Quote Du Jour

Blowhard, Esq. writes:

My_Secret_Life_title_page

Few of the tens of thousands of whores in London gave their virginities either to gentlemen, or to young, or old men — or to men at all. Their own low class lads had them. The street boys’ dirty pricks went up their little cunts first. — This is greatly to be regretted, for street boys cannot appreciate the treasures they destroy. A virginity taken by a street boy of sixteen, is a pearl cast to a swine. Any cunt is good enough for such an experience. — To such an animal, a matron of fifty or sixty would give him as much, if not more pleasure than a virgin. I am sure of this even from my own experience, for I cared nothing whatever about the virginities I took early in my life. It was cunt alone I cared about, and any cunt for my pleasure then was good enough.

My Secret Life, Vol. 5, Chapter 16

Unknown's avatar

About Blowhard, Esq.

Amateur, dilettante, wannabe.
This entry was posted in Books Publishing and Writing, Sex and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

7 Responses to Quote Du Jour

  1. Pingback: Bonus Sunday Linkage | Patriactionary

  2. Callowman's avatar Callowman says:

    “One night towards the end of November in L**c**t*r S***e…” Way to mask that location! Mission accomplished!

    Have you been reading the whole book, or just this snippet? If the former, is it worthwhile?

    Like

    • Pardon me, sir, but that could mean “Leicester Square” or it could mean “Lqxcbntar Spmte,” there’s no way for you, I, or anyone else to tell.

      I’ve been skimming the book. I have a 576-page abridgment, but the unabridged memoir is 11 volumes, 4,000 pages, and around 1 million words. It’s highly disorganized and rambling, but still fascinating. Oh yeah, and incredibly dirty. “Walter,” the narrator, has to be the horniest guy in Western Lit.

      Like

  3. agnostic's avatar agnostic says:

    This was part of the broader “sporting” culture in Victorian England and Gilded Age America. The emergence of “chav” culture in England nowadays is a signal of our neo-Dickensian breakdown.

    Like

  4. Pingback: My Year in Books | Uncouth Reflections

Leave a reply to Callowman Cancel reply