MAUDE

from “SEXUS”, by Henry Miller

  

It’s a curious fact that a body, however familiar it may be to sight and touch, can become eloquently mysterious once we feel that the owner of it has become elusive or evasive. I remember the renewed zest with which I explored Maude’s body after I learned that she had been to see a doctor for a vaginal examination. What gave spice to the situation was that the doctor in question had been an old suitor of hers, one of those suitors whom she had never mentioned. Out of the blue one day she announced that she had been to his office, that she had had a fall one day which she had told me nothing about, and, having lately run into her old sweetheart, whom she knew she could trust (!), she had decided to let him examine her.

“You just walked in on him and asked to be examined?”

“No, not quite like that.” She had to laugh herself at this.

“Well, what did happen exactly?”

I was curious to know whether he had found her improved or otherwise in the interval of five or six years which had elapsed. Hadn’t he made any advances? He was married. she had already informed me of that. But he was also extremely handsome, a magnetic personality, she had take pains to let me know.

“Well, how did it feel to get on the table and spread your legs open – before your old sweetheart?”

Se tried to make me understand that she had grown absolutely frigid, that Dr. Hilary, or whatever the devil his name was. had urged her to relax, that he had reminded her that he was acting as a physician, and so on and so forth.

“Did you succeed in relaxing – finally?”

Again she laughed, one of those tantalizing laughs which she always produced when she had to speak of “shameful” things.

“Well, what did he do?”, I pressed.

“Oh, nothing much, really. He just explored the vagina (she wouldn’t say my vagina!) with his finger. He had a rubber over his finger of course.” She added this as though to absolve herself of any suspicion that the procedure might have been anything more than a perfunctory one.

“He thought I had filled out beautifully,” she volunteered, to my surprise.

“Oh, he did, did he? He gave you a thorough examination, then?”

The recollection of this little incident had been stirred by a remark she had just dropped. She said she had been worried about the old pain which had reappeared recently. She redescribed the fall which she had years ago when she believed, mistakenly, that she had injured her pelvis. She spoke with such seriousness that when she took my hand and placed it above her cunt, just at the ridge of the Mons Venus, I thought the gesture one of complete innocence. She had a thick growth of hair there, a genuine rose bush, which, if the fingers strayed within striking distance of it, immediately stood on end, stiffened like a brush. It was one of those bushy things which are maddening to touch  through a film of silk or velvet. Often, in the early days, when she wore attractive flimsy things, when she acted coquettish and seductive, I used to make a grab for it and hold on to it while standing in some public place, the lobby of a theatre, or an elevated station. She used to get furious with me. But, standing close to her, blocking the sight of my groping hand, I would continue to hold on to it, saying: “Nobody can see what I’m doing. Don’t move!” And I would continue to talk to her, my hand buried in her muff, she hypnotized with fear. In the theatre, as soon as the lights were lowered, she would always spread her legs apart and let me fool her. She thought nothing of it then to open my fly and play with my cock throughout the performance.

Her cunt still held a thrill. I was conscious of it now, my hand resting warmly on the edge of her thick sporran. She kept a continuous flow of talk in order to postpone that embarrassing moment of silence when there would be nothing but the pressure of my hand and the tacit admission that she wished it to remain there.

As though vitally interested in what she was relating, I suddenly reminded her of the stepfather whom she had lost. As I anticipated she thrilled immediately to the suggestion. Excited by the very mention of the name, she placed her hand over mine and pressed it warmly. That my own hand slipped a little farther down, that the fingers became entangled in the thick hair, she seemed not to mind at all—for the moment. She carried on about him gushingly quite like a school-girl. As my fingers twined and untwined I felt a double passion stirring in me. Years ago, when I first used to call on her, I was violently jealous of this step-father. She was then a woman of twenty-two or three, her figure full-blow, mature in every sense of the word; to see her sitting on his lap before the window at dusk, talking to him in a low, caressing voice used to infuriate me. “I love him”, she would say as though that excused her behavior, for with her the word love always meant something pure something divorced from carnal pleasure. It was in Summer that these scenes occurred and I who was only waiting for the old duffer to release her, was all too conscious of the warm naked flesh beneath the filmy gauze-like dress she wore. She might just as well have sat naked in his arms, it seemed to me. I was always conscious of the weight of her in his arms, of the way she settled down on him, her thighs rippling, her generous crack anchored firmly over his fly. I was certain that however pure the old man’s love for her was, he must have been aware of the luscious fruit he was holding in his arms. Only a corpse could lave been impervious to the sap and the heat generated by that warm body.  Moreover, the better I knew her, the more I thought it natural for her to offer her body in this furtive libidinous way. An incestuous relationship was not beyond her; if she had to be “violated”, she would prefer that it be done by the father she loved; the fact that he was not her real father, bit the one she had chosen simplified the situation if indeed she ever permitted herself to think about such things openly.  It was this damned perverted relationship which had made it so difficult for me to bring her out into any clear, open sexual relationship on those days. She expected of me a love which I was unable to give her. She wanted me to fondle her like a child, whisper sweet nothings in her ear, pet her, pamper her, humor her. She wanted me to embrace and caress her in some absurd, incestuous way. She didn’t want to admit that she had a cunt and I a prick. She wanted love talk and silent, furtive pressures, explorations with the hands. I was too forthright, too brutal. for her liking.

After she had had a taste of the real thing she was nearly beside herself—with passion, rage, shame, humiliation, and what not.  She evidently had never thought it would be so enjoyable nor so disgusting. What was disgusting— to her—was the abandonment. To think that there was something hanging between a man’s legs which could make her forget herself completely was exasperating to her. She did so want to be independent—when not just a child. She didn’t want the in-between realm, the surrender, the  fusion, the exchange. She wanted to keep that little tight core of self which was hidden away in her breast and only allow herself the legitimate pleasure of surrendering the body. That body and soul could not be separated especially in the sex act, was a source of the most profound irritation. She always behaved as if, having abandoned her cunt to the exploration of the penis, she had lost something, some little particle of  her abysmal self, some element which could not be replaced. The more she fought against it the more complete was her abandon. No woman can fuck as savagely as the hysterical woman who has made her mind frigid.

Playing now with the stiff, wiry hairs of that  bush of hers, letting a finger stray down occasionally to the tip of her cunt, my thoughts roamed vagrantly deep into the past. I had almost the feeling that  I was her chosen father, that I was playing with this lascivious daughter in the hypnotic dusk of an overheated room. Everything was false and deep and real at the same time.  If I were to act as she wished, act the part of the tender, understanding lover, there would be no doubt of the reward. She would devour me in passionate surrender. Only keep up the pretences and she would open those thighs of hers with a volcanic ardor.

“Let me see if it hurts inside” I whispered, withdrawing my hand and deftly slipping it under the filmy shift and up her cunt. The juices were oozing from her, her legs slipped farther apart, responsive to the slightest pressure of my hand.

“There… does it hurt there?” I asked, piercing deep within her.

Her eyes were half closed. She gave a meaningless nod, signifying neither yes or no. I slipped two more fingers inside her cunt and quietly stretched my length beside her. I put an arm under her head and drew her gently to me, my fingers still deftly churning the juices that were seeping from her.

She lay still, absolutely passive, her mind thoroughly absorbed in the play of my fingers. I took her hand and slid it into my fly which came unbuttoned magically. She grasped my prick firmly and gently, caressing it with a practiced touch. I stole a quick glance at her and saw an expression almost of bliss on her countenance. This was what she loved, this blind, tactile exchange of emotions. If she could only really fall asleep now and let herself be fucked, pretend that she had no watchful, waking part in it… just give herself completely and yet be innocent… what bliss that would be! She liked to fuck with the inner cunt, lying absolutely still, as in a trance. With semaphores erect, distended, jubilant, twitching, tickling, sucking, clinging, she could fuck to her heart’s content, fuck till the last drop of juice was exhausted.

It was imperative now not to make a false move, not to puncture the thin skin which she was still spinning like a cocoon, about her naked, carnal self. To make the transfer from finger to prick required the adroitness of a mesmerist. The deadly pleasure had to be increased most gradually , as though it were a poison to which the body became only gradually accustomed. She would have to be fucked through the veil of the cocoon, just as years ago, in order to take her, I had to violate her through her nightgown… A devilish thought came to my mind, as my cock twitched with delight under her skillful caresses. I thought of her sitting on her stepfather’s lap, in the gloaming, her crack glued to his fly as always. I wondered what the expression on her face would have been had she suddenly felt that glow-worm of his penetrating her dreamy cunt; if, while murmuring her perverse litany of adolescent love in his ears, if, unconscious  of the fact her gauze-like dress no longer covered her fleshy buttocks, this unmentionable thing which was hidden between his legs suddenly stood bolt upright and climbed inside her, exploding like a water pistol. I looked at her to see if she could read my thoughts, exploring the folds and crevices of her inflamed cunt meanwhile with bold, aggressive palps. Her eyes were tightly closed, her lips parted lasciviously, the lower part of her body began to squirm and twist, as if trying to free itself from a net. Gently I removed her hand from my cock, at the same time gingerly lifting a leg and slinging it over me. For a few moments I let my cock jump and quiver at the mouth of her crack, letting it slide from front to rear and back again, as if it were a flexible rubber toy. An idiotic refrain was repeating itself in my head: “What is this I hold over thy head - fine or super-fine?” I continued this little game  for a tantalizing spell, now and then nosing the head of my prick in an inch or so, then running it up against the tip of her cunt and letting it nestle down in her dewy bush.  All of a sudden she gave a gasp and with eyes wide open she swung full round; balanced on hands and knees, she strove frantically to catch my prick with her slimy trap. I put two hands around her buttocks, the fingers doing a glissando along the inner edge of her swollen cunt, and opening it like you would a torn rubber ball, I placed my cock at the vulnerable point and waited for her to bear down. For a moment I thought she had suddenly changed her mind. Her head, which had been hanging loosely, the eyes helplessly following the frantic movements of her cunt, now trust itself up taut, the gaze suddenly shifted to some point above my head. An expression of utter selfish pleasure filled the full, roving orbs, and as she began to rotate her ass, my prick only half inside her, she began to chew her underlip. With that I slid a trifle lower and pulling her down with all my force I jabbed it in up to the hilt, so deep that she gave a groan and her head fell forward on the pillow. At this moment, when I could have taken a carrot and shoved it around inside her for all the difference if would have made, there came a loud knock at the door. We were both so startled that our hearts almost stopped beating. As usual, she recovered first. Tearing herself from me, she ran to the door.

“Who’s there?” she asked.

“It’s only me.” came the timid, quaking voice which I recognized immediately.

“Oh, it’s you! Why didn’t you say so? What is it? “

“I only wanted to know,” came the faint, dragging voice with a slowness which was exasperating. “if Henry was there?”

“Yes, of course he’s here,” snapped Maude, pulling herself together. Oh, Melanie,” she said, as if the latter was torturing her, “is that all you wanted to know Couldn’t you… ?”

“There’s a telephone call for Henry,” said poor old Melanie. And then even more slowly, as if she were just able to get that much more out of her system: “I … think… it’s important.”

“All right,” I yelled, getting up from the couch and buttoning my fly. “I’ll be right there!”

When I picked the receiver I got quite a shock. It was Curley telephoning from Cockroach Hall. He couldn’t tell me what it was, he said, but I was to get home as fast as I could.

“Don’t talk that way,” I said, “tell me the truth. What’s happened? It is Mona?”

“Yes,” he said, “but she’ll be all right in a little while.”

“She’s not dead then?”

“No, but it was a close call. Hurry up…”, and with that he hung up.

In the hall I ran into Melanie, her bosom half exposed, limping along with melancholy satisfaction. She gave me an understanding look, one of pity, envy and reproach combined.

“I wouldn’t have disturbed you, you know” – her voice drawled painfully upward – “if they hadn’t said it was important. Dear me,” and she started dragging her body towards the stairs, “there’s so much to do. When you’re young…”

I didn’t wait to hear her out. I ran downstairs and almost into Maude’s arms.

“What is it?” she asked solicitously. Then, since I didn’t answer immediately, she added: “Did something happen… to… to her?”

“Nothing serious, I hope,” said I, fumbling about for my coat and hat.

“Must you go right away? I mean… “

There was more than anxiety in Maude’s voice, there was a hint of disappointment, a faint suggestion of disapproval.

“I didn’t turn the light on,” she continued, moving towards the lamp as if to switch it on, “because I was afraid Melanie might come down with you.” She fussed a little with her bathrobe, as if to bring my mind back to the subject which was uppermost in her mind.

I suddenly realized that it was cruel to run off without a little show of tenderness.

“I’ve really got to run,” I said, dropping my hat and coat and moving swiftly to her side. “I hate to leave you now… like this,” and taking the hand which was about to light the lamp, I drew her to me and embraced her. She offered no resistance. On the contrary, she put her head back and offered her lips. In a moment my tongue was in her mouth and her body, limp and warm, was pressing convulsively against mine. (“Hurry, hurry!” came Curley’s words.) “I’ll make it quick,” I said to myself, not caring now whether I made a rash move or not. I slipped my hand under her gown and plunged my fingers into her crotch. To my surprise she reached for my fly, opened it, ant took out my prick. I backed her against the wall and let her place my prick against her cunt. She was all aflame now, conscious of every move she made, deliberate and imperious. She handled my prick as if it were her own property.

It was awkward trying to ger at it bolt upright. “Let’s lie here,” she whispered, sinking to her knees  and dragging me down likewise.

“You’ll catch cold,” I said, as she feverishly attempted to slide out of her things.

“I don’t care,” she said, pulling my pants down and pulling me to her recklessly. “Oh God,” she groaned, chewing her lips again and squeezing my balls as I slowly inserted my prick. “Oh God, give it to me… put it all the way in!” and she gasped and groaned with pleasure.

Not wishing to jump immediately and make a grab for my hat and coat I rested there on top of her, my prick still inside her and stiff as a ramrod. She was like a ripe fruit inside and the pulp seemed to be breathing. Soon I felt the two little flags fluttering; it was like a flower swaying, and the caress of the petals was tantalizing. They were moving uncontrollably, not with hard, convulsive jerks, but like silken flags responding to a breeze. And then it was as though she suddenly assumed the control: with the walls of her cunt she became a soft lemon squeezer inside, plucking and clutching at will, almost as if she had grown an invisible hand.

Lying absolutely still, I surrendered myself to these artful manipulations (“Hurry, hurry!” But I recalled very clearly now that he had said she wasn’t dead.) I could always summon a taxi; a few minutes more or less wouldn’t matter. Nobody would ever imagine that I had stayed behind for this.

(Take your pleasure while it lasts… Take your pleasure…)

She knew now that I wouldn’t run. She knew that she could draw it out as long as she pleased, especially lying quiet this way, fucking only with that inner cunt, fucking with a mindless mind.

I put my mouth to hers and began to fuck with my tongue. She could do the most amazing things with her tongue, things I had forgotten she knew. Sometimes she slid it into my throat as though to let me swallow it, then withdrew it tantalizingly to concentrate on the signalling bellow. Once I pulled my prick out all the way, to give it a breath of air, but she reached for it greedily  and slipped it back again, thrusting herself forward so that it would touch bottom. Now I drew it out just to the tip of her cunt and, like a dog with a moist nose, I sniffed at it with the tip of my pecker. This little game was too much for her; she began to come, a long drawn-out orgasm that exploded softly like a five-pointed star. I was in such a cold-blooded state of control that as she went through her spasms I poked it around inside her like a demon, up, sideways, down, in, out again, plunging, rearing. jabbing, snorting, and absolutely certain that I wouldn’t come until I was damned good and ready.

And now she did something she had never done before. Moving with furious abandon, biting my lips, my throat, my ears, repeating like a crazed automaton, “Go on, give it to me, go on, give it, go on, Oh God, give it, give to me!” she went from one orgasm to another, pushing, trusting, raising herself, rolling her ass, lifting her legs and twining them round my neck, groaning, grunting, squealing like a pig, and then suddenly, thoroughly exhausted, begging me to finish her off, begging me to shoot. “Shoot is, shoot it… I’ll go mad.” Lying there like a sack of oats, painting, sweating, utterly helpless, utterly played out that she was, I slowly and deliberately rammed my cock back and forth, and when I has enjoyed the chopped sirloin, the mashed potatoes, the gravy and all the spices, I shot a wad into the mouth of her womb that jolted her like an electric charge.