Victorian erotica has always appealed to me, a world far removed. Communication then (letters, writing and reading) seemed primitive, old-fashioned, with clothing, cultural attitudes, morals all somehow ancient. Yet the personalities were familiar, three-dimensional, and in this case, even family related.
I was sitting in an aged winged chair in the study of my uncle's manor house in East Anglia. His great, great-grandfather was the Earl of Norwich. I had been given permission to go through the Earl's papers, neglected perhaps for good reason: the good Earl had a bit of a reputation, not one for which the family took any pride. I won't name him but consulting the DNB won't provide a difficult challenge for identification.
I was sifting through dusty letters on falling-apart paper, trying to decipher crabbed handwriting, when I came upon his diary, kept from 1887-1892. The following, quite remarkable, entry appears to be during a continental tour. The text is unaltered, spelling and wording as is. Readers may enjoy this frisky look into the past.
14 July, Paris
I had gotten a room from a baudy house on Rue d' R-- for the whole night, and had had a lovely fuck with madame's best, Lisette. She was a sweet, fair-skinned girl of perhaps twenty-five, and I was pleased with her strong, full-lipped cunt which had gripped me with abandon.
I had ordered brandy, whilst I enjoyed seeing her charms on display as she sat in her chair, that full thatch of dark cunt-hair, slender limbs and dark nipples.