“Have you buggered him” — Sarah's question came suddenly into my mind as I handled his throbbing prick, his rigid piercer. “Fetch me, frig me, then you fuck Sarah and let me fuck her after — go on — I'll frig myself — I must spend” — said he, and began frigging.
I stopped him. I put him in various attitudes and looked at his naked rigidity — feeling it, kissing it, glorying in my power — with my own prick upright. Both were wanting the pleasure sorely, yet I dallied and my brain whirled with strange desire, fear, dislike, yet with intention. Then I placed him bending over the bed — his bum towards me, his head towards the looking glass — I stood back to look. There were his white buttocks and large womanly white thighs, his legs in silk, his feet in feminine boots. — Not one could have imagined him a man, so round, smooth, white, and womanly was his entire backside and form. It was only looking further off that I missed the pouting hairy lips, and saw a big round stone bag which shewed the male. His prick was invisible, stiff against his belly.
I closed on him, put my hand round and gave his prick a frig — his bum was against my belly. — “Fetch me — oho — make haste, I'm bursting” — looking down I saw his bumhole and the desire whirled thro my brain like lightning. Without pausing or thinking, I felt his prick from under his balls, and whilst he al-most shivered with desire — “Oh! make haste, fetch me” — I put both hands round him, feeling his balls with one, his prick with the other; and my own stiff prick I pressed under his ballocks, saying, “Let me put my prick up your bum.”
“That I won't,” said he disengaging himself and turning round, “that I won't.”
Furiously I said, “Let me — I'll give you ten pounds.” “Oh no.” “I will give you all I have” — and going to my trowsers I took out my purse, and turned into my hands all the gold I had — it was, I think, more than ten pounds.
“Oh no, I can't, it will hurt,” said he, eying the money. “It won't.” “It will. When I was apprenticed, a boy told me a man did it to him, and it hurt him awful.”
I don't know what I replied — but believe I repeated that it would not hurt, that it was well known that people did it, and as I talked I handled his prick with one hand, with the other holding the gold.
“It will hurt — I'm frightened, but will you give me ten pounds really?”
I swore it, talked about that of which I knew nothing — that I had heard it was pleasure to the man whose arsehole was plugged — that once done they liked nothing so much afterwards. His prick, which had dwindled under fear, again stiffened as I frigged, he ceased talking and breathed hard, saying, “I'm coming.” — I stopped at once.
“Let me.” “I don't think you can, it seems impos- sible — if you hurt me will you pull it out?” “Yes yes, I will.”
He turned to the bed again and kneeled, but he was too high — I pulled him off — then it was too low. Again on the bed and I pulled his bum to the level of my prick, I locked the door, I trembled, we whispered. I slabbered my prick and his hole with spittle. His prick was still stiff. There was the small round hole — the balls beneath — the white thighs. — I closed on him half mad, holding him round one thigh. I pointed my prick — my brain whirled — I wished not to do what I was doing, but some ungovernable impulse drove me on. Sarah's words rang in my ears. I heard them as if then spoken. My rod with one or two lunges buried it-self up him, and passing both hands round his belly I held him to me, grasping both his prick and balls tightly. He gave a loud moan. “Ohoo I shall faint,” he cried. “Ho, pull it out.”
It's in — don't move or I won't pay you, or some-thing of that sort — I said, holding myself tight up to him. “Ohooo, leave go, you're hurting my balls so” — I suppose I was handling them roughly — but his bum kept close to my belly.
I recollect nothing more distinctly. A fierce, bloody minded baudiness possessed me, a determination to do it — to ascertain if it was a pleasure — I would have wrung his prick off sooner than have withdrawn for him, and yet a disgust at myself. Drawing once slightly back, I saw my prick half out of his tube, then forcing it back, it spent up him. I shouted out loudly and baudily (Sarah told me), but I was unconscious of that. She was in her sitting room.
I came to myself — how long afterwards I cannot say. — All seemed a dream, but I was bending over him — pulling his backside still towards me. — My prick still stiff and up him. “Does it hurt now.” “Not so much.”
His prick was quite large but not stiff. A strong grip with my hand stiffened it, I frigged hard, the spunk was ready and boiling, for he had been up to spending point half a dozen times. My prick, still encased, was beginning to stiffen more. — He cried — “I am coming, I am coming” — his bum jogged and trembled — his arsehole tightened — my prick slipped out — and he sank on the bed spending over the counterpane — I stood frigging him still.
He spent a perfect pool of sperm on the bed. The maddening thought of what I had done made me wish to do it again. I forgot all my sensations — I have no idea of them now — I knew I had spent, that's all. “Let me do it again.” “That I won't for any money,” said he turning round.
Then I frigged myself and frigged him at the same time furiously. Fast as hands could move did mine glide up and down the pricks. Pushing him down with his arse on the sperm on the counterpane, I finished him as he lay, and I spent over his prick, balls, and bally. In ten minutes our double spend was over.
Immediately I had an inaffable disgust at him and myself — a terrible fear — a loathing — I could scarcely be in the room with him — could have kicked him. He said, “You've made me bleed.” At that I nearly vomited — “I must make haste,” said I looking at my watch, “I forgot it was so late. — I must go.” All my desire was to get away as quickly as possible. I left after paying him, and making him swear, and swearing myself, that no living person should know of the act.
Yet a few days after I wrote the narrative of this blind, mad, erotic act; an act utterly unpremeditated, and the perpetration of which as I now think of it seems most extraordinary. One in which I had no pleasure — have no recollection of physical pleasure — and which only dwells in my mind with disgust, tho it is against my philosophy even to think I had done wrong.
Chapter IV
Sodomitically complaisant Paphians. • Conversations on sodomy with Sarah. • I suggest. • She refuses. • Mutual incitements. • Mutual consents. • Trials and failures. • Successful at last. • Her sensations. • Effects on her bum hole. • Another trial suggested. • I decline. • A lewed evening. • Fucking, minetting, and masturbating. • Candle and fundament. • A railway carriage on a frosty day. • An old love acquaintance. • Fanny G***d*n. • Amatory advances. • I threaten onanism. • Cushions on the floor. • We on the cushions.
I must have been, indeed was, in an almost wild state of mind that night. When I got clear of the street, I saw some gay women, chaffed, and asked them how their arseholes were. My mind ran on a muddy night — lifted her petticoats and showed nice legs — I went home with her, and turning her bum towards me, looked at her arsehole and asked if she'd been buggered. She was angry. Then I found I had not money enough to pay her, and we had a row. — I went to one of my clubs, borrowed, went home with another woman, pulled her about, looked at her sphincter, and asked if she'd been buggered. — “No.” I offered three pounds to her to let me. I might try, but she thought it impossible. Her bum was towards me, her hole very brown — and the mere fact of her permitting it so disgusted me that I paid the price of a fuck and left her directly — I went home yet with another woman, whom I fucked dog fashion, pulling open her buttocks and looking at her bumhole as well as I could, whilst shoving up her. Then I went to my own home, thinking of buggery, and wondering what the sensation was like — for I had no defined notion of it left, such was the state of mad excitement in which I had performed the act. Then I fell asleep.