“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.”
“You don't feel like what?”
“Having you cornhole me!” she said laughing. “There, I said it. And you haven't heard the last of it, either. I don't know how to do much, but I do know how to talk.”
“The only thing is… I'm still not exactly sure I heard you right.”
“I want you to screw me through my ass and I want you to bite me! I don't like men who tease. I like 'em vicious.”
“Teh. Teh. I think you're getting a little hot under the collar, Mauricette.”
“And you call me Ricette when you screw me.”
“So as not to say any 'Mau'? All right, fine. Let's go, but try to calm down a little.”
“There's only one way to do it. Fast! You want to or not?”
Not in the least angry with me, perhaps even more ardent, she returned the kiss I had given her full on my mouth and, undoubtedly to encourage me, said, “Ah! Your prick gets as hard as iron, but I'm no softy either. I've got a good solid asshole myself.”
“No vaseline? All the better.”
“Sticking it in me is like sticking it in a vise.”
With a quick flip of her body she turned her back to me, lying on her right side, and with a single wet finger began to play with herself. Apparently she demanded nothing to satisfy whatever modesty she may have had. Then, with a movement that amused me, she closed the lips of her membrane, and just in time, for I had begun to think that I might penetrate there despite my promises. However, although the wet finger might have been enough for her, it certainly wasn't enough for me, and I begun to discover that she had been telling the truth when she said that she was “no softy.”
I was on the point of asking her if I wasn't hurting her when, turning her mouth towards mine, she whispered to me the contrary.
“You've already taken virgins through the ass before this.”
“'How do you know?”
“I'll tell you that when you tell me how you knew that I play with myself.”
“Little bitch! You've got the biggest, reddest snatch I've ever seen on a virgin.”
“It expands,” she murmured, her eyes growing soft. “It's not always this big. But don't touch it. Leave that to me. And now do you want to know how I know you've taken virgins through the behind before?”
“No, later.”
“Well, I'll tell you anyway! I've got positive proof! You know enough never to try to talk to a virgin who's fingering herself with you in her ass. Because she's fucked if she'll answer!”
Her first loud laugh subsided quickly into a low moan, became almost abstracted from herself. Her eyes began to narrow. She ground her teeth together and parted her lips.
After a silence she said, “Bite me… I want you to bite me… There, in the neck, under my hair, like cats do to each other.”
And then she said, “I'm holding myself in… I can hardly do it, but… Oh! I can't any longer! I'm going to come, my — what's your name again? — my… darling. Do it like you want! With all Oh, your might! As if you were screwing me! I like that! Again! Again! Again!”
The spasm stiffened her, held her trembling… Then her head fell and I held her little body, completely limp, against mine.
Love? No. The flame of an hour, but within myself I couldn't help saying, “Bigre!” (I) and I greeted her awakening with less irony than admiration.
“Yon do very well for a virgin.”
“Huh!” she granted, shooting me a long seductive look.
“Naive child! Sacred innocence!”
“Did you feel how hard my asshole is?”
“Like a rhinoceros.”
“And we're all like that in my family.”
“What?”
“Ha! Ha! Ha!”
“What did you just say?”
“I said that that was how we give our behinds. And this is how we come from the front.”. With all the natural vivacity of her character, she suddenly threw open her thighs to expose the dripping center. I hardly recognized the terrain, so heavy had been the downpour.
“Let Jardim dans la Pluie!” I cried.
“And with the fingering!” she replied, laughing.
(1) A word we often use to explain the mixture of wonder, allure, and restlessness which the precocity of a young girl inspires in us.
“Wait! I'm going to give you something. First, do you want it? Yes? Good! Do you have some scissors?”
She pulled a silken thread from one of the blankets and lay it on her stomach.
“A lock from my virginity. Will you keep it? ”
“All my life. But choose the hair carefully. If you don't want it to look like what it is take a long one.”
“Oh! You know that too?” she asked disappointedly. “What have you got, a collection?”
However, she cut the lock, a single incurably rounded curl. M. de La Fontaine, of the French Academy, once wrote a poem called “The Impossible Task” in order to teach youth that the hair of certain women could never be uncurled. He obviously tried it… What libidinous old bastards these academicians can be!
Mauricette linked the hairs of her black lock to a green silk thread, then sliced them at the base. “A kiss-curl… wet by the come of a virgin!” she said, and with a burst of laughter jumped from the bed and closed herself into the toilet. However she reappeared as quickly as she had entered.
“I would like to know…” I began.
“Why we're all like that in my family?”
“Yes.”
“From my earliest childhood…”
“Good beginning.”
“I was boarded out to school while my mother and sisters earned their living together with men, women, kids, whores, girls, old farts, monkeys, negros, dogs, dildoes, eggplants…”
“Is that all?”
“And everything else you can think of. They did everything. Would you like to take my mother? Her name is Teresa. She's Italian, thirty-six years old. I'll give her to you. I'm very kind. Maybe you'd like my sisters too? None of us are jealous, but keep the lock I gave you and you'll come back to me.”
“Ricette! Do you think I want to…”
“Ta! Ta! Ta! Everyone takes all four of us, but they always come back to me. I know what I'm saying when I'm not fingering myself.”
After another youthful laugh she seized my hand and rolled close to me, trying to be serious.
“Until I was thirteen years old I lived in this boarding school with a bunch of girls from families in society. Since you know so much, tell me what the directrices and mistresses arc like who spend their dirty little lives working in a bordello of boarding students.”
“Lesbians?”
“You should see them,” said Mauricette with a charming irony. “And since they knew all about my mother you can guess how they treated me.”
“The beasts! They abused your innocence? They forced you to drink the poison of vice?”
“Forced me? They perverted me!” Mauricette was getting warmed up. “Four times they surprised me fingering my little friends!”
“Ah! So it was…”
“They hid in the garden, in the dormitory, ill the corridors, outside the windows of the rooms, always trying to spy! There's nothing as vicious as a boarding school mistress!”
“Did they pay for it?”
“A bad point. And yet… The things we showed them without wanting to! Some really wonderful combinations, things they would never have been alone! But finally I became a close friend of one of the older girls. She gave me ten lessons in Saphism the likes of which you only hear about.”
“Which means?”
“The art of using the tongue delicately, at exactly the right spot, without skinning the end of it just anywhere. That was what I learned best by the time I left the boarding school; much better than I ever learned biblical history or geography. But my great friend and I sought out all the corners of the school, and on the one hundred and twenty-fifth time we were surprised by Mademoiselle Paule.”
“Who in turn perverted you fifteen minutes later?”
“Yes. In her room, under her skirt. With pants that had buttons everywhere. And a pretty little pussy she had, the bitch! The hairs, the skin, the snatch, the lips, everything was wonderful. I liked to do it with her much more than with my friend. Can you top a mistress for viciousness?”
“Terrible. And you haven't told me all…”
“No. I forgot something. Do you know, she didn't even know how to use her tongue? I had to show her.”
Here, Mauricette was overcome with such hilarious laughter that she fell over backwards almost to the foot of the bed, and so gracefully did she do it that I began to be in a hurry to end the interval. I was regrettably more interested in her present than her past.
Finally, it was my turn to leave the room and go to the toilet. I must have stayed there longer than was prudent, for when I re-entered the room, Mauricette, already dressed, was putting on her slippers.
“You're leaving?” I said, slightly annoyed.
“Not entirely. There's a little lock of me that's staying. And besides, I'm not going far; just there, behind the door. I suppose you don't remember promising to let me go at four o'clock?”
“In the morning!”
“In the evening, unfortunately!” she said in my arms.
Instead of fleeing, she had come to be kissed with a confidence that restored mine. Finally, however, she disengaged herself with a start and I could no longer keep her in my room, nor even join her on the landing. She had found her own door partly open, slipped in, and disappeared.