Memoirs of Fanny Hill: A New and Genuine Edition from the Original Text (London, 1749)Cleland, John
General
Memoirs of Fanny Hill: A New and Genuine Edition from the Original Text (London, 1749)
Cleland, John
England -- Fiction; Erotic fiction; Prostitutes -- Fiction
One evening, I cannot help remembering, that returning home from him,
with a spirit he had raised in a circle his wand had proved too weak to
lay, as I turned the corner of a street, I was overtaken by a young
sailor, I was then in that spruce, neat, plain dress, which I ever
affected and perhaps might have, in my trip, a certain air of
restlessness unknown to the composure of cooler thoughts. However, he
seized me as a prize, and without farther ceremony threw his arms round
my neck, and kissed me boisterously and sweetly. I looked at him with a
beginning of anger and indignation at his rudeness, that softened away
into other sentiments as I viewed him: for he was tall, manly
carriaged, handsome of body and face, so that I ended my stare, with
asking him, in a tone turned to tenderness, what he meant; at which,
with the same frankness and vivacity as he had begun with me, he
proposed treating me with a glass of wine. Now, certain it is, that had
I been in a calmer state of blood than I was, had I not been under the
dominion of unappeased irritation; but I do not know how it was, my
pressing calls, his figure, the occasion, and if you will, the powerful
combination of all these, with a start of curiosity to see the end of
an adventure, so novel too as being treated like a common street-plyer,
made me give a silent consent; in short, it was not my head that I now
obeyed, I suffered myself to be towed along as it were by this
man-of-war, who took me under his arm as familialry as if he had known
me all his lifetime, and led me into the next convenient tavern, where
we were shown into a little room on one side of the passage. Here,
scarce allowing himself patient till the drawer brought in the wine
called for, he fell directly on board me: when, untucking my
handkerchief, and giving me a snatching buss, he laid my breasts bare
at once, which he handled with that keenness of gust that abridges a
ceremonial evermore tiresome than pleasing on such pressing occasions;
and now, hurrying towards the main point, we found no conveniency to
our purpose, two or three disabled chairs, and a rickety table,
composing the whole furniture of the room. Without more ado, he plans
me with my back standing against the wall, and my petticoats up; and
coming out with a splitter indeed, made it shine, as he brandished it,
in my eyes; and going to work with an impetuosity and eagerness, bred
very likely by a long fast at seat, went to give me a taste of it. I
straddled, I humoured my posture, and did my best in short to buckle to
it; I took part of it in, but still things did not go to his thorough
liking; changing them in a trice his system of battery, he leads me to
the table and with a master-hand lays my head down on the edge of it,
and, with the other canting up my petticoats and shift, bares my naked
posteriors to his blind and furious guide; it forces its way between
them, and I feeling pretty sensibly that it was not going by the right
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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