Love in the Attic / Excerpt from the novel "Scratch Yourself, Miner!"

An Erotic Dream.

As often happened when Gisela Lenz was home alone with Thomas, her six-year-old son, she lay down after lunch. He was sleeping in his crib—it was his nap time, and his mother needed to watch over him, which was best done lying in the marital bed.

Gisela groaned, and her head tossed on the pillow. Her heart pounded wildly,

her body began to shudder, and—shortly before the climax—she wakes up. And coming fully to consciousness, she begins to recall the details of her dream. A pleasant warmth envelops her entire body, reclining on the bedspread.

She glances at Thomas, listens to his steady breathing, and—kicking her legs—pulls down her silk panties. With her right hand she touches her private parts, and with her left—the nipple on her left breast. Arousing herself more and more, she gently rubs the tips of her index fingers over the hardening nipple and clitoris, which is easily felt above the small labia… Her fingers move faster, her breathing intensifies, her labia fill with her uterine fluid, her muscles twitch, her thighs convulsively tighten, a voluptuous, whimpering sound escapes her lips. And firmly pressing her right hand between the inner surfaces of her thighs and vigorously massaging her left breast, she enjoys the orgasm for several minutes, which had misfired in her dream, shuddering—shuddering again and again and afterward feeling relief, weakening and sighing peacefully.

And now Gisela, with flushed cheeks, anticipates the return home of her husband, who was expected after the day shift around 2 or 3 o'clock. But he's not here, delayed somewhere. Thomas, however, shouldn't be awake this long. After the advertising program on ZDF (the second German television channel), the little man was told again that it was time for bye-bye.

Gisela herself, undressing completely naked, lies down on the unfolded couch and watches a rerun of the first television program. A white bathrobe is placed on the back of the armchair next to her. She intends to throw it on when it's time to meet Heiner.

"If he again has no desire, I should really explain it to him properly once," she thinks over and over in various ways during the afternoon hours. Everything inside her is agitated. "I mentally cheated on him. True, in my thoughts. But it was magnificent! I still haven't cooled down." She slightly raises herself on her elbows, again and again trying to concentrate on the television game show she knows.

The Appearance of the Drunken Husband

When the doorbell rings, Gisela swiftly covers her nakedness with the bathrobe and slips into her high-heeled shoes, running from the living room to the hallway to open the door with a sweet pang in her back. And—immediately assesses the situation.

"Drunk," her brain registers. "What kind of love is this!… He's even bluish… Went for the bonus…"

Rage arises in her, already full of arousal. Nevertheless, noticing Georg next to her husband who has appeared, she barely manages to control herself and with feigned politeness, but with trembling lips, says:

— Come in, hello.

Scuttling into the room, she turns off the TV and sits in an armchair. Placing one bare leg over the other and without even glancing at Heiner, she points Georg to the seat on her right. The host, however, finds an opportunity to sit down without an invitation—on the third armchair.

Georg's gaze fastens onto the exposed flesh of the tender Eve; but he also notices the dark look in her eyes—blue-starred, as he called them to himself, her beautiful face and the pulsing veins on her throat, the prominent bright chin.

— Do you have anything? — he articulates.

Smiling, Gisela rises, casts a contemptuous glance at Heiner, and energetically heads to the cabinet, takes out and places on the table three spherical shot glasses, as well as a bottle of cognac three-quarters full.

When she, starting to set the table, begins to pour the cognac and touches Georg's thigh, the restaurant owner doesn't miss this moment: a nudge—and Gisela finds herself in the arms of the fair-haired man. Since the bathrobe had completely opened in the front from the quick movement, he has the opportunity to gently touch the full thighs of the sweetheart with his hand. For a whole second, Gisela surrenders to a subtle, sweet pang that runs through her entire body. She closes her eyes briefly and exhales shortly:

— Oh, god, oh, god!

But suddenly kicking her legs, she says breathlessly:

— No, Georg.

And the man, casting a sidelong glance at Heiner, releases her.

And the miner, who was just busy emptying his entire bonus from his fur wallet onto the table and counting the money, exclaims:

— No, Georgie! Or she'll become even more stuck-up. And I can't do any more today.

— Can't do any more today? — Gisela asks pointedly, as if stunned. — As if you've already had it once today…

Georg intercedes for Heiner:

— Ah, nonsense. He had trouble at the mine. He should be forgiven. He felt sick.

— Yes! — Heiner squealed. — Thought, I guess, I was with some whore?… Right?… Here… everything down to the last pfennig!

And, stuffing the entire paycheck back into the fur wallet, he bangs his fist on the marble slab of the table near the couch.

— Careful, Heine, the glasses, — Georg hastens to say.

— Crappy schnapps.

— Plain, Georgie, — Gisela smiles at the fair-haired man.

— To your health, — Heiner mumbles.

They drink.

After a sip, the host runs to the toilet, loudly clicking the door lock behind him.

— Just to piss, — he shouts from there.

Gisela pours more for Georg and herself.

— Couldn't you have grabbed him by the scruff and brought him home right away, instead of carousing with him? He could have rolled up here already at three o'clock.

— When I came to my place, he was already in good shape, — Georg lied, taking possession of her hands—warm, quite warm, with clearly prominent arteries on them.

Their gazes sink—sensually into each other. He gently pulls her down towards him and sees in the fold of the bathrobe the dusky cleft between her firm breasts.

She breaks free again.

— Leave it, Georg. After all, you're friends… Heiner is so attached to you.

Georg says hoarsely:

— Precisely because of that, Gieselplatz. Precisely because of that…

He pierces her with his gaze and devours her with his eyes.

Gisela pours again, and the restaurant owner thinks: "My god, how wonderful it must be with her! What did Heiner say back in the mine face? Gisela can come a couple of times in one go. With Rosie, I have to strain to get her to come even once. Gisela must still be glad she has such a thick one. And even more so when he can fuck for a long time! But Heiner, the pig, is already drunk… Our kind should have stayed here… Slept on the sofa… True, the pig is jealous, tracks like a hunting dog… Well, what crap I am: after all, Heiner doesn't hold anyone else in such high esteem…"

Meanwhile, Lenz returns to the room and tries to get his bearings:

— You're drinking alone, huh? Already two shots? I want another one too. Yes, Heine is thick… Heine is stupid, right? A cigarette.

— Threw up, I suppose? — Gisela inquires.

— Threw up? You're nuts!

— Enough, my good man! — she admonishes him in an energetic voice.

— No… enough… One more, come on…

And he slightly slumps onto the table. The miner's eyes glazed over, bloodshot.

Under these circumstances, Georg considers it necessary to show himself as an absolutely businesslike person and leaves, and Gisela asks with a note of mockery:

— Really?… So you had trouble?

— Enough!… Don't croak… You're not the Reich Chancellor… Yes, got filled to the brim.

And points his index finger at his throat.

"Only three times in the last two months!"

— Yes—my poor, poor… So, your affairs are really bad…

Glancing at the fur wallet and the earnings, she laughs somewhat hysterically and shouts:

— And still you won't fool me!… Think I don't know what kind of carousing you had? He who does little, gets little. And you're certainly not the most diligent. And… and if it worked at least in bed… Shall I remind you how often in the last two months you came to me? A whole three times! Not like, for example, that miner who wrote in the magazine to Oswald Kolle that he satisfies his sexually active wife three times a day…

And continues, sobbing:

— Yes, we used to understand each other. Twice a week, and three times on weekends! And in the first half of Saturday we drank six ice-cold bocks together, got tipsy with fragrance, went to bed and loved each other for an hour.

And then more quietly:

— Don't I do everything for a man? You don't lift a finger for any work around the house. Last time you were on the midday shift, I prepared a whole half-ton of coal. Don't I take your sciatica into account? Don't I always say: 'Lie quietly, I'll prepare for you'? But—oh, right, you have another one, don't you?

Gisela's eyes glisten with tears.

— Yes, yes… that must be it… One who tolerates you… No pocket money for over two months already. Sciatica… Ha… sciatica. That's not funny to me…

Peng!

Gisela grabs her cheek. Heiner, however—somewhat sobered—looks perplexedly at the inside of his palm. Seeing the contempt in the shocked wife's eyes, he grits his teeth and hisses:

— Don't want to hear any more! Go sleep, or I'll knock you out right now!… And I'll have another drink. So… like you with Georg…

And suddenly shouts:

— Think I didn't see how you itched when Georg was groping your womb?

His gaze is angry.

— Whore!

And hiccups.

— Lecher!

In this situation, she finds nothing better than to disappear into the bedroom.

In the Coal Cellar

Gisela Lenz unloads the remainder of the coke from the coal sack into the tiled stove and leaves the apartment with a bucket. Feeling refreshed and humming a tune, she skips down the stairs. The awareness that her husband has already left gives her additional joy. In the cellar, she takes a key from her robe pocket, opens the padlock with it, and pushes against the wooden door, and when it opened inward, she looks around, bends down, and scoops coke lying in a pile with the bucket.

From above came the sound of a door slamming.

When she was about to leave the cellar with the filled coal sack, she comes face to face with Fritz Roggatz, who appeared just at that moment from around the corner.

For a fraction of a second they stand next to each other, staring at each other in astonishment.

Fritz pushes aside the empty plastic bucket and stares intently and even insolently into the woman's eyes.

"He's undressing me with his eyes, the lustful oaf," — Gisela barely has time to think, parting her lips to say something, when she feels his warm palms on the back of her head and—quite unexpectedly—his playful tongue in her mouth.

She is thrown into a tremor.

"How tender he is… And how it tingles?"

Their tongues find each other.

Gisela closes her eyes. Some of his fingers tickle the back of her head, while his thumbs stroke her chin.

She opens her eyes, sees her own face reflected in his pupils, slips out of his embrace, and takes a step back. "And now it's high time to slap him."

No sooner thought than done: Pum!

He recoils and pushes Gisela away, grabbing her by the wrists, so that the bucket of coke crashes onto the stone floor.

"Oh, what am I doing… Actually, it was all excellent… A pity… Heiner is running after others somewhere… Of course, if he hadn't left, I wouldn't be standing here now facing temptation… Well, why are you grinning at me? Say something… Apologize, or something."

Meanwhile, he, wrapping one arm around her, draws her to himself again.

"Insolent… monster… Well, wait, I'll grab you now… Yes… How hot you are… And how lustful…"

Full of arousal, seeing the sensual look of the man, his moist mouth, she tries to lean back with the upper part of her torso. And again a tremor runs through her when his free hand, penetrating the opening of her robe, gropes there for the ripe flesh bulging from her bra.

Such thoughts swirl in Gisela's mind on the edge of her subconscious while his tongue plays with her open lips. But suddenly all thoughts disappear somewhere. Only tickling… tickling, sweet tickling. And she, pressing against him, ardently returns his kisses.

"Easy, Fitty… don't be so rough!"

Fritz, however, is painfully overwhelmed by the following: "She drives me crazy… What a woman! Grandpa Wagner says she has no men. I just need to heat her up even more until she gives me the go-ahead."

The man's fingers, sliding past the bra, play on the exposed flesh of her stomach, quietly and gently kneading it.

And his thoughts are such: "Don't be rough, Fitty, just don't give in completely to your passion… Easy… Easy, Fitty… Otherwise it'll backfire… Classy broad!… But careful, don't dig too deep… However, she's about to make me flow now… Yes, this lustful Lenz with all her quirks will finish me off."

To avoid suffocating and catch their breath, they part their mouths, without at the same time tearing their heavy gazes from each other.

And the first word that escapes her lips is:

— Let's go!

And is horrified by her decision. "What if Heiner decides to demonstrate that he's a model husband and shows up home earlier than usual? And Thomas?… Oh, god, Thomas…"

And then she is struck by such a brilliant thought that, laughing in the face of the man standing before her, she suggests:

__P