Elfriede Jelinek - Lust

You don't go eating out if you've built a beautiful house of your own. Shadow falls on the street. Workers returning home want to turn in somewhere for a beer. The Direktor's brow is innocent of effort. As a violinist he is just a fart in a hurricane, but he can still service his wife in just five minutes. His suspension is good, look at him banging his little jug at her udder, did you see how he stuck it in her mouth? He's still having problems parking those wings. But the lordsandmasters always like shooting the rapids, getting their business done, they're always in a hurry. And your cunt'd be on fire too if someone took a slash in it every day! Outside a zealous policeman passes, making notes. There's many a one of you has seen a strong man weaken at the knee to see a no-hunting sign, but when it comes to the women back home where it's warm and dry, the season's always open and the game is waiting for the hunter. To come and play. This lordandmaster, in whom a need for excitement is stirring, appears like a sign in the heavens above the woman. His tongue sets a pulse beating in the can of juice she has jammed between her thighs. You mustn't be wary of brandishing the fist you thump on the table. Elsewhere, people are seeing to their backfiring exhausts and brooding over their engines, so that they won't be late for work. But in the evening they flare up like flames if their wives' cooking isn't any good. What's this, they say, and the wife casts her gaze up as if she had just climbed the Alps. These people don't have much time left to languish after a beautiful object of their desire with breasts up front (no point having them elsewhere). Even our cars use up our last bit of juice.

The Direktor clings to the woman who shares the bed. She's been worn out and knocked about so long, perhaps he's intending to finish her off. Let's take a look. She really mustn't go prowling about to see if someone will be a real man for her and stick his tongue in her pussy.

The Direktor uses no contraceptives because what he'd like best would be to see a whole lot more miniatures of himself. Only small ones, mind, he won't be put in the shade by anyone. He steps out onto the path of light and cracks open the woman's mouth with his drill. His grip starts her coughing, a shudder passes through her from rudder to udder. The Man seems fascinated by the fact that he can give birth to the entire length of his dong single-handed. He is changed. He quarrels with the woman on account of his slow-burning stove. What an active substance it must be, blessed trinity, growing to three times its single size without divine intervention! No martyrdom required! What a man! And then he rains down on his nearest and dearest. Elsewhere they have steps leading up to the houses, though no one wants to live in them, given the choice. The poorest of the poor find themselves at last, with their small steps.

Yelling, the Herr Direktor drills his way into Gerti's mouth. First he has to be beside himself if he wants to get inside her, these aren't the times to have a little something on the side, and the Direktor was always encouraged as a youngster to show his good side. Put up a good show, fight the good fight, and always make sure your instrument's tuned. His son already plays an instrument too. The slopes tip whole handf uls of acid trees down the mountainside. The woman kicks and is kicked. Till she screams. No, this isn't the time for wandering about the house or smoking a cigarette or boozing or behaving in an angry, threatening way to the staff. Her nightie is stripped off so that she can be groped from various sides, yes, the Direktor is a many-sided talent, right! We often use the bed. It is where we sleep off the war of the sexes. To think we could simply inspect the ranks ad infinitum there and work our way up to mediocrity. In no other field do you rise so fast, always supposing (in the case of women) that the face you have suits you. The crag, after all, doesn't go to the pasture; the animals go to it, to rub their heads on it. Now the woman is flailing and thrashing as if she were out for immortality there amid her electrical appliances. She fades away like the dying echo of a cry, the cry you give when in broad daylight the lightning, that incorrigible flasher, can't control itself and zaps into the TV set. The set, entertainment for the dark night of the soul, will have to be repaired. The Direktor wants to fire his gun again today. To be sure of his wife – lying there bleeding, breathing, retching. Sleep heavy in her eyes. Bile rising in her gorge as this intruder rises in her gorge.

Of course he can spread her cheeks any time he likes with those great heavy paws of his! Those buttocks are his property, just as God is ours. Her sphincter squeaks like an old shoe. In less than five minutes he'll have shot his bolt again. Keep clear at all times! For this Man can't stand life alone, and others have to stand him every day. The woman's body is at his service most of the time.

every now and then it seems as if the sun is going to shine. Get these people out of the way, the farmer's left the furrow ever so slightly ajar! I left them sated and sated I find them, and no lamp lights the way in this terrain. So they plough and rape their wives, and bow and scrape to the works committees, not that the committees have any real power left. Sometimes before you can say Jack Robinson a new skilled worker has been given a dressing down and is waiting in the workshop to be dressed and salted. His field is limited to the very end. There are few women seated at breakfast, which is served by the housekeeper. Opposite the man. With sunglasses shading their drawn worn forlorn eyes. One place exactly is occupied by them. At night they were ridden and rocked like the heavenly horses children learn to ride on. But the children sit more securely in the saddle! This Man takes as many liberties as our president, he is almost as great a burden for us wanderers to bear upon our shoulders. He says that Mozart was a wonderful composer. He too enjoys playing. But on a smaller scale, if you compare the frame. With a little space left over for hobbies. At the Salzburg Festival he has an opportunity to test his stamina. Father agrees with himself. Giving a merry wink, he penetrates his wife's sphincter. She restrains the cry that's straining at the leash, after all, she's a married woman now. Nobody learns to read without paying for it.

The Direktor dips a toe in her cool waters and then emerges from the gloom into the sunshine. In every respect he is at ease in the mansion of himself. He may as well be silent. You can live in a house like snow on the grass of course, but you can keep your chained-up member so busy that the clinking and jingling never stops. There are many women but only one Man. He bends over the woman's hind legs and whispers of the erotic kicks he could get in the brothel any time, instead of which he puts up with her kicks. Erotic! The word was coined for the Erikas of this world, not the Gertis. It is what gives this solemn ceremony its meaning. The Man has to bear the animal within in mind, and what does the animal do when it's been bared? Guess. A conversation with the world and its well-oiled machine parts. In an ante-room where they wait till the women come to their assistance with the musty holes knocked open by the hail. The life's work of some of them will be completely forgotten by the earth. Reliably, though, the Man discovers his ejaculated semen below him, and wallows in the certainty that his child will live on after him, to torment others in his stead. Let's turn a blind eye to it all. Who lays everything waste and nonetheless is always wanting to start afresh? Right. He buys new clothing for the child, and Mother, since Nature has its limits, has to wash it. They show mothers doing so on TV. This mother plays piano, as far as the pedals will take her.