Journal of a Proper Young Lady Ch. 02

My publication of the first part of this singular and beguiling diary (in the ‘Toys and Masturbation’ category) has provoked an overwhelmingly positive response, and I am very grateful for your kind words and encouragement, which have exculpated my effort in transcription a thousand times over. Thus, I readily acquiesce to those who have implored me to continue serialising the journal of our Proper Young Lady. I have now laboriously copied out the second and third entries, the first of which professes to have been written a month or so after the first. Of course, I share in the scepticism expressed by a number of readers as to the provenance of the text and as to whether such a person as this feisty young lady could ever have existed, but, without definitive and compelling evidence to the contrary, I choose to believe that she lived and breathed and committed the secretest parts of her life to paper. To believe otherwise would, it seems to me, be to will the world to be a less interesting and a less charming place.

The Twenty-Second of August in the Year of Our Lord, 181–

I was again To-day feeling lusty, and so took up once more this my passing naughty Journal. Having now read again of those privy Matters which I hitherto recorded, I was suddenly cognisant of the Appearance which I shall present to History should these Writings survive me and fall into the Hands of some other Person. While I confess me that, when thus I bethought, I felt something of a Thrill at my Wickedness and its Discovery, I was a little Anxious that I had but poorly commended Myself unto You – if I may so fancifully make myself the Author of a Reader. You have been, then, a Witness to my sinful Appetancy and to my paddling with damned Fingers in my own most secret Parts. I will make this my second Entry here an Apology for myself and my seeming Heinousness.

I am a Woman of marriageable Years and of good Rank. My Father, whose House I have kept since the Death of my Mother five Years since, is a Man of quality and, while not as rich as he was, has adequate Means, and will adequately furnish my Dowry when it suits me to marry. I am pretty enough and witty enough to husband me, and await only the right Gentleman. Those potential Suitors I have heretofore encountered have been exceedingly tedious. My Father is not pressing me to wed and, as for myself, I have no sense of Urgency whatever, so I am content to wait and to let dullness seek out its like and so pass me by.

I love to read and among my favourite Poets are Mr Wordsworth, Mr Shelley and, of course, Mr Shakespeare, whose Sonnets I greatly admire. Latterly, I have been enamoured of the Novels of Miss Austen – I find her books to be most pleasing and droll. I can play the Pianoforte, though not well, and have a little French. I record all this because I am conscious that from my first Writings here that I have appeared nothing but a great Succubus, glutted on my own Wantonness. I should like it if I appeared to you to be something more than the Vagina and Clitoris and Dug and Teat and Thumb and Finger to which I think I reduced Myself – by an unwitting Process of Synecdoche – at our first Meeting. You must surely also stand amazed at the baseness of the Language with which I described these Parts of myself. I implore you to be not so reproving. For since these are Parts unmentionable in Society, secret and shameful as that Beast which Pasiphäe bore, then you should balk at the very Notion that I should dare to speak of them at all, and have but little Regard for the Terms with which I chose to describe them. I borrowed from the Rich and Tapestried Vocabulary of the Author of the True Tale of the Aristocracy, which was by turn randy and ridiculous. The Terminology therein was, for the most Part, entirely inapposite.

Though I find the word Cunt to be a vile Word and a wretched Word, it suited at all Points to my lascivious Feeling at the Time. Consider that we Women do not have the Language to discuss our nether Parts, and because we have not the Words it seems that we own not our Bodies. ‘Cunt’ and ‘Cock Pit’ and ‘Gravy Maker’ and ‘Quim’ and ‘Notch’ and ‘Frizzle’ and such other manifold Terms that are used to denote our Vaginas, are Words such as Men may use but are not meet for our Femininity. Further, I have heard my Female Acquaintances discuss their intimate Parts using a Lexis that is uniformly silly and ungainly. They talk coyly of their ‘Conies’ or their ‘Daisies’ or their ‘Belly Dingles’. I once overheard a Woman speak in hushed tones to her Friend of how the thought of a certain young Gentleman made her ‘Tirly-whirly’ tingle.

Of the few Words for ‘Cunt’ that make me neither laugh nor retch none quite seems to fit my Need. Honeypot is an inexact description since I have discovered that my secretion (or Gravy as it is vulgarly known) tastes not sweet, and so too is Half Moon (my Pudendum does not resembles the Moon) and Muff and Twat are I think Terms quite unerotick. I realise that in expressing Myself with so lewd a Word as Cunt and exhibiting such Desires as are but hardly conceived of in Society, I something have unsexed Myself, presenting like a Man or a Tribade. I feel not Remorse for this Appearance, if it means that I am something more than a Cock Alley for Men’s Pleasures or a Womb in which their Seed may be deposited. With so many several preposterous and disgusting Words for Ladies’ Genitals, I hope you understand when I choose to call my Cunt my Cunt. I take Comfort from the Knowledge that the Wife of Bath, that estimable Pilgrim of Mr Chaucer’s, does Likewise.

My Opinions on these privy Matters have been greatly influenced by the Fact that I discovered further Writings around my Father’s Chamber. These inspired in me a Sense of revulsion at the deplorable vassalage of Women to Men, towards whose masculine Lusts they (the Writings) were directed. There were but few Episodes which piqued my Interest and None that inspired my Wanton Frolicks. The Authors, every One of whom was worse even than the Author of that first Story I found, seemed not concerned with the Pleasure of the Ladies of whom they treated. These Ladies were instead the mere Instruments of the Men, who, it seemed, were content to use them only as an elaborate Means of frigging their Cocks. The Ladies, in their turn, were thankful to have their Hands and Mouths and Bosoms and Cunts and Arses thus exploited. This pleased me not, but brought me at length to a Condition of Disgust which I rashly manifested by leaving one of the Stories (a Tale of a Lady who to satisfy her Lusts turns Common Bawd) where my Father might see that he was discovered. The Collection then quickly vanished and my Father looked ashamed, though mentioned the Matter not, and I remained discreet and silent.

Amongst the Papers I found some crude, immoral Drawings depicting Men and Women in various Acts of Carnality. The greater Part of their Number shewed old Men slavering over nubile Women. These pretty Chickens grinned inanely as they spread their Thighs, exposing themselves to the swollen Cocks of the doughty Fornicators. The Sketches and Prints seemed to me to be repugnant, a Fantasy of young Maids dreamed only by aged Gentlemen. A Fantasy evidently shared, though this Knowledge appals me quite, by my lonely Father. There was, however, one Picture which I found that suited my Tastes. I extracted it from the Collection and have it here beside me.

It shews a grand Chamber, at the Centre of which there is a Bed, its Sheets all ruffled and displaced. Lying upon this Bed is a young Gentleman and his youthful Mistress. The Lady is naked save for her Stockings and Blouse, the latter of which Garments is open, exposing her Breasts. The Man is likewise denuded, excepting his Shirt. He sits bestride the Lady and his Cock is upright and rests at her Bust. She holds her Tits together, encasing the Gentleman’s Instrument within her Cleavage. The Drawing, while hurried and imprecise, manages to suggest Movement, and it seems that we have come upon the wanton Couple while the Gentleman is at the Apex of a Thrust with his Hips, which has forced his Prego up towards the Lady’s benign, smiling Face. The Lady’s Legs are apart and the Gentleman’s right Hand is between them, his Index Finger delicately tracing her Gap.

Looking at this drawing again now, my thought turns again to that Part of myself that Heaven appointed the Centre of my lascivious Hunger and Desire, namely my Cunt. I imagine myself in the Position of the Lady in the Picture. A lusty Lord straddles me, and I relish the feel of his hot, hard Machine between my Breasts. I imagine him thrusting up between them, the purple Head of his Cock, shaped like an inverted Heart, now resting against my Throat, now nuzzled between my fleshy Globes. I can almost feel his Hand betwixt my Thighs and his Fingers delicately exploring the Folds of my Flesh. I try to form a mental Conception of the ensuing Events, begotten of this pregnant Image. How the amorous Gentleman would place his Engine against my Lips, and how I would lick his Tip and take it into my Mouth and roll my Tongue around the Head of it. He would moan his Pleasure and I reach up between his Legs with one of my Hands and toy with his manly Purse wherein all of Mankind was once stowed. One or two of his Fingers would be inside me now, tearing at my Maidenhead while his Thumb massaged my Bud, the Seat of all my Pleasure. My other Hand, the one not engaged in cupping and fondling his Balls, would grasp his Shaft and I would be scarcely able to reach around the fearsome Thing. Then I would work the Skin back and Forth and Lick and Suck upon the Top, and feel its Heat and firmness in my Hand and in my Mouth. Next, he would gently motion that I should desist, by moving his Cock away from me and kissing me hard on my Mouth.

He would proceed to kiss down my Neck and my Breast. Slowly, slowly, tenderly kissing my Tits, his Tongue wresting with them, feeling them harden and stand up against him. His hand would be rubbing my Thigh all the While. Now, he would begin kissing down my Belly, and I would twitch and gasp at the touch of his Lips. He would come at last to the Part of me that most earnestly desired his Touch. He would dally lightly with the fringe of light-brown curls that adorned my soft, narrow Chink, before parting my engorged lower Lips with his Fingers and hungrily tasting of my forbidden Fruit. He would be lapping at me furiously as I writhed against his Face, now and then lightly pulling and mauling at my Bud with his jaws and Teeth and just as I would be on the verge of surrendering to the Sensations of Pleasure and Abandon he induced in me, he would desist and stand over my opened legs with his Cock in his Hand and he would wordlessly guide it towards my Hole, helping his Nimrod to hunt out its dearest Pleasure.

I fervently hope he will be kind and respectful of the fact that I am but an inexperienced Maid who has never before been violated by so formidable an Enemy as that bare Bodkin belonging to a Man. I fret now that he will not, that his Lusts will not allow such Mercy, and he will hurt me and my quietus unmake. I had my Left Hand between my Legs as I scribbled down the preceding Passage, and was rubbing myself, but I have now lost the Impetus to pursue my Pleasure and have removed my Hand from its sinful Occupation.

I have just read over my Writing and realise that now, perforce, I have made myself an Harlot and a Fellatrix and a good many other unspeakable Things. I must note ruefully, that this Entry has not turned out to be as much of an Apology as I intended it to be, and that I have again vitiated Myself by succumbing to my iniquitous Desires. I hereby resolve to consign this Witness to my self-Defilement and to my Lust to the Fire forthwith. My Resolve calls to my mind the command that Virgil’s great Traitor issues to the Great Lady whose Heart he holds captive –

Desine meque tuis incendere teque querelis,
Italianam non sponte sequor.

Which is interpreted thus – “cease setting yourself on fire, and me as well, with your Lamentations, it is not for selfish Reasons that I must seek out Italy.” Like the Queen of Carthage, I must cease setting Myself aflame.

This Journal is as Tinder to my Lusts and the Fuel that stokes my burning nether-Furnace-Mouth and is the chiefest Cause of my inflamed Passion. With the damned thing consigned to Ashes, I would surely be less given to my Sporting myself like a dissolute Amaryllis in the Shade.

The Cremation of my Naughty Diary must wait, however, for now I see out of my Window a Carriage approaching on the Drive-way. It is Kitty – she has seen me and is waving at me with her Handkerchief so enthusiastically that she is in Danger of falling from the Cab. I will wave and smile back, and conceal from her my Vexation. What a tiresome Thing she is! she is as frivolous and silly a Girl as could be conceived of, and she somehow contrives to be always in my Company. I am cursed to endure her for what sins I know not.

I have been too harsh; she is after all a well-meaning Creature, if irksome, and while her Conversation is as garrulous and flighty as it is tedious, there is not a malicious Thought in her Head, and while she wants for Brains, she is extreamly Beautiful – a Complexion of Alabaster, Lips as Red as the reddest Rose – et cetaera and whatever other epithets and similes might be dreamed up to describe the perfections in our Sex. She is younger than me and I do confess a little Jealousy, but I suppose she is pleasant enough, after her own Fashion. I only wish that she had not come To-day. She is stepping now from the Carriage and making her way to the Front Door. We have no Servants now, so I shall have to answer it Myself. What a terrific bore!

***************

The Thirteenth of September &c

I regret that the Burning of my Journal and the Immolation of my Wantonness, must be further postponed. I need now some place to settle my Thoughts, which are dissipated and falling everywhere, and also to render sensible those events which have so lately befallen me. I hope too, God willing, to assuage my terrible Guilt.

On that inauspicious Afternoon, that same Day when last I wrote here, I received Kitty in my Bedroom, here where I write. My Father was using the Library to catch up on his Correspondence and had expressly asked not to be disturbed, and so I brought her up here. After we had exchanged initial pleasantries, and she had bestowed upon me a Dozen or so effusions of her Pleasure at seeing me again, and of how very Well I was looking, and how long it had been since last we met. I demurred and agreed and smiled graciously as often as was Essential. I then offered my Guest some Tea, though it seemed extravagant to do so, since we are a little pressed for Money at this time – One of Father’s Debtors has been a little tardy in repaying him his Loan. Kitty happily took me up on my Offer and I was thus required to go down to the Kitchen to fetch the Infusion up to her, together with the China and other Accoutrements. To her Credit, Kitty offered to assist me, but I refused, not wanting to spend any more Time in her Company than was Necessary, and also not desirous of subjecting her to any unnecessary Exertion.

It took me quite a long Time to prepare the Tea – the Stove had cooled somewhat, and so the Water was extreamly Reluctant to warm up. When, at last, I had the Infusion in the hot Water in the Tea Pot, I set everything on a Tray and slowly, carefully climbed the Stairs and made my Way along the Landing, and back to my Chamber. My Door was slightly ajar and I was about to turn and make inelegant, unladylike use of my Posterior to open it fully, when some movement on my Bed caught my Eye. Kitty was lying there, on her Front. I could see only her Head and Shoulders, and Arms enfolded beneath her. I wondered if she might be sleeping, and, if not, how she came to be in such a singular Position. I had left her seated in the Chair by the Window. Perhaps she was Ill, I thought. And then, of a Sudden, I saw it. My Journal – this exceeding naughty Tome in which now I write – was cradled in her Arms. I was mortified. My Heart battered against its Prison-house and I ceased my Breathing with a sharp, stunted little Gasp of Air. I wonder now that I did not drop the Tray. Certes, I was not aware that I was holding it. All my Thoughts were directed at my Stupidity at not stowing the shameful Thing away, and my Mind was all sicklied o’er by my acute, compleat Embarrassment at its Discovery. No Course of Action suggested itself to me and so I stood I know not how long in the Hallway. Kitty looked up, and it seemed to me that her Eyes were red, polluted by Tears. Was my Wickedness and my Ruin so distressing to her? I drew back from the Gap in the Door, and the traitorous Tea Cups chinked against their Saucers.

“Lizzie, is that you?” she called softly.
“No,” I replied, flustered, “I mean ‘Yes’. I was about to call to you to open the Door.”
“Why didn’t you just push it?” she asked, getting up to let me in.
“I don’t know, is it open then?”
Maybe, I thought, she will have replaced the Journal and will have Discretion enough to let the Revelation of my Sins go unmentioned, and we will have an inconsequential Talk and the whole sorry Episode will be forgotten.

When I entered the room, past Kitty’s small Frame and solemn Countenance, my faint Hope was dashed – the Journal lay still upon the Bed, and no Attempt had been made to replace it. Kitty followed my Gaze and briefly met my Eyes before turning her own to the Floor. I set the Tray down upon my Desk, and then turned to face her. I opened my Mouth to speak but found no Words. The Silence was lengthy and awkward on my Part, dolorous on hers. At last, she spoke:
“Do you really think me tiresome and flighty and silly?” she inquired with tremulous Voice, and quivering Lip.

So that was the cause of her Distress! It was my harshness towards her that had prompted her Tears, and not my wicked Actions. In truth, I had forgotten that I had written such injurious Words about her.
“No!” I said warmly, “I wrote such unkind, spiteful Things only out of Vexation with myself and my sinful Appetites. Really, it was nought to do with you, except, perhaps, that your Purity and your Beauty proved a Counterpoint to my Iniquity, and my Ugliness.”
“You are not ugly, you are Fair,” she said abashed, casting her Eyes downward, her Cheeks flushed.
“Compared with you, my Fairness, as you term it, must perforce be uglified. My ‘Fairness’ is the perfectest Foil to your Beauties, which shall like a star in the darkest night, stick fiery off indeed.”
“In faith, you are much Mistaken, Lizzie,” she said with profound Seriousness, “it is I whose Features suffer when compared with yours. Throughout all the County,” said she grandly, defiantly, “your good Parts are considered more exquisite than mine.”
“You’ve heard it said?” I asked with Amusement. “Is our Fairness really so widely considered and compared by our Neighbours and by People of Taste?”
“Well, no,” she replied, a little crestfallen, “if the Truth be known, I have not heard anything at all said upon the Matter, nor have I any Evidence of it, but I know it to be true that you are fairer than I am. And cleverer. And less tedious.”
“Can you ever forgive me for my unjust Words, Kitty? If it can be any Consolation you must know that I intend to destroy my Journal and you will be the last Person to read it. My hasty, fallacious Words about you – which do not represent my true Estimation of so good a Friend – Words that were so horridly expressed – shall not survive the Hour.”
“Of course I forgive you,” she said, suddenly breaking into a delicate Smile, exhibiting only generous Feeling. “It is a great shame, though, to burn such a pleasurable Book as your Journal has proved ... In fact, if you had come upon me but a few Minutes sooner, then you would have witnessed me with my Hand between my Thighs.” She paused, looking at me anxiously for my Response. I was struck dumb by her Forwardness, managing only a faint Laugh. She stared at me, a curious Look about her Eyes. “You must show me how to frig myself as you do,” she said coyly, with an embarrassed little Smile.