My Secret Life

I lay on her afterwards, my prick dangling against her cunt, and talked. Her husband was an artizan away on a job, she kept the house, and let lodgings; her husband was half his time away. “You've seen the girl who was in this room,-I recollect you, — I've seen you in the street more than once, — You've been with the woman opposite. I didn't mean anything till you spoke and stopped, but I'd been dying for it, been wishing almost I were gay; the gal opposite had just gone in with a man, and I was wondering what my husband was doing, and just then you stopped and looked, and I thought I'd let you. Do it again”, said she slipping her hand between our bellies, and grasping my ballocks. And I did it again, as soon as I could.

“I've never had another man but you and my own man I'll swear, — ask in the street, they will all say I'm respectable,-but don't tell on me. I frig myself almost every day, if you must know, but that don't satisfy me, a woman who's had three children,-if I'm in the family way now, I'm in a mess, but I'm not so much to blame, am I ?-think, three months away from your own man !—but I tell you as you spoke to me I was a dying for it, — the girl who was here in this room used to say, 'Well Mrs. ***, you are a fool to pass your life almost without a you know what.' Well I was a dying for it, and she and lodgers would always tell me what the men did to them; and yet I never have had but you.” So we lay talking for a time, she answering my questions, and sometimes volunteering remarks; but never leaving go of my prick, and every now and then saying, “Ain't you a fine man !—you just are a fine young man!”

There were noises at the street-door, men were talking, a smell of tobacco reached us. “It's the upstairs back”, said she, “he will stop there till he have smoked two pipes, so for God's sake don't leave”, — and she sunk her voice lower. “Oh ! I must put out the light.” Saying so, off the bed she got, blew it out, and got on to the bed again. There we lay quite another hour, speaking in whispers, feeling each other's privates, never washing, the spunk drying up as our hands fumbled about each other, I talking baudy, and telling her what gay women would do, she telling me she knew all about it, for her ground-floor lodgers were always gay. I asking questions about herself, heard that my cock was about the same size as her husband's. Wondering at the tightness of her cunt, as she had had three children, she said that the size was the same as before she had had a man. If she got in the family way she would be in a mess; she did not think she should, as she had not quite done suckling. She did not know how she managed to keep so firm and plump, for she had meat only twice a week. “What then?” “Potatoes and herrings”, — did not know what she would do, if she did not get another lodger soon to pay the rent, — she often could not pay for a meal.

About two o'clock in the morning there were lumping boots going upstairs. The lodger had gone to bed. We lighted the candle, I washed (there was still no towel), and no sooner had I washed than she laid hold of, and kissed my prick, stooping to do so,-and then we fucked again.

We parted, she took my money. “I will keep this”, she said, “it will help me.” I said it was for her. She let me quietly out, begging me never to mention what had taken place between us to any gal in the street. “Though they won't believe you if you do, for I have a good character. I've seed you often go in with them.” I had fancied no one ever saw me in that low street, and wondered if any other person had recognized me there.

I never had her again. Once or twice I saw her at the street-door, but so soon as she saw me she rushed in-doors, and I had too many fresh and younger women at hand to care about her. Here was a case of a woman who could not restrain herself, owing to the long absence of her legitimate doodle, and gave way to her uncontrollable passions for that night. That was the only conclusion I could come to.

Then soon afterwards I had the clap. Mary cried, and declared she had not given it me, and I am sure she had not. Then almost for the first time I began to use cundums, or French letters, as they are called. I did not like them, but had suffered so much from gonorrhoea, that I carried them in my purse in readiness.