Pierre Louys: The She-Devils

“I must say,” she exclaimed, shaking her head, “you certainly work fast! We just finished moving in yesterday — mother, my three sisters, and I — and today when we met on the stain you already kissed me, pushed me into your apartment, shut the door… And here we are.”

“And that's only the beginning,” I remarked rather brazenly.

“Oh? I suppose you don't know that our two apartments adjoin each other? That there's even a blocked-off door between them? I don't even have to fight back it you decide to act a little unwisely, my good man. It would be much easier to shout, 'Help mother! Rape! Satyr! Attack?'“

The threat was no doubt intended to intimidate me — and successfully, I might add. However, she soon reassured me, and my scruples began once more to fall away. My desire, unfettered, once more flamed high in a new atmosphere of freedom.

This young girl, scarcely fifteen years old, whom I had so easily made captive, wore her jet black hair knotted in the back, a plain, slightly crumpled blouse, a short full skirt, and a wide leather belt. As slim, brown, and trembling as a kid in something by Leconte de Lisle, she pressed her legs together and lowered her head without lowering her eyes, as if to charge towards me with her horns.

The willingness in her words and manner had already prompted me to attempt to take her, however I didn't think things would go as quickly as they did.

“What's your name?” she asked me. “X-. I'm twenty years old. And you?”

“Mauricette. I'm fourteen and a half. What time is it?”

“Three o'clock.”

“Three o'clock,” she repeated, lost in thought for a second. “Do you want to go to bed with me?”

Dumbfounded by words I was far from speaking yet myself, much less expecting to hear, I recoiled a step — stupefied and unable to answer.

“Listen,” she said, placing a finger to her lips. “Promise me to speak in a low voice, to let me go at four o'clock… Above all, promise to — No. I was going to say to do exactly as I wish, but perhaps you don't like that sort of thing. In any case, promise not to do what I don't want.”

“I'll promise anything you want me to.”

“Good. I believe you. I'll stay.”

“Yes? You mean you'll stay? I mean…”

“Oh, come now!” she said laughing. “Cut out the kid stuff!”

As provocative and gay as a child, she touched, then grabbed the front of my trousers together with what she knew hung therein before flitting across the room to a corner, where she took off her dress, her stockings, her slippers… Then, taking her slip in her two hands and pursing her lips in a little mocking pout she asked, “Can I… Completely naked?”

“If you want me to, I'll promise again… With all my heart and soul I…”

“And you won't blame me for it afterwards?” she said, mocking my overdramatic tone.

“Never!”

“Then… Here is Mauricette!”

We fell together onto my double bed, clasped in each other's arms, she forcing her mouth against mine, crushing our lips together, her tongue probing feverishly! Then her eyes, which had been closed until they were only slits, opened suddenly. Everything about her at that moment was the girl of fourteen, the look, the kiss, the flare of nostril… Finally a tiny smothered cry, as from a small impatient animal, escaped from beneath me. Our mouths parted, ground together again, parted once more.

And, not knowing exactly what mysterious virtues she had bound me not to violate, I ventured a little idiotic nonsense to try to pry her secret from her without asking point-blank.

“Ah! And what are these pretty little flowers you've stuck to your chest? What would a florist call these little buds?”

“Knockers.”

“And this little Karakul here just beneath your stomach? Is it the fashion now to wear fur muffs in July or do you get cold down there?”

“No! No! Not often!”

“And this? I can't possibly understand what in the world this little thing could be.”

“So you don't know what that is, eh?” she said with a sly little smile. “Well, you're going to tell me what it is.”

With the impudence of youth, she spread her legs wide, put her two hands between them, and parted her flesh. My surprise was all the more complete, as the boldness of the gesture hardly prepared me for what I saw.

“A cherry!” I cried.

“And a pretty one!”

“Is it for me?”

I thought she would say no, and I must confess I hoped so. It was one those absolutely impenetrable membranes such as I had already encountered twice. God, what I had had to put up with. Nevertheless, I was slightly annoyed to see Mauricette reply to my question by passing a finger under her nose and wrinkling up her mouth as if to say, “Like hell!” or worse. And since all this time she flaunted the forbidden fruit in front of me, I said maliciously, “I see that you've fallen into some nasty habits when you're alone, young lady.”

“Oh! How did you know?” she cried, closing her legs.

This remark did more than anything else I had said to put her completely at her ease. I had understood her correctly and now nothing could shut her up: she even began bragging. With a malicious child-like air, she repeated in a low little voice, nibbling her lips each time against mine:

“Yes. I finger myself. I finger myself. I finger myself. I finger myself. I finger myself. I finger myself.”

The more she said it, the gayer she became, and these first words unleashed a whole string of others, all tumbling out as if they had just been awaiting the signal:

“You'll see how I can come.”

“I hope so.”

“Give me your rod.”

“Where?”

“Find a place.”

“Which one is forbidden?”

“My virginity and my mouth.”

Since there are only three paths to the heart of a woman, and since I have an intelligence used to the exercise presented by difficult enigmas, I understood.

However, this new surprise caught me speechless. I could say nothing. What was worse, I not only remained silent, but I remained silent in such an imbecilic way that Mauricette finally decided that she would have to explain the mystery herself. She sighed deeply, smiling, and shot me a distressed glance that could only be translated, “God, but men can be stupid!” Then she began to look a little worried and started to ask me questions.

“And what do you like to do? What do you like best?”

“Making love, my sweet.”

“But that's forbidden… And what don't you like at all? What do you really hate?”

“That little hand there. Pretty though it may be, there is nothing I want less.”

“It's too bad that I…” she began, obviously troubled, “that I can't suck you… Did you want my mouth?”

“You've already given it to me,” I said, taking it again to mine.

But it wasn't the same mouth. Mauricette had lost her composure, could no longer speak, thought that all was lost. It was time that I brought a smile back to that stricken little face, so I slid one of my hands, now pressing her so tightly to me, down her back and pressed it lightly against the spot that she had given up trying to make me accept or even to understand.

The timid child looked up quickly into my face, saw that I had not been serious, and with a sudden change of countenance that thrilled me, squealed, “Oh! You louse! You rat! You brute! You swine!”

“Hey! Shut up there!”

“For fifteen minutes he pretends he doesn't know what I'm talking about, he strings me along because I don't know how to say it.”

She quickly recovered her good-humored brat attitude and, without ever raising her voice, but nose to mine, growled, “I don't feel like it any more. I ought to get dressed. You deserve it.”