There was some military inspection not far from us, Fred was going in his uniform, with my aunt, cousins and self, and all but two servants were allowed to go. The carriage was at the door when I was taken short, and being in my bed room ran to the W.C. As I came out, I saw Fred at the end of the corridor near the stairs, walking quickly but quietly, and heard his footsteps descending to the Hall. “What’s up?” thought I. He has been dressed a long time, why on the first-floor now? He passed his bed room without going in. A suspicion crossed my mind, and being close to it, I put my ear to the nursemaid’s door (the one with two doors in which I had had the skinny nursemaid), heard a rustling, and quickly opening the lobby-door connecting with the servants’ stairs, I saw Molly looking hot, flushed, adjusting her collar and hair, and going downstairs rapidly, she didn’t see me. Instinct told me she had been fucked by Fred.
I rushed downstairs, Fred and all were in the carriage, aunt angry at waiting so long for me. I told her my ailment, said I would ride after them directly I felt better, so off they drove. The butler and Molly were in the Hall, they and the cook the only people in the house. I sent off the butler to the village to get me some medicine, and said to Molly in a stern way before him, as if I had never seen her, “Are you doing the housemaid’s work young woman?” “Yes sir.” “Arrange my room as quickly as you can, for I am not well, and shall lay down there.” “Yes sir,” said she looking so hard at me. “Do the room at once,” said the old butler. Off she went. I saw him go off on his errand, and ran upstairs to my bed room. There was Molly. I bolted the door, and pulled out my prick. Never had Molly resisted me more, she struggled, fought. What would happen if someone came? She would be ruined. “No one can come my darling, all are out but cook, and if she misses you she will think you have ran down to your mothers.” But she struggled on, begged, implored, she would meet me; she would do anything if I would desist then, she was poorly and could not. It was useless. I had been against my will chaste for some days. The fascination of the prick overcame her, she yielded, I threw her at length on the bed, mounted, fucked, and in half-a-dozen thrusts the job was done.
I recollect keeping her under me, and with my dawning senses what I had seen a quarter of an hour before came through my mind. Prick up her, and leaning on one elbow, I looked at her long; the possibility of my prick then laying in Fred’s spunk mixed with my own, instead of horrifying; me as it would have done, had I thought about the matter before in a cool state of mind, sent a delightful titillation through me. I grasped her firmly, drove my prick home again, and said looking her in the face, “Fred has just fucked you.”
“Oh!” said she with such a start that she uncunted me, “oh I what a wicked story,—let me go.” But I was flat on her, she writhed, said I was insulting her; but my prick drove on, it hit, and went up. “I am sure he has,—shove, shove,—I saw him—shove—leave the room—shove—and you came out the other door,—shove, shove, shove,—lay quiet,—shove, shove, shove.” “Oh! let me go.” “I shan’t,—shove,—wriggle,—shove,—oh! my love,—ah!—ah.—a! oh—o!—ah!” Our wet lips met, and the final wriggle settled our movements, sighs and conversation. She was quiet enough now, tranquillized by her pleasure.
“Oh! if someone comes.” “I will say you are not here, and no one can enter. Fred has just fucked you.”
“It’s a lie,” said she rolling off the bed, and going off quickly with her cunt full.
The butler came back with the medicine, I threw it down the closet, and went down to the dining room. In an hour or so, I rang for some tea (how was I to get him out of the way again?). I went to my bedroom, rang; up came Molly. “Let us do it again.” “I won’t, you have insulted me.” “Bring me a great can of hot water.” Then I rang for all sorts of odd things, making believe I had a bad attack of colic, showing her my prick each time, till she let me do it at the edge of the bed. Her cunt had been well washed. We were quiet, afraid of being overheard, a woman knows how to avoid being compromised when she has once intrigued,—but the poor girl was in an agony of fear.
“I’ve been into the nursemaid’s room,” said I, “and there is the mark of someone having been on the bed-edge.” “Well it’s not me.” She stuck out that she had been in the room alone. “Why there at all?” She had only passed through the room to piddle.
In the afternoon I called the butler, and sent him to the village again, to get me another mixture. In the dining room I rang, and Molly answered. “I am going to ring in my room again,” said I, “you come.” No she would not. I went up and rang.
The cook answered my bell. What a baulk! but I was equal to it,—the cook had no business to come up, it was Molly’s place. “Do you think that Mrs. Brown or Pender, or someone on the farm has got anything good for diarrhea?” “I’ll go and see,” said she good-naturedly. I knew she must be gone ten minutes, or a quarter of an hour.
I followed her downstairs, soon rushed into the kitchen, bolted the kitchen-garden entrance, laid hold of Molly, whose horror was extreme at the idea of being caught, and I fucked her in the butler’s pantry, where he slept. With my cock dripping as I pulled it out, I ran up to my room. She had just had time to unbolt the door before the cook appeared, and she brought me some medicine from Mrs. Pender, which of course went down the closet.
I went to my bed room, reveling in the intrigue of the day, and wondering how often Fred had had her, and whether that day was the first time. Whenever my cock grew stiff I rang for Molly, and showed it to her. She grew demoralized at the constant sight of the cock, but there was no time for a fuck; I promised her a new bonnet to get me another opportunity. In a couple of hours she came, I had a voluptuous caprice, turned her belly on the bed, her rump towards me, for a fuck from behind. She objected, “What are you going to do? You can’t do anything like that.” “Yes my love, easily.” “I don’t like my clothes up like that.” Two or three times I had to turn her round before she was quiet, and then we consummated. Molly was astonished. She had never been tailed in that attitude before I am sure.
It was about eleven o’clock when Fred and the others had set forth; they returned to a late dinner. I had fucked Molly five or six times. Then I went to bed, my aunt and cousins came up to me, and were so kind. So was Fred, who told me all about the inspection, and never suspected my game in the least, nor anyone else. The last words I said to Molly that day were, “Fred has fucked you.” Again she swore that he never had. To keep up the deception and excuse my staying at home, I had eaten scarcely anything all day, and felt I recollect awfully hungry when a bed.
The empty pleasure of occasionally showing my doodle to Molly was all I could get afterwards. Nelly or Sophy—I forget which—I got to the bawdy house at———; whichever of the two it was, came half wet through with muddy boots and under-linen which so upset me that I did not poke. The servant who had been ill came back to the Hall, and Molly left. I had Pender (whose belly was then showing its intentions awfully) up against the gate opposite her cottage one wet night (but “cock and cunt will come together”). Said she in the slight interval between our meeting, fucking, and parting, “If that gal Molly is not in the family way,—her mother’s found it out,—oh! such a row.” That accounted for Molly looking depressed.
Soon Molly went again to London, and I did the same day, but not in the third-class carriage. We spoke at the station. “For God’s sake go,” said she, “aunt’s coming.” “I’ll write to the post-office,” said I, and did. Then she met me, she got a situation directly, but I tempted the girl. “Tell your aunt you are wanted a week earlier than you are, and come and stop with me.” The devil was with me, Molly got into a cab with her box, and was set down at a station; there I got her into another, and we drove to a small hotel where I had taken a room. She only stayed with me five days; I took her to theatres and other places, but not out in the day; fed her up, and fucked her and myself out. The sheets were always slobbered with spunk and once or twice I mad
e the woman change them. Molly had become lecherous, and no doubt reckless, and I had the delight of teaching her bawdiness (which is the main pleasure a virgin gives you over a gay women), but she did not care about me. She was often crying, but a little friction on her clitoris usually cured that. On the last day I asked her if she was in the family way? She admitted it, and went to her situation. “I think it’s you who have done it,” said she to me. I told her it must be Giles.
She stopped a fortnight in her situation, then went no one knew where. Pender told me when I went back. I was sorry, went to town hoping to find her, and wrote to the post-office. By some chance—perhaps to get a letter from Giles—she went there. A week afterwards my landlady said a young woman had called on me. “A lady?” said I. “Not at all, an overdressed young woman.” It was Molly, who called again. I went to her poor lodgings, she fenced my questions, said she meant to go back to her mother’s. Pressing her as to how she lived, she said she had the money I had given her. “But your bonnet, your clothes,—what do you do of a night?” She could not evade it, Molly had turned whore. I never knew who had put her up to getting her living by her cunt; but a fellow-servant had left with her, and had got the next room to hers.
A woman who takes to whoring takes to lying. I could not learn exactly how long she had stayed at her situation, or much about her movements. I stayed with her the night, she let me pull up her clothes, and open her thighs with a freedom she never had done before; from which I inferred she had had more than one prick in her split since I had been up her last; she was voluptuous, and her cunt was unusually juicy.
I went back to my aunt’s sorry, for I seemed to have been largely the cause of Molly going astray, and did not know then that a gay life is as happy as that of the wife of a farm-laborer. Restless I went again to London, saw Molly who looked fearfully wretched, would neither let me fuck, nor feel her, and then broke out in an agony of tears, saying she was ill, something was the matter with her. “With your cunt?” “Yes,” said she, “do look.” Poor Molly opened her plump thighs, stretched open her cunt, and gave me every facility. Her quim was in a high state of inflammation, and it had a discharge. A medical student who saw her said she had the clap, and gave her medicine. “Oh! do look again, tell me if I am very bad,—shall I be worse?—oh! I am so sorry I did not keep at my situation,” said she.
Once in my life since, another girl made me a similar confession, and those are the only two who confessed to an illness at the time they had the illness on them.
I told her she could be cured, but horrified her with the description of the disease to which she might be subject, took her to a doctor, paid her lodgings, counseled her to go home, to hold her tongue, and refuse to tell anyone anything, excepting that she had left her situation. She promised, but was frightened of her mother.
She said she had never been into the streets since I had left her. I had a fear of the clap, and did not intend any commerce with her; but lust overcame me, and we fucked all that night to the damage of the sheets again. I wrote an anonymous letter to her mother, telling where the girl could be found. She came up to town and took her back. Molly’s cunt proved to be all right.
A woman is such a fool that she must tell someone everything. Mrs. Brown told Pender about the anonymous letter, and Mrs. P. told me; but I don’t think any of them knew the girl had been on the streets. Molly’s belly soon afterwards showed, Mrs. Brown thought better of Giles, he married her and they went to live a few miles off. She had a child, and everyone thought it was Giles’ begetting. I suppose he knew nothing of the girl’s pranks, for luckily a cunt cannot speak. Then Mrs. Brown left aunt, and Pender and his wife came to live in the farm-yard.
When it became known that Molly Brown was delivered of a child, my aunt remarked (Fred told me) that she was not married a bit too soon. “I had that little devil two or three times,” said Fred, “and on the first day I was in uniform. Do you recollect Walter, the day you were ill?” And he told me how it came about; but I never told him that I had had her; I never spoke of having had a woman, if I thought I should injure her, whatever my desire or vanity might have been.
Chapter XII
I may as well finish about Nelly and Sophy, although the occurrences I now narrate happened some time afterwards. Nelly got in the family way, told me I was the father, and told Fred he was, for he had had her. We both cheeked her, and said that half a dozen might claim the honor. She and Sophy left the village. Sophy I never heard of or saw again, that I recollect. Two or three years afterwards, I was at the Argyle Rooms. A woman looked at me, smiled, and pointed me out to another woman, then came up smiling and said, “Don’t you know me?” It was Nelly, who had become harlot by profession. I was then a poor man, but slept with her at Brompton. She had heard I had ruined myself. I had her afterwards once or twice, but soon gave her up. Harlotry was successful with her, and I could not pay her price. Though she was a swell woman, she did not want me to pay at all, but I was proud. She always declared that I had had the first of her, but could not say I was the father of the child. Mrs. Pender now had a chance. At night there was often no one in the farm-yard but her, she could therefore go into the barn when she liked. Her husband finding the dark nights dull went frequently to the village Public; then I used to enter the big barn from the rick-yard, she having left the wicket open, and she had a good bombasting on the straw and hay. But I grew tired of her big belly, liked a bed and nakedness, and to see and feel in comfort the cunt I was to bestow my attention on. Fucking on straw was all very well with a new piece. I could generally not tell her face from her arse, excepting by feel, for of course we had no light in the barn; so I grew tired, and gave it up.
Then Fred and I went to town, he to see Laura, I to get promiscuous fucking, and other amusements. Laura who was one of the few women of her class whom I have found to be well educated, had a female friend stopping with her from her native place Plymouth. Her name was Mabel, a pretty modest-looking girl. Laura had given out that she had married Fred, and this girl had been entrusted to keep her company. I tell the tale as it was told me. I dined with them daily, and in fact all but lived there.
One night we went to the theatre, and back to Fred’s, had a jolly supper, and got as merry as sandboys. It was a cold foggy night, I said I would not go home as it was about three a.m., and would sleep on the sofa. Our conversation had been pretty warm. Fred remarked that I had better sleep with Mabel. Laura was surprised at Fred. Mabel laughed, and bawdy insinuations passed without bawdy words. Fred said he should go to bed, and off he went. Laura expected Mabel to go to bed, but she put it off laughing and joking. Laura got angry, Fred came out in his nightgown swearing if Laura did not come, he would go out, and get a woman; and off Laura went. Fred wanted a fuck before he went to sleep.
Mabel and I sat talking, both heated and randy. It got colder, she got sleepy, I would not let her go, so she laid on the sofa. I drew a chair to her side, and both drinking whiskey and water time rolled on. “Oh! I wish I were Fred,” said I. “Why?” “Because he is between Laura’s thighs, belly to belly, how warm, how delicious this cold night.” “Oh! for shame!” “Nonsense my dear, quite natural and proper, we are made to keep each other warm, and give each other pleasure.” “When we’re married,” said she. “Married,—pough!—then millions would never taste the pleasure.” My words grew warmer, I kissed, and was kissed, edged myself on to the sofa, little by little felt my way from her ankles to her thighs, and behold me smothering her with kisses, with my hand on her cunt, her hand on my prick.
A modest woman will let you take liberties much more readily if you kiss her whilst taking them. Sit at the foot of a girl on a sofa, and try to force your hand up her clothes, she may resist you; sit close by her side, bend over her, kiss her, and at the same time your hand may find its way to her cunt, almost without hindrance.
So was it now. Mabel was scarcely modest. I recollect the conviction coming over me
that she was no virgin, and if I had doubts before, the way my finger slipped from her clitoris up the love-pit and plugged it, confirmed them. She lay with her eyes fixed on me, palpitating gently with voluptuousness. Her petticoats up to her knees, I saw legs in black stockings, one in wrinkles, the other half-way bagging down the calf, and her feet in shabby slippers.
I had at that time a horror of black stockings, which affected me at times so much as to deprive me of all desire. Once with a gay woman who had black stockings I was unable to poke her, spite of her blandishment, till she put white ones on. As I now saw Mabel’s legs a disgust came over me, desire left me, and my prick began to shrink; I may have been tired, or had had my sperm drawn too much the night previously; that is likely enough, I don’t recollect; but know I got nervous, a fear lest she should doubt my manhood, a sense of shame overcame me. I tried to rally, but in vain, for once that nervousness on me, it vanquished me. I ceased to probe her quim with my finger, my prick shrunk out of her hand, and the titillation ceasing, Mabel turned away her eyes, repulsed my hands, and drew her clothes down, looking at me full. I sat speechless.
“Are you ill?” said she. “Yes,” said I overjoyed with the suggestion, “a faintness came over me, and a giddiness,—I shall be better directly.”
She believed it, gave me cold water, and we sat for a time. I looked at her beautifully white neck, thought how white her bum must be, tried to get the black stockings out of my head, but could not. It must have been past four o’clock in the morning when I asked her to lie down again, but she refused; the spell had been broken, the weakness gone, and she said she should go to bed.
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