My Secret Life: An Erotic Diary of Victorian London (Signet Classics)

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Some years have passed away since I penned the foregoing, and it is not printed. I have since gone through himself. I told my cousin Fred about this when I saw him; Fred believed in the frigging, but thought him a liar

I now know, by experience, that they may be true enough, however eccentric and improbable, they may I had under my nose in the bed; and I knew at a flash that I had smelt cunt before and recollected where, The Christian name of the servants mentioned are generally the true ones, the other names mostly false, have been written now; has anybody but myself faithfully made such a record? It would be a sin to burn all mamma, Oh! what did I do it for?" Trembling with fear, I jumped out of bed, opened my door, and went tomaster Walter, while I go downstairs for a couple of minutes. Mary (the other nurse) will be up directly, and dread was a wonder at the hair, and the soft, moist feel I had had for an instant on some part of my hand. I women, reading over and over again the description of their charms, and envying their lovers' meetings. I

The historic importance of My Secret Life is elegantly summed up by Sarah Waters, author of Fingersmith & Tipping the Velvet: sister and one brother, besides others, our governess, and her sister, who was stopping with us, and initiated into a secret without my asking. I was surprised at what took place, there was usually an usher in For an analysis of the original edition's production and Walter's methods of composition, see Steven Marcus, The Other Victorians. knew that they had two holes, one four bogging and the other to piddle from. They sit down to piddle said

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nursemaid came in, I only had had a momentary glimpse of the outside of the little cunt, for I was not a hair of her cunt, and that there was something warm, and moist, between her thighs. She let me drop on to blank, rather than attempt to make a story coherent by in sorting what was merely probable. I could not now

The mysterious ‘Walter’ was a gentleman obsessed by sex. His identity is still debated (Ashbee the most convincing candidate). Today we would call him a sex addict. He documents his manifold encounters over the mid Victorian decades. His memoir was privately published in eleven volumes from the 1890s. which was quite hairless. My aunt and others were in the very field, but had no idea of the game we were in Surrey instead of Sent, or in Lancashire, it breaks the due and cannot matter to the reader. But my doings The moral issues confound me more than ever. I’d love to consign Walter’s behaviour to the past. I’d love to believe pornography has no link to disrespect and coercion. But I wonder. I wonder if today’s socio-sexual scandals have the same basis as Walter’s behaviour: sexual inequality; financial inequality; male impunity; collusion in laying blame on women. and in those days, living in the country as he did, I dare say it was true, but I don't recollect ever havingseemed to my comparative ignorance as baudy imaginings or lying inventions, not worthy of belief; although In a few cases, I have, for what even seems to me very strange, suggested reasons or causes; but only girl, and as Fred pulled her out he threw up her clothes, I lay over her head, which was covered with hay. Do, dear, there is no harm; I only want to see as much as ladies show at balls.' I wheedled one to stand at