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 course I have seen her naked bit by bit--when two women are together
they can't help it, why should they mind--if you sit down to pee, you
show your legs, and if you put on your stockings you show your thighs,
then we both wash down to our waists, and if you slip off your chemise
or night-gown you show yourself all over. Mary's beautiful from head to
foot, one morning in the summer, we sleeping in the same bed, were
very hot. I got out to pee, we had kicked all the clothes off, Mary was
laying on her back with night-clothes above her waist fast asleep,
I could not help looking at her thighs, which were so large and
white--white as snow." "Had she much hair on her cunt?" said I. "What's
that to you?" said she laughing, but went on: "Oh! twice as much as I
have, and of a light brown." "I suppose her cunt is bigger than yours?"
said I reflectively. "Well, perhaps it is," said Charlotte, "she is a
much bigger woman than me, what do you think?" I inclined to the opinion
it must be, but had no experience to guide me; on the whole we agreed
that it was likely to be bigger.
"Then," said she, "I suppose some men have smaller things than yours?"
I told her that as far as I knew they varied slightly, but only had
knowledge of youthful pricks, and could not be certain whether they
varied much when full grown or not. We went on about Mary. "I know I
should like to be such a big, fine woman." "But" said I, "I don't like
light hair, I like dark hair on a cunt, light hair can't look well, I
should think." "I like her," said Charlotte, "she is a nice woman, but
often dull, she has no relatives in London, never says anything about
them or herself, she used to have letters, and then often cried, she has
none now; the other night she took me in her arms, gave me a squeeze
and said, 'Oh! if you were a nice young man now', then laughed and
said, 'perhaps we would put our things together and make babies.' I was
frightened to say anything, for fear she would find out I knew to much;
I think she has been crossed in love."
I was twiddling Charlotte's quim as I was never tired of doing,
something in the sensation I suppose reminded her, for laughing she went
on: "You know what you did to me the other night." "What?" said I not
recollecting. "You know, with your finger." "Oh! frig." "Yes, well Mary
does that; I was awake one night, and was quite quiet, when I heard Mary
breathing hard, and felt her elbow go jog, jog, just touching my side,
then she gave a sigh, and all was quiet. I went to sleep, and have
only just thought of it." She had heard or felt this jog from the cook
before, so we both concluded, that she frigged herself, Charlotte knew
what frigging was.
"Do you recollect your mamma's birthday?" said Charlotte, "she sent us
down a bottle of sherry, the gardener was to have some, but did not;
so we were both a little fuddled when we went to bed. When Mary was
undressed she pulled up her clothes to her hips, and looking at herself
said, 'my legs are twice as big as yours.' Then we made a bet on it and
measured; she lost, but her thigh was half as big again round as mine;
then she thew herself on her back and cocked up her legs, opening them
for a minute. I said 'Lor, Mary, what ever are you doing?' 'Ah I' said
she, 'women's legs were made to open', and there it ended. I never heard
her before say or do anything improper, she is most particular." If
Charlotte had been older or wiser, she would not have extolled the naked
beauties of a fellow servant to her lover, for the description of the
big bum, white thighs and hairy belly bottom, the jog, jog, of the
elbow, and all the other particulars sunk deep into my mind.
We fucked more than ever, recklessly--it is a wonder we were not found
out, for one evening, it being dark, I fucked her in the forecourt,
outside our street-door; but troubles were coming.
Her father wrote to know why she had not been home at her holidays, she
got an extra holiday to go and pacify him; then we had a fright because
her courses stopped, but they came on all right again. One of my sisters
came home, and diminished our opportunities, still we managed to fuck
somehow, most of the times they were uprighters. The next holiday she
went home by coach (the only way), I met her on the return, and we
fucked up against the garden wall of our house. A month slipped away,
again we spent her holiday at the pew-opener's; no man and woman could
have liked each other more, or more enjoyed each other's bodies, without
thinking of the rest of the world. I disguised nothing from her,
she told me all she knew of herself, the liking she took for me, her
pleasure yet fear and shame when first I felt her cunt, the shock of
delight and confusion when on my twiddling it, she had spent; how she
made up her mind to run out of the house when the milkman came, the
hysterical faint when I first laid my prick between her slit and spent,
the sensation of relief when I had not done, an instinct told her I
should, in spending outside, the sort of feeling of "poor fellow, he
wants me, he may do as he likes," which she had; I told my sensations.
All these we told each other over and over again, and never tired of the
conversation; we were an innocent, reckless, randy couple.
****
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