My Secret Life

“Go on, you were so quick, — go on”, said she in spasmodic utterances, jerking her bum, clutching me to her, and using the same endearments as any other woman,-women are all the same, from the princess to the peasant. I had spent quickly, but shoved on as well as I could, and in a second or two with a sigh, her cunt relaxed.

I moved out of her quickly, for fear of the ladies' fever haunted me a little. She lay with her clothes up to her navel, till I had washed myself. “There is no towel or soap”, I said. Then she moved. “I'll get you some, — but don't afear me,-hush !—don't make a noise, — wait five minutes for me, lock the door, and put out the light.” I stood aghast at this request; it was in a low neighbourhood, costermongers, tramps, and even a nest of thieves I had heard was not far off. “What the devil does she mean? — what game is up?” came across my mind. “I won't put out the light”, I said. “Well hide it in the cupboard, lock the door, and if any one knocks don't answer,-perhaps my late lodger's friends may come, not knowing the has gone, —I don't want any one to know any one is in the room.” This was all said in a whisper; she went out, shut the door gently, and walked to the back of the house, leaving her three shillings. I heard her foot-steps, and faintly afterwards the sounds of talking in the back room,-the partitions in the poor houses were thin.

I dried my tool with my shirt and sat on the bed, looking round at the poor room, wondering what dodge was up. She did not return, and thinking over the incidents, came to the conclusion that she was not a gay woman. There was just that difference in manners, in getting on to the bed, in taking her pleasures, and in her whole behaviour about the fucking, which there always is between a woman however loose she may be, but who does not fuck professionally, and the regular trader in her charms. I saw it then, and I see it still clearer writing about it now.

Nevertheless I began to think of leaving, feeling uneasy as she did not return for more than ten minutes. With my hat on, I was just about to run off, after hearing a man's footsteps pass along the passage, when I heard a voice cry up the stairs, “Mrs. Brown, Mrs. Brown, I'm going out to get a mouthful of fresh air, —if the children cry, will you see to them?” A shrill voice replied, a female step passed my door, into the street. A second afterwards the door slowly opened (I had unlocked it as I heard what I supposed were her footsteps going along the passage). In she came, holding up her finger for silence, then quietly closing and locking the door, she stood smiling at me. “Don't make a noise, they think I am out”, she said.

I looked fully at her now, my lust satisfied. She was a big woman of say thirty years of age, coarse, common, but clean; she had a dress on which opened in front like that of a woman who suckles, and some sort of cap on her head. I did not know what to make of it, for she stood as if waiting for me to speak. I did not, and taking the candle, she put it down on the floor by the side of the drawers, or something of the sort, and remarked, “They won't see the light through the crack of the door now.” Again a man's heavy foot-step was heard: “That's my upstairs lodger”, said she when she noticed my listening.

“You are really not gay?” said I. Then she repeated what she had said before, and sat on the side of the bed by me. “You have big breasts”, I remarked. “Yes I was a fine woman, every one said before I married.” It is impossible to be near a woman without wishing to ascertain her hidden charms. In the hurried embrace with her I had thought of nothing but cunt. At that time of my life, to see a woman, to long for her, to make my bargain, and to fuck her, was often an affair of not much more than ten minutes; it was only after the fuck that I looked well at the female I had pieced.

“Let me feel them”, I said. She hesitated, but I undid the dress, and felt two breasts large and white, and pulled one out. “My nipple is spoilt with suckling”, said she, “I've not yet done giving milk.” “Let's have you again.” “Yes”,-and she got on to the bed. “Let me see your cunt.” “Oh I no, — don't, — I won't.” My suspicion came back; with my prick out I still hesitated. “I've not washed myself since you did me”, said she. “Well wash your cunt.” She took my basin, and washed herself. Then I had a look at her cunt, and again fucked her. Lord how she enjoyed it, and so did I, that big coarse woman; but she would not let me look long at her belly, perhaps marked through child-birth. She had thickish, lightish brown hair on her quim; it was a cock-squeezer too, and how wet it got in our copulation. I remarked it to her. She said, “I'm wet, and no mistake.”