It's an illustration, and I've had many such. No, har-lots like their occupation, like all its erotic accompanyments, spending often becomes a necessity to them, as shitting daily is with us all. Spending twice a day be-comes needful for a harlot, many spend more, and with some it ends in madness. How often have I heard, — “I always spend if I'm fucked by a man I like.” — Again. — “Who can help spending if a man gamahuches you long ? It's impossible to prevent it, you think you won't and you try, but suddenly comes pleasure and you let him go on, and if a man's a long time fucking it's the same,” the very words of a “Dame galante,” otherwise whore, harlot, strumpet, Paphian, Cyprian, or whatever else you may call her, classical, vulgar, or poetical. The following occurred when I was twenty-three. I nearly destroyed the narrative thinking it ought not to have been written, but all the actors are gone long ago, and it now turns up among the papers set aside. The original was twice as long, the notes of two years.
My aunt had a lawn party as she called it, most of the guests kept on the lawn near the house, where there was tea, wine, and shade. Few walked about much for it was very hot. Among them were two girls whom I will call P**l**s*n, daughters of a widower recently settled in the neighbourhood, fairly well off but not mixing much with the local gentry [Country society was exclusive then.] They were well known, dark eyed and handsome. People said they were what my aunt called “adventurous” [or what would be termed now “fast”]. They were certainly free, flirty, and vulgarish in manner. Their father had done my aunt some service hence the girls being among her visitors, but she didn't like them, and said she was sure that they'd served in a shop. They were two or three and twenty years old, one named Agatha, the other Helen.
I'd known them about two years, Fred only about a year. We had driven them out and gradually had talked somewhat freely, several times I'd kissed Agatha and Fred had kissed the other. From a concert at the Town Hall we walked home with them one night their father not being with them. As we separated I kissed Agatha, and in doing so being randy, caught her round her bum with one hand and handled it gently all over, squeezing my belly against hers for a second just as I've done to servants. All she said was, “Don't now.” It was dark and within sight of her father's door. Walking home, Fred said he thought that both were game. My aunt said next morning they were angling for us “forward minxes” and warned us. “I'd give fifty pounds to fuck Helen,” said Fred one day. “And she's randy enough, look at her eyes.” — Agatha looked equally voluptuously at times to me, and there was something about her which always made my cock stand when I saw her.
We quite agreed that both wanted fucking but had no idea of attempting it. Our meetings were not frequent, but sufficiently numerous to have got free and easy with them, and Fred's talk and mine had gradually become chaffingly but suggestively amorous when we met, and circumstances favoured it.
There was a cold collation at my aunt's, an apology for a dinner for those who liked to stop, and lots of champagne. — Some guests didn't stop, some, including the two girls, did. — Agatha took champagne freely, so did I, we strolled out with others on to the lawn and as it got cooler, we went further off and gradually to the laurel walk where was the big privy in which I'd fucked Pender. I was so lewed that my tool was on half cock. — I fancy she thought it was a summer house, — for there were two windows in it — and she'd not been in the walk before, I said, “Ah! I've had a love-making there.” — “Where?” she asked. — “There,” I replied laughing. — “Oh! Do tell us about it.” — “I daren't. — “Oh, do.” — “We made each other happy.” — She looked in my eyes. — “Now, do tell me.” — “Give me a kiss then.” She refused but I took it, and was so lewed, so reckless, that whilst kissing I held her, took hold of her left hand with my right, and pressed it hard up against my prick which was standing up in my trowsers like a rolling pin. — “Oh, don't — some one will see us.” — She submitted to kiss after kiss and didn't with-draw her hand. “I'm in love with you I think,” said I, when I ceased holding her hand. Her eyes looked soft, her manner was confused, and I thought that she knew what her hand had been pressed against, and that I knew that she knew what it was.
We walked on talking about love, I getting mad for fucking, without of course having the least idea of her helping me. I'd once before spoken about her garters, — her sister then was present. — “Where do you gar-ter?” said I. — “How rude you are, I shan't tell you.” — “I'll find out.” — “Now don't do that — there,” said she, pointing above her knee. It was coquetteishly done. — “What's it made of?” — “Silk, how rude you are.” — “It isn't.” — “It is.” — “Let me see.” — I stooped and got my hand on to her knee.” — “Oh! Don't now, now I'll leave you,” she said, but in quite a low tone, not a cry escaped her and she looked anxiously round — we were then in a shrubbery. — “Let's sit down.” She unhesitatingly entered with me a summer house which was in the remotest part of the grounds, no one was about, and we sat down.
There she began to lecture me about my rudeness, said she'd never expected it, nor would she walk with me again. She was excited, her face red. — “If you won't again I'll feel your garters now.” — She laughed, again I stooped, in a minute, spite of some weak struggles, my hand was clasped between her thighs — she'd no drawers on. — She cried hysterically, “Oho — oho — it's shameful,” and whimpered. I took my hand away, then saw that she'd shed no tears and that she looked caressingly at me. She didn't attempt to go away from me.
Frightened for a minute at my own temerity and success, the touch of her flesh so close to the hairy lipped entrance of her treasure, left me in a state of frantic, reckless randiness. I'd not had a woman for long, my prick had been stiffening on and off all day. I had drunk much champagne, so had she, and now, as whimpering she sat quite still, talking about what I'd done, instinct I suppose told me she was randy and ready, I forgot she was a lady, thought of nothing but cunt, and attempted again. She resisted but laughed in an anxious tone. “Oh, suppose you're seen now, don't,” and so on. Then without any idea of fucking her, but simply from desire to show her my sex, I pulled out my stiff pego. — “Look,” said I. — “Oh,” said she, “what an insult.” But she laughed as I attempted again to feel her garters, up she got, I caught her by the waist, kissed her, and put her hand round my prick — she'd no gloves on — and she held it murmuring. — “Don't now — let me go, — I'll tell your aunt — oh don't — someone will be coming — oh don't” — as I kept kissing. But still she kept hold of my prick, and her eyes glanced down on it and then at me. Did she quite know what she was doing?
Altho I wrote this part of the narrative one or two days afterwards, I couldn't describe all that then passed through my mind. Desire to feel her, fuck her, — fear of consequences, of her resisting, of telling my aunt or her father — wonder if she were virgin, whether she wanted fucking, and at her boldness — was it innocence, was I wrong in seducing her? — All made a mental chaos, during which I sat down, pulled her on to my knee, kissed her, pressed her hand again round my naked pego, and tried uselessly to feel her cunt. How it all came about I can scarcely tell, but it did just as narrated. She must have equally been under the influence of lust, and pleased with what I was doing, for there she sat on my knee holding my pego which began to throb, and tho it was almost imperceptibly done, her hand was moving gently up and down my prick, tho perhaps she did not know it. My sperm was boiling in my balls, the desire to spend became maddening, I clasped her hand in mine tightening hers round my prick and frigged, and in a minute almost, out shot a shower of sperm. I took away my hand from hers which still kept round my prick, and she was looking down at it when I recovered from my pleasure, as the last drop of sperm was issuing.
“You've frigged me, Agatha.” — “What?” said she as if astonished at the word and letting go my tool. — “Let me feel your cunt,” “Oh, for God sake don't — oh, let us go — what will they think of us at the house?” — “Let me.” She didn't say no, but got away from me. “I'll never speak to you again, and for God sake don't tell your cousin Fred. Will you now? — Promise me faithfully you won't. — Oh, what have you made me do? — I'll drown myself if you don't promise. Oh, you bad man.” — I promised. “Let me feel your garters.” — “I won't.” — We went to the house without speaking and there was Fred talking to the sister. The two girls left soon after. How Agatha's eyes looked as we shook hands. It was dusk.