I had never given her a present, I never gave Charlotte one; having then so little money. I never thought about it. I had now more, and offered to give her some if she wanted any. She showed me a saving-bank’s book. She had got nearly fifty pounds. I bought a pair of gold earrings for her, it was the first present I had even given a woman, and she was much pleased. I had I think some vague notion, that it would induce her to let me have her; but if so, I was deceived.
Mother seemed to be keeping at home to baulk me. My chemicals had been taken back into the garden parlour. I knew she wanted to go to my aunt’s; but one morning it was too hot, then it rained, and so on. How I restrained myself from frigging I don’t know, for I used to walk up and down my bed-room with my prick out stiff, and looking at it; at length a chance came—my last.
Mother went to aunt’s, the ugly housemaid said, “As Master Tom wont be at home, do you mind my going out for a couple of hours?” “No,” said my mother, “when the cook is ready.” “Please will you tell the cook Mamm,” said she, “or she wont let me go.” I had then a tutor in mathematics who came on that day, but promised to fetch mother home. I had many times broken my promises to do so, to enable me to get at Mary. Mother said, “I hope you mean what you say, you are getting a man, and should never break your word.” Anxious to know when the housemaid would go; I asked her. “I am not going till five o’clock, sir,” said she, “unless you particularly want the books,” “That will be too late, for I am to fetch mamma home,—never mind.”
I finished with my tutor, and out I went. But at about five o’clock came home near to the house, wondering if the housemaid had gone, (Mary I had not spoken a word to), waited in sight of the house, and at last saw a form I guessed to be the housemaid’s, going off fast towards the village; five minutes afterwards I knocked, and Mary opened the door. Said she, “What brings you home?” I said I was unwell, had a bad cold, could not go for my mother, would go to bed, would she fetch me a foot-bath, and went to my bed-room. I had been two days planning the thing, an old dodge it was though.
It was hot and quite light, but I drew down the blinds, undressed and put on my nightgown; she brought the bath, we talked. She had not heard from her mother again, it was strange,—was she being played with? It took weeks then to get to America. I kissed and got closer to her, we were on the edge of the bed; I spoke of our meetings and our pleasures, she avoided the subject, said I should take cold, prayed me to have the foot-bath and go to bed. Gradually I got my hand on her thighs, how could she help it?—a woman who had been fucked by me a lot of times. But she was firm in refusing me. I lifted my night-shirt, my prick stood up, the shirt hanging at the back of it like clothes on the hook of a prop,. Finding that useless, I threatened to frig myself and began the operation. She said I ought to be ashamed of myself, that she would leave if I did not desist, and turned to go, when I pulled her on to the bed. Soon my fingers were on her slit, her fingers on my prick. “I dare not let you,—oh! pray!” she said, but she was vanquished, silent, and tranquilly laid down on the bed; nature was too strong for her.
I lifted her chemise, had a glimpse of the lovely plump calves, and large, fleshy thighs, as I threw myself impetuously upon her. My belly closed with hers, and pushing my knuckles through the hairs, I guided my prick towards her cunt, but alas! too late. The long abstinence and the excitement were too much for me; just as my fingers opened the cunt-lips, and my prick touched her cunt, throb—throb—gush—gush, and over my fingers, over her thighs, into the thicket of hair, on to the clitoris, on to the smooth, round bum-cheeks below—anywhere—everywhere excepting the right place, my sperm spurted out: and only the last drop remained just as I buried my prick in her. Then instead of meeting her humid tongue with mine, I sank on her breast kissing, yet damning and cursing like a dragoon, at my spoiled pleasure,—I had spent out of sheer copiousness of spunk, and excitement.
Said she, “It is as well as it is, get off.” I made no reply, hoping my sexual force would return, for my prick was in her sheath. She moved to release herself. Stronger far than me, she could in any other attitude have easily done so; but the most difficult position for a woman to disengage herself from a man, is when he is on the top of her, well between her thighs, and clasping her backside tightly. As she moved there was no strong will in it; how could it be otherwise? She in the prime of life had been without it for weeks, nature was pleading for me, my prick was in her, my spunk all about her. To gain time I promised to get off in a minute. “Kiss me.” Our mouths and tongues met. It was like magic. A voluptuous throb passed through both of us, my prick stiffened to the full, a sympathetic grind of her cunt responded; again we were in the full tide of pleasure, fucking and spending together, the future was forgotten as we sunk quietly down. I had spent twice without uncunting; scarcely was it over than she pushed me off, and washed out her cunt in my foot-bath.
We sat on the side of the bed kissing and feeling each other, it was like the old time, the door wide open to hear the street door knocks. When the housemaid knocked, into bed I got; an hour afterwards home came my mother and into my bed-room. She approved of the hot foot-bath, but insisted on my taking a febrifuge. To keep up the sham, I took it, Mary brought it and stood by, whilst my mother gave it to me; my prick was again standing like a prop at the sight of Mary, and as my mother pulled the bed-clothes over me, she might, if she had had eyes, seen my prick pushing them almost up.
Next morning she gave notice to leave. I never had her again. On one or two occasions I felt her, and if there had been more time might perhaps have had her. At the end of a fortnight she told me that her monthlies were all right. From that day she resolutely refused to even let me feel her. “I don’t much care about going back,” said she; “I don’t think I shall be happy, but I do it for the best; at all events I shall have a home.” The day before she went she said, “Goodbye, God bless you, you are a good fellow,” but you will play mischief with many a poor girl here before you have done. “I like you very much, and shall always think of you.” I never heard of her after, and with her, passed from me the woman who is still in my recollection as one of the most beautiful, and perfect in form; as one who gave me the greatest sexual pleasure,—but I was of course very young and inexperienced.
My mother remarked that she was the most trustworthy servant she ever had; but that there was a mystery about her. Her boxes were labelled for a place that the coach would not take her to, and her boxes were not like a servant’s. “I think she has been crossed in love and ran away,” said mother. Said I, “Perhaps she had gone off with a bobby,” it was a current joke then, policemen not having been long invented. My mother said in her severe way, “She is a virtuous woman, a youth like you should not utter ignorant jokes about women, especially about the humbler classes, to whom good reputation is everything.” I began to see plainer than ever, that I could humbug mother after that.
Many of our conversations are told here in her very words, others as nearly as I can recollect them. I have often wondered at the way this woman behaved to me, talked to me, and all about her. The circumstances as they occurred, even at the time seemed peculiar; I felt as if I was wicked in getting into her, almost as if I was going to poke my mother; but I cannot attempt to analyze motives or sensations, I simply narrate facts. Certain it is, that I never have had a woman who in behaviour resembled Mary, in manner, conversation, and general behaviour,—I always felt as if she were a superior person to me, as if she were obliging me and not herself, and was putting me under an obligation, by letting me fuck her.
Again lonely, I not only wanted cunt, but also the society of a woman, it was so sweet to see and talk, to some one I fucked; to do so secretly, was an additional charm, and I used to feel quite sad. I was then about in my eighteenth year.
CHAPTER VII.