Charlotte was not allowed to go out alone, and was harassed in every
way; for all that, I managed to meet her at a local school, one Saturday
afternoon when it was empty; some friendly teacher let her in, and she
let me in. We fucked on a hard form, in a nearly dark room, about the
most difficult poke I ever had, it was a ridiculous posture. But our
meeting was full of tears, despondency, and dread of being with child.
She told me I had ruined her, even fucking did not cheer her. A week or
so afterwards, having no money, I walked all the way to try to see
her, and failed. Afterwards in her letters, she begged me never to tell
anyone about what had passed between us. Her father sent her away to his
brother's, where she was to help as a servant; for somehow it had got
wind that she had met some one at the school-house. There she fell ill
and was sent home again. Then she wrote that she should marry, or have
no peace, wished I was older, and then she could marry me; she did not
write much common sense, although it did not strike me so then. She was
coming to London to buy things, would say she would call on my mother on
the road, but would meet me instead. How she humbugged the young woman
who came to town with her, I don't know, but we met at the baudy house,
cried nearly the whole time, but fucked for all that till my cock would
stand no longer; then vowing to see each other after she was married, we
parted.
She married soon, my mother told me of it; she lived twelve miles
from us, and did not write to me. I went there one day, but although
I lingered long near their shop, I never saw her. I did that a second
time, she saw me looking in, and staggered into a back room. I dared
not go in for fear of injuring her. Afterwards came a letter not signed,
breathing love, but praying me not to injure her, as might be if I was
seen near her house. Money, distance, time was all against me; I felt
all was over, took to frigging, which, added to my vexation, made me
ill. What the doctor thought I don't know, he said I was suffering
from nervous exhaustion, asked my mother if I was steady, and kept good
hours. My mother said I was the quietest, and best of sons, as innocent
as a child, and that I was suffering from severe study--she had long
thought I should; the fact being that for four months I had scarcely
looked at a book, excepting when she was near me, and had when not
thinking of Charlotte, spent my time in writing baudy words, and
sketching cunts and pricks with pen and ink.
Thus I lost my virginity, and took one, thus ended my first love or
lust; which will you call it? I call it love, for I was fond of the
girl, and she of me. Some might call it a seduction, but thinking of it
after this lapse of years, I do not. It was only the natural result of
two people being thrown together, both young, full of hot blood, and
eager to gratify their sexual curiosity; there was no blame to either,
we were made to do it, and did but illustrate the truth of the old song,
"Cock and cunt will come together, check them as you may," and point to
the wisdom, of never leaving a young male and female alone together, if
they were not wanted to copulate.
In all respects we were as much like man and wife as circumstances would
let us be. We poked and poked, whenever we got a chance; we divided our
money, if I had none, she spent her wages; when I had it, I paid for her
boots and clothes--a present in the usually sense of the term I never
gave her; our sexual pleasures were of the simplest, the old fashioned
way was what we followed, and altogether it was a natural, virtuous,
wholesome, connection, but the world will not agree with me on that
point.
One thing strikes me as remarkable now: the audacity with which I went
to a baudy house; all the rest seems to have began, and followed as
naturally as possible. What a lovely recollection it is! nothing in my
career since is so lovely as our life then was; scarce a trace of what
may be called lasciviousness was in it, had the priest blest it by the
bands of matrimony, it would have been called the chaste pleasure of
love and affection--as the priest had nothing to do with it, it will
be called I suppose beastly immorality. I have often wondered if her
husband found out that she was not a virgin, and if not whether it was
owing to some skill of hers, or to his ignorance; I heard afterwards
that they lived happily.
****
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