The Human Mind Sex/Erotica My Secret Life

My Secret Life

My Secret Life
Catalog # SKU1827
Publisher TGS Publishing
Weight 5.00 lbs
Author Name Walter
 
$59.95
Quantity

Description

My Secret Life
by Walter


11 Original Volumes
Now Published in 3 Books


Not much is known about this book, other than it was not published in its entirety for public consumption for about 80 years after it was written. No one really knows who wrote this erotic, lurid, tale. The first publication in the late 1800s was done only by private printing through special orders, and never made available to the public. It is a literary mystery, though most critics claim its style is amateurish. It is the mystery of why such a bawdy tail would be covered up for so many years, since the world had already been introduced to Marquis De Sade's writing and those of Leopold Von Sacher-Masoch, that we were interested in.

Even if you don't care for the vulgar and explicit language and stories, the book does give a long glimpse into the life styles, sexual habits, societal values, in these areas the author claimed to have been during the mid to late 1800s. This era was not prudish, since some of the greatest erotica came from that time period, making it all the more mysterious for the manuscript's 'secrecy' and cover-up for so many years.

This is not a coherent piece of literotica, such as Lady Chatterley's Lover, and written without a plot or a plan, almost as a diary. Many archaic words, slang, grammar, and spellings are used. It's almost amusing to see the over-use of hyphenated words and hyphens in general, but that was the style of grammar for many English writers in the 1800s.

The original work was eleven volumes and we have reproduced all eleven volumes in three books, uncensored, in its entirety.

From the Preface

Some years have passed away since I penned the foregoing, and it is not printed. I have since gone through abnormal phases of amatory life, have done and seen things, had tastes and letches which years ago I thought were the dreams of erotic mad-men; these are all described, the manuscript has grown into unmanageable bulk; shall it, can it, be printed? What will be said or thought of me, what became of the manuscript if found when I am dead? Better to destroy the whole, it has fulfilled its purpose in amusing me, now let it go to the flames!

I have read my manuscript through; what reminiscences I had actually forgotten some of the early ones; how true the detail strikes me as I read of my early experiences; had it not been written then it never could have been written now; has anybody but myself faithfully made such a record? It would be a sin to burn all this, whatever society may say, it is but a narrative of human life, perhaps the every day life of thousands, if the confession could be had.

What strikes me as curious in reading it is the monotony of the course I have pursued towards women who were not of the gay class; it has been as similar and repetitive as fucking itself; do all men act so, does every man kiss, coax, hint smuttily, then talk bawdily, snatch a feel, smell his fingers, assault, and win, exactly as I have done? Is every woman offended, say 'no,' then 'oh!' blush, be angry, refuse, close her thighs, after a struggle open them, and yield to her lust as mine have done? A conclave of whares telling the truth, and of Romish Priests, could alone settle the point. Have all men had the strange letches which late in life have enraptured me, though in early days the idea of them revolted me? I can never know this; my experience, if printed, may enable others to compare as I cannot.

Shall it be burnt or printed? How many years have passed in this indecision? Why fear? It is for others good and not my own if preserved.

Excerpt

My earliest recollections of things sexual are of what I think must have occurred some time between my age of five and eight years. I tell of them just as I recollect them, without attempt to fill in what seems probable.

She was I suppose my nursemaid. I recollect that she sometimes held my little pr--k when I piddled, was it needful to do so? I don't know. She attempted to pull my prepuce back, when, and how often, I know not. But I am clear about seeing the pr--k tip show, of feeling pain, of yelling out, of her soothing me, and of this occurring more than once. She comes to my memory as a shortish, fattish, young female, and that she often felt my pr--k.

One day, it must have been late in the afternoon for the sun was low but shining-how strange I should recollect that so clearly - but I have always recollected sunshine, - I had been walking out with her, toys had been bought me, we were both carrying them, she stopped and talked to some men, one caught hold of her and kissed her, I felt frightened, it was near a coach stand, for hackney coaches were there, cabs were not then known, she put what toys she had on to my hands and went into a house with a man. What house? I don't know. Probably a public-house, for there was one not far from a coach stand, and not far from our house. She came out and we went home. Then I was in our house in a carpeted room with her; it could not have been the nursery I know, sitting on the floor with my toys; so was she; as played with me and the toys, we rolled over each other on the floor in fun, I have a recollection of having done that with others, and of my father and mother being in that room at times with me playing.

She kissed, me, got out my c--k, and played with it, took one of my hands and put it underneath her clothes. It felt rough there, that's all, she moved my little hand violently there, then she felt my c--k and again hurt me, I recollect seeing the red tip appear as she pulled down the prepuce, and my crying out, and her quieting me. Then of her being on her back, of my striding across or between her legs, and her heaving me up and down, and my riding cockhorse and that it was not the first time I had done so; then I fell flat on her, she heaved me up and down and squeezed me till I cried. I scrambled off of her, and in doing so my hand, or foot, went through a drum I had been drumming on, at which I cried.

As I sat crying on the floor beside her, I recollect her naked legs, and one of her hands shaking violently beneath her petticoats, and of my having some vague notion that the woman was ill; I felt timid.

NOT FOR SALE TO MINORS



Softcover, 8½" x 7", 1450+ pages
Perfect-Bound in 3 Books

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