Memoirs of Fanny Hill: A New and Genuine Edition from the Original Text (London, 1749)Cleland, John
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Memoirs of Fanny Hill: A New and Genuine Edition from the Original Text (London, 1749)
Cleland, John
England -- Fiction; Erotic fiction; Prostitutes -- Fiction
I had now totally taken in love’s true arrow from the point up to the
feather, in that part, where making no new wound, the lips or the
original one of nature, which had owed its first breathing to this dear
instrument, clung, as if sensible of gratitude, in eager suction round
it, whilst all its inwards embraced it tenderly, with a warmth of gust,
a compressive energy, that gave it, in its way, the heartiest welcome
in nature; every fibre there gathering tight round it, and straining
ambitiously to come in for its share of the blissful touch.
As we were giving them a few moments pause to the the delectations of
the senses, in dwelling with the highest relish on this intimatest
point of re-union, and chewing the cud of enjoyment, the impatience
natural to the pleasure soon drove us into action. Then began the
driving tumult on his side, and the responsive heaves on mine, which
kept me up to him; whilst, as our joys grew too great for utterance,
the organs of our voices, voluptuously intermixing, became organs of
the touch... how delicious!... how poignantly luscious!... And now! now
I felt, to the heart of me! I felt the prodigious keen edge, with which
love, presiding over this act, points the pleasure: love! that may be
styled the Attic salt of enjoyment; and indeed, without it, the joy,
great as it is, is still a vulgar one, whether in a king or a beggar;
for it is, undoubtedly, love alone that refines, ennobles, and exalts
it.
Thus, happy, then, by the heart, happy by the senses, it was beyond all
power, even of thought, to form the conception of a greater delight
than what I now am consummating the fruition of.
Charles, whose whole frame was convulsed with the agitation of his
rapture, whilst the tenderest fires trembled in his eyes, all assured
me of a perfect concord of joy, penetrated me so profoundly, touched me
so vitally, took me so much out of my own possession, whilst he seemed
himself so much in mine, that in a delicious enthusiasm, I imagined
such a transfusion of heart and spirit, as that coalescing, and making
one body and soul with him, I was he, and he me.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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