VOLUME 4 CHAPTER 13
Many miscellaneous whorings. • Mr. McCabe. • The warehouse in the City • Tenants paying rent. • McCabe’s jocosity. • Suggestions for getting bairns. • Mrs. ***. • The Scotch wife. • The four-roomed cottages. • Repairs needed. • At her cottage. • Easy conversation. • The steep staircase. • The bed stood upon. • The hole in the roof. • The hole in the flesh. • Carnal wants and weakness. • Against the bed, and on it. • Against the dresser. • An alarm. • The amour terminates. • Reflexions, regrets, and weakness. • On the sin of adultery. • On the power of lust.
From the time I left Sally at the sea-coast till the spring my connections were purely with the venal ones. With the exception of having a few times fucked Sally, and her friend and mistress, Mrs. Melvelle in London, the ladies were mainly selected at the Argyle Rooms, which is the resort of the handsomest and best-dressed gay women. Many swell- women also are there with, and at other times without, their protectors. With several of the sweetest of these creatures I have had intimacy, and often passed the night with the choicest of them. I did not take a permanent fancy to any one of them, though one did to me. This variety is charming. To take home lovely women in the bloom of youth, and in the hey-day of their lust, to speculate on the charms yet unseen, to kiss and feel their thighs on the road home, to see them undress leisurely, their breasts appear, their naked arms, the limbs show one after the other; to lift the diaphanous chemises, see the round mottes; to note and compare mentally the variety in form and development of the various splits, lips, and clitoris, filled me with voluptuous and ever-varying de- light. And now I was able to afford to have these charmers; for though not at the prices paid by their rich admirers, I rarely was refused by them. This charming variety in copulation was only broken, or rather varied by the following little incident.
I had at that time an old friend who had known me from my birth. A Scotchman, rich, and a widower, liberal in some things, but grinding in making money, though he was childless; and had none to whom he cared much about leaving his money to. He was about seventy-three years old, but a splendid big old man, with a head of thick reddish hair and fine false teeth. Though living in London most of his life he had never lost the Scottish dialect, indeed was proud of it, and of his nationality. He was a wholesale * * * ** merchant, which business he carried on in the heart of London in huge old-fashioned premises. I may add now, that he left me a largish sum of money when he died, and I spent it in travelling and whoring.
He had some funny whims and habits, among which was making some of his town-tenants go to pay him personally. He did this to save the expenses of an agent he said, though I believe it really was for his amusement. I have heard that the tenants could with the greatest difficulty induce him to do anything to a house when once they were living in it. One of my sisters and I used to stop often at his country house from Friday till Monday, on which day he came to town as he said for his tenants. He had several clerks, but they had nothing to do with his property. He was fond of consulting me about some of his houses, and often I was present when his rents were paid.
Within a stone’s throw of his counting-house were several courts. One court containing about a dozen small houses of four rooms each, and mostly let to weekly and monthly tenants. They were poorish but respectable; people of the foreman and shopman class, a class among which the wife does her own work, cooks her husband’s food, etc. The old boy (Mr. McCabe) used to say this property should be mine. He did not leave it to me, but left me something very much better. Several of these houses were inhabited by his own assistants and men, but he made even them or their wives attend and pay weekly, or monthly, together with other tenants, on Tuesday mornings.
He was a dear old boy who could laugh at a smutty joke, though he never told them himself; but he would chaff a man or woman with double entendres, with hints, and suggestions perfectly unmistakable, and to the very limits of decency, without uttering an indecent word, or showing an indecent gesture. He was always ready to let this off at me for having no children, and specially this when any goodish-looking woman was present, before whom he dared venture on it.
One morning I was with him on rent day, when in came a stout, fully- developed woman, middle-sized and full five-and-thirty clad in the neatest and cleanest light coloured cotton gown, and a nice white cap on her head. She was the wife of a man renting one of the houses in the court, and looked like a very well-to-do, neat little tradesman’s wife. She was indeed handsome though of a coarse class, had chestnut-brown hair, and bright dark roguish eyes. I was smitten with desire the moment I saw her. Perhaps I wanted a woman, I can’t say, but recollect taking a letch. She also did nothing but look at me, turning quickly away her eyes whenever she found mine upon her. “Set ye doon Mrs. Byron,” said the old man, which she did. Whilst he settled with some one else, we two looked at each other for some minutes, till my cock stood, and the woman who seemed cheeky flushed crimson. I’ll bet she had got randy too — it was a case of cock-struck and cunt-struck. Her big, round, plump, fleshy form was greatly to my taste just then. At length McCabe being ready, the woman rose and came to his table, just in front of which was a chair. I was sitting on the other side of the table near to him with a newspaper in my hand.
“Set ye doon Mrs. Byron. — and how’s the bairn? — has it left off suckling?” said he. “Now you’re at me again, sir.” The old man chuckled. “What, not a babe yet!” “Why you know there is not, — here’s the month’s rent, and you really must say what you’ll do to the house, — it wants a lot, — my husband says he won’t stay unless you do it up a little, — seven years, and you’ve never even done a bit of whitewash.” Whilst saying this the woman’s eyes kept glancing at me at intervals.
The old man took no notice about the repairs. “Why ye should be baith ashamed of yesels, you can’t under-stand the business, — have ye put the pillow at the other end of the bed, and tried it there?” — and he chuckled. I began to laugh. “Aye, aye, we understand all about it,” said she with a strong Scottish accent, “it’s nae gude, — but about the repairs, — won’t you paper the bed-room? — it won’t cost much.” McCabe turned a deaf ear. “Aye, aye, I’ll see about it, after next quarter, — when you’ve had yer fust bairn. There’s a bonny lassie,” said he turning to me, “isn’t she and been married ten years, and no bairn, — isn’t she bonny,” — and he winked, — “a wish I war young again,” — and the old man laughed and chuckled. “Aye ye’ve been a weekend one in your day I’ll bet,” said she, “none but yersel knows the capers you’ve cut.” “You should make your husband sleep by himsel for a month, then go to bed some Saturday, and not get up til Monday.” “He’d be tired o that,” said she laughing.
I could keep my tongue no longer still. “I’d like to be him,” said I, “and I’d go to bed on the Monday, and not get up till the Monday after.” “Aye, — oor, — aye, — there, — lawk,” said she trying to look modest, yet looking hard at me and laughing. The old man laughed loud. “Try him, Mrs. Byron, — he won’t hurt ye, for he can’t get any bairns of his own.” “Is the gentleman married?” said she. “Yes, worse luck for him” (he hated my wife). He gave a receipt for the rent, the chaffing mixed with business went on. McCabe got serious when the woman said, “Weel take this as a notice to leave.” “Go and see,” said he turning to me, “but I won’t pay much.” He had sent me before on similar errands to one or two other houses, why? God only knows. Not wanting to offend him, “I’ll go at once,” said I delighted at the idea of getting near her by myself, and with a vague notion that some fun would come of it.
“No dinna coom yet,” said she, “it’s no fit for ye to see, — I’ll mak the bed and clean up, and tak oop the carpet, and yell see better,” — and off she went. “I won’t spend more than one quarter’s rent,” said my old friend, “though they are gude tenants, and I dunna wish them to go.” Winking his eye and chuckling, “Tak ye care Walt, she’s a frisky one, though I won’t tell your wife.” I fired up, hoping to hear something warm about her; but there was nothing against her. She was a good, clean, industrious, sober wife, ten years married; “but,” added the old man, “I think she’d like mair than her husband can do for her, — he’s six feet high without his shoes, — but a poor creature — a poor creature.”
“I’ll come back to my lunch with you, I am going to my stock-broker’s,” said I, “and I’ll go to see the house in the afternoon.” Having thrown this dust in my friend’s eyes, I went straight to Mrs. Byron’s, ten minutes after she had left us.
She opened the door. I entered a little sitting-room, all in it bright as a new pin, humble, yet with every comfort, — wonderful for her class of life it seemed to me. She showed me what she wanted done, whiting the ceiling, this and that. I said “yes” to everything, but was thinking of nothing but getting into her. Lust struck me all of a heap, our eyes were meeting each other, my lewedness was increasing. There she was in the house alone with me. “So you have no children,” said I and we entered on the same strain that my old friend had. “Nor you?” Then we compared notes. We had been both married for a number of years. I told her I hated my wife. “Oh! what a pity,” said she, “and such a fine mon as ye be.”
Then we went into the kitchen. A little place with lots of tins as bright as silver, and a little table white as if just made. I complimented her on the beautiful cleanliness; she was much flattered. Yes she prided herself on it, cleaned everything herself every day, had nothing else to do; then had her dinner, and laid down and had a nap, then got ready for her husband’s sup-per. “Won’t he be home to dinner?” I asked. No it was too far off, — he never came home till half-past six, — just now he had gone a little way off for his firm, and would not be home for three or four days, — he was foreman somewhere.
I jumped at the news. “I think we had better do what Mr. McCabe told you, go to bed at once, and not get up till your husband comes home, and see if we can get a bairn.” “And much good that will do me,” said she, “won’t it, if we did, — aye, that would get me into trouble,” and she laughed. “No it won’t, — we should have the fun, and no mischief after,
— you know I can’t get bairns.” “Ar dunna know, ar dunna know,” said she shaking her head very slowly, looking at me, and turning scarlet. “Damn it,” I cried. “give me a kiss, — I’ve been longing for you from the moment I saw you,” — and I gave her a kiss or two without much resistance from her. She broke away, but I clutched her, and kissed her again and again, rubbing my belly up against hers in a baudy way.
Then we fell to talking about not having children, and how funny those things went. Some women the first time a man was in bed with them, it was done. Others might sleep with any man, and have none. “How did I know?” she asked slyly, then turning off said, “Well now have the floor mended, — look at that hole, —I’ve stopped it up, the mice come through, — the other night one came out, and ran up my clothes whilst sitting at the fire.” I was ready with a baudy suggestion for that, or anything else she might have said, for I was now randy to recklessness.
“You had your feet on the fender?” “Yes.” “I was sure, and your clothes well up, warming it, weren’t you now? — it is so nice to warm it, isn’t it?” She laughed. “The mouse peeped out, and seeing it looked so warm and cosy up between your thighs, ran to get between them. I wish I’d been that mouse, — I’d have got right in.” She laughed, and gave me a hard slap on my shoulder. “Oh! you’re a bad un,” said she, “I thot ye war when I saw ye fust.” My cock was standing, I began to pull it about outside my trousers to let her see that I was randy. I always did that instinctively when trying to get over women, fancying that seeing me fiddling there, and knowing what it meant it made them randy too. She eyed me laughing, checking her-self, then laughing again and said demurely, “Then there’s the roof, the wet comes in both back and front, and just over the bed — tell Mr. McCabe that, won’t you, and he’ll repair it if ye say he must.”
“I’ve not seen where the roof leaks.” “Come up,” said she. I followed her to the narrow staircase, scarcely wide enough for a stout man, and steep as a ladder. She went up first. Directly I had got up a stair, I laid my head down on them whilst she went up unsuspectingly, leaving me to look up her short petticoats. A jolly thick pair of legs I saw, thick and clumsy, but in such white stockings. As she got to the top, not hearing me she turned round, saw my game, and disappeared into the room. I followed quickly, she was covering up the bed. “It’s all in a muddle,” said she, “excuse it sir, I had not time — ye coomd sooner than ye said.” She looked at me as I thought invitingly.
I’m sure she was lewed at that minute. A strong, hale, half-fucked woman of thirty-five who had been half-an-hour talking baudily, though in guarded language, with a young man in whose ballocks the sperm was boiling. I caught her, and kissed her again. “There man, — that’s all, — that’s all,” said she.
“I can’t see the wet,” said I. It was a large four-post bedstead of common make, but with as nice white hangings as I had in my own house. The bed nearly filled the little room. “I must pull off the top,” said she, “don’t you see where the wet has come through?” I did, but said I didn’t. She put a chair by the side of the bed, and stepped from it on to the bed, pulled back the linen-head, and showed the stained ceiling. I put my hand up her clothes. With a cry she flopped down on to the bed, showing her limbs. “Adun now, — daun, — Yell get me into trouble, — ar dun sir,” — but I pushed my hands all about under her petticoats, pushed every- where and felt warm flesh and hair, whilst she squirmed about and squealed gently. I then shoved her violently back, pulled out my prick, and tried to feel her cunt. What I did feel I don’t know; but she slid off the bed showing her limbs, and crying, “Har dun now.” I clutched her close as she came to the floor, my prick still out. “Let me fuck you.” “Ah! hish! Mon.” I put both my hands round her, and kissed her, pulling her close to me. “Now dunna, — ar won’t, — na, — na, — now leave me alone, — yell be getting me into trouble.”
What next I scarcely know, but I talked, persuaded, and told her I’d have her with a condom. She did not know what it was. I then often carried French letters in my pocket; so I pulled one out, explained it, and showed how it came over my prick. She was all curiosity. No it was beastly, fit for whores, said she, “them beasts.” “No yell get me into trouble, no ye shan’t, — I wonna,” — and then leaning her back against the bed; one of her legs on the chair, one on the floor, in that ambiguous, uneasy position, with a strip of carpet slipping about under my feet, I got my prick into her. How the devil one leg was on the chair, one on the floor just then, I can’t to this moment understand. Did she lift it up? did I But in that posture my prick made acquaintance with her cunt, and pushing hard the car-pet slipt away, my feet and me with it, out coming my prick whilst I stumbled against her in slipping.
Incensed and swearing, “Let’s do it properly my love,” I pushed her back against the bed, and clutching her thighs with both hands heaved them up to my hips. I could not guide my pego, but pushed at random, its instinct directing, and I dare say her quiet help, soon got me to the nick after a few battering shoves against her buttocks, and cunt-wig; and then Mrs. Byron and I being joined together in holy copulation, moistened each other’s privates copiously and speedily.
Well primed that morning, I stood a long time with my prick well up her after spending. She laid motionless. Then letting one of her legs drop on to the chair, and still holding up the other, I pushed up her drooping petticoats so as just to see her belly, and slowly with-drew my pego, full- sized though not in full ramming condition. As it left her cunt I saw the sperm draw out with it, and sat down on the chair. Then with a violent start, as if just awakened, and just as I had the merest glimpse of her split, she came to her feet, and pushed down her petticoats. We looked hard at each other for a moment, then without uttering a word she walked to the window and looked out. It was a bright, sunshiny day late in the autumn.
I sat feeling my pego for a minute, still in want of a fuck, then went to her. “Oh! don’t look out, — if they should see you.” “I’ve come to see about the repairs, if they do.” “Oh! but they had better not.” Then I brought her to the side of the bed again. It was about two yards from the window to the place where the impress of her heavy arse was still visible on the bed. We looked at each other; she could not look me in the face long. “Fucking’s nice, isn’t it? — and you’re a charming fuck.” “We are a wicked pair,” said she. “Not at all, — we both wanted it, — neither your husband nor my wife will know, — they won’t be the worse, and we are all the better, — let’s do it again — feel, my prick, it’s quite stiff,” and I put her hand to it. She took it kindly, and held it softly, and we looked at each other again, my left arm round her waist, my other on her thighs.
“Let’s feel your breasts,” said I. “Nay, nay,” — but she did not hinder me. I pulled open her dress, and felt the globes (each as big as a half-quartern loaf), and round to her armpits. A strong fleshy smell met me as I kissed them. I liked it, and remarked it. She thought it offended me. “Every night and morn I wash from top to toe,” said she. Then kissing her breasts, one hand round her, I tried to feel her thighs higher up. She would not let me, struggled, and got up; but I got a feel, felt the sperm on her thigh, and touched the split. Then standing together, I excited her by talk, and touch, and kisses, and got her on to the bed.
Both laid quiet a minute, not more. Then with a rapid push down of my trousers, and a pull up of her petticoats, I turned on to her belly. My prick struck in-to the right path without guidance, a soft and gluey path. I clasped one side of her bum with one hand; with the other I played with her bubbies. Then we had that gloriously prolonged fuck, which a healthy couple in the prime of salacity have for their second spend, a fuck slower, more thoughtful, but in its voluptuousness better than the rapid spilling out of spunk which comes with the first fuck of the night. Ten minutes had not passed I think between our first and second crisis.
I dozed on the top of her, then slipped off to her side. Down she pulled her petticoats. We talked. “I’m afeared yell get me into trouble,” said she again, “air ye sure you’ve got no bairns?”
I talked a history of smuttiness and love-making. I could always keep any woman listening when I began, gentle or simple, doxie or virgin. She wondered. “Aye I knew ye were a gay one, — we’re a bad couple.” In half an hour I wanted her again. She did not refuse, but would I go downstairs a while, “a wee time?” I guessed she wanted to piss, or something. Down I went. “An any one knock, coom up gently, and don’t go near the winder,” said she. I waited a few minutes, heard movements overhead, knew the jerry had been called into requisition, then up I went. She had locked the door, but let me in at once.
I had a feel up her fresh-washed cunt, and round her buttocks. My God, what spankers! and her breasts, what a pair! firm too, though so heavy. We fucked again. “It’s time I had my bit of dinner,” said she, “we are a bad coople.” Then she began to talk about repairs. “I’ll come back in an hour,” I said, “don’t you say I’ve been here.” “Dunna come back, — dunna,” said she. “I wun’t let ye mair.”
“I’ve not seen what the house wants,” said I. I went back to McCabe, and told him I had been to my solicitor’s, then had luncheon with him, and bid him good-bye. “But what about the good woman’s house?” he asked. “Lord I’ve forgotten all about it, — what’s the number? — I’ll go at once.” He told it me, and back I went. She opened the door.
“Come in, come in, the neighbours will see ye,” said she, “but dunna gae further.” I gave her a prod with my finger in the region of her cunt, and shut the door. “Now yell get us both into trouble, I’se sure ye will — I could na eat my dinner for thinking about it, — I’ve had awful dreams last night, and your face was in them.” Luncheon had set me up, I was baudy in mind, randy in body, spite of my fuckings before luncheon. I went into the kitchen, and pulled up her petticoats. “Why you’ve a clean chemise on.” Yes she had, she said, “there be the other,” pointing to a large tub with linen in the water. I could not move her lust, and spent some time in violently puffing up her petticoats, she in pushing them down. Then out I pulled my pego, and as she obstinately refused to leave the room, and struggled; after dropping on my knees, and kissing her cunt under her petticoats, I finished by shagging her as she stood with her backside up against the dresser. Whilst we stood wriggling gently after our full pleasure came a knock. “My husband,” said she, “get in the yard, and over the wall.” I buttoned up my cock, and opened the back-door. Another knock. It was nothing of importance. How often I have been flurried in my fuckings by a knocking at a street-door. “It’s a warning,” she said hurriedly, “I wish I never set eyes on ye.”
The knock startled and upset me. I thought I had better go. Perhaps I had had enough of her; for I took out my pocket-book, and whilst she sat down on a chair, she told me all she wanted done. I made note of it, and prepared to go; but the baudy devil was still strong in me. “You’ve spoiled another chemise sitting down,” I said. “Nae, nae,” she replied, “yer nae so full,” — and then I went away, gave McCabe an account of the house, and he said I might tell the “gude woman,” that she might have it all done up to ten pounds worth. “I’ll write it to her,” said he. I agreed that was best.
The next day I was with him. I had awakened in a liquorish frame of mind about the “gude woman.” He had written, but not sent the memorandum which was on a very small slip of paper as usual. “You haven’t explained very clearly what you mean,” I said when I had read it. “Ye tak it,” said he, “and tell her what I mean.” So I did, got into the house with her after a little persuasion and a wrangle, and then assaulted her. She was strong, and for a time, though puffing up her clothes successfully, I could not get my hands more than half way up her thighs. But such baudy attacks at last so heat a woman who knows it all means fucking that there comes a point when lewed feelings over-come her, and she can resist no longer.
It was so with Mrs. Byron. I pushed her at last on to a chair breathless, and had both hands up her clothes, one round her bum, the other between her thighs, and moved my fingers about so enticingly on the slit that she opened, and let me grope. “If I let ye this once, will ye gang?” said she, “ye wunna wish to harm a body I’m sure, — if Jack should come home, or the neighbours see ye coom in, and wonder what ye ar aboot sae lang, mischief will come oot of it.” I promised, of course. We went upstairs. We fucked on the bed, but I would not get from between her thighs till I’d done her a second time. Then with unwashed cunt she saw me to the door. I gave her a kiss, and departed.
I was not that way for some time afterwards, and then passed the cottage to try to see her, for I have always been pleased to see the woman who has given me pleasure up her. She was at the window, and bobbed away. I did this two or three times with the same result, and once thought of calling. It was as well I did not, for McCabe said her husband was at home ill. Then I had other and better fish to fry, and never had the “gude woman” afterwards, though she lived there for years. Once my old friend asked me to go to see if the repairs he allowed for were really done; but for some reason or other I did not.
I called on McCabe on one rent-day a month or two afterwards, forgetting she had none to pay till the ten pounds were worked off, and expecting to see her; but of course she did not appear. About nine months after (I think) I went there. In she came. “How d’ye do?” said I, “have the repairs been done?” “Thank ye, yes sir,” she replied looking awfully confused. I went to the back of the old man, and from there began feeling my cock, and making signs with my tongue. It was so delightful to see the woman I had enjoyed; but I did not follow the intrigue up, and she gave no signs of encouragement. And here I must add a few reflections. Although I always have had a great dislike to stroking married women, regarding it as an improper, — perhaps the only improper path in fornication, as unfair to married men, and a social sin to be carefully avoided, — yet fate seems to have determined that I shall err in that direction. My second woman was a married one, though I did not know it till late, my first I had again after she was married, and I have had several since. Was it the fault of the women, or myself? — did they intend me to fuck them, or not? Certainly I never deliberately set to work to tempt them, but the lech when it took me seems to have overcome all my moral objections. Has the devil determined to tempt me in this direction? If so, am I to blame for not being gifted with control of myself and my cod-piece? In my re-cent illness I have thought much on this, — with what practical result, who can tell?
[The foregoing paragraph printed in the original words exactly, was not written until many years after the affairs with the Scotch woman. This one is written as I send the narrative to press.
[It is useless for me to attempt to write the Scottish dialect, equally difficult is it to write the vulgar tongue of some of the women I have had, though I have written the characteristic remarks in our conversations.
[Now occur events which took place during the time when I had one woman all to myself, but to whom I found it utterly impossible to be faithful sexually.]