“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.
