of dirty cunts,—it was a joke among us boys, and thought hers must have been so, which was the cause, that the smell and feel were different.
Two or three days afterwards my mother came to town by herself, there was a row with the servant, I was told to leave the room; the servant and gardener were both turned off that day and hour, a char-woman was had in, a temporary gardener got, and my mother went back to my sick father. Years passed away, and when I had greater experience and thought of all this, concluded that my aunt had found the gardener and the servant amusing themselves too freely, had had them dismissed, and that the morning I found my fingers sticky, the girl had just come in from fucking in the gardener’s shed.
With all the opportunities I had, both with big Betsy and with this woman, I was still virgin.
When I saw Fred next, he told me he had felt the cunt of one of their servants. I told him partly what I had done, but kept to myself how I had failed to poke when I had the opportunity, fearing his jeers; and as I was obliged to name some woman, mentioned one of my godfather’s servants. He went there to try his chances of groping her as well, but got his head slapped. We talked much about the smell of cunt, and he told me that one day after he had felt their servant, he went into the room where his sisters were, and said, “oh what a funny smell there is on my fingers, what can it be, smell them.” Two of his sisters smelt, said they could not tell what it was, but it was not nice. Fred used to say, that he thought they knew it was like the smell of a cunt, because they colored up so.
I had noticed a strong smell on my prick, whenever the curdy exudation had to be washed out. Fred’s talk made me imitative, so I saturated my fingers with the masculine essence one evening, and going to my female cousin, “oh what a queer smell there is on my fingers,” said I, “smell them.” The girl did. “It’s nasty, you’ve got it from your chemicals,” said she. “I don’t think I have, smell them again, I can’t think what it can be, what’s it like?” “I don’t think it’s like anything I ever smelt, but it is not so nasty, if you smell it close, it’s like southern wood,” she replied. I wonder if that young lady when she married, ever smelt it afterwards, and recognized it. I did this more than once, it gave me great delight to think my slim cousin had smelt my prick, through smelling my fingers; what innate lubricity comes out early in the male.
Misfortunes of all sort came upon us, the family came back to town, another brother died, then my father who had been long ill, died, and was found to be nearly bankrupt; then my godfather died, and left me a fortune, all was trouble and change, but I only mention these family matters briefly.
My physique still could not have been strong, for though more than ever intensely romantic, and passionately fond of female society, I don’t recollect being much troubled with cock-standings, and think I should, had I been so. My two intimate school-friends left off frigging, the elder brother, who had a very long red nose, having come to the conclusion with me, that frigging made people mad, and worse, prevented them afterwards from fucking and having a family. Fred, my favorite cousin, arrived at the same conclusion—by what mental process, we all arrived at it, I don’t know.
When I was approaching my sixteenth year, I awakened one night with a voluptuous dream, and found my night-shirt saturated with semen, it was my first wet-dream; that set me frigging again for a time, but I either restrained myself, or did not naturally require much spending at that time, for I certainly did not often do so.
But our talk was always about cunt and woman, I was always trying to smell their flesh, look up their petticoats, watch to see them going to piddle; and the wonder to me now is, that I did not frig myself incessantly; and can only account for it on the grounds, that though my imagination was very ripe, my body was not. The fact of hair under the arms of women had a secret charm for me about that time. I don’t recollect thinking much about it before, though it had astonished me when I first saw it; and why it came to my imagination so much now, do not know, but it did. I have told of the woman under whose arms I first saw hair.
One afternoon after my father’s death, and that of my godfather, Fred was with me, we went to the house of a friend, and were to return home about nine o’clock. It was dark, we saw a woman standing by a wall. “She is a whore,” said Fred, “and will let us feel her if we pay her.” “You go and ask her.” “No, you.” “I don’t like to.” “How much money have you got?” We ascertained what we had, and after a little hesitation, walked on, passed her, then turned round and stopped. “What are you staring at, kiddy,” said the woman. I was timid, and walked away, Fred stopped with her. “Wattie, come here,” said he in a half whisper. I walked back. “How much have you got?” the woman said. We both gave her money. “You’ll let us both feel?” said Fred. “Why of course, have you felt a woman before?” Both of us said we had, feeling bolder. “Was it a woman about here?” “No.” “Did you both feel the same woman?” “No.” “Give me another shilling then, you shall both feel my cunt well, I’ve such a lot of hair on it.” We gave what he had, and then she walked off without letting us. “I’ll tell your mothers, if you come after me,” she cried out.
We were sold; I was once sold again in a similar manner afterwards, when by myself.
These are the principal baudy incidents of my early youth, which I recollect, and have not told to friends; many other amusing incidents told them, are omitted here, for the authorship would be disclosed, if I did. One or two were peculiar and most amusing, yet I dare not narrate them; but all show how soon sexual desires developed in me, and what pleasure early in life even these gave me and others.
I now had arrived at the age of puberty, when male nature asserts itself in the most timid, and finds means of getting its legitimate pleasure with women. I did, and then my recollection of things became more perfect, not only as to the consummations, but of what led to them; yet nothing seems to me so remarkable as the way I recollect matters which occurred when I was almost an infant.
CHAPTER V.
Our house.—Charlotte and brother Tom.—Kissing and groping.—Both in rut.—My first fuck.—A virginity taken.—At a baudy house.—In a privy.—Tribulations.—Charlotte leaves.—My despair.
After father’s death, our circumstances were further reduced, at the time I am going to speak of, we had come to a small house nearer London; one sister went to boarding-school, an aunt (I had many) took another, I went to a neighboring great school or college, as it was termed, my little brother Tom was at home; but reference henceforth to members of my family will be but slight, for they had but little to do with the incidents of this private life, and unless they were part actors in it, none will be mentioned.
Our house had on the ground-floor a dining-room, a drawing-room, and a small room called the garden parlor, with steps leading into a large garden. On the first floor my mother’s bed-room and two others; above were the servants’ room, mine, and another much used as a lumber-room; the kitchens were in the basement, beside them a long covered way led to a servants’ privy, and close to it a flight of stairs leading up into the garden; at the top of the stairs was a garden-door leading into the fore-court, on to which opened the street-door of the house. This description of plan is needful to understand what follows.
I was about sixteen years old, tall, with slight whiskers and moustache, altogether manly and looking seventeen or eighteen, yet my mother thought me a mere child, and most innocent; she told our friends so. I had developed without her having noticed it, love of women, and the intensest desire to understand the secrets of their nature had taken possession of me; the incessant talk of fucking with which the youths I knew beguiled their leisure, the stories they told of having seen their servants, or other girls half, or quite naked, the tricks by which they managed this, the dodges they were up to, inflamed me, sharpened my instinctive acuteness in such matters, and set me seeking every opportunity to know women naked, and sexually. Frigging was now hateful to me; I had never done so more than the times related, that is as far as I now can recollect, frightened as said, by my godfather telling me, that it sent men mad, and made them hateful to women. So although boiling with sensuality, I was still all but a virgin, and actually