I found it a longish operation, and when I tried later again, was surprised to find that it would not stiffen for more than a minute, and an insertion failed. I found out that day that there were limits to my powers. Both tired out, our day’s pleasure over, we rose and took a hackney coach towards home, I went in first, she a quarter of an hour afterwards, and everything passed off as I could have wished.
From that day lust seized us both; we laid our plans to have each other frequently, but it was difficult: my mother was mostly at home, the cook nearly always at home if mother was out; but quite twice a week we managed to copulate, and sometimes oftener. We arranged signals. If when she opened the door, she gave a shake of the head, I knew mother was in; if she smiled and pointed down with her fingers, mother was out, but cook downstairs; if it pointed up, cook was upstairs; in the latter case, to go into the garden parlour and fuck, all this was done off hand. If cook was known to be going out, Charlotte told me beforehand, and if mother was to be out, I got home, letting college and tutors go to the devil. Then there was lip kissing, cunt kissing, feeling and looking, tickling and rubbing each others articles, all the preliminary delights of copulation, and but one danger in the way: my little brother could talk in a broken way, we used to give him some favorite toy, and put him on the floor, whilst we indulged voluptuously. On the sofa one day, I had just spent in her, when I felt a little hand tickling between our bellies, and Tommy who had tottered up to us said, “Don’ty hurt Lotty, der’s a good Wattie.” We settled that Tom was too young to notice or recollect, what he saw, but I now think differently.
Winter was coming on, she used to be sent to a circulating library to fetch books, the shop was some distance off, a few houses, long garden-walls and hedges were on the road. I used to keep out, or go out just before she went, and we fucked up against the walls. I took to going to church in the evening also, to the intense delight of my mother, but it was to fuck on the road home. One day hot in lust, we fucked standing on the lobby near my bed-room, my mother being in the room below, the cook in the kitchen. We got bold, reckless, and whenever we met alone, if only for an instant, we felt each others genitals.
At last we found the servant’s privy one of the best places. I have described its situation near to a flight of steps, at the end of a covered passage, which could be seen from one point only in the garden; down there, anyone standing was out of sight. If all was clear I used to ring the parlour bell, ask for something, and make a sign; when she thought it safe, there she would go, I into the garden, to where I could see into the passage by the side of the garden stairs. If I saw her, or heard “ahem,” down I went into the privy, and was up her cunt in a second, standing against the wall, and shoving to get our spent over, as if my life depended on it; this was uncomfortable, but it had its charm. We left off doing it in the privy, being nearly caught one day there.
We thought cook was upstairs mother was out, I was fucking her, when the cook knocked saying, “make haste Charlotte, I want to come.” We had just spent, she was so frightened I thought she was fainting, but she managed to say “I cannot.” “Do,” said cook, “I am ill.” “So am I,” said Charlotte. Said cook, “I can sit on the little seat.” “Go to misses’s closet, she’s out.” Off cook went, out we came, and never fucked in that place again; one day I did her on the kitchen table, and several times on the dining-room table.
We in fact did it everywhere else, and often enough for my health, for I was young, weak and growing, and it was the same with her. The risks we ran were awful, but we loved each other with all our souls. Both young, both new at the work, both liking it, it was rarely we got more than just time to get our fucking over, and clothes arranged before we had to separate, for her to get to her duties. Many times I have seen her about the house, cunt full and with the heightened colour, and brilliant eyes, of a woman who had just been satisfied. I used to feel pleasure in knowing she was bringing in the dinner, or tea, with my spunk in her cunt; not having had the opportunity to wash, or piddle it out.
When she had another holiday, we went to the baudy house, and stayed so long in it, that we had a scare; just asleep, we heard a knocking at the door. My first idea was that my mother had found me out, and although I ruled her in one way, I way in great subjection to her, from not having any money. She thought her father was after her. What a relief it was to hear a voice say: “Shall you be long sir, we want the room.” I was having too much accommodation for my money. That night we walked home, for I had no money for a coach, and barely enough to get us a glass of beer and a biscuit; we were famished and fucked out, my mother had refused to give me money, and another aunt whom I had asked, said I was asking too often, and refused also.
Although we went to this baudy house, I always felt as if I was going to be hanged when I did, and it was with difficulty I could make her go; she called it a bad house, and it cost money. Something then occured which helped me, penniless as I was.
At the extreme end of our village were a few little houses, one stood with its side entrance up a road only partially formed, and without thoroughfare; its owner was a pew-opener, her daughter a dressmaker, who worked for servants and such like; they cut out things for servants, who in those days largely made their own dresses. Charlotte had things made there. At a fair held every year near us of which I shall have to tell more, my fast friend, who had put me up to so much, and whom I forgot to say tried to get hold of Charlotte, I saw with the dressmaker’s daughter. Said he, talking to me next day, “She is jolly ugly, but she’s good enough for a feel, I felt her cunt last night, and think she has been fucked (he thought that of every girl), her mother’s a rum old gal too, she will let you meet a girl at her cottage, not whores, you know, but if they are respectable.” “Is it a baudy house?” I asked. “Oh no, it’s quite respectable, but if you walk in with a lady, she leaves you in the room together, and when you come out, if you just give her half a crown, she drops a curtesy, just as she does when she opens the pew-doors and anyone gives her six pence, but she is quite respectable—the clergyman goes to see her sometimes.”
Charlotte asked to go out to a dressmaker, I met her as if by chance at the door, the old pew-opener asked if I would like to walk in and wait. I did. Charlotte came in after she had arranged about her dress. There was a sofa in the room, and she was soon on it; we left together, I have two or three shillings (money went much further then), and the pew-opener said, “You can always wait here when your young lady comes to see my daughter.”
When we went a second time, she asked me if I went to St. Mary’s Chapel (her Chapel). We went to her house in the day that time. When going away she said, “Perhaps you wont mind always going out first, for neighbours are so ill-natured.” The old woman was really a pew-opener, her daughter really a dressmaker, but she was glad to earn a few shillings, by letting her house be used for assignations of a quiet sort; she would not have let gay women in, from what I heard.
She had lived for years in the parish, and was thought respectable. She had not much use of her house in that way, wealthy people going to town for their frolics,—town only being an hour’s journey—and no gay women being in the village that I know of.
At this house, I spent Charlotte’s third holiday with her, in a comfortable bed-room. We stopped from eleven in the morning, till nine at night, having mutton chops and ale, and being as jolly as we could be. We did nothing the whole day long, but look at each other’s privates, kiss, fuck and sleep outside the bed. It was there she expressed curiosity about male emissions. I told her how the sperm spurted out, then discussing women’s, she told me of the pleasure I had given her when fingering her in the manner described already; we completed our explanations by my frigging myself to show her, and then my doing the same to her with my finger. I bungled at that, and think I hear her now saying, “No, just where you were is nicest.” “Does it give you pleasure?” “Oh yes, but I don’t like it that way, oh!—oh!—I am doing it—oh!” I had no money that day, Charlotte had her wages, and paid for everything, giving me her money to do so.
One day we laughed at having nearly been caught fucking in the privy. “She must have a big bum, must Mary,” said I, “to sit on that little seat at the privy.” Said Charlotte, “She is a big woman, twice as big as me, her bottom would cover the whole seat.” This set us talking about the cook, and as what I then heard affected me much at a future day, I will tell all Charlotte said as nearly as I can recollect.
“Of