VOLUME 4 CHAPTER 12
Sally’s antecedents. • Her female friend. • How to get shillings on the sands. • How her friend lost her virginity. • Turns gay and goes to London. • Her invitation to Sally. • My advice. • I return to London. • Sally in London. • The house in U*p*r N**t*n street. • Sally’s discontent. • Mrs. Melvelle. • I sleep with her. • Confessions of a hot cunted one. • Sally goes home.
Curious about Sally, I wanted to know if any one had attempted her virtue before I had. Once only she told me, and not long before I was at the seaside. A young friend of hers walked with her on the beach at dusk, and told her that if she would not mind a man putting his hand up her petticoats and feeling about her bum and quim, some would give her half a crown. “I do sometimes,” said her friend, “and sometimes I feel their things, and then run away, — it is in the dark, and they don’t know me, — and so no harm’s done.” Persuaded by this and wanting money, Sally walked with the girl on the beach. One night they met two men, who gave them money, and Sally’s sacred split was felt, though the man had said he would only feel her leg. She got frightened and ran away, the man after her, until she got to the road, when he went off. Then Sally heard her young friend calling out, and then screaming, and Sally ran off until the screams were lost in the roar of the waves and distance. Then she stood still on the watch. A man came from the beach running, and was soon out of sight. Afterwards came her female friend with her bonnet damaged, and clothes rumpled, and crying. The man had felt her, then saying they were too near the road, and he would give her another shilling to feel his cock, they went nearer the sea. Suddenly he flung her down, himself upon her, and he fucked her. She had never had it done before, and was a virgin. She did not know the man, and was frightened to tell, because her father would have beaten her. After that Sally had never been on the beach at night until I induced her. That was her story.
She was the daughter of a labourer, had four sisters, and no brothers. Two of her sisters were married. One would tell her what pleasure it was to have a man in bed with her; the other would say, “There now be quiet, — what ideas you are putting into her head, — it’s nonsense Sally, — having babies, and all belonging to it, is more trouble than it’s worth, — it’s no pleasure at all, — don’t you get married ever, — men are beasts.”
Having Sally thus on the sly and in a hurry nearly always, did not suit me who liked enjoying a woman tranquilly, and playing with her, looking her all over, and feeling her. I had taken also a fancy for putting my middle- finger up Sally’s cunt, and keeping it there on account of its tightness, and comparing it with the full-sized vulvas of Sarah Mavis and Louisa Fisher. I can’t tell why I took to this trick with her; as for years I had not cared about feeling the inside of women’s machines, and rarely if ever did so with casuals. I could not have this enjoyment well in our hurried embraces. Besides Sally’s linen was not invitingly white, though she seemed unconscious of it, and pulled it up to her navel unhesitatingly when she saw my prick. “She won’t be five minutes gone, — be quick,” was a frequent remark, wise and unavoidable, but not pleasant.
I tried for another Saturday, but for three weeks it was unsuccessful. Sally told me the remarks her Missus made from time to time, and as a draw I once said to the mistress, I thought I should go to London, but nothing came of it. Then I did go to London. After that on a Friday the good woman asked if I was going to stop at * * * on Sunday. Why? She told me frankly that she could not leave unless there was no cooking to do. Then I said I was going away till Monday, and at eight p.m. that Saturday night Sally and I were again in the house alone with the children.
Instead of sleeping in Sally’s bed, we this time slept in mine, and a fine fucking bout we had, after putting a towel under her fat little bum to save the sheets. She was very curious about the altered condition of her cunt, had been so ever since her hymen was ruptured, and had not disguised her curiosity from me. We talked about it; it felt different she said. She described it accurately from touch, and I described the difference from look. She had tried to look at it, but could not manage it. On the Sunday morning I got the hand-glass out of my dressing-case, and what with that, and putting the table-glass on the floor, then on to a chair, then holding it in front of her cunt for her to see; her natural curiosity was gratified, and so was mine. The investigation was a great treat, and the conversation which ensued equally so. Sally said she had felt five men’s cocks on the beach, but had not seen one of them, all was done in the dark. She had frigged none as far as she knew. All the men had felt her, or tried, but she always shut her thighs tightly to stop their fingers going far. The second man had not paid her. She told her friend, who, evidently more experienced, advised her to ask for the shilling first, which she did. “None on em felt so large as yourn.” Was she sure? Quite. She was inexperienced, but my belief in the size of my persuader improved. She looked at her cunt by my aid three or four times on the Sunday, saying each time she had had for-gotten how it looked. At the last look, I insisted on seeing the piddle come out of it, if I helped her. Point blank she refused that, and I could not persuade her.
I took in on that night bread and sausages, and that is all we had to eat. I cooked them. I had my own tea and wine there, and was sorry when Monday came. I went off quite early, and then came back, as if I had just re-turned from London, but Mrs. Harris had not re-turned, so Sally and I had another poke. Then I went to lunch, came back, and professed annoyance at having had to go out, because the landlady was not at home. There never was the slightest suspicion of my game.
Sally was a charming little fuckster. Very soon after I had had her all her modesty went. She was short, and had a girlish face; excepting for that and the small quantity of hair on her quim, she seemed over seventeen. Her form was full and round, her limbs strong and thick. She had largish firm breasts, and a solid backside. She was come of a big family she said, and had had her monthlies two years. She had a small, tight, elastic cunt, and wagged her arse when fucking, after the first week or so, as if she had fucked for twelve months, and had an immense undisguised enjoyment in the operation. She was quite artless, and delighted to talk about the sensations which the prick gave her. That was one of the charms of knowing her.
No lodgers were to be had, so the landlady transferred herself and children to the ground-floor. Being then just under me she could have heard, and caught me had she thought of looking out for my games. This diminished my chances of fucking with ease of mind. It affected Sally worse than me, for she was always in a state of anxiety, and directly I had had her, and her “ah! — er — ha!” which usually accompanied her spending was over, it was, “Oh! let me go, — she’ll be a hearing on us,” — and she would uncunt me, and set to work cleaning the grate noisily, or removing my breakfast things, or doing any other work she happened to be engaged on.
My money was running short, my friends had left, and it was dull. I told Sally I must soon leave. She cried. I tried to inculcate morality into her; but it was of very little use. She asked me every day when I was going, — could I not get her a situation in London? — why not let her be one of our servants? — perhaps my Missus would take her, for she had said she was a hard-working girl, — was it difficult to get a place in London? — if she did, would she see me there? She talked much nonsense, and used to cry and mope. The girl who had been ravished on the beach, she told me, had gone to London, turned whore, had written to Sally to go to her, and not be a fool, and stop working hard at a lodging-house. Sally showed me the letter. I would not give it back, and kept it for years, till one day in a fit of virtue I burnt it. Sally was in a bad way about the letter, for her friend begged her particularly to show it to no one, to burn it, and only to keep the address.
It was a funny, ill-spelt letter, and began by asking her how she was, and would she tell her something about the old people, particularly the old man. Did he ever ask about her? — what did they say? — not that she cared, but she’d like to know how her old daddy was. Then she said she had lots of friends, “real gents mind, not shop young men,” — she went to the plays, and had lots of what they two wanted, and used to talk about. “Why don’t you come? — I’ll give you a place with me, — you’ll have lots of good grub, and perhaps a gent will take a fancy to you, and make your for-tune, — it will be better than scrubbing and cleaning all the winter.” — “Why,” she went on, “I gets more in one week than your father and mine gets in a whole year atween em.” There was a concluding line in a postscript which I laugh over, and shall recollect to my dying day; it was, “Oh! the lots of cocks I’ve seed since I seed you at home.”
I saw through the whole. The London harlot would have in Sally a friend, or a servant faithful to her; or who knows, perhaps had promised a man to get him a girl who was unbroached. Sally had replied. “You did not tell her you had been fucked,” said I. “Oh! of course not,” — she never would tell any one that, if they pulled her tongue out. I told her all that was commonly thought to be dreadful about the life of a gay woman; but as I had begun to disbelieve the nonsense which the world said on that subject, don’t expect I made much impression on Sally. She didn’t reply to my advice. I asked her what she meant to do. This was on a day or two after I had read the letter.
“Why,” said Sally, “she says she gets as much money in a week as father does in a whole year, — do you believe it?” I said I did not. “She wears nothing but silks.” “But she’ll die in a hospital,” said I. “So did my sister,” said Sally, “but she was very comfortable there.” Many of Sally’s relatives had died in a work-house, so Sally saw nothing dreadful in that.
Sally was very fond of frigging me. She was not con-tent with witnessing the ejaculation of my semen once, but seemed to love the operation. “I likes to see it come,” said she, — but I did not, and would not gratify her. “How old must a man be,” she said to me one day, “before the stuff will come out of his thing?” “Why?” “Cause I’ve seed a boy over the hedge next to us rubbing his thing up and down hard sometimes, as if he were doing it, and he can’t be more than twelve years old, — I seed him sitting on a washing-tub one day a doin it, and his mother came out and knocked him off the tub, and said she would tell his father.”
Sally, I found, had seen more before she was ten years old, than a young lady would see all her life if unmarried. She like other girls I have had since, and before, used to sleep up to fourteen years of age in the same room, and even the same bed as her parents, and had a knowledge of what fucking was before she was ten years old. She’d seen her parents at it when they thought she was asleep. “I know’d,” said she, “what they was up to, cos I told another gal older than me, and she told me all about doing it.” I returned to London, and promised to write to Sally, who gave me an address where letters could be sent her at the coast, but there was great difficulty about that. I gave her one at a London post-office. As the lodging-house keeper dismissed her servants at the end of the season, Sally was soon going home till she could get some other place. We fucked very hard the last week. Sally always moping seemed to think that with me her last chance of having a prick was going. She was not in the family way, and did not upbraid me, nor say I had ruined her; but said I had been very kind to her, and she dared to say I would have another gal; and then she burst out sobbing. I gave her a handsome present and left.
Two or three months afterwards a letter reached me which had been laying a long time at the post-office. She had come to town, and was servant to her female friend in U*p*r N**t*n Street. I went to see her, and we fucked. I could not help fancying that Sally had had a little variety in cocking since I had left her. She could not let me have her when I first called, but made me go there when her mistress was out. Her mistress’ rooms were very nice, and we fucked on her mistress’ bed on two or three occasions. But it was not to my taste to visit the servant of a N**t*n Street woman. She was evidently anxious that I should not see her mistress; and so I got very desirous to see her, for she interested me, owing to her having lost her virginity on the sea-beach without being paid for it.
Sally was, I found, discontented, and was going to leave. She would go home again. I think she had expected to be set up in silks and satins, instead of which had to make beds, empty piss-pots, and fetch liquor and French letters, about which I found she now had knowledge. But her great grievance was that she was kept up so late of nights. She had improved in looks, had grown much, and the hair on her cunt had in- creased in quantity. She was very curious about “my Missus” and me, but I told her nothing. I gave her some gold one night, and told her it would be long before I saw her again. Then she said it was all through me that she had come to London, and we parted. Some time after I had a letch for her again, and went to the house. She had gone home, they believed, and her mistress had left, and gone no one knew where to, — or they would not tell.
Her mistress’ name was Melvelle I knew, so going to the Argyle Rooms (which had not been many years opened), I got her pointed out to me, went home with her, and had her several times after. She was a fine, fresh, healthy, dark-eyed young woman; vulgar, but a lovely fucker. My letch for her arose altogether from knowing the history of her first fucking. The second night I made her tell me her history. I slept with her that night, and she told me some wonderful rigmarole about her parents being well off, and her having been seduced by an officer, etc. I laughed. “You look much like a girl who lived at * * *town, and who was said to have been fucked on the beach one night.” She looked queer. “So help me God, it’s a lie,” said she, “who ever told you?” “My dear,” I said, “I’ve told you nothing, I know nothing, I only say you look like that girl.” After a pause, “Did you ever come to see my servant at N**t*n Street?” “No. Who told you that?” I would not divulge. She admitted, after some chaffing, that it was quite true, and hoped I would tell none of her friends. There was no chance of that, for I rarely let my most intimate friend know what women I had; or if I could not prevent that, scrupulously avoided telling them anything about them, not liking my friends to fuck my women or know my habits. I still had a lingering idea that my prick was small, and did not wish that talked about.
This gay lady told me one night afterwards (for I told her then what I had heard) how it came about; but she even lied then, unless Sally had, for she did not say that she was taken unawares by a man who had given her a shilling to feel her. Her account was, that she went to piddle, that he being there caught her, and threatened to throw her into the sea if she resisted him. She resisted as much as she could, but he was heavy on her, burst up her with immense strength, and it was all done in two or three minutes. He hurt her so in every way, both in splitting, stretching, and shoving, that she was in pain for many days afterwards. I soon ceased to see Melvelle, not caring about fucking her after I had heard from her own lips, all about the way she was ravished whilst her backside was on the sands by the salt sea waves. She was older than Sally, and I should not wonder if her cunt had been split before.
“But although you were ravished without pleasure or pay, how was it you came to take to fucking regularly?” That was a question although not put perhaps in exactly those words, to which I gradually got an answer one evening when I slept with her.
For some time after her ravishment she kept away from the sands; but she missed her odd shillings, and went again there, but would not go far from the seats which were not far from the side of the road. There one night a man spent all over her fingers. She remembered how sticky her cunt was after she had been ravished. Then a girl older than she was told her how she had been fucked, and how she liked it. She kept all this to herself, not telling the girl that her quim had also been torn open, but thought and wondered if the pleasure of fucking was greater than she got by frigging, and as she often frigged herself after the event she did nothing but think of how the man who ravished her, rubbed his cock up her. One very dark night a nice young man asked her to come and talk on the sands. She fucked, she spent, and liked it; and again they fucked. After that any man who wanted her had only to ask, and she let him fuck her. She was mad on the nights she could not get out, or when it was moon-light. She wanted fucking; it was not the money, it was the prick which enticed her, any man might have had her, had he asked her. “I was that hot,” said she, “that I could have fucked night and day,” — and she was hot on me that night, as she told this.
One night it was late before she went home. Her father, who seems to have kept her pretty well in, must have been told where he might expect to find her, and caught her coming up from the beach. He kicked her all the way to her home, and locked her up for days; he called her a whore, and so did her mother. On the first opportunity she ran off to the young woman who had told her she liked flicking. That young woman seems herself to have been found out by her family; so they ran away to town together, and both were gay.
The utmost she ever received on the sands for being flicked was two and sixpence. One night an elderly man gave her a sovereign for frigging him. When she found it was a sovereign she thought he had made a mistake.
“Let’s see the friend you came to town with.” “Oh! I don’t know where she lives now, — we have quarrelled, — oh! it’s made me so randy talking about it, — do it again.”
I never saw Sally afterwards, but I heard Melvelle spoken about by men. Some time afterwards she be-came a well-known London harlot, then she suddenly disappeared. Lots of gay women disappear suddenly in similar manner. I wonder where they go to. They don’t die I am sure, — most of those I have known have been fine, healthy creatures.