Minnehaha

My young friend Emil Droonberg wrote down our long fireside chats and my life story in his novel Minnehaha and we spent many hours together here in Boston going over the manuscript. And no, he couldn't tell me everything, it was too private, too spicy. I released his manuscript. Now, years later, I am 97 years old and dictating my necessary additions to my last confidante, who was providing for my physical well-being. She would not publish it until long after my death.

I had emigrated to Boston from Germany; the young republic could well use a young doctor. My wife Bertha, from the wealthy Böhm family of Vienna, gave birth to our first son, Wilhelm, in 1887. Wilhelm seemed like a good name for us, a reminder of the good Kaiser to our German emigrants in Boston, and to our English‐speaking friends, Bill was coming along just fine. I was only building my practice when two events threw me off course.

Bertha, who loved me dearly and with feminine drive before William was born, now refused completely marital Sex. She had discovered her lesbian inclination and lived it out unashamedly. She brought another mistress into our marriage bed daily and forced me to fuck her friends, since I was still young and well in juice. Bertha laughed at me quite meanly when I gave in to my urge and mounted her friend. I was very sorry, the girls were not my own wife and I just could not control myself. It could have gone on like this, I gave in and fucked each of them. With Bertha's explicit consent, I fucked each girl mercilessly, even those who didn't want to be fucked by any man, and deflowered many of the girls, not caring about their whining or their tears. I didn't care how Bertha recruited all the young girls. She obviously had a preference for young girls, whether it was important to herself or whether she did it for my sake, I never found out. Only two or three evenings a week it was a mature woman of 30 to 35 years, whose licking, whose merciless licking to orgasm Bertha sometimes needed badly. They let me fuck them with the greatest pleasure, none of them protested. On the contrary, they cheered me on obscenely like harbor whores. Some days she would have a lover by early afternoon and have me called out of the office to her bedroom, every night she would be in our marital bed with a girl or young woman. I loved none of them, I waited with rising horniness for Bertha's signal. She would take the girl's face in her hand or grab her by the hair, she would bring the girl's lips and tongue to her clit and get licked. I never saw if she licked a girl in turn. She silenced her when the girl protested against fucking and Bertha looked horny at my upcoming greedy desire. Bertha deliberately maneuvered the girl to kneel in front of her and lick her clit intensely, which made me very horny to watch. All the more it made me horny that the girl stretched her ass and half‐open pussy invitingly towards me. I looked at the most beautiful ass cheeks in the universe, at the most beautiful and the most seductive pussies that Mother Nature has ever produced. I took another long look at Bertha's face, which blossomed when the girl licked her, blossomed as in our best hours of love. I impulsively penetrated the girl from behind, in many cases tearing the hymen and fucked the licking girl. I looked at Bertha's face, which gradually changed horny, then distorted into a grimace in orgasm and pressed the girl even harder on her pussy to be licked further in the subsiding orgasm. Afterwards she looked at me triumphantly and cheered me up, I fucked the girl like out of my mind. When I straightened up to squirt, our eyes met. She twisted her face into a sardonic grin while I squirted into the piece of shit. Bertha was always pleased when I fucked a girl against her will, when I deflowered her, and when I squirted it all inside after a long fucking. There must have been hundreds that I fucked and deflowered. But Bertha's calculation worked out, she could count on my sexual greed being greater than my decency. That I despised her and especially myself abysmally, did not prevent us both in our shameful doing.

Then Wilhelm, at one and a half years old, died of sudden infant death. That's when I lost my mind completely. My life without Wilhelm, with a cold wife and to fuck the ridiculous round of anonymous girls no longer made sense. I closed the practice and went to Canada. In the vast forests I sought to find peace. I became a trapper, a fur trapper. I had spent my youth in a large hunting estate and had learned hunting from scratch. I found my place in a cave at River Qu'Apelle not far from the Indian reservation and settled in for the winter. I made only superficial friends with the Sioux, who were refugees themselves. I lay down with the Indian widows, who were excellent to fuck for a dollar and whom I could forget about the other day.

How I rescued the Indian girl Minnehaha in a blizzard and healed her broken ankle, Emil described very well. But he shied away from telling it all. I did not touch the beautiful young girl for the first 10 days of her recovery; I kept a respectful distance. I had divided the cave in half with hanging a blanket and listened to the young girl masturbate every night. She told me why she had run off the reservation into the Blizzard. She had left the convent in Lebret because her father, the great chief, was dying. She, along with her mother and younger sister, cared for him until his peaceful death. He had decreed before the assembled people that the man whom Minnehaha took as her husband would be the next chief. He knew of what noble character Minnehaha was and trusted her judgment. Minnehaha, however, wanted to become a spiritual sister and not marry at all. She detested the men of her tribe and so there was no new chief for half a year. Her mother besought her to take Charly, with Indian name 'Rain‐in‐the‐face' as his famous father has been. He was the son of the father who, along with Crazy Horse and Sitting Bull, had wiped out the arrogant General Custer at Little Big Horn to a single man. The chief had killed the general's brother, Tom Custer, single‐handedly, but he was captured and was now in prison, where Sitting Bull would free him one day in the future. Minnehahas mother received many gifts from Charly, who brought a keg of whiskey to the reservation every few weeks, first getting the men drunk and then having them loudly celebrate him as the future chief. Charly was already married and beat his wife and their children up when he was drunk. Where he got the whiskey, he never revealed, but it could not be legal. He was an unsympathetic person and perhaps a criminal. The sale of whiskey to Indians was strictly forbidden and punished so severely, that no white man dared to break the law. Minnehaha had run away when he physically harassed her and finally wanted to become chief by rape, she ran blindly away and was caught by the blizzard.

She recovered well, on the morning of the 10th day she came to my lounger and sat down. I woke up when she reached under my fur blanket and grabbed my morning wood. I was speechless and she whispered she wanted to thank me, she had received more from me than from any white man. She dropped her dress and crawled naked to me under the fur before I could even say peep. And why the hell should I say peep when a beautiful 17 year old Indian girl lay down in bed with me?

No, I didn't give a peep. It had been 3 weeks since I had fucked an Indian girl in the reservation, and Indian girls could fuck wonderfully, at least I knew it from the grown up ones. We stroked each other for ages and Minnehaha whispered that she wanted to give herself to me, as her first husband. I was left breathless, but it was soon clear to me, she had been in the convent for years, and there were no men there. I asked her several times if she really wanted it, but she laughed softly, to the Sioux virginity meant nothing.

I laid her on her back and gave her a long French kiss while I tried to penetrate. But the hymen was very reluctant and she smiled, that was definitely from masturbating so much. But with combined forces we managed to overcome her hymen and we fucked wonderfully. She had seen it many times before, how the Indian women fucked and she imitated them perfectly. We fucked again and again throughout the day, I just sometimes put a log on the fire and made us a snack. We fucked like young lovers and got closer every day, maybe we even loved each other. I went twice on my rounds to my traps, hardly had I returned, she pulled me smiling to the lounger. She had been with me for 3 months now, spring was coming and I had to leave again, this was the best time to set up my traps. But when I got home, a nasty surprise was waiting for me.

I heard men's voices coming out of my cave, in between soft cries of Minnehaha. I let my captured furry animals slide behind a bush, crept cautiously closer and wanted to surprise the gentlemen with a revolver shot, but my revolver clicked silently. Again and again. I put the useless thing away, but attacking several strangers armed only with a hunting knife was pointless. I silently climbed up to the thick tree that was above the 'chimney' of the cave and silently worked my way down the roots. At the end there was a sharp bend and I had to drill a hole in the ground with my hunting knife, then I could see into the cave. Minnehaha was lying naked and tied up on the lounger, a young and muscular Indian was raping her. He would certainly have heard me had he not been engrossed in his nefarious activity. I considered jumping down, but it was a good 20 feet and I would have broken all my bones. I stayed in my lookout all day and all night, the two criminals raping Minnehaha dozens of times. I cried unrestrainedly and cursed the criminals who raped my beloved. The white man I had seen several times, it was John Craig, a farmer with a wooden leg, about whom people rumored that he was dishonestly enriching himself. The Indian I had never seen, but suspected he was Charly. I mourned with Minnehaha, who turned her weeping face aside when one of the men tried to kiss her. It was a pathetic and horrific crime against which I was powerless.

The crooks slept for two hours at dawn, but it did not seem advisable to me to ambush them. At least the Indian would awaken at the noise and give me a hot reception. Nevertheless, I was determined to try it by day. But it did not come to that. The two criminals were getting ready and I heard Craig shouting to Minnehaha that they would return before dark. I waited until they were far enough and climbed up as fast as I could, running around the hill into the cave. With four cuts I freed Minnehaha, threw on her leggings and jacket, and urged haste. We did not waste a moment, I gathered my things into the backpack and a knapsack, took the rifle and the full cartridge pouch and ran. I wanted to take her to Lebret, to the convent, but she called me back. "We are safe only in the reservation, in my village," she shouted and ran along the river. We ran like the trapper rangers of Canada, twenty minutes of fast running, five minutes of fast walking. We arrived at the village two hours later.

The deafening yelp of the dogs betrayed our coming. We walked directly toward Minnehaha's teepee, there she introduced me to her little sister Minnewanna, a pretty young thing who shook my hand after our white men's manner, but did not dare to look me in the eye. A little later came her mother 'White Feather', a friendly person of about 35, slim and tall like her two daughters. Her jacket barely hid her large and full breasts and I immediately remembered what Minnehaha had told about her. She was blessed with mother's milk and suckled many babies in the village. Minnehaha despised her because she occasionally let the child fathers fuck her. I immediately noticed that White Feather had even more pronounced European features than Minnehaha and Minnewanna. She was the daughter of a Norwegian trapper and a Sioux. Her birth name was 'Deer of Ice,' but she was neither a deer nor of ice. She was a distinct beauty and her reputation for being very libidinous reached the just widowed big chief who immediately claimed the 16 year old beauty for his own. The man who had made Deer of Ice a woman and made a small fortune from exploiting her sexuality also laid claim to Deer of Ice and challenged the great chief to a duel. The chief was not yet too old for a knife fight. Although everyone would have put their money on the challenger, the old chief won. He dodged the attacks immensely skillfully and sent the pimp to the ground with a single punch of his knife‐armed fist. Contrary to custom, he did not cut the unconscious man's throat, but spat contemptuously on the ground, dishonoring him. Only a feather of his headdress had been cut off by his opponent, he picked up the feather and handed it to Deer of ice. He shouted aloud, that from now on she was called White Feather and was his rightful wife. She bore him two daughters, Minnehaha and Minnewanna, who had inherited her sexual drive as well as her slender, regal stature and beautiful face features.

I was received very kindly and I picked up my knowledge of the Sioux language to follow Minnehaha's report to White Feather and Minnewanna. She told everything but nothing about the rape, Charly or Craig. Later she explained to me that rape was considered a very great shame. Most Sioux women would rather commit suicide than live with the shame.

Minnehaha, whose name meant 'Laughing Water', and Minnewanna, whose name meant 'Murmuring Water', both slept like White Feather on one side of the teepee; on the other side was the galley. Minnehaha had already told me the customs, and when we had fucked at night, Minnewanna crept up to our lounger. She whispered briefly to Minnehaha and crawled naked under the covers with us. She had, as Minnehaha had told me, already had a few lovers and the young girl swung upon me. She was really more experienced than her big sister, who had never ridden me before. But when our pleasures became intense, I put the little girl on her back and fucked her Trapper‐style. To my great astonishment, she got an orgasm and I could now squirt properly. She went again without a sound. Minnehaha embraced me tightly, I belonged to her alone, she whispered in my ear.

How surprised I was, however, when the next night it was not Minnewanna who waited for our fucking to end and crawled under the covers to us. Minnehaha whispered, that she wasn't allowed to see that, it would bring bad luck, then she turned her back to me. White Feather mounted me like her youngest the night before, she also fucked masterfully and willingly let herself lie on her back. She didn't get an orgasm, but after I had squirted she held me tight and didn't release my cock until she finished masturbating. It was a very intimate experience and I wondered about Minnehaha's tears, which she explained to me in whispers when her mother had returned to her lounger. No woman in the village had the right to dispute me with her, her mother only. I did not think long about the meaning of this insane custom and hugged her tightly. Although her mother fucked very well, I would never trade her or the sister for Minnehaha, I said loud enough for all three women to hear. I could feel Minnehaha's tears of joy on my cheek. I stayed with the Sioux, to anticipate, for almost 3 years, fucking the mother and her daughters alike.

When I wasn't out getting furs for myself and meat for the village, I was mostly sitting with Minnehaha on her favorite tree and we had plenty to talk about. She said she was pregnant and I was very happy. She knew about Bertha and Wilhelm, of course, and that I could not marry her according to the law. She remained serious and sad, she was not sure who the father was. Charly, Craig, or me? I felt the tender kiss of the cosmos in my heart and, filled with love, said I would accept her child as Minnehaha's child and ask no questions. To be blunt, I spoke like an idiot.

Minnehaha had made her choice and married Red Eagle's father, 'Thundering Rock' pro forma as his third wife, for she considered Thundering Rock the most capable Sioux who was a suitable chief. She returned from the wedding night quite taciturn, the old man was surprisingly strong in the loins and did not mind fucking young Minnehaha all night. But such was the custom.

Minnewanna had married herself to 'Red Eagle'. He was the youngest son of Thundering Rock and theoretically Minnehaha's stepson, he had learned to read and write from his father and had a good chance of becoming a chief himself one day. He was a tall warrior, with his height of six feet a fearsome warrior. Minnewanna was already pregnant when Red Eagle joined the Lakota to fight the Huron two months later. He fell in battle, encircled by a dozen Hurons. He killed five Hurons before he fell. Minnewanna wept for her husband, but the village was proud of its warrior hero. The Lakota brought the body, which was buried with full honors. Minnewanna was now allowed to return to her mother's teepee.

White Feather chased me out of the teepee when Minnehaha's time came. She didn't give a hoot that I was a doctor. She had already delivered dozens of children as a midwife, and men are not allowed to be present at a birth. I was banished to a young widow's teepee and suffered inward agony for three days while the widow wrested unexpected joys from me and herself. White Feather and Minnewanna had done a good job, Minnehaha had a very long but little painful birth. I ran after the little messenger girl, into our teepee. I hugged and embraced Minnehaha, I was overjoyed! White feather let me see the wrapped child. A white child, red‐haired, stared at me with the grimace of John Craig. I ran out of the tent, chased the village dogs like a madman and kicked them until I was exhausted. I then committed the only sin of my life. The as yet unnamed child was deathly ill and I did nothing to save him or at least try. I sat on a log in the village square for 48 hours without consciousness and threw pebbles at the dogs, the chickens and the children. Then Minnehaha came and led me by the hand into our teepee. I was speechless, the little bastard was dead and they needed me at the funeral. I was at least nominally his father and had the duty of lifting the little corpse up a tree. I did everything in mental confusion and didn't come to my senses until after the ceremony. I sat with Minnehaha on her favorite tree for many hours and we comforted each other. She understood that the grimace of her abuser had deeply affected me, but I remembered, it was also Minnehaha's child. I understood this only after a long time.

When Minnewanna's time came, White Feather banished me back to the young widow to attend to the birth with Minnehaha. I was not ungrateful when the widow 'Snow on the Grass' completely neglected the household and did not let me out of her lounger for two days and two nights. She had put a little girl of 6 years old in charge of our care, in return the child was allowed to watch us fucking up close as often as she wanted. I did not mind, although this was one of the customs I disapproved of. The girl could not be her daughter, since I knew that a daughter was not allowed to look at her own mother been fucked. Snow on the Grass was a typical Sioux, about 30 years old, widowed and childless, small and roundish, breasts not worth mentioning. She was destitute and lived on the little money she earned with fucking. Of course I gave her the dollars she was entitled to and that also in later years when I came to fuck her. She fucked in the very special way of the Sioux women, essentially it involved the Indian woman using her clit to fuck the cock to orgasm while the cock fucked her. It seemed to work best when she rode the man, probably because she could reach the clit with her fingers in between. Trapper‐style, face‐to‐face fucking also worked well in bringing the Indian woman to orgasm. Fucking in the dog position was not very popular with the Indian women because she could not fuck the cock there. They usually did that only for the sake of the white man. But I had to give it my all and Snow on the Grass was by no means satisfied with half pleasures. For the first time in my life a woman took my cock in her mouth. It was very unusual at first, but I soon loved it and it was a sure way to make my cock stiff, no matter how tired I might be. I had to ask her three times if I had understood her correctly? But she confirmed I should take her clit in my mouth and lick her pussy with my tongue, but I refused. — I was very exhausted, but not dissatisfied. Snow on the grass knew very well to keep the fire burning and truly made me perform at my best. At last a messenger girl relieved me and directed me to our teepee. Minnewanna had given birth to a beautiful, healthy boy, and I was allowed to call out to the village community on behalf of his father that he would be called 'Falcon in the Lightning', as White Feather and Minnewanna had decided.

I went into the woods more often than before, I set twice as many traps as before, and supplied the village with meat in abundance. My new revolver, which I had bargained down from $8 to $6, was excellent, quicker to reload than the old one and very accurate. Even when I made my rounds without a rifle, I could kill deer and other small game with the revolver and help feed the village. Mostly the Sioux ate fish, but that was too one‐sided in my opinion.

For a year Charly had not been seen, now he came back with several kegs of whiskey. The Sioux danced around the fire in the village square and enjoyed the whiskey. But Charly didn't even have to start about wanting to be chief, they laughed at him. "Had Thundering Rock died?" Charly, whom I immediately recognized as Minnehaha's rapist, looked at me with undisguised hatred when he was told, that I was Minnehaha's husband. Charly slipped away before sunrise and secretly drove off in his cart. Everyone was still asleep, but not me. I whispered to Minnehaha that I would follow Charly. I followed the criminal invisibly and silently, but after about 15 miles it was clear that he was trotting toward Craig's farm. I stayed in the shade of the woods, nothing happened all day, so I returned home.

I followed him month after month, for a whole year. Once he had stopped his cart, something had broken in the middle of the forest. He knelt in the dirt next to the cart, concentrating, and didn't hear me coming. He looked around as I cocked the hammer of the revolver. He looked straight down the barrel from inches away. But I couldn't bring myself to shoot the defenseless man in cold blood. I hit him over the head with the barrel and left him lying there. I was not a murderer.

The last time, I passed him unseen and hid on Craig's farm. Craig came first, half an hour later Charly. I overheard their conversation and learned that they were distilling whiskey somewhere nearby. Craig had bought grain and Charly had gotten combustibles, burning material. They were leaving the next day to distill. They both toasted their own whiskey properly and Charly told Craig that the white man who lived with the Sioux might be onto them. He was now the husband of the former chief's daughter, who actually belonged to him. He would not rest until he chased him away or sent him to the ancestors. Craig laughed boomingly, "then we'll put him next to that nosy detective we took out three years ago!" Charly listened up. "You mean the one half a mile from our cave?" Craig confirmed with a booming laugh, running a hand through his red hair. "That's right, the same one! He's guarding our oak, the dolt!" They continued to drink for hours and I learned nothing more of them. Silently I moved away and ran purposefully into the forest. I knew exactly which oak they meant, because I had discovered the skeleton several months ago, but I did not want to disturb the dead's rest of the supposed Trapper. Now, however, I knew that he was a detective from the provincial capital of Regina, and that the brewery was in a cave half a mile from him. I knew the area very well, I knew where there were some caves next to the riverbed. Half a mile, they had to be.

I discovered the right cave the next morning. I went in and voila, everything was there. Fireplace, kettle and still. Empty barrels and kegs galore. Then the criminals came, even before I got out of the mousetrap. I hid, there was a fierce exchange of gunfire, for two days and nights we kept each other at bay. I had a full cartridge pouch and a good revolver, I had hit Craig in the upper arm, giving me two hours of truce. The devils then deposited combustibles in the entrance and lit them. I was slowly but surely smoked. I lay down on the ground, there was less smoke there. Hours later horse patter and a short exchange of gunfire. Minnehaha!

She had raised heaven and hell, finally assembled a posse and some policemen, and had followed the tire tracks down from Craig's farm. I staggered out into the open, supported by Minnehaha, and indicated to the policeman under which oak tree they could find the detective's skeleton. These two were his killers, not just simple moonshiners. An hour later the policemen came back, they had found the skeleton and also his silver detective star. They left everything as it was for the Justice of the Peace to inspect the crime scene with his own eyes.

They had put Craig and Charly on horses and tied them up. The cops weren't being very gentle with them and I stepped up to Charly. Our eyes met. It was our first and last conversation. I addressed him in Sioux. "Minnehaha is my wife, she found me and she saved me." Charly spat on the ground next to me. "I'll come back and get her, she's mine, I've already had her!" The lad's insolence infuriated me. "I'll see you two more times in your life. Once in court and the second time" I searched for the word I'm sure I've never heard in Sioux before and said in English, "the second time I'll see your bare soles as you wriggle on the gallows." I continued in Sioux, "look at her just one last time, Minnehaha, my wife! She'll be warming and kissing my cock for many winters to come, when you've been in the ground for a long time and it's just bugs and worms kissing your cock there!" I caught an appreciative look from Minnehaha and, to my amazement, from one of the scouts. I spat on the ground in front of Charly — knowing very well that this was a sign of supreme contempt — and shouted to take this scumbags away!

I gave testimony in court, although it was not strictly necessary. Charly had confessed to the joint murder in return for leaving his body to the Sioux. Craig, of course, denied everything until the judge confronted him with Charly. Charly, intent on his burial, repeated his confession word for word. Now Craig lost his temper, he shouted at Charly at length, and the judge now had his confession as well. Both were hanged the next day. I drove the cart with Charly's body to the reservation and handed it over to his mother. He was my enemy and also Minnehahas, but no Sioux would deny him a burial. The mother looked me in the eye and asked for John. She could only mean Craig and I said Charly and John had had a fair powhow with the elders, had been found guilty of cowardly murder a detective and hanged, that was the custom of the whites. She nodded, "that John, I saw him and asked Charly to stay away from him, for John was a very bad man. But what son listens to his mother?" She pulled the cloth aside and looked at Charly's face. "He would have stayed a good son without that John." I could almost see her emotion. She glared at me. "Thank you for not killing him when you could. He was going to kill you for taking his wife." I left very thoughtful, as she had seen some things that no one else saw.

I lived the following year at Minnehaha, Minnewanna and White Feather. My job as a meat procurer gave meaning to my stay, and the pelts and furs earned me a lot of dollars in Lebret. I lived in great peace and harmony with nature. Even the fact that I fucked regularly with the three women seemed right to me at that time. But I noticed that Minnehaha was very lonely inside. It wasn't that I didn't love her enough, caress her, fuck her, and have nice conversations with her. She was lonely in a way that, as a doctor, I attributed to melancholy or depression. My loving care only slowed her fall, it did not stop it. I listened to her very carefully and gradually got her to look at herself more closely. She was consumed with the desire to become a spiritual sister. That was it.

I saddled two horses, loaded Minnehaha's belongings onto a packhorse, and let her take her leave of Minnewanna and White Feather. Minnehaha knew exactly where we were riding. We reached the convent in Lebret three hours later. She was welcomed with open arms, all the sisters still knew and loved her. I said goodbye with a long hug. I told her that if she was happy here, I was equally happy. And if she wanted, she would be welcome in the village anytime, three hours riding away would be her sister, her mother and her husband. It was perhaps a little unseemly the way I hugged and kissed my wife for the last time, but her eyes lit up. I rode back to the reservation with a heavy heart.

She came back three years later. She was the first Indian woman to become a religious sister, Sister Mary she was called. She came home to her village to die at home. I examined her as a doctor and I found nothing except that she was dying like a candlewick. White Feather ran screaming into the forest and came back two days later with scratched face and skin and with her clothes tattered. She sat down on the ground in the teepee and cried silently without movement. I prepared chicken broth for Minnehaha and she drank dutifully, but she knew and felt that it was coming to an end. She asked me to lie beside her and hold her hand, she was going to the Queen of Heaven tonight, to Mother Mary.

I held her hand and firmly resolved not to fall asleep. Not to fall asleep. Not to fall asleep. Not to fall asleep. I had confused fantasies. I walked through the woods, checking the traps as I passed. In one trap was John Craig, with reddish brush hair, his cock caught in the bear trap, crushed. Opposite him, Charly, neck in a bear trap, also crushed. Red Eagle, carrying feathery Minnewanna in his arms, who was nursing Little Falcon to her girlish breast. He waded through the Qu'Apelle River to the far bank where I have so often bathed with Minnehaha. I turn around, there's Minnehaha! She gets out of the River naked, I see her and she sees me. "I'm on my way, my love. I just wanted to bid you adieu and thank you for everything, for the wonderful years. Goodbye!" A light mist came up, I wanted to shout for her to stay, but she faded into the mist. I jumped towards the place where she was a moment ago, but I fell face first into the river. I awoke bathed in cold sweat. I immediately reached for Minnehaha's hand, but it was ice cold. I reached for her neck, no pulse. I jumped up and woke White Feather and Minnewanna. They turned on the light and we palpated Minnehaha. She was dead.

I had built a small platform on her favorite tree, she should have it nice. No, on her favorite tree, a stone's throw from the village square, not far outside as usual. No one protested against my decision. White Feather had wrapped her in the most beautiful and expensive cloth she owned. The whole village community had gathered and was singing sad songs, the women with high voices, the men with deep bass tones. Minnewanna handed Minnehaha's body to White Feather, White Feather handed it to me up to the platform. I wrapped the cloth tighter, the ravens and vultures should not get her easily. I stood motionless for a very long time, I knew the customs. I raised my arms high, fists clenched. Minnehaha's spirit was in my fists, I turned my fists over and opened my hands flat. Minnehaha's spirit rose into the air at that moment, toward the ancestors. I looked at the village community, at my family, at Minnewanna, and my gaze rested in the wonderful eyes of White Feather. "Minnehaha passed from us, passed from us!" I had to shout aloud. With that, the celebration ended. I was still looking into White Feather's wonderful eyes, now filling with tears and after a while she nodded and was the last to leave the village square. I sat down on the platform, closed my eyes and communed with my wife, whom I had rescued from the blizzard 6 years ago. She didn't answer, but I had a lot to say to her. At nightfall, Minnewanna came over and called me softly. I followed her into the teepee.

I remained with the Sioux for more than 10 years, living with Minnewanna and White Feather. We had pushed two loungers together and slept there three at a time, side by side. Me in in the middle, embraced by both women. Their hands met on my cock and agreed sisterly who I had to serve first. Often it was their both's lips at the same time, patiently and knowingly raising the tired warrior. Minnewana's lips had to make me stiff much more often because White Feather wanted to fuck me. White Feather was then already sitting on my thighs and Minnewanna had to lick and wet her clit with her tongue for a few moments before White Feather mounted me and Minnewanna hesitantly turned away. Minnewanna obviously loved to lick the clit and was reluctant to let go of White Feather. Sometimes she would fly into a rage with jealousy, then she would not release White Feather's clit and lick her relentlessly to orgasm. White Feather was now exhausted and Minnewanna swung triumphantly on my cock. But she should not rejoice too soon. I had lost myself in White Feather's eyes during the licking, which reminded me unpleasantly of Bertha, had watched her facial expressions with increasing horniness. She was amazed, delighted, horny and contorted into a grimace when the orgasm came. She exhaled and willingly slid back a bit to let Minnewanna take the field. The licking had excited me so much each time that I squirted after only seconds of her riding, so Minnewanna didn't have enough time to fuck herself to orgasm on my cock.

White Feather took good care, that she got me more often than Minnewanna and it was fine with me, because she fucked much more passionately. Minnewanna turned away demurely when White Feather and I fucked. When we finished fucking, she turned to me and hugged me as if she were my wife. She took her time before fucking me. It was a quiet, peaceful time with my two remaining wives. I often asked Minnewanna if she didn't want someone to be her husband, I would advertise to the man in her Father's place. But she shook her head, she did not want another husband. White Feather and I looked at each other silently, not wanting to speak our thoughts. I was acting like a real Sioux.

I was accompanied by two young Sioux hunters when I went into the woods to get meat. We barely spoke a word, they watched my way of spotting game and stalking to within a few yards. They watched how I threw my hunting knife or when I fired the revolver. The boys learned quickly, now I let one go ahead and throw his knife or send off the arrow. I had bought big hunting knives for them as I used one myself. Their eyes lit up, good knives. We brought plenty of meat to the village, no one should go hungry like the Lakota and the Huron, our immediate neighbors. We shared the meat with everyone and I kept most of the hides and furs. I got good dollars for them in Lebret, and I often brought gifts from the town, but never glass beads or other useless trinkets. The Sioux needed reliable tools, canvas for tents, and cords of all kinds. That was my choice, to put things in the hands of the poor people that they could do something with.

I straightened up at night. Bertha had called me, crying softly and miserably. To be blunt, I don't believe in ghosts, spirits, and certainly not the occult. White Feather stroked my cock softly, "What is it?" But I didn't answer, I don't need dick stroking right now, I just need a sleep. So I immediately fell asleep while White Feather gently stroked my cock. But I woke up almost every night, awakened by Bertha's frantic calls. "What do your ancestors communicate to you?" asked the exceedingly sensitive, delicate woman White Feather was. I went with her to Minnehaha's favorite tree, we sat down and in this quietest place in the world I told about the dreams. White Feather nodded thoughtfully, "you have to listen to that, it doesn't happen for no reason." She leaned her head on my shoulder. "I'm sad that you have to go, my dear, I've gotten used to your cock on my lounger. I shall miss you every night; Minnewanna will not bear it much better. But you must follow the voice of your other wife." I held her close. "How many lives does a man have, how many women can he love?" White Feather did not answer right away. "Stay in my lounger for a few more days, Minnewanna and I want to say goodbye to you, because we don't know if you will ever come back." What did I expect, a philosophical answer to my stupid question? No, this Indian woman told me the only and simplest answer that came from her beautiful heart.

I went hunting with my two companions for the last time. When we arrived at the village late in the evening, richly laden, we sat down by the campfire as we always did. I looked them in the eye one by one, a signal to the Sioux that something important was coming. "You hunted alone today; I did not throw my knife today. The meat and the pelts are yours alone. You are good hunters now, the best in your village." They looked me in the eye and nodded approvingly. "When you say that, it makes us proud. We learned everything from you, hunting like a Trapper‐Ranger brings much meat to our people." Both nodded approvingly. The other said, "we know you are going on a long journey and do not know even yet when you will return. Our thoughts will be with you before we throw our knives at the game." I must have looked pretty stupid, because they both started laughing loudly and patting each other on the shoulders. I laughed along after a while, even though I didn't know how they did it. If one Sioux learned something, they all learned it. I was a little embarrassed because I had puffed myself up with my news. We wished each other good night, and I went to our teepee. Minnewanna looked very sad, she had obviously been crying all day. I knelt down directly in front of her, took her head in my hands and kissed her on the lips in Trapper fashion. She was immediately happy again. I said loudly, so that White Feather could hear, that today was my last hunt and that from today on I would only lie between their thighs and not care about the dogs barking. (That's how the Sioux put it.)

Naturally I kept my word, the two also left me no other choice. I just lay on the wide lounger and had food and drink delivered to me. Even Little Falcon was given to relatives for this time, the whole village community seemed to know, our continuous fucking and lovemaking was apparently no secret. I was really still a white man, as I thought about it. For the Sioux it was quite normal.

White Feather stroked my cock hypnotically when I needed sleep. Minnewanna fucked me under White Feather's critical gaze, but she always turned demurely toward the tent wall when White Feather and I fucked. They both kept hugging me in the wives' way when I finished fucking the other. The Sioux were very particular about distinguishing the different kinds of hugs. They kissed me on the lips in the manner of the Trappers, the whites, although that was not a Sioux custom.

On the ninth night I was startled from sleep with a loud cry. White Feather stroked my face soothingly. "She calls you, you must go now!" Without asking my opinion, both women, by the light of the fire, began to pack my things wisely and neatly into the backpack, the knapsack and a haversack. Minnewanna ran out and saddled a fine horse. "Leave him in the convent, we'll get him later." White Feather sounded like she always did when I rode out. They both hugged me and I sat up. "Thundering Rock already knows," Minnewanna was still saying, snuggling up to White Feather's regal figure. I promised to return when I had completed my task. They watched me until I disappeared into the forest. My two hunters rode at a distance behind me, perhaps to bring the white horse right back home, perhaps to make sure no Lakota or Huron ambushed me. I waved to them as I dismounted in front of the convent, leaving the white horse just standing there. They waved back and grabbed the reins. I trotted to the train station, after three long days I was back in Boston, this time with a plenty of dollars in my knapsack from the furs.

White Feather will have found my note and the bundle of dollars by now. Thundering Rock could read, read English and would translate my farewell words to my wives to the whole community aloud, in Sioux. I wrote how much I loved them both and how much I will miss their warm thighs that had given me so much pleasure. How much I will miss them both, as they made me dive up and down between their lush mounds like a salmon rushing upstream. How much I will miss their warm lips, lips that lifted the weary warrior, again and again. I will perish with pain and desire because I could no longer caress her small and large beautiful breasts with my hands. How I will miss their little red peas, which they finely polished with their lips, tongue and fingers during my absence. I will sing to the end of my road the song of the two of them at the White Man's campfires and attribute my tears to the smoke of the campfire. Farewell! — Thundering Rock would recite the words solemnly at least three times in Sioux, for in the written word the spirit of the writer spoke, and the village community would murmur loud approval and embrace both women. This all was according to the Sioux custom.

I took a hired carriage from the station and had it drive me home. Home! How strange it seemed to me — but I too must have seemed strange to the Bostonians, a white man in Indian leather clothing and wrapped in a bearskin! But I was probably the only one here who was not freezing. The carriage stopped, I took my knapsack and satchel and got out. Twenty years! Twenty, no less! I rang the bell. Something stirred, but it took longer to be unlocked and opened.

The girl was perhaps 16 or 17 years old and wrapped in a thick coat. "You wish?" she asked, making sure the neighbors were watching, "You wish, sir?" I introduced myself, "Dr. Otto Weiser, my wife Bertha Weiser lives here, doesn't she? — I have been traveling for many years and am only now coming home." The girl looked at me very curiously and then said, "I know about you, Doctor, come in!" Only now did I notice that she had been speaking German, her accent unmistakably Bostonian. I entered and she quickly closed the door, "because of the heating, because of the cold, better said." No, this was not a kitchen maid, certainly not. The girl also seemed smart, because she guessed my thoughts. "I am Maya, Marjorie Weiser, Bertha von Böhm‐Weiser is my mother."

I stopped in my tracks, thunderstruck, and probably looking like a stupid sheep. With an automatic movement, I pulled the warm fur hat off my head. "Bertha's daughter," I repeated and she nodded. "Come, come, Mama will be anxiously waiting to see who rang the bell." She ran up the stairs, not right into the reception room. I left my packages, let my bearsfur slide to the floor and followed her. She walked straight to Bertha's bedroom and waited for me. "Mom has been talking about nothing but you for the past 4 weeks, let me go ahead and get Mom ready." I nodded and she went into Bertha's bedroom. Barely a minute later she called me, I straightened my leather leggings and richly decorated leather jacket and entered.

Bertha, haggard and emaciated, sat upright in bed, Maya standing beside her. The air in the room was sultry and stale, the smell of death over everything. I stepped up to the bedside and kissed Bertha's cheek and fingertips as I had 20 years ago. A smile twitched across Bertha's haggard face. "Otto! My heart, I'm glad you've come! I have been expecting you for weeks! Come, sit with me!" I grabbed a chair and sat down at her side. Maya sat down in a corner, feeling invisible and listening to every single word.

Naturally, Bertha wanted to know where I was from and what my peculiar getup meant. I explained I had lived with the Indians in Canada for 20 years and that my suit was a ceremonial‐attire. "Not quite what you expect." We both smiled. Now it bubbled out of her. Her father had been ennobled, so she called herself 'von Böhm' after him; he had died and left her a vast amount of money. Maya would inherit it when she was no longer alive. Bertha interrupted her flow of speech. She had given birth to Maya 17 years ago, she was her child. She could not name the father, she had led a dissolute life and had been intimate with hundreds of admirers. She expressed herself delicately, out of consideration for Maya.

"Otto, my love, I must look terrible, I really don't feel well either. I haven't looked at myself in the mirror for months, I'm afraid of the disappointment." She sank back wearily onto her pillow. I assured her she looked decidedly better than Aunt Käthe. Despite her illness, she had to laugh brightly. The stock‐deaf Käthe was known for her merciless, thundering farts. At an imperial banquet she let the cannon thunder so that the emperor was so shocked that his liver dumpling fell from his spoon into the broth. Horrified, the ruler looked into the illustrious round, who were staring at the soup plates with red heads, trying to suppress the laughter. The emperor asked in astonishment if they were shooting in the courtyard, if a revolt had broken out like Anno 1848? No one dared to answer until the Chancellor bowed confidentially to His Majesty and answered in the negative. It was only Her Grace, the Countess von Gollowitz, who had fired. The flatulence, Your Majesty, the flatulence! Unfortunately, we did not learn how the emperor reacted to it. But I was glad that poor Bertha had something to laugh about. She resumed the thread, but spoke in French so Maya wouldn't understand her.

"When you left us I was going through a crazy phase, our little Willi was dead, it took all my sanity away. I went through the phase as if I was a real tribade, but I wasn't. I couldn't handle the loss, I pounced on the men like a predator and tore them all. I fucked indiscriminately with everyone who had a dick. I had ministers and mayors, professors and factory owners, coachmen and blacksmiths in my bed. Hundreds, if not thousands. When I got pregnant, I didn't think for a moment about killing the poor creature. I accepted it, gave birth to it and gave her your name. I loved her very much, my Maya, I raised her to be a decent girl and shielded her from my dissolute life as best I could. Of course, nothing escaped her as she grew up, but she wouldn't let me spoil her. And half a year ago I got sick, stopped going to the festivals and parties, and stopped having lovers. I felt my life‐light gradually going out, and eagerly wished for your return, I couldn't leave Maya orphaned." Bertha coughed wildly, speaking strained her very much.

I asked if our old friend Frieder still existed and Bertha nodded. Maya spoke up, she had the Professor's phone number and if I wanted I could talk to him on the telephone in the hall. I had never seen a telephone before, but went down with the girl and she made the connection. Maya pointed to one funnel, that's where you listen, and to another funnel, that's where you talk without yelling loudly. It touched me how naturally she dealt with a trapper from the darkest Middle Ages. Frieder was pleased that I was still alive and I was pleased that my old teacher was still alive. I quickly got to the point, Bertha was deathly ill and I had to do something. Frieder gave me clear instructions and then ordered me to come to him, he had a fully functioning laboratory at home. I took a blood sample, saliva and urine and had Maya explain the way. "If you don't dawdle, you'll be there in five minutes." I memorized the way and address exactly and hurried off.

Frieder was professor emeritus, but still active in research. He had me the clinical appearance described to him in detail, then he immediately set to work. Some things I knew, many things were new to me. He even had a microscope and let me look, but I recognized nothing. "Exactly, Otto, exactly! I, too, can't find anything that could explain the situation, not even to begin with!" We had worked nonstop in the lab for 5 hours without the slightest success. I asked Frieder where I could get a good nurse, he made several phone calls and was successful. "Tomorrow at 7, the best nurse I know is coming. She is the best, so pay her accordingly!" Of course I had to ask how much and he named the amount, it was not much. I thanked my old friend and excused myself, I would tell him all about my life with the Indians some time later, but now I ran off, home. I was driven by restlessness.

Maya had followed my instructions and had bought a pot of pure beef broth at a nearby hotel and had already made Bertha drink a soup cupful hot. Now Bertha was asleep. Maya showed me a room next door that she had fixed up for me and the closet where my suits from anno 20 years ago hung. She had turned on the electric boiler hours ago, suspecting I would want to take a bath. Take a bath, immediately, Doctor! I had to agree with her, I had last bathed in the river of my village a week ago. She ran the hot water and I asked her to stop calling me by my family name, since she was my stepdaughter. She nodded silently and left me to the bath. Half an hour later I was cleanly bathed and freshly dressed, the leather Indian gown I hung freely, it would mold in the closet.

Catherine de la Meunière arrived early in the morning with another nurse with whom she would share the 24‐hour‐duty, Maya showed her the room. Ten minutes later Catherine took over and I was grateful to Frieder. This was the best we could do for Bertha. I measured her pulse, blood pressure and general condition every hour. Maya had fed Bertha mainly with tea until now, now I had ordered beef broth, although it brought little improvement. I read her the newspaper and talked to her, but she slept longer and longer, now already close to 20 hours. The nurses did their best, Maya and I kept in the background.

On the second or third day, Catherine came into my room at night, her colleague having taken over. We had a lively chat, she sitting on the edge of the bed and me naked in the sheets. It did not escape her notice that I had an erection and quickly the subject changed. Finally Catherine asked very directly if she should do something. I smiled and said there was still room next to me. She flinched, actually she had been thinking of a handjob. I shook my head, that was not my recipe. Catherine took off her bonnet and shook her reddish brown mane. She looked me in the eye for a long time and undressed without a word. She was a tart beauty, a little older than me, maybe 48 or 50, but she was a female and I would have fucked even the Babajaga now. She let me fuck her unspectacularly, letting me squirt inside as she said, she was past her prime. She was very straightforward and induced her own orgasm with one finger when I started to squirt. She left after half an hour and now came back every night. I'm not sure which one of us needed it more.

Three weeks later, Bertha was dead. She had insisted on calling in the notary and changing her will. She made me Maya's sole guardian and divided her estate between Maya and me. She died without pain, her life light simply extinguished. I sat beside her bed for an infinitely long time, our time together in our youth flowing leisurely through my thoughts. When I got up at some point, my next thought, I confess to my shame, was that it was now over with the pleasant, non‐committal fucking with Catherine. Maya and I arranged the funeral, sent telegrams to Vienna and Prague to her relatives, and then stood at her grave in the midst of about 100 mourners. A priest, the mayor and a person I did not know gave speeches, touchingly honest and the others abysmally mendacious. I didn't care, I had nothing to say to all these people. My thoughts were not with Bertha, but with Minnehaha. I spoke silently to her, telling her to take Bertha by the hand and show her the way. I knew Minnehaha would understand. There was a celebration where they ate like pigs behind the teepees and downed the white wine like water in a matter of minutes. I kept completely in the background and left poor Maya alone with this lying pack. I sat down with Frieder at a secluded table, conjured up the best whiskey and we drank inconspicuously from wine glasses like the others. I told Frieder about the time with the Sioux and how it came about that I lived with three Indian women. It was Frieder who introduced me to the young writer and reporter Emil Droonberg. It was also Frieder who joined in our conversations and elicited all my secrets. I originally wanted to keep the Charly and John Craig thing to myself, there was nothing to brag about. But Emil wrote an exciting crime story about it.

Actually, my story would be over here, but the end is still missing. The real end.

Without Bertha, the house was dead silent and deserted. The mourners had left and I told Maya to leave everything, Frieder had ordered a cleaning crew for tomorrow. Friends think of such things when you yourself are filled only with grief and farewell.

I lay on the chaise longue and read a newspaper, Maya lay in my lap and tormented me from time to time with questions. I had decided to answer everything honestly and not cowardly escape into French. I told her everything Bertha had told me in French. Maya was very thoughtful. "I always knew and still let myself be lied to, Bertha wanted it that way," she said, and I immediately noticed that she didn't say Mama. "Did you know about it?" she asked directly, and I answered in the negative. "According to this, was Mama a whore because she fucked hundreds and hundreds of men?" Maya's eyes filled with tears. I wiped the tears away. "But bullshit, Bertha wasn't a whore, she loved to fuck and be fucked. It was like eating and drinking to her when you were hungry. Bertha was not a whore by God!" Did Maya sense how hollow and mendacious it sounded? She needed the truth, she deserved the truth. "I had run away when Wilhelm died and Bertha had brought her playmates to our bedroom." Maya's eyelids fluttered, then she asked stretched, "Playmates?" and I didn't have to think long. "She brought horny girls into our marital bed where she cuddled, kissed and fucked the girls." A slim description of the last year of marriage. "But," Maya stretched the question, "cuddling and kissing, I know that from my girlfriends. But fucking? Real fucking!?" I thought for a moment, not sure what Maya knew about sexuality. "Yes," I said, "many women fuck each other, they make each other orgasm and fuck clit‐to‐clit and get orgasm like fucking with a man." I had said too much, I knew it right away. "What is an orgasm, what is a clit? And is it okay for women to fuck each other!!!?" That's God's punishment.

"That's three questions, I'll answer them in a different order, okay?" Maya nodded and turned onto her stomach, propping her chin on her palms. "The clit is located above the sex cleft, small like a pea to large as long as a finger limb. Bertha had one that big. Do you follow me? Do you know your clit?" I asked, and she shook her head at first. Then she lowered her eyes. "I think so, but I'm not sure. I have a spot there that I rarely touch because then I have to pee right away. Is that a clit?" I nodded, it was. "And that leads to your second question. When women touch the clitoris quite a few times in a row, she comes to an orgasm. Many women describe the orgasm as a small explosion or a very pleasant spasm that is over after a few seconds. Women love orgasm and some get it when they are fucked by their lover." I paused and thought about a good answer. "Well, a lot of women fuck other women and it was back then when I despised Bertha for it, very much like she was cheating on me with a man. I saw things very narrowly then because it was my upbringing. I learned from the Indians that you can only cheat and betray your love with your heart. And that the physical is not a betrayal." I could see in Maya's eyes how strange this seemed to her. "That's how I feel today, after 20 years with the Indians. They taught me many things, including this." I realized that one day I would have to tell Maya about the three Indian women, but not now.

"What was it like for you when Bertha brought the girls to the marriage bed?" I thought for a long time. What was the truth? "Actually, it was the way any man would feel. They made love to each other in all kinds of ways, cuddling and kissing like a married couple. They made love with their fingers, they licked the clit to orgasm or fucked clit‐to‐clit and screamed in pleasure and in orgasm. Seeing that makes any man horny, he is incited to a sexual lust that he just feels like fucking." I could see Maya's fantastic thoughts flip over. She looked at me. "Then your only thought was to fuck?" Jesus Christ, what else?

I didn't need to hide anything, even if it was very private. "You're asking me something very private, girl! But I'm not hiding anything, I fucked all her playmates, Bertha didn't want to fuck me then. Most playmates let themselves be fucked lustfully, some did not like it at all, but I did not tolerate any contradiction. If they fucked with my wife, they also had to fuck with her husband! Many cried heartbreakingly because I deflowered them. At that time I was a very self-centered, heartless man. Today I am not." Maya looked at me now with cat eyes. "But Catherine, you fucked her every night, Otto!" I nodded silently, unsure if she had overheard us or if she had just seen the obvious? I went to my former ordination and came back with the atlas of the human body. I showed Maya the private parts and explained everything to her, including masturbation, fucking, and sexual behavior between husbands and wives. We ate supper very late and went to sleep.

No sooner had I put my book away and turned out the light than the door opened, Maya in a short nightgown, a thick pillow pressed in front of her chest. "Can I sleep with you, Otto, I don't like to be alone!" She slipped under my covers and found that I was naked. She slipped off the nightgown and pressed herself naked against me. I was already dozing off and Maya was still curiously examining my body. When I awoke in the morning, she was no longer there.

Maya came to my bed every night and was gone in the morning, for weeks she curiously palpated my body and of course especially my cock. She asked me shyly to show her how to masturbate and she got an orgasm every time after a day. She also wanted to learn how to masturbate my cock after that, she needed only a day for that too. I learned with her during the day to calculate her fertile days based on her period. She understood how important it was that she could determine for herself, if she wanted to get pregnant.

I had been able to convince her right after Bertha's death that it was important for one to be able to do something. I became a doctor as well as a Trapper, and now I could afford to live mainly on Bertha's fortune and spend my time doing meaningful work in Frieder's lab. Maya chose courses to learn telephone operator, shorthand, typing, and in smaller courses, business letter writing. This gave her several relevant careers to choose from if she wanted to go to work one day. Knowing how huge the pile of money was, I had no objection to her not wanting to throw herself full time into working life. Frieder and I had no objection to Maya spending most of the day with us. She studied medicine on her own, since at that time women were not allowed to study medicine. Frieder and I vied to train our dear Fräulein to be a doctor. One day, perhaps?

But back to Maya and to me and her newly acquired knowledge of masturbation. She lay naked with me every night, making me squirt and pressing her body against me to masturbate herself. Long ago I had told her how I lived with three Indian women in a tent made of animal skins. She always wanted to hear how I experienced sex with the women and how they differed sexually. I liked to talk about it because it had only been a year since I had left Minnewanna and White Feather. Maya always wanted to hear how I experienced the women's sex and how they differed sexually. I liked talking about it because it had only been a year since I had left Minnewanna and White Feather. I described sex with the three Indian women to Maya in beautiful and detailed terms because I liked remembering it and it eased my loss a bit. Again and again I considered returning to them, but I never made it back.

Months had passed, Maya and I were lying next to each other like brother and sister and the sister loved to masturbate us both. One day, Maya surprised me.

She wanted to fuck, really fuck.

I remained steadfast at first. Even if I had already absorbed the Indian views very deeply, we lived, Maya lived in the American reality. And one liked to think now about the not rarely bigoted and backward sexual morals of the Americans, as one liked, Maya lived in this reality. Maya, of course, knew how important it was for the better circles that a girl remains a virgin until marriage. We discussed this for several days, it becoming increasingly difficult for me not to think like a Sioux, but to defend an American institution against my better judgment. My strange behavior contributed hers to the fact that Maya became clearer and clearer and finally decided. Carelessly, I brought the word incest into the debate and earned sardonic laughter. "Otto, you are not my biological father, not a drop of blood do we have in common. And if anyone asks, send them packing!"

Damn, it was getting more real by the day. Maya sat on my thighs and playfully brought my cock, my glans into her vaginal entrance. It was time. I laid her on her back, I lay between her thighs and spread them wide apart. I kissed her on the mouth, our tongues playing with each other as always. I penetrated and Maya held her breath. Her hymen tore under the pressure and we fucked for the first time and then for the rest of my life (I hope). To anticipate, she rarely got an orgasm, very different from the Indian women, and she had to do it then with her finger, during or after fucking. She was content with my aging cock, maybe she even loved me. I taught her after some time to fuck like a Sioux woman and now she almost always had a great orgasm and she loved it.

The young men who crossed her path could not hold a candle to the smart girl. She stayed with Frieder and me, learned the doctor's business from us, playing the nurse when she treated a patient. It wasn't until the turn of the millennium that she was able to enroll in medical school and received her medical degree from the state of Massachusetts in 1901. She warms my bed to this day and at 37 she had beautiful twins, Eric (Erich) and Marc (Markus). Two years later still the lovely Alice, and they all three respectfully called me grandfather, although they knew well that they had sprung from my loins. All three studied medicine and became doctors in Maya's medical practice.

Maya wrote down this story that Otto dictated her and probably keep it until the end.

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