My Secret Life

At length I said, “Are you sure?” “Yes.” “It may be your husband's” (for Hannah's hints came to my mind). “He !—he !—the miserable, contemptible little wretch !—he?” She left off feeling my cock, raised her-self on her elbow, and looking at me said, “Who told you I was married?” “No one.” “Some one has.” “No one, — but I have more than once fancied you were married by the difficulty I have in getting you to come to meet me when I want.” “Some one has told you.” “No one has.” “I'm a damned fool”, said she, “I dare say you know more than you say, — what do you know?” “Nothing.” “It's your child, and no one else's, —I'm sorry I have told you, — say nothing more about it”, — and she turned on her back. “Are you married?” “Of course not, or I should not be in bed with you.” “Some man is keeping you perhaps.” “No one is keeping me either”, said she.

I could not keep quiet, so much was I excited, and thought of the man she met at J. . .s Street still, al-though she tried to hide that. I did not like to suggest it, for I had found out that any reference to him annoyed her, and I always avoided giving pain to any woman I had connection with; but the matter seemed so grave that I could not keep what was on my mind to myself, and as delicately as I could suggested him.

“It's not”, said she fiercely, “it can't be.” “Why?” “You are the only man who has spent in me for years.” “What”, said I incredulously, “no one had you?” “No one has spent in me but you for years, — no one.” I was staggered, but returned to the subject. “Nonsense Louisa, — how can you tell?” “I've told you why.” “Why if you've a husband, and if you have a friend who meets you, how can you be sure it's me?”

“I have no husband, and it's no friend, — if you don't believe it, I tell you on my oath, on my body and soul, and may I go to hell when I die, if it be not true, that no man has spent in me for years but you.” “No man has fucked you !—what do they do then?” “That's no concern of yours, — but no man's stuff has ever been up me for quite two years but yours, — I'm not going to say any more about it, — my business is not yours, — nobody has asked you to keep the child, —you need not trouble yourself, — I'm sorry I told you.” She turned her bum to me, and began to cry; I tried to comfort her.

“That will do”, said she, “give me some oysters and champagne.” I ordered them, then wanted another fuck. “No you shan't have it”, — nor would she let me. The oysters and champagne made her more complaisant, but she was angry and snappish. After an-other fuck she got up and left me before her usual time, and I went away wondering at this, and at the number of women who had been, or who said they had been with child by me.

Soon after she was loving, sad, and serious, was sorry I would not have liked the child, for it was certainly mine, but she would get rid of it. Then in the familiarity of a lewd man and woman naked in bed together, she told me a lot about herself.

She was married, she lived with him and her mother, but loathed her husband. “He, — he the miserable wretch, — he touch me, the dirty beast I—I'd sooner die than let him”, she cried, “if he wanted even, — but he does not want me, — what he wants he gets else-where, not with me”, said she with strong emphasis. If she left him, she would have to support her mother alone, — perhaps it would come to that some day, — she was quite prepared for it. They ate and drank to-gether when he was at home, but had not slept to-gether for years. He kept the house comfortably enough, — perhaps he would so long as she took trouble about it, for he did not care so long as he got his food good. Yes she did meet a friend. It got her luxuries she could not get any other way; her husband knew she got money elsewhere, for she dressed in a way he must know his money would not enable her to do. He asked no questions, and did not care nor heed, nor seem to notice. That was pretty well all I ever got out of her. Hannah drunk, and talking to me one day said he was a very little man, and a brewer's clerk, “a hop o' my thumb”, she called him.

“Never mind what my friend does”, said Louisa, I've known him some years, — he does something of course, he does not meet me for nothing, but I tell you he has never spent in me, — no man has spent in me for years but you.” “Do you frig your friend?” “If you like, anything else you like, it's all the same, —I'm not going to say; but neither he nor any one else has spent in me, — no man's seed has been up me for two years or more. The first night you had me I spent first, you spent after; the next time as your seed touched me, I felt a shiver run right through me, and I got in the family way at that very instant, I'm sure.” Louisa was particular in her language, she never said “spunk”, — thought it a nasty word, — she always said “seed”, or “stuff” when she spoke of my sperm, — Sarah called it “muck”.