Felix Salten - The Memoirs of Josephine Mutzenbacher

He kept on poking with great energy. “Well then, I need not worry that you will ever accuse me.” “No, Mr. Eckhard,” I stammered in ecstasy, “you must poke me every day-you feel so good!” Said he: “Oh! I am coming again-keep on-faster- harder-if anything happens- you- you must say that Horak did it-you must let me poke you every day-yes, every day-oh-ah-ah! Let happen what will-I will keep on poking you until you can get it all in!” And so we kept on, without conversation. My hands burned, my “kitten" burned; my ears burned; my breath came short. Eckhard now was working like a machine!

We kept on at least for an hour! Several times I ventured to ask: “Aren't you through soon?” “No!” he said. “Not yet?”

“Soon!” After a while: “Please, Mr. Eckhard-it is hurting me terribly!” “Right away, my dear. Can't you come again?” “No! I can't come anymore. Please squirt-please, Mr. Eckhard, please do 'go off'!” He made one awful push. I thought that he would split me in two. Then he began to ejaculate-so much that it seemed like he was urinating. When it was over, he laid on me like a log, groaning. I crawled out from under him, half dazed.

Pushing me away, he said: “Now, get out of here, you imp-you damned little whore!” Without answering I went to my bedroom, put on my shirt, threw myself on the bed. My slit burned like fire inside and around the edges. I thought that I must be torn and bleeding. I lit a lamp and examined myself with a hand mirror. I found no blood, but was surprised to see how red and inflamed I was and how open my grotto stood. I ached all over. Lying down, I blew out the light and in a few minutes heard the folks returning home. I pretended that I were asleep, and I finally did fall asleep. The next day Mr. Eckhard was sick. He remained in bed, putting cold towels on his head and I believe on some other place. I felt good, with the exception of a slight inflammation in my slit. Mr. Eckhard did not look at me and I avoided talking to him. He slept mostly all day, but as I passed his bed in the evening, he whispered; “This is your fault!” I became frightened at this, and running to mother's room, I asked her:

“What ails Mr. Eckhard?” She answered: “I don't know; he is sick.” In a few minutes she went into the kitchen and I heard her inquire: “What really seems to be the matter, Mr. Eckhard?” I became terribly frightened, as I was sure that he would say: “It is pepi's fault.” But he whispered something that I could not understand, and then I heard mother say: “Go on, don't tell me that!” I carefully tip-toed to the door to listen, cost what it might I was bound to hear what was going on. He whispered again and she said in low tones: “But why did you do that?” He answered: “The girl got me excited! I tell you that I was crazy!” Listening to this, I was very much frightened. Mother then said: “But she must have been a dirty bitch?” To which he replied: “No-no-no-she was just a child and did not know what she was doing! She was about as old as your Pepi,” at which I breathed easier. But mother clasped her hands together, saying: “And you dared mistreat a child?” Mr. Eckhard laughed, saying: “Nonsense! Mistreat nothing! When she herself takes my tool out of my pants and puts it in her mouth and begins to suck? How could I mistreat a child, doing such a thing?” Mother was indignant, saying: “How bad the children are nowadays; it shows that you cannot watch them enough.” Then she lowered her voice to a whisper, so I could only surmise what she was saying from his answers. He seemed to be getting better, as he remarked: “Why, no, it wouldn't go in at all-just a little ways-give me your hand-I will show you!” “No! No! Thank you! What are you thinking of?” “Well, there would be no harm,” said Mr. Eckhard. Mother interrupted him, saying: “How often did you say?” He lied: “Six times!”

I was amused by this, as I knew that mother had no idea of the facts. “Six times I had to do it. She would not rest!” “Go on!” mother broke in. “Impossible! Six times! Why do you lie like that?” “But I will tell you,” he insisted, “you see I can hardly move-six times!” “Oh no-” Mother did not believe him, “no man can stand that!” “Listen, Mrs. Mutzenbacher, hasn't your husband ever done it to you six times?” Mother snickered, saying: “Yes, what of it-?” Just then someone came in, which ended the conversation, but I felt relieved of all fear. Mr. Eckhard was sick for several days. He did not remain in bed, but he walked around the kitchen in his drawers and slippers and an old overcoat over his shoulders. He often sat with mother and I noticed that they still talked about “the affair.” A few days later, I was excused from school at ten o'clock in the morning. Going home, I saw that there was no one in the kitchen, but as I looked through the glass door leading into the bedroom- which was locked-I spied mother and Mr. Eckhard. I kept very quiet, hoping to overhear their conversation. Sneaking to the door, I listened. Mother was saying: “You heard nothing. That is a lie!”

He replied: “But just think back? You told him that you had not 'gone off' yet, and wanted him to make a second round!” Mother laughed, saying: “Him-and a second round? I am happy that he is able to make the first round!” “Well, you see,” Eckhard eagerly replied, “he is so weak that he comes before you do.” Mother answered: “I guess that other men are no better.” “But that is where you are mistaken,” replied Mr. Eckhard. “I can hold it back as long as I like. It makes no difference if you want to come three times before I 'go off' once!” Mother laughed. “Anybody can say that! I don't believe it!” “Let me try it and I will show you!”

Mother shook her head, saying: “No, no, you know very well that I would not do that!” He took hold of her by her hips: “Come on! I feel like going a couple of rounds!” They began to tussle. She said: “Let me go, Mr. Eckhard, or I will scream!” He released her but stood close to her, whispering: “Come on-let me do it. I have long admired you!” She stepped back, shaking her head, and then said: “Now, leave me alone; I am a decent woman, don't forget that.” My mother was a good-looking and slender but well-built woman, about thirty-six years old. She had a fresh-looking face and blonde hair.

“No one would imagine that you have had three children,” Eckhard remarked. T mean by looking at your face. I presume that otherwise it would be noticeable?” “It is not noticeable. I am just as fresh as when I was a girl,” she said. Now he tried the doubtful tack, saying: “Oh, go on, your breasts will undoubtedly show it.”

Mother answered, indignantly saying: “My breasts are the same as they always were.” He tried to take a feel of them, saying: “I must convince myself.” Mother stepped back, saving: “If you don't believe it-leave it!” He succeeded in putting his hand on one of them, however, and squeezing it, shouted with joy: “Why-that is most wonderful! They are just like a young girl's. I have never seen anything like it in my Me!” After a weak struggle, mother stood still, smiling at him, in triumph. She said: “Now, do you see! Now do you believe?” “I certainly do believe it!” He took the other tittie in his hand. My mother made no objection. Mr. Eckhard went on, still playing with her until I could see the titties getting quite hard. Said he: “You are foolish to exert yourself as you do, trying to get satisfaction from your husband, when another man will do anything if you just let him, just for the sake of these beautiful breasts!” “But I am a good woman,” she replied, standing perfectly quiet and allowing him to play. “Good, nonsense,” he continued. “When a woman can't get satisfaction from her husband, her obligation ceases. Nature must be satisfied.” At that he unbuttoned her waist, taking the titties in his hands. “Now, stop!” she whispered, trying to get away from him, but he stooped and kissed her left nipple and saw how she was trembling. “Stop! Stop!” she again whispered. She was standing in front of the bed, which had not yet been made up from the night before. He shoved her over, immediately getting on top of her and between her legs. She fought him-he could hardly hold her down. “No!-No!-” she whispered, “I won't! I am a good woman!” “Nonsense! He said, “I think that you have had a strange spear before this.” “No-never-go away-or I'll scream!” He was already feeling for her slit with his tool, sayings “Don't be foolish; I will make it good.” I could see how he was fondling and squeezing her titties. “But if someone should come?” pleaded mother. “Nobody is going to come,” said he, pushing hard. She now lay perfectly quiet, just murmuring: