Then I wrote to Fred, who was at a large public school, about my
frigging. He replied that some fellows at his school had been caught at
it, and flogged; that a big boy just going to Oxford had had a woman and
got the pox badly. He begged me to burn his letter, or throw it down the
shit-house directly I had read it, adding that he was in such a funk for
he had lost mine; and that I was never to write to him such things at
the school, because the master opened every day indiscriminately one or
two letters of the boys. He knew my mother was away and so did not mind
writing to me. When I heard that he had lost my letter, I also was in a
funk; the letter never was found. Whether the master got it, or sent it
to my godfather, or not, I can't say, but it is certain that just after
I had one night exhausted myself by masturbation, my godfather came to
see me.
He stared hard at me. "You look ill." "No, I'm not." "Yes, you are, look
me full in the face, you've been frigging yourself," said he just in so
many words. He had never used an improper word to me before. I denied
He raved out, "No denial, sir, no lies, you have sir; don't add
lying to your bestiality, you've been at that filthy trick, I can see
it in your face, you'll die in a mad-house, or of consumption, you shall
never have a farthing more pocket-money from me, and I won't buy your
commission, nor leave you any money at my death." I kept denying it,
brazening it out. "Hold your tongue, you young beast, or I'll write to
your mother." That reduced me to a sullen state, only at times perking
out: "I haven't!" He put on his hat angrily, and left me in a very
uncomfortable state of mind.
I knew that my father was not so well off as he had been, my mother
always impressed upon me not to offend my godfather, and now I had done
I wrote Fred all about it, he said the old beggar was a doctor, and
it was very unfortunate; he wondered if he really did see any signs in
my face, or whether it was a bounce; that I was not to be a fool, and
give in, and still say I hadn't, but had better leave off frigging.
From that time my godfather was always at my heels, he waited for me at
the schooldoor, spent my half-holidays with me, sat with me and my
aunt of an evening till bed-time, made me ride and drive out with him,
stopped giving me pocket-money altogether, and no one else did; so that
I was not very happy.
The pleasure of frigging, now I had tasted it (and not before), opened
my eyes more fully to the mystery of the sexes, I seemed at once to
understand why women and men got together, and yet was full of wonder
about it. Spunking seemed a nasty business, the smell of cunt an
extraordinary thing in a woman, whose odour generally to me was so
sweet and intoxicating. I read novels harder than ever, liked being near
females and to look at them more than ever, and whether young or old,
common or gentle, was always looking at them and thinking that they had
cunts which had a strong odour, and wondering if they had been fucked; I
used to stare at aunt and cousins, and wonder the same. It seemed to me
scarcely possible, that the sweet, well dressed, smooth-spoken ladies
who came to our house, could let men put the spunk up their cunts. Then
came the wonder if, and how, women spent; what pleasure they had in
fucking, and so on; in all ways was I wondering about copulation, the
oddity of the gruelly, close smelling sperm being ejected into the hole
between a woman's thighs so astonished me. I often thought the whole
business must be a dream of mine; then that there could be no doubt
about it. Among other doubts, was whether the servant's quim, which had
made by fingers smell, was diseased, or not. Fear of detection perhaps
kept me from frigging, but I was weak and growing fast, and have no
recollection of much desire, though mad to better understand a cunt. It
does not dwell in my mind now that I had a desire to fuck one, but to
see it, and above all, to smell it; the recollection of its aroma seems
to have had a strange effect on me. I did not like it much, yet yearned
to smell it again. Watching my opportunity one day, I managed to feel
the servant; it was dusk, she stood with her back up against the wall,
and felt my prick whilst I felt her; it was an affair of a second or
two, and again we were scared. I went to the sitting-room, and passed
the evening in smelling my fingers and looking at my cousin. This
occurred once again, and I think now, that the servant must just have
been on the point of letting me fuck her, for she had been feeling my
prick and in a jeering way saying, "You are not man enough if I let
you," I emboldened, blurted out that I had spent, I recollect her saying
"oh! you story," and then something put us to flight, I don't now
know what. I certainly was not up to my opportunities, that I see now
plainly.
I had a taste for chemistry, which served my purpose, as will be seen
further on, and used to experimentalize in what was called a washhouse,
just outside the kitchen, with my acids and alkalis; that enabled me to
slip into the kitchen on the sly, but the plan of the house rendered it
easy, for my aunt to come suddenly into the kitchen.
My bed-room window overlooked the kitchen yard, in which was this
wash-house, a knife-house and a servant's privy, etc., etc., the whole
surrounded by a wall, with a door in it, leading into the garden. Just
outside on the garden side, was a gardener's shed; the servant in the
morning, used to let the gardener in at the kitchen entrance; and he
passed through this kitchen yard into the garden. I was pissing in the
pot in my bedroom early one morning, and peeping through the blind, when
I saw the servant's head just coming out of the gardener's shed, she
passed through the kitchen yard into the kitchen in great haste, looking
up at the house, as if to see if anyone was at the windows. Then it
occurred to me, that if I got quite early to the kitchen, I could play
my little baudy tricks without fear, for my relatives never went down
till half-past eight to breakfast, whilst the servant went down at six.
****
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