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Overview
My Life and Loves is the highly-charged, erotic autobiography of Frank Harris, an Irish writer and editor who founded Pearson’s Magazine in the United States. The book remains a landmark in erotic literature, as relevant and provocative today as it was when first privately printed in Paris. As published privately by Harris between 1922 and 1927, and by Jack Kahane’s Obelisk Press in 1931, the work consisted of four volumes, illustrated with many drawings and photographs of women. Many contemporary and historic figures are discussed frequently in the book, such as Lord Salisbury, Byron Caldwell Smith, Algernon Charles Swinburne, Oscar Wilde, and many others. In this unexpurgated chronicle, we come to see Frank Harris in all his glory. This is the tale of one of the great editors of his day, a man of vision, vanity, and ambition who gave many writers, including H. G. Wells, George Bernard Shaw, and Stephen Crane, their early opportunities and recognition.
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9788121254120 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Arts & Science Academic Publishing |
| Publication date: | 06/30/2018 |
| Sold by: | Barnes & Noble |
| Format: | eBook |
| Pages: | 211 |
| File size: | 709 KB |
About the Author
Frank Harris (14 February 1855 – 26 August 1931) was an Irish editor, novelist, short story writer, journalist and publisher, who was friendly with many well-known figures of his day. Born in Ireland, he emigrated to America early in life, working in a variety of unskilled jobs before attending the University of Kansas to read (study) law. After graduation, he returned to Europe in 1882. Though he attracted much attention during his life for his aggressive personality and editorship of famous periodicals, he is remembered mainly for his multiple-volume memoir My Life and Loves. Harris became an American citizen in April 1921. In 1922, he travelled to Berlin to publish his best-known work, his autobiography My Life and Loves. He also wrote short stories and novels, two books on Shakespeare, a series of biographical sketches in five volumes under the title Contemporary Portraits, and biographies of his friends Oscar Wilde and George Bernard Shaw.
Read an Excerpt
CHAPTER I
Early in this century when I was about 45, I made up my mind to go around the world again as I had done twenty-odd years before and study those parts of it--India, China and Japan--which I had missed before. By this time in my life I realized distinctly that I liked young girls more than I ought to like them. The girlish form before the characteristics of sex become mature attracts me intensely.
One evening in London, a friend advised me to visit India, assuring me that my peculiarity was dominant there. I started for India determined to see all there was to be seen and, if my friend was indeed correct, to indulge myself whenever the temptation became overpowering.
Going through the Red Sea in September, the heat was terrific; the women passengers for the most part chose to sleep on deck in armchairs and, as the temperature rose, their clothing grew slighter and slighter. I had got to know a Mrs. Wilson and her daughter of eighteen going out to join the husband and father, a civil servant in Bombay. Mrs. Wilson was pretty, well-read and enthusiastic about my writings, with which she was familiar. The girl, Winnie, was far prettier with an adolescent figure on the verge of womanhood and the loveliest dark brown eyes. I thought her almost a perfect beauty, with her girlish outlines and entrancing face. How to win her! Naturally I began by paying attention to her and dispensing compliments of all sorts at every opportunity. I found she loved music, so I talked to her of Wagner and Liszt for an hour at a time. One day I stated the thesis that perfect beauty such as hers must be the outward and visible sign of a perfect soul. "You must live up to it," I said, "and in ten yearsyou will be famous. You will make all men adore you. We all long for perfection and never find it--it is the passion of the soul."
We soon became friends, till one day Mrs. Wilson took me to task: "You are turning Winnie's head," she said, "and it really isn't fair of you."
"I shall do her no harm, I promise you," I said. "I only tell her she must make her spirit as perfect as her face.
"She is pretty, isn't she?" said the mother.
"A charming girl," we both agreed. All the while I was thinking about how I could win her. More specifically, I was scheming how I could fuck her. There was nothing I wanted more than to plunge my throbbing cock into her tight little receptacle--to feel her moving beneath me as I shuttled in and out until she screamed for me to stop. I could imagine how my swollen shaft would stretch her pussy lips and how the grasping walls of her sheath would feel as I penetrated inch by inch. I wanted to bury myself in her until my balls slapped her upturned buttocks with each ramming stroke. I determined I would make my fantasy real, for I could not long endure the demands of my painfully hardened pole.
Our cabins were on the same floor. Due to the thinness of the walls, I often heard Winnie's girlish voice raised in conversation with her master. Once I even heard Winnie complaining that she had to wait for her bath. A thought immediately flashed through my mind and I called the steward, gave him a liberal tip, and asked him to speed up the stewardess and get her to tell me when the bath was ready. In a quarter of an hour the stewardess, quite an attractive woman herself, told me that the young lady's bath was ready." I gave her a good tip and begged her to keep hot towels for the girl when she emerged; she promised eagerly, showing that tips of gold coin were scarce. I went to the neighboring cabin, tapped at the door and told Winnie that her bath was ready, disguising my voice as I spoke. Then I fled back to my room.
In five minutes the stewardess came to me. "If you'd like to see her," she said in a whisper, "I can show her to you."
"Really?" I cried. "I'd like nothing better." I followed her to the adjacent bathroom where through a knothole one had a complete view of the bath and the pretty bather.
"Go in," I whispered to the stewardess after feasting my eyes for a while. "Go in and help her to dry herself and show me all her beauties, even the most secret--everything. I'll pay properly."
The stewardess smiled, went in, and began to soap Winnie's back, keeping her front towards my knothole. She had delicious breasts, large, full, and free of the effects of gravity. Her nipples were large and covered the end of each delectable globe. These buds were now fully erect from the chill in the cabin. Then after putting a big towel about her shoulders, the stewardess made her put up one leg at a time to get her feet dried. As Winnie stood with a foot on the edge of the bath, I thought I had never seen anything lovelier. The blood burned in my cheeks. As curve after subtle curve was revealed, I grew wild with desire to touch and kiss. My cock stiffened from my almost uncontrollable desire to bury myself in her slit. The pretty stewardess played her part to perfection. While she dried the right leg, she drew it apart so that the whole of Winnie's cunt was exposed to my eyes. Just as I thought I could stand no more, she began patting those puffy pink lips very gently with the towel before helping Winnie out of the bath and beginning to dry the other leg.
"You have never been touched there," she said to the girl, and suited the action to the word.
"No, indeed," said Winnie. "Mama took me away from school because one of the mistresses liked me too much and often expressed an interest in inserting her fingers into my cunny."
"Oh well," said the stewardess, "one of these days some man will have a treat, for I have never seen a prettier form."
And she was right. Winnie's body was superlative--perfection perfected--
"The gentleman who asked that I administer your bath," the clever stewardess went on, "is in love with you, I guess."
"Really?" exclaimed Winnie flushing a little. "Who might he be?"
"Well, we all like him," said the stewardess. "He's the best tipper on board. Take my advice: Be nice to him. You won't regret it. In fact, he's in the cabin next to yours."
This time I was sure Winnie flushed with pleasure. "I like him too," she said simply and began looking for her bathrobe.
In two minutes I was back in my room. As she passed I opened the door: "Had a good bath?" I said smiling.
"Excellent," said Winnie passing with the bath towel still about her.
I drew a piece of the neck open. "I wish I could see your figure," I cried. "I'm sure you are lovely." Her brows drew together in a little frown, so I just stooped and kissed her hand and she ran on.
While I was thinking it all over, I recalled a little black spot--probably a birthmark--high upon her right buttock. Suddenly it occurred to me I could use this knowledge to break down her modesty. I resolved to try on the morrow. Of course I rewarded the stewardess as soon as we met and she told me without beating about the bush that there was a girl in the steerage at least as pretty as Winnie.
"Shall I bring her up and give her a bath, sir? She'd be glad to come, I'm sure."
"All right," I said. "There's no hurry for a day or two. I'll let you know."
Next day, while walking the deck with Winnie, I told her I had had a great dream: "You came to me," I said, "just as you were after the bath--nude." She pouted half in disbelief, half in disdain. "If I tell you something about yourself that I couldn't know," I went on, "will you believe me and show yourself to me as in my dream?"
"I won't promise," she said, "but I want to hear what you saw."
"You have a little back mole there," I went on, touching the right side of her hip, "and I want to see it, it's so cute!"
"I haven't," she cried.
"Look when you undress tonight and you'll see I'm right."
After lunch we were seated in the shade when she suddenly said: "You're right: there is a mole. I couldn't wait until tonight, so I looked. But how did you dream so exactly--That puzzles me."
"Great affection," I began as if musing, "has strange powers. I saw you, your luscious full breasts and your figure, all of it, every hair as clearly as if you were undressed before me now. Someday you'll let me see you, won't you?"
"I don't know," she replied. "You're a strange man, "but you interest me greatly. Why do you want to see me?"
"Your beauty intrigues me; surely you know that." How could I tell her that I wanted to fuck her, that I wanted to wedge my stiff rod in her virgin slit?