MY SECRET LIFE
fied. I used to feel pleasure in knowing she was bringing in the dinner, or tea, with my spunk in her cunt; not having had the opportunity to wash, or piddle it out.
When she had another holiday, we went to the baudy house, and stayed so long in it, that we had a scare; just asleep, we heard a knocking at the door. My first idea was that my mother had found me out, and although I ruled her in one way, I way in great subjection to her, from not having any money. She thought her father was after her. What a relief it was to hear a voice say: “Shall you be long sir, we want the room.” I was having too much accommodation for my money. That night we walked home, for I had no money for a coach, and barely enough to get us a glass of beer and a biscuit; we were famished and fucked out, my mother had refused to give me money, and another aunt whom I had asked, said I was asking too often, and refused also.
Although we went to this baudy house, I always felt as if I was going to be hanged when I did, and it was with difficulty I could make her go; she called it a bad house, and it cost money. Something then occured which helped me, penniless as I was.
At the extreme end of our village were a few little houses, one stood with its side entrance up a road only partially formed, and without thoroughfare; its owner was a pew-opener, her daughter a dressmaker, who worked for servants and such like; they cut out things for servants, who in those days largely made their own dresses. Charlotte had things made there. At a fair held every year near us of which I shall have to tell more, my fast friend, who had put me up to so much,
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