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“Oh, Bert, how nice and beautiful! There we go again! Here, you dumb, little girl, look how good it is when a man gives you a solid massage down there. Truly, there is nothing more beautiful in the whole wide world... Bert, don't hurry, try to keep it in... I am about to come.... that affair between the two of you... has excited me tremendously.” Hedy almost screamed those last words pantingly, and I did not quite know how to behave. Was it not ridiculous to hump each other in the same bed where I had just raped this innocent little girl? Would this young creature not get a terrible wrong impression from the roughness and wild-ness with which both sexes could unite?“Haven't I told you over and again, you dumb little goose, that this is much better than masturbation? Oh, I am sure you will get the hang of it, provided uncle Bert will be kind enough to lay this crybaby once more.” And Hedy's passionate body slammed without interruption against my far more passive being.“But Aunt Hedy, I was so frightened. It really did hurt very much. Honestly, it feels as if I have been torn apart down there. It is still burning.” Susi had finally turned her tear-stained face toward us, and while she talked she looked at our rutting with wide open eyes.*************************Warning: This ebook contains explicit and forbidden descriptions of taboo sexual activity. It may include themes or elements of taboo, forbidden, and adult topics. It is intended for open minded mature readers who will not be offended by graphic depictions of sex acts between consenting adults.XXX Adults Only 18+ Graphic Content
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St. Wolfgang, July, 1937.
Why I selected St. Wolfgang as the particular spot for my summer vacation? Especially St. Wolfgang which is famous for the constant drizzle which hangs like the sword of Damocles over every visitor who goes there. A miserable drizzling rain which must have been invented by the noble citizens of the city of Salzburg to prevent... But no, that would throw a blame upon those nice people which they don't deserve. It simply always drizzles in that mountainous area. Then why St. Wolfgang you might ask. It is difficult to find a place to stay; there is absolutely no one who can help a poor lonely tourist find his way through the winding little village streets. But, oh boy, they've got one thing you can't find anywhere else. Atmosphere! Pure unadulterated atmosphere which is given to the place by a tall, slim-legged Miss who dressed up in native costume; by delicious American women who love to throw themselves into the waters of the lake dressed in the thinnest stretch bathing suits, or by those pining Parisiennes in their ultra-short shifts, showing every wiggle in a superbly perverted way. And finally, as always, there is the flower of our homegrown maidens, their young, blossoming figures, sweet as spring with already a hint of tanginess of summer and fall, fully ready and willing to exercise their bodies after the rigorous abstinence imposed upon them by the Lenten season. I had already tasted some of their delights before that season started and the famous Salzburg carnival was in full swing. But about that I will talk later.
Oh, stranger, what do you know of the fabulous Austrian summers? Maybe a little, if you have ever read your Schnitzler, and maybe a little more when you have, as I, made your pilgrimage dutifully and yearly to this most prominent place of all the existing domains with your eyes and mind fully open, and a heart ready to taste the greatest delights. I have been to them all! But our summers are more meaningful and pleasant. They are not as stale as famed Deauville or as sterile as Biarritz. They lack the penetrating cold of the north, the blistering heat of Lido, and the unpredictability of the Black Sea. They are far more real than the picture postcard sweetness of the Rivera, and they lack the beggars that infest the Adriatic Coast. Nothing can compare with the clarity of our lakes, the beauty of our mountains and especially the foreign fauna that amuses itself amidst us, poor, innocent natives. Ay, there's the rub, someone once said, and that's the atmosphere I like so much. I have got everything here all at once. The firm and fleshly types who prefer black coffee, the slender and breakable ones who exude exotic and expensive perfumes; the sterile and yet so exciting rustling of silken evening gowns from Paris together with the easily removable one-piece dresses of our peasant girls. Beautiful mountains and exquisite examples of cosmetics which despite the knowledge we have gained in our student years never fail to stagger the imagination.
My God, I really feel great today! A vacation like this one has its advantages even without the little afterthoughts that keep tumbling around in my mind. Am I ever glad I am sitting here, protected by the four walls of my quiet and cozy room of the White Horse Inn, without any of those horribly made-up creatures that call themselves willing females, instantly changing into foul-mouthed trumpets the moment your hand touches their coarse, bristle-haired pussies, destroying the mood you had so carefully worked up with a few well-chosen obscenities, blared all over the neighborhood. I am sure you know the type. They have never done such a thing before, but meanwhile their cunts are big enough for an elephant to fall through. Anyhow, this particular breed is not here. Not in the pleasant, love streets of tiny St. Wolfgang, nor on the sunny mountain meadows, and especially not upon the sunlit waves of beautiful Lake Wolfgang.
I admit that it rained cats and dogs when we arrived yesterday. I could not have called this a typical drizzle by the greatest stretch of my imagination. We, that is Hans, Friedl, and I, drove through what looked more like a well-displayed sample of the Abyssinian rainy season. Hans, who was trying to drive the car, could not see half an inch past the windshield wipers that had given up the unequal fight anyway. Everything went fine till we had past Wels, a little sleepy town. Suddenly the road ended and turned into a mountainous, hairpin, mud road and the car slithered along, the three of us praying that we would make it. In the process we almost gave an oncoming vehicle a brotherly kiss on its radiator which well could have become a kiss of death and ended our vacation right then and there. But, the angels must have watched over us and we made it over the first mountain top.
But then, when we came into the valley toward St. Wolfgang, it really started. The rain God opened all the flood gates and we literally floated toward our destination, possibly because it is actually not according to the rules to arrive in St. Wolfgang by car. But we were young and eager and we wanted to see if our vehicle could make it, how much gasoline it would use, and, since it was its maiden voyage, whether it could reach St. Wolfgang under the most miserable weather conditions imaginable. It passed the test with flying colors, though we almost drowned in the process, paying a heavy price for violating tradition. One is supposed to enter St. Wolfgang with the little steamboat that comes from the other side of the lake. One walks as a sort of miniature Columbus down the gangplank where the natives pay due respect to the newcomers.
But we did not have the impression that our rather unconventional way of arriving had made us lesser human beings in the eyes of the venerable waiter (“Please, ask him if his name is really 'Leopold',” whispered Friedl excitedly). At least, he gave us very good rooms. Hans and Friedl had a room overlooking the lake and I had an adjoining room with a balcony which went all the way to one of the windows of my friends' room. And which, as I had time to find out, afforded me a very interesting look into the love life of this nice, young couple.
Actually I was a little bit jealous of Hans because of his charming companion. I started wondering if I had been smart to wing it on my own into the harsh outside world without any female company. Wouldn't I waste the valuable weeks of my vacation in fruitless searching to wind up at the very last moment with some miserable wallflower, or possibly worse?
“The smart man thinks ahead,” Hans had smugly told me in our hotel in Vienna, “and I have just seen to it that I brought a little snack with me!” I swallowed that bitter pill, because I have to admit that I, too, was smitten at the sight of Friedl when we met her first in our Viennese hotel lobby. She is exceedingly charming, beautiful and, in short, almost too good to be true. I hesitated to talk to her and it was exactly that particular little flaw in my makeup which made me miss the boat by a hair. Hans used my moment of speechlessness to pop the question first and make her his date. If I had not been so stupidly hesitant, overcome by her beauty, I would have been the one now occupying room number nine with a sumptuous double bed, overlooking the lake.
But the gorgeous view of the lake was definitely not what those two had in mind when we had our dinner that first night in the White Horse Inn. We were, indeed, rather tired and I was not in the mood to give the other guests in the Inn more than a passing glance. Right after dinner, Hans was in a terrible hurry to excuse himself and withdrew to his room. Number nine. Pretty soon I went up to my room, the one with the balcony, and started to unpack, without any method but with one idea in my mind. Tomorrow is another day and tonight I am dog tired. While I was unpacking I heard sounds coming through the door which separated my room from that of my companions and in front of which, according to hotel custom, the dresser had been placed. The sounds could hardly be misinterpreted and immediately caught my full attention. They consisted of giggling, softly murmured words, the sounds of rustling clothing and the unmistakable creaking of ancient bedsprings. Finally I could make out a few words. Possibly because I had moved very close to the door. It was Friedl's clear voice which suddenly exclaimed, “Hans! No... not yet, I... I... oh, please, wait...” At once my curiosity was aroused, not to speak of something else. And also at once I remembered the balcony which was covered and which ended under the window of the other room. If that ass of a friend of mine has drawn the curtains, I won't be able to see a damned thing, I thought automatically, carefully squeezing myself through the half-opened balcony door and tip-toeing to their window. And, thank God, the window was only half-closed, the curtains not fully drawn. It gave me a good look into the room while at the same time I could not be seen. There I stood, in the dark, also protected by the steady, drizzling rain.
I fully admit that I had become excited. I was driven by the desire to spy upon Friedl and to get to know her in a rather intimate situation which did not leave much to the imagination. I knew already that she had been, let us say, rather friendly with Hans before, because he never missed an opportunity to brag about her breasts, her marvelous legs, the way she kissed, describing every detail, leaving me standing there, watering at the mouth. But now I could see for myself. Friedl comes from a good family and she has a comfortable well-paying job which allows her to dress well and to be relatively independent from her parents. It is too bad about Hans. He is vain with an overblown ego and fairly empty-headed. I must admit, though, that he is very good looking.
At this moment he was sitting at the edge of his bed, clad only in his pajama tops, and Friedl stood in front of him, slim and tall, wearing nothing but her stockings, her shoes and a little girdle which was designed to keep up the former. It squeezed her hips a little bit which made them seem infinitely more sexy and fuller. I had a splendid view because the tall girl was standing with her back toward me. Hans held her at arms' length and his hands rested upon her full white and well-rounded buttocks. They did not remain for long in this delectable position. Hans was just in the process of pulling Friedl upon his lap. The girl struggled a little bit, but it was obvious to see that this was more in the nature of a game than of true resistance. But it gave me the opportunity to admire the graceful play of muscles which played across her back. Finally she sat down gracefully and made herself comfortable. That is, she sat astride upon his thighs which forced her to spread her own considerably. At the same time she took the eagerly stretched, stiff tool of our mutual friend in her hand and brought it quickly to the proper spot. She looked down to see this difficult maneuver but she straightened as soon as she had been successful. She shook her head to straighten her beautiful blonde hair which fell down to her shoulders. All that time I had only seen Friedl's backside but now I could also admire her marvelous bums since Hans had let go of them, because he had now fallen backward upon the bed. Her ass went up and down in a most vivacious manner. The narrow of her back was slightly hollow and her posture was proud and erect; her firm thighs were slightly flattened and her knees drilled into the mattress to the right and the left of Hans. Only the soles of her shoes were still hanging over the edge of the bed.
Up until now both had been silent, but suddenly Friedl began to talk. It was not so much talk as well as meaningless patter. Disconnected exclamations that only made sense in the particular situation.
“Ooh, how nice... Oh, Hans, it's beginning... I don't think it has been so good ever... no, no, don't change yet... a little bit more of this... oh, yes... this is it... fantastic...... oh, yes, please, go on... oh, that way I feel it even better... oh, yes, solid and hard... oh, boy, I didn't know it could be that hard... it's marvelous... ah—aaaaah... oh, that feels good... so very, very good, oh, Hans, I am floating... oh Hans... I... I...”
It seemed that these observations had quite a peculiar effect upon Hans. He became far more energetic. The distance between the rosy behind of his partner and his inner thighs seemed to become greater, though the time that lapsed between their regular impact seemed to shorten. Not a single word escaped his lips, but the groans that welled up out of his chest made it quite clear to me that his mind was on the job. I was just congratulating myself that I got to see their love play in this particular position rather than the dull, normal way which would have deprived me of looking at Friedl, since she would have been fully covered by a pumping Hans, when the girl suddenly uttered a deep sigh which showed me that she was about to come.
“Oh, Hans, Hans... Hans... I'm coming...... I'm coming... oh, please... hurry... quicker... quicker... deeper... Please, Hans, for God's sake... a little faster... I am about to... aaaah... yes, that's it... that's nice and fast... aah... No, no, you can't slow down now... not now... Hans! For God's sake... Hans... don't slow down... no... no... please, please, hurry, hurry... faster, faster... I am almost there... Oh, you don't want to see me happy... yes, that's it, that's it!... Quick, now... yes, now, quick... quicker... hurry... Oh, dammit, give yourself a little trouble... hurry... hurry... now. Oh, well, you blew it again. Always the same thing. Just when I am about to come, the dear gentleman slips out... Oh, for Heaven's sake... leave me alone. You know how nervous I get when that happens... No, of course, you wouldn't... I was almost there! Don't you understand that? Of course, you have no idea. I found that out for myself... Oh, please, don't excite me any longer. I mean, you should have done that earlier!”
It seems that my bosom buddy had not succeeded to end the affair satisfactorily. Friedl had climbed off his lap and was now sitting next to him, her lips pouting.
“But... at least you have... wouldn't you want to... the least you can do... I mean, it's the same to you now.” Hans was slightly stuttering and there was an edge of bitterness in his voice. He stared down sadly upon his tool which had come out of the battle rather limply and drooping.
“Oh, come on... you know that I cannot do it so quickly for a second time. I'm working myself to death and I get the most miserable headaches again.”
“Well... then... oh, come on, please... use your hand... I am terribly excited.” Hans was veritably begging. But Friedl showed that she had heart and that deep down inside she was a true friend. She eagerly stretched her slender hand and grabbed a firm hold of my friend's prick and started a slow massage which gradually increased in speed. It was a very charming sight. I could now admire Friedl's naked body from up front. Her breasts jutted out firmly because she kept her upper body firmly erect, and the beautiful heavy bosom swayed slowly from left to right and back again, rhythmically bobbing while her hand moved up and down faster and faster. Her other hand slid slowly between her slightly opened thighs and her fingers disappeared into the rosy cleft. Then she closed her thighs firmly and pressed them stiffly together. Meanwhile Hans' prick was growing and getting harder. While it did so, Friedl slowly opened her thighs again. This gave me a beautiful chance to watch the lights fingered play which she performed inside her now twitching pussy, and it seemed to me that she derived far more pleasure from it than from the hassle she had gone through with the instrument which Nature had intended to produce the feelings she was now so obviously experiencing. I can give you this exact account because I had left my observation post for a little moment to get my field glasses so I would have a better view. And, even if I had not had my glasses, Friedl's own words explained the whole matter without any doubt.
“I don't understand you... when I get your little boy in my hand it gets so large and stiff... that's how it should be when it is inside of me. Doesn't normal sex have any interest for you?”
Her motions became faster and more deliberate and it was obvious that Hans tremendously enjoyed the proceedings. He threw himself from one side of the bed to the other, groaning voluptuously, and his hand squeezed the vibrating breasts of his understanding partner. I trained my glasses upon the right hand of the lovely girl, busily jerking the enormously swollen prick of my friend, then upon her left hand which was busily fingering her cleft and rolling her tickler between thumb and forefinger. It was a perfect picture, comparable to a movie close-up and so clear that I felt I had joined the action. Especially since I had gotten so horny that I could no longer stand it and I wanted to join my friends in the room. Unfortunately I had to stand outside in the rain, helping myself. It was a marvelous moment. My dear friend Hans, who was totally unaware of what was going on, his charming girl friend whom I had now come to know intimately, the whole exciting performance those two were playing for me without knowing it; this all was more than enough to give me satisfaction, and when I shot my jism over the balcony, it was one of the largest loads of which I had ever relieved myself.
But before that happened I was lucky enough to see Friedl get so excited again that she pushed Hans back upon the bed just before his enormous tool was about to squirt, climbed on top of him and pushed herself firmly down upon him. She succeeded in catching his juices in the container which Nature had intended for them, which in turn brought about a flood that made the dear girl collapse happily on top of my friend's exhausted body. I, poor soloist, had to squirt my load over the balcony, whereupon I went back into my room, falling asleep immediately.
* * *
I am one of those people who likes to get up early. And because of this habit I am able to enjoy life twice as much. Not only can I verify this out of my own experience, but a great man —Anatol France—has confirmed it. This morning I enjoyed my early-bird habit by mulling over the experiences of last night and by eating what the White Horse Inn calls a Viennese breakfast. It seems that they have not yet invented a St. Wolfgang breakfast. The sun shines brightly, the lake is crystal clear and the clean air has a tang of fine herbs. And last, but not least, for several precious minutes I was the sole ruler of this famous hotel terrace which has drawn tourists from all over Europe. But now, my kingdom slowly starts to fill up with an audience which has been crawling out of their beds, challenging me for their attention.
From my little corner I have a beautiful chance to look over the guests who are gathering here for breakfast. Actually I am only waiting for my two partners, but it is pleasant to while the time away observing all those people. I am very curious to find out how Hans and Friedl will behave, and I have decided to be very sparse with the attention I shall show to others. Even though the terrace is by now crowded with choice specimens of St. Wolfgang's transients, I have decided to limit my interest to relatively unencumbered members of the opposite sex whose birthdates are not too far in the past. Ah, finally! There are Hans and Friedl! I am truly glad to see them and I want to find some way to thank them for the very pleasant evening they have given me, though they, of course, will have to remain unaware what has made me so grateful. I have absolutely no guilt feelings. Yes, I admit that I have listened in and looked at an undertaking which, since time immemorial is supposed to be private and secretive but I would bet you anything that Hans would have done exactly the same to me if I had been in his place. Of course, he would have bungled it in the first place, and moreover he would have been so ungodly jealous that he would have been impossible to live with for the rest of the day. But, as for me, I got far greater enjoyment out of Friedl's company than I did yesterday. It is now truly a pleasure to look at her. My God, she's got temperament, this girl! I'll never forget the way she opened her marvelously long and slender thighs, the passionate longing and the quivering and jumping of her bountiful tits! I am already enjoying the thought of looking at her when she goes cavorting in the pool. This can only increase the pleasure of my reminiscences.
July 18, evening.
“We have had a marvelous night's rest,” Friedl announced with glittering eyes that belied her innocent statement. “And would you believe it, Bert, that Hans is positively enthusiastic about the room. He has not griped once about it; he loved everything.”
“Oh, well, it's really quite comfortable. The place seems to live up to its famous name. I must say, the view is beautiful and there is hardly anything in the world that could match the gorgeous view we have of the lake,” my friend's enthusiasm matched that of his shapely roommate.
“And it's not only the view,” Friedl continued, “but the nice, clean air. It's the first time I can remember that Hans didn't throw himself like a mad fiend upon the Venetian blinds, sealing the room hermetically.”
There are occasions when it is truly difficult to suppress a smile; in this one it required a heroic effort.
“Oh, children, look at all those people,” Friedl blabbed on, giving a perfunctory glance at the guests filling the patio. “It seems that the usual menagerie is filling our dear little animal hotel, the White Horse.” She had made a good point. There was the usual mixture of globetrotters and summer guests, but... and this was extremely pleasing to the eye... the female part of the guests exceeded the usual average. It might have been pure coincidence, but on the other hand, the newness of the fabulous White Horse Inn might have attracted this large amount of exceptionally good looking women. Friedl was very unbiased in her opinion. “This terrace is quite attractively garnished already, and the better looking people have yet to arrive,” she added. “Look over there, that brunette with the very young girl. A very intriguing person, possibly a young aunt because, if it were the mother, she would not allow the girl to show her obvious charms so openly.” Friedl looked around now like a true connoisseur, and I was surprised by her remark. This girl obviously knew what was happening. This, together with what I had observed the previous evening, changed my opinion about her radically. I had thought of her as a rather simple, though knock-out looking, country girl. And she was right, the brunette was an extraordinarily appetizing tidbit. She reminded me of someone I had met, but I couldn't think, of when and where. She had a beautiful body and it was obvious that she was related to the younger girl, though she seemed more like a good friend than an older member of the family who was assigned the unpleasant task of keeping an eye on her younger pupil. The little one was very vivacious. I guessed her age at about 18 years. She was a bit childish but nevertheless she had an intriguing charm. I first attributed this to her clear, large eyes, which were shadowed by exceptionally long and dark lashes. But then I decided that it couldn't be her eyes alone. Moreover, I was not the only one who turned around to cast an admiring glance; most of the other male guests, and some of the females, did the same.
We were trying to figure out a couple that was seated close to us. We could not immediately place them. Foreigners, that was for sure. Finally we caught a few fragments of their conversation. Aha, Frenchmen! The man is a little bit toward middle-age, very well preserved I must add, and he even wears white galoshes. She is like a slender gazelle. Nervous, graceful and that certain fragility which on occasion can bring out the beast in us, under the proper circumstances, of course. The hands and feet of this woman were extremely small, her waist could be embraced by one's hand; her entire appearance was one of unspeakable softness. She was so fragile that her tiny breasts—it seemed that she wore nothing under her diaphanous gown—stuck out more prominently than the full and voluptuous bosoms of some of the other guests. And the way she walked; just a little bit of a show-off, but very, very effective. It was provocative and slightly shocking. Many of the male guests forgot to start their breakfast, though it was being served, and stared at this most charming woman.
As soon as the two had left the terrace, more than a few people were busy speculating about this mysterious woman, whose tender body was enveloped in a heavy, musky cloud of sex appeal, who seemed so incredibly fragile, yet held out the promise that she not only would be able to take anything a man might wish to dish out to her, but that she would be more than capable—and willing—to reciprocate. It was obvious that, despite all the various thoughts which might have gone through the minds of the many men who were out there on the breakfast terrace, every single male present agreed about one thing: she was a typical Parisienne. A lot of thoughts raced through my mind, too, while I watched the fascinating woman disappear inside the hotel. What a tremendous difference in all the outpourings of Nature, I thought. Take for instance the difference between an Austrian girl like our Friedl and this fragile, almost artificial, little doll. She almost resembles one of those pre-Raphaelite creations, close to suffering from anemia, one of those unspeakably perverse dolls such as the late Lotte Pritzel used to fashion. I realized that only a Beardsley would have painted a Frenchwoman that way.
And opposite me sits another creature. Truly flesh and blood. A flowering, well-rounded, lovely face, the clear blue eyes accentuate the beautiful blonde hair which sparkles like old gold. Her body is just as voluptuous: neither too heavy, nor too skinny, with just enough Slavic blood mixed in which makes the women of Vienna despite their resoluteness so pleasantly languishing. Which one of these two women would I prefer? Bah, that's an unnecessary question and the answer can wait till I find a third one.
My thoughts came abruptly to an end when I looked at a nearby table. It was obviously a family, and at first glance they could have been classified as the so-called “better people.” The father and the mother looked very well-to-do, although they were slightly on the heavy side. With them was a younger woman; I gathered that she was the sister of the wife. Then there were two young girls, probably around eighteen and eighteen. These two adolescents had earlier attracted my friend's attention, especially since he had a weakness for this age group. I could easily understand that, by looking at these two adorable creatures, one dark and brooding, and the other a redhead. Unfortunately, I was rather lazy, otherwise I would undoubtedly have tried my conquests in that direction. The larger one of the two was an excellent creature. Sexy and already a little bit flirtatious. The younger one was a typical teenager, with long, dark tresses. She seemed a little bit heavier than her sister and a bit more phlegmatic, but she looked charming and she was obviously a little shy under the scrutinizing gaze of all those predators gathered around the breakfast tables. This increased her charm and desirability all the more. Her most outstanding feature was her tiny, freckled nose. The mother got up, and we discovered that she was endowed with forms that would have made Rubens drool.
“My God,” exclaimed Hans, “If she really has got everything I think she has, I've got to doff my hat.” It took all his energy to divert his eyes from the mighty bosom of this stately lady.
“Well, my dear friend,” I said in an effort to help him avert his roving eyes, “our Nannerl is not exactly a broomstick, either.” Nannerl was our cheerful waitress who more than deserves the label “well-stacked.” I had already talked to her when she brought me my breakfast. Her ample forms were hidden by the pretty costumes of the local girls, but never have I seen a simple peasant's dress so capable of stirring passions in a man's loins. Her milk-white breasts seemed to be bursting out of the tightly-laced black bodice and it made them all the more desirable. At any moment one expected, she might make a movement which would expose these delectable globes to full view.
“Well, my dear people, what are we going to do now?” asked Hans. “I have to go to Salzburg and it may be that I will have to stay away for a couple of days. Of course, Friedl, if you want, you can stay here. I can trust Bert with you, and, if I know both of you, there will be enough to do here so that you won't become bored.” We both agreed enthusiastically.
“But before I leave, I would like to do something this morning. Of course, after the rainstorm we had, the water is too cold for swimming, but how about going out on the lake in a rowboat?” That seemed like a good idea and we rented a small boat which happened to carry the name Friedl. Soon we were in the middle of the lake.
“On the other side lives Jannings. That's a beautiful home. I can't blame him for accepting only the juiciest roles. Nothing else would be able to entice me away from this spot if I were in his shoes.”
“Oh, Bert, I would love to meet him,” Friedl looked at me in such a way that it was obvious to see she would have liked us to row straight toward the landing which led to the abode of the famous Emil Jannings.
However, we agreed that we should first scout the surroundings before we would go into more detailed explorations. This decision also prompted us to view the famous Goat Mountain from a distance, though we did make up our minds to visit the lovely little church perched on the mountain top as soon as possible. Fortunately, we have all the time in the world. There are many beautiful days ahead of us, and I cannot think of anything in the whole wide world with which this beautiful area can be compared. It makes me feel right at home and each and every day seems to be a precious gift and one has to make the most out of it. The surroundings are peaceful, quiet and very beautiful. The lake is extremely tranquil and shaped like a crescent moon, its blue-green shimmering waters are touched at the corners by the townships of St. Gilgen, St. Wolfgang and Strobl. The sky is cloudless and blue. No, not completely. Above St. Gilgen are a few little white clouds, floating aimlessly in the heavens like little lost sheep. A slight breeze blows them slowly in the direction of Salzburg.
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