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."
****
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