the wonderful size of a young man’s prick, and what a lot he spent, and how respectable he was, and what gentlemen had him, etc.; that I, who had a dislike to men being near me, consented, and a fine young Frenchman came. I could not for half-an-hour go near him, but my temptress meant I should, and I frigged one of the largest pricks I have ever seen, and saw his spunk squirt over Camille’s arse, which the Frenchman requested her to turn upwards for him to spend on; indeed he said he could not make his cock stand until he saw her arse. Directly afterwards I had the most ineffable disgust at him, myself and all, and never saw him again.

I would not again be in the room with a man, but she arranged to let me see, through a hole made in the door, herself fucked by another man, which I immensely enjoyed, but had not the sight repeated. I even used to hate the idea of her being fucked by any one but myself; not that I had anything in the way of love or liking for her, which might have been termed affection.

So time went on, I paying handsomely, trying to see and do anything she suggested, and glorifying myself at being in the lucky way of doing and knowing everything. I told much to some special friends, some of whom wanted to find out my sources of such enjoyments; others thought I was a mere braggart.

Nearly a year ran away, and four thousand pounds, leaving me with infinite knowledge and a frame pretty well worn; but I never had a love ailment, nor have I ever taken one from a French woman yet.

She never suggested arse-hole work. In her book were pictures of buggering, and she asked me if I would like such a thing. I frightened at what I knew, which seemed like a horrible dream, said, “certainly not,” and asked if it was possible. She told me it was, but was
“villaine,”
and the matter was never again referred to.

Used up.
—
Wanting a virgin.
—
Camille departs.
—
The Major’s opinion.
—
Camille returns.
—
Louise.
—
Louise fatigues me. — Fred on the scent. — A cigar-shop.
—
Three into one.
—
A clap.
—
Serious reflexions.
—
The sisters disappear.
—
Enforced chastity.
—
A stricture.
—
Health restored.

 

At last having done as great a variety of ballocking, and learnt more baudiness than most men of my age, I was knocked up, fucked out. My mother with whom I still nominally lived, was in despair. My guardian, alarmed at the rate I was spending my money, remonstrated, so I left Camille and her bevy of women, and went to the sea-side. There I renovated, and then spent my time on the sands, trying to see the women in the water. As I grew better my randiness returned, I got hold of gay women, but my old timidity clung to me, I used to pay them to piss, and had a grope up them; but do not recollect having anything more. I came back to London, and for two or three days afterwards Camille’s cunt had no rest. Then I temporarily got into another servant, and ceased to see Camille much. She tried all sorts of inducements to continue it on the old footing.

Then although she knew every incident of my life, she took to asking if I had ever had a virgin, saying, “Are you sure, did you see her cunt before you had her? Would you not like one again, if I can get you one, a young virgin French girl, one sure to be a virgin?” — and so on until she made me doubt if I had ever had one. At last I thought that I should like to have another. Well, she could get me a young French girl, but would have to go to France, it would cost a large sum of money. This talk went on for some time, and little by little I agreed to give her fifty pounds to pay her journey, and also to keep her lodgings on. She postponed the journey for a long time, but at length she went. She made me promise to do something for the girl besides paying her, — which meant something or nothing, — but I promised to pay the journey of the virgin back to France, should she want to go; and also whenever I had the girl, to pay Camille a Victoria, “because,” said she, “you will have my rooms and prevent my bringing friends home.”

So I came down with fifty pounds. Off she went in quiet dress, and looked a quiet lady or middle-class woman. She advised me to keep myself steady, and the very moment before she left, whilst the cab was at the door, I turned her with bonnet and travelling dress on, bum outwards, and fucked her; she hurrying me all the time for fear she should loose the coach, she had not time to piss, or wipe, or wash. “It will give me good fortune perhaps,” said she, laughing, “or make you wish me back, it is lucky for me.”

There was but a slow rail to Dover then, nothing but tidal boats, and to Paris, the way I thought she was going, no rail at all, and it was a long journey. Whether she went to Paris or not I don’t know, but from later experience think not, that she was a Southern woman, and went straight home. She was to be back in a month. It came, but not she; another week, another, and I began to think I had been sold; another, and I gave her up altogether, and experienced a little relief, for the habit of seeing her had so got hold of me that I could not shake it off, and yet I was tired of her, but I wanted the virgin.

There was a middle-aged man with whom I chummed much at my Club, a major retired, and a most debauched individual. He borrowed money of me, and did not repay it. His freedom of talk about women made him much liked by the younger men; the older said it was discreditable to help younger men to ruin. Ordinarily very careful how I spoke about women (for my loves having lain much in my mother’s house, caution had become habitual to me), I one night talked about virgins and of getting them. He said such things were done; that Harridans got a young lass, if well paid for it, but that they generally sold the girl half-a-dozen times over, “and,” said he, “they train the young bitches so, there is no finding them out; you may pay for one who was first fucked by a butcher boy, and then her virginity sold to a dandy; you may pay for it, my boy, and not find out you have been done.” I pondered much over this, and the next night returned to the subject. His opinion was that an old stager like him was not to be done; but that any randy young beggar would go up the girl, and flatter himself he had had a virgin, if the girl was cunning. “When you see the tight covered hole with your eye, find it tight to your little finger, and then tight to your cock my boy; when you have satisfied your eye, your finger, and your cucumber, and seen blood on it, you may be sure you have had one,
—
and not otherwise.”

Thought I, “I am going to be humbugged.” Another week, no letter, I went to her lodgings, and found she had taken away everything she had with her. That night I told a little of my hopes to the Major, not telling him who the kind lady was, or where she was gone; but it made him laugh. “You are done brown my boy, done brown; that woman will never turn up again.” He joked me so that I avoided him, and kept the subject to myself afterwards.

Again to the lodgings; the landlady could not keep them vacant any longer; I paid the rent, but she got no perquisites; I increased the allowance. Then again I went; the landlady said she did not expect to see her again. I had now set my heart on having this virgin; ten weeks nearly had gone; I said if Camille was not back next week she might let the rooms. It passed; a bill was put up in the window, and the next morning calling as a forlorn hope, there was a letter for me, — she would be back in a week. I was in a state of excitement that week and kept myself chaste, with the idea of the virgin cunt, and Camille’s well paced rogering in anticipation.

The day came. I was so impatient that I was there quite early; she arrived some hours earlier than she had said, and seemed surprized at finding me; my impression is that she did not want me to be there when she came back. She came in a hackney-coach; a stoutish full-sized young woman with a funny bonnet and long cloak on, got out of the coach with her, and in a free-and-easy way helped the things upstairs. She called her Louise. The wench put down a big box, and, on my turning round after giving Camille a kiss, I saw she had seated herself on it and, hands on her knees, was looking at me. “Uncord the box,” said Camille. Said the girl, “I am tired.” She uncorded it, again sitting down and looking at me said, “Is that your young man? — He’s a good-looking fellow.” Camille told her to hold her tongue, to go on unpacking, and that I understood French, eyeing her at the same time in a savage way and looking at me at times very uneasily. She was a rough sort of girl, she said, a relative of a friend of hers, had come as her servant, and in a short time would understand her place; smiling at me in a knowing way as she said that. Camille always addressed her servant in French, me in English; but I understood French tolerably well.

Louise did as she was told, but bounced about in an independent way, threw off her cloak and bonnet and, putting her hands on her hips, stared at me again. I stared at her, thinking of the virginity I was destined to break up. Certainly she was appetizing; her cloak off showed a thick woollen dress of dark brown, striped with blue, a fine big figure, a couple of big breasts; her arms naked nearly to her shoulders, as French peasants usually wore them, were large, fleshy, and brown; the petticoats were half-way up to her knees, and showed the thickest woollen black stockings on a stout pair of legs, and feet in thick shoes with brass buckles; she had immense gilt earrings, and was in fact in the dress of a Bordeaux peasant woman.

I did nothing but stare at her, Camille nothing but scold her, talking to me at intervals. The girl got the boxes ready for opening, then walked about, taking up poker and tongs, chimney ornaments, and everything in the room with curiosity. Camille and I had so much to say that we took little notice of her; then she threw up the window and looked out. As she bent forward, her short petticoats showed her legs up to her knee-backs; Camille was about to stop her looking out when I winked and, stooping, saw a thick roll of stockings just beneath the knees, and the flesh just above. Camille understood. “Madame, madame,” said the girl, “come here, here is fun.” I heard Punch squeaking in the streets; she was delighted; her mistress went to the window, giving me a knowing look, and, looking out of the window with the girl, put her hands over the girl’s petticoats and lifted them up slightly. Louise took no heed of this, being so engrossed with Punch; I dropped on my knees and saw half-way up the girl’s thighs. I had been chaste for a few weeks, or nearly so; the sight of Camille had fired me, the thighs finished me; I shoved my hands up Camille’s petticoats on to her arse, got her into her bed-room, and with her clothes in a lump on her belly, drove up my prick, spending directly I got up her cunt.

With half my spendings outside, half inside I lay with throbbing prick, which only came out when it had spent again. Camille vowed she had not had a man for weeks, and took it out of me, perhaps fearing if I went away with stiffening left, some other cunt would take it out. The ballocking over, I went home.

I was early there the next day; Louise had been installed in the little room leading out of the sitting-room. Camille told me a great deal about the distance she had gone, and the trouble and expense she had been put to in getting the girl’s relatives to let her come; she hoped I would pay the additional expenses; and that I did at a cost of about twenty pounds. What with that and paying for her journey, and for lodgings while absent, Louise had cost me nearly ninety pounds already. Then I undertook to pay for the additional room, in which a bed having been put, an extra was charged; cooking now being done downstairs. Then Louise must have a new gown; then Camille thought I ought to give her something for herself, because whilst away for me she had made no money. That I refused and blazed up about it; for all that agreed to pay for a new silk dress for her, and a lot of little odds and ends on the second day of Camille’s return, for all of which outlays I had only had a peep up the girl’s petticoats.

Then I had talk about her. The girl was the daughter of a small grape-grower, a friend of Camille’s; they thought Camille was in London as a dressmaker, making a lot of money, because she sent money home to her father. Camille offered to take her, saying she would be sure to get on, if not in one way, then in another; that good-looking girls always did well in London. The girl was mad to come and persuaded her parents to let her do so, believing that Camille got her living honestly; she was to be her servant until she could be put in the way of doing well.