‘Who?’ I ask, ninny that I am, idiot without qualities, standing there with his eyes lost in hers and otherwise stripped naked.
‘The sexy bastard, the dirty traitor,’ she replies without batting an eyelid. Try squaring that with the ‘sweeties’ with which she peppers the letters she is still constantly sending me. My mouth stems the words she wants to add. She turns her head to the left and again her tongue licks a path along mine. Our tongues writhe around each other, sometimes slow and seeking, then fast and joyous, and every change of rhythm makes my head lighter, as if I will never be able to keep up with her, as if in the end I will be no match for her desire, which is so much more inventive than mine, and, who knows, maybe dirtier than I want to find out. I take her hand and put it on my fly, prepared to apologize immediately and for the rest of my life if this offends her. There is, however, nothing to suggest any such inclination. On the contrary, she squeezes me gently with that one hand while pulling the cord and cloaking us in darkness with the other. And yes, she’s right, of course, because what I suddenly seem to want so impulsively—was that me or was it someone else?—is best done in the dark. She kneads me through my trousers as if she knows exactly what she’s doing and, at the same time, is engaged simply in an innocent exploration, a combination that drives me even crazier. I keep my eyes shut, I can’t look now, it all just has to keep happening in pitch darkness. I have to keep kissing her and simply enjoy what she is doing down below. After all, she has just rejected the hesitant hand on her breast and I don’t dare reach for anything else. Her fingers have found my zip. She unzips my fly and the excitement with which she does it confuses me, making my head spin. Does she find this just as enjoyable as I do, maybe even more? She’s left me behind again. Now she’s touching me through the cotton of my underpants and when she discovers the wet spot at the top she squeezes a little harder. Meanwhile her tongue keeps finding new ways to make me gasp for breath. Without hesitating she unhooks the waistband of my trousers. My fly is now wide open. I wonder if she is sneaking glances at me while kissing and stroking my throat, but I still don’t dare to open my eyes, as if that would make all this suddenly disappear, never to return. I feel two fingers on either side of the elastic in my underpants. She pulls the elastic towards her first and then pushes the white fabric down. My exposed cock gulps for air and points straight up. I immediately smell my own excitement, my beastlike masculinity, and blush to the roots of my hair. Her mouth finds mine again and her kisses become soothing. ‘Come here,’ she says, ‘come here.’ By which she seems to mean: ‘Trust me, put yourself in my hands.’ My knees almost buckle as she starts to stroke me, and the sounds I make are completely out of my control. When she grips me a little more tightly I tense up for a moment because of the dryness of her hand. But how do you say something like that? What kind of words do you use to convey something so practical? She stops her kisses at once and lets go for a moment. I am still trying to find the words to explain when suddenly I feel her hand again, wet and welcoming. That alone, her wetting her hand without asking, probably spitting silently onto her palm to pleasure me, stops me on the very verge of coming, as close as I am. A chill runs through me. As excited as I am, something dark starts to sing within me, a question starts to take shape to the notes of a melody. ‘Why is she doing this? Why is she doing this?’ Is it because she knows that we are now ‘family’, as Lode claims? Does she actually know about the Jew her father and brother are keeping hidden? Does she know I know? Is our union meant to be sealed now, in this way, with me unable to escape, not wanting to escape, and her hand on my twitching cock? Because you’re practically family? And why is it Lode I hear whispering that last sentence in my ear? No, that’s drivel, stop thinking. Just keep your eyes shut and let it happen. Her mouth hushes me, again she evokes an excitement that is more bestial than passionate. And again I give in, totally hers. She varies the technique with her hand too. Gentle changes to firm; quick tugging becomes calm squeezing. I go from one sensation to the other, no longer knowing where I am, what I’m doing or who I am, nothing beyond the fact that every quiver of pleasure tells me I am hers and hers alone. I am about to explode. And she feels that too. Suddenly she pulls the cord and I am standing there in the harsh light. She tugs even harder. Her mouth leaves mine. She forces me to look into her eyes and says, ‘Do it.’ Whereupon my semen shoots out and probably ends up between the old lady’s winter coats. And then, without letting go of my still twitching cock, she kisses me again, once more with an excitement I don’t come close to, not even in the moment of climax.
Suddenly we hear a loud groan.
