The Funeral

Pico, completely shaken, got off the train that had brought him to Trieste and took a cab that took him to Parma del Riva. The young cab driver wondered because he did not know Parma at all, but Pico instructed him to go in the direction of Monfalcone Centro and then, after the city limits, go back east, towards Gorizia the first exit. So Monfalcone, growled the cab driver stubbornly, shaking his head at the Austrian with the outdated Italian.

The Rizzis had even had Uncle Rodolfo and his wife Olivia come from Mallorca to bury Aunt Lila. Lila had left a short and clear will in which she directed, on the one hand, that she be buried in Parma and, on the other, that all her belongings should pass to Pico. To Pico, the last Rizzi. Everyone knew that Uncle Rodolfo had to give up his inheritance rights when he wanted to marry the filthy rich Olivia. His father, Don Anselmo Rizzi, had an incomprehensible prejudice against anything Spanish and refused to accept Olivia as his daughter‐in‐law. Pico found it strange to be considered the last Rizzi, even though Don Rodolfo was still alive.

The formalities for Lila's funeral had been surprisingly simple, the transfer not exactly cheap, however, the funeral home had everything well in hand and completed the task professionally and without bothering him too much. Perhaps it also played a role that he paid generously and in cash in advance. As the cab turned the last corner, he saw the first mourners, tried to remember this and that name. The neighbor, who had taken over the organization, ran around excitedly cackling like a frightened chicken, trying to make up for poor management by loud and intrusive reorganization and improvisation. Pico was far too tired to get involved and waited devotedly until he was offered accommodation a few houses away, in the now almost bankrupt boarding house of the old widow Colonna. It was the last and only accommodation that Parma del Riva offered; otherwise he would have had to drive the eight kilometers to Monfalcone or Duino.

The widow Colonna was a resolute, plump and typically Italian matron who greeted him under the front door with a pinched face and offered her condolences. She was cagey, only becoming a touch more friendly when offering condolences. Even as she climbed the stairs, she said in her quick Italian that in bad times like these she could not do without any of her boarding house rooms and therefore had to charge him the full room rate, as he was only staying two days; the laundry and so on, he would understand. The room into which she led him panting for breath, was clean but unadorned and good for nothing other than spending the night. Pico nodded and said in his heavy accent that he was dead tired and about to go to sleep. The widow Colonna left, not without once again expressing her condolences to him about Donna Aurelia.

It did seem strange to Pico to hear Aunt Lila's full first name Aurelia — even though he knew her full name was Aurelia Laetizia Rizzi. He had become so used to Lila that he had never used to wonder where Lila even came from. On the other hand, he also never wondered why he was called Pico and not Rico or Riccardo. He unpacked his travel bag and undressed to wash. In the crooked mirror hanging over the sink, he saw himself, from chest down to knee. His cock hung down small and unsightly, he palpated it a little and promptly it began to stir. Determined, he washed his face and chest, looked again at his cock in the mirror. For a split second he thought about the fact that he had been under stress for days and had not had time for an orgasm. As he toweled himself off, his cock throbbed demandingly. He checked with a quick glance that the window curtain was closed, then stroked his cock with relish before quickly jerking off. Fascinated, he watched himself in the mirror as he squirted into the sink.

The next day he woke up very late. A vacuum cleaner was purring in the hallway. Pico was as if he had been slain, for he had only been superficial and restless sleep. He had to pull himself together, the death of Lila was almost a week ago, he could not just cry like he did on the first day. Thanks God, Lila did not suffer long. The same breast cancer that falled his mother years ago took Lila away in the third week in hospital. Pico visited her daily and read all local newspapers aloud. He had paid the extra fee for a single bed room. He stopped reading as he noticed, that Lila had stopped breathing. An exiting smile in her face she looked with eyes wide open into a wonderful future in the heavens.

Half past nine, my God, he had overslept thoroughly! He quickly slipped into his robes and opened the door. The woman who was handling the vacuum cleaner looked up. It was a younger woman, in her late thirties, maybe younger, but in any case much younger than he. She was not a beauty, but somehow pretty, like most of the girls from Parma.

Good morning, Pico said, asking if he could still get breakfast at this hour. The woman nodded and gestured with her hand down to the ground floor. Pico apologized for his poor Italian, but he had been born in Vienna and had had little opportunity to speak Italian. She smiled for a moment, then turned the vacuum cleaner back on and continued her work.

Later, Pico stood in front of the sink and washed quickly. It excited him to know a young woman outside the door, who was indeed was going about her work, but he was standing here, naked, and she was outside, pretty and young. No, he couldn't do that, he scolded himself, now that Lila had just died. He almost cut himself with the razor, so much did the thought preoccupy him, assail him again and again. He wiped the shaving foam from his face and felt the erection, the urgent erection. He rubbed a little and thought about squirting into the sink again, but he stopped right away. It roared in his ears because it still made him think of Lila, then he put on his robe but deliberately left it open a little and went back to the door. It was a good thing he had rubbed his cock a bit, because it remained firm and semi‐stiff, even though it was hanging down.

The young woman was already working a few doors down and looked up when he opened the door. He knew she couldn't see much of him in this lighting, but he had to try. He always tried, after all. Could he get a bigger towel, please, he wanted to take a shower. Puzzled, she looked down at his cock and nodded after he repeated his request, then vanished in a flash behind a door. Pico wondered if perhaps she was mute. Immediately she came toward him with a large bath towel in her hand. Pico was still standing in the open doorway, looking at her. As she approached, she could at first only guess at his nakedness under the robe but she immediately lowered her eyes when her gaze fell on his naked body, on his dangling cock. In any case, she stopped abruptly and handed him the cloth from afar, making him lean far over. All the time she was looking at his cock, secretly, under her lashes. He put all his charm into the look with which he gazed at her, put his excitement into that one look like an invitation. Her gaze wandered off as he touched his cock with his hand touched it, she blinked once more bashfully under his robe and quickly went down the stairs.

Pico was disappointed. Sometimes his magic worked, but not always. Actually, he admitted to himself, it rarely worked, but he tried again and again, because 3 out of 10, that was not a bad statistic. At the same time, he was also realistic enough to know that if he tried it a hundred times, that could mean thirty percent, but it could also mean only three percent. Too bad, because the young woman was really attractive. At the same time as he was disappointed, he lost interest, quickly showered and dressed. Breakfast was waiting.

It was a rural funeral, as expected. The service went on interminably. Pico turned around once, but the silent cleaning woman from the boarding house he could not discover anywhere. The way from the church to the cemetery was long, because one left the church, behind which the cemetery lay, through the front door and circled the whole area widely in a slow, consecrated procession, to take the entrance to the cemetery again at the back of the church. The small brass band, handpicked by the parish priest, played so pathetically that it brought tears to one's eyes, not only from the sadness but also from the howling discords. Pico felt very strange, could hardly cope with the rituals and, confused, followed the signs that the relatives eagerly gave him: dipping the small brushwood broom in the holy water and making three crosses over the grave, later picking up a little earth with the small hand spade and throwing it into the grave, on the coffin, and then into the grave. Throwing the roses, which he had been holding convulsively in his hand all this time, onto the coffin, hissed to him an elderly woman standing next to him, whom he did not know if she was related to him. Stepping in front of the priest and kissing the air to the left and right of his face. To stand afterwards in the long line of Rizzi‐s relatives, right next to Uncle Rodolfo. Shaking hands with all the attendees who filed past them in a long line and muttering something, anything. The aged Rodolfo saw him only for the second time, but he guessed Pico's thoughts and murmured softly that as the last Rizzi he must stand here, proud and firm as an oak. Pico nodded devotedly, "si, si, Don Rodolfo!" Nevertheless, he was embarrassed and touched, because Don Rodolfo also acted as if he himself were no Rizzi.

The church service and the funeral itself, which ended shortly before noon, were now followed by a long lunch, which began seriously and silently, but gradually the mood relaxed. In the afternoon they sat in the good parlor of the old Rizzi‐house, which now belonged formally to Pico but was owned by a distant Rizzi‐relatives along with family, to whom Pico had granted the right of residence for life. Everyone had expected this from him. He lived in Vienna and could do nothing with the house anyway. Uncle Rodolfo had explained to him in detail how he himself had renounced his rights to the house many years ago because he lived in Mallorca and therefore could not do anything with the house either (and that he was practically disinherited, but Rodolfo never mentioned that). That one not so easily sent impoverished relatives on the street, if one had a good home, that would probably be understood by itself. That the house (and here the old man leaned close to his ear and whispered: "My boy, the house is completely run down and should really be torn down, so you're really losing out.") Pico had gone immediately that morning to see Don Vicenzo, who was mayor, notary, and municipal administrator all in one, when he wasn't selling hardware and building materials, which he actually did for a living. Don Vicenzo seemed to be clairvoyant because, as he addressed Pico, he offered Don Riccardo a homemade grappa as a welcome drink and presented him with the deed of gift he had drawn up after talking to Don Rodolfo. Somewhere in the back of Pico's mind there was Lila's reminder to address everyone who owned property as Don or Donna, which was the custom and duty in the old Upper Italy if one did not want to be considered a dumb barbarian — in the meantime this custom had long since given way to the modern, only the parish priest was addressed as Don, but the people of Parma expressed their excitement about the high visitor with a throwback to the stilted past. Nevertheless, he felt very strange to be addressed as Don Riccardo and found it unusual every time. Every attempt to use his legally prescribed call sign Pico resulted in the understanding remark that the Germans addressed everyone disrespectfully by their children's names, those uneducated barbarians! Discussions, why he considered himself as an Austrian and never as a German, he could spare himself.

Pico was not used to the good Italian cuisine and got a stomach ache after eating; moreover, many things he had read in his mother's diary and Lila's could not get out of his mind. Lila had told him in the hospital, when she already knew that it was going to end with her, that he should take his mother's diaries and hers and burn them — there is nothing important in them, Lila had said. But Pico had read the diaries immediately and began to understand his mother's story and Lila's better. Much that had been incomprehensible to him cleared up. He devoured page after page and finally understood how things became the way they were. He had read the diaries several times, again and again, read and cried, because now he loved both women even more than ever before.

Uncle Rodolfo asked him about his stomach and ordered a stomach liquor for Pico; slowly Rodolfo learned all about his great‐nephew. On the subject of sailing, his eyes lit up; he and his German business partner had a large sailing ship in Mallorca and said that if Pico could make it, he should visit him and maybe join a cruise on the TITANIA. Rodolfo was quite taken with Pico, because Pico had worked his way up in a bank and had become a respected man in Vienna. Lila had always emphasized that when she wrote or when they talked on the phone. Later, Rodolfo alluded again to the fact that Pico was the last Rizzi (the last male Rizzi entitled to inherit, added Pico silently), and one day everything would be his. Pico nodded absent‐mindedly, for more than usual was soon drunk, and the alcohol was rapidly rising within him.

He didn't remember later exactly when he lost control, mumbling and slurring his words with the old, hard‐of‐hearing Rodolfo about sailing, about the good old days, about his mother and Aunt Lila, and about Rodolfo's oldest stepbrother, Don Aldo, whom he had remembered as a small child but whom he could hardly remember. Don Rodolfo raised his glass solemnly, toasted Lila, and embraced him fraternally, whispering in Pico's ear with a heavy tongue that not only he, Pico, was a grieving lover of Lila, but also he himself, for he had also been her lover when Lila had been perhaps 14 or even younger. When Pico tried to sit up again, Uncle Rodolfo pulled him back down to him and continued his confession to his ears: almost exhibitionistically, he told Pico all the little details that connected him to Lila and also how his brother Aldo had caused the scandal at their summer resort in Abbazia on the now Yugoslavian coast, and how he was threatened with a shotgun by their father, Don Anselmo, when he caught Aldo and Lila in flagranti. Aldo, who had dishonored his cousin Lila — although he, Rodolfo, had also already slept with Lila — was chased out of the village with shame by his own father, and in the course of his wanderings found himself in Vienna, where he fell in love with Aunt Hermine.

Pico, on the one hand, had problems with the fact that Rodolfo mumbled very wetly during this ear confession; on the other hand, they cried together when Rodolfo talked about how well Lila could fuck, even as a young thing, and how much he had indulged in nonsensical hopes of being able to marry her one day. And how much it pained him that at the same time she was also fucking with Aldo. Pico struggled not only with the alcohol, but also with Rodolfo's Italian, which was a mixture of old Mallorcan, Arabic and Portuguese; only in the course of confessing in his ears did he understand that Rodolfo meant "fudar" actually meant "fuck". Pico's thoughts spilled sluggishly through his cerebral convolutions and laboriously hit snags, for as a child he had sometimes imagined that Don Aldo was his father, for he slept with his mother until he died when Pico was 7 years old.

That evening, Pico drank much more than he could handle. He sobbed and cried when he thought of Lila, kept raising his glass and drinking to her. She was so far gone, so irretrievably gone, and would never make love with him again. He raised his glass again and drank to her until he could hardly sit. Don Rodolfo had departed when he was greatly fatigued and drank with Pico, standing, another grappa to Lila, who had given them the loveliest hours of their lives.

They brought Pico, the senselessly drunk Pico, hooked left and right under to the house of the widow Colonna. It was the middle of the night, the mournful carousing had lasted into the early morning, and the two lads dragging Pico underhooked through the streets were also quite drunk themselves. Nevertheless, Uncle Rodolfo had insisted that Pico be escorted to his quarters. The two young boys, whom Pico did not know, leaned against the front door, panting, and knocked vigorously until the hall light was turned on. After some time, the widow Colonna opened sullenly, for she had already slept very deeply, only quickly slipped on a robe over her nudity and let her long gray braid dangle open over her back. Sleepily she muttered and let the two of them enter, along with Pico hanging between them. She was really very tired already and plodded along half dreaming as she led the way up the stairs for the two laughing and gurgling boys. The boys giggled and made teasing and piggy remarks when they glanced on the stairs at her nudity under the robe. The widow Colonna blushed deep red as the guys didn't stop making remarks to fuck the old one. She unlocked Pico's room while the boys went in a very comical procession, threatening to fall several times; the boys threw Pico on the bed crashing onto the bed and staggering, trying to straighten him out halfway on the bed. She screamed angrily as one of them opened her robe and groped at her cunt.

The widow Colonna — small, broad and resolute — angrily shooed the two out, the rest she would already do and the two should only look that they themselves came home safely. When the two had noisily departed, she began to undress the fully drunk Pico. Pico had been unconscious, but now, as he lay still and felt nimble fingers undressing him, his spirits were reviving, as much as is possible in someone so drunk. He did not know where he was, nor who she was; at any rate a woman was undressing him. He thought that it was Lila who undressed him so lovingly and immediately began to cry again, for his Lila was no more.

The widow Colonna murmured that it was all right and that he did not need to cry anymore. She had to turn him groaning back and forth to take off his jacket, shirt and pants, then she took off his shoes and socks until he was lying on the bed in only his underpants. As hard as she tried, she couldn't get the blanket he was lying on free. So she knelt beside him, pulling and tugging at it until she could get it partially free. The sobbing Pico, meanwhile, had one arm wrapped around her waist, and she let go of the blanket and murmured soothing words as he cried himself out against her chest. She held him for minutes, stroking his hair soothingly and letting him cry it out.

The widow Colonna became somewhat embarrassed when she realized that his underpants were already wet and bulging mightily. She hesitated for a long time, because it was certainly not right and decent what went through her mind. Only after a long hesitation did she give in to her curiosity and bend down to slowly remove his underpants. Her heart gave a small, anxious jump, as she pulled the pants down over his cock. It was not quite stiff, but the glans was sticking out of the foreskin and had stained into the underpants; there was still a thin, slimy thread hanging from its tip. She was still somewhat dazed from sleep and waited a long time before she gently stroked the glans with her finger and wiped the thread away. With a light, gentle touch, her hand slid down his cock, which slowly straightened at that gentle touch. She daydreamed half awake, her past adventures haunting her mind; her hand slid over the cock, touching its glans delicately again and again. She stroked the cock as if dreaming, but woke up again immediately and let go, startled. Madonna, which had become hard as a board in the meantime, the glans protruded thick and red in front! Her thoughts were doing somersaults. She was no longer up to the situation, all this was decades behind her. Nevertheless, she held her breath.

Pico cried and continued to hold onto her, pressing his head between her heavy breasts and howling. She looked unblinkingly at his cock, stroking his hair and murmuring that everything would be all right, but Pico continued to cry fiercely and hugged her even tighter, clawing into her breasts. Startled, she leaned back so that Pico came to lie half on top of her. The widow Colonna, whose long gray braid reached far below her hips when she wasn't wearing it wound into a wreath, was startled when his spear bored against her bare thigh.

Madonna, thought the widow Colonna terrified, in a moment he will rape me! At this thought she gasped with excitement and stroked his head, murmuring that everything would be all right and that he should finally sleep. Her eyes fluttered like two little birds that kept straying to his cock. At the same time, thoughts whirred in her head, all the way back to the time when she was young, desired and fucked excitingly. With old Beppo, who had been her her secret lover for thirty years, she had not slept with him for years, since he had been partially paralyzed after his stroke. He had become partially paralyzed and completely lame in the loins. Only out of pity did she sometimes do him the favor of and rubbed a little on his shriveled, soft noodle, because he was no longer capable of anything more. Pico leaned even more against her, dismaying her even more with his hard‐on, which pressed against her in a demanding manner. He wants to rape me, thought the widow Colonna in confusion, not knowing what to do. It would have been easy for her to slip out from under him, but she was paralyzed by the thought of being raped by Pico. Oh Saints, oh Madonna, what is happening to me? the widow thought, holding Pico tightly. Her sleepiness as well as the deceptive thought of being raped by him, completely disappeared from her. Suddenly she was wide awake. It's about to happen, she thought, in a moment Pico would fuck her, rape her, an old woman! She almost couldn't remember the last time. Madonna, thrusting and squirting inside!

Pico imagined himself on top of Lila, pressing his head between the big breasts and crying, at the same time holding on to her breasts with both hands and caressing them awkwardly. He was so happy that Lila was back and at the same time it was horrible that Lila was no longer alive. He cried and squeezed the breasts, pressing and squeezing them to evoke Lila's presence. The widow Colonna gasped and swallowed hard as he worked her thick, matronly breasts clumsily.

She felt his cock against her bare thigh and groped for it with her hand. First defensively, then curiously. She sighed, for she hadn't held such a strong and young cock in her hand for a long time. No, he wouldn't be able to take her like that, her robe was in his way. She thought an impulse prayer, sighed hypocritically "you Saints and oh, Madonna, let him fuck me then" and with a jerk undid the belt of her robe. Pico's sobs subsided and eased somewhat when he felt her hand on his cock; yes, that was Lila, still touching him as before. His thoughts derailed and chased over the roller coaster of the past. Lila, who had always been present, who had never let him down. Pico stirred a little, half‐crawled on her thigh. Where his cock had previously encountered scratchy terrycloth, there was now a naked woman's thigh. Lila, howled Pico blissfully, Lila!

The widow Colonna remained motionless, heart pounding, waiting for Pico to finally fuck her. She felt him move a tiny bit and come to rest on her thigh. He stirred languidly, wetly sliding his cock over her thigh and sliding lower. Her hand held his cock tightly, and she shuddered a little as the tip of the glans touched her thinning gray pubic hair. Jesus, Jesus, she gasped silently to herself, he's about to fuck me! She blushed a little as she suddenly remembered that it was not he who was raping her, but she who was raping him.

Suddenly she had to think that she rarely felt this tugging in her loins anymore, indeed often she held this tension for a long time, only to hastily find the lonely, quick release in a short, secret moment. Only very rarely did she allow herself the pleasure of preparing everything long and with relish and of taking the candle out of the nightstand; it was not right, it was not decent, and it was a terrible mortal sin, but she just had to do it sometimes. Pico did not stir. He was apparently dozed off or unconscious, the widow Colonna wasn't sure about that but he continued to cry in his dreams. Her thoughts had already galloped far ahead, conjuring up Beppo and masturbation within reach, spinning in lustful images in her mind.

And now Pico lay on top of her with a stiff cock, probably about to mount her. But the way he was lying now, he certainly could not. The widow Colonna gently pulled him further on top of her, opening her thighs with a sigh, waiting for him to do it, for he would do it in a moment, she knew, for it had always been so. One lay there slightly open and waited only a little moment, then he would lunge forward, ramming his cock into her raw cunt and thrusting hard until he squirted. But Pico remained lying motionless and only cried sadly.

She gently grasped his cock again with her hand. He was still magnificently stiff, but in this position he couldn't possibly fuck her, she realized immediately. She settled herself even better under him, directing his cock to her cleft. Briefly she thought about how old she was and that this should have been over long ago, but then she placed the glans against her vagina, pressing it gently against it. It didn't go in, because the widow Colonna's vagina had become so narrow over the years that two fingers could hardly fit inside, as her late husband and all her lovers could have confirmed. She slowly pressed Pico's ass against her to insert his cock. She did it slowly and deliberately, for she now determined how fast he entered her — unlike before, when the man's greed ruled her. A heart pounding hot feeling as the glans entered, as the cock made its way in and slowly widened her vagina.

She paused, sighing. Memories came flooding back, but not Pico, who was apparently still dozing. She waited some more time, enjoying the pressure of his warm cock. Candles were always so cold, she thought, taking a long time to reach body temperature. A cock was nice and warm when it penetrated, and it was nice the way her vagina closed tightly around it. As she tried to move under him, she realized that he was much too heavy for her.

She groped for his ass with both hands, grasping the cheeks of his ass and pulling, sliding him back and forth on her belly. Like a wet sack of potatoes, Pico was rocked back and forth on her belly. It was working, it was working! Finally, that strange feeling again that she always got when she was being fucked. The strong friction turned her insides inside out. Pico was lying on top of her like a doll, and now it was her, just her, doing it. She pushed him, back and forth, feeling his hard‐on deep inside her, and smiled. I old carrion screwing a young lover one more time! The tugging in her abdomen that she had felt for days glowed again. It was a soft and warm tugging, not as demanding and violent as in her youth. She closed her eyes and fantasized that she was masturbating lustfully as she pushed Pico's cock rhythmically inside her as she usually did the candle. She gave herself over to dreams in which she was alternately being fucked by Beppo or masturbating with arousal; the mists of the past cleared.

Her husband, old Colonna, had laid on top of her once a month without a word, quickly fucked and quickly cummed. It was to him no matter whether she felt pleasure or not. He didn't know any better, probably had no idea about women and sex, although he was almost thirty years older than her, born in the Habsburg Empire. Maybe he never noticed, maybe he didn't care that she brought her former lover into the marriage. Beppo was quite different, much more sweet and considerate. He could hold back his greed for a long time and then ram hard like a stallion, at least in his younger years. In the course of time, he too became tired and lame in the loins, but she secretly had lovers again and again, pension guests who were exciting and unspent. Only when she was approaching fiftyfive, men were no longer interested in her; it took her quite a long time to admit it to herself. The once beloved vice of her youth revived once more dull and weary — it was the frequent masturbation for the young girl still new, exciting and sparking, it now became for her a lonely, joyless acting out every night.

Old Colonna, after his stroke, lay almost completely paralyzed in their marriage bed for another two years before he passed away. She and Beppo barely had a way out and couldn't help but fuck quietly and carefully next to the mute, motionless old man. Beppo was the first to notice that old Colonna was getting an erection while they were fucking. Grinning, he flipped back the bedspread, winking at his pale lover. She was quite amazed at the time at how casually and practiced Beppo subsequently masturbated the old man, and later she realized that he was just enjoying it.

Beppo, the natural man of pleasure, soon got her to mount the old man as well after their shepherding session, when he had an erection. Although at first she was almost scared to death of the paralyzed man's stare, she squatted over him and slowly and carefully inserted his cock. Patiently she bobbed on his cock until he squirted, even if it took a very, very long time. Beppo lay lasciviously stretched out next to her, watching and groping her, which sometimes aroused him so much that she had to serve her lover again right after her husband.

She soon saw her husband's erections with different eyes and began to pity him. It surprised her completely how often the paralyzed invalid became erect and she complained reproachfully: why only now, when he was high in his seventies and she was approaching fifty and not earlier, when they were both younger? When she wasn't needed elsewhere and Beppo wasn't there, she quickly flipped up her skirt and squatted over him, freeing him from his oppressive longing. Sometimes she did it by hand like Beppo, but it didn't go easily; it went much better when she rode him.

When she bedded and washed old Colonna together with deaf‐mute Cora, she tried to ignore his erection. Cora had come to her as an orphan at 15 and had worked as a maid in her small boarding house ever since; she was a bit retarded because she had learned nothing and could hardly communicate with the world around her. Cora was like a child, still completely untouched and thought nothing of washing the naked old man together with her boss, overlooking the old man's erections just as she did. She had never seen a cock up close before and guessed that this was how it was supposed to be, so stiffly erect. Once the old man began to squirt when Cora eagerly washed his cock with the washcloth; puzzled, she paused and stared at the spurting, then looked at her in disbelief, then looked uncertainly and embarrassed at Mrs. Colonna. She gave a jerk and acted as if nothing was wrong; she took the washcloth from Cora's hand and cleaned the splatter away. Cora, who understood nothing, kept a respectful distance from him from now on, so Mrs. Colonna always had to wash him herself from then on.

Cora burst into the room once, just as the Colonna was squatting over the old man with her skirt gathered. With her back to the door she had not heard Cora, bobbed her wide butt up and down and gave him a hard time. Cora stopped, flabbergasted and startled; so that was how it was with the erection! She began to understand the connections when she saw that the cock was somewhere in the bobbing butt of her boss. Panting, she put her ass over the cock again and again, and it disappeared completely. All at once she slowed down, lifted her skirt and looked down, looked between her thighs. Cora became quite curious, also bent down a bit and tried to catch a glimpse of it, and now she realized that the cock was not in the ass at all, but in the front hole. The boss pulled her thick ass cheeks apart and now moved quickly up and down again. Carefully she paused in between and lifted her ass up to obviously check for the cock. Then she plugged it with the hand again in and chafed again completely fast up and down.

All of a sudden she lifted her ass all the way up, so that the cock fell out of her hole, wet as he squirt, and sank stiffly to the side. Cora was all astonished because he was still squirting a little. Then Mrs. Colonna grabbed with both hands between her thighs and spread her labia to let his semen drip out of her and then wipe her vagina. It was only when she was cleaning the cock that she noticed Cora under the door. She scolded her angrily, though she hoped Cora hadn't been able to see much, and the poor thing also disappeared immediately with her head down. Cora thought what her boss was doing to the bedridden old man was kind of dirty; but she guessed it was out of loving pity. She couldn't well ask what it was like, the hole thing, though she would have loved to know.

After that, Mrs. Colonna found, she no longer needed to be shy in front of Cora and was no longer embarrassed to masturbate him with her hand at the next washing. Cora kept inconspicuously in the background, pretending to continue cleaning, but Mrs. Colonna could tell by her blushing that she was secretly watching. Mrs. Colonna, in a fit of parenting good will, gestured for her to come over and stop, just watch. Cora swallowed unsteadily a few times as the Colonna pushed the foreskin down a few times and the red glans came out. Ms. Colonna twisted and turned it back and forth, trying to explain that inside the small, wizened sac were the balls with semen squirting out of the hole in front. Cora didn't understand a word, but then watched intently as the boss masturbated the old man. When the moment came, she took Cora's hand and let her feel the throbbing cock. She grinned encouragingly at Cora, but when she made no move, she clasped Cora's hand tightly and ran it up and down as it squirted. That was probably wrong, she thought later, because Cora gasped in fright as it splashed onto her hand. She didn't know anything about Cora, although she was very curious and would have liked to know if she had a lover yet, she was turning seventeen soon after all. She sometimes puzzled over whether Cora secretly masturbated; but actually she was convinced that Cora had never had sex.

She would certainly have thought differently if she had known that her dear Beppo, to whom she told everything with a sexy grin, had pushed the frightened Cora into the laundry room a short time later and, despite her reluctance, had quickly deflowered and fucked her quickly and hastily, despite her reluctance. Ever since Cora had been in the house, she had been secretly in love with Beppo, without knowing what that meant in concrete terms. She couldn't avoid him for long, because he always managed to intercept her in the laundry room; besides, she was beginning to like it. He was always rushed and in a hurry, pushing her onto a laundry basket and quickly pushing up her skirt. Then he fucked her wordlessly and as fast as he could — thirty years of age difference obviously made him younger. Except that she lay under him and his seed stayed inside her, that didn't seem right to Cora. If he let her, she would resolutely turn him on his back to ride him, as she had seen her boss do. Beppo was not a little surprised when she then flipped up her skirt and spread her labia to watch curiously as the semen flowed out of her again. For her everything was done with it; about contraception or pregnancy Cora knew of course nothing at all.

Her boss was amazed when, some time later, Cora took the old man's cock in her hand, completely unaffected, when it became erect again while she was washing it; as if it were a matter of course, Cora masturbated him and let it squirt. Mrs. Colonna thought her old husband was now and in good hands wanted more from Beppo; understandably, he had hardly any time for Cora, who was sad about it, and besides, she missed the nice tingling feeling she had got with Beppo. Mrs. Colonna would probably have been struck dead if she had known what was going on behind her back. Cora had no other choice but to sneak up to the old man and squat over him instead of doing it to him with her hand, as Mrs. Colonna thought. But oh, she didn't realize that her boss had given old Colonna at least ten days or a week to recover; far too often she would sneak up to the old man. When the young girl lifted her skirt and her naked cunt touched him, he sighed deeply. She watched patiently as the miracle of the erection slowly occurred, then she plugged him in and bobbed away. She liked that, and sidled up to the old man as often as she could. The good guy did his best, but one day it was just too much. On this day she suppressed all inhibitions, because it tingled so nicely with her before. She had to increase the nice tingling by rubbing her clit — and when it came to her, he gurgled. Cora let shuddering, let her orgasm fade away and then quickly bounced her ass to give it to him hard; that's why she had come to him. He squirted one last time, slowly and haltingly, then his old heart gave out. She conscientiously wiped him and herself before going down, not realizing that the old man had finally and forever done squirting.

Because Mrs. Colonna took mourning very seriously at first, Beppo clung to Cora again. He didn't think much of her riding position, much preferring to fuck her raid‐like on a laundry basket. Cora took it devotedly, especially since she was still very intimidated by the old man's passing. Later she pulled him more and more often in the laundry room, because it tingled so nicely when she was fucked. But also the old Colonna didn't want to let her beloved rust and pulled him more and more often into her bed; secretly of course, because of the year of mourning. This double burden probably became Beppo's undoing, and Mrs. Colonna felt it was a judgment from heaven when, barely a year after her old man's death, he suffered a severe stroke and thereafter needed her pity. She ruefully ducked under this whiplash of Heaven and from that day on lived as chastely as she could. It was only right for her that Cora should willingly take care of poor Beppo, as she had done with old Colonna, although it sometimes stung her when the deaf‐mute rode obliviously on Beppo's lap.

The widow Colonna squeezed Pico tighter against her, trying to open herself wider so his cock would stay inside. She rocked Pico rhythmically up and down on her belly, listening inside. She squeezed his cock tightly inside her, because it was the same nice feeling she felt when masturbating and she hoped that she would reach her climax soon. It had taken a very long time for Pico's cock to start throbbing; she adjusted the rhythm in which she pushed his ass back and forth, increasing it.

She was completely surprised when her orgasm broke loose and she almost lost Pico's cock in her twitching. My God, it had been ages since she had orgasmed while being fucked! An eternity! Startled, she guided Pico's cock back in. She smiled contentedly as Pico's breathing became shorter and the throbbing became more violent. She remembered that well. Sometimes when she shared secrets with other women, she wondered because most didn't notice the coming of his orgasm, some didn't even notice when he squirted. She, on the other hand, could feel everything, as if she had her own sense of touch for it.

She panted excitedly, because now, yes, now she felt his first, violent squirt and had to smile, because she always felt that as a victory over the man. Energetically she pressed Pico's butt on her abdomen and felt him squirting intermittently. The boy squirted and squirted and squirted, no one had ever squirted inside her for so long! As it slowly ebbed, she slowed down a bit too, but she kept thrusting him inside her, pulling and pushing him back and forth rapidly with satisfaction, while it was still somewhat usable. Pico's cock subsided after minutes, however, and slipped out. Greedily, she groped for it, but it had become too soft and would not allow itself to be pushed in. She carefully took the glans between her fingers and ran it up and down her bud, feeling that gentle tug that came before great arousal. While she enjoyed the tugging in her abdomen, she brushed her bud with the glans faster and faster, but the big excitement wouldn't rise.

Pico's cock had completely slackened, the widow Colonna sobered to realize, and let go. Disappointed, she remained lying there, feeling the small, wet piece of flesh at her crevice entrance to cool. It hadn't worked, even though she had been so close. Her heart pounded louder, more demanding, until she reached her hand between both their bodies and felt for the bud. But she stopped again after a moment, for the all inhibiting shame of masturbating in the presence of a man made the pleasure finally subside. But not completely. The pulling and throbbing in her abdomen remained — she would do it, right afterwards, when she was alone again. Carefully, she rolled him off her, slid out of bed beside him, and covered him up before going down to her room to masturbate with the candle in pleasure.

Pico, who actually wanted to stay one more day in Parma, drove to Graz with Monika the next day. She had long since divorced again, and Pico could not even remember her husband's name at the moment. He had known from the first time they met that he was an asshole and told that to Monika, who married the guy anyway. Even as her marriage began to go wrong, she took a job as a publishing assistant, which took her to Vienna again and again. When Lila was not there, she would sometimes secretly lay with him, because she knew about his accident and no longer had to worry about getting pregnant. Pico was ashamed that he was cheating on Lila with her, even though it happened very rarely at first, he was ashamed because he was cheating on Lila's age and her frailty. Gradually, like him, Monika was graying and rarely found lovers when she felt like it. And she felt like it more and more often, she was afraid of aging and the loss of desire.

Pico was afraid at the way she drove, because she handled the Lancia, a beautiful vintage car, not exactly hesitant. She, on the other hand, loved the speeding and sporty chassis of the Flavia, which, with its 200‐plus horses, just shot up the narrow country road in the Canale Valley. Pico held on convulsively and sweated.

They had actually planned to spend three days in Graz, but her ex‐husband kept calling and the ensuing argument moved them to drive on to Vienna. Pico could finally sleep it off and cry on his sister's chest. She knew, as did Rodolfo, how strong his sexual relationship with Lila had been and comforted him as best she could. She soon fell silent, for talking only brought him sorrow and made him cry. Sex, on the other hand, distracted him completely, and he could doze off afterwards and fall deeply asleep.

They rarely talked about her divorce disaster or his early retirement from the bank. When he retreated into his lonely shell after Lila's funeral Monika arranged their agendas so that she could spend at least every other weekend with him in Vienna. It was only comfort and a trip down memory lane, she knew, and smiled. She had had many lovers in her life and knew exactly how to arouse and love Pico. They were both over fifty and no longer needed frenzied, grueling sex.

Monika let him fuck as often as he wanted, once or five times was fine with her. She had become a very sexually experienced woman, had learned from hundreds of lovers to fuck with radiant skill. She guessed with unerring certainty what was right now. Young‐girl shy fucking or the dirty harbor whore or wild growling fucking like an animal. She was a perfect master of that. Pico, when he had worked himself to exhaustion, wanted to see Monika masturbate. She had masturbated a lot all her life and let him watch with a smile. She loved Pico more than anything and gave him all the sex he wanted and needed. — Monika never talked to Pico about it, but she could have done without sex altogether. Comfort, security and warmth, that was what she wanted to give him above all, because Pico was suffering like a dog after Lila's death and first had to find his life again.

Pico, the fool, would have been well advised to be content with the gentle life at his sister Monika's side, instead of getting involved in the foolish adventure with Peter and the evil money.