Gustav Schlling - Memoirs of a Baron

“I believe you are serious.”

“But naturally I am, dear girl.” I took the light out of her hand and put it on the table. Then I pulled my girl toward me on the bed.

“Oh, phooey! Let go of me!”

After a very light struggle, laced with many a “phooey,” she was only wearing a very thin shirt.

“You see, little girl, I am very serious.”

And in no time at all I was standing nude in front of her. She hid her eyes in the hollows of her hands and completely forgot to refuse me when I took off her shirt. She suddenly collapsed in my arms and trembled against me as if she were trying to hide herself.

Every quivering muscle in her body betrayed her passion. The curly hairs around her love spot were raven black and the lips were opened like I had never seen before. I put my staff in her hand and she let out a deep sigh.

“Do you want me to leave now, dear girl?”

“Your joke is said at the wrong time.”

“You are right. Come here and see for yourself, or rather find out for yourself if you get the leftover bones from a sumptuous meal.”

The girl-her name was Dorothea-knew immediately what to do. She was barely in position when she swung her right leg across my hip and countered every one of my jolts with an expert move.

“Please, don't shorten my pleasure… don't move so fast!”

I remained calm and let her do all the work till I noticed that her excitement had increased to fever pitch and I started to plow into her with all my power. She closed her eyes, thrashed around, and groaned loudly.

“It's… killing… me!”

One, two, three and her passion pit overflowed.

“Well, Dorothea, was it just a pitiful dessert?”

“Oh phooey!”

“And what will Madame say?”

“I don't care. Why did she have to have me hear how nice it was for her? Otherwise you wouldn't have found me so ready and willing.”

“Are you serious, dear girl? Well, I am going to see if I can reward your honesty by trying to do it once more, and better.”

Dorothea had no complaints and I went home that night around three o'clock.

The night I spent with my beautiful lady in the dark had lifted my spirits. I was occasionally dissatisfied because I did not hear from her any more, and I walked past her house every night without ever having the slightest chance of getting in. I had discreetly asked around for some information as to who lived in that big old house just to find out the name of my mysterious fair lady. But it did not do me any good, because all I could find out was that the house was occupied by three crotchety old men, and each and every one of them supposedly lived there with his young and beautiful wife. It must have been that home's destiny to torture young wives, not to mention their young gallants.

Truly, one often pities those poor nuns who are supposedly devoured by their own passions, but I, personally, firmly believe that young, beautiful wives forced to lie beside old and impotent husbands are to be pitied far more.

One day, I was driving all by myself to a neighboring village which I had hardly ever visited. I met there a party of old gentlemen and matrons who were having coffee. What beautiful company, I thought bitterly; with a sad heart I sat down at the table, all alone, and ordered a chocolate drink.

Then a woman entered, dressed in a bright green riding costume. She belonged to that company, because somebody called her “daughter.”

A picture of her: Slender as a cedar tree, taller than average stature, a proud breast and ample bosom, soft rounded neck, a round chin with a dimple, her face more round than oval, slightly smiling lips, a fine sculpted nose, dark blue eyes, marvelous soft ivory skin and beautiful, ash-blonde hair, superbly dressed in a hunting outfit that was created for her gorgeous figure, and a dark velvet hat that threw a slight shadow across her angel's face.

I had turned into a salt pillar.

How could I, how would I ever succeed in talking to her? I had to talk to her! So beautiful! I never saw anything more beautiful in all my born days!

Over a thousand different schemes flashed through my brain. I did not dare look at her for fear I would lose my eyesight!

How could I get to know any of those people in her company?

But, as always, when fortune smiles upon one, he might as well wait patiently. It turned out that there was no need for all my plotting and planning.

One of the old gentlemen walked up to me.

“Excuse me, sir, but someone told me that you are Baron Karl von…” and he mentioned my name.

“You have not been misinformed.”

“Forgive me my liberty, but isn't the Old Baron your father?”

“That is correct.”

“I don't think I can forgive your illustrious sire; all my life I have done business with him, and he has never given me the opportunity to get acquainted with his son. I want you to know, my dear Baron, that you are welcome in my home any time it is convenient for you.”

And he took me by the hand, introduced me to the other members of the party and… the angel was his daughter! An old hunchbacked gent, deaf, and with a squint was her husband! I could have whipped the father for having squandered his daughter in such a horrible manner.

I found a thousand excuses to talk to her and I noticed to my incredible delight that she did not think it at all unpleasant.

We were standing in the bay window; I squeezed her hand, and she reciprocated softly.

I felt like a newborn babe and told my friend Balthasar so much about her and my adventure the moment I entered my home that he finally had to beg me to stop, because nothing in the world is as boring as the blabbering of a lovesick swain, since he constantly repeats himself.

The reader can easily imagine that I did not waste any time in trying to make my first visit to Old Man Brambur, because I obviously hoped to see my incomparable amazon again.

The old man was very accommodating, and he invited me to lunch that day. His dapper son-in-law arrived with the goddess of love. After some general questions and answers the two old men excused themselves, claiming they had some business to finish. But please, don't let me hold you; as far as I was concerned they could wheel and deal for the rest of the day. And the old mother excused herself because there were so many things to be looked after in the household. Go right ahead!

And there I was, finally alone with the venerated object of my burning love!

I looked at her. She cast down her eyes and remained silent.

There was no time to be lost. I got up, took her hand, and looked her in the eye to see if I could go any further.

“Madame, all I need is one glance from you to give me the courage to continue.”

“What do you want, dear Baron?”

“Don't my eyes tell you everything? I love you! (I bent over her and kissed her beautiful lips.) Yes, my angel, I love you!”

“But Baron, you see me today for the second time.”

“And only the first time I could not think about anything else. Please, give me one small ray of hope, beautiful lady!”

She squeezed my hand softly.

“May I dare hope?”

“I believe I have given myself away already.”

“Oh, how I wish I could transform this moment of togetherness into eternity. When, how and where can I see you?”

“Nowhere, except here in my father's home and we have to be extremely careful because my husband is exceedingly jealous.”

“You are dashing all my hopes into the ground.”

“If you are really in love with me, you would not want to ruin my life any more by spoiling my days with bitterness. You can see from my frank discussion of the subject how very much I would like to be more intimate with you.”