Anonymous - Confessions of an Author

At least I was allowed to stay with Mama. Even though I was overjoyed at the prospect, secretly I longed for the boarding school and especially for the hidden delights of the log cabin at the end of the park. It excited my imagination to such an extent that I started to lose weight. Mama was terribly concerned about the way I looked and she counseled our new family doctor, a young man who really adored her.

And one day he took me aside and talked to me about the secret sins of boys in such an extensive way and at such great length that I learned many things about which I had not even dreamed in my wildest imagination. Like anybody else would have done, I suppose, I denied any sexual misstep. Obviously I decided not to heed a single one of his warnings and I set out methodically to try out every single one of the means of self-pollution with which he had charged me and about which I had heard from him for the first time.

I belonged to those boys who do not lose their desire for a woman even during the wildest masturbation bouts because it was always the image of a naked woman that set my senses afire. Once I was caught in the act by our cook when I was standing naked in front of the mirror observing myself with pleasure, with my hands not entirely idle. She cried out in horror and ran away. When I thereupon quickly sneaked into the kitchen to talk to her and ask her not to tell anything to Mama, she said, “But, laddy, that's not how you should start off.”

And then she took my face between her rough hands and whispered into my ear that after all she slept all alone in the little servant's room next to the kitchen and why didn't I come to her at night once in awhile and that would be so much better and healthier than …. My hands reached for her enormous bosom. Suddenly she threw her arms around me and slobbered all over my face, sighing, “Oh, laddy, laddy!” Well, I am sure that the fat one meant well for me. And really, the next night, when everyone was asleep, I tiptoed into her room. She must have expected me, because when my hands, groping in the dark, tried to reach out for her, I felt that she had rolled up her coarse linen nightshirt. My fingers squeezed around the massive and slack breasts and played in the forest which was situated somewhat lower. The fat cook pretended to sleep. But suddenly her rough hands held me and lifted me toward her, tenderly as if she were afraid I would break. Too late, because while one hand was groping around her fullness, the other had sacrificed to the goddess of love. And when I was on top of that fat woman, who really thought she was doing me a favor, the horrible dank smell which emanated from her made me nauseous and I quickly slipped away from her and disappeared like a shadow.

I cried with impotent fury and shame when I returned to my own bed because the first opportunity to fulfill the most ardent wishes of my feverish fantasy had brought me nothing but physical disgust and a bad case of nausea. And the fat cook must really have disliked me tremendously because from that day on she did not even as much as look at me and within fourteen days she had given notice, leaving our home. Her pride had been most grievously hurt. And she was right. Didn't she try to be my benefactress and hadn't she been rejected? And all this just because her little room was not properly aired and heaven had promised her greater fulfillment than I had been able to deliver.

After the fat woman had left the house I still avoided that particular room, my disgust for it was that strong. Instead, I avidly looked at all the women that were well-formed and prettily dressed and most of all I stared at the firm outlines of my new piano teacher who desperately tried to teach me the proper fingering at this instrument.

Once, while she was telling me off, I put my head against her bosom and said, “But I cannot pay proper attention, because I always have to look at you.” The poor thing, who was not even pretty, was at a loss for words because probably nobody had ever said this to her. She pressed my face firmly against her breast and tried to be very motherly about it, telling me that she would not be harsh to me from now on, but I would have to apply myself a little bit more. I thereupon pressed my whole body against her, because her innate goodness excited me tremendously. She must have noticed that my feelings were rather carnal, because while she was talking about my piano lessons and music in general, we had gotten up and she pressed me against the only door in the room and performed right then and there with her hand that certain ritual which mine only performed secretly in the dark. When my head limped in sweet relaxation against her shoulder, she asked me, “Now, isn't that much better?” Then she left, though I had noticed that she too had become very much excited. From then on I positively loved my piano lessons. I was truly longing for them and I really paid attention because I knew that after playing the keys I would be instructed in other techniques of fingering, provided I had done my lesson well.

But the vacations also put an end to the piano lessons and when they were resumed in the fall I was told that I would have a different teacher, because Miss Olga was ill. A few years later I met her again and heard what really had been the matter, but I will talk about that later.

The new teacher was an old wrinkled little lady whose looks neither excited my senses nor my desire to learn. And therefore I have been a terrible piano player ever since.

When I was fifteen and about to become a senior, I also made the honor roll of students, thanks to one of the teachers who was kind enough to help me with my homework. He soon became one of Mama's best friends and I liked him most of all of Mama's best friends.

One of my favorite pastimes at that age (I must have been about sixteen) was to walk around on the streets between seven and eight, just before dinner time. The streets were then full of people on their way home from work and I knew all the streets through which the young factory girls walked. A lot of them allowed me to walk with them and take certain liberties. Whenever I managed to walk along with a whole group of them I was delighted to listen to their rude and vulgar expressions, and it never failed to surprise me how the young men dared to use the gestures and gropings, even in the more busy streets, to indicate their intentions. I often dared to brush very closely past one of these young girls or to put my hand somewhere against her every time I pretended to pass her. But to talk to one, or even walk alongside her, was more than I could dare.

But once, one of the girls talked to me! It was in a narrow side street which had very little traffic. I had been walking behind this young thing for quite awhile and she had noticed it. She obviously must have liked it and she had walked into that side street only so that I could talk to her. And when I did not do that, she suddenly turned around to me and said, “Well?” At that very moment a young lieutenant came out from nowhere. I presumed that he had followed this girl too./He shoved me rudely aside and said to me, “Why don't you go on home, you little self-polluter?” I heard the girl laugh out loudly, I felt the blood rush hotly to my cheeks and I turned around and ran.

I had never before felt so miserable. I balled my fists in impotent fury. Sobs strangled my throat. I know now that on that night I was truly ashamed of myself for the very first time. That horrible name which the young officer had given me burned in my mind, and I suddenly felt so guilty and so dishonored, before the female sex I loved so much, because those words had been uttered in front of a girl and her hysterical laughter still echoed in my head.

I swore eternal vengeance to that officer. I could not care less at that moment that I had only seen him for a few seconds on a barely lit side street and most likely would not have recognized him if I ever saw him again. But the next day came and I was compelled to go out on the street again. I was still terribly ashamed. How easy would it be to run into that same girl again and to be recognized by her! I believe that that was the awakening of my sexual pride, the feeling that you are there for the pleasure of the woman and that it is a sin to fail in the discharge of those duties. I most likely would have fallen back into my old habit if I had had a few days in which to lose this burning sensation of shame and to regain the strength necessary to break my voluntary abstinence, if it were not for the fact that Mama had a visitor … Miss Rita Hellmer.