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In the morning I had the enervation I have always since felt after these dreams, and my usual disgust at having frigged myself; a feeling which was not allayed when I looked at my night-shirt. I had a dread of letting it be seen, but left things as they were. Mary and the cook made my bed, and must have seen it. Servants see funny things on beds often. I wonder what they say, and what they think about it. It can't be easy for a young woman to see sheets, and night-gowns, spunk-stained; without its effecting her imagination baudily, and paving the way for somebody to stain sheets and linen with herself.
My position was a fatiguing one, I was half on, half off the sofa; hers was but little less so, yet as long as our privates would keep together, we kept them so. I poured out my love to her, and joyed to hear from her that she loved me still. But our position could not last for ever; gradually I slipped off. My prolonged embrace, my sensuous imagination, and my love for her had told so upon me; that I was already contemplating the pleasure of another poke, a desire to see her charms came over me, I went on to my knees and had a glimpse between the open thighs, of the half open cu*t, from which a love-drop was rolling. She pushed down her clothes, and sat up, looking at me, and blushing like the most modest of maidens. I relied on you, or would never have brought her; are you going to keep her, or let her be gay like me?" After reading over this part of my narrative relating to Kitty written full thirty years ago, I add these few words. Once she was awfully uneasy, for her courses had not come on, and shed flood of tears. She would lose
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Did she love her young man? Yes she supposed she did; he was kind, attentive, and would make a good husband. She wanted to get married, to have a home of her own; besides he was not a workman, but a tradesman, and when married they would have a shop, and be in a higher position. She always spoke more of the house and shop, and her liberty, than of her young man. As she did so she remarked, "You have not emptied the pot to-day, — you should, it smells this hot weather." "Yes I did", said Jenny innocently. "Well then I distrust censorship. The BL’s Private Case seems laughable today. But the panic behind it was real – as real as our fears about internet safety. Walter defended his amatory memoir as rekindling his own pleasure while offering inspiration to sensual adventurers. But those adventurers enjoyed the impunity of a time when prostitutes were dispensable, the poor inconsequential, and wives their husbands’ chattels. That gave more time for composer Dominic Crawford Collins to read from My Secret Life, by mysterious sex addict ‘Walter’, the erotomaniac memoir which he is recording as a fully-scored audiobook (the longest ever). This had occupied some hours, it was getting dark, but it seemed only as if I had been there some minutes, so deliciously exciting are lascivious acts and words. The charm of talking baudily to a woman for the first time, is such, that hours fly away just like minutes.
Her legs were thin, her thighs seemed closer than in other women's. I used to say when f***ing her, "Open your thighs." "They are open", she'd reply, "they are the same as other women's." She had a huge conceit of herself, and if I said other women's seem to open more, used to reply, "What do you know about it?" Of Walter’s myriad encounters, some are pornographic and perverse. Some are sordid, but revealing. Many would today see him under investigation from Operation Yewtree. Resistance had ceased, for a moment in silent enjoyment I laid with my fingers in their warm lodging, then too impatient to get to the bed, or take the full luxury of my fortune, I arranged her on the sofa as well as its size permitted, with her petticoats up in a heap, and with my trowsers half unbuttoned, flung myself upon her, and entered the smooth channel in which I first had spent my virginity. Frantic with excitement, the pleasure came on ere I was in full up her. She, excited and loving, clutched me tightly in her arms, whilst her cu*t and belly moved sympathetically. In too short a time we spent together. What a lovely smell your cunt has", said I putting the fingers just withdrawn from her thighs up to my nose. I had always noticed that nothing helps to make a woman more randy than that action; it seems to overwhelm them with modest confusion; I have always done that instinctively to a woman whom I was trying. I have told how my shirt was stained at first, and soon found that Jenny was one of those women who spend rapidly, frequently, and copiously. I have met I think two like her in my career, to the time I correct this.When Dorian Gray goes to the bad, what is he up to? When Doolittle sells Eliza, is it unusual? When Jekyll regrets Hyde’s dark urges, when Steerforth corrupts Little Emily, what are they doing? Do you like reading?" "Yes." "Pictures?" "Yes." "I've a curious book here." "What is it?" I took the book out. "The Adventures of Fanny Hill." "Who was she?" "A gay lady, — it tells how she was seduced, how she had lots of lovers, was caught in bed with men, — would you like to read it?" "I should." "We will read it together, — but look at the pictures", — this the fourth or fifth time in my life I have tried this manoeuvre with women.
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