Free The Diary of Cozette by Amanda McIntyre

spitting again.
    She was brilliant and I could not help but think what a fool her fiancé was to turn out a woman with so much fire and passion.
    “It is probably wise that we leave before he awakens,” she suggested.
    “I have a hard time imagining why Frank would be so foolish to leave someone like you.” I could have addressed any number of things, but the fact of the matter, is that I felt quite liberated.
    She wiped the back of her hand over her mouth and ignored my comment as she turned to a beaten old wardrobe and pulled out a tattered, thin dress. Not wasting time, she tugged it over her head and her form was so thin, she didn’t bother with its buttons or ties. Her hand she slid beneath her tresses, freeing them from the collar, and she secured it over one shoulder with a piece of ribbon from the floor of the wardrobe. The event itself lasted only a few moments, though it seemed longer. I marveled at her systematic, businesslike manner. I had just seen my first oral sex technique on a man and I was mesmerized; she acted as though it was a common as a sunrise.
    The man now snored in his deep slumber, his great member listless on his thigh. Betsy lifted his trousers and pulled from his pocket a handful of shillings. She carefully counted out several shillings and handed me half. In my hand, I held more than I could make in six months of cleaning slime from the washroom. As I reached down to pick up my shirt on the floor she spoke as though understanding my misgivings to the thievery we committed.
    “Don’t be so surprised. A working-class virgin can go for as much as twenty-five pounds, oft-times more than that. In my view, he received a bargain with two.” She smiled.
    I remembered Ernest’s face when he told me of the bargain he’d overheard between Mr. Abbot and the stranger.
    I scrambled into my shirt, not willing to argue, but was relieved I had not lost my virginity to the drunken louse.
    Betsy hooked her arm through mine and for a moment, we stood transfixed watching the slumbering giant.
    Betsy glanced at me, wickedness dancing in her pale blue eyes.
    “I cannot deny that in this business, my days as a virgin are most assuredly numbered. Perhaps it would be best to see if I might perform the act while he is out cold? At least I would not have to contend with his disgusting mouth or his groping paws.”
    I stared at her. Was she daft? There was the real danger that the clod would awaken. Had the lack of food addled her brain?
    My gaze bounced back to his limp cock and I had to grin. “I am not at all certain you would have the same success given he is not awake,” I interjected, hoping she would see the folly in her reason.
    A loud snore that shook his body squelched the young virgin’s thoughts. Her brows rose and she looked at me, a grimace marring her otherwise pretty face.
    “Perhaps I can wait to give away my virtue on another day.”
    “And to a far better suitor,” I agreed and quickly finished dressing, dashing into my room for my journal and writing tools.
    With Betsy in her dress and me in my man’s attire, we appeared for all purposes to be a prostitute and her client. With a final glance at the man still tied to the wrought-iron bedposts, I hoped that the mice would not nibble too much.
     
    We wandered the streets for what seemed hours before coming upon an establishment near the docks. A fair number of men from the Queen’s navy were gathered in the street, celebrating their leave. At first, I thought it unwise to venture too far into the unruly crowd. However Betsy, who was far more knowledgeable, pointed to the soft glow behind the red curtains on the row of upper windows.
    “I hear they have live performances, the same as in Paris.”
    I peered through the crowd straining to catch a glimpse of the show. “Come on then, let’s see if they have any work.” I grabbed her hand and pulled her behind me, through the chorus of men singing of England’s grand fleets and waving