My Secret Life

Costermongers children. • A small girl, mother, and mangie. • A French letter fetched. • Young Gallows' exploits. • The customers' linen. • A hard-fleshed bum. • Invitation to anus. • A strange letch. • One big with child. • Fucked for a sovereign and pleasure. • A creole. • My misery. • Reflections.

Close by Kate's was a street with a carriage way, at one end narrowing to a footway only. On one side a row of small houses, on the other a very high blank wall. Costermongers' barrows and carts stood in the carriage way at night; clothes-lines with ragged garments hung across the street in the day. One dark night prowling about, cunt-feeling young girls and baudying generally, I went up this street. I had been up it before, and loved to hear the boys and girls chivying each other among the carts, hinting baudiness as they caught the girls, and kissed them, the girls squealing when liberties were taken with them. Occasionally standing in the shadow of the carts, I listened whilst a man would stealthily go up against the blank wall, a woman follow him. I would stand feeling my prick till I saw them come away (in two or three minutes usually), and rush into Mary Davis' or Kate's to get a relief for my excited ballocks. There was but a feeblish light in the street, and in one part of it none.

As I passed I saw a small girl standing inside the door of a house, and thought I would like the little one. Sometimes I wanted the biggest woman I could get, sometimes the smallest. She took no notice of me, I repassed, and there she still stood. “Is she gay?” I wondered, “she does not look it.” Lots of girls and women not gay stood in a similar manner in those streets. Again I passed, and stopped. “Will you let me come in, and give you a kiss?” “Yes sir”, said she stepping back.

I stepped in after her, one or two steps down. The room was below, and entered direct from the street. A miserable place; on one side a mangle, on another a poor dirty bed, a tile floor, dirty walls, wooden furniture, all miserable. Had I known, I should have been horrified at entering such a hole, but in my lust I thought of nothing but the young girl, of the probable hairless cunt, of her little bum, her smallness and freshness. She looked fifteen years of age, and was quite short.

She closed the door, and looked. I looked at her. “I'll give you five shillings.” “All right sir.” “Let me look at your quim.” “All right sir”, said she getting on the bed. I pulled up her clothes, and saw the little thighs, and the little cunt with a very small quantity of lightish brown hair on it. How tight it was to my finger ! I took the guttering candle. “I'd like to fuck, but am frightened,-let me look well at your cunt.” “I'm all right”, said she putting her fingers down, and stretching open the lips, “quite clean indeed sir.” “When were you fucked last?” “It must be a week.” “Arn't you every night?” “I don't get the chance”, still laying on her back, and stretching her cunt-lips open, “I only go to the door quite late, when the neighbours have gone in, cause they ain't gay close here.” The house was the last in the street where it narrowed to a footway.

I raised her up, laid her lengthways on the bed, and put my pego into her hand, but fear came over me, and it would not stand. “I must do it to you, but play with it a little.” She laid hold of my prick. “It's not stiff.” “No my dear, frig it.” She began. “Do you like feeling a prick?” “I likes feeling men's things”, she replied, “they are such funny things, first little, then big, then little again.”

“How old are you?” “Over fifteen, mother says.” “Where is your mother?” “In the back room,-look it's getting bigger, I did not think it would be so big, —don't hurt me with your nail sir please”, said she frigging away clumsily, and when it was stiff leaving off, but looking earnestly at my pego. I kept probing her cunt with my fingers, wondering at its smallness.