“Well, how did you do it?” “Well,” I stuttered, “with what I have got between my legs.” Shaking his head, he said: “Did you get poked?” I was surprised, but answered: “Yes.”
“And did you also take it in your mouth?” “Yes,” I answered.
He breathed hard and sighed: “Oh, Lord, oh Lord, my child-deadly sins-deadly sins!” I was nearly beside myself with fright, but he said: “I must know all, do you hear?” “But that will be a long confession-and the other children are waiting.”
“I must give you a separate hearing, do you understand?”
“Yes, Father,” I stammered. “Come to me this afternoon at two o'clock. In the meantime, you must think of everything. If you don't confess all, the Communion will not save you.” With a heavy heart I walked home. Sitting down, I tried hard to remember everything I had done. I greatly feared this confession in his private room, fearing the penance he would inflict on me for my sins. When it was time to go, my brother, Lorenz, asked where I was going all dressed up. I answered him quite proudly: “To Father Mayer. He ordered me to his house.” Lorenz gave me a queer look as I went out. It was summer, and, as I entered the priest's house, I experienced a cool and holy feeling, which greatly impressed me. Reading the signs on the doors, I rapped on the one bearing Father Mayer's name. He opened the door in his shirt sleeves. His vest was unbuttoned and I noticed his big, protruding stomach. Now, as I saw him outside of the confessional, with his fat, red, priestly face, I was filled with awe and respect for him and blushed with shame when I realized what he knew about me. “Blessed be the Lord,” I said.
To which he answered: “Forever, everlasting; well, here you are.” As I kissed his fat hand, he closed the door. Leading me through a small, dark hall, he showed me to his study, which looked out upon the cemetery. Green leaves outside hid the view. The room was large and painted white. On one wall hung a large crucifix. Against the other stood an iron bed covered with an embroidered spread. The center of the room was taken up by a large writing table and an arm chair. Father Mayer put on his bathrobe and buttoned it, saying: “Come here!” We knelt in front of the cross and repeated the Lord's prayer. Then, taking my hand, he sat in the arm chair and leaned against the table. “Now,” he said, “I am listening.” I was so confused that I could say nothing.
“Well, now, tell me your story.” I remained silent, looking down. “Now, listen, my child,” he said, putting his hand under my chin, forcing me to look into his eyes. “You know that you have sinned-intercourse-a deadly sin, you understand-and with your brother: a horrible crime!” I began to tremble violently. He went on:
“Who knows, perhaps you are wholly damned and your punishment will last forever. If I am to save your soul, I must know all and you must confess all-to seek forgiveness.” I began to cry.
“Don't cry,” he commanded. I dried my tears but dared not speak. “Yes, yes,” he went on, “the temptations are great and you may not have known that you were sinning. That this is such a great sin, surely, you did not. You are only a child. You did not know, did you?” Encouraged at this, I said: “No, I knew nothing.”
“Now that is better; you did not do it on your own accord, but you were led into it by others.” Now, for instance, thinking at once of the first time I had heard father and mother, I eagerly replied: “Yes, Father, I was led to it.” “I thought so,” he said, as he put his hand lightly on my breast. “That is what invites the tempter.” No thought of harm entered my head at this, though I felt the warmth of his hand. That is the work of Satan which gives to a child the breast of a woman,” he went on. And, with this, he put his other hand on the other breast, now holding them both.
“But women should hide their breasts from the sight of men so as not to excite them. They are the tools of passion. God gave them to a woman so that she might nurse her young, but Satan made a 'plaything' of them to arouse the passion of men. They should be hid.” I did not think anything about what he was doing to my breasts. Innocently I listened to what he said. “Well, now, how was it when you were poked by all those men?” he asked. But it was impossible for me to talk about it. “Good?” he asked mildly. Then, after a pause, he said: “Well, I will do the talking. I see that your heart is pure, you are filled with shame for your misdeeds and you do not want to talk of these things. Now, then, I will question you; if you cannot answer verbally, you may show me with deeds how you have sinned. Will you do this-?” “I will, Father,” I promised thankfully. Taking his hand from my breast, I kissed it eagerly. “I must know every land and grade of sin that you have committed. Now begin. Did you take the shaft in your mouth?” I nodded. “Often?” “Did you play with it with your hands?” Again I nodded. “How did you play?” I stood there, not knowing what to do or say. “Show me exactly how!” he whispered. “How did you do it?” I was helpless and did not move. He smiled, saying: “Just take my shaft and show me-Don't worry – an ordained priest is pure; he cannot sin; nothing that he does is sinful.” I was shocked and did not stir. He took my hand, whispering: “Just take my organ and show me all your sins. I will lend you my body so that you may confess to my face and thereby purify your soul!” With that, he put my hand in front of his trousers. I was obliged to reach far back under his stomach. Trembling, I unbuttoned his pants and found his stiff, short shaft, standing upright, hid away in those black trousers. “How did you play with it?” he asked. Much perplexed, I put my hand around it and rubbed it back and forth several times. With a stem face, he inquired further: “Was that all? Don't hide anything, I tell you!” I said nothing. Rubbing it a few more times, he asked:
“What else did you do with it?” Thinking of Clementina's act, I took it between my thumb and middle finger, tapping it with my forefinger. I slowly stripped back the foreskin. Leaning back in his chair, he wanted to know: “What other works of art did you perform?” I was afraid to do more. Letting go of his stout engine, I whispered: “I took it in my mouth.” “How?” he said, breathing hard. “How did you do it?” Perplexed, I looked at him. “I cannot tell you.” “Then show me. Are you prepared?” he asked, urging my head toward his throbbing device. “Or will you be ungrateful for the mercy that I have shown you? Half of your sins will be already forgiven if you do the same to me as you did to the others.” This made me quite happy. I considered myself lucky to be able to have my sins forgiven. I knelt before him and put his tool into my mouth. “Only the point?” he asked sternly. I at once pushed the rest of the shaft down my throat. “And nothing else?” I heard from above my head. I began pushing it in and out, sucking it, tickling it with my tongue. Whether from fear of from the thought that I was doing penance or whether it was passion, I cannot say. But I heard Father groan: “Oh, oh, to think! Such a sinner; oh, oh!” Taking pity on him I stopped, not wanting to prolong his misery. I took his shaft from my mouth, wiped it dry with my handkerchief and got up. He was very red and eagerly reaching for me he went on: “And what else did you do with the organs that you had like that?” “I held intercourse with them,” I whispered. “I know that,” he said, his breath coming short. “You have shown me three ways and of these three ways you have purified your own body. But you did other things with those organs, child! Now, don't deny it!” “No, your Reverence.” “Well what was it you did?” “I was poked, your Reverence.” “How?” “Well, I just was poked!” I replied.
“Of that I know nothing,” he said peevishly. “You must show me how you did it.” “Yes, I will,” I said, anxious to show him everything and at the same time happy to know that with a priest it would be not sin but the means of having my sins forgiven. Furthermore, I was happy because I had not had a “piece” for a long time and the sucking which I had done had already made me very passionate. I was crazy for him to poke me. He got up, leading me to his bed, and said: “How did you do it?” I replied:
“Your Reverence already knows.” “I know nothing!” he replied. “You must show me everything. Did you lie underneath the man or on top?” “Sometimes one way, sometimes the other way.”
“Well, how did you lie underneath?” I lay down across the bed on my back, my legs hanging over the edge of the bed. “Is that the way you lay?” “Yes, yes, your Reverence,” I answered. “But you have your dress on. It would be impossible for the tempter to reach your parts. Did he raise your dress?” “Yes.” “Perhaps like this?” He lifted my skirts so that my legs and my blonde-haired mound were bared. I spread my legs apart, panting with anticipation. He stepped between my knees, laid his fat belly on mine, although he was still standing. “Did he penetrate you like this, to satisfy your passions?” “Yes.” Still standing, he pushed his blessed spear into my canal. I was obliged to assist him as he slowly pushed it in. I could not see his face, but heard him cough and groan. I held him tightly. I was so passionate that I was dying to be poked-more so now, knowing that it was not a sin. Then, suddenly, I realized that the priest was only playing with me-just shamming in order to get a “piece.” Yet in my heart I felt that he really had the power to forgive me my sins. As he stood there motionless, neither pushing in nor pulling out, I began working my hips up and down, which caused more coughing and groaning. “Your Reverence,” I whispered. “What now,” he said. “It was not like this.” “How then?” “My partners were moving vigorously in and out of me.” He began to work-forward and back, out and in.
“Perhaps like that?” “Oh, yes!” I cried. “Like that, only quicker and harder!” “You dear child,” he said, “tell me every-thing-talk to me! “Oh! Oh! That is it! Oh-that is so good-oh, your Reverence-now 'go off'!- I am coming-I can't help it-it feels so good-what your Reverence is doing!” He was leaning over me as far as his fat stomach would permit. His fat face was blue and his eyes looked like those of a stuck calf. He was poking like a “billy goat,” whispering: “Oh, take it all in-so-so-it won't hurt you- you are a dear girl-and you want me to 'squirt'- I'll do it!-I'll
