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
In order then to pave the way for the accomplishment of my scheme, for
two or three times that the young fellow came to me with messages, I
managed so, or without affectation to have him admitted to my bed side,
or brought to me at my toilet, where I was dressing; and by carelessly
shewing or letting him, as if without meaning or design, sometimes my
bosom rather more bare than it should be; sometimes my hair, of which I
had a very fine head, in the natural flow of it while combing;
sometimes a neat leg, that had unfortunately slipt its garter, which I
made no scruple of tying before him, easily gave him the impressions
favourable to my purpose, which I could perceive to sparkle in his
eyes, and glow in his cheeks: then certain slight squeezes by the hand,
as I took letters from him, did his business completely.
When I saw him thus moved, and fired for my purpose, I inflamed him yet
more, by asking him several leading questions, such as: “Had he a
mistress?... was she prettier than me?... could he love such a one as I
was?...” and the like; to all which the blushing simpleton answered to
my wish, in a strain of perfect nature, perfect undebauched innocence,
but with all the awkwardness and simplicity of country breeding.
When I thought I had sufficiently ripened him for the laudable point I
had in view, one day that I expected him at a particular hour, I took
care to have the coast clear for the reception I designed him; and, as
I laid it, he came to the dining room door, tapped at it, and, in my
bidding him come in; he did so, and shut the door after him. I desired
him, then, to bolt it on the inside, pretending it would not otherwise
keep shut.
I was then lying at length upon that very couch, the scene of Mr.
H....’s polite joys, in an undress, which was with all the art of
negligence flowing loose, and in a most tempting disorder: no stays, no
hoop..., no incumbrance whatever. On the other hand, he stood at a
little distance, that gave me a full view of a fine featured, shapely,
healthy country lad, breathing the sweets of fresh blooming youth; his
hair, which was of a perfect shining black, played to his face in
natural side curls, and was set out with a smart tuck-up behind; new
buckskin breechs, that, clipping close, shewed the shape of a plump,
well made thigh; white stockings, garter-laced livery, shoulder knot,
altogether composed a figure of pure flesh and blood, and appeared
under no disgrace from the lowness of a dress, to which a certain
spruce neatness seems peculiarly fitted.
I bid him come towards me, and give me his letter, at the same time
throwing down, carelessly, a book I had in my hands. He coloured, and
came within reach of delivering me the letter, which he held out,
awkwardly enough, for me to take, with his eyes rivetted on my bosom,
which was, through the designed disorder of my handkerchief,
sufficiently bare, and rather than hid.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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