Memoirs of a young Rakehell

CHAPTER ONE

Summer was back again; my mother had returned to the country, to the estate which we had acquired only recently.

My father, engrossed in his business, had remained in the city. He regretted having purchased this estate which he had acquired at my mother's insistence.

"You're the one who wanted this country house," he said. "Go out there if you wish but don't force me to go. Besides, my dear Anna, you can rest assured that I'm going to resell it at the first opportunity."

"But, dear," said my mother, "you have no idea how much good the country air will do the children…"

"Yes, yes, I know," replied my father, consulting his notebook and taking his hat, "I gave way to your whim but I was wrong."

So my mother left for her campagne, as she put it, intending to make the most of what might prove to be a short stay.

She was accompanied by a younger, still unmarried sister, a maid, by myself, her only son, and by one of my sisters who was a year older than I.

We arrived in the best of spirits at the country house, which the people of that district had nicknamed Le Chateau.

Le Chateau, which was an old dwelling no doubt dating from the 17th century, had once belonged to wealthy farmers.

The interior was spacious but the arrangement of the rooms was so extraordinary that the house was really rather inconvenient to live in, with numerous wasted steps occasioned by the architectural disorder. The rooms were not disposed as in ordinary houses, but were separated by a mass of dark passages, winding corridors, spiral staircases. In short, the place was a veritable labyrinth and it took several days of exploring the house before one had any real notion of the layout of the apartments.

The outbuildings, where the farm and stables were located, were separated from the main house by a courtyard. Adjoining these buildings was a chapel which could be entered as easily from courtyard, main house, or outbuilding.

This chapel was in a good state of repair. Formerly a monk had officiated there. He had lived in the chateau and administered to the spiritual needs of the little village round about.

Since the last one died, the office had never been filled again, and only on Sundays and Feastdays, as well as from time to time to hear confessions, did a chaplain from the neighboring monastery come to our chapel to conduct those services indispensable for the eternal salvation of the worthy peasants.

When the monk came, he inevitably stayed to dinner, and a room was prepared for him near the chapel in case he cared to spend the night there.

My mother, my aunt, and the maid, Kate, were busy getting the room ready; the bailiff, the farm valet, and a servant were helping them.

Since the harvest was already almost completely in, my sister and I were permitted to go for walks where we pleased. We rambled throughout the chateau, through all its nooks and crannies, from cellar to roof. We played hide and seek around the columns, or else one of us, taking refuge behind a staircase, lay in ambush for the other to pass, then sprang out with a blood-curdling shriek.

The wooden staircase leading to the attic was very steep. One day I had preceded Berthe down and hidden myself between two chimney flues where, in contrast to the staircase which was lighted by a skylight in the roof, it was very dark. When she appeared, coming down cautiously, I sprang out, imitating the barking of a ferocious dog. Berthe, who had not suspected I was there, was so frightened that she slipped, missed the next stair down, and fell so that her head was at the bottom of the staircase while her legs remained above on the steps.

Her dress was naturally umbrellaed upward until it covered her face, leaving her legs exposed.

When I approached her, laughing, I noticed that her blouse had slipped up above her navel.

Berthe was not wearing any panties, because, as she told me later, hers were dirty, and we had not yet had time to unpack the linen.

So it was that for the first time I saw my sister in an immodest state.

To tell me truth I had already seen her naked because we had often been bathed together during the past few years. But I had seen only the backside of her body, or at most the side, because both my mother and my aunt had placed us back to back with our little buttocks toward each other as they washed us. Both ladies took good care to see that I didn't peep, and when they handed us our little nightgowns, they bade us place our hands carefully in front of us.

So it was that Kate, one day when she had taken my aunt's place in giving Berthe her bath, had been scolded for forgetting to bid Berthe put her hands in front of her.

I was always bathed either by my mother or by my aunt. When I was in the large bathtub I was told, "All right, Roger, now you can remove your hand." And as you can well imagine, it was always one of them who soaped and scrubbed me.

My mother, who believed in me principle that children should be treated as children as long as possible, had kept this system in practice.

At that time I was thirteen years old and my sister Berthe fourteen. I knew nothing at all about love nor even about the difference between sexes.

But when I felt myself naked in front of women, when I felt their soft, feminine hands wandering here and there over my body, I experienced a curious sensation.

I remember very well that every time my aunt Margaret washed and dried my sexual parts I was conscious of an unfamiliar, vague, but extremely agreeable sensation. I noticed that my little penis suddenly became as stiff as steel, and that instead of drooping as before, it reared its head. Instinctively I drew closer to my aunt and pushed and thrust my belly forward as far as I could. One day when this happened, my aunt Margaret blushed suddenly, and that made her delicate features even more beautiful. She had noticed that my little knob was erect, and, feigning ignorance, beckoned to my mother who was bathing her feet with us. Kate was then busy washing Berthe, but she, too, immediately became attentive. As a matter of fact I had noticed that she much preferred to take charge of me than of my sister, and that she never missed an opportunity of helping my mother and aunt when they attended to me. Now she too wanted to see what was going on.

She turned her head and looked at me without the least constraint while my aunt and my mother exchanged significant glances.

My mother was in petticoats, and had tucked them up above her knees so that she could cut her toenails more easily. I had caught a glimpse of her pretty, plump feet, her beautiful nervous calves, and her round white knees. The sight of my mother's legs had affected my virility as much as had my aunt's caresses. My mother probably realized this, because she blushed and let her petticoats tumble down.

The ladies smiled and Kate began to laugh, until she was stopped by the disapproving glances of my aunt and mother. But she tried to justify herself by saying: "Berthe also laughs when I come to that spot with a warm sponge." My mother ordered her to hold her tongue.

At that very moment the bathroom door opened, and my elder sister Elizabeth came in. She was fifteen years old and went to high school.

Although my aunt had adroitly thrown a shirt over my bare body, Elizabeth had time to see me, and that irritated me no end. For although I was not at all ashamed in front of Berthe, I didn't like Elizabeth seeing me naked, because for four years now she had no longer taken her bath with us, but bathed either with the ladies or with Kate.

I was vaguely annoyed that all the women of the household had the right to come into the bathroom when I was there, whereas this same right was denied me. And I found it absolutely outrageous that I was denied entry even when only my sister Elizabeth was being bathe, for I saw no earthly reason why she should be treated any differently from us in spite of her young lady's affectations.

Berthe herself was incensed by Elizabeth's unjust pretensions, for Elizabeth had one day refused to undress in front of her, and yet did not hesitate to do so when my aunt and my mother were alone with her in the bathroom.

We could not understand such behavior, which actually stemmed from the fact that Elizabeth had reached the age of puberty. Her hips were rounded, her nipples were beginning to swell, and, as I learned later, the first pubic hair had appeared on her mound.

That day Berthe had merely heard my mother say to my aunt as they were leaving the bathroom, "With Elizabeth it came on surprisingly early."

"Yes, mine was a year later."

"And mine two years later."

"We'll have to give her a bedroom to herself now."

"She can share mine," my aunt had replied.

Berthe had related all this to me, and naturally understood as little about it as I did.

But on that particular occasion, as soon as my sister Elizabeth had come in and seen me completely naked with my little prick standing as stiff as an angry little cock, I noticed that her gaze was riveted on that spot, and that she could not conceal a movement of profound astonishment. But she did not drop her eyes. On the contrary.

When my mother asked her suddenly if she too would like to take a bath, she blushed and stammered, "Yes, Mama."

"Roger and Berthe have already finished theirs," my mother said, "you can get undressed."

Elizabeth obeyed without hesitation and stripped down to her chemise. I had just time enough to see that she was more developed than Berthe, but that was all before they hustled me out of the bathroom.

After that I was no longer bathed with Berthe. Either my aunt Margaret or my mother was still present, because ever since my mother had read somewhere of a child's having drowned in his bath she had been morbidly afraid to let me bathe alone. But the ladies, though they continued to wash the rest of my body, henceforth refrained from touching my tool or ballbearings. Nevertheless there were still times when I got an erection in front of my mother or aunt Margaret. The ladies noticed it all right, although my mother turned her head away when she lifted me out of the tub and helped me on with my nightshirt, and my aunt dropped her gaze to the floor.

My aunt Margaret was twenty-six, ten years younger than my mother, but since she had always refrained from giving her heart away, she bore her age extremely well and appeared to be a young girl. My nakedness seemed to make quite an impression on her, for each time she bathed me she spoke to me in a soft flutey voice.

Once when she had soaped and rinsed me vigorously her hand brushed my little cock. She recoiled as though she had touched a snake. I noticed it and, slightly peeved, said to her, "Dearest darling auntie, why don't you wash your little Roger all over?"

She blushed deeply. "But I did wash you all over," she said to me nervously.

"Come now auntie, wash my prickly pear as well."

"For shame, you wicked little boy! You are perfectly capable of washing it yourself."

"No auntie, please, you wash it. I can't do it nearly as well as you can."

"Oh the little rascal!" said my aunt, smiling. And taking the sponge she carefully washed my prick and balls.

"Come, auntie dear, let me give you a great big kiss for being so sweet," I said.

And I kissed her pretty cherry-red lips behind which sparkled her beautifully white teeth.

As soon as I was out of the bathtub I beseeched her to dry me.

So my aunt dried me, lingering perhaps even longer than was necessary over my sensitive parts. This so excited me that, holding fast to the edge of the bathtub in order to protrude my belly even farther, I became so agitated that my aunt told me gently, "That's enough, Roger, you're no longer a little boy. From now on you'll take your bath alone."

"Oh no, auntie, please not alone! You must bathe me. I enjoy it ever so much more when you bathe me than when Mama does it."

"Get dressed, Roger."

"Be a nice auntie and take a bath with me some time."

"Get dressed, Roger," she said, moving to the window.

"No! I want to see you take a bath too," I said.

"Roger!"

"Auntie, if you don't I'll tell Daddy that you've taken my knob in your mouth again."

My aunt blushed deeply. As a matter of fact she really had done that, but only for a second, one day when I had not wanted to take my bath. The water had been too cold and I'd run off to my room to hide. My aunt had come looking for me and at length had taken my little penis in her mouth, squeezing it between her lips for a second. I had enjoyed it so much that I had finally relented and become docile as a lamb.

Besides, in a similar circumstance my mother had done the same, and I know many instances of this practice. Women who bathe little boys often do it. For them the effect is the same as that produced for us when, as men, we see and touch a young girl's tender crevice, but women know better than men how to vary their pleasures.

During my earliest years I had an elderly child's nurse who tickled my tiddley and balls when I couldn't get to sleep or even gently sucked at it. I even remember that one day she placed me on her warm belly and kept me there for a long time. But as all that happened so long ago I remember it only vaguely.

As soon as my aunt had recovered her composure she said to me angrily, "That was only a joke, Roger, and you were only a little boy then. But I see that it's impossible to joke with you any longer, you're a man now." And she glanced again at my erection. "What's more, you're a wicked little scamp, I don't love you any more." And so saying she gave my cock a little slap.

Then she began to leave and I held her back, saying: "Excuse me, auntie dear, I won't say anything to anyone even if you get into the bathtub."

"I suppose I can do that at least," she said smiling. She slipped her bare feet out of her red slippers, pulled her dressing gown above her knees and climbed into the bath. The water reached the top of her calves.

"Now I've done what you asked, Roger, be good and get dressed like a nice boy or else I'll never look at you again."

She said it with such conviction that I realized she meant it. By then I no longer had a hard on. I took my nightshirt and slipped into it while my aunt was bathing her feet. But then, so that I wouldn't make any further demands on her, she announced that she wasn't feeling well and that she wouldn't take a bath after all.

When I was dressed she got out of the tub to dry herself. The towel, the same one which I had used, was wet. I got down on my knees and wiped my aunt's dainty feet. She made no protest. When I wiped between her toes she laughed and when I touched and tickled the soles of her feet her good humor returned completely and she agreed to let me dry her calves.

When I reached her knees, however, she told me not to go any higher. I obeyed, although for a long time I had had a burning desire to know just what it was that women carried beneath their skirts which was so precious that they were always frantic to hide it.

My aunt and I were friends once again but from then on I bathed alone.

My mother no doubt learned these things from my aunt but she never gave me any indication of it.

Now it is time to turn aside from these observations, which were necessary for what is to follow, and to return to pick up the thread of our story.