In half an hour she came back with wet swollen eyes, got into the cab, and began to bellow loudly. The cab-man had opened the door for her, and stood waiting for orders. For a few seconds I could get nothing out of her, then told the cabman to drive to a public house near. There I gave her gin, but still could learn nothing. All she said was, “Oh! such a vagabond!” Into the cab again. I told the man where to drive to, for I had laid my plans. “Tell me, — it's not fair after all the trouble I've taken to not tell me,” — sob — sob — sob. Soon after it all came in a gush. “Yes he was there, that is, he was two days ago,” but the regiment had gone to Dublin, and wouldn't be back for eighteen months, — a letter would be sent him of course, but his wife would be there in a day, for — “Oh! — hoh! — hoh! — the wretch is a married man, and he's deceived me.” “You should not have let him do it.” “I didn't mean to.” “You let him do it more than once I'll swear.” “He did it twice to me, when in the house, — he swore he'd marry me three days after, if I let him, — and so I d — did, — ho! — her — ho!”
Thus I heard in snatches the whole history, which she told me more plainly afterwards. She had been fucked twice on the eventful night, once on the ground in a lane, and once in a bed-room.
I drove to T***f***d Street where I used to meet Mrs. Y***s***e. It was not much more than mid-day. I got a comfortable little sitting-room, out of which was a large bed-room. A dinner was sent in by an Italian restaurant close by. After her first grief had subsided, the wine cheered her, and she made a good dinner, talking all the time of her “misfortun.” When we had finished for a while I sat caressing her. Then I said, “I want to piddle,” and pulling my prick out before her went into the bed-room and pissed.
“Don't you want to?” “No.” “Nonsense, — do you suppose I don't know? — now go.” She went into the bed-room. I quietly opened the dor ajar directly she had closed it. There was she sitting on the pot, one leg naked, adjusting her garter, and pissing hard.
Then raising her clothes that side she scratched her backside in a dreamy fashion, looking up at the walls. The rattle of her piddle went on. She had been out all the morning, had had gin and champagne, and her bladder must have been full. The side she scratched was towards me. She finished piddling, but still she sat scratching her rump. Then rising she turned round, looked in the pot, put it under the bed, pushed her clothes between her thighs, and looking round saw me at the half-opened door. She gave a start, I rushed up to her.
“What lovely thighs, — what a splendid bum” (though I hadn't seen it). “What a shame, — you've been looking at me.” “Yes my darling, — what a lot you have pissed, — what a bum, — I saw you scratch it, — let's feel it, — I did last night, and you know what you felt.” I got my hands on to her naked thighs, pushing her bum up against the bedside.
“What a shame to think you have been looking, leave me alone, — pray do, — now you shan't, — no — you sh — han't.”
I closed with her. I had pulled my stiff-stander out. I shook it at her. “Look at this my darling, let me put it in you, — up your cunt.” “No, — leave off, — I won't, — I won't, — I have had enough of you men, you shan't.”
For a long time the game went on, I begging her to let me have her, she refusing. We struggled and almost fought. Twenty times I got her clothes up to her belly, my hand between her thighs. I groped all round her firm buttocks, and pinched them, grasped her cunt- wig, and pulled it till she cried out. All the devices I had used with others, all I could think of, I tried in vain. Then I ceased pulling up her clothes; but hugging her to me besought her, kissing and coaxing, keeping one of her hands down against my prick, which she would not feel, but it was useless. Then stooping and again pulling up her petticoats, letting loose every baudy word that came into my mind, — and I dare say the choicest words, — I threw myself on my knees, and butting my head like a goat up her petticoats, got my mouth on to her cunt, and felt her clitoris on my lips; but I could not move her. She was far stronger than me. Then rising I tried to lift and shove her on to the bed. I might as well have tried to lift the bed itself. I tried to drag her towards a large sofa, big enough for two people to lay side by side, and made for easy fucking. All was useless. Her weight and her strength were such that I could not move her. There she stood with her backside against the edge of the bed, her hair getting loose, one of her stockings pulled by me down her ankle, and the upper part of her dress torn open, but no, she would not let me. She was frightened, — she would not, —I was as bad as the soldier. In the excitement she no longer cared about her legs showing to her knees, but her cunt she fought for, and get my prick against it I could not.
So we struggled I don't know how long, and then breathless, fatigued, I got into a violent rage, — a natural rage, not an artificial one, — and it told as brutality often tells with a woman.
We stood looking at each other. She kept one hand on her clothes just outside her quim, as if to defend it. I with my prick out, felt defeated and mortified. I had been so successful with women, that I could not under-stand not getting my way now. “You damned fool,” I said, “I dare say fifty have fucked you, and you make a sham about your damned cunt, and your fears, — what did you come here for?” She opened her eyes with astonishment at my temper. “I didn't know I was coming here, — I didn't know you meant me to do that, — you said you'd be kind to me, and give me something to eat, sir, — I'd not eaten since last night, — you said you would be kind to me, sir.” It was said in the deferential tone of a servant.
“So I will, but if I'm kind, you must be kind to me, — why should it be all on one side?” “I'm sure I don't know,” she whimpered. “You know he fucked you, and I dare say a dozen others have.” “No one's ever done it but he, and he only did it twice,” said she blubbering. “Let me.” “No I won't, — I'm frightened to.” “Go and be damned.” I put in my prick which had drooped, went into the adjoining room, put on my hat and coat, took up my stick, and returning to the bed-room, there was she still with her arse against the bed, crying. She started up when she saw me dressed to go out.
“Oh! don't leave me here alone sir, — you won't will you?” “Yes I shall, — you can find your way out.” “Oh! let me go with you sir.” “I shan't, nor see you again, — why should I? — you won't let me have you, not even feel you!”
“I would let you, but I'm frightened, — I've got my living to get, and I've been ill-treated enough by that vagabond, — I didn't think you brought me here for that.” “What did you think then?” “I didn't think about it at all, — I was all along thinking of him.” “You didn't think of him when I felt your cunt in the cab last night, — good-bye.”
“Oh! stay only a minute, — do stay sir, — don't leave me here.” She still stood against the bed. “Will you let me? — what a fool you are.” “Oh! don't call me names, — I would, but I'm frightened, — I've got my living to get.” Haven't you been fucked?” “Y — hes, —y — hes,” she sobbed out, “but it wasn't no fault of mine, — I was —aho! — fud — died,” — and she blubbered as loud as a bull roaring.
A sentiment of compassion came over me, for I never could bear to see a woman cry. I threw off my hat and coat, and going up to her as she stood, kissed her. “There then, let me feel your cunt, — that can't hurt you.”
She did not struggle any more. I lifted her clothes, and placed my fingers on her quim. I frigged hard at the right spot, but could get my fingers no further towards the sacred hole. Her massive thighs shut me off from the prick-tube as closely as if it had been a closed door — I could not get my hand between them.