When we returned from our ride, Papa was better, and I tried to diagnose his illness and reckoned it up as the result of a long winter's indulgence in the pleasures of the table, with no exercise; and living in a confined atmosphere, breathing the poisonous emanations of a slow-combustion stove in his sleeping apartment. There were the remains of the old mysterious illness of years ago and I began to ask myself if he were not syphilitic perhaps, but all this was in a very crude state in my brain at that moment, as my faculties were dulled by Lilian's blandishments. Papa recovered enough to come and take some photographs of Lilian with Raoul and me, and I tried to get Lilian with her head pillowed on the broad breast of her handsome brother in uniform.
We dined late and Lilian was seated next to me. She pulled her clothes up so as to expose her naked left thigh and signed to me to touch it. She remained like this all through the dinner, and I felt her thighs when I chose and when I could, without counting touches of her hands and pressures of her feet. Add to this the kisses of the whole day and I think I had nothing to complain of.
The German friend had been invited to come and lunch on the first of March and go out for a bicycle ride afterwards with Miss Arvel, and I was told to come too. I consented, nothing loth, and returned to Paris with Lilian's kisses wet on my lips and thoroughly convinced that despite Lilian's many lovers she still kept a corner in her heart for me. And I was ready to forget and forgive all, Papa and the others, past, present and future, if black Miss Arvel would keep her word with me.
March 1, 1899.
Papa had experienced difficulty in getting the requisite poisonous chemicals used in photography and I brought him what he wanted, some cyanide of potassium and bichloride of mercury, one ounce of each, together with some other trifles, measuring weights, samples of photographic papers, and so on, to make myself agreeable to him, and I had, for the last year, taken subscriptions to the papers he liked and which I found inexpressibly silly: Answers, Tit-bits, Pearson's Weekly, and a more serious publication, Photography.
Soon after my arrival, and the most flattering welcome, Lilian, who was ready dressed for the bicycle, gave me back the novel, L'Anneau, and when I asked her how she liked it, merely nodded her head, and ran away, leaving me alone. I had made a hit then? Something in that book had touched her to the quick. What was it? Had the man to whom she had given her virginity last winter left her after the sacrifice, or was she disinclined to talk about the rupture of the hymen? Should I ever know? What an amusing game of hide-and-seek she was playing, and what was her motive, if indeed she had one at all?
The Berlin gentleman I had already seen came to breakfast, and he spoke German nearly all the time with Papa, while Lilian and I had it all to ourselves at the end of the table and a very pleasant meal it was, my lustful charmer being as amiable as it was possible to be.
In the middle of the repast, the wine ran short. Lilian was sent to the cellar, and asked me to accompany her, which I did with delight, and we sucked each other's lips and tongue with rapture, Lilian telling me to follow her into the dark-room immediately after breakfast, as she wanted to show me something there. We left Papa eagerly discussing the Dreyfus case in German, and as usual he was all in favor of the generals, as was the Teutonic guest. I had refused to join in the discussion, although Mamma, knowing my opinions, tried to get me to talk on the subject by telling the stranger that I held contrary views to his! I preferred to slip away with Lilian and we were no sooner inside the little cabin than after a long sweet kiss from her fevered lips, she plainly informed me that she wanted me to give her pleasure with my finger as she felt very “naughty.” Nothing loth, I put my hand up her clothes, as she stood up, leaning against the sink, and my finger immediately touched the spot. I was very surprised to see her start and draw back with a rapid movement, dislodging my hand completely. I saw at once what had happened. She knew, of course, that she was no longer a virgin, but her great preoccupation was to make me still believe in her virtue. In her excitement, she had presented herself in quite an easy position, the knees half-bent, eager to be manipulated, and I, full of lust and luncheon, had pushed my finger in too far, as I could tell by the soft warmth and moisture. I asked why she drew away from my touch.
“Oh, that is nothing. Don't be offended! Surely you can excuse an instinctive movement of shame?”
I was too clever, and at the same time too excited myself, to do anything but agree with her, and I was content to do my best to bring about the crisis, as she stood bolt upright now, her thighs pressed together. After the usual expressions of pleasure, she suddenly broke away from me, exclaiming that she had spent, and I said to myself that she had been remarkably quick about it. She now made a dive for my neglected organ, which she found quite ready to her hand, as it was all prepared, sticking out of the drawers, as I have explained. She caressed it a little, telling me to keep a sharp eye for fear any of the workgirls should come along, and, bending down, took it in her hot mouth, rolling her agile tongue round its swollen head. She had not been sucking me for two seconds when she got uneasy, and left off. I begged her to continue and finish me, as she stood by my side laughing and looking, and admiring my sign of virility, and she bent down again, once more popping it into the velvety seclusion of her warm mouth. But directly she felt that I was about to ejaculate, she left off suddenly, exclaimed that she heard footsteps, and fled rapidly from the tiny building, leaving me all alone with my stiff rod sticking up out of my trousers. The disappointment was so great that my erection soon passed off, and I was too much in love with the coquette to feel any anger with her.
With the same sensation of stupid passion, which is pleasing in its way, I started on my ride with Lilian and the German. Miss Arvel showed us the road, and she agreed to pilot us to a kind of tea-garden, about ten or twelve miles off. The German was not troublesome; he walked Miss Arvel's bicycle up all the steep hills, and there are many along the Marne, while we lagged behind and talked. I saw Lilian did not want to work too hard, so as not to perspire or tumble her hair. She wore a veil too, and was powdered, perfumed, and her lips well reddened, albeit they were swollen. Our conversation was very lewd. I showed her a lusty beggar on the road and, admiring his rustic beauty, asked her if she would like to see his staff of life, adding that he would very likely show it for a few coppers.
“He would show it me for nothing,” said Lilian, with a merry laugh. “Charlotte would go and ask him, if she was here.” And with a change of tone: “I can rub my little button in this divided dress as I walk along,” and the German being a long way off, she made all the requisite movements as far as I could see, and after a time announced that she had finished. I need not repeat how I talked to her; my readers will guess the state I was in.
“You don't think I've come like this?”
“Yes, I do! I know you are so awfully lewd. But soon you will be able to enjoy yourself immensely when you will be travelling alone with your Papa.”
She feigned surprise and pretended not to know what I was talking about, but I saw she was not offended with my allusions to her Papa's love for her.