Dear reader,
You might like to know what happened before. My advice: read ch. 1-3 first. The playlist you can find on Spotify under the same name: Juanita 'n Dito.
I like your comments likes and dislikes, but please tell me what you didn't like!
Hope you enjoy it.
D.
04 In the swimming pool
While you read this part of the story, listen to the album:
The Serpent's Egg by Dead Can Dance
The contents of the library became an embarrassing revelation. Little by little it revealed its secrets. My father owned an indescribably large collection of hardcovers, paperbacks, magazines and bundled manuscripts, which largely covered only one aspect of love. Power and powerlessness, dominance and submissiveness, sadism and masochism came back in all the books I picked up, like Yin and Yang. Masters and slaves, Dominants and submissives, each book contained a relationship that had to do with domination and surrender. Of course I had had an idea of his dominant nature but that it went this far...
Nevertheless, I couldn't resist taking a book to read every day. I had to admit that in a certain way it became more and more fascinating, even exciting. The days that I had to work, I tried to do what I had to do as quickly as possible. When I got home I ran down the stairs into the wine cellar, pulled a random bottle out of the rows, went upstairs and took the waiter's knife from the glove compartment where I had put it the day after my daring revelation of the secrets my father had.
While I was walking to the library I tried to remove the foil with the knife from the neck and before I reached the desk the trigger was already in the cork. The glass was usually on the desk or on a table and I was not interested in whether it had a bottom from the previous day. As soon as I had poured the glass I walked to the far corner and took the roll ladder with me. I placed my glass next to the lamp, on that damn display cabinet, which looked at me almost grinning. "You can read everything but this remains my secret," it seemed to say.
As I climbed the ladder, I muttered, "You will come too." I only spent those first weeks with books I took from the top two rows of the first cupboard. There was no order for me at first. I did see that there were series in other cupboards. I picked up a random book, took it down the ladder, grabbed my glass and headed toward the desk.
Those first days I did not dare to sit in the armchairs. Bent over the desk I tried to read such a book in one shot. I woke up twice in the morning while my head rested on an open book. Three times I was late for work. I hardly ate. I usually forgot that I also had to eat. After a few days, I exchanged the office chair for one of the armchairs. I kicked off my shoes, just took the trouble of taking off my jacket or vest, folded my feet under my buttocks and started reading.
After a few weeks, I was about halfway through the second row, when I came down the ladder with a bulky volume, I pushed my wineglass from the display cabinet. "Ohh fuck!!"
I ran to the kitchen to get a cloth and came back with an old tea towel. I carefully dipped the red puddle off the floor, the cloth sucked the wine up. From the cabinet wine dripped on the floor. Back to the kitchen, meanwhile carefully trying to not spill too much. While I started cleaning the cabinet from below on my knees, I looked up, under the shade of the Art Deco lamp. For the first time I saw the head of the woman hiding under the lampshade. She had stylized long hair whose strands fell over her shoulders and she was blindfolded. How could I not have seen this before? I let the cloth fall out of my hands when I came up trembling with tension.
Sitting on my heels, I got an even better vision of this very beautiful image. Behind the woman stood a pole that continued upwards and held up the lampshade. There was the cable that ran under the woman to the socket. I saw that there was a small switch and switched on the lamp.
A soft light spread in the immediate vicinity of the cabinet. I blinked for a moment while my hand searched for the woman. I found her knees. The bronze felt cool on my fingertips. My fingers slid upwards and gently touched the woman's breasts. Her nipples were erect. For a moment my imagination ran away with me. Was it because I touched them?
Her name was Maria, and at least twice a week she was in the local public pool. The shared dressing room and the ladies' showers were our "meeting places". I liked watching her. First she came with a girlfriend. When the two had taken a few laps, they sat and chatted at the edge of the pool, their feet dangling in the water. I kept perfecting my breaststroke in the water while keeping an eye on the ladies. And I made sure that I stayed near the edge of the pool. When the end of free swimming was approaching I also sat on the side waiting near the changing rooms. And I watched. I watched her sit there, hands on the edge of the pool, head forward, her wet black hair falling down around her head, rocking with the rhythm of her dangling legs. When she got tired, she moved her hands back to throw her hair back with her arms outstretched, oh god how she did that temptingly, to look at her girlfriend while they were chatting and laughing. Her too tight, simple, but rather high-cut, black bathing suit accentuated her breasts and the curves of her hips. She was not aware of me, at least not in those first weeks.
When I saw them getting ready to get up, I got up and sped into the dressing room as quickly as possible. I lingered in taking off my bathing suit until I saw them walk in. Before I started dressing, I brushed my hair. I usually sat down on the bench and looked at her while brushing. I watched without embarrassment, though I was careful not to let her friend see me look at the way she undressed, dried off, put on her bra and her panties, and started brushing her hair.
