THE PANTHER
I had been fortunate. My childhood had, partly through the turmoil of the times, partly through parental 'neglect', not greatly inhibited my natural sexual development. It was followed by a not particularly wild but by fortunate circumstances blessed youth. During it, a number of sweet, sexual encounters with lovable, mature women taught me much. It completed my liberation from prissy inhibition, without rendering me a libertine. I married a woman I loved and that loved me. We were sexually compatible and fulfilled. So, I had my first, extra-marital sexual relationship as late as in the tenth year of my marriage. And I was fortunate again.
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Although my full-time job was in a different field, I had taken on teaching German for the Council of Adult Education at one of Melbourne's Universities. It involved one evening-class of two-and-a-half-hours per week. The pay was poor but I enjoyed being once more involved in language-teaching, especially with self-motivated adults in an open-ended, flexible program. I had done it now for three years.
This year's group was bright and enthusiastic, consisting of young to middle-aged women. Four of them were English speakers with German husbands. All of them were easily motivated to meet the challenge of learning as quickly and as much as possible in one year. I told them, therefore, that many of them could reach a Pass in what was the University-entrance standard for German. It was an ambitious goal but if they decided to aim for it, I would do my best to take them there. After a lot of questions and a lively debate the group decided to go for it.
Our group quickly coalesced into a companionship beyond the limits of our weekly meetings. Some of the women formed close friendships, further strengthened by an exchange of invitations to dinner-parties and shared activities that included their partners and children. Without going into detail, I believe that the course-work contributed much to this bonding by providing not only a shared aim but a genuinely shared interest.
It was fortunate that the German Matriculation examination was not content-specific in either its written or oral component. There were no prescribed prose-texts or poetry. For my mature group I could, therefore, choose material that was different, more challenging and controversial than what schools selected. For prose texts I chose short-stories from post-war German writers. For poetry I avoided the lulling comfort of the Romantics and introduced them to poets like Rilke and Brecht.
Helen was one of the liveliest and most enthusiastic participants in the group. She was in her early forties, intelligent, attractive, English-born, married to a German. She had given for some in our group one of the early dinner parties. Erika, my wife, and I were also invited. Since then we had met socially a few times more. Whilst Helen was friendly, nothing in her behaviour with me suggested more. She was not a flirt.
One evening after class, the group had already left and I had to clear away a few things in the Language Laboratory, I met Helen in the corridor. She had forgotten her scarf and had to come back, she said. So, we left together, talking, walking out to the car park. She followed me to my car. I thought that hers happened to be parked near mine. As I searched for my keys she grabbed my arm and said: -
"Ben, I have to talk to you."
She looked flustered but determined. Suddenly I knew that we had not met by chance; she had waited for me. My heart was beating fast. I unlocked the passenger side door, opened it and looked at her. Without a word Helen slid into the seat. When I got into mine and turned to her she immediately shifted close. With a strangled voice, fronting me, she said: -
"I'm in trouble and it's all your fault. I need your help."
I said nothing. Could not think of anything to say. Somehow, Helen's head came to rest on my shoulder. Her breath played on my neck giving me goose-bumps as she continued, almost whispering: -
"You shouldn't give us women a poem like Rilke's 'Panther'. You should not have talked about it the way you did while you looked at me. How did you know how I felt?"
As she edged even closer, I put my arm around her and felt her shiver. When she turned and moved into what was becoming more than a hug, I realised what she meant and what she intended. I had, of course, not looked at her specifically when I talked to the group about Rilke's caged panther.
On the surface, the poem is a sharply realistic description of a zoo-animal. It is, however, foremost a brilliant metaphor. Through the sensuousness of the poem's rhythm and choice of words, the panther circling around itself behind the bars, becomes in all its vitality and beauty a picture of caged desires. With a teacher's fatherly eye on my, possibly, partly innocent students I had not been too specific on the libido and its frustration. But with Helen, what I said had registered powerfully. It gave her an almost plausible justification for cornering me and making me complicit: She, the Panther, her libido, wanted to escape from her cage.
I was, flattered, excited, disturbed but, ultimately, immediately willing to follow her lead. I reached across with my free hand to stroke over Helen's hair. I did not need to press to bring her face close to mine. Our lips almost touched when I asked: -
"Are you a panther that wants to break free? If I and Rilke helped, is that so bad?"
Helen's arm locked around my neck. She pressed her forehead against mine, and hoarsely whispered her answer: -
"Tonight, the panther has escaped and you alone are to blame. And she has hunted you down. Are you shocked?"
We did not move into a tentative first kiss. Her half-open mouth took greedily possession of mine, with our tongues immediately joined in a suggestively copulating dance. This was not an introductory, questioning kissing: Helen left nothing to doubt. To confirm, without break to our talking in tongues, Helen unbuttoned her coat, blindly found my hand and put it on her breast. Not satisfied, while she moaned her frustration into my mouth, she moved it under her top and bra onto a bare, heaving breast. When, eventually, we broke out of our kiss she laughed: -
"Wow, that is a good start to my escaping the cage. You see now what you have done! And you? Are you free to join me?"
I decided to show her how free I was by testing her mettle. I drew her closer, withdrew my hand from her breast and gripped firmly the inside of her thigh as far up as her rather tight skirt allowed. She responded with a loudly moaned "Yes". Her lips opened, closed over mine and her tongue again lasciviously invaded of my mouth. Her bottom lifted of the seat and her hand pushed up her skirt. Her thighs spread, inviting me to do as I pleased and dared. My hand closed over her pussy and her body arched in response. It was time to demand from Helen a shamelessly direct answer to a shamelessly direct question: -
"Are you going to do more with your freedom than waylay me to pet and kiss with me in the car? Like teenagers? Or do you fuck as hotly as you kiss? Do you? Do you want me to find out?"
Helen arched against my body and met my challenging questions with a half-swallowed, excited cry of - "Yes Ben! Yes!", followed by a flurry of feverish little kisses all over my face. Her hand was on my crotch and had found my constricted, hurting erection. Close to my ear she murmured: -
"God, I wish we could do it now! Fuck ... really fuck, forget all! We will, won't we? I'll ring you, arrange it. But now, touch me! You'll see how ready I am to be fucked. I want you! And you want me, don't you?"
Helen's pelvis had lifted and her crotch writhed and pressed and searched for my fingers. The panty's cloth covering her sex was soaked. When my finger pushed it aside, they found her pussy's lips open and, as she had promised, my fingers were welcomed into its lubricious heat. I looked at her face; eyes closed, lips sensuously half-open in lust, her mind had found a foreplay all its own.
Even though this time it could only be my fingers deep in her pussy, Helen rushed herself surprisingly quickly into a quite spectacular orgasm that she wanted to share with me. Twisting in my arms she screamed her extasy in my face. As her convulsions subsided, laughter overcame her as she muttered a confession in my ear: -
"God, Ben, I needed that. But now I want more. Much, much more from you. Do I shock you?"
And her lips closed over mine and her tongue rolled with mine in a demented dance. It told me how much more she wanted and the all she wanted to give me.
Before we went our separate ways, Helen asked me for my phone number at work. I have always wondered about how quickly women recover their normal self after sex, even after tempestuously climaxing. She had ordered her disarray, and now all lady-like, fare-well-kissed me on the cheek.
Her car was close by. I accompanied her. Sitting behind the steering-wheel she turned to me. Looking-up at me she told me that Jurgen, her husband, was next week for five days in Bangkok. Helen made it sound as if it had occurred to her just now. Half-embarrassed she grinned, knowing she was naughty: Both, by planning her seductive move for such a convenient time and now, by letting me know she had done so. We would fuck but now she would make me wait for her offering.
The above happened on Thursday night. On Friday, I barely left my office fearing I would miss her call. Then the weekend. She neither could nor would ring me at home. Helen made me wait until Tuesday noon before she rang. Her voice sounded unfamiliar, as if she was fighting for breath. It was sexy, charged with what was left unsaid: -
