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8 erotic stories In the crowded quarters of the large cities such as Amsterdam, the activity continued with almost equal intensity by day and night, and at any hour a human anthill covered the canals, people of every age gliding across the ice in capricious turns, waving their arms in order to keep warm. It was almost impossible to meet anyone in the street who was not carrying a pair of skates. It was a contagious frenzy which, quite naturally, I was unable to resist, and since I had spent several winters as an apprentice in Northern Europe I honed my skating skills and became an excellent skater, spending days on end marking out perfect S’s and geometric 8’s on the park lakes with my friends and their families. One day I was in Vondelpark, near the Rijksmuseum, where I had agreed to meet some sophisticated friends, both men and women, for a skating trip to Haarlem. As I entered the park along a narrow, rarely frequented path to the lake, my attention was irresistibly caught by an enchanting girl, who was skating alone, her black hair thick and loose. I stood watching her graceful movements, completely forgetting that I was impatiently awaited by a large group of friends only a few metres away. The girl at once noticed my stunned rapturous stare, which clearly displeased her greatly, and as she was taking one of the curves of the lake, she turned to see whether I was still watching her and twisted her foot, so that her skate became loose. This made her furious, while she appeared still more adorable as her face flushed. She looked for somewhere to sit and take off her skate, but she did not want to come to the edge of the lake, probably wishing to avoid me, and so she sat down on the ice as though in a childish rage and vainly attempted to straighten the blade which had twisted when the old skate came off. When she realized how futile her efforts were, her anger increased, as did her irritation, to such a point that she shouted loudly and curtly to another innocent passer-by who had also

deus ex machina 9 stopped to look at her, saying something to him which must have meant, ‘Haven’t you stared at me long enough?’ At the same time, her eyes, which shone angrily, seemed to soften as they turned toward me and I interpreted her look as one of conciliation. Realizing that she was getting nowhere, and at last giving up the idea of skating, she angrily pulled the laces from her skates, shaking them in childish fury. Then she tucked them under her arm and, her eyes damp with tears, she walked off – but not without first throwing a rapid glance in my direction which, in my näiveté, I understood to be an invitation to follow her. She was a tall girl of perhaps fifteen, with the body of a grown woman, although she wore a short skirt; her lightly tanned, mat complexion which, in the north, contrasts with the pearly pink of fair-skinned girls, might, in the midday light, perhaps be out-shone by their milky whiteness. She had large black eyes the same colour as her hair which fell, loose and thick, swinging like a jet-black sail. Thinking no more of my companions, I left the park and discreetly followed in her wake. Like the other quarters of Amsterdam, that part of the city is criss-crossed by winding canals, whose banks are known for their rural appearance, real or affected, covered as they are to a greater or lesser extent by a variety of plants – at the time devoid of leaves – glistening with snow. This, together with the architectural fantasy and variety of the surrounding buildings, gives Amsterdam the appearance of a dolls’ city, built in Nuremburg. I turned left along the bank of the nearest canal, facing the ruins of the opera house which had so recently been destroyed by fire, while my heroine went straight on towards a bridge, where we met. We looked at each other and, after briefly hesitating, she turned to walk along the same path as I had taken, going on ahead of me. I quickened my step and soon caught up with her, launching some banal gallantry in her

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8 erotic stories

In the crowded quarters of the large cities such as Amsterdam, the activity continued with almost equal intensity by day and night, and at any hour a human anthill covered the canals, people of every age gliding across the ice in capricious turns, waving their arms in order to keep warm. It was almost impossible to meet anyone in the street who was not carrying a pair of skates.

It was a contagious frenzy which, quite naturally, I was unable to resist, and since I had spent several winters as an apprentice in Northern Europe I honed my skating skills and became an excellent skater, spending days on end marking out perfect S’s and geometric 8’s on the park lakes with my friends and their families.

One day I was in Vondelpark, near the Rijksmuseum, where I had agreed to meet some sophisticated friends, both men and women, for a skating trip to Haarlem. As I entered the park along a narrow, rarely frequented path to the lake, my attention was irresistibly caught by an enchanting girl, who was skating alone, her black hair thick and loose. I stood watching her graceful movements, completely forgetting that I was impatiently awaited by a large group of friends only a few metres away.

The girl at once noticed my stunned rapturous stare, which clearly displeased her greatly, and as she was taking one of the curves of the lake, she turned to see whether I was still watching her and twisted her foot, so that her skate became loose. This made her furious, while she appeared still more adorable as her face flushed.

She looked for somewhere to sit and take off her skate, but she did not want to come to the edge of the lake, probably wishing to avoid me, and so she sat down on the ice as though in a childish rage and vainly attempted to straighten the blade which had twisted when the old skate came off. When she realized how futile her efforts were, her anger increased, as did her irritation, to such a point that she shouted loudly and curtly to another innocent passer-by who had also

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