VOLUME 6 CHAPTER 3
At R**e. • The Marchesa di R**p*l*. • A flirt. • At the Palaazzo. • Inspecting fine silk stockings. • Results, on two sofas and one bed. • The Marchesa’s cunt, thin thighs, and small bum. • Marietta, the Lady’s maid and Valet’s wife. • Waiting for a letter. • Marchesa at my hotel. • A night in the attic with Marietta. • At a bagnio with her. • Impatient attorneys. • Back to London in haste. • On the Messageries Imperiales. • The ballet dancer. • Amusements in her cabin and in mine. • At luncheon afterwards. • Fucking for love.
I had intended remaining in Italy all the winter, but complicated legal matters in which I was pecuniarily interested, brought me to London. Spite of letters from my solicitors, on my way I stopped nearly three weeks at R**e, where I made the acquaintance through a friend of the wife of the Marchese di R**p**li. — The Marchese was away, his wife, a young woman, was left alone, and my friend who lived at R**e, said she bore the character of being a great flirt — I scarcely then knew what that meant at R**e. —Immediately I was presented to her, she professed great interest in me, procured me tickets and invitations for this and that house, and when she knew my social circumstances, which I never disguised, said she was sure I was a sad rake to be travelling alone.
She gave me a general invitation to her house. I gave her boxes at theatres, and she went there with me and a friend one night. Returning, she sat her friend down, and we were for a few minutes in the carriage alone. I got hold of her hand, and grasped it — it was re-turned, and I ventured a kiss. — When I had done that without much impediment, she said she knew I was a sad rake the instant she saw me. — My friend joined us at her house that night at a little supper. We walked to my hotel together, and on the road, he said that the Marchesa did nothing but talk about me, and added, “I think you’ll be one of the lucky ones.” She had said she would be at home to me, whenever I liked to call after midday. She was a tall, thinnish woman, seemingly without much breasts, and with great dark eyes, which she knew how to use — but she was not of a sort that attracted me sexually.
Next day I called in the afternoon, on an invitation from her to meet and go out with some people. On being shown in, I found her alone, and that I had mistaken the day. Being then about to take my leave, she said, “Never mind, I’m quite alone and have no engagements, stop and tell me about England, I’m so fond of English people.” — I did. We got from one topic to another, talking mostly in French, till the conversation turned to the ballet, the dancers legs, the silk drawers they wore, then to silk stockings generally, their colour, etc. The Roman silk stockings she said were the finest made, and were all of pure silk. Putting out a beautiful, almost diminutive foot, in a little half Turkish slipper. “Look at the silk of that,” said she.
I went to the sofa and sat by the side of her, and put my hand on the foot. “Oh, what a sweet foot, what would a dancer give to have that,” and I respectfully felt the silk. I said that she thought me too timid, for putting one leg quite delicately up over the other, she shewed a little way up the calf. She was lewed, and I believe in the contagion of lust, when man and woman touch each other. — Desire ran through me. — I put my hand higher up, praising the leg and the silk together, higher till I reached her knee. “What a lovely leg” said I, (tho it wasn’t). Then she made a sham of pushing my hand away gently. — “Ah signor, you English are rude, is that the way you treat ladies in your country?” But she laughed, her big eyes were staring into mine. — “Oh, let me one moment, just above there” — and up went my hand.
Then with a sudden rush of lust, which roused my prick to fever heat, the conviction came to me that she was accessible. “A flirt,” — the kiss in the carriage, — all passed thro my mind, and as she gently pushed my hand away, I pushed it right up to her cunt. “Oh what a shame, to take such an advantage of me.” I now thought of nothing but getting into her, hesitated at nothing. My finger titillated a wet slit, my mouth met hers, I pulled her to me, her thighs opened, she gave one long exhausting sigh of pleasure, and gently sank back on the sofa. Then in a minute my prick was up the Marchesa’s cunt, and five minutes later left it, half its probing size, flabby, and wet, and whilst the Marchesa with closed eyes was still kissing me, and murmuring that I had taken a shameful advantage of her. Considering how it had all come about, it would be more correct to say, that she had taken a shameful advantage of me, for the wrong date on the invitation, and all other circumstances, make it quite clear now, that she had got me to her house that afternoon, with the fixed intention of fucking.
The door was unlocked during all this. I left her belly. She laid exposed for a minute, seemingly in a state of bliss, and then very leisurely covered up her thighs, and sat up smiling voluptuously. “Go further off and I’ll ring for coffee.” “Let me have a cup of tea.” — She hadn’t got such a thing. Coffee was brought in, and there she sat with me drinking it, with her cunt full of me.
I had only been a week at R**e when this carnal treat was given me. But through her, I had already invitations to the houses of two or three R*m*n nobles of high degree, but not to any dinners. Hospitality there did not seem to take that form, but she had began to ask me to luncheon, and dinner, and supper as well. Indeed this great dame had, I found, got a strong letch for me, tho I did not see it so clearly then as I now do.
When the man came to remove the coffee, she asked me before him, if I would dine there that evening, and she would send and ask my friend, and the Princess of * * * * * * to come, and we would have a friendly musical evening. We all of us sang, and she sang divinely. I agreed, she ordered the servant accordingly, said she should go out in the carriage, return to dine, and would be at home to no one. Would I take the note to my friend if she wrote it? I undertook to do so. — “Then I will go into the next room and write it” — and then she told the servant to go and tell the cook, etc. etc.
Directly he had left the room, she went into the ad-joining one, a large room, in fact a second drawing room, but in which were writing materials and books. As she rose she looked at me in a languishing manner, and I followed her, for I had been thinking all the time of the condition of her cunt, and wondering when she was going to wash it. — She wrote the note and gave it to me — and then there was something about the whole affair, which set me lusting for her again. Without more ado, I closed that door but did not lock it, and led her to the sofa which was there handy, and without hesitation she let me shag her again.
That done, with much kissing and sighing on her part, — she said she must go to her room. — “It’s across the lobby, there” — said she opening a door, and pointing to one at the end of a short corridor. — “Hush — I’ll go and see if my maid’s there.” She went, and returned saying the maid was not, and we went back to the drawing room, in which she had received my first spermatic ejaculation. I was now in a state of wonderment at the whole affair, and particularly at this noble lady, walking about with her cunt unwashed, when she could have purified in her bed-room, in a couple of minutes.
“Come an hour before dinner,” said she, “tho I shall be dressing, but I soon send my maid away.” — I never in my life had such an open invitation from a lady, and said I would. — “Say you have made a mistake in the hour when you come, and that you will wait.” I did all that. After seeing my friend I re-turned to her. “No signor, not seven — eight o’clock.” — “How stupid, but I will wait. — Don’t tell the Marchioness and disturb her, it will only make her hurry.” — “No Signor, but I think she already is dressed, she has sent her maid away.” — and he left me in the drawing room alone.
I felt now that I could take any liberty, and that I had been asked to take them. — In a few minutes I felt my prick, to make sure of its service, for it had twice done duty in the afternoon, and but three hours had elapsed since its last performance.
Then I went into the adjoining room. The door leading out of it on to the lobby was open. I saw other doors open there, which I guessed led to servants’ quarters and other rooms. — It did not occur to me that she would see to that — what if one came in — it might compromise her, so I hesitated, stood, coughed, and then coughed louder. Her bedroom door opened ajar, she peeped out, opened it wider, and I saw she was in her chemise. — With silent but rapid step I crossed the corridor. — “Oh you rake, to dare to come in here and catch me like this,” said she, shamming. But smiling, her game was as transparent as glass.
“Oh, let me see that lovely form,” said I, clutching her, kissing, and pulling up her chemise for feel and inspection. “Be quiet, — no noise, my maid’s gone, but you mustn’t be long.” Then on the bed I laid her and had a sight (I had had none before of her charms), saw a crisp, black- haired cunt, between a pair of thin thighs, that her arse was small, and her hip bones shewed too much, yet all looked inviting enough. — I praised it rapturously. — She smiled delightedly, and shewed me her bum and small bubbies. Then she got hold of my prick, and looked at it, long. — Then saying that we must be quick, she fell back, opened her thighs, and another fuck terminated our fun, not hurriedly but voluptuously. She was very demonstrative when spending, and in no hurry to let my prick escape from her sheath, but somehow my prick did not seem to relish its lodging much, and soon left it. I washed, went back to the drawing room, and in half an hour she joined me there.
The little dinner came off and a very pleasant evening we spent. But my emissions had left me in a languid, contemplative mood. Only a week ago I was a stranger to her, and now I have possessed her, I thought. — I scarcely took my eyes off of her, thinking of that black, crisp-haired cunt, which I had pierced, and the facility with which I had been permitted, and somewhat wondering how it had come about, for that I had not had the slightest lust for her.
But her maid whom I had seen several times, I had at once lusted for, and she had given me a cock-stand. She was a fine looking, well grown woman, fleshy, dark haired, and with that bold (not rude) independent look, which many Roman peasants have. I deter-mined to get into her if possible, but didn’t see much chance. For a long time now, I have in all emergencies offered so much gold as upsets the female. If I have time for courting, well and good; for courting, in-to a cunt, is nicer than buying the right of entry straight off. But if I will have a woman not of the courtesan class, she is worth any money, so as well make short work of it, by making a high bid, if there be no time for anything else.
The chance came. — I had already twice dropped in-to the hands of the woman gifts about ten times the value of what an Italian would have given, when she had opened the door. The Marchesa was not rich, and only kept one man-servant in the house (a flat in a very large palace it was, and most of their rooms on one floor) but she kept such a carriage, horses, coach-man, and out-door servants, that she might have been taken for a millionaire. — I was to have been at the Palazzo, the day after I had tailed the lady, and was in my room wondering whether any more copulation would come off, and thinking over the charms of my noble Venus, when a letter was brought me from the Marchesa, and a reply asked for by bearer. “Tell the servant to come up.” — I thought it was a man, when behold, up came the maid.
Quick as lightning came my resolve. “Come in whilst I write a reply.” She was inside my room, the door was closed, there was my bed, there the opportunity. — She wore big gold earrings. — “You like ear-rings. What did those cost, they are handsome,” and I went close to her to look at them. She told me. — At once I fell into raptures about her beauty — “I’ll give you a brooch if you’ll give me a kiss.” “No, I must get back” — but I took out from my trunk a cameo, bought at Florence, and put it into her hand, whilst at the same moment I snatched a kiss or two. — “There,” I said, “is a trifle for the kiss,” and I gave a trifle — “and I’ll give you the brooch if you’ll let me” — “Let you what.” — I saw by her look that she knew quite well what. — “Come to the bed.” — “Ah, Grand Dio! No Signor, I’m married.” — “Nonsense.” — “Yes.” — “The Marchese’ Valet is my husband, he is away with the Marchese now.”
Surprised, I yet saw my chance at once. — Her husband away — then if some one does not do her business, in his absence, she must want fucking badly. — “Ah, not the brooch, but then take this.” I took out two gold pieces and laid them down. — She shook her head, eyeing the gold. — I bolted my door, and without further preliminary put my hand up her clothes. — “Grand Dio, Signor! What are you doing?” — But her resistance was slight. — “Take it, cara mia, who will know?” and I pulled her on to my knee, she having stood up when I approached her. — “Kiss me, then — let me feel then, — only feel it,” — I felt her cunt freely tho she said again “Giammai — certemente giammai.”
“Assurdita, cara mia,” and I put her hand on to my prick. — She let her hand rest on that article, but lifelessly. — I kept on feeling her. Her thighs closed. — “Oh, I must go,” said she, her bum wriggling: and with a convulsive, involuntary squeeze of my prick, up she got, shifting my hand from her cunt, and letting go of my pego.
I rose up also. — Instinct told me that lust was coursing through her veins. — What ideas float through my brain in moments like this. I forget everything but cunt. The thought of cunt absorbs every other. Now they ran on a cunt not yet seen, the belly of a woman not yet entered by me. Then the desire to fuck it dominated me. — Does a woman have similar lewed thoughts and sensations? — Will his prick go up me? — His sperm moisten me — Certainly, at a time, a visible langour creeps over her, she resists no longer, tho she says, “No — never — no” — till the prick touches her cunt. — Ah! It is up her, roking and poking, and she is silent at once, with eyes half closed, luxuriating in the smooth rigidity, which is prodding, and rubbing, and wriggling, in her.
Gently I pulled the maid, still uttering “Giammai – certamente — Giammai” — to my bed, and sat her down on its edge, and with arm round her waist, kissing and begging her. But I forgot the Italian for cunt. “Cosa,” was all I could say. — “No — the Marchesa will wonder where I am.” But I fingered her cunt freely, and in another minute, silently she had dropped backwards, or been gently pulled on to the bed. — I lifted her legs. I saw a broad expanse of belly, dark hair, a red line, and in a minute my prick was up her. How delicious she seemed, yet the whole time I was fucking I kept thinking of the look and feel of the Marchesa’s black quim, thin thighs, and small bum. How strange my thoughts often so wander, — for now I often think of other cunts than the one which is giving me pleasure.
The maid lay in soft, silent delight, till my prick left her, and then sprang up rapidly. — “What shall I tell the Marchesa about my long absence?” — “Say I was out and you waited for me.” — She shook her head as if that tale would not do. Perhaps she had told such a tale too often before. — I never heard what she did tell. — I put the gold into her hand, it was quite equal to two months’ wages. Gold, omnipotent gold!
The letter from the Marchesa needed a reply, and purposely I sent an ambiguous one, likely to get the maid sent back to me. The ruse was successful, and back she came with another letter. She looked sly, and laughed quietly as she entered, as if she expected what followed. The instant I had read the letter, I pushed her on to the bed and we fucked again deliciously. “You’ve washed your cunt” — said I, recollecting the name of that article now — mona — “Certamente,” said she, bursting out laughing. — I wrote my reply, and there was the end of my business with her on that day.
My friend called soon after and we went for a walk. I asked him where he took his women to. (He was a bachelor and had said he had no mistress.) He took them to his own rooms. — No one objected there. — What could I do I asked, if I wanted a woman. — Eyeing me curiously, he said I might bring a real lady to his rooms, if I’d give him notice, so that he might absent himself. That did not of course suit me — and he shewed me one or two very nice houses, where on the first or second floor of a public staircase, good accommodations might be had. “But you needn’t go there much,” said he. “Ladies will manage it for you in their own houses. if you take their time, they are clever at it here.” — “Whores are not assumed to exist, there are so many priests, tho there really are lots of whores, and you need never fear going home with them, for on the slightest complaint to the police, you will get any one of them sent out of the city. — That keeps them careful. They know it, and are well behaved. And if a man opens the door, be not afraid. Men manage often these things here.” And indeed I had found at several Italian towns, men attending at brothels. The customs of nations are different in sexual, as in other matters.
I had to call on the Marchesa afterwards, and knowing I might see the maid, wrote on a slip of paper, a request to know where she would meet me. She opened it hurriedly, and whispered “I can’t read.” — So I was balked. — The Marchesa that day asked if I had a sitting room at my hotel, and seemed surprised when she heard I had not. “I can’t call on you then.” She evidently meant me to have her at my hotel. — Such audacious intrigue in a married woman, almost a stranger to me, astonished me. I had never I think met with such before, and began to take a dislike to her. Yet I got a sitting room adjoining my bedroom that very day.
Moreover, I had set my mind on the maid, and did not wish all my stiffness taken out of me, by that slim piece of nobility, tho I felt somewhat honoured by the distinction she had conferred on me. Then I thought of my friend’s remark about her, and began wondering, whether other travelling strangers had been similarly honoured, for her husband seemed to be mostly away from her, as far as I could learn.
At the Opera that night, the Marchesa said she would call on me next morning after mass (Sunday), about something or another, I forget what — and she did. — She was shown into my sitting room and placed her self on the sofa. She looked really very inviting there, and my pego began to swell, as I thought of the sofas in her house. So getting near her, I asked if she had Roman silk stockings on. She laughed, looked voluptuously at me, and said I was too dangerous to tell anything about stockings any more, that I’d better for-get all about them, and she turned to another subject quite adroitly, as if she didn’t wish to refer what had passed only two days before.
For the instant that cooled me, but seeing she had boots on (she had slippers on the day of our fornication), I remarked it, saying I couldn’t help looking at her tiny feet. — “Yes, boots, don’t you like boots?” — and she pushed her feet out, and slightly raised her dress to show them, and I saw silk stockings of a different colour. — I put myself on the sofa at once. “I will look at your stockings.” — “You shan’t.” — “I will” and lifted her dress a little. “There then, now that will do.” — But catching her round the waist to hold her, I put my hands on to her cunt, and kept it there groping and poking with my fingers, whilst she in a sham modest way, said it was disgraceful. —”Let me.” — “I won’t — oh, take care of my bonnet.” — “Take it off — now let me, — I want to see that lovely cunt of yours, and I used the coarsest Italian words to express my wants. I had been studying those words. — “Oh, said she, laughing — “for shame, a Facchino couldn’t say worse words. — Leave off — I must go — Oh-o-o,” — She opened her thighs to my feel, and in a minute afterwards — “Lock the door then.”
In an instant I had locked it. She put her bonnet on the table, and came into my bed-room. — I placed her on the side of the bed, and taking her thighs over my arms — after opening her split with my fingers, for a momentary glance at the red entrance, to the red lane, fucked her as I stood, watching her face, whilst she watched mine, in our blissful throes. — When I uncunted — “Give me some water quickly,” said she. — Then I put a basin with water on the floor. She washed her cunt, and came into the sitting-room, after carefully emptying the basin, and replacing it with its ewer. — I saw now clearly, that it was not the first time she had been tailed at an hotel, so careful was she to avoid leaving evidence of her amours.
I hadn’t been out of her cunt five minutes before she was off. — “My carriage is waiting. I must go” — giving me a kiss — “I shall expect you to dinner, and come at six, and wait if you like,” said she with a laugh. I saw her to her carriage. At six o’clock, I was at her house, was let into her bedroom, fucked her, and brought her poorliness on. — “Oh,” said she, “I’m three days before my time.” — “Wash and leave me as fast as you can, I must ring for my maid.”
There was a small dinner party of ladies and gentle-men — and a very pleasant evening we had. The Marchesa seemed dull. I could think of nothing but the incidents of the day, and was glad to leave with my friend, and went to his rooms where we sat smoking till an early hour in the morning. Our conversation was much about the Marchesa, and I heard that she was thought to be fond of variety in males, but that nothing had been proved against her, and no public scandal. — That her husband was much away and kept a mistress, and that the Marchesa took great fancies to bachelor strangers when visiting R**e.
I was glad her courses were on, knowing it might stop her advances for two or three days, and then perhaps I might get the maid. An irritation set up in my urethra, which for the moment I thought was clap; but it was caused by contact with the menstrual discharge. I have experienced similar irritation, after having had women in a similar state. The effect was to make me furiously randy, and to lust for the maid with an almost maddening desire. But how was I to get her? — I only knew her Christian name — and she couldn’t read or write.
I called next morning (only with the object of getting to the maid) with a bouquet for the Marchesa, and said I would give it to her maid. Alone with her a minute, I begged her to give me five minutes talk, and said I was mad, was dying to have her again, and I promised much. She told me the luncheon time of the servants, and if I would then go to the top of the house, and open a door which she indicated, she would come to me there. I did, and found it was a large bedroom in the roof. — She came and told me in a few hurried words, that she, being married to the Valet, had a bed-room there, all other servants had rooms on the Marchesa’s floors (two floors over part only of a big Palace not their own). Whilst her husband was away, she some-times slept in a room near the Marchesa — but she would if she could, be that night where we at that moment were —. My best way would be to get to her room and wait till she came. —
She would leave the door open. If she couldn’t come to sleep there, she would go up, and tell me. How long I might have to wait she didn’t know. Certainly until the Marchesa dismissed her for the night. On no account was I to have a light. If I saw anyone about, I had better go down the stairs and come up again. — The staircase, it must be mentioned, was not the great staircase of the Palace.
I didn’t much like that — her husband might return — and I did not fancy a stiletto in me for the sake of poking this woman, much as I lusted for her. — I asked her to sleep out with me at a house, but she wouldn’t. — I tried to fuck her then and there, and got a feel of her hot quim, but she resisted much, and implored me so to leave off, for that she must get back to the servants’ luncheon, that I desisted, and got back to my hotel, where I passed the afternoon resolving in my mind the risks and pleasures of getting into her; and altho she said her husband could not possibly return, I determined not to go to her bedroom.
But at about ten o’clock, when digestion had done its work, and the heat of good food had got into my prick, I thought about her so much, that dressing my-self plainly, and putting on a cloak, for the night was cold, I found myself, tho rather in fear, at her room door. — It opened, and to my joy there she was. — She had been there expecting me a full hour. Then we risked all. She had, like me I expect, been thinking of fucking all day. The sperm was seething in my ballocks — her cunt was like a hot stew-pan, with voluptuous expectations, and randy exudations, and before we had been in bed together five minutes, my spunk was running out of her wet cunt copiously on to the towel I had placed beneath her handsome buttocks. — I never enjoyed a woman more, and she in her pleasure ecstasy bit at my neck when spending. I don’t recollect any other woman having done exactly that, tho they have caught my tongue in their teeth.
“Let me wash, pray do.” — But I refused, and clipped her arse tightly, pressing her belly close to mine, wriggling my prick as I love to do up a cunt which is full of sperm; for it prolongs the voluptuous sensations in the tip, and keeps delicious baudy ideas alive. My prick seems then to bathe, and float almost in a mixture of oil and ivory together. — But she begged me much, and uncunted me quickly, spite of my endeavours to prevent her. “Why, cara mia, you don’t with your husband I’m sure.” — “Yes I do if he does it inside, but he nearly always spends outside,” — said she quite coolly, as she washed. — “Let me look at your cunt now, then.” “Bene, eccola,” said she, opening her thighs when she had got into bed again.
I brought her to the side of the bed, and with a miserable oil lamp which scarcely gave any light, saw her beauties; and a very sweet, fine woman of Italian type, she was. Her cunt was unspeakably handsome, with dark crisp hair in moderate quantity round it, and curling but a little way up the mons above the upper edge of the split, and with scarcely a sign of hair in the space between cunt and bumhole. — I kissed it, and the lovely thighs, and praised it much. Her bum was large, but not heavy, and she had the sweetest shaped arms. Her breasts were full, firm, and elastic. I kissed her all over in delight, and she was much gratified with my praise. Then into bed I got with her, cuddling close, kissing and talking, with my finger in or on her cunt, till we fucked again. Again she washed her cunt carefully.
But neither of us could sleep. Somehow the fear of being surprised by her husband haunted me, and she, I know spite of her assurance that he could not possibly return, felt the same. If we dozed, it was only for a few minutes at a time, and then we lay talking. Her mistress was not well — what was the matter, I asked. — Her monthlies were on. (How little she dreamed that I knew that.) She suffered severely at those times. — She didn’t know what her mistress did for love, when her husband was away so much. “Perhaps she has a lover, who knows?” Her husband was also away quite as much, and she had to bear it. “But you get a sweetheart to kiss you.” — “Never by the Holy Mother of God.” — I was the first who had made her forget her marriage vows, and perhaps she would be punished by being with child. The Marchesa would have no servants about her who had children, and she should be dismissed if such ill luck befell her.
Then I got curious. For, not sleeping, there was nothing to be done but to talk and fuck, and I am always curious about the sexual strength of a husband. With lips to hers, my fingers on her clitoris, hers round my stiffening prick, I heard that her husband’s prick was certainly not as big as mine, that either she put a sponge up her cunt when they fucked — or he pulled his prick out at the critical moment and spent on her thighs. — It was hard to have to do so, but better than having children, and losing a good place.
He only fucked her about twice a week. Sometimes he had a hot fit, and then did it twice in a night, but never more than that. — No, not on their marriage night, she recollected that well. She was a virgin then, she could swear by the holy sacrament — and he got into her at the first fuck. Yes, she was quite sure his prick was not so large as mine, tho there was not much difference. So we talked on for hours. Most other married women whom I have had have seemed much annoyed at such questions, for I have asked all of them. — Some have refused to tell me anything. But this Italian seemed pleased to talk about it, and when it was a question of size, felt my prick about most care-fully before she replied. I fucked her six times. It is so upon my notes. Long before day-break, off I went.
I tried hard to get her to sleep out with me. She would ask leave to see her parents — say they were ill, and other lies I suggested. — But all her relatives were in the country, at first she said. Then either under the stimulus of the flesh, or my liberal offer, “I’ve got a sister married here, and she is just going to be con-fined I hear, perhaps I could get to see her, but we are not friends.” After much thinking, and hatching of lies and excuses, she said she would if she could. – “Not to-night tho.” — I didn’t want that after my six emissions, — but the day following. If I would call on the Marchesa exactly as the clock struck four, she would be at the door, and standing at the back of the man-servant. — She would either nod, or shake her head. — With all the signs and arrangements care-fully made, I left her in bed, and got back to my hotel.
There I found a pressing letter from my solicitors urging my return, and saying that on account of my absence, the case would go probably against me. Altho I knew that I should lose a large sum of money if it did, I had such a letch for the woman, that I would not leave till I had a chance of having her again. But I packed up everything, ready for an immediate start.
On the day, at the appointed hour, I was at the Palazzo. The door was opened by the man, and at his back was the maid. — My heart actually beat violently with expectation as the door opened, and I felt intense delight as she nodded her head. To make sure that I understood, she nodded two or three times to me, moving about the large stone ante- room on some pretext, and keeping well in the rear of the man. A few minutes after, I was with the Marchesa, who looked quite ill, and who seemed quite anxious, when I told her about my solicitors’ letter.
I soon left her and got back to my hotel, where I rested, and feasted, and did up a bottle of wine and some sausage, bread, and cakes, which I had bought to take with me. At dark I went to the house and hired a room. At about eight o’clock, there was Marietta, at the corner of the Piazza di * * * * * *. The next minute we were in a carriage, and five minutes after in the baudy house. She eat my cakes, we drank the wine, she on my knees, my hand on her quim whilst she was eating. In less than half an hour we were in bed together, and having as delicious a fuck as I ever had in my life. Her cunt seemed exquisite. I fucked her till I lost count, but it was certainly a night of my supreme efforts, and when we left in the morning, I was utterly exhausted, and she much the same. — “Oh, what will the Marchesa think when she sees me? She will ask where I’ve been, what I have been doing,” said Marietta in dismay, as she looked at herself in the looking-glass.
The lie she told to get leave of absence was a most ingenious one. Trust a woman on the scent of a prick, to find an excuse for following it up. I have rarely known them fail, and what risks they will run. — Marietta had. — But she would not, could not do it an-other night. — She might be with me for a hour perhaps at a time in the attic, or elsewhere, till her husband returned, and she willingly would when she could, but the risk of absence she could not incur, it might be ruin. — I never had her again. Certainly she gave me one of the most voluptuous nights I ever had, and the only drawback was her persistence in jumping out of bed, and washing her cunt after each performance in it.
Another letter reached me that morning. I called on the Marchesa, who seemed I thought inclined to let me do what I liked with her, but she was still, I was glad to say, in an unfit state of body for carnal de-lights. I shewed her my letters, promised to come back to R**e in the spring, saw my friend, and called on a few others, and the same night took boat from Civita Vecchia to Marseilles. (That was then the quickest road to London.)
It was a smooth passage. A night’s rest set me up, and by the next night, good sleep, food, and sea air, gave me the surprise of a stiff prick unsolicited. There was a spicey-mannered, little, plump, dark-eyed French woman on board, travelling alone, who in conversation told me that she was coming from Palermo, was a ballet dancer, and was going to Marseilles to fulfil a professional engagement there. — The evening was dark and warm, we sat on deck close together till almost all the passengers had gone to bed (there were not many). Our conversation got warm — warmer — warmest. I found there was no other passenger in her cabin. I had its number, it was not far from mine, and at about midnight I crept to it, found the door unlocked, tho she had said she should lock it, and five minutes after I was between her thighs, her heels on my calves, and we were fucking in a miserable little box called a berth, not much bigger than a coffin. A couple in rut would somehow fuck in a coffin, I’m sure. She didn’t wash her cunt, but sat up with me on the side of the berth feeling my prick, and talking, till I tailed her again, and then got back to my cabin, I suppose unobserved. The next day I tailed her in my cabin, when all the passengers had just sat down to luncheon — and we both went to luncheon the instant my cock left her. She neither washed, nor pissed, nor did I. How we looked at each other when at table. — Soon after we were at Marseilles, and I parted with her in a polite way. — I never saw her cunt, nor even the hair on her motte, but she was a plump, randy little devil, and talked baudiness joyfully. It was quite an affair of love, for I gave her nothing but my prick.