Anonymous - Confessions of an Author

We met a few dozen more times in the little hotel where I had become an honored guest.

But finally it turned into a mere habit and the desire for someone more beautiful had overcome me. I was no longer passionate with her. Sometimes I did not stay longer than a half-hour with the girl in that hotel and I often caught myself trying to remember Rita's voluptuous body while I was on top of the girl, because I needed something to get me excited.

After all, the girl only wanted me for her own pleasure and she was grateful for the release I gave her. However, she did nothing to me any longer which evoked any release from my emotional tensions. And it frequently became too much for me when I happened to see a well-built girl walk past me in the street with a pretty face and a happy smile. And one day my little girl said to me, “You are not any longer like you used to be.” Her face was a little sad and she gave me her hand, “But it was beautiful while it lasted.” She left without making an agreement to see me and we never met again. I don't know what has become of her. The poor thing, with her unquenchable desire for happiness which seemed to elude her always.

It was around the same time that my mother finally got the impression that I had grown into manhood and that I had become fully initiated. I mean, fully knowledgeable about the facts of life, especially hers. I can now fully realize the difficult internal struggle she must have suffered between the desire to live her own life and her sense of duty. Oh, how I hate that word “duty,” which prevents us from realizing our hottest passions and which ties and strangles us and forces us to deaden our truest feelings. Thank the Lord that my Mother had a strong will and that she refused to sacrifice herself at her young age.

I must admit that her material situation allowed her to give a better upbringing and education to her children than she could possibly do herself. She was only excellent for the most noble lust for life, she was only good as a giver of joy because I know that giving and taking were mixed with equal proportions in her personality. Wherever she enjoyed living, she loved with body and soul. To look at her was sheer delight and to hear her deep, soft voice was utter ecstasy. To have scaled with her the heights of passion must have been pure joy of paradise.

And especially during that time which I spent, finally unwillingly, in the embraces of the poor girl, my gazes lingered more frequently than usual, full of admiration, upon the beautiful form of Mama. Without any particular reason I would hold her hand and press a passionate kiss upon it, I would take her in my arms and hold her tightly. It really came as a shock to me when she told me she was going on a long voyage around the world. She ruffled my hair with her adorable hand and said, “It has to be that way!” She pulled me close to her and kissed me upon the mouth. The delightful shiver running through my body impressed me so greatly that it made me write one of the few poems I ever composed in my life. I wrote it for myself, and for myself only, and I have taken great pains to see to it that it will be buried with me.

For the duration of Mama's voyage, my little brother was to live with our grandmother whose lands were near the western border. I remained as Lord of the Manor in our own house, occasionally visited by my dear departed father's only brother, with whom I had absolutely nothing in common.

In the beginning I suffered from loneliness and the wild desire to see Mama again. I hardly noticed the people around me. Our housekeeper looked after the house, and Old Joseph, our gardener and manservant, stayed on to look after me. But dinner was served by a young, almost seventeen-year-old girl with beautiful red cheeks and a well-formed body which seemed untouched. The old housekeeper, who had been with us since Papa's death, had hired the girl to help her with the household chores a few days after Mama's departure. But as soon as darkness set in, and my tutor had left for the day, the old woman would retire to her room and Joseph left for the coach house. The young girl was left alone to take care of me. She did this shyly and without making much sound so that I hardly ever noticed her at all. But one night, after I returned from the theater, I could not help but take a good look at her.

It must have been around ten o'clock and she was sitting in the well-lit living room. She asked me if I still wanted her to serve my dinner. My God, she was beautiful! Deep black shining hair, a soft snow-white skin, flushing red cheeks, a veritable picture of beautiful health. I must have stared at her a mite too long and longingly because she blushed deep red.

She served supper and left the room quietly.

I hastily drank a glass of wine or two, maybe three. After I had finished eating, I leaned back in my chair and felt terribly lonely in that dining room with only one light burning on the table. Suddenly I imagined that I was suffering from incredible thirst which could only be slaked by a tall glass of ice cold water. I did not want to drink that wine. My hand automatically reached for the bell, and equally as automatically, did not ring it. Instead I got up and walked slowly toward the door. I opened it, called out softly, “Marie!” Then I went back into the room and closed the door. A few moments later she entered.

“Did you call, Sir?”

“Yes, Marie.”

“I am sorry I didn't hear you ring.”

“No, Marie, I did not ring … I did not want to wake up the old woman.”

I had walked up to her as closely as I dared but I could not bring myself to touch her, even with one finger. We just stood there, standing close together, without uttering a sound. Finally she started to move one foot.

“I would — love to have a glass of water, Marie.”

“Very well, Sir.”

She left, returned right away and poured me a glass of water. Then she started to take away the dishes.

“I just cannot stand it any longer to just sit here all by myself, Marie. Please stay with me for a while. Please, sit down, Marie.”

I suddenly took her hand in mine. She did not pull back, but she did turn away her head. I began to get warm. “Why don't you sit down, Marie? Are you afraid of me?” She shook her head and allowed me to pull her toward me on my chair. I stroked her beautiful black hair, caressed her lovely cheeks. I suddenly had to take off my tie and loosen my collar. Then I unbuttoned my shirt, because I thought I was going to choke. I put the girl's hand under my shirt upon my naked chest and I could feel how she shuddered.

She said softly, “Please, no, dear Sir.” She tried to take her hand out of mine but I did not let go of her. But, during this slight struggle I happened to touch her full and firm breasts. That was enough to drive me out of my mind. I embraced the girl wildly and kissed her passionately on the mouth. Her arms relaxed and fell slack to her side. I held her that way for a long time, whispering, “I won't let you go!” I kissed her again and again.

But suddenly she seemed to regain her senses and pulled herself away from me rather roughly. I went after her. She had almost left the room, but I went down upon my knees before her and embraced her thighs, pressing my face against her. She bent over me, took my head in her hands and put her feverishly glowing cheeks against mine. I reached for her breasts and in doing so I tore the blouse she was wearing, exposing two full and firm globes with rapidly hardening nipples. I stared avidly at them while she stood up and stretched herself voluptuously.

“Take off your clothes, oh sweetheart,” I panted.

Suddenly she embraced me tightly. I pulled her down upon the sofa, took one of her breasts in both hands, kissed it, licked it and sucked the little nipple. Then I took the other breast. The girl squirmed and groaned. I pulled out my member and let her touch it. She grasped it and squeezed so firmly that tears came to my eyes. Suddenly she buried her face in her hands and called out, “But I couldn't, Sir!”