ALTE DOCUMENTE
|
||||||||||
Alexander S. Pushkin
Secret Journal 1836-1837
(translated into English from Russian) 1987, 91 p., ISBN 0-916201-07-4; $8
EXCERPTS
The prediction is coming true - I challenged Dantes (1) to a duel. Was not
a violent death at the hands of a blond man predicted by the German woman?(2) I feel the power
of fate, I see how it is coming true, but I cannot avert it, for dishonor is
more terrible than death.
Dishonor is a seed I planted. Its vines strangle me. Dantes became a
retribution sent by fate for my weak character. Challenging Dantes I become
like Jacob fighting God. If I triumph, I refute God's laws and Pussy will ascend
the throne in the Heavens without obstruction.
Contemporaries must not know me to the extent that I will allow to future
generations. I have to take care of N.'s honor and of the honor of my children
as long as they are alive. But I cannot help but to impart my soul to paper; it
is this incurable disease of writing. This disease is often fatal, for
contemporaries will kill me for these revelations of my soul, for true
revelation, if they find out about it. But future generations will not be able 12312i824m
to do anything to me or to my great-grandchildren, because remoteness in time
will turn the most blameworthy of deeds into mere history. Unlike to the
present, history is not dangerous or offensive, but merely amusing and
didactic.
I do not want to take my sins, mistakes and torments to the grave with me; they
are too substantial not to become a part of my monument.
In two hundred years or so, when censorship in
I look at my hand as it writes these lines and try to visualize it dead, as a
piece of my skeleton, buried in the ground. Although this fate is undeniable, I
am unable to imagine it. The trustworthiness of death is the only indisputable
truth, and despite that it is the most difficult to comprehend, whereas we can
easily and thoughtlessly accept and believe many different lies.
* * *
Delvig's (4) death
was a fearful sign that the last part of the German fortune teller's prediction
has started to come true. Then I did not realize it, but it now appears before
me so complete and full of meaning. The ring dropping during our wedding
ceremony and the candle flickering out convinced me irrevocably that nothing
good will come out of my marriage. Actually, we ourselves predict our future.
In order not to lose my courage completely, I consoled myself with anticipation
of our wedding night, of the joy in at last possessing N. (5) I prayed to God to
make that joy last my married life.
A thirst for total happiness caused me to marry. Yes, the wedding looked to me
like a magic cure for my debauchery and boredom. It was an attempt to run away
from myself, not being able to change and not having enough courage to become
different.
N. was my fatal luck. In bargaining N. away from her mother, I sacrificed any
dowry and went deeply into debt to pay for the wedding festivities. Waiting for
the wedding day, after the engagement, I thought of how I would change and how
my life would change after I gave my oath of faithfulness, for I sincerely
intended to abide by it.
Before this time, I commonly had up to five women a day. I got used to a
variety of pussies, to women's habits in lovemaking and to all that makes one
woman different from another. Such variety did not let my passions doze and the
constant pursuit of variety made up the substance of my life.
When I saw N. for the first time, I realized that something irrevocable had
happened. The desire to possess her immediately was so strong that it instantly
turned into a desire to marry her. This had happened to me before, but never so
powerfully. Never before had I felt such admiration for my chosen one. When my
proposal was at last accepted, I, taking advantage of my position as betrothed,
managed to stay alone with her. I embraced her, and, moving my hand over her
breast, scratched with my nail at the place where her nipples were supposed to
be. Soon my nail started to stumble over them. N. blushed but did not push my
hand away and only whispered, "Don't, my mama can see".
Her mother is a real bitch, mad at everybody because no one besides the
stablemen at Polotnyani Zavod (6) wanted to screw
her. She would not have minded laying under me, I think, but of course I did
not care. She oppressed her daughters in many ways and kept them as if they
were in a convent. I watched N.'s sisters and thought of turning that convent
into my harem. Being a bridegroom, I reproached myself for such sinful
thoughts, although it was impossible to get rid of them.
I adored my nun and was plotting to convert her step by step into a skillful
lover. But my plans were not meant to be realized, and maybe that is why I love
her still.
Our honeymoon flew by in sweet education: I was learning the tongue her body
speaks and N. learned to respond not only to my tongue. My persistence and her
diligence brought her more and more often to rapturous screams, which sounded
like music to me.
To possess such an ideal beauty, which in addition was gotten as a virgin, is
the greatest happiness man can have. Its intensity is so strong that it cannot
last long. When I was immersed in my newfound wife, embracing her deeply,
feeling her shy movements, which had not yet grown into undulations because of
her shame, feeling her hot breathing in my ear, I was in a state of exaltation
which only God could feel at the moment of creation!
* * *
What a joy it was to lead N. along the winding paths of the garden of pleasure.
The first time I put her on her hands and knees and the two sections of her
sunny ass opened in front of me, it turned out that her legs were too long for
me and I had to get up from my knees to reach her pussy. I told her to cave her
back in. N. hesitated and then arched like a cat. I burst into laughter at her
saintly ignorance, and she looked back at me with surprise, the way a cow does
when you come up to her from behind. I put a hand on the spine of my Madonna
and pushed down, showing her what I expected. N. obediently did what I wanted,
and feeling why it was needed she burst out laughing too, not being aware that
laughter makes her pussy convulse. Later I tried to teach her to grip my cock
not by laughing but according to my instructions, but she is ungifted as a
lover, and I had to tickle her or ask her to cough to make her pussy come alive.
She comes only once a night and after coming does not want anything more. It is
very valuable quality in a wife; she won't bother you with lust when you want
to sleep. But in the beginning I tickled her a lot.
All the time I felt as if I were cheating nature: me, a dwarf with a monkey's
face, possessing the goddess. And she is not able to appreciate how good I am
in lovemaking because to do that she needs a point of comparison, God save her
from that.
In those first days, we agreed not to hide a single innermost thought from one
another. I realized very well that I wouldn't be able to keep the agreement,
but I wanted to create in N. the feeling of needing to share her thoughts and
desires with me. The main thing is not to get mad, whatever she may tell me.
Following this rule, I did my best not to show her my storm of indignation or
jealousy at the tales she related to me.
N. took our agreement seriously. I asked if she had had any manner of love
affairs and she confessed. When she was about fourteen, she, with her mother
and sisters, was invited to a ball in the Tsar's (7) palace. At one
point, she got lost among the guests. A beautiful maid of honor came up to her
and said that His Majesty wanted her to be introduced to him. My girl trembled
in fear and humbly followed the maid of honor. She brought N. to the study
where the Tsar was sitting in an armchair. The maid introduced N. and left her
standing in the middle of the gloomy study. The Tsar got up, moved to the sofa
and had her sit close to him. He asked her questions and at the same time
pulled her skirt higher and higher. N. did not dare to move and tried to answer
his questions in detail. When the monarch debaucher spread her legs, N. felt
how "waves of heat started to sweep over her" - this is how she
described her feelings to me. Suddenly somebody knocked on the door. The Tsar
stood up, put her dress in order and left the study. In a minute, the maid of
honor returned and took N. back to the hall where the other guests were
dancing.
N.'s mother started to get worried about N.'s disappearance, but when the maid
of honor told her that her daughter had been introduced to the Tsar, her mother
calmed down and only looked at N. with suspicion. N. was so excited by what had
happened that when the family arrived home her mother called her to her
quarters and asked if she had stayed with the Tsar alone. N. replied that there
was no one in the study besides them but that the Tsar was called out and they
did not have the time to talk much.
"You, liar!" I said as calmly as possible, afraid that she might hear
my teeth grinding. My wife replied that she does not like to lie and that
everything she had said to her mother was the truth and that her mother had not
asked any other questions.
When Koko (8)
became a maid of honor I forbade her to move into the palace, which made the
Tsar even angrier at me.
N. was embarrassed at the money the Tsar gave her as wedding gift. I made note
of that. When we moved to Tsarskoye Selo, (9) she tried by all
means to avoid running into the Tsar, selecting secluded places for our walks.
But strolling around the lake one day, we did meet the royal pair and the
Empress invited N. to the palace. At home, N. complained to me that she did not
want to appear in society. This sounded suspicious, and I extracted the
confession described above from her.
Long ago I learned about the sinful innocence of the Emperor's passions from a
maid of honor whom I cured of nervous fits by screwing her. So N.'s confession
brought me no news, I knew what I would hear from her. I just did not want to find
out that my wife was also one of his "living pictures." The Tsar had
given a great oath of faithfulness to the Empress, and because of that he does
not screw anybody but her. However, to get involved with the bevy of damsels
surrounding him, he orders them to undress and spread their legs in front of
him. He feasts his eyes on the opening, masturbates and ejaculates on their
bosoms, and leaves without touching them. The Empress knows about it but does
not feel that he breaks his oath by it.
Many maids of honor suffer from such innocuous relationships with the Tsar, but
N. was content that they were innocent.
She was concerned that the Tsar would approach her again. I consoled her,
advising her to tell the Tsar if he does approach her that I am so jealous that
I swore to kill anyone who even attempts to look at her pussy. Later she
assured me that soon after that she had had an opportunity to tell him when he
attempted to seclude her. He has never approached her about it since. I know
that he is afraid of me. How happy he will be if I die. Son of a bitch!
Already then I regretted that I had imposed on N. an agreement of sincerity,
but I prepared myself to accept all the pleasant and unpleasant consequences of
her honoring this agreement. Ignorance of a wife's thoughts threatens to make
her husband a cuckold. And to be a cuckold is disgusting and unbearable. Nobody
took as much advantage of husbands' lack of enlightenment as I, and how I
enjoyed watching their growing horns, invisible to everyone save myself.
Once, when I wanted to reaffirm my power over the body of my beauty she said:
"I want to share with you one more innermost thought."
"What is it?" I pricked up my ears.
"I don't want to do it, I want to sleep," she said, fatigued.
I laughed with relief.
"You sleep and I'll take you sleeping."
So we agreed. I screwed her snoring, trying not to wake her up. Here was a
sleeping beauty who did not wake up from kisses. Here was life, not a
fairytale.
* * *
One time we made a bet that she would come even when she was not in the mood at
all. How well I know the way indifference becomes desire in a woman when a man
knows what he is doing. For N., her indifference at this very moment was so
obvious that she could not imagine how easily it could disappear without a
trace!
I gave her a couple glasses of champagne and held myself back for half an hour
which was enough for her to start moaning from revived lust. How I loved her
for the moments of irrepressible ecstasy!
When she went to the toilet, I tagged after her. Although she categorically
refused at first to relieve herself in my presence, I did not leave her alone,
and with my prying, kisses and her desperate situation, I made her give in, in
small and then in large.
Her smells and sounds, everything that came out of her, filled me with desire.
I was always astonished by the transformation of a goddess into a mortal woman,
not in bed but in the toilet. Many women manage to stay a goddess in bed for
some time, but in a toilet, enchantment vanishes, and I got rid of my excessive
veneration, which very often is a hindrance in ruling a woman.
The power of beauties in high society is in the illusion of their divinity,
which it is so sweet to disperse unceremoniously. Oh, great and charming
knowledge! Looking at the most unapproachable beauty you definitely know what
she has between her legs and where and why she leaves a hall.
When I was about six, I saw pictures of a naked goddess in a book. I shivered
looking at those closed knees and at the curvature of those truly goddesslike
hips. My head was spinning with admiration. But at the same time, I clearly
felt that something extremely important was hidden from me. Tiny Olya's (10) pussy, which she
readily showed me if I asked her, did not fit my image of the mysteriously
adult female body. I knew that a woman should have a pussy, but it did not
occur to me that, for that to be seen, a woman must spread her legs. When for
the first time a woman's knees swept open before me, I grabbed a candle holder
and dispelled the darkness around her. I saw the face of Truth and in the same
moment realized my destiny - to serve this deity settled between a woman's legs
and to sing of the feelings which she produces. A woman herself may seem to be
a goddess, but only for one reason, that a real goddess resides in every woman
- the Pussy.
* * *
When I was a bachelor, nothing burdened me but the desire for happiness for
which I strove without luck, and that made me unhappy. It appeared to me that
marriage with a young, pretty girl with a kind heart would bring me peace and
liberty, which are in fact happiness. Alas, life gives either peace or liberty
but never both. Peace comes from meek resignation, and that peace has no room
for liberty. Liberty pushes me into endless affairs, wherein no peace resides.
In spite of my common sense, a presentiment of marriage burned in me and blazed
up each time I ran into a young beauty. I was ready to marry anyone, without
delay, providing I could appear with her in society without embarrassment.
Olenina (11) and
Sof. (12) did not
want to have a crazy husband. N. did not have a choice. This is how God sent me
a trial.
* * *
I convinced myself that I married placidly and that my experience protected me
from useless hopes and naive delusions. But my concept of marriage was just a
bloodless theory. It is impossible to understand feelings; you must feel them
acutely, for only feeling can touch the heart, and only the heart can then
enrich the mind. All my experience was that of a lover and not a husband.
My passion for N. did not last for even two months. I was aware that passion is
fleeting, but I was dispirited by this truism, because for the first time it
related to my own wife.
After the first month, I already did not tremble in joyful anticipation when N.
undressed in front of me. In two months, I had already learned her by heart as
a lover, and she could not surprise me with anything: I knew in advance which
movements she would make, what sounds of moaning I would hear, how she would
cling to me and how she would sigh in contentment.
Her smells did not make me jump on her any more the way they used to - I did
not notice them, as if they were my own. I got more excited by the smell of
German cheese than by her odors.
Because it reminded me of other women.
* * *
I was wrong in thinking that I could shape N. into anything I wanted. No, you
cannot teach the talent; you must be born with it. In the same way, you have to
be born for love, and N. was born for coquetry. What I call excellence, she
calls lewdness. The ability to feel love convulsions is not a love talent at
all. The talent for love displays a desire so strong and so easily aroused that
fastidiousness and shame disappear absolutely. Women talented in love become
slaves to it. They are marvelous lovers but dreadful wives. It turns out that
again you have to make a choice between a marvelous lover and a marvelous wife.
My case makes for the best marriage, for if I had a wife talented in love - in
other words a bad wife - it would be impossible to compensate for her lack of
talent as a wife on the side. To find a talented lover on the side is not
difficult at all.
I realized that N.'s temperament is the most convenient for marriage. She would
kill me if she had the omnivorous hunger which Z. or R. had. Not her coolness
but my indifference to her body is what offended me. My heart could not submit
to the fact that I could lie naked with N. and fall asleep without a desire to
take her. It was impossibly unthinkable for me with any other woman, and N. -
the most beautiful woman of all - emasculated me. I looked at her impassively
and thought that if at this moment any strange, even unattractive, woman came
to be in her place, I would pounce on her with the lust which N. will never
again be able to provoke in me. Anger at N. smouldered in me and I was
attracted even more strongly to other women.
The novelty of the body became stronger than love, stronger then beauty, but I
did not wish it to become stronger than my faithfulness to my wife.
* * *
I tried to make N. pregnant. In the first months of our marriage, before
society fell in love with her, N. was very bored with her leisure time. I
taught her to play chess, gave her "History" by Karamzine (13) to read, but it
bored her even more. She could read vapid French novels, one after another,
with childish exaltation. Once I read her a few of my poems. She listened to
them with such nonchalance on her face that I never dared bother her with my
poetry again, and she did not ask.
She gets the greatest pleasure from new clothes and compliments to her beauty.
It touched me and did not upset me at all. I knew that when children came she
will be busy with something real. Meanwhile, she does her embroidery and I
watch her pretty face, which brings me more aesthetic pleasure than erotic.
The good half of my life, which is tied to poetry, was indifferently rejected
by N. The other half was love, where the pungency of sensations was replaced
with tenderness. But we are able to find ecstasy only in the stimulation of
sensations.
* * *
I, who was no less proud of my fame as a lover than of my fame as a poet, could
not find room for these pursuits in my family life. N. nourished my vanity with
her beauty, kindness and innocence. But eventually her innocence turned into
coquetry, her kindness into sentimentality, and I got so used to the beauty
that it became imperceptible. Only when everyone admired N.'s beauty did I feel
proud, but this feeling, alas, turns into jealousy more and more often.
For the first time in my wild life, I was falling asleep and waking up every
day with the same woman. The sweetness of novelty was fast losing its
fascination for me, and I changed lovers or added one to another. I realize
with sorrow that for a married man, such behavior is unacceptable.
The difference between a wife and a lover is that with a wife you go to bed
without lust. This is why marriage is sacred, because lust is gradually
excluded from it and the relationship becomes just friendly, even indifferent
or often hostile. It is then that the naked body is not considered a sin,
because it no longer tempts.
I looked at a dagger hung on the wall and thought that I, like it, would no
longer take part in any more "love battles", would not taste the
smell of hot blood.
Sometimes I feel calmness, quiet joy, innocently looking at my Madonna (this is
the only way one may look at Madonna, is it not?). Lust was becoming a minor
portion of our life. The major portion was an anxiety of small things, castigating
passion. Unforgivably, but inevitably, I started to take N.'s pussy for
granted.
* * *
Fantasies started to haunt me, and it was the Devil doing it. Women I had had
in different periods of my life passed in front of my mind's eyes. I was especially
tortured by memories of my orgies with Z.
When I became her lover, I fucked her seven times during the first night. She
said that she came twenty times and did not tire at all. Z. was one of those
women whose desire is never fully satisfied but adapts itself to her lover's
capability. I confessed jokingly that I would not refuse helpers. She replied
seriously that she wanted them too, and the more the better. So from her lover
I became her procurer, which I had dreamed of doing for a long time. (14)
Since my youth, I had discovered in myself a thirst for voyeurism, and in
bordellos I took every opportunity to peep at couples, and if circumstances
were favorable I joined them with my temporary girlfriend.
Z. shared with me dreamily that she easily imagined herself with many men
simultaneously. She wanted to put her boasts into action and be taken by two
lovers at once to start with. We agreed that at the next ball she would point
out to me the uhlan she had her eye on but who had not been introduced to her.
I was to offer him a good time with a lady in Kamenniy Ostrov. (15) Her identity, of
course, had to be kept a strict secret. She was to meet us naked, with a mask
on her face, so as not to be recognized by the uhlan. Not a single word would
be pronounced by her so that he would not recognize her voice. If need be, she
would whisper in my ear.
When I said to the chosen uhlan that a great beauty of unspoken name wanted to
spend time with both of us, it was not easy to calm his impatience until the
arranged time. I took his word that everything would be kept secret, and he
agreed to leave the house at the first request. The servants were sent away,
and we two were to enter the bedroom according to the plan Z. had drawn for me.
I knocked on the door with a conventional knock and opened it wide. The single
candle by the bed shed light on a reclining Z. She faced us with widespread
legs. A clever mask made her face unrecognizable but left open what was
necessary: mouth, nostrils, eyes.
My helper - I will call him A. - produced a sound resembling a joyful neigh. We
quickly threw off our clothes and rushed to satisfy our hunger.
After an hour she gave me a sign that it was time for us to leave. On the way
back A. admired our accomplishment and tried to guess who the lady was. I
shrugged and reminded him that he had given me his word that he would make no
attempt to find out the identity of our lover.
Early the next morning, I came to Z.'s house to talk in detail about our
adventure. But instead of happy exclamations, all I heard were reproaches that
A. cared only about himself and that I had not watched him and that, as a result,
we had acted not in tune, as she desired, but disjointedly. The most important
thing for her was that the rhythm of our movements should coincide. "I
want to feel," Z. said "that I am taken by one skillful man who has
many cocks and not by rutting pigs only thinking how to come as fast as
possible."
I took offense, but she assured me that by saying "rutting pigs" she
did not mean me, whom she respects first of all for lovemaking and only then
for my poetry, but other men she wants to talk about.
Here she blushed, not with shame but with desire, and said that she now wanted
one more man. Only this time I must be in charge and set the rhythm for
everyone, and they must obey. In addition to keeping the secret, obedience to
my directions, should be a condition of their participation in the orgy.
Z. developed a detailed plan. I imagined vividly how much hot juice she spent
thinking over all the important trifles. She gave me directions on how she
wanted to position all the participants. The first one would lie on his back
and she would sit on him; the second one would get a place at her ass and fill
it, and I would stand in front of her mouth. I, as conductor, would have to
direct the rhythm of the others by setting them an example by my own movements.
If Z. wanted us to move faster, she would grip my cock with her teeth once. If
she decided to slow us down she would grip it twice. We at once rehearsed these
signs. To avoid any attempts by the men to involve her in conversation, she
would leave us after everyone had come, and we would leave then too.
This time, the rendezvous took place in the mansion of a relative who had gone
with her family to their estate. We had to be in one of the living rooms and
lock all the incoming doors. The plan was that if one of the servants showed up
at the house he or she would think that Z. was again hosting a party. Servants
were used to Z. inviting guests and behaving as if she were at home.
The third participant she selected was a friend of A.'s - I will call him K.
They always attended balls together and were considered inseparable friends. Z.
choose him to save A. from the temptation of gossiping about his adventure to
K. and to tie them both with the same secret.
I was strolling on the Nevsky (16) the next day
and, of all men, I ran into A. First he asked me how our mutual acquaintance
was doing and if she wanted to have a good time again. I told him that she
wanted K. to join us.
"Sure, he will be happy to but will there be enough room for
everybody?" A. got worried.
"Your fantasies cannot compete with her capabilities." I calmed him.
Soon all three of us met together in a confectionery to agree on the method of
worshipping our Venus. I explained the major condition of dead silence and
warned them that this time they would have to ride in the coach with their eyes
blindfolded. Z. was afraid that they might recognize whom the mansion belonged
to and trace her. Then I scolded A. for his egotism and described how they were
supposed to act - complete subordination to my commands, following my rhythm.
K. giggled but A. rebuked him. He had begun to realize that here was not merely
one more love adventure but a rare opportunity to bring tremendous pleasure to
a woman.
"And the most important thing," I repeated, "is not to try to
find out who she is, for society's envy would not forgive her for pleasures
they are not brave enough to get for themselves."
Entering the living room we saw Z. lying on a plush carpet. She had on a long
dress of the thinnest silk through which the shape of her insatiable body
glowed. Her mask revealed greedy, half-open lips. She rose, locked the door
behind us and greeted everyone, licking us avidly on the mouths and then
kneeling in front of each man in turn, licking his cock. It was a real
greeting, but she did not linger on any of us, not letting us get carried away.
She was just making sure our cocks were standing straight at attention. We
quickly shed our clothes and Z. dropped her dress from her shoulders, stepping
over it as over a last obstacle.
I had to remind the flushed K. about his duties, and he obediently lay down on
the carpet. Z. raised her legs and skillfully mounted him. She beckoned to A.
He came up, his cock taut as a stretched string, quivering. A jar of ointment
appeared in her hand and she slathered a thick layer on A's cock. Then she
handed the jar to me and bent above K. Her cheeks were small and I did not have
to move them apart - the little swollen orifice asked for a cock. I greased it
generously, pushing ointment inside the tight, hot tunnel. Z. squeezed my
finger gratefully. A. was impatiently sighing above me. I reluctantly followed
our plan, letting him take my place, and I moved to her mouth. A. slid into her
smoothly, and she opened her mouth invitingly, with pleasure at the sensation.
Z. grabbed my baton with her lips and instructed me to perform the love
composition andante.
"Don't get carried away, pals, watch for me," I hailed them,
"and don't dare to come till our lady love does".
My partners assured me that they would not drop our sweetheart halfway. Z.
looked up at me with eyes fogged with bliss and smiled with mouth full.
On the way in the carriage we had loaded ourselves with champagne, and it made
us durable.
The end began to approach. Z. began to moan and let me feel her sweet teeth;
she started to move faster, and I did not have to command - they started
pushing in, gladdened by the speed she permitted. Z. exclaimed loudly, as if
she had recovered her sight, and she moaned, but her moan was interrupted by me
finishing and the necessity of swallowing my semen. A. and K. streamed into her
the same time.
When we disconnected and K. crawled out from under her, Z. fell on the carpet
as if her body had lost its skeleton, which consisted of our cocks. I looked at
her as on our mutual creation. From time to time, convulsions ran along her
body.
Z. come to full consciousness in several minutes, got up gracefully from the
carpet and let me know that we were to go. Reluctantly we obeyed.
At the exit, I again blindfolded them and helped them get into the carriage
that was waiting for us. The carrier looked at me with fear. K. tried to take
off his blindfold before I allowed him, and I threatened that if he did not
obey it would be a dishonorable action, for he had given me his word that he
would obey. I would challenge him to a duel, and we would fight immediately. K.
saw that I was serious and waited until I allowed him to take his blindfold
off. He even began philosophizing that the most noble thing a man can do for a
woman is to give her the greatest pleasure. He could not imagine a deed more
chivalrous then that which we had committed.
I asked my fellows what could be done to make our lover's pleasure even
stronger. A. suggested installing mirrors on the walls and ceiling, as he had
seen in a bordello. K. suggested that we invite Gypsies to sing in the adjacent
room. And I said that I saw room for two more pals: we would take the same
positions and they would lie on her right and left sides, with their heads
facing her feet. They would suck on her breasts and scratch her heels while she
masturbated them. The man she sat on would prop her up against his shoulders,
because her hands would be busy.
K. and A. got excited. We started to think who our helpers could be. They would
have to be undemanding youths who would be satisfied with such an
"innocent" role. We naturally did not want to forgo her hot passages,
in spite of our chivalry.
A. recalled his two nephews, aged fifteen and fourteen. He was sure they were
virgins and would agree to anything that promised intimacy with a woman. It was
settled that I would offer this to our lady, who had stolen our hearts.
When I told our plan to Z., she smiled and said that she did not regret
choosing me as her procurer because I read her very thoughts. She confessed
that she could not get that dream about five cocks out of her head. In fact
today she had intended to ask me to share her body with two more. "I know you
will not diminish, no matter how many men I share you with," I said and
kissed her pussy.
We worked out the sequence: first, to give each boy a breast and let him stick
to it. I would have to give them a sign when to start scratching her heels. It
should happen only when everyone was in her concealed depths. For a change, we
decided that K. and A. should switch places. I had to stay in my conductor's
place.
Z. begged me to take care that her mask not slip from her face if she went
unconscious. The last time, she was very close to it. Although I always
maintained that a woman could overtake her fainting fit if she wanted to, now I
saw that it could indeed be beyond her strength.
This time, we had to wait for her appearance in the apartment she had rented
for her secret rendezvous. She gave me the key. I told everybody that it was my
apartment, which I kept for my own secret rendezvous. They envied me, and this
lie was sweet.
The apartment was in the wing of a two-story house and consisted of a living room,
a dining room and a bedroom. Five glasses and five misty champagne bottles were
standing in beauty on the table somebody had brought from an ice-house. We
drained three.
We were asked to wait in the living room. I had never been in this apartment
before and suddenly felt an attack of jealousy. There was a moment when I
wanted to disclose Z.'s name to everybody as revenge, but I regained my
control.
We were sitting on the armchairs and sofas, pouring champagne into ourselves
quickly, because we had not found ice and did not want it to get warm. Then we
could not hold ourselves back any longer and went to look in the bedroom. It
was filled with a huge round bed intended for more than sleep. The sun was
shining through a curtain covering the window. There was a clavichord standing
back in the living room. One of A.'s nephews started to play a merry tune, but
his fingers stumbled with the champagne. The other, older boy tried to disguise
his erection with his clothes, but his cock bulged through the fabric when he
impatiently strolled about the room. I proposed a toast to the woman for whom
we all waited so passionately.
"Do you mean that there will be only one?" the older nephew asked in
surprise.
"This is such a woman that she will be sufficient for all of us." the
uncle replied wisely.
We had not told the boys any details, we had simply promised that we would
arrange a love affair for them. A. had told their mother that he was taking
them for a walk.
The junior lad finished his glass and wanted to fill it again, but K. did not
let him.
"Do you want to sleep through your rendezvous?" he inquired.
The argument worked and the boy started playing the clavichord again. Suddenly
he cut the melody abruptly, and we heard the sound of an approaching coach. We
all rushed to the window. Z. stepped down from the coach. She wore such a thick
veil that her face was invisible. A bright blue dress embraced her divine body.
In several moments the door opened, and I went out to greet her in the
anteroom.
Z. threw back the veil, and the beauty of her face, which could not be hidden
even with a mask, appeared to us. Z. used to tell me that even if she were not
scared to be recognized she would wear a mask anyhow, because in it she feels
independent of any decorum.
"Everybody is impatiently waiting for you." I said to her.
She nodded to me and proceeded to the bedroom. I began helping her undress, but
she whispered to me to go into the living room and she would knock on the wall
twice when we could join her.
Everyone in the living room stood in tense expectation.
"Well, should we go?" asked K. undoing his shirt.
"Just a little more patience, my friends, and we will find ourselves in
paradise."
Everyone followed my suggestion and undressed himself completely in order not
to waste time later when we were called. The two boys bashfully stayed in their
underwear, looking bewitched at our hard-ons.
Then we heard two inviting knocks on the wall and dashed into the bedroom. The
daylight slipping through the curtained window allowed our eyes to greet a
magnificent pussy. We rushed to cover her body with greedy kisses. But Z.
pushed us aside and beckoned to the trembling boys, who stood shyly at the
door. She freed them from the rest of their clothes. Fear made them less than firm
in their intentions. Z. kissed their cocks in turn, and they livened up right
away. The boys started puffing. She instructed them to lie on the bed and got
in between them, resting on her elbows and holding a cock in each hand. A.
crawled under her and lifted his hands, on which Z. rested her shoulders. I
guided a nipple to each of the boys' mouths and commanded: "Suck and don't
stop!" K., meanwhile, was putting ointment on his cock, which was aimed at
the ass arched toward him.
"Grease well." I warned him, remembering Z.'s instructions.
"I do it just in case. It's already slippery here; she took care of
herself. Well, God be with us." said K. and moved into her ass.
I took the hand of each nephew and put them on Z.'s heels: "Scratch and
suck," I gave them the last direction.
Z. wet her lips and grasped my cock. "Fuck nicely, together," I
repeated from time to time, feeling Z. biting my cock and slowing down my
movements.
The boys kept forgetting to scratch, getting carried away with their own sensations,
and I reminded them by spanking them on the shoulders. Z. did not want them to
come too fast and did not masturbate them as skillfully as she knew how, but
squeezed their cocks hard in her fists. This did not help much though - one of
them started to moan and threw his hips up, eager for the movement Z.
intentionally withheld from him. She quickly dropped me and nestled to the boy,
not wasting a single drop. Just after him, the brother writhed, and Z. quickly
turned to him and caught in her mouth the first splashing drop, which was
already in the air, and captured the rest of them. The boys lost interest
immediately and fell off her breasts, and I had to raise my voice to them. They
went on again, sucking and scratching in fatigue. Z. returned to me but held to
their now flabby cocks. Then her time came, and she wailed, swept away by all
three of us. It felt to me as if our three cocks met somewhere in the middle of
her innards and pushed each other.
We were sitting around Z. and gazing at her lying unconscious on her belly,
with one leg bent under. Semen was slowly seeping out of her crimson pussy and
flowing along her thighs on the sheet. I pulled aside her cheeks to enjoy the
view in full. We saw the last spasms of her anus, surrounded with tender, voluptuous
swallowing.
The boys could not figure out what had happened to our lover. They looked at
us, scared. We felt appeased and proud of ourselves. The junior put his hand
out and scratched her heel. Z. moved her leg away and opened her eyes. She waved
her hand, giving the sign that it was time for us to leave.
In the evening, Z. and I savored our recent sensations. Her husband was at the
club, as usual, and we gave ourselves up to the recall of fresh memories,
feeling horny and mixing the feelings with embraces.
Z. was ticklish, but when she accepted three cocks, the scratching of her heels
was overwhelmed by stronger sensations and became a new color in the spectrum
of our copulation.
The semen flowing into her ass acted as an enema, and she was thrilled with one
more wholesome influence of love, which relieves her from constipation.
She assured me that she was able to experience the feeling of each cock: to
sense the approaching orgasm of the one while the other flooded her inside and
the third became soft, throwing out the last drop. And if even moments
separated the ends from each other, these moments dragged into infinity. That's
why it was so important to her that we move rhythmically, otherwise she lost
that unity of sensations.
After such dedication in my attempts to bring a woman total pleasure, I decided
to take care of myself; fortunately it was easy with the help of money. In the
past, as a bachelor, I was not concerned with my reputation as a libertine - on
the contrary I took it as a compliment.
In a bordello, I took five whores, paid them generously and got their complete
obedience. The first one I put on her back and crouched above her on my hands
and knees, facing her feet and looking down at her pussy. She swallowed my cock
and pulled apart her fur-lined lips, opening her pearl to my gaze. Two others
lay on either side and sucked on my nipples and I stuck my fingers in their
greasy pussies. The fourth lay down behind me, head to head with the first, and
licked my balls. The fifth one was on her knees behind, licking my asshole. I
had to tip the latter more. I suddenly imagined in her place the old Empress,
who had seen me showing my naked ass in front of her palace in Tsarskoye Selo. (17) I came laughing.
An exploding emptiness of satisfaction developed in my cock and balls.
Thus I tasted what Z. felt to the extent that it is possible for a man. One
thing made me angry - we did everything for her with joy and considered
ourselves lucky. There would be plenty of dogs besides us eager to screw such a
sweet bitch. And I had to pay money and see whores do everything against their
will. If I could get into a convent or to women in jail - to hungry women - but
be able to escape in time or else they would fuck me to death! No, with my ugly
mug I will never have enough pretty women. The bordello owner complained,
pointing her curved finger at me, that I deprave her girls and she threatened
not to let me in again. But the girls sympathized with me and later begged me
for money, offering to repeat everything again and keep it secret from the
madam.
I had this kind of vision in front of my eyes when I embraced N. Often I
imagined her in place of Z. and sharp jealousy mixed with sharp pleasure
dispatched my semen, bringing brief respite from the fantasies. I pushed away
the fantasies about Z. as the most offensive to N. and tried to switch them to
"innocent" ones - I imagined myself alone , screwing one woman.
At times I would sit in my study and try to write, but my thoughts flew away to
strange women, pussies appeared in front of my eyes and desire would strike me.
And never in those dreams did I see N.'s pussy, which was so near, so gorgeous
and so desired by everyone save me.
When N. entered the study in such hot dreamy moments, my desire disappeared
without a trace. To stop the depressing fantasies, I made myself come inside N.
It is always a pleasure and a joy to look at her, but she does not excite or
compel me. I look at her as on a piece of art, truly as on a Madonna (with the
only imperfection being the bunions on her toes).
N. became for me a means for getting rid of fantasies. In other words, I was
screwing my wife not for pleasure but to stay faithful to her.
But I could not get rid of the fantasies for any period of time: flattened by
convulsions, they straightened up as grass after the rain. Lost variety has
been compensated for with visions of women sitting on me: the ones with pussies
close to the ass pull aside their buttocks to open their pussies and those with
pussies far from the ass open themselves in front, pulling their lips aside.
Here is where woman's individuality displays itself.
(END OF EXCERPTS)
NOTES
by Mikhail Armalinsky
1. Dantes, G. S. (1812-1895), Pushkin's adversary, who fatally wounded him in a
duel on January 27, 1837. Dantes left France and came to Russia in 1833,
becoming an officer in a prestigious division of the Russian Army. He married
Catherine, Pushkin's sister-in-law, on January 10, 1837.
2. A German fortune teller, A. F. Kirhgoff, made four predictions for Pushkin.
All her predictions came true. The last one was that he would live a long life
unless a misfortune came during the 37th year of his life in the form of a tall
blond man.
3. Barkov, Ivan Semyonovich (1732-1768), a poet, the author of erotic poems
published in
4. Delvig, Anton Antonovich (1798-1831), a poet and a friend of Pushkin's.
5. Pushkina, Nataliya Nickolayevna (1812-1863), Pushkin's wife.
6. The estate of Pushkin's parents-in-law.
7. Nickolai I Pavlovich, Tsar of
8. Goncharova, Catherine Nickolayevna (1809-1843), Pushkin's sister-in-law. In
the journal she is called Katka, Koko, Katrin, and K.
9. The town close to
10. (?)Pushkina, Olga Sergeyevna (1797-1868), Pushkin's sister.
11. Olenina, Anna Alexeyevna (1808-1888). Pushkin was passionately in love with
her in 1828.
12. Pushkina, Sofia Fyodorovna (1806-1862), a distant relative of Pushkin's
with whom he was in love in 1826.
13. Karamzine, Nickolai Mikhailovich (1766-1826), a writer and historian.
14. This comment leads us to think that by Z., Pushkin may mean his lover,
Zakrevskaya, Agrafena Fyodorovna (1799-1879). In his letter of September 1,
1828, to Vyazemsky, P. A., Pushkin writes that "...she promoted me to her
procurer (to which I was always inclined...)."
15. A fashionable suburb of
16. Nevsky Prospekt - a main avenue in
17. Markevich, N. A. (1804-1860) wrote in his memoirs that Pushkin, as a
student of the Lyceum, which was the school for the children of Russian
aristocracy, made a bet with his friends that he would appear in front of the
palace on his hands and knees some morning and show his naked ass. The old
Empress saw him, called him in and scolded him badly but told no one about it.
|
