This uncommon cunt begat various letches, for each cunt has a different effect on me. I grasped her fat pad or mons with the palm of my hand, so that my fingers covered half her notch, and my middle fingers got well down and a little up her vagina. I did this standing behind her, both of us naked, my belly and breasts pressing her bum and back, my left hand round her waist, my right passed round to her cunt, and so I frigged her looking at ourselves in a little looking glass on her table, which only showed about half of us — from thighs up to waist — I did this to her the second day, just after we'd had our midday meal, frigged her till she said she was ready to spend, and then we adjourned to the bed.

Before that I'd amused myself another way. My tip was unusually red when stiff that day, and I laid it on her motte, then on her buttocks, then between her bubbies, pleased with the contrast of its crimson and her dazzlingly white flesh. She said “Englishman's has funny some tastes.” — Yet she was pleased with the fun.

Next day I travelled on to where light haired, blue eyed, and sturdy limbed women are the race, and not a few light haired cunts my prick entered. [I was young and travelling alone then.]

Some say that harlots are sick of their business, and hate the erotic whims and fancies to which they minis-ter. Such is not my experience. I believe that most of them like baudy tricks, and that directly their lust is roused, — easily done by finger, tongue, or talk — they rejoice in them. Nature is the same in them as in other women who want fucking daily. If harlots are young and well fed, they want fucking twice a day, lust being always ready latent in them. Lust delights in all that cock and cunt can do, for those are agents of infinite voluptuous delight from the cradle to the grave, in both men and women.

Very intimate and friendly I've been with a few har-lots, who knew me to have no prejudices, knew my erotic philosophy, and on this subject have in times of expansion and companionship talked freely with me. One told me that every now and then when she felt lewed, that the sight of a man who took her fancy suddenly had such an effect on her, that she felt as if she could lay down in the street to let him fuck her. One night at a French woman's house — where I have furtively seen many fuck her. — I saw a splendid man tail her. When done he said he'd lost his purse. After a moments thought, “Never mind, let us kiss again,” said she, and they did. She was frantic in her sexual spasm, kept him, talked to him, sucked his prick until erect, and again they fucked. I saw it all, grew weary of looking. — Afterwards I wondered at her submitting to his bilking. — “Ah yes, but what a beau garcon, what skin, what hair, what a lovely prick — didn't you admire it?” Then she went on, “I thought from his manner he'd but little money, he bragged so, mais! What a lovely kiss, I longed for him directly he was naked.”

It's an illustration, and I've had many such. No, har-lots like their occupation, like all its erotic accompanyments, spending often becomes a necessity to them, as shitting daily is with us all. Spending twice a day be-comes needful for a harlot, many spend more, and with some it ends in madness. How often have I heard, — “I always spend if I'm fucked by a man I like.” — Again. — “Who can help spending if a man gamahuches you long ? It's impossible to prevent it, you think you won't and you try, but suddenly comes pleasure and you let him go on, and if a man's a long time fucking it's the same,” the very words of a “Dame galante,” otherwise whore, harlot, strumpet, Paphian, Cyprian, or whatever else you may call her, classical, vulgar, or poetical. The following occurred when I was twenty-three. I nearly destroyed the narrative thinking it ought not to have been written, but all the actors are gone long ago, and it now turns up among the papers set aside. The original was twice as long, the notes of two years.

My aunt had a lawn party as she called it, most of the guests kept on the lawn near the house, where there was tea, wine, and shade. Few walked about much for it was very hot. Among them were two girls whom I will call P**l**s*n, daughters of a widower recently settled in the neighbourhood, fairly well off but not mixing much with the local gentry [Country society was exclusive then.] They were well known, dark eyed and handsome. People said they were what my aunt called “adventurous” [or what would be termed now “fast”]. They were certainly free, flirty, and vulgarish in manner. Their father had done my aunt some service hence the girls being among her visitors, but she didn't like them, and said she was sure that they'd served in a shop. They were two or three and twenty years old, one named Agatha, the other Helen.

I'd known them about two years, Fred only about a year. We had driven them out and gradually had talked somewhat freely, several times I'd kissed Agatha and Fred had kissed the other. From a concert at the Town Hall we walked home with them one night their father not being with them. As we separated I kissed Agatha, and in doing so being randy, caught her round her bum with one hand and handled it gently all over, squeezing my belly against hers for a second just as I've done to servants. All she said was, “Don't now.” It was dark and within sight of her father's door. Walking home, Fred said he thought that both were game. My aunt said next morning they were angling for us “forward minxes” and warned us. “I'd give fifty pounds to fuck Helen,” said Fred one day. “And she's randy enough, look at her eyes.” — Agatha looked equally voluptuously at times to me, and there was something about her which always made my cock stand when I saw her.

We quite agreed that both wanted fucking but had no idea of attempting it. Our meetings were not frequent, but sufficiently numerous to have got free and easy with them, and Fred's talk and mine had gradually become chaffingly but suggestively amorous when we met, and circumstances favoured it.

There was a cold collation at my aunt's, an apology for a dinner for those who liked to stop, and lots of champagne. — Some guests didn't stop, some, including the two girls, did. — Agatha took champagne freely, so did I, we strolled out with others on to the lawn and as it got cooler, we went further off and gradually to the laurel walk where was the big privy in which I'd fucked Pender. I was so lewed that my tool was on half cock. — I fancy she thought it was a summer house, — for there were two windows in it — and she'd not been in the walk before, I said, “Ah! I've had a love-making there.” — “Where?” she asked. — “There,” I replied laughing. — “Oh! Do tell us about it.” — “I daren't. — “Oh, do.” — “We made each other happy.” — She looked in my eyes. — “Now, do tell me.” — “Give me a kiss then.” She refused but I took it, and was so lewed, so reckless, that whilst kissing I held her, took hold of her left hand with my right, and pressed it hard up against my prick which was standing up in my trowsers like a rolling pin. — “Oh, don't — some one will see us.” — She submitted to kiss after kiss and didn't with-draw her hand. “I'm in love with you I think,” said I, when I ceased holding her hand. Her eyes looked soft, her manner was confused, and I thought that she knew what her hand had been pressed against, and that I knew that she knew what it was.

We walked on talking about love, I getting mad for fucking, without of course having the least idea of her helping me. I'd once before spoken about her garters, — her sister then was present. — “Where do you gar-ter?” said I. — “How rude you are, I shan't tell you.” — “I'll find out.” — “Now don't do that — there,” said she, pointing above her knee. It was coquetteishly done. — “What's it made of?” — “Silk, how rude you are.” — “It isn't.” — “It is.” — “Let me see.” — I stooped and got my hand on to her knee.” — “Oh! Don't now, now I'll leave you,” she said, but in quite a low tone, not a cry escaped her and she looked anxiously round — we were then in a shrubbery. — “Let's sit down.” She unhesitatingly entered with me a summer house which was in the remotest part of the grounds, no one was about, and we sat down.