Vulgar words in My Secret Life, Volumes I. to III. - 1888 Edition (Page 3)

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Then I told her I wanted to fuck her, said all in favour of it I knew, half ashamed, half frightened as I said it.

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The next instant a delirium of my senses came, my prick throbbing and as if hot lead was jetting from it, at each throb; pleasure mingled with light pain in it, and my whole frame quivering with emotion; my sperm left me for a virgin cunt, but fell outside it, though on to it.

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Then ill as she was, frightened as I was, I yet took the opportunity her partial insensibility gave me, lifted her clothes quietly, and saw her cunt and spunk on it.

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I had no such intention, my prick was again stiffened, I pulled it out, the sight of her cunt had stimulated me, she looked with languid eyes at me, her cap was off, her hair hanging about her head, her dress torn near her breast.

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I looked at her, she was quiet, her cunt seemed to close on my prick, I put my hand down, and felt round.

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What rapture to find my machine buried; nothing but the balls to be touched, and her cunt hair wetted with my sperm, mingling and clinging to mine; in another minute nature urged a crisis, and I spent in a virgin cunt, my prick virgin also.

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Thus ended my first fuck.

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For a short time, there never was a couple who had just fucked, in more of a foolish funk than we were; I have often thought of our not hearing the thundering knocks of a postman, whilst we were fucking, though the bed-room door was wide open; what engrossing work it is so to deafen people.

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Then after unsuccessfully struggling to see her cunt, and kissing, and feeling each others' genitals, and talking of our doings and our sensations for an hour, we fucked again.

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I knew that my mother who now did household duties herself, selected the things for the laundress; and in despair hit on a plan: I filled the chamber-pot with piss and soap-suds, making it as dirty as I could, put it near a chair and my shirt hanging over it carelessly, so as to look as if it had dropped into the pot by accident; left it there, and put on a clean shirt.

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Lacerated and painful over night, it was much more swollen and sore the next morning, when I pissed it smarted, the thinking and smarting made me randy: risking all, whilst my mother was actually in the adjoining room, the poor girl in horrid fear and looking shockingly ill, I thrust my hand up her clothes and on to her split.

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I greased it more, my pain grew less, I touched the tip with my finger, it gave a throb of pleasure, I went on without meaning, almost without knowing, the pleasure came and spunk shot out.

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I had frigged myself unintentionally again.

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I watched my penis shrink, its tension lessen, its high colour go, then came the feeling of disgust at myself that I have always felt after frigging, a disgust not quite absent even when done by the little hands of fair friends, to whose quims I was paying similar delicate attentions.

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Now I begged and besought her, with my hand up her clothes, my fingers on her quim.

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I dropped the blinde, her resistance grew less, as her cunt felt my twiddling.

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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.

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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.

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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 entwined with limb," and all I had read of in amatory poetry.

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

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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.

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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 honey-moon of novelty, years afterwards I often thought of it when fucking other women.

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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 an insertion failed.

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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.

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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.

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I used to keep out, or go out just before she went, and we fucked up against the walls.

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I took to going to church in the evening also, to the intense delight of my mother, but it was to fuck on the road home.

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One day hot in lust, we fucked standing on the lobby near my bed-room, my mother being in the room below, the cook in the kitchen.

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If I saw her, or heard "ahem," down I went into the privy, and was up her cunt in a second, standing against the wall, and shoving to get our spent over, as if my life depended on it; this was uncomfortable, but it had its charm.

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We thought cook was upstairs mother was out, I was fucking her, when the cook knocked saying, "make haste Charlotte, I want to come."

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Off cook went, out we came, and never fucked in that place again; one day I did her on the kitchen table, and several times on the dining-room table.

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Both young, both new at the work, both liking it, it was rarely we got more than just time to get our fucking over, and clothes arranged before we had to separate, for her to get to her duties.

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Many times I have seen her about the house, cunt full and with the heightened colour, and brilliant eyes, of a woman who had just been satisfied.

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I used to feel pleasure in knowing she was bringing in the dinner, or tea, with my spunk in her cunt; not having had the opportunity to wash, or piddle it out.

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That night we walked home, for I had no money for a coach, and barely enough to get us a glass of beer and a biscuit; we were famished and fucked out, my mother had refused to give me money, and another aunt whom I had asked, said I was asking too often, and refused also.

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Said he, talking to me next day, "She is jolly ugly, but she's good enough for a feel, I felt her cunt last night, and think she has been fucked (he thought that of every girl), her mother's a rum old gal too, she will let you meet a girl at her cottage, not whores, you know, but if they are respectable."

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We did nothing the whole day long, but look at each other's privates, kiss, fuck and sleep outside the bed.

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I told her how the sperm spurted out, then discussing women's, she told me of the pleasure I had given her when fingering her in the manner described already; we completed our explanations by my frigging myself to show her, and then my doing the same to her with my finger.

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One day we laughed at having nearly been caught fucking in the privy.

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"Had she much hair on her cunt?" said I.

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"I suppose her cunt is bigger than yours?" said I reflectively.

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"But" said I, "I don't like light hair, I like dark hair on a cunt, light hair can't look well, I should think."

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I was twiddling Charlotte's quim as I was never tired of doing, something in the sensation I suppose reminded her, for laughing she went on: "You know what you did to me the other night."

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frig."

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She had heard or felt this jog from the cook before, so we both concluded, that she frigged herself, Charlotte knew what frigging was.

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We fucked more than ever, recklessly--it is a wonder we were not found out, for one evening, it being dark, I fucked her in the forecourt, outside our street-door; but troubles were coming.

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One of my sisters came home, and diminished our opportunities, still we managed to fuck somehow, most of the times they were uprighters.

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The next holiday she went home by coach (the only way), I met her on the return, and we fucked up against the garden wall of our house.

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I disguised nothing from her, she told me all she knew of herself, the liking she took for me, her pleasure yet fear and shame when first I felt her cunt, the shock of delight and confusion when on my twiddling it, she had spent; how she made up her mind to run out of the house when the milkman came, the hysterical faint when I first laid my prick between her slit and spent, the sensation of relief when I had not done, an instinct told her I should, in spending outside, the sort of feeling of "poor fellow, he wants me, he may do as he likes," which she had; I told my sensations.

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I did her on her belly, and some-thing incited me to do it to her dog fashion, but it was never repeated; we examined as said each others appendages, but once satisfied, having seen mine get from flaccid to stiff, the piddle issue, the spunk squirt, she never wanted to see it again, and could not understand my insatiable curiosity about hers.

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How is it that scarcely any woman will let you willingly look at her cunt after fucking, till it is washed; most say it is beastly, gay or quiet, it is the same.

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Is it more beastly to have it spurted up, to turn and go to sleep with the spunk oosing on to a thigh, or an hour afterwards to let a man paddle in what has not dried?

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A modest girl lays quietly after fucking, and does not wash till you are away.

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A young girl who has let you see her cunt and take her virginity, won't wash it at all, until you point out the necessity.

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A gay woman often tries to shove back her bum just as you spend, gets the discharge near the outlet, uncunts you quickly and at once washes and pisses at the same time.

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A quiet young girl wipes her cunt on the outside only.

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I have fucked several, and not one washed before me.

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I incline to the opinion that poor women rarely wash their cunts inside, their piddle does all the washing.

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Is the unwashed cunt less healthy than one often soaped and syringed?

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An old _roue_ said to me he would not give a damn to fuck a cunt at night, which has been washed since the morning.

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We fucked twice in the rain against a wall, putting down the umbrella to do it.

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Afterwards we met at the dressmaker's, talked over our misery and cried, and fucked, and cried again.

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Then it was nothing but worry, she crying at her future, I wondering if I should be found out; still with all our misery, we never failed to fuck if there was a clear five minutes before us.

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We fucked on a hard form, in a nearly dark room, about the most difficult poke I ever had, it was a ridiculous posture.

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She told me I had ruined her, even fucking did not cheer her.

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How she humbugged the young woman who came to town with her, I don't know, but we met at the baudy house, cried nearly the whole time, but fucked for all that till my cock would stand no longer; then vowing to see each other after she was married, we parted.

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Money, distance, time was all against me; I felt all was over, took to frigging, which, added to my vexation, made me ill. What the doctor thought I don't know, he said I was suffering from nervous exhaustion, asked my mother if I was steady, and kept good hours.

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My mother said I was the quietest, and best of sons, as innocent as a child, and that I was suffering from severe study--she had long thought I should; the fact being that for four months I had scarcely looked at a book, excepting when she was near me, and had when not thinking of Charlotte, spent my time in writing baudy words, and sketching cunts and pricks with pen and ink.

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It was only the natural result of two people being thrown together, both young, full of hot blood, and eager to gratify their sexual curiosity; there was no blame to either, we were made to do it, and did but illustrate the truth of the old song, "Cock and cunt will come together, check them as you may," and point to the wisdom, of never leaving a young male and female alone together, if they were not wanted to copulate.

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Mary the cook.--A bloody nose and broken piss-pot.--An involuntary spend.--A feel and a poke.--A new sensation.--At a baudy house.--Mary's history.--She leaves.

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As the certainty that all was finished between us came to me, I got better, my grief moderated, my prick expected occupation, I was horrified at having frigged myself, and ceased doing it.

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The new housemaid was ugly as sin, so I turned to Mary the cook.

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Nine months before this I should as soon have dared to think of fucking my aunt, but experience had altered me.

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I thought of the light hair on her cunt, and of all I could not see, which Charlotte had innocently described to me; and the conclusions we had arrived at, that she frigged herself.

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One day, I watched her coming back, she gave her clothes a tuck between her legs, and I knew it was to dry her cunt; opened the door just as she did it, she knew that I saw the action by my grin, and her face turned scarlet.

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I felt the knot distinctly above her knee, thought how near it was to the cunt I was burning to feel, then put my hand up her clothes, and felt her naked leg under the knee.

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I followed her a few steps up, then pushed my hands up her clothes on to her thighs, just beneath her backslide; round she swung facing me, and sat down on the stairs; in swinging round my hand came just into contact with the hair of her cunt; then with a push she sent me downstairs tumbling.

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That did not stop my tongue, for I had now got angry and reckless, sang out my wants, bawling out about her cunt, and said, "Did you ever sit on the little privy seat Mary, tell me."

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Crafty with lust and doubtless thinking of former experience, I dropped on my knees, in an instant had her chemise up, both hands round her great bum, and my mouth buried in the hair, kissing the outside of her cunt; she sat down nearly crushing my hands, between her bum and the bedstead, I withdrew them with a cry of pain.

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Standing by the table to open the window, her form had been hidden, but she moved, disclosed the torn chemise, partly one of her hips, thigh, leg, and partially the hair of her cunt.

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"I can see your cunt," said I staunching my nose.

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that mess, what shall I do!" and she stopped to set up the piss-pot which was laying on one side; I rushed forward, nose still bleeding, and tried to feel the half naked thigh.

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I had seen those wonderfully large, white thighs, seen the thicket of lightish hair between them, had felt no cunt fully for weeks, and was dying with lust.

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I had found my courage, and used the words cunt and fuck; it was getting dark; looking at me steadily, she said, "So young and yet so cruel, five minutes ago you were saying you were so fond of me, and now you are trying to hurt me; you promised you would not touch me again, now you are doing it; you are all alike, young and old, cruel and liars."

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I felt my sperm coming, and could not stop it, my arse jogged and pushed my prick involuntarily between her fingers, pleasure suddenly overwhelmed me, and kissing her I spent in her hand--all the work of half a minute.

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