Anonymous - Confessions of an Author

And yet, I did find a few with outstanding personalities, oddly enough: only among the women. Men are either vain out of stupidity or stupid because of their vanity. Their art is a craft to them. That is why there are so many who are absolutely unimportant, only a handful who have perfected their craft to the limit with effort and endurance, and an occasional virtuoso who has pushed his capabilities far beyond the average. But it seems to me that there are no longer any true artists among the performers. I have only met a few women who, because of their temperament, could not possibly be anywhere else but in the theater.

I was especially intrigued by one of them. Without being truly great, and definitely without any true claim to all the furor that was made about her, she was a born actress and above all a real woman. I had met her during a rehearsal. I was completely taken in by her soft charm, at least during the beginning. We became intimate and one day I thought that something might develop between the two of us But then she warned me, “My dear friend, don't become involved that way. You wouldn't be able to bring it up. I need quite a lot.” She laughed a clear ringing laughter and sounded like a cheap whore, adding, “I don't know the situation of your money-bag, but that is not the bag I am after. And I am sure the other one is neither heavy nor full enough to satisfy me.”

It was known that she was almost exclusively attracted (unless she could make incredible material gain) to the type of people that are grooms and stableboys. Once I went with her and the rest of the troupe on a small tour and all of us stayed at the same hotel. At dinner she was introduced to a young Italian singer. A few years later he lost his voice and became an actor. But he must have made a tremendous impression upon her because she only had eyes for him. The next day I went upstairs to my hotel room and I had to walk past her door. I saw two chambermaids peeping through the keyhole and keeping their ears against the door panel. Under the pretense that I needed something or other, I called one of the girls into my room and — how low can one get? — asked her about the things she had heard and seen. She told me that the Italian and the actress had been humping around for over two hours now. They had taken the mattresses off the beds, spread them on the floor and he had — two hours later, mind you — not gotten off her yet!

The girl was small and pretty but the jealousy in her tone of voice was big and ugly.

We both put our ears against the wall in the hope to hear something of what was going on next door. The little chambermaid lifted her skirts and I took her standing up against the wall, because she wanted to have it, “just like the woman in the other room!”

Just like the woman in the other room! It seemed to me that the actress had a keen eye for my shortcomings, because I am sure I could not possibly have kept it up for such a long time. I had become too weak for an exercise like that. And it is quite possible that she, in turn, was incapable of enjoying milder forms of mutual affection. But she did have what we call personality. And her strength and personality never left, not even when she collapsed under what our moral Philistines call, “a scandalous way of life.” Even when she was half-dead, she would still try to get it good.

Once I allowed an older actress to seduce me. That was very funny. I had had supper with her and obliged when she asked me to drive with her to her home. On the way there I noticed that she was leaning against me. When we had nearly reached her home she asked me to drink a cup of black coffee, as all Viennese do, at her place instead of in a coffeehouse. Since every one of her words had a hidden sob, I assumed that she was rather excited, and my surmise was correct. I glanced at her sideways, a woman of around forty, very well preserved, slim, quite a lot of bosom, a good waist and eyes that seemed to swim in tears. I thought that an aging woman might show greater appreciation and soon I was sitting in her nice and cozy living room. I must admit that I was beginning to feel some excitement after the lady had excused herself for a moment to go into another room. It was not difficult to guess that our get-together would only develop toward one certain direction.

She finally reappeared, wearing a light blue negligee, which was exceedingly low-cut and showed her breasts in all their milk-white voluptuousness. She rang for her maid, who served us tea, and when the actress sipped from her cup, bending forward slightly as if to show me her complete fullness, she nodded to the girl who thereupon left the room. I had the wildest desire to grab for those large globes and hold onto them. She smiled knowingly at me and whispered, “I would love to see you nude.”

Her hand went to my vest and started fumbling with the buttons, then she let it slide lower and come to rest down there. She became more and more intimate and I leaned back in my chair, letting my arms hang down and adopting the attitude of, “All right, cruel fate, take thy turn.”

She finished unbuttoning my vest, started my trousers, my underwear, my shirt. She lifted my shirt flaps and pressed her face against my belly with a contended sigh, looking up to me with sparkling eyes, a tear blinking in each corner. Then she grabbed with both hands for my privates and pressed tender kisses upon my member. She then tried to take off my jacket and when she did not immediately succeed, she asked me to be a little bit more helpful. And suddenly I was stark naked, she had even managed to take off my shoes and my socks. She pushed me back upon the couch, took my legs between her thighs and my member, which had become quite stiff at the sight of my own nudity, between her fingers. She just stood there, breathing deeply, and finally after awhile she said, pantingly, “Oh, my God, how beautiful, I'm dying!”

The picture of that woman, bending over backwards, in the throes of wild abandon while all she was doing was holding my legs between her thighs and my member between her fingers, was too much for me, though tremendously exciting. I pulled her negligee down, exposing her breasts, which now hung down like a pair of badly inflated big bladders. She bent over and pushed one nipple into my mouth. At that moment I started to shudder, but an uncontrollable excitement came over me and I started to come. Quick as lightening she bent over my member, stared at it with open mouth, emitting sounds of pure pleasure. Then she caught the spurting semen and swallowed it.

That brought me back to my senses. I got up and pushed the woman away from me. She stretched herself voluptuously as if in aftermath. Then she buttoned her negligee, put her arms around my neck and smiled at me gratefully, her eyes still swimming in tears. But I had had enough. Before I left, she suddenly pressed one of my legs between her thighs, started to groan and I could see delight in her eyes. Then she shivered throughout her body. She had climaxed again.

When I left her, I noticed that none of the doors had been locked and I brought this to her attention. “So what?” she said, “I am not ashamed in front of my maids, if one of them happens to walk in.”

The squeezing of her fingers around my member left a wild desire for more and an uncontrollable urge for some woman. On my way home I had to cross that section of small streets where the free girls live. I went into one of those side streets.

It was still legal, then, to keep the windows lit. The girls would lean on the windowsills with their elbows, squeezing their breasts between the forearms. Some of them knocked against the window panes to attract the attention of the passersby. Others licked their lips with the tip of their tongue to indicate that they knew some very special tricks. And behind the darkened windows sacrifices were brought to the goddess of love.