Anonymous - Confessions of an Author

She hurried over to me, gave me a quick kiss and whispered in my ear, “But you don't have to put your clothes on.”

And she disappeared.

When I walked into the adjoining room, I noticed that the curtains were drawn and the lights on. The table was set and next to it, on its iron stand, stood the samovar. Only I did not see my little one. Suddenly she called out, “Peek-a-boo!” Her poodle hairdo came from under the table and the next moment she was in my arms, as naked as I was. I was extremely passionate but she did not want it yet.

“First our breakfast!”

She pressed herself against me, her body quivered with desire … I tried to master her, but she tore herself loose and started to pour tea.

“First our tea, that will make us even hotter!” she said, panting heavily.

Breakfast did not take long, what followed took considerably longer. She had hauled all the heavy feather blankets and pillows out of the bedroom and we threw ourselves upon them. We did not leave much time for kissing, but that day, for the first time since Marie, I found woman again.

And then my little one said, “So, and now you are going to read to me, aren't you?”

She nestled herself, nude as she was, in one of the easy chairs and I had to sit down on one of the stools, and read to her from my manuscript. She experienced so vividly what I was reading to her that her thighs became rather moist and now and then she would dip a finger in her little triangle. It made a deep impression upon me. I kissed her fingers, her lips and her little triangle, but she pooh-poohed me and said, “What are you doing, lips are for being kissed, down below is reserved for something else … please, read on.”

And, really, she allowed me to conquer her again only after I had finished reading.

Then we ate the nice things that I had bought the previous afternoon and took with our lips the morsels from one another's mouth. She did not allow me any other extravaganzas, even though I would have been capable of almost anything now that my usual vigor and desire had fully returned. She really was only a very unspoiled and naturally sensitive woman. We rolled around once more on the feather blankets and then we fell asleep, holding each other closely, our lips welded together.

She insisted that I should work in the afternoon. She sat down upon my desk, wholly nude, spread her legs apart, giving me a beautiful view of her love-nest. My manuscript was between her thighs and I managed to write a full scene that way. There were, indeed, a few interruptions. I kissed her thighs, her belly or I took her poodle head between my hands and let my tongue explore her mouth. Once there was a larger interruption which made her very, very happy “because it lasts longer when you do it for the third or fourth time,” as she naively put it.

She made me laugh when she was ready to leave. She was such a true housewife, because she carefully put my entire home in order. And she kissed the sheets while she was making my bed, “Whoever could stay with you in them forever …” she whispered and I noticed that her eyes became moist. But she straightened herself and managed a smile. “Don't pay any attention to me. Whenever I have as much as I had today, I become very sentimental.” She fondled and caressed me, softly, the way a mother caresses her baby. She suddenly stopped and looked at me very seriously.

“Do you know what suddenly occurs to me? The way it was today must be the last time.”

“What do you mean?”

“Are you going to be sad?”

“About what?”

“Now, look … more beautiful than beautiful is impossible, right? The best that could happen to us is that a day like today would repeat itself. As long as you have never reached the top there is always the expectation. One waits for the big day like I have waited for this one. But now it is over …”

“And now you believe you have to look for new expectations … in the arms of someone else?”

She embraced me and the poodle hairdo was against my chest, her eyes looking up at me. “You will make many girls happy. Anyhow, we have possessed each other!”

She went toward the door, turned around and impishly winked at me to come closer. But her words had upset me and I hesitated. She looked very surprised and said, “Do you want me once more?” starting to unbutton her white silken blouse.

I shook my head. Now it was her turn to be surprised and she ran out of the apartment.

The next morning, when I awoke, my little one was sitting at the edge of my bed, naked as a jaybird. I had not heard her come into the apartment, and I also did not wake up while she was taking off her clothes in my bedroom. She threw herself upon me and kissed like a maniac. After about an hour she quickly dressed and left.

At the breakfast table which she, as usual, had set, I found the key to my rooms and a handwritten note:

“You spurned me yesterday and I could not stand the idea. But in the meantime I have betrayed you, too. Last night. I was so passionate, I had to do it.

“You won't be alone for long, about that I am sure. Just look for someone who is as pretty as I am. And especially, look for someone who is healthy. By the way, you don't have to worry, the one I had last night was definitely healthy, too.”

That was the end of the affair.

I cannot honestly say that I was deeply hurt, but it had been a very pleasant habit. It used to be so nice to wake up every morning and have the little one at my side. And it was rather handy, too. Really, I was thinking all morning about how I was going to do it from now on.

I started my little walks again, something which had not happened for quite some time. In the afternoon I made a mistake, walked into the wrong restaurant and had such a miserable meal that I made up my mind immediately to leave Switzerland.

Since I had no other visits scheduled than a call on my first publisher, I could make all travel arrangements very quickly. While I was doing this I had to admit to myself that every time an affair with some woman was ended, I packed up bag and baggage and left. Actually I think it is quite normal. Not because a trip soothes the “pain,” but simply because a change of towns makes it less possible to run into a former mistress with all the resultant little embarrassments. This slight feeling of embarrassment has really never left me, though it is not as strong as it used to be.

Anyhow, I went to Munich.

One of the first evenings in the new town, I was sitting in the Peterhof, where a Viennese Ladies' Orchestra was giving a concert. The lady conductor was a young girl, a blonde with rather angular movements and a pale face. The pianist was a stocky older man, obviously the slave owner of these eight to ten girls. I saw that man for the first time that evening but I hated him immediately. I started paying attention to him when I noticed that he reproached one of the girls, a violin player, rather abruptly — it was the first time I noticed her — by hissing at her, “Flirting is all these women can do; their music is plain shit.”

And then I noticed that the girl was staring in my direction. She was neither young nor especially beautiful, rather thin, but her breasts were remarkably large. I knew at once that I had seen her before but could not place her at all. She must have noticed that I was thinking deeply but she, too, did not seem to trust her memory and she made no attempt at contacting me. I went to the back of the hall and, calling one of the flower girls, bought a handful of red roses, asking the girl to bring them to the violin player with the message if we had not previously met somewhere. The flower girl returned with the following message, “I should only tell you Olga and piano lessons,” and she also mentioned the name of my home town.