regarding what his penis was
“Let’s have a look, baby cakes.” He showed her. He heard such sorrow in Emma’s sigh, or maybe he’d been thinking too much about Anna and the train. He didn’t want to go on disappointing Emma forever.
“Sometimes it dreams,” Jack began.
“Dreams what? Who’s in the dreams, Jack?”
“
“What am I doing in the dreams, Jack?”
“It’s mainly your mustache,” he admitted.
“You little pervert, you squirrel dink, Jack—”
“And Miss Wurtz is wearing just her underwear,” he blurted out.
“I’m with The Wurtz?
“It’s more like Miss Wurtz is alone, with your mustache,” Jack confessed. “And the underwear.”
“
He sneaked along the upstairs hall to Lottie’s room and brought Emma the latest edition of Lottie’s mail- order catalog. “You dork, Jack—I wouldn’t be caught dead in this stuff.
He had seen her previous
“It moved,” Emma said.
“
“You know what, Jack.” They both looked at the little guy, who was not as little as before. Emma leaned over his penis. “Miss Wurtz,” she said. “Shut your eyes, Jack.” Of course he did as he was told. “Caroline Wurtz,” Emma whispered to his penis. “I’m gonna bring you some
“I think we’re finally getting somewhere, Jack.”
“Can I undo your braid, Emma?”
“Yes.” She allowed him to do this, never taking her eyes from his penis. Her hair fell all around his hips; he felt it touch his thighs. “It’s working, baby cakes,” Emma reported. “You had the right idea.”
“Kettle’s boiling!” Lottie called from the kitchen.
“Let me be sure I understand you,” Emma said, ignoring Lottie. “It’s basically The Wurtz with my mustache and Lottie’s underwear.”
“Not Lottie’s—it’s the underwear from her catalog.” (The thought of Miss Wurtz in
“Whose hair?” Emma asked.
“Yours, I think. It’s long hair, anyway.”
“Good,” Emma said. He couldn’t see her; her hair, now undone, completely hid her face. “We seem to be zeroing in on a few priorities.”
“Zeroing in on
“Clearly you have a hair thing, honey pie. And the usual older-woman thing.”
“Oh.” (Nothing about his older-woman thing, not to mention his mustache-and-braid fixation, felt the least bit
“Oh, my God, now we’re
“Jesus, Jack—what are you gonna do with it?”
Jack was at a loss. “Do I have to
Emma hugged him to her bare breasts; his enlarged penis brushed against her scratchy wool skirt. Jack shifted slightly in the big girl’s embrace, until the little guy was more comfortably touching Emma’s bare thigh. “Oh, Jack,” Emma told the boy, “that’s the sweetest thing to say—you’re just too cute for words. No, of course you don’t
He touched one of her breasts with his hand; she held his face more tightly there. The next thing was the little guy’s idea, entirely. Emma and Jack were sitting on his bed, hip to hip—they were hugging each other—but his penis had somehow not lost contact with her thigh. And if Jack could feel her thigh, Emma must have been able to feel his penis. He was eight; she was fifteen. When Jack swung one of his legs over her far hip, he found himself lying on top of her with the little guy in her lap—now touching both her thighs.
“Do you know what you’re doing, Jack?” Emma asked. (Of course he didn’t.) Her gum was a mint flavor. Jack could feel her breath on the top of his head. “Maybe the little guy knows,” she said, answering herself. Jack’s arms could not reach around her hips, but he held her there—his right hand touching the lace waistband of her panties, which Emma had spread on top of her skirt. “Show me what the little guy knows, baby cakes.” Her tone of voice indicated that she was teasing him—the
“I don’t know what the little guy knows,” he admitted, just as the little guy and Jack made an astonishing discovery. There was
The instant the tip of his penis touched this hairy place, Jack thought that Emma was going to
“What was
“I’m not showing you, honey pie. It would be child molestation.”
“It would be
“It would freak you out,” Emma said. Jack could believe it. He had no desire to see the hairy place. What Jack, or the little guy, strangely wanted was to
“I don’t want to see it,” he said quickly.
Emma relaxed her scissors-hold around his waist; she held his penis a little more gently. “You got a hair thing, all right,” she told him.
“The tea is going to get too
“Then take out the tea bags or the stupid tea ball!” Emma shouted back.
“It’s getting
When Emma pulled her panties back on, she turned her back on Jack; conversely, she put on her bra and buttoned up her shirt while she faced him. It was clear that the little guy had touched a private place, but why was there
“How’s the
“What kind of life does Lottie have?” Emma asked Jack, but she was looking at his penis. The little guy was returning to normal size before their very eyes. “You gotta watch this guy every second, Jack—it’s like having your own little miracle. Or
“Maybe it’s sad,” the boy said.
“Remember that line, Jack. One day you can use it.” He couldn’t imagine under what circumstances an admission of his penis’s sadness would be of any possible use. Miss Wurtz knew a lot about lines. Somehow Jack sensed she would disapprove of this one—too improvisational, maybe.