The pleasure-loving woman

Жената мераклија

A certain young man got married. At that time the man was very strong and powerful; he could squeeze water from a tree. But as soon as he got married he went downhill. He became weaker and weaker every day. He was all skin and bones. It wasn't from any illness, but because of his damned wife. She really loved pleasure, and she wouldn't leave him in peace. She would come up to him and say:

"Come on, let's do it, come on let's do it."

After some time he met his blood brother, who said to him:

"Hey there, brother, you look weak and awful since you got married. Don't you have anything to eat or drink? What's the matter with you, are you sick?"

"I have everything I need, but my damned wife gives me no peace, she won't leave me alone, she's drying me up."

"Well, brother," his friend said to him, "don't worry, I'll save you. Do you have a field that needs mowing?"

"There is a meadow," he said to him.

"Fine," the blood brother said, "You and I will go there tomorrow to mow, and your tell your wife to come and bring us lunch.

Just as they had agreed, the next day early in the morning they went to mow the meadow. Along some river, the blood brother gathered some old bleached bones; he strung them on a string and tied them like a belt around his waist. At about noon the wife came and she brought lunch. She keeps staring at the bones and says to her husband: "What's with the man over there with those bones around him?"

"Ask him," her husband said, "how should I know?"

"I know this is embarrassing," she said to her husband's blood brother, "but can you tell me why you are wearing those bones?"

"Ah, sister, you ask me to tell you, but it's embarrassing."

"Oh, but will you tell me why you are wearing the bones?" She said to him again.

"Listen here, sister, you are my blood brother's wife, and so I'll call you sister. I had a wife. These are her bones. From grief, because she was so beautiful, I will carry her bones until I die. But it was her fault. She really wanted me to screw her a lot, if you'll pardon me. She wanted it so often, she became skin and bones, and then she died."

The wife got scared that she might die from excessive love-making, and so she took a vow not to lie with her husband any more. When her husband came home in the evening, she would lie over to the side and wouldn't even let the poor guy get near her.

And so a year passed and then some, and she never had any thoughts of her husband. He met his blood brother once and said to him:

"I don't know if you've made things worse or better for me. Here it is, more than a year, and my wife won't hear of sleeping with me, can you find a remedy?"

"Wait," he said, "I'll come and straighten everything out."

He came to their house, one thing led to another, and he said to the wife:

"How are you, how are you getting it on with the fellow?"

"Not at all," she said, "we haven't done anything in a year. I'm afraid I might die like your wife."

"Don't be afraid, sister," he said, "you can make love once or twice an evening. You don't need to be afraid of that."

So the woman was freed of her fear and again she began to make love with her husband, only now less often, which is as it should be, and not like before when she would do it every time she felt like it and at all times.