Chapter VII

Termination of narrative. • Remarks thereon. • Disjecta membra. • In a country church. • The bouzy sexton. • His daughter Selena. • In a pew. • In the Rector's robing room. • On his carpet. • On his table. • Three wives with full bladders in a dark street. • Micturating civilities. • Genital handlings. • Fucking among the carts. • In a German city. • A bald cunted Cyprian.

The narrative in its chronological order of events I finish. Many more incidents might have been told of varied delights, of whims and fancies normal and abnormal, yet tho the places, participants and actresses were different, the amatory amusements were similar to others played elsewhere, and their repetition in the narrative would be tedious.

I break with the past, my amatory career is over, my secret life finished. My philosophy remains the same. My deeds leave me no regret — with the exception perhaps of a very few. — Would that I were young enough to continue in the same course — that all might happen to me over again. — But age forbids, duty for-bids, affection forbids — Eros adieu.

Here abruptly terminates the narrative. Some years after the writer died the manuscript came as already told into the possession of him who arranged and ab- breviated it. A wonderful narrative of something like fifty years of secret life.

In eliminating manuscript from time to time, in order to abbreviate, much was destroyed, but some episodes were laid aside for further selection, and some with the view of grouping them in chapters. A few of those disjecta membra are added here but are not chronologically arranged, that being now impossible. They evidently occurred however within the last twenty years of the history.

One Saturday afternoon taking a walk to a village a mile or two from where I was staying, I entered the church to look at it. As I did so the sexton was leaving and locking the door. — “I must go Sir, and must lock it, we never leave the church door open without some one in it, in case dogs or tramps come in, and there's only the gal there cleaning the robing room. We parleyed awhile and I tipped him. “If you like I'll leave the key inside, but you must lock the door, and I'll be back in half an hour.” I agreed, locked it and strolled about, looking at the brasses and monuments which were famous, and not thinking at all about the woman cleaning the robing room.

Without thought of womankind and in the day-time often, voluptuous thrills go thro my pego, admonishing me that it was made for something besides piddling. Having done so it is usually quiet, but sometimes repeats it and gently swells. — Then my thoughts wander towards woman's sexual charm, and up rises pego, filling me with desire to lodge it between a pair of soft white female thighs, in the warm, red, lubricious channel always fit to receive it. — Nature has thus arranged the feminine organ that it needs no preparation, and is never nicer to the prick than when it has been some hours unwashed — fresh washed, astringent quims never pleased me. Servants' quims taken on the sudden are always lubricious and delicious with natural juices.

Looking at a noticable monument a thrill passed to me another and soon another — my pego swelled and such voluptuous sensations pervaded me, that I sat down thinking of cunt, and thro my brain erotic reminiscences and idealities flashed. — My prick grew rigid, I felt it, then took it out and looked at it, almost frigged it, just as I used when a young man. I was so fit for the joyous intercourse with a woman, that I thought no more of monuments. — Suddenly I heard a scrubbing or brushing, and recollected that a woman was cleaning the parson's robing room.

When in that randy state, to be near almost any woman is pleasurable. With all their faults, and spite of the troubles they bring to men, they are the joy of a true man's life. I put back into my trowsers my prick which I had taken out to look at during my voluptuous meditations, approached the room, pushed the already half opened door, and saw a strapping wench on her knees brushing the carpet. Her large arms were naked to above the elbows, her big bum stuck out towards me, and from beneath her ample petticoats one leg was visible half way up to her knee, and was cased in a nice white stocking. My cock throbbed, desire to fuck her filled me, and I made a slight noise. “You've come back very quick, yer ain't been there,” and turning her head. — “Oh! I beg your pardon Sir, I thought you was him, how did you get in?” She seemed astonished.

She got up saying that, and a strongly built, bold, handsome faced wench of about twenty she was. I told her how I had got in. — “Mother allus does the cleaning but she's ill, so I've come,” said she gratuitously, for I'd not asked her — and as if ashamed of being caught at the work. — “You're a good daughter and a handsome one,” said I smiling. — “The rector will give you a kiss for doing it.” I was glad to say anything. — “Not he,” said she boldly and laughing, for my remark had put her at her ease. Then we stood and looked at each other. — “You're very handsome, are you married?” — She shook her head. — “Show me the monument of * * * *” — naming a country magnate — “and I'll give you a shilling.” — “Thankee Sir.” She moved off, I following her with prick like a ramrod. — She pointed out the monument to me, but I was thinking only of her cunt all the while.

It was against the wall at the end of a long, large, old fashioned pew with high enclosures, which we both entered. I looked at it for a minute reflecting what next to do, she standing by me. Then I gave her a shilling and snatched a kiss. — “Oh don't, he may come in.” — “I've locked the door.” — Another kiss and I pulled her down not unwilling on the seat besides me. — “I'll give you half a crown to feel the garter on that jolly leg,” saying which I made a snatch at her clothes, and got my hand well up on to her thigh just above the gar-ter. She struggled, gave one or two loud squeals. — “Oh don't — now you shan't — oh — if any one comes — oh now don't. Ohoo, leave me alone Sir.” She began to laugh midst her struggles. — “No one can come in, the door's locked.” — “Yes, Sir, the Rector can come through the churchyard, and the robing room door's open. — “Oh! Don't now.” My passion was a little checked by that and I desisted. “Here's the half crown as I've felt it, give me another kiss.” — She took the half crown and submitted to the embrace, I held her close to me and jogged my belly up against hers. — “I'll give you a sovereign to let me do that.” — “Oh — go away — let me go,” — pushing me. I let her go fearing the Rector might surprize us. “Let me see the robing room.” “It's there,” said she going ahead and pointing. — “Now — don't, Sir.” — I tried to pull her clothes up from behind, succeeded as high as her garters, and saw the handsome calves in white stockings, which made my cock more restive than ever. — “Now, I won't show you Sir if yer does that again,” and she twirled round, I held on to her petticoats which tightened round her legs as she sat down heavily on a free seat by the pew door. Then she laughed as if she could not help it. Again I gave a kiss and a promise, and off we went to the room which was near the altar. I felt sure she liked my smutty games, and at the door stopped. — “My dear tell me something?” — “What Sir?” — “Is there much hair on it?” — “Oh! Go along,” said she, actually coloring up — but she laughed.

In the room I saw a door leading out by a flight of steps into the churchyard, and a path leading I sup-posed to the rectory. The Rector usually entered the church that way she said. I locked the door, she smiled as if she guessed my game. — “Give me another kiss, you are so beautiful.” Indeed I thought so, for I was under the fascination of cunt. — “No.” But I took it. — “Let us?” — “Let us what?” said she looking full in my eyes. — Instinct — never failing me, told that she was in concupiscent state. — “Let's do it” — I didn't dare to say point blank the magic words. — “Do what?” with a voluptuous twinkle in her eyes, and anxious to hear the baudy words of invitation. How her cunt was tingling, for women as men like smutty talk and baudy words — what sane human creature is there but feels pleasure in hearing the exciting triad. — Prick, cunt, fuck, that duality in unity by which in the delirium of physical and mental pleasure, the race is perpetuated. “Do what?” — “You know, and you won't tell your sweetheart.” — “I don't know and I haven't got one.” She turned away smiling, took up a broom, and somehow I was afraid for the moment to press matters further, tho sure she was ready. How ex-plain these eccentricities of mine? — I never could.