My Secret Life, Volumes I. to III. - The Original Classic Edition. Anonymous Anonymous

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СКАЧАТЬ I will get under the sofa, you say you don't know how it got bolted." Such was my innocent device, but it sufficed,

       for both were hot in lust. I bolted it. My prick is out, I pull her

       reluctant hand on to it, my hands are groping now, but too impatient for dallying, I push her down on the sofa--that dear cunt. "Don't hurt me so much again, oh don't push so hard." Oh! what delight! in a minute we are spending, together this time.

       I unlock the door, go back to the dining-room, she strolls out into the garden, cook speaks to her out of the window. "Where is master Wattie?" "In the dining-room I suppose." Soon out I stroll into the garden,

       play with Tommy of course, she can scarcely look me in the face, she is

       blushing like a rose. "Was it not lovely, Charlotte, is not your thing wet?" In she rushes with Tom, soon I follow, cook is still upstairs. "Come, be quick." Again the bolt, again we fuck, she walks off into the garden with Tommy, and her cunt full, and cook and she chat from the window. How we laughed about it afterwards.

       Modesty retired after this, we gave way to our inclinations, she refusing but always letting me if we got a chance! We were still green and timid, at the end of three weeks we only had done it a dozen times or so, always with the cook in the house, always with fear. I was

       longing for complete enjoyment of all my senses, had never yet seen

       her cunt, except for a minute at a time, was mad for "the naked limb

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       entwined with limb," and all I had read of in amatory poetry. I had gained years in boldness and manhood, and although nervous, began to practice what I had heard.

       I heard of accommodation houses, where people could have bedrooms and no questions were asked; and found one not far from my aunt's, although

       she lived in the best quarter of London. Just before Charlotte's day

       out, I went to my aunt, complained of my mother's meanness, and she gave me a sovereign. On my way home, I loitered a full hour in the street

       with the baudy house, marked it so as to know it in the day, and saw couples go in, as my knowing friend who had told said I should. The next day instead of going to college, and risking discovery, I waited till Charlotte joined me, took a hackney coach to the street, and

       telling Charlotte it was a tavern walked to the door with her, to my astonishment it was closed. Disconcerted I nearly turned back, but rang the bell. Charlotte said she would not go in. The door opened, a woman said, "Why did you not push the door?" Oh! the shame I felt as I went into that baudy house with Charlotte; the woman seemed to hesitate, or so I fancied, before she gave us a room.

       It was a gentleman's house, although the room cost but five shillings: red curtains, looking-glasses, wax lights, clean linen, a huge chair, a large bed, and a cheval-glass, large enough for the biggest couple to be reflected in, were all there. I examined all with the greatest curiosity, but my curiosity was greater for other things, of all the

       delicious voluptuous recollections, that day stands among the brightest; for the first time in my life I saw all a womans' charms, and exposed my own manhood to one; both of us knew but little of the opposite sex. With

       difficulty I got her to undress to her chemise, then with but my shirt

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       on, how I revelled in her nakedness, feeling from her neck to her

       ankles, lingering with my fingers in every crack and cranny of her body; from armpits to cunt, all was new to me. With what fierce eyes after modest struggles, and objections to prevent, and I had forced open her reluctant thighs, did I gloat on her cunt; wondering at its hairy outer covering and lips, its red inner flaps, at the hole so closed up, and

       so much lower down and hidden, then I thought it to be; soon at its look and feel, impatience got the better of me; hurredly I covered it with

       my body and shed my sperm in it. Then with what curiosity I paddled my

       fingers in it afterwards, again to stiffen, thrust, wriggle, and spend.

       All this I recollect as if it occurred but yesterday, I shall recollect

       it to the last day of my life, for it was a honeymoon of novelty, years afterwards I often thought of it when fucking other women.

       We fell asleep, and must have been in the room some hours, when we awakened about 3 o'clock. We had eaten nothing that day, and both were hungry; she objected to wash before me, or to piddle; how charming it was to overcome that needless modesty, what a treat to me to see that simple operation. We dressed and left, went to a quietish public-house, and had some simple food and beer, which set me up, I was ready to do all over again, and so was she. We went back to the house and again

       to bed, the woman smiled when she saw us, the feeling, looking, tittillating, baudy inciting and kissing recommenced. With what pleasure she felt and handled my prick, nor did she make objection to

       my investigations into her privates, though saying she would not let me. Her thighs opened, showing the red-lipped, hairy slit, I kissed it, she kissed my cock, nature taught us both what to do. Again we fucked,

       I found it a longish operation, and when I tried later again, was

       surprised to find that it would not stiffen for more than a minute, and

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       an insertion failed. I found out that day that there were limits to

       my powers. Both tired out, our day's pleasure over, we rose and took a hackney coach towards home, I went in first, she a quarter of an hour afterwards, and everything passed off as I could have wished.

       From that day lust seized us both; we laid our plans to have each other

       frequently, but it was difficult: my mother was mostly at home, the

       cook nearly always at home if mother was out; but quite twice a week we managed to copulate, and sometimes oftener. We arranged signals. If when she opened the door, she gave a shake of the head, I knew mother was

       in; if she smiled and pointed down with her fingers, mother was out, but cook downstairs; if it pointed up, cook was upstairs; in the latter case, to go into the garden parlour and fuck, all this was done off

       hand. If cook was known to be going out, Charlotte told me beforehand, and if mother was to be out, I got home, letting college and tutors

       go to the devil. Then there was lip kissing, cunt kissing, feeling and looking, tickling and rubbing each others articles, all the preliminary delights of copulation, and but one danger in the way: my little brother could talk in a broken way, we used to give him some favorite toy, and put him on the floor, whilst we indulged voluptuously. On the sofa one day, I had just spent in her, when I felt a little hand tickling between

       our bellies, and Tommy who had tottered up to us said, "Don'ty hurt Lotty, der's a good Wattie." We settled that Tom was too young to notice or recollect, what he saw, but I now think differently.

       Winter was coming on, she used to be sent to a circulating library to fetch books, the shop was some distance off, a few houses, long garden-walls and hedges were on the road. I used to keep out, or go out just before she went, and we fucked up against the walls. I took

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