"So you have been to a baudy house?" said she, "so you have been fucked,
fucked by my friend; you are a nice one to speak ill of other people."
"I am not a whore," said Louise taking cheek. "Ain't you?" said Camille,
"I don't know that." "Say I am a whore, and I'll hit you," said Louise
going up to her. "Have it out by yourselves, I am not going to stop for
a row," said I, "Camille be good to the girl." "If I had not brought her
from France she would not be what she is." What was I going to do with
her? "Nothing." "Then the sooner Louise went out the better."
Louise sat down, and began silently crying. I hate to see a woman cry,
and always had one remedy,--could champagne be fetched? Mother Boileau
condescended to fetch some. We drank, I got communicative, and began to
tell Camille. She cut me short, wanted to know nothing, we had been in
a baudy house together, it was enough. What was I going to do? the girl
would no longer work, and she was going into other lodgings, I might
take hers for Louise if I liked.
It gradually shaped itself to this: I was to take the lodgings, Camille
to stay rent free, a servant to be got, but one particular friend only
was ever to visit Camille there; Louise took Camille's bed-room, Camille
Louise's, I had in fact the pleasure of keeping both. The next night I
slept with Louise in Camille's bed, slept there several times, and
one morning Camille said, "You have got the girl with child, I quite
expected it."
This annoyed me. I had been getting tired for some time, did not like
the girl, who became so jealous of Camille, wanted so much admiration,
that she quite fatigued me. She wanted to walk in the streets to be
admired. I had given her more clothes, she got careless, wanted to go
to theatres, and I took her. The Argyle was just opened, and I took
her there, she wanted me to go there often. I had seen one or two other
women I lusted for, but above all wanted to go to France with Fred who
had returned from India; so her being in the family way bothered me. I
got it into my head, that it was a plant, and took her to my friend the
doctor who said it was a fact.
Camille asked me to meet her in G.. d. n Sq.. e, for convenience I took
her to the baudy house; she had got mighty particular, made me go in
first, and came in afterwards with her veil down,--she always now wore
a veil. She again asked me what I was going to do. She had got the girl,
and was sorry for it, at length she said, "I am going to be married, go
into business, and will take her with me, if you will help, or I will
get her home again to France, if you will give her money." I agreed to
think of it.
We sat on a sofa. As I looked at her I began to feel a desire for her.
"Let us have a kiss," said I, "for old acquaintance sake." "No," said
she, "I am going to be married, am perhaps watched, am frightened of
being here. I expect my friend back from abroad daily, he may have come
back now. Madame Boileau knows him, I must be careful."
But how can a woman resist a man who has had her often, who knows every
crack and cranny of her body, has looked at her motte long enough to
count every hair on it, a few rubs on her clitoris, and back she fell
on the sofa. We were both dressed, but plunging up her, and grasping
her ample rump, I was soon enjoying her; when thinking of Louise, and
I suppose comparing her mentally, I said in the height of my pleasure,
"Oh! I like fucking you better than your sister after all," or something
to that effect.
"What?" said she with a start as her cunt clipped, and jerked my prick
out. Cursing, and damning at my interruption I drove it up again, and
consummated.
"What did you say about being like my sister?" said she as I still
lay with my doodle up her, "what sister?" I replied she looked so like
Louise, that she must be her sister. "But she is not, although she is
like me." Then the matter dropped, and she slopped her cunt clean. I
used to like a woman whom I knew not to wash it, when I was going to
fuck her again, Camille had humored me in this, and as my lust came on
for my second poke, used to bring my amatory pastime by looking at the
cunt with my pleasure signs on it. So Camille washing astonished me. "I
am going to be married, and must," said she.
We had more fucking before we left. She was all anxiety about Louise,
for I would say nothing. "You will never see me here again," said she,
"nor have me again, and may do with Louise what you like, I shan't be
here, you will throw her on the town". Then she veiled closely, and made
me go out first. I waited at the top of the street ten minutes, out she
came, veil down, and shot off in the direction of G..d.n sq..e like an
arrow.
I now with perversity longed for Camille, instead of Louise, but never
had her afterwards, never sent my tallow up her, although I tried once
or twice.
I began going about elsewhere, sleeping with Louise at times; but she
was always pestering me about being in the family way, which annoyed
me; and wanted such a lot of ballocking, that that annoyed me also. My
cousin Fred wanted me to go to Paris with him, Louise said I was going
to forsake her. One night after dining with her, coming out we met my
cousin Fred, nothing put him off, and he would walk with us. The next
day he said in his old unchaste way, which some years in India had not
improved, "So that is the woman your mother says she fears has got hold
of you." It was the first time I had heard, that my mother had any such
suspicion, for although she had spoken to me about my wildness, she had
never referred to a woman; but she had told my aunt, who told my cousin
my mother was awfully astonished. For that six years I had shagged all
our servants under her very nose, yet she had not the faintest suspicion
of it, my pranks now coming to her ears, shocked her extremely. I told
Fred, that I had had Louise's first, to which he replied, that he should
like to rattle his stones against her arse. "Is she a good fuck? where
does she live?" I did not mean his stones to knock against her arse as
long as mine did, I replied, "Oh! you are fond of her then?" "No, but
I preferred her to myself." "Lord, what does it matter?" said he, "white
women are scarce in India, there was one that all in my regiment were
fond of, there was not an officer who did not stroke her, none of us
minded; we say 'the more a cunt's buttered, the better it grinds.'" I did
not see it in that light, so with the remark from him, that she was a
damned fine piece, we parted.
Two or three days afterwards he spoke of her again, said he knew where
she lived, so I thought he was hunting after her which annoyed me; not
seeing that if he had got into her, I could have left her with good
excuse.