Her body was feasted as it had never been by her too narrow-minded husband. She knew with him such enchantments as she had never imagined, even during those nights when she lay sleepless and thought of love- making in all its possible forms.
He kissed her here, there, everywhere.
He licked her here, there, ditto.
And his prick was indefatigable. Her husband usually did it once and then turned his back on her and went to sleep. But, with this wonderful lover, she lost count of the times he had penetrated her, and yet he showed no sign of fatigue.
All the fibres of her body were revelling with acute joy, and her sighs mixed harmoniously with her lover's grunts of pleasure.
CHAPTER THREE
Frisky was restless in his stable: he was now completely recovered and longed to go out and gallop on the roads. Choisy sensed it and, talking to his horse, he reflected aloud:
— You're right, my friend. Food is good and plentiful here, but we are not the stay-at-home type.
Yet, he reasoned, Julia was really a splendid lascivious creature. He had grown to like this milky-white skin of hers which hid a torrid flesh, and he was amused at her astonishments in front of his variations, unknown to her, on the ways of love-making-and the enraptured way in which she accepted those variations without a sign of disgust, endeared her to him.
But Choisy was a real gourmet, where women were concerned, and he knew that partaking always of the same dish, as it were, led to indigestion.
Getting away from her, though, would not be a simple affair. She had grown attached to him, at least physically, and if he announced to her his intention of going, she would raise the roof. Ruse was the solution.
— Frisky is growing more restless every day, he remarked.
— You're not going away? Julia asked anxiously.
— Oh, no, he reassured her, just half an hour's trot to exercise my horse.
And, true to his word, he came back and she welcomed him with open arms, and also with something else open and craving to be filled. Which he did, reflecting, though, that if she went on being so demanding, she would soon empty him of all his maleness.
On the following day, he used the same plea of exercising his horse and she let him go, confident that he would return within an hour. But she was wrong: Choisy stopped at the inn where he had left his things, just enough time to gather them, and then galloped to the next town.
And as he lay at last alone in a bed that night, he stretched his weary limbs, yawned, and reflected that even the most lascivious goat needed a rest from time to time.
Meanwhile, Julia was getting anxious and restless. She suspected, at first, an accident, but, after having inquired around discreetly and heard there had been no accident for miles around, she flew into a rage and trampled her tulip beds with anger, accusing them of being the cause of Choisy's having talked to her in the first place.
Running after Choisy was out of the question she would be the laughing-stock of the whole village.
In the next few days, after restless nights, she took to walking more or less avowedly in search of a male who would satisfy her craving and feed her starving flesh. She soon found a newly-arrived sailor, but he was only the first of many, and, when three months later, her husband came back, he found, to his surprise, a wife so sensual and experienced that he suspected the worst, and, after having surprised her speaking the name “Choisy” in her amorous transports, he had no doubt left in him, and, putting his foot down with a heavy hand, he gave her a good thrashing.
As soon as he had gone away on another voyage, Julia sold her cow and hens and left on a trip to France. In Paris, she would surely find enough to satisfy her ardent flesh, if not Choisy himself. Not finding him, she went to bed with several of those men that are always in quest of a good opportunity to empty their sexual purses. And, as there were no tulips to grow in Paris, she earned a living cultivating her own garden whose body was becoming each day more enticing.
As for Choisy, he had now reached Berlin, travelling a little at a time. There, he found a French repertory company, and, among the comedians, he soon distinguished an actress whose looks and sprightly countenance he liked.
Her name was Clorinde and she was not backward in coming forward. She was well sought-after by the male members of the troupe and aroused the envy of her flat-chested colleague named Babet.
With Clorinde, Choisy adopted the tactic of posing as a novice.
In her dressing-room, Choisy flirted with her like a beginner, and, amused, she let him put a probing hand under her skirt. But then he aroused her whole sexual system so well that she guessed he was not as innocent as he was painted.
— You're an impostor! she said in an accusing voice, but the smile in her eyes had a conniving spark.
He set under her eyes, and then into her hands the most persuasive argument that a man well endowed by nature can have.
She was thrilled to the core and her twat was moistening considerably.
They fornicated on an armchair and were rudely interrupted by the stage-manager who shouted outside the dressing-room door:
— You're on in five minutes, Clorinde!
— Ooh! I'm in such a state to go on the stage! she exclaimed.
With one hand she adjusted the folds of her dress and with the other patted her hair into place.
— You're a-she said, but he broke in:
— a lover, ready to do it again, he completed her sentence in his own way.
— Oh! she exclaimed, scandalized, not here!
Hidden behind the scenery, Choisy watched her on the stage give a performance that surpassed her best. Babet told her with bitter enviousness:
— What's the matter with you to-night? You look as if ants were eating your arse.
— I have even better than that, was Clorinde's pat answer, and she went to join her lover.
Babet, spotting him, exclaimed:
— So this is the one who puts you in such a state?
— And it's giving her a fine complexion, remarked an aged member of the troupe, recalling her ancient loves.
The amorous hors'duvre had given Clorinde an appetite. Choisy invited her to have supper with him at his hotel. This was served in his bed-room, and the dessert he gave her was one which, as a connoisseur, she appreciated to the full. But this time, it was not a few hurried thrusts under her dress on a dressing-room armchair, but a really good fuck in a real bed.
They had cast aside the bed-sheets so as to have full liberty of movements, and, until dawn, they made love in all the possible positions and all the possible ways. Nor were their tongues idle-and they did not waste them for talking! They used nearly all the muscles of their bodies to procure each other the largest gamut of sensations possible. And they stopped only from sheer exhaustion.
When, on the following day, a maid came into their room to inquire as to their wishes for the midday meal, she stopped suddenly on the doorstep, gaping with astonishment at the sight of their two bodies naked and asleep in each other's arms.
But, not distinguishing them well, she exclaimed:
— My word, they're two women-how pretty they are! But what had they done to've put the bed in such a mess?
Choisy, waking up, raised himself up in the full eloquence of his real sex.
— But it's a cockerel, a real cockerel! the maid remarked aloud, with her eyes as round as discs.
