Mrs. Y***s***e. • A neglectful husband. • Domestic unhappiness. • At a ball. • Longings for maternity. • The wish expressed. At supper. • Hands under the table-cloth. • On the road home. • The family carriage. • Premonitory touches. • No coach on the stand. • The attempt. • On my knees. • Jolting difficulties. • The trick done.

Sarah Mavis had gone, Louisa Fisher had disappeared, Jenny was married to her John. I had gone through the lascivious dissipation which relieved me in my despair after my disappointed love; and almost immediately I entered into a liaison of an entirely different character. Its seeds were sown even when I visited Mavis, though I was not conscious of it till I began to write this portion of my narrative, and to reflect.

[How far chance determined my course in this liaison, how far an unoccupied mind and a prick with no regular claims on its exertions (for I had all but totally forsaken the connubial couch) combined to bring it about, I cannot say. Certainly my attention seems to have been led toward the lady instinctively. Perhaps it was because the lady’s cunt was yearning for my sperm, a yearning which the owner of that “nest of spicery” was herself at first barely conscious of, and even when she was, never disclosed it. I believe also that she never had any intention of gratifying it for lustful pleasure alone; but that maternal instinct drove her toward me. I shall always think that some magnetic or odic, or call it what you may, some subtle, semi-ethereal influence, born of her physical wants, communicated itself to me, without either word or look of invitation from her; and generated in me a lust for her. In the end we gratified our wants together. I for sexual pleasure with a beautiful accomplished lady, she for a higher and powerful claim (almost a holy one) of her nature. Nothing in my private career presents such a psychological curiosity as this liaison does. It seems to me as I again read the manuscript, almost like a fable, yet it is as true as fact can make truth.]

We were on somewhat intimate terms with Mr. and Mrs. Y***s***e, I had known her in her youth, but her husband only since their marriage of about six years previously. It was a most unlucky union. She was an intellectual, charming, beautiful woman and had married him thinking it a wonderful match, for she was poor, though a born thoroughbred lady. He was a big, handsome man, a manufacturer, and very rich; but within a year after their marriage he had developed a host of vices, among them gambling and drunkenness. He neglected her, though he spoke of her in the highest terms, and kept up a splendid establishment. I knew that he frequented gay women, and that his drunkenness and whorings were driving him toward ruin and imbecility. Things were of course kept as quiet as they could be by the wife, but it became known among friends that he often went to bed drunk, and had even pissed the bed.

His wife took a huge disgust at him. They, I had heard, did not sleep together often, and although they went out together as man and wife, they led an unhappy existence at home. “Poor Mrs. Y***s****e!” were the terms usually applied to her. She kept up appearances, went much into society, gave splendid dinners and entertainments at which her husband was frequently absent. Chagrin told on her, her face assumed a pensive, sad, and even peevish expression; and then some people said she was ill- tempered, and had driven her husband into evil courses. It was false, for I had heard her husband, — whom I could not bear, — say how good she was, and bewail his own bad habits which he said he could not help, — they conquered him.

I met her out frequently, most frequently at houses where she was without her husband, and I without my curse, though sometimes otherwise. My domestic troubles were known to her, hers to me. There might have been some secret sympathy on this account between us. All I know is that I was sorry for her, and wondered how such a lovely creature got on with a man of such brutal, beastly habits. Her manner to me had always been soft and winning, chance had at dinner-parties often assigned her to me. “I’m so glad to take you in to dinner,” said I one night just before the time I am going to speak of. “So am I,” said she, “I’ve more pleasure in talking to you than to any one of our acquaintance.” Whenever we had met I had seen her eyes following me, yet not the shadow of voluptuousness had been shown, nor any improper advance had been made by her. Delighted with the hug that the waltz gave an occasion for, and the squeeze of the hand which the dance sometimes permits, yet a lustful idea had never entered my head about her, though unconsciously I always was looking at her whenever we met.

We had a habit of asking after each other, as if mutually conscious that in our homes we had troubled lives; yet we never complained to each other, though often we made slightly bitter remarks. There was a veiled meaning in what we said, but nothing in the slightest degree improper.

The following conversation took place at a dance, it is pretty nearly word for word. Said she with a sigh, “Ah! you men can escape your troubles, we poor women cannot.” “How?” “You know how, I expect, — or you are very much belied, — nobody blames you men.” “But an unhappy home can never be escaped.” “True, but you men can get forgetfulness, and keep out of it as you do.” “Who says I do?” “Ah!” “What do they say?” “I must not tell you.” “Do.” “Well, that you are very fond of the ladies.” “So I am.” “I knew it.” “Is there any harm in that?” “You know what I mean.”

“I don’t know, — do explain.” “You are a libertine, I expect.” “I should like to hear from your lips exactly what you mean.” She laughed. “I dare say you would, — but you won’t.” “Then I am left in ignorance.” “Very ignorant, I dare say.” “I like to talk, walk, ride and dance with them, — I love to embrace them in the waltz.” “I know you do, and if you dance with me again don’t hold me so close.” “I love you to be close to me — does it offend you?” “Not at all – but people may talk.” “I should like to be as close to you as man and woman could.” “Hush!” “I mean nothing.” “Of course not.” “I like to feel your breath on my face.” “They say you are a rake.” “Would you be anything else if you were placed like me?” “No, I would do as you do.” “Then you like my being a rake?” “No, — no.” “Are you a rake?” “I would be if I dared.” “Dear Mrs. Y***s***e, let us be rakes together.” “Oh! naughty.” “You evidently don’t under-stand me.” “Too well, and I also often feel quite reckless, for I have nothing to care about, no sister, my mother dead, no child, and such a home-life,” — and tears rose in her eyes. “It is sad, — don’t cry, — I know also what sadness is, and what you must feel, — I wish you had a child.” “Yes, it would make me a home, — and yet a child of his! ah! I thank God we have none.” This was said with all the abandonment of an unhappy woman. Then she rose suddenly, and bidding me good-bye, left. I had never before, I think, alluded to her husband when conversing with her.

I met her at a dinner-party soon afterward, and took her down to table, — she I suppose was then thirty years old. She had a lovely neck, fine hazel eyes, and dark wavy hair. I pitied her. The conversation took this turn. “How strange things happen, some have such flocks of children which they don’t want, rich people who want them none.” “People without children should change partners,” said I. (This was in the drawing-room after dinner.) “Hush!” said she, looking me full in the face. Her own face flushed, she stared at me, her breast gave violent heaves and her mouth slightly opened. I thought I had gone too far, had offended her, and was about to say I hoped I had not done so, when the hostess asked her to play. “Turn over the music-leaves,” said she to me, — and I did. She sang divinely, looking up at me as she sang; but although I saw she was agitated, I did not notice anything else, nor did I think about anything but what I said.

I knew that involuntarily I had been guilty of a breech of good manners by those words, was mad with my-self, and hoped she would attribute it to wine. Her husband was of the party, but did not come upstairs after dinner. When her carriage was announced I offered to see her to it, but she took the arm of the host, and went off looking at me very kindly. “She has for-gotten it,” thought I. The husband, who was groggy, was in the hall and went home with her.

Conversation when we met next was about children, but I was unconscious of the tendency of her remarks, nor had I a glimmering of what was in her mind. “Yes, children are a bond of union they say.” “How can they be, if husband and wife are apart in taste, habits, and feeling?” “They say however bad a husband may be that a woman loves him if he be the father of her child,” I remarked. “I don’t believe it,” she replied, and became quite agitated.

I met her soon after at a ball, I was there alone and her husband was not with her. We danced together, she was a lovely waltzer. “No baby yet?” whispered I, as I whirled her round in my arms. “No,” she laughed. “It’s your fault.” “It’s not.” “Should you not like a dear little child?” she asked. This was later on at night, she had had champagne, and the excitement of the scene had told on her. The sweet strains of music, the flushed and happy faces of the women, their white breasts and arms, the ankles and limbs ex-posed as they circled round, for dresses were then worn which allowed the calf to be seen as a woman waltzed, had excited me; yet up to that moment I had never had a lascivious thought about her. I could smell her sweet flesh as she waltzed, and was suddenly enervated by desire. “Yes,” I whispered, “if you were the mother.” “Oh! fie!” “Would not you like one?” “Yes, if I liked the father, — but that cannot be.” I hugged her to me. “Let us try.” She stopped short saying, “I’m tired, — I’m giddy, — let me sit down, — I’m faint.” “Come to the dining-room,” I said. She came. I gave her wine. “Leave me, — I can’t, — I’m better, — leave me.” “But I must see you back to the ball-room,” I said. “Pray leave me, — I can’t speak with you.” I left her, and soon after she came back to the ball-room by herself.

Then she danced with others. When I asked her again to dance, her card was full. “At least let me take you to supper, or I shall think you are offended. with me.” “Very well.”

Until supper I looked at her from various parts of the room. Wherever I happened to be, her eyes met mine. The attraction between the man and the woman was complete, both thought of nothing else but, “Yes, if it was by you,” — “Yes, if I liked the father.” It meant fucking. Was she a loose fish, she who was thought so chaste? — was she in love with me? — was she like her husband, giving way to drinking? Was I in love with her? All this kept running through my brain, and with it a burning, fresh, yet never thought of till that evening, intense desire to have her. “She is married, — never mind, he is a beast, — it’s adultery, — never mind, we like each other.” In that form of mind I took her to supper, feeling sure that she liked me, even if she did not love me, — but until that night no such idea had ever entered my head.

We talked about different subjects for a minute or two, looking into each other’s eyes as we conversed. The champagne flowed. “Don’t be offended,” I said in a low tone. “What is it” “My love to you.” “Be quiet.” “Change glasses.” “Why?” “That my lips may touch the glass which your lips have touched, — how I long to touch the lips themselves.” “Be quiet pray, — you will be heard.” The supper went on, the clink of glasses increased, the pop of champagne-corks, the clatter of knives and forks, the pull of crackers, the peals of laughter drowned all slighter sounds. “An-other glass, and look at me.” She took a glass. Looking into her eyes, “My love to you, Mamma,” I whispered. “It’s too bad,” said she turning away. “Not if I was the father.” “For Heaven’s sake, cease.” “Let me feel your hand — do pray.” Just then some lady next to us let fall a lump of jelly into her lap, a lovely dress was spoiled. There was a scuffle, and regrets, and laughter, and “No never mind it,” — and the flap of the table-cloth was pulled up over the lady’s lap.

Though there were table-napkins, I raised the table-cloth also, so as to keep her dress from the chance of food falling, and spoiling it. I pushed my hand which was nearest to hers under the cloth toward hers. They met, and I gave hers a firm but gentle clasp. What a shiver ran through me as I felt her return the squeeze. I drew it toward me, and pressed it against me just where my prick (which had risen rampant) was shut up. She must have known what I was doing, for turning her face toward me with a wild expression, she with-drew her hand. It had pressed against me for an instant only before she drew it away. She declared afterward she had no idea for the moment of what I was doing. She got up hastily. “Take me back to the ball-room,” she said.

Later on we had a wild tearing gallop, all were excited in the room, and I much with wine and desire. I was holding her to me, whirling her about. “Let’s be rakes together, — we shall have a dear little baby,” I interjected as the rapid dance went on. “Oh! fie! — oh!” she repeated, “oh! no now, — oh! no, — oh! let me sit down.” I danced on with her. “I can’t bear this,— I’m getting mad I think, — you are losing all respect for me, — for God’s sake, cease.”

The dance was getting over. “Good night, I’m going,— my carriage is here.” “Let me go with you.” “Oh no, not after your talk, besides I am going to take Mr. and Mrs. *** ” “But there’s room for four.” “No I dare not, — don’t come down with me, for God’s sake.” Her eyes looked wild, but they beamed on me through their wildness.

The carriage (one of the huge comfortable family-carriages of those days, room in it for four large people and six small ones) drew up. I was determined to go home with her, though she had prayed me not. It was a long drive, and on my way home, — and she knew it. It rained, and was past two o’clock in the morning. I handed her in. The lady and her husband whom she was going to drop on her road home, were in the hall. In got the lady. “Would you mind giving me a lift,” I said, “for there is no cab to be had, and alas! my carriage is not here.” The gentleman was at the back of me, but I stood in the doorway barring his entrance to the carriage. It was impossible to refuse me without rudeness before the other lady. “I shall have great pleasure,” said she in an agitated manner. In I got, the gentleman followed, — had I let him in first he would have sat opposite to her, not I. Off we drove.

I was now burning with lust for her, and felt a conviction that she was equally filled with desire for me. For a few minutes I behaved myself, but getting hotter and hotter became at last quite reckless. First I pressed my leg against hers, she moved them away. I followed them till she could move them no further, and still kept pressing my leg against her. I wore pumps and silk stockings, and slipping one foot out of my shoe, and pushing it under her petticoats, rubbed it up against her calf. We were all talking with excitement, she more than any of us, as if she wished to divert attention from what I was doing. “What a lovely ball, — I never enjoyed myself so much, — did you?” “No, nor I.” So we all talked and laughed. It was pitch dark, but as we passed the gas-lamps I could see an almost painful excitement on her face. Up went my foot till I touched the under side of her thigh by her knees. She gave a suppressed shriek.

“What’s the matter?” said her friend. “Oh! I’ve got the cramp.” “Ah! you have got your satin shoe wet getting into the carriage,” said her friend. “No I’ve not.” I had taken away my foot at her cry, but soon impelled by lust again raised it up her clothes. Again she started. “Cramp again? — let me pull your shoe off.” “Oh! no.” The couple were near home. “Had you not better take a coach, we are near the last coach-stand,” said Mrs. Y***s***e, “it’s more than a mile from our house to yours.” This before her friends. I could not say no, but with anger in my heart said yes, and thanked her for the lift she had given me home-ward. She pulled the check-string, the carriage stopped, I told the footman what to do. Oh! joy there was no coach on the stand. “Never mind,” I said, “when you are home, perhaps you won’t mind your man driving me back, it is only a mile, — how good of you to let me ride so far with you.”

Soon after her friends were set down, and we were alone. There was not more than ten minutes’ drive before me. I knew that well. Though only in the suburbs, we were past gas-lamps. Occasional oil- lamps gave a feeble light. It had now become a slightly foggy night. In a delirium of desire, no sooner was the footman on the box than I placed myself beside her. She was trembling with expectation of what was to come. I hugged her waist and hips, and thrust my hand up her clothes. “Now don’t forget yourself, or me, — for God’s sake. — what have I done! — what have I said! — it serves me right, — now pray, — if you are a gentleman you won’t, — oh! now — don’t forget your honour, or mine, — I won’t consent, — no never, — never, — oh! this is indecent, — for God’s sake don’t now, — you sh-a-n-‘t, — I’ll pull the check-string.”

“Kiss me my darling, we are both unhappy, — it is no fault of ours, — let me now, — we love each other, — let us, — how smooth your flesh is, — oh! God let me feel your cunt, — open your thighs, — let me fuck you, — I will, — I swear I will.” “What language, — I won’t, — no, — no, — no, — I say, — you are taking a shameful advantage of me, — oh! if the footman should look down, — oh! don’t — o — ho! — o — ho!” She thrilled under my titillation of her cunt, her breath came short, her head sunk on my shoulder, and she was speechless. Then her thighs opened quite wide, my lust and passion had entered her, conquered her, she was helpless, defenceless, and abandoned herself to me. Furious to have her at once, I said no more, nor she.

I pulled out my prick, and put her hand to it, — there she left it. A strange idea passed through my brain. “What if I fuck her, and she gets with child!” This whilst I moved her off my shoulder, and leant her back in the corner of the carriage. Rapidly I freed my prick and testicles from my trousers, and dropped down on my knees between the carriage-seats, threw up her clothes, and kissed her thighs and cunt. The perfume overwhelmed me. I felt its moisture. But she was too far back on the seat for my prick to reach her. Then Heaven knows how I managed it, but I did. Kissing her cunt, I slid both hands round her bum, and pulled her forward. She let me do it all without a struggle, without a word. Her cunt was soon at the edge of the seat, her thighs wide open. I pushed my prick to-ward it, and touched it. It was so stiff, I could not bend it, to get it up her. It slipped away as the carriage jolted, and knocked against my own belly. Then I half raised myself, how I can’t describe, I don’t know, but I was leaning partly over her, and raising one of her thighs whilst I guided my prick right up her lovely orifice, to have it jolted out the next instant by the roll of the carriage. Again I put it in, again it came nearly out, I holding one thigh, my other hand resting on the seat, and half supporting me, my legs cramped, and both of us in such a position as to make fucking as difficult as possible, indeed almost impossible.

But a prick will get itself into a willing cunt, be the difficulty ever so great. Somehow I got her more for-ward, myself at a better slope. I felt her clitoris, and pressing down my prick so as to move under my fingers, it slid toward her bum-furrow, then back, then forward again as the carriage moved. She let me do what I liked, but did nothing to help me. She was a lifeless log, thighs wide apart, cunt gaping and reeking with the sweat of the dance and lewdness; her passions fully roused, faint with desire, bashfulness, and fear, she yielded herself up, but did not help. At length my prick with one thrust went full up her cunt, I clasped her somewhere like a vice to keep our genitals joined, the movement of the carriage did nearly the rest. It was a rapid wriggle, my only fear that my prick would be dislodged again. “Oh! God I’m spending my d — ar — h — ling.” My prick moved vigorously up and down her cunt, she gave one loud pro-longed cry, half sigh of pleasure, and with a grip of her cunt, and a heave of her haunches, I knew she had spent with me — and just then an infernal jolt of the coach dislodged my prick almost before I had quite finished spending.

“You’ve spent my darling, — I’ve fucked you, — you are delicious, — haven’t you spent!” I sat by her side holding my reeking prick, feeling her gluey, sperm-slabbered cunt, and pushed my mouth against hers, my tongue into it. Oh! the exquisite delight of those few minutes. My brain had whirled from the moment her friends had left us alone; it whirled still with subdued delight now that I had had her. I could not forget it, and for a minute went on talking.

I pulled down her clothes, she did not attempt to do so herself. “My darling why did you not help me?” No reply. “You’ll forgive me, won’t you, — I love you so, — I could not help it.” Not a word. She lay with her eyes closed back in the carriage, breathing hard, violently, but speechless, exhausted by excitement, fear, and a medley of sensations which deprived her of movement or utterance.

“We are just home, — for God’s sake rouse yourself.” With a start she pulled a lace shawl over her head, but made no reply. The carriage stopped, I got out, and saw her to the door. “Can I offer you anything?” said she. “No thank you, — may your man drive me home?” “Certainly.” “Good night.” “Is Mr. Y**s-* * *e at home?” “Yes Ma’am, and abed,” said the footman. Off I went desiring politely to be remembered to Mr. Y***s***e, not forgetting the habits of a gentleman, nor she those of a lady, for she desired her compliments to my wife, and to say she was so sorry she had not seen her at the ball.

The footman closed the door. I had folded the cloak I then wore over my trousers, which in the hurry were not properly closed. I buttoned them up in the carriage as I was driven home.

That night she slept by herself, her husband had been lifted into bed too drunk to undress himself. He had not fucked her for three months, and had had the clap in the interim; — is it to be wondered that she succumbed to me! I knew this afterward from her.