Then I would try new positions in coitus I had heard
of. Still she did not enter into my mood.
She was engaged at this time to play in a pantomime and I
commenced to lead a miserable, jealous existence. I heard scandal
about her, baseless enough, but in the diseased, nervous, anxious
state I had brought myself to it nearly drove me mad. I would go
with her sometimes to visit her mother, whom I began to like. Her
brother I still saluted coldly. It caused me horror and jealousy
to see A. kissing him and letting him tickle her. In my rage,
when we came home, I even said that perhaps she would let him do
something else, naming it brutally and coarsely. I remember her
shame, astonishment, indignation and tears. If ever a man tried a
woman's love I did. But she forgave me, even that.
We went to live in a little cottage. It was in this cottage that
A. first showed signs of lust, and in the diseased state of my
mind, instead of regretting it, I encouraged her. She told me one
day that the orgasm very often did not occur at the same time
with her as with me, and that it would not unless I put my little
finger into the anus. This her husband taught her, and she would
rather have died than confess it to me when we first met.
Pages:
529
530
531
532
533
534
535
536
537
538
539
540
541
542
543
544
545
546
547
548
549
550
551
552
553