almost touched her head as I bent forward to look. I could see the tanned flesh swelling out, down in the blouse: how the skin darkened in shadow as it entered the ravine between. She must have drawn in her breath (although I did not notice), for the soft flesh rose out suddenly towards me as though disconnected from the rest of her. The two breasts moved farther apart and the warm surface of the skin seemed to undulate with separate life. Her chin was almost above my head which enabled me to peer directly in, at the same time bringing the flesh almost to touch my crazed lips. But the breasts were so large that even so I could not see the tips. They were lost in the front of the blouse where the incredible flesh moved and swelled out of sight. Just as she started to straighten I had a glimpse of something, but she straightened and asked:
“Well, would you like sugar this time? You didn’t say before when I asked.”
I couldn’t get the breath to answer properly. “Uh no… no sugar, thank you,” I stumbled. I tried to smile but the trouble was I couldn’t see her. All I could see was those breasts. I again gulped my coffee without tasting it, waited a few minutes somehow, and then gasped out my desire for a third.
Gunilla’s eyebrows raised slightly at this and she smiled. Very slowly this time she walked towards me with the pot, staring at me with that smile, and calmly undoing a fourth button on her blouse as she got up. She reached out as though for me to hand her up the cup and when, filled with confusion, I continued to hold it in my lap, her lips smiled again slightly and, very slowly, she leaned down to pour.
There they were again, but more of them, the skin all tan and clean and moving. She bent far forward above me now, and by leaning forward slightly myself I looked directly into her blouse. Never had I seen flesh as soft as this, and their size was incredible. The breasts swung free now like live things in the loosened blouse, and my face was almost in them. Then, to my intense joy as I looked along the magnificent curve of them, I finally saw the mystery I was searching for. Just at the end, where the breast pushed into the blouse, was a circle of pink colored flesh as wide as three of my fingers. In the center of this was a hard pink bud about the size of an acorn which pushed into the blouse as I had seen before.
All over me the skin felt pricked by thousands of needles and I was shaking. I could not understand why the sight of this strange difference between boys and girls so excited me, but I knew that it did and that this was shameful. But somehow, at least for now, I didn’t care. As she straightened, Gunilla looked keenly at me, buttoning her blouse while I fixed my eyes on her shoes and muttered my thanks. My mouth kept moving back and forth.
I was very confused, but as I gradually began to gain possession of myself, I heard Father asking for coffee, and dimly realized that it was his third cup. Gunilla got up, turning her back to him, and picked up the coffee pot from the table. As she did so I noticed that she quickly reached her left hand to her blouse and undid a button, then went to the couch and bent low to fill Father’s cup just as she had mine. Was it my imagination, or did she seem to lean down just a little longer than was necessary to fill the cup? Father raised his head and seemed to look covertly into her blouse! Indeed, I thought I saw his eyes narrow and his nostrils flare. But I could not be sure for Gunilla had straightened again and, replacing the pot on the table, resumed her seat. All was as before. I looked hard at Father’s face which I could see clearly in profile, but it was as serene and elegant as always.
I flushed with shame at attributing to this fine man the same low tendencies that I had. Certainly the Brahes would never have taken me from the orphanage to be their son had they had any inkling of this strange wickedness in me-these ugly thoughts. And, reflecting so, I gradually overcame the odd excitement that had been troubling me. I swore not to allow any more of this sort of thing and, above all, not to permit myself to ascribe to these noble people the sort of perverted impulses I found so rampant in myself.
At this point Mother got up and came over to me.
“Lars, dear,” she said, “As you are no doubt tired from the long trip, you should come with me now and lie down in your room to rest.”
“Yes, Mrs. Br-uh-Mother,” I said. Blushed. Smiled somehow at the others, and followed her out the door into the hall. Mother took my hand and led me to my room, then left me there to rest.
But it was impossible to remain still. I wandered out in a daze of happiness looking at the fairy tale richness of the house. No one was in the living room now, so I supposed all the family had gone to lie down. I was sitting in a high-backed chair by the fireplace when I heard someone come in behind me. Because I felt guilty at not being in my room as I had been told, I remained still, hoping the high back of the chair would hide me. It did, too well…
“But, Daddy, you were away in England such a long time. I was so lonely without you. I’m so glad you’re back!”
It was Gunilla’s voice, but the tone was a little strange. It was very sweet, but somehow drawled, seeming to suggest something unknown to me beyond the words themselves.
“So my little girl really missed her daddy, did she?” It was Father’s voice, and the tone was questioning. “Just how much did she miss her daddy? And what did she miss most?”
Gunilla only giggled at this.
“Come now, tell me how much my little girl missed her daddy!” There was an odd tone in his voice that vibrated in me in a way I didn’t understand.
Again she giggled, but this time it seemed partly muffled. She said:
“Oh, I missed my daddy, very much, but he’ll have to go a little to find out!” And another giggle followed by a little cry.
“But what did my little girl miss most about her daddy?”
“Do you really want me to show where I missed him most?” And the muffled laugh again.
“I’d love to know, Sugar Plum, but first let me see if I can guess. Was it here?” A giggle. “Here?” More strange laughter from Gunilla. “Or here?” She let out a little bleat and there were slight sounds of a scuffle.
“Daddy,” she blurted, all the time giggling, “you’ll never guess where I missed you most and it will be expensive if you want me to tell you!”
“Oh, it will, will it now?” His voice seemed a bit reproachful, but it was blurred over by her laughter and little cries.
“But if you can find it, then-” Her voice was lost in a peal of excited laughter.
I could stand it no longer! The strange answers to these fatherly questions, the curious overtones in Father’s voice, and the unfamiliar note in the little smothered laughs and cries, caused the hair to rise on the back of my head. I had to peek.
They couldn’t see me. They were sitting on the couch, Father on the cushions and Gunilla on the arm. There was a lamp with a modern conical shade where they were which made them easily visible.
Father reached up and pulled her into his lap. Filled with the feelings natural to a father and daughter who have been separated for a month, they were unaware of me in my large chair behind them.
“Did you miss your daddy, Nilla baby?” he asked gently and began to run his fingers slowly through her hair. “Did my little girl miss her daddy?” His voice was very gentle and fatherly and his hand lightly stroked her neck, running over her hair and then pressing it against her neck.
“Yes, Daddy,” Gunilla was saying, “every day that you were away I missed you and thought about you.” Father ran his hand up under the nape of her neck and under her hair and began gently caressing her. “Did you really miss your daddy? Really? Then tell me how much did you miss him?”
There was only a low laugh from Gunilla.
From where I sat huddled deep in the chair, Gunilla’s head was between me and the light, creating the effect of a flaming corona which seemed to throw off sparks of white fire with the movement of Father’s hand. But now, as though in answer to his question, and to my puzzlement, Gunilla giggled, then deftly reached up, unbuttoned another button of her blouse and, taking Father’s other hand which had been resting lightly on her lap, put it inside. Lost in my fascination with the hair I had almost missed this, for me, incredible act. For it all appeared so easy and natural and right, yet I watched with both horror and a strange and growing fascination.
“…did she miss her daddy?” His voice was soft and he brushed his lips lovingly against her long hair as he spoke. His hand was well inside her blouse and he was fondling and stroking her, moving his hand and his finger tips against her flesh. But was he, could he actually be caressing her breasts? And why did this thought excite me so? I craned my neck to see better, but my chair creaked slightly and I feared to stretch further and possibly disclose my presence. His hand was still slowly stroking as he said:
“Daddy missed his little girl, too. What do you think he brought her from England?”
“Presents, Daddy?” Gunilla’s voice was languorous. “Very nice presents, love, for little girls who miss their daddies! Very nice…”
“What kind of presents, Daddy?” Gunilla’s voice took on a dreamy tone as she unbuttoned another button and
