Talking one evening with the friend who had recommended me the house in L***f***d St. (where I had been with Mrs. Y***s***e) on the subject of women, he said that he did not offer servants and that class of women money, that a bit of jewellery caught them much more readily than gold, and that it was very much cheaper. “They may refuse a sovereign or two, they may be offended, but jewellery they can't refuse.” I had found boots, and bonnets, backed with gold, do very well, but certainly had failed in two or three instances signally, and had missed opportunities in other cases, where a mere offer of love could not be made, with chance of success.

Struck with some pretty cameo brooches at Naples, I bought half a dozen for presents (they were not nearly so costly thirty years ago as now). “I've got such a pretty brooch which I'll give you. Do you like brooches? Look at this.” “Yes,” said she taking it. I caught hold of her again, pulled my prick out, and got my hands on to her cunt. “Now don't, I don't like it,” — was all she said, and she stood leaning her bum against the bed, looking at the brooch with her thighs closed, and my fingers fumbling about her cunt lips.

Sure now of having her, I let her go, then rapidly bolted the door, and in a minute had her on the bed with her petticoats up. She meant fucking. I was on her, and my prick had touched her cunt when, my fin-gers feeling its moisture, the idea of her not having washed the Frenchman's sperm out of her seized me, and my prick began to dwindle. Tho the fucking took place hours before, tho my knowledge of copulation generally should have taught me that I should find none of his leavings, even if she had not washed, yet all occur-red just as described, and then followed in succession, an absurd variety of contradictory emotions, and actions, which must have astonished her.

I rose on to my knees between her thighs hurriedly, and holding my prick looked at her. Shall I ask her if she has washed, r thought. “What's the matter?” said she hurriedly. Mentally then I saw the husband fucking her at the side of the bed, and my prick stiffened, again the idea of his sperm lying in her haunted me, I felt I could not fuck her, and thrust my fingers up her cunt to feel if his sperm was there — as if it was a more delicate thing to feel it with my fingers, than with my prick. “Oh, you hurt!” she cried out loudly. Then down I fell on her forgetting the sperm, thinking only of the two as I had seen them fucking. My prick was like a horn, my lust got furious, and with fierce thrusts I spent in her. “Oh, you hurt — oho,” she sobbed and she spent with me.

This conflict of desire and disgust, a prick stiff one minute, the next dwindling to flaccidity, stiffening again as a different thought flashed through my brain, and furiously emptying its semen in a violent paroxysm of pleasure into the cunt which a minute before it had re-fused to enter, strikes me as one of the singular events of my amatory life.

She interrupted my tranquillity by uncunting me. “Let me get up.” — I got off of her, my mind again recurring to her not having washed, but she washed now, turning her back to me, when a bell rang. “It's the call bell,” said she, rising quickly from the basin, “look and see if any one's in the corridor.” I did. “Yes.” “Peep, and tell me when no one's there,” in a whisper standing at my back. The bell rang again. “There is no one.” Out she went, leaving the brooch on the pisspot stand.

Temporarily satisfied, I soon wanted her again, kept peeping out of my door, and at an opportunity beckoned her. “Presently,” said she in a whisper, as she passed the door, “there are travellers about just now.” In an hour the corridor was again quiet and she came in. “I cannot stop long,” said she, getting on to the bed without hesitation at my request. I got by the side of her, had a pleasant grope, kiss, a partial look, a few minutes baudy talk, and then I was up her again, and we had the nice second fuck of two people who wanted it. As our privates unjoined, the call bell rang again, “Sacra” said she, “what does she want now?” — and off she went quickly with her cunt unwashed this time. She had not asked for the brooch which I had put by, tho I saw her for a moment looking round the room, as if seeking something. She promised to see me after the table d'hote.

It was quite dark when I went to my room — no travellers were in the rooms on my corridor excepting the couple in the adjoining room. — I lit my candle and kept my door ajar. Suzanne kept her word and came. “Have you washed your cunt,” said I, “since we made love?” “Of course,” “Where?” “In my room.” “Let's look at you.” “No, I don't like that.” But I would. We got on to the bed. “We must not make a noise,” said I, “for there is a married couple next to us. Who are they, do you know?” “Yes.” It was a manufacturer. He used to live in the town, and had not been long married to a lady whose relatives lived there. “I heard them fucking last night,” said I. “That's what they married for,” she supposed, laughing as she said it. “I dare say he has fucked you before he was married, as you know him.” “Mon Dieu, non.” How I longed to tell her what I had seen, but did not, and then we enjoyed each other. I gave her the brooch, which pleased her immensely. No, she could not sleep with me for fear of being found out — but her room was by itself, two flights up thro a door, which she indicated. She would leave the door ajar. Following her at distance, she showed me the way by going straight to, and entering the room.

The married couple came home. I saw him fuck his wife. At the hour appointed, all was silent. I slipped up to the maid's room and had pleasure with her, went back to my own room, passed a tranquil night, awaking just in time to see my neighbours fucking on the bed. After their breakfast they left the hotel.

Then I slipped into their room, and found that apparently after the peep holes had been bored, their room had been painted and traces of the holes obliterated. Those freshly opened by me now alone showed.

I passed the entire of two days there, keeping much to my room. Suzanne slipped in to me at my request, and I gave her pleasure several times daily. In the intervals writing the narrative of my liaison with Mrs. M***l***d at G**n*b*e. Then having fucked myself out of my rutting fit, with a kiss I left her, and left the town for Paris, stopping at several towns on the way, and using spyholes whenever there were any, but saw nothing worthy of recording.

In a week or two I was at Paris, and went to a bal masque at the opera house, Rue Lepelletier. A tall woman, masked, dressed as a man entirely in white, but not as a Pierrot, tho with a Pierrot's hat on, and with breeches which terminated at her knees, was dancing a furious cancan with others. Her legs were flung about high and low, her gestures were lewed and suggested fucking. I, with a group, stood much amused at the dancing. At a pause of the dance she accosted me. — “Je vous connais, Monsieur.” “Mais non ma belle.” “Mais oui, souvent je vous ai vu a Londres.” “Qui etes vous done.” “Donnez moi un petit souper et vous verrez.” — She spoke in a high pitched tone to prevent recognition. Dancing recommenced; I thought nothing more of it so moved off among the crowd. A dozen women in masks had said they knew me. I was soon after-wards talking to a beautiful creature with exquisite legs, and dressed as a ballet dancer, and was thinking of seeing her legs with her silks, when the man-woman in white appeared. — “Ah, you run away from me then!” “No.” “I know you.” “You don't.” “Bet.” “No.” “Will you give me a supper with my friend here if you do?” “Perhaps.” She lifted her mask, and I saw Gabrielle. The ballet dancer moved off, muttering. Gabrielle, her friend, and I were soon supping at a cafe, and an hour after were in Gabrielle's room. “Not your friend,” said I. “Mais oui. You will find Violette charming. Si cochonne, elle fera tout ce que vous voudrez. Do you remember that night with two at * * * Street? We will so you amuse to-night.” And the two women and I went to-gether to Gabrielle's bed room.