My Secret Life

The other reason why I haven't written much here is because I have spent a long time reading a book: Not War and Peace which I have started again and got further with than last time, then came to a stop; Not The Bible though last year I read The Gospels for the first time since I left school; and Not The Complete Plays of William Shakespeare, Nor The Complete Works of Robert Burns; I might have to save those till I am old, like my Aunts – hush, don't tell them I said that, please, or I'll be force-fed unsalted porridge till it's coming down my nose and out my ears!

No, the book I finished last week is My Secret Life by Walter (the pseudonym of the Anonymous author) which is a narrative of his sexual exploits over about 40 years in the middle to late 19th Century, beginning with his participation in mutual masturbation with a group of his school-fellows, the discovery by observation that women are constructed differently from boys and then the forcible seduction of one of his Mother's servants after another – I say forcible seduction, but I should maybe say persistent persuasion, which is then followed by action, heedless of any protests, towards consummation; as he describes his techniques, they seem to consist of asking for a kiss, taking a kiss, questions about garters, outside groping, underskirt groping, always asking for one thing after which he promises to go no further, but he is a man who would promise the Earth and never deliver, because as soon as he takes an inch, he goes for the mile, and it is this constant wearing down of a servant-girl's resistance which, according to him, never fails to get results; and when girls declare that they are now ruined, may be "in the family way," will lose their post, with no character to enable them to find another, he really doesn't care. He's fucked her once, so he will go on fucking her till he tires of her and then will move on to another target – this despite the protestations of love, of adoration, that he glibly makes to any woman who catches his eye.

And after reading the entire eleven volumes of his memoirs, parts of it very difficult for me, there is a considerable degree of honesty in them. Oh, he has no qualms about fucking girls as young as eleven, justifying it to himself in very simple terms: if she is not a virgin, then she is fair game and he will extract as much pleasure from her as he can; and if she is a virgin, then she will surely be fucked by a member of her own class soon enough, so it is better that her first time be with a Gentleman, like himself! He certainly restricts the vast majority of his conquests to girls and women of these "lower classes" and gay women, the term used then for prostitutes. He does not restrict himself to single women, for married women of the lower classes are, to his mind, no different from single, but he has some moral limits when it comes to gentlewomen, particularly if they are married. But that self-denial lasts only until he finds one of them sufficiently attractive and, to his mind, irresistibly attracted to him. When he blithely ignores his self-imposed resolve and quite happily fucks them. He does not consider himself a rapist, describing how, once he has pushed aside a girl or woman's refusals, forced himself on her against her wishes, she will always succumb and take extreme pleasure from the act of conjunction. And as he describes these adventures, he justifies them by his old mantra of "cock and cunt will come together" for his philosophy is that sexual union between man and woman are inevitable, and it is better for all concerned if he is the man.

So once he has fucked a woman, with or without her agreement, he quickly fucks her again. And again. And arranges another meeting which, as he tells it, always occurs. For once a woman's cunt has been stretched by his cock, she is, quite naturally, desirous of further fucking by him. So hat-makers, dress-makers, actresses, shop-keepers, female servants, wives and daughters, all exist for one purpose only, and that is to be fucked and preferably, by him.

Now, he may not be the only single-minded sexual predator of his time, and his activities include countless times with prostitutes, in London and elsewhere, in brothels all over Europe, but his is the most extensive and detailed account of it's kind. It includes much voyeurism – finding or making peep-holes in hotel bedrooms so that he can watch a couple in the next room; watching other customers fuck women in brothels or bawdy houses; it tells of being out for a stroll in Switzerland, seeing a woman working in the fields, accosting her, following her, persuading her to let him into her home or a barn, and fucking her, be she labourer or farmer's wife, it makes no difference. Cock and Cunt Will Come Together. The only true purpose of life.

He married, at least twice. Hated his first wife and spent more of his time with prostitutes or prowling the streets for any woman out alone after dark; was devoted to his second, but after a brief period of fidelity, resumed his daily pursuit. He drew his income from investments, received inheritances and legacies from the wills of relatives, so had no need for work, which, after all, is beneath the dignity of a Gentleman. And although at times he declared himself to be short of 'funds' and could not afford the better class of gay woman who frequented The Argyle Rooms and the West End – Oxford Street, Regent Street, Bond Street – he could not deny himself for long and frequented lower class areas and found women (many of them married) who would let him fuck them for a shilling or two, such was their poverty.

I am not going to retell Walter's story, anyone who wants can get the Kindle version from Amazon for a small price, much less than Walter regularly paid for sex. I really want to reflect on the Man, rather than his exploits. For I don't think he was merely a product of his times and the more casual attitude to sex which ran under the prudery of Victorian hypocrisy. I should guess that his attitude to sex is to be found at all times and in all societies – whether put into practice by most men or not.

When I was at my Edinburgh Girls School, there was a joke wich, I am sure, would be found in all schools, girls, boys or co-educational:

"How many times a day does a man think about sex?"

"Once – from when he wakes up in the morning until he wakes up the next morning!"

"And how often does a woman think of sex?"

"Only when she sees a man!"

He writes that in his view, nothing that consenting adults do together is wrong, and he demonstrates that sort of tolerance in his behaviour, although he doesn't limit his own activities to adults. He pays no regard to whatever the 'age of consent' was at the time, pays as much as he can afford for very young girls – particularly if they are virgins, taking extreme delight in deflowering them. He regards the protestations of what he calls 'modest' women, which term applies to any woman who isn't gay, as mere shams, he begs to be allowed to see their legs above their garters, promising not to go further, and if they won't permit them. simply overpowers them – if he can't have them by broken promises, he takes them by force and in his narrative, they all surrender and enjoy what follows. On his single and over-riding belief that every woman wants to be fucked, pretty much all the time, and he is only doing what is natural and what they may not be willing to admit, but they really want.

Under the Offences against the Person Act 1861, the age of consent was 12 (reflecting the common law of the time), it was a felony to have unlawful carnal knowledge of a girl under the age of 10, and it was a misdemeanour to have unlawful carnal knowledge of a girl between the ages of 10 and 12. In 1885, the Age of Consent was raised to 16.

But so far as Walter was concerned, the age of consent was whatever age the child he wanted to fuck might be, and so far as older girls or women were concerned, if he wanted them, they consented. It was his desire that mattered. If he wanted a woman, he believed, she therefore wanted him, no matter that she might say no or put up resistance, for he believed that resistance was all a game which women play to make the man more determined to have his way. Cock and Cunt shall come together and so far as he was able, he put this into practice on a daily basis, and often more than once a day.

I am quite happy to agree that my opinions of Walter are obviously coloured by my own experiences. I was fucked, from the age of 11, by a succession of men whose desires dominated me. I didn't have the knowledge, the understanding, the mental or physical strength to deny them. I was used and abused, I was seduced, exchanged, bought and sold, by countless numbers of men, many of them old enough to be my father or grandfather, simply for their own pleasure – no concern was ever shown for what I wanted. I was a girl therefore I was put on Earth to be fucked, by whoever wanted me, whenever they wanted, and even by their dogs – as happened on quite a number of occasions – for their own amusement. Yes, my own feelings were secondary to their dogs, no that isn't right, not secondary, simply non-existent!

It's difficult for me to remember, because the number of men – and dogs – who fucked me, whether in my vagina, anus or mouth (and all three at the same time is again too many for me to count) must certainly be in the thousands, between the ages of 11 and 16. There were some, those who owned me, whom I belonged to, literally, who fucked me regularly and often and shared me with their friends. And there were others who borrowed or rented me and fucked me on multiple occasions, in a single night or weekend. And then, when I was one of a group of girls who worked the streets and clubs and pubs around Byres Road in Glasgow, there were lots of one-offs, but also regulars who would come, several times a week, and pick the same girl to fuck, either in an alley, in their own cars, or the van belonging to the same guy as we belonged to. I remember writing earlier that I (we) were treated like living sex-dolls, merely articles for men to use, sub-human, with no rights, no feelings, no purpose beyond serving the sexual needs of complete strangers. Just like the girls and women Walter used whenever he felt the urge, which was almost every time he saw a girl or woman: walking home from her work, or in the same compartment of a train, or a fellow guest in a hotel, or a chambermaid – any female servant in his own or other homes was in his eyes desperate for fucking and he was just the fellow to give her it; women out on the street, in daylight or after dark, in fact, almost every woman he ever met, anywhere, any time, any place.
I know I can't accuse every single man on the planet of having the same thoughts in his head as Walter, and even less off acting on them without compunction, as he did. We regularly hear on the news or in papers about women in India being gang-raped when they are going to work, college, or school, even riding in a bus. And we are told that the number of actual rapes in the UK is considerably higher than the reported number. Rape Crises claim that "approximately 85,000 women and 12,000 men are raped in England and Wales alone every year; that's roughly 11 rapes (of adults alone) every hour."

All I can say with certainty is that my experiences with men, from my 11th birthday until my 16th - the period during which I was exploited, used, abused, and swapped, loaned, owned, rented out and sold on – were that a considerable number of what would be viewed as 'ordinary' men, not monsters, murderers, or maniacs, so far as I could judge, were more than happy to willingly exploit my vulnerability for their own pleasure. whether they paid for me or not; some were 'gentle' if that word can be fairly used to describe men who will fuck a vulnerable child, others were rough and cared absolutely nothing for the person they were fucking; I have said that to me, it felt as if I could have been a sex doll (that description only coming to my mind when I was older and had learned the existence of such things) or some other such object which could be cast away, or, as in the novel Portnoy's Complaint, by Philip Roth, in which the protagonist masturbates with the aid of a slice of liver from the family fridge, eaten!

Since I escaped that life of being, not a sex worker, but a sex toy, I have never been with another man and nor do any men feature in my desires or dreams. I defined myself as a Lesbian and have found my sexual needs more than enough met with other women – without, and only write this because I have been asked the question by several men over the years, the use of dildos or 'strap-ons', and have never penetrated myself with anything resembling a penis. But that is only me. Whatever other women choose to use for their own pleasures, whether alone or with partners, is entirely up to them. But the fact that the question has been put to me – both directly or through social media, mainly Facebook Messenger – is an indication that many men seem to feel that have the right to enquire closely about a woman's sexual behaviour than, I imagine, another man's. Or maybe that is what they talk about at Football, Rugby or Cricket matches, in the Pub or riding in a bus or train, standing in the Pub or sitting in a Cinema. Maybe they turn to the stranger beside them and ask him: "Do you prefer to fuck or be fucked? Do you use a Dildo up your Arse? – Does your girlfriend or wife fuck you with a Strap-on?" Maybe that is what men talk about when women aren't present, or even in the company of their wives or girl-friends. I don't know. and as I would never dream of asking that of a male friend, neighbour, the boy-friend or husband of a woman friend, or a man sitting beside me on a plane or train, I don't suppose I will ever know. Or want to.
I am happy, contented and fulfilled in my own sexual life. I can't seem to find the 'Miss Right' who is supposedly just round the corner and waiting to meet me, and I do believe that is probably because of the nature of the abuse I suffered in childhood, but I do have close and supportive friends and family, and I have no trouble in meeting and having good and active sexual relationships with other women. I just haven't so far been able to form that long-term special bond which is supposed to be everyone's dream of stability and satisfaction. Maybe I will in time, maybe I won't. But for now, I have no complaints. Unlike young Portnoy, I don't need to fuck myself with the family dinner, so that is good enough for me.
 

Happy Birthday to Me!

 

I haven't written anything here for quite a while, partly because I've been busy with other things, but mostly because the memories which come back to me when I write about what was the darkest period of my life, are so intense, so visceral, that I find myself shaking, aching, sweat poring off me and the taste of a man in my mouth. And that is just the memories, the dreams, all in my mind, but I have a physical reaction to them which left me draimed after the last piece that I had to leave it alone for a while.

My 13th birthday was actually marked by a party and a cake. The party was more for the three guys who had rented me for the night, and the cake was from Amsterdam which, as far as I can remember, was already a place where tourists could buy marijuana cakes and cookies and wash them down with spiced coffee, but I've never been there so it is all just hearsay.

Mel, who had driven me to an address on the South Side of Glasgow, told me they were business men celebrating the closure of a deal, but when I saw them I thought they looked more like gangsters, probably drug dealers, and knew I was going to be in for a hard time. the three all had shaved heads and looked like the kind of Russians we saw on cheap videos; as it turned out, they were all Glaswegians, but they still looked like gansters to me: burly, hard looking men in their forties or fifties, with the hardened eyes of men who wouldn't lose any sleep if they killed me. But as Mel was fond of saying: "the customer is always right, and remember, if they like you and we get return bookings, there's a bonus in it for you," not that I would ever see the money, that always went to Mel. We girls never received a penny, we had nothing but the clothes he gave us, especially, no mobiles - that meant no way of contacting anyone, or organising an escape. We were just meat, to be sold and used, over and over again. But I had learned that keeping the customers happy was the best way to survive, even when we would be glad of the release of death. Mel didn't want to lose us, we were his cash crop, like cows on a dairy farm, to be milked over and over again.

One of the guys gave Mel a packet - the cash sum already agreed, - and he left, promising to be back at 10am to collect me. There I was, on my 13th birthday, with three strangers, intent on having a good time. And I was the entertainment.

Luckily, they were fairly decent to me. They all wanted to fuck and quickly agreed on an order for the first course of their meal. The oldest-looking got me to kneel on the floor and he had me doggy-style, he didn't waste any time on preliminaries, but he did at least use a lubricant - probably for his own comfort than mine, but it meant he penetrated my smoothly, held my hips tight, and shagged me for a few minutes before he came and filled me with his spunk. The second guy put me on my back and knelt between my legs, which he held up high and wide, gripping my ankles tightly as he entered me and shoved hard, pushing me slightly across the carpet each time and then pulling me back. I guessed I would have carpet-burns before the night was over. After he had cum, the third had me the same way, but he kept taking out his cock and then re-inserting it, this seemed to go on fer ages, but my sense of time was all to pot, until he too shot his load into me. But that was only the beginning!

They decided to have a three-way. One lay on the floor and they put me on top of him, and he slid his cock into my see you next tuesday, while another knelt between his legs and penetrated my bum - thankfully lubricating me and his cock first, and the third knelt over the first one's head and put his cock into my mouth and telling me to suck, I did as I was told and then the three started moving in unison, fucking my three holes in a steady rhythm

which seemed to last forever till the one in my mouth told them to get ready, as he was about to cum. They synchronised their thrusts and all managed to cum at almost exactly the same time. The one fucking my mouth shot his load down my throat and held my head tight, with his cock deep in my throat, making sure that I couldn't spit any of it out. As I swallowed the other two ejaculated up me.

 Then they phoned for carry-outs and ordered me a fish supper which I tore into and ate like I was starving, which I probably was. I even thanked them for it.

Mel came late, about 12.30, by which time they had each fucked me individually again and then produced the dog. I had thought I heard faint barking but in most parts of the city you can always hear at least one dog, and sometimes a chorus of howls, especially if there's a bitch on heat. At least this wasn't a Pit Bull or anything like that. I'm not much use at the different makes of dog, but I did recognise a labrador and that made me relax, cos I'd heard they were good, gentle dogs, the kind you can have with kids, but this one looked as if he was up for something special, the size of a schlong on him. They got him to lick me, which he seemed really keen on, probably with the smell and taste of all the cum up me. Now I knew why they hadn't let me wash after they fucked me. I thought it was cos they liked fucking up a spermy see you next Tuesday, and bum, but now I realised it was for Fido or whatever his name was. I always find dogs tongues tickly but at least that relaxed me, and I was giggling a fair bit, which they seemed to like and they were having a good laugh as well. Then they put me on some cushions, kneeling so the dog could take me in it's natural position and one of them helped guide it's cock up me, then it really went like the clappers! Gripping me with it's front legs it really gave me a pounding and boy, I don't know how many thrusts a second, but it was like a steam piston and I knew my knees were gonna be burned as well as my back. Every now and then it licked my back and had a breather, then got back to it. The guys were all jabbering away in whatever their language was and sometimes shouting and I noticed one had a stop-watch, they were timing the dog

When it shot it's load up me, one of them, the fattest, clapped his hands and cheered and then the money changed hands! They'd been betting on how long the dog could go before it came. I've heard the Chinese like to bet on anything but I'd never heard of this before. Well, at least that's over, I thought. But after a few minutes the dog's cock was wagging again and this time I had to lie on my back on the cushions so the dog could fuck my throat. And i thought, it's just come one load this is going to take forever - and it felt like it, One of the guys stood over the dog and kind of kept it from backing out of me, and it must have been used to this, cos it held me wrapped in its front legs again, sometimes nuzzling and licking between my legs, and thrusting away for all it was worth. The stop-watch was out again and when it shot it's second load down my throat one of the other guys cheered, and he collected his winnings.

Now I wonderd what the one who hadn't won would want done to me so he could try to win back his money and I didn't have long to wait. there was a lot of jabbering and then he slammed down a wad on the table. The others added theirs and then this third guy made me stand up, bend over and hold my ankles, and slathered some jelly or something on my bum and see you next Tuesday, pushed my feet further apart so mu cheeks were a bit wider and with one guy in front of me, (he gave me his cock to suck) and the other holding the stopwatch, the one who'd lost twice put his cock up my see you next Tuesday, then pulled it out and stuck it in my bum, then changed again and soon worked up a rhythm for himself, in. out. in, out, in, out, and I quickly lost track of how many times he poked me or how long it was taking; he kept up some kind of mantra to himself, but I had no idea what the bet could be - was it how quickly or how long he would be, no idea. And the one in front of me was into the same rhythm, except his cock never came out of my mouth, just pulled back a bit then forced down my throat. I was glad my nose wasn't stuffed up or I wouldn't have been able to breath. And because of the way I was standing, I kinda rocked backwards and forwards, depending on which one was thrusting. They were holding on to me, one pulling my arms, the other my head, or I would have fallen over,

then the one behind me began to count down from 10, I can't remember the numbers but some of them sounded vaguely familiar and I could tell he was planning on shooting his load as soon as he got below 1 - and he did, but not inside me. No, he had pulled his cock out and shot it all over my back and bum cheeks, and at the same time, the one in front had pulled his out and shot it over my face and hair. When they let go, I did just fall over and tried to hold back from crying, but I couldn;t help it. My throat was very sore and scratchy, my bum and see you next Tuesday were raw and I was covered in their spunk. They threw my clothes at me and one told me to get dressed, he said Mel was on his way, but I don't know how they knew, unless they had arranged it with him. When I fell I had knocked over an ashtray and all the ash was sticking to me and some of the butts, though Iwas able to knock them off.

I was just dressed when there was a ring at the doorbell and one of them let Mel in. He was grinning and glad-handing them while I felt filthy and sore, with the carpet burns and then my fall, but Mel told me to shut it or else, so I bit my lip and bottled it up. Five minutes later we were in the van and driving through the city. I could see people out on the streets, having fun and partying, and all I wanted was a bath and something to put me to sleep. I got a glass of vodka when we got back to the flat, but there wasn't any hot

water so I just crawled into my sleeping bag and fell asleep, exhausted. At some point in the night I crawled through to the bathroom and puked into the toilet, a mixture of fish and chips, vodka and slimy cum that had all boiled up in my belly. After that and rinsing my mouth and my face with

cold water, I crawled back to my bed and crashed out till later in the day.
Angry and ashamed, angry at myself for ever having allowed myself to be sucked into this life of squalor and filth, angry with my Mum and Dad for not having found me and rescued me, which probably meant they were glad to be rid of me, angry at all the men who had used and abused my body, and ahsamed that I had either not had the brains to escape, run away from Mel and all the others, nor the strength to end it all and escape into the oblivion of death. I knew that if I really wanted to badly enough, there would be ways of doing that. Maybe painful, but the pain would soon end forever, so, I reasoned with myself, I couldn't want out badly enough, which meant I only deserved everything I got and that doubled my shame because it made me an accomplice.