2 comments/ 22164 views/ 11 favorites Journal of a Victorian Gentleman By: TheBigandBaldGuy Tuesday, January 4, 1881 God save me from these post-Christmas doldrums! Everything gets so frightfully boring this time of year. Whereas one month ago all the great houses of London were festooned in their finest decorations and every night someone was only too eager to throw a soiree worthy of fond remembrance, now we are all adrift in a sea of ennui. The only thing that dampened our spirits at all last month was word of that nonsense going on in the Transvaal -- who would start a war in the middle of the Christmas season other than a group of illiterate farmers?! Bad form, if you ask me. Oh, Miss Elizabeth Dunbar, when will you throw another party?! I am bored, bored, bored! Torture me. Deprive me. Starve me. Even kill me. Just, for the love of God, don't bore me! We have just recently employed that new Irish scullery maid. Perhaps I will see if she has anything worth enjoying. Later -- Allow me to share with you my most recent adventure, both as chance to once again discuss the ease with which the lower classes -- especially Irish scullery maids -- will surrender their sexual delicacies to their employers as well as to explore the degree to which I will go to relieve my boredom...and sexual tension, of course. I walk into the pantry and our kitchen maid, Margaret, is there doing some damn thing or another for supper tonight. As I am an infrequent visitor to the kitchen -- or more appropriately Margaret knows what it means when I do suddenly show up in the kitchen -- she immediately smiled and looked around to see if the other servants were near. Teasing her a bit I grabbed a bunch of nuts and raisins from the table and innocently asked her where the new maid was. I said I wanted to "meet" her. Margaret smiled, knowing full well I meant "meat" her. I was informed the cook told her to clean out the ashes from my upstairs study. What a wonderful bit of luck that was!! So I walk into the study and see her on all fours reaching far back into the fireplace sweeping up the ashes, her ass in the air and pointed directly towards me. My cock immediately stiffened and stood firm at that sight and I knew how this would soon play out. These maids really are so easy! I cleared my throat, and she quickly stood up and whirled around, a look of shocked embarrassment on her face. She has lovely milky white skin -- made somehow lovelier by the smudges of cinders on her face -- bright red hair and eyes as green as her native island. She is quite a beautiful girl, and I could easily see her working over at Madame Toussaint's. Her lovely white face even had a few freckles and she looked very young. I suddenly recalled Beatrice saying the new maid had only just turned eighteen. My cock somehow grew even harder, and this was all just in the few seconds it took her to stand up! She apologized profusely for being in my study and immediately started to gather her things up, so I said, "No, no. That's fine. You were told by Mrs. Jennings, the cook, to clean in here, correct?" "Yes, sir," she whispered, but still loudly enough for me to hear that delectable Irish accent I love so much. "So, please do continue in your work...um...what is your name?" "Catherine," she said a bit more confidently and with a lovely little smile. It was the kind of smile that let me know Margaret had already told Catherine about me and that she was only too happy to meet me. She returned to her previous position sweeping out the ashes, her bum again most invitingly high in the air. I sat down on one of my leather reading chairs but didn't even pretend to be working or reading. I sat there quite blatantly staring at her delicious ass, the way an archer hones in on the bull's eye before letting loose his shaft. I also made no pretense whatsoever about rubbing my now almost painfully engorged prick through my trousers. Catherine cleaned like that for a little while, then I believe she became aware of my presence and felt my eyes upon her and looked over her shoulder. She clearly saw me stroking my thick piece of manhood through my trousers and quickly turned her head back around with a sudden sucking in of the air. I laughed to myself at this response. It was perhaps less than twenty seconds, however, before she slowly and cautiously peered back over her shoulder, taking in now the full picture of what I was doing. "Mr. Worthington," she said in mock innocent disbelief, "whatever are you doing, sir?" "Why, silly girl, I'm stroking Mr. John Thomas, of course." She giggled slightly at that. I like the way she sounds when she giggles. She turned back around to attend to her cleaning, but again peeked her eyes over her shoulder several more times, smiling widely and giggling deliciously every time she did so. I knew she wanted to say or do something about the situation but was totally at a loss as to what to do, so I said, "Mr. John Thomas would very much like to meet you, Catherine. Would you like to see him?" Catherine turned back around slowly now, her eyes at first cast on the floor, and then lifting them to me she softly said "Yes, sir," biting her lower lip after the words came out of her mouth as if they had leapt out of their own accord. I told her to stay in the position she was but to turn around. She did so obediently -- I do love how well trained these Irish maids are, so quick to listen to their employer's orders! -- and I slowly unbuttoned my trousers and pulled out Mr. John Thomas, who now stood tall and erect like one of my Coldstreamers during drill. She gasped slightly when she saw him and her eyes were stuck upon him with that hungry look I love so much. "Have you ever seen one of these before, dear?" "Yes, sir," she said playfully with a naughty smile. "One or two back home." "Oh, really?" That answer intrigued me and I noticed a silvery drop of the early spunk on the tip of my cock. "Have you ever had one in your mouth before, dear?" Catherine now blushed at that question and looked away suddenly, dropping her eyes before lifting them to meet mine. "I've never had one in my own mouth, sir...but I watched my sister do that one time to the lad that helps on the farm...and..." "Yes?" I said, stroking Mr. John Thomas now. "Well, it made my mouth water to watch her do it, sir...so...I've always wanted to have a taste of that myself." Catherine saying that suddenly took me away to my governess, Mrs. Herndon, that lovely buxom woman who unintentionally taught me so very much about the delights of the flesh. I recalled how I watched her suck the butler that one time when they thought the house was fast asleep and how I have craved to have my prick sucked like that ever since then! "My, my, Catherine," I said then. "You do look all sweet and innocent but inside you I think lives quite a naughty little girl." She blushed again and hung her head, apparently ashamed by that fact. Wanting to reassure her I then said, "Which means you will fit in perfectly here, dear." Catherine lifted her head and smiled again, that hungry look on her face again as she once more took hold of my cock with her eyes and refused to let go. Since she craved sucking one as needfully as I wanted mine sucked, I invited her to crawl over to me and have a taste of my prick. She did so, crawling across the floor slowly, her breasts hanging lusciously and providing me quite a view of those delicious soft mounds from down her maid's blouse. She arrived now to my magnificently erect thick piece which she took gently in her hand, pulling the prepuce down gently and simply looked at it deeply, as if trying to memorize every fine detail she could. She took all of the sight it as best she could, unwittingly driving me mad with deferred pleasure as her mouth was so close and yet she only held my cock there, looking at it. After a time I gently nudged forward with my hips, thrusting Mr. John Thomas towards her lips and sending her a clear message. She opened her mouth and slowly placed it in, taking only just past the head in her mouth and literally sucking gently. It was very clear she had never done this before, but rather than get bored or enraged by her clumsy skills I chose to instead educate her about the pleasures of sucking a man's meat. "Catherine, dear," I said now, taking it in my own hands and holding it for her. "I want you to do exactly what I tell you and how I tell you to do it." "Yes, sir," she said obediently in that wonderful accent of hers. "Now, I want you to lick up and down the shaft. Have you ever received a candy cane as a Christmas treat?" "Rarely, sir, but I've had a few." "Well then, lick it up and down just as you might begin to eat just such a delicious delight." She did so marvelously. Catherine slowly and carefully ran her soft wet tongue from the very bottom of my rock hard shaft, all along the side, then back down to the bottom numerous times. She even had the awareness to pull the foreskin back to expose the cock head and then to swirl her tongue around the head several times and to lick up and down the underside of the shaft. She seemed to indeed be a natural at this! "Well done, Catherine, well done!" I enthusiastically encouraged her. "Now, you come to the part where you want to place the length of it in your mouth." Catherine stopped her licking at looked at the entire massive size of Mr. John Thomas. "Put the whole thing in my mouth, sir? I don't know if I can." "Oh, you can, my dear," I said. "It only takes time and practice...a great deal of practice, lovely Catherine." I instructed her to slowly, carefully slide the length of my prick into her mouth as far as she could. She did so, only managing to take a bit less than half of my shaft before she started gagging and coughing. The sound of her choking like that, gagging, her eyes tearing up, sent voluptuous thrills through my body of the most intense lust and made me so want to grab her red hair in my fist and pump Mr. John Thomas deep inside her throat as I do the girls at Madame Toussaint's. I chose instead to be the patient and encouraging teacher. I told her to try again, to relax and to loosen her throat. Every time she gagged and choked I told her try again, and each time she took ever more and more of my cock down into her throat. She was not able to handle his entire length -- there is so much to him, after all! -- but she did superbly for her first try! "Well done, Catherine," I said. "Now, I need you to take him in your hand again and to slowly slide him in and out of your mouth as far as you can take him without gagging, running your hand up and down the length of it as you do." Catherine listened obediently and did just as I told her. She started off slowly at first, then at my command her bobbing became faster and faster. I knew my creamy spunk would soon start flying, so I told her to keep her mouth wrapped around it when that happened and take it all. I started to now add my own thrusts and pumps to the action, making the sensations far too much to handle and my spunk filled her mouth. I was unable to restrain myself from grabbing her hair at this very last moment, effectively pinning her head to my lap and my prick deep in her throat. I know Catherine had never had that tasty treat before, and the look of wide-eyed surprise on her face as my spunk filled her mouth was perhaps the most charming thing of this whole experience. After I finished I pulled Mr. John Thomas out of her mouth and she remained there with a confused and questioning look on her face. "Swallow it, dear. That's what you do with that special creamy treat." Catherine swallowed hard a few times, gagging a bit but getting my entire load down remarkably well. I do believe she is going to be a welcomed addition to my household staff. Thursday, January 6, 1881 Oh, blessed delight of delights! Miss Elizabeth Dunbar will be throwing a soiree on Friday the 14th. We just got the invitation today! And if I may say so myself, it is about damn time! My mid-winter boredom has continued, but at least Catherine is proving to be quite an effective distraction from that. I am still educating her regarding the proper way to suck a man's cock and take a large mouthful of his spunk without gagging. I am finding the role of sexual educator to be quite a wonderfully succulent thrill, in no small part because I am intentionally denying myself the pleasure of taking her wholly as of yet. I will, of course, I've just chosen not to do so yet. Yet. Friday, January 7, 1881 Music tonight at Sadler's Wells. It was quite a delightful piece but I found I was far more interested in the ladies there. Thank God for opera glasses. What a wonderful way to spy a delicious bust or an unexpected curve in such an innocent fashion! One of those hidden pleasures I love to spy so much is when a lady, all prim and proper and renowned in the city for her chastity and high morals, can been seen to gently and oh so intentionally touch her man's hardened prick through his trousers during the show. If I were ever to make public the amount of such "proper" ladies that touch men in such deliciously improper ways when the houselights are turned down all London would be in an uproar! How charming that would be!! I did strike up a very interesting and arousing conversation with a Mrs. Anna Kean who has been a widow for the past year or so due to our most recent, foolish adventure in Afghanistan. She had only just come out of the Full mourning period of her imposed bereavement and so she was again enjoying the joys of a rich social life. Even in her dull, black dress with the weeping veil partly covering her face it was obvious how gorgeous and simply delicious this treat was, especially her piercing blue eyes. It would appear her husband was the late Colonel Edward Kean of the 66th Berkshire regiment of foot of such recent fame due to his staunch fighting to the bloody end at Maiwand. Brave. Patriotic. Wrapped in the flag and all that. Yet shockingly foolish because his young wife is now alone and all but quivering for the touch of a man. Any idea which man plans to soon be touching her? During our innuendo- and entendre-laced conversation it was painfully clear that this very young, very beautiful woman is only too ready to have the loving ministrations of a lover and once again to feel the hard, powerful body of a man on her -- indeed, in her. Under such circumstances I believe I would have sent my Coldstreamers out of the safety of the garden walls then snuck out the back and returned safely to this woman! I am indeed proud to serve in the renowned Coldstream Guards, but surely there are limits to everything -- especially when delicious young women are involved. At any rate she invited me to low tea on Monday, which of course I graciously accepted. Having gone to Sadler's with William and we both feeling like it was far too early to call it a night, we decided to go to Madame Toussaint's to see if she had any fresh new girls. I am so very glad we did! I saw for the very first time an actual black woman from America. She told me her entire long story when we were done with our "business" transaction. It would appear Sadie was born as a slave in South Carolina the year before the Americans had that awful little argument over state's rights. The plantation on which she was born was burned to the ground by Sherman and his bummers and her family became camp followers. To make a long story short her family wanted nothing more than to get out of the south upon the end of the war but found the northerners to be only slightly less hateful towards her people than those of the south. So, fed up with America altogether, she decided to come see Europe a while and knew she could make quite a comfortable living selling the pleasures of her body. And oh my, what pleasures she had to offer! As you well know I have always been intoxicated by the beauty and raw sensuality of black women. Perhaps it's the exoticness of it, perhaps it's just because there are so few such faces here in London, perhaps it's because I would massage my prick to pictures of black women out of father's travel books when I was younger, but whatever it is I have always found them simply edible. So finally laying with one was too much for words. At the same time, Sadie is a truly gorgeous woman in her own right, regardless of what my proclivities may already have been. Her skin is not the dark chocolate that you might expect or have seen in the pictures of the antebellum south. Rather she is a fine, almost bronze color, or perhaps the color of café au lait -- and she tastes just as delicious too, I might add. Her hair is dark brown and in tight little ringlets that fall over her shoulders like a cascading waterfall, while her breasts are firm and large. Most wonderful of all, though, is that her nipples look like two firm little chocolate drops with very little areolae around those delicious nipples -- and you know how much I hate excessive areolae! She is slim yet well built, and in what was a totally shocking and unexpected surprise she shaved all but a thin strip of the pubic hair away from her delicious little cunt! I have never seen an adult woman so arrayed, but must admit to having enjoyed it -- if for no other reason than the lack of hairs in the back of my throat! William has never really shared my wonder for black women but he decided to enjoy her at the same time simply for the joy of doing something new. After having been taken to her room -- which was the Red Room, where I have had so many agreeable adventures! -- the three of us sat on the edge of the bed, Sadie between us. She would turn to one and kiss passionately, lovingly, while the other played with her nipples or gently rubbed her thigh all the way up to her very wet quim. She would then turn to the other and we would switch duties. We went on like that for a while, each of us stripping off our clothes or the clothes of another -- well, I should say William and I relieved Sadie of her already limited clothing, but neither he nor I stripped the other of so much as our scarves! -- until at last we were all three of us fully naked. As we kissed Sadie in turn she stroked our cocks, clearly enjoying the sensation of having her hands full and also making it obvious she knew just how to work two thick pieces of manhood in her hands. Growing eager for more I pushed Sadie down on the bed and told her to hang her head over the edge slightly. I then told her to start sucking William while I began to lick that amazingly delicious cunt of hers. It truly was one of the most altogether pleasant mottes I have ever enjoyed in such a way. First of all it tasted utterly delicious: fruity, almost like fresh raspberries in summer. It was a wonderful taste and I greedily licked it wildly. Secondly, I was aroused by the wonderful contrast in color of the bright pink of her cunt to the darker brown surrounding it. If I hadn't been so intent on getting that flavor in my mouth I would have just been content to lay there and take in the beauty of what I saw. And finally it was the wettest cunt I've ever played with. Most women can at least achieve a certain level of wet -- this quim was actually slick, as if secreting a special and unique oil. She was altogether wonderful to taste. I grew in time impatient with this and told William to switch positions with me -- it is so very convenient going to places like this a friend who is also a lower-ranking officer in your regiment! -- and now had Sadie get on all fours. While William worked her over as I had done from behind I now grabbed her lovely curly hair tightly in my fist and rammed Mr. John Thomas into her with all the might and fury I could muster. I think it may have been more than even normal because I had been so very restrained with Catherine for so long, but whatever the reason I slammed my prick deep inside of her with all I had. She made that delightful, lovely little gurgling sound I love so much with every thrust, yet she handled Mr. John Thomas' size like the professional she is. Journal of a Victorian Gentleman William now fucked her from behind as I continued to thrust my cock into her mouth at this frenetic pace, pounding away with total ferocity. He added his furious thrusts from behind and we met in the middle of Sadie, quite to her unmitigated delight. I then suggested something me and the boys used to do when we could find a willing girl while in Sandhurst -- and, of course, we rarely had trouble finding a lovely young lady willing to entertain military cadets in uniform! I told William to lie on his back and I then had Sadie sit on him, taking his prick deep inside of her cunt. Once he was well situated inside her I gently pushed Sadie over and slid in through that most delicious of forbidden holes. Sadie was a good girl and took Mr. John Thomas through the back door easily, moaning happily as he slowly entered her. We now worked together to thrust at opposing movements, so that as I pulled out he rammed forward, and as he was pulling back I was sliding it into her. This created a wonderful, alternating yet continual sensation for her that I know she found intoxicating. We were both soon pumping furiously and with everything we had, Sadie seeming almost to sway between the two of us in anticipation of or to catch the next thrust. Quite unintentionally -- but equally delightfully, nonetheless -- both William and I reached that wonderful point of absolute no return at the exact moment, flooding Sadie with spunk from two directions and in two holes at once. After we were done William dressed and left while I chose to enjoy a cigar lying in bed with Sadie. She then told me her story, and I left after finishing my cigar. All in all it was quite an enjoyable evening! Saturday, January 8, 1881 My concern for Beatrice grows daily. Despite the esteemed and august doctor's opinion the laudanum she takes constantly does not seem to have been affecting her illness a whit. In fact I sometimes fear it is causing an entire host of new problems for her. She is pale, all but confined to her bedchambers, withdrawn and haggard looking and only seems to even approach happiness when having just taken a spoonful of her medication. Yet this happiness seems to last a shorter and shorter amount of time with every dose of that damned medication before the pain and discomfort returns. I simply don't understand. She at first was given the medication to allay the pain that came with her monthly courses and yet now she seems to constantly be in pain throughout her body without it. Beatrice has been a good and loyal wife. She had no qualms marrying a man almost twenty years her elder two years ago when she was just twenty and has willingly and happily submitted to my education regarding the various ways in which a man and a woman can bring orgasmic pleasure to one another. She has accepted with grace my proclivities and understood my passion needs numerous outlets and has never once asked me to be other than who I am. I hate to see her suffer like this and further hate that I am impotent, helpless, and useless to do anything about it! Monday, January 10, 1881 I met with Mrs. Anna Keane for tea today. I had spent the better part of the afternoon preparing myself, making certain not a single black hair on my head was out of place -- not even those few grey ones on my temples -- combing then waxing my moustache. I shaved the rest of my face so that it was as smooth as a woman's, then put on my most perfectly starched shirt. I for a moment toyed with the idea of wearing my uniform, but thought it would be in bad taste under the circumstances so instead I put on my dark grey pants, silver grey vest and my black jacket. I used the large diamond tie pin and put on my onyx ring. My man Charles spent the forenoon shining my boots and one could see one's reflection in them. I must say I looked quite fetching and do admit I was dressing to impress. I arrived at her house promptly at 3.30 in the afternoon as we agreed. The house was lovely enough, but a few quick glances allowed me to know without question or doubt that Anna has fallen on hard times since the death of her husband. I know her husband had a small income other than his work as an officer -- we all need to, in light of how damned expensive it is to be an officer in Her Majesty's Army! -- and there is a pension following his death, but I also know from others that he enjoyed cards a bit too much and I can only assume he had rather significant debts. The house, despite its overall lovely appearance, clearly showed signs of disrepair, the sorts of which would have been done long ago had the lady of the house had any money to spend on them. Of course, given the fact that she has been forbidden from leaving the house for the past year due to these ridiculous codes of overtly lugubrious behaviors might also have impeded her ability to arrange repairs in the first place! I noted a definite lack of furniture one might expect to see in any such home, and given the scuff marks on the floors it told me that pieces had been removed, which clearly meant sold. Plus I noted she had but one butler and one housemaid, a staff that was clearly far less than such a household should employ. Yes, this is a woman who has most assuredly fallen on hard financial times. Yet despite all that she entertained me graciously, wearing a gorgeous burgundy red velveteen dress that was of such wonderful quality it seemed to almost shimmer. This surprised me at first as I naturally expected her to still be wearing her gloomy mourning dress, but I now know this is a young woman that thinks as little of our foolish and restricting social conventions as do I. I believe she was thrilled to have the opportunity to wear something other than black. She had every candle and fireplace lighted throughout the house and despite what was obviously a difficult financial time for her she smiled broadly and happily as we chatted, and then sat down to tea. We talked for a while in a nonchalant manner as we sipped our tea and ate scones, sandwiches, and other such fare. We discussed everything from the situation in the Transvaal to Gladstone's policies to literature and music. After a time I noted she shook slightly, so I commented on it coyly. "Why, Mrs. Keane," I said innocently. "You are shaking. Do you need more warmth? Is the fire not hot enough for you?" "Oh, not at all Mr. Worthington," she said just as coyly. "I find there is warmth enough from the fire, but I believe I need a greater level of heat within me." "Mrs. Keane, do you find you lack a significant level of heat?" My cock had long been stiff and ready but this delightful teasing innuendo made it even more eager to conquer yet another lovely quim. "No, sir, I burn with a feverish heat. Yet it is a strange one that seems to only be quenched through the application of yet more heat." "My goodness," I said, reveling in this most enjoyable, clever, and arousing word play. "This is quite a unique heat, Mrs. Keane." "Unique indeed, Mr. Worthington. Unique and most delicious." "And where can a woman -- a lovely woman, if I may be so bold as to say -- find application of such heat? Seems as if the source of this heat must be as unique and delicious as the heat itself." She smiled, and answered in a supremely coy and witty style. Offering me the plate of cold cuts prepared for the sandwiches she said simply, "Meat?" "No, no, no, Mrs. Keane," I said now standing, my prick raging and hard enough to use as a weapon, "it is I who offer you meat, dear lady." I strode to where she sat, leaned down, and kissed her gently on the lips. I felt her body quiver at the first gentle touch of my lips and heard the air catch in her throat for a moment. Looking deep into her sky blue eyes I saw the unspoken -- perhaps unspeakable -- desire and need within her, and leaned again now for a far more passionate kiss. She retuned this kiss lustily, making soft moaning sounds and her delighted shaking grew ever more noticeable. We remained thusly embraced for some time, kissing with all the passion and lust our bodies could muster. Quite to my surprise Mrs. Keane reached out her hand and began to massage my cock through my trousers; she did so for so long and with such talent that she very nearly made me discharge my spunk in my trousers rather than inside her. Now as wild with lust as she, I gently lifted her from her the chair and laid her down upon the settee. I only took enough time to unbutton my fly to release Mr. John Thomas from his wooly confines, which elicited a delighted moan from Mrs. Keane. I lifted her dress to have a most pleasant and unexpected surprise. Her silk stockings were, of course, gartered in place and high on her thighs, but whereas I had expected the image of her legs to disappear behind those damned pantaloons I was delighted to see she wore none. Like a working class woman or a household servant Mrs. Keane had foregone under-coverings and there was nothing to impede my view of -- or my access to -- her lovely little cunt. My cock was now mad with lust. Mrs. Keane giggled slightly at what must have been quite an amusing look on my face, to which she said simply, "Come now Mr. Worthington. You don't think I was only interested in having you for tea today, do you?" This woman grew more and more charming to me with every moment! I plunged my cock right into her exceedingly wet cunt and was met with a groan that was almost yelled. It was painfully obvious she suffered egregiously by the near year of lonely isolation and now did not merely want a man's touch so much as she needed it. I immediately pumped her furiously, both because she so obviously just needed a good hard fucking and because I was infuriated with lust by this point. With utter lack of restraint she massaged her well-developed clitoris, unabashedly frigging herself as I fucked her. It was not more than a minute of such animal-like thrusting that she was screaming out in utter delight, clearly the separation of her husband combining with her almost year-long imposed solitude making her sensitive beyond reckoning. My prick being as aroused as it was by way of our delightful chatter and her forceful rubbing did not last much longer than she, and I was soon filling her delicious little quim was a vast load of my creamy goodness. Now for perhaps the most charming part: We returned our clothes to their normal state, fixed our appearances, caught our breath, and then returned to the table to finish tea with no sense of shame or awkwardness. Deliciously I offered Mrs. Keane some cream for her tea at one point, to which she said, "No thank you, Mr. Worthington. You have given me quite enough cream for now." I lighted a cigar and opted to walk home rather than take a carriage, finding myself when I left to be in an ebullient mood despite the dark, gloomy fog-enshrouded streets. I almost felt as if I myself gave off lightness and a glow that defeated this horrid winter weather! We made plans to meet for tea again next Monday. Wednesday, January 12, 1881 Bored again. I have been instructing Catherine daily and daily she becomes more and more expert at handling my cock. I will soon take her in every way possible, but I am enjoying playing the teaching role far too much. But mostly I am adrift here in a sea of boredom and I cannot seem to find succor anywhere! I was so bored today that I decided to go for a walk despite the weather. I went to the Diogenes Club and spoke to the other gentlemen there. They are, as always, such a cynical lot, but I was delighted and surprised to find my old friend Richard Francis Burton was in from Trieste and we had a most pleasant chat. This man is, in so many ways, my idol, my model, my hero, and the man I wish I could be. It was he who encouraged my love of languages, my desire to collect books, to amass a gigantic library. Plus, this man knows more about sexuality and the practice of sex across the world than any other man in Her Majesty's realm. Long have we spoken over cigars and brandy about his exploits and adventures, and mine seem immature, fruitless, and naive in comparison. It is only because of Captain Burton that I was able to feel free to be myself and explore my powerful sexual urges despite what the people and "propriety" said. If not for the chance meeting when I was so young so long ago I fear I might have been yet another shell of a man, tormented by his own sexual drives yet convinced of the inherent sin, unhealthfulness, and impropriety of such feelings. To Burton I owe my own freedom. So upon leaving the club I now felt even randier than normal, given that much of our conversation revolved around his recent erotic writing and some of the translations on which he is working. My prick was stiff like a poker and I needed release now, knowing the house would be asleep by the time I returned home and all the servants would be abed. I walked to the East End and there found everything my mood needed. I was soon almost intoxicated with the delightfully devilish sights all around me. Here now two very drunken women are engaged in a kiss most charming to watch, while just over there are two equally drunken men slashing at each other with their knives -- I believe I prefer the female version of inebriation. Here are two lovers passionately embraced, her soft lovely breasts shamelessly exposed for all to see as he massages and pulls on the nipples, while there is a professional lady working her trade with a great large dock worker. So many delights to see, I feel like a child in a candy store! Mr. John Thomas makes his woody presence known to me and I set myself upon finding a professional lady to entertain me. I continue on for a bit and find one that catches my eye. Somewhat older than I might usually prefer she still has quite a lovely face to behold. You well know that when using the professional talents of such ladies I usually prefer to go to Madame Toussaint's, but I am sometimes attracted to this deliciously dirty and nasty way of doing things. Ah, yes...one must always try to expand one's experiential base, mustn't one? So at any rate, I find the lady's name is Mary and I give her the shilling this will cost me, then we find a nice quiet alley in which to do the deed. One thing I truly love about these street women is that there is no nonsense -- they are business women as income-oriented as any trader over at the stock exchange, and about as driven. Well, they are at least "driven" when they have a customer. What this means is that once a location is found the lady in question unceremoniously leans over and pulls her dress up, thereby revealing her ass. It is such a wonderful convenience that pantaloons is a vanity only seen among the upper class women and so it is quite natural for these ladies to have their bums only waiting for the baring. So Mary leans over and I, respecting her work ethic and goal-oriented values, drive my cock deep inside her with one quick thrust and get right to work. She bent over, I standing, we remain embraced like that until I fill her with a large load of spunk that had been building all day. We part ways and Mary disappears into the thick Whitechapel fog. Feeling refreshed and rejuvenated I walk home again, so pleased I decided to stretch my legs this evening! Friday, January 14, 1881 At long last the day of Miss Elizabeth Dunbar's magnificent party has arrived. She has not thrown such a soiree since her pre-Christmas fete back on December 10th. That is indeed far too long to be denied the pleasure of a party at the Dunbar home and the unique pleasures of Miss Elizabeth. Now of course these magnificent fetes are not literally given by the nineteen-year-old scion of this aristocratic family. However, everyone in London knew full well who it was that encouraged and was ultimately responsible for such enjoyable soirees and whose vibrant personality was poured into every detail and fiber. I arrived at the palatial house and immediately took stock of who else was here. There was the delicious Mrs. Charlotte Ellis and her aged viscount of a husband; Colonel Sir James Swartwood of the Grenadier Guards with this ravishing daughter Emily; Lord and Lady Wentworth; Captain William Grant late of the Confederate army and his lovely wife; and that insufferable Sir Reginald Cummabaugh, who thinks that just because he holds a ridiculous and trivial post in the Queen's court he has her ear -- what a fool! There were many others, of course, but the details escape me after having drunk so much delicious wine. It was a delightful evening with a great deal of merriment, dancing, and imbibing. Elizabeth Dunbar looked simply edible in her blue evening gown, while the Lord and Lady Dunbar looked as dour and unpleasant as always -- how did two such people spawn such a lovely and vivacious daughter? I danced with Miss Elizabeth as many times as I possibly could, never missing a chance to rub my swollen and stiff prick against her as we did so. She, as always, played the toying game perfectly, feigning shock, surprise that such an odd implement should be lodged in my pants, and all those absolutely charming things as that. Other gentlemen wished to dance with her, of course, but I made certain to not have her out of my hands for long. I don't believe I have ever pursued a woman with such constancy or enthusiasm as I have Elizabeth, and I do believe that the very fact that she has always rebuffed my ultimate goal to have enlivened me even more towards finally conquering her. It was no different this evening, as we danced and drank and played with one another, she always bringing me to the point of sexual frenzy then skipping off with a giggle, knowing full well what a state she left me. It was finally late in the night -- or actually early in the morning, as I believe it was about 1.00 or so -- when the fete was winding down that she allowed a bit more for me. We were sitting in a semi-private alcove tucked somewhat behind a curved staircase as we kissed, groped, and spoke such delightfully filthy things to each other. I had my hand well up her dress and deep inside her sopping wet cunt, occasionally taking my fingers out to lick her juices off them. I commented on their taste and she agreed that she does taste quite delicious. "Oh," said I. "Do you taste yourself when frigging?" "Indeed I do, Mr. Worthington. I can see why any man would love to taste such a delicious slit as mine." "Well, let me then," I said, and started to lift her dress with every intention of plunging my head up it and to her cunt. "Oh, no, sir!" she said, again in mock outrage. "Such a thing would be...so very improper!" "Indeed it would, Miss Elizabeth, which is why it would be such a wonderful release." "And release it does appear you need, Mr. Worthington," she said, now rubbing the most immoderate bulge Mr. John Thomas was making through my trousers. "It would appear this needs released or else it might explode, dear sir!" "Then please, by all means, release it." She did so happily, unbuttoning my trousers and letting my immensely stiff prick out. She pulled my prepuce back to reveal the head, round and red. She giggled again, and I have always known she enjoyed the affect she had on men so much. "Now, Mr. Worthington, whatever shall I do to give you sweet release, sir?" she said playfully. "Lay down, Miss Dunbar, and I will show you," said I. "And soil my lovely new evening gown?" she said, now stroking my stiff prick with white silk-gloved hand. "I think that would be most improper, don't you sir?" "Then what...?" I stumbled over my words, the pressure of my spunk growing excessive. "What do you propose?" "Oh, sir," she said sweetly and stroking me now furiously, "You know I never mind lending you a hand." Journal of a Victorian Gentleman And that she continued to do for perhaps only another minute, until I could actually see my cock take on a darker shade of red -- indeed, almost a purple -- and grow larger and stiffer. Just prior to the final explosion of spunk, Muss Dunbar plunged my cock deep inside her mouth and caught every sticky drop of my cream, not releasing it until she sucked out and swallowed every last drop. "Mmm," she cooed now happily. "Thank you for a delightful evening's entertainment, Mr. Worthington." And with that she left me in the alcove, Mr. John Thomas now sticking out of my trousers enervated, weak, and limp. One day, I will have her completely! What a woman!! Monday, January 17, 1881 My previously made plans to meet Mrs. Keane for "tea" had to be canceled, much to my deepest regret, due to this wicked blizzard that has attacked our city like a ravaging army of Huns from long ago. Business has stopped, carriages and hackneys are frozen in place, and walking is something one does today at the peril of one's own safety. It was with the deepest regrets that I sent Catherine to Mrs. Keane's house with a note begging my absence. She responded that she would not have wanted me to hurt myself getting to her house just for tea and that she would be sure to keep her "little tea pot" hot for my next visit on this Monday next. I find this woman intoxicating in the most extreme and wonderful way. Tuesday, January 18, 1881 The world -- or at least the City of London -- is frozen, stopped, and utterly incapacitated by this immense blizzard that has now been dumping snow on us for two days. This is a snow storm worthy of New England, not Old England!! I was hoping to make it to the Lodge meeting this evening as William was set to get his Third Degree, but I took one look at the small mountain of snow piled in front of the house and thought otherwise. To make matters worse I am getting word from friends in the War Office telegraph room that our forces have suffered grievously in the Transvaal. Can one please tell me how the mightiest empire on Earth suffers a defeat at the hands of uneducated, untrained farmers?! Neither that news nor this damned blizzard has helped my mood one bit, and my winter ennui was worse than ever today. Not only did I train Catherine on two separate occasions regarding the proper way to suck a man's cock and swallow spunk but I also fucked Margaret. She was there at the kitchen counter while Mrs. Jennings was out buying victuals, so I simply came up behind her, lifted her dress and slid in from behind. It was enjoyable, but merely a brief respite from the overarching boredom that comes from being trapped in one's house during a wicked blizzard. Monday, January 31, 1881 It has been some days since I've written anything and even now I lift my pen with a heavy heart. On the day after my last entry that horrific thing which I have long feared the most finally occurred. I went to Beatrice's bed chamber as I do every forenoon to chat with her and check on her well being only to find her laying in bed, cold, lifeless, whiter than the sheets upon which she lay. The bottle of laudanum -- which I knew to have been just delivered by the doctor the day before -- now lay empty clutched in her hand. The pain, I suppose, had finally become too much for her and she drank the entire bottle. I know not whether she intended to end her life or just finally have succor from her constant world of pain, but whatever her motivation was I am now bereft of my beloved wife. My heart is truly broken. She is now buried in the family mausoleum on our country estate and the activities of this household are returning to normal. And while she had long ago taken a step back from the everyday activity of my life due to her illness I still looked forward to seeing her in her chambers, even if her lovely appearance had started to become ravaged with illness. Our daily and twice daily visits were very often high points of otherwise loathsome and wretched days. And now I have not even that. But more than all this is that a man in my position and of my rank is expected -- nay, it is demanded -- to have a wife. While I am happy to secretly reject many of the silly notions of our modern society I do feel the need for a constant companion and know I would become rather a lonely pariah and outsider of our circle far too much to my liking if I remained a bachelor again for too long. But I will not accept just any woman as my wife for the sake of having one. She has to be vivacious, young, beautiful, of our kind, and bringing another good fortune to my bank would certainly be a plus. Most of all, however, she needs to be willing to explore sexual pleasures with me while also accepting that my nature is one that needs numerous sexual outlets. I could sneak like every other man in London, but that would make me then untrue to myself and that, therefore, is utterly unacceptable. Where in this world will I find another woman like Beatrice? I pray the rest of this year may find me in better situations. At any rate, I will write where ever I find myself and whatever my situations may be. I find it rather healthful for me to do so...