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| Ernst Fischer, Marxist critic |
Sudden Spasm of Love |
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When I had pulled her blouse off her shoulders, down over her breasts as far as her waist, and my hands caressing her could get no further without her undressing, she, with a little laugh of impatience and a "Better this way, perhaps" captured my fingers in her own, and with her other hand removing her blouse, then asked with gentle raillery: "Do you often go to bed with women?"
"This is the first time," I said. Instantly she paused, looked into my eyes and then, as though my words had been a charm, she became deliciously transformed; laughingly, she surrendered herself with the utmost passion and tenderness as though intent that I should forgo nothing in the way of pleasure, surprise and erotic discovery. I took it all for granted: this exuberance in the art of love, in improvisation, in joyous play, this sweet delirium, this extremity of rapture was, I believed, no more than the essence of womanhood and consequently I thought that this woman, so exceptional, so self-revealing in the sudden spasm of love, was offering no more than others of her sex were able to offer. For all my excitation, there was a small part of me that remained cool and detached so that, while all my senses were fully engaged, I continued to observe every detail. I wished that there should be no end to this glorious intercourse.
What I felt then I was to rediscover much later in Picasso erotic drawings, the concentration of the body upon the sex, the throng of breasts, shoulders, thighs, softly parted lips, the ecstatically clouded eye in the clear surface of the mirror. (Switzerland, 1917)
from An Opposing Man: The Autobiography of a Romantic Revolutionary by Ernst Fischer (Liveright, © 1974)
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