In a new weekly blog, I take excerpts from the vast and storied literary cannon in an attempt to show how raunchy, shocking, and dirty-minded these great writers could be. This week:
Idylle by Guy de Maupassant*.
Like Edgar Allan Poe, Guy de Maupassant is known mostly for his short stories. In this very, very short story, an engorged wet nurse and a stranger meet on a train. Their conversation leads to this:
"When you have milk like me, you must nurse three times a day, without that, you are embarrassed. It's like a weight that I would have on the heart, a weight that keeps me breathing and that breaks my members. It is unfortunate to have milk that much. "
He said: "Yes. It's unfortunate. It must bother you."
She seemed very ill indeed, exhausted and weak. She murmured:
"Just press it and the milk will flow as a fountain. It's really curious to see. No one would believe. At Casale, all the neighbors were coming to see me."
He said: "Oh really.
- Yes, really. I would be happy [sic] show you, but it would be useless to me. It does not come out a lot that way. "
[Paragraphs omitted by blogger]
"I can no longer hold. I think I'm dying."
And, with an unconscious gesture, she opened her dress completely.
The right breast appeared huge, tight, with its brown strawberry.
And the poor woman moaned: "Oh my God, Oh my God, what am I going to do?"
[Paragraph omitted by blogger]
The young man, confused, stammered: "But ... Madame ... ... I could relieve you."
She replied in a broken voice: "Yes, if you want. You will do me good service. I can not hold out, I cannot."
He knelt in front of her, and she leaned toward him, carrying to his mouth in the gesture of a nurse, the dark tip of her breast. In the movement she made by taking her two hands to bring it towards this man, a drop of milk appeared at the extremity.
He began to drink it eagerly, seizing that heavy breast in his mouth like a fruit. And he began to suckle in a greedy and regular way. He had passed both his arms around the waist of the woman that he was holding to approach her, and he drank with slow sips with a movement of the neck, similar as the children one.
Suddenly she said: "That's enough for this one, take the other now."
And he took the other with docility.
She had placed her hands on the back of the young man, and she was breathing forcefully now, happily, enjoying the breath of flowers mixed with blasts of air movement being thrown into the cars.
She said: "It smells really good here."
He did not answer, still drinking at this source of flesh, and closing his eyes as if he was tasting.
But she pushed him gently: "That's enough. I feel better. This put me back in my body."
He got up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
She said, putting back in her dress both living bottles that were filling her chest:
You have done me a great service. I thank you, sir."
And he replied in an acknowledging tone :
"I am the one who has to thank you, ma'am, that's two days that I had not eaten anything!"
*I read this story long ago in a Barnes and Noble. The only reason I read it was its short length (boy was I surprised!). Looking this story up on the internet I could only find it in its entirety from one source that I really don't want to name--think breastfeeding-fetish site. If are you interesting in reading more than just the snippets I provided, I suggest you google (like I did) the terms, "Guy de Maupassant" and "Idylle" I did, however, find the book I believe the translation comes from: Penguin Classics: Guy de Maupassant, Selected Stories (Roger Colet, translator; 1971).
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