My Secret Life

“There is the sovereign”, said I as she stood looking at me, “that will help you.” “Don't want it.” Seeing where her pocket-hole was I pushed it into it. “Oh ! what a lucky sovereign, to lay so close to your cunt Jenny”, — and pushing my hand into her pocket I touched the bottom of her belly through the linen. Again a struggle, a repulse, then she put her hand into her pocket. “You're feeling your cunt Jenny”, said I. “O—oh !” said she taking it out quickly, “I was feeling for the money, — I won't have it.”

Then I kissed her till the sweat ran off my face on to hers. “Oh ! my goodness”, said she as it grew darker, “it's going to thunder again.” “Have another glass.” “No it's gone into my head already.” But she took a gulp of mine. “Let's fuck you Jenny dear.” “What?” “Fuck.” “Shan't.” “Oh ! you know what I mean.” “No I don't, but it's something bad if it's from you.” I pulled out my prick, and tried to push her on the sofa. She got away, and then with my prick out I chased her round the table. “Leave off”, said she, “a joke's a joke, but this is going too far.” She was getting lewd, and was staring at my prick which showed above the table as I chased her. Quick as me she managed to keep just on the side of it opposite to me.

“I'll swear I won't touch you again if you will sit down.” “I won't trust you, — you've been swearing all the afternoon.” “So help me God I will”, said I, and meant it.” “Well then not when you are like that.” I pushed my prick inside my trowsers, and then she sat down. What a long time this takes to tell, what repetition ! but there are not many incidents I recollect more clearly.

Then I took out ten sovereigns, all bright, new ones, laid them on the table, and then the broach. “Do you like that Jenny?” “Yes.” “It is for you if you will let me, and those ten sovereigns also.” “You are a bad man”, said the girl, “and would make me forget my-self and be ruined, and without caring a bit”, — and she began rocking her head about, and rolling her body as she sat beside me, and looking at the money. “Who will know? — you won't tell your young man, — I shan't tell my wife, — let me.” “I shan't, — never, — never, — never, — never, if it was fifty pounds”, said she almost furiously. “He won't find it out.” “Yes he would.” “Nonsense, — half the servants do it, yet marry”, — and then I told her of some I had who had married. “No, — no, — no”, she kept repeating, almost bawling it out, as I told of Mary So-and-so who mar- ried a butler, and Sarah So-and-so who married my greengrocer, though I'd fucked them over and over again. “No, — no”, looking at the money; then suddenly she took up the broach, and laid it down again.

Before running round the table after her, I had thrown off my coat and waistcoat. “It's so hot, I've a good mind to take off my trowsers”, I had said; but I had another motive. She seemed weaker, and was so, for gradually she had got inflamed and lewd by heat, the electrical condition of the atmosphere, the titillation of my finger on her seat of pleasure, and the sight of my stiff penis. She had I expect, got to that weak, yielding, voluptuous condition of mind and body, when a woman knows she is wrong, yet cannot make up her mind to resist. Just then it came into my mind to tickle her; and then followed a scene which is one of the most amusing in my reminiscences.

She shrieked, and wriggled down on to the floor. I tried to mount her there. She kicked, fought, so that though once my prick touched her cunt-wig, I could not keep on the saddle. She forgot all propriety in her fuddled excitement, and whilst screaching from my tickling, repeated incoherently baudy words as I uttered them. “Let me fuck you.” “You shan't fuck me.” “Let's put it just to your cunt.” “You shan't, you're a blackguard, — oh ! don't, — leave me alone, — wee I will feel it, if you'll let me get up, — oh !—he ! hi ! hi! —for God's sake don't tickle, — hi !—I shall go mad, —you shan't, — oh ! don't, — oh ! if you don't leave off.” “I shall, — I must.” “Oh ! pray, — you shall if you leave off tickling then, — oh ! don't pray, — oh ! I shall piddle myself, — he ! he!” She was rolling on the floor, her thighs exposed, sometimes backside, sometimes belly upwards with all its trimmings visible. “Oh ! it's your fault”, and as she spoke actually piddle began to issue. I had my hand on her thigh, and felt and saw it.

Randy as I was I burst out laughing; and she man-aged to get up, began to push in her neckerchief which I had torn out of the front of her dress, and arranged her hair.

“Oh ! look at me, — if any one came, what a state I am in”, said she looking in the glass, and there she stood her breast heaving, her eyes swollen, her mouth open, and breathing as if she had just run a mile, but attempting nothing, saying nothing further, awaiting my attack. What randy, pleasureable excitement she must have been in, though unconscious of it, whilst only thinking of how to prevent my fucking her against her will.