“Don't — what are you doing — let me get up” — was all I heard, and by that time she had pulled down her clothes, covering up sperm and all, and I had fallen back on the sofa holding my prick. — The whole affair, from the time I got hold of her thigh, had not occupied the time it takes me to write a dozen of these lines.
Chapter III
Madeline's lover Richard. • Mrs. B**t*n's mischief. • Complaisance in cab and house. • Bertha the fruitress. • Male chaffing. • An erotic vision in the shop. • Is she virtuous? • Madeline again. • A ruptured membrane. • Mutual fucking sensations. • Inheritance of a marbly rump. • A woman's virgin spend. • Absent at Paris. • Madeline's lover is reconciled. • Onanistic emissions. • French letters and cunt sponges. • The influences leading women to copulate. • Madeline's intentions and admissions.
She rose, picked up the brooch, put it on the table, and put on her bonnet silently and hastily. I arose feeling ashamed, enclosed my still swollen machine, and said I was so sorry for what I had done, I couldn't help it, that it was her fault. — She made no reply beyond, “I'll never dine or speak with you again, you're a blackguard.” “If you'd only let me.” — “You're a scamp.” I chattered on, she begged me to be quick, “I'd go without you but I can't find the place, what will Mrs. B**t*n (her milliner friend) think about my being late?” — I didn't want to injure her, so rapidly paid my bill, and we got to the rendezvous late, but not too late. — There was Mrs. B**t*n alone, her male friend had gone. — She approached Madeline and said, “Richard's been here and has gone off nearly mad. — I couldn't say you were not here, so told him you'd gone with a lady friend, etc., etc.” — Madeline began to cry, saying to me, — “You've made plenty of mischief for me,” — and turned sulky. The two held a long conversation apart, Mrs. B**t*n seemed excited. — Madeline cried, till, with a rush for the train, we got seats.
It was then a long way across London, from the station to the neighbourhood where Madeline lived — I got into the cab with them — Madeline sulked all the way — I knew where she lived, and she insisted on being set down at the end of the street. Only her companion alighted with her — I bid them good bye, hoping her young man wouldn't be angry long. — Madeline said it was a misfortune for her my meeting her at the Palace — and we parted.
I had heard from Madeline that her friend the milliner lived in the heart of London, not far from another workshop, and knowing she would have to get there, put my cab away from the end of the street, and on foot waited myself in sight of Madeline's house — I had noticed in the cab Mrs. B**t*n's glances, which were curious, and as much as to say, “I know what you've been up to together.” She seemed also I think a little lewed — I had heard she was a widow. She was about thirty, and a smallish, thinnish, matured, well shaped looking little woman. — Really feeling anxious about Madeline, and hoping not to have done her any injury, I waited to catch Mrs. B**t*n to make enquiries.
It had taken a long time to get from the Palace to * * * (done in exactly half the time now, owing to railways.) It was about half past nine when Mrs. B**t*n appeared, and was astonished to see me. Would she take a seat in my cab, and I would drive her home. — She accepted at once. — In a minute afterwards. “What have you two been up to together?” said she inquisitively, and laughing suggestively.
“Nothing.” I had known Madeline a girl and liked her looks, met her by accident at the Palace, and, going myself to have some food, offered her some. Nothing more. — “Was that all?” We had been a long time. — “I wish it hadn't been all, for I'd give twenty pounds to have her.”
“Hush,” said Mrs. B**t*n putting her hand right over my mouth. — “I don't believe you” — but I repeated it, said she was a lovely creature, but I wouldn't on any account harm her, and directly I got to
St. and sat Mrs. B**t*n down, I'd go to the Argyle and get a woman for the night.
“You're a nice boy. — I've heard of you before, you'd better go home now.” “No,” said I, “I'll have a woman first.” In five minutes after I was kissing Mrs. B**t*n, in another five minutes was feeling her cunt, ten minutes afterwards was in a baudy house, and five minutes after that, a dose of sperm had been administered to the red lipped, hair encircled, moist, warm, aromatic organ, which she, like other women, had lying between her thighs, bum hole, and navel. — As quickly as possible afterwards, she had another dose. — Neither of us undressed, for Mrs. B**t*n, tho evidently liking prick exercise in her, and altho a widow, also lived with a friend and got home at early hours.
In the interval between the fucks she told me all about Madeline. — She believed her virtuous, and didn't believe she'd been fucked. I made her say those words. It is a great pleasure to me to make a woman who is not gay speak baudily. — A young man, of her own condition in life, meant to marry her. He had come to the Crystal Palace to meet her, having heard by chance that she was going there. — Mrs. B**t*n's male friend incautiously said she had gone to dine with a gentle-man, and the sweetheart in a rage went off, swearing he'd have nothing to do with her any more, and would blow his own brains out. Mrs. B. had told Madeline that she had told Richard it was with a lady she had left. That was to calm her — I have since fancied Mrs. B. was not a true friend.
I met Mrs. B. two days afterwards and fucked her. She took a little present this time. Madeline had heard nothing of her sweetheart, and thought she had lost him, so did Mrs. B. — I fancy from her silence that Madeline had said nothing about garters and brooch, or my spending over her thigh, she had said that I behaved as a perfect gentleman. “Well, I shan't meet her again at the Crystal Palace or elsewhere,” I observed, but I tried to catch Madeline on her road to and from her work, and failed. I expected that she and her swain had made it up, and that she avoided me. I did not go near Mrs. B**t*n, and almost forgot all about the affair, for I was, and had for a month or two previously, been on the cunt-hunt, and now was on the trail rather smartly, which put Madeline out of my mind, and I had given up all hopes of getting her. — Dinner, wine, baudy talk, and trying to grope her, the sight of my prick, my spending on her thigh had all failed. — No, most likely she's been fucked, but sees the chance of marriage, and will run no further risks; so ran my thoughts, and in my heart I did not blame her.
[The narrative now goes back a little. — The liaison with Madeline has been told hitherto consecutively — (a custom usually observed in this history of my secret life). But one with a girl named Bertha, commenced whilst I was courting Madeline, — the amusement with the postage stamp lady already told of — and a Paphian ball yet to be told of, also took place whilst my amours with Bertha and Madeline were going on, and I find it difficult to arrange the narrative in my usual manner, so much were all these amours intermixed and also mixed in the manuscript.]
A few months before I met Madeline, I had been a good deal into the city speculating. — Buying some-thing one day at a very little fruiterer's shop — I noticed a pretty girl who served there. — She was a shortish, sturdy, dark haired, and dark eyed, and had a look and manner superior to shop women generally. I thought her twenty but she was not eighteen. I shall call her Bertha.
The mistress had two shops and was usually at the other and Bertha alone at this one. The customers seemed almost exclusively well to do city men, and usually bought their goods after midday. They chaffed her at times broadly, which she didn't seem to mind, and at times returned. — A look in her eye made me think she was amorous, women can't help feeling lewed, and how they manage to look perfectly modest with clipping, perspiring cunts, puzzles me. — At length I found myself going often to the shop, and then chaffing her like the others. — Then I noticed some of the men say “Keep the change, I can't bear coppers” — so to ingratiate myself I did the same. One day I snatched a kiss which she didn't seem to mind at all, and giving her a sovereign for some goods, and a half sovereign being among the change, I pushed it to her and told her to keep it. — She eyed me fixedly and curiously for a few seconds, and then refused it. “Oh, dear no, that's too much,” said she, pushing it away. — On saying that I should take it out in kisses, — “That you won't.” She would not take it, and a few days after being in the shop, which happened to have a quick succession of customers, the following occurred to me. — One of the strangest, and most complete, yet almost unconscious efforts of erotic fancy I'd ever had. It more resembled an erotic dream.